Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:02 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

As Acme walked out of the Rover, he dusted his jacket off. The AmerInd elf had a certain look about him, and not just from the odd clothing under the long duster, that sort of screamed shaman. It didn't help that he was spending a bit of time staring off into the distance before blinking and walking forward like he had figured things out already.

Knocking on the door of the Rover as he showed his hands to show he wasn't packing anything, he looked to the three waiting for him. "Hey there hi there ho there," he announced, trying to be professional but being stuck in a hard car with no control over it had worn that away. "The Mizz Johnson with the good body but ball bearings for eyeballs sent me over about this whole problem with a certain spider-handled individual." He smirked and bowed his a bit, his long black hair sliding around his shoulders. "I'm Acme, and I'll be your spirit-talker for this shindig. Before y'all say anything, yes I realize that the last holder of this slot has retired the easy way so I'll make sure and let Coyote know that I'll need to borrow his luck... Or his ability to come back from the dead."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:02 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Thirty offers Acme a hand to shake and says, "Welcome aboard. You can call me Thirty, I'm the guy with the sword." He grins and pats Kanjin in its scabbard on his belt, then adds, "Fair warning, chummer: we're probably heading back into the Barrens. I'll do my best to keep us all alive, and any help you could offer on that score would be appreciated."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:02 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett


Professor extends a hand, "Welcome. I'm 'Professor'. I gather information and analyze it. Glad to see another mage on the team. Our other one is asleep upstairs at the moment. A couple of other teammates are around, and we have a subject we just interrogated over in the infirmary."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:03 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Ferret gives a fake cough as he steps out from behind the Professor.

"I'm right here, prof."

He wipes his hand on his trouser leg, adding a smear of nanopaste and solder to an existing stain, and offers it to Acme.

"Hi, I'm Ferret. Guess I'm the team decker, or hacker, or whatever they call us matrix jockeys these days. Like the prof, I find information too. If it's somewhere on the matrix, I can ferret it out. I can also fix up pretty much any electronic gizmo or gadget you might have, and can find my way around Redmond without getting shot at. Which might prove rather useful in finding these missing trucks."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:03 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

"Hey new guy!" Oswald shouted from the back. "You got any healing mojo? There's a guy in the room down there who might be able to use a demo. Regrowing bone is probably easier than installing a plate in his skull."

Oswald began his long journey from the rear of the warehouse.

"Speaking of our friend on the gurney, I don't hear him screaming. You two didn't finish him off after you sucked his brains dry, eh Prof? Regardless, what are we going to do with the fellow? Offer him sanctuary, dump him on the outskirts of town, or just off the poor irradiated bastard?"

Oswald's goggles were slowly turning as he approached, keeping Acme in focus.

"Hah! That explains it! I wondered why you would be sitting on the driver's side floor space of my SUV! An elf! Well Daisy, the seats aren't real leather. It's safe to sit in them without incurring the wrath of the earth mother.. hahahahaha! You just spent a half hour sitting on the floor for no damn reason!" Finally reaching them, Oswald came to a stop. "I like you! You're funny! Commander Oswald Shankles, call me Oz. This is my space... and this is my lovely one-armed assistant, Danny." He gestured to the beat-up robot which had been following at his heels. He put his hand to his mouth and whispered too loudly, "I've programmed him so that he can only respond with Roger Murtaugh's lines from the Lethal Weapon movies."

"Anyway, let's go see to the prisoner, shall we?" He stated, turning and beginning the slow walk to the southern reaches of the warehouse floor.

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:03 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Acme shakes each man's hand in turn as they all announce their roles on the team. "The Barrens can be fun to deal with, I can see if I can shake something out," he replied, thinking out loud. His old contacts might not have pull all the way to the Barrens, but it was worth a shot. "But as for my help, I can fight, I can heal, I can talk... Coyote teaches his followers to be jacks of all trade so we can watch our tails out there, so don't worry about pigeonholing me."

But then Oswald came to the fore and from his demeanor, one could tell that if he had canine ears they'd be flat to his skull, a poor first impression for a Trickster. "Look, I'm not like you, I prefer to actually drive the effing car I'm sitting in. You may trust your robots ta make sure you don't crash but then again you also don't think twice about having your insides rust from all that metal." He stuck his tongue out and then looked to the Professor, feeling that even though he seemed to be a hermetic, that they'd get along best.

"So, using the Torquemada school of information gathering, eh? I can dig it. You needed me to heal?" Brushing off Oz for now, he pointed to where the others had been indicating the prisoner was.

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:03 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Professor leads the way to the surgery. "Actually, our friend is hurt because Oswald here shot his bike out from under him. We didn't have to touch him. He was very cooperative. Yes, he could do with some reknitting of bones and such.

"As far as what to do with him, I think sequestering him where he can't warn anybody would be good, until we have the cargo secured. After that, send him off to his lady love and let them head to parts unknown, as was their plan before we showed up."

He speaks an aside to Acme. "When you are free for a moment, I wouldn't mind talking with you about your spells. I have the capability of sustaining a spell cast on me, but the other mages in or passing through this group have had a .... an interesting selection, none of which was suitable for someone just wanting to stay out of the way of bullets and such."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:03 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Acme nodded, following after Professor, clapping him on the shoulder. "That's actually better to hear anyway," he replied as they walked to the surgery. "I'm not really that fond of cold-blooded co-workers. They tend to have no sense of humor. I'll see how well I can heal the guy; we can figure out where to hole him after I'm done... Maybe somewhere fun like the ACHE or something." He snickered darkly.

He thought about the question, then after a quick blank look at Professor's aura, he nodded. The man wasn't a hermetic like he thought, so they'd be counting on the spells Acme had. "Well I've learned a few offensive spells, with a good section of defensive; invisibility and changing my appearance."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:03 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Professor stoically endures the sign of camaraderie a dwarf usually gets. "Why do the tall ones always put their hand on your shoulder?"

"That sounds great, Acme. It will make my life easier... maybe longer, too."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:04 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Acme found the biker on the gurney unconscious. He was breathing ok. His aura was tired, and he seemed a little low on blood, a fact that was made aparent by the floor as much as anything.

Ferrets comm spoke up again <<Beetle@Ferret: If its a short trip to nuke town I wouldn't sweat it. You picking this stuff up, or do you want me to send somebody?>>

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:04 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Acme knelt next to the bed, getting a general feel for the poor soul. He wasn't that worried about the blood, though he stayed out of it so his leathers wouldn't get dirty. He learned from lots of experience how hard it was to get blood out of buckskin... Taking the man's pulse he nodded. Shrugging out of his jacket a bit, he started to close his eyes, placing one hand upon the man's chest. Muttering prayers to the spirits in his home language, it sounded sing-songy, the old chants that he'd learned from the old Trickster to mend flesh. It wouldn't take that long, a few minutes at most, but it was enough that if Professor was looking at him, he'd see sweat bead up as his form took that of a coyote, his eyes opening to look amber and tawny brown and white fur almost sprouting from his face...

With the end of the spell's duration, he leaned back, visibly tired and letting out a sharp breath. "Woof, wasn't able to do a hell of a lot but he'll live." He looked back to Professor, his eyes still coyote-amber for a minute or so.

<<@Beetle: We'll be in Redmond this evening anyway, so I'll just swing by. I will have a few people with me, so if you don't want me coming over to your place, let me know where we can meet up.>>

"My fixer has some respirators and something to help grease the wheels with his contact in the Stilleto's. He's gonna send me a location for a meet, but I'll need some cred for expenses as my account balance aint looking too good at the moment. He also says radiation won't be a problem as long as we don't plan on moving in down there."

"So, what's the plan? I mean, apart from drinking watered-down synthahol and checking out some ugly-ass strippers until either this 'Rusty' fellow or my contact with the Stiletto's shows."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:04 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

"mr. Jameson" was in considerably good shape now, after kissing a plastcrete wall at thirty miles an hour, but he seemed to sleep through the healing process. A light rain began to fall. The sunlight dimmed a little behind the clouds.

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, Jovan's mind, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Jovan stood on an aged wooden stage in the middle of an ancient English theatre. The aisles were empty - the audience had left the building a short while ago. No doubt most of them were out at their favorite pubs and taverns, drinking and singing and being merry. The night was still very young, and the lanterns of the theatre glowed with a fresh light.
" O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly," said a voice from behind him.

He turned around. Standing behind him was the woman in a black dress, staring at him with eyes that glowed fierce blue. Ms. Johnson. He raised a single brow in an expression of indifferent perplexity. " I do not well understand that." He took a step forward, offering her a recorder instrument that had not been in his hand before. "Will you play upon this pipe?"

The blue-eyed woman shook her head. "My lord, I cannot."
"I pray you."
"Believe me, I cannot."
"I do beseech you.
"I know no touch of it, my lord."

He dismissed her excuse with a wave of his hand. " 'Tis as easy as lying: govern these ventages with your fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music." He gestured toward the various knobs on the instrument. "Look you, these are the stops."

The woman stared back at him innocently, shaking her head again. "But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony; I have not the skill."

Jovan smirked knowingly. "Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me!" He approached the woman slowly, with his voice carrying more forcefulness now as he continued. "You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ; yet cannot you make it speak." He drew close, his face just a foot from hers. His voice grew quieter, and his sharp incisors were clearly visible as he spoke. "'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, yet you cannot play upon me."

The woman's face changed. Now he was looking upon the face of a troll in overalls. Now he was looking upon a snake with twelve tongues. Now he was looking into the headlights of a cargo truck.

As the scenery changed surrealistically, Jovan wondered to himself what it was that linked these things together. That hidden force that threaded itself like gravity between everything that had happened, the underlying motives that had put this chain of events in motion. He wondered aloud, to both the woman and the troll, "What are you hiding?"

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:04 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Thirty strokes his chin with his left hand, his right hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. He lazily paces back and forth as he considers the intel the team has gathered and what they might do with their erstwhile guest. The possibility that Mr. Jameson might alert Big Daddy about the team's intent seemed benign; BDLL must already know or at least suspect that his former employer would hire someone else to recover the goods. Jameson might be inclined to hamper us if we let him go, Thirty reasons. After all, we blew up his bike, gave him a concussion, and had a vampire interrogate him. That would probably make me want a little payback. But, if he can't remember that it happened...

<@team: Is it among our capabilities to have Mr. Jameson forget his stay at Chez Oz? If so, we could just take him somewhere appropriate, like his club or his girlfriend's place, and leave him there while we track down Rusty.>

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:04 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Oswald scanned the diagnostic screen. Aside from the persistent radiation burns, he looked pretty alright. Massive bruising had followed, but his already dark skin didn't show it too readily. Just dark splats like coffee stains under his already brown skin.
<<@team: Even knowing nothing of us, if we cut him loose, that other 'team' might pick him up. That would make him a liability if they're not already looking for Rusty. If they are looking, then we're already a day behind. He can stay here until he wakes up. In the mean time, you boys can decide if you want to use the man as bait, or just leave him here under my watch until we find this next fellow. Me, I've been awake for over 48 hours and I'm hungry. Anyone wants something to eat can meet me in the mess.>>

He turned to the Shaman, whose eyes still shone like light through a glass of bourbon. "Solid work, Wiley. You just saved a man days of painful recovery. I hope he puts it to good use and gets out of that toxic pit before it kills him." And with that, the sour old man was out the door and on the long trek to the kitchen.

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:04 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

<<@team: I'd say keep him here for now. Once we have the trucks, we can drop him off back at his place in the Barrens. I don't have anything on hand that would make him forget, but might be able to get hold of something if necessary.>>

At the mention of food, Ferret's stomach rumbles. He scampers after Oswald as the old man hobbles toward the kitchen.

"Hey Oz, I've been meaning to ask. You're a tech-savvy guy. I'm gonna need a good stealth prog to sort out Thirty's registration at the DMV. You got something with a decent rating that I could crack or a line on someone who could get a hold of one for me?"

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:04 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Professor looks over Jack, and figures he's not going anywhere. "So Acme, I hear there's some food. Coyote ever get hungry?" He starts after the others.

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:04 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Acme stood and stretched with a yawn, feeling a bit woozy from the spell's effects, nodding a bit to the old man as he wandered in. This was going to be an interesting teamwork he could tell already. "Hmm, well hopefully your hospitality is better than your social skills." he muttered.

But as Professor looked to him mentioning about lunch, he nodded. "Don't need ta tell me twice, food is always good after magic. Or after sex. Or after a run... Hell, it's good anytime." Slipping his jacket back on, he followed the dwarf to the mess.

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:05 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Oswald thought about Ferret's request for a moment.
"Well, if you want to take a shot at them, I've got all my programs backed up on chips. You'd probably enjoy checking out my Spoof program. Might not have to live in a van if you can trick your way into better accommodations. Computer thinks it gets paid, ain't much different than if it does. My stealth program's not something to write home to mother about though.. But, yeah, I know a guy whose code stores are deep. He mostly writes his own stuff. Sells non-corp hack programs and keeps them updated for free. Gives away common programs as freeware. Pisses off the big boys pretty awful, that. Don't think he does any military-grade work, but, if he doesn't have what you need, he probably knows a pirate or cracker who does. Though, I can't attest for any softs he'd get from a third party."

Reaching the kitchen, Oswald filled up a glass of water, downed half of it in a gulp and then filled it again.

"Kitchen, pasta. Need to keep my carbs up... You can go ahead and have whatever you like Heka. Same goes for anyone else. The soy block should have plenty left." He said, getting Ferrets name wrong again. Sharp as he was sometimes, it was hard to tell whether or not he was doing it on purpose. "Cross ruins.. seems like a fitting place for a guy like me to die... A poison pit broken by Ares and broken by the world. Maybe I should tell fate to shove it.. just stay here... Hrmmmph."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:05 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Distracted by the kitchen's AROs, Ferret takes a moment to respond.

"Great. I'll take a look at what you got, especially that Spoof program. The van's not so bad, actually. I mean, did you see the state of that coffin motel. Still, I might need to talk to your guy about a Stealth prog, if your's ain't any better than mine. Most of my stuff is basic off-the-shelf common use crap plus a bunch of hacking softs I wrote myself. But keeping those up-to-date is a pain, so anything more current that I can get elsewhere is a bonus."

Ferret flicks through the kitchen's menus in his head ordering up the most sugary, caffeinated and carbonated drink he can find. He also adds a soy steak and fries. He knows it's not the real thing but it's a lot better than the stuff he's been used to living off of down in the Barrens.

"Let's hope that nobody dies old man. You can at least stay upstairs in your blimp. Hell, I guess you could just send in a drone and stay here watching our biker buddy, Jack. Don't suppose your 'bot there can detect toxins?"

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:07 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Digging into the steaming plate of fake spaghetti with feaux-alfredo sauce, Oswald responded,"There's a reason cops don't go to that part of town. If they could get away with just hanging overhead, it wouldn't be such an issue, but one guy with a rifle and the patience to use it right can turn all that armor into a falling pile of scrap. I'd rather not go up in that thing during the daylight hours. I'd be a sitting duck and probably clue people into our presence. It could cost us all. No, if I go it'll have to be on the ground with the rest of you schlubs. As to a chem sniffer, I might be able to pull one out of my lab's safety system and juryrig it into ol' Danny here. That might be a good idea really. I'd want to pick up a Bullet proof vest for him though. Don't want him getting all blowed up again."

He forked another large mouthful and continued, "Anyway, if you want me to ask about getting you some pirated software, I'll see what's to be done. Maybe Thirty could front you some cred off his advance until the job's done? I'll let you work out payment while I make some inquiries."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:08 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Ferret savours the taste of the soysteak. He knows it's not the real thing, but frag, it's not like he'd know the difference anyway.

"Your robot got blown up? Was this on your last run?"

He wave a forkful of textured soy at the warehouse around them. "I guess you must be a pretty successful 'runner, Oz. You seem like you're doing pretty well for yourself."

With eyes half-closed he puts the fake beef into his mouth, chewing on it slowly. "Mmmm, your kitchen is pretty good too. I can't wait to see what progs you have. I'll bet they put the copied, cracked and plain old, off-the-shelf crap I'm running to shame."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:28 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

After lunch, Ferret looks through the carefully ordered and labelled chips for Oswald's software.

"Nice, nice, nice. Ah, too bad! Your stealth program is pretty resource light, but it's no better than mine. Looks like I'm gonna have to tap Thirty for some cred. Wait a fraggin' minute, you guys got an advance? That bitch stiffed me!" Ah, frag her! You got any idea how much your guy would want for an optimized, ergonomic version of Mirrors V (Stealth 5)? Or something equivalent, or better, heh. Okay, where was I? Nice, nice, wow, you weren't kidding about this Spoof program. Nice. Nice... Man, I hope that slitch comes through with some of the progs she was running once we find these trucks. Otherwise, it's gonna me a week to crack all of these."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:28 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

After being corrected again that Ferret was not, in fact, Heka in disguise, Oswald broke down the situation as he had recorded it.
"Don't feel too bad. She's not the boss, so she has limited room to negotiate. As to the boss, well, of the seven of us who saw him, only three are left alive." Oswald pulled up his notes, "Lefty, whose arm that was on my work bench over there, was blown up in an attempt on the bossman's life. Otto, caught a piece of shrapnel to his aorta and bled out afterwards. I would have liked to reclaim his cyber, but Thirty over there seems to think that reverence for the dead takes precedent over the betterment of the living. Danny, as you can see, was mangled pretty badly. Heka and the Professor came out of it okay though. Benefits of making a small target I guess, ha! There was also Caper, who showed up to the meet in disguise and was reported killed soon after. Probably just took his advance and ran... Now wait a minute.. Heka should have still had his credstick... Thirty! Did you pocket Heka's advance as well as take his car? God damn, boy! I thought you weren't just another Trog! It's just like I've always said..."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:28 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Thirty leans against the wall, arms half-folded, and cocks an eyebrow at Oswald's seemingly endless torrent of speech. He fixes Oswald with a disapproving stare and says, "No, I didn't think to rob my recently deceased team-mate, and I only took his car because mine became his hearse. I know what you'll say," he continues, holding a hand up to forestall any comments from Oswald, "that the dead have no use for nuyen, and I have to agree. But the man had just died on my watch. Since I'm still young enough to have a soul, I was a bit shaken up, and how I might profit from his death wasn't foremost on my mind."

Drawing himself up to his full height, he adds, "By the way, you might want to avoid using the word 'trog' around orks and trolls who don't have an interest in your continued survival. Some don't take kindly to that kind of talk, and won't give you a pass just because you're a senior. I, on the other hand, find your old fashioned mindset quaint and endearing." He smiles, tusks poking out from the corners of his mouth, his face giving no indication that he's anything other than sincere.

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:28 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Professor stuffs his face with the last few crumbs of the sandwich he had built for himself, and shakes his head. "Damn. What a team. Paranoia. Speciesism. Opportunistic harvesting of our teammates remains? Who needs an Ares team to kill us? We'll do ourselves in."

"So, now that we have satisfied our hunger," *memory flash of Jovan's teeth* "why don't we figure out our itinerary for the next leg of our excellent adventure? We have options to go talk to Strawberry, go find Rusty, or go wait for Rusty. Thoughts?"

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:28 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Oswald narrowed his eyes at the young Ork. He was sure that they'd have rifled Heka's pockets to look for anything that would link the deceased lad to the rest of them.. At least that's what he assumed. Heka though would have probably left the credstick at home. Taking it to the barrens would have been nothing but a liability. It's not like you could bribe a SINless ganger. He'd just shoot you and take all the credits. Maybe we should rob his apartment later. I know his address, and 2000 creds is 2000 creds.
"Hahaha! Ahh, Thirty I was just joshing you.. Good to see you take it in stride. Some people get all sensitive about that sort of thing." He rolled his eyes at Acme. "You've got to have a sense of humor to make it in this life. Otherwise, every day is nothing but more pain and sadness until you really do die inside. For instance, the best case scenario we're looking at right now is that we steal back a load of military ordinance for a mysterious group of killers to do with as they please."

He turned to Acme. "You don't object to me calling your boss a killer, right?" He shifted his chair to face the new recruit. "I really can't figure you out at all. I mean, bossman's #2 admitted that you were with her when I sent my car to pick you up and take you to my home, which, you're welcome for by the way, but you certainly have been talking like you haven't been briefed on us at all, so where does that leave things? You aren't playing a snoop here are you, Sparky? I know I trust the rest of you fraggers, and I've already killed to protect you, so I hope you trust me... at least to look out for your interests. Hell, I even trust the.. er.. Jovan, despite his sensitivities, but, Acme, you confuse the hell out of me, boy. You're a stranger in my home and it's worrisome. What's your stake in all this business?"

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:29 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Oswald's questions are good ones, but things are getting a touch serious here. Professor opens himself up to the astral to catch the drift of emotions. He also looks for the nearest table or other barrier to duck behind.

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:29 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Acme had been busy eating the most expensive things he could find in Oswald's kitchen. A good chunk of meat products, that he was sure was going to blow the geezer's mind that he wasn't a vegetarian or didn't respect the sanctity of the earth or whatever garbage he thought of him. He considered spiking Oswald's food with something to make the old man have the trots, but figured that ran counter to their survival. So he mostly kept to himself, but listened a bit. But then the old man finally opened his mouth and looked at him.

"For starters, I didn't get an advance either," he replied with a shrug, drinking a glass of water. "And no, she didn't brief me on you guys or else I'd have known to expect that we were running with the 2070s version of Archie Bunker. The briefing I got was the important stuff, about the situation with recovering the cargo in the Barrens. And that I'd need to replace a vacated magic spot. But hey, nuyen is nuyen, and if you don't wanna trust me because I'm the triple 7 of magic, meta, and AmerInd on your crotchety slot machine, then I'll let Brackhaven know he's got a new campaign manager for his governor race." He smirked, taking it all in stride as he drank more water.

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:29 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

"One, asking you to do magic must be a really strange way of saying I don't like mages. Two, I don't care that you're a Daffy as long as you came to work. That's just how men who weren't raised sissies talk to each other. And three, the fact that you identify with a people historically willing to raise arms against our fascist corporate masters is nothing to put down. Red Cloud was a friend of mine, and anyone makes moves against the natives near me will be dead before they hit the ground." By this point, Oswald was visibly tense, in stark contrast to his normally slouched, shuffling nature. His hand had moved to the intimidating laser secured to his hip, but in touching it, he relaxed.
"Way to sidestep the real question about your relationship with our shadowy employers though... Hmmph.. Professor's right. All I can do is scan you for listening devices and move on. For now we need to decide whether we'll search out Rusty at his digs or his haunts. If we botch the first, I doubt we can try the second, but if we botch the second, we might could still try the first. There's a lot of ground to cover and a lot to get done in the meantime. So do we move now or prepare? Someone needs to make a decision. Ferret knows the area best. I'll defer to his judgment on this."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, Jovan's mind, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Jovan was floating in a cocoon of light, enveloped in its comfort and its warmth. He felt as if he was wrapped snugly in a thick cozy blanket, or as if he was an unborn bird sealed in an egg. There were no sounds, there were no movements beyond. There was only peace, silence, and the beautiful warmth of the light.

Far off in the distance, he suddenly perceived a vision slowly forming. In it, he saw guns being fired. Some sort of firefight. As the picture grew clearer, he saw figures he recognized. There was a dwarf wearing a potent magical fedora, and a blimp floating above the scene, and other figures that seemed to be helping them. He saw himself there as well. They were being fired upon by some sort of professional squad. The group was outnumbered and getting overwhelmed. He saw the figures start falling one by one to the rain of bullets. He saw himself torn to shreds by a hail of lead. He saw explosives and guns on the scene as well, yet he could not tell whether the figures were associated with Ares or his employer.

The vision was vague, and could not yield great insight. Still, it forced Jovan to question the purity of the Johnson's motives. 'What are you planning that requires things as deadly as bombs, o Johnson? And why do you expect us to think you won't tie off our loose ends when we give them to you?' he wondered.

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:29 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Ferret's attention snaps back into focus from whatever he was checking out in the matrix. He seems a little nervous at first, though it's difficult to tell whether it's from being asked about what they should do or from the moment of increased tension at the table.

"Well, that is, if you want my take on it, I'd suggest scoping the titty bar first. Maybe a couple of us inside and a couple outside in case this Rusty fella makes us and tries to run. That would also give me a chance to talk to this trog, er troll. No offense meant, Thirty. But that would mean I would need to go inside, and then preferably with Thirty as backup. Acme, can you or Mr Paranoid track him in the astral or do you need something like a magic commcode to do that?"

Ferret scratches his head, thinking for a moment. His attention seems to drift for a second or two.

"There was something else. Oh yeah, my contact will have some gear for us to pick up around 8. So either we all go in together, so I can lead you in the safest way. Or, a couple of us head directly to the strip joint, while the rest pick up the gear and then swing by later. I would prefer the first option, strength in numbers and all that jazz."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:30 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

"Well, if we've got time to kill, I've got work I could get done. Someone will have to talk to our man on the gurney. Offer him safe haven from his troubles until we've got this matter wrapped up. Maybe sit with him guard style. You boys could stop by Heka's place and see if he left the credsick there. Might even clean it up a little for when the police come around. I didn't know the boy was a citizen before, but I suspected it. I've got his address if you've still got his link. Ferret might be able to walk up there uncontested with that. There's 2000 credits sitting in there, plus who knows what kind of incriminating, but valuable swag you can pull before the cops arrive. Hell, if it's not even in Heka's real name, it's possible Ferret could just swipe that fake identity with a little work. Then I could stop getting confused all the time.. Or at least be right when I do get confused...

Anyway, if you boys are up for the adventure, it could turn out in your favor. Plus you get to feel good about Heka's parents not walking into their deceased son's house to find it full of drugs and satanic doodads. Might be a good distraction while we get to work here. Acme, if you're not up for the adventure, you could always stay here and put up a temporary astral ward for when we need to stash the trucks. That sounds like fun right? Afternoon at the industrial park with Acme and Oswald?"

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:30 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Thirty contemplates Oswald's suggestion for a moment, fiddling with his beard. After a few moments, he says, "If his stuff is kept under a fake SIN, then Heka's parents won't likely find it, right? As for robbing his place, it seems like a small payoff to risk being associated with him all over again. If the Knights catch us fooling around there, it's going to look like we killed him. I'm not saying we don't do it, but for the moment, I'm unconvinced."

"As for Rusty," he continues, "I think we should try the strip club first. I'm with Ferret; I'd rather have the whole crew there just in case. It might not hurt for us to look the part so that the Stilettos don't give us any trouble. Acme, can you use magic to make us all look like we're irradiated mutants? If not, we might want to find some disguises. After all, nobody is going to believe a guy as pretty as this," he points to himself with both thumbs and gives a sarcastic grin, "would frequent a place like that."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:31 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Ferret shrugs. "Pity I loaded the kid's fake SIN with Thirty's car license and left it on his corpse. I could probably have used it to walk right into his pad. Win some, lose some, I guess. Although I guess I could try to spoof his door entry system. Where did he live anyway, Oz? And if you say Bellevue, you can kiss my hairy ass. I aint breaking into nobody's house down there."

Turning to Thirty, he laughs. "Yeah, you are a bit too clean and pretty compared to some of the boys around glow city. But you would still fit in better than the rest of this lot. Don't need two heads, just some dirt and a pair of tusks. Maybe Stiletto colors too, although them boys know their own and that could fall through right quick. Can you just ugly us up a bit, Acme?"

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:31 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Professor stands and assumes a posture he often took in front of a class. "Alright, I'll play daddy this time around. Oswald needs some rest, and should stay here, slumbering with Jovan. I'm sure there are technological marvels here to guard Jack and ensure he doesn't wander or get taken. And both of them are capable of travelling quickly to wherever we are, physically or astrally as the case may be.

"The four others will go to stake out Rusty's favourite bar. Acme and Thirty should be the inside team, and Ferret and I will cover the outside, maybe with a spirit courtesy of Acme to bolster our strength and tailing abilities. If he doesn't show up before the protective items are available, then we can adjust our plan to allow for Ferret to pick up the materials. Once he returns to the stakeout, if there is still no Rusty, we can outfit ourselves to go look for him, or continue the stakeout.

"Acme, if you can make me invisible by any chance, I could keep it going myself. That might be useful.

"Any questions or modifications?"

Friday, Sept. 11th, 1:00 pm, 32nd St in Redmond

Millie slowly and reluctantly pulled the trodes from the tangled mat of brown hair that roamed wild over her ashen skin. She was pale from days under the silicon halo, Orgasming in explosive simsense tweaked to burnout levels. Now her stack of chips were gone. burnt through in what seemed like an instant, but in reality... she had no Idea. Her head pounded. She rummaged through her jacket until she came across a diet Buzz cola. she smacked it to her face and didn't part with it until it was drained. Her squat was fairly dark, but she could see the light coming through the sheet over the window that told her it was daytime. The squat was fairly empty, maybe ten other people. All the others were in mid-trip or asleep, maybe dead. It wouldn't be the first time. Her stomach grumbled and cramped hard enough to rival the pain in her head. She spotted a bag of Krill rinds unopened in a mans lap. He was plugged in, so she snatched them and moved for the door.
Once in the alley outside she popped the bag o' breakfast and squatted by a dumpster. she let her eyes adjust to the light so she could look around. It was raining ever so slightly and the sun was behind the clouds. Millie was relieved, because she was sure if it was any brighter, her eyes would explode. The alley was fairly clear so she went for her secret hiding spot. Behind the old dumpster, long filled with garbage that no one ever collected, was a gap just large enough for an emaciated woman like Millie to squeeze into. She felt along the wall for the hole, the hole she found hiding from a coked out asshole trying to get a freebie. She danced her hand along the wall until she found the gap, and then pulled out the cred stick inside. She slid it into her old jacket pocket and pulled up her comm to see the time, and the date for that matter. Shit, its the weekend. time to make some cred.
She called up the club to see what was going on. She walked out to the street as she waited for an answer. the place was more of a war zone than usual. The Glass at the club next door was all over the road. Some fat bastard lay face down on the sidewalk, dead as Dunkelzahn. Two other scrawny slots were trying to load him into some beat up truck. Millie thought for a moment about dying in the street. and wondered who might take care of her body. the images that came to mind were too disturbing to dwell on for long.

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 12:31 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Acme nodded, thinking over all the suggestions as he finished his meal. "Yeah, I can do both," he replied. "Especially if there's a bit of time between each. I'm still feeling a bit woozy from the first spells, but it sounds like we've got a bit of time till the stakeout. I think I can shift a few things, make us neutral. I don't recommend looking like we're in a gang, we might end up stumbling into people who actually are in that gang and think we're playing wannabe. That's an easy ticket to a beatdown, and in the Barrens most of the gangs are against eachother so there's no chance of just faking an allied gang because that's not a go. I can make us look not important if that's necessary though. As far as the toxic zone, I'll see what I can do... Probably rent some old vids to get inspired."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, Jovan's mind, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Frightening images were flashing before Jovan's eyes.

He was back in college, listening to a lecture by one of his professors. The professor turned around, and Jovan was expecting to see his thoughtful gray eyes and aging wrinkles and compassionate smile. The professor had blood seeping from his neck, his head covered in bite marks and punctures. The professor looked at the young Jovan, and in a terrifying instant his gray eyes turned soulless black and long black gashes appeared under his eyes and a terrible unnatural scream spewed forth from his mouth, and in his face Jovan suddenly saw the face of his long-dead father.

He was gliding smoothly across a city rooftop in the dead of night. Below him, a young girl was running for her life, a teenager by the looks of it. She kept looking over her shoulder for signs that she was being followed, but she did not spot him as he flew above her in shadow. With a little effort, he reached out with his mind and bound her limbs together, letting her lose her balance and fall roughly to the ground. He descended upon her even as she screamed, and as he tore into her jugular vein, he saw Lethe. He tried to scream and stop himself, but his body would not heed him as it punctured her throat hungrily.

He was a teenager in high school again, and he was at a museum on a field trip with his classmates and bunch of kindergartners from another school. As he was gazing up at a large holopic of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, someone behind him pulled out a sub-machine gun and started gunning people down. He saw teachers run for cover with the children closest to them, and he saw children fall down dead with bullet holes through their heads and necks and chests. There was a sudden pain, and he was thrown backwards as a bullet tore into his shoulder. As he writhed in agony on the floor, the murderer came up to him and pointed his gun at Jovan's head. Jovan looked up, and through the blood and the clouding vision he saw himself, with a cold smile on his pale white face and pure hatred in his eyes. The doppelganger Jovan pulled the trigger.

The nosferatu woke up screaming and shaking.

And then, in exhaustion, he fall back into slumber after catching his breath. It's only a dream, Jovan. he assured himself shakily.

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 2:30 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

"Jesus Fuck!"
After an hour and a half of work, the blimp had broken free of its moorings and shot up into the rafters. The resulting cacophony of steel plating crashing into steel girders filled the whole warehouse with a resonating echo so nasty it drove chills up even the jaded old doctor's spine.
"How the hell did I put this thing on before? This shit is ridiculous"
He threw down his tools in disgust.

Just then he heard a scream of pain and terror coming from the back offices. "Oh shit!"
<<@Danny: Did you just shoot our prisoner?>>
<<@Oswald: No, Why?>>
<<@Danny: Oh hell. I'll go check on Jovan. Activate 'defense protocol H.' That means my biomonitor acts up, you, well.. I programmed you so, yeah, you know what to do...>>
<<@Oswald: I hope he doesn't turn...>>
<<@Danny: Pray your little mechanical heart out.>>

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 2:30 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Ferret had been enjoying a pleasant afternoon snooze in the back of his van when he was awoken by crashing and faint screams. Jolting alert in his seat, he quickly checks the van's sensors. When he spots Oswald struggling with the blimp, he simply shakes his head at the old man's antics and relaxes again.

Guess I should get back to work too.

Settling down more comfortably in the chair, he sets a mental alarm for 6 PM and then scuttles off through the matrix, back towards the DMV node.

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 2:30 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Acme had passed out himself, snoozing in a chair. The others had made plans but hadn't seemed ready to go out yet so he'd spent the first half hour communing with the spirits, trying to figure out ways to get what they wanted done well. This remaining time he'd spent sleeping off the drain from healing the prisoner. But the sudden clanging and screaming woke him up.

"Huh? Wha's going on?"

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 2:31 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Professor leaps to intercept Oswald before he goes into Jovan's temporary sleeping quarters. "It's alright. I'll check. It'll be easier all around."

Professor checks out Jovan, and finds him back asleep already. He can only imagine the kinds of dreams this man must be experiencing. Yeah... 'man'. A different perspective indeed, once you actually meet one of them. Of course, some men are ....

Back in the main room, he explains, "Just a dream."

He continues to work on the plan. "Look. Jovan is still out. Oswald is clearly not interested in sleep, but he is still working on his vehicle. When it's ready, he can be skywatch again. Nobody has come up with an alternative to the plan I have proposed, so why don't we act, instead of just sitting around, nodding off? Rusty could be at the bar already. Let's leave directions for Jovan for when he wakes, and we can wake him early through his commlink if necessary.

"Thirty's new ride can take the four of us, and on the way over Acme can do his mojo to make us fit in, or be unobtrusive at least. Let's go!" He heads towards Thirty's vehicle.

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 2:31 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Thirty looks up from the Shin's owners manual, which he has been perusing for the last little while, playing around with the car's settings. Since he can't fit into the driver's seat until he has it modified, he heads for the passenger side and says, "You get to drive, Professor!"

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 2:31 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

"I'd be happy to do that." Professor replies. "I suspect Ferret is a better driver, though. You up for it Ferret, or is there something you need to do on the way over?"

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 2:31 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

Ferret has barely settled into his seat when Professor wakes him with his question.

Ah well, if the Shin gets shot to shit before I get to change the registration, I guess that solves that problem.

"I'm better on two wheels than four, but with the help of the autopilot I guess I won't crash into anything. Don't expect any fancy driving though, I'm strictly an old lady driver in a car. If Thirty's worried about getting it shot up we can take the van instead. Most of the Crushers know it and won't shoot at us. And if they do, its got more armor. Someone would have to sit in back though."

Ferret yawns and starts sorting through his gear, pulling out a custom machine pistol and some spare magazines.

"I guess I can get my fixer to deliver the gear to us, rather than swing past his place. He'll be happier about that anyway as he'll stay anonymous and will make more cred for delivering the stuff."

<<@Beetle. Change of plans. Looks like I'm gonna need the stuff delivered after all. We'll be staking out a place called Cheap-Ohs. It's at {location}. Yeah, I know that's in Stilleto territory and yes I'll pay the 'danger' fee. Just gimme a price and tell your delivery boy to give me a call when he get's there.>>

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 2:31 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

"An armored van sounds like a great idea. I'll take the chump seat in the back."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 2:31 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

"Your van is the better choice if we won't get shot at, let's do that."

Friday, Sept. 11, 2071, 4:00 PM, Oswald's Warehouse, Merrill Creek Pkwy. Everett

"And that's how you do that."
Oswald had managed to remove the cocoon and re-balance the whole blimp in quick time. Having the others help him tie it down after that first... mishap.. had been a good call.
"Bye bye rocket chair. You were fun while you lasted. Now though, I need to get this hunk of armor put back in the car if I'm going to have the Rover ready by nightfall.

Oswald moved the blimp and it's moors along the sliding rail overhead, until it was out of the way. Then he mentally commanded the Rover to park right next to the now-freed cocoon.
"...So good I oughta write a book."

Friday 9/11/71 . 4:00pm. 23rd street, "Glow City"

The crew took a while to get moving. They helped Oswald get situated and arranged a meet with beetle for supplies. Ferret weaseled his way through the barrens for about an hour, Avoiding major ambush sites and looking for navigable asphalt. It was late in the afternoon when they hit the main strip in Glow City. There was a strange juxtaposition of the temperature increasing ever so slightly, and the people on the street wearing more clothes. People had sunglasses and raggedy umbrellas and old army gear or pieces of plastic wrapped around them. Many buildings had torn up radiation suites covering the windows or bits of steel. The lake was visible between buildings, only a block away, and the sunlight seemed to make things look dry and brittle; The walls, the street, The faces walking by. There were millions of RFID tags blurting ads or marking Stiletto turf. The matrix signal itself was spotty, but functional. The two points of interest lay straight ahead, Twisters on the left, and cheap-Ohs a couple doors up on the right. It was still early for the nightlife to be out, but plenty of addicts were shuffling in for their fix of choice, be it drugs, sex, or alcohol. The Astral space is haunted with suffering, slow and painful suffering. This was a terrible place to die. The poisoning of the metahuman souls has left the mana here twisted.
Cheap-Oh's was a run down Trid palace complete with the old holo-marquee that now read "We spread for cred!" and had two hot women stripping over and over. There was a Thick necked human with a metal blade protruding four inches from his head like a mohawk. he wore leathers and sunglasses and patted a buddy of his with a similar get up save for a bald head tattooed to look like a face winking at the sky. A woman approached, draped in an army jacket. The man with the head razor smacked her ass as she entered the club. To the right of the club was a parking deck turned squatter apartments and to the left, an alley and unmarked office building that house god knows what.