@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]

The dream was elusive, a mad dash of colors and sounds, swirling through the mind as water through a sieve; Anselm fought to hold onto some thing, some contextual clue that would give meaning. The rash of sounds and the violent reds that swirled through his inner sanctum threatened to overwhelm him and then he cried out to his Lord and Savior. Abruptly, the torrent of imagery slowed to a trickle as his spirit gained weightlessness, borne aloft by an unseen force. Just as quickly his world stopped and the pain came pouring back to the surface, "Allons enfants de la Patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé!" The harsh voice of his bodyguard cut through the stupor like the quenching of a new forged blade in water, accompanied by the sound of gun fire and the immediate sense of open air and acrid smoke.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

During his instruction---nay, attempted indoctrination---at Shiawase, the various trainers and wetwork veterans always hammered home this one rule: Get the job done without drawing attention to yourself. Gemeaux had a history of violating that functional mantra due to a penchant for theatrics and professional flair. After all, if you are going to kill someone, why not do him or her the favor of getting taken out in style? A person only dies once, so make it memorable.

Taunting police in broad daylight is not something he had ever had in mind.

When he hears the unmistakable roar of submachine fire, he glances back at his attackers. Electronics and protein exchanges make it seem like time slows down. He takes note of the attackers' postures, the way they hold and fire their guns, the slight hitch in the left one's stride, and various other details that might come in handy when intuitively calculating trajectory.

With a rifle in hand and another slung across his back, diving his not an option. Instead, he opts to weave and pivot, legs pumping him towards the only available cover in sight---a lovingly tended garden that is completely oblivious to the fact that it is soon to be torn up by gunfire. As he does his best to dodge the incoming hailstorm of bullets, he continues onto the next verse.

"Contre nous de la tyrannie, L'étendard sanglant est levé! L'étendard sanglant est levé!"

<<[Vivienne]: Damien, you are giving away your position! What are you doing?!?>>

<<[Gemeaux]: Hopefully saving a life, my dear.>>

I just hope that someone is around to save mine...

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Church of Our Lady, 2 Connaught Road, Fleet, UK]
SIN: Spencer Lovett

As their enemies begin firing, Mordred ducks into a roll that takes him behind the car. No shotguns this time. They were probably lethal ammo. He emerges near the hood, shifting his body into a Firefight stance to minimize himself as a target. The adept raises his pistol, seeking the policeman he hit seconds ago. Persistent, aren't you? It was a quality he admired, but generally in people who weren't trying to kill him. Mordred's pistol spits another three bullets at the man.

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 12:05 PM; Crappy Hotel, Northern Corridor, Chicago]

Safely back in her crappy hotel room and out of the sun, Copperhead slumps on the bed.

What a lousy morning. Having to go out in the fragging sun and then that trog goes and ruins my best top. Ah well, at least the hacker seemed a solid sort. No combat experience and what was with the fake datajack? And the street sam, plenty of cyber but what the frag was up with her aura?

Once the glare induced headache has receded to just blinding, she hauls herself back up and takes a couple of painkillers from her medkit. She unties her hair and carefully untangles the trode net then washes it out in the sink. The water is lukewarm so she quickly strips off and washes her hair and body to clean off any remaining blood and gore. Satisfied that she is now properly clean again, she crumples her bloodstained clothing into a ball and tosses it into a bag to dispose of later.

She pulls on some sweat pants and a t-shirt from her bag and sits on the floor and begins to sing. The room fades around her as she slips from her body to join Snake on the astral. Toghether they sweep around the containment zone, dipping into it here and there where the taint is least obvious.

This is a place of pain and death, child lectures Snake. It will lessen your connection to me, one that is already limited by the metal in your body. While I will help you as much as I can, you will have to rely on that steel and your own wits.

[July 8th, 2072, 17:22 PM; Crappy Hotel, Northern Corridor, Chicago]

As the light begins to fade Copperhead returns to her body. She changes out of her sweats, pulling on her form fitting armor. This time she goes for the urban warrior look with a tight, camo-pattern top and combat trousers and her battered black army boots. She decides against the full camo armor, settling for the long coat again, but does stick the big Enfield shotgun and her folding staff into her sports bag, which she slings over her shoulder. Then with a mental command to the Beast spirit under the bed to protect the room, she heads out to meet the others and do some last minute shopping at Fawkes' container.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Church of Our Lady, 2 Connaught Road, Fleet, UK]

The advancing officers are beginning to concern you somewhat as they shrug off the punishment that you are levelling upon them. Their sweeping bursts of fire skim the air where Mordred crouches and Gemeaux vaults his way through the manicured hedge. The rounds that impact on the body of the limo don't richochet off as might be expected, rather punching through the armour plate...it would seem they are serious about stopping you this time...

Inside the house Tsubaki stumbles into the garage and apart from the clouds of dust and cobwebs sees an ancient Eurocar Falconer...a battered saloon that looks older than she is...hopefully it has fuel in the tank and an engine that will turn over...

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 18:00 PM; Fawkes' Container, Northern Corridor, Chicago]

It had been a funny day. She'd still not properly spoken to the team she was supposed to be working with, but she had at least seen them now. The troll Copperhead was a strange one. Jess had had to hide her face laughing when she'd exploded that troll at Fawkes' earlier. Of course, openly laughing at that sort of thing can cause people to think you're crazy and that wasn't the first impressions she was looking to give off. She'd fetched Copperhead some clothes. Jess found it was always best to get the mage onside early because they're the ones it's hardest to hide your secrets from. Better friend than foe. And it was nice to go for another whirl around the bazaar. She liked to observe. Keep quiet and take in surroundings, analyse people. Her software was showing her that Copperhead seemed pissed off and short-tempered. Maybe she just caught her at a bad time. Ælias seemed quieter. Maybe a little anxious. Certainly not at home in a place like this. She'd spend the rest of the afternoon playing her character. Meeting the locals and being as friendly and natural as possible before heading to the container to meet up with the others.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

The severity of the impact THUDS gives Gemeaux a bit more speed in his stride.

Armor piercing rounds? Looks like they took my mistake a bit personal... Time to employ the Carnot strategy of Shadowrunning...

Spotting a patch of gravel, Gemeaux suddenly pivots on one leg, swinging his body around to face the enemy. Still sliding on the loose gravel, he crouches into a firing position. He levels the sniper rifle at the closest pursuer, and picks a targeting equation that best capitalizes on the snatches of details he spied when the enemy first opened up on him. He pulls the trigger twice before pushing himself out of the crouch, and continues his flight away from the police.

"Entendez-vous dans les campagnes, Mugir ces féroces soldats? Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras, Egorger vos fils, vos compagnes!"

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN=Active; SIN:Nina Okada

Reaching out with one hand, Tsubaki touches the surface of the old car with her index finger, and picks up a small layer of gray dust on her fingertip. Of course, though, Tsubaki couldn't expect anything less. A little old car for a little old lady in a little old house. It looks like it will drive... She hopes it does. In the meanwhile, Tsubaki will suggest the old car in the garage for Charlie to operate. However, when she takes a peek back out through a window, with the intention of checking on the situation outside, there is that curious Citymaster vehicle that catches her eye. Then, there's Car Number 2... Is it even vacant?

There is no reason to step outside until it is very clear that the cops are distracted with the song and dance the Frenchman is displaying. She will have to take a moment and observe for any signs of movement inside the Citymaster from behind the window first.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Church of Our Lady, 2 Connaught Road, Fleet, UK]
SIN: Spencer Lovett

One down. And who knows how many more to go (wearing the same armor, of course). His colleague with the sniper rifle definitely had the right idea. The old lady's house would be safer than a wrecked limo. He was in plenty of trouble with the law already. Why not add breaking and entering to the list?

Before making a run for it, Mordred decides to get the mage's attention. The adept's leg comes up to give the door a sharp kick. Last chance to get the hell away. He then follows Gemeaux toward the house, firing at the remaining policeman.

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 18:05 PM; Fawkes' Container, Northern Corridor, Chicago]
PAN: Hidden, SIN: Charlotte Church

Copperhead swaggers down the street with a casual, exagerrated sway to her hips. The sun was sinking behind the buildings and the thermal patterns as they shed their heat were strangely beautiful. She hums along to 'Horns on the outside', one of her favourite Trollgod tracks. Her right hand weaves a complex pattern in time to the music as she calls Rattle, one of her watcher spirits to her side.

Walking along the row of containers, she spots the cybered woman with the strange aura. She gives a friendly wave, asking the obvious, "We da first den?"

She eyes the container, differing only from the others by the number spray-painted on the door and a slightly more elaborate keypad lock.

Rattle, take a look inside and make sure there's nobody home. I've had enough surprises for one day!

When the watcher gives the all clear, she smiles to Jess as she taps in the code supplied by Fawkes, "Might as well do some last-minute shopping while we waits, neh?"

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

<<[Vivienne]: Damien, smartgun information is showing that your recent target has stopped moving.>>

Thank the Lord for small miracles...

<<[Gemeaux]: Understood. Always glad to hear good news, my dear.>>

<<[Vivienne]: Not nearly as much as I enjoy giving it. Now go get the other one.>>

Gemeaux pivots again, pulling the same maneuver as before. Unfortunately, the grass lawn is a bit more slick than the gravel from before. He uses his knee to help kill his momentum, and suddenly feels his pants leg tear under the force of the friction.

And I LIKED these pants!

He lines up a shot, pulls the trigger twice, and watches his shots impact the armored policeman. Mordred follows suit, and he watches the last enemy combatant fall. The man falls to the ground in an ungainly fashion, buffeted about by the flying slugs.

Gemeaux grins beneath the respirator, and gives his counterpart a salute. He welcomes the chance to catch his breath and rest his weapon. He hopes that this is the last time he will have to play fox for the police's hounds. However, seeing the suspiciously stationary Citymaster reminds him that his respite could be cut short at any moment.

I do not suppose they would be sporting enough to let me have a smoke first...

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 18:05 PM; Fawkes' Container, Northern Corridor, Chicago]

Inside the container there is a cornecopia of equipment, some corporate branded, some cobbled together from various sources, all of it no doubt grey or black market. You fill the time while waiting for Ælias by browsing through the various items, picking out those that would be useful and discarding those that would be too cumbersome to carry through the zone.

As you are rummaging a commlink hanging amongst a pile of others notifies you of an incoming message and then the dirty holoprojector renders a crude image of Argent's head and shoulders floating in the dusty air of the container.

<<Fawkes told me I would find you here. You need to hurry now, our time seems to be running out. My sources tell me that hostiles are sniffing around the outside of the Blackwater perimeter looking for a way in. This 'link will download a mapsoft which will give you the approximate coordinates. There should be a satlink in here somewhere...grab it and take it with you, the final details will be sent when you call in. It's not that you aren't trusted, it's just a precaution against the chip falling into the wrong hands. Do you have any questions while I'm here?>>

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]

The respite is momentary...as you take a breath and the limo door swings open and closed with a grating sound, the whine of acutators fills your ears and the turret on the citymaster tracks towards the limo. A grating voice issues from hidden speakers

"This is the police. Lay down your arms and surrender your position. You have two minutes to comply before the use of deadly force is authorised"

and then the machine gun spits death in your direction...about two seconds into the two minute countdown

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 18:05 PM; Fawkes' Container, Northern Corridor, Chicago]

Copperhead feels like a kid in a candy store. She gleefully rummages through the assorted gear, picking out a various items for their trip. She considers then discards some brand new Victory line armor vests in desert camo pattern. While still in their original packing, the desert pattern is more likely to make them stick out in the CZ than blend in. Instead, she picks through some dusty, navy blue Industrious line jumpsuits that are at least two seasons out of date. She guesstimates sizes that might fit the kids by holding them up against Jess for comparison. She adds a mixed pair of low-light goggles, a modern chinese or japanese set, she's not sure which, and an older bulkier set of UCAS military ones. A pair of cheap Israeli Seco light pistols and a box of ammo just about complete the pile, when she gives a short shriek of glee.

From under a pile of combat jackets she pulls a large troll-sized, green and black TruSilk corset, which she immediately starts to try on for size, peeling off her current outfit with abandon.

"Frag me wid a spiked stun baton. Dis is a Vashon Island original and only last season too by da looks of it" she grunts as she squeezes into the armored steampunk lingerie. She has just about finished doing up the last buttons, buckles and straps, when the commlink activates and Argent's holo appears.

Concern and worry flit across Copperhead's features as she listens to the message. Suddenly, she is all business again.

<<Argent, what can you tell us about da kids? Dey got names? What do they look like? And deze hostiles, are dey mundanes, breeders, cybered?>>

She looks about the piles of gear, wondering what a satlink looks like.

"Ælias, I'll bring da gear fer da kids. You find da satlink gizmo and brings it, okay?"

<<I can leave tonight. I'm done wid dis town. Just need to change me into ma armor and picks up da rest of ma gear from da hotel.>>

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:05; Fleet Road, UK]

The world which had dissolved into maddening pain moments before slowly stabilized to some semblance of clarity as Anselm slowly opened his eyes to see the roof of a vehicle and felt more than saw that he was alone for the time being. He sat up gingerly and quickly ducked back down, hitting his already bruised temple as he did so at the sound of more automatic weapons fire.

"Dominus conservet eos qui operantur in nomine tuo. Et ne nos malum gladium portat, ut eos qui sanctum tuum regnum occupare." Anselm centered himself as quickly as he could, and offered up his prayer with all the will he could muster before muttering a few of the most sacred oaths of Michael the most revered Archangel to shield him from sight. Feeling the calming effects of the blessings flow over him Anselm quietly moved to the door and slipped out before shutting it out of habit. A quick look around showed a scene from war, a tank of some sort was firing at a house with an old lady lying prostrate on the ground, where the vehicle Anselm had been in and could now see was the limo that had been alotted to transport him and his charges to the West Country was inconveniently in the crossfire, no doubt to shield the poor woman from the crimes of those in authority.

Anselm moved quickly towards the house, the only real center of safety, taking care to keep the limo in between himself and the monsters in the tank. Only as he reached the corner of the house did he realize that the markings on the tank were familiar... the marks of the local law enforcement.

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 18:05 PM; Fawkes' Container, Northern Corridor, Chicago]

Ælias shows up from the shadows around the Corridor as the others begin to open the container. He is wearing the same clothing as before, but the facial scars and ridges are gone, and his face and hands are shades lighter than before, though the trode/datajack still sits connected to his temple.

"Oi, it's me, Ælias!" he shouts out before entering the clearing, remembering the deadly force and speed of the troll woman's spell. He walks with a steady, but aware, gait and keeps his eyes on the shadows around them. He smells of Snuff cigarettes and sweat, having spent the last few hours mapping the area in his head and looking for a decent hotspot where he could experience some live Resonance, not the stuff he could beam in through the satlink on his backpack.

For the second time that day, Ælias averts his gaze as Copperhead changes attire, sticking his head into the container for anything to take his mind from the outside world. Argent's message beams in about then, nearly jumping in surprise again, hoping he kept his cool in front of the runners.

Ælias listens to Argent and Copperhead go back and forth, admiring the troll's insight and planning for the future. They were traits he looked for in team mates and something he knew that Argent appreciated too, so he had little worry about the team she put together; it was nice to have his expectations met. While they talked he continued to dig through the container, easily finding the other satlink and adding it to the mesh of electronic equipment on his backpack. Then came the shopping for himself, though there was little in the container that he didn't already have. There was a set of camo SecureTech PPP armor pieces that he grabbed and added into his own armor, fitting them underneath where possible. There was also a mesh military style vest in the container, with a few attachments, that caught his eye. When his hand touched it and began to access the programming inside his eyes lit up. It was a Smart Vest, a vest that tracked what was carried on it and adjusted the weight for optimal maneuverability and access. And it had a canteen, two ammo pouches, and a ration pouch attached. It wasn't ork sized, but it was made for a human in the military, so Ælias still fit, albeit a tad snugly.

He watched as everyone else suited up, readjusting their loads and double checking everything before heading deeper into the CZ. They all knew what they might be facing out there, but no one showed too much hesitation or fear. They were professionals, or they were supposed to be, and this was their job. His job too, he reminded himself for the fifth time that day. There was no backing out now.

"Cute." Mordred ducks behind the doorway of the house. As much as he wanted to imagine they were at a stalemate, the fact of the matter was that the police far outclassed them in terms of weapons and numbers. A direct assault would be a losing proposition, as would trying to wait them out. "Any bright ideas?" He asks the others. The adept consults his mapsoft of the city. If they couldn't outfight their enemies, perhaps they could outmaneuver them. Mordred looks for an escape route that involved rough terrain or narrow streets. Anywhere a tank in training couldn't follow them.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN=Active; SIN:Nina Okada

The whole situation discourages Tsubaki. Silver eyes glance over to the brunette male. Running dry of bright ideas, she shakes her head. There is getting the rest of the way on foot, but no one here is a track super star, are they? "I'm afraid I'm still trying to figure that out..."

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

When the bullets from the Citymaster begin to fly, Gemeaux does the only thing reasonable under the circumstances. He offers his opponents a one fingered salute, and resumes his mad dash behind the house. He tries to contact the others via commlink, but hears the telltale buzzing of jamming static. Grumbling, he pops the cartridge out of his sniper rifle. He rests the rifle against the house, and reaches into his pocket for the other half-used cartridge. He pops out the four remaining bullets from that one, snapping them into the other cartridge.

Six...seven...eight...nine... Nineteen more shots, and who knows how many of those fools are in that monstrosity... May have to switch tactics... Carnot's strategy works quite well when YOU are not the poor soldier relentlessly following up on an enemy...

He pockets the empty cartridge, picks up the rifle, and pops in the nine-shot cartridge. He reaches into his pocket, reassuring himself that he has the thermal smoke grenades. Depending on what the next step the police have planned, he might be able to generate a deadly hail of gunfire of his own...

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 19:19 PM; Edge of CZ, Chicago]
PAN: Hidden, SIN: Charlotte Church

Copperhead had returned to her hotel with her loot and changed into her full armor. Her look was no longer street tough, more UCAS military. The combat armor was set to urban night, a random pattern of greys and black that broke up her outline. A pair of bulky goggles had replaced her shades, sitting on top of a big, mat black respirator that covered the lower half of her face. Her hair was tied back in a tight bun and she had even applied combat stripes to her horns. Assorted ordnance was clipped to the webbing on her torso and hips and the look was completed with the big Enfield shotgun with its large drum magazine.

She had packed the extra gear for the kids into her backpack then, concerned about how heavy it was getting, took out the tent figuring she could sleep rough for a couple of days if they had to. Then she had folded up her spare clothes, including the Vashion Island corset and packed them, along with her long coat and the tent into her big sports bag.

She had left the 'do not disturb' sign on the door to her room, paid a week in advance and warned the desk clerk that no-one should go in while she was gone as she had left a spirit guarding it. She had manifested Rattle to back up the threat, releasing the watcher once she had left the hotel.

Standing now at the edge of the CZ, she gives an involuntary shudder. She can feel the taint ahead of her. She hums tunelessly under her breath, callling on Snake to aid her, but the only response from the Serpent is a faint whisper, more felt than heard.

Be careful, child.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]

As Anselm ran for cover he spied a familiar figure dashing through the hedgerows to the next house over. "It would seem my errant bodyguard is turning tail... better go find out what is going on." Thinking quickly Anselm turned to run up behind Gemeaux, careful not to get in his line of sight between himself and the tank just in case the intrepid Frenchman decided to loose off a few rounds in their general direction.

@Fortune's Forecast (Adrian/Saint)
[April 18th, 2072, 00:53:30; Everett, Everett Medical Center, Room 403]

The slightly balding middle aged man sitting at the coffee table in front of them didn't reply for some time, apparently engrossed in some AR feed by the odd jerking motions of his eyes and hands as they fluttered across the table as if tapping out some macabre tribal rhythm. A few minutes passed before his eyes abruptly focused on Saint's rather obvious assets and his whole countenance warmed up immediately, "Ah yes, may I help you? I was not aware of any appointments today; Dr. Bailey, GP."

He barely glanced at Adrian who seemed to be engrossed with a detailed survey of the generous appointments in the waiting room.

@Fortune's Forecast (Adrian)
[April 18th, 2072, 00:53:30; Everett, Everett Medical Center, Room 403]

The first thing that struck Adrian about the waiting room was how much it clashed with the general state of disarray that plagued the rest of the hospital, this man did well, extremely so if the paneling on the walls really was actual wood... Adrian remembered seeing some teak that looked similar to the stuff covering the walls while visiting an old temple a few years back and that stuff was enormously expensive. Adrian could tell immediately that the good doctor was not remotely interested in him with such an enticing specimen of the gentler sex apparently as interested in him.

It didn't dawn on Adrian for a few seconds until he realized that he felt much more at peace her than he had in many years, something about the feeling of this place made Adrian feel almost like he was comfortably in a meditative trance, mildly channeling to clear his mind.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 21:21:00 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]

Hawk chuckled and nodded his head shortly as if acquiescing to the slightly defiant statement, "Da, my young friend, I too do not like to lose... but I don't think you will, at least not the way you expect eh? Go there, have fun, enjoy yourself as I really think you'll enjoy the place. Young as you are you seem pretty traditional, like my own son. You will have a good time, trust me."

He tossed an envelope that he had drawn unseen somewhere from one of his deep coat pockets and dropped it on the bar counter in front of Jack, "A little walking around money for tournament, you'll be staked when you claim your entry as Mr. Azdof who will of course have been registered online."

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Church of Our Lady, 2 Connaught Road, Fleet, UK]
SIN: Spencer Lovett

"I think it's time to go," Mordred says to the silver haired woman. He moves to help her support Charlie. Putting the ork's arm over his shoulder, the adept heads for the other door of the house. Mordred regarded the old lady. "We'll need to leave her if she's not hurt bad. I don't think the police would do anything worse than question her about us." They couldn't exactly bring her along for the ride. It would just be adding a kidnapping charge to their list of crimes. While the police had been reckless enough to get her caught in the crossfire, there was no reason for them to actually try and harm the old woman. The adept makes sure his hood is securely over his head and opens the door. "Hurry."

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:53:30; Everett, Everett Medical Center, Room 403]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor, Edge: 5 / 6

Hmm, that wood... reminds me of that temple Uncle took me to, way back. In fact, replace some of the decoractions and this office would fit into a temple. It's got something soothing about it, even his framed diploma seems to hang in exactly the right spot. Let's have a closer look...

With that, Adrian opens his eyes to the spirit world, looking at the office once more. On the astral, the office looked even more well arranged than to the mundane eye. What might have been a good fake, turnes out to be actual, almost untreated wood paneling - not the only natural materials in this room. Faint lines seem to connect these objects.

Either he's skilled or a natural.

Looking the room over, Adrian can't help but notice Saint's aura - nervous, a little scared but determined - and the dark patches in it.

Right, dark patches, dead matter. And nervous of what might happen if things get ugly. Thinking of Jessica, his dead fare, reminds him of how ugly "ugly" can get. What kind of man doing that kind of things has an office this soothing? One way to find out...

With this thought in mind, Adrian focuses his eyes on the doctor and prays for insight...

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:54:30; Everett, Everett Medical Center, Room 403]

It took a while for Adrian's senses to adjust to the calm waves spreading around the room, like the gently lapping inhabitants of some remote sanctuary cove, but he eventually tuned himself to the other man's aura and was able to see quite clearly and with little surprise that the good doctor was awakened to some degree or another, not in a way which Adrian was familiar with but rather more by the fact of how the mana pooled around him as if waiting to use him as a conduit into the physical.

Something about the man, some other sense that Adrian had had brief encounters with told him that this was a man holding himself in complete harmony and control with his world, and just like an earthquake could be held under great pressure as the natural balance of the earth's forces rolled about, so too did this man hold a portion of himself back to be thrown with force into quick expenditure if needed.

Focusing more intently on the rest of the doctor Adrian nearly missed the tell-tale gray lines spiking through the mans arms and body, almost as if they followed the lymph system; so unsubstantial and ephemeral were they that he almost dismissed them in the pooling of the mana but it seemed that the mana itself coursed along the spider's web and became somehow fouled by touching them...

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

Time to regroup, but if I am not careful I will lead them right back towards the lives I am desperately trying to protect. Sometimes the best way to hide is to draw your pursuer's eyes in another direction... Still, I hate having to waste this.

Reloaded and ready to continue on with the danse macabre, Gemeaux withdraws a thermal smoke grenade. He pops the pin and rolls it in the direction of the path he took to flee the Citymaster's turret. He takes off in the opposite direction towards the front of the unfortunate old woman's house, sprinting at full speed to take advantage of the makeshift distraction. The smoke might not fool them, but at least they would look at it. And while they are looking at it, they hopefully would not be looking at him...

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]

As Gemeaux hares off towards the front of the old lady's house, with Anselm in invisible pursuit, an ominous silence falls. Ahead you see the front door and the two fortuitous assistants leaving with the technomancer and his wailing child. Tsubaki and Mordred are startled by their package suddenly jerking round and staring back in the direction of the tank lurking on the far side of the house that you are fleeing from.

"Merde, they've broken off the jamming, un instant...I suspect they calling for assistance...they have eyes in the sky, we need distraction...I will try, something..."

and his eyes glaze over as he looks into the strange world of ones and zeros that his kind uniquely perceive...

"Alors, vite, we must go now...I think they cannot see us now, for a time anyway...You, man with the big gun...the drone is up there..." and he gestures out into the sky on the far side of the houses "I can show you, if you will allow...?"

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

Gemeaux nods at the sorcier technologique, still catching his breath from his mad dash.

"Please do, but make sure to be kind to my Vivienne. She is the mistress of my PAN."

<<[Gemeaux]: Vivienne, I am giving the father access to my PAN. Please let him help, and let me know if he does anything to wound you. I will be sure to repay such acts in kind.>>

<<[Vivienne]: Understood, and switching to refer to you by your shadow name, Gemeaux.>>

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:53:30; Everett, Everett Medical Center, Room 403]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor, Edge: 5 / 6

As if to make up for a whole load of missed twitching, Adrian suddenly jerks his head back.

In perfect harmony with his surroundings yet fouling the mana around him. Interesting times indeed.

Looking at Saint, he extends his meager protection from harmful magic towards her and ponders the merits of warning her and perhaps making her suspiciously nervous. Remembering that inaction sometimes is considered the best course of action, he decides to remain silent for now.

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 19:43 PM; CZ, Chicago]
PAN: Hidden, SIN: Charlotte Church

"Ah, frag", mumbles Copperhead as the spells in her sustaining foci drop one after the other. The astral taint had been building slowly as they moved further into the CZ, but now she was starting to feel it's effects. Snake was still there but just a whisper in the background. Her magic was as much a part of her as her steel arms and she found it distinctly unnerving to feel it fade.

The CZ was also getting worse. At first, there had still been signs of life: fires burning in buildings, gang markings, etc. There had even been a few AR slogans although those had disappeared quickly, along with her matrix access. The buildings had become increasingly damaged as they moved deeper into the zone, with rubble blocking their path and forcing them to detour or backtrack.

She pauses for a moment in the shade of a burnt out building, easing the backpack off her shoulders. It wasn't particularly heavy but she wasn't used to carrying that much weight around either. She takes a sip of tepid water from one of her canteens and grunts at her companions.

"Well, da bad news is dat dis place is messing wid my mojo. Da good news is dat it will mess up da magic of any other mages or magical critters too. Unless we run into a toxic dat is."

She pauses for effect, hefting her big shotgun and pointing it at an imaginary target, thinking of her encounter with Gamma.

"In dat case, it's either geek da mage or get dead real quick."

Snapshot 1
[Sunday June 12th, 2072; Coffee Xtreme, University District, Downtown Seattle]

Her mind traced the patterns of the people moving through the coffee shop almost of its own volition. She watched the ghostly after traces that tracked each and every movement, indelibly lodged in her mind’s eye even if she didn’t pay conscious attention to it all. It was like those long exposure pictures of car headlights at night…each moment drawn out in a sweep of colour but also captured in minute details should she care to think back and analyse it all.

And it wasn’t just the visual clues that her magic tracked. It was buzzing in here for a Sunday morning, the rare sunshine bringing people out in droves. The smells of coffee, both the burnt acrid scent of Kaf and the richer aroma of real coffee, mixed with floral perfumes, slightly unwashed bodies and a host of other scents. The air tasted of energy, the vigorous bustle of people desperately trying to have a good time.

And there she was again. The weird kid, Summer. She stood motionless amongst the all the movement, the patterns diverting around her. Only her eyes followed Silk. It was disturbing to be scrutinised like that, even if she knew that the technomancer was in theory friendly, or neutral at the least. She wanted to blend in, be unnoticed, and someone was bound to remark eventually about her pint sized stalker.

Silk supressed a sigh as she accepted yet another transfer without a tip. It wasn’t that she needed the money and she certainly didn’t begrudge the students holding on to their precious cash but her cover almost demanded that she complain about it to the other staff members later and she really didn’t have the energy.

She was still sore from the procedure and her new muscle fibres were taking some getting used to. She found she had to reign herself in as she moved faster and more gracefully than before but hadn’t adjusted to the feel of them. She had raised more than a few eyebrows when she had caught that falling stack of cups and the last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself. All in all this was shaping up to be an interesting day and that curse would always be the bane of a shadowrunner, particularly one that relied on stealth and obfuscation.

Her body, and the magic inherent in it, itched to align itself with the pattern and help her to fade into obscurity. Not for the first time Silk regretted taking a job in such a public place but in order to avoid questions about her real activities she needed a place to be in Seattle and this was the most flexible job she could find in keeping with her supposed role as a student. Well, she was a student in reality but thoughts of her degree had been subsumed by her desire to find the truth about her mother’s death.

Damn Summer, and damn her interference. Silk surreptitiously engaged her ‘link and dialled in the back door code that accessed her work ‘link, a customised Avalon, quietly resting in her apartment several blocks away. The mesh opened before her and she fired up Herne. Although the powers of the agent were severely diminished running through this connection it should be sufficient for this task.

A mental command through the trode net woven into her hair sent the powerful tool on its appointed mission

~Find the biological node of the entity Summer and send her the following message. “I can’t talk here. Meet me outside on my break. You are drawing attention to yourself, and worse, to me. Please leave before people notice.”~

With her back turned to the room she felt Summer get up and leave, noting the change in the feel of the air. She dismissed her feelings of unease for now, she would interrogate the girl later, assuming she did try and contact her when she stopped for a break. She returned to a rowdy group of male students who seemed more interested in her than the coffee, but that was the kind of attention she could deflect without undue concern.

***
A short time later, Silk meandered onto the Green outside the new Arts block. The place was awash with students enjoying the warmth, playing games, reading, most interacting with the matrix despite the ephemeral beauty of the early summer day. Of course an AR overlay would also wash out the litter blowing across the park and the grey tinge to the blighted grass. She extended her senses, feeling the reverberation of the nearby traffic and the hum of human life.

And Summer was there, a point of stillness amongst the tumult. In a teenager such calm was disturbing, although Silk sensed that it was the calm of imposed restraint rather than nature. As Silk approached her she became animated, breaking into a smile that Silk felt was entirely warranted. She spoke more gruffly than she had intended but something about her sparked a nerve

“You found me then? I haven’t got long so what do you want?” Summer’s response masked a shyness that lurked under the surface

“I needed to see you. I have news…”

“About my Mum?” Silk broke in, her stomach clenching at the thought of finally getting something to go on

“No, I’m sorry, not that. It’s about the missing people, the ones you were looking for. I’ve seen them.”

“I… okay, but couldn’t you have sent me a data package? Look, you know what I do, having attention drawn to me is the last thing I need. Give me the info and I will pass it on to the others. If there’s something we can do then you know we will help. Hooding is an established tradition after all.”

“Oh, I know you’ll help. I just wanted to see you, to see if it’s true”

“What’s true?”

“You’ll see” and she smiled coyly up at Silk. Damn hackers, this one was almost as bad as Aria, and trying to follow her mercurial mind was impossible.

***
Silk paused in the door to her apartment, letting her mind subconsciously scrutinise the space for signs of an intruder. Thankfully there were none and she felt her body immediately lose its tenseness as she returned to her sanctum. She tossed her lightweight coat onto the worktop in the kitchenette and poured herself some water from the filter, not being about to trust her system to the crap they pumped in through the mains supply.

The place was spartan, bare of almost any decoration visible to the naked eye. The AR display more than made up for this though and she let the images wash over her now that she was convinced she was alone. A stunning vista of the Seattle skyline opened up before her, one that would never be visible from this cramped student block. Diaphanous curtains wafted in an invisible breeze and the late evening sun struck across a cool marble floor.

Perfunctorily checking her messages in a window she allowed herself a moment to scan through the search material that her fetch had been winnowing off the matrix. Still there was nothing that offered a clue about those harrowing events, over a year old now, and she began to despair of ever finding anything useful. Aria had advised her not to give up hope, that all information was out there somewhere, but Silk suspected it was going to take more than luck to offer them any concrete leads.

***
The virtual Citadel game offered the perfect meeting place for a group of shadowrunners looking for a quiet location to be unobserved. The VR game attracted so many different types that it would be all but impossible to track one small group. In fact the place was so large, metaphorically speaking, and so real when run hot that they had even used some of the game worlds as training exercises before a run.

Silk’s icon was not her usual celtic maiden, she had chosen a medieval far-eastern beauty in diaphanous silks, more appropriate to the setting that were meeting in.

Striding past the Gatekeeper she avoided the throngs in the gathering hall and went to a little used portal in a quiet corner. Using the codes that Aria had provided them with she slipped through a seam in the wall and into the blistering heat and dusty sands of a desert plane. Wind blasted rocks were stark against a violet sky, sculpted into impossible forms. A vizier in heavy robes was waiting for her, Bale, and behind him she could see the others already here.

“I have some news…it looks like we have a location on our missing persons, now we just need to decide if we are going in…”

Against his instincts, Mordred pauses to let the technomancer work. It seemed the man had a chance to swing the odds in their favor. The adept will tap him on the shoulder once he finishes. "Come on, we have to keep moving. They're probably calling for reinforcements." Mordred resumes running, or as close to running as you could manage while supporting an ork. "Can you calm the child down? The noise might give us away." Not to mention that it was wearing his patience thin. He had gotten his fill of crying children on the plane ride here, thank you.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
Pan: Turned Off, Under Trid Phantasm

Anselm meanwhile had been looking the two newcomers over from the astral and seeing that while their auras held panic they did not seem overly hostile. Feeling that the time to announce himself was right after seeing the two new people obviously protecting the father and son, Anselm quietly called from a few feet away, from behind the silvery haired woman who he could see was magically inclined, "I am here my son s you have no need to worry about me. I will want an explanation of how I arrived unconscious at this address but that can wait as we seem rather preoccupied. No, don't shoot, I'm cloaked under the protection of God at the moment from prying eyes!"

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN=Passive; SIN:Nina Okada

It seems everyone shares the concerns about a screaming little child. Tusbaki couldn't say she liked children... but it's still too early for her to dislike them. Talking to a child wasn't like talking to an adult. It wasn't as easy as learning Chinese, Sperethiel, or anything, for that matter. Children had their own language. One language Tsubaki may never truly master as quickly as she could any other normal language in the Sixth World.

The shadowrunner approaches the technomancer, who is turned away to inform the other Frenchman of the group something about a little drone in the sky, but instead of interrupting this, Tsubaki directs her attention to the crying boy in the man's arms. Unfortunately, the woman doesn't have anything to appease the upset child with, such as candies or toys, or whatever children were interested in this day and age... but nothing ventured, nothing gained, is the saying. Tsubaki usually isn't this optimistic. Or, so she likes to think.

She isn't sure if the technomancer's son is old enough to speak or understand words yet, so the silver-haired woman first chooses to offer the child a momentary distraction from the chaos. Tsubaki raises her hands to her face and curls them into fists, turning them outward, like cat paws. "Meow." Children like to be amused, right? Better the kid be a smiling kid than a crying kid.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:53:35; Everett, Everett Medical Center, Room 403]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

Saint smiled, still in her street walker persona. He had money, as his room would indicate, and that was good enough for a street walker.

"Last minute appointment, Erica Doe. I have that speed pass." She said, hoping the obvious was notable without any further question.

"Got a serious problem with my ocular implant, on the fritz every three seconds. My omae Crabby--" She laughed, shaking her head, placing a hand there in an attempt to hide her faux embarrassment, "sorry, Jessica. She said you were first rate with headware, so here I am. Doesn't work out it if I'm winking at customers like a camera shutter, I'd be ever so grateful for your time."

She let the last part drip like honey from her mouth, leaving it open-ended for his mind to wander. She might even be able to work out that last 500 nuyen ordeal left over from having the "speed pass" in the first place. What she really needed to focus on was his reaction to either name, Saint didn't know which pseudonym she'd gone under, so it was best to cover all bases. Also, his take on being a headware expert. She was blissfully unaware of what the Astral let Adrian get a glimpse of, and none-the-wiser of his potentially sinister presence.

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 19:45 PM; CZ, Chicago]

Jess tagged along a little way behind. If they were jumped she wanted the chance to out maneuver them. Dressed in her CZ raider garb she looked the part, and with this small of a team surprise was gonna be important. She easily traversed the difficult terrain imposed by the Chicago CZ. She was scanning the floor around her for any obstacles. This wasn't gonna be a good time to turn an ankle. Still, she was glad to hear they were heading into a mana void. It didn't help Copperhead, but she was sure there were nastier things out there and this gave her an advantage.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

Gemeaux is busy using his rifle's sight to try and find a bead on the drone when the tell-tale lisp of Mr. Hill sounds in the background. He grumbles a reply, still focusing most of his efforts on finding the damn thing in the sky.

"Ah, Frère Jacques, dormez-vous pas plus. I am glad to hear that you are no longer sleeping on the job, but unless you have come to tell me that you have done something useful like bring my effects then just piss off for the moment. I have a shot to take, and there are already enough distractions here."

And then we will discuss the consequences of your ill-played cloak and dagger routine...

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]

Making a mental note to make a few pointed prayers for the assassin cum bodyguard and his legendary patience Anselm quietly returned to the other side of the house, peering around the corner before seeing the tank drive off around the other side of the house in an effort to continue the pursuit. No personnel were on the ground it would appear and so he quickly dashed to the limo and popped the door open ever so slightly. The inside was a shambles, everything thrown every which way with no sense of what belonged to whom, however Anselm did spot the ubiquitous bag that his bodyguard had so lovingly carried on the short trip to the chapel. Quickly scooping it up and then grabbing a few other important looking items, Anselm scooted back for the other side of the house where his companions where stationed to warn them of the oncoming tank, however delayed it might be in reaching them.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:54:12; Everett, Everett Medical Center, Room 403]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor, Edge: 5 / 6

Hmm, now that's smooth. Just hope he'd buy it just as easily as I would have, had I not known better.

As Saint delivers her spiel, Adrian decides to keep it cool. Or rather, as cool as one would expect under the circumstances from someone completely inexperienced in the shadows. Let's just say that his shaking could be put down to a pretty serious Cram addiction...

Hopefully I'm gonna ask Uncle Wu what that guy is; hopefully...

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

With babies crying and invisible mages proclaiming their arrivals, Gemeaux turns to Vivienne to help him block out the sound.

<<[Gemeaux]: Vivienne, can you begin playing something to block out the background noise? I need to be able to concentrate, so something predictable would be best.>>

<<[Vivienne]: Understood, Gemeaux. I think this is appropriate given the circumstances.>>

Gemeaux grins when the familiar strains of Saint-Saëns' Danse Macabre begin playing in his earbuds. He returns his focus to the scope, trying to figure out the best path to his tiny and nigh invisible target in the sky. The sprite and the smartgun data seem to play about, dancing almost in rhythm to the music. He waits for a musical buildup in the piece, and then squeezes the trigger...

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:54:21; Everett, Everett Medical Center, Room 403]

The doctor's interested glance seemed to twitch not one iota at Saint's obvious come on and transparent willingness but he switched into what could only be termed "operation mentality" as he got up from behind the desk and motioned for Saint to sit down, "Of course, of course, please sit. When did this malfunction first occur and in which implant is the malfunction occurring?" As Saint sat in the chair that had been offered, the doctor picked up a diagnostic stylus and aimed it at her eyes, "I'm sorry ma'am it would seem that your wireless function is not working? Have you accidentally disabled it or is that an error as well?"

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]

Gemeaux’s shot is barely audible above the roar of the Citymaster’s throaty engine as it moves off. To his sight there is a dull flash and then a dimly seen plume of sparks and smoke rapidly descending…it would seem that the shot hit its mark and that you have a small window when you are in the clear. But that can’t last long…

Suddenly the child, clearly through none of Tsubaki’s amusing efforts, quiets and the father looks up suddenly

“The jamming, it is gone completely…they call for help now…”

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 20:17 PM; CZ, Chicago]

As you move through the blighted urban landscape of the once proud Chicago you are constantly amazed at the rapidity of the decay. Buildings that should have stood for another fifty years are crumbling about you and the roads are chocked with debris which shifts disturbingly underfoot as you pick your way carefully in the half light.

The devil rats are bolder here than you have ever seen them in the past. They stop to watch you, whiskers quivering and their beady red eyes weighing up whether you are about to be vulnerable enough to be their next meal.

The attack when it comes is almost a relief from the mounting tension. It’s not your whiskered watchers or the feared bugs. Boiling out of a ruined doorway are three ragged humans and an orc, almost feral in appearance and clutching makeshift weapons like a bad simflik. The light that burns in their eyes lacks any semblance of humanity although you don’t believe it signifies anything more sinister than the degradation of the populace in this wasteland.

It almost seems a waste of ammunition to put them down…

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]

"Nice shot, however, that tank is going down the other side of the block and we had better vacate the premises while we can... oh and here is some gear that i retrieved... think thats your ungainly sack right there," and Anselm set down the suitcase and other pieces before stepping back so that his field of protection no longer shrouded them, "and some other items I don't recognize, most probably belonging to your two friends here... Though introductions can wait I suggest we leave... now."

Anselm swiftly began walking to the treeline that was easily seen southeast of the houses, away from the sound of the tank that seemed to be going north along the road to cross somewhere further ahead.

"Agreed. And thank you." Mordred shoulders his duffel bag and follows the mage. Nice to get his equipment back, however useful it would be on this mission. They couldn't continue by car. They were lucky to have walked away after that citymaster rammed them. Why risk injury and possible death a second time? That is, vehicle related injury and death. If he wanted to be safe, he would have stayed home.

"Please tell you know where we are supposed to take you." He looks to Charlie and the technomancer for answers. It occurred to him that the child calmed down as soon as the jamming stopped. Was the little one Emerged, too?

@Fortune's Forecast
[Monday, April 18th, 2072, 00:54:20; Everett, Everett Medical Center, Room 403]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor, Edge: 5 / 6

As Saint takes centre stage, Adrian tries not to attract any undue attention, keeping an eye in the doctor's aura.

Yup, you keep on ignoring me and talking to her...

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

Gemeaux tracks the shot through the scope, cracking a wide smile when he sees the flash of smoke in the distance. He takes a moment to admire his handiwork.

"That, my friends," he says, "is a shot of legend." He shoulders the rifle, and gives the sorcier technologique a congratulatory handshake.

"Well done, my friend. Perhaps you might consider the life of a tireur d'élite? There is nothing quite like 'threading the needle' from a kilometer or two away."

Ah, if only I had a bit of wine to celebrate...

As if on cue, Mr. Hill arrives toting the baggage. Gemeaux is someone taken aback that the mage actually took his flippant remark to heart. Grateful that the priest did not simply 'piss off,' he even chooses to overlook the snark of his reply. After all, does one good turn not deserve another? When the mage walks out, Gemeaux checks his baggage to see if one of his treasures managed to survive the ordeal.

Ah, there you are my beautiful...

He withdraws his silver flask of Cassis, opens it, and raises it in the air.

"A toast to Fortune, may she continue to keep us in her good graces."

Gemeaux takes a liberal swig of wine, and then reseals and replaces the flask in his luggage.

"Now with that business out of the way, I take it we can depart? Have any of you had any luck in finding a replacement vehicle?"

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 20:17 PM; CZ, Chicago]
PAN: Hidden, SIN: Charlotte Church

Copperhead couldn't say what it was that drew her attention to the ruined building. A noise, a glimpse of a heat signature or a whispered warning from Snake. Whatever it was, she is already turning towards it and bringing up her shotgun when the ragged figures tumble out of it with their makeshift weapons.

She pulls the gun tight against her body, using the foregrip to steer the smartlink targ. It almost seems a waste of ammunition to put them down and may draw even more unwanted attention. But as Cutter once told her, "Ya don't bring a blade to a gunfight."

That, plus her wariness of using her magic here and uncertainty about her companions combat capabilities, make the decision to shoot the only sensible option.

She picks out the ork as the biggest threat and lines up the gun with his chest as they close on her. Sorry, chummer!

The big gun roars and bucks in her steel grip.