@Fortune's Forecast
Mark Freedland
[April 18th 2072, 22:49:07 Seattle, 1 block from the apartment]
PAN = OFF, ID = Burt Price

The plan was simple, get in, apply tactical pressure to the target, get out; and yet Mark couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong. A boss, even for a triad as small as the 88's, never went with so little security. Mark supposed it had to do with saving face before the incense master but something still nagged at the back of Mark's mind.

"Time to go ladies," Tony quietly whispered from the back of the car where the trid representation of his conscious mind, now very much immersed in the matrix, sprang up from the tiny projector, "everything is clean in the net, back door should be unlocked just as you get there, 50 seconds to get from the back door to the front room of the third floor, 2 staircases. Be careful, the cyber nanny reports an issue with staircase 2, it creaks apparently and there are orders for maintenance on the central system. I'll shout if anything funny goes on outside but once you're in, it's all you mark."

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 21:25:45 Leaving Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]

The troll looked Jack over for a few seconds then nodded, though at the comment or at Jack's obvious inebriation he wasn't certain, "Yeah lexi I can do that, close scrape there. We going to repay the favor later?" Hawke nodded and the troll seemed to settle into the role he had been given. "Where's your doss kid? You got two days to crash then I'll come pick you up natch?"

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 00:31:45, Dust 514, UCAS Server, Lounge]
SIN: Morgan Senlis, PAN: Active

It all happened so suddenly that LeFay could do little else but stare at the spot her contact had occupied mere moments before. But it didn't take long for her shock to be replaced by a crushing fear and, somehow, sense of loss. Whatever she was, the girl had seemed like a friend. A few years before, Morgan would have retreated into the physical world, into her bed. Another child her age might have done the same. Not tonight. Morgan had realized long ago that learning the secrets of the Resonance was going to require making some things less of a priority. Matrix law and her personal safety, to name a couple.

Still, it didn't mean she had to go it alone. Morgan had to trace the path left behind by the girl, and that wasn't a power she possessed. The witch pointed a finger at the floor of the node. Moving it as if she were using a pen, LeFay inscribed a strange symbol, something like a stylized lyre. "Forcas," she intoned, deciding on a name and appearance for the Sleuth sprite. "He who reveals the hidden. Come forth." A veritable wave of liquid mercury surged forth, looming to swallow the little witch.

LeFay stood her ground, though she could swear she felt her heart racing. "Enough," Morgan tried desperately to sound commanding. "I have need of your services." The mass of metal froze inches from her face. It then eased backwards and shrank, taking the form of a giant of a man, clad in armor. The sprite chuckled in a deep voice, then inclined its head in a bow.

Morgan pointed to the faint trail. "I need you figure out where this leads and lead me there." Footsteps thudding against the floor, the sprite walked over to where the trail began. Forcas knelt and placed a hand to the thin line.

That's one. Which means you only have one left. The pale hand of her paragon plucked the carving from the wall. With a flash of light, it changed into a metallic vessel decorated with the same symbol. The paragon tossed it over to LeFay.

"I know how to count, thank you." Morgan became testy when she was nervous. "I'll register him when I need to," she said, catching the vessel. The technomancer was aware she had just avoided being hurt badly, considering the effort required to summon her sprite. She was not in a hurry to take that risk again.

Very well. But I would remind you, my little protege, that one cannot be too prepared. LeFay had turned to watch Forcas work. She nodded silently.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:47:20; Kreig's Motors, Reading, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

Gemeaux nods politely to Argent, doing his best to keep from appearing flummoxed at the magical parlance.

"I see. Then I look forward to the time when we can meet in person once this adventure has come to a close. Indeed, I may find it just as enlightening. Alas, I am heartbroken to leave my beautiful Marseilles, but she shall always be there for me when the time to return is right.

"I suspect your gentleman may be our best bet at the moment, especially if Monsieur Hill is not being modest about the extent of his contacts here."

@Fortune's Forecast
Mark Freedland
[Monday, April 18th 2072, 22:49:27 Seattle, 1 block from the apartment, getting closer]
PAN = OFF, ID = Burt Price

Screwing the silencer onto the end of his gun, Mark can't prevent a sardonic smile showing on his face.
Yeah, right. A simple thing, no problems. Just like at the docks.

Looking at the duffel bag Tony had packed with what seems little interest in any kind of order, Mark picks his new toy - the Urban Comabt - over his trusted old Ak-97.
Any trouble crops up, might at least try and handle it silently.
Making sure he has a full spare mag for all his guns, including the special, Mark zips the bag closed.

On the other hand...
Opening the bag up again, he stuffs three grenades into his windbreaker's pockets - flashbang, gas - pepper punch - and smoke.

Getting out alive with a couple of bangs beats dying silently.

Mark closes the bag again, pushes it underneath his seat, pulls down his mask - feels a bit awkward over his glasses - turns to Silvio on the back seat - similarly masked -, gives him the tumbs-up, turns back and nods to Tony. Let's do this.

Wonder if Sil's smiling underneath that mask. He sure likes grenades.

Good thing the target building is already coming into sight, the suspense this short before action is killing Mark.

Focusing his concentration on his commlink for a second, he checks it's status for the probably dozenth's time - wireless: off; skinlink: active; cyberware: all within operational parameters; bioware: who knows?; glasses and gun register as linked, low-light and smartgun systems operational, he's got a Colt America L36 in his right hand - not my right hand! - with 11 rounds of regular ammo in the magazine and there's a silencer attacked to it's muzzle...
Note to self: Subsonic rounds next time?

Before he can reach a decision in this matter - or go off in other tangents -, the car slows down, they have reached their destination...

@Fortune's Forecast
Adrian Anderson
[Monday, April 18th, 2072, 01:19:01; Everett, Pamela's Pie Palace]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor, Edge: 5 / 6

Huh, Saint, there's something about Doctor Bailey I gotta talk about. And for that matter, I better tell you something about me first...

Making a short pause, the young yogi wonders how to explain, then decides on working with - what he hopes is - Trid-fueled general knowledge. While technically not exactly correct, I'm a mage; sort of.
He gives Saint a weal smile, then remembering what mages on the Trid usually do, he adds Well, I'm certainly no Karl Kombat Mage, tossing around fireballs and telling spirits to rip people apart. Shuddering, he continues In fact both my ShiFu and Yidam, err sorry, my teacher and my spirit mentor would never condone such things. Lost in thought for a moment, he has to retrace his mental steps to get back on track. Anyway, what I do do is see and feel things, mostly. And what I've seen and felt in Doc Bailey's office was... most disturbing.

Come on, concentrate, get your thoughts straigthened out, organise what you know then lay it out for someone who doesn't deal with this every day. Someone who doesn't... Frak me! I don't deal with this every day!

Seeing that Saint hasn't upped and left yet - there is a wary look, well known to him by now, in her eyes, though -, he takes a calming deep breath and continues in a more orderly fashion
One: Doc Bailey is capable of some kind of magic, too.
Two: There are many types, traditions we call them, of magic and his seems very close to mine; yet somehow wrong, polluting - evil.
Three: He definately lied when he yelled at you that he's helping everyone - maybe he doesn't like killing, but he accepts the death of poeple such as Jessica as necessary.
Four: I don't know about his magical capabilities, but I wouldn't bet on my being able to protect us if he decided to unleash them...

With a sad sigh, Adrian concludes his monologue, just in time for their tea and cake.

As the waitress leaves, he adds As I'm sure I've forgotten some things and not properly expressed others, please ask me anything you want.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 00:31:42, Dust 514, UCAS Server, Lounge]
SIN: Morgan Senlis, PAN: Active

Morgan sighed. So close, and yet so far. She couldn't possibly get the to Arcology now. Not in the middle of the night. The witch paced the virtual floor, mulling over the possibility. Could she crack the security on her parents' list of contacts? Find a runner who would be willing to take her on a field trip? LeFay chuckled humorlessly at herself. And it would definitely have to be a runner. No team worth its salt would be willing to work for a paltry 2000 nuyen. She sighed again, deeper this time.

"Thank you." The witch said to the metallic man. "Now, then. I may need your help again." She opened the vessel, and Forcas exploded into a million pieces. To her credit, Morgan avoided most of the resulting shards. The sprite then reconstituted, giving her an apologetic smile.

She felt the pain in both her physical and virtual being. This was bad. Morgan was unused to discomfort, let alone an actual wound. More importantly, injuries had to be explained. LeFay would probably spend the next day merely feeling sore and tired, but if she pushed herself further, there would be visible signs she had been hurt. Like heavy bleeding. Why did she summon something too strong to control? The witch placed her vessel on the ground and watched it dissolve back into data.

"...in which case, I will call upon you once more." In a more managable form, however. "Browse the matrix for information on yourself, then present it to me." After presenting LeFay with a few pages worth of material on the mythical Forcas, the sprite also returned to the Resonance.

For the first time in years, Morgan decided to sleep through the night. She had no desire to continue her game. Not while there was something to be accomplished come the next day.

@Fortune's Forecast / Scratch
[April 18th, 2072, 00:31:23, Abandoned Wharf, 76th Pl W, Everett]


She settled into a resting pose, and almost immediatly moved again when the boards under her feet creaked alarmingly...this guy's home? Who in their right mind would live on this death trap?

"Look, I don't want to hurt him, okay? Well not much but that's beside the point. He asked me to come and see him here, said he'd be here a few minutes ago. I don't know why here, but I hope he's got the intel I need to find my friend. If he's not on the quay I'll go and wait back on land, less chance of me falling into the water! Sorry I disturbed you, hope the fishing's ok..." and she trailed off, not quite sure what to say or think anymore...

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:47:20; Kreig's Motors, Reading, UK]

Argent smiles at you all "Bien, I will put you in touch with the Professor. He's a researcher at the university and seems to have a knack for bypassing the travel restrictions in England - I suspect that's just what you need right now. Kreig can supply you with a change of vehicle, I'll have a word in a minute and rouse him from his pit. Is there anything else you all need? Ammo isn't my speciality but if you ask Kreig he may know someone, for the right price no doubt..."

@E:PL/Chi Town / Copperhead
[July 8th, 2072, 20:22 PM; CZ, Chicago]

From her position of cover Copperhead sees Ælias give a nod and suddenly after a burst of static she gets an inside glimpse of the comm traffic of the team, all two of them, ahead of her. With their attackers disorientated by the loud booming shotgun they begin a rapid retreat in your general direction.

<<You can hear me? Your hacker said you could...we'll talk later about you violating our comm channels, right now I'm just glad to see some backup. You one of A's groups? Said there might be more of us out here. Frag, left side...>> a flurry of fire and another attacker disappears from sight <<Let's talk in a minute yeah?>>

Copperhead's diminutive spirit unseats another rider and nearly distracts her into walking into another crossbow bolt. Thankfully a hissed warning in her mind gets her to duck behind a fallen piece of ferrocrete. The shotgun barks again and a fuel tank explodes on one of the crappy bikes. The luckless driver is launched into the air and comes down with a sickening crunch.

@E:PL/Chi Town
[July 8th, 2072, 20:22 PM; CZ, Chicago]
PAN: Hidden, SIN: Charlotte Church

Copperhead pumps a fist as the bike explodes.

"I gots plenty more of dat, you fraggers!" she hoots at the gangers over the explosion and gunfire.

She swings the big shotgun back up and pumps another pair of rounds at the nearest target, then ducks back into cover to compose a reply to the incoming message.

<<This is Copperhead. I read you loud and clear, omae. Yeah, we are on the same team and just be thankful our decker did hack your encryption. Otherwise, I might be shooting at you rather than the other guys.>>

She emphasizes the message by pumping another two rounds in the direction of the gangers.

<<Keep heading towards my position, but watch your nine and don't shoot the pretty keeb. She's on my team.>>

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 00:31:42, Dust 514, UCAS Server, Lounge]
SIN: Morgan Senlis, PAN: Active

"If you were dressed in brighter colors, we'd look like the set of Wizard of Oz during break time." LeFay had a habit of letting her mind wander. "You know, with a witch and a tin man. Well, mercury." The witch was seated in a corner of the node, with the Sleuth sprite looking on.

Focus. You must rely on your talents to see you to your goal. Now...

Morgan continued to bounce ideas off the paragon. "Cracking Mother or Father's commlink for an appropriate guide is sounding like a better idea all the time," she admitted with a frown. "But let's call that Plan B." She rested her chin on her knees. "Suppose I have someone cover for me after school. Say I'm joining a club or something. Then sneak out a back door and switch to the SIN Riley gave me."

You'd still need your parents' approval Besides, they aren't the only ones watching.

"That's right..." She glanced at the sprite. "Can you check if I have an RFID tag anywhere on my person?"

@Fortune's Forecast
[Monday, April 18th, 2072, 01:23:10; Everett, Pamela's Pie Palace]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

She didn't have time to study him, her face went pale at the mention of Bailey being a mage. If she'd have known, she would've never stepped foot in the place. Her fears made her paranoid as her lips dried out and her palms got sweaty. What had she gotten herself into? That man could've fried her brain and turned her into a human meat puppet for his own sadistic pleasures, that idea spawned other dark thoughts, and it was starting to make her feel violated in the worst way. She'd never do that again, her memories were too precious.

When her eyes came back to Sport, they were filled with accusatory contempt.

"What in Dunkelzahn's magical ass, Sport?!" Remembering her location, and the proximity of prying ears calmed her a moment, she visibly attempted to calm herself enough to at the very least shout a whisper. "You're a mojo slinger? And you didn't bother to tell me until now?"

Her mind went to another dark place, he could sense feelings, HE was most likely able to read her mind, too! Mimicking his list of points, she continued it.

"Five: Stay the hell outta my head.
Six: I'm going to assume any thoughts about liking you were planted.

How the hell am I supposed to trust you now? That's too big of a secret to be holding all to yourself while I stood there next to you, how do I know you haven't already done something to me or stole all my secrets?."

She withdrew from him into her chair, he could tell she was bottling up, the once sure woman had gone from royally pissed at him to something else... He had reason to believe it might even be fear. She wouldn't make eye contact, she hadn't moved from her chair, but she was hugging herself tightly, staring at the floor beneath the table until her eyes seemed to glaze over.

Adrian Anderson
[Monday, April 18th, 2072, 01:23:12; Everett, Pamela's Pie Palace]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor, Edge: 5 / 6

Watching Saint, Adrian's mind is consumed by one thought: Not again. Please, not again...

As the - by now almost usual - catastrophe unfolds, he can only console himself in two ways. At least, she didn't run out. At least it's not adoration. Fear and hate - while still painful - were relatively bearable compared to the unjustified devotion he had evoked in a few people before. For a second he can't help but think of the stalker who had followed him for a while, turning up everywhere, picking fights, thinking his "spellworm best buddy is gonna kick ass(es)".

Having gone through this before doesn't completely help keeping the hurt he feels at these accusations from creeping into his voice.

I... Saint, I didn't plant anything in your mind, I wouldn't do that; couldn't even if I'd want to and I don't wanna ever learn to. And I, I don't read minds. Damn, been here a hundred times, still not getting easier. Sorry.
It's more like an improved version of what everybody does. You know, how people say that someone's beaming with joy, fuming with anger, green with envy; for me they're not just metaphors, if I concentrate on someone, I can actually see strong emotions, no thoughts and only strong emotions - such as with Dr. Bailey who was radiating both regret and grim determination when dead prostitutes came up.

Taking a moment's pause, Adrian sips at his tea. On to the big fish...

How to trust me? How to trust anyone in this kind of worldf? Honestly, I got no easy answer. One has to go with his gut feeling.
Taking the spoon out of his tea cup, he licks it, places it on his napkin and pushes it into the middle of the table. Guess Moose was right that I'm the kind of guy who'd mess up his cover in record time.
And I guess someone has to start wit it. My real name's Adrian Anderson, licensed magical practitioner and pilot. Last I checked, using a counterfeit SIN was a crime. Make an anonymous tip-off with my DNA here and my cab registration and even Knight Errant might be bothered to get active. I'm sorry for not telling you sooner and for how you are feeling now. Only thing in my defense I can say is: If one part of you caused practically everybody you meet to think of you either as a demon or some kind of freak superman before you had any chance of registering as a person, would you really hurry to share it?

@Fortune's Forecast
[Monday, April 18th, 2072, 01:23:58; Everett, Pamela's Pie Palace]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

It took her a moment, but she looked back up to him a moment. She'd had time to withdraw, but she caught on the words he'd said at the last part. He did seem genuinely hurt as well, she didn't have to read his mind to do that. And from how he described it, he did pretty much the same thing she did on a daily basis. Which was about the same time she felt like she'd totally made a complete ass out of herself.

Here he was spilling the beans about his personal matters, when she'd have never told the truth in the first place. He really didn't seem the type to lie very well, and his points were valid enough. This business wasn't filled with friendly, charitable faces; this was the real world after all. It was hard coming to grips that she'd totally over-reacted, but she'd never seen a mage before, and now that she took a second look at him, even with the new label she had for him, he still didn't look any different than he did before. No magical astral wings, a severe lack of magical symbols or crazy wizard robes. In fact, he looked Joe Average, if he was magical, he had to be hiding it on purpose. She had secrets of her own, and she planned to keep them just that.

"I-- I'm sorry," she managed, even though she couldn't look him in the eye when she said it. The shame on her face was pretty obvious. "I feel like a massive slitch now," letting out a nervous laugh while she spoke, "I didn't know you guys could be-- well, so lame."

Then she realized she'd did it again, not fully able to call on her central powers of foot-in-mouth remover. Her eyes went wide, realizing she'd probably offended him. "Oh my god, I didn't mean for it to come out that way. Please don't turn my pie into a monster that wants to eat me!" She was talking a mile a minute, flinching as if expecting the worst when she was finished. The serious apology, and the plea for her life were honest, but it didn't stop it from being at least a little bit amusing.

Adrian Anderson
[Monday, April 18th, 2072, 01:24:01; Everett, Pamela's Pie Palace]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor, Edge: 5 / 6

Waiting for Saint's reaction, he wonders what it'll be and how to behave. His right hand decides to take the fork and put some cake into his mouth.

Still not running, a good sign at least.

As Saint's apology he wants to open his mouth, remembers the cake, swallows and... Lame?

Before he can react to that, she fires off another salvo of words.

Genuine the outburst is, Adrian still can't help but smile a little at the idea of the cake getting up and moving on its own.

Nah, wasting good cake that way would be... lame.

That the right time to make jokes? Between lame and dangerous you want her to decide on the latter?

Sorry, couldn't resist that one. It's Ok, I'm not gonna hurt you. Look, we've both had a tough night, how 'bout we catch some sleep, think it over and meet again, say in the afternoon?

Sleep, hah! And dream of exploding heads. Guess I'd better go see my uncle first.

Balefire
[Tuesday June 14th, 2072; Under the Sintec Facility, Downtown Seattle]

The quiet was shattered by a sudden grinding and then crash as a rent wing mirror finally gave up its fight against gravity and crashed down on the still form of one of the corpsec team. Cobalt’s high velocity rifle spun slowly to a stop, the barrels glowing a dim red against the darkness of the chameleon cloaked form.

Bale’s voice came weakly across the comm

<<Sound off, who’s still here?>>

<<Still alive, barely>> Requiem

<<Yes, I’m still here>> Silk replied

<<Now let’s get the frag out>> Riptide

<<Amen! Sounds like they’ve finally realised we’re too much to handle. A call went out to Knight Errant and they are inbound. We do not want to tangle with them! I’m recalling my drones and bugging out, see you at the rendezvous>>

Silk struggled out from behind the crumbling car that had been sheltering her, favouring her shoulder and inwardly wincing at the sticky feeling of blood that was restricting her movements. Her mind instinctively catalogued her surroundings, the ruined bodies and the traces of the fight in the smells of cordite and the streaks left in concrete and vehicles from stray rounds. Her chrono and senses told her that the fight had lasted a brutal twenty seconds, no more, it was the strange effect of ‘combat time’ that made it feel so much longer.

<<Are our charges ok? We lost Emma, did the others make it?>>

<<For now. Sam is injured but he’ll live. You take the decoy Rover. We’ll jam your signal through the link and we can scrub the vehicle for tags once we are a distance away, or just ditch it>>

So they had rescued four of the nine, and the cost was higher still considering the damage these bastards did to the tribe when they came hunting. The loss of a research lab would barely dent Sintec’s bottom line but hopefully liberating these people would slow whatever their foul research hoped to achieve. There was even a chance that they had their data backed up on site, the fire above them might eat through their servers and cause significant harm.

***

About a mile from the rendezvous Silk and Requiem pulled over. As far as they could tell they had avoided pursuit for now but given they were using one of Sintec’s motor pool it seemed prudent to change vehicles now rather than spend the time trying to clean it for digital tags. It wouldn’t take long for Knight Errant to track their route through the gridguide cams if they wanted to, it depended on how much Sintec wanted to involve them, so this underpass offered them a momentary haven.

Levering herself gingerly out of the passenger seat Silk climbed down. She lifted the helmet away from her head, wiping the sweaty strands of hair off her face and drying any traces of tears. Requiem was limping badly and the people they had liberated weren’t in much better shape.

Peeling back the blood soaked armour it took all of Silk’s willpower to stop herself crying out. Even then a whimper escaped her as the medpatch was stuck on just over the reddened flesh around the exit wound. At least the round had gone through cleanly and she still seemed to have some use of her arm. She had been shot a couple of times before and it wasn’t something that she particularly wanted to repeat. Usually the work that they did was more successful and everyone walked away unscathed.

While first aid was applied to all their wounds a signal was sent out to their backup vehicle; a basic Americar that had been tasked with circling the run site on a random route waiting for their call. The thrum of its ethanol engine was very welcome and the four of them climbed in onto the plastic sheets thoughtfully spread across the interior to catch any rogue forensic evidence.

***

As they pulled up beside Opium’s Hermes van Silk took particular note of the feed from the invisible gasbag drone hovering above them. It provided a reassuring degree of aerial surveillance for a significant distance around them, and barring milspec grade sensors, should be more or less undetectable. She had been taught not to rely on it, but it felt good to have the tactical grid up again. Tonight’s activities were proof enough that it sometimes was unavailable and there was always the risk of it being compromised as Riptide had done to their opponents.

The team’s Roadmaster was also there and this would make a more convenient meeting place for the team and the people they had rescued. Opium would join them via AR feed as usual; the illusive hacker could be the other side of the world for all that Silk knew. She did know that her skills and the drones she manipulated with them had saved their collective arses tonight.

Wearily the runners gathered in the back of the truck, gratefully slumping into the comfortable seats installed for just that purpose.

Bale stood as they clambered on board and helped them in one by one. He gruffly indicated that Silk should peel the remainder of her armour off, and sitting in her underwear she withstood the numb stares of the people they had liberated. Requiem received similar treatment, gingerly removing his armour and the body glove under it. Silk watched once more in amazement as Bale worked his magic, the wounds in Requiem’s leg visibly scarring over under the gentle blue light that emanated from Bale’s palms.

By the time he was finished he was staggering from exhaustion but the worst of their injuries where nothing more than painful memories. That wasn’t to say they weren’t hurting, if another significant threat came after them now they would probably just stare at it as it ripped through them.

***

After the brief rest that was all Bale would allow them he addressed their charges

“Sam, Casie, John, David…” the bewildered quartet just nodded mutely “We’re going to take you back to Prospero now. The tribe had to move on after the attack and they’ve relocated to the south so don’t worry if you don’t recognise where you’re going. You’re safe now with us. I’m Bale, this is Silk, Requiem and Riptide in the front. Opium’s out there somewhere” he gestured vaguely “keeping an eye on us all. There will be time for questions later, just take it easy now and we’ll get you home. If there’s anything you need let one of us know…”

@E:PL/Chi Town
[July 8th, 2072, 20:22 PM; CZ, Chicago]

With the battle turning unexpectedly against them the attackers seemed to disappear like cockroaches under a torch beam. An apt but uncomfortable analogy given where the runners find themselves. The tall suited figure turns back to his fallen comrade and appears to dismiss him. Evidently life is as cheap here as ever. Striding towards Copperhead he disengages the helmet seals on his armour and with a hiss, slides it off his head. Copperhead sees revealed a slightly sweaty but otherwise attractive elf, aren’t all daisy eaters too attractive for their own good?

His companion follows suit, although the more robust figure turns out to be an orc with an interesting array of nanotats writhing over his face.

“Thanks for the intervention. Bastards seemed to know we were coming. Just hope they don’t know where we’re heading. You can call me Requiem…the ugly one is Stitch…”

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 11:23; Outskirts of Oxford, UK]

Half an hour or so after leaving Kreig’s you are approaching the outskirts of Oxford in your borrowed wheels. The dreaming spires come into view, along with the corporate glass and steel monstrosities in the business district to the east of the centre. A hastily downloaded visitors guide lets you know that going to Oxford is like stepping back in time to a better place…for those with money no doubt, some things never change and it has its underbelly just like any other metropolitan area. You are bound for the centre however, and a meeting with this Professor that Argent set up for you before she whisked herself off to wherever it is that astrally projecting types go to…

You will need to leave your gas guzzler on the outskirts, no cars are permitted in the centre without the proper authorisations, which needless to say you don’t have. You can either take the bus in and act like tourists or hoof it. Kreig assured you that your more dubious possessions will be safe enough in the smuggling compartments of the motor until you are able to come back for them…

@E:PL/Chi Town
[July 8th, 2072, 20:22 PM; CZ, Chicago]

Jess emerged out of some nearby rubble from where she had been viewing the action. She wasn't much for this full-on combat. Too messy and not nearly discrete enough. Fortunately she was good at being discrete and inconspicuous, so normally managed to avoid such situations.

She stood next to Copperhead and gave this new group a looking over before timidly introducing herself.

@E:PL/Chi Town
[July 8th, 2072, 20:22 PM; CZ, Chicago]
PAN: Hidden, SIN: Charlotte Church

Frag, hope he doesn't take the 'keeb' remark seriously. You never know with elves.

She slides her goggles back onto her forehead and loosens the respirator, giving the pair a friendly, tusky smile.

"Pleased ta meetcha. Nice tats bro. I'm Copperhead. Gangbanger and magic support. Although wid da background count here, mainly da former. Our decker is Ælias. Hey Ælias, you can come outs now. Dey is runned away. And Jess is.."

She breaks off as the elf woman steps out of cover and lets her introduce herself, taking the time to replace the drum on the Enfield with a fresh one.

Yeah, what the frag are you, Jess?

She nods to where Requiem's fallen teammate lies.

"Sorry about yer chummer. I fink its best we sticks together till we gets outta here. We spotted a fragging B-U-G earlier and da locals so far aint been too fraggin friendly."

She chews on a ration bar while they discuss options and sips water from her canteen. Only when they agree to move on does she reseal her mask and pull the goggles back down. Requiem and Stitch take point as they are at least stealthier than she is. Copperhead follows a little behind, but close enough to back them up if they run into trouble. Ælias and Jess bring up the rear.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 11:23; Outskirts of Oxford, UK]
SIN: Spencer Lovett, PAN: Active

A scornful chuckle escapes the adept's mouth. "You know, my old man always wanted me to go to a school like Oxford. I presume he was hoping for different circumstances, though." The place reminded him of home, which wasn't a good thing. Oxford was entirely too much like Bellevue. Thousands of people living in the sort of luxury and security only an absolute authority could provide.

Mordred knew he resembled the type of person this authority wanted to keep away from its citizens. In an attempt to blend in just a little better, he had swapped his earlier outfit for a dark blue suit, and made a token attempt at tidying his hair. "I say we walk," he said quietly, trying to avoid being overheard. "Try not to look like we're all together in a group, and talk through our commlinks." The adept had also taken along what he could conceal in his suit. A taser, the autopicker, and some ammunition.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 11:23; Outskirts of Oxford, UK]
PAN=Active; SIN:Nina Okada

The taser fits right into her back pocket. It even comes equipped with a neat little laser light and a total of 12 taser darts. Tsubaki humbly accepts the little bit of equipment Kreig's Motors provides for her...

The lack of effort the man called Mordred takes in an attempt to conform all the hairs on his head in the way nature planned it bothers Tsubaki. She will step up beside him, reach up with a single hand, and tend to the one stray strand at the back of his head that was missed. It's because Tsubaki is nice like that. Distracted more so, but it's really because the woman is being nice. Really. So, as Mordred suggests the route by foot, the woman gladly replies simply, "I like walking." She wonders how the others felt about it, too. It sounded like they all weren't going to lose or gain any time on foot or by public transportation.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 11:23; Outskirts of Oxford, UK]
SIN: Spencer Lovett, PAN: Active

The adept didn't quite know what to say or do. Perhaps the issue was that her gesture was a friendly one. For Mordred, physical contact was usually violent, and his only reply was a swift, vicious counter attack. Here, it would have been an overreaction, to say in the least. The adept continued walking for a second or two before looking back to say, "Thank you." Mordred looked over Tsubaki's shoulder to see if Collot and his son were alright.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 11:23; Outskirts of Oxford, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

Gemeaux grimaces at the prospect of going on foot. First, I endure a flight in a commonplace cargo plane. Then, I am subjected to a cramped drive in a towncar. Now, I am expected to walk? How quaint. At least I am properly dressed for the weather. He pulls his long coat over his new change of clothes, a loose long-sleeved casual shirt, sweater vest, and a pair of designer jeans. He had taken the opportunity to change back at Krieg's, throwing away the entire set. While only the pants were torn, the set was ruined---not to mention a dead giveaway for any bobby worth his baton looking for a Frenchman dressed in stylish spring wear.

He slips his two pistols into concealed holsters. One goes in the coat and one under the vest. He grabs his spare pistol clips, and takes them along as well. He leaves the more telling tools of his trade back in the car. After all, one does not simply walk into Oxford armed to the teeth like a gun-toting hooligan.

"I am ready to leave when you are," he says to the others.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 11:23; Outskirts of Oxford, UK]

As you make your way towards the centre of Oxford you gradually blend in with the crowds strolling in the early summer sunshine. Ahead of you the dreaming spires rise in their antique glory whilst the modern corporate spires dominate the skyline off to the east of you...that is an area to be avoided. Although the whole of Oxford (indeed much of the UK) is blanketted in surveillance, here at least the crowds provide you with some annonimity.

The Turf Tavern is a quirky little place reached through a series of lanes and back allies off the beaten track. It is obviously popular with the locals and the place is packed solid...the low ceilings make it particularly clostrophobic. Eventually you have to be directed by one of the bar staff to a table on the first floor. It is quieter here and the elderly gentleman and scholar that rises to great you is the perfect stereotype of his kind

"Bonjour mes amis...Argent said that you would find me. She tells me that you need to travel in our fair isle? Well I am certainly the one to help you with that...please, sit!"

@E:PL/Chi Town
[July 8th, 2072, 20:22 PM; CZ, Chicago]

Requiem looked back at his fallen comrade

"He's no chummer of mine. Idiot should have known better than to trust just his armour to a crossbow bolt. Just because they are low tech doesn't mean they can't hurt you! This place gives me the creeps...sooner we are out of here the more comfortable I'll be. And she tells me that our target is inside a former nest! How the frag do we know it's former anyway? Bloody things..."

Reingaging his chameleon armour he ghosts ahead

<<I reacon our ETA must be about an hour now, this turrain sucks but it shouldn't get much harder. You lot get the same spiel about contacting for accurate coords when we get closer?>>

@E:PL/Chi Town
[July 8th, 2072, 20:22 PM; CZ, Chicago]
PAN: Hidden, SIN: Charlotte Church

Copperhead follows carefully after Requiem and Stitch. The pair are almost invisible and she can only track them from the occasional flash of heat against the cooler surroundings.

I wonder if I can get this outfit chameleon coated. It's not quite invisibility but a hell of a lot less effort than having to sustaining the spell.

She grins at the faint hiss of discontent from her mentor. She knows she will likely pay for the remark with a harsh lesson on sustaining spells when they get out of the zone.

<<Yah, further instructions to follow when we gets to da first checkpoint. Da lady is keeping dis one close ta her chest. She seemed worried about others snooping about. I assume dat's why she didnt tell us up front. I'd like ta gets in and out quick too. I dont still wanna be here when it gets light.>>

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 11:23; Outskirts of Oxford, UK]
PAN=Active; SIN:Nina Okada

"So," Tsubaki slides into a chair. "What do you have planned for us~?"

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 11:23; Outskirts of Oxford, UK]
SIN: Spencer Lovett, PAN: Active

Mordred joins them at the table. "Did Argent fill you in on the specifics of our situation?" He continues talking in a low voice. With such a large crowd, you never knew who was listening in. If there is a menu or drink list of any kind, the adept leaves it untouched.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 12:04; The Turf Tavern, Oxford, UK]

The professor smiles kindly at you all, cramped around the table or looming in the timbered alcove

"Non, Argent was not so indescreet as that, I only know that you need to travel West, your reasons are your own. I can arange travel papers but it depends a bit on your favoured method of transport? The train is probably the safest, if least salubrious ways of travelling and you are less likely to draw attention to yourselves that way. Security at the stations is of moderate effectiveness and there are spot checks but that is probably less conspicuous than a car. So, how discrete do you need to be?"

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 11:23; Outskirts of Oxford, UK]
SIN: Spencer Lovett, PAN: Active

The merest hint of a smile appeared on Mordred's face, then vanished. "I don't ever expect to know how discreet I will need to be in this case, but I want to be as much so as metahumanly possible." He thought about their situation. "With the consent of my companions, I feel I should defer to your judgment in this case. Our job is to escort two...highly sought after individuals to the location Argent mentioned. We ourselves are carrying some sensitive tools that might be necessary for our task. Do you believe the train would be the safest method of transport, or do you recommend an alternative?"

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 12:05; The Turf Tavern, Oxford, UK]

"I did not ask where you are going, only that you need to go to somewhere in the West Country. That is the domain of the noble classes and travel can be tricky sometimes. If you stick to the side roads though you should be able to slip through discretely. It sounds to me as though a car might be better than the vagueries of public transport, simply by going on what you have hinted at. Hmmm, I might be able to get you permits to visit Glastonbury as scholars on my staff. It isn't unknown for us to use our own transport. Yes, I think that would do nicely..."

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 12:05; The Turf Tavern, Oxford, UK]
SIN: Spencer Lovett, PAN: Active

At least they could claim to be studying a location he knew some little about. Glastonbury was rather significant to the Arthurian legend. "That sounds like a plan. But there is one other possible complication." Getting Luc where he needed to be safely. Rather than beating around the bush, he decided to mention the issue of the child outright. "Of the two people we are escorting..." His gaze turned to the Collots. "One is that child. It'd be strange for one of your staff to have a toddler accompanying him." In the absence of any other recourse, it might fall upon them to conceal the technomancer's son. Perhaps the mage could do so with a spell?

@E:PL/Chi Town
[July 8th, 2072, 21:53 PM; CZ, Chicago]
PAN: Hidden, SIN: Charlotte Church

They were deep in the containment zone now. Copperhead could feel the astral taint clearly, like a rash on her armored skin. She makes a face behind her mask. Snake has retreated to the deepest recesses of her mind, a vague presence that radiates distaste and discomfort. Ahead, Requiem and Stitch flit through the darkness, while Ælias and Jess follow silently behind.

Frag it, we're leaving as soon as we find these kids even if it's high fragging noon. I'd rather get cooked than stay here any longer than I have too.

<<Hey chummers, we dere yet? We gotta be close enough ta da rendezvous point ta give da lady a call. Ælias, time ta earn yer keep and get us a link ta da outside world and missus J!>>

@E:PL/Chi Town
[July 8th, 2072, 21:57 PM; CZ, Chicago]

With your skin crawling at the feeling of exposure you wait in the ruins of this once proud city whilst a muttering technomancer fiddles with a micro sat dish in an attempt to contact the outside world. After what seems an age he gives a grunt of contentment and sends you the coords from Argent - it looks like it is finally time to go underground!

Requiem pales visibly at the thought of going down below, that one has some serious problems with this place, more so than the rest of you perhaps, hopefully it won't be a problem!

"Frag me, let's get this over and done with I want to get the hell out of here!"

The coordinates point to a semi ruined plant space for the complex that still looms above you, some sort of medical centre or hospital...the thought of bug spirits coming for the helpless patients flashes across your mind's eye...

@E:PL/Chi Town
[July 8th, 2072, 21:58 PM; CZ, Chicago]
PAN: Hidden, SIN: Charlotte Church

Copperhead looks around at each of her companions. She didn't need to be a mage to see their unease.

Frag, I'm damn close to crapping my pants too.

She licks her lips, clears her throat and whispers her thoughts.

"Stay close. Stay frosty. None of us wants ta be here, so we moves fast, gets the packages and gets out. Load for bear and hopes for da best. An' maybe I can't use my mojo here, but if youse stays where I cans sees ya I can still protects ya somewhat."

She waits for the others to move out, then extends what meager protection she can summon over them before following up at the rear.

@Fortune's Forecast
[Monday, April 18th, 2072, 01:24:22; Everett, Pamela's Pie Palace]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

"Yeah." She said tersely and to the point, still trying to sort out just what she thought about him now. Too much to find the humor in his words.

"I'll meet up with you tomorrow for the fresh start, and even if this leads nowhere, I might have something else for us to do, provided it's still on the table. You're an all right guy, Sport, I need time to process this. See ya when I see ya."

With that she lifted herself from the table, throwing up her hand in a farewell gesture. She exited the the Pie Palace with a relieved sigh. Nothing about the mojo world sat right with her, perhaps because she knew so little about it. In any case, she felt more comfortable putting some distance between her and this whole affair. She was good with that, running away from problems until she could cope with them or find a work-around. She was tactical, or at least she liked to think that's what it was, most other runners had a phrase for that though. Running scared.

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 12:05; The Turf Tavern, Oxford, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

Gemeaux absentmindedly draws a cigarette, lights it, and puts it to his lips. He savors the tang of nicotine as it enters his system, and listens quietly to the others speak. When Mordred mentions the issue of the child, he offers his own thoughts on the matter.

"Perhaps it is not so strange to have a young couple of scholars bring their child along, yes? We have the people here to play out that part, so long as Madame Tsubaki is willing to engage in the charade. It would be fact mixed with fiction, which I find makes for the most believable cloaks of deception."

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 12:05; The Turf Tavern, Oxford, UK]

The Professor frowned at the waft of cigarette smoke from Gemeaux and you can almost visibly see him mutter something about the French.

"Yes, yes, the child will not be a problem provided we write it into your documents. And a family unit always draws less attention than a group of gentlemen travelling together. Fine, I will see to the arrangements. It may take a couple of days to sort the particulars so if you would like to provide me with contact details I will inform you when things are completed. You have somewhere to stay in Oxford…?”

@E:PL/Chi Town
[July 8th, 2072, 21:58 PM; CZ, Chicago]

You cautiously begin your approach to the plantroom. There is a pervading smell of rust and stagnant water and it seems clear that nobody has been here in a very long time. Suddenly Ælias reels back, falling into a crumbling pile of desiccated concrete and protruding rebar.

“Someone just tried to access my node. I would say that we are in the right place. I’ll try and contact them if I can, let them know we’re friendlies. Otherwise I suggest everyone turns off anything wireless for now…”

Wading into the murky interior has an unsettling aura about it and in Copperhead’s mind there is a hissed warning. The smell is vaguely metallic, dry over the obvious wet environs. Requiem is visibly shaking now and almost as obviously fighting an internal battle about moving forwards.

Your lowlight torches show you the wreckage of air handling equipment, boilers and other unknown machinery. All of it is corroded and obviously non functioning. Towards the back of this area there are stairs heading down…and you do have to go down, don’t you…?

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 12:05; The Turf Tavern, Oxford, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

Gemeaux's lips curve into a smirk as he sees the Professor's reaction. Under different circumstances, he might toss a few offhand observations about the British, but he appreciates the situation. He offers the easiest way out of this sticky predicament that a "simple bodyguard job" has turned into. He wets his fingers with the condensation left on the table from a cold glass of water, snuffs out the cigarette, and expertly flicks it across the room towards the nearest trash can. The cigarette lands perfectly in the center of the can, which teases his smirk into a self-satisfied grin.

"At the moment, we do not," Gemeaux replies, getting back on topic. "We would be most grateful if you could recommend a place, preferably one that offers a bit of comfort along with privacy."

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 12:05; The Turf Tavern, Oxford, UK]
PAN: Active SIN:Bryan Axelross

Anselm sat quietly, half-distracted by the recent turn of events pacing methodically through his mind while the rest of the entourage discussed the plans to provide safer transit to the West Country. The mention of the child and the tangential thought that followed about little details needing to be addressed jarred the priest back into the moment, with a slight cough to follow the Frenchman's comment, Anselm interjected, "Ah and on the mention of small details of great consequence to the traveling papers.... what can you do in the way of provisions for those with arcane tendencies? I know enough Arthurian lore to be useful and pass for a scholar, but tie that in with my talents and we could get a much closer look from any intrusive agencies than we might wish."

Everything had been so well wrapped up on entry but now being an unregistered mage in the UK was making itself felt in the most unpleasant way. Ruefully Anselm considered that he would need to speak with Father Randal about some of the rumors of more esoteric blessings which some of his brethren had mentioned in passing, a way to shroud ones gifts from the enemies of the Lord, without diluting them... that would be a powerful blessing indeed.

@Fortune's Forecast
Mark Freedland
[Monday, April 18th 2072, 22:52:27 Seattle, the apartment]
PAN = OFF, ID = Burt Price

Mark and Sil slipped quietly from the suspiciously noiseless car that kept rolling as it deposited them in the back alleyway and proceeded out to the main thoroughfare. Only a slight scuffing sound, made on Sil's rather ungraceful dismount broke the silence of the night and even that was quickly swallowed by the hazy black and silvery orange haze that was Seattle's constant nightly companion. Two liquid shadows, Mark and Sil flowed onwards; just another part of the fabric of darkness that flowed towards the gate, heavily overgrown with a heavy creeping ivy that seemed to take on an ethereal sheen in the half-light of the distant street lights.

Sil edged slightly out of the recess in which the two had taken refuge and peeked around the intervening ivy at the general area where the ARO's indicated the security camera and pinpad assembly would be located. Moments dragged into ages and Mark could only hear the steady beating of his heart, calm and collected but heightened nonetheless as he felt the pressure and urgency to act slowly build.

Finally, Sil edged backwards, so slowly as to appear almost statuesque. He turned to Mark once back in the recess and mouthed words that came across the connection, yet would have been inaudible for all but the best sonic detection equipment, "Looks clean, all lights are green and the cam is looking at the other end of the alleyway, didn't see it move so I think Tony's got that covered as planned. Probably twenty feet to the house from what I could see; lot's of bushes to the right, sand boxes or something and a pond to the left, bout ten feet in... howd'ya want to do this?"

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 00:31:44, Dust 514, UCAS Server, Lounge]
SIN: Morgan Senlis, PAN: Active

The being of quicksilver and light seemed to flow and dance about her for a time that seemed to stretch into eternity for Morgan's overextended nervous system and, almost at the point of brusquely rebuking the sprite it suddenly flowed back into a thinking man position, "Mistress, you have several identifiers." The sprite resolved into a plaque with romanesque engravings detailing the position and location of each of the possible rfid tags and Morgan almost screamed in frustration; the list stretched for as far down as her mind's eye could reach. I never realized how much information is kept! The paragon sounded amused, if that were possible for a being entirely composed of bits and pixels to comprehend, "What is the purpose of the Vashon Island lingerie line in your case? I was not aware that you had made a data-sharing agreement with another of your kind?"

Morgan blushed a deep red, a full body blush that emanated red light from her whole icon. Quickly, she mentally recomposed herself into a sedate and responsible looking young woman, fully clothed of course and most modest. The NERVE! Morgan found herself once again wondering just how much her guide understood of human emotions and preconceptions. Mentally making a note to reconsider undergarment choices if they could be broadcast so widely to the world she was nonplussed to see that the Horizon SoyChoc bar which she had consumed was apparently telling the world that she had a rather unhealthy diet given the contents of her stomach. "Why?! Why?! What purpose is there to putting a tag in a soychoc bar?!" Knowing the immediate answer, marketing, made Morgan feel no better, if anything it made her even more peevish.

@E:PL/Chi Town
[July 8th, 2072, 21:59 PM; CZ, Chicago]
PAN: Hidden, SIN: Charlotte Church

Copperhead glares at Ælias as he picks himself up.

"Are you shittin' me omae? I gots all my gear slaved ta my 'link so I ain't shutting it off. We is here ta rescue dese kids so talks ta dem and tell em to stay de frag outta our comms."

She closes her eyes and focuses on her link. She mentally dials the range back to zero just like her decker buddy Slater had shown her.

At least now if they try and hack my link they need to be close enough I can shoot them.

"Lissen up, chummers. I just dialed back my 'link ta zero so if ya wanna talk to me, you gotta actually talks ta me."

She looks at the gaping maw of the stairs then gives Requiem a worried look. She turns to Stitch.

"Stitch, you wanna take point. An' everyone stay sharp. I gots da feelin' we aint alone here and, whatever it is, it ain't on our side."

@Fortune's Forecast
[Monday, April 18th, 2072, 01:25:22; Everett, Pamela's Pie Palace]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor, Edge: 5 / 6

Yup, see you tomorrow then.

Seems I didn't botch it completely. Wonder what this 'something' else might be.

Eating the rest of his cake and finishing his tea, Adrian does a rough estimate in his head, determining that he has enough time to get home, sleep a few hours and be at his uncle's house after his morning meditation.

Mirroring Saint's exit, he sighs as well on leaving the restaurant.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 00:31:44, Dust 514, UCAS Server, Lounge]
SIN: Morgan Senlis, PAN: Active

With her emotions mostly under control, the witch scans the data for anything relevant, all the while muttering rebelliously about insane advertisers. Though, really, marketing was just a small part of the issue. She was being confronted (with some of the most artistic proof possible) that she had been walking around with her daily life on display. As had her peers. You had to wonder who was watching.

Morgan then begins rationalizing about the two digital entities hovering nearby. They were sapient, as far as she could tell. Inextricably bound to her, but sapient. That said, they were inhuman intelligences, even if her paragon was the media incarnate. Odds were they didn't understand her needs and choices beyond the obvious. So it wasn't as if she needed to worry about them knowing. Hopefully.

"They're comfortable, and I'm not currently in a relationship." Morgan said, copying the sculpture. She sent the data to her commlink with a flick of her wrist that indicated the matter was closed.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 21:26:17 Leaving Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]

Jack made an important survival decision in the moments that followed. Food is good. Sleep is good. I need both. Many other cognitive abilities escaped him at the moment, and the giant troll kept talking at him but it wasn't making as much sense as it normally would. Jack pressed some buttons on his link and sent the troll an address, his address. When he walked in the door the place looked like his, this was a real plus. He kept his eyes open long enough to make it to the bed before flopping. The world melted away with the soft embrace of his favorite pillow.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 05:00:00 The Pad]

"WAKE UP BOY!!!! You want to learn how to shoot boy!? Get up now!", Jack was abruptly woken from a deep slumber and pleasant dream about becca by the most unearthly screech and a very solid hand to the face. "So lazy pindo! все карточные фокусы и не трудовая этика ... глупый белый мусор." Jack hurriedly snatched the bedsheets back over his now nude body to guard against the sudden chill and sheer terror of being woken by a wrinkled old hag who slowly resolved, through the haze of sleep and drugs, into the old lady from the Crimean.

As he switched his focus around the room Jack realized that it now contained many more cases of stuff, particularly interesting stuff, given that it looked like ammunition crates from old trid documents.