Silk listened hard, the voice didn't sound like a drugged out ganger so perhaps there was a chance for negotiation here...

"I'm investigating the fracas last night, and I'm not a cop...perhaps we could talk?"

Copperhead scoops up the bug and then watches the guar's boots for a moment to make sure they are not coming towards her or Cutter. As nervous seconds tick by she scans the next row of trucks, hoping to find the last one they need to tag. Grimacing as her scan comes up empty, she whispers to the spirit floating in the astral next to her.

"Spirit, grant me your power of concealment. I ask only dis task of you and will free you from my service as soon as I haz completed my own."

Lenny had told her that spirits didn't particularly like being in service to mortals and that you needed to treat them with respect if you wanted them to bind them again. She hopes she has got it right as she slips to the next row of trucks and scans for the last licence plate.

<<@Cutter: Get clear once you're done. The air spirit I summoned is concealing me so I should be able to get out without any trouble.>>

[January 6th, 2072; Summeroaks Apartments]

Dahlia frowned, edging away from the still sleepy forms of her younger brother and the sniper. Seti didn't seem to stir, so Dahlia nudged his leg a bit harder with her foot. Though the room was almost completely dark, some light from the streets cut the room into ragged polygons of illumination. Vision enhancement pointed out additional details that Dahlia's unaugmented vision would have missed.

Investigating the fracas? No, cops wouldn't come to investigate something like this, anyway. So that meant that the...girl, it sounded like a girl, outside the door had something invested in what had happened. The question that remained was what exactly this person had at steak.

"Perhaps. What is it that you need to know?" Dahlia inquired.

Monday, January 4th, 2072 0600 hours
[PAN: Ariel Juagahan, Public Mode, AR]
Joanna's Apartment

With a gentle wake-up from his commlink, Ariel rolls over to get a little more time with Joanna before geting into the shower.
I could get accustom to this really easily. A moment later, *sigh* It's time to find out how all those interviews turned out. rolling out of bed and strutting naked into the bathroom. Once out of the shower, all cleaned up and dry he slips on his suite and stows his pistol and knife in there concealment holsters. Kissing Joanna as she still slept he slipped out the door. Climbing into his truck he heads off the to regional headquarters for DocWagon.

[January 7th, 2072; Summeroaks Apartments]

Seti stirred into wakefulness. Dahlia was talking to someone through the door. "I'm investigating the fracas last night, and I'm not a cop...perhaps we could talk?" The disembodied voice drifted through the splintered door they had proped up last night.

"Perhaps. What is it that you need to know?" Dahlia was nudging his leg, and holding her dart pistol. He rolled up from where he was laying on the floor, and silently padded to the wall next to the door. If the stranger tried to kick down the door, he would blow her fucking head off.

Hey; better safe than sorry, eh?

Ariel
[January 4th, 2072; The Streets; 6:14 A.M.]

The morning found Ariel well as could be expected with having to show up at the crack of dawn at the regional HQ. Working the early shift tended to be garbage in most medical professions, the High Risk Team was typically an exception to that rule. The number of gangs, corporations, and shadow runners constantly plying their trade in the streets of Seattle ensured they would be constantly kept busy. Then there was the periodic high risk political figure who would catch a wayward shooting or stabbing.

He slid his truck to the front gate of the DocWagon headquarters and added his identity information to the queue. After a few minutes, a light dinged green and the gate lifted to let him past. After parking, he pulled his own gear from the back of the truck and turned to see a familiar face heading towards him.

Well; familiar faces.

The bald dwarf’s face permanently wore a mask of consternation and seeming as though he was pissed off at nothing in particular. Bouncing around him happily was a mongrel of a dog. Ears were pert and docked tail wagging happily. Bulldog. Or more specifically, Bull the dwarf and Dog the.. Dog.

He wasn’t a very imaginative man. Bull did not need to be though. His constant strategic thinking and love of large firearms that created even larger holes in people allowed him to perform his job well. Lead the way with his fire team so the medical team could do their job. Bull held out a hand, offering to carry something for Ariel if he needed it.

“Mornin’ there. About ready to plug some people up? Heard from the night guys there has been plenty going down since last night. Some failed corp invasion or somethin’.”

Ink
[January 6th, 2072; the Lodestone; 11:35 P.M.]

Ink gingerly sat the drink down on the table being especially careful not to spill any on the table or Ghost-forbid, his hands. He wasn’t entirely sure what was in it but Ink was not keen on finding out either.

After approaching the Astral figure, it turned him and moved his hands as though it was stirring a drink. “Oh yes, I love to come here. Always a good time, pretty ladies, good food, and of course; good liquor!”

Probing gently through the Astral, Ink could tell it was a manifestation of some sort. A ghost held here long after it should have passed over; along with several other ghosts.

Copperhead
[January 7th, 2072; the Corporate Truck Depot]

Cutter gave a silent nod to Copperhead and moved off further down the road. Her request for the spirit to conceal her was granted giving her a much easier time of moving through the garage undetected. It took a few seconds of scanning but finally she located the last truck on her side. Once the bug was in place, she slipped back towards the front of the garage and out the bay door.

She waited outside for a few minutes until Cutter finally slipped his way up to join her. “You know, I had a thought,” he said. “That went surprisingly smooth. No one tripped an alarm. No one alerted the guards. No one..”

“I know you’re broadcasting on purpose, ass. Now get away from the fence before I decide to turn the juice back on,” Slater’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Cutter grinned at Copperhead and chuckled to himself.

[January 7th, 2072; the Corporate Truck Depot]

Copperhead returns Cutter's grin and gives him a high five, then the two move off quickly before they are spotted.

As they reach the van, she let's out a suppressed yelp of satisfaction, a chromed hand punching the air.

"Null sheen, chummers. Nicely done. Tanks for da matrix cover Slater. I'll transmit your share when we get paid, but you might wanna end trans for now unless you wanna hear me and Cutter having noisy sex in the back of da van."

She giggles as the elven hacker makes a disgusted noise and breaks his connection. Then while Cutter drives, she slowly and carefully composes a message on her link.

<<@Mr O: Items delivered within schedule. As agreed, no corporate assets were fatally damaged during delivery. Awaiting further instructions.>>

Cutter drops her off near their squat and heads off to return the van. She stops by Lenny's place and tells him about her successful summoning attempt and picks up some more summoning materials for the future. She asks him about foci, and although he has a couple of leads, he tells he will let her know if he gets a hold of anything. She cruises the stalls in the makeshift market on her way home, picking up some more soymeals, bottled water and a crate of stolen Stella. Real booze! she thinks, Me and Cutter are gonna celebrate tonight. Then tomorrow I start looking for a decent place for us to stay!

"Perhaps. What is it that you need to know?"

"I set a drone watching the intruders last night, it seems to have taken up residence somewhere on your ceiling...perhaps I can come in and retrieve it...or you could bring it out to me?"

Ink
[January 6th, 2072; the Lodestone; 11:35 P.M.]

I will be damned...

"So, ah, friend," Ink asks slowly, "what brought you out here tonight?"

Looking around, he tries to gauge just how long these folks might have been dead, based on their clothing, the music or dancing, that sort of thing.

[January 7th, 2072; Summeroaks Apartments]

"I set a drone watching the intruders last night, it seems to have taken up residence somewhere on your ceiling...perhaps I can come in and retrieve it...or you could bring it out to me?"

Seti blinked with surprise. A drone? That recorded last night's exchange? Seti frowned, and narrowed his eyes. He was on that recording. So was Dahlia. Maybe even Asim. That drone couldn't leave the apartment, or at least, not without heavy editing. He glanced at Dahlia. What do you want to do, he mouthed.

"Look, I don't want any trouble...just hand me the drone and I'll be out of your hair...I need to find out what those fraggers were doing here and why they saw fit to try and fill me full of holes..."

[January 7th, 2072; Summeroaks Apartments]

Dahlia narrowed her eyes, but turned her head towards the ceiling. "One moment," she said, scanning the ceiling of her living room for the drone.

Monday, January 4th, 2072 0700 hours

You all herded into the building at the same time your arrivals timed down to the minute. Some of you who came in via car are even a little suspicious of the traffic delays. Silent men and women in the ubiquitous armored uniform of Docwagon direct you towards a squat bunker like structure amidst the perfectly manicured lawns and gleaming stone surfaces. Towering over the complex is the Docwagon headquarters its logo blazing bright in the shallow light of Dusk. A helpful helpfull AR tag pops up as you look at the logo reporting how many contract holders live in the Seattle 'plex and how many Docwagon teams are currently out saving lives and helping people. Your escorted past a simple wall made of polished granite names of fallen employee's etched into its surface. The doors to the ops building open and your lead down a series of corridors by a pleasant looking Italian woman the form fitting uniform clinging to her attractively but not immodestly. Her AR tag reads < Coleen Steffano> as she directs you to seats. The auditorium is huge capable of holding at least 50 people comfortably in leather seats spacious enough to sit a troll without discomfort and allowing more human sized personages to stretch out. At the front of the auditorium a man stands behind a podium with the company logo on the front. He's handsome, fair of hair and complexion, and physically looks young although the way he carries himself speaks to a breadth of experience. He's dressed in an expensive suit of conservative cut and styling and wouldn't look out of place amongst a crowd of salary men. His comlinks AR credentials read < Jeb Robards> and many of you have at least seen him before at your interviews although he rarely spoke during them usually preferring to let the HR suits do the talking. As the last of you file into your seats the lights in the auditorium go down and all outside wireless signals are suddenly lost as large screens flicker to life behind the podium displaying an AR augmented video. The very first scene after the logo is a soundless display of Docwagon personnel in fire resistant gear literally repel down into an inferno surrounding a small town from the back of a hovering helicoptor.

"Hello and congratulations on being here today, you've made it! You are all on the cusp of becoming something greater than your individual selves. By the fact that your here you've all been selected to join a unique organization and a unique company. You've been invited to join Code Black. While I won't pretend to judge your life up to this point or going forward I say with personal experience that it is the greatest honor I've ever been offered and it is one I work hard every day to live up to."

The music barely perceptible before now launches into a low key rendition of Dixie along with a very nicely done emotive track to go along with that bit of praise as the visual cuts to a shot of Docwagons world headquarters in Atlanta.

"Docwagon was founded to provide life saving medical care in a world gone mad." Jeb continues the screens changing to stills of the Night of Rage, Lofwyr sitting in on the board of Saeder Krup by peeling away the outer window and peeling in with a almost baleful eye and other tumultuous events of the 2030's. "Our goal has always been get there and get em help, when that goal necessitated armed teams to get into places our competitors wouldn't, leaving their clients and innocent civilians to die in the process I might add. Our business has always been about putting the safety of our clients and civilians first. We've struggled in a world where Justice is for sale and order comes at the barrel of a gun to bring a little safety back into people's lives, and we've even managed to turn a profit in the process." The screen cuts briefly to a chart of profits and stock price for docwagon, an AR overlay also contains Crashcart's performance, it is not nearly as good. "Though our detractors paint us as mercenary medics the simple truth is we help a lot of people that we don't strictly have to. When other HMO's considered being an Ork and Troll a pre-existing condition Docwagon was figuring out how to get the newest type of gods creature into the ambulance without their horns cracking the windshield as we took turns." A shot of converted bus Labeled Docwagon Disaster response is shown against a backdrop of a fire in the barrens as a line of displace people of all metatypes waits to get aid. "Bottom line is, when the world needs us Docwagon is there." Shots of some of the first HTRT come to the fore showing earnest young military types in patchwork armor escorting almost comically nervous looking medics into the middle of a full scale riot. The next shot cut to is a shot of a similar riot instigated by Neo-Anarchist forces in the Terminal section of Manhattan, a semi surrounded on all sides by protestors as an HTRT chopper comes over head and drops a team to extract the driver from his embattled vehicle. A barrage of tear gas and non lethal weaponry later the driver is being medivaced and the crowd is backing away from the truck. An AR window helpfully pops up <Casualties: 0 >.

"Our High Threat Response Teams interact with only a fraction of our clients but there is no one that denies HTRT's are the public face of the company selling contracts by ensuring that our customers know that we can enter most any situation to help them and pull their butts out of the fire." He smiles against the back lighting of the display. "I say this with no disrespect that the HTRT are the finest medical sledgehammer ever invented." Background cuts to a composite shot, HTRT in a forest fire, gang warfare, hot biological, and Nuclear situations, all getting people to safety. The pictures are obviously captured on scene but they look good enough to be from a Trid movie. The music then draws down and the lights go out, a much more somber emotive track plays against a soft rendition of taps. "But a hammer isn't the right tool for every job." The screens come up displaying a still shot. A Docwagon HTRT crouched around a nuclear bomb guns blazing at unseen attackers. "On November 2nd 2064, Docwagon agents received an emergency request for aid from the CAS government about a Nuclear device near Atlanta atop a otherwise quiet fault line. The device itself would have destroyed the city and the potential aftershocks and quakes would have potentially devastated the region. Our HTRT teams 10 and 12 were immediately mobilized and sent to the site by chopper. Their surprise attack prevented the Winternight terrorists from detonating the bomb remotely or immediately on site, however our combat doctrine of lightning attack and quick egress meant the teams were badly outmatched as Winnternight reserves attempted to retake the area. Those brave people held out against impossible odds knowing full well that the help wasn't going to be there in time. Their sacrifice bought Ares forces time to redirect a thor shot to neutralize the site." Cut to a bronze statue of the same earlier image on the corporate campus in Atlanta. "It has become clear to the corporation that no matter how good we try and be, no matter what value's we try and honor, there will be those who will hate us for what we stand for..." The screens display a shot of a Neo-A riot in Manhattan displaying anti-corporate propaganda. "...what we are....." The screens cut to shots of Los Alamos 20k and Spike gang members holding anti-metahuman and anti-human propaganda respectively ".....or those that would end a world out of their own nihilistic beliefs" A shot of the Thor's hammer symbol of the Winternight cult is displayed before being visibly blurred and broken by the Code Black symbol a Caduceus with its staff replaced by an obsidian black sword.

"The code black teams exist to broaden Docwagons tool set. Our other teams save literally thousands of lives a day, ideally you might save a few a week under your normal operations. I won't sugar coat it for you, most of the time you'll be catering to the needs of the wealthiest few percent of our client base and sometimes you may have to bend the laws or rules to get the job done, anyone who feels this criteria has been misrepresented to them may leave now with no hard feelings may leave now with a letter of recommendation either within the company or for your next position. For the rest of you welcome again to Code Black. I will now take any questions you may have before letting Coleen help you get settled into your quarters and facilities and allow you time to meet your team mates. A few of you have been singled out by the egg heads in HR for the possibility of the team leader slot so I'll be calling those folks back to my office at some point today. Any questions?"

Monday, January 4th, 2072 0700 hours
[PAN: Ariel Juagahan, Public Mode, AR]
DocWagon Regional Headquarters

Arriving at his destination Wow, that's timing were all here almost at once. This place looks nice, that looks like real grass and real stone even. Ariel finds a seat and makes him self comfortable. He watches the presentation with interest seeing video and pictures of events he has only heard about here in Seattle. That's a load off I made it. sighing lightly. After the presentation has finished he looks around at the other faces in the room to see who he'll be working with. Interesting bunch we have here looks like this is going to be fun.

Dahlia, Seti, Silk
[January 7th, 2072; Summeroaks Apartments]

The conversation passed through the shredded door regarding Silk’s drone seemed to be far more civil than the circumstances would have indicated. The trio of runners began hunting for the observation drone from their own respective positions. Perhaps use to deciphering the intricacies of gene sequences; Dahlia’s keen eyes were the ones that spotted it first. It clung to the wall, partially obscured by a piece of furniture. Whether or not it was still powered was not something she could ascertain.

Ink
[January 6th, 2072; the Lodestone; 11:35 P.M.]

Ink studied the spirit as it stood in place, trying to determine where he had seen that type of style and dress before. It left him frustrated as he realized he really had no idea of what period would be appropriate for that particular type of clothing and style.

“Well, my friend. The missus was interested in getting out to dance for a bit. You know how women are if they don’t get their way.” The spirit chuckled loudly and went to clap Ink on the shoulder as a playful gesture. He felt only a cold, numbing sensation where the hand passed through his shoulder. The spirit did not seem to notice this anomaly.

Ariel
[January 4th, 2072; 7:00 A.M.]

The presentation for the new inductees to the HTRT clearly showed the many, many challenges that would lay ahead along with the substantial risks. The rewards however, were well past worth it. The security the job offered in addition to the compensation and of course; the personal proving grounds that would test their mettle on a mission-by-mission basis.

“Ladies and gentlemen. You will be split up into five man teams and placed under an experienced team leader. That team leader will instruct the team leader-in-training and your team as you get your feet wet. We are not in the habit of sending our people into live fire situations without the appropriate training and leadership.”

Jeb’s eyes roamed around the room at the gathered mass of new inductees to the program. “Access the list AR board, look for your name, and the corresponding meeting room you should be in. The meeting rooms are all down this side hall. It is there you will meet your Training Leader and team-mates.”

He paused once more before continuing, “Ladies, gentlemen. I know many of you come from a variety of backgrounds. Some military, some not. Understand this; virtually every situation we head into could be our last.”

His eyes roamed from person to person, locking briefly before moving on. “This job will make you appreciate what you have in life far more. Never make the mistake of walking out of your door in the morning without kissing your husband or wife; hugging your children.”

The room was silent save for a few errant sounds of technology chirping while at work. “Dismissed!” Jeb called out, breaking the silence.

Copperhead
[January 7th, 2072]

Cutter had stayed behind while she went shopping to strip out his gear and ensure it was cleaned and maintained the way he wanted it. The small hovel that Lenny called a store seemed to be held together more by hopes and dreams than actual materials. It was a wonder he did not get robbed blind on a nearly constant basis. But then, what right (or wrong) minded individual was going to steal from someone who dabbled with spirits on a nearly constant basis. Copperhead could see the mischievous nature shimmering behind Lenny’s eyes as he alluded to a possible acquisition in the near future, to get in touch with him a couple days.

He would not give up any more information past that, simply leaving Copperhead hanging as she headed through the makeshift market retrieving her wares. A momentary break in her concentration was interrupted by a blinking message indicator from Anonymous.

<<Excellent job. Pass on my accolades to your team. O>>

She carried her wares home with a broad smile. Cutter sat on the couch with several parts of weapons strewn about him, including the loaded pistol he always kept on hand. He smiled up at her as she came through the door.

“Hey babe. Find anything interesting?”

Copperhead gives Cutter a tusky grin. She strikes a pose, running a metal hand down her side. "Just a bit of dis and dat.", she purrs back at him. "See anything you like?"

As his eyes track up and down her body, she lobs one of the cans of beer at him. Even distracted, his reactions are fast and he snaps the can out of the air with a grin. He cracks it open and downs it more or less in one, while Copperhead does the same with one of her own.

"I'm gonna talk wid Snake while you finish cleanin up da guns. Den we have a party."

She lobs him a second can, then swaggers off into the other room. She empties her beer while she moves about the room, adjusting the items of her lodge to her satisfaction. Then she settles down on the floor, legs crossed and sways back and forth as she slips out of her body and into the astral.

Somewhere nearby a snake hisses. She focuses her mind, realising that the beer was probably a bad move. She spots a pair of seprentlike eyes and moves towards them. They blink and a large serpent slithers off through the wall. She pushes through and pursues it. It flows around her and then away at a great speed, teasing her about her lack of control, lack of awareness and lack of power. Her arms, now a pair of serpents writhe in frustration and anger as she pursues the snake, trying to maintain her focus and presence. She loses track of time and space. The serpent leads her on a wild chase through astral space then just as she grabs at its tail, it disappears. She realizes that she is far from the barrens and is not initially sure how to get back. Things slither in the astral around her as she carefully focuses on her lifeline and backtracks to her body.

She awakes with a start, her heart pounding. Cutter is holding her with a concerned look on his face. "You was gone a long time, babe. You alright?

She clutches him tightly, letting her mind clear. "I'm good", she eventually whispers in his ear. "I got a good man watching my back."

[January 7th, 2072; Summeroaks Apartments]

Seti looked in the direction Dahlia indicated. There was a the little fucker. He couldn't quite make out its condition, though.

He composed a new message to Dahlia. <<I don't have any problem giving that guy his drone back, but first we need to make sure that we can't be identified on it. Any ideas how to do that?>>

[January 7th, 2072; Summeroaks Apartments]

Silk waited...there hadn't been any hostile action but neither had they come out with the drone in hand...perhaps she'd have to offer to buy it off them as she didn't feel much like another confrontation after yesterday...she still had a run to plan and this was proving to be a distraction

[January 7th, 2072; Summeroaks Apartments]

Dahlia reached forward, and took a few steps towards the wall and reached out to pluck the drone off the wall. She motioned vaguely to the door and then nodded her head towards Seti. Hopefully she'd get across the message for him to keep the stranger outside busy for a minute or so while she examined the drone.

Dahlia and Seti
[January 7th, 2072; Summeroaks Apartments, Renton]

The pair’s concern over the spy drone seemed justified and founded given their own vocations. Dahlia inspected the drone while Seti moved off towards the door to attempt to provide a bit of distraction. She stood in contemplation for a moment and heaved a sigh, realizing how pointless this was.

Any assault team worth a shit was going to have had surveillance with them. They had probably already been recorded repeatedly through the course of the combat, exchange, and while Seti haggled with the commander of the exfiltration team. She surmised the best bet they had to stay safe was to get moved as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Silk
[January 6th, 2072; In Renton]

Silk stood patiently outside of the door, waiting for them to open up rather than her just sliding under what was left of it. Most of the rest of the floor apartment building was starting to come to life, though the residents made no great strides to actually exit their homes. Doors would periodically open, looking for more signs of trouble and potential hostility.

Copperhead
[January 7th, 2072; the Squat]

Cutter stroked up and down her back lightly. “Yeah, I have my moments.”

The ork smiled at her and offered her the can he held in the other hand. “That’ll take the edge off I think!” He grinned a toothy smile at her and sat down on the edge of the bed, facing her.

Attention Anyone With AR NEWS Feed

A special report clips into the current broadcasts, honed in on a younger latino woman standing in front of Mitsuhama Computer Technologies. She looks as though she is addressing someone behind the camera before putting starting the sound feed.

“We interrupt this broadcast to bring you news of a gruesome discovery. This morning, Senji Okayama came to work at MCT like any other day but was greeted with a horrific find. An adult male identified as one of his executives, an adult female, a child, an adult dwarf, and an adult troll were all found beheaded and hanging upside down from the walls in his office from nails through their ankles. MCT’s security teams are currently looking into how their security could have been compromised in such a major fashion.”

The camera view panned slightly over to the right to reveal a Japanese man, smoking a cigarette; dressed in a rather fine suit.

“Mr. Okayama, what do you think the motivation behind this gruesome message was?”

He tapped the cigarette lightly and responded, “Intimidation, nothing more. They bring great disgrace upon themselves by butchering a woman and a child. Life is fleeting, honor is forever.”

“But sir what do you..” The businessman turned on his heel and headed back towards Mitsuhama, abruptly cutting her off.

“And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. It appears that Corp rivalries are taking a turn for the worse. I would not want to be on the receiving end of Mitsuhama’s wrath.”

With that, the feed cut out.

[January 7th, 2072; the Squat]

Copperhead jerks to her feet so quickly that she sends Cutter sprawling. She wobbles for a moment as the blood rushes to her head, then scrabbles at the trode net in her hair to get a better feed.

“Check da news. Our Mr. Okayjama's on right now. Holy frag, dey killed some of his people. Chopped of der heads and hung dem up in his office. Man, dis is bad shit. Oh, man, we're in some serious shit here. Should I call him?”

Cutter is on his feet, his eyes staring into space as he tunes into the feed.

"Chill babe. We need to keep a low profile. If he needs us, he'll call. If we don't like his offer, we just walk away."

Copperhead calms down a bit. "Yah, you're right. As always."

She wraps her arms around him in a bone crushing hug. His solid, calm presence grounds her. He is a solid wall of flesh and steel. He keeps her centered and safe in a world that just got a lot scarier, even for a cybered troll shaman.

[+4 MONTHS - APRIL 2072]

[April 15th, 2072; Touristville Precinct, Redmond]

The Captain polished the Firewatch badge once more and set it back on its mount on the expansive desk. He was proud of his achievements and despite some fools thinking he was being sidelined he knew that this posting was important to the company. So now he had swapped the glamour of combat for a shabby precinct on the Redmond border with Bellevue, that didn’t mean they were washing their hands of him, it was still a promotion dammit!

He winced as his bad leg stiffened...he silently cursed the damage that had reduced him to a glorified desk clerk. The magic had eaten away at the nerves and short of getting his leg hacked off there was little the surgeons could do. Apparently even that wouldn’t have been a sure thing, something about sympathetic damage in his system, the jargon was beyond his limited medical knowledge, or his desire to understand.

The takeover from Lonestar was moving along, although hardly smoothly, and he knew that his position here was tenuous given that most of his current staff were disgruntled hires from their old rival. He was determined that he would prove his competence and hopefully earn a more upwards promotion out of this shit hole. That meant he would have to bend the rules a little, but then that’s why they had put him here, he knew how to work the system, what could be bent and what outright broken to get the job done.

His duty Sergeant was worrying him...the man had far too much influence with the rank and file and he was stirring unnecessary unrest about their pay conditions. There must be some dirt on him that would provide the leverage required to get him to tone down his opinions, and the Captain knew just the person to facilitate a delicate matter like this...

[April 15th, 2072; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]

He barely controlled his collapse, huddling up against the gutted Ford Americar with the wheel rim digging into his back. His breath came in quick dry sobs and he clutched his left arm protectively to his chest. The blood that soaked through all three layers of clothing could hardly be seen against the weeks of accumulated grime. He was weak from loss of blood and the dizziness passed in waves. If they would only give him time to rest then things would be all right...

He glanced quickly into the shadows, his senses honed by years of living on the street, scenting the threat despite the dull throbbing in his head. The ugly, hairless devil rat, the wrinkled folds of its skin bunched over its powerful shoulders, approached out of a sewer opening. It slunk forwards, obviously drawn by the fresh blood, a chemical flag to its greedy mind. He shrank back against the car, trying to move his arm as little as possible. Three more pairs of malevolent red eyes appeared in the hole bellow the grate and he felt sick with the inevitability of what would come next.

He had seen packs of devil rats attacking other street indigents, the old or those too drunk to be able to escape in time. He had always been able to run with ease before but the bullet that had ripped through his arm, shattering the bone, had effectively doomed him in the harsh world of the barrens. He slipped a flick knife out of him pocket, wincing as he knocked his arm against the side of the car. The blade, sharp despite its age, engaged with a click and he held it out towards the devil rat.

The rat inched forwards, its nose constantly testing the air. Tears began rolling down his cheeks and he stifled a sob, a soft mew, the sound of cornered prey. He didn’t want to die, not here like this, unknown by the side of the road with a devil rat’s teeth locked together in his throat. The knife dipped, he no longer had the strength or the will to fight.

The rat stopped and began to wash its face, using its fore paws to smooth the decrepit whiskers, obscenely like the small brown rats which he used to hunt for food when desperate. It seemed in no hurry and completely oblivious to his presence now.

The other sets of eyes had disappeared, the fear came back, perhaps they had scented a larger predator. There were not many wild things in the sprawl that a devil rat would back down from but he had seen a few.

He closed his eyes and waited. He blinked them rapidly open and realised that he had been asleep. The rat was gone and a light rain was falling, dripping off the torn door frame of the car behind him and splashing uncomfortably onto the back of his neck. He shivered involuntarily and tried to stand only to find that he couldn't muster the energy for this simple act.

Behind him and some distance away he heard what he had been dreading since his desperate, panic stricken, flight had begun. The voices of the runners were drawing nearer and they were a far greater threat to him than any urban critter. Their malice would probably make his death far more painful and drawn out than the quick bite to the neck.

“Leave him he’s only some street kid, can’t have been more than eleven. Look, it’s raining, I’m cold and we have no real idea where he is now. These kids know the sprawl like the backs of their filthy hands, we’ll never find him now.”

“Johnson said no loose ends, all of ‘em, even the brats. Drek, if you haven’t got the guts just help me find him and I’ll do ‘im myself. I know he's here somewhere, I can smell 'im.”

The first voice was rumbling and quiet, the sort of voice that in normal circumstances he might let down his barriers and be inclined to trust. He had no doubt, however, about what would happen if he encountered him now. He would be given to the second, almost metallic, voice to be dealt with and disposed of.

The second voice was coming closer, he heard him kick something out of his way and curse under his breath. He was close enough now that he could hear the soles of his shoes as the scraped on the crete with a regular, implacable beat.

“Give me another fifteen minutes and I'll have him. He's got to be behind that car or over there by the bins, it’s the only cover in this miserable place.”

He gathered him legs under him in preparation to run again, not that it was likely to do much good any more, they were too close. The second voice appeared around the side of the car and he froze in mute terror. He was large in a grotesquely inhuman way, moving with a beautiful efficient grace that was starkly contrasted with his hideously scarred face. The face matched the voice perfectly, brutal and cold.

“There ain't nothing here, only some blood which is still warm. I told you the slotting kid was still close.”

He couldn't wait longer, he felt his breath on him face as he bent over the car. It wasn't bad as he had been expecting but had a coppery scent. He bolted away from him, crying out as him arm smashed against something. His legs slipped from under him and he sprawled forwards only to catch his balance a moment later and sprint on, the blood pounding in his ears.

“Drek. Shoot him, shoot 'im.”

A gunshot cracked the air but it was wild and he could tell it was way above his head. He dived into an alley a hundred meters from the runners and now he could hear them chasing him again. He barrelled into a dustbin, tumbling onto the pavement, its refuse exploding around him. A mistake he would never have made if he had been thinking clearly, and one he couldn't afford now. His vision was misting as he scrabbled away from the rubbish.

“You missed him you stupid slot. Drek that kid's fast. Fragging keep up will you, I ain't loosing 'im a second time.”

[April 15th, 2072; Cougar Mountain, Bellevue]

He smiled in satisfaction as he felt the last of the threads of his gift sift down and lock into the artefact on his crafting table. He smoothed his palm along the blade and sensed it thrum with the power that he had woven into it. He sensed the Old Man behind him but chose to ignore his presence as he extended his ethereal vision to look into the depths of the weapon. The pattern was perfect, exactly as the dream version had been. The threads of silvery orichalcum flared on the astral and in the meat world illusive threads of light pulsed down the almost obsidian-black blade.

Hardly a usual commission but he had done stranger things in the past, now he just needed to wait for the one that would come to claim the focus.

The voice behind him was deep and mellifluous, belying the rough appearance of his guest...

“You have done well with this one...”

“Yes, I’m pleased with it. It is unusual to make such a thing without a specific person in mind but it feels right.”

“The courier will be here shortly, everything is moving. You have my gratitude...”

“Will you tell me who is to bind it?”

“I haven’t seen that yet. We will see...”

An AR display circulates in the corner of his vision...it would seem the courier is here...

[April 15th, 2072 8 am; Jamie’s Renton Doss]

Shuddup, Jamie quashes her commlink alarm. She pulls the covers over her head. Five minutes later, she realizes that she’s been thinking about how to get into the Aztechnology mall without getting shot. Sighing, she sits up. I guess I’m awake after all.

She pads into the kitchen in her underwear to start up the soykaf maker. After a brief turn in the ‘fresher, she is cleaner even though the water smelled like ozone. After collecting a cup of kaf, she gets dressed for travelling.


An hour later, she closes her door quietly. Her landlord, The Squeeze, has a tendency to escalate the local organized crime protection payment. She sneaks down the stairs and finds him on the phone in his office, so she’s able to slip past without being shaken down.

[April 15th, 2072 10 am; Renton]

Looking to save some fuel, Jamie sets off up the street toward the Metro station in Touristville

[April 15th, 2072 10:15am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]
[Pan=Passive. Id = Tim Black]

Jotamon walked out of Abduls Secondhand Emporium. A fruitful day he mused to himself as he clasped the large brown paper bag to his chest. Sticking out of the bag were optical circuits, microtronic arrays and various miscellaneous pieces of junk raided from who knew where.

The only problem with coming to the Emporium was that it was in the barrens. Still Jotamon was not ill-equipped for dealing with the occasional ganger, and he wasn't expecting trouble at 10 o'clock in the morning: the gangs would still be asleep with hangovers from the night before.

Whistling a happy tune, the handsome Orc started the walk to the Metro station.

CRACK went the gunshot. Whoosh went the bag: crystals, wires, fibres and tools all hitting the pavement. Jotamon found himself already diving for cover behind a pile of black bin liners before he was even aware what was happening as the Move-By-Wire linked to his attention co-processors kicked in. Software systems began to display numbers on his contacts, as a taser appeared in his hand from the slide in his sleeve. Mini targets began to appear on potential threats: the cat over there, a funny aerial that could be a sniper. None of them turned red, and he breathed slower as he realized that perhaps the shot wasn't for him.

Everything was still moving in slow motion as he scanned the area: it didn't pay to take chances. Then he saw the kid running down an alley that opened onto the street that Jotamon had just decorated with priceless second hand junk. Software scanned the kids face, checked him for concealed weapons and noticed the terrified look on his face. Moving slightly, Jotamon scooped the kid up with one hand as he ran past, sticking a hand over his mouth.

"Shush" he mouthed. Pulling the kid and himself into the shadow of one of the doorways lining the street.

Raising the gain on his earbud amplifiers he listened quietly for the sound of running feet.

[April 15th, 2072 10:15am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]
[External PAN=passive. Id = May Ziang][Internal PAN=hidden. Id = May Ziang]

Jamie flinches as a bullet impacts the wall above her head. She jerks her gun out of her pocket and drops flat to the ground on her side.

Almost thoughtlessly, she swaps her PAN to her more powerful hidden one. She sees the terrified boy come running out of the alley and get grabbed by some guy hiding behind the pile of garbage on the other side of the street.

Hunters! They might not stop for him.

She looks quickly down the alleyway, the daylight hampering her augmented vision trying to identify who’s shooting and what she has to do to get out of the way.

@Jotoman (& Jamie)
[April 15th, 2072 10:15am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]

The filthy boy crumples into your grasp and you quickly become aware of the blood soaking into your jacket. He goes limp and seems to give up entirely, his breath rasping in an uncomfortable way.

Down the street from you there is a figure that has reacted to the gunfire, dropping to the ground, drawing a weapon and scoping the street with the calm detachment of a professional; your tactical system tags her as a level two threat potential.

From the alley that the boy emerged from you first hear and then see two pursuing figures. One is whipcord thin, in street leathers that have clearly had gang affiliations removed. The other is street muscle, the ridges on his arms indicating cheap vat grown implants with some wired edge, although nothing compared with the sleek chrome that you are running.

The targeting reticule in your vision aligns over their centre of mass and the taser, eminently quiet, spits twice, the darts impacting exactly where you aimed them. From directly in front of you there’s the snick of a flickblade and you are aware that the boy seems to be about to dig the dirty blade into your ribs.

[April 15th, 2072 10:15am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]
[External PAN=passive. Id = May Ziang][Internal PAN=hidden. Id = May Ziang]

The bullets seem to be intended for the running boy. What did he do that warrants 3 hunters? Ok, I need intel. Jamie opens up her PAN to the local area, trying to find all Nodes associated to the hunters.

She gets up from the ground and looks around for cover before getting involved in this fight. Once she gets back a list of PANs in the area, she hands the ex-ganger’s PAN off to her agent, Yukinko. She tells it, use this Sniffer utility to intercept all communication from that node.

[April 15th, 2072 10:15am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]
[Pan=Hidden. Id = <Information not available>]

Jotamon's threat monitor suddenly placed a red target on the kid, and raised him to 'threat level 1: immediate and potential assassin'. The knife was outlined in red, as the blade moved slowly towards him. Online expert systems kicked in advising dealing with the melee threat first, and using the body for cover from incoming bullets. Sidestepping the clumsy blade he says "Hey kid, I'm not with them. See..." while overriding the kill order.

Two more darts winged through the air at the second man coming out of the alley.

Jotamon's field of vision momentarily flashed red. Number's spiralled across his display. Wind speed. Temperature. Time. All unimportant. The important number was reading a round zero: the number of rounds left in the current active weapon. The last time this had happened, Jotamon had been playing "Deadly Ninja's Nine" and all that was needed was to press the reload button. Shame it isn't that easy in real firefight he reflected.

The Move-by-Wire^TM took over again as Jotamon prepared to dodge incoming counter fire from the remaining hunter, seriously hindered by the need not to dodge onto the Kid's blade.

It had been a while since Jotamon had been in a serious fire fight. As a Mafia Made Man most people avoided a confrontation, even though he specialised in 'data recovery' and the more white collar crimes. He cursed the foolish decision that had brought him to Abdul's Secondhand Emporium without a bodyguard and heavy armor.

@Jamie
[April 15th, 2072 10:15am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]

You are forced to reassess your initial assumption that the figure that grabbed the boy was one of the hunters (at least he is clearly at odds with the two that burst out of the alley way as his silenced weapon has taken them both down in short order).

Your comm returns a positive on the ‘links of the two twitching thugs and with a reflexive mental shrug you activate the sniffer program to track any wifi traffic. Sure enough you get a incoming live comm feed to both (ignorant fools haven’t even bothered to encrypt it)

<<Guys? Where the frag are you? What the hell is going on? We need to start the clean up...grab the damn kid and haul arse back here now!>>

@Doza
[April 15th, 2072 10:15am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]

The mysterious comm. message said be here at 10:15 and intercept the package...they (whoever they are) even offered payment up front which was enough to get you out of bed at this ungodly hour...it seems that someone else has stepped in and grabbed it though (at this distance through the smog it’s impossible to see who, but they are big), if you want that bonus you might want to hustle over and retrieve the kid intact...

[April 15th, 2072 10:15am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]
[Pan=Hidden. Id = <Information not available>]

"Calm down kid. I'm not trying to hurt you. These are the ones after you". Jotamon backed away from the kid: A knife fight is messy, no matter how good you are someone was likely to get hurt, and with Jotamon's luck it would be himself.

More expert systems were kicking in with advice: most of them recommending adding the child back to the immediate threat list, others scanning the area. Nothing higher than Threat level 2 at the moment. Facial scanning software kicked in examining the childs features. Muscle twitches recorded. Pupil dilation analysed, Saccadic movements of eyes at high levels. Eyelid droop measured. Assessment: Seriously tired and in adrenaline override. Optimal combat moves to take advantage of tunnel vision were considered and prioritized.

Jotamon didn't actually need the software to detect a bone tired, terrified kid. Backing away from the child hands held if front of him, Jotamon continued. "You're free to go if you want kid, but some serious people want you dead. I can spot you a bite to eat, and point out a place to squat if you need one, but whatever you do, here is not a good place to do it". Now that the immediate physical threat was over it was time to establish data about the more long term threat.

<<Initiate scan and sniffer programs. Prioritize in arc 27 through 50 degrees. Initiate spatio-temporal correlation. >> Jotamon started running software that had a chance of detecting people or drones before they came into sight. <<Activate calming pheromones: density 3>> hopefully the kid would respond.

Circling around the kid until Jotamon was near the unconsious forms, he reached down extracting commlinks and identification.

"We need to get out of here: I don't know if these people have ..."

<<[Wireshark report] Intercepted call: ...<crackle> kid and<crackle> <crackle> now!>>

"Oh oh. It looks like they are coming. Decision time Kid." Then he said the words that would change both of their lives "Come with me if you want to live"

Ember sat down gingerly, grimacing a the stains on the table in front of him. The place smelt peculiar...something that couldn’t be explained by the rancid body odour and stale soybear smells that permeated everything here. He was exceptionally conscious that his clothes, although casual, clearly set him apart from the usual clientele. He hoped that the holstered pistol and the sigils on his ring would be enough to stop anyone causing trouble, failing that the alluring form of Tempest sitting next to him and conversing in Gaelic would be sure to cow any fools that might otherwise have interfered in his business here. Her semi transparent nature and the steely glint in her eye were one thing but the flickers of lightening that periodically dripped from her fingers to sizzle on the table top would do the trick.

~You are alarming the locals but sadly that is what is required in a place like this. I apologise for asking you to manifest here but you are doing an invaluable task of keeping the air fresh!~

He could feel the laughter in her voice as she replied

~I do not mind, this place is so different from your usual haunts, it is uncommon to see you discomfited...are you sure your wife is not playing games with you?~

~Would that she were able to! The clinic is reputable, for the area anyway, and she has helped them before... that accident was no accident and they need to be somewhere safe and quiet and this was the only place I could think of. I would have taken them to Stillwater but that journey is too dangerous at the moment and I need to avoid the usual places~

~Yes, of course, I am sorry, I did not mean to rub any salt in those wounds, but you have told me they will be fine and soon. It is just unfortunate that you need to stay quiet for a while – I would relish the task of tracking down those responsible for that atrocity~

He knew that he was being ostentatious but after the brush with the gang outside it seemed prudent to display the fact that he was not an easy mark. He knew that Charlotte would probably berate him for a lack of subtlety but he was too tired to care at the moment. He had only ducked into this hole to avoid the acid rain coming down outside. He had a lecture to give in the morning and that couldn’t be avoided...it may even present the chance to flush out whoever had so rashly attacked his family.

He firmly quashed his rage once more, conscious that his magic was prone to manifest in unfortunate ways when he allowed his wilder side to the fore. He signalled to the wary bar keep that he wanted another drink...not that he had touched the one in front of him...

[April 15th, 2072 10:15am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]
[Pan=Passive. Id = <Information not available>]

I wonder what they're trying to clean up.

Jamie slowly holsters her pistol, then keeps her hands in view. She looks up and down the street for vehicles before crossing slowly toward the man and the boy. She stops out of reach. That guy was fast. I need to be sure not to mess with him. It’s his kill, It’s his spoils.

”Hoi. I’m sure there are more of these guys looking for that kid and I’d bet they won’t wait long once these guys don’t report in”

I have one end of the transmission, but they’ll stop calling and come in person. Jamie stands distracted as she starts looking for the source of the transmission.

In her AR view, a transparent window opens defining the attributes of this end of the transmission. Jamie lets her keychain fade away and brings Hoko into view. The small green Chinese dog fades into view. After Jamie speaks gently to it, Hoko bounds into the open AR window and out of sight.

[April 15th 2011; 08:14pm: The Horny Troll]
Ember glanced towards the bar where the Chinaman is rearranging grime on a beer mug with a gray cloth. His eyes fail to meet yours: like many mundanes he probably considers your open display of magic the same as a street samurai casually juggling grenades.

The three pool tables are in heavy use. This seems to be the night for the local pool ladder: trolls vs orcs. At the moment you suspect the trolls are winning based on the bone crushing back slaps that they give themselves and the orcs. Even if this is a low dive, the people here seem comfortable with each other.

When you entered, it went quiet. When Tempest entered, it went quieter. A couple of the local wannabees nearly made a move for you, but the older wiser ones pulled them back. You remember the quiet, and you are suddenly hearing it again.

Turning towards the door you see them enter. Two shaikujin. Impecabbly tailored business suits outlandish in this establishment, known to the locals as the Horny Troll. The strangers hesitate for a moment in the doorway, mirrored shades scanning the tables, then they start towards you. All conversation has stopped, all eyes follow the shaikujin. You can hear the brains adding up the value of the understated jewellery, the antique watches, rings, diamonds earstuds and just the suits themselves. Some one dressed like that coming to the Horny Troll is just asking to be rolled.

The orc tries it on for size. An orc whose AR declares him to be called "The Pig". 130 Kilos of fat, muscle and bad temper. He was heeled like a walking armoury. Pool cue in hand you see his piggy bloodshot eyes narrow, and a malevolent grin begin to form.

You're sure that the Pig is out of the shaikujin's line of sight, but then you see one of them shrug. A knife appears in his hand. Without turning he flicks it towards the Pig. It thuds into the fake pillar behind him, carrying a little of the Pigs Mohawk with it. The Pigs face goes pasty, and he busies himself shakily applying chalk to the cue.

The largest of the two suited figures greets you. "Ember" he says. "Our Employer needs your services. If you come with us, we'll take you to him". He pauses. "It's about your wife".

[April 15th, 2072 10:15am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]
[Pan=Hidden. Id = <Information not available>]

Jotamon waited for the Kid's answer. He got it in a surprising way, as the child collapsed. Having been surprised by the kids fake feinting before, Jotamon ensured that the hand with the knife in it was under control as he picked the child up for the second time.

Jotamon's threat management system were calming down. No visible threats, the level 2 threat was talking: always a good sign in Jotamon's experience. He replayed the footage he had captured when the bullet aimed at the kid nearly hit her. She didn't look like she was involved. As always after moments of sudden adrenaline, Jotamon felt like sitting down and shaking. Still no one was dead yet, so whatever happened could be fixed.

"Greetings. Now isn't the time for introductions, but I think you for your help. I came shopping " Jotamon gestured at the components scattered among the rubbish "but I suspect that more urgent things are at hand. I came by Metro, not expecting anything like this. I would be further indebted to you if you have a vehicle nearby, as we need to escape the immediate vicinity. "

[April 15th, 2072 10:15am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]
[PAN=Passive. Id = <Information not available>]

Jamie replies quickly, "I do have a car, just not at hand."

Her face abstracts a bit as she focuses on multiple tasks internally. She hands the AR display with Hoko hunting down the transmission source to Yokinko. She clarifies for the helper code, Help Hoko find this node.

She spawns two more displays in her AR. Using one, she connects to her car's node and commands, Wake up.

The other she connects to her mapping software and defines a route to her location. Once her car is online, she connects to it's routing subsystem and dumps the planned route into it. She triggers it's execution switch and turns her attention back to the man and the boy.

She continues, "I'm bringing it here. It's got a dog-brain, but it's a better driver than me."

[April 15th, 2072 10:16am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]
[Pan=Hidden. Id = <Information not available>]

Threat assessment systems scan the area, analysis software reports options. Jotamon switches the battleware to background: it would self select if needed.
<<Deactivate pheremone emission || Battle systems to passive || Prioritise Wireshark report>>

Jotamon lays the Kid down gently and reloads his Taser while waiting. "Do you mind having a look at his wounds? I have a DocWagon kit here" he removes his first aid kit from the pouch on his belt "Be careful: he's a fighter and may have a concealed weapon. I'd do it, but I suspect I would be better keeping a lookout while in case these people's friends come"

"I take it that like myself you have no idea what is happening here. Poor kid looks like he has had a tough a life"

[April 15th, 2072 10:16am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]
[PAN=Passive. Id = <Information not available>]

Yokinko is handling tracking down these guy’s superiors. This guy is probably better than me in a fire fight, so it’s reasonable for him to be on watch. What kind of person brings a medkit to go shopping?

Sure, she agrees. Jamie takes the medkit from him and admits, It’s not something I’ve been called upon to do in a while.

She approaches the boy carefully and briefly frisks him for weapons and obvious injuries. Once he has been disarmed, she plugs in the medkit and waits for the display to reveal the boy’s injuries.

@Jamie
[April 15th, 2072 10:16am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]

The kid barely stirs as you tend to his scrapes and abrasions and the tear in his arm muscles from a passing bullet. The expert system in the medkit identifies shock, exhaustion and minor malnutrition (not unexpected given the nature of his clothing, although he otherwise seems healthier than you might have anticipated)

Yokinko flags a possible trace about three blocks away, that kid can run! It's difficult to pinpoint exactly as the signal has broken off before the trace completed...

@Doza
[April 15th, 2072 10:16am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]

Well well well, it seems that your mark has been snagged by Jotamon of all people...it should be easy enough to get him to back off and let you take the boy, right?

[April 15th, 2072; Somewhere High, Woodvine, Redmond Barrens]
[Commlink Offline]

He lounges in the shadow cast by the hutch that tops the stairwell of an old apartment block, the wind licking at his face. Around him are the noises of teenagers at play. A snippet of laughter wafting over the breeze, the plink of cans on the rooftop, the rattle of spraypaint containers being shaken, the hiss of vibrant color being expelled onto genuine concrete faded and pockmarked by time; these are the backbeat to his lazy meditation. Half a dozen of his fellow traceurs are taking shifts hanging off the side of the building in swiss seats so that they can contribute to the large mural they are brazenly laying down. Seta is content to swish about the last of his now tepid Tecate in its can and soak in the atmosphere. Even at nineteen he was an elder statesman with the crew. He was on the verge of becoming too old to keep up, even if he could outrun any one of them. It was not so much a matter of speed, but of attitude. Somewhere along the line you just lose that cool, and you spend the rest of your life trying to get it back instead of being one step ahead of it. The knowledge was universal.

Seta's musing is cut off by a pulse at his hip. Without a spare look, he reaches down and unfastens the old school pager from his belt. The pager, that museum piece, meant it was Normal contacting him with a job. The guy paid the bills, so Seta did not protest too much that he employed one way communications whenever he could get away with it.

3-10010 166th Way-P

The short string was Normal-speak for a pickup with a three hour window. The address causes Seta a moment of pause, however. The street designation would put it somewhere in Bellvue, but it did not immediately click. He stands effortlessly, leaving his beer in the shadow of the stairwell, and traces a thumb over the poweslide on his commlink. He was high enough up, and in just the right kind of neighborhood, that there was no way he was accessing the Matrix. That does not concern him, however. As soon as the commlink powers on, his PAN left hidden for the moment, it establishes a link with his contacts, and images from his POV travelling the mutual data-bridge, along with the positioning feed from those good old GPS satelites flying overhead, allow the commlink to determine where he is at the moment. He slips on a glove, raises his hand to spawn a keyboard only he can see, and taps in the address Normal had paged him.

A grin forms on Seta's lips as the commlink reaches into its massive internal memory and plums its virtual storage for the address in question. The result only widens the grin. It looks like he has a mountain to climb, and a good thirteen miles or so of Interstate 405 to run along the way. He slides on a pair of sunglasses and tumbs the controls on his commlink, calling up a fractal music generator that Skytale has given him the last time they talked. As the program starts to pick up the noises around him and generate a slowly rising beat, he tips his fellow traceurs a two fingered salute, and makes his way to the edge of the rooftop.

Time to punch the clock.

[April 15th, 2072; Cougar Mountain, Bellevue]
[Passive Mode|Seta Drake]

The lean, wirey muscled elf makes the last leg of run up the mountain road on easy strides, the music having gone from an industrial grind fueled by the sounds of traffic and urban life to a more sedate trance-like beat fed by the sounds of natura around him. His skintight black jumpsuit, displays the flash of an Emerald City Knights courier now that he is approaching, complete with the - more traditional - bicycle courier logo upon his back.

He is grinning to himself as he approaches the pickup sight. Ten minutes early, and he even made a diversionary run through Bellevue Square to pick up a couple of protine gel packs and a game of catch me if you can with the MallSec cops. He slides off his shades, and runs a hand through his long silver hair looking the place over and wondering just what manner of rich a person is they can live up here, but that they still rely on a low-rent courier service to transport their goods. Then again, it makes a certain kind of sense. His lot were below the radar, and did not ask many questions. All he cares about is how long they want the delivery to take, and where he is taking the package.

[April 15th, 2072 10:16am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]
[PAN:Passive ID-Undefined]

When Yokinko reports back that Hoko lost the signal, Jamie goes and checks it out herself. Drek! Whoever it was disconnected.

Ok, How else can I find him. Ok, I can hack that guy’s commlink for the call log. That should have logged the access ID of the person who called him. And with him out cold, I shouldn't have to worry about his response to any active alert.

She opens up another AR window and starts a brute force hack.

@Jamie:
[April 15th, 2072 10:16am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]

Your skills plus your cutter program breezes through the almost non-existent security on this guy’s comm. This just further goes to prove that these two are small fry...although the kid has clearly come off the worse for an encounter with them.

The comm. log opens up before you and a quick mental flick allows you to rule out the various calls to bunraku parlours and fast food orders to leave a limited contact list that might be of interest. That last incoming call is flagged as being from Bastard so obviously a close acquaintance!

@Jotamon:
[April 15th, 2072 10:16am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]

Your threat analysis suddenly ratchets up a slot as a figure looms out of the morning murk...you do a double take as you realise that it’s Doza... Doza?

A car slides up beside you, it seems your ride has arrived in a timely manner...except it’s a Jackrabbit which would be a squeeze with you and the lady and the kid, but there’s bugger all chance of fitting Doza in too...and this soon after she’s walked back into your life there’s no way you are letting her slip away again any time soon!

@Seta:
[April 15th, 2072; Cougar Mountain, Bellevue]

The lodge that you are approaching looks like a cross between a rustic log cabin and a high tech downtown loft apartment with impressive views back across Bellevue towards Council Island. Propping your bike against a handy tree you move up the driveway. Aware of the monitoring stations on the approach you move confidently to the door which glides open.

You are met by a girl, younger than yourself, street judging by the quality, or lack of, of her clothes. She seems out of place here and looks like she knows it.

“Come in then, they’re waiting for you”

She leads you into an open hallway and then down some steps to another level recessed into the hill. It’s a junk shop paradise down here, vastly different to the spartan living space above. An old man standing in the corner seems to assess you and then, obviously satisfied, walks off somewhere into the house. At a work bench a hunched figure waves vaguely behind him at you and the girl

“Sit, sit, this won’t take long...ah, there” and you hear the snap of a lock and a tone indicating some sort of electronic security. “Here, this is the package. She has the address...” she glares at him “don’t look at me like that girl, I know who you are and I know that your charge is safe and sound and you’re at a loose end. She’ll be going with you...no, don’t argue and give me some crap about working alone, she’ll keep up and run interference. This is important!”

He waits for a response...

@Seth:
[April 15th 2011; 08:14pm: The Horny Troll]

Merde! Ember examined the two men calmly, inwardly seething...who were they and what did they know? Gripping the baton in its scabbard in the lining of his jacket he rose smoothly to his feet...beside him, sensing his emotion, Tempest began to take on a much more stormy appearance, like dark clouds racing across the sun...

“Your employer? Forgive my lack of trust but you will need to give me something more to go on before I will just walk out of here with you...”

[April 15th, 2072 10:16am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]

Movement outside of the AR draws her notice. Her car jerks around the corner and slides over to the edge of the street near her. The whine of the electric engine is too loud and cycles faster and slower at random intervals.

Ok, other stuff to do. Jamie hands the Access ID in the call log off to Yokinko. Please tap all of the outgoing communications for this ID in this AR window.

As she turns back to the man and the boy, a hooded figure looms out of the smog. I though he was 3 blocks away.

The familiar surge of chemicals occurs in response to her biological implants. Jamie drops to a knee next to the comatose boy and pulls out her pistol. Her smartlink comes on line painting a crosshair on the chest of the newcomer.

@Ember
[April 15th 2011; 08:14pm: The Horny Troll]
The same larger guy adjusts his cuffs, examining them in some detail, then continues, his British accent becoming more pronounced.

"Our employer has not authorized us to reveal any such details. Or indeed the location of the meet. He felt that the use of your wife's name would be enough to pique your interest. Should you decline to attend, our employer has not requested us to use any coercion to encourage you. In the event that you choose to accompany us, you would not be physically or magically restrained."

"Parkinsons have received a bond in Escrow to ensure your arrival and safe departure" at this point, the larger guy slowly and exaggeratedly carefully reaches inside his jacket: opening it first to show no hidden weapons. He extracts a certified bond, in paper no less, for 100,000 nuyen. "Should you experience physical harm during your visit, our employer would loose the bond, and more importantly loose access to Parkinson's services."

"Our employer has placed a vehicle, chauffeur, and ourselves at your disposal. Should you chose you are at liberty to follow that vehicle rather than sit in it, although we request that you inform us should that be your plan. Given your high level of stress and personal discomfort, I encourage you to realize that you can be assured that we know nothing about the matter that he wishes to discuss, have never physically met our employer and should you decide not to attend we will be departing to fulfill other missions for other employers."

He leaves the paper on the table for you to examine. It indeed a bond made out to "Parkinson's Bailiffs" for the stated sum of money in the event that yourself, your goods or chattels are harmed or restrained. The instruction to Parkinson's include picking you (destination not given), dropping you off for the meeting (destination not given), retrieving you from the meeting, and dropping you off at any place you designate within 20 miles of Seattle center.

"Mr Ember: we are instructed to wait up to 10 minutes for you to join us. We will be in the car outside"

The two of them turn away and walk towards the door.

As they leave the silence stops and there is a storm of conversations and discussions.

[April 15th, 2072 10:16am; NE41st St. Touristville, Redmond]
[Pan=Hidden. Id = <Information not available>]

Jotamon's threat monitor exploded into red. His pharmacopia was pushing fight or flight drugs into his bloodstream, while the Move By Wire system began planning intrinsically unstable moves designed to allow quick response. All of this mean nothing.

"Garggle" Jotamon said in an intelligent way "But" he continues.

The expert systems offered advice, all of which was neglected

"Huh...but you're dead"

@Seth
[April 15th 2011; 08:14pm: The Horny Troll]

Ember considered his options...these were glorified messenger boys and they seemed ligitimate. He was confident enough in his own abilities that perhaps he can trust them for now...he needed to know what the hell was going on and if this mysterious employer could offer some insight then it was too valuable an opportunity to risk by being squeemish

Hunching his shoulders against the nasty weather he followed the goons out to their car

~Tempest, will you keep a wary eye on our surroundings?~

With another moment of concentration he reached out into the astral and conjoured a miniscule watcher

~Tell my wife that all is well and I am investigating a lead. I will contact her soon and check on their progress~

[April 15th 2011; 08:14pm: Outside the Horny Troll]
Ember follows the two Bailiffs, outside. He pauses. That has to be one of the nicest cars he has ever seen: A Rolls Royce Silver Phaeton limousine, idling at the curb. There is a chauffeur in the drivers compartment, jacked into the control system using a datajack and a fibre optic.

The two Bailiffs usher Ember into the spacious passenger area. The larger one accompanies you, while the smaller one travels up front. There is plenty of space for Tempest.

The car heads downtown

[April 15th 2011; 08:30pm: Kobe Terrace Park]
The Rolls cruises silently into the downtown core of the sprawl. You guess the destination well before the limousine pulls to a smooth stop at South Jackson Street, just outside Kobe Terrace Park. This is a beautiful spot: a tiny oasis of green surrounded by glass and steel corporate high-rises.

And usually a deadly spot. Despite the best efforts of Lone Star and corporate security forces, Kobe Park frequently serves as a killing ground at night, a battlefield for downtown gangs

At this time however, the place seems deserted. As Ember's business suited minders ushers him out of the car, there is no one in sight. They silently point into the park.

As Ember enters, leaving the minders behind him, he sees a man in a business suit, with a trowel, weeding one of the raised gardens. As Ember approaches he rises. This is someone accustomed to command. An aura of respectability and authority radiates from him.

"Thank you for accepting my invitation. My name is Jonathan Johnson. You may call me Jon. I believe that we are in a position to help each other. I understand that you are probably equal parts angry and concerned. I hope to offer the possibility of some focus for that anger"

"Have you heard of the band "Concrete Spectres"? No? Well they are a very up and coming death thrash band, and I can modestly say that they are the biggest recording act, and live draw in the Music Business today. The Concrete Spectres are managed by Death's Head studios, which is managed by Mr Allenby. Mr Allenby has received a number of death threats recently, which he ignored. Then his car exploded and he recruited your wife to find people to investigate the matter. "

"It would be in everyones' best interest to discover who is behind this and, um, terminate the flow of events as it were. However Allenby wants to manage this on his own. My principals find this unacceptable: If Allenby is killed, or the attempts on his life become public knowledge, Death's Head studio shares will drop in value, and they may be forced to cancel some Concrete Spectre concerts. Neither of these eventualities would be good for business."

"I have contacted you to request that you take over the investigation were your wife left off. My principals want you to investigate the attempts on your wife's life, and Allenby's life, to find the responsible party, and turn them over to us for processing. In return for this I am authorized to offer you a significant sum of money up front, and five times that should you accomplish the mission."

"I suggest that you start your investigation by speaking with Allenby."

Mr Johnson looks at his watch, then points at a couple of data chips resting on the stone wall.


"These should get you started. Any questions?"

Doza made her way towards the intersection her brief directed her to. In the corner of her eye a clock ticked towards the time she was told to be there.

"Now, how did the Johnson know when the 'kid' would be just here?" she muses. "Ah well, the pay is good enough not to ask too many questions. How hard can it be to pick up one pesky kid?"

As this thought enters her mind Fate takes a hand and answers the question. With gun fire!

Doza drops to a crouch, making use of the available cover without conscious thought, a gun appearing in her hand. The previously quiet intersection is now a flurry of activity. A boy, obviously 'the kid' of her brief, erupts from an ally, two thugs close behind. Another figure, closer to the action, also appears to be taking cover.

"Drek!" Doza mutters under her breath as this bystander grabs the kid and pulls him into cover. "That's all I need, a 'have a go hero' complicating things!"

The 'hero' however seems more than capable as the two thugs are quickly dealt with.
"Perhaps I'll talk nicely to this one rather than just demand the kid" she thinks as she starts to make her way towards the action. As a large and cybered troll asking nicely often got her just what she wanted.

"Oh no, not another one, this just gets better and better!" Doza grumbles as a second bystander, this time a woman, joins the first. As she draws closer something about the way the man stands, the tilt of his head seems familiar.
She closes her eyes and shakes her head in disbelief as a very familiar gesture confirms her suspicion. "Of all the streets, in all the towns, he has to walk into this one" Doza is a fan of old 2D films.

Jotamon turns as she approaches, his eyes widen in recognition.
"Garggle..... But.....Huh...but you're dead"
"The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated." Doza had been itching to quote that to someone, anyone for over a year. She suddenly realised, of all the people she could have said it to, this man was the one who was most important to her.