[Matrix Node: SEAѤ67-∑2: The Citadel]

The massive doors open with a hiss of gasses and a waft of pearlescent steam. The gatekeeper steps aside to let you past. You pass down a statue lined hallway, each one three times taller than a troll, depicting personalities from the game world perhaps? A broad sweep of steps leads you down and through another set of gargantuan doors that whisper aside at the lightest of touches. Inside is an impossibly large room dominated by a swirling planar orrery suspended in light. Swirling vapour trails project out to portals that surround the outer walls of the chamber and at each there are a gathering of avatars coming and going. The persona icons are wildly varied and fill the hall, chatting, rubber necking or on some other mysterious mission relating to the game.

A game agent, an icon you had initially taken for another piece of statuesque architecture, steps down from its alcove and approaches you. The ancient marble of its surface now ripples with life

“AncientMan87, this is your first time in the Citadel. Welcome to the Gathering Hall…from here you can go anywhere that your imagination can conceive, and many places that it cannot. Each portal will take you to a different game sphere, most can be reached from here, some only from within another sphere. From your profile I suggest the Gardens might suit you for an initial look at what we can offer but you can return here at will and pick any sphere. Ask and information will be made available to you…”

Time to play!

[April 16th 2072; xx:xx Amidst a haze of allegedly smokeless powder, debris, and strobing flashes.]

Ember wiped the water out of his eyes only to feel the stickiness and smell the metallic tang of blood

he listened dimly to the chatter of gun fire in the distance…so far away…



he clutched at his shoulder which bubbled with bright red blood…


clawing his way back to consciousness, fighting the pull of blissful sleep and escape from the pain…

~Sirene, child, protect my family, guard them from harm…~


Angrily he stood, swaying, feeling his strength draining away…he raised his clawed left hand to the heavens only to be jolted as another round caught him under the breast

~Mighty Lugh, grant me a boon now as I have never asked before, send me a bright warrior to cleanse the ground of my foes~

The ogam stone in his right hand was slicked with blood, so bright, the mana flowed through it, more than he had ever drawn on before, the blood…the spirit that appeared blazed incandescent on the astral mere moments before

dark…



so dark…





fire…

[Doctor Bob’s, Touristville, Redmond]

Sirene looked up as Argent lurched upwards in the bed, clawing at the drip in the back of her hand, gasping for breath and then Sirene felt the words of her master in her mind…fading…and the link was gone. She felt a surge of power and for a moment she prepared to launch herself back to her native plane, freed from the fetters of the mage’s whim…until she saw the eyes of the ones she had been charged to protect…so full of life and pain, did she really want to leave all this behind…?

@ E:PL
[April 16th 2072; Marseilles, at the Hôtel Embrasser Sensuelle]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

Au revoir, mon chéri...

Gemeaux awakes with a start. He is breathing heavily, and notices his hair, skin, and faux-silk sheets are damp with sweat. A nightmare... he thinks to himself, ...and yet...too real to be just a bad dream... He thinks back to the one bit of science that managed to stick in his mind from his lessons---that some bits of matter and energy are so alike that they can "feel" each other across the universe. If that can be true for something as commonplace as matter, why could it not be true for souls? As someone whose entire existence is copied from someone else's unique blend of DNA, the thought often occurs to him that they share something of the metaphysical as well.

The philosophy also comes in handy when used as a pickup line, as a gentle squeeze from his amant de la nuit reminds him that he is not alone. He looks over at Beatrice---a pretty, young, twentysomething human woman who is still slumbering. Her beauty is not a thing of nature, as she bears all the telltale scars and signs of looks granted by the surgeon and not from her sires. Still, she had caught his oft wandering eye while she too was looking for some form of comfort in this cruel world, and tonight they agreed to take refuge in each other's embrace.

He brushes a few stray strands of her auburn hair away from her face, gently caressing her cheek as he does so. She mumbles some sweet nothing and holds him a bit tighter.

<<[Vivienne]: Damien, your heart rate has risen above normal levels. Is everything all right?>>

His PAN's personality program, modeled after a dear lost friend, interrupts his train of thought.

<<[Gemeaux]: Everything is fine, ma belle, nothing but a nightmare.>>

<<[Vivienne]: Very well, Damien, returning to slumber mode. Good night.>>

As the voice disappears, it begins softly playing a lilting piano piece by Faure. He leans back and closes his eyes, hoping that the soothing melodies of the piano and the warm embrace of Beatrice lure him back to sleep. However, he cannot help but think back on the nightmare and the possibility of entangled souls. He tries to remember the dream, but it is lost in the abyss of subconscious thought. He spends his last waking moments trying to figure out what disturbed him so before slipping back into unconsciousness.

@ E:PL
[April 16th 2072; Marseilles, at the Abbaye de Saint Victor(Abbey of Saint Victor)]


"I, Father Anselm Augustus, now, in the presence of Almighty God, the Blessed Virgin Mary, the blessed Michael the Archangel, the blessed St. John the Baptist, the holy Apostles St. Peter and St. Paul and all the saints and sacred hosts of heaven, and to you, my ghostly father, the Superior General of the Society of Jesus, founded by St. Ignatius Loyola in the Pontificate of Paul the Third, and continued to the present, do by the womb of the virgin, the matrix of God, and the rod of Jesus Christ, declare and swear, that his holiness the Pope is Christ's Vice-regent and is the true and only head of the Catholic or Universal Church throughout the earth; and that by virtue of the keys of binding and loosing, given to his Holiness by my Savior, Jesus Christ, he hath power to depose heretical kings, princes, states, commonwealths and governments, all being illegal without his sacred confirmation and that they may safely be destroyed."

As if this simple binding can hold any power while I know the truth...

"Therefore, to the utmost of my power I shall and will defend this doctrine of his Holiness' right and custom against all usurpers of the heretical or Protestant authority whatever, especially the Lutheran of Germany, Holland, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, and the now pretended authority and churches of England and Scotland, and branches of the same now established in Ireland and on the Continent of America and elsewhere; and all adherents in regard that they be usurped and heretical, opposing the sacred Mother Church of Rome. I do now renounce and disown any allegiance as due to any heretical king, prince or state named Protestants or Liberals, or obedience to any of the laws, magistrates or officers."

It had been many months getting to this point and whatever Peter actually thought of the days ceremony were buried behind miles of the lies he had already uttered to get to this point.

"I do further declare that the doctrine of the churches of England and Scotland, of the Calvinists, Huguenots and others of the name Protestants or Liberals to be damnable and they themselves damned who will not forsake the same."

"I do further declare, that I will help, assist, and advise all or any of his Holiness' agents in any place wherever I shall be, in Switzerland, Germany, Holland, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, England, Ireland or America, or in any other Kingdom or territory I shall come to, and do my uttermost to extirpate the heretical Protestants or Liberals' doctrines and to destroy all their pretended powers, legal or otherwise."

"I do further promise and declare, that notwithstanding I am dispensed with, to assume my religion heretical, for the propaganda of the Mother Church's interest, to keep secret and private all her agents' counsels from time to time, as they may entrust me and not to divulge, directly or indirectly, by word, writing or circumstance whatever; but to execute all that shall be proposed, given in charge or discovered unto me, by you, my ghostly father, or any of this sacred covenant."

"I do further promise and declare, that I will have no opinion or will of my own, or any mental reservation whatever, even as a corpse or cadaver, but will unhesitatingly obey each and every command that I may receive from my superiors in the Militia of the Pope and of Jesus Christ."

The blind leading the blind... I wonder how many here know what they are preparing for....

"That I may go to any part of the world withersoever I may be sent, to the frozen regions of the North, the burning sands of the desert of Africa, or the jungles of India, to the centers of civilization of Europe, or to the wild haunts of the barbarous savages of America, without murmuring or repining, and will be submissive in all things whatsoever communicated to me."

"I furthermore promise and declare that I will, when opportunity present, make and wage relentless war, secretly or openly, against all heretics, Protestants and Liberals, as I am directed to do, to extirpate and exterminate them from the face of the whole earth; and that I will spare neither age, sex or condition; and that I will hang, waste, boil, flay, strangle and bury alive these infamous heretics, rip up the stomachs and wombs of their women and crush their infants' heads against the walls, in order to annihilate forever their execrable race. That when the same cannot be done openly, I will secretly use the poisoned cup, the strangulating cord, the steel of the poniard or the leaden bullet, regardless of the honor, rank, dignity, or authority of the person or persons, whatever may be their condition in life, either public or private, as I at any time may be directed so to do by any agent of the Pope or Superior of the Brotherhood of the Holy Faith, of the Society of Jesus."
"In confirmation of which, I hereby dedicate my life, my soul and all my corporal powers, and with this dagger which I now receive, I will subscribe my name written in my own blood, in testimony thereof; and should I prove false or weaken in my determination, may my brethren and fellow soldiers of the Militia of the Pope cut off my hands and my feet, and my throat from ear to ear, my belly opened and sulphur burned therein, with all the punishment that can be inflicted upon me on earth and my soul be tortured by demons in an eternal hell forever!"

It's a damned good thing they forgot to get a decent ritual sample that cant be defended against...

"All of which, I, Father Anselm Augustus, do swear by the Blessed Trinity and blessed Sacraments, which I am now to receive, to perform and on my part to keep inviolable; and do call all the heavenly and glorious host of heaven to witness the blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist, and witness the same further with my name written and with the point of this dagger dipped in my own blood and sealed in the face of this holy covenant."

The long and interminable oath done with, Anselm rose from the bright red cross which covered the floor where he had been kneeling and left the shadow of the flags of the pope and the church militant and was embraced by the Lord-Commander, "My brother, you have been faithful to God and so many others this day! Go forth from here and Brother Tyrimus will have your mission for you shortly."

With barely a smile Father Anselm turned and strode down the echoing crypt passage to the waiting dormitory, at last, at long last, he had been inducted into the New Society of the Jesus... yet another step on his long road to complete his mission.

@ E:PL
[April 19th 2072; Dr.Ted's surgery, The Barrens]

Copperhead awoke with a start. She had been dreaming about the frenchman again.

For a moment, she did not know where she was, but the scent of antisceptic reminded her of Dr.Ted's surgery. With great difficulty she raised her head and took in the familiar surroundings. She had helped out here, supposedly while learning more about first aid and the magic bear that was currently resting on her chest, it's one glass eye staring back at her.

Not a good sign. Dr.Ted normally only uses the bear on his most seriously injured patients. Guess that's me at the moment.

She let her head drop back on the pillow. Her body felt strangely distant, sort of like when she went astral. That worried her a little. Just how badly injured was she and more importantly how the frag had she ended up here? Her last memories were of the ambush and hitting the cold water of Puget Sound. Not her best idea, she thought to herself. After all, she could barely swim and the currents in the sound claimed several lives each year. Not to mention the awakened creatures that lived in the water.

A faintly amused hiss reached her ears.

Not done with me yet then mama?

My daughter, I have barely begun. But firsst you musst recover your sstrength. Now sssleep.

[Matrix Node: SEAѤ67-∑2: The Citadel]

Ælias spent a few moments gazing around the impressive architecture of the game's central node, looking over the multitude of other players around him, so many people. He shuddered slightly at amount, still a bit uncomfortable being around so many people after so much isolation. Anonymity though was best found in the throngs of metahumanity, something he had quickly learned in these last two free years.

They will never find you if you are just another face in the crowd. Just try to be like everyone else, to look like them, and they will never notice.

Ælias stepped into one of the small alcoves to the side of the hall, a dressing room of sorts. Time to get into something more fitting. He kept his base Elf persona, and then began the long but enjoyable process of deciding on just what kind of character he wanted to play. He finally decided on a outfit and character traits, a full set of dark, supple, leathers, short swords and a hand crossbow, and traits to match. He was an elven warrior thief, Simon would approve.

Next was the Gardens, like the game's agent recommended. Get used to the rules of the system before diving into the deep end and having some real fun.

@ E:PL
[May 2nd 2072; Novatech private bizjet, on the ground at ATL INTL]

<<We're here. We'll keep the deal>>

The well dressed Asian man walked back into the passenger compartment of the bizjet, looking at discarded caviar samplers and half empty champagne glasses. A small fortune in food and drink consumed by a man who had just spent another small fortune on travel. Or rather his corp had, but when your the senior VP, the lines tend to blur.

Like many imported MCT employees, he spoke English better than most English speakers. And that should have been a give away, because no corp would waste a scholarship on a low level flight attendant, the mnn would be known if he was a mover and shaker, and if he was just security, there's be no need for the expensive English instead of a linguasoft.

But Johnathan Teague was drunk. On Champagne, and just as importantly, on sucess and survival. Hansai dead, the shadowrunners out of the way, grand jury ditched the case for lack of evidence. A good week. The type of week to celebrate with champagne, caviar, and young women who thought they could be pop stars. The airplane always worked on them, though his current selection had apparently confused champagne with soda because of the bubbles, and was snoring soundly.
"Mr. Teague, we have arrived at Atlanta International airport, and Novatech east is happy to welcome you to its family. We hope you have just as much success here as you did in Seattle. I have a message from your former CEO, a traveling present."

The man handed over a commlink. Teague looked at the screen, blinked, and opened his mouth to scream. Which is where the bullet entered. The exit was not nearly as natural an orifice. The commlink clattered to the floor, a live feed of a grinning troll holding up three heads playing in its screen.

Hacker, Shaman, Muscle. That took some killing. But that was definitely worth it.

Dealer picked up the link, celullar gloves still holding the nanopaste skin tone , and sent a simple message <<@ Owner: Deal is complete. Thanks for the ride>> . Then he popped the battery and slid it into his pocket.

He nodded at the flight crew on the way out, his arrangement with a now much more comfortable Novatech CEO concluded.

Have to collect Copper out of baggage

[Matrix Node: SEAѤ67-∑2: The Citadel]

The shadows hugged Ælias like a velvet glove as he moved through another hedgerow archway. He had been given a task by a Guardsman agent, to track a hobgoblin bandit who had escaped him in the hedge maze in the center of the Gardens Node. He hadn't told Ælias that the hobgoblin had friends though, or that they were using part of the maze as a headquarters to make attacks on the Gardens. Or, as he peaked around hedgerow corner, that they had dogs with them.

This is not what I signed up for. Guardsman figured me for an igit. Well, I'll show that shiesty statie, Ælias ain't no pushova.

There were two dogs and their hobgoblin caretaker around the corner, he sitting at a rickety table, eating something bloody, with both of the dogs resting at his feet. Ducking back around the corner, Ælias gives himself a look over, trying to figure out a way to distract the dogs. He had his short swords, his hand crossbow, as small shield he had taken from a lone hobgoblin earlier (not something he intended on keeping), and a few flowers from one of the plants in the Garden. He had identified it as capable of producing a moderate ingest-able poison, not something for his blades but for something more subtle. Something he didn't have, but maybe something he could fake. He had seen bones elsewhere in the Garden, but he didn't want to have to treck back out of this maze, it took an hour and a half to make it this far. But he could trick the system into thinking that he had grabbed it earlier and that is was now in his satchel.

Ælias let out a slow breath as began bringing the image of the bone to his mind, reinforcing his concentration on the Spoof, making the image more clear, more concrete. He coalesced the image into perfect clarity in his mind as he reached his hand into the satchel, summoning the fragments of data and code around his fist as he tried to spoof the bones into existence. This will be wicked pissa if this works.

@ E:PL
[May 3rd 2072; Copperhead & Cutter's appartment, Tacoma docks, Seattle]

Copperhead awoke with a start. She had been dreaming about the frenchman again. But rather than bleeding out in her arms, this time he had been in a stylish restautant in Paris in the company of an attractive red-head. They had been speaking French, none of which she could understand, until right at the end of the dream when he got up to leave. After passionately kissing the woman, he had whispered, 'Au revoir, ma cheri.'

It took her a moment to realise where she was. They had only moved into the appartment a week ago and were barely settled in when Dealer had contacted her about 'tying up loose ends'. That had involved an uncomfortable flight in the baggage hold of a Novatech private jet, followed by a a cramped, messy and brutal hand-to-hand fight and she hadn't even got to put the bullet in Teague's brain.

Well at least the payoff had been good. We finally got ourselves a proper place to live and still got some cred left over even after paying off Dr. Ted's medical costs and replacing the gear I lost in the sound.

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Ælias's Studio, Auburn, Seattle]

Ælias sat up with a long stretch, feeling the weight settle into his muscles after hours in the 'Trix. The sky glowed with a deep orange red, a twilight only possible because of all of the pollution put off by the Federated Boeing Plant in the district. It was shaping up to be just another night in, reading the boards and playing Citadel, when a ping came in from VectΩr, one of his guild member buddies from the Refugees.

<< VectΩr: Hey chum, get off your butt and get out for a night. I know you, your sitting on that ugly green couch at home, about to sign into Jackpoint or something. I'm going to at the Cathode Glow in Tacoma tonight, and I got a little bit of business I could use your help on. Come on man, get out of the house and I promise, it will be worth your while. See you on the flip. >>

What's he mean, I get outta da house all the time. Don't know what he's talkin'bout. Fuckin' guy, whateva. I'll show him when I show up.

With a small grunt, Ælias hauls himself up off a battered green couch, worn but comfortable, and across the large studio to the single bathroom for the place. It small and not quite sized for an ork, as small for one as he might be, but it always had hot running water and refills on good, foaming, antibacterial soap thanks to a little spoofing here and there. It was the little things in life that made it worth coming out of the 'Trix, and hot water was definitely one of those. A quick shower and then he would skip over to the Cathode Glow. With a mental flick, he brought up the node to the taxi service three blocks over, he had left a backdoor there weeks ago and the owner still hadn't noticed. With another thought he put a reservation in for himself in an hour and then he was back out, the system none the wiser.

[May 5th, 2072, 10:45 PM; Cathode Glow, 6th Ave & North Cedar St, Tacoma, Seattle.]
<Passive PAN: SIN - Alex Random, UCAS Citizen>

Alex Random is a small ork, his tusks capped in silver, a digital circuit grid tattooed across his left cheek, with stunning silver eyes. His hair is pulled back in a short top knot, and most of his bulk is covered in a heavy Berwick great coat. Ælias has his Cavalier Scout in a hidden in shoulder holster, and a disposable commlink on his wrist, using it to run his public PAN and SIN. This was a simple disguise for him, a couple of accessories on his face and a different hair style, but it worked to change him enough for casual use. VectΩr would know what to look for though, the dwarf had the talent for finding other unwireds. All he needed to do right now was to just get a drink and check the place out.

"One lager and one whiskey."

@ E:PL
[April 29th 2072; Marseilles, at the Méditerranéenne Grotte]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

"What a delightful place, Maximilien! How did you ever find it?"

Jolene giggles as she takes a dainty spoonful of soup from their serving of bouillabaisse for two. Well, as dainty a spoonful as is possible for an orc. Gemeaux smiles as he takes a bit of rascasse blanche from the seafood plate, and gently indicates to his date that she has a tiny bit of lipstick on her tusk.

"I have a penchant for all things Marseillaise, my dear, and this cafe is the one place that has all of my favorite things: bouillabasse, Côtes du Rhône, and, of course, a beautiful view." He gestures to Jolene as well as the window behind her, showing a picture perfect scene of the Vieux Port.

"You are terrible," she replies, but the slight blush on her cheeks lets him know that the compliment managed to hit home.

Unfortunately, it is at this very moment that Gemeaux notices four burly, gun-toting thugs walking into the cafe. The host tries to intercept them, but he is casually shoved aside by a particularly large troll. They scan the room until one of them spots Gemeuax and points a grubby finger in his direction.

This shit again.

"That's gotta be him, mate," says one of the thugs in English---a swarthy looking dwarf with an eyepatch. "Time to bag 'im and tag 'im."

"Maximilien, what is this?" Jolene stammers, the color quickly fading from her face.

"I do not know, my dear," he replies, "I am as confused as you are, but I will take care of this." He stands up, straightens his coat---and reassures himself that his concealed Savalette Guardian is still in its proper place, and addresses the band of vagabonds.

"I beg your pardon, but it appears that you addressing me? Why is that?" Gemeaux says crossly. He switches to English to be sure that the men can understand him.

"Look, a joker," says the troll. "Listen, chummer, we got a contract here that says you're worth at least 50 grand alive."

Gemeaux gives the gang his best attempt at feigned shock and disbelief.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, but you are disturbing me and my guest. I would have you apologize to her for rudely interrupting our dinner, and then I will entertain the possibility of clearing up your misconception."

The gang laughs, with the other three looking to the troll to take the lead once more.

"I don't know who you think you are, or how much you paid that street slut, but there ain't nothing to discuss. You're coming with us." As if to emphasize his leader's point, one of the troll's cronies---a gold-toothed human with a torn ear---hocks up a disturbingly green wad of phlegm on the seafood plate. This is the tipping point for poor Jolene, whose nerves and gag reflex finally get the best of her, and she goes tearing off towards the bathroom while desperately holding in the contents of her roiling stomach.

Gemeaux narrows his eyes at the "bounty hunters."

<<[Gemeaux]: Vivienne, my dear, please release the safeties on my sidearm. It appears I will have to use it tonight.>>

<<[Vivienne]: Very well. I've collected the information on the RFID tags from the four thugs as well. It looks like Shiawase will always haunt us, won't it?>>

<<[Gemeaux]: It certainly looks that way, but keep hope alive. Without hope, life is not worth living.>>

As he carries on the conversation with his PAN, he addresses the thugs.

"Gentlemen---and I use the term loosely given your lack of manners---you have insulted me and my guest. Apparently, you believe you have business with me, but you have none with this establishment or with Jolene. We will continue this discussion outside, and once we clear up this situation, I am certain that you will feel very ashamed and foolish for how you have just carried on." With that, he marches outside past the somewhat surprised bounty hunters. However, they soon follow suit, drawing their weapons and poking the muzzles into Gemeaux's back.

"Not so fast, Frenchie. Don't try anything stupid."

"I am but walking outside with the four of you aiming weapons at me. What could I possibly try?"

They exit the Méditerranéenne Grotte through the front---which happens to open up to a back alley. This let the cafe maximize its view of the Vieux Port. It also made for a discreet entrance and exit, which is the real reason why Gemeaux favors the cafe---although it's take on traditional Marseillaise cuisine makes for a wonderful bonus as well. Having access to an alley sans witnesses made what Gemeaux was planning possible.

Upon crossing the alley's threshold, one of the thugs shoves Gemeaux with the muzzle of his gun again. With an exaggerated huff, Gemeaux stops walking.

"I would advise you not to do that again, monsieur."

"What, this?" The thug shoves him again.

Yes. That.

Gemeaux pretends to stumble from the force of the second push, but instead snaps out his silenced Savalette Guardian and fires a perfect shot right between the offender's---the dwarf--beady little eyes. As the action unfolds, time seems to slow down for the Frenchman as he watches on with no small amount satisfaction. The dwarf's head erupts from the impact of the explosive bullet, startling the other three bounty hunters and giving Gemeaux a chance to fire on the human. Another shot to the head leads to another eruption of woefully underemployed gray matter.

The two remaining bounty hunters---the troll and a twitchy looking elf---try to bring their weapons to bear on Gemeaux. However, his former masters' hardware and his own instincts kick in to deal with the situation. He dashes between the two bounty hunters, hesitating for just a moment as he passes them. The gambit pays off, and both of them fire their weapons without paying any heed to whom they are actually shooting at. Gemeaux glides past the two men as they pump slugs into each other, and adds a pair of his own to each bounty hunter's head.

"I told you that you would feel ashamed and foolish," he chides softly, switching back to French. He checks the bodies for IDs, credsticks, and commlinks.

<<[Gemeaux]: Vivienne, could you be a dear and upload all of this information to my PAN? I need to find out how these villains found me, and determine if there are any other would-be fortune finders that I have to eliminate.>>

<<[Vivienne]: Done and...done. All information uploaded to your PAN. Perhaps you should check in on Jolene? I'm sure she is still in shock over this whole debacle.>>

<<[Gemeaux]: Of course, how could I forget? What would I do without you, Vivienne?>>

@ I'm on a boat
[April 15th 2072; 23:56:30 SS Henry VIII Puget Sound, 3585m off shore]

Silk swore under her breath...Khalil wasn't responding, Siran had rushed out into the night somewhere and her spy drone wasn't registering her any more...dammit, this was why she didn't like working with people she didn't know and trust...perhaps it really was time to reestablish Balefire again as he wanted? For now she was stuck here with the freaky muscle and the Captain but at least the shooters had moved out of sight for now. Clutching her mashed side she slipped a pain killing patch onto her shoulder...

<<@Nine: we are making for the exit with the package...I hope you're listening as we're going to be bloody exposed out on that gantry>>

She gestured back to Robert and then stepped cautiously back in to the line of fire, trusting that her suit would give her sufficient cover for now (not that it had done much good before)

"Let's go Captain, we are making for a life boat...let's not make this any more difficult that it is, you will have worked out that our employers want you in one piece but if you make us drag you then I have no compunction about knocking you out and having my colleague carry you. Let's move!"

@ E:PL
[May 5th 2072; Simon Finney's lodge, Seattle]

Copperhead glared at the dwarf. He was worse than Snake when it came to secrets. When he was explaining magic theory to her, it all seemed straightforward. But when she tried to put his instructions into practice, nothing worked.

The dwarf could clearly sense her frustration. He twirled his moustache and sighed, "You are doing great. You just need to relax and let the mana flow through you. Look, perhaps we should call it a day for now. Come back next week and we will pick up where we left off. Okay?"

He was treating her like a moron and she felt like one too. Her head was aching from the exercises and his magic theory babbling. She packed up her gear and with a mumbled agreement, clumped out into the night.

She was burning through her cred and had no work. Maybe Argent could set her up with something. While things had quietened down and she was no longer being actively hunted by half of Seattle, she was still too much of a shadow celeb. So, something out of town might be best. Maybe Boston or Chicago. Probably best not to go back to Atlanta after her recent trip there. She dialled the number on her new commlink.

@ E:PL / Copperhead
[May 5th 2072; Outside Simon Finney's lodge, Stillwater]

Ignoring the large amounts of nature intruding on your thoughts and Finney's mantras that are still hissing around the back of your skull you contact Argent on the secure line that she gave you. The AR image resolves quickly into her striking but slightly haggard face, eyes reddened and facepaint non existent. She has clearly pulled herself together with an effort of will but it doesn't take much to see the cracks

"Copperhead? It is good to see you again, I am sorry I haven't been able to put any work your way recently but you will appreciate that the shadows are still buzzing after Teague's temmerity and then recent misadventure. I hear the upper management are satisfied with the outcome so surely things will calm now, these things are never remembered for long..." there is bitterness in her tone, she will clearly remember... "I have some courier work you can do if you want to get out of town for a while? I should be able to find you something more lucrative in the next couple of months, I know that the Stillwater group have some sort of agenda that they wish to discuss with me and I will give them your name if it fits your talents. For now there's a lodge on the southern face of Cougar Mountain...if you tell the Toymaker that I sent you he will provide you with the details. I trust you can make your own arrangements to leave Seattle but if that is a problem then I'm sure I can fix something..."

fre∑dom
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Somewhere in Touristville]

The orc that stepped out of the taxi was in street gear, and he’d arrived in a taxi rather than some armoured van and black ops gear like the attackers from before…that did little to make Jazz inclined to get close to him…

---

Your eyes rove the street ahead as you step from the taxi and it departs with the chirpy beep of acknowledgement for the fare you’ve just palmed off on someone else. This was clearly a nice place to live once but the neighbourhood has decayed gently over the past decade or so. Your wifi search picks up the usual trash signal…including a fridge screaming about a growing biohazard in its depths…but clearly indicates a cheap comm on the figure crouched in a second floor fire escape door some twenty meters or so ahead of you. Opposite there is another signal and you see a less well concealed ganger fumbling with some sort of hand gun. He’s a skinny punk, can’t be much older than twelve, the threat is in the other one as you recognise the tell-tale profile of the ubiquitous AK, the green laser sight swinging along the crumbling asphalt towards you…

FREΣDOM
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Somewhere in Touristville]

Fractal stepped towards the girl with the AK. "Child, You don't want to do that." The Walther Secura he kept on him sliding into his hand, already the Smart Link was calculating best angle to take her out if need be. He put as much ganger drawl into his speech as he could. "Aint no call ta be shootin'. And it culd end badly for yinz"

@ E:PL / Aria
[May 5th 2072; Outside Simon Finney's lodge, Stillwater]

Snakes twisted in Copperhead's guts as she regarded the haggard fixer.

Would I be able to hold it together as well as she is doing if something happened to Cutter?

"Appreciate dat I'm a hot potato right now, Argent. Getting out of town sounds like a good idea. I'll talk ta dis 'Toymaker' fella an disappear fer a while. But ya know I is Snake. We don't ferget shit and we don't let stuff slide. I owes him and dat means I owes you. You needs anything from me or da 'Crush, ya jus gotta asks. Your man, Ember, him..., him and da frenchie, dey was good peoples."

She breaks the link, wiping at her eyes. The data about Toymaker and the meet already downloaded to her link.

Frag, I need some time away from here. The memories are still too raw.

----

[May 15th 2072; Cougar Mountain, Horizon labs facility ]

She hated it here. She was pushing around the cart of cleaning supplies just like she had at Ares. The tag on her lapel read 'Mary Smith, External Maintenance Services'.

A fragging cleaning lady? I hated this job at Ares and here I am pretending to be one just to meet this Toymaker fragger.

Still she had resisted ripping him a new one when she realised he was on the level. His package was hidden in with the trash she had collected almost automatically on her way to the meet with him. Some habits truly did die hard. Just a few more meters and she would be out of this corporate shithole and on her way to Chicago to drop off what was obviously a magical focus - even to her dull senses, and pick up another package that needed to brought back to Seattle.

Easy enough right? Except I gotta travel under another stupid alias that Slater thought was funny at the time. And one that means I'm likely to arrive in the windy fragging city with little more than a change of undies and my fragging toothbrush. Not exactly the sort of gear I might need if the run goes south.

[May 5th, 2072, 10:50 PM; Cathode Glow, 6th Ave & North Cedar St, Tacoma, Seattle.]
<Passive PAN: SIN - Alex Random, UCAS Citizen>

The Cathode Glow was just starting to pick up as Ælias was given his beer and shot, quickly downing the latter and chasing it with the former before sending the 8 to the bar's node, along with a 2 tip for the cute bartender with the last century techno falls in her hair. If she noticed, she didn't show any sign to Ælias as he sat, waiting for VectΩr's arrival.

After a few minutes of listening in on idle chatter at the bar, and about a quarter of his beer, the music changed from bass heavy electronica to something that actually contained words, a song that immediately caught his attention. It only took a moment for him to catch the subtext, and then he noticed the dwarf standing next to DJ. VectΩr was a stout, dark skinned dwarf with a unspiked blue mohawk, and a neon blue striped, faintly glowing, racing jacket over black cargo pants and a black shirt; he fit right in with the place.

VectΩr stood there for a minute, talking with the DJ before heading over to one of the smaller corner booths to the side of the small dance floor. It was another minute after that before Ælias took his beer and headed over to the small booth. The booth's cushions were surprisingly comfortable and Ælias sunk right into the seat across from his friend.

"I bet you're surprised to see me here," said Ælias with a smile and a swig of his beer.

"No more than I am to see your ever growing arsenal of facades," chimed back the dwarf with a wink, "But seriously, I am glad to see you out of your house. I know the place is place is awesome for relaxing and surfing the Matrix, but sometimes it's nice to get out and have a drink with friends. Can I get you another one of those?"

"If you're payin', I am always drinkin'."

The dwarf ran his hands through a few quick motions and sent off an order to the bartender, which promptly arrived a little under a minute later. Ælias gave a mental nod to his friend's connections within this place, the service sure was better then what he was used to. With two new beers on the table, VectΩr turned back to Ælias and changed the course of the conservation.

"So, let me tell you about the Stillwater Group..."

@ E:PL
[May 1st 2072; La Ciotat, at the Port d'Amoureux]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

Gemeaux watches the sun set into the port with a cigarette in hand and a bottle of wine at his side. After the encounter with the bounty hunters, he had decided that it might be time for a sojourn from his adopted home. It had taken no small effort to comfort Jolene after the debacle, and his ribs were still hurting from the mostly pleasant outcome. He had used the excuse of a necessary business trip to Prague to cut their courtship short, which also provided cover for his not so distant trip from Marseilles. La Ciotat made for an ideal location---close enough to allow him to react to any new information, yet far enough that he would have time to flee if events did not develop in his favor.

<<[Vivienne]: Damien, you have an incoming message from Mlle. Orabelle. Shall I patch it through?>>

<<[Gemeaux]: Of course, my dear. Thank you for letting me know.>>

<<[Vivienne]: My pleasure, Damien. Patching her through now.>>

The image of his PAN's personality program disappears, and is replaced with the familiar figure of his French fixer, Lianne Orabelle. The elf is dressed in expensive formal wear---a chic black dress that accentuates her curves. He suspects that she has taken the time to call him in the middle of an important dinner arrangement.

<<[Lianne]: Gemeaux, my poor soul, I am so sorry that you were accosted by bounty-seeking brutes in the middle of a meal, no less. I take no pleasure in reminding you that this will always be an issue for you so long as you indulge in such a...shall we say...promiscuous lifestyle.>>

Gemeaux grins at the fixer.

<<[Gemeaux]: I take it your proposal still stands?>>

The elf giggles before replying.

<<[Lianne]: My girls are affordable, clean, and---most importantly---discreet. They have protection that some of your former flings simply do not have.>>

On that note, Lianne's disposition melts into one of melancholy and slight regret. Gemeaux takes note of the change, and suddenly grows serious.

<<[Lianne]: I managed to find out how those bounty hunters tracked you down. Do you remember Adriena?>>

<<[Gemeaux]: Of course...Adriena, a Czech refugee hoping to catch on as an amateur model... I take it they found her?>>

Lianne nods sadly.

<<[Lianne]: I'm sorry, my dear. I asked a few friends to search for clues regarding the bounty hunters, and one of my data sleuths stumbled across the police report. The location and time match up with where the brutes were staying. I know it doesn't mean much...but you managed to kill them all off. That was the one group that had managed to reach Marseilles.>>

Perhaps, but it won't be the last... Poor Adriena...she deserved much better than that...much more than I could have ever given her...

Lianne hesitates a moment before continuing.

<<[Lianne]: I know this is not the best of time, but we agreed on a favor for a favor. It looks like I have to call in my own much sooner than I had anticipated. An establishment like mine attracts a ...wide range of clientele. Most are agreeable, but every so often some of the fringe elements become bad for business. I have two former clients who do not realize that when a lady says "no" and means it. They have threatened my girls, and some have even had the poor form to threaten me. I cannot have this, and require your services in order to eliminate them and emphasize the point to the rest of my clientele that I am not to be treated in such an uncivilized manner.>>

As Lianne speaks, she becomes tense and her hands ball up into small, furious fists. Gemeaux has known the fixer for quite some time, and knows that it takes a lot to disturb the normally unflappable façade that shields Lianne's true feelings. Clearly, these former clients have done something especially atrocious to shake her so.

<<[Gemeaux]: I am, of course, at your disposal. However, may I ask what it is they have done? That way, I can be sure that that your message translates poignantly to those who seek to still do business with you.>>

She sighs before continuing.

<<[Lianne]: One of them attacked a girl in my employ. Do you remember Malika? This client coveted her, although my girl did not engage in escort services. I try my best to protect my people, but I usually give more protection to my escorts due to the nature of their business. I failed Malika, and this woman...this...monster...took her, had her way with her, and then killed her in an attempt to keep me from finding out what had happened.

Another refuses to repay a debt, despite records showing the outstanding balance. Now, you know me, Gemeaux, I am a forgiving woman. However, this little criminal thought it smart to attempt to hack my system and alter my records. One of my own people caught security footage of the attempt, and I showed it to him. Instead of apologizing and paying what he owed, he hired an assassin to kill me. I think it only fair to return the gesture, don't you?>>

<<[Gemeaux]: Consider it done, my love. Just send me the information, and I will compose an appropriate response. I only ask that you tell me the site of Adriena's grave. I owe it to her soul to visit her.>>

<<[Lianne]: Of course, my dear. And...I know of your...unique situation, and I appreciate that the world is still quite new to you. You cannot let these things haunt you. The shadows have plenty of ghosts already, and there is no need to bring more along with you as you walk within its domain. When you get back to Marseilles, we will share a glass of wine, yes? Preferably after you have disposed of those clients...>>

Well played, my dear. A neat segue back to business.

<<[Gemeaux]: I would be honored, and now I bid you goodbye. I have taken enough of your valuable time.>>

The elf smiles, waves, and then winks out of existence. The data package on her clients and Adriena's grave arrive immediately after her departure.

Gemeaux leans back, snuffs his cigarette, and holds his head in his free hand. He wants to smash his wine bottle, but that would do nothing for Adriena. Instead, he recalls the time he spent with her, how she enjoyed dancing, running along the beach at night, and collected pressed flowers. Daffodils were her favorite, as she loved the color yellow. He asks Vivienne to search for florist shops, and tries to ignore the macabre situation of asking one dead woman's memento to toil in finding one for another...

@E:PL/ Gemeaux
[May 1st 2072; Marseilles, at the Abbaye de Saint Victor(Abbey of Saint Victor)]

"My son, I hear you have been engaging with the refugees and blessed souls most satisfactorily." The aging and apparently decrepit old abbot, a minor officiant in the fixture of the Roman Catholic Church, but in the shadows of Marseilles a power-house few would wish to openly cross, rose from the head table of the, at this hour, eerily vacant and silent refectory where he had been reading a dusty tome.

"I have a proposal of some interest for you, I think, Brother Anselm... your, talents at aiding these newly liberated and oppressed saints have not gone unnoticed, for all that I hear that you keep tabs on them a bit too much." The abbot paused to reflect and watch Anselm's reactions out of the corner of his eye as well he might, for it was rumored among the Benandanti that this aging old octogenarian was well placed within the ranks of the Templars and not much escaped his notice. "We have recieved word of a new organization of interest to His Holiness; a group combining both the demonic and the abomination in an unusual form."

The abbot turned with deliberate grace and grabbed a slim gray folio that had been sitting as if forgotten on the corner of the refectory dias table and, without so much as a glance to make sure he had selected the proper one from the neat stack behind him, passed it over to Father Anselm. "They are an unusually accepting group comprising a hodgepodge of refugees from various countries and sects with sorcerers of the most demonic nature rubbing elbows with the newly classified technomantic abominations and every other type of damned in between. Your contacts in the refugee community will be of great use to the Order and to His Holiness my son. Infiltrate them, gain their trust, even, indeed as you swore in your oath, act the villain against Holy Church and report back to us in the methods you have been taught so that we can return these lost and confused souls to God for purification."


"As it is, we have found a measure of ease in inserting your personage into their ranks quite nicely. They had a package bound for Seattle last Tuesday and, of course, the item in question was never theirs to begin with so Holy Church took it upon itself to create a deviation in it's delivery method. They have since recovered the package, thanks to one of our Eyes and Hearts of the World and are looking for more of a less, shall we say, obvious guard."

Anselm blinked, for a moment lost in his incessant habit to analyze every minute detail of a plot for treachery and then regained his normal composure, "How exactly do I enter into all of this? I easily understand that you wish me to be among the members guarding this package but I fail to see how I will not arouse suspicion... after all, I am but a humble Father, serving the Lord in all his precepts and needs..." And a few other masters to think of it....

"The matter is being arranged my son... Can you think of no way at all that this item might be entrusted to your care?" The abbot went on without waiting for a suspicious Anselm to reply, "No matter, we have taken to organizing the intricacies from a far. After all, the Lord is not without agents to work his Will is he not? Several things need to be laid out for you but they will be detailed in that folio now in your posession. Suffice to say that you are now a Mr. Hill, Holy Church has given you an especial place in the ranks of the damned, with many a woman of the night and many a barman willing and able to accuse you of many vile acts. After all, who is more trustworthy than a man ridden with vices, who is more expected to be able to combat the law than the man for whom there is no higher law? My son, I know it must pain you but you will do this for Holy Church, and have her blessing and redemption for it after..."

The abbot turned in dismissal and Father Anselm bowed low and turned to leave the shadowy refectory. As Anselm was almost on the threshold, the abbot spoke in a voice that carried far longer than it should, "A person you may wish to enquire about, should you need muscle for the job, one Gemeaux of Marseilles.... He is quite the popular fellow these days, a known philanderer and vice-ridden fellow himself, he has recently become a person of interest to Shiawase and is looking for a way out of the country, though he doesn't know it yet. You might do well to meet him on his nightly escapades... how you do it is up to you, but get him out of France my son, the Church has plans for him yet."

[b]@E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Noble Roman's, Seattle]
[/b]

"I'm paid in full Zhukov. More than paid in full, actually, considering what you owe me for that last job. And I'm not talking about the yen."

The hiss of steam from the sauna, combined with some very advanced noise cancellation technology the small package on the ground used, made reasonably free talk a possibility. As did the fact that the place really wasn't worth setting up a full surveillance operation on. Theoretically, one could use a combination of mics, bugs, drones, and cameras to get at what got talked about in the steam rooms. But it'd have to be a lot of them, and they'd need some pretty expensive oversight. In the end, 99% of the even remotely interesting people would just be low level Vory muscle, or even wannabes. The juice just wasn't worth the squeeze.

Which made it occasionally useful for one offs between people who weren't just Russian strongmen.

"We can't take you here, not now. This organization...it is mostly a very boring organization at its core. Boring people with boring money, and many, many boring contacts to keep it that way, yes? Usually we pay you to keep it boring. You are not such a boring person at the moment. Even if I wanted to, there's nothing I could do for you right now."

"I'm one of the best you've got. And I've been working the system for a while now. I want up."

"Nyet. I cannot do this thing. There is no opening for such as you; I can get you out of town, and lined up with a new job. Expand your horizons some. Maybe you make some new friends. I'll see if maybe the boring old men would be alright with you having some real estate. Someplace business is expanding, mmm? An emerging market. I think that would suit your talents."

"I'm listening"

"Well, seeing as how you need to lie low, there is this one job, a bit further east. A milk run. We have a truck load of Tri-D chips heading that way, you can catch a ride soon. It does involve...mages..."

"Goddamit Zhukov..."

"Well, you know one of them from what I hear"

@E:PL Ælias
[June 27th, 2072; Apartment, Auburn]

Things have been going particularly well recently…not only have you progressed sharply in the Citadel (a fact perhaps more significant than it should be for a grown orc), but work has been coming in steadily and you have been making a name for yourself, albeit a small one, wouldn’t do to get too noticed! You feel the incoming call as a tug on your bionode’s senses as it diverts from your work commlink after a once over by Sphinx…pays to be careful and Sphinx can be especially protective of its runner.

The communiqué is from a fixer that VectΩr had told you about…an elf called Argent. She was relatively important in the grand, shadowy, scheme of Seattle and was rumoured to have her web cast wide, a reliable and discreet source of information and the occasional hirer of runners. More importantly she had links with the Stillwater group who VectΩr was keen that you contact…it would seem, unless this is one vast concidence, that wheels are in motion in the background.

<<Ælias: I have some work involving a trip out of Seattle in connection with some of your work with the Refugees charity. Please contact me if you are available in the next couple of days for a period of a couple of weeks and we can discuss the details in a secure node.A.>>

@E:PL Copperhead
[June 27th, 2072; Nr Chicago Midway International Airport, Chicago]

The rumble of a subcontinental shatters the night air as it takes off…the flights in and out are hardly regular since Chicago was abandoned by the rest of the UCAS but there are still reasons for people to come here, just more for them to leave…

Dealer should be around to meet you soon, it felt like it was time to go back home, surely the heat would have died out by now…missing Cutter was nothing compared with the nagging worry that he would get himself into a scrape without you to back him up…and now the fates have intervened and you’ve had a call from Argent with another courier job…the only snag being that the package is a pair of breeders, inside the crumbling core of Chicago, and they are bloody technomancers to boot! Technomancers that are being actively hunted if everything she told you is correct. Just to make things really rosy, Argent wants you to hook up with yet another one of their kind so that he can help them to mask their signatures or some such thing…

@E:PL Dealer
[June 27th, 2072; Nr Chicago Midway International Airport, Chicago]

Your strings are being tugged again. Bloody mages, you never seem to be free of them…that witch Argent wanted to drag you into another courier job, escorting some techno freaks back to Seattle. You felt no real guilt about the death of her husband but it felt like she had manipulated you into working for her on more than one occasion since. At least the money was good and you could be fairly certain she didn’t intend to screw you over. Copperhead would hopefully be waiting for you…grudging respect for her skills has only grown in the last two months you’ve worked together on and off.

So, you need to go to this Blackwater place, drag the package out by their heels, avoid the authorities and those hunting them, get them across multiple international borders back to Seattle and finally get them to the Stillwater community…water again…bloody, bloody mages!

freΣdom
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Somewhere in Touristville]

The girl bridles at your tone

“Frag off…if I wanted you dead I’d have riddled the taxi before you even stepped out! He wants to see you so just put your weapons on the ground and Sammy will show you the way…twitch in a way I don’t like and I’ll end you! Don’t worry, nobody will run off with them, you have my word. I’m told you know why you’re here so you should know that we won’t tolerate any more attacks against us! Nobody gets to see Prospero without some security checks first…”

There’s a brief pause while she is clearly receiving a comm call…then she says reluctantly

“Forget the weapons…he obviously trusts your rep more than I do…Sammy will show you where to go…”

@E:PL
[June 27th, 2072; Nr Chicago Midway International Airport, Chicago]

Dealer grunted as information flowed across his commlink. Time out east had not particularly improved his social skills, which were not prize wining to begin with. Lay out a plan, point out the likelihood of death/success, transmit information in a tactically understandable manner...sure. B+, probably be an A with some formal training. Make people like him while he was doing it? Definitely a C. Fortunate then that it was definitely in text only mode.

Argent had called him in on this one, since he'd been working in the UCAS anyhow. She was, by far, not his favorite fixer. A little righteous, a little holier than thou, and all the while happily manipulating people as badly as any corp. And she never ever let you forget about Ember, who frankly, had died the same way people the world over did: by trying to grab more power than he could hold. Somehow that fact that it was "magic" was supposed to make it noble. And she all with the smug self-satisfaction of a holier than thou mage.

Actually, that was the worst part. Corps, generally speaking, people got to the top or near the top by being very smart, very cunning, and working their asses off for it. Sure, they could also be ruthless bastards, and there was nepotism in some places and just plain luck of being born into capital wealth in others. Hell, Dealer would readily admit that being born into the middle class stacked the odds pretty nicely in your favor for sarariman too. But at the end of the day, there was a way in, and a way up, and talent, guts, smarts, and a bit of luck - anyone could make it. And you know what? They didn't hide it. You knew that the corps would fight tooth and nail for power, but when it came right down to it, the people wielding that power were going to bloody well earn it.

Compare that to mages: you're either born with it or your frga out of luck chummer. Yet somehow they thought that this genetic freak of birth gave them wisdom and insight and some sort of hold on philosophy - and they almost always seemed to be anti-corp, anit-organization, anti-anything other than mages when the matter of who had the right do decide the future of anything went. Frag them. Double that for the ones who would speak cryptically about their little astral plane like it was something special and holy. Its just another part of science jackasses. Get over yourselves.

Anyhow, Argent was one of them. But as someone once said, to wage a war you need money and good soldiers, and Argent certainly had money. Dealer, in the mean time, was stuck with just being a very good soldier. And in this case that meant grabbing a pair of technos out of the containment zone for someone he pretty much despised.

He checked his ubiquitous duffel. Neatly full of stuff he would need in the city wastes. Not having to clear security or customs was definitely a saving grace to riding shotgun (more literally, riding assault rifle) on the occasional Vory shipment to get around the country. You got tired of CB radio though.

Then he saw Copper.

Well, at least it won't be boring...

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, at the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

"Cheers, my good friend, to a job well done."

Lianne raises a glass of Cassis in a toast to Gemeaux. The assassin smiles humbly and accepts the gesture, clinking her glass with his own and indulging in the wine's full flavor. He takes a moment to savor his surroundings. Lianne had reserved a table at the upper class restaurant to celebrate his successful "dispatching" of the traîtres infâmes. They sit at a table for two on the balcony overlooking the port. A twilight sky boasting a full moon's light provides the perfect scenery, and Lianne's fashionably-cut, indigo evening gown certainly makes for an impressive view. A salade niçoise to share provides a light meal for both of them, allowing them indulge in the wine without fear of growing too tipsy.

"I live to serve, my lady, especially when the rewards are so fine. I have to admit, though, I am fairly surprised at my own successes given the...unique nature...of your ex-clients."

Lianne cocks a quizzical eyebrow, caught unprepared for Gemeaux's offhand comment.

"Whatever do you mean? I had my people give you everything I had on them."

"I did not mean to accuse you, and I doubt that you could have known. However, I do come bearing gifts that should help illustrate what I mean." Gemeaux reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, crystal cylinder. He gives it to Lianne. She blanches slightly when she notices what they are.

"Oh my...are...are those teeth???"

"It appears that one of your clients was a vampire. The fangs are sealed in a crystallized polymer, and I had them thoroughly disinfected before encasing them. I think this might explain what happened to Malika. I nearly succumbed to the monster's seduction, but it seems that Providence is still looking out for me." He flashes Lianne a roguish grin before continuing.

"As for the other...I had no idea he was so wealthy. He hired not one, but three assassins to kill you. I suppose desperate men have no need for spare nuyen, but I was a bit surprised. Some of his hires were former rivals of mine. All eliminated, though."

"I still cannot believe it," Lianne remarks, still pale from the realization, "one of the infected in our midst...I even, ugh, I even shook her hand!"

"And, yet, here you are. Beautiful as always. It simply gives you another reason to celebrate being alive. This world that we have built for ourselves, it does its best to make us forget the simple pleasure of the moment."

"Oh my, you are terrible. But, at least terrible in a good way." She smiles, and they continue their evening of celebration, remembrance, and revelry. When the meal finally comes to an end, they part ways at the restaurant. Lianne has a "business meeting" to attend to, and Gemeaux decides to walk to his hotel room given the calm and comely nature of the night.

He takes a roundabout stroll along the waterfront, casually taking in the nightlife. He enjoys it so much that he does not mind discovering that he has picked up a tail or three. He tells Vivienne to release the safeties on his sidearm as he takes a turn into a dark alleyway. On the way, he passes a man of the cloth selling "indulgences" to the weak-willed and superstitious. He silently clucks his tongue at how even those who profess morality are quick bend over at the right amount of cash.

When he enters the alley, he hears the words he has been waiting for.

"All right, friend, put 'em up."

He smiles to himself, and turns around. However, his confidence takes a hit when he notices that his followers have apparently multiplied. Instead of the three original followers, he is greeted by eight goons with guns drawn. He laughs at his own hubris and begins to calculate his odds.

"I take it you are not willing to take 'no' for an answer..."

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

"Get your indulgences! Step right up and let Holy Church absolve your sins! You sir! You look weary with life! Leave a penance for Holy Church and you or a loved one can be absolved in the life hereafter!" Father Anselm eyes his mark as Gemeaux passes on a leisurely stroll obviously quite aware that he has a very unskilled tail following a few hundred feet behind. The take from selling the priories weekly quota of indulgences had been quite good for the few hours that Anselm had been planted within eye-shot of Gemeaux's favorite brothel, perhaps in response to many a guilty conscience which the place produced, however well satisfied its clients may have been.

However, waiting was still waiting and as young as Anselm still felt, it was too long by half. The wait had paid off however, and quite possibly would turn out better than Anselm had anticipated if the open intentions written on the lead troll's face were accurate. He kept up his spiel, even attracting the attention for a moment of both Gemeaux and his overly conspicuous company before they passed on, one's rate of movement controlled by the other. Anselm mentally sighed and figured that perhaps he should have found Gemeaux a little earlier to avoid the coming trouble. He watched as Gemeaux rounded the corner and saw the group of orks coming up on the other side, the ones he had not noticed before, rushing up to join the three originally tailing the erstwhile shadowrunner.

Hmmm this may get a bit too interesting for my needs. Anselm silently activated his three foci which he was very thankful he had brought along and mentally uttered a quick prayer for an angel of vengeance, "My Lord, aid me against those that would disrupt your Holy work this night, send me one of your Legion, mighty with justice and wrath."

As Anselm hurried to the corridor which the party had rounded he sent several more prayers skyward, warding himself against the surprises of the devil and asking for divine intervention in the coming trial of faith. He paused for a moment to ascertain that the group had gone sufficiently far down the passage, about 20 meters and then rounded the corner as Gemeaux turned and replied to the order to put his hands up.

"Grant me your wrath my Lord" Anselm ordered the Angel to attack and destroy the party threatening Gemeaux and launched a stunbolt of his own, sending painful sleep coursing into the Trolls tiny, narrow mind.

@E:PL
[June 27th, 2072; Vory Warehouse, Seattle]

Copperhead swaggered boldly up to the eastern european with the bad crewcut and worse breath.

Slater had actually come through on this one, although it did mean working with the Vory. She thought back to her recent call with the elf.

"Vory?"

"Yes, Vory."

"But don't dey kill you and your family, and yer dog and...."

"No, that's the Albanians. The Vory are trying to go legit, so they keep their dodgy dealings quiet. Plus, your friend Dealer's in tight with them."

"Huh?"

"Here. Look!"

<<poor quality video of two men in a sauna, one of whom could possibly be Dealer>>

"I guess that could be him"

"And the other is Zhukov. He's a fixer, but he's also Vory."

Her attention is brought back to the present, as the man with bad breath grunts something in what she assumes is Russian, then repeats it in broken English.

Go 'way trog. You not welcome here."

The Russian is tall and probably cybered, but so is she. She draws herself up to her full height and stares squarely into his eyes, drawing just enough mana to activate her shamanic mask.

"Lissen up breeder. I'm sshotgun number two for a truckload of BTLs dat's going to ssshicago. So unlesss you wants to tell your boss why da sshipment iss late, youse better letss me in, neh?"

To his credit, the thug stands his ground and even manages to spit, although he carefully avoids hitting her. He mutters under his breath in Russian but lets her in.

She swaggers past him, spotting Dealer by the truck's cab.

Hey, Dealer. How's it hanging? You oughtta let yer boss know dat security in dis place is lousy. Day let any trog jus' walk in off da street."

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

The quiet of the night is shattered, not so much by the silent phutts of Gemeaux's pistol but by the hysterical screaming that follows the moment of stunned silence...they clearly hadn't been expecting much resistance against the eight of them...

From behind the air ripples with barely visible energy and the leader, a trog of gargantuan proportions, slams into the side wall of the alley with a messy display of blood and gore errupting from his nose, ears and eyes...although the spell was designed to stun, cast with that amount of ferocity was akin to being dropped head first off a five storey building.

Standing beside the shrouded figure of the priest is a figure straight out of legend, the angelic form is radiant in the dimmness of the alleyway. It gestures with an imperious finger and another of the assailants is rendered mute...

freΣdom
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Somewhere in Touristville]

"What ever you say Girlie." He gives her a big toothy grin, and then holsters his handgun turning towards Sammy. "You must be Sammy. Lead the way young man."

Fractal follows along, his attention slightly distracted as he's using his mind's eye display to take over the Girl's commlink. It would be good to know exactly what kind of orders she is getting.

@E:PL
[June 27th, 2072; Apartment, Auburn]

<<Ælias: I have some work involving a trip out of Seattle in connection with some of your work with the Refugees charity. Please contact me if you are available in the next couple of days for a period of a couple of weeks and we can discuss the details in a secure node.A.>>

Ælias looked the message over again as he browsed his upcoming schedule in one window, confirming that was indeed free for the next few weeks. There was a scheduled guild grouping for a stream ride next month, but he figured he might be done by then, if not there was always another one coming up sometime. He turned from the message for a moment as he reached into the exceptional resonance of his studio, compiling a being of pure Data before him. It appeared as floating head composed of millions of flickering, constantly changing images, each one a pixel of the face. It looked Ælias over and then at the vibrant 'Trix space around him, and nodded in approval, seeming content in the Resonance well that was the living room of Ælias' studio.

< What do you seek? It is my pleasure to delve the ether from here. >

< I seek information on the one who calls itself Argent. > Responds Ælias with a nod to the spirte as he works out a response to Argent.

<<Argent: I am interested in hearing the details. Where should we meet? >>

Ælias sends the response off with a thought and then turns his mind back to preparing a backup for the meeting. One could never be too safe. Enmeshing himself back with the currents of the Resonance, Ælias begins pulling together another being of coding, this one built from the remnants of destroyed programs, rended firewalls, and pure processing firepower; this was his bodyguard, Tank. The sprite appeared in a with an audible thump in the 'Trix, appearing in the guise of a stout Troll in a smooth black suit, like a professional bodyguard, except behind his black shades were spinning orbs of ones and zeroes, and what skin was exposed was laced with veins like fiber-optic cables. Tank gave Ælias a blank stare, simply standing and waiting for a command, but Ælias was not completed yet. He extended his mind into his link with Tank and fell into a meditative trance, locked in mind with the sprite. It was part contest of will, part restructuring of code, and part fistfight; he was registering Tank to himself, tying the sprite to him for more than just this day.

Six hours later and Ælias sat up, returned to himself, a little worse for wear but now with a very strong arm at his side for as long as he could keep the sprite compelled.

Now let's see if anyone has gotten back to me.

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

Gemeaux smiles in macabre satisfaction as his shots hammer home with adequate lethality. He swiftly slips into cover behind a collection of trash cans and an unfortunately pungent dumpster. He frowns in disgust as the odor assaults his nostrils.

Such is the price for discretion---of a limited level, it seems. He still is not quite sure what to make of the magician and his spirit. Strangely enough, it seems that the uninvited third party is the pandering priest. He does not have an answer to the question of whether or not the man is friend or foe, but he decides not to dwell on it right now. After all, the man is helping even out the odds. He might not even have to change clips at this current pace of goon culling.

He sees one of the voyous closer to him trying to line up a shot, and decides to explain to him why that is a very bad idea...

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

...and he grins wickedly as his salvos hit home. The goon goes down, and then he tallies two more having fallen to the mysterious priest and his summoned spirit.

This is damned peculiar. I don't often run across such bloodthirsty Good Samaritans. I wonder if this is simply a battle between bounty hunters. Tut, tut, Damien, you are becoming too popular for your own good...

He looks at the two remaining thugs, and stifles a chuckle. Their faces register defeat and their postures are those of defeated men. They look as if they are ready to flee the scene.

Too bad you will not get that opportunity, you stupid, petty fools...

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

Clearly stunned by the rapid escalation in violence the two standing bounty hunters make a bid for freedom. The first, a burly orc slams his back against the nearest door off the alley...the stale smells of warm bear that waft out indicate it is the rear entrance to one of the local bars...he is not without some fight left in him however as he unleashes a blast of shot from a sawn off shotgun down the alley to discourage persuit...

The other, a scrawny disheveled individual who was the screamer moments before, takes off in a more unlikely way, literally scrambling up the side of the alley wall and then impossibly disappearing from view...boiling out of a sewer grate a stream of rats cascade out and hurl themselves against the glowing angelic icon...

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

The assassin is taken aback by the screaming would-be bounty hunter who scrambles up the wall. The entire display strikes him as unnatural and arcane.

More mages...merde...

However, his training and Shiawase's hardware force him to zero in on the one remaining enemy he can actually affect. When the orc dashes for the doorway, Gemeaux leaps into action and gets ready to follow suit. As the orc levels the shotgun at him, he feels adrenaline start to surge through his body and time seems to slow down.

No. You. Don't.

He somehow weaves his way through the blast field unscathed. He levels his own weapon at the fleeing orc, and lets his smartgun system play across his vision. Various trajectory paths and models offer predictions on how to best guarantee a hit. Something within the shadows of his subconscious tells him to follow the third option. He goes with his gut, takes his two shots, and watches the exploding shells slam into the shocked voyou.

I do so love it when I am right.

With that one loose end cut free from the land of the living, he turns his attention towards the priest and his spirit. A swarm of sewer rats rush towards the ethereal angel. He wrinkles his nose in disgust at the thought of where those rats have been, and what that mage had to do to make them so vicious. Part of him thinks this would be the ideal time to give the priest---and potential "would be bounty hunter"---the slip. However, another part of him is curious as to why the priest took the time and effort to help him in his time of need. He looks around for the last of his would-be captors, but sees no sign of the wall-crawler. He pulls out a cigarette, deftly lights it with a stainless steel lighter which he slips back into his pocket, and casually leans against the cleanest part of a backalley building wall he can find.

"I am sorry, my friend, but I am all out of rat traps and I do not think I have enough bullets to dispose of that vermin," he says to the priest. "Though I think that your cherubic ally should be able to dispose of them without much trouble, oui? If you can point me towards their master, perhaps I can do something about him."

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

The action seems to swirl around Anselm as he focuses on being a rod of Divine Wrath, invoking the powers of the souls to seperate the empty husks of the goons minds from their bodies. In what seems like minutes, the goons are either down, dead or reeling on the pavement, except for the screamer and a badly shaken ork with a shotgun.

Too rapidly to catch, the fleeing ork disappears in fine red mist and chunks on the bar door while the unexpected demon worshipper attempts to scamper up the wall, to be covered by an unholy swarm of rats, all seething towards Anselm's Angel.

The slightly bewildered and disheveled Gemeaux looks back and forth for the now apparently absent satanist and, in a change of mein which speaks to his experience in the shadows, leans up against a less foul section of wall, deftly lighting a somewhat worse for wear cigarette which has appeared in his hands with a stainless steel lighter.

"I am sorry, my friend, but I am all out of rat traps and I do not think I have enough bullets to dispose of that vermin, Though I think that your cherubic ally should be able to dispose of them without much trouble, oui? If you can point me towards their master, perhaps I can do something about him."

Anselm pauses for a split second to register the comment, still caught in the whirlwind of divine wrath and looks at the spot the demon spawn had just occupied, it took all his will but he caught sight of the mage about 6 meters up, climbing rapidly towards the top of the 8 story tenement and whorehouse.

Mentally commanding his soldier of the Lord to destroy the filth if he could not, Anselm points to the rapidly departing damned and begins chanting the framework for a lance of divine light to sear the scum before he could make good on his getaway.

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

The scurrying shaman can dimly be heard whimpering to himself as he flings himself up the side of the building. Reaching a likely window he thrusts out his hand and sends shards of glass whirling into the night air before he tumbles inside. Having pierced the fog of his concealment, however, Anselm is able to unleash the fury of the heavens against the fleeing scum and the air of the alley is burnt as the incandescent stream of light blasts into the retreating form.

The angelic spirit pursues with the rats defying gravity to run hotly up the wall behind him. As he reaches the window he is confronted by a single rat-like figure standing on its hind legs and chittering in a threatening way and blocking the path to it's shaman summoner.

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

Gemeaux looks up just in time to see the ethereal display. He nonchalantly shields his eyes and face from the shattered glass with his free hand, and squints as the bright effects of the priest's magic briefly flare about the alley. Seeing the shaman slip outside of his immediate firing range, he looks back to the alleyway where the angel is engaged with now two rats. Amidst the wizard's duel, the remaining thugs are groaning as they vacillate between life and death.

The fewer witnesses, the better. I hope you paid the priest for his services before you made this fatally wrong choice...

He raises his gun and begins the dirty business of killing the wounded...

freΣdom
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Somewhere in Touristville]

You breeze through the negligible protection on the girl’s commlink and rifle through its contents. Seems to be very little on here, Sarah’s details, although the SIN is so blatantly fake that you wonder why anyone would bother with it (perhaps enough to ride a bus and not stand out in a mall), a few contact numbers and the call log – that’s about the only thing of interest because it shows that there haven’t been any calls received for three days and the only outgoing one seems to have been made by a Fetch. Either she’s got a transceiver on her, although that seems unlikely, or she’s got some magical way of receiving orders…or perhaps technomantic? That might be more probably given the nature of the gang.

Sammy looks you over nervously and then waves you onwards towards the centre of the gang’s influence…most of it is in the ‘trix but they still defend, defended, a small patch of turf centred around a group of apartment blocks. There is evidence all around you of gang violence, too much in fact, it looks planted and you are hardly a forensic expert. There are also bodies which your guide carefully avoids looking at…it seems there aren’t even enough of them left to clear their dead from the street…

You are led to one of the larger units and then down a service stairs towards the basement…seems like Prospero lives under a rock…

freΣdom
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Somewhere in Touristville]

Fractal sighed to himself, Technomancers. He let his coprocessor collect all the information and record it for later analysis. He had a pretty good forensics program back home he might be able to run the information through.

The kid was amusing, young and obviously way over his head. "Lead on McDuff"

@E:PL
[June 27th, 2072; Apartment, Auburn]

<I have found what you seek. Do you require another task of me?> The Data sprite queries as Ælias returns from his registration trance with Tank. It transfers the data package on Argent to the link on Ælias' hip, his external memory source for things he want to hold onto. Ælias browses through the collected data with a quick eye, picking out the important details as he scans... She's a straight shooter, hmm... married? Awakened husband, gotta be extra careful not to leave a trace behind... she seems legit though. Well, I will see what she has to say when she gets back to me.

Ælias turns back to the Data sprite after browsing the file, <Thank you for the good work, I have no other tasks for you right now.>, he responds with a nod the sprite as it begins returning to the Resonance, returning to the primary data forms it was created from.

Oh, crap, she said something about leaving Seattle for a few weeks for this run... I need some things before I go, if I go...

Ælias quickly summons up another window, this one to the tiny VPN that the Refugees created for easier mass guild communication.

<< Subject: Going Outta Town for a bit -
Hey guys, I got a job coming up, and I was wondering if any of you could help a brotha out with a couple of things.
First, if any of you have a spare, external simrig, I would like to borrow it for a few days. Seriously, just borrow. I heard about a new technique someone came up with, emulating the software of the thing into a form for us to use. I wanna try that out, I even have some change for a renter's fee and security deposit if you want
Second, this one is a bit more difficult, but I still got some savings, so if you can hook me up it will be worth it. I need another name if I'm leaving town, if you get my drift. Something that will pass inspection on a plane if needed. And I might need it ASAP.
Send me a message if you can help.

Thanks,
~Ælias >>

With his message sent off, Ælias finally pulls himself out of VR, back into his meat, and the small amount of blood dried on his upper lip and chin. He pulls himself up off his old, but comfortable, green couch and stumbles across the studio to the little closet that is his bathroom. Made up of a sink above a toilet across from a standing plexiglass box shower, the room is barely large enough for his small ork frame to turn around in, but at least the water is always hot. He washes his face off and runs his hands through his greasy black hair in a semblance of brushing it, and then nearly doubles over when his stomach wakes up with a mighty gurgle that reverberates throughout the studio.

<< You know, you might think about eating sometime. I hear that is a necessity for you living things. >> remarks Sphinx through the studio's CHN, the AI's digital voice projected from the 9.1 surround sound speakers Ælias had delivered for his 'premium' upgrade to his Trideo subscription. Wanderer, another Refugee, had pointed him towards the backdoor he had left in the providers node; he, like Ælias, liked to say 'why pay for something when you can just spoof it?'.

"Thanks Sphinx, I don't think I had realized that yet."

Glancing at the timestamp in his vision, he winced at the time: 10:46 PM. Where did all the time go? At least the Stuffer is still open.

Grabbing his armor underclothes and Greatcoat, Ælias tosses his link onto his wrist (loading up his Simon Trent SIN), and his Predator into the under shoulder hidden holster and heads out into the night to find something to eat.

@E:PL
[June 27th, 2072; ShadowSEA Private Meeting Node, Seattle Matrix]

The icon facing you is of an imposing looking female elf with a tell-tale silver white streak through the front of her hair. The resolution is good and made to make you feel as if this is what the user looks like in the flesh…of course you know better than most that the matrix is as full of lies as of truths…

“Ah, Ælias, thank you for joining me. I take it that you are at the very least interested in the proposal and are free for the coming couple of weeks? Good, then I will introduce you to your Johnson and allow you to discuss the terms with her. If you require further assistance then you have my contact details. This is Ms. Novac from the Stillwater Community…”

And her icon fades from the node as another steps into place. You have heard of Novac by reputation from your conversations with VectΩr. She’s an old school decker and Sysop for the Community…seems she’s branching out as Johnson now. The icon is crudely rendered by contrast with Argent’s but you can see that this is a deliberate statement rather than a lack of investment…on closer inspection each angular facet is made up of countless more down to a sub molecular level. For a mundane she shows some skill and is probably worthy of respect.

“Ælias? I’ll be brief as I understand you have your own commitments to see to. There is a small sub group of the Stillwater Community set up in Chicago dedicated to hiding technomancers from those who would exploit or otherwise hurt them. In this I gather this tallies with your own agenda and that of the Refugees? The Blackwater group is about to be compromised, we don’t know how yet, and we need to get the people out of there and back here to Seattle where they can be protected. I have already arranged for another two runners to meet up with you in Chicago, Dealer and Copperhead are both competent individuals but they lack your matrix expertise. I have a couple of other teams en route and between you we will split the Blackwater Group and have you each take a different path back to Seattle to avoid trying to move too big a group across the borders. This data package will give you information on your charges. Now, do you have any questions before we move onto the details of payment?”

The data burst is short, two SINs and some additional details on Kathy, and Dave, both young, a human and an orc and presumably both gifted like yourself…

freΣdom
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Apartment Block Basement, Prospero’s Lair, Touristville, Redmond]

Sammy leaves you at a door in the sub basement nodding at the blinking red light on the CCTV camera looking down at you. The door opens with a hiss and your optics automatically adjust to the gloom inside. The place is full of dust and allows you to make out the projectors that are producing the holographic rendering of a withered husk of a human male supported by a plethora of medical equipment. Seems he’s not prepared to meet you in the flesh after all. The voice when it emerges is dry but was clearly once able to sway people with its softness and tone

“Fractal, thank you for being here. I apologise for the brashness of my guardians but they have suffered greatly in the last few hours so I am sure you will make allowances for their grief as well as their youth. You have seen the data file and the bodies in the street…nothing has been touched since the attack, I insisted…I need to know who is responsible and why they came. They have escaped my grasp and my followers are in no fit state to find this knowledge so I must look to the outside…to you… If you can find nothing here then I suggest you track down Summer and find out what she knows…she has meddled here and clearly knows more…I don’t care how you extract the information! Find me the truth and I will reward you well!”

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

"In mortem a vita ... Mitto ego te ad infernum unde venistis!" The bolt of heavenly wrath which shot from Anselm's work scarred hands was a molten arc of light, blinding its intensity, which filled the alleyway with a garish noon-day glare and left arcing spots across the vision of those who could observe. The smell of sulfur and ozone left in its trail as it slammed into the departing heathen spoke volumes of the source from which it had been pulled.

At the sight disappearance of their masters and the oncoming onslaught of the Angel, the spirits fell back, their main purpose achieved, though from their disappearance as rapidly as they had come, Anselm could tell that at least the satanist was no longer conscious, and most likely extremely charred. Anselm dismissed the Angel with a prayer of thanks and immediately the divine light seemed to flow from his person, leaving him the slightly geriatric looking bent priest in a torn robe flapping about his legs.

The unseemly stench which filled the vacuum left by the lance reminded him that channeling so much divine favor was unwise to engage in or plead for as a common habit. I really should've cornered this Gemeaux earlier, when I found out about his trip... too much time was wasted and this ordeal has forced my hand too much into the open... Now to dissemble before this wencher and show myself to be another vagrant in this changing world...

Pushing his cowl even further up to shield himself from being fully scanned, he hobbled back to where he had been selling his indulgences, but not before he said in a querulous voice, "My son, you should take more care as to the company you keep. A man such as you would do well to find work in another place... be content for now that God set you in my path this night, for it seems he has plans for you yet, Madame Liane would be sorely upset to find her favorite companion assaulted by so many again..."

@E:PL
[June 27th, 2072; ShadowSEA Private Meeting Node, Seattle Matrix]

Ælias' gives Argent a nod as she leaves, a mental thanks for the setting up of this meeting. His icon is currently that of a skinny, teenage human, a unspiked flopped over the left side of his face, and his body dressed in a fine Vashon Line Steampunk suit, a virtual dichotomy of status. Whatever will throw them off the trail.

He listens intently to the Johnson's, to Novac's description of the job, letting himself analyze the details she has already presented and what details he can infer from what she hasn't said. Blackwater? That sounds much more ominous than Stillwater, though admittedly, neither name is very reassuring sounding. She also assumes I am going to agree, she already has people on the ground there, I am just the final, crucial it seems, player. Maybe I can use that to my advantage...

"Yeah, I have a question... are the charges willing to be extracted and moved? Are they aware of what is going to happen, or are they going to need to be restrained as well as babysat? Outside of that detail, I am interested in this job; you guys over at Stillwater have been cooperative with us Refugees over the last few years, I like to think that we are each benefiting from the other."

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

As the wizard's duel unfolds between the priest and the goon's spirit, Gemeaux thinks back to Shiawase's instruction concerning magical threats.

"The first rule for combating spirits: Don't. Run if you can. If that option is nonexistent, then hit the mage with everything you have and more. Most mages don't expect "mundanes" to resist. If that's not an option, target the spirit and shoot to annihilate." Time to put that last theory to the test. He loads a full cartridge into his gun and switches over to burst fire mode.

<<[Gemeaux]: Vivienne, my dear, set up a targeting equation optimized for damage on that swarm of rats please.>>

<<[Vivienne]: Of course, Damien. Processing... Hmm, that is odd. Those "rats" are not giving off usual life signs.>>

<<[Gemeaux]: That is because it is a spirit masquerading as a pack of sewer rodents.>>

<<[Vivienne]: Ah... I see. Targeting equation established, you may fire when ready.>>

Time to put my training to the test... He focuses on the smartgun data playing across his vision, watching the "rats" combat the "angel", and then fires a three-shot burst into the swarm. He grins in satisfaction as he hears the otherworldly beast howl in pain. He continues to unload salvos into the spirits, assisting the mage's servant in disrupting the hostile spirits.

When the dust finally settles from the astral-tinged firefight, Gemeaux notices that his cigarette has burned out. He disposes of it with a nicotine addict's practiced flick, and immediately draws and lights a new cigarette. He reloads his gun and looks back at the mage, a world-weary---and now battle-weary---priest wearing some church's denominational paraphernalia. When the man pulls his hood down, it only underlines his prior skepticism with well-placed suspicion.

"My son, you should take more care as to the company you keep. A man such as you would do well to find work in another place... be content for now that God set you in my path this night, for it seems he has plans for you yet, Madame Liane would be sorely upset to find her favorite companion assaulted by so many again..."

Gemeaux gives a congenial chuckle, albeit tinged with an uncomfortably palpable hint of mockery.

"I appreciate the assist," he says nonchalantly in English, gesturing to the downed gunmen. "Whether I am grateful all depends on what your 'Providence' has in plans for me. I would be twice foolish tonight if I did not ask you this question---especially since you seem to have issue pronouncing 'Madame Lianne's' name: What do you want from me?"

@ Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:24:00 : Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive]

The bustling atmosphere of this mid-sized establishment on the corner of Pacific Avenue and South 19th Street was always a comfort for Jack, he felt at home here in this Vory-run poker den which siphoned the hard-earned, or hardly-earned in the case of a few, wages of the local dock workers and students sentenced to live in this section of town. Something about the old world feel that the Vory had worked so hard to instill in the place, despite its obviously seedy surroundings gave the impression that you might just strike wealth here, and that impression always lent itself to lucky individuals scooping up the wages of the unskilled who plunked everything they had on a single flop of the cards.

It was an early and productive night for Jack, who had already raked in a good seven thousand nuyen from the round-robin tournament which had concluded minutes ago with a stunning stroke of luck revealing a flush to top out the pair of Aces which had been the hope of a younger, and very much unrefined dockhand.

"That's drek man! You got no Hez!" The admittedly large ork was still very agitated and physically threatening as the guards for the business restrained him and tossed him out into the already pitch black night. The nuisance settled, Jack returned to the bar and ordered a real- draft beer. No nutri-brew for me tonight. Not when lady luck has been so kind to me. Jack shuddered at the remembered taste of the soy-based fungal brew that was his drink of desperation when the chips were down. Thankfully though, tonights winnings meant he'd be in the black for some time to come... so long as he could hold onto what he had won.

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

Anselm's occasional slur from his partially malformed tongue made his pronunciation of Lianne's name sound even more clumsy than he had anticipated and Gemeaux was quick to mock the priests sillibant speech, "I appreciate the assist. Whether I am grateful all depends on what your 'Providence' has in plans for me. I would be twice foolish tonight if I did not ask you this question---especially since you seem to have issue pronouncing 'Madame Lianne's' name: What do you want from me?"

Anselm frowned beneath his cloak, he was one who liked to keep his tools in the dark until they needed to know things, but his usual theatrics seemed to be at a disconcerting lack of efficacy these past few weeks, Damn... I have to acquire his services now or he may well shoot me. This last thought was emphasized by the slightly elevated tilt of the freshly reloaded gun in Gemeaux's deadly and capable hands.

He raised his hands and removed the cowl from his head to show he meant no harm.

"I meant no offense my son. I simply was informed that you were a man who might benefit from a timely absence in this country with skills that I would greatly desire on a business trip. I had been told that you frequented this venue as often as I have and meant to speek to you earlier after I had finished selling my wares for the day but I believe you found this intrusion into your privacy acceptable for the time being? Believe me, I have no interest in you in the way these unbound souls did, you are merely a man with talents I desire."

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:25:37 : Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive]

The beer wasn't the best Jack had ever had, but it tasted like victory in this place both dark and rich. The winnings would inevitably go mostly into the next tournament buy-in or at least most of them, but that was a worry for another time. It was the first time he had a decent victory and didn't spend the entire night drowning himself trying to forget about his father's murder. Life was too short, he popped one of his pills while reading the label to himself, "Do not take with alcohol" Jack smiled and finished off his beer. He would have ordered another but saw Hawke walking toward him, most like to congratulate his new friend. Jack had been a fairly new arrival to the area, but had already made and lost small fortunes at this fine establishment. Jack stood up and made his way over politely leaving his empty glass at the bar.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:27:15 : Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive]

Hawke, who's alias readily described his slavic features, was generally a genial medium-built man who ran the day-to-day operations of the floor tournaments and was rumored to be able to point any serious inquiries into the more dubious side of tacoma towards the proper authorities, those authorities of course, varied greatly depending on the party doing the inquiring.

So Jack had heard anyways, from the few "friends" he had made in the bare month since he had been relocated off of his family's quarters in the small condo by the Horizon Creative Focus Retreat for "further expansion of his creative nature and in the company's best interests due to the mentally destabilizing effects of sudden loss". Expansion of my creative nature my ass! What they really mean is to keep me on hook line and sinker for mom, wherever she is... and probably so they have a convenient scape-goat if they find real evidence to pin on me.

"Jack, my young friend! Welcome back!" Smiling as if he too had just profited greatly from being in the same room as Jack and he was some long-lost cousin, Hawke barked a few orders in russian to a passing server who immediately disappeared to return moments later with a freshly refilled glass of beer. "I see you have had a new date with you tonight? Lady luck must be well charmed indeed to spend so much good fortune on one young man."

As Hawke deftly steers the slightly non-plussed Jack back towards the poker tables with a friendly but iron-clad grip, Jack realizes he probably wont leave tonight with all of his winnings intact.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:27:44 : Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive]

"Hawke, good to see you around. I was hoping to make use of your facilities next door, though I realize it is after hours. I would be happy to compensate you with some of my recent winnings for the inconvenience." Jack fell prey to the same trap he typically did after winning a game with a decent payout, the curse of generosity. Maybe combining pills and alcohol isn't such a great idea. So let's throw guns into the equation to help balance it out. Jack realized he must have drifted off for a moment after talking to Hawke and quickly came back to reality. Jack was hoping his pills would kick in a bit faster, he had felt his grip slipping towards the end of the game but didn't want to show weakness to his ork opponent. Luckily for Jack that nuisance had already been dealt with.

"I was also wondering if you knew of any other games in the area, preferably with a 5,000 nuyen buy-in?" He wasn't going to make any money at the big games until he worked up to it with the small ones. The major game Jack had been trying to earn the cred for was a 100,000 nuyen buy-in and he was no where near the kind of cash to play at those tables. Just breathe and wait for a few man, they just need time to work.. Jack took a sip of the beer Hawke had so generously offered him.