@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:27:15 : Outside the Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]

"That no good breeder! He can't take ma hez from me like that! Rasta won't take that omae! You watch your back pinkie!" The fairly sedate Tacoma night was broken by the enraged yelling of the ork being tossed out of The Crimean in an unceremonious fashion by the bouncers at the door. Jackal finished smoking his cigarette where he had been watching the passersby from across the street and stubbed it against the bullet-scarred barrier separating Pacific Ave from the 705 corridor.

The ork drunkenly swayed back towards the docks from which he had come, shouting all manner of obscenities about the breeding and parentage of the human scum that had oppressed his ancestors as Jackal casually strode across to the front entrance of the Crimean. Standing an impressive 3 and a half meters he towered over the human guards out front who gave him suspicious if cautious looks from behind their shades. He moved through the doors and immediately spotted Hawke who at the moment had his arm wrapped around a gangly looking and uncertain youth by the poker tables. Heh, guess Hawke is eager to hang onto as many chips as possible tonight.

Catching Hawke's eye, Jackal motioned to the back stairs with his head and began heading to the bar for a drink.

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

As you eye each other up in the alley way, trying to judge each other’s intentions, you hear a scream from above you. It is easy enough to place the location as the shattered window that the shaman crawled through a few moments ago. Whether he is dead or still amongst the living is largely irrelevant now that he’s been discovered. There is no telling exactly what the response of the screamer may be, after all this isn’t the kind of neighbourhood where the first response is to summon the Police Nationale, but the streets have other authorities that don’t take kindly to disturbances outside their establishments…vacating the scene is probably prudent...

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

“I appreciate your concern for their safety. Yes, they are aware that they are to be extracted to Seattle and will come willingly, in fact I think they will be very glad to see you, Blackwater isn’t the nicest of places. The reason we are employing runners isn’t just to guard our charges against those hunting them. Blackwater is underground within the former containment zone. In fact it was a former hive before Ares fragged the place in fifty eight. But then, where better to hide a nascent technomancer movement? Or so we thought…we need to get them to a safe haven before the group is compromised.

There are the dangers of the lawless which go beyond what you might see in the barrens here in Seattle. Chicago is a changed place that has been abandoned by all but the desperate or the insane. They’ve always avoided the bug nests though. Bring them out, avoid any entanglements with the authorities and the gangs and keep them safe from the hunters…simple enough right?

Here are the contact details of Copperhead and Dealer. I will leave it to you to decide with them how best to get your packages out of Chicago and back to Seattle. Dealer has smuggling connections but if for some reason you can’t use them then we can connect you with alternatives…but we’d prefer to keep our network out of this if we can to avoid any repercussions if things go badly in Chicago."

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

Hawke seemed to be in a good mood and after a 500 nuyen tip the doors to the shooting range were opened for a private audience of one. Jack stepped through the door went to the nearby stall and started unloading rounds. The ammo wouldn't last forever so after another 500 nuyen tip several small boxes of ammo were placed on the table behind the range in use. Jack's mind began to focus better as the meds took effect. "Hawke, you know anyone that can actually teach me to hit any better. I've had this gun for a couple of years now and I still feel clumsy?" Jack fired off a few more and evaluated his shots.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:35:32 : Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive]

Hawke, however had slipped out of the room and left in his stead a pretty human female that only good Russian genes could produce. "Hello sir, Mr. Vladoff instructed me to do anything you would require... Anything at all." The way she batted her eyelashes and the remarkable bosom that she displayed by leaning eagerly forward to assist Jack reload the magazines hinted that she took the instructions to the letter. Mr. Vladoff has important guests to attend to at the moment but I'm certain we can assist you with that... I know many women who can help you with that skill...

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

The piercing scream once again showed the fool-hardy nature of having gotten involved at such an inopportune time and brought Anselm once again to feel that he seemed to be experiencing a radical day of misfortunes in terms of planning. Damn.... Now we really have to get out of here, hired or not.

"Ahem, However, regardless as to whether you believe me or not I suggest that we exit this alley with all divine haste... I'm certain someone will be here momentarily..." And I just did a HUGE amount of magic...hope the cleaners can get here quickly or this will get even worse... Anselm mentally called up the priory and sent him as trite a message as possible, <<22:32:10 - Padre - I did not mean to call this number unsecured but it would seem that God chose to work his will in an unusual way this evening. I need the cleaners here at Rue 67 San Soucie post haste... theres been an unfortunate amount of divine intervention on my part. - Anselm >>

Hoping Gemeaux would follow, Father Anselm turned and began vigorously striding to the other side of the alleyway, further down the passage in order to use a fresh exit.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:30:12 : the Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]

Hawke disappeared momentarily into the adjacent shooting range with his new young friend in tow and reappeared moments later, issuing orders to an especially attractive female who quickly disappeared back into the door which he had just vacated. He looked over to where Jackal was watching him and nodded quickly and turned to head for the back stairs and the office above the gaming parlor.

Jackal finished his soybrew and casually walked over to the stairway. As he mounted the stairs he felt hands on him as the hidden security guards in the alcove to the side frisked and patted him down, pausing several times to feel for his concealed Ares crusader and other special goodies. "Hey, a man's gotta have company on these lonely nights omae." The security team made no reply, body language or otherwise and simply stepped back inside the alcove once the check was complete.

Free to continue upstairs, Jackal turned left at the second landing he came to and knocked on the old oak door. "The Pony Express was an experiment in breaking the law." Five seconds later the door creaked open and the luxurious middle-managers office, or at least luxurious for a mid-level floor manager in the Vory crime family opened up. Mr. Vladoff was seated behind his teak desk with a rocks glass filled with a crystal clear liquid and a freshly opened bottle of real Russian vodka pooling condensation on a cooling tray.

"Ah, Jackal, have you what this traveler requires?"

Jackal didn't reply, except to pull the large package out of his capacious jacket pocket and set it with one hand on the desk in front of Hawke. The size comparison was not lost on either of them as the package that had easily fit in Jackal's palm took both hands for the Russian to move closer.

"I got what you requested, though it seems the sokaiya didn't want to part with it easily... I need extra compensation for that hassle, you didn't include that in the details Hawke..." The package, old ledgers actually written in paper, quite useless as far as Jackal was concerened, even if they did tell a bit about the local Yakuza human resourcing budgets, was actually two 5 inch thick manilla envelopes taped roughly together. Hawke looked up, slightly irritated from the peevish expression on his face, "You could've packaged these more carefully... a bag would've worked as well."

Jackal's eyes narrowed and he spoke softly, "I didn't exactly have time Mr. Vladoff, lead was flying fast and they even brought a slitch in who could toss spells... You didn't say that the Shigeda-gumi ran this operation or I'd have been able to assemble a team with more juice."

Hawke paused, caught half-way between anger at this imposing troll's impudence and respect for a forceful character that wasn't about to back down, especially when he was correct about the intel. Hawke of course, couldn't have known about the mage-bitch or who ran it, his masters had commanded that the target of opportunity be hit and he had complied. Still, the troll could be awarded, it paid in the shadows to make friends with imposing individuals such as this, they could be pinned for things too...

"Alright, Alright, 5k no more no less. Alexei will cash you out and take care of any supply issues you may need to address..." Hawke turned, quickly rifling through the packages and storing them in the safe Jackal knew to be behind his armored teak desk. "Thank you Hawke, I always appreciate an understanding soul."

Jackal turned and retraced his steps, turning right on the first landing to stop by the "cashier's office" and pick up his certified credstick from Alexei as well as to place an order for some ex-explosive rounds for pick up in a day.

As he finished heading down the stairs a massive explosion rocked the building and the front doors, 60 feet across the parlor floor blew inward along with most of the front wall. Screams filled the air as patrons and employees alike scrambled for cover and the security team inside the alcove burst forth, all looking deadly serious and equally well armed.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:36:11 : Stalingrad Range, adjacent to the Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive]

"Awesome, so you know how to shoot? I have seen all these different trids, they make it seem easy and all, but I have an actual need to learn here. There are a lot of punks out there claiming to be the best, I'm not one of them. I am the one that needs to get better and I have the motivation to learn. How's your motivation to teach? Would 500 be enough to motivate?"

You friggin' idiot stop waving your cash around you stupid showboating piece of drek. Quit acting like a child. Jack looked at the woman and was curious as to why Hawke had sent her to deal with him. Usually he sent this particular piece of eye candy to deal with the more formal guests. Jack fired off a few more rounds and waited for her reply.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:36:32 : Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive]

"I can teach you any time baby... What was that?!" The stunning model cum server whirls around and looks at the door to the Crimean. "Did you hear that? Something just happened! I heard an explosion I think! дерьмо!" She immediately turns and goes straight to a beat up old locker which Jack hadn't noticed before and flipped open the lid. She rummages through the box and deftly pulls out a Defiance T-250 shotgun and grabs a box of shells. She turns and finishes loading the shotgun with incredible speed for someone so unlikely. 'Not in my home, those bitches had better not be back here again... I blow their brains out!"

Not wanting to antagonize the obviously pissed off server Jack is left standing flat-footed, mouth agape at the sudden change in mannerism. "Uh, what? I didn't hear anything.... can you teach me to shoot or not?!" The rest however falls against a retreating back as the girl rushes to the door and opens it slightly. Now it would appear that the girls senses are right as the opened sound-proof door is now no barrier to the cries and screams echoing beyond.

@ 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 notices the priest's furtive glance at his gun and smothers a grin. The gesture was meant as a professional courtesy, letting the priest know that his question was a serious one---especially given the curious circumstances of their first encounter. He thinks he sees the man's demeanor shift slightly, but with the low light and various sensor data still scrawling across his vision it is a little hard for him to tell.

"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."

A business proposition, and a convenient one. It would not hurt to hear him out as he did help, although I am not sure I wish to guess at what sort of dirty work a man of the cloth has in store for an assassin.

A bloodcurdling scream from the building where the shaman fled breaks his train of thought.

"Ahem, However, regardless as to whether you believe me or not I suggest that we exit this alley with all divine haste... I'm certain someone will be here momentarily..."

"A wise choice," Gemeaux replies. "Back alleys are only useful for killing and carnal solicitation. I am done with the first, and uninterested in the second. If we are talk business, I would prefer to do it somewhere well-lit."

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 22:31:58; E. 18th St., St. Paul Waterway Overlook]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford

Another uneventful day, or night, depending on one's outlook on cup contents, cheery dispositions, and unicorns crapping rainbows. Saint leaned against the safety railing looking out over the rippling mass of water, and whatever else was mixed in. The cold breeze coming off it was blowing right through her form-fitting armor, even though it doubled as a great bike jumpsuit, she was displeased with the inability to look good and stay warm. She wasn't alone out here, she knew that between the Museum of Glass and the Overlook was a haven for college dates, not much for the singles crowd, though. Beyond being by herself, her look in general was something unbecoming of the atmosphere, which made her stand out more.

A couple passed by on the walkway behind her, she caught a snippet of their conversation, discussing upcoming finals and the latest rad movie. Bug Hunter X: Now they're here for your women! ™ At least the bugs had the right idea this time, she could probably pirate the movie while she was waiting, but she could do that at her home in relative comfort, and more particularly, warmth. Now bored of the static form of the waterway, she turned her back to it, taking in the sights that AR had to offer of the Museum and the local gathering of bundled-up students. She stopped herself after reading half of the taken ladies' profile statistics.

Boring~.

The popular consensus was that they were straight-shooters and loved candle-lit dinners in Tahiti, not to mention they were nuts for nuts. She popped a cigarette in her mouth, inhaling sweet nicotine like it was better than oxygen, well, that was partly true in point of fact, all the more reason she wasn't quitting any time soon.

She looked over at the time display in the top corner of her field of vision.

Damn!

Tomoko was late as usual calling her; granted, Saint had only started doing a few runs with her but it was damn inconvenient to be kept waiting like this. She took another puff of her cigarette, taking a casual glance around the area to make sure no campus sec drones were nearby, or any officers for that matter. She wondered what kind of mischief she could get into while she was stuck waiting for her fixer.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:37:04 : Stalingrad Range, near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive

This is a prime reason why I never trust beautiful people. They will do whatever they want every time including Becky yet I still trust her, weird.
Jack pondered why the attractive woman was so frantic, fired off a few rounds more, and decided that it might be worth it to investigate. Who knows? Maybe she could help think of a birthday present to give to Becky. Why must women be so confusing?

Jack pocketed the remaining ammo after loading up his gun. He put his gun back in his holster and opened up the door to look out. After remembering to take off noise canceling headphones and put them back on the rack he found at the range, there was some sort of event happening. When he flung the door open and tried to think of something as suave as he possibly could.

"Hey umm...lady? Where are you?

Jack looked around outside for a moment and decided his interactions with the fairer sex were usually awkward for whatever reason.

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

“I appreciate your concern for their safety. Yes, they are aware that they are to be extracted to Seattle and will come willingly, in fact I think they will be very glad to see you, Blackwater isn’t the nicest of places. The reason we are employing runners isn’t just to guard our charges against those hunting them. Blackwater is underground within the former containment zone. In fact it was a former hive before Ares fragged the place in fifty eight. But then, where better to hide a nascent technomancer movement? Or so we thought…we need to get them to a safe haven before the group is compromised.

Bug hive? What the frag am I getting myself into? I should walk from this, but it's unwired kids... why's it got to be kids?

There are the dangers of the lawless which go beyond what you might see in the barrens here in Seattle. Chicago is a changed place that has been abandoned by all but the desperate or the insane. They’ve always avoided the bug nests though. Bring them out, avoid any entanglements with the authorities and the gangs and keep them safe from the hunters…simple enough right?

Simple if you're sitting safe and sound in god damn Seattle. Simple on paper. Nothin's ever simple, it always goes to shit when they say that...

Here are the contact details of Copperhead and Dealer. I will leave it to you to decide with them how best to get your packages out of Chicago and back to Seattle. Dealer has smuggling connections but if for some reason you can’t use them then we can connect you with alternatives…but we’d prefer to keep our network out of this if we can to avoid any repercussions if things go badly in Chicago."

Ælias' icon sits silently for a moment, thinking, weighing the options, and thinking about all the horror stories of the CCZ he had heard on ShadowSea. But, it was still kids, and unwireds like himself. He knew what is like to be trapped somewhere.... Besides, Ares said they cleared the infestation, so it wasn't that bad, right?
"Sounds like a trek, but I am in, pending talk of nuyen and such. Bugs, three border crossings, bugs, Z-Zones, refugees, and more potential bugs. So, what's the take for such a run?"

@ 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 frowns slightly when the priest turns down another dark alleyway. Following strangers---even Good Samaritans---into darkness takes an uncomfortably large amount of faith or foolishness. However, staying in the alley is not an option. He takes a last draw of his cigarette before expertly flicking it into puddle of blood, and moves to match the man's stride.

"There are a few different places here where we can sit and discuss business privately," he says. "There is a cafe nearby, La Baguette Fraîche, where the owner understands that his customers value discretion and privacy. Perhaps you know the place? I am open to others, if you know of a safer place."

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 22:50:12; E. 18th St., St. Paul Waterway Overlook]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford

She thought better of it, after all, this wouldn't feed the rush to test her programs. Most college kids didn't have the money to pop IC in their 'links, let alone a decent firewall. The only reason she'd come here was to feel that odd sensation of having been part of something, it felt all-together alien to her now. Phantom memories of people she'd known and fun times that were had, but they weren't from the present. She was a different person now. That, and sometimes you just listened to your gut when it told you things.

She pulled herself away from the railing, swiping up her bike helmet and backpack from the ground next to her. She slung the bag over her left arm, and tucked the helmet underneath the other as she plodded her way back up to the Museum of Glass' parking lot. Maybe she'd just take a ride around town before heading home for the night. Maybe she'd shack up with someone from campus, or she'd hack a Stuffer Shack and switch the PA system to Christmas time and have it play horribly out-of-season jingles at half-speed. Nothing like happy upbeat music with a satanic twist.

She came alongside her bike, taking a cursory look around to make sure no one was about to walk up on her. Campus' were safe... most of the time, never hurt to check. She was only worried because her Elan was in her backpack, and it wouldn't be an easy grab. On the other hand, this was Vory turf, and they had a habit of making quick examples of people working their turf without the go-ahead, strange that she felt safer on this side of town considering her past with the Vory, but she knew their way of doing things. There was comfort in familiar territory, even if her piece-meal memories told her that the feeling was a non-encrypted data file on an ultraviolet node. Not to be taken lightly.

@E:PL
[June 28th, 2072; Somewhere in Montana]

Copperhead sighed.

While the idea of a road trip had sounded like fun, after eight hours on the road reality and boredom were settling in. She was squeezed into the cab with the detached Dealer on one side and the leering beast that was their driver on the other. He stank of BO and seemed to spend more time staring at her breasts than watching the road. Except when he was jacked in, although even then his aura was almost purple with lust so she couldn't be sure if he was actually driving the 18-wheeler or jacking off to cyberporn.

She had tried practising some of the techniques the dwarf shaman had shown her, but that seemed to set off Dealer and just ended up giving her a headache anyway. Niether did the two breeders appreciate her taste in music, so she was forced to listen to her copy of the new 'Chainsaw Assassins' album on her earbuds. She had already listened to it three times and while she liked most of the tracks, some of tearing flesh sound effects on 'Chop Shop' left her feeling a little queasy.

She had even climbed in the back to try and take a nap, but the small, cramped space made it impossible for her to sleep and smelled even worse than the cab.

She sighed again.

"So. Either of you guys know much about Chicago? I heard dey dropped a nuke on it ta kill da bugs."

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 22:56:01; Museum of Glass Parking Lot]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford

As she got on her bike and checked to make sure nothing had been done to it, her AR lit up with the familiar glowing icon of Tomoko's radioactive spider on a teflon web, <<ヘイヘイ chica! Out hitting up the night-life are we? Well anyways, got something I need done if you are up for it. Let me know asap, usual drop-box is available for messages. Btw baby, I'd be chill over by Tacoma tonight. Got wind of some kind of hit by the yaks on some mid-level Vory manager, could be a lot of blood on the streets if that's true. Just keep your head clear. - Tomoko>>

Saint grins at the cliche mannerisms of the surprisingly socially awkward fixer, even if she is irritated by the reminder of the Vory. The Mirage roars to life with the most pleasurable sound and Saint pulls out of the parking lot, finally having decided to go play with the boys at the most popular night spot for Freshmen boys from UW, the steamy hot night-club Anima. As she races along pacific ave to the 405 Saint hears a massive explosion to the west, almost as if it came from the UW Tacoma campus 3 blocks over. Drek! That sounds like a fragging car-bomb! Hope those boys haven't started fighting on my old campus, won't get any tonight if all the little boys are scared to get it up... Assuming they haven't seen that tape...

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:37:14 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive]

Jack's confusion gave way to prudent self-preservation as a grenade came whizzing through the Crimean and detonated right at the feet of men obviously belonging to the Vory security team. He hurled himself backwards, away from the doorway as, in quick succession automatic fire splintered the frame where he had been standing a second before.

The screams and cries, along with the staccato report of automatic weapons and pistol fire and the deep-throated roar of what Jack assumes to be the server's shotgun echo in the once quiet gambling den. He is not long by himself however as the shotgun blast is shortly followed by the server who had just left throwing herself back into the doorway to take cover on the left side of the wall, which now sported a good section of new ventilation from several decent caliber bullets.

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

The assassin could almost be heard struggling with his obvious, and to be honest quite valid, trust issues with following such an unknown man of God, but eventually he catches up to Father Anselm just as Anselm makes the left hand turn towards the next block over.

"There are a few different places here where we can sit and discuss business privately," the man begins cautiously. "There is a cafe nearby, La Baguette Fraîche, where the owner understands that his customers value discretion and privacy. Perhaps you know the place? I am open to others, if you know of a safer place."

Anselm nods but makes no other comment for the 1500 feet that this passage-way covers until they make the right hand turn for the street itself. He turns as he replaces the cowl deep over his face and pulls a business card out of his deep robe and hands it to Gemeaux. "I trust you to be good at what you do Mr. Danton. If you find you need a way out of the city and somewhere far from France and her problems.... contact this number or show up at the Air-en-Provence airfield. There is a small shipping concern located on the north corner of the airfield by the private use section. I will be there from 0800 to 1100 on the 19th. I need a good bodyguard on my business trip for an indefinite time whom I can trust to also do less savory work of God if needed. You will be adequately reimbursed for your time if that becomes the case I assure you, though I feel that simply getting you safely out of the country is payment enough for now no? Also, should you wish to make yourself available, it's a private flight, so bring what necessary tools you feel you might need for the task."

Bowing courteously, but not waiting for his reply the priest begins walking rapidly towards the priory, 4 blocks away.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:37:14 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]

Everything seemed to slow down as Jackal fought to react to the surprising event. He had the presence of mind to realize that a grenade had just landed at his feet when the world went bright and he was blown back up onto the stairs he had just left. The world spun in his head as he fought to stay conscious, some part of his mind told him that things were really bad... he could feel a soft wet stickiness coming from his head and on his arm but he fortunately couldnt feel a thing yet as he watched muzzle flashes open up in the light drizzle outside like cherry blossoms in a soft evening sky. More impacts were felt as he attempted to half-throw himself, - half-crawl into the alcove that now had impromptu remodeling work done on it. It still offered the best cover available but was very much preforated.

The sounds of automatic weapons fire and shotgun blasts didn't help the ringing in his ears as he crawled over one of the Vory security team who was twitching in a pool of blood, his legs and a good chunk of his torso ripped off in the blast. Frag this is a bad day! First the Yakuza mage shows up on what's supposed to be a milk run and now this...

Once inside he manages to have the sense to channel mana into his body, hoping beyond hope that being a tiny bit quicker will help him fight off whatever or whoever is attacking outside. He quickly ties the threads to his sustaining tattoo praying that its integrity will hold a while longer.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:37:14 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]

As Jackal looks out the newly aerated wall he sees the tides of battle turn as the security team, minus a few members quickly takes cover behind what Jackal can now see are armored craps tables. One of the customers seems to be especially irate that his game was ruined, as well as quick; before the shooters out side can react, the lithe ork dodges the incoming hailstorm of bullets and calmly puts a shot clean into the Asian spraying his gun randomly into the crimean, who promptly flips backwards over his bike and doesn't surface. The security team works their way into better vantage points and begins showing why you don't mess with the Russians. While one of them apparently calls someone on his commlink the russian mobster with the old-school smg returns fire, spraying the street-hot Hyundai which holds most of the assailants, from the cries which echo within and the sudden ceasefire from the vehicle Jackal barely has time to guess that the occupants are feeling less lucky before the other mobster, a large looking troll with an assault rifle of some sort launches a thank you note right on top of the assailants car. The grenades explosion flattens the entire roof of the car and makes mincemeat of the 2 other bikes involved in the attack.

As quickly as it occurred the violence ends with a few judicious executions for the occupants of the car.

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

Quickly, the reason why the Vory control these Tacoma streets becomes clear. Even before Knight Errant's sirens are heard in the distance, an old tow truck with some Russian business inscription on the side pulls up and carts the bikes and the car away. The fire department shows up, all good Russian speaking orks and Trolls who quickly douse the flames and declare the incident to be over.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:37:30 Stalingrad Range near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive]

Jack quickly realized he wasn't an atheist in a two second moment while bullets were hitting the door he hid himself behind. He then looked over at the lady and bent down, making sure she wasn't injured. "Are you okay? Jack realized he had nothing to offer in the way of a first aid kit and looked around the range for one. Rushing back to her after finding some rudimentary bandages and a dusty bottle of antiseptic kept behind a counter, "What the hell was that?" She appeared to be fine for the most part.

Jack walked over and took another look outside, initially from behind the door, watching the cleaning crews go to work and thought about Hawke for a moment. "Was Hawke in there? And what do I call you anyway? " The perturbed look on the woman's face indicated that she was severely annoyed, whether that was at the myriad of questions being flung at her or being shot at was anyone's guess. "Or I could wait until you're ready to talk about it..." Careful man, she still has a shotgun.

Jack helped her stand up and support her as she regained her balance, more as a courtesy than her probably needing help. Jack drew his Predator out, just in case something else was still outside. "C'mon let's find out if Hawke is okay. Ermm...nice shotgun by the way" Jack bumbled around his words, feeling even more like an idiot for not even noticing the explosion that she had mentioned previously.

After a few more moments making sure the server was able to compose herself, Jack and the Russian vixen started making their way back to the place to check on Hawke.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:40:23 Stalingrad Range near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive]

As Jack and the server opened what was left of the door and walked into the gambling den proper, the sheer violence of the attack, not to mention the speed of events struck him as something from a slasher flick. The glass chandeliers by the bar were splintered, on the ground and in various wounded (or dead) customers, even the bar itself looked worse for wear with many many holes in it indicating that this had been a particular favorite new home for the man firing the sub-machine gun.

It appeared that one of the vory had either died or been seriously injured as to make no difference, as both he and his parts were being carried out in a respectful manner by one of the servers, who was trying very hard not to cry as she gently laid him on a stretcher. There was a stout sullen man attempting to stanch the flow of blood though so maybe things would turn out better after all.

The fire department had already shown up, Jack noted with some relief, though they seemed to take the incident in their stride, not even batting an eye, nor turning to extinguish the fire in the car until the wrecker pulled up to cart it away... Hmm guess the rumors are true, Knight Errant hasn't even shown up yet, these guys really do run this town...

Momentarily distracted by the scene of carnage and mayhem, Jack was brought back to his senses as a familiar figure came down the stairs and spoke quickly but quietly to an abnormally tall Troll who's body armor and clothing was awash in blood, though it looked like the medics had taken care of him and his bleeding for the moment. Hawke was, as far as Jack could tell, totally unscathed by the event, and moreover, eerily calm for just having been in a building which moments before had seen a re-enactment out of some of those old flat screen video games Jack used to play while in the Horizon middle school.

Hawke caught Jack's eye and nodded, smiling briefly before turning to one of the other Vory members close to him and letting loose a staccato of quicksilver Russian too fast to hear.

The server, who Jack had attempted to chat up so unsatisfactorily, turned and finally gave Jack a mocking look. "Well... it seems you do need to learn to shoot. Hiding wouldn't have done you much good if those Yaks had been able to get in here better than they did. I'll talk to Alina and see if she can't sort you out abit. But you will owe me kid... and I'll take that thousand up front."

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 22:57:21; Pacific Ave.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

She wanted to check it out, if only to gloat at the misfortunes of the Vory, if this was tied to them. Tomoko's message cleared from her overlay after a couple seconds, her PAN recognizing that she was behind the wheel, and therefore too preoccupied to close it out. There were already AR screens popping up that prompted detour routes, but she knew where she was headed. Following the smoke, and taking back roads was the easy part. Maybe she could even beat any CJ's to the scene and get a few nuyen for the footage. She veered off to the left onto S. 21 St. A right onto Jefferson, and finally a left onto S. 19th St.

She'd have to keep off to the edges, shadows stayed in the shadows. No doubt there would be Knight Errant on tap tonight, and she needed to keep some distance. Once she arrived at the scene, she made sure to park as legally as possible, taking her key out of the ignition as the steady purr of her Suzuki Mirage's engine died out with it's egress.

She opened a window in her AR that revitalized Tomoko's message, sending a reply in-kind. Her AR gloves allowing her to tap on a newly-formed keyboard out in front her, fingers blazing away.

<<@Tomoko: You know me, sugar dumpling, ever the enthusiastic and helpful member of society. A car bomb just went off near here, I don't think things are quieting down as soon as expected. I'll let you know if find anything worthwhile, otherwise, expect a line soon. [Saint]>>

She surveyed her surroundings, having parked half-a-block down so that she could walk up to the scene. She made sure to note where and if there was surveillance or any KE activity.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 22:59:56; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

Unfortunately, she found that prudence had guarded her actions a bit too much as she spotted a large amount of KE off to her left once she got back to Jefferson Ave. About 150 meters down the street, almost to where broadway merged into Jefferson, there was a large mass of KE citymasters and ambulances swarming around a large amount of flames. It did appear however that only 1 scooper had made it to the scene just a few seconds before, as Saint saw a hurried looking elf with an old KCRA jacket on running down to get closer to the action. She'd know that sleezy fake platinum hair anywhere... Jessica, an ex-street walker who went by the name of Crabby Callie at least to all her clientele, was as dirty as they got. She'd sell her own mother, if she had had one, and if the price had been right.

I wonder what that slitch is doing here... A thought occurred to Saint, that maybe she could make this work out to her benefit while she dealt with other more interesting past-times, Couldn't hurt to see if her PAN's secured now would it? Saint continued mulling the idea over in her head as she walked towards the blaze.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 22:59:56; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

She couldn't resist. KE everywhere, her target right there none-the-wiser. It was like having sex in public, but a great deal more secluded, and less messy. Good thing she had her helmet on, no photo identification beyond her suit, as she was sure the KE fellas were just as interested in recording the scene. She added a new window to her AR displaying a muted view of the Matrix before her and her icon inset within, she'd be at meat speeds, but it was slightly more inconspicuous than falling over in the middle of the street. That and some people just deserved this kind of attention, not the least of all being the woman who stood just before her, trying to get as close to the ARO just erected of a circling police line with scrolling text. "DO NOT CROSS! Knight Errant Crime Scene! Please Back Away."

She opened up her list of programs, using her hidden commlink as opposed to the knock off one she kept in plain view on her hip. The other was firmly attached to the small of her back and she knew that she'd have to keep this discreet. Unfortunately for her, her commlink wasn't bleeding edge tech, the most she could manage without bogging down her protocols were 4 programs.

She began by running her Stealth program off the bat, dragging it onto the Run Mode side bar in her field of vision. Next she passively scanned the area for Jessica's wireless node. Forget recording this, don't want a unwanted trail leading back to me. Another time perhaps. Or~ who says I have to record at all? She kept her sniffer program in mind.

This promised to be fun.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:43:10 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]

"Who's Alina and who are you? And who said anything about a thousand? I said 500, I have a game I need to buy into." Jack held out a wad of cash totaling 500 cred.

Jack observed the goings on around the bar. The first time he had seen carnage like this was a month ago, when he found his and Becky's father and mother murdered. Now this is a cluster. Jack holstered the Predator, it seemed as though nothing was happening immediately. Jack took another look at Hawke and wondered what he had gotten himself into when he first walked into Hawke's establishment.

"Lead on, no time like the present."

Jack sent a quick personal message to Becky on his other link. He had no hope of response any time soon as he knew how important the night life was for her. Hope you're having fun, it's been an interesting night. I'll catch up with you later.

Jack followed the shotgun wielding server. I'll need another drink after this, it's going to be a long night.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:00:18; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

Or at least she thought it would be fun, all she got for her trouble was that Jessica's PAN was nowhere to be found. Probably hidden for all she knew, but that didn't help the fact that while frantically searching she'd barked up the wrong tree. She'd accidentally spiked on one of the Knight Errant's commlinks. A particularly chubby one as a matter of fact, when he looked over at least he had the common courtesy to stare at her biker's helmet for a nano-second before eyeing the goods. She could already feel his grubby hands all over her. Other officer's started looking at her, it was a good thing she didn't stand out. Oh wait, she was one of two people and she would be far more interesting to interrogate than Jessica... Or would she be? She had to think fast. Saint lost the demure stature and adopted one of a fan girl geeking out, she attempted to raise her voice a little as a finishing touch, not to mention taking a deep breath so she could spit out words a mile-a-minute like she needed to. And~ scene.

"Oooh, damn, I didn't want to bother you because you're on the scoop. But aren't you Jessica? That famous news sleuth? I tried to find your PAN so I could slip you a message, but it must be hidden or something. Haha, I'm not really good at this. It must be a PRETTY important story if you're here!"

As gushy as she sounded, her mind was revolted that she'd have stooped so low. The shoe was on the other foot now, but she could play hopscotch with the best of them. She made sure to put on a show for the cops too, adding a cup size when she balled up her fists and brought her elbows in. Made for a nice accentuating touch of squishing the unmentionables together. One working girl to another, at least Saint had the element of surprise and anonymity to her advantage. She still had her helmet on, but what fan-girl thinks about last minute details?

@ E:PL
[May 19th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

Gemeaux looks over the business card and then watches the enigmatic priest walk away. He chuckles to himself, pocketing the card, and lighting another cigarette. He nonchalantly leans against a wall in the alleyway, and gives himself a moment to savor the remnants of the adrenaline rush from the firefight. He counts himself lucky---eight versus one were slim odds, especially when one of the eight was a mage. Whether his luck is chance or contrived has yet to be determined.

It all seems too convenient... However, I do need something to occupy myself while taking a vacation from Marseilles. This could prove interesting.

<<[Gemeaux]: Vivienne?>>

<<[Vivienne]: Yes, Damien?>>

<<[Gemeaux]: Send this to Lianne, and then pull whatever you can find on the Air-en-Provence airfield. I'll be traveling with my wetwork gear, and I would prefer to take a route that avoids corporate gendarmes.>>

<<[Vivienne]: Understood. I take it this means no more Marseilles?>>

<<[Gemeaux]: For a little while, at least. I plan to return, though. There is something about this city that makes it feel like home.>>

@ E:PL
[June 28th, 2072, 11:51 AM; Ælias' Apartment, Auburn, Seattle]

Ælias' body lay sprawled out on his couch again, looking almost passed out drunk, although the furrows and sweat on his brow would point towards a more cognizant mental state. In VR Ælias' mind was in a much different place, locked in contest with a Crack sprite, a more powerful one than he was used to actually. It had come to his call easily enough, a digital shadow of constantly rewriting data, of false commands and exploited passwords, but when he tried to register it to himself, well, then it seemed to get mad. Locked in a mental engagement with the sprite, it gained upper hand of the melding. It chased him through his mind, seemed to tear through his memories; it went on and on. It seemed to go on forever.

[June 28th, 2072, 5:52 PM; Ælias' Apartment, Auburn, Seattle]

He sat up with a start, vomiting blood from his throat and stomach, pooled there from the leaks coming from his nose, eyes, and ears. His eyes were veined in red, and his body shook with pain and shock. Barely conscious and cognizant, Ælias rolled off his now green and dark rusty red splattered couch and crawled across the studio to his restroom, leaving bloody handprints and drips across the floor as he crawled. The shower rinsed him clean and made him all the more painfully aware of the ache in his head that radiated out into the rest of his meat.

He rummaged through the small bathroom, pulling out a medkit he kept stored in the house for a time such as this. He followed the AR instructions, which mainly had him take painkillers for his head and muscle pain, and decided that he should probably take a nap. A long nap.

Ælias staggered back into the main living area of the studio, trying not to pay attention to the mess he had left everywhere, that was what the CHN drones were for. He pinged the CHN to get the drones started on the living space, and then noticed the shadow still hovering in the 'Trix space of the house, the Crack sprite still waiting there, still tied to Ælias by tasks owed. It had nearly killed him, it had taken control of their link and used it to hurt him, but he could not bring himself to blame the sprite. It was like him, a digital shadow, trying to hide in plain sight in the 'Trix, and he knew that he wouldn't have taken it very well if someone had tried to bind him, no matter what their intentions.

<Be free. You owe me no more tasks.>

[July 1st, 2072, 3:00 PM; Ælias' Apartment, Auburn, Seattle]

The time seemed to both stretch out and condense across the three days Ælias stayed home, in bed, recovering from the trashing the sprite gave him. Someone came through on the simrig for him, VectΩr actually, and he started browsing the schematics and coding of it in the few hours during the day that he was awake. At some point on the second day a message arrived to his personal node, nudging him out of a painkiller induced stupor.

<<You okay bro? None of us heard from you in days. I found that name for you, I posted on the board, but I figured this might be more likely to connect with you if are avoiding tradtional channels or somethin'. Log on when you get a chance, let people know you live and shit. Peace, ~Brer Fox [Attachment:: SIN: Walter Simmons]>>

Ælias gave a mental thank you, a quick message back, dropped the SIN in harddrive, and then passed out for another handful of hours.

It wasn't until midday on the 1st that he finally got to his feet without a twinge in his brain or a tremor along his spine. Everything seemed to get much better after another night of sleep. He felt like he might actually be able to make the day without a nap, so that had to be a good thing. Now it was time to get started on that simrig, he only had a few days til the flight to Chicago, and he wanted this done before then. He wanted a record of what he was going to do, of what he might see, of evidence he could get out to the other Refugees in case this all went south.

@E:PL
[June 28th, 2072; Somewhere in Montana]

Dealer eyed the road with what he hoped passed for professional alertness. Really, the chances that anything would happen to this load of beetles was pretty low. Exceedingly low actually, since all the proper bribes had been paid in advance. Between that and a long drive with infrequent breaks for Kaf and urination, even the very best would be below their edge.

Not a drone of course, which was why the microcams were running constant comparisons of relatively unconstant traffic through the truck's hardwired node. Comparatively, drones did not possess a sixth sense, nor did they respond particularly well to circumstances outside their programming. And you simply couldn't rig every truck running legit or illicit goods with its own rigger. Hence the practice of "shotgun" continued, boring as it was.

When Copper finally spoke after an hour of listening to what sounded like someone beating a steel drum - funny how people automatically assumed that even on "armageddon loud" the mere fact it was over a headphone meant no one else could hear - it was at least something to do other than stare out at the passing fields in case one of them had a highly unlikely truck jacker waiting in it.

"Chicago? Not a whole lot. Major city till Ares nuked the drek out of it back in the 50's. Good job on them for doing it to. Bunch of insect spirits were taking it over, probably with a bunch of mages cackling over how it would be a great research project and tell them oh so much about the astral. Well, the spirits got a little out of control, and I guess those mages who thought they were brilliant found out they weren't about the time some exoskeletoned legs punched through their chests...Ares said frag this, sent in firewatch, and blew the whole place to hell.

Real firewatch mind you, not the bull drek second string public ops stuff we saw with Toxic. The actual hardcore, the ones they don't waste on one or two guys in a hotel.

Anyhow, the city is pretty much a containment zone, pretty feral, post-apoclayptic, btu i understand a community of sorts operates around the edges. Not exactly prosperous, but doing ok for itself off the Corp research facilities in the area. Kind of like a military town, scaled back. Outside is like a wierd mix of the veyr old west, cutting edge corp facs, and a barter town. Inside is...well..a nuked city with drek running wild."

Tourist
<<Seattle, Redmond, 12th April 2072>>

Adrian opens his eyes.
A glance, everything's clear, he exits the cave. Left and right are figures
just like him, a raiding party in the night.
Something over to the far right seems to interesting. Their leader runs ahead,
they follow.
One of his mates jerkes his head around, did he hear something?
Whatever it was, it seems to belong to a huge spear suddenly descending from
the sky to hit his mate and, flying back up, taking the still twitching body
with it. He turns, running, looking around, wasn't there a nice hole
nearby? With a jerk he stops, his head still swinging around. As his vision
dims, he can see the ground receding below him.

Adrian opens his eyes - his own eyes - and looks around. A group of ork kids are
cheering. All of them have long metal spikes, some of which hold dead rats.

Death for some, dinner for others.

"Point of view", he says to nobody in particular.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:01:07; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman


Saint's cleavage filled fangirl threw Jessica off and handily kept the interest of the watching KE boys to a pedophile type nature. The ex-street walker began to become visibly nervous as the porcine officer began to walk over, looking at both girls with equally sinister intent written on his face, perhaps anticipating the chance to get a "double feature" out of his trouble. If Saint began to slow her pace and become rather nervous it was nothing to Jessica's look of near hysteria plastered on her face. She turned and fled back to 19th St. As she ran the Knight Errant officer changed entirely in his demeanor as he moved exceptional fast for such a fat man and ran after her while he yelled over the radio for back up with a suspicious girl wearing a black jacket heading to South 19th St with no advertised PAN.

@Fortune's Forecast/ Adrian
[Seattle, Tacoma, South 19th St., In a Combat Cab April 17th 2072 23:06:42]


58. Yathā saṅkāradhānasmiṃ
ujjhitasmiṃ mahāpathe
Padumaṃ tattha jāyetha
sucigandhaṃ manoramaṃ.

59. Evaṃ saṅkārabhūtesu
andhabhūte puthujjane
Atirocati paññāya
sammāsambuddhasāvako.

Adrian restored himself with Tara's mantra as he sought fulfillment from his daily grind. He had managed to pick up a small time ferrying job with the Tacoma branch of "Combat Cab" as his mediocre driving skills, combined with his small talents in magic and lack of familial connections made for a perfect cost effective cabby in the rougher parts of town. He did not really like it so much but it was a way to tour around some of the more interesting parts of Seattle with an excuse to wear armor that would normally get him looked at by Knight Errant.

I also get to meet one large amount of people that remind me of mom and dad.... drek, maybe they were even in my cab. It was in essence, a compromise in Adrian's mind; he could see what he wanted and get in contact with people that really saw the world for what it was, but it also didn't push his Uncle over the line into the "why are you wasting your life zone". That said tonight had been an interesting night; more interesting than usual anyways, drop off this wierded out woman who looked like a used-up street walker, the explosion a block over maybe 10 minutes after and being told to wait here... just plain odd.

So, like any good Buddhist, he waited and sought to instill vibrations in the cab that would ease his night and help him learn where the wheel would take him.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:44:00 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]


The server didn't move but glared up at him as she fingered her shotgun. Drek! I gotta remember that thing about women and shotguns.... they just don't mix... "Niet! 1k nuyen or you find your own teacher!" The irate Russian female stood her ground firmly, perhaps it was the stress from being shot at, perhaps it was her failure to seduce him, either way, Jack got the idea that this was going nowhere fast.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:01:07; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

Saint watched as Jessica fled from the scene. The hacker had forgotten her focus in coming here, but things were getting a bit too bright for her to stick around.

"I just wanted your auto-sig!" She pouted in response to the CJ's quick exit.

She looked dejectedly at the scene of the bombing, it was a casual glance for her, if she stuck around she was the only thing these guys had to stare at. It wasn't a good idea to keep them from their work. No way this tidbit was worth THAT much to her. She continued playing the dejected look, having to physically sag her head and shoulders as her audience couldn't see her face. Wolves had to chase, it was their way if you ran. She took a slow walk back to her Suzuki.

She smiled behind her helmet, revving the engine back up to a strong purr.

"Oh, Suzuki, you're the one who can cheer me up after being spurned like that." She spoke in mock sadness. She'd cut it too close, but her adrenaline was going and that's was an unexpectedly positive side-effect. Saint wanted to hit up that dropbox, but it was too crowded here. She u-turned back the way she'd came on E. 19th, the same way Jessica had run. She kept an eye out for how far the elf had gotten down the road. A good fangirl always pursues her prey with the utmost diligence.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:01:37; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

However, the sudden impact of the shockwave which knocked her off her bike a few seconds later, before she could make it up to E. 19th knocked the breath out of her. She had just glimpsed Jessica turn towards the pursuing cops and raise her hands in the air. That was it, and then the blast. Frag this is a bad day! Saint had to wait a few seconds to regain her composure and stop sucking wind before she could take stock of what on earth had happened. She thought that the explosion had come from Jessica, but there was no way that could happen; to her knowledge Jessica wasn't magical in nature.

Saint gingerly regained her seating on her bike and surveyed the devastation around her, cars over turned, thick black smoke roiling down the street concealed most of the scene from view but she could make out a crater where Jessica had been standing moments before, along with the wreckage of the pursuit drones which had cornered her.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:01:49; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

She checked her body, no holes, just a horrible bump on the head... No worse than jacking out of Matrix in a mad panic, even though it still hurt like a slitch. She was still fuzzy, her mind attempting to process the moment's actions. A million questions logging through her brains data stream, too fast to answer. Luckily she'd been wearing a helmet!

Could she have been a mage? Was there an ulterior motive to keeping her commlink in hidden mode? Had some kind of mage bedazzled her with their powers and turned her into a living plastic explosive?

The last one made her chuckle, putting in detail just how jarring that blow to the head was, but not for long as she realized that the KE fellas would be soon investigating this scene as well. You've got to be kidding! I was perfectly fine being on the sidelines, now I'm a part of it. Too much so. She was at a loss for how she could benefit from the situation, what with her luck running so crumby at the moment, she could hardly keep up with the need for on-the-spot thinking. A mild concussion not withstanding. Worse than even the throbbing in her head, it bugged her how many questions she had with absolutely no answer. Ever since she'd had her boosters installed, it was like she craved puzzles and trivia. This, above all, had piqued her curiosity.

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072, 08:05:45; Aire-en-Provence Airfield]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

Gemeaux nonchalantly walks towards the private flight with a pair of large suitcases in tow. He is dressed comfortably for a mild, May morning, with a pair of slick sunglasses to shield his eyes from the new day's light. The outfit---a light jacket over a buttoned shirt and khaki slacks---gives him the appearance of a casual tourist while allowing him to hide his true "business wear"---his sidearm of choice, form-fitting full body armor half-suit, and his PAN-linked contact lenses. His heavier wetwork equipment is hidden in the suitcase---a customized sniper rifle, a customized assault rifle, and various ammunition, grenades. Normally, he would be loathe to travel with so much equipment, but he needs to take a sojourn from Southern France given the recent proliferation of "clone hunters," and this promises to be the most amusing avenue with which to do so.

When he sees the priest, he walks up to him and flashes a suave smile.

"So, I am here. Where and when do we begin?"

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:44:12 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]

As if women aren't persuasive enough, we have to bring guns into the mix. Jack had no fear of women and guns, it was more of the distracting nature of two of his favorite things causing blood flow to increase from one head...to the other.

"Fine." It seemed to be all Jack could muster at the moment. He wasn't about to start bargaining with her. He no longer carried a chocolate bar with him, Becky had relieved him of that several days ago and he didn't have his backpack with him where he stored various goodies. Jack produced two poker chips worth 250 each in addition to the hard cred he still had in his hand. "Half now, half later. You want the chips or the cred?" As the question had been asked Jack started walking back to the range.

Jack smiled because of all the extra rounds he had pocketed earlier would come into play now. This could be interesting.

Balefire / Silk
[May 03rd, 2072; Silk’s Apartment - Madison Street & 11th Ave, University District, Seattle]

Silk approached her apartment by a different route as usual, carefully planned to avoid any kind of pattern. Although Sees criticised her paranoia she had no intention of bringing any heat down on herself that she could possibly avoid. The shift hadn’t been particularly difficult and she felt light and buoyant, a sharp contrast with her life just a few short months ago. She had a three successful runs under her belt now, and another that was at least a partial success, and her handle was beginning to get noticed in a quiet and unassuming way. Which was how she liked it…after all, what was the point of an infiltrator with a loud reputation?

Logging on to the apartment node she checked the cameras for any sign of an intrusion. She knew it wouldn’t protect her from a professional team but it might just give her sufficient warning if her magic detected a pattern out of place. As a final precaution she reached into the satchel at her side and flung the little fly-spy into the air. With a soft whine the drone flew into the entrance hall and up the fire stairs using the vent grills that Silk had long ago removed (and the caretaker had never bothered to replace) to skip around the fire doors.

Finally satisfied that her precautionary checks had been completed she made her way inside, up the stairs rather than restricting herself in the lift. All in all it had added minutes to her journey home but the peace of mind was infinitely more important.

Inside her door she took a final moment to stretch out her senses and take in the patterns of her home…analysing the space for any tell tales…it seemed she really was alone at last. Engaging the locks and trembler switch behind her she flung her satchel onto the sofa and retrieved the fly-spy from its hover to plug it into its charger. The apartment node responded by her presence by shifting the wall displays to a stunning view of Downtown taken from the top of the Space Needle. A soft voice welcomed her home and told her that the soykaf was waiting…Silk grimaced slightly, she kept meaning to change that setting, after several hours working her skin smelt of coffee and the last thing she wanted was more…at least a quick shower would solve that.

After completing her ablutions she was ready to sit down and surf the various matrix feeds that her agents had been gathering while she had been absent. The Citadel was beckoning too but work needed to come before play.

Then her comm routed her a message through one of the blind proxies that she used…damn him, her mood sunk, too many memories, she’d told him before…

<<@Silk: We need to meet and talk through my proposal. Between us we have the skillsets and connections to make a success of this. There is power in names and Balefire has a past that is worth capitalising on. That is without considering the chance to draw them out. Bale>>

<<@Bale: And I told you that I will think about it…>>

Balefire / Bale
[May 03rd, 2072; SE 200th Street, Renton, Seattle]

Stubborn bitch, he thought to himself…just like her bloody mother when he’d met her. Couldn’t she see the benefits of re-establishing the group name? It would be as if they had never been destroyed and it might well draw out the people who had been responsible. It would even be a good idea to take over the old fire station that had served as the Balefire base of operations – granted, Silk really wouldn’t want to go back to where she’d found her mother dead but still, if they gave it the illusion of use it was one more honey baited trap for whoever the murdering scum was who had taken out his brother.

He could do it on his own but he needed Silk’s shadow connections here and despite himself he trusted that the daughter would be as competent as the mother and Bale had always been complimentary of her skills - which was telling given how hard it was to elicit praise from his big brother…

Bale dropped the commlink on to the worktop beside him. He would just have to trust that she would see the sense of what he was saying. It was pointless in pushing it any further, she would come to him if she wanted to. He smiled and nodded to Helen as she came into the room with a squirming boy on her hip. Putting on his best Cockney accent for the little tyke he said

“Orr rite me old mucker, and ’elen. Ows skool? Let’s ave a butchers at ya…ya growin up bleedin fast…”

The boy giggled and ran off down the corridor to his room. Helen rubbed her back and then flopped down onto the sofa in the small apartment, smaller now with the three of them living there. He’d moved them out of their place as soon as he’d arrived stateside, there was no point in making them any more of a target – that was something he was reserving for himself!

Balefire / Requiem
[May 04th, 2072; Silk Dragon Dojo, Redmond Way, Touristville, Seattle]

Requiem wiped the sweat off his face and tossed the towel back onto the bench for the cleaning drone to retrieve. Behind him he could hear Jitan brow beating one of the more recalcitrant pupils and he winced as his voice dropped into the vicious whisper that meant there was true anger involved. Personally he preferred a calm approach but the dojo belonged to Jitan and by the sounds of it he was reaching the end of his tether. The pupil wouldn’t last long…some street trash were beyond redeeming and this one was a particularly arrogant and violent breed of ganger representing the worst of his kind.

Stretching out the kinks in his muscles he tried to ignore the ticks that ran down his right arm as the nanites desperately tried to keep his wires in check. One of these days, he promised himself yet again, he would get the whole lot stripped out and a modern equivalent installed…it was just the thought of all that surgery and then the recuperation time that filled him with horror…he wasn’t on company time now with the pay cheques rolling in no matter what state he was in!

As he retrieved his ‘link from his locker, preferring not to have any distractions when teaching, he noted with interest that the message icon was blinking with the flag attached to Silk. After their split they had been amicable but hardly sought each other out. Well no point in musing what she was going to say before reading it, and he opened the message, interesting!…

<<@ Requiem: A and another have approached me with a view to starting up the team again. We could do with your skillset to round out the roster. I’ve been persuaded to dust off the equipment stores from the old team so we’ll have a ready-made advantage.>>

Well, he’d never considered that she would be pulled back into this again. He knew that she was still searching for answers about her mother’s death and that she had begun running the shadows herself…but to try and resurrect Balefire? He only knew of their reputation and what little Silk had told him, but they had been a class act back in the day. Most people in the shadows will have already forgotten about them, however, it was nearly two years after all…so why not start from fresh? Well, it would be worth a meeting to find out at least, particularly if Argent was involved, he owed her too…

Balefire / Sirene
[May 06th, 2072; Oakfarm Estate, North Bellevue, Seattle]

As she stepped from the car she thanked David and walking towards the house, only dropping her disguise once he was out of sight. Her pretence to be Ember would have to continue for now until he could safely return to France, but there was no need to rub his family’s faces in his death or his impossible return. As a spirit there was no real need for the mundane transportation but she found the journey settled her and gave her an appreciation of the limitations (and achievements) of the mortal kind.

As she walked up the drive through the trees she allowed the gentle drizzle to flow through her and purify her thoughts. The water was marginally cleaner out here than nearer the urban cores but it still smelt of heavy metals and the other toxins that were pumped into it on an hourly basis.

From inside she could hear the muted sound of children playing. They had been more resilient to the loss of their father than might have been expected, perhaps she helped with that? A last piece of him for them to hang onto? She knew their mother worried about them but took much needed solace in their strength too. They were Celts, their strength was in their blood, despite any intermingling with the pampered aristocracy. They had rejected their Grandfather’s advances, Argent was still at a loss as to how he had seen through their pretence and knew that Ember was dead. All ties with that side of the family had died with their father and Sirene knew that she would fight to help them keep their independence. She had seen enough in Argent’s mind to know the traps that lay along that path…

She stepped over the threshold with the familiar tingle of passing through an aspected ward. They would leave again shortly to meet up with the beginnings of the Balefire team. She had already bonded with Silk and Bale back when she had recently achieved consciousness. Both had lost a key figure in their lives and she had welcomed the chance to experience their pain and set it against what she felt from Argent and her family. Perhaps this other, this Requiem would also be a suitable candidate for the Pact…?

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:06:42; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

If she got too close to the explosion she'd be considered a suspect, if she stayed she'd be in for some particular questions. But Saint wanted to know what happened here. KE be damned, this was some weird mojo that just got spread thick on reality's soy toast. She mentally kicked in her radar visualizer, hoping that it'd give her some depth perception past the smoke.

She checked the area for any sign of Jessica, or as it was best to perhaps generalize that statement, any piece of her left that might've survived the blast.

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

Fractal nodded. "I'll look into it. I got to say though, first impression is.. that the scene looks posed." Fractal is already running some analysis software on the data collected, to see what he can pull from it. "I'll be in touch." He nods to the Old Man, "Come on Sammy.. Time to get some work done." With that he turns to leave. there was no reason to let the Old Man's emotions muddy things. He started going through his files, looking for information on Summer.

Fractal spendt the next hour going over the crime scene with a fine tooth comb, Sammy in tow. "Tell me what happened, just the way you remember it." He had his recording devices running, to be sure he didn't miss a single detail.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:46:30 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]

The server's mood lightened slightly as she hurriedly snatched the hard cred out of Jack's hand, "Chips later, they take 30% off the chips we collect in tips for the night." She walked Jack back to the gun range and fondly placed her shotgun back in the case where it had been stored and then continued down the hall and took a dogleg right to an old janitor's closet. She banged on the door and fired off a quickfire burst of russian. A muffled scraping behind the closet door preceded an aging only geriatric lady who could not have looked more out of place.

The would-be candidate for the rest home olympics, complete with fairly badly tucked in Depends showing under her flowery night shirt, looked skeptically at Jack and shot an equally fast aside to the server. "She wants to know what you can do for her in return. Money she has, and doesn't need, what makes you think you are good enough for her to train you."

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:07:15; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman


The grainy image that gradually cleared up on the screen in classic television black and white clarity showed a very large amount of devastation as the corner building that had taken the brunt of the blast was now something from those old-school world war flat screen vids. Fire crews and emergency personnel rushed past her, not even going through the usual suspects type behavior in their haste to rescue what remained of the crime scene and those people still able to draw breath except to ask her to leave the scene.

Saint carefully recorded everything she could see to her commlink, Well at least this is one for the news-hounds. I might cash in yet.
She had a sudden inspiration and, even though her left cybereye was reporting 62% operational integrity and offering to call in and have an appointment for regularly scheduled maintenance set up, managed to view the microseconds that her eyes had captured before she was thrown from her bike. Ok this just keeps getting weirder and weirder Saint paused as she watched the video unfold in slow motion in her AR as the street-walker turned with a terrified but determined look on her face as the drones prepared to cuff her. The next frame showed her head exploding in a shower of gore and hot white impulse, much like Saint had seen on the trid-coverage about terrorists using cranial bombs to target unsuspecting and heavily secured targets.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:07:15; S 19th St., In a Combat Cab April]

The blast however, had totally disrupted Adrian's ability to focus and his normally soothing mantra failed him entirely. He had just had the chance to glimpse his passenger running hurriedly around the corner with KE drones in hot pursuit before the explosion had shattered his windshield and sent huge chunks of building flying. Not a good day for zen, no matter which way you slice it. Adrian, for the first time in his wandering, regretted picking up the combat cab job as not having suitable death benefits, or more to the point, life benefits.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 20:47:54 Stalingrad Range near Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]

Jack began looking around for candid cameras after seeing the aged fossil he apparently paid to be introduced to. Seriously...I think I'm getting punked here. I just shelled out how much cred for this? "Sorry to have bothered you ma'am I'll let you get back to whatever it is you were doing."

Jack started slowly walking away strongly considering some choice words to say to Hawke about his choice of associates. Jack paused for a moment realizing that anything that he could say to Hawke might be deemed as offensive which would not be good, especially since Hawke knew all the gambling tournament locations that were coming up. He looked at the server with a renewed purpose. "Won't you be so kind as to introduce us, many of my friends call me Wild Card. I would be happy if we all could be friends." Jack stared directly at the server partially saddened and partially relieved she no longer had the shotgun.

"What does she want done?" Jack reminded himself to talk with Hawke later, and find out the truth from him then.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:07:15; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

Saint reflexively willed herself not to vomit. Exploding grey matter wasn't her thing, especially with what she did for a living. A chill went up her spine, what kind of a sticky mess would've resulted if she HAD hacked into Jessica's 'link? Would she have triggered the cranial bomb at close range? A new surge of questions came about, enough for her to ignore all the crime scene techs' attempts at shooing her away. All bad things happen for a reason, or at least she hoped so as a long-since unsaid prayer escaped her lips to whatever deity was listening.

The damage was bad, even a cab had been hit by the blast. Talk about luck, or lack thereof. There was something different about that cab, something off, but her eye kept messing with the fine details. She shut the malfunctioning eye for the moment, as she brought an AR display to refuse the request for service. She could just hit up Doc Roe, if he wasn't busy this time of night. She was just happy to be alive after the case, and besides, maintenance was cheap and it would be a good way to catch up with an old friend.

Driving would be interesting with partial depth perception, oh how one notices the subtleties of useful items after they've gone, or when they rendered her personal image as something similar to a novacoke addict in withdrawal.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:08; S 19th St., In a Combat Cab]
Eys closed, Adrian sits frozen behind the wheel.
Her head, her head, her head, ...Breathe in, breathe out. Ok. But her head! Snap out of it!
Frak!
Good thing Marcus can't hear me. Right, what would he say? Probably something like "When was the last time ignoring reality did any good?" Gotta open my eyes someday anyway. Ah well...
Blinking his eyes, Adrian looks around cautiously.
Seven minutes left on the clock. Seven? Wasn't it 12 just a second ago? Getting bombed ain't good for my sense of time, it seems. So what's next? Am I hurt? Nope. Anybody else?
Near the site of the explosion, Adrian sees a woman who seems to have problems with her eyes.

I don't wanna go there.

Adrian gets ot of his cab, tries not to think of where some of the things now embedded into the windshield might have come from and shakily takes a few tentative steps toward Saint. Hoi there, you ah, you OK? Urk! Clasping his hands over his mouth, Adrian obviously has to fight the urge to vomit. A battle he just so wins. For now. Uh, hey, if you need to sit down for a moment, you can do so in my cab. Won't bill you. I'll need a moment or a few hundred before I can drive again, anyway. After seeing... this Adrian turns around and walks briskly back to his cab, fleeing inside.

Adrian starts rummaging around, looking for the medkit every cab supposedly carries, busying his mind - and eyes - with something other than the carnage outside.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:10:23; S 19th St.]
PAN=Active, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

She'd never been propositioned like that before, least of all, to go back toward a taxi that was closer to a blast zone than she already wanted to be. Considering she didn't know the man for longer than an awkward split-second, she couldn't really take it any other way. But a kindness was a kindness, if there was another explosion, best to be inside an armored car, she wondered how he'd managed to keep the crime scene snoops from ushering him off the scene as well.

Saint made sure she had her key on her, backpack still firmly in place, her commlink safely underneath that. She had trouble walking straight, but managed to get to the passenger-side door with some semblance of dignity. She placed her helmet and backpack in the back seat, while sliding into the comfort of the seat across from Adrian.

"Great night to be driving, yeah?" More than a little sarcasm dripping out of her comment, most of her focus was in AR, taking a diagnostic of both of her commlinks. Her explosion of white hair engulfed the headrest, disappearing beneath it. She had also forgotten to tone down the dynamics of her chest as well. Something, at any other time, she would had the sense to do when having polite conversation, unless she wanted something.