Weds, 1200 hours, August 20th, 2063

One by one they appear. A small white card on your door with an address, time, and a "Request for your Professional Services"...

The plain white card with its plain black lettering appealed to him somehow, the simplicity of it all, the pure utilitarianism of the message. It rested on the stained biege plastic of his countertop, and he stared at it while he ate. The soy was supposed to be chicken flavored, but it tasted like every other Bowl O Noodles stacked in his cupboard. Overlaying his vision, segmented out with geometric precision, were the windows of his network: the overhead surveillance feed from the Condor II, the five minute loop that showed the delivery of the message to his doorway, the map corresponding to the location on the card, the status bar listing location and readiness of all his drones. In response to a silent command, a fifth screen opened showing his comm interface. One of his phone icons highlights itself, and Zoe's LTG number appears next to it. The number pulses from relief to matte until his fixer's message service picks up.

"It's me. I've got a message here for a job. The address is for a downtown steakhouse. Do you know who's looking to hire me or anything at all about the restaurant? The usual bonus if the info comes quick."

Disconnecting from the call, Grendel drops his now empty plastic food container into the recycle bin before heading downstairs. The drive down to Los Angeles and back had taxed the resources of his network, and he was running behind on his maintenance. And now, with another job looming, time was not on his side.

Zoe's call come back within a few minutes.

"No one has come through me asking for you. But then again, you are fairly well known, so there could be a number of people that know how to get in contact with you. I'll see what I can dig up if you like. How much of a priority should I make it?"

The video feed plays over and over in Grendel's vision. A black Americar pulls up. The rear door opens and a female figure gets out. She's wearing a black starlight dress, with a black wide rim hat, so the airial veiw doesn't show much. On the group level she keeps her head tilted just enough not to show many features beyond full, red painted lips.

Grendel pauses, the blower fan half out of its housing beneath the Bison's forward electronics rack.

"First priority. If it's someone asking through outside channels, I want as much information as possible before I walk through those doors. Attached is a still from the surveillance feed earlier. Also one of the car she drove."

As the movie plays one more time, Grendel spots something he didn't notice before. There... on her hand, a silver ring. Zooming in on it several times, he can see that it is a serpent ring, a dragon's head biting the tail.

"Drek."

Onna moves through the garden and listens to the sound of the city leak through the serenity of the temple. She once again feels the easing of pressure as she slips from the world of Man. She nods as one of the brothers passes her. She finds comfort in his serene features and health. She knows the work at the community center does little to stop the encroachment of the Void on the spirits of this place, but she can find no other solution and refuses to do nothing. She leaves their faces and hunger behind for now, life must be lived in the now. There is no future or past, just the never-ending present.

She is pulled from her thoughts by the small white card on her doorstep. She kneels down to pick it up and sends a single call out through the astral planes. A moment later a small arctic fox materializes near her feet. Yuki did you see who delivered this? She begins to read the card to herself.

The small fox snuggles around Onna's anckles for a moment, then peers up at her. A woman. She did not mean any ill will, so I allowed her to leave the item. Was this wrong?

Not at all little sister. We so rarely have guests is all. She moves to enter her home. Sliding the door open, she removes her sneakers and makes room for Yuki to pass through. She slides the door closed and begins to fish out her phone. She ackwardly begins to dial a number into the acursed device, once again lamenting her lack of skill with these monkey-made machines. The Suit's name appears in the small window on the phone.

"Hello, this is Onna. I have a paper about a job. Do you send this paper?" Her English is forced but crisp, she seems to struggle with the word choice, taking her time to ensure complete understanding.

Immortal shoots the gangers gathered at the mouth of his alley a look, frowing. He makes a note to check up on Lo Ken, see why his protection's not cleaning up the filth. Then again, he could use some target practice, might be these guys would serve well. With half a mind to go retrieve his Ares Alpha, he almost misses spotting the card perched on the metal step to his RV. Immortal grunts, and pick the card up. Taking a drag from his cigarillo he flips the card over, examining the adress.

He ignores the chirp of the Bison's proximity alarm for a moment, then palms the release. Pushing the door on open, he steps inside and heads to his telecom. Dialing the number for his Fixer, Marcus, he cracks open a beer, and sits in the bench seat across from the unit. When Marcus answers, he exhales a long plume of smoke, and holds up the card.

`You authorize someone to drop this off at my place?`

He's not too happy, first the gangers outside, then someone right up on his doorstep. Lo's definitly going to hear about this.

@Buddha72
The Suit's voice comes through crisp, yet hollow. Rather disturbing really.

"No. I haven't sent anything your way in a while."

His voice is almost questioning without coming right out with it. You're working for someone else now, aren't you?

@Immortal
Marcus is just as happy to see you as he always is... not very.

"Nope. I only come to you for those... special jobs. And I ain't had any drek like that come down the pipes for a while."

Immortal takes a moment, and another drag, dropping the card on the scanner next to the video display of the telcom.

`The adress mean anything to you. Yeah I know it's a steakhouse, but anyone of note own or frequent it?`

"Not that I know. I've never been there, its a little too... classy for the likes of me, eh?"

"Then I am confused. I have a paper that tells me to meet at a food place. I would like to pay you nuyen to find out who sent this paper, maybe? I can pay 500 right now." Her tone is one of complete disclosure.

"I'll put my ear to the ground and see what I can come up with. Save your money for now, madam. Pay me when I do something that is worth it."

Immortal can't help but laugh.

`Hell, I should fit right in then. I'll keep in touch, let you know if anything interesting comes my way.`

He gives a nod, and stabs the telecom off. Next call is to the noodle house Lo Ken works out of, for appearance sake.

The line picks up and Lo Ken's smooth, calm voice comes through, "Immortal... my friend... how are things with you?"

`Things are fine, except for the street trash hanging out at the mouth of my alley. Think maybe you could arange for someone to have a chat with them? My trigger finger's getting a little itchy.`

He takes a drag off of the cigarillo, and places his Savalette Guarding upon the table, as if to highlight the fact.

"That is what you pay me for, no? It will be taken care of."

The phone line goes dead.

Immortal can't help but grin. He turns the telcom off, and places the card next to the Guardian. Heading into the back of the RV, he grabs a quick shower, not bothering to shave. Meet's later in the night, so he's got a few hours. Quick stop by the gun show to talk to Jimmy V, then he'll head there. With that in mind he dons his best jeans, and his leather jacket. No need for much more at a steak house. Holstering the Guardian, he re-locks the RV. As he passes he tips the gangers a friendly, knowing smile, and he heads for the bus.

Father is surprised to see the small, white card taped to the outside of his apartment. He raises an eyebrow, wondering what it could be about. Entering his apartment, he looks around. Empty food boxes make small pile next to the already overflowing trash can. Sighing, he slides the card into the back pocket of his jeans and promptly forgets about it as he takes out the trash.

Finishing his overdue chores, he pulls out his deck with loving care. Pulling the cords out of the deck and connecting himself to it, he begins to go through the video feeds that he extracted the previous day. Lots of tape with little substance, until some guy comes into view with another woman. Jacking out for a moment, he turns to a photograph on the table next to him. Yup -- that's the guy, but that's not the woman. Cutting the video around the important bits, he burns it to an optical chip and sets it asside to send it to his "employer." To no one in particular he says out loud, "If this meet tomorrow is nothing more than a good meal for a bad job, I'm moving." Pausing for a moment he continues, "And this time I mean it."

:: Approaching her quaint cottage with several bags of groceries balance precariously in her arms, she glances at the stark white card sitting on the doorstep. With a thought, the small note floats up and drops into the open bag as her keycard lifts out of her baggy pockets and swipes itself in the slot. Her deep tenor voice calls out to the door, "The quick brown fox jumped over the
lazy dog." and the door swings open. ::

:: Heading into the kitchen, she sets the bags on the counter and smiles at the little hearth spirit that apparantly decided to play maid. The small blue creature, with one purple eye on it's forhead smiled as it elongated it's neck like an animated playdoh figure enough to peak in the grocery bags. ::

:: Without a second thought, Silk opened the fridge and held out her hand. One by one, the items were gently handed to her as she stocked the fridge, freezer and pantry with the various bits of food. Once that was settled, she picks up the card and raises an eyebrow. Heading to her computer terminal, she logs onto her secure server and sends a brief message to Madam Broussard about a few various issues and checks her mail before logging out. Heading to her overstuffed armchair, she triggers her stereo to begin playing the peaceful soft melodies that comprise her favorite compilation. ::

:: Her legs folded beneath her indian style, she holds the card in both hands and closes her eyes as she opens her mind to whatever impressions were left by one who left it behind. ::

The guard behind the desk smiled as Erik walked in. It had been a few weeks since he had been home and he was glad for it. He looked good, dressed in a expensive Armani suit and a silk Chinese tie. His long silver hair was pulled back and fell in a simple black clasp. "Hey, Sam, how's the wife." the man smiled, Erik tried hard to let the different door guards know that he cared about them.
"Good Mr. Barnes, very good. A young lady was here to see you when you left, I let her up to your room, I hope you don't mind. " A cold flash swept through the night elf's system. He hid it well though, and smiled back to the guard, "as long as you made sure she only left a message, then yeah."

The elevator ride up was tense, as far he knew no one in the shadows knew of this apartment. And if they could find him here, they could find his sister. The card stood out on the dark wood paneling of the door. Erik let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. A job. It was a job offer. He keyed the door open and went inside, he dropped the card down on the desk. He fired up his computer and had it run a report on his security. Most systems were infallible, cameras could be fooled by invisibility, motion detectors the same. The one thing that (so far) could always tell if someone had been in his apartment, was air pressure. He had expensive equipment monitor the air pressure inside his apartment. If a door or window were opened, the air pressure would change, and he would no. Luckily it looked clean.

For an hour he sat on the couch flipping the card over in one hand, pondering the implications. He would have to go, he would need at the very least to know who had penetrated his very elaborate cover. His fingers punched up his contact list on the trid, he placed several calls to dead drops. Virus can at the very least look into this, at the most maybe he can tell me a little something about my ‘guest’. He fed the buildings sim-recording into the dead drop along with his message.

“Tell me what you can omae.”

Ol' Scratch
Renton, August 20th, 1:13pm

Boredom. Noun. The condition of being bored. Ennui.

Yeah. That definition fit me all right. Here I was, wasting the downtime after my last job by withering away on a cheap pull-out sofa with my head slung back over the mattress, drinking some equally cheap beer and flipping mindlessly through the trid. The only interesting thing on was an old rerun of The Odd Coven. You know, the one where Felix takes out the trash only to discover it's Oscar's medicine lodge. I could even remember the little blurb for it from the preview channel; "The sloppy shaman plots revenge on his hermetic roommate. Hilarity ensues!" Yeah, right. If there was one thing I had learned these past couple of weeks it was this: daytime trideo sucks.

God I was bored. BORED Bored bored Bored BORED!

That's it, enough with this apathetic bulldrek. Mustering up all my willpower, I managed to mentally bitchslap myself until I got up off my ass. Good. But now that I was up, I had to figure out what I was going to do. Maybe I could head down to O'Reilly's and shoot a few rounds of pool with the boys. I hadn't seen them since I got back from Aztlan afterall, and they've probably been wondering what I've been up to. Yeah, that sounded like a game plan to me. I'm sure A-man's dying to hear how those wooden flechettes fared in the bush.

Now that I was on my hooves and had the trid clicked off, I looked around and, damn, it was pretty fragging obvious that I hadn't been getting out much lately. Old pizza boxes and Chinese food containers were strewn everywhere, and I probably had enough empty beer bottles that you'd think I hosted my own personal Oktoberfest two months early.

I decided to head into the kitchen to get another beer before I got ready to go. I had just finished twisting the cap off when I caught my first whiff of her. Clean clothes. Exotic perfume -- Bulgaria Omnia if I wasn't mistaking. Definitely a classy chick. But classy chicks usually don't come around Casino Corner, and definitely not to a seedy apartment underneath a fortune teller shop.

Setting my beer on the counter I started heading to the door when I heard the telltale sound of scratching and shuffling on the other side. That can't be good. Instinct took over and I slung low against the wall, snagging one of my Hellblazers from its holster on the nearby coatrack. I used it to pry the heavy curtain next to the door open just enough to get a look outside, but all I saw was the fleeting shadow of my would-be visitor. Hmm, nice ass. It would've been a shame if I had to beat the shit out of it.

Nonetheless I still feared the worst. I swung the door open and fully expected to be greeted by a few kilos of C4, a pack of cybered-up ninja headhunters, or at least a little Catholic school girl packing an Uzi. The last thing I was expecting was a business card pinned under the apartment number. Paranoia -- gotta love it.

Relaxing my posture, I snatched the card and looked it over. Subtle eggshell coloring with raised Silian Rail type. It had that professional thickness to it that made it feel good in the hand. Whoever it was, they had taste. And, sweet Jesus, I could still smell the slitch's perfume when I ran it past my nose. Nice. But damn, if the broad wanted to invite me out on a date she only had to ask; no need to go through all this cloak-and-dagger crap.

I closed the door and tossed the card on the coffee table. Deep down I knew it was probably another job offer, but a goat can fantasize can't he? I mulled it over a bit and finally decided that I didn't have anything better to do, so why not? Worst thing that could happen is that it's a set-up where I end up being put down execution style in the back alley of some cheap laundromat in Chinatown. But I'd made it through worse drek than that so I might as well give this one a shot. At least I'll score a free steak dinner out of the deal. Sweet.

@Grendel
Zoe gets back to you the following morning.

"Whoever is doing the looking knows what they are about and knows how to cover their tracks. The only thing that I've managed to find out is that several other fixers in town are digging for the same info I am, but no one has an answer. Don't worry about payment, I didn't get anything worth much."

@Onna
The Suit gets back with you with pretty much the same message.

@Anyone else looking for info
Your contacts call you back just as confused as you are. Whatever the job is, its very low profile.

The next morning Erik awoke to early, and to groggy. Jet lag from China was a killer. He had spent two weeks in the mainland and his internal clock was way off. He walked out onto his balcony and watched the sun rise over the Emerald City. Deep shadows stretched out to the bay as the fiery orb rose high over the cascades. The morning chill was giving away to the rising sun. Just before the rays touched the balcony, Erik let out a profound sigh. He slipped quietly back into his apartment and closed the polarized doors just as the sun hit it. No matter how gorgeous it would be, it isn't worth the hives.

He checked the messages on his telecom, Virus had come up empty. Erik had though as much. The elf was one of the best Deckers in the 'plex, and if there was anything on the net to find, he would find it. Whoever was setting up the job had used there own people, no contractors, no outside help, completely silent.

He went through his normal morning routine, an hour of exercise in the building gym, followed by a light breakfast. After he was done with the dishes he spread all his equipment out and thoroughly cleaned it and inventoried it. Ran diagnostics on his electronics, and tested each piece. Lastly he laid out his guns. His two friends. Even though there use symbolized a job gone wrong, he had learned to love them. Together they had saved his life more than a dozen times.

The Colt broke down easy and was in good shape, a coat of oil later and it was as good as new. The SCK was in a little worse shape. Some mud had got jammed into the receiver assembly and he has a hell of a time cleaning it back in China. So with plenty of time he broke it completely down, all the way to the firing pin and cleaned and oiled each and every part before re-assembling it.

With the bulk of his work done he hit the bedroom to sleep off his lag.

0600 Thursday 21 August 2063

The first gray light of dawn filled the eastern skyline, not enough yet to throw sharp shadows or pierce the low haze of clouds that hung over the Sound. Grendel sat up in bed, his eyes adjusting automatically to the darkness in the room. Responding to his thoughts, the Condor's real time surveillance feed shifted into the background, while the data recorded during the four hours he'd slept spun past at eight times speed. With a critical eye on the surveillance feed, the bulky elf stood and stripped the bedclothes from the thin mattress he slept on. The bed folded up against the wall, while the sheets and blanket disappeared into the multi-cleaner. When he was ready to sleep again, they would be washed and dried.

The vague unease he felt in response to Zoe's inability to locate any information on the Johnson remained with him through breakfast and his morning work out, a tension that hovered in the back of his mind even as his body flew through the angles. The rhythmic impact of stick against bag did nothing to reassure him, and he did ten more minutes than usual out of pure disgust. With a sigh, he dropped the rattan sticks back into their locker and went to shower.

Fifteen minutes later he was dressed and finishing gear up. Everest had once commented to him, during one particularly long ride, that everything he did was ritualized, sort of like a monk or a shaman. Grendel found this idea intriguing, since in his mind he accomplished things in the most logical order possible, and with no other thought than to be tactically and technically proficient. The sudden memory gave him pause. It was almost a year ago that the two of them had parted ways. Everest had found a good woman, and a place to settle down where no one knew his past. For a moment he contemplated calling, or simply sending a trid message. The weight of the Browning in his hand pulled him from that course of action, though. Though they'd parted friends, both had known they would never hear, or see each other again. To do so would jeopardize everything that Everest had worked so hard to accomplish. Grendel holstered the pistol and headed down to the garage, lights shutting off behind him.

Sliding into the Bison's command couch, he shifted all network operations to the hardwired deck. The heavy diesel engine roared to life, systems coming on-line and running through self-checks. Condition monitors glowed green across the board, and Grendel cued the garage door. His first destination would be the Supermart down the street. He needed food and supplies. And more 3LIT3 RUSH. Then it was time for surveillance.

:: Opening her eyes, she bounced the card on her lower lip as she contemplated the vision. It was startingly clear and that last image...of the woman handling that one single card at that one single time...it was too intentional. ::

"Ok...what does this mean? ..well...first off, she obviously knows my reputation to some degree. I wasn't farming for a job recently, so she must have heard something that marked me for this job. That could be bad, or good..... Then there's the fact that's she obviously has enough resources to track down this place which is a little discomforting, and that is just plain bad no matter how you slice it. She also seems aware of my particular talents, enough to give a nod to it. I wonder if she was smart about it, or just cocky."

:: During her little personal dialogue, a small black cat jumped into her lap and sniffed at the card before curling up in the pocket of her folded legs. Looking up at Silk, he cocked his head to the side before speaking to her in that wordless way of his. ::

"What do you mean..smart or cocky? Sounds to me like she's just showing off."

:: She idly stroked his smooth jet black fur. ::

"Well, if she's just being a show off, she probably learned about my particular talents and figured this was a clever way to show me that she knew about it. On the other hand, if she made a conscious effort to imprint that image onto the card, it would effectively overwrite anything else the card may have inadvertantly picked up during her delivery of those seven other cards. Basically the same as the old fashioned parlor tricks of misdirection."

"Oooo...never thought of that. So...this means....."

"It means that I have a dinner to attend. With seven other participants as well as our lovely hostess. Should be interesting. I wonder what M. Broussard knows about the Draco Foundation..."

:: Rising, she unceremoniously drops the cat on the hardwood floor, who gives her that indignant look cats seemed to have mastered, as she moves back to the computer station and signes back in. Composing a short message to M. Broussard, she informs her of the vision she had and asks what information she could impart that would help the situation play out most advantageously. ::

August 21st 3:30pm

Tastes like crap but I guess it wont kill me, Shadow thought as he finished off the last of the soy burger. He crumpled up the tin rapper and tossed it into the public garbage. For two hours he had been on the street, casing the restaurant from every possible angle. He had memorized every point of entry, every window, alarm and anything else that could come in handy if he had to make a hot EVAC. Now he was resting against his black Rapier parked underneath a large tree. He had picked up the soy burger from Dick's on Capitol Hill and had it, and some soy fries for lunch. They tasted awful. Not that he was exactly used to eating the best food, but in his opinion anything was better then soy.

The glorious sun rise had turned into another drizzly spring day in the Emerald City, perfect for the Night Elf. He wore all black, more out of habit than any sense of style. His form fitting body armor fit snugly under his black button up shirt and canvas pants. His boots were old style tanker boots. They came up just past his ankle and used three interlocking straps to tighten. Over all of it was his ankle length leather trench coat. He had paid a pretty penny to get the coat lined with body armor and coated with fire resistant chemicals. In his left pocket rested two magazines of ExEx for his customized Colt Manhunter that was in the small of his back. The large pistol was fitted into a custom holster that followed the contours of the Elves back, not only making it far more comfortable than average, but much more concealable as well.

All in all he felt ready for whatever tonight business brought him. He touched his right ear activating the cell phone stored there. Subvocalizing the number to dial, the phone responded to his code by dialing a special line that routed him to a computer, which in turn dialed the actual number and then connected the line via an analog adapter. Virus assured him that it was untraceable. A young girls voice answered.

"Hello."
"Hey Angel, it's Erik." Silence greeted him. It had been over a month since he talked to his little sister.
"Where were you this time, China!" The accusation in her voce stung. The irony of the situation brought a smile to his lips.
"Well, yes. But I am sorry I missed the competition. How did you do?"
"I took first place in forms, and third overall. You said you would come."
"I know, I know, I am sorry. I brought you back a present." He hoped the lure of a gift would break through her anger. Not that he didn't deserve it, but he wanted her to not be mad.
"A present," she said carefully, "what kind?"
"It's a sword, it is a 300 year old sword."
"Oh wow! When can I see it?"
"Well I think I have another job starting tonight so it will be at least a week, I know it sucks, but it's necessary."
"Ok, but you better bring the sword, you dork."
"I will brat, take care." He disconnected the phone with another touch to his ear and went back to studying the restaurant.

A beam of sunlight peaked out of the dreary clouds illuminating the street in a bright light. He reached into his left pocket and pulled out a pair of dark blue Oaklies. The expensive glasses fit snugly over his sensitive eyes, allowing him to see despite the annoying sun.

While the Steakhouse dominated the central surveillance window, its image overlaid with BattleTac iconography, a smaller window hovered in the right foreground. It showed a tall, dark-skinned man dressed in an expensive leather duster leaning against a motorcycle. It hadn't taken but a couple of minutes for Grendel to recognize the individual, and even less to discern his interest in the building. The chances of successfully surviving the meet rose several degrees given this new development. Shadow was a quality operator, he would make the right decisions if things went wrong. They could back each other if things went south. The file marked "Shadow_SAOp.doc" opened in his vision in response to a silent command, but he gave pause to the impulse that would have brought his comm interface live. If the elf were part of this job, there would be time later for greetings. For now, it would be better to simply sit and watch.

Thursday 6 am, August 21 2063
"Nam-myoho-renge-kyo" A single tone rings out.

"Nam-myoho-renge-kyo" Another strike against the prayer bowl.

"Nam-myoho-renge-kyo" A final strike echoes through the room.

Onna bows once more to the Gohonzon and rises from the floor. She shuts the doors of the Butsu-don. Feeling centered again from morning gongyo she moves into the the adjacent room, padding softly across the tatami mats towards the wooden frame that holds her armor. The samurai armor gleams in the slanting rays of the morning sun. She slowly begins to strap it on. Yuki moves around the room and feeds images of her nighttime romps through the temple into her mind. She chuckles at the inquisitive nature of her friend.

Finally finished she moves to the sword stand and admires the katana once again. Hito Shiboru has been her loyal companion and protector. She bows deeply once, face pressed into the floor. She rises and places the sword on her back. She walks into the garden area and approaches the small clearing by the koi pond. Onna stand for a moment, feeling the wind play across her face and the delicate petals dance from the cherry trees.

She begins to move through the forms. Her focus narrows down and expands into her body. The sword parts the air with ease. Once again she is whole and complete. I offer appreciation to the shoten zenjin, the functions in life and in the environment that serve to protect us night and day. I pray that their protective power be further strengthened and enhanced through my practice of the Law. The first prayer bleeds into the next until she finishes her kata with the fifth and final prayer. The light sheen of sweat feels good on her skin. She is ready to stand at the gates, to be the first one to battle and the last to fall.

Thursday 4:55 pm
She stands in front of the steak house. Her hair is pulled back and braided into a single ponytail. Dressed in jeans, sneakers and an old sweatshirt with a hood. She looks extremely uncomfortable out in the city and seems lost.

1:00pm Thursday (Day of the Meet)
Waking up late, taking the time to catch up on needed sleep now, Father rolls out of bed early in the afternoon. Rising and glancing out the window he thinks to himself, Missed a beautiful morning. Ah well. At least it stands to be an interesting evening.

Showering and dressing, he brings up a streets map of seattle on his deck. Checking the location of the steakhouse and saving the address, telephone number, and surrounding area in his p-sec, Father grabs a secure vest and shrugs it on. Heading outside, he hails a cab. Giving the address of the steakhouse, the cabbie seems surprised that an aging Japanese man from just outside the barrens would be interested in such a caliber place. Slipping the driver an extra few nuyen, some of the last Father has on hand. Relaxing, Father watches the the rundown neighborhoods turn into upscale businesses as the cabbie brings takes him to the steakhouse.

Father is dropped off in front of the steakhouse. He examines the building nonchalantly and checks the menu. Haven't had real meat in a while.

Looking right and left, he spies a Matrix Cafe down the block. Heading towards it, he pops his head in. Moving to the counter he orders a soy-caf and sits himself at a matrix terminal. Pluging in, he browses the news, sips his soy-caf and waits until about 4:30pm when he heads back down the street for the meet. Please be a good one ...

Standing across the street from the steakhouse, Father kills the last half hour trying to guess who else might have been summoned here by a little white card. Just before five o'clock, seeing a Japanese woman approach the steakhouse looking a bit confused, Father prints up a seattle streets map on his p-sec and moves over to her, "Do you need any help, my dear?"

:: Silk stretches after the 3 hour long read of the centuries old text she'd been given for study and glances at the analog clock hanging above the door of her den. Rising, she heads into her bathroom for a clensing shower before she dresses for the evenings event. ::

:: Selecting a well tailored Futura suit, she first slips into the second skin armor before donning the suit. Deciding to leave her long hair down, she takes the time to touch her cheeks with a hint of rouge and reddens her full lips the same. ::

:: Into her leather attache, she tosses her pockSec, the comm gear in it's small black case, the pistol she carries more for show than anything else as well as her NavDat. Shrugging into the leather long coat, she inspects her rather professional look in the entryway mirror. Definately classy, but with an edge that keeps her from looking necessarily corporate. ::

:: Turning to the small cat, she cocks her head in a very catty way. ::

"Do you intend to join me? Or would you rather stay here and sleep?"

"I'll pop along. Something interesting may happen."

:: The cat form dissapates into a smoke like state before reforming as a necklace with a pendant in the shape of a small silver cat around her neck. Absently, she strokes the still warm silver charm as she exits the house and heads towards her cute little Brumby. ::

:: After the drive down into the city, she pulls up at the valet station and checks her car, then straightens her jacket before entering the high class steakhouse. ::

Onna's face turns towards the elderly man, her eyes a startling amber color in her classic Japanese features. Relief washes across her features at the sight of him. In flowing Japanese she speaks.

"Thank you for your concern Honored Elder." She bows deeply. "I admit a certain unease. I have never been to such a place as this." She motions towards the steak house. "But this matter is slight and not worthy of your time. Is there some way I can help you? I must attend a dinner in a few minutes but I would be happy to offer what aid I can." She avoids eye contact through most of the conversation and her use of the language shows she assumes a lesser role to the older man.

He sat cross-legged on the open floor, a leather mat about a meter square in front of him. Spread across the mat were the pieces of two handguns.

He moves through the almost ritual movements, cleaning and combining pieces in an order that had been established years before, going through the motions that did so much to calm and center him for the coming day. Thirty minutes later the re-assembled pistols lay on the mat, matte black and almost seeming to absorb the light as they lay there, every inch the predators tools that they were.

The afternoon light slanted in through the windows as he stepped in front of the shattered mirror. Multiple reflections glinted from the web of cracks that radiated out from the center, the impact zone almost precisely the size of his fist. As always, dozens of his images peered back, a gross distortion of the features given to him at birth by the Skyfather. Changelings abounded in the 6th world in the wake of the comet, but he was sure his changes reflected Leopard's impatience with his failure. Almost two years in the city now, and he had yet to locate those he had been sent to find.

He drew the mask across his face, relief obvious even in just his eyes as the visage was concealed, replaced by the black material. It would draw stares, but no more then his natural appearance would, and it pained him to see the constant reminder of his failure reflected in the glass and chrome city he surrounded himself with. The suit fit better with the world, Armani, and necessary to help with his transition, or so he felt. He shrugged the stylish overcoat on, habit forcing him to double check the two holsters at his back.

He parked the bike less then a block from the address on the card. A single glance, and he moved forward, already feeling the eyes of the city upon him. He politely stepped around the Asian man and woman conversing in front of the restaurant, and pushed open the door.

Scott let the synthetic scotch chase around the bottom of the glass as he swirled it one way and then the next. The light of the single bulb hanging overhead played across the surface of the liquor and refracted inside the cut plastic glass. The forgotten strains of an old neocountry album played softly in the background as he watched the light scatter into a million directions. The sound skipped and popped as the deck, already on its final leg, tried desperately to produce the synthetic banjo sounds and croon.

“I left my CAS home…”

He turned the glass again and looked to the white cardboard square which he’d placed on the small table beside a loaded Predator with the safety off. Someone had found him. And not just him, they’d found others, according to Zoe, and they were careful about covering their tracks.

“I kissed my girl goodbye…”

It had to be a job. There was no way that so much work would go into a hit when they could have just blown in his door instead of placing the card. If they’d found other runners who were no doubt as hard to dig up as he was, then there wasn’t anything for it. He’d have to go and find out what this was about. Or the next time it might be the bomb instead of the invitation.

“No matter how far I roam…”

This place was toast, of course. There was no way he could stay here another night. Not after it had been compromised. Of course, if the meet went south, then he might not be spending another night anywhere. He watched the fragmented light play off the scotch and dance across the Predator.

“The CAS is where I want to die…”

Fate, he decided. The chipdeck gave a final sputter and died just as the banjo picked up for a solo. Scott, aka Warpath picked up the Predator and stood up. It was time to go, and he wanted to be prepared. His duffel was waiting by the chair and he snatched it up, shrugged into his meet clothes and walked out the door, headed for his Brumby and, beyond that, the meet.

@Grendel and Shadow

Being there early, you spot a limo pull up the front door about an hour before the meeting is due to start. Two people get out, one is a female who Grendel can only assume to be the one who dropped off the card, the other being a sharp Japanese man in his mid-twenties. They waste no time glancing around that you can see and move directly to the front door and into the restaurant.

@All

The outside of the place smells great. You can almost taste the fresh grilled steaks on the air as you move closer to the door. The building has a country western theme, with two men dressed up as old sheriffs at the door (though a trained eye can tell their revolvers are real).

One by one you make your way inside and are greeted just inside the lobby by a Japanese man. He is wearing a sharply tailored suit and mirrored, razor-style sunglasses. He bows as you enter, recognizing you from sight. "If you would be so kind as to follow me, I will lead you to Miss Young."

You are escorted to a private room in the rear of the restaurant, a few of you gaining strange looks from the other customers, though the staff completely ignores you. The room you are lead to is right out of a corporate conference room. There is a huge table (glass... nice touch) in the center of the room, no wall hangings, and no windows. As soon as the door closes, all noise from the outside is blocked. At the far head of the table sits Miss Young. She is of anglo descent, with long dark hair and fine features. Her long black dress hugs her body's every curve, at the breast is a small silver emblem of the Draco Foundation's logo. She sits with her legs crossed and a light smile on her deep red lips.

She gestures to a seat, "Please take a seat, once everyone is here we'll get started and I'll fill you all in on why you are here."

16:59:58
16:59:59
17:00:00

Time. The Elf stood still for another heart beat and then crossed the street. He was confident that he could get out of the building unmolested if the situation called for it. Meeting a Johnson was always tricky, and it got trickier the longer he lived in the shadows. Now that someone had located his home the game got serious. He crossed the street on the next light, careful to look both ways. The interior was nice, loud but nice. The Japanese man was the same man he saw earlier and he had expected someone to be waiting inside for him. After the man led him to the room, he turned and smiled. With a slight bow he said, “Domo aragoto.” Japanese for ‘thank you’, at least he hoped. He smiled at the women and took a seat facing the door, with his back to the wall. He was careful to observe every detail of the room, the women, and any who came in after him.

The chipdeck in the Brumby worked considerably better than the one inside the apartment and it rolled out a mournful Johnny Cash tune. His father had been a fan, and he'd grown up on the stuff. Somehow, it calmed his nerves and put some of his fears to rest.

There's a man goin' round, takin' names,
And he decides who to free and who to blame...

The ride over was uneventful, and Scott was loaded for bear. Both Alphas were hidden under the panels in the back, along with enough ordinance to remove a small city block. He'd checked in with his buddy Ziggy for a place to stay, and Ziggy had put him on to a friend of his who could get another place lined up in a few hours. He'd find out where that was going to be after the meet, of course, which meant he was carrying the kitchen sink with him until then.

The gear he was packing on his person was understandably light, but sufficient to drop most folks who would try to drop him. He pulled into the parking lot of the steak house and found a space a bit away from the entrance. He'd have prefered closer, of course, but there was little choice in the matter.

And his name, that sat on him, was Death.
And Hell followed with him.

As he shut off the engine, the last of the song faded away. He used a mental impulse to cause his transducer to issue a command word. He could feel the jukebox hidden in his pocket hum as it changed chips and loaded something else into his brain instead of the driving skills which had been there before.

As the chip took over some of his motions, he adjusted his Armante and the secure longcoat over top. His predator was nestled securely inside the Armante and shifted as he moved. The heavy pistol was a comfort to his nerves as he made his way inside.

He resisted jumping as the Japanese man greeted him by name. He gave the man a short bow and followed him on into the back. As he walked, he sent a mental impulse through his second datajack and another jukebox changed settings, feeding a language into his brain. When he reached the meeting room, he gave the Japanese man a short bow and mumbled, "Domo arigatou gozai mashita", just as the Lingasoft directed.

With the woman obviously the Johnson, he gives her a polite nod and another to the elf as he takes his seat.

Ol' Scratch
Bellevue · August 20th, 2063 · 4:13pm

The sweltering air was thick with humidity thanks to the heavy showers earlier in the day when Ol' Scratch stepped out of the rustic poolhall on the corner of 5th and Pine. He looked up at the sky and could see the sun was starting to get low as evening approached. He reached into the denim jacket he had on and pulled out a pack of Red Apples. The dancing flames of his lighter were mirrored in his eyes as he lit up one of the cheap cigarettes and deeply inhaled its aromatic scent. The aging satyr just stood there for a few moments to breathe in the atmosphere. There had always been something oddly relaxing about the heat, though he never could figure out why he enjoyed it so. Actually he did know, but denial is a beautiful thing.

Eventually he took one last drag and made his way across the street to his old '47 Ford he had parked next to a meter. It might have been a nice car back in the day, but its design was already starting to look aged compared to the newer sedans Honda and Mercury were popping out. It's charcoal grey body was stained with rust spots and the entire right front fender had a heavy coat of primer patched over it. It was little wonder no one had even tried to break into it while he inside playing -- what self-respecting thief would want to waste their time on a hunk o' junk like that?

It took less than two shakes of a lamb's tail before Scratch was behind the wheel and on his way to the steak house Downtown. After he hit the I-5, he barked at the onboard computer until he was able to browbeat it into changing the paintjob to something more appropriate for that part of town. By the time man and machine were pulling into the parking lot the Ford was a nice, professional shade of black cherry. Not too classy, not too shabbby, but somewhere in the middle. The virtual dashboard's clock was reading 5:11pm when he pulled in next to a glitzy Toyota Elite. He figured that if someone was looking to steal a ride they'd probably go for the luxury sedan rather than an older-model Americar.

"Older model, heh," he mused while getting out and locking up, apparently finding the thought mildy amusing. "Guess we're both getting a little long in the tooth, eh baby?" He ran his bare fingertips across the smooth body of his car on his way to the front entrance, almost as if he were stroking it reassuredly.

In only took a little finesse and even less bravado to get past the two cowpokes, probably because he had wisely decided to leave his Hellblazer in the car. His hypersensitive nose picked up a familiar scent on his way to the backroom. As the recognition hit, he smirked. "Well whaddya know, it might just be a date afte..." but his inner monologue fell short when the doors swung open to reveal a rather motley assemblange of n'er-do-wells. "Figures."

But if he was disappointed, the satyr wasn't about to let it show outwardly. A grin the Devil himself would envy found its way onto his face and he took the seat closest to Miss Young without missing a beat.

"'ello, doll," he began. His eyes trailed down and drank deeply of everything... and I do mean everything... she had to offer before moving back up to her eyes.

"Nice pin."

When Shadow gave no indication of moving at 1655, Grendel shifted all network protocols to his remote and slid from the command couch into the heat of the day. Shrugging once to settle his longcoat about his shoulders, he moved quickly from the corner where the Bison was parked to the entrance of the Steakhouse. It was as elegant as he expected, and he felt a moments regret that he was here on business. But, then again, what else but business would find him in a place like this?

Wordlessly, he follows as the slim Japanese man leads him to the back room, inclining his head as he passes through the door. Once inside, he moves to his left, a step that put him close to the wall but left his right hand clear for action. Nothing comes his way but the crafty smile of the woman seated at the head of the table. His eyes, as black and dead as a shark's, slide carefully across the other assembled individuals. Only one he knows, and again the odds of survival tip more in his favor. He nods to WarPath, gesturing fractionally with his right hand as if to say we'll talk offline. Finally, he stands behind the offered seat, hands resting lightly on the back.

"Good evening."

A slight upward turn of the corners of his mouth was all the indication Shadow gave at Grendel's presence. At least outward. Inwardly he heaved a great sigh of relief. If Grendel was there it meant the odds of this job being legit were real. He was, without a doubt, the best rigger in the game, and having him on any job would be a real pleasure. Shadow had only worked with him once before, an OP in Aztlan. Though the job had gone south do to insufficent intel, the team had been solid. It would be good to work with professionals again.

:: Appearing, for all intents and purposes, to belong in a place like this, she adopted the calm confidence of a seasoned professional. Though elven, her features bordered between the stately regal bearing of the elves and the voluptious animalistic prowl of the humans. She was uncommonly beautiful, but had the aloofness of a predatory feline. ::

:: With a nod, she acknowledges any who lock eyes with her as she takes a seat near the door, folding her legs as she let the briefcase standing up by her side. ::

"Good evening gentleman."

:: With a soft smile she nods to the slight Japanese woman. ::

"Konbanwa."

He flexed his hands inside the thin black gloves, glad that at least the suit fit in with the locale as he followed his guide towards the back.

He glanced around as he moved into the room, taking a brief half second to analyze and categorize the threat level in the room. Any good predator knew the local food chain. He moved about half way around the room, taking a seat that put his back to the wall and the entrance and woman in his peripheral vision. A nod was his only response to her words.

Onna enters and steps to the side, allowing Father to take the lead. She gives the Japanese man inside a small bow, unsure where he ranks in the social order for the evening. She trails behind him through the restaurant, once again feeling out of place. The noise and chatter all around her grates on her nerves, makes her skin feel itchy and tight. She pauses outside the room and takes a few deep breaths before entering.

Feeling a little better she moves into the room and takes a moment to look around at the various occupants. She moves systemically from left to right around the area. She is careful not to make eye contact with anyone, not wanting to provoke any people here. She gives a single bow to the young woman who delivered the card then moves quickly to the nearest open seat by Father and sits.

Miss Young holds her hands neatly on her lap.

She makes a sweeping gesture around the table, "Take a look around. You guys are the best Seattle has to offer and thats why I've called you here. The drek really hit the fan and we'll be needing total secrecy on this job. The Draco Foundation is willing to pay for your silence however. I'll also tell you now that this job will be a very dangerous one, but again, thats why I've called in the best. However, I can give you no details about the job until I know that you agree to taking it. I'm willing to offer each of you ten thousand right now to listen and keep quiet about what you hear. We can Negotiate other terms later. What do you say?"

"I'd say that's a huge sum of money in a vaccum of information. You say we're the best, and I for one know my reputation was not built on taking jobs blindfolded. What I can guarantee is my silence. Until I hear the details, I can guarantee nothing more."