The view from the penthouse overlooks the Sound. He imagines the rain outside a perfect companion to the peaty scotch in his glass. "Well?"

"Not good, Sir." The respondent takes a deep breath. "It seems a team working for the Spaniard interfered with the Vipers. Seriously damaged the team and took the shipment."

"And?" The scotch pauses halfway to his lips.

"Uhhh... we are investigating them now."

"Then perhaps you should return when you have information to offer, rather than annoyance."

"Yes, Sir." With a bow, the man leaves, tugging at his collar. He shuts the door behind him.

"Hermano. I knew you would come, despite my warnings. Like all the rest, you are so transparent." He sips the scotch, the peaty fire burning its way down to meet his rising excitement. "I'll deal with you after I swat your insects."

[shortly thereafter...]

"Sir, your mole in the Spaniard's organization failed to intercept the shipment. The Spaniard's crew is now approaching his location with the goods."

"Not like her to fail." He chuckles at the double entendre of that statement were it to come from the mouth of a stereotypical barbarian. "Very well. Clean up at the meeting."

"Yes sir."

"Oh, sir, the interceptors got a video feed of one of the drivers of the trucks. I think you might know him."

"Show me." A smile comes across his face. "Dr. Jones! How delightful. Quick, something must get to our agent in the Spaniard's organization. It must be present at the meeting, visible, and far from the Spaniard." He takes an object from bookshelf behind his desk and hands it to his employee.

++++++++++++


What is that ringing? I didn't set the alarm? And why am I shaking? Is there an earthquake?

Blackness blends slowly into a flickering red haze. Professor coughs once, twice, and it hurts like hell. That, and the damn shaking make him open his eyes. The ringing is in his ears.

This guy... oh, the Spaniard's medic ... is shaking him. Behind the medic ... smoke, fire crumbling walls. "Whu?"

"We've been ambushed, here at the rendezvous. We must go. The other two on your team are outside already. I had to search to find you. The Boss ... is dead."

"Other two? Who? There were five of us."

"The two orks came here with you. Remember? You lost at least one on the way. Clear your head as we get out of here. I don't know how long the structure will last." The man helps Professor rise. Professor looks around at the devastation. The Spaniard and three of his crew are up against one wall... some of each still sticking to it. None is the woman.

An explosion did this. Why didn't I die? The cylinder!

"Wait!" Professor struggles from the medic's grasp and staggers to the wall opposite the carnage. There it is, on the workbench, the cylinder that looks like the one he dug up in India. It drew his attention and him away from the others. " I have to take this!" As he grasps it, an ARO is generated, of a smooth, humanoid shape, gray, but with black holes for eyes. It speaks.

"Dr. Jones, I presume. No need to search further. You have found me... or rather ... I have found you again. Much more disturbing for you, I am sure. Let the end game begin."

Professor hurls the cylinder into the fire across the room, left by the explosion meant to kill all, except him. More building crumbles. The medic grabs him again and together they exit the building. Sirens sound in the distance. Zo and Void wait there by a black limousine. Ours, now, I guess. Memories return as he sees his teammates. A quick flick to the astral, and Jovan is there too. Glad you're still with us. There's a problem worse than even you could imagine. I'll fill you in back at Oswald's hangar.

"We need to regroup. I know something about what just happened. Let's go to Oswald's place." Oswald....

++++++++++

The drive from the troll's hideout began as planned. Zo and Professor each drove a truck, Void rode shotgun with Zo. Oswald covered from the air, and Jovan did the same in the astral. A klick out, and Oswald's voice thundered through their commlinks, "Son of a ... how did they get those into Seattle? Three Eurocopter Tigers closing rapidly. We're fucked."

Data streamed into the drivers' AR display indicating the rapidly approaching attack helicopters. No suitable cover could be reached in time.

Oswald's voice returned. "Ground control, this is Major Tom. Last transmission, kids, it's been good to know you. Hit the brakes, now!" Professor and Zo complied, 'cause, well, it was Oz saying so. A second later the trucks shut down and whatever lights were on in a kilometer radius went out. The commlinks were dead air. Cyber implants flicked off, and started a reboot cycle after a few seconds. The trucks screeched to a stop with the brakes locked on. The ensuing silence was punctuated by explosions off to the left. One. Two. Three. Four. Flames lit up rising plumes of smoke.

"Zo, what the fuck?" Professor shouted out his window.

"I dunno for sure. I think it was some kind of electromagnetic pulse, but where it came from. I dunno. Damn powerful. The trucks should come back online in a minute or so, but anything flying would fall like a rock. I think Oz took out the helicopters, and went down with them."

++++++++++

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:00 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

It's a pretty quiet bunch. Professor puts the coffee pot in the centre of the table in the kitchenette. His mug is already steaming with fresh coffee. He draws up his chair to sit with the rest of them. Well, Jovan is hiding in the medic van, tuned in with his commlink, but fuck him if he wants to play that game. Zo and Void pour themselves a cup. The ringing in Professor's ears has settled down, and his aches are mostly gone too. Orlando, the Spaniard's medic, filled him in on a few details of the Spaniard's workings. It all makes more sense now.

"Seems weird to be sittting here with Oz gone. We've lost quite a few people in the last few days, and I'm the only one left from the original hire on the Spaniard's boat. It's good to get paid, and to live to spend it. Here's a toast to old Oz." He lifts his coffee mug in salute, and takes a long draught. "The old man had taste, anyway. This is pretty good.

"I had a chance to talk with Orlando, here, on the way back, and to think about what happened at the delivery. Some things seem clear to me, and I'd like to fill you in. The job is done, and going our separate ways is the usual way of these things, and frankly it would be a good career move for each of you if you dumped me like last week's leftovers. I'd like to make you an offer, first, though.

"There is a man, a cunning... no, genius... evil man who is one of the world's biggest criminals. He runs guns, drugs, people, whatever. Uses anybody and makes them like it. He has politicians in his pocket. He has connections everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if he had some big corporations under his control. He is a master planner, and has managed to evade law enforcement for over a decade. He never gets his hands dirty, but he has many who will for him. Nobody knows who he really is, but he is known in the underworld as The Blind Man. It's probably his own little joke, because this guy is the farthest you can imagine from being blind. He's always a step or three ahead of anyone competing with or hunting him.

"So, 'What's this got to do with us?' you say. Well, it has a lot to do with me, and I'm pretty sure he's the one who blew up the Spaniard. I'm also thinking that Ms. Johnson is, was, his mole in the Spaniard's organization. Orlando told me that the two men had conflict before, and it looks like Seattle wasn't big enough for the both of them.

"As for me, I'm here, running the shadows looking for this guy. Yeah. I know. I know. But a few years ago, in another life, he destroyed my life, and I want to get it back. Or, lately, at least to clear my name. Some of you may have noticed that I haven't been doing this gig for all that long." He chuckles at that admission of the obvious.

"I was an archaeologist, and a damn fine one at that, with a promising career ahead of me. I was working in India, excavating a Harrapan site farther east than any other known before. The Harrapans were a culture ... sorry. Old habits. In any case, we had just found a scroll case, bone and wood, intricately carved with geometric designs. Inside was a scroll, vellum, with Sanskrit writing. Which was odd in itself because we didn't think the Harrapans used Sanskrit. My two graduate students and I had started to examine the scroll, and tried to decipher the writing. Very old, very hard to follow. But we got some tantalizing clues that, if they turned out to be factual, would be world shaking.

"See, we thought that it was telling us about another time of magic, an earlier one, ages ago. You can imagine what such a revelation would mean. Our imaginations were running wild, even as we tried to be dispassionate and methodical. I reported the preliminary observations to my faculty back home in Toronto. I guess, looking back now, that that was where I made my mistake. A couple of days after that report, the scroll was stolen, and my two graduate students murdered. Poor kids, just starting out. Compounding it all was that evidence appeared implicating me in the murder. The Indian authorities were quick to latch onto that evidence and arrest me. I was brought to trial. I sold most of the possessions at my disposal and hired the best lawyer I could afford. The reality is, he got me off on a technicality, not by destroying the prosecution's arguments. Nevertheless, I thought I was free of it all.

"Not so. I got home and found my colleagues and faculty were suspicious of me, and didn't believe my protestations of innocence. 'Errors and omissions' were said to be found in some of my research, and my tenure was terminated. No one anywhere would hire me even to teach a first year introductory summer course . I had been railroaded out of academia. I didn't know what to do at first, but the only thing that made sense was to find the thief, and get the truth out. So, with what money I had left then, I trained my magic, not for academic pursuits as I had always done before, but towards a life in the underworld. With the likes of you." He smiles, and lifts his mug.

"I picked up the trail in India, and it led to Washington. I followed the thief there and uncovered an antiquities smuggling ring feeding the UCAS and overseas. I don't know how I managed to do it, to be honest, but I broke the ring open to the authorities. But I did get a glimpse of the mastermind behind it. The Blind Man. And he let me know what he would do if he ever got his hands on me. I ducked out, he ducked out, and I got as far out of sight as I could, while still tracking him. A clue led me here to Seattle, where I have been working the shadows trying to get a hint of where he might be. I didn't find him, but he found me.

"See, Orlando tells me that the Vipers have worked for The Blind Man before. I would bet big money they got my picture to him, and he figured me out. At the delivery last night, the only reason I wasn't standing beside the Spaniard and blown to bits along with him is that there was a cylinder off to the side, just like the scroll case I dug up. I went to look at it, and then it all blew to hell. When I woke, I picked up the tube, and it gave me a message. Basically he's telling me he's toying with me until he tires of it, and then he will kill me. I suspect anyone associated with me will be considered acceptable collateral damage.

"So, what's all this about an offer? Well, another development is that an inheritance that had been contested for years has been cleared. I'm a rich man. I could probably buy my disappearance and live in luxury for the rest of my life.

"That's not going to happen. I don't know whether I want to get back into archaeology as a life, but I want to nail the bastard that did my life in, and I want to see the looks on the faces of those bastards who fired me when I wave my innocence under their noses. I've worked with you, and you've seen me. We all could do worse, no? And I offer each person who wants to help me track this guy down a hundred thousand nuyen, up front, to start. More to come later as tasks becomes available. If it's alright with the rest of you, Orlando here has tossed his hat into the ring. He offers to be a medical backup, no charge, in exchange for getting to keep the medical equipment here that Oz left behind.

"I want to get that scroll back, and I want to do as much damage to the Blind Man's operations as I can. I have no illusions that I can take him down, but he is known to be over-the-top proud of his ability to out-think anyone, and come out on top no matter what. Getting evidence to clear me, and getting the scroll back will put a mark on his reputation he will never live down. That's what I want to do. And with your skills, I know my chances would go way up.

"I have the first run lined up already. Orlando has access codes to the Spaniard's files, and can get us info about The Blind Man if we can retrieve those files from the Spaniard's HQ on land. Problem is, I would be surprised if that HQ isn't being watched. Furthermore, as long as we act quickly, we could turn some of that money into whiz gear through the Spaniard's connections. Those will dry up once his demise becomes known, but we have a window of a day or two.

"What do you think? Wanna do some... archaeology?"

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:00 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett


"Um 100K to do some grave diggn? Not a problem for me. As ta the drek in the past, I seem ta recall some one try'n ta tellin me dat checkin da cred of ya...team is unprofessional. Me, I like ta think of it as knowin all da parties involved. Enemies of people ya work with might not care who I am, just dat I'm workin wit ya.

Take me for example, member of the da crush and all the things dat that brings. Da only other thing ta be after my hide is the local humanis chapter in redmond, dey didn't take it to well to me shooting up one of der breeders only joints. Wasn't my fault dat they ran there after pickin a fight with da crush...Frag all if care that ya know dat, any one of ya could find dat info out if ya wanted--I'm just savn ya da cred and trouble."

An if der really smart, deyd check out what I wuz sayin. But dats on them.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:03 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Jovan glanced at the blinking "RECORDING" text on the holo-projector display of his commlink. The details of this conversation were no doubt going to warrant further analysis later on - he could feel it in his gut.

He started paying more attention at the mention of this man, this criminal genius. But his eyes widened noticeably in the dark seclusion of the medic van at the implication of an earlier age of magic. Wait a minute. An ancient time of magic in the world... That goes against a great deal of the current assumptions of hermetic magical theory. It would certainly explain where spirits came from... and the paranimals that seem to match so closely with descriptions of animals from ancient myth... and the Infected... and the dragons. But why would a man interested in masterminding criminal plots, spreading corruption, and getting pride from staying several steps ahead of everyone else be interested in something as obscure and academic as an ancient scroll in a backwater archeological site in the middle of India? He would have to be an avid collector of ancient art or of similar predilections... He thought for a long moment, his fingers steepled together as he stared into space. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. ...Or a creature that already knew where to look and was waiting for someone to uncover such an item so that it could steal said item out from under them. A creature that would want to keep such information suppressed and hidden from metahumanity at large. Which means that we are walking into a conspiracy led by something very old and intellectually formidable. Likely a dragon, which would certainly explain why this 'man' has been able to evade and outsmart his pursuers and competition for so long. By Ghost, these people don't have the intellectual faculties to match wits against a dragon by themselves. That ganger can barely even speak proper English, for goodness sake.

There was a long silence after Professor and ZO spoke before Jovan took his turn. <<There is something about your story, if it is true, that feels amiss. This scroll you discovered, you said that it hinted at the existence of magic in a previous age. The implications of such a claim are indeed tremendous, but talk of such a discovery should have stayed predominantly within academic circles for the first several days after your preliminary report. Why would a man as criminal, deceptive, and evil as this Blind Man take such an immediate interest in something so academic? And why would he have been so ruthless in acquiring your scroll, unless he had something to hide in doing so?>>

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:03 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor nods. "Jovan's questions are all ones I've asked many times myself. One hypothesis I have builds on the fact that Blind Man is a purveyor of goods to anyone with the money. He may not be the end receiver of the stolen scroll, merely the one paid to acquire it. As for ruthlessness, well, that is his nature. And, witnesses were eliminated and a fall guy set up to stop further investigation. Very clean, except for my good luck in dodging the rap for murder."

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:04 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett


Void looks thoughtful at Professor's offer, seeming to be considering it but not leaping to accept it. He frowns minutely when Jovan chimes in, interrupting his contemplations. He has made up his mind, though, for the most part.

"It doesn't surprise me as much... perhaps I live in a darker world. But even with my limited knowledge of archaeology, I know that outfits like the Atlantean Foundation use strongarm tactics such as that as a matter of course. I suppose when old tombs can contain lost magical secrets rather than merely antique urns and moldering bones, it brings out the ruthlessness in people."

Void strokes his chin thoughtfully, his usual small facial tics stilled by his concentration, although he has once again forgotten to blink for an inordinately long time.

"I like your approach to the problem. As Sun Tzu says, 'Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent's fate.' But when subtle fails, it is nice to have some muscle at your back. That is where Mr. Zo and I come in, yes? The proposed compensation is acceptable... provided that reasonable expenses, especially travel, will also be handled by you. A hundred thousand is a lot, but going going on an international expedition can burn though it in a hurry."

Yes... that's about right. Must not sound too eager, no no. Reasonable request, certainly. This could be the big break, what I need to break out of the small time, be a player again. Upscale, yes, yes.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:04 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor nods in agreement. "His reach is global, indeed. But right now he is in Seattle. Somewhere. Whether we will have to go outside of this city is beyond me, but if we do I will make sure we can handle the travel expenses. And if we can liberate some valuables from his grasp along the way, we can all profit from those as well. The more we hurt his bottom line, the angrier he will get. Enraged, I would say from what I have learned. And rage is the fastest road to error."

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:04 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

" I got some contacts in the Nan dat would be intereseted in Grade-A Bang Bang da Spaniard delt in. Dey's not gonna pay full market, but they'll give us a decent price. I'z got one other question, wit da valuables we librate, I think we go even splits afta expenditures."

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:04 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor nods again. "Yeah, splitting evenly works for me. I'd be happy to minimize my costs, because even a stake like my inheritance can run out."

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:04 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Void nods curtly as well. He is following the conversation, but he is a bit distracted, thinking about what he might do with his sudden monetary windfall.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:05 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Jovan considers the offer again and its chances of success. <<If we assume that the Blind Man is merely an acquirer of goods whose services were bought by an unknown third party in this case, it is completely within the realm of possibility that going after the Blind Man and your Harrapan scroll will cause us to make acquaintances with this unknown party, and under less than ideal circumstances. On the other hand, if your Blind Man is truly as masterful at outmaneuvering and outdoing his opponents, then your chances of success against him by yourselves are so minute as to be ridiculous. None of you other two would be able to match wits against such a man, that much is clear to me. As for you, Professor, your analytical and perceptive skills are good, very good. But even your skills would not be enough to outplan this nemesis of yours, this intellectual criminal boogeyman. In order to match wits against a master planner, you must have the ability to plan at a similar level. Which means that you will need me. I will be your messiah in this endeavor, no doubt.>> A careful listener could almost hear the slight smirk on Jovan's completely hairless face <<Provided, of course, that you are willing to help facilitate the necessary components of our own plans. Are you willing to do whatever it takes to bring down this mastermind and free yourself from life-and-death struggle into which he forced you? Whatever it takes? If you are willing to follow me down this dark path, then I will be all too happy to lend my skills to this intellectual puzzle of yours.>>

In the meantime, best to begin preparations immediately. Jovan brings up the commcode for his contact and acquaintance, Zayne, the "cleaner."

<<@Zayne: That woman you put me in touch with a few nights ago turned out to be less pleasant to deal with than I was hoping. We should discuss it sometime. I also have some small projects which I would like to get rolling immediately for the purposes of an important job, and on which I would like to hear your advice. Would you care to go out for dinner tonight?>> The ease with which Jovan poses the question would bother no small amount of people, but alas, there is no one around to pick up on the psychopathy in such a question.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:05 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor chuckles at the looks that come across the faces of the other two present as they hear Jovan's diatribe. "Without a doubt, Jovan, your planning skills are needed. So are the various skills of the rest of the team. As for what I am willing to do, well short of selling my soul, I want this man to suffer.

"You should understand this, one and all of you. This is my purpose, my money. I take the lead on objectives. If this is unsatisfactory, then I appreciate the work you have done so far, and we must part ways. In the course of our communal efforts the opportunity may arise for me to help you in your own personal goals. I will do what I can in that regard."

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:05 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Void shrugs fatalistically. He has no real goals at the moment, and few illusions left, either about the state of the world, or the things that he does to survive in it.

"You have the money, Jovan has the brains. Myself, I bring necessary violence to the table. Judgments, value judgments concerning life, for or against, can in the last resort never be true: they possess value only as symptoms, they come into consideration only as symptoms - in themselves such judgments are stupidities."

He smiles slightly, as if anticipating when he will be able to unleash such violence. Actually, though, he is just happy that he got to use one of his Nietzsche quotes. And a relevant one, even! At least, it sounded relevant. His quick smile fades to a thoughtful look, also a misleading expression, since his mental processes at the moment are more like a spinning hamster wheel, as he tries in vain to decipher the meaning of the quote he just uttered.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:05 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor perks up at Void's opinion. "Ah! You've read 'Twilight of the Idols', I see. Nietzsche is a difficult read. A little full of himself sometimes, but he gets one thinking, if only to find the cleverest way to refute him."

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:05 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

What the frag did the ork in fronta of me just say? An what does does Nitch character hafta do with the job? One of Prof's contacts?

"In additiion to bein da other gun-bunny, I'll bring da street smarts for when Jovie's plan gets slotted more ways dan a meat puppet at a bunraku parlor. I've got connections too, if we need dem."

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:06 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Jovan bares his teeth ever so slightly. He does not like being controlled and lectured in such a (to him) pedagogical fashion. There is a brief thought that flashes through his mind, originating from the darker, Infected facets of his personality. I do not have to bow down in the face of this drivel. I am a nosferatu. I shall be the messiah of this planet! I do not require the direction of anyone, and I certainly do not require being directed and lectured by my own food! Dark images start to flit through his mind's eye, images that to Jovan feel perfectly normal, filled with blood and cutting and screams and begging and...

Stop. The images start to fade. Professor Jones is not Our target. He is not The Enemy. Our Enemy is out there: Archer, and the bugs, and this Blind Man, and all the rest of those who aim to spread corruption through society like a filth-ridden tumor. Their throats can be the ones I rip out. The world is better off with Jones' throat and life intact. Jovan sighs in resigned irritation, taking a deep breath. In any case, this employment is useful for my purposes. Bah.

<<Very well, Professor. I will follow your direction on this job. I am curious about what you have to offer in addition to or perhaps instead of your one hundred thousand nuyen payment, or at least a portion of it. It is clear to me that you are well-read and possess great skill at discerning patterns in your environment, and you have the background of an excellent academic, as I myself did as a student not too long ago. What can you offer me in the realm of goods, knowledge, and skills in payment for these tasks? Depending on the quality of items and services in question, I would be willing to receive a deduction of the one hundred thousand nuyen to funnel directly into such an excha->> He stops midsentence, as if his conscious mind has only now noticed something that has been puzzling his subconscious for some time. His speech returns uncharacteristically slowly and in stumbles. <<How...do you know... of that aggravatingly nihilist of a philosopher?>> He pauses in confused thought again, which is practically unheard of for him. <<And what.. does that... have to do with...>>

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:06 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor smiles, knowing full well what occupied Jovan's mind during those seconds of silence before he responded to Professor's challenge of nosferatu superiority. The smile doesn't last long, though, as he realizes how close he probably came to realizing those thoughts.

Interesting times.

"Well, from your question I suspect you might be interested in getting access to arcana with special topics. I have contacts who can connect you with private libraries and collections. Maybe we can work that angle for you. Let me know what you are interested in and I can make some inquiries."

"I think we may have snippets of philosophies popping up from time to time, Jovan." He nods to Void. "Get used to it."

Interesting indeed. Is this a way Jovan can be flummoxed temporarily. Watch for it.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Void freezes for a second at Professor's reply, although his stoic face doesn't betray his emotions. He is good at quoting Nietzsche and Sun Tzu, but he can often barely understand them, much less do any critical analysis of them. Unless it is someone else's critical analysis of them, quoted just as pedantically. Void's brain may have been overclocked from its natural state with bioware, but he still relies on other sources to do the the intellectual heavy lifting for him.

Gets one thinking? But, but he does that for you, that's the whole point of philosophy, isn't it? And why would one ever want to refute Nietzsche?

When Professor nods to him, he returns it, having regained a slight bit of internal equilibrium.

"Indeed..."

Should he make another appropriate quote? He strangely feels like he barely dodged some kind of mental bullet last time; he hates when anything makes him look foolish. Uncharacteristically, he gives a bit of a mental shrug and decides to go for it.

"...Is life not a thousand times too short for us to bore ourselves?"

Yes, yes, was a good quote. Hrrmmm. Perhaps some Sun Tzu next time, mix it up a bit, yes, yes.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Zo in a Neil the ork Barbarian voice responds to Void's quote "What iz best in life? Ta crush your foes, an see dem driven before you, and ta hear da lamentation of der women."

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor smiles and stands up. "All right, then. We are agreed. I'll whip up an info package for the three of you to work on the first objective, collecting data from the Spaniard's beachhead here in Seattle. I have lined up a new base of operations for us. As much as I trusted Oz when he was with us, I don't feel safe in this booby-trapped warehouse. Let's go home and get a good night's sleep. I'll send info to you in the morning.

"Here is a communications channel we five can use that no one else should know about." An ARO appears with the link. "You can contact Orlando or me regarding material requests for the hundred K, but that should happen soon if you are looking for hardware from the Spaniard's connections, as those will dry up once news of his demise gets around."

He pulls his fedora forward from where it hung on his back, and heads to the door.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Void looks thoughtful at Zo's quote.

Hrrm. Where is that one from? I don't recognize it. Buddhist, perhaps? It would seem to fit into Buddhism's primary credo of "Kill or be killed."

When Professor gives the group their marching orders, he mumbles something unintelligible in the affirmative, preoccupied both with comming a taxi to pick him up a few blocks away, and with compiling his mental wish list of gear to get while the Spaniard's connections are still viable.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Zo looks at everyone physically present. "I see ya later den. Ya all know where ta find me. I'll get dat list in ta ya tomorrow. I think if ya gots it APDS might be in order if da vipers iz worken for da other team. Nothing says merc like mil-spec armor. At least enough EX-EX. Either that, or if any of ya spell slingers can melt der brains inside out, that would work too."

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Professor shoots a glance at Orlando. "Ammunition should be no problem. A hundred thousand worth of APDS might be tricky, though."

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Zo chuckles "Only if a minigun comes wit it--if Iz need that much ammo, I think we'z done slotted up. 1,000 rounds should be enough for my AK. Another 500 for my pistols would be good too. Got enough grenades for now thanks ta da gouls. We'd also need some lockpickers, maglock passkeys an dat sort of stuff. A decker would be good too--Havent heard from Ferret since da run went south." Briefly Zo shakes his head while looking down one the ground, his eyes closed. "Don't think he made it, we'd heard from em by now."

"We'z also gonna need some back-up sins. Especially you, Prof. You got a big drek slotting bullseye on yer forhead, so layin a bit low might be a good idea."

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Void, seemingly half there and half putting together his own mental list, mutters agreement "Yes, yes, definitely APDS. Or some AV rounds, even better. And SINs, yes, don't need them in the Barrens, no no, but keep the options open, yes."

His fingers twitch slightly to accompany his distracted mumblings. He suddenly remembers to blink, doing so several times rapidly.

Of course, laying low will always be a problem for me. If things get too bad, I might wind up back in that wretched Glow City place, or somewhere even worse...but there's no use railing against fate.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Jovan's voice is heard sputtering slightly for a few more seconds. The name Nietzsche is heard venomously several times. Void gets a sense from a couple curses and phrases uttered in Or'zet under Jovan's breath that Jovan has had particularly passionate disagreements with the German philosopher's nihilist ideas in the past, though the actual details are not mentioned. Eventually, however, the magician's composure returns with a heavy degree of irritation.

<<I will get back to you soon regarding material requests, Professor. I will be staying here for a little while longer. I have some business to attend to here, and some things of Oswald's that I would like to look at in more detail.>>

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

<<No problem, Jovan. Take care. None of us knows what surprises the old boy set up here.>>

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:07 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Zo looks at Void, "Chummer, even sins in da barrens iz useful, especially when KE starts kickin in heads. Dey don't like us trogs anymore dan humanis, but if ya gotz a sin dey gotta follow some rulez or da MOM's get all slotted up an start filin lawsuits for police brutality. "


At that Zo heads out the door to his bike, gets on it and heads to the Redmond Barrens, his home. He makes a mental note to stay on the highways and blend in until he gets to Redmond proper when he leaves the main roads and heads up on the back roads in Crush territory.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:08 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Void doesn't reply to the other ork, although the other ork doesn't seem to be expecting one, anyways. Void follows soon afterwards, although it is to walk a few blocks before getting into an auto-taxi cab, a bit of an exorbitant expense for him normally, but hell, he's just been promised a 100k advance. He might add a set of wheels to his personal wish list. Few amenities or luxuries spend a lot of time in his thoughts, though. Right now, he is more concerned about investing enough of this windfall to stay alive for future ones.

Playing by the rules... has KE ever played by the rules? All a fake SIN does is give you a discount on the bribe you have to pay them. Better to save the cred and shoot them. The best response to brutality is more brutality, and getting your shots in before they take theirs.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:45 PM, Redmond, Touristvillle--TDO night club

Zo pulls up in to the TDO night club, its neon sign half lit, and ARO's for extra services abound. A wage slave sees Zo pull up, and averts his eyes as if to avoid confronting him and quickly ducks inside. He heads towards the door, nodding to some of his fellow gangers who are protecting the entrance. KD is one of them. She's one of the gangs humans, with a cyberarm and a built in shotgun.

It has been an interesting week. Am I really doin this? Goin from ganger ta runner. Drek, iz there a slotting difference--can I continue ta do both? Dey both do jobs that the law don't like us to do. But runnin is a drekload more profitable.

"Hoi KD."

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:45 PM, Redmond, Touristvillle--TDO night club

KD pushes herself forward from her lean on the doorframe. "Hoi, Zo-boy. What's with the disappearing act? Got sumpin' on the side you ain't tellin'?"

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:45 PM, Redmond, Touristvillle--TDO night club

Zo casually walks up to KD. "KD, ya know me. I always gotz somethin on the side. Was at da slot'house last night waitin ta offload some lost items. Smidge said everythin wuz covered. Serious drek hit the fan an we had a blackout from partyin too hard. Fraggers slotted Ferret, you know the Dwarf that Throgg hung out wit. I gots some payin back to do for that one. No one frags with a friend of the Crush an get away wit it--especially when I can get paid ta do it. Hey if ya want, meet me at da Loose cannon later an we do some target practice--no buckshot this time. Drinks are on me."

Not sure if she caught the meaning of the word "blackout". But the drek that happened has been on the local pirate trid feeds most of the day. Well da normal ones mentioned da blackout, but not the explosions of military grade hardware. Can't let da breeders know that some random group just flew three attack helicopters in to the plex--mees up der sleep patterns.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 11:05 PM, Void's apartment, outskirts of Loveland

Void gets out of the autocab a few blocks away from his apartment. He turns his collar up to the damp chill as he walks through a neighborhood that is less derelict only because Loveland is dressed up to hustle a bit of money from slumming suits and tourists. He is more alert than he seems, the ingrained habit of a dangerous life, but he knows most of the predators here are smart enough to shy away from dangerous prey like him.

He meticulously unlocks the multiple locks on his apartment door, after checking a few subtler indicators to make sure no one has been in the place. Again, the habits of his days as an enforcer, living the high life but always keeping an eye out for danger. At the moment, he is likely far below the radar of any underworld factions. All of which might change soon...

The place is small, but clean, not that cleaning is that much of a chore for the rather Spartanly furnished area. He nudges his household drone, which has gotten stuck in the corner again, and it putters around again. He finds the motion vaguely soothing, making the place look slightly less empty. Normally, this sterile place is soothing to him, but at the moment, the walls seem to close in on him slightly. He is bone tired, but still fidgety with tension. He sends a quick message to Mick, to update him on the bounty.

<Mick. Target has not been located. I am working another job with the remaining members of the group that was being targeted by him, so perhaps another opportunity will present itself. If so, you will still get your percentage. I will be in touch. Void.>

After that terse missive, he carefully settles onto his futon in a lotus position, and tries meditating. Thoughts of his "wish list" intrude, but eventually he is able to calm his mind.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 11:05 PM, Void's apartment, outskirts of Loveland

<<Void: Understood. Disappointing. Mick.>>

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:45 PM, Redmond, Touristvillle--TDO night club

While wating for KD's response to his offer, Zo sends a quick message to Professor via the VPN.

<Prof---Here's da wish list-disposable commlinks--1 per crew, 1 autopicker, 1 maglock passkey, 4 trauma patches, 1,000rds APDS for assault rifles, 1000 rounds apds for heavy pistol ammo, two dozen kilos of C12 with 10 wireless detonators , 1 panther assault cannon w/smartling and 50 rounds of ammo, one missle launcher with 4 AVMs (or for LAWs), 1 stealth suit <see tag for sizes>, 1 Grapple gun, 100 meters of stealth line, 1 catalyst stick, 10 thermal smoke grenades, and 60 rounds of stick an shock light pistol ammo.>

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:45 PM, Redmond, Touristvillle--TDO night club

<<Zo: I'll pass this on. Professor.>>

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 11:10 PM, Redmond, Touristville, The Joke nightclub

Jovan sits in a booth in the back corner of The Joke nightclub in Redmond, his rifling through Oswald's warehouse for items of use now completed. He is sporting a retro-looking hairdo, brown hair hanging buoyant in a gravity-defying faux-hawk with the spiked tips dyed a typical-looking motley of rainbow; there is now a very short stubble on his face, and his skin is no longer the deathly white that it was a few hours ago. Across from him sits another man of casual dress and darker clothing, with well-styled shoulder-length hair dyed an edgy red, and this man seems noticeably more confident and excited to be here than his companion.

"Oh man oh man oh man, have you seen the show line-up for tonight? Those Yaks sure do know how to pick their sex performers. The Free-Falling Dog Conjoined with Eagle one looks cool - did you watch their teaser clip for that? Oh man oh man, that's some sexy drek right there, I'm telling you! You should give it a try sometime, omae, add a little kink to your tastes." He winks.

"You are repugnant and I am unamused by this place."

"Oh, right. For a moment I had forgotten that you're actually an alien." Zayne smiles jokingly, completely unphased by Jovan's perpetually serious attitude. "Too bad for you, though. It's my turn to pick the place, and I've been itching to try this club out for ages. Not quite as cozy as some of the mock Mos Eisley cantinas that I've been to, which are quite literally the best drek ever, but it'll do." Zayne has an intense love for older science fiction movies and sims, especially all of the nine Star Wars video/trideo films. It would be hard to guess from his current attitude that this man - if Infected can be called such things - has a list of completed contract killings at least two dozen entries long, but then metahuman beings are complex creatures, after all. "And the live sex shows that they have on the menu tonight look awesome. Ooh, ohh! Did you see the clip for-"

"No, I did not, thank you very much. And I still utterly fail to see what on earth you find endearing in those films when some of them are a century old." Jovan rolls his eyes. His voice lowers to a whisper, barely discernible to anyone without hearing augmentation. "Anyway, I recently came across the name of an alchemical compound in my studies, one by the name of Renfield. What do you know of it? Have you used it on anyone before?"

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 11:35 PM, Void's apartment, outskirts of Loveland

Void relaxes into a meditative state, feeling close to gnosis - or satori, or whatever they call it, when his commlink buzzes - he really needs to change the settings so it makes a less annoying sound one of these days. The original intent was to catch his attention for possibly important missives, but most of the time, it just distracts him with trivialities.

He wonders if it is Mick again, but it is just Loogie.

<Void, dude. You checked out the new Beach Bimbo Bloodbath III yet? Best FPS AR game in a long time. Feels like you're really there, poppin' caps and getting lap dances from tan honeys.>

Void snorts to himself. The last thing he needs to unwind with is a shooter game, even one that apparently mixes in a bit of AR porn. Besides, not having played Beach Bimbo Bloodbath I or II, he would probably be hopelessly lost trying to follow the plot. He sends an innocuous reply back to Loogie. He is tempted to ask the troll hacker about the Blind Man, but from the description, he sounds like something out of Loogie's league, and someone dangerous to make inquiries about.

He sighs, still restless, and unable to relax again.

Ehhhh. I might as well catch the tube to Tacoma, and head down to that "midnight madness" sale Ivan is having. Bargains to be had, yes. Mind you, I think he does it to get the crap he can't sell out of his back room. Sometimes something interesting there, though. And it might be good to see if he has anything I didn't think to put on my wish list - his acumen with regards to modern armaments is deeper than mine.

Voids actually smiles slightly - he used his "word of the day"! Acumen, acumen, acumen!

Sunday, Sept. 14, 2071, 12:25 AM, Ivan's shop, midnight madness sale

The ride to Tacoma is uneventful. People on the tube seem very polite - despite how crowded it is, they seem to take care not to get too close to him. Ivan's shop is unadorned, and there is not even any light visible over the door or through the dark windows - most people would have no idea that this was a shop, and even if they did, they would probably assume it to be closed. Ivan does business strictly though word of mouth - and seemingly quite successfully.

Ivan's full security crew seems present for this event, lounging around visibly but inobtrusively, and almost outnumbering the furtive customers who drift in and out. Void spots Ivan, who is talking to another customer. Ivan is normally taciturn when he is not talking about guns, but he can also gush about his sister, Balalaika, who is apparently a concierge in Moscow, or something. While he waits for a chance to talk to Ivan, he looks around the lethal array of weaponry sitting on cheap folding tables, and the uncharacteristically (for Ivan) gaudy AR displays.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:08 PM, Oswald's warehouse in Everett

Jovan's search of Oswald's lair soon discovered various caches of armaments, including the grenades he sought. Unfortunately, his careful search also highlighted the defenses the old man had set up... formidable ones meant to vaporize an interloper. His skills in tech are nowhere near those of the old astronaut, and so Jovan chose discretion as valour, and marked locations and descriptions to share with someone more adept at circumventing mechanical and electronic wards. Not Professor. Zo, perhaps?

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 11:10 PM, Redmond, Touristville, The Joke nightclub

Zayne's unabashed lust for the proceedings on stage, screen and AR escalates, even to the point of (to Jovan) disgusting touchings of self. He perks up at the word "Renfield". He giggles in a parody of laughter, "Hehhhh, hehhhhh, hehhhhh!" Jovan shudders.

Zayne pulls himself away from the entertainment to consider Jovan's request. "Yeah, yeah! I've heard of that stuff. Never used it. Heh, heh, though I bet it could be really useful in some interesting ways!" He glances back at the stage, and leers. "I never got around to looking up the stuff, and to tell you the truth...as I always do ... I worry a little about astral links and the like. You know, putting your own blood into your flesh tools and all that.

"There's a guy in Tacoma I know. Morgan Pertwilling. Yeah, yeah, I know, a Limey right to his toes. But he has magic in his fingers for compounds and potions. Get in touch with him. Use my name and he'll talk to you. Careful about your attitude, though, sweety. He's got a temper and real skill with mana. He should be able to fix you up with a formula if anybody can. Not my cup of tea, though." He squeals with joy at his pun, and brings up an ARO to guide Jovan to Pertwilling's place.

"Now! How about a snack?"

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:45 PM, Redmond, Touristvillle--TDO night club

KD, ever the opportunist, takes Zo up on his offer without hesitation. "Hoo! I'm always ready for a brew. Make mine a pitcher an' I'll tell ya about this slummer from Tinsel Town who tried to impress the locals at da Loose Cannon just yesterday."

Sunday, Sept. 14, 2071, 12:25 AM, Ivan's shop, midnight madness sale

The goods arrayed on the folding tables look pretty ordinary to Void's practiced eye. Automatics, SMGs, pistols of all sorts. Nothing to catch his interest. Looks like it was a waste of time coming here. Then a door at the back, and the heavy pair of guards flanking it catch his attention. A third guard, a troll the size of the other two put together, seems to be the guide into the back room for one customer at a time. One comes out, and nods to Ivan. A sale seems to have been transacted, probably by AR. Ivan tilts his head, giving the all-clear for the customer he is with to go back. He is led through the door.

Ivan sees Void, smiles a sickly-sweet welcome, and glides over. "Void! Void! So good to seeing you! I am having it such a sad time since so long you be away. Come! Come! Telling me what it is you looking for. I have it much, much to sell tonight."

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 10:45 PM, Redmond, Touristvillle--TDO night club
"KD, pitcher of brew? I'm talking a dozen kegs! Ya breeders are lightwights. Be sure ta leave one keg for Throgg, I gots ta tell him about Ferret."

<Hey Edger---transferin 500 nuyen for 12 kegs of Rockgut. I'll be down there in about an hour or so--set one aside for Throgg.>

Zo doesn't wait for KD's response, and walks further into the TDO--the familiar sight of naked trolls, orks, and a few dwarfs dancing on their respective stages for Nuyen. Some of course are headin into the backroom. Mickey waves Zo over.


Mickey "Your favorite halfer, Shiela's in back. She gots half an hour or so before she need to be on stage-so don't make her too late."

"I'll try not to." Zo gives him a slight grin and heads backstage to Shiela's dressing closet.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 11:45 PM, Redmond, Touristvillle--The loose Cannon night club

Zo is 600 nuyen poorer, as he approaches the loose cannon. He left Shiela a good tip tonight for her personal performance--especially since he made her late for her onstage performance. Mickey, of course won't mind, he'll get his percentage either way.

As Zo heads in he yells to the dozen or so fellow crush gangers "PARTY'S ON!" signaling Edger to take out the kegs of recently delivered rotgut and tap them, leaving the stacks of Red cups for the gangers to use. After a few minutes of hanging out and catching up with his fellow gangers he heads over to Throgg who's comendeered one of the kegs.

"Hey THrogg, ya know dat business ya got me into? It paid well enough, even though the job went south a bit. Ferret wuz geeked, at least I think he wuz. Didn't see him after the run, like we should uv. I'm takin it you haven't heard from da halfer either?"

Sunday, Sept. 14, 2071, 12:25 AM, Ivan's shop, midnight madness sale

Void's face twitches in the hint of a smile, a slight but genuine expression that almost makes him look normal, instead of the twitchy headcase that he is. Ivan may be a bit extravagant and bombastic, but the fearless Russian dwarf is one of the few people who doesn't seem creeped out by the miasma of wrongness that hangs over Void.

"Well, I don't think you'll get me to part with my Walther," he replies, not mentioning which of his Walthers he is talking about, "but I might be looking for something with a bit more stopping power for close-up shooting, like a Franchi SPAS-22, or something similar."

He idly glances towards the back room, sure that the perceptive Russion will pick up the gesture. The pickings up front are nothing notable - maybe a use-and-lose pistol or two that he could get, but nothing special at all. But maybe the other room will boast some more exotic - and dangerous - selections.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 11:45 PM, Redmond, Touristvillle--The loose Cannon night club

Roars of approval greet Zo as the beer starts to flow. KD lifts a glass and shouts, "Zo! A Man of the Crush!" Choruses echo the sentiment.

Throgg scowls at the news about Ferret. He pushes a glass towards Zo and says, "Tell me about it. Who we gotta pay back for it?"

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 11:45 PM, Redmond, Touristvillle--The loose Cannon night club
Zo lifts his glass in acknowledgement to the crowd and slugs the drink down his throat, enjoying the heavy bitterness of his beer. He turns back to Throgg.

"Throgg, ya know it was part of some smuggling group run by a fragger who goes by the moniker the blind man. Any wayz, we had just dropped off da shipment of goods dat we recovered no problem. Got our pay, as we were leaving there was some explosion of some sort, da fraggers ambushed us. I'm thinking it waz some merc group, da vipers 12 dat we had dealin with durin the job. But I don't know for surez. I'm orderin some grade A-bang bang for the Crush in case they show up around here lookin for trouble. But I don't think dey will. Anywayz, we were slottting an runnin out in the trucks when the drek really hit the fragging fan. Three choppers like ya seen on desert wars show up. Da rigger on da team, crazy old breeder, let loose one of those EMP's. After that, it was a bit of a blur, we restarted da trucks and got out of der. KE definitely noticed three crashing copters, check da pirate trids for da real newz if ya care. Da daily news brief listed the balckout as mechanical failure from devil rats eatin a wire or somethin an cause a whole city block to burn down."


My colors don't run, but eventually the blind man will find out who I am if I am not careful. Frag me, Thoggs eagerness to avenge Ferret will probably get him and the rest of da crush killed if I'z not too careful. Maybe I shouldn't say anymore. Ah KD will probably say somethin anyway.

"Yeah dis blind man fragger is one da jetset types. Hops all over da globe an drek, I've got chummer will to pay me for da travel an such. He has history wit the guy, so wants him geeked as well. I may not be around much in the next few months until the drek is dealth wit. If one of his breeder sairairiaman comez poking around here, give them an drek kick to the head for me. "

Zo refills up his cup and another one for Thogg an hands it to him.

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 11:10 PM, Redmond, Touristville, The Joke nightclub

Jovan catches Zayne's leer towards the stage and raises an eyebrow. "I presume you are thinking of Renfield-addicted sex slave flesh tools. Classy as always," he says dryly. He continues to stare off in the direction of the stage as he listens to his flamboyant - and only real - companion. "You know that I eschew interactions with the greater world which involve a high chance of my status being exposed. It is harder for me to hide among metahumanity than it is for you. But if this Morgan Pertwilling is as good as you say he is, then I will look into it. I also want to hear your thoughts on who to select as a viable target for a flesh tool - but that is not a discussion for in here. The corporate shedim have ears in these walls. Let us save it for after dinner."

11:45 PM, Redmond, Touristville, nearby The Joke nightclub

The kill is made with calculated, smooth efficiency. Zayne sidles up to a pre-selected clubber - a young human woman with neon hair, a gothic look, and a punk attitude - and begins to lay on the seductive charm. At the same time, her equally pretty elven boyfriend finds his attention drawn to another rather attractive elven clubber across the dance floor, as Jovan subtly works the young man's mind from the removed safety of the booth like a maestro works an instrument (at least the nosferatu would think so). Within half an hour, playing off of the woman's feelings after seeing her boyfriend dancing and grinding with another woman, Zayne is able to draw her outside with him for a little vengeful sex. They head out the door of the nightclub and into a nearby alley between buildings for some 'privacy.'

Jovan is careful to magically divert the elven pretty boy's attention back to his girlfriend just in time for him to notice her leaving with the stranger. He follows the two. From a distance, Jovan quietly follows him. Jovan's mouth starts to salivate.

The elf catches up with Zayne and his girlfriend in an alcove nearby, one leading down to the entrance to a masseuse shop - the lights off inside, the door closed and locked up tight for the evening. Zayne is already starting to get a little bestial with the girl, but is careful not to show his true colors just yet - can't have the boy screaming for help. An argument starts. The elf is insulted, angry, and protective of his girl, his machismo greater than one would expect from his appearance. The girl is flustered, angry, and starting to come to her senses. But though a flamboyant wolf Zayne may be, he is also a very experienced wolf. And there is more than one hidden predator in this group, as the magically concealed Jovan approaches from behind to cut off the only escape root. Caught between Jovan's immobilizing compulsions and Zayne's fast, precise strikes, the young couple quickly crumples like paper.

Zayne takes the girl. Out of the corner of his eye, Jovan watches him grow energized, intoxicated even, by the visceral mix of sex and violence as the vampire intimately and ruthlessly feeds on the girl's blood and life energies.

Jovan turns to the elf, who lays frozen on the ground, his body refusing to obey the commands it is receiving from his brain. The elf suddenly finds himself floating up off the ground under the concentrated stare of the nosferatu in front of him, then rotated until he is hanging upside down, their faces mere tens of centimeters apart. Pale hands are brought to his cheeks. The life energies are always the first to go - Jovan likes to start his meals with a strong dose of ecstasy. The nosferatu sees the elf's body heat brighten as muscles start to inflame, but that is no matter - he knows from far too many previous trials that increased heat will not unduly affect the taste of the blood. He revels in the salty taste of the immobilized elf's tears. He smiles inwardly at the elf's powerlessness in his magical grasp even as the elf's nerves continue to scream in pain as their life energies are siphoned away. Some minutes later, Jovan finally tilts his head up and right, lines up the proper angle, and drains the meat body of blood. His taste buds dance at the coppery tang.

They find the nearby sewer entrance that Jovan had selected beforehand, and toss the bodies down into the sewer for the ghouls and the devil rats to feast on, Jovan being slightly more gentle and respectful in doing so - a highly peculiar gesture, seeing as how he had at one point quite literally ritualistically cleansed himself in a shower of the dead elf's blood. They are quiet as they erase as much evidence of their feeding as they can - removing the blood stains from their clothes and the ground and cleansing the area of magical traces - before they set out on their way, both feeling at once both better and more tainted than before.

"To return to what we were discussing earlier. I am weighing the best options for who to select as a first flesh tool. It appears to me that the best choice is to find an Awakened intern somewhere and turn them, the more willing the better. One who is not yet too clever or wise to the darkness of the world, no... not one too powerful or skilled or willful. One who seeks greater knowledge and understanding of the ways of magic and society. It would have to be an Awakened young one, a student of the magical arts - we both know how valued and rare such people are to most industries outside the major thaumaturgical research labs. The chances of someone assensing such an intern would be low, because there would likely be few other Awakened in the organization capable of assensing. And I could teach them how to mask their aura to accentuate the disguise, yes. A Lone Star or Knight Errant intern might be best - it would be ideal if this student was an intern in an Organized Crime or Internal Affairs or Intelligence division, but not strictly necessary. What are your thoughts on this? Would you be willing to assist me in finding and abducting a suitable body?"

"There is another thing as well, this one more important. I must ask you this honestly, and I request an honest answer, Zayne. This is an absolutely critical question for the endeavor which I am going to embark on soon. If you were given a contract directly or indirectly by someone called the Blind Man, and this contract was for me or for an associate of mine, would you take it?"

11:45 PM, Redmond, Touristville, nearby The Joke nightclub

"Yeah, yeah, Jovan. Your plan sounds fine. Sure, I'd be happy to help. I'll watch for somebody good."

Zayne, for all his blunt lust, is not the easiest mind to read. So many desires. So many fears. So many get-(X)-quick schemes course through his thoughts, that it really would confabulate the best of psychologists. Jovan's close acquaintance with him does help, some, though.

A shifting flicker of his eyes, at Jovan, away from Jovan, reflects that complex mental soup. "A run on you, Jovie?" The diminutive is a typical move to engender trust. "No way I would do that! First of all, we're buddies. Comrades in arms ... and in lunch." A slight grin. "And a guy would have to be crazy to take you on. Any plan I had, you'd figure it out before I did."

"Sooo... who is this Blind Man, Jovan? Is he somebody we gotta take care of?"

Sunday, Sept. 13, 2071, 11:45 PM, Redmond, Touristvillle--The loose Cannon night club

Throgg quaffs the drink. A few dregs drip down his chin. He slams the cup down on the table. "No prob, Zo. Anybody comes lookin' fer you, I'll scope out what he knows before I scoop out what he knows it with!" Ahhh, Throgg. A poet of the streets.

"Anything The Crush should know about 'dis guy, to keep our edge?"