The Chip House, Aurora Warrens, 2:32 AM, August 2nd, 2075

His face pressed into the rear passenger-side window of the taxi, Jack did his best to mentally send a message.

<<@Team [JustJack] Let him get past Smoky Hill and out of Yak territory. I think we should hit him in the Trey-Eights territory. We don't currently have a beef with them and this guy is hanging out with a rival gang.>>

As the car returns to its regular, entirely-too-fast pace, the ork checks his SMG and reaches down, unzipping the duffel bag. He pulls out one of the spare APDS magazines and swaps it out for his regular magazine. If we have to take down a car...

The Chip House, Aurora Warrens, 2:32 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Jack opened up his AR display and checked the local map looking for minor cross streets on the north side of Smoky Hill Road; the details of their plan would depend on which route north Stinger ultimately took.

Corner of Orchard and Buckley, 2:34 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Overkill keeps a few car lengths between him and Stinger's vehicle. Although they are not the only vehicles on the road, there are few enough that he doesn't want to call undue attention to himself.

In his rear view display, Overkill sees Grease's taxi take the corner from S. Dunkirk onto Orchard and begin to gain ground.

As Stinger approaches the light at Buckley, the light changes to red. The mercenary blows right through the light into a sharp right hand turn. Drek.

<<@Team [Overkill] Do I blow through the light too? It is a right hand turn so it isn't illegal...>>

Grease's Taxi, along E. Orchard Road, 2:34 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Drekhead... Jack thought to himself.

<<@Team [JustJack] Don't be too aggressive. Buckley's a pretty major road. You can probably take the turn legally and not draw any attention. I wouldn't take any more turns though... but report to us if he does. I'd expect the next turn at Smoky Hill Road.>>

Figuring Grease had the internal audio pick-ups turned on in the car, Jack asked, "Grease, can you try a high-speed parallel? Overkill's gonna get burned if we don't pick Stinger up soon..."

Grease's Taxi, along E. Orchard Road, 2:34 AM, August 2nd, 2075

The disembodied voice over the speakers seems significantly more sterile than Grease you're used to.

"On it."

The cab accelerates as Grease takes a turn, putting it on 3 wheels as he forces it through the apex and punches it once all 4 tires are back on the road. Despite his lack of professionalism elsewhere, you are forced to admit at the very least he can drive.

Grease's Taxi, along E. Orchard Road, 2:34 AM, August 2nd, 2075

From inside the cab, Amy witnesses first hand the mad driving of their rigger once again. Thinking of ways she could help the team, she proposes something. "I got ourselves a spirit to help us out once more. She can provoke an accident at just the right moment. If the situation is already dangerous like if we cut right in front of Stinger, then I'm pretty sure he wouldn't manage to save his car from crashing into something. At that moment he'll know that something weird is going on though. Would that be helpful?"

Grease's Taxi, along E. Orchard Road, 2:34 AM, August 2nd, 2075

A strange sound from the engine makes it sound as though the car is misfiring, until you realize that it is Grease chuckling.

"Sounds good to me- provided we don't accidentally kill him like the last... well, we don't have a great track record. I'll work on the first part."

The cab whines as the engine strains against what is being asked of it, the paths of the two vehicles converging at speed.

Grease's Taxi, along E. Orchard Road, 2:35 AM, August 2nd, 2075

"Hey now... in all fairness, we were specifically not trying to keep that last guy alive. Oh wait... are you talking about the cop y'all geeked?" Jack asked. "He's driving loco, I'm not sure there's a way to stop him safely other than bricking his car. But then he'd have the chance to call his friends."

Clapping Amy on the shoulder, the ork finished, "The spirit idea is bueno. Let's do this..."

Opening a line to Overkill, Jack sent a message.

<<@Team [JustJack] Overkill, we got something of a plan. Whenever he starts heading north, we're gonna pick up his tail and make the hit. Work on spotting his stuff now. We'll let you know what intersection the hits going to be at once he makes his turn and we get set-up. Hit him right before that.>>

S. Buckley Street, 2:35 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Overkill pilots his bike onto S. Buckley trying to to hurry to avoid arousing Stinger's suspicion. Opening an AR window, he changed the viewpoint to look for any silent-running decks in the area.

Scanning back and forth looking for any telltale wireless signals, his search came up empty. Scheisse, he is good.

<<@Jack [Overkill] I'm sorry my friend, the security protocols he is running on his deck are too good. I can't find his signal.>>

Grease's Taxi, along Tower Road, 2:35 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Reading Overkill's message, Jack cursed, "Well, frag. If we hit him, he's probably going to get a message to his people. Overkill can't spot any of Stinger's devices. Do we still try it? Today... tomorrow at best, the point's probably going to be moot when they realize something happened to Truck."

Trying to reformulate their plan, Jack quickly rejected one option involving forcing the wreck and tossing their remaining stun grenade into the car. Vehicle windows were notoriously tough in the Sixth World.

Grease's Taxi, along Tower Road, 2:35 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Amy was certain that they needed to act immediately. "There's no point stopping now. They might know something's up, but we'll be long gone when they come to investigate. We should look for cameras and erase that footage though. That's how we got to them in the first place."

Grease's Taxi, along Tower Road, 2:35 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Overkill maintains his pursuit of Stinger up Buckley as Grease makes a hairpin turn onto Smokey Run. The taxi actually leaves the ground for a couple of seconds as he hits a bump in the road, bouncing Amy and Jack's heads against the ceiling.

<<@Overkill [Grease] Can I get a location on our decker friend?>>

Overkill responds quickly, <<@Grease [Overkill] He is passing E. Progress. He should hit Smokey Run any second.>>

Grease's Taxi, on tower road, 2:35 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Time to earn my paycheck.

Jacked in, the sensations Grease was feeling were completely removed from anything the rest of the group had encountered, save for perhaps Overkill. Similar to a house in the Warrens where the outside looked burnt out with broken windows and bars on the door, but the inside was relatively nice and homely, his cab (which he knew as Gypsy, but didn't let anyone else know he had named such a mundane form of transport) looked questionable on the outside but was in top condition, well maintained and as ready as possible for this chase.

Tailing Stinger at a distance on his bike, Overkill sends a message to Grease to let him know where to pursue him.

<<@Team [Overkill]: He's heading north on South Buckley. Gute Jagd.>>

Realizing he had nearly a mile to make up, Grease automatically activated the restraint systems in the cab to secure his passengers. He felt Amy's harness tighten to a comfortable level, while Jack's managed to pull around his neck and choke him for a few moments before loosening. Grease made sure Jack choked again for good measure and set to the task of making up the ground.

There wasn't much traffic out this late at night, but the amount that there was made his task interesting. Like a retiree who didn't care if they lived or died, Grease darted and weaved through traffic enough to make both his passenger's palms sweat. Darting over to the wrong side of the road on numerous occasions, Grease continued north parallel to Stinger's path while Overkill called out intersections he was passing.

Each time Grease blew through a red light at an intersection Jack closed his eyes and braced for impact, while Amy looked with concern as they were missed numerous times, sometimes by less than a foot. The horns afterwards were quickly dissapated by the doppler effect, as Grease rapidly made up the ground.

Making a right onto East Yale, the cab took the tight turn onto the quiet residential street and pulled way over onto the opposing lane to keep at least 2 wheels on the ground. A sleepy truck driver was approaching from the opposite direction, and Grease managed to pull a controlled slide onto someone's lawn on the LEFT side, passing by the truck while he popped some Long Haul, oblivious to the fact that he nearly had a head on collision at 100 kph. Hammering down on East Yale, Grease could sense the map software telling him he was in good position to cut Stinger off when it ran into South Buckley.

<<@Team [Grease]: We should hit him at this next intersection. May want to hold on, it could get bumpy from here.>>

Grease's Taxi, on tower road, 2:35 AM, August 2nd, 2075

This one, Amy felt, should be addressed to as Sandy, or maybe Cindy?

The Woman spirit had a delicate build and yet showed signs of a strong soul. A reflection of this ancestor's past self, no doubt, thought the street shaman. Amy knew that the time was coming for giving the command, but she was still hesitant about choosing the right name. Some spirits, she had heard, reacted poorly to shamans calling them in a way they disliked.

"Listen, Cynthia -- can I call you Cynthia? -- I need you to provoke an accident. I will point out a car for you, and you will make sure that the man inside that car fails to save himself and his vehicle from crashing. If you can, just make sure he doesn't crash into us, all right?"

The spirit's bland "OK." was as dry a reply as one could get, even from a spirit. Damned spirits attuned to the human world, they're always difficult about their name.

<<@Team [Amy's subvocal] All right, this should work. I'm ready.>>

Intersection of Yale and Buckley, 2:38 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Grease's taxi comes screaming out of the night, hurtling eastbound along Yale, hurtling out into the northbound traffic going up Buckley. Jack and Amy closed their eyes as their vehicle came within a hair's breath of Stinger's Comet, the decker having to swing up onto the sidewalk and back down on the road to avoid clipping their vehicle or crashing into one of the many other vehicles on the road.

Drek! He's better than I thought. Grease felt a slight bruning in his extremities as the tires left a streak of rubber on the road, the car already swerving around and getting back onto Buckley.

Cynthia's voice rang out in Amy's mind, Mistress, he seemed unaffected by my influence. It is difficult for me to affect the mind of one so deeply removed from his natural state of being.

As Grease began gaining on Stinger, Overkill fell in behind the car, drawing his machine pistol while driving with one hand, slowing a little. <<@Team [Overkill] Is it time to start shooting yet? Or do we wait?">>

Son of a bitch though Jack, as he lowered the window in the taxi, aiming his weapon through the window at Stinger's car. If I can take out a tire, I might be able to end this. Now if only Grease could hold her steady...

Grease accelerated past the red Comet, and swerved and braked hard, but Stinger again downshifted and slid between a seemingly impossible fit between a parked car and a building. Amy leaned forward in her seat, releasing a ball of energy meant to blind and confuse the enemy decker, but the spell seemingly had no effect, the car narrowly avoiding hitting a pedestrian before coming back onto the road.

Intersection of Yale and Buckley, 2:38 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Although Grease's body lay comatose and secure in the driver's seat of the Ford Americar, a quick glance at the display console showed the engine's temperature rising... and along with it Grease's annoyance. Time to show this guy... the taxi revved as the rigger prepared to make his next move, what real driving looks like.

<<@Team [Grease] Frag this guy and hold on>>

Launching the car into oncoming traffic, the elf expertly and quickly lined up his right front bumper with the area immediately behind the left rear wheel of Stinger's car. With the horn of an oncoming truck blaring at the taxi, Grease casually returned to the proper lane of traffic, just missing the truck (as well as the troll driver's obscene gestures and curses) and lightly clipping Stinger's rear quarter panel. To the casual eye, it didn't look like much, but Grease had just executed a classic police tactic known as a pit. Due to the magic of physics, the maneuver pushed the Comet into a left-spin; Stinger's frantic movements pulling the car out of the spin after 270 degrees and immediately slamming the vehicle into a parked car just behind the Americar. Slamming on the brakes, Grease announced: <<@Team [Grease] We've arrived at our destination. Next stop, somewhere very far the frag away from here!>>

As Overkill had received Grease's earlier warning, he had wisely slowed down to avoid the fireworks, allowing him to bring his bike to a stop on the south side of the Comet. The decker could just make out both Stinger and Amy's spirit inside the vehicle, apparently struggling with one another. A single shot rang out from Stinger's pistol, but the bullet missed the spirit by a wide margin, exited the front windshield of Stinger's car, and punched through the door of the car with which he had collided, adding a few hundred nuyen to the repair bill of the unfortunate owner.

With her heightened reflexes, Amy was the first out of the taxi, assensing the area for additional threats. Given the heat of the night, there were few people about, certainly no one congregating around trash can fires. The few auras she spotted quickly slipped away into the adjoining streets, alleys, and abandoned buildings. Contacting the spirit she summoned, she said, Thank you for your help, Cynthia. Keep him pinned down a little longer, help is on the way. Her request was answered with silence, albeit a silence of acceptance.

As soon as Grease brought the car to a stop, Jack announced, "I got this." Dropping his SMG on the floorboard, the ork was surprised when the door opened easily for him, considering his relationship with Grease's vehicles. Without wasting a second, he sprinted up to the driver's side door of Stinger's car. With the window already partially smashed and the man focused on fighting with the spirit, it took little effort for Jack to grab him by his collar and wrench him out of the car through the broken window. The abruptness and violence of the extraction caused Stinger to drop his weapon. Slamming him face-first into the car Jack said, "Joy rides over, puta!" Slamming Stinger once more into the car for good measure, the brawny ork pulled the man into a standing three-quarter nelson thanks to his chipped skills. Wrenching the man into submission, Jack almost dropped the hold when Cynthia appeared next to him and said, Am I done now?

Not sure what to say, Jack adjusted his hold on Stinger and slammed the nearly unconscious man's head into the roof of the car, finishing the task. With that, the rest of the team converged on the wreck.

Intersection of Yale and Buckley, 2:38 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Overkill quickly crossed to the unconscious figure, removing a device similar in shape and size to a 20th century flashdrive. A quick but expert search located Stinger's datajack, and he smoothly inserted it into the slot, jamming any implanted communication devices Stinger might have. A hurried pat down of the body turned up a couple of clips of ammo, and a Colt Agent in an ankle holster.

"He's got no commlink or deck on him, Jack, can you get him in the trunk while we search the car? Liebschen, you look in the back, I'll take the front." Jack carries/drags Stinger over to Grease's taxi, the rigger popping the trunk with a thought. As Jack pushes the body inside, one of Grease's Fly Spy drones zips past him and lands inside as well before Jack slams the trunk closed.

Meanwhile, Amy searches the floor and back seats, while Overkill extends a meter of cable from his deck, plugging it directly into the car. Within seconds the trunk pops open, and then a moment later the entire dashboard erupts in a coruscating shower of sparks. Covering his face, Overkill removes his cable, and heads to the rear of the vehicle, examining the trunk.

"A spare tire, a roadside kit, some trash - nothing here."

Amy pops her head out from the back seat, "Nothing back here either."

Crossing over to his bike, "Freunde, shall we be going?"

The street is currently deserted except for the few people on foot making good their escape, and cars that have stopped several hundred yards away and are hurriedly making U-turns.

Intersection of Yale and Buckley, 2:38 AM, August 2nd, 2075

"We'd better get going. I wouldn't be surprised if he got a message off to someone, considering our luck." Jack said. "Where we going to take him? I don't really feel taking this guy anywhere close to our friends and family."

After dumping Stinger's unconscious body into the trunk of the car, the ork dropped the magazine from Stinger's Colt Agent, stripped the chambered round, and deselected the manual switch for the weapon's wireless mode. With those matters taken care of, Jack dropped the weapon and spare magazines into the weapons bag.

Intersection of Yale and Buckley, 2:38 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Jacking out of the cab, Grease shakes his head clear and addresses Jack. "We should head to the safe house from earlier. Provided we can prevent this guy from broadcasting his location, it should still be safe."

Grease does a quick 3 point turn and starts driving away from the crash site.

"We can exchange insurance information later."

Intersection of Yale and Buckley, 2:45 AM, August 2nd, 2075

During the one occasion when Grease actually performed a full stop of the taxi cab, Amy takes the time to summon some help once again. Searching the realm of the ancestors, she finds the spirit of a wise beast and calls for it. The spirit appears next to Amy in the astral just in time for her to brace for the sudden acceleration of the car. The clever smile of the bear cub shows the sentience that inhabits it as it salutes the shaman, awaiting a command. Satisfied, Amy tells it to remain nearby until she decides to use the service the spirit owes her.

Later during the ride, she decides to activate right away what she calls her sixth sense. Putting a lot of effort into it, she casts the spell taught to her by her mentor. It wasn't her best attempt at it, but it would have to do for now. She could already notice all sorts of lifeforms that would otherwise be invisible to her, hiding in the alleys or just sleeping in the buildings nearby. With this, she will be able to detect other squatters or critters when they arrive at their safehouse.

In Transit to Safe House, 2:45 AM, August 2nd, 2075

It's amazing how a body in the trunk changes Grease's driving habits. He signals before switching lanes, obeys posted speed limits (or at least nearly, going EXACTLY the speed limit would be suspicious in it's own right), and actually waits at red lights instead of blowing through them.

Addressing the members in the car, he speaks lowly so that their guest in the "back row" can't overhear easily.

"I'd avoid communication over comms for the time being; I don't know how good this Stinger is, but there's no reason not to be careful."

Waving a pedestrian to cross the street instead of narrowly clipping him with his fender, he continues. "I've got a play on this guy, let me try it out for a bit. I think we may get him talking without having to get too physical. If need be we can go that route but I'd rather start amicably and see what he volunteers before we break out the rough stuff."

Safe House, 3:00 AM, August 2nd, 2075

The taxi arrives at the safe house, the dilapidated building standing silent in the moonlight. Amy's enhanced senses reach out before the taxi is even in the driveway, but her enhanced senses detect no tell-tale flicker of life larger than a few inches in size. "The building is clear of any life forms, apart from insects and a few normal rodents." Amy announces.

Jack and Grease exit the vehicle, the feed from his Fly Spy still showing the mercenary as unconscious in the trunk. They open the trunk and Jack grunts as he picks up the burly human and deposits him none-too-gently on the ground. Grease nudges his other drone with a mental command to scuttle into the house, its video feed confirming Amy's statement.

As Jack and Grease drag the unconscious form through the remnants of the front door, the now familiar high pitched whine of Overkill's bike approaches. The tall elf pulls his bike around back and follows the team in, wiping his hair out of his eyes. He drops off two pairs of restraints along with a thumb thick bamboo cane. "It came with the cuffs. Don't ask."

Grease receives a happy little burble from one of his drones. "Our new friend the rotodrone will be here in the next minute or so. Time to get to work."

At the Safe House, 3:00 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Jack grabbed the metal restraints and quickly immobilizes the unconscious form. Deciding on a secure hog-tie restraint, he cuffs Stinger's right wrist to his left ankle first, followed by the left wrist to right ankle to finish off. It would be uncomfortable as hell, but Stinger wouldn't really have a chance of getting away.

Picking up the bamboo cane, Jack smacked it into his palm and said, "Don't apologize, amigo, it might come in handy." Thinking for a second, Jack frowned, "I wish we had thought to leave a drone near the crash site. We might have been able to pick up their response. Granted, there could be some risk there..."

At the Safe House, 3:00 AM, August 2nd, 2075

"Hey, uh, guys?" The three men turn to Amy, who seems worried. "I think they might send a spirit after us, or at least after Stinger. They might be able to find us, given enough time. What we can do is move farther away from the ambush site and from Los Mags territory. If we're far enough away, they'll never find us. I can do my part and call for the service of a stronger ancestor spirit to conceal us. In any case, it would be safe to assume we don't have too much time on our hands, and maybe even prepare for the worse, just in case."

At the Safe House, 3:00 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Nodding, Grease helps Jack drag the unconscious body of Stinger into the house. After some initial first aid to stop his nose from bleeding any further, Grease has Jack pull him into a chair and re-tie him. Making sure to keep the Medkit leads on to monitor his vitals, Grease pulls up a chair of his own and sits to wait for Stinger to come to. "This may be a while; I'll keep an eye on him. I'm going to take the first pass at him, after that it's up to you."

The medkit beeps quietly as Grease concentrates, and waits.

At the Safe House, 3:41 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Stinger's eyes flutter open, as his lips release a soft groan. When they focus he's sitting three feet away from Grease, still in his costume from the drug den. Stinger's first expression is confusion, followed by comprehension and anger. He struggles against the restraints, futilely.

"Hello, friend. Bad trip?" Grease gives him a smile behind his bushy fake beard. "Not a very nice place you frequent. Made it tricky to keep an eye on you."

Grease stands up, and starts to walk around the room. "Now that we're all alone, let's have a little chat. I can't believe how lucky you are. I really can't. What are the odds?" Seeing a guarded look from Stinger, he continues. "Who could imagine you'd hit the lotto and be the first of Lynx's crew we get in one piece? That's something the others would pay for; or at least they will in a few days." Seeing the brief look of confusion, the Elf walks behind Stinger's chair.

"You see, you're lucky because we're playing "let's make a deal". I don't approve of what you've done, but we've all been there. It's part of the job. There's no shame in that, and per professional courtesy I don't see any reason not to make this easy, at least to start."

"Frak-off, Dandelion-eater." Stinger glares defiantly.

Grease shrugs. "Hey, your funeral. The way I see it, even if your friends find where you are, there's really only one way out of this room alive. You tell me what I want to hear, and I decide you're worth more alive than dead. I get it!" Grease throws an arm around Stinger, who quickly shrugs it off. "You feel like drek, squealing about your friends. Or, business acquaintances. That's probably a better word. Because frankly, if you think they'd hesitate for a second in the same position, you're a fool. You think your word is your bond? That's noble. But it won't keep you alive. There are dozens of free states out there- Seattle, Caracas, Berlin; Denver is just a town like any other. You move, change your name (which for you should be simple, hot decker that you are), and bob's your uncle. Nobody but you and me needs to know what's going to happen here. And besides; the rest of the crew are going down like hot lead. Why stay on a sinking ship?"

Grease walks back to his chair and sits down. "So, if you tell me what I want to know, you get the "get out of drek free" card I've got in my pocket here. I don't think my boss cares about you nearly as much as he cares who your crew is working for. So who hired Lynx?"

At the Safe House, 3:43 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Stinger looks up at Grease, then turns his head slightly and spits onto the floor, the blood-streaked phlegm splashing on Grease's shoes.

Sneering, he says, "The minute I talk I'm a dead man either way." His speech has a southern drawl to it, and his cadence is slow and even. "Whether it is you or Lynx, it doesn't matter. I've seen what he does to people who betray him." He rolls his tongue around in his mouth for a moment, clearing it of all traces of blood, and then spits again. "I don't think you even rate a close second."

He looks around the room, taking in Jack, Amy, Overkill, and the spirit, surreptitiously testing the restraints for a moment, and then relaxing as he realizes they are solid. "Let me make you a counteroffer. You let me go, and you leave town. Snooping around town asking questions, isn't healthy and although you don't look the same, exactly, but I would bet you everything from a diddle eyed Joe to a damned if I know, that you were at the rally the other night - and it isn't too much of a stretch to think you are behind why I got called back tonight."

He shakes his head, making a tsking sound with his tongue, "I'd get while the getting is good."

At the Safe House, 3:44 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Walking casually out of the room, Grease confers with Jack quietly. "We need something to convince him we're his immediate issue."

"What about these?" Jack suggests, providing a plastic baggie filed with the fingers of Truck.

"Uh, that'll work."

After quickly grabbing something from his car, Grease returns, smiling widely.

"I appreciate your fortitude. Frankly, I would have been disappointed had you cracked on the first pass. I don't get to do this often, so I like to savor it as much as possible."

Stinger rolls his eyes, but Grease continues. "What's your poison? You aren't hitting that BTL drekhole for the ambiance. I'm a fan of uppers, myself. Have you ever had a bad chip? I'm partial to chems, but I'm told chips can be quite unpleasant when they turn sour. If, for example, I knew a decker, I'm told, he could modify a mood chip to be fairly uncomfortable. I can always talk tough or rough you up, but I can't quite make you feel like your body is on fire, can I? Or fry that mint of flash-hardware you've got planted somewhere up there?" Grease knocks on his head like a door.

Seeing him squirm slightly, he continues. "Again, where's the fun in that? We need answers, and I have the luxury of spending as much time as I'd like getting you to provide them. But! I am impatient."

Grease produces his L36. He pulls the baggie of fingers out with his free hand. "Remember Truck? He had even worse habits than you. Fortunately, you getting high didn't offend my colleagues sensibilities as much as what he was up to. Which, frankly, was lucky for both of us." He gives Stinger a little wink. He then places the barrel of the gun on his kneecap. "What's it going to be?"

At the Safe House, 3:44 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Jack watches Grease perform his theatrics and threaten Stinger. Either he's a great bluffer or he really is going to shoot him. Can't say the bastard doesn't deserve it. He crosses his arms and continues to look menacing. Amy stands watching as well, her face unreadable, but making no move to stop the rigger.

Overkill, however, has been growing increasingly uncomfortable with the situation. As the barrel of the Colt touches Stinger's knee, Overkill crosses over and says, "Mein Freund, I have something you should see, now." The emphatic tone in the older elf's tone causes Grease to pause and look quizzically at him for a split second, before he falls back into character. "You sit tight, we'll be right back" Slowly uncocking his weapon, he puts it behind his back in the waistband of his pants, and follows Overkill into the other room, where they close the door.

Stinger glances at Jack and jokes, "Lover's quarrel?" his voice betraying a slight hint of nervousness. Jack stares back impassively, his only movement to crack his knuckles menacingly.

In the other room, Overkill turns and closes the door behind Grease. The rigger waits patiently for Overkill to speak, and when he does the German elf uses hushed tones. "To be clear, you are only attempting to scare him, ja?" Overkill looks into Grease's eyes, trying to judge his intent. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist on that, I won't be a party to torture, even of murderers."

Grease, partly for Overkill's sake, and partly for Stinger's, raises his voice, "You didn't hesitate when you capped the other guy we were going to talk to at the Lake! I'm just trying to keep the parts on this one that talk bullet free!"

Overkill narrows his eyes a little, and responds, still sotto voce "All of the men that I shot at the lake were done humanely, and to end their suffering. The exception was the man who we had to leave behind to the tribesmen, I think I actually saved him from suffering. You are proposing the deliberate torture of this man, which we don't need to do. We have video evidence of him committing a murder. You can threaten him if you like, but if he won't talk, then we turn him over to Ramirez and see if they can use his impending incarceration to get him to talk. Klar?

At the Safe House, 3:44 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Grease rolls his eyes, pouting a bit like a child, and hisses, "Fine, fine. Just for show. You should know however that it takes away a lot of what I'm going for here if the whole team doesn't APPEAR to be on board." He scratches his chin. "But we can make that work to our advantage. Do you trust me?"

"No." Overkill responds in a deadpan.

"Too bad, we're doing this thing." He then raises his voice significantly, "You picked a pretty terrible time to get high and mighty! You know what? I think this reward splits better THREE ways." Grease cocks his gun, and fires 2 shots into the wall.

We're inside, so hopefully the sound doesn't reach the street that far. And hopefully the neighborhood we're in is in abandoned enough that the residents generally ignore random gunfire.

He hurriedly gestures at Overkill to fall over, who does so with a reluctant, "Ugggh.. ?", landing with a thump.

Rushing back into the room with Stinger, he points the gun at his chest, talking in a cold tone. "If I wasn't on the clock before, I sure as hell am now. No more messing around. Are you talking, or is this the end of the conversation?!"

At the Safe House, 3:44 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Jack flinched at the too close report of the pistol in the other room. He wasn't particularly happy about flinching, but chalked it up to being tired as frag. Drawing his own pistol, he aimed it at the door.

"No honor among thieves, huh?" Stinger nettled Jack.

Smacking him in the head with the butt of his pistol, the ork responded, "Shut the frag up, drekhead."

As Grease re-entered the room, Jack asked, "You got about a second to explain yourself..."

Grease, looking as casual as usual, replied, "You can go see for yourself."

His aim steady and dead-center of Grease's chest, Jack said, "No way I am letting you out of my sights. Amy, can you find out what's going on?"

At the Safe House, 3:44 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Shifting his eyes over to Jack, Grease hisses, "You wanna get paid or not?!"

At the same time, he sends a message to the team. <<@Team [Grease]: Overkill is fine. Play along.>>

Returning his gaze to Stinger, he adds, "So what's it going to be ace? Do I need to start counting?"

At the Safe House, 3:44 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Amy rushes to the other room to find Overkill lying on the floor, perfectly fine. She notices the two holes in the wall and exchanges a confused glance with Overkill. After a second she understands her part in the scenario, especially now that Jack should have read the message. She crouches next to Overkill and yells angrily. "You shot him in the head!"

She walks back into the room, seemingly furious. "If you can't make him talk, I burn the both of you alive..." Fuming, she adds. "Then I heal you and I do it again."

At the Safe House, 3:45 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Stinger starts to sweat, and Grease takes a step forward, pressing the muzzle against his forehead.

"One." He clicks the hammer back.

"Two.", he presses it in deeper, his finger aside the trigger guard.

<<@Grease [Overkill] Remember what I said, I'm not kidding.>>

"Three." Grease moves his finger onto the trigger itself, and puts his hand in front of his face as if to shield it from blood spatter.

Stinger lips his lips, and stammers quickly, "Alright, alright, alright! Christ! What do you want to know?"

At the Safe House, 3:45 AM, August 2nd, 2075

All too easy..

Without de-cocking the hammer, Grease sent a mental command to his Fly-Spy to record the conversation.

"Who. Hired. Lynx?"

At the Safe House, 3:45 AM, August 2nd, 2075

<<@Team [JustJack] Now that he's talking, let's try to approach this orderly. Text Grease your questions. I want to know what he knows about people looking into the Lone Star murders>>

Jack holstered his pistol, spat on the ground, and responded to Grease. "I guess a cut's better than a hole in the head. But I ain't working with you again, pendejo..." Placing one hand behind his hand and the other under his chin, the ork cracked his neck audibly.

At the Safe House, 3:45 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Stinger gives Grease a look of incredulity, but with the barrel pressed against his forehead chooses his words carefully.

"So, just to give you the benefit of the doubt, I'm going to assume you are new at this?" His eyes shift from Grease to Jack to Amy, and then back again. The house is silent except for the faint buzzing of the Fly Spy and the scritch, scritch of small rodents moving behind the sheetrock.

"The guy who hired Lynx is named Johnson. But that ain't exactly going to help you, is it?" Grease leans in and Stinger shrugs apologetically.

At the Safe House, 3:45 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Rolling his eyes, Grease continues. "I figured a hot shot hacker like you would have put it together by now."

Sneering, he asks, "What are you doing for the Los Mags? And how long have you been following us?"

At the Safe House, 3:47 AM, August 2nd, 2075

He looks up at Grease and smiles back - a smile that never quite touches his eyes and mimics, "I would have figured you would have put it together by now."

He pulls his head back as Grease pushes the gun forward again, his neck straining a little. "We work as a cleanup crew. The Los Mags ID Lone Star officers who get in their way and we take 'em out. Wetwork pure and simple."

Grease pulls back a little on the gun, and Stinger straightens his head. "We picked up some chatter there were people snooping around at the old crime scenes a couple of days ago. Caught the fragger you shot and the chippie here on video at a couple of the scenes - but nothing to go on to track you down. Lucky for you, cause Lynx doesn't like anyone interfering in his work."

At the Safe House, 3:47 AM, August 2nd, 2075

<<@Grease [JustJack] Sounds like they played a roll in the attack at the Rally. Maybe press him on that and the Lone Star connection will pop up?>>

So far, Stinger had basically confirmed most of what they believed. It was good to know they didn't really have any solid leads on their friends... assuming Stinger was telling the truth.

At the Safe House, 3:47 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Smiling at Stinger's glib remark, Grease continues to press him as he gives up details. Hopefully accurate ones.

"The Los Mags are icing cops; but no one seems to give a drek. What are they up to with the pills? And how are they wired into the department, that your crew can kill a dozen officers without anyone batting an eye?"

Grease mentally sends a command to his Rotodrone to patrol high above the safe house; with Overkill "dead" and the other two in the room he didn't want his conversation interrupted again.

At the Safe House, 3:49 AM, August 2nd, 2075

That same predator smile, crosses his face. "How do you think? Nuyen. Grease enough palms and anything is possible. Someone wants the Los Mags to keep dealing those pills. They don't have the kind of cash to hire us and grease the Bronze, so my guess is the Johnson is working for whoever makes those pills."

With his imminent death seemingly averted or at least delayed, he seems to be getting his confidence back. "Alright, you've got the tip of the iceberg, but my guess is you aren't doing this out of curiosity, or because you are good citizens. You're on someone's tit, and if you don't produce that is going to dry up real fast. So let's talk business."

He straightens up in his chair. "I've got more info stuff you aren't going to find out any other way - at least none that I see. You need it, so if you kill me, you are back at square one. So I can talk more, but I want out of here."

At the Safe House, 3:49 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Grease frowns, and scratches his head with his gun. "It's good to see you come around.. I mean, we're getting there, certainly." He grins, frowns, grins. A slight twitch. "I dunno. I dunno. I think you may have graduated from "tortured to death" to "murdered alone in an abandoned house", but I'm not quite sure you're to "get off scott free" just yet." He pauses. "You spit on my shoes. I didn't like that." He scratches the fake beard a little, apparently weighing it over. "I think you need to volunteer something real juicy real soon, or we've got to split. It's not a great neighborhood, but there is a body in the other room and I'd prefer not to be here when the cops show."

At the Safe House, 3:49 AM, August 2nd, 2075

"Sounds like what we really need to do is get Lynx. I don't see how this puta would be worth anything to us. He probably never even met with the Johnson in the first place. We probably should just be done with it." Jack said aloud, playing along with Grease.

At the Safe House, 3:51 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Stinger looks over at Jack. "Its true Lynx has more info than me, but you ain't going to get it out of him. He's got balls the size of a dragon's."

"If you want the information, you are going to have to deal with me."

At the Safe House, 3:51 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Turning away from Stinger, Grease addresses Jack. "Did you remember to get the Lye? It's not like anyone is going to miss him, but I'd prefer not to be sloppy." Stinger's eyes go back and forth between Jack and Grease, whose back is now completely turned."Alternatively, we could chop it up, distribute the parts across town. That'd probably be better for us from an forensics standpoint."

At the Safe House, 3:51 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Jack flexed his left forearm causing his vicious hand-blade to pop out. "Cutting's easier, we can just mix in whatever's left over with that animal carcass in the bedroom. The devil rats will probably take care of everything before anyone else finds the bodies here."

At the Safe House, 3:51 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Stinger blanches at the sight of the viciously serrated blade, and says, "Hold on, hold on, hold on!"

"What else do you want to know?!"

At the Safe House, 3:51 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Grease continues, ignoring Stinger's pleas. "Sounds good. Be sure to be careful around the head, he's got some nice 'ware in there we can probably make bank on. I'll go get some gloves."

At the Safe House, 3:51 AM, August 2nd, 2075


"What if I give you a dirty cop? The one who we were supposed to contact if drek went wrong?" He is sweating, and looking around frantically.

"What do I get for that?"

At the Safe House, 3:51 AM, August 2nd, 2075

Grease turns, as if he realized that Stinger was still in the room with them.

"Oh yeah? Well.. What's their name?"