Jan
Monday, 25 November, 10:22; Roxy's Diner, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

Jan approached the diner from across the street. He'd contacted Al the night before to arrange the meet. 10:30, but he wanted to get there early to check it was legit. Now, crossing towards the diner he saw Al, sitting at an outside table, drink in hand, grinning at him like it's 2 old friends out for a jolly.

"Get inside you fokking madman" Jan muttered as he passed Al and headed into the diner. He heard the cowboy snort a laugh. "And don't tell me to relax. That's all you ever say. 'Relax.' Well this shit ain't going away and it's time we made it go away. I dunno where you've been holed up, probably your cousin's pussy, but for me it's not been a fun couple of months. I thought I left this shit behind in Azania, sleeping in boxes in fokking squats. I've got Nuyen now. Nah, fok that shit. We need this sorted now so I can get back to plush hotel rooms and high prices hookers.

They'd been moving as he spoke. They'd ordered, but the waitress didn't stick around. When Jan was ranting it wasn't very welcoming withing a few meters of him. Al was still smiling, sitting back in his booth. That infuriated Jan even more. He wanted to slap him. But he knew deep down he'd grown fond of the daft bastard. He hadn't noticed the waitress return, but there was a plate of pancakes and a fresh jug of coffee on the table. Well, at least the meet wouldn't be a total bust...

Al
Monday, 25 November, 10:26; Roxy's Diner, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

Al had carried his beer in with him, and had time to finish and start on the fresh coffee before the big elf paused for a breath. "Hoo-eee, mi keeb compadre, you do know how ta cuss. Ol' Al had his swear jar here, be able ta cover yer whores an' hotels the next month runnin', all the nickels y'all'd be puttin' in. But ain't no nevermind 'mongst menfolk, an' Francine there, well, she ain't hardly no lady." His words not having the desired calming effect on the South African merc, he held up a scarred hand to stymie the fresh flow of color.

"Well then allow me ta offer my heartfelt apologies fer bein' scarce. Down Puyallup way, I been. Finally got the damned eye-ties off my back, thinkin' I'm dead, so no percentage in showin' my face. An' now this new thing, which I can see has ya a mite incensed. Well, reckon I'm 'bout bored with ash in my beer an' the hippie life, ready fer a break. An' jist finished up the work on my truck. So that's ol' Al's dance card good an' empty. What exactly ya have in mind?"

John
Monday, 25 November, 10:22; Sneed's Seeds and Feeds warehouse (Formerly Chucks), Tacoma, Seattle Metroplex

Falling flat on your face shouldn't hurt a robot. But somehow the stupid doll managed to create a feedback that made falling hurt like hell. Which was unfortunate as the coordination of that little piece of shit was akin to a mix between a toddler and a kindergarder. To be fair the Little Buddy had been designed to be just that - a companion for your little sunshine, teaching it to be a good corporate citizen from as early on as possible.

John had been mildly disturbed to find the function that asked the child to tell the Little Buddy about what Mommy and Daddy said about Horizon. But that was to be expected from this relative inexpensive piece of plastic an wires. At least the little anthro form could hold a spanner and use a solder iron with enough precision, enabling John to repair his real body.

He knew he shouldn't have taken the job from Brackhaus so soon after he antagonized the whole of the Seoulpa, not to mention his moving his living arrangements to the harbor. But the skin upgrade for even better life likeness had been to enticing. And all he had to do for that was hunt down a blind magical experiment that escaped during a botched run. It had been actually fun - up till the moment at least when he learned that the thing had an excellent ultrasound sense as well as himself plus the ability to neutralize sound in its vicinity.

It had been all rather exciting - and on the plus side the thing did him a favor by removing most of the synthetic skin he had had. He just whished he could have disengaged the sensory input first.

But he was nearly done. All he had to do now... was getting up again. Damn this shitty puppet and it's shody foot actuators.
He closed the last seam and looked himself up and down.

Not bad. Now it was time to see if the WATLAM Program held what he expected it to perform...

Jan
Monday, 25 November, 10:26; Roxy's Diner, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

"I don't know exactly, yet..." The big elf paused for a moment, drinking his beautifully hot coffee and taking a bite of breakfast.

"I met this dude gave me an idea. Well, I say dude. He's a weapon really. A shell. Drone. Be fokked if I know how he works, but he's effective. Took out restaurant full of Seoulpa single-handed. Man like that can be useful. It's like a missile; fire and forget." He paused again collecting his thoughts. The pause was longer than he intended, but the pancakes were soft and fluffy. "Dunno what motivates him though, man like that."

"We'll need contacts inside, of course. I figured Silk may be able to help us there. I'll ask my own connections too. My plan currently doesn't amount to much more than 'go at them hard.' granted, it could use some refinement...

Al
Monday, 25 November, 10:28; Roxy's Diner, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

"Heh, fuck refinement, kemo sabe, 'go at 'em hard' works jist fine fer ol' Al. But me an' Silky go back a spell, happy ta see what she knows in between burnin' down mah jong parlors. Reckon my shotgun's inna truck, we can go find some people in Chinatown ta shoot soon's we finish these here flannel cakes."

Al chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and added, "Less'n ya wanna collect this drone o' yours first. Sounds like a damned useful item. Love ta take it apart, so how it works once we kill all the 88s."

John
Monday, 25 November, 10:29; Sneed's Seeds and Feeds warehouse (Formerly Chucks), Tacoma, Seattle Metroplex

Leaving the little puppet felt great, getting back into his body felt even better. Time to start the WTLM program. It had taken him the better part of the last two weeks to get this piece of code to work, but now it was loaded into his kernel and he could really feel the effect in combination with his new skin. It was subtle, but his body was now constantly moving - just a bit, but enough to no longer make you think of a rigid robot but of supple flesh. His walk was also different - not as smooth as it had been but still graceful and precise. There was just a bit more movement than strictly necessary, especially where his arms were concerned.

Just for the hell of it he made a few back flips and break dance moves and... yes he went there... danced the robot.

Jan
Monday, 25 November, 10:28; Roxy's Diner, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

Jan inwardly despaired at Al's reckless plan, but he enjoyed the redneck's 'go get em' attitude. "....we'll call that plan B, eh... he said with a smile that suggested it was closer to plan F.

"Tapping into th' fixer's knowledge can only be a good thing, and the additional fire support once thinks befokked. I'll leave you contact Silk, I'll see if I can't get this drone to play"

Glo
Monday, 25 November, 10:26; Glo’s Squat, Touristville, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex

In the matrix the cold chill rushing through the long abandoned loft apartment wasn’t noticeable, but even now, as Glo rubbed at her temples where the trodes had sat, she showed no sign of being aware of the bitter winter wind that flapped at the tattered curtains.

Glo sniffed at the toxins in the air and the overlay of cheap kaf from the rudimentary coffee maker wired in to the pirated power supply… she may not feel the cold but she appreciated the warmth of the hot liquid even if the taste was pretty poor. Behind her on the cobbled together table the trid unit beeped as the download completed on the data tap. If Briar had done her job, and Glo had no doubt that the young hacker had, it should be programed to forge a connection between the Triad’s offline host and dump paydata on to ShadowSEA. Then it would be a matter of sifting through the dross to find out who had been foolish enough to think they wanted the work of that man and his perverted programme.

It was nearly time… this evening, before the casino closed its doors to the public, that would be when her strike was timed. Now it was just a matter of preparing some chaos to cover her retreat once she had planted the tap…

John
Monday, 25 November, 10:40; Sneed's Seeds and Feeds warehouse (Formerly Chucks), Tacoma, Seattle Metroplex

When John had had enough of performing mundane movement acts he returned to the less rewarding, but nonetheless essential tasks. Now that his body was better than new, he had to take care of his equipment. The Ares Alpha was neatly disassembled already and all parts had been treated with an oil-based cleaning fluid. Now he had to wipe everything down and reassemble the mechanism. The silencer needed new rubber disks and the grenade launcher had acquired a small dent, causing a noticeable squeaking in the loading mechanism. It required a really steady hand to correct without damaging the other parts, but luckily he had bought a pair of the steadiest hands S-K produced.

John briefly wondered if young boys would be as enthusiastic online shooter players if they had to maintain their equipment for hours on end just to be able to use it for a few minutes. He came to the conclusion that autistic and OCD ones probably would enjoy them even more.

At least the work gave him something to do. Despite his last job only having been two days ago he already felt the itch to start a new one. Online play was all nice and good, but nothing beat the resolution of reality...

Al
Monday, 25 November, 10:29; Roxy's Diner, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

"Roger roger, kemo sabe. Drones fer you, ladies fer me. Sounds about right." He shoved a last giant mouthful of sweetener-soaked carbohydrate into his mouth, talking around it as he stood. "I'll stay inna city. Ya got my number. Call ya with whatever I dig up."

He went out and walked to his Gaz, having left Jan with the bill. Drove around for a bit deciding where to set up shop for their new endeavor. Someplace off the grid, close, and totally new to him - once they kicked the nest, the hornets'd come flying. It was a damned big 'plex. He knew Puyallup best, but that was way too far from the action. He knew some likely spots in the International District, but that was way too close. That left the docks. He'd heard about a place that rented storage units, including some with utility hook-ups even though they weren't coded for residential. Triads might not know it - he'd heard they didn't exactly cater to criminals, more like Filipino and Russkie sailors wanting to sleep on land for a few nights but not wanting to spend much.

Two hours later he was loading a quartet of fold-up canvas cots and Army surplus blankets from the bed of his truck into a large storage unit. It was one of half a dozen tucked almost invisibly between a larger warehouse and the landward slope the rose to the city proper from under the Alaska Way viaduct. He'd paid cash via a toothless old Latvian sea dog, buying the guy a fifth of decent Scotch for his trouble. The place had electricity and Al put in some lights, a microwave, and a soy processor. There was a shower head above a drain in one corner.

Before playing house he'd voice-texted Silk. <<Yo Silky baby, man o' yer dreams here. Seems the 88s got a hard-on for us after we wasted a few sampans worth when yer lizard-lady friend used us as bait. Reckon we might want ta smooth things over. Start some peace talks an' whatnot. Need any files ya got. Head honchos. Properties. Assets. Security. Don't make ol' Al ask a lot o' questions - jist send 'er wrapped inna bow like a good girl.>>

And now, just as he was settling onto one of the cots for a beer and a nap, his 'link pinged....

Silk
Monday, 25 November, 10:29; Silk’s Threads Host, Seattle Metroplex

Silk smiled to herself as she recorded a brief response to Al’s message…after all, she liked him despite herself and she didn’t want to subject him to matrix contact without a real need.

Her soft tones issued from Al’s ‘link

<<Master Guthrie! I’m glad you survived that little fracas. I know that eTher was impressed with your work as well, although I might have preferred a slightly lower body count. So, peace talks with the 88s? I must admit I’m slightly sceptical given your request for security protocols but that is your business. Your request is timely as ever, the Fates are clearly smiling on you, I have an operative in place who is set to retrieve detailed information shortly but in the meantime I will compile a broad brush dossier for you from my records. If there is more specific intel that you require then I can reach out to my network.>>

And with the message sent she turned to Gossamer “Can you send Al the data drop we prepared for Glo? Plus a broad sweep of ShadowSEA and Jackpoint data as I’m not sure he will go looking for that himself. Thank you”

With the barest pause Gossamer indicates that the data package has been sent to Al’s ‘link with the usual invoice details.

“Thank you, will you also let Glo know that there is a market for any current paydata that she is able to liberate? I hope she finds what she is looking for but any detailed intel on the Triads will be valuable to the right people.”

Al
Monday, 25 November, 1:09 pm; storage unit under Alaska Way viaduct, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

Al squinted at the invoice, but it didn't change the numbers. Squinting didn't do shit when you were stuck with fake eyes. Damned autofocus features took just that much of the fun out of life. Helluva sum - he'd always been on the supply side of the info flow to Silk. Seeing what was being charged on the demand side made him think he'd better raise his prices.

But she'd sent him a real passle of intel. Damn. He was going to have to read all this crap? He found a cheap program that would turn any written material into a manga-style tutorial, jacked up the sexiness settings on the presenters, and settled in for a long slog. Man worked for a living, after all. You didn't have to like it, you just had to do it.

Al
Monday, 25 November, 3:11 pm; storage unit under Alaska Way viaduct, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

The two main characters in Al's adaptive manga were Millicent Fairweather and Courtney Whiplash. They were deep cover agents from Horizon's Corporate Social Resonsibility Division, charged with ferreting out any and all threats to the happiness and prosperity of the common man, Horizon citizen and world citizen alike, and then bringing said parasites to justice as part of the megacorp's ongoing commitment to bettering the world around it. Al realized how much he loved and appreciated Horizon.

By flaunting the right sorts of assets in the wrong sorts of places, Millicent and Courtney had conveniently gotten themselves pressed into slavery, transported from the East Coast out to Seattle, and sold as sex toys to the 88s. As they cavorted their way through various aspects of the criminal operation, they would periodically look up at the reader from whatever compromised position they were allowing themselves to be subjected to for the greater social good and explain how this or that aspect of the local Triad structure would fit into Horizon's eventual sweep of such scum from the streets, gleaning all the necessary data from the data file Silk had sent Al. Naturally Al had purchased the self-contained program - he'd been warned that the plot and image resolution were much better if the program was allowed to run on the grid, which had been tempting, but he'd figured Jan would probably see that as some sort of security issue. Some of these people worried about every little thing.

By the time the girls had learned (and pantingly conveyed to Al) all they could about this nefarious organization and returned to report to their Horizon handlers, Al put his head back on the rolled up blanket he was using as a pillow and figured he'd just wasted two hours. Then, as he lay there smoking, thinking about all the little details, the names, the places, the assorted and seemingly random tidbits in the file, it all sort of lined itself up in his head.

He voice-texted Jan. <<How's it goin' with yer talkin' drone? 'Bout ready ta work? Reckon I found us a lucrative place ta start...>>

Jan
Monday, 25 November, 10:32; Roxy's Diner, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

Jan sat back in his booth, rubbed his stomach and called over the waitress. "Same again please" he managed while suppressing a burp. He'd been expecting the cowboy to leave without paying so figured he may as well make the most of his time here. While he finished off his coffee he stared out of the window at the street outside, before taking out his 'link and prodding at it with his finger like a curious chimp might poke at something shiny. <<@John: Hey Bot. You in the market for some fun? Pays shit and there's serious risk of harm but plenty of opportunity to express yourself. You were the first thing I thought of>>

Jan didn't know what to call Revenant. Was it a 'he'? He didn't much care really. He had the same problem with transvestites and often ended up offending someone. They should make these things less confusing.




Monday, 25 November, 15:12; Freeway Park, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

<<@Al: Not heard yet, but I'm sure the bot's game>> He was sitting on a park bench, looking out of place and waiting for Know to arrive. He wasn't a fan of this place. Far too exposed and full of corporate yuppie types. He understood why Know liked it though. It was probably the most secure park in the UCAS. A trip-A zone and with the Knights just a few seconds away. That sounds like the opposite of what a fixer might want, but he wasn't doing anything wrong. What had he got to be afraid of? If the law can't protect a man meeting a friend in the park? Jan wished he could see it that way. All he saw was constant surveillance and 1500 chances of getting his mug caught on camera... ...but he wanted his money, and this was how the deal had to be done.

John
Monday, 25 November, 15:15; Sneed's Seeds and Feeds warehouse (Formerly Chucks), Tacoma, Seattle Metroplex #126

John had - as always - disconnected from the matrix for his realignment. Somehow it was patently unfair: Humans just had to take a bit of bioware or some pills and could go whole days without sleep while he and all the other AIs had to have three hours of inactivity every fragging day. And he couldn't even wake up early while his memories compressed and his cache reset.

Only now that he had restarted his matrix connection he found the message from Jan.
He activated smirk 21/b (Hurray for WTLM) and answered:
<<Hey meatbag. Opportunity to express myself sounds lovely. Meet up in the city?>>

John knew better than to ask for details over the matrix and Jan didn't strike him as the type to log into a secure game host for a face to face. Besides: What good is a new realistic body if you don't get out and display it?

Just to be ready for everything he made sure his weapons were in the car and his licences were up to date.

Al
Monday, 25 November, 15:14 pm; storage unit under Alaska Way viaduct, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

<<Okay, ya know my old place, the one that got burned down? Meet me there in an hour, I'll fill ya in an' we'll git ta work.>>

He took his gear back out to the Gaz. He'd left Spike in Puyallup, but he'd brought his snakes. Emptied their bag onto the floor before he went out and locked up. Drove to the scorched ruin in the International District where he'd used to live in the basement. That had been the Italians. Chinese were up next. Hell, this could be a whole new gig, an' a lot less weird that some of the other jobs he'd gotten wrangled into lately. Finish this up maybe he'd take on the Koshari or the Russkies.

Al
Monday, 25 November, 16:03 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

Al sat in the rain in his truck, watching the street ahead and his mirrors behind. The rain clouds meant it was already full-dark in November Seattle by four. So he knew smoking made him an easier target in the cab of his Gaz, even with the window-tint dialled up. He wasn't super concerned.

Lot of memories on this street. Spent the last five years here. Working. Getting better. Trying to forget. Some of the things he wanted out of his memory were good. Some bad. Certain things in your recollection, you wanted to keep the best things in there safe from them. So you drank and you worked and you did magic tricks.

Of course none of it worked. Not for long.

He'd found Spike here. That had been a good courtship.

It was right here on this street, almost this same exact parking spot, that Esposito and Pratt had first found him. Couple of pests, but not bad for cops. They'd been useful.

Now it was just a spot he knew and was pretty sure Jan did too. If he hadn't understood the message he'd call.

No hurry. The Spock would be here with his new toy soon enough.

And Al had plenty of cigarettes left.

Glo
Monday, 25 November, 19:58; Chinatown, Seattle Metroplex

Glo had swung by the site a couple of times on her scooter with a good interval between each pass so that she didn’t draw any particular attention to herself. Her features were sufficiently Asian that she didn’t look out of place in Chinatown but there was no point in drawing scrutiny if it could be helped. The first pass delivered her spy drone in to a discrete position watching the rear of the casino, wifi disabled so that it didn’t draw its own scrutiny, and the second collected it so that she could review the footage. She spent the intervening time in one of the innumerable and anonymous eateries with a reasonable view of her target.

The security was about what she had expected, a mix of tech and meat, and presumably some measure of magical force too. There was little she could do about the latter on a solo run, which meant making her insertion during working hours when it would be that little bit harder to spot an intruder amongst the guests. That would be moot once she reached her target as she would definitely be off the beaten track by then, that would mean relying on speed and surprise and diversionary tactics to minimise her own risk.

It was nearly time to begin…she would aim for a period just before the night shift change when hopefully the guards were just a little less vigilant and before the changeover doubled the bodies between her and her target…

Jan
Monday, 25 November, 15:22; Freeway Park, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

Know had left, and after a few pleasantries, he'd been paid. They were square for now. He read John's message in his head before tapping out his reply.
<<@John: Meet downtown. Corner of 8th & S Kings. 4:00>>

Jan was unsure about the wisdom of going back to the International District. He'd not been back in a few days, and took that squat for burnt. There were more slit-eyes staring at him there than anywhere, but he'd figured it was hiding in plain sight and trusted Know's intel. And he was, technically speaking, 'international' himself. As international as a Caucasian from the colonies could be.

John
Monday, 25 November, 16:05 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex #127

John had found his way to the international district without trouble. Driving a commercial ambulance made it always easy to get a parking space. It also made it easier to explain the obvious armor clothing. The red cross patches would have to come off when go time rolled around, but for now it was a fine way to not look like a creep sitting in your car.

He noticed the smoker in the car cab - not that he could really see through the mirrored glasses, but the IR readout showed that the car must have arrived here only minutes before him and the laser mic and the select sound filter picked up the steady puffing of a cigar or cigarette.

Could be nothing or...
<<Hey Jan, did you by chance get a truck and started smoking while scratching yourself? If not, than there is a third party waiting here at our meeting spot. In any case I'm ready for trouble...>>

Jan
Monday, 25 November, 16:07 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

Jan emerged from the basement of the tenement that had been his home for countless miserable nights. He'd arrived a little early to scope the place; make sure it hadn't been made. He wasn't glad to be back here. The dogs had done a good job on Jae-Geun, anyone who bothered to check would be left with dental records and little else to go on. "It's cool" Jan shouted over to John. "He's with me."

Al's beat-up Gaz was instantly recognisable, as was the smoke pouring out of a crack in the window. Jan tapped the glass to make sure the cowboy wasn't napping under that hat. "I's about to call you. How'd you know to stop here?" Jan took the cigarette Al offered through the window, finished off the last few puffs and flicked it to the floor. "Come on, let's get inside where it's.... well, where it's fucking freezing."

John
Monday, 25 November, 16:07 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex #128

John used grin #12/a as an appropriate response to meeting someone new, who might also be a professional runner. He quickly changed it for the version /d adding a bit of puzzlement and incredulity when he saw the other man. Well, looks could be deceiving as he himself gave testament to, but his olfactory sensor picked up on the small figure, identifying him as a piece of badly smoke-cured ham.

John didn't mind the rain - the amphibious upgrade took care of that - but still wore a cap to prevent damage to the highly realistic artificial hair. After all, the replacement was always hideously expensive and quite time consuming to integrate.
Still, rain drops had found their way onto his perfectly average face - a computer generated amalgamation of all human races world wide - and John had to clear them away with his sleave while following the two men.

Once they had reached a modicum of shelter from the elements, he extended his right hand towards the small man: "Hello, I'm John. Nice to meet you." He turned to Jan: "Hello again, Jan. To what do I owe the pleasure of this invite.?"

Al
Monday, 25 November, 16:07 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

Al took a look around as they entered his old apartment. It hadn't been much, and then the building above had been burned. And then Jan had lived in it. Place smelled like death.

But that was not a serious issue. Certainly not enough to crimp Al's spirits. He'd been chuckling quietly to himself since the three had met up outside. Jan had outdone himself.

Now, looking with amusement at the outstretched hand, he turned to his friend, "Shee-it, now I'm workin' with Mr. Spock an' Mr. Data too," he said with a delighted grin. "What with the dark an' all, not sure I'd o' known, ya hadn't warned me. So if it talks, reckon it takes voice commands - any code word I need fer admin rights, or we just input my voiceprint?"

John
Monday, 25 November, 16:08 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex #129

"Funny. But now I'm wondering if I get admin access on you if I input my footprint to your wrinkled ass." John retorted without changing his smile.

Al
Monday, 25 November, 16:07 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

"Daaamn Sam, Jan baby - they done programmed some sass inta this one. Hell, at least it says that kind o' shit wth a smile on it's face." Al did note, however, that the drone had several inches on him, and was probably made of something reasonably unyielding. Casually taking a cautious step back, he added, "It do got all the standard failsafes, right? Like can't kill its masters an' whatnot?"

John
Monday, 25 November, 16:08 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex #130

John's grin turned into a decidedly evil version (66/f):
"Failsafe... Yeah I've got one of those. Dropped it on an exec, made it look like an accident.
Oh I can kill my "masters" easy peezy. But don't worry: I rarely kill people who treat me with respect or take care not to annoy me. Really, I'm a total softy at heart or rather core processing unit.

And just for your information. I'm not an it, I'm a he. Both in mind and body. And let me tell you: This body has all the latest features the S-K drone division had in stock.

So, now that that's out, let's start this again:

Hi my name is John. Do you have a name or should I just call you Redshirt and think of you as an unimportant non-player-character."

Jan
Monday, 25 November, 16:08 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

Jan was leaning up against the wall. He'd found the whole interaction far too entertaining to intervene, but now there was business to attend to.

"Enough posturing ladies, we got shit to do. John, this is Al. He's a redneck bumpkin, but he's got a steady hand and he's usually far enough away that the smell doesn't bother you. Al, this is John. He's a ghost or some crazy shit like that, but his drone is kick-ass and he enjoys murder and destruction like all good pissed-off teenagers. Now let's hug it out and get on with what we're here to do"

John
Monday, 25 November, 16:08 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex #131

"With pleasure. As soon as you tell me who or what you want to have murder-destroyed and/or destroy-murdered"

Glo
Monday, 25 November, 22:23; Casino, Chinatown, Seattle Metroplex

Time to go… a few moments before Glo had shed her clothes, wrapping them carefully and stuffing them under a dumpster a couple of alley ways over from the rear entrance to the casino. An emergency set was also stashed in the box on her scooter in case she couldn’t make it back here. Ignoring the winter chill and prickle of Seattle rain she checked the pouch attached to her thigh and the action on the snub nosed sub machine gun. With a thought she engaged the ruthenium polymers woven throughout her skin, and on the surface of her gun and the thigh pouch, and was rendered effectively invisible…

With a slow jog, avoiding puddles that might alert someone to her presence, she ducked towards her target. Then it was a matter for waiting under shelter for one of the kitchen hands to come out and deposit kitchen waste into the dumpsters behind the casino. Hopefully nobody would notice the extra two seconds the door was restrained as Glo slipped inside the busy kitchen.

After briefly shaking any water off Glo set off for the service areas of the casino, dodging busy kitchen staff and taking care not to disrupt anything on worktops. Once again pausing by the door to follow a harried staffer through into the rest of the back of house she began her run, following the AR map image to the likely location of the offline server that Silk had provided her with.

Al
Monday, 25 November, 16:08 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

"Well explainin' that's percisely what ol' Al come here ta do. But first things first," the unshaven little man said, eyeing the robot cautiously and his friend doubtfully. "Amigo, you done said this were a damned drone. Now he's a ghost, fer pity's sake, which I'll allow deserves a modicum o' greater respect than a drone, but not much."

Al turned to John, and for the first time addressed him directly as he leaned his weight against a wall and slid to a seated position on the floor, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. "So jist sayin' fer a minute yer not some high-end program mimicin' conversation, well, I'm listenin'. You one o' them full-body jobs, jist a brain in there, an' maybe or maybe not yer soul? Or am I talkin' through a VR feed to a feller sittin' inna pod somewhere, done took the whole 'bein' the machine' concept a wee bit too far?"

John
Monday, 25 November, 16:09 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex #132

John shrugged: "I used to be an anthro drone rigger. Some time ago I was hit by a technomancer with some bad mojo that killed my body off. Since then I'm a ghost in the machine as they say. Allegedly I've got some faint aura, which according to some witches or mages means that I'm not just a program.
Frankly, I don't give a damn.

Cogito ergo sum - or in my case "I think, therefore I want some fun kicking ass."

And before you ask: No, I'm no hacker. I'm not even a particularly good driver, but I'm an outstanding anthro drone rigger."

Jan
Monday, 25 November, 16:09; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

"See, drone" Jan said, as if justifying his earlier comments.

"In the most basic terms, we're making a play on the 88's Triad. They have a contract out on us both following a recent run..." Jan looked around the shell that had been his temporary home "...and I'm done with sleeping in places like this."

"What we'll need to do is figure where the 'hit' came from and end it. I don't know how high that'll take us up the ladder, but I'm guessing it won't be an easy climb."

John
Monday, 25 November, 16:09 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex #133

"Ah, I see. Sounds like fun. After that we can take on the Yakuza, so I have the complete set.

But let me get that straight: You both were spotted by the Triads and they know your names?

I see two obvious solutions for your predicament:
1) Kill them all
2) Find the immediate rival of your opponent within the triads and offer him to off the guy in return for an amnesty.

Finding out who wants you dead is just a matter of catching one of your would-be killers alive and gently persuade them through bodily harm to tell you who hired him.
Or do you already have a lead on them?"

Jan
Monday, 25 November, 16:09; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

"We don't have a lead yet" Jan paused to take another cigarette from Al. He didn't normally smoke, but it helped him think.

"Option 1 is cleaner, but Al got a fixer to pull some intel and the 88's are a big player. Probably too many of them to eliminate. Option 2 is less fun, but the all-round better move by my thinking. We have nothing on that front though. We wouldn't just need leads on who wants us, but also on his rivals, their internal politics." He took a longer drag. "Work."

John
Monday, 25 November, 16:09 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex #134

John nodded: "Yeah, but the beauty of that system is that if you get bored with option 2) you always can just switch to option 1) .
I'm game for both approaches.
So Al, what do you have - besides the obvious I mean..."

Al
Monday, 25 November, 16:10; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

Al listened to everything John had to say, and had made up his mind before the guy was done talking. Twice. The first time was when he'd written the guy off as an arificial intelligence out for its jollies in an anthroform. That would mean it was nothing but a non-sentient bit of circuits with survival imperatives in its programming that drove it to do whatever it had to to survive, including some very clever mimicry of the humans it needed to do that. and all without ever a conscious thought or ounce of self-awareness.

The play would be to make best possible use of the thing, and that would mean playing along with its game, the better to convince it of acceptance and then manipulate it to his ends.

But then he'd gotten to the point about the Satanists. Al didn't associate himself with devilry, but he knew that witch-sight didn't get a read off of AIs. And if it was some poor sod's soul in there, then he was one of the Good Lord's children, a brother in this lonely passage through this benighted orb's vale of tears.

So he decided to go with that. And if it was all some clever AI's ploy to win his trust, then he'd tip to it soon enough and be in a better position to flip back to plan A.

He looked at Jan. "Work's okay. Sweat o' yer brow, kemo sabe, sweat o' yer brow. Blame Eve. Here's all the crap I got off'n Silk." Not wanting the intel to broadcast beyond this basement, he limited the broadcast to his PAN for them to retrieve, then shut it off. "Well, Johnny baby," and here Al stood to answer his new coworker's question, extending his hand in an attempt at a re-do of their initial meeting, "Reckon I'm thinkin' cash. Oh, I like Options 1 an' 2, lke both of 'em. But we's gittin' ahead of ourselves. Neither option gits us paid, an' not jist that, we may need some cash ta run this deal. Reckon we are takin' on a big ass OC outfit, jist the three of us. So they's this one Chink casino, turns out keeps a shedload o' cash on site. Well, reckon they all do, but piecin' together bits an' bobs, I reckon they's gon' move it within the next few days. So I'm thinkin' we kick off with that. Hurts the bastards, an' shames 'em ta boot. Nice productive use of our time while we suss out Option 2. Hell, idle hands an' all that...thought we might start casin' the place right away, today...."

John
Monday, 25 November, 16:09 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex #135

"Mhm, I like option 3. Getting nuyen is better than looting the corpses. I'm game for that. Let's go there and have a look.
Who knows, maybe we get lucky and break the bank.
In any case I think I'll order a small cask of grenades for that - target rich environment and all that."

John smiled again. This promised to get even more entertaining than he expected - and more lucrative.

"Let's do a drive by first so we can get a sense of escape routes and lines of fire."

Al
Monday, 25 November, 16:10 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

"Like the way ya think, hombre. Ever'body got they own rides? Reckon it's better that way, but anyone wants a lift, there's that too."

As they started to file out, Al added, "So reckon they's already after us, but they git it in they heads we's comin' after 'em, might ta turn up the heat. An' push comes ta shove, they ask around, the eye-ties'll connect me ta this here hole inna ground. Things go south, got me a sterile storage unit." Al savored using words he'd heard on Tales of the Red Samurai. He flashed them the location and the lock's code. "Mind when ya go in, though. Left some rattlers in there, jist as a welcome ta any unwanted guests. They mostly keep ta theyselves, jist mind ya don't step in any dark corners. Might poke the cot afore ya set on it. An' you, mi metallic amigo, you be careful too. Don't want my babies breakin' any teeth."

John
Monday, 25 November, 16:11 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex #136

"I just wanted to offer you the same. My ride has a top notch valkyrie module and a neat little scrip that allows me to park where ever I like and drive on otherwise closed roads thanks to the magic of being a first responder vehicle.
Of course now that I'm looking at the street maps, I realize that Chinatown around that casino seems to be mainly bicycles and pedestrians. So it might not be the subtlest plays of observations if we ride in and park square across three handicap spaces, so to speak.

And as for snakes: Nice. I like snakes but the manufacturer of this skin suit warns against snake venom as it could dissolve the realistic looking protein based skin mesh. So I'll be careful, promise. Don't want to look like a zombie... again."
John replied.

Al
Monday, 25 November, 16:11 pm; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

"Roger roger. Truck's no good. What say we jist move our rides clear o' this block, seein' as it's got a bullseye painted on. Ain't but a short walk down there from here, me an' Jan can jist hoof it - separately, o' course - Johnny could bring his magical-parkin'-ride closer in, jist in case we gotta didi mau real quick-like. Be innerestin' ta see if our faces git any reaction onna street down there - let us know if they got all they soldiers onna lookout for us, or if they's jist subcontractin'. An' if it's all the factions or not."

As he got into his truck to move it a few blocks closer, he added, "Reckon ol' Al'll scope the entrances fer a spell. See what comes an' goes asides tourists an' chumps. One o' you suave motherfuckers might wanna take a stroll inside, git a look-see."

Monday, 25 November, 22:40; Bright Path Casino, Chinatown, Seattle Metroplex


Glo finds that progress through the kitchen takes just a bit more care than she had expected due to the high volume of foot traffic in and out as well as the sheer number of people on staff in the kitchen area. Bustling chefs, sous chefs, pastry chefs, and their assistants are busy with preparing the twenty-four hour buffet the casino is famous for as well as meals for the higher-end restaurant on the second floor and the room service requests that come from the rooms reserved for the high roller guests. No one is paying particular attention to her in this area, but there is a very real danger of coming into contact with a moving cart or waiter carrying a tray of food out into the casino.

Once she slips through the door into the main casino area, she almost instantly recognizes that something is a bit off. An armed man wearing the uniform of the casino security staff is standing next to the door she has just come through, his eyes scanning the main floor. He is clearly quite alert for a man several hours into a normally boring shift.......and he should not be standing here in the first place. Quickly moving to the side to avoid a waiter returning to the kitchen, Glo is able to put her back to the wall in an out of the way place and take careful stock of her surroundings. From her vantage point, she can see a good bit of the main casino floor and the buffet line. The bells and whistles and neon lights of the casino seem to be as busy as ever, with a mix of tourists and local Chinese trying to make the big score off the house and failing. From her earlier recon ans well as publicly available maps of the casino, Glo knows that the tables for roulette, blackjack, and craps are located just around the corner from where she is and the poker tables are off to the left. She notices that there is an expanded security presence in the casino; the guards are walking about in pairs instead of the normal single man patrols and the total she can count is greater than the entire shift that should be on duty at this time of night.

Bending forward slightly, she can see the elevator bank that takes players and hotel guests to the upper floors and the private elevator that is said to whisk special guests straight to the penthouse suite of the owner of the casino, Fu Shing. There are two hotel security men standing at the bank of public elevators and no less than four men in dark suits standing near the private elevator. These four men are not wearing hotel uniforms, but they are very much security of some kind and are armed with very business-like SMGs in addition to the customary side arms. All of the guards Glo can see seem to be on some sort elevated alert status.

Something is not right....................

John
Monday, 25 November, 17:03 pm; across the street from Bright Path Casino, Chinatown, Seattle Metroplex #137

John hadn't waited any longer after that. Exchanging comm codes was all he did before he left the building again that might or might not be bugged, observed or already rigged to explode.
He wasn't at all sure about the small man, but if a surly motherfragger like Jan took the man's help Al certainly had to have hidden depts. Or hidden debts. At the very least it wouldn't be boring.

Once he had reached Chinatown he had carefully navigated the emergency road to one of the few parking spaces. He activated the ARO that indicated he was on patient care duty and left the Morgan. When he came within 50m of the casino he noticed the first lurking Triad: A pair of youths sharing a nic-stick and posing with their rubbish tattoos. John passed them, but marked them on his internal map. There was a small noodle stand across the casino that had to have some pretty special fare, as the queue had a significant length. John got in line and started to ramp up his sensors, using the laser mic to listen in on every available glass surface within 100 m. He had nearly reached the front when he found what he was looking for. Right across the casino on the second to last floor was a room with someone inside using a micro-transceiver giving a status report. It was pure luck that he had caught the message - well not pure luck. John had known that the casino must have a sniper nest or two. And since any decent decker would sooner or later find wireless enabled gear, they needed to have it off but still be able to communicate. So he had tuned the spacial recognizer to the tell tale "blib" a micro-transceiver made to indicate an incoming message.

John faked getting a call and stepped out of the queue, wandering away, across the bike lane. John had to admit the snipers were professionals. They didn't talk or eat or anything else beside breathing that he could catch on the mic.
Which probably meant that those guys got regular relieve. At least every four hours, but if the Chinese knew their business rather three. More than that and you needed drugs to stay focused without any form of stimulation - which was of course entirely possible.

He changed positions and went away from the casino, compiling a little info dump for his new teammates.

Jan
Monday, 25 November, 17:15; International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

Jan didn't know what to do with himself. The role of 'fixer' didn't sit easily with him. Organiser, leader, call it what you will he felt like a spare part. He was an elf of action.

It made sense for John to scope the place out. He wasn't known to the target, and he could handle himself should anything happen. Jan, well, he was known to the target. Very known. A casino run by the bastards probably wasn't the best place to hang about.

...now he thought about it he wasn't overly sold on the casino plan. He wanted to draw a line under his bounty. That meant killing people in high places. The casino seemed an unnecessary distraction, but the money would be nice for covering John's services at least. For now though he was back in this kak-hole he'd never intended to return to. At least it was close to the target should he need to respond.

Al
Monday, 25 November, 2027; Alley behind Bright Path Casino, International District, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex

Al had enjoyed the walk down the hill to Chinatown. He'd kept to smaller streets and lanes and passageways because they were playing good guys and bad guys today and it wa fun to be all sneaky. Once down near the casino, he'd spotted Johnny lined up for noodles at Happy Fortune across from the front of the place, so he'd kept walking for a while and ended up in an alley behind the place. Not right behind it, but behind it and then just across the street. Some street trash had a craps game going there, and he had a straight view all along the rear of the casino.

As long as he shared cigarettes and lost as much as he won, the kids didn't mind him hanging around. A quick run to a nearby Stuffer had produced a bottle of cheap whiskey, which he also shared around with his new friends when I got tired of dice, and pretty soon he was not only noting the deliveries and so forth out the back of the place, but also hearing about the full routine from his boon companions.

Reclining on a sheet of moldy cardboard feeding bits of his soyrito to a couple of rats and listening to these guys shoot the shit, Al decided he might let a few of these 88 yahoos live, just to express his gratitude for such a lovely evening.

John
Monday, 25 November, 20:30 pm; around Bright Path Casino, Chinatown, Seattle Metroplex #138

John had moved on looking for more sentries. So far he had found only four more gaggles of street kids - although he had to admit they were placed quite strategically. At least the Triads didn't have more sniper nests - at least that he could find.
While he did that, he had been asked to take care of three stab wounds, a bad cough and one allergic reaction - paid cash. It seemed that few street docs were prepared to do business in the Triad territory and John found out soon why: He just had left another flat - he had taken the opportunity to look out the window to get another, clearer look on the small office of the money lender with his two troll guards - when two thugs he had noticed before stepped into the corridor, barring him exit.
In broken English they told him: "You new here. You do business, you pay tax. You give money."
John decided not to reveal that he could understand Mandarin. So he replied in English: "How much is this tax?"
The answer came promptly: "You new here. You give all money now. You want work here, you go Lao Bei. Now give money."
John sighed and complied. It would have been satisfying to just murder the two guys and see if their skin could be made into a disguise, but that would be giving away the game early. And it wasn't as if the thugs could ask to see his books. So instead he pulled out half the cred sticks in his pocket and tossed them to the less intelligent looking of the two.
"You give all money!" The brawny, dumb one advanced to grip his arm and get to his pocket
John took a few steps back and pulled the rest of the sticks out as well as the pocket. "Here, I don't have anymore."
A devious grin now appeared on the talkers face: "You give all stuff you have."

John had enough. He was already calculating timing and angles for his claws to severe the axle artery when suddenly one of the flat doors opened and an old Chinese lady with a large ladle stormed out and began spitting out such a rapid stream of Chinese insults that his translation autosoft couldn't keep up.
Undeterred by their size or strength she began to pummel both with the ladle - and to John's eternal surprise those thugs didn't just snap her scrawny neck but instead quickly retreated down the stairs, firing a few insults of their own.

The relief was only short lived, as the dragon granny grabbed his arm and pulled him into the tiny flat where it turned out that her grandchildren needed antibiotics, her wizened husband had a very inflamed toe nail and also quite a bit of puss leaking from various other parts.
It was past 2030h when he finally left the building and called in another status update:
<<Those Triads have their eye on the money but they aren't very good about keeping repeat business. But I got a name. According to my new contact Dragon Granny a Lieutenant called Lao Bei is managing the street gang members around here. He provides security for the casino and a few other joints in possession of the Triads and otherwise collects protection money from all the businesses around here. His office is above the money lender. He might be one of the people you could squeeze for information.
In other news, I might have accidentally started a health care service.

In any case I'll go into casino now - long workday after all.>>

Glo
Monday, 25 November, 22:23; Casino, Chinatown, Seattle Metroplex

Damn! This was getting far more complicated than it was supposed to be! Bloody mobsters and their feuds that were dragging her to this shitty part of Seattle. The mere fact that they thought they could get away with recreating the programme that had created her was testament to their hubris, and Glo intended to make sure they pay for their temerity. But she wasn’t delusional, that wasn’t something she could achieve with a head on assault which is what it would take to reach the elevators and probably the fire escape stairs…at least without a distraction…

Glo released her fly drone from the thigh pouch whilst crouching in a shadowed alcove by some of the slot machines. The little thing couldn’t do much by itself but the tiny incendiary device should be just enough to break the glass bulb on one of the sprinkler heads and set the fire alarm to active. A specially formulated smoke grenade would add some verisimilitude to the ruse. With guests forced to use the stairs she could hopefully seize her moment and her route to the upper floors…failing that it would have to be plan C…and she wasn’t ready to formulate that one just yet.

Of course the guards knew their business and that something was up, but as they were already seemingly on alert for some reason Glo just had to trust that the safety of their clientele would mean they had to treat the fire as real, at least for a brief time…

OK, there is a slight issue with timing. Glo is at 2230 and the rest of you seem to be a couple of hours earlier. I can do a post for Glo's efforts, but do not want to cut the others out of doing something in that time as they catch up to Glo in time.

My intent is to wait and then post what happens in the casino, if that is alright with everyone?

John
Monday, 25 November, 22:20 pm; around Bright Path Casino, Chinatown, Seattle Metroplex #139

Getting into the casino proved to be easier than expected: The Triads didn't fully trust technology as it seemed and had instead quite a lot of burly security men ambling around. Having spent the afternoon walking around and making house calls had paid of insofar that he now wasn't exactly a stranger with his medic uniform to the men behind the camera feeds.
John made a beeline for the blackjack table, but didn't bother to play. Ten card packs made card counting a bit tedious and unreliable. At least the dealer seemed to be reasonable honest, dealing the cards as they came.
With a heavy heart John bought a few chips and tried his luck first with the Majong table, only to move from there to every available game, one after the other. In between he "used" the restrooms, visited the restaurant and generally looked at everything available to the public.
He had finished his map around the time his chips ran out.
He compiled his last update before he was going to leave the casino for today:
<<Quite a bit of security around here. The building is not really up to code for fire safety. No emergency exits for one thing. Kitchens might be a viable way in. A lot of electronic money transfer but I counted a few hundred verified credsticks to the tune of around 140.000 Nuyen being moved within the last two hours. At a typical working speed to transfer the money, I'd estimate you'd need around 1 man hour per 20.000 Nuyen. There is a backroom with a very heavy maglocked door behind the chips exchange, but the wall beside it doesn't look nearly as strong, since this building is from the 2030ies - no plastcrete, only old prefab concrete. Nothing a mono saw couldn't handle.
MAD scanner found iron efflorescence behind the wallpaper, indicating structural weakness, especially closer to the ground. The Triads seem to be cutting corners with the maintenance. I couldn't get into the cellar level, but close to the stairs I detected quite a bit of mold smell. All in all you'd need max. around 10kg TNT to bring this whole place down.
There is a secure elevator without matrix access, but with key card and number pad. The stairs are guarded at all times with two guards in front and one in the background. Guard changes follow no pattern I could discern within two hours, but seems to be based mainly on bladder capacity of individual guards.
I'll go and cash in my chips now, meet me at the Stuffershack just outside Chinatown.
Huh? That's weird. Something's happening here...>>

Al
Monday, 25 November, 2223 pm; behind Bright Path Casino, Chinatown, Seattle Metroplex

Al hadn't heard anything from outside quite yet, but when he got the robot's message he got up, muttered something to his new friends about too much whiskey, and made his way down the back alley to where he was in spitting distance of the staff door into the kitchens.

What he'd said hadn't been entirely disingenuous - he promptly uncaged The Elephant and relieved himself into a pile of refuse.

<<Roger roger, Johnny baby. I'm right outside the kitchens, so holler if'n ya need anythin'.>>

Monday, 25 November, 2223 pm; Bright Path Casino, Chinatown, Seattle Metroplex


John is on his way to the money cage to cash in what remains of his chips. The line is about eight people long, but it seems to be moving as it should. A woman dressed in a loud print dress that shows off way too much of the skin of her more than ample body comes to stand next to him, carrying a small plastic bucket that seems to be brimming with game tokens of the kind John had seen people popping into the slot machines as if their lives depended on it. She steps a bit closer to John and says, "Excuse me. Are you in the line or just near it? I am trying to get these tokens converted to chips. I am winning big tonight and am on a hot roll at the machines so Julie, that is my friend Julie Mertz. We came across from Denver to visit my son and his wife. And let me tell you about that wife. She is such a bit...............hey! What is happening?"

John sees the tellers in the cage step back as some sort of iron panel slides down to close off the cage from the public. John hears the strident tones of what is certainly a fire alarm and the PA system comes to life, interrupting the muzak that has been irritating his ears for the past two hours "Please make your way calmly to the nearest exit. Do not panic." This phrase is repeated over and over, but the effect is less than desired as the casino patrons begin screaming and fleeing as fast as possible to the nearest exits. John loses sight of the sartorially challenged woman as she tries to run away. He may never hear about the bitchy wife of her son and just exactly what her friend, Julie, had said. Darn it. The cage is located out of the major traffic lanes and John is able to watch the flow of people headed to the front door.

Al is near the staff entrance to the kitchen off the alleyway running behind the casino. As he is draining his lizard, the door opens and one of the waitresses comes outside and lights up a nicstick, drawing on the cigarette twice before she even sees him. Her eyes take him in and travel down his body, widening when they get to the elephant. She smiles and nods. "Impressive dick. I am off in an hour and a half. If you are still here, I could give that thing a place to hide if you want to fuck."

The door bangs open and one of the cook staff leans out, yelling in Chinese before he runs out the door and lopes off down the alleyway. Three more of the kitchen staff follow closely behind him. The girl pales and tosses her stick to the ground, grinding on it as she looks around. "Casino is burning down. Fat Triad pigs and tourists will be crushing each other to get out. It looks like I am off as of now so want to go fuck?"

Glo sees her little drone self destruct against the desired sprinkler head, setting off the fire alarm as expected. Suddenly, people are moving everywhere, most of them in a panic, and all are trying to find a door to get outside. From her position, she sees the guard at the kitchen door talk into a comlink then vanish into the crowd. The door opens and a cook sticks his head out then pulls it back in, chattering rapidly in Chinese to the people behind him. General panic seems to be the order of the moment.