Hey folks--This board is supposed to give the runners in Fenris' Striding the Soul's Edge game a place to post shared history between runners. How they met, jobs shared, et al.
That said, let's have 'em.
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First Run
As Jake walks in the door of Club Extasis, he notices that there are a few bartenders obviously setting up for the night to get started in a few hours. Glancing around at the very plush stoic surroundings, he can tell that Extasis definitely doesn’t serve to the traditional Club hopping audience. In fact, the only thing that seems remotely familiar to Jake’s club sensibilities are the two pool tables, but they’re set up for something other than 8-ball billiards. As Jake stands around waiting in his three hundred dollar suit and power tie, it sure isn’t helping me feel more comfortable, a gentleman somewhere between Fabio and Arnold Schwarzenegger steps out of the side door and crosses the club towards him.
“Call me Fixx. We don’t have much time before we have to pick up Mr. Carvaggio so we are going to go over a few ground rules. First off take a look at me, 6’ 2” and athletic, I can break most people with my bare hands and you probably don’t see the three pistols or 2 knives that I have on me. Now take a look at yourself…we’re going to have to fix a few things. First off Mr. C likes his men with long hair, preferably middle of your back, but you have to keep it well managed and it can’t get in the way of your work. Second, what are you wearing? Let me guess you picked that up at the mall right? It probably helps you blend in with the unwashed masses, but we have higher standards. Hey Tony! Tony will get you cleaned up and into a loaner, we won’t have time to get a suit tailored before the meet.”
Tony, another model/body builder hybrid, pops his head out of the same room and motions Jake in.
Twenty minutes later, Tony has done all he can for Jake and ushers the newbie back out of the dressing room. Fixx, what the hell kinda name is FIXX?!?!?, walks over from his position at the bar, tosses Jake a bottle of water.
“There, much better. At least now Mr. C won’t be ashamed of having you in his service. Let’s go. Now remember, when you meet Mr. C he isn’t the godfather from some cheap movie, but he knows exactly what he wants and he gets it. Follow my lead and stay out of trouble, I don’t want to take any flak until I’ve seen how well you can handle yourself on the street.”
Without looking back to see if Jake is following, Fixx walks out the front door of the club. As Jake walks out, the valet is tossing the keys to Fixx who immediately gets in and guns the engine of the Westwind Turbo.
Pumping the gears up and down, Fixx guides the car smoothly as he barrels through the unincorporated countryside of Snohomisjh. Sliding into traffic, weaving through the congestion with the grace of a NASCAR driver, Fixx finally looks over at Jake and smiles reassuringly. Fixx eases the car into a parking space on the top floor of the parking structure in downtown Seattle. Time to start working. “Walking violence” strides side by side with “nervous energy” as they vault down the stairs. Fixx, confident with the relaxed tension that comes from body guarding, strides across the footbridge connecting the 5th St Garage to Carvaggio’s building. Jake, doing his best to mimic Fixx’s mannerisms, follows a step behind and to the right.
Stephan, Mr. Carvaggio’s personal assistant, welcomes them in the antechamber and invites them to get a cup of coffee on their way in.
“Gentlemen, make yourselves comfortable, and Mr. Carvaggio will be with you momentarily.”
Shortly after Stephan leaves the room Mr. Carvaggio enters, filling the room with his force of personality. Carvaggio has an ageless appearance, that when combined with his classical look creates the appearance of a modernized Victorian gentleman. 6’4” and two hundred twenty pounds, Carvaggio fills the room in both body and mind. Carefully manicured hands and pale skin, the color of paper, are all the cues that Jake needs to remind him that Carvaggio doesn’t do any of the legwork in this operation and never has.
“Ahh, Fixx, how are you? Please sit,”
Carvaggio’s hand runs along the smooth silk of Fixx’s coat as he gestures at a leather chair. Seating himself behind the heavy mahogany desk, Carvaggio pulls up a file on his monitor.
“The run is simple, I need you to collect a few packages from Shiawase Consulting and bring them to Stephan. There is to be no wetwork, keep it clean and dry.”
Handing the disk to Jake it is obvious that Mr. Carvaggio is done with them, so Fixx stands up smoothly and exits the room with Jake a step ahead of him.
“Well my boy, looks like you get to lead on your first time out. Let’s get back to the car and we can make plans over dinner.”
Dinner is a quiet affair of chicken served over pasta at Fixx’s condo, Fixx lays out the blueprints for the Shiawase installation and Jake sets up the plan. They will go in with dart pistols, remove the security at the door, tranquilize any support staff and pick up the packages. With luck they should be in and out in five minutes…worst case twenty if they have to override each lock they come to.
Time passes quickly in Fixx’s apartment, at ten they shower and get suited up in their traditional shadowrun gear, formfitting body armor under a black jumpsuit. Putting their more illicit gear into a duffel bag for transport to the facility they get into the Westwind. Jake grabs the key and slides the car into reverse. With a trunk full of illegal weapons and enough tranq darts to put down a small army, both of them decide to drive casually. Parking about a block away from the facility, Fixx takes one last second to go over all of the gear and pick three radio frequencies to use in case they are compromised. And so it begins…
Seventeen minutes later, Jake is able to get Fixx’s body back in the car. Someone had alerted Shiawase that they were coming and the two runners were ambushed as they picked up the packages. Fixx went down after a short burst of “non-lethal alternatives” hit squarely in his chest, but Jake was able to drag Fixx out safely under cover of a smoke grenade. Driving back to the apartment is a lonely affair, Jake hoping that he had done alright for his first night out. He knew that four of Fixx’s ribs had cracked from the plastic bullets but Jake didn’t have a street doctor he could trust, and going to a hospital would just lead Shiawase straight to their stolen property.
Pretending that Fixx was drunk Jake helped him up to the apartment, stripped the jumpsuit and formfit off. What am I supposed to do next?? Ace Bandages…heroes always have them wrapped around their chests in the movies. Relying on cinema medicine, Jake scrambles under the sink in Fixx’s bathroom and finding three ace bandages large enough, rushes back to the bed. Wrapping bandages around an unconscious body is damned near impossible without someone else to hold the body upright. Struggling through the process, Jake is just snapping the second one in place when Fixx groggily comes to.
“You did good kid. Mr. C will be proud, welcome to the family. Be warned though, Mr. Carvaggio doesn’t share his people well outside of the family. So Tony and I are it for you until you meet a few more boys at the club.”
Jake smiles under the praise, and seeing Fixx conscious starts to get out of his own armor.
Full Version: Reflections on Antiquity
The lobby of the Seattle Sheraton was a tasteful combination of roman columns supporting a vast arching ceiling and post-modernist furniture. It gave the hotel a clean professional, but lived in look. Jake absorbed all the details as he strode with casual grace across the marble floor to the elevator.
"Seventh floor please."
The elevator doors closed with a near-silent hiss and it began to rise. During the moments of stillness, Jake reflected on the morning's events. Fixx had called him, apparently the job had been interesting the night before. Fixx, Lucretia, Chang, and Xhalax had gone on a simple money run to pick up some electronic gifts for a buyer. The problems began when another team hit the same facility after they had already breached the perimeter. Mayhem ensued with protracted gunfights between runners and security personnel, and between runner teams vying for the goal. Add into this a nice serving of bizarre events, like desks being pushed against doors and air ducts sitting open and Jake got a nice flavor of how the evening went. Of course, none of that explained why Fixx was staying in a hotel rather than at their condo.
Jake is pulled out of his reverie by the elevator doors opening.
Stepping out into the hallway, he sidesteps a cleaning drone taking linens down to the laundry and knocks on the door to room 7031. Fixx opens the door wrapped in a towel his long blonde hair dripping water onto the carpet, HK-227 in hand. Seeing Jake, he smiles and puts the gun down.
"Come on in, have a seat."
Fixx turns away from the door and limps over to the bed. Jake moves into the room and slips his shoulder under Fixx's arm to help him. Pulling off the towel, Jake sees the bullet holes immediately. Lucretia's deft hand was obvious with the synth-skin wraps, but the wound would take weeks to heal on its own. A moment later, after weaves of mana wracked Fixx's body, Jake carefully pulls the synth-skin off and examines the bruising that remains.
"Best I can do. You should be fine by tomorrow morning, but I doubt that this is the reason you called me."
Jake crosses the small room to the closet to grab the brush out of Fixx's duffel, and pauses when he hears the shower running. Nudging the door open slightly, he sees a clearly feminine form moving under the hot water on the other side of the steamed shower glass. A pair of heavy pistols rest within arms reach on the counter. Jake silently pulls the door shut as he hears the water stop.
"Alright. I don't think she works for Carvaggio, so what's the story?"
Before Fixx can respond, Iblis comes out of the bathroom. Absent mindedly talking to herself about showers, fresh coffee, and real food, she takes about four steps into the room before both guns materialize in her hands--aimed straight at both men's chests.
"Iblis, this is Jake. I told you, I was calling a friend." Fixx tries to speak reassuringly, while keeping his hands very obvious on the mattress. "Jake, meet Iblis. We met last night, when she just fell into my arms."
Jake was trying to take in the red hair, elven ears, and white fur all at the same time, but he finds himself drawn to the more feminine curves concealed by the towel. Iblis notices Jake's interest, and gives it back just as well as she takes it, visibly undressing him in her mind. Her tongue glides across her upper lip as she lowers the pistols.
"So Fixxy, is J-J bound by the same rules you are, or can I take him for a test drive?"
Despite his best efforts, a flash of red rises into Jake's face at Iblis' blunt manner.
"Sorry, Ibby-poo, but I have the same hands off policy."
"Ibby-poo?? Try again J-J, or would you prefer 'J-eunuch'?"
"Whatever you say Love-Bunny."
Iblis shrugs, and starts muttering to herself as she plugs herself into her deck. Jake internally questions whether she intended to stay in that towel all day but Fixx interrupts his musings. Fixx had gotten dressed during the
"Jake, I need you to babysit her for a day or so, while I set up a few things and contact our buyer. The room and food is being charged to a business account. Take her down to the gym of you want to work out, she looks the type. Oh and if you get a chance, see if you can patch her up. Lucretia did what she could, but I think Iblis is still a little torn up."
"Sure thing. I'll see what I can do, keep in touch."
Fixx smiles, claps Jake on the shoulder, unspoken messages pass between their eyes and he leaves. Jake sits down on the bed opposite Iblis' limp, wet form. Unfolding the towel with a less than clinical attitude, Jake looks to the places where Iblis' fur has become matted with the synth-skin. He breathes deeply and forces the mana streams into her body. It is a lot easier to weave than he expected--most deckers provide natural resistance to the mana but she seemed almost as whole as Jake himself.
His head pounding because he had pushed hard enough that he didn't hold anything back to protect him from the efforts of channeling the magic, Jake rewraps the elf's body. Assessing the clothing pile, or more accurately the stench coming off of the clothing pile he grabs the shirt, jeans and one boot. Jake pulls up the front desk service on the trid-directory. He requests some clothing to be purchased giving the necessary sizes and asks that it be delivered to the room. The concierge seems to take the request in stride and informs Jake that it will be ready in about 3 hours.
With the fresh clothing laid out on the bed next to Iblis, Jake sends the dumpster-diver chic down the garbage chute. Soon enough Iblis jacks out and she looks from her towel to the clothing to Jake.
"Thanks for patching me up, we'll call the show payment in full. Now unless you want to show me yours, give me some privacy to get dressed."
"Seventh floor please."
The elevator doors closed with a near-silent hiss and it began to rise. During the moments of stillness, Jake reflected on the morning's events. Fixx had called him, apparently the job had been interesting the night before. Fixx, Lucretia, Chang, and Xhalax had gone on a simple money run to pick up some electronic gifts for a buyer. The problems began when another team hit the same facility after they had already breached the perimeter. Mayhem ensued with protracted gunfights between runners and security personnel, and between runner teams vying for the goal. Add into this a nice serving of bizarre events, like desks being pushed against doors and air ducts sitting open and Jake got a nice flavor of how the evening went. Of course, none of that explained why Fixx was staying in a hotel rather than at their condo.
Jake is pulled out of his reverie by the elevator doors opening.
Stepping out into the hallway, he sidesteps a cleaning drone taking linens down to the laundry and knocks on the door to room 7031. Fixx opens the door wrapped in a towel his long blonde hair dripping water onto the carpet, HK-227 in hand. Seeing Jake, he smiles and puts the gun down.
"Come on in, have a seat."
Fixx turns away from the door and limps over to the bed. Jake moves into the room and slips his shoulder under Fixx's arm to help him. Pulling off the towel, Jake sees the bullet holes immediately. Lucretia's deft hand was obvious with the synth-skin wraps, but the wound would take weeks to heal on its own. A moment later, after weaves of mana wracked Fixx's body, Jake carefully pulls the synth-skin off and examines the bruising that remains.
"Best I can do. You should be fine by tomorrow morning, but I doubt that this is the reason you called me."
Jake crosses the small room to the closet to grab the brush out of Fixx's duffel, and pauses when he hears the shower running. Nudging the door open slightly, he sees a clearly feminine form moving under the hot water on the other side of the steamed shower glass. A pair of heavy pistols rest within arms reach on the counter. Jake silently pulls the door shut as he hears the water stop.
"Alright. I don't think she works for Carvaggio, so what's the story?"
Before Fixx can respond, Iblis comes out of the bathroom. Absent mindedly talking to herself about showers, fresh coffee, and real food, she takes about four steps into the room before both guns materialize in her hands--aimed straight at both men's chests.
"Iblis, this is Jake. I told you, I was calling a friend." Fixx tries to speak reassuringly, while keeping his hands very obvious on the mattress. "Jake, meet Iblis. We met last night, when she just fell into my arms."
Jake was trying to take in the red hair, elven ears, and white fur all at the same time, but he finds himself drawn to the more feminine curves concealed by the towel. Iblis notices Jake's interest, and gives it back just as well as she takes it, visibly undressing him in her mind. Her tongue glides across her upper lip as she lowers the pistols.
"So Fixxy, is J-J bound by the same rules you are, or can I take him for a test drive?"
Despite his best efforts, a flash of red rises into Jake's face at Iblis' blunt manner.
"Sorry, Ibby-poo, but I have the same hands off policy."
"Ibby-poo?? Try again J-J, or would you prefer 'J-eunuch'?"
"Whatever you say Love-Bunny."
Iblis shrugs, and starts muttering to herself as she plugs herself into her deck. Jake internally questions whether she intended to stay in that towel all day but Fixx interrupts his musings. Fixx had gotten dressed during the
"Jake, I need you to babysit her for a day or so, while I set up a few things and contact our buyer. The room and food is being charged to a business account. Take her down to the gym of you want to work out, she looks the type. Oh and if you get a chance, see if you can patch her up. Lucretia did what she could, but I think Iblis is still a little torn up."
"Sure thing. I'll see what I can do, keep in touch."
Fixx smiles, claps Jake on the shoulder, unspoken messages pass between their eyes and he leaves. Jake sits down on the bed opposite Iblis' limp, wet form. Unfolding the towel with a less than clinical attitude, Jake looks to the places where Iblis' fur has become matted with the synth-skin. He breathes deeply and forces the mana streams into her body. It is a lot easier to weave than he expected--most deckers provide natural resistance to the mana but she seemed almost as whole as Jake himself.
His head pounding because he had pushed hard enough that he didn't hold anything back to protect him from the efforts of channeling the magic, Jake rewraps the elf's body. Assessing the clothing pile, or more accurately the stench coming off of the clothing pile he grabs the shirt, jeans and one boot. Jake pulls up the front desk service on the trid-directory. He requests some clothing to be purchased giving the necessary sizes and asks that it be delivered to the room. The concierge seems to take the request in stride and informs Jake that it will be ready in about 3 hours.
With the fresh clothing laid out on the bed next to Iblis, Jake sends the dumpster-diver chic down the garbage chute. Soon enough Iblis jacks out and she looks from her towel to the clothing to Jake.
"Thanks for patching me up, we'll call the show payment in full. Now unless you want to show me yours, give me some privacy to get dressed."
Nameless enters the shadows, and gets his name.
Wong Fei Hung sat silently in the parlor of the funeral home, staring blankly straight ahead. The past few days had been so surreal. Coming home from his teacher's house to find all hell had broken loose, it still seemed like a distant nightmare to him.
Firemen fighting frantically to put out the inferno that was consuming his home, police officers keeping the curious crowds back, medicos scrambling to take his family to the hospital. They were surprised, he knew, by him not fighting to see the bodies, by not fighting to be in the ambulance with them. There was no point. He had trained long and hard enough to know when someone was dead or alive.
Besides that, he had the gift. Scanning their auras, there was no spirit there. Their spirits had long since departed, hopefully to a better place. Riding with them would not accomplish anything. Besides, there was work to be done. He could, and would, grieve later.
Johnny Li sat down gently in the chair next to him. In his mid 40's, he still moved with a deadly calm and grace, filled with the threat of violence. Like a tiger, at any moment ready to pounce upon its prey. Not like Wong, who was like a breeze in the night, passing through and departing before anyone knew he was there. Despite the fact that they had been called to different Ways, Wong respected Johnny immensely and had learned much under his tutelage.
Awkwardly, Johnny ran a hand through his hair. He wasn't used to this. He took life, he did not care when it was taken. Death and life, just part of the endless cycle. But this is different he reminded himself. Glancing at the young man next to him, he knew it was different for both of them. One had lost his family. The other had lost only a friend.
The friend whose son now was alone in the world, except for me he reminded himself. Slowly, he began to speak. Looking straight ahead at the caskets along, he began, "I'm sorry about your loss. Your father...I knew him well. He was a good man. He will be missed. The rest of your family as well. Your mother...she was a rare one, she was. And your brothers and sisters...they died too young. I'm sorry."
He paused, waiting for a response. None came. "Listen, I'm going to talk to the bosses. I think it's time you took your test, joined us for real. You're ready now. Everyone knows it. It's what your father would have wanted. It's up to you to continue the family legacy, make him proud."
Still silence. Johnny was starting to get unnerved. Is he going to snap? Or is he in shock? Or is he just stone cold? Have we really succeeded that well?
"I'm not joining the Triads." Silence. "At least, not yet."
Standing, Wong drifted over to the caskets, gently running his fingers along their smooth real wood edges. He gave a thin smile. Rest in peace, my family. They stole our inheritance, they took your lives, they took our happiness. But soon, I will take back from them everything they took from us. And more. Real wood. It had taken nearly all the money he had, and then some, to buy and to pay for the funeral. His father was a popular man among the Triads though, and there had been no shortage of people willing to help him pay his last respects properly.
Continuing, "Confucius teaches us, 'A man cannot live under the same sky as his father's killer.'" Turning to look back at his teacher, he continued, "I am a killer. I would be a disgrace to my father, my heritage, my training, my teacher, and myself if I did not honor this principle."
Leaning back in his chair, Johnny looked easily at his student and said, "Revenge and the Triads are not mutually exclusive." With a smirk, he added, "Indeed, I might even say that they are mutually inclusive." Teacher and student exchanged a grim smile.
The moment of mirth passed, and Wong shook his head. "No. This is personal. I will not allow anyone else to take the responsibility, or the consequences, of my revenge."
"We're a family too kid. Maybe not the same kind, but where it counts, what's the difference? You know we've got your back against any and all of those Yak bastards."
Wong nods in affirmation, and appreciation. "I know. But that is precisely the point. If it was only my father, then perhaps, perhaps I could see that. He was a Triad, first and foremost. He was a Triad before he was a father, and he would be a Triad long after my passing, were he still alive. But this...this is different. I do not want people to say, 'It was the Triads who took revenge for this deed, the Triads who made the Yaks pay.'" He looks down for a moment. Thinking, choosing his next words carefully.
When he looks up, he stares directly into his teacher's eyes, his glare burning into the part of Johnny's soul where the warrior in him resides. "I want them to say that it was me who did it. I want them to say it was..." he pauses, the name coming to his lips even before it registers on his mind that it has replaced the name his parents gave him. "Nameless."
Taken briefly aback, Johnny raises an eyebrow. "Nameless? Where did that come from?"
Reflecting a moment, Nameless responds, "I don't know...it just...came out. It's...appropriate, I think. My family is dead. My name was a gift from them. I must return it intact. To that end, until I can make them proud, become a Triad, like I was born to be, I must not soil my name as one who was not loyal to the Triads. I will not be known as the son who did not work for them, who did not follow his father's footsteps and honor his father's wishes. I will not disgrace my family that way."
Nodding slowly, reflectively, he rolled the name around his mind. Nameless...yes, that is a good name. Until I can rejoin my path with my father's wishes, until I can become what he would have had me be...I must set my name aside, so I will not bring dishonor upon it. Until that time, I have no name. I have no identity. I am simply...nameless.
Johnny stared at him silently, observing, measuring, testing...Then with a smile, he stood up. "I think your father would be proud kid. I'm proud of you. Not many would choose to walk the road you're about to walk." He stops, the continues, "I don't mean to state the obvious, but you realize, if you do this, you won't be able to join the Triads for a while. It's one thing for us to take revenge. It's another thing for it to look like we're just protecting someone who took revenge against the Yaks on his own, you know what I'm saying?"
Nameless never breaks eye contact. "I know. I am prepared for that. I will have to walk in the shadows for a while. Let the heat die down. Let the memories fade. Then I can honor my family, and rejoin my brothers and sisters of the Triads."
Holding his gaze, Johnny bows deeply. "It is...an honor, to have you as my student. Your choices honor my teaching. I wish you luck in your quest. And while you cannot call on the Triads, never hesitate to call upon me."
Nameless returns the bow, his eyes locked upon his teacher's. "Thank you for your tutelage master. I will honor your teaching."
Johnny reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of mirrorshades. He slips them on, and turns and walks towards the door. "I have no doubt that you will..." pausing at the entrance, he looks back and smiles. "Nameless." Then he turns to go, leaving Nameless with a new name, a new life, and a new focus: revenge.
Wong Fei Hung sat silently in the parlor of the funeral home, staring blankly straight ahead. The past few days had been so surreal. Coming home from his teacher's house to find all hell had broken loose, it still seemed like a distant nightmare to him.
Firemen fighting frantically to put out the inferno that was consuming his home, police officers keeping the curious crowds back, medicos scrambling to take his family to the hospital. They were surprised, he knew, by him not fighting to see the bodies, by not fighting to be in the ambulance with them. There was no point. He had trained long and hard enough to know when someone was dead or alive.
Besides that, he had the gift. Scanning their auras, there was no spirit there. Their spirits had long since departed, hopefully to a better place. Riding with them would not accomplish anything. Besides, there was work to be done. He could, and would, grieve later.
Johnny Li sat down gently in the chair next to him. In his mid 40's, he still moved with a deadly calm and grace, filled with the threat of violence. Like a tiger, at any moment ready to pounce upon its prey. Not like Wong, who was like a breeze in the night, passing through and departing before anyone knew he was there. Despite the fact that they had been called to different Ways, Wong respected Johnny immensely and had learned much under his tutelage.
Awkwardly, Johnny ran a hand through his hair. He wasn't used to this. He took life, he did not care when it was taken. Death and life, just part of the endless cycle. But this is different he reminded himself. Glancing at the young man next to him, he knew it was different for both of them. One had lost his family. The other had lost only a friend.
The friend whose son now was alone in the world, except for me he reminded himself. Slowly, he began to speak. Looking straight ahead at the caskets along, he began, "I'm sorry about your loss. Your father...I knew him well. He was a good man. He will be missed. The rest of your family as well. Your mother...she was a rare one, she was. And your brothers and sisters...they died too young. I'm sorry."
He paused, waiting for a response. None came. "Listen, I'm going to talk to the bosses. I think it's time you took your test, joined us for real. You're ready now. Everyone knows it. It's what your father would have wanted. It's up to you to continue the family legacy, make him proud."
Still silence. Johnny was starting to get unnerved. Is he going to snap? Or is he in shock? Or is he just stone cold? Have we really succeeded that well?
"I'm not joining the Triads." Silence. "At least, not yet."
Standing, Wong drifted over to the caskets, gently running his fingers along their smooth real wood edges. He gave a thin smile. Rest in peace, my family. They stole our inheritance, they took your lives, they took our happiness. But soon, I will take back from them everything they took from us. And more. Real wood. It had taken nearly all the money he had, and then some, to buy and to pay for the funeral. His father was a popular man among the Triads though, and there had been no shortage of people willing to help him pay his last respects properly.
Continuing, "Confucius teaches us, 'A man cannot live under the same sky as his father's killer.'" Turning to look back at his teacher, he continued, "I am a killer. I would be a disgrace to my father, my heritage, my training, my teacher, and myself if I did not honor this principle."
Leaning back in his chair, Johnny looked easily at his student and said, "Revenge and the Triads are not mutually exclusive." With a smirk, he added, "Indeed, I might even say that they are mutually inclusive." Teacher and student exchanged a grim smile.
The moment of mirth passed, and Wong shook his head. "No. This is personal. I will not allow anyone else to take the responsibility, or the consequences, of my revenge."
"We're a family too kid. Maybe not the same kind, but where it counts, what's the difference? You know we've got your back against any and all of those Yak bastards."
Wong nods in affirmation, and appreciation. "I know. But that is precisely the point. If it was only my father, then perhaps, perhaps I could see that. He was a Triad, first and foremost. He was a Triad before he was a father, and he would be a Triad long after my passing, were he still alive. But this...this is different. I do not want people to say, 'It was the Triads who took revenge for this deed, the Triads who made the Yaks pay.'" He looks down for a moment. Thinking, choosing his next words carefully.
When he looks up, he stares directly into his teacher's eyes, his glare burning into the part of Johnny's soul where the warrior in him resides. "I want them to say that it was me who did it. I want them to say it was..." he pauses, the name coming to his lips even before it registers on his mind that it has replaced the name his parents gave him. "Nameless."
Taken briefly aback, Johnny raises an eyebrow. "Nameless? Where did that come from?"
Reflecting a moment, Nameless responds, "I don't know...it just...came out. It's...appropriate, I think. My family is dead. My name was a gift from them. I must return it intact. To that end, until I can make them proud, become a Triad, like I was born to be, I must not soil my name as one who was not loyal to the Triads. I will not be known as the son who did not work for them, who did not follow his father's footsteps and honor his father's wishes. I will not disgrace my family that way."
Nodding slowly, reflectively, he rolled the name around his mind. Nameless...yes, that is a good name. Until I can rejoin my path with my father's wishes, until I can become what he would have had me be...I must set my name aside, so I will not bring dishonor upon it. Until that time, I have no name. I have no identity. I am simply...nameless.
Johnny stared at him silently, observing, measuring, testing...Then with a smile, he stood up. "I think your father would be proud kid. I'm proud of you. Not many would choose to walk the road you're about to walk." He stops, the continues, "I don't mean to state the obvious, but you realize, if you do this, you won't be able to join the Triads for a while. It's one thing for us to take revenge. It's another thing for it to look like we're just protecting someone who took revenge against the Yaks on his own, you know what I'm saying?"
Nameless never breaks eye contact. "I know. I am prepared for that. I will have to walk in the shadows for a while. Let the heat die down. Let the memories fade. Then I can honor my family, and rejoin my brothers and sisters of the Triads."
Holding his gaze, Johnny bows deeply. "It is...an honor, to have you as my student. Your choices honor my teaching. I wish you luck in your quest. And while you cannot call on the Triads, never hesitate to call upon me."
Nameless returns the bow, his eyes locked upon his teacher's. "Thank you for your tutelage master. I will honor your teaching."
Johnny reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of mirrorshades. He slips them on, and turns and walks towards the door. "I have no doubt that you will..." pausing at the entrance, he looks back and smiles. "Nameless." Then he turns to go, leaving Nameless with a new name, a new life, and a new focus: revenge.
Iblis walks into her workroom, the disco ball springs into life and the theme song starts.
"She's the greatest!! She's fantastic!! She the the world's best Action Decker!!"
With a flip of a small switch the music dies down as she flops into a inflatable neon green chair. She struggles out of her backpack and digs into the main compartment. Her face lights up as she pulls out 4 certified credsticks. Ok boys, you are going to make my life better. She reaches over to a rhinestone covered vid phone, hitting a button to switch it on. "Fixx" The phone begins to make the connections. Word on the street was that Fixx was starting to work as a fixer, time to see if he was any good. Jake's face pops into the screen, looking dishoveled and sleepy. Damn, that's right not everyone lives the glamorous life." She plasters a sweet simpering smile on her face and revs up her 100 watt smile. "Hi J-J, sorry of the early call but I have 800,000
thats burning a hole in my pocket."
Jake shakes his head and runs his hand through the mop of hair and seems to gather his wits. "I'm sure Fixx can help you out but he's out on club business so give me the list and I'll see what we can do." He reaches off a screen, to the floor, giving a breath taking view of his back and shoulders. Fixx is a lucky man. He comes back into view with a pocket sec. "Ready."
Iblis stands and begins to pace. "I'll need two hefty guys with a thing for launch weapons. I want them to be able to pop a moving target, say the size of a large van, from about 6 or so blocks away. Minimum pay but they get to keep the rockets, which by the way I need about 10 for each of them, they don't use. They're insurance." Jake's eyebrows crawl their way up his face. "What are you doing, taking out a small crime family?"
Her face goes electric. "Better than that, baby! Momma needs a new deck and I am not settling for any blue-light special job pried from some loser matrix geek's cold corpse. I'm getting me a Fairlight Excalibur!" Her body sings with tension. "I sold some mid-level piece of drek deck to fund this brainstorm. I am going to become a DECKING GODDESS!!" She finishes with a laugh and hand clapping.
"I see........start small, good idea." Jake's sarcasm seems to roll off of her furry skin. Iblis gives him a wink. "Now I need more......I will need a rigger, someone with a chopper and a boat. When I say boat I mean the kind that travel over oceans very fast. I need the chopper to be able to look like a Doc Wagon High Response Threat thingie, that's vital. That's the big stuff I need from my two favorite Man on Man boys." She smiles with all her teeth showing.
"I'll pass it on and get back to you." Jake finishes writing down the last of her 'shopping list'.
She reaches over to the vid unit to flick it off. "Love ya. Mean it." The screen goes dead.
"She's the greatest!! She's fantastic!! She the the world's best Action Decker!!"
With a flip of a small switch the music dies down as she flops into a inflatable neon green chair. She struggles out of her backpack and digs into the main compartment. Her face lights up as she pulls out 4 certified credsticks. Ok boys, you are going to make my life better. She reaches over to a rhinestone covered vid phone, hitting a button to switch it on. "Fixx" The phone begins to make the connections. Word on the street was that Fixx was starting to work as a fixer, time to see if he was any good. Jake's face pops into the screen, looking dishoveled and sleepy. Damn, that's right not everyone lives the glamorous life." She plasters a sweet simpering smile on her face and revs up her 100 watt smile. "Hi J-J, sorry of the early call but I have 800,000
thats burning a hole in my pocket."Jake shakes his head and runs his hand through the mop of hair and seems to gather his wits. "I'm sure Fixx can help you out but he's out on club business so give me the list and I'll see what we can do." He reaches off a screen, to the floor, giving a breath taking view of his back and shoulders. Fixx is a lucky man. He comes back into view with a pocket sec. "Ready."
Iblis stands and begins to pace. "I'll need two hefty guys with a thing for launch weapons. I want them to be able to pop a moving target, say the size of a large van, from about 6 or so blocks away. Minimum pay but they get to keep the rockets, which by the way I need about 10 for each of them, they don't use. They're insurance." Jake's eyebrows crawl their way up his face. "What are you doing, taking out a small crime family?"
Her face goes electric. "Better than that, baby! Momma needs a new deck and I am not settling for any blue-light special job pried from some loser matrix geek's cold corpse. I'm getting me a Fairlight Excalibur!" Her body sings with tension. "I sold some mid-level piece of drek deck to fund this brainstorm. I am going to become a DECKING GODDESS!!" She finishes with a laugh and hand clapping.
"I see........start small, good idea." Jake's sarcasm seems to roll off of her furry skin. Iblis gives him a wink. "Now I need more......I will need a rigger, someone with a chopper and a boat. When I say boat I mean the kind that travel over oceans very fast. I need the chopper to be able to look like a Doc Wagon High Response Threat thingie, that's vital. That's the big stuff I need from my two favorite Man on Man boys." She smiles with all her teeth showing.
"I'll pass it on and get back to you." Jake finishes writing down the last of her 'shopping list'.
She reaches over to the vid unit to flick it off. "Love ya. Mean it." The screen goes dead.
>Alright folks, the Fairlight Massacre has been all the buzz recently, with people taking sides for and against. Here are all the news reports that came out of Seattle, I omitted the extraneous reports that were simply quoting these earlier ones. None of ours has yet stepped up to claim the credit with any substantial proof, which I will let you decide the valor thereof.
>Captain Chaos
Transmitted: 29 November 2062 at 07:19:38 (EST)
Just after 0200 this morning, pacific standard time, Lonestar Response teams were sent to the aid of Fairlight security staff and technicians at their primary shipping center in Bellevue. Lonestar affirms that their forces were overcome before being able to report back. "We were able to secure a perimeter in less than sixty seconds and establish a control center near the compound. Luckily, several High Threat Response teams were in the area and responded to the call in less than thirty seconds."
>Yeah, from what I hear they got there so fast, they hadn't been able to establish the fact that the team before them hadn't yet responded. A factor which contributed to the inevitable result.
>Johnny Demonic
Lonestar has not yet revealed an accurate account of how many officers were injured or killed in what can only be described as a massacre. Surveillance drones do report at least twenty armored vehicles destroyed, many of which would seem to match those of High Threat Response teams.
>What do you call a hundred dead Lonestar officers? A good start.
>PapaSmurf
>If internal reports are accurate, nearly a hundred officers died at the scene with several more injured. The loss of property is also in the hundreds of thousands. I don't think this is a good start, more like a declaration of war from our community--Now Lonestar will have the excuse they need to push beyond the extra-territoriality that some of us have hidden behind in the past.
>Kelly-5@NA/UCAS-MW.heartland.org
When asked how these "Shadowrunners" as they call themselves, managed to escape, Lonestar declined comment. Dispatch logs confirm that a helicopter bearing the color scheme and a transponder matching DocWagon was permitted to enter the airspace around the Fairlight building in order to airlift out contracted individuals. Lonestar forces did pursue the helicopter which did not go to a DocWagon certified hospital but instead headed for the Tacoma docks. Lonestar forces gave pursuit until the boundaries of their jurisdiction and deny any claims that they crossed territorial lines.
--Seattle Post Reporting. Jennifer Coulter, Investigative Writer.
>Part two.
>Captain Chaos
A week after the events now dubbed the "Fairlight Massacre," Lonestar has issued a report listing 96 officers dead and 15 wounded. This report was coupled with composite drawings of the perpetrators. The Lonestar Officers Association has offered a 300,000 bounty on Erzulie Tellanti, a known hacker whose presence has been confirmed at the scene.
>I'm unconvinced as to the legitimacy of these drawings. Surely all of them were wearing helmets, the best the Lonestar mage could have done is to press through the material and examine up close each person. That may account for why these drawings are impressionistic at best.
>ArtCritic790
>Captain Chaos
Transmitted: 29 November 2062 at 07:19:38 (EST)
Just after 0200 this morning, pacific standard time, Lonestar Response teams were sent to the aid of Fairlight security staff and technicians at their primary shipping center in Bellevue. Lonestar affirms that their forces were overcome before being able to report back. "We were able to secure a perimeter in less than sixty seconds and establish a control center near the compound. Luckily, several High Threat Response teams were in the area and responded to the call in less than thirty seconds."
>Yeah, from what I hear they got there so fast, they hadn't been able to establish the fact that the team before them hadn't yet responded. A factor which contributed to the inevitable result.
>Johnny Demonic
Lonestar has not yet revealed an accurate account of how many officers were injured or killed in what can only be described as a massacre. Surveillance drones do report at least twenty armored vehicles destroyed, many of which would seem to match those of High Threat Response teams.
>What do you call a hundred dead Lonestar officers? A good start.
>PapaSmurf
>If internal reports are accurate, nearly a hundred officers died at the scene with several more injured. The loss of property is also in the hundreds of thousands. I don't think this is a good start, more like a declaration of war from our community--Now Lonestar will have the excuse they need to push beyond the extra-territoriality that some of us have hidden behind in the past.
>Kelly-5@NA/UCAS-MW.heartland.org
When asked how these "Shadowrunners" as they call themselves, managed to escape, Lonestar declined comment. Dispatch logs confirm that a helicopter bearing the color scheme and a transponder matching DocWagon was permitted to enter the airspace around the Fairlight building in order to airlift out contracted individuals. Lonestar forces did pursue the helicopter which did not go to a DocWagon certified hospital but instead headed for the Tacoma docks. Lonestar forces gave pursuit until the boundaries of their jurisdiction and deny any claims that they crossed territorial lines.
--Seattle Post Reporting. Jennifer Coulter, Investigative Writer.
>Part two.
>Captain Chaos
A week after the events now dubbed the "Fairlight Massacre," Lonestar has issued a report listing 96 officers dead and 15 wounded. This report was coupled with composite drawings of the perpetrators. The Lonestar Officers Association has offered a 300,000
bounty on Erzulie Tellanti, a known hacker whose presence has been confirmed at the scene.>I'm unconvinced as to the legitimacy of these drawings. Surely all of them were wearing helmets, the best the Lonestar mage could have done is to press through the material and examine up close each person. That may account for why these drawings are impressionistic at best.
>ArtCritic790
The Story of Steel Lotus
Chapter One: Steel Lotus Awakens, And Finds The World Has Changed
Spring hears no pleadings
The thaw snaps and breaks the ice
Forced awakening.
Where am I?
Pain exploded through Steel’s head, and she tried to scream but found herself paralyzed. All that came out was a rough gasp as she forced air out of her lungs, past her numb lips. She couldn’t see anything, a bright light above her, but she could hear movement. There were people in the room.
Mutterings rose around her, familiar syllables that carried no meaning. She was flat on her back, stripped naked, and there was a queer pressure behind one eye. She tried to move her fingers but nothing happened. She could feel her body, but in a distant, remote way. As if it were a machine built around her, not something that belonged to her at all.
She tried to say something – anything – help me! Her lips moved just slightly, and the jabberings around her sped up. She felt like she should know what they were saying, but the words meant nothing to her. The light swung as a shadow moved across her vision, a person, his shoulder bumping the bright light that shone down on her and making it spin crazily away, shuddering shadows dancing jerkily over the walls and floor and Steel’s body.
Her vision stayed white for long moments as she tried to blink away the afterimage. The pain in her head was sharp and grinding, and she was peripherally aware of a needle sliding into the side of her neck. Just before she went under again, her sight returned, and she knew what the pressure behind her eye was. There was a steel brace wrapped around her head, her forehead had been carved open, and long, thin rods were sliding into her brain. She tried to scream once more and then the drugs hit her and she was out.
Where am I?
The pain was gone, but the lassitude remained. She blinked her eyes slowly open and saw men watching her, narrow eyes and broad faces. She focused on the one closest to her, a Korean man wearing a white shirt, sleeves rolled up and collar unbuttoned. She could see the red tail of a tattooed dragon coiling around his forearm, the scaled monster’s single green eye winking at her from his chest. They said something and turned, walking away. “Wait,” Steel croaked, trying to sit up. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she twisted onto her side, grabbing her head. A visceral, bloody memory hit her, needles in her skull, the sight of her limbs sliced open, skin peeled back to reveal the crimson muscles beneath. She gasped, rocking herself, fighting it off.
When she finally sat up, the men were gone.
She climbed clumsily off the table, feeling slowed and stupid. She was dressed, her black leather pants clinging to her tightly, her blue silk blouse as she remembered it. “What the hell is going on,” she muttered to herself, looking around the room. It was all but empty, a few cracked plastic counters, a steel table, a light on a pivoting arm. On the counter sat her duffle bag, and she could see her katanas lying beside it.
Everything was more manageable when you were armed. Steel strapped the katanas on her back, feeling more in control with the slim steel blades in easy reach. Her holster was in the bag, as were the Ingrams she slid into it, at her sides. She popped the clips, found them healthy, and slammed them back in.
The duffel bag held all her stuff, plus a few small, thumbnail-sized discs. I don’t remember getting these. I don’t even have a chipjack.
She touched her head, and her fingers trembled over the metal slot behind her ear. For a brief moment, her mouth quivered, then she set her jaw and dropped her hand.
There was only one door and Steel drew her left friendly before kicking it open. A disused waiting room was all that was beyond it, that and the door out. She holstered the Ingram again and walked to the front door. It had had a glass panel in it once, now broken, and through the empty square she could see a neon street and her Blitzen, parked at the kerb. She pushed through the door and walked outside.
Cold air made her skin prickle, and she was glad for her duster. It was chilly for June. The moon and stars were invisible, drowned out in a sea of blinking electric blue and sizzling red. Steel ran a hand through her hair and walked towards her bike.
“Hey chickie.” She turned her head slowly, almond eyes narrowing, at the call. Three gangers were sprawled on the steps of a crumbling tenament, grinning at her. They wore bright orange jackets with black markings. Hallowe’eners. Their heads were shaved, their eyes were metallic, and they clutched chains and rusty knives and were getting to their feet.
Steel stared in disbelief as they squared their shoulders, moving towards her in a purposeful manner. I don’t know what’s going on here, but they’re crazy if they think they can tangle with the Yakuza. Their leader sneered at her and said, “Nice bike.”
“Get jacked, pumpkinhead,” she said bluntly. “I don’t have time to play right now.”
Maybe it was her pallid, strained face, or the clumsy way she still moved, but they just chuckled at her bravado. “I said I like your bike. Hand it over and maybe we won’t kill you once we’re done playing with you.”
The Ingram was in her hand in the time it took her to blink her lashes at the ganger. Her smartlink leaped into her mind, the gun becoming part of her, just an extension of her arm. Her eyes whirred, pupils dilating and spiralling as she locked on to the the pumpkinhead in the back, the one with the knife, and she thought fire and drilled him twice in the chest. He squealed as blood spurted out of the holes in his jacket, falling back.
The leader roared, whipping his chain around and sprinting for her. Steel tossed the Ingram into her holster and drew her katanas, green numbers in the corner of her vision spiralling down the distance between her and the Hallowe’ener as he ran towards her. When the number hit 1.55m she stepped forward and whipped the katanas around, crossing them in an X and snipping off the ganger’s head as easily as if she were wielding scissors.
His body continued to run and she stepped easily to the side, letting the meat flounder for several steps before it crashed to the ground. The last ganger was already halfway down the block and picking up speed. Steel watched him go with contempt.
He’s lucky. If any of them had actually done any damage to me, I’d have the family hunt him down and reprimand him.
The saddle of the Blitzen cradled her comfortably, and the purring engine soothed her. She kicked off and the engine went from purr to roar as she blasted down the Seattle streets. She was still confused, disoriented, but calmer now. She would get home, she would make some calls. The family would be outraged at what was done to her. They would help her get revenge.
She pulled into the shadowed garage of her condo complex. She left the Blitzen stabled in her parking space and strode into her building, fingers darting over the entry keypad. She got up to the third floor, and was walking down the hallway when she saw someone waiting by her door.
She blinked. The man was about her height, perhaps slightly taller, familiar, friendly features and shrewd dark eyes. “Wong?” she said, “What are you doing here?”
He grimaced. “Nameless.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, and bowed. He returned the gesture. “Nameless, I’m pleased to see you. Is this Triad business? Because if it’s not, it’s a really bad time for me, something strange is…going…on…”
She trailed off at the look of immense sorrow on Nameless’ face. A sudden chill crawled down her spine and settled in the pit of her stomach. “Nameless? What’s going on?”
“You’re not safe here,” he said gently, “The family has placed a contract on you. I’m sorry, Shin, but your life now has a price on it.”
On the street, back in school, they’d spoken in fast words, street slang and English shortcuts. Their conversations were rapid, short, sharp exchanges. Steel spoke no Chinese, and as far as she knew, Nameless knew no Japanese. English was their bridge, and they used it the way it was meant to be used, a halfway, lopsided, irreverent tongue, lacking the grace and formality of their native languages. Nameless’ long words, now, his lack of contractions, the slow, measured pace of his tone terrified her. It was as if he was trying to speak Japanese with English words.
But they made no sense to her. “What do you mean? Why does the Triad want me dead?”
“Not the Triad. The Yakuza.”
She felt the floor tilt beneath her, and placed a hand on the wall to steady herself. “The Yakuza are my family. They would never do such a thing. You’re confused, Wong.”
“You’re the one who is confused. Did you really think the Yakuza would look the other way when you so publicly flouted them?”
“You’re not making any sense!” she cried in frustration. “What is it I did that has caused my family to turn their backs on me?”
He gave her an odd look. “Why are you making me say this? You know what you did, Steel. You murdered the head of the Mitsuhama corporation, a very wealthy and influential man who has helped the Yakuza for a long time. They needed him, and you killed him.”
“I killed no one,” she whispered, “Nameless, something is very wrong. My head – I have a chipjack, I never had one before. I woke up on a table, I can’t remember…I was on my bike, going somewhere…” She gripped her head and let out a moan. “Let’s go inside. We can’t talk about this in the hall.”
He stood quietly as she fumbled with the door, her hands shaking. This is all some horrible mistake. Or a dream. It must be a dream. The door opened and they stepped inside. Steel flipped on the light.
Her apartment had been turned upside-down. Carpets had been pulled back from the floor, the cushions of her couch had been slashed, paintings ripped from the walls and cut out of their frames. Dust lay heavily on the overturned coffee table and the shelves on the wall. Steel gaped at the destruction.
Behind her, Nameless shut the door softly. “I knew you’d come back someday. The street has been whispering that your arrival was imminent. I’ve been coming by now and then, hoping to catch you.”
She tried several times to get the words out. “Screamsheet.”
“What?”
“Screamsheet. Do you have one? Today’s. I need to see today’s screamsheet.”
He pulled the folded bit of plastic out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. She spread it quickly out before her, her dark eyes darting to the corner. Her face turned white, she stumbled, she would have fallen if Nameless had not caught her.
“September fourteenth,” she whispered as he sank to his knees, settling her on the ground, “September. September. Nameless, it’s June.”
He was quiet. There was nothing to say. She closed her eyes and sat still for long moments, breathing softly. She opened her eyes. “It’s June. It was. I remember. And then nothing, but the men, and the table.”
“What did they do to you, Steel?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice strangled. “I don’t know. I have a chipjack…and chips!” She fumbled in her bag. “Maybe they can tell me…”
She slid the disk in easily, as if her fingers remembered doing so before. She twitched slightly and said something unintelligable. “She’s waking up.”
“What?”
“She’s waking up. That’s what they said. In Korean. I can speak Korean.”
She took out the chip and replaced it with the next. “Lonestar procedures.”
And the last. She trembled, pressing her lips together. She lowered her eyes, and Nameless said, “What is it?”
“Blueprints. The Mitsuhama building downtown. Oh, God, Wong.”
She covered her face with her hands, and he sat quietly with her. There was nothing else to do. After some time, she uncovered her face. “They have taken everything from me. My reputation, my family, and, if the Yakuza catch me, my life.”
Nameless gave her a smile. “You’ve got me, girl. Do you have somewhere to go?”
She smiled back at him, grateful. “I think so. I won’t tell you where, just yet, in case they look for you. But I have your number. I’ll call you soon.”
He nodded and stood up. “I know you’ll be careful. When you get on your feet, we’ll figure something out. There’s gotta be a way to get whoever did this – whatever it is – to you.”
She stood and bowed again. He returned the bow and turned to go. “Nameless.” He stopped, and she reached out and took his hand. “Thank you.”
He squeezed her hand with a smile, and he was gone. She packed a bag quickly, clothes and personal items. Only one place I can think of to go. With a final look at her home, she turned the lights out and walked back down to where the Blitzen waited patiently. Soon she was on her bike again, roaring off down the highway, the lights of Seattle blotting out the stars.
Chapter One: Steel Lotus Awakens, And Finds The World Has Changed
Spring hears no pleadings
The thaw snaps and breaks the ice
Forced awakening.
Where am I?
Pain exploded through Steel’s head, and she tried to scream but found herself paralyzed. All that came out was a rough gasp as she forced air out of her lungs, past her numb lips. She couldn’t see anything, a bright light above her, but she could hear movement. There were people in the room.
Mutterings rose around her, familiar syllables that carried no meaning. She was flat on her back, stripped naked, and there was a queer pressure behind one eye. She tried to move her fingers but nothing happened. She could feel her body, but in a distant, remote way. As if it were a machine built around her, not something that belonged to her at all.
She tried to say something – anything – help me! Her lips moved just slightly, and the jabberings around her sped up. She felt like she should know what they were saying, but the words meant nothing to her. The light swung as a shadow moved across her vision, a person, his shoulder bumping the bright light that shone down on her and making it spin crazily away, shuddering shadows dancing jerkily over the walls and floor and Steel’s body.
Her vision stayed white for long moments as she tried to blink away the afterimage. The pain in her head was sharp and grinding, and she was peripherally aware of a needle sliding into the side of her neck. Just before she went under again, her sight returned, and she knew what the pressure behind her eye was. There was a steel brace wrapped around her head, her forehead had been carved open, and long, thin rods were sliding into her brain. She tried to scream once more and then the drugs hit her and she was out.
Where am I?
The pain was gone, but the lassitude remained. She blinked her eyes slowly open and saw men watching her, narrow eyes and broad faces. She focused on the one closest to her, a Korean man wearing a white shirt, sleeves rolled up and collar unbuttoned. She could see the red tail of a tattooed dragon coiling around his forearm, the scaled monster’s single green eye winking at her from his chest. They said something and turned, walking away. “Wait,” Steel croaked, trying to sit up. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she twisted onto her side, grabbing her head. A visceral, bloody memory hit her, needles in her skull, the sight of her limbs sliced open, skin peeled back to reveal the crimson muscles beneath. She gasped, rocking herself, fighting it off.
When she finally sat up, the men were gone.
She climbed clumsily off the table, feeling slowed and stupid. She was dressed, her black leather pants clinging to her tightly, her blue silk blouse as she remembered it. “What the hell is going on,” she muttered to herself, looking around the room. It was all but empty, a few cracked plastic counters, a steel table, a light on a pivoting arm. On the counter sat her duffle bag, and she could see her katanas lying beside it.
Everything was more manageable when you were armed. Steel strapped the katanas on her back, feeling more in control with the slim steel blades in easy reach. Her holster was in the bag, as were the Ingrams she slid into it, at her sides. She popped the clips, found them healthy, and slammed them back in.
The duffel bag held all her stuff, plus a few small, thumbnail-sized discs. I don’t remember getting these. I don’t even have a chipjack.
She touched her head, and her fingers trembled over the metal slot behind her ear. For a brief moment, her mouth quivered, then she set her jaw and dropped her hand.
There was only one door and Steel drew her left friendly before kicking it open. A disused waiting room was all that was beyond it, that and the door out. She holstered the Ingram again and walked to the front door. It had had a glass panel in it once, now broken, and through the empty square she could see a neon street and her Blitzen, parked at the kerb. She pushed through the door and walked outside.
Cold air made her skin prickle, and she was glad for her duster. It was chilly for June. The moon and stars were invisible, drowned out in a sea of blinking electric blue and sizzling red. Steel ran a hand through her hair and walked towards her bike.
“Hey chickie.” She turned her head slowly, almond eyes narrowing, at the call. Three gangers were sprawled on the steps of a crumbling tenament, grinning at her. They wore bright orange jackets with black markings. Hallowe’eners. Their heads were shaved, their eyes were metallic, and they clutched chains and rusty knives and were getting to their feet.
Steel stared in disbelief as they squared their shoulders, moving towards her in a purposeful manner. I don’t know what’s going on here, but they’re crazy if they think they can tangle with the Yakuza. Their leader sneered at her and said, “Nice bike.”
“Get jacked, pumpkinhead,” she said bluntly. “I don’t have time to play right now.”
Maybe it was her pallid, strained face, or the clumsy way she still moved, but they just chuckled at her bravado. “I said I like your bike. Hand it over and maybe we won’t kill you once we’re done playing with you.”
The Ingram was in her hand in the time it took her to blink her lashes at the ganger. Her smartlink leaped into her mind, the gun becoming part of her, just an extension of her arm. Her eyes whirred, pupils dilating and spiralling as she locked on to the the pumpkinhead in the back, the one with the knife, and she thought fire and drilled him twice in the chest. He squealed as blood spurted out of the holes in his jacket, falling back.
The leader roared, whipping his chain around and sprinting for her. Steel tossed the Ingram into her holster and drew her katanas, green numbers in the corner of her vision spiralling down the distance between her and the Hallowe’ener as he ran towards her. When the number hit 1.55m she stepped forward and whipped the katanas around, crossing them in an X and snipping off the ganger’s head as easily as if she were wielding scissors.
His body continued to run and she stepped easily to the side, letting the meat flounder for several steps before it crashed to the ground. The last ganger was already halfway down the block and picking up speed. Steel watched him go with contempt.
He’s lucky. If any of them had actually done any damage to me, I’d have the family hunt him down and reprimand him.
The saddle of the Blitzen cradled her comfortably, and the purring engine soothed her. She kicked off and the engine went from purr to roar as she blasted down the Seattle streets. She was still confused, disoriented, but calmer now. She would get home, she would make some calls. The family would be outraged at what was done to her. They would help her get revenge.
She pulled into the shadowed garage of her condo complex. She left the Blitzen stabled in her parking space and strode into her building, fingers darting over the entry keypad. She got up to the third floor, and was walking down the hallway when she saw someone waiting by her door.
She blinked. The man was about her height, perhaps slightly taller, familiar, friendly features and shrewd dark eyes. “Wong?” she said, “What are you doing here?”
He grimaced. “Nameless.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized, and bowed. He returned the gesture. “Nameless, I’m pleased to see you. Is this Triad business? Because if it’s not, it’s a really bad time for me, something strange is…going…on…”
She trailed off at the look of immense sorrow on Nameless’ face. A sudden chill crawled down her spine and settled in the pit of her stomach. “Nameless? What’s going on?”
“You’re not safe here,” he said gently, “The family has placed a contract on you. I’m sorry, Shin, but your life now has a price on it.”
On the street, back in school, they’d spoken in fast words, street slang and English shortcuts. Their conversations were rapid, short, sharp exchanges. Steel spoke no Chinese, and as far as she knew, Nameless knew no Japanese. English was their bridge, and they used it the way it was meant to be used, a halfway, lopsided, irreverent tongue, lacking the grace and formality of their native languages. Nameless’ long words, now, his lack of contractions, the slow, measured pace of his tone terrified her. It was as if he was trying to speak Japanese with English words.
But they made no sense to her. “What do you mean? Why does the Triad want me dead?”
“Not the Triad. The Yakuza.”
She felt the floor tilt beneath her, and placed a hand on the wall to steady herself. “The Yakuza are my family. They would never do such a thing. You’re confused, Wong.”
“You’re the one who is confused. Did you really think the Yakuza would look the other way when you so publicly flouted them?”
“You’re not making any sense!” she cried in frustration. “What is it I did that has caused my family to turn their backs on me?”
He gave her an odd look. “Why are you making me say this? You know what you did, Steel. You murdered the head of the Mitsuhama corporation, a very wealthy and influential man who has helped the Yakuza for a long time. They needed him, and you killed him.”
“I killed no one,” she whispered, “Nameless, something is very wrong. My head – I have a chipjack, I never had one before. I woke up on a table, I can’t remember…I was on my bike, going somewhere…” She gripped her head and let out a moan. “Let’s go inside. We can’t talk about this in the hall.”
He stood quietly as she fumbled with the door, her hands shaking. This is all some horrible mistake. Or a dream. It must be a dream. The door opened and they stepped inside. Steel flipped on the light.
Her apartment had been turned upside-down. Carpets had been pulled back from the floor, the cushions of her couch had been slashed, paintings ripped from the walls and cut out of their frames. Dust lay heavily on the overturned coffee table and the shelves on the wall. Steel gaped at the destruction.
Behind her, Nameless shut the door softly. “I knew you’d come back someday. The street has been whispering that your arrival was imminent. I’ve been coming by now and then, hoping to catch you.”
She tried several times to get the words out. “Screamsheet.”
“What?”
“Screamsheet. Do you have one? Today’s. I need to see today’s screamsheet.”
He pulled the folded bit of plastic out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. She spread it quickly out before her, her dark eyes darting to the corner. Her face turned white, she stumbled, she would have fallen if Nameless had not caught her.
“September fourteenth,” she whispered as he sank to his knees, settling her on the ground, “September. September. Nameless, it’s June.”
He was quiet. There was nothing to say. She closed her eyes and sat still for long moments, breathing softly. She opened her eyes. “It’s June. It was. I remember. And then nothing, but the men, and the table.”
“What did they do to you, Steel?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice strangled. “I don’t know. I have a chipjack…and chips!” She fumbled in her bag. “Maybe they can tell me…”
She slid the disk in easily, as if her fingers remembered doing so before. She twitched slightly and said something unintelligable. “She’s waking up.”
“What?”
“She’s waking up. That’s what they said. In Korean. I can speak Korean.”
She took out the chip and replaced it with the next. “Lonestar procedures.”
And the last. She trembled, pressing her lips together. She lowered her eyes, and Nameless said, “What is it?”
“Blueprints. The Mitsuhama building downtown. Oh, God, Wong.”
She covered her face with her hands, and he sat quietly with her. There was nothing else to do. After some time, she uncovered her face. “They have taken everything from me. My reputation, my family, and, if the Yakuza catch me, my life.”
Nameless gave her a smile. “You’ve got me, girl. Do you have somewhere to go?”
She smiled back at him, grateful. “I think so. I won’t tell you where, just yet, in case they look for you. But I have your number. I’ll call you soon.”
He nodded and stood up. “I know you’ll be careful. When you get on your feet, we’ll figure something out. There’s gotta be a way to get whoever did this – whatever it is – to you.”
She stood and bowed again. He returned the bow and turned to go. “Nameless.” He stopped, and she reached out and took his hand. “Thank you.”
He squeezed her hand with a smile, and he was gone. She packed a bag quickly, clothes and personal items. Only one place I can think of to go. With a final look at her home, she turned the lights out and walked back down to where the Blitzen waited patiently. Soon she was on her bike again, roaring off down the highway, the lights of Seattle blotting out the stars.
The avalanche has already begun...........
It¹s the sweltering morning of December 17 when you receive a communiqué from Seattle. Fixx is clearly evident in the trid screen, resting leisurely in a dark suit. "Well my friends, it's done. As far as I could tell, Lonestar was only able to implicate one person by name to the crimes, the other three of you that I could actually make out might be involved just because you vanished from Seattle at the same time the run went down have also been cleared of any possible shadow of suspicion. Miss Devine your picture didn't do you justice and I am told that a young suitor, one Mr. Trace, talked to the detective that came by in your absence. Ms. Xhalax I'm told that the composite drawing resembled a pre-pubescent male crack-addict, you don't quite look the part. "
Iblis squirmed as the waves of tension came off the team, well at least what was left from the run. The muscled rocket Twins had cacked but hey, they were bought to be disposable.
"But to make a long story short, you may now come home. I was given a few personal messages before the final details of our business are covered. "
Fixx seems to look down at a pocket sec and begins to read aloud.
"Hafiz, your presence is requested with all due speed to the home of your sponsor. "
"Temple, a voice on the Wind said something about you needing to talk before you go to dance with an old flame, I presume your ex is looking for you."
"Lucretia, "Hi, I'm new in town. Which way is it to your house?" Does that work any better than the last one? "
"Jason, your employer wishes you to return to work immediately."
With the list completed he once again looks directly at the trid.
"Ib, Chang, Xhalax, I wish I had something comforting for you but unfortunately no one sent their words."
Another pause as he gathers his thoughts.
"As for the last little bit of our business, I'm sure you are all familiar with MY employer, he has requested that you return the favor that he has used on your behalf, otherwise our business is complete, perhaps when you return we shall have a chance to sit and dine and I can explain the finer details to you all. Until then."
With that covered the remaints of the team leave the room, none bearing any goodwill for the furry decker. She tries plastering on a 40 watt smile but as the last person leaves it has all but burned out.
"That bad, huh?" Her head snaps up, surprised to see Jake on the trid. His voice is a welcome relief. "I was fragged hard on this one. The plan seemed solid but it went straight to hell almost as soon as we hit the roof on the facility. The only two good things out of this is the deck and the smoking piles of Lone Star officers."
"It's all over the feeds here, they're calling it the Fairlight Massacre. They even had a blood dripping graphic to go with it." Jake's face screws up with disgust.
"Well, at least I can home now and this people here aren't ready to rip my head off anymore. Give Fixx a kiss for me, somewhere below the belt please." She darts up before he can zing her back and shuts off the trid. She grabs her pack and leaves the small apartment. So far the stay in New Zealand hasn't been all that bad if you overlook the running for your life angle. She jogs down the steps to the street and starts to work her way to the docks to catch the boat home. Time to face the music back home.
It¹s the sweltering morning of December 17 when you receive a communiqué from Seattle. Fixx is clearly evident in the trid screen, resting leisurely in a dark suit. "Well my friends, it's done. As far as I could tell, Lonestar was only able to implicate one person by name to the crimes, the other three of you that I could actually make out might be involved just because you vanished from Seattle at the same time the run went down have also been cleared of any possible shadow of suspicion. Miss Devine your picture didn't do you justice and I am told that a young suitor, one Mr. Trace, talked to the detective that came by in your absence. Ms. Xhalax I'm told that the composite drawing resembled a pre-pubescent male crack-addict, you don't quite look the part. "
Iblis squirmed as the waves of tension came off the team, well at least what was left from the run. The muscled rocket Twins had cacked but hey, they were bought to be disposable.
"But to make a long story short, you may now come home. I was given a few personal messages before the final details of our business are covered. "
Fixx seems to look down at a pocket sec and begins to read aloud.
"Hafiz, your presence is requested with all due speed to the home of your sponsor. "
"Temple, a voice on the Wind said something about you needing to talk before you go to dance with an old flame, I presume your ex is looking for you."
"Lucretia, "Hi, I'm new in town. Which way is it to your house?" Does that work any better than the last one? "
"Jason, your employer wishes you to return to work immediately."
With the list completed he once again looks directly at the trid.
"Ib, Chang, Xhalax, I wish I had something comforting for you but unfortunately no one sent their words."
Another pause as he gathers his thoughts.
"As for the last little bit of our business, I'm sure you are all familiar with MY employer, he has requested that you return the favor that he has used on your behalf, otherwise our business is complete, perhaps when you return we shall have a chance to sit and dine and I can explain the finer details to you all. Until then."
With that covered the remaints of the team leave the room, none bearing any goodwill for the furry decker. She tries plastering on a 40 watt smile but as the last person leaves it has all but burned out.
"That bad, huh?" Her head snaps up, surprised to see Jake on the trid. His voice is a welcome relief. "I was fragged hard on this one. The plan seemed solid but it went straight to hell almost as soon as we hit the roof on the facility. The only two good things out of this is the deck and the smoking piles of Lone Star officers."
"It's all over the feeds here, they're calling it the Fairlight Massacre. They even had a blood dripping graphic to go with it." Jake's face screws up with disgust.
"Well, at least I can home now and this people here aren't ready to rip my head off anymore. Give Fixx a kiss for me, somewhere below the belt please." She darts up before he can zing her back and shuts off the trid. She grabs her pack and leaves the small apartment. So far the stay in New Zealand hasn't been all that bad if you overlook the running for your life angle. She jogs down the steps to the street and starts to work her way to the docks to catch the boat home. Time to face the music back home.
Nameless and Steel Lotus. Part 1: Discovery
Nameless sat in the growing darkness of the home, silently watching the sun finish its descent into slumber, and the shadows that slowly crept over the floor. Lying on the ground were papers and objects strewn everywhere, a chaotic mess that was a stark contrast to the nice, modern, two-story home that spoke of wealth and status. Also in firm disagreeement with the happy, healthy family image that fairly screamed out from the home were the four bodies lying about.
Glancing around, he took it all in. The father, slumped over at the dinner table. He'd never even known what was coming. The mother, lying on her back, her mouth still opened in a silent scream. She was pretty, even though she was almost certainly in her late forties, and despite the bullet hole that was squarely between her eyes. Even the little girl, so cute, even now. Also so dead, a bullet hole in her heart a testament to the certainty of that statement.
And as for the son, well, he'd died hard, he had. Came at Nameless with everything he had, cyberspurs swinging. With a grim smile, Nameless recalled toying with him, drawing out his last moments with dark satisfaction...
"That's right, come on, you know you want it. Yeah, that's right, you want it so bad you can taste it." Deftly dodging the young man's swings, Nameless weaved in and out, taunting him, toying with him. Reaching out with one hand, he casually flicked him with his finger on the young man's forehead, then retracted it quickly out of the way before his opponent could respond. "Is that all you have? This is how you honor your father's memory? With such pathetic skills, you must surely have slacked in your training." A wild kick, followed by a left feint, and a devestating right that would have taken Nameless's head off. If it actually connected. Which of course, it did not. A simple sidestep, a slight twist of his waist to compensate for the feint, and a casual arm flowing up to easily, deftly deflecting the wrist guiding the blades whistling towards his head.
He could have ended it right there, the young man's throat and face wide open. He could have crushed his windpipe, or driven his nose into his brain, or simply gouged his eyes out. But he did none of those. Instead, he just stepped in, planted himself, and pushed with his open palm, letting the chi flow through him. The young man was lifted off the ground and flew several feet before crashing onto his back, first onto, and then through, a very nice, probably very expensive, coffee table.
"Aw, look at that, you broke your mother's coffee table." He glances down at the watch on his wrist, then shrugs. "Not like it matters though, she won't be around to yell at you anymore." He grins, a dark, sadistic grin. "Of course, you have me to thank for that. So why don't you? Thank me that is." His words have the desired effect. The young man staggered to his feet and with a roar, launched himself at Nameless.
All semblance of training gone, his opponent rushed him, cyberspurs swinging. Trying to overwhelm him with rage and ferocity. Fool. Against a lesser opponent, it might have intimidated him, caused him to lose focus, giving a split second opening that would spell doom. Against Nameless, all it got him was launched through the air, again, this time into a nice family portrait hanging over, how quaint, a fireplace. Crashing into the wall and then dropping to the ground with a grunt, the young man was gasping for air, stunned by the back-to-back crash landings.
Taking another glance at his watch and then casually adjusting its fit on his wrist, Nameless continued, "My goodness. Oh dear. Look at that, I've gone and broken another of your precious family heirloooms. Well, actually, you have, but I suppose I should at least shoulder some of the blame, shouldn't I?" Voice dripping with mock sympathy, Nameless could feel the hatred radiating off the young man.
Gasping for air, the young man slowly picked himself off the ground. "You bastard...why are you taunting me like this? You do this to all your victims? Your lack of professionalism will catch up with you you sick fragger. I'm going to make sure of it." Although he kept his voice steady, his eyes betrayed him. He was looking towards the door, ready to run. He was almost as fast as Nameless, and it was possible he could get away.
"You really want to know why I'm doing this?" Nameless's question caught his opponent off guard, but he did a good job of not letting it show. Too much, at least. "Yeah," again gasping for air, although less this time, "yeah, I want to know."
Again surprising his opponent, Nameless checked his watch, then took a seat. "Go ahead, sit down. I'll make this quick."
Cautiously, expecting some sort of trap, the young man shook his head. "I'll stand, thanks. So what's the story?"
"Well, simply put, it's like this. My family was butchered by the Yakuza. My father was a Triad, so I understand his death. That's just part of the game. But my mother, brother, and sister? Completely unnecessary." He shrugs. "If the Yakuza want to play with a hard ball, that's fine with me. I'm sure you've heard about the recent upsurge in hits on the Yakuza lately. That's been me. All me. You guys want to play revenge? Two can play that game. And payback is a slitch."
With a gleam in his eyes at this information, and the edge he thought it was going to provide, the young man replied, "That's pretty ambitious of you, but I'm not exactly dead yet." He made a show out of preparing himself for another round of combat, but his eyes gave him away. They were glancing towards the door, and his body positioning revealed he was ready to move already, but away from Nameless, and not towards.
Nameless just grinned. "Nice try kid, but you don't want to go another round with me. You're getting ready to jet. And I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, 'this overconfident fool just sat down. he's not THAT much faster than me. I can beat it out of here before he catches me, get my yakuza buddies together, and hunt this fragger down.' Am I right?"
The kid didn't have to answer. The shock on his face did for him. "I'm sure you're wondering why despite the fact that I know this, I'm completely unworried about that possibility." He glances at his watch again. "I'm sure you're also wondering why I keep checking my damn watch, aren't you?" Too curious now to hide his emotions, the young man nodded mutely.
Stretching his arms out before checking his watch again, Nameless casually continues, "The simple fact is, you're already dead. You just don't know it yet. Remember when I flicked your forehead?" Again, a nod. "I killed you then. There's a nasty astral charge lingering on you right now, just waiting to waste you. I've just been playing with you ever since. I figured that a few minutes would be enough before I got bored. Incidentally, I think we've used up nearly all those few minutes by now. So let's see, you have, let's see here," without looking at his opponent, reading off his watch, Nameless finishes, "Fifteen seconds. So what's it going to be, you going to disbelieve me and start running, or believe me and try to kill me before you check out? Better decide quick. Eight seconds now."
The young man's face turns ashen, but he quickly turns and lunges for the door. Calmly, casually, Nameless just sits there, listening. Sure enough, exactly eight seconds later, he hears a gasp, and then a thump. Snapping back to the present...
Rising from his chair and walking through the door the young man ran out, Nameless walked down the hallway until he saw his opponent lying at the foot of the stairs. Apparently he'd made it down the stairs when it hit him, killing him instantly. Shaking his head, Nameless muttered to himself, "They never learn, do they? Should have just gone for revenge when you had the chance. Stupid kid. you never know, you could have gotten lucky."
Shrugging his shoulders, Nameless decided to take a look around. He had a friend intercepting any Panicbutton signals that may have been sent, and was in the system now erasing any traces of his presence here. He'd taken the proper precautions to ensure he'd leave no physical or astral traces of himself here either. As such, he had time on his hands.
It had been all too easy. The father he'd killed earlier in the day, and timed his death and his own subsequent intrusion into the house exactly at dinner time. While everyone was reacting frantically to what they assumed was a heart attack, he'd calmly and casually walked in and shot the mother and the daughter. One shot, one kill. Nice and easy. The son had been too stunned by this rapid sequence of events to properly cope. Besides, Nameless had saved him for last so he could toy with him.
What he hadn't told the boy was that his father was one of those directly responsible for his family's death. And that, more than anything, was why Nameless took a risk on toying with the boy. He wasn't much of a religious person, but he liked to think that somehow, somewhere, the boy's father was watching their little exchange, powerless to help and yet knowing that if he was there, things could have been very different indeed. The father was an experienced Yakuza hitter, a very dangerous razorguy with plenty of experience under his belt. Nameless knew from observing him that he was faster, probably stronger, probably tougher. Maybe not as skilled, but the way things would have stacked up, it could have been touch and go. No need to take that risk. As for the kid, he knew the kid had no real chance against him. Had the 'ware, but not the skills.
He wasn't like Johnny, wasn't a warrior. Johnny would've loved the opportunity to test his skills mano a mano with the razorguy, loved proving his superiority. Nameless just made sure people got dead. Glancing around, he had to admit he certainly did a good job of that.
Casually strolling around the house, taking in the opulence, the classiness of the place, he realized that maybe this hitman-for-hire thing did pay off quite well. It certainly had for this yak. Well, it was paying off well for him too. Despite the fact that this was personal, it also happened to be a paid hit. He'd gotten quite lucky there. Making money and getting revenge? Yup, it was definitely a good day.
That's when it hit him. This yak almost certainly had a job or two on the burner. Why not check out his assignments, maybe ask around, see if he couldn't get in on some of the action? This guy was known for being 'loaned out' to non-Yakuza clients, provided of course, their interests did not conflict. Still, it might be interesting and worthwhile to know whose neck was on the block. Especially if it turned out to be his. Which was an all too probable possibility, he thought to himself. That said, he headed over to what appeared to be the guy's office.
Taking a look around, he began searching through the room. Apparently the yak was really old school. He had a filing cabinet complete with files consisting of real paper, and even pictures. Man this guy was organized. Oh well, at least it makes my life easier. Aw heck, there's way too much junk here. I'm just going to take it all with me, sort through it at my leisure.
Thinking about that for a second, he couldn't help but laugh. And now introducing Nameless. Favorite bathroom, meal time, and bedtime reading: assassination files. Yeah, that just about says it all about me these days, doesn't it?.
As he was loading the files into a duffel bag he found in one of the rooms, he absently read through the names on the top, a sort of sneak preview of what he could expect. When he got to one of them, however, he stopped cold. A chill ran through his body as the shock of seeing that name on the 'To Hit' list of a hitman, and not just any hitman, a Yakuza hitman impacted him.
It can't be her. There must be a mistake. After all, there's probably plenty of Japanese with her name, right? Right? Quickly tossing the other files aside, Nameless leafed through the file on her. Description, known abilities, aliases, gear, usual hangouts, friends, enemies, the usual were all there. Come on, come on, don't waste my time with this stuff. I don't care about her cyber layout. Just give me a damn picture!
And then...jackpot. Except it felt like the jackpot you win when the prize is a ticking bomb with about two seconds left on the clock. Gazing at the picture in the file in front of him, all Nameless could say was, "Oh drek..." It was her all right, a name and a face from his past. He couldn't deny it, the evidence was directly in front of him. Still unable to believe it really was her on the Yakuza hit list, he gently ran his fingers over the picture, as if confirming once again that it truly was her. His mind already beginning to flash back to the past, Nameless softly whispered her name aloud, remembering her all over again. "Shinobu..."
Nameless sat in the growing darkness of the home, silently watching the sun finish its descent into slumber, and the shadows that slowly crept over the floor. Lying on the ground were papers and objects strewn everywhere, a chaotic mess that was a stark contrast to the nice, modern, two-story home that spoke of wealth and status. Also in firm disagreeement with the happy, healthy family image that fairly screamed out from the home were the four bodies lying about.
Glancing around, he took it all in. The father, slumped over at the dinner table. He'd never even known what was coming. The mother, lying on her back, her mouth still opened in a silent scream. She was pretty, even though she was almost certainly in her late forties, and despite the bullet hole that was squarely between her eyes. Even the little girl, so cute, even now. Also so dead, a bullet hole in her heart a testament to the certainty of that statement.
And as for the son, well, he'd died hard, he had. Came at Nameless with everything he had, cyberspurs swinging. With a grim smile, Nameless recalled toying with him, drawing out his last moments with dark satisfaction...
"That's right, come on, you know you want it. Yeah, that's right, you want it so bad you can taste it." Deftly dodging the young man's swings, Nameless weaved in and out, taunting him, toying with him. Reaching out with one hand, he casually flicked him with his finger on the young man's forehead, then retracted it quickly out of the way before his opponent could respond. "Is that all you have? This is how you honor your father's memory? With such pathetic skills, you must surely have slacked in your training." A wild kick, followed by a left feint, and a devestating right that would have taken Nameless's head off. If it actually connected. Which of course, it did not. A simple sidestep, a slight twist of his waist to compensate for the feint, and a casual arm flowing up to easily, deftly deflecting the wrist guiding the blades whistling towards his head.
He could have ended it right there, the young man's throat and face wide open. He could have crushed his windpipe, or driven his nose into his brain, or simply gouged his eyes out. But he did none of those. Instead, he just stepped in, planted himself, and pushed with his open palm, letting the chi flow through him. The young man was lifted off the ground and flew several feet before crashing onto his back, first onto, and then through, a very nice, probably very expensive, coffee table.
"Aw, look at that, you broke your mother's coffee table." He glances down at the watch on his wrist, then shrugs. "Not like it matters though, she won't be around to yell at you anymore." He grins, a dark, sadistic grin. "Of course, you have me to thank for that. So why don't you? Thank me that is." His words have the desired effect. The young man staggered to his feet and with a roar, launched himself at Nameless.
All semblance of training gone, his opponent rushed him, cyberspurs swinging. Trying to overwhelm him with rage and ferocity. Fool. Against a lesser opponent, it might have intimidated him, caused him to lose focus, giving a split second opening that would spell doom. Against Nameless, all it got him was launched through the air, again, this time into a nice family portrait hanging over, how quaint, a fireplace. Crashing into the wall and then dropping to the ground with a grunt, the young man was gasping for air, stunned by the back-to-back crash landings.
Taking another glance at his watch and then casually adjusting its fit on his wrist, Nameless continued, "My goodness. Oh dear. Look at that, I've gone and broken another of your precious family heirloooms. Well, actually, you have, but I suppose I should at least shoulder some of the blame, shouldn't I?" Voice dripping with mock sympathy, Nameless could feel the hatred radiating off the young man.
Gasping for air, the young man slowly picked himself off the ground. "You bastard...why are you taunting me like this? You do this to all your victims? Your lack of professionalism will catch up with you you sick fragger. I'm going to make sure of it." Although he kept his voice steady, his eyes betrayed him. He was looking towards the door, ready to run. He was almost as fast as Nameless, and it was possible he could get away.
"You really want to know why I'm doing this?" Nameless's question caught his opponent off guard, but he did a good job of not letting it show. Too much, at least. "Yeah," again gasping for air, although less this time, "yeah, I want to know."
Again surprising his opponent, Nameless checked his watch, then took a seat. "Go ahead, sit down. I'll make this quick."
Cautiously, expecting some sort of trap, the young man shook his head. "I'll stand, thanks. So what's the story?"
"Well, simply put, it's like this. My family was butchered by the Yakuza. My father was a Triad, so I understand his death. That's just part of the game. But my mother, brother, and sister? Completely unnecessary." He shrugs. "If the Yakuza want to play with a hard ball, that's fine with me. I'm sure you've heard about the recent upsurge in hits on the Yakuza lately. That's been me. All me. You guys want to play revenge? Two can play that game. And payback is a slitch."
With a gleam in his eyes at this information, and the edge he thought it was going to provide, the young man replied, "That's pretty ambitious of you, but I'm not exactly dead yet." He made a show out of preparing himself for another round of combat, but his eyes gave him away. They were glancing towards the door, and his body positioning revealed he was ready to move already, but away from Nameless, and not towards.
Nameless just grinned. "Nice try kid, but you don't want to go another round with me. You're getting ready to jet. And I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, 'this overconfident fool just sat down. he's not THAT much faster than me. I can beat it out of here before he catches me, get my yakuza buddies together, and hunt this fragger down.' Am I right?"
The kid didn't have to answer. The shock on his face did for him. "I'm sure you're wondering why despite the fact that I know this, I'm completely unworried about that possibility." He glances at his watch again. "I'm sure you're also wondering why I keep checking my damn watch, aren't you?" Too curious now to hide his emotions, the young man nodded mutely.
Stretching his arms out before checking his watch again, Nameless casually continues, "The simple fact is, you're already dead. You just don't know it yet. Remember when I flicked your forehead?" Again, a nod. "I killed you then. There's a nasty astral charge lingering on you right now, just waiting to waste you. I've just been playing with you ever since. I figured that a few minutes would be enough before I got bored. Incidentally, I think we've used up nearly all those few minutes by now. So let's see, you have, let's see here," without looking at his opponent, reading off his watch, Nameless finishes, "Fifteen seconds. So what's it going to be, you going to disbelieve me and start running, or believe me and try to kill me before you check out? Better decide quick. Eight seconds now."
The young man's face turns ashen, but he quickly turns and lunges for the door. Calmly, casually, Nameless just sits there, listening. Sure enough, exactly eight seconds later, he hears a gasp, and then a thump. Snapping back to the present...
Rising from his chair and walking through the door the young man ran out, Nameless walked down the hallway until he saw his opponent lying at the foot of the stairs. Apparently he'd made it down the stairs when it hit him, killing him instantly. Shaking his head, Nameless muttered to himself, "They never learn, do they? Should have just gone for revenge when you had the chance. Stupid kid. you never know, you could have gotten lucky."
Shrugging his shoulders, Nameless decided to take a look around. He had a friend intercepting any Panicbutton signals that may have been sent, and was in the system now erasing any traces of his presence here. He'd taken the proper precautions to ensure he'd leave no physical or astral traces of himself here either. As such, he had time on his hands.
It had been all too easy. The father he'd killed earlier in the day, and timed his death and his own subsequent intrusion into the house exactly at dinner time. While everyone was reacting frantically to what they assumed was a heart attack, he'd calmly and casually walked in and shot the mother and the daughter. One shot, one kill. Nice and easy. The son had been too stunned by this rapid sequence of events to properly cope. Besides, Nameless had saved him for last so he could toy with him.
What he hadn't told the boy was that his father was one of those directly responsible for his family's death. And that, more than anything, was why Nameless took a risk on toying with the boy. He wasn't much of a religious person, but he liked to think that somehow, somewhere, the boy's father was watching their little exchange, powerless to help and yet knowing that if he was there, things could have been very different indeed. The father was an experienced Yakuza hitter, a very dangerous razorguy with plenty of experience under his belt. Nameless knew from observing him that he was faster, probably stronger, probably tougher. Maybe not as skilled, but the way things would have stacked up, it could have been touch and go. No need to take that risk. As for the kid, he knew the kid had no real chance against him. Had the 'ware, but not the skills.
He wasn't like Johnny, wasn't a warrior. Johnny would've loved the opportunity to test his skills mano a mano with the razorguy, loved proving his superiority. Nameless just made sure people got dead. Glancing around, he had to admit he certainly did a good job of that.
Casually strolling around the house, taking in the opulence, the classiness of the place, he realized that maybe this hitman-for-hire thing did pay off quite well. It certainly had for this yak. Well, it was paying off well for him too. Despite the fact that this was personal, it also happened to be a paid hit. He'd gotten quite lucky there. Making money and getting revenge? Yup, it was definitely a good day.
That's when it hit him. This yak almost certainly had a job or two on the burner. Why not check out his assignments, maybe ask around, see if he couldn't get in on some of the action? This guy was known for being 'loaned out' to non-Yakuza clients, provided of course, their interests did not conflict. Still, it might be interesting and worthwhile to know whose neck was on the block. Especially if it turned out to be his. Which was an all too probable possibility, he thought to himself. That said, he headed over to what appeared to be the guy's office.
Taking a look around, he began searching through the room. Apparently the yak was really old school. He had a filing cabinet complete with files consisting of real paper, and even pictures. Man this guy was organized. Oh well, at least it makes my life easier. Aw heck, there's way too much junk here. I'm just going to take it all with me, sort through it at my leisure.
Thinking about that for a second, he couldn't help but laugh. And now introducing Nameless. Favorite bathroom, meal time, and bedtime reading: assassination files. Yeah, that just about says it all about me these days, doesn't it?.
As he was loading the files into a duffel bag he found in one of the rooms, he absently read through the names on the top, a sort of sneak preview of what he could expect. When he got to one of them, however, he stopped cold. A chill ran through his body as the shock of seeing that name on the 'To Hit' list of a hitman, and not just any hitman, a Yakuza hitman impacted him.
It can't be her. There must be a mistake. After all, there's probably plenty of Japanese with her name, right? Right? Quickly tossing the other files aside, Nameless leafed through the file on her. Description, known abilities, aliases, gear, usual hangouts, friends, enemies, the usual were all there. Come on, come on, don't waste my time with this stuff. I don't care about her cyber layout. Just give me a damn picture!
And then...jackpot. Except it felt like the jackpot you win when the prize is a ticking bomb with about two seconds left on the clock. Gazing at the picture in the file in front of him, all Nameless could say was, "Oh drek..." It was her all right, a name and a face from his past. He couldn't deny it, the evidence was directly in front of him. Still unable to believe it really was her on the Yakuza hit list, he gently ran his fingers over the picture, as if confirming once again that it truly was her. His mind already beginning to flash back to the past, Nameless softly whispered her name aloud, remembering her all over again. "Shinobu..."
The Story of Steel Lotus
Chapter Two: Steel Lotus Remembers She Is Not Alone
The tree branches twined
So close they seem to be one –
They will die apart.
One place to go, and one person to call.
Steel zipped through the cool night air, letting it whip her hair into a frenzy and sting her cheeks pink. She’d slipped on her headset cell before leaving her condo; as she dove between two cars, into the next lane, she activated her phone with a word: “Vinnie.”
The word was repeated in her ear a second later, in a heavily accented voice. “Vinnie.”
“Vinnie, it’s me.”
There was a long silence, and then a chuckle. “Babe! Didn’t expect to hear from you…well, ever again.”
“Look, I know you probably won’t believe me, but I didn’t do it.”
“Didn’t do it?” The voice chuckled. “Didn’t walk inta that corp building downtown and blow everyone away? That what you didn’t do?”
She was going to miss her exit. Steel leaned on the bike and it slid in front of a semi, earning a blast of noise from the driver. She whipped past and onto the ramp. “I was set up, Vinnie. I woke up today with a chipjack in my head, and I can’t remember the last three months.”
A low whistle from the other end. “Heavy stuff, doll.”
“You’re telling me. Look, I need a place to stay. I’m heading for the Barrens. Got a line on a safehouse for me?”
There was another silence.
“Oh, come on, Vinnie. You can do this for me.”
“You gotta hit on you babe, yanno that?”
She took a deep breath as she saw the lights growing sparse and dim out ahead of her. “Yeah, I know that. Please, Vinnie. I need help.”
The silence was shorter this time, broken by Vinnie’s good-natured curse. “Ah hell, the yaks already hate me. The 405s gotta place by the car cemetery. You know the place?”
“I know it.”
“Don’t say I never did nothin for ya.”
“Vinnie, wait.” She smiled, though he couldn’t see it. “I need more.”
“More? What the hell, toots, I look like the Salvation Army to you?”
“When I woke up on the table, I saw a Korean man with a distinctive tattoo. He was about 5’3”, heavyset, dark eyes dark hair. Tattoo was a dragon, a red one, the tail wrapped around his left forearm, green-eyed head on his chest. I need to know who he is.”
“I ain’t a charity, babe.”
“I’m low on cash at the moment, but I can run for you.”
He thought about that. “I’ll get back to you. Don’t get killed.”
“I’ll try.”
There was a click in her ear, and Steel smiled in the silence. Nice to know Vinnie hasn’t changed, at least. She could all but smell his terrible old cigar smoke.
The Barrens was a maze of dead ends, rusted chicken wire fences and coils of barbed wire lying amidst rusting cars and burned-out shells of buildings. Steel drove fast and let her Ingrams’ weight reassure her. Lonestar didn’t come here; regular people didn’t come here; anyone with an ounce of sense didn’t come here. Hopefully the yaks would hesitate before sending anyone after her into the Barrens, and hopefully the mazelike nature of the place would confound them if they did come after her.
The 405s had a walled compound next to the old junkyard. Three long, crumbling apartment complexes boxed in a courtyard full of fires in oil drums and rows of shiny bikes. The guard at the door, a heavyset orc in a leather jacket, eyeballed her as she drove up, and Steel gave him a cool look. “Know any good motels around here?” she asked.
The tilt of her head and the set of her jaw marked her as a kindred spirit; the orc jerked his thumb towards the compound, and the gate rolled back. “Go on in, get a room in the back. Nice ride.”
“Thanks.” She nudged the Blitzen in with her knees and stood it with the other bikes. A few gangers gave her appraising looks as she blew through the courtyard, towards the set of apartments in the rear. The buildings were three-story, off-white crumbling concrete, set with square windows that had been blacked out or boarded up. Steel pushed her way in the door and strode up to the third floor. The first door she tried let her into a small, plain room; orange carpet, a double bed, a cheap dresser, and a chair with unapologetically ugly upholstery. Steel closed the door behind her and tossed the duffel bag on the bed. She cocked her head, listening, but the noise from the courtyard didn’t penetrate this far up. The walls were probably reinforced. All she could hear was the sound of her own breathing.
She took off her headset and sat on the bed, next to her bag. The silence in the room seemed very loud around her. She stared at nothing for a few minutes, breathing steadily. She felt oddly panicked as she looked around. It’s not that bad. At least it’s clean.
And it’s not permanent. It’s just until I figure this out.
She shrugged off her melancholia and turned resolutely to her duffel. A quick search revealed everything there: backup clips, some gel rounds, the Defiant and the 97, plus ammo for them both. A few clothes and books she’d taken from her place. Her swords were on her back, and everything else she needed was in her head or under her skin.
What if they put something else in me? Or took something out?
She blinked her eyes to test them. The vision magnification and distance evaluator were still functioning. She zoomed in to a closeup on the carpet, saw a lot of things in the fibers she didn’t really want to see, and zoomed back out. Her amplified reflexes had functioned perfectly in the fight with the pumpkinheads, as had her smartlink. She stood up, let her mind drift, and then tried to throw herself down on the bed.
It took her three tries before she could concentrate hard enough to fall down. Balance augmenter’s okay. Looks like everything’s working.
Including her new chipjack. She touched it again before forcing herself to drop her hand. She laid her swords on the bed, pulled off her duster, and went to take a shower.
She thought about crying when she was in the hot stream of water, where no one could see her, but was simply too tired. After drying herself off she dressed and fell into the bed, her katanas cradled in her arms. She tumbled instantly into a deep sleep full of twisted nightmares.
The nightmares discorporated back into the corners of her mind with the shrill beeping of her phone. Steel jerked awake with a groan and fumbled for the headset. “Steel.”
“Babe! I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Of course not,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Past noon. I gotta job for ya, if you’re interested.”
“Give me the details.”
“I gotta missing girl whose parents want her back home safe where she belongs. Blonde hair, sometimes pink. Blue eyes, sometimes pink. Samantha Vilnef, seventeen, likes walking on the wild side and giving daddy heart attacks. Last seen at the Chainstorm Club four days ago. You’ll get info on the guy you want and some spending cash. Let’s say five hunnerd nuyen? Get her back in one piece, or no creds.”
“Sounds easy enough. What do I do when I find her?”
“Bring her here, I’ll get her to daddy. Have fun.”
“Always.” She clicked off and lay motionless for a moment, staring at the ceiling. Staying still was difficult; the chemicals injected into her muscles made her want to move, move, all the time. She rolled out of bed and changed into fresh clothes. Her black velvet pants, red silk shirt with red lace at the collar and cuffs, and her black duster. Whatever Steel did, she did with style.
She found a group of 405s with leather jackets and mohawks studying her bike in the courtyard. She made small talk for a few minutes, feeling obligated to be polite, as she was staying in their home. She wondered if she were putting the gang in danger by here mere presence, and decided it didn’t matter. She needed a place to stay; there was no getting around that.
Steel roared off as soon as she could, snagging a bowl of noodles from a take-out place and eating in the parking lot. She kept out of sight until dark and then cruised to the Chainstorm Club.
It was a loud place, the heavy beat echoing her jackhammer pulse. She tried to skip the line, but the bouncers did their job. “Don’t you know who I am?” she demanded of the muscle.
“No,” he replied, “who are you?”
“No one,” she grinned. “I was hoping you didn’t know that.” He laughed, but sent her to the back of the line. When she got to the front he jokingly said, “Oh, it’s you,” and waved her in without cover.
Inside was a frenzy of activity; Steel saw human men and women – boys and girls – orcs and elves and all manner of metahumans writhing in a crushing mass of bodies and sweat. She pushed her way around the edge of the dancefloor to the bar, bought several drinks and tipped largely each time, and gave the drinks away when the bartender wasn’t looking. It took two hours before the bartender’s shift ended, and Steel caught him halfway to the men’s room.
“Hey,” she shouted, and he nodded to her with a smile. “I wonder if you can help me. I’m looking for a friend of mine, I haven’t heard from her in a few days and I’m afraid she’s in trouble. Her name’s Samantha – cute girl, my height, pink hair and matching eyes.”
The bartender thought a minute before nodding again. “Oh yeah, I remember her. Came in and left with a pack of gangers.”
Steel’s heart suddenly sank. “Do you know the colours?”
“Red, white and black. ‘Scuse me.” He pushed past her, leaving Steel biting her lip as she stood by herself, brow furrowed.
The 405s. Damn.
She pouted as she blazed back to the safehouse. Violate the hospitality of the gang, or blow off Vinnie?
Decisions, decisions.
The courtyard was full of people when she got back, gangers inhaling beer and tossing the cans in the oil-barrel fires. She found a small group that was well on their way to blackout-levels of intoxication and had a few drinks with them, talking about bikes and gently steering the conversation in the direction of pink-haired seventeen year olds.
Finally, one drunken 405er slurred, “Oh, that chick. Torc’s girl. Man, that guy is obsessed with the whiney brat.”
“Torc, huh? Where’s he staying at?”
The gangers were too drunk to notice her obvious questions. One pointed to the building to the left of hers. It was identical to the other two, save that the doors were metal and had guards on them. Steel smiled and made small talk for a few more minutes before slipping away and back to her room.
She thought hard for a few minutes once on her own; finally she loaded one Ingram with gel rounds and holstered it again. She packed up everything in her duffel bag and let herself out. She found the stairwell and began climbing up.
The roof access was unlocked, and Steel climbed onto the roof and looked around. The ground under her feet was gravel; the night wind ruffled her hair and cooled her skin. Her mouth twitched into a small smile as she estimated the distance between her and the courtyard below. No one would hear her at this height.
She swung hard and let her duffel bag go. It flew across the narrow gap between the two buildings and landed on the other roof. Steel backed up to get a running start, and when the green numbers in her vision hit 0.25m she launched herself into the air. Her powerful legs took her easily across the gap, and she landed and rolled and came up on her feet without a sound. Retrieving her bag, she let herself quietly into the roof access of this building and began to sneak downwards.
It took her three floors of listening at doors and peeking into rooms before she heard a female voice. She eased her Ingram into her hand and cracked the door. There was a small room beyond, a couch in that same ugly upholstery, and two figures on it watching a battered TV. One was big, thick, and ugly as the couch; the other was a petite, pink-haired girl.
Torc looked up as she opened the door and frowned. “Who the hell are you?”
Steel straightened. “I’m here to talk to Samantha.”
“You know this broad?” Torc demanded of his companion. The girl was wearing a pink vinyl jacket over a tight, white t-shirt, a pink micro-mini, hot pink stockings and white platform boots. Her hair was in pigtails, and her eyes had the glassy look of a doll’s. She looked at Steel and shook her head.
“I just need a minute of your time,” Steel said, but Torc interrupted her. “She don’ wanna talk to you. Beat it.”
Steel sighed and her Ingram jumped up to level at the couple on the couch. The smartlink clicked on and her visual sight locked in on Torc’s chest. Fire.
Samantha squealed, her pink mouth rounding into an O of shock as Torc’s body jerked and fell to the floor. Steel strode into the room. He’s gonna be bruised as hell when he wakes up.
“You killed him!” Samantha shrieked.
Steel leveled the Ingram. “Yeah, and you’re next if you don’t shut up. Follow me.”
Samantha continued to squeal, and Steel shot forward and grabbed the girl by the collar of her jacket. She slammed the kid into the wall and shoved the muzzle of her gun under her chin. “I said shut up, or I pull the trigger.” The menace in her voice and the coldness in her eyes were real. She wasn’t sure what putting gel-rounds into the girl’s neck at point-blank range would do, but she was sure it wouldn’t be pretty.
The kid shut her mouth and Steel hauled her out into the hallway, gun still in hand. She could hear shouts coming from somewhere, and kicked the door shut behind her. “This way,” she ordered, pushing the doll-like girl down the hall and into the stairwell. Someone was coming from upstairs, and Steel paused to listen.
“Dunno…heard shots. You do this floor, I’ll do the next…”
Dammit.
She dragged the kid into the floor above as the two guards began searching the rooms, floor by floor. The girl was making so much noise and acting so stupidly, Steel didn’t feel up to trying to stealth it. She tried doors until she found one that was unlocked, threw the kid inside, and followed her. The maglock was busted, so she shoved the couch in front of the door and hoped that would do the trick. Then she turned her gun on the cowering girl again.
Samantha was smaller than she’d expected; barely 5’ and correspondingly slim. She was quivering and making mewling little noises, and Steel studied her with contempt. How the hell do I get her out of here?
She put her heavy bag down on the ground, paused, then smiled. She pointed her gun at the girl’s head. “Take off your stockings.”
Samantha’s eyes got big. “Wh-what? No!”
“Take them off, or I’ll take them off for you.” Steel’s mouth was a hard line in her face. They didn’t have much time.
“Pervert!” Samantha flared, but she kicked off her platform boots and peeled off the stockings. She put one boot back on and, when Steel didn’t object, the other one too.
“Now your shirt.”
Samantha started squealing again, and Steel closed the distance between them with two strides and hit the girl between the eyes with the muzzle of the Ingram. She could hear footsteps coming down the stairs. “I said the shirt. Now.”
She wasn’t surprised to see that the kid’s bra was hot pink, too. Samantha was almost in tears, but Steel just motioned for her to put her jacket back on. “Now on the floor, on your face, hands behind your back.
She clipped the girl on the back of the head once she was down, as a reminder to stay quiet. She dug a knee into Samantha’s back and tied her wrists and ankles firmly with the stockings. The shirt she stuffed into the girl’s mouth and tied around her head. Then she shoved the bound and gagged form into the closet, drew both guns, pointed them at the door, and waited.
Footsteps down the hall. The rattling of a doorknob. More footsteps. A door opened, and there were some banging noises. Steel began to tremble, just a bit, and took a restless step forward. Her hyperactive reflexes were making her fingers twitch on the triggers. Her brain couldn’t handle two smartlinks at once, so she was firing on skill alone if that door opened. She was kind of looking forward to it.
The footsteps drew nearer. The door to her room rattled, and Steel jumped. She almost squeezed the trigger, almost, but steadied herself and lifted the guns. The door thumped against the couch and the corner of Steel’s mouth twitched.
Then footsteps backed away. She heard voices consulting in the stairwell, and then the gangers moved down to check the lower floors.
Steel holstered her guns with a sigh and grabbed a musty pillow off the bed. She ripped out the pillow, beat the pillowcase for a second to get the dust out, and unzipped her duffel. The shotgun and the 97 fit in the pillowcase, along with her clips and clothes. Steel left it on the ground and yanked the door to the closet open.
Samantha was trying to wriggle out of her bonds petulantly. Steel dragged her out of the closet and into the room. Samantha watched her spread open the duffel bag uncomprehendingly, then began to kick and squeal through the gag when Steel dragged her onto the leather bag. She fought hard, but Steel was as inexorable and unyielding as her nickname. She forced the girl’s legs in, bent her double, and with a great deal of trouble, got the duffel zipped up.
Lucky for me she’s so small.
It was a simple matter from there to get up on the roof with her pillowcase full of guns and her duffel bag full of runaway. She tossed the pillowcase over onto the other roof, hoisted the duffel bag onto her back – luckily for her, the girl was light as well – and launched herself over. She headed down the stairs and was congratulating herself on a job well done when she ran into a 405er coming up them.
“Hey, you,” he demanded, “where’re you going?”
“Just out,” she replied blankly, “is that ok?”
He was about to reply when Samantha kicked Steel in the back of the head. She let out a grunt and dropped the bag in shock. Small, muffled yelps came from the wriggling bag, and the ganger’s eyes went wide.
Steel raised her hands. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just leaving, that’s all.”
The ganger narrowed his eyes and pulled out a length of chain. Steel smiled harmlessly and was about to say something when Samantha worked her gag loose. “Help!” came a muffled voice from the bag. “She killed Torc!”
The ganger charged her, swinging his chain. Steel dodged back, ducked under the arc, and gave ground as the ganger pelted up the stairs towards her. She almost reached for her katanas, but stopped herself. These are my hosts. I can’t just kill them.
She stopped dead, thinking fast. The ganger came right up to her and swung the chain at her face. Steel ducked and came up with her Ingrams in both hands. She jammed the muzzles into the man’s chin.
“Drop the chain and shut up.”
His mouth moved soundlessly for a moment, and then he dropped the chain.
Great. Now I’ve got two hostages.
“Pick up the bag and go through that door. Move!”
The ganger reluctantly grabbed the screaming, wriggling duffle bag. Steel whacked it with the butt of one gun. “Quiet in there, or I swear to God I’ll shoot you.” Samantha submitted with poor grace, and Steel marched the ganger into the hallway.
She quickly found another empty room, had the man set the bag down, and forced him into the closet. She smacked him on the back of the head with her gun, knocking him out, and closed the closet door gently. Sighing, she holstered her guns and unzipped the duffel just enough to replace the gag firmly around Samantha’s face. She noted with some amusement that the girl’s flushed cheeks now matched the rest of her outfit. Then she zipped the bag back up and headed downstairs.
No one took any notice of her as she strode to her bike, and Samantha’s wriggles went unseen in the shadowy courtyard. She slung the bag and the pillowcase over the back of the bike, kicked off, and roared out the gate with a nod to the guard.
Vinnie worked out of a run-down office in Tacoma, and Steel enjoyed the ride there. The night was cool and brisk, refreshing. She pulled up at the crumbling concrete building, left her bike in the lot, and hauled the duffel bag in.
Her knock was answered by Vinnie himself. The little man was just as she remembered him; a compact little Italian with thinning black hair, a permanently creased face and a perpetual cloud of foul cigar smoke. He smiled when he saw her. “Babe!”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“Sure thing, toots. To what do I owe the honor?”
“I’ve got your girl,” Steel drawled.
“Izzat so? Where?” Vinnie craned his neck to look around her.
“Here,” Steel said, dumping the bag on the ground. It quivered and whimpered.
Vinnie’s eyes got big. “Steel, you…you didn’t. Is she in…damn, girl! Do you know who this chick’s father is? Do you know what he’s gonna…ah, hell.” He chomped furiously on his cigar.
Steel blinked. “You wanted her back. She’s back. You got my money?”
“Hell, yeah, here’s your money. Daddy’s gonna be mad as hell over this. No matter, no matter, I’ll work it out. I forgot how…direct your methods are.” He tossed her a credstick.
“And my information?” she asked hopefully.
“Working on it.”
“Let me know as soon as you can,” she said, “and I’ll give you the credstick back if you can give me the location of another safehouse. I wore out my welcome at the old one.”
“What’d’ya do, off the boss?” He waved away her pained look. “Right, right, you was set up. Toss it back here, babe. There’s a guy fixing up old apartments in the Barrens, very low profile. Goes by the name Frell.” He named an address.
Steel handed him the credstick back. “Thanks, Vinnie. Oh, and I need my bag back.” She unzipped the duffel, dumped out the shaking form of the girl and stood up coolly. “Let me know if you have any more work for me. I think I’m gonna need cash to figure out who did this to me, and to get back at them for it.”
“What kinda work you lookin’ for?”
“Anything but mass murder.”
“But you…right, right, you was set up.”
Steel’s mouth twitched. “I was set up. I don’t do wetwork.”
Vinnie grinned, and for a moment the little man’s face looked almost sinister. His mouth twisted into a leer, his eyes narrowing. “Not even for mucho creds? Runs like that take you a long way, babe. Information, money, goods. What the hell you wanna blow off good jobs for – you got some rep I don’t know about you tryin’ to protect?”
Steel flushed angrily. “Go to hell, Vinnie.”
“Love ya too, babe.”
She drove fast back to the Barrens, trying to burn off her rage with the whipping night air. Of course she’d killed before, but for honor, for the family. Not money.
This would be for honor, too. For restoring mine. Means to an end. But the thought left her cold and hollow.
The address Vinnie gave her was a six-story building, cracked mortar and broken windows. It looked abandoned, but someone on the roof waved to her as she pulled up. Minutes later, the door was opened by a handsome human man in his late twenties. He smiled in a friendly fashion when Steel said she was looking for a room, and led her and her bike up to the second floor.
The room was cleaner than she’d expected, but empty. There was no furniture save for an old couch with springs jutting out of the cushions, and a warped table in the tiny kitchen. The landlord, Frell, told her the monthly rent was forty nuyen, and she paid him on the spot.
“And the water only runs between noon and four p.m., so I’d advise you saving up water during those hours. We should have electricity next week. Enjoy your stay!” He shut the door behind her and left her alone with her bike.
Steel stood in a silence that reminded her of her first moments alone in the 405’s clubhouse. The window was whole, at least, and she could see the spotty lights of the Barrens out of it. She dropped her duffel and pillowcase on the ground, next to her bike, and sat gingerly down on the sofa. It was surprisingly comfortable, at least when she didn’t sit on the springs.
Alone, in the room, with nothing but her thoughts, Steel felt the stress of the last few days suddenly overwhelm her. She bit her lip, hard, and let the pain focus her. Keep it together. That’s the only thing to do.
She felt a sudden, desperate longing to connect to someone, anyone. She fumbled the headset out of her bag and slipped it on. “Wong,” she whispered.
“Nameless.”
“Hi,” she said, trying to keep the unsteadiness out of her voice.
There was a pause, and then, “Steel? You okay?”
“Of course. I can take care of myself, you know.”
His voice was surprised. “I know. Where are you?”
“Somewhere safe.” His voice was warm, reassuring, she felt calmer just listening to him. For some reason that incensed her. “You should know better than to ask.”
“Sorry.”
There was another silence before Nameless said, “So, then, why did you call?”
“I…just…” She thought fast. “I want to go back to my place, in a few days. I might need backup, in case it’s being watched. I thought you might be up for it.”
“Why would you go back there?” Nameless asked, the surprised note back in his voice.
The words came fast, before she thought. “Because…because the place I’m in is so awful.” Her voice caught in her throat. “My place was home – this place is nowhere. I hate it, I hate it so much. I just want things to be like they were before.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “I just want some of my stuff here.”
“Of course I’ll come with you, Shin.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said sharply. “Everyone calls me Steel, now. You should know the importance of names.”
His voice was gentle. “You’re a smart lady, Steel. You know who your friends are, and you know who you can count on. Call me when you want to go.”
She clicked off without saying anything more. She cut the springs off with her katana, curled up on the couch, and convinced herself she was asleep.
Chapter Two: Steel Lotus Remembers She Is Not Alone
The tree branches twined
So close they seem to be one –
They will die apart.
One place to go, and one person to call.
Steel zipped through the cool night air, letting it whip her hair into a frenzy and sting her cheeks pink. She’d slipped on her headset cell before leaving her condo; as she dove between two cars, into the next lane, she activated her phone with a word: “Vinnie.”
The word was repeated in her ear a second later, in a heavily accented voice. “Vinnie.”
“Vinnie, it’s me.”
There was a long silence, and then a chuckle. “Babe! Didn’t expect to hear from you…well, ever again.”
“Look, I know you probably won’t believe me, but I didn’t do it.”
“Didn’t do it?” The voice chuckled. “Didn’t walk inta that corp building downtown and blow everyone away? That what you didn’t do?”
She was going to miss her exit. Steel leaned on the bike and it slid in front of a semi, earning a blast of noise from the driver. She whipped past and onto the ramp. “I was set up, Vinnie. I woke up today with a chipjack in my head, and I can’t remember the last three months.”
A low whistle from the other end. “Heavy stuff, doll.”
“You’re telling me. Look, I need a place to stay. I’m heading for the Barrens. Got a line on a safehouse for me?”
There was another silence.
“Oh, come on, Vinnie. You can do this for me.”
“You gotta hit on you babe, yanno that?”
She took a deep breath as she saw the lights growing sparse and dim out ahead of her. “Yeah, I know that. Please, Vinnie. I need help.”
The silence was shorter this time, broken by Vinnie’s good-natured curse. “Ah hell, the yaks already hate me. The 405s gotta place by the car cemetery. You know the place?”
“I know it.”
“Don’t say I never did nothin for ya.”
“Vinnie, wait.” She smiled, though he couldn’t see it. “I need more.”
“More? What the hell, toots, I look like the Salvation Army to you?”
“When I woke up on the table, I saw a Korean man with a distinctive tattoo. He was about 5’3”, heavyset, dark eyes dark hair. Tattoo was a dragon, a red one, the tail wrapped around his left forearm, green-eyed head on his chest. I need to know who he is.”
“I ain’t a charity, babe.”
“I’m low on cash at the moment, but I can run for you.”
He thought about that. “I’ll get back to you. Don’t get killed.”
“I’ll try.”
There was a click in her ear, and Steel smiled in the silence. Nice to know Vinnie hasn’t changed, at least. She could all but smell his terrible old cigar smoke.
The Barrens was a maze of dead ends, rusted chicken wire fences and coils of barbed wire lying amidst rusting cars and burned-out shells of buildings. Steel drove fast and let her Ingrams’ weight reassure her. Lonestar didn’t come here; regular people didn’t come here; anyone with an ounce of sense didn’t come here. Hopefully the yaks would hesitate before sending anyone after her into the Barrens, and hopefully the mazelike nature of the place would confound them if they did come after her.
The 405s had a walled compound next to the old junkyard. Three long, crumbling apartment complexes boxed in a courtyard full of fires in oil drums and rows of shiny bikes. The guard at the door, a heavyset orc in a leather jacket, eyeballed her as she drove up, and Steel gave him a cool look. “Know any good motels around here?” she asked.
The tilt of her head and the set of her jaw marked her as a kindred spirit; the orc jerked his thumb towards the compound, and the gate rolled back. “Go on in, get a room in the back. Nice ride.”
“Thanks.” She nudged the Blitzen in with her knees and stood it with the other bikes. A few gangers gave her appraising looks as she blew through the courtyard, towards the set of apartments in the rear. The buildings were three-story, off-white crumbling concrete, set with square windows that had been blacked out or boarded up. Steel pushed her way in the door and strode up to the third floor. The first door she tried let her into a small, plain room; orange carpet, a double bed, a cheap dresser, and a chair with unapologetically ugly upholstery. Steel closed the door behind her and tossed the duffel bag on the bed. She cocked her head, listening, but the noise from the courtyard didn’t penetrate this far up. The walls were probably reinforced. All she could hear was the sound of her own breathing.
She took off her headset and sat on the bed, next to her bag. The silence in the room seemed very loud around her. She stared at nothing for a few minutes, breathing steadily. She felt oddly panicked as she looked around. It’s not that bad. At least it’s clean.
And it’s not permanent. It’s just until I figure this out.
She shrugged off her melancholia and turned resolutely to her duffel. A quick search revealed everything there: backup clips, some gel rounds, the Defiant and the 97, plus ammo for them both. A few clothes and books she’d taken from her place. Her swords were on her back, and everything else she needed was in her head or under her skin.
What if they put something else in me? Or took something out?
She blinked her eyes to test them. The vision magnification and distance evaluator were still functioning. She zoomed in to a closeup on the carpet, saw a lot of things in the fibers she didn’t really want to see, and zoomed back out. Her amplified reflexes had functioned perfectly in the fight with the pumpkinheads, as had her smartlink. She stood up, let her mind drift, and then tried to throw herself down on the bed.
It took her three tries before she could concentrate hard enough to fall down. Balance augmenter’s okay. Looks like everything’s working.
Including her new chipjack. She touched it again before forcing herself to drop her hand. She laid her swords on the bed, pulled off her duster, and went to take a shower.
She thought about crying when she was in the hot stream of water, where no one could see her, but was simply too tired. After drying herself off she dressed and fell into the bed, her katanas cradled in her arms. She tumbled instantly into a deep sleep full of twisted nightmares.
The nightmares discorporated back into the corners of her mind with the shrill beeping of her phone. Steel jerked awake with a groan and fumbled for the headset. “Steel.”
“Babe! I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Of course not,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Past noon. I gotta job for ya, if you’re interested.”
“Give me the details.”
“I gotta missing girl whose parents want her back home safe where she belongs. Blonde hair, sometimes pink. Blue eyes, sometimes pink. Samantha Vilnef, seventeen, likes walking on the wild side and giving daddy heart attacks. Last seen at the Chainstorm Club four days ago. You’ll get info on the guy you want and some spending cash. Let’s say five hunnerd nuyen? Get her back in one piece, or no creds.”
“Sounds easy enough. What do I do when I find her?”
“Bring her here, I’ll get her to daddy. Have fun.”
“Always.” She clicked off and lay motionless for a moment, staring at the ceiling. Staying still was difficult; the chemicals injected into her muscles made her want to move, move, all the time. She rolled out of bed and changed into fresh clothes. Her black velvet pants, red silk shirt with red lace at the collar and cuffs, and her black duster. Whatever Steel did, she did with style.
She found a group of 405s with leather jackets and mohawks studying her bike in the courtyard. She made small talk for a few minutes, feeling obligated to be polite, as she was staying in their home. She wondered if she were putting the gang in danger by here mere presence, and decided it didn’t matter. She needed a place to stay; there was no getting around that.
Steel roared off as soon as she could, snagging a bowl of noodles from a take-out place and eating in the parking lot. She kept out of sight until dark and then cruised to the Chainstorm Club.
It was a loud place, the heavy beat echoing her jackhammer pulse. She tried to skip the line, but the bouncers did their job. “Don’t you know who I am?” she demanded of the muscle.
“No,” he replied, “who are you?”
“No one,” she grinned. “I was hoping you didn’t know that.” He laughed, but sent her to the back of the line. When she got to the front he jokingly said, “Oh, it’s you,” and waved her in without cover.
Inside was a frenzy of activity; Steel saw human men and women – boys and girls – orcs and elves and all manner of metahumans writhing in a crushing mass of bodies and sweat. She pushed her way around the edge of the dancefloor to the bar, bought several drinks and tipped largely each time, and gave the drinks away when the bartender wasn’t looking. It took two hours before the bartender’s shift ended, and Steel caught him halfway to the men’s room.
“Hey,” she shouted, and he nodded to her with a smile. “I wonder if you can help me. I’m looking for a friend of mine, I haven’t heard from her in a few days and I’m afraid she’s in trouble. Her name’s Samantha – cute girl, my height, pink hair and matching eyes.”
The bartender thought a minute before nodding again. “Oh yeah, I remember her. Came in and left with a pack of gangers.”
Steel’s heart suddenly sank. “Do you know the colours?”
“Red, white and black. ‘Scuse me.” He pushed past her, leaving Steel biting her lip as she stood by herself, brow furrowed.
The 405s. Damn.
She pouted as she blazed back to the safehouse. Violate the hospitality of the gang, or blow off Vinnie?
Decisions, decisions.
The courtyard was full of people when she got back, gangers inhaling beer and tossing the cans in the oil-barrel fires. She found a small group that was well on their way to blackout-levels of intoxication and had a few drinks with them, talking about bikes and gently steering the conversation in the direction of pink-haired seventeen year olds.
Finally, one drunken 405er slurred, “Oh, that chick. Torc’s girl. Man, that guy is obsessed with the whiney brat.”
“Torc, huh? Where’s he staying at?”
The gangers were too drunk to notice her obvious questions. One pointed to the building to the left of hers. It was identical to the other two, save that the doors were metal and had guards on them. Steel smiled and made small talk for a few more minutes before slipping away and back to her room.
She thought hard for a few minutes once on her own; finally she loaded one Ingram with gel rounds and holstered it again. She packed up everything in her duffel bag and let herself out. She found the stairwell and began climbing up.
The roof access was unlocked, and Steel climbed onto the roof and looked around. The ground under her feet was gravel; the night wind ruffled her hair and cooled her skin. Her mouth twitched into a small smile as she estimated the distance between her and the courtyard below. No one would hear her at this height.
She swung hard and let her duffel bag go. It flew across the narrow gap between the two buildings and landed on the other roof. Steel backed up to get a running start, and when the green numbers in her vision hit 0.25m she launched herself into the air. Her powerful legs took her easily across the gap, and she landed and rolled and came up on her feet without a sound. Retrieving her bag, she let herself quietly into the roof access of this building and began to sneak downwards.
It took her three floors of listening at doors and peeking into rooms before she heard a female voice. She eased her Ingram into her hand and cracked the door. There was a small room beyond, a couch in that same ugly upholstery, and two figures on it watching a battered TV. One was big, thick, and ugly as the couch; the other was a petite, pink-haired girl.
Torc looked up as she opened the door and frowned. “Who the hell are you?”
Steel straightened. “I’m here to talk to Samantha.”
“You know this broad?” Torc demanded of his companion. The girl was wearing a pink vinyl jacket over a tight, white t-shirt, a pink micro-mini, hot pink stockings and white platform boots. Her hair was in pigtails, and her eyes had the glassy look of a doll’s. She looked at Steel and shook her head.
“I just need a minute of your time,” Steel said, but Torc interrupted her. “She don’ wanna talk to you. Beat it.”
Steel sighed and her Ingram jumped up to level at the couple on the couch. The smartlink clicked on and her visual sight locked in on Torc’s chest. Fire.
Samantha squealed, her pink mouth rounding into an O of shock as Torc’s body jerked and fell to the floor. Steel strode into the room. He’s gonna be bruised as hell when he wakes up.
“You killed him!” Samantha shrieked.
Steel leveled the Ingram. “Yeah, and you’re next if you don’t shut up. Follow me.”
Samantha continued to squeal, and Steel shot forward and grabbed the girl by the collar of her jacket. She slammed the kid into the wall and shoved the muzzle of her gun under her chin. “I said shut up, or I pull the trigger.” The menace in her voice and the coldness in her eyes were real. She wasn’t sure what putting gel-rounds into the girl’s neck at point-blank range would do, but she was sure it wouldn’t be pretty.
The kid shut her mouth and Steel hauled her out into the hallway, gun still in hand. She could hear shouts coming from somewhere, and kicked the door shut behind her. “This way,” she ordered, pushing the doll-like girl down the hall and into the stairwell. Someone was coming from upstairs, and Steel paused to listen.
“Dunno…heard shots. You do this floor, I’ll do the next…”
Dammit.
She dragged the kid into the floor above as the two guards began searching the rooms, floor by floor. The girl was making so much noise and acting so stupidly, Steel didn’t feel up to trying to stealth it. She tried doors until she found one that was unlocked, threw the kid inside, and followed her. The maglock was busted, so she shoved the couch in front of the door and hoped that would do the trick. Then she turned her gun on the cowering girl again.
Samantha was smaller than she’d expected; barely 5’ and correspondingly slim. She was quivering and making mewling little noises, and Steel studied her with contempt. How the hell do I get her out of here?
She put her heavy bag down on the ground, paused, then smiled. She pointed her gun at the girl’s head. “Take off your stockings.”
Samantha’s eyes got big. “Wh-what? No!”
“Take them off, or I’ll take them off for you.” Steel’s mouth was a hard line in her face. They didn’t have much time.
“Pervert!” Samantha flared, but she kicked off her platform boots and peeled off the stockings. She put one boot back on and, when Steel didn’t object, the other one too.
“Now your shirt.”
Samantha started squealing again, and Steel closed the distance between them with two strides and hit the girl between the eyes with the muzzle of the Ingram. She could hear footsteps coming down the stairs. “I said the shirt. Now.”
She wasn’t surprised to see that the kid’s bra was hot pink, too. Samantha was almost in tears, but Steel just motioned for her to put her jacket back on. “Now on the floor, on your face, hands behind your back.
She clipped the girl on the back of the head once she was down, as a reminder to stay quiet. She dug a knee into Samantha’s back and tied her wrists and ankles firmly with the stockings. The shirt she stuffed into the girl’s mouth and tied around her head. Then she shoved the bound and gagged form into the closet, drew both guns, pointed them at the door, and waited.
Footsteps down the hall. The rattling of a doorknob. More footsteps. A door opened, and there were some banging noises. Steel began to tremble, just a bit, and took a restless step forward. Her hyperactive reflexes were making her fingers twitch on the triggers. Her brain couldn’t handle two smartlinks at once, so she was firing on skill alone if that door opened. She was kind of looking forward to it.
The footsteps drew nearer. The door to her room rattled, and Steel jumped. She almost squeezed the trigger, almost, but steadied herself and lifted the guns. The door thumped against the couch and the corner of Steel’s mouth twitched.
Then footsteps backed away. She heard voices consulting in the stairwell, and then the gangers moved down to check the lower floors.
Steel holstered her guns with a sigh and grabbed a musty pillow off the bed. She ripped out the pillow, beat the pillowcase for a second to get the dust out, and unzipped her duffel. The shotgun and the 97 fit in the pillowcase, along with her clips and clothes. Steel left it on the ground and yanked the door to the closet open.
Samantha was trying to wriggle out of her bonds petulantly. Steel dragged her out of the closet and into the room. Samantha watched her spread open the duffel bag uncomprehendingly, then began to kick and squeal through the gag when Steel dragged her onto the leather bag. She fought hard, but Steel was as inexorable and unyielding as her nickname. She forced the girl’s legs in, bent her double, and with a great deal of trouble, got the duffel zipped up.
Lucky for me she’s so small.
It was a simple matter from there to get up on the roof with her pillowcase full of guns and her duffel bag full of runaway. She tossed the pillowcase over onto the other roof, hoisted the duffel bag onto her back – luckily for her, the girl was light as well – and launched herself over. She headed down the stairs and was congratulating herself on a job well done when she ran into a 405er coming up them.
“Hey, you,” he demanded, “where’re you going?”
“Just out,” she replied blankly, “is that ok?”
He was about to reply when Samantha kicked Steel in the back of the head. She let out a grunt and dropped the bag in shock. Small, muffled yelps came from the wriggling bag, and the ganger’s eyes went wide.
Steel raised her hands. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just leaving, that’s all.”
The ganger narrowed his eyes and pulled out a length of chain. Steel smiled harmlessly and was about to say something when Samantha worked her gag loose. “Help!” came a muffled voice from the bag. “She killed Torc!”
The ganger charged her, swinging his chain. Steel dodged back, ducked under the arc, and gave ground as the ganger pelted up the stairs towards her. She almost reached for her katanas, but stopped herself. These are my hosts. I can’t just kill them.
She stopped dead, thinking fast. The ganger came right up to her and swung the chain at her face. Steel ducked and came up with her Ingrams in both hands. She jammed the muzzles into the man’s chin.
“Drop the chain and shut up.”
His mouth moved soundlessly for a moment, and then he dropped the chain.
Great. Now I’ve got two hostages.
“Pick up the bag and go through that door. Move!”
The ganger reluctantly grabbed the screaming, wriggling duffle bag. Steel whacked it with the butt of one gun. “Quiet in there, or I swear to God I’ll shoot you.” Samantha submitted with poor grace, and Steel marched the ganger into the hallway.
She quickly found another empty room, had the man set the bag down, and forced him into the closet. She smacked him on the back of the head with her gun, knocking him out, and closed the closet door gently. Sighing, she holstered her guns and unzipped the duffel just enough to replace the gag firmly around Samantha’s face. She noted with some amusement that the girl’s flushed cheeks now matched the rest of her outfit. Then she zipped the bag back up and headed downstairs.
No one took any notice of her as she strode to her bike, and Samantha’s wriggles went unseen in the shadowy courtyard. She slung the bag and the pillowcase over the back of the bike, kicked off, and roared out the gate with a nod to the guard.
Vinnie worked out of a run-down office in Tacoma, and Steel enjoyed the ride there. The night was cool and brisk, refreshing. She pulled up at the crumbling concrete building, left her bike in the lot, and hauled the duffel bag in.
Her knock was answered by Vinnie himself. The little man was just as she remembered him; a compact little Italian with thinning black hair, a permanently creased face and a perpetual cloud of foul cigar smoke. He smiled when he saw her. “Babe!”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“Sure thing, toots. To what do I owe the honor?”
“I’ve got your girl,” Steel drawled.
“Izzat so? Where?” Vinnie craned his neck to look around her.
“Here,” Steel said, dumping the bag on the ground. It quivered and whimpered.
Vinnie’s eyes got big. “Steel, you…you didn’t. Is she in…damn, girl! Do you know who this chick’s father is? Do you know what he’s gonna…ah, hell.” He chomped furiously on his cigar.
Steel blinked. “You wanted her back. She’s back. You got my money?”
“Hell, yeah, here’s your money. Daddy’s gonna be mad as hell over this. No matter, no matter, I’ll work it out. I forgot how…direct your methods are.” He tossed her a credstick.
“And my information?” she asked hopefully.
“Working on it.”
“Let me know as soon as you can,” she said, “and I’ll give you the credstick back if you can give me the location of another safehouse. I wore out my welcome at the old one.”
“What’d’ya do, off the boss?” He waved away her pained look. “Right, right, you was set up. Toss it back here, babe. There’s a guy fixing up old apartments in the Barrens, very low profile. Goes by the name Frell.” He named an address.
Steel handed him the credstick back. “Thanks, Vinnie. Oh, and I need my bag back.” She unzipped the duffel, dumped out the shaking form of the girl and stood up coolly. “Let me know if you have any more work for me. I think I’m gonna need cash to figure out who did this to me, and to get back at them for it.”
“What kinda work you lookin’ for?”
“Anything but mass murder.”
“But you…right, right, you was set up.”
Steel’s mouth twitched. “I was set up. I don’t do wetwork.”
Vinnie grinned, and for a moment the little man’s face looked almost sinister. His mouth twisted into a leer, his eyes narrowing. “Not even for mucho creds? Runs like that take you a long way, babe. Information, money, goods. What the hell you wanna blow off good jobs for – you got some rep I don’t know about you tryin’ to protect?”
Steel flushed angrily. “Go to hell, Vinnie.”
“Love ya too, babe.”
She drove fast back to the Barrens, trying to burn off her rage with the whipping night air. Of course she’d killed before, but for honor, for the family. Not money.
This would be for honor, too. For restoring mine. Means to an end. But the thought left her cold and hollow.
The address Vinnie gave her was a six-story building, cracked mortar and broken windows. It looked abandoned, but someone on the roof waved to her as she pulled up. Minutes later, the door was opened by a handsome human man in his late twenties. He smiled in a friendly fashion when Steel said she was looking for a room, and led her and her bike up to the second floor.
The room was cleaner than she’d expected, but empty. There was no furniture save for an old couch with springs jutting out of the cushions, and a warped table in the tiny kitchen. The landlord, Frell, told her the monthly rent was forty nuyen, and she paid him on the spot.
“And the water only runs between noon and four p.m., so I’d advise you saving up water during those hours. We should have electricity next week. Enjoy your stay!” He shut the door behind her and left her alone with her bike.
Steel stood in a silence that reminded her of her first moments alone in the 405’s clubhouse. The window was whole, at least, and she could see the spotty lights of the Barrens out of it. She dropped her duffel and pillowcase on the ground, next to her bike, and sat gingerly down on the sofa. It was surprisingly comfortable, at least when she didn’t sit on the springs.
Alone, in the room, with nothing but her thoughts, Steel felt the stress of the last few days suddenly overwhelm her. She bit her lip, hard, and let the pain focus her. Keep it together. That’s the only thing to do.
She felt a sudden, desperate longing to connect to someone, anyone. She fumbled the headset out of her bag and slipped it on. “Wong,” she whispered.
“Nameless.”
“Hi,” she said, trying to keep the unsteadiness out of her voice.
There was a pause, and then, “Steel? You okay?”
“Of course. I can take care of myself, you know.”
His voice was surprised. “I know. Where are you?”
“Somewhere safe.” His voice was warm, reassuring, she felt calmer just listening to him. For some reason that incensed her. “You should know better than to ask.”
“Sorry.”
There was another silence before Nameless said, “So, then, why did you call?”
“I…just…” She thought fast. “I want to go back to my place, in a few days. I might need backup, in case it’s being watched. I thought you might be up for it.”
“Why would you go back there?” Nameless asked, the surprised note back in his voice.
The words came fast, before she thought. “Because…because the place I’m in is so awful.” Her voice caught in her throat. “My place was home – this place is nowhere. I hate it, I hate it so much. I just want things to be like they were before.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “I just want some of my stuff here.”
“Of course I’ll come with you, Shin.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said sharply. “Everyone calls me Steel, now. You should know the importance of names.”
His voice was gentle. “You’re a smart lady, Steel. You know who your friends are, and you know who you can count on. Call me when you want to go.”
She clicked off without saying anything more. She cut the springs off with her katana, curled up on the couch, and convinced herself she was asleep.
Bumping this topic back to our collective consciousness. Anyone got any updates? I still want to know more about everyone! 
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