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December 19,2061

November came and went quietly. The rain of October gave way to the rain of November, and now it was giving way to the rain of December.

The news was abuze with reports revolving around the probe race, Haley's comet, natural orichalcom, and, of course, SURGE. The world of December was different from the world of October by a wide margin, it seemed.

The only thing that hadn't changed was the shadows. Sure, the jobs were shifting around, but there were still just as many and just as many hungry runners trying to make the big time.

It was barely past midmorning when the phone calls started going out. Fredrick ran down the database he kept encoded in his pocket secretary, the entries only half in the database and half in his own head or in code. The calls, about two dozen in all, were to runners he had used in the past or had gotten from other Fixers in the last month.

Given the time of years, many wanted nothing to do with the shadows. The first he called, he hinted that there were two jobs available and felt out which job that runner would best perform. Eventually, he got six for each job.

The six runners on the first assignment were to meet a man named Johnson at a bar down in Tacoma called Fat Mikes at 5pm. The job had something to do with a spirit and possibly the elimination of certain persons. Fredrick had been vague, but he'd also been as specific as he could over an unsecured transmission.

With almost five hours till the meet, the runners began their preparations.

In a quiet part of Touristville, a certain retired DocWagon medic was busy operating on another unlucky prospect, whistling away to the old tune November Rain. A small hooded figure stepped out of cold rain and into the street clinic.

“Been quite a while, girl.” Evans replies without even looking up from his patient. “How you been? Manage to find a job yet?”
The little dwarf pulls back her hood and exhales loudly.
“I see. Wasn’t Fredrick any help?”
“Oh, he was, he was. It’s just the usual, the way I bloody look.” She replies in a curt British accent.
“Isn’t there some spell or something which makes you age faster?” The medic half-jokes, still concentrating on his (now-twitching) patient.
Before Marion has the chance to reply, the tridphone in the back of the clinic rings.

“Ah, blast. Mari, could you help me out here? I’m kinda busy.”
“All right.”
“Oh, there are ration bars in the fridge – chocolate strawberry. I know you like ‘em, knock yourself out.”
“Ooh, wonderful!”

“Hello?” Marion takes a large bite out of the sweetened pink nutrition bar and taps the tridphone’s receiver. A rather familiar face appears on screen.
“Who is it?” Evans calls from the first room.
“It’s Fredrick! Says he’s got a job for you!”
A series of heart-wrenching moans and screams escape from the next room and a spray of blood smears the flood.
“Cripes…Could you tell him I’ll be busy for a bit? Why don’t you take the job?”
“Okay…hello Mister Fredrick? Do you remember me? It’s Marion…yes, Marionette…” “…Bloody…it’s only a lung cavity, stay still won’t you…” “…you see, Evans is kinda busy…” “For the love of…” “Yeah. Busy. Oh, you wanted to call me too? Wow, that’s great. Alright, I’ll be there.”

“Got the job, eh girl?” Evans asks as a beaming Marion walks out of back room. “Yes. I hope it goes well this time.”
Evan’s patient lurches and starts to struggle, clawing away at the open flesh on his chest.
“I wonder how this bastard stays up with all that anesthetic pumped into him. Say Mari, do me a favour?”
The young dwarf nods and nabs the nearest medical tool which looks long and slender enough to be a wand. She waved it in the air a bit and pointed it at the patient, who was staring wide-eyed at her. Her being seemed to pulsate with ambient mana, and she thrust the tool towards the patient whilst mouthing lots of made-up-on-the-spot mumbo jumbo.

The patient faints.

“Whoa, nice trick. What spell was that?”
“Spell? I didn’t cast any spell.” She grins.
“Bugger…” Evans chuckles, then tosses her another candy/ration bar. “Here, for the road. Tell me how the run goes, and good luck girl!”
“Don’t count on it.” Her face goes sour “I bet every wanker I meet will forever accuse me of being a kid who tries to take after that Japanese anime-thing, or whatever it’s called. Chances are I’ll get left by the wayside again just because I bloody look like this.”
“But I like your hai-“
“So I do, but others don’t. If I didn’t need any credit I wouldn’t bother facing the fragging bigots in the shadows every day. Sigh, at least I’m not a subject of this anti-SURGE nonsense.”
“Chill, chica. I’m sure your teammates will be different this time.”
“…”

- - - -

Marion put up the hood of her cloak again, her mood as dark as the city around her. Lion had been kind enough to sympathize with her plight, but she just wasn’t getting any respect from anyone besides her close friends. And that usually cheerful face was beginning to erode into something much more bitter. She silently mouthed a curse to nobody in particular and set off down the road.

Could Lion have been wrong about choosing her? No, no…he was still there, guiding her, consoling her. The more she thought about it, the bitterer her mood grew, until she was practically oozing contempt when she got on the bus. The ride itself was hell; with the taller folks always failing to see her, and the dwarves too who mistook her for a child and treated her as such. She struggled to conceal her seething hatred, half wanting to throw a fireball at her feet.

Eventually she found her way to Fat Mike’s by conversing with a few wayward spirits. She was extremely relieved that no guards or bouncers were around to cause more frankly unneeded drek for her. She slipped in and looked around for the meet.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city, people go about their daily lives unaware that people like these even exist.

Fingering his medallion Shade sits down to focus on himself. In, out; in, out; in, out; the pattern of his breathing remains the same as he slides into the shadows of his home. Kept dark for reasons that few even begin to suspect Shade fins comfort in the darkness. A new job means a new target and one more person who will no longer be breathing once he is done. His blade dances a pattern in the air, slicing through the soft center of the target, another one dies. Sliding out of his focus Shade reviews his work, the marks for the vitals are no longer visible, the stuffing of the dummy hang out like the real intestines would. The target would have been eliminated most effectively. Flipping a few lights on Shade slowly eats his soy-food.

Two hour before the meet Shade slides his kris, the blade tied to him forever, at least that's what the legends say, into its place on his back. Pulling out his pistol and checking it over, he slides it into the edge of his shoes. Pulling on a set of ordinary clothing he picks up his phone, and his electronics kit and begins the walk to the tubes station. This job smells of the fresh blood that I shall spill.

The burning flame hovered in his hand dancing around with a life of it’s own. The bald Ork stared strait ahead, his eyes unfocused as he lost his mind to the dancing of the flame. The figures started to appear, one by one, first a women, beautiful blonde, young, what every man desires. She lightly stepped through a door, a man was behind her. They embraced passionately. Her clothes shed and soon…

“Is that enough,” the Ork said. He felt no joy in telling this man the news.

“Yes,” said the man before him, broken and beaten. In most men it would be rage, in this one it was sadness.

“I’m sorry, if it helps. Women are a fickle thing. All may not be lost.”

“Thank you,” the man said as he dropped a hundred nuyen on the table.

“Anytime.” Drake leaned back resting his head and eyes. Reading the past took the wind out from his sails.

You could have told him the rest.

“Why?” He said aloud. He was in the habbit of speaking aloud to his companion, even though he didn’t have to.

So that he could move on and leave her, instead he will try to win her back.

“He may just, I am not so powerful that I can see everything, every path metahumans take. I thought that once, look what it costs us, our life, our dignity. No friend, he may still win her back.”

If you think so. Answer the phone.

The phone rang, a sly smile spread across Drake’s lips.

“Hoi Fredrick.”

“Hoi Drake, I’ve got a job for you, a bar in Tacoma. Six hours, don’t be late.”

“I never am.”

Click, the line died.

Just enough time for a nap.

The telecom rang, prompting Mako to leap out of bed before it could disturb Faith, who was snuggled up under the blankets.

"It's Frederick, I've got a job for you at a bar in Tacoma if you're interested."

Mako thought briefly. He actually isn't really interested in working so close to Christmas, but he needs money for Christmas presents this year. Stupid magical group...lousy gang...silly girlfriend...Christmas, bah, humbug! he thinks to himself. Of course he actually really was looking forward to Christmas this year.

"What's the job entail?" he replied.

It'd been a good year this year. Hooking up with Faith was just wonderful, things with the Halloweeners were all good again, and he was really enjoying his newfound friends in the magical group. Yup, all things considered, his life, particularly his relationships, were back on track. Of course, that also meant presents. Lots of presents. And lots of presents equalled lots of nuyen.

"Your favorite. Figured you'd be interested. You always are in these type of jobs."

Yes...a new hunt...a new prey... somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard Shark's voice speaking to him.

And you even get paid for doing it! Merry Christmas chummer! After moving in with Faith to a nice new apartment in Downtown Seattle, and needing to buy presents...yeah, he could definitely use the money.

"Sounds good. I'm in. Anything else I should know before going?"

"Nope. Just show up, you'll get all the information there."

Mako nodded. Sounded like a decent enough deal. He got to kill someone, everyone else got presents, and Shark got the thrill of another hunt. Yup, Merry Fragging Christmas chummer...

In the 10th floor of an old hotel, the name torn down long ago, Paris put the finishing touches on the modifications he was making to a custom finished Ares Predator II as his phone rang.

"Yes?"

He paused his work momentarily.

"Ah yes. Hello. Your merchandise is ready. But I believe you said you wanted it ready by two days from now... why the rush?"

He blew a bit of metal shavings from the edge of the barrel.

"Oh? Yes... I wouldn't mind a more interesting job. When and where?"

Noticing a slight imperfection, he pulled out a small file and began working.

"I see. Will we have time after the meeting to request other supplies this time?"

He continues filing down the tiny imprefection.

"Very well. I'll be there. And Fredrick, do you want me to bring the items you wanted to the meet?"

He pauses a moment.

"Very well. Good day."

He hangs up the phone, and resumes working on the pistol.

Fredrick was tight lipped over the phone. It was either the size of the job or something else keeping him from being free from info, but, knowing Fredrick he'd be at the bar before the meet to make sure everyone showed up and pass along a bit more info.

The rain slacked off about four, and Tacoma steamed acidicly in the cold air. This part of the district wasn't any better than most, though there were certainly worse. Fat Mike's itself was a small bar, squat and made of cheap plascrete in the style of the buildings from twenty years ago. The parking lot was cracked and straggling pieces of grass forced their way through the seams, though they were brown from the cold and the acidic rain. Several cars were parked on the cracked asphault, in a variety of styles, though most were large sedans of one type or another.

A neon sign displayed that the place was open, and a lack of windows made its presence necessary. The sign was dark today, however, though as, one by one, the team got the nerve to go inside, they found that the bar was far from empty.

Half a dozen men in dark suits, finely tailored and fitted, sat around the main room, though the bartender's demeanor immediately identified them as customers who were either regular or non-paying. As each runner entered, the entire room stiffened, and a hulk of a man siddled up to the new entrant as Fredrick called out an "okay".

As each runner was ushered into the back room, Fredrick offered, "I'll be back in a minute." As the last of the five runners found themselves in the back room, the fixer slipped in the door.

The room itself was nicely appointed, though it had the same rundown feel as everything in the area. The table and half a dozen chairs were all of high quality, though aging, and the cracked display pad on the table's surface had certainly seen better days.

"Ain't got long, but Mr. J will be here in five, anyway. Got any questions I know the answers to?"

Paris entered the bar wearing a long coat and a baseball cap, as well as sunglasses, which he removed after he stepped through the threshold. He took a moment to unsling his duffle bag from his back, subtly checking out each person in the bar, before heading in to the back room. He placed the bag on the ground and took a seat in a chair.

Mako walked into the bar, dressed in his usual black trench coat over black outfit. His hair was marked with orange streaks, and he took off his sunglasses. With a nod from the bartender, he went towards the back room, and with a nod to Frederick, plopped himself into a chair.

Marionette slid through the bar with her hood up, only lowering it when Fredrick needed to identify her in the room. She remains quiet and props herself up on a chair.

SLiding into the bar Shade wears a set of slightly ragged cloathing, and an ornate silver chain with a pendant of a sword standing on its tip on his neck. Nodding to Fredrick Shade walks into the back room, finding comfort in the feeling of his blade in the small of his back.

While the others are entering the bar, Paris reaches in to his coat and pulls out a small device, turns it on, gives Fredrick a "you can't be too careful" shrug, and, leaving the device on, slips it back in to his pocket. Anyone looking closely at the device would see it's a bug scanner, left to set off a warning if anything is detected.

Upon entering the bar Drake took a moment to drink in the atmosphere of the place. The shadows enshrouded the joint like a baby's blanket. Almost smothering the place.

The ork made his way back to the room, he smiled and nodded at anyone who looked at him. He was tall, but no overly so, and big, again though, not too big. More on the runty side for an ork, but large for a human.

He found a corner and leaned against it. He seemed personable, and friendly, but not overly anxious to sit down.

The room scans clean on every sensor used, and Fredrick makes some small talk for a few minutes before ducking back out the door as a large gentleman in a dark suit approaches.

The other man comes inside and takes a seat. Whereas the men in the front room before were large with muscle and physical strength, this person seems the type that had those qualities in youth but now has gone portly. He scans the team over. "I know youse guys probably don't know anything about what's goin' on down here in Tacoma. I kept the details of this one real quiet. Outside of this room, your fixer is the only living soul that knows what I am about to speak to you about."

He leans forward, his voice growing very stern and soft. "My niece was murdered three weeks ago. The," he pauses for a moment in distaste, "metahuman refuse which were responsible for this act have been dealt with. At least, some of them."

He leans back a little. "Since then, my men have found themselves the victims of a lot of 'accidents'. You know the type. Someone is hunting my men, and I want them dead. Only I can't move in Tacoma like I want on account of those yellow bastards, which is why I have called you here today."

"So what are..." Marion stopped and coughed, readjusting her natural voice so as not to sound overly young. "...what are the details? Where do we come in?"

Shade readjust his position in his seat, "what specifically do you want done, track down and kill, track down and scare drekless, or just track down and report back." A heavy Japanese accent obvious when he spoke. While speaking he thought to himself The first one is the correct choice, you must set an example, the second could be acceptable, but if its just the third you came to the wrong adept.

The Johnson listens to the questions as they come. "I want you to track down whoever, or whatever, is behind this and make sure that they don't bother myself, or any of my interests ever again. The more final that arrangement is, the better."

"What are your feelings regarding collateral damage, visibility of our actions, and deniability for yourself?" Paris asks. "In other words, do you mind if things or people other than the target get hurt, if others know that an opperation was done, and if people know you sent this opperation in?"

"So long as it don't hurt my interests directly or indirectly, then I don't fraggin' care. Make sure there ain't no way it's gettin' linked back to me and you can take out a couple city blocks if you need to."

Mako speaks up, directly and to the point. "Will you be providing any guidance as to what is and is not construed as your interests? I recognize this may be perceived as an amateur question, but you seem to have a serious mad on, so I'll cut the drek. I have zero problem with having to figure out what does and does not constitute your interests, but that takes time, time I'd rather spend preparing to deal with your problem. If you'd like to save us that time, that would be helpful."

"Mostly, just try not to blow up anything big south of the docks area."

The silent Orc speaks up, his voice is soft but he speaks clearly and loudly enough for all to hear him.

"I will need some pieces of jewelry or anything really that was close to your niece. With that I can easily track down whomever killed her."

Drake concentrates a moment and lets his senses slip into the astral.

Looking at the Johnson Shade speaks up, "What do you know about our target? More precisely what can you tell us about our target?"

The Johnson looks midly surprised at the suggestion that a personal belonging could track her killer. "I think we've already got the ones involved directly, but I can provide you somethin'. It'll be a few hours, though." He gets up and opens the door and speaks with someone in hushed tones for a second. Then he closes the door. "I've sent someone after it now."

"As for the target... The word on the street is that the Goumon is behind this one. Him and that fraggin' meat puppet of his."

Paris raises his eyebrow. "Meat puppet?"

"Some ghost story the Yaks spread around. Supposedly there's some big evil ghost thing or somethin' that goes after their enemies. Supposed to be real nasty too. They say that there's a few Yaks that do it's biddin' an' drek."

"Sounds like just another ghost story." Marionette rubs her chin. "But I'm not putting anything past anything just yet. Any more information you have on this Meat Puppet thing would conceivably be able to help us with our task."

Mako speaks up. "So our target is not whoever went after your niece. It is whoever is hunting your men and preventing you from acting freely in Tacoma as you wish. Correct?"

"Yeah. I get a feelin' that they're related, though. You can ask Little Tony for some info. He survived their last attack and might have got a good look at a few of 'em."

Marion didn't need long to think about it. The job seemed very intruiging.

"I'm in."

Mako looks over at the dwarf, who didn't seem to wait very long before answering. She didn't even ask what the pay was. Guess she really is interested. He shrugs. Oh well, sounds good to me. Track someone down and kill them. I'd probably do it no matter what he's paying. May as well jump on board.

"I'm in." He nods to the Johnson.

"Conditionally, I'm in" says Paris, "but there's a small manner of money to discuss first..."

Ah good another job and someone with the sense to ask about money, although the experiance and the hunt are more important thatn the reward.

"Money is important, but no matter the pay I'm in."

"I ain't goin' to mess around. Pay's two hundred fifty large, one hundred of it up front. Split it up however you want to."

"That will have to do" says Paris. "So, anything else needed, or can we get this show on the road?"

JaronK

The Johnson doesn't have anything more, it seems.

Mako nods at the Johnson. "I guess that takes care of who's in or not. How do we get in touch with you when the job's done?"

Shade looks up, "and what specifically can we use to detirmine if the job IS done?"

"I've got a' feelin' that it'll be obvious," the Johnson notes. "If they's more than one group out there doin' it, then I've got bigger problems than havin' to pay people twice to deal with it. Gettin' in touch is easy enough." He scrawls a commcode on a end of card. "Call this number."

The Johnson provides the funds in the form of certified cresticks in a variety of denominations, though all around the 5k mark. With the meeting concluded he rises. "Yous guys can use this room for a bit if you want. The bar's closed tonight. Let Mike know when you're done."

With that, he takes his leave.

Without making a move for the money, Mako looks around the room. "Figure introductions are in order maybe? Name's Mako. And you all are..." he leaves the question hanging.

"Paris. Sniper, military training, and can look like a corporate-type if needed. Can also handle weapon repair if you folks need."

"Name's Shade B&E and wetwork are my specialties, as well as a little bit of scout work."

"My name's Marionette. I'm a shaman, with a bit more focus on slinging spells."

Mako nods towards Marionette. "Echo the shaman and spell slinging part. I'm also a hitman. So I guess this kind of work is right up our alley for most of us then."

Shade nods, as he really begins to speak everyone picks up a very strong japanese accent on his words, "Sounds like just my specialty, the question is where to we begin getting to work on the job. I don't have enough contact within these foreign shadows to pick up info on our target, however I would suggest we pay Mr. Goumon a late night visit, followed by the infliction of pain."

"I see" says Paris. "I'm can assist in that... we may be able to learn everything we need to know about the situation that way, in addition to sending a certain message."

Mako nods. "All right then. Count me in for that too."

nodding at the team for this part that seems to want in shade continues "I think that we need only really pick a single time for the insertion and then hit him. It is quite possible that this will be our only real work for this job so we need people to do a little bit of legwork, but, I can't be the one doing it." His japanese accent is strong and almost enough to cause problems with understanding, but he doesn't seem to notice.