There I was having a pleasant conversation…. Flitted through Piper’s mind as he followed the fleeing Trog. There was no way he was going to lose his one source of information, besides, the two Trolls should be well and capable of taking care of four sewer dwellers. To be on the safe side he fired a shot in the general direction of the newcomers as he moved, not caring whether he hit anything. It’d make ‘em duck if nothing else.

The north bound platform was gloomier than the vestibule, with it’s guttering neons, but it was enough to see the shape of the small informer running along it. Piper ran, fast, he wasn’t more than a nanosecond behind the odorous little beast when the anticipated gunfire erupted from behind him. The Trolls were mixing it with the restless natives!

Waiting at the bottom of the stairs, Deuce grew impatient. Where the frag are they? He let out an audible sigh. I'll just go get those two and with that he ascended the stairs

:: Tyen's eyes go wide as she mentally lists off the items. The spell had no emotion attached to any word or name, it just identified objects with the monotony of a computer program. However, the moment the word "bomb" registered in her head, her heart stopped a moment and she whipped around towards Sandy. The sudden movement was too much to for the rhythenium processors to maintain their projected images, and the hood had fallen back from her face enough for Sandy to see Tyen's expression. ::

"Bomb. Get the hell out..."

:: Running forward, she physically spins Sandy in front of her and pushes her forward to further communicate the need for haste. Tyen had no idea what trigger the bomb had or how much time remained, but she definately knew she didn't want to find out too late. ::

As deuce rounded the corner he saw the girls running in his direction. Ah they missed me But he quickly saw their expressions and knew it was joy to see him.
"What the frag...?" he said as they got closer to him.

Gunfire and screams followed Piper as he hurtled after the skinny runt that was about to become his snitch.
That same guttering neon light suffused the north bound platform and the scampering sound of the fleeing Trog, accompanied by the higher pitched squeals of disturbed rats, told the Irishman that he had better hurry if he was to catch his quarry before the dark tunnels of the London underground swallowed him, or her, for good.

Spurting forward, Piper made ground on the ragged figure. As he drew close he contemplated taking a shot; just to wound you understand; but at this range and both of them running a `wounding’ shot was just as likely to be a kill shot. He holstered his weapon.

Piper had never cottoned to English rugby but Irish football, now that was another thing entirely, and he’d played a few games in his time. The rough and tumble of the game had taught him one thing, if nothing else. A stern chase is a long chase but, in the end there’s nothing for it but to launch an attack.

Sprinting harder, the old soldier dived at the running figure, catching a handful of filthy rags. It wasn’t much of a handful and immediately began to tear, but it seemed to be enough. The Trog stumbled, leaning to the left and the four foot drop onto the rails.

Piper rolled to the right, heaving with all his strength at the rending cloth. Like a salmon on a trace line, the object of his attention stopped its hesitant drop into the oblivion of the electrified rails and, almost in slow motion, arced backward to crash onto the platform, screaming for its life.

Recovering his feet, Piper stood over the crying waif. “Sure, an I’m not gonna kill you. But yer mates might, if’n they survive.” He heaved the skinny runt to its feet, pulling it toward the partial cover of the platform’s curved wall. “Now, as I was sayin, before we were so rudly interrupted. What do you know about a diplomatic case skimmed off a dead man in the Squeeze two nights ago?”

:: Tyen, small and shimmering behind Sandy, just waved her hands forward. ::

"A bomb upstairs. Must leave NOW!"

She didn't have to tell Deuce twice. He quickly followed the women down the stairs. Getting fist on the subvocal, "Buddy, start the engine, we're getting outta here now!" Fist was used to this from his boss. No real surprise. He had gotten him out of situations before.
"The car's waiting..." said Deuce to the ladies.

I hope that thing is armed and we're not running away for no reason! Sandy cant help but think as she sprints towards the door. "As hard as it is... walk out the front, they will draw on us if we run back past them...." so as they get within sight of the doorman Sandy forces herself into a brisk walk.

Having the two girls slow suddenly, Deuce almost trips right over them. "Geez! A little warning first eh?" he mutters, slightly annoyed with the whole situation.
He follows the two out the door. 'Psst why would there be a bomb in his building? What would be the point?"

Piper:

"Oh for FRAG'S SAKE just don't kill me! I'll tell you all I know, honest!"

The under-grounder was evidently scared. Although the gangers were all more than capable of perpetrating violence, it seldom followed them back to their own lair. This lad was (nearly literally) wetting himself.

"We don't got the case, man... some girl took it. A Spit-sider. [OOC: Spit-Sider=someone who lives above ground] What's her name... uh... Tasha! The gang, they use her as a go between for shit we can't move ourselves, scan? She understands all the spitsiders better'n what we do! They call her "Tazer" but I swear I don't know where her crib is, I SWEAR!

-------------------------------------------------------------

Sandy, Tyen & Deuce:

The door leading out of the (potential) danger zone opened in a soundless, efficient, rich-person's manner. The Doorman stood beyond, wearing the same face from earlier, and yet an entirely different expression. He tugged at his "forelock" and gave the visible runners a polite, British bow.

"Ms. Jackson, Master Tryon, his Lordship bade me wish you goodnight. He also asked that I give you this..."

The doorman held out a leather case, clearly intending for Deuce to take it. The runners' sharp eyes and keen memories flagged it as identical to the one they were meant to be looking for.

"He also asked me to point out the various - and very dangerous - gentlemen watching the doorway from secreted locations, should you find any reason to cause a disturbance. Wouldn't do in this neighbourhood - oh no. Bluebloods don't like their quiet disturbed, if you get my meaning." He bowed again. "Good night..."

"Oh...uh...err..thanks...I think," was all Deuce could get out as he took the case. He gave a look of 'what the frag?' to Sandy. "I guess we're all set." The doorman gave a smile, "Sir, madam..."

They climbed into the back of the limo and pulled out of the lane.

"So," said Deuce eagerly, "Shall we..?"

Sandy, Tyen and Deuce:

With nothing in the way of ticking, hissing or banging, the leather case opened. It did not issue forth anything nasty - well, not dangerous at any rate, unless you count the sanctity of identity as having anything to do with a safety crisis.

The most noticeable thing, for starters, was the presence of a credstick. It rolled out of the open case wide end first, so they could see the elegently tied bow around it, the red ribbon gripping a note that read "A little incentive for you... regards, JC." It was not, however, the most important.

Taking up the majority of the case's interior were a number of files. One contained hardcopy pictures of Deuce arriving at Gatwick airport and a dossier on the fake ID he had used to gain access to the country. There was also information on his real identity obviously pulled from some UCAS database.

The second folder was a full military record for one Alexander O'Toole, along with Psychological profiles and a Magical Aptitude test document from just before he mustered out.

Also included were criminal records for Tyrone, and "Suspect List" documentation for Sandy and Stone, the latter of which had a list of gang activity as long as your arm linking him to the Seoulpa Rings.


The Limo's occupants quietly absorbed the information......

Tazer, Tasha, whatever. This was getting more confusion by the minute. Piper looked down at the quivering snitch and, for a moment, thought to hurl the waif onto the live rail. One more piece of drek out of the way. But only for a moment.

“On your way!” He gave an evil grin as he shouted. “I owe you, so I’ll let you live.” The rags got up and began to move away.

“Fanks fer nufin!” And the shadow fled down the platform, disappearing into the tunnel at the end.

Behind him, things seemed to have gone deathly quiet. Quite why it was quiet, and who had died, Piper had to find out. Carefully, Beretta drawn once more, he retraced his steps to the lower foyer.

"Hmmph," Deuce grumbled as he non chalantly put the credstick in his breast pocket," I don't care if this guy knows who I am. That's not a big secret. Got quite a rep back home. The people adore me." He looked over the rest of the contents. "Seems like this guy has his connections and knows all about us though," he said, not impressed, as he held up Sandy's picture on the "suspect" list.

Piper:

Stealthily, the Irishman moved back to the lower foyer. In the dark and quiet he was unseen. Slowly, he poked his hear around the corner...

Beyond, there was a bloodbath. It seems that more gangers had appeared while he was "away" and bodies lay sprawled all around.

There was no sign of movement, however.


As he moved into the area, he began to scan the bodies. The only one he recognised was Tyrone, sprawled by the escalators. Moving to him quickly, he felt for a pulse, but the giant metahuman was already cooling, as was the big-bore pistol still held vice-like in his grip. Around him, multiple gangers were laying, perforated.

There was no sign of Stone save for a messily decapitated ganger near where Piper had last seen him. Bloodied footprints, however, led up the steps but faded from sight at the top... but then how hard would it be to find someone such as he?

:: As they begin to make their way out, Tyen freezes as Sandy and Duece are addressed by the guard. She can sense the menace in the air, but also tell that not only did they suspect who Sandy and Duece were, they didn't fear the two runners at all. Perhaps that bomb was not activated afterall... ::

:: As the conversation continues, Tyen realizes that they seem to have no clue as to her presence. Her curiosity brimming, she takes a silent step back and retreats back into the building and ghosts her way up the stairs as the group downstairs dispenses with business. ::

:: Approaching the office, she is glad to see the way open and unrestricted. She keeps her eyes in front of her and down carefully scanning everything critically, looking for any sort of bomb trigger. Heading towards the desk, she crouchs low and then whispers to the spirit that continues to wait for the additional favors it has granted to the young shaman. ::

"Sister Shadow...there is a device that contains much destructive power hidden in this room somewhere. Please, help me to locate it so that I can safely avoid the dangers it holds."

Piper counted seven bodies, apart from the unfortunate Tyrone. Their weapons had been crude, rusted blades mostly, a pistol which had lost its grip, the skeleton steel stark in a pool of blood, and a sawn off shotgun which looked as though it had been used as a club when the ammo ran out.

Nothing else for it. The Irishman went through Tyrone’s pockets, collecting his ID, a couple of cred sticks and some few other personals including the big bore pistol. His link to his wheels, inside his head for the most part, were as dead as the Troll of course, but there might be a way….

Piper headed up the escalator, following the bloody footprints of, what he hoped was, a not too injured Stone.

Trying to remain calm Sandy watches the folder being handed over and stays silent while they make their way back to the limo. Once safely on their way, she says..."As shadow hasnt made an apperance I assume she made her way back in. Although they obviously have nothing concrete on me, I am not afraid to say that I think anyone who has a record such as this on us shouldnt continue to hold it over us, after all, how knows who they may give it to. Maybe we should get this case back and then arrange for a couple of accidents? oh and by the way Deuce, hand the cred stick over!"

Deuce smiled, "I'll hang on to it for a while, no one knows we have it, and trust me, I'll split it with you, fair and square."

He looks over his file and smiles, "At least they could have got a better picture of me...."

The limo pulls away slowly. "We'll have to come back for her, if we stay and wait they'll know something was up."

"Not that I am one to squabble over money, but I at least want to know what the total is on that cred stick so I know how much fair and square is!! Lets just wait around the corner until she is ready. That way, we are there in case a quick pick up is needed."

Sandy sits back in the plush leather seats and has a think, wondering what the next phase should be considering this new turn of events.

The limo pulls out of sight and goes down the street about a block then pulls over. Deuce leans to the side and opens up a compartment revealing his own mini fridge, filled with various liqeurs, wines and other alcoholic beverages. Selecting a cherry brandy, he takes two glasses, "Drink madam?"

Have you ever noticed that, no matter where you are in the world one thing is always there with you. Noise! Even if it’s only your own heartbeat unless, of course, you’re dead.

Piper reached the top of the escalator and searched for Stone. Blood spatters lead to the rusted iron gates and out onto the darkened street, then stopped. Whether because the Troll had managed to stem the bleeding or because his body had been removed, the Irishman couldn’t tell. But the silence was deafening, save for the soldier’s heart pounding in his ears with adrenaline filled blood.

It took nearly an hour to find a way back to the safe house, through back alleys mostly with their imminent dangers. But Piper dropped onto his preferred two chair bed, exhausted. He knew he should make contact with the other runners, tell them that now there were only five of them, possibly only four, but he made the mistake of closing his eyes, just for a moment you understand.

A moment which lasted a good hour before the Irishman woke with a start at intrusive sounds which even his debilitated body could not ignore.

Noise! Cacophonic noise, like all the Banshees at once were coming to get the old Irish soldier turned out to be the normally quiet Bandwidth Bob struggling with a cooker and having trouble getting it through the narrow door into the Team’s back room hideaway.

Cursing, as only a good Gaelic boy can, Piper stomped over and heaved along with the dowdy little Decker, wriggling the contraption into a position over by the low table and a wall socket.

Between them they got the thing hooked up and, as Piper set a pot of water to boil, Bob left briefly, returning with a heap of foodstuffs and a small, table top fridge. He’d figured they would be here for some time, so why not have all the comforts of home.

Having explained what he’d been able to find out, and about the death of one and disappearance of another Troll, Piper went and freshened up, whilst the Decker made contact with Deuce and the others to bring them up to speed and find out their situation.

Tyen, Sandy and Deuce:

Inside the office of the Duke, Tyen's mind crawled as her spirit cohort searched the room for destructive intent. In moments, her soul is nipped at by the spirit as it fills her head with images of destructive force, directing her attention to the desk - and more particularly, the chair behind it - with awful warnings and concern for Tyen's safety...

:: Tyen's heart skips a beat, the urgency of the spirit communicated more purely then the communication most people are familiar with. Taking a cautious step towards the chair, she gets down on her hands and knees to peer under it, careful not to touch anything. ::

Leaning over to take one of the glasses, Sandy relaxes and sips at the cool, smooth liquid. While wondering what her collegue is up to in the building just down the street.

Tyen:

Kneeling ever so carefully behind the desk, Tyen peers into the dark space beneath the chair.

In the shadows (ironically) she can just make out the outline of a pressure pad attached to the seat of the chair, with a small wireless transmitter - extremely small.

As for where it's transmitting to, there's no way to say...


Piper:

"Sorry to wake you, Herr Piper... I was bringing in zis cooker for everyone to use. And I am sorry to hear of the trolts. I take it you are unhurt? I had a little luck with my searches - but not much. I was doing a general search on the target's image and came up with a security camera view of him at Charing Cross station - at a ticket kiosk. I cross referenced the time index with the purchase register. I can't be sure, but he was either buying a ticket from Waterloo up to somewhere in birmingham, or getting himself an open-area travelcard for that day... but it's the same day he died, so it would make no sense for him to have been on foot..."

:: Tyen breaths in sharply and then nods to herself. Most likely, the bomb is activted by sitting in the chair and as long as she makes no contact with it, it will probably remain dormant. She takes a moment to run through her mental list of items to make sure she doesn't remember multiple transmitters. ::

:: As she thinks about the situation though, she realizes that it's unlikely that there's anything physical here that will help them, but that says nothing about what could be said or done in here in the future. Opening the small pouch at her waste, she removes a small case containing 3 remarkably small objects that resemble small plastic spiders. ::

:: The listening device contained within each is rather expensive and the AOD feature makes it much more effective in hiding from listening devices. While she is not thrilled about using the devices in a place she will most likely never be able to recover them, the potential payout that having ears in such an important place would be worth the cost. ::

:: Handing the small bug to the shadowy figure at her side, she points up to the vent in the ceiling and visualizes the spider sitting in a most spider-like manner within the dark tunnel, yet close enough to the edge to hear the sounds that will emminate from inside the posh office. ::

:: Once that is finished, she nods to the spirit who winks at the young shamen before melting back into the shadowy corners. Now, all she need to think about is escape. Stepping in to the hallway and heading to the large picture window at the end of the corrider, she begins to slowly undress herself underneath the invisible cloak. Her pants, socks, shirt, and underthings get folded and piled at her feet, with the pouch set on top. Then she uses her sweater to tie the objects together in a hobo-style pack. ::

:: With a final glance around the office, she takes a deep breath and unlatches the window, throwing it open. She must work quickly now, assuming the alarm system on the office will alert the guards below to the breach. She whips the cloak off and wraps it around her items. Almost at that instant, her body seems to contort and warp in unnatural and rather painful ways. Her skin shimmers and then sprouts long dark feathers, her legs shrink down and her feet form rough large talons which instantly grab hold of the cloak containing her possessions. Her arms elongate and large wings take their place. ::

:: With a single powerful thrust, she moves to the window sill, and then her newly formed wings spread wide as she pushes out into the night and towards the dark safehouse on the otherside of town. ::

:: The large black wings glide through the air gracefully, though her lungs burn from the smog. Teary eyed she begins a lazy circular decent towards the dark building housing her safehouse. Silently, she drops down to the stone stairs, her wings pulling in to fit the width available. The second her feet touch ground, she begins her transformation back to her natural form, but has the presence of mind to turn her back to her surveillence camera incase any of her team is paying attention. ::

:: Untying and unwraping her cloak with a practiced flourish, she spreads it over her shoulders fastens it closed in front and then gathers her clothing and belongings before heading into the building and through her security to enter the dwelling. She pauses once she enters, looking at the additional equipment with a raise of her eyebrow before she remembers she is still rather underdressed. Turning wordlessly, she heads to the bathroom to redress and while doing so, she activates her phone and calls Deuce. ::

"I 'ave arrived at safe house. Did you escape without problem?"

"Oh...okay...yeah we're out fine." replies Deuce, turning to Sandy, the elf smiles, "Well it seems our friend made it home already." He presses a button to the intercom, "Take us back to the house Fist."
"Yessir..." came the reply as the limo pulled away from the curb.

:: Tyen disengages her phone and drops it into the pouch that she reattaches to her waist before running her fingers through her hair. Stepping back out of the shower, she glances around and realizes Piper is without the other two large gentlemen that were supposed to accompany him. ::

"Dandy and Sandy are on their way back."

:: She can't help but smile at the unintentional rhyme. ::

"We were not only expected, the Lord Protector seemed prepared for us specifically. I was able to leave listening device which hopefully will not be found soon. Should make point to get within range soon and listen.

"Where are our large friends?"

It had been a full 24 hours, and what did the Team have to show for it?

Not very much, except that one of their number had died and one was missing. So many red herrings, false leads and wasted expertise.

Piper, having explained the fracas in the underground at Lambeth North Station and the untimely demise of the Rigger, surrounded by his enemies, said as much.

With all the cards on the table there was only one thing certain, the Equerry had been in a place he should never have been and his case, the case, had been passed on, north of the river. Further whereabouts unknown!!

The Irishman leant back in his chair. “So, my friends. Where do we go from here?”

"As far as I know, our only leads are Lord Protector and Tasha. 'e seems to know more than 'e has any right so I t'ink we should set up listening post to see if my little spider catches any flies. As far as girl goes, I 'ave someone t'at may know somet'ing, depending on the circles dis girl runs in."

:: Tyen eyeballs the impromptu kitchen and her stomach involuntarily growls in protest. She can't remember the last time she ate a hot meal. Glancing at her wrist at the archaic analog watch she checks the time, intending to see if it's an appropriate hour to contact Madam Svetka, but her stomach prevails. ::

"Someone know how to use t'at t'ing?"

:: Her casual question is punctuated by a second subtle rumble from her belly. ::

At his Uncle’s knee, age seven, Piper had begun his education in survival. Life had few pleasures, few laughs and many tears which, as everyone knows are cathartic, ameliorating grief or pain as they do,

To the soldier, the stomach was the best route for catharsis. In consequence of which Piper had learnt to cook, making the most bland of raw food into tasty, palatable fare.

Based on an assortment of soya in various guises along with plenty of flavouring, he soon had a hot meal served up for the hungry shadow woman, Bob and the other two.

As the five munched their way through the meal, Piper mused on their best course of action.

“Seems to me that getting intel off our surveillance is the right way to go. Add to that the search for this Tasha woman and we might get somewhere. It’s bothering me that we’ve already taken well over a day to get this far, and very little to show for our efforts.”

He sopped up spicy gravy with a last piece of chemical laden ersatz bread. “I’d better take a meander back to my Dojo and call in a few favours. Might get a lead on the woman. I got the impression she was well known as a fence as well as being a good go-between.”

Piper stood up and collected dirty plates. “Trust is hard to come by in the Shadows,” Nodding at Tyen and grinning. “so if she’s got a rep, she’ll advertise the fact..., in the right quarters.”

:: After the initial starved mouthfuls, Tyen pauses to savor the well-spiced fare. That easily led to a contemplation of their maker and she found herself puzzled by the atypical runner. There was an aspect she couldn't quite place that made her just instinctively trust him and his judgement. For her, trusting didn't come easily and it certainly didn't come from knowing someone for less than 2 days. Yet, for some reason, he seemed to inspire an unusual confidence. ::

:: Glancing over at him from across the table, she smiled to herself as she realized his thought process was running side by side with her own. However, when he specifically mentioned Trust with a nod and a smile, Tyen blushed and her breath caught in her throat as, for a moment, she suspected he was reading her mind. Enough, in fact, that she instantly switched to her astral vision and ran a deep astral scan on her teammate looking for any hidden threads of mana or spellcasting auras. ::

:: Finding none, of course, she immediately felt guilty and stood abrupty from the table, moving to collect the assorted dishes used to prepare the meal and then heads towards the bathroom to wash them in the only sink available. ::

"You did cooking, I vill do the clean-up. Shall we rendezvous back here in Morning, say 10am?"

Deuce and Sandy entered the house to the aroma of food. It wasn't the greatest smelling stuff he'd eaten, but it was hot, and he decided to choke the stuff down.

The conversation amongst the remaining members of the group concerned their next step. Who do they go to? The thought ofgathering some info based on the survellience was proper.

"Oh, funny you should mention that," said deuce as he tossed some documents on the table, "Seems like we were expected for a while," and with that he fished out the profile of him that was there. "Not my best picture..." he mused

Wapping Old Stairs, the name of the well worn stone slabs which led down to the foetid river Thames on this long meander, were littered with the dross of low lives. Broken syringes, used condoms, empty bottles of every brew that could be bought or stolen in this part of good old London Town. A limb, a leg most likely, nudged at the rotted timbers of the wharf which had once been here, a tie up for lightermen, and before them the river taxis of the first Elizabethan era, an age long forgotten.

Piper stood at the top of the seven stones, glaring at the dark swirl of water and its flotsam, stomping his feet to ward off the cold in the dim grey light of early dawn of this, the second day of their hunt for the case. It crossed his mind to wonder just why he was here. Not a hundred yards behind him was the back door of the dojo where he taught the martial arts. Above it was his room, an attic bedsit, but it was warm and safe.

The reason for his discomfort hurried through the trash, making only the slightest of sounds, but enough for the wily Irishman to know that his contact had, finally, arrived.

Barry Whelan, fixer and general go-between, had been of service to Piper several times. It had cost, of course, but had usually been worth it. “Tasha. She’s a gofer, mainly, but acts as a messenger if the price is right.”

Whelan stroked a stubbled chin. “Naw point askin why, suppose?” Piper’s eyes glittered in the first rays of the morning sun. “Nah, thought not.” The fixer nodded, sagely, like some old apothecary. “Leave it wiv me. See what I can do. Couple uv ours. Kay?”

“You’ve got my number. All you can get, ‘specially current whereabouts. Capishe?”

The briefest of nods and Whelan turned away, heading for whatever netherworld he knew which, in turn, knew the notorious Tasha.

Piper:

A buzzing from his P-Sec alerted Piper to a call. Flicking the screen active, the little window filled with the image of an extremely effeminate looking elf. He spoke in a pronounced French accent.

"Monsieur O'Toole, bon soir, ma chere. Our little rodent has reported to uz your request and Monsieur Whelan az deigned to aquiessse. Informacion vill be forthcoming by direct data transfer. Please prepare to receive..."

Piper hastily tapped buttons to open up a virtual receptacle for whatever it was the pointy-eared Frog was sending his way - not a moment too soon, as the little memory chip within the secretary got a metaphorical force-feeding of data.

A small (and nigh-on impossible to see) window opened showing the data as it passed into storage. Merely a few pages of text and one grainy photograph of a woman taken from a high half-profile - seeming to be from a door-frame sec-camera while she was waiting for access... somewhere. The woman herself had a tragically out-dated mullet style hairdo, with various streaks of luminescent colour amidst the peroxide blonde tangles. Multiple pointy metallic objects intersected her features at the common spots - nose, ears, lips etcetera.

By the time the download finished, The Frenchman stayed around only long enough to say "Any remuneration shall be assessed at a later date, Monsieur. Au revoir..."

Seconds later, Bob had the secretary downloaded and was scanning the contents, looking for anything pertinent...

"Ya... seems as if she goes by the handle "Tazer." Frequently seen in the LCZ, but also often North of the river, although she is not universally liked there. Real name Natasha Strong, previously assosciated with a gang called the Marauders, but not currently. Works as a fixer, gopher and middle-ma... middle-woman for various interests. Latest addendum says she was seen this morning by an unspecified source in Leicster Square. Tourist Hell..."


Tyen:

[ooc: since they're AOD, I assume you "D'd"?]

The transmitters sputtered to life half way through a conversation. Two men were in the office.

"...othing under the desk. How about you?"

"Walls are clean. They do anything to the chair?"

"Unmoved. Hang on a sec, I'll get this thing off again. Don't want his nibs setting it off, he'd never forgive us..."

"Well duh... Hey, don't you set it off either. He's back in six hours, and that's not enough to fumigate this place. Not to mention that I refuse to go back to the missus smelling of that shit."

"Shit's the operative word. I so wish one of them had set it off... would have loved to see their faces trying to get out the front door. Wait a sec... there. All done. You gonna take it back to the armoury or what?"

"Nah. It's been expensed. Think I'll send it to my nephew. He's at boarding school in Scotland, so he'll appreciate that no end..."

"Cruel bastard..."

The voices fade as the men leave the room... but now they know there's only six hours till Carmichael returns...

Listening to what Piper has to say Sandy wordlessly starts writing an email, asking any of her contacts for Names, Places and anything that might be associated with this Natasha women, Just to sweeten the deal she puts at the bottem of the email there is a £3000 reward for information and if justified an extra £2000 for really good stuff. Sending them out seperately so that nobody sees any of the other contact email addresses.

:: Tyen smiles to herself as she deactivates the signal once again and slips silently down the alley. An hour later, she raps three times on the faded red door of a run down message parlor. A young washed out blonde opens the door and eyes Tyen with an unfocused gaze aquired from years of BTL abuse. The girl takes almost a full minute to completely process the information being sent to her brain through her real world senses before opening the door to allow Tyen entrance. ::

:: Slipping past the wraith, Tyen heads through the incense heavy welcome parlor adorned with gaudy fuscha and violet velveteen pillows, furniture coverings and wall hangings. The room is garnished with a spattering of waifs with the same blankness as the first and two clients who obviously have no choice but to pay for services these girls offer. ::

:: Walking through the curtain in the back, she heads down a long hallway and up the rear stairs to a nearly identical corridor go back the opposite direction. At the end, Tyen once again knocks 3 times. A small camera above the door flashes it's red activation light for a moment before the mechanical click of an automatic lock sounds and the door disengages. ::

:: Pushing it open, Tyen smiles at the ghastly woman sitting behind the marred oak writing desk. The woman had more wrinkles than a Sharpei and a cigarette firmly planted between her stained false teeth barely clinging to her gums. She smiles a horrid smile at seeing Tyen and oddly enough the smile is returned. ::

:: Tyen gratefully switches from her broken english to her native tongue as she hugs the seated old woman. ::

"Svetka, forgive me for not visiting in so long. Any news of my father?"

:: The pained look that crosses her friends face is news enough and Tyen moves on, not wanting to dwell long on those thoughts. ::

"Perhaps soon then. In the meantime, I am looking for a go-between above and below ground that may run in your circles by the name of Tasha. She had something recently that I need to find."

Whelan had come through all right. This lead was a little more than the Irishman had expected. Suddenly, the haystack had become considerably smaller. Now, it was only the size of Leicester Square. He imparted the fact that he intended to trawl through the hubbub of the aforementioned `Tourist hell’

“The bad Natasha shouldn’t be all that hard to find, what with that hairdo and all. Seeing as we know, on pretty good authority, that she was the courier for the case, or at least its contents, we ought to find her Asap.”

There were a few nods of agreement. “Besides, with the Trolls no longer on our payroll, we shouldn’t look too conspicuous searching for our mark.” Piper stood up, recovering his P-Sec from Bob’s grubby hand. “Give me a few hard copies of the colleen’s face Bob. We‘ll take ‘em with.” He waited for the four sheets then headed for the door. “Coming?”

The early evening in Leicester Square is noisy to the point of auditory pain, for some of the meta forms at least. For others it’s the stuff of life; what they crave; what they would die for. And some do.

Since the 18th century, the Square has had an unusual attraction to the night reveller or entertainment seeker. In the 19th century it abounded with theatre and cinema goers, and that hasn’t changed. Nightly there are no fewer than a dozen so called `premieres’ purporting to show `never before seen’ footage of this film or that. Even `B’ movies get their chance here. At the old Palace one such is showing, Cradle of Fear. British horror at its abysmal worst. But the punters like it. Piper shudders. He saw it once on TriD. Good CG but terrible acting; and as for that limp wristed desk sargent...well!!!

Into this cauldron of sound, light and life, the Runners make their way, firmly fixing the likeness of Natasha Strong in their well trained minds eye. Even a fleeting glimpse of the Goffer will register, and the chase will be on.

Deuce wandered around, looking for the Natasha girl that seemed to be the keystone in this hunt for the case. He wasn't too impressed mingling with the locals of this area of town. Not what he was accustomed to. Pulling the cigarette from his metallic case, he stuck it in his mouth while fishing for a light.

As usual Sandy dressed for the job at hand, trendy clothes for going out for the night in. Looking around at the group she was with she simpley says... "Lets split up, we will have more chance of seeing her and will look much less suspicious." and with that she disappears into the crowd.

Sandy knew there were two ways she could go about this, the first, was to just mooch around and see what she could spot. Doing this meant that it was subtle and wouldn't raise any eyebrows, the only problem was there were no garrenteed results. The secound method was to ask around, ask the doormen and the waitresses and see what could be dug up. The problem with that was that it could draw unwelcome attention.

Deciding on a combination of the two she carries on walking, gets her Pocket sec out and dials one of her contacts....


"Hey Hammond!! How are you?"

"So what have I done to upset you lately? I sent you an email earlier and you havent responded... Listen, I was wondering if you could help me...."

And with that she explains the situation and that she could do with some help, also explaining that there was good money involved for useful information.

:: Tyen, having arrived at the same information, yet from a different source finds herself slipping deftly through the crowded walkways, she caught sight of each team member, one by one, giving nothing more than a simple nod to both acknowledge her awareness of them as well as confirm their awareness of her. Having conjured up a small city spirit along her way from Madam Svetka's, she shifts her attention to the astral and address the small cat shaped spectre, sending a clear mental image of the girl they are seeking. ::

"Little one...please help me find this girl, she is called Natasha."

:: As the dainty spirit winds away through the crowd, Tyen turns her attention in the opposite direction and begins gliding through the crowd as unnoticed as possible. ::

Scattered throughout teh morass of life that was Leicster Square, the runner team used the both the simplest and more complex methods in their efforts to locate the sometime fixer, "Tazer." Occasionally, eyes panning through the crowds, one would spot a team mate and flicker recognition across their face, only to instantly return to their search.

Soon after their arrival, Bandwidth Bob had made his way to the underground station, hoping to find a way into their enclosed mainframe. It was his plan to tap the cameras and see who had been coming or going in the last eight or so hours... but nothing had been heard from him since.

Back in the square itself, five beings sought Natasha Strong. Four with meat eyes and one with the senses of the spirit world. It was not long before two of them stopped their search - however briefly...


Sandy:

"Sandy, babe... s'Hammond!" The voice spoke as she answered the call. "I've been doing the digging, sifting the dirt, syphoning off the bull... the usual. I don't got much, but what I have is yours, as ever..."

Sychophancy 101...

"Apparently this girl has been seen a hell of a lot at the Square recently... you know that new club that opened? S'called "Pipewerkz?" Well, she's been hanging there a lot. Seems she knows the owners and put them in touch with some of their new staff. She's got a free pass in as a result and she's makin' the most of it. That's the only correlation I got, though, honey. Sorry."


Tyen:

The black robed Russian was a shadow in the neon light, whisping near silently from alley to alley, looking into the mess of metahumanity. Whilst she didn't see the girl herself, it came as a slight surprise to her that so many of the individuals affected a similar style to their quarry. It made identification difficult. About half way through her circuit, the spirit returned...

"Mistress..." its thoughts entered her mind... "I located the one you seek, but she has passed a strong barrier and I may not pass. I have failed you."

Intriguing as much as it was annoying, Tyen's consciousness probed the spirit's recolections for the location of the ward.

"She entered one of the structures, mistress, and descended below the level of teh earth. There was a doorway, with a sign of power and authority, she entered but I could not."


Deuce:

Hands in pockets, seeking the ilusive flame, Deuce was pleased that his search was fruitful. No... he hadn't spotted the girl... not THE girl. But the hot foxy elven lady approaching him with the Zippo lighter and the wide, sultry smile was sure to be helpful... in some fashion.

"Hi there, can I help you with that?" Her ivory skin glistened in the light of the flame as she lit Deuce's cigarette. "I'm Sin. Watcha looking for? I know all the right... spots." She punctuated her last word with a delicate brush of his left ear-tip...


Piper:

The English. Never content with a band, a roof and a shiteload of Guinness. Barbarians.

It was certainly packed hereabouts. From the filthy paving up to the pidgeon-shit capped heights, everything about London was dirty. Including the people.

Strangely, though, there was a sense of comradeship amongst the crowd. Like they were all there for the same reason - to party - and they didn't need to worry about anything else. 'Course, they might all have been high on something...

Piper stood in the central, grassed area (grass? In London? Must be fake... yep) and circled on the spot. He opened up his mind to the ebb and flow of humanity, sensing their direction, intent, joy at their revelry. A mess of sounds assaulted him from the various late-night traders, buskers and soap-box idiots. There were simply too many sensory stimuli to make clear judgements.

With a little sigh, he turned to face the largest mass of bodies. It looked like a crowd, but closer inspection revealed them to be separated by a winding barrier... a queue. Every one of them might well have taken fashion directions from Natasha Strong in some respect - Metal in their faces, spiky protrusions on both hair and... other things. All trying to get in to one place... called "Pipewerkz."

Deuce grinned as he took a drag of his smoke. He could feel his heart beat a little faster. Now this is the type of work he loved. "Looking for something? What makes you say that?"
The elven girl softly took hold of his arm, "Well, for starters, you certainly don't seem to fit in with the rest of the crowd. You seem too...important, to hang out in this side of the city."
Deuce let out a light chuckle, "Please, you flatter me.." But frag you're right... he thought as he glanced around, not so much for the girl he was supposed to find, but to really look at the crowd he had found himself in. The girl on his arm gave a sexy giggle.
"So? What is it you're looking for? or have you already found it?"
"No, I haven't already found who it is I am looking for, but, I am certainly not complaining about the company I am keeping at the moment." He gave her a quick look over. Yeah definitely A+ material. "I don't suppose you could do me a little favour..."
"Name it handsome..." Deuce fished out the photo of Natasha from his breast pocket, "I am looking for this girl," he explains as he hands the photo over, "She has something that belongs to me, I would like it back. Once I do have it, I will be quite free to pursue other fine things in life," he says in a tone implying only one thing.

"And I don't suppose that included with your handsome fee my friend, is a VIP pass into Pipewerkz?! Its worth an extra 500 if you can help me out on this one Jack!"

Sandy gets told to wait five mintues while he makes a few phone calls to see what he can do. So to make the most of that time she sends a message via her Pocketsec to let everyone know what she had found out and where she was headed.

After five minutes she makes her way to the club....

:: Tyen smiles softly at the small figure ghosted before her, speaking in her native tongue her words are far less clunky and ungainly. ::

"No my small friend, the information you have discovered is all that I required. Can you please patrol outside the barrier and let me know if she escapes before we are able to locate her?"

:: After receiving an affirmative answer, she pulls out the small pocket secretary and keys in Piper's number. ::

"My spirit found girl. Im heading to building now, will let you know name once Im there."

:: Weaving delicately through the crowd, she heads towards the building her mental communication revealed to her. As she steps into the line, she sends a quick text message to Piper letting him know her current location. ::

The queue extended for half a block, disappearing up toward Piccadilly; that other morass of humanity in all its genetic splendour. There was no point meandering around the streets any more, besides, their quarry seemed to be a party animal. In all likelihood she was in this queue or even inside already.

With nothing better suggesting itself to the Irishman, Piper bypassed the long row of people and turned down a narrow allyway leading to the back of Pipewerkz, once the Princes Theatre.

Two large `gentlemen’ were standing either side of a doorway, the small neon sign above which indicated it to be the Stage Door . Both eyed the soldier as he pushed his way through a gaggle of young women endeavouring to use their wiles in order to gain access.

“Frag off chummer.” The large, ochre coloured hand pushed firmly at Piper’s chest.

“But I’m the replacement piper, second up!” Piper broadened his Irish brogue. “The boyo’s taken one too many, if ya know what I mean, so they belled me to get here pronto like.”

A short conflab ensued between the two. Now it could go either way. They’d let him in or, most likely, check on their squawk box and throw him bodily into the filthy gutter. Then again, there was just a chance they wouldn’t get any sensible answer and let him in anyway….so many options. Piper unconsciously held his breath and tensed.