((OOC For Liberation is here))

Freedom is oft taken for granted. The simple ability to walk more than six feet without encountering bars or walls is sweet after even the shortest time in prison. That freedom, however, doesn't last so long in this case. Within minutes of being released from the hands of the law you are whisked by van, car and truck to the nearest airport, where soon you board a sleek charter plane. Your flights vary in length, though all are long. It would seem, from what you can gather from your recruiter, that you are being ferried to a location somewhere along the eastern seaboard of North America. The flight is comfortable enough though, if a little confined. Compared to a cell the amenities are downright luxurious, and the food is actually the real deal. Your recruiter is tight lipped on the flight when it comes to business. Aside from some paperwork, which seems more for passing the time than anything official, the recruiter doesn't talk about your mission at all. It seems either they are well disciplined, or simply do not know what the details of the task at hand are.

When the plane lands, you are immidiatly assailed by a tropical heat, broken only by the cool ocean air. Here you are met by another functionary, while your recruiter stays on the plane, which departs shortly after. It would seems that they don't want to get too close to you. Perhaps an omen of what is to come. The next guide escorts you to a helipad at the same small airstrip where you are quickly whisked away in a civillian chopper over the ocean to what would seem to be a ship already on its regular rounds. The pilot is good at his job, and is quite careful to avoid giving you a view of the ship's name. When the chopper deposits you on the deck of the ship, it is into the hands of yet another handler whom escorts you below, to a small cabin which might as well be another cell. Still, there is some luxury to the cabin. It would seem like they plan on you being there some time. Still, there is no word of your mission, and perhaps now this is troublesome.

Three days pass at sea. Three long, and isolated days. Diner is brought to you in your cabin, and wandering around the ship is rather harshly disuaded. On that third day, though, you are called to the deck again. This is where you meet your fellows for the journey, the team you are to join for this mission. Before introductions can be made, however, the final mode of transportation for your ride makes its presence known. Only yards from the freighter the water spills away as a moderatly sized submarine cuts through the surface waves. Soon enough you are encouraged onto boarding craft, and you find yourselves brought down to another cabin, this one a communal one. It would seem that you've been given some time, at least, to get to know your fellow teammates.

Aamon, the large but impassive-looking ork scans the features of the others. He's still wearing the clothes that he was released from prison with: long-sleeved shirt, tie, slacks and dress shoes, which contrast heavily with his orkish features. He clears his throat and says in his deep, coarse voice, "I'm Aamon, any idea what's going on here?"

Randy looked up from the upper level of the bunk beds. The room was small and placed on the port side of the boat. The beds were fit into the gentle curve of the hull and placed behind curtains for a modicum of privacy. More than Randy had in the last few weeks, but not as much as in the eight years before.

The diminutive woman barely filled the bunk, her slight frame was on it's side with one hand supporting her head. Her long dark read hair was braided and lay across her stomach at the moment. when she spoke she had a neutral accent of someone who had been trained to not have one.

"No idea whats so ever. Last week I was in prison and now I am in a different kind. Same idea, different rules." She said with a shrug of her shoulders.

She too was clad in her prison garb. A dark gray two piece suit that was cut like a military work outfit. She had industriously removed the last name and prisoner number on the first flight. But it was still obvious she hailed from a military prison. She had also done away with the shoes and socks, and now padded around in her pale, bear feet.

Sitting at the edge of the Bunk with his Elbows on his knees. Lifts his head up to Aamon, looks him over. Still dressed in his Prison uniform, with his prison number.

'Names Mack.'

Slowly raising his torso upstraight.

'I have no idea what is going on. Maybe being tranfered to another prison again. But all the changes in mode of transport has me confussed as to what the hell is going on.'

Mack turns to Randy peering over the Edge of her bunk. Not keeping eye contact for to long.Something he learn't in prison. As it could get you killed.

'Who knows Randy any one of our guess could be a explination. But right now we don't know the answers to that.'

Mack Stands up to strech his back and legs, embroided on the right front the words. "High Security". Mack looks the other over who have been quite and not broken the ice to see what they have to say.

The amerindian human was quite an appearance outside on the deck of the ship featuring a nearly 1,9m tall but slim body. The weatherworn and tanned skin was a clear sign that he has not been in a prison for long. Maybe a working camp, that would explain the simple, but more casual clothes. He stood there for a while soaking in the sun with his scarred bare chest while the wind played with his long dark brown hair.
You remember him to be the last to join you inside the submarine.
In this cramped room however he gives a different apperance. Sitting calm on his bed the only noticable motion comes from his shining blue eyes which jump from person to person like a trapped animal. No word came from his mouth yet.

The second Amerindian was shorter, and paler than the first, his long hair neatly braided, a golden feather that had somehow survived the prison experience serving as decoration. His prison uniform identified him as being from Seatac. He had been equally stoical, though he softened somewhat once the ice was broken. "I'm Daniel. Was hoping one of you had some answers. Don't know about your experience, but my escorts were rather close-lipped."

Mack Turns to face Daniel.

'Well I gather we are all in the same boat here. Please excuse the pun. We all seem to have unanswered questions.'

Mack slowly walks to the door survailing the rooms contents, expecting to find something of interest. From this point looks everone over.

'Well I gather we all come from one prison or another.'

Trying to brake the ice

'So what got you all caught to be imprisoned?'

Mack waits a while looking intensly at the corners of the room, hoping to find something

"What was I arrested for? Not taking bribes." Daniel answered bitterly. "What's in the book is for the murder of a number of Yazuka goons, which I did, and the murder of my partner, which I didn't." he said, his gaze a challenge to any who might dispute that fact. "I'd like to see just what was paid for that farce they called a trial. Their leader's fingerprints were all over my gun...and all the other killings were with a sword." he sighed. "Sorry about all that...potentially sympathetic listeners have been few and far between these days." Thinking of which...he hoped he hadn't just alienated those he was apparently supposed to be working with.

Still sitting on his bunk he turned his head toward Daniel, focussing his eyes.
The words came slowly, as if each of them was thought about or searched for in distant parts of the mind.
"So you are one of those who dedicate their lifes to killing his own kind?
You cityfolk always confused me, you kill and destroy for enjoyment. And then hide behind your laws, trying to blame others for your own choice?"

"Wooohooo," Randy chuckled, "listen to Mr. High and Mighty as the river. Last time I looked, were all in the same boat. So cool those jets or get them cooled for you."

"No. I am dedicated to protecting lives. But they killed my partner...and at the time it seemed quite likely that I was next. Turns out that they were more interested in ruining my life...being an ex-cop in prison is hell."

A faint smile jumped to his lips and the eyes started jumping across the room again.
Out of a sudden a fist was hammered against the backward wall echoing back into the room barely dampend by the curtains with a loud bang of released frustration.
"Let's just hope we get out of this swimming coffin soon"
With these words he crawled out of his box and streched his arms as good as that was possible inside a room barely higher than himself.
"And if you wondered, he told me nothing about this task aswell"

Shortly after the frustrated outburst, the hatch to the cabin opens and a crewman steps in. Noticable right off is he's armed; with an MP5 slung over his shoulder and a Glock in a reverse holster across his chest. The man regards the group with cold eyes.

`We're trying to maintain a level of operational silence here. That means it is appreciated that you don't rattle the hull if at all possible. This isn't exactly a registered pleasure cruise. Got it?`

The man's English is heavily accented, though given the travel arangements it might take a moment to place.

`We shall be ariving within the hour.`

Where to, he does not say. Before anyone can address him, the man leaves the cabin, and closes the hatch again.

"I'm in this mess because I killed a cop," Aamon says, looking up at Daniel and gauging his reaction. "Unintentionally, mind you."

"Care to share, Randy?"

Her eyes grow cold and distant for a moment.

"No."

Is all she utters before rolling over and puting her back to the room.

Mack moves out the way of the security personal who opens the door. Looks him over. The man bleets his concerns. Once the door closes, Mack turns to the rest of the people in the cabin. Clearing his throat, he speaks in a sincere tone.

'Well it was all a mistake, as I killed two people who where not supposed to be there. I broke into a high security house to redistrabute the wealth my way. Gee this guy had enough antiques for the taken. It was my retirement. Well thanks to his wife and her love who came through the unexpectantly. Totally surprised I took both there lives. As a AAA security zone and the Doc Wagon alarm going off I was caught'

Mack returns to his bunk and sits.

'We have all our misfortunes, some of us are angry, some of us regretful.'

Lying down on his bunk, mack raises another question

'Does any one know where the hell are we going?'

Daniel wasn't pleased with having been placed with a cop killer, albeit an accidental one. Seems that there was alot of circumstance going around here. As they were going to have to work together, it would be better not to make an issue of it. "Seems that we'll be finding out in an hour."

The hour passes by in slow time. Every minute seems an eternity of strained silence. The crew seems to be absent, unless that is you try to get out of the cabin. The feeling that you are in a tomb only enhances over time. That is until a resounding thrum passes through the hull. Scant moments after, the door opens.

`You're wanted at the rear airlock.`

The guard on the outside says, moving clear of the way. It would seem, after exhausted methods of travel, you are at your final destination. When everyone is assembled in the small corridor leading up to the airlock, another crewman cracks open the hatch. With a hiss of air the smell of saltwater, crude oil, and something less identifiable, though perhaps more appealing, floods in. The man steps aside and directs you to climb up. When you first cross onto the deck of the submarine, you are greeted by the sight of an absolutely massive expanse of hull. The ship which plays host to the hull seems to stretch as far as you can see in the night sky. Still, it isn't a completely dark, or even a quiet night. A good distance above you there seems to be a webbing of walkways and habitats, with trails dropping down to water level, where your eyes are greeted by the sight of countless boats, of all shapes and sizes. It would seem you've been brought to a port of some kind. More specifically to a rather homey looking barge which is part of the webwork of the port.

`Here you are.`

The man points to the barge, and a small gangway between the sub's deck and that of the craft.

`Home sweet home.`

Ok, so it's not home, but the start of something that might just get you there. Old Chinese curses might come to mind now; these are definitly interesting times.

Aamon's vision quickly drops to black and white as his eyes adjust for the poor lighting. He looks at the barge appraisingly, but only momentarily, before he continues trudging towards it.

Mack's eyes adjust his vision becomes a spectrum of color in it own right. All the blues and reds of the images. Now see what thermal object are around he follows Aamon. Scanning the gangway for anyone who would be waiting for us. Muttering under his breath.

"Where the hell is this place?"

Randy heads up the walk way, happy to be outside and in the open air. in ten years this was the second time she had tasted freedom,

definitely a feeling that could grow on me.

Emerging from the sub, Daniel was disappointed to see that their trip was apparently not at an end. He wasn't the biggest fan of sea travel, and had looked forward to getting back to dry land. But if this was where they were to get their questions answered, so be it.

Climbing down to the gangway Mack stands and waits for the rest to get there feet off the sub. Looking around to see who will be there next tour guide

As each of the members of the piecemeal team disembark from the submarine, a door in the recessed cabin of the barge opens to emit a towering figure. Of all the things to find upon a barge in the middle of the ghost only knows where, you are greeted by a troll in a well tailored pinstripe shirt. The troll doesn't say a word, but instead gestures into the cabin, waiting for each of you in turn to enter.

The interior of the barge is suprisingly spacious. It would seem someone has seen fit to remove any seperations in the interior, instead converting the space into what would seem to be a rather large floating office. There is a mahogany desk to the far side of the interior, with a lamp illuminating the man seated behind it. The man behind the desk looks to be about in his sixties, with a full head of silvery hair and a genial air about him. This man also wears a well tailored suit, though of a more subtle patterning, and obviously higher quality fabric. When the lot of you have gathered he gestures for you to come closer, to stand before his desk so he can get a look at you.

`I know your trip has been long. Soon enough you shall know why, and you can commence with the task at hand. But first, welcome to Ship City.`

The man's accent is unmistakibly Italian.

Mack looks the Mohogany desk over just to verify that it is and orginal and not a super wood press regular. Not to under estimate a Johnson but if that desk is a darn original it would be worth a fortune.

Listening to what the Johnson has to say.

"Thank you, Sir. Glad to be hear"

Looking around, Mack clears his throat.

"I gather we are waiting for someone else ?"

Randy, who's normally dour look would make a rabid wolf seem happy, rests against the wall, seemingly un moved by the troll bodyguard.

The Italian at the desk smiles at the question, and he shakes his head.

`No, you travelled together, as I was told you would. I simply wanted to observe a period of respect should you have any objections to your being here, or questions as to who I am.`

Randy doesn't have much trouble keeping the troll at bay. Call him a coward, but one look as the way she carries herself and he moves to cover the exit; from the outside.

`Now that we are alone, I can divulge the terms of your service as I understand them.`

A shift of his hand over what would seem to be a light sensitive segment of his desk, and a large screen drops from the celing of the barge, just off to his left. The screen lights up with a map. Those familiar with world geography will recognize it as a map of the Scandinavian Union.

`First off, should you need to contact me during your stay in Ship City, you may ask here for the Spider. This is not my residence, nor will I provide you the details of where it is. One of my associates, however, will be at this location at all times. `

He gestures to the map, a small area in the waters near Denmark is highlighted.

`Ship City, as you can see is located just off of the coast of the peninsula region of Denmark known as Jutland. We are a gathering of outcasts, and a society that does not ask questions, thus those who have brought you here felt we could best set you up for the rest of your tasking.`

Another area of the map highlights, on the other side of Sweden from the inlet which plays host to Ship City.

`When you are ready, you will have to arange transportation to Stockholm, where your target resides.`

A small corner of the map fades, and is replaced by a still image of a young woman.

`This is your target; Harriet Smythe. Ms. Smythe is currently undertaking Masters studies at Stockholm University. She possesses a degree in Matrix Architecture with a focus on Ultraviolet Systems. You are to arange for the extraction of Ms. Smythe to a drop point in Geneva, Switzerland. Upon completion of the extraction, you shall be re-located to whichever location you desire, and the rest of your payment shall then be tendered.`

The man known as Spider shuts off the screen with a wave of his hand, and it retracts back into its housing.

`I am to act as your liason while you are within the confines of Ship City. To this end I have in my possession a ten thousand nuyen advance for each member of your team, and shall direct you towards those people whom have the needed information or equipment for your movement to Stockholm.`

He opens a drawer, extracting a small case from within.

`I trust you will have some questions. As for a place to stay, this I can directly provide. For the moment, the floor is open.`

Aamon starts off with the obvious stuff: "Is Smythe going through university on corp yen? Can we expect resistance, or a sec detail?"

`To my knowledge she is going through her recent schooling on her own accord. She is currently receiving several lucrative research grants with regards to the Wireless Matrix Initiative, and is using those funds to further her education.`

Spider's crisp Italian accent shows several times as he considers his choice of wording.

`As for security, the campus does have its own private force, though Ms. Smythe does not live on campus.`

Mack
"So the client wants to get Harriet Smythe to a new location determined by the client. Is this a willing extraction or resisted extraction."
Pausing for a moment for a answer from the Spider, Mack contiunes

"As far as the equipment is concerned is it supplied by the Johnson or is the 10 Large to cover what we need. So who are our contacts here at Ship City besides yourself?"

"Scandanavia eh...I don't even know what language they speak there...but I doubt it's English...and on another topic, why assemble a bunch of prisoners, when there's likely plenty of other people out there that you wouldn't have to go to the trouble of getting released?"

Oh yeah, this is going to be easy.

The scowl on Randy's face deepens as the 'Spider' relays the details of the mission.

Uh uh, no way did he go through all this work to extrac a girl from a school she doesn't even live at.

"Where on this scow can we get some clothes and equipment?"

Randy figured that whatever the truth was, it would come out eventually. It's not like she had anything better to do.

Spider regards Mack as he asks his questions, and a thin lipped smile crosses his features.

`Is there ever such a thing as a willing extraction? As for gear, the advance has been furnished to you so that you may purchase what you need. No doubt you shall prove resourceful enough to make it last. As I said, if you need to speak with anyone specific, I shall provide you with the information as to how to get in touch with them. I will not, however, indulge my entire list of sources.`

It should be obvious by the way he is speaking that Spider is not under the direct employ of whomever hired you. He is a freelancer, thus his lack of completely thorough information. The Spider's eyes turn to regard Daniel.

`You need not worry about a language barrier. While it is true not all speak English on this side of the Atlantic, we are not barbarians. As for the nature of your employ, no doubt you have realized by now that you are in a rather unique position. You are expendible.`

The smile upon Spider's face grows when Randy speaks, it becomes more genuine.

`Ah yes, a direct and pertinant question. That would depend on what manner of equipment you desire. I can put you in contact with a tailor who resides not far from here for the clothing, but other items may require me to afford you a guide.`

"Fine then a guide. I have had about enough of living in this prison garb. So a guide to some decent clothes, a place to shower, 12 hours of sleep and some good food. In that order I think. Once we get that out of the way I think we will be in a much better position to plan this extraction. So, guide away." She nods to Spider at the end.

As Randy has had here say, Mack Looks at Spider. Extendes his hand to Spider.

"My Bearer Bond please if you may. We have things to do, people to meet and as Randy so nicely put it sleep and planning."

Looking around just before he recieves the Bearer bond.

"Yea before I forget, who and where is this guide that has been assigned to us?"

Mack is starting to show signs of fatigue, as the work sleep was mentioned. Like a virus attacking the cells of the health making them weak, has the word of sleep.

In thought
I hope this is going to be the best sleep am going to have in a long time

After a good sleep not worrying about the next, Mack wakes up. It didn't take long for him to find the shower and freshen up. The Warm water was very refreshing and it was a good taste of freedom. Even though the clutches of the puppeteer was close just to guide you as to where you are to be.

Once dress in the prison clothes, this hopefully the last time. Mack looks for the guide who knows where to get what we are looking for.

This is the time to plan as time is waiting for no one.

Mack spends most of his day trying to get the best deals on the best condition goods. Time goes quick as the new place and freedom sets in. Having a choice as what to do comes natural from a free spirited person. Much different as a caged wild animal.

(This is regarding Whizbang's question, the rest will be summarized, up until gear's been acquired)

`I can't entirely be sure why you were chosen. My only guess is that, in times such as these, it is often best to recruit from as far away as possible. Natives tend to accumulate records, ones which are easy to trace.`

Spider makes an appologetic gesture, sliding over the case of certified credsticks, one for each member of the team.

`Such is the way of things.`