0400 Friday, 01 November 2047, Baltimore, Maryland, UCAS

“The hour of the Tiger, Professor, how very academic of you to arrive now.”

The creature’s voice was sibilant and urbane, filling Meier’s world with a terrible finality. Ignoring the pain of his broken leg, he continued to crawl forward. Blood, black on the concrete, smeared his hands and clothes. Little of it was his. The creature was indiscriminate in its feeding, leaving twisted corpses like table scraps for him to follow. They’d hoped to catch it in the act, when it was most vulnerable to their primitive weapons. But the creature was cunning, a twisted marriage of human and predator instincts. Now he was all that was left of his team. It was up to him to reach the firebombs, to trigger the explosion that would forever destroy the abomination. Just another five meters, another thirty seconds. The voice sounded close, and he sobbed in pain and frustration. Just ten more seconds. It was on him too quickly, though, claws stabbing into flesh. Meier clutched at his broken leg, howling in agony. Sanguine eyes regarded him.

“Would that I could stay for the party, but, as the poet says, I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.”

The creature held up a copy of a driver’s license, one clawed finger tapping at the address. Icy terror gripped Meier’s heart, and he grappled desperately with the vampire. But his fingers closed on smoke, the empty warehouse and silent corpses the only witnesses to his despair.

2100 Saturday, 10 March 2063, Seattle, UCAS

Zoe's face glowed on the terminal, even though Wraith did not pass a visual component of his own. She blew a casual ring of smoke towards the optical pickup.

"I know you're probably out slumming with some ditzy corporate sweetmeat, but this isn't really a social call. Got word today that a Johnson is putting a team together for a job here in Seattle. Word had serious nuyen attached to it. If you're interested, he'll be at Hotel California Monday night at twenty hundred. The man you're looking for is Rakovic. Watch your back."

The trid screen derezzed to the stand-by graphic before powering off, plunging the room into a shifting morass of gray-black shadows. It's lone occupant stirred once and was still, sharp eyes glittering.

2100 Saturday, 10 March 2063, Seattle, UCAS

The red message light was blinking on the room's trid when Shrine returned from his workout. Ignoring it, he tossed his gear bag into the corner and went to shower. Ten minutes later, a towel draped across his shoulders, he hit the recall button. Seme's trademark growl issued from the tinny speaker.

"Hey, forgot about the time change, sorry. Not sure how long you were going to be at this number, but I got a call from a guy I know. He's trying to put together some talent to pull a job in the area. If you're interested, the meet's at a place called, get this, Hotel California at eight on Monday night. Ask for Rakovic If not, I guess I'll see you when you get back in town. Watch your six, omae."

2000 Sunday, 11 March 2063, Seattle, UCAS

Kinnan exhaled slowly, opening his eyes in the dimness of the room. The return of awareness was a slow expansion of feeling into his body. He still existed in the Gestalt, though, still felt Kai’s heartbeat as his own, still saw the myriad intricacies of mana that surrounded them. He watched himself through her eyes briefly, the dark sweep of his cheekbones sheened with sweat at the effort of the Gestalt. Then he was back, staring into the liquid blackness of her eyes. She smiled, and began to move against him. The nature of the Gestalt delayed the pleasure of their bodies, but now that each had broken the link, they could consummate the act required by the ritual. Kinnan ran his fingers through his sister’s hair, inhaling the musky scent of her body.

“They’re gathering, now.” She whispered, fingers tracing the muscles along his shoulders.

“Yes, I saw. We will have to be careful.” The naked swell of her breasts thrust against his chest, and she tightened her muscles around him. Her breath was coming in shorter gasps as she relinquished her control little by little.

“They are. Ready. The plan. Is. Set.” Kai threw her head back, eyes closed. Kinnan felt his oncoming orgasm as a flush of heat across his back, and he rocked his hips up harder matching his sister’s frantic rhythm. They came together with a soft cry, their bodies twisted in the dim light. Kinnan nuzzled the soft curve of his sister’s neck, calm once again.

“Then let it begin.”

2100 Saturday, 10 march 2063, Seattle, UCAS

Melchiorre grunted as he slid into the booth opposite Skee, his bottle of Kirin thumping down hard on the plastic table. The burly dockworker rubbed his left knee, a grimace twisting his face.

"Fraggin' plastic drek. Said it would be as good as new, but the old one never used to ache like a slitch in the cold weather."

Skee snorted non-comittally in reply, not bothering to mention it was probably his friend's recent promotion to Harbormaster that was the real pain.

"Yeah, yeah. Look, you know I hate to mix business with drinking, but I got word from a friend of mine the other day that some guy is putting together a job. Johnson goes by the name Rakovic. He'll be at the Hotel California Monday at eight. Word was he's got money to burn for this job. You should check it out."

2100 Saturday, 10 March 2063, Seattle, UCAS

The digital terrain beneath them gave the illusion of three dimensionality, but the dozen shadowy icons perched amidst the clouds of data knew better. They watched wordlessly as sleek iconic aircraft dropped out of the virtual sky, digital flight paths mirroring their approaches into Sea-Tac. Sif glanced at her companions, wondering again what exactly it was that they heard inside this vast, virtual organism. Syphon, glanced over at her, his face partially obscured by the dozen individual data windows floating before him. The view was polarized so that only he could read the information.

"Your friend is here."

Sif opened her mouth to question, but Hanz picked that moment to blink into existence. The fixer disdained virtual meetings, and kept his icon as UMS standard. It stood out like a neon sign at midnight.

"Figured I'd find you here."

"I keep the routine only for you. What's up?"

"Work. Meet's tomorrow night at the Hotel California, 2000, ask for Rakovic. It's serious business judging by the money he's offering, so watch your back. You know how to reach me."

Sif smiled. "Go home old man."

The squawk of noise as Hanz's icon disappeared might have been a digital anomaly, but she liked to think it was a sneeze of disdain. She took on last look around the cloud before focusing on Syphon again.

"Gotta go."

He nodded. "Stay frosty."

Sif touched her temple, and the world disappeared.

2100 Saturday, 10 March 2063, Seattle, UCAS

George was used to speaking to an empty telephone. Shadow wasn't known for his conversation skills.

"Hey, I got word today of a Johnson putting together a job. Goes by the name of Rakovic and he'll be at the Hotel California on Monday at eight p.m. If you're interested, let me know."

2330 Sunday, 11 March 2063, Seattle, UCAS

Senate powered down the tridphone, the smile fading from his face. Idly, he rubbed the jagged scar over his left collarbone. Cardinal sat up in bed, holding the sheet to herself with one hand while reaching for her weapon with the other. Her movement tripped his mind from the mobius loop of contingency planning Kinnan’s call had inspired. He turned to face her.

“That was Kinnan. The timeline is in motion. He wants us on station with our team by tomorrow night.”

Cardinal nodded, sliding the Walther back beneath her pillow. She beckoned her lover with her off-hand, letting the thin sheet pool about her waist.

“We still have tonight, then.”

2110 Saturday, 10 March, 2063, Seattle, UCAS

Zoe tapped her fingers absently on the smooth plastic as she waited for the call to go through. Niome sounded vaguely curious when she answered.

"Yes?"

"You asked me last week to keep an ear to the ground and I've heard something you might be interested in. There's a team being put together for a job in the local area, serious talent only. If you're interested, they're meeting at the Hotel California monday night at 2000. Ask for Rakovic. It's on the level, but watch your back."

0800 Sunday, 11 March 2063, Seattle, UCAS

New Seattle Intelligencer Newsfeed, Vol. 2 Issue 1 - January 2063

New Seattle Intelligencer Newsfeed 2, Vol.2 Issue 2 - February 2063

Shrine was surprised at how relieved he felt when he heard the message.

Coming to a new city was a gamble, he knew no one, had no rep here, but now it looked like it might pay off.

As he got dressed he found himself hunning a tune, one of his grandfather's favorite songs. He didn't really remember the words too well, but he liked the tune.

...You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave...

He cooked himself some lunch, fresh steamed vegetables over rice, lots of garlic and rosemary, and got ready to take a ride. A quick trip over to the hotel would be prudent, to check out the setting, see where the meet would take place, what the neighborhood was like, that sort of thing. As he left the apartment and got onto his bike, a song was still running through his head.

They stabbed it with their steely knives, but they could not kill the beast.

"You should check it out," Melchiorre said.

"Sounds good," Skee replied. He rolled the highball glass of scotch between his open palms, considering the offer.

"Is he a friend of Paddy's?" he asked, using the code phrase for a Mafia soldier. He smiled wryly at his troll friend, causing the gentle wrinkles that were just starting to form on the younger man's face to deepen. Skee had done a few freelance jobs for Melchiorre's Familia recently, but that kind of work comes with a price. The recent tensions between the Mob and the Yak was starting to bleed over into the streets; getting a rep as a Mafia asset was like painting a big red 'Gak Me' sign in Japanese on your back.

Not that Skee necessarily minded walking around with one eye looking over his shoulder 24/7; in Puyallup, that's pretty much status quo for a Saturday night. He just didn't want anyone thinking he was under their thumb. Anyone's thumb.

Melchiorre shook his head. "No, he's on a different shift."

Shadow's English is laced with improper emphasis, but is understandable. "I'm in for it, unless it's against bugs again, I've done that once, and that was too many times."

hanging up the phone he picks up a copy of the newspaper. He begins reading the paper as he makes a phone call to Squall.

He begins his conversation in English, but the two of them quickly slide into Japanese.
"Squall, This is Shadow, I've got a few requests for you. The first is simple enough, do you have any information on a Rakovic-san? The second is, if you have any information on the Hotel California could you get it too me, and if it's not to hard to track down I'd like a blueprint."

Hanging up the phone Shadow lays down the paper. He stands up and stretches himself out. Picking up his standard suit of form fit armor he slides into it. Pushing aside a slightly glowing suit of the same he grabs his concealable holster. At some point I must get that analyzed. Perhaps George can find someone. Stepping across his small room in the back of the warehouse, the light playing across the muscles in his back, he opens up a small drawer. Inside lies a specially crafted heavy pistol, and one clip of ammo. Running one finger across the side of it Shadow grabs the clip. Please may the sins I may commit be forgiven, as I commit them in the name of atonement.

After sliding the clip into the weapon Shadow pulls back the slide, placing a single shot in the chamber. Sliding the weapon into the holster in the small of his back Shadow prepares himself to go for his evening activities. I must always be prepared as one never knows when a job awaits. Pulling on slightly tattered clothing Shadow double checks that his pendant remains around his neck. Pulling it up to his face he runs his finger around the tip, still slightly black with the blood of his last victim. May I be forgiven for my crimes, and may my sins be forgiven as I search to end the evil in this world. Sliding the sword back inside his shirt Shadow heads out at a brisk jog, only stopping once he is 5 miles out from his "home".

Sif pulled the jack out of her head and set it on the desk in front of her. A potential job offer sounded like a fun time, but Hanz was rather vague on details; she would have to do a good amount of legwork on this one.

A slight clicking noise pulled her mind from the thoughts at hand. Something was jarring her chair, and looking down at the floor she saw the little cleaning drone she had picked up the other day, trying in vain to ram through the one of her seat's legs.

"Hoover off," Sif said at it absent-mindedly; the drone responding with a click and whir as it went idle. She filed away the need to fix the programming in the robot sometime later, stood up, and walked across her well furnished apartment to the refrigerator. She grabbed a bottled water and some leftover chinese food as she began to contemplate the job offer one more time.

"I guess I'll hit up shadowland," Sif thought to herself, "see if anyone knows this Rakovic character. Maybe look into Hotel California, though it sounds vaguely familiar." She sat back at her desk, eating as she walked and continued to pick at the cold food after sitting. "No harm in checking the hotel's matrix presence out too, maybe they have some vidphones or computers I can get some footage or info from."

Sif finished her brief meal, washed it down with a few gulps of water, and plugged back into her deck, the real world disappearing from view.

The Hotel California sits on the outskirts of downtown Seattle, in the rundown commercial district in Ravenna off 65th Street. The surrounding blocks have definitely seen more prosperous days. The building is fourteen stories tall, an eleven story tower squatting over a blocky, art deco three story base. A two story parking structure adjacent to the west side connects via skywalk to the second floor of the hotel.

Shadow's phone buzzes just as the meeting is breaking up.

"Hey, I did some digging like you asked. Nothing came up for Rakovic, is the guy new to the area or something? The Hotel is something of a neutral ground for runners. They've got three fixers working out of the place, and they do a good job of keeping trouble at bay. If you've got a meet there, most likely it's on the level. Anything else you need?"

The digital reality that replaced Sif's apartment was so much sharper, so much more detailed. After a moment's concetration, her icon flickered, fading into merely a ghostly disturbance in the datasphere. A thought sent her flying out from her jackpoint, darting down the streets and alleys of the Seattle matrix. She came to a stop in front of a plain blue mailbox construct. Running her hands down her icon, she compressed herself into two dimensions, before carefully folding herself into an envelope and dropping through the mail slot. Darkness replaced the diffuse glow of the Seattle LTG, then the bottom dropped out of the mailbox, depositing her in Shadowland's main host. Today, the room appeared as a vast globe, the normal conventions of 'up' and 'down' disregarded by the two dozen or so other icons. Each stood on what appeared to their frame of reference as the floor, but could equally have been the wall or ceiling. The data interface was modeled after the expansion chamber in a particle accelerator. Each request would send packets into a high speed collision with a wall of data, spinning loose the desired information in whorls of colors and short-lived particles.

Sif unfolded herself into her usual icon, holding her hand over the data interface. Relays clicked and closed in response to her inquiry, the name Rakovic accelerating down the corridor of superconducting electromagnets to collide with the datawall. The stream of high-energy quarks and mesons that resulted all decayed without revealing anything. She frowned, it might take a more detailed search in order to turn up any information. Her request about the Hotel California produced much better results, with over a dozen different threads and posts about the location. The Hotel apparently was considered neutral ground for runners, a safe place to hold a meet with a fixer or a Johnson, or hole up for awhile to heal or let the heat die down. The place was owned by a shadowy trio of individuals, but run by three more well known fixers. An LTG address was provided.

Once again, Sif faded into translucence, sinking through the floor of Shadowlands to find herself on the streets of the Seattle LTG. Shuttling through the endless streams of data, it took her only a couple of seconds to locate the Hotel's address. The host is unremarkable, a UMS standard square with an old ID code. Nothing questioned her access request, and Sif melted through the walls of the host, alert for any kind of trouble. The interior of the host was done up like a 1930's night-club: a dim, smoky atmosphere pierced by multiple small table lights, a long mahogany bar against the back wall, and a small stage off to the left. The singer, an icon with an elven face and dressed in an elegant, curve hugging gown, breathed into the archaic microphone construct with a voice that promised a night of pleasure in exchange for a drink and a cigarette. The icon of the piano player accompanying her smiled with false sympathy at the crowd of empty tables. The only other occupant was behind the bar, dressed the part as well with pinstripe slacks, suspenders, a red shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a fedora. A row of old fashioned rotary telephones caught Sif's eye, and she brushed her hand over one, interrogating the slave. True enough it was one of the bank of trid-phones used by the hotel, but the security options set on it were unusual. Instead of having its visual communication interface defaulted to on, it was set to off, with the user option of activation. The way a runner would want it to be if she was using a public trid-phone. Also, the phone's on-board logging options were not only turned off, but deleted. No record would exist of a phone call placed from this phone except, perhaps, on MSP files. Sif was willing to bet that the phone number listed in Pac Rimm's files wouldn't actually ring this phone. Moving across the floor to the bar, she blinked in surprise when she realized that the bartender was not a simple host construct, but rather another decker's icon. Its face was a mass of barbed wire that continuously twisted and writhed.

"What'll it be, sweetheart?" The voice was synthesized, a digital distortion of Kirk Donovan from the massively popular Tokyo Blood sim chips.

Sif looked for any sign that the other decker had noticed her examination of the various slave systems. Such a pause and reaction might have betrayed surprise in the meat world, but here in the matrix her emotions were hidden safely behind the mask of her icon. Only the emotive display of her icon's hair was likely to have betrayed her thoughts in the moment before she suppressed it, a orange-yellow streak of surprise as well as highlights of red anger at being called "sweetheart", but the show lasted an insignificant amount of time. The default gold data trails reasserted themselves immediately.

Confident the decker wasn't looking for a fight she strolled up to the bar, staring his icon right in the face. "Amateur programming job," she thought to herself, smiling before addressing him. "That depends, what do you do here..." she trailed off, implying with the sentence and body language that the other decker should fill in his name as well as answer her question.

"Tend bar. Answer questions. Keep the peace." The bartender finished cleaning the glass in his hands, replacing it on the rack beneath the bar before reaching for another.

Sif decided the bartender wasn't comparable to her skill, or anywhere close for that matter and that she'd be blunt. "Ever here the name Rakovic ?" She inquired.

"He's reserved the Brandt Room at the hotel for a meeting on Monday night. Why?"

The bartender continued with his same mechanical motions, the chains continuing their sinuous dance.

"Purely business," Sif answered, interested in keeping the dialog running without answering any questions, "have a rep you know about, work out of here before?"

"No."

"Thanks scout, that's all I needed," Sif finished, hoping the decker on the other end of the icon she was staring at hated being called "scout" as much as every other normal person did. She turned around and headed out of the hotel.

Sif wasn't too impressed with the amount of info she had gathered up, but if the hotel had a decker to watch over things, that did tell her a bit. "Well, Hanz thinks it's legit, and the California is apparently good for this kind of biz. Maybe I'll do some deeper searching tomorrow, but I'm beat. " Looking at a clock on a nearby icon, Sif realized the time and jacked out to get some rest.

Hmm...a job. About time. Her finances were starting to get on the slim side. But anyways...she had a meet to prepare for. Hotel California...sounded familiar. Now where had she heard it before...

"Mirrors on the ceiling
Pink champagne on ice
And she said
We are all just prisoners here
Of our own device..."

Gah...that's where she'd heard it from. Those old tapes of her grandmother's... And now that song was stuck in her head. As she paged through the phone book looking for the address, she tried to push the song out. But the more she did, the more snippets she remebered.

"And in the master's chambers
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives
But they just can't kill the beast..."

Finding it, she headed for the address. Impressive place. Hopefully they'd be receptive to her idea. Heading in, she introduced herself to the receptionist as Niome Weathers. She told (him/her) that she was to meet with a Mr Rakovic on Monday, and that she wished to look over the facilities ahead of time.

"Relax said the nightman
We are programed to recieve
You can check out any time you like
But you can never leave..."

Eerie...it gave her a sense of foreboding. But that was why she was here. If this was some sort of set up, she wanted to know where she was, and where the exits were.

The concierge at the front desk, a young man with carefully hidden burn scars on his right cheek, acknowledges your request with a nod before stepping to the doorway behind him. Moments later a distinguished looking older gentleman dressed in a suit and tie steps out. He smiles at you with something resembling genuine warmth, although his eyes remain distant and calculating.

"Good evening Miss Weathers, and welcome to the Hotel California. My name is Mr. Nicholas. I'm afraid that Mr. Rakovic has reserved is in use currently. Please understand that we host a fair number of meetings, and our facilities are by no means spacious. Please inform Mr. Rakovic that he has my personal garauntee that the room will be ready according to his specifications with time to spare. Is there something else I might be able to help you with?"

"Ah...I don't mean to be an inconvenience, but while I'm here, might I at least see the way to the room, so I will know it when I return for the meeting?"

"Of course, the meeting rooms are just through there." Mr. Nicholas gestures with his open hand passed the large sweeping stairway that leads up to the mezzanine level to a wide corridor. Brass plaques, about twenty centimeters square, are mounted on the walls outside four ornately paneled doors. The Brandt room is the second one down the hall.

"I see. Thank you for your time." Niome said before heading out. Good. It wasn't the maze she had feared. And just the second floor. Not that hard to get out of in a pinch. Perhaps she should stop being so paranoid....but then again, that would be the one time the meet did go sour. Heading home, she proceeded to go about normal life until it was time to return for the meeting.

Shrine rides by the hotel, taking a look at the parking garage, and checking to see what type of security it has. He pulls around the block and comes back to the garage, parking inside near the skywalk.

As he walks across the skywalk he glances down to the street below, trying to casually take in as much detail as possible. When he gets inside the hotel he walks down to the first floor, looking for the hotel restaurant.

Security appears to be light, with external surveillance cameras the only sign of a presence. Inside the hotel is no different, although the staff themselves seem to be unusually vigilant. Reaching the head of the spiral stairway that leads from the mezzanine to the first floor, Shrine is in time to see an attractive young woman leaving, watched by a distinguished looking older gentleman who appears to be the head concierge. The hotel restaurant, though, is on the second floor, just past the staircase. The brass plaque mounted next to the double glass doors is engraved with The Sundowner in ornate script. The interior of the restaurant is simple and understated, dark faux wood tables gleaming beneath the diffuse illumination from overhead chandeliers. Most of the clientele, though, appear to be those individuals who make a living on the wrong side of the law. The maitre d', an attractive blonde in a simple, elegant black dress, looks up with smile as you enter.

"Good evening," she says, "My name is Isabel. Are you here for dinner or just meeting someone?"

Melchiorre shook his head. "No, he's on a different shift."

So he wasn't mobbed up (which was good) and Mel trusted him enough to hook him up with Skee (which was better). That probably meant a straight-up gig, with only the bare minimum double-crossing to be expected. Still, Banshee-loads of money didn't come easy, especially if it was an honest run. Skee figured he'd sleep a little better if he did a quick fly-by of the hotel before calling it a night.

"Thanks for the tip," Skee says, polishing off the remains of his drink. "This turns out as big as you say, the next Sonics game is on me."

Skee stood up from the table and fished through his pockets for some spare scrip. Finding a few crumpled Yamatesus, he pressed them into the hand of the passing waitress, a buxom brunette by the name of Siobhan.

"Make sure my friend here doesn't go home dry tonight, 'k sweetheart?" Skee flashed his trademark smile at the young girl. A regular patron of the bar, he'd chatted her up before and figured Siobhan to be a fairly easy-going girl with flexible morals. She pouted for a second, disappointed that he wasn't making the request for himself, before switching on her own well-practiced smile.

"Sure thing, honey," she drawled back in a vaguely eastern European accent before sliding into the booth opposite Melchiorre, "anything for a friend of a friend." A deep chuckle rumbled out of the barrel-chested troll, like distant thunder.

The Fox shaman shot a wink back at the girl before turning and heading to the door. He patted Mel on the shoulder as he passed by, the troll already engrossed in small-talk with the petite waitress. The sound of polite laughter faded from his ears as he stepped into the dark Tacoma night.

A gentle breeze whipped around Skee as he lifted off the ground and rose above the empty street. With a casual thought, he turned north towards downtown Seattle, fast-approaching the Hotel California.

His left hand reached into the folds of his crushed red velvet jacket and punched the keys of his Saeder-Krupp C-Pod jukebox. His conscious mind was instantly filled with an account of every social event planned for this week in the Metroplex; names, dates, addresses and other countless minutae he hadn't known 10 seconds ago were suddenly at his fingertips. He searched his memory, both real and synthetic, for anything regarding the Hotel California or a man named Rakovic as he glided over the neon canyons of the Emerald City.

"No, thanks Squall, that's all I needed."

May I be blessed with great strength and power to do what must be done. With this Shadow leaves the meeting. Heading out he takes his standard precautions and catches a cab about 3 miles from the meeting site. Having it drop him off about 4 miles past his neighborhood he begins his jog back. I have to visit this Hotel California anyway, see what's there and figure out exactly what I'm going to be asked to do.

After a night's rest Shadow begins his day with his standard warmup, a combination of a serries of marshal arts, blending together to form a style that is almost unique to him. Grabbing his nice day gear Shadow picks up a map and finds where the site is. Reaching into his pocket he checks to make sure that his two credsticks are there, one for common things, one for those less so. Stepping outside he heads for the hotel on foot.

Upon his arrival Shadow begins looking through the building, finding the desk of the concierge he continues to stay on alert, expecting to be ambushed on the spot.

"Hello, my name is Mr. Fan, I'm here to enquire about a room for the night."

The young woman behind the concierge desks nods, a faint smile on her lips. Shadow notices that her hair is actually a very fine mane of feathers that extends down the back of her neck and disappears beneath the high collar of her uniform.

"Of course, Mr. Fan. We have single, double, and penthouse rooms available. How long will you be staying with us?"

"I'll be taking the single for one night please. And would it be possible for you to tell me if you know about a meeting set up by a Rakovic-san?"

Picking up his shadow bussiness certified credstick Shadow pays for his room as he asks his question.

"Of course, sir, just a moment. You are in room 407." Her fingers dance across the touchpad. Electronics hum from behind the desk and she passes you a slim keycard embossed with the Hotel's emblem.

"Mr. Rakovic has reserved the Brandt Room for a meeting on Monday."

"Arigato, and what time is checkout tomorrow?"

Pausing to look around him Shadow begins trying to figure out the best methods of escape should that become necesary.

"Checkout is at eleven hundred, sir."

She smiles again, just a little more, and Shadow gets the impression that she's been working on her body language. Upon close inspection, he notices that her eyes are cybernetic, but very high quality.

"A table for one please" Shrine replies with a slightly regretful smile, "unsless you'd care to join me. I hate to eat alone"

Once he's been seated he leans back in his chair and waits for his waitress to show up, casually taking everything in. He glances around, using more than his physical senses, curious to see what this place looks like on the Astral.

"I'll have a Blue Mountain Pale Ale, please" he says when the waitress arrives. He looks at the menu, orders a small steak, steamed vegetables and a salad and sips his beer until it arrives, He takes his time eating dinner., curious to see who hung out in this place.

"Arigato"

Sliding his keycard into the pocket of his jacket Shadow steps back away from the counter giving the Concierge a small wink.

Walking through the hotel to the elevator Shadow finds his mind wandering back and forth between work and pleasure.

Ariving at his room Shadow opens the door slowly and carefully, his senses on high alert.

Stepping inside he begins the check over the room causually looking for any sort of security cameras.

Isabel chuckles. "Perhaps another time, my shift doesn't end for another couple of hours. Enjoy your dinner."

The food, when it arrives, is excellent, if unremarkable. Shrine counts thirty people total in the bar, including Isabel, the bartender, and three waitresses. The remainder appear to be mostly working class individuals, although almost all of them carry the unmistakable air of street trained operators. A couple of people in particular draw Shrine's attention. One of which is a red haired woman seated in a booth against the back wall, a portable data terminal open on the table in front of her. Periodically, individuals will visit the table for a brief conference. Often a chip or credstick is exchanged before they leave. The other is a large African-American seated at the bar. A steady stream of people seem to take the stool next to him and confer briefly. Opening his vision to the astral, it seems at least two or three individuals in the crowd have some sort of access to the manasphere, while a hearth spirit in the form of an old time bartender hovers over the bar.

Room 407 is spartan in its simplicity: a single window in the far wall, a bed, a small circular table and chair, a three drawer dresser, and a narrow bathroom. A sign next to the sink indicates that water will be available during the following periods: 0900-1100 and 1800-2000. Shadow's search turns up no indications of security or monitoring devices in the room.

After dinner, he got up and let, heading back to the parking garage for his bike. He had toyed with the idea of attempting to learn more about the people in the restaruant, but had changed his mind. He had enough on his plate for the moment.

The hearth spirit hovers in front of Skee, dressed as a hotel bellhop with dark, unreadable eyes. Skee shakes off the slight headache from his conjuring and asks his question.

"No, summoner, I do not see that."

Sif woke up around noon, but took her time getting out of bed and getting ready for the day until it was about 12:30. Fixing some food she sat down in front of her large screen TV and picked up the days news papers that had printed out earlier in the morning as she slept. Despite the hundreds of pirated channels she had managed to aquire for herself, Sif was a loyal viewer of KSAF news, even if their programming had suffered in the past few years.

After an hour or so of eating, reading, and watching Sif got up from her chair, and walked over to pick up the broken drone from yesterday. She took it into the other room and set it at her work station to begin repairing the faulty convenience appliance. Electronic work always made the time pass quickly for Sif, and in very little time by her reckoning it was time to head to the meet. Grabbing her helmet out of the closet she exited her home and took her motorcycle over to the Hotel California.

The next two days pass with Wraith preping for the run. He does some homework on the Johnson so see what his contacts dig up. He picks up his phone and gives a call to his Snitch contact.

The voice on the other end of the phone is short and weasely, just like its owner.

"No, man, I ain't heard of this Rakovic fella, but the Hotel California is a working class joint. Your kind of work, if ya know what I mean. I've heard some mean rumors about the place, though, about the owners. Streets say one of 'em's an ex-runner, scored big time then retired and bought the place. Another one's supposed to be ex-corporate. But if ya ask me, though, it's a load of bulldrek."

Wraith transfers 100 over the line. "Thanks pal. Keep your noise clean."

The day of the run, Wraith gathers his gear and heads over to the place. His clothes appear to be standard black slacks and a grey lock sleave shirt, but anyone worth two cents on the street could guess its nicely armored. After a quick chat with the bartender, he heads over to the meeting room to get a look at the bussiness at hand.

2000 Monday, 12 March 2063, Hotel California, Seattle, UCAS

Even for those who arrive fifteen minutes early, the Brandt Room at the Hotel California is open. Not large by any means, it is filled with an oval conference table surfaced by a dark faux mahogany. Datastations inset into the plastic surface allow any of the eight people seated at the table to call up information from the matrix, and manipulate the data on the trideo display in the center of the table. The lone occupant of the room is a human male, of average height and weight, wearing a non-descript gray suit. You'd guess his age to be late twenties to early thirties, but he has an effortlessly anonymous look to his face. He could be as young as twenty one or as old as forty. As each team member enters, he rises and greets you, offering one of the remaining seats around the table.

Once the entire team has gathered, the Johnson straightens his tie before addressing the table. His voice is level and pitched to carry no further than necessary. As he speaks, his gaze moves from face to face, never flinching away from eye contact. You have the unmistakable feeling that he’s done this on a number of occasions.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for accepting my invitation. I appreciate your promptness. All of you come highly recommended in your chosen fields. As for myself, you may call me Rakovic. The task that I have is simple in concept, but may prove difficult in execution. These images here are surveillance stills of a new anti-tank missile under development by Raytheon, codenamed Pave Lance. What little information we have indicates the weapon has an advanced guidance system, possibly incorporating both passive GPS and inertial guidance with electro-optical terminal homing. Pave Lance is armed with a powerful dual-stage warhead capable of defeating the armor on all current main battle tanks. Raytheon has managed to develop the Pave Lance with remarkable secrecy, which is why we must resort to this kind of operation. Five prototype weapons have been manufactured. All but four of them are being kept at the Ares China Lake Weapons Development Facility. The fifth is in Seattle, at the Ares Integrated Solutions Research Building in Everett. The missile will remain there for two weeks while it undergoes a final operations evaluation prior to commencing live fire exercises. It arrived at the AIS building this morning at 0800 under armed guard. What my employer seeks are the detailed specifications that arrived along with the missile. These specifications will be loaded into the AIS mainframe, allowing their technicians to conduct all the required tests of the OpEval. As you might suspect, matrix security is extraordinary. The AIS mainframe is accessible only from the Ares Corporate PLTG via a vanishing SAN that opens only twice daily. Because of the compressed time schedule that you’re being asked to work with, my employer has authorized me to offer you forty thousand nuyen each, half up front. In addition to that, should you be able to actually acquire the fifth prototype missile, that would be worth a one hundred thousand nuyen lump sum bonus. Before I distribute your initial payment, though, I’m sure you have some questions for me.”