“Artemis!” The voice cried out.

“Artemis!” Came the shout again. Jarrod, of the clan bear crawled over the slick stones. Behind him lay the waterfall he had traversed to get to the cave. Everything was covered in a fine mist. His deerskin breaches did little to keep him dry.

A voice boomed in his head. It verged on hurting.

“What human.”

“There coming Artemis, there almost here. I need a place to hide my people, please let us hide here.” There was a pregnant pause.

“Artemis?”

The voice came back louder and more forceful than before.

“You know this cannot be. I must use all my strength to hide myself, I cannot hid your people. If you were here, you would just lead them to me, and this cannot be.”

Jarrod shook his fists. “we saved you, we fed you, we protected you, some of us with our lives. Please Artemis, my people, they will die. At least save the woman and children.” Jarrod waited, he held his breath. Anger had long since past the human. Now he just wanted to save as many as he could before the demons destroyed his village.

“Please, Artemis,” Jarrod fell to his knees. Sobbing. “You can do it, I know you can, please.”

“I’m truly sorry you human, I cannot.”

It was to late find someplace else, his people hid in a grove nearby the entrance to the lair. If Artemis had allowed it, then he would have rushed to the surface and given a signal. But it was not to be.

“We wont forget this Artemis, we may be short lived, but we have a long memory.” Jarrod stood then, whipping his face, he marched out of the cavern as best he could.

Deep within the rock, carefully surrounding himself with stone and earth, lay coiled a dragon of brightest gold. He lay atop a pile of treasure unlike any seen in a thousand years. He paid little heed to the twinge in his heart as he fell into a deep sleep.

Wagner yawned, took a drink of water, then bit into a real steak. A mouth-watering, juicy, cooked-to-perfection, medium-rare steak. Granted, he had these frequently, but it was nice to remind himself that it was, in fact, real steak, and not some soysteak or something that he used to have.

Talk about an incredible last run, huh? He scored enough to finally pay off the rest of his house, and had enough to spare so that he could safely put it away and gain interest. Interest that would go to paying the people who cooked, cleaned, drove him around, so on and so forth. But it kept his hands free.

Granted, now he just needed to keep busy or his skills would slowly diminish. Can't have that, now can we?

After finishing his steak, potato, salad and chocolate cake, he worked his way to the facility he had for his vehicles. He patted his main helicopter. That baby had brought him through hell in a handbasket.

He started a small bit of work on it, tweaking the things all those bumps knocked out of place.

Several hours later, he yawned and got out from the helicopter. What a night. He still couldn't believe how luckily he made it past with his hoop intact.

Maybe he should call Lasko. Thank him for the equipment that saved him. Maybe wait a while and make Lasko sweat it out. Either or.

Instead, he decided to sleep. A lot. Or, at least, for the night and part of tomorrow.

The phone clicked twice letting both parties know the line was secure.

“Are we ready.”

”Yes sir, the funds are secure as well as the meeting place.”

“Will they come?”

“As big as incentive our man is putting out? Will either get a bunch of loons, the best in the biz, or both.”

“Let us hope for the best. Ok then, I guess we just sit back and wait.”

“I’ll keep you apprised.”

“Thanks,” the line went dead.

Jarrod Mason mentally disconnected the line from his end. He had put the word out a week ago. 8-12 runners were needed. All had to be world class. The payoff was big, very big. But so was the target.

He checked his watch, just 24 hours to go till the meet. He had rented out a office in downtown Seattle. The entire floor had been moved out so it was one large open space. All the windows had been secured with tremblers to prevent ease dropping. The floor itself was warded with the best money could buy. This floor alone was as secure and safe as anything made in the 6th world. At least from eavesdropping.

No just to wait.

“Ah swear it , ‘Lil. This one’s on tha level.”

…Silence…

“We used him before, remember? The fella with the keyboard tie?”

…Silence…

“Please, darlin’ .. don’t be mad at ‘lil ol me,” she chided, a deep dimple peeking out of one cheek. Magnolia’s sweet southern twang always seemed to tug at the corners of Lilly’s mouth, melting her resolve until she couldn’t help but smile. “How was I supposed ta know that the last meetin' was a setup?”

That thought brought the scowl back to her face, throwing her mood right back into the doldrums as she remembered the firefight that still managed to give her chills, even more than a year and a half later.

“Aww, c’mon shuug. You can’t pass this one up. The girls need me here or else y'all know I’d be right there too. At least go to the meetin' .. an’ if it doesn’t look good, walk.” The stunning blonde hovered a little closer to eye level, regarding her friend seriously. “’Lil, there’s no way he’ll find you here. Heck, I almost couldn’t find you here, an’ that’s saying a lot. I know y’all have a bug up your butt to get in on some of the action in Seattle.” She grins mildly. “An' I’d say ya’ve got what, half a mil in the bank?”

…Silence…

“Thought so.”

Big had left a message through the usual channels, those which warrented no response until a task had been accepted and paid for. Their relationship was professsional, little else. On some level Hinotama was not at ease working on the behest of a metahuman, despite being far worse himself.

Old bias dies hard.

Some would consider him a fool, for how he arrived to the meet. It wasn't that he used austentatious transportation -no, he simply called a driver service- or that he did anything to draw attention to himself. What was odd, however, was that he showed to a meet of this nature both unarmed, and wearing no armor of any kind.

Call it professional courtesy, or honor. He believed that to show hostility towards an employer was a greivous insult, even in these times. And so, dressed simply in black, with signs of gold embroidery, his firey read hair shimmering in hues of orange and gold, his golden eyes taking in the scene around him, he approaced the meet, clearing through any security required, and introducing himself as he has been instructed. If offered a drink, he queries about an herbal tea, otherwise he declines.

Archmage had just settled down into his favorite chair with a good book when a clatter was heard down the hall. "Wethril! If you don't get your ectoplasmic behind out of my study, I'll torch your baseball cards!" he shouted. He knew he should get that place warded...if that specter so much as touched his notes...

When the ruckus didn't cease, he slammed his book down on the endtable and stormed down the hall. One of these days he'd find a way to get rid of that nuisance. He was about to open the door when two astral forms shot out past him. One of them was Wethril, the bane of his existance. The other was a young elf, visibly terrified of the spectre.

"Wethril! What did I tell you about chasing guests?"

"But...I caught 'em sneaking in...I thought I was doing good..."

"I'm perfectly capable of handling my own intruders."

"You never let me have any fun." the spectre said, going off to sulk.

Turning his attention to the visitor, who had taken to hiding behind him, Archmage tried to place the astral form. "You're Kestrel's student, aren't you?"

"Ahhh...yes sir."

"And why were you in my study?"

"It was the first entrance I came to..."

"And why are you here?"

"Master had a message for you."

"And he couldn't just call me?"

"Said it would be good practice for me. He didn't say anything about a ghost"

"Specter!" came from down the hall

"Anyways...you might as well just spit out the message."

"The master has a job offer for you. One that calls for the very best."

"You're looking at him." the boy continued to rattle off the time and address of the meet, at which time he dismissed the boy to return to his body. As he wondered what sort of all-star challenge was coming up, he headed into the study to see just what sort of damage Wethril had done this time.

The biting wind lashes his exposed skin the moment Danny steps from the warm but sterile confines of Sea-Tac's arrivals terminal. He pulls up the collar of his battered leather bomber jacket as he eyes the bleak, gray sky threatening yet another session of rain that is so typical for Seattle, no matter what the time of year. After hailing one of the ever-present Auto-cabs, he slots a certified credstick and lists his destination.

Touristville's aging Comfort Inn had seen better times, but still offers a level of service and privacy adequate to Danny's needs. His last minute reservation in order, check-in goes swiftly, and after declining the bellboy's assistance, he hefts the large duffel and takes the elevator to the sixth floor.

The view from room 612 was nothing to alert Shadowland about. The grimy window overlooks the Redmond Barrens, miles of run down, dilapidated buildings stretching toward the mountains in the distance, as much of a battle ground as any found in the Yucatan or the wilds of Africa.

After checking the time, Danny reclines on the thin mattress and slots a chip into the datajack set in his temple. Without warning a small leopard cub appears, curling itself up in the hollow beside him. Danny absently strokes the creature's spotted fur as he scans the latest issue of Sixth World Shaman.

BELFAST
November 18th, 2064; Somewhere on the Pacific Ocean

Some fifty leagues off the coast of Seattle, a two-hundred foot yacht was lazily anchored beneath the setting sun. Its brilliant white hull and polished chrome fixtures were in pristine condition, reflecting the gentle pinks and purples of the evening sky in all of its magnificent glory. Yet despite the resplendent grandeur, there was something eerie about the scene. It was just a little too serene. A little too isolated. A little too menacing. But most of all, it was just a little too creepy.

Perhaps it was because its sole passenger lay comatose while his spirit was off galavanting across that eldritch realm lying somewhere between reality and fantasy. That passenger was Liam McGuinness — or Belfast as he more widly known on the streets back in his hayday. Once upon a time, Liam was a member of the nefarious Knights of the Red Branch, but these days he was little more than a lost soul seeking to find his place in a world that was no longer what he had believed it to be. Instead of facing that revelation, however, Liam preferred to submerge himself in the surreal in the hopes of drowning that reality away.

Now no one knew exactly where Liam would disappear to when he shed himself of his mortal coil, or why he had given up on his cause to see Ireland free. At first these little trips of his only lasted for a few hours at a time, but those hourly holidays eventually turned into days, which then turned into weeks. Now they had blossomed to the point where they could actually be measured in months. How he managed to do it was anyone's guess, but despite his apparent desire to leave reality behind forever, he always returned to the land of the living for one reason or another.

Today was one of those days. The æthernaut could feel reality coalescing around himself as he settled back into his skin. The scintilating colors of the astral plane continued to swirl around him, constantly beckoning his return like a siren beckoning a sailor into her deadly embrace. The cold, calculating display of various biomonitors and status screens clouding his vision made it abundantly clear that he truly was home, however... much to his chagrin.

Liam just laid there for a moment, hissing out an emotionless sigh. He could feel the tightening strain of his muscles as he struggled into a sitting position and began removing the assorted IVs that kept his skinride in pristine condition during his prolonged sojourns.

Liam simply sat there for a few minutes, letting his body and mind adjust to one another's presence after a — "Hmm... how long had it been this time?" he pondered.

"Jeeves," he tried to cough out, but his voice was dry and scratchy. He grabbed a nearby glass of water and took a long, slow drink from it before he tried again. "Jeeves," ahh, better, "what's today's date and time?"

A musical little jingle responding to the voice command, followed soon thereafter by a distinguished and refined British voice as his pocket secretary sparked to life. "It is currently November 18th, 6:42pm Pacific, sir. May I be of any further assistance?"

Liam didn't bother to reply. Instead, he forced himself up onto a pair of legs that probably would have been atrophied if not for the various maintenance drones he had purchased the last time it happened. As he waited for the automatic lights to activate, the young man stretched while deciding to take a long, hot shower to see if that would hel—wait a tick. What was that in the window?

Lifting a curious brow at the strange anomoly he caught in his own reflection, the heavily tattooed magician turned around and took a long, hard look at himself in the mirror hanging from his closet door. Curiously, there was something written on his forehead. When he lifted his hair up and out of the way, Liam saw the note "GOODBYE --MAGGIE" scribed across it in black ink. The cackling cerise emminations of a woman scorned boiled angrily from every letter while the lipstick stain next to it seemed to glow with the soft viridian whisper of a lover's sorrow.

"Fook me raw," the Irishman exasperated aloud as he let his native accent slip. It had more to do with having to endure the scrubbing it was going to take to remove the message than the consequences of the message itself. The realization of those screwed up priorities seemed to depress him that much more... but he wasn't about to let himself dwell on it. Denial can be such a beautiful thing, though in this case it was becoming more of a malignant blight upon the mage's spirit... and one that he was having a harder and harder time ignoring.

Once Liam was in the shower, numerous little automated gizmos appeared out of nowhere, scrubbing his body clean while he just leaned tiredly against the tiled wall. He kept trying to fill his head with meaningless thoughts, but Maggie's imagine haunted him wherever he tried to hide in his mind's eye. Defeatedly, he hissed out a long sigh just before he caved in to his true thoughts. "I guess she finally gave up on me. Can't say I blame her, really. In fact, I'm surprised she stayed with me as long as she did. But it's probably for the best — she deserves someone who can care for her as much as she cares for others." He paused for a moment to stare down at the ring on his left hand before sliding it off and leaving it to rest on the nearby soap dish. "Yeah. It's probably for the best."

Nearly an hour passed before the young man stepped out of the shower with every dead cell on body purged. He was making his way towards his closet to snag something comfortable to wear for the night when he decided to check his voicemail on a whim.

"Jeeves, how much mail do I have waiting this time?"

"1,533 new messages, sir. May I be of any further assistance?"

"Jesus. Very well, purge all the junkmail and file away all the bills and whatnot. What's left?"

"179 new messages remaining, sir. May I be of any further assistance?"

"Right. Now purge the messages from ma." Then almost as an afterthought, "and Maggie."

"1 new message remaining, sir. May I be of any further assistance?"

"Let me hear it."

"Hey hey, Bel, m'main man! It's me, Three-Fingers! Long time no see, huh? Yeah, uhh, look... I know you said you were out of the biz an' all, but I gots this guy 'ere who's really jonesing t'get youse back on the green, and.. and all right, I'd be completely honest witchoo — this suit is offering up more cash than Davier's G-string if she ever took up strippin'. Yeah yeah, all right, I suck at da metaphor thing. But m'point stands: My cut just for getting in touch witchoo alone'll set me up for life. I tried to tell da guy that you didn't care 'bout that kinda stuff no more, but he told me to tells you... frag, how did he say it? It was sumtin' really fragged up... sumtin' like <LOUD BURST OF RANDOM NOISE>. Yeah, I t'ink dat was it. Don't look't me like that, man, I ain't gots no fraggin' clue what it meant either, but for this kind of cash, I'll tell anyone whatever they want me to say. So, uh, yeah... I think youse should give dis guy a shot. I'll attach all the details for where he wants to meet you at d'end of dis message. Hope t'ings are goin' good for ya man. Lates." There was a pause. "End of voice message, sir. There is one text message attached. May I be of any further assistance?"

"Clean up that last voice message and replay it. I want to know what he said during all that static."

"Compliance."

A good ten minutes passed as Liam tried to get his p-sec to clean up the message so he could hear whatever it was Three-Fingers was trying to tell him. But no matter what they tried, all they got was static "Curiouser and curiouser. When did that message come in?"

"Just before 3:00pm this afternoon, sir. May I be of any further assistance?"

"Hmm. Jeeves, patch into the Sea Nymph and have her plot a course back to our dock at the Elliot Bay Marina in Seattle. I need to be there by six in the morning. After that, save that last message and see if you can contact Red Tom at that phone number he gave me last Christmas. If you can, tell him I'd like to see him when I hit the Emerald City in the morning at our old stomping ground. He'll know where I mean. When you're done, prepare everything for bed — I'm going to catch up on the news for an hour or two and then make an early night of it."

"Compliance. Good night, sir, and pleasant dreams."

Raiko pressed disconnect on his telecomm and looked out of his suites huge window, he found the view over Lake Washington relaxing, even on a typically Seattle November evening.

He hadn't needed to take on jobs since finishing his retainer contract with Ares twelve months ago, he purely took on those jobs where the money or challenge were sufficient to interest him. From what Fingers had said, this offer might satisfy both requirements.

His mind made up Raiko retired for night, best to get a good nights sleep before a mission.

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

He rose early the next morning and completed his normal workout, before gathering up his gear.

His two Manhunters went into shoulder holsters, one loaded with capsule rounds, the other with armour-piercing ammunition, he donned his greatcoat, and finally slid his two exquisite Katana's into their consealed sheaves.

Satisfied Raiko walk across the apartment to the elevator and took it down to the parking lot.

Two minutes later he was on his Honda Banshee heading towards the bridge.

Little Johnny sat, watching the others, and listened carefully. Cassandra, Tasha, and Major Johnson were standing before him, each explaining the new features of his armor. The armor itself wasn't new, as it was part of a payment for "services rendered" from the UCAS, but recently they had decided he needed an upgrade. And an upgrade they had given it.

"We've added much more powerful thermal dampening. The next time you go to sneak up on a drone, it should be harder for them to detect you. Also, we've included the video equipment you asked for. As it is, this armor should be as close to SOTA as one can get," Tasha said.

"Thanks. This will definitely do. I'm glad you appreciate my last job so much," Johnny said.

He then caught, in the corner of his eye, a communication from Trevor on the screen of his computer. Johnny instantly frowned at the details, but turned back to his those currently present in the room. After all, he had to be courteous to his friends before testing the improved armor on another run.

November 19th, 2064; Bistro Chez Pierre
08:00

"Hmmm? Oh, yes. Eggs benedict, please, with the smoked salmon?"

Lilly arched an eyebrow at the young waiter's obvious shyness, the beginnings of a smile lurking in the corners of her peach-hued mouth as she seemed not to notice his shuffling, her gaze fixed on the empty wrought-iron chair across from her.

"And .. do you reccomend the spinach salad?"

Carefully placing a precise amount of uncertainty into the question, she smiled more fully at his enthusiastic nod and subtly altered her tone to match.

"Brilliant. I'll have that as well, thank you."

She dismissed the lad with a gracious incline of her head, appearing to have all but forgotten his presence as she deftly adjusted the pristine silk scarf that covered her hair, one glance down the street reassuring her that no one new had entered the office building since her arrival. Lilly shifted slightly in the elegant (if uncomfortable) patio chair, one hand absently smoothing a barely-discernable wrinkle from her skirt as she sipped a belini, enjoying the morning sunlight while it lasted.

It was a glorious morning, a true rarity in the Emerald City, especially considering the season, and the elegant woman in white was but one of a few that were out at this early hour to take advantage of the unseasonable warmth. Maybe it would rain in a few minutes, but for now ... Lilly turned her face towards the sky and sighed, doing her best to forget what had brought her to Seattle in the first place.

The morning sun shining unexpectedly through the greasy window of the hotel wakes Danny Foster a full hour ahead of schedule. A quick glance around the room finds the small cub Spot curled peacefully, but still wide awake on the windowsill.

Stretching, he initiates a full diagnostics test of his various implants, as well as his physical well-being. The resulting data from the range of fully-integrated, state of the art cybernetic sub-systems scrolls across his Image Link. This is followed by the report on his current health and level of fitness from the Nano-Biometer implanted in his left leg.

He subconsciously looks down at the leg which he'd lost in that never-to-be-forgotten 'incident' in the Yucatan. He's still slightly amazed that, even naked, it was almost undetectable as a full cyber replacement. It is only upon close examination, and comparison with his bio-enhanced right leg do the minute differences in muscle movement become apparent. Switzerland has several excellent Delta Clinics, and Danny has access to one of the very best.

Satisfied with the results, he takes advantage of the extra time for a lengthy, and surprisingly, mostly warm shower. Danny absently fondles the tattoo of a stalking leopard that covers his right shoulder and chest as he uses various minor spells to see to his personal grooming. He then turns his attention to his clothes, magically cleaning and fixing each garment, removing any signs of ill-wear and returning them to a state of perfect personal comfort before pulling them on.

A skin-tight Zoe body suit, black and sleeveless, is followed by a pair of loose-fitting black combat pants and a similarly sleeveless 'Concrete Dreams - Live in Constantinople' t-shirt dyed in ancient psychedelic fashion with shades of purple, pink and emerald. This is topped by a brown leather bomber jacket emblazoned on the back with the insignia of 'Gibson's Gypsies' with a logo of a T-bird overlaying a burning Aztlan pyramid. Sturdy black combat boots, black-lensed Armante shades, and a battered Zoe-Stetson with a leopard print band complete the ensemble.

He tucks the military duffel bag under the bed, and checks the contents of his various pockets and his rugged shoulder satchel one last time. Then with a wink at Spot, who subsequently disappears, Danny steps out the door.

BELFAST
Less than an hour outside Seattle — November 19th, 2064 — 5:17am

Imagine waking up and not knowing who you are. Or even where you are. Pain, panic, and... is that hunger?... are the only things you recognize (or think you recognize) as you nearly fall out of your bed, freaking out in the dark while struggling to remember the answers to your questions. That's when the automated lights fade on and you catch a glance of yourself in a mirror. The face seems familiar, and it takes you several seconds to remember that the reason it looks familiar is because it's you, and that you couldn't remember where you were because it's the last place you would have ever suspected — home.

That's what it's like the first time you wake up after a prolonged skinride. It's amazing how easily you get used to traversing alien worlds and taking on the guise of anyone or anything you can imagine. Eventually you even begin to forget who you are. Of course, that's why I do it in the first place: To forget. Only a few more rides and I'll have it perfected, of that I'm certain. It's all just a matter of time now. Then I'll be able to leave this miserable, apathetic excuse of a world behind me forever.

In the mean time, I might as well make the most of this one while I build up my reserves. That call from Three-Fingers last night really piqued my interest, or more correctly that weird burst of static did... not to mention the timing. If there's one thing I've learned since leaving the Tir, it's that you should never turn a blind eye when fate leaves a message with your answering service.

But enough with this inner monologue and self-reflection shite. Let's see what the day has in store for me.

"Jeeves," I said, breaking the enchanting silence as we approached Seattle. "What's the update on that message to Tommy Boy?"

"I'm sorry sir, but his voicemail was full and I was unable to leave your message. May I be of any further assistance?"

I grunted as I pulled myself up to my feet — it's amazing how you can get so used to not having any muscles. "Yeah, what's the weather going to be like today?"

"According to NewsNet, today will be mostly sunny with highs in the low to middle teens. Expect a light westerly wind around 10 kph shifting to the north by noon, bringing with it a mild 10% chance of precipitation later in the day. May I be of any further assistance?"

"No, I'm good." Jeeves' characteristic jingle signaled his farewell as I approached the closet to try and figure out what the hell I was going to wear today. Three-Finger's description of the meet didn't really give me anything to work off of, so how about casual chic? Yeah, that sounds good. Let's go with a pair of old jeans, a black turtleneck, and that brown leather jacket ma got me for my birthday a few years back. That should be good enough, assuming that forecast is accurate. But hey, if not, I can always just whip up a little mojo to fix that.

Hmm. Speaking of mojo, "I wonder why I haven't seen Berrybr———OOF!"

"Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD!!! I so totally thought you had forgotten about me!!!" the house sprite shouted as she tackled me with a hug. "I have been waiting since *last night* for you to so much as think of me, but noooo... you had to sit and drown yourself in sorrow or waste your time talkin' to that stuffy old box thingamajigger of yours. Get over yourself already, sheesh!!! So how was your trip? Didja get me anything? Huh huh huh?" It was then that she saw the clothes I had thrown on the bed. "Oh... mah... gah! Are we going somewhere today?! Ooh ooh ooh, can I come? P-P-P-PLEASE?! I do so love it when you take me out on the town, and you haven't taken me *anywhere* for ages! It's so COOL out there! All those people and all those things to see! So where are we going, huh? Oh my god! Can we go to the arcology or to a restaurant or something? Oh man, they have the..."

I just stood there as the fey rattled on and on with no end in sight. How did I end up with a faerie that talked like a valley girl again?

"Whoa!" I finally shouted out as her voice began to grate on me. It was enough to shock her into a momentary pause. Before I had a chance to continue, however, the little minx pulled an ectoplasmic flower out of her hair and belted me across the face with it. What the hell?!

"Di... did you just smack me with a fookin' daffodil?"

"No," she responded, quickly hiding the yellow flower behind her back as it dawned on her what she did. "It was a waterlily." It was then that she very nearly started to cry. "I'm so sorry, Liam! I just missed you so much! I tried to entertain myself while you were gone, but it's just so dreadfully BORING around here! Oh my god, you have no idea! I even tried to, like, break stuff and stuff, but those stupid old... metal... thingies... would come out of nowhere and clean it all up. How totally lame is that? I mean, shyeah, can you believe that? So rude! I go through all that work to knock over a vase, and they have to mess it up. You know, you really ought to..."

There she goes again. "Calm down. Just... calm down for a moment." Wow, that actually worked. "Look, if I let you come with me today, do you promise to be on your best behavior? And most importantly, do you promise to be quiet and let me relax? I might even have some business to attend to today, so you know what that means"

At that, Berrybrook's eyes lit up as she began dancing around the room. "YAY! Yes, yes, I promise, Liam! Thank you sooo much!!!" I had to admit, her joy was almost beginning to become infectious. Gotta watch out for that or I might just crack a smile myself, and that'll ruin this whole dreary mood thing I have going. Can't have that.

"It's my pleasure, poppet. Tell you what, if you do me a favor and start breakfast, as soon as we hit the marina we'll blow this popstand and check out some of the sights. How's that sound?"

"HOORAY! You got it, Liam! You are SO totally awesome!!!" Brook bolted towards the door before stopping and rushing back to steal a kiss. Then as quickly as she appeared, she was gone.

I just plopped back down on the bed and let out a long sigh. I was definitely home all right. Joy of joys.

The air outside was cold and crisp, but what else could be expected in these highlands. Tank was staring out the window when the sound of heavy gunfire broke out behind him. He didn't flinch or show even the slightest alarm, he just waited for it to stop and turned to see how his students had progressed. His eyes swept over the row of targets at the far end of the room, better, they are actually making some progress this week.

He opened his mouth to let his students know they had done well, when a red light appeared in his field of vision. At first he didn't know what to make of it, it had been so long since he'd seen it. Someone has a job.

Tank had been out of the game for a while, training S-K's students was taking up his time now, but if he was right about who the call came from, he knew not to ignore it. He holds up a finger, halting his students.

"This is Tank."

"You are needed."

"Understood. Where?"

"Seattle. I'll leave the usual datatrail for you."

"Green."

The acropolyptic building is an old throwback to 30s architecture and design. Golden spires and gargoyles adorn every corner. The building streaks up at an angle, reaching to s single pointed spire. The lobby’s entrances is framed by a large golden arch, with huge doors made more for trolls than humans.

Once inside the lobby you feel like a doll in a very large doll house. The ceiling stretches up fifty feet. The walls are all covered in a speckled black marble. Six sets of elevator doors sit in the far wall, behind the crescent shaped security desk. The desk sits on a pedestal. Two feet above the ground. A holographic display acts as a shield between the sole guard and the lobby. Building information, fire escape routes and office numbers are displayed on the outside.

The guard is a woman, pretty in a tall athletic way. Long red hair cascades over her shoulders. Her eyes are hidden behind sleek green tinted sunglasses. Her uniform is a dark forest green with grey highlights. She wares a belt with a heavy looking pistol. She nods as each of you enter.

Your contact told you to ask for Mr. Mason.

Tank walks into the building, leaving his weapons behind in his Brumby. He takes a breath, enjoying the open space of the building interior. He'd always had trouble fitting into most buildings, but then again, that just goes with being a Giant.

Stepping up to the desk, he bends down and says, "Mr. Mason", if a voice that sounds more like a low hum than words.

The guard looks up, her green eyes shine above the rim of her glasses. Tanks unique position giving him the ability to see behind them.

"Right, he said to have you wait till everyone is here, there are some uh benches in the corner."

Tank gives a quick nod and steps over next to the benches, where he leans against the wall and folds his arms to wait.

Lilly sighs softly, setting her sketchbook and pencils aside as the digital display in the lower corner of her left eye flashes 09:45.

Almost time.

The image on the pad catches her attention, if only for a second, its smooth lines and detailed illuminations reminding her how close she was to actually finishing this part of the process. A few days, certainly, would be more than enough and the delicate choker would be her finest piece to date....

Giving her head a bit of a shake, she places the small book inside a chic leather clutch with a bit more force than necessary. One more job, she almost smiles, imagining what it would be like to have the leisure to do as she pleased, and I'm done for good.

Leaving a generous tip with the young waiter and thanking him for allowing her stay for as long as she had, Lilly leaves the restaurant's patio, along with its slack-jawed waiter, without a backward glance. Soft amber eyes take in the massive office building, widening only slightly as she steps inside the lobby.

The quiet 'click' of her designer heels seem to echo throughout the spacious room as she strides towards the reception desk, her sleek suit, gloves, and wrap (all pristinely white) standing out in stark relief against the speckled black marble.

"Yes, hello," Lilly smiles warmly at the pretty guard, not bothering to disguise her accent. "I have an appointment with a Mr. Mason. Would you inform him that I have arrived?"
_____

Inclining her head to a precise angle, she indicates that waiting for a while will be fine and crosses the lobby once again. Lilly selects a bench near Tank, gives him a small smile, and settles down gracefully, white gloved hands folded neatly in her lap.

Tank returns the smile to Lilly and extends a hand the size of a baseball glove towards her.

"They call me Tank."

Lilly laughs softly, tilting her head to one side as she places her much smaller hand within his.

"I can certainly see why." With an almost imperceptible wink, she gives his hand a squeeze.

"Lilly."

Lilly and Tank were soon joined by an elf of aristocratic bearing. His long black hair was neatly tied back, his slate grey eyes scanned over the two. His fashionable attire was overlaid in a cloak embroidered with mystical symbols. He carried an exquisitly carved staff. He looked every inch the wizard of old. "It seems that Mr Mason has seen fit to make us wait awhile..." he commented as he took a seat. "I am known as Archmage."

There we were on the I-5, tearing through the last vestiges of early morning commuter traffic. Jeeves was patched into the Aston-Martin, feeding it directions to our destination. We had spent most of the morning catching up with my old circle. Had to admit it was good to see Boggs again, but as for the rest... well, let's just say that it reminded me why I wanted to leave this place behind me forever.

"Inconceivable, unbelievable, grammar like a hammer information receivable!
Sent by the Lord, here and abroad, with words well adored now they can't be ignored!"

Berrybrook was sitting in the seat next to me, her ethereal form gyrating around to the noise blasting out of the Aston-Martin's sound system. Every time I would reach over to change the station, she would lash out and slap my hand while giving me the dirtiest look a pixie could possibly muster. Which isn't saying much with her being, you know, a pixie and all.

"What on earth are you forcing me to listen to, woman?!"

"Isn't it totally awesome?! It's Run O.R.C., one of those new orxploitation bands! They're doing a remake of some ol' TwenCen melody or something, or at least that's what the DJ fellow said, but I dunno. I don't even know what they're singing about. All I know is that it so totally rocks and that there isn't anything like it back in Arcadia! Uhn uhn uhn! 'Just black and back to go back and forth go to school and cool, uh, sumthin' sumthin' and pull...' aww yeah!"

"Sounds more like the cacophony of the damned to me." I knew better than to try and change the station again, though. Lovable as the little minx was, she had a tendency to smack you with a flower if you did something she didn't like. I'd already gotten smacked half a dozen times this morning.

"You would know, Stuffy McStufferson! I think that's what I'm gonna start calling you from now on. Stuffy McStufferson. It suits you. Besides, like, anything's better than listening to you snore for six months at a time."

"I do not snore."

"Yeah, uhh huh, right... whatevah little snorepiggie!" At that, Berrybrook flashed some weird quasi-ganger \X/ hand gesture my way while mouthing 'whatevah!' a second time. Oy, fey. They'll be the death of me. I just know it.

In any case, as the pixie's infernal racket continued to blaze on with no sign of a reprieve anywhere in the near future, Jeeves informed me that we were approaching the meet site. "All right, poppet, we're here. Do me a favor and stay in the car and keep an eye on things out here. If anything weird goes down, let me know pronto. Got it?"

"As long as you keep the tunes flowing, consider it done, Mr. McStufferson."

"And quit calling me that."

She didn't think I saw her sticking her tongue out at me as I climbed out of the Vanquisher, but I did. Luckily I was used to that sort of behavior from the wee folk. It's part of their charm, afterall.

But enough of that. I let a long, low whistle escape my lips as I cased the exterior of this joint. Whoever these people were, they certainly had style. Style. Fook. I wasn't expecting anything like this, if I had I would have dressed the part. No matter, that was easy enough to fix. As I made my way towards the entrance, I cast a little charm on myself and before I was through the huge archway, my casual chic threads were replaced by an Italian suit that would have made ol' Howard Hughes envious. If nothing else, I would at least look the part.

Looking around I could see a small gathering of rather mean-looking individuals gathered in a corner of the room. It was then that I caught a glimpse of the chick behind the counter.

"Top of the morning to you, lass," I started off while flashing my most charming smile, trying my best to hide the wincing caused as my accent found its way to my lips. Gotta keep that bloody thing on a leash, I do. Ahem. "I have an appointment with a Mr. Mason at ten o'clock. Please let him know I'm here. Much obliged."

With that I turned my attention to the mean-looking individuals looming dangerously in a corner. Let's get this over with.

I strolled over and flashed the same smile I gave the security guard while offering a hand to the fairer one of the lot. Let's go the simple route and just say, "Hello."

Lilly nodded towards the dark-haired elf, one slender blonde eyebrow raised as she noted the mystic swirls on his cloak. Her smile lingered, however, in spite of her carefully disguised curiosity.

"Lilly, this fellow over here is named Tank, and it is a ...."

Trailing off, she takes a moment to appraise the newcomer before extending her lightly gloved hand, a hint of a dimple peeking out of one cheek.

"Ahh, hello."

Wagner stretched and yawned. It was about time to go. But, oh, to fly down and cause a ruckus or lower himself to the streets and pay a cabbie. Or may just the tubes. Meh, it better be something, or he'll be late. Maybe with his next stack of nuyen he'll buy a car. Or six.

Yawn, stretch again. He put on his "nice" clothes and hit the road, as the saying went. First stop, the tubes. Cabbies ask too many questions.

He made his way, slowly, lumberingly, but surely. After a time, he made it, shy a few nuyen.

He looked up at the structure, blinked a few times, then waddled in.

"Ach! Vat is dis? Are dey trying to make me feel shorter dan I already do?"

He muttered a bit more, then waddled towards the secretary, humming Richard Wagner's Flight of the Valkyries as he went.

"Excuse me. I am looking for a Mister Mason. Is he available?"

As the secretary points to the benches and asks him if he will please wait, he follows her finger, then throws his hands in the air.

"Vy? Vy did you not tell me I was supposed to wait when I walked by you, hm? Trying to make Vagner look like a fool? Hmmpt. I see how it is."

With that assumption in mind, and that statement in the air, he waddled to the benches and sat down heavily.

"No respect for the greatest Dwarf to grace the skies. Vat manners do zey teach children dese days?"

In perfect German, the Giant replies, "You could have been here to see anyone, my stout friend."

He chuckles warmly and switches to English, "Call me Tank."

For once, Wagner smiles.

Replied, in German: "Ah, this is true. However, that doesn't stop you from at least... Oh, to hell with it."

Back in English: "Ze name is Vagnah. So, how long ve wait?"

Tank shrugs his massive shoulders, "Only a few minutes."

It took two elevators to carry the group up, one for Tank, and one for the other nine people. Elves, Dwarves, and Orks. It seemed the group made up a large racial profile. The doors opened to… a bear floor. No carpet, decorations on the walls or furniture of any kind. The windows were specially tinted to prevent anyone from seeing in, though you could still see out thanks to digitally controlled nanobots.

The vast room was like a large cave, empty in all respects, except one. A lone man stood fifty feet from the elevator, his back to the group as they exited. His hands were clasped behind him, his head cocked to one side. He was six feet tall, dark black hair cropped very short. His skin was the olive color of the med, but there was something not quite right about it.

Once the entire group had exited the lifts and the doors had closed, the man turned to face you.

“Hello, I’m Jarrod Mason, and I want you to kill a dragon.”

Eyes widening in surprise, Danny removes his hat and absently runs his hand through his close-cropped chestnut hair, then smoothing the small braid hanging between his shoulder blades.

The trip from his hotel to the impressive building had been less than memorable. A few phone calls placed over one of Fat Sam's real ham and egg breakfasts had turned up no information whatsoever about the prospective job, not even the slightest rumor. Another autocab ride had brought him to the site of the meet just in time to join the motley crew at the elevators, which led straight into Jarrod's pronouncement.

Tank grunts. I wonder what Lofwyr will make of this...

"Thats a loaded statement, mister. There be many kinds to deal with in this Age. I think it best if you fed us a little more."

Kill a dragon. Just like that....

Lilly blinked in spite of herself, her mouth paused, half-open, for a moment before she regained her composure. Shrugging nonchalantly, she affected the cool businesslike demeanor that had become one of her hallmarks.

Why?

Two fingers ran along the embroidered edge of the wrap that covered all but part of her face, keeping her profile concealed for the time being, her small nod of approval the only sign that she'd heard anything at all. 'Good lad,' she mused once Tank's gravelly voice boomed across the room, 'and a good question to get us started....'

This sounds like a worthy adversary, still, the Giant is correct.

Raiko nods in agreement with Tank, "I too would wish to know some specifics before committing to this challenge."

We went through all the standard greetings in the business; or, in otherwords, we didn't actually say a damn thing worth remembering for the ten minutes we milled around the lobby. They gave me their street nicks, I gave them mine -- Belfast — and that was about it. For the most part they all seemed all right. Well, save for that Archmage character. What kind of a name is that anyway? It's bad enough he's a fookin' keeb, but with a nom de plume like that, he was probably an egotistical prick to boot. But then again, he is an elf, so that's to be expected.

Anyway, things got awkward for a moment until that hayseed showed up. His arrival seemed to cue the skirt behind the counter, and she promptly proceeded to tell us Mason would see us now.

At that, we began piling into the lifts and, naturally, I tried to cram myself into the one with the hottie. But thanks to Big Red taking up the whole damn car she was in, I ended up crammed in the other one with the dwarf, the elf, and the hick. Now that I stop and think about it, that almost sounds like a set-up for a bad joke...

Oh, before I forgot here's a mental note to self: Remember to bring a respirator (or at least some air freshener) the next time you go into any enclosed area with this Wagner guy. Jaysus fookin' Christ, man. They have pills to help with this sort of thing...

I was just about to weave together a little enchantment to clean the air when the lift came to a halt and the doors opened themselves. The only guy introduced himself as Jarrod Mason, and I was just ab... wait wait wait. Did that bloke just say what I think he said? A fookin' dragon? Oh, this should be interesting.

I decided to let the rest of my motley collection of cohorts do the brunt of the talking while I stayed near the back. If nothing else it'll give me a heads-up on what each of 'em have going on inside those noggins of theirs, and at worse I'll just look like the wise man who decided to keep his trap shut rather than look the fool. 'Course it would probably help if I stopped talking to myself so that I could pay attention, but that's neither here nor there.

At the mention of a dragon, Archmage did his best to hold his composure, "It is not a small thing you ask of us." he commented. He then waited Mason to provide more details as Tank had suggested.

Little Johnny blinked. Then, he blinked again. And, because he felt like being different, he blinked a two more times. Finally, the troll decided to speak up, not caring whether it is right or not.

"Did I hear you say dragon? That's a type of helicopter, right? I hope you're not talking about the fragging flying lizard," Johnny said.

Already, he was cautious. Only a crazy man would try to hire someone or even try himself to take on a dragon. And while Johnny was crazy, he wasn't that crazy. At least, not until he heard details to convince him he was.

“To answer the first question that is undoubtedly on your mind… no. I am not crazy. I am, exceedingly rich though. Obviously I cannot divulge the details of the mission before you accept it. What little chance you will have of succeeding would be wasted if he knew you where coming.”

The man known as Mason led the group around the central column where the elevators were. On the other side was a large map of the world on the wall along with some chairs, and a very large couch. Presumably for Tank.

“I can tell you that he is old, and that he himself considers himself to be a ‘so called’ Great Dragon. He despises humanity and has had little or no contact with them this age. He is old, and presumably powerful. He was young ten thousand years ago. He is of the western variety and lives in the southern hemisphere.”

Mason taps his side as if forgetting something.

“Oh yes, the job pays one billion nuyen.”

Tank moves to take a seat, then stops and stares at the man. "Was that with a B?"

Raiko's mouth drops open slightly, despite his best attempts to remain perfectly calm.

He sits down to collect his thoughts before speaking.

"That is an incredible amount of money, and I'm certainly interested, but how do you plan on making the payments. The last time someone 'offed' one of the Greats there was a pretty big witchhunt, and one billion nuyen transactions are going to attract a lot of attention under those circumstances."

"Well I have been planning this a very long time. So I am very prepared. The money has been divided up into fifths. Thats five sets of 200 million each. diamonds, stocks, cash, credsticks, and orichulum. All in ready to sell, easy to move, perfectly certified and legally viable forms. I am sure runners of your caliber would have no problem moving any of it."

Danny leans against the wall, seemingly casual now that the initial surprise has past. He extracts a cigarette from a gold case embossed with the MET 2000 logo, toying with it rather than lighting it as he listens to Mason's explanation of payment.

"Ah'm much more int'rested in the other aspects of this here endeavor. Money don't mean drek if'n I ain't gonna be around t' spend it."

"I agree, but I need you all to understand the seriousness of this offer. I am the real deal. Now, who is in?"

"Quick question," I said. Hmpf. So much for playing that whole quiet-wiseman angle. "But what guarantee do we have that you'll live up to the bargain? Say we do what you ask. What insurance do we have that we'll have these trinkets you promised in our hands? A billion quid — or even a fraction thereof — isn't exactly easy to part with, especially when you know the deed's already done."

"I could tell you that I would swear a blood oath that you will get your money. That the debt the dragon owes is worth any price. But I don't think you would belive me. So I am going to give you one fifth of the payment up front. Cold, hard cash. You have earned a reputations in the shadows for being the best, the very best, You don't get that without paying your dues. You complete your end of the bargain, and I will complete mine."

"Make it two fifths. And give us a bit of time for some shopping and research. Then I'm in," Little Johnny, who had been silent out of shock finally said.

It wasn't an attempt to negotiate. It wasn't an attempt to intimidate. It was simply a statement, said with the tone of someone who was stating a fact.

"I am afraid that will not be possible. 200 million now, 800 when the deed is done. If this is not satisfactory thank you for coming and have a nice day."

Pulling a zippo from his jacket pocket, Danny lights his smoke, inhaling deeply as he glances around the large room at the other assorted shadow operatives, before returning his attention to Jarrod.

"If'n y'all be guaranteein' payment upon completion, even t' the ones that don't make it, then y'all can count me in." He pauses for a moment, his eyes never leaving those of the Johnson. "But any of the data you be givin' us better be on the level."

"The only dragon I know of worth a bil to frag is Lofwyr. I'm not putting my hoop on the line to frag him if I don't have two fifths of my cred up front. If this isn't that fragging wizworm, I'm in for the fifth," Johnny said.

He looked at the Johnson, wondering what the response would be.

I reached up and gently rubbed my chin. What did I have to lose? I was going to be leaving this pathetic world behind soon enough anyway; certain doom is just a quicker way to see that happen. What the fook. Let's go for it.

"Very well, count me in."

"Payment will be guarenteed. I promise either you, or your next of kin will get the money. Hold no illusions, this will be supremly dangerous. Welcome aboard Belfast and Danny."