00:10:04 Friday 12 January 2063 - Stuffer Shack #717, Auburn, Seattle, UCAS

Karma smiles.

"You're a good friend, Marq. For a night with no shots traded, let's just call it even, hey?"

13:27:18 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Seattle Aquarium, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"I... Um...." Eyes stood dumbstruck as Angela's angry soliloquy washed over him. By the time she finished speaking, Eyes knew he had completely misjudged the situation. He'd snapped at exactly the wrong person, probably the only one who had still wanted to get back in contact with him. After that, he knew there was no way he could try to apologize and still keep his dignity. He'd have to explain everything, and reveal exactly how lame his reasons had always been.

"I... I never meant to leave for that long," Eyes started, his quiet words contrasting with Angela's righteous anger. "It sounds lame to say it like that, but that's how it was. After the warehouse--that thing came out of nowhere. That spirit, elemental, whatever. It just burst into fire and brimstone, like a demon or soemthing. And it, saw, right through me, right through all those little tricks I was using to stay hidden. It was toying with me, and," he trailed off.

"So I ran, and, even after, I kept running. Oh I had my excuses: first I was convinced someone set me up and I had to find out who, then I was just 'taking a break.' By the time I figured out I wasn't even fooling myself, well, that's the day the Japs left.

"And that was the end of that, wasn't it? Even when this idiot Saito mutinied and stayed in Frisco, so what? He was a cardboard cutout: someone'd flick a bullet or something at him one day and it'd be all over, right?"

Eyes shrugged. "Of course it sucked for me. All of a sudden the war was basically over, and my little dead-end vacation-job suddenly became my career. I'd 'used your resources,' enough to know that my 'kind'--and me specifically; Carla's not a minority in that--wasn't wanted back at Berkeley. It'd have worked just fine if I was needed for something, but with the Japs basically gone, and the elves held up at Redding and Shasta, well, that was it. No more resistances, no more wars, and no need to welcome back a sellout who'd betrayed everyone and everything for a little petty cash.

"Then my dead-end job fizzles, and I'm forced to sell my skills for cash. One step away from being thrown out on the street. And now you show up, and it turns out you needed me after all." Eyes sighed bitterly. "So yeah, I'm not all that crazy about being called a shadowrunner. I don't like being reminded of how much I'm an idiot. So, sorry about snapping at you; you're the last person that deserved to hear that. Heck you're probably the only one who still wants me around."

He shuffled a bit. "And can we change the subject before I die of my own stupidity?"

20:16:06 Friday January 12, 2063; Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Zeyda didn't say anything for a moment, simply looking at Ludmilla with his chin in his hand. He used a finger from his free hand to lazily stir his drink. He didn't seem angry to Ludi; he seemed like he was trying to come to a decision. The waiting didn't improve her mood.

Finally, just as Ludi had enough and was about to get up and leave, the fixer sat back. After quickly sticking his liquor-covered finger into his mouth, he pushed the glass aside and placed his hands palm-down on the table. His eyes flicked to where Ludi's own hands rested atop her helmet as he began to speak.

"Like I said before, we haven't been working together for long. Normally I wouldn't say this to my talent. I wouldn't take the time. Normally, after I had acquired the goods requested and payment had been made, you simply wouldn't hear from me again. However, you came highly recommended, have very marketable skills, and have done excellent work for my clients in the past. Plus, ...you're obviously working for more than just personal gain."

Pausing, the fixer looked slightly embarrassed, his eyes darting towards her hands again. Looking down Ludi saw the bandage that Lana had applied earlier. Before she could respond, Zeyda cleared his throat and continued.

"I need to know that if contracted for a particular job, you will perform that job in a professional manner. In some ways professionalism matters more than success or failure. I need to know that if I send you out on a job I can rely on you to maintain, if not enhance, my reputation.

"In other words, I can't have you running off half-cocked, reacting like a teenager who's Dad just told them they can't have the keys to the AmeriCar. No offense, but I need to know that you are able to keep your emotions in check. I was warned about your temper when you were recommended to me, but decided to take a chance. Was I wrong to do so?"

Ludmilla wasn't sure why, but something in the thin fixer's expression told her that his little speech had left Zeyda feeling uncomfortable. Self-conscious maybe? Like maybe he was telling the truth and really would not have taken the time to have a talk like this with his other "talent." If that was true, why take the time for her? Because of a kid's band-aid? Absurd.

As she decided how to respond, looking past Zeyda to the stage, Ludi could see the jazz quartet coming back out to get ready for their next set.

20:19:41 Friday January 12, 2063; Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

As Zeyda’s gaze went to her bandaged finger, Ludmilla’s hand instinctively curled up in a fist… as if she was trying to hide what the fixer had already seen. Normally, the woman would have been boiling with anger in her seat; she simply hated being told how to behave. But this time around, reluctantly, she had to give it to him: he was right on the ball. Since her meeting with Sascha, the young woman had been terribly tensed up, and had been locked up in her shop for a whole day.

The thought of interrupting his exposé went thru Ludi’s head once or twice during the few minutes he spoke, but she refrained from it. She had broken dozen of “etiquette” rules, and she knew it. Being a smart ass about the whole situation would have simply made it worst. And so, Ludmilla did what she rarely did; she kept her temper in check.

When Zeyda was finally done, Ludmilla let out a heavy sigh as she ran a nervous hand thru her short black hair. She stared, for a few seconds, at her own distorted reflection in her helmet’s visors.

"Ah! I see you still recognize your old friend Yuri..."

As she spoke, her eyes were locked on the fixer’s drink.

“As you have said: I have done excellent work for your clients in the past. Have no worries…” she said in an unusually soft tone of voice.

Her right hand came up with a crumpled red and yellow pack of cigarette. Hitting it a few times against the back of her left hand, she pulled a cigarette with her lips. As she spoke, the unlit white tube dangled up and down.

“I know I was a bit… how to say… brusque” she offered a cigarette to Zeyda “and I should have kept my cool. Lets just say that I had a pretty dreky week…

“……..your old friend Yuri..."

“But that is not an excuse.”

Dealing with people had never been one of Ludmilla’s high point. Apologizing was something she did… well… almost never.

She lit her cigarette in a hurry.

“It won’t happen again…”

As she pulled a lung-full of burning smoke, Ludmilla also swallowed was pride she had left. Her deep green, yet artificial, eyes finally went up to meet the fixer's.

Why Zeyda? Why bother? Who are you....

20:21:11 Friday January 12, 2063; Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

The fixer listened quietly while Ludmilla spoke, his only reaction a raised hand to decline her cigarette offer. When she'd finished, and met his gaze, Zeyda gave her another crooked smile. He seemed genuinely pleased. "Good, good. I'm sure that it won't."

Behind him, the musicians began to tune their instruments, get settled, do a final check. Zeyda had to lean forward slightly to be heard over the noise. "Now that we have that out of the way, I received a request soon after I took your message. It's an easy gig, and it might be overkill to send someone of your talents, but since you're here I thought I'd ask. What does your schedule look like tomorrow night?"

20:23:41 Friday January 12, 2063; Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Ludmilla had been bracing herself on each of the armrests of her chair, half pushing her out of her chair when Zeyda launched into his next statement.

A job?

It was honestly the last thing Ludi had been expecting... especially after the little speech she had gotten. Slowly, she sat back down, a slight look of surprise quickly flashing on her face. She ran the plans she had made up for the next few days. Tomorrow, she needed to finish the bugs. Sunday morning, she had to go to church, then she'd have to go to the restaurant to do her recon, and plant the bugs on Monday.

"I can" she leaned a bit forward "make time."

20:25:07 Friday January 12, 2063; Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Nodding, Zeyda reached for his psec. A few quick taps and he sat it aside. Almost immediately Ludi could feel her own psec begin to vibrate, though she left it in her jacket pocket.

"I've sent you the address and time. I don't know many details, only that the client needs extra muscle for a meet with a buyer. I don't know what's being exchanged, or who the buyer is, but I have worked with this client before.

"As far as compensation, my part's been covered, so you'll only be negotiating your end."

He took a sip from his drink. "That's it. I'll answer any questions you may have, though as I said, my knowledge is limited as far as specific details."

20:26:58 Friday January 12, 2063; Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Ludmilla ignored the vibration of the small electronic device for a few seconds, before retrieving it out of its pocket. Setting it down almost in her lap, she tilted her head to discreetly look at the address.

She had been to enough "meet" to know that people would usually set it in a place they felt rather comfortable.

Ludi spoke, without lifting her head.

"Any idea why your client suddently needs extra muscles?"

20:27:22 Friday January 12, 2063; Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Ludi was somewhat surprised that she recognized the address from her clubbing days.

23:00:00... 206 Fifth Avenue... I think that is the address for Fun House. I haven't been there since I went to see that TrogProg band BrickFIST with Alec. I wonder if he...

Zeyda answered, interrupting her thoughts. "Well, I can't say for sure, but we all know that you can't be too careful in this business. You can feel them out at the meet. If you don't like the answers you can always walk away. No strings."

20:27:43 Friday January 12, 2063; Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

The fact that Zeyda didn't know how much the client would offer Ludi made her slightly uncomfortable. The russian woman's time wasn't something she liked to waste... But the fixer was a good man, and probably wouldn't have bothered offering her the job if the money wasn't good. He probably knew more than he was saying, but after her earlier social faux pas... she didn't feel like upsetting him again.

Ludmilla pocketed the small electronic device.

"Spasiba. I will make sure to check it out."

She slowly started getting up.

"I would love to stay and... how to say... chit chat, but I have a busy night."

Picking her helmet up with one hand, she extended the other one toward the fixer.

20:28:19 Friday January 12, 2063; Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Zeyda extended his own hand, shaking Ludi's with a firm grip.

"I do as well. I'll call as soon as I have everything gathered. We can make arrangements for an exchange then. Good luck tomorrow."

He released her hand and sat back, going through his schedule on the well-used psec that was never out of reach. Standing, Ludi stuck her blue helmet under her arm and turned to leave a second time, just as an elven woman in a shimmering green dress walked out on stage to polite applause. The band began to play quietly as the elf came to a stop in from of a large, retro-styled microphone.

"Good evening and welcome to Miner's Landing. My name is Aria. I hope you enjoy the show."

The band came in louder, overpowering the increased applause that started as the woman introduced herself. Aria began to sway gently to the beat, her dress sparkling, before grabbing the large mic and starting to sing. Her voice was surprisingly low and husky.

Don’t know why but I’m feeling so sad
I long to try something I never had
Never had no kissin’
Oh, what I’ve been missin’
Lover man, oh, where can you be?

20:29:54 Friday January 12, 2063; Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Ludmilla thanked the fixer with a slight nod, just before walking away from his table. Even thought the music wasn’t her kind, she found it soothing. She would have given almost anything to simply sit down, have a drink and relax… let all the built up tension dwindle down and away. But she still had a lot to do.

She had to get in touch with Sascha, finish the bugs, go do her recon, go to the second meet… She wouldn’t have a breather before tuesday would come around.

Ludi’s eyes were fixed on the tips of her boots until she was out the front door. Still feeling some shame after the gratuitous tantrum she had thrown Zeyda, she felt as if everyone was starring at her.

The cold winter wind hit her like a wall of brick as soon as her boots were on the sidewalk. Zipping up her coat, she dialed Sascha’s number on her psec, connecting it to a wireless microphone and earpiece. As it rang, the woman started walking up to her parked bike.

20:31:04 Friday January 12, 2063; Outside Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Ludmilla had just swung a leg over her bike and begun to put on her helmet when the line connected. Over the blare of loud dance-music a voice yelled, "DA?"

Even with the noise, Ludi could tell that it wasn't Sascha. It was a deep, rough voice.

20:31:09 Friday January 12, 2063; Outside Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

At first, Ludmilla didn't answer back. She had sent a text message to Sascha a bit earlier, and it was clearly him who had answered it. It wasn't like him to let anyone answer his phone.

Setting her helmet on the bike, Ludi pressed the earpiece in to get a clearer sound.

"Who the frag is this?"

22:06:13 Monday, 08 January 2063 – Domain, 810 Bishop St, Tacoma, UCAS

It might have been the rapid movement of the crowd below, or a burst of adrenaline on his Toy’s part. Whatever it was, she managed to dive out of the way of the first burst fired by the man. Bright reddish white sparks flew from where the stray bullets impacted the steel railing where she once stood.

Twisting in the gun harness and cursing under his breath, the man tracks his SMG across the arc of the Toy’s dive. A light *POP* *POP* *POP* issues from the gun, again barely louder than the background noise of the club. His harness catches and refuses to slide any further, preventing the man from catching a bead on Lilith. This time, however, the shot’s don’t go unnoticed: one goes through the grating in the floor and strikes another patron in the leg. His head barely makes it up before he begins screaming in pain, something that Vedic barely hears over the gunshots and the pounding bead of the club.

20:31:12 Friday January 12, 2063; Outside Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"Lev," the deep voice rumbles, barely audible over the throbbing beat in the background. "What do you want?"

20:31:15 Friday January 12, 2063; Outside Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Lev... Drekhead #2.

"I want nothing to do with you."

Being so direct and blunt wouldn't have been a very good thing for her... but Lev was a thug for hire. Basic muscle who was tasked in watching Sascha's back. She had no reason to be nice to him. That and she was looking for an excuse to vent.

Ludi launched into her next statement, cutting him off before he could reply

"Don't waste my time more than you have to; put Sascha on the line." Ludmilla said as she started strapping her helmet on.

21:49:17 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Zerikolopoli

The bartender looks at him, then casually checks a pocket secretary resting behind him. "Ah, Mr.Ranger, your host expresses his apologies, but unforseen circumstances have caused him to delay the reservation until 22:15. He hopes this is acceptable to you?"

Like I have any fragging choice in the matter if I want the job John thinks, but keeps his thoughts to himself, opting instead to nod politely.

"Would you like anything to drink while you wait?" the bartender continues.

The old demons surge up again, calling out to him, beckoning enticingly, telling him that just one little drink couldn't hurt, but with an effort made easier by consistent practice, John shuts them out and opts for a bottle of water instead. It's not real water of course, certainly not the purified Grade A stuff the corp types drink, but those were the breaks when one was climbing back up the shadow ladder.

At exactly 22:15:00, the bartender nods at John and points to a set of closed double doors near the back. "Back there, Mr. Ranger. They're expecting you."

Nodding acknowledgement, John grabs his water he'd been nursing and makes his way to the back room, checking out the crowd along the way. No signs of an ambush, just a relaxed restaurant atmosphere catering to the weekday crowd.

Knocking once, he hears a voice say, "Come in," and then steps through the doors into a small, comfortable private dining room area. Apparently used for parties and private events, the room is big enough to accomodate a reasonable number of people but small enough to provide a comfortably intimate atmosphere. On this night, there is only a circular table in the middle of the room with four chairs around it.

Sitting in the chair facing the door is a man that practically screams out to be noticed. Although his height is indeterminate, and his build concealed underneath a long coat, it's not his build so much as his dress that cries out for attention. The aforementioned long coat was a bright contrast to John's own drab clothing, literally.

So bright red the coat almost glimmers in the light, John found himself wondering if the coat had built in mirrors or something to reflect or amplify the light. While the light wasn't bright enough to hurt, it was definitely enough to draw plenty of attention to the man, and he seemed to be perfectly at ease with that. Clean shaven, with light blond hair cut short with red mirrorshades over his eyes, even in the restaurant, completed the look, and made him look more like a runner out of a trideo show than a serious professional.

Rising to his feet as John enters the room, the man stands up, revealing himself to be about the same height as John, perhaps a little taller, and maybe even a little bigger as well.

"Before we introduce ourselves, we're waiting for one more. If you don't mind waiting for a moment..." his voice trails off as another man walks in the room, vaguely South American looking in appearance. "Never mind. It looks like the gang's all here. Let's sit down, and we can introduce ourselves."

Following his own instructions, he sits down and waits for the two of them to be seated, before saying, "My name is Blaze. My partner couldn't make it tonight, so it looks like you'll just be dealing with me. If you two would like to introduce yourselves, we'll get this show on the road."

22:15:00 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - One Lincoln Tower

As he's poring over the files, Max absently buzzes John Silverbird up when security pages him. Apparently the man had no trouble whatsoever waltzing past Lone Star Surveillance. Either that, or he was remarkably unconcerned. Glancing up at a nearby clock, Max realized with a start that he'd had to have just walked right through the front door. Unless he had some other tricks up his sleeve...

Highly charismatic and a very likeable individual himself, Max nonetheless was quite curious how Silverbird managed to convey such...presence for lack of a better term. The effect he had on people, even obviously hardened characters like John, was not inconsiderable, and perhaps even more significant for the broad spectrum of people he seemed to appeal to. It was quite a mystery, but given how the man was offering his expertise to him at the moment, Max wasn't overly inclined to offend him by prying into his secrets.

A gentle knock at the door shook him from his musings, and Max answered the door to find Silverbird standing there, calm and composed as if he was merely out to visit an old friend, not assist someone he didn't even know who may or may be under Lone Star Surveillance at the moment with what should probably be termed a quasi-legal activity at best.

"Mr. Steiner, are you ready to begin?" he asked politely as Max let him into the apartment. "You indicated you have the resources for ritual sorcery available in your apartment. I do not mean to be rude, but if I could inspect the materials and set up before we begin..." Silverbird lets the request trail off, casually inspecting the apartment and its various furnishings, the very picture of casual cool.

"Of course." Max replied. He was new to most of this, at least in practice. The theory of a ritual was fairly straight forward, but in the short time Max had been awakened he found that theory and practical application of magic where two very different things.

"These are the links that I have for the two people we are trying to find." He said showing Mr. Silverbird the items he had laid out on his mohogany coffee table. He gives the man a few moments to look over the items before continuing. "The remaining materials and my lodge are located on the roof. If you would care to follow me I will show you."

20:31:46 Friday January 12, 2063; Outside Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Ludi secured the helmet's straps as she spoke, then gritted her teeth at the reply. She seemed to be doing that a lot today.

"I don't give a frag what you want. Sascha's... indisposed. You can talk to me."

22:17:23 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Zerikolopoli

John resisted the urge to shake his head bemusedly as he walked into the room and saw the man in the bright red long-coat. This was the second person, the second runner that he'd met recently that seemed to style their appearance out of some fanboi screamsheet. Didn't these fraggers understand that the idea was to blend in as much as possible?

'Course, old Floyd Redfeather always dressed like some AmerIndian rocker, and he was one o' the best. Iris did fine too. Just cause this drekhead looks like 1/64th of a box of fraggin' crayons don't mean he don't know his bidness. What the frag you got to lose, chummer?

As they seated themselves, John placed his lighter and smokes on the table next to his water. He then pulled one free from the pack and grabbed the lighter just as the man in red began to speak.

"My name is Blaze. My partner couldn't make it tonight, so it looks like you'll just be dealing with me. If you two would like to introduce yourselves, we'll get this show on the road."

Taking a pull off of the cigarette, the old samurai looked at the South American man, who nodded politely, indicating that he should go first. Exhaling smoke he said, "A'ight. I run under Scrapheap. I know my way around, a little electronics an' mechanics, and I can tell which end of a gun's which. Next."

20:31:50 Friday January 12, 2063; Outside Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

As if I'm about to discuss this with some goon.

"Tell him I've got the numbers he wanted, and that if he wants this thing done as soon as possible, then he should call me as soon as possible."

Before Lev could reply, she tapped the disconnect button thru her pocket.

A few seconds later, Ludmilla pulled into the friday night traffic, heading toward her workshop to stash the bike and get the car. If she was lucky enough, she would make it home in time to read a bedtime story to Lana.... but that would also mean that Zina would give her one of her never ending speeches about motherhood.

22:06:13 Monday, 08 January 2063 – Domain, 810 Bishop St, Tacoma, UCAS

The second man, moving faster than his wounded quarry, releases his katana after his partner misses Lillith and hits the bystander below; afraid of relenquishing surprise and failing the overall mission, he decides to put a quick end to this particular speedbump without drawing further attention to themselves.

"Hero, huh? This is what happens to heros," the man says, dismissing her as a target and launching a booted foot at Vedic's prone head.

22:06:15 Monday, 08 January 2063 – Domain, 810 Bishop St, Tacoma, UCAS

I am a machine. I feel no pain. I am driven by will alone.

The hammering rhythm of the music drove pulses of red agony across his vision, complemented by needles of pain raking across his left side. The gunfire and its effects were recorded in the background, passive memories that would be available for replay later as he analyzed the combat over and over. Toy's movements was a flicker in the shadows, higher priority to him and thus made available to his conscious mind. The overriding input, though, was the steel-toed boot swinging low towards his head. His combat awareness read the attack, even through the haze of pain, analyzing the man's balance, the set of his hips and shoulders. Drawing both his arms up, Vedic blocks to the man's shin, riding the impact out against his forearm while anticipating a follow-up attack.

22:06:15 Monday, 08 January 2063 – Domain, 810 Bishop St, Tacoma, UCAS

Vedic rides out the kick, allowing the attack to penetrate his defenses just enough to expose a strike point on the inner leg of the attacker without any futher damage to himself to occur.

Steeling his hand, Vedic strikes quickly, upward, seeking a nerve and artery junction that he knows from practice would bring a troll down. The attacker, however, is just as quick: riding the little reverse momentum from Vedic's block, he turns the outer side of his leg toward the strike and lets the blow play out over his armor, dissipating any damage he would have received.

20:57:37 Friday January 12, 2063; A parking garage in Everett, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

The sleek blue bike’s engine roared shortly as Ludmilla sent it jumping up the access ramp. The Everett building where she rented the space for her workshop was one of the many archetypical large housing complexes. White collars, and local corporate wageslaves mostly inhabited the place. It would have been a rather nice place to live… Ludi had even thought to move in here with Lana. But she knew it would never work. Zina couldn’t make it without her. Their Renton apartment was situated just above the beauty parlor, and so, they paid a single rent for both. If only she had gotten a hold of this place earlier, maybe things would have been different. That and she needed a safe place no on knew about. Of all the neighborhoods in Seattle, this was one of the quieter and most “anonymous”.

As she parked the bike, she heard a door slam somewhere behind her. She pretended not to notice the noise, and turned the ignition off. Slowly, she turned her head to the side, peering through her close visor and over her shoulder. In the space behind her, a young 20ish man had just gotten out of his Americar. It wasn’t especially late, but somehow, Ludmilla had convinced herself she wouldn’t come across anyone.

Without giving the young corporate suit another glance, she got off her bike, and started walking towards a bank of elevators, taking her helmet off and tucking it under her arm. In between the echo heavy thuds from her boots, she could hear the quick and sharp pace of the young man behind her. Out of habit, and maybe paranoia, she unzipped her biking jacket down to her waist. Life in the shadows was something dangerous, and very unpredictable.

The “up” arrow brightly lit and happily chimed when she hit it.

He was now next to her, waiting just like her. Even if Ludi’s own eyes were glued to the silvery reflective doors in front of her, she could easily feel his own eyes running down her profile and to her legs, and then back up. Nervously, she started drumming her fingers on her helmet.

“Pretty nice weather, isn’t it?”

Oh…. Please…. I don’t need this….

All she answered back was a rapid “Hm”

The young man shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking up at the slow count down above the door. He decided to try again.

“Is that your bike over there?”
“No” she turned to look straight at him. Unless she gave him some attention, he wouldn’t stop.

He looked somewhat puzzled, stuttering his first few words out.

“But… didn’t you just get off it?” his eyes darted to and from Ludi’s face and her helmet.

“If you know” she turned back toward the doors “why ask…”

With a loud “ding”, both doors slid open.
With a loud sigh, Ludmilla stepped in.

After two floors, the young man came charging back.

“I’m sorry. Bad start…” he extended his hand toward her “I’m Mark.”

Ludi kept one hand in her pocket, the other one under her helmet. As she answered him, she didn’t even bother to look at him.

“…. Lena…”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before. Are you new in the building?”

“No”

“Oh…”

A few more seconds of uncomfortable silence went by. Ludmilla kept looking at the numbers going by. She felt as if the elevator was slowly crawling its way between floors.

“So, Lena…. What do you do for a living?”

Ludi answered the first thing that came to her.

“I’m a painter.”

“Really? That’s so interesting. I…”

Mark’s statement was cut short when Ludmilla turned to face him directly. She quickly closed the distance between them, and was now practically on him. All her night, she had bottled up her anger and feelings. Zeyda had give her pride a sure sting. Dealing with Lev had put her in an even worst mood… and she still hadn’t gotten over the fact that she was being blackmailed by a man she hated… and that he was holding information that could not only ruin (and end) her life, but also her daughters and aunt. And now this corporate prick was trying to pick her up like she was a catholic schoolgirl.

Eyes slightly widen by the surprise, Mark found himself looking straight into Ludmilla’s eyes.

“Listen, kid: I don’t know you, and I don’t like you. I don’t want to know you, and I don’t want to like you. I had a fragging long day, so you’re going to shut the frag up before I snap your fragging neck, ok?”

At first, the corporate slave didn’t utter a single word back. He simply stared at her, still in shock. When she thought the message had gotten thru to him, she rested her back agaisn’t the elevator’s wall, gladly seeing her floor coming up.

“Sorry, princess!” he said in a fake show of apology “I was just trying to be nice…”

“You don’t have to be a fragging bitch about it…” he muttered under her breath. If he had known the “painter” he was sharing the elevator with had highly augmented hearing, he would have utter it in his head.

For Ludmilla, it was all it took. In a split second, she had by the collar, his feet hovering off the ground. She slammed him with such force into the fake interior wood of the elevator that it cracked. All Mark now had to say was a muffled “humph” of pain. Letting go of him, he slid like a dead weight to the floor; his eyes half closed, his head hanging on the side. Unconscious, he never saw the Colt Ludmilla pulled on him.

She held it pointed at his head, as the weapon shook from side to side. Ludmilla clutched it with such force that all her arm trembled. Her breathing was fast, and she could already feel sweat sliding down her temple and too her neck. Her breathing was short and fast. She clenched her jaw with such force that he teeth were hurting. Ludi felt a fire burn in her; a fire she had felt many times… a fire that she always had in her… a fire she always tried to suppress. When the heard the “ding” of the door opening, she snapped back to reality. In an instant, she hid the weapon back under her jacket and walked out of the elevator.

It took her all her willpower not to run up to the door of her workshop. Once she was inside, she didn’t turn the lights on, or even moved, for what seemed like hours to her. Her back against the door, Ludmilla held the small crucifix that hung around her neck in the palm of her hand, clutching it with the same strength she had held her Colt with.

God, please forgive me… What have I done…

She had almost shot a man for simply insulting her… Even she couldn’t believe it.

What am I becoming…

He whole body started to tremble, as she slid against the door to sit on the floor.

Please God, don’t let me become a monster…

That night, Ludmilla didn’t go home.
That night, she slept on the very floor of her workshop.

06:34:19 Saturday January 13, 2063; Ludmilla's Workshop, Everett

Ludi's eyes slowly opened, showing a plain, white ceiling. Confused and sleepy, for a moment she forgot where she was. It was like the days after she'd first arrived in Seattle when, after a night spent clubbing and drinking, she'd awaken in some strange apartment. But that was before the boxing, and Mikhail and the Vory, and Lana...

Lana...

Stiff from a night spent on the workshop floor, Ludi struggled into a seated position, looked glumly around, then buried her face in her rough hands. What had she done? She was no stranger to violence, sometimes even revelling in it, but that kid hadn't done a thing. Not a thing. If she hadn't managed to restrain herself at the last second everything would have been ruined. She would have had to abandon the workshop and everything it contained... at the very least.

Checking her cybereye's chronographic display caused Ludi to groan. 06:30 was a late start. She'd have to skip her daily workout, or push back the rest of her schedule. Of course, if she skipped the workout and hurried she might be able to make it back to the apartment before Lana woke. Zina would already be up, which meant a lecture about not calling to say she'd be out overnight, but it would be worth it to spend time with her daughter.

Struggling to decide, the buzzing of her psec interrupted her thoughts...

06:34:27 Saturday January 13, 2063; Ludmilla's Workshop, Everett

Slowly getting up, Ludmilla could practically swear she felt her whole body crack. She felt tired, beaten and terribly sore. Her hair was glued to her face, sticky with cold sweat… just like her clothes felt terribly uncomfortable. Nothing like falling asleep, fully clothed, on the floor.

After a few seconds on blinking at the white wall in front of her, she started to drag herself toward the tiny bathroom. Ludi dropped the still vibrating psec next to the sink, activating the hands free function.

She turned the water on.

“Yes?” she said, in a still groggy and raspy voice.

22:19:02 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Zerikolopoli

As soon as the attention of the two men shifted onto their South American companion, the wiry man broke into what could only be described as a 'drek-eating grin'.

"Meus cumprimentos a ambos você. It is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Scapheap, and you Mr. Blaze. Meu nome é Samwell. I am told that you are in need of a secured-transport specialist. This is something that I can provide." He continues grinning as he taps once on the side of his skull, as if to place emphasis on the cluster of jacks residing there.

"And you Mr. Blaze, I believe, are the man of the hour."

22:20:18 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - One Lincoln Tower

Silverbird only nodded at Max’s reply. They gathered Nora and Keira’s personal items and Max lead the other shaman from the main living area of his penthouse, up the open cherry wood steps of the bronze spiral staircase that leads from his living room to a mezzanine filled with bookshelves above the built-in entertainment center. At the landing he takes a few steps to the right where a cleverly concealed door leads to the private roof access. He reaches his clawed hand out and punches in his passcode. The maglock gives way with a soft click. Max opens the doorway revealing a stairway to the rooftop.


The wind whips at Max's long pale blonde hair causing him a slight chill. Dark clouds still hung overhead as a reminder of the storm. Max shut the access door behind then, and leads John Silverbird across a short path lined with a menagerie of stone gargoyles towards a low rising cobblestone fence. The fence is a sixteen feet diameter circle of mixed stone. Four 4' tall columns stand at the cardinal points of the circle, each bearing the learning visage of a gargoyle ready to pounce. The astral presence of the shamanic lodge seemed to flicker in consort with the mana lines of the restless weather. Stepping across the threshold of the stone circle, Max stands and admires the garden at its center. Just inside the outer wall is a grassy path that follows it around its perimeter. The center of the circle is a beautiful rock garden from which two grassy paths radiate outwards to meet with the outlaying footpath at each of the four columns. Inside the lodge the wind seems to have lessened. Max carefully removes his shoes and walks to the center of the lodge. Examining the garden and its surroundings, he finds everything still in its place.

Max could feel a rush of adrenaline inject itself into his veins. There was hope here tonight. Hope for Keira, hope for Nora, there was hope that this odd shaman could help him find his friends. Tonight Max was on the hunt, he could feel the presence of Gargoyle here with him and that it was pleased. This is why Max had been chosen. He had a determination and drive to answer the unanswerable, to seek out the hidden and to find the lost...in essence to hunt. His prey tonight was his friend and he would hunt her and her kidnappers relentlessly until found. He was certain of that.

06:35:18 Saturday January 13, 2063; Ludmilla's Workshop, Everett

"Good morning, sunshine!" The cheerful greeting sounded somewhat tinny through the psec's small speaker. "Lev tells me you called?"

Fragging Sascha. What's that drekhead so happy about?

Ludmilla splashed cold water on her face, taking her time. Not responding may have been petty, but he'd made her wait all night. She continued to freshen-up without saying a word.

Finally Sascha sighed. His good cheer sounded more forced as he said, "I know that you're there, Soren; I can hear you splashing around. Maybe you are in your bath? Too embarrassed to speak until you've covered yourself? Hmm, what a pleasant thought..."

22:25:00 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - One Lincoln Tower

As Max circles the lodge, taking in Gargoyle's power, feeling his presence, John Silverbird stands back respectfully, glancing around with a glimmer of approval in his eyes. After Max has arranged everything to his satisfaction, he motions for Silverbird to sit, and he does so respectfully.

"Very well then, Mr. Steiner. Let us begin. As the individual we are seeking is known to you, you must be the team leader for our ritual."

Max started at this and looked at Silverbird unable to hide his surprise. "Wait, but aren't you leading this ritual?"

Cocking his head slightly to the side, a brief flicker of puzzlement passes the handsome man's features. "Mr. Steiner, as you well know the Detect Individual spell only works if the caster knows the individual being sought. I have never met our target, nor do I know them. I cannot cast this spell as the leader, I can only support your efforts to do so."

"Detect Individual..." Frantically Max's mind raced through his catalogue of spells, before realizing frantically, Oh my god! I don't even know that spell! Oh drek...what are we going to now?

Sensing Max's concern, Silverbird asks with some concern, "Mr. Steiner, is there some problem?"

22:19:58 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Private Dining Room in Zerikolopoli

Looking at Samwell with an expression that clearly said he didn't know what to make of the man (probably because he only understood half of what he said) and his thick, crazy accent, Blaze quickly regains his business face.

"All right, I'm going to lay it out straight for you guys. I'm no Mr. Johnson, I'm just a runner, straight up, like you guys. Our team was contracted for a job, with the proviso that were permitted to add people as full members of the team. We had some...early losses to the team, as people just dropped out of sight for who knows what the frag reasons."

A look of anger flashes across his face briefly, albeit obviously, and he takes a moment to regain his composure before continuing. "Anyway, here's the deal. The job is for an out of town extraction. We also have the option of taking on two secondary objectives. Secondary objective one is to render the place the target is being held inoperative. Permanently."

He seems to take noticable pleasure in that last word for some reason. Neither Scrapheap nor Samwell is so inexperienced to let on that they noticed, but they both file the observation away for future reference. Perhaps the job is a bit personal as well?

"Secondary objective number two is to extract X number of other people from the facility as well, and X is up to us. Payment for the primary objective is 5K up front, 30K upon delivery of the target to the Johnson. Secondary objective number one pays a 10K bonus, while secondary objective number two pays 100 nuyen per person, and we gotta turn them over to the Johnson as well. All of those numbers are per person, by the way. We're authorized to cut in however many people we want, it doesn't subtract from our check at the end."

Blaze pauses for a moment, as if thinking, then adds, "In case you're wondering why we don't go crazy and hire as many people as possible, well, let's just say Mr. Johnson already handed out some credsticks, and he's definitely not going to see a return on his investment for some of those. How those people handle the fallout is their problem, but I don't want to go to him more than I have to or ask him for all that much more, if you catch my drift?"

Folding his hands in front of him, he looks at them both, his eyes hidden behind his bright red mirrorshades, and asks, "All right, there's the basic pitch. I know you've got questions, so let's hear them."

13:35:13 Friday 12 January, 2063 - Seattle Aquarium, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Throughout Eyes's...confession, for lack of a better way to put it, Angela's expression grew increasingly more incredulous. When he finished, practically bright red with embarassment, she just looked at him, silent, and once again expressionless.

Maybe she didn't know what to say. Maybe she knew exactly what she wanted to say and was showing restraint. Or maybe she was just so pissed at him that by saying nothing, she was wacking the ball right back into his court, waiting to see what he'd do next, letting him make the next move, almost daring him, as if saying she wanted to be surprised by his response to his own confession, in a day that had already been filled with them. Surprises, that is.

22:24:11 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Private Dining Room in Zerikolopoli

"Always with questions Mr. Blaze." Samwell chimed in right away. The other runners were positive that he was operating in buisness-mode, it was just that his buisness-personality was so different from what they were used too. How can anyone have that much to smile about?

"I can see the broad scenario that you have painted, but perhaps you could tell us how we both fit into this operation. I am here for transport no doubt, but how far will you need to go? How much, both people and supplies, will I move?"

Leaning back in his chair Samwell glanced over at his fellow hiree, surely serving a muscle role for this run. No doubt with some of the very same questions on his mind.

"If I understand correctly, I will also be serving a combat-support role; perhaps you can tell us about the opposition."

06:36:27 Saturday January 13, 2063; Ludmilla's Workshop, Everett

“You wished Sascha”. She spat water out of her mouth and brushed some drops out of her now awaken eyes.

Throwing her short hair back, Ludi shivered as she felt cold droplets of water slide down her hair and on her back. The raging fire she had earlier felt in her head and hearth was now cooling down.

As she spoke, she started drying herself with a roll of paper towels she kept in the bathroom.

“If you expect me to be efficient in doing you this… favor for you, don’t make me deal with your minions, ok?”

Sighing, she continued.

“I’ve gotten a hold of everything that is needed. It’s going to take two more days to get it all though, but the majority of the work is done. What I need for you is exactly 4875 nuyens to cover all the gear needed. I’ll need the cash before Monday morning if you expect me to do this thing…”

Bundling the towels in a ball, she threw it in the toilet as she exited the bathroom and into her workshop, taking her psec with her.

“I also need you to get me on the Sunday work crew so I can case the place out and figure out exactly how I’m going to do this.”

As she waited for Sascha respond, Ludmilla started gathering some things. If she was quick enough, she’d be home before Lana was up. It was Saturday, which meant that her daughter wouldn’t have to be in class. Maybe…. Maybe she could spend some time with her.

22:06:17 Monday, 08 January 2063 – Domain, 810 Bishop St, Tacoma, UCAS

When the enemy is strong at the center, attack the corners.

Feeling the bulk of armor lining the thigh of his opponent, protecting the vulnerable areas of his femoral artery and knee joint, Vedic switches tactics. Dropping his left arm down to cup the man's left heel, he slammed the knife edge of his right foot into the crease of his waist, just above the hip. Though the impact did no damage, the man simply grunting in response, the combination of momentum transfer above his center of balance as well as the fulcrum of Vedic's hand against his heel sent him staggering backwards off the walkway. The twisting attack tore open his wounds as the grip rosettes on the steel walkway clung to his longcoat, sending fresh ropes of blood drooling down his skin. Ignoring the consequences, he rolled to a crouch, hands curling into claws.

22:25:01 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Private Dining Room in Zerikolopoli

Blaze grimaces slightly at Samwell's questions. "I can't tell you much, partly because I'm not the planner for this job, partly because our team has been in such a state of flux since we took this job I'm not even sure anymore how we're going to play it."

He looks at them, and folds his hands in front of him on the table. "I'm going to level with you. The plan's a work in progress at best right now. What I can tell you is that we'll definitely be leaving the Sprawl, and as it stands, at most you'd be transporting a small team of people. Most of the heavy transport will have to come by land, for a variety of reasons."

"As far as opposition, I'm sure you understand you don't get details until you take the job, but I can tell you there's high quantity of opposition. Quality might be up in the air, but if we get down and dirty, let's just say there probably won't be any shortage of targets. How's that for answers?"

25:46:01 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Private Dining Room in Zerikolopoli

"Aye mi amigo, the answers are the answers. However, removing the amigos of your Johnson from a warehouse is one thing, removing them from a federal prison or a AAA megacop is quite another besta . . ."

Samwell's right hand errantly twists at the tip of his mustauche. "I am not asking for names, but I would like to know how ornery the jaguar is before I grab his tail."

22:28:34 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Private Dining Room in Zerikolopoli

Hope this Samwell joker can drive as well as he can run his fraggin' mouth.

John had been silent, trying to absorb what Blaze was saying. Details were few, even less than usual. Not that that was a problem necessarily, but on a job this big (and this one sounded big...reputation-making big) they'd need all the intel they could get.

Finally, he exhaled a long plume of bluish smoke and sat forward. "Nul disrespect, chummer, but them answers are for drek. I know how the game works, what with goin' lite on tha details until we're onboard, but you're askin' us ta take a drekload on faith. Believe me that cred sounds real good, but I can't agree ta nothin' unless we know some more."

Taking a breath, and another drag off his smoke, he continued. "A'ight... you mentioned early losses to yer original team, that they just 'dropped outta sight.' Was they forcefully dropped by the bad guys, or did they just drop themselves? How many are left, an' what other roles you got filled?

"The extraction, I'll assume it's voluntary. It's gotta be, right? From what you say, the target's bein' held against their will, alongside others, in some sorta containment facility. So we put on our white fraggin' hats, go in an' rescue as many hoops as possible, then frag the whole deal. Well, our swarthy friend here's right in that tha possibility of success is gonna depend on what kinda facility we're lookin' at. Then who runs the joint's gonna determine the kinda heat we can expect after.

"You got any intel on the facility itself? I ain't askin' for details now, but it'd help to know what you know. We'd need layout, general displacement and numbers of hostiles, same for friendlies, other security measures, possibility of reinforcements, etc, etc. And what about takin' out tha facility? That's gonna take some bigger booms than I'm used to dishin' out. Ya got someone knows demolitions? I know a little, and could learn more dependin' on tha timeframe, but we may need an expert for a job this size."

Pausing, John ashed on the floor and took another drag. Blaze stared at him for a moment, his expression hidden by his mirrorshades, before asking, "Is that all?"

"Nah, just a couple more. Sounds like you've at least thought about transportation, which is good. Besides, you've got Samwell here for that, so he's the expert. But what about vehicles? You already sourced 'em? Enough for what you're talkin' 'bout?

"An when you say "outta the Sprawl," how far out? We gonna be crossin' more than one border?" He held up his left arm. "This drek ain't exactly legal, an' I ain't got no fraggin' permits."

22:06:18 Monday, 08 January 2063 – Domain, 810 Bishop St, Tacoma, UCAS

The goon, once confidently standing over Vedic, staggered backwards under the force of his blow that his off-balance stance amplified. Staggering backwards toward the railing, for once his heavy armor and tall frame worked against him. The railing caught him at the hip, and combined with the backward momentum from the blow, neatly flipped him over as if he was being pulled by a wire.

Covering the five meters down in a lot less time and not in the same manner that he intended, he landed in a heap on a patron’s table, crushing the arm of that one’s personal dancer just before smashing through the painted-to-look-like-iron plastiboard. Shaking his head and rising quickly, he began to move back toward the stairs and to crush the one that had caused him to loose face under his pupil.

However, now surprise had been lost; it’s hard to maintain operational stealth when one comes literally crashing down on a table. The entire place now knew that something was going on, and those most in the position to benefit knew exactly what that something was. So, while some of the more inebriated patrons let out a cheer at what they though were theatrics, some others began to look for opponents. Still others, who didn’t know what was going on but knew they didn’t want any part of it, moved toward the exits.

22:06:21 Monday, 08 January 2063 – Domain, 810 Bishop St, Tacoma, UCAS

Vedic backed quickly, left hand held behind him, his eyes still on the primary target. Lilith reached for him, and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her upright again and resuming their progress towards the front exit.

22:25:00 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - One Lincoln Tower

Needless to say Max was concerned. "It was my understanding that if one had a material link to a person, that a spell was not needed to perform a ritual tracking and that only two shamans were needed. One to perform the ritual and one to act as a spotter. Is that incorrect?" Max was sure that was how it had went in all of the books he had used to research ritual tracking methods.

06:39:02 Saturday January 13, 2063; Ludmilla's Workshop, Everett

Sascha answered quickly. "The money is no problem, but if you need to get into the construction site tomorrow you may have to go another route. I'm fairly certain that they do not work Sundays, so there is no 'Sunday crew.' However, as I said before, the contractor does owe me... Hmm, I'm sure he and I can... work something out."

He chuckled at the thought, ugly and low, making Ludi's skin crawl. "Stop by The Bakery in the morning, Soren. Say, around 08:00. I'll have the money and we can discuss getting you into the restaurant.

"Anything else?"

22:06:22 Monday, 08 January 2063 – Domain, 810 Bishop St, Tacoma, UCAS

As Vedic moves forward along the catwalk toward the door along with a small group of like minded patrons, the remaining goon on the same level turns to face a new threat: two armed men coming down the stairs to intercept the one Vedic had knocked off the railing.

Practiced hearing caught two distinct sets of shots even over the still loud bass thump of the club’s sound system. The first, fired from Vedic’s former adversary, painted sparks on the iron mesh stairs in between the set of newcomers. The second, fired by one of the new men who was surprised to find another attacker so close, finds better purchase; knocking Vedic’s former attacker down onto the grating of the walkway.

Leaving his partner to deal with the prone would-be attacker, the second man moves further down the catwalk, looking for the man that fell. Finding him moving against a crowd at the foot of the stairs, he pulls out a SMG hidden under his coat. Firing a tight burst, Vedic’s former attacker falls to a heap at the foot of the stairs, twitching as frightened patrons stepped over him to get out the door and to relative safety.

06:40:11 Saturday January 13, 2063; Ludmilla's Workshop, Everett

As Sascha mentioned that the crew wasn't working on sunday, Ludmilla cursed herself for not knowing that. After all... even in this day and age, some people weren't totaly exploited.

Of course they're not working on the weekend... Well, this might prove even simpler than planned...

"How about 10:00? I can't do 8:00" she said, grabbing the Comet's keys off her work table.

Sunday morning was for church, and mass started at 8:00. There was simply no way she'd skip it. Especially not after last night. Especially not after the past few days. Guilt and anger were getting heavier by the day...

22:33:09 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - Private Dining Room in Zerikolopoli

Blaze looks at Scrapheap, his expression unreadable. Finally he leans back in his chair and says, "All right fine, I'm going to tell you exactly what the Johnson told me when I was hired. It was enough to get me and the rest of the team on. If it's not enough for you, maybe it's better we part ways."

He clears his throat and continues, "The target is being held in one of General Saito's 'metahuman relocation camps' in Cal Free. We're looking at a detachment of Imperial Marines, although we're currently unsure as to how many. Figures on how many marines Saito has available to him, and how many he'd waste on a relocation camp are sketchy at best. Take that as you will."

Looking at Samwell, he adds, "So if you want to know how 'ornery the jaguar is' as you put it, I'd say about 'a gang of racist genocidal killers' ornery. They're not going to have any qualms about doing their absolute best to gun us down, and I don't think they'd shed too many tears if a few stray bullets found their way into some of the local camp populace. There's no timetable involved, but in an environment like that it's pretty self-explanatory that the sooner we get him out of there, the better."

"We're working on gathering more information at this time, but for now, we're down to myself as the magical support, our team leader, and a muscle guy. We're working on picking up a decker as well, but that comes later. As for what happened to the others, I don't think it was any hostile action by the opposition..."

He pauses, trails off for a second, then shrugs. "If I had to guess, I'd say it was unprofessionalism as much as anything else. They just cut and run, taking the Johnson's advance with them. They'll have to deal with him if he comes looking for them, but as far as I know, the opposition hasn't gotten the drop on us yet."

Turning back to Scrapheap, he concludes, "I know I didn't answer any of your questions about details. You don't get to know our plans, research, preparations, or anything else unless you're part of the team. What you got is exactly what we got to make the decision, so as far as fair, you're making your decision on the same info the rest of us did, plus a little extra that you deserve to know as far as what happened to the original crew."

He smiles wryly, "Consider that your reassurance that you're part of the team, and not cannon fodder."

22:25:55 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - One Lincoln Tower

"Ah yes. My apologies, I had misinterpreted you as wanting my assistance in a ritual spellcasting, not a ritual tracking. Somewhere along the way there must have been an error in communication."

Silverbird shrugs nonchalantly. "You are indeed correct with your understanding of the theory. Now that that miscommunication is behind us, we can return to the details of the work ahead of us. Were you requesting that I perform the ritual, or act as your spotter?"

22:27:48 Tuesday, 09 January, 2063 - One Lincoln Tower

"Initially I was planning on performing the ritual, but I am a novice are such things and may be better off as a spotter. I know one of the people I am looking for well and her aura is familiar to me. Unless you have any other suggestions or worries about performing the ritual yourself?"

He hoped Mr. Silverbird was more proficient than himself, but spotter or performer really didn't matter to him. Either way he was going do everything he could to find Keira.