13:23:55 Saturday, 13 January 2063 - Westfield Shopping Center parking garage, 7330 Hazard Court, Los Angeles, CFS

Staring up into the guts of her second limousine, Cosmo came to the sudden realization that she didn't envy a mechanic's work in the slightest. Even without the AR overlay hovering in front of her at forty percent mask, she would have been able to determine what went where and how long she would need to spend to assure the best job possible. It was only her second job and she could see the work becoming somewhat dull.

Of course, most mechanics weren't likely to be planting explosive charges at one in the afternoon with nothing to conceal them beyond thin shadows and dark clothing; she suspected a mechanic wouldn't envy her work, either. Perhaps "dull" wasn't the right word for what she was doing today.

A trace of a smile ghosted across her lips as she felt along the base of the charge and, satisfied, she flipped the switch to arm it, replaced her tools, and secured the bag. Rolling onto her stomach in one exquisitely silent motion, she propelled herself beneath her own car and set about securing herself against the vehicle's undercarriage once again.

For the first time in a long time there was nothing more she could do. Her plans were (mostly) set, with good people tracking down information on her behalf. Two of her five immediate taskings were complete and she was reaching the end of her agreement with the Kalds. Whatever they wanted with her, their plans for her were nearly complete - she would keep her plans for the final meeting fluid, altering them as she learned more from her contacts.

'That leaves ... nearly an hour,' Cosmo mused, her smile widening as she gave herself over to the rubber restraints holding her in place. Almost an hour to think about the future. She'd find a way to end her relationship with the Kalds as gracefully as possible, maybe even enlisting their aid in her own search for answers.

And then .. she could only mouth the word, not even trusting herself to sigh as her thoughts began to wander....

Caska.

14:49:06 Saturday, 13 January 2063 - Westbound on Caravan Avenue, Los Angeles, CFS

As it was, she'd almost fallen asleep while strapped beneath the limo, waiting motionlessly for her hired actress to finish her shopping and page the driver. It was only when the vehicle lurched into motion that she returned to reality, snatched from a delicious dream of pristine white beaches, water so blue it hurt to look at, and firm skin bronzing beneath a coating of oil. She could almost taste the slippery sweetness of the mai tai's and feel the sand warm beneath her feet. The harsh reality of concrete whizzing past at one hundred kph was a disappointing contrast. She wondered if it had always been this way, if she'd dreamed of vacations on every other job she'd been on. Once again she cursed the nameless woman in her dreams, hating her for stealing away her memories of everything that came before that night. The nightmare that the Kald's had roused her into made her skin crawl, and only the thought that their machinations had crossed her path with that of Caska made the shadows that crowded around her bearable. Her lips compressed into a tight, thin line.

There will be blood for this, I swear.

21:08:32 Saturday, 13 January 2063 - Palmetto Street, Los Angeles, CFS

Fate had a strange sense of humor.

Cosmo shook her head, a wry smile twisting across her lips as she stalked down the sidewalk, her supple leather longcoat gleaming in the flickering sodium half-light. Every step or two yielded a glimpse of impossibly long legs that were only enhanced by a pair of eight inch spiked heels. She felt ten feet tall - powerful in a way that few would ever truly understand.

And it was damned funny that a woman looking like her didn't so much as raise an eyebrow on Palmetto Street. A pulse or two, perhaps, but that was also to be expected.

Black hair was pulled into a sleek updo that set off razor sharp cheekbones and full red lips. Black leather gloves disappeared well into her sleeves while a pair of dark sunglasses left little doubt as to the shadiness of her business here tonight. The oversized bag slung over her shoulder could have contained anything but it was easy to assume that it was nothing more than a simple bag of tricks.

She almost laughed out loud as she glanced up the street, noting the growing line outside the club.

If they only knew....

21:08:32 Saturday, 13 January 2063 - Outside the Kitty Kat Klub, 2704 Palmetto Street, Los Angeles, CFS

Although it wasn't her style, she preferred something a little more low key, less blazingly sexual than the skintight minidress she wore, she was still mindful of her clothing. She took a moment to unroll the drop cloth on the ground, her toolkit functioning as a counterweight to help spread it over the damp asphalt of the parking lot. Glancing left and right, she checked herself still clear before sliding beneath the limousine. Again, the wry smile touched her lips. She wondered what they guys in line for the club who'd wolf-whistled and catcalled to her would say now. She brought up the installation overlay in her field of view, reaching for her toolkit with her left hand to begin.

21:18:32 Saturday, 13 January 2063 - Outside the Kitty Kat Klub, 2704 Palmetto Street, Los Angeles, CFS

However difficult it was to slide beneath the limousine in platform heels, it was nothing compared to the task of getting out without drawing the driver's attention. Adrenaline surged through her as the side door labelled 'Employees Only' opened, only to swing shut again. Blood pounded within her ears, almost in perfect time with the heavy bass beat that poured into the parking lot, and she considered stepping inside for a dance or two .. but ultimately rejected the idea.

Hope for the best - plan for the worst.

So no one would see Cosmo's killer minidress tonight or the shiny black things she wore beneath it. Nobody would admire the cascade of shiny curls (so painstakingly prepared) as they tumbled over her bare shoulders or gasp in pure delight as she, well.

Her soft laugh and the sound of her glorious stripper shoes driving against the concrete were drowned out by the music as she headed away from the club. The job was done as flawlessly as she could manage and she was free to walk away. This was the 'Best Case Scenario.'

Wasn't it?

03:11:49 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - 862 Lucile Ave, Apt. 2C, Los Angeles, CFS

The other patrons of the club were dim shadows, inconsequential figures hidden from view by the glare of the overhead spots. Despite the smoky atmosphere, and the blazing red stage lights, she could see his eyes, razor sharp. His gaze was like a physical caress, and it drove her crazy. The cold chrome steel of the pole kissed her naked back as she rubbed against it, tossing her head back so that her hair swirled about her. Her hands dragged glittering fingernails across her skin like knifeblades, drawing the crowd's hungry attention to the curve of her hips, the flat expanse of her stomach, the hollow at the base of her throat.

Cosmo's body swung in time to the deafening pulse of the Industrial music thrumming from the speakers, her hips grinding against the pole almost of their own accord, lost in the wanton movements of the dance. She was accustomed to teasing with her body, to telegraphing a blazing message of sexual lust with just a look, or a movement of her hands. But this, this was something else entirely, something primal and powerful. Naked save for a thin black g-string, she strutted across the stage, platform heels turning her into a towering amazon, the muscles of her calves and thighs clearly outlined as she swayed to the beat.

It was for him alone that she danced, for his gaze only that she bared herself, and the fires he stoked inside her drove her wild. She screamed her power out to him, wore it like a badge tattooed on her tanned skin, dared him to take her, to hold her, bend her to his will.

Cosmo awoke to darkness, her heart pounding and skin flushed. She stared up at the ceiling for a moment before letting out a groan and covering her face with her hands.

It's not enough that I'm flying solo, planting explosives for some unknown reason, working for a group of child assassins, and facing unknown dangers. But I have to dream about this!

She could still feel the pulse of the bass on her skin, her naked skin, and the caress of his gaze, that peculiar wicked smile that curved his lips right before he put his hands on her. Her skin, damp from the dream, tingled. His hands....

Cosmo rolled over and buried her face in her pillow and screamed.

23:07:42 Saturday, 13 January 2063 - Los Angeles, CFS

Caska ran through the night. Beneath the digital subdued urban camouflage jumpsuit he wore, the base compression layer did its best to wick away the moisture from a body running at a hundred and twenty percent of human optimal. The flourocarbons coursing through his blood carried twice the normal amount of oxygen to his muscles, straining as they drove his warload at a sprinting pace through the featureless hallways of the corporate facility. As it was, his chest pumped like a bellows, sucking in gulps of air through the balaclava covering his face. He wasn't wearing a respirator because they'd juiced themselves with binders for the chemicals in use by the security forces for the compound. He was running hot anyway, a hefty dose of tailored combat amphetamines turning his reality razor sharp despite his fatigue. Skidding around the corner, he brought his Ares Alpha combatgun to his shoulder. The corpsec fireteam had been facing away from him, unalerted to his presence until he burst from cover. Gunfire stabbed across the corridor, muzzle blasts shockingly loud in the confines of the armored passageway. His earbuds flattened out the audio pulse, though, keeping his hearing sharp. Blood hung heavy in the air as his bursts scythed down the guards, tight three round groups coring through center of mass. The explosive rounds left grapefruit sized exit wounds despite the back and breast kevlar vests the guards wore.

Caska hurtled the bodies, switching modes on the weapon via his smartlink. The underbarrel grenade launcher choomped, and the rail drone coming around the corner took the full brunt of a 30mm HE minigrenade. The drone's armor soaked up most of the blast, but the jarring threw off its return salvo. The shotgun caliber gel rounds flattened against the wall just over Caska's head, deforming with the sound of a sledgehammer hitting a twenty kilo sack of rice. A thought brought his direct fire weapon back online, and he dropped to his knees, sliding to a halt behind the cover of a T in the hallway. He stitched the drone with a full automatic burst, the digital ammunition count hanging in the upper right hand corner of his vision dialing down with disturbing quickness. To his adrenaline charged senses, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, the sparks from each individual round as it blasted through the drone's armored carapace spinning away into space like the glowing weeping willow arms of starshells. The drone shuddered beneath the onslaught, critical damage to its most vital systems. Its targeting sensor still zoomed and tracked, but its turret and weapon hung askew, hydraulic oil pouring down the wall.

Somewhere ahead, closer now, he could hear her screaming.

He was on his feet and running almost before the burst was away, dropping the mostly empty mag from the rifle well and slapping a new one into place. The digital count in his vision returned to forty two. The door he was almost adjacent to banged open and a pair of security guards exited, also at a run, alerted by the gunfire. Caska cursed as he pivoted, feeling his momentum begin to overbalance him, but a target filled his gunsights and he fired even as he fell. Four out of the six rounds found their mark, spinning the guard to the ground. Caska rolled as he fell, scissoring his legs to bring him around on his knees. The other guard shouted in surprise, blazing away with his submachinegun. Two of the light rounds flattened themselves against Caska's chestplate, hammering punches barely registered in his accelerated combat consciousness. He closed the trigger on his rifle compulsively, the electronic signal moving at the speed of thought. The automatic fire blew apart the guard's right knee, toppling his torso to meet the rest of the burst.

Caska slapped his left leg drop platform, coming away with a flash-bang. He struck the safety cap off against the steel grip plate of the magazine in his rifle before giving the arming studs a squeeze. Lofting it through the slowly closing door, he pivoted back to the hallway, exploding into a sprint. Something grabbed his shoulder.

Caska rolled awake with his pistol in his hand, lunging up from the narrow bunk in the back of the roadmaster, left hand groping for his knife. Vegas ignored the cold barrel of the Colt socketed against her left cheek, freezing in place while her eyes calmly watched her leader. Analytical intelligence supplanted animal survival instinct in his eyes like a switch being thrown. He holstered the pistol.

"Time for your watch," said Vegas quietly, as if nothing had happened. Caska nodded wordlessly, scooping up his gear bag with his left hand and hunching past her. He paused, glancing over at her, his right hand finding her shoulder. His eyes traveled the curve of her neck to her jawline, but didn't meet her gaze. Vegas nodded, accepting something that was halfway between apology and explanation. She let him move past, listening as he began to gear up and get the passdown from Fulton. Her eyes remained on the rumpled sheets of the cot, and her thoughts centered on the name she'd heard him whisper as he awoke.

Cosmo.

08:49:12 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - 4021 Hammel St, Los Angeles, CFS

'Too early.'

It was more than a thought, becoming almost a mantra as she cradled an extra large cup of real coffee between her hands, resisting every urge to rest her head against the steering wheel of her rental car and just fall asleep breathing the steamy fragrance of it. There was some motivation to be found in the takeout box of fresh pastries sitting in the passenger seat, of course, but still .. it was just too damned early to be working.

Cosmo grumbled and adjusted her sunglasses, cursing and thanking HB by turns. Spirits, but the man must have laughed when he realized what her week's itinerary would inlude everything a high school formal to a gentleman's club only to send her to Sunday mass less than twelve hours later - not she'd have time for confession today, of course.

'Confess. Ha.' She took a nice long gulp of coffee and gave her head a little shake as the fiery liquid made its way down her throat. There wasn't time to think about cataloguing her sins, much less get around to talking about them. Her lips twitched irreverently as she recalled that a particular escapade of hers had involved a nun's habit, some narcotic patches, and a confessional booth.

Was it possible to be thrown out of a church?

She smiled in spite of herself, grabbing a particularly glossy blueberry danish from the box beside her and seizing ANY thought that didn't involve Caska in some fashion. Calories and caffiene, even reminiscing over old jobs while she waited for the next one to begin, were good - great, even.

"Fan-damned-tastic," she growled.

09:02:51 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - 4021 Hammel St, across the road from Unitary Church of Jesus Christ, Redeemer, Los Angeles, CFS

In the end, she'd been forced to put the box of pastries in the back seat. Cosmo felt real humor in her smile, though, as she contemplated the irony of succumbing to temptation. The universe had a twisted sense of humor. Wasn't it her life, though? To use temptation as a weapon, to barter and negotiate, to tease with a reward of money, or goods, or service in exchange for what she needed? She shivered, not liking this train of thought. Not because of the dark holes in her memory that eluded her no matter how hard she tried to illuminate them, and not because of the vicious truths she knew lurked in them, the nightmare memories she could feel hovering just beneath the surface of the water, hazy and indistinct, but threatening in their outlines. No, it was the one inevitable place she arrived at, or, rather, the one inevitable person she arrived at when her thoughts raced along these pathways. Her hands flexed on the wheel of the car, knuckles mottled white with force as she tried to crush the images that rose relentlessly in the back of her mind. Why now? Why him? There had been other men; handsomer men, better lovers, smarter men. But none had held the strange, intoxicating mix of characteristics as Caska. None had quite blended those ingredients as he had, producing an elixir that addicted at her first taste.

"Get a hold of yourself, girl," Cosmo muttered to herself angrily, flipping down the visor to check her makeup in the mirror, to make sure she didn't have a dab of blueberry glaze at the corner of her mouth. Motion down the street caught her eye, though, and she ID'd her target vehicle as it turned into the church's parking lot. She checked the set of her toolkit on her belt, scanning the area quickly for any security or surveillance. This job, by its very nature, required her plans to be max flex.

A bodyguard exited the vehicle first, scanning the area in much the same way as Cosmo just did. Her vehicle, an innocuous bronze sedan parked across the street, aroused no suspicion, and the man opened the rear door of the limo. The family that exited, father, mother, and two children, all had the look of corporate money. But their apparent casual wealth did nothing to assuage the pang of guilt that stabbed into Cosmo. Children. Again.

Tense, she watched them disappear through the large double doors of the church followed by their bodyguard. The limo pulled away from the doorway, turning out of the parking lot and passing Cosmo as it headed down Hammel Street before turning left onto Cullendon Boulevard. Cosmo was three cars behind. She tailed the limo for another six blocks before it made a right into an Astrobucks Coffee shop parking lot.

09:08:26 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - Astrobucks Parking Lot, 512 Cullendon Boulevard, Los Angeles, CFS

Cosmo angled her face toward the cracked driver's side window, almost smiling at the small cloud of frosted breath that billowed out in front of her. As much as she disliked the cold, she was certain that the residents of Los Angeles liked it even less, a suspicion confirmed by the heavy jackets and hurried steps of civilians rushing through their Sunday morning errands and the way the limousine driver hunched his shoulders forward, jamming his hands into his pockets as he jogged twelve meters to the coffee shop's front entrance. Her own hands flexed, fingers curling around the steering wheel as she glanced around the parking lot.

It wasn't the worst setup she could imagine but it was close. The cold weather saw to it that people kept their heads down, kept to themselves indoors; she was grateful to see a long line inside Astrobucks and only two barristas managing the counter. Video surveillance seemed to neglect the lot altogether but that was where her good fortune ended. Business was steady, even at this hour, and there was a constant stream of people moving from the street to the ten establishments housed within the Costa Mesa Village mall.

In spite of all her training, however she'd gotten it, the quickening of her pulse reminded Cosmo that she wasn't immune to pre-op nerves. She didn't need to look into a mirror to see that the strain of two weeks on the run were beginning to show when she wasn't careful to conceal them. A sort of tightness about the mouth and the faint blue tinge of shadows beneath her eyes were only the beginning, she knew, and it would get worse. Dull, thinning hair, emaciated cheeks, and hollow, nervous eyes wouldn't be the worst of it, either.

'How long,' she wondered, 'before I can't hide it?'

Perfect blonde eyebrows lowered as she watched the seconds tick past in the upper left hand corner of her digital overlay.

'How much longer can I live like this?'

09:19:07 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - Astrobucks Parking Lot, 512 Cullendon Boulevard, Los Angeles, CFS

Cosmo had skirted the parking lot the long way around, moving quickly because she was on a timeline, both real and fictional. It was almost too easy how the bulk of her toolkit made her small purse into something resembling a fashionably large Coach bag. And how her swift stride turned her into a woman rushed on an errand. The road flare, stolen from the emergency kit in the trunk of her car, was tucked into her left sleeve, readily at hand so when she dropped her keys, it was a seamlessly natural move to strike the head of the flare against the hard concrete, before jamming it through the spokes of a hubcap on a Mercury Comet sedan. Scooping up her keys, she was on her way again, threading through the parked cars towards the Astrobucks.

Or, more correctly, to the limousine parked in the second row just outside the Astrobucks. Cosmo rummaged through her bag again, using the motion to discard the safety cap from the road flare. As she neared the limousine, though, she began to slow. Motion would draw attention, and she wanted eyes to be on the burgeoning car fire behind her and not on her. A shout to her left drew her head around. People were pointing and gesturing to the parking lot, reaching for commlinks. She stopped altogether, glancing behind her at the stream of acrid black smoke pouring from the front wheel well of the Comet. Everyone's attention was off of her, she knew, and after a moment, she knelt. Glancing back and forth down the aisle of cars, she slid beneath the nearest, a Toyota crossover SUV. On her back, she wormed her way forward, under the final limousine slated for sabotage.

More shouts now, and running feet as people scampered to try and move their cars out of the way. She heard the hiss of at least one CO2 extinguisher as well. Unrolling her tool kit, she went to work. Fire and possible security assets would be here within five minutes. She would have to be quick.

09:21:55 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - Astrobucks Parking Lot, 512 Cullendon Boulevard, Los Angeles, CFS

Because it was her job to notice these things, Cosmo was aware the very moment her training kicked in. A subtle shift of her shoulders as she slid beneath the limousine, a tilt of her hips to allow her hands maximum maneuverability; all of these were things her body knew even if her mind did not. Clever gloved fingers slipped inside the chassis as if they'd done the same dozens of times before.

Freed from introspection, she was the job, if only for a little while.

In a sense, it was easier to snug the last charge against the side of the gas tank without wondering who would be injured (and likely killed) in the inevitable explosion. Easier to act and block out distracting emotional dissonance. Compartmentalize and live like the predator she'd become.

The first shot snapped out, slamming the butt of the weapon into her shoulder. The face in the scope was a child, only a dozen years old. Blonde hair, striking blue eyes, and a softly smiling mouth. It disappeared into a red haze, a gray fantail sluicing across the open deck of the boat. The guards reacted instantly, weapons coming up and searching for a target. Cosmo shifted aim immediately, her second shot rushed in order to prevent the other child from reaching safety. The rifle barked again, recoiling smoothly into her shoulder. Blood pistoned across the deck of the vessel, the 8mm jacketed hollowpoint ripping a massive wound channel through the narrow torso. Faces pivoted to the ridgeline, enhanced eyes picking out the faint cloud of dust kicked up by the supersonic passage of the bullets.

Clever gloved fingers twitched even as they dropped to rest against her flat stomach. Cosmo stared at the underside of the limo, her eyes dry and stinging from the tears hadn't allowed herself time to shed.

"Only a fool thinks she has a choice," she mumbled, hands flexing against her abdomen. 'They should have taken better care....'

Whether it was the intervention of the Spirits she so often invoked or the training that had been drilled into her for years and years, Cosmo slipped out from beneath the line of parked cars without causing so much as a stir in the crowd. Men and women watched the burning car, pointing and talking eagerly amongst themselves. Fire service and security vehicles would arrive in a minute or two and this crowd, bound together by drama and adrenaline, would disperse. Ordinary people would return to their homes, eager to share this little bit of excitement with friends and family would would, of course, make all the appropriate sounds of shock and disparagement over such a wanton act of destruction.

There wasn't anyone watching as a lone woman slipped into her unremarkable bronze sedan, fired the engine, and rolled out of the busy lot.

10:20:07 Sunday, 14 January 2063 - 862 Lucile Ave, Apt. 2C, Los Angeles, CFS

Cosmo rubbed her hair with the towel almost absentmindedly, staring at the unmoving black plastic folder laying open on her bed. She'd spent as long as possible in the shower, stopping only when the hot water had finally given out. Leaning against the faux tile, the water cascading over her, she wondered if she would ever again feel clean. If she would ever be able to wash the stains of her crimes from her soul. If the balance would ever be even.

The folder mocked her with its silence and obscurity, the oddness of its contents impenetrable in their ultimate design. With a sigh, she turned away, dropping her towel onto the back of the chair in front of her vanity and staring at herself in the mirror. Stripped of its subtle framing of make-up, hair unmade and unkempt, only the nature of her beauty remained: the fine cheekbones, faintly swept eyes, and soft lips. Cosmo stared at the woman in the mirror.

She needed answers. She needed backup. She needed....

Say his name, hissed the voice in her head. She threw her towel at the mirror in exasperation, cradling her head in her hands.

"Caska," she whispered to the empty room.

08:20:07 Monday, 08 January 2063 - apartment 1313 @ 508 NE 97th Pl, Redmond, Seattle

*Bang* *Bang* *Bang* "misstah Rembrandt!" ..... The paper thin walls of the apartment reverberate with each pounding fist on the door
as the tiny asian woman tries to get the slumbering occupants attention. *Bang* *Bang* *Bang* "MISSTAH Rembrandt!..."

Remy opens his eyes wide in the bright morning sunshine as it streams through the gaps in the drapes,
he had tried unsuccessfully to plug some of the larger holes with pieces of rag torn from old clothing garments but they could not hold back the glorious morning sun.
Blinking back tears and trying to peer at the alarm clock on his bedside cabinet past the blinding rays of light <00:00:31> it reads, making it obvious there was another power cut in the night.

"Awww Drek!" Remy leaps from the lumpy mattress, that only moments ago felt like the most comfortable place in the known universe and glares angrily at the floor, daring it to try and hide clean articles of clothing from him
*Bang* *Bang* *Bang* "MISSTAH Rembrandt!... Your Unkah Danneh, he say you LATE"
Maybe it is the Ultra-thin, ULTRA-cheap materiels used in the construction of the building <Yeah, Or Maybe the witch has finally Goblinized into a Fraggin' TROLL!> Remy thinks to himself with a smile
"Yeah, Yeah Missers Akira... Misstah Rembrandt's comin' ... keep yer horns on!" the last part muttered quietly to avoid getting the angry retribution of a tiny launderrette attendant.

Quickly, but not without enough care to avoid knocking over his meagre possessions Remy dresses and grabs his bike keys from the hook board on the floor that was on the wall above, the incessant knocking, all that was necessary to dislodge it from the aging Plas-Board showing the sixteen ... no, eighteen now, holes where it was previously affixed. "Awww Drek!" he mutters under his breath and opens the door.

Mrs. Akira is not a Gnome .. or a Dwarf, nor any of the othe variants of Meta-Humanity, but her gnarled physique and angry scowl would not look out of place on any of them "You LATE!" She exclaims and turns on the spot to hobble off with the aid of a metal walking cane.

Remy's jaw hangs open in sheer amazement at the woman "And You close mouth! ... flies get in there and eat brains" she calls while rounding the corner out of sight. <I swear that woman is a fraggin' Ninja> He thinks to himself, then remembering the time, dashes for the stairwell. Knowing full well that the turbo-lifts are about as turbo as an ancient steam boat!

He gets as far as the next floor down as the Turbo-lift doors open and Mrs. Akira hobbles out onto the landing as he rushes for the next set of stairs..
"You fix my Vee-Cee-Arr yet?? " She screeches at him waving her stick in his general direction.. "Laundry Drones they stuck on Spin cycle again, they tear up underwear!" her voice trails off as Remy descends 4 steps at a time, military style boots clumping heavily with each bound
<Okay, Missus Akira, Keep....> ....... "And don't you tell me to keep Horns on either!" she yells, at a volume a woman of her age and stature should not be able to accomplish
<.....DREK!! how the helll ?? ... Fraggin' NINJA!> Remy thinks as he continues on to the foot of the stairwell and out into the Seattle daylight.

08:39:11 Monday, 08 January 2063 - 508 NE 97th Pl, Redmond, Seattle, UCAS

It would be misleading to call the wan half-light that struggled through the clouds sunlight. A bitter blast of wind hammered into Rembrandt as he stepped through the front door of his apartment building, the breath he exhaled in surprise immediately coalescing into a cloud of vapor. A faint dusting of snow swirled about him, and he paused to fully tab closed his coat and pull on his gloves.

Beneath the simple corrugated awning that covered the parking lot, his Pathfinder found little shelter from the elements. With a sigh, he thumbed the starter on the bike, praying that the cold hadn't completely sapped the battery. The engine sputtered, coughed, whined, then caught. At least something's going my way this morning, thought Rembrandt bitterly as he set to clearing away the accumulated precipitation. It was going to be a long, cold ride into his Uncle's shop this morning. Not to mention a frosty reception once he got there.

Rembrandt paused, a sly smile crossing his lips. If he headed south on the 208 he could get off at Issaquah and make a stop at the Astrobucks there on the corner for coffee. It was the only thing likely to improve his Uncle's mood. Plus, the primary arteries were more likely to be clear of snow than the surface streets. He was already late as it was, another five minutes wouldn't matter much.

Liking this plan more and more, Rembrandt straddled the bike, strapped on his helmet, and prepared to do battle with the streets.

08:49:31 Monday, 08 January 2063 - Astrobucks @ Issaquah, Seattle, UCAS

The last mile or two along the 90 into Issaquah runs parallel to Lake Sammamish, the frozen waters glint even in the mornings half-light, and it almost makes the place look vaguely interesting.

Remy holds the Pathfinder back in the icy conditions. he knows that on two wheels he'd end up having to explain to Danny why the bike was busted up again.

Harder still, he holds himself back from investigating some of his usual haunts, carparks and vacant lots,
where no one untoward would notice the burnt on rubber marks in grand wide arcs and small tight circles as he practised stunts alone on quiet nights.
He prefers these sessions to be away from his crew, mostly because ... well... they have no regard for property and his bike is new,
but also because he has not long gained his license and while he learns quickly, he lacks the air of confidence about some of the maneuvers he attempts,
The same as any young male, there's no point showing off if you risk embarassment and losing 'Face'.

Frost covered vehicles and buildings race by him, he feels strangely serene, usually this route would be filled with vehicles and commuters but this must be another one of those perks of being late as the highway is eerily quiet and once again Remy has to hold himself in check to avoid showing off and worse in the trepid conditions.

And then, "there it is!" The dirty green circle of joy, rising above the snow dusted but still filthy plas-crete buildings, that portends the abolishment of any feelings of drowsiness. Remy pulls into 'ASTROBUCKS' and parks the Pathfinder in a spot away from anywhere someone might skid on the ice in their beat up old americar and write it off.

He loosens the straps and yanks the full face helmet off his head, another recent investment after initially buying an open face version "cause it looked cooler!"
but then found out that having face and nostrils and Tusks open to the elements at over 120 mph was not his best choice ever.

With that done he clumps through the snow to the automatic doors which, as normal refuse to automatically open and he faces the age old dilemma of
'wait for the sensor to pick him up and look like a fool stood in the door way'
OR
'try and get a handhold on the securi-glass and force it to open and look like a second rate mime artist'

His decision is taken for him though, as a pretty looking blonde in biker leathers approaches from the other side and the door slides open,
Remy, being a Gentle-Ork steps to one side to let her pass and tries his best to look cool but interested, he achieves the demeaner of a puppy trying to hold in a pee in desperation.
The girl glowers at him with a look that she'd probably share with some piss stained drunk hobo on the street and she hurries past, "Drekk it!" he mutters to himself and wanders into the store, marginally ahead of the closing door that seems intent on slicing him clean in half. "Drekk You Too!" he curses and give a mono-digit salute to the mechanism.

Once at the counter he leans his full weight on the bar and peruses the menu in stark lettering obave the SoyKaf machinery and pots of boiling substances "Hmmmmm..errrrr ...I has a Double ...no, Triple Choc chip Mocha Super Cream Frappe Choca-cino-Kaf, extra Grande .... and extra choc chips ! and wiv Caramel drizzle.... and errrr a triple Espresso ... to go.. Oh ands I has one ov dem Choccy caramel shorts cake!...make dat two!"
The barrister looks at him with the blank, almost vacant expression that only teenagers can achieve in the hospitality industry and before about 1:00PM when their metabolisms usually awaken from their slumber. "Huh?" he responds as if he hadn't heard the order a hundred times from the same guy at a similar time since the dawn of time itself, or at least since he got this job at any rate.
Remy heaves a sigh and looks up at him "I HAS ...A Triple ..." he begins to repeat it in Loud, clear concise, single syllables while trying to look the guy straight in the eyes, but it's like trying to staple snot, the kids eyes waiver from foreground to thousand yard stare more effectively than a twenty year Bogotán veteran and Remy gives up, "Just gimme two Grande SoyKafs and hurry the Drek up!"

Order in hand, Remy fights his way past the automatic door from the depths of hell itself, managing to only spill a small amount of Kaf on himself and clumps back over to the bike, which fortunately has avoided being totalled whilst parked. He loads the drinks into the pannier with the custom cupholders and mounts up.

Strapping his Helmet on, he looks across the carpark where the blonde from before catches his eye as she speeds off onto the northbound carriageway, looks like towards Bellevue.
"Posh stukkup bitch!" he mutters to no one in particular and jams his heel down hard on the starter not giving it the option of being cold, getting the ignition through brute force alone. he performs the safety checks the instructor impressed upon him, only becasue none of his friends are around to see, and pulls out onto the road heading to Danny's Pawn and Loans.

09:07:12 Monday, 08 January 2063 - Danny's Pawn and Loan, 15710 SE Newport Way, Bellvue, Seattle

Parking his bike out back, Remy carefully cradled the grande cups of steaming frappe, using his shoulder to wedge the door open enough for him to get inside. The warmth of the shop was a welcome balm after the frigid ride over, the wind had been biting even through the protection of his helmet and armor.

"Late again."

Remy glanced up to meet the disapproving gaze of his uncle, who, in reality, had always been more of a father figure.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. Power went out in the middle of the night again so...." Remy's explanation died beneath his uncle's uncaring stare. He sighed, handing over one of the cups as a peace offering. Danny accepted it, but the harsh disappointment in his gaze didn't change. Remy fidgeted, glancing aside before heaving another sigh.

"Okay, I get it. No excuses. Batteries exist for a reason. I'll never amount to anything unless I learn to keep my commitments. A man's word is his bond. Umili scuse, mea culpa."

Silence stretched between the two men for an uncomfortable minute before Danny took a sip of his coffee. "Words don't define a man. Actions do."

Turning back towards the front of the shop, he paused in the doorway long enough to glance back at Remy. "Make yourself useful for the rest of the day, kid, and I might be generous enough to buy you some dinner."

11:01:02 Monday, 08 January 2063 - Danny's Pawn and Loan, 15710 SE Newport Way, Bellevue, Seattle

"Food, glorious food!" Remy beams and blurrs into motion, ditching his coat, gloves and helmet in a pile in the corner to get quickly to the work bench.
Then, without registering the raised eyebrow from Danny, he spins on his heel and retrieves the discarded clothing "I got it..!" he says, holding his hands up by way of apology,
hanging the items on the rail and being careful not to dislodge his Uncles ancient, real wool, greatcoat in the process.

Taking a deep controlling breath, Remy walks, slowly, carefully and almost calmly from the alcove in the back, which is next to the toilet and attached kitchenette, through into the main office and work room.
He takes a moment to try and remember what he was working on last and glances nervously around in case Danny notices his momentary lack of activity, but his Uncle is busy jacking himself in,
obviously about to make some calls, Remy knows better than to enquire, Danny has fitted his sub-vocal mike so as not to be overheard by "customers"...

Funny word that, "customers" he thinks, he has not heard or seen a customer in this place in the years since Danny let him come to work,
sure, people come and go, money changes hands and some folk even take time to look into the securi-glass cabinets at the jewelry and equipment and a few guns, all legal of course.
But never actually anyone coming in to buy stuff.

The front of the store is covered by plas-steel security shutter with a hole cut for access via the glass door, which in turn has a buzzer attached, that goes off when the door is opened.
It bugs the bejeezus out of Remy, when exiting clients manage to leave the door not quite closed,
as he has to ditch what he is doing, extract himself from the repair drone rig and trodes he built for himself, get out of the back office through the bead curtain
that Danny insists is kept in place at all times for no good reason, as if it's the most important piece of security that they own!
Then round the glass displays, lifting the steel and glass counter break which is underneath a mounted, swivelling (completely de commissioned or replica) Panther Assault Cannon pointing down into the customer area, to get into the small customer space to shut door and abate the noise.

Gear arrives daily and Remy filters through the rubbish from the HOT, to the drek and everything in between, then cleans it and anything technical is put aside for him to fix up and clean for resale.
Occassionally a piece of equipment needs a replacement serial number, as the old one has "worn off!" For warranty purposes of course.

"Aaaaah, dere it is! You little beauty!" he exclaims, looking into the corner next to his bench, covered with an old oiled cloth is an item about a metre and a half in length and maybe ten centimetres wide.

Clearing all the junk and electronics and tools and solder and more tools back into their relevant itemised boxes takes a few moments before he gently retrieves the package and lays it lengthways on the bench.
With a sigh he leans back in the chair and grabs the coffee, it's cooler now but not cold and he sips it thoughtfully before placing it on another bench away from his area, a precaution he would not normally take,
then sits forward in the seat to peel back the edges of the oily material.

Remy remembers when this specific item arrived as he unwraps it, about three weeks ago, one of the "Russki dandelion munchers" as he likes to call them, hurries into the store, which is weird as it is impossible to hurry past the front door as it regularly sticks and jams, also, the buzzer didn't go off and lastly, Danny went out to greet him rather than yelling for Remy "Customer, Kiddo!" as he normally does.
Moments later the Elf has gone out past the kitchenette in back and away down the alleyways, Danny is stashing the package nonchalantly in the corner with some old walking sticks and umbrellas.

It nearly killed Remy, waiting as long as he did, working his ass off fixing old junk and carefully avoiding even so much as looking at the package, His curiosity increasing all the time.
Anytime he looked in it's direction he would suddenly become aware of Danny watching him too and have to nervously return to his work.

But now he has it, the vibro-sword open on his desk, only a few minor components missing before it is more than just a lump of inanimate alloys.
And he knows he can get them.... from Mrs. Akira's .... "Hey Kid! ... Missus Akira says you told her you will finish her V-C-R today! .. You got it ready yet?" Danny yells at him from the next room, obviously between calls.
"Fraggin' Drek me!" Remy mutters They are all fraggin' ninjas!. "Yeeeaah, boss, I gots it!" he cries back glumly and begins wrapping up the nearly functional weapon, pulling the box of VCR parts onto the bench and sulkily beginning the re-assembly.

11:10:52, Monday, 08 January 2063. Spider Security Systems, 1149 Cherry Street, Downtown Seattle

“...it’s a common compatibility issue. We’ve developed a software patch that can get the basic functions working again but it’s a stopgap solution.” Joslyn grabbed a piece of blank e-paper from the top of a shambolic stack of files and folders and started to write notes.

“What do you suggest?” the exasperated caller asked “I couldn’t even get into my own office this morning, and Ares won’t send someone out to fix it.”

Joslyn smiled to himself, he’d learned to love Megacorp apathy towards their small customers.

“I’m not surprised,” he replied, adding a grave tone to his voice “They only care about selling the products, not your safety and security.” He paused for a moment to let that sink in then continued “Of course we can help you. I’ll have the patch sent over to you with instructions on how to apply it straight away.”

“You’re a lifesaver, how much will that cost?”

“No charge my friend, your safety is the most important thing to us.” Joslyn grinned; time to reel him in “Of course, as I said, this is only a temporary solution. We’re going to have to get you sorted with a more reliable system.”

“Of course.” the caller sounded relieved, this was good

“We provide a personalised service,” Joslyn slipped seamlessly into the pitch “There’s no one security system for all needs and we want to get you sorted out with the best system for the lowest cost.”

He pulled up the calendar on his commlink “I have a very busy schedule this week,” he lied, looking at a calendar filled with blank spaces “But I can shuffle some things around and arrange an inspection and consultation for Thursday morning, at 9o’clock, if that works for you.”

“Thursday?” there were several moments silence, presumably as the caller checked his own calendar “Yes, that should be fine.”

“Very good Mr Bainbridge, we can discuss your precise needs in person.” Joslyn filled in the 9’oclock slot on his calendar ‘Bainbridge & Collins, consult’ “I’ll have that patch sent to you shortly, along with our consulting fees, have a good day.”

“Thank you, I’ll see you on Thursday, good day.”

Double checking that the call was disconnected, Joslyn jumped out of his chair and let out a woop of joy. Half walking, half dancing, he crossed the scarcely decorated office, dodging several disorganised customer files that had taken permanent residence on the floor, and opened the door into their makeshift workshop.

“Andy!” Joslyn called to the middle aged human who was currently tinkering with a pile of maglocks “We’ve got a legit job!” he walked across and dropped the e-paper on top of Andy’s work, the decker sighed and scanned through the hastily written notes.

“Lawyers?” he asked “Not gonna pay as much as the mob work.”

“It’s a start.” Joslyn beamed “They’ve got the Ares/Renraku systems conflict, can you send over the patch you knocked up along with the usual stuff? Consult fee, service options and all that...maybe see if you can crack their system too, I’ll see if I can talk them up for the matrix service.”

“Yeah, I’ll give it a look,” Andy put the e-paper aside “Don’t forget your lunch meet with Bigio’s guy later, we wanna keep those guys happy.” Joslyn nodded

“I’m on it,” Joslyn sighed, working with the Mafia was keeping the business afloat, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He checked his calendar again “Ristorante Machiavelli? They aren’t subtle, that’s for sure.”

Andy snorted “I don’t care if you’re meeting at Don Mafioso’s Kneecapping and Laundering Emporium, you keep your smartassery to yourself with these guys.”

Joslyn smiled again as he readied himself, strapping on his Predator in its concealable holster and grabbing his Actioneer suit jacket from its hook on the door

“Don’t worry so much, Anansi knows how to deal with Tiger.”

With that, he made his way out of the office and took the elevator down to the underground carpark where his Ford Spiral was waiting. Taking a minute to check himself in the rear view mirror, he dropped the smile and got his game face on, he slipped on his glasses and blinked several times times to activate the vision enhancement, keyed the restaurant’s location into the dashboard, cranked up the heat and set off through the snow covered streets.

12:39:07 Monday, 08 January 2063 - Danny's Pawn and Loan, 15710 SE Newport Way, Bellevue, Seattle

Contrary to his Uncle's earlier sourness, Danny had actually sprung for lunch as well. Just after noon, with Remy still deep in the guts of the pre-Crash 1.0 technological dinosaur, one of the delivery boys from Super Mike's Deli and Subs stopped by with a pair of the Deli's signature half-meter hoagies. Setting aside his work, Remy joined his uncle for lunch, the two of them wedged into the small office in back. The trideo was still playing the highlights from the New Year's Eve Blood Bowl Pro Match, which Remy enjoyed although he much preferred the high-octane speed of combat biking. After that was a preview for the upcoming light heavyweight MMA bout in Los Angeles in two weeks. Remy watched while Danny pecked away at the old computer in the corner which held all of the shop's records, either too engrossed or too disinterested to tell his charge to get back to work. Remy would, eventually, if for no other reason than to get that hag of a landlady off his back so he could get back to working on what he really cared about.

The chime of the door gate brought them both out of their post-meal stupors, and Danny buzzed the gate open, admitting a pair of customers. Remy glanced at his uncle, who gestured towards the front before retuning to his computer. With a sigh the young ork stepped out of the office to deal with the customers.

"Hi, welcome to Danny's Pawn and Loan. What can I help you with today?"

The shorter of the two pulled back the hood on her parka, shaking loose a cascade of raven black hair which gleamed beneath the shop's halogens. The dark mane framed a face of pale beauty, sharp cheekbones underlining piercing gray eyes. The delicate bow of her lips worked into a frown for a moment as she glanced around the shop before stepping to the counter in front of Remy. Her companion made no move, though, other than to run a flat, disinterested gaze across the acrylic display cases and counters, as well as the plain gray shelving which lined the walls of the shop. A quick glance told Remy that he was an ork as well, although most of his bulk was hidden by the heavy greatcoat draped over his shoulders.

The woman unrolled the trideo screen from her commlink, bringing it to life with a tap of a single, well-manicured finger. Five faces glowed to life, hovering in holographic detail above the surface of the counter.

"Have you seen any of these men here recently?" she asked Remy.

12:39:35 Monday, 08 January 2063 - Danny's Pawn and Loan, 15710 SE Newport Way, Bellevue, Seattle

"Nopes!" Remy blurts out without actually looking down at the counter, from the dark haired aphrodite before him.

Certain that his face had gone from tinted green and through to bright red in an instant! his mouth is as dry as a desert despite the XXL soda he had just washed lunch down with. He immediately regrets the selection of double jalapenos and mustard sauce on his sub, as he is now trying his utmost to hold a belch back, the warm rising vapor burning the back of his throat and his eyes beginning to water.

"Never sin dem afore in my life pretty police lady...ummm... I mean pretty officer.., Ummm... Sir! But if yous insists den i will come down to the station and has a looks at your pictures some more... Umm i means their pictures! Not your pictures, not that i wouldn't looks at your pictures cause you is pretty... " somewhere about now Remy's grey matter intervenes to cease the verbal outpour, he holds a hand to his mouth and he realises that neither of their facial expressions have changed since he started blabbering on.

Blinking the salt water tears from his eyes, he makes a conscious effort to break the stare and look at the image she has laid out before him, and to breathe, breathing is definately somewhere on the priority list, maybe between trying to look cool and bolting for the door to the bathroom! He tries his hardest not to look her in the eye again, and he thanks any deity listening for the current weather situation meaning she is fully covered by the parka so that there are a whole lot less distracting factors.

"Who is dey s'posed to be?" he mumbles now, mind firmly back on business as he looks at the flickering trid image of the five faces before him he rests his chin on the palm of his left hand and places the elbow on the counter. His right hand hangs loose below the counter, where the button for the door lock sits as well as the mechanism that drives the overhead PAC purely as a distraction to any would be thieves while Danny or Remy would be going or cover or grabbing the savalette guardian from under the till.

"Dat one looks familiar, he been on the trid? Urban brawl World Cup champion of '39 ?" he exclaims, loud enough for Danny to hear in the back. Urban brawl didn't go international until 46 and is every two years after, a fact Remy now hopes His uncle recognises as the barely practised and never yet used alarm phrase, "the Star is here, hide the good stuff". Roughly translated.

That warning given, he waits for the nice lady to respond.

11:43:08, Monday, 08 January 2063 - Ristorante Machiavelli, 3010 Western Ave, Seattle

Joslyn relaxed into the sleek leather of the Spiral, his hands easy on the wheel but eyes alert. The sports car wasn't the most efficient vehicle for the snow and ice of the January Seattle streets, but it was his once vice. The one thing he spoiled himself with. He quirked a smile at himself in the rearview mirror. My second life crisis, he thought, with a trace of bitter irony. At this point he was practiced in the art of sliding away from the scars of his wrecked marriage, practiced in letting the painful memories submerge once more beneath the still waters of his mind. Thousand year old eyes stared back at from a young man's face, his gaze the only remaining trace of his true age. This new body was young and vibrant, without the aches and pains that were the toll of life's experiences. Instead of physical tiredness, these days he felt a more spiritual fatigue, a weariness of spirit. In moments of lucidity he could articulate the cause, but on a casual day like today, he chalked it up to another winter, another New Year's, and another January.

Despite its comically overwrought name, Ristorante Machiavelli is not a mob hangout. The spacious eatery is located at the very North end of the downtown restaurant row, just beyond the Olympic Sculpture Park. The harbor seawall curved out to the West, giving the a view of downtown skyline as well as the massive freighters entering and departing the corporate docks far to the South. Joslyn parked the Ford in lot out back, pausing to turn up the collar on his long coat before stepping out into the wind and snow. A particularly strong gust caught him as he opened the door of the restaurant, and he struggled against it momentarily before closing the portal on its vicious bite. Shaking the snow from his coat, the glanced around the dining room, welcoming the warm embrace of air heady with olive oil and garlic.

The lunch crowd was in full swing, the eatery boisterous with patrons and conversation. It didn't take but a moment for Joslyn to spot his contact, though, and with a smile he headed over.

Sergio DiStratos had been a business contact and, more or less, friend for the better part of two decades. Joslyn had first met him when he was a young made man, a fiery and intense mafia soldato who survived the vicious mob wars of the early '50's and then again in the late '60's. Now, comfortably middle aged, Sergio had risen to the rank of capo in the family of Don Bigio. He sat alone in a booth, his suit jacket draped next to him, while his sleeves were unbuttoned and pushed up to his elbows. The bare expanse of his arms were decorated with faded blue tattoos as well as lighter hashmarks of scars left from a vicious knife fight.

A pair of enforcers at a nearby table glowered around, hunched over and uncomfortable in their armored long coats. They suffered with the stubbornness of youth, eyes hidden behind dark wrap-around sunglasses. They couldn't have been more obvious if they wore neon signs.

"Sergio," greeted Joslyn as he slid into the seat opposite his friend.

"Ah, buongiorno my friend!" Sergio rose from his seat slightly until Joslyn was seated before settling back. "It's good to see you. Surviving the weather, I hope?"

"For the most part, my new bones don't complain as much as my old bones did." Joslyn helped himself to a piece of the bruschetta in the center of the table, savoring the warmth of the bread against the sweet chill of the oil and tomatoes. Sergio chuckled.

"It is still strange to see that new face of yours staring at me with those same eyes. I doubt I'll ever get used to it."

Joslyn was about to reply but Sergio waved it off around a mouthful of rigatoni. He waited for the mafia capo to wash it down with a healthy swig from his wineglass.

"Reminiscing about the past isn't why I asked you to meet me here today. I have a small work request. Yesterday one of my soldatos was found dead in an alleyway in Tacoma. He'd been working an unaffiliated business deal that I had cleared. I've got people looking into his business contacts but we're reaching something of a dead end. When we cracked his commlink he had a list of five businesses. I'd like you to take a look into those businesses, see why he was interested in them or what he was up to. I can't farm this out to any of the family because, as you can see, they have all the subtlety of a sledgehammer."

Sergio glanced over at his soldatos before rolling his eyes. With a careless gesture he passed the information from his pocket secretary to Joslyn's commlink.

"Take a couple of days, do some poking around and let me know what you find. It's worth several grand to me."

Joslyn nodded, not really caring about the money, his attention focused instead on the list that glowed to life on the screen of his commlink.


Superior Pawn and Loan, 607 Taffet St, Tacoma

Respawn Secondhand Electronics, 1100 Montclair Blvd Suite D, Renton

Danny's Pawn and Loan, 15710 SE Newport Way, Bellevue

24/7 Pawn Star, 3035 W 140th St, Renton

Industrial Resale, 1008 Pipeline Dr, Tacoma

12:43:02 Monday, 08 January 2063 - Danny's Pawn and Loan, 15710 SE Newport Way, Bellevue, Seattle

At the mention of 'officer', the woman's lips curl in a bemused smile.

"Easy, kid, neither one of us is Star. These guys don't show up on the trideo, but they do frequent places like this to pick-up or off-load gear. Now, take a breath, and look at the pictures again."

Remy has a heard time breaking away from her inscrutable gaze, despite her soothing tone. He hears the office door shut behind him, though, and Danny speaks before he can reply.

"He wouldn't know them, miss, he works in back doing repairs. Let me take a look."

Remy takes a step back in response to his uncle's presence, grateful to have an excuse to break the terrible gaze of the woman's intense gray eyes. As he does so, he realizes that her companion has slid to her right, moving in counterpoint to his uncle. The tall ork's posture is tense, like a coiled spring. Danny glances up at the motion, his hands held open just over the countertop. Something unspoken passes between the two men and as suddenly as it arrives the shadow of violence vanishes from the room. The ork relaxes and Danny leans forward to examine the holographs intently. After a couple of minutes he shakes his head.

"No, I'm sorry. None of them look familiar."

The woman nods, rolling the screen back into its case and tucking her commlink away. She slides a sliver of plastic across the countertop, though, folded into the crease of a pair of hundred nuyen Saeder-Krupp Marks.

"If they do happen to show up, will you give me a call?"

Danny nods. "Sure thing."

The woman turns and follows her companion out, disappearing as quietly and as quickly as they arrived.

12:51:32 Monday, 08 January 2063 - Danny's Pawn and Loan, 15710 SE Newport Way, Bellevue, Seattle

A gust of cold Seattle wind prevents the door closing properly when the duo leave, the buzzer continues its jarring noise, setting Remy's jaw tight in annoyance.
<He sits in the back miss .... he just does repairs miss .. blah blah blah miss ... Fraggin' killjoy!>
He mutters to himself sulkily as he lifts the counter top and strides over, shivering in the bitter draft to push it firmly closed, but not before glancing out into the snow filled street at the departing figures, hoping to see if they get into a vehicle.
But by now they are just two more shadows amongst the other pedestrians on the sidewalk.
"Kid, close the drekkin' door!" Danny calls from out back and Remy does as his is bid then walks quickly back to the counter, miniature snow twisters dance across the floor before him in the wake of the draft, settling in tiny drifts against the shelves and counter.

He walks a faster pace into the rear of the shop, remembering to close the counter then almost dashing into the office his mind racing and adrenaline pumping.
"You knows dem guys Danny ? and the guys in da photos and the pretty lady and dat fugly Chummer she brings wid her.. and what they after and ...!" The questions come in a flood of excitement.
It's the first time anything really out of the ordinary has happened in the shop, not counting the arrival of the sword of course and Remy's mind dances with the possibilities and questions.

He paces wildly around the room with his arms gesticulating like a mad man, while he thinks up every possible scenario and compares it to every B-rated trideo thriller flick he's ever seen and a few he's only heard about from his associates, while sat atop a newly constructed office block and admiring the view over the bay.

Realising that he has been ranting for a while and Danny hasn't spoken a word he stops to look around to make sure that his Uncle is still present.
He's sitting at the small computer desk with the clip in one hand and the other hand rested on the desk tapping a patient tempo on the surface, his eyes bore into Remy with one raised brow "Shut up Kid!" he says calmly, and there's a hint of a cunning smile curling the very corners of his lip
"I gots the same questions you do, okay, so let's take it slow and see what we're dealing with here before you go grabbing the cannon and heading downtown hunting heads to present to the first pretty girl that walks into MY shop!"

Remy drops his arms from off the top of his head where he was slicking his hair back in movement of sudden anticipation and excitement, then the croak in his throat reminds him how dry he is and he looks around for the remnants of the XXL Soda which is on his workbench, he grabs it in one hand, popping the flimsy plastic lid off the top with his thumb and drains the watery dregs and few remaining chunks of floating ice in one move. The sudden onset 'Brain Freeze' headache helps him settle his system and he takes his second or third, deep controlling breath of the day. <Master Popov would be proud of me, practising his technique so often> he thinks as the breath is exhaled slowly and he tries to control the vortex of excitement that is currently carrying him along.

"S'okay, she nots my type anyways, so is it a data chip or summat Danny ? can we gets it booted up ?" Remy Begins another stream of questions but stops himself abruptly before Danny turns to raise another eye-brow in his direction "Sorry!" he whispers and drags a chair over to Danny's desk scraping it noisily across the tiled floor, he sits, on his hands in an attempt to control himself and looks at his uncle expectantly.

11:50:23, Monday, 08 January 2063 - Ristorante Machiavelli, 3010 Western Ave, Seattle

Joslyn thought for a moment in silence. Noticing Sergio’s brows start to furrow, he held up a hand

“Don’t worry, you know I’ll help out,” he reassured the Capo “I’ll just think better when I’ve got a full stomach.”

Gesturing for a waitress, he looked to Sergio with eyebrows raised as if posing a question, Sergio grinned

“You want to know what I recommend?” he asked

“If you don’t mind.” Joslyn replied, a smile forming on his face

“But you’ll get the lasagne anyway.”

“Perhaps.”

“Try the Carbonara.”

Joslyn nodded then looked up as the waitress reached their table, a pretty young thing, even with the stress of the lunchtime rush showing in the furrows on her brow...Joslyn mentally chided himself: She’s young enough to be your great granddaughter.

“What can I get for you today, sir?” she asked impatiently

“The lasagne please my dear,” he replied with a glance at Sergio “Just a small plate if you will, I don’t think I’ll be staying long.” The waitress jotted down the order on a handheld computer

“Would you like a beverage with your meal?”

“Dark Rum, thank you.” Sergio mouthed the order as Joslyn gave it, the waitress jotted it down and hurried off to deal with another of the seemingly endless customers.

“Every time?” Sergio asked

“You can’t feed an old dog new treats.” Joslyn smiled broadly then leant forwards, his smile lessening and a serious expression creeping across his face “I’m always hungry for new information though. What can you tell me about this outside work of his? Have you any idea what your boy was looking to unload?” He glanced at his commlink screen again “Something electronic I assume...though that hardly narrows it down.” “A recent photo would help me out too, something of him out with a friend would be perfect, I’m sure there’ll be something on his commlink.”

13:08:55 Monday, 08 January 2063 - Danny's Pawn and Loan, 15710 SE Newport Way, Bellevue, Seattle

The white card is not a datachip, but rather a simple calling card. Printed on one side in flowing script is a name: Xade. On the reverse is an LTG number. Danny flips the card over in his hand thoughtfully a number of times, running his fingers across it. After a moment he frowns, and carefully slides his fingers across the card. A slow smile spreads across his face.

"Clever girl. Kid, fetch me that oscilloscope from the bench, and the scanner."

Remy ducks out of the office to scoop up the requested equipment as Danny yells after him, "and the amp!"

Dropping the pile of electronics onto the desktop, Remy stands back, uncertain as to what exactly his uncle has planned. Danny wires up the scope and the scanner, setting the one to graphically display the output of the other. Plugging in the amp, he runs it to the input side of the scanner. Bringing on the power to all three, Danny runs the signal strength up to mid-level before slowly twisting the frequency dial. He watches the oscilloscope carefully as the lines dance in syncopation. When the dial breaks 2.4 GHz, a spike appears on the scope. Danny nods to himself and keeps turning the dial. The spike remains present until the frequency exceeds 5.0 GHz. Smiling, he shuts down the gear. Rummaging through a box beneath the counter, he pulls out an irregular cluster of dark metallic discs that seem glued together. With a bit of effort he pries one loose before setting it on the calling card. Remy raises an eyebrow in an unspoken question.

"The card has an RFID tag in it," explains Danny. "It's designed to echo the wireless frequencies for any of the mesh network devices. You know, the new wireless stuff that Novatech is putting out? I'll bet it's a location broadcaster. Assuming a network of sufficient size and strength you could track someone just about anywhere they went with one of these. Nice piece of gear."

"But what are we going to do?" pushes Remy. His uncle frowns again. Taking a piece of cellophane tape, he secures the magnet to the card.

"That should keep the electronics fuzzed. But you're right, this matter needs a bit more attention. I want you to take this card down to this address: 4029 Marshall Street. Ask for JW. He'll be able to tell us more about this."

12:07:16, Monday, 08 January 2063 - Ristorante Machiavelli, 3010 Western Ave, Seattle

Sergio addresses the easy question first, flipping another file to Josyln's commlink. This is a pretty standard security face shot, showing a young man with a hard face and swarthy skin. A full head of hair doesn't do much to offset bullish cheekbones and a jutting chin. The eyes are dark and intense, filled with the angry passion of youth.

"He wasn't off-loading anything. He was working acquisition. It wasn't family business but it was lucrative. I was contacted through one of my smugglers, said he'd just dropped off a team that was new in town and had asked after places to get untraceable electronics. He thought I might be able to help so we arranged a meeting between my guy and this team. Things seemed to be going well. Then he turns up dead. I don't know if it's due to this team, or if he poked his nose into someone's business too hard, or if he went digging for a good deal that was a bit too good. This is another reason why I need you to do the investigating. My guys won't be impartial about it, they won't accept that it might have been Romano's own fault that got him iced."

13:58:55 Monday, 08 January 2063 - along Marshall Avenue, Auburn, Seattle

Remy's Mind oscillates through the miniscule amount of information he has.

Looking down at the card he holds gingerly in his hand he wonders what could be so important to Xade that She would invest in using such a new technology.
And on someone as simple as Me or Danny. He turns the sliver of plastic over, scrutinising each detail, careful not to dislodge the magnet attached to it.
Paranoid that any undue action may invoke the arrival of the entire Seattle Star at his doorstep, he pockets the device in his vest zipper pocket and retrieves his armored long coat and helmet from the rack

Dressing quickly, he imagines the possibilities, wonder what this stuff is actually worth?
"...And don't even think about it! straight to JW Kid" comes the yell from the other room that Remy was actually expecting this time,
his Uncle knowing him too well to allow him to maybe go and see one of his crew on the way to Auburn.

With an awkward glance back at his workbench he ponders taking the sword but realises it is far too obvious in the cold Seattle daylight, instead
slipping into the front business area he fishes under the counter for the Savalette Guardian, loaded with Gel rounds, the takes it hastily, stuffing it into the coat pocket, the hand-grip cool but reassuring to the touch. He looks over his shoulder at his Uncle, busy again on the phone and satisfied he hasn't been seen he steps confidently towards the door, closing the counter behind him.

The incessant noise of the buzzer is abruptly cut off, not wanting Danny to come out of the office and possibly notice the missing weapon, Remy closes the door properly and steps onto the sidewalk, looking at the pathfinder now completely dusted in flecks of white and almost invisible against the grey backdrop of the rest of the street.

"Drek, this is gonna be cold!" he mutters, warm breath clouding around his face then obliterated by a sudden gust of freezing air.
Jaw already shivering he pulls the coat tighter and puts on the heavy gloves and helmet before cleaning off the worst of the snow.
Straddling the bike he thumbs the starter, the ignition whirrrs and wheezes then catches again, bursting into life with a cloud of snow and smoke after the exhaust. He pulls out into the traffic.

It still amazes Remy as he negotiates the streets of Bellevue, the towers of several corporations clearly visible at this range, that his Uncles shop falls within the confines of this district, Being on the Redmond side means it's a little more low maintenance than most parts but how on earth he sustains it without any visible regular business just makes the young Orks head spin. He twists the accelerator, risking it possibly a little more than he should but revels in the regularly cleared streets and the gritters that pass almost hourly to keep this place bustling.

Crossing over into Renton and again into Auburn is the usual trauma of congestion and police activity, the tolls are for once open but the vigilance levels still border on the invasive with mini drones and scanners and Star almost omnipresent, and then the road opens up and the snow returns as the different districts don't apply the same level of funding to street care, he slows his pace not wanting to hit any black ice and giggles at the joke he heard last week from his mate Glimmer, "Have you heard the one about the Decker who slipped on his own IC" ... guess you had to be there, he reminds himself to not bother repeating the pun.

Crossing into Auburn the engine noise of his bike barely masks the subsonic hum of the industrial zone, the snow clings to the side of the roads in oily dirty lumps discarded from passing massive trucks, Remy consults the GPS on his comm for the correct address and heads on into Auburn.

12:10:11, Monday, 08 January 2063 - Ristorante Machiavelli, 3010 Western Ave, Seattle

Joslyn looked at the picture as Sergio talked.

Kid looks tough, got to remember to play this one carefully...either they took him by surprise or whoever got him was tougher.

Joslyn's food arrived in short order and he started to eat in silence, a look of concentration on his face as he ate half-heartedly, he had barely finished half of his small serving when he placed down his cutlery and looked up at Sergio.

"I've had a few thoughts," he said, taking his small glass of rum in his hand, the dark liquid sloshing dangerously close to spillage as he gestured "I can't promise anything but I'll let you know what I turn up."

"There's no need to rush off my friend," Sergio said "Sit, eat."

Joslyn shook his head

"I should go," he replied "I find I can't stay still for long these days."

Sergio laughed

"Could you ever?"

"I suppose not," Joslyn replied with a grin "But my joints used to have more to say about it." he drank the rum, savouring the warmth in his mouth and throat, hoping it would prove some protection from the cold outside. He stood briskly and held out a hand, Sergio took it with a grip that would have surprised a stranger with it's strength.

"Next time we meet, perhaps we shall have more pleasant things to speak of." the Italian said, his words positive but the tone seemed doubtful.

"I look forward to it." Joslyn replied, picking up his longcoat and giving the Soldatos a nod before heading for the exit, his mind racing.

Pulling his coat around him, Joslyn stepped out into the icy wind and instantly regretted leaving the warm restaurant. He hurried across the lot to his waiting car. Seeing it's sleek lines broken by small piles of snow, took a moment to brush the piles off.

"Some day I'll take you back home," he muttered to the car "We'd both do better in the sun."

After a meagre attempt at clearing the snow, Joslyn had had enough. He hopped into the car and cranked the heat again, rubbing his hands together for warmth as he considered his options.

Five pawn shops to check. I could take the scenic route back to the office, see if any of them look overly secured.

As his hands warmed up, he checked his commlink and plotted each of the shops into the car's dashboard. Then he pointed the commlink camera at himself and took several pictures, trying to match the expression in Romano's picture. Photos taken, he dialled Andy's number

"Still in one piece?" Andy answered after several rings.

"I think I lost a toe to frostbite." Joslyn replied "Nothing too serious."

"What did they want?"

"It was Sergio," Joslyn told him, slightly disappointed that Andy had skipped straight to business "One of his boys got hit and he doesn't know why."

"We're Detectives now?"

"Just worried citizens looking for their missing friend, hold on a second." Joslyn fiddled with the commlink for a moment and sent Andy the photos of himself and Romano along with the list of Pawn Shops "That's me and my good friend Romano, can you stick us both in the same photo, at a bar or something? Anything you can give me on the shops would be useful too...he was looking for untraceable electronics, you must know a few good places for that stuff right?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, I'll bring you back some lunch."

With the call over, Joslyn plotted a route to each of the Pawn shops and pulled out of the parking lot.

14:13:03 Monday, 08 January 2063 - 4029 Marshall Street, Auburn, Seattle

Standing outside the rundown, three story brick building, Remy checks the address again. Frowning, he glances up and down the street. The faded numbers stenciled to the side of the door match the hastily scrawled note given to him by Danny. But the building appears deserted, an anonymous skeleton amidst an urban graveyard here on the edges of Auburn. Little traffic fills the street, mostly the odd delivery and cargo trucks out making their rounds. Snow remains piled high on the curbs and sidewalks, and no other pedestrian is visible amidst the cold gray light and harsh wind. Shrugging to himself, Remy wades across the sidewalk to the narrow entrance foyer and tries the door. To his surprise, it opens on silent hinges.

The interior of the building appears pitch black initially, and its only after Remy's eyes adapt from the brightness outside that he can make out the pale illumination provided by numerous flat panel and CRT displays. The dust in the air smears the broadcast light into pastel hues, more a hint of light than anything actual. The resultant shadows cluster around racks of undefined equipment and floor to ceiling shelves overflowing with technological detritus, circuits and ports glinting in the half-light, the sinuous coils of cables droop carelessly from plastic bins like adders hanging in the jungle foliage. Indistinct voices mutter in conversation from somewhere within the labyrinthine room.

"Hello?" calls Remy, taking a few careful steps deeper into the maze in front of him. "Anyone home?"

The voices continue their muttering unabated and Remy grimaces with frustration. He can see quite clearly now, though, his eyes having adapted well to the low-light. He's still careful to watch his steps as he works his way towards the voices. After a minute, he emerges into a large workspace in the middle of the room. Three long tables mark out a square with the fourth side left open. Electronics in various states of (dis)repair lie open on the tables, intertwined with diagnostic machinery and power supplies. A tail of ozone tickles the back of his throat, and he resists the urge to sneeze. Overhead hang a dozen large display screens, four of them tuned to different trideo channels, while the rest are text readouts of RSS feeds or matrix chatrooms or clusters of UMS iconography or more fanciful sculpted systems. Three of the screens have their volume up loud enough to be heard, and are the source of the muttering voices.

"Great," grumbles Remy, wondering just what to do next. His answer is provided by the arrival of a short, stout figure, featureless within baggy coveralls, its face obscured by a pair of illuminated magnifying goggles. The figure carries the dissected remains of a small drone, the plastic casing open to reveal a body cavity unkempt with damaged circuit boards. At first, Remy thinks he's been overlooked, until the figure speaks.

"Well don't just stand there looking lost, tell me what brings you out in this winter weather?" The voice is distinctly male, and older than Remy anticipated, a gravelly tone tinged with amused curiosity.

13:37:26, Monday, 08 January 2063 - Respawn Secondhand Electronics, 1100 Montclair Blvd Suite D, Renton, Seattle

The first two shops on the list turn out to be busts. Not only did no one there remember the young mafia soldato, neither shop had a particularly large selection of used electronics. Joslyn figures that those two facts must be related. He sat warming himself in the car, parked across the street from Respawn. He appreciated the clever twist on the name, although it didn't look like it had brought the business much success. The storefront was narrow, occupying the end of a rundown strip mall that had more vacant stores than occupants.

Andy had done a decent job of manipulating the picture Joslyn had forwarded him, picking a smoky poolhall as the background. It fit given the tough-guy images each of the faces was trying to project. He pulled it up on the flatscreen of his commlink, prepping his lie for whomever was behind the counter.

Turning up the collar on his coat, Joslyn stepped out into the cold, hurrying across the parking lot and into the cramped interior of the store. As the chime announcing his arrival died, he took a glance around. In the front, half a dozen new and refurbished computers were displayed on skeletal art deco stands that are at least a decade out of style. Various accessories hang from brackets on the walls: power sources and cables for a variety of different machines, external drives, OMC and OCC burners, graphics cards, and displays.

Two men are behind the counter that divides the store in half, engaged in what appears to be a heated game of 3CHO R3CO1L. They both look up at Joslyn before the taller one pauses the game.

"'Sup, chummer? Wicked day to be out shopping for gear. What can we help you with?"

14:15:19 Monday, 08 January 2063 - 4029 Marshall Street, Auburn, Seattle

"Looking for a guy ... umm... Jay-Dubbya .. I gots a delivery for him"
Remy does his best to look disinterested and glances absent mindedly around at the mass of electronics and cables and screens that seem to cover every possible surface. and drip down the walls in a cascade of wires and fibre optics.
In reality though, this place is as attractive to him as some of the most expensive and exclusive museums that he frequents, both legally and illicitly.
There is something inherently beautiful about a well designed and functional workspace that despite all the spares and detritus shines through to him as a technophile.

"is'sat a legit 2057 model 8 doberman ?" He asks pointing to a shell of a drone lying in pieces in a corner, most of it's innards missing or snaking out onto the floor like multicoloured intestines torn from their circuit printed organs.
Without waiting for an answer, he moves slowly around the room, making sure not to touch or move anything and keeping the newcomer within peripheral vision as he examines other relics of pre-crash electronic warfare. "And dat's a Renraku Kraftwerk-8 and .. and a Fairlight Excalibur ... dems was s'posed to be impossible to get hold of back in tha day .. sheesh" He blows a low whistle under his breath and tries to take in all the gear here.

A short impatient cough from the middle of the room drags him away from his reverie, arms crossed over his chest "delivery?" he spits out the word almost apologetically.
"oh's yeah soz, Danny sent me wiv sumthin' for JW, is he here? says only he'd know what to do wiv it!"

Standing next to the central hub of the equipment where the light is best, his hand moves to the zipper pocket and withdraws the card gently and holds the magnet out for examination.
Around them the screen displays flicker and waver with interference just from the tiny device, the sounds on the trideo screens crackle and sputter
A flash of terror crosses the other mans face as if Remy was drawing a weapon, his hands go up in front of him in alarm
"oooh noo, put it away .. put it away!.. aaaawwww nooo!" the guy cries and Remy hurries to comply, with a look of sheer panic. That done the displays and other equipment return to their normal state and the sound becomes clearer.

"awww heck it's fried the ... no, that's okay ... but aww not the ... yep that's cool .... right, fine . good!" he mutters as he races round the gear checking for any undue damage, squinting into crevices and circuits and pulling apart swathes of wires.

Remy stands stock still with his hands in his pants pockets, the weight of the forgotten pistol in his jacket bounces against the back of his hand, he looks up suddenly feeling very stupid for bringing it to a friend of his Uncles, he feels guilty and as if there's a huge neon sign over his head pointing at the weapon.

13:39:02, Monday, 08 January 2063 - Respawn Secondhand Electronics, 1100 Montclair Blvd Suite D, Renton, Seattle

Joslyn hurried the short distance from the door to the counter.

“Hoi chummers,” he replied as he reached into his coat pocket to retrieve his commlink, a worried expression on his face “I hope you can help me out.”

“Sure,” the tall one replied “What’re you lookin’ for?”

He loaded up the doctored photo on his commlink and showed it to the men, keeping a close eye on their expressions.

“My friend’s gone missing,” he told them in a concerned voice “He said he was coming here to pick something up yesterday and he never came back, he’s not picking up our calls and his kids are worried sick.” He took a deep breath, clearly shaken “Do you know if he made it here? I’m trying to retrace his steps.”

14:23:52 Monday, 08 January 2063 - 4029 Marshall Street, Auburn, Seattle

Before JW can say anything more, a bulky shadow that Remy initially mistook as another pile of electronics in a state of (dis)repair turns smoothly towards the slight human. A pair of eyes glow to life with a pale blue internal lambency, shockingly bright in the otherwise cavern-like dimness of the shop. The figure emits a grinding click, as of a drive digesting a particularly sizable piece of data. It sounds vaguely reproachful to Remy's ears, and certainly seems to have that effect on JW. Reaching up, he removes the bulky goggles, revealing a face of contrasts. His skin is pale and unblemished, but seamed with wrinkles around the eyes and the corners of his mouth. His blonde hair is hacked short, clearly self-cut, and three days' stubble fuzz his cheeks. For all that, though, there is a quick and discerning look in his eyes, the sharpness of a honed and practiced intellect. A wry smile twists his lips.

"You're right, Eight, where are my manners?" Setting the goggles down, he turns back towards Remy. "My apologies, young Rembrandt. It is, Rembrandt, isn't it? Danny has spoken of you often. Clearly this must be important if he has sent his young protoge. Let me see what you've brought."

Hesitantly, Remy fishes the card out from his pocket again and, after a moment, hands it over to JW. The slight man turns it over in his hand, fingers running across it. After a second, he retrieves his goggles from the workbench and slips them over his eyes again. A swath of LEDs illuminate across the headband, casting a brilliant cone of shadowless white light onto the card.

"Hmm, interesting," mutters JW, turning to the workbench. Idly he clears a spot to work by shoving other projects out of the way carelessly. Bits and pieces of electronics tumble to the floor. Remy sidles closer, curiosity getting the better of him. Using a pair of long handled grippers, JW peels the magnet off the card before placing it on to a thick lexan block.

Eight emits another series of electronic noises, like a drive hunting back and forth across its sectors. Remy looks over at him (it?) only to find the space where he (it?) was standing is empty. With a start, Remy realizes that he (it?) has moved silently across the workshop, and now stands at the opposite end of the workbench.

"Don't worry, my friend," JW admonishes, although he's not talking to Remy. "The network is closed down, and I have enough EMI in the air to confuse something this small. But let's take a look, shall we, and see what our friend Xade has cooked up."

He pronounces the name with the soft Oriental 'X', Shade. Remy looks back to see that JW has mounted the card into a set of remote clips, holding it long edge on to him. Taking a thin X-acto blade, he makes a careful incision along the length of the card. With another set of micro-manipulators, he carefully teases the cut open, reaching inside the card and slowly withdrawing a small, paper-thin square of black plastic.

"Well hello there, you handsome devil." JW slowly examines the chip beneath the owlish gaze of his magnifying goggles. Remy can see the light gleam from a metallic tracery on the chip, but nothing to divine its purpose or capabilities. Other than what his uncle showed him, of course. The silence stretches until Remy can't stand it any more.

"What, uh, what is it?"

JW smiles, obvious pleasure in his tone as he examines the device.

"This is emergent tech, something that the corps just started putting out. It's an RFID chip keyed to interface with the mesh network protocols that Novatech is putting out. When it's in range of a wireless node, it uses the broadcast power to ping the node with its location. That ping is picked up by another program resident in the mesh network. What is it? A very sophisticated, almost undetectable tracking device."

Eight murmurs, his (its?) voice now the spin of an optical disk drive. JW nods.

"I agree, my friend, but it doesn't belong to me." He turns to Remy, once more pushing his goggles up on his forehead. "So, my young friend, what shall we do with it?"

13:42:18, Monday, 08 January 2063 - Respawn Secondhand Electronics, 1100 Montclair Blvd Suite D, Renton, Seattle

"Aw, man, that's bad news." The man behind the counter, identified as Jake by the embroidery on his polo, leans over to look at Joslyn's commlink. He frowns in concentration.

"Hey, Dean, c'mere!"

A voice replies from the back where the other individual sits in front of the flat panel display. "There is no Dean, only LORD THANEFURL, HIGH INQUISITOR, SCOURGE OF THE OPEN LANDS!"

Jake shoots an apologetic glance towards Joslyn. "Uh, excuse me. I'll be right back."

There's a brief scuffle, a few slaps, and then a tortured cry as the computer's power is rudely interrupted. Moments later, Jake, accompanied by a ruffled and disgruntled Dean, return.

"Now, take a look and tell me if this guy matches the one who came in the other day!" instructs Jake. Dean glares at him before snatching up the commlink to look at the picture. His face transforms into one of confused recognition.

"Yeah, he was in here the other day. We didn't have what he was looking for, though, so he left after maybe ten minutes."

14:28:52 Monday, 08 January 2063 - 4029 Marshall Street, Auburn, Seattle

KILL IT ! KILL IT WIV' FIRE .. are the first words that spring to mind for Remy, but then he figures that would be a missed opportunity, if only one to get another look at the pretty lady and maybe try and be a bit cooler this time around.

"I ... Ummm, is it possible to follow da ..umm .. da ping? but not get tracked back here cause I finks dat would be bad!" he asks, still trying to keep an eye on the sneaky form that accompanies JW around the place.
He scratches his head while pondering the situation, not actually knowing what he wants to get from this Shade person or how it applies to him and Danny.
"I wants to find out who she is and who she works for ya know, wivout just callings her up!" he explains the situation to JW, from the sudden appearance of this character, asking questions about five unknown guys, to his Uncle sending him on this trip out of town.
"A Girl you say!" JW exclaims with a knowing wink and a smile at Remy, "Now you're talkin'... you happen to have a copy of that image young fella?"

Remy pats his pockets as if checking for a physical copy of the photo, absently, his hand once more brushes the lump of the pistol under the leather and he jerks his hand away "Nopes!" he cries holding one hand with the other as if it was burnt "Hey, you have a SimSynth wiv a datajack though ? I gots a good look at it and my SimRig maybe has good resolution look... what ya fink?"
Excited that he might have gotten something useful he looks expectantly at JW then remembering that he spent a long time examining other things while Xade was in the shop, he contemplates retracting his statement, but for the other thought, Frag it! I atleast gets to see her again anyways.

"and if it goes worng we can always stick the tracker onna cat in the barrens and watch da lady chasing it rounds!" He laughs.

13:45:54, Monday, 08 January 2063 - Respawn Secondhand Electronics, 1100 Montclair Blvd Suite D, Renton, Seattle

Joslyn nods, faking a look of faint relief

"Did he mention where he was going to look next?" he asks Dean "And was he with anyone? I think his commlink's off..." he trails off and and angry expression flashes across his face "Drek! If he's left his kids to go drinking with those Orks again..." he trails off and looks back to the shopkeepers with a forced grin "Sorry fellas, it's been a long day."

14:31:17 Monday, 08 January 2063 - 4029 Marshall Street, Auburn, Seattle

"I'm afraid neither one of those courses of action will help us," says JW with a shake of his head. Eight concurs with a series of electronic burrs.

"The RFID chip only functions reliably in areas covered by the mesh network, which right now is only parts of Downtown and Bellvue. And the ping is most likely routing to an anonymous dropbox that Xade can access from anywhere on the Matrix. We'd have to sit on the host and try and catch her checking in. And hope she doesn't see us waiting for her. No, she's a smart girl, this Xade. Operator smart. With access to cutting edge tech."

JW drops the RFID chip onto the same block of lexan holding the rare earth magnet, tapping the end of his manipulators on the workbench thoughtfully. Eight shifts to the side, a deliberate motion that prompts JW to action. The slight human glances at his larger companion before rummaging through the drawers mounted beneath the shelves on the workbench. Finding what he was looking for, he uncoils a meter long length of cable. At one end is a standard optical data plug. At the other is a flat circular piece of plastic similar to the horn of a stethoscope. Plugging the one end into the tower at the end of the workbench, he turns to Remy.

"Of course. Let me see what you have, young Rembrandt."

Remy obediently turns to the side, waiting while JW slides the induction plate over the skin at the base of his skull, searching for the optimum output location. The LEDs on the back of the plate glow amber, then green as he locates the spot. The computer gurgles to itself as it copies the sense recordings from Remy's implanted simrig. Immediately one of the display screens clears, going to a passive gray before rezzing in with the visual component of the recording. The recording jerks ahead spastically, the time stamp in the upper left corner spinning forward in five minute increments. Remy frowns, then blinks in surprise when he realizes that it's Eight who's manipulating the data.

It takes only a minute for them to arrive at the correct moment, and Remy is absurdly grateful that no audio component is being included. He tries to keep the flush from his face as he remembers his clumsy interaction with the beautiful woman now pictured on the screen. The image that Eight has settled on is from very early in the conversation, when she first threw back her hood to reveal her face. Remy distinctly remembers staring for a few seconds, and that steady gaze has rewarded all three of them with an excellent shot of Xade. After a moment, though, Eight digitally highlights the woman's taller companion, throwing up a sidebar of data. Remy squints, trying to make out the meaning behind the series of abbreviations and serial numbers.

"Are you sure?" asks JW, concern in his voice and tension in his frame. Eight nods silently, the only time that Remy can remember him (it?) making a physical gesture.

"Well, well, well. The plot thickens."

"What?" asks Remy, craning his head to get a better look.

"It seems your lady friend runs with interesting company. Eight believes that the man behind her is Noland. A mercenary runner with a lethal reputation. Highly capable. And highly modified. He worked with Eight a year, no two years ago, right?"

Eight grumbles an affirmative. JW nods absently. He turns to Remy, coiling the cable of the induction jack he'd used and placing it on the workbench. Rubbing his hands together, he finally fixes the young ork with a straight gaze.

"My advice, young Rembrandt? Go home to your uncle. Give him my regards. Forget about this woman, her business card, and everything else you've learned here today. If you walk any further down this path, I'm afraid there will be no turning back."

13:46:42, Monday, 08 January 2063 - Respawn Secondhand Electronics, 1100 Montclair Blvd Suite D, Renton, Seattle

"Naw, he didn't say," replies Dean. "He was looking for odd stuff, though, couldn't help him. I suggested one of the swap meets down in Redmond. None of the stores I know are gonna stock old liquid cooling units anymore. Those things are way obsolete."

Jake nods in agreement, passing the commlink back to Joslyn with a look of apology.

"Sorry we couldn't be of anymore help, friend. I hope you find your friend and he's ok."

14:32:17 Monday, 08 January 2063 - 4029 Marshall Street, Auburn, Seattle

This cannot be the end of it! Remy's head spins in confusion now as he tries to come to terms with the fact that this is beyond his reach.
"Ummm Fanks JW, and yous Eight!" He looks at them both glumly with his hands dangling loosely by his sides and he looks once again like a lost child rather than a mature (for an Ork) adult,
who has had his toys removed for being naughty. "so you's don't know the guys in dat photo she had either then ?" he enquires,
chancing his luck at another loose thread before abandoning all hope.
urging Eight to fast forward the still replaying SimSense on the holo in front of them. and taking the opportunity to palm the contact card without chip, and deposit it in his pocket.

13:47:01 Monday, 08 January 2063 - Respawn Secondhand Electronics, 1100 Montclair Blvd Suite D, Renton, Seattle

Joslyn shakes his head

"Well thanks a lot guys, at least I know he came this way...sorry to interrupt your game."

Looking dejected, he takes back his commlink and heads back to his car, struggling to type a message as the bitter wind whips his coat into a frenzy of motion.

Hey Andy, add an old liquid cooling system to our guy's shopping list, any idea what he'd need that for?

Joslyn Warms himself in the car for a moment as he considers what he's learned.

Untraceable electronics that need special cooling? Sounds like someone had a fun project in the works.

Starting up the Spiral, he heads to the next pawn shop on the list.

14:33:42 Monday, 08 January 2063 - 4029 Marshall Street, Auburn, Seattle

In response to Remy's query, Eight spools ahead on the recorded memory until the image steadies on the holographic pictures of the five men. JW squints at the screen, his brow furrowed.

"No, none of them look particularly familiar. Eight?"

JW's companion replies with a buzzing negative. JW turns back to Remy.

"Sorry, my young friend."

He gestures to Eight, who drops the feed from the display, returning it to its previous UMS iconography. The slim human pulls off his goggles, dropping them onto the workbench and running a tired hand through his thinning hair. After a moment he favors Remy with a smile.

"Some days you feel the years, others you feel the years and the kilometers. Anyway, what would you like me to do with that chip?"

14:10:53 Monday, 08 January 2063 - 24/7 Pawn Star, 3035 W 140th St, Renton, Seattle

Although in the same section of Seattle, it takes Joslyn a frustrating twenty five minutes to find the next pawn shop. Mostly due to the weather, the snowy streets having caused an accident that snarled traffic on the quickest route to the store. By the time his nav system had him rerouted on surface streets the better part of half an hour had elapsed.

Finally he pulled into the parking lot behind the store, pausing with the motor running in the sports car to check his commlink. Andy had replied to his message while he was driving.

Liquid cooling? No one uses those systems anymore. They're not worth the pain, optical circuitry runs so much cooler than the old silicon based stuff.

Which answered Joslyn's question, without saying much at all. With a sigh, he killed the Ford's motor, once more pulling his coat tight around him to ward off the wind. Heading across the parking lot he was hit with a particularly vicious blast of wind and snow, though, and he pauses to glance skyward. It seemed the weather was getting a little worse.

A series of metal bells jangle discordantly as Joslyn steps inside the shop, letting the door close behind him. The store is larger than the previous, but much drearier. Glass display cases line both walls, displaying a haphazard assortment of valuables sold for quick cash, never to be reclaimed. Musical instruments hang from racks high on the walls, while a brace of power tools cluster in the corner. The whole shop gives off an aura of desperation and abandoned dreams.

In back, behind the counter, sits an overweight middle-aged man. He doesn't look up as Joslyn enters, his attention solely focused on the glossy magazine of hardcore pornography lying open on the counter.

14:37:12 Monday, 08 January 2063 - 4029 Marshall Street, Auburn, Seattle

"Fanks again JW, is okay, Uncah Danny keeps telling me I shuddn't go looking for excitement, cuz it finds me enuff!" Remy smiles with a gleam in his eye at the other persons in the room.
He begins the process of dressing for the weather outside and strapping the helmet back on.
"Ummm, I dun' s'pose dat fing has a corp logo or serial number onnit ?" He asks off-handedly.. then continues without waiting for the answer
" ... I finks I'll take it ..and the magnet wiv' me .. mebbe my boys can has some fun makin' Noland run rounds chasin shadows wiv it!"

Now waiting for JW to respond before dropping his visor over his face and stepping out of the electronics wonderland and back into the harsh reality of Seattle winter streets to head back to the shop.
He can't quite grasp the image of Danny, JW, Eight and this Noland guy all being connected somehow, but doesn't want to push his luck after they have been so helpful and welcoming to him.

14:14:15 Monday, 08 January 2063 - 24/7 Pawn Star, 3035 W 140th St, Renton, Seattle

'Frag, what a dump' Joslyn thinks to himself as he glances over the shop 'Different approach for this guy I think.'

Joslyn pulls out his commlink and loads up the mugshot of Romano that Sergio had given him, then strides across to the counter with a purpose. Determination and a hint of anger on his face.

"Hoi chummer!" he puts a hand down hard on the counter, shocking the shopkeep into paying attention "I've been told a man came in here yesterday looking for some weird stuff, old electronics and the like."

He holds out the picture for the overweight man to see

"Man owes me money. A lot. You know anything useful and he's worth some cred to you too."

15:04:47 Monday, 08 January 2063 - Danny's Pawn and Loan, 15710 SE Newport Way, Bellevue, Seattle

Almost two hours after he left, Remy finds himself back in the back room of his uncle's pawnshop. The ride back from JW's place had taken only half the time, it being easier to find his way somewhere familiar during the snowbound conditions rather than someplace as new and remote as the strange electronic cave that JW and Eight lived in. The whole episode seemed strange and surreal, and if it weren't for the pale white calling card that he turned over in his hand, Remy might believe the whole thing was a hallucination.

The RFID chip sat high on the shelf over his workbench, still attached to its magnet, out of the way and neutralized as far as Remy knew. It, too, held a certain amount of fascination, a high-tech talisman left behind by the enigmatic woman Xade and her companion Noland, the quiet ork which caused JW and Eight such consternation. Remy twisted idly back and forth in his seat, his fingers flipping the card over and over, his mind crunching on the days events.

After a few minutes, though, he puffs out a long sigh and sets the card aside. There would be time enough to wonder about the uniqueness of the day, after he finished reassembling the VCR.

14:16:23 Monday, 08 January 2063 - 24/7 Pawn Star, 3035 W 140th St, Renton, Seattle

The shop keeper glances up angrily at the interruption, piggish eyes staring out from a greasy, unshaven face.

"No need to shout, chummer, I heard ya come in."

He glances briefly at the picture displayed on Joslyn's commlink before looking back up.

"How much cred is it worth to you?"

14:17:20 Monday, 08 January 2063 - 24/7 Pawn Star, 3035 W 140th St, Renton, Seattle

"You saw him then?" Joslyn asks, leaning closer "If you got any video of the guy I'll take it for 200 cred, if not, you tell me what he came in for, what time and who he was with and I'll throw 100 your way."

He lets the man consider the offer for a moment before continuing "It's a good deal for a few minutes of your time, what's it to be chummer? I've got places to be."

14:18:13 Monday, 08 January 2063 - 24/7 Pawn Star, 3035 W 140th St, Renton, Seattle

The shop keeper picks his porn glossy back up.

"Can't say for anything less than four hundred, chummer."

15:14:07 Monday, 08 January 2063 - Danny's Pawn and Loan, 15710 SE Newport Way, Bellevue, Seattle

"Awww Frag it! oww ...hows in tha frag did 'dey build dese fings so badly... aaahh hah dere ! Dat's got it ! ... No, Owww!"
The ancient Vehicle Control Rig has more than a few Gremlins on board and they constantly fight Remy at every step of the repair, occasionally biting too.

Trodes that have had an application of some kind of pre nano-paste Super-Glue that nearly rips skin from flesh, components that were soldered onto circuit boards with industrial sized welds and some extra sharp nails thrown in to the mix for good measure and capacitors that hold an annoyingly painful amount of charge despite being drained and left to discharge for hours.
"Owww, Frag it some more !... is that blood ? .. Fraggit now I's bleedin all ovva da shop"

The cries of pain from minor injuries and muttered curses distract Danny from his business on the opposite side of the room but he keeps his head down and continues with a wry smile.
He knows Remy is actually enjoying himself and that the afternoon will fly by, despite the chore of having to deliver the goods to Mrs. Akira when he leaves this evening. Danny awards himself another hidden smile, satisfied he has left Remy in good hands when he is not around to watch him, the tiny asian lady has been around so long and seen so much he knows there ain't a Troll big and hard enough to try and take her on to get at his 'Nephew'.

Out front, the electronic buzzer begins it's teeth jarring noise as the door opens, allowing in another bitter draft of Seattle winter accompanied by a gentleman of diminuitive stature.
Closing the door with the heel of his boot, his arms occupied with the business of carrying a large item wrapped in several black plastic static-proof bags, he walks in.
Stumbling under the weight and awkward nature of the item, he barely makes it to the counter, then, using the Meta-Step™ height adjuster,
which looks distinctly like a plastic step someone might use for some form of aerobic exercise, despite the salesmans audible concern and protestations to the contrary,
to bring himself to a level above the counter top, where he places the object with some care and gives a muffled *Ahem!* to anyone who might hear ... in a ten mile radius.

Remy, Keeping his head down and suddenly concentrating more than he has to on one aspect of the VCR in an attempt to look unavailable, is horrified to hear his uncle say "Customer in, Kid!"
He pokes his head up from the carcass of the machine, with his jaw dropped slack and trying on his best, most practised, shocked and horrifed I is very busy don't you know ! look towards Danny,
who has gone back to the terminal and is currently dialling up another contact, completely oblivious to Remy's feigned injured dignity.
With the look both wasted and ineffectual, Remy extracts himself from the workbench, ripping the trodes free in mock anger,"Gnnnnhhh!......owwww!" he winces in agony as several hairs and he thinks about five layers of his skin come free before the glue relinquishes it's grasp. He pushes back in his chair the one jammed wheel of the five grating on the tiled floor noisily Bah! the guy's a fraggin' Ninja, there ain't no emotion left in 'im! he grumbles silently and clumps sulkily to see the newcomer.

If the front desk had a small brass bell, like in so many old Trids, then this guy would be pressing it's little metallic chime to point of irritation, that's one blessing Remy muses as he steps forward to greet the guy "Af'ernoon sir, welcomes to Danny's Pawn......" He get's halfway through the usual introduction before being cut off
"Yeah, yeah Kid, whatever, I know where the frag I am otherwise I would'nae come in tha door now would I !?" the statement catches Remy off guard a moment " ....And Loan, How may I HELP you?" He finishes through gritted teeth glaring slightly but not enough to scare off a potential client, even if he is a shortarse.

"Look, Chummer, I carried this blasted piece o' nonsense three blocks through tha' damn slush to get here in one piece, I'm told you give me a fair price, see! so here I am an' I ain't leavin' til I gets me a fair price, how's that scan kid?!" the Dwarf, obviously stood on tip toes so he can reach to plant his hands on the counter to lean forward enough to glower into Remy's face I fink he might acshually be off da ground alltogevva! He smirks to himself trying very hard not to look down at the dangling feet below the glass.
"Yes, Sir we's offering da best prices 'dis side of Bellevue," he says proudly and mostly honestly "But umm... what is it .. exactly ?!"

The Dwarf looks at him like he's some form of retarded child with facial defects or just a simpleminded insect that crawled out from under a rock
"Whaaa ... What is IT!?" he asks going a mild crimson colour and almost falling back off the Meta-Step™ foot stool .. Height Adjuster
"Well ...ummm.. it's a ... it's aaaa ...well.." He calms down somewhat and begins to unwrap it from the anti-static covering "How's about .. you tell me, kid !"
With that he removes the covering with a flourish and a deep indrawn breath of faux shock.

"Tadddaaaaa!"