22:01:41 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

Gunfire snaps in the night, muzzle flashes reflecting brightly off the blowing snow. The submachineguns are caseless and suppressed, their three round bursts nothing more than a sharp rattle. Louder reports sound from the rear of the building, and a bullet whines peevishly overhead.

"Threat axis 110! We'll cover you. Move!" Radian has his weapon butted against his shoulder, turning to shout at Tony before facing the oncoming hostile force. The engine growl from the Ares Roadmaster parked next to the Workhorse deepens, and somewhere outside the heavy hammer of an automatic weapon opens up.

09:05:26 Monday 08 January 2063 – I450, Highway 520 Interchange

Minutes later Max was speeding along the I450. Luckily traffic heading into the barrens is light and by the time he turns his midnight blue Westwind onto Highway 520 towards Touristville he has a majority of the road to himself. Max pulls off the 520 at the NE. 24th Street Exit and heads east.

09:10:18 Monday 08 January 2063 – Redmond - Touristville - The Respite Soup Kitchen on the corner of NE 24th Street and 156th Ave NE

Located one block from the old Eastside Hospital and two blocks from the old Microdeck Campus, The Respite soup kitchen does a brisk business. There is no shortage of sinless and hungry, even in the Touristville district of Redmond.

Max parks his Westwind in a side alley next to The Respite and exits the vehicle, his foot splashing in a large puddle left over from last evenings storm. The rainbow hue of oily asphalt mixed with a toxic green swirl of astral warping was almost nauseating to look at. It wasn’t always easy for him here. The astral haze of despair and desperation usually gave him a splitting headache, but his headache was a minor inconvienience compared to the problems that the SINless that visited the Respite on a daily bases faced everyday.

Pushing away the pain in his head, Max reaches out to the presence that he knows is lurking nearby.

“I know your there Gloom. I could use your help if you don’t mind.”

The shadowy figure of an old homeless man, seems to materialize from behind a dumpster farther down the alley. As he approaches it is readily apparent that there is something very different about this old timer. His clothes were not out of the ordinary for a homeless man they consist of a mish-mash of rags and thrown away clothing. A long patchwork coat covers his slouching shoulders. I was his face that is odd. His skin looks like cracked asphalt and his eyes are the color of the oily puddle Max had just stepped in. His long white hair, beard and mustache are wisps of smoke, like the steam that issued forth from a sewer manhole on a cold morning.

“That you Professor?” The spirits voice, much deeper than the voice of a man the age it appeared, rumbles dully, like the sound of a big rig passing under your window at night.

“It’s me Gloom. How have you been lately?” Max replied.

“Couldn’t be any worse,” Gloom replied. Max could almost swear he saw the hint of a smile tug at the ever-present frown on Gloom's lips.

22:02:01 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

Tony gets in the truck, ducking at the high whining sound of another heavy caliber round passing close overhead. Starting the truck up and hitting the Auto-Down on the driver's side window, Tony slinkes low in the seat. Keeping the lights off, he eases the truck out onto Van Medter, turning right as soon as he gets to the street. Staying low in the seat, driving with one hand and holding the Browning ready in his left, Tony thinks to himself Snow on the road. Don't accelerate too fast or break too quickly, and I may just make it out of this. Of course, one stray round to the tire would just ruin my day, noticing the thudding/tearing sound of automatic weapons increasing in frequency.

09:10:28 Monday 08 January 2063 – Redmond - Touristville - The Respite Soup Kitchen on the corner of NE 24th Street and 156th Ave NE

"Actually," Gloom's frown deepens. "Things could get a lot worse, very quickly Professor. I suggest you do the right thing immediately."

"What's that Gloom?" Max asks, puzzled.

'Disappearing' back into the alley, Gloom whispers as he fades away, "Get the hell under cover."

In the wake of the spirit's hasty exit, Max senses only impending violence in the air...but to whom? And where?

1305 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS


After an hour's work, Marquis hears a horn sound from out front. Standing outside is a commercial courier with a meter and a half long circular plastic shipping tube.

"Hey, delivery for the auto shop. Need your John Hancock right here." He offers the portable datapad.

22:07:44 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

As the battle in the streets of the Barrens fades behind him, Tony relaxes minutely. Embraced by the streetlights and traffic of Seattle proper, he feels marginally safer. But the questions remain, who is Radian working for? Why would they fight to defend it? It must be valuable to someone, because they sent someone willing to kill to get it back.

1307 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Marquis grabs a rag and wipes away some of the grease before jogging out to the truck. He grabs the pad, scribbles some illegible lines, circles and dots, then thanks the man for the package.

Returning to the shop he tears open one end to take a look inside.

13:07:50 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

The barrel revealed is massive, a full 115 cm of hammer forged chrome-moly steel. The upper receiver appears to be machined from a single billet of high strength aluminum, reinforced with titanium inserts along the breech. The bolt carrier group has been removed from the weapon. The end of the barrel features a horizontal tubular flash suppressor and muzzle brake. The serial numbers on all of the weapon parts have been abraded off, then re-etched to eliminate the possibility of acid reconstruction.

22:08:15 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

Hitting the auto up on the window and putting the gun away, Tony takes a second to come up with a plan. I need a place to stash this truck and take a look at the “food” in the back. I need bigger guns. And I need to find out who Scarface and his friends were back there, and why people are trying to kill him, and now me. And I need a fraggin drink!.

Pulling out his psec, he calls Zeyda’s drop. “Its Tony. We need to talk omae, like right now”. Hanging up and calling Sam. “It’s Tony. Get me a double-shot of the good stuff and a coffee. And ask Rebecca if she knows of anyone she can trust with a garage. I'll be there in about 20 to 30 minutes. ”

Hanging up, Tony sits more upright in the truck,cranks up the heater, and heads for his apartment for some more guns, the wind buffetting the truck as it continues on the snowy road.

22:22:31 Monday 8 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Seattle, UCAS

As Tony pulls up in the alleyway behind his apartment, his P-sec vibrates with an incoming call. Zeyda doesn't pass a visual component on his transmissions, but the caller ID checks good.

"Hey, what's up?"

22:22:45 Monday 8 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Seattle, UCAS


"What's up is that I'm driving a truck full of God knows what coming from a minor military action in the Barrens that didn't have a damn thing to do with bodyguarding anybody." Tony said, letting a little of his frustration through. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he continued, "What I need to know is what exactly the job presented to you was, who it was presented by, and what you know about them. 'Cause they probably lied or at least misrepresented themselves to you, and I don't think you'd like that at all."

OOC:Edited to change location to match what's actually occuring

07:05:40 Monday 08 January 2063 - Unit 303, Winlock Apartment Complex, Tacoma, Seattle, UCAS

The faint electronic noises and rhythmic clicking penetrated to the depths of James' dreamless sleep, pulling him relentlessly to wakefulness. Grumbling, he pulled the covers over his head. It was cold in his apartment, colder than it had been last night, and the light peeking through the window was dim and gray. It was strangely quiet, the usual snarl of traffic through the streets outside absent. All he could hear was the window shuddering beneath the fist of wind and snow, and the odd electronic beeps. Did I leave the trid on last night? With a sigh, James reached out from beneath the blanket, fumbling for his sweatshirt and hat. His glasses were on the bedside table, he scooped them up as he made his way towards the front room. His breath plumed in the chill air, and he rubbed his hands together. His plans for a warm breakfast came to a screeching halt, though, as he finally cleared his eyes of sleep. Sitting on the floor in front of his trid screen, playing his hacked copy of Midnight: Runner was Carmen. She paused the game, turning to look over her shoulder as he stumbled into the room. She gave him a coquettish smile.

"Morning, Eyes. You're out of OJ. Don't make any plans for tonight, you're taking me to see Speed Coma at Bluefish."

22:23:17 Monday 8 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Seattle, UCAS

"I told you to walk soft. If you didn't trust it, why didn't you bail? Anyway, stand by, let me check my notes. Meeting was virtual, took place yesterday, Johnson was someone I'd heard was ok to work for. Nothing special about him, paid well, reasonably trustworthy. Let's see, he said he needed one, maybe two runners to guard a couple of bodies for no more than forty eight hours. Probably more like twenty four, but just to be on the safe side to have them available for the full two days. 3K pay, all in. Are you rolling hot? Do you need backup?" Zeyda's voice drops to avoid the casual listener, but Tony can tell he's deadly serious.

1430 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

After finishing up some work with Chavez, Marq gets to work on the barrel. First thing, he using the machine saw to cut the nearly four foot long barrel into six eight inch pieces. A large bore hand drill is used on the smaller sections to tear up the rifling inside the barrel, just in case someone is good at jigsaw puzzles and has a lot of free time. After all the six sections have been stripped of their innards, Marquis finishes cutting them down to a series of one inch to two inch rings.

The finished product does not resemble a high powered gun barrel what so ever, but just in case, the mechanic rubs them down with some grease, and drops in some old motor oil to soak, and age.

Returning to the front of the garage, where Chavez has that old Brumby purring like a kitten. "Beautiful!" Chavez looks up from looking down on the engine. "Now it just needs some body work."

"Its a strong engine, everything seems right, but the timing sounds a bit off. I should have it ready to roll shortly though. You want to grab a beer after that?"

"Sounds good. How about that place up the street, where their non-soy selection is more than a half a page."

22:23:38 Monday 8 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Seattle, UCAS

Virtual meet. The wonders of modern technology. Tony thought to himself.

To Zeyda“I didn’t bail because of the 4 guys with submachine guns that were with with the Johnson.” Tony said. “I’m actually lucky that I got there early. The bad guys showed up when I was supposed to." and I hope that fraggin cabbie didn't bother to hang around "They may have been lucky, but I’m paranoid enough to think that coincidences don’t happen. No, not rolling hot that I know of. Don’t need any backup now that I know what I’m up against, but I will need a garage to stash this truck. I’ve got a friend looking, but I don’t know if they’ll come up with anything useful.”

22:23:38 Monday 8 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Seattle, UCAS

"Really? They threatened you? That's unprofessional. Anyway, I've got a place where you can park something that won't raise any eyebrows. Drive to SeaTac and park in Satellite Lot 4. It's part of the long term parking cluster. Tell the attendent that you're looking for spot 17 alpha. He'll know what you're talking about."

09:10:58 Monday 08 January 2063 – Redmond - Touristville - The Respite Soup Kitchen on the corner of NE 24th Street and 156th Ave NE

Gloom’s hasty exit catches Max off guard and with dread, a thought springs to mind…

‘Idiot! Who goes to the barrens and forgets to wear their body armor? I guess that would be me.’

Max thumbs the security button on his keychain, activating the tire guards, auto-deflate and electro-shock defenses on his Westwind and quickly exits the alley.

‘I need to make sure Keira and her people are safe and get out of the open until whatever this is blows over,’ but the closer Max gets to the front door of The Respite the worse his feeling of impending doom.

09:12:18 Monday 08 January 2063 – Redmond - Touristville - The Respite Soup Kitchen on the corner of NE 24th Street and 156th Ave NE

Despite his feelings of danger, Max neither hears, sees, nor senses anything out of the ordinary as he hurries to the soup kitchen. Maybe Gloom is just being his usual paranoid, gloomy self. After all, he is a spirit of these streets, and they aren't exactly what I'd call condusive to garnering trust in mankind. Maybe everything is just fine. Yeah, that's it. Everything seems normal around here. Everything is just peachy...

Max's attempts at self-reassurance come to a halt as he arrives at The Respite a few minutes later. Well, do I just walk in like everything is normal, or should I check around first? he thinks as a sudden rush of paranoia comes flooding back as he stands before the cold, grey door of the Soup Kitchen. Meanwhile, the snow picks up, swirling around him and obscuring his vision. A howl of wind cuts through the street, chilling him to the bone. Yeah, if something bad did go down, this weather is just fragging perfect for that kind of thing...

09:12:50 Monday 08 January 2063 – Redmond - Touristville - The Respite Soup Kitchen on the corner of NE 24th Street and 156th Ave NE

Max reaches out towards the door, but stops just short of touching the handle.

‘Maybe I should check this out first.’

Focusing hard against the haze of magic covering the area Max searches for any loose strands of mana to weave for his spell.

22:23:38 Monday 8 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Seattle, UCAS

"More of an implied threat than a spoken one. Thanks for parking spot. Watch your back, omae, cause if they knew about the meet, then they might know who you are. You see a guy with a lot of scars on his face, run in the opposite direction" Tony says, ending the call and getting out of the truck. Time to bring out the heavy artillery and a medkit. The bad guys didn't mind going full auto.

07:10:20 Monday 08 January 2063 - Unit 303, Winlock Apartment Complex, Tacoma, Seattle, UCAS

"Ran?" James blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus. Decidedly unsurprised at Carmen showing up at seven in the morning, he glanced at the front door, confirming that it was indeed still locked, both the cheap maglock the landlord had installed and the slightly better one he had put in himself. "You know, Ran, you don't have to hack my front door every time you want to drop by. I do have a phone, remember?" For a moment James tried to straighten one of the many piles of electronic junk into something more company-acceptable, but quickly gave up the effort as useless.

Carmen's grin widened into a smirk. "Cheh, it's more fun to let myself in. Oh, and you don't have any cereal either."

James grinned back. "That's because I'm broke right now, and the very idea of soy-based cereal had to have come from the eleventh circle of hell. I'll scramble us some eggs in a sec, or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof." Sliding around Carmen, James stopped for a second and tapped a few keystrokes on a nearby computer.

The screen flickered to life, showing the digital features of Jane, James's search agent program. "Up a little early, aren't we Eyes?" Jane 'spoke' through the computer speaker, a pixellated eyebrow upraised.

From her seat near the trid, Carmen turned her head and said, "Morning, Jane." The computer's mike must have picked up her voice, because Jane replied to her, "Morning Ran. Guess that explains why the Eyes are open this early." In a slightly lower voice that still managed to reach accross the room, Jane 'whispered', "You know, you've got to stop shacking up with the teenagers, Eyes; you're gonna ruin your reputation."

Doing his best not to laugh, James finished keying up the commands for Jane to gather some news reports and check his messages, paying particular attention to anything from Zeyda, for whom he had left a message the previous evening. "Oh get going," he chided the digital woman, who immediately disappeared into the ether of the Matrix leaving her grin behind in the way only magical cats and women can, and turned back to the giggling meatspace one next to him. "Villians. Mutineers, all of you," he muttered in a voice that tried--and failed miserably--to sound offended, and stumbled off to his tiny apartment kitchen to start on breakfast.

James's eyes narrowed mischievously. "So, Speed Coma. That a new trid movie or something?"
Carmen snorted. "It's a band, trog-brain. We went to see them play like a month ago, remember?"
"Ugh, yes, as much as I want to forget. Well they can't be as popular as they were last time, can they? Please?"
"Wow, you really do need do get out more. And when I say that, keep in mind who I live with."
James chuckled, as he loaded the coffee maker with soykaf extract and a very small amount of his last bag of real coffee. At least hanging out with a good friend somewhat offset the prospect of, you know, actually having to go Out There. But not by much.

10:15:12 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Wandering around the apartment couldn't break Todd out of the mobius loop of his reasoning surrounding the troll. His equation still had too many variables and not enough known values. It was time to try another approach.

Leaving the mystery chip slotted into his desktop, he clipped the cable into his datajack, closed his eyes, and stepped into the reality of the matrix. Before him, in the unsculpted world of his desktop, the datachip was a sphere of shifting quicksilver arc segments. Todd looked closely at the construct, realizing that not only were there three layers of moving pieces, the segments themselves were slowly changing shape. Whoa, I've never seen encryption like this before. Reaching out slowly, he tapped two different pieces, watching as they froze in place momentarily, causing the shifting pattern around them to distort as well as flouresce a bright blue. After a delay of several seconds, the pieces resumed their normal speed and pattern. This time Todd touched the same two places, followed quickly by a third. Again, the pieces froze, the patterns shifted, this time a space irised open, allowing him to view the second layer of segments, but the orb flouresced a nasty brown-red color. Todd frowned for a minute, then gasped in astonishment. It's encryption designed to defeat automatic decryption methods! It has to be broken by a person because an algorithm doesn't understand what looks 'good' and what looks 'bad'. I've never seen anything like it before in my life. It must have cost hella much to develop, not to mention code. Fascinated, Todd calls up a series of windows to take notes in and goes to work.

Five hours pass before he can get the second layer of segments to open. It goes a little quicker once he begins to understand the relationships between the patterns of the pieces and their shapes. But reaching the third level changes all the rules. These segments move in the opposite direction, and change into different shapes than the first two layers. Todd spends three more hours in a futile attempt to open the third layer before he understands that he has to begin again from the first layer in order to reach a different aspect of the third layer to open it successfully. Thirteen hours after he first began, he finally defeats the encryption on the datachip. Touching the last sequence on the third layer, he's rewarded with a soft golden glow suffusing the construct. The sphere begins to collapse in on itself, segments cascading to the ground. They grow into a semi-circle of rough stone benches, centered around a circle of stones and firewood. On the benches sit three icons.

The first is a Roman legionnaire, dressed in the traditional lorica segmentata, greaves, and hobnails. His horsehair plumed helm rests on the bench next to him, while two pilum are leaned against it.

Second is a WWII Marine infantry corporal, wearing the P1941 Herring Bone Twill cotton field utilities. His M1 combat helmet and field cap are sitting on the bench next to him, but he still wears his web gear and cartridge belt. He holds the issued field cup that came with his canteen in both hands, but his M1 Garand rifle is close at hand.

Last is some kind of futuristic battlesuit, a fully enclosed set of armor with power assist servos mounted on the joints. It mounts a bulky backpack with powercells and environmental control modules. A breakaway four-tube missile launcher is mounted over its left shoulder, while a belt fed weapon is strapped to its right forearm.

All three figures look up at Todd, but its the Legionnaire who speaks.

"We've been waiting for you. Why don't you start the fire and we can begin?" He gestures to the firewood piled in the center of the benches.

07:30:18 Monday 08 January 2063 - Unit 303, Winlock Apartment Complex, Tacoma, Seattle, UCAS

Halfway through a breakfast of scrambled eggs with ham, toast, and coffee, Jane returns. She puts the flag up on her desk to signify completion of her morning tasks, then retreats to the overstuffed leather chair behind the desk to pick up where she left off in Crime and Punishment.

"...and when Zuu went in, it was just like Short Round said, only this time they'd done the whole thing in purple polka dots! So we trashed their MSP account, sold off all their BW2 gear and characters, then donated the profits to the Young Troll Republicans." Ran managed, somehow, to keep up a never-ending dialogue about her tribe's exploits while at the same time shoveling an amazing amount of food into her mouth. She downed her orange juice in two long gulps before smiling at James.

"Thanks for cooking. I gotta run, but I'll be by at seven. Show's at eight. Wear black. Bye, Jane!" The last is called over her shoulder as the door closes behind her.

"Bye, Ran, thanks for stopping by. Come again soon, don't be a stranger, my poor Eyes needs all the socialization he can get. Although don't think for a moment that I don't know what's going on behind those innocent doe-eyes of yours. I'm wise to your ways, you hussy...."

"Jane!" James was beginning to regret making her persona female. "Shut it off and just tell me what you've got."

"Fine, fine. I've got all your messages collated here, the newsnet reports are indexed according to your preferences, and Zeyda left a message for you. He says if you're not busy to stop by Miner's Landing tonight around eighteen hundred. Possibility of work."

09:12:50 Monday 08 January 2063 – Redmond - Touristville - The Respite Soup Kitchen on the corner of NE 24th Street and 156th Ave NE

Opening his senses to the world around him, Max tries to locate anything unusual in the vicinity. However, it appears that despite Gloom's warnings and his own feeling of dread, everything appears normal within the soup kitchen.

The usual morning murmur of the homeless and downtrodden dragging themselves in from their latest hangover or binge, and the volunteers' always industrious work and cheerful smiles are the only things that he can detect, even with the heightened senses provided by his spell.

Perhaps I am just being paranoid, too long living in the shadows. Sometimes things are just normal... muses Max.

22:28:38 Monday 8 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Seattle, UCAS

Taking a good look around, Tony walks quickly out of the apartment building, with a duffle bag containing his Semopal and MP5 both loaded with real ammo. These guys don’t seem like they’re packing gel rounds spare clips for each, his sword, and a medkit, Tony tosses the bag into the passenger floorboard of the truck. Hopefully, Sam put my drink order in. Tony thinks to himself as he pulls off toward the bar.

22:36:44 Monday 8 January 2063 – The Unbottled Spirit, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS

The Unbottled Spirit is bigger than it looks. The bar takes up 3 storefronts, with the door on the leftmost area. Rebecca, the owner, in some sort of practical joke on potential customers and already drunk returning ones, had left the other two storefronts intact, just putting curtains over the doors and windows and leaving the original awnings and signs over the storefronts. I always have wondered how many people try to get in that old computer shop during the day Tony thought to himself as he walked in the main door out of the freezing wind and got assaulted by a wailing guitar rift from the neo-soul band he had heard earlier on Sam’s phone.

Raz, an Ork bouncer that handled the door when a band was in, immediedly came over. “Hey Tony, Sam’s waiting for you over by the far side of the bar. Rebecca had to take care of something else, but she told me to tell you that she couldn’t find what you were looking for, to call her for anything, and not to charge you a cover. That make sense?” “Yeah, man. Null sweat. How’s the band?” Tony asked. “Eh, not my kind of music, but not too bad. Not fast enough for me, but some girl said they put on a wizzer astral show,” Raz says with a grin wrapping itself around his tusks, walking back to his seat by the door. Tony made his way through the tables toward Sam’s spot on the end of the bar as the band wraps up its set, noticing some people apparently passed out in the booths to the left of the bar. Could be projecting, or just had way too much to drink this early. Both look pretty similar to me Tony thought to himself as he got to Sam’s stool .

“Got that drink order for me, old man?” Tony says as he walks up. “Here you go kid, sure you can handle it? You need a chaser of milk or anything?” the old ork said, grinning. As Tony downed the drink in one smooth swallow, Sam kept up the questioning “So what made you late? Hot date?” “I wish,” Tony said, savoring the sweet flavor that was now burning its way down to his stomach. “Actually, It’s the same thing that’s making me run off right now and not get plastered with you. Tell Sungthat I won’t be by tomorrow, but I should be by the next day, assuming I don’t get shot up in the meantime.” “Shot up?” “Yeah,” Tony said, tossing the keys to his Americar to the ork “here’s my car keys. I may need you to pick me up tomorrow night around 10ish.” “Kid, I’m out of that line of work now” Sam said, tossing the last of his drink down and motioning the bartender for another.

“You want me to keep buying you drinks, old man, keep your phone on you and wait for my call. Tell ya what, I’ll need a good meal after this run. Day after tomorrow, maybe, I’ll take you out for a good dinner.” Tony said. “Alright kid, you’re on, but I ain’t gettin shot up for this. You sure you don’t want that milk?” Sam said as Tony slotted his credstick for the amount of his and Sam’s drinks, picked up the coffee, and walked toward the door and back into the snowy night.

23:41:38 Monday 8 January 2063 – Sea-Tac International Airport, Long Term Parking Terminal entrance, Seattle, UCAS

The brightly lit parking lot seems to glow from the lighting reflecting off the snow as Tony pulls up to the long term parking terminal’s attendant booth, after an uneventful ride to Sea-Tac. The snow’s got even the go-gangs packed in. Must not be fun to ride in the freezing cold Tony thought to himself. “Excuse me, sir” he says to the dwarf manning the well lit booth “I’m looking for spot 17 alpha. Can you direct me to that?”

1530 Monday 08 January 2063-Mickey's Pub, Downtown Seattle, UCAS (about two blocks south of Cooper's Automotive)

After the timing is set, Chevez parks the Brumby out front, while Marq cleans up the tools. Chavez leaves the Brumby's owner to come by and pick up the truck whenever, its parked out front, then locks up.

The two walk down the street and around the corner to Mickeys Pub. Its dark, lit only by neon beer signs and pool table lights. Dim track lighting runs across the top of the bar, leaving the tables in the shadows. Chavez pulls up a seat at the bar and orders a cold pitcher of non-soy Alaskan Amber. It costs nearly twice as much, but Marq is allergic to all soy, plus it tastes a thousand times better.

Marq dumps five nuyen in the computer for a couple of songs. Hmm...they actually have some classics, even stuff from way back. Here's a good one. Marquis makes his selections after scanning through the computerized list by date. Walking back to the bar, the heavy bass guitar of Cybermancie's Penetrator, pounds his chest. They had only found this pub a while ago, and didn't realize the great sound system.

"Hey barkeep, can we get a plate of hot wings? Non-soy please, Im allergic to that drek. Do you have any non-soy dipping sauce, like ranch or downtown sauce? Thanks."

After the bartender heads to the back to prepare the wings, Chavez asks the question hes been dying to all day. "So a business transaction you can talk about?"

"Not really, just get rid of something for someone. I was hoping he would let me rebuild it, though. It was a beaut."

The heavy metal fades out and is followed by a lighter song, well comparatively. This one is a bit more classic, jumping back another 25 years from the last song to Megadeth's Die Dead Enough. Chavez turns to check out the computer dressed up like an old style juke box. "Good Selection, got anything I would like?"

"They got everything, the list is two million songs long. Its a wonder they dont do more business here."

Jack, the bartender, refills their pitcher, overhearing the end of the conversation. "Come in on Thursday, Friday, and Saturdays after nine. Live bands, mostly locals, but once in a while we get big names, some has beens, some up and coming."

"Where the hell do you put them?" Marquis says jokingly, looking around the bar.

"See that back wall with nothing on it?" the barkeeper points past the tables. Those slide open, and there is stage back there, but during the week its not so busy, so we keep it closed.

Welcome to my Nightmare is next on the playlist, jumping back 30 more years to an Alice Cooper classic. "I told you that would like this place," Chavez gives Marq a friendly punch in the shoulder.

Marquis gives a quick smile and continues his conversation. Chavez was right, but the soon to be runner has some wheels turning in his head right now. "What kind of crowd do you usually see in here?"

"We get a real good mix. During the week its mostly laborers and workers coming in after a hard day earning cred, later the crowd goes to more college aged kids and street crowd. You know the type. On the weekends though, its pretty gritty in here, with the music selection and all. You wont see too many suits in here, ever."

Chavez returns from selecting a few more songs, some real old stuff, Led zeppelin, Black Sabbath and the likes.

"I see you two really like the classics."

"Well you can hear the new stuff anytime."

They finish their second pitcher, tip the bartender, for the food and the conversation, and head on back to the shop. Heading out they notice the crowd has picked up a bit, with some more patrons entering, as they are trying to exit.

07:40:19 Monday 08 January 2063 - Unit 303, Winlock Apartment Complex, Tacoma, Seattle, UCAS

Glancing through the morning news, James ran across something interesting and posted it up. He also noted Zeyda's message. Six o'clock, at a bar that's about a forty-five minute drive away from his apartment. James sighed. One appointment at 6 that he needed to make; one appointment at 7 that he didn't particularly want anything to do with but already agreed to, and nothing to do until then.

Nothing is ever easy, he thought. Picking up his p-sec, James dialled the familiar LTG number with barely a thought. "Hi," the phone chirped, "you have failed to reach Ran... so talk to this machine instead. *beep*" Guess her phone ran out of batteries again James thought to himself, and said, "Hoi Ran, it's me. It seems I have another thing to do before I meet up with you, work-related I hope. I might be able to make it back before 7, but if I can't now you know why. I'll try to call you later though to confirm or cancel for sure. Sai."

Hm. So, about nine hours before I need to go anywhere. So what do I do in the meantime? James stood for a moment, looking at the extreme clutter of his apartment, almost a living entity around him. His eyes travelled to his weak and frail muscles, severely deteriorated after years spent halfway comatose in a programmer's chair. His mind travelled back over the litany of useful skills he had acquired back in his days as a youthful revolutionary, sure to become useful again, all of which had faded in the hazy womb-like existence of suckling the corporate teat.

Then he saw the flickering lights on his cyberdeck. Hey, I had this great idea for an upgrade to my Analyze utility; now that I'm done upgrading Jane I can get right on that, he thought, slipping into the only decent chair in his apartment and jacking in. Silently his unconscious wept.

23:42:06 Monday 8 January 2063 – Sea-Tac International Airport, Long Term Parking Terminal entrance, Seattle, UCAS

The dwarf nods, reaching into a separate compartment below the desk and withdrawing an unmarked plastic card. Running that across the license plate scanner, he checks to make sure the fake vehicle registration is accepted. With a nod, he motions Tony through.

"Park in the back, section twelve. The shuttle will be by in fifteen minutes, it'll take you to the main terminal. From there you can catch a cab or the tube into downtown. Keep your eyes out, though, ever since that yokel got run over the traffic-nazis are out in force."

10:15:15 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Man this is some freaky drek...

Todd nods to the Legionnaire. "Sure thing."

He steps into the circle of benches and gathers wood into a small log-cabin formation at the center of the group. He reaches into his backpack and pulls out some old notes that he didn't need anymore and used the paper to get things started. Once the fire is going at a good burn, Todd glances around, then takes a seat at an empty bench.

"So what's next?"

23:39:16 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

The fire sputters and dies out. The hopeful looks on the faces of the soldiers fade back to the grim neutrality they wore previously. The battlesuit turns towards Todd.

"The fire is going to require a steady source of fuel and oxygen," she says.

1200 Tuesday, January 9, 2063 - Land's End Magic Shop

Andie considers everything that Solomon said and ponders over the sketch floor plan which is getting worn thin with all the changes made on it.

He walks back into the workshop area to check on the circulation. Doing a repetitive task will help my subconscious mind filter through all the details better.

10:15:17 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Oh man... this is some risky stuff. But damn if this ain't one of the coolest things I've ever seen! Yeah... you know you wanna...

Todd makes a quick systems adjustment, turning the desktop's network card on and connecting it to the appartment's matrix feed. He quickly reacts, scanning all data that passes in or out of the system, doing his best to see where the data is going or where it came from.

23:48:01 Monday 8 January 2063 – Sea-Tac International Airport, Long Term Parking Terminal garage, Section 12, Seattle, UCAS


It takes a good five minutes to get the the spot at the back of the enormous parking garage. Pulling into the back corner section marked “12” in green letters, under a broken light, Tony backs the truck into the parking space. Dammed Westwind parked too close to the line Tony thinks to himself as he cracks the door open and slinks out of the truck. Thinking about why someone would fire off guns over this truck, Tony decides to check on the contents. Walking to the back of the truck, Tony inserts the key into the locked, covered truck bed…

23:48:23 Monday 8 January 2063 – Sea-Tac International Airport, Long Term Parking Terminal garage, Section 12, Seattle, UCAS

Strapped down to the rear cargo deck of the truck are two large coolers, seventy five centimeters square by two meters long. Undoing the straps, Tony gently lifts the lid on one of the coolers. Inside, beneath a thin layer of crushed ice, are packs of soy burger patties. He lifts one up to examine it, dislodging the one stacked beneath it. Glancing down, he drops the lid of the cooler in surprise. Resting beneath the packages in the bottom of the cooler is the body of a young man.

1715 Monday 08 January 2063-Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

After Chavez heads off for home, Marquis recovers the rifle rings from the oil, being sure to miss none of them. He finds a metal coffee can, fills it with some water and drops the once shiney barrel into it, peice by peice. It probably wont rust them too much, but should make them look older and more like discarded automobile parts then something suspicious.

Loading the coffee can and the upper receiver into the trunk of his Cadillac, Marquis is carefull to make sure that it is well secured in plastic wrap so it cannot accidently leak or dirty his baby. He leaves the coveralls behind, afterall, they didnt get too dirty, and he could probably use them later in the week.

The sunset orange classic roars to life, then settles into a loud, but soothing purr. Alowing the engine to warm, Marq scans the radio dial, seeking for something on the AM dial. Nothing really there, but the engine is now ready to go. Traffic is usually heavy and slow this time of day, but Marquis doesnt have far to go, and knows the backstreets to get to his destination.

The well polished STS jumps onto the road, wheels wanting to spin, but the grip of the performance tires on the road doesnt let them. The rebuilt auto flies up and down the backstreets, slipping through the cracks in traffic, in and out of alleyways, arriving at Cooper's Firearms within a few minutes. Marquis applies the breaks and the car stops on a, well tenth of a nuyen. Hidden from view from the main road, the driver exits the vehicle.

23:40:19 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

As the network connection LEDs switch over to green the campfire sparks to life, flames licking upwards among the carefully stacked logs. The soldiers gathered around relax visibly, grim smiles appearing on the faces of the legionnaire and the Marine. The battlesuit reaches up and disengages a series of latches on her helmet, the hiss of an overpressure internal environment accompanying its removal. The woman revealed is young, perhaps mid-twenties. Her dark hair is cut short, almost shaved on the sides so as not to interfere with the life support systems of her helmet. A neural amplifier is mounted to the back of her neck, probably interfaced with some kind of cybernetic connection as well in order to overcome the feedback delay in her suit's power assist servos. She scratches behind her left ear with the battlesuit's armored gauntlet, a sigh of relief escaping her lips.

The Marine drinks from his canteen.

"Thanks kid. It's been a while."

Todd nods, unsure as to what to say. He glances around the circle at the various faces, and then back to the fire. He blinks in surprise. Hanging in the air above the fire, written in smoke, are a series of four equations. Pulling a datapad from his pocket, he copies down the equations. They're sophisticated: four variables modeling something.

What variables, though?

Todd glances around again.

Four of us, four variables. But what about us?

Working quickly, Todd creates a program to run as many variables about the three figures and himself through the equations. It references his own personal data, but he has no data on any of the other icons. Glancing up, he finds them all looking at him. He points to the legionnaire.

"Name, rank, serial number!"

Todd quickly enters the information as each soldier provides the data. The program sets to work, running numbers through the equations based on the raw numbers of dates and ages, sums of days alive, or length of names, or the sum of the numbers in names. After a couple of seconds, a stream of values pour out.

What the Hell good is this drek? Todd stares at the numbers. After a moment, he frowns. Pattern recognition is a skill present in any good programmer, and the results of his program are not random. Pulling up a a topo map of Seattle, he divides the numbers up into rows of six digits followed by seven digits. He ends up with six sets of numbers. Plotting them as lattitudes and longitudes, only one of the six appears anywhere close to Seattle. Changing them up, he pairs up the first with the third, second with the fourth, and so on. These results are a little better, with two of six appearing on the map. Todd frowns, collapsing the list of numbers to a single long string. After a minute, he creates a grid of thirteen rows of four. He repeats the exercise of dividing them up into sets of six and seven digits. The results, this time, are just what he's looking for. All six locations appear on the map of the metroplex. The three lines of position which result intersect at a location somewhere in the Redmond barrens.

17:35 Monday 08 January 2063 - approaching Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

James yawned as his motorcycle threaded its way up the highway. Thankfully the bike was in fairly complete control of itself; James himself hardly knew how to drive the thing, and even if he did his mind wasn't really on the task anyway. Drekking meatspace, he thought, trying to ignore the protests of his knees and back which had not moved much over the past eight hours, Icons have all this drekking sensory output, and none of it useful.

Gliding to a stop near the front of Miner’s Landing, James parked the bike in a decently-lit place on the curb near all the other bikes. Hopefully the area was public enough that no one would try to hotwire a bike right in front of the bar. James dismounted, glanced in the windows, and grimaced. Even worse than the interface, though, he thought ruefully, is that there's so many other people in it. He sighed, deliberately adjusted his glasses, and walked into the bar, determined to make the visit as short as necessary.

23:48:25 Monday 8 January 2063 – Sea-Tac International Airport, Long Term Parking Terminal garage, Section 12, Seattle, UCAS

Jesus Christ! Tony thought to himself.. I didn’t really think that they would use the term bodyguarding quite so literally. Carefully opening the other cooler and removing some of the soy burger packages, Tony sees another body of another anonymous young man. Not wanting to spend too much time inspecting dead bodies in a public parking garage, Tony takes out his psec and snaps a picture of the faces of the dead men. This may come in handy later on, at least to find out what the hell is going on. Tony thought to himself.

Carefully replacing the soy burger packages in the cooler, strapping it back down, and locking the cargo bed, Tony walks quickly away from the truck back to the shuttle stop, thinking better than to run around an airport with a bag full of guns. What did Radian say if I got stopped? Going to a barbecue? Maybe for ghouls. Tony thinks to himself as he starts on the long walk back toward the shuttle bus stop at the entrance of the parking garage. Tony gets to it just as the shuttle pulls up.

“Main Terminal, please” he tells the driver as he steps into the warm, unoccupied bus. Got enough time this evening for a nightcap, then a good nights sleep. If I’m lucky, I may even wake up from it.

10:15:30 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Todd, thankful for his Math SPU, stores the data into his system memory, then turns to the gathering, "Location received. Was there any other message or information you were to give me?"

17:27:14 Monday 08 January 2063 - Cooper's Firearms, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

The metal rings left over from the barrel of the heavy weapon have a uniform bakelite finish, the bonded polymer coating was fantastic at resisting surface corrosion and pitting. Marquis was very familiar with the compound, and cursed its effectiveness as he stares at the dozen or so cylinder segments lying in the shallow pan of water in his shop. He could leave them in there for a week and be no better off. Frowning thoughtfully, he crosses the room to the shop's expert system and clicks through the index until he finds the entry under 'anodic/cathodic corrosion'.

23:45:27 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

The Marine, LCPL Dawson, smiles humorlessly.

"Watch your back, kid, the key is likely to have guardians. We'll see you back here when you're ready."

LT Dvora Tellerman, the woman in the battlesuit, nodded in agreement. She'd pulled some kind of self-heating ration pack from her support pack and was stirring the pale gruel with a disposable spoon.

"Stay frosty." She smiled at Todd.

10:15:30 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Todd questions, "What does the key open?"

23:45:32 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

All three soldiers stop what they are doing and exchange glances. Finally, the legionnaire, Gaius Vibulenus, speaks.

"We're not authorized to answer that question."

10:15:32 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Todd smirks, "Yeah, I figured you'd say that. See ya on the flip side."

Todd disconnects the network feed and watches the fire die before logging out of the system. His mind churning, he steps over to his LayZMan and flops into it.

What the drek? The Key? Super encrypted contruct just to give an address? This is just... ugh!

Frustrated, Todd grabs his dataline and jacks in, set to find out what he can about this alusive address.

23:45:50 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Calling up the old Redmond municipal plans, the last accurate map available before the area was abandoned to the whims of squatters and shadowrunners, Todd drops his lat-long display over the resulting map grid.

Well that's about par for this course.

The lat-long of the location is square in the middle of the Sacred Heart Cemetery in Redmond.

17:37:40 Monday 08 January 2063 - Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Eyes takes a deep breath, settles his coat about his shoulders, and plunges into a small version of Hell. The noise of the restaurant washes over him, and he quickly waves off the waitress, heading upstairs. Unfortunately, the bar is equally crowded, as it's just the end of happy hour. Chill sweat collects at the small of his back as he tries to find a relatively open area to wait: Zeyda is deep in conversation with another person.

11:45:55 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Man, a kid just can't catch a break these days... Oh well, there goes that grand I just made, cause there ain't no way I'm backing out of this stuff now.

Todd puts together a quick message and shots it off to Zeyda

00:31:15 Tuesday 9 January 2063 – The Unbottled Spirit,Capitol Hill Seattle, UCAS

“And the piasma says “What’s it to ya, chummer?” Rebecca says, while Tony tries not to spray whiskey out of his nose at the punchline of the joke. Since the band had left, the place had gotten far quieter and less populated; mostly only the hardcore drunks and regulars were left, the rest having departed soon after the band.

Recovering a little, Tony swallows his mouthful of the good Kentucky bourbon in his mouth and snatches a few soynuts from the bowl on the bar. “So Rebecca, where were you earlier? I did find the place I needed, by the way. Thanks for looking around for me, though,” Tony said. “Sorry I couldn’t find anything for you, sweetie, but no one I know has a place to be able to park something without drawing a lot of attention. I thought you drove an Americar anyway?” Rebecca asked, dodging the first question by asking one of her own. “I usually do, but I really didn’t have much of a choice in my ride tonight. How did the band night go? And you didn’t answer my first question, either” Tony said, enjoying the exchange.

“I was out, that’s all. Actually,” Rebecca said “I was checking on a band over on the far end of Bellevue, turned out to be a waste of my time. I like to keep my furnature in one piece. That band turned out pretty good, looks like we’ll have them back if they want to.” As Tony downs the remainder of his drink and reaches for his pocket, Rebecca waives him off. “No need to pay for this round,” she says. Getting up and smiling, Tony says “Why don’t you do that when Sam’s drinking on my tab?” “What, you want me to go out of business sweetie?” Rebecca says with a smile as she moves toward another customer. Tony walks out into the freezing night. At least the snow has stopped. Still fragging cold, though. And I still don’t know what I’m up against. Tony thinks to himself on the three block walk back to his apartment building.

00:35:21 Tuesday 09 January 2063 – Capitol Hill Terrace , Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS

Halfway home, Tony's phone buzzes. Zeyda's number blinks on the small screen.

"Hey, I know you're in the middle of a job, but I think I just may have the solution to two problems. You need a decker. I've got a decker who needs a bodyguard. A real bodyguard this time. You interested?"

17:38:00 Monday 08 January 2063 - Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

There was a red-haired, green-eyed dwarf sitting at a nearby bar table. She was chatting animatedly to her companion, an African-American woman in her mid-twenties. They were wearing an identical earring, those pairs of friendship earrings that became popular when piercings could be made or healed in an instant. Maybe they met at a corp social, or at school, or somehwere else entirely?

At another table an older chinese troll was drinking alone. His clothes were well-tailored, but unkempt and dirty, a sign of a successful man gone to seed even if the red-rimmed eyes hadn't said the same thing. Was he an attorney whose practise had just gone belly-up? A middle-management wageslave who'd seen better days? A guy who had inherited a drekload of money, and was now just coming to the end of it?

Belly up to the bar sat a muscle-bound ork ganger. Snake tatoos covered his exposed forearms, their red eyes glistening, their mouths open to the ports on his hands where the cyberspurs would extend. For all the tough-guy exterior, the ganger seemed near tears from watching the trid, a news program counting off the long lists of deaths from yesterday. Perhaps he had lost someone important to him? Or was it something less important, like a dry spur socket that's been bothering him for awhile?

A hand on his shoulder caused James's head to whip around, a momentary look of shock and surprise on his face. "Whoa, hey chummer," said the bartender, backpeddling a little, "Just wondering if you needed a drink; you look a little fragged up there."

James blinked and shivered inwardly; he had almost gotten up to walk over to the dwarf woman and ask her how she had met her other friend, or even worse ask the ork or troll why they looked like they were going to cry. History and common sense taught him that any of those were sure signs of disaster, but it was just so easy to get distracted; the tide of knowledge and collected experiences of the crowd drew him like a moth to a flame. Just, so... drekking... many of them, James thought tiredly.

"Uh, yeah... I think I could use something to drink," James replied lamely, putting down some nuyen for something not too intoxicating. Pondering for a moment, he plugged into his pocsec and loaded up a copy of his most recent programming project. He knew he wouldn't get anything meaningful accomplished here, but the drink and the program combined would help distract him from other people's problems and other people's lives, and keep him from either zoning out or asking invasive, dangerous personal questions to strangers again.