Iblis

Vinnie unconciously runs a hand through his thinning hair, rapidly handwriting a note into his p-sec. "Alright babe, just for you though. I'll do this for 800k, assuming you're moving another 5.2mil. Capice?"

The names come through in a hastily hand scrawled note off Vinnie's p-sec.

"These guys have been a royal pain in my ass recently, every since we started going back and forth with Yami.

Eric
Evans
Tombstone
Joli
Bloodmoon
Lee"

Attached to the note is a series of files, each one with a corresponding runner's name on it. They contain pictures, each looking like they were taken at exactly the same location, the scene of a business building's lobby and the street in the backdrop.

Also attached are 20 account codes for various independent banks around the world. These go away 24 hrs after cred hits them, so let me know as soon as you dump it and we'll start processing.

Jake

Fixx glances up from the list as you toss on your coat.

"I assume nobody here is a close, personal friend?" he says with a bit of a smile. "I'll see what I can do."

Stephan is quietly busy, as usual, even during the short pre-lunch meeting he manages to squeeze in on short notice. He scans over the list, glancing up to you with a slightly arched brow.

As the somewhat more innocuous conversation continues, he sends the list back with a red circle around the name Joli and a short comment - "Skip this one. Attached to Draco."

"Ok I'm on it and I'll get back to ya later. Ciao!" The small neon rabbit whips away the sign, turns teasingly and moons the fixer before fading from the image link. Iblis releases the portal and returns to her deck. She pauses looking around her virtual world before quickly sending off a series of messages and requests.

Time to get to work, Mama has bills to pay...........

Time passes as the furry decker lies in a corner attached to her deck. The tangy smeel of sweat fills the air as her body begins to twitch occasionally and random muscles fire. After an hour, her hand rises to pull out her data jack, her hand visibly shaking. Her face is slick and her breath ragged. She takes a moment to open up a sports drink with a label proclaiming more Z fruity additives. Chugging it back, not caring as excess runs down the side of her face. Dragging her arm across her face, she lets out a long breath.

"Ok all, my part for this is done for the bank end. I need to sleep and then I'll take a run at the security on the guy's place. I DO NOT want to do that again anytime soon. As far as the bank knows, he withdrew his money from the bank and sent it elsewhere. I left trails linking the runners Viinnie wanted targeted, or at least the ones whoever feed me the info about. Thanks to whoever did that by the way, it was exactly what I needed. We do not talk about this to anyone or my furry ass is toast and before I check out I will personally fill your head with as many bullets as I can before they frag my hoop." Her face takes a very rare serious cast for the last part.

With that said she flops backwards like a sniper victim and promptly begins to snore.

When Iblis keels over onto the hard floor, Howling Wolf swears.
"Drek! Either of you two a medic? The last thing we want is for the decker to get a concussion from hitting her head on the floor."

Nameless, who's been sitting quietly in the corner meditating, opens one eye and looks and the decker, passed out and snoring on the floor, and Wolf, swearing over his concern she might have gotten a concussion. It's a bit of a strange joke, but the adept smiles anyway before closing his eyes and returning to his meditation.

"I just know CPR, minus the chest compression part..."

Jake gives an easy smile.

"Don't worry, Wolf, our little bunny has a hard enough head to crack Black IC just by thinking at it. She'll survive a couple light knocks here and there."

Compiling a few final notes, the Italian places a small list in front of his meditating friend.

"Our wish list for Vinnie, see what he's got available. The starred items should take precedent. While you boys deal with that, I'm going to get on the horn and begin hiring a crack team of professionals who can take care of the rest of the party for us so that we can dance the night away with a few lucky winners.

"Oh, and when Vinnie asks how we're paying, just send him my way."

McQuillan - Vinnie seems just about ready to argue you to a stalemate, but a call comes in suddenly and he abruptly agrees to the 125 you're offering and cuts the call with a terse comment about calling you back later.

The shaman has a slightly concerned look on his face as he places the phone back into his pocket.

"Something might be up. Let Iblis get some sleep, but strap on your gear in case we have to move faster than expected."

He had never seen Vinnie like this, the mafioso's place of business had been shot up and now he was getting bad news at every turn it seemed.

Several hours pass and Iblis jerks awake. A look of slight confusion on her face as she takes in her surroundings, struggling to remember through the fog of sleep. A slow light dawns behind her eyes as she mutters. "Sober sucks......" Getting up, she wads her hair into two things resembling ponytails, as she looks around. Yelling as she heads to the bathroom. "I'M UP!" With a foot she kicks the bathroom door closed and the sound of running water soon follows.

November 16th, 07:33

Iblis has been out for the last 8 hours or so, but things have gotten done, and even the dingy, run-down surroundings of the safehouse are looking brighting the light of progress. Until, of course, there's a scream from the shower as Iblis finds out the hard way that the hot water ration for the day doesn't turn on in this apartment till 4:00pm.

Runners

Jake -

Stephen's reply for the information you asked for beeps on your poc sec, and there's a time, date, and the initials G.S.C.I., along with the address for the Paradise O. The time is tonight, 20:00.

Mercs
You've been contacted for a job. Specifics are as listed as listed in the recruiting thread, no additional info at this time. You've been given a meet at a bar called the Paradise O in Capital Hill at 20:00 on the 16th. It's the 16th today, about 08:00, and you've all just arrived in town (since you generally operate out of Europe.) You've got about 12 free hours and a map to your meet location.

"That's the best you're getting until we head home. Welcome to the squatter life. Remind me next time we decide on a safehouse, to ensure that it comes with at least two stars worth of amenities."

Jake's voice carries through the slightly ajar door. Pushing his arm through the gap, he holds out a towel so the young decker can wrap herself up.

"One more little search and then daddy will take you down to a real hotel. Imagine hot showers, room service, and all the matrix time you want for games. Oh by the way, we've got our people ready for a meet tonight. Would you like to carry a million nuyen in your back pocket or shall I?"

That same easy smile which Jake spent a lifetime perfecting, warms across his face. He leans in to kiss the decker on the forehead.

"Get dried off, I'll find out where the boys have run off to and see what I can do about some breakfast."

The chosen sword of Ares, places a few quick calls to Nameless and Howling. Setting schedules and ordering some food.

Nameless awakes from his usual meditation at Jake's call. "Yeah boss."

The assassin had been quietly meditating and preparing himself the last two days. Jake was the one who set everything up and ran the show, and Iblis was their information gathering queen. Nameless preferred action to waiting around, but he realized that proper prepration was essential to correct action. Although he could certainly gather information, he knew there were others much better at it than he. As such, he usually chose to wait quietly, preparing himself so that when it was time to move, he'd be ready.

The furry elf stumbles out of the bathroom, a look of pure murder on her face. Dark muttered curses in the fluid elven tongue drip from her lips as she fishes around in her duffel for a change of clothes.

"Ok I'm going to pop into the trix and see what I can get on the security lay out of the building. I think that's going to be everything I can do for now for this job. They probably have a closed system so the next part where I work hard will be the actual hit on the fella."

Digging out a pair of jeans that look like a bedazzler threw up on them and a top that has more rips than fabric, she dresses as she talks. "I should have packed a little better....." is the only comment as she grimaces at her reflection on the rolled out screen of the cyberdeck.

"I'll be back in a few....." With that said she slides the jack in and slumps against the wall.

The flowing form of ones and zeros, the smallest particle of data that flows through the electronic oceans End-Run surfs on raises something that vaguely looks like an arm with a hand on the end.

"Null sheen, sweety, I've got that info right here." A few pregnant nano-seconds pass as End-Run re-indexes and sorts his data archives, and in less time then it takes a human nerve to register pain he folds his hands together and produces a 5 sided block of abstract shapes, somewhat pointy looking.

"This should have everything I can get my hands on. The basic summary reads closed system, potentially linked to a rigged-CSS security grid. Nasty stuff, and untouchable from the outside." He leaves the flowing segment of 1's and 0's outstretched for a moment longer after Iblis takes the files, awaiting compensation.

The file is not the most grammatically correct work, but the info seems solid. The Stained Ivory Tower, as the author of the file calls it, hosts a very basic, easy to crack system linked to almost all forms of Matrix security. A slightly harder system, hidden behind a vanishing SAN and a trapdoor, links to the comm systems, routing all calls out of the Tower in and out. There's a search every 2.5 seconds on all outgoing and incoming calls for taps though, so not alot of possibilities for lengthy information gathering. On site recon has spotted several drones moving about the Towers, along with camera's, motion detectors, pressure plates, and turrets, but none of these are linked with the system accessible from the outside. The author's best guess is that the security and probably the drones are run from inside the facility, on a closed network. Theoretically the system could be accessed from any of the slave devices, but one would have to be on-site within the walls of the compound for that, and the author does not seem inclined at all to do that kind of work.

With a wave and a strange finger gesture, money begins to transfer to the PLOD. Yet another of her many "donations" to the cause. "Thanks and I included a tip to cover this search being delayed before reaching the public. I know you all want all info free to the public, I just need a delay on this so I can do the job. After that, put it in a billboard for all I care." Her thoughts trigger the shut down sequence as she logs off, to find herself back where she started.

"Mama's home and she has gifts!" The cyberdeck begins to print out sheets containing the info she acquired. "This is going to be a little harder but not impossible. I'm going to need to be inside before I can play with any security on this place. They have it locked down tight but I think I can swing it. The extra talent we're hiring sounds perfect for this, by the way. The place's like a fortress with some sort of rigger thingie on site. Guns out of walls and the like I'm assuming. Maybe one of the GI Joes can tell us more about it."

She waits for everyone to read over the sheets she passes out.

"You missed a comma."

Jake comments quietly with a gleam in his eyes as he reads through the paperwork. Most of it was beyond his ability, but he got the feeling that there would be a couple people fighting for control of the security grid.

"What's the little search you need?" Iblis moves to dig around again in her bag for yet another strangely colored beverage.

"Just this stuff here, sugar. Now I seem to recall promising you a hotel room..."

Mercs - The airport is small, definitely designed for private charter. Your cargo plane looks huge compared to the smaller commuter craft littered around the tarmac, and if you hadn't had a rigger in the pilot's seat, you probably couldn't have even landed here.

The unloading is fast and methodical, you've all done this enough times that it's rote muscle memory. Nearby to your hanger, another hanger, a little smaller, is decked out in police tape. A ragged hole in one side of the hanger shows the interior, aparently covered in snow.

Your hanger is just that, a hanger. No amenities, but there's plenty of space for storage and the vehicles you brought, and the security is a step above average.

The plane takes off again almost before you've finished unloading, or that's what it feels like, and the pilot makes a show of waiting just till the end of the tiny runway to plunge the nose of the aircraft into the air, engines screaming as he forces the mass of ceramic alloys and aluminum variants into the sky.

With a thousand watt smile lighting up her face, Iblis hoots with joy and begins to pack her gear up. "Can we stop by my house for some other clothes." She starts to attention. "That's right you haven't seen the new place yet, have you?" She begins to pack with even more vigor. "You have to come and scope out the whole set up. I have an entire building now......four stories........all tricked out........" She turns with her bag on her shoulder. "Let's go!"

As the rest of of the unloading is finished Boomer grabs his gear and gives the curteous goodbye's, informing everyone he'll see them this evening, before waving down one of the many taxi's and supplying the address, on the outskirts of seattle. On arrival, he pays and tips the driver, and begins a visual inspection once he leaves of the outside of his primary residance here in seattle. After that is finished his hops in his Eurocar, and checks out his other holes to check the explosives he left in each.

The rest of his afternoon is spent resting at his house.

Boomer - The house is much as you left it, with nothing but a thin layer of dust to mar your memories. Everything seems to be in place, and you marvel again at the wisdom of buying a house here so you'd have your own place.

Grabbing up his own bag, and fanning himself with the flyer that Iblis had handed all of them earlier, Jake follows behind his furry friend.

"C'mon boys, if you don't come now, you'll never hear the end of it."

Turning to Iblis,

"Your house wouldn't be on top of the new location that your weekly party is at, would it? Shorter distance to the fun and all that?"

"Now that you mention it, yes it is. Now I just have to stumble to lift and I'm home. Messed up and easy, that's my chosen lifestyle." Iblis makes her way to her tricked out Papoose. Throwing her stuff in a small trunk on the back. Pulling a hemlet on she turns to the group. "See ya there!"

As soon as everything was unloaded and stored in the hangers Taxi began to go over all the vehicles making sure all were undamaged from the flight.

"Is someone going to find us a place to bunk down, as much as I just love field work this place does not even have a crapper." Taxi's voice bellowed from beneath the oversized APC.

Nodding at Jake, Nameless rises from where he'd been quietly meditating. "Got it boss." Turning to the fuzzy decker, he smiles. "All right Iblis, I'd love to see your new place. I"ll meet you there." Following the decker out of the room, he hops in his car and drives off to the club/place the decker calls home, in more ways than one.

Jake swings himself onto the back of his bike, snaps the chip strap under his helmet, and kick starts the engine into life.

Time to see the new place and possibly meet man named Mr. Bobo. Moments of calm and enjoyable instants taken now while they could. Tonight would bring pain and death, hopefully to their enemies and not to the Shaman and his friends.

With a glance to see if Howling was following them, he puts the bike in gear and follows behind Ib.

November 16th, 12:24

Iblis's warehouse is in the industrial sector just outside Seattle proper. The only entrance is a 2 meter tall 4 meter long sliding door that looks solid enough to survive at shot from an assault cannon, although it, like the building and rest of the area around it, are used, worn, and covered in a layer of health-friendly smog residue.

A knock on the door results in the sounds of a series of locks being thrown back, and a face pushes itself out of the 12" crack. With a thick brow line, a wide, flat nose, and somewhat puffy lips, the bearer of the features appears fairly simian, and the darkly tanned color of his skin does nothing to dissuade one from that original notion. What you can see of his neck and upper body is covered in custom cut silk, the black suit obviously from one of the better shops in town. He tilts a pair of sunglasses down with a hairy palm sport thick fingers, just further re-inforcing the simian aspects, and reveals a pair of startingly intelligent brown eyes that peer at you, simultaneously irritated and cold.

His face lights up when he spots Iblis, however.

"Sorry Ma'am, should have called ahead," he rumbles in a deep, gravelly voice. He leans into the door and pulls it open, allowing the group to enter the dark, cool interior. From the inside, you can see that the doorman is almost 3 meters tall, barefoot, and has apparently inhierited the opposable fingers on his toes as well.

He gestures to the interior of the warehouse, filled with small stages and lighting and sound equipment. A few people move back and forth in the distance, handling the mundane day to day tasks that a stationary club needed to be open late every night.

"Everything's solid here, Miss Ibs, and there's 7 children sleeping off last nights exertions in the community space. You and your guests want anything to eat or drink?"

Turning to the rest of the team she begins introductions. "Everyone this is head of security of the club, the impressive and attentive Mr. BoBo. These are my business accociates." She quickly tosses out the street names of the other people to the simian man. "Going to need to make it light on the drinks as we have a meeting tonight where I can't slur my words." She motions for eveyone to follow to a lift off a bit from the club area. Calling back over her shoulder as she punches in a security code to operate the lift. "Make sure we find out about our guests, our kind does not do with not glamour or roofs over our heads. Make arrangements as needed with Izzy, thanks hun."

You rise several floors to a loft that can only be made by forty Vegas drag queens exploding in the space. Glitter and light are everywhere and faux fur rules the world. Every impulse she had to decorate was followed up on and taken to the extreme with a dash of neon to seal the deal.

"Welcome to paradise!" She enters her arms thrown up in a large V. A large female troll pokes her head out from a door, perhaps a bathroom. She looks disgusted and grunts once before closing the door again. Undaunted she turns towards what you assume might be a kitchen. "Let's eat before we meet the gun toting terrorists we're hiring!"

Howling Wolf hops into his SUV and follows the others to the warehouse.

When he gets to the top, he looks anround, and asks, "So, you live here? the decor is... interesting, to say the least."

Opening the fridge covered with velvet and grabbing an assortment of microwave goodies, she places them on the counter and begins to heat them in a Hello Kitty themed microwave. "Yep, had a house over in the Elven District but I needed something a little more me so after the last run with Vinnie, bless our little nuyen mine, I put a down payment on this place. Now I am in debt up to my ponytails so it was back work for me."

"Everything looks great hon. It's very you. Is Short Stuff still living with you or did she bail? I think I saw OK in the back there..."

Jake leans his bag against the counter and begins opening cabinets looking for plates. Finding them, he sets them on the counter and begins serving things out of the microwave onto plates for the team.

"The building probably took a lot, does your little party scene down there end up in the black to cover expenses or are you footing that bill too?"

Iblis turns back into the fridge, digging out an assortment of artificial drinks for the team. "Mee-Moe is holding on to the old place and I think expanding. I don't really have the room here for all her toys but she has an honoray pull out here whenever she needs it. So far the Looking Glass is covering itself, praise Ja!"

Drake stepped lightly as he walked off his flight into the SeaTac International terminal. Over his shoulder, a large dufflebag with an ample supply of clothes.

Just a day earlier, Drake had been stalking musk ox in the Alaskan wilderness, and now he was getting ready to step into the urban sprawl. The call had been unexpected. Though he could count on one hand the months since his last work, it seemed like so long ago. Almost like a dream that one forgets after a long night's sleep.

Softly moving his way through the terminal, Drake flagged down a taxi as he walked outside to the open, though polluted, air. He gave the cabbie an address. Near the agreed upon base of operations, but far enough away that the cabbie would never see it. Drake would foot the rest.

Having no gear to speak of for himself, he hoped Styx would have a good stock to choose from. Choose the proper tools for the job. Drake mused to himself. Let's see what Styx and the boys have thrown together this time...

The team plane touched down and Alan let go of the armrests leaving sweaty palm prints. Sure, the flight had been Rigged, but that didn't make it comfy. Quite the contrary.

He peered out the small window by his seat at the crummy q-hut that was their hangar. Taxi had already hit the tarmac and was directing the ground crew unloading of the vehicles. Good thing, can't watch them close enough. Alan set his computer to stream a local news feed to his image link and sat in the seat for a moment, glad of the stillness. He listened to the casters and their brisk delivery of the city's dire happenings. The words and images flowed over him. With a sigh he plugged the lead of his remote deck into the back of his skull.

All at once the living world vanished. He was drawing power, cycling through diagnostics, and ... up.

A roto-drone whickered out of the plane's rear cargo hold and zoomed high, checking clearances with the small airport's ATC as it went. Another drone trundled out, a business-like affair with two robotic arms. It snapped a sharp salute at Taxi as it whirred past headed toward the hangar to check it out before the ground crew went in and to deploy an array of scanners, jammers and white-noise generators.

<< All clear above and below, Styx. The hut is ready for entry. >> Alan's transducer modulated voice is clipped and certain.

<< I took the liberty of finding us accomodations. **COORDINATES TRANSMITTED** A cute little place - Indy, you'll love it - it used to be a taxidermists. >>

Alan grunted as his senses twitched back into his own body. He put the drones in a generic reconaissance pattern and unpaused the news feed to begin his browsing again. His new air mask had rubbed his skin raw where it was still breaking in and red weals shown on either side of his mouth. He puts the mask back in to place with a scowl and steps out into the air.

Wonder what puzzle pieces this job will blow up... He tramps down the stairs and sets about gettings settled in Seattle. A woman's bright voice is predicting rain as the wind picks up and drizzle starts. Alan sighs. Seattle.


***********

Alan nods at Styx and says, "You got it. I'll send The Handyman with you to meet our employers. Armed?" He looks over his mask at the team leader, eyebrows asking what his mechanical voice does not - if their would-be employers were trustworthy. Alan never ever trusted anyone who hadn't specifically earned it. And not always then.

After the team had settled in a bit he called Gary, his pal in town, who'd done some work for him a few years back. The two would meet for drinks later and it gave Alan a few hours to browse and save off several articles of local political interest.

Styx looked things over, everyone went about their tasks with the same degree of professionalism that they always showed. Drake had been taking some time off and hadn't been in Berlin when the call came in but he figured the older solider would arrive shortly. The rest of the team began getting things in order, each without instructions or directions.

I wonder why I got put in charge of this crew, hell they pretty much run themselves, when things get nasty everyone natuarally turns to Drake for leadership.

Styx felt keenly the weight of command and tried hard to live up to the responsibility but always felt somewhat lacking. Like Carnes unspoken question concerning the trustworthiness of the contracting party. The reality is he had no idea how trustworthy they were, but the troops didn't need to know that.

"I'd suggest personal sidearms only for the meet. I'll be going along and will go in unarmed as a show of trust for the employer, they'd expect me to bring along some back-up."

Styx flipped up the small view screen on his wrist-phone and told the tiny machine to call Boomer, or at least the number he had for Boomer who seemed to be pretty well dialed in to the local Seattle scene.

"Hoi Boomer when you're done running around today meet the crew at home and help get things squared away. We've already got a pair to head over to the club, so we're set up that way. We'll check back later if there is a problem."

Styx left the message and hoped the big man would understand the deliberately obscure wording. Either way he wasn't about to leave any kind of detailed message over an unsecure communications media. He flipped his phone shut and headed over to the hanger to grab a change of clothes and a pair of combat knives from his gear.

After all unarmed is a vague kind of term.

November 16th, 19:05

The sky drizzles down among the mingled commuters, reflecting the neon lights from the collected signs like a thousand tiny gems off the city streets and the sluggishly moving cars. Despite the rain, the night is alive with the sounds and smells of a metroplex, millions of people moving about their daily lives and whatever personal pursuits drive them. The traffic is thinner near Capitol Hill, the somewhat more residental area calling more to people that are headed home, drawing them inside and out of the rain.

The sign for the Paradise O flickers occasionally, the hum and crack of something shorting out in the rain matching the flickering of the neon. Underneath the near, near the only door of the two story building stands a man. Well, man shaped, at least. At just under 9' tall, the bouncer could double as a door in a pinch. As you get closer, you can see that he seems to be wearing a kilt sized for his particular frame, and is covered in a thick coat of hair, all over his body.

Styx looked the gigantic bouncer over, with eyes trained to spot weaknesses in bigger opponents. He didn't feel at all diminished by the huge man, he'd spent far too long being the smallest kid in class to let a little thing like size bother him.

Most Elves towered more than a foot taller than his own 5'10" in height. He kept his thin frame tautly muscled but he'd long since given up trying to compete based upon size. He had his advantages and the big guys had theirs; besides that's why God created guns.

With practiced ease he slid his perceptions into the astral to view the big metahuman. In astral space walking alongside him in her hell hound form was his familiar Vestra. In her hell hound form she appeared to be a large black mastiff, waist high on him, with short black hair and glowing crimson eyes.

Mercs

The formorian glances down at the 3 mercenaries, looking back and forth to all three before rumbling, "Jes' make sure yur not causing troubles with your wee' toys." He motions with his head for you to enter the bar.

Inside the bar it's pretty much what you'd expect from a bar in Capitol Hill. Lots of real wood and more booths then tables. There's one additional exit clearly marked near the restrooms as a fire door, complete with "alarm that will sound if you open this door."

The bar is about half filled with a mix of customers, some looking like regulars, others looking like they just ducked in out of the rain. The smell of real redwood rises from the bar as you step up to it, although chipped and stained with wear, it retains much of the original quality of the wood.

A gruff looking man stands across the bar, drawing heavy mugs full of amber liquid. He glances up as the three of you enter, and then goes back to pouring the beer.

After eating and taking the tour of Iblis' new place, Jake suggests that they get going down to the Paradise O to meet their new employees.

Arriving at the bar, he nods to the Scottish troll and leads the way in. The shaman raises one hand in a half wave to the bartender. Maggie Mae must have the night off...and this one seems equally grouchy... Jake glances around the bar in an attempt to assess profesional talent. Those that he notes, get a tilt of the head towards the back room and Jake heads for the back room that he had been in before.

Having toured the fuzzy decker's apartment and finding it a bit...extravagent for his tastes, Nameless smiles at Iblis nonetheless and expressions his admiration for her ability to make something so outlandish feel so...normal. At least for her.

Flanking Jake, he silently follows the boss in his wake throughout the club, watching carefully for any signs of trouble.

Iblis pauses a moment to admire the burly troll before following the others in. Talking mostly to herself as she goes. "Cute but a little too woody for my taste......" She takes in the rest of the body and jogs to catch up with the rest of the team. "So who are we meeting exactly?"

Styx sips his iced tea and watches the bar patrons come and go. There really isn't much to see in the room, but he likes the feel of the place. Its quiet and pleasant, natural feeling, seeming far removed from the hustle and bustle of the sprawl.

He sits back in his seat, and feels the Cougar fighting knives he's wearing dig into this back. The handle of the one he wears sheathed down his spine digs into the base of his neck in the back and the one worn angled upwards across his lower back presses in against his kidneys. The form fitting body armor helps with the discomfort but there is really no comfortable way to wear large fighting knives concealed under modern clothing.

His drink is barely down a quarter when he notices an unusual crowd breeze through the door, one of whom makes serious eye contact and tilts his head towards the back room.

"This must be the contractor, Hans didn't give the most accurate descriptions, so stay frosty."

Styx didn't drop eye contact with the newcomers while he spoke quietly to Drake in the seat next to him.

Howling Wolf sits in the back room, and watches as Jake and Nameless go into the main area, and then return with some of the hired help for the run.

Drake smiled and whispered back to Styx: "Check out the broad." He joked dryly. "Looks like it's time to do this thing. By the way, I'm sorry I was out for a few weeks there, I have to admit, I came here unprepared. Oh, and is our parent company handing down the contract, or do we have to negotiate with these people for our paychecks this time?"

November 16th, 20:06

The back room is small, and dimly lit by a single shaded light swinging on a somewhat threadbare cord. A scratched and scarred table is ringed by 8 chairs, all in various stages of disrepair, but remarkably comfortable, nonetheless. There are no windows and only the single door. There is a trid unit, however, and those that have been there before know that it is linked to the Matrix on a somewhat shady connection.

A faint electronic hum that starts as the door is closed is apparent to those with enhanced hearing. The noise usually denotes a white-noise generator going into place, and the audible levels indicate a fairly strong one, at that.

"Anyone who wants a beer needs to bring it with them, they don't serve back here."

Jake stretches the muscles across his long frame, loosening the kinks that always seem to start right between the shoulder blades.

"Once everyone is situated we'll start our talks."

An easy smile that is meant to put everyone at ease spreads across the model's face like the sun warming a winter field.

As Drake pulls himself a seat at the table, his light blue eyes scan the room and everyone in it as he settles in, stopping for a moment on Iblis before moving on once again. Though his frame had fifty-plus years on it, with thirty of those spent in special ops in one capacity or another, his body didn't show it. Still standing over six foot, and weighing in at around 200, Drake was still an old man, but a formidable old man.

Lifting his hands to show his palms to the others at the table, Drake smiled and calmly reached into his dark grey coat to remove his pocket secretary. Readying the p-sec's stylus to take notes, he leaned back in the chair and eyed Jake with a no-nonsense expression.

"Why do I get the feeling this guy is going to try and give us the shaft?" Drake thought to himself. "At least I can hope he'll prove me wrong."