[Tecumseh]

Once Mercer agrees that visiting Duncan is a good idea, Achak excuses himself to clean up. He does his best to shave, then to mop himself off with the sponge and bucket that passes for bathing facilities in the warehouse. Then he turns his attention to his suit, doing his best to straighten it out and remove some stains before putting it back on. He mutters about Shur under his breath the whole while, blaming every stain and wrinkle on the religiously-compromised troglodyte. The suit still smells like a smoky French cathouse when Achak's done with it but such is the price of admission to all of Lola's glories. He tries to assure himself that nobody else smells as well as he does, so it's not really so obvious as he thinks it is.

Achak divides his gear before Mercer's Roadmaster and SpitFire's GMC Universe before climbing in the passenger seat of the Roadmaster. Mercer drives the Roadmaster while SpitFire sets his van's MultiPaint system to something inconspicuous. The mini-convoy pulls out into the driving December rain as they begin the long trek from Puyallup to Queen Anne.

"You think I should respond to this message from Eli right away?" Achak asks, studying his commlink while nursing a bottle of water to rehydrate himself.

Mercer nods and gives his reasoning. Achak nods in return and agrees with Mercer's logic. Eschewing his trodes, his types out a message with his thumbs before sending it to "Eli".

<<@3L1 [Achak] Hey, chummer, really wiz to hear from you. Just woke up. Sleeping off a bit of a bender: we're racking up the big scores left and right. Got an insider with a crisis of conscience that's feeding us information, trying to dig herself out of the mess she's gotten herself into.

<<The zekes have been tying up loose ends and I was worried that you had been tied. I know I still owe you a percentage from Sunday's score but if you're up for it we're lining up some more work for next week. Could use a man of your talents if your dance card is empty. I ain't thinking straight right now so let me round up some grub and then I'll hit you up. We can see if your intel matches our intel then figure out what we want to do. We'll get rich or die trying, neh?>>

Message complete, Achak leans back in his seat and props his head against the cold window. The coolness feels good, counterbalancing his lingering headache. He searches the side mirror for evidence of SpitFire's Universe trailing at a safe distance. Once he sees it, he closes his eyes and listens to the rain, letting the white noise relax him.

Mercer exits I-5 (ironically, onto Mercer Street) and drives west until turning right onto Queen Anne Avenue. The long, steep hill of the Counterbalance looms before them, with Duncan's office near the top. Achak, knowing that Goro Kada lives just a couple blocks away, finds himself actively scanning the area for any signs that something is amiss or that the meet is anything less that what Amethyst Killarney is portraying it to be. 

[rednblack]

<<7 DEC 2074, 13:28 // Queen Anne District>>

From the top of the counterbalance, Achak can see a Knights Errant traffic cop walking the street about a block-and-a-half away to the north, making sure everything is as it should be, but he, thankfully, doesn't see any ambushers in hiding to waylay them.

<<@ Team [Achak] Got a meter maid down the block.  Hope all you chummers are riding with legit tags.>>

Mercer exhales deeply, and turns to the Amerind.  "Well, shall we?"

The pair, with Jaeger's spirit in tow, make their way to the office building, where they are relieved of any firearms and told that the spirit will need to remain on the ground floor, for everyone's protection of course, before they can proceed to the tenth floor.  The smell hits Achak before the elevator door opens.  Roasted hog stuffed with beets, greens, and some sort of chutney, topped off with thyme, paprika, and enough cayenne to clear his sinuses before he ever steps foot into the office.  When they do so, Ms. Amethyst Killarney is waiting behind the tall oak desk that sits impressively in the waiting room, and her eyes sparkle when she smiles to greet them.

"Mr. Mercer, Mr. Achak, so good of you both to come, and on such short notice.  Will Sister Rebecca not be joining us this afternoon?" she asks.

"Very well.  Mr. Abbey is expecting you in his office.  I'll be right in with some tea and beverages."

The maglock on the library door hisses open, and the pair enters to find Mr. Abbey watering his strange-looking succulent carefully with a baster.  Next to the desk on a serving cart, Achak finds the source of his olfactory delight, and Mercer sees that Mr. Abbey has also arranged for some fried chicken served on a bed of seasoned fries and doused in honey.

Putting the baster down on an monogrammed napkin, Mr. Abbey turns to face them warmly.  He's eschewed his normally very classic style for this season's Nightshade offering, a rather nice suit, if a bit garish, that boasts dragon-shaped lapels.  "Mr. Mercer, Mr. Achak, so glad you could make it.  Can I have Ms. Killarney offer you some tea, coffee, Sylvan Spring?  You won't believe how difficult that water is to get a hold of these days.  The whole world's gone absolutely crazy, hasn't it?

"Forgive me for getting right down to business, but please make yourself a plate while we talk.  I have recently received a new offer for the Manet, one that I wanted to speak with you about personally, Achak.  I know that the original goal was to find a suitable home for the piece, if not the original owners, but while this buyer wishes it for his own personal collection, he does have a working relationship with the art history department at Georgetown, and he makes his personal collection available to graduate students.  I was thinking that, especially when combined with the price tag, that this might be an amenable solution."

Mr. Abbey slides a slip of paper across his desk, which Achak approaches to read.  "¥250,000.00."  He looks at Achak expectantly.

[Tecumseh]

While Mercer is parking, Achak fires off a quick message to SpitFire regarding the offer from Nico.

<<@Team [Achak] Do the Kanmushis or the Flying Eyes fill any gaps that we have in drone coverage? What are the risks involved in purchasing gear that has been in the hands of the enemy? Other than indirectly funding the enemy, of course.>>

He exits of the Roadmaster, using the few steps in the rain to clear his head and metaphorically wash his mind before entering Duncan's building. He tries to think back to his baptism a couple years ago... but can't. He's too distracted.

He unconsciously holds his breath while giving up his Ares Crusader to Duncan's security, although seeing familiar faces on the security team helped to reassure him that the old team hadn't been wasted and replaced by zeke-loving thralls. Still, Achak knows that he's not a terribly effective fighter without something in his hands. If something goes south, you'll be beating people to death with Ming vases, he thinks to himself.

The smell of lunch makes his stomach lurch. The Typhoon shake, while nutritious, couldn't fill him up like roasted hog could. He inhales deeply, trying to memorize the fragrance for when he was back in the dungeon that passed for the warehouse bathroom. Any concern he might have had about the smokiness of his suit is quickly wiped away by the fragrant aroma of thyme, paprika, and cayenne.

"Sister Rebecca has been reassigned by her church superiors," Achak explains to Ms. Killarney. "I will be representing her interests to the best of my abilities."

Achak and Mercer are shown into the library. Achak appreciates that Ms. Killarney has remembered his preference for orkish food with strong flavors, yet is also accommodating Mercer's palate which may not be so adventuresome. (Or perhaps it is, Achak wonders, noting that Aztlaner-Tex food is often spicy.) Mr. Abbey opens the conversation with some small talk about Sylvan Spring and the world going crazy.

Well Sylvan Spring is rare because Lofwyr's operatives have either wiped out or abducted the Shasta shamen that produced it, Achak thinks to himself. Lofwyr did so because he was displeased about Hestaby siding with the United Nations about indicticting one of their kind - Sirrug the Destroyer - on war crimes against metahumanity. So I have to pay out the hoop for Sylvan Spring for Lola because the world Awoke and decided that humans weren't on top of the food chain anymore. Now I've got maneaters at work, maneaters chasing me out of my home, maneaters destroying my food supply from Aztlan, and maneaters cutting off my spring water supply. You think that they would want us fat and well-hydrated but no, I guess not.

"Yes, absolutely crazy," he agrees politely.

Duncan describes the potential buyer in high-level terms and slides the slip of paper with the figure across the table.

Achak's heart leaps for a moment until he realizes that the last two zeros are decimals, placeholders to make the number look larger. Still, ¥250,000 was a significant sum, perhaps larger than all the money Achak had ever had over the course of his life. But, on the other hand, didn't rare art often trade hands for many multiples of this figure? He wished Stake were here, as the elf with the Cuban accent and the tailored pheromones could go toe-to-toe with the elf with a British accent and mechanical pocket watches. There was a measure of respect between the two elves, but Achak's relationship with Duncan is purely business. While not immune to the elf's trappings, Achak must represent his own best interests now. We have a floor for the price. Now let's go up.

"Mr. Abbey, thank you for your efforts on our behalf," Achak says, taking a bite of hog to settle himself and compose his thoughts. It's pleasantly hot and he graciously accepts both a bottle of Sylvan Spring and some hot tea when Ms. Killarney returns. "Mercer and I have always known you to be a shrewd businessman who is always thinking about the long game." Compliments complete, Achak launches into the negotiations. "Perhaps you can help me understand some of the different economic forces at play here. What I know is that when I search on Aetherpedia I can find a 500-word article on the piece and learn that is is over 200 years old and had emotional significance to the artist because the subject was the woman whom he married two years later. I find it difficult to part with the painting because it too reminds me of the woman I would like to marry. It is also difficult because there is a limited supply of 200-year-old paintings and thus they often sell for substantially higher sums."

He holds up his hands to cut off any protest Duncan might have about the restrictions Sister Rebecca placed on him regarding potential buyers. "The good Sister was recalled unexpected by her church superiors two days ago. In her absence, she has designated me her agent in the matter and has instructed me to tithe her share in the painting. The good Sister had some strong feelings about the future home of the lovely nymph and, while I respect her position, I do not fully share her concerns. If her portion is to be tithed to a worthy institution, I feel that I have an obligation to maximize the painting's potential return and thus it's potential benefit to those who need it most. To that end, I would like to explore some of the other options that may be available to us."

The food and the setting are helping to clear Achak's mind. His custom suit becomes a source of confidence instead of uncertainty. He slips into the negotiating mindset and language that Stake taught him, absorbing the privileged atmosphere and Mr. Abbey's elocution to use them for his own purposes.

"You had previously mentioned that you believe that this piece would do quite well at auction. You also mentioned that you personally know the curators of the Hong Kong Museum of Art and the Denver Art Museum. May I trouble you to provide estimates in both timing and recompense that we might be able to expect if we pursued one of these other arrangements? I understand that these are not the original restrictions that we placed on you and I apologize for any labor on our behalf that may be lost as a result. However, I believe that there is the possibility of significant additional remuneration for us both if we pursue a more optimized strategy.

"It is, after all, the Christmas season, and one would think that we could find a buyer in a suitably generous - or urgent - spirit. And I imagine that there would be a certain pleasure for a man of your connections in making a personal call to one of the board members of Ares or Horizon, no? Perhaps you may make a new connection in the process."

Achak lifts his tea to his lips with a look of understanding at Duncan. Once he has sipped his tea thoughtfully, he sits back with his plate of food and rewards himself for a largely coherent speech with a bite of cayenne pork that tastes delicious but will probably blow his hoop out later, likely in the skookum house of Stake's bolthole. He counterbalances the heat with a sip of the fabled spring water. Oh, swing low, sweet chariot. That is frosty. Lola and I will be baptizing our babies in that for sure.

[rednblack]

Mr. Abbey's smile first drops, then returns in earnest when Achak mentions his willingness to look outside of charitable, or near-charitable homes for the Manet.  He returns the slip of paper to the desk directly in front of him with an elegant turn of the wrist, and produces a fountain pen with his free hand.  "I hate to admit such a thing, but I am most pleased that the good sister has found a different means of serving her God."  He gives the slip of paper two sharp slices with his pen before returning it to Achak.

"250,000.00"

And with those strokes of a pen Achak's take has gone from a quarter to two-and-a-half million.

"If you are willing to part with the painting today, under this new arrangement of course, I am willing to make that offer.  I am sure that I can get the painting into Christie's February auction, and such a lovely story behind it would surely make for a wonderful Valentine's present, don't you agree?

"Of course, if you would rather wait until after I have completed my negotiations, I am more than happy to change course, as it were, and alert you once I have an offer that may be of interest."

Mr. Abbey returns the pen to his breast pocket, and sips deeply from his tea. 

On the street below, SpitFire reviews the latest packets of drone footage now that he is safely parked.  Dog brain that it is, the first one from the Noizquito offers little more than a fifteen minute still of a far wall, and no discernible dialog.  The next, a quick fifteen minute feed is more useful.  He gets a good look at two of the SMG-wielding security officers.  One is nearly two meters tall, fit with a chiseled jaw and close-cropped hair with a severe fade on the left side around his brightly chromed datajack.  The other is barely 180 cm,  and fiddles with his commlink incessantly.  With what little Spanish SpitFire has been able to pick up, he can make out that they're discussing an upcoming Urban Brawl game between the Draco Foundation's Dragons and Aztlan's Volcanoes.  Occasionally, near the top of the feed, SpitFire makes out a pair of boots traversing the catwalk.

In the next feed, which covers from 12:07-12:40, a fifth figure enters the warehouse with bags of food for the guards.  He's dressed and armed in the same fashion, and while the Noizquito doesn't pick up any dialog, it appears as though some good-natured ribbing is in order, and the "delivery boy" flips the remaining four the bird as he exits. 

In the last feed, taken from high up near one of the AC ducts, the bespectacled man approaches the shipping container which houses the wendigo, enters, and exits again after a few minutes to resume his post in the office.From this perch, SpitFire gets a good view of almost the entire layout of the warehouse.  He can see one guard posted on the catwalk, who seems to walk more out of boredom than anything else, while two more play ARO poker over a squat shipping crate they've pulled chairs up to.  The fourth seems to float between the office, or maybe the locker room beyond it, and the far edge of the warehouse.

Once negotiations are complete upstairs in the library, Duncan Abbey refills his tea and says, "Before you go, there's something that's been nagging at me about this whole paintings and antiquities as bait bit the zekes have got going for them.  I would be remiss if I did not mention to you that dealers such as myself take ownership of any works should our 'consigners' turn up dead or missing, after a suitable period of time has elapsed, of course.  If they are willing to hold off on their assaults until after the pieces have changed hands they must either have quite a supply or certain dealers such as myself may have been compromised.  If, in your travels, you should happen across a list of such pieces that may have been used in this fashion, I could check my channels to see where they ended up.  If that information would be useful to you, of course."

"Or maybe not.  For the life of me, I can't see what the zekes would gain from it.  Perhaps since you slipped through their fingers, things have not gone according to plan this go around for them.  I'd say that's a safe assumption in general, neh?"

[Tecumseh]

Achak is reasonably certain that he is hallucinating, that some fragment of novacoke trapped in his nasal passage has become dislodged and found its way to his brain for a miniature, temporary high. But, no, after blinking and triple-checking the markings on the paper, he is sure that the price just went up by a factor of 10.

"Yes, that will do nicely," Achak says, more stunned for the moment than delighted. He takes the piece of paper and folds it up for a keepsake.

His head is flooded with numbers, even though he was never particularly good at them.

I can retire on half of that, he thinks. Get out of the game and settle down with someone special. Live the high life. He imagines Lola in a sundress on their lawn with two adorable and well-behaved twins playing nearby.

I can take care of Holy Trinity. Fix it up, make things right with Pastor Llewellyn. The Lord is good to me, and so I thank the Lord.

The thought makes him freeze up. Is this a reward from the Lord, or is this a test? A modern Parable of the Talents? Before I got here, I thought that the zekes might try to buy me off here, indirectly anyway. Have they succeeded?

He exhales, the thought heavy on him. Part of this is Stake's and Eli's too. They deserve justice. Maybe this isn't a reward, but a tool to do the Lord's work. He takes another bite of hog - wondering how Ms. Killarney could describe this as a 'light lunch' - and thinks over the next steps.

"It appears Christmas has come early this year," he says to Mercer before turning back to Duncan. "Mr. Abbey, if we were to provide you with our Christmas lists would you and your associates be available to help us do a little Christmas shopping?"

[rednblack]

"Yes, that will do nicely," Achak says, more stunned for the moment than delighted. He takes the piece of paper and folds it up for a keepsake.

While Achak sits in stunned silence, Duncan Abbey claps his hands together in an uncharacteristic display of emotion, and it takes Achak a moment to realize that he's shaking Mr. Abbey's hand.  "I'm glad that we could come to an agreement today," the British elf says before approaching the far wall of the library, and pulling on a thick golden cord which rings a bell and sends Ms. Killarney into the room.

"Now, Achak, we need to decide what we want to do with your newfound wealth," he says, reaching into a drawer on his desk and selecting three pewter rocks glasses.  The bottoms are shaped like the head of a hound, and they rest perfectly on the fine oak desk resting on their ears and snouts.  He then pulls out a crystal decanter and begins a heavy-handed pour in each glass.  "But before we get to specifics, I have a little tradition.  Whenever a clientof mine makes his first million nuyen deal, we drink some Midleton forty-five year.  To your health, and all of our continued success."

Mercer remembers this bit from early in his hunting career.  Those were truly salad days, and long before he had a crew of his own, long before the zekes were gunning for hunters with the same zeal that hunters had been gunning for them, and long before he knew about Sunrise, or CRISPR, or transcontinental vampire conspiracies.  He'd been little more than a pup then, but the score had included deeds to a number of properties in the DFW and OKC sprawls in addition to a veritable fleet of semis.  His share had been a paltry hundred-and-twenty K, and it had gone pretty fast, honestly.  At least he still had Vera to show for it.  He has trouble licking his lips in anticipation as Duncan pours.

"Achak, we can make out the total for you on a credstick, or number of credsticks should you like us to separate Rebecca's share, but I would suggest forming an LLC and placing the bulk of the money there.  You can make legal purchases in the name of your LLC, while providing little to no personal information, pay yourself, or any individual SIN, separate corporation, etc. any wages you wish for a nominal payroll tax, and aside from the incorporation fee, and nominal national taxes on income, there is very little oversight."

Mr. Abbey goes on to extol the benefits of LLCs over traditional corporations, over credsticks in the mattress, and Achak is able to follow most of it, or at least thinks he is.  Next, Mr. Abbey retrieves a plain white keycard from his desk which is adorned with a silver filagree crown and commlink number.  "Now, allow me to extend to an invitation to The Caston.  Should you need a secure location to lay low for awhile, a warm bed and change of clothes, a doctor, or somewhere that won't make note of specific hardware or other items that you may have on your person, The Caston should be able to fill those needs nicely.  Armored escort and transportation are available for an additional fee, and should you need their services in another locale, the concierge should be able to assist you.  Additional guests are allowed, so long as you vouch for them and do not abuse the privileges.  I'll make the call personally as soon as you leave, and you should expect to be added to the guest list as early as Tuesday."

Ms. Killarney brings Achak into a separate office to finalize his payment options, while Mr. Abbey pours another glass of whiskey for himself and Mercer.  "This will give us a chance to catch up.  How have you been, my old friend?"

[Tecumseh]

As the news sinks in, the momentary high that Achak confused for novacoke passes. He no longer feels joy or elation. If anything, he feels the weight of responsibility, of ensuring that he does not screw the pooch.

The houndheads of Duncan's rocks glasses recall Achak to the present. The visage of the hounds remind him of his duties and the loyalties demanding of him by his magic. He considers the glass curiously, and wonders if the design is not an accident. In the legends, vampires and werewolves were mortal foes. Perhaps Duncan's glasses signal his loyalties in the fight.

"I would be indebted to you for any referrals you could make for a reputable lawyer, accountant, and financial adviser who would be well-suited to working with a man of nontraditional professions such as myself," Achak says to Duncan. He can already feel the professional fees adding up in his head, eating away at the sum. "I wish to make informed decisions regarding tax consequences and investment decisions." His eyes remain unfocused as the symptoms of Sudden Wealth Syndrome begin to sink in.

I could live like this, he thinks to himself, looking around Duncan's library. Perhaps not exactly, but closely enough that an old ganger like myself wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

I've always lived on the cheap. Was that out of choice or necessity? Even when Stake and I were collecting bounties, I still lived like a Spartan. Put the money into weapons and gear but kept the creature comforts to a minimum. What do I do now that I can do both?

Achak focuses on the glass in front of him. I'm a drug addict, not a drinker, he thinks to himself, but I can't deny I like the way it smells. He takes a sip and realizes he can't tell good whiskey - this is whiskey, right? he wasn't sure - from bad. Instead he contents himself by swirling it in the rocks glass - oblivious to whether this is good etiquette or not - and inhaling periodically to remember the scent.

With this sort of money, I can get upgrades. The ones friendly to magic, that give more than they take. Or would that anger God if I dilute the gifts that He has given me?

He stares down into his glass and thinks of Lola while Mercer and Duncan converse. Would she have me? I am reasonably attractive, but not the most handsome. I am smooth, but not the most charming. I am strong, but not the most athletic. I am wealthy, but not the richest. Would she settle for me? She has to have a steady stream of suitors. Why has she not run away with any of them? Is it because she likes what she does?

Achak is under no illusions about the nature of Lola's employment, that it might not be entirely voluntary. Was he going to have to extract her, like some Mr. Johnson pinching the assets of another corp? Heh, pinching ass. He knows enough Latin to realize there's some sort of pun with 'corp' in there too.

I could get tailored pheromones, like Stake had. Bigger muscles, a stronger body. More of an athlete like Lola. Or one of those cerebral boosters that makes you smarter.

Oo, but would she like that? Would she think that it was cheating, that it would make me less of a man, not more? How could I find out in advance? I can't just hand her a menu and say, "Here, order me as the man you want." That's not how this works, or not how it should work. Ooh, my head.

Achak momentarily wonders if this money might be the end of freedom, not the beginning. He hoped it wouldn't distract him from the tasks at hand. He needed all of his focus and undivided attention if he was going to survive past Sunrise, and this sudden wealth was already consuming more than its fair share of both.

[Malevolence]

Mercer fingered the Longhaul, wondering how he managed to make it through the evening without using it. They hadn't gone to sleep until the wee hours of the morning, and considering the activity of the previous day, he should have been needing a fix shortly after midnight. But he hadn't even thought about it until now. And as the city drifted hazily by, dimmed and indistinct behind the light hail that had marked the burgeoning day, he deposited the packet containing the fizzy tabs of narcotics back into the deep pockets of his coat.


Mercer also thought about Nori and their conversation. She'd made it clear that the story was rapidly losing its "freshness" as the news cycle worked the Sunrise shootings through its system. He hoped that he had pacified her by pointing out that Sunday was a slow news day and would likely be the best day to get play on her piece, encouraging her to wait until late morning or mid day of the 8th before publishing. It was win-win for her, he pointed out. He'd meet her Sunday morning with some good stuff to share, and if she liked it, she could re-work her article into something better to publish at a later date, or she could go forward with her existing article on a day when it's unlikely to get buried under something juicier. She had tried to pry the info out of him right then, of course, but he'd held firm. He hoped that it was enough.


Achak was uncharacteristically quiet for the trip, and Mercer was fairly certain that even the dim cloudy day was too bright for the orcish human's hangover. Mercer peered out from the van's windows using the visual enhancements his ballistic mask provided. He'd seen the fancy designs and shapes that were available - many custom and quite striking - before making the practical decision to stick with the stock matte black model. The non-reflective black was perfect for not standing out in the dark, and the stock color and shape made it less memorable than some custom job, which was pretty much the point when you walked the grey line between law and justice.


As they entered the neighborhood where Duncan's office was located, he discretely let his two drones loose from the van so they could take a bird's eye view as they approached their destination. Once the van was parked, the flying drones would each find a convenient perch and watch the entrances to the building. Spitfire had a much better set of eyes watching, of course, but Mercer wanted to maintain the illusion that they were down a rigger, just in case anyone was watching him. And more eyes on lookout duty never hurt.


Before exiting the van, the two men double-checked their gear, and Mercer removed his mask and put it into a webbed pocket at his hip. The pants had many such pockets, webbed and concealing, along with snaps and other fasteners arranged tastefully around them. The punk look had a resurgence - again - in recent years, and had actually made its way into the more formal "high society" fashions of "respectable folk", so the excess zippers, buttons and all around amount of chaos were easy to arrange so that they served a useful purpose - that of stowing gear in an organized and easily accessible fashion. He didn't understand fashion, but he imagined that Shadowrunner Chic would probably become the talk of the boardrooms among fashionista corpers one of these years, and then you wouldn't even have to make an attempt to blend in. Or black tac harnesses, much like fatigues and combat boots before them. Mercer loved it when fashion an practicality crossed paths.


Mercer also took the opportunity to spray himself down with an odor neutralizer he'd purchased on the way to help mask some of the aroma his clothes were beginning to emanate. He hadn't had enough time this morning to get his clothes and armor properly cleaned, so this was a stop gap measure to get him through the next few hours.


The lobby routine was completely ordinary, and put Mercer at ease. With Jaeger's spirit allowed to remain in the lobby, he felt safer being disarmed by the lobby guards. After the short elevator ride to Duncan's floor, the aroma that greeted them in his private lobby was overwhelming, and Mercer had to command the olfactory sensor to represent the pungent smell of the roast pork as something less assailing to the sinuses. This then allowed him to detect the considerably more subtle aroma of the fried chicken before he had a visual on it.

"Oh, my dear Ms. Killarney, your lunch spreads have earned you a special place in my heart." He made a show of leaning over the chicken and inhaling the aroma. "Smoked with applewood, too. You have the finest taste for down home cuisine." He couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a fine meal, and he dispensed with his usual decorum and grabbed a piece even before stepping over to shake Duncan's hand.

"A pleasure, as always, Mr. Abbey. Sylvan Spring for me please Ms. Killarney," Mercer requested in response to Duncan's offer. He remembered the trouble Achak had gone through procuring it, and how special he seemed to think it was, and so Mercer figured he should see what all the fuss was about. He'd barely taken a bite of the chicken before Achak and Duncan were discussing the painting. Mercer glanced at Achak to see if the Amerind wanted him to handle the negotiations, but Achak hardly glanced his way before taking lead. Mercer shrugged internally and continued the repast, admiring the ostentatious office while keeping an ear on the conversation.


Again, more quickly than he would have imagined, Achak was a millionaire. Mercer had known that the new sum was significant, though assumed it was still a way south of a million, but once Duncan had mentioned "the first million" Mercer knew. Achak is struck dumb by the news, and Mercer can't blame him - it wasn't even Mercer's money and yet he was rendered speechless by association. Duncan's comment on the potential link to tainted dealers sets Mercer thinking. He'd assumed that the zeke's plan was simply to retaliate against the hunters and recover the items before they could sell to a dealer, but knowing what they did now about Sunrise's reach and extensive payroll, the idea of using dealers to help locate hunters - much like having a mole at the bounty desk - made sense. Mercer simply nodded in agreement to the comment, saying "yes, that is odd," but commenting no further.

When Achak was taken to the next room and Duncan and Mercer were left alone, they spent the time catching up on the past six months, discussing family, events, Mercer's life pretending to be dead, and what have you. When Achak returned and the "Christmas list" was bought up, Mercer provided a short list, but while his debt weighed heavily on his mind, he left it out. This was Achak's and Rebecca's money and he didn't feel right making any claim to it outside of the job at hand. And Stake's money, he supposed, but the old coot had no use for it now. Old coot, he thought again, catching his visage in one of the ornate mirrors. I'm one to talk.

[rednblack]

<<7 DEC 2074, 14:50 // Queen Anne District>>

About forty-five minutes later Achak emerges from the side office with his link chock full of incorporation forms, tax forms, lawyer's link codes -- personal lines, of course -- a few credsticks totaling ¥695,000, and wearing a rather dazed look on his face.

"Yes, Ms. Killarney can certainly through a hoop through the ringer," Duncan Abbey says, slipping into a vernacular that is rare for him but seems natural given his jovial post-business mood.  He produces a round silver watch with crystal backing from one of his many pockets, checks the time, and clicks his tongue.  "Thorough and expedient as always, Ms. Killarney.  Still, I have other business to attend to, and many calls to make."

Taking his cue, Mercer stands, and there is handshaking all around as the pair is ushered politely but quickly into the lobby and down the elevator to the ground floor.

"Happy hunting," Mr. Abbey says, before the elevator doors close, "and if you would like to bring your associates inside for our next meeting, do feel free.  I trust Knight Errant didn't give them any troubles today."

On the way down, Mercer gets a ping from Nori.

<<@Mercer [Nori] Fine.  You've got until Sunday.  This better be fragging wizbang intel.>>

[Tecumseh]

Achak emerges from the backroom looking and feeling stunned. His head is swimming, as if Ms. Killarney had made him drink from a fire hose. He finds the rest of his Midleton and gulps it rather too quickly in an attempt to settle his nerves. He contemplates the other sources of comfort in his life: God, guns, and drugs.

Psyche, I need psyche to get through all this paperwork, he thinks to himself. Great drug, no side effects, but too expensive. Not anymore. I'll pop some psyche, get all obsessive for eight or nine hours, and make sense of all this. Cereprax could work but it's got a nasty crash. Hard to find too, and illegal as frag. Trance? Could work, but also illegal, expensive as hell, and I'll be paralyzed for six hours straight. Let's stick with psyche. Step one, buy some. It's still legal, and this is an expensive neighborhood. There has to be a dispensary around here somewhere.

"Thank you," Achak says simply as he shakes hands with Duncan. His eyes sweep the remains of the hog that he didn't eat. The old ganger in him wants to package it up in a doggy bag, share some with SpitFire who probably has similar tastes. Then he remembers that he can now eat like this whenever he wants from now on. The thought overwhelms him all over again.

On the ride down to the lobby, Achak hardly knows what to say to Mercer. His new wealth makes him feel awkward and he doesn't know how to address it.

"I'll tell the others, okay?" he finally says after a heavy silence. They recollect their weapons in the lobby; Achak makes sure his Crusader is still loaded and ready in the event of an ambush. Setting it to Wireless Off, he slots it into the holster of his suit and then exits to the street, where the rain keeps falling.

The pair walk to Mercer's Roadmaster, with Achak scanning the streets - suddenly fearful of being mugged in a AAA neighborhood - before taking the passenger seat. He checks in with the trailing team and learns that they are at Kerry Park a few blocks away. The park has a commanding view of the Seattle skyline and Elliot Bay, and is popular enough that the team's surveillance drones can easily be passed off as recreational drones.

<<@Team [Achak] There's been a change in our financial situation. I sold a prize for a good price, enough to get out of the game for good. I'm going to see this one through first though. A part of that painting was Stake's and I figure I owe it to him to dust these zekes, their whips, their thralls, their walking teddy bears, and whatever else gets in the way.>>

<<Our previous operational budget was ¥10,500. Effective immediately, let's add another zero to the end of that. Let's get what we need to do this job right. Whatever we need to buy, we can buy. Whoever we need to bribe, we can bribe. Our biggest constraint will be time and what's available on short notice. Reagents, drugs, drones, whatever. I am personally considering a DocWagon contract and enough psyche to keep me lit until I figure out what things like 'codicil', 'imputed interest', and 'tax abatement' mean.>>

<<While we're figuring out our Christmas lists, let's go do some recon of Kreutz's neighborhood. We'll shift roles: SpitFire's van will be the rabbit and Mercer's Roadmaster will be the greyhound. Flickr, you come ride with us. Mercer makes a good point that the three of us might have known signatures, especially with your prior history. We don't want to be tipping off Kreutz in advance and we need to balance our magical coverage. I'll send a car to pick you up at the park and meet the Roadmaster at a third location so that the Roadmaster and the Universe aren't in the same place at the same time, at least outside of Tarislar. Grab my duffel bags from the back of SpitFire's van, please.>>

Achak sighs and remembers the elf's scrawny arms. Carrying Achak's bags would probably jack the elf's blood pressure and cause an aneurysm, especially with all that corn floating around his bloodstream.

<<Scratch that. Maybe just the bag with the Alpha and the ammo.>>

[Herr Brackhaus]

Erik tremendously enjoyed the luxury interior of SpitFire's van, and the ride to Mr. Abbey's place was supremely comfortable. When Achak and Mercer left to do their thing, Erik marveled at the attention to detail and loving care that had been poured into the vehicle as a whole, causing normally dull and opaque metals, plastics, and fabric in the Astral world to stand out in vibrant golds and yellows.

"SpitFire, dear boy, your vehicle is unlike anything I have ever seen. I must say I am quite impressed."

Settling into the soft seat while wondering if the upholstery was actually real leather, Erik had his Agent begin reciting Beowulf while waiting for the others to return.


Achak's message caught the mystic adept off guard. "Just what exactly have you stumbled into, old sport?"

Using his trodes, Erik interjected a quick change of plan to Achak and the others.

"Hang on, chief. I need to get closer than this security vehicle will allow in order to scope out Kreutz' residence. I'll take my own car just in case. It's less circumspect anyway."

Without pause Erik focused his attention on the Aether, reaching out with his senses for any nearby green belts. "Fortunately, this is a nice neighbourho... Ah, there we go!" Nature was slowly losing out to construction in most metroplexes, and Seattle was no different. But in Erik's experience, spirits of Earth remained even in the most built-up areas; some were grieving, others remembering, and a select few had turned into twisted monstrosities of their former glory. The latter were best avoided or put out of their misery, but that was no easy feat.

As Erik stepped outside the Roadmaster he focused his thoughts into the shape of a small mound of earth, then projected his will into the Astral and called for aid from Earth herself. Almost immediately, dust and soil began rising from cracks in the ground beneath his feet, slowly coalescing into something resembling a small, troll-like shape. The creature surprised Erik completely when it shuffled eagerly towards him and extended a limb to touch one of his legs, then scrambled up his leg while making sounds that reminded Erik of a tiny earthquake. When the earth-shape reached his midriff it stopped suddenly and just clung onto him.

"What the ..." was all Erik could think before the creature began asking questions in a seemingly ancient language he couldn't understand. "Woah, woah, woah. Hang on!" The creature quieted down at Erik's astral command, and observed the grizzled man with obvious interest and barely contained excitement. "Listen up; I need you to go take a look at an area for me. Just observe, mind; specifically, look for any active signatures and auras. Once you've taken a good look and communicated what you find to me, you are free to return to the fold."

The spirit looked forlorn, if such an emotion could be ascribed to a mound of dirt, but it obeyed none-the-less, vanishing into thin air as it dematerialized and sped away to the area Erik had mentally described to it. Erik dusted pieces of soil off his otherwise meticulous suit as his car pulled up to the curb next to him. Instructing the pilot program to take him to a small cul-de-sac near the target building, he settled into his own car seat. "Hmm, it might be time to upgrade the interior of this thing..."


Erik admired the scenery as his car pulled into the streets of the target neighbourhood. "I could live like this." The spirit he had summoned had been excited to return to Erik's presence, and had actually lingered around even after it's task was complete. Erik dismissed the slight oddity and focused what it had told him; no activity on the astral, meaning the house wasn't warded. "Good." It took minimal effort to extend his senses into a spell that would detect all life in his immediate surroundings, and as the mana settled in around him he reveled in the sensation of having the world literally explode into life in a way his natural vision could never have even come close to approximating. He began dictating what he could sense in a soft, monotone voice across the 'trix to the team.

"A few families here and there, looks like. Mostly empty houses near the target location, one larger family crowded around a trid set. Two adults, rest seem like children. Metas. Must be well-to-do, in this neighbourhood."

He focused on Kretuz' house, and was surprised to find a sleeping human at home. "Hmm, activity at the target site. One human male, sleeping by all accounts. Hang on." Shaping the mana surrounding him slightly, he shifted his focus from the living to the structures surrounding them. The Kreutz house was quite large, with no hidden features that he could detect. "Site has two floors; front door leads to a foyer; from left to right, we've got a kitchen, laundry room, dining room, then a great room in the back, flanked to the right by two small bed rooms with a bathroom in between, and finally an office. Upstairs from the great room is a... looks like a master bedroom, where the human is sleeping. Master bed and bath extends over the downstairs garage, which seems to hold two vehicles. Moving in to take a closer look."

"Pilot, take us on a slow route past this address; a few miles below the speed limit, please."


As Erik's car came into the cul-de-sac the mystic adept prepared his ace-in-the-hole spell. "I may not be able to project into the Astral, but I am not without abilities." A smirk crossed his lips as he focused his thoughts, and for once the exercise came without the usual headache or mental strain. Effortlessly, he pushed his astral perception into the area making up the drive way of his target structure. "Now you see me, now you don't" he muttered to himself, forgetting that his Matrix link was also voice enabled. Unlike an Astrally projecting magician, Erik retained full consciousness while perceiving in this fashion, and thus he was capable of communicating with the rest of the team as he prepared to gather information about their target.

"All right, let's take a look at what we've got here, folks." Imagining himself stepping inside the front door of the Kreutz residence, he gathered his senses and took in the feeling associated with everything around him. He inhaled deeply, and began describing the emotions attached to the structure as he quickly moved his point of view through the ground floor. With a thought he stepped from the grand room downstairs directly into the master bathroom above him. In a moment, he took in everything the sleeping form in front of him emoted into the Astral, gaining an immediate understanding of who and what the man was. He knew he had limited time as the moving vehicle would quickly force him out of range, and with one last lingering impression he scrubbed his Astral signature from the immediate surroundings and prepared to return to his vehicle.

[Tecumseh]

Achak orders a cab to pick up Flickr and then deliver the elf- and Achak's duffel bag - to a third location, where he is met by the Roadmaster. Flickr protests but eventually succumbs to the tag-team of Mercer and Achak. Then it's off to Somerset.

It's not sunset yet but it might as well be with the dark rain clouds. Mercer's Roadmaster descends from Queen Anne and turns east on Mercer until rejoining the freeway. Then it's east across Highway 90 toward Bellevue.

Mount Baker, Achak thinks to himself, using the name of the neighborhood on the west shore of Lake Washington. I could live here. Watch the sun rise over the Cascades and the lake in the morning. Drink my coffee and remember where I came from.

The Roadmaster crosses the floating Intercity Bridge over Lake Washington. Achak studies the waves, whitecapping in the winter wind, as they splash and spray over the edge of the bridge and onto traffic. Achak sees Council Island approach: a wooded retreat, tribal enclave, and NAN embassy. There are high barriers along the length of the freeway, as well as extensive security measures worthy of an embassy. Achak feels the air spirits patrolling overhead, making sure that the Island's airspace isn't invaded. He struggles to look around the barriers and security to see the densely-wooded park that reminds him of where he grew up. I wonder if they'd let me live there, he wonders. I have the SIN for it, but it's mostly diplomats and support staff. Could I bribe my way on? Maybe pick up a simple job to keep myself busy. What am I going to do with myself?

Then the Island has passed and it's a short hop across the East Channel Bridge into Bellevue. The Friday afternoon traffic is heavy and Achak studies the surrounding cars as Mercer pulls off the highway and starts navigating the neighborhood streets.

I'm going to need to get a car, Achak realizes. Something that fits in. I barely know how to drive though. Should I get an S-K Bentley Concordat? A Eurocar Westwind? Probably a Rover Model 2072 when Lola and I have kids.

His train of thought is interrupted as they close in on the destination. Mercer wisely stays one street away from their true target. Achak rolls down the window, which lets the cold air in, but lets him listen to the neighborhood and smell what it has to offer. Jaeger radios that there are some neighbors huddled around the trid. Achak quickly checks the listings to make sure they're not a squad of goons ready to pounce on anyone who looks at Kreutz the wrong way. He finds a basketball game which Horizon has purchased exclusive rights to air. A soft buzzing catches his high-frequency hearing.

<<@Team [Achak] There's a drone over Kreutz's house. It's following a regular circular pattern. I can't see it so I don't know if it's armed or just for surveillance. Let's add that to the to-do list.>>

Then things get intense. Achak suddenly lurches forward in his seat and is only restrained by his seatbelt. His face flushes as he grits his teeth. Mercer looks over, concerned that the spicy hog might be making an unscheduled reappearance.

Waves of dread and nausea wash over Achak. His skin is covered with a dirty, sticky feeling, as if he had crawled through a swamp at the height of summer. His head pulses as his heart drops out of his chest into his stomach.

"Blood spirit," he says through gritted teeth as he swallows his lunch back down. He takes a drink of his bottle of Sylvan Spring to rinse the acid from his mouth. "On watch. Quickened spells, which we knew about, probably for his allergies. Foci, preparations. It's hard to sort through it all." He winces, massaging his temples and then the insides of his wrists to help alleviate the queasiness. He reaches down and grabs his gunstock war club, clutching it to his chest.

Achak looks back in the Roadmaster to make sure that Flickr hasn't run off, physically or astrally. "You stay put," he says with grim authority. "These people are professionals. We have to be too."

Jaeger signals that his pass is complete. Achak nods to Mercer and says, "Let's get out of here." They go.

"There's a DocWagon clinic in Renton," he says with new conviction as Mercer heads south. Achak looks up the address and shares an ARO with Mercer. "I'm going to sign up." He comms SpitFire and Jaeger to let them know.


Renton isn't Achak's first choice for a place to stop. Knight Errant's Seattle division is headquartered here. It's a conservative community, one of Brackhaven's most reliable districts. Many residents don't look kindly on Amerinds or the Awakened, but Achak is confident that his Vorpal Credstick of Ebony will cut through any social objections he might encounter. His suit should help smooth the way too, even if it is stained and smells like cayenne.

"Hi, how can I help you?" asks the perky blonde human saleswoman at the clinic with a too-tight smile. She wears a snug grey suit over a white blouse that are both sober and highly conventional.

"I'd like a contract, please," Achak answers directly.

"Did you know that one-fifth of the residents of Seattle subscribe to at least basic-level DocWagon service?" she asks rhetorically, continuing on with her preprogrammed routine as if Achak hadn't said anything.

"Gold," the Amerind says, placing his ebony credstick on her desk.

"Oh!" she says, straightening up quickly, her smile warming from Strained to Sunny. "I'd be delighted!" Her demeanor continues to soften as she realizes that she's in for a generous commission. She'll have a fun weekend of Christmas shopping ahead of her, and Achak does his best to let her buoyant mood wipe away some of the anxiety he's feeling.

"We need a tissue sample," she says, summoning an attractive young nurse who brings a small kit.

"Yes, of course," Achak says, taking off his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves. "Please note 'Awakened' on your records."

"Oh!" she exclaims. "Of course. That makes sense with..." she trails off.

"My nativeness." Achak offers a thin smile. The saleswoman giggles, embarrassed, while the nurse's light touch spends an inordinate amount of time tracing Achak's biceps looking for a vein. Achak stares straight ahead, ignoring the nubile bosom that is unnecessarily close to his face. Achak notes that nurse smells like orchids.

Once the sample has been taken and whisked away to the secure vault, the saleswoman fits Achak with a biomonitor wristband. She confirms the signal as Achak stands to pull his jacket back on. With a nod to the ladies who stand expectantly, he turns and walks out into the wet evening where the sun has now set.

"Let's get back to the warehouse and sort this out," he says to Mercer, closing the Roadmaster's door behind him. "It's going to be a busy day tomorrow."

[Tecumseh]

Before leaving the clinic, Achak stops at the pharmacy and leverages his newfound social clout by dropping a couple grand on psyche. When he steps outside, several ambulances pull up and wheel bloodied people into the clinic on stretchers. Achak notes the civilian clothes on the wounded but doesn't think much of it. He rejoins Mercer and Flickr and then the Roadmaster pulls back into the rain.

"Let's pick up some dinner before we get back to Puyallup," Achak suggests. "We need to eat well and sleep well for the morning."

He was still full from his "light" lunch but knew that the options in Tarislar would be limited or excessively elfy. He flips through the options on his commlink, scanning for places he has been before and can trust. More sirens and ambulances race by, headed toward the clinic.

"Personally I'm a fan of the barbecue at Greasy Ben's, but we don't have the bathroom facilities to accommodate everyone. In honor of tomorrow morning's target... let's get Azteca."

Azteca International South specializes in Aztec-Mex cuisine and fresh seafood. It was right on the shore of Lake Washington and had a good view, but since it was already dark and they weren't eating there anyway the view hardly mattered. Plus Achak reasoned that it might be familiar cuisine for Mercer, although perhaps no substitute for what's available in the CAS. Achak calls and orders in his middling Spanish.

"Quisiera ordenar para llevar. Picaditas, tacos al pastor, tacos carne asada, entomatadas, y mole negro Oaxaqueno. Aguas frescas para beber. Es todo, gracias. Quince minutos, bien. Hasta pronto."

On the way there, it soon becomes apparent that all the sirens and ambulances are related. Mercer spies several Cyberspace Designs Dalmation circling overhead. "Lone Star and KE both use those for urban surveillance," he points out. Then a Citymaster roars by, sirens screaming.

"I'll take a peek," Flickr says, slipping to the astral. He sits back up seconds later. "Big disturbance. Large crowd, very angry. Cops all around, riled up and feeling anxious. Looks like a riot."

Achak does a search for local news. His face turns grim. "They're protesting a cop that shot an ork teenager over the summer. The D.A. just announced that there won't be any charges against the cop, even though some local hackers exposed the cop's ties to Humanis."

Achak sighs. He can hardly blame the protesters, but still. I don't know whether it's brave or stupid to protest at K-E headquarters, he thinks. Renton's not exactly receptive to this kind of message, but it's not like anyone would be paying attention if they protested in Redmond or Puyallup.

"I know a way around," he says, redirecting Mercer. Before they turn, they can see cops in riot gear and ballistic shields advancing on a teeming throng of protesters, who lob molotov cocktails to push the cops back. One riot officer swings around his ArmTech MGL-12 and starts thumping out gas grenades in a line in front of the rioters to keep them at bay. Neurostun, perhaps, or Pepper Punch more likely if the accountants had their say. Achak sees another officer with either an Enfield AS-7 or an Auto-Assault 16. He silently prays that it's full of gel rounds or stick-n-shock, but given that it's Renton he's not entirely sure. Mercer successfully navigates around the riot as an Ares Dragon full of more cops with more large guns hovers menacingly overhead and orders the protesters to disperse.

At the restaurant, Achak steps out to retrieve the food. Having done so, they begin the long procession back to Puyallup, further delayed by the detours necessary to bypass the riots. By the time the team is back at the warehouse, it is dinnertime.

"Dinner is on," Achak announces, opening up the food containers and setting them out on the rickety card table that passes for a dining table. Still full from lunch, he sits back and kicks off the planning while the others eat. He debates popping some psyche to improve his thinking, but he knows it will keep him wired for 8-10 hours and he needs to be asleep long before then.

"Let's recap what we know. Kreutz and the woman leave around 06:00. The heavier security detail is replaced by four Azzies in body armor with SMGs for the day shift. There's an air spirit hovering overhead and an Azzie doctor keeping an eye on the teddy bears, which should be tucked in for the night. We should leave here no later than 06:00 to get in position to initiate by 06:30. I figure we stealth the guards while Jaeger and Flickr tag-team the spirit to take it down quickly. Once that happens, we're on the clock because the summoner will be tipped off. Magical backup will be first to arrive to we'll have to be on guard for that. The last thing we need is a spirit waking up the wendigos.

"I figure that SpitFire takes the perimeter - above and below - with his drones while the rest of us go in. SpitFire, can Punch navigate the sewers if want him ('him'?) to cut off their escape route? Just full-auto anything that comes down that ladder. Patsy can take overwatch above the scene, right?

"Inside, we neutralize the doc. Flickr and Jaeger can address the containers while Mercer and I sweep the place for pockets of resistance, plus any intelligence or portable property that presents itself. We'll trim the ears for the bounties if we have the bandwidth but that's down the list. Top priority is get out alive. Second priority it to frag over Sunrise. Third priority is to get paid for it.

"Questions? Holes? Improvements?"

[rednblack]

Navigating out of Renton proves more dangerous, or at least time-intensive than getting to the DocWagon facility.  Somewhere upstream the worst of the disturbances have bled over Oakesdale Ave, and the rest of Renton is suddenly a parking lot.  Bright KE AROs light up the overcast sky over the palling light of a shrouded sun warning citizens that gathering in groups of more than two is currently prohibited as are private drones in Renton air space. 

They never see the locus of the riot, or riots if they've metastasized, but Achak hears the distant thunk-thunk-thunk of an automatic shotgun twice, and hopes again that they've only loaded that monster with gel rounds. 

Once Mercer can get his Roadmaster on the 405 Flickr pipes up, "We should hit Kreutz now.  With KE bogged down with this mess we can get in and out quick, and then take care of his little pets."

With some time to himself running solo, SpitFire drops the Universe to autopilot and retrieves the data packs from their mole on the inside.  That little noizquito has been doing pretty well for itself, and checking the time stamps it looks like the big ork whom Achak noted was the one who called him "Nighthawker" walks in the front door at a quarter to five.  He introduces himself around to the security team, but each seems wary of the other, and the ork soon steps outside.  A little after six, the crew from the previous night, sans Kreutz, is inside, and the security team packs up and leaves.  At six-fifteen one of the hangar doors opens, and a small trailer is deposited inside, and the one where the wendigo got their dinner from is loaded up by a crew of three Japanese-looking gentlemen. 

When Kreutz walks in at nearly seven-thirty the woman Mercer had recognized from Sunrise says, "And here I thought Aztechnology would have at least taught you punctuality."

"I think I was surveilled at my house," Kreutz says.  "That's me and Laura that they've put eyes on.  I left my link at home, and did my best to lose any drones in Renton, even took another car here in case they put a bug in my Phoenix, but it's only a matter of time before they find--"

"Most disconcerting, but it's being dealt with," the woman replies.  "It appears we had a leak.  It's been plugged.  And we don't believe they have any drone or hacking support, so let's key up against their magical expertise.

"They're bound to be looking elsewhere," Kreutz says.

"We're counting on it," the woman replies