[BestTeaMaker]

The Shadow Sessions

>>Logging in...
>>Receiving message...

>>Once upon a time, there was a prince and a princess. The prince was a talented violinist, playing his wondrous melodies for the royal court. The princess held a blessed voice, singing for the people of her kingdom. Everyone wanted them to be wed, for they were sure they would make the perfect couple.
>>However, the more time they spent together, the more they began to feel jealous. He had the hands that could entrance the world. She had the voice that could captivate the people. At first, they devoted their time in bettering themselves, spending hours practicing their musical skill. But it wasn't enough. They tried sabotaging each other's performances to the point when people became afraid to approach them, lingering instead from a distance to listen to their songs. But it wasn't enough. The prince found his own voice to be wretched and cacophanous, and in jealous rage he ripped out the throat of the princess. The princess felt numbness in her wrinkled, dirty hands, and in envious fury she tore the hands from the prince's arms.
>>The next morning, they were found in the middle of the royal court, finally united in one sanguine pool. All those witness to the scene could swear they heard a haunting tune in the air, the dischord between a string and a voice.

OOC


Sessions

An Overture for Strangers
A message is sent to those who accept. A test will be done to prove their worth. Only the shadows know what will become of this beginning.


Cast

Dacre Jordan
Human Cat Burglar

Knockout
Troll Boxer

Cross
Human Combat Medic

Johnny Two-Step
Elven Cowboy

Pepperface
Human Anarchist

FlashGiTz
Elven Smuggler

Daisy
Troll Bouncer

The Frenchman
Human Socialite

[BestTeaMaker]

An Overture for Strangers

[Wednesday 11:30 am, October 23rd, 2075 | ? | Downtown Seattle]

Faster...faster...

She could feel her heart beat with every hurried step she took down the empty alleyway. The adrenaline coursing through her body numbed the pain in her chest, and yet she could feel raw fear with every labored breath.

Faster...faster...

She didn't dare look behind her. She knew they were coming. They would always be coming as long as she held the package. She could feel its weight in her bag slung over her shoulder.The damn thing was heavy. So heavy.

Faster...faster...

The end of the alleyway was fast approaching. The streets. She could hide amongst the crowd. She was good at that. It was the only thing she was good at. It was her last hope.

Faster...fast--

An outstretched arm quickly halted her momentum as she was swung into the wall. Trash scattered and cans clanged as she made contact, held against the wall. The next thing she saw was an ork leering at her, his pierced tongue moving in suggestive ways around his tusks. She upturned her nose in disgust as he released a putrid breath. He turned and shouted eagerly, "Oi! Lookee what I bagged m'self today! A pretty little girl." He slicked his green-tinted mohawk back with his other hand as two other orks sporting ragged shirts and the same hairdo joined him.

"And where were you running off to on this lovely day?"

She pursed her lips, tightly gripping the straps of her bag. One of her captor's friends widened his rotten teeth into what he thought was a grin. "Lovely little red-head elf lost on the way to her granny's."

"Ooh, watcha gonna do wit' her, Boss?" The third ork pipped in a surprisingly high pitched squeal.

The ork who apparently was the boss smiled. "Oh, there's lotsa things I have planned. But not here. Let's bring her back to base, boys."

At this, she relaxed. If any of the three orks had any muck in their heads, they would've realized something iffy. Instead, they roughly pulled her by the arm. "Walk," commanded the leader. "And you two! Act natural. We're escorting the lovely lady to our home."

As they dragged her out onto the streets, she looked back for the first time in a long while. She sighed with relief. She was safe for now. Well, as safe as being held captive by three go-gangers can be.


[Wednesday 11:30 am, October 23rd, 2075 | The Fairmont Olympic Hotel | Downtown Seattle]

The flames flickered, casting moving shadows from the weathered fireplace. The warmth permeated the room, lit by the glow of the fire. It was a simple room filled with a complicated history. Famed figures had stayed in this once opulent suite: presidents, actresses, entrepeneurs. Now, only dusty furniture wreathed in ghostly sheets remained in the dark, light blocked by worn, heavy curtains. Only two pieces remained uncovered: an oaken side table with a tumbler of fine liquor, and an ornate velvet armchair, where a wizened old man sat, basking in the warmth of the flames.

He sat there, as if entranced by the flames, his golden eyes showing a glazed look. His body was completely still, his arms fixed ontop of the armrest and legs crossed. He was dressed in a long crimson bathrobe that draped across his knees. Slippers of the same fabric adorned his feet, withered with age. Every now and then he reached for his glass, raising the amber liquid to his mouth. He would then bring an oxygen mask to his face, inhaling deeply and releasing a heavy sigh that bespoke his weariness.

A soft rapping on wood interrupted his thoughts. He didn't turn, but he knew who was there. A deep, hoarse voice addressed the darkness in the doorway behind him. "Tell me, Inglewood. Is everything prepared?"

A figure stepped into the warm glow. It was a tall elf, a wiry creature exuding nimbleness and grace, his age belied only by his white, carefully trimmed goatee and combed-back hair. He donned a simple suit and pants, an old-fashioned outfit for an old-fashioned elf. He took a deep bow before he answered the older man. "Yes, sir. We are ready to receive our guests."

"Good, good." A slight pause hung in the air before the older man continued. "I have been waiting for this moment for a long time, old friend. I can hear the final moments of my life drawing near. Soon, all of the suffering I have experienced will have been worth it, all for this moment."

"It has been a long time coming, sir." The elf maintained his stoic pose at the doorway.

Another pause filled the space. "Tell me about them."

"Sir?"

"Our guests, Inglewood." The elf could see the older man lean back into the armchair. "Tell me, what are they like? What are they doing right now?"

[JackVII]

[Wednesday 11:30 am, October 23rd, 2075 | Bruno's Lights Out! Boxing Gym | Puyallup Barrens]

The deep, rhythmic thumping meant the heavy bag was getting a solid work-out. Even though the Evo MegaPunch! bag was designed specifically for the enhanced strength of large metahumans, it swayed wildly as each blow landed. The big troll working the bag didn’t seem to notice. Shirtless and gloveless, the man rained blow after blow on the bag; sweat gathering on his chest and soaking the old black trunks he wore. His muscles bunched and released explosively as each punch landed like a heavy piston.

Bruno’s Lights Out! Boxing Gym was empty that morning. On Wednesday nights, the gym hosted a series of exhibition matches and was normally closed during the day. The workers would arrive shortly after noon to start setting-up the extra bleacher seating and cleaning-up before the crowds arrived for the main event that evening. Empty is good, Knockout thought to himself as he rocked the bag with a particularly heavy blow.

“Hey now, what did that bag ever do to you? You're making me regret letting you come in here when we’re closed.”

Recognizing the voice, Knockout stopped his workout and steadied the heavy bag. Looking behind him, he saw the gym's eponymous Bruno grinning at him. Picking up the levity in his voice, Knockout knew the grizzled old ork wasn’t really angry.

“Bag said something about Mother. Was defending honor.” Knockout replied deadpan in a deep, heavily accented broken English. Only a few years literally off the boat, the troll had yet to make headway in mastering anything more than the most basic of English. For his first years in Seattle, Knockout’s fists did most of his talking for him.

Checking his commlink, Knockout realized time was running short and he needed to hit the showers before the work crews showed up. Grabbing his towel, the troll wiped the sweat off his body and started peeling the tape from his hands. Glancing at Bruno as he wiped himself and the bag down, Knockout asked, “How does card look tonight?”

“Not too bad,” Bruno replied, “the undercard looks like it should be pretty entertaining with a pair of kids from Tarislar going at it. The main looks pretty good too, ‘Steel Shanks’ Simon taking on Bobby ‘The Bomber’ Berlusconi. I hear there’s a lot of mob action on that one. But enough about tonight, how are you doin’ champ? Any good news?”

“Da. Is good,” Knockout replied perfunctorily. Bruno sometimes reminded Knockout of Dmitry, his boxing mentor. Granted, Bruno hadn’t sold him out to an organized crime ring. Well, not yet anyway. “Still looking work, but not dead yet. Could be better, could be worse. Had better get going. Thanks for letting spar, tovar.”

Shaking Bruno’s hand, Knockout headed to the shower and checked his commlink one last time. If I am lucky, perhaps there will be a message from the Matryushka about work once I finish cleaning up.

[reyjinn]

[Wednesday 11:30 am - Oct 23. 2075 | Daisy's Room | Redmond Barrens]

Looking at Daisy in his 'apartment' would not give you the idea that he is an undersized troll, there is just enough room to take a really deep breath.  Daisy is sitting on his sofabed wondering what to do with his day off.  I really need to save up some nuyen and get a bigger place, I'll develope fraggin claustrophobia if I live here much longer... maaaaybe after I get done with changing Bítur [Biter] into a focus.  Daisy is obviously just getting up from sleeping as all he is wearing is his birthday suit, he is far from bulky even though he, being a troll and all, could never have adjectives like slender or lithe describe him. His torso and arms have a myriad of tattoos including one of a classic Thor's Hammer between his shoulderblades that seems to be of a better quality than most of the others.

Daisy brushes his hands back over his horns letting his fingertips running through his short black hair and sighs.  I should get out of the smog for a bit, maybe head north to Snoho.  Some fresh, well fresher, air would do my lungs a lot of good.  I really don't feel like having some crackerjack farmer pull a shotgun on me again though.  I'd better just head off to Reggie's dojo and get in a workout.

With that Daisy gets to his feet and starts his day.

[obidancer]

[Wednesday 9:30 am, October 23rd, 2075 | Some Stranger's Apartment | Downtown Seattle]

Remy LeBeau opened his eyes to an unfamiliar place. The room was smallish but nicely put. Morning light bathed it with a greyish tone, a result of Seattle cloudy sky. Clothes, both male and female, were randomly scattering the floor. On his shoulder laid a woman, her naked body giving warmth to his side. He tried to remember her name, but realized she probably never gave it to him. Since his 'rebirth' he had made a point to remember as much as he could. It wasn't easy. But when you have none, memories are precious. He nimbly removed himself from the bed, careful not to wake the lady.

It had been a very long night, making it to the woman's apartment as the dawn was starting. Three hours of sleep and he felt pretty awake, thanks to his sleep regulator enhancement - a blessing for his profession. He simply cursed that the regulator didn't take care of hangovers! Obviously too much alcohol. Again. He got up and cautiously gathered his clothes and belongings; his forehead was aching, and his day looked as cloudy as the outside sky. He dressed and looked back at the woman. She was looking pretty hot naked on the bed, but he knew she wouldn't be able to wake up for another few hours. A smirk grew on his face as he recall the good time they had this night. So long, Beauté [beauty] he said, as he left the apartment.

[Wednesday 10:30 am, October 23rd, 2075 | The Frenchman's Apartment | Downtown Seattle - close to the Tacoma border]
He had stopped the cab a good few blocks away from his apartment. The breakfast he had along the way hadn't been that fancy. The walk, fresh air, and probably a second cup of soycaf' would do him good to get rid of the remnant of the hangover. At least it wasn't raining. He was looking forward to a good shower.

His apartment was well lit; the modern style furniture and appliances, along the sterile decoration and prominent white color, made it look more luxurious than it really was. He liked it, though. But with barely a couple thousand Nuyens left in his account, he didn't know if he would be able to keep living here for long. He needed a Job... or a Run... Many in the neighborhood knew him as a Private Eye. And he had got a few job already, even if they had been pretty uninteresting at most. But it was a good cover for his more Shadowy activities. That had been interesting. The Doc Henry had been right. He felt he belonged to the Shadows. And in a way it scared the drek out of him. With no recollection of who he was, how he got his enhancement, nor where did he learn to use a gun with such proficiency, it automatically lead to some serious identity crisis. The Frenchman knew how to drift away from those thoughts...

[Wednesday 11:30 am, October 23rd, 2075 | The Frenchman's neighborhood | Downtown Seattle]
The shower felt great. The half hour spent reading the news bored him. Now he was ready for a good run. The Frenchman had done away his dressing clothes for some comfortable sweat pants and sweater. He secured his commlink at his waist, plugged it to the datajack hidden not far behind his ear. He attached his Colt America L36's holster in the small of his back, checked the gun was fully loaded and hid everything under his loose sweater. Finally, as he stepped out again, he cover his head with the hood, and start what will hopefully be a good run. Jogging and parkour running was good for keeping him at the best of his game.

[Red_Cap]

[Wednesday 11:30 am, Oct. 23rd, 2075 | Owen's Apartment | Downtown Seattle]

Up, until arms are fully extended.  Breath out.  Down, until the bend of the elbows breaks a ninety-degree plane.  Breath in.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat. . .

Owen huffed as he finished his last set of push-ups and sat heavily on his bed, taking a swing of Vita-Orange as he did so.  The life of a shadowrunner was supposed to be filled with action, suspense, the constant threat of danger.  Instead, he was stuck waiting for a fraggin' phone call.  At this rate, I'm never going to get a job. . . which means I'll never find Faye. . .  He shook the thought off, shoving it to the deepest, darkest corner of his mind.  He had to stay positive.  Optimism was the key. . . despite everything everyone else had told him.  Only Vic had expressed anything approaching hope of finding her breathing.  He had to believe she was still alive, or all of this was for nothing.

Wearily, he opened the top draw of his nightstand and pulled out a small white faux-leather box.  He lifted the hinged top and stared down at the now-exposed contents in what was becoming a daily ritual.  The diamond wasn't exceptionally big -- a touch under one carat -- but it was as close to flawless as he could afford, and Faye had been such a huge fan of white gold.  He'd splurged on it, because he thought she was worth it.  He still did, thus his current predicament.  He wasn't a religious man, he didn't pray; but he hoped, and he hoped like Hell that he found her, alive and kicking, somewhere.  If she'd run from Seattle -- run from him -- he could live with that.  It'd break his heart, but at least she'd be alive...

Owen put the ring away, trying to shelve the whirlwind of doubt that always came with it.  Instead, he replaced the morose feelings with iron-hand determination.  Dead, runaway, captured, it didn't matter -- he was going to find her, period.  He got up and went to the closet and pulled out three black hard-shell plastic cases.  He opened the largest of them and pulled out his HK-227, an almost exact copy of the custom-modified rig HRT had made for him when he finally got the gig with them that he'd always wanted.  He proceeded to break it down, clean it, oil it, and reassemble it, then repeated the process for his Colt and his Predator.  He unloaded and then reloaded all his magazines, too; giving the springs even a short rest added months to their lifetime.

The whole time, he just stared at his commlink.  Soon.  He'll call soon.  Maybe today?  He has to...

[Silence]

[Wednesday 11:30 am, Oct. 23rd, 2075 | Puyallup Flophouse | Puyallup Barrens]

Johnny sits around, doing his daily meditations, before standing and grinning, sliding on his duster and hat before heading out.  He might find a good time.  He might find a few secrets.  He might even find work.  It hardly mattered, at the moment.  Life was good, and there was a halfway decent act at the bar tonight.  They were a sort of mix between Johnny Cash and Alabama, which should be interesting.  And if they had sucked, well, there was a reason most of the crowd there went armed.  Mostly due to a string of really, really bad acts.

He slid the comlink into a pocket.  There might be a call today.

[Nemo157]

[Wednesday 11:30 am, October 23rd, 2075 | The Honeypot Cafe | Sumner, Auburn]

Sipping at his soykaf Dacre hid a grimace. It’s been what, 6 years since I hadn’t even heard of soykaf; and now I’m pretentious enough to almost be unable to drink it? This time back in the gutter will probably be good for me, but godsdamn do I miss coffee. Turning slightly to watch a hot red-head wandering past he smiled. Although, these gutters are much nicer than my last ones.

Anyone looking in at Dacre would see a pretty generic early-mid 20’s human. Mid-length brown hair, blue eyes, slightly taller and thinner than average at 6’ 2”, 65 kg; but nothing that would stick in their mind. Currently dressed in his "shopping" gear he looked sort of like a street hood, baggy cargo pants full of pockets and a hoody 2 sizes too large, both in drab greyish, greenish colours.

Reflecting back over the mornings shopping Dacre felt pleased. He was forced to actually pay for these clothes with nuyen, but he had managed to "acquire" a pair of knives for his kitchen and a painted scroll to hang on the wall. The place he’d found was very cramped, but it would do until he was back on his feet.

Taking another sip he started making a mental list of what necessities he had to get. New safe house with commlink, fake SIN and go bag; better primary commlink and fake SIN, probably need to burn this one soon in case Troliod traced it somehow. Then I can start looking at finding a new place.

Downing the last of his soykaf Dacre headed out to roam the neighbourhood, he was probably going to be living here for at least a while so it would pay to learn his escape routes. Glancing at his commlink he hoped his fixer would call soon, it had only been a few days since he’d made contact but he could really do with some work. Setting up a brand new life doesn’t really pay for itself.

[Bewilderbeast]

Wednesday 11:30 AM, October 23rd, 2075 | Pepperface's Basement Apartment | Downtown Seattle

Pepperface leaned back in his chair and dragged his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to inspect the small galaxy of AR windows glittering before him. The first was filled with line upon line of source code for a new algorithm for his browser program. The idea came to him at 2 AM, and he knew he wouldn't be able to get any sleep until he had at least the basics down. Satisfied that he had at least a rough skeleton to work with, he discarded the ARO window with a flippant gesture from his AR gloves and brought up the next in the stack. This was a confusing smear of colors, sounds and leering faces; some weird new experimental animation out of Neo-Tokyo, designed be enjoyed with a dose of Zen. Drugs weren't Pepperface's style, but he liked having cartoons playing in the background while he worked, even bizarre ones. It was an old habit from college. Made him feel less alone.

He brought up his third ARO window, then his fourth, then his fifth. A new skin for his latest line of attack code, designed to perniciously slip through that hilariously well-documented loophole in the Hermes Ikon's firewall. The raw guts of a databomb he'd been working on for a file of no particular import. The latest adjustments to his custom-coded persona... it'd been a busy night.

With no small amount of trepidation, Pepperface eventually brought up his last AR window; a clock that displayed 11:30 AM in bold red letters like an insult. He'd worked straight through the wee hours of the night and into the morning, and he was now swiftly approaching noon. All this with little more than three hours of sleep to fuel him. "Guess it's time for soykaf," he grumbled, abandoning all pretense of actual sleep. He got up from his leather recliner, dismissing his AROs with a wave.

Pepperface knew his peers considered working in AR strange, but then again, his peers were idiot script kiddies that were lucky to live long enough to see the other side of their 20's before frying their brains on BTL or hotsim. VR was great for slipping past IC or bricking some ganger's ghetto-deck, but a seasoned hacker like Pepperface preferred AR for coding and creation. It gave him perspective, it gave him distance. It left a little science in the art of sculpting the Matrix, and if some pimple-faced wannabe decker called it old-fashioned, well, Pepperface would take that as a compliment before forcing the little upstart's gear to reformat and reboot.

Sliding out of his chair, Pepperface surveyed the organized chaos of his spacious basement apartment. The place had a bit of a musty smell and very little in the way of natural light, but its firm plasticrete walls offered a quiet sanctum in which to work... and a nice buffer for the innocent neighbors in case a bomb prematurely exploded. But that hadn't happened in years.

Spare computer parts and cannibalized hardware sat in labeled plastic bins in the living room area. "Living room" was a bit of a misnomer, however; the room was otherwise devoid of furniture beyond the leather recliner of Pepperface's "hacking throne." The attached kitchenette glowed with fluorescent lights and the promise of caffeine, and the weary hacker stumbled his way over to the tile countertop to fix himself a hot cup of coffee-like substance. As the soykaf spurted into the cup, he picked up his off-the-shelf Renraku Sensei and brought up an AR window to check his messages. Pepperface knew his credstick was light as of late, and he strongly preferred doing something more interesting than host design to earn his rent.

[WrongConcept]

Wednesday 11:30 AM, October 23rd, 2075 | Aeohion Weretheil Apartment | Downtown Seattle

Another nightmare, in fact it was the same, Toshiki was playing with the dead body of Sihadriel, he just stood there and did nothing, when the Chromed sadist finished with her it came for him... One punch likea roaring thunder and another, and another... And another. He woke up screaming and gasping for air, his legas and arms grabing the sheets and looking everywhere scanning the room he was in, tears form up on his eyes, and he covered his face in shame... In disgust.

The red haired elf put his white skinned feet on the cold floor, and rise on his feet still trembling from the nightmare, from all accords he had a normal build, the most impresive of his body was the massive amount of scar tissue, he looked at his body with his sorrowfull blue eyes and hated every scar, not more than he hated himself... He walked into the shower and bathe, he then put his suit, he liked the suit, maggots did not use suits, maybe he could become something better than a maggot if he weared a Suit. He took his comlink, and cheked his Fake SIN but maintained the Broadcast of hes legal SIN, then he went to the kitchen, oppened a drawer and looked at his gun, he did not knew the name of the gun, he did knew the basics point the barrel at Toshiki and press the trigger till he kills you... He took the gun and put it in the internal pocket of his suit.

He went down the elevator and he started his beautifull car Named Lola with his Commlink, oppened the door and sat on the drivers seat, he loved his car, then he took a cable connected to the rigger plug on his car, and then he plugged the other end behind his ear, the connection impromt tickled at him but before he cheked his Linguasoft were active an running, they were. And so he let himself become more than meat, he became his car, he was no longer a maggot, he accelerated top speed and took the freway he loved to drive with this new rig control unit. He did not waited a call he was driving to leave behind the nightmares... To be free.

[BestTeaMaker]

[Wednesday 11:35 am, October 23rd, 2075 | The Fairmont Olympic Hotel | Downtown Seattle]

The old man smiled. "You have gathered quite an array of character, Inglewood."

"A bit of a disappointment compared to the last team, if I must say."

"Yes, yes." The old man's countenance fell at the mention of this. "But even the last team, as good as they were, failed. God rest their souls."

He grunted in exertion as he began to sit up. The elf started for him, but the old man raised an arm towards him. "No, no, stay there, Inglewood. I may be dying, but I still have the drive to stand, at least." He reached for his cane, a gnarled, curved piece of wood with an aura of history around it. Shakily, he stood up, clutching his cane tightly with one hand as his other aided with his rise. Inglewood could only look with a sort of sadness at this crippled form of a man.

The old man began to walk towards the elf. "Inglewood, I am going to change. I can't meet my guests in this bathrobe, as lavish as it may be."

"Of course sir."

"While I'm doing so, I need you to make the call."

Inglewood's stoic appearance suddenly faltered. "Now? Are you sure? But we haven't received her message yet! We don't know if she'll be--"

"Mr. Inglewood," interrupted the old man. There was a fire in his voice as he addressed the elf. "I am and old man, crippled and near death. But no matter what happens to me, this plan must continue! I trust my life that she will be there are the appointed time. Now make that call!"

The elf straightened at once. These were the words of one who commanded a commercial empire in the past. These were the words of a man who looked the future straight in the eye before he twisted it according to his will. These were words of power. And it awed the elf completely. "Yes sir, right away."

As Inglewood quickly made his way down the hall, the old man turned towards the other direction. He hadn't seen his faithful steward his excited for a time. It might be a sign of things to come. For good or for worse...well, time would have to wait. But one thing he knew.

The next eight calls would be the most important in his life.

Knockout
[Wednesday 11:40 am, October 23rd, 2075 | Bruno's Lights Out! Boxing Gym | Puyallup Barrens]

Knockout leaned forward against the wall as streams of heated water poured over his head. Bruno's was one of the few places in the Puyallup Barrens that actually had a decent shower. The fatigue was practically lifted from his body as he soaked in the shower. He closed his eyes, and for a moment he was calm. A warm darkness filled his mind, giving him peace.

A ringing interrupted his quietude as it resounded from outside the shower. Knockout knew this sound. It was Korobeiniki, a classic Russian song of courting compressed into a familiar midi form. The song would only ring for one thing. The Matryoshka were calling with a job.

Daisy
[Wednesday 11:40 am, Oct 23rd, 2075 | Reggie's Kung Pao Dojo | Redmond Barrens]

"C'mon, ya wuss! Give me 170 kilos! Lift that 170!"

Daisy's muscles were bulging as he slowly brought the weights upwards above his chest. Reggie, his friend and mentor, was now screaming at him, spit and all. It was his way of encouraging his students, Reggie often told him.

With a final grunt, Daisy fully lifted the weights, then rested them against the bars. He could feel his blood racing as he released his grip. As he got up, he could see Reggie grinning. "Haha, now that's pretty decent for a little trog like you! Towel yourself and get ready for another set. Warm up's almost over."

Daisy moved towards the bench and grabbed his towel. Reggie's dojo was a great place to work out. Sure, it was in the middle of the fucking Redmond Barrens, but Reggie had a reputation that scared away the scummiest of go-gangers. It also helped that it was located on the edge of Touristville. He surveyed the room, a collection equipment that definitely showed signs of wear and tear, some by him, most by Reggie. The mats were in the worst condition, ripped, crumpled, and other signs of having people thrown against it, students and go-gangers alike. The man was an uncouth bastard of a human, but Daisy couldn't help feel some sort of pride in training under him.

A loud buzzing attracted his attention to the lockers across the room. He could hear the vibration against the metal, resonating the sound around the room. A louder sound erupted from the back. "Hey, Daisy-boy! Shut off your goddamn comm!"

The Frenchman
[Wednesday 11:40 am, October 23rd, 2075 | The Frenchman's Neighborhood | Downtown Seattle]

He rounded the corner that led back to his neighborhood. It was a rather nice place, a series of apartment buildings like something you'd see out of one of those old American sitcoms. There was much less laughter than seen in the trids, and the area was dirtier than pictured. But it was home. For now.

The Frenchman began to jog in place as a truck rolled out in front of him. As he planned another lap around the block, he could hear the ringing of his commlink. An AR window popped into his view.
   
>>Incoming call...
>>Caller ID: Eduardo Estevez
>>Answer? (Y/N)

As he contemplated answering his fixer, he saw something in the corner of his eye. He turned, and he saw three things. The truck that was blocking him began to pick up speed as it headed towards the road. A red car, possibly a Bentley, was speeding up the road. A red-haired female elf ran right into the road, where both vehicles would eventually meet her.

Cross
[Wednesday 11:40 am, Oct. 23rd, 2075 | Cross's Apartment | Downtown Seattle]

The commlink LED light turned on and began to buzz. Immediately Cross grabbed for it immediately, scattering his guns and cleaning equipment around him. As he put it on, an AR window promptly popped into his view.

>>Incoming call...
>>Caller ID: Mr. Green
>>Answer? (Y/N)

It was at this moment a loud thumping noise thundered through the floor, catching Cross by surprise. He almost dropped the comm, which continued to buzz. He could hear the thumping getting louder. Outside his window, he could near noise. Lots of noise.

Johnny
[Wednesday 11:40 am, Oct. 23rd, 2075 | Loveland | Puyallup Barrens]

Loveland, Puyallup's amusement mile. At night, it was quite the place to be, with call girls attracting men off the streets for a night of debauchery. Vendors wave and shout to passing people, selling their wares to meet the quotas beset upon them by Mafia and Yakuza. Lights, noise, and chatter filled the nighttime air.

In daytime, however, the place was practically a ghost town. Just as Johnny liked it. He strolled down the streets in his snakeskin boots and duster coat. Hell, he could've whistled if he were in the mood to. He chuckled. This was just like one of those western trids he admired so much. He began to fall in a sort of reverie as he imagined himself as John Wayne walking down the dusty streets as a modern urban cowboy.

It was at this time he felt his commlink vibrate inside his pocket.

Dacre
[Wednesday 11:36 pm, October 23rd, 2075 | Outside the Honeypot Cafe | Auburn]

It had only been a short amount of time since he left the cafe when he felt the commlink vibrate in his hands. He began to fumble the commlink in excitement as he made to put it on as quick as he could. An AR screen popped into view.

>>Incoming call...
>>Caller ID: Gerome Marcs
>>Answer? (Y/N)

Gerome? Who was Gerome again? Dacre furrowed his brow in confusion. He wasn't really good with names. Faces, he could do. But not names. This one sounded familiar, though. Who was Gerome again? He knew he had heard it recently.

((Roll for Memory(2): Logic + Willpower))

Pepperface
[Wednesday 11:40 AM, October 23rd, 2075 | Pepperface's Basement Apartment | Downtown Seattle]

<<GET YOUR PENILE CYBER-UPGRADE TODAY!>>
<<FEELING LONELY? xXx COME ON BY THE IRON CHAIN, WHERE THE LADIES WILL TREAT YOU WELL XxX>>
<<ONLY 20% OFF! COME NOW SEND MONEY BUY MORE! -m1tsuh4m4>>

Pepperface took a sip of soykaf. He reminded himself to get something to block all this goddamn spam. It was in unusually strong force today. He continued to scroll down his messages, shifting through spam, some bills, and family messages he didn't care to look at. He casually deleted these messages as he glanced through them. Spam. Bills. Spam. Spam. Spam. Bills.

Three thumps caused some dust to fall from the ceiling onto his head. A very loud, very cranky voice shortly followed. "Turn off the dern music, you techie scalawag!" Pepperface sighed. His upstairs neighbor was suffering from dementia again. Pepperface was tempted to shout back up, but at that moment, he heard a ringing tone, and an AR window opened promptly.

>>Incoming call...
>>Caller ID: GF Charlie
>>Answer? (Y/N)

Finally, something was happening. However, as he began to lean forward and accept the call, the thumping resumed. Does this guy ever let up? But...this wasn't the regular thumping he heard. It sounded different. It sounded...wrong.

Red-Haired Elf
[Wednesday 11:40 am, Oct. 23rd, 2075 | 4th Ave. | Downtown Seattle]

Nothing enthralled him like speeding down the streets, weaving and bobbing between cars and traffic. The adrenaline coursed through his veins, creating a natural high that only encouraged the elf to speed down the lanes. The raw heat radiating between rubber and asphalt coupled with the howling wind cut by ten tons of steel and electronics engaged him like no drug could. Lola was the freedom that he hoped would allow him to ride away from his past. To ride away from all his misery and pain at eighty miles per hour.

A message icon popped into his view. However, it was at this time another red-haired elf, a female, ran out onto the road in front of him. Further down the road, he could see a truck speeding towards him.

((Roll a Pilot Ground Vehicle test(2): Pilot Ground Vehicle + Reaction[Maneuverability+2],-1 for sudden action))

[reyjinn]

[Wednesday 11:40 am, Oct 23rd, 2075 | Reggie's Kung Pao Dojo | Redmond Barrens]

Shaking his head and walking towards the lockers Daisy yells back: "Come on Reggie, you know that people that don't answer their comms don't get jobs.  And people who don't get jobs can't pay for the priviledge of working out in your glorious establishment!"  As Daisy yells that last bit he can't hold back the grin wanting to break free.  He stuffs in his earbuds and picks up the comm to see who is calling.

[Red_Cap]

[Wednesday Oct. 23rd, 11:40am | Cross' Apartment | Downtown Seattle]

Cross ignored the noises from downstairs for a moment, staring at his commlink.  This is it.  I answer this, I become a criminal...  His lips compressed into a thin line as he mentally accepted the call through his DNI.

>>Mr. Green?  It's Cross.  What do you have for me?

As he answered the call, he cleaned up his mess and started packing some of his gear into his Contrail's detachable saddlebags.  Tactical vest, grenades, and Predator went in one side, HK and medkit in the other.  He strapped his Colt America in its shoulder rig and pulled on his jacket.  It never hurt to be prepared.

[JackVII]

[Wednesday 11:40 am, October 23rd, 2075 | Bruno's Lights Out! Boxing Gym | Puyallup Barrens]

Knockout was grateful that Bruno knew that working shower facilities were a must for a boxing gym. He didn't want to remotely consider what the ork had to pay in fees and bribes just to keep the water running, but he appreciated it none the less as the hot spray of water soaked the troll's aching muscles. Knockout always pondered the strangest things in the shower. Today, he simply thought about the water raining down on him and how he missed some of the benefits of nanotech. He didn't know much about the stuff, but he had heard stories. Ever since the stuff started going haywire, it wasn't used as much. Case in point, Knockout knew the water that was hitting him was relatively clean, but not as clean as it had been when the little machines had been doing their thing converting waste water to clean water. It wasn't that he could taste or smell the piss or drek that this water had once been a part of, but he could certainly imagine it a lot easier now. His wandering thoughts were intrerrupted by a sound he hadn't heard in some time.

The Korobeiniki was the calling card of the Matryushka. The classic Russian song had gained a rather remarkable level of popularity after it was featured in an old video game involving blocks falling out of the sky. That was a game? Knockout thought as he quickly turned the water off and dashed out of the shower. People in the 20th Century were crazy.

Grabbing his Renraku Sensei and a towel off the bench, Knockout checked the display just to make sure.

>>Incoming call...
>>Caller ID: The Matryushka
>>Answer? (Y/N)

Thumbing the "Yes" indicator on the commlink, Knockout said "Idti"
[spoiler=Translation]"Go"[/spoiler]

[Silence]

[Wednesday 11:40 a.m, October 23rd, 2075 | Loveland | Puyallup Barrens]

Johnny fished out his commlink and answered it "Two-Step School of Dance.  We can get you ready for that special evening.  This is Johnny speaking, how may I help you?"

It may have started out as a joke, but he'd actually gotten some people to help out with the bills with that gag.  Someday he might actually have to learn how to properly teach people, instead of faking it.  Not much money, but then, his needs were usually pretty simple.