>>>>>[You claimed your ability to issue orders made you something special. Right or wrong? And mindless obedience isn't discipline... but you don't have to prove your mind-numbing ignorance so often, you've demonstrated it often enough. Once more with feeling. Discipline means understanding the orders you are given, understanding what your part of the mission is, and either following those orders to the letter or throwing them away depending on circumstances. Getting it right is the hard part. For "mindless obedience" read "lemmings". For "disciplined" read "wolf pack". You begin to see the difference? Chicago... like I said, if the troops go in I'll be there. I doubt we'll see Jen and Gabe leading the charge. You might get those designer duds dirty. "Lots of people will get toasted, but that's life". Sure, sure. Some of us care about these details. Some of us have to write the letters home. And I wonder what your idea of hell is. Having to travel more than a block to the nearest fast-food outlet? Staying in a hotel without room service? Why do you two think you're so special? There are plenty of people who actually make a living doing what you talk about. And you were nearly ready to do a run for me? Boy, I'm flattered. At the time you never even answered my mail. Real professional, children. I fear you do not impress. Oh, yeah, I admit, I lost a bet on the Playboy question. A friend insisted the chica in question was way too classy to be a low-end shadowrunner like Jenna. I said that Jenna did at least know how to look good, even if she wasn't. Guess I was wrong about that too. Too bad.]<<<<< -- Lynch <00:43:32/07-01-57> >>>>>[When you two have lived as long as I have and been on as many runs as I have, then you will have a right to talk about the "realities" of shadowrunning. Until you're in your fiftys and have been running for 33 years, you don't know shit. I've run the shadows in more places and in and out of more places than you two dream about in your wildest wet dreams. Places that make breaking my friend out of KGB headquarters in Moscow look like a walk in the park. And I'm not talking anything you would know about either. Some of your ultra-black, sub-silent runs are downright noisy in comparison. Especially those where you killed everything in sight. I may not be a mercenary, even though I used to provide a good number of them with their weapons(you two might even use stuff that you bought from my dealers), but I feel that the best runs are those where you can get in and out without anyone knowing you were there, or knowing that you stole your target data, ever. The first time you two do a run like that, let me know. On second thought, considering that I still have a few good resources and contacts around the world, don't call me, I'll call you and tell you when you finally do a run that far below the surface. I suspect I'll know long before you do.]<<<<< -- Action Jackson <22:16:56/06-30-57> >>>>>[Paisly? How dare you insult Haven in such a diabolical manner!? I'll have you know that the walls are painted a beautiful shade of white, with the occasional Scottish Tartan or other pattern. But I quite assure you that none of the children have even dared to consider thinking about dreaming about painting a paisly pattern on a wall.]<<<<< -- Valentine <22:18:43/06-30-57> >>>>>[Jen and Gabe, it's really too bad that you have no understanding of discipline. You see you keep saying that you like to waste ammo, lose team members, and fail to meet your objectives. Discipline helps to reduce the chances of teammates being killed in action. It helps to drop your target with only one shot, so you can have extra ammo for when you get ambushed. It helps to keep your mind focused on the mission at hand. I, truly, pity you both. I am willing to bet that I could take on both of you and still wipe ]<<<<< --Gunny (21:45:30 PDT/ 06:30:57) *****PRIVATE: Redemption >>>>>[I have some information of significance for you. I would suggest we meet, soon. I will be at the Sea-Tac Sheraton tonight at nine p.m. in room 734. Inform Reception that you are there to visit me and they will let you pass unhampered.]<<<<< -- Miss Haversham <17:55:43/07-01-57> *****INTERNAL: SIGANet >>>>>[FROM: 1Lt L DiAnnio TO: D J H Coppinger, Director SUBJECT: Jenna and Gabriel These two are, I confess, so ignorant it's funny. Lynch thinks they may actually be competent, and this frantic self-aggandizement is a cover: a means to make their abilities be underestimated. I disagree: it goes too deep, and they show no signs of any particular ability. In particular, their denigration of military forces reveals that they have never been involved in an operation of any scale where such forces were involved, and their comments re. the Containment Zone indicate they have no significant experience of combat against invae either. If they had been there, they would not speak thus. Skull and his team assembled a dossier and suspect they are corporate- backed, to which I and Lynch concur: you just don't get that arrogant without someone to back you up, even if you refuse to publicly (or privately) admit it. I would suggest we formally offer to purchase the complete version of Skull's information. AEPacker posted this to Shadowland in March. +++++ Include: edited_Jen_and_Gabe_file.txt It would be interesting, possibly useful, to learn what lies under those 'deleteds'.]<<<<< -- 1Lt Lilith DiAnnio <17:23:05/07-01-57> Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency *****INTERNAL: SIGANet >>>>>[FROM: D J H Coppinger, Director TO: 1Lt L DiAnnio SUBJECT: Jenna and Gabriel Suggestion endorsed to a ceiling of >>encrypted<< in funds. I share your interest in who would back a pair of immature cowboys like that. I also tentatively concur with your, rather than Lynch's, analysis: Lynch tends to be generous in his assessment of people. He did also suggest that, if we knew their sponsors, these two would make excellent blinds for an operation: allege they were behind a showy and successful operation, and they will - if you and I are right - be unable to resist accepting any credit and praise. In any case, their self-confessed style should be relatively easy to mimic, especially by yourself and Lynch, and they make a useful front. I take it your personal plans are back on track? If so, my congratulations.]<<<<< -- D J H Coppinger <17:29:32/07-01-57> Director Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency *****PRIVATE: Skull, AEPacker, Fat Chance, Short Stuff >>>>>[Some time ago, you posted a bowdlerised version of your analysis of Jenna and Gabriel, particularly concerning their corporate backing. We would be prepared to offer >>encrypred<< for the full version, or a lesser sum if you feel a need to protect sources by witholding some information.]<<<<< -- 1Lt Lilith DiAnnio <17:34:32/07-01-57> Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency *****PRIVATE: 1Lt. Lilith DiAnnio >>>>>[Thank you for the interest. Some of our sources will have to be protected, and as such, a lesser sum will be sufficient. I will contact my superiors and verify that this will be in thier interest as well. If so, I will contact you again with a counter offer for the slightly reduced version of our information.]<<<<< -- AEPacker <19:27:26/07-01-57> *****PRIVATE: Skull, Fat Chance, Short Stuff >>>>>[Vis offer. Yey/nay?]<<<<< -- AEPacker <19:28:26/07-01-57> *****PRIVATE: AEPacker, Fat Chance, Skull >>>>>[Aff.]<<<<< -- Short Stuff <19:29:18/07-01-57> *****PRIVATE: AEPacker, Skull, Short Stuff >>>>>[Aff.]<<<<< -- Fat Chance <19:30:54/07-01-57> *****PRIVATE: AEPacker, Fat Chance, Short Stuff >>>>>[Aff too. Ops noted. Call boss ASAP.]<<<<< -- Skull <19:31:18/07-01-57> *****PRIVATE: The Boss >>>>>[Sir, we have been contacted with regards to a purchase of our Jenna and Gabriel file which we have been collecting for you and our own interest. The abbreviated version was not enough, apparently, for the SIGA's purposes and they would like the complete version, or a lesser complete version if we wish to protect our sources. Pat feels that the version with all the prospective corporate contacts should be the one we provide, but with our sources and all references to said sources deleted to protect ourselves and our contacts. I concur and would recommend that we insert some additional disinformation to put SIGA onto a false trail regarding you, our employer.]<<<<< -- Skull <19:37:35/07-01-57> *****PRIVATE: Skull >>>>>[I shall take it into consideration, Terry, and give you my decision later. Good night.]<<<<< -- The Boss <19:39:08/07-01-57> >>>>>[Woah! It seems like certain members of the Seattle shadows have nothing better to do than skulk around Sland. Military discipline is overrated. Just because some officer tells a bunch of grunts what to do and they do it doesn't imply any level of competence. In our experience, it's the opposite. Break into a few high security facilities (this counts as hell and back. Whose high security installations would you prefer NOT to visit? We've been there) with chipped mages and guards who REALLY want to use some of the choicier parts of your anantomy as novelty party gifts. They can fight as a unit, but they tend to be dumb as posts (comparatively, then again, compared to us that isn't exactly abnormal). Who cares if you can perform some daring manouver if we have the smarts to see it coming, shut down the security system, convince it that all the friendlies aren't and all the attackers are really beloved long lost siblings, and then power it back up just in time for them to be torn to peices by their own AP guns? If you want to start fragging with the definition of military discipline ('nuhuh! It doesn't mean we blindly follow orders and hope our bosses are competent, it means we think a lot, save ammo, have bachelors degrees and use tuna as a sexual aid'), then yeah, it starts to look more and more like we're "disciplined". Call it what you like. We're competent. Very competent in fact. One could even say obscenly competent. But we're not just another bunch of blind soldier-rejects. (And what's this drek about saving ammo for when we get ambushed? First, we don't get ambushed. Second, even if by some weird fluke of fate we did, we're both mages. Third, we always carry enough ammo that we can write clever and witty phrases on the outside walls of wherever we crash. Fourth, that's what grenades are for) If you want to try a run on us, fine. Just look in the yellow pages under 'You don't want to piss these two off'. That'll give you our number. But make sure to say goodbye to your loved-ones. As Lynch says, we're not really the type to write letters home ('Dear Sandy, your beloved was too stupid to figure out that (s)he couldn't quite handle us. We're sorry. The enclosed ziplock baggy contains everything the cops could scrape up').]<<<<< -- Jen and Gabe <02:05:34/07-01-57> >>>>>[Hmmmm....having been lurking and working. Shields and I got a private contractor and have come into some big Nuyen...hardly gone corporate. Puh-Lease, you know us too well. I am partially offended by the arrogance of this Jen and Gabe couple. There is one item that they left out of dealing with the military, the military is fairly well organized, and strong. Having infiltrated my share of military complexes, I know that it can be done, but it was never easy. The secret to military jobs is to get in and get back out without them knowing any difference. You people talking about carrying enough ammo and grenades aren't doing Shadowruns, you're just having a party.]<<<<< -- Jasmine <07-02-57/8:15:17> *****PRIVATE: Priest, Mighty Quinn, Akira >>>>>[ Here's the setup for the chopper that I landed for the extraction team. Hopefully the I-Marines won't be hurt too badly by her theft.. Heh. The bird has been gone over thoroughly, and all tracking devices and iff transponders have been deactivated. She's been stripped down to primer like the other two birds, and all of the avionics and weapons have been checked out and okayed. Here's her configuration: +++++include file: chopper.configuration I guess the question now is: where do you want it? ]<<<<< --Neuron Basher <14:35:43/07-02-57> *****PRIVATE: Tangent >>>>>[ Excellent work on that chopper job, Thom. Of course, I don't really expect anything different from your team, but still.. Here's the cred: +++++initiate transfer: >>encrypted<< =Y= Give me a call sometime, and I'll buy you a beer.. I owe you for this one. ]<<<<< --Neuron Basher <14:38:02/07-02-57> *****PRIVATE: Neuron Basher >>>>>[ Don't sweat it, bro. Things are kinda slow right now anyway. Got a few new people that we've been breaking in to our rhythm lately anyhow, and it was a good excuse to get us out in the field. I'll take you up on that beer, though.. Hey, as an aside, I might need some matrix work done soon.. are you gonna be available? I usually get Flux to handle this type of thing for me, but since no-one seems to know where he and Imp are these days, it's a little bit difficult. If you hear from either one of them, let me know. According to my contacts, Renraku sent another hit team at Flux, and they think they succeeded. I haven't seen the body yet, and I know Imp, so I'm not too sure what really happened. ]<<<<< --Tangent <14:52:30/07-02-57> *****PRIVATE: 1Lt Lilith DiAnnio, SIGA: D J H Coppinger, Director, SIGA >>>>>[+++++engage encryption: invisible_ink.com SUBJECT: Jenna and Gabriel With a little enforced leisure to hand, I started pulling down some info on the Gruesome Twosome. Firstly, a couple of direct cites. 21 November last year. "We are a fully equiped combat team. We had a lot of experience in the British and New England shadows, so we're ready to hire." I was still on the East Coast back then and I never heard of those two. Quinn works Britain a lot, ditto. 7 December, what is supposedly a post of a run against an "Informix Centre". One point to note: if they're faking then Jenna is the dominant element of the pair. Gabriel is always portrayed as the smarter, more skilled member. 5th March - "For those of you who just got decks as Xmas presents and didn't get a chance to see our original posts, we'll give a breif recap of our existance: -- We're from northern england, and spent a while in London." Negative, at least not in anything resembling their current form. Quinn is emphatic that they are not Northerners, probably not even British, and while a pair somewhat resembling Jenna and Gabriel worked out of London, they still do so. Eddie and Ritchie are the wrong colour (West Indian) and never claime to be deckers. " -- We're corp trained (Matrix: local node intrusion, using hardened combat decks. Magic: Hard physical combat, specializing in... Well, you might find out someday if you're lucky...)" Two-way specialisations are common (myself and Lilith in combat and rigging, Quinn in magic and combat, for example). Three, though - especially magic/matrix overlap - is extremely rare. I wish I knew more deckers who could tell me whether this is even possible. I know how hard it is to stay top-end in two areas. Three? " -- We can't give any EXACT specs on what we did because that would put us in a position even we probably couldn't handle." So they avoid giving even outlines. Neatly done. " -- We did all the things we say we've done." Except come from Northern England/Britain? " As to the "backing and support": all the support we get is purely cosmetic. Armour would be sooooooo uncomfortable without it... " Now we get interesting. They claim to be entirely independent. " We're not backed by anyone. Most of our contracts are blackOps style (ie, very few people hear about them), so it probably confuses a few of the less proficient runners when they hear underworld mumerings about our success. Don't be surprised if you don't hear about them. When you're good you can afford to make a lot of noise -- and trust your victim to be dutiful enough to muffle it for you. " Now this is downright hilarious. Consider an earlier post, dated the 8th December. "But we're in a very select field. Sometimes your Johnson doesn't want a sneaky little grab done, sometimes a smash and grab is necessary. Sometimes we're used to "send a friendly little message", or to do a little visible damage... We often personalize what we do... Bring you back a few trinkets, say something specific to the target before toasting, etc)... Someone has to do the flashy runs, and if you guys can't, we'll do 'em for you..." Now, a job like this is worthless if not widely publicised. Compare the two versions: I'd guess the two of them have trouble keeping their story straight, or they realised the contradictions inherent in the first version. And I don't even hear "underground murmurings" about their successes They displayed a basic competence during the Muffin Man hit, no more. They refer to "previous employers" several times and claim to have been 'in the biz together' for more than seven years. Their descriptions of their work fluctuate, though. During the Muffin Man unpleasantness, they said to my late friend Redfeather... "Either that or we find their base of action and frag 'em up at home. We can do that too. Remember: That's what we're trained for. We wouldn't mind leading a team or two..." Independents become experienced. Employees get trained Again, their story slips. I like this scam, as long as Quinn's up for the appearance alteration. Couldn't happen to a nicer pair Think I'll go see if I can wind them up a little more, and see what else they let slip.]<<<<< -- Lynch <19:40:21/07-02-57> *****PRIVATE: Lynch >>>>>[Redemption says he will be there as soon as possible. One can never be too careful in this type of situation. Expect him soon.]<<<<< -- Glaive <15:06:30 / 07-02-57> *****PRIVATE: Ms. Haversham >>>>>[I'll be there.]<<<<< -- Redemption <15:07:51 / 07-02-57> *****PRIVATE: Squatter >>>>>[Remember when you told me to keep you in mind for future runs? Can you set me up with a false flight record to Berlin, under the name Zach Armstrong? Pay will be good.]<<<<< -- Redemption <15:10:05 / 07-02-57> >>>>>[Some of us are currently burdened with the nickname 'Hopalong', J&G. A Barrett 121, loading InterPol Specials, makes quite a mess of a leg. I'm amazed it's still attached, let alone that I ran on it. So I have leisure to peruse and post while it heals. For high security try the synthetic fuels plant at Arys in Kazakhstan, in 2051 (no point now, there weren't any pieces big enough to pick up with tweezers after my team finished with it). We'd been set up, sent in to be caught and killed: they had a battalion of Desyante Voyska paratroops in position and waiting. Four hundred and fifty of the best troops the Kazakhs had, who had been tipped off as to who we were and how we were coming in. Three of us. We got out. We blew the place apart anyway. We killed or wounded over half of them, stole a plane, made it as far as Iran, walked out through the Alborz Mountains, caught some Zs in the Istanbul Hilton and rode the suborbital back to Seattle. Piece'o'cake. Corporate military forces are easy meat. So are national conscript grunts. A professional volunteer force is another matter altogether: as I said, it's obvious you've never opposed them if you confuse corporate and national militaries. Pretty toys do not good soldiers make. Dumb grunt + expensive cyberware + expensive toys = expensive corpse. Try getting away from an InterPol snatch squad. Drake and his teams are very good. Don't believe me? Fine, you're so incredible, tell him where you are. Let us watch the two of you get away. There's two of you cyberdecker samurai mages, you shouldn't even break a sweat. One thirtysomething mercenary managed it, you two should have no problem. We're waiiiiting.... Playing with the AP guns... been there, done that, nearly five years ago. Any place that still works on is serious small-time. Or you're just ripping off my work and passing it as your own. Either way, you still lose, kids. Tuna as a sexual aid? I guess those rumours about Gabriel and his, ah, 'hair trigger' are true then, if he needs that sort of help. Been 'filing down the sear' a little too often?, Gabe? Couple of 'accidental discharges'? I suppose it's understandable, Jenna is reasonably cute, and for a young guy with a sheltered upbringing she must be quite a lot to cope with. Bachelor's degree... yup. Military history. What else? I spend enough time making it, I figured I might as well study it. Save ammunition: When possible. Save whales, too, until they rot and go smelly. Jesus saves, but O'Kennedy scores on the rebound AND THE CROWD GOES WILD!!!!... Sorry, Val's been teaching me to play his version of football. I'm still up for non-contact sports (_some_ contact sports too, but Lilith scores 10.0 against Jenna's 8.6 ) I tried the Yellow Pages, but under "Annoy these two and die" it didn't list you two (had my and Lilith's names, though...) There were quite a lot of "Jenna and Gabriel" entries, though. Most Cosmetic Surgery... Use Most Ammo (Because We Can't Hit What We Aim At)... Most Overdressed... Nobody Wants To Work With Us... Disneyland Decking Services (Mickey Mouse Systems Only)... Fashion Victims-R-Us... Most Changes of Underwear In A Combat Zone... Of course, none of them were you, were they? There was also a Gabriel listed with some _very_ odd notes under "fishmongers"...]<<<<< -- Lynch <18:10:32/07-02-57> >>>>>[ Bored, Lynch? Jeez .. Maybe I'll come by and have a beer with you. Looks like you need something to distract you, if you are finding the conversation with J&G stimulating. ]<<<<< --Tangent <17:11:31/07-02-57> >>>>>[Well, that sounds like a bad day and a half, Lynch, and no mistake. It's a good thing that Interpol isn't better funded: even with the standard 121, the least that some of the more exotic ammo I've seen used would have done is blown off your leg...I suppose sniping is one of those things that's good for both genders of goose. Good for cooking them for dinner, anyway. As I'm sure you would agree, _some_ corporate security forces are easy meat. The more interesting your target is, the better it is _likely_ to be defended if the corp is competent, and this can occasionally turn up the most irritating surprises. Speaking of which, by the way...some of y'all folks claiming to know your way around a computer had best beware of a little gem called Seraphim0.0a. When the Bible describes the seraphim as the guardians of the Mercy Seat, believe it. In any event, I suspect that picking on the Dynamic Duo is nothing but a waste of bandwidth. If nothing else, I can categorically confirm that there is _no_ sexual aid based on any chemical present in substantial quantities in tuna. There _is_ of course the canonical Node for recipes, if you can find it and get past the IC. I should warn you that I designed some of it as a Sporadic Deputy Co-Archive Maintainer, and you might find it hard to evade what CheshireNeko does when she gets mad. =) In the final analysis though, there's no dangerless chemical known that can't be manufactured by your own body, under the right circumstances (those in the know would concur =) God it's good to have some free time again, however fleetingly =) ]<<<<< -- Azrael <14:08:51 / 07-02-57> >>>>>[ Is this going to become a Flame Session? It is obvious to me that those of us that truly run, know enough to keep our mouths shut. Those that open their mouths are trying to prove that they are runners. Ignore them they will go away. Phred, you out there man.... I got a job for you?]<<<<< -- Duncan <17:43:25/07-02-57> *****PRIVATE: Lynch >>>>>[Jason, someone dropped this into my Agency mailbox. I don't know who, either who delivered or who the parties involved were. +++++begin video The camera shows a hotel room, a luxurious suite at a Sheraton. As always, it's very hard to tell which Sheraton you're in, since the curtains are drawn. Several small lamps, and the stray threads of sunlight through the drapes, are the only illumination. A woman sits in one comfortable chair. Her beautifully coiffed hair is grey, and the side of her face you can see is lined, though still handsome. The other is hidden by a white half-mask, with not even an eyeslit. A blanket covers her knees, and on the table in front of her is a tea service and a tray of small sandwiches. There is a knock, and as she turns to glance at the door you see twisted ridges of scar tissue running from her high collar, up her neck, and into the mask, then the door opens. "Mr Redemption. So glad you agreed to meet me. Please forgive me for not rising." Her voice is English and cultured. "Who are you?" "Names, names... I could tell you who I was, and it would mean little to you. I could tell you what I was, and you would misunderstand. Suffice it to say I am an interested party in an area of your business. You may continue to call me Miss Haversham, if you like. Please, be seated." "You're with Coppinger, aren't you?" Redemption takes the seat opposite her, loosening his trenchcoat. He seems to be sweating slightly, and you notice the wall thermostat is set for its maximum of eighty-five degrees. Miss Haversham appears impervious to the heat: in fact, given the way she's swathed she seems to be cold. "I assure you I am not. The good David Coppinger would consider me his enemy. I have, however, both business and personal reasons to wish Mr Coppinger and his agents well in this affair. Or should that be affray?" She smiles to herself. "And they are...?" "You've been contracted to eliminate two of his people, haven't you? Jason Lynch and Lilith DiAnnio. Lynch and the Lady. A very dangerous task, but then you are a very dangerous individual, aren't you? You could well succeed, especially at the moment. I would not like that to happen. Would you care for some tea?" "That's still a what, not a why." "In the case of the Lady, a personal debt. For Lynch, he applied a measure of correction to some of my erring associates, and saved us from a considerable embarrasment. A debt of business. Finally, they are two of Coppinger's best, and Coppinger and his people are an important asset in my view. To have them weakened or eliminated for some petty political gain would be... dismaying to me." Miss Haversham reaches out - one of her hands is gloved and moves with the slight jerkiness of old cyber - and pours two cups of tea from a silver pot. " "Suppose I were to ignore your wishes?" "Then there's very little I can do, Mr Redemption. Unlike some of my associates, I lack the means to dissuade you or have you killed: besides, one grows out of such childishness. I would merely say it would be unwise of you to proceed without much thought. I cannot stop you if you choose to ignore me." She adds sugar and lemon to both cups, stirs gently. "There would be few ill-effects to yourself." "Then give me something to think about. Why will killing two people have such a bad effect?" "Because it will start a war, Redemption." "With who? Aztlan?" The man seems amused by that. "No, no, no. A round of bloodletting among the agencies. There are over twenty intelligence organisations currently operating, most of them covert. SIGA is positively blatant in that it at least is known to exist, though supposedly only in an analysis role. Who would have thought that the Department of Transportation would have - or require - a black-ops unit?" "Transportation? Running covert operations? What, someone's counterfeiting subway tokens? Come on, get real." "They exist, believe me. The covert bodies breed like roaches, until every so often they become so numerous, and individual groups so arrogant in their power, that their numbers are - must be - culled. The last major clash was in 2029, after the Crash, though that was a relatively bloodless affair." She pauses to sip her tea. "The previous purge was in 2002, and the consequences were appalling: many of the mistakes that your nation made in the early years of this century can be traced to that disastrous eighteen months. Information warfare, Mr Redemption. The eyes of government are blinded. The bodies that should be its antennae, sensitive to the first hint of a threat, are locked in internal strife, the watchtowers unmanned." "This is interesting. Continue, please." Redemption leans forwards, picks up his teacup and takes an experimental taste: then tries not to grimace. "Certainly. SIGA, its few field agents under attack, must choose whether to fight for its territory or withdraw. Coppinger lacks the means or the will to fight the hard-core black-ops units, who are far more numerous, ruthless, better armed, and much more reckless of life than he: yet withdrawal is in many ways the worse option, as others scramble to fill the void... and to prevent others from doing so. The traditional game of one-upmanship intensifies, as disinformation is passed upwards and sideways, false data is laid, and soon no intelligence estimate can be trusted. "Decisions are made based on incomplete data, on wholly wrong data. I might point to a 2003 assessment that 'there is no credible circumstance in which increased corporate power could pose a threat to the United States' as an example of what happens. The results of that period of conflict led to the support for the Shiawase Decision, and the steady erosion of national control over corporations... but I digress, Mr Redemption." "Why the hell do you create all these agencies anyway?" "Ah, the eternal question... Expediency, empire building, ego, a pressing need. Usually they are created for a single, short-term goal. Yet once formed, they can so rarely be dissolved. Bureaucratic inertia, Mr Redemption, perhaps the most powerful force in the universe." "Tell me more about SIGA, then. The stories about it are interesting, but unclear." Haversham bows her head slighty, and there is a long pause. When she speaks, it seems to be with some pain. "Where to begin? SIGA was born in darkness. A reaction to Echo Mirage, some said, a body created to seek out the worst of the corporate weapons of mass destruction: their core-wars viruses, their nuclear and chemical warheads, their genetically-engineered plagues. Fighting adversaries of such power, sweeping powers were needed in return. Normally, cooler heads would prevail, but the aftermath of the Crash was so severe that anything seemed better than a repeat. Recall, many at the time thought VITAS had been a rogue corporate weapon too. "They say power corrupts, Redemption, and they speak truly. The men and women who ran SIGA had a power that verged on the absolute. What amazes is that they lasted as long as they did. The first Director was an honest and idealistic woman, and she did her utmost to control her subordinates. She was unlucky in some matters, and she failed to percieve the naked ambitions of several who joined her Agency: she was naive enough to believe that others shared her goal, and these men and women were skilled at hiding themselves. Once Bartlett considered himself and his cronies ready, the Director met with a most unfortunate... accident." Redemption shrugs. "What happened to her?" "Oh, an aircraft crash. Her plane came down over the Rocky Mountains during a January storm. It was March before they even recovered the wreckage. This, remember, was over the Jammer's Interstate, where so many jurisdictions interlock, and there was endless haggling over who should fund the rescue effort. By then there were no bodies to find, the wildlife took care of that. Bartlett was the natural successor." Haversham sighs heavily. "Bartlett wished to ensure none did to him as they did his prececessor. He used what was then new technology, recruiting a corps of agents from society's dregs - those that would not be missed - and eliminating their memories, building for them entire false lives in which he was their only true friend and benefactor. All others had betrayed them, but to these reprogrammed soldiers Bartlett was the only person who could be trusted. To them he was a god: omniscient, infallible, benevolent, their Saviour. And with his new soldiers, he turned upon his allies: he saw in them his own ambition, which he had milked, encouraged, employed for his own ends. Now he had his goal, he ruthlessly and permanently discarded those who had aided him, in a single night of carnage." "A Night of the Long Knives. Germany, 1930s. Hitler used Rohm's SA to rise to power, then eliminated them when he no longer needed them." Redemption looks pleased at his simile. "A wise man studies history, Mr Redemption, lest he become a part of it. I see you know that lesson well. Bartlett was now endowed with almost unlimited power, and he turned it to his own ends. There was trivia such as dealings in drugs, BTL, and the like: he found reliance on federal funding to be constraining, and raised his own finances. Thus, he could not be held to account for his deeds by even the most basic method of financial accounting. "Bartlett added to his remit the role of investigating corporate corruption of the Goverment. Thus he could do as he pleased in Washington itself. He used drugs, chips, prostitution, threats and murder to build a web of blackmail and deceit, to force a number of key players into his fold. Where he could not persuade or coerce, he killed. He began executing members of his own government, Redemption; their aides, their friends, their families. All justified under SIGA's sweeping charter. When police investigated a SIGA crime, be it a murder or a BTL dealer: they were stonewalled: officers who persisted became threats to national security and were killed. Bsrtlett's orders directly killed two thousand people in seven years." "How could he kill so many people without anyone noticing?" "Oh, he was ruthless and evil, Mr Redemption, but he was also frighteningly intelligent and understood perfectly the concept of terror. He struck at friends, at relatives, only attacking directly when he felt a target was about to try exposing him. There was no pattern, no link to the crimes, and most were people of little influence. They died in botched burglaries, random street slayings, supposed suicides. Remember, SIGA had power over law enforcement too. Anyone who noticed could expect to be bought, threatened or killed. "Bartlett's plan, as far as anyone could gather, was simple. He wanted the Presidency, and he was building his ladder in the same way he had prepared for his accession to ruling SIGA. He planned certain events - financial calamities, overseas difficulties, and the like - which would encourage the voters to support a strong, capable candidate: and he naturally intended to influence the selection of his rivals, to ensure they were unappealing and that he had adequate dirt ready to hurl at both. "All this. and nobody noticed?" Redemption's tone is not quite incredulous, but is wary. "You must understand, he anticipated a thirty-year timescale, and he began in 2045. Much of what he did was laying groundwork. He was quite sickeningly ruthless, though. For instance, in 2047 he ordered the deaths of over sixty commuters at Maple Street subway station in DeeCee. He sent two assassins to kill every single person in the station. Such acts boost one's body count wonderfully." "Two assassins, sixty dead? How and why?" "How, easily. Grenades and automatic weapons in a confined space, used on people who were mostly Georgetown yuppies and who considered themselves safe. They were unarmed and unprotected. As to why... two of the bodies were never identified. That same night, two people turned up in hospitals, in separate incidents, with head trauma and concussion from street robberies. They returned to work, and any confusion or memory lapses were explained by their injuries. A simple switch that placed Bartlett's people in positions where they could be assisted to rise rapidly." "So, I take it something went wrong?" Redemption, giving up in the face of the oppressive heat, takes off his trenchcoat and tries one of the sandwiches. "For Bartlett? Yes, of course. His programmed monsters were not sufficiently stable. He took to using a psychoactive hallucinogen to enhance their performance. The drug was unpredictable, which led to several unfortunate incidents and unexpected collateral casualties. Questions began to be asked, that even Bartlett's blanket justification of national security could not cover. "His support for, and membership of, a policlub - the Universal Brotherhood - also raised eyebrows after certain events, most particularly in Seattle, where some less savory aspects of the policlub were exposed. The attack on what was then SIGA's headquarters by a small group of terrorists was by then merely the straw that broke the camel's back., though they succeeded in killing Bartlett." Redemption takes another two sandwiches. "Let me guess. Lynch and Liliith." "To tell the truth, nobody knows. It might well have been FBI, or a foreign power, or freelancers. But with Bartlett dead, many of his operations began to unravel: the house of cards collapsed. Of the fifteen hundred members of SIGA, over three hundred were imprisoned, about the same number summarily dismissed, and perhaps a hundred killed. Over five hundred fled or disappeared: many turned up in Aztlan. A frightening indictement of the people Bartlett had recruited. "The skeleton of the Agency - a hundred or so analysts and deckers, who had been, by and large, completely ignorant of the Agency's true motives - was originally to be broken up. At the same time, there was talk of the need to prevent similar catastrophes. Miss Haversham smiles slightly. "And now, enter David Coppinger. Coppinger had risen in the CIA by his ruthless efficiency. And then in 2050 his career stalled, in a Pauline conversion: the scales fell from his eyes, and he suddenly realised that aspects of what he was being asked to do were unacceptable to him - that he was harming the people he swore to protect, for the petty gains of venal men. "Men who will sacrifice advancement for the sake of their conscience are rare, Mr Redepmtion, and Coppinger is one of the few such I know of. It was decided that Coppinger should be given leeway to design his own agency, with an unofficial and well-hidden remit of fighting corruption of the sort that created the old SIGA. His proposals were examined, modified slightly, and the new reformed Agency was born. Coppinger insisted on keeping the name, as a reminder of the dangers they faced from within themselves. I understand the Agency's motto is taken from Nietzsche, 'he who fights with monsters should beware, lest a monster he become.'" "Well, if his job's stamping out corruption, I have to say he's still got plenty of work to do." Redemption can't help a slight smirk. "Perhaps. Though you misunderstand if you think his two dozen field agents are the force he uses. His role against corruption and abuse of power is done by his analysts, who pass data to the Committee. The field agents are there for when immediate and direct action is productive. Where someone has become too blatant in showing that law can be bought, or when the law cannot or will not act, Coppinger's people do so. Illegally, to be sure, yet it amazes how rarely legal action is pursued, for to provide a motive would be deeply embarrasing to many of the parties concerned." "What do you mean, embarrasing?" Miss Haversham refills her teacup. "Let me cite an example, of a Fuchi programmer who believed that he was driven by demons. The price for their help with his work, was that he had to kill. His demons told him he had to go out, and find and kill a family at the dark of every moon. In return, he was an exceptional coder of software. "Fuchi tolerated his excursions, and concealed his crimes: he believed his demon would protect him from prosecution, and in a way he was right - as best they could. Extradition warrants were flatly refused on the grounds of insufficient evidence. The man was a profitable asset, he had to be indulged lest the profits cease. The UCAS could have let the years pass and the bodies pile higher, until he was no longer considered essential. They could, and did, file a request with InterPol, who Fuchi promptly bought off. Finally, a SIGA-hired team seized Marchant as he was preparing for one of his crimes, and he is now detained indefinitely in a psyciatric institute in Massachusetts." Haversham smiles wintrily. "I understand he still writes quite passable software. However, you begin to see the method. Fuchi cannot protest the kidnap without exposing their own cover-up of his killings. The last time a SIGAagent was caught, Clonalsys-Genetics were entirely unable to prove anything other than that the individual had sabotaged their bioweapons area very thoroughly: and since said facility never existed, they had no grounds for complaint against the UCAS. The agent was killed, of course." Miss Haversham takes an old-fashioned fob watch from a pocket, studies it briefly, snaps it shut. "And now, Mr Redemption, time draws on. I fear that we must begin to conclude our discussion. Do you now understand my concerns a little better?" "I'll think on what you've said." says Redemption carefully, rising and picking up his trenchcoat. Diffuse light spills into the room as he opens the door and leaves, Miss Haversham sitting alone in the heat and darkness. +++++end video I don't know anyone with clearance to know all that, who is in the area to say that, even leaving the appearance aside.]<<<<< -- Lilith <23:00:21/07-02-57> >>>>>[Hey, Duncan! I'm here. Is this a public offer that a few other chummers might be interested in or is this a private issue? Where have you been? Wait till you see the new spell I've been working on. The adult entertainment industry won't be the same. I still need to work out a few bugs, so you probably don't want me to try it out on you yet. The last guy is in recovery now. Thank god for prosthetics!]<<<<< -- Phred <16:06:23/07-02-57> >>>>>[HELLO! EARTH TO JASMINE! 'Cause we haven't seen your name around much recently, we'll pretend you're just ignorant on this one. The work we do is 'high profile'. We don't "sneak in and sneak out" like some three foot tall spanish lover, we're seen and heard. More like a cancan troup really... The military is over-rated. Sure there's lots of them, and sure they have plenty of exepensive toys, but they're still a bunch of poorly trained savages. Even when they are trained, they only seem to advance through the ranks by sheer stupidity. Especially during peace-time.]<<<<< -- Jen and Gabe <19:48:54/07-02-57> >>>>>[Tangent, drop by any time. Just phone ahead to Val or Mozart so they know to expect you. Looking forward to seeing you.]<<<<< -- Lynch <23:20:42/07-02-57> *****PRIVATE: Tangent >>>>>[Actually I have some evil plans for the Dreadful Duo. Which is why I'm twisting their tails a little And in reasonably small doses, their unbounded egotism is pretty hilarious. They do at least have wit. You know, two half-wits, in a closely bonded team, at least add up to one wit between them.]<<<<< -- Lynch <23:21:21/07-02-57> >>>>>[Happy fuckin' Canadaday you cheep assed frags dont start a fraggin' revolutiobns witohuot me now yahere? Id really suck if a bunch a bombs wnet off ubnder some motherfragging technocrat and i coundlnt accept any of the fragging blame. SCREW YOU UCAS and frag all you stupid fucking invaders if your own country sucks too much to be cool then you don't have the fragging right to go steal someone else drek SCREW YOU ALL]<<<<< -- Tobias Dark *****PRIVATE TO: Cynthia >>>>>[Did you get a trace on his deck? The Campus is still forcing a low profile on me.]<<<<< -- Sylvie <07:43:12/07-02-57> *****PRIVATE TO: Sylvie >>>>>[No luck. He's using his own deck though. I guess that's a good sign. True?]<<<<< -- Cynthia <07:43:12/07-02-57> *****PIRVATE TO: Cynthia >>>>>[False. The deck is worth more than I am.]<<<<< -- Sylvie <07:43:12/07-02-57> *****PRIVATE TO: Sylvie >>>>>[Oh dear. You know what to do.]<<<<< -- Cynthia <07:43:13/07-02-57> >>>>>[You see my point. They are high profile, more like a cancan troup. That isn't running, thats suicide. Lets move on, OK. Phred, since I know encrytion aint't worth the time it takes to program it, lets just say "that bibliclly, a friend is back." Hope you catch my meaning. By the way, keep your fetish spells away from me OK. I still havn't stopped itching from the last time you wanted to test one on me without asking. ]<<<<< --Duncan <17:12:47/07-02-57> >>>>>[We feel sorry for Lynch. We really do. If it weren't for his tragic (although vaguely amusing) injury, we would have to account his attempts at flaming to be offensive. But as it is, we can only assume that a shard of bone must have been torn out of his thigh and flung up into his brain -- rendering him unsensible and bitter. Upon having the bone shard removed, he probably realized that he had been using paint guns instead of real weapons and only escaped with his life due to sheer luck. He then became vindictive. When such a perfectly formed pair as ourselves happened onto Shadowland, his thoughts naturally turned to suicide. After numerous attempts at blowing his own brains out, he almost drowned in yellow paint. But it dried before he managed to get a good mouthful and he slothed off to be one with his stained and soiled pictures of Ms. May 2057. For this reason, we won't respond to his sad and rambling post. Not to mention, we're going to be at the foot of the Space Needle at midnight. LT DIANNO! WE'RE WAITING! (Happy Lynch? Geez. And you'll probably want an encore...)]<<<<< -- Jen and Gabe <20:34:43/07-02-57> *****PRIVATE TO: Delta2X INTERNAL: Sheppard-Intrepid Inc. >>>>>[Jenna and Gabriel have apparently gone insane.]<<<<< -- Red Ryder <20:36:02/07-02-57> *****PRIVATE TO: Red Ryder INTERNAL: Sheppard-Intrepid Inc. >>>>>[ *clap* *clap* *clap* This is news?]<<<<< -- Delta2X <20:36:23/07-02-57> *****PRIVATE: Jen and Gabe >>>>>[Test message. Please ignore.]<<<<< -- CORRUPTED +++++Stalking Horse v2.5f daemon on trail! +++++Stalking Horse v2.5f daemon integrity compromised! Now at 57%! +++++Download diagnostic data? (Y/N)? [Y] +++++Stalking Horse v2.5f daemon has data! +++++Download search data (Y/N)? [Y] +++++Stalking Horse v2.5f daemon still on trail! +++++Stalking Horse v2.5f daemon failure. Retry (Y/N)? [N] +++++Stalking Horse v2.5f daemon integrity compromised! Now at 07%! +++++Download diagnostic data? (Y/N)? [Y] +++++Stalking Horse v2.5f daemon corrupted. Reload from backup. +++++Autopurge corrupted software (Y/N)? [Y] *****INTERNAL: SIGANet >>>>>[FROM: Cpl J S Karlsbruhn TO: D J H Coppinger CC: 1Lt L DiAnnio We got what we could. It wasn't much. +++++include data: stalking_horse.txt We can pretty much forget any _real_ traces in-house, we'd need CSF, or three or four of us working teamed, to break through this. They're using some sort of offshore relay, at least, and the smartframes were all over the Stalker before we'd even isolated that. The frames helped us some: very tough stuff, not many guys around who write code that tight. Poor old Stalky never had a chance. No way to say who it was for sure, but there aren't many people whose defences could spot the trace and frag it so fast. +++++include list: possibilities.txt >From their point of view it should look like a botched tracer attempt, some half-smart street decker with a decent but not exceptional utility, nothing more. If they do work out it was us, the list drops to the three I highlighted. Let me know if you need anything else. As long as you spring for the overtime, I'm up for anything you need right now.]<<<<< -- Corporal J S Karlsbruhn <23:40:32/07-02-57> Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency >>>>>[What! Satan is back! Where? How? Never mind. Meet me at my Seattle bolt hole. Pack heavy. No, wait. Pack light. We can run faster that way. God help us!]<<<<< -- Phred <18:05:23/07-02-57> >>>>>[You see my point. They are high profile, more like a cancan troup. That isn't running, thats suicide. Lets move on, OK. Phred, since I know encrytion aint't worth the time it takes to program it, lets just say "that bibliclly, a friend is back." Hope you catch my meaning. By the way, keep your fetish spells away from me OK. I still havn't stopped itching from the last time you wanted to test one on me without asking. ]<<<<< --Duncan <17:12:47/07-02-57> *****PRIVATE TO: Jen and Gabe >>>>>[Fade]<<<<< -- #^gVh4~5\d >>>>["High profile"? That might explain whuy I've never seen any evidence you're anything more than bored lurkers trying to make it look like you're big hotshot runners (In other words, posuers). Oh, and, Warloc, uh... +++++Included-file:My.List.Coontcatcs.Sland.Krom Any of you know what happened to Krom? He seems to have dropped off the face of the earth.]<<<<< -- Noid <7-2-57/21:16:30> >>>>>[Oh, my. So I've risen to my position due to rank stupidity, have I? Most interesting.]<<<<< -- Skull <22:35:14/07-02-57> >>>>>[As my many instructors have said for the last several thousand years, veangance is unprofessional, as is arrogance. And ego has no place in combat. No, I'm not that old, but I have read a lot. Those who do not learn from history and all that drek.]<<<<< -- Fat Chance <22:37:22/07-02-57> *****PRIVATE: Skull, AEPacker >>>>>[You have clearance to release the altered version. Enjoy. With luck, our moles will provide us enough intelligence to determine who J&G really do work for. And how well our disinformation works on SIGA. +++++ Include File +++++ ]<<<<< -- The Boss <22:39:44/07-02-57> *****PRIVATE: 1Lt Lilith DiAnnio >>>>>[Good evening. I have been authorized by my superiors to forward a copy, with certain protections designed to conceal the sources of the information, to you for >>encrypted<<. As a small token of the information contained therin, the following is a small portion of the file, to whet your appetite for the remainder, as it were. If you accept, please transfer the sum to the following account: >>encrypted<<. It is a Swiss account, held by my superiors for payment of such information. +++++ Include File Snippet +++++ ....the corporations most likely to be able to support such individuals as Jenna and Gabriel, while possibly including all the Big 8 corporations, are the following, as projected by all available data: Saeder-Krupp Heavy Industries, Aztechnology, Ares Macrotechnology, Maxim Arms, Sheppard-Intrepid, and Omni Consumer Products. The remainder of the Big 8 megacorporations have been removed due to intelligence(see.... +++++ End File Snippet +++++ Do we have a deal?]<<<<< -- AEPacker <22:47:04/07-02-57> >>>>>[Great. A pissed off Canuck. And one who doesn't know his history to well either it seems. Guess you seem to conviently forget that Canada lost most of it's territory when NAN formed and the Algongwin-Manitua formed. Course, you guys could barely keep Quebec in that boring drek-hole of a country in the 20th, so what's the surprise that they dumped you at the first oppurtunity.]<<<<< -- Uncle Samuel <08:45:45/07-03-57> >>>>>[Wow, I'm getting to the dreaded Jenna and Gabriel! In the face of my dazzling wit, they are lost for words! Course, they only admit this after throwing out an assortment of inaccurate abuse (Gabriel must have got tuna stuck in his datajack again). Observe and learn: we may be seeing the beginning of the end here. When these two go to pieces, we'd better take cover in case we get hit by shrapnel.]<<<<< -- Lynch <17:05:42/07-03-57> >>>>>[ Gabriel, some people would say that a fetish for tuna might be a tad unhealthy. What I am alluding to is the correlation between tuna and yeast. Of course, if you want to insult Jenna like this (even if it may be the truth) you may go right ahead.]<<<<< -- Bill the Galactic Hero <09:24:27/07-03-57> >>>>>[ Smells like fish, thats where I definately draw the line on women. And I have pretty low standards.]<<<<< -- Lister <09:29:25/07-03-57> >>>>>[ Hey come on folks, lets stop picking on Jen and Gab, its not even a challenge.]<<<<< -- Circuit Breaker >>>>>[ Bum bum bumble-bee bumble-bee tuna Bum bum bumble-bee bumble-bee tuna Bum bum bumble-bee bumble-bee tuna All I want to eat is bumble-bee...]<<<<< -- CORRUPTED Bob <13:46:27/07-03-57> =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [ Last update: 06-03-96 | Updated By: Mark Imbriaco <[m--k] at [itribe.net]> ] >>>>>[Jen and Gabe, this is your reality check... You're so high profile nobody can name a run you've pulled? And didn't you say a while back that most of your work was black ops, like the *low-profile stuff nobody hears about? Should have stuck to that version. Oh, yeah, Gabriel, is that a ferret in your pocket or are you just pleased to see Jenna? Finally, if you want a chance to really strut your stuff, Quinn's likely to be recruiting for an exercise in Britain, playing enemy to their Parachute Regiment in an urban-warfare trainer. Easy money and a chance to walk all over those poorly trained savages, show them how totally superior you are. How could you resist a chance like that? I'll see you there... I don't think. You just ain't got what it takes, kids, you couldn't even survive that in a simulator.]<<<<< -- Lynch <17:10:32/07-03-57> *****PRIVATE: AEPacker >>>>>[Acceptable. +++++credit transfer: >>encrypted<< A pleasure doing business with you, if only virtually.]<<<<< -- 1Lt L DiAnnio <17:14:42/07-03-57> Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency >>>>>[Well, well, well, Jenna and Gabriel. Jason vindictive, bitter and unsensible? I think I know him better than you ever will, and he's neither. Nor does he use paint guns. Gel rounds, on occasion - he's killed so often, passing over a few more hardly matters. Unlike you, he doesn't need to inflate his score at every opportunity. And the two of you perfectly formed? I beg to differ. Humans are one of the most inefficient beings on the planet: slow, weak, blind and helpless, you don't even taste good. The one redeeming feature humans claim is their intelligence: sadly, you two seem to lack even that. And it was Quinn's Playboy, not Jason. I could ask what he would need it for, when he has me...]<<<<< -- Lilith <22:50:42/07-03-57> >>>>>[Slow and blind? Silly Lilith! You obviously can't have seen us in action, and if you think being a cat is an acco+++++DATAFEED TERMINATED +++++MESSAGE ABORTED DUE TO TIMEOUT ERROR (708) *****PRIVATE TO: Jen and Gabe >>>>>[DROP IT, BEFORE WE DROP YOU! And trust me darlings, that's NOT something you would like]<<<<< -- CORRUPT *****PRIVATE TO: Joseph Randell INTERNAL: Sheppard-Intrepid Inc. >>>>>[I've mailed them. Not that it'll do that much good. As the director of this program, I again request that Jenna and Gabriel be removed to a slightly less exciting atmosphere. They are putting too many things in jeapardy to be allowed to continue their rantings.]<<<<< -- Divine <20:23:43/07-04-57> Gerrard-Nomen Tech. *****NOT TO: Tobias Dark >>>>>[I've got some footage of someone I presume to be Tobai going nuts outside a bar... I'll try and get it up tonight.]<<<<< -- Cybil <20:17:54/07-04-57> *****PRIVATE: 1Lt Lilith DiAnnio >>>>>[Indeed. +++++ Include File: J&G_Corps_And_More-1.3 +++++ ]<<<<< -- AEPacker <22:25:31/07-03-57> >>>>>[ Wonder deckers, yes, of course they are. Even I don't get my messages cut off like that. And I'm just a big cat. Open season, Jenna and Gabriel. Out in the forests, I'll take you down. seperately or together. No guns, no toys. You with your magic, me a leopard. It's time you learned what the word "predator" really meant.]<<<<< -- Lilith <18:43:00/07-04-57> *****NOT TO: Jen and Gabe >>>>>[And no jokes about Lynch 'getting plenty of pussy', please. They weren't funny even the first time around.]<<<<< -- Lilith <18:43:32/07-04-57> >>>>>["It's time you learned what the word 'predator' really meant." How threatening. Of course, never in its history did homo sapiens win by its own physical prowess: homo sapiens is the top of the mundane food chain because of his intellect. Man joins with man, pooling his strength against common foes, aggregating resources, accumulating knowledge, sharing insight and talent, building communities and tools. Even primitive man could bring down something as mighty as an elephant or a tiger with the weapons his rudimentary science could devise. I'm sure you've studied enough history to know that intrinsic talents are nothing more than a way to tap into the vast resources in the outside world. And rare is the opponent unstoppable by the forces homo sapiens can marshall (though not extinct, as the Redmond Riots prove). Since the definition of predator is "one who preys, destroys, or devours", it seems to me that the better predator is the one who most fully exploits his environment. You will have heard it said: "God made man, but Colt made man equal". After that, the contest goes to the smarter, not the more physically impressive opponent. Maybe that's why I can't stand most sports. If Jenna and Gabe are bugging you so much, why not just ignore them? I tend to doubt that they're threatening your way of life in any way. And as for truncated posts, just take it as a good sign that noone has found it worth their while to interfere with your traffic in public. +++++ hidden_attach PRIVATE:Lilith And if you value your Matrix privacy, you might want to think about a different Matrix provider. If you want to have a look in the physical locale of , you'll find a little gray device the size of a quarter: +++++ include image0.0 For some strange reason, I suspect you don't want certain large corporations reading your love letters to Lynch. Or to the Agency. Consider this some sort of fringe benefit from the market economy on information, on a one-time basis. I have my own grudges to harbor. ]<<<<< --Azrael <13:53:11 / 07-04-57> *****PRIVATE: Azrael >>>>>[+++++engage encryption: Ultra v3.5 If leopards were the dominant species, Azrael, the world would look very different. But allow me my small pleasures: Jenna and Gabriel are amusing to taunt. Individually and physically, my animal cousins are far superior. Even if basic tools are allowed, a man with a knife is still normally no match for a leopard. But give that man access to a gunsmith, and he's wearing dappled fur as a trophy unless the leopard runs away fast enough... or unless the man is fooish enough to challenge us at night, or in brush, or is merely a little careless. Jenna and Gabriel are foolish enough to permit themselves to be pawns. We are exploiting that foolishness. If you wish a fish to rise, scatter bait Our postings are relatively secure: if they were to be cut off, you would not see even the truncated version. Neither Lynch nor I pretend to any Matrix talent. And thank you for the advice, and the gift. We may well put it to use.]<<<<< -- Lilith <23:00:32/07-04-57> *****INTERNAL: SIGANet >>>>>[TO: D J H Coppinger, Director Ronson extracted, wounded but alive: now in the hospital at Fort Lewis, recovering. Get the grand jury ready. No fatalities, though some injuries to the guards. Video edited and about to be released, as per plan. Cover story proceeding. They're in the frame. five by five.]<<<<< -- 1Lt L DiAnnio <17:40:32/07-05-57> Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency *****INTERNAL: SIGANet >>>>>[TO: 1Lt DiAnnio, J R W Lynch Nicely done. The shell ID is ready: Karlsbruhn busted his ass on it, but they still won't hold long once activated (something about the Shadowland mail watchdog-daemon having rabies). He says you should be able to inject at most three or four messages, that will trace as far as J&G's offshore killing zone, before the daemons shut you down. Oh, a report from the interrogators. United are clean. Ronson was working for Yamaetsu on this one and trying to set his current employers up. Naturally he was going to be extracted before it hit all hit the fan, leaving United carrying the can and Yamaetsu raking the profits for the whole scheme. Good thing we went for Ronson instead of his employers. Good thing we moved, too, if those wells had blown it would have been pretty nasty.]<<<<< -- D J H Coppinger <17:42:41/07-05-57> Director, Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency *****NOT TO: Jen and Gabe >>>>>[Well, well, well. Look who got caught on camera. I guess the security guys at United have a sense of humour, if it was them who sent this to me. +++++begin trideo An infrared view of the city's rooftops, the airborne grayscale display seeing Seattle purely by its heat. A fourteen-micron thermal imager, you think, the far infrared. The view is mostly white, with only a few darker areas, as the camera peers down into a row of houses: each a goodly-sized residence with walled gardens, and several have guards walking the perimeter, their body heat black against the white background. "Whoa, back it up." says a voice. "Saw something." The drone pivots and slows to a hover, the view stabilising. "Looks clear." "Give me visual." The view shifts to near-total blackness, the acid yellow of the street's sodium-vapour streetlights and the warm, inviting light of the house's windows the only illumination. "Come on, get the intensifier on line." "Breaker's tripped. It won't-" "Go to thermal and flip scales. And see if we at least have audio, then get that damn thing working. I'm gonna strangle those maintenance pukes, they cleared this bird as A1." Back to the monochrome of the thermal imager, but this time the scale is reversed, warm objects appearing paler against the dark background. The soundtrack picks up in volume, as you see two figures moving rapidly towards the patrolling guard.. "Signal an alert." says the more senior of the voices. "And put the audio on the tape." The guard begins to turn, then freezes, as the two 'visitors' train weapons on him. "Drop your weapon and raise your hands, and we won't kill you." says a feminine voice. The guard hastily complied. "Oh, Jenna, I've told you before about telling lies. Sorry, we're going to kill you anyway." The thermal image records the muzzle flare of what appear to be silenced machine pistols as both fire long bursts into the guard, who falls backwards: the silencers are very efficient at muffling the shots, the gunfire sounding little louder than a pack of cards being riffled: the two raiders' sniggers make more noise. "Did you see her face?" "A picture. One for the gallery. They look so funny when we do that." "They just can't cope with our style and skill." The two move to the front door, and it opens at a touch. "Good heavens, Gabriel. Some kind person reprogrammed the house computer to give us acceess authorisation." "As well as nulling all the security cameras and shutting down the PANICBUTTON. I wonder who those marvellously skilful deckers might be?" says the male voice smugly. Both have definite Aztlan accents. "We go in, we grab him, we bring him out alive, we kill everyone else. Right?" "Right." The pair saunter into the house. There is a distinct click as audio returns to the drone's controllers. "-the hell do you mean ETA six minutes? Lone Star will be there in two!" An indistinct reply, possibly from a telephone or radio. "I don't want to hear about your problems. I want some backup on this guy before we lose an engineering director! I have shadowrunners in his residence and at least three guards down already, now where the hell is your rapid reaction team?" Another indistinct response, its tone heated this time, as vivid whiteness spews out of several upper-floor windows, flaring the imager for several seconds before you see burning debris scattered over the grounds and heat blaring from the windows. "FRAG! And when your bozos get out of bed have them bring a meatwagon, and get the fire service en route. Ronson's vitals just went redline. He's dying. Fast. I don't - Masimoto, switch to their audio-" Back to Jenna's voice, "-thought we were meant to get him alive!" "So?" "So you killed him, Gabriel!" "He pissed me off, okay? And he made fun of my suit." The two emerge from the house, look around, move towards an outbuilding. "You didn't have to kill him! We were meant to bring him in alive! You burned out the whole room with that spell!" "We were told to extract him. We did, he doesn't work for United any more.Total success." "yeah...Yeah! You're right! Total success. As usual." "As always. But then we are the best." "The greatest ever!" They're passing the body of the guard they shot earlier, who still seems very warm. "Gabe, she's still breathing." Gabriel fires another long burst into the body. "Pardon?" Jenna giggles. They open a door of the outbuilding, and after a long pause you hear an engine start. "-Star report they took fire on the way in, cruiser damaged. No casualties, but that unit's immobilised. Others coming in more cautiously. Star ETA now five minutes." The observers again. "Shooting up cop cars? In that area of town? Christ, it's a goddamn tag team we're dealing with. Warn our guys to be alert on approach. Pass the plate and description of Ronson's car and report it stolen. Get some of our tame cops to put the APB out, maximum caution, armed and dangerous." "Done." A Westwind roars out of the garage and down the driveway, back end fishtailing, and through the opening gates - skidding wildly, the back end clipping the wall as it turns into the strret. The drone attempts to keep pace but is soon left behind. "Any more from the Star?" "Four-man team, very slick, immobilised the lead car and then withdrew. Cops never got a round off." "Amateurs with pro backup. Great. Get this up the line, someone's gonna be in trouble. Ronson dead?" "No vitals. No tracer. Fire's really got hold, he's cinders by now." "Drek." +++++end trideo What a pair of wannabees.]<<<<< -- Trideo Pirate <17:45:31/07-05-57> >>>>>[Well, we just pulled off yet another of our oh-so-dazzlingly- successful missions. Alone, outnumbered, facing hordes of enemies with _no_ dress sense whatsoever, we completed every one of our objectives without a single hitch, problem or difficulty. We could do all those boring things like brag about what we did (INCREDIBLY important, is all we'll say, not that any of you lamebrains will ever find out) or show some video of how we did it, but none of you wussies could cope: seeing us work would make you realise how totally inferior you all are to us. Jenna and Gabriel, lots: world, nil.]<<<<< -- Jen and Gabe <17:33:21/07-05-57> >>>>>[Your target was George Ronson, an engineering director for United Oil. You were assigned to go get him and bring him out alive, but you screwed up and killed him instead. You had backup groups in place to delay reinforcements, because that development gets reinforcements from United facility two miles away: as it happened the cops would have got there first, but your backup - which you claim you never have - shot the front wheels off a cruiser and bought you the time you needed to escape. You drove away in the guy's own '53 Westwind, which you abandoned and burned out (magically) in Auburn. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot, 'hordes' of enemy was four guards. +++++include file: applause.wav Congratulations, kids, let us know when you're ready to take the training wheels off. Every breath you take Every move you make Every heart you break, every life you take I'll be watching you...]<<<<< -- Lynch <17:35:32/07-05-57> >>>>>[It was an extraction. Your target was male. He worked for United. You were supposed to take him alive ("Complete success", indeed!) I didn't quite manage to get the car while you were in it, but you probably wouldn't of noticed the few extra bullets anyway. After all, you were firing bursts MUCH longer than needed to do the job. Shape up, and drop the Aztlan accent.]<<<<< -- Temporary FishNet account #476A-29 <7-5-57/18:07:09> *****PRIVATE: 1Lt L DiAnnio >>>>>[Lilith, here's the flight plan. Check it over and see if you spot any problems with it. +++++include file: flight_plan.txt]<<<<< -- D J H Coppinger <12:05:43/07-06-57> Director Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency *****PRIVATE: D J H Coppinger >>>>>[I'd suggest routing further west and staying over the Pacific the whole flight, is all. An unscheduled flight like that might attract the wrong sort of attention.]<<<<< -- 1Lt L DiAnnio <12:10:32/07-06-57> *****PRIVATE: 1Lt L DiAnnio >>>>>[Fuel problems. Remember they'll be flying against the trades. I don't foresee any problem: they'll be over and gone before anyone reacts anyway.]<<<<< -- D J H Coppinger <12:12:13/07-06-57> Director Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency *****INTERNAL: SIGANet >>>>>[TO: 1Lt L DiAnnio I hope this works.]<<<<< -- D J H Coppinger <12:15:50/07-06-57> Director Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency >>>>>[Ro, found this tidbit floating across the net. Seemed like you (noted your recent trip to NZ as the tipoff). Null persp on the repay. Still friends, like always, right? :) Anyway, check the technique. If it's not you, hey, at least it's better than the local trids. . . +++++load ucascap.atd ... running ... COMPLETE "Capt., enclosed is the recon file for the Nuclear Zebra mission. All mission notes, film, and commentary have been chronologically compiled. Primary target remains unaware of the surv. Secondary target has been tagged for future interview. Remaining at site . . . awaiting further orders. Contact address >>encrypted<<. +++++loading diary39.voc ... playing ... Cpl. Finner, UCAS SFRT, recording diary for Nuclear Zebra mission. Primary Target: AWOL field officer -- identity classified. Secondary target:any abettors or affiliates to the primary. Task: Maintain constant surveillance on the primary target from arrival on-site. Create record of target's activities. Forward record to Command at completion. No contact/ conflict. Diary is open. DAY ONE: Target has not yet arrived. Intelligence regarding target's potential objective arrived. Scouting location. Remote, technical facility. Penetration easy; Detection unlikely; Escape High Probability. DAY TWO: Primary target arrived via air. Met large Ork and left driving a garbage truck. Primary target and abettor engage in discussion before departing. PT was visibly upset. Oh, PT is a short, blond-haired,blue-eyed elf, slightly overweight. Assensing revealed a mundane-natured female dwarf, (+++++scrambled). This being inconsistent with previous record, PT must be an initiate. Aside from the vehicle, neither target attracted much attention. Customs passed PT with little trouble. Following the garbage truck led to a medium-sized apartment on the outskirts of (++++scrambled). Physical observation revealed little. Astral observation revealed that the pair reviewed a number of maps, historical records, and employment listings from the facility that Intelligence provided. Sidenote--commend IQ for their infogathering in this case. PT seemed to suspect observation at one point, but the secondary target ignored those worries. By 2330 hours, both targets were asleep. DAY THREE: PT woke up at 0500 hours. Drove garbage truck to a reclamation facility. Took a cab to airport. Rented a white Ford Americar with extra large benchseats. Returned to the apartment where ST questioned her choice. However, PT's choice stood. Both targets spent much of the day preparing for their upcoming activities. ST's bluster and arrogance seemed to annoy PT; however, his collection of large firearms defused her attitude. At 1555 hours, both departed in the Americar. At 1732 hours, the Americar stops at (+++++scrambled). This is a residential area. The home nearest the auto shows no activity for one hour. At 2100 hours, a male dwarf steps out of the Americar. Assensing showed the dwarf to be the PT. Inside the house, a human male and female sit on a couch watching trideo. Assensing reveals that the dwarf is in an upstairs bedroom collecting items from a bedside table. The dwarf casts an invisibility spell and moves downstairs. The human male moves into the kitchen while speaking to the female. PT, still invisible, moves into the living room with female. With a swift blow to the throat, the human female falls unconscious on the couch. PT then moves swiftly into the kitchen and strikes the male from behind, knocking him down to the floor. PT takes out a needle and injects it into the human male. PT becomes visible and turns out all the interior lights. Assensing--I see PT conversing with the human male. Notification from the watcher that the Americar is moving ... The Ork has pulled in front of the house. It is 2120 hours. Both targets secure the couple and place them in the upstairs bedroom, bound (hand & foot)-gagged-and blindfolded. ST target pulls an old beige Fiat from behind the house and parks behind the Americar. ST takes two large leather bags from the Americar and places them in the Fiat. ST then moves the Americar behind the house. ST enters and tells PT "Ready to go mobile." PT says, "Not quite," and ST's shape changes until ST resembles the human male. Both exit through the back of the house. PT asks, "Have ya switched the gear?" ST responds affirmatively and both targets leave in the Fiat. DAY FOUR: The Fiat pulls up to the gate at (+++++scrambled). It is 0005 hours. After a short delay, the gate opens and the Fiat enters. Disabling the northwest quantrants surveillance and securing, I penetrate the facility by scaling the northern wall and using the ventilation system to move to a secure location to observe the targets' actions. Arriving at an executive office, I sweep the office with SecSCN tq 4.3. Finding nothing except for a safe in the wall, I descend into the office. I summon a hearth spirit to keep an eye out while I enter the building's net. The passcode from IQ was worthless; however, I was able to fabricate one. GOAL: Observe the targets' actions, ascertain their objectives, download a copy of the appropriate security logs to chip, and exit the building the same way I came in. +++++load sclg210.trd ... running ... A sudden crisp image crystallizes on the screen. There are 30 rectangular boxes. Most are dark. Box 6--marked "LOBBY"-- enlarges and fills the screen. At a blue, circular desk, a guard sits. A brown haired, skinny man walks up to the desk and hands a card to the guard. Guard: "Working late, Dr. Perkins?" Man: "You know me, inspiration strikes . . ." Guard: "And you're always the victim, I know, Doc. See ya later." Perkins: "Thanks, Joe." The guard passes the card back to Perkins, who walks over to an elevator and presses the up button. Box 6 then shrinks back and Box 10 {ELEVATOR 2} opens. Perkins steps into the camera's view and presses the button for the 4th floor. After a couple minutes, the elevator doors slide open with a slight 'clunk.' Perkins steps out. Box 10 closes. Box 14 {CORRIDOR 4} starts to open, then closes. Box 27 {SECURITY ROOM 3} opens instead. Two guards lie still at the opposing ends of a ping pong table. They breathe faintly and are visibly contused. Inexplicably, another guard is napping on the couch as a petite, blond-haired female with her back to the camera approaches him. Taking out a knife, she leans over the guard's body and slowly kisses him on the cheek before running the blade across his throat. The elf promptly vanishes from the camera's sight. Box 27 closes. Box 14 {CORRIDOR 4} opens. Empty corridor. Box 14 closes. Box 20 {OFFICE 4F} opens. Perkins sits at a desk with his feet up, whistling and twiddling his thumbs. He stretches and yawns looking at his watch. Light pours into the room from the corridor as the door opens. The elf walks onto the screen towards Perkins. Perkins gets up, saying, "Ever heard of accelerated decrepitude? It's what happens to us Orks when we're kept waiting by our mates..." Elf: "I's makin sure we get no mana thrown up our arses. Y'don look like ya could throw down with the astrals, and know that I can't." The elf, a woman, jacks into Perkins desk and a glazed expression falls over her face. Box 20 closes. The screen fades into an overview of a computer network. The CPU flashes white softly. Voice: "Excuse me, can I help you?" The view rotates to show a chalk white image of a man dressed in 18th century European robes and ascot. The man pats a club menacingly in his left hand. He takes an attacking stance just before his face reflects horrified shock. His milky white form begins to melt before your 'eyes' until only a puddle remains, then the puddle recedes into a dot, before vanishing completely. The netmap reappears, focusing on I/O port 16. A two-dimensional image of Perkins stands in front of you. He's carrying two gold, metal rods each marked (TREGEN). He turns and looks in your direction as he places the two rods between his hands. The rods fade into nothingness, and Perkins' image does the same. The view pans back to the netmap from I/O 16, and the CPU flashes slow white again, but momentarily speeds up, before ... Boxes 1 - 30 reappear on the screen. Box 20 {OFFICE 4F} opens again. Perkins' office is now empty. Box 14 {CORRIDOR 4} opens. The corridor is empty. Box 10 {ELEVATOR 2} opens. The elevator is empty. A multiple-color, vertical spectrum appears down the left hand side of the screen. The bar then fires roy g. biv beams across the screen. The beams bounce off the right wall of the screen and re-enter the vertical bar on the left. The screen ripples top to bottom and then seems to invert. Immediately, the view fades to the netmap. But it is no longer the same map. The CPU is in center, but there are far fewer datapaths than the previous map. The CPU slowly flashes white again. A new multi-box screen coalesces. There are only 5 boxes on this screen. At the top of the screen, a timestamp reading "EncrSurv = 00.01.15" indicating the amount of connect-time. Miniatures views explode in every box. 1,2, and 3 are show empty hallways ending in open doors. Box 4 shows two figures standing front of a door. Box five shows four guards standing in front of a wall with over 50 panels, seven spotlights shine down on the seven columns of panels. Box 4 [SB Vault_Entry: SecureView Only] fills the screen. Perkins: "Can ya hack it?" Elf: "Y'just be ready to cap whoever's in there. I've almost got it." The elf is tinkering with the maglock box at the base of the door. She hisses and strains and curses before three loud clicks occur. Elf: "Like butter, baby." She reaches into her belt and pulls something out. She then touches Perkins on the arm. Perkins features contort, then bend as he grows. Standing in his place is a large Ork carrying a large machine gun. The Ork pulls the door open just enough for the elf to throw two grenades into the room. Then, he slams the door shut again. "BADA-BADA BOOOOOOOOOM!" The explosion shakes the door and pushes it (and the Ork) back two feet. The ork then swings the door open the remainder of the way and opens fire with the MG. Ork: "Rubber bullets... ...Honest." Elf: "Grrrreeeeaaaattt. The Boss'll be soooooo glad." The elf's body blackens unto a shadow as she does a handspring off of the ork's shoulders into the room. The ork follows her in. Box 4 closes. Box 5 [SB Vault: Priority Clearance Only] The room is darker than it had first appeared. There is one obviously dead body slumped at the base of the paneled wall. There are splatters of blood across the wall and two large, overlapping, circular burn scars across the floor. Behind a fallen wall of computer-enlayed metal, two guards crouch with their firearms ready. There is shadowy movement at the other end of the room. A figure, gaining resolution as the camera pans on his movement, dashes toward the open door. Automatic weapon fire ends his streaking attempt. Oddly, he only groans as his body slams backwards against a wall and collapses to the floor. Male voice: "I don't know who you are. But you have 30 seconds to attempt to leave here. You will be killed before you exit this facility, but, if you are caught in this room, your body will simply be destroyed here. If you get upstairs, _maybe_, we'll turn your carcasses over to the authorities. You have been notified. A grunting chortle floats across the room. Male voice: "Your mistake." The two guards move from their positions, laying suppression fire and taking a pincers manuever. Breeze hisses past the camera. A small totally black humanoid figure lands on one of the guards' face, muffling his screams of horror and surprise. As the other guard turns and fires on the figure, he is mowed down by the ork who has moved from his covered position at the other end of the room. Ork: "Fancy Schmancy . . . I'dve squashed yer little 'arse.'" Shadowfigure [shifting shape to reveal the elf with blood running down her left arm]: "Too bad y'couldn't squash that guy before he clipped me." Ork: "C'mon, c'mon ... let's get the stuff." Elf: "M'on it." The elf moves to a wall out of sight of the camera. Glass shatters. The ork glares out into the corridor. 4 panels midway up the paneled wall slide open--approximately 8 feet over the floor. Ork : "We have some choices to make and I can't see the options." Elf: "Dios Mio! Lemme up on y'shoulders. I'll get 'em." The elf climbs up the ork's body and views 4 sets of two vials. Elf: "Pass me the UV scanner." As the elf shines the light on each set of vials, one turns red, one turns blue, two remain clear. Elf: "Drek! Still got two choices . . ." Ork: "Make it quick! The clock's tickin!" The elf reaches out, takes both vials. She thens places one inside each side of her jacket. Elf: "We're outta here!" Ork [dodging her feet as she climbs down]: "You sure!?" Elf [running out the door]: "Don't make me tell ya twice!" Box 5 closes. Box 1 [SB Elevator: Secure View Only] opens. The elf dashes through an open door at the left of the screen. The ork is just couple steps behind, and he slams the door shut behind him. As the locks click on the door, the wall at the right of screen begins to slide towards the bottom of the screen. The elf removes the vials from her jacket, and pulls a small container from a pocket on her left pantleg. Vapor escape from the container as she opens the lid; the elf drops all four vials into the container and replaces it. Just as she does so, both her and the ork's eyes rise towards the elevator. Elf: "It can't be! It can't be!" Ork: "Aw, drek . . ." Immediately, both turn and try to open the door at the left of the screen. The floor in front of them bursts into flame, dashing any hopes of retreat. Out of the elevator, a tall, muscular man in security armor strides. Barely visible is a very recent, 4 inch scar across his throat. SecMage: "You didn't think you'd get out easy, did you? Pretty smooth thus far. But all good things come to an end." The ork tried to lift his gun and blast the mage, but the mage was faster. The powerbolt slams the ork backward into the door on the left of the room, moaning something about a truck and license number. SecMage: "And now for you, troublesome imp. I've got something special for you." The mage's eyes glow red as he holds his hands out towards the elf. The elf's hand slashes an arc from left to right as she throws several knives at the mage. The knives collide with a barrier two feet from the mage, and the elf begins to howl in agony. Elf: "My blood! It's ... on ... FIIIRE!!! Arrrrgggghhhh!!" Her small body thrashes wildly on the floor. The mage laughs loudly as the red glow in his eyes intensifies. Bullets ricochet off the left side of the mage. Ork: "Ah, pardon me, sir; but ah ain't dead yet." SecMage: "You're stupider than you look to volunteer to be the first to change that." The mage raises his left hand, which slowly begins to pulse green. The ork begins to sweat profusely and drops his gun. Secmage: "You chose the wrong facility to engage, crimin- gurk! -- al ... gakk!!" The elf staggers to her feet with her small fists clenched. Tears running down her face, she says, "Welcome to the Terrordome, bastard." The mage staggers backwards, stumbling into the top wall. He screaming in abject terror and hides his face in his hands as he crumbles into fetal ball. The elf stands towering over the trembling body, not relaxing a bit. Ork[coughing]: "Goin' would be ah good thing." Elf: "In a minute." For an apparent eternity, she stands. Finally, the mage passes out. Ork [sarcastically]: "Maybe we should wait til he does tha dead-bug, eh?" Elf: "Shut up, we've gotta get outta here." Ork: "Jus' when ah was startin' ta enjoy tha scenery?" Looking more than mildly annoyed, the elf touches the ork. Again, the ork assumes the appearance of Perkins. The elf just as suddenly vanishes. Perkins enters the elevator. Static momentarily breaks into the recording, but fades back into a look at the first multi-box screen. Box 10 {ELEVATOR 2} opens. Perkins: "So we waltz out the front door. Ya sure that'll work?" Elf's voice: "We just took out the only on-site mage. We're in the clear." Box 10 closes. Box 6 {LOBBY} opens. Perkins walks on to the screen from the right. Perkins: "Goodnight, Joe." Joe the Guard: "Done already?!" Perkins: "Sometimes I'm so good, I amaze myself." Joe the Guard: "HA-HA, yeah, right. See ya, Doc!" Perkins turns and walks away from the desk just as a blinking red light appears in the upper left corner of the cameraview. Joe the Guard unholsters his handgun and dashes into the elevator. Box 8 closes. Box 2 {PARKING LOT} opens. The parking lot fades into view. Perkins crosses to the Fiat. He climbs in, a little awkwardly. The Fiat starts and exits the facility with little ceremony. Box 2 closes. The netmap appears momentarily before it fades to black. +++++end sclg210.trd I exited the facility at approximately 0130. The elimination of the facility's decker was unfortunate, but necessary. I located the Fiat back at Perkins' home. Shortly thereafter, I found the Americar en route to the airport. Once there, PT changed her outgoing ticket to that morning 0900. The destination was Kyoto, reasons for this destination are unknown. You should probably alert the Seattle recon operative to the delayed arrival. ST made his way back to his squat. There was no follow-up team from the facility. I planted the apartment with recording systems and await your orders, Capt. PT's operation was quick and smooth until the mage became involved. The strength of the PT was research. PT knew the layout, personnel, and personality of the entire target facility; she selected the most vulnerable and viable link for penetration and knew his lifestyle and his neighbors. The use of force was cutting, non-lethal--but she seemed to be annoyed at holding back. PT's other strength was her use of illusions. The quickened illusion maintained her cover id for the entire mission. ST, Perkins, nor any secpersonnel will have any record of PT's 'real' phenotype. The use of stacked illusions carried the majority of the mission for PT. However, the secmage nearly cancelled both her and ST. We should exploit this weakness in the future. Close diary. +++++end diary39.voc -- Cpl. Finner <07-02-96/09:18:12> Zone 3 Field Operative UCAS SFRT" +++++end ucascap.atd Come see me when you get a chance, Ro. Hey, you should take a look at the new Adaptives I've got... do a little 'field-testing' maybe? Let's catch a trid sometime!]<<<<< -- Mick de Lampalago <00:00:00/00.00.00> Computer Technician Smith-Norton Anti-Virus : Quebec >>>>>[Ro, found this tidbit floating across the net. Seemed like you (noted your recent trip to NZ as the tipoff). Null persp on the repay. Still friends, like always, right? :) Anyway, check the technique. If it's not you, hey, at least it's better than the local trids. . . +++++load ucascap.atd ... running ... COMPLETE "Capt., enclosed is the recon file for the Nuclear Zebra mission. All mission notes, film, and commentary have been chronologically compiled. Primary target remains unaware of the surv. Secondary target has been tagged for future interview. Remaining at site . . . awaiting further orders. Contact address >>encrypted<<. +++++loading diary39.voc ... playing ... Cpl. Finner, UCAS SFRT, recording diary for Nuclear Zebra mission. Primary Target: AWOL field officer -- identity classified. Secondary target:any abettors or affiliates to the primary. Task: Maintain constant surveillance on the primary target from arrival on-site. Create record of target's activities. Forward record to Command at completion. No contact/ conflict. Diary is open. DAY ONE: Target has not yet arrived. Intelligence regarding target's potential objective arrived. Scouting location. Remote, technical facility. Penetration easy; Detection unlikely; Escape High Probability. DAY TWO: Primary target arrived via air. Met large Ork and left driving a garbage truck. Primary target and abettor engage in discussion before departing. PT was visibly upset. Oh, PT is a short, blond-haired,blue-eyed elf, slightly overweight. Assensing revealed a mundane-natured female dwarf, (+++++scrambled). This being inconsistent with previous record, PT must be an initiate. Aside from the vehicle, neither target attracted much attention. Customs passed PT with little trouble. Following the garbage truck led to a medium-sized apartment on the outskirts of (++++scrambled). Physical observation revealed little. Astral observation revealed that the pair reviewed a number of maps, historical records, and employment listings from the facility that Intelligence provided. Sidenote--commend IQ for their infogathering in this case. PT seemed to suspect observation at one point, but the secondary target ignored those worries. By 2330 hours, both targets were asleep. DAY THREE: PT woke up at 0500 hours. Drove garbage truck to a reclamation facility. Took a cab to airport. Rented a white Ford Americar with extra large benchseats. Returned to the apartment where ST questioned her choice. However, PT's choice stood. Both targets spent much of the day preparing for their upcoming activities. ST's bluster and arrogance seemed to annoy PT; however, his collection of large firearms defused her attitude. At 1555 hours, both departed in the Americar. At 1732 hours, the Americar stops at (+++++scrambled). This is a residential area. The home nearest the auto shows no activity for one hour. At 2100 hours, a male dwarf steps out of the Americar. Assensing showed the dwarf to be the PT. Inside the house, a human male and female sit on a couch watching trideo. Assensing reveals that the dwarf is in an upstairs bedroom collecting items from a bedside table. The dwarf casts an invisibility spell and moves downstairs. The human male moves into the kitchen while speaking to the female. PT, still invisible, moves into the living room with female. With a swift blow to the throat, the human female falls unconscious on the couch. PT then moves swiftly into the kitchen and strikes the male from behind, knocking him down to the floor. PT takes out a needle and injects it into the human male. PT becomes visible and turns out all the interior lights. Assensing--I see PT conversing with the human male. Notification from the watcher that the Americar is moving ... The Ork has pulled in front of the house. It is 2120 hours. Both targets secure the couple and place them in the upstairs bedroom, bound (hand & foot)-gagged-and blindfolded. ST target pulls an old beige Fiat from behind the house and parks behind the Americar. ST takes two large leather bags from the Americar and places them in the Fiat. ST then moves the Americar behind the house. ST enters and tells PT "Ready to go mobile." PT says, "Not quite," and ST's shape changes until ST resembles the human male. Both exit through the back of the house. PT asks, "Have ya switched the gear?" ST responds affirmatively and both targets leave in the Fiat. DAY FOUR: The Fiat pulls up to the gate at (+++++scrambled). It is 0005 hours. After a short delay, the gate opens and the Fiat enters. Disabling the northwest quantrants surveillance and securing, I penetrate the facility by scaling the northern wall and using the ventilation system to move to a secure location to observe the targets' actions. Arriving at an executive office, I sweep the office with SecSCN tq 4.3. Finding nothing except for a safe in the wall, I descend into the office. I summon a hearth spirit to keep an eye out while I enter the building's net. The passcode from IQ was worthless; however, I was able to fabricate one. GOAL: Observe the targets' actions, ascertain their objectives, download a copy of the appropriate security logs to chip, and exit the building the same way I came in. +++++load sclg210.trd ... running ... A sudden crisp image crystallizes on the screen. There are 30 rectangular boxes. Most are dark. Box 6--marked "LOBBY"-- enlarges and fills the screen. At a blue, circular desk, a guard sits. A brown haired, skinny man walks up to the desk and hands a card to the guard. Guard: "Working late, Dr. Perkins?" Man: "You know me, inspiration strikes . . ." Guard: "And you're always the victim, I know, Doc. See ya later." Perkins: "Thanks, Joe." The guard passes the card back to Perkins, who walks over to an elevator and presses the up button. Box 6 then shrinks back and Box 10 {ELEVATOR 2} opens. Perkins steps into the camera's view and presses the button for the 4th floor. After a couple minutes, the elevator doors slide open with a slight 'clunk.' Perkins steps out. Box 10 closes. Box 14 {CORRIDOR 4} starts to open, then closes. Box 27 {SECURITY ROOM 3} opens instead. Two guards lie still at the opposing ends of a ping pong table. They breathe faintly and are visibly contused. Inexplicably, another guard is napping on the couch as a petite, blond-haired female with her back to the camera approaches him. Taking out a knife, she leans over the guard's body and slowly kisses him on the cheek before running the blade across his throat. The elf promptly vanishes from the camera's sight. Box 27 closes. Box 14 {CORRIDOR 4} opens. Empty corridor. Box 14 closes. Box 20 {OFFICE 4F} opens. Perkins sits at a desk with his feet up, whistling and twiddling his thumbs. He stretches and yawns looking at his watch. Light pours into the room from the corridor as the door opens. The elf walks onto the screen towards Perkins. Perkins gets up, saying, "Ever heard of accelerated decrepitude? It's what happens to us Orks when we're kept waiting by our mates..." Elf: "I's makin sure we get no mana thrown up our arses. Y'don look like ya could throw down with the astrals, and know that I can't." The elf, a woman, jacks into Perkins desk and a glazed expression falls over her face. Box 20 closes. The screen fades into an overview of a computer network. The CPU flashes white softly. Voice: "Excuse me, can I help you?" The view rotates to show a chalk white image of a man dressed in 18th century European robes and ascot. The man pats a club menacingly in his left hand. He takes an attacking stance just before his face reflects horrified shock. His milky white form begins to melt before your 'eyes' until only a puddle remains, then the puddle recedes into a dot, before vanishing completely. The netmap reappears, focusing on I/O port 16. A two-dimensional image of Perkins stands in front of you. He's carrying two gold, metal rods each marked (TREGEN). He turns and looks in your direction as he places the two rods between his hands. The rods fade into nothingness, and Perkins' image does the same. The view pans back to the netmap from I/O 16, and the CPU flashes slow white again, but momentarily speeds up, before ... Boxes 1 - 30 reappear on the screen. Box 20 {OFFICE 4F} opens again. Perkins' office is now empty. Box 14 {CORRIDOR 4} opens. The corridor is empty. Box 10 {ELEVATOR 2} opens. The elevator is empty. A multiple-color, vertical spectrum appears down the left hand side of the screen. The bar then fires roy g. biv beams across the screen. The beams bounce off the right wall of the screen and re-enter the vertical bar on the left. The screen ripples top to bottom and then seems to invert. Immediately, the view fades to the netmap. But it is no longer the same map. The CPU is in center, but there are far fewer datapaths than the previous map. The CPU slowly flashes white again. A new multi-box screen coalesces. There are only 5 boxes on this screen. At the top of the screen, a timestamp reading "EncrSurv = 00.01.15" indicating the amount of connect-time. Miniatures views explode in every box. 1,2, and 3 are show empty hallways ending in open doors. Box 4 shows two figures standing front of a door. Box five shows four guards standing in front of a wall with over 50 panels, seven spotlights shine down on the seven columns of panels. Box 4 [SB Vault_Entry: SecureView Only] fills the screen. Perkins: "Can ya hack it?" Elf: "Y'just be ready to cap whoever's in there. I've almost got it." The elf is tinkering with the maglock box at the base of the door. She hisses and strains and curses before three loud clicks occur. Elf: "Like butter, baby." She reaches into her belt and pulls something out. She then touches Perkins on the arm. Perkins features contort, then bend as he grows. Standing in his place is a large Ork carrying a large machine gun. The Ork pulls the door open just enough for the elf to throw two grenades into the room. Then, he slams the door shut again. "BADA-BADA BOOOOOOOOOM!" The explosion shakes the door and pushes it (and the Ork) back two feet. The ork then swings the door open the remainder of the way and opens fire with the MG. Ork: "Rubber bullets... ...Honest." Elf: "Grrrreeeeaaaattt. The Boss'll be soooooo glad." The elf's body blackens unto a shadow as she does a handspring off of the ork's shoulders into the room. The ork follows her in. Box 4 closes. Box 5 [SB Vault: Priority Clearance Only] The room is darker than it had first appeared. There is one obviously dead body slumped at the base of the paneled wall. There are splatters of blood across the wall and two large, overlapping, circular burn scars across the floor. Behind a fallen wall of computer-enlayed metal, two guards crouch with their firearms ready. There is shadowy movement at the other end of the room. A figure, gaining resolution as the camera pans on his movement, dashes toward the open door. Automatic weapon fire ends his streaking attempt. Oddly, he only groans as his body slams backwards against a wall and collapses to the floor. Male voice: "I don't know who you are. But you have 30 seconds to attempt to leave here. You will be killed before you exit this facility, but, if you are caught in this room, your body will simply be destroyed here. If you get upstairs, _maybe_, we'll turn your carcasses over to the authorities. You have been notified. A grunting chortle floats across the room. Male voice: "Your mistake." The two guards move from their positions, laying suppression fire and taking a pincers manuever. Breeze hisses past the camera. A small totally black humanoid figure lands on one of the guards' face, muffling his screams of horror and surprise. As the other guard turns and fires on the figure, he is mowed down by the ork who has moved from his covered position at the other end of the room. Ork: "Fancy Schmancy . . . I'dve squashed yer little 'arse.'" Shadowfigure [shifting shape to reveal the elf with blood running down her left arm]: "Too bad y'couldn't squash that guy before he clipped me." Ork: "C'mon, c'mon ... let's get the stuff." Elf: "M'on it." The elf moves to a wall out of sight of the camera. Glass shatters. The ork glares out into the corridor. 4 panels midway up the paneled wall slide open--approximately 8 feet over the floor. Ork : "We have some choices to make and I can't see the options." Elf: "Dios Mio! Lemme up on y'shoulders. I'll get 'em." The elf climbs up the ork's body and views 4 sets of two vials. Elf: "Pass me the UV scanner." As the elf shines the light on each set of vials, one turns red, one turns blue, two remain clear. Elf: "Drek! Still got two choices . . ." Ork: "Make it quick! The clock's tickin!" The elf reaches out, takes both vials. She thens places one inside each side of her jacket. Elf: "We're outta here!" Ork [dodging her feet as she climbs down]: "You sure!?" Elf [running out the door]: "Don't make me tell ya twice!" Box 5 closes. Box 1 [SB Elevator: Secure View Only] opens. The elf dashes through an open door at the left of the screen. The ork is just couple steps behind, and he slams the door shut behind him. As the locks click on the door, the wall at the right of screen begins to slide towards the bottom of the screen. The elf removes the vials from her jacket, and pulls a small container from a pocket on her left pantleg. Vapor escape from the container as she opens the lid; the elf drops all four vials into the container and replaces it. Just as she does so, both her and the ork's eyes rise towards the elevator. Elf: "It can't be! It can't be!" Ork: "Aw, drek . . ." Immediately, both turn and try to open the door at the left of the screen. The floor in front of them bursts into flame, dashing any hopes of retreat. Out of the elevator, a tall, muscular man in security armor strides. Barely visible is a very recent, 4 inch scar across his throat. SecMage: "You didn't think you'd get out easy, did you? Pretty smooth thus far. But all good things come to an end." The ork tried to lift his gun and blast the mage, but the mage was faster. The powerbolt slams the ork backward into the door on the left of the room, moaning something about a truck and license number. SecMage: "And now for you, troublesome imp. I've got something special for you." The mage's eyes glow red as he holds his hands out towards the elf. The elf's hand slashes an arc from left to right as she throws several knives at the mage. The knives collide with a barrier two feet from the mage, and the elf begins to howl in agony. Elf: "My blood! It's ... on ... FIIIRE!!! Arrrrgggghhhh!!" Her small body thrashes wildly on the floor. The mage laughs loudly as the red glow in his eyes intensifies. Bullets ricochet off the left side of the mage. Ork: "Ah, pardon me, sir; but ah ain't dead yet." SecMage: "You're stupider than you look to volunteer to be the first to change that." The mage raises his left hand, which slowly begins to pulse green. The ork begins to sweat profusely and drops his gun. Secmage: "You chose the wrong facility to engage, crimin- gurk! -- al ... gakk!!" The elf staggers to her feet with her small fists clenched. Tears running down her face, she says, "Welcome to the Terrordome, bastard." The mage staggers backwards, stumbling into the top wall. He screaming in abject terror and hides his face in his hands as he crumbles into fetal ball. The elf stands towering over the trembling body, not relaxing a bit. Ork[coughing]: "Goin' would be ah good thing." Elf: "In a minute." For an apparent eternity, she stands. Finally, the mage passes out. Ork [sarcastically]: "Maybe we should wait til he does tha dead-bug, eh?" Elf: "Shut up, we've gotta get outta here." Ork: "Jus' when ah was startin' ta enjoy tha scenery?" Looking more than mildly annoyed, the elf touches the ork. Again, the ork assumes the appearance of Perkins. The elf just as suddenly vanishes. Perkins enters the elevator. Static momentarily breaks into the recording, but fades back into a look at the first multi-box screen. Box 10 {ELEVATOR 2} opens. Perkins: "So we waltz out the front door. Ya sure that'll work?" Elf's voice: "We just took out the only on-site mage. We're in the clear." Box 10 closes. Box 6 {LOBBY} opens. Perkins walks on to the screen from the right. Perkins: "Goodnight, Joe." Joe the Guard: "Done already?!" Perkins: "Sometimes I'm so good, I amaze myself." Joe the Guard: "HA-HA, yeah, right. See ya, Doc!" Perkins turns and walks away from the desk just as a blinking red light appears in the upper left corner of the cameraview. Joe the Guard unholsters his handgun and dashes into the elevator. Box 8 closes. Box 2 {PARKING LOT} opens. The parking lot fades into view. Perkins crosses to the Fiat. He climbs in, a little awkwardly. The Fiat starts and exits the facility with little ceremony. Box 2 closes. The netmap appears momentarily before it fades to black. +++++end sclg210.trd I exited the facility at approximately 0130. The elimination of the facility's decker was unfortunate, but necessary. I located the Fiat back at Perkins' home. Shortly thereafter, I found the Americar en route to the airport. Once there, PT changed her outgoing ticket to that morning 0900. The destination was Kyoto, reasons for this destination are unknown. You should probably alert the Seattle recon operative to the delayed arrival. ST made his way back to his squat. There was no follow-up team from the facility. I planted the apartment with recording systems and await your orders, Capt. PT's operation was quick and smooth until the mage became involved. The strength of the PT was research. PT knew the layout, personnel, and personality of the entire target facility; she selected the most vulnerable and viable link for penetration and knew his lifestyle and his neighbors. The use of force was cutting, non-lethal--but she seemed to be annoyed at holding back. PT's other strength was her use of illusions. The quickened illusion maintained her cover id for the entire mission. ST, Perkins, nor any secpersonnel will have any record of PT's 'real' phenotype. The use of stacked illusions carried the majority of the mission for PT. However, the secmage nearly cancelled both her and ST. We should exploit this weakness in the future. Close diary. +++++end diary39.voc -- Cpl. Finner <07-02-96/09:18:12> Zone 3 Field Operative UCAS SFRT" +++++end ucascap.atd Come see me when you get a chance, Ro. Hey, you should take a look at the new Adaptives I've got... do a little 'field-testing' maybe? Let's catch a trid sometime!]<<<<< -- Mick de Lampalago <07-07-96/13:54:48> Computer Technician Smith-Norton Anti-Virus : Quebec ***** PRIVATE: Griffyn >>>>>[Im doing the final set ups for the trip to Chicago. I left an extra ritual sample in the storage-cry at Serenity. You know what to do with that if I am not back in a week or so or my transmission cease. Thanks, bro. Ill bring you back a present or something...hopefully just me alive will do.]<<<<< -- Jason R. Stormwind <20:42:01 / 07-09-57> *****PRIVATE: Mick De Lampalago >>>>>[Stupid, stupid, stupid. Y'didn't encrypt your letter. M'friends have probably already dropped ya. If they haven't, I give you a personal thanks for the eavesdrop at >>encrypted<<. Bring the stuff ya mentioned.]<<<<< -- Negativpenniz <07-09-57/19:04:36> *****PRIVATE: Negativpenniz >>>>>[Sounds good. Your friends are BAD news. I can't talk long, especially with you. Sorry. Still friends til the end, though.]<<<<< -- Mick De Lampalago <07-09-57/19:21:11> Computer Technician Smith-Norton Anti-Virus >>>>>[And so we are drawn closer to geather by being farther apart]<<<<< -- Glitch<22-31-18/07-09-57> *****PRIVATE: Ash >>>>>[M'back in town. Request secure locale for settlement. Preferably within the next week. Vaya con Dios, y lleva el dinero. I will be the >>encrypted<<. Don't laugh. It could happen to you.]<<<<< -- Negativpenniz <07-10-57/13:01:57> *****PRIVATE: Jason R. Stormwind >>>>>[ I hope I don't need to use it. Be careful, Jas.. ]<<<<< --Griffyn <13:06:35/07-10-57> *****PRIVATE: Rosha >>>>>[Good to heah from you. I presume you have a viable specimen. You can meet me for tha transfer at the Seattle Hilton Tearoom. Feel free to come armed, I only ask that you are discrete. Ask for Dr. Stevadore. I will expect you soon.]<<<<< -- Ash <18:55:32/07-10-57> *****PRIVATE: Ash >>>>>[Discretion? Y'needn't ask. All required materials are present. Also some for extra credit, professor. I'll see ya on >>encrypted<< at >>encrypted<<. A Salaam Alaykum. {r}]<<<<< -- Dr. Shirley Ann Jackson <00.40.33/07-11-57> Chair, Department of Astrophysics Evergreen University, Seattle Campus *****PRIVATE: Valentine >>>>>[Pat, I just wanted to thank you properly for your hospitality and your friendship while I was your guest. Remind me *never* to try to match you pint for pint again. I'll use my wounded condition as an excuse I've seen the way you wince a little whenever someone offers to get violent in Haven's defence, so I won't promise to wreak havoc on anyone who harms your home There are many other ways in which Haven can be helped: if you find there's a subject you want to teach, and you lack an instructor, let us know. As an aside, there's some confiscated gear being auctioned (back home in DC) fairly soon, and I have a bid in for a batch of Rapiers: twenty- four, ranging from as-new top quality to burned-out wrecks. I thought they might be useful to you, as instructional aids (this is a ruined engine, this is a working engine, let's learn how to make sure we only go from the first to the second and not vice versa) if nothing else. If I get them, do you want them?]<<<<< -- Lynch <00:45:42/07-11-57> >>>>>[Rapiers? Absolutely. The shop class has been harping on me for more things to fix, even after they repaired the damage done by the last attack on Haven, by Sword of God's people. And they'd love to fix the wiring and plumbing in Haven, but so much of that is beneath the grounds, and the Horticulture classes have a fit whenever someone pulls a shovel out to do "improvments". Ahhh, you've got to love the sqabbles we get in to these days. However, whenever you and Lilith feel you need a place to stay, or would like to teach, you are welcome here. Besides, Haven is always understaffed.]<<<<< -- Valentine <21:21:33/07-12-57> *****PRIVATE: D.H.Coppinger >>>>>[Mr. Coppinger, I am contacting you in regards to the Marines here at Haven. I cannot thank you enough for the peace of mind that having such protection for Haven provided myself, my fellow instructors and administrators, and the children under my care. After the attack by Sword of God's followers, I truly felt that, for Haven to be properly protected from purely physical assaults from off the grounds, an additional security presence above and beyond the visible but poorly trained and equipped street and go-gangers who usually keep the area peaceful. For normal, day-to-day life, they are more than sufficient, but Sword of God hardly qualified as normal, day-to-day life. But now, I am afraid that I must ask you to withdraw the Marines from Haven. Sword of God has come to a violent end in Cal Free, through the actions of many whom I respect even as I despise thier methods and combative natures. The threat has passed, and I feel that the continued presence of the Marines here at Haven has become more of a distraction for my wards than a security blanket. In addition, I am afraid that my personal ethical qualms with the presence of combat forces in an area where I am trying to foster the most honorable, free, and even loving part of Seattle has created an unpleasant delemma. And I have come to the conclusion that it is time to send the soldiers back to thier homes, families, and friends. Or perhaps just places where they can be more use than here at Haven. I have consulted with my fellow administrators and instructors, and we have reached a consensus regarding this. Awaiting your reply, Patrick O'Kennedy.]<<<<< -- Valentine <21:33:45/07-12-57> *****Private: The Mighty Quinn >>>>>[ I'm back, where's my rat, have you been to Chicago yet?]<<<<< -- Squatter <23:07:18/07:12:57> >>>>>[I'm after some personel for a run, a couple of sammies and a B&E specialist. Contact me here, and I'll send you the details.]<<<<< -- Ronin <23:14:32/07:12:57> *****Private: Peter >>>>>[Peter, you up for some matrix work? Good money, good times.]<<<<< -- Ronin <23:26:48/07:12:57> *****Private: Redemption >>>>>[ Too late now I guess, sorry, but I've been out of town. Farmer troubles. If you still want help, talk to me, and I'll see what I can do.]<<<<< -- Squatter <23:47:12/07:12:57> *****Private: Ms Haversham >>>>>[Someone gave me your name in relation to an organisation known only as "Farmer", but it seemed too easy, and my Rat agreed that the informant was probably lying. I think they expected me to take you out, or try to. So whats the story?]<<<<< -- Squatter <23:55:42/07:12:57> >>>>>[A corp around my sprawl (the Grey/Bruce plex, UCAS) called skylark is developing a new cyber deck . Anyone want some inside info? I'm decking them tonite!]<<<<< -- Dexter <01:02:32/07:13:57> *****Private: Ronin >>>>>[alright, we were starting to wonder what to do. it is very odd not having people telling us what to do. we like it. we have a dog now. think we need to get a cat too. we need some new toys, the ones we brought with us are getting dull.]<<<<< -- peter <20:43:48/07:13:57> >>>>>[Cute run you pulled there, whoever you are (what is it they say? Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery? How sweet!) -- and even though you signed our name to it, and tried to pull it off like us, you flopped bigtime. The entire run has a style index of -36 out of a possible 10 (Good try). And that's not including the poser-deduction (Automatic halving of style points and then demerits taken for bad acting, poor charactarisation and dress style). Let's have a play-by play: +++++INSERT TRIDEO SEGMENT: The guard begins to turn, then freezes, as the two 'visitors' train weapons on him. "Drop your weapon and raise your hands, and we won't kill you." says a feminine voice. The guard hastily complied. "Oh, Jenna, I've told you before about telling lies. Sorry, we're going to kill you anyway." +++++END OF TRIDEO SEGMENT Cute line, but it's been used before. Although you DID manage to use it in the correct context (unlike Lynch and his infamous 'fire in the hole'). Although the chatty 'Oh Jenna' could come across as very lame if done in the wrong voice. Cliche. Minus 1. Poor vocaliztion. Minus 2. +++++INSERT IMAGE + Faux thermal of 'Jen and Gabe' sniggering by the heat of their own + muzzle flashes What the HELL was this? You NEVER snigger while on a run. EVER. What would happen if someone saw you? Or there was a security camera present (as there obviously was)? Sniggering will ruin your ENTIRE ambiance.Unless of course you're going for the sadistic manical killer look. Acting like a weenie on a run. Minus 4. +++++INSERT AUDIO SEGMENT: "Did you see her face?" "A picture. One for the gallery. They look so funny when we do that." +++++END OF AUDIO SEGMENT Don't count your chickens before they hatch. What if the gun-cam got blood on it? And besides, you don't want anyone overhearing that you HAVE a gun-cam. Revealing of unnecessary information (low importance). Minus 2. +++++INSERT AUDIO SEGMENT: "They just can't cope with our style and skill." +++++END OF AUDIO SEGMENT Don't say this on a run. If you get grazed, that gives the baddies an opportunity to come up with a counter-line. And if it's a particularly good one that you can't think of a come-back to (this has never happened to us, although we have hear stories of other less fortunate runners), people may talk. Self gratifying banter. Minus 1. +++++INSERT AUDIO SEGMENT: "Good heavens, Gabriel. Some kind person reprogrammed the house computer to give us acceess authorisation." "As well as nulling all the security cameras and shutting down the PANICBUTTON. I wonder who those marvellously skilful deckers might be?" +++++END OF AUDIO SEGMENT Bad, bad idea. You just told whoever was listening that they were on their own. People get desperate when they don't think assistance is coming. (Nothing that a good cloud o' poison gas can't handle, but still) Revealing of info (second infraction) (major). Minus 6. Self gratifying banter (second infraction). Minus 2. +++++INSERT AUDIO SEGMENT: "We go in, we grab him, we bring him out alive, we kill everyone else. Right?" "Right." +++++END OF AUDIO SEGMENT Don't plan while on the run. It's unprofessional. Coming to run unprepared. Minus 3. +++++INSERT TRIDEO SEGMENT: The pair saunter into the house. +++++END OF TRIDEO SEGMENT Don't saunter. Ever. It just reeks 'common'. Always walk tall and purposefully. Purposeful people get places faster and better. Acting 'common'. Minus 2. +++++ INSERT TRIDEO SEGMENT: Another indistinct response, its tone heated this time, as vivid whiteness spews out of several upper-floor windows, flaring the imager for several seconds before you see burning debris scattered over the grounds and heat blaring from the windows. +++++ END OF TRIDEO SEGMENT Explosions and flames are for office buildings. Residential buildings burn too slowly and unimpressively. E for effort. It was a first infraction. No penalty. +++++ INSERT AUDIO SEGMENT: "-thought we were meant to get him alive!" "So?" "So you killed him, Gabriel!" "He pissed me off, okay? And he made fun of my suit." +++++ END OF AUDIO SEGMENT Then buy a nicer suit. It's not THAT hard a concept to grasp. Poor dress sense. Minus 8. And dear lady, don't use that tone on a run. It makes you sound like a hussy. +++++INSERT AUDIO SEGMENT: "You didn't have to kill him! We were meant to bring him in alive! You burned out the whole room with that spell!" "We were told to extract him. We did, he doesn't work for United any more.Total success." +++++ END OF AUDIO SEGMENT An extraction means bringing your target home. If he dies en route, bring the corpse. Failure to complete run. Style points halved. +++++INSERT AUDIO SEGMENT "Gabe, she's still breathing." [SOUND OF GUNFIRE] "Pardon?" Jenna giggles. +++++END OF AUDIO SEGMENT Bad aim on initial burst. Minus 3. Cliched. Minus 2. In all, you lost 36 points. You did very little to gain ANY style points. In future, please try harder. Especially if you intend to sign our names to it. You might even have some of the more gullible runners here beleiving it was us.]<<<<< -- Jen and Gabe <12:29:45/13-07-57> *****PRIVATE TO: Lynch >>>>>[Good luck in the real world.]<<<<< -- Jane <12:52:43/13-07-57> >>>>>[You forgot: Wasting ammo on a target you arre close enough to see breathing: Minus 2. And we STILL haven't recieved any proof that wasn't you. You could be just covering up. And if the pair in quesdtion thought they had taken out all the security, why would they call each other "Jenna" and "Gabriel"? After all, they left NO traces of their run other than a few dead bodies he said in a sarcastic tone of voice.]<<<<< -- Temporary FishNet Account #379-A32 <7-13-57/11:19:28> Fisher Data Systems >>>>>[When we find you two fraggers, you're dead meat. Impersonating us on a run (however badly) is one thing. But pretending to BE us is quite another. Should we EVER detect any mail with the same headers as ours, we'll hunt you down and make you beg for forgivenes. In fact, we'll make you beg that we just make you beg for forgiveness -- and THEN we'll starting being mean. But we do appreciate the public service you did dear Lynch. He can now tell the difference between a paintball and a burst. And you even did Skull and his friends a favour: they now know which end of the gun is intended to point at the baddies. We'll be easy on you when we catch you.]<<<<< -- Jen and Gabe <16:16:34/07-14-57> >>>>>[To the brave holder of a the Fishnet Account: Where ammo goes is up to you. Agreed, at that close, a knife would have been a better option, but either way: if the guard had been wearing a med-bracelet, the two posers would have been caught by now (And that's where they'd prefer to be. Beleive us)]<<<<< -- Jen and Gabe <16:20:02/07-14-57> *****Private: Dexter >>>>>[Why in god's name did you advertise your attack? Even here, someone could have tipped them off. I might have done it myself, but you had probably gone by the time I checked my mail. And don't reply, "because I'm so damn good, they could know I'm coming and I'd still kick their hoops". If they had any brains they would falsify some data, slap it in their main system, and move the real paydata to a physically isolated machine. That'll defeat anyone. Of coursse, it could have been a decoy, which is pretty damn devious. If that's the truth, you have my admiration, and not many people can claim that.]<<<<< -- Squatter <18:21:11/07:14:57> >>>>>[To whoever has been using FishNet temporary accounts to send anonymous messages to Shadowland: I would really like to know how you convinced the system to send a message to an external destination. In fact, I am willing to pay for this information. You, or anyone else who can provide it. I would also really like it if you stopped using that security hole. I don't care who you really are or what Jen and Gabe have or haven't done, but I am in the business of providing data search, retrieval, and processing services, *not* expendable anonymous accounts. ]<<<<< --Fisher <13:07:22 EST/07-14-57> Fisher Data Systems *****Private: Ronin >>>>>[I'm up for that, drop a hardcopy of your details in the dumpster at >>location<<. I'm a sammy, I guess.]<<<<< -- Johnie Q <18:30:47/07:14:57> *****Private: Squatter >>>>>[Sorry to say it is, "because I'm so damn good, they could know I'm coming and I'd still kick their hoops". They thought I was going to deck their system. YEAH. Like that would be sub- zero! No, me and Hunter Rose (a rather elegant street samurai friend) got some fake i.d. (well, he did. I used to work there and THEY keep thinking I'll come back. Right) and went in and requested the files! They gave them to us of their own accord, so they can't sic the fraggin' securities division on me and my chummers.Still want that info?]<<<<< -- Dexter <18:21:11/07:14:57> *****PRIVATE: Ronin >>>>>[I find myself presently available for work. I am something of a specialist in the art of applied violence.]<<<<< -- Easy <22:46:32/07-14-57> *****Private: Dexter >>>>>[Why in god's name did you advertise your attack? Even here, someone could have tipped them off. I might have done it myself, but you had probably gone by the time I checked my mail. And don't reply, "because I'm so damn good, they could know I'm coming and I'd still kick their hoops". If they had any brains they would falsify some data, slap it in their main system, and move the real paydata to a physically isolated machine. That'll defeat anyone. Of coursse, it could have been a decoy, which is pretty damn devious. If that's the truth, you have my admiration, and not many people can claim that.]<<<<< -- Squatter <18:21:11/07:14:57> >>>>>[To whoever has been using FishNet temporary accounts to send anonymous messages to Shadowland: I would really like to know how you convinced the system to send a message to an external destination. In fact, I am willing to pay for this information. You, or anyone else who can provide it. I would also really like it if you stopped using that security hole. I don't care who you really are or what Jen and Gabe have or haven't done, but I am in the business of providing data search, retrieval, and processing services, *not* expendable anonymous accounts. ]<<<<< --Fisher <13:07:22 EST/07-14-57> Fisher Data Systems *****Private: Ronin >>>>>[I'm up for that, drop a hardcopy of your details in the dumpster at >>location<<. I'm a sammy, I guess.]<<<<< -- Johnie Q <18:30:47/07:14:57> *****Private: Squatter >>>>>[Sorry to say it is, "because I'm so damn good, they could know I'm coming and I'd still kick their hoops". They thought I was going to deck their system. YEAH. Like that would be sub- zero! No, me and Hunter Rose (a rather elegant street samurai friend) got some fake i.d. (well, he did. I used to work there and THEY keep thinking I'll come back. Right) and went in and requested the files! They gave them to us of their own accord, so they can't sic the fraggin' securities division on me and my chummers.Still want that info?]<<<<< -- Dexter <18:21:11/07:14:57> *****PRIVATE: Ronin >>>>>[I find myself presently available for work. I am something of a specialist in the art of applied violence.]<<<<< -- Easy <22:46:32/07-14-57> >>>>>[Jenna, Gabriel, you are so touchy today! Look, it's really simple. Someone caught you on camera during one of your runs, you realised how inept you looked compared to us, and now you're in serious denial and arguing with yourselves over whether you were incredibly cool or totally lame. Which is which? I guess it's Jenna - the brains of the pair - trying to back off, while Gabriel, still in his tuna-induced haze, persists in believing his own propaganda. If you like, I could demonstrate how ineffective a gel round can be. Put eighteen grams of Pyrodex behind a 10mm Formula Three, and in the hands of a couple of barely-competent bozos it's not much more than a toy. In the hands of someone who actually learned to shoot, it can take down anyone you're likely to meet in the street. Often, it's the best tool for the job, especially since it doesn't pile up corpses all over the place. Oh, the point of a professional is that you don't kill unnecessarily. And for a pair of alleged megadeckers, it's kind of funny that someone seems to be able to so easily fake mail from your account.]<<<<< -- Lynch <20:12:21/07-15-57> *****INTERNAL: SIGANet >>>>>[FROM: Cpl J S Karlsbruhn TO: J R W Lynch Can you please not say "easily"? The headache is only just fading. They might be dumb, but their system admins aren't.]<<<<< -- Corporal J S Karlsbruhn <20:14:01/07-15-57> Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency *****PRIVATE: Squatter >>>>>[I do not know why anyone would wish to 'take me out', as you put it. If your contact was Mr Redemption, then I am puzzled as to why he might wish an attempt made upon my life. I have no current connection to 'Farmer', nor any business with him or his. I merely provided Mr Redemption with a history lesson, that he might learn lessons from the past and apply them to the future.]<<<<< -- Miss Haversham <22:50:51/07-14-57> >>>>>[To: The would-be Jenna and Gabriel From: The _real_ Jenna and Gabriel If you're going to pretend to be us, at least do it right. One, that run was not a flop. We succeeded completely. Our mission was to deny that man's services to his then employers. Well, he doesn't work for United any more... Two, our dress style was impeccable. That is what _proves_ you're imitators: we were, are and remain the best-dressed, most stylish runners you or anyone will ever have seen. We don't follow fashion, fashion follows us... We do also wonder how you can comment on dress sense from a IR-only video - very annoying, that - since you simply cannot judge cut, fit, hang and colour on a thermographic playback. Three, we *are* sadistic maniacal killers. We can even let you have the before-and-after guncam images from that guard. Very impressive. You're just jealous. We've never hidden the fact we have gun-cams, we even sell the shots to Dangerous People Quarterly. And explosions are fun. Fire is fun. You sound like Skull or Lynch with all this "don't plan on the job", "don't waste ammo" and "explosions aren't fun" crap. Besides, _we_ can make any building burn in a most rapid and impressive manner. Don't assume everyone's as incompetent as you are. Like we said: you're just jealous.]<<<<< -- Jen and Gabe <22:31:21/07-14-57> *****INTERNAL: SIGANet >>>>>[FROM: Cpl Karlsbruhn TO: D J H Coppinger, 1Lt L DiAnnio Sir, I got a headache and a few blown circuits from fighting off the traces on that one. They didn't bust us... I think. But we _definitely_ don't fake any more of their mail for a while, unless you can get CSF cover.]<<<<< -- Corporal J S Karlsbruhn Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency *****PRIVATE: Valentine >>>>>[Okay, we should be able to deliver the bikes within the next two weeks or so. So much mail and paperwork piled up here in DC you wouldn't believe it... But I'm glad they'll be useful. And we would be glad to help you at Haven whenever we can. We still hope to marry there, with your permission.]<<<<< -- Lilith <22:35:43/07-14-57> *****PRIVATE: Valentine >>>>>[Mr O'Kennedy, thank you for your letter. If you feel the Marine detachment has served its purpose, then it will withdraw as a military unit at once (though with your permission, many of the soldiers would like to store their weapons and remain in Haven for a few days further as civilians: they apparently greatly like your facility and wish to spend some leave there. Some even asked if their families could come). I, and they, are extremely glad that we were able to provide assistance to you. If you require similar assistance in future then it will be available at once. I wish you all good fortune and every success in your ongoing endeavor, Mr O'Kennedy. Haven is the model of what those Marines enlisted to protect: they are proud and glad to have been allowed to aid you.]<<<<< -- David John Hancock Coppinger <22:45:31/07-14-57> *****PRIVATE: Easy >>>>>[ Okay, here's the deal. There's a research facility in Renton called Nova Research. They've got a deal with Ares, developing a new weapon. The job is simply to get in and snatch any hardcopy or electronic data, and get out. The Johnson didn't want any casualties, and as little collateral damage as possible. I got the impression that he was a rival but still within the Ares umbrella... we can talk more about that later. I've got most of the plan ready, I just need one more body now, a B&E specialist. Know anyone?]<<<<< -- Ronin <23:34:49/07:15:57> *****PRIVATE: Miss Haversham >>>>>[Redemption only put me on to this Farmer thing. He's no longer involved (that I know of). Anyway, even if you don't know them, they seem to know you, whoever they are, and I don't think they like you very much.]<<<<< -- Squatter <23:37:08/07:15:57> >>>>>[ Who's the Sysop here anyway? Whoever you are, how's about some help to find some info about a certain government organisation? I don't want to say any more on public mail, and I shouldn't have even said this in all probability. Frag it though, they know I'm looking.]<<<<< -- Squatter <23:46:31/07:15:57> *****Private: Ronin >>>>>[I am a breaking and entering specialist and I am between jobs at the moment. What information can you provide me about your job?]<<<<< -- Lyting <08:26:19 / 07-16-57> >>>>>[Okay, folks. Much as I would like to allow you your little squables and petty arguements, there's a time to be serious. That time is now. We have a common problem. There is something in the shadows that should worry us all. I'm a conjurour, so I know about spirits. This something involving spirits, of a new type. Anyone remeber those stories about demons? They're back. They are the astral manifestations of human suffering. They are Toxic Spirits of man. And some one is sending them after us runners. ]<<<<< --Dexter < 14:45:30 / 07-16-57 > >>>>>[What was that, Dexter? "Toxic Spirits of Man"? That's nothing new at all; anyone with half an eye open for the literature could cite articles more more than half a decade back about those. Dangerous and hostile, certainly. But they're no more "demons" than any of the other high-powered entities out there. In fact, I'd say much less so than stuff I've personally witnessed. Remember Redmond? In any event, perhaps you could clarify your rather cryptic statement about 'someone is sending them after us runners' for us. You might want to get your Net hardware repaired too: either you've pissed off a "power user" somewhere or you've got some serious booty hardware in your setup.]<<<<< -- Jason Tylor <09:05:08 / 07-16-57> *****PRIVATE: Ronin >>>>>[Minimum collateral damage is something of a speciality. Minimum casualties will be harder: but I will do my best to minimise them. The job sounds interesting, what is our remuneration likely to be? I'm afraid that, being relatively new to Seattle, I can't recommend any B&E specialists.]<<<<< -- Easy <17:16:54/07-16-57> *****PRIVATE: Squatter >>>>>[You've had problems with Farmer? What's going on? Should I worry? I've been out on the streets for a while now, haven't had much contact with anyone. Frankly, I'm worried. Seems I bit off a bit more than I can chew. Sorry to have got you involved. Do you know any weapons dealers? Zeus and I have some pretty specific needs. If you can get me in touch with someone who knowshow to handle such big requests there would be some compensation for you. Sometimes a man just doesn't feel safe without a Panther Assault Cannon with an internal smartlink....:)]<<<<< -- Redemption <13:09:49/7-16-57> *****PRIVATE: Lynch >>>>>[Of course you can still marry here! Just because you didn't need to be laid up with wounds anymore and wanted to leave doesn't mean that I'd retract the offer. And just because I disagree with your choices regarding your life doesn't mean that I'd retract the offer either. I prefer to work with what I can. I stopped trying to convert adults years ago. Why do you think I try to impress the values of honor, integrity, honesty, and non-violence on children?]<<<<< -- Valentine <16:58:19/07-16-57> *****PRIVATE: D. H. Coppinger >>>>>[Mr. Coppinger, While I do not mind the soldiers bringing thier families, I am concerned that turning Haven into a tourist attraction would distract both myself, my fellow instructors, and the reasons for Haven's continued existance, my wards, from the buisness of running a home and school for troubled children. As of today, there have been few individuals coming here to simply view the "anachronistic throwback" that I have heard Haven occasionally called. And, to be blunt, I would like this lack of tourists to remain for as long as possible. While reality will eventually catch up with Haven, as it has begun to in recent months, I would like to forestall that event for as long as possible. While the additional potential income would supplement what has always been a cash-starved enterprise, Haven simply does not have the resources to devote to such non-critical activities as tourism. Perhaps once the children are moved out of the main building across the street to the newly rejuvinated appartment buildings-cum-dormatories. As to storing the weapons here at Haven, I cannot allow that. Weapons in the Haven building itself was one of the most difficult concessions the Marines had to make while they were here. And I am afraid that our simple storage shack designed to handle knives, light and hold-out pistols, and other minor weapons would pose far too great an opportunity for criminals to steal the more powerful weapons that soldiers use. Storing weapons here would make Haven a target. In this age of racism and corporate expediency, Haven is already a target simply because it exists to teach everything that the corporations and racists have striven for years to stomp out. Adding the weapons would just add more temptation, and thus danger, to an already dangerous situation. I'm sorry, but the answer is no. While the soldiers and thier families are welcome to visit for a day, I'm afraid that long term sojourns are unacceptable at this time. I hope you understand, Mr. Coppinger. This is not meant as an affront to you or the Marines stationed here. It is just that Haven, and the children it exists for, come first, before even myself. Good evening.]<<<<< -- Valentine <17:14:09/07-16-57> *****PRIVATE: Valentine >>>>>[A mistake (mine) and a misunderstanding (also mine)... but I understand your position fully. You must appreciate, Mr O'Kennedy, that several of the Marines have become extremely enthused by Haven. As I said, this is the ideal many of them enlisted to protect, and they feel a strong attachment to it. They wish to show what can be achieved, not to gawp... but I appreciate your concerns. My mistake was passing on a request that you would feel bound to refuse. As for the weapons issue... I misunderstood the nature of your storage facility, and I see exactly why you find my suggestion so unacceptable. The day visits, though (phased apart and with the soldiers on leave hence unarmed?), would be an excellent compromise. Thank you, and my apologies for my clumsiness. It isn't entirely simple to handle diplomacy like this when you're a faceless suit, sitting in the D-ring on the other side of the continent, and I hope you will forgive my error.]<<<<< -- D J H Coppinger <00:32:01/07-17-57> *****Private: Lyting >>>>>[ Okay, here's the deal. There's a research facility in Renton called Nova Research. They've got a deal with Ares, developing a new weapon. The job is simply to get in and snatch any hardcopy or electronic data, and get out. The Johnson didn't want any casualties, and as little collateral damage as possible. I have a plan already, what I need is your technical expertise. You ever used phophorous as a way of burning through 'crete and/or metal? I got some advice from a friend who said it was possible, and I think I can find a source. As to how much one needs, I'll be damned if I know, that's where you come in. By the way, can you serve as another shooter if the drek hits the fan?]<<<<< -- Ronin <17:51:46/07:16:57> *****Private: Easy, Lyting, Johnie Q >>>>>[ Meet at the MacD's on >>street name<<, tomorrow, call it 1800. I'll be the guy who looks like this: +++++Include ronin.pic (Which is of a man with an ugly scar across his right cheek, green eyes, dark hair.) I'll see you all there.]<<<<< -- Ronin <18:04:18/07:16:57> *****Private: Redemption >>>>>[Assault cannon? Don't you get tired of the SWAT call outs? No, I'm sorry, but I don't know any weapons dealers. I can give you a the name of a fixer from whom I get some of my hardware, he might know someone, or maybe have the goods himself. Call >>telecom number<< and leave your name, then call again after twenty four hours. He'll do a check on you, and be ready to arrange a meet at the second call. As far as farmer goes, yes, I do have some trouble there, I think they want to kill me just a little. I poked my nose in too far, definitely pissed them off, and I suspect that they'll be coming soon.]<<<<< -- Squatter <18:08:56/07:16:57> >>>>>[ It might be kinda handy for us to know what sort of capabilities you're speaking of for these 'Demons' Dexter. Frequency of appearance, who they are targeting, etc.]<<<<< -- JayCee <09.32 / 07-17-57> >>>>>[Lynch, drop me a line sometime. We need to talk, badly. I have a major problem tagging me which won't let go. The number's still the same.]<<<<< -- Jaycee <09:33/07-16-57> *****PRIVATE Jason Tylor >>>>>[No, no. That wasn't my message. The Goverment or Skylark must of decked it. I'm refering to a new type of free spirit. As far as my, ahem, group has been able to figure, these are free spirits that feed of human suffering. They don't exisist due to it. They seem VERY evil and are targeting us Shadowrunners due to the fact that, being SINless, no one will miss us. Here's something. One of them manifest after a policlub meeting. +++++ Video: You see what looks like a man, exept for his red glowing eyes and that he seem to be made of neon light.]<<<<< -- Dexter <020:35:12 / 07-16-57> *****PRIVATE: Dexter >>>>>[Hm. May I take it that your "group" is not part of the public field of academia (having not seen any articles in the relevant journals)? When you say "feed" off human suffering, can you be a bit more specific? Are you talking about apparent derivation of "emotional" satisfaction, or something more exotic? It sounds like you may have something here, and I and my associates would like to know more. By the way, it should be noted that not all Shadowrunners are SINless, nor are all SINless (or even most SINless) Shadowrunners. =) ]<<<<< -- Jason Tylor <09:14:09 / 07-17-57> *****PRIVATE: JayCee >>>>>[+++++engage encryption: Codesmith v3.71d It is you, then. Welcome back, JayCee, it's been too long. If I can help you, I can. I'm in DC at the moment (gone official, even got an office now (bleah) but this mod of Codesmith's secure for weeks: we can talk. What's your problem, what do you need, what can we do to help? +++++disengage encryption: Codesmith v3.71d]<<<<< -- Lynch <19:07:42/07-17-57> *****PRIVATE: JayCee >>>>>[Now, either you're just recycling a name from the past I haven't heard for some time, or an old friend just crawled out of the woodwork again... I know which I hope it is. Still driving that hovercraft, Juliet?]<<<<< -- Lynch <19:04:42/07-17-57> *****PRIVATE: Lynch >>>>>[You know I sold it to Silver a long long time ago, Lynch. Something to do with the way the upgraded armor bounced Assault Cannon rounds.]<<<<< -- JayCee <09.35/07-18-57> *****PRIVATE: Lynch >>>>>[+++++engage encryption: Codesmith v3.71d Yes, it really is me. Good to hear you're getting more civilised in your old age - even down to an office. Well - the story kinda goes like this. I tried retiring - and had a major accident. Why doesn't this kind of thing happen when you're young ? Basically the upshot of it is I underwent UGE. I'm sitting here, feeling very sick and painful, and I keep seeing 'things' out of the corners of my eyes. I've run full diagnostics on the filter lenses - and you know I mean full, and they're working fine. Which brings me back to that little incident when I was a kid, and the potential they all thought I had but never arose... I'm sitting out in the sticks, and I've not the foggiest what to do next. This is something way beyond anything I've seen or heard before, and at the moment it's got me stumped. If you've got a bucket of Tylenol, it'd help, but the main thing I need is advice - I've not the slightest idea of what to try and do next. +++++disengage encryption: Codesmith v3.71d]<<<<< -- JayCee <09:48:18/07-18-57> >>>>>[Wanted: Operatives to perform sensitive rescue mission. Interested parties are to report to the Seattle Tearoom, inquire after Dr. Jhonson.]<<<<< -- Ash <10:52:10/07-18-57> *****PRIVATE: JayCee >>>>>[+++++engage encryption: Codesmith v3.71d Late UGE? Ouch. Something must be in the water. Since you last met her, Lilith now has a second shape she wears when she feels like it. She's a beautiful leopard. We're getting married, by the way, and you're invited once we set a date. The first person you need to talk to is a Dr June Rains-At-Sunset at Seattle General. She's a specialist in Awakened medicine - like magicians, shapeshifters, and other weirdness. The other good doc I can recommend in Seattle is Alexander Jackson, but call him AJ. You can reach him by Matrix (let him know I sent you) for now. We'll be back in a week or three, got some holes to drill in the sky first. Oh, watch out for Quinn. She's around if you want to see her. She'll probably want to see you. +++++disengage encryption: Codesmith v3.71d]<<<<< -- Lynch <19:50:02/07-18-57> *****PRIVATE: Valentine >>>>>[Drake is fond of the saying "Violence is the last resort of the mentally incompetent". Asimov, I think. My father and I were both trained in the creed "When the meek inherit the earth, the strong will take it back." My and my Agency's motto is "He who battles with monsters should be careful he does not a monster become". In this maze of contradictions I pick my path. And one consolation, if you like: honour, honesty and integrity mean you need violence less often, even in a profession like mine. And it's not exactly that I wanted to leave: but I had a hearing before the Congressional Oversight Committee, megapulses of mail, and a new office to sort out. Being Agency isn't all fun, guns and stolen cars, you know... There aren't many places I sleep well, but Haven is one of them.]<<<<< -- Lynch <20:55:42/07-18-57> *****INTERNAL: SIGANet Archives >>>>>[+++++begin transcript "Your report, Lieutenant?" Sir. Second Lieutenant Lamb, Caroline C, reporting- "You're talking to a spook, Lieutenant. At ease, sit down, I want information not formality." Sir. "Relax, Lieutenant Lamb. I don't need a 'sir' all the time, my military time was long ago and I dropped out of Annapolis before I commissioned. Coffee?" Yes, sir. Thank you... that's _good_ coffee, sir - Mr Coppinger. "Lynch and Lilith showed me the recipe. Involves cigar butts, spent brass cases, and God knows what else. How are you finding Washington? It's your first visit here, isn't it?" Yes, sir. It's kind of confusing. This place is a maze! "The Puzzle Palace... It's designed to stop spies from finding anything useful. You get used to it. Your first posting was a tour as OC MARDET on the _Hutchison_, wasn't it? You got used to navigating inside a carrier pretty quickly? The problem is the buildings are a century old, and so damn historic that nothing works right. Now, Haven?" Sir. I deployed to the territory of Haven on the eighth of April this year, as commanding officer of Second Platoon, Charlie Company, Third Battalion of 1 Marine Division. My unit strength was thirty-six troops including myself, armed with standard load, double ammunition issue, mounted in four Pirhana wheeled armoured personnel carriers. "Your initial impressions?" The site had been recently attacked by a small unit armed with automatic weapons, with casualties and one fatality. I gathered there had been incidents previously, also, involving a corporate-backed street gang. It was not a highly defensible location, but the local threat was also low. I immediately dismounted my troops and deployed the APCs at the corners of the site. Mutual support was marginal at that range, but with a fireteam deployed around each vehicle I felt they were relatively safe. The remaining two fireteams I placed by the main entrance, and I placed my sergeant in command while I sought Father O'Kennedy. "How is Valentine? - no, finish this part first." Sir. Mr O'Kennedy greeted us warily. He seemed distressed, but let it be known we were welcome, and we retired to his office where we discussed the local situation. He had treaties of alliance with most of the local gangs, and had alerted them to our imminent arrival. He also gave me to understand that my men were at less risk from the gangs than might normally be the case, but that they should remain careful and avoid being caught alone: their weapons being prime targets for theft. This corresponded to the briefing I had given my men before deploying. The defensive orders I gave used the APCs as strong points on Haven's corner, each manned by two crew on staggered shifts, and a pair of two- Marine patrols walking the perimeter. At any given time, four of my men would be off-site on two-day passes, eight in the Pirhanas, four walking the wire, twelve sleeping or otherwise occupied, and eight on eight-hour standown. This was not ideal, mostly because we had so much ground to cover with so few men, but provided high visibility of my Marines and showed our presence clearly. "Exactly what I wanted from you." Thank you, sir. The men on standdown, I was pleased to see, often either joined classes - five of my men gained educational credits during their stay - or in some cases instructed. I advised my men to avoid anything that could be seen as recruitment, for reasons I'll explain later, and to deflect questions about their weaponry. They did succeed in impressing during sporting events, given that they were playing in personal armour and web gear and carrying weapons. I say impress by their stamina, if not their ability. If Haven forms a soccer team, they'll go a long way, some of those children are quite exceptional. "Were there any military problems encountered?" Nothing serious, sir. Two incidents where gang members attempted to steal weapons. All my troops had been issued stun batons, and all thumpers were loaded with beanbag as the first chambered grenade. In the first incident the patrol used their stun batons, and in the second incident one round was fired. In both incidents, the individuals concerned suffered no serious injury, and made public apologies to myself, Father O'Kennedy and my men. There were no other problems apart from a few verbal exchanges with local gangs, which were colourful but mostly good-humoured: banter rather than genuine threats. The gangs accepted us quite quickly, and proved useful for local scouting and intelligence. The deployment was, basically, successful and without incident. "Personnel issues?" The expected problem of dropping thirty-six Marines into an orphanage, and an orphanage for former gang members and the like to boot. There was some fraternisation. I did what I could to discourage it, and was at least able to ensure that all incidents were with the full consent of all parties. It caused no great problem that we observed. Morale was good, though: the men understood and supported the mission, and were glad to receive hazard pay while being deployed in an area without too many distractions to spend it upon." "How did you and Valentine get along?" He's a strange one, sir. I liked and respected him, but he's a little mercurial. Sometimes, he'd be happily talking shop with myself or my men, as though he'd been a soldier and a good one. Yet other times, he'd avoid us, as though he deeply resented us. "Not you or your men, Lieutenant. You picked up his sadness and anger that he needed you there. I don't wish to betray what few of the man's secrets that I know, but he was once a soldier. Now, he has turned his face from the profession of arms." I thought something like that must be it, sir. That's why I discouraged anyone from talking about career prospects in the Corps, and stopped the dog-and-pony shows we'd usually do with the weapons in a liaison role like this. It seemed to help. And the men were very good about it, once they understood the situation: they had a lot of the 'Why do you carry that big gun? Uncle Pat says guns are stupid.' to answer. "It sounds like you did well, Lieutenant. Congratulations, that was a difficult assignment for a relatively inexperienced officer. I'm afraid I managed to annoy Val and spoil the chances of you and your men's return visits: misworded the request, and he thought I wanted him to turn the place into Disneyland." That's a pity, sir, but I know what you mean. It's almost frightening how intense he can be about Haven sometimes. "Given what he's sacrificed to create and protect it, are you surprised?" No, sir. Just proud to have helped protect it for a while. "Good. I'll get Toad to guide you out, if you like." Toad? "Lieutenant Tarkington, in the outer office. Our new on-loan naval aviator doing his joint-duty tour. If he offers you dinner, you should be warned how he got the callsign." Let me guess.... horny toad? "Exactly." Is this meant to warn me or encourage me, Mr Coppinger? "I leave that for you and Toad to decide, Lieutenant Lamb. Read this and see what you think, and sign it if you agree." That's a very positive assessment, sir. "It was a very successful deployment, you deserve it. I'll forward this to your CO. TOAD!!! Get in here and show the Lieutenant how to escape the Federal Funhouse." +++++end transcript]<<<<< -- SIGANet Archive <21:05:42/07-17-57> *****INTERNAL: SIGANet >>>>>[TO: D J H Coppinger, Director +++++begin trideo The view is from a camera in the corner of a small office: the stamp in the top corners show time and date, and a grid reference: D 45-3-193A. The walls look recently painted in a pleasant shade of green, but the floor is still mud-coloured industrial carpet tile, worn threadbare: you wonder how many decades it took to do that. The room is about four metres on a side, and holds three desks, a file cabinet, and a corner table with a coffee machine and other paraphernalia: it is crowded, no doubt about that. Though the ceiling lights are bright and warm, there's no window: it's not much bigger than a jail cell and much more cramped. You have a few minutes to examine the room more carefully: all three desks have terminals on them, and two of the walls are decorated with an assortment of photographs, one wall mostly of people in or by aircraft. A fair-size chunk of aircraft fuselage is one prominent decoration, with eleven red stars visible on it, and a holopic of a Venom fighter in front of a framed poem - John Gillespie McGee's "High Flight". The other wall's pictures have fewer aircraft, more helicopters, and more group shots: a foot-long length of rotor blade is marked with seven white stars. There is also a framed certificate, the writing large enough for you to read. THE MISSION: ORDNANCE ON TARGET 1. Air superiority is what we do on the way to and from your target. 2. Offensive maneuvering combat is what we do when some fucker tries to stop you reaching your target. It offends us when he gets in our way, and we are even more offended when we have to waste time and fuel killing him. 3. We win by killing the enemy by the hundreds on the ground, not one at a time at 20,000 feet. 4. We can go shoot down the entire enemy air force, but if we land to find gomers dug in on the golf course and their tanks parked outside the O-Club, we done lost the war, Jack. The door opens and two people walk in: a tall woman, exotically beautiful with long dark-red hair, wearing a flight suit and A2 leather jacket; and a lean, pale-skinned and dark-haired man in camouflage BDUs. "...still don't believe they did this to us." "We're going up in the world, Jason. Look at it that way." The woman takes her peaked cap off, hangs it on the back of the door: the man tosses his onto a desk and sits down, shaking out his long, black hair. "Plus it means we don't tie up so much Link-21 and SIGANet when there's a problem." "Yeah, but still. An _office_. Next you know it'll be suits and ties." "Not a hope. We're field personnel. And spooks, in the SIGA section. That's why we're in working kit instead of dress blues, Coppinger just ignores the memos of complaint." "I don't mind parade dress, ours looks good. You're just upset because Air Force dress blues make you look like a bus driver." "Better a bus driver than a bellhop, Jason." "Yeah, well, I'll hop any belle I see-" The door opens again and a third man enters, a lieutenant (senior) in Navy whites. He looks at the pair for a moment. "Marine, don't you know how to salute a superior?" His tone is humourously overdone, rather than hectoring. Lynch leaps to his feet and comes to rigid attention. "SIR! THE MARINE IS UNCOVERED! AND INDOORS! AND THEREFORE BY MARINE REGULATIONS IS NOT CURRENTLY REQUIRED TO SALUTE THE LIEUTENANT, SIR!" His delivery overloads the camera mike slightly, and the effect on the sailor - at the point-blank range enforced by the small office - is startling, as he falls backwards into a chair. "Okay, okay, I get the idea. Uh, I know I kind of outrank you two, but Mr Coppinger said that I wasn't to do anything about it. In fact, that you two were in charge and hell with ranks." "Good. In that case, first things first." Lilith holds out a mug. "Black, five sugars." "Uh. Okay. Lieutenant Robert Tarkington, UCAS Navy." The lieutenant shrugs, takes the cup and fills it, adds the required amount of sugar, passes it back to Lilith. "Tarkington? _Toad_ Tarkington of VF-143? The Furry Fighting Feline's very own Horny Toad?" Lilith offers a predatory smile. "Oh, shit..." mumbles Tarkington, grinning sheepishly. "The same Tarkington who was caught running over the Gap Bridge, wearing his shorts - which were on fire - on his head, on his first ever run ashore in Subic? The Tarkington who then threw himself into the river to avoid arrest, and as a direct result spent three weeks in sickbay with the worst diahorrea that Mad Jack the Navy Quack had ever seen?" Her drawl is amused, her smirk barbed. "As well as a near-terminal case of the gunge, and crabs an inch across?" The lieutenant, embarrased, nods. "Oh, boy, Jason, we are privileged beyond measure to share our office with such a renowned party animal." Lilth lights a cigarette. "Well, I'm First Lieutenant Liith DiAnnio, Air Force Reserve, and this is Second Lieutenant Jason Running Wolf Lynch, Marine Corps Reserve. Or, since some of us are pilots, he's Psychopath and I'm the Leopard Lady." "He's the Psycho?" "He is indeed." "You're the Leopard Lady?" "I certainly am." "Wow. Still, it's not your fault you're only pilots. You now have a true aviator to worship and emulate-" "Ninety-three traps. Average grade three point seven." Lilith smirks again. "Anything a naval aviator can do, a pilot can do better." Lynch grins. "Don't let her rag on you too much, Toad. She's just trying to forget that the Chair Force is outranked, outgunned and outmatched by the might of the Corps." Lilith is drawing breath to reply when Toad jumps in. "I was kind of hoping you'd tell me what I was meant to be doing." "I don't know, Toad, what are you meant to be doing?" asks Lilith. "Apparently some sort of intelligence liaison work. I don't know for sure, nobody had time to brief me." "Oh. Well, if you don't know, you weren't meant to." replies Lynch, deadpan. "So what _do_ I do?" "We don't know. We don't have clearance. We're just here to execute you if you get it wrong." says Lilith, also deadpan. "I'm screwed, aren't I?" "Depends on your point of view. You must have talked to Coppinger." "Only briefly." Toad sits down, experimentally checks his desk drawers, finds a mug.. "Hey, who left the Furry Fighting Felines cup here?" "We knew we had a VF-143 guy coming, thought it would make you feel appreciated." Lynch takes it, fills it for Toad. "Didn't know we were getting the ol'Horny Toad himself, though." "Okay, here's the deal." Lilith lights two cigarettes, passes one to Lynch. "Here, you work for SIGA. Officially the Agency isn't really an agency, just a bunch of deckers and techno-wonks and analysts. They get access to what CIA, NSA, Feds, you name it, pull in, and check it. Sometimes, all the pieces are there but not in the right places, capiche?" "Gotcha. So we make sure nothing gets missed." Toad cadges a Marlboro from Lynch. Lynch snorts. "That's the plan." "Problem is, I don't deck, I don't know dick about analysis, in fact all I'm really good at is flying ." Toad looks rather helpless. "Your CO on the _Constellation_ made you squadron logistics officer, right?" Lynch enquires. "Uh, yeah..." "Because you have a knack for scrounging, using unorthodox channels, and basically turning up the goods when everyone said it couldn't be done. You're also very good at summarising large amounts of guff and getting the kernel of useful information out of it. Lilith described our official mission statement. Where do you think a couple of renegades like us fit in? The Agency's real job is as a higher authority." "A what?" Lynch taps ash off his cigarette. "Story for our times. Nasty man in corporate turf, comes out and does nasty things in the UCAS, goes home. Corporate bozos won't extradite. We snatch him, get him out, shove him in front of a grand jury. Nasty guy does twenty-five to life. Corporation decides to behave better in future. "Or more local shit. Bad guy doing bad things. Pays the cops to make sure they don't stop him. FBI make a move, no evidence, the bought cops make sure he walks. Bad guy thinks he's safe. Couple of the field agents the Agency doesn't officially have, go kill him. Bad guy ain't laughing no more." "That's illegal." says Toad after a long pause. "Yep." "I can see why you'd do it, why it's necessary, but you can't do that legally." "We don't." Lynch sighs. "And I spent two months on the run from InterPol, because we don't have any legal cover, any special protection. Stops us being too gung-ho." "You mean, if you get arrested...?" "We talk fast, get a good lawyer, and pray. No men in suits arrive to save us. Like I said, it keeps us in line. We have a lot of power here. The government lets us abduct or kill. Pays us to, in fact. When you have protection, you start being careless who you kill." Lynch looks tired. "Sometimes, you put a real scumbag behind bars or underground, you feel real good. Other times, it's like beating your head on the wall. But it's got to be done." "Isn't InterPol meant to deal with that?" Tarkington appears nonplussed at the cynical laughter this provokes. "Toad, the only efficient and honest part of InterPol is Special Branch, and guess what? Its job is to hunt us. If the main body of InterPol did its job, we could stick to flying and counterterrorism." "So I get to be some sort of secret agent? I'm not sure I'm good at that either..." "Not quite." Lilith grins. "We're the secret agents, and most of the time we'll be based out of Seattle: right now that's where the big action is. Your job is to work here. You'll skim a lot of intel stuff - the processed results, not usually the raw data - and extract what you think we need, or anything we've asked for. You'll also be a librarian and yank up archive stuff for us. And you'll play quartermaster when we're off on a high-threat run and need two Alphas, a thousand rounds of APDS and a gallon of Seven-Seven to go." "Cool. I could like that." Toad perks up visibly. "Makes up for being grounded." "Grounded?" Lynch grins. "You're down for twenty hours a month in Lightnings, with the 45th at Andrews. Wouldn't want you to miss out on your flight pay, and you can have fun showing them how superior Navy Aviation is to the Hair Farce. We fly in every Red Flag, and some of the FleetEx and ForceEx when the scenarios need us. No reason you couldn't come in on that, too. Lilith could use a wingman and they like variety in the Red Force team." "What about you, aren't you her wingie?" "She's fighter. I'm attack, especially defence suppression. She makes movies. I make history." "Must be interesting in the O-club." Toad says, grinning. "Now me, I always say that fighter pilots break new ground, flying into the wind, but-" "Funny, I heard they broke wind and flew into the ground." Lynch laughs. "Slow, Toad. I can fly ACM with the best of them, she can bullseye a tank with a Mark 82 fixed-reticule with no HUD. We're multitalented." "It's the advantage of being so busy." suggest Lilith. "What stick time we do get is seriously intensive training. So we get good and stay good." Toad grins boyishly. "So anyway, I'm an airborne Miss Moneypenny to your 007." "Got it in one. Oh, you'll be doing evaluation work, too. We're seen as being neutral but informed, so we're involved in a lot of procurement and development decisions." "Even better. Power. POWER!!!" The grin fades. "Do you mean it about the nerve agent?" Lynch nods. "If it comes to that, you'll have Coppinger backing you. But it's only possible, not certain, we'd need something like that." "Okay. One last thing, what's that camera there for?" "So meetings, discussions, whatever, get recorded. Plus security, naturally. You can take copies of the tapes for transcription, but you can't edit the originals. Or so they say." "Right. Do I get a cool timestamp?" "No. Takes too long for the deckers to set up. Most of the deckers don't bother, too much work. Speaking of deckers, you'll get access to ShadowLand. Talk to Corporal Karlsbruhn, he's become our main Matrix man." Lilith blows a perfect smoke ring. +++++end trideo Well, sir, I guess I owe you ten bucks. The Toad managed to fit in, and it looks like they'll actually use the office. Toad talked to me, he's a cool guy once you get past that pilot bullshit. Funny, L&L never bothered me that way. Guess I'm not used to dealing with reality. Lynch said something about some exercise against a merc unit. Can I go on that? I could do with some physical combat expertise. I'm meant to be a soldier, and I haven't even managed to qualify rifle for three years.]<<<<< -- Corporal J S Karlsbruhn <22:58:52/07-17-57> Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency >>>>>[Once again, a vigilant and alert watcher can detect a carefully- laid conspiracy while it is still taking root. Disappointed by the failure of the "Aztlan mind control" project to assist them in their goal of increasing their power (a project that this Foundation exposed, requiring the elaborate staging of a faked 'attack' to 'destroy the evil project' at its 'secret island base') the Agency is now once again seeking to subvert Shadowland to its own ends. Consider the facts. The notorious agent Lynch is currently involved in baiting "Jenna" and "Gabriel". Who exactly are these two? A colleague undertook a psychiatric analysis which I am glad to include. +++++begin profile: JENNA AND GABRIEL A careful analysis of all their recorded postings suggests that the "Jen and Gabe" account is operated by a group of university undergraduates. I deduce the following. At least one of the group is at least a student of computing science and has a degree of Matrix skill, this combined with University computing facilities being sufficient to allow the pair to reach and traffic with Shadowland. They lay claim to knowledge of magic and physical combat, but (wisely) avoid any information to substantiate these claims. Neither has been seen in action, either on Shadowland or by anyone reporting to Shadowland: for individuals of such alleged skill, who are so vocal in promoting their own abilities, this indicates that they do not carry out any actual operations of any sort. The group is small, two or three at most. Two appears most likely. The posters are both male, probably physically unimpressive and unattractive, and lack self-confidence. Neither has any real knowledge of the opposite sex. Their comments in response to Lynch's quip regarding Playboy - and an earlier remark they made concerning a runner named 'Mako' - suggests a familiarity with, and extensive collection of, pornography, fuelling strong internal fantasy lives likely to involve a beautiful and assertive woman who will approach and seduce them, making their inexperience and lack of social skills appear - within the fantasy - to be desirable assets. Both masturbate on an extremely frequent basis, this being their only sexual experience. Jenna represents their "fantasy woman" while Gabriel personifies their idealised self-images of what they wish to be: handsome, competent, socially adept (by their distorted standards), respected (again, by their ideals) and adored by a woman of extreme sexuality and beauty. Profiling suggests (with only fair accuracy) that the two are human, Caucasian, and relatively unattractive. Both are intelligent and educated, but social inadequates: withdrawn from "real life" and obtaining their stimuli from the media, rather than other people. This explains many of their statements, such as "exploding heads", bragging about ammunition expenditures, and their evident lack of any tactical understanding. Note, for instance, that in graphic novellas such as "Carnage in the Shadows" military forces are portrayed as incompetent buffoons, and 'Jen and Gabe' have latched onto this image and assimilated it as truth. +++++include file: comics_examples Similarly, typically only in fiction do individuals exist with the range of talents claimed by this pair. We may assume with some safety, for instance, that neither of the pair has any substantive experience of firearms, nor of offensive use of magic. They obviously lack any useful social skills. Their total lack of self- confidence is illustrated by their obsessive one-upmanship, the pair being completely unable to resist any challenge and being driven to continually assert their supposed superiority. It may be considered self-evident that these two do not actually carry out any form of shadowrun, since their apparent egotism would require them to publicise their exploits at least within the community of Shadowland. Their postings, similarly, are frequently contradictory, proving that the two students often post seperately and have difficultly co- ordinating their story. This confusion has misled several gullible runners into the belief that Jenna and Gabriel are in fact mysterious figures of great ability. The truth, sadly, is less interesting and more mundane. Doctress Marcia Lowenstein MSci PhD International Psychological Forum +++++end profile One must wonder why the all-powerful SIGA wastes time baiting a pair of posing social inadequates. With study, it becomes obvious. SIGA are using Jenna and Gabriel as stalking horses. By generating traffic routed via the University computers (Federally funded machines, remember!) they are able to locate Shadowland accurately. With that task achieved, they then monitor and edit all traffic, reading and altering messages at whim. SIGA will then be able to directly control the shadowrunners of Seattle, warping the information you receive and altering your perceptions so that, while you believe you are acting of your own free will, you are in fact pawns of one of the most repressive and evil regimes on the planet. I call upon the denizens of Shadowland to resist this fate, while you still can.]<<<<< -- Professor Vincent Brannigan <23:30:32/07-18-57> Oliver Stone Memorial Foundation >>>>>[Oh, boy, Professor, you never give up, do you? Okay, scramble the black helicopters, mobilise the Creepy Guys In Trenchcoats, make all the traffic cameras follow the Professor wherever he goes, start beaming alpha waves into his 'nads through his microwave oven, hide the alien warships from Planet Zort, seal off Area 51, and make sure Elvis keeps his head down this time. Sheesh. Control the shadowrunners of Seattle? Be like trying to herd cats. Well, there's an upside. "Notorious agent Lynch" sounds nearly as good as "the dread pirate Roberts". The best movies were all made last century And I hate to say it, but 'manipulating Shadowland'? In our dreams, Professor. I can't even get the deckers who run my account to mess with my timestamp, let alone make sneaky and subtle edits to other people's postings. Shadowland stands up to corporate attack all the time, you think the UCAS can just casually wander in and rewrite some postings without anyone noticing?]<<<<< -- Jason R W Lynch <23:45:42/07-17-57> *****PRIVATE: Lynch >>>>>[Careful, Jason, let's not get too close to "But we can inject fake ones, so long as the supposed host is hard enough to trace that even SLand can't backtrack it to source and verify..." or we'll spoil the game. Karlsbruhn says no more playing J&G for a while, but he'll snoop their new route and see what he can do if we want it again, as long as we keep signing for time-and-a-half for Saturday overtime. Anyway, if anyone deserves it, those two do. Jonathan's profile might even be correct, which would be *really* funny.]<<<<< -- Lilith <23:50:42/07-17-57> *****PRIVATE JayCee > >>>>>[+++++engage encryption: Codesmith v3.71d What did you express as? I know how it feels. Mom was a human, Dad, a dwarf. At age 12, I express as.... an ELF! +++++Program RANDOMTAG excuting Dexter ponders: What if there where no hypothetical situations? +++++excution complete +++++disengage encryption: Codesmith v3.71d]<<<<< -- Dexter <16:17:18/07-18-57> *****PRIVATE Squatter >>>>>[Thanks for the complament, Squatter]<<<<< -- Dexter <18:34:11/07:18:57> *****PRIVATE Jason Tylor, JayCee >>>>>[ I'm refering to a new type of free spirit. As far as my, ahem, group has been able to figure, these are free spirits that feed of human suffering, as in the event of. They would appear during a hanging in human form, for instance, to "feed off" the emotions of the hanging victim (hangee?) and his/ her family. Possion by these "demons" seems to result in a slow, hard to reverse weakening of the aura. Each demon seems to be, in astral and "normal" (I know, I know- define "normal") manifest form, related to a hermetic metaplane- fire, earth, air or water. This leads me to the theory that these demons are to a mage what inscet or toxic spirits are to a shaman. When possed by a demon, a person seems to have an increase in strength. More info can be found at >>RTG/LTG<<. The doc is called www.sentex.net/nodex/ Info will be posted there soon.]<<<<< -- Dexter <020:35:12 / 07-16-57> *****PRIVATE: Dexter >>>>>[I'll have a look at your documentation; thank you for making it available.]<<<<< -- Jason Tylor <13:23:25 / 07-19-57> *****PRIVATE: D H J Coppinger >>>>>[I'm so very sorry, Mr. Coppinger. I'm afriad that, more often than not, I over-react in situations where I'm not certain what the other person's intentions are. As much as I attempt to teach my wards to trust each other, I very often find it difficult to trust others myself. A lifetime of paranoia and mistrust, I'm afraid. And the times we live in do not lend themselves to such, outmoded concepts as trust. :( Oh, my apologies for the "frowny". I suspect that dates me a bit, but since I still use a turtle, it's the only way to be sure that my feelings aren't in turn mistaken. If the soldiers would like to stop by as vistors while they are on leave, then I will do what I can. However, as Haven's classes are year-round, I suspect that many of them will be on thier own most of the time.]<<<<< -- Valentine <18:57:23/17-19-57> >>>>>[Hi there. I'm back. Y'all miss me? Word of advice. If you find yourself inside Chicago and want to get out, do it yourself. Don't let anyone else guide you. For some reason I seem to have ended up with the footage. So here's the first part. Starts slow, but trust me, it gets better. +++++begin trideo The background could be a Barrens shanty or the squatter townships on the outskirts of a Third World city, but in fact it's the fenced-in chunk of land that is Refugee Camp Calumet 3, a square mile of fenced-in suburbia that is home to over fifty thousand of the displaced and dispossessed. Plastic sheeting, garbage and burned-out buildings seem to be the theme: the camp bears the scars of its forcible creation, months of occupation and occasional riots. The view is from a camera on the wall of a house, its windows mere shards in the frame and its interior thoroughly looted. It appears five people make this dwelling their home, all camping in cheap sleeping bags on the lower floor: daylight and rain drizzle down the stairwell, explaining the upper floor's emptiness. A man and a woman are cutting open green foil bags and squeezing the contents into mess tins. "Three days in this place and still nothing." Silent Running crouches by Quinn as he begins the process of turning a collection of MREs into something vaguely edible. "Rome wasn't built in a day." The Coyote shaman pulls a bottle of Tabasco pepper sauce out of Silent Running's nose and hands it to him, the mercenary snorting with amused disgust. "We don't want to be too obvious. This stuff sucks." "The food? Yeah. You ever try British field rations?" The Ranger is judiciously adding the hot sauce to the two mess-tins of... whatever he's cooking. "I mean, this stuff you can make pretty good with practice and some extras, but Brit ratpacks you can live off for weeks as they come." He lights the heat tabs under the mess tins, stirs as the food warms up. "I know. I did some undercover for their Provosts, their MPs? Humanis nasties recruiting in the Parachute Regiment. I had to go in and pass P Company, then get them to try to enlist me, then hand them over to the MPs." Silent Running looks up from the food. "You passed P Company?" "And got the jump wings too. Yeah, I'm a Red Beret. Don't look so surprised, shamans can be fit and shoot straight too." "Yeah, well, Paras are hardcore. Which battalion?" "I'm not formally part of the unit, but I end up with 3 Para most times I go out. They call me in still, use me to recruit OPFOR. Nothing like having real shadowrunners as Orange Force for a FIBUA or counter- terrorism exercise, and they feel better about losing if the OPFOR OC's a non-hat." "FIBUA? Oh, MOUT. Yeah, OPFOR's always more fun for a BATEX. All the action, none of the grind. And lay off the hat routine, we stomped Para butt last time we sent some guys over." Bloodtooth and Stormwind join them. "If you three could stop talking in capital letters and acronyms, maybe we could plan a strategy?" asks Jas. "Yeah, yeah." Silent Running tastes the contents of each tin, passes one to Quinn and Jas. "Dig in, big eats. Okay, so what have we got so far?" "Constipation from these MREs, and I'm glad I've been purifying the water." replies Jas. "Virtually no magical talent here, nobody with wires. No surprise, they wouldn't get scooped up as refugees. The Army guys are less friendly than I thought." "Gotta." replies Silent Running. "You start socialising, you start sympathising with the prisoners, pretty soon you're letting them out. Or while you're being friendly they brain you with a rock and grab your weapon. So you keep distance." "They don't exactly like their jobs." adds Quinn. "But they're scared of the bugs and they think they're doing the right thing." "Okay. One guy of interest: short, stocky, caught me alone and asked me if I wanted to buy some hardware." Silent Running glances around the group. "Said he had heat but nobody to use it? Willing to let you at his arms stash if you took him out on the break?" asks Bloodtooth. "The same. Thoughts?" "He's full of it. Or a stoolie. Claims he's got a couple of Alphas stashed." "When I asked he had AUGs." replies Jas. "I said we'd think about it, haven't seen him since. Hey, this stuff is good." Silent Running nods in acknowledgement."So he's a stoolie looking for troublemakers, and we're on the list. Is that what we wanted?" "Excellent." grins Quinn. "Word gets around. We were trouble when we arrived and now it's been confirmed. We want out. Whoever runs the pipeline should be paying attention to that." "Let's hope they hurry." Bloodtooth licks his spoon clean, tucks it into a sleeve pocket. "This place makes Basic look like the Hilton." Blade joins the group, Jas handing him his share of the food. "Guess what?" "Some short wide dude said he had a M22 lined up and waiting for the guy who busted him out." Quinn cackles happily. "Coyote shamans. Always got to pretend they're omiscient." Blade begins eating with rapid efficicency. "Yeah, that's the guy. Informer?" "Give that merc a cigar. Yeah, we hope he just flagged us as troublemakers." +++++break The five are sitting in a loose circle, playing poker. "I'll match your three rocks and raise you two." Quinn counts pebbles into the scatter of rubble in the centre. "You're bluffing." "Nope." "Match and call." Jas lays down his cards - three fives, two aces. "Your loss." Quinn shows a straight flush, rakes in the pebbles. "Blade, your deal." Blade gathers the cards, shuffles. "Okay, seven card stud, jokers wild." He starts doling out cards as a shadow falls across the group. "May I join you?" A tall Human. "You'd better have plenty of pebbles." grunts Bloodtooth, gathering his hand. "Blade, give the man some cards. And you are..." "Call me Guide, for now." His English has the careful clarity of one to whom it is not a first language: chipped, perhaps. "Guide. A man of pseudonyms. Well, this is Quinn, that's Blade, he's Jason, I'm Bloodtooth and he's Silent Running. You wanna play the name game, we can too. Open for ten." "You're kidding. Ten?" Silent Running shoves gravel forward. "See ten and match five." "Fifteen on this hand?" Blade folds his cards together, lays them down. "Fold." Guide studies his cards, reaches behind for some pebbles, counts fifteen into the pot without speaking. Quinn shrugs. "Match." and does: Jas does likewise. They play several hands, the only conversation about the game, before - as Bloodtooth hands the deck to Guide for him to deal - he pauses. "You are not run-of-the-mill individuals, are you? You must have stories to tell." "But never to strangers." says Jas carefully. "Oh, I understand. But men - and women - like you, you must chafe at this confinement. What would you give for freedom?" "Why? Got it in dime bags?" asks Quinn sharply. "It might be arranged. The price is high, but you will not escape unaided." "Says who?" snaps Blade quietly. "People bust out of the camps all the time." "But not Calumet Three. The swamp with its mosquitoes and roaches to the north, the lake to the east, yet as many soldiers as any other. The walls higher, the towers better-manned, and here they expect the troublemakers. You must have tried them hard, to be sent here." Guide sits back, looking around at each of the group in turn. "Our terms are simple. Every dollar you can reach, for your freedom. If you have enough, we will take you. If you do not... well, perhaps a less organised, less reliable service may come along and charge a lower price." "Excuse us." says Jas calmly. "Please give us leave to discuss." As Guide moves off, they huddle. "Okay. We can raise about a hundred and fifty grand between us, disposable. Question is, do we?" says Jas intently. Quinn takes a deep breath. "I can cover that when we get back. This is important." "I'll help." adds Jas. "It's not exactly petty cash, but Quinn's right, I think this is our shot." "Are these the right guys?" asks Blade. "I'd hate to blow that much dough on the wrong outfit." "Remember the Pearson girl? That's her boyfriend." says Quinn softly. "These are the right guys." Stormwind shakes his head. "Don't offer too much, though. What could we realistically have scooped up? Thirty?" "Fifty." Bloodtooth looks thoughtful. "Fifty, fifty-five?" The others assent. "Okay, Mr Guide. We have fifty-three thousand dollars we're prepared to part with, given that we want to be able to wash our clothes and get a soyburger once we're out of here. That sound okay?" Quinn looks enquiringly at the man. Guide looks thoughtful for a long minute. "That will be sufficient. I will return this evening, we have much to discuss." He leaves. "Opinions?" asks Bloodtooth. "He's a scumbag." says Jas sofltly. "There's no soul behind his eyes. He's leading us into danger." "He's not a bug, though." Quinn shrugs. "Or magical. Wired to hell and back. Armed. Amused. Pleased and surprised we had so much money. Confident." "You peeked?" asks Jas. "That's why I sat where I did, so he wouldn't notice." The shaman grins. "He didn't." "Money. What are they doing with the money?" asks Blade. "Easy." replies Jas. "Launder it as certified. You keep fifty, sixty per cent. They get a stack of clean funds. The people they shift don't use their old IDs any more so the transaction never shows." "Trust a security boss to know how to cheat." mutters Quinn. "But that's still not enough for new IDs." says Bloodtooth, shaking his head. "Five of us, ten grand apiece, even if they blew it all on the identities we'd still have found some of the people they're shipping out. Buzz would crack those like eggshells. I don't like this at all." "Me neither." says Blade. "Everyone who needs it tooled?" Everyone nods slightly. "Can you magicians help hide that?" "Easy." says Quinn. "How?" asks Jas curiously. "I get a headache when I try to screw with something as complex as a weapon scanner." "Hell with the scanner, go for the guy running it." grins Bloodtooth. +++++end trideo I'll post the rest in a while, there's quite a lot. And I'm tired, so tired.]<<<<< -- The Mighty Quinn <00:24:32/07-20-57> >>>>>[ Archangel, Basilisk, Black Widow, Alexander Boaz, Daishi, Maya Finnic, Alek Hune, Wild Lore, Q.S. Slicke, Reaver, Spellslinger, STREETWOLF, the Whistler, Jack Williams, Wizshade. Could the above or contacts there of message me with a list of the number of times you've dealt with spirits?]<<<<< -- Dexter <14:32:05/07:19:57> *****PRIVATE: Valentine >>>>>[Don't worry, Mr O'Kennedy. I have to advise a measure of distrust when dealing with anyone: don't even assume you can trust me. Politics are brought to bear too often, and it grieves me that one day you may need aid from me that I cannot give. However, that day is only possible, not likely. If you require any assistance that is in my power, you have it. If you need Marines again, ask: a visible show of strength might deter problems. I know that, if you feel you must ask, the problem will be severe indeed: but remember that deterrence can prevent the need for action. And make no apologies for the turtle. I still favour one myself: I am old enough to distrust direct transcription of my thoughts, or at least that is what a datajack has always seemed like to me.]<<<<< -- D J H Coppinger <09:55:42/07-20-57> Director Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency *****PRIVATE: Valentine >>>>>[Okay, Val, I guess it's time to bite the bullet and do some preparation. What do you need from us for a wedding, when's convenient for you, and how many (if any) guests can you cope with? We have a list of about a dozen folks from DC who'd want to be there, and a fairish number of people we've got to know here in Seattle who we'd like to at least invite. Don't want to hang out the "Nuke This Spot" sign, though, so putting it together's going to need care. Once we have a date, we might move somewhere like Dante's for the follow-up (don't want to keep the children awake with our partying). Locals I'd like to invite along are, offhand, Quinn, Sasha, JayCee, Blade, Tangent and his guys; Buzz and family, Griffyn, Slash; AJ and Diana. Quinn wants to bring Stormwind, which I can live with: could hire his firm for security, actually. Don't know how many will come, but there you go. Believe it or not, I was hoping to invite Drake, but I guess (a) it would have put him in a tough position professionally, (b) a few of the other guests would have tried to kill him, (c) he won't be out of his hearing in time. Reason I'm running this by you is so you can warn me if any of those guys are going to get homicidal at each other or if they'll panic if they see Coppinger and a few fairly senior uniforms there (off duty, but still...)]<<<<< -- Lynch <11:43:15/07-20-57> >>>>>[Next instalment of what happened. I thought about skipping right to the end, but the context matters. To me, at least. +++++begin video The five runners are picking over the end of another MRE feast - scraping the last traces out of the foil packs, cleaning Silent Running's mess tins - as Guide walks up. "Follow me. We must avoid prying eyes and ears." he says, indicating a direction. Jas drags his feet long enough to retrieve his camera, and as they walk the view is alternately of ground and sky. The view stabilises, apparently from just inside the doorway of a burned-out school, plastic sheeting stapled over the gaping windows and the floor scattered with charred debris. The wind plucks at the plastic, making it buzz and flap: eavesdropping from outside would be nearly impossible. Guide faces the group. "The financial aspects are acceptable. You will be contacted tomorrow by a woman calling herself 'Estelle', and you will follow her orders exactly. You will spend about forty-eight hours in transit, all told, before you are free. We will not ask you to hand over payment until near the end of your journey, so you can be sure we act in good faith." "Who's we?" asks Quinn brightly. "We are, shall we say, independent business people. Freedom, here, is a commodity, and we have the means to provide it. One word of warning. The route passes near several sensors - one of the millimetre-wave radars on the perimeter, for instance - and metal objects will activate them. Make sure you have nothing metal that is larger than a zipper tag as you walk the route: dispose of any such you have before Estelle contacts you." "Is this okay?" Quinn proffers a small crucifix. Guide studies it. "Yes, it should pass, but I would advise against anything larger. Are there any other questions?" "Food." says Blade. "Will you feed us or do we need to..." "We will ensure you arrive fed and watered, have no fear." Guide smiles, but it never touches his eyes. "May I assume you all accept these terms?" He looks from person to person until all assent. "Then Estelle will speak with you tomorrow evening, after your evening meal." He leaves. Bloodtooth is heading for the door when he catches Jas's hand signal. A flurry of sign language passes, then Quinn says "It looks like we got lucky." "Reckon they're on the level?" asks Silent Running. "Looks like it. Do we have a choice?" "Not if we want out of here." Jas glances around. "Wonder what their route is." "We'll find out tomorrow. Better check each other for metal. Come on, outside." Bloodtooth leads the way. Back in their usual spot, the five confer. "You think the house was bugged?" asks Bloodtooth. "Bound to be. Quick loyalty check for their customers. What's that 'no metal' crap? A mike radar doesn't care about metal." "They don't want anyone armed going through. Ten to one they use a metal detector on us as we go by. How do we handle that?" asks Blade. "Like I said, either Bloodtooth and I take the guys running it, or Jas pokes its eyes out. Basically, we play by ear." replies Quinn. "After that... improvise." "Great." Silent Running zips his jacket against the wind. "Gonna rain again tonight, too." +++++cut Jas must have the camera inside his coat, you think, as the view bounces and sways. The group are following the Ork girl through the camp, through a cold and miserable drizzle. She pauses by one house, this one half-wrecked - a bullet-riddled and burned-out Americar still protrudes through the ruins of one wall - and motions you inside. The rain falls through the bare, charred rafters as Estelle pulls a filthy tarpaulin back, revealing a black and smelly hole. "Down there." She glares at the group. "It's a six-foot drop, no more. Move!" Jas is the third down, and the camera sees nothing, though the soundtrack picks up footsteps, the crunch of rubble underfoot, and the scuffing of cloth on rock for long seconds before the view brightens as he rounds a corner and steps through a ragged-edged hole. Guide is there, carrying a fluorescent lantern, and you see many people - packed into the tunnel as far as the light lets you see, dozens at least - behind him. Beside Guide is an Elf with a pockmarked face, carrying an AK-97 in one hand and a bright yellow Detect-It wand in the other. At a nod from Guide, he steps towards you. Quinn clears her throat, and the Elf adjusts the wand before running it over Blade, then Bloodtooth, hearing nothing. On Quinn, it warbles as it passes her neck. "I am sorry." Guide smiles. "Your cross, it is too large after all." Quinn reaches to unclasp it. "No, no, remember it for later. We would not wish you to lose something of sentimental value to you, and worth little money to us, we have a way to pass it out safely." He makes a note on a small pocket computer: the others pass without a sound from the wand. The pocked Elf turns away, fiddling with the controls again. Estelle elbows past, now carrying an Enfield assault shotgun and another fluorescent lantern, Guide follows: you see the puddle of light pass along the corridor... there must be over fifty refugees packed into the sewer tunnel. It stops moving, then blinks twice. Guide's clarion voice echoes back to you. "Ladies and gentlemen!" His voice fills the tunnel well. "We have a long and difficult road to walk. This part of the sewers were closed off forty years ago, and after the Crash of 2029 the records were lost and they were forgotten. We have fifteen miles to walk to reach an exit we may safely use! There are places prepared where we will stop to eat and rest. It will take about two days, since the way is treacherous and we have children and the infirm with us. I ask that if one person flags, another who is able help them, so we may leave this darkness sooner. Follow Estelle and I. Markus will bring up the rear. Do not stray or wander, at any price." "Fuck." says Quinn softly. "What?" asks Bloodtooth, as Jas curses under his breath too. "What he wrote around Jenny's body. 'Follow the Star'. Estelle, Star. Get it?" asks Quinn. "Damn. Okay, we found what we're looking for. What now?" asks Bloodtooth. "You know what they say. When you got a tiger by the tail, hang on tight." replies Blade. The column begins to move, and they pick up the slow, shuffling pace. +++++end trideo +++++We spent about thirty-six hours underground, sewers then up five yards of dug hole into a subway tunnel. It was boring as hell so I snipped it.+++++ They appear to be in a subway station now, rather than the sewers previously: knots of frightened people, sitting in small groups eating cold MREs by the inadequate light of a few lanterns. Jas sits down with the group. "People are pretty scared, and they don't talk much, but I got a little information. Most people paid ten, fifteen thousand newyen each. When we start moving, I think we should spread out a little. Have some of us near each guide." "Good idea." says Blade absently, finishing his Spaghetti with Meatballs. "I'll take Guide. You and Quinn handle Markus. SR, Bloodtooth, Estelle. We seem to be overkill for these guys-" "Estelle sticks close to Guide." interjects Quinn. "And Markus is pretty inexperienced. Jas takes the kid, you and I handle the two at the front, Blood and SR watch for the ringers. There's gotta be one or two, unless Guide's terminally dumb. How long we been down here?" "Thirty-six hours." replies Blade. "Give or take. We've covered about eleven miles, but we zigged a lot in the sewers before we hit the subway." "Is it just me or does it smell bad?" enquires Bloodtooth. "No, it stinks. And not because we're downwind of Blade." Quinn nudges the mercenary amiably. "Astrally, too. We're inside the Zone, or very close to it." "One thing worries me." Stormwind opens his MRE, swears softly. "Two things worry me. First, why do I always get the turkey and ham meatloaf? I hate this stuff. Secondly, I don't buy that drek about the plans for the tunnels being lost in the Crash. How come these bozos know about them?" Silent Running shrugs as he collects MRE wrappers. "Paper copies, microfilm, optical disk archives, sure, but all in the Chicago municipal buildings. Inside the Zone. If my guess is right, we're going to get herded out and discover we came up inside the Wall. That's why nobody shows up. They make drekloads of cash, must be half a million for this lot, we're - they think - stuck inside the Zone with no weapons or ammo, and nobody ever finds out. If these guys used those plans to get out, they found a nice little earner too." "Makes sense." conceded Jas. "So I guess we end up inside the Zone after all." "Could be worse." Quinn glances around. "Anyone want their coffee?" "No way to heat water." grouses Jas. "Wimp" grins Silent Running. "You drink it Ranger style, like this." Almost in unison, he, Blade and Quinn tear open the packets of instant coffee, throw the granules into their mouths, and wash them down with slugs of water. Bloodtooth looks away, amiably muttering "showoffs". "Boy, that hit the spot." says Blade, recovering first. Jas just looks away, shaking his head. "Be ready to move soon, please?" calls Guide from the far end of the station. The group pull themsevles to their feet and start to spread out, Stormwind lagging a little - fiddling with one shoe lace - until he can join the rear of the column by Markus. For a long while, the column moves along the dark tunnel, lit only by the lanterns at front and rear. They pass through four stations, and have been walking for nearly two hours when Jas emerges into the fifth station to see the column has broken up again. He moves to join the rest of the group. "It's definitely bad." Quinn looks up at him, with - unusually - an expression of concern. "All those stations had their identifiers removed. But we're heading northeast. We're inside the Zone. And I don't know about you, but Blade and I were getting sluggish. Those last MREs were drugged." "I thought I was just tired." mutters Jas. "Wait one... there. You're right!" He sounds alarmed too. "It's going to happen soon, then." +++++end trideo Last one's coming. Brace yourselves, it ain't nice.]<<<<< -- The Mighty Quinn <11:54:42/07-21-57> *****PRIVATE: Lieutenant Montoya, InterPol >>>>>[Lieutenant Montoya, I'm sorry I've taken so long to speak to you. My congratulations on your promotion: I wish it were in happier circumstances. I'd also like to say I'm pleased to find one of the few people around who are better shots than I am: your marksmanship is astounding. I'm at least glad that Commander Drake was able to appoint you to be his replacement. That means you must be honest and capable: that makes our job harder, yet is a good thing. Contradictory? But true. If the Commander needs any assistance of us (and I only mean legal methods, for now) let me know and we'll do all in our power to help him. For all the difficulties and pain he's caused me, he's done far more harm to our enemies by his honesty and integrity. If you are able to communicate with him, I have another quote from Edmund Burke for him, that I'd appreciate you passing to him: "He that wrestles with us strengthens our nerves, and sharpens our skill. Our antagonist is our helper." I wish you and the Commander good fortune, Lieutenant Montoya. You're both going to need it. If you need my help, it's yours: just don't try to arrest me too soon after I help you ]<<<<< -- Lynch <19:45:32/07-21-57> >>>>>[Someone told me a shaman can do something called anchoring to items, but only if the item means something to the shaman, personally I mean. Can anyone tell me more about this? Is it emotive connections, or what?]<<<<< -- Ronin <18:40:49/07-22-57> >>>>>[Check out this simsense recording. I stole it out of a certain system last night, just grabbing a random large file in case it was worth anything. Nope, so I'll just drop it in here, for your entertainment. Send thanks and donations to >>account address<<. It's raw footage, must be recent, since they didn't have time to adjust anything. I ran it through an amp scanner, and, just in case you care, the peaks are all below the legal limits. Except for that x-rated bit... +++++Start simsense (y/n)? +++++Initiate neuronal superimposition - [...........................] +++++Neuronal superimposition complete +++++Synchronising biorhythms - [........................] +++++Biorhythms synchronised +++++Abnormal subject... neural cyberware detected +++++Compensating - [............] +++++Start playback There is a moment of synaptic static as the system tests your neural responses and thresholds, a blinding flash, and disorientating waves of sound and smell, all over in a fraction of a second. The "screen" clears... "You" are in a car, driving it. Your vision is restricted by what looks like some sort of mask from what you can see. A glance in the rear vision mirror confirms the supposition. There are four others with you in what looks like some sort of large four-wheel drive vehicle. Three are checking weapons, all wear dark clothing, black gloves, and masks similar to your own. "Thirty seconds," says someone, you in fact, "Remember, we don't know what's in the towers. Bates' pass should get us through, but be ready." The vehicle is approaching a pair of security towers, probably the ones to which you were referring. The car slows, and drives in between the towers, the gates between them opening ahead of it. There is no sign of activity in the towers, and no alarms from within. You look ahead, seeing a low building in the middle of a large clear area of grass with a few sculpted shrubs. There are a few dog-shaped (para?)animals slinking around, but they don't react to the car beyond looking up. You drive down a ramp into an underground parking area, and everyone piles out. You look around as the other members of the team unpack some gear from the trunk of what is now visible as a four wheel drive recreational vehicle, much like the CN Patrol the cops use, but without the armour or gas ports. The other members of the team are a mixed bunch. There is one slim woman in an oversized yellow t-shirt, who seems to be unarmed. Beside her is a large man carrying a Defiance T-250 shotgun, and a tall woman with a pair of silenced Colt Manhunters. Both are looking around nervously as the fourth person, a giant of a man with a fixed stock HK227 slung across his back and a rapier at his side, pulls a large briefcase from the back of the 4WD. Judging by his size, he could be an ork, you can't tell for sure because of the mask. "Where," he asks. He doesn't sound like an ork. "That ought to be close enough," you tell him, pointing to an area of the floor. The huge man opens the briefcase, and takes out several paper tubes, about two centimetres in diameter, and a glue gun. He lays the tubes on the ground in a rough square, approximately one and a half meters on each side. "Stand back," he says, flicking a cigarette lighter on. You move back a few metres, and look away, but the flare of light is still intense when it comes. The garage is lit up, and a loud crackling sound comes from behind you. There are several sharp bursts and detonations over a period of about thirty seconds, then the giant man speaks again. "Okay, we're through the 'crete," he says, "I'll give someone a lift, and they can attach the pulleys." The woman with the Manhunters holsters them, and comes over, stepping into the cupped hands of the giant and being hoisted up to the roof. You look away, scanning each corner of the garage, and speak into a microphone on your wrist. "Holly?" "We are here," comes the reply. "How's it going?" "The system is ours." You turn back, and there are now four slender lines between one of the fragments of reinforced plascrete on in the ground and the roof, where they run through pulleys to the the ground again. One is in the hands of the giant man, the second is held by the tall woman. You take the third, and the fourth is picked up by the guy with the shotgun after he drops the weapon near the 4WD. "On three," says someone, "One, two, three." You pull, as do they, and after a few moments of straining, you lower the fragment to the ground, away from the hole. The giant man quickly moves back, applying a debinder of some sort to the glue on the fragment, and reapplying the lines to another piece. The operation is repeated several times, and dirt is exposed. "Drek," says the tall woman, "Fraggin' dirt." "Could have been worse," you tell her, "Hilly, can you summon a spirit to move this drek?" "Yes," the unarmed woman replies, "But there might be magic alarms, or spirits patrolling." "They could have seen us already," you say, "An earth spirit or something wouldn't make much difference would it?" "That's mages, damn you," she says, then hesitates, and although you can't see her facial expression, you'd be willing to bet that it's not a calm one, "Okay, I can call a spirit, but I don't like doing this." She throws up her arms and begins to sing, and instantly a swirling cloud forms near the hole. A humanoid shape of 'crete and plastic forms in the carpark, lifting huge arms and stretching. "Dig here until you meet steel," Hilly commands. The spirit proceeds to tunnel into the dirt, and the team moves away as clods of earth fly from the deepening hole. "Rimmer," you say, "how much more phosphorous have we got left." "Plenty," replies the giant man. "Okay, get the next batch ready then." After a couple of minutes, the spirit stops digging, and the giant man moves towards the hole, then looks in as the spirit moves away. "Looks like the lower level," he says, then climbs down, disappearing from view, "I'm starting the burn," floats up his voice. You pick up the glue gun, then speak to Hilly. "Can you have the spirit lift me up to the ceiling?" "Do it," she tells the spirit. Its large arms close around you, lifting you towards the ceiling. Once there, you use the glue gun to attach another line to the roof, directly above the hole. The spirit lets you down at Hilly's command, and you move towards the car. Before you get there though, there is a buzz from your wrist radio. "Kryten, we see trouble," says the voice of Holly, sounding like it's on the edge of panic. "What is it," you say, dropping the glue gun and scooping up a peculiar, short-barrelled plastic assault rifle from inside the 4WD. A sighting grid appears over your eyes as the smartlink systems in you and the gun activate. "Two guards," squawks the wrist radio, "In the elevator, coming to your level." "Cat, left of doors," you snap out, "Lister, right. Remember, no fatalities if you can avoid them." The man with the shotgun, the one you called "Lister", scoops it up and moves to the right of the lift doors, and the tall woman, "Cat", moves to the left, pulling her Manhunters. You take cover behind the 4WD, Hilly joins you, and Rimmer lurks in the hole. Then the elevator doors open to reveal nothing. Cat moves forward, but Hilly calls out a warning and the taller woman falls backwards, rolling, and diving back the way she came as two grenades come bouncing out from the interior of the darkened lift. You duck, but still feel the wave of concussive force, and then you're moving, vaulting the front of the 4WD, leaping over the hole, and jumping into the lift, spinning in the air as you pass through the doorway. There are two security guards inside, hiding behind the non-moving parts of the elevators front interior wall. They barely have time to look surprised before you slam into the rear wall. You put two rounds into the first guard, and the second pulls an Ares Viper as you turn towards him. You notice that the first victim is not spraying blood or screaming, if anything he looks ineffably happy, but down he goes. Then Lister is in the lift too, jabbing the second security guard in the solar plexus with the butt of his shotgun, then kneeing him in the face as he doubles up. The guard goes down, and Lister gives you a brief glance, his expression hidden under the mask. "What the hell was that?" he asks, his accent vaguely asian. "I knew where they had to be," you reply, "It worked." "Worked hell, if I hadn't got here, it was Viper time." "But you got here, so it worked." Lister grunts, backing out of the lift, and you bend down to check the guards' pulses. "Both alive," you say, "I love gamma-scopolamine. So nice to avoid blood splattered all over the place." You place the guards in the doorway, blocking the doorway and therby preventing the elevator from leaving this floor. "The burn's finished," calls Rimmer, "and we're most of the way through the steel. You want to get ready?" "Okay," you say, "Holly?" into the wrist mike. "We are here," squawks the speaker on your wrist radio unit. "Have you confirmed the target for the drop?" "It's Dr Lowe's lab alright," comes the reply, "He is working late, as we thought he would be. We will give you his precise location when you're ready to jump." "Any guards in there?" "Not yet, but they might be on their way. We can see no other excitement as yet." You move to the 4WD and remove a harness which you put on, and set some sort of electrical device at the side. Then you thread the line that's attached directly to the roof through a rapelling pulley, and get ready to jump into the hole in the ground. "Ready," you say into your wrist unit. "From where you stand now..." it squawks back, "four o'clock, plus or minus... half an hour? Range is eight metres, plus or minus one, he's not moving." You jump into the hole, the line hissing as it slides through the pulleys. You watch between your feet as they strike the steel floor of the hole, knock it down with your weight, plunge through a thin-boarded ceiling with it below you, and come to a sudden halt as your harness stops your fall. The line detaches, and once again you fall, but it is only about half a metre before your feet hit the ground this time. You drop into a crouch, and swivel instantly, firing a single round into a surprised looking man in a white lab coat. He falls backwards off his stool without a single word. "One down, cleared," you call out to those above. You move into the lab, checking for other targets. It looks more like a workshop, several benches hold tools, and there are a number of unfinished small arms prototypes. The rest of the team come down the line behind you, Rimmer, Hilly, Cat, and Lister last. They spread out, and Rimmer moves to the bench where the scientist was working. He throws aside a few tools, then turns to you. "He's finished one of them." he calls, throwing a heavy pistol to you. "He works fast," you comment, catching the weapon and looking it over. Rimmer turns back to the desk as you tuck the pistol under your jacket. He rummages around for a moment, but doesn't seem to find what he was looking for. Then he bends down and pulls a heads-up display system off the downed doctor. The giant man looks into the headgear, adjusting some controls. "Yeah, it's all here," he tells you. "Set the incendiaries then," you say, "Lister, bring the doc." Lister slings the doctor over his shoulder, and Rimmer sets a number of small charges around the desk where Lowe was working. "Done," says the big man, "We've got five minutes." "Okay, let's move." You go to the door, but it opens before you arrive. You hear people hitting the deck, and you throw yourself over a bench, but no-one comes through the door. "Holly, was that you," you ask into your radio. "Yes," squawks the wrist unit, "We are sorry that we startled you." You get up, then leave the room, entering a foyer with two elevators, one of which has it's doors open and waiting. Lister drops the doctor's comatose body onto a couch, and the team piles in to the lift. The heavy door leading back to the lab close at the same time as those of the elevator, and you feel the cage start to move downwards. "Are the orks ready?" you say into your mike. "Yes," comes the reply after a moment, "Can we tell them to trigger the explosion yet?" "Hit it." There is a muffled thud, and the elevator shakes. It quickly stabilises, reaches the lowest level on the dial, and stops. The door opens and you roll out, coming to your feet with the rifle at the ready. The room you are in is large, and filled with dense smoke. You can't see anyone, but you hear coughing and what sounds like the whining of a dog. "Cat, left," you say, "Lister, right." The coughing stops, and you move straight ahead, into the smoke, walking in a low crouch. Hilly and Rimmer remain at the lift doors, and when you glance back that way, you have lost sight of them. There is a shout from the left, and you hear two quick blows then a third after a slight pause. The third strike is preceeded by a curious sqeaking noise, a shoe twisting on the 'crete perhaps. "One man down," calls Cat, "and I've found the hole." "Let's go then," you reply, "Lister?" "Nothing here, I'm coming," comes the reply, drifting out of the smoke. Suddenly there is a woman's yell from behind you, and a burst of SMG fire, and you move back in that direction. You arrive almost immediately, to see Hilly on the ground, blood oozing from a large wound on the side of her neck. You drop to her side, clamping a hand over the gash, seeming only peripherally aware of the fight between a huge dog and Rimmer. Hilly is only semi-conscious, lying awkwardly with her head against the wall, against which she must have fallen when the dog attacked her. The big man has dropped his SMG, and he begins pulling his rapier out. Before he can though, the dog lunges forward and closes it's jaws on the arm he throws up in defence. Rimmer lets out a frustrated grunt, then drives a knee into the dog's belly, falls back, and throws the dog with a sudden extension of his leg. It releases the arm, flies through the air briefly, and then lands with a yelp. Rimmer rolls to his feet, scoops up his rapier, and lunges at the dog as it staggers to it's feet. The weapon pierces the dog through the front of it's chest, and bloody foam erupts from it's mouth as it struggles on the blade. After a moment, it is still, and Rimmer withdraws the blade with a flick to shake off the blood. "What the frag is going on?" calls Lister, from somewhere in the smoke, but no-one answers him Rimmer moves back to where Hilly lies, pulling from a pocket what looks like a small plastic statue of an eagle. He gently moves you aside, bending down to Hilly's crumpled form and applying the eagle to her wound. "She told me to hang on to this," he says, glancing towards you, "Since I'm magically active, I should find it easier to activate." He tenses, and then the wound begins to close up. "What the frag?" you whisper. "It works by a process called anchoring," answers the big man, "A healing spell is bound to an item, which must have some personal significance to the shaman. She's going to live... unless she's already lost too much blood." Rimmer looks into the smoke, then checks his arm, but there doesn't seem to be any serious injury. He wraps a field dressing around it, and you pick up Hilly, turning back to the smoky room. The team joins you and the smoke is beginning to settle as you step over the body of a man in padded clothing, who was presumably the dog's trainer. He is still breathing, and you pause, as if debating whether to rectify this oversight. Then you turn away, and the team begins to enter another hole in the ground. You are the last down, and you drop into the waiting arms of some shabbily dressed orks. "How did it go?" one of them asks, and the simsense imagery disolves. +++++Playback stopped +++++Disconnect +++++Restore nervous function - [............] +++++Central nervous system function restored Sorry, I was kidding about the x-rated bit. Anyway, that little adventure came from the system of the same company as paid for the advertisement I posted a month or so back, the one about simsense recording of runs for cash. Sometimes shadow biz is so ironic. And where the frag did those names they used come from? They sound familiar, but I'll be damned if I can place them.]<<<<< -- Nevyn <18:46:59/07-22-57> *****PRIVATE: Squatter >>>>>[I'm going to try to get this out again. I don't know what's going on. OK. I don't know what's going on with Farmer. I've been living out of a duffel bag for a while now, and I'm sick of it. Let's do something about this. Lynch has already agreed to meet with me. You wanna come along? This involves you now as much as it does me now. Also, if you're worried about protection, your friend had a friend who could get the stuff I wanted. I'm set for weapons, and so is Zeus. You're welcome to hang with us. Anyway, contact me here, and we'll figure out whats going on. I talked to a Ms. Haversham that might shed some light on what's going on.]<<<<< -- Redemption <08:42:59/7-22-57> *****INTERNAL: Aztechnology >>>>>[TO: Security Division I might have a problem. Two suits showed at the house last night. They showed me ID from some "Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency" and said my current employment was 'unpatriotic' and I should stop, or else. They didn't say what the 'or else' would be, but I'm worried. You know and I know I set this job up years before I left the Service, we declared my intent, and that's why my last command was a rustbucket DDG-51 on her last cruise before the boneyard. I made sure I don't know anything about modern Navy weapons, sensors, tactics that you couldn't read in Proceedings. And my work is anti-piracy: I'm not so naive as to think it might not find its way to the Aztlan Navy, but it won't do them much good against the UCAS. I'm loyal to my company and a patriotic UCAS citizen: you've never had a problem with that. Why are these spooks hassling me? And what can I do about it?]<<<<< -- John Mercer <18:00:32/07-22-57> Sea Systems (Military) Division Aztechnology *****INTERNAL: Aztechnology Internal Mail System >>>>>[TO: Thomas Machala, ACS I'm not sure what Mercer saw, but he's adamant about the badges. What worries me is that SIGA field agents don't usually wear suits and I've never heard of them carrying or even owning badges: besides, we know who the two main agents for the Seattle area are, and it certainly wasn't them. It sounds like someone's using SIGA as a blind to get at one of our people. Besides, Mercer's right: he really doesn't know anything that could hurt the UCAS. I think we should be very alert here until we find out what's going on.]<<<<< -- Anna Grier <18:07:41/07-22-57> Aztechnology Corporate Security *****INTERNAL: Aztechnology Internal Mail System >>>>>[TO: Anna Grier, ACS Overruled. Our estimate is that it is a SIGA bluff: they've obviously acquired a mistaken view of Mercer's importance. He fits their profile for low-level action: a former UCAS Navy captain now working for Aztechnology. They're harassing us in revenge for... recent events, no more. Mercer's in no real danger from them, and they're hoping to force a misjudged reaction from us. Who else would want to harm Mercer, anyway? He's useful and a valued employee, but hardly a key player that would justify this sort of operation. SIGA have time on their hands, is all.]<<<<< -- Thomas Machala <18:10:10/07-22-57> Aztechnology Corporate Security >>>>>[This is the last instalment of Stormwind's footage, and it's not very nice in places. +++++begin trideo "Everyone? Everyone." Guide is standing at one end of the platform. "Markus and Estelle are coming around to collect payment. Soon you will be free!" A ragged cheer from many of the refugees. "Anyone who has families left behind in the camps, we have postcards for you, so they will know you have escaped. We will make sure they are delivered safely. This is good for us too, they will come to us and we will make more money helping them escape too." Muted laughter ripples through the crowd. "Please, be ready." The Ork and the youth begin to circulate. When Estelle reaches the group and collects a handful of cash, cheques and credit card slips, Quinn takes a postcard and a cheap pen: the card is ready-franked, a typical tourist's "Greetings from Seattle" type. "God damn. You know what this reminds me of?" "What?" Quinn looks at the group. "From Chaim Goldberg, Worker 443468, Auschwitz Labour Centre. The work is hard but the food is good. The guards are kind and friendly. The shower when we arrived was very refreshing. All my love, Uncle Hymie, `Arbeit mach Frei'. Ring any bells?" "Making it harder to cotton to the fact that nobody gets free? We're meant to end up bug food?" asks Blade. "Yep. They run us up, then cut us loose. The tranquillisers are to keep anyone from being difficult. The guns are in case anyone insists on causing troubler." Silent Running shivers. "AKs and Enfields for crowd control. Effective, sure, but I guess they don't care much about collateral casualties. What do they care, we're going to be dumped in the Zone-" The sound of an engine starting makes everyone jump, as the "Way Out" corridor is suddenly lit - the lights seem almost dazzling after hours of subterranean gloom. "Ladies and gentlemen!" Guide seems genuinely happy. "Follow us, please! The way out is difficult, but we have arranged extra lighting to help you. You are nearly free now!" He and Estelle move towards the corridor, lit by inspection lights hung on a cable crudely nailed to the tunnel ceiling. Again, Jas manages to be near the tail of the column, and he rounds a corner to see what used to be the escalators to street level: the refugees bunched at their base. Now, though, the hallway is charred and scorched, and one escalator's frame is a hollow, gaping mass of twisted, blackened metal over a deep hole. The other was even more damaged, but the gaps have been bridged by clumsily welded steel rails: a precipitous forty-five degree slope, but the exit sign at the top is almost heavenly. Water courses steadily down the rails, which are pitted with rust and crusted with algae. "You must be very careful here!" booms Guide. "The walkway is very slippery, whenever it rains water rushes down for hours afterwards. We cannot improve it safely, or the Army will see us. So you must hold tightly to the handrails. Like this." He demonstrates. climbing a good ten yards with a rapid, shuffling gait. "You will not be as practiced as I, of course. Be slow, and be careful. And hold onto the handrails!" He continues to climb at a rapid rate, as the refugees begin to follow behind him. It takes some time: the crude walkway is as slippery as ice, and the cold, damp metal handrails are hard for the several elderly or very young refugees to hold on to. Guide has outdistanced the group, and are waiting at the top. Jas is the last to reach the escalator, and has climbed several yards when he glances back - Neither Estelle nor Markus have begun to climb. Estelle is aiming her shotgun at the group, and as Jas' camera catches the view, Markus opens a grey box on the wall and reaches inside. The camera's audio registers Quinn's yell of "LET GO!!!!", a sudden bass thrumming more heard than felt, Stormwind's gasp of pain, and a sudden thunder of gunfire as the view falls and rolls. In one splitsecond view you see Estelle half-hidden in the muzzle flash of her AS-7, Markus a jerking puppet as bullets tear into him, then the ceiling and floor change places. All is suddenly dark, lit only by strobing flashes and occasional red and green fireflies zipping madly about, the gunshots deafening in the confined spaces. The firefight lasts only ten or fifteen seconds, but it seems like minutes, and seems to involve scores or hundreds of rounds. Stormwind's camera doesn't move. The gunfire ceases, and there is a long, long, silence broken only by the noise of the diesel generator. "Quinn. Clear!" "Blade. Clear." "Bloodtooth, clear." "SR, clear." A pause. "Find Stormwind. Fast. He might not have moved his hands in time." Movement, then light flares. "Christ on a crutch, they're all dead!" "The hand rails. They electrified the hand rails. They wanted everyone dead." Quinn's voice. "Where the hell is Stormwind?" "He was at the back. I saw him go down before I nailed the Ork bitch." Silent Running's voice. "He might be hit." "Just a minute." The light brightens and you see Quinn flash through the view, giving a Rebel yell as she slides down the central aisle of the two escalators: then she yelps with pain as she flies off the end. The light weakens, then brightens again, and you recognise the Coyote shaman's Nike basketball boots blocking the view. "Found him! He's alive. Badly shocked, but he'll be okay. I think he was only just letting go when the volts hit." "So was Bloodtooth." Silent Running's voice. "Thank the Fathers he's fast. He's okay, too. Anyone else alive?" "Just a minute, I'll check..." Quinn suddenly doubles over, out of view, and you hear the sounds of her losing her last meal. "I'll take that as a no?" calls Blade. "Fuck you too." Quinn coughs and spits. "Dead. All of them. Can we get out of here, please? My head's killing me." "All of them?" Silent Running seems surprised, as Quinn blocks the view again - bending over Jas, a small flashlight in her hand, as she checks his pupil reflex. "Yeah. All of them. Malnourished, sick, weak, slow. Not tough guys like us. Forty-eight people dead at the flick of a switch." Quinn rises, and you hear Stormwind coughing. "Can we please go? I can still hear them screaming." "That was no fun." groans Jas. "You've got electrical burns. I've healed the worst of it." Quinn holsters her Guardian and helps him to his feet. "How bad was the casting?", asks Jas. "If you're hungry, there's my dinner over there. Answer your question?" "I'll keep that in mind." The hallway is lit only by a couple of the fluorescent lanterns, though you see the pale gouges in the sooty walls that mark bullet impacts. Markus and Estelle lie dead in spreading pools of blood, Quinn moving to relieve the bodies of their weapons. Jas turns, and you are thankful for the poor light: the view up the stairwell is a nightmare vision of sprawled bodies half-hidden by shadow, some steaming or smoking where their blackening hands still grip the handrails. Some also show bloodstains and bullet wounds. The view jerks away sharply, and a moment later the generator splutters and dies. "Killed it. The handrails should be okay now." Blade's voice drifts down. "Let's get the hell out of here." "Cover the entrance." replies Quinn. "Come on, Stormy, we got to climb." She and Jas assist each other on the long, clumsy climb over the piles of corpses. Neither of them speak as they struggle up the slope, until they reach the top: the five regard each other, all ashen-faced. "Inventory?" asks Blade. "One AK-97, four mags, decent condition, laser sight." Quinn hands it to Blade. "One Enfield AS-7, smartgun linked, a drum of slug and a half- drum of 00 buck. Mine unless someone really wants it. One Fichetti 500 and a spare clip, keep it to trade but it's bugger all use to us. Anything else?" "I've got my dagger, an SMG and 80 rounds", Jason says, producing said from beneath his tattered over coat. "Two ringers." Silent Running jerks a thumb back. "Both with Ingrams. And Guide had a 227 inside his jacket, which he doesn't any more. We're reasonably well tooled. One question, what the hell were they going to do with the bodies?" Silent Running reluctantly says "I saw some sort of tracks in the floor, back there. Wheel marks and foot prints, going into the tunnel." "Let's check it." says Blade grimly. "Why? We know what well find. Hundreds of dead bodies. Most of them pretty decayed, unless they were shipping quicklime in too." Quinn shakes her head. "Apart from anything else, there's no telling what interesting diseases you could catch. Let's get the hell out of here. Time?" "Twenty-three twelve. Late night." Blade takes off his grungy coat, slings the AK, pulls the coat over it. "Do we move out now or wait until morning?" "Check outside for a clear LZ. Street or rooftop. We have backup standing by." Quinn nods at Stormwind, and you notice Blade grimace. "I'm on it." Silent Running moves to the entrance, framed in the weak moonlight for a second, as his brother follows. There is a long, silent pause before they return as noiselessly as they left. "Street looks clear. There's a traffic circle two blocks down that's big enough to land a helo. Winds light, visibility okay." Quinn nods, moves outside herself, Jas following. The view is eerie, to say the least: a city at night is usually ablaze with garish light and busy with traffic. Here, though, the only light is from the moon, filtering down through hazy clouds, and the streets are silent except for the whisper of the wind and the occasional popping sounds of distant gunfire. The buildings are dark and forbidding: many have shattered windows and show signs of damage. The streetlamps still stand, and a body hangs by the feet from one, swinging gently in the breeze. "Toto, I guess we aren't in Kansas any more." says Quinn softly. +++++ The camera bounces and jolts as Jas runs, to kneel in cover behind a burned-out truck chassis. He turns to look at the hanging body, and glances away again sharply - it's a naked human female, beginning to decay, but the wooden sign nailed to her belly can still be seen to read "LOVER OF DEMONS". Faint sounds behind him as Quinn passes him, pressing herself into a doorway and covering the street with her shotgun, then Blade moves by them both. Across the street, Bloodtooth and SR are similarly skirmishing along, alert and ready for trouble. Jas moves forward again, this time stepping through the gaping front of a looted shop and glancing around inside- "Nice gun, chief." says a voice from a filthy ragged figure in the corner. Jas keeps the Steyr trained on him, as Quinn joins on them. "I ain't got a gun. I'd like one, though. Man could say quite a lot, to the right audience, if he was gonna score a piece out of it." "Knew we'd need it." mutters Quinn, and holds up the Fichetti. "This and forty-odd rounds. If what you say is useful." "Dennis. M'name's Dennis. Nice iron. Kinda small, but a gun's a gun. Laser work?" Quinn triggers the aiming pointer, the red dot tracing circles on the wall. "Okay. This is a bad part o'town. The Volk are moving in on it. That's why Chrissie's hung up like that. Some Volkers saw her turn an Ork trick and they grabbed her, did her over and hung her up as a warning. Not a good place to be a Native, either, chummers." "You're real talkative for someone who hasn't got his gun yet." suggests Blade, from where he's covering the street outside. "Y'all could just kill me and take it back anyway. I got eyes, I seen you move, you guys are pro. Army? Army guys come in sometimes. Or spooks? Lotsa spooks round here too. Guess they don't like the Volk neither." "How about you?" asks Quinn. "Me? I just stay alive. Stay clear of the bugs, watch for airdrops and make sure I get food, don't piss anyone off. Kind of sucks, but you got something better?" Quinn hands him the Fichetti and the two clips. "Okay. The traffic circle a block up. Anyone else near there?" "Maybe some Volkers, I dunno, in the old Regency building. Four, five. And there's people live round here, but they're mostly down in the cellars at night. They don't go up for nothing, and anything comes through the door they blow away. Just gotta watch for the roaches and the beetles, they like it dark." He shudders. "Me, I sleep in the day. I tried cellars. Woke up and a roach was eating my buddy. Now, I like somewhere with lots of ways out, lots of places to run. You guys getting out? You take me... well, it was only a thought." Dennis slaps a magazine into the pistol, works the slide, tries the laser and grins. "Feel kind of better now anyway." The group continue their cautious skirmish forwards, until they reach the intersection and move into an empty McHugh's. There is a long silent pause, the camera blacked out where Jas is lying on it. "One observer. Regency Hotel, third floor corner window. Seen?" says Blade softly. "Seen." replies Quinn. "He hasn't seen us yet. Okay, Jas, you're the one with the comms gear, get it set up." "Why? I've got more than enough chip storage to last another few hours?" "Duuh... Stormy, you can be dense sometimes. Half your security firm is sitting just the other side of the wall, in a couple of Stallions I helped them steal, waiting for you to holler so they can come in and get you. Which is why we wanted a usable LZ. Those guys could be a problem, but the helos can handle small-arms fire, and return it in bountiful measure." "WHAT?! Fragit all! They aren't supposed to get involved with this." "Hey, whatdidja expect? You expect them to let you come in here and get your damned fool head blown off?" Quinn looks surprised. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I left ritual samples with Griff, he knows what to do if it comes to that." "Well, thats not the case. Your boys are sitting a couple clicks outside the Wall waiting to be the Seventh Calvalry." The camera abruptly whirls around, Jasons hands come into to view, a blur of activity as he begins assembling several small, compact modules. Looking a little surprised. Blade shakes his head slowly. "Quinn, that cache still where you said?" "Yeah, unless someone's rumbled it." "Okay." The mercenary falls silent, checking his stolen AK-97. Jas unfolds a small umbrella dish, aligns it with the built-in compass, jacks in for some seconds. "ETA eight minutes. I told them to stay clear of this." Jas still sounds surprised. Blade snorts with disgust: Jas looks at him sharply. "Something you want to say?" "Yeah. I'll cover you out. I still have things to do in here." Blade shifts slightly, scanning the buildings around the traffic circle. "You go ahead, get lifted out by your loyal employees." "You're staying?" asks Quinn, surprised. "Why?" "Company business. Favours owed. Nothing fancy, just some mail to deliver." "Okay, I'll stick with you. Bloodtooth, trade you for that Ingram. SR, can you spare a clip or two? Thanks." Quinn crawls over, exchanges weapons with the Wolf shaman. "Quinn, you are one crazy bitch." Blade seems amused. "Silent, it's easier if Quinn and I use the same weapons, less ammo hassle. Want an AK?" They, too, switch. "I'm willing to trade my SMG for the shotgun.", chimes in Jason. The flurry of trading stops, everyone turns to look at him. "The shotgun's more to my liking. I'm better with it in close quarters. I took the Steyr because it's easier to hide." "I think what our resident suit it trying to say is that he is coming along" says Blade drily. "In a nutshell. I've waved the evac off for now. They are happy enough to to know that we are alive. I'm downloading the footage to them now. Before we roll I need to go back and confirm those kills". He looks at Blade, "no, offense, but I was down and we've got no footage. I also wish to recover the money. Its about two hours' work, I can hump it on my own if you want but its probably better if I dont." "We dont need the money, if you're worried about that, we'll reimburse you when we get out of here." Quinn shakes her head slightly. "The money really isnt the issue. If its available, great, we can divide it it up and, after we get identification on the bodies, send it to the relatives. No real compensation for losing a loved on, but it brings closure to the situation." Quinn still looks concerned. "Jas, the longer we spend in here, the more likely you are to keep those guys company for good. They're all dead. I looked, I checked. That's one reason I lost lunch." "Whatever, I've got to get this package delivered" says Blade firmly. "Where have you got to deliver that crap to?" Quinn examines the Ingram carefully, nods. "Cook County municipal offices." "Sonofabitch, Blade, they don't like making your life easy, do they? It's gotta be eight, ten miles, even direct. Never mind." Quinn rummages in her pocket. "It's ten miles to our target, we've got six full magazines for our Ingrams and half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark and..." she pulls on a pair of John Lennon shades "...we're wearing sunglasses." "Hit it." responds Blade, grinning suddenly. Quinn thinks for a moment. "Okay, how about this? We pull back to the station. The route's pretty clear anyway. You big macho men do what you want to do with the bodies. Shouldn't take more than an hour with four of you: I'll cover, make sure we don't get any unwanted visitors. That keeps Stormy happy. Blade and I know what we're doing, I've been here before. Stormy hasn't, so he needs Bloodtooth and Silent more than we do. Just because they're getting dusted off doesn't mean they're safe. The two of us nail the snoopers, the choppers come in and the three of you make it out to safety. We go do what we have to do and then scoot ourselves." "Are you going to be able to get out okay?" asks Silent Running. "Done it before. I know a couple of ways in and out. This place isn't so bad if you play by the rules." Quinn shrugs. "One day to reach the offices. After that... maybe Blade's bosses will be generous enough to give us a lift out. Or maybe we do it ourselves. Shouldn't be too bad, anyway. Like I said, I know what I'm doing. Mr Stormwind's less experienced, he needs your help more." Quinn looks the man dead in the eye. "Give us Wolf's blessing and we will walk in safety." The Ranger drops his eyes after a second. "I don't like abandoning friends." "You're choosing which of us needs your aid most. Even you can only be in one place at a time. Let's get what we have to do, done." The move back is the same: the streets are still empty. 'Dennis' waves companionably from his home as the group skirmish past, Quinn remaining at the tunnel entrance as the others make their way down. "Get identification." says Jas softly. "Credsticks, wallets, anything. We'll be back to help in a few minutes." Blade and Bloodtooth move to comply. Stormwind and Silent Running move into the subway tunnel, hooded flashlights probing. You pass a small flatcar, fitted with a yoke for two men to pull: then unmarked plastic sacks. Silent Running probes one, as Jas's flashlight begins to pick up whitenesses in the tunnel's dark. "The stuff in the bags is-" "Quicklime." says Stormwind quietly, unhooding the torch: the sudden, stronger light shows corpses coated in white dust, stacked along both sides of the tunnel for as far as the light reaches. Over a thousand, at least. "Yeah." Silent Running stares at the bodies. "How long have they been doing this?" "I don't want to know." Jas shakes his head sharply. "Let's get back and help the others." The grisly job of identifying and - at Jas' insistence - laying out the dead takes well over an hour, even with the four men working hard. Finally, though, they are done. "Okay." Quinn, still crouched near the doorway, keeps her eyes on the street as she speaks. "Blade, you and I lead off. Give us ten minutes, then move to the same RV as before. We'll clear the Volk snoopers as quietly as we can, you call in your rides, we'll cover you while you get clear. Sound okay?" Bloodtooth shakes his head. "I don't like leaving you two." "I know. Trust me, we should be okay. C'mon, Matt, let's go." The Coyote shaman and the mercenary disappear into the night. Jas waits, silent, checking his watch every few minutes, until... "Time." The three move out, the same skirmish drill as before. "You guys must like this street." mutters Dennis. "The others okay?" "Passed me few minutes back. Went round the back, headed to the Regency. Guess they don't like Volkers neither. Didn't hear nothing else. S'pose there's still no chance of a ride?" Jas pauses, for a long moment, unfocussed. "He's clean... and he's helped us." He looks at the other two. Bloodtooth appears to reach a decision. "Watch him close and don't let him make noise. Let's move." In the McHugh's, Stormwind reassembles his comms gear as- "Thermal flares, that window. No visible, quiet. Silenced gunfire." says Silent Running softly. "Concur." Bloodtooth nods after a long pause. "No movement - wait. Flashlight, IR hood. Morse. O...K. Repeated three times. Stormwind, ETA?" "Nine minutes." "Don't believe I'm getting outta here." mutters Dennis. "Keep quiet or you won't be." whispers someone, you can't make the voice. A faint sound begins to intrude into the audio track: the sound grows to the noise of rotor blades and the whine of turbine engines. The four men brace themselves as two helicopters are suddenly in the intersection, grey silhouettes with no lights showing. One hovers twenty yards up, pivoting slowly in place, the other settles down until its skids barely touch ground in the middle of the traffic circle, trash and dust filling the air from the combined downdraughts. The view is suddenly bouncing and jerking as Stormwind sprints for the grounded Stallion, faint yellow lights coming on to show its shape (so nobody runs through the tail rotor, presumably). Bullets suddenly ricochet off the ground and Silent Running returns fire, a long burst that overloads the soundtrack: muzzle flashes flicker in the darkness, then a dragon's roar echoes and a solid line of red light rakes over the window, breaking up and scattering like water from a hose as it hits. The minigun ceases fire as Bloodtooth drags Stormwind into the Stallion, the helicopter already lifting clear: its wingman leading the way, and a third - an Airstar, from the silhouette - taking up the trail position. +++++end trideo They made it out okay. So did we... eventually.]<<<<< -- The Mighty Quinn <17:15:32/07-22-57> *****PRIVATE: Plurality >>>>>['Ey mate. I'z been pourin' over some interesting reading from a contact out there on the Big Bad Network, an' I was wondering if you wouldn't be interested in swillin' a pint or two of O'Douls and discussing what it might mean. The text follows: +++++include QJV +++++include GreaterExpectations +++++include BackWithTheWind +++++include PlagueCats +++++include DoctorMoose +++++include WhereTheSidewalkBegins ]<<<<< --Jason Tylor <13:34:26 / 07-22-57> *****PRIVATE: Stratham Financial Services >>>>>[ +++++account +++++transact CO: Thelienista "Something potentially big has come to my attention. I know you'll contact me, but please don't delay." +++++untransact +++++account close ]<<<<< --Jason Tylor <13:46:08 / 07-22-57> *****PRIVATE: Jason Tylor >>>>>[Ah, laddie....ah'd be a'gladda ha' a'drrink wi ya an' rreminiss a'boot yon clapptrrap. Cooma do'n t'tha yooshoal wattrr'nhool an' ah'll hit th'tab. See ploos Fif'teen an' twoonty.]<<<<< -- Plurality <13:54:43 / 07-22-57> *****PRIVATE: Farmer >>>>>[Prepared and standing by. All elements in place. Initial target identified and assets in place. Sufficient munitions acquired. Wild Rose available. Awaiting order to proceed with Phase 1.]<<<<< -- Tractor <17:07:11/07-22-57> *****PRIVATE: Tractor, Ploughshare, Harrow >>>>>[Begin Phase One.]<<<<< -- Farmer <17:17:56/07-22-57> *****PRIVATE: Redemption >>>>>[ Did you say Ms Haversham? Someone tried to set me on her to get info. The guy said something about her being involved with Farmer, but my magic Rat said he was lying, I think it was because he wanted her taken out. I'm happy to meet with Lynch and associates. Tell me where and when.]<<<<< -- Squatter <16:51:57/7-22-57> >>>>>[Hey there, folks. You don't know me, and I'm aiming to change that. The name's Lazuli, and I'm a decker looking for work. My qualifications? Well, you won't get Fastjack, but you won't get Jen and Gabe. You won't get a professional, but you'll get someone who can be professional. You won't get a legend, but maybe you can say 'I knew him when'. I'm good at what I do, a reliable worker, eager to build a resume, and as trustworthy as it's safe to be. And no one who'll work for less is worth your money. If you want to know more, you know where to find me.]<<<<< -- Lazuli <22:38:05/7-22-57> *****PRIVATE: Farmer >>>>>[A problem, sir. One of our cows has stopped giving milk. Fieldhand has not reported for two weeks and he and his assistants have not been seen in the camp since they left with the most recent herd. It may be some of the livestock proved less than docile. CDC are uninvolved: they appear to accept Trenton's death was suicide. Trenton denied communicating his findings to any other source. It would appear that Fieldhand merely grew careless and was either taken down in the Zone by the forces within, or was killed by members of the herd. Secondary fundraising activities proceeding. Income still exceeds projected requirements for all phases.]<<<<< -- Tractor <20:32:31/07-23-57> >>>>>[Shadowrunners wanted for a medium-threat mission. Contact me privately for more details.]<<<<< -- Ploughshare <20:31:35/07-23-57> *****PRIVATE: Ploughshare >>>>>[ What's the op? My specialty is Physical Intrusion, with a health dose combat capability thrown in, just for fun. ]<<<<< --Imp <17:52:14/07-23-57> *****PRIVATE: Imp >>>>>[The mission is the destruction of corporate assets, specifically the equipment within a minor research laboratory. The target is not heavily secured and the damage must credibly be describable as vandalism by an intruding streetgang or similar: sledgehammers, gunfire, et cetera, and the theft of any portable valuables you wish to take. Pay for the mission will be >>encrypted<<. Contact Easy for further details, if you remain interested: she will be commanding this operation.]<<<<< -- Ploughshare <23:24:31/07-23-57> *****PRIVATE: Easy >>>>>[ I was referred you by "Ploughshare" with regards to an upcoming run against a minor resarch facility. I am available for this contract. Would you like to set up a meeting to discuss the mission in more detail? A brief resume' of my capabilities is attached to this message. +++++include file: dossier.brief ]<<<<< -- Imp <19:13:13/07-23-57> *****PRIVATE: Easy >>>>>[We have a mission we require undertaken successfully, and we are recruiting runners for it. We would like you to lead the operation. The work is straightforward, if risky: the destruction of a scientific laboratory. It must look like a low-end hit: the destruction of the equipment is to be achieved with gunfire, hammers etc. Are you willing to lead a team of runners we recruit? The pay will be >>encrypted<<. Acceptance will allow access to the following. ++++++include escrow transfer: 25% down payment.]<<<<< -- Farmer <20:24:42/07-23-57> *****PRIVATE: Farmer >>>>>Accepted and thank you. Forward further details as necessary.]<<<<< -- Easy <20:29:32/07-23-57> *****PRIVATE: Jason R. Stormwind >>>>>[Mr Stormwind, would you like dinner? I have a reservation on a table at Misha's for tomorrow night: the table seats four, if you wish to bring friends.]<<<<< -- Easy <20:34:42/07-23-57> *****PRIVATE: Imp >>>>>[Thank you. I'll plan the meeting once I know who and how many we have for this job. It looks reasonably simple: not a pushover, but nothing excessively difficult. I'll let you know full details at the meet, and we can see about doing more thorough research than the checks I've done: I erred on the side of avoiding alerting anyone that an investigation was in progress, so may have missed much. Your skills look excellent: we'll be noisy once inside, the longer we can stay covert before that the longer we have to work.]<<<<< -- Easy <00:30:32/07-24-57> *****PRIVATE: Ploughshare >>>>>[May I inquire as to the mission? I am a Samurai.]<<<<< -- Shadow (18:15:30 PDT/ 07:23:57) ***** PRIVATE: Ploughshare >>>>>[Are you interested in a decker who works cheap? If so, I'm interested in learning more.]<<<<< -- Lazuli <21:15:37/07-23-57> *****PRIVATE: Lazuli >>>>>[I require the services of an individual with your skills. Does sound acceptable as a retainer? If so, please contact me soonest.]<<<<< -- Ash <22:13:34/07-23-57> *****PRIVATE: Ash >>>>>[The amount you offered seems fair enough, but of course it depends on what you want me to do. It's certainly enough to interest me, though. What task did you have in mind?]<<<<< -- Lazuli <23:33:31/07-23-57> >>>>>[Remember, the next ime your in Seattle to visit the beautiful Redmond Barrens. Experience the sites and sounds that make Seattle the international port of call that it is. Visit the Redmond Barrens where it is the 4th of July every day]<<<<< -- HARDCORE <23:19:15/07-23-57> *****PRIVATE: Lynch >>>>>[+++++engage encryption Codesmith v3.71d Sorry about the delay. The solar generator went on the blink and I had to take it down for a few days to fix it. Didn't want to overly drain the batteries unless I had to. Thanks for the names - AJ will be the easier to reach, from this position I think. And congratulations on the wedding news - let me know where and when you hold it and I'll try and gatecrash. Oh, and Dexter. If you've hacked this post and read it like the last one, congratulations. I put a Trace and Report bug into it for when people downloaded it. I *don't* like people prying into private mail. Next time it'll be nastier. I'll contact AJ when I can. Thanks and congratulations once again. PS: Lilith a Cat ? Sheesh. Wonders will never cease. Now I know why we subconciously disliked each other... +++++disengage encryption: Codesmith v3.71d]<<<<< -- JayCee <10:35:48/07-24-57> *****PRIVATE Dexter >>>>>[ Thanks for putting the info where we can get to it - I'll have a browse and think on it.]<<<<< -- JayCee <10:40:28 / 07-24-57> *****PRIVATE: Lynch >>>>>[Damn linkup. Looks like I lost that second name you gave me, Lynch. Can you repost - I only managed to keep the initials before the link went down again. As scratch builds go, this satellite node is perhaps the worse I've ever made.]<<<<< -- JayCee <10:50:27 / 07-24-57> *****PRIVATE: Ploughshare >>>>>[I am replying in regard to your post on Shadowland. I have a little experience, and am anxious to begin work in Seattle. +++++includee Resume.txt As you can see, I am a Samurai, specialty in Heavy Weapons. My skill with lighter weapons is good, as well. If you need muscle, I am your man.]<<<<< -- Glaive <07:47:15/7-24-57> *****PRIVATE: Ploughshare >>>>>[Redemption here. I would like to inquire about this run you are ssetting up. My resume is included with this file. It should speak for itself. +++++RedResume.txt If you want me, contact me here.]<<<<< -- Redemption <07:48:59/7-24-57> >>>>>[We regret that the decker known as Dexter is no longer with you]<<<<< -- "The Yak" *****PRIVATE: Lazuli >>>>>[I need some information that is secured within Toad Tech's New York Facility. Information about the "CHALICE" program, completion dates and account amounts, I need to know how far along they are in this project. It is critical that they not be aware of your presence as a team will performing an extraction on this site shortly. I offer for sucessful completion of this task with an additional if they do not suspect your pressence.]<<<<< -- Ash <11:08:12/07-24-57> *****Private: Ploughshare >>>>>[ I have just returned to Seattle and I may be interested in the Job. I am fairly well known in the Seattle Shadows as a Shaman.]<<<<< -- Claw <09:16:17/07-24-57> ***** Private: Claw ***** Hello Dorn. I sensed that you had returned. Was your sojourn to the far reaches of the earth instructive? Was your experience with the Zulu people as enlightening on this occurance as it has been in the past? What were your perceptions of the jungles and of brother Jaguar? How great were the problem occurances in Aztlan? Craig and Wendy would like to see you. They have once more been blessed with the creation of life. I would also see Trina at the earliest opportunity, or you will face the burning glare of her displeasure. It is nice to see you are back con'rare'te. ***** -- Nightfox <09:38:18/07-24-57> ***** PRIVATE: Easy >>>>>[You surely wouldnt expect me to turn down dinner with such a charming woman as yourself, do you? Ill be there.]<<<<< -- Jason R. Stormwind <17:29:56 / 07-24-57> ***** PRIVATE: The Mighty Quinn >>>>>[I was begining to worry that you might not have managed to get baack out of there. Im glad to have you back.]<<<<< -- Jason R. Stormwind <17:45:05 / 07-24-57> >>>>>[I haven't laughed so hard in a _long_ time, HARDCORE. Thanks.]<<<<< -- Azrael <10:58:39 / 07-24-57> *****PRIVATE: Ash >>>>>[You've got it. I'll get right on it and let you know when I have results.]<<<<< -- Lazuli <12:38:58/07-24-57> *****Private To: The Mighty Quinn >>>>>[I'm sorry it took so long for me to get back to you. I'm having the extra videa cleaned up, but it's slow going. It got pretty beat up on the way out, and a lot of the data got corrupted. I'll send you what I can, and as soon as I can. I know that you have people who want to see it.]<<<<< -- Blade <12:40:40/07-24-57> *****PRIVATE: Lazuli, Shadow, Redemption, Glaive, Claw, Imp >>>>>[Hi there. Most of you don't know me, but Ploughshare asked me to lead this run and gave me your names, plus an operating budget that basically means >>encrypted<< each if we just split it seven ways: not outstanding, but not too tacky either for a fairly simple job. We'll probably end up covering expenses and splitting the rest. We're being asked to smash a place up. Go in, disable the guards as necessary (preferably by beating the snot out of them rather than killing them) and then go on a rampage of destruction amidst some delicate scientific equipment. Basically, make it look like a few gangers having fun. Looks pretty simple, so far, the lab is a low-security place specialising in low-power radiation work. Nothing leading-edge or unusual. There's probably a lot more people here than we need, but I don't know any of you so I figured I'd ask everyone along. Means it's less embarrasing when someone drops out or decides they're not interested. Anyone still interested, meet me at >>place<<, 2100 hours tomorrow night. It's a nice quiet place, you'll only need a sidearm if you need a weapon at all.]<<<<< -- Easy <18:20:32/07-24-57> *****PRIVATE: Jaycee >>>>>[June Rains-At-Sunset. Awakened medicine specialist, based out of Johns Hopkins in Baltimore (okay, so we have a house in Georgetown now. So sue me ) Let her know you're a friend of mine.]<<<<< -- Lynch <17:46:54/07-24-57> *****PRIVATE: Farmer >>>>>[Sir, Fieldhand's demise was the work of shadowrunners, namely: Jason Stormwind: Managing director of Serenity Security and IST&M. Corporate links to Ares via his security work. The Mighty Quinn: formerly Knight-Errant Lieutenant (junior) Susan Elizabeth Rodriguez, no corporate affilations currently known. SIGA links: close friend to Lynch and the Lady. British military and intelligence connections. Blade: formerly Major Matthew Hunter, Ares Security, commander of the "Dogs of War" combat team. SIGA affilations, friend of Lynch and the Lady. Bloodtooth: Member of the "Motley Crew" team. Associated with Ryaka. Silent Running: formerly Salish Rangers. Member of the "Motley Crew" team. Associated with Ryaka. I believe the stimulus to have been Fieldhand's ill-judged processing of his girlfriend, and that involvement grew from there. The video of the infiltration of Fieldhand's route was posted to Shadowland: +++++include file: Stormwind_tapes_1.avi +++++include file: Stormwind_tapes_2.avi +++++include file: Stormwind_tapes_3.avi The group appear to have been working on their own initiative, investigating the Pearson girl's death and the postcards found. In retrospect, processing Trenton appears to have been an error in that it risked our compromise. The presence of two SIGA associates is readily explained by their friendship. Ditto the number of runners with Ares and Ryaka links: Bloodtooth and Silent Running are brothers. Stormwind has business connections to Ares. Hunter and Rodriguez both left the service, Rodriguez in particularly ill circumstances. I recommend no action be taken as yet, though naturally we will continue to monitor. On other notes, both phases of Wild Rose are proceeding concurrently and are ahead of schedule. In one, we appear to have recruited Redemption! I suggest we make an example of him after his usefulness on this task is over.]<<<<< -- Ploughshare <22:17:32/07-24-57> *****INTERNAL: Aztechnology Corporate Security >>>>>[+++++begin transcript Dispatcher: "Team Four, scramble to 1434 Culverton, Mercer residence. Fire alarms sounding." 4A: "Moving, dispatch. ETA seven minutes." D: "Not bad, Four, you'll beat the fire crews there." +++++pause six minutes 4A: "Alert, alert! Dispatch, it's a fucken horrorshow here, they're all dead. Four dead, fire minor and out. Get us backup and a forensic team, fast." D: "Do you need medical support, four-alpha?" 4A: "Negative, Dispatch, they're all very dead. Evidence of mutilation to the bodies. Evidence of severe sexual molestation. Someone had themselves a real party here." D: "Team Three, Team Seven, scramble to 1434 Culverton, Mercer residence. Break-in and multiple homicides. Forensics team to 1434 Culverton. Four-alpha, you have occupant ID?" 4A: "Confirmed. Mrs Myrna Mercer and her three children." D: "Damn. Your backup's en route. Secure the scene and all that crap."]<<<<< -- ACS Archive <22:34:52/07-24-57> *****INTERNAL: Harrow personal files >>>>>[+++++begin telephone transcript 1 +++++four rings then answer "Skeet here." Hey, Skeeter-man, the mish was successful. We did the biz on them all, real good. None'a their panicbuttons worked, we were able to do them way better than I expected. Really partied on them, took our time. If ya need any more of those done, just ask: it was easy, it was fun, we'll do that again for ya anytime. "Excellent. Meet me at >>encrypted<<, at 7.30pm tomorrow, to collect payment and discuss a further mission. You and your men have a rare talent for this kind of work, it appears, and there are several situations where your, ah, skills could usefully be brought to bear." "Sure, no problem, hoss. Mixin' business and pleasure, huh? *Real* pleasure, too. See ya there, seven thirty. +++++end transcript 1 "Animals. Filthy animals." +++++begin transcript 2 +++++two rings then answer +++++scrambler engaging "Harrow." Successful? "Almost total. The footage didn't make Shadowland yet." If that was a priority, we would have put it there ourselves. "Then why are we sending it to the Elven psychotic?" Read her background and her profile. Then consider we need to eliminate those four animals, in case they lead back to us, and in any case as a public service. Do I have to spell it out? "Oh. Oh, I see. Completely. That's clever, sir. Should we record the festivities?" It might be useful. And covert assistance to ensure she is able to clean up fully afterwards, or in case she doesn't bother. Handle it carefully: we may have mishandled our use of the shadowrunner BBS in the past, and our tool is not precisely stable. "She's stable, sir. Just a homicidal psychopath. I know how I'll play it. One question, though, was it necessary to be so thorough? Surely simple processing would have sufficed?" I appreciate your concern, but we must make sacrifices for the greater good. A personal tragedy for the Mercers, but forty minutes of suffering and four premature deaths are trivial. The goal is paramount. Remember that. The Mercers died for the greatest of causes, even if that will never be known. From mud through blood to the green fields beyond. "I understand, sir. And sorry I asked." +++++end transcript 2]<<<<< -- Harrow personal log files <22:45:05/07-24-57> >>>>>[Anytime, in my line of work a keen sense of humor is as valuble as a sharpened cyberspur.]<<<<< -- HARDCORE <18:50:06 / 07-24-57> *****PRIVATE: CRUSH, Spirit, Lister, Bill The Galactic Hero >>>>>[Well, I'm emerging from under a mountain of paperwork, and after I freshen up with some flying I'll be heading back to Seattle. Now InterPol have decided to leave me alone, I wondered if I could still buy some of CRUSH's arrows?]<<<<< -- Lynch <22:50:39/07-24-57> *****PRIVATE: Easy, Shadow, Redemption, Glaive, Claw, Imp >>>>>[Thanks for the offer, but I don't do loud and messy. Plus, I'm allergic to lead; sounds like you don't need much in the way of matrix work on this one. I hope to hear from you in future, though.]<<<<< -- Lazuli (18:45:33/07-24-57) >>>>>[Anybody got any idea what these idiots are talking about and how they completely ignored the standard formatting of postings?]<<<<< -- Noid <19:20:32/7-24-57> *****PRIVATE: JayCee >>>>>[+++++engage encryption Codesmith v3.71d Sorry, JayCee, But the people employing us want us to read this junk. We have to track you. And I like to get to know I guy before I warn him someone might geek him. And since when is replacing my decks constuct with a naked woman a bug? +++++disengage encryption: Codesmith v3.71d]<<<<< -- JayCee <10:35:48/07-24-57> *****PRIVATE: JayCee >>>>>[+++++engage encryption Codesmith v3.72d Okay, so you can read material and fake my own posting name. Nice one. Sooner or later I'll track you, and deal with this. As for the geeking - many people have tried over the years. I'm still here - most of them aren't. +++++disengage encrption: Codesmith v3.72d]<<<<< -- JayCee <13:42:15 / 07-25-57> >>>>>[ No idea, Noid, but I have it on good authority that SysOpus has dealt with it.. ]<<<<< --Neuron Basher <11:02:00/07-25-57> ***** PRIVATE: Neuron Basher >>>>>[If you can't answer this, just say so, if you can, do. Are you working for ShadowLand?]<<<<< -- Jason R. Stormwind <15:13:43 / 07-25-57> *****Private: Spirit >>>>>[ Hello Wendy. I was wondering if you could get me some info on a runner named Easy and a Johnson by the name of Ploughshare.]<<<<< -- Claw <08:40:51 / 07-25-57> *****Private: Claw >>>>>[ Easy is a sam as far as I know of the top of my head. She does seem to have a bit of morals from scanning past events. I don't know anything on Ploughshare yet.]<<<<< -- Spirit *****Private to: The Mighty Quinn >>>>>[Well, here's as much of the video as my friend has gotten cleaned up so far. I'm sure whoever it is you wanted to see this is growing impatient, so I thought I'd get you what I could. +++++Include file: bugrun.fixed.video "So how much storage do we have for the camera?" Blades voice Quinn replys "Stormy said we had about 12 hours of battery pack power left, and that or more in chip storage for video. Guess we'll either have to walk fast or not play tourist as much." The camera picture is of the dreary Chicago streets, made even more gray by the weak light of the sun as it trys to push it's way over the horizon. Quinn keeps talking "The cache of weapons should be in that building over there, on about the sixth floor. I suggest we hole up there for the da.. The view now is inside of a building. You get a glimpse of the outside world, and from the position of the sun, it couldn't be more than half an hour after the last piece of video. It seems that Quinn is busy carving into one wall, as the old plaster falls away, the you can see several wrapped packages. Some are long and look like they would hold rifles, others look like stacks of clips or rations. "Need some help?" The view turns to show Blade standing in the doorway. "You seemed to be doing fine, so I didn't want to interupt." "Thanks a bunch, Gilette. Now get over here and help me count these." "What are we supposed to have?" "Well, if my supplier came through, there should be a modified M22 for you and a SPAS-22 for me. Plus ammo. Awww, thanks, Lynch." Quinn holds up a Colt Anaconda and grins. "What it is to have friends, huh?" "What is it with you and revolvers? The things are archaic. And noisy. Impressive, I'll admit, but man, six rounds? I'd go through that in under a second in a heavy firefight." "Some of us hit what we aim at... nah, that's Lynch's line. Some of us start throwing spells when we run out of bullets. And you can intimidate better with these." Quinn loads huge brass cartriges into the revolver's cylinder. "Russian Roulette makes a great interrogation technique. Plus there's something about thumbing the hammer back... as good as racking the slide on a shotgun. Focusses their minds nicely." She grins as she does just that to the Franchi. Blade chuckles "It's Freudian, isn't it?" "Freud was dyslexic, he was really just a fraud." Quinn cackles happily. The room is the same as before. The camera is facing torwards the window. It looks like it's about 6 or so in the evening. Blade is sitting next to the window, looking out, but to the side. Quinn walks in front of the lens and sits down across from him. "Why'd you turn the camera on Quinn? Want to remember all this excitement?" "It's good to keep records. Helps you figures out what you did wrong. Makes sure other people know what to face. Plus it lets everyone see how dangerous we are." She grins, then looks more serious. "And it shows Ares you're working hard for them." "I heard you used to work for Ares. A hermetic in their magic corp. Only you weren't hermetic, you were misdiagnosed. And you couldn't get the magic to work, so they called you 'The Mighty Quinn'. But you took it, and kept it. And you left. But Ares didn't care, cause hey, it's all for the best." Quinn just looks at Blade as he speaks. All she can get out is "Well, yeah, how'd you.." "I used to work for Ares." Blade snorts "I almost feel like a cliche saying that. I worked for 'em, Lynch worked for 'em, you did, hell, I bet half the runners nowadays say they did. You ever noticed that Gaeatronics never seems to have any ex-employee shadowrunners hanging around? Do you think they can't get work done then? Cause you may leave the company, and they may say 'Sure, we're even. Yeah, you cost us some money, but you made up for it. We'll leave you alone.' But one day, and you know that day is coming, you get that phone call. And they tell you that all they need is a simple job. Your going there anyway, why not take along some friends? And you get back, and the friends are gone, and you need a little surgery, and you owe them a little more. Then you wait for the call again. And this time, it's a death sentence." Blade looks up at Quinn "You shouldn't have come. Chicago's not a good place for shamans. It's not a good place for anyone, but it's worse for mana chuckers." "Yeah, well..." The shaman looks small, embarrased. Then she brightens and pats the SPAS-22, saying "I don't just do magic. Besides, I kind of like you and we're much more likely to get out as a pair than if you tried doing it solo." Blade looks outside the window suddenly. You can clearly hear some people on the street before. The sound had started earlier, but you hadn't recognized it. Quinn quickly grabs the camera and puts it on, along with some other gear, doing it faster than an unaugmented human could. Blade stands and looks out the window. He reaches to where his rifle was sitting next to him and puts it to his shoulder. Quinn looks out the window with him. You can see what caught their attention now, a group of people outside are chasing after an older man, who appears to be a troll, and the child he's carrying. You can only hear the angry yells of the mob, who are slowly stalking the man down. The rifle barrel weaves in and out of view as Blade checks the mob "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Hmmph. Oswold was a pussy." "Showoff. They're probably a heroic lynch mob after an evil bug spirit." Quinn unfolds the stock of her shotgun, rests it on her hip. Blade just begins to hum "Old MacDonald had a farm, e-i-e-i-o. And on this farm he shot some guys..." Seven quick shots and the mob below has either fallen down or been taken down. "Nice. But..." Quinn points her finger up to a shadow of the building "Look." At first, you can't see anything, then something flips it wings. "Drek. Drek. Drek." Blade flashes out of view and you can hear his rapid footsteps out the door. "Dammit Blade." Quinn begins running after him The camera on Quinn's web suit shows her running down the stairs, trying to keep up with Blade. The shock's from the run bounce the view around and the the screen gets very staticy, but stays in focus. Suddenly, you can see out on the street. The man who had been trying to get away from the mob is standing in the middle of the road, the child clutched to his chest, staring at the bodies behind him. And then his gaze travels up, his back is to the camera, but he doesn't move, he just stands there, and then you can see what he's looking at. Several dark shapes have appeared from the eaves of surrounding buildings. Shapes with wings. Blade is already at the man, and he seems to be trying to get him to move for cover, but the man is in shock, and isn't moving. With a hard shove, Blade pushes the man torwards the relative safety of a building across the street. The man finally gets the idea, and runs for the door, as Blade brings his assault rifle to bear on the approaching bugs. After that, it's all confusion. You can hear the staccato beat of Blade's assault rifle as the bugs fly in, moving faster than you would've believed. It looks like there's only five of them, but that's more than enough for two people. Quinn waits until they're a bit closer before she begins to unload with her SPAS-22. Both gunmen seem to be hitting their targets, but the bugs are unaffected, even as bits of chitin are blown off. Then the bugs are there. No more than a few meters off, it's hard to keep track of whats going on, and who is where. The bugs are definately taking damage from Quinn's shotgun now that they've moved to close range, but they have the odds in their favor. Every once in a while, you can see Blade fighting with the bugs. He's stopped using the assault rifle and switched to his own weapons. Two long spurs extend from the each arm, and small, sharp razors tip each finger. With these, he slashes at the bugs, seeming to do more damage than the rifle was. Now there are only three bugs. Quinn blew the top of one, and Blade managed to breach the natural armor of another. Quinn ducks the swing of one bug, while dropping to her knee and shooting the chest of a second. But things don't settle down. In the chaos of the battle, you lose track of who's left. Then you hear the grunt as Quinn takes a smack from the last bug, knocking her over. With the angle of the lens turned 90 degrees, you see the last bug leap at Blade. He tries to fight it off, catching it on his spurs and sliding it deep into the bugs body, but the weight starts to push him down. As he leans backward, the bug trying to bite at his face with it's dieing effort, a blast erupts between the two, throwing the bug off Blade. As Quinn stands up, Blade sheaths the remaining spur, and snaps his wrist to his side, the audio picks up the slight sound of an action as he does. Blade is covered with gore, and so is part of the camera lens. Blade looks at Quinn, looking her over before speaking. "I think we should run now." "Why? Think we might've attracted attention? Like that swarm that sounds like it's headed our way?" Blade chuckles a little at Quinn's non-chalance. "Yep. That would be the reason." The video goes to black. +++++end file I'll get the rest to you as soon as it's done.]<<<<< -- Blade <08:54:54/07-25-57> *****PRIVATE: Jason R. Stormwind >>>>>[ Actively working for ShadowLand? No ... but I have in the past, and I still have quite a few connections with some of the people who do. Every now and again some of my old friends will need a favor, or I'll need one from them. It's a pretty tight bunch once you get in.. ]<<<<< --Neuron Basher <12:26:45/07-25-57> >>>>>[Whoever's messing with JayCee's account had better be careful. She and I go back a long way. If you try to geek her, she'll make you regret it. Then she and I together will make you *really* regret it. I suggest you find more intelligent employers. I also suggest you check your information more closely. JayCee is not a guy, she's a gal.]<<<<< -- Lynch <19:00:42/07-25-57> *****INTERNAL: SIGANet >>>>>[To: Corporal J S Karlsbruhn Make a note to Fort Meade and tell them that last version of Codesmith is compromised. Check everything - *everything* - we sent out under it and carry out damage control. On the NSA tab, of course.]<<<<< -- D J H Coppinger <19:06:53/07-25-57> Director Strategic Intelligence Gathering Agency ***** PRIVATE: Neuron Basher >>>>>[It always nice to have friends in high places. Does this mean I can stop paying Merrox when ShadowLand moves?]<<<<< -- Jason R. Stormwind <18:55:39 / 07-25-57> ***** PRIVATE: Jason R. Stormwind >>>>>>[Paying? PAYING!? Let us not forget that I have not yet called in ANY of the favors you owe me from the last few times.]<<<<< -- Merrox <18:55:38 / 07-25-57> >>>>>[Beware, people, this is seriously nasty stuff. Why do I get this kind of thing dumped in my mailbox? When did I ever claim to be some sort of newshound? But first of all, this is all the papers had to say. +++++begin news item FOUR KILLED IN HOUSE BREAK-IN Police are probing a break-in at an Everett home, during which four people were brutally slain. The dead were Mrs Helen Mercer, aged 46, and her three children: Jennifer Mercer, fifteen; John Mercer, thirteen; and James Mercer aged eleven. A Lone Star spokesman declined comment on the details of the case, except to confirm the victims had been sexually molested and mutilated, and to say it appeared to have been a burglary gone tragically wrong. +++++end news item Secondly, there's the tape I got sent. The house security tape, that is. It's too nauseating to post: the gist of it is these four guys force their way into the house, round up the four occupants, and start cutting fingers off the younger boy until his mother and sister undress. Then they break into the liquor cabinet and pass the bottles while they took turns with the mother and daughter, getting nastily inventive about their fun: every time one of the women was told to do something and wouldn't, the young boy lost another finger. He lost six, all told. By the end the women didn't argue, just did whatever they were told, quickly. When they'd all had enough, they killed them all. I'm not saying how, just use your god-damned imagination the way those four bastards did, over about ten minutes+++++link coherency lost +++++timeout, drop line? N +++++link resumed Okay. Sorry. I'm just a little emotional about this. I have...personal reasons for finding this sort of thing extremely difficult, and once I finish posting this I'm going to go see if I can find some leads on who those four guys were and kill them. I'd like to say 'slowly and painfully', but I think that's a little too clever and would need too much calm on my part. Dead will do. Anyone with information contact me at >>encrypted<<, I will pay for good data. Anyone who wants a copy of the vid, I'll send it, but grab a barf bag before you watch it.]<<<<< -- Easy <19:06:26/07-25-57> ***** PRIVATE: Jason R. Stormwind >>>>>[ Nope. That wouldn't be fair now would it? You should get to pay just like all of the other non-deckers. We're kinda like a brotherhood here. Hey Merrox, you up for a game or two of Galactic Fighter XV? My average is up to 1,280,000.. ]<<<<< --Neuron Basher <15:08:47/07-25-57> ***** PRIVATE: Easy >>>>>[ How repugnant. People like that need to be stopped.. What do you say we take care of Ploughshare's contract quickly so that the matter at hand can be concentrated upon. It's not my usual type of op, but some things just can't be overlooked. ]<<<<< --Imp <15:13:45/07-25-57> ***** PRIVATE: Easy >>>>>[If you need any assistance, just give me a call, this one's for free.]<<<<< -- Sith <19:57:26/07-25-57> *****PRIVATE: Lazuli >>>>>[Not a problem, Lazuli, but we still need pre-strike investigation and possibly remote cover during the hit. I wouldn't expect you to come in with us if you were unhappy with the idea. Your butt on the line, so it's your call, though.]<<<<< -- Easy <22:30:01/07-25-57> *****PRIVATE: Easy >>>>>[I regret that not all my associates are as professional as yourself. One of my subordinates was recently lax enough to commit a security breach, in the company of a certain young lady. He attempted to hide that error, without my knowledge or permission, by contracting a team to process the account of the girl in question. In the event, they processed not only the lady, but her mother and her two brothers, in a most unseemly and unprofessional manner. I believe you have already seen the tape of their indiscretion, which I sent to you once I discovered this fact. I have taken firm steps to deal with my late subordinate. His four hirelings will be at the warehouse at >>encrypted<< at 1930 hours tonight, expecting to meet him. I suggest you apply to them a measure of correction, and show them the error of their ways. Please be discreet in the means you choose to process them: I do not wish any further connection to this appaling mistake, and explosives or large fires would attract too much attention. I can offer you the sum of >>encrypted<< to cover your expenses and the inconvenience of having to rectify this problem. We will sanitise the area after you leave, to save you the troublesome necessity of cadaver disposal.]<<<<< -- Ploughshare <17:45:31/07-25-57> *****INTERNAL: >>CORRUPTED<< >>>>>[Assets disposed of as ordered, sir. Is it your intention to retain the Elf girl for further cleaning services? She appears competent at the role, and shows no curiosity as to my identity. Perhaps she merely lacks the decker contacts to turn such curiosity into action, but in any case, she carried out the work well. Observe, if you will. +++++begin trideo The inside of a warehouse. Shafts of sunlight spear through gaps in the roof and through chinks in boarded windows, highlighting the gloom within: from the angle of the light you realise it's evening. The interior is cluttered about the edge with boxes, pallets and crates, but the central area is clear. The Judas-door bangs open, and four men walk in: a mix of races and colours, they are all large and muscular, and none shows signs of any great wit. Two carry cans of beer, and a third has a six-pack in each hand. "Hoi, hoss! The Pussy Pokers are back!" shouts one, and all four laugh happily. "Pussy Pokers? C'mon, Al, what's that about?" "Hey, we're a shadowrun team now, right? Need a name. They all got cool names. Get guns and shit too. Get cybered, even. Get a cyberdick! That could be wiz!" More raucous laughter as Al helps himself to a beer. Engrossed in their amusement, they take a while to notice the figure softly stepping into the central area: the warehouse is laid out almost like an arena, you think, and you suddenly wonder if the stains on the floor are just oil. The Elven girl is over six feet tall, slender and delicate. She wears a black motorcycle jacket, open over a cropped halter, and a very, very short skirt that shows off legs that seem to go forever: fishnets and her black ankle boots only add to the effect. Her hair is long and platinum blonde, and her skin is incredibly white, her black garb accentuating it even more. She is almost painfully beautiful. Al, draining his can and turning to throw it, doubletakes when he sees the girl. "Who the fuck are you?" "My name is Easy." she replies, softly. "And what the fuck do you want, slitch?" Al clenches his fists. "What would a girl like me want with four big, strong men like you?" Easy cocks her hips, bemds her knees slightly, slides her hands up her thighs and writhes: the effect is extremely sexual and all four men stare. "Your boss couldn't make it. He sent me instead as consolation. I might have... business with you." "How much?" "For what, boys?" "For tbe business. All of us. All night." Al's mouth seems to have gone dry as the short skirt rides higher, revealing the dark tops of the fishnet stockings, and her hands slide up inside her jacket, parting it and pulling the silk halter tight across her small, high breasts. All four are staring, like mice at a cobra. Easy steps towards them, moving almost as though in a dance: her words in time to her footfalls as she speaks in a singsong tone; reaching out to stroke Al's face, then running her long, white fingers down the length of his body. "Four big bad criminals, planning rape with glee." Al suddenly screams, shrilly and hoarsely, an ongoing shriek like a steam whistle as he clutches at his groin, his hands hidden in a flowing red rush. "I cut the first one's balls off, and then there were three." One of the others is fumbling in a pocket, the other two are backing away. Easy snaps her bloodied hand - razors still extended - out to point at one, crimson droplets flying. "Three big bad criminals, wondering what to do." The man has time for a scream as she blurs into startlingly fast motion, then his scream becomes a choked gurgle as she tears his throat out with a casual flick of her wrist. "He didn't decide fast enough, and then there were two. Two big bad criminals, one's going for a gun." The fumbler finally brings something out of his pocket and is shakily trying to aim the LightFire at Easy, and she almost casually draws and fires, eight shots into his legs, hips and belly. "He was slow, I was fast, and then there was one." She holsters the Manhunter, turns to face the door. The last man left standing is struggling with the door, which seems to be locked. Easy moves slowly towards him, still with that graceful, sexual, dancelike gait. Her expression is rapt, almost ecstatic. Behind her, Al has collapsed in a spreading carmine lake, his shrill shriek at last stopped. The gutshot man is keening insistently, loops of intestine spilling out of his shirt and pumping out amazing quantities of blood. "What do you want? Why are you doing this?" The man rattles the door helplessly. "Please! Why are you doing this?" Easy stops, a metre or so from him as he flattens himself against the door. "What's your name?" "Bill. Bill Kort." "Look at me." Bill twists his head to the side, eyes squeezed shut. "Look at me, Bill Kort, if you want to live a little longer... well, you had your chance. One scared sad criminal, and Easy's had her fun." With that same startling speed, she grabs Bill by shoulder and hip without apparent effort, whirls to build speed as though she were throwing a discus, and hurls him into the wall. Bill describes a ballistic arc for over ten metres, hitting the breezeblock about five metres above the ground: his scream of terror ends in a crackle of broken bone as he hits the wall, and another as he falls to the ground. "Now the game is over. And then there were none." she says, softly, turning and walking away - jerking away and hissing with pain as she walks through a narrow beam of sunlight. +++++end trideo Quite impressive. Her strength is most impressive: Mr Kort weighed nearly a hundred kilos. I hear rumours she may be infected with HMHVV; she certainly fits the profile.]<<<<< -- Tractor <22:50:41/07-25-57> *****PRIVATE: Imp >>>>>[Thanks for the offer of help, but it isn't necessary. The four gentlemen in question were identified to me and I was able to take care of them without any problems.]<<<<< -- Easy <22:43:37/07-25-57> *****PRIVATE: Sith >>>>>[Thanks for the offer, but it's taken care of. They're dead.]<<<<< -- Easy <00:40:43/07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Easy >>>>>[May i offer assistence with dealing with these sickos? I have personal reasons to hate people like that.]<<<<< -- Shadow (23:00:30 PDT/ 07:25:57) *****PRIVATE: Easy >>>>>[That sounds reasonable. Let me know what you want me to do and what you'll pay for it and I'll make a final decision.]<<<<< -- Lazuli <22:47:27/07-25-57> ***** PRIVATE:Lazuli >>>>>[We are looking for floor plans on Toad Tech in NYC, plus any helpful information on the place. We can offer for this information. Reply to Evita or Ash]>>>>> --Evita <00:13:50/07-26-57> *****PRIVATE:Bean,V12 >>>>>[We might be interested in your skills. We can offer . Contact Evita or Ash if you're interested]>>>>> --Evita <00:15:10/07-26-57> >>>>>[Gratz Easy. The world is a slighty brighter place now.]<<<<< -- JayCee < 11:32:38 / 07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: AJ >>>>>[AJ - I got your name passed to me by Lynch. Seems you know a fair amount about UGE and other associated phenomena. He suggested you as a name who might be able to help me with some problems I'm having. I recently underwent UGE and while I think the transformation is over - leastwhile I'm not growing any taller or slimmer - I'm still having intermittent massive interference with my 'ware - specifically visual and aural. Care to consult - I can afford to pay reasonably for your time if nessecary]<<<<< -- JayCee <11:38:52 / 07-26-57> ***** PRIVATE: Easy >>>>>[Send me a copy of the Vid]<<<<< -- Kor <15:37:11 / 07-26-57> ***** PRIVATE: Neuron Basher >>>>>[Do we have time to work over some security footage? Looking for clues, identities, motives. I can do most of the set up work on the footage myself but I will still need either you or Trix...no, make that just you, to help me out with it. From the description, its pretty graphic. Rape. I dont think Trist would be able to cope with it]<<<<< -- Kor <15:37:15 / 07-26-57> ***** PRIVATE: Neuron Basher >>>>>[With a little more practice I think I can take you at S:XV. It will take some time. Before last night, my high score was only around 980k or so. I couldnt get past the "blitz wave". The arcade I go to frowns on activating certain aspects of my headware while I am playing. I didnt know that there was a Times Square that allowed you to play fully loaded. You wanna get together again tonight after work for a rematch? Ill bring my game playing wares -- *smile*. Oh, wait, have you tried the new DesertWars tank game? Its a little too realistic for comfort but its way wiz.]<<<<< -- Merrox <16:01:32 / 07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Kor >>>>>[ Definitely have time for that. Do we get to put the fraggers in their place (six feet under) when we figure out who they are? I have no tolerance for that drek after what almost happened to Tris. None. ]<<<<< --Neuron Basher <12:50:34/07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Kor >>>>>[You got it, though the four guys are dead. +++++include house_video +++++include my_video You might want to be sure I got the right four, though they matched very closely.]<<<<< -- Easy <17:45:42/07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Merrox >>>>>[ I'm game .. haven't tried that DersertWars one yet, but I've heard it's pretty fraggin intense. I'll send you a message when I get out of here. Might be a little late, cuz I promised Jas that I'd help him clean some footage tonight, but it shouldn't be too hard with the gear at Serenity. Catch ya later. ]<<<<< --Neuron Basher <12:53:18/07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Shadow >>>>>[Thanks for the offer of help, but I found and killed them. Faster than they deserved, but dead is dead. I don't really like slow and noisy: in the end it makes so little difference.]<<<<< -- Easy <17:50:43/07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Evita >>>>>[Greetin's...I don' believe we've exchanged email befo'...what sort o' stuff might you be talkin' about wantin' done that you'd be willin to offer <> fo'?]<<<<< -- V-12 <09:59:19 / 07-26-57> ***** PRIVATE: Neuron Basher >>>>>[When you see word come though the account, you will know that I have started working on it. You'll be able to find me in lab 4 (I've reserved it for the day). I've no tolerance for that either, but I am finally learning that I cannot right every injustice in the world. There are just people in the world that are here to prey on the weak. Im not sure what, if anything, can be done to fix it. Oh well... I've some some things to attend to. I know I've thanked you before, but Im going to do it again. Thank you for coming to get us out of our last vacation spot. I'll not keep you guys out of the loop again -- Doesnt seem to work anyway.]<<<<< -- Kor <17:01:11 / 07-26-57> ***** PRIVATE: Neuron Basher, Easy >>>>>[I've got it and gone. NB, you know where I am. Easy, Ill see if I can get good indentifications on the people in both vid feeds. Justice has already been served so getting this cleaned up is more an excercise in speed.]<<<<< -- Kor <17:32:30 / 07-26-57> ***** PRIVATE: Neuron Basher >>>>>[45 minutes, tops. Both are short, and I should be able to just load them and wait to see what the first run of the computer enhancement comes out to. There's nothing we could have done anyway]<<<<< -- Kor <17:35:10 / 07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Kor >>>>>[ Righting every wrong isn't what it's about .. there are just a few things that I can't ignore when they show up right under my nose. That's definitely one of them. I'm glad someone took care of them. I'm on my way to the lab now .. Oh, and you're welcome. You had to know I wasn't about to let you go into Chicago without any backup .. I don't have enough friends that I can afford to let them get themselves killed. Especially the ones who get themselves into trouble _so often_. ]<<<<< -- Neuron Basher <13:43:42/07-26-57> >>>>>[This is an open apology to anyone I have affended. I'm truly sorry. JayCee gains special kudos for setting me straight without geeking me.]<<<<< -- Dexter <13:42:15 / 07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Easy >>>>>[Glaive and I will be there.]<<<<< -- Redemption <12:50:21/07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Lynch >>>>>[I still want to meet you. Got time?]<<<<< -- Redemption <12:51:59/07-26-57> >>>>>[ They can be taught. Good work, JayCee. ]<<<<< --Neuron Basher <14:01:19/07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Easy >>>>>[Did you question them, before you killed them? Particularly about who hired them? The real target is the bastard(s) who hired them.]<<<<< -- Shadow (12:06:30 PDT/ 07:26:57) *****PRIVATE: Ash >>>>>[I have the package you wanted, but there's a complication. I'll explain when we meet. I recommend the fast food place on 45th and Stone, tomorrow night at 22:30, but you can suggest another location. If this place is okay, you'll be meeting with me and my brother; I'll be wearing a glow-in-the-dark stars-and-planets T-shirt, he'll be wearing his 'dwarven chain mail' shirt. Your contact(s) will identify themselves by buying both a chicken and a grilled chicken sandwich; I'll be eating the same. 'A complication', he says. That has to be *the* most godawful ice I've ever hit. All nice and friendly on the outside, a coupla walls, a couple blaster types, an alarm here and there. Just enough to keep the riffraff out. Then you get inside and *bam*, the Black IC hits, and you can't Sleaze past it because there *are* no users authorized for that node unless they're physically logged in from *inside* the drekking complex at one specific drekking terminal. I'm lucky to be alive, much less have gotten out without setting out fifty gajillion alarms... Oh, by the way, Evita said you wanted some more info on Toad Tech: floor plans and general information. I think this can be arranged. We'll talk at the meeting; send someone who can set a price. Oh, and no guns: it's a family restaurant.]<<<<< -- Lazuli <15:43:18/07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Shadow >>>>>[No, didn't bother. Guys like that never know who they worked for, and I can't interrogate for shit. Ploughshare gave me the time and place of the meet, said they'd been hired by an associate to cover a mistake, and that the responsible party was dead. I have a feeling that's not true, he just wanted to push some of my buttons so I'd kill them quickly. Was it him? I don't know, and don't know how to find out. So far we're still useful to him. That may start to change. The money is valid and paid up front, though, so it appears he still wants this job done.]<<<<< -- Easy <22:40:41/07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Lazuli >>>>>[Quarter share if you do pre-mission investigation and checking, another quarter if you do remote overwatch while we go in. If everyone comes along and there aren't any particular expenses, it adds up to >>encrypted<<. The fewer who come, the more each share or fraction amounts to. Interested?]<<<<< -- Easy <23:35:41/07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Redemption >>>>>[Sure. Meet me at >>encrypted<< and ask the receptionist if there's a message for you: that'll get you my room number (Security and all that crap). Come armed if you want, bring a friend if you want, don't panic if you see me packing.]<<<<< -- Lynch <22:34:31/07-26-57> *****INTERNAL: UCAS SFRT - Stampede >>>>>[I have acquired the rogue. She moves towards the greatest light of the last era. Your will be done.]<<<<< -- The Saracen <19:14:36/07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Saracen >>>>>[ +++++loading encryption slodoc45.scr .... running .... Fool. I could care less what you call yourself. I provided you a secure channel for a reason. You may no longer serve, but you should still remember your discipline. Do not engage her. Allow her work to proceed. Contact me when she returns to Seattle. She must not be damaged. Intervene if necessary. And scale your tone down. Not everyone knows what you do. Yet a few know so much more. +++++ .... ending encryption slodoc45.scr .... ]<<<<< --Col. Nelson Wilkerson <19:22:01/07-26-57> Tactical Commander UCAS SFRT *****INTERNAL: Fuchi, Seattle - SVilliers >>>>>[ +++++loading encryption SRCN.xxx The animal has been made aware. Everything proceeds as we have discussed. Please deposit the agreed upon amount. The first boulder is about to be placed. The avalance shall soon follow. +++++ending encryption SCRN.xxx]<<<<< -- The Saracen <19:23:32/07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Saracen >>>>>[ +++++loading encryption SRCN.xxx Your work this far has been exemplary. Keep an eye on 'your employer.' He has interests other than would expected. Our investment must not be lost. Too many people have worked too hard. Your payment is covered. Time to roll the dice. We shall discuss further at >>encrypted<<. Ciao.]<<<<< -- uhfsdjkn iesdf;dkj <**:**:**/**-**-**> >>>>>[Pax vobiscum, darkdenizens. My name is Apollyon. I am in desperate need of a female human, how do you say, ... decker? I will pay richly and the work is not dangerous. I have lost a dear relative who I am told resides in the Seattle area. She is in immediate danger and has been for some time. Allegedly, she has taken refuge in the shadows; thus my presence here. The job I offer will require some skill, so I ask that only the experience reply. Please reply to >>encrypted<<. Thank you in advance for your time and consideration.]<<<<< -- Apollyon <19:43:00/07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: Lazuli >>>>>[Done.]<<<<< -- Ash <21:33:38/07-26-57> >>>>>[I need a killer, one who _can_ kill the young and innocent, but _not_ one who enjoys to do so. Replies to this message service.]<<<<< -- IMA Pseudonym <20:53:55/07-28-57> >>>>>[Female human decker? Why does the gender matter? Or did you make a grammatical error?]<<<<< -- Noid <19:54:24/7-26-57> PS, has anyone seen Kromofton recently? *****PRIVATE: IMA Pseudonym >>>>>[What exactly did you have in mind?]<<<<< -- Sith <23:16:25/07-26-57> *****PRIVATE: V-12 >>>>>[For details, what about a meeting at a place of your choice? Say tomorrow sometime?]<<<<< -- Evita <00:43:38/07-27-57> >>>>>[For reasons pertaining to the assignment, it is important that the individual be female. The racial preference is more flexible however. Basically, I require a female "decker". Though I'd prefer a human, any racial type will do so long as the person is skilled. Noid, do you fit the profile? There is a substantial reward for a successful mission.]<<<<< -- Apollyon <11:00:00/07-27-57> *****PRIVATE:Apollyon >>>>>[Female Decker? Skilled? Well now, If you don't mind an elf, contact Cassandra]<<<<< -- Cassandra <09:30:20/07-27-57> *****PRIVATE: Evita >>>>>[I'm assumin' you'z in the Seattle area? If so, be at th' <> at <> fo' some nice jazz an' confab.]<<<<< -- V-12 <10:23:20 / 07-27-57> >>>>>[Cassandra, though my preferences for human remain, I am willing to discuss my needs with you. I will despatch a courier to meet you at >>encrypted<<. He will carry all of the immediately appropriate information. I hope that we might work together. I am sure it would be jointly profitable.]<<<<< -- Apollyon <13:42:00/07-27-57> *****PRIVATE: Apollyon >>>>>[No, but I think I can find one who fits your profile. *Muffled:* Soph! I think I might be able to gget you a job! Soph: Huh? You said you were bored. Soph: OK. *Not muffled:* What are those reasons? Hopw much does it pay? What other details can you give me?]<<<<< -- Noid <13:35:49/7-27-56> Male Elf Decker >>>>>[Noid and Soph, thank you for your response. Unfortunately, I have retained someone for my current needs already. However, I may need another individual for a similar task shortly. My retaining fee is constant, always >>encrypted<<. This is normally enough to secure swift and excellent performance. Please consider working with me sometime soon.]<<<<< -- Apollyon <18:12:00/07-27-57> *****PRIVATE: IMA Pseudonym >>>>>[It may be that I can help you with that. Details?]<<<<< -- Johnie Q <19:40:49/07-27-57> *****PRIVATE: Johnie Q >>>>>[ I need you to teach my daughter a lesson in the ways of the street. She is currently living with a pair of BTL-dealing gutterpunks, and refuses to accept my calls. She says her new life is "cool", and she's never coming home. I want you to kill the friends, and scare her silly. Their names are Boner and Gully, descriptions follow. +++++Include boner.txt +++++Include gully.txt The payment is >>encrypted<<, far more than the value of a hit on these two rats, but any injury to my daughter will result in no payment, and her death will result in a similar contract being put out on you. If this is not acceptable, then say so now.]<<<<< -- IMA Pseudonym <20:12:42/07-27-57> >>>>>[ I need a decker and surveillance expert, contact me here]<<<<< -- IMA Pseudonym <20:19:06/07-27-57> *****PRIVATE: IMA Pseudonym >>>>>[ I am a decker and surveillance expert, contact me here]<<<<< -- Squatter <20:19:06/07-27-57> *****PRIVATE: Squatter >>>>>[ The job is mostly as a back up, surveillance work. My daughter is currently living there with a pair of BTL-dealing gutterpunks, and refuses to accept my calls. She says her new life is "cool", and she's never coming home. I have engaged a samurai known as Johnie Q to kill the two, known as Boner and Gully, and scare her silly. +++++Include boner.txt +++++Include gully.txt The payment is >>encrypted<<. I want you to watch the address of these two, and be ready when the samurai strikes. You must also make sure Johnie Q does not... harm my daughter. He will bring her to you, then leave the area. You are to bring her to >>address in Bellevue<<.]<<<<< -- IMA Pseudonym <21:56:56/07-27-57> *****PRIVATE: Johnie Q >>>>>[ I have engaged a surveillance expert to watch the address in question. He will be there to pick up my daughter after you do the hit. He will make himself known to you after the chip dealers are dead.]<<<<< -- IMA Pseudonym <22:03:07/07-27-57> need to withdraw from the Shadow Talk - digest. I would appreciate it if you would pull my name from the listing. I found that the ones I would read were quite interesting, but I am running out of time, and find myself really not paying attention to them. Thank You, Richard (OSB1014) *****PRIVATE: V-12 >>>>>>[Sounds great, I'll be there]<<<<< -- Evita <08:53:20 / 07-28-57> *****PRIVATE:Apollyon >>>>>[Mission accepted, how will I let you have results?]<<<<< -- Cassandra <13:42:00/07-27-57> >>>>>[Cassandra, you may notify me of the completion through this system. Shortly thereafter, my courier will approach you with the remainder of your payment and some closing information. Understand that you have my wishes for good luck and my sincerest thanks.]<<<<< -- Apollyon <12:11:00/07-28-57> *****PRIVATE: Easy >>>>>[I would like a copy of the tapes. I would also like in on whatever you do to these four people. This kind of violence is inexcusable. If you want a hand, I am your man.]<<<<< -- Redemption <16:30:15/07-28-57> >>>>>[I know of a couple of people that fit your description, IM P. Is there something that I might be of service with?]<<<<< -- Jason R. Stormwind <23:03:12 / 07-28-57> Field Officer Serenity Security ***** PRIVATE: Merrox, Trax, Akira >>>>>[Someone advertising for a surveillance expert across shadowland. I wonder what the job is.]<<<<< -- Jason R. Stormwind <23:03:31 / 07-28-57> *****PRIVATE: JayCee >>>>>[My apologies for my lateness in responding. The clinic has been a bit busier than usual, unfortunately. Too many customers taking too much damage and expecting me to haul thier sorry hoops out of the flames and rebuild them. It's getting a bit old. Got to the following address: >>encrypted<< When you get there, someone In know will pick you up, drive you around a lot, and then bring you here after a vehicle transfer in a secure location. I'm a stickler for security. And, for your information, you need to declare and deactivate any orientation or other internal location devices. Ever since a certain individual I know told me the location of my clinic to the nearest meter, I've been a royal asshole in regards to this. Basically, if you don't declare the systems and I find them(and I assure you, I would), you'll be sold for parts. Nothing personal, but the security of my clinic is my top priority. Having Lynch recommend you means that I'm tell you this before the pick-up team does, so you won't be totally surprised when they put a hood on you. And no, Lynch didn't know this part of the security. It's new since the last time he was here. But I have no problems with taking a look at your cyber and seeing what's wrong with it.]<<<<< -- Action Jackson <17:46:37/07-28-57> *****PRIVATE: Redemption >>>>>[Thanks for the offer, but I got lucky. All four are dead by my hand. Here's the tape anyway. It's as nasty as you'd expect. If you knew these four, if you know who they worked for, anything like that, I'd pay for the info. +++++include video: Mercer_security.avi If I need help, I may drop you a line. If you need an Elven razor with a great line in applied violence, let me know. I have problems with sunlight, though.]<<<<< -- Easy <00:32:21/07-29-57> *****PRIVATE: Jason R Stormwind >>>>>[ Thank you for the offer, but no, I have already engaged someone. I am, however, aware of the quality of your services. This job is beneath you.]<<<<< -- IMA Pseudonym <23:03:12 / 07-28-57> ***** PRIVATE: IMA Pseudonym >>>>>[Oh, you flatter us. Thank you. If you need something legal done, feel free to contact us. We also offer a suite of body guard services as well. Call on us to guard you...no questions asked, when the fire fight breaks out, you and your people will be our main concern, opposition's organization and backing do not enter the equation. All officers are bonded and insured.]<<<<< -- Jason R. Stormwind <02:55:43 / 07-29-57> Field Officer Serenity Security >>>>>[Interesting thought. Did anyone rember that posting about 'the Entity which you knew as Dexter is now dead, by 'Yak'. Still - de nada problem. Time to get to work]<<<<< -- JayCee <10:11:28 / 07-29-57> *****PRIVATE: AJ >>>>>[No worry about the lateness - I'm still working on an intermittent satellite linkup. It'll take me about a week to get to Seattle, given fair winds and clear sailing. I'll pretty much go straight to your address I should think - provided no one takes an interest in my return on the way. For your security people to scope before hand:- +++++begin encryption +++++include: cyberAug +++++include: bioAug That should list all the relevant material that they should be concerned over, and I've highlighted the systems I'm having obvious problems with in the following survey - along with what local diagnosis I've been capable of. This is mainly on the electrical functionality of the systems - I'm uncapable of checking the bioelectrical interfaces here. +++++include: diagnostic/sysfail +++++end encyption As a side point - how familiar are you with magical interference with systems of this nature ? That's where my gut feeling on this points to, but I want an expert opinion to back this up.]<<<<< -- Anonymous <22:50:42/07-29-57> *****PRIVATE: JayCee >>>>>[We're back in town, if you want to meet up. Contact us at >>encrypted<< anytime.]<<<<< -- Lynch <23:37:42/07-29-57> *****INTERNAL: SIGANet >>>>>[TO: D J H Coppinger We're back in town. Valentine liked the bikes, by the way. We're ready to resume operations for a few weeks. This scheme with the Humanis is pretty harebrained, I gotta say. If it works, it'll be incredibly useful. If anything goes wrong, though... Still, ours not to reason why, ours but to do or die.]<<<<< -- Lynch <23:40:42/07-29-57> >>>>>[I need a few people who can manage a discreet burglary. Contact me privately for more info.]<<<<< -- Grant <23:34:31/07-29-57> *****PRIVATE: The Mighty Quinn >>>>>[BTW, what the hell is my Rat anyway? Something magic, right? Is it >>>>>like a werewolf? Are they common?]<<<<< -- Squatter <17:18:44/07-29-57> *****PRIVATE: Johnie Q >>>>>[ There is no time limit on this op, but I would prefer it to be done soon. Thank you.]<<<<< -- IMA Pseudonym <17:21:03/07-29-57> ***** PRIVATE: Jason R Stormwind >>>>>[ If rumor is any indication, I don't flatter you at all. And I will certainly keep you in mind for future work.]<<<<< -- IMA Pseudonym <17:42:12/07-29-57> *****PRIVATE: Grant >>>>>[We're interested.]<<<<< -- Cat in the Hat <01:59:25/07-30-57> *****PRIVATE: IMA Pseudonym >>>>>[ The assault is set for this afternoon. Don't tell your so-called surveillance expert, but I spotted him this morning. He could be more careful, and a suited man in a Eurocar stands out quite a lot in that neighbourhood.]<<<<< -- Johnie Q <19:16:25/07-29-57> *****PRIVATE: Squatter >>>>>[ Johnie Q claims to have seen you, describing you as a "man in a suit in a Eurocar". This doesn't quite fit your name, so I presume it's not you. Have you seen this "man in a suit"?]<<<<< -- IMA Pseudonym <19:19:23/07-29-57> *****PRIVATE: Squatter >>>>>[Your Rat's some kind of free spirit. Basically he's an astral being that hangs around with you because he likes you. Kind of like my ally Roadrunner . RR's not that tough so he keeps his head down most of the time, though. Your rat's a good buddy, stay that way with him. The Rat's a cool guy. That astral quest we did made a lot of sense once I got out of Chi-town. He and I are going on another one sometime. He saw the original Blackadders. *And* the Hitch-Hiker's Guides. That rat is cool.]<<<<< -- The Mighty Quinn <01:10:21/07-30-57> *****PRIVATE: The Mighty Quinn >>>>>[Blackadders? What are they, like the first wiz-gang or something? Never mind, I probably don't want to know the answer anyway. I guess I'll have to go looking in the databases for what a free spirit is and does. I'm no magophobe, but I don't really know anything about any sort of spirit, free or otherwise.]<<<<< -- Squatter <19:30:32/07-29-57> *****Private: Valentine >>>>>[Speaking of teaching positions, my schedule has recently become more freed up. If you need any help, I am a summoning adept, a Druid, and an expert in fringe parazoology. I can probably handle about two regular classes at my current situation.]<<<<< -- Shade <11:33:57/07-29-57> *****PRIVATE: IMA Pseudonym >>>>>[ The hit is done, here's my report: unfortunately, your daughter is dead. +++++Include dethcert.txt This is how it happened. The following was recorded by a camera I had my... associate plant before your sammy made his attack. +++++Begin playback The view is of a small, squalid room, containing a couch and two smaller armchairs. One of the chairs is occupied by a sleeping ork male, the couch contains a young girl. She is twisting and jerking, talking to herself. A cord is visible, running from a datajack on her left temple to what looks like a modified simchip deck. A door opens, and a human male, about sixteen or seventeen, enters. "Boner!" he yells, "Wake the frag up!" The ork jerks, rolling off the chair, and falls to the ground. He gets up slowly, looking around. From size comparison with the human, he looks to be about sixteen or so. "And what exactly do you want?" he asks with a slight british accent. "How long this time?" asks the human, pointing at the girl. "My goodness, Gully," replies the ork sarcastically, "I know to the minute," he pauses to think, "I guess she wasn't when I dropped off, two, three hours ago." The accent is beginning to sound like an affectation, but it's hard to be sure. "Better jack her out then," says Gully, "Or do you want me to do it?" "She's using one of your chips, guv," says the ork, as if that solves the matter, "I'll hold her down for you though." The two move towards the couch, but before they can get there, there is the sound of a shattering window, and a concussion/flare grenade goes off in the centre of the room. The camera shakes, the ork goes down to one knee, Gully is flung over the couch, and the simchip deck is thrown across the room. The girl is driven back into the embrace of the couch, but otherwise unmoved. The abrupt departure of the simchip deck pulls the cord from her headware though, and she begins to come out of her chip induced trance. Boner staggers to his feet, even as a new man rolls into the camera's coverage, gaining his feet as he does so. He is a well built Asian, dressed in black, and carrying a Defiance T-250 shotgun. Boner pulls a Predator from a shoulder holster, but the newcomer puts two blasts of shot into his torso at point blank range. The girl on the couch, just beginning to come back to the real world, screams as she is splattered with blood and worse. Gully appears from behind the couch, and begins to run for the door. He gets less than two metres before the Asian fires again, and he is knocked to the floor. Moving carefully, the attacker approaches the downed young man. In the background, the girl is moaning in terror and confusion, still not fully recovered from her chip-trip. "Please," begs Gully, "I'll get you anything you want... power, money..." The Asian points the shotgun at Gully's head, and pulls the trigger. He turns, facing the girl, and loads another four shells into his weapon. The girl watches him reload, terrified, then a look of comprehension crosses her face. She gets up, furious now. "You're that security guy!" she says, "Captain... from Mother's party! You fragger! How did she get you to come here!" "I had hoped you would not recognise me," replies the Asian, "Regrettable." He lifts the shotgun, and she has time to gasp in terror before he fires, flinging her body onto the couch. Blood soaks into the upholstery as the girl breathes her last. +++++End playback I don't know why the frag he did that, but I can guess. You knew him, probably from before he started to run, and he was scared she would mention him. Why this was bad enough to trigger what he did, I'm not too sure. Anyway, by the time I got up there, he was gone. I called a DocWagon team on my way up, but there was nothing they could do. What now?]<<<<< -- Squatter <22:22:01/07-29-57> *****PRIVATE: Lynch >>>>>[Gotcha. Hope you'll be around for a few days - I'm still travelling]<<<<< -- JayCee <09:55:57 / 07-30-57> >>>>>[No matter what anyone tells any of you - making a mobile sat uplink and computer compensating it for your motion is a real pig.]<<<<< -- JayCee <09:57:10 / 07-30-57> *****Private: Lynch >>>>>[ We are ready to take arrow orders. They are 100Y a piece, but they come with a all the mods and are the best ones we could have designed. What is the poundage of the bow you want them for? And what is the draw length you will need? What type of vanes would you like Real feathers, plastic vanes, synth feather, aluminum, flu-flu or titanium. Please specify also the number of vanes and the color combination that you want. What type of heads are you looking for? Practice, Hunting broad heads (specify the number of blades), armor piercing, Explosive (Allah RAMBO - I hope I'm not the only person to have seen this movie. CRUSH and I are the only 20th century buffs in the group), Armor Piercing Explosive (These are the fun ones),whistling, Blunted, compartmented (fun for interersting little things), or some other type (send description). Also - you have a choice of normal heads, dikoted, or a small selection of fine bladed heads. I suggest Dikote on Armor Piercing and Fine Bladed on the hunting broad heads. Just send me the order then we can set up a safe meeting place.]<<<<< -- Spirit *****Private: Grant >>>>>[ Hi sugar. Ah noticed that ya was looking for some people for a small little theft. Ah just got back ta cozzy little ol' Seattle and a bit of physical work might be interesting since all Ah have been doning was coding. Ah would like something at the moment that involves little gunfire and would let me stretch my finger doing electronic work (Besides decking.) Just tell me where the meet will be.]<<<<< -- Circuit Breaker *****PRIVATE: Squatter >>>>>[The meet with Lynch is on. Meet me at >encrypted<, outside, in the front. He may be packing. I know I will be. Whether you do or not is up to you.]<<<<< -- Redemption <13:43:50/07-30-57> *****PRIVATE: Spirit >>>>>[I'll take a score of the explosive ones your husband uses Like I said back then, I figure I could build a ballista to fire them (certainly won't be shooting them by hand...) The other batch is more serious. The bow is a Ranger-X (surprise, surprise) with a 125lb draw, standard reach for that model. Standard for all my own arrows (not fussy about the CRUSH-clones) is three blood-red titanium vanes with black shafts (okay, an affectation, so sue me ). Quantities and types as follows. Twenty with four-bladed broadheads (Fineblades, if possible). Twenty Dikoted armour-piercers. Ten explosive. For use on Russian helicopters (I LOVE 20th century movies... we'll probably have to compare collections) Ten AP explosives. Ten whistlers. Ten compartmented with smoke charges: I want them for signalling. Mix of colours if possible. ID the colour by a band on the shaft just ahead of the fletching. +++++include transfer: 10,000Y Let me know if it runs to more and I'll send you the extra. Sheesh, I hardly use a bow in action anyway, but maybe I'm going Native again. Or maybe I'm going to start playing Rambo ]<<<<< -- Lynch <20:04:12/07-30-57> *****PRIVATE: The Cat In The Hat, Circuit Breaker >>>>>[I appreciate your interest. Would you be willing to meet me for dinner tonight at Takuri's, at about eight p.m.? Ask for me by name. The job should be without hazard, but requires skill and a low profile.]<<<<< -- Grant <19:35:42/07-30-57> *****PRIVATE TO: The Mighty Quinn >>>>>[Well, Quinn. I'm sorry, but the video doesn't look like it's going to make it. I've got it archived, but my friend doesn't think that there's much that he can do for it. If you want, you can take it and try and find someone to clean it up. I don't have much faith in what can be done to it, but maybe you know people with different resources at their beck and call. Oh, and thanks for going with me. I wouldn't have made it out of their without your help.]<<<<< -- Blade <12:09:09/07-31-57> *****PRIVATE TO:Lynch >>>>>[Whats going on chummer? I haven't heard much out of you lately. Is that good or should we all be worried? I guess Quinn's told you about Chicago. I'd let you look at the slides we took, but most of them got scratched. How go the plans for the wedding? Or has Lilith gotten wised up? I expect an engraved invitation any day now. If you or your bosses need any discreet work done, you know how to contact me. Until then, I think I'll take a vacation.]<<<<< -- Blade <12:10:10/07-30-57> *****PRIVATE: Lazuli, Shadow, Redemption, Glaive, Claw, Imp >>>>>[Well, the hit was simple and trouble free, though it ended up higher-profile than I liked. Silly season for news, presumably. Here's how it played to the public. +++++begin trideo clip "And this just in: gang violence destroys a radiation laboratory. Benjamin Kerch reporting. What's the situation, Benjamin?" "I'm standing here in front of Oxton Radiological Services, specialists in radiation analysis. In what appears to have been a violent robbery, a group of half-a-dozen armed gangers forced their way into the building where they went on an orgy of destruction. Security cameras recorded this footage as the criminals rampaged through the lab, destroying tens of thousands of newyen's worth of delicate equipment: they made their escape before police arrived." "The two guards on duty were both disabled and suffered injuries, including broken bones, during the attack, and a fire was started which further damaged the building." "Ben, you say Oxton do radiation work. Is there any danger of contamination?" No, Tom, Lone Star assured us that the lab only does analysis on low- level radioactive traces, and that there is no risk to the public. No radioactive materials were stored, and there is no sign of any danger." "I understand, though, that this will have a bad effect on local employment?" That's right, Tom. Oxton had intended a major expansion in coming months, building a new laboratory facility and test chamber at a price of several million newyen, which would have created hundreds of jobs in this area. Those plans are shelved, perhaps even cancelled, while reconstruction takes place. "So, gang violence claims yet more property, and risks the livelihood of more law-abiding citizens. After the break, sports news, as the Supersonics continue their winning streak... +++++end trideo Nice work, everyone. We're meeting up with our Mr J. at >>encrypted<< tomorrow night to claim the remainder of our payment.]<<<<< -- Easy <21:11:21/07-30-57> *****PRIVATE: Ploughshare >>>>>[Operation successful, dominos falling as expected, funds transferred in preparation. Harrow is now in negotiation to secure Homestead and Jalopy. Bravo Zulu. Re. Elven psychotic: asset usefulness expired. Too many questions / queries re Mercer incident. Possibility of compromise. Eliminate. Also remove Redemption concurrently. In-house assets authorised, nil subcontract. Shadowrunners too curious/too unreliable.]<<<<< -- Farmer <21:54:45/07-30-57> *****PRIVATE: Farmer >>>>>[Agreed with reservations. Elf girl useful, controllable, deniable. Mercer operation airgapped per SOP. Suggest hold on Elf, agree target Redemption.]<<<<< -- Ploughshare <21:56:04/07-30-57> *****PRIVATE: Ploughshare >>>>>[Negat. Typical shadowrunner response to colleague death is violence/aggression. Elf girl will consider rep besmirched if Redemption targeted, will react hostile/forceful. Eliminate concurrently. Use of runners proving mistaken. Scale back operations and contract in- house further for Wild Rose. Estimate force requirements and begin recruitment for guard team. Tractor is bringing Old McDonald into the fold. Harrow acquiring spare parts for Jalopy after Homestead secured. Activate Scarecrow, now.]<<<<< -- Farmer <21:58:51/07-30-57> >>>>>[Looking for someone to aid in a raid on Lonestar's Seattle branch to obtain files on Presidential candidate Dunkelzahn. Decker, mage, street samurai and physical adept required. Contact me.]<<<<< -- Devastation Angel <14:24:55/07-30-57> *****PRIVATE: Easy >>>>>[ I'll be there. I don't like to do things that loud, but it's good as an occasional tension breaker, don't you think? ]<<<<< --Imp <17:12:43/07-30-57> >>>>>[Noid, I have a need for either you or your acquaintence's services. It is imperative that I locate someone within the next four days. I have discovered that this person is a threat to someone close to me and has recently acquired the means to do her serious harm. I am paying >>encrypted<<, certainly much more than such an easy job is normally worth for people in your field. The only special request I have is that you be absolutely certain that he cannot access the Matrix after you have located him. His weapon against my ... associate ... is Matrix-based. Beginning three days from now, any Matrix access this individual has could cost me the life of my associate and you the remainder of your payment. Should you accept I will pay half of the agreed upon amount up front. Please help me in this matter, you will be doing an old man a great favor.]<<<<< -- Apollyon <17:51:00/07-30-57> *****PRIVATE:Apollyon >>>>>[OK. Whoare they? Are they a decker? Can you pay us in information? (Like everything you can get on free spirits?)]<<<<< -- Noid <15:46:30/7-30-57> *****PRIVATE: Redemption >>>>>[ I'll be there, no weapon but my trusty knife.]<<<<< -- Squatter <18:01:04/07-30-57> *****PRIVATE: The Mighty Quinn >>>>>[ The Rat just dropped a fraggin' bar opf gold at my feet. "What the hell is that all about?" I asked, but he just said it was a new trick, and then disappeared. Will it be real, do you think? Can lots of these "free spirits" do this sort of thing?]<<<<< -- Squatter <18:04:46/07-30-57>