By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Ray Dawson sat in his beat-up, unmarked patrol car, across the street from the 'Soy-Caf Java Hut' and lit a cigarette. File folders lay strewn about on his passenger seat, Lone Star file photos scattered throughout the car. All of them had the same person--a black man wearing a long, green trench-coat & wild dreadlocks, carrying what looked like a gnarled staff with little beads and fetishes dangling from it. The files all read the same thing:

Street Name: Jobe
Real Name: Unknown
Wanted for questioning concerning numerous run-ins with Lone Star, including grand theft auto, evading arrest, & striking an officer.
Status: Awakened--Shamanistic Magic

Dawson took a deep drag from his smoke, and gazed over at the coffee shop. Being a private eye in this town was a rough job, but he at least had the satisfaction of knowing he was getting low-lifes off the street. Recently, however, he had been thinking strongly that most of the low-lifes never even made it down to the street level. Dawson knew the worst people in this city were at the top, the manipulators. The people on the street were nothing more than peons in a big game. And Ray Dawson knew he was one of them. But, this Jobe fella was odd--seemed good enough--and Dawson wondered what the poor soul had really done to get a rap sheet like his. Most of the files he 'borrowed' from his contact in Lone Star showed merely "CONFIDENTIAL" & "TOP SECRET" & had many omitted lines and encryptions. Yeah, Jobe was into something BIG, and Ray Dawson was going to find out what it was...

By Rigel Nephridil (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

The answering machine beeped audibly as Katya hung up the phone. He was too tired and hungover to reach for the receiver in time, so he let the answering machine take care of it. Three weeks has passed since he last heard from Katya, who’d turned runner since her tattoo shop was cut to ribbons by a bomb intended to detonate while she was working. Sloppy, real sloppy.

“Amateurs...” he thought as he rolled out of bed and crawled to his kitchen. He nudged empty champagne bottles out of his path as he made his way past Spyder, who was lying in a comatose state on his couch, with an empty bottle of JD dangling from one hand. While clinging onto the countertops for dear life, he poured himself a tall glass of water to rehydrate his body.

“One hell of a party last night..” he thought to himself. No worries- they’d be financially pampered for at least a couple months thanks to their last hit. After they had enough time to recuperate, it was off to Icarus Descending for dinner. Last of the evening’s agenda was to party at Dante’s Inferno enhanced with some recreational drugs.

Crane’s sense of balance was beginning to return to him after he drained a second glass of water. While pouring himself a third glass, Spyder stirred on the couch and groaned as she gripped her temples with her fists. “Water?” he asked. Spyder groaned in acknowledgment as she struggled to sit up and open her eyes. “Katya called. She’s coming back to town from a run tomorrow. She’s been in Nevada these past few days.” he said as he reached for a second glass from the cupboard. “I was starting to worry” she mumbled as she relaxed her grip on the empty bottle of JD. “She said Jobe is working on the run with her, and that she’s ‘acquired’ a nice new vehicle.” he said with a smirk as he walked over to Spyder with the glass of water. “There’s hope for her after all.” she replied with an ear-to-ear grin.


Crane

By Rigel Nephridil (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

It was 6 o’clock by the time Spyder was well enough to drive. She zipped up her leather jacket as she approached her silver Blitzen in the parking ramp. She tucked her platinum hair & pointed ears into her helmet, then slid her fingers into her driving gloves. The sound of the engine and screeching tires echoed against the gray concrete walls as she sped away.

Rush hour in Seattle was particularly bad, and the traffic jams would make a 15 minute commute from Ravenna to the Elven District an hour- at least. “Frag this...” she mumbled as she wedged her motorcycle between cars, maneuvered though gaps between lanes and cut off countless cursing wage-slaves slamming their fists on their steering wheels. Not like Spyder cared; her main concern was to make it onto the highway before sunset, before the go-gangs came out to play.

The red sun glowed though a thin veil of smog as it approached the horizon, she only had two more exits to go before nearing the Elven District.. Traffic on the highway was sparse in anticipation of the gangs. No one came out on the highways after sunset- even Lone Star patrol wasn’t that stupid. Her motorcycle roared as it sped down the highway exit ramp and back onto the grid of city streets. Buildings’ westward facades and windows glowed red with the last rays of the setting sun, highlighting the white 'Soy-Caf Java Hut' sign as she slowed down to an appropriate speed. The thought of a double cream almond cappuccino convinced her to make a U-turn. She parked her Blitzen next to some old beat up car and removed her driving helmet. Her black rubber pants squeaked as she hopped off her bike and skipped to across the street to the coffee shop. Jobe would often hang out here, probably because this was one of the few places near the Elven District that made a highly respectable cup of coffee. A spiky, green haired teenager sporting a blue “Java Hut” apron greeted her and took her order. Spyder looked out the window while she waited for her almond cappuccino and apricot danish. She didn’t notice before, but there was a man in the car parked next to her Blitzen across the street. He seemed to be watching the coffee shop as he puffed away on a cigarette.

“I changed my mind” she said to the cashier, “I’ll have that to go.” The skinny green haired kid nodded and pulled out a paper bag and poured the steaming cappuccino into paper cup. With a quick swipe of a credstick she was out of the shop and headed across the street. As she passed the car next to her bike, she put on her helmet and as she did so took a casual look inside the car. The driver glanced back at her for a second as he took another breath from his cigarette. Her eyes moved behind her tinted helmet visor and the unmistakable photograph of Jobe (lying on a pile of papers on the passenger seat) caught her attention. She walked over to her bike and put the paper bag in the seat compartment to intentionally get a view of the license plate number. She revved her engine and drove away with a sinking feeling in her chest. Someone was scoping out Jobe.

Spyder

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Ray Dawson watched as the motorcycle rider did her thing. He took specific interest in her perfectly-shaped a$$ and legs as she walked across the street. He watched her glance his way from inside the shop, and examined her rear once more as she bent over to put her bag away. Kinda made him hungry. He shuffled his files up and stuffed them in his glove compartment, huddled his high-collared leather jacket around his shoulders, and walked across the street to grab another pack of smokes and a black coffee. He ran his hand through his military-short brown hair, grabbed his coffee, and sat at a booth near the window. From there, he had a great view of his car, both entrances to the Java Hut, plus he'd be able to get free refills on his coffee.
As he downed his third cup, he muttered to himself, "Stake-outs Suck."

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Ray Dawson saw them before they even entered the shop. Trolls. Big fellas. 2 of 'em. They came pounding down the sidewalk as the sunlight faded away. Twilight, after all, was the time when all the bad ones came out to play. As they approached the Java Hut, he knew there was gonna be trouble. He shifted in his seat slightly, giving the impression he was fluffing his jacket, but he really loosened his holster-strap for his Ares Predator II. Now, he was ready for anything.

The trolls walked into the Java Hut, grunting and 'chuckling' amongst themselves. They didn't bother to open the door, they just walked through it. As wood splintered and glass shattered in the shop, the green-haired kid looked really really nervous. One troll wandered back near Ray, the other approached the counter. Ray's internal alrams started going off. This looked like a heist. Why anybody would rob a coffee shop was beyond Ray. Then again, these -were- trolls, after all. The nearer troll sat heavily across from Ray, chuckling and taking a sip from the coffee cup. Ray's coffee. The troll smiled.
"Hey, chummer. Gimme my wallet back," the troll said to Ray. Ray nodded, put his hands flat on the table, and whispered something. The troll leaned forward and cocked his ear towards ray, so he could hear better. With one, fluid motion, Ray pulled out his Predator, put the barrel into the troll's ear, and pulled the trigger. Three times. The troll's head snapped back, blood and brain matter erupting out the other side as the body went limp in the chair. The other troll turned to look just in time to see Ray stand up and empty 5 more bullets from his pistol. The troll scratched his head, realizing the bullets had actually hit him. He yelled, then ran straight for Ray, pulling a bloody pipe out of his trench-coat. Ray stood calmly, placing the red dot of his laser-sight on the behemoth's right eye, then pulled his trigger again. This time, twice...

As the troll fell forwards in a heap, the pipe clanged harmlessly on the floor. Ray's Predator was locked back in the empty position. As he let the clip fall into his left hand and began reloading, he stepped over the dead body and approached the counter. The green-haired kid was lying on the floor, a puddle of urine under him and a pipe-imprint on his left temple. Ray decided not to look at the kid's burst left eye, instead, he reached around behind the counter and filled a super-jumbo sized styrofoam cup with black coffee. It was time to go. Almost as an afterthought, he reached down and pulled the seal on the kid's Docwagon bracelet.
"At least the medics are on the way," he muttered as he crossed the street once more and got into his car. It was time to drive around for a while...

By Rigel Nephridil (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Metallic fabrics were Spyder’s particular favorite, or so one would think after she slipped into a pair or metallic hot-pants and matching bustier. The footwear of choice was a pair of black suede boots that came up just below the knee with chrome clasps tracing the contour of her leg from the ankle up. She pulled on her worn-in biker jacket as she reached for her keys on the coffee table and left to meet up with Crane at Icarus Descending.

***

"Spit it out" Crane said before sipping a glass of whine. "Ok, OK! Someone's scoping out Jobe. There was this jarhead in a car staking out the coffee shop near my house. Jobe goes there all the time. I was curious so I walked by his car on the way to my bike. There was a picture of Jobe on his car seat on top of a pile of papers- I'm guessing it was his dossier."

"WEll.... Jobe is a nice guy, but he's obviously pi$$ed someone off. Did you get his license plate?"

"Yeah, I found that the car doesn't exist." said Spyder as she tapped her chome datajack. "My next project is to sneak a look into Lone Star personnel."

"It's a start... At least...." he yawned audibly as he reached into leather trench coat for his credstick. "I'm bored, let's hit the Inferno."

By Rigel Nephridil (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Twisted relief sculptures of twisted demons and tortured souls undulated through the two solid, black steel doors- the foreboding entrance to Dante’s Inferno. Music and laserlight spilled out onto the street each time the doors opened. Two Ork bouncers stood with crossed arms on both sides of the entrance. They were dressed in black from head to foot, the only trace of color was the word “INFERNO” stitched in red to the front shirt pocket. Each wore an earplug with a fiber optic cable running behind their ears and down the back their necks.

Crane and Spyder approached the entrance and waited on line. A rather homely
looking gutterpunk was arguing with one of the bouncers, holding everyone else up. “Whaddya mean the club has reached maximum occupancy? You just let a whole group of fraggin' people in!!!!” the ragged character shouted.

“Sorry chummer, we’re full. Wakarimasu-ka?” said the first ork bouncer as the other motioned to Crane and Spyder to approach the entrance. “Hoi, Crane. Hey, welcome back Spydie, haven’t seen you here for a while. You guys can go in.” he said as the opened the door for them to let them pass after exchanging greetings. "Fraggin' TROG!" protested the gutterpunk, who was promptly b!tch-slapped by the ork bouncer. Crane heard the screams of consequence fade behind him as the bass-kicking dance music readiated from the inside of the club as they entered the club arn in arm.

The pitch blackness was cut at random by laser bursts and strobe lights which silhouetted the frenzy of dancers on street level- referred to most regulars as the "lobby" or "ground zero". Flashy posers usually dominated the first "circle" of Dante’s Inferno. Spyder and Crane make their way through the crowd towards the back where a gigantic oval shaft plunged nine floors down; each floor connected to the next by huge, metal, spiral staircase. The metalwork changed from floor to floor, getting more refined and gothic in style as you approached level A9- the basement level, where the notorious private room labeled "Hell" was located. Level a9 was the place to be: all the regulars, wealthy-yet-trendy citizens, corp. bosses and glitterfolk, runners with newyen and taste would gather there.

The two of them pushed through the crowd, found a couple seats at the bar and sat down.
"Name yer poison" said the bartender. "A Paisley for me, Blue Death for her."
Crane said as he removed his sunglasses, his black cybereye contrasting from the other as a red laser light from the dance floor glimmered across his face. The bartender nodded and got two shot glasses. He filled the each with different liquors, then removed two small glass bottles from under the bar, each with an eyedropper. He took a good eyedropper-full from the first bottle and held it over Crane's drink. "Hey, chummer- easy with the paisley this time." he warned as the bartender let two drops fall into the shotglass. Spydie's glass was next, "Say when," said the bartender as he held the other eyedropper over the rim of her glass. The eyedropper was nearly empty when by the time Spyder muttered the magic word. Crane raised an eyebrow at her and stared silently. "What?" she snapped, to which he just shrugged and said "Oh, nothing.. Nothing at all..." meanwhile eyeing her shotglass with concern. Crane’s hint was obvious enough and she chose to ignore it.

"Cheers" Spyder mumbled as she raised her glass. Crane downed his drink and then hit the dance floor. He watched Spyder from a distance to keep an eye on her, even with his visual perception of reality being more distorted by the second- he tried to focus on her as best he could. There was enough cocaine solution to kill a horse in that shotgalss.

Spydie wasn't herself since the "accident" with the black IC over three months ago. Spydie was lucky to have made a full recovery, but things just weren't the same. It had taken her this long just to get back into the swing of sleazing through high security- but still extremely skittish. Her confidence was gone and she'd even pull her own jack out with her bare hands at the first sight of black IC. "She used to love the ramjamming, now she fraggin’ runs from it..." he thought.

The blue death hadn't made it's way into her system yet, so Spyder decided to take a seat in a red velvet booth. Blue death was a special cocaine solution derivative, it usually had a quicker delivery. "Maybe... Something stronger next time...." she said to herself as she tried to escape the memories of the vampire persona as it bit down on her avatar, sending her physical body into a seizure as her internal circuits went through a meltdown- almost taking her brain down with it. The pain was searing, intense, - comparable to being electrocuted and torched simultaneously. If Crane dadn't pulled her jack out in time she would have been dead. The memories were beginning to fade away as the drug took it's effect, her pulse quickened and her mood changed to a more mirthful one. She was about to get up and join Crane on the dance floor, when someone from the crowd sporting an Armani suit slipped into the booth and sat down next to her.

Her instincs pretty much told her this man was just another johnson as he sat down and looked at her before initiating conversation....

"Got a light?" the man asked as he pulled out a joint. "No, I don't smoke." she answered curtly. "Might cheer you up" he said as Spyder moved farther away from him in the booth. "Slot and run, chummer." she said as she gained some composure at the other side of the booth and crossed her arms.

"Got a run for ya, if you're interested. Technical penetration, I'm looking for a good deckjockey. Interested?"

“I dunno what you’re talking about chummer. I’m no deckjockey.”

Crane
Spyder

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

The young man rode into a town that was fast approaching evening. He needed a bath, a bed, and a lot of food - in no particular order.
His ride turned a few heads in a town where not noticing things was a way of life. It was an ancient but cherry Indian motorcycle - loud, smelly, and not a cyberchip on it.
The young man was liberally spattered with road grime, far more than could have been acquired over a short haul. He rode helmetless, with only a green bandana as a head band. His long black hair streamed out behind him like a banner. He wore old style blue jeans, a pair of down at the heels boots, and a grey leather jacket, belted tightly around his narrow waist. A pair of shades obscured half of his face, but did nothing to conceal his Amerind origins.
He curbed the bike, dismounted, and stretched hugely. He loosened his jacket, and briefly massaged his butt. He was not a very big man; perhaps five nine if he kept his boots on, slender as a whipcord, maybe 160 soaking wet.
He had a long-arm sleeve strapped to the bike, he wore a holster openly on his hip.
He stretched again and examined the line of shops in front of him. One was the Soy-Kaf Java Hut - curiously it had no door. He did note that the door lay in shards about the door frame, and had just about decided to eat elsewhere when the sound of gunfire froze him in his tracks.
His attention was rivetted on the Java Hut. There were three shots, a pause, five more, a pause, then two. His hand drifted absently toward his holster, but he did not draw a weapon.
A minute after the final pair of shots, a tired looking man in a leather jacket walked out of the Hut. The young man could smell the burnt powder on him, and tagged him as the shooter, but there were no weapons visible now. He watched the shooter walk across the street and let himself into an aggressively nondescript sedan and drive away. It appeared the immmediate threat was past.
He shouldered his way past a couple of Java Hut escapees, and took quick stock of the interior. Two trolls were messily leaking things that they should have held on to all over the Hut's interior. They appeared to be quite thoroughly dead.
He glanced toward the sedan's disappearing tail lights then back at the flock of frantic busboys as they swooped and buzzed around one of their own, fallen in the fracas.
He backed away. Sirens wailed to the south. More Java escapees brushed past him.
"Frag all. Welcome the hell to Seattle, Dallas."

-Dallas
(GG Ranger piggybacking with Greyfox's kindly indulgence)

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

As Dawson drove around the different city blocks, he saw Lone Star patrol cars and Docwagon choppers converging on the Java-Hut. He surmised they were investigating his handiwork. As he lit up another cigarette, he turned down a narrow alley and shut down his engine. He looked in the rear-view mirror as a Lone Star patrol car passed the alley slowly. Yep. That was the one that was tailing him. He grabbed his files from the glove-box, his drop-gun from under the seat, and his coffee from the cupholder. As he got out of the car and locked the doors, the patrol car became visible at the end of the alley once more. It had backed up, and now an officer was getting a spotlight ready to aim down the alley. Ray casually walked away from his car and the patrol car, deeper into the alley, and turned a corner near the end. After he rounded the corner, he pressed the automatic door locker on his key chain.

A huge explosion ripped through the night, totally wrecking the Lone Star patrol car at the end of the alley, not to mention the two cops it held. Half the building to the left of Ray's car crumbled on top of it, after the flames had subsided somewhat. Dawson emerged from the alley complex a few hundred yards down the street, lit up a cigarette, and started heading into the Elven district. It was time to find a new car.

By Ranger (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The bag Shlomo was loading up with deli goodies smelled great. The scent teased him, but 'to go' seemed the best bet after the show over at the Java Hut just four doors away.

When the explosion rattled the windows, Shlomo barely looked up from the corned beef. He finished the sandwich, laid a couple of massive kosher dills beside it and wrapped the whole thing for deposit in the bag.

Dallas looked out the window. There was no visible fire ball and it was now too dark to see a dust cloud. The effect of the blast on the forces of order that were still hanging about, however, was like wacking a hornet's nest with a stick.

He shook his head as he watched the Lone Star cars squeal away, "There are no coincedences."

Shlomo grinned toothily, "You're very wise for one so young."

Dallas smiled at the ork, "Thanks," he said picking up the bag, "Be seeing you."

He walked out to his bike, stowed the bag, mounted, and kicked it into gear. He had an name, an address, and the hope of a bed. He almost didn't notice when he rode past the tired man from the Java Hut. He was remarkably unnoticable.

Three options flashed through his head instantaneously: Ride by and alert the authorities that he had spotted the troll shooter in the Elven district - reasonable, safe, and boring. Stop, offer him a ride, and maybe learn something interesting - better. Stop, offer him a ride and get shot at - he was young enough and self confident enough to ignore the possibility of getting dead - but that might prove interesting, too.

There are no coincidences, he told himself, unless Coyote was playing games.

He sighed, Coyote was screwing with him again, may as well play the game. He pulled a U-turn and stopped the bike.

-Dallas

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Ray Dawson slowed slightly--ever so slightly, and 'adjusted' his coat. His cigarette was starting burn short, so he took one last drag on it, then flicked it away, across the street. As he exhaled, he downed the last bit of his coffee, dropping the empty cup at his feet. The motorcycle rider watched it drop, then looked Dawson square in the eyes.

"You know, that's littering," the rider spoke. Dawson looked down at the cup, then at the rider, and put his cigarette pack to his mouth, grabbing another smoke with his lips. He casually brought his black zippo up to the tip and lit up. After he took yet another deep drag, he looked back at the rider.

"So?" he said, exhaling a puff of smoke around the cigarette as he spoke. Dallas was smart enough not to press the point.

"Don't care much for words, do ya?" Dallas asked. Dawson just looked at him. Dallas looked as if he was going to say something else, but Ray spoke first.

"You stop for a reason, Red?" Dawson asked gruffly.

"Yeah. Get on. Lone Star's crawlin all over back there. They took an interest to your handiwork," Dallas replied. Ray Dawson just looked at him, taking the cigarette from his lips and holding it at his waist, exhaling his latest lungful of cancer.

"My momma told me not to take rides with strangers," Dawson replied. He deliberately looked the rider from head to foot, to head again, then put the cigarette back in his mouth.

"Dallas," Dallas offered, extending his hand. Dawson took another drag, then exhaled before gracing Dallas with a reply.

"How do you do, Dallas? Let's ride," Dawson said, taking Dallas' hand and gripping it firmly, shaking it once before releasing it again. He allowed himself to smile as he mounted Dallas' bike...

By I wanna be an airborne (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Littering? Dallas kicked himself mentally. Hell of a conversation opener, Whitecrow, Coyote is laughing his tail off. So, okay, your brother Ray got the glib tongue, you've got your own gifts. Just try not to get shot for inanity tonight.

He spoke over his shouder, "What do I call you?"

"Ray Dawson."

Very funny Coyote, "And do we have a destination?" he asked.

"Just keep driving, I'll tell you where to turn," he raised his voice just enough to be heard over the wind and the engine.

Dawson knew it was generally pretty tough to tell an Indian's age just by looking, but he'd bet a carton of smokes that this kid Dallas had not seen his twenty-first birthday yet.

"Left up here."

Dallas obliged, grateful that the wind kept the miasma of cigarette stink that clung to Dawson at bay.

His first night in Seattle and look at him. He could now believe the Trickster was behind his move from the NAN. He just wished somebody would let him see the rule book before the game started this time.

-Dallas

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

"Stop up here," Dawson said, as they pulled around the corner to see a strip of night clubs lining the street. People were milling about everywhere, obviously awaiting their chance to get into one of the trendy places. Dawson thought he saw a familiar bike curbed near Dante's Inferno, and so...

"What the Hell is this?" asked Dallas, almost rhetorically.

"You're right. It is Hell," Dawson replied, as the bike pulled up to the huge orc bouncers. They eyeballed the newcomers suspiciously, and when Ray leaned forward and said something quietly into Dallas' ear, the orcs looked at each other, chuckling. Ray dismounted, smiling, as he walked towards the door. The orcs moved to stop him.

"You gotta wait yer turn in line, chummer, just like everybody else," the first orc said, the second leaning on a night-stick. Dawson looked from one to the other, then pulled out another smoke, nodding. Once he got it in his mouth, he began fishing around his pockets, looking confused & distraught. After several minutes of this, he looked at the first orc and spoke.

"Hey, you got a light?" he asked nonchalantly. The two orcs looked at each other, the second one moving closer and producing a lighter. As dawson reached for it, he made his move. Grabbing the orc's wrist and twisting it around sharply, he pulled his arm straight, causing the orc to crumble to his knees in pain, his arm extended out and up at a grotesque angle from his shoulder. In the same, fluid motion, Dawson's left hand pulled out his Predator, aiming at the first orc's eyeball before he could even react. The crowd let out a unanimous gasp as ray nodded his head at the first orc, cigarette still screwed into his lips. "Now, you boys gonna play nice, or do I hafta get rough with ya?"

"What the frag do ya want?" the second orc blurted through painfully clenched teeth.

"I'm meeting somebody inside."

"Who?" the first orc asked, his hands now wide apart at his sides.

"Mr. Johnson. He didn't tell you to expect me?" Ray shook his head.

"Maybe he did. What's your name, chummer?" the first orc said, eyeing his immobilized friend.

"John Doe," Ray said mockingly. He secretly hoped it would work.

The two orcs eyeballed each other, then nodded, the first orc now smiling as he spoke. "Welcome to Dante's Inferno, Mr. Doe. Mr. Johnson is expecting you," he said, sweeping his arm widely toward the door. Ray let the second orc's arm go, lit his cigarette, then tossed the lighter at the still-kneeling orc.

"Knew you'd see it my way," Dawson said, putting his gun away. As he walked into the club, he waved for Dallas to follow him in. The orcs looked back at him, almost scowling, when Ray tossed a bearer-credstick at them. It was worth about 5 G's. The orcs examined it, smiling broadly, then showed Dallas in as if he were the guest of honor.

Once inside, Dallas yelled above the din so Dawson could hear him. "How'd you know Mr. Johnson is in here?"

Dawson laughed. It was probably the first time he'd done that in months. Shaking his head, he answered, "There's always a Mr. Johnson, expecting to meet a John Doe. Sometimes more than one!" Dallas just nodded, following Ray deeper into Hell...

By I wanna be an airborne (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas frowned as they passed into the Inferno. He felt a little stupid - Johnson was just the white version of Wunhai - he should have figured that out. No more dumb questions, he chided himself, watch, listen, learn. Treat this like a job, you're a hell of a lot better with jobs than games, always were.

He felt better even as they pushed through the sweaty, heaving mass of humanity and metahumanity. He'd felt a little off balance since landing in Seattle, and everything that had happened so far seemed designed to keep him that way. Against all training, it had begun to piss him off.

So think. Dawson moved well, Dallas wondered if the man was cybernetically enhanced. Some people felt that need. The orks gave up pretty easily, too. Had the credstick been enough to make them happy or were they targeting Dawson even now?

Dallas couln't see how that would be possible inside. He could barely keep Dawson in view as it was. But once they were outside....

Dawson led the way to the bar, shoved a flabby poser with facial tattoos off a stool, then occupied it. Dallas headed for the vacant seat to Dawson's left. The poser drew himself up either to complain or fight, but Dawson seemed to be ignoring him. Dallas didn't want to waste the time, so he shut the poser down with a stare that told him that he was the last man of the 7th cavelry still standing on this hill, and the whole fraggin Cheyenne nation was ready to party. The poser's resolve melted, and he scuttled away to lose himself in the crowd.

When Dallas sat down, the bar tender placed a glass in front of him. He glanced at Dawson who had his own glass in hand. With a brief salute he emptied it.

Dallas sighed, like most of his people, he did not metabolize alcohol well, and he didn't like to drink. Hospitality was being offered however, so he took a sip.

He snorted a laugh, Dawson had ordered him milk. He replaced the glass on the bar, and started studying. Who or what was it that Dawson had under surveillance?

By Tony (Sol) on Unrecorded Date:

The girl had skinny legs, and was kicking them in all directions. Four ugly trolls dug into their noses as they crunched closer. They laughed like morons. One wore a leather vest, his gray hairy chest dripping sweat. The second scratched his behind as the lights flashed on the dancefloor. Another was bound with thick wolf-chains, clearly a stunt just-for-show, skin pulled taught where the metal cut off his circulation, although his brute-arms were not at all hindered. The last had tatoos all over him, depicting scenes of violence and names of people he had maimed and killed (all spelled wrong). He was the biggest, stank the worst, and was obviously the strongest. The Orc bouncers stood by and grinned, whispering to each other as the girl struggled, kicking her feet like scissors from her black leather mini-skirt and screaming childish insults.

Some of the Posers walked out and tried to be heroic... "Get out of here and leave my girl here alone or me 'n' my boys will mess you up!" said one tough human boy. A troll laughed and broke his fist over his head. Some of the crowd laughed, some panicked, some cheered as the poser's sun-shades broke, shards falling into his head as his skull fell apart. No one really intervened after that...

until...

"Excuse me, gentlemen," said a voice. It was a man with night-blue hair and white skin. His eyes burned red, and although he wasn't more than 6 foot five, he seemed to dwarf the trolls with his burning confidence and aura. They seemed to shudder at first, then straightened up to appear fierce before him.

"Go away, vampy," said one, waving a little bottle, "This doesn't concern you. Plus we'll give you what you got comin'"

"The name's Malferus," said the man, seeming even taller as his black leather trenchcoat rose around him like a cape, "and this is your last chance. Let her go. She does not belong to you."

The trolls looked nervously amongst one another, almost twice as tall as Malferus. At last, one of them rushed him. The troll fell straight to the floor, and the others shook their heads, realizing that Malferus was actually standing 2 feet to the left of where they thought.

"I see you have made the wrong choice," he said, his accent thick with the Czeckoslovokian dialect. He jumped, making no sound at all. The crowd went nuts, some moshing in the background and going mad with adreneline and drugs as Malferus grabbed the head troll's collar. Bracing himself with his foot against the leader's bicep, Malferus slammed his white fist seventeen times against the troll's face before anyone in the joint could even realize that anything new had happened. The head troll went limp, completely unconscious after the first punch, and the others were frozen as if made of stone. One even wept. Malferus bared his teeth, turned his attention to the one who was sobbing, and launched himself off the leader's chest (before the big troll could even hit the ground) and did a spinning-reverse full-body kick into the tear-stained face. That troll's head spun around so fast that it actually twisted off at the neck. People jumped back as the head hit the dancefloor where it actually continued spinning on its side for twenty more seconds leaving a little trail.

Malferus came to land perfectly on his feet, like a cat. The remaining two were at this point trying to get back to the fire exit, and the Orc bouncers were clawing their way toward the fire-escape. "Rock and Roll!" shouted some punk kid, hanging on the electric wires on the ceiling.

"You shain't escape for your crimes so simply," said Malferus. The trolls were almost to the door when the man took the shape of a giant wolf. This wolf was 15 feet tall at the shoulder, and at least as heavy as a small car. Even so, it moved nimbly and lunged at the two from 50 feet across the room, taking them down with one jump. They tried to scream, but how could they? There was not enough of their bodies left to do anything at all.

The crowd was in an absolute panic. After finishing off the Orcs, the man stood atop the fire-escape and put a mass-suggestion over the crowd. "You have seen nothing, these Orcs picked a fight with the trolls. This is the result."

The entire crowd swayed under his words, then went back to dancing.

The girl looked up, dazed, and Malferus took her hand. "Uh... thanks," she said, confused. "Go home," he said, "Come back when you're 18."

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

The hair on the back of Dawson's neck bristled. Something bad was going down. He quickly turned to investigate, but saw nothing, other than a massive crowd gyrating to too-loud music. He turned to look at Dallas, who had also been looking into the crowd, a troubled expression on his face. They eyeballed each other for a moment, before Dawson extended his arm towards the crowd, as if to say 'after you'. Dallas downed his milk, took a deep breath, stood, then plunged headlong into the mass of pulsating flesh. Dawson was right behind him...

By I wanna be an airborne (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Three or four kids came pelting up the huge spiral staircase, looks of absolute panic on their faces. Whatever was going on was happening below. The kids shot right out the door, not stopping for anyone who might be in their way, pissing people off left and right.

Dallas paused, but the exodus seemed over. What could send a couple of people into a flight of absolute terror, yet touch no one else in the room? He studied the contorted staircase,wondering about the wisdom of descending. Whatever it was obviously was peripheral. And it seemed to be over.

He glanced at Dawson, but Dawson's attention was diverted. He was studying an elfin beauty seated in one of the red velvet booths along the wall.

Dallas looked at the elf woman, and amended his initial opinion. She might be beautiful if her face held some animation. As it was her face was completely slack, as if she'd had far too much in the way of drink or drugs recently. The only sign of expression were the defensively crossed arms, and the glare she directed at the man in the slick suit across from her.

As they watched, a man pushed his way toward the table, the laser light played weirdly across the man's artificial eye.

Dawson moved without haste, keeping the elf woman under his eye, but trying for a less obtrusive vantage.

Dallas glanced once more at the massive spiral stairway, but saw nothing stranger than the regular passage of Inferno patrons.

He fell in behind Dawson. His first question at least was answered. He could wait on the rest. The evening was becoming interesting if not educational.

By Rigel Nephridil (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

"The frag you're not." his dark eyes focused on the chrome datajacks behind Spyder's right temple.

"Not for you, chummer." she sighed as she rose to her feet "I didn't come here to do business. Now if you'll excuse me…"

"Four hundred g's in it." the man in the suit said confidently as he fished out a lighter from his blazer.

"Impressive." she jeered sarcastically. Every decker knew such a hefty sum guaranteed that Johnson wants you to dance around some heavy ice that fried his last decker to a mental crisp. "There's a bunch of gullible ramjammers that hang out on level 3, try your offer with them…" her outfit glittered as she turned around and walked away.

"True, but none of them were ever engineers for Fuchi and Aztec- experience the job requires…"

Spyder stopped dead in her tracks. Old Johnson did his homework and dug up info on her- this made her very uncomfortable. Spyder slowly turned around to face Johnson. "I didn't realize I had a reputation."

"Five hundred…" he said as he snapped the lighter and held it to his joint. "This is no ordinary job. I highly suggest you take it. Aztec and Fuchi renegades are hard to find these days."

Some commotion of the first level distracted their attention. From the sound of it, a brawl broke out between some orks and humans, but the incident was too far away to see with the mass of dancing flesh in the way. Johnson turned to look back at Spyder, but she was no longer where she was standing. He quickly looked around- a faint laser glint reflected off her metallic outfit and gave her away as she scampered into the dance crowd.

Spyder didn't want the job, and by Johnson's conversation it seemed as though she was individually sought out for the netrun, and would be pushed to take the job whether she wanted it or not. Black ICE wasn't on her agenda by a longshot. She was financially secure for the next six months, so newyen wasn't sufficient motivation. Last of all, no one has the privilege of telling her what to do. She took a quick glance behind her to see if the Johnson in the suit was following her, sure enough he was.

Oblivious to Dawson as he watched Spyder flea from the man in the suit, Crane forced his drugged mind into focus as he blocked the Johnson's access through the crowd and held a cigarette loosely between his fingers. "Hey chummer, ya got a light?" Johnson looked over Crane's shoulder to see Spyder dissolve into the thick dance crowd behind him. An irritated expression washed over the man's face. "Frag off, keeb." Crane moved aside coldly "My, my.. Such language for one so finely dressed…" he said as he strategically moved his foot to trip the man in the suit as he lunged in Spyder's general direction. Crane's eyes narrowed with malevolence as the man crashed to the dance floor. The laser light reflected off his black cybereye and accented the remains of a scar as he chucked to himself before vanishing into the crowd faster than a blink.

Spyder sat down in a booth next to the staircase as Crane approached. He looked at his cigarette curiously before flicking it onto the floor. "Thanks for stalling him." she said with a perky elvish smirk. "What is it that the suit wanted?" Spyder looked around as she answered him "Oh, some high paying ramjamming, datasteal dreck. I'm secure for a while. I don't want to run into anymore black ICE if I can help it. The Johnson in the suit did some homework on me- it didn't seem like he wanted to take no for an answer. goddammit I hate pushy motherfrrag-…ers…." her train of thought was paused as her green eyes spotted Dawson in the crowd observing her with an Amerind pal standing behind him. "That blue death kicking in yet?" he teased as he leaned back to relax in the booth. The LSD is compromising his perception Spyder thought to herself.

Dawson took a better look at the elf with the cybereye, he's seen his face before, probably when he was still working with Lone Star's elite Shadowrider squad.

"Spydie. You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna do a little dancing. I'll meet you near hell later on"

The two friends split in separate directions without so much as another word. Spyder walked straight up to Dawson, and offered him her arm "Shall we descend?" she asked him coyly.


Spyder
Crane

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson eyed her lithe form, then looked over at Dallas, who simply nodded and disappeared, hot on the trail of the guy with the replacement eye. Then, Dawson replied, "Descend to where?" forcing a grin onto his weather-worn face. Spyder took his extended arm and led him deeper into the crowd.

"Into Hell, of course," she answered his question with a raised eyebrow and a crooked smile. Dawson had seen that look before, more than a hundred times. On more than a hundred women. His mental guard went up, but still, he moved with ease as they made their way to the staircase.

"Funny. I thought we were already in Hell," Dawson said with a chuckle. Spyder just looked at him with an expression that read 'DUH' in capital letters, but she managed a little laugh all the same. She looked almost as tense as Dawson started feeling as the floors of Dante's rose above his head.

"You got a name, mister?" Spyder asked as they descended.

"That depends. You gonna use it in an obituary, or a romance novel?" Dawson queried, as he screwed another smoke between his lips and lit up. Spyder just looked at him, an expression bordering on disgust trying to play across her face. Dawson took a deep drag and exhaled it, smiling as he gave his answer. "Sorry, I never was any good at this. Ray Dawson," he said, extending his hand to shake hers. She just smiled.

"Call me Spyder," she smiled, not even moving to take his hand. Ray chuckled inwardly. This girl was paranoid. Not alot, but just enough to stay alive in this town. He respected that. He hadn't lived 36 years on good luck alone.

As the two reached the lowest level, Dawson's skin started crawling again. Something bad was going down. He looked at Spyder as she led him through the crowd, and decided right there to let it all play out and see what happened. After all, this whole thing might get interesting before the night was over, and Ray wanted to be breathing after all was said and done...

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The elf with the artificial eye moved on to the dance floor, picked a woman at random, and began dancing with a loose jointed abandon.

Dallas watched him for a moment. He had seen Dawson and the woman descend into the nether reaches - he still had a hinky feeling about whatever had gone on down there. Worse, he could practically feel Trickster trying to push him off center again.

What the hell was he doing anyway? He had known Dawson for all of 52 minutes and here he was splitting a surveillance with the guy. Yet he had felt a weird kind of report with the detective, almost like what he'd had with his old teacher.

He watched Cybereye hit the bar for another drink. Frag it, whatever watching he did would have to be in passive mode.

He invited a petite red head on to the floor. He danced with such an amazing fluid grace, the girl goggled at him, "Gawd, you're so beautiful," she gushed.

Dallas grinned at her, aware that Cybereye had returned to the dance floor, and that his partner was really very pretty.

-Dallas

By Rigel Nephridil (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

The ninth level was far more somber and morose than the others, and the lighting only served to amplify the mood. Most of the spotlights were red, purple and the occasional gold to simulate the flicker of flames. the lasers and strobe lights matched this color scheme. The walls were black obsidian with inset white, marble, relief statues twisting outwards; as though trapped monstrosities were frozen in their effort to escape. Two caryatids of spiraled dragons supported the immense weight of the stone entrance to this last obscure retreat.

Spyder's pale flesh turned blood red from the lighting as a yellow laser traced out a flame image at random on Dawson's shoulder. The smoke machines were working overtime to keep a dense level of fog maintained. Two security guards nodded at spyder and stepped aside to let them through.

"Ever been here before, Dawson?" she asked as she lead him into the crowd. He looked distracted and mumbled "Yeah, once or twice.." in acknowledgement while observing his surroundings with curiosity.

Off to the far left Dawson noticed a sunken area used as a simsense lounge. Illegal beetle trading was probably a common event amongst other things. Twenty people lay strewn about their seats, all plugged into a simsense deck, seemingly comatose as their consciousness was set adrift in a simulated reality.

Spyder took a quick look around at the crowd. There were a lot of people who she didn't recognize there that night. A group of people gathered around the private room "hell"- all of them human, and looking around the club with an expression of disgust. Surrounded by a small mob of security guards was "Nicolette Sayeva", a famous rocker/simsense star dancing with her wealthy partner- the top simsense exec for Fuchi's "Braindance" division. Nicolette was one of the most sought after, metahuman simsense stars in north america. She was also gaining a strong following in Europe, and her success stood as a powerful symbol of metahuman equality. She was often seen at several metahuman activist fund raisers and protests. She seemed to dance as though her entourage didn't exist, but the occasional paranoid twitch of her stare gave her away.

"From the look of it" Dawson paused to take another drag from his cigarette "I'd say the rumors of her receiving death threats are true." a thick grey cloud surrounded his mouth as he spoke.

Spyder nodded in concession as she carefully brought herself closer to Dawson and gently took his arm. "So, Dawson. Do you dance?"

***

Enjoying the thrill of his high, Crane took another drink- this time no recreational drugs. the dose he had earlier was more than enough to keep him pleasantly drugged for hours. "Gonna buy me a drink?" asked a tall, elven female who approached him. It was Evelyn, the first steady girlfriend he'd had in years. After he bought her a drink they wasted no time and hit the dance floor. "Lyn, Spydie is on level nine, I'm supposed to meet her there later on. We should probably head downstairs- I don't think it would make a difference if I showed up early." he said as he lead her away from the dance floor. He almost bumped into an American indian man dancing with a readhead. "Oh, sorry. Excuse me." Crane said politely as he passed by. Actually, it seemed wherever he went, the indian dude was nearby... DAMNIT he thought as he realized his sedated state was dulling his powers of observation. I'll have to force myself into a more alert state from now on. As Evelyn and Crane descended the staircase, Crane managed to remember to see if anyone was trailing him. At a far and safe distance the indian was in casual pursuit with the pretty redhead bubbling and giggling at his side.

Gotta check on Spydie he thought as he subconsciously quickened his pace. "Baby, what's going on?" asked Evelyn with curiositiy she picked up on his subtle behavior change. "You seem so serious all of a sudden. I thought you were on vacation." Crane sighed as he turned to speak to her with an exhausted manner "I'm being observed. We gotta check on Spydie. Something's fishy and it ain't the Takoma" Evelyn appeard to share Crane's frustration as they walked down the staircase.

Crane
Spyder

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Ray looked down at Spyder with a crooked smile, replying, "I don't dance as much as flail around like a dumb white guy." They both laughed as they hit the dance floor. Ray kept an eye on the disgusted-looking humans. If Dawson felt out of place in here, these guys looked worse than he felt. Every time he faced them, he took note of their features. Predominantly white, male humans, with one or two haughty-looking females--the kind you'd expect to be smoking a designer cigarette on the end of a long, black filter while lounging next to a pool at the Riviera. 'Rich blonde chicks' was the mental profile Dawson gave them. Yeah, these guys looked old european, right down to the haircuts and single-breasted suits.

"Hey... Ray? Earth to Ray? You in there?" Ray looked down at Spyder, who was just looking at him. He shook his head a little, then smiled.

"Yeah. Sorry. What'd you say?" Ray asked, now paying attention to her.

"I said, what do you do?" Spyder asked above the din of the music. Dawson just looked at her, forcing a confused expression onto his face. Spyder rolled her eyes. "For a living, silly. What do you do for work? You know, a job?" Dawson smiled and nodded. He hoped he successfully pulled off the little air-headed bit. It had been a while since his last 'infiltration' and he was trying to keep in practice.

"I'm a taxi driver," Ray said matter-of-factly. He studied Spyder's expression as he gave his answer, trying to see how she reacted. A brief look of doubt washed over her features, but quickly dissipated.

"Taxi driver, huh? I didn't see a sign on your car outside the Java Hut," Spyder said coyly, raising an eyebrow. She hoped to corner him and catch him off guard by pressing this point. Dawson just smiled.

"You think I drive a taxi everywhere? I was off-duty," Dawson replied, smiling innocently. He knew now that Spyder must have looked into his car earlier, when she had that black-tinted helmet visor over her face. Now, all he had to do was figure out why she took an interest in him. Hell, maybe she even knew this Jobe fella...

"Look, Ray. I'm not stupid. You were staking out the Java Hut. Why? And why'd you tail me here?" Spyder asked, glaring up at Dawson. He just nodded his head towards a series of booths along a divider-wall made entirely out of glass. It still had twisted sculptures playing along its surface, only it was largely translucent. Whenever light hit the wall, the images sprang to life, glowing and appearing to shift hypnotically. Dawson could tell that the wall must be a trip for anyone who was 'visually impaired' for the evening. As they sat in the most private booth Dawson could find, Spyder glared at him again. "So?" she asked, more agitated.

Dawson calmly lit up another smoke, letting her apparent agitation simmer for a second as he exhaled a cloud of smoke above their heads. Finally, he leaned back, saying, "Now, what makes you think I was staking out the Java Hut? And, I didn't tail you. I was in the neighborhood, and I recognized your bike. So, I came in. Any more questions?" Ray smiled. He knew he was putting her on the spot by remaining so cool about her apparent attempts at interrogating him. He'd find out what he needed to know soon enough. He took another deep drag off his current smoke and waited for Spyder to respond...

By Rigel Nephridil (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Spyder's attention was distracted by the group of humans leaving hell. They glared at every single metahuman who stood in their path between hell and the staircase- running into Crane and Evelyn on their way and delivering angry scowls, which Crane promptly returned without hesitation. One of the women in the group of humans locked gaze with him for a minute before following the group up the stairs.

"What was that about?" whispered Evelyn with caution.

"Policlub leader for the Seattle Clan. I wired her car ignition to the petrochem tank- just a little joke." giggled Crane as he strained his eyes while trying to filter out the hallucinations that plagued his vision. He managed to find Spyder in the crowd dancing with a stranger he didn't recognize. Crane moved off to a booth in a dark corner to observe people enetering and leaving the staircase. The Amerind man entered the scene and exhanged a brief knowing glance with Spyder's dancing partner once they spotted each other in the crowd.

that's it, I need to sober up he thought as he stood up with the walls breathing around him, he signaled for Evelyn to follow before proceeding towards the bar. The decor was too much for his present state. The carved creatures flickered and melted as they trailed across his field of vision. tripping sucks when you might be in trouble

Along the way he took a short diversion to cross the Amerind's path, stopped, looked at him blankly, then continued walking. He hoped it would gibe the stanger a clue that Crane knew he was being observed.

"Anitode." he said to the bartender, "for which one?" "LSD" the bartender poured a mix of liquids into a shotglass and served it with a sugar cube and lemon wedge "A little Stoli to wash it down" the bartender grinned as he poured a second shotglass and moved it next to the first one. After toasting the bartender in gratitude he quickly swallowed the bitter coctail of chemical inhibitors to tkae care of the excess hallucinogens left in his system. Just when I thought I could take a fraggin' day off he thought as he downed the vodka, chewed the sugar cube and bit into the lemon wedge. It would still take a good half hour for the chemicals to metabolize. He looked at the Amerind man who was in the distance dancing with the redhead. The indian had a few good dance moves. He seemed to be ignoring him now, but his presence still made Crane uneasy so he kept an eye on him and Spyder's dance partner.

***

is the fraggin bathroom the only well light place inthe freakin' club? Jamie growled to herself mentally as he stuck the ends of the wires into the grey putty-like block taped to his chest with shaking fingers. A cold, nervous sweat coated her from head to foot.

A tall woman with brown hair with a plain, black dress suit entered the bathroom. "Five minutes behind schedule. Don't us down Jamie, this is crucial." the woman had a deep velevty voice. The following silence was broken as Jamie loaded a full magazine into her ceramic Glock. She sound echoed off the cold bathroom tiles. She opened the bathroom stall door and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, she was tired, so tired of the world and everything she was forced to endure. "It's time to rebel against the powers that govern your sorrow." a warm smile from Diane greeted Jamie as she stepped out of the stall. The woman embraced her "May god be with you my child" she said to Jamie with a soothing tone before sending her out to the dance floor.

Jamie's skin was crawling, the hairs stood up on the back of her neck as she made her way onto the dance floor. Her black suit blended in well with the obsidian decor, the only features to emerge from the smoggy laser pierced darkness was her face framed by pointed ears. She entered the staircase and headed down to level nine, where she flashed her fake membership card to the security guards. Her brown eyes scanned the dance crowd as her heart raced. Her consiousness was like a machine, precise and without emotion- and fighting some unknown source of fear and hesitation. Diana was right, this had to be done.

Nicolette was all smiles as she embraced her lover on the dance floor. once you learn to ignore the security men, it's not hat bad having them tag around she thought to herself. She had been dancing for a few hours and the stiletto heels were becoming quite uncomfortable. She grabbed a drink from the bar to tkae some weight off her sore feet- with the security men following her every move.

"gin and tonic" Jamie mumbled nervously to the bartender after he served Nicolette a blue curaco margarita. Her hands trembled as she sipped her drink and looked nervously over to Nicolette, whos view was partially blocked by the stocky neck of a security guard.

"Jamie? Oh My GOD!!!! Is it really you?" squealed Nicolette with hapiness "I haven't seen you since the last record debut. Where have you been?" Nicolette jumped up to get closer to her old friend, pushing a security guard out of the way. Nicolette reached her arms out to give a friendly hug.

One of the security guards steped in the way "Ms. Sayeva, we should check her out first" he cautioned and then turned to Jamie and pulled out a hand-held metal detector. "hold your arms out please, Ma'am." "But sir! I'm a friend of hers!" she protested, Nicolette agreed and ordered the guard out of her way. As her slender arms reached out once again, Jamie smoothly pulled gun out from under her blazer. Two security guards raised their ingrams and aimed it at the side of Jamie's head "Drop it!" they screamed. The dance crowd halted and dropped to the floor at the sight of the gun muzzles. A nervous twitch obscured Jamie's face for an instant before the shots rang out. When the sound of the gunfire halted, both Nicolette and Jamie were spralwed out on the floor in a spreading pool of blood.

Nicolette's lover was frozen with shock as he covered his eyes."Jesus!" cried out one of the guards as he approached the warm, twitching corpse of Jamie. He moved the lapel of her blazer aside with the muzzle of his ingram, exposing the bomb taped to her chest. The green digits on the LCD counted down

5:34
5:33
5:32
5:31
5:30
5:29

"Dreck! She's got a bomb!!!"

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson knew something bad was going to happen. "Excuse me," he said to Spyder as he got up to approach the big gorillas at the bar. It was going to be hard, considering everybody else in the place was screaming and stampeding toward the stairs. Spyder grabbed his hand as he rose.

"Where are you going?" she asked, irritated that her questions weren't answered. Ray just looked back at her and smiled a little.

"To work," he said, taking another drag from his smoke. Two security goons blocked his path as he approached.

"Who the frag are you, chummer? Beat it or get beat," one goon said. Dawson pulled out a wallet from his back pocket, letting it fall open. A Lone Star Badge shone in all its silvery glory, a photo-ID housed in a plastic casing on the flap above it.

"Detective Ray Dawson, Lone Star. Lemme have a look--unless you feel like obstructing justice tonight," Ray looked the goon straight in the eye, causing him to back down in a hurry. Ray looked down at the bomb. "C-12. I'd say about 5 pounds of it." He took another drag from his cigarette.

"How bad is that?" goon #2 asked. Ray didn't even look up at him, instead, studying the detonation device. Just as he was about to answer, the blonde-haired elf with the cyber-eye spoke up.

"Bad enough to send Hell into orbit, and flatten this city block into the crater it makes," Crane said. Ray regarded him for a moment, then noticed Dallas.

"Hey, Dallas," Ray called. "Get Miss Simsense upstairs and someplace Doc-Wagon can get to her. You, Goons, help him out. And get everybody out of the building. Four minutes is enough time to evacuate this place. You, Cyber-eye, help me get our little terrorist up on the bar so I can work on her," Ray ordered, calmly, as he puffed away on his cigarette.

"Name's Crane, chummer. And I wouldn't move her if I were you," Dawson glared up at him with a 'and-why-the-hell-not' expression. "You must have missed that secondary fail-safe detonator there. Mercury switch. Once she went down, it activated, so now even if she wanted to take off the device, it would go. She was forced into this," Crane said smoothly, as he knelt next to Dawson. The lights came on, and now Dawson could see what Crane was talking about. "Sometimes cybernetics are very handy," Crane said as he pulled out a leatherman pocket-tool. Dawson decided to help this guy out with whatever he needed...

4:00
3:59
3:58
3:57
3:56
3:55

By Rigel Nephridil (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Crane’s head spun as he struggled to calculate the situation... Dallas, Dawson, Spydie???

Dallas was watching him, Dallas being associated with Dawson- lone Star. Aww frag... he thought is Lone Star on my back again? he sighed with disappointment, as he exchanged glances with Spyder. He looked at her, and eyed the staircase. Spyder took the hint and turned for the exit, Crane nudged Evelyn gently, who understood as well and pushed her way towards Spyder. And what was Dawson doing with Spyder?

He was only seven feet away when the shoot-out took place, looked like Jamie got about five shots into Nicolette before she came down. Two of the security guards made Jamie’s abdomen into swiss cheese. Nicolette seemed to have a better chance at survival, provided that the bullets missed her heart.

***

Spyder and Evelyn followed Dallas and the crew of security guards as they raced to the elevator to get Nicollete Sayeva to ground level. The staircase was more stylish, but with a gunshot victim and enough C-12 to level a city block, the lift seemed far more appropriate.

One of the Ork guards talked into his comm link, trying to calm his inner panic. “WE need a medic- NOW! Nicolette was shot down..... What? No, we’ll meet the wagon in front... Then have the driver move to a safer location in case the bomb goes off... What Bomb??? Where the FRAG have you been!! Not like an evacuation-IN-PROGRESS goes unnoticed!..... Yeah, THAT evacuation...” The ork rolled his eye with disbelief. Spyder watched Dallas and wondered about his connection to Dawson. Dawson was with Lone Star, or at least had the fake credentials to convince everyone so. If Dawson was an officer, then it was likely Dallas was another Lone Star operative- but for some reason he didn’t look the part. Hired help, maybe a buddy of his she thought as she looked him over. “If Dawson is with Crane, he’s in good hands...” she said to Dallas once he noticed she was watching him. “Are the two of you friends? Shame on him for not introducing us...” she grinned slyly as the elevator doors opened. Medics were standing by with a medical bed and carefully placed Nicolette on it. Her eyes were beginning to roll in back of her head as they strapped her onto the medical bed. Out on the street a frenzy of paramedics buzzed around Nicolette, meanwhile hundreds of club goers were trying to flea the scene- complete chaos. A sizable crowd of metahumans watched with somber expressions as the bullet-riddled body of Nicolette was loaded onto the doc wagon.

***

"Sometimes cybernetics are very handy," Crane said
as he pulled out a leatherman pocket-tool.

“Ahhh.. The beauty of C-12.... You don’t need a booster charge to detonate it... But that doesn’t make it any easier for us....” sighed Crane as he adjusted the tool. A gurgling sound wheezed out of the holes in Jamie’s chest as blood gurgled out while she struggled to breathe. It was still difficult for Crane to see, everything around him was still trailing and quivering, and the laserlights didn’t make it any easier. “Somebody cut off those fraggin’ lasers!!!” he cursed as he closely studied the wires stuck into the block of C-12. The flickering of the lasers came to a halt.

3:50
3:49
3:38

“Crude...” he mumbled as he thought out loud. He fished a small mag light out of his coat pocket, then adjusted the beam to look under the LCD/battery device- gently easing a couple black wires aside to clear the view. “Hey Dawson, can ya hold this for me?” he asked as he prepared the wire cutters with his free hand. Dawson crouched down and held the light and took a closer look. “Two red, three black, one green and two white. Two red wires from the battery, probably to send the charge. One black from the first mercury switch- already triggered. Green wire from the LCD to the battery, two white from the battery to the C-12- most likely a backup.” Dawson paused for a moment to take another drag from his cigarette, Crane adjusted his grip on the pocket tool and yawned audibly as Dawson exhaled a cloud of smoke and continued “Second black from the battery to the C-12 to carry the charge once the second mercury switch is tripped-”

“Third black wire from the secondary mercury switch to the battery. Absolutely stunning.....” an edge of sarcasm was detectable in Crane’s voice as he cut in, earning him a dirty look from Dawson. Jamie’s left hand quivered as she tried to raise it. She groaned with a struggling breath. “Stay still Jamie.” Crane soothed “We’ll have a doc down here in a minute.”

3:15

“If ya cut that one we can dismantle it before it blows. The second mercury switch can’t trigger the bomb that wire is severed.” Dawson perked up.

3:12

“That’s the idea.”

3:11
3:10

“Rather low-tech, ain’t it?”

3:09

“Amateurs...” Crane hissed in agreement as he positioned the cutters around the black wire. He clamped his hand down on the pocket tool and severed the wire. He lifted his head to view the LCD screen. Jamie’s hand was still trembling.


3:08
3:07
3:06

“It should be safe now. Dawson, get out the knife.” Crane said as he handed him the pocket tool. Dawson flipped the blade out of the tool handle. Crane pointed to a band of duck tape holding the LCD and battery unit onto the C-12. “Cut that off while I pull out the wires. We should be able to lift the battery device off the block of C-12.”

3:01
3:00
2:59
2:58

Dawson opened a small knife and sliced through the tape with ease while Crane gently pulled the ends of the red and white wires out of the C-12 block.

2:48
2:47
2:46

Crane and Dawson looked at each other and nodded. “Carefully...” Dawson warned, Crane nodded “Three, two, one-” both of them peeled the battery/LCD unit and mass of wires off of the soft block of C-12.

“Make sure there’s no C-12 stuck to the back of the tape or someone might lose an arm...” Crane warned as he bent down and removed the block of plastic explosive off of Jamie’s chest, Dawson shot him a 'do ya think I'm stupid' look. There wasn’t anything else stuck in the explosive. “The tape looks clean, no chunks of C-12 stuck to it.” announce Dawson as he inspected the LCD/battery unit.

“Jamie?” Crane put his fingers on her neck to check her pulse as he removed the gun from her right hand.

“Diana...” she gurgled with great difficulty as her chest compressed.

“Don't try to talk, just try to keep breathing.” said Dawson, attempting to sound as warm and caring as possible- quite a stretch for him.

“Get a doc down here now!” Crane ordered to one of the security men who was standing around being useless.

***

Her pulse is weakening, WHERE’S that IV?? While you’re at it I’ll need TWO chest tubes” bantered doctor Ashe as she checked Nicolette’s pulse. “Five gunshot wounds... I’ve seen worse...” she mumbled as she positioned the CAT scanner over her chest. The doc punched in a few buttons on a wall panel and the CAT scanner hummed as it activated. A full screen, 3d image of the Nicolette’s interior was projected into view. All the paramedics cringed at the sight. “Flechette ammo, and a hole in the left ventricle...” the doc sighed with a less optimistic tone. “O.K. Davis, and Lange- get the laser scalpels. Terrano, I’ll need suction. Klofas- you do the chest tubes. Ryan, get some trauma patches. Santos- looks like we’ll be needing a few pints to fill her back up after we open her chest.” the doctor reached for the bone saw as she ordered the paramedics around. “Anesthesia! Hopkins! Get to it!!!” she commanded. “Yes ma’am!” Hopkins replied as he reached for the mask and placed it over Nicolette’s mouth. Doctor Ashe gripped the saw as Hopkins nodded, indicating that Nicolette was sedated.This is gonna be a long night Dr. Ashe thought as she bit her lip behind the surgical mask.

Crane

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas moved out of the whirling, frantic dance of security, Docwagon, and fleeing patrons. The woman, Spyder, stood nearby, watching him, her expression a combination of curiosity and worry.

Dallas knew he was glaring at the simsense star's security, but he couldn't seem to help it. As bodyguards, they were useless drek. They had let their primary take a hit, and Dallas radiated contempt from every pore.

"Dallas? It is Dallas, isn't it?" asked Spyder.

"Yeah."

"So you're Dawson's buddy? Or are you working on a contract?" she tried.

"Can you believe those guys?" he pointed at one of the star's body guards who was standing nearby, "They actually let some one close enough to hit their client. Didn't stop her, frisk her, nothing. They may have well shot the woman them selves."

The security man's face flamed scarlet, "What would you know about it, Tiny?" The man easily massed twice as much as the young Amerind, and was probably a foot and half taller. Spyder figured the kid would be paste in about a minute.

"I know I never let a client take a hit. I know when your the guard and she's the body, you're the one who takes the hit, not her. I know you stink at your job."

The security guy took a swing at Dallas, but the kid wasn't there to recieve it. Spyder had never seen anyone move that fast, even with chips. Dallas was practically a blur as he dodged the swing then leaped up, landing a bone crunching kick in the guys ribs, and a fist in his face, mashing the man's nose like a grape. The security man went down with a groan.

"Learn your fraggin job, chummer," Dallas hissed.

Spyder looked at the kid, "Feel better."

Dallas grimaced, "Sorry. You said something?"

She glanced at the security guy, then at the slight form in front of her, then asked anyway.

"So are you and Dawson tight?"

Dallas shook his head, "Don't even know the man. Never saw him before tonight."

Spyder just looked confused.

-Dallas

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson looked at Crane, who barely broke a sweat during the little crisis. Definately the mark of a professional. There was something familiar about his face, and Dawson was usually very good with faces... And the name sounded familiar, too.

"Hey, Crane," Dawson said, causing Crane to regard him once more. "Nice working with ya. You go to school for that?" Dawson nodded at the lump of grey C-12 in his hand. Crane just smiled as the medics raced in and took Jamie away. Even the security guys were leaving.

"Looks like your buddies are starting to show up," Crane said, nodding in the direction of the stairway as Lone Star Bomb Squad tumbled over themselves to get to the dismantled device. Crane started laughing as he watched them hurry closer, waiting for them to get up to the spot where Jamie had fallen. "BOOM!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, laughing as the young-ish looking bomb squad guys jumped nearly out of their skin. When he turned to see if Dawson had also appreciated his little joke, Dawson was nowhere to be seen. 'Damn!' Crane thought. 'I've gotta stop letting my guard down!'

"What happened here?" the head bomb-squad guy asked, as the second examined the dismantled device. Crane just shook his head. Now he was stuck answering the questions. And where the Hell did Dawson go?

By Tony (Sol) on Unrecorded Date:

Malferus stood, watching, propped against a telephone pole. Hmm, he had respect for anyone who could deliver a punch like that. Interesting, so unlike the usual clientelle here. Silently, he turned his head the other way to see what else was going on, and saw lights blaring their siren -sounds through the dark of night.

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

"Die? No way. I had perfect confidence...in my ability to bug the hell out of there."

Dawson laughed. He had to admit he was really beginning to like the kid, and he didn't like that many people - or was it that not many people liked him - whatever.

"Anyway I figured that a very public hit on a very mega metahuman sim-star just screams humanis. I thought the bomb was excessive, though."


Dallas' instincts seemed to be on target, "So what did Spyder want?" asked Dawson.

Dallas shrugged, "Information. About you. I had none to give."

Dawson frowned. This teaming was very unlike him. It was like some weird spell: stake out one street shaman, skrag two trolls, and whammo! instant partner.

"What?" Dallas had asked something and he'd missed it.

"Why does she want the info?"

"She and I tend to be at the same locations at the same times."

The Docwagon was going all out, considering the patient in the back held on to her life by something substantially thinner than a thread, and Dallas had to spend a few minutes concentrating on driving.

"Now will you tell me why we are holding an uncomfortable conversation on a moving bike in persuit of a wounded, possibly dead, wannabe assasin?"

Dawson had to smile. Dallas knew how to play, all right, and the kid was definately growing on him.

-Dallas

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

"Nope," Dawson said over the din of Dallas' engine as the duo approached the emergency room loading area, right behind the ambulance.

"Are we there yet?" Dallas asked jokingly as they pulled up to the curb. Jamie was being off-loaded as they approached. The gurney was very bloody.

"This might get fun. If you're squeamish, kid, hang out here." Dawson dismounted and started to walk into the hospital. Stopping short, he turned around and spoke to Dallas once more. "Oh, by the way--you might wanna eat that sandwich under your seat before it goes bad. I tell ya, it sure does smell good." Dallas and Dawson exchanged smiles as Dawson entered the E.R. Once again, Dallas was left to watch his back.

'Ray Dawson is either very trusting, very stupid, or very sure of himself to leave a total stranger watching his back so many times in one night' Dallas thought as he bit into his sandwich. He realized again how hungry he really was when 4 minutes and 10 bites later he finished the sandwich--and was still hungry. 'Maybe this place has a snack bar or a gift shop that's still open,' Dallas thought. Deciding that Dawson would manage to find him no matter where he went, Dallas struck out in search of the hospital snack bar...

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

As Dawson stalked out of the storage closet, he saw 2 armed, uniformed security guards stride around the corner. He squared his shoulders slightly and started walking towards them, pretending he belonged. He was careful not to make eye contact with the 2 larger men as he passed to their right side, then turned the corner, back towards the E.R. He started heading past the admitting desk to the large, automatic doors leading outside, when he felt a hand firmly on his shoulder. He began to turn to see who it belonged to, and as he did, he felt something hard and cylindrical poke him in the small of the back. Then a soothing, woman's voice spoke in his left ear...

"Keep walking, elf-lover. We're just a couple of old friends grieving over a lost associate," the voice said. The hand on his right shoulder pushed slightly, and the object poked a little harder into his back. Ray Dawson walked forward. He had no way of knowing how many people were on him, since they kept him facing forward. He knew as soon as they all got outside they'd try and blindfold him. Funny, he didn't even see this coming... Normally, he'd get this wierd sensation whenever he was in danger--but that didn't happen just now. Maybe he wasn't in danger... Yeah. Sure.

As Dawson and his new 'friends' got out onto the well-lit entrance ramp to the E.R, he looked around for Dallas... Nowhere to be seen. His bike was off to the right, though, which meant he was definately around here somewhere... Dawson got an idea. As his captors shoved him forward, Dawson made a big spectacle out of stumbling to his knees. He knew he'd catch some abuse for this, which he did--in the form of a stout kick to the ribs. There was a loud >CRACK< and an immediate stabbing pain in Dawson's chest, and he struggled back onto his feet.

"Don't try anything stupid, chummer. Another stunt like that, and you're dead," spoke a gruff male voice from behind him. 'OK, two targets,' thought Dawson. He nodded silently, dropping his gaze to the pavement as he was led roughly to a beat-up looking van near the far curb. Dawson started to turn his head, in order to get a better view of the situation, when his spine tingled and he got that butterflies-in-the-stomach sensation he was so used to. A moment later there was a blinding flash of light and a sharp pain on his right temple... Then everything was black.

As Dianna and her three bodyguards loaded the unconscious form of Ray Dawson into their van, they glanced around to see if there were any witnesses. Not seeing any, they piled in after him and sped off into the night... Had they looked more closely, they might have seen a familiar bike curbed near the main entrance. Had they looked more closely, they would have seen Ray Dawson's Zippo lighter laying near the curb where he 'stumbled' and got kicked. Had they more than three brain cells a piece, they could have figured out that these two factors added up to trouble...

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

"Frag!"

Dallas caught sight of them just as they shoved Dawson into the van. Four of them. He might be able to take on four alone but probably only with the element of surprise, and the hundred paces that seperated them spoiled that possibility. He waited in the shadows until the area was clear. He sprinted out to his bike, scooping up the Zippo with out stopping.

"Frag," he kicked the bike into life and took off after the van.

The van was headed to hell and gone. As they left downtown behind the tail became more problematical, but the jerk driving the van did not seemed concerned with being followed. They flashed past a highway sign: 'Sea-Tac' and the neighborhood was not improving.

Dallas dropped further back until he was in danger of losing sight of the van all together. They were in an area that may have once been nice. Row houses mostly, tenaments now, that were just this side of all out slum.

The van stopped, then turned as the driver negotiated a tight turn into a narrow alley. Dallas stopped a block away and set the StopThief on his bike. Any one trying to take it would get a jolt strong enough to put him down for the count.

He ghosted up to the alley on foot and watched them unload the apparently unconscious Dawson. There were no lights on, so there were probably no others inside, just these four. Good.

He waited and saw the lights come on in the second floor windows. He waited again before slipping up the ancient fire escape. It was slow going - comparatively - to climb the rusty relic with out a sound, but he managed. His view was limited, heavy curtains hung in the windows, but did not quite close.

It appeared their bolt hole took up one half of the second floor. Dallas carefully moved out on to the two inch ledge far enough so that he could see in to the dark windows, too. The darkened rooms looked not only empty but abandoned.

He moved back to the window furthest from the main room of the bolt and examined it. Casement lock, no alarms to speak of. He could have gotten through it when he was nine. A few moments work and he was inside. The window scraped once going up, curling his toes, but he spit on the offender to lube it up, and pushed it wide.

He could hear voices raised in anger and paused to listen.

"You hit him too hard, Carl," said a woman's voice.

"How was I to know he had a glass skull?"

Dawson? Somehow Dallas doubted it. He had hopes Dawson would be aware enough to help extricate himself.

He padded catlike into the hallway, hugging the wall. The hall was a dog leg so he could only see half the room at once. He could not see Dawson, but the woman and two of the men were visible. She wore a silky looking dress that did not appear to harbour a holster, but both guys were packing - probably all three - but none of the weapons were drawn. Really sloppy.

He studied the situation for a moment. He was sure he could take the two guys, but while he did, the third guy could draw on him. He'd have to make sure he was busy somehow.

The first guy never knew what hit him. Dallas' fists crushed the man's windpipe before he could even turn his head. He went down clutching at his throat, gasping weakly.

Dallas shoved the woman at the third man, filling his hands. The pair of them tripped over the prone Dawson. Dawson grunted and rolled, going after the man as they scrabled on the floor.

The second man, squaring off with Dallas, had his pistol halfway drawn. Without a pause Dallas' hand flashed out, still three feet from his target, and the man began to howl. His gun forgotten, his hands flew to his face, now shredded and bloody, and the gun hit the carpet. A fist to the side of his head, put him down.

Dallas turned, Dawson hammered the third guy's face with his forehead. Dallas yanked the woman to her feet, twisted her arms behind her so far that her fingertips were at her neck, and waited for Dawson to finish.

Dawson's target went down with a bloody thump, and he turned to Dallas with a feral grin.

"Hey," nodded Dallas, deeming it wiser to avoid names, "You okay?"

"Just fraggin peachy," growled Dawson, "and all ready for a little chat..."

-Dallas

By Rigel Nephridil (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

“Hoi, Jack... Any blinding progress from resident genius today?” asked Dr. McNeil with a sarcastic overtone. He wedged himself in the laboratory airlock with a cocky posture he never seemed to be without. Dr. Jack Moore looked up at his co-worker from his microscope with a cafeinated glare.

“Yeah, Daniel, I discovered the RNA sequence hiding up your a$$, along with the cadaver that we thought disappeared last week.”

Dr. Daniel McNeil cocked an eyebrow “You found it?” he asked with disbelief.

“I think I’m on to it- not really sure yet.” Jack grumbled as he returned his eyes back to the microscope eyepiece. “I think I need to run a few more DNA gels before I can give you a definite maybe.”

McNeil slumped against the door frame with a sigh “So what fraggin’ good are ya?”

“Would be nice if you would, you know.. Help me out and actually do some work- heaven forbid.” Jack grinned.

“Oh you know me... Always giving you the opportunity for advancement when you need it. You haven’t forgotten about why you were demoted? Have you?” Daniel jeered as he straightened his posture. Jack snapped his head up from his microscope and glared at the wall in front of him with a look that would melt the plastic face panel to his ROCAL space suit. “Yeah, Dr. Cosper wasn’t too happy about finding your underwear in his daughter’s room.”

“One more word and you’ll be wearing that space suit up your a$$.” Jack finally snapped and as he stormed out of the airlock.

“Oh come on.. You know I can’t resist twisting the knife!!!” Daniel shouted after Jack as he disappeared through the airlock portal.

***

Spyder and Crane looked at each other with mutual understanding as the doc wagon, Dawson and Dallas sped away. “Wanna drive?” she said as she held the keys to her blitzen over his head like bait on a hook. Crane grabbed them without thinking twice, jumped on the bike and pulled on a black helmet as Spyder hopped on behind him. “You’re OK to drive, right?” asked Spyder with shaky confidence as she recalled he wasn’t the most drug-free individual at the moment.

“Yeah, I took some inhibitors when I realized there was some dreck goin’ down... I’m hardly trailin’!” he glowed optimistically.

“Uhhhhh... Crane, chummer.. Maybe I should drive?” Spyder begged as she cautiously reached for the keys.

“The hell you are!” Crane giggled as he revved the engine and raced down the street on one wheel with Spydie gripping him for dear life.

The man in the armani suit stood hidden in the crowd of people recently evacuated from the club. He fished his car keys out of his blazer pocket and headed for his car parked a couple blocks away.

***

They parked around the corner from Dallas as they watched Dawson follow the paramedics transporting Jamie into the ER.

Spyder noticed they were standing in front of a bar. “I’m gonna do a little streaking...” she said to Crane as she motioned towards the entrance, “You keep watch, come get me if Dawson leaves the hospital.” she continued. Crane winked and whistled audibly, the returned his attention to the hospital, where Dallas was parked in anticipation. Dallas probably noticed him, and apparently didn’t seem to care.

***

The chrome jack clicked as it locked into the LTG port in the back room of the “Shamrock bar and grill”. Spyder’s green eyes rolled back into her head as her consciousness entered the matrix without the aid of a deck- far more tricky, but effective all the same. Lone Star never really bothered to change the access codes to their main SAN enough to keep deckers out. Personnel files were a different story. Just because it was a sinch to enter their main system didn’t mean the infrastructure didn’t have a few red SANs and some ICE in the way to protect more valuable data. Without her deck it would actually be a challenge- she’d have to program on the fly- it meant programming mentally. Thoughts of all programming formats gushed from her skull into the thin wire that connected her to the matrix. Her forehead wrinkled as she strained to compile as quickly as possible. “Access granted” flashed the red SAN as she breathed a sigh of relief. In a blink she downloaded all she could on Ray Dawson, retreated from the matrix and opened her eyes to the physical world.

She exited the bar and met Crane outside, who was watching Dallas with crossed arms. “Nothing yet.” he yawned. “Spydie, what the hell are we doing... We’re supposed to be on vacation!” he whined as he kicked a street lamp, “Next time how about a mountain climbing trip in the Tir to keep us out of trouble?”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!” she squealed with glee. “Hey-” she nudged his elbow “-there’s a nightsky comin’ ‘round the corner!”


Crane
Spyder

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson rolled onto his back and sat upright, his hands bound uncomfortably behind his back. He looked around at the run-down room, taking full weight of the situation. One goon lay unconscious, a splattered nose oozing red gore onto the wooden floor. Another goon lay near the doorway, huddled in a fetal position as he unconsciously clutched at the bloody stumps where his hands once were. Dawson made a mental note not to piss off Dallas--monofilament whips were nasty little gizmos. Goon #3 lay face down in a puddle of blood, his hand clamped over the gaping hole where his throat once was... Dawson surmised the small, tubular chunk of flesh laying a foot to the side was the missing piece. Second mental note: Dallas knows the proper techniques for unassisted tracheotemies. Dawson then turned to regard the lady Dallas had immobilized.

"So. Why're you so interested in elves with bombs strapped on their chest?" Dawson asked, nodding at Dallas. Dallas pushed her knees forward, causing her to kneel roughly on the floor with a grunt. She spat on the floor in front of Dawson. Dallas began tying her up, using the belts off the goons laying around the room. He bound her wrists together, as well as her ankles, then he wrapped a belt around her forearms and torso, tightening her arms up behind her, chicken-winged. Then he used a necktie to attach the arm-bonds to the ankle-bond, and her personal prison was complete. Dallas then scrambled behind Dawson and untied him.

"You need a light?" Dallas asked as he produced Dawson's lighter. Dawson just smiled. The woman groaned again, as she strained against the tough synth-leather belts. "Too bad they're not rawhide. I'd douse 'em in water and drag her out to the desert to watch 'em give her a shrink-wrap," Dallas said sarcastically. Dawson grinned again.

"You know what, lady? I'm not letting you out of my sight till my questions are answered," Dawson said as he lit up a smoke. She sneered at him with an arrogant smirk, then let out one, single 'hrumph'.

"You will never get any information from me," she said antagonistically. Dawson raised an eyebrow, then blew a lungfull of smoke into her face.

"Great. A torture candidate. I love those. Hey, kid--help me drag her down to the van. We're gonna go for a little ride," Dawson said as he stood and grabbed the woman by the shoulders. Dallas grabbed her from behind and helped lift her up onto Dawson's shoulders. "Search her for any ID or useful drek. We gotta cruise, in case any of her associates show up. Oh, and ummm... Leave a note, saying we've got their boss. Basic kidnapping protocol. Let's go," Dawson said calmly as he strode out of the room. Dallas started working on the orders, shaking his head in disbelief of what Dawson was actually doing...

By Rigel Nephridil (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Crane and Spyder casually walked back into the bar, avoiding the nightsky just to be cautious. The Johnson in the Armani suit stepped out of the black car and entered the pub.
Spyder ordered a black and tan, Crane decided to be reasonable and held-out since he was driving. Johnson approached Spyder once more.

“I told you to frag off.” she said caustically before taking a long sip of the black & tan.

“I was afraid something like this would happen. It’s just the beginning.” Johnson confessed as he wiped sweat off his brow. “I have some pictures you’d better look at.”

“Sorry honey, but I’m not that type of girl-”

“You want more people like Nicolette to die like that?”

“Don’t try guilt trips on me. They tend to have an adverse affect.” she said while scratching her eyebrow with her middle finger.

“The former offer of five hundred K still stands...”

“I need to know what I’d be getting myself into, chummer. And if I’d be putting myself in the way of a damn c-12 bomb you can take that 500K and shove it up yer-”

“-No. No no no no no.. It’s not like that. May we speak in private?” he said looking at Spyder, then looking at Crane as if to hint that he didn’t want him around.

“If I agree to the job, he’s gonna hear what you have to say like it or not.” Crane smirked as Spyder raged on, “So if you got a problem-”

“Alright fine...” he rolled his eyes and tossed the bartender a credstick, who nodded and pointed to the back room.

Crane scanned the room for all sorts of surveillance devices and found only a video camera riddled with bullet holes, dangling from it’s wall-mount by a frayed wire.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with Diane Scanlon?” Asked Johnson as he leaned back into his chair.

“What good elvin citizen isn’t?” Crane said sarcastically.

“There’s been a lot of policlub activity in Seattle, L.A. and New York. We think they’re beginning to organize.” Johnson said as he lit a joint.

“No offense- human-, but as I recall you called me a ‘keeb’ back at the club- what do you care about what happens to our race? “ Crane said bitterly as he gave Johnson a cruel stare.

“It’s a front- there were policub members all over the inferno. I had to keep up appearances.”

“We need to know who we’d be working for.” Spyder crossed her arms.

“Let it suffice to say, those organizations that would unite to counter Policub violence.”

“You’ll have to do better than that, chummer.” Crane cut in.

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose any additional information unless we have a deal.”

“What would our services be required for?”

“Datasteal. Maybe ghosting some covert ops.”

“Alright, you said you had some pictures to show me?”

“We found a corpse of an elven female spraypainted with racial slurs. Funny thing is, the body already had an autopsy performed before the body was dumped.” he said as he showed Spyder the pictures. “here’s a file of her fingerprints and DNA code. See what you can find.” Johnson handed her a small optical disk.

“That’s it?”

“No, there’ll be more. I must be going now. I will contact you if I hear of anything else.”

***

Crane and Spyder went to Spyder’s bike and caught a glimpse of Dallas speeding away on his motorcycle. They both leaped onto Spyder’s bike in pursuit and trailed him to Sea-Tac.

Dallas was following a van, after it parked in an alleyway three people dragged the limp body of Dawson out of the back and into a building.

“Diana is with them” Crane whispered to Spyder as they hid behind a dumpster with the bike and waited as Dallas creeped in through a second story window. A few minutes later Dawson and Dallas carried the struggling, hog tied body of Diane into the back of the Van and drove off. Spyder and Crane decided to follow.

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

"Hey, kid," Dawson said gruffly. "Grab your bike and put it in the back. And make sure nobody's following us." Dallas ran around back and rolled the bike up into the back of the van, with minor difficulty. He scanned around once, real quick, before hopping into the back of the van and pulling the door closed behind him. Dawson took that as an 'all clear' and pulled out onto the street. Dallas made his way to the front seat, after checking the door-handles and securing them.

"Hey, we got a tail. Looks like those two from the club... Spyder and that other guy," Dallas said quietly. Dawson checked his rear-views.

"That's fine. We're going south. I've got a place in Puyallup," Dawson replied, tossing his nearly-spent cigarette out the window...

By Rigel Nephridil (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

"He's heading for the barrens...." Spyder held Crane tight as they flew around a curve in the road.

"No dreck, sweetie.."

"Kinda bings back memories." she said somberly as Crane increased speed.

"Oh, you mean the romantic circumstances under which we first met?" Crane's sarcasm didn't help to cheer her up even slightly.

"Night of rage..."

"Yeah... Nothing like watching thousands of your bretheren burn to cinders whike Lone Star stands by with thier thumbs up their a$$es and Diane looking on with a bag of popcorn."


Spyder
Crane

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

"How'd you leave it back at the apartment?"
asked Dawson.

"Them's that was alive is alive, them's that was dead are dead. 'We got her' written illiterately on the floor in one guy's blood...I didn't have a pen, it's all very dramatic," Dallas glanced back at the woman bouncing around in the back with his bike, "What are you planning?"

"Don't worry kid, it isn't too illegal. And I think the elves might want a crack at her."

Dallas glanced in his side mirror. The Blitzen was still back there keeping a safe distance.

-Dallas

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

"You know, you have alot of fans," Dawson said loudly, turning his head slightly to address the woman in the back. "Perhaps I should just hand you over to them, instead?" Dawson exhaled another cloud of smoke from his most recent cigarette. Dallas just shook his head.

"Frag you. I'm not telling you anything," she said from the back of the van. Dallas was just now rifling through her purse. He pulled out a personal ID card, smiling triumphantly, and handed it over to Dawson.

"So, Diane Scanlon... Now, where have I heard that name before?" Dawson said. "No wait, lemme guess what your answer is--'Frag you'. That's a real snappy comeback. You some kind of Scrabble champion?"

"Listen, Drek-head--" Diane began. Dawson cut her off.

"No, I'm Frag-face. He's Drek-head. Pay attention, there's gonna be a test later," Dawson said smugly. "You gonna start giving me info, or are we gonna abuse each other all night?"

"Frag you," said Diane defiantly.

"Oh yeah, that's right. Rich chick couldn't afford a proper education. It's called a vocabulary. You should look into acquiring one sometime," Ray responded.

"You stupid ba$tard. You think your insults mean anything to me?" Diane challenged him.

"No, not really. But they do make me feel a whole hell of alot better." Dawson almost cracked a smile. He was enjoying this.

"You're no better than one of them, you stupid freak-lover!" Diane spat. Ray thought he denoted a bit of anger in her voice. Good. He was starting to get to her...

"You know that a 'freak' is gonna scrag you tonight, right? You know that Nicolette is gonna live, right? You know your girl Jamie is dead, and her task failed," Dawson pressed.

"One less keeb in the world," Diane said. "Besides, Jamie didn't fail. She got that freakish b!tch out of the public eye."

"Nope. You're so wrong, Diane. Nicolette is now a martyr for your opposition. Face it, dear... Your little purge is over," Dawson said, watching Diane's expression in the rear-view mirror. She dropped her gaze and turned a ghost-white shade of pale. Dawson chuckled. "Hey, look at that, kid! Now she looks just like an elf!" Dawson laughed.

Diane glared up at him with twisted hatred. Nobody had ever laughed at her before, much less called her an elf. She was furious. "You listen to me, you ignorant, self-righteous fool! These creatures are a plague! A virus that must be cut from true humanity! Kill me, if you want, but events have already been set in motion that will ensure the cleansing of humanity. I die for a nobler cause than you can possibly imagine! These fiends are the end of the world, the harbingers of Armageddon! And they will be destroyed, like the virus they are!" Diane was silent for several moments as the words sank in.

"You see that, kid? Anger and hatred actually can be beneficial to you," Dawson said, chuckling. Diane was now outraged, and began yelling like a caged animal, all semblance of propriety and good taste totally out the window. She even tried gnawing the belts loose. Dawson snickered. "Next week, on 'Wild America'."

Dallas shot a glance at Dawson.

"What? It's an old TV series from the 20th century. You've never heard of it?" Dawson asked incredulously. Around the next corner, a bombed-out parking garage came into view. "We're here," Dawson announced, checking the side mirror to make sure Spyder & Crane were still in pursuit. "Great. Hey, Diane... We're gonna have a party in your favor. Step outside, please," Dawson said as he stopped the van on the lowest level of the garage. Dallas took the hint, moved into the back, and pushed her roughly to the ground behind the van. As Dawson got out of the driver's seat, he winced in pain and grabbed the left side of his chest.

"You alright?" asked Dallas.

"Ask my shrink," answered Dawson as he walked towards the back of the van...

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson hailed Spyder and Crane, and the two elves pulled into the garage cautiously.

Diane Scanlon was propped in a filthy corner. The elves kept an eye on her as they parked and pulled off helmets.

Dallas pulled Dawson aside and spoke in low tones, "I need to know where this is going, man, it's starting to feel a whole lot like a lynch mob. Are you gonna kill her?"

"I had some thoughts in that direction," shrugged Dawson.

Dallas shook his head decisively, "If that's the way it's going to go down, I'm out of here right now. I not real comfortable with cold blooded murder.'

"And the guy who's throat you took tonight?"

"That was different and you know it!" said Dallas with some heat, "Look, killing her is just gonna give them a martyr for their cause and make them that much stronger."

"You got a better idea?" growled Dawson, irritated.

Dallas looked at the elves standing nearby, looking uncomfortable, then at the woman who wore the expression of a caged animal. Suddenly he smiled, "Yeah, I think so. How about some compromising pictures of Scanlon in flagrante delecto with some metahumans. Elves, or better orks. That should shatter her creditability and give the humanis cause a big black eye."

Dawson stared at the younger man for a minute, then actually howled with laughter, "Oh my God, kid, that's priceless."

Still chuckling he waved Spyder and Crane over, "Let's get her majesty inside, I'm sure we all want to here what she might say - trust me it'll get interesting quick depending on the dosage we use."

-Dallas

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

As the group moved off to the side to discuss the plan, Dawson's pocket started ringing. "Hang on, all. I gotta take this call," he said, walking away from the group for a while, until he was far enough away that nobody could hear him.

"Yeah, Dawson," he said into the phone.

"Ray! It's Joey. You got any plans?" the voice on the other end said enthusiastically.

"Yeah. I was planning on smoking some cigarettes," Ray replied gruffly.

"Postpone," said Joey.

"I dunno. These are some pretty good cigarettes," Dawson came back.

"Man, you sound like Drek! What've you been up to?" Joey pried.

"Listen, you calling me for a reason, or just to pi$$ me off?" Dawson asked back.

"Fair enough, chummer. Got a job for ya. 1500 nuyen. Interested?" Joey asked slyly.

"Depends. What's it involve?" Dawson responded.

"Info. I've got an address and a picture. I'll leave it in the usual drop-place tomorrow at 9:30am," Joey started.

"Wow. Waking up before noon. Must be important," Dawson interrupted.

"Yeah, yeah. I need an answer. Yes or no?" Joey asked.

"1500 is 1500. I'm in. What's the name?" Dawson responded.

"Diane Scanlon. Just came over the wire that she's missing. All kinds of contracts out for her safe return, and some others out for her not-so-safe return. Biggest fee was 1500, from a Humanis organization. I know you're not heavy in the morals department, so you were the first name I thought of. Take it or leave it," Joey informed.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. I'll see what I can do. When did you say she went missing?" Dawson asked.

"About 45 minutes to an hour ago. Looks like a metahuman rights group kidnapped her and skragged two bodyguards. Crime scene was sloppy. She must be important, since it only took 'em an hour to put out contracts," Joey said.

"Yeah. Great. I'm on it. See ya later," Dawson replied.

"Alright. 'Bye," Joey said, as he hung up the phone.

Dawson walked back to the group, who were just finalizing plans. "Hey, guess what?" Dawson asked.

"What?" Spyder answered.

"Our guest has a contract on her. Her Humanis group reported her as kidnapped by a metahumans activist group. My contact is dropping me info tomorrow morning. Seems our friend Diane Scanlon has a few secrets she needs to share with us," Dawson said slyly...

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The room that they took Diane Scanlon to had once been the office for the garage. It was dirty and damp, it had a few chairs in it and a battered desk with no drawers. It was easy to see that Dawson had gone all out to make the place livable. They threw her inside, then stayed in the passage to talk.

"We need the drugs it'll take to make her accepting, compliant, and turn her memory into teflon. We don't want her remembering anything that went on tonight, let alone the faces she's seen," said Crane quietly.

"Can we get them?" asked Dallas.

Crane smile thinly, "I can get anything."

"You know kid," said Dawson as an aside, "her own people may kill her because of this."

Dallas wrestled with that silently, but Spyder shrugged "So. If you play in the shadows there's always the possibility something's hiding in there that'll bite your head off."

"I get the impression that our young friend hasn't run through too many shadows," said Dawson, "the nuances may escape him."

Both elves looked at Dallas, who shifted uncomfortably, "Actually, I'm a liscensed bodyguard. Not too many shadows with that gig."

"You?" Crane grinned.

"Him." nodded Spyder emphatically. Dawson nodded, too, as if a question had been answered.

Crane looked around them then shrugged, "Business at hand. I've got some connections down here. I'll have to make a run out."

"Need company?" asked Dallas.

Crane shared a glance with Spyder, "Where I'm going, human's are not real welcome. Sorry."

Dallas shrugged, "So I'll play baby sitter. How long have we got."

Dawson exhaled another cloud of pollutants, "Whatever we do, we finish by say...six a.m. That should give us enough clean up time. Everybody ready? Let's go to work boys n' girls."

-Dallas

By Rigel Nephridil (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Jack hurried through the UV flood lamps and bleach shower before moving through the second airlock to emerge from the rocal suit and peel off the layers of nitrile gloves that sealed his hands. He exited the third airlock and stormed towards his office. His swiped his ID card to open the door and flung it shut behind him. His knees buckled under him with exhaustion as he flopped onto his leather chair. Jack pushed some open research books off his desk and put his feet up. The comm link rang just as he closed his eyes.

"This better be good. I'm fraggin' tired." he said with complete absence of emotion as he answered the comm.

"How does a new job sound?" the voice on the other end spoke.

"Where, how much, what for and who are you?"

"A private, independent research company. A half a million newyen a year and you can call me 'boss'. A car will be waiting to take you to meet me for an interview in ten minutes."

"What if I say no?"

"I don't think you're happy working for Aztec, you would be an excellent resource for us."

"Industrial espionage isn't what I call a job." jack replied sharply as he looked at his two PhD's hanging on the office wall.

"I can arrange the transfer. It would be a different life for you. We would have ten genetic engineers working under you."

"I'll think about it." Jack said before hanging up the phone. He looked down at a portable cot that he'd put in the corner of his office. The need for rest was overwhelming, so he gave in to it.
***

Adam Lerner hung up his armani suit on a hanger, then tucked a plastic cover over it to contain the stench of cigarette smoke until he could take it to the cleaners.

The comm link on his oak desk beeped.

"What." he said curtly.

"Aztec negotiated well.. They have the cadaver back. I need to know where it's been. Any leads?" asked a masked female voice.

"I've hired someone to inquire."

"So you located Spyder?"

"Yes." Adam said as he relaxed into a seat.

"Diane is reported missing. Her superiors are getting squirmish- they might make a mistake in their haste and desperation. They think a metahuman group abducted her."

"If only..." he snickered.

"If you can find her that would be most rewarding for us. She was last seen at Tacoma Hospital where Jamie was taken."

By Rigel Nephridil (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Crane stared at Spyder. She shrugged and reluctantly held her keys out to Crane, who grinned in delight. “You need to get your own fraggin’ bike....” she huffed has he snatched the keys from her hand.

***

“Dr. Cosper, as I have hinted to you before, I believe we have a common interest. You want Dr. Jack Moore out of your research team. The problem is, you don’t have enough dirt on him to give him anything more than a demotion. You get the idea, don’t you?”

“I’m listening.” said Dr. Cosper with intrigue as he snuggled his ear against the cel phone. “Please continue. What do you propose?”

“Give us the means to remove him, no cost to you really. That is all we ask.”

“This is a biohazard level 7 facility, that would be rather difficult.” replied Cosper as he wrinkled his brow. “I’d need some time to come up with a-”

“You have 4 hours. I’ll call you then.”

***

Dr. Daniel McNeil toiled with the RNA segment Jack had left under the electron microscope. He put another sample of it into the DNA generator to make more copies of it and prepared to run ten DNA gels.

Dr. Cosper entered the airlock in his rocal space suit. Daniel looked up, expecting to see Jack, “Oh, Dr. Cosper. What brings you to this part of the dungeon?” he said with surprise as Cosper jacked his air line into the wall.

“Danny, you seen Jack anywhere around? I need to have a talk with him.”

“I think he went to get some coffee, he looked pretty tired.” Danny paused as he filled the slots in the gel with the RNA in a pipette. “He’s been a little overworked as of late.”

“Entry level assistants should expect to be challenged.” Cosper sneered.

“Hey, you’re the boss...” Daniel said with a heavy sigh as he filled his pipette with another 10 mls of RNA.

“Oh, and uh- we’ll need you in containment lab three in a half hour.” Cosper nodded arrogantly before unplugging his air line and leaving through the air lock.

Daniel jumped for the phone soon as Cosper left from sight. The cumbersome space suit made dialing difficult. Jack’s office answering machine picked up. “Jack, you might wanna be altered to some news. Cosper was just here- he says he wants to have a word with you. Two words of advice my friend: RUN AWAY. Run far away... Sorry about what happened earlier- I should have waited until you were recaffeinated before I laid the sarcasm on that thick. Sorry... You gonna pick up the phone or what? O.K. tell ya what- call me later when your shift is over and we’ll head on over to the Pink Door or the Inferno and par-tay.”

***

Cosper sat down at his desk and looked through security’s systems. Jack had used his ID card to unlock his office ten minutes ago. Copser moved to the storage room, grabbed a cart, body bag and a couple tranquilization patches.

***

Jack woke to his office door buzzer. He jumped straight out of his cot, onto his chair and grabbed a few books to look like he was doing something before announcing “Come in.”.

Cosper entered the office. “I’ll need your assistance in the NMR room. We have a few samples to run. Be there in ten minutes.”

“Yes sir.” Jack said solemnly as Cosper turned to leave.

Cosper dialed his cel phone as he pushed the cart to the NMR room. “I have it.”

“Dr. Cosper, that was pleasingly quick.”

“Can you have a medical supply transport van ready in ten minutes?”

“It’s a squeeze, but I think we can.”

“Good, go to loading dock seven. Your men should be prepared to tell Aztec security that they’re awaiting the shipment of one cadaver from the cryogenics department to medical R&D.”

“Done.”

***

Jack entered the NMR room. He heard a shuffling sound behind him, but before he could turn around something hit his head and the world faded to black.

Cosper slapped two tranquilizer patches on the arm and stuffed an ample amount of cotton gauze into the mouth. He placed jack into a body bag, zipped him up (leaving a small segment of the zipper open so he could breathe) and pulled him onto the cart.

***

Daniel turned around with a jolt as Cosper pushed the stainless steel cart through the containment room doors. “Do me a favor, Danny. Fill out a transfer form. We’ve got a cadaver here from cryo to be transferred to the medical R & D department.”

“Shouldn’t it be in a liquid nitrogen container then?” asked Daniel curiously.

“No, already thawed and chemically treated. They don't need the cadaver frozen. Just fill everything out- will ya? I’ll get the transport case.”

“Yes sir.”

***

Jack woke in a soft bed. He was in some sort of room, but the lighting was insufficient for him to accurately discern where he was. The back of his head was throbbing. He felt something sticking to his skin. He looked down and noticed two dermal patches leeched onto his arm, with a quick tug he removed them. He slowly rose to his feet while feeling a bump on the back of his head and approached what looked like a door- quickly discovering that it was locked. Jack then felt around for a light switch. He squinted his eyes tightly as the lights came on. Gradually his eyes adjusted but the headache seemed to worsten. Jack looked around, he was in a bedroom- nicely furnished, but somewhat hotel-like.

“Where the frag am I?” he cursed as he looked around in confusion.

***

“Hoi, Shay. Long time.” greeted Crane as he approached the doc wagon driver.

“Long time, indeed. We’re forgetting about that nasty shotgun wound I patched up for ya last month.” Dr. Shay chuckled as rolled the window down a few more inches.

“I rarely get clipped, Shay, you know what.” Crane smirked as he opened his hands to show a lack of weapons in them.

“True, you’re one of my more healthy customers- so why are you here? Lemme guess- infection-”

“No chummer, nothing like that. Never.” Shay looked at Crane with a sarcastic giggle. “I need to stock up on some patches and injectables. Got any spare I can buy off of ya?” Crane continued.

“I’m a little short myself.” Shay said as he rubbed his chin.

“I’m impressed.” Crane said jokingly. “I thought for a while you quit those pesky little addictions-”

“No lip, Crane. I’ve got six tranq patches- each will keep a troll sound asleep for 6 hours.”

“Any nice injectables?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve got thirty cc’s of confessional, fifty anesthetic, 12 thrombies, and every drug they don’t have the guts to tell you about in high school health class.”

“I’ll take some downers, three of your patches, all your confessional, and twenty of your anesthetic. What’s in the anesthetic?”

“Oh, a little of this, a little of that. My little cocktail- won’t feel much of anything.”

“Ah, codeine, opium and-”

“Uh- just don’t give away my recipe, O.K.? Oh, and that’ll be five hundred- even.”

“Nice doin’ business with ya Doc.” Crane said as he swiped his credstick though the doc’s card reader.

Crane

By Rigel Nephridil (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Spyder looked up at Dawson, then at Dallas as Crane left. "So what do you guys have in mind for her?"

"Sheer embarassment. Risque poses with a few scummy orks. That sort of thing." Ray answered innocently. Dallas rolled his eyes in disgust.

Spyder gritted her teeth "Diane and us metahumans have some old business to settle, you know."

"If you're eager to have all the policubs in Seattle hunting you down."

"They've tried to wipe out metahumanity before. They don't frighten me."

spyder

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson shot a look at Spyder. "Hey--it was the kid's idea. I got no problem with ending her troubled life," he said, flicking his nearly-spent cigarette to the pavement. "And for some reason, I'd be willing to bet you should be afraid of this attempt."

"Whatever the case," said Dallas, "We'll be finding out all we need to know as soon as we get some drugs into her system."

"That reminds me," began Spyder, "where are we gonna get a bunch of orcs and trolls to volunteer to cater to 'her highness' here?"

"That's where I come in," said Ray with a wicked smile. "I've got a few names from a list of sex offenders with priors... If they were to receive anonymous hints with a location and some 'fresh meat' I'm sure they'll all come runnin." He lit up another smoke. Spyder and Dallas both looked like they were going to vomit as he finished off his callous statement. "What?" he asked agitatedly. "You wanted dirty pictures..."

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

"Hey, now you kids behave. I gotta run somewhere real quick," Dawson said after taking the first drag off his latest smoke. Dallas and Spyder nodded solemnly, as Dawson approached a concrete staircase sunk into the north wall. As he descended the steps, Dallas kicked a lump of asphalt across the vacant garage. Spyder crossed her arms and glanced around the darkened place.

"Your pal sure does know how to impress a woman," she said as she took in the bombed-out decor of the parking garage. Dallas just shrugged...

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas looked at Dawson, glanced at his own bespattered self then returned his gaze to Dawson. He thought seriously about bagging this escapade and skipping.

"You look a little grey, kid," said Dawson, not bothering to explain himself.

"Are you really preposing sponsering a rape? I was thinking posed stuff."

Dawson stared at Dallas through a haze of smoke, his expression hard, "You must come from a nice clean place, boy. Mommy, daddy, sis, and your dog Spot."

Dallas flushed, rising to his feet, "You'll have to excuse me for not being the ruthless, consciousless son of a bitch you are, but I'm young yet," he said with an air of quiet lethalilty.

Spyder felt it and stepped in, "Guys, hold it. Look even knowing who she is and what she stands for, I have to admit pimping a rape kinda turns my stomach. Maybe 'cause I'm female," she smiled weakly, "I think I gotta vote with Dallas on this one, Dawson."

Dawson scowled at both of them but said nothing, for a minute. The tense silence stretched between them all.

"You two hold the fort, then," said Dawson, "I won't be long." He strode away without a backward glance.

"Thanks," said Dallas softly.

Spyder shrugged, "It would'a been a whole lot easier to catch her in a cross fire," she studied the young man with luminous green eyes, "So what's your story, Dallas. What the hell are you doing here?"

Dallas grimaced self-mockingly, "Coyote sent me...."

-Dallas

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson walked over to the borrowed van, stepped in, and started the ignition. He grimaced once as his ribcage shot him another sharp pain... This broken rib was gonna be a serious hindrance in the very near future. At least he succeeded in getting Dallas and Spyder to stick together. Dawson could really give a rat's a$$ about what they did to Diane, as long as she stayed alive so he could collect his 1500. As he drove off, he chuckled to himself over the uneasy tension Dallas brought up with his whole indecisiveness. 'Kid's gotta learn someday,' he thought as he drove out to a local apartment complex. He stopped the van and got out, walking up to the front door. He buzzed the buzzer for #34C and waited. After several seconds, a tired voice answered.

"Hello?" asked the voice.

"Hey. It's Ray. I need a favor," said Ray in a low voice.

"I'm sleeping, man. Come back tomorrow," said the voice groggily.

"Doesn't sound like you're sleeping anymore," replied Ray with a grin. The door buzzed, and Ray proceeded to the apartment.

"Whattaya need, Ray?" asked the disshevelled man through bleary eyes. The left side of his head was shaved smooth, several data-jacks protruding obviously from his ashen skin.

"Damn, man. You should eat something. You look like drek," said Dawson as he examined his old friend, Jack.

"I just ate something a half-hour ago," answered Jack, thumping heavily into an easy-chair. A simsense deck whirred away on a nearby table.

"Jack, I told you about that VR drek. Lay off it before you die, chummer," Ray said, genuinely concerned for the well-being of his friend.

"Life's short, Ray. Live it up. You wanted me for a reason, right?" Jack came back. Ray nodded.

"Diane Scanlon. I need all the info you can on her. Her recent activities, hang-outs, associates, all of it. When can you get it?" Ray said, clearing a spot for himself on Jack's under-used couch.

"Hang on, I'll be about fifteen minutes," Jack said, picking up a thin wire and plugging it into his head. Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, a printer across the room started spitting out data. "That's all of it, man. She's into some pretty serious humanis drek," Jack said as he yanked the plug from his head. A trickle of blood flowed from his nose, and he dabbed it with some cotton from a nearby bin.

"Thanks. Oh, I need to borrow your digital camera. I've got some pictures to take and alter before the early editon is printed," said Ray as he scooped up the papers, as well as the digital camera from the nearby shelf. Jack just nodded as he plugged back into the simsense deck. Ray checked the chip-jacket before leaving. "Nicolette Sayeva starring in Lust for You, II" He shook his head as he left Jack's apartment to return to the parking garage with the others...

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Diane Scanlon's struggles against her bonds had caused painful swelling in her hands, but she hardly noticed. Her tormenters had at last returned - the two traitorous humans and an elf, she thought acidly. They said nothing, the taller man dropped something on the desk, while the other two moved to examine it.

"Fraggin elf lover," she screeched raggedly. They looked at her without expression.

"While that was the literal truth up until six months ago, madam, I'm unattached these days," said the Indian, "Now shut up."

The woman recoiled from the absolute emotionlessness the Indian projected. The other man was at least displaying a grin. Even though she wanted to scratch in off his face it was something. The elf dared show disgust! At her? A decent human! She spit, but it fell far short of her target. She had to content herself with screamed insults.

Spyder tore her gaze away and started reading over Dallas' shoulder. The file Dawson had brought, was like a primer for a new holocaust. She wanted to gag but would not allow herself to. Dallas' spine stiffened as he read, but he did not even look at the Scanlon woman again. Fraggin Dawson just leaned against the wall, watching them and looking smug. He was a hell of a manipulator.

The doorknob rattled, and Dawson snaked across the room, in one fuid motion a gun was in his hand and the door open. Crane stood outside, grinning.

"Hi, all. Anybody ready for a little party?"

-Dallas

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Ray put his gun away and allowed Crane to enter. He seemed to wince in pain as he lifted his left arm, but quickly covered it up by flexing his shoulder around (actually causing more pain from his ribcage, but successfully disguising it as a muscle cramp). He picked up a paper from the stack, and began to read out loud the headline to the article it contained.

"Car-Bomb causes scare Downtown," Dawson said with a grin. "In an explosion that rocked downtown this morning, the luxury car of local corporate affiliate Diane Scanlon was destroyed. According to Lone-Star files, the ignition was wired into the petro-chem tank, which caused the explosion as the driver started the car. Local sources add that Miss Scanlon was not in the vehicle, but her driver and two others were seen getting into the car just prior to the explosion. The act of aggression against Miss Scanlon was probably a result of rumors that she has involvement with policlub activities. Local metahuman rights groups applauded the action taken, seemingly angered Miss Scanlon was missed in the hit. Miss Scanlon could not be reached for comment." Ray stopped reading, then looked up from the paper to regard Crane. "I knew you looked familiar. You were one of the suspects in this case," Ray said as he took another drag from his smoke. Crane just shrugged.

"Yeah? Wow. That makes, what? 40? 50 cases I'm under suspicion on? Am I right, Spydie?" Crane said sarcastically. Spyder shrugged. "Yeah, I wired her car up. She knows it too. Hey, Diane, did ya like the little love note I sent ya?" Crane teased. Diane growled gutterally at him, and tried to lunge--to no avail. Dawson just chuckled. This really seemed to be amusing him.

"Hey, smokey? How's your chest?" Diane said venomously. Dawson chuckled some more. "You're all gonna die! You hear me, you freaks? All of you!" Diane broke down into hysterical laughter, and Crane simply walked over and slapped a tranq-patch on her arm. As she quieted down, he examined her, shaking his head. He took out 3 more patches and slapped them on her arm. Then he nodded in satisfaction.

"That oughtta shut her up for a while," Crane said smugly as he turned back around to face the group. "So, when are we taking pictures?" he asked with a grin. Dallas kept right on reading the file reports, handing the pages to Spyder as he finished each one. They were getting an education on Diane Scanlon's darker secrets. A company named 'Eastern Herbalists' kept popping up, and many links were made between Diane Scanlon and the Night of Rage. Dawson kept a careful watch out the grimy window, smoking away, and Crane was left standing around to do his own thing...

By Rigel Nephridil (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

"You flatter yourself to think you can squeeze anything out of me!" shreaked
Diane as she tried to fight the tranqilizers.

"I'm afraid you won't have a choice when I'm through with you, lady fair." Crane
said sweetly, still grinning broadly. "You don't know how long I've waited for
this Diane."

"Frag you.." she spat weakly.

Crane removed a paper bag from under his coat and placed in on the battered
desk, and kept grining as he carefully reached into it and removed a capped
syringe, then a glass bottle of clear liqiud with a strange chemical symbol on
the front. He tore the cap of the syringe with his teeth and slowly filled the
syringe with the drug, as if to taunt Diane, who finally broke a sweat.

"You now what's commin' don't you?" Crane mumbled to her with the syringe cap
still clamped between his grinning white teeth. Diane squirmed with heavy eyes. "You'll tell us everything... My sweet little humanis pawn.." he applied a small bit of pressure to the plunger, and liquid spurted out of the needle as the air bubbles were forced out of the syringe.

"No, don't touch me...." she groaned as Crane approached her with the needle. She cringed as he poked her arm and injected an ample amount of the drug into her bloodstream. Crane stood back and watched as her mental resilliance vaporized. "Now we can talk. I'll start with an easy question, why don't you tell us all about your sister, Diane. I'm sure our friends would like to hear about her."

"She's a feak trog lover, like the rest of you. Had trog babies- three disgusting things." she grumbled weakly, Crane nodded and removed a tranq patch convinced she was a little too sedated to keep up conversation for long. Few people knew about her sister, or that she'd married an orc. Diane changed her surname to disassociate herself from the embarassment. She wouldn't volunteer that kind of information unless she was drugged to satisfaction.

Crane

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Joey hung up with Dawson, and immediately called up John Fujiyama, a CEO at Renraku.

"Yes?" the oriental man's face appeared on Joey's video phone. Joey looked a little nervous, but continued anyway.

"I've got a detective working on your case, Mr. Fujiyama," Joey began in a shaky voice. Fujiyama settled back in his executive chair, placing his fingertips together in front of his face.

"I trust your detective is efficient enough to retrieve our missing person with all due haste, Joseph?" Fujiyama said slowly and clearly. Joey shifted uncomfortably in his own chair.

"Yes. Yes, he is, Sir. He's one of the best. And he's expendable," said Joey, smiling. "I'll be dropping off all the information you want him to have tomorrow morning at--" Joey was cut off by an agitated Fujiyama.

"No! You will give him the information tonight! It is of utmost importance to life as we know it that this be handled immediately. Now, no more blunders, Joseph. Good Night." The screen went blank, and Joey had a cold lump in his throat. What was so damn important about getting Diane Scanlon back? 25,000 nuyen was alot of money... And to think, Dawson accepted the job for 1500. Joey laughed to himself as he packed up the necessary info and headed out to the drop point.

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

It was Ray's turn to approach Diane, now that Crane had done his chemical enhancements on her. He did have a great idea on how to get her to answer without drugging her, but now that it was done, he'd have to remember it for later.

"Do tell, Diane, what are these little vials of liquid I have here?" Dawson asked in a mockingly soothing voice. Diane lifted her head groggily, then smiled weakly.

"The means by which to cure UGE," she said flatly, her eyes rolling back in her head. Crane looked at Ray, who looked at the little vial, then stuffed it in his pocket.

"Who designed it?" Ray asked.

"Aztechnology Biogenics Lab. Those are the 'advance copy' specials," Diane mumbled.

"How do they work?" Crane asked urgently.

"They attack the genetic structure, causing breakdown. Messy. Very bloody. Capable of mutation. Dangerous. These were works in progress--the final draft is much more discriminating," Diane replied in broken sentences. Ray nodded.

"So, these are viruses? And they affect all of humanity, as well as metahumans?" he asked. Diane nodded twice.

"Why'd you get 'em, Diane?" Ray asked. She was really starting to act out-of-it, and only mumbled in response to this latest question. Crane leaned in closer to hear her before she passed out.

"She said she got the vials to do a limited street test. Apparently, Ray, you were the subject she chose," Crane said. Ray took another drag off his smoke, then looked down at the vial in his right hand. Spyder then spoke up.

"Look, an elven cadaver was found in a dumpster with racial slurs all over it. An autopsy had already been performed. That would be enough genetic material to construct a virus right there, wouldn't it?" she asked, running her fingertips over her data-jack.

Ray turned, shaking his head. "No. It has to be bigger than that. The elven body had to be some sort of waste disposal. I'd be willing to bet that the body no longer exists. Somebody got sloppy, then wanted the mess cleaned up. I'd also be willing to bet that whoever defaced the corpse will end up missing in the near future, if not already. Corps tend to be very thorough in their erasure techniques. Spyder, it's important to gather as much info as we can on that corpse before it becomes 'disappeared'. Crane, keep Her Highness drugged up and answering questions as long as you can, then dump her in the back of the van and leave her at this address," Ray said, scribbling something down on a nearby pad and handing it to Crane. It was the drop-point where Dawson picked up his info from Joey. Crane took the paper and nodded. "Dallas, you find anything groundbreaking in that info you're looking at, you let me know. We're going downstairs--I've got a deck you can borrow, Spyder," Dawson said as he walked out the door. Dallas and Spyder looked at each other, shrugged, and started to follow Ray. Crane bent and began tending to Diane.

As Dallas, Spyder, and Dawson approached the roll-up door, Spyder looked around in disgusted disbelief. "You live here?" she asked incredulously. Ray didn't answer, instead unlocking his door and walking through, as he had done before. This time, however, he had two house-guests close behind...

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Spyder's jaw dropped, but she covered her surprise quickly. Dallas blinked owlishly at the incongruity of the flash apartment hidden in the bombed out garage. Such an elaborate hidey hole was beyond his experience.

Dawson moved to the bar and poured three fingers of scotch in to a glass.

"No dishwasher,huh," commented Spyder as she took in the mound of ceramic, plastic, and congealed food piled in the sink.

Dawson chose to ignore the implied insult to his housekeeping skills, "The deck's over there, Spyder," he gestured toward the wall of electronic paraphenalia across the room.

Spyder picked up the deck and ran her fingers expertly over its surfaces, "Clean deck?" she asked as she sat down.

"Of course," nodded Dawson.

She drew out the interface jack and plugged in. She seemed to sink further in to the chair as one reality took the place of another for her. She shut her eyes to distraction, leaving Dawson and Dallas effectively alone.

"Dawson."

He looked at Dallas who was still standing in the doorway. He had seldom seen anyone so young looking so haggard.

"I want to apologize."

Dawson looked at the kid speculatively, tacitly waving off anything else Dallas might say, "How much sleep have you had in the last 24 hours, kid?"

Dallas looked startled, "About four hours, I think."

"So sleep," growled Dawson, jerking his chin at the couch, "we can spare you for a while."

Dallas sank in to the sofa cushions with a sigh, and watched Dawson as he lowered himself in to the chair opposite. He waited as Dawson polished off the scotch.

"Ribs?"

"What?"

"You've been covering it really well. I wasn't sure until just now. Broken, cracked, or bruised?"

Dawson glared a bit, then subsided with poor grace, "Cracked. Broken would have punctured a lung by now."

"I can help you tape them."

Dawson scowled both at his failure to hide the injury as well as Dallas calling him on it.

"If it makes you feel any better," offered Dallas, "I doubt any one else noticed. Do you want my help or not?"

Dawson stalked out through the black curtain, and returned with an industrial size first aid kit. He peeled off his shirt, and searted himself on one of the stools.

Dallas got up with a low whistle, "Hell of a bruise, Dawson, I bet it hurts."

Dawson gave him a poisonous glance, "Just do it, smart guy."

Dawson didn't make a sound as Dallas tightened a bandage around his ribs and taped it off. He flexed slightly, then pulled his shirt back on, and shoved the kit behind the bar.

"Pretty good dressing, kid."

"Help any?"

"Yeah," he paused as if trying to figure out what word came next, "Thanks."

Dallas half shrugged, then nodded at Spyder, "How long does something like that take usually?"

"There is no usual. Too many variables, ice, info, whatever."

She must be working hard," said Dallas as he settled in to the sofa cushions, his eyes already half closed, "she's sweating," he murmmered as he allowed sleep to take him.

-Dallas

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Ray put his feet up on the glass coffee-table, shoving a stack of papers out of the way with his foot as he went. Picking up his remote, he flicked on the trideo to watch the news. As the 3-D images flickered to life in front of the entertainment system, a small stack of papers slid messily off the table. Ray grunted, leaned down, and began to pick up the mess. A large black-and-white photo caught his attention... It was a file photo of Crane. He picked up the Lone Star Dossier and began reading.

By The One Known Only as (Greyfox) on Unrecorded Date:

Ray Dawson put the file folder down amongst the other papers on the table, and rubbed his eyes. Dallas was sleeping peacefully, sprawled out on the couch with his arms hanging over the arm of the recliner section. For such a wiry kid, he sure did stretch out to take up alot of space. Spyder was breathing heavily, sweating and looking around nervously, although her eyes were clamped shut tightly. Ray figured either she was having a hard time on the matrix, or she had lost her edge. Either way, she'd end up with the info he needed. Nothing left to do now but wait... Dawson decided to give Crane a visit, and strode to the rolling door to leave. Almost as an afterthought, he glanced at his fridge...

Crane looked up with a start as Dawson entered the beat-up office. Relaxing slightly, he turned back to Diane, who was staring at Crane with an adoring smile on her face.

"Hey. Brought ya a brew," Dawson muttered as he placed the bottle on the desk. Crane just nodded.

"Miss Scanlon here has been extremely cooperative," Crane said with a smile and a wink. "I've got the name of her contact in Eastern Herbalists. Mayinga. She also has some pretty high connections in Lone Star," Crane added.

"Yeah. She was a play-toy for Internal Affairs. She would get her info on dirty cops by using her 'feminine wiles'," Dawson smirked. "She's really close to the regional director of Lone Star, in the downtown area." Crane just looked at Ray incredulously.

"So--is that how you know who she is?" Crane asked, a wicked smile on his face. Ray just scowled at him. "Come on, Dawson. You walked right into that one," Crane continued to tease. Ray just shook his head.

"Did you get any info on the vials?" Ray asked somberly.

"Only what we had earlier. She's actually starting to hallucinate really bad now, so we should probably drop her off sometime real soon, while she's still out of it," Crane suggested. Dawson nodded.

"I'll drive her to the place in the van. You follow me on your bike and drive me back here. Okay?" Dawson said, walking over to Diane and lifting her now unbound arm over his shoulders.

"Such a strong man," Diane said giddily as Ray lifted her. His ribs shot him another ache, but it was deadened somewhat by the expert wrapping Dallas had applied. As he lifted Diane up, she exclaimed, "OoooH! That's it! Take me!" Crane started laughing, and Dawson just shook his head.

After loading Diane in the van, Ray pulled out and started driving to the Marlboro Motel. Little did he know that Joey was already there...

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Spyder closed her eyes and quickly adjusted to the matrix. Her persona was a plain blue cube, perfect, square, cute, and best of all makes people both ignore and underestimate you.

Datalines pulsed in neon glow as her modest persona hitched a ride on the datastream over to Aztecnology’s main SAN. She’d left herself a back door before she quit to take a job with Fuchi many, many moons ago. Not like she couldn’t hack her way through anyhow.

Reflections of flickering light from the datastreams sparkled as they were reflected on the black obsidian slabs which composed the massive Aztec pyramid. “Access granted” flashed the SAN, and Spydie was on her way to the genetic R&D files, disguised as a piece of email. All went smoothly and she was routed to the R&D main directory, then came the hard part. Each subdirectory was guarded by a red SAN. Tough to crack, and Dawson’s clean deck was missing the nicer extras Spydie had put on her own deck back home. She paused for a moment, looking at the room. Almost everything was white, rendered like a sterile hospital hallway with the red SANs represented as stainless steel airlocks. She scanned each of the metal sentinels that blocked her access to the databanks and directories behind them. A dataline sparkled in front of each airlock. She scanned all the information passing through them. Most of it was nothing but email and inventories, nothing really interesting. Next scanned was the dataline in front the SAN guarding personnel files. She intercepted an employee transfer request, assumed it’s icon and routing information and cruised right through the SAN. In a blink she was downloading personnel files, then exited.

Next she assumed the identity of a research report sent to the research archives. That was more tricky to get through, and it took a second too long. Not good. She put up her guard on the lookout for IC. Sure enough there was, but they didn’t seem to notice her, yet. She scanned a vast field of datastore cubes to find each one heavily encrypted. Spyder dowloaded the relevant items, figuring she’d decrypt them later on, when a minor discrepancy caught her attention. One of the filed wasn’t encrypted, it was a disguised red SAN. The fact that she tried to download it alerted the attention of some IC. “Passive alert activated” beeped through the system and each IC program began to scan every bit of data they encountered. She quickly attached herself onto a medical reference datastore cube and waited for the IC to scan her. Fortunately the IC programs were fooled, but if she didn’t get though the new red SAN she uncovered, the system would probably go into active alert, then she’d have to jack out or RUN. Aztec packed some mighty black ICE that would give any decker the chills. She scanned the SAN and found it lead to the genetic engineering and cybernetics research-in-progress directory- Fort Knox. No data was exiting, or entering the SAN, so she couldn’t copy access codes from the file routing information. She had to hack this one through. She could feel the palms of her physical body sweating as her face grew hot in a fit of nervousness. She initialized the sleaze program on the deck, and strained to compile additional code straight from her brain to help crack the SAN. Her fingers curled slightly as she gripped the edge of the desk and clenched her teeth. “access granted” she sighed a breath of relief as she streamed through the SAN. Datastores thick with encryption filled the directory. after scanning, she managed make a little decryption program on the fly, it was a bit weak, but just enough to help her select the flies relevant to her search. She dowloaded 176 files and flew back two directories and tried to hack into the security system. She shifted her persona into a telecom audio file and came through the other side to find the directory heavily guarded with IC. She tried to sneak through another red SAN to tap into the telephone lines. “Access denied, active alert activated” FRAG she thought as she spun around and fled back towards the previous SAN to escape, looking around and scanning for IC in a paranoid fit. Three black ICE vampyre personas intercepted her path to exit the san.