BOOK II


Owl was in his dream. That usually meant his mother, but sometimes it was just Owl. When she appeared it was usually for a reason. She beat her wings in his face and he jerked away, waking himself. He rolled off the couch and on to his feet, wary.

Spyder was breathing shallowly in quick little gasps, her eyes were wide in panic but she did not see him. Dallas moved on pure instinct, he shot to her side and pulled the jack from her skull. She collapsed bonelessly, with a sob.

He could not tell if she was unconscious or not, "Spyder?"

She did not respond but remained curled in a defensive ball. Dallas, at a loss, laid a hand on her head for a moment. Then he spotted the deck, and gave himself something to do by moving it across to the table.

"Spyder?" he tried again.

"Later," she whispered hoarsly.

He backed off, leaving her to her demons. She would talk or not when and if she felt the need, he figured. He did not know her well enough by half to push it with her.

He looked at the time, he'd been asleep about half an hour. Not much sleep all things considered but he was awake now. He scratched his stomach and thought about food. With a final glance at Spyder's bowed head, he targeted the fridge.

Anything that could be eaten without utilizing a plate found it's way into his stomach. Crepes, cheese, an end of a roast, some kind of seafood puff. He wandered over to the massive safe and looked at it with idle curiosity as he gnawed on the remains of a baugette loaf. It could serve as a flop for a family of dwarves.

Spyder seemed to be passing through some shudders, something apparently scared her bad. He looked at her in indescision for a moment, then opened the door.

He dashed up the stairs at top speed. Crane, Scanlon, Dawson, and the van were gone. He grabbed a saddle bag off his bike and ran back downstairs, shutting the door behind him. It had taken him about two minutes, Spyder had barely moved.

"Spyder, I'm gonna take advantage and grab a shower. You gonna be okay?"

She lifted haunted eyes, set deep in a white face, "I'll be drinking."

Dallas watched her cross to the bar and up end a vodka bottle into a water glass. She drank half of it in one gulp, topped it off, and went about downing the rest in a business like manner. She ignored Dallas completely.

Reluctantly, Dallas left her to herself. He passed through a surprisigly tidy bed room and into an almost palatial bathroom.

"Sha!" he grinned despite his worry. He liked the way Dawson lived.

-Dallas

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas stood under the pray from six water jets wondering and worrying about Spyder. He had no idea how long she'd been in trouble before he noticed. As he understood it, minutes were like hours in the matrix where time was measured in nanoseconds. She could easily have been killed while he slept on oblivious. He gritted his teeth against that thought. He wished he knew how badly she'd been hurt, but she didn't seem to want to talk - at least not to him. So he'd left her alone. Maybe not the wisest move in retrospect, but his skills really didn't cover this kind of thing and he remained at a loss.

He stepped out of the shower and towled off. He combed out the thick, wet mass of hair and tied it at the back of his neck to keep it out of his way while it dried.

He scratched absently at the semi-circle of old puncture wounds that wreathed his left shoulder. They were the only blemishes on an otherwise flawless expanse of coppered skin. He remembered with exquisite detail the moment the wendigo's claws had pierced his flesh though that memory was now over five years old, and the wendigo as long dead.

He pulled a clean pair of jeans over his narrow hips, and cocked his head, but heard nothing from the main room. He sighed and pulled a thick black cotton sweater on. He stuffed the dirties into the duffel and zipped it.

He walked back into the main room, carrying his boots and bag. He almost dreaded facing Spyder again.

-Dallas

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

"Drek," muttered Ray as he pulled up to the front of the Marlboro Motel. Lone Star patrols were everywhere, and he caught a glimpse of a troll being tranquilized from a bloody rage. Fully 6 cops in full riot gear were prodding at the behemoth with stun-sticks, and still he roared in what looked like pained anguish. He was covered from head to foot in what could only be blood, and he had a human arm in his right hand. Dawson watched as the cops, now frustrated at the troll's resolve to stay standing, opened fire with their regular firearms. After the thunderous roar of the discharging weapons was silenced (several minutes later), all that remained of the troll was a bloody corpse. Ray shook his head in disgust. He could tell almost in an instant that the troll had no comprehension of what had happened to him in the past several hours.

He descended from the van, mostly out of curiosity, and walked right into the crime scene. Crane sat on his bike, down the block, and watched incredulously as Ray Dawson did his thing...

"Hey, what happened here, sergeant?" Ray asked one of the Lone Star officers investigating the fleshy mass of gore that once was Joey.

"And who are you? You'll have to wait outside for an official police response if you're--" Ray flashed his silver badge at the cop, then quickly returned it to his pocket. "You didn't pick it up on your scanner, Detective?" the cop asked incredulously.

"It was turned off," stated Ray somberly as he pointed at the bloody mush on the floor. "Who's the victim?"

"Joey two-guns Silver. Looks like he was in the wrong place at the wrong time," said the cop as he returned to his work. Dawson's gut sank. He approached the row of wall lockers and nonchalantly opened the one where the info was supposed to be. Nothing there. Which meant only one thing.

"Sergeant, have you had the body examined yet?" Dawson asked over his shoulder as he squatted next to Joey's remains.

"No, detective. We were waiting for the official order to come through," said the sergeant. Dawson nodded, then started digging through the bloody gore with the leg from a nearby broken table. Sure enough, he felt something rectangular and solid down there.

'Damn!' he thought. 'How the hell am I gonna get this outta here now?' Then, Dawson had an idea. "Sergeant," he said with authority, "get me an evidence bag and some gloves."

"Here you go, detective," a nearby coroner said, handing Dawson both items. He carefully reached into the mess and extracted the sealed clipboard, placing it into the evidence bag. As he sealed the bag and removed the surgical gloves, he pressed on his pocket with his elbow, causing his cell-phone's ringer to go off.

"Damn," Dawson said as he pulled out the phone and started talking into it. He pressed a finger into his free ear, pretending he couldn't hear clearly. "Hang on--your signal's breaking up. I'm gonna walk outside, hold on," Ray said as he strode out past the police line and into the street, still holding the evidence bag. He glanced over his shoulder at the cops inside, then simply put his cell-phone away once more, walking down the block towards Crane.

"What the frag possessed you to go in there with all those cops, Dawson?" Crane asked as Ray mounted the bike right behind him.

"I needed to get some info off an old friend," Ray said as he lit up a smoke. Crane shook his head incredulously and drove into the night once more, making sure that Lone Star--or anybody else--was not behind them...

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The door slid open and Dawson with an appreciatively grinning Crane walked in.

"Kee-ristmas in July, Dawson, you do have some style," chortled Crane.

Dallas joined them, jerking his head toward the blank eyed Spyder, "Hey Crane, something went wrong for her in the matrix. She won't talk to me. Can you do something for her?"

The amusement on Crane's face mutated into concern instantly. He moved quickly to Spyder's unnaturally still form and began talking to her in quiet tones.

The others watched for a moment then turned away.

"What the hell is that," asked Dallas eying the grusome evidence bag that Dawson produced.

"What I went out for."

Where's the drop for frag's sake?"

"Tonight it was Joey's colon."

-Dallas

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Spyder’s complexion was paler than the usual alabaster tone. Her eyes contemplated death behind an expressionless poker face as she sat curled up in the corner of the room.

“I need my own deck.” Spyder said quietly, slowly lifting her eyes to greet Crane, who rarely showed any emotion in public.

“Any damage?” Crane asked with concern as he kneeled next to her and massaged her shoulder.

“Be specific.” she said coldly.

“Physical CNS damage.”

“No, I took them on rather well.” a quiver in her voice reveiled her fractured confidence.

Crane sighed “I see. Psychological damage, then.”

Spyder lowered her head “Frag you.”

“Get up, we’re leaving.” Crane said as he helped her to her feet. She put an arm around his shoulder to help support her weight as they exited the room. Dallas and Dawson looked on in worry. Crane glanced back at them as he reached the door. “I’m gonna take her home, Spydie needs a little nap. I’ll catch up with two you later.”

-Crane

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Crane pushed the speed limit by about 80 mph to get Spydie home. She clung to his back in the same manner a frightened infant would. Cursing cab drivers and other drivers angered by his strategic driving were of no importance to him, just as long as he wasn’t being followed by a Lone Star motorcycle patrol or anyone else, not like they’d be able to catch him in the first place. Being a skilled driver, he hardly worried about such trivial things.

He slowed down a little bit as he approached the highway exit to the Elvin District. Cool green networks of vines, flowers and leaves covered every building he raced past. They traveled to the underground parking ramp of Spyder’s apartment building where he parked her bike, then walked to the elevator with Spydie dangling weakly off his shoulder.

Spydie managed to lift her head enough for the retinal scan. A small green light flashed and a beep sounded followed by the faint gear-grinding sound as her door opened. Crane put her down on the couch, then proceeded to the bar and gathered up each and every bottle of liquor she had in the house.

“Thanks, I could use a drink.” she mumbled weakly as he passed by with an armful of glass bottles. Instead of stopping before her, he proceeded to the kitchen and began emptying each bottle down the sink. An expression of disgust washed over spyder’s face. “You could use some sleep.” he replied with Spyder too weak t do anything about it. When all the bottles were empty he went to her bedroom. “Don't even think about.” Spyder warned as she stumbled to her feet and used the wall to support herself as she struggled to follow him. Although it didn’t take her too long, he was too quick.

“You and those fragin’ wires!” she scowled as Crane held up a ziplock filled with a variety of drugs. “Take a good look, Spydie.” he said while brandishing the bag. Spyder’s eyes widened as he turned towards the bathroom. “No! Don’t!” she cried as he lifted the toilet seat. Crane paused for a moment. He looked at the bag closely, then back at Spyder. “That’s not what I think it is.....” he said shaking his head with disbelief. Spyder took a small, shaky step towards him. When she blinked she saw a blur of his arm and found his predator two centimeters from her nose. “Back.” he ordered with a stare of intense anger. Spyder obeyed. With his spare hand he opened the plastic bag and fished out a glass vial filled with powder. He popped the cap off with his thumb and tasted a bit of the powder. A bitter tasted filled his mouth. “Why it is...” he sighed with disappointment as he lowered his gun and lifted the bag of drugs over the toilet, about to empty the contents it held to a watery grave. “No, please- I can explain, just don’t-” she pleaded as she eased forward and reached for the bag. Crane held her back with one arm as he dumped the drugs into the toilet and flushed six consecutive times.

Crane

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

“Do you have ANY idea how expensive that stash was?” hissed Spyder as Crane lead her into the living room by the back of her neck.

“Oh I see.” he jabbed sarcastically “So you spent all of your money from that last run we did two weeks ago?”

“Don’t tell me what to do, fragger-” she was still hunched over in pain.

“Get used to it.” he grinned coldly “Because you’re not staying here so you can sneak out and binge on heroine.” he slowly elevated the volume of his voice. “What kind of dreck is that? Heroin! I find out you’re taking that dreck and you expect me to let you make ANY kind of decisions for yourself?”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere.” Spyder stamped her foot with resolve although it looked like she was fighting the urge to sleep. Two seconds later her knees began to wobble. She put her hand on her forehead and walked cautiously (half in pain, half in fatigue) to the couch as though she doubted her ability to stand upright. Crane stood nearby with his arms crossed, seemingly apathetic when her eyes rolled back into her head as she collapsed on the floor, inches short of the couch. He looked at his watch and nodded. “Ten seconds. Good stuff.” he said amusingly before picking her up from the floor and moved her to the bed. Once he put her down he brushed the hair away from her neck as if to inspect it. The tranq patch he sneaked onto her skin (when he dragged her into the living room by her neck) looked quite secure, she would be out of consciousness for hours.

***

Spyder woke in intense pain. She groaned and opened her eyes to see Crane standing next to her. Suddenly she realized she wasn’t in her apartment anymore and began to complain “What the frag is this about?”

“Obviously, I don't trust you with yourself.” Crane secretly cradled a hypo needle behind his back as he spoke to her.

“I can take care of myself just fine.”

“How do you feel now?” he asked flatly.

Spydie paused for a moment “I’ve felt better.”

“That’s opiate withdrawal for you. How do you like it?” Spyder looked puzzled. As Crane spoke again he softened his tone “Now why don’t you tell me what happened when you were jacked in over at Dawson’s garage?”

Spyder wrinkled her nose in hesitation, still angry at him for flushing her drugs.

“Come on, spill baby.”

“I could have handled it if Dallas didn’t jack me out and give me dump shock from hell.” she said disappointedly.

“I wouldn’t be quick to blame him. Dump shock isn’t what turned you into a physical wreck.”

“You gonna let me finish?” she snapped while wincing in pain.

Crane nodded and remained silent.

“I got all the files I needed for Johnson, and some. I just need to decrypt a them. I triggered an active alert when I forced my way past a red SAN in Aztec’s systems. On my way out two black wraiths blocked my exit. I sneaked a trace disrupter past, and threw a delete program at one of them. The other attacked my avatar and I managed to use the deck as a buffer, it took most of the damage. Nothing got to my brain, but the deck was beginning to burn out. I managed to dish out a slow program, I hoped it would give me enough time bail but that’s when Dallas yanked my jack out.”

“You looked ghastly when I walked in. Dallas was really worried.”

“Yeah, well I was pretty shaken up- considering what I’ve been through I think its understandable.”

“Looked to me like you were going through withdrawal.”

“No I wasn’t”

“I’ve seen the symptoms of withdrawal before.”

“And you’ve been wrong before.”

“I’m never wrong, you just fail to become accustomed to my superior judgment.” Crane said arrogantly with a grin. “You want to hear my theory?”

“No!”

“It’s quite simple. You’re using the heroin as a substitute for the thrill you used to get from cybercombat. Since that black IC cut you down a few months ago, although you survived it, subconsciously you don’t think you can win.”

“So now you’re my shrink- is that it?”

“And your keeper.”

“Frag you.” she winced in pain and wrapped her arms around her chest.

Crane began to notice her pain increasing. She looked up at him with pleading eyes, they both knew it wouldn’t be long before the pain would become intolerable.

“You like the pain Spydie?” he said cruelly “Yeah, it really hurts don’t it? Probably hurts to breathe by now. I’ll give you one chance.” Crane held the needle out to show her. “You decrypt the files, I end your pain. You have thirty minutes to complete this task.”

“I need to go home. I want my deck.”

Crane pointed to a duffel bag on the couch. "I always come prepared."

Crane

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

Ray walked into the back once Crane and Spyder left, Dallas was standing in the kitchen with a half-eaten meal nearing completion. Dallas heard the shower turn on, and several minutes later, Dawson returned with a clean, slimline business attache. It was sealed.

"So, Joey died for this info?" Dallas asked as he finished off the food. Dawson shook his head slowly.

"I don't think so. Looked alot like random violence to me," Ray said somberly, as he produced a pocket-knife to break the seal on the hard case. As he opened it, he found a small CD, a bundle of papers, and a bearer credstick for 1500. Dawson pulled Joey's credstick out of his pocket.

"You thinking about making some transactions, eh Dawson?" Dallas asked as he began leafing through the papers.

"Considering Joey isn't gonna need it anymore," Dawson answered, walking over to the book-shelves. After several moments of looking, he pulled out a bank transfer device, slotted the bearer stick with Joey's stick, then let out a low whistle. "Well, well, well, Joey. You've been holding out on me," Dawson muttered.

"What's that?" Dallas asked from the kitchen. Ray was sure he had mumbled, but apparently the kid had heard him.

"Diane's contract is exclusive. 25,000 Nuyen from a Renraku corporate account was transferred to Joey's account 15 minutes ago. I guess Diane was delivered safely to her buddies," Ray said as he finished his own little transfer, before returning to the kitchen...

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson reached into the fridge and pulled out a beer. He noticed that his store of leftovers was severly depleted.

"Another hour without food and you'd have chewed your own leg off, huh, kid."

Dallas looked slightly sheepish, "So I owe you a dinner."

Dawson took a long pull on the beer, "I am going to bed. All this drek can wait til morning. You can stay if you want, I don't care."

Dallas checked the time, "It's after one already. Drek," he thought for a minute, "I'll stay."

Dawson shrugged, "The couch is yours," he and his beer disappeared behind the black curtain.

Dallas pulled off his sweater and stretched out. It was a hell of a first day in town.

-Dallas

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas heard a subdued clatter and reluctently raised his head to peer over the back of the sofa. Dawson was forking sausage links on to a platter that already held about a pound of bacon and a dozen eggs wrapped around a quantity of cheese. He seated himself and started eating.

Dallas yawned, and flopped back down on the sofa for a minute. He must have slept very hard, without moving, his muscles felt a little tight.

"Renraku paid the reward for Scanlon's return," said Dawson without looking up from his breakfast table reading matter, "I wonder if it was a corporate gesture - which I doubt - or an individual effort."

Dallas rose, stretching, "The Japanese corps have never made a secret of their humanis leanings."

"They're not stupid enough to back terrorist organizations, even ones hiding behind a 'political affiliation'."

Dallas seated himself across from the older man, and looked at the food wistfully. Dawson snorted, "Go ahead."

Dallas grinned his thanks, "I never got a chance last night, but I did get some info at the hospital. The dead girl, Jamie, her real name was Jemima Poole. She had an address over on University Avenue. She had a comfortable level of income, not too high, not too low, but no listed occupation."

Dawson looked up, "Who'd you schmooze for that?"

Dallas pretended to take offense, "Reception desks can be very lonely places for the night nurse," he grinned, "besides she thought I was, and I quote, 'awful pretty'. Anyway, you seemed interested in the girl so I picked up what I could."

Dawson applied himself to the food, looking thoughtful. Dallas applied himself to the food, looking hungry.

-Dallas

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

"Spyder crashed before we could get any info on the elven corpse with the slurs, right?" Dawson muttered. He looked as if he were thinking hard on something. "Diane told us that Aztech's Biogenics lab developed these little beauts," he said, placing the vials on the table. Dallas seemed to take interest for a moment.

"Renraku and Aztech are major competitors, no? So, maybe Renraku wants in on the virus design, so they try to get Diane back, with the vials?" Dallas surmised. Ray just shook his head.

"No. This is different. Whoever put the contract out on Diane is in on this whole 'genetic purging' scheme. I say, a few indivduals in both Renraku, Aztech, and possibly some other corps are designing this little monster in the name of 'pure humanity'." Ray finished off his breakfast.

"Why don't they just release the version they've got now?" Dallas asked.

"Too messy. It'd kill too many humans along with the metas. No, they want an exclusive disease. Possibly even one that won't be noticed. The corps like to have their affairs taken care of nice and quietly, remember. Just because there're humanis members involved doesn't mean this is going to be a violent purge. So Dallas, what do you think is the best way to eliminate an entire species without bloodshed?" Dawson asked, a half-smile on his face. Dallas thought for a moment before answering.

"Make the species sterile. No immediate results, but within 2, maybe 3 generations there would be no metahumans left. And probably the 'common citizens' wouldn't even notice the difference," Dallas concluded. Ray just nodded somberly, looking like a teacher watching a prized student live up to his potential.

"So, we know the how, and we know the why. All we need now is the when, and we can actually have a chance to stop this thing," Ray said, rising from the table and walking over to the large safe. He turned a combination knob, causing a loud click. He then turned the large, bank-vault looking wheel, and pulled the door silently open, then strode inside. From Dallas' angle, he could see weapons racks and ammunition, stacked 3 high, lining the right-hand wall of the safe. The rest of the interior was obscured, but Dallas made some assumptions when Ray emerged several minutes later, looking like a Special Forces soldier--Full urban camoflage fatigues, ALICE gear, multiple grenades, several knives, a glossy black night-stick on his right thigh, a pistol in an arm-holster and one on his left ankle, and an assault rifle slung over his shoulder. The image was completed with the black, military-beret he wore on his head. Dallas just stared dumbly at Dawson, who smiled.

"Let's go find out when the world's gonna end..."

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas pulled on his sweater and boots, "Hmm, a daylight job, very daring, Dawson," he reached for his holster and strapped it on, "As I see it, we have several options, some ranking way higher on the risk scale than others, like anything that has to do with Renraku or its associates for example."

He glanced at Dawson for a reaction, but the older man simply waited blank faced for Dallas to continue.

"I suggest that we work our way up to them. I mean, I'm good, but a panther cannon does have the reach on me. So who do we check out; A: Diane Scanlon,B: Jemima Poole, C: the enigmatic Eastern Herbalist?"

Dawson shook his head, "Scanlon is strictly street level, and none too bright. We got all we needed from her and then some last night."

"I don't hold out much hope for anything useful from the late Miss Poole either. So Eastern Herbalist it is?"

Dawson displayed a feral grin, "Sounds good."

Dallas shook out a duster style coat and put it on, "A little armor today, I think."

The two men walked up the stairs, "I've got a car over in a garage on Colvena," said Dawson, "trunks hide many more sins than saddle bags."

It was not a long ride to the garage. The slot Dawson directed Dallas to held a dust colored, four door, piece of drek sedan that was practically a twin of the car lost the previous night.

"At least you're consistant," offered Dallas.

Both men were silent during the trip to Eastern Herbalist headquarters, each involved in his own thoughts and speculations. The headquarters was on the waterfront in a renovated historic building. Traffic was fairly heavy as all the local businesses disgorged wage slaves in persuit of a 20 minute lunch.

"Front or back?"

Dawson looked surprised the question even had to be asked, "Back."

They stepped from the car, and a change came over Dallas. It was like he flipped an internal switch. The rather cheerful kid with a streak of naive disappeared and a man who generated an air of proffesional whup-ass stood in his place. Dawson noted the change as he had the previous night, and thought it was a nice trick, but it was far easier to just stay an SOB all the damn time.

The two men paused briefly while Dawson dealt the lock on the alley door, then they quietly slipped inside.

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

They found themselves in some sort of store room. Shelving rose to the ceiling and was filled with boxes and bins with labels such as 'Vitaverve' and 'Monta-ZOOM-a'. Annoymous cardboard boxes were stacked in waist high piles in almost every free space, leaving only an aisle down the center of the room open.

Dawson led the way, moving silently, and pausing at the door, "I figure we've got about 20 minutes before every one comes back from lunch," he said in an undertone, "they've got a skeleton crew running right now. Let's be quick and quiet, infiltration's a lot more annoying after they've set the security system in the evening, so let's try and make this one stop shopping," he pulled a camo patterned net from the beret and let it drop in front of his face.

Dallas nodded, and concealed his features with a bandana. Neither heard anything through the door. Dawson pulled it open. Dallas flitted across to the next door in the time it took to blink, he listened, then pulled it open. Dawson shot through the door with Dallas practically on his heels. Then the door was closed and locked.

Dallas stood guard while Dawson finagled the computer. Four minutes later he stood ready to go, "This guy has access to nothing. Let's head toward the executive offices."

"I doubt they're on 20 minute lunch."

Dawson smiled humorlessly, "Nope, if they're out we can count on an hour at least."

The two men worked well in tandum, trading point as necessary, relying on each others talents, they reached the executive suites without encountering a soul. The door lock took two extra minutes and a mild expletive from Dawson, but it too, yeilded to his machinations.

The corridor they faced differed sharply from the drones' offices below. It was a short hall with no more than a dozen doors opening off it. Each opened on to a secretary's outer office that stood bastion for each executive's office. The carpets were plush, the walls done in synth-wood paneling, the lighting from recessed niches threw off a warm glow rather than the harsh glare of the florescents below.

"Nine minutes thirty," said Dallas softly.

Dawson nodded, "Eeny, meeny..." he whispered as he started down the hall.

Dawson took the right side, Dallas the left. An ear to each door in passing, alerted them that many of the offices were still occupied. At the second to last door Dallas paused a second longer than usual and frowned. He moved on to the last door, and waved Dawson over.

"This is the only one on this side with absolutly no noise inside, but it's also the only one with a key pad entry insted of a lock and knob. That one," he murmmered poining at the last door, "is the only one that is running tri-d."

"I got five voices and one silent on my side," said Dawson as he examined the key pad.

"Ten minutes fifteen," said Dallas.

Dawson lifted his head, "Let's go see what's on tri-d today."

By Tony (Sol) on Unrecorded Date:

But was a pair of eyes watching, un-noticed? Perhaps, yes perhaps.

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

Dawson tried the door handle... It was locked, of course. He glanced up at Dallas, who was nervously looking around the corridor. From the looks of it, there was no time to play with the lock. Dawson shook his head and sighed, pulling his Predator out and screwing a silencer onto its muzzle. He glanced once more at Dallas, who braced himself on the left side of the door. Dawson reached up to the door, and knocked three times...

"Who's there?" a gruff voice called from the other side.

"Pizza. The receptionist downstairs told me to come up here. You guys order a double-cheese with anchovies?" Dawson said, adding a slight accent to his voice. He heard the door handle click, then turn slightly. Nodding briefly at Dallas, he kicked the door, slamming the guy who was opening it hard into the left-hand wall. Three other guards turned to look, but Dawson had already fired twice, dropping two of them. As the third guard turned, he began to pull out a gun. Dawson dispatched this guy as quickly as the first two. Dallas, by this time, had gotten far enough into the room to take care of the goon behind the door, who didn't take too long to recover from the head-slam he'd taken when the door was opened. Dallas moved past the goon so fast that Dawson couldn't be sure if an attack had actually occurred. When the goon's body slumped to the ground, nearly cut into thirds, Dawson knew Dallas had indeed dispatched him...

"Clear," Dallas whispered, asking more than stating. Dawson cocked his head to one side, then pointed at a door occupying the center of the left wall. Dallas moved to its right side, testing the handle without exposing himself to the door. This proved to be a smart move, when a shotgun blast went off, taking a nearly 3-foot diameter chunk of the door away. Dawson dove behind one of the couches, rolling onto one knee while aiming at the hole. The door erupted open, an SMG-toting guy rushing through it--right into Dallas' assault. Dawson watched as Dallas kicked the SMG up with his right leg, then brought the leg down into a groin-level side kick, while at the same time grabbing the SMG with his right hand and punching the goon in the nose with his left. The goon fell down, and Dallas had an SMG. Dawson could see the shotgun-goon in the next room, getting ready to blast again, so he painted the guy's forehead red--first with a laser-dot, then with a bullet. A quick glance showed no more opposition in the suite.

"Shotgun blast was too loud," said Dallas as the duo moved into the second room. Dawson nodded.

"Guarunteed silent alarm. I give us 2 minutes, in and out," Dawson said as they got to yet a third door. This one had a key-card slot and number pad. A little red LED was blinking at regular intervals. "Stand back," Dawson said, pressing an eraser-sized lump of grey putty onto the edge of the door. He then sank a wire into it, pressed a sequence of buttons on the keypad of the lock and ran into the next room, Dallas in tow. A moment later an explosion rocked the room, and Dawson ran silently into the smoke. Dallas heard footsteps coming from the hallway, and braced himself with the SMG behind one of the dead guards. Dawson came back out with a man in a lab-coat draped over his shoulder. "Let's go," Dawson said as he began to move past Dallas.

"Not that way, partner. Goons galore in the hall," Dallas replied somberly. Dawson glanced around the room, finally letting his gaze rest on the large window on the back wall of the room. Dawson just looked at Dallas, then smiled...

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas' expression flickered. If he hadn't been in working mode it might have been a smile. He turned the newly acquired smg on the 6 by 8 foot window. It took three seconds and almost a full clip to shatter the 'unbreakable' glass. He and Dawson lept to the ledge in one motion. Dawson hauled the lab coated man up beside them.

The fact that it was an historic building was to their advantage. There was no sheer drop, but a multitude of roof levels, and plenty of cover. They ran, dragging Lab Coat between them, moving faster then their hapless rescue could comfortably manage. He slowed them down stumbling frequently, but they did not stop, forcing him to move.

"Hey...who..." he gasped.

"Save it," snapped Dawson.

There were a few random shots from the broken window, but nobody could have drawn a bead on them from there by now.

They reached the edge of the lowest roof level, about fifteen feet from the ground. Dallas let go of their charge and went over seemingly without looking. He hit the ground like a cat and looked up. Lab Coat was panting up his lungs, Dawson looked at him and threw him over the the edge, "Land on your feet," he called helpfully.

Dawson landed a second later, as Dallas was pulling Lab Coat to his feet.

"Another ten seconds and they'll be all over us," said Dallas.

"So let's not be here," returned Dawson.

They grabbed Lab Coat's sleeves over his panted protests and ran again. Three blocks to the car, and no discernable tail. They threw Lab Coat into the back and jumped into the front. Dawson pulled away from the curb and drove sedately away. He stripped off his beret and mask, and Dallas pulled the cloth from his face.

Dawson glanced at the man sprawled on the back seat,gasping, "Hey there, how'd ya like the rescue?"

-Dallas

By Margravine Issold (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas sat in the car with their charge while Dawson went inside to pick up a room keycard. The motel was not too nice, not too sleazy - just far enough down the scale so that no one was likely to care about who their neighbors might be.

"Have you got a name?" asked Dallas.

"Moore," he seemed surprised, "Dr. Jack Moore. Didn't my boss send you?"

Dallas blinked but did not reply. When Jack opened his mouth to say something more, Dallas held up a forestalling finger,"Wait."

Jack clamped his lips shut and stared at the young man, deeply worried. If not his own people, then who? Were these guys the fire rescuing him from the frying pan?

He glanced suriptitiously at the door handle then cast a furtive look across the parking lot.

"I wouldn't," said the Indian, startling him, "Wait. You're in no danger."

Jack wished he could believe that, and he hoped fervently that it was true, but the young Amerind's demeanor was not comforting.

The second man reappeared, striding jauntily across the lot.

Jack bit his lip as he watched the man slide behind the wheel, intensely aware if the Indian's obsidian gaze on him.

"Room's around the other side," said the driver, "not as prone to casual notice."

"Are you guys gonna kill me?" Jack burst out, his voice desperate.

The driver snorted derisively, "We could have done that at EH. Been a hell of a lot easier, too. Calm down, we didn't haul your butt across town to shoot it, we want to talk."

The rough logic was a slight comfort. Besides, talk was easier to contemplate than death. Jack was well aware that he was in way over his head - maybe these guys were the lifeguards. He took a deep breath and followed them in to the room.

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

Once inside, Dawson didn't waste a moment. He tossed the little vial onto the nearest bed--right next to where Dr. Moore had seated himself. Moore picked it up, all the color washing from his face as realization struck him.

"What can you tell us about that?" Dawson asked seriously, watching every expression on Moore's face.

"Oh God--dear God... What have I done?" Moore muttered as he stared at the vial. He glanced back up at Dawson and sighed. "My brother is a troll. He had a very painful goblinization, and it tore me up inside to watch him endure such hell. I decided to make it my life-long ambition to ease and perhaps even stop the pain of goblinization," Moore explained.

"So, you designed a virus that will kill off all the metas in the world? That's a stroke of pure genius, Doc," Dawson stated derisively. Moore just shook his head.

"My original and only intention was to isolate the genetics of metahumanity that I might find out what subjects were more likely to become changed, and design a neural inhibitor to reduce the pain of the change. Not all of my colleagues were as idealistic as myself, unfortunately. As a result of my research, the genetic codes for all metahumanity were isolated. I was then pressured into designing a virus that would attack that code specifically and exclusively. I have not found it yet. I have, however, found this..." Moore said, holding up the virus. "It has a 2 day incubation period, and is worse than Ebolla. In fact, an elven intern was working on it one night in Aztech's lab, and apparently her suit had been tampered with. Needless to say, she died the next day of a massive bleed-out. I performed the autopsy myself. Almost nothing left of her internal organs." Moore fell silent for a moment. Dawson threw a paper down in front of the good doctor.

"Did she look like this?" he asked, showing Moore the picture of the defaced elven corpse. Moore glanced at it, then turned a pale shade of white.

"My God! It's been introduced to the outside world! Everyone who's had contact with that corpse is going to die--and then everyone who comes in contact with them, etc. When was this taken?" Moore asked, in a panic.

"Two days ago. I think only Lone Star and DocWagon have actually had contact with her--barring whoever dropped her off in that dumpster," Dawson answered.

Moore flipped through the newspaper to the obituaries, reading frantically. Then, his eyes widened. "Three John Does were found one block from the corpse, execution-style, all lined up. They were the same three who took the cadaver to be incinerated after I performed the autopsy. I remember they all had a tattoo on their left forearm. They were always talking about supremacy and constantly berating the metas."

Dawson just nodded. "Policlub zealots. I guess they wanted to cause the Apocalypse."

"It might not be too late," said Moore. "If I could have access to my research notes, I could very easily come up with a counter-strain--a cure. We need to go back to Eastern Herbalist!" Moore jumped up and starting walking towards the door.

"Hang on there, Skippy," Dawson said, gently pushing Moore back onto the bed. Dallas scooped up the vial of Death before Moore sat on it, then frowned at Dawson. "We might have some more questions for you, Doc," Dawson said, looking purposefully at Dallas...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas' eyebrows rose. Having Dawson toss the interrogation over to him was a shock. He glanced at his partner's stony expression then at the whey faced doctor.

"Who pressured you into the viral research? Was it a departmental project?" he tried.

Jack Moore scrubbed his face with his hands, and tried to think, "We were in an iso-lab. Just Danny and me. Dr. Cosper was the only supervisor involved with our project that I know of."

"Cosper?"

"Emile Cosper. He's been at Aztech for about 30 years, real old guard," he stopped his brow furrowing, "Rumor had it he had a sister kill herself after UGE, but he never said one way or the other. I kind of thought there was a kinship there...until he found out about his daughter."

Dallas and Dawson looked at him expectantly as he blushed scarlet, "It's not pertinent."

"It could be. Spill."

Jack squirmed uncomfortably, "Tina has quite a reputation. She's been divorced twice, broken 7 engagements and had at least 4 torrid affairs that I know of, and dozens of one night stands, one with a meta, and one with me," he finished miserably.

"And Cosper found out about you."

"Tina is turned on by risk," he said, blushing furiously, "her father was in the house, when he came upstairs, I beat it out the window. Left some clothing behind."

"Who's this Danny?" asked Dallas, moving on, much to Jack's relief.

"Danny McNeil, my collegue. Not real inspired but a good backup man."

"Would he have your research notes?"

Jack looked up, his expression hopeful, "Yeah! Yeah, he would."

"Can you trust him?"

Jack looked troubled, "I think so. He's a pretty decent guy."

Dallas looked at Dawson, and Dawson nodded, "Eastern Herbalist will be buzzing like a hive for days with your break out. We can't go back there without risking our asses, so we're gonna have to go through your pal, Danny."

Jack nodded, "What about Dr. Cosper?"

Dallas shook his head, "No. He is not to know you're on the loose. Ever think about how you wound up in Eastern? You don't seem to be on Cosper's Christmas card list. It's chancy enough contacting Danny McNeil."

Jack stared at Dallas, his expression shocked, "Dr. Cosper?" he whispered.

Dallas shrugged impatiantly, "Somebody got you out of Aztech and into Eastern, right? Why not him? The two companies don't have any legit connection that I know of, so you probably got sold or traded."

"What the hell is happening to my life?" asked Jack rhetorically.

Dawson looked at him unsypathetically, "Looks like your life's been hosed by experts. So do you wanna try and take it back or do you wanna sit there and whine about it?"

Jack's expression hardened, and he shot Dawson and angry glance, "I'll call Danny. Let's stop this thing."

-Dallas

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The phone was ringing. McNeil pulled his gaze from the meta porn on the tri-d screen and slapped the pause button. The picture froze on three elves and a dwarf in a now static shower of feathers. McNeil paused a second longer to examine the picture before snatching up the phone.

"McNeil."

"Get all the project notes and meet me at 10th and Colvena in Puyallup."

"Jack?"

"Don't talk, just do it --- please, Danny, now. And be damn careful."

"But, Jack...." the line was dead.

McNeil dithered for a moment, then went to his desk and sorted out the chips that Jack needed. He stuffed a couple pages of hard copy into the deep pockets of his coat. Then he left the apartment, tri-d screen still showing the stilled fall of feathers.

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

"So, where's Danny coming from," asked Dawson as Jack hung up the pay phone outside the front door of the motel.

"He should be leaving Aztechnology in the next few minutes, why?" Cosper responded. Dawson traded glances with Dallas, then started moving toward the street.

"Dallas, take Doc to the garage. I'll tail Danny-boy and make sure he doesn't get geeked on the way over. Do we know what he's driving?" Dawson said, looking straight at Cosper.

"Umm... A beige Nissan Jackrabbit. Has a bumper sticker that says 'Mitochondria Charge me Up'." Cosper smiled, and Dawson was gone.

Dallas wondered for a moment exactly how Dawson was going to get to Aztech from here, but simply laughed inwardly when he saw the pizza delivery guy running down the street cursing, chasing after his car as the pies were flung out the window onto the pavement. Dallas grabbed Cosper's arm firmly and led him toward the car. "Let's go..."

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson's car may have looked like a piece of drek, but it handled beautifully. Dallas was willing to bet that whatever was under the hood was not factory issue.

He glanced at Jack as he strapped himself in. The man's expression was tight, his brow furrowed.

"Relax, Dr. Moore," Dallas looked at him through mirrored shades, "I am your body guard, now, and you won't do better than me. Just do what I say and we'll manage to get through all this alive."

Jack looked at the young man beside him, a tinge of surprise coloring his expression. Dallas favored him with a brief, if slightly unnerving, flash of white teeth.

"You're going to have to trust me, Doc. My partner and I are the best bet you've got going right now."

Dallas casually wheeled the car around a corner on to an on ramp and Jack nodded slowly, accepting Dallas' point.

"Have you got a name?" he asked at last.

"Several. But you can call me Dallas."

"Okay, Dallas, I'm yours. I'll trust you guys to keep me alive...plagues not withstanding."

Dallas stuck out his right hand and Jack shook it solomnly. Dallas returned his attention to driving, but a corner of his mind nagged the questions. What if Danny McNeil didn't have all that they needed to stop the plague? And where the hell were Spyder and Crane with the data steal from Aztech. And where, if anywhere, did Renraku fit in?

Dallas drove on, alert and watchful. He was not at all happy with the situation, and fully expected someone to try and blind side them eventually.

-Dallas

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

Ray drove the pizza-guy's delivery car down toward Aztech's huge pyramid, scanning carefully for McNeil's car as he drove. As he turned down an extraordinarily busy street, he wished he had changed his outfit back at the hotel. An urban-assault uniform driving a pizza-car was really obvious. As he glanced about nervously, he spotted Danny's car, stuck at a traffic light on the other side of the street. Dawson had a fast idea.

Danny McNeil watched the traffic light intently, cursing slightly at the traffic built up around him. 'What the hell is Jack on about?' he was wondering, just then, something cold and cylindrical pressed against his temple.

"Grab your case and get out," a gruff voice commanded. McNeil understood in an instant that his life was over. Scared stupid, he grabbed the case, calmly turned off his ignition, and got out of the car. The intruder grabbed him, tossing him into the back of a nearby hatch-back. Danny noticed it smelled like pizza, before passing out from fear.

Dawson looked around, trying to discern how many people saw him. Before he could do a mental count, his gut said 'too many'. He drove the pizza-delivery car down an alley, then started making his way back toward the garage, picking his path and watching for tails. It was then that he noticed Danny's car had blown up, so the safe bet was that the good doctor was being watched. Dawson prepared himself for a running fight on the busy, mid-afternoon streets of Seattle...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas made it to the garage without incident. It had taken a while because he had taken a circuitous route getting off and on the freeway at random points.

When they finally arrived, Jack Moore was ready to jump out of his skin, but Dallas was very cool, pleasantly suprised to find they'd managed this far with out notice - he was sure he would have seen any watchers by now.

He parked on the street. He didn't feel like getting trapped in the garage if the drek hit the fan. And if there was going to be any drek, he was pretty sure Dawson would be bringing it with him.

Jack was jumpy. His natural habitat was a nice safe arcology, and he was not adjusting well to his new situation.

"How about something to eat?" he asked, looking toward the rather dingy store front window emblazoned with 'Old Texas Red Hots'.

Dallas considered, sweeping the area with a hawk like gaze, "Okay, but you and I are joined at the hip, I do the talking, I give the orders. You do what I say without question no matter what, 'cause I'll be pissed as hell if you become my first failure. Got it?"

Jack nodded eagerly, somehow the idea of pissing Dallas off chilled him far more than the nebulous threat offered by unknown enemies.

The two men emerged from the car - Dallas first, then Jack when Dallas got to his door. They crossed the sidewalk - 'Red Hots' was one store up from Jack's side of the car.

'Old Texas Red Hots' was greasy, dark, and hot - a good sign that they had decent food, even if it was likely to be soydogs. Better, by far, to Dallas' way of thinking however, was that there were at least two other exits from the fire trap other than the front door, and the dirty front window offered a panoramic view of the street.

Dallas ordered four foot longs, chili fries, and a couple of nuka-colas. He set Jack in a corner that offered no clear shot from either the street or the interior, but was a easily abandoned. He busied himself alternating scans of the street and the store as he absently helped himself to his share of the food.

He wondered how long was too long to wait. He didn't think Dawson could get McNeil here with out some kind of hitch, things were just getting too complicated.

-Dallas

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

Danny McNeil woke up to the vibrations emanating from the crappy shocks in the pizza delivery car. His head bounced once or twice on the floor as he began to recall what had just happened to him. He wasn't sure how long he was out, but he did know he didn't like or know where he was. He glanced around the inside of the car, noticing the back of a man's head in the driver's seat. He remembered at once that he had just been kidnapped.

"Where are you taking me?" Danny asked urgently of the enigmatic figure who was driving.

"I'm taking you to see an old friend," the driver replied with a gruff tone, glancing in the rearview for an instant as he spoke. "I am your only hope for survival at this point. Unless you wanna commit suicide, you do what I say when I say it, got it?" Danny McNeil nodded apprehensively as he shifted his position in the rear slightly.

Danny lifted his head a little to look out the back window and maybe catch a glimpse of what was happening, and as he did so, the glass erupted inwards with a shattering crash, drawing an expletive from the driver.

"Keep your head down, and fraggin' HUG the floorboards, Danny-boy! You are NOT gonna die as long as I'm breathin!" the driver shouted as he pulled out a pistol with his right hand, aimed it over his shoulder, and squeezed off several rounds. Danny dared not lift his face from the carpet for the rest of the bumpy ride...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The pizza delivery hatchback flew past the rendezvous, fast enough to let Dallas know there was trouble. Dallas waited for ten seconds, and sure enough, a slick four door sedan sped past in probable persuit.

"Frag," hissed Dallas, "Let's go."

Jack looked startled but rose to his feet immediately.

"Get in the back and lie on the floor," said Dallas as he hustled Jack out of the store, "Do not lift your fraggin' head for any reason. Grab the carpet with your teeth if you have to, but stay the frag down. Got me?"

Jack nodded, "What's going on?"

Dallas shook his head, "Just running a little interference."

-Dallas

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The hatchback was really no match for the sedan - the only reason they had stayed clear of their pursuers thus far was Dawson's acrobatic display of defensive driving. Now he was on the straight away though, and the bad guys were catching up.

Dallas pulled out into the street, cutting off a puke green Jackrabbit, much to it's driver's irritation. Dallas spared one glance behind him, but saw no real threat, so he leaned on the accelerator, the primo engine under the hood obeyed instantly.

The dust colored car was soon hanging off the sedan's bumper. The young Amerind could see a couple of pocks and gouges in the sedan's finish and figured them for what they were - bullet scars. Two guys, one at the sun roof, one on the passenger side popped their heads out to take a shot at the hatchback.

Ahead, Dawson reacted instantly, the laboring hatchback made an almost ninety degree turn on to a narrow side street. Cars were parked on either curb, narrowing the drivable area to about one and a half car widths. The sedan almost missed the turn, but jigged at the last second, throwing the shooters off balance.

Dallas took the opportunity to slide the nose of his car up to parallel the sedan's trunk. As the sun roof shooter turned to regard him with suprise, Dallas hosed him down with the SMG he'd aquired at Eastern Herbalist. The guy dropped back inside the sedan.

The sedan driver, apparently startled by the unexpected attack, jerked the wheel just enough so Dallas could muscle his car up along side of the sedan. As he reached mid-point, Dallas jerked the wheel and punched the accelerator.

Panicing, the sedan's driver tried to turn against the direction of the push, but just gave Dallas more to push against. When the sedan hit the first of the parked cars, Dallas backed off. The sedan continued along it's trajectory, slamming tail first into the wall of cars. Dallas screamed past, tearing the right front quarter panel off the sedan as he passed and sending them into a spin.

The hatchback reached the end of the street and sped off to the left. Dallas followed.

-Dallas

By Bryan (Houdini) on Unrecorded Date:

"Unit seven to base. Unit seven to base."

"Roger that seven. What's your copy."

"Base, we need an ambulance & wreck crew here asap. A black Lincoln sedan crashed into a wall of parked cars. Four human white males were in the car, three are still alive, but are serverly injured, and one is dead."

"I copy seven. Rescue crew is on route. Any alcohol found in the car?"

"Negative base. This isn't your typical drunk driver crash. The man who was killed didn't die in the crash. He was shot and he was also was clasping onto a semi-automatic machine gun like the one used in the Cisco gang riots last year."

"Frag! Umm....Roger, seven. Any witnesses?"

"Afirmative base. We have several eye-witesses. An apartment complex sits right above the acciendent scene Deputy Carson is taking statements right now. We got some discrepencies in the stories but all claim to have heard gunshots go off and they saw a man driving a Ford hatchback licence plate number tango alpha charile six alpha niner involved in the disturbance. Over."

"Uhh. Seven, database confirms that car is registered to one Ray Dawson."

"What name did you say again? I didn't quite copy? Did you say Ray Dawson? THE Detective Ray Dawson. Over."

"Uhh.. That is correct sir. Shall I put out an APB for him?"

"Yeah. Make it happen. Unit Seven out."

"Carson! Have you finished getting sworn statements from these people?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. I need for you to go to lone star archives and find out everything you can about
a Detective Ray Dawson. Find out what his connection is to these thugs. I want to know everything Carson. He's really in over his head this time."

"Sure boss, what do you want me to do with the three stooges here after medical division fixes them up." Carson asked.

"Throw them in a holding cell and book em' we have enough on them with this traffic disturbance to buy their co-operation."

-Agent Keppler
Deputy Agent Carson

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Ray Dawson drove deeper into the Puyallup Barrens, through the marginally habitable areas , and into areas that resembled a war zone more than anything else. Roads were pitted and holed, buildings were crumbled and windowless, and the few people about moved furtively as if unused to daylight.

Dallas almost lost the wheezing hatchback once as Ray oozed his way through the labyrinthian alley- ways. But soon, the struggling hatchback came to a stop in the loading yard of a former warehouse, in a district that used to cater to such structures. Dallas nosed the sedan up behind the smoking delivery car and stopped as well. Both men alighted from their vehicles, leaving their charges in place, and stopped ten paces away.

"Aztech or freelance," asked Dallas without preamble.

Dawson lit up and took a deep drag, a rapt expression on his face. It had been almost twenty minutes since his last smoke. Finally he shrugged, "Either low level Aztech or discount bin freelance, either way they work for the same yabos."

Dallas grimaced, "There were probably seven dozen witnesses from beginning to end, too."

"More witnesses muddy the waters, but you're right. That's why we're here."

Ray ambled over to the hatchback and threw open the back. Danny McNeil climbed out, pale and wobble-kneed. He glanced apprehensively at Dawson, then Dallas.

"C'mon, Danny-boy," said Dawson, "let's go, Doc," he waved Jack Moore over, "you're not gonna want to be standing here in a few minutes."

Dawson and Dallas cleared the cars of anything useful, and then herded the two geneticists toward the old warehouse. And the loading bay doors, Dawson rapped a complex pattern with the night stick he'd retrieved.

They waited silently until a *chunk* of metal grating on metal announced someone else's presence. The smaller service door opened on a bearded blonde dwarf wearing a battered and ancient Seattle Seahawks ball cap.

"Dawson," he grunted, "What do ya want?"

"Hey, Yakov, we need some time out of the sun and computer access."

The dwarf examined the group briefly, then snorted, "Come on in, then," he said with ill grace, "You never show up but with grief on your tail, Dawson," he held out a hand.

Dawson laid a cred stick in it that disappeared so fast, Dallas did not even manage to notice the color.

"What's going on?" whispered McNeil, a hint of panic in his voice.

"Enlighten him, will you, Doc?" asked Dallas.

Dawson took his key chain from Dallas, and as the door shut, an explosion ripped apart both cars. In an hour there would be nothing left but charred struts.

Dallas shook his head, "I'd hate to see your expense account."

The four men follwed the dwarf into successivley deeper sub-basements, until they were at least three stories underground.

"Arlene has what she calls a rental setup in here," said Yakov, indicating a metal door, "It's really just her old setup before the last payday allowed her to upgrade."

Dallas went through the door first, the room was empty. He then allowed the two scientists in.

Jack looked around, "This is a very good system," he said with some surprise."

"Yeah, well," said Dawson casually as he dropped into an armchair, "Arlene's one of the best. All of her stuff is top notch - even her hand-me-downs. Get to work fellas, the people we're trying to save are providing the computer," he exhaled expansively.

"And for frag's sake, kid," he addressed the Indian who was pacing like a caged tiger, "relax."

-Dallas

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

<Somewhere in the downtown metroplex>

Janey wrapped her wool shawl tighter around her shoulders, throwing her used tissue into a wastebasket nearby. It wasn't that it was terribly cold outside, in fact, just the opposite. However, Janey hadn't been feeling 100% the past 2 days. Perhaps it was stress from the news that her younger, delinquent brother had wound up dead in a gang-land style execution... It was right after that night he burst into her place, a frantic look on his face, asking for money and a way out of town. A rough coughing fit broke her thoughts for a moment, and after she regained her composure, walked across the busy street to the health-food shop. "May as well try to get healthy again" she thought as she entered the predominantly elven shop...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson sat, eyes closed, while the two geneticists hunched over a monitor blind to everything else around them. Dallas squatted on his heels near the door, his arms draped over his knees, his eylids at half mast.

"Hey! I think that could be it!" said Jack excitedly, ""I think we could be on the right track, Danny."

Dawson opened his eyes, "Are you done?"

Jack looked up, startled, "Hardly. We're just starting. It'll probably take us days to isolate this, and even then it's still only theoretical since we don't have a real lab here for tests. Those will take days, maybe weeks more," his gaze strayed back towards the model on the monitor.

Dallas cocked his head, "You do realize this is no longer an excercise, don't you? That virus of yours could all ready be out there, Doc."

The two men stared at Dallas, then Dawson chimed in, "We did show you the pictures and everything, Jacky," he said with heavy sarcasm.

"Remember the corpse in the dumpster?" asked Dallas, "Well, somebody put it there."

"Then some one took it out, re-autopsied it, and shoved it in a drawer," nodded Dawson, "Even now infected chunks of tissue are being filed by lab techs."

"How long is your virus viable?" asked Dallas quietly.

Jack swallowed hard, Danny looked queasy, "In test situations it survived as long as 12 hours," he almost whispered.

"So from the minute your lab tech dropped dead, any one coming in contact with her body for upwards of half a day could have been infected," finished Dawson.

Jack nodded. Dallas and Dawson shared a look that said volumes.

"You might want to hurry this along, Doctors," said Dawson rising, "Meanwhile, maybe we can find you a lab. Besides, I'm cramping up just looking at you," he added for Dallas' benefit.

Dallas rose to his feet smoothly, a tight smile on his lips, "So what do you need in a lab?"

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas and Dawson emerged from the bunker into a grimy Puyallup evening. It was still a good two hours before sundown but it was all ready dim beneath the shroud of pollutants that had thickened during the windless day.

Dallas sneezed and turned to Dawson, "Well, we got no car and we're a long way from any where what next?"

Dawson lit a smoke in an effort to add to the smoggy burden in the atmosphere, "How long you been in Seattle?"

"How long have I known you? About a half hour longer than that."

"Hmm," Dawson started walking, Dallas followed silently, waiting.

They'd gone about three blocks when Dawson slipped down an alley too narrow for them to walk abreast. It debauched into an open apron around yet another warehouse. Dawson pulled his key chain from his pocket and pointed it at the door, this time pressing the green button. The doors rolled open revealing a faded blue Americar.

Dawson strode up to the vehicle and unlocked it, he glanced over the roof at the younger man and held up a finger warningly, "Let's be careful with this one, kid, it's the last one I got handy."

Dallas shook his head, smiling appreciatively. He could respect a man who seemed to have the whole fraggin' city wired.

"Where the frag does somebody steal a genetics lab?" asked Dawson as they drove across the apron and out on to the street.

Dallas reached into his boot and removed a hiltless throwing knife, then adjusted his sock giving himself time to think, "The university?" he suggested returning the knife.

Dawson nodded, "Good thinking. You look about the right age to be wandering around there without raising suspicion. I wonder when it'll be empty enough to smuggle the docs in."

Dallas sighed, "Don't tell me, I get to play student the rest of the day and try and find a suitable lab."

"You'll be fine", said Dawson with mock sincerity, "I'm sure you'll be able to work and play well with the other kids."

Dallas gave him a level stare and Dawson laughed.

Like students since time began, most of them had apparently arranged their schedules so that classes took up only the minority of their days - late in early out. By the time Dawson and Dallas got to the University, the last of the classes for the day were letting out, and from the schedules posted in the student union, Dallas noted that night classes were limited and none were labs.
The sciences quad was at the west end of campus, five buildings that hosted classes in everything from anthropology to astronomy to bio-chem. It was just a matter of figuring out which ones were where.

Dallas started with a squat red brick structure and worked clockwise. He nearly laughed out loud at some of the anthropological displays he ran across in one of the classrooms. He found what he was looking for in the fourth building. Large lab rooms full of refrigerators, burners and stacks of glassware such as petri dishes, beakers, and the like. There were still two people working in one of the two labs, the other was dark, the doors locked. Dallas made his way quietly down stairs, the two students never saw him.

Walking across the quad, Dallas was not at all surprised to see Dawson emerge from the grey gloom of the Seattle twilight, "Couldn't stay away?"

Dawson grinned, "Didn't know if you knew how to…open locked doors."

"Well, yes, but not in any kind of subtle way."

"I knew I'd be handy for something."

Dallas told him what he'd discovered and indicated the building of yellow brick, "Third floor. We'll have to wait if we want it clear."

Dawson shrugged, "We gotta wait until we can get the docs up here anyway," he said pulling out his cell phone, "We gotta let them decide if they want to commute or if we should just take it to go."

"Commuting would add a whole new level of danger to this. If we want to stop this thing, we've got to keep these guys alive. I sure as hell can't pick up their notes and run with them."

Dawson snorted as he finished dialing, "We'll keep them alive either way, kid. It's gotta be how it'll work for them, cause this fraggin' virus of theirs isn't the way I intend to buy it. If I'm gonna bleed to death, it'll be because someone knocked a few good sized holes in me, not because my liver is leaking out my ass."

Dallas nodded his understanding, a warrior wants a warrior's death. He admitted privately that the idea of the manufactured virus gave him the creeps, too. He listened as Dawson promised Yakov a generous fee for ferrying the two scientists up to the University in his step van - coincidentally a vehicle large enough to transport considerable chunks of the lab away, too.

"So now we wait."

-Dallas

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

"Tedious, very tedious." Crane shook his head somberly over the telecom.

"How long to you estimate?" asked Johnson, looking dapper as ever.

"30 hours." Crane looked over at Spyder, who was under anesthetic during the detox period.

"Do you have anything for me at all?" Johnson whined lacking optimism as he slumped back into his chair.

"Complications mostly. You’ll love this. Dr. Copser is acting liaison for Mr. Fujiyama under the alias "Takeshi Ishida". Mr. Fujiyama- to us more informed metas- enjoys finding covert ways to back policulbs using Renraku resources. He’s the one behind the contract to get Diane back before she caused even more trouble."

"Diane was definitely a blunder on their part."

"So you like Tofu, Mr. Johnson?"

"What?"

"I’d avoid eating it if I were you." Crane said sarcastically.

"Am I paying for these absurd tangents?" Johnson wrinkled his brow.

"No, all part of the service. Don’t think for a minute that Jack’s research went unnoticed until he isolated the goblinization gene. Cosper acted as project courier to Mr. Fujiyama the moment Jack’s UGE research proposal was approved by Aztec’s bioengineering division. Renraku isn’t just a megacorp giant in the west; they also have a fair stake in the Soybean industry. ‘Takeshi’- also known as our dear Dr. Cosper made several trips to Thailand to visit Vitasoy Inc."

"How did you come up with this?"

"Money trials, and a little help from Spydie’s decryption program, and good old fashioned deduction. The fact that Cosper isn’t as cautious as he should be considering the circumstances has yielded a clue or two. Maybe he doesn’t think we’re on to him. If I were Mr. Fujiyama, I’d have him killed." he grinned as he stated his point.

"Not bad for a gutterpunk." Johnson smirked.

"Since Renraku’s had all the information on Jack’s research since day one, I’d bet they have quite a refined viral arsenal at their disposal by now. They’re also probably using Diane’s policlub screw-up to their advantage. Makes a nice little smokescreen."

"What about Jack and Daniel?"

"They’re being looked after, Jack was working on an antidote to Diane’s designer virus."

"The one found on the dumped body?"

"Yeah, I’d wear a chemsuit if you’re ever wandering through Seattle just in case Renraku didn’t quarantine and sterilize properly."

"What about Eastern Herbalist?"

"It’s mainly a policlub front with some decent research facilities. Cosper smuggling Jack there was a very sloppy move, risky as well. Why he chose to deliver Jack to the policulbs rather than Renraku is strange. I’ve got a couple of theories, but I need more information before I can say anything for certain."

"About that quarantine, a young meta was executed recently. This caught our interest because the body went missing shortly after the autopsy. Obviously we aren’t the only ones watching the city morgue. The young elf was a biotech student at Washington State U; his name was Seth Fleming. See what else you can find about Vitasoy."

Crane

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

"Mork to Orson. Mork to Orson, come in Orson."

" ‘Bout time we heard from you. Where the frag have you been?" Dawson grunted over the comlink before taking another drag from his cigarette.

"You say the sweetest things, we have some catching up to do." Crane said dryly as he jumped into his car and checked the enviroseal.

"I’ll meet you at the kitchen."

"Only if I can bring my chemsuit; let us say there is a chance that someone didn’t wash their hands before dinner and spread some pestilence around." Crane said in his usual sarcastic tone.

Dawson coughed with surprise "Remind me to take my vitamin C."

Crane

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

“Crane?” asked Dallas as Dawson pocketed the cell phone.

Dawson nodded, “He has his concerns about the viral possibilities in Seattle proper and wants to meet away from the possible contamination sites.”

“So?”

Dawson crushed his cigarette, stripped the butt, and put the paper in his pocket, “So, we’ll meet him, but not until we’re done here.”

The two men examined the tightly packed interior of the step van. Everything for a well equipped lab could be had out of the back of the van now, if they were of a mind to sell. It had taken far too long – over 90 minutes – for six people to load most of the contents of one of the school’s labs into the back of the van. Every second they were there now increased the chances of discovery exponentially.

Between the two scientists arguing over what they might and might not need and the slow pace of the two dwarves stubby legs, Dawson was ready to shoot someone.

Yakov and his partner, Stosh, clambered into the front of the van, but there was still no sign of the two docs.

“I’ll go,” said Dallas, “have them start the engine, we leave in thirty seconds. Go ahead and smoke something.”

The kid slipped out of the van like an otter on speed before Dawson could respond, so he gritted his teeth and had the dwarf start the engine.

*****
Dallas ghosted up the stairs for the umpteenth time that night. As soon as he opened the hallway door, he could hear Jack and Danny hissing about a centrifuge in what they thought were whispers.

Both men started as Dallas appeared beside them, “Grab it and go, guys. We’ve been here too long already.”

One look at the young Cheyenne’s face, and the two men grabbed the boxes they had loaded up and clattered down the hallway without a backward glance. Dallas closed the door of the almost empty lab and started to follow when he heard the door at the other end of the hallway open and tentative footsteps come his way.

He swore silently, knowing he was stuck between the two doors until who ever it was had his curiosity satisfied. Dallas stood silently in the shadowy corridor, thinking fast. Probably a guard, probably came in from the north side on regular rounds, or else he’d be downstairs hassling the dwarf in the van which was parked on the south side. Dallas grimaced and hoped he wouldn’t have to kill the poor schlub.

“Who’s there?” asked a voice that attempted to sound authoritative, but cracked on the last note. That probably meant he was a little more than just suspicious, but Dallas hoped he wasn’t sure enough to have called backup. Silently he drew the knife from his boot and concealed it in his left hand. He allowed his hair to fall forward and obscure his features, then walked toward the guard.

The guard seemed startled to have his suspicions confirmed in the form of the kid walking toward him, ‘The building is closed,” he said relaxing slightly. It was just a kid after all.

Dallas continued walking toward him silently. Un-nerved, the guard placed his hand on his holstered weapon, “You’ll have the vacate the building, now!” he said sharply. Dallas could hear the undercurrent of dread, however, the guard did not want a confrontation.

Three more steps and the guard jerked at his pistol just as Dallas’ hand shot forward. The pommel of the throwing knife struck the guard perhaps a millimeter above the bridge of his nose. It sounded like a melon dropped on cement when metal hit bone. The force of the blow knocked him backward and he was unconscious before he hit the floor. There was another painful crack as his skull bounced off the linoleum, and then he lay still.

Dallas checked the guard’s pulse. It was still strong, but he’d have a hell of a head on him when he woke up. Dallas retrieved his knife and slipped down the stairs.

Dawson was outside the van waiting for him, “You’re late. Any trouble?”

Dallas was all wide eyed innocence, “No, no trouble. Why?’

Dawson watched the younger man suspiciously as he climbed in the van, then jumped in himself as the lumbering vehicle started to roll.

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

Dawson & Dallas helped Yakov & Stosh unload the van, then Stosh drove the duo back to the campus to pick up Dawson's car. As they approached, Dawson noticed the parking ticket stuck under the windshield wiper. He plucked it out, checking the scrawled information as he unlocked the driver's side door.

"Campus Security has suspended my parking priveleges," Dawson said as he sat behind the wheel, drawing a chuckle from Dallas. As Dawson started the engine, his door flew open once again. He turned in time to see the large, hairy orc reaching for his jacket to pull him out. Dawson let him. Dallas was encountering a similar situation on his side of the car.

"Thanks for the ride, chummer," the orc said gruffly, squinting at Dawson's smaller form as he let go of his jacket. Dawson blew smoke in the orc's face.

"You're not too bright, are you Trog," Dawson said, as he snuffed his cigarette out on the orc's chest. The orc howled in pain, and instinctively swung at Dawson, who ducked under the hulk's arm and jabbed his ribs harshly. 3 times. The orc was lifted off the ground for a moment, and Dawson shifted his own momentum slightly, tucking his shoulder into the behemoth's injured ribcage and pushing, which caused the orc to be hurled backwards several feet, landing on his rump in the middle of the street. The orc shook his head, rubbed his bruised chest, then screamed a war-cry as he stood again, charging Dawson.

Dawson fired one shot, dropping the orc like a sack of concrete, its brains exploding out of the back of its head in a cloud of red gore. Dawson bent down and retrieved his brass, pulled out another smoke, and lit up, waiting patiently for Dallas to finish playing with his new friend...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The sight would have been ludicrous if the intent hadn't been so deadly. Dallas looked like a doll next to the hulking ork, a full foot shorter and as big around as the ork's thigh, Dallas allowed himself to be jerked from the car and held aloft like a trophy. He was peripherally aware of Dawson's little inter-species summit going on three yards away, but could spare no attention for it.

"You're way too small, smoothie, oughta throw you back...hard," chortled the ork, hefting the young man as he would a shot put.

Dallas snapped his foot forward, planting his boot deep in the surprised ork's gut. The air whooshed out of the ganger, like a zeppelin deflating. His hold on Dallas failed, and the young man twisted away as the ork fell to one knee. Dallas' elbow was all ready coming around and he caught the ork in the face to the accompaniment of crunching bone as the left side of the juggernaut's face literally caved in under the force of the blow.

The ork gasped, expelling a dozen teeth and a gout of blood. His eye balance precariously on the rim of it's socket, and shards of his shattered cheekbone poked through the skin. His face was a ghastly mask, and he stared at Dallas in shock. He had never been hurt so badly before. Dallas slammed the heel of his left hand into the ork's temple and watched him go down as if pole-axed.

"Is he dead?" asked Dawson laconically, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

Dallas shrugged and got in to the car, "I didn't check. It really bugs me that 'small' seems to mean 'target' for so many of these massive morons," he said conversationally.

Dawson slid behind the wheel and eyed the young man speculatively. Dallas seemed to have very concrete ideas of what he thought was okay or not okay, but he was working from his own script. He didn't take points from any one else, or any crap either. Dawson could appreciate that, he'd been working without a script at all for years, and he hadn't accepted a crap delivery for longer than that.

"Well, now that the incidental bad guys are out of the way, you wanna go save the world, Kato?"

Dallas looked at him and grinned, appreciating the joke, "Next time, you could just stand off to the side and yell things like 'POW', 'BOF', and 'KAPWING' when I lay into the buggers?"

Dawson slid the car into gear, "Kapwing?" he asked incredulously, "They never used kapwing."

The ridiculousness of the conversation escalated as they drove off to meet Crane. The inanity beat talking about what scared them - the possibility that the plague was all ready lose in the city.

-Dallas

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The Kitchen was well outside of Seattle proper. It was a truck stop frequented by long haulers from UCAS, NAN, and most other North American acronyms that shipped to Seattle or the Tir. Most of the truckers tended to be riggers, of course, and most couldn't give a toss about anything but their schedule, their cargo, and their stomachs - in that order. Dallas had never seen so many people with so much wiring installed in their bodies in his life.

"I just don't get how anyone would want that stuff inside them," he muttered.

Dawson shrugged. He'd never thought about it let alone cared.

"I guess when someone's an adept like us, it's hard to think like someone who might be missing something."

"Whadya mean, us?" asked Dawson scanneing the booths for Crane.

"Well, you're not wired, right? So if you're not wired and you move like you move, you're an adept like me. I've been trained my whole life in this stuff, I think I can spot another when I see 'em."

Dawson shrugged disinterestedly, "I just been at this drek a long time, kid."

Crane had not yet put in an appearence, so Dawson grabbed the two of them a booth as far removed from the rest of the crowd as possible. He ordered coffee, Dallas ordered the Ork Plate consisting of four 1/2 pound soyburgers, a pound of fries, a quart of coleslaw, three pounds of salad greens, and a quart of soymilk. Half a pie was also included.

After he got the hairy eyeball from the waitress he didn't want to take anything from Dawson, "So I'm hungry. It's been a long time since lunch," he scowled.

"I just don't want to getted locked in a room with you for any legth of time without at least a cow to shove in your direction when the munchies strike."

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

Dawson readjusted his coat slightly, shifting his shoulder-holster slightly for a better draw. There were four boisterous orcs sitting at a booth three tables down, who had been eyeballing the two since they walked in. Dawson nudged Dallas' foot under the table, then leaned a little closer and spoke in a low tone.

"We have some admirers. 3 tables behind you. I'll let you know if any trouble's brewing," Dawson said, accenting his final word with a drag from his cigarette. Dallas just nodded--almost imperceptibly, and leaned back, pretending to laugh at a joke. Dawson chuckled, too--a sort of silent 'hrrmmph' sounding, almost-cough.

It wasn't too terribly long before the food came, but it was long enough for the 4 orcs to have downed 12 beers and a bottle of whiskey. They were starting to feel 'frisky'. Dawson saw one of the orcs facing him point their way, and the other three all looked.

"Here it comes, kid. You might wanna eat fast," Dawson said, sipping from his third cup of coffee.

"Always when I'm eating," Dallas sighed in exasperation, as he took another bite from the gargantuan burger. Dawson shook his head.

"I'm gonna hit the john," he said, standing up. "Maybe it'll draw some of their attention--even split 'em up." Dallas just nodded, mumbling something through his food. Dawson clapped Dallas on the shoulder, "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?"

As Dawson walked past the orcs' table, one of them spit at him. Another grumbled 'smoothie,' to the laughs and jeers of the others. Dawson got almost to the bathroom door before he could no longer resist. He turned, looked the spitter right in the eye, winked at him, and blew him a kiss just before entering the door. It didn't take cybernetic ears to hear the cry of outrage and the bottles and plates from the table crash onto the floor. Dawson drew his Ares Predator, checked the chamber, and watched the door.

The first orc slammed through the door, its face twisted in rage. Dawson fired twice--once for each eye--then took another drag from his smoke as the orc's head snapped backwards and it flew back out the door. The second orc barrelled in, covered with its buddy's brains and blood. Dawson shook his head in disbelief, and fired again, causing the same result. As the second dead orc landed in a heap on top of the first, Dawson wondered if the other two would be as stupid as the first. When the hair on the back of his neck stood up, he had a feeling they wouldn't...

Dawson dropped to one knee and rolled to the right, just as the muzzle of a shotgun poked through the doorway and fired, obliterating the sink where Dawson was just leaning. Dawson did a quick estimate of how high the shotgun was, how far around the doorframe it was, and the approximate size of the wielder. He then fired 3 shots in a cluster at the wall, satisfied when he heard a pained grunt and a thud from the other side. He also noticed the shotgun fell.

Dawson dropped his cigarette butt into a urinal, then sprang into the doorframe, his back against one edge as he aimed toward where he thought the 4th orc would be. He wasn't there. Quickly putting his gun away, he scanned for the 4th bad guy, and spotted him out in the parking lot, waving frantically and pointing back into the diner.

He was talking to a group of orcs and trolls on motorcycles.

Dawson shook his head, then bent to retrieve the shotgun. resting it against his shoulder, he casually walked back to the table and sat across from Dallas, lighting up another cigarette...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

“Not very subtle, Dawson,” Dallas scolded mildly. He seemed to be trying to get as much of the food into him as possible before the drek well and truly hit the fan, and was concentrating on the fries as the easiest consumable. His gaze was locked on the view out the window as the ork and troll confab worked themselves up into a lather.

He took a couple of big swallows from his milk, then wiped his mouth, ”I count seventeen,” he said, “That puts the odds a little high, even for the saviors of the world.”

Dawson grimaced, “No sign of Crane?”

“Not yet, but here comes the first wave.”

Dawson rose and headed for the back door, “Lets take it were we have some elbow room, kid.”

“Not to mention getting the hell away room,” muttered Dallas with a last longing look at his interrupted dinner.

The two men slipped out the back at the same time about two-thirds of the ork-troll contingent stormed in the front. The rest of them stayed near their bikes, a smarter move than Dawson had really expected out of them. Unfortunately one of the ones outside was the ork who’s buddies were littering the men’s room.

“Hey! That’s him!” he bellowed as Dawson and Dallas were only about half way to the car.

Dawson spat out the butt that was decorating his lip and pulled his pistol. Muttering something, Dallas also went for a weapon, and the almost invisible line of his monowhip flicked out of it’s hiding place.

The attack was a straight out charge, four trolls and two orks pounded toward them. Dawson fired at the lead troll. Shots peppered his chest and shoulders, but he didn’t stop coming and Dawson’s clip was rapidly emptying. The last two shots tore through the trolls neck spraying gore on his left hand partner, and his bulk smashed into the ground while he continued to gasp like a landed fish. That left five…at present.

Dallas snapped his hand out catching the lead ork across the chest, opening up an inched deep slash that exposed bone. The ork howled in pain. Dallas had time for one more strike before they were on him, this one sketched a bright red line across the same ork’s throat. His head tilted back on his shoulders, giving Dallas a brief glance of the inner workings of ork anatomy before a troll ran the young Indian into the ground.

Dallas felt the massive troll boot come down hard on his left thigh, bruising through to the muscle and numbing the leg, but he rolled away before the troll could stomp on him rather than just run over him. He popped up again - on the ground meant dead with this bunch - and spun away from the locomotive that had hit him. He dodged again trying to gain some distance, and used an ork as a vault, raking it across the face with a combat knife that had appeared in his hand – the whip was worse than useless in quarters this close.

He landed a little too near another of the trolls. The nine foot tall biker was festooned with chains and spikes. He grabbed Dallas by one shoulder and heaved the kid across the parking lot. Dallas saw a car coming toward him and tried to alter his flight. He hit the hood of the car in a semi-controlled crash, coming face to face - more or less - with a surprised Crane.

“Just a little trouble,” he shouted through the glass,” it’ll take us a few minutes to get to the car.”

-Dallas

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

Dawson fired his last 3 shots into the chest of the slashed orc as it pounded blindly up to him. Red gore splattered across the face of a nearby troll, just as Dallas was lifted and thrown by it. The count was now down to 3 trolls. Dawson quickly put his pistol away, pulling the sawed-off out of his coat. The troll that had steamrolled Dallas grabbed Dawson's shoulder, spinning him around roughly. Dawson put the muzzle of the shotgun in the troll's mouth, and fired.

"Eat this," Dawson grunted as the troll's head exploded messily. The body, working on instinct, flailed Dawson around like a stuffed toy before crumpling in a heap, pinning Dawson's leg underneath it. Dawson took the opportunity to reload his Predator, seeing Dallas darting around, between the other two trolls. Just as Dawson had hoped, these two were concentrating completely on Dallas. Ray slid his leg out from under the gigantic troll, scanning for the rest of the trog gang. Almost on cue, the 8 orcs and 4 trolls burst out the back door, looking for the unlucky duo.

"Dallas! Got incoming!" Dawson shouted, dropping into a combat crouch behind the fallen troll carcass. Ray pumped an entire clip into the lead orcs as they charged across the pavement, drawing their own weapons. Fifteen shots dropped 5 orcs, Ray firing in controlled clusters of three for each of the slabs of flesh. 3 orcs and 6 trolls remained--the orcs burning through ammo from their submachine guns, as Dawson ducked behind his troll barricade. Almost too late, he saw one of Dallas' trolls stomping near him, looking like some sort of demonic tank. Ray tried to swing the sawed-off around, but the troll just kicked it away, causing Ray's shot to blast up and away harmlessly. Ray pulled out his own knife, moving behind it as if his whole body were a weapon. As the troll lifted its leg to stomp on Dawson, Ray grabbed its base leg and sank the knife up to its hilt into the inside of the hip joint, cutting the femoral artery and piercing a nerve cluster. He then pushed off the front of the behemoth, watching as it dropped to one knee, clutching desperately at the fatal wound, a confused, painful expression on its face. Dallas seemed to be having similar luck with his baddie, so Dawson turned his attention on the remaining bad guys, who had graciously stopped firing when the troll had charged Ray.

Dawson charged into the group of trogs, efficiently slashing as he ran, taking the giants a little by surprise. Three knife cuts to a troll's inner thigh, a slash across an orc's neck, and a grab of a wrist with a slight twist and three deadly plunges of the knife under the orc's arm. Dawson slipped to his right, sinking his blade into the small of the troll's back whom he had slashed across the leg. Ray was always amazed at the way a troll could absorb bullets, but crumpled so very easily when attacked in a vital area at close range. Ray took another look at his situation--if these monsters decided to actually make an orchestrated attack, he'd be toast. Usually, though, they were hardly smart enough to think of such advanced tactics.

Enraged, the remaining orc charged at Ray, swinging his shotgun like a club, over his head. Ray dropped low, executed a groin kick, followed by a half-spin backwards with a move that slipped his knife between the lump's ribs. An elbow-strike to the nose dropped the orc, and Dawson grabbed the shotgun from his grasp, completing his spin and aiming at the head of the nearest troll. He pumped once and fired, removing the facial features of the behemoth in a bloody mist. The creature clutched at its face, dropping to the pavement and flailing about in agony.

The remaining 2 trolls stepped backwards, seeming to notice for the first time how many of their friends were down compared to how much damage they'd done to the 'smoothies'. Ray took the lull in the combat to calmly reload his Predator and light up another smoke...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas' deadly dance with the troll was strangely balanced. Huge and strong against small and fast. He slipped away from the troll's swing yet again - since the shotgun it had was only a two shot, and Dallas had allowed him no time to reload, his real worry was the set of spiked knuckles the bugger wore on one massive fist. Dallas' combat knife was doing damage, but he couldn't find an opening for a put-down strike.

The troll was wising up though, as Dallas dodged another swing from the spiked knucks, he didn't quite manage to get out of the way of the follow up fist and took a grazing shot to the ear. His head rang like a gong, but he shook it off and took the opportunity to plunge the knife into the troll's throat. He pulled back quickly and spun away from the wounded ganger.

He saw Dawson just lighting up a smoke among downed trogs. There were still two trolls standing and a lot of groaning going on. One of the orks on the ground was moving, "Dawson!"

The wounded ork filled the space Dawson had just been standing with a hail of lead from his shotgun. The two trolls started moving, but Dallas had his Roomsweeper out, and fired into them twice just to get their attention, "Playtime's over. Time to clean up."

Dawson rose from were he hit the ground when he dove out of the ork's sights and shot a glance at Dallas. The trolls had actually stopped and were looking at one another. The thought that they were outclassed was just managing to seep into their brains.

Dallas started backing away into the darkness of the parking lot where the car was waiting. Dawson seemed almost to shrug and eased away warily as well. The trolls did nothing to stop them. One of them bent to examine the hole Dallas had put in him.

Dawson and Dallas slid in to the car and scorched out of the parking lot. A glance told them that Crane was right behind.

"Man, you are bleeding all over the seat," observered Dallas.

"Caught a couple of shot in my leg on that last one. Nothing too bad, the coat stopped anything that would'a been serious. How'd you do?"

Dallas' leg was starting to throb as the adrenelin oozed out of his system, "I got a divit out of my thigh muscle, and my left eye is now my right eye. Nothing that'll put me down just now."

Dawson nodded and lit up, highlighting a couple of nasty scratches he'd taken from all the flailing claws, "Good. We're not gonna be able to go back and collect you a doggie bag you know."

Dallas looked out the back window, but outside of Crane there did not seem to be any pursuit, "I'll manage."

-Dallas

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Although the drive was short, it was long enough for both men to really start noticing the damage they’d taken during the rumble at the Kitchen. Every inhalation was a new experience in pain for Dawson. He believed that the rib injured during the fracas with Diane Scanlon’s thugs was now broken, but at least it kept his mind off the steady, throbbing pain of the buckshot he’d taken, or the burning pain of the cuts and gouges to his face and neck. He’d have to clean out those wounds soon, or face the possibility of a nasty infection.

Dallas had his problems, too. The trampling he’d taken had bruised his left leg to the bone, he wondered if any of the muscle had torn. In any event, the limb had been robbed of any feeling but pain – worse it was beginning to stiffen to the point where his mobility might become seriously impaired if he didn’t move soon. The blow he’d taken to the head had caused definite concussive problems. His ears were still ringing, and he had to concentrate in order to get both of his eyes to focus on the same thing at the same time, but that was at least passing.

When the pair finally emerged from the car in the lot of the greasy spoon called the Waterloo that Dawson had chosen, it was as if a couple of octogenarians had possessed them.

“You guys look like hot drek on a soda cracker,” said Crane as he joined them.

Dawson ignored the remark and tossed a butt aside, “Got any more of those wonder drugs on you?”

Crane nodded, “Always,” he looked them both over slowly, “need some one to bandage your arse for you as well?”

Dawson shot him an icy look, “Don’t worry about it. I got a pet doctor on retainer. He’s my next stop.”

Dallas walked across in front of the car stiff legged, “The irony here, of course, is that we’re running around trying to save Seattle from an anti- metahuman plague, and two-thirds of the metas I’ve met in this town have tried to kill us.”

“Perhaps a personality flaw, my young tribal friend,” said Crane blithely as he delved back into his car and came up with two dermal patches.

“This is Boost. It gives you a temporary metabolic kick so you heal faster. It’s also got the bonus of a nice little non-incapacitating pain killer – it’ll bring the ouchies down to an annoying throb.”

Dawson took one and slapped it on to his neck, then popped open his car’s trunk and pulled out a duffel. Dallas took the second patch, and after a moment’s hesitation applied it below his right ear. Then the three of them headed into the Waterloo where Dawson immediately disappeared into the men’s room.

Dallas and Crane seated themselves at a table in a shadowy, neon streaked corner and ordered drinks. Dawson took a few minutes, but when he emerged he was in fresh, blood free clothes, his face was washed, and his hair combed. He gingerly took his seat, and lit up another smoke.

“So what have you got for us, Ace?” he growled.