BOOK IV


Dawson had spent most of the night lying awake and going over the fight with Chou in his mind, he dissected and analyzed each move he could remember looking for a weakness or something to exploit. When he finally fell asleep his efforts were still frustrated. He awoke in an irritable mood and decided to share it with his partner. He dressed and headed for Fuchi where, after their long talk on the grounds of Diamond Care, Fielding had insisted Dallas spend his recovery, tucked away in one of the VIP apartments on level 99. They had told Fielding that their investigations on his behalf had led them to Chou and the metahuman plague conspiracy and that he was ultimately responsible for the hit on Nicolette, although it was actually ordered by one of his minions. They also told him that Chou had coconspirators within Fuchi's executive suites and that he wielded more real power than even his so-called boss Takahashi.. They stopped short of giving him Annette's name, however, and although they mentioned a tie to Aztech biolabs, they did not give any names there either. It was enough for Fielding to mull over as it was.

Dawson slotted his Fuchi ID and punched in his destination, knowing it would chime a warning in Dallas' temporary home when he did so. Enough to wake the kid up anyway. The elevator doors slid open on a short corridor revealing a disheveled redhead emerging from the door to Dallas' rooms. She and Dawson brushed past each other, but she kept her head down, and bulled into the elevator. Dawson did a double take - it was Petra van Wettig, Fielding's private secretary, and she was still tucking in her blouse - he chuckled and lit a cigarette. He pushed open the door, which had been left partly ajar and stepped inside.

Dallas stood in front of the refrigerator clad in nothing but a pair of jeans. He scratched absently at a sticking bandage that covered a hand span worth of one side of his torso. Most of the cuts on his arms had all ready faded to a pink lattice work. He was drinking juice straight out of the carton and searching the open fridge for further sustenance. Dawson leaned against the closed door and glared at the younger man, "Petra van Wettig?"

Dallas lowered the carton and grinned somewhat sheepishly, "She heard I'd taken some damage in the line of duty and came over to make sure I stayed in bed."

Dawson snorted, "I'll bet she did," he seated himself on one of the counter stools and watched Dallas fish a bowl of cheese cubes out of the fridge and take another stool.

"What's news?" asked Dallas.

Dawson flicked on the white noise generator and took a handful of cheese, "The two docs have finished reestablishing a lab in the Underground. They had high hopes for the product that they had in the mix when Chou's raider hit Yakov's place. He and Stosh are dead by the way. Yakov's sister Arlene sent me a breakdown analysis of the raid. Ninjas it looks like."

"What is this a bad movie? I thought Chou was triad, how many pies does he have his fingers in?"

"My guess would be all of them," said Dawson sourly, "But the docs are safe and in production again. We'll know if we have a go product in 24 to 72 hours they think."

"Well as long as we ruin all of Chou's plans that’s fine with me. I'll bet he's pissed as hell that I'm still alive. I'll also bet he's unhappy with you for not falling down and dying with his first strike against you. Fragging up his plans just makes my day. Can we kill him now?"

"Bloodthirsty little savage, ain't ya," grinned Dawson at his friend, "All in good time. How's the prognosis?"

Dallas glanced at Dawson's still bruised eyes and taped nose, "I'd bet we're on an even footing," he smiled.

Dawson stubbed out his cigarette in the empty cheese bowl, "Great. How about making a few phone calls, putting the troops on alert and the like."

"What will you be doing?"

He grinned maliciously, "I believe I'll spend my day setting up Annette Arno Fielding for a nasty fall."

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Danny McNeil stopped what he was doing and sprawled across a plastic couch as he scrubbed sweat from his brow. He looked haggard and hollow eyed and more than a little uncomfortable. Jack was ecstatic that their work seemed to be going the way he wanted. He seemed to think they'd have something useful within the week. Danny didn't much care anymore. He stared at the huge troll guarding the door - Barge he called himself - and suppressed a shiver. Barge scared him more than the killers back at the dwarves place. They at least had been human. Leilani was starting to freak him out, too. Although she was physically less imposing than her cousin, Danny had seen Jack watching her with a little more than simple curiosity in the last 36 hours, and that was just...creepy. Danny’s isolated arcology life had taken a violent beating, he was in a place he had no wish to be, living a life he didn’t want, dealing with beings he’d never had to have any contact with before, and who in fact frightened him.

He frowned, they’d been knocking themselves out for days – hell, weeks – trying to create a permanent protection for…well, creatures, that were just unnatural to his way of thinking. Sure elves were cute, he might not mind bedding one himself, and dwarves were tolerable he supposed, but orks and trolls…he licked his lips nervously. Maybe them ceasing to exist was not all together a bad idea.

He looked up as Jack crowed as he completed another successful virtual test. He glanced at the elven technician who had joined them that morning, what was his name - Boniface? Tyler Boniface. He was grinning too. Danny got up and ran a hand through his lank hair, he glanced again at Barge and Leilani, then went back to preparing microscope slides, refusing to join in on the congratulations over Jack’s newest minor victory.

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

Dawson was driving again. Somehow, he found it easiest to think while driving around town. Of course, he was in the company car--sweet ride, lots of gizmos. He was still trying to figure out just what the hell was going on with Chou.

Dallas & Dawson were racing against time, only now, they were trying to stall the inevitable discovery of the good doctors. Since the hit on the safehouse, Dawson figured that Chou liked having all his ducks in a row before taking a definitive step forward. That was a good thing--at least he wouldn't go off in a half-cocked zealous frenzy like Diane Scanlon. It was also a bad thing, since when Chou made his move, Dawson was certain it would be well calculated and thorough.

From what he could tell, Dawson figured Chou to be the clean-up guy, called in from some unknown power back in Yakuzaville to patch up the damage done by Diane. It made sense--right around the time they'd started hearing about Chou was when the ladder of bad guys started dying. Ray wondered why Takahashi and Fujiyama hadn't bitten it yet... Maybe they were either too important, or were being saved for something special. Either way, Ray was certain that when Chou was done with his job, nobody would be left standing.

Dawson realized then that probably the only reason he was still alive right now was the fact that Chou didn't know where the doctors were. This was a good thing.

Dawson's phone rang, stirring Ray from his thoughts. He pushed the hands-free button, and cleared his throat. "Yeah," he said curtly.

"Ray," came Annette's voice through the phone, "where are you?" Her voice was lusty and seductive.

"Driving," Ray answered. "Why?" Ray smiled at the ensuing moment of apparently shocked silence.

"Meet me at 4pm," Annette said lustily. "I need an update--fringe benefits included." Annette hung up, and leaned back in her chair. She had arranged for a 10pm 'delivery' with Chou--she figured she may as well enjoy Ray's last hours of life, as well as make them enjoyable for him.

Ray smiled as he hung up with Annette, then checked his watch. 3:02. This was too convenient--even for him. Ray would have to ask Annette how her meeting with Takahashi had gone... But he'd at least wait until after some stress relief with her...

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

Chou hung up with Annette, a broad smile playing across his face. Annette would deliver Dawson to him, that much he was sure of. How cooperative Dawson was going to be was an entirely different matter. Chou looked in the mirror at his now-healed face. It had taken his private mage nearly 3 hours of spellcasting to renovate it, but at last the nose was back to it's original shape. Chou checked the clock... It was noon. Only 10 more hours until Ray Dawson was his.

The phone rang, stirring Chou from his contemplation. He flipped the video panel open to see a black screen, and when the voice spoke, it was highly masked and encrypted.

"Has the problem been dealt with yet?" asked the voice, demandingly.

"Not yet. Have more faith in my methods--" Chou began, but was interrupted.

"The longer the doctors live, the more time they have to design a cure. The more time goes by that people have knowledge of this, the more chance of information being made public. Neutralize the doctors. Eliminate their accomplices, and the accomplices to them. You are running out of time, Chou." The voice fell silent, and the phone clicked off. Chou nearly fumed at being cut off so rudely.

Chou dialed a number, and was pleased to see John Fujiyama on the video display. "Mr. Takahashi would like a word with you," Chou said respectfully. "He wishes to see the test of the virus." Fujiyama bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Tonight, midnight, at pier 137. We will supply the test subjects--all you need bring is the virus." Chou then hung up the phone.

He paced back to his desk and picked up the pocket secretary laying there, pulling up the references on deckers. A picture of Spyder flickered there, and Chou smiled.

"Mr. Lerner," he spoke at the hand-held device, "I thank you for keeping such detailed records of your contacts." Chou chuckled again as he remembered the look of horror on Lerner's face as the sword was rammed through his chest. It had taken some time, but Chou had finally discovered that Lerner was the information leak from Annette Fielding's office. Chou thought of how to deal with Annette, once her usefulness was served. He picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Yes, Niban... Organize a squad. The target's name is Spyder. I am sending you all relevant information now. And make ready my car, I will be accompanying you..."

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

Ray walked into Annette's office, nodding at Sparky as he strode past. The blonde guy shook his head and rolled his eyes, then returned to work. As Dawson entered Annette's office, he noticed her desk was littered with papers, as well as a half-empty bottle of bourbon. Ray stalked closer to the desk, when Annette's voice cooed from the other room.

"You're late, Ray." Ray turned to regard her. She was leaning heavily on the doorframe, and her speech was slurred. The top 3 buttons of her blouse were undone, and her shoes were dangling by their straps in her hand.

"Only ten minutes. I was across town," Ray said, smiling. Annette attempted to take a step, bobbled slightly, then regained her composure enough to walk over to Ray.

"We'll use my private elevator," she whispered lustily into Ray's ear. Ray could smell the liquor on her breath as she reached down to the front of his pants and grabbed something that didn't belong to her. "Let's go," she said as she turned and started walking to the secure elevator, still firmly grasping Ray, who was forced to follow her. Just before getting out of arm's reach from the desk, he leaned back and grabbed the bottle, taking a long swill from it before continuing.

It was going to be another long night...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas was in motion when Crane's transmission came through - he'd signed out a a hot bike and had been entertaining himself by leading his numerous followers on a merry chase through places like Redmond and other depressed neighborhoods. He'd stopped at three different gang headquarters so far and made deliveries - every one he knew was more than willing to accept annonymous donations of 500 nuyen - including gangers. And at each stop some of his tail peeled away, presumably to stake out each of his contacts. He hoped somebody would be surprised, it would make for interesting side bars.

When Chou's voice replaced Crane's in the transmission, Dallas swore inventively in every language he knew. They should have know Chou's deckers were good enough to find even Spyder, and because of a simple oversight, comrades were in trouble. Worse, Crane had the knowledge that could compromise Moore and McNeil and their work.

Dallas stopped playing. He angled his motorcycle up and over the curb and shot in through an open door and roared through the bombed out lobby and crashed through a window at the back. He jerked the bike around and it landed at almost a ninty degree angle from launch point. He hit the accelerator and the bike chewed up pavement as Dallas ditched the last of his tail, leaving them confused and more than a little frightened. Failure was, after all, unacceptable to their master.

Despite how he felt personnally, he knew his first obligation was to the survival of metahumanity as a whole rather that the survival of two individual matahumans.

"Secret lab," came the rumbling voice of Barge as Dallas changed his transmission frequency.

"Very fraggin' funny, Barge, we're blown. The enemy has Crane and Crane has your location," he shouted above the scream of the hard pressed engine.

"And who might you be?" growled Barge.

Dallas wanted to shake Barge, but understood his adherence to security rules and offered the password, "Broad Street Pump, okay? I'm gonna try and track Crane and Spyder, how do things stand down there?"

"They tried it on Boniface and Leilani but there's another three to six hours before we know if it's a go on live subjects. Moore, Leilani, and Boniface are out any way. McNeil is in a drunken stupor under the table."

"I don't know if or for how long Crane will be able to hold out. Better safe than sorry down there."

"Copy that, Little Red. We've been bottling product all afternoon in a optimistic frenzy, we'll be able to move if need be. We also got a hell of an army on call if need be. Hell, I pass ninjas in my stool," he barked with laughter at that. Dallas signed off and changed frequencies again.

"Come on Dawson, you whore, answer me," he clenched his teeth together as the bike hit the Elven district off ramp at about 60 kph faster than he should have. He tried twice more but there was no response from Dawson.

Dallas knew Dawson had shut his radio off and he knew why. He also knew that Annette worked for Takehashi, but that Chou ultimately ran them both, he hoped the move on Crane and Spyder was not a wholesale round up of the good guys. He wished he could will Dawson to answer but finally gave it up.

He saw nothing outside of Spyder's place, but the lights were still on up there. He knew Chou would not have left either Spyder or Crane behind, although he might have left one of his own men to take care of anyone coming to their aid. He'd save such a person for later if need be. He started canvassing the area for Chou or Chou's minions. Hidden behind his helmet, Dallas drove cautiously through the elven district, seeking the enemy.

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

Ray extricated himself from the tangled bedsheets and sweaty limbs of Annette, who'd either passed out or fallen asleep about five minutes ago. He flopped onto the thickly carpetted floor, shaking his head to clear the sudden bout of dizziness he was feeling. This wasn't good. He tried to focus on the clock on Annette's night-stand, and finally managed to merge the three spinning displays into one long enough to catch the time. 9:55. As usual, Annette had ravaged him for over five hours before collapsing from exhaustion.

Ray dragged himself to his feet, staggering to the bathroom as the world around him pitched and spun. He hadn't had that much to drink--just the initial swig straight from the bottle, and the glass Annette had offered him just before their most recent session...

Realization dawned on Ray as his mind went into overdrive. Poison. Some kind of sedative, obviously. Annette knew what she was doing, realizing that the stuff would act quicker with the heightened exertion of animalistic passion. Ray hit his head against the wall twice, but felt little more than a numb pressure where pain should have been. He turned to walk back into the bedroom and get dressed--at least put pants on--when he saw two fully-black clad figures wavering in the doorframe.

Ray launched himself at the intruder, missing horribly, and ended up face-first in the carpet. The last thing he saw was the fuzzy figures tying up Annette and carrying her out, and then the world went black...

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

Dallas searched for more than an hour, finding no trace of the enemy. He decided to call in some favors then, and made some calls to Lucy Manykills, and some of the other Dog Warriors he'd run across in his brief career. He continued to patrol, just in case, and was startled when his earpiece radio chirped to life. He hoped beyond hope that it was Ray trying to contact him--Chou's voice shot those hopes to hell and gone.

"And then there was one," Chou's voice said, sounding almost amused by this little game. "You gave my soldiers quite a chase. You are quite an intriguing individual, Mr. Whitecrow. You will find your friends at pier 137 in one and one-half hours. Do come alone, or else they will start dying." Dallas swore at Chou incoherently, causing Chou to chuckle. "I commend you on your choice of motorcycle. It suits your style," Chou said, before the transmission clicked off and was drowned by static.

Dallas knew then that he was being watched, and cursed himself for not being as observant as he should have been. He breathed deeply, kicking himself into working mode, and scanned again for anything that might hint at an observer or tail...

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

The dizziness was back, only this time, it was accompanied by a massive headache. Ray groaned, slowly becoming more aware of the pain in his wrists as his senses returned to him. He tried shaking his head, but found that his arms were in the way. Confused, he slowly opened his eyes, and the dim light reflecting from the floor nearly blinded him as it stabbed into his sensitive eyes. Gradually, the world solidified around him, and he noticed his feet were not touching the floor. In fact, there was no floor, only a shallow pool of water.

Ray lifted his head, and saw he was hanging by his wrists on some sort of meat-hook device, warm water trickling down over his bare chest and shoulders. He remembered the fuzzy details of how he had gotten into this, and was glad to see that he at least had his pants back on.

"Mr. Dawson," Chou's voice echoed from the dimly-lit space in front of Ray, "I am very pleased you decided to attend this evening." Chou emerged from the shadows, a broad smile on his face. "Annette tells me you have quite a voracious--appetite..."

"I'll kill you, Chou," Ray said. It wasn't a threat, or a promise, but a simple statement of fact. Chou shook his head.

"I'm afraid that would be impossible, since you're hanging up there, Mr. Dawson," Chou said, mockingly. He turned to the side and gestured with his arm, and a ninja brought forward a struggling Annette Fielding, hands tied behind her back, a gag around her mouth. She was still naked, but was wrapped in a fine silk robe, bound around the waist. "I brought along a friend of yours, Mr. Dawson," Chou said as he took possession of Annette from the ninja. "If you cooperate, this will be easy."

"Things are never easy," Ray said, causing Chou to chuckle lightly.

"I thought not. Mr. Dawson, you will notice your hands are bound with metal handcuffs, hanging on a metal hook. Your body is saturated with water, collecting in this pool," Chou explained, tapping the pool with his toe. "Allow me to introduce you to Niban," he continued, gesturing towards an unhooded ninja who was wheeling some sort of cart in front of him, a bundle of wires attached to it. "He is quite an expert in administering... Pain." Niban placed the cart next to the pool of water, and started connecting wires.

"Got a smoke?" Ray asked, his face an expressionless mask. Chou smiled broadly, then snapped his fingers, causing another ninja to produce Ray's cigarettes. The ninja approached Ray, one cigarette extended, and placed it near Ray's lips. Ray took the cigarette between his lips, nodded gratefully, and in one, smooth motion, wrapped his legs around the ninja's neck and twisted. A muffled cracking noise could be heard, and the ninja's lifeless form splashed into the pool of water below. Ray looked directly at Chou, and spoke around the cigarette, saying, "Got a light?"

Chou did not flinch during Ray's little display, he only nodded, and two ninjas dragged their fallen comrade from the area. "That wasn't very polite," Chou said, holding up Ray's lighter. "I'm afraid you'll have to be punished now." Chou nodded again, and Niban stepped forward, placing two electrodes on Ray's chest.

As the electricity arced through Ray's body, a buzzing noise could be heard. Ray's body stiffened and shook, as if in a seizure as the voltage grounded out through him. The cigarette flew from his lips, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Niban stopped, and the shaking subsided. Ray shook his head and gasped for air, having lost all physical control during the shocking. Chou was laughing.

"I commend you. Normally people scream when Niban administers his trade. Your tolerance for pain must be very high indeed." Chou nodded at Niban, who turned a dial on his machine, and approached Ray again. "Mr. Dawson, I can end your pain and suffering with a simple command--or I can keep you alive for years on end, wishing you were dead." Niban shocked Ray again for 30 seconds, then pulled away. Again, Ray did not scream. "Just tell me where Dr. Moore is, and we can all go about our business," Chou said gravely.

Ray laughed at him. "You'll have to do better than that, Chou. I don't think you can."

Chou nodded once, then pulled Annette close to his side. "You are close with your employer's ex-wife, yes?" Chou asked, a strange fire in his eyes. Before allowing Ray to respond, he produced the garrot cord from his prayer beads and wrapped it around her fine neck, twisting and squeezing the life from her. Chou stared up at Ray, who was actually chuckling.

"Hey Chou, you know a gun is alot more effective for that kind of thing," Ray said coldly as Annette's life slipped away. "Gimme one, and I'll show ya how it's done." Chou dropped Annette's now-lifeless body on the floor, then nodded at Niban again.

"I can see you are not ready to discuss these matters rationally yet. I will leave you under Niban's caring hands for now. Good evening, Mr. Dawson," Chou said as Ray shook violently from yet another series of shocks. Chou smiled again, then turned and walked back into the darkness of the warehouse, the sparking, buzzing noise of Ray's shock therapy echoing through the dimly-lit expanse...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Huang was leaning over the edge of the roof, exposing his hiding place in a desperate attempt to reacquire the target. Trying to accomplish himself what his drones were failing to do. His drones had always been some of the best, virtually undetectable by those he watched, but somehow he and they had lost the quarry this time. He was holding his breath, and had broken out in a nervous sweat. In the almost twenty years he'd been a rigger for the Golden Dragon, only once before had he lost a target - that time he had only lost the small finger of his right hand - Master Chou was far less forgiving. He heard his nephew Kung finally; desperately radio his talented protégé Pi and his team of riggers three blocks away to see if they had spotted the savage.

Huang cursed, he had been meticulous, spotting the target with the description he had had been easy. His and Pi's team had tracked him easily as he searched the district - it would have been easier if they could have planted a device on him, true - but he was to fast and too canny for that.

He had stopped and used a public telecom, but who he called and what he'd said was a mystery since he had apparently been shunted to a clean line after the connection was made. Then he rode his motorbike down the block and disappeared.

Kung seemed to be having difficulty in reaching Pi, and Huang was about to turn and order him silent when he heard the sigh and thud he had heard many times before. He froze knowing Kung was dead, knowing he was about to die. Images of half remembered cowboy tales and savage Indian tortures flitted through his mind. He turned slowly - the Indian's expression was a mask of ice. Huang dropped his scope and tried to face death bravely, he was so surprised when his killer spoke, he had to struggle to understand what was said, "Die hard or die easy, " said the frightening image, "it depends on what you have to tell me."

Huang cowered as the savage youth approached, knives in hand.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

It was nearing eleven o' clock and smarter citizens were indoors, but the elven district was suddenly awash in panicky Asian riggers. Eight or ten riggers - who looked somehow lost and incomplete without a drone package or an auto system locked into their skulls - were searching on foot. All the drones that had been in place were gone, destroyed; and so were the men who'd been running them. Of the Indian there was no sign.

Master Huang was missing, the other techs were dead, their gear reduced to slag, and they were all in mortal danger if Chou was not given a satisfactory report as soon as possible. Suddenly a frantic voice sliced across the radio waves - the motorcycle, the Harley Scorpion -had been found. The search teams all converged on the garage where the motorcycle had been left. It was parked in a prominent location, as if the driver had wanted it found, but the driver was obviously long gone. They riggers gathered in a circle around the machine and stared at it, no one wanting to be the first to move.

A roll of paper with Chou's name printed meticulously on it was tucked into the handlebar assembly, and they regarded it as they would a deadly serpent. Finally, the oldest among them cleared his throat and spit to clear out any demons, then stepped forward. He unfurled the roll to reveal a simple cartoon like line drawing. It appeared to be a featureless vista, the vast expanse it represented was broken only by two tiny stones and a miniscule plant; the caption beneath the drawing read 'Western Landscape With Indians'.

He showed it to the others with trembling hands. Most looked around, thinking the savage would pounce on them as he had Pi, others made warding signs, but all entered into a violent argument over who would have to deliver the drawing to Chou. It would be a while before any one of them was finally bullied enough by the others to take on the duty. Master Chou would not be happy.

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

Chou stalked around Crane and Spyder, who were tied to metal chairs in a small, grimy room. Crane made out several figures moving about just outside the frosted glass wall to his right, and he could tell that Spyder was out cold, her head lolled to one side. When Chou spoke, his voice was all echoes and reverberation.

"Good morning, Crane," Chou's voice warbled in his ears. Crane shook his head, trying to focus. He felt like he was tripping--the walls were all melty and contorted, and he couldn't even be sure of the forms he'd seen just a few moments before. His face felt flush, and his tongue was thick and fuzzy. He started laughing. "I am glad you find your situation amusing, Crane. Spyder did not find it very amusing at all, I'm afraid." Crane stopped laughing for a moment, just long enough to speak.

"What did you do to her, you silly slant-eyed bastard?" Crane said, before erupting into giddy laughter again. Chou shook his head, and struck Crane on the cheek with the back of his hand, causing Crane's head to snap to the side harshly.

"I will not be mocked by a freak like you," Chou seethed, before straightening his shirt and regaining his composure. "Tell me where Doctor Moore is," he said quietly.

"Suck my a$$, you donkey-raping sh!t-eater," Crane said through hysterical laughter. Chou hit him again.

"Perhaps you require more motivation," Chou said, smiling. He pulled out a gun, aimed it Crane's left foot, and fired, causing Crane to scream in pain. "Now, let me repeat the question," Chou said, leaning in close to Crane's face, watching the pain play across it. "Dr. Moore. Where is he?"

Crane spat on Chou's face.

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

As Chou descended the catwalk stairs, he glanced toward where Ray's shock therapy should have been--and saw nothing. He frowned angrily, barked some orders in japanese, and dispatched several ninjas to investigate. When Chou reached the bottom of the steps, another ninja came panting up to him, holding a rolled up message, and a tanto. He handed the scroll to Chou, then knelt before him, tanto poised to stab himself in the midsection. As Chou looked at Dallas' drawing, he chuckled, giving the ninja pause.

"Gather your team and patrol the grounds. I want nothing suspicious to live," Chou said unexpectedly. The ninja looked up, bowed his head, then stood and ran off. Chou barked some more orders to the remaining ninjas around him, and they melted away, into the shadows of the warehouse.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

At the first out post there were seven men dressed in the black and gold favored by Chou's soldiers hidden in the shadows. Three arrows fletched with turkey feathers buzzed past the first man and plunged through the bodies of three compatriots, punching through so hard, that the steel heads protruded out their backs. The other four were instantly ready, searching for targets. Warriors, many wearing feathers in their hair, descended on them with hatchets and war clubs. The battle was conducted in almost total silence. The only noises were the grunts of the wounded and the crash of metal and wood against flesh and bone. When all was done, there were seven dead guards and two dead warriors on the ground. A third warrior convulsed as the toxin from the star embedded in his shoulder took hold. A shaman rushed forward and worked to stop the poison, going about it quietly. The rest of the war party left the two behind and moved to the next guard post.
~~~~~
Dawson had no idea how long he'd spent under Niban's care. Chou's choice to torture rather than kill him was ironic, of course, since he had no idea of the physical location of Moore and McNeil. He hadn't even had radio contact with them since Crane had them moved. Crane was the only one of them that knew where in the Underground the lab was - he hoped Crane was locked up tight over at Spyder’s. But as he watched the efficiency of Chou’s search team from his hiding place, he began to have serious doubts. That they would eventually find him hiding in the dark, there was no question, what he was going to do when they did, that was another matter. When they came for him, he'd let them take him, he decided, he was in no shape to take on a ninja team, but with a little luck he just might get a chance at Chou. The arrogant bastard would love to take another poke at him he knew. Dawson concentrated on getting his hands out of the shackles, if he couldn’t break the cuff, he’d happily break his hand for a shot at Chou.
~~~~~
Crane's guards did more than watch him. Each of the men in the room with him took turns at seeing if they could make the elf scream. Knives, fists, tanfa, feet were all used on the helpless elf, the fun only stopped when Crane blacked out and pain could not be used to revive him. Pleased with themselves, Chou's soldiers dragged the elf out into the main hanger and dumped him, unbound, where he could see his equally helpless and bloodied friend, the decker, if he should awake.
~~~~~
When discovery was inevitable, Dawson stood up. The ninjas quickly surrounded him, weapons ready. Dawson put his hands out to his sides, and two of them rushed forward and one struck him on the temple. Dawson staggered, surprised and a little dazed. His feet were knocked out from under him and he was then dragged by his chained hands across the cold cement floor by two men who knew better than to get within range of his feet. He was bumped across a doorjamb and collected a few more inches of road rash before he was finally flung against something sticky and warm. He was than released and the ninjas withdrew. He tried to twist around so that he could see what he'd been dumped next too. It was Crane.

It was hard to tell that there was an elf under all that blood. His face was a nightmare, his right ear had been mutilated, the point hacked off, leaving a parody of a human ear in its place. His nose had been flattened and his eyes and lips were swollen shut. His feet were shattered and bloody. Apparently his blind date had talents different than Dawson's. Crane groaned and rolled on to his side coughing up blood. The elf appeared to be all but dead. Dawson's fury increased tenfold - he only hoped Crane had not broken.

Dawson peered about, trying not to draw attention to himself, and assessed the area and the enemy as best he could. There were about a dozen guards on the floor - all the black clad ninja types that Chou favored, another pair on the two cat walk stairs at the back of the cavernous room. There were probably a few more in the shadows but they were beyond Dawson's scope. The massive doors at the front were closed, but a couple of men passed out through the smaller door centered between the two large doors. A naked, apparently catatonic Spyder was tied to a chair in the center of the room, about a dozen yards from him. She would have been a sight to behold in other circumstances, but all he focused on were the multiple burns that decorated her breasts and shoulders. They were either inflicted by a cigar or an electric cigarette lighter. Her thighs were a series of nasty red welts where someone had beaten her with a switch or crop. She seemed as bad off as Crane. That made sense, they were elves, the enemy.

There was no sign of Dallas. Dawson felt inordinately relieved that Chou had not gotten them all. He hoped the kid would muster the troops and lay waste to Chou and his little club if the rest of them died here tonight - or even if they didn't. Dawson kept working at the shackle cuff, raking off skin and contorting his hand, keeping an eye open for Chou. At last the little man entered through the outside door, carrying a small attaché case. He and one of his toadies conferred for a few minutes. The case was set down on a convenient barrel and vials were removed and examined. The toady removed a pressure hypo from a leather case he'd withdrawn from his pocket and one vial was inserted into the hypo.

The toady took the pressure syringe and approached Spyder. He pressed the head of the device against the elf woman's neck. Dawson could not hear the hiss as what he assumed was the metaplague virus was pushed into the decker’s system, but he saw the semiconscious Spyder throw herself into contortions in an attempt to avoid the injection.

The toady then walked over to where he and Crane were lying and repeated his performance on Crane. Crane glared death at the unresponsive man, but was otherwise too weak to resist. Suddenly Chou was standing over Dawson, he had not noticed him approach. Chou took the pressure syringe from the toady and regarded Dawson.

“We could use a human control,” he mused, “Just to see what it does in a human system. A pity you will die lying down, Mr. Dawson,” he smiled and bent to press the head of the syringe against Dawson’s neck.

Dawson felt the cool head of the device touch his neck and as Chou pressed the trigger, Dawson’s right hand, shackles dangling, snapped out and grabbed Chou’s throat. He squeezed as hard as he could as Chou’s eye’s widened in surprise. Dawson hung on like a bulldog as Chou tried without success to break the hold one handed. The two rolled, grappling, and Chou managed to break the hold at last. Dawson’s finger prints were livid marks on his neck. They scrambled to their feet and Chou held up a hand forestalling any assault from his soldiers.

“Very good, Mr. Dawson,” he rasped, “You will die on your feet after all.”

Dawson grinned fiercely, he knew he had lost his chance, but he swung the shackle chain as Chou stalked him, determined he'd bloody the man before he was killed by him. Chou moved before Dawson could swing or even blink, the lightning fast blows rained down on Dawson's head and shoulders. Chou wasn't playing anymore, he had Dawson's measure and he was deadly serious.

Dawson felt pain, something was broken, his left arm seemed useless, no problem, he'd fragged up that hand getting out of the cuffs anyway. He swung the short chain, but Chou danced away, untouched. Dawson tried a repeat of his earlier tactic and charged the smaller man, but Chou was ready. More blows struck Dawson's face and throat and chest. Dawson managed to clip Chou's chin with his shackles before he went down gasping. Chou touched the gash that the cuff had opened up on his chin and smiled at the bloodied fingertips.

"If this leaves a scar, I believe I will keep it, Mr. Dawson, you have been a most...interesting adversary."

Dawson struggled to rise but Chou moved in to deliver a vicious kick. Dawson again surprised him by grabbing Chou's foot and hanging on. He pivoted, trying to bring his own feet around for a kick, but Chou sprang into the air, striking Dawson in the face with his opposite knee. Dawson tried to roll with the blow, landing on his knees as Chou landed only slightly off balance beside him. Dawson struggled to regain his feet as his abused muscles betrayed him. Chou smiled. The little man sprang forward lightly, snapping both feet into Dawson's face before landing again. Dawson went down and Chou advanced, continuing to kick Dawson as the man rolled away, trying to put some space between them. It appeared as if Chou was dribbling Dawson across the floor, a grin spreading across his face.

Then suddenly, "You requested my presence, Chou," came Dallas' voice from the shadowy girders above.

Chou jerked to a stop, his final fatal assault on Dawson halted as he looked up, surprise on his face. He quickly glanced at one of his men who also looked up, but with eyes closed. Dawson all but collapsed.

"Mr. Whitecrow, " answered Chou, ignoring the fallen Dawson for the moment, "You seem to be a few minutes early. And civilized people do not usually enter buildings through windows."

Dallas swung to another vantage point, "My apologies, but did you really think I would just stroll up to the front door simply because the excessively intimidating Chou told me too?"

Chou shot an angry glance at his mage, but the man's perceptions were busy else where, "I suppose not. You are, as I have noted, an intriguing individual. You were almost too late to bid farewell to Mr. Dawson. Do come down and join us."

There was a brief pause and Dallas' voice floated down from yet another location, "No thanks, I've seen the way you move Chou. You are one of the best I've ever seen I must admit. But this is just sadism."

Chou's expression was hard, "A compliment couched in an insult, very Japanese, Mr. Whitecrow, shall we see which one of us is better?" the glance he directed at his mage was now open faced fury, but the man seemed to be locked in some sort of internal struggle.

"I'd like to try a one on one, I really would," came Dallas' voice, "but that's not why we're here. I don't play your games, with me it's all or nothing. Let them go Chou, and you may get out of this alive. "

Chou chuckled harshly, "I tire of this cat and mouse, are you a man of honor or a skulking savage?"

"Cheap insults, Chou? Your persona seems to be slipping. Let them go. Now."

"I shall kill them unless you join us now, Mr. Whitecrow."

"I don't think so," Dallas sounded amused, "As I said, I've seen you move and you're damned good, but how are you in the cross fire?"

Suddenly almost a dozen laser dots splashed across Chou's form. Another dozen were dancing on the bodies of his men. Chou's face contorted in anger, how had this happened where were his men? His gaze swept the room -- Dawson at least would die. Chou leapt straight up, and the guns fired.

It seemed at first that Chou had dodged the bullets, he began to descend, feet forward in an attack meant to finish Dawson, but than he jerked and twisted as the rounds hammered into his small frame. His fall was a graceless sprawl. He landed half on Dawson's body, off balance and tumbling. He struggled to lift himself off the cement, to get at Dawson. Bleeding heavily from the mouth and chest he turned painfully and stared at Dawson, his hand spasming as he attempted one last attack, one last strike against his enemy. Dawson returned the stare of the dying man, then flipped him off, flashing a hard and bloody smile.

Around him Chou's soldiers were dying. The war party had chosen their spots well and they sniped the ninja who had not fallen in the first volley. There were one or two hand to hand battles going on but the fight was virtually over within minutes.

A black rope hit the cement near Dawson's position and Dallas slid down it, landing lightly on the floor. He was quickly followed by another Indian wearing feathers, face paint, and a high powered rifle with a scope. He stooped over the body of Chou Sun Di and pulled out a knife. There was a gurgled cry of rage and a wet tearing sound.

Dallas bent over Dawson and helped him to sit up, "That's Swift Hawk, a Hetanevo'eo'o, an Arapaho, a real traditionalist,"

Dawson glanced back at Chou. The other Indian ran off trailing a bloody trophy, Chou was grotesque now that his scalp had been removed. Dawson wished he'd thought to do that. The look of horror on Chou's face was almost worth the price of admission. Than the little man lurched at Dawson again, dragging himself forward a throwing star in his hand.

"Kid, that roach ain't dead."

Dallas looked at Chou dispassionately, then unholstered the Roomsweeper on his hip. He handed the weapon to Dawson. Dawson grinned, swung the barrel around until it was inches from Chou's face, "I told you I'd kill you, Skippy," and he pulled the trigger.

The kick of the weapon was enough to knock Dawson down again, and Dallas paused to check over Dawson's injuries. Dawson looked like hell--his face was swollen and bloody, his left eye completely crusted shut with blood. His hair was matted down with blood, as well, and a deep split ran from his temple to his jawline. "Ouch. Looks like a broken collar bone, ribs, hand, all among other fractures, contusions, and burns. You look like hell, man."

Dawson struggled to sit up, and Dallas helped him. "I need a smoke," was all he said as Dallas helped him up.

"This is gonna hurt, but we gotta get every body up and out. There's a drek load of Renraku troops out front we'd rather avoid if possible," Dallas said.

Dawson nodded, "That's Fujiyama. Bet he's going home in disgrace."

"Let's hope so. I still have high hopes for ritual suicides all around," Dallas answered. As he stood, he barked out one word, "Noheto!"

Like a well drilled squad, the warriors instantly lifted their casualties and slipped out through the two back doors as silently as they had entered the skylights and windows above earlier.

Outside, Fujiyama had been startled by the volleys of weapon's fire he had heard. He stared at the warehouse as did his soldiers but no one made a move toward it. There had not been any further noise from within and Fujiyama decided to assume the noise had been a power play of Chou's. And even if it was not, all the better for him. Dead men made handy scapegoats.

"Wait ten minute's time, then make inquiries," he told his security chief, "I will leave now to assure my presence here does not become an issue."

The soldier nodded and glanced at the time. The limo pulled away, swallowed by the dark, dank Seattle night.

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

24 hours later...

Dawson sat in the wheelchair, his left arm and leg bound in clear duraplast casts, a white gauze bandage wrapped around the top and left side of his head, concealing one eye. A cigarette hung loosely in his mouth as he flipped the channels on the Tri-d in the hospital room.

"...And in other news, local corporate CEO of Renraku, John Fujiyama was officially recognized at a ceremony last night as a Seattle hero, after personally leading a squad of security forces in an assault against an alleged Triad gang. According to official sources, several vials of a genetically engineered super-virus were recovered from the crime scene. Mr. Fujiyama had the following statement," the attractive newswoman said. A clip of Fujiyama standing on the steps of city hall in front of a bank of microphones replaced her image, and Dawson hit 'MUTE'.

"Can you believe that drek?" came Dallas' voice from behind. "I do all the work, and that snake takes all the credit." Dawson spun his wheelchair around, looking at Dallas incredulously.

"YOU? Did you forget who actually nabbed the little bugger?" Dawson said, smiling. Dallas' grin widened, and he responded with a chuckle as he sat on the hospital bed.

"True, but if it weren't for me, you'd be dead right now, partner," Dallas said, holding up a carton of smokes for Ray to see. "As requested," he said, tossing it on Dawson's hospital dresser. "By the way, when are they letting ya out?" Dallas added, changing the subject.

"They wanna 'observe' me for another day--make sure their magic took, I guess," Ray said, spinning his chair back around with his good arm. "The casts can come off by Wednesday," Dawson added, taking a deep drag from his smoke.

"You know, technically--you shouldn't be smoking in a hospital room. I don't care if it's on Sawyer Fielding's expense account or not," Dallas said, wagging a finger at Ray. "Those things'll kill ya."

Ray smiled, and pointed his right thumb over at the carton Dallas had brought. "Thanks for the box of death," he said, smiling. "Normally, people bring chocolate, cookies, flowers--you know 'get well soon' type of stuff," Ray joked.

"Are you complaining, Ray?" Dallas asked, smiling. "Because if you are, I can take those back," Dallas said, standing and reaching for the smokes. Ray wheeled himself back defensively and placed them on his lap, causing Dallas to laugh.

"How're Crane and Spyder?" Ray asked seriously, after finishing his cigarette. Dallas turned serious as well, and gave Dawson the information on their 2 elven friends...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

"They're both still in isolation," said Dallas, "Something about how since the antidote was designed for pre-infection and not post-infection, they actually have to work through the initial symptoms or something. The good news is that they'll be able to head the virus off, neither Crane nor Spyder will be carriers or anything. The bad news is that they'll probably wind up sterile anyway."

Dawson nodded, "What about the rest?"

Dallas pursed his lips, "Crane'll be okay. It seems that Chou blew two of his toes clean off, but the healing spells are working remarkably well otherwise. Most of his injuries should be history shortly," Dallas smiled, "It seems that he's been polling the nursing staff as to whether his maimed ear gives him a rakish quality or if he should go for the cosmetic surgery."

Dawson snorted, "Typical. What about Spyder? They tell patients nothing about other patients in here, the bastards."

Dallas paused, watching the silent images on the trid for a moment before answering, "Physically she got away better off then either you or Crane. They won't give me any details because I'm not family, but I get the impression that she's going to have a tough recovery."

Dawson sighed and nodded, "About what I figured."

The two sat quietly for a minute, "Hey," said Dawson suddenly, "you never told me were you dug up a war party on such short notice."

Dallas grinned, "I'm guessing you won't buy 'Dial-A-Warrior.'"

Dawson shook his head, "No, kid. Although that's not a bad idea for a business venture in this town."

The younger man shrugged as if it had been no big deal, "Lucy and her buds. Some of my brothers Fox Society friends, a few shamans who know my mother, that kind of thing."

Dawson stared a moment until it became clear that Dallas was going to keep the details to himself, he could appreciate that, "Take any casualties?"

"Of course, about 40% but only six dead out of thirty-one."

"They were damn good kid, considering what they were up against."

Dallas grinned proudly, "Hell, yeah. We are Cheyenne."

Dawson's brow wrinkled, "I thought you said that Hawk kid was something or other Arapaho."

Dallas laughed, "Yeah. Actually there were about, ummm, 17 Cheyenne, 9 Arapaho, and 5 Lakotah. You can get a recommendation from a guy named Custer on the efficacy of that combination."

Dawson chuckled, "You gonna head back to Fuchi?"

Dallas checked the time, "Yeah, we're pushing ten o' clock and I gotta go resign. Fielding offered Palmer-Ree a permanent gig, you know. I turned him down. We'd have had to live in house," he shuddered dramatically, "an arcology for chrissake."

"Good. I hate corporate entanglements. Look what just happened," he paused, "Go ahead and tell him Dawson-Whitecrow will be around in the future though."

Dallas rose one eyebrow trying not to look pleased, "You mean Whitecrow-Dawson of course."

Dawson snorted and took out another smoke, "Go away, kid I got a sponge bath coming up."

The younger man laughed and headed toward the door.

"Kid," Dallas paused in the doorway, "Thanks," said Dawson not looking around.

Dallas nodded, smiling, and disappeared down the corridor.

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Spyder looked on as Crane gestured to his shredded ear “Yup, surgery.” She nodded.

“You don’t like it?” Crane seemed surprised, even a little disappointed. “Nurse Santos kinda thought it was sexy!“

“It’ll draw attention away from the scar on your left eye.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s just not me.”

Spyder looked at his bandaged face with a smirk before returning her gaze to the magazine she was reading. She found it amusing that he looked more like a mummy than an elf. Crane kept flipping through channels to kill time as he waited for the nurses to take him to the lodge for the second phase of his cosmetic surgery. Neither of them had discussed what took place, and Crane wondered if she just didn’t want to talk about it or if she was waiting for him bring it up.

“I’m not gonna ask, because I have a pretty good idea about what happened. But are you gonna be OK?”

“I was unconscious during the worst. After they ripped out my datajack with vice-grips I passed out, so I have no memory of it. It’s better that way I guess. I’m more worried about the virus right now.”

“They say there’s a good chance we’ll be sterile.”

“A blessing and a curse.” Her responses were short and defensive; a bad sign no less.

“I thought you wanted to have kids.“

Spyder turned her gaze from the magazine and shot him a strange look. “Career girls don’t trifle with such foolish aspirations.” Her heavy tone implicated a hint, which Crane picked up immediately.

“So you and that creep Nightshade aren’t working out?”

“Why are all men assholes?” she rolled her eyes.

“Because they don’t know how to treat a goddess when we meet one.”

“That’s sweet, but it’s not helping- and where are my FRAGGIN' flowers!”

“You’re sexy when you’re mad.” Crane said with his usual sarcasm.

An air-pressure hiss caught their attention as they both turned their heads to airlock. Dr. Komia emerged from the hatch wearing a level 16 rocal biohazard suit and holding a plastic-sealed digital clipboard in her right hand.

“Good news or ba–“

“Bad news first” Spyder interrupted without even looking up from her magazine.

“Are you sure?” Dr. Komiya hesitated.

“Obviously, we’ve survived worse.” Crane grinned dryly.

“Get on with It.” Spyder twitched.

The doctor took a deep breath before surrendering her news. “Spydie, tests came back, your ovaries can no longer produce viable haploid gametes.”

Spyder shrugged, lacking much emotional or conscious response.

“It would still be possible to reproduce, you are technically capable of carrying a child. With a tissue sample it would be quite easy to engineer a viable oocyte and use artificial insemination from that point on. Your internal damage is minimal, just some bruising and small external tears. None of your attackers were infected with any diseases, and we were able to separate seven different DNA identities from the samples we extracted.

Crane smiled to himself knowing that Dallas’ party probably took care of the retribution issue when Chou gave them the excuse to shoot.

“We also have people you can talk to if you would like.” Dr. Komiya looked at Spyder pleadingly.

Once more, Spyder only shrugged and returned her attention to the magazine.

“We will take you into the lodge along with Crane and have our shamans heal the last of your burns while you’re there.”

Noticing that Spyder had finished listening, she turned to Crane, who looked as if he was almost quite literally held together by cotton gauze. The sight was nearly comical, only his right eye peeked out from behind the numerous cotton pads and gauze strips wrapped around his head.

“Crane, that blood filter you invested in drastically lessened the amount of virus particles in your system. Your gametes are perfectly viable.”

“As ever?” he piped.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Drek!” He cursed fervently… “Hey Spydie? Wanna trade?”

Spyder didn’t find it humorous and remained quiet. Crane immediately silenced his giggle fit and let the doctor resume.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, you really took a horrible beating. You were leaking blood like a sieve, 300 lacerations, 40 broken bones, 23 stab wounds…

Dr. Komiya paused to take a breath when Spyder chimed in “Damn, boy.” Crane replied with a grin, the first cosmetic procedure had apparently replaced his shattered teeth.

Anyway… Before we bring you in for the cosmetic follow up, we’ve finished growing you a new kidney and spleen and we’d like to get those in before we clean up the rest of your superficial lacerations. We had to remove them because they were pounded to mush and hemorrhaging. Physically, you don’t need the spleen but it serves part of the immune system, so in your case I think it will speed up your recovery time from the virus.

Speaking of which, in the next 72 hours you both will experience extreme weakness, and internal aches, severe nausea, and swollen glands but we can give you something for the pain and discomfort.”

“Any chance for re-infection?”

“You both will be immune to this virus and any strain within a 70% mutational derivative.”

“Woo hoo!” cheered Spyder as Crane moved stiff with pain to sit next to her before asking the question:

“So how long are we going to be locked up?”

“We want to observe you for two weeks.” Answered the doctor. “Our staff will do their best to make you as comfortable as possible during your stay.”

“I’m sure they will.” Crane beamed a mischievous smile from behind the bundles of gauze.

Spyder groaned in displeasure, she never liked hospitals, although Crane never minded so much provided that the supply of cute nurses was sufficient.

-Spyder
-Crane

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

Hiroshi walked nervously past the 'Meta-Mart', glancing at the numerous trogs and elves which dotted the supermarket-like megastore. Of course, all species were welcome to shop--only the location of the store was almost directly in the middle of the elven district. Hiroshi's orders had been clear: deliver the contents of two vials into the food supply of the metas. A simple task, on paper. Honor drove Hiroshi onward, as well as a hint of fear. He had heard what had happened to Chou, Takahashi, Fielding--virtually everyone of power in the Seattle branch of the Golden Dragon was dead, leaving only his direct employer--John Fujiyama. Hiroshi rushed to the produce section and emptied the yellowish liquid into the assorted greens under the mist canopy, then moved on to the deli section.

Delivering the virus through the glass covering of the meat section would indeed be tricky, but Hiroshi had that covered, as well. He walked directly up to the orc butcher, and produced a badge and an official looking document.

"Health inspector. I am here to--observe--your sanitary practices. Please, continue as normal," Hiroshi said, as he walked behind the deli counter. When the orc turned to tend a customer, Hiroshi emptied the vial onto several slabs of meat arrayed in the kitchen area. And then he simply left...

John Fujiyama sat in the back of his private limousine, smoking an expensive cigarette as he awaited the return of his most trusted bodyguard. After a few moments, Hiroshi returned, and placed the biohazard containment bag in the disposal container on the floor.

"It is done, then?" was all Fujiyama asked as Hiroshi sat back up. Hiroshi nodded, bringing a wicked smile to Fujiyama's face. "Good. I'm sure Mr. Matsumuri will be pleased. You have done well, Hiroshi." John Fujiyama sat back in his seat, allowing thoughts of great rewards to flood through his mind. After all, he had succeeded where everyone else had failed--and they were all gone now, leaving him in charge of all Seattle operations.

His plan had worked almost too perfectly...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas directed the pilot to the landing pad on a rooftop near the university. Sitting beside him was a very nervous Jack Moore. Moore sported a radio headset and spoke briefly to the man who had supplied the helicopters for their operation, “The first chopper is touching down now, Mr. Fielding. Please get the other three in the air, it will take about twenty minutes to fill the tanks on each.”

Dallas leaned forward to consult with the pilot, confirming the quadrant that he was assigned to spray. Dawson, Barge, Leilani, and Boiniface emerged from the rooftop door, each carrying something that resembled a large SCUBA tank. Dallas climbed out of the helicopter and joined Dawson as he handed off his canister to Dr. Moore. The two men then withdrew a distance from the others. Dawson looked remarkably better than when Dallas had last seen him three days before.

“So where’s McNeil?” asked Dallas.

Dawson scowled and pulled out a cigarette, “The little greaseball skipped sometime last night as soon as Barge brought them out of the Underground. That damned rat shaman, Bertram was supposed to be guarding them, but…”

“But he’s a rat,” interrupted Dallas, “they don’t put themselves out. I guess he didn’t even bother following him.”

“Dawson turned his back on the slowly spinning helicopter blades in order to get his cigarette lit, “No. McNeil did a midnight flit and we’ve got no idea where to.”

Dallas watched the others fill the helicopter’s reservoirs with Moore’s metaplague anti-virus, “How much of a risk is he? After today all of Seattle will have a coating of antidote.”

“Dawson blew out a streamer of smoke irritably, “He was there for the creation of the plague, he was there for the creation of the antidote, and he’s unhappy about metas now that he’s seen some up close and personal, so what do you think.”

Dallas was silent for a moment, “We have to assume, Fujiyama, has more virus and is willing to use it. The only thing we know he doesn’t have is everything Arlene purged from Chou’s computers. We got that.”

Dawson nodded, “And since we couldn’t get anyone inside Renraku, any hard copies Chou had of anything are probably in Fujiyama’s greasy little hands right now.”

“But even if Fujiyama has McNeil’s name, McNeil is on the run. He knows he’s as good as dead at Aztech, the possibility that someone at Renraku would want him is probably the last thing he’d think of.”

Dawson smoked in surly silence as the two of them watched Dr. Moore’s aerial spraying campaign get started. The helicopter lifted off with Moore and a full load of his anti-virus. Thinking of Crane and Spyder, still in isolation, they could only hope it would be administered in time.

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

“I’m bored.” now looking much like himself, Crane paced back and forth in the isolation room.

“Shut the frag up. I’ve been hearing you piss an moan for the past twelve hours.”

Once more he sat down on his bed and turned on the trid. Two idealistic, plastic actors performing badly appeared on the screen. Their dialogue was equally superficial.

“Oh John, I thought I’d never see you again!”

“Yes Andrea, I've returned. I’ve come back for you. I want you to be my wife. Jessica meant nothing to me!”

Spyder looked at the trid screen and wrinkled her nose with disgust. “Turn that drek off. I hate soaps.”

Crane turned the volume up for good measure with a smirk.

“No Andrea! Don’t listen to him! He doesn’t love you!!!” Crane said while clasping his hands to his chest dramatically.

She got up and flung her magazine at him, without so much as a sideward glance he deflected it. “Fine, you can watch this dreck if you want. I’m gonna have a shower.”

“Awww, come on, now there’s this GREAT commercial on feminine hygiene products. I know you wanna watch it.”

She continued to ignore him and slipped into the bathroom.

Crane reclined on the sterile hospital bed, for lack of anything better to do. He turned off the trid screen and strolled up to the window. It was late in the evening, and he couldn’t see outside because of the glare from the fluorescent lights. He threw the remote at the adjacent wall to hit the light switch; it was more amusing that way. Once the lights cut out he could see the city in its splendor. The new cyber eye in his left socket was working perfectly and the headache was gone from the replacement surgery. While his eyes tracked the glittering lights of traffic below, he let out a brief sigh while several depressing thoughts struggled to the surface of his mind. Normally on a night like this they’d be dancing at the inferno, going to a restaurant, even just driving around listening to music while looking for a party. If only he hadn’t failed her they wouldn’t be stuck in a level 16-biohazard isolation room. He winced his eves shut as if to brace himself as the memory flashed before him.

"You're not the pizza-guy," Once he made the error of opening that door so carelessly they didn’t stand a chance. Before he could even reach for his gun Chou had him on the floor gasping for air, powerless in all respects. His ninjas moved in silently, efficiently, swiftly. The hairs on his neck stood on end as he felt a slight cold breeze follow their movements as a chill would proceed death. He remembered the look in her eyes as they jammed the syringe into her flawless, trembling, alabaster limb. Spyder wasn’t used to being rough-handled like that, not to mention the other events at the pier. She probably hadn’t even known what it was like to punched in the face, and it should have stayed hat way- no thanks to him.

He squeezed his eyes even tighter as he lowered his head in shame. A faint thud broke the silence as his forehead bumped against the windowpane. He brought his head up, and then let it fall once again. *thud*

*thud*
“STUPID!” he cursed to himself mentally

*thud*

IDIOT!

*thud*
FRAG!
*thud*
FRAG!
*thud*
FRAG!
*thud*
FRAG!

After all he’d endured in his lifetime he still hadn’t evolved past emotions, especially guilt.

Spyder elevated her voice over the sound of raining water droplets “What the frag was that noise? Crane? Are you humping the bed again?” her mirthful laughter echoed against the tiles in the bathroom, giving it a musical quality. The sound of her voice mixed with the cascading water brought him back to awareness. “Sorry, just thinking of you!” He jeered back, in return Spyder’s hand emerged from the bathroom door to throw a shampoo bottle at him. She turned out to be taking this ordeal better than him. Thanks to Dallas they were all still alive, but he felt thoroughly undeserving to still have his body and spirit tethered as one.

-Crane