Dallas had staked out his own place off and on all afternoon. He was sure its sanctity had not been breached. As far as he could figure, only Chou had ever tracked down his real name and that pretty late in the game, too. The slowness of Fujiyama's responses led him to believe that Chou was not big on sharing. Old Johnny boy was having to start from square one regarding the opposition, which meant Dallas was still know as Ree in the enemy camp - not even a Cheyenne name, he smiled. Besides, the new place was carefully purchased through a half Arikara decker he knew. He'd need to get at his wardrobe and a few items of destruction he had stored there, as well as the earpiece radio - don't leave home without it - he chided himself.

He entered his place through the back. He turned on no lights while inside, and moved quietly and efficiently. He washed and dressed - he briefly considered traditional dress for the shock value - but decided to go with the cobalt suit and charcoal shirt instead. He also picked up a few more credsticks, he didn't think Lily Bao was going to be a cheap date. But than again, running with Dawson usually cost a bit too. When he slipped out again he was clean, wired, and heavily armed - but only the clean showed.

He walked through a maze of alleys before finally emerging on the street about six blocks from his place near where he knew a cab stand to be. He jumped in the first cab in the queue and gave a King street address. The dwarf driver nodded and bulled through traffic. Dallas kept a curious eye out, but there was no tail. Another successful maneuver.

The driver dropped him as directed, about two blocks from his destination. He switched on the ear piece radio and contacted Dawson, giving him his location. He strolled down the walk, the area was well lit and bustling. He noticed the man who noticed him immediately. A broadly built Asian wearing a white vest, he signaled to two more white vested youths. Dallas assumed they were Li's men as they made no move toward him, but simple shadowed him discreetly, occasionally scoping the street. They were okay with the shadow guard thing, not as good as him, but okay. He muttered the information to Dawson via the radio.

The Eight Immortals was busy but not overly crowded there were one or two empty tables only in the front room, but when Dallas gave Lily's name, he was escorted to one of the two cozier side rooms. As he approached the table where Lily sat, an appreciative smile spread across his face. Lily had worn her grown up clothes, too, and she was stunning in a long sleeved, ivory lace backless dress.

Dallas took her hand, his lips brushing her knuckles in a courtly gesture, "Lily Bao, you are beautiful."

She blushed slightly, "A great compliment from so handsome a gentleman," she responded, falling in with the game of extravagant courtesy, "Please take a seat."

Dallas seated himself and leaned across the small table, speaking in a stage whisper, "May we progress to first names yet do you think?"

She smiled, "I think propriety has been served," she nodded.

The waiter arrived with plates of smoked fish slices and cups of tea.

"The chef does Shanghai style," said Lily indicating the plates, "Is that acceptable?"

"Of course," said Dallas picking up his chopsticks, "what else is on the menu?"

"Stewed Pork with Dried Squid and Vegetable Rice with Chinese Sausages. There is also Steamed Pear Balls with mushrooms. We can order something else if you like but these are his specialties."

He shook his head, "Sounds fine," smiled Dallas.

He glanced around, noting that his three friends had remained outside, but there were at least two in the room that were keeping an eye on Lily and by default, him. He relaxed slightly and turned off the radio in his ear, Dawson did not have to be privy to his date.

It was the most enjoyable evening Dallas had had since coming to Seattle. The food was outstanding, the company more so. Lily was bright, engaging, and even funny in a very dry way. She turned out to be twenty and in her last year as an undergraduate. She was expected to go to law school, but was unsure if that was what she wanted. She had trained in martial arts and had briefly considered an acting career until she found she was afflicted with utterly debilitating stage fright. Something she had told only her sister before, she laughed, embarrassed.

They talked until Dallas pointed out that they and the watching couple were the only one's left in the restaurant, "I think the staff may want to go home sometime tonight."

Lily looked somewhat startled, "I don't usually lose track of the time like that," she said glancing at an expensive chronometer on her wrist, "11:45. I think we've overstayed our welcome."

"Especially since they closed at eleven," smiled Dallas as he rose and assisted her.

The stepped out on to the rain wet streets, but the skies were actually clearing a little. Dallas scanned the street, working as if she were a client. The White Tigers, as Lily had informed him, were still about. A different trio, but there.

They walked silently basking in the afterglow of a pleasant and successful evening. The pair from the restaurant preceded them by about half a block. The other three lurked about, more difficult to stay unobtrusive on the emptying streets. The attack when it came, was mistimed, the female half of the guard couple took the brunt of it, falling to the pavement, clutching at the throwing star in her neck. Her partner spun, a silenced pistol appearing in his hand and fired into the recessed doorway they had just passed. Half a dozen black clad figures erupted from the landscape, one staggered as the pistol fire took him in the belly. The three other White Tigers converged on Dallas and Lily, each also carrying silenced pistols. The street around them was suddenly and miraculously clear of all bystanders.

"Trouble," stated Dallas to any electronic ears that were listening.

Dallas moved clear of allies and drew out a monowhip, slashing at the nearest hooded figure, taking his arm before the individual was even aware he'd been attacked. He was peripherally aware that Lily was suddenly armed, too, having pulled a nice little hold out pistol from a thigh holster in the best traditions of a gun moll. She fired into the face of her attacker, dodging a swinging kusari-gama as she did. The roar of her pistol was shocking after the relative silence of the battle thus far. One of the White Tigers had taken a wound from a ninja-to wielding enemy as he had tried to reload. Dallas moved in, and whipped one hand forward, a knife appeared in the back of the ninja-to user's head, he crumpled to the ground soundlessly. The other three attackers had taken heavy fire from the White Tigers and two now lay dead, one sat looking stupidly at the fist sized hole in his chest before slowly toppling over. Dallas ran to retrieve his knife and did a quick check of the fallen. Only Gutshot and Armless were still breathing, the former only because he didn't know he was dead yet, the latter though, was all ready in shock.

"Do you want this guy?" asked Dallas of the closest Tiger.

"Yeah, I think we do," he said as he and his comrades gathered up both Armless and their female colleague, "What about you?"

"I'll see him safe," said Lily, "report this immediately and do what you can with him," she glanced distastefully at the black clad figure, "Is Suzi okay?"

"No. We may have a personal stake in this if she dies."

"Go."

The Tigers faded into the night with their charges and Lily pulled Dallas toward a nice little orange sports coupe, "That's mine. Don't worry it was under guard all evening."

Dallas swept it anyway.

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Miter passed Crane the fairly empty can of Lysol before he went into the basement “You’ll need it.”

“Thanks I think.”

“What are you gonna do with him?” she asked.

“Wanna help me beat him up?”

“That rat ruined my car seats, there isn’t enough upholstery cleaner in the world for what he did.” She said angrily as she looked over at Paco to see if he wanted to join in.

Paco winced “No thanks, you guys go ahead. I’ll uh, I’ll guard the door.”

They descended to the basement and Miter picked up an aluminum baseball bat on the way down, tapping it on her open palm. Crane had the truth serum ready, but soon realized what Miter had warned him about. He found it difficult to get within six feet of the unhygienic Rat shaman who was trying to gnaw his way through the gag around his mouth. Miter read Crane’s body language instantly “See? Told ya. I didn’t think it was humanly possible to smell that bad.”

“Oh god.” Crane coughed in disgust. “I think I’ll just shoot him right now.” Bertram stopped chewing on his gag and looked at Crane with a muffled a plea.

“You know what I want. Where’s Danny?”

Bertram muffled behind his gag and shrugged his shoulders. Crane looked over to Miter and nodded his head. Miter slammed the baseball bat into his ribs hard enough to break a few bones. Bertram screamed helplessly, trying to wiggle out of his bonds. Crane noticed she had some menthol cream smeared on her upper lip to cope with the stink. “If you’d been guarding him like you were paid to…” Crane motioned to Miter once more and she whipped out another bone cracking impact to his abdomen. It was apparent to them that Bertram wasn’t used to being interrogated. It took him a good minute to recover from having his diaphragm stunned.

Bertram still managed to muffle out ‘I don’t know’ and his response met Miter’s bat once again.

“I can keep this up longer than you can hold out.”

He started wiggling again as Crane approached him with a syringe and stuck it into his arm. He sliced the gag off with a knife, intentionally gouging out a chunk of Bertram’s neck in the process.

“I really don’t know! Barge gave the orders to pack up and move. He took off while we were in transit to the new lab.”

Crane looked at his watch and turned to Miter. “I think it needs a few more minutes to metabolize. Give me the bat.” Miter handed it over and winced as Crane shattered his shoulder joint. Bertam was almost in tears, and his story began to change at last. “Ok, ok. He paid me to bust him out. I made my move when Barge brought us out of the underground.”

Crane turned to Miter “My lady, can I have a moment alone with the rat?”

Miter looked confused for a moment as she left the basement.

“Where did you take him?”

“He wanted me to take him to the airport so he could get to LA. He said an old school buddy of his got into the street doc business there. Danny was smart enough to know he couldn’t hide in Seattle. That’s all I know.”

“What’s his old schoolmate’s name?”

“Greg or Garry, he didn’t mention his last name.”

Crane raised the bat and Bertam shrank “I swear man, that’s all I know.”

As paced around Bertam he noticed that the shaman had soiled himself. He kind of felt sorry for him as he attached his silencer to his gun while he was out of his line of vision. Bertam looked around nervously, but he was bound to tightly to move much more than his neck.

“Well Bertam, you double crossed both me and Barge when you smuggled Danny out.”

He caught the faint glint of Crane’s gun with the corner of his eye.

“Hey man, I was only doing freelance for Barge, I didn’t know he was working for you.” He was beginning to shake, eyeing Crane’s gun as he paced back in front of him. “Please don’t. So I made a mistake. I had it hard enough getting away from Hiroshi’s thugs.”

**

Paco shuffled some cards as Miter suddenly turned her head towards the basement door. She heard Crane walking up the stairs; Paco caught on shortly before Crane opened the basement door. He was casually unscrewing a silencer from the barrel of his predator as he strolled in. Miter’s expression changed as she realized the shaman was dead “Come on Paco.” She said as she got up to stretch “Let’s get out of here before Bertam starts to rot.”

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

It had been 2 days since Ray Dawson had left the bolt-hole. He hadn't been back; instead he was using his new identity to shadow John Fujiyama during his daily schedule. The majority of the time was spent in the arcology, hidden from most observations Ray could muster. He was unwilling to chance discovery so close to the enemy. He did notice, however that John Fujiyama was a very prompt individual with a definately set schedule. Some effort would need to be expended to acquire any datebooks from him, but Ray was certain it could be done--one way or another.

On the second evening, Ray got a call from Dallas, who had apparently re-equipped himself with his radio, as well. Dallas informed Ray of his date with Lily, and Ray, in turn, let Dallas know everything was OK on his end. Ray decided to go back to the bolt-hole and see if Spyder could get into Fujiyama's personal date-book. He dropped everything he'd found out about Fujiyama, after picking up some chinese-food take-out for the both of them. Spyder also informed him that Crane would probably be returning to Seattle very soon--as in within the next 12 hours. Ray had the beginnings of a plan hatching in his brain, and he wanted the entire group to be together to coordinate it properly. At 11:50pm, Ray received the call.

"Trouble," came Dallas' voice. Ray was up and out of the bolt-hole before the transmission flickered off. Dallas had given him the address of the restaurant in his previous transmission, and Ray was driving there as fast as he dared in his good car: a mint condition, black 1953 Ferrari model 375MM. He had, of course, had some 'special' work done on her, making the monstrous V-12 engine even more powerful and 'modernizing' the suspension, handling, and transmission. Ray touched the gas and roared into the Seattle night in search of his friend.

"All clear?" Dawson asked after 5 minutes of dead air. He hoped the response would be positive and sped up as he merged onto the highway...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

"The good guys triumph once again,"came the response a few seconds later, "We're driving an orange Fiello sports coupe north out of the International District. We're going to work our way toward University. Care to tag along? I promise to fill you in if you return the favor."

Dawson relaxed slightly, "I'll be along in a couple minutes."

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Spyder was grumpy. In the stuffy basement she was growing more and more restless with every minute. If it weren’t for all the work keeping her busy, she would have paid Leilani to sneak her to another safehouse. But with Speedy’s files, finding McNeil, and cracking into Fujiyama’s datebook she had plenty of other things to worry about. Crane could be back soon enough anyway. He’d contact Barge when he got back, and he’d give him 411 on their new, unsavory location- a jail-break would be a waste of cred at this point. Recently she’d been poking around and cracking passcodes in preparation for the big raid on Azteck.

Ray arrived with some Chinese food. He bought sesame beef for himself and vegetarian dish for her. She found it thoughtful considering he looked like the meat and potatoes kind of guy. It actually made her feel a little better.

Ray seemed to be hatching a scheme as he sat on the couch lighting his seventh cigarette. She thought it was interesting how Ray and Crane were good at disguises. Crane had explained that it wasn’t too hard as long as you were creative with makeup, dress and posture. He compared it to basic acting. That was when Dallas had radioed in reporting trouble and Ray took off to meet him.

Spyder decided to go after Danny first and then tend to Ray’s request of breaking into Fujiyama’s datebook. She spoofed her matrix entry port and then hooked up through a satlink to prevent a trace. She gloved up her best encryption programs and traveled on a neon datastream to the Azteck’s main entrance SAN. As with any megacorp the décor was exquisite: shiny stone floors and walls, and carvings of animal and human montages along side the stone staircase cascading down the step pyramid. She shot through the top of the pyramid and flowed down inside the structure. If Danny were here, Fujiyama would probably have him locked up in a lab, so it was off to the science wing.

The accounting department had allocated a hefty funding increase to the genetics department over the past two days. Following the details, she found there was an increase of staff and surge lab supplies ordered, including six new rocal biohazard suits for lab 1232 b. “Interesting.” She wandered around until she came to a familiar red SAN and sleazed through with some effort.

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Hiroshi’s stomach turned. The ninjas he sent after Dallas at the eight immortals turned up dead. It seemed as though he had a new alliance with the white tigers. Hiroshi didn't have the time to start an all out war just to collect four individuals.

His search for the renegades was useless, and knowing Fujiyama, someone would die as a consequence. Realizing the most likely candidate was himself; he deiced to call Jiro.

“Ah, Hiroshi. Do you have a decision for Koga-San?” Jiro spoke as though he had a forked tongue.

“You know my price. My answer depends on it.” Hiroshi did his best not to sound desperate for fear that Jiro might renege on the deal.

“We have your precious files, Hiroshi. Now I need your decision.”

“Then I will join you.”

“Good, I am pleased. Koga-San awaits your arrival in Tokyo. We trust your travel arrangements will be prompt.”

By Vengence is Mine (Knight_hawk) on Unrecorded Date:

Tylor looked carefully out the door of the small closet he'd hidden in till the halway was clear. It had taken some time but everyone seemed to be on seperate levels searching for him. Reaching into the duffel bag he's tacken from a weapons locker he'd found, Tylor pulled out a pulled out a wad of C-12. He placed it in the corner of the closet affixing a radio detenator to it. There were similar bombs all over this floor and the one above it.

Taking a deep breath Tylor ran out of the closet and down the hall to a stairwell. He knew that the bombs he'd placed wouldn't be enough to destroy the building if he was in an Arcology but he hoped it would be enough of a distraction to allow him to escape.

Tylor stopped short as he heard voices coming up the stairs, looking around he saw that there was nowhere to run. As the voices neared he could distinguish that there was at least five individuals. Crouching down as low as he could Tylor unsheathed his spur and drew a sub-machine gun he'd gotten at the weapons locker.

The five men came up the stairs and stopped when they saw Tylor.

"Hold it right there!" The lead man said.

That was the last mistake he ever made. Tylor emptied the clip into the five men. As he hurried down the stairs he saw to his dismay that at least two of the men were still alive. "Must be slipping." He said to himself.

Tylor opened the door to the next level and ran into a janitorial closet. He made another bomb and planted it in the middle of the floor. Looking up he spotted an air duct and pulled the grate off of it.

As he crawled through the duct he knew he'd been spotted when a sword pierced the metal just in front of him. Tylor brought his hands up in front of him and gathered his strength for the blow. Bringing his fists down he broke the thin metal and flipped so that he landed on the ground in a crouch.

Tylor found himself surounded by ten men. Tylor watched each of them and realized that these were real Ninja and not the cheap nockoffs he'd been fighting. Each was dressed in the traditional uniforms complete with authentic Waraji, Shinobi-zukin, and Shinobi-Katanas.

"Your bosses must want me badly." Tylor said.

None of the Ninja said a word as they watched Tylor. One of the Ninja made a feint in his direction, Tylor took a step back as three pairs of arms grabbed him from behind pinning his hands behind him.

Tylor popped his spur and to his satisfaction heared a muffled cry. "Got one." The other arms seemed to loosen in surprise of the attack. "The ones holding me are not true Ninja." He thought to himserlf. Tylor wasted no time in capitalizing on that fact and brought his arms together behind his back. He heard another cry and the arms of the one on his right fall away.

Spinning on his right foot Tylor drew his predator and shot the third man in the head. Tylor pulled a grenade from his bag and tossed it to the Ninja and ran down the hall. He didn't know how many he'd gotten with the blast but he figured that most of them got away.

Tylor turned into a room and found himself in a lab, the occupants had apparently been evacuated. Tylor pulled a laser cutter out of his bag and proceeded to cut a hole in the floor. He knew he had little time so he dropped another bomb through the hole and hid behind one of the desks.

Just as he'd ducked his head the door opened, He heard six men walk into the room. He heard a brief dicusion but couldn't hear clearly. He then heard four of the men drop down the hole and the other two exit the room. Tylor crept over to the second door and opened it. Looking out he saw no one and he ran down the hall towards the stairs again.

Tylor found a window and looked out it. he was indeed in an Archology and about two hundred feet up. Tylor swore silently to himself, he knew he was good but not good enough to get down without a really big fight. Looking around quickly Tylor found an exposed water pipe. "Either some one up there likes me or their making this too easy."

Tylor grabbed the length of rope he had and tied on end to the pipe. Making sure the knot and the pipe would hold he tried to break the glass. The blow caused the window to shudder but not break. Sighing he again pulled out his laser cutter and began to cut a hole. Once the hole was done Tylor took a deep breath and got ready to jump.

One of the Ninjas came around the corner as Tylor was about to jump and began to run at him. Tylor jumped and at the same time pushed the button on his watched detonating all of the C-12 he'd planted. Tylor watched as the ground came screaming up to meet him. Praying the rope and pipe held Tylor could only think of one thing to say.

"SHIIIIIIIIII..."

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

"You realize, of course, that Fujiyama does not have access to real ninja don't you?"

Dallas looked at Lily as she expertly wheeled around a corner - he bet she'd taken the defensive driving course and got five percent knocked off her insurance,"What do you mean 'real'?"

"His so-called ninja are half-assed wannabes trained by a madman out of Kyoto who calls himself Takeo Raidon. Takeo is Fujiyama's man. Word is, there's a price on his head back home."

"So why aren't they real?"

She shrugged, "Takes a lot of training, real secret society stuff. Takeo apparently failed his training or possibly a mission which makes him persona non grata with the old pals, so he came here. If they'd been real ninja, they would not have mistaken Suzi and Lee for you and me. We're much better looking," she smiled.

"Agreed. So how does this help us?"

She smiled, "Well, it makes them a heck of a lot easier to outsmart and outfight.

"Sweet, I've yet to meet the creature I couldn't outsmart or outfight," he said with a cocky grin.

She laughed, "Well, good, because I think you'll get a lot more opportunities before this is done. Now where is your friend Dawson?"

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

Ray drove the MM easily up onto the freeway, fully aware of the dangers of the night-time go-gangers. He needed the convenience of a wide, straight stretch of highway to get him uptown, fast. He eased the accelerator down and glanced at his modified tach- and speedometer. 3rd gear was revving 3000 and he was cruising at 80 mph. He had two more gears open, but decided he didn't really need fourth, so he pushed up to 100 mph and watched his tach crawl up to 4000. It was then that Ray noticed the blinking headlights in the rearview mirror, and heard the distinctive whine of crotch-rocket street bikes, singing a striking counterpoint to the deep bass rumbling of his own monstrous engine. Ray smiled. At this rate, he only needed the highway for another few minutes, and rather than play with the annoying bikers, he pushed the gas down and watched his tach climb upward, until just touching red-line at 8000. He was doing about 150mph, and decided to shift up to fourth. His tach dropped down to 2500 and the engine sounded almost as if it took a huge gulp of fresh air, then resumed its increasing crescendo of rumbling. Ray got to the exit ramp at about 200 mph, and slapped the stick into neutral as he decelerated to a safe speed.

Ray checked the rearview, smiling as he saw the bikers break off their pointless pursuit. He chuckled as he contemplated the fact that in all the years he'd had this car, how he'd never opened her up fully before. He promised himself that one day he'd find a nice, long stretch and put her through the moves.

As Ray was thinking, he caught sight of a small, sporty orange roadster carrying 2 passengers.

"I got a visual on ya, kid," was all Ray said as he began to follow the other car...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The two sports cars pulled into the brightly lit automated garage favored by much of the University faculty. It was all but deserted but for them.

Dawson was out and lighting up a smoke before Lily had even turned off her engine. Dawson did not smoke in his good car. He focused on Lily as she exited her car - she certainly did not look like a kid tonight. Dallas climbed out of the passenger side and stared past Dawson at the classic motor behind him. He allowed his jaw to drop in comic exaggeration of surprise. He paced around the vehicle, a dramatic hand to his heart. His inspection completed, he faced his partner, "Wow, Dawson, you do have some style after all," he quoted Crane with a smile.

"Ha fraggin' ha," responded Dawson, "Any idea on how they tracked you tonight?"

Dallas shrugged, "My guess is the word is out on us in the District," he glanced at Lily for confirmation.

She nodded, "We found out tonight that there are cash rewards being offered for information leading to two men and two elves. The men fit your descriptions, but no names are being circulated. We are tracking down who is putting up the reward now. It may lead us to Fujiyama's operatives in the District."

"You want to tell me what else you've been up to?"

Dallas did. He told him everything that had transpired since they'd split up and he gave him one of Amos Li's panic buttons, "I also did some checking on Alistair McNeil, Late lamented brother of our good doctor. He was a book keeper for Aztech pharmaceuticals division. He was also an occasional boy toy for whomever could support him in a life he wished to become accustomed to. He did apparently die under torture, but it seems his burial with the ork victims was incidental and unrelated. I've got some one into forensics checking on the MO. Also, he and Danny had been estranged for the last five years or so, so if you're an assuming type, you can go ahead and speculate that he died in vain. Or perhaps was killed in vain."

"I never assume."

"Me neither."

They grinned at each other and Lily sighed as if to say 'men!'

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

"I've got a plan, as soon as Crane decides to show up again. Hop in and I'll tell ya all about it," Ray said, scratching under one corner of his fake mustache. He'd been living in his makeup for nearly 2 and a half days now, so he was actually becoming quite accustomed to it. Dallas glanced over his shoulder at Lily, and Dawson nodded, throwing his half-spent smoke to the ground and sitting back in his car, shutting the door. If Dallas wanted, he'd ride with Ray, if not, they'd meet up later at the bolt-hole...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

"Hang on," said Dallas as he escorted Lily out of earshot, "Are you going to be okay?"

She smiled, "It was not the first fight I've ever been in, Dallas. I used to be a White Tiger, too. I learned how to handle myself a long time ago."

"That's not all. You were with me and I've got a big old bullseye painted on my back right now, I don't want you to catch any flak."

She ran a delicate finger along his jaw line, "My hero," she said softly , "Go, you have work to do. I have backup not two blocks from here. I will not go to my apartment tonight in case they identified me. I will be cautious."

Dallas studied her a moment longer both concern and the need to act were reflected in his eyes. She smiled again then kissed him. It was a very nice kiss. Then she said "Go," once again then turned and got into her car. She roared off as Dallas watched.

Dawson rolled down the window, "So are you coming or not, kid? Or are you going to moon a little longer."

Dallas swore, "You are the biggest mood breaker I know, Ray," he groused, "What's the matter, soul out at the cleaners?"

Dawson chuckled and leaned back in through the window. Dallas threw himself into the passenger seat, "Stop at Gilbo's Army/Navy first. They're open until two and I want a quick change of clothes," he growled.

"Whatever you say, kid," grinned Dawson.

By Vengence is Mine (Knight_hawk) on Unrecorded Date:

Tyler grunted as the rope went taught, he found himself arching towards a window. He pulled hi knees up so that he would hit feet first, hopefully with enough force to break the glass.

Tyler hit the glass hard but not hard enough, the glass merely cracked. He pulled his arm back and struck the glass breaking it. Suddenly the rope went slack and Tyler began to fall again. He quickly grabbed for the ledge and felt the pain of the shards of glass cutting into his hands.

Tyler pulled himself up into the room and cut the rope from around his waist. He looked at his hands and then around the room. It was a type of Exesutive lounge. Tyler walked over to the table and began to tear strips from the silk table cloth. After tying the material around his hands he headed to the door.

Tyler hoped that the building would be in the process of being evacuated because of the explosion. opening the door he saw people being ushered down the hall. Tyler began to walk with the group trying to blend in.

"Hold it." A voice said as a hand came down on Tylers shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

Tyler turned and looked at the security gaurd. "I'm sorry, I was visiting my brother when the explosion occured." Tyler showed his hands, both rags were covered with blood.

"Who's your brother?"

"Arthur Clay." Tyler said recalling a name he saw on an office door.

"Ok, make sure you get that looked at by one of the docs outside."

"Thank you." Tyler quickly got back into the crowd and made his way to the first floor. He was almost out when another hand grabbed his shoulder. This one however was not just a restraining grip. Tyler found himself spun around and came face to face with a ghost.

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Miter and Paco left the abandoned building as Crane stayed behind to adjust his disguise. He winced painfully in front of the broken mirror as he buttoned up a paisley leisure-suit-style-shirt and pulled on a tan mohair coat with a white syth-fur collar. He pasted the fake beard back on, plopped a cowboy hat and slid on a pair of John Lennon style sunglasses. The dark brown wig was getting itchy, and he wanted to wretch as he more resembled a crunchy hippie than his usual, fine self. He put on another stim patch and noticed the beard adhesive was giving him a rash, and the mortician’s wax he used to cover his telltale scar felt funky. The colored contact covering his cybereye interfered with the low light compensation. As much as he hated it, so far it had worked to keep the Golden Dragon off his tail. He left the building and noticed Miter and Paco were already out of sight. He slung an old, beat up wooden guitar over his shoulder and put his hands in his pockets as he strolled away. For added authenticity he pulled out a blunt from his pocket and lit up.

Crane visited the new safehouse Speedy hooked him up with before calling Barge. He had to pick up a gun or two and replenish his supply of stim patches anyway. He hadn’t slept since he escaped the Golden Dragon in New York, and from there to the Tir to meet with Tara, Lerner’s contact who originally directed him to hire Spyder. Arrangements for Jack’s move to the Tir had been arranged should he agree to relocate.

He checked his vmail messages. Ten of them were from Evelyn, his girlfriend. She was complaining about how he’d disappeared- again-, didn’t answer her calls, didn’t really love her, and that stupid job of his meant more to him than her- which he wasn’t going to deny. She was a nice girl, but had gotten a bit too clingy. Crane rolled his eyes as if to say “whatever” and deleted all of her messages without listening to them first. He didn’t care since there were others. The last message was from Spyder. “I’m not AS pissed off at the moment, so I decided against ruining your credit history for stranding me here in Romper Room. Speedy wanted me to relay the following message to you: ‘Call me, ya wanker.’ I’m tellin ya man, she’s on your dills, Fraggin pimp-ass motherfragger. So are you gonna come back or what? Hurry the frag up.” He grinned knowing that was as close to sentimental as she was going to get for the moment.

Crane left to contact Barge and Leilani. It was about time he got back to bring Dallas, Dawson and Spydie up to date. He was expected they probably had just as much to tell him. Hopefully they were all getting along.

By Vengence is Mine (Knight_hawk) on Unrecorded Date:

"How are you...brother?" The ghost asked.

"I was doing great up til now, brother." Tyler replied.

"Been a while."

"Yeah but not long enough. Correct me if I'm wrong but the last time we met I killed you."

"You thought so, but apparently you were wrong, all the better for me."

"Well then let's get this over with." Tyler said shrugging off the hand. The two walked outside and stood in the parking lot stareing at each other. An EMT made a move to get Tyler's atention but looked at the two men and decided better of it. All around them the people seemed to sense what was about to happen and got as far away as they could.

"So what do go by now? Still call yourself Samson?" Tyler asked.

"I still got this." Samson said pointing to the ponytail that ran down his back. "Seems fitting, don't you think."

Tyler sized his brother up, the two may look alike but their simularities end there. Tyler thought back trying to remember Samsons upgrades. "Let's see you had muscle replacements, dermal plating, wired reflexes, and bone lacing if I remember correctly."

"I also got me a pair of these." Samson said as he popped cyber spurs out of each arm. The two blades had been turned black, whether this was from lack of cleaning or a treatment Tyler couldn't be sure. He did know that Samson was one cold sob.

Tyler popped his blade and got himself ready. If ever there was a fight that would be remembered for all time this one would defenetly be a consideration.

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Spyder was coasting through a datastore and found a file containing codes for employee cardlocks. As the information would come in handy she copied the file. She had forty-five minutes before the satellite traveled out of range. Danny was easy to track after finding out about lab 1232b. She had his archology assignment, his schedule, his passcodes, but his research files were still missing. She searched and found a peculiar i/o port, after a second inspection she discovered it was a disguised red san. She cracked a grin and prepared her deception program. After it took too long for the san to respond she realized it was probably more heavily protected than the thought.

As she passed through she triggered an internal alert. “Dreck” she cursed, knowing the data she was looking for was probably here and she didn’t want to blow it. She morphed her persona into a more unassuming satellite data transfer protocol library. Any alert triggered in such a high-security area would be a red flag for Fujiyama’s deckers.

Her caution proved valuable as a new persona emerged through a neighboring SAN. It was a flashy man wearing a Rastafarian hat over numerous small, thin braids of brown hair, black jeans, and red tank top revealing impressive musculature. His tan skin was branded with circuitry and hugging his waist was a utility belt containing a glowing arsenal of weaponry. A surge in memory usage came with his appearance. She allowed herself a smirk knowing the decker behind the beefy persona was probably a scrawny little nobody who couldn’t get a date. He looked around the datastore, searching with glowing white eyes. Spyder stayed low in her disguise and passed the initial inspection. He walked up to the red SAN and merged his arm into it to investigate the passive alert. She had two options: sneak out and try again later, or see what Rasta boy was made of.

Spyder had much to prove to herself and decided to call in the dogs. He was about to detach from the SAN when she kicked three Doberman attack programs his way and approached him for combat. He fought off two of them successfully, but the third puppy deleted some of the weapons on his utility belt before it went down. As he turned around he saw a small green blur latch onto his leg and deliver a painful bite that wiped out his crash host program and alarm utilities. He took a second look and identified the green blur as a small, green, tarantula-sized arachnid.

“You must be Spyder.” He said as he gripped on to her tiny persona firmly, ripped her off his leg and slammed her into a stone wall. Spyder grimaced slightly as she felt the pinch; one of her co-processors on her new electronic invention was beginning to heat up. “Are you always so gentle with the ladies?” she said through an encrypted voice as she bit into the hand that clutched her, delivering another delete shock through his arm forcing him to drop her. She scampered towards his utility belt as he looked at his arm to see it fading. “Enough of the show; time to die.” She’d taken a nice sample of his highly encrypted persona in the process and fed it to a decrypt program on her deck and let it crunch away.

She snickered confidently “Catch me if you can, fragger.”

Her adversary released a trace and burn on her persona. She laughed emphatically, recalling the satlink and the relocate spoof program she’d utilized before entering Aztech’s network. Spyder had become more resourceful after her last tragedy with black IC. She took the moment to sink her fangs onto his back since she could forgo defense for now. Her opponent grunted in anger as his MPCP suffered a fourth hit. As his rage seemed to empower him he detached her and ran a serrated knife through her side. “Fragger!” she cursed as her kill program became corrupted and her persona took on heavy damage. She checked the progress on her decryption utility, it was half way through cracking the security code on his persona. Although her kill program was shot, she knew she could hack on the fly if she had to. Spyder attacked again and he managed to parry by a narrow margin. He was surprised to see the trace and burn hadn’t worked and executed another combat utility in the form of an ingram. Spyder responded by launching her best smoke program.

A small alert caught her attention, her decrypt program had finished cracking his MPCP code. Rasta boy was only able to land one attack out of several. She gritted her teeth as she programmed on the fly, modifying a sleaze program and splicing it with her own modified black IC. The damage she’d endured was beginning to make her deck a little sluggish, but he was no better off. One more hit made her stagger backwards on her eight, wire thin legs and she used every last ounce of her mental capacity for her last attack. She leaped onto his head and buried her teeth into the back of his neck, sending her new program to his deck. He kept her jaw clamped down onto the base of his skull as he struggled with the program while it bypassed his MPCP and went straight for his cybernetic implants.

Spyder’s physical body relaxed into her chair with a strong exhale as Rasta boy’s deck remained jacked into the matrix without a living conscience to command it. She went into his deck and evaluated its memory stores. “Oh my god.” She said with her jaw dangling as she discovered passcodes to the most forbidden reaches of the Aztech Pyramid. She copied all files of value, then burned his deck before moving on to other illegal prospects. She had forty minutes before her satellite would pass below the horizon, and she intended to make every second count.

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Danny was definitely working to thwart Jack’s progress on the metavirus and made some headway in a second strain. Spyder rarely acknowledged any of her emotions, but fear sent a chill through her body. She copied every file down to the genetic sequences and specially designed cell membrane protein receptors. Hopefully Jack would be able to top him with this information.

Fujiyama’s datebook was fair game and she got his phone book too, as well as corporate account numbers, list of addresses, list of employers and all their confidential personnel files. While she was there she also stole as much R&D files as she could fit onto her deck. A few optical chips offered extra storage for Aztech’s dirty laundry and bank account numbers. Corporate secrets priced well on the black market. She figured it was better to do what she could for now. One Rasta’s pals found him slumped over his deck, they would trigger external alerts throughout their system, and she wasn’t keen on clawing her way out past countless forms of IC.

As Spyder was following some interesting info on Fujiyama’s connections to the Golden Dragon she heard Barge laughing hysterically in the background, followed by the sound of rusty door hinges and footfalls that stopped two feet to her left. She kept her eyes closed but turned her in ther person's general direction. Crane poked her in the ribs playfully.

“Not now, I’m busy!” she whined and poked back blindly, noticing the faint smell of marijuana on his clothes.

“I got ya a present.” He teased dangling gift-wrapped package in front of her closed yes.

“Is it pot?”

“No, but if that’s what you want…”

“Maybe later but, I’m really busy at the moment… So why don’t you go away for like, five minutes.”

He poked her a few more times and she hissed furiously to shoo him away. Crane decided to let her have it her way and sat down on the couch, strumming the battered wooden guitar he swiped from a street performer in Manhattan. Musical performance wasn’t his forte, and the clamor irritated Spyder to the point where she opened her eyes to glare at him, only to view the antithesis of fashion. Crane looked like a ragged hippie down to the detail of an unkempt beard, sideburns and tasteless coat. Realizing what Barge found so amusing she burst into laughter.

Crane grinned and stood up, gesturing to his outfit. “Like the threads?”

She laughed hysterically “Get changed for the love of all that’s sacred!”

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Speedy grinned maliciously through her bruised eye and bloodied face as the image of John Fujiyama appeared on the video panel. He looked at her bound to a chair in the background, and then at the triad member- who the others called "Makoto", standing in front of the telecom. The drugs made her feel hazy and it was quite an effort to focus on the conversation between them.

“Tansho!!” she snarled at Fujiyama as she resisted the bonds.

“I await your order.” Makoto said humbly as he bowed deeply.

“Any information?”

“We confirmed that she was with Crane, but I’m certain he told her nothing. We’ve been interrogating her for several hours.”

“Very well then. Kill her.” He said nonchalantly.

“As you command, when would you like me to schedule the execution?” Makoto asked, hoping to postpone the unpleasantness.

“Immediately.”

The Makoto paused for a moment, reflecting on Kamlyn, Speedy’s brother who lead the Nakamura Clan. “What are you waiting for?” Fujiyama fumed at the delay.

Makoto approached Speedy with a loaded sawed-off shotgun. Speedy acknowledged him but left her eyes glued to the video panel. “Johnny” she said in a derogatory tone, “may it be known that my death will only serve to motivate your enemies further and recruit more individuals against you and the Golden Dragon. That alone makes my death more honorable than you could possibly conceive.”

Fujiyama twitched uncomfortably “Baka! Kerio tsuke-yöze!” he shouted at Makoto who seemed to be allowing Speedy time for her death speech.

“Okama!” she howled at Fujiyama before Makoto fired into the back of her skull, propelling a red misty cloud that cleared to reveal a bloody stump dangling the remains of her lower jaw.

As the pieces of skull cascaded onto on the floor he motioned for his underlings to take care of the mess. He would have make preparations to ensure that Kamlyn would never hear of her execution.

**

Spyder was still giggling as she tried to focus on her netrun once again. Crane walked up to the mirror and began removing the mortician’s wax the covered the scar on his face, the ugly fake beard and wig followed. The adhesive had done a number on his skin; he noted several pink skin irritations on his lower jaw. He grabbed a duffel bag and went into the bathroom, which rivaled the size of a shoebox. A little soap and water removed any remaining adhesive, and after drying his face he applied a generous amount of SPF 3,000 sunscreen. Crane fished out a navy, loose-knit crewneck sweater to replace the horrid paisley shirt. The stim patch on his arm was beginning to wear thin, so he decided to replace it. He didn’t want to think about sleep until he could talk to Dallas and Ray to plan their agenda. He also need Spyder to research this “Matsumuri”, but she was predisposed at the moment, so he went back to the couch and waited patiently. It occurred to him that he should call Speedy to see how she was and to get an update on New York activity.

Spyder did what she did best. Hiroshi seemed to be in charge of the cleanup and he had nothing to show for it. Good thing Dawson paid Lelaini for a new hideout, they had his neighborhood pinned and would have eventually found them. She poked around for bit and found a tasty datastore with a red san in the way. She yawned her way through thanks to the new passcodes and sampled a bit of the largest file, which appeared to be in tri-d format. The preview grabbed her attention by making her sick. Speedy didn’t deserve to die like that.

“Raphael.” She called him over sadly, as she opened her eyes to look at him, trying to focus on two worlds at the same time.

Crane looked at her, something was very wrong for her to call him by his name. He walked over and put his hand on her shoulder.

“You’d better sit down for this one. And promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“Promise.”

She hesitated “Speedy’s dead. The triads must have discovered her connection to you, Fujiyama ordered her execution twenty minutes ago.”

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

Gilbo's Army/Navy was a small storefront that extended back into its host building far enough to descend 3 steps and turn a corner. Like most of its ilk, there were cheap/discount clothes near the front, with racks of old fatigues from around the world deeper in the back of the store. Boots and shoes of all varieties adorned the left-hand wall, and the checkout counter was a glass display case containing 5 shelves, each hosting an impressive array of combat knives and other "toys". Dawson smiled as he strolled around, checking out a stylish leather biker's jacket lined with kevlar and titanium. It had 2 concealed holsters inside, and was incredibly similar to his other, unarmored jacket. Dawson let Dallas peruse the clothes racks while he checked out a pair of engineer's boots. Ray brought his selections up to the front counter and set them there for the clerk to ring up, at the same time pointing to several selections from inside the glass case.

Ray turned to look for Dallas, who was still ghosting around the muffled clothing racks, then grabbed his bags and walked outside for a smoke. The kid would be out when he was ready, and Ray decided it would probably be safer with some armor on, rather than carrying it in a bundle under his arm. He put on his new boots as well, and placed his bag in the back seat. Ray completed his wardrobe change by putting the combat tantos into the sleeve scabbards in his new jacket, as well as populating the two gun holsters with his Predator and his Manhunter. After adjusting the waist-belt and cinching up the leather ties on either side, Ray looked like a regular biker. He leaned on his car and continued smoking, still waiting for Dallas to emerge from Gilbo's...

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

“How did you find out?” Crane said with the light in his eyes fading.

Spyder sided with her better judgement and didn’t tell him about the tri-d file, as he would insist to see it. “I hacked into Aztech’s communication files and caught some audio.”

“Let me hear it.”

“I don’t think it would be a good idea, I don’t want you going off on a rampage.” She said softly, trying to diffuse the situation upon realizing she shouldn’t have told him about poor Speedy.

“Sure mom. I’ll behave…” he said with anger saturating his cynical response. “Now, let me hear the voice mail…” Crane’s demeanor cooled off a little, but he was so furious that she could feel it.

Spyder knew he wasn’t going to give, and extended her hand “Give me your pocket secretary, I don’t have any headphones with me.”

As Crane fished out the electronic device from his bag, she prepared a copy of the tri-d file, sliced the audio track off file and saved it to a different audio format. She decided that she’d done enough hacking for a day and jacked out before transferring the audio file onto his pocket secretary. Crane went back to the couch and hesitated to play the file.

She put her deck away and observed him as he walked into one of the small rooms and closed the door behind him. After a few moments she heard the faint audio playback from his pocket secretary. He played the track twice, and from then on she heard nothing but silence. Spyder waited a good half-hour before knocking on the door to check up on him. He didn’t answer so she peeked her head in to see Crane sitting on a cot with his head slumped forward, his pocket secretary placed directly in front of him.

“Get lost….” He muttered without moving an inch.

“Got pocketknife I can borrow?” her irrelevant question struck him as being odd.

Crane wearily and with heavy eyelids fished out a pocketknife and tossed it to her. Spyder stalked out the “kitchen area” of the basement. There was a small fridge, but no stove. She looked around and found an old Pyrex oven dish and an aged toaster oven barely big enough for it. She rummaged through her purse again and found a small cardboard box with a glass vial ratting inside. She opened the vial and poured the liquid onto the Pyrex dish and stuck it into the oven, which she’d set to 500 degrees. After a few minutes the moisture evaporated, leaving behind pure ketamine crystals and a faint chemical smell in the bolt-hole. She scraped off the crystals with his pocketknife and carefully transferred it into a second vial with a special bullet-shaped measuring device that screwed on the top. Went back to the room sank down next to Crane, who was looking at a small snapshot in his wallet. It was a humorous picture of him and Speedy fishing by the West Village 26th Pier back when they were kids. Speedy was dangling a huge catfish- with three-and-a-half eyes and two left fins- off the end of her hook. This probably wasn’t an uncommon experience considering the toxicity of New York Harbor.

“Speedy sent this fish to the taxidermist. She still has it up on her wall.” Crane said sadly as he noticed Spyder was looking over his shoulder. She offered him the vial, which he accepted with a weak smile realizing that he’d probably need it.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas emerged from Gilbo's transformed. He now wore a pair of grey Danish army fatigues in a heavy twill, a long sleeved purplish-black t-shirt with a combat biker team logo along one sleeve, and he was just pulling on dark blood colored leather jacket. Dawson had seen it on the rack he'd selected his from. It was probably the only one there that had a hope of fitting the much smaller Dallas. Dawson assumed the date clothes had been folded into the bag he had tucked under one arm.

"Aren't we a couple of fashion plates," said Dallas as he noted Dawson's new acquisitions."

"Feel better?"

Dallas ignored the question and studied Dawson as he smoked, "Are you as tired of this drek as I am? We've been letting Fujiyama run the show for weeks. We knew he was still a danger but we did nothing until he actually moved on us," he held up a hand, "I know. I know, we've been letting Jack have the time he needs to refine his cure 'just in case'. Well, I think the case is now open."

"So do I, " agreed Dawson, "And it's time for us to make some concrete plans, time for a team huddle."

Dallas nodded, "Good. Is Crane back yet?"

"If he's not he will be soon. Plus we'll need the info Spyder's been mining for us. Remember, Fujiyama is still Renraku, that's a lot of tentacles we'll have the shear off."

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

Dawson finished his smoke and got into his car, followed by Dallas. "The trick to this game, kid, is to keep Fujiyama guessing." Dawson started the monstrous engine and pulled away from the curb. "Make him think we're still on the run. That way, he won't expect us to strike at him directly." Dallas seemed to catch Dawson's drift as the duo rode to Dawson's place.

"Plan on picking up some surveillance?" Dallas asked as he looked around the barrens for any signs of 'observers'.

"Relax, Dallas. All part of the grand plan. Fujiyama's been spending alot of effort in finding and eliminating us. So far, he's failed. Personally, I doubt he's even concerned with us directly--he probably has an underling or two running our show. If Fujiyama were taking a personal stake in this, we'd probably be a whole lot deader by now." Ray paused for a moment as he parked the Ferarri in his underground garage area. "How nervous do ya think Fujiyama's lackey is gonna be after failing so many times?" Dawson dismounted the car and lit up another smoke. "This is the time where the most mistakes will happen. Fujiyama will expect results. Results which his guy hasn't delivered. The pressure's on, and he's likely to accept any positive news right now without a thorough check." Dallas allowed a smile as he began to understand what Dawson was hinting at.

"So, if we allow ourselves to be discovered and 'killed'--" Dallas mused.

"Fujiyama's guy will report the good news gleefully, and we can operate with relative freedom--although in disguise," Dawson finished, peeling off the fake nose, chin, and beard. Smiling, he said, "I think it's time Ray Dawson died," as he pulled out his Predator.

"Can't make it too easy, partner," Dallas added, falling into step behind Ray as he walked up the stairs to where his 'regular' car lived.

"Of course not," Ray answered as he unlocked the driver's side door.

"So what do we do--drive around until one of the bad guys recognizes us, then tries to kill us?" Dallas asked as he got in the car.

"I have a feeling they already know where we are," Dawson answered as he dove into the driver's seat, dodging away from the red laser-dot which had appeared on his chest. Dawson started the car and slammed on the gas, peeling out of the garage as the sniper emptied rounds into the rear of the car. "Now they follow us for a while, and we conveniently drive off a cliff into the ocean, after the car takes enough bullets to blow up and burn our remains beyond recognition," Dawson said as he weaved his way out into the DMZ-like area of the barrens.

"Yeah. That's another question: Where do we find remains?" Dallas asked, already guessing at Dawson's reply. A white van pulled into the street in front of Dawson's car, and he slammed on the brakes. He looked over his shoulder to see if he could back away, and saw a large bulldozer-type vehicle roll into that escape route. Several black-clad figures leapt out of the van, and Dawson shot them as they came, sending bullets through his own windshield to drop the bad guys.

"Well, if we're still going with plan A, there are some bodies we could use," Dawson said, keeping an eye on the approaching dozer. "I have the distinct feeling, though, that our plans are about to become more flexible," he added, as the dozer brought its front loader down on the roof of Dawson's car, starting to crush it.

"Time to leave," Dallas shouted, trying his door-handle, only to find that something had wedged his door permanently closed. Metal creaked and glass shattered as the roof of the car sank lower and lower, causing the two to shrink down in their seats, contorting to avoid being crushed themselves. Finally, the bulldozer backed away, leaving tiny slits where the windshield and other windows used to be. "Any other brilliant ideas?" Dallas chided from his cramped position, curled up under the passenger-side dashboard. Dawson was about to respond when something slammed into the side of the car, causing it to slide several feet to the left. There was a hydraulic whine as Dawson and Dallas felt the entire car being lifted up.

"This works, too," Dawson said as the duo spent the next 15 minutes being driven somewhere, prisoners in Dawson's crushed-beyond-recognition car. Finally, the motion stopped, and there was a jolt as the car was placed down.

"Well, Mr. Dawson," a voice called from outside. "You and your associate have been most challenging adversaries." Dawson rolled his eyes. "I would enjoy nothing better than to sit and drink tea with you, but I'm afraid that I have to kill you now." A mechanical noise was heard, and some sort of machine was started. Dawson and Dallas both felt the lurch as a conveyor belt was activated, and both looked out of what used to be the windshield at a huge, rectangular opening with two rapidly spinning, toothed cylinders draw nearer and nearer.

They were on a giant scrap-shredder, about to be shredded into chunky kibbles.

"Kid, if we stay in here, we're dead," Dawson said nonchalantly as he twisted himself around and pressed his feet into the crushed roof of the car.

"So the trick is to get out without them knowing about it," Dallas added, fishing for his monofilament whip. As Dawson began forcefully banging on the roof of the car, Dallas looped his whip around one of the crumpled uprights and started to pull. He watched with some satisfaction as the nearly invisible strand cut sharply into the metal as it constricted.

The car jolted as the front end met the shredding device. Fortunately, the shredding process seemed to be slower than the conveyor belt. Unfortunately, the car was beginning to be shredded. Dawson redoubled his efforts, and was rewarded when Dallas' corner of the roof popped off, and the smaller man pressed it up and squeezed out. Dawson crawled over to the passenger seat with some difficulty, and managed to press his way out of Dallas' escape route. He found Dallas's outstretched hand there, and grabbed it, and the two clambored up on top of the shredding machine, trying to keep a low profile. Dawson tapped Dallas on the shoulder, and when the younger man looked Dawson pointed at the car, then silently lipped "BOOM" while making an explosion-like gesture with his fingers.

The two searched for an escape route hidden from enemy view, and Dawson pointed to a control tower with a giant magnet-lift dangling from a crane-type device. The magnet-disc was positioned so that it partially blocked a segment of ladder from enemy view, and Dawson gathered himself up and leapt to the nearby ladder, catching a rung and holding on for dear life. He composed himself and started climbing, glancing back to watch Dallas make the jump as well. There were about 15 bad guys standing around the glorified chipper-shredder, watching the small metallic bits clanging into an ever-growing pile on the ground. None of them seemed to notice Dallas and Dawson as they climbed up the ladder and scrambled into the control room for the crane.

"This might actually work better than my idea," Dawson said between labored breaths, as he pulled out his keychain. "Hold onto something, kid," he added, as he pressed the little red button...

The explosion tore through the shredding machine, sending shrapnel flying through the night. A seatbelt clasp actually lodged itself into the roof of the crane next to Dallas. Dawson wasn't sure how many of the bad guys were caught in the explosion, but he was certain they were no longer thinking about the possibility of Dallas and him surviving. After about an hour, the duo climbed down the ladder and into the assorted debris of the junkyard, and Dawson lit up a smoke.

"Well, how's it feel to be a ghost?" Dawson asked as he and his friend walked into the night...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The neighborhood they found themselves in was not the best place for two humans to find themselves in the wee small hours of the morning. Most of the denizens in the further reaches of Puyallup were metas who had survived the Night of Rage and did their level best to repay random humans in kind for what their people suffered. The most cohesive form of government down there were the gangs - many of them reputed to be the most vicious in Seattle. The two men walked in silence, heading north at an efficient ground eating pace, but it would still be a while before they were out of the DMZ or any where near a car that was in a condition to make it worth stealing.

After they had walked several blocks, Dallas slid a glance at Dawson and flashed four fingers and a lightning quick finger pointing forward, another gesture indicated three behind. Dawson nodded almost imperceptibly.

Dallas started speaking in a low almost monotonous voice that was quite unlike his normal speaking voice. Dawson looked faintly surprised but allowed that any distraction would be a help. Both men kept walking without missing a step.

"The People once lived in a beautiful valley which they shared with a mighty herd of buffalo. There was also a beautiful bird that lived in the valley. It's main pleasure was mischief.

"Every time the warriors went to hunt the buffalo the beautiful white bird would fly up and warn the buffalo that The People were coming to kill them and then buffalo would flee. The People could not feed their children and the entire tribe was slowly starving to death. At last one warrior decided to do something about it; so one night he went out and dug a hole. He got into the hole and covered it with limbs and grass and then placed some bait on top.

"The next day the beautiful bird saw the bait and landed on top of the trap. The warrior grabbed the bird and tied a cord to its leg. Then he threatened to punish the beautiful bird for it's mischief, but the bird begged and pleaded with him, saying that it would never again warn the buffalo and The People would eat once more.

"At last, the warrior released the bird. The beautiful bird flew into the sky and turned and laughed at the warrior saying, 'I lied! I lied! I am going to warn the buffalo of your every approach!'

"The warrior then pulled the bird down from the sky by the cord on it's leg and told the bird that this time it would be punished. The warrior then built a smoky fire and held the beautiful white bird in the smoke until it turned as black as soot. This is how the crow was made."

Just as Dallas pronounced the last line, the pair hit the corner and four elves practically materialized in front of them from the cross streets, "Thanks for the story, human," hissed one of them unpleasantly as he rasped the barrel of battered SMG across his jaw. At least six other weapons that Dallas was aware of were directed more in the direction of the two humans.

"Jester, isn't it?" asked Dawson casually as the apparent leader started slightly and looked at him more closely, "You're the Nobles' war lord, right, and Valiant's right arm - he's not dead is he?"

One of the other elves blurted a startled 'no' before the other's silenced him, "Who are you, that you know Valiant, human?" snarled Jester.

Dawson knew the sight of a badge would be as good as pulling the trigger on himself, but he had one card to play, "Just the human who took out Geraldo Satin."

Jester blinked, the name meant something to him. More than it did to Dallas anyway, but he'd follow Dawson's lead where ever it went.

"Maybe you should check with Valiant before you decide to blow us into jelly," said Dawson lighting a new smoke from the butt of the old one - no flare to trash his night vision that way.

Jester's scowl deepened - it seemed to be his habitual expression - than gestured to a younger elf. The pair conferred briefly in what Dallas assumed was the elven language, and the junior member loped off.

"So what are you, little human? You from Mexico?" asked Jester crossly, poking his weapon in Dallas' direction.

Dallas looked wounded, "Nátsêhéstahe," he said drawing himself up, "I am Cheyenne," he clarified.

Jester stared at him, then shrugged. Dawson wondered if the street elf had ever even heard of the original immigrants to the new world, let alone their various tribal names. It took only about five minutes for the messenger elf to return, though it seemed longer. Dallas had managed to confirm a total of eight Nobles in the area, either in the street with them, or in the wrecked buildings nearby. While they waited, the eastern sky began its run at a false dawn.

Jester clenched his jaw at the message then turned on Dawson as if affronted, "Valiant says we're to see you out of Nobles' territory but that if you turn up here again without heavy armament we can shoot first and ask questions later."

Dawson grinned at Jester - if they'd been eight, Dallas knew it would have been a stuck out tongue - and suppressed his own smile. They followed Jester out of the Nobles' turf, shedding their following with every block. They hit the terminus of public transport about when the sun came up.

"So who's Geraldo Satin?" asked Dallas as Jester disappeared around the corner, Dawson waving after him cheerily.

"A pimp," said Dawson taking a seat on the bus stop bench, "He turned Valiant's sister on to Extreme then turned her out. I happened to be the cop that killed him when his little lab got raided. Valiant likes that in a person, especially since I did not bust the girls."

"Cop with a heart of gold," muttered Dallas, "Hey, have you thought to call Spyder? Do we have the range for that on these things?" he indicated the earpiece radio, "With all her poking around, she could run across the report of our deaths."

"Hell, I wouldn't believe it if someone told us we were dead. Not without a corpse anyway. "

Dallas joined him on the bench, "So are we gonna just take the bus back up to the U?"

Dawson snorted, "No. I've got one last car, one last bolt in the Barrens. We'll go incognito from here on."

Dallas sighed.

By Vengence is Mine (Knight_hawk) on Unrecorded Date:

Teh two men lunged at each other trying to get the upper hand on the other. The clang of the blades echoed off of the surrounding buildings. The sparks that came off of the blades did little to distract either combatant.

Samson swung high trying to divert Tylers attention, Tyler in turn merely grabbed Samsons arm. Quickly Samson brought his other blade around in a middle aimed attack atempting to disembowl his brother.

Tylers leg flashed up as he used his knee to block the arm, at the same moment he brought his blade down on his brothers arm. Samson screamed and staggered backward looking at the stump of his left arm.

"That evens things up a bit now dosn't it." Tyler said.

Samson merely bellowed and charged in again. Tyler brought up his arm to deflect the blade he thought was coming. However Samson thrust his foot deep into Tylers stomach, driving his younger brother to the ground.

Samson followed this menuever by swining his spur towards Tylers head. Dazed Tyler brought his left arm up and blocked the blade. He grimiced as he felt the blade cut through his skin and until it was stoped by the Titanium encasing his bones.

Tyler slashed outward with his spur and caught Samson's right leg slicing it to the bone. Both men back up to regroup.

"You've improved brother." Samson said.

"You'll find I'm full of surprises." Tyler retorted. He swung his spur toward Samson's chest and had the blade blocked. He quickly followed up with a high round house to Samson's head. His brother ducked and sunk his blade into Tylers abdomin. Tyler slumped as his guts began to feel as if they were on fire.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Samson growled.

"Not as much as this is going to." Tyler said. He jabbed a finger into Samson's right eye until it burst. Samson pulled out the blade and reached for his eye socket. Tyler fell to his knees and gripped his stomach.

Lonestar agents began to swarm the field of battle weapons drawn. Samson looked around with his good eye and began to run into the crowed.

"Someother time my brother, Someother time."

Tyler got to his feet with great difficulty and tried to stumble away. The last thing he saw was the ground rushing up to meet him.

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Spyder sank down next to Crane as he examined the vial of ketamine. She didn’t say anything because she knew better than to try and cheer him up. There wasn’t any existing construct of vocabulary, no matter how heartfelt and sentimental, that would ease his distress. Any comforting words would seem patronizing to him anyway.

“Let me deal with this one alone.” Crane said to her not moving his eyes from the vial.

“I have news to tell you. Come out into the ‘lounge’ when you’re ready. I expect Dallas and Ray back soon.”

“Ray?”

“Yeah, you know, Dawson?” She paused on her way to the door and looked back at him.

“I just never heard you call him ‘Ray’. I was worried for a bit that you’d be too cranky to play nice. Then Dawson would never forgive me for making him baby sit.” Crane was straining to maintain a certain level of emotional composure.

“He bought me vegetarian Chinese food.” She said in her cutest child-like voice on her way out.

He slumped onto the cot- which he was too tall for- and inhaled a couple of bumps of ketamine. Crane was overwhelmed. Just when he thought the ordeal couldn’t possibly get more personal or devastating, it did. It all started out so innocently- helping Spyder get information for Lerner while she had her little drug problem- she was going through a bad patch, and it was the least he could do. As he thought about Speedy he felt his eyes water and took two more bumps of ketamine to fight it. As much as he wanted to indulge in mourning, he didn’t have time. He had to talk to Jack before contacting Tara, who awaited correspondence. She had four ghost teams from the Tir standing by in Seattle. That had priority, next came Fujiyama- and then maybe, just maybe he could be selfish and schedule some grieving time. Two more bumps of ketamine helped congeal this resolve, and he sat up to notice the unpleasant chemical drip in the back of this throat. He needed some water to wash it away, and he remembered seeing a stack of paper cups next to the ‘kitchen’ sink. He felt a little woozy, yet mentally precise and alert since the ketamine helped to filter out troublesome emotions.

Spyder was busy coding a nasty computer virus when Crane rummaged through the kitchen for some water. “Chemical drip sucks, don’t it?” she said hoping to spark up some conversation.

“Where’s Jack?” Crane said as he filled a cup with tap water, appearing to be very disinterested in dialogue.

“Barge set him up with a small lab in a different section of the tunnels. You didn’t actually think he was in HERE somewhere did you?” she said cynically, looking towards an old battered doorway leading to guard room where Barge and Leilani were on patrol. It was one of the few doors to grace the insufficiently lit basement.

Crane rolled his eyes as he took a sip of water, then saluted her with his middle finger before heading for the door.

“Pigfragger.” She hissed under her breath once he was beyond earshot then resumed programming.

**

Crane cowered visibly at the lack of space in Jack’s mini-lab. Between the lab benches, Bunsen burners, electron microscopes, silica gel columns, ventilation hoods, centrifuges, mass specs, NMRs, there was barely enough room for Jack and Boniface to stand. “How do you guys do it? I’ve seen studios in New York bigger than this.”

“Takes me back to the good ol’ days when I was working on my thesis.” Jack was struggling to remain optimistic.

Tyler Boniface snickered. “There’s no motivation like necessity.” That was more like it.

Jack shrugged, reached for a petri dish with a translucent orange culture in it and placed it under a microscope.

“How’s the research?” Crane asked as he raised his cup of water to his lips.

“Honestly, Danny just threw a wrench in our machine.” Jack mumbled with his face glued to the microscope’s eyepiece.

“You’ll have to fill me in, I’ve been away for the past three days.”

“Oh, yeah. Spyder mentioned you went somewhere.” Boniface squeezed by Jack to get a mass-spec printout on the other side of the lab. “She single?”

“Yeah she is. So, about Danny?” Crane wasn’t in the mood to talk about dating status.

“Spyder found him.” Jack answered sounding somewhat relieved.

“He ditched us for Satan. Now he’s trying to counter all our progress on the virus.” Boniface contributed more details than Jack did. “Fujiyama tracked him and stuffed him into Azteck Archology until he can put him up in Renraku where he can keep a closer eye on him.”

“Jack, Bonnie- like I have to ask, but wouldn’t you guys rather work someplace else? Spacious, clean, well lit, well equipped with cutting edge facilities- REALLY safe, none of this cloak and dagger dreck?”

“No, heavens no. This place rocks!” Boniface said sarcastically, which Crane appreciated. Jack snickered in the background.

“I have a proposal. It is completely up to you both to accept or decline.”

“Will the lab have a window?” Boniface seemed to have taken the hint, Jack was interested enough to remove his glance from the microscope.

“Let’s say you could probably have your coffee breaks in a Redwood Forest if you really, really wanted.” Crane said looking curiously at an immobile mechanical arm pipette device hovering over a bed of small test tubes.

Boniface’s eyes widened in anticipation “May I ask a presumptuous question?”

“Yes Bonnie, you may.” Crane drawled and took another sip of water. Boniface shot him a don’t-call-me-bonnie look.

“Are you referring to the Tir?”

“Yes. I envy you guys. You’ll be getting a sweet accommodation.” Crane was out of water and the bitter chemical taste began to set in again.

Boniface cheered and turned to Jack pleadingly. “It’s beautiful there! Say yes! Say yes!”

“My family is in Seattle.” Jack said sadly looking up from the microscope. “I haven’t even seen my sister in two months. I’m sure my family is very worried about me.”

Crane had some selling to do. “You and Bonnie” Boniface shot him a nasty look once again ”- I mean, Tyler-“ Crane corrected himself “will be safe and comfortable. It would be a significantly less stressful environment for the both of you.”

“Sanctuary!” Boniface paraded around the cramped lab, almost knocking over a silica gel column as he tripped over Jack, who still didn’t look as pleased as Crane hoped.

“Jack.” Crane sighed “I know this hasn’t been easy for you. I can speak for metahumanity; we appreciate what you’ve done- more than you know. The Tir has offered you political asylum. I’m certain that you may bring your family if you so wish. You won’t be basement hopping every two days with insufficient equipment; you won’t be sleeping on threadbare mattress springs. You’ll be able to live a normal life once again.” Jack still didn’t seem too enthusiastic “Or do you have other concerns?”

“Well yeah, it would be trading one prison for another.” Realized Jack, half of his mind on research, the other on his long-term welfare.

“Excuse me? Since when was the Tir a prison?” Boniface said almost offendedly.

“I won’t be able to leave the Tir, will I?”

Crane hated playing diplomat, but he did it anyway “No one’s forcing you to accept the Tir’s offer, and I’m sure the High Prince wouldn’t restrain you if you wanted to leave. To do otherwise would contradict the spirit of Tir Tairngire.” he assured him, lying through his pretty white teeth. Jack had a point. Strategically, there’s no way in hell the High Prince would let someone as scientifically valuable as Jack leave the Tir so long as establishments like the Golden Dragon cranked out lethal viruses. With metahumanity at stake the needs of the many supercede the needs of the few. “I’m very sorry Jack, but I think you know it would be impossible to have your old life back. Fujiyama, the Golden Dragon and just about every policlub in existence will continue to hunt you down no matter where you go. They’re not going to forget about you anytime soon, no matter how long we try to hide you. In my opinion, life in the Tir will be as close to normality as you will find considering the circumstances.”

“I guess you’re right.” Jack surrendered. Boniface sighed with relief.

“If that an official ‘yes’?”

“Yes.”

“Here are the legal documents from the Tir granting you political asylum, along with the details of your future accommodations. Boniface will be going with you to assist in your research.” Crane presented Jack an envelope with a distinctive seal. “I’d start packing if I were you.”

**

Azteck had boosted their matrix security since her last visit. She had to be extra cautious, but her recent triumph had improved her self-confidence. The new peripheral device plugged into her deck had worked as she designed it, a mock MPCP to conduct any IC away from her deck and absorb the damage. Lab 1232b was a challenge to get to this time, and she released a small blue cube, which hovered before her for a few seconds. “You know what to do. Get going.” She ordered. The cube buzzed and flew off into the lab’s environmental control system and melded with it, and within one second Spyder was gone- jacked out and present in the real world again. She adjusted her focus to see Crane sitting on the floral couch.

“What’s the news? I hear you located Danny.” Crane was cool as a cucumber, quite a recent accomplishment.

“Fujiyama’s crew found him hiding in Los Angeles. Since then Danny has been working to develop a second strain to counter all of Jack’s efforts under his wing. I swiped the research files and gave them to Jack to chew on. He was a little upset, partially about Danny switching sides- but I gather they were amigos at one point.” Spyder sighed. “Kinda like being stabbed in the back I suppose.”

“We can empathize. I had Miter find Bertram. Fujiyama sent his main lackey, Hiroshi, to look for all of us. Bertram managed to escape after being questioned. He was only able to tell me the Los Angeles detail.”

“Anything else?”

“No, he’s rotting in a warehouse somewhere.” Crane blinked innocently “Not like I’d know where.”

“Good, Barge told me planned on getting rid of him anyway. He doesn’t take that kind of dreck.”

“This is true.” Crane smirked “You haven’t seen him pissed off have ya?”

Spyder shuddered and changed the subject “So what did you find in New York?”

“I didn’t get a chance surmise Oshiro’s Yakuza clan. Speedy couldn’t get me a meeting with him because the man is seriously paranoid. I was going to speak to Speedy’s brother to see if I could learn anything from him, but eight hours after I landed the GD was already on my trial. I ditched New York, stole a motorcycle, caught a flight from Baltimore to Portland.”

“You talked with Tara?” Spyder fished through her bag and removed a mirrored compact.

“Everything has been arranged for Jack. All I have to do is send word and she’ll dispatch her ghost teams to escort him to the Tir. Jack agreed, reluctantly. At least Boniface was thrilled. I’ll wait until I talk to Dallas and Dawson before I give Tara the call. They’d probably want to know what’s going on.” Crane looked bored as he spewed out details for the sake of catching up.

“Yeah, they do. They were worried you’d go out and deliver Jack to the yak clan.”

Crane blinked for a moment before responding. “I never decided to entrust Jack to Oshiro’s clan. We have mutual enemies, but he’s got resources the good doctor could put to use. I was merely seeing what options where were for Jack, even though I was partial to the Tir. I needed to get info in New York anyway.”

“Yeah, well you didn’t give me much detail either, unlike them I happen to trust you.” She said as she powdered her nose.

“I’m flattered. So they don’t trust me?” Crane seemed a little surprised. Spyder wrinkled her nose and brushed some excess makeup off her face.

“I don’t know. They didn’t like the Yak idea at all, you know- since we’ve been up to our eyeballs in shiruken, ninjas and all.” She closed her compact and glanced at him as she put the compact back into her black Chanel bag.

Crane rolled his eyes and leaned his head back “Don’t I know it. They’ll feel better when I let them know the Tir has offered to protect Jack.”

“I have a list of all GD members in Seattle, half have partaken in assisting Fujiyama with the virus. In fact, I’ve got a roster of all GD connections for Seattle and UCAS. Speedy got me a list of societies and stockholders backing the GD in Asia, the question is which one was directing Chou. Their organization is huge and unofficial. Ray wanted me to copy Fujiyama’s date-book, I have a good idea why.”

Crane smirked and nodded in agreement as he cracked his knuckles.

“I’ll have to do some more digging tomorrow for more on the GD’s hierarchy. Chou’s contact is quite elusive. Right now I’m developing a major headache, I’ve been decking almost nonstop-“

“Matsumuri.” Crane interrupted

“What?” Spyder wasn’t sure if he was spewing a Japanese obscenity or contributing to the knowledge base.

“Chou’s contact is Matsumuri.” He clarified.

“Frag the headache.” Spyder adjusted her while cotton t-shirt, which had a gigantic female symbol with the large black letters spelling out ‘REVOLUTION’ spanning underneath the formidable emblem. She stretched her neck before jacking in “I’ve got work to do.”

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson's bolt was in Redmond. Dallas assumed it was the same one he had gone to before. It was a deepest level in yet another semi-destroyed garage. The main entrance had long ago crumbled to neglect, nature, and other forces, and the only vehicular access was a small maintenance tunnel barely large enough to accommodate a standard size sedan - which was what was parked in space 2903. The office on that level sported an armored door and a serious electronic keypad secreted inside the bashed and defunct fire box near by.

"So do you have a Ph.D. in paranoia, Ray, or are you just a journeyman?" asked Dallas as Dawson accessed the keypad.

Dawson shot him a hard look as the door slid open. The pair entered the den, and the lights came up automatically as the door slid closed on its own, "It's timed. It'll only stay open for ten seconds, so don't dawdle unless you wanna get bisected."

Dallas looked around. What had once been a small office was now a slightly cramped hide away. One corner held a desk with a complete complement of theatrical makeup arranged in a case designed for that purpose. A rack of clothing of all types stood against one wall. There was a radio setup in the opposite corner including police band scanners and a slightly battered but comfortable looking recliner. A cube fridge stood beside the door and also served as a table of sorts.

"There's a bathroom through there," said Dawson pointing, "No shower though."

"Don’t need one," said Dallas absently as he poked around, "So where's the back door?"

Dawson cocked an eye at him.

"Come on, Ray, I think I know you well enough by now."

Dawson grinned, "I guess you must. Access hatch over the toilet. Leads to the next level and another maintenance tunnel."

Dallas nodded, satisfied. He didn't like a dead end either. Name had bad connotations.
He dropped into the recliner, "So now we 'go incognito' and get back to the elves?"

"Yeah. I want to hear about Crane's junket to New York. I also think we should start making some concrete plans as far as Mr. Fujiyama and his secret society are concerned."

Dallas looked again at the cube fridge and hopped up to take a look at its interior. All it held was two thirds of a six pack and about ten sticks of jerky. Dallas grabbed four sticks and sat back down chewing. He watched as Dawson changed his appearance once again - this time the result was a grizzled and aging biker with salt and pepper hair, a ragged goatee, and a nasty scar on one side of his jaw.

"Hey, nice. Plus you get to wear your new jacket and boots. Or was that the idea?" he asked with false innocence.

Dawson ignored the rib and stared at his partner, "Most of what's here is gonna be too big for you, but you can't go out like you're still alive."

Dallas crumpled up the jerky wrappers and tossed them away. He shed his jacket and examined the make up table, "I'll work something out," he said thoughtfully.

He pulled off his new shirt and grabbed a comb, pulling it through his long hair ruthlessly. He flipped his hair forward and, bending over, head down, pulled it into a tight single braid that would fall down his back. Dawson noted that alone was quite a change to his normal appearance, but Dallas wasn't done. He sat down at the desk and applied spirit gum and tape to his eyes, then used makeup to cover the change and lighten his skin tone about one shade.

He examined the rack of clothes and pulled out a pair of light colored driving gloves and a cracked black leather cocked hat, then pulled his clothes back on. He looked like a Chinese or Filipino teenager - but he sure didn't look much like a Cheyenne warrior anymore.

"Pretty good, kid," said Dawson approvingly.

"I hate putting makeup on my hands. It always rubs off at the most inopportune times," he said pulling on his gloves to hide the difference between the skin tone of his face and hands, "Hey, did I ever tell you that I took theatre in school?"

The pair left the bolt for a belated rendezvous with Spyder and Crane.

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Danny rolled out of his California king sized bed, showered, dressed and headed for his new lab. Even though he thought of Jack as a decent guy, he didn’t miss him one bit. He was sick of being bartered from one makeshift lab to the next, dodging a hale of bullets along the way with little more than menacing orcs and trolls for company. Life with the ‘enemy’ was definitely sweeter. The deal included comfy apartment in the Azteck Archology, high tech lab, and a supply of charming ladies- all on Fujiyama’s tab.

Fujiyama didn’t give him any choice but to design a new strain of the old virus, with enough genetic variance from the prototype to render Jack’s vaccine useless. Now he had to test it to ensure the new metahuman antibodies wouldn’t recognize it. He stepped into his new office and checked his mail. Doctor Martinez had acquired test subjects and they would be waiting in the 20th floor clinic at 10pm, and they had been told they were being vaccinated for hepatitis L.

Danny arrived at his private lab and zipped into his rocal biohazard suit. A secured door blocked the entrance to the airlock leading to lab 1232b. He dangled his oxygen hose in one hand and punched in his security code with the other, and then placed his eye level with the retinal scanner. The airlock opened and he plugged his oxygen hose into the outlet and let the air pressure puff the suit like a balloon. “Dr. Mcneil. Access permitted. Welcome.” UV light flooded the airlock as he walked through it, detaching his oxygen hose once more so pass through the second set of doors and plugging it back in the next room. The lab was empty, this late at night everyone was enjoying a night on the town or sleeping. Danny was the night owl of the research team Fujiyama had on payroll. He passed through three more airlocks to get to the cell culture incubator. He turned on an old beat-up radio one of the other scientists brought in for a little background music, and then checked the most recent batch of virus cultures. There would be a few lucky metas who would be in the control group, the remaining seven would not. He prepared a hypo-syringe with seven doses of the new virus, and a second syringe with three does of saline.

**
Danny’s access awakened Spyder’s program.

The blue cube turned bright green as it interfaced with the environmental control system.

>>>[ Daniel McNeil has accessed lab 1232b, room 7.]<<<

The cube hummed and flashed.

>>>[ Environmental Airlock Control rerouted to sub-system ‘Environmental Control Default’
>>>[ Biohazard lab 1232b communications rerouted to sub-system ‘Environmental Control Default’
>>>[ Biohazard lab 1232b electric power now monitored by sub-system ‘Environmental Control Default’.
>>>[ Please wait while system updates to initialize changes…

… 27 %
… 83%
… 100%

>>>[ awaiting your command Mother:

The cube delivered Spyder’s instructions.

**

The internal mechanics and electronic components of the Airlocks sizzled. Danny was too busy grooving to the radio to notice as he prepared and isotonic solution to make the virus injectable. However, he did notice it was a little warm in his rocal suit.

“What the?” he said looking down at his suit, which didn’t seem to be puffed out by positive air pressure as it should be.

“Frag, do I have a leak?” he inspected his suit frantically and then it occurred to him that he should check the oxygen hose, which could have been twisted and pinched shut- a quick inspection eliminated the possibility. Danny was baffled and plugged his oxygen hose into another air jack on the wall, only to have the same result. He paced up to one of the telephone communicators and abused the keypad- which for some reason didn’t light up- as he called maintenance.

“Maintenance? There’s no oxygen to lab 1232b-7. What gives?” he complained into phone as he whipped his air hose around like a yo-yo.

There was no response.

“Maintenance? Hello?”

He smacked the phone a couple times and gave up. There was supposed to be 24-hour maintenance for all the labs; Danny assumed the workers were probably slacking off having a coffee break, so he’d have to make the request in person. He walked briskly to the airlock and was quite surprised when he slammed into it, the plastic of his Rocal suit crinkling into his face on impact.

“What the hell?” he uttered under his breath as he took two steps back to adjust his crumpled Rocal suit. He beamed at the airlock, expecting it to open for him “Since when do the doors lock from the inside?” he asked himself as he punched in his code and brought his face in range for a retinal scan.

Access denied
Please re-enter code:

“Oh frag… Don’t tell me I’m locked in here!” Danny whined as he fiddled with the airlock. It was beginning to feel stuffy inside the Rocal suit so he removed it. He wasn’t worried about the virus since it was designed for metahumans- he was more worried about why he seemed to be stuck. The only reason why they used the suits was to reduce the risk of contaminating the sensitive virus cultures. He took a deep breath only to find it was equally suffocating inside the room. Jack curiously put his hand in front of one of the air vents to test for airflow. When he realized there wasn’t any he began to panic. Biohazard labs were little more than self contained, airtight, Plexiglas bubbles. No ventilation meant suffocation.

**

Doctor Martinez walked into his office with a scalding cup of coffee half drained in one hand, and his lab coat in the other. He found an e-memo on his computer. The nurses on the 20th floor clinic phoned to track Danny, who never showed up to deliver the test virus. Martinez called Danny’s home number, but he hung up when he got the machine. He shrugged and drained his cup of coffee before heading to the lab.

He arrived at the entrance airlock to see Dr. Stuart waiting helplessly with the look of irritation.

“What’s going on?”

“Ah, the airlock is fragged. It’s not recognizing my ID. I had my secretary call maintenance. They’re sending someone up shortly.” He put his hands on his hips and tapped his foot.

“Let me have a go,” said Martinez as he fiddled with the security panel, which rejected his code and retinal scan as well. “Well, at least we can say it’s not just you.”

“This is the first time I’ve ever had a problem.” Stuart groaned.

“Yeah me too, and I’ve been here ten years!” Martinez didn’t seem to mind the inconvenience as much as Stuart did- but he attributed that to the fact that Stuart was a workaholic. He’d regularly show up an hour early and leave an hour late. The man simply wasn’t happy if he wasn’t working.

Stuart threw his hands up in relief as the maintenance man rounded the hallway corner. He struggled with the security panel to no avail and called in the techies, who found that the environmental controls for the lab had been hacked and all the software corrupted. It took a while to get the airlocks open. Martinez heard the techies talking about purging the system to reinstall environmental controls. They couldn’t let them into the lab until they had it operational for contamination reasons.

The techie called up security and asked the doctors to wait in their offices.

“You’re paranoid.” The maintenance guy said to the techie with a chuckle.

“I’m telling you this wasn’t an accident. I really think someone tampered with environmental controls, this just doesn’t happen.”

Security arrived with chemsuits and enough steel to take down a small army. They stormed through the lab, opening one airlock after another in teams- trying not to disturb the scientific equipment in the process. One of the teams approached airlock 7. As it opened the dead body of Danny Mcneil fell through the doorframe and to the ground with a heavy thud, nearly freaking out one of the junior guards who nearly unleashed his h&k on the humanoid mass. Their captain inspected the body. Danny – who was identified by this Aztech ID clipped to his pocket protector- was quite dead. His body was stiff an lifeless, his skin was pale and clammy except for his lips, which were a dull shade of blue.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Spyder yawned and propped her self up on the thin mattress that covered the cot - she'd grabbed a quick six hours - twice as long as she'd intended actually, but she'd sacked out practically brain-fried with all of her dazzling decking of late.

She hoped Crane had made use of the other cot, he was heading for a big time crash if he didn't get some real sleep real soon. Neither Dallas nor Dawson had come back yet after last night's trouble call, but she figured they'd be along sooner or later. It was almost six, way earlier than she was usually active, but time in a windowless bunker was hard to keep track of. She pulled herself off the cot and wandered out into the main room. She chugged a half flat bottle of nuka-cola and jacked in to check on the events of the last few hours.

She rifled Fujiyama's inbox, scanning the contents quickly, then paused. There was a report on the assassinations of Dallas 'Ree' and Ray 'Palmer' Dawson at about 1:30 that morning, the bodies had supposedly been disposed of at Cuttle's Wrecking and Scrap Yard in the nether reaches of Puyallup's barrens.

She recognized the name at the bottom of the report only because she'd seen it before, he appeared to be Hiroshi's second. But the report itself read like bad police fiction, full of jargon, multisyllabic words, but no proof of accomplishment other than a 2-d flat photo of a cube of scrap reputed to be Dawson's car, bodies inside. She jacked out and stared into the middle distance - she just didn't buy it. She did not believe they were dead, it wasn't denial, she was simply sure that the report was either a lie, a plant, or the result of a really good scam.

The door to the bolt opened, jerking her attention away from the question, and she stared as a Chinese youth entered. She almost went for a gun before she realized it was Dallas, she started laughing when Dawson entered on Dallas' heels in his new face too.

"God, reincarnation really works. You know you guys are dead, right? I was just reading the report of your murders."

Dallas grinned, "Oh, yeah? Can I get a copy?"

By Rigel (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Spyder grabbed a spare chip and loaded the report onto it.

“Here ya go. Or did you want a hard copy? The only printer is in Jack’s lab.” Spyder handed the chip to Dallas, and then turned to Ray to tease him “You go through cars like your damn underwear, it’s a low down shame.”

“good thing most of them weren’t mine.” Ray smiled as he patted a pack of cigarettes against his palm and extracted a paper cylinder.

Dallas fidgeted with his new epicanthic folds “Crane back yet?”

“I think it’s his nap time, I’ll see if I can wake him up.” She looked around with caution and then lowered he voice to a whisper “Be gentle with him, he’s bitchy.”

“And this is supposed to be news?” Ray grunted as he lit up a cig.

“Well ya see, there’s sort of been a wrongful death in the family. He ain’t to delighted. He’s also been under extreme sleep deprivation and he’s gone through enough stim patches to kill a horse.”

“We can empathize, after all we’re dead.” Dallas chimed.

Spyder smirked and slowly opened the door to the second bedroom. Crane lay sprawled out clumsily over the cot; his elfin height exceeding it’s intended design to accommodate a small human. Seemingly comatose, it wasn’t going to be easy to breathe life into him. He looked ghastly.

“Come on sweet cheeks, wakey, wakey.” She stood over him, gradually elevating her voice. “Arise!!” He still didn’t move. “Don’t make me hurt you.” Spyder warned “ ‘Cause you know I’ll do it.”

Crane whimpered “Just when I was getting some sleep. Wild horses couldn’t tear me from this cot.”

“Awww. Poor baby. Get your fat ass out of bed.”

“Fat?” Crane managed to open one eye while the other winced shut in protest, he almost sounded offended.

“Did I mention you were ugly too?” Spyder grinned widely.

“Ha ha ha.” Crane snickered. “Yeah, keep smirkin’ like that, it beings out those crow’s feet around your eyes, which serves to accentuate your sagging breasts.”

“Ooooooohh.” She exaggerated her response playfully “Them be fighting words. I’ll kick your ass.”

“Kusatta baita! Itaime-ni ? Kochi koi-yo!” Crane beckoned her; his eyes still heavy yet partially opened at last.

“What does that mean? I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.” Spyder halted the charade with a serious inquisition.

“Rotten whore! You wanna feel some pain? Come here!” Crane translated as he yawned, lacking any earnestness in his threat.

“Ok that’s it.” Spyder pounced on him , but he was too tired to put up a fight, beides he knew exactly that to say to get her off his back.

“Most guys I know would be envious of me right now.” Crane tucked his hands behind his head and grinned.

“Ecchhhhh…” she wrinkled her nose in disgust and stood up defensively. “You have to take the fun out of everything. Dallas and Ray are in the living room. Join us when you get your mind out of the gutter-”

“Temple.” Crane corrected.

“-Whatever.” She sneered as she walked out of the door slightly disheveled. Crane crawled out of the tiny room half asleep and squinted in confusion as he tried to focus on Dallas and Ray.

“Wow man. I think I’m hallucinating.” Crane put on a heavy Chicano accent as he made his way to the plaid couch.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas smiled and spoke softly as if to a mad man, "That okay, Crane, everything is an illusion. These are not fry bread I'm offering you. There is no coffee in this container," he said waving the cup under the elf's nose.

"There damn well better be," Crane said carefully snatching the cup from the Indian's hand.

Dallas chuckled and dropped a paper towel holding two large fry bread on the arm rest near Crane, then went off to retrieve a few for himself, "We stopped at Reno's before we came here. Lucy knows him and had him make this order up for us to go. The cook there sure makes a mean fry bread. There's a couple of containers of sweet tea and some Atole - that's a kind of breakfast drink for you heathens - and some posole, cause I'm starved."

"What else is new," muttered Dawson.

Dallas made a face, "Posole is pork," he clarified, "but we got some Anissabo for you, Spyder - that's a stew, mostly peas and hominy."

She nodded her thanks and peered interestedly into some of the containers. The four took a few minutes to equip themselves with food and drink and arranged them selves on the two sofas. After a few minutes of refueling, and waking up, Dawson wiped some jam off his mouth and smiled shark-like at the others, "Okay, kids, lets bring this meeting to order."

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

Ray paused for a moment, to be sure he had everybody's attention before beginning.

"Alright. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm tired as hell of running from Fujiyama's goons. Spyder, did you get his datebook?"

Spyder nodded and handed a bundle of papers to Ray, who accepted them and leaned back in his seat on the couch, puffing away on a smoke. After a minute, Dallas cleared his throat, and Ray brought his attention back to the small group.

"Right. Great. I have an idea of how to get rid of our good friend John Fujiyama, and with this information, we can take a big bite outta the Golden Dragon at the same time." Ray took another deep drag, then exhaled before continuing. "Since Spyder has already divined the general hierarchy of GD in Seattle, we should be able to proceed with little difficulty." Crane raised an eyebrow at Dawson.

"Man, you sound like a bad spy flick now, Dawson," he said sarcastically. Ray ignored him.

"John Fujiyama believes Dallas and I are dead, and it's only a matter of time before he goes after you two."

Spyder interjected, "If he has a half a brain cell, he'll want proof of your demise. The report his croney sent him was distinctly lacking in the corpse department."

"True. But it will be enough of a distraction to give us some time to strike back," Ray continued.

"What do you have in mind," Dallas said quietly. Ray just smiled.

"According to what I've read so far from Spyder's excellent data-steal, our boy Fujiyama gets picked up by a limo every other monday for some kind of bi-weekly meeting up at the clubhouse." Dallas shook his head slightly when Ray mentioned the clubhouse.

"You remember what happened last time we went there, don't you?" he asked with raised eyebrow. Dawson just smirked, turning to Crane and Spyder.

"Spyder, you'll be our intelligence operative on this one. I'll need lists of staff, members, floorplans, structural drawings of the building, everything. Crane, I'll need you as the failsafe. You wire the building to blow if all our other options fail. It would probably be a good idea to rig the limo, too, if we can manage it. I'm the trigger-man. I'll hide just outside the main gate to the clubhouse, and as Johnny-boy rolls by, I switch him off." Everybody was nodding at Dawson's intentions, when Dallas spoke up.

"What do you have in mind for me?" he asked.

Ray smiled and looked at Dallas at if he should already know. "You're going to be my back-up man. You'll be driving the limo. Now, anybody else have any questions?" Ray sat back and waited for the inevitable...

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The silence was complete for about two seconds, and then they all started talking at once. Finally Crane's volume and absolute unwillingness to yield the floor won the moment.

"A couple of things. First, Fujiyama's club is about as meta exclusionary as you can get, even the staff is human. My presence would be bound to raise a few eyebrows, old bean, I mean I'm good with disguise, but I can't do a non-elf. Second, if you want me to wire Fujiyama's limo, excellent, I'm all for it. It would be about the only way we could get past a Nightsky's armor. Do you realize the standard armor on one of those things is almost on par with Lone Star's patrollers. I think your plan is a tad simplistic," he said fading into his usual sarcastic tone, "I guess it might work if all the security was in your pocket and you were firing a fraggin' rail gun. But trust me, if I can get to his limo, you won't need to lurk in the shrubbery with an AK."

Dawson nodded, accepting Crane's points, "Anything else?"

Spyder nodded, "Yeah. Fujiyama's chauffeur is Taro Ono. He's 48 and fat. He's been driving for Johnny exclusively for six years now and Johnny-boy actually calls him by name. On the rare occasion he needs a substitute driver Ono's daughter, Machiko, is tapped. She looks a lot like her dad. Either would be a stretch for Dallas, I think."

"Besides," chimed in Dallas, "every Nightsky I've ever seen has been rigger controlled, that's factory issue, I won't be able to drive it even if we could get its security codes. And anyway, if we could put one of us in the driver's seat without arousing suspicion, we could just pop him then and there, no fuss no muss."

Dawson nodded as he drew thoughtfully on his cigarette, "Okay, then. I guess we all better go over this stuff," he said riffling the printout pages, "and see if there might be something we can put together," he grinned, "We may actually have to think this one out rather than work on the fly."

"A thought out plan," said Crane with an extra heavy dose of sarcasm, " What a concept."

"Shut up and grab some pages, Raphe."

Crane blinked at Dawson's use of a nickname he had not heard since adolescence. He decided to let it slide and snatched up a few pages as he smirked at Dawson. Then the group fell to studying.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson looked up from his reading - he'd been cross referencing appointments in the quarter section of Fujiyama's date book that had been his share - and stared at Dallas. The kid was sitting upside down, his legs stretched up along the back of the couch, while his torso was resting on the seat. He would read a few lines, then pop another piece of the now cold fry bread into his mouth, then go back to reading. Dawson couldn't see how the kid could read comfortably in that position, let alone eat. Then again the little bugger was probably about half his age and seemed to abuse himself a hell of a lot less. Dawson lit another cigarette.

"Hey," said Dallas suddenly, swinging his legs around and sitting up, "I think we might have something."

The others looked up as the young man flipped back a couple of pages, "Everybody check your section. Does he have a golf game the last Sunday of each month?"

The others flipped through their pages and confirmed, "Except for November and December," amended Spyder.

Dallas glanced at Dawson, "Sniper?" he suggested then looked at Spyder, "How soft is the course where he plays?"

Spyder obligingly jacked into the matrix for a look at Greenswag Invitational Golf Course. Crane stared into the middle distance, thinking, "I bet it wouldn't be too hard to come up with explosive golf tees," he mused half to himself.

When Spyder was incommunicado for over fifteen minutes, they figured she must have been going in depth over at Greenswag. When she opened her eyes again she nodded, "It looks fairly soft actually. They also have metahumans on the maintenance and grounds staff. So that's not much of a problem. It wouldn't be too much work to get us staff passes. I've also downloaded maps of the course itself including distances from the rough and bunkers to the greens and tees. If this is the way we want to go, we're going to have to go print them out."

Dallas looked at the other two men, "So what do you think? Is Greenswag a viable access? Is it worth the study? It's nine days until the last Sunday of this month."

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

Dawson grinned. "Let me go get Mathilde," he said curtly, standing up.

"Mathilde?!" both Crane and Dallas answered in unison, looking at Dawson, who just smiled.

"Yeah. I'll introduce you guys to her tomorrow. Work out the details, and I'll show you where the best vantage point will be. I'll be back," Dawson said, turning to walk out of the cramped hideout.

"Mathilde?" Crane repeated, crumpling his nose half in confusion and half in disgust. Dallas chuckled slightly.

"I think I have an idea what he's talking about," Dallas said, forming his left hand into a "finger-gun" and twitching his thumb downward as an emphasis. Crane's expression turned into a broad grin...

By Vengence is Mine (Knight_hawk) on Unrecorded Date:

Doctor Herbert ran down the hallway towards the ambulance drop off area to meet the arriving Patient. The word was that he had been stabbed in the midsection bad and was losing blood quickly.

Normally a Shaman or Mage would have met the Med techs but due to the mans implants this was not possible. As it was they were having trouble stabilizing him and he seemed to be resisting a bit. Doctor Herbert just prayed that the orderlies could hold him while they got him stabilized.

Doctor Herbert ran out the door and around to the back of the Ambulance. When he got there he stopped dead in his tracks and stared. All the medtechs were knocked out and the patient was gone. Looking around quickly the doctor saw nothing in the surounding area.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas gathered up all the datebook pages and dropped into one of the sofas to thumb through them once more. Spyder amused herself by collecting all the soiled food receptacles and bagging them for disposal – they were getting a little smelly – besides, she seemed restless. Crane slumped in the other sofa, his eyes half lidded, seemingly fading back into sleep.

“So I hear you don’t trust me.”

Dallas looked over at Crane, surprise coloring his expression, “Why wouldn’t I. Did you do something?”

“Well,” said Crane, a nascent sneer pulling at his lip, “I heard tell you and Dawson were all pissy about my trip to NYC. Thought I was running a game did you?”

Dallas quirked an eyebrow, “No. What gave you that idea? Trust never came into it. We just thought that talking to any Yak about Jack was a mistake. I guess I thought you might have been acting a little…precipitously, maybe, but I never distrusted your motive.”

The two men stared at one another for a few moments, Crane’s expression was closed, and Dallas’ slightly puzzled, at last he said carefully, “So how did your trip go. Come to any conclusions about Jack?”

Crane continued to stare at the younger man a moment longer, “Okay kid, let’s share,” he said with a Captain Bozo grin, and launched into a narrative of his efforts to get Jack Moore asylum in the Tir, ignoring the first question entirely.

When Crane had finished, Dallas sighed, “Poor bastard’s been thoroughly hosed hasn’t he,” he asked rhetorically, “You know I had some feelers out trying to find Jack refuge in the either the Algonkquin Manitou Council or Sioux. We could still test the waters there if you think it’s an option. Although I can see how the Tir might be a bit tighter security wise.”

Dallas checked the time, then looked around the bolt with distaste, “So are we okay?”

Crane’s regulation cynical smile bloomed, “I’m okay with everybody, Dallas, I am the joy bringer.”

“I suspected as much,” returned Dallas dryly, “Listen, I’ve got some stuff I need to attend to topside. I really couldn’t do a set up for Greenswag anyway, it’s too alien to my nature and training. I’ll play backup and just stand where you guys put me, okay? I get the feeling I’m kind of superfluous on this kind of job anyhow.”

“Welcome to my world,” muttered Spyder sourly.

By Subcriminal (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

It was a bad week. John Fujiyama picked at his chocolate croissant, but he wasn’t very hungry. One of the matrix watchdogs he posted over at Aztech had his brain fried. A few hours later someone hacked Azteck biohazard lab environmental controls and suffocated Dr. McNeil to his untimely end.

It had to be Spyder, she was one of the only two unaccounted for as well as being fully capable of the recent damages. She was the kind of snot-nosed brainiac who would engineer and program her own deck just because she could. The two PhDs under her belt, and her past work experience made anything possible so long as she stayed creative. If she weren’t so effective at playing musical satlinks, one of his deckers might have a chance at tracing her LTG #.

Other then that, Hiroshi skipped town and the report on Dallas and Dawson seemed a little too vague for his taste. Everything was a mess. He furrowed his brow as he thought of what else might go wrong. There was an excessive amount of reorganizing that required his personal intervention, as his staff seemed too disorderly to do anything right. He’d have to tidy things up soon before rumors leaked to Matsumuri.

John pushed his breakfast away from him in disgust. A trap was in order, something Spyder was sure to find.

It was time to call in more reliable mercenaries, even if it meant draining the corporate coffers; nothing a qualified decker couldn’t cover up

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

Dr. Richards paced among the stabilization tanks as he checked vital statistics and reconstruction status. The first 18 were all resting peacefully, their minds being flooded with alpha-wave patterns and subliminal reprogramming; as they had been for the last 6 months. Richards smiled as he checked the final two tanks, empty until the previous day. These two new acquisitions, upon completion, would prove to be very useful to the program--perhaps being the strongest test subjects to date.

Richards observed the progress of the microscopic robots as they toiled mercilessly at mending the wounds on these last two subjects, the most concentrated areas of reconstruction glowing bright green through the clear blue fluid filling the tanks. The first had a sword-sized pierce in his belly and a horrible gash on his left arm, both of which already reduced to painful-looking scars. Both would be healed in another day, and the mental reprogramming could resume full-fledged. Richards would need to recalibrate the alpha-pattern emitters to facilitate a more thorough mental conditioning, as they were currently optimized for healing. He touched the glass of the first tank, smiling to himself as he did so.

"You are quite the catch, aren't you?" he asked softly, admiring the rapidly healing individual inside. Even the occupant of the second tank wasn't healing as fast as this one, even though his wounds were less debilitating. Richards glanced over at the second and final tank to complete his morning checks, observing the 3 wounds he bore as they were repaired. A severed left hand which was currently being re-attached, a severe gash to the right leg, and a burst right eye. Apparently, these two had fought one another just prior to being brought in. Richards had immediately begun work on them, setting them up in their own tanks and personalizing the settings for each, according to blood type, DNA sequencing, and alpha-wave patterns.

This is when he discovered that these two were closely related; perhaps even brothers.

"Dr. Richards!" called a voice from the other side of the lab. Richards turned to see Randy, his intern, trotting excitedly into the lab from the research room. "Dr. Richards! I did that cell work-up you asked for, and," Randy paused for breath as he stood before the older doctor, who stood patiently awaiting the younger man's eager news. "You were right," Randy panted, "These two are brothers." Richards smiled.

"Genetics seldom lie, Randall," he said with a grin as he took the report and looked it over. "Now, go wake up D1 through D5 and have them do their exercises. I'm going to get a cup of coffee."

"Yes sir," Randy said before trotting off to start the daily routine. Soon, these 2 new subjects would be part of that routine, and their tanks would be injected with muscle growth hormones as their minds were reprogrammed to be loyal to the program, as well as its financial sponsor, John Fujiyama...

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

"Gentlemen. I am glad you could attend on such short notice," John Fujiyama said with authority as he sat at the head of a long corporate table. "As you know, due to recent tragic events, our organization's upper heirarchy here in Seattle has been greatly undermined." This statement drew unsettled murmurs from the gathered men. Fujiyama allowed the murmurs to draw out slightly before continuing. "Which leaves me in charge of all regional operations. Contrary to popular belief and the unbased claims of the media, the Golden Dragon is still strong,"

"What of the territories lost to the White Tigers and several meta-gangs in the Barrens?" blurted a fat man seated halfway down the table. "Would these small groups attack if they did not sense weakness?" John Fujiyama smiled.

"Don Vincenzo, you always were paranoid. These incursions you refer to are planned. I am allowing the territories to be taken so our enemies think we are weak. I will continue to supply you with your precious drugs and simsense, and as long as you continue to pay for them," Fujiyama said with ease. He looked around the room at the other major crime lords gathered at the table, weighing each one's expression. There were mostly other Yakuza families gathered here, with the exception of one mafia family. All seemed to be willing to listen to Fujiyama for the moment, so he continued. "As much as the Golden Dragon appreciates keeping private affairs private, there is a small matter I wish each of you to consider. If you will open the folders I have placed at each of your seats, we can begin."

Inside the folders were photo-files of Dawson, Dallas, Spyder, Crane, Jack Moore, Barge, Leilani, & Boniface. Fujiyama pressed a button near his chair, and a projected image of Ray Dawson appeared on the wall behind him, as he began reading aloud from the file folder. Don Vincenzo was the first to interrupt.

"What's the meaning of this, Fujiyama? Am I to believe that your organization can't handle a small group of street-level punks, that you must beg our combined assistance in disposing of them?" Vincenzo's face was flush with disgust. Fujiyama casually looked at him before speaking.

"Do calm yourself. Consider this meeting an informational briefing. I am revealing to you what these individuals are capable of. I am making you aware of their strengths and weaknesses. I am offering each of you a bounty of no less than 2 million nuyen for any information leading to their... 'detainment' ...by my organization. All I am asking of you, Don, is to practice good business with me, your major supplier," Fujiyama said calmly as he leaned back in his chair. Don Vincenzo nearly exploded with rage.

"And if I refuse? You said yourself this was a private matter. If you can't take care of it, I sure as HELL ain't gonna--" he was interrupted by John Fujiyama raising his hand.

"No matter, Don Vincenzo. If that is how you feel, you are excused from this meeting," Fujiyama said, nodding at a nearby guard. "Please, show Don Vincenzo out," Fujiyama said, smiling. The gathered Yakuza families all turned to look at Fujiyama, who remained motionless the whole time, until Vincenzo was led out. Addressing them, Fujiyama simply said, "None of you are to provide anything to Vincenzo or his organization ever again. He showed me dishonor this day, and he will be dealt with accordingly." All who were gathered bowed their heads in affirmation, and Fujiyama continued where he had left off...

>later that evenening...<

John Fujiyama sat on his couch in his private suite, watching the Tri-D as he sipped on some brandy.

..."And in recent news, alleged mafia kingpin Vincent Vincenzo was found dead today at his private spa in the Tacoma area. Official sources say there were 3 dead prostitutes with him and over 5 pounds of cocaine at the scene. Lone Star detectives speculate it may be a gang-related murder or even an internal power struggle in the Vincenzo family"... John smiled as he shut off the Tri-D. Soon there would be enough static on the streets to have a proper field test of his new super-soldier program...