Dallas, still in his guise as a Chinese teenager, made his way over to a public telecom in the far reaches of the University's student center, and dialed the number Lily had given him. The automated voice that answered asked him to leave a message that would be delivered immediately. Though grey, the air quality was pretty good again, and as yet there was no rain, so he left a message for Lily to meet him by the chess tables in Hing Hay park in an hour. He really could have given her any updates via phones and received information the same way, but what fun would that be. Then he called his Arikara decker - Spyder had too much other stuff to do - and asked for an update on the serial killer research, which he down loaded into the palm computer he'd acquired as booty from the Fuchi gig. He glanced around as he terminated the call to see if he had excited any notice. He seemed not to have.

He wandered over to the bank of lockers and produced the card key. For the price of a single nuyen the little lockers were dandy temporary hiding places. He opened it and pulled out his scooter board and the ubiquitous student satchel then headed for the bus stop. He’d have time to do his ‘homework’ during the ride.

Hing Hay Park was thinly populated for a pre lunch hour. A few elderly souls were doing tai chi and two pairs of men were fighting their bloodless battles across the chessboards. Dallas was by far the youngest person there, and had made himself less conspicuous by striking up a game. He examined the lay of the board before him, then confidently moved king’s rook, “Check.”

The toothless oldster across form him smacked his gums in fury as he studied the board with great intensity, his hands fluttering like agitated birds over his pieces. At the extreme edge of his peripheral vision, Dallas saw the orange sports car pull into a parking spot across the street. He did not look around, however, instead, he waited for his opponent to finish staking out a knight as bait in the rook’s line of attack. He suppressed a smile – he anticipated mate in two moves – and pushed a bishop into position.

The old man hissed and hastily moved his queen to take the rook. Dallas smiled, “Knight takes queen, check mate.”

The old man looked startled, and waved Dallas off as the younger man rose and bowed his thanks for the game, he bent to study the board once more, muttering crossly to himself.

Lily was walking toward the tables. She was sporting a younger look too in jeans and bulky raw silk sweater. Dallas strolled up to her at an oblique angle and saw recognition dawn only as he opened his mouth to speak, “Let’s take my car, Lily.”

She hid her surprise well, “We had heard reports of your death, Dallas. It was … upsetting.”

Dallas winced and impulsively grabbed her hand, “I’m sorry. I should have contacted you earlier. I should have known they would make the most of our ’demise’,” he shook his head, “I haven’t been to sleep yet, I think I may be guilty of skimming over details I should not.”

She squeezed his hand once before releasing it, forgiving him, “Interesting look you’ve adopted.”

He smiled, “Like it?”

She shrugged, “I like the original version better, I think,” she paused as Dallas opened the rusting door to the junker for her. She lifted an eyebrow, and slid inside, noting her window was actually a transparent heavy gauge duraplast sheet with three air holes drilled into it.

“Lovely,” she murmered, “So what happens now that you and Dawson are dead,” she asked as Dallas slid behind the wheel.

He hesitated, reluctant to make her more of an accessory before the fact, “The others are making nefarious plans even now,” he said evaisivly, “And I have to keep a promise and do a little investigating on a – most likely – unrelated matter. Wanna come?”

“Sure. Where are we going?”

“How do you feel about lunch at an ork bar?” he asked with a smile.

By Vengence is Mine (Knight_hawk) on Unrecorded Date:

Tyler found himself back on the grounds of Harvard looking into the eyes of the most beautiful woman in the world. Her eyes were the color of emeralds her hair that of fire, and that is where she got her name 'Blaze'. Blaze was a decker in training, meaning that she had the hardware but not all of the skills. Tyler at the time was only part of what he would ultimately be. Due to debilitating bone decease his family was forced to lace his bones with Titanium or else he would have been a ball of flesh.

Tyler loved Blaze with all his heart and it was on this day that he decided he wanted her in his life forever. So it was that on that Christmas in front of his entire family he bent his knee and asked her to marry him.

They were to be married the following May in an outdoor ceremony under the light of the full moon and the everlasting stars. Unfortunately it was never meant to be as she was killed three days before the event.

Tyler knew of Blaze's hobbies, the foremost of which was hacking into the mega corps, secret files. Tyler was to be her bodyguard for the run but he got delayed when his brother through him an impromptu bachelor’s party. When he arrived at the building Lonestar was all over the place and Blaze's body was being wheeled into an ambulance, she supposedly died later that day. The police report came back saying that she had been comatose when they found her. Tyler believed otherwise, and although he could never prove it he felt that Blaze was not truly dead and that he soul lived on somewhere in the net.

Shortly after Tyler dropped out of school and tried to kill himself in depression. When that failed he joined the military to the sorrow of his mother. While in the military he joined an elite group that would be known as the Stormers. Each member was outfitted with dermal plating, Cyber spurs, smart links, and in some cases cyber eyes.

The Stormers were disbanded after the group botched an assassination attempt on a would be dictator that posed a threat to the future. Tyler found himself in front of a board of inquiry and was served a dishonorable discharge after his CO was found dead.

Coming home he found that his family had fallen apart. His mother was dying of brain cancer and could barely recognize herself in the mirror let alone her son. His sister had been killed and Tyler later found out that his brother had been responsible. This led to Tyler seeking out his wayward brother and a fight that left Tyler scarred physically as well as emotionally, he'd thought that it had left his brother dead.

Tyler became a shadowrunner and mercenary working for the highest bidder. He was soon known as the Ice Heart for his cold approach to everything and the fact that his humanity was so low.

Tyler’s dream shifted yet again and he heard voices thousands of voices speaking to him at him and through him but none was distinct enough to be understood. Tyler saw Blaze's face coming towards him her lips moving as if she was speaking but nothing could be heard, and then "I love you."

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas' car was cruddy enough not to excite too much notice even in Redmond which was their ultimate destination. Before exiting the vehicle though, Dallas made Lily cover the understated, but obviously expensive sweater with badly battered brown leather jacket he'd had stowed in the back seat. It made her look shapeless and slightly more down scale. Despite the fact that his own clothes were less than 24 hours old, he had put them through quite a bit more than was usually expected of new purchases, and the long scrapes across his back added a scruffy air to his appearance.

The cruised down 143 Street, looking for an opening in the solid wall of vehicles, both functional and non, that lined both sides of the road, "I don't believe I have ever been to Redmond before," mused Lily as they scanned for parking.

"From what I know it is regarded by some as the most dangerous district in Seattle."

She shrugged, "I don't know if the humanis gangs around here are any worse than the meta gangs down in Puyallup. Both sides want to kill the other for what they are. Where's the sense in that?"

Dallas didn't answer. He saw an opening only about six or eight inches smaller than he needed it to be and made for it. He wedged the junker up against the bumper of a very similar car up on blocks that occupied the next space and began a steady pressure.

Lily yelped and grabbed the sides of her seat and braced her feet against the floor boards, wincing against the scraping and grinding the contact produced. Without easing up, Dallas flashed her a grin, and continued to push the offending car up against it's neighbor. When there was no more room, Dallas did a quick reverse and slipped into the newly fitted parking slot with inches to spare. He shut off the engine and trotted around to the passenger door, opening for her. Lily got out slowly, then walked the few paces to examine the tangle Dallas had created in front of them.

"Umm. The one you pushed was derelict, but I think the one that you pushed it into is functional," she said scanning the now connected mass of metal and fiberglass.

Dallas shrugged and offered his hand, "I've been to Redmond before," he said enigmatically, "The restaurant is Crusher 495 and is about a block and a half down."

She took his hand, cast one last look at the parking job, then allowed him to lead the way.

Crusher was small, occupying about half the ground floor in an older building. Inside was dim, not just for atmosphere, but also because the only window in the place was the three by five foot sheet of scarred duraplast in the front. The only other lighting came from individual red shaded glow lamps on each of the dozen and a half tables down one wall and at two foot intervals above the thirty foot long bar on the other wall.

An aisle of perhaps six feet across separated the two sides. The ceiling and walls were decorated in old fashioned pressed tin painted red, and the floors were done in ancient, but pristine, red and black linoleum.

"I thought you said this was an ork restaurant," whispered Lily as they paused near the door. Most of the patrons were human. It appeared all the help was ork, but only a thin sprinkling of metas occupied either the tables or the bar.

"It is. Owned and operated. But most of Redmond's population is human. Hence the largely human clientele. These guys have worked very hard to create a niche for themselves here."

A relatively small orkish female approached them with a smile, "Two for lunch?"

"Yes," nodded Dallas, "A table please, if you've one available."

"Got some free in the back, nice and private back there for a young couple," she added with a roguish grin.

She led the way down the aisle and ushered them into their booth assuring them that their waiter would be along momentarily.

"So what are we trying to learn here?" asked Lily.


Dallas briefly filled her in on the ork murders, "One of the victims, Indira Khala, was a dishwasher here."

Lily nodded and stared at the young man across from her, "You are very curious. You are not what they call a shadowrunner, but all your friends seem to be. You are not absolutely and strictly legit, but mostly it seems. And you are involved in both the largest conspiracy and possibly the smallest in Seattle."

Dallas shrugged with a smile, "Have you been checking?"

She blushed, "I am my uncle's liaison. I was to work to keep you and Dawson alive, I had to know a few things," she said defensively.

Dallas regarded her seriously, "Ask me anything, Lily."

She softened as their waiter arrived, "I will," she promised.

"Hi, I'm Barry," said the ork waiter, "would you like to hear our specials?"

Dallas and Lily ordered on Barry's recommendation, and Dallas continued to banter with the young ork every time he stopped by until Barry automatically smiled with his every approach to the table.

He shook his massive head with admiration as he cleared away the cleaned plates of Dallas' ork sized entrée, "How about dessert?" he asked half jokingly, half challengingly.

Dallas' eyes brightened, "What have you got, Barry?" Lily laughed as Barry reeled of the list with a smile.

Dallas requested the interesting sounding Cola Cake and Lily ordered a jam tart," You're going to start questioning with the dessert aren't you?" she asked.

He nodded as Barry reappeared and commented jocularly on Dallas capacity. After a few more comments, Dallas casually brought up Indira Khala.

"She disappeared weeks ago," answered Barry without missing a beat. "I hear she turned up dead, poor bugger," he suddenly looked startled that he had mentioned death at a customer's table. Dallas smiled reassurance.

"I'm trying to find out what happened to her and the other women, Barry. Where did she live?"

Barry licked his lips then caved eagerly, "The Plastic Jungle. So were a couple of the other dead girls I hear."

"She have any particular friends?"

"Not here. She barely spoke English."

"Family?"
"I think she lived with her grandfather or maybe uncle, Ram, I think was the name she mentioned."

"Did you know any of the other women they found with Khala?"

Barry nodded, "One was a deb in the Wild Orks, one of the Jungle area gangs. Nell Little. If you go to the ring, I'll tell you how to get in. Talk to Sparkplug, he was her main squeeze," Barry provided Dallas with an address, a password and a warning. Then he offered a sickly smile and scooted off.

Dallas dug into his cake, "That kid gets a nice tip," he smiled.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The neighborhood where many of the victims had lived was largely a collection of abandoned warehouses, abandoned freight yards, abandoned tenements, and abandoned lives. Squatters had set up elaborate warrens within the old industrial greenhouses. Most of them appeared to be ork, there was only a handful of other metatypes and even fewer humans living in the Jungle area. It had the look of one of the most depressed slums Dallas had ever seen.

"No one is going to want to talk to us," muttered Lily, looking about at the furtive faces.

"Probably not," agreed Dallas.

"So what's the point?"

He smiled, "I never assume failure, Lily. Gotta give it a go."

They headed for the address that Barry had supplied. It turned out to be a partially collapsed tenement of dirty yellow brick. Two young orks flanked the basement stairs and snarled a challenge in guttural City Speak. Dallas barked a harsh response in the same vernacular, and when they hesitated, repeated it. Finally one spat out a single word, to which Dallas responded. They reluctantly moved aside and let the humans pass.

"That was more than just a pass word," whispered Lily.

"Yeah. They were rather put out that a couple of smoothies wanted access to the ring. I insulted their parentage and told them it was none of their business. Then we got to the password."

Lily suspected a little more was exchanged, but she did not understand the mish mash speak of the streets, she accepted Dallas' explanation. Belatedly she wondered where someone from the NAN would have picked it up. She'd have to ask him later.

In the dank and steamy basement, two young orks clad in nothing but shorts were fighting one another in a makeshift ring. Another half dozen or so stood about shouting insults or encouragement to one or he other combatant.

Dallas and Lily stayed in the back of the room watching as a particularly warty young ork methodically beat his larger opponent bloody. It took about ten minutes before the larger ork began to sway. Another minute, and four or five rabbit punches, and he crashed to the floor unconscious.

Dallas nodded at the victor, "I believe that's our man Sparkplug," he murmured. He eased closer to the ring, keeping Lily close by his side.

Sparkplug was making course jokes about his fallen foe as he leaned on the ropes while one of his lackeys sponged him down. It took him a minute, but when he noticed the humans, his eyes grew wide with surprise, "Dew neh loh moh!," he swore, startled.

Lily flushed angrily and responded with a fingernails-on-the-chalkboard voice in the same language - it appeared the two shared at least a cultural background. Sparkplug's complexion blotched as he clenched his teeth at Lily's speech, but instead of responding, he turned sharply to Dallas, "Well, what about you? You got something to say smoothie?"

Dallas shook his head, "Not in that dialect. Don't speak a word," he said guilelessly.

Sparkplug's expression relaxed slightly making Dallas wonder what the hell Lily had said to him that was so embarrassing that he wanted no witnesses to it.

"So why are you here, pipsqueak, what do you want?" snarled Sparkplug unsociably.

Dallas studied the squat ork for a moment and decided subtle wouldn't fly here, "I wanted to talk to you about Nell."

Sparkplug scowled, "She's dead, so get lost or get squashed, tiny," he said turning away.

Dallas sensed the others in the room tensing for a little action. He had no desire to take them all on, it would be pointless and accomplish nothing, so he had to chose a focus, "So how about a challenge, Sparkplug? We decide in the ring. I kick your ass and you talk to me, tell me anything I want to know. If you win - well, then, you get to go ahead and squash one smoothie."

Sparkplug turned in amazement, staring at the young human. His amazement dissolved in to condescension as his gaze raked the smaller human, "How much do you weigh?"

Dallas shrugged, "Don't know, maybe 170 give or take."

Sparkplug laughed in surprise and flexed one monstrous bicep, "And you wanna fight me."

Dallas nodded as he stripped off his jacket and handed it to Lily, "Weapons or bare hands?"

"No weapons," the lackey said automatically.

Dallas produced two knives and handed them to Lily as well.

"You're serious," said Sparkplug, amazed.

Dallas climbed into the ring, "I take all challenges seriously, Sparkplug, and I don't make them lightly," he said bouncing gently on the balls of his feet as he examined the confines of the ring.

Sparkplug shook his head, amused, "Okay, tiny, you're on. I hope you got a serious bad DocWagon account.

Dallas said nothing. He had studied Sparkplug's technique in the previous fight - he'd won because he did have a little training. A boxing background from the look of it, but he was no adept, wasn't wired, and was not even all that skilled. So Dallas waited for the inevitable charge.

Sparkplug strutted around the ring grinning broadly, showboating a bit, aiming most of it at Lily. He swaggered and joked about how short the fight was likely to be and how she would have to find a new squeeze. Lily ignored Sparkplug's posturing and watched Dallas carefully. He looked as completely relaxed as a person standing upright could look. His arms hung loosely at his sides, his posture without tension, his eyes half lidded. Only his attention seemed taught and that was sharply focused on Sparkplug's every move. Strange, she suddenly had no doubts that they would leave here unharmed and with the information Dallas wanted.

Finally Sparkplug threw his sweat rag out of the ring and faced Dallas grinning, "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to pulp you now, runt."

Dallas nodded almost cordially, but said nothing. Sparkplug shrugged, raised his fists, and charged. Dallas moved like a mongoose confronting a cobra, he dodged the charge and struck viciously at the ork's kidneys as he passed. Sparkplug grunted in pain and whirled to confront a human whose stance was virtually unchanged. His amusement had vanished.

"Are you wired?" he rumbled.

Dallas shook his head with a slight smile, "I am as nature made me."

Sparkplug raised his fists and took a more cautious approach, but it still amounted to a charge. Dallas leapt, pirouetting in midair, both boot heels connecting with the ork's jaw in rapid succession. Sparkplug staggered, more surprised than dazed, but that had hurt. The room he noticed was absolutely silent, there was none of the usual cat calling.

"What did you train in?" he asked buying time.

"A lot of things; savat and capeoeria, among others," said Dallas obligingly.

"Ah," said Sparkplug with the air of discovery, "A footwork man," he said closing the distance between them rapidly, watching the human's feet.

Dallas lunched a hammer blow at the ork's chest for a heart punch, and followed it with an elbow to the temple, "Not entirely, no."

Sparkplug clutched his chest and gasped. A moment passed and he lost any finesse he might have fancied he had and barreled over the smaller human, hoping to trample him. Both combatants went down, rolling, grappling, punching, but no one was really sure who had the advantage. The spectators all moved up to the rope and peered into the ring.

Sparkplug was arching violently, trying to break the hold the human had around his throat. The human's face was grim as he tightened the leg hold, inexorably cutting off the ork's air supply. He hung on against Sparkplug's flailing, one hand locked on each ear. The ork made a soundless cry then collapsed bonelessly, his eye's glazing. Dallas immediately let go his strangle hold, and Sparkplug inhaled massively, then began coughing.

Dallas waited as Sparkplug rolled onto his stomach then rose painfully to his hands and knees, he looked at the human for a moment then nodded as he coughed, "You win," he rasped, "Everybody else get the frag out."

The two humans were very shortly alone with the winded ork.

By Subcriminal (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Crane felt tired again. He’d gotten a few hours of sleep before Dallas and Ray returned from their adventure, though it didn’t seem to be enough. He’d been riding himself rather hard, now it was beginning to catch up with him so he thought of something to keep him busy.

“Explosives, explosives, explosives…” he mumbled as he jotted down a quick list of things on his pocket secretary to pick up from his new safehouse to prepare for the assault on Fujiyama.

Crane shot Spyder (who seemed a bit cranky) a sideward glance. “You behave. I gotta pick up a few things.” He announced as he slipped into his gaudy 60’s retro ensemble “I’ll be a couple of hours, maybe three.”

“Can I go with you?” Spyder perked up.

“No can do. Too dangerous.”

“Awwwww.” She whimpered “Please?” her big green eyes widened as she begged.

“Nope. But while I’m out do ya need anything?”

“How about a life.” she was definitely cranky.

Crane blinked at her for a moment “Dare I presume that our little princess is unhappy?”

“No, I’m so fraggin pleased with everything, all the time, no complaints. This is great… Just great…” Spyder threw her hands up in the air “What the frag do you think?” she seemed to irritated to make her little performance convincing.

Crane remained silent and expressionless for an uncomfortable pause. “Dahling…” he said in a mock English accent that sounded strangely natural “Leave the sarcasm to me. I’m much better at it.”

“If you’re gonna leave, do it. It’s bad enough I haven’t seen the light of day in almost a week. So get the frag out before I get snotty.” She snapped while ushering him out through the entrance where Barge and Leilani stood guard. “Too late.” Barge snickered as he witnessed the exchange.

**

Crane looked around at the sea of boxes covering their new hideout. Since he was in NY and Spyder was hiding with Dallas and Ray, there hadn’t been any progress with unpacking. The only things without corrugated cardboard encasement was the furniture- hers neatly lined up on the left, his on the right. It was a large open, studio-type space, and he’d eventually have to put up a few walls for privacy’s sake. They had to find some way to share the safehouse for the time being and live in peace. At least they were both neat and the place had a dishwasher, so he didn’t anticipate world war three.

“Living together is going to suck.” He muttered to himself “Never thought I’d be living with a chick, especially one I haven’t slept with.” Crane furrowed his brow slightly as he tried to remember how it was that he ended up in the friend zone with Spyder, and then he wondered why the thought even crossed his mind.

As he purged the thoughts from his mind he began to pay attention to why he was there in the first place. Explosives, supplies, clothes and some electronic toys for Spyder to keep her amused. She was the fussy type concerning almost everything, which occasionally makes things difficult but he knew how to deal with her. Not that he was exactly easy to get along with either.

After rummaging through several boxes he eventually found everything he needed. He looked over at his bed, and felt tempted to take a nap. But since he promised to return in three hours he didn’t want Spyder to worry and decided against it. She always worried.

Speedy kept popping into his mind, and she was getting more difficult to stamp out. Speedy's association to him was what doomed her, and so he felt entirely responsible. It also served as a reminder about how careful he had to be from now on.

Crane had begun to realize that his life wouldn’t be the same anymore with the Golden Dragon so determined to eliminate them. The longer they eluded capture the harder they’d look. Crane wasn’t invulnerable by a longshot. Even with Spyder’s magic decking abilities to cover up safehouse locations, records and money trails, if they so much as stepped out in public it could end in disaster. That puts a damper on life when you’re accustomed to going out on the town every spare evening. Only the principals of the conflict made it worth the risks and losses, so he focused on it, but he was always reminded about Speedy.

Wherever the ordeal would take him and Spyder, should they survive, they would have to leave the lives to which they’d become so accustomed. New identities and cosmetic surgery to become unrecognizable would be in order, or relocation where the Golden Dragon has no reach. Crane preferred the latter since he was too narcissistic to permanently change his looks, and he was confident Spyder felt the same way about herself.

He viewed Spyder as the most vulnerable of the group. Nothing changed the fact that she was physically defenseless. Spyder could shoot on target (more or less), but it wasn’t going to be enough if any of Fujiyama’s goons or anyone else found her location. Crane tried teaching her a few defensive maneuvers in the past, but she could never stay interested long enough. No amount of begging, pleading or close calls would get her motivated to learn anything beyond a jab and a kick to the crotch. He remembered how all his effort and patience was no match for a woman as stubborn as she was.

“Pay attention.” He said doing his best not to sound harsh.

“I am.” Spyder replied innocently.

“No, you’re not. I see you eyeing your deck over there.”

“I was never any good at this fighting thing. Why don’t we call it a night?” she thought a small escape attempt couldn’t hurt.

Crane sighed a bit disappointedly “One day, I might not be able to get to you in time if you’re in trouble, and you will get you ass kicked… Now, get your fists up.” Spyder complied with a half-hearted effort “Ok, but you’ve gotta keep your fists closed.”

“I can’t, my nails are too long.” She complained with a prissy manner.

“So? Cut them or trade them in for retractables.” He shrugged

She stared at him haughtily “Frag no.”

“Okay, lets try something different. Wanna learn a wrist lock or maybe a throw?” inside he was struggling to remain patient.

“Can I check my mail really quick first?” she tried acting cute, forgetting that it wouldn’t work.

“No.” Crane responded a little sternly.

“Come on.”

“Stop being a brat.”

“I’m not a brat. I’m a former executive.” She corrected as she turned her nose up in the air and walked towards her deck.

“One more step and I’ll shoot your precious deck from here.” He said grabbing one of his guns from the table and loading a clip.

“Whatever.” She said dismissing him completely and continued with her approach. That was when he fired a shot, severing the cable connecting her deck to the ltg port. Spyder flinched and gawked in horror.

“You didn’t dare!” since the cable would be easy to replace she managed to hold some level of composure.

“Oh I did. That was a warning shot. Now get back here, woman. Or else next time your mpcp will never process anything EVER again.”

“Put that fragging gun away!” she ordered hoping to again a little authority in hiding her fear.

“Oh, and exactly what are you gonna do to stop me? Kick my ass?”

Crane laughed to himself as he recalled that day, only to fight back a tear or two a few seconds later when he remembered what Chou and his underlings did to her. A new idea regarding her well being sprang to mind. If the Tir would offer Jack political asylum, they would have nothing against one of the best elfin deckers in North America.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas sat shirtless in one of the private apartments at Amos Li’s spa as Lily applied disinfectant to the scrapes across his back. They weren’t serious but they were noticeable. He’d gotten them from the rough concrete floor of the ring when Sparkplug had tried grinding him into it, and Lily had seen the tiny spots of blood as they seeped into the fabric of his tee shirt. She had insisted they retire to the spa for medical assistance over Dallas’ objections.

“See,” he said as he had stripped off his jacket and shirt, “they’re not bad. Eminently ignorable.”

Lily had crossed her arms and given him a hard look. Dallas immediately sat down and allowed her to apply whatever noxious unguent she wanted.

He sat backwards on a straight back chair, his chin resting on the top rail of the back as Lily ministered, “What did you make of Sparkplug’s theory,” he asked thoughtfully.

Lily scoffed, “Demons do not reside in Redmond, and if there are any such things as demons, I think we’d have noticed if any had appeared on the material plane.”

“Agreed. But I’ll bet some fella sitting here in 1975 said much the same about trolls and unicorns.”

She stopped dabbing at the wounds, “Have you ever seen a unicorn?”

“Yeah, when I was a kid.”

"Wow," she said almost dreamily. Dallas was of the opinion that every little girl once dreamed of finding a unicorn, and smiled.

She seemed to shake herself and pulled out a spray bottle of 'Liquid Skin' and applied the cold and stinging solution to the patient's back, "He seems to think that whatever killed Nell - and by logical process - the others - was unnatural. The cops seem to think it's a single lunatic. What's your conclusion Holmes of the NAN?"

Dallas grinned and swiveled to look at her, "I'm not sure yet," he said absently scratching at his back, "Maybe something paranatural. I gotta make some phone calls and check a few things out. That okay?"

She indicated the telecom, "It's all yours. I'm going to make some tea," she said moving into the tiny kitchenette to allow him the modicum of privacy available in the small suite.

He left the telecom screen down and picked up the earpiece, then dialed Virgil Seaton first, "Have you got a complete autopsy on all the ork victims including trace evidence?"

Lily pulled out the tea pot and set the kettle on half listening to Dallas' end of the conversation.

"Good," he said, "Send me a copy. I need as much detail as you guys covered," he gave a matrix number than hung up and sat rubbing his chin for a moment.

Lily emerged from the bathroom with a small box from which she pulled disposable towels and attacked Dallas' face with them.

He sputtered under the assault, "Lily! What are you doing?"

She held out the darkly stained towelette, "Your make up is starting to look like makeup. Time to have it off, and that's what these thing were designed to do."

Dallas sighed. He removed the tape from his eyes and allowed Lily to scrub the traces of makeup and spirit gum from his face, then he untied the queue, freeing his hair. Then he made a shooing gesture, "Your water is boiling, go."

She retreated with a smile, and shaking his head, he dialed another longer number, "Ma'heoneve'kese! Haaahe!"

Lily looked up from the tea pot as Dallas spoke in the glottal, aspirated tongue, guessing correctly that it was his own language. It sounded very unlike the languages she had grown up with in the International District.

Dallas lowered his voice unconsciously as the greetings concluded and the purpose of the call was relayed. Lily set the tea on the table and went back to retrieve cups, hearing only snatches of conversation and understanding none of it.

"Néá'eše," he said quietly after a long pause, "Nêstaévâhósevóomâtse," he hung up and sat back in his chair staring into the middle distance.

"What is it?" asked Lily softly after a moment.

Dallas' focused on Lily, "My brother thinks it may be a paranormal, but if it is, it is an intelligent one, though he does not think it's a wendigo."

Lily gasped, "Wendigo!"

Dallas brushed the faint semi-circle of puncture scars on one shoulder, "My brothers and I fought a wendigo once before. There are ways to fight the paranormal and ways not to," he smiled, "I was only thirteen when I got this, my first step down the warriors path, as my grandfather said."

"Wendigo don't live in cities," she protested, "Do they?"

He shrugged, "They are very intelligent, but neither my brother or I think this killer is a wendigo. Remember, only the organs are missing. Perhaps to avoid the appearance of butchery marks on the flesh, perhaps for any number of other reasons. Maybe the killer thinks he's Seattle's answer to Jack the Ripper. I don't know yet, I just don't want to rule out any possibilities."

They drank their tea in silence, each occupied with their own thoughts. Finally, after watching him for a long moment, Lily rose and crossed over to Dallas. She deposited a kiss on his neck, "I want you to do something for me," she whispered.

Dallas' eyes grew wide as she smiled, "Go to bed. Alone. Sleep. You've been up for at least 36 hours and you're starting to look it."

She pointed to the futon in the corner and grinned at the look of disappointment mingled with a small amount of relief on Dallas' face, she felt about the same, but now was not the time. Dallas saw the wisdom of her request and rolled himself into a coverlet. He allowed sleep to take him almost immediately. He was troubled only by a long, unsettling, slow motion dream concerning sensuous twinings of copper and ivory.

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

The 4 gangers bolted down the street, shouting insults and threats at the form they had just pursued nearly 4 blocks through the Barrens. Having only caught glimpses of their prey as it turned corners and ducked into alleyways, they were certain he was at least slightly crafty. As they rounded the next corner and saw the figure ducking around a dumpster into yet another alleyway in this maze of rubble and decrepit buildings, they knew they had him cornered. The alley he chose was a dead end. With a triumphant whoop, the lead ganger pulled out his machine-pistol and dove to the corner, striding easily into the middle of the entryway. His smile soon faded, however, when he saw no trace of the figure he'd been pursuing. His 3 companions caught up with him, and he spat a curse as he began to search the scattered debris of the alley.

Ray was winded. He absolutely hated running, but he had known enough not to face the group of gangers in the spot they had chosen. So he decided to lead them to another spot, where he knew he had the advantage. As he crouched in the second-story window and eyed the 4 gangers from above, he noticed they were at least slightly intelligent. It was only a matter of time before one of them found the dumpster/fire escape combination he had used to escape them. Ray was getting tired of this drek, and scolded himself for losing his edge. In his younger years, he would have simply melted from view, leaving the gangers confused and far behind. He didn't want to have to kill them, especially not when he was just on his way back from his 'supply run' to his hidey-hole apartment.

"Hey!" called one of the gangers, breaking Ray from his thoughts, "There's an old ladder over here!" Ray swore silently as he prepared for the inevitable, screwing the silencer onto the end of his Predator and unsnapping the scabbard of the fighting knife in the small of his back. He moved silently to the old boarded-up window leading to the fire escape and flattened himself into the corner on its opposite side. Ray watched as an Ingram Smartgun slowly emerged from the window, sweeping slowly to the right, then back to the left, toward his hiding place. Ray glanced around quickly, trying to find a way to escape the camera on the smartgun...

"Do ya see him?" whispered the third ganger to the second, who was checking out the interior of the building with his smartgun, his right eye closed in order to reduce the confusion of the superimposed images being fed to his brain.

"Shut up, Squeak!" scolded the lead ganger, who was still on the ground, sweeping the windows of the building for any signs of their prey. Squeak grumbled, but was interrupted by the smartgun-ganger, who knocked his bootheel into Squeak's temple, silencing him.

"I got nothing, Caine," said the smartgun-wielder to the leader, who simply nodded and pointed. Squeak and the smartgunner crept into the building, followed by Caine and the fourth ganger. They found themselves in a dimly lit room, maybe 20 feet square, which seemed to encompass the entirety of the building's interior. There seemed to be no way back down and the staircase was nothing more than a hole in the floor and ceiling. There were still many places for a person to hide in here, and the gangers fanned out, searching through the rubble.

Ray sighed silently as he watched the 4 gangers sift through the rubble. He silently lowered himself from his precarious perch atop the fire-escape window, and dropped down behind the last ganger. Carefully, he backed out of the window and turned to climb down the ladder, when he felt the cool pressure of a gun barrel as it was placed against his temple.

"End of the road, chummer," said the fifth ganger, who Ray had sworn hadn't followed with the other 4. He slumped his shoulders, then in a lightning-quick flash of movement, disarmed the ganger and snapped his arm grotesquely, causing the ganger to howl in pain. Instinctively, Ray aimed at the fire-escape window, and was almost pleased to see the smartgunner appear there. Ray fired twice, his gun sounding little louder than a flapping pidgeon's wings as the smartgunner grunted and fell back into the building. Ray grabbed the sides of the fire-escape ladder and slid down, leaving the ganger with the maimed arm behind, whimpering in pain as he cradled his useless right arm.

Ray knew the remaining gangers would try to kill him now, and so he reserved himself for the task at hand. As he dropped to the ground, he aimed back up the fire-escape, putting his laser-dot right between the eyes of the fourth ganger, who had just gotten to the edge. Ray dispatched him, and after a mental count, decided that the remaining 2 gangers would be more careful. His element of surprise had flown away, and he simply ran out of the alley, a hail of bullets exploding the crumbling brickface behind him.

Ray dove around the corner and flattened himself against the corner, waiting for the inevitable pursuit. The first ganger out of the alley was Squeak. Ray clotheslined the kid and drew his blade across his neck, at the same time twisting and pulling. Squeak was dead before he hit the pavement, and Ray simply let the corpse drop as he turned his attention to Caine, who was swinging his machine-pistol up to a firing position. Ray whipped his blade forward, at Caine's face. Amazingly, Caine dodged his head to the side, avoiding death but still showing a nasty cut along his cheek as a reward. Ray closed the distance between them, ignoring his own holstered Predator, instead concentrating on removing Caine's weapon. With a fierce grab and a half-turn, Ray broke Caine's grip and elbowed him in the face, causing the machine pistol to drop harmlessly to the ground. Ray squared off with Caine, who staggered back slightly, shaking his head. He wiped the blood from his nose, then smiled at Ray, laughing slightly as he dropped into a combat crouch, producing 2 knives.

"Ready to die now, chummer?" Caine hissed as he lunged at Ray, knives first. Ray stepped aside to dodge Caine's blades, and was surprised to feel one of them drag across his belly. Ray dodged behind the speedy ganger, drawing out his Predator as he did so. He levelled the pistol at Caine's head, who was just now turning for a second onslaught.

"You first," Ray said, pulling the trigger and watching as Caine's body stiffened and fell backwards, Ray's bullet causing a bloody rose to blossom between Caine's eyes. Ray grasped at the cut along his midsection and grimaced--maybe it was deeper than he'd originally thought. He bent and picked up his own knife and turned to leave when he heard the gunshot and saw the brickface in front of him erupt in a small cloud of dust.

"Stop right there or I'll blow your brains out!" yelled a voice from deeper in the alleyway. Ray remembered the broken-arm ganger and smiled slightly, knowing the guy was using his off hand. "I didn't have to miss ya!" yelled the angry voice. Ray knew it was a lie as he turned slowly to face the ganger. In one smooth motion, Ray drew his pistol, fired, and returned it to his holster, watching as the fifth ganger simply fell lifeless from the fire-escape. Ray cursed himself as he trotted into the night, grabbing his duffel bag from the dumpster he'd stashed it in earlier. Clutching his bleeding abdomen, Ray made his way to a driveable looking car and punched through the window. He slid behind the wheel and hotwired it easily, and drove back to the bolt-hole. There was a first-aid kit there, and hopefully a second pair of hands to help him sew some stitches...

By Vengence is Mine (Knight_hawk) on Unrecorded Date:

It was well into the early morning hours when a black figure snuck into the lab where the super soldiers were being worked on. The figure looked around until its gaze rested on a particuler tube. It walked over to the tube and put a hand to the glass.

Turning the figure walked towards one of the computers and inputted a disk. The drive whirred as it read the data. Nervously the figure looked from left to right checking for signs of the security patrol.

A beep eminated from the computer and the red light next to the tube flashed green and then returned to red. Pulling the disk from the drive the figure input a second disk. The drive again began to whir. Suddenly the lights came on and the figure spun to see a guard at the doorway.

"What are you doing here? Don't you know that the labs are off limits to all but the doctors?" The guard asked.

The figure merely looked down at its feet and shook its head as if it were confused.

"Are you one of the trainees?" The guard asked. "Are you lost?"

The figure nodded and grabbed the disk as it was ejected from teh computer. The figure walked forward towards the guard. As it reached the man the guard lashed out and grabbed the figures mask.

"I gotcha now."

The figure's hands flashed and the guard stumbled backward a knife in his chest and the figure's mask in his hand. Quickly and quietly Mieko Ishidora diaposed of the body and any evidence of her prescence before she ran from the room and disappeared into the shadows.

By Subcriminal (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Spyder took a breather from her decking and curled up on one of the makeshift beds. Renraku had piqued her curiosity, a tidbit of a file she ran across implied that Renraku might be experimenting with mind control techniques. Fujiyama was the primary financial backer of the project. She was in the process of refining one of her best decryption to prep for the attack on the details when her eyelids turned to lead. She woke up a half-hour later and crawled sleepily back into the living area, where Crane sat sculpting a large mound of c-12 into the shape of a bunny. Electronics, switches and at least forty golf balls claimed the section of table in front of him. Each had a precise hole drilled into each of them revealing a small amount of c-12 inside. Any bomb expert knew a thimble full of c-12 was more than enough to kill a person.

“Oh, you’re back. So what did you bring me?” Spyder yawned as she pushed some wires aside to make room for her deck.

He didn’t bother looking up from his labor as he spoke “Prissy girlie hygiene stuff, your electronic toys in progress, tools, and some mismatched clothes that you’d never have the bad taste to wear.” Crane tore off a small part of the c-12 bunny and filled another hollowed-out golf ball with it.

“My wardrobe can do better than that! Why didn’t you pick something else?” she whined a little wondering if he was punishing her for being snippity earlier in the day.

“So we can dress you up like a pretentious, androgynous art fag. You’ll blend right in with the rest of the photo students.” Crane looked up from the table to beam a cheerful grin.

“Are you implying that I’ll be able to re-discover what fresh air smells like after spending an eternity in this basement?”

“Without being shot at too.”

“You’re too good to me.” She smiled back and massaged one of his shoulders.

Crane seemed unaffected “You don’t deserve it.”

Spyder wasn’t going to argue and instead surveyed his work, admiring his pyrotechnic expertise. “You could flatten a six-block radius with all this dreck.”

“Or half a golf course.” Crane looked around the table for an absent tool. He covered his forehead with his hand as he remembered where he packed it “Could ya fetch me the laser drill?”

“Yeah, where is it?”

“In the big duffel bag over on the couch.” He said pointing at it.

Spyder fiddled with the buckles on the olive green army bad and rummaged through it. Her jaw dropped as she examined some of the contents.

“My god! How much ammo do you fraggin need?”

“Only a few thousand bullets to pump into the bleeding, twitching, convulsing body of John Fujiyama. Why?” Crane’s tone was bright, pleasant and casual.

“You OK?”

“Nope.” He replied merrily.

“How are you managing?” Spyder hoped for an honest answer.

“Simple- I’m not. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Spyder strolled over to him during the following lull in conversation to deliver the laser drill. Crane wasn’t looking his best, a few days after leaving the hospital he’d exhausted himself to the point where it looked like he needed to be checked in again. Resembling the walking dead, save the gangrene, his blackened eye sockets winced as he tried to focus on the delicate work under insufficient lighting.

“You’re due for some shut-eye.” Spyder commanded, trying to nudge him off his chair but lacked the strength to be victorious.

“No.” Crane snapped and continued toiling with some microchips and wires. A second later he nicked his finger with the laser drill. He cursed under his breath and went to the sink to wash the small cut.

“See? You can’t function like this, and if you keep using those stim patches your brain is going to rot. Your nervous system only gets to repair itself when you sleep. What did they teach you in basic biology?”

“I never took basic biology, remember?”

“Oh.” Spyder looked down, realizing street life didn’t allow him a formal education.

“I took lock-picking, hot-wiring and Japanese. Much more useful…” he muttered under his breath, examining the cut on his finger as he returned to his seat.

“Then you’ll take my word for it?”

Crane put down his tools in surrender “Just this once.”

“Can tell me why you’ve been running yourself so hard lately?”

“So I don’t have time to think about Speedy.”

“Did the two of you hook up?” she asked him curiously.

“It started with an innocent playfight like we did when we were kids. Then she pinned me on the floor and asked ‘while you’re down there, wanna play doctor?’ Then, well, you know how weak willed I am.” Crane’s smirk dissolved, he didn’t have anything left to mask his anguish.

“No kidding.” Spyder scoffed, making Crane slightly flustered.

“Shut up.”

“You said it, I didn’t.”

By Vengence is Mine (Knight_hawk) on Unrecorded Date:

The darkness around Tyler began to fade and he found himself once again on the grounds of his old collage. The area was burning and dark, there was no movement around him save the dancing of the flames. Looking around he saw the bodies of his sister, Blaze, his mother and standing over all three was his brother Samson.

"How ya doin' kid?" Samson sneered.

"Why? Why did you do this?"

"Poor little brother." Samson said as he strode to where Tyler stood. "So nieve to how the world works. I did it for two reasons. First; because they loved you."

"And the second reason?" Tyler stepped back as Samson got closer to him.

"Because I liked it." Samson said licking his lips.

"Monster!" Tyler screamed as he lunged at Samson. "I won't let you get away with this. I won't."

"It's too late little brother, I already have." Samson began to laugh as he faded away leaving Tyler kneeling between the bodies of the ones he loved.

Tylers feeling turned to rage and he felt himself tense up. He wanted to kill, he wanted to maim, and he wanted to do it all in the name of Fujiama.

Next to him all of the other patients were experiencing the same thing. All of them were being conditioned to be the ultimate warriors. Cold, Calculating, and totally loyal.

By Subcriminal (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

"I haven't felt this bad in years. Thanks a lot." Crane's head dangled sadly in front of him as he rested his elbows on his knees with Spyder lounging on one of the couches behind him.

"Well its true!" Spyder defended "Anyway, you've been through worse. Give it some time and you'll-"

"Don't patronize me with that 'time heals' dreck." Crane interrupted bitterly.

Spyder changed her strategy to suit her depressed, realist friend "Okay. Life is pain, deal with it." She slipped off the couch and stood behind him to massage his shoulders.

"That's more like it." he said leaning his head back until it rested on her stomach.

Spyder smirked down at him through the long tresses that dangled over face "You lucky dog, at least I'm still alive."

"And you're gonna stay that way."

Spyder played with his hair as she observed him. A slight grumble in her stomach reminded her of the many hours passed since Dallas was nice enough to feed her. "Right... If I don't starve first." Crane seemed to be falling asleep, zoned, floating around in his own little world and completely oblivious to her. "Hint, hint." she tugged on a lock of his hair with each syllable to bring him back to earth.

He opened his eyes wearily and looked up at her "And what would Madame like me to get?"

"Mademoiselle." She corrected sternly "Greek, maybe?"

"There aren't any Greek restaurants within walking distance."

"I'll settle for Chinese, you might want to pick up some extra stuff for Ray and Dallas. Normally I'd go out and get it myself, but I'm 'helpless', remember?"

The sound of Barge unbolting the door caught their attention and Dawson strolled in with a large duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and a crumpled paper bag clutched in one hand, the neck of a glass bottle peeking out of it. His other free hand held a freshly lit cigarette to his lips.

"Hoi." Crane uttered blandly from his seat. Ray seemed to ignore him as he drudged over to the couch, finally mumbling an incoherent salutation. That was when Crane noticed a small trail of blood drops behind him. "You injured?" he asked raising an eyebrow, also detecting the scent of bourbon wafting from Dawson's direction. Spyder looked over him after inspecting the floor.

Dawson took a long sustained drag from his cigarette and let his oversized duffel bag slip to the floor with heavy, dull thud. "Cut myself shaving." he said with a slow smoky exhale as he unbuttoned his coat, revealing blood soaked clothes. Crane stared at Dawson's stomach trying to distinguish bloodied cloth from bloodied flesh. "Well? You gonna stand there and watch me bleed, or are you gonna give me a hand?" he snapped angrily.

Crane recoiled at Dawson's manner—it was a bit snippy, even for him. Everyone seemed to be getting restless with the recent events and close-quarters living. "Spydie- get the first aid kit for me?" he cleared off the table and noticed Dawson looked a little confused, probably expecting some kind of cynical retort only to be disappointed.

"We have one, but there's no stitching thread in it." Spyder sounded a little concerned. "Maybe Barge has a spare medkit?"

"I picked some up on the way home. It's in the bag." Dawson said motioning to it after he peeled his bloody shirt off.

Spyder dug out the surgical supplies as Crane rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands and forearms in the sink. "You might wanna lie down on the table. How bad is the cut?" Crane felt far too exhausted to muster the energy for his usual sardonic routine.

"Enough to be annoying." Dawson said as he carefully reclined and unraveled his body onto the table-top.

"Wanna codeine patch?"

"Save it for someone who needs it." Dawson grumbled as he began peeling the shredded remains of his shirt away from the gash on his stomach.

"You sure? This is gonna hurt." Crane warned his callused patient as Spyder helped him slip on a pair of stubborn latex gloves.

Dawson coughed up a chuckle "It already does. Just get to it." He then proceeded to pour a good amount of the bourbon on the wound, gritting his teeth in obvious pain, but not flinching or making a sound.

"Alright, but you might want a few more sips of that bourbon. Doctor's orders." Crane began cleaning the laceration with some gauze and tried not to wince, realizing he was suppressing a great deal of pain. Dawson hadn't so much as winced. The cut was a little deeper than he thought, it had grazed the surface of a couple muscles and it didn't seem to be clotting well. "How long ago did you get this cut?"

"About an hour ago."

Crane inhaled sharply through his teeth "Chummer, this hasn't clotted much at all. I'm gonna have to cauterize it a little and give you a shot of platelets to make sure."

"Oh, so what am I now- a hemophiliac?"

"All this bleeding and hardly any clotting? You may as well be. Have you been getting enough calcium and vitamin K?"

”You saying I need to eat my wheaties?” Dawson said sarcastically.

"They help with the coagulation process." Spyder commented from her watchful perch across the table as Crane cautiously used a surgical laser to cauterize the inside of the laceration.

"See? She's so smart. You should listen to the lady, Dawson." Crane threaded a stitching needle and began to seam him back together. A few sips of bourbon later he was done and dressed the surface of Dawson's hemmed wound with sterile gauze and trusses. He peeled off his latex gloves and went back to the sink to wash his hands a second time. "I'm off to do a little shopping. There's a Chinese take-out place on the corner. Any preferences?"

"Something with a lot of red meat." he replied pulling the gauze back to inspect the tidy, precise netting of thread that tracked across his belly. When he looked up again Barge was already bolting the door closed after Crane's departure. "So… Anything new and exciting happen while I was out?"

Spyder shrugged "Fujiyama seems to be funding a little mind-control experiment. I'm in the process of digging deeper. Nothing new really."

"Uh huh." he muttered grouchily as he fished a clean shirt out of his bag and slipped into it and plunked down on the couch across from Spyder. Dawson felt uncomfortable becoming more aware of aches, pains and fatigue associated with his years. This most recent wound only added assurance that he wasn't healing like he used to. Both Crane and Spyder were around his age, yet they didn't look a day over twenty-two, to add insult to injury Dallas looked like an adolescent.

Dawson reached for his duffel with a sigh, and slid a metallic case out of it, placing it carefully on the table before unclasping its latches. She looked on silently as Ray began removing strange-looking pieces from the case, slowly checking them and cleaning them with a soft cloth before snapping them together. It wasn’t until 5 or 6 pieces were together that Spyder realized that Ray was assembling some kind of gun.

**

The couch creaked when Spyder shifted her weight as she yawned and stretched into a more comfortable position. Crane returned with some food and tossed Dawson a plastic bag containing hypo-syringes and two vials: one with clotting agent, the other a liquid mega-dose of vitamins. He walked into one of the rooms to strip off his disguise while Spyder unpacked the bag of Chinese food. A variety of vegetarian and non-vegetarian dishes had been selected to keep everyone happy. Her and Dawson dug in.

A half-hour later Spyder got up from the table to check on Crane, who still hadn't emerged from the room. She knocked on the door and opened it to find him fast asleep. Spyder closed the door and retreated to the living area, deciding it was better to leave him as he was found.

Dawson was sitting on the couch, injecting himself with the syringes, his rifle leaning against his shoulder, business end up. Spyder did a double-take; this gun was nearly as tall as she was, with a barrel that looked like a water-pipe, and a scope that was bigger than some submachine guns she’d seen. The rosewood stock was designed like an Olympic shooter’s weapon, complete with thumb-hole and raised cheek-rest. Dawson glanced at her blankly before leaning back on the couch, checking his weapon yet again.

**

Spyder woke with a start and took a swing at an unrecognized man kneeling next to her cot, only to be fluidly deflected and twisted into a wrist lock. Whoever it was happened to be wired. She braced herself for the imminent pain to follow, but the unknown person didn't proceed to snap the bones in her hand.

"Bitchy this morning, aren't we?" Crane released her wrist gently. Spyder sighed with relief and collapsed back down onto her cot once she realized Crane had adopted a new, temporary style: raven-black hair and aqua blue eyes- polar opposite from his natural look. He'd covered up his scar as well, being the most differentiating feature on his otherwise faultless countenance.

"Fragger! Can't a woman get some beauty sleep around here?" she snapped while noticing he looked well rested, though she couldn't say the same for herself.

"Get up."

"Five more minutes…" she grumbled and pulled the covers over her head.

Crane turned his nose up and crossed his arms in disappointment. "Oh well, I guess you didn't want to go outside as badly as you had me believe."

She sat up quickly with her eyes squinted shut "I'm up, I'm up."

"Good. I have some hair dye for you."

"Cool, I've never colored my hair black before."

"Oh, no, no, no, no. Black isn't your color. You're too pale, it wouldn't look flattering or convincing."

"Oh really…" she drawled looking a little offended. "So what did you get me? Mousy brown?" she continued sourly.

Crane grinned broadly with enthusiasm "Red."

"Red?"

"Red. Besides, it'll go with your green eyes."

As Spyder's tired eyes adjusted to wakefulness, she took a closer look at Crane's new disguise. "So like, doesn't that contact frag with your cybereye?"

"Yeah, it distorts the low light features. I can only see you through one eye right now- sort of."

"I like it." She smiled lightly and deiced to take a stab at a detail that annoyed her for years "You should get rid of that scar for good and get a cybereye that matches your real one."

"Chicks dig it, why would I want to change?"

"It was just a suggestion." Spyder shrugged innocently.

"Hmmmm…" he eyed her suspiciously "Good thing I don't have to impress you."

**

Dawson rolled out of his cot and rubbed his eyes as he went to the bathroom, as it was his bladder that woke him up. He checked his bandage and poured more disinfectant on it before lighting up a smoke. On his way back to bed he noticed Crane and Spyder were gone, and a white paper note had been strategically placed on the table.

"Took the shrew out for a walk. Be back later.

C

PS- nice gun"

Ray chuckled once, then broke down his weapon in order to store it in its case. When he was done, he returned to his cot an dozed off again, the dull throbbing of his abdomen signaling the start of the healing process…

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas woke up instantly. He wasn't sure what had awakened him, but he knew something had. He remained virtually motionless as he scanned the dim room for possible threats. The main door began to swing open - the release of the latch must have alerted him. He rolled off the bed and darted silently across the floor, a heavy bladed Bowie appearing in his hand. He grabbed the black clad wrist behind the knob and spun the intruder into the room, the knife suddenly at the intruder's throat.

"Ayeeh ya!" shrieked the figure shrilly.

Dallas noted all the particulars about the man before him; the frailness of the wrist, the crepey neck, the thinning white hair, and the fact that he was about fifty pounds lighter inches shorter, and decades older than Dallas was himself. Dallas released the trembling figure and sheathed the knife. He offered a cautious bow of apology as he studied the little man. The man was wide eyed and shaking, and staring at Dallas with real fear. He looked to be anywhere from 60 to 200 years old, and he was so wizened that he had appeared to have caved in on himself over the years.

“It’s all right Mr. Woo,” said a sleepy eyed Lily from the couch. She nodded at the garment bag clutched in a death grip in Woo’s right hand, “You can leave that and go get some tea to settle your nerves.”

“He strikes like a snake,” stage whispered Woo, unmoving.

Lily sighed and rose, looking only slightly rumpled from having slept in her clothes. She eased the bag out of Woo’s grip and gently ushered him out the door.

“You really can’t go around scaring tradesmen, Dallas. They’ll stop returning our calls,” she smiled sleepily.

Dallas bolted the door, “Never too cautious, Lily,” he said unembarrassed.

She allowed him to enfold her in a warm embrace, they stood with their arms wrapped around one another for several long moments, “Good morning, Dallas Whitecrow,” she yawned at last.

“Good morning Lily Bao,” he replied as he reluctantly released her. He dutifully checked the time, he’d slept for almost 11 hours, “I’ve got to check in. I’ve been out of touch for a while.”

She understood, “Fine. I’ll go ahead and shower first,” she opened the garment bag Woo had delivered and pulled out a change of clothes for herself, then tossed the bag across the back of the couch.

“Woo is a very good tailor, he worked all night on that. You should see if it fits, “ she said nodding at the bag, then she kissed Dallas lightly and slipped into the bathroom.

He watched her go, then, with a sigh, dug his radio out of his jacket pocket and activated it, “Anybody home?” he transmitted.

After a brief pause, Dawson’s smoke roughened voice responded, “Where the hell have you been, kid, go off to jump the girl?”

Dallas shook his head, then fired a salvo, “Why no, Ray. See, I had this friend once who got seriously fragged up because he’d been screwing around on a job.”

The long silence that followed was very satisfying and Dallas grinned at the imagined expression on Dawson’s face.

At last Dawson asked, “Is everything okay, or are you calling in the cavalry?”

Dallas chuckled, “I’m not very likely to do exactly that, but all is well. I’ve just been off working the Seaton thing. Nothing new on the late Mr. McNeil, but the murders themselves are pretty weird.”

Dawson snorted sourly, “Boy detective. Do you want to meet and share info?”

“Yeah. What put a burr under your tail?”

“Tell you when I see you. Caliban Café, nine o’ clock.”

“See you,” Dallas agreed and signed off.

Dallas scrounged some cold dim sum from the tiny fridge to tide him over, then opened the garment bag. A beautiful tailor made wool suit in slate blue – the new, so called power color – nestled inside. He let out a low whistle, he had no doubt that Amos Li, for reasons of his own, had covered Mr. Woo’s undoubtedly high end bill. The suit would most definitely change his normal appearance after all.

He pulled out the suit and hung it on the door hook. A rough cut, high collared silk shirt in charcoal grey bearing a sterling collar bar in a Mayan motif was also included. Ah, so he was going to be junior Aztech today. He supposed he ought to shower.

By Subcriminal (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

It was far too early to expect the normal bustle of students, give or take the occasional early morning riser. The sky was mostly overcast and it was expected to rain, but that didn't discourage Spyder who was enjoying her first open-air adventure in weeks. She'd climbed a couple trees during their leisurely stroll across the campus grounds and was working on her third. Half way up the tree a splinter had dispirited her ambition to reach the top, and she climbed back down and sat down on the grass.

Crane winced painfully as a break in the clouds allowed sunlight to beam down. He stepped into the cool shade of the copper beech she'd been climbing a moment ago to shield himself. "Things are going to get very dangerous around here. I'd like for you to consider leaving with Jack when his escorts arrive." He slid his back down the tree trunk until he was sitting on the ground.

Spyder tried to ignore him as she plucked at the splinter in her thumb. "You guys need me here. No deal."

"I don't want to see you get hurt again, this is serious." If he'd employed softer tone it would be considered begging.

She inspected her nails, still trying to scorn him "And I don't want to see you fall due to the frag-up of the second-rate decker you'll replace me with. I'm staying here until it's over."

"And just when do you think it'll be over? Knowing what we know they are not going to leave us be."

Spyder braced herself for argument to come when a realization interrupted her train of thought and she charged her gaze directly into his. "This isn't about me, is it?"

Crane didn't enjoy being put on the defensive and he felt his temper begin to rise "The frag it's not!"

"It's about you!" she returned angrily "When are you going to get it through your head that you are not responsible for me?!" Crane was startled for having his motive revealed so effortlessly. Spyder climbed to her feet and looked down at him for added intimidation. "Just when I think I can enjoy my first outdoor excursion in weeks, you gotta pick a fight. You're not going to win this one."

Crane recognized the body language and stood up to challenge her "I don't know what's going to happen next. You'll be safe within Tir borders. Come on, you're brighter than this, don't tell me that you haven't grasped the scope of our circumstances."

"We both know what's going to happen next, don't try your scare tactics on me."

"Do you actually LIKE living in seclusion? Because that's the way things are likely to be from now on. And furthermore, what we're about to do will anger the rest of the bees in the hive. We've never gone up against a situation this big before."

Spyder still looked defiant as ever "I'll deal."

Crane was irritated by her causal approach to what he regarded as serious. "Deal?" he hissed dryly "Deal? You've been whining and crying ever since we went into hiding. Have you completely forgotten how we had our asses handed to us a few weeks ago?"

"Will you get over the Chou incident already? Your insecurity is really unflattering."

Crane flinched and gritted his teeth "I am suggesting that you are likely to get hurt, possibly killed if you stay here with me."

"If that's what it comes down to, I'll take my chances rather than run to the Tir with my tail between my legs. I'm not going to let fear dictate where I go in my life- and I won't let you either!!" Spyder awaited his response, but there was none to follow. He was looking thoughtfully at her face, and the green eyes that burned with conviction.

"What am I gonna do with you, huh?" Crane sighed in defeat.

"Am I a burden to you?" She asked him looking looked down ashamedly.

"No, my lady." He took one of her hands softly and led her back onto one of the walkways "You are a virago."

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The Caliban Café was a downtown eatery. Close enough to the arcologies to attract junior grades and tech support types and far enough down the economic ladder to appeal to higher end street life as well. A nice little meeting ground in other words. It did a surprising amount a shadowy business in between plates of hash browns and chicken fried steak. Dawson had parked his raggedy ass in a back corner booth that had a good view of the street door and clear access to the back hall leading to the kitchen, restrooms and alley door. When Dallas walked in - alone, Dawson noted -he nearly did a spit take with his coffee. The kid was almost unrecognizable in his junior exec togs. Plus his hair was tied in a shiny looking ponytail. Dawson could not even begin to imagine what substance had been used to make hair that artificially glossy.

Dallas spotted Dawson without apparent effort, despite Dawson's new beard and tweedy raincoat, and slid into the booth opposite him. A sharp eyed waiter, judging the cut of the young man's clothes correctly, rushed over in hopes of a bigger tip accompanying quick service. Dallas noted the half-finished steak and eggs in front of Dawson, and ordered the same with a side of hash browns and another of sausage, but skipped the coffee in favor of milk and juice.

Once the waiter had departed the two men looked each other over, "You look pale, Ray, and you're moving a bit stiff. What happened?"

Dawson snorted out a cloud of smoke, "I was about to ask you the same thing, kid. You look kinda top shelf today, all clean and shiny," he said half mockingly.

Dallas stared at his partner waiting for an answer, at last Dawson figured it would be easier to just get it out of the way rather than fence with Dallas, "Just random street punks. I took a little damage, is all."

"What? How bad?"

Dawson scowled, "Minor knife damage. Crane doctored it up."

Dallas shook his head, "We've known each other for what? Six, eight months? In that time you've suffered, let's see, at least two gunshot wounds, one concussion, got poisoned once…."

"Drugged," grumbled Dawson, but Dallas continued as if he had not heard.

"Broke your hand, collar bone, nose, ribs, got kidnapped twice, and got the drek seriously kicked out of you, and now this. So are you going for a record?"

Dawson's expression had started out bordering on the amused, but as the litany continued, darkened into a fierce scowl, "You should talk. I seem to remember you bringing home at least two concussions, not to mention a broken finger, a split scalp and some noticeable knife damage yourself, kid."

Dallas sighed and the pair waited in silence as the waiter delivered Dallas' order. Alone again, Dallas toyed with his cutlery before continuing, "The upshot being, if we don't root out the fraggin' GDs right down to the janitor for the local chapter house, we're gonna keep rackin' up the injuries until one of the bastards get lucky and kills one of us."

Dawson's anger seeped away and he felt tired, knowing Dallas was right, "Chuckles was just the tip of the iceberg," he agreed.

Dallas nodded remembering the battle against Chou and his men, and how he thought at the time it was an end, not the beginning, "We are at war, my friend," Dallas said almost too softly for Dawson to hear, "We cannot stop, we won't be allowed to. We're going to have to wipe the enemy out of this city, and I don't doubt we will have to chase them all the way to Nippon. I think there will be no quarter given by them, so none can be given by us."

Dawson had never seen his young partner's face so bleak, "I'm a soldier, kid, it's what I'm trained for. What I'm good at. You come from one of the greatest warrior nations that ever stood on this continent. We got half of Seattle's metahumanity behind us not to mention the high fraggin' prince of the Tir, I think that if anyone can win this particular war it's us."

Dallas stared at his breakfast silently, until the somber mood seemed to slip from him suddenly and he flashed Dawson a quick grin, "Yeah. Think of the stories they will tell."

Dawson was more disturbed than he would admit even to himself by Dallas' passing pessimism, but joined the banter, "Cripes, do I hafta have a tribal name now?"

"Lucy Manykills all ready calls you Stinking Man," said Dallas forking eggs and toast into his mouth.

Dawson rolled his eyes, "Great, the ball breaker thinks I stink."

Dallas grinned, "So fill me in. Where do stand in the war, and how many of the enemy can we reach?"

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

"We've been rolling around some ideas to get to Fujiyama while he's golfing. Crane's been working on some nifty new balls for the big man. I've been looking at maps of the course, and I think there's a good shot from a couple of the greens," Dawson muttered as he finished off his meal. He shifted slightly in his seat, and Dallas noted that there was some discomfort apparent. "Fujiyama's working on some kind of mind-control project. Spyder's digging a little deeper on that one. Some kind of super-soldier program or some such drek." Ray scowled slightly before speaking again at his young friend. "So, you still got those shamans in your pocket, or will I hafta pay for this visit?" Ray looked dead into Dallas' eyes as he spoke, and Dallas knew Ray was serious.

"That bad, huh?" the young indian said somberly, looking at his friend with concern.

"Well, it's enough to keep me from total concentration, and when that happens, even more mistakes are likely. This next one's gotta be perfect, kid. I'm not gonna go down 'cause of a stupid mistake." Dawson's mood seemed to darken as he spoke, and he snuffed out his half-finished cigarette in the ashtray. Ray sat back in his chair heavily, apparently thinking hard about something, before downing the last of his coffee in one swill.

"You wanna talk about it?" Dallas ventured after a moment's silence. Ray shook his head, waving the waiter over.

"Not here, my friend. I got someplace more private in mind."

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas nodded, he understood Dawson better than Dawson probably thought he did. He threw some money down on the table in a properly negligent manner, caught Dawson's eye and twitched his head toward the east side street, "See you there in
five."

Dawson nodded as Dallas turned and walked out. He waited about four minutes, finishing Dallas' toast, then strolled out into the grey morning, moving cautiously so as not to aggravate his wound. As he turned the corner he saw Dallas leaning against the hood of a brand new, glossy black Jackrabbit as he spoke on his phone. A faint smile managed to crease Dawson's face - a Jackrabbit for frag's sake.

"Tósa'e?," Dallas asked the person at the other end of the phone, "Néá'eše," he said as he closed up the phone, "Get in," he told Dawson.

"A Jackrabbit?" asked Dawson as he slid into the passenger side.

"It's Lily's company car. She doesn't use it often and she thought it was a better choice for today's look than my car."

"Who were you just talking to?"

"Hestaneoo'e."

"Geshundheit," returned Dawson sourly.

Dallas smiled, "That translates roughly to Stands In the Wind Woman. She's a very good shaman, the best I know outside my own family. She was one of my brother's teachers. She likes to hang around Council Island to see what they're up to. She's Cheyenne, though, so she's willing to do me a favor if I promise her one in return."

"I'm the favor I take it."

"Well, you're not Cheyenne, bro," Dallas grinned at him, "So let's get you well, then we'll talk. Just take it easy, it's a bit of a drive."

Dawson nodded and eased himself sown, taking any strain off the stitches. The fact the wound was such an irritant really bothered him, he'd never had this trouble before, healing had always been a given, maybe this shaman could handle whatever ailed him, besides the wound. The pair drove through morning traffic in silence, until at last Dawson allowed himself to doze off.

The slamming of Dallas' door woke him. He sat up alertly, they were in a neighborhood of small bungalows - the 'burbs in a former life - now part of the Seattle sprawl. The house in front of them was a brown, shuttered cottage, with a tangle of overgrown lawn covering the postage stamp sized lot. A slat fence obscured the back yard from view. He got out of the car, "Where are we?"

"Tacoma. We wait here until she comes out. Don't smoke until she gives you the pipe."

"Got a pack in my pocket," muttered Dawson.

Dallas shot him a half exasperated look and Dawson subsided.

A ramrod straight woman in late middle age opened the gate and stepped out from behind the fence. Her stark white hair blew across features once very beautiful, now still strikingly handsome. She pushed her hair behind one ear and addressed Dallas in Cheyenne, using a sarcastic tone.

"It's a disguise," responded Dallas in English.

She spoke again, Dawson trying without success to grasp the gist of the words.

"Raymond Dawson. My partner and friend," said Dallas in response to her question.

She chuckled, "Ray? Just like your brother? Trickster can be quite amusing."

Dawson looked at her covering his surprise, of course she could speak English, he was foolish to assume she could not.

"Come in, Hevoetâsôxhaahketa, bring your friend, I will do what I can," she said and turned back to the gate.

"Hevo- , Heveo-? " tried Dawson sotto voce.

Hevoetâsôxhaahketa," supplied Dallas, "The name of my childhood. She uses it to annoy me I think, but she insists its her memory."

"And it means?" grinned Dawson.

Dallas shot him a wary look, "I think I'll tell you some other time, at least in Cheyenne, you can't say it."

They rounded the gate and Dawson was surprised to see an actual skin lodge set up in the tiny back yard, "A tipee?"

"It's traditional, man, shut up and let her do her thing."

The two men ducked through the entry and took their places inside.

Dawson was never quite sure what happened in that lodge later, they all smoked a pipe, but he was pretty sure it wasn't just tobacco they smoked. He had memory bites of being sweaty and naked, burning fingers of pain touching his body, and feeling as light and cool as a cloud; visions of Dallas, the shaman, and strangest of all, a black faced weasel that looked like it was smiling at him. When he finally came to himself he was stretched out on a narrow bed in a tiny bedroom, clad in a shirt and trousers. The curtains were drawn and the room was dim. He sat up, not noticing at first how absolutely terrific he felt. He felt like he did when he was at his peak. Damn, he wondered if he should tip.

He wandered out of the bedroom barefoot, wondering idly where his shoes were. He heard low voices speaking in Cheyenne in the kitchen. Dallas, the Wind Woman, and another woman about Dawson's age were eating coffee cake and drinking milk, "What time is it?"

"About one," said Dallas not looking around.

"Are you well?" asked the shaman.

Dawson nodded, "Never better, Hest-"

She cut him off with a smile, "Call me Emma. This is my daughter, Mâsêha'e, but she prefers Val.

Val grinned at Dawson as he took a place at the table, "My name is Crazy Woman because I served five hitches in the UCAS marines and never even made noncom for any length of time, I tended to hit my officers. So now I am a civilian. You and I met once in passing."

"Was it in a warehouse?"

She grinned and nodded, then returned to her cake.

"Thanks for all you did," Dawson spoke to Emma.

She nodded, "You needed my help," she said simply, "We will see each other again, Ray Dawson, but you and Dallas must go now. There is much to be done," she said enigmatically.

Dallas brushed his hands free of crumbs and led his partner out to the minuscule entry hall, "Néá'eše," he called back to Emma as Dawson pulled on his shoes and coat.

Once outside Dallas wasted no time before revving up the Jackrabbit's engine, "Come on, Ray, we still have to talk... and plan...and win this war."

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The room was redolent with incense and tobacco. There were electronic devices in permanent fixtures designed to deter eavesdropping in every corner. At the oval table sat a half a dozen men, watching screens set into the table in front of each seat, presently displayed was a before and after picture of a slender Asain man, a speaker continued filling the others in on the intelligence gathered concerning the depicted individual, "This snake, Chou Sun Di, also betrayed the Jade Blossom organization in Hong Kong before finally leaving China for new employment.," Everett Kwok nearly spat out the last two words. The other men at the table nodded, each had one reason or another to have hated the late Mr Chou and all were rather pleased at his demise.

"Chou then prostituted himself to Endo Matsumuri - this was approximately eight years ago, when the Golden Dragon organization was just beginning to make tentative international inroads. The previous 21 years of its existence saw it spread only as far as a chapter in Tokyo from its home base in Kyoto. Chou was the mastermind behind the expansion. Their mission was and remains the total destruction of metahumanity."

"How far have they expanded since," asked Harry Wong.

"In addition to a very solid base in Japan," said Kwok, "They have chapters in Jakarta, Darwin, New York and Seattle. The weakest hold is in New York. And after the so called warehouse battle, the smallest chapter is Seattle. It is also the most unstable."

"John Fujiyama is the ranking member here now?" asked Amos Li.

Kwok nodded, "I have a list of all the Golden Dragon members here in Seattle," said Kwok changing the display for them, "Those names that are starred are already deceased," he smiled.

"Can I get a print out of this?" asked Li.

By Vengence is Mine (Knight_hawk) on Unrecorded Date:

Dr. Hargrove strode into the containment room and passed his gaze over all of the tanks. He stopped suddenly over the last tank as he noticed a problem.

"Sanders!" He called.

"Yes Dr. Hargrove?" A tall man in his late thirties asked.

"What in the name of all that is holy is wrong with this." He said pointing towards the last tank.

"Well sir as you know when he was brought in his arm had been severed."

"Yes, yes. But why is that still the case? I thought that had been taken care of." Hargrove said glareing at his subordinet.

"Ah, well yes. You see sir the body recently rejected the arm."

"Are you insane it was his own arm."

"We are aware of that and currently have no explainition. However we have worked out this replacement." Sanders said guiding the Dr. to a side table. On the table lay a cybernetic forearm. "The arm itself is made of Titanium and inside the structure we plan to inplant a weapon of some sort. Most likely a gun, we just havent decided on what type. We thought that you might want to make that decision."

"Excellent Sanders. Keep me appraised I want these soldiers finished soon." Hargrove said heading for the door. "Oh and as for the weapon I'll see what we got hidden away."

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas and Dawson were driving around the perimeter of the Greenswag Invitational Golf Course when Dallas’ seldom used portable phone began to ring. He glanced across at Dawson, whose attention was diverted from the view.

“Who has that number?”

“You, Lily, Spyder, and my family,” answered Dallas as he extracted the device from his inside pocket, “Héehe'e?” he answered the phone.

Dawson snorted. Using Navajo code talkers in the Pacific during the Second World War made a hell of a lot more sense to him since he’d heard the tangle of Cheyenne speech.

Dallas smiled as he heard the responding squawk on the other end, then pulled into a turn around and stopped, “Hi, Lily. All I said was yes. Well, you still haven’t told me what Sparkplug said…uh-huh…it’s called trumping, dear girl. What’s up?”

Dawson rolled his eyes and slipped out of the car for a quick smoke and an unobstructed view of the clubhouse lawn across the street. The security fencing started half way up the long, meandering drive and continued to encircle the entire compound. It had the look of wrought iron, but he could see the electronic eyes and camera emplacements even from here – but then again he had better than average eyesight.

Behind him, Dallas rolled down the window, “Lily says Amos Li wants a word with us if we have a moment.”

Dawson slid into the car, “Is it just a meeting or is he going to feed us?”

Dallas smiled as he pulled back out on to the road, “She said meeting, but I’m betting they’ll let you have a crust of bread if you whimper in a pathetic manner.”

“I won’t thump you in the head for two reasons, boy. I feel pretty damn good, and you’re driving.”

“Thanks,” said Dallas with heavy sarcasm, “She said he has some thoughts and information he would like to share.”

“Well, now isn’t that interesting.”

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Barge was one of the biggest trolls around - possibly the biggest outside of Sizable Bill in the Seattle area - the difference was he actually used his brain. On the other hand, he'd been in so many fights he couldn't count them all, but had yet to take any debilitating damage, and all sorts of people had hit him with everything from bare knuckles to .75 caliber ammo. He knew he was about 30 or so, but did not remember enough of his childhood to put a more specific number down, but then no one ever asked a troll' s birthday anyway. He was the governor of the Underground in the University area and was a friend of Arlene Sostokovich, a primo decker in semi-retirement. It was through her and her late brother Yakov that he'd gotten himself involved with Crane and Spyder and the whole meta-plague thing. He'd done some reading about plagues in general, and didn't really appreciate the thought some one might want to wipe him out just because of what he was - or rather wipe out his unborn children - that was even more insidious, more evil, to his way of thinking.

He was giving huge discounts to the elves, and Moore, and even the two humans he'd nicknamed Chimney and Little Red for communications purposes, for everything they needed from the Underground. Leilani told them 15% but it was more like 60% of what they would have charged anyone else who'd wanted what they had over the last few months, but now it was all coming to an end. Tyler Boniface had told him that he and Moore were heading to the Tir. Kind of a shame, actually, things had been really interesting since they had all hooked up that night at Yokov's.

He strolled out of the Stuffer Shack and headed down the twilit street in all his swaggering confidence. It came natural to him. He crossed with the lights at Culvert like a good citizen - it amused him to do so - and headed down the alley toward Leilani's doss. When they hit him with the stagger spell and whatever it was that made frappe of his perception, he had just enough time to think, Wow, magical attacks! Somebody must really think I'm hot drek, before he crashed to the ground, hands searching weakly for targets. Before somebody slammed his mind with a black velvet brick he heard them talking - it was Japanese.

Leilani had been waiting for her cousin for over an hour. Just like Barge to take his own sweet time when she was feeling antsy - which was admittedly pretty much all the time. She was kind of ticked about losing Jack to the Tir. She'd never been hit on by a human before and had begun to really like the attention. Finally, her patience unraveling, she' headed out, knowing Barge habitually hit the Stuffer Shack down the block before cutting across to her place. She trotted into the alley just in time to see half a dozen humans laboriously loading what could only be Barge into a step van. She didn't think she just pulled her Desert Eagle and let fly.

"Barge!"

Startled by the sudden attack, two of the men lost their grip on the unwieldy troll and another fell to a lucky shot - Leilani was actually too far away and running too hard to have the pistol act as much more than a random chance. The humans scrambled to get the troll into the van and themselves under cover inside before the charging female was upon them. Another man fell to Leilani's wild shots then the gun was empty. The others succeeded in loading Barge and scrambled inside just as she reached them. Her fingertips scored the fender as the van leapt away from her, screeching off down the street. She ran after it uselessly for several paces, memorizing the tags.
She turned back, panting in rage more than exertion, and examined the two fraggers she'd downed. One had taken only a graze to the skull, unconscious but alive, the other she'd nailed right through the neck, and he was messily dead. She tossed the live one over her shoulder and with only a moment's hesitation headed Underground. Maybe those elves would know what was going on. She knew Spyder was quite a decker, she also knew she could count on Crane and maybe even Chimney to pull a trigger on anyone who had put the bag on Barge if for some reason she couldn't. It would take a hell of a lot to prevent that though.

By Subcriminal (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

It had been three hours since the small squad from the Tir arrived to induct Jack and Boniface. Though it meant less for them to worry about, it certainly didn’t seem to make Spyder feel better. The entire exchange went well otherwise. Jack was greatly disappointed that he couldn’t say goodbye to Leilani, but asked Crane to thank her and Barge for looking after him. Spyder had taken notice of Kyran, the squad captain, who was quite charming, so much so that she hesitated when asked for the final time if she would be joining them for the journey back to the Tir. She was too caught up in her own mental ebb and flow to take notice of Kyran’s disappointment, a detail which didn’t escape Crane. For reasons unknown to him her mood turned brusque soon after Jack and Boniface’s departure. She retreated to her deck, rapping at the keyboard fervidly.

“Cheap, dreck-festering motherfragger!!”

Crane looked at her quite startled, wondering what it was that he did. “Excuse me?”

“Not you…” she snapped with her eyes half shut, still tapping the keyboard angrily “There’s a price on our heads.“

“So, how much are we worth?” Spyder could sense Crane’s cheeky grin through her slack eyelids.

“Two mill.”

“For all of us?” Crane sneered at the monetary figure in disgust “We’re worth more then that!” he plunked down on the couch with a bitter expression. “Well… We’ll just have to drive our stock price up.”

The two of them exchanged knowing glances, interrupted by his cel phone. “Speak!” Crane demanded through the receiver. His face froze while he listened intently and then hung up as the conversation was one-ended and terse. Spyder had her eyes closed and brows narrowed as she toiled on the matrix, probably mining for detail. “Jack out.” Crane ordered, “We’re leaving. Someone captured Barge.”

Her eyes popped open in disbelief “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Who and what army?” she gasped, still trying to accept the claim. To anyone who knew Barge it seemed downright ludicrous.

“Leilani managed to take a prisoner. We’ve got to leave, now.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to meet up with her. Get packing, I’ll call the others.”

**

Leilani turned her attention to the long, dark corridor that carried the bellowing voices of two sentinels posted to observe her new captive. After a half-hour of interrogation it was obvious western languages were entirely vacant to him. The smaller of the two guards approached to inform her that his brother had arrived with the drugs she requested. One way or another the young Yakuza would tell her what she needed to know, if she could get a translator. Her stomach turned, realizing that somewhere, in a similar setting Barge shared a parallel fate.

Two figures advanced from the dreary underground. She could distinguish Spyder and Crane from their postures, though their appearances were slightly different. The concern on their faces was sincere. Spyder cradled her deck under one arm with the other tucked loosely in her pocket. Leilani handed her a piece of paper with the vehicle information. “Let me know what you find.” she said nearly commanding. In consideration of the discounted services (which was more like a momentous favor) Spyder knew it was time to return the kindness and sought out an LTG port immediately. “I've run into a slight problem.” Leilani continued, now speaking to Crane “The fraggin' Yak I caught barely knows cityspeak from his ass. It was mentioned a while back that you knew how to speak Korean, know any Japanese?”

“I happen to be highly proficient in tongue.” he smiled wryly, not being able to help himself, and Leilani didn't find his humor mirth-provoking.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas, Dawson, and Amos Li sat around a table secreted in a private room at Li's spa. It was scattered with the remains of a large meal and several sheets of flimsy. Dawson studied one of the printouts silently, while Dallas dropped his and began picking at leftover dim sum. Li called for another pot of tea.

Dawson let the sheet drop to the table top, "The people at the warehouse fight really did a job on Golden Dragon Seattle," he said rhetorically.

Dallas glanced at him and placidly continued eating. Li nodded, "As you can see, their number one man, Chou, and all of his elite soldiers were killed. All that remains, if you'll forgive the expression, is the second string. Fujiyama has more ambition and cunning that actual brain power. His whole liaison with the humanis policlubs and their Diane Scanlon was ill conceived at best."

Li pushed another flimsy toward Dawson, "His man Hiroshi has defected to a rival faction. We have learned that Fujiyama's hasty contamination of the food supply here in Seattle with their plague virus has had less than stellar results. Matsumuri is...unhappy. Fujiyama's tenure with Renraku is at risk, his status in the Golden Dragon even more so. According to our best intelligence, the Golden Dragon under Fujiyama has 17 active members here in Seattle remaining. A quarter of those are technical types, the rest are soldiers and their commanders. We have last knowns on about two-thirds of these."

Dallas and Dawson sat and absorbed Li's news for a minute, "If..." began Dawson before he was interrupted by the ringing of his newest phone, "Excuse me, Amos."

He got up and walked across the room, answering as he paced. When he walked back he was saying, "I'll see if we can set something up at this end. Just sit tight, and we'll be right there," he returned the phone to his pocket, "Amos, do you have a handy safe house? It seems the bad guys might be serving up another forced relocation."

Dallas looked up alertly, "What?"

"Looks like Barge was snatched by some Japanese faction. Amazingly, his cousin managed to restrain herself and take one of his kidnappers alive. They're all tucked away trying to politely persuade the guy to spill his guts."

"But we need a new bolt in the meantime," Dallas finished for him. He glanced at Li briefly, the Asian didn’t notice, but Dawson did. The kid obviously had more to say, but not in front of Li. No problem, they were done here anyway.

"There is a place that might suffice, Ray," said Li scribbling an address on one of the flimsies, "I'll tell my people to expect you sometime in the next forty-eight hours. Either you or Dallas will have to accompany whomever else is coming at least the first time in."

Dawson nodded, "Thank you Amos. And thanks for the info. We'll let your people know if and when we decide to move on this, but we've got to go now."

Li showed them out, "I understand. Good luck."

The two men trotted down the stairs and out into the street. Dallas ceded the driver's seat since Dawson apparently knew where they were going and he did not. The little black Jackrabbit shot down the street as if fired from a gun, "Well?" Dawson finally asked Dallas.

Dallas stared out through the windshield, he looked, from Dawson's view, like one of those historical 2-D photographic Indian portraits. Rock hard and deeply sad at the same time.

"We must rescue Barge from the enemy. If that isn't going to be possible, we must find him and kill him as he deserves rather than let him suffer under their tortures. I saw what they did to our people before, especially the metas. We cannot let them torture him like that, even more than we can risk him giving them information. If rescue is not possible it must be a clean death," he turned and looked at Dawson squarely, "It is the way I would want it."

Dawson looked at his young friend, there was a hell of a lot more there than met the eye. Just a couple thousand years of warrior tradition, wrapped up in one tight little package, "Don't worry kid, I'll make sure we never need plan B."

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

John Fujiyama stood in his private suite, looking out into the Seattle night. A japanese opera played loudly on the sound system, almost too loud to hear the phone ring. Fujiyama sighed, then pressed a button on the remote in his left hand before picking up the receiver.

"Yes," he spoke evenly, his face etched harshly in the golden light cast by his holographic fireplace.

"We have found Hiroshi Sir. Shall I send word to dispatch him?" the voice at the other end said in japanese.

"No. I have something else in mind for him. He shall pay for his traitorous deeds soon enough, Fujiyama said, smiling. "Bring him to the cybernetics lab on sub-level 5."

"Yes Sir," the informant said, hanging up.

Fujiyama returned to his reflections, only this time, a smile played fiercely across his face.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

As the guards passed Dallas into the interrogation room, he observed that Leilani held the captive's hand in her own massive fist. It was a grotesque parody of affectionate handhold as the troll woman squeezed the human's hand until the crack and pop of bones was audible across the room - until it was drowned out by the victims scream.

"Anything?

Leilani looked up sharply, she had not noticed Dallas' entry, but Crane, lounging in a corner had tracked his movements across the room, and shook his head.

"He is remarkably resistant to my little cocktails, so our trolless is amusing herself until I come up with another concoction," said Crane filling and hypo with yet another blend, "The last batch got us his name, but that's all. And that's only 'cause it's pretty much surface skimmings. A name is always right there on top."

Dallas lifted an eyebrow, "So what is it?"

Crane looked vaguely surprised that he hadn't mentioned it already, "Yuki. It means lucky," he grinned at the irony.

Dallas studied Crane for a minute as the elf returned to his chemistry, then turned his attention to Leilani. She had not released the prisoner's hand as she watched the exchange between the two males.

"Patience," said Dallas mildly to her as he drew the heavy Bowie knife from it's sheath and examined the prisoner speculatively, "We'll get what he need. I have a few tricks myself if you want, but we need him alive...for now, my friend."

Leilani's iron hard expression didn't change but she dropped the whimpering man's hand, "I know," she growled, "do what you gotta do to get him to talk, but don't you guys kill him. I want to be the one to do that."

Dallas nodded, his face set in the unreadable lines of his working mode, "No problem. It's your right to claim him."

Crane ignored the byplay and approached the prisoner with his latest pharmaceutical smorgasbord, "Now I know you loved our appetizer, Yuki, but just wait until you try the entree," he said pressing the hypo to the terrified man's neck.

By Vengence is Mine (Knight_hawk) on Unrecorded Date:

He had no name, no identity, was simply a number. He was called number 8 by the doctors that patched him up, he was called number 8 by the ones who gave the orders, and he was called number 8 by his teammates.

He didn't know who he was or anything of his past, all he knew was what he was told. He was the perfect soldier he followed orders without question and he did so promptly.

He showed no emotion and none was given to him. If he screwed up he punished, if he failed he paid for it, if he did well he was treated promptly. He had no emotion for anything, he felt no pain, anxiety, or even fear. He felt nothing for any of his teammates save for that of comradship but that would not stop him from killing them if it were so ordered. He however had felt a strange twinge when he looked at number 7. It was as if something in the back of his mind was trying to tell him something but couldn't.

He had been paired up with number 7 and they were currently in the breifing room awaiting oreders. They had been codenamed 'shadow brothers.' and were about to go on their first mission.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Barge came too, the pain and shock that had knocked him out were now merely a throbbing agony, but endurable, more so than the knowledge of what they'd done to him.

He steeled himself and looked down - half of his left foot was gone, the stump had been cauterized with hot tar as he watched. The interrogators had laughingly told him the old ways were the best ways, apparently this particular torture had been perfected by Asian pirates several hundred years previously. Barge would have preferred anything that didn't have something to do with parts of him being separated from the whole. Especially since they intended to post his boot with the half foot inside to Leilani's mail drop - which he had stupidly written on the margin of a 100 nuyen note he kept in his wallet for emergencies. Thankfully, it wasn't her home address. He hadn't given them that, hell he hadn't given them anything. They only had what they took off of him. He shuddered at the thought.

He looked about, but he was alone. He wondered how long he'd been here. They scrambled his brain when they grabbed him, and then there must have been a couple of hours of screaming questions and severe beatings, which he just shrugged off as only he could do. That's when they brought in the Bowling Ball. The never used his name, but that's what he looked like to Barge. An almost completely round man, with arms and legs appearing tiny, but apparently a fine student of ancient tortures. Barge could still feel every second of the long, slow minutes BB took cutting his foot.

He tested his bonds subtly, he figured they were watching from somewhere and didn't want to invite an early return - damn, he had to get out of here while he could still stump along, after today, he was sure the whole foot would be gone.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas left the interrogation room as soon as Crane began working, it had just occurred to him that he had foolishly neglected one possible avenue of investigation. He pulled out his phone and swore when he realized there was no reception in the Underground. A nearby ork glanced at the Indian hard eyed, not understanding what he'd said, but willing to assume it was an insult, Dallas barely noticed. He rejoined Dawson, who was waiting for Spyder to emerge from her matrix torpor.

"I'm going topside for a bit. I forgot to check on something. Crane and Leilani are lubricating the prisoner. He's alive but only for now."

Dawson nodded, "What did you forget?" he asked knowing the youth well enough to know forgetfulness was not something that often occurred.

"We already had a prisoner," Dallas answered grimly as he strode out the door.

Dallas emerged from the opening in a tenement basement ignoring the half concealed ork guard, and climbed out into the alley where he perched on a half closed Dumpster as he dialed up Lily Bao.

"I'm stupid. I never asked what happened with the psudoninja that we took the night we had dinner," he said without preamble the moment she answered.

"What's wrong?" she sounded concerned.

"More of the same but worse. What happened with him?"

"Hold on. I forgot him myself."

Dallas waited, mentally kicking himself. He'd allowed himself to be dazzled by Lily - among other things - and had forgotten vital elements to the puzzle. Barge's capture, he now believed, was at least partially his fault. And, dammit, he liked the big troll.

Lily came back on the line within moments, "He resisted our people for quite a while, but finally gave us a couple of names and an address before he died. Hiroshi Komatsu - he was Fujiyama's second until he defected a little while ago, and Dickey Izumida a fixer known alternately as Izzy. He's particularly slimy, but seems a favorite of Fujiyama. Izzy gets a good chunk of his business these days from Fujiyama or his referrals. He ran the supply line for Diane Scanlon's policlub almost exclusively," she provided Dallas with Izzy's address, "It appears that any business that Izzy does that is not related to Fujiyama these days goes back to Tsuyoshi Asako, who just happens to head up the kabuki mono - that means crazy people."

"They're yakuza?"

"Yeah, locals."

"Thanks, Lily. How's Suzi?" he asked about the White Tiger who was wounded in the same fracas the prisoner was taken.

"Recovering," he heard the smile in her voice.

"I'll see you soon," he said softly as he disconnected.

He looked about thoroughly, but there was no one around, there weren't even any rats since the Dumpster he sat on was full of nothing but packaging, plastic, and old furniture rather than food waste. He re-entered the building and descended into the depths in order to share what he had with Dawson.

By Subcriminal (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Crane suspected Yuki had a blood filter. It was the only explanation for the unusually high tolerance to the drugs. A few friction-worn pictures were tucked away in a small fold of his wallet. Crane studied them carefully while he waited for the drugs to metabolize. “I’d really hate to have her hurt you Yuki.”

“Frag you.” Yuki snickered with a raspy quality through swollen lips and cracked teeth.

“All balls and no brains.” Crane signaled for Leilani to rough him up a bit. Her large, heavy arms had the effect of two battering rams on the disabled human. Several rib fractures resulted despite her self-control. Yuki let out a few grunts as he didn’t have enough air left in his lungs for a full scream. “Think your brothers are gonna save you now Yuki? I don’t think they’d mind having a little dreck like you dissociated from them. We’re all you have now.” Crane paused to display one of the pictures from the wallet. “She your girlfriend?” Yuki struggled against his bonds

“Where did they take Barge?” Crane demanded once again.
**

Spyder dashed through the Seattle DMV records and then on to Lone Star, as she expected the van was stolen. It’d been reported missing only three hours before Barge was taken; whoever it was had been careful not to violate traffic laws (or get caught) making the evidence even weaker. Determined to be thorough, she searched on but still came out empty-handed. The fruitless search brought on the slight edge of depression to thicken her disagreeable condition. Feeling useless, she jacked out in a huff to find Dawson planted in the room reading through some papers. He read the sour expression on her face as ‘no news’.

“Anything?” he asked redundantly.

“Nothing… Whoever stole the van was careful.”

“You sure?”

Spyder was irritated with being questioned “You’re free to waste your time chasing a randomly stolen vehicle. I’m going to see if Crane has squeezed anything useful out of that Yak.”

**

They had the name of his Yakuza clan, and Crane was pleased they were finally beginning to make progress.

Yuki glowered in Leilani’s direction through his hollow, bleeding eye sockets, seething an insult of foreign variety. She looked over to Crane for a translation.

“He called you a dreck-faced demon…You’re not gonna stand for that are ya?” Crane cheerfully kicked Yuki’s left eyeball out of his path as he paced around the hostage. “Yuki, if you have anymore to say, now would be the time- before she removes something that won’t be easily grown in a vat- and you know how gentle she is.” Leilani smiled widely sensing the gist of what was spoken, although it was in Japanese.

Spyder peeked her head through the door timidly, catching Crane’s attention.

“Leilani, give him something to cry about. I’ll be right back.”

**

“Anything?” Crane asked impatiently as he followed Spyder into the corridor where Dawson waited to join them.

Spyder lowered her gaze pessimistically “Sorry, the van was stolen and whoever it was knew to be careful. I didn’t find anything.” Crane growled and looked back at the door to the interrogation room.

From Crane’s apparent frustration Dawson guessed his endeavors met similar disappointment. “What have you got from Yuki?”

Crane was unresponsive; his attention drawn to a pile of stacked scaffolding with clamps of various sizes still attached to the metal pipes. He looked to Dawson who nodded in congruity before answering the question. “He’s one Koga-San’s lackeys, their territory is in Everett.”

She grinned and patted her deck “Now that I can work with.”

**

It seemed the injections were finally beginning to have an effect, as were the metal clamps scavenged from the hallway. Leilani assigned one to each of Yuki’s fingers (on his good hand) and toes and began tightening slowly. With each twist of the metal vice he wailed and thrashed against his metal restraints in agony. His screams were delight to her ears, compelling her to constrict them even more until he passed out. Four fingers later Yuki was muttering something about a garage in East Auburn. Tears streamed down from where his eyes used to be, dissolving some of the encrusted blood that spotted his face.

Crane handed Leilani two larger clamps to accommodate the girth of Yuki’s forearm “You were saying?”

“Auburn… Jiro. He has a garage in Sumner...” Yuki stammered and gasped “Please, make her to stop.” Leilani created an archaic splint out of the oversized c-clamps and one strip of plywood and the armrest of the chair. Most of Yuki’s fingers were flattened, and she would follow suit with his arms.

“I need that address Yuki. Then I’ll ask the lady to stop.”

“That is not a lady.” he scoffed and then spat out a thread of congealed saliva and blood.

Crane motioned for Leilani to continue. "He's all yours." Crane said as he turned away from Leilani. Normally he'd stay for the carnage, but he didn't want to keep the others waiting.

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

As Dawson glanced up from his recent reading material, he noticed Dallas returning from his trip topside. Yuki's screams of agony echoed through the hallways, giving even Ray a chill in his spine.

"So, what did we remember, partner?" Dawson asked, folding his newspaper as Spyder's eyes flickered, obviously streaking through the matrix at cutthroat speed.

Dallas adjusted his cuffs before speaking, a point which was not wasted on Dawson. "Lily was kind enough to supply us with an address and some names. Apparently, the White Tigers' recent guest was working for Hiroshi."

"Fujiyama's boy?" Ray interrupted. Dallas silently nodded.

"Only now he's working for one of Fujiyama's rivals." Dawson raised an eyebrow.

"You'd think that if you were to betray somebody as nice as Johnny Fujiyama, you'd want someplace as far away as possible, out of his reach," Ray said thoughtfully. "Either Hiroshi is really confident, or he isn't quite getting what he bargained for out of his little trade."

"Well, we can ask him ourselves if you want," Dallas said quietly, "once we get to Sumner." Ray nodded.

"I'll meet you upstairs. I want to make sure our guest is being treated well. I haven't heard him scream since you came in." As if in response to Ray's statement, Crane walked in, whistling some upbeat tune, wiping his hands with a towel.

"Well, Leilani is amusing herself with Yuki. Before he ran out of breath, though, he gave us some more relevant information. Seems there are four garages leased or owned by Koga-San and his men, and two warehouse type places. The other pieces of real estate are residential and commercial scattered around Everett. They also run a few seedy shiatsu massage parlors which double for R&R," Crane informed as he paced over behind Spyder.

"One of those garages in Sumner?" Ray asked.

"1129 White River Drive," Crane answered, smiling.

"That's the same address we have from Lily," Dallas offered.

Ray looked over at Crane and asked, "You wanna come along for the ride?" Crane's smile widened as he pulled out a pistol and checked it.

"I'm flattered," Crane said, almost mockingly. "Lead the way, gentlemen."

"Before you 'men' run off all gung-ho and full of testosterone," Spyder said from her position at her deck, "I thought you might be interested in the blueprints for the building you're about to invade." Her deck made a quiet whirring noise as a strip of paper scrolled out of one edge, building plans printed on it in great detail. "The place used to be a mom and pop mechanic shop that went under six years ago. It's a two-story garage with a one-level basement. Four exits, two stairwells on either side, two phone lines, four hydraulic lifts and a freight elevator--essential for hauling a 700-pound troll around the premises. They also have your basic electronic security system, and the airducts are big enough to crawl around in, but just barely."

Spyder smiled as Ray grabbed the printout and briskly strode out the door.

"We'll plan it on the way," he said, leaving Spyder sitting at her deck. "You get a cube van and Leilani, along with whoever else you think we'll need to carry Barge out, and meet us over there. It should take us about 20 minutes to get there, so be quick."

By Subcriminal (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Only a few moments had passed since the others left and the interrogation room was silent. Leilani stood with her eyes closed peacefully, almost slumber-like, savoring the moment. Her arms were drenched in blood, and the shredded remains of Yuki slithered down the walls. Spyder could barely identify the tattered corpse in front of Leilani from what dripped down the periphery. The air was heavy with the scent of raw entrails making Spyder's stomach turn, but she remained composed long enough to wake Leilani from her trance.

"Come on. Let's round up some friends."

**

Crane scanned the dim interior of the garage as he slipped into new cover and compared it to his recollection of the blueprints. The airshaft was twenty feet ahead near the office rooms, and a freight elevator to his left. The elevator floor dial read "A". "I think they took Barge to the basement level, that's where the elevator is." Crane said over the radio as he ran behind a concrete pillar, firing at a soldier soon to realize he was heavily armored. Dawson targeted more vulnerable areas of his assailant while Dallas flailed his monofilament whip at the same opponent, removing his gun-hand at the wrist. The freak didn't even flinch, and a single cyber-spur protruded from his bloody stump as he squared off with Dallas, even as Dawson pumped round after round into the brute. Dallas maneuvered carefully, keeping his opponent between himself and the other attacker, who still had his gun.

From appearances alone it was obvious their enemies were cybered to the teeth. It was disturbing enough when they tossed Lily's car across the street, but Crane didn't know what to think when the one closest to Dallas acknowledged his hand injury with what seemed to be enthusiasm and still fought on. The face of the cyber-grunt remained expressionless.

"Frag me! Why does that soldier pet-project Spyder dug up on Fujiyama suddenly spring to mind?" Crane cursed as he pumped another five bullets into the one who was still shooting back.

**

The combined weight of two trolls, two orks and one willowy elf made the truck sluggish. Spyder floored the accelerator, pushing strained engine to its limit. She'd left only three minutes after the others, but the large payload could potentially add another minute or two. She tucked the radio into her ear and steered with her free hand, doing the best to calm her nerves as the sounds of gunfire filtered through the earpiece.

"We're on our way. We have some of Leilani's friends joining the butchery."

"Hurry up, we could use some help." Dawson said elevating his voice over the gunshots.

"Four minutes- tops. Can you hold out?"

Crane cursed as he crouched behind a car "Be here now!"

Dawson's marksmanship caught the attention of the soldier pursuing Dallas, who was determined to sneak by the gauntlet. "We don't have time for this! I'm going in to find Barge!" Dallas declared as he lunged behind a parked car and prepared for his run.

Crane readied the second Predator II in his free hand and fired both guns at the gunner's neck as he sidestepped to a neighboring support column. Two bullets shot clean through, leaving Crane quite pleased with himself as he watched his assailant collapse. Dallas was too busy chipping away at the other faltering soldier to notice. He had opened a gash along the soldier's body from his collarbone to his navel, exposing metal plates and the soft interior within them. As the cyber-zombie faltered and collapsed, Dallas slipped into the garage and disappeared in the darkness.

Dawson sighed with relief and paused to reload his predator when the corpses began to move. Both soldiers rose to their feet, the wounds sealing up before their eyes in an eerie green glow. Dallas' opponent even picked up his removed hand and held it to the stump left behind, looking on as the green glow invaded that limb, as well. Soon the hand would be re-attached, and the soldier would be at full fighting ability once more. Dawson and Crane could only stare in disbelief at what was happening.

"Uhmmm. Didn't we just kill them?" Crane said nearly stuttering in disbelief.

Dawson nodded "That's what I thought," as he readied himself for round 2. He was 2 clips down and only had 2 left, and then his backup gun. He decided to make every round count.

Spyder came through over the radio, disturbing the awe of the realization, screeching tires sounding in the distance. "Get out of the way or become one with the pavement!" she shouted over the radio.

Crane and Dawson leaped to safety as Spyder jumped the curb and plowed the truck through the soldiers. One was trampled underneath the massive grill, and the other soared head-first into a cinder-block wall, still emptying rounds into the front end of the truck as he flew back. The shots fell silent as the soldier hit the ground.

"Woo hoo!" Spyder cheered as she bounced in the driver's seat while Leilani and company filed out of the back of the truck. "I got 'em! I got 'em!" she slid out of the driver's side doing a little victory dance as Dawson peered under the bottom of the truck.

"No, you didn't." Dawson said flatly noticing the absence of the soldier who should have been pinned underneath the vehicle.

"Yes, I did." she protested "Not like I could stop this damn thing anyway. Do you know how fast I was goin'?"

Dawson just shook his head as he continued scanning the area around the truck.

"What?!?" Spyder asked in an agitated tone as Dawson continued to ignore her, still searching for the once-handless soldier.

"Spydie, get out of the way." Crane warned as his eyes locked on the twitching enemy who had crashed into the wall, and aimed both guns at the back of his skull.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas could still hear the echo as the heavy door shut behind him. He snapped the monowhip back home, his mind rapidly pulled out the brief mention of the super soldier experiment that Fujiyama had supposedly been working on. Well, it looked like it was out of the rumor stage off the drawing board.

He loosened the Roomsweeper in its holster and slipped a knife into throwing position. They hadn't been so stupid as to arrive without fire power, but this was a little more than he'd been expecting. He touched the Browning nestled in the small of his back and moved across the room where they had apparently held Barge for most of the last thirty hours.

He gave the scene a once over - streams of blood, splashes of - he sniffed it - pitch, scuff marks, a broken bloody saw blade, and a blood blossom about eye level. Dallas smiled grimly, it looked like Barge had broken at least one skull - and recently too. The blood flower decorating the wall had been drying for less than an hour.

Dallas took all the evidence into account as well as Crane's observation, and decided the elf was probably right, they were heading down and not up. If they were wrong, Barge was dead.

He glanced up as a rending crash echoed through from the bay. He was already moving quickly, but doubled the pace. He slipped across to the stairwell, and ran his fingers over the door, listening and looking for the unusual. Nothing. He turned the knob. Nothing.

He walked away from the door, leaving it unlatched but closed, and picked up a folding chair. He heaved the thing at the door while he ducked for cover. The explosion that followed was admirably concentrated, he got almost no blow back in his location, but if he'd been the one to open the door, he would now resemble the shapeless twist of metal that still smoked as it slid down another step then wedged against the banister.

Dallas slipped through the door at a quick but watchful pace, at least now he knew how they were going to be playing it.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

What light there was in the basement was feeble. Distantly placed single bulbs hung on long cords across the expanse of the basement. Although he could not make out the doors, Dallas assumed that they would be off to the side so as to service the loading dock in the alley. He’d feel better if the room was open and vacant giving him a clear shot, but it was a warren of shelving, piles of auto body parts, and barrels - some that were open some sealed. God knew what toxic drek they contained that could deter scavengers.

Dallas slipped down the steel deck stairs, mapping from above the maze that led through the detritus. At the foot of the stairs there was a trip wire. Dallas swore to himself, he really didn’t need these delays – which is of course why they were placed. A quick examination told him it was a standard trip, nothing fancy, he carefully pinched the wire and sliced it with the knife in hand. He snaked quickly across to the first rack of shelving, moving silently. Hopefully the baddies would assume their door trap had taken out pursuers. He decided not to follow the obvious path, but pick his way across
through the garbage. Either way would keep his speed down, it was just more likely that one way would be because of mines the other because of oily rags – easy choice.

He heard the whisper of sound milliseconds before the weight of an attacker slammed into him from behind. His knife hand snapped up, blocking the garrote as he tried to spin and draw, but his gun hand was blocked by his assailant’s body.

The garrote began to slice into the fleshy pad on the side of Dallas’ hand as the young man struggled to interpose the knife between his person and the fine wire. His attacker had a wolf by the ears and dare not release his grip on the garrote for a better attack because the Indian would kill him the second he could move freely. Dallas gave up on the Roomsweeper almost immediately and reached for the attacker himself. The angles were off, and the man on his back did know how to fight, but Dallas managed a less than dazzling shoulder throw. The thug slammed into the concrete hip first, instantly releasing the now useless garrote. He spun like a dervish, his hand diving and a shurikan was in flight even as Dallas’ knife found his throat. The Indian caught the star in his forearm, most of its force negated by the armored red leather he’d cleverly picked up at Gilbo’s. Dallas hissed as he plucked the weapon out of his arm. Damn – it had broken the skin – he could only hope it wasn’t poisoned. He took a second to slash open the psudoninja’s throat. He tried to recall if Fujiyama’s people used poison and thought not. The only time he’d run into any was from Chou’s soldiers. It had nearly killed his friend Xomoo'e. He grinned as he thought of Spear Woman, and wished she were here now, she always insisted on going first.

He proceeded cautiously, wrapping his hand in a fragment of the dead man’s shirt, he did not need this battle messed up by a few ounces of slippery blood. He ghosted across the basement floor, seeing no one else lying in wait. If there was someone there, they hid very well. But then Dallas must also have been moving quietly enough not to alert them – he hoped it was a combination of no one there, hearing nothing at all.

He reached the doors to the loading bay in less than a minute. The big corrugated metal door was down and padlocked, but the normal sized double doors were slightly ajar. He wanted to sigh, hoping it wasn’t booby trapped with another bomb. He moved closer to examine the alarmingly inviting door, when he heard the voices. Most spoke in Japanese, but he was real clear on what one voice was saying.

“You chicken drek fraggers! I can take you out with just my teeth! Just get close enough, you freaks!” Barge sounded incredibly weak, but just as cocky as ever.

Dallas slammed through the door, somersaulting to a crouch half way across the dock. The Roomsweeper roared as he opened fire on the four men clustered around the opened back doors of what looked like an armored patrol wagon. They never even knew what hit them. Barge was strapped to a gurney which was folded into a chair like position and turned at a ¾ profile away from Dallas. Around him were three more men.

Barge began laughing maniacally, “Here come da Marines!” he yelled thinly as Dallas’ throwing blade found a home in the right eye of the man standing directly in front of the troll.

The two survivors managed to pull out pistols and begin a return fire as Dallas leapt across the dock and took cover behind one of the wagon’s open doors.

He spared a glance behind him in case there was someone already in the driver’s seat, but that way was clear. His two targets were busy wasting their ammo on the truck door, neither it appeared was bright enough to realize about 10 inches of Dallas’ legs were exposed as was all of the troll, but neither took the time to aim or threaten, they just laid down the cover fire. It sounded like one had a standard pistol. The other, however, had a nasty sounding machine pistol that coughed well timed bursts at Dallas’ position. Thank all that was sacred that none of those he’d run into were the type of cyber mutants that Dawson and Crane were now dealing with to cover his ass on this rescue.

Dallas waited, reloading the Roomsweeper, but thought better of it, and holstered it in favor of the Browning. A lot more control than with the scattergun, but he slipped another knife into his hand almost as if it was a talisman. He heard the hammer come down on an empty chamber across the dock and dove out of cover firing toward the click. He was a little off, the first shot missed entirely, but the second and third punched in to the man high in the chest, painting one side of Barge’s face with a fine spatter of blood as at least one of the rounds exited out the man’s neck. Dallas’ graceful dive, was interrupted however, as he was knocked out of the air by some surprisingly accurate fire from the second adversary.

The young man hit the ground hard and kept rolling, wondering briefly how bad he was hit. He didn’t bother to check since he seemed still to be able to function, and pausing right now would inevitably lead to terminal lead poisoning. He scrambled, trying to get his feet under him again, and dove directly for the legs of the gurney.

Barge, howling a warcry, was shoved backward into the last man standing, knocking him sprawling. Barge gnashed his teeth as Dallas flew across the distance and fell on the off balanced enemy, knife in hand. The man fired in a blind panic, emptying his gun and the charging Indian. Dallas dropped on him like a wildcat, driving the blade into the soft underside of the man’s chin and twisting it. The enemy twitched violently as a gout of hot blood washed over Dallas’ hand, and then was still.

The room was absolutely silent, save for the sound of Dallas’ breathing for about five seconds, then Barge spoke in a fractured voice, “Hey, Little Red. Nice to see you."

By Vengence is Mine (Knight_hawk) on Unrecorded Date:

Spyder stared in disbelief as the soldier got to his feet and brought his gun up. “B-but I…I got him.”

Dawson grabbed her roughly and threw her down behind the truck. The soldier opened fire again and caught one of the Trolls full on dropping it. Crane fired a two shots into the monster’s neck and turned to look for the other one. Ducking behind another pillar he saw it just before it found Dawson.

Spyder was intently trying to stay out of the line of fire when she heard a muffled cry of surprise come from behind her. Turning she saw Dawson in the clutches of the second Soldier. His face was turning red as he struggled against the things grip. Spyder tried to think of what to do when a bullet ricocheted close to her head. Taking a deep breath she got to her knees and brought her arm up to the things groin. The soldier took notice but only enough to grab her as well. Spyder gritted her teeth and prepared to die when she felt the grip slacken.

Crane cursed as the soldier lifted both Dawson and Spyder some four feet into the air. For his credit Dawson was not panicking, he threw a few kicks to the soldier’s head and solerplexis but to no avail. Crane was about to risk going over there when Leilani stepped behind the soldier and leveled him with a double swing from her immense arms.
Crane smiled and returned his attention to the other soldier as a bullet clipped his left shoulder.

Dawson choked to get his breath back; he looked over at Spyder to see her staring her eyes wide open. Dawson looked to where she was looking and saw Leilani and the soldier going toe to toe. Leilani was holding her own but the soldier was slowly getting an advantage over the Troll. Dawson grabbed his gun and leveled it at the back of the soldier’s head. “Head,” was all he said as he pulled the trigger. The soldier reeled and fell the wound began to close but the soldier made no move to get up blood oozed from its mouth and ears.

Leilani glared at Dawson who only shrugged. “No time to play. Crane, try and get the head.” There was no response. “Crane, come in. Crane!” Dawson looked to see the other soldier firing at a support pillar. He saw the two Orks lying dead on the ground both had had their heads severed.

“Little busy right now, though some would be appreciated.” Cranes voice came weakly over the radio.

“Crane are you hurt?” Spyder asked, Dawson noted a hint of concern in her voice but disregarded it.

“No, everything is going great. Now if you don’t mind I’m being shot at by the fraggin’ Frankenstein’s Monster.”

Dawson got a bead on the monster and fired at the soldier’s head. To Dawson’s surprise the shot went wide and hit a nearby car. Crane quickly fired a few shots and ducked back under cover. Dawson fired again and caught the soldier in the neck making it focus on him.

**

Fujiama watched on smiling, the loss of number four was unfortunate but not devastating. He flipped a switched activating his intercom. “Doctor be so kind as to send out numbers eight and nine. It will be interesting to see how the ‘brothers’ do.”

Fujiama leaned back in his chair and watched the events unfold even more. Yes Dawson and young Dallas had definitely stepped in it this time and they were going to pay for it.

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

Dawson mentally checked his ammo; 11 in the mag, one in the pipe, and one more clip of 15. He let out a heavy breath and signalled for Spyder to stay low and stay put. He then regained his feet and ran full-tilt towards the back of Crane's assailant. He managed to get all the way up to the freak and engage him in close combat before he saw the other two crash through the service elevator doors. Dawson swore to himself and executed the front kick to this soldier's gun arm, sending it up. Being this far out of cover, the only thing he could hope for was that Crane had seen the other two soldiers and would occupy them long enough for him to finish this one. His next move positioned him on the monstrosity's right side, with his left hand sliding up its arm toward the SMG.

It came as little surprise when the soldier simply spun, breaking Dawson's grip, while spinning and reaching for his throat with its other hand. Dawson managed to keep the SMG from being brought to bear, but could do nothing to block the choking grasp of the soldier's left hand. It was, however, what Dawson wanted it to do. As Dawson felt himself being lifted once more, he calmly raised his predator and placed it to the freak's ear.

Crane was thankful that the hail of bullets had stopped, but when he turned to take another shot at his assailant, he saw that it was holding Dawson aloft, by the throat. Crane shook his head and made a mental note not to get too close to these things, when he heard the 3 distinct shots. He scrambled around the pillar, putting it between himself and the 2 new soldiers, glancing one more time over in Ray's direction. Ray was standing over the cyber-freak, which was convulsing and twitching, it's cyberspurs extending and retracting spasmodically. Ray put his gun up to the thing's face, and emptied 8 rounds into it. It stopped moving.

For a brief moment, there was calm. Everything was moving in slow motion. Ray started to move, turning and looking in the direction of the new soldiers. Crane started to turn, as well, when the single gunshot was heard. Ray lurched in his motion and spun in midair, hitting the floor. Hard. Crane rolled out from cover, opening on the new soldiers, firing round after round into the one that had just shot Dawson. After emptying both clips, he ducked back around the pillar to reload. He glanced over just in time to see Dawson slide the dead soldier's Ingram across the floor before winking and holding up 2 fingers for Crane to see. He rolled to relative safety, behind a row of toolboxes. Crane noticed the blood on the floor, before being distracted by the concrete chips erupting all around him...

By Vengence is Mine (Knight_hawk) on Unrecorded Date:

Number eight emerged from the elevator with number nine in time to see number three fall. Losses were exceptible but not wanted. Eight raised his Predator and fired at the man standing over three. Catching the man in the shoulder just before he rolled away eight kept his Predator aimed in that direction. He took several shots from the Elf, brought up his Ingram and began to fire. Number nine began to fire with his AUG CSL assualt rifle as he moved around the van to get a better position. Keeping both weapons pointed in the general direction of each target eight moved towards the wounded man.

Dawson risked peeking around the corner of one of the boxes and cursed as he saw one of the soldiers moving in his direction. He reloaded as fast as he could and began to move around the boxes in the opposite direction keeping low.

Crane looked out from behind his cover once the fireing stopped. He could only see one of the soldiers and he was advanceing on Dawsons position. Taking a deep breath he brought both Predators to bear and fired. The soldier didn't even look but fired a single bullet that tore threw Cranes left leg. Crane dropped and rolled behind cover again before he inspected his leg. The wound was clean the bullet had passed through his leg but had thankfully missed the bone.

Number nine made his way around the van when he heard the gun fire erupt again. Unphased he continued around the vehicle and stopped when he saw a young elf female crouched near the rear end. Shouldering his rifle nine crept up on the girl.

Spyder watched intently as Crane made his move and was shot. She wanted to run out to make sure the idiot was alive but didn't want to risk getting killed. These two new soldiers were far better than the two they had just faced. Spyder's pulse pounded and her breathing was quite fast when she heard a voice behind her. "Hello pretty."

Tyler spun at the sound of the screaming and saw another Elf run out from behind the van. He brought his Ingram to bear and was about to fire when number nine stepped out and grabbed her.

Nine spun the Elf around and grabbed her by her red hair. Lifting her up he extended one of his cyber spurs.

Eight stared as the something inside of him finally broke free. He remembered his name, he remembered his identity, and most of all he remembered his brother's betrayal. "B-Blaze?"

Tyler stumbled forward as if emerging from absolute darkness into the light and then was gone again. Eight looked at nine and brought his Predator up fireing once.

Nine was about to cut the Elf wenches head of when a single bullet imbeded iself in his plating. Turning he saw eight looking intently at him repeating a single word.

Dawson was baffled by what had just happened. He knew he should probably shoot the soldier with his back to him but he wanted to see how this would play out.

Eight dropped both of his weapons and ran at nine. "Samson!" Running at his brother Tyler extended his spur.

With cold efficentcy nine slammed the Elf into the side of the van and dropped her limp body to the floor. he brought his spur up and blocked the weak assualt of the smaller man. Both slashed and stabbed at each other. Neither was able to do enough damage to the other as to prevent the nanites from doing their repairs.

***

Fujiama cursed, he had not predicted this and he did not like it. No one was supposed to be able to break their conditioning. He reached down to his panel ready to hit the red buttons when he saw none for either of the two soldiers. He remembered that these two had been to cybernetic to allow for the cortex bombs and now all hell was breaking loose because of it.

***

Dawson watched the two soldiers swing at each other and was amazed that neither had dropped yet. He made his way over to Crane and saw the Elf finishing a crude bandage for his leg.

"How're you doin'?" Dawson asked still watching the fight.

"I'll be alright, but next time you distract them."

Dawson could only smile as he watched the fight get worse.

Tyler was cut badly across his chest and legs, he had given Samson a slash across his arm but nothing major and all of the damage seemed to be healing, for that matter so were his wounds. He began to wonder what had happened to him when he got caught across his throat.

Nine caught eight off guard and slahed his throat he brought his blade around for a killing blow when he felt eights blade pass through his plating and into his stomach. Nine gritted his teeth and prepared to strike again when eight extended his second spur and slashed nine at the knee utting his leg off.

Tyler watched as Samson fell to his knees. He watched as Samson groped for his limb and tryed to reattach it, but Tyler had had enough. "This is for mother and sister Samson. I hope you burn in hell." Tyler brought up his right arm and cut Samson head off. Tyler fell to his knees gasping for breath as the nanites finished repairing his neck. Looking over he saw the red head and as the fog started to creep back he found himself lifting her up and running away with her. "Don't worry Blaze I'm here now. Everything is going to be all right.

***

Fujiama was enraged and began to thow anything that was not bolted down. "Fine. If I can't kill you with live soldiers then the dead will do fine." Fujiama slammed his fist down on the buttons for three and four's bombs and watched as both readouts went black.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas rolled off the corpse of the man with the machine pistol and stared up at Barge, "Ma'heo'o," he said softly. Barge's left leg ended mid-thigh, his right at the knee, his right hand was gone as was his left ear, all the stumps were covered in congealed pitch, "Do you want to be rescued?"

Barge looked at the young human with a world-weariness that shivered Dallas' spine, "I sure as hell didn't want them taking me out," he said at last.

Dallas painfully levered himself into a sitting position, "Do you want a friend to," he asked quietly.

Barge stared at the young Indian and saw nothing but compassion backed by steel, "You'd do that?"

Dallas nodded, "If it is your choice. "

Barge furrowed his brow as he tried to sort out present and future, options and resources, "I don't have the cred for vat or cyber replacements for what they did. And I sure don't feel like going through life like this," he said at last.

"If you want to continue, I swear we will get you the cred you need one way or another. If you do not want to continue the struggle, I will help you with that, too, my friend."

Barge shut his eyes, utterly weary, when the sound of a muted explosion echoed down from above, "Drek," he said, his eyes snapping open, "I'm fraggin' Barge, and it sounds like there's a fight going on. Let's get to it."

Dallas nodded fully accepting Barge's choice and the promise he made that went with it, he hauled himself to his feet with the aid of Barge's gurney, his leg was on fire.

"Little Red...Dallas, thanks. You're a brother."

Dallas briefly laid a hand on the troll's shoulder, "Hang on, I have to make sure of a couple of things," he quickly checked all the fallen, making sure they were dead and retrieved his knives in the process. He checked the truck and was grateful that it had a standard driver's setup as well as a rigger's console. He shoved Barge into the back and locked down his wheels. Then he hobbled quickly to the panel that controlled the lift that would take them to street level. As they started to ascend, Dallas jumped behind the wheel and had the motor racing before the lift stopped and locked in. The truck screeched down the alley almost drowning out the sound of the sirens approaching.

"Frag, kid," yelled Barge, "Heat is moving in."

Dallas shook his head as he slammed around the corner and raced across the front of the building, "Doesn't matter. We got people inside," the truck eeled to a stop just inside the bay doors, headlights illuminating a scene drawn from one of the darker corners of hell.

By Subcriminal (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Police sirens wailed in the distance adding more reason to be elsewhere. It was the pursuit of Spyder that gave Crane and Dawson enough distance to survive the blast; however, it wasn’t enough to avoid the shockwave that knocked them flat. Burning shrapnel nipped at their bodies as it flew past them. In the split second that Crane was able to look behind him he hoped Leilani was far enough to survive the explosion. Dawson skidded and rolled with the momentum and then sprang into a run. Crane’s injuries prevented him from doing the same. He groaned as he lifted himself to see the soldier running away. The pain was excruciating and he was losing blood- none of this mattered to him, he had to get to Spyder.

Leilani, however breathing, was too shell-shocked to stand. Still dazed and aching she grumbled and held her head with her monstrous hands. Upon sitting up she felt a searing pain in her right leg. Leilani inspected her body and the mess around her with blurred vision, barely able to distinguish the others as they ran down the street. The sound of an approaching truck was scarcely audible over the ringing in her ears and the police sirens. Its headlights mirrored light off of the scattered pools of blood and flesh around her. Though Leilani’s vision was impaired she could say with reasonable degree of confidence that the driver was Dallas.

**

Tyler ignored the explosion behind him as he ran off with Spyder clutched tightly in his arms. "Thank you." Spyder said still weary from being slammed into the side of a van. She was quite aware of her situation despite the painful throbbing in the back of her head. If the soldier wanted to kill her it would have been done. Playing along was the best option, and she exaggerated her groggy condition as an appeal to pity. Over his shoulder she saw Dawson squeeze five bullets out of his clip to disable her captor, and Crane passing him a clip as he staggered in pursuit.

Tyler barely indicated notice as bullets impacted his back and burrowed into the dermal plating. Dawson aimed for his knees and sent another three bullets his way. Tyler stumbled as they slashed through his leg, slowing him down to Crane's pace, at least temporarily. "Blaze I won't let them hurt you." Tyler’s said determinedly despite his injuries.

Crane and Dawson heard Tyler through Spyder's radio. "Stall him Blaze." Crane hissed back over the radio as he struggled to keep pace, red tendrils of pain erupting through his injuries with every step. He targeted Tyler's good leg and released five more shots that ripped Tyler’s knee open. The healing factor made Crane’s heart sink after a mental tally of his dwindling supplies. “This is the LAST time Spydie, the LAST time I’m letting you in on the fight.” He muttered as the chase continued.

Spyder felt Tyler’s stride deteriorate under the assault "Please put me down, they won't shoot if you let me go." She said in a calming tone, but Tyler was too bewildered to stop running. The hazy, dense gray outline of Puyallup tenements loomed in the distance as they approached the district border. Spyder felt some of her weight jerk downward as more bullets from Dawson’s gun flew through Tyler's shoulder, loosening his secure hold on her for an instant. A faint mist of Tyler’s blood speckled Spyder’s pale cheek. She trusted Crane and Dawson’s aim enough not to worry about herself, but the last round was a little close. He looked around quickly to find a place to hide and flew around the side of a building for cover.

"Listen to me," Spyder demanded as Tyler raced up a flight of dirty, tiled stairs, "Those are my friends back there, they won't shoot if you let me go."

"I can't," he responded clinging to Spyder even more tightly, trying sort past from present and real memories from the thick frost of conditioning.

"Samson is dead. You killed him. Everything is alright- just like you promised. Please, you can put me down now." Spyder did her best to work with what little Tyler had volunteered about himself, but her new associate was still too frenzied to regard anything she said. An old door sealed shut by layers of paint and grimy residue gave way to Tyler's foot, revealing a room illuminated by what little streetlight trickled through the window. There was a gap in his memory and he struggled to orient himself around it.

The nanite glow subsided around his restored joints as he held Spyder tightly and sank to his knees. "What's happening Blaze?" Tyler pleaded for her to make sense of it all “I thought you were dead.” His hands glided lovingly through the fire-red locks of hair, then over her face to guide her in for a kiss. Spyder hid the slight disgust she felt having to play along. Tyler maintained the kiss for a long while.

**

Crane almost panicked when he heard the radio go silent. “Spydie? You still there?” with his eyes wide with fear he looked over to Dawson who leaped up the fire escape of the brownstone. Crane raced through the freight entrance and up the stairs, ignoring the pain as the sense of urgency played negatively with the radio silence.

**

“I don’t know what’s going on.” Tyler muttered and nuzzled his head in Spyder’s shoulder “Nothing makes sense. What about Mom? And Sis?”

Spyder wrapped her arms around his neck as she thought of something proper to say “That’s going to take a while to explain. Right now you need to calm yourself.”

“Where am I?” Tyler asked sounding disoriented.

The more he said, the more she realized just how disoriented he was. “Seattle.” She replied trying not to sound insolent.

“I don’t remember how I got here.” Tyler sighed and held her tightly again. Spyder stayed in repose as she noticed the red embers of Dawson's cigarette glowing on the fire escape, but it wasn't Dawson that Tyler noticed first.

Crane cleared his throat to announce his presence "Let the lady go." He hissed behind the confident aim of his two predators as he stood in the doorway.

"Come any closer and I'll kill you." Tyler growled and moved his body to shield Spyder.

Crane snickered with his guns aligned perfectly for their intended purpose. “I assure you that wouldn’t be possible if you tried. But that’s not what I want, let the lady go.” Crane was relieved to see that she was unscathed. In his eyes Spyder was most delicate, and he didn’t take well to the idea of anyone handling her who didn’t recognize that.

Tyler flashed his teeth in warning and tensed his body in preparation should gunman chose to approach. Spyder realized it was up to her to defuse the situation. “Relax Crane, I’m alright. He’s not gonna hurt me.” she assured while positioning herself between the two of them. Spyder was aware that a display of guns might provoke the soldier.

Crane remained on the offensive “I’ll believe it when he backs off.”

“You know him?” Tyler asked Spyder in a derogatory fashion while pointing at Crane.

“You finally figured that out?” Crane replied sourly, “I welcome your divine genius.”

"Both of you cut it out." Spyder snapped at the two of them, placing her hand on Tyler's gun to prevent him from using it "Crane put your guns down." She made it a point not to get loud enough to attract unwanted attention.

Tyler’s mind was still in the fog “I don’t trust him Blaze.” He whispered into Spyder’s ear as she gently pried his gun loose, Tyler only allowed her complete success once Crane complied with lowering his.

Crane watched suspiciously, "Whatever you say, Blaze."

"The goes for you too Dawson," Spyder said turning to the window.

"Dawson?" Tyler sputtered, a recognition he couldn’t place entirely "Ray Dawson?"

"Who wants to know?" Dawson said tapping the ash from his cigarette as he cautiously climbed into the room from the fire escape.

"I'm Tyler." He said, still seeming uncertain of everything. “Your name sounds familiar.”

“I’d have remembered if we met.“ Dawson said as he scanned Tyler’s face.

Spyder was still loosely trapped in Tyler’s embrace and looked over Crane’s wounds while he was distracted with Ray. An inquisitive stare asked if he was all right, Crane replied with a slight nod. She noticed Ray’s injuries and then pondered the whereabouts of Dallas and Leilani.

Everyone glanced out the window as a chopper flew by reminding them of Dallas and Leilani. "Looks like you have everything under control, Blaze." Dawson said "But we need to be getting back to other matters.”

Crane turned off his radio and suggested everyone do the same. “Well Dawson, I know of a few cozy places where we can regroup and recover safely- unless you have a preference that is.”

"I think we’ll pay a visit to Ralph Tayakaki, an old friend of mine. He owns a sushi bar downtown."

"Will our new… Friend…. Be joining us Blaze?" Crane asked derisively.

“I’d never leave her side.” Tyler said planting one of his cyberarms around Spyder’s shoulders.

“Good.” Crane smiled as he shifted his weight uncomfortably towards the stairs “That means I don’t have to play guardian angel anymore.” Spyder didn’t like the feel of his bright grin- only because she knew better.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

The Lone Star helicopter on whisper mode hove into view just as Dallas was climbing down from the driver's seat. Each step sent new skewers of agony through him, but he ignored the pain, instead, his gaze searched the organic mess in the garage for anyone familiar.

"Put your hands where we can see them," came an electronically enhanced voice from the chopper. Dallas absently placed his hands across the crown of his head while his concentration never wavered from the visual search. Something was moving in the far back…a faint moan…Leilani!

Four LS patrollers screeched on to the scene, cops tumbling out, weapons ready and loaded for bear, only to face a single bloody kid asking politely for a DocWagon.

Despite Dallas' own burning curiosity concerning the whereabouts of the rest of his team, he gritted his teeth and tried to satisfy the cops understandable desire to know what had happened here. Unfortunately, Dallas' knowledge of what had happened was severely limited - and it was really bugging him.

The Stars were holding his weapons and radio for the moment, as he was still classed as witness while they checked him out. He had refused to be transported with his 'client' when Leilani and Barge had been transported to hospital. Presently he was reclined in the back of a second Wagon as a cranky med tech treated his wounds and muttered sullenly about stubborn idiots. Yet another LS patrolman sat at the Indian's feet and asked him to go over his story again.

"Is the watch commander here yet?" asked Dallas tiredly.

The patrolman looked up surprised at the question from the here to for cooperative witness.

"Let's just wait for him then, since he's going to want to hear it all again anyway," Dallas finished then shut his eyes effectively ending the interrogation while allowing the med tech to do his work.

The tech had finished stapling the wound on Dallas' hand as well as cleaning and disinfecting the bullet score across his side, but he'd had to wait the minute for the local anesthetic to kick in so he could probe for the three or four bullets that had stitched across the Indian's left hip and thigh. He'd cut Dallas' jeans open from cuff to waist band, and cleaned the area before he started the delicate business of extraction.

Dallas heard the dull clank as the slugs hit the pan, the pain was blanketed under a layer of anesthetic, but as the tech probed for the next one Dallas felt it. His expression did not change, but sweat popped out across his forehead, as he resisted the natural impulse to flinch and tighten his muscles, there fore, the tech didn't notice right away.

"That one hurt?" he said finally noticing Dallas' pallor.

"Quite a bit, yes."

"Not surprised. It lodged in the bone, took a chip out. You need time in the hospital and with a shaman. This puppy ain't coming out without surgery," the tech peeled off his gloves, "I got the other three, they were just in the meat, but the hip shot," he shook his head.

Dallas waited while the white hot flare of pain subsided, "If he'd hit me dead on the leg would be gone."

The tech nodded, "True enough, Mr. Sunshine. Were you lying down when he shot you? Wound trajectory says so."

Dallas smiled thinly, "No, I was flying."

The tech looked at him blankly, "Yeah. Well, my best medical advice is to get your ass to the hospital like an hour ago. In the mean time here," he slipped a half a dozen painkiller patches in to Dallas' hand, "That'll keep you going until morning but after that you have to get that slug out."

Dallas pocketed the patches and nodded his thanks as the tech wound a bandage around the leg wound and used his skin staples to close the jeans back up.

"Mr. Whitecrow."

Dallas looked toward the open back of the wagon and saw a familier face, he almost smiled but didn't, "Mr. Seaton. Watch commander I presume?"

The patrolman looked from his boss to the witness, they obviously knew each other, he waited to find out if the acquaintance was made on their side of the shadows or the other.

"What happened?" asked Seaton

"I don't all of it. The troll, Leilani, hired me to find her cousin who, we had on good information, was being held here. When I got here there were already about eight or ten corpses inside, they looked like mine or bomb casualties, but I didn't hang around for a forensic once over. I was here looking for a client. I headed downstairs passing two separate booby traps. I was then attacked by a man with a garrote and shirukan, and upon locating my target was again attacked by his kidnappers whom I fought. I won. I then loaded my client into a waiting truck and swung around to the front where Leilani had remained. After that," he shrugged, "Well, your people saw what I saw. I have no real idea where the extra bodies came from."

The patrolman shook his head, "He's been saying that all along, Sarge, and there's eight dead guys down below," he looked a Dallas unbelieving.

Seaton eyed the patrolman coldly, "And you don't believe the witnesses' account, huh?"

"Well, uh, sir, he sure don't look like he could take on eight armed men does he."

Dallas sat up smiling, "With your permission, Sergeant, I think I can support my statement?"

"Go ahead, Mr. Whitecrow."

Faster than the patrolman could follow, he suddenly saw his nightstick in the Indian's hands. He felt foolishly at the empty loop on his belt where the stick had just been, then stared at it in the witness's hands.

"I'm just darn quick, patrolman," said Dallas handing back the nightstick.

"He's also on our payroll," said Seaton, "He's on record as a consultant for District 9. Didn't any one check him out?"

"In the works, sergeant," said the patrolman flashing a resentful glance at Dallas.

"Move it then," barked Seaton and the patrolman disappeared. He jerked his head at the med tech who also took the hint and slipped away for a quick cup of coffee.

Seaton studied Dallas, "Well, I'd guess that your statement is true. I also suspect that it is not the whole truth. Like where is your partner, Dawson? Or the elf that calls herself Spyder? I'm guessing we'll want some statements from any other witnesses, too."

Dallas looked at Seaton without expression, "May I go, Sergeant?"

Seaton looked at the young Indian sourly, "Anything new on the ork murders?"

Dallas' expression took on a friendlier overtone, "Not since my last report to you, but you know better than I how tough the SINless can be to track down for questioning."

"Don't I know it," he scratched his jaw as he eyed the young man speculatively, "Watch your back Whitecrow, I hear whispers of some pretty heavy money and favors being passed around for our patrols to avoid certain places at certain times. I also hear that such places often contain Indians and ex-cops. There are still some rotten apples in my company, but I'm not one of them."

"I never thought you were, Sergeant."

Seaton nodded and beckoned the nearest patrol officer, "Give this witness back his property," he turned to Dallas "Get going, but stay in touch. I'm going to have some more questions when this is all over."

Dallas nodded, "Of course. Thank you, sergeant," he jumped off the Wagon's tail gate, landing without a quiver on just one foot. He limped only slightly as he followed the patrol officer to collect his belongings. No one said a word as he climbed back into the truck he had commandeered from the loading dock and drove sedately away.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas cruised slowly down the block scanning for any sign of Dawson and the others. Only two scenarios sprang to mind to explain why his whole team bolted without contact - capture or pursuit. He knew that if they had been captured there would be no repeat of the eleventh hour rescue this time - capture meant death - a solid fact, so he pushed that idea to the back and worked on the pursuit possibilities. He wasn't sure who might be chasing who, but since everyone had done the dash he cobbled together two maybes; one or two of the good guys were being chased by the cyber bastards and the rest of the team were after them; or more cyber fraggers had shown up and his team ran to draw the bad guys off point and away from the primary operation, Barge's rescue.

The only problem with all this was that he couldn't track across city sidewalks and nobody seemed to have their ears open. He transmitted once more, "C'mon, Ray, answer or the MM is mine…."

He switched to their alternate frequency, "Spyder, Crane…where the frag did you guys get to?" he finished under his breath.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

After fruitless half hour Dallas finally conceded that he was not going to find the others this way. He barely glanced up as yet another LS patrol accompanied by yet another coroner's wagon buzzed by. It was the only acceptable explanation he had for the continued radio silence - all the police chatter in the air. Any other option would be unthinkable. He pulled over outside a brightly lit convenience store and shut the truck down. He sat thinking for a moment. The new bolt had no communications set up, he could call and leave v-mail on any of the others home numbers, but Dawson was still sans mobile phone...he groaned remembering Spyder's internal phone link - he could call her direct after all. He blamed the white hot spikes of pain that pierced his hip for the gaps in his memory. He used one of the patches the med tech had given him, then settled his thoughts. He took a deep breath, pulling himself away from the material, distancing himself from the pain. When he opened his eyes again, the pain was only a distant nuisance, and half a dozen ginning Street Kings were peering thorough his window. As gangs went, they weren't much of a threat, mostly young, mostly poor, mostly human, they hadn't a lot in the way of weaponry, cyberware, or transport. Dallas assumed the last was the reason they were eyeing his new ride.

Dallas flipped over a toggle he'd noticed earlier opening the external intercom, "Gentlemen?"

They were slightly surprised, "Out kinda late, ain't ya kid?" asked one of the Kings who couldn't have been more than a year Dallas' senior if that, "We don't think you oughta be driving all alone so whyn't y get outta the truck, boy."

Dallas sighed, he really didn't need this, "Go away. If you are going to hijack a car, make sure it's a target you can take."

He flipped the toggle again cutting off their expletives. He figured he had about four seconds before they rushed him. He made sure everything was locked down and armed the nifty and nicely labeled theft deterrent system, then he lifted the hand piece for the vehicle phone. As he punched in Spyder's number, the Kings leaped up on the running boards, knives and pipes, and a Streetline Special were in evidence. Their weight set off the deterrent and compressed gas hissed violently from jets at their ankle level. It instantly combusted upon hitting the outside air, and the Kings were aflame. Screaming they jumped off the vehicle and rolled about, less effected members beat out the flames on those who had taken the brunt of the attack. Inside Dallas started the engine as he listened to a connection being made and a phone begin to ring. He rolled out of the parking lot without a backward glance, his attention elsewhere.

By Subcriminal (Nat) on Unrecorded Date:

Dawson chose a station wagon- not the type of car one would notice missing. It took only moments to coax the ignition, and he insisted on driving despite his injuries. Everyone felt stiff and shopworn except Tyler.

Crane rolled his eyes after observing Spyder and Tyler curled up affectionately on the backseat of the wagon as they headed downtown. Crane wanted nothing more than to spew out a long string of cynical remarks, but opted to keep his mouth shut for the very same reason Spyder was playing along. The stinging wounds in this leg and shoulder served as a reminder, and he was half-tempted to shoot Tyler in the head during an unsuspecting moment. Whether or not Tyler would make a useful ally was irrelevant. It was the fact that Spyder was performing out of fear that disgusted him. Crane leaned back in the passenger seat and rationalized this point to himself and then turned to observe Dawson. He occasionally looked into the rear-view mirror to monitor Tyler for safety reasons. Dawson shrugged indifferently when he noted Crane’s disgust.

“Get a room.” Crane said in as cruel a fashion as he could muster. Dawson mumbled for him to shut up as he parked the car and tossed a cigarette butt out the window. “Stay put and behave. I have to butter Ralph up before the rest of you follow me inside.”

“Yes Father,” Crane instated sincerely, ”can I have the car keys tonight?”

“No.” Dawson answered curtly as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

Crane took the opportunity to become theatrical “Are you still punishing me for knocking-up the neighbor’s wife?”

Dawson ignored his and got out of the car, slamming the door shut before pacing towards Ralph’s restaurant. Tyler watched Dawson walk away and then resumed necking with Spyder and ignored Crane completely.

Crane sat looking emotionally distressed “It’s like Dad’s tormenting me for the rest of my life… It’s not fair! I feel so violated…” he whirled around in the passenger seat and looked at Tyler with a deranged sheen in is eyes “You ever get that feeling?”

Tyler looked at Crane oddly, not knowing that to make of the lunatic in the front seat. “What strange friends you have, Blaze.”

**

A little cred got through the “I’m sorry sir, we’re closing” excuse from Hostess. Then Dawson was asked to wait, Ralph was supposedly on the phone. Since it was only he and Crane who needed some medical attention Dawson didn’t foresee any problems.

“Been a while Dawson,” Ralph said as he stepped out of the manager’s office and lead Dawson to a rear table “what can I do for you?”

“We need a place to patch ourselves up and rest a few hours.”

“How many?”

“Four at the moment, maybe another three joining us later.” Dawson hoped Dallas and Leilani would turn up later on.

“Just try not to bleed all over the upholstery.” Ralph cautioned before motioning to the hostess “I’ll have Sara bring your friends something from the kitchen. She’ll take care of your shoulder for you. You’ll forgive me if I don’t stay to entertain you for the evening. It’s tax time and I have a dreck-load of paperwork to deliver to my accountant.”

**

“Crane has a talent for sarcasm,” Spyder sighed while noting a strange, metallic aftertaste in her mouth, “it’s one of his gifts.” Crane bowed his head for the recognition just as one of Spyder’s implants alerted her to an incoming call. “Hoi?”

Dallas let out a huge sigh of satisfaction and rested his back against driver’s seat. “Tell me something. Where the frag have you guys been?”

Spyder didn’t bother to hide her relief and smiled widely “Hey Dallas!”

“Is everyone intact?”

“More or less, a little perforated but still breathing. How about you and the cousins?”

Dallas stopped for a red light and looked around for a main street “We’ll catch up later, where are you?”

“Kyoto Garden, corner of first and Mercer. Hurry home.”

**

The green tea helped calm Crane’s nerves as Sara poked around for the bullet in his anesthetized shoulder. He’d weaned himself off the ketamine though he still thought about Speedy every other minute. The rest of his time was reserved for worrying about Spyder. Tyler made him apprehensive, nobody really knew much about him other than what Spyder stole from Aztec. She was jacked-in a few feet away with Tyler hovering next to her. Crane felt deserted.

“Got it.” Sara said triumphantly as she grasped the bullet with surgical tongs “You look a little pale.” She commented as she traded the steel instrument for needle and thread.

“I’ve been bleeding like a sieve. Could that be it?” Crane remarked maliciously.

The bandage over Dawson’s shoulder tickled as the edge of it peeled away from his skin. It was a little blood soaked, but the wound was nicely stitched and beginning to heal. He was anxious to see Dallas and his cigarettes were running out. Spyder told him that he was on his way, but Dawson was impatient; he wanted answers. The raid on the garage was a close call and Leilani remained among the missing. It bothered Dawson that they had nothing to show for their efforts except for a few injuries, and a very disoriented cyberman.

**

“Blaze?”

“Yes?” Spyder answered Tyler from her matrix trance.

“How come you’ve got pointed ears?”

“I was born with them,” Spyder hit the matrix in order to avoid Tyler a while, but it apparently wasn’t sufficient, “Or don’t you remember?”

“The Blaze I remember was human.” Tyler was beginning to sound suspicious, as he had right to be.

“Well,” Spyder snickered “I can’t change what I am, Tyler. I’m an elf, whether you remembered me that way or not.” She wanted the charade over with, but didn’t want to risk having Tyler turn violent.

Tyler seemed disbelieving “They must have really worked my brain over back at the lab.”

“Leave it to Renraku to frag with your head and they’ll do it right.” Spyder commented.

“So, why aren’t you wearing my engagement ring?” he asked with a coldness that could be mistaken for warning.

Spyder picked through her memory and conjured one of those depressing personal tragedies to bring herself to tears. “I got mugged downtown. I felt so horrible because the ring meant so much to me. I filed a report with Lone Star, but they said there wasn’t much of anything they could do. I even went to every pawn shop I could find to see if that bastard sold the ring, but it never turned up.”

Crane felt like clapping, and he was about to it but Dawson stopped him with a dead, reproachful glare.

As Spyder cried Tyler melted and threw his arms around her “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blame you.”

Crane muttered under his breath “She’s good.”

“I’d hate to see her when she’s really upset.” Dawson replied quietly and lit himself a cigarette.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas rolled past Kyoto Gardens then swung around the block. Nothing looked suspicious, no one was hanging around, the restaurant itself looked dark with only the barest hint of illumination seeping through the heavily painted and grilled windows. He scanned the area, then pulled to a stop and parked in the middle block. He lowered himself from the cab cautiously and ghosted down the sidewalk to the elaborate mock pagoda entry. A sharp knock and he waited, eyes never still as he kept watch.

A long minute passed before Dawson pulled open the door and ushered the young Indian inside. He raked Dallas with a gaze, his attention lingering on the bloody and battered jeans, "Interesting look, kid, you gonna live?"

Dallas spared the staple pants a look as if he'd forgotten about it, "Yeah, after a little more work. Johnny's boys are real good with suppressive fire but not much on accuracy. I'll tell you all about it once I have a seat and something to drink. My tongue is sand paper."

Dawson reined in his impatience and followed Dallas across the carpet. Among friends, the younger man allowed himself to limp tiredly across the main floor, but drew up sharply as he spotted the cybersoldier staring at Spyder, it's expression half longing half suspicious.

"What the hell?" he hissed at Dawson, his frame frozen as if ready for combat.

Dawson threw his arm across Dallas' shoulders and the pair turned away from the others as Dawson gave a quick explanation as to Tyler's presence.

"So what do we do with him?" muttered Dallas, "He's a liability if he's Johnny's. Completely untrustworthy."

"Tell me something I don't know," growled Dawson, "He might useful all the same, he just be the petard we can hoist Fujiyama on."
Dallas blinked, "Shakespeare, Ray. You're full of surprises. I thought you never read anything that didn't have a naked girl on the cover."

Dawson gestured rudely and the pair turned back and joined the others, though Dallas kept a scrupulous distance between himself and Tyler.

Spyder looked up and smiled at Dallas at Dawson's tap on her shoulder. Crane sat a bit removed and looked as if he'd been eating his own liver. Considering Tyler's close association with Spyder, that was understandable.

"Barge is alive," began Dallas, "So is Leilani. They're both at…" he glanced briefly at Tyler, "They're both recovering under medical supervision," he amended, then proceeded to describe what had been done to Barge. He also related Seaton's warning.

Sara brought out a pitcher of ice water and Dallas proceeded to drink nearly half of it. When he came up for air he glanced around at the others, "So now is the time to plan," he again speared the cybersoldier with a glance, "and plan carefully. We're only gonna get one shot at this, I think," he knew the others knew who and what he was talking about.

"You got a problem with me?" bristled Tyler, catching Dallas' last look.

"As a matter of fact, I do, but at the moment it's immaterial."

Tyler subsided looking confused, Spyder tried valiantly to smother a grin.

"What we need now," came Crane's caustic voice, "is a teensy vacation and a chance to rebuild our internal blood supply. Some of us have to do that the old fashioned way."

Dallas nodded, "We have a place to go. But what about him?" he asked jerking his chin at Tyler.

The cyberman dropped a possessive arm around Spyder's shoulders, who looked uncomfortable about it, "I think he's with us to stay for the moment," she said almost apologetically.

Dallas shared a look with Dawson who shrugged, he'd said his piece. But the daggers Crane glared at the cyberman made Dallas feel a little better.

"I have to make a call," he said climbing stiffly to his feet. He removed himself from the others by the simple expediency of going into the gentleman's lounge, or rather the posh and tricked out lavatory facility Ralph provided for his customers.

The phone was picked up on the first ring, "Dallas?"

He smiled tiredly, "Yeah, it's me. Can you get a couple of things for me, Lily?"

"Sure."

"Ask Amos to send a couple of heavily armed guards to our new safe house to keep an eye on it. We picked up an uninvited guest tonight whom none of us trust, but it looks like we're stuck with him. Also, if you've got a tame doctor about, we're in need of a little minor surgery."

"Shaman, too?"

"If you've got one," he sighed, "For tonight if you can. Fist thing tomorrow if you can't."

"Who's hurt?

"Everybody, but I need the surgeon," he let her scold him for a couple of minutes, then chuckled as she fell into Cantonese, telling her it would have no effect if he couldn't understand it.

"Well," she said getting hold of herself, "I find myself liking you quite a bit. I object to the fact that you seem to be trying to get yourself killed before I decide if you're worth my time."

"Probably not," he said softly, "but I promise I'll do my damndest to give you the time you need to decide."

After a lengthy silence she sighed, "Please come to the spa sometime soon, Uncle Amos will want to know if he can help. And don't forget the call buttons, the White Tigers are there to back you up, not to be pall bearers after you forget to call them again."

After wishing one another good night, Dallas made use of the room he was in, then rejoined the others, "Shall we take my car?"

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Dallas followed a tortuous route, made worse inside the vehicle by an almost complete silence punctuated only by an occasional nasty remark from Crane. The address turned out to be what used to be a small building supply company. The façade was weather beaten and crawling with sickly looking ivy, the sign, Shen's Construction, was all but obliterated by the weather. A bulky ork wearing a traditional queue materialized from the gloom as Dallas halted outside the huge double doors.

The ork stepped forward and spoke quietly with Dallas, then went around back to check Dawson's face. He also catalogued each of the others. Finally he nodded, and pulled a small electronic device from his pocket. He pointed it at the doors, which swung open. The ork directed Dallas to take the truck inside. As the group emerged from the vehicle two more orks and two humans drifted out of the shadows, each wore dark clothes emblazoned with a stylized white tiger on the left shoulder. They scrutinized the party as if fixing their faces in memory then faded back into the shadows without a word. Only one remained, one of the humans, a young man with a facial scar that twisted his mouth into a permanent sneer.

"I'm Eddie, I'll show you up. Which one of you is Dallas?"

Dallas admitted as much, and Eddie smiled, a fairly grisly sight, "Sylph and Lu will be here first thing for dealing with any medical needs."

They climbed the metal stairs to what were once the offices for the firm. They faced nothing but a blank wall ahead, punctuated by a single door. Spyder groaned inwardly at the thought of any more time deprived of the sky. Eddie ran the key card then handed it to Dallas.

The bolt was a big surprise. They entered a spacious living area, flanked on one side by a full kitchen, an eating counter separating the two spaces. Two doors lead off the main room into comfortable bedrooms equipped with twin beds, dressers with a limited clothing selection, and a rudimentary computer setup. A shared bathroom boasted a huge whirlpool tub with attached shower options, a toilet and bidet, and a mini washer-dryer. But best of all, in Spyder's mind was the huge, thick, and grubby wire reinforced skylight that hung over the living room like a benediction, more than making up for the utter lack of windows otherwise.

"There's some grub in the fridge," offered Eddie, "also drinks, no phone though, so don't go calling for takeout. The skylight will stand up to grenades, the walls will probably make it through a missile attack. No one but you guys will be given admittance here unless it's one of ours. But mostly you won't see us," he nodded curtly when no one seemed to want to ask any questions and slipped out the door. It closed with a satisfying thunk.

Spyder plunked herself down on one of the two overstuffed couches and stared rapturously up at the dimly seen sky, "I'll sleep right here," she announced.

Crane jumped the back of the other couch, "Fine. Than this one's mine. That leaves the bedroom all to you, Gargantua," he said flipping negligent fingers at Tyler, "we elves have some tings to discuss that don't concern you, Torgo."

"Tyler," said the cybersoldier tightly, his fists clenching.

Spyder shot Crane a nasty look, "Go and rest, Tyler. You've had a busy day, and I do have some work yet."

After a long hard glare at the seemingly unconcerned Crane, Tyler reluctantly did as 'Blaze' asked, retiring to one of the bedrooms, closing the door firmly but pointedly behind him.

Both Dallas and Crane exhaled hugely, then looked at each other sardonically, "Does anybody else feel like we have an snake in the fold," asked Crane.

"Isn't that wolf?" returned Dawson dropping tiredly into one of the chairs.

"I like wolves," muttered Crane, "I don't like snakes."

"Listen, you all do what you like tonight, but I intend to anesthetize myself and try and get some sleep for tomorrow's surgery," said Dallas indicating his gory pants leg, "I suggest someone keep awake just so we can keep an eye on our guest - but it won't be me tonight."

Crane glared balefully at the closed door, "Don't worry, kid, I won't be sleeping anytime soon."

By Vengence is Mine (Knight_hawk) on Unrecorded Date:

Tyler realized that he was tired, not just tired but exhausted. He couldn’t remember what had been done to him but as he thought about it he realized he should be dead right now.

Tyler headed for the bed and layed down, it was just a few inches too short for his feet too stay on but it was comfortible. He closed his eyes and fell asleep almost at once.

---

Tyler found himself floating in blackness, but he also felt as if he were falling as well. The darkness was broken here and there as images flew past him. Not just images but memories, his memories of a life long lost. Tyler closed his eyes to block out the images but found himself compelled to open his eyes and watch.

He gasped as found himself staring at the memory of his seventh birthday. He remembered as the day he had finally been able to go outside after fully healing from the surgery. He felt a tear fall from his eye as he watched the laughter and smiles coming from his family as they looked on. His mother was still so young and beautiful; his sister so lively as she ran with him, Samson his brother was also there gently helping Tyler up after he had fallen. Yet it was the image of his father that struck him, his father had been there laughing and holding Tyler’s mother as they watched their children play.

The memory was quickly replaced by one Tyler did not want to see. It was the memory of him standing over the graves of his mother, his sister and his love. The emotions he had kept hidden for so many years suddenly burst forth. Tyler found himself wailing as he watched himself degrade into the shell of a human he was now.

Two faces now appeared before him. One was that of his love Blaze and the other was of the female Elf masquerading as her. He became aware that he was not in the company of friends or anyone he could trust. His rage began to burn hotter the longer he thought on his current situation.

Before he could scream out possibly waking himself he saw the face of a young Japanese woman appear before him. He recognized her but could not remember her name; she began to speak to him telling him about everything that had happened to him in Fujiyama’s lab. She told him of his mission to track down Ray Dawson. She told him that as she spoke a program was running through the nanites to restore his memories; she admitted that she had no idea what this would cause but that there were three definite possibilities. One, they would detonate killing him. Two, they could simply do the restoration and continue to work as before. Or three, they could effect the restoration and then deactivate. Neither she nor her superiors were sure what would happen.

Her image began to fade as Tyler’s head was filled with pain from the nanites; he was of course oblivious to what was going on around him.

By Margravine (Ranger) on Unrecorded Date:

Pain woke Dallas just before dawn. The raging agony in his hip made him wonder if the wound had somehow gotten infected. He used the last skin patch and sweated through the worst of it in silence. The anesthetic was having less and less effect, it seemed, with each patch he used.

He could hear Dawson snoring softly across the room. He knew he would not get back to sleep. He again used the distancing exercise he had been taught as a child, pulling himself away from the material. He managed to achieve a meditative state that lasted until an intercom in the main room came to life advising of visitors. Dallas rolled painfully to his feet in order to admit them.

Sylph and Lu showed up with the sun with a portable operating table and a box of pharmaceuticals. Sylph was a particularly striking, almost ethereal elf of Chinese extraction. She introduced herself as the shaman and proceeded into the kitchen to brew tea. Lu was Quentin Lu, MD, a large Anglo-Chinese man with degrees in six fields. He was also one of Lily Bao's more distant cousins. He laughingly told Dallas how his existence had been threatened if Lily's friends were not treated with kid gloves and restored to perfect health post haste.

Dallas grit his teeth with every step as he followed Lu back into the bedroom that they had decided to commander for an operating theater. Dawson was unceremoniously turned out and sent grumbling in to the kitchen to submerge himself in a coffee pot.

Lu dropped sterile sheets over everything and had Dallas ready for surgery in minutes. The young Cheyenne was trembling with the effort to keep himself going. When Dr. Lu loaded Dallas up with anesthetic sending him into a dreamy, disassociated limbo, the youth went gratefully. He was completely unaware of anything else until he came to himself with Sylph's cool hands stroking his forehead. He felt comfortable and relaxed.

"Be still a while yet," Sylph advised in her whispery voice, "Be easy. Quentin now sees to your friends' needs."

Dallas tried to nod, but instead fell into a deep restorative sleep. He didn't even think about the fact he was about to miss breakfast.