ShadowZero Ch3: (Don't) Smack my Slitch Up

[Wesforce]

Newseye - Sailing the seas of doubt on the waves of Importance

We give you

CURRENT EVENTS With Terrie Merriewythers

(Dramatic music begins)

(Terrie speaks in a monotone, computerlike voice as a talking head over background footage scrolling by almost too fast to make out while a second figure does sign language so fast it looks like he's breakdancing)

Shot of red-faced man ranting at a crowd, being cheered

'UCAS President declares NAN countries "Axis of Liberals", denounces CAS in speech'

Computer graphics of something exploding in space

'Mars mission fails. Officials blame flat-earth society'

Shot of huge rusting off-shore city, then tilt-wings hovering around wreckage in sea at night

'Neuwerke - Grexxon trade dispute claims first victims'

Shots of tweed-suited, spiky haired old man with waist-length beard gesticulating madly

'Doctor theorises that Matrix is in fact an alternate dimension, and Cyberdecks are in fact dimension-hoppers - Gains backing from Neo-Christian Church'

Terrie's head suddenly swells to fill the whole screen

'But more on that later.'

Click

***

Her neck ached. Claudette Neuwerke - Formerly Claudette Raikonnen - took the pillow proffered by a stewardess, and the clone-vat pretty young woman carried on back down the aisle of the Commuter Tilt-Wing.

Several hundred thousand Nuyen's worth of form-corrective relaxation seats. Noise dampers in the fuselage. Mood-sensing walls that change colour to what some nerd in a lab reckons to be most soothing. All that crap and you still can't beat a good old-fashioned pillow for the long-haul. She mused, before trying again to gain some fitful sleep.

It was no good. The events of the last 24 hours replayed themselves over and over like a bad Euro-Wars documentary on WarTV. Lights in the night sky. The flame of afterburners. The excruciating pain of her wings threatening to tear off, and finally the suffocating claustrophobia of her survival bubble floating in the North Sea.

They told her her bubble had been punctured on some piece of wreckage, that she was KO and underwater when they dragged her out.

Search and Rescue charged her ¥12,000 for the callout, another ¥5,000 for the emergency resuscitation. When she told them to bill the Grexxon bastards who'd managed to shoot her down, flight command politely informed her that she wouldn't be getting the bonus pay for the two Intruders she'd downed herself, as there was no official state of war existing between Grexxon and Neuwerke at this time.

That had been enough to dampen her spirits, but then flight command also billed her with the R102 Delphinus she'd lost - Currently standing at ¥32,000,000 Nuyen, discounting ordnance.

It was all in the contract, they'd said, and she knew they were right. She also knew the Corporation quite literally owned her.

She'd asked how she could settle her debts with the Company. Changing her name had been the first thing. The next thing was being introduced to a man who she was only to refer to as 'Johnson'. She had that sinking feeling - Worse than being in that damn death-trap bubble.

Johnson smiled, and Claudette had to fight the rising bile in her throat...

But that was in the past now. Time to think about the future. Think fast, think often and think positive - As her Neuwerke Compulsory self-help Trids taught her every morning and night.

That reminded her - Time to take the daily supplements. She popped a couple of the pills from her handbag, idly itching the raw skin around her rigger jacks with an emerald fingernail, and tried to make herself comfortable again.

Johnson was in the seat next to her. He may have been sleeping, but maybe not. His face was completely still under those mirrorshades that he never took off. Claudette was sure she couldn't even see the bastard breathing.

Through the porthole to her left, Claudette saw the pitch-black void through the porthole become suffused with light. Soon the Neuwerke Tilt-Wing would touch down in the Geneva FEZ. 'Legwork' Johnson called it - Picking up a few Expendable resources for whatever he was planning, and Claudette, since she grew up there, was just who he wanted with him.

Claudette wasn't stupid, she knew all about the Shadow-World, under-hand dirty dealings, backstreet assassinations and so-on. It just saddened her that she - An honest, upstanding model Neuwerke Citizen, a member of the Neuwerke family no less - should be caught up in such. Surely, she reasoned, there must be some mistake, and she'd be reassigned to an Interceptor unit. But then, the more rational part of her suspected that to Johnson's mind, she was one of the 'expendable assets' he'd mentioned.

She didn't get to sleep on the flight after all.

Later, the engines changed in pitch and tone. The propellers became rotors. The tilt-wing banked and settled gently on the rubberised crash-mac of Neuwerke's Geneva HQ Heliport.

Barely five minute's later, Claudette and Johnson were in a bubble-canopied GM Roadster braving the congested, rain-lashed streets. It could have been a storm right off the North Sea for the fury it unleashed. Their Driver, an Ork in a suit several sizes too short for him, sat silent at the wheel, while cars hooted their horns angrily all through the traffic jam. The Ork to his right could have been his identical twin, squat and powerful with an arm that whirred every so often. He never stopped scanning left and right, like he had an attack helicopter's sensor pod for a head.

Eventually they got moving again. Claudette thought she might finally find some sleep in the car, its Electric engine humming comfortably and silently. She forced her eyes to stay open.

As they passed the shadow of a Skyroad, the rain ceased pattering for a moment.

One moment.

Then something hit the canopy left of Claudette like a sledgehammer. Blue lightning crackled around the car for an instant. The air became nauseating with the stench of flash-burned flesh.

'FRAG!'

The Ork driver lost control of the car, careered off the road's guidance track. He was slumped over the wheel. Another impact, and Claudette felt moisture on her neck. Part of it was rain coming in from the fist-sized hole that had been punched though the canopy. The other part came from the fist-sized hole punched in Johnson's neck.

She saw his face - That same expression as always. Even in death.

The car's canopy flipped off and jettisoned - The surviving Ork guard had tripped the explosive bolts.

'Ged da frag outta dere - NOW!' He bellowed, and jumped out of the car. Bullets hit and sparked off and punched through the side of the now open-topped car, and Claudette didn't need any more motivation. She vaulted out the other side, and the Ork immediately pressed her down into the pavement for cover. He had a massive pistol in his hand, booming replies at the attackers.

Claudette saw a Gang-looking Elf get up and let loose with a stubby little submachinegun. Bullets zinged off a car again. Another car exploded behind her and flipped off the road through the front of a Cyber-Cosmetic Salon. The Ork was hit and merely grunted. He fired once more and clipped the Elf off his feet.

Movement to the left - Another Elf in identical colours sneaking around one of the skyroad's supports. He was speaking quiet words, moving his hands in a particular manner that screamed ‘Magic’ at her, but he also had a machinepistol.

Claudette had a machinepistol too. Its laser sight played over the skulking metahuman and before she knew what was happening one of her manicured fingernails had sent half a clip of flechettes through the fragger that came out the other side of him in large red puffs. He collapsed in a heap.

Just like being in a plane - Position yourself - lock on - fire... Kill confirmed...

She began to shake.

Someone was shaking her. A yellow and blue-clad Daisaka guard.

'Lady! You okay lady? I think she's in shock!'

'I'm fine... I'm fine dammit!' She said over and over. She was on the floor, still next to the car, in a puddle. She was clutching a briefcase in her arms - She didn't know how it had got there, but she knew it was Johnson's.

She was soaking. Behind the Daisaka goon, the Ork bodyguard who'd saved her was dead from the same large-calibre weaponry that had killed the others. The whole back of his head was mission, and he was curled foetally.

They cleaned her up, gave her a blanket, but she wouldn't let them take the briefcase off her. In the end they put the whole attack down to random gang violence, which was no comfort to Claudette whatsoever.

Eventually it was just her and the briefcase. She was surprised that it opened at her fingerprint on the lock, and the computer within powered up automatically, displaying several Text and Holopix files, which she read.

Fate had delivered her a way to get her life back.

But first she had a few Vid-calls to make...

(GM: And there it is, its started. I'll have Johnson contact your characters soon, however feel free to introduce yourselves :color1: )

[AI]

There's a cold, clinical feeling about the place. Something that sends a shiver down even her spine as she sits there, arms wrapped tightly around herself to protect her from an imaginary chill. It was late. All the happy little workers with their normal, dead end jobs and their normal dead end lives had gone home. In a way, she hated them. She didn't like to admit it, and certaintly didn't want to. But she hated them none the less. Hated them for being normal. Hated them for having a sercure, if low, income. And more of all, she hated them for being uphappy about it. For moping around like it was the end of the world. Like their lives didn't matter...

She ducked her head low, staring at her own shoes as they dangled mere centimetres from the floor. She'd perched herself on a cold, steel desk, waiting for the one corp-slave who hadn't left to finish some unoffical overtime.

"Sorry it took so long to get the test results..." She apologised. Again. It seems like she'd heard nothing but apologies lately. Or muffled screams of agony. "... I'm afraid it's not good."

"Didn't think it would be." She sighed. Raising her head slightly to stare at the good Doctor in front of her. "So, any silver lining?"

The doctor, Helen's, face creased into a sober expression. She turned her head ever so slightly away from her 'patient', biting her bottom lip and brushing that silky, shoulder length brown hair behind her ears.

"I'm..." She began, her voice choaked. "I'm sorry Emily..."

Emily Hune Wrightman jumped down from the desk, causing the doctor to jump back slightly. It hurt her more than anything else in the world. Everybody she knew... Everybody she thought was a friend, was suddenly treating her like a monster. Few of them wanted to show it of cause. They were all brave faces and helpful, positive attitudes. Until she made a sudden movement, then they jumped. Or their hands flinched, in the first stages of reaching for a gun. Like bullets would do anything against her now.

"I'd never hurt you Helen..." She tried to whisper reassuringly. "... I'd never hurt any of you..."

"I wish I could believe you..." Wrightman closed her eyes and turned away, she couldn't bare to see the tears well up in the womans eyes. Or the blue tinge that her aura was developing. There was fear there as well. She could almost smell it in the air.

"You're too far gone Emily." She continued, strolling back over to her results and leaning heavily on the desk they rested on. "It's irreversible. I could run some more extensive tests... But the corp almost caught me last time, and I think it might be my job if it happens again."

"It's ok Helen..." She says, reaching into one of her pockets and pulling out a Credstick. The last of her payment for the run that turned her into this monstorsity in the first place. "Here, take this. It's not much, but if you want more then...."

"No... Keep it." She said, pushing it away. "Just... Emily... Dont come here anymore, ok? I-I'm sorry, but it's too dangerous having you around and..."

"It's ok. I understand." She did understand. But it still tore up her soul like a drunken Ork tears up a Goblin.

She wanted to just walk up to her and hug her. Give her a shoulder to cry on, that kind of thing. But she realised touching her would only terrify her even more. And rightly so. She hadn't eaten today, and while she was more stable and level headed nowadays, she still wasn't controlled enough to come that close to such a plump, juicy aura on an empty stomach. She doubted she ever would be.

Her train of thought was broken by her vidphone, which started to vibrate softly in her pocket. She flipped it open, glacning over the message on the screen and then returning it to the pocket of her all new white trenchcoat. She'd spent most of the 'run money on new clothes. She was always in all white these days... She thought it would be ironic. After all, who'd expect a vampire in white? Pain in the backside to keep clean though...

"W-whre are you going?" Asked Dr. Grant as she turned towards the exit.

"Work."

[Desolator12]

"What the frag is a 'Vladgrav' ?" A sober bar-patron asked the small figure behind the counter. He knew he'd always have to answer that question until either he died, or everybody in the whole-fraggin-world knew what it was.

...at the rate the crap was selling, the second was actually more likely.

"It's a mixed drink... a lil' bit-o-this... some o' that... enough to put a smile on your face and a headache in your brain the mornin' after." Said the Goblin. His face had several scars on it, and one of his legs was cyber.

"Oh really? What's in the stuff?" the patron asked. The Goblin's face creased with a frown. "Can't tell ya... family recipe." He said. "Aw, K'mon... what's it got that makes it so 'great'?" The goblin ajusted his shirt, allowing the patron a good look at his pistol... it had several metalic edges on it: Enough to slice cleanly through flesh.

"Family Recipe..." The Goblin said.
"Irv Damnit! Stop threatening my patrons!" A voice yelled from a door to the back. The patron's face contorted into a smile.

"Wait til' they pay first!" the same voice said... the patron suddenly started to sweat. What the frag was a corp scum doing in a bar in the slums anyway? That's like an Orc refusing a drink! It just doesn't happen!

"Hey Irv! We're runnin low on the Vlad-stuff again!" the behind-the-door voice said. "Yer gonna need ta make another batch of the sleg! Try not to burn something down this time!" The patron looked at 'Irv' quizzically. Just then a loud orcish yell erupted, and an orc rushed out of the bar, flames gouting from his mouth. All the other patrons were hooting and hollering.

"It's a small side-effect... th' stuff's extremely flamable. Just don't smoke around it, and ye'll be fine". The patron, whos hand had been reaching for a cig, just froze. "One Vladgrav coming up!"

Just as he was pouring the concoction, his wristphone began to ring. He finished pouring, collected pay from the patron, and handed him the drink before answering. He listened, and then his face turned into a perfect replica of an evil-yet-happy smile. He answered the caller, hung up, and got a key from his pocket. "Hey Feld! Get 'out here!" Irv said. A Portly dwarf appeared, his shirt stained from various and unnamable substances. "What th' frag d'ya want Irv?" Feld said. Irv tossed him the key. "There's a trap-door downstairs with enough 'grav to intoxicate the city." "Why? Where th' frag d'ya think you're goin?" The bar became quiet, and Irv just smiled.

"Dragon's back in the shadows, my portly friend." Irv donned a jacket made of synth-leather, grabbed a small duffel bag, and left the bar. The entire population of the bar watched him leave... half of the patrons had warmed-up to the midjit bartender... mainly because of his mixing skills...

"Damn! This stuff ain't half bad!" The patron said, breaking the silence with a long sip of his Vladgrav. Regular bar talk ensued.

[SW Freak]

"Fragging gangers," muttered Jackson under his breath as his boots continued to pound the filth laden steps.

"Oh, stow it, Jackson. You're always complaining." he suddenly said, his hair rapidly lenghtening and changing colour, mini blue-white lightning bolts running through it.

"It's all right for you lot. You make me do most of the work." His hair stopped mid-dye, changing back from purple to black as it shrank before parts dyed once more, this time an earthen red. Jackson reached up with his bare metal cyber arm and flicked his fringe. The touch was enough to zap it to life, and with the sound of electricity discharging his hair stood to attention. "Now stay quiet. We're nearly there."

The journey up had been arduous, to say the least. Half a dozen of the gang members Mr. Johnson had promised him wouldn't be here yet to fight some turf war or other had met him in the lobby of this delightful slum of an apartment block. After dispatching them rather messily, Jackson had promised to look for some extra pay from their employer for increased risk. They wouldn't get it, but it was nice to wish sometimes.

Such pleasant musings came to an end as the Jackson Collective reached the top of the stairway. The elevator had been ruled out, both because it would make too much noise, and because it had been blown out, ripped away or otherwise removed some years ago. The door Jackson had halted the body before was as dilapidated as the rest of the building, and positivly swore to creak and scream noisily when opened. But the sounds of fighting were already starting to make themselves known outside in the everyday chaos of Geneva, and there was no quicker way than the direct one.

"Indie?" Jackson asked himself quietly, slipping his knife into his pocket.

"On it."

Again their hair change, flowing down their collective back in a stream of artificially quick-grown black that swiftly turned a nice shade of purple. Indigo, unphased as the five of them always remained after a quick change, reached calmly up her left sleeve and drew her pistol. Her thumb whirred quietly as she manually drew back the hammer, clicking it into place almost silently, drastically reducing the chance that someone might hear her cocking the weapon. Then she reached forward and lay her empty hand flat against the corroded door. It didn't offer as much resistance as she thought it would. That was bad; it probably meant that it had been used recently. She pushed gently and peeked through the gap created. Footprints. Another bad sign.

Sighing, she took a step back. Then, in one swift movement, she lashed forward, sending the door groaning back on its hinges with a kick. She darted through, gun held before her, and was almost disapointed to find that her target was nowhere to be seen. She certainly grew more wary, and pressed herself against the cement hood that shielded the exit. Her Eagle came up to scan the rooftops in front of her, but there was no one there. Steeling herself, she spun left, leaving her cover and dropping to one knee. Again she scanned the area before her, and once more came up with nothing. But this time a gunshot reached her ears, much closer than those on the streets below, the same ones that were picking up tempo now that more gangers were amassing. Her target would be here soon, and she had yet to set up. To that end, she continued around the slanted concrete structure beside her in a crouched walk, pistol held unwaveringly before her in her cyber hand. Now that she looked that way, she could easily see the gang sniper lying prone on the corner of the rooftop.

She continued in her crouch, creeping forward until she was just a few feet from her prey. By that time he had already fired a further three times, way too quickly to actually be hitting anything with any sort of accuracy. Indigo guessed from his swearing that she was, in fact, right in her suspicions that he was much more used to firing something like a pistol, and didn't have the patience necessary to be a sniper.

"Hey," the woman whispered, gun raised.

The sniper gasped, swore and rolled over to look at her.

"You're in my spot." Her gun discharged twice, planting two heavy slugs in the ganger's chest.

His back arched as he gurgled, hand clutched to his torso. Indigo gave him a swift kick, moving him out of the way before he bled all over her afore-decided sniping post. She bent and picked up his fallen weapon as the man gave a final gasp beside her.

"Kalashnikov," she titched, tossing it over her shoulder. "Fragging amateur."

With that, she swung the rifle off her back and lay down, pressing the fitted butt against her cyber arm as she swung the stand down. The stand consisted of two parallel metal bars, both hollow and with a button and a port halfway down, the opening for which was closed as of now. At the bottom of both supports two small bars jutted out. The sniper pulled two washers from her pocket, slotting both onto the bars and twisting them, clicking them into place. Then she slid the covering open on the two ports and pulled two odd objects from her pocket. They were little spikes, the wide ends of which were the same size as the stands and shaped so as to lock into the washers. The ends then tapered away to fine points designed to stab into all sorts of ground. Indigo loaded both into the stands, slid the covers back up and depressed both buttons. The firing pins were released and shot down to slam the spikes into the cold cement roof with a solid thump.

Indigo tested the hold before leaning into her weapon, the black wood butt moulding to her metal arm as perfectly as always. She opened her jacket and pulled a bullet from one of the specially made sleeves on the inside lining at her chest. She hauled back on the bolt on the side of the weapon and slotted the ammunition in carefully. Then she pushed the bolt forward and locked it down again. That acomplished, she pulled the eyepatch off of her cyber eye and slapped it onto her organic one. The cybernetic replacement of her right eye glowed a slightly discerning white and whirred quietly as she zoomed in on the scene below. Gangers rolled over one another in a seething mass of bullets, knives, fists and feet. But she knew who see was looking for and, if Johnson's information was correct, he would be arriving any moment to join the fray.

Eyes turned as the big jeep chugged its way up the street, gangers inside spraying bullets into the mass of bodies beyond. Indigo swiveled the gun on the stand and fixed her sights on the vehicle. It was certainly the one she was looking for, the transport of the leader of one of these gangs. And there he was. Indigo smiled slightly as she saw the huge orc rear up through the sunroof, heavy machine guns screaming in both hands. Her own sniping guidelines came easy to her mind and she ran through them quickly.

Check range: Her eye gave her a read out of the distance it was viewing at. Wind wasn't a problem down there. None could get through the thick veil of buildings surrounding the street. Adjust for movement. Breath in. Hold. Fire.

Boom

Brain matter exploded violently out the back of his head as the massive round shattered his skull.

"Niiice shot," said Jackson, butting in suddenly.

"Indeed. Most impressive." That could only be Ms. Holmes. "Though I must admit, I am certain there were better ways to deal with this problem."

"Now let's go get some drinks." Thirsty, of course. He rarely spoke of anything else.

"Pity. He was kinda cute," mused Indigo.

"Ewww," said Jackson by way of reply.

"Oh, grow up. I was joking, dumbass. He looks better with half his face missing. Now shut it. We're not out of the woods yet."

Indigo reached out and twisted the ends of the stands and lifted the end of the rifle, twisting them back as soon as the bars had cleared the washers. The nails and their caps remained in the roof, the only sign that she had been there. Indigo unlocked the bolt and hauled it backwards. The spent casing pinged as it was flung out, bouncing away to the far edge of the rooftop. She ignored it as she flipped the stand up, stood, spun and, swinging it onto her back again, trotted down the stairs. Jackson took over and slotted the pistol back into its holster with one hand as he pulled a hunting knife from a sheath at his waist with the other. It proved unnecessary, however, as they met no resistance in the time it took them to get from the building to their bike, parked in a random alley not far away. All the fighting was moving away, leaving the Jackson Collective free to speed away. A few miles down the road, Jackson became aware of his vidphone humming against his pocket. He pulled in to read it, and Jackal's face lit up as Thirsty gave him the gist of it. He"gaaaaar-oooof"'d a question, and Thirsty replied with "Of course. What else do we get hired to do?"

"Well, before that, let's get the pay for this one," said Jackson, taking over once more.

Overcoat streaming out behind him, he gunned the bike and, with no problems in between, a rare enough occurence in Geneva, collected his pay. That done, he checked the vidphone again and jetted off towards the meeting place. It was enough to pique his interest, and the most recent pay-off wouldn't keep the hunger at bay for long.

That, and his ass was getting numb from all the fragging sleeping on the streets lately. He'd have to check out renting a room somewhere.

[Wesforce]

The woman's delicate-pretty face wore the mask of plasticcy politeness and bland good-humour that was the clue to every Shadowrunner's work prospects... And for many of them, a pet hate. It was often thought that the 'Mr Johnson' type came off a production line, probably somewhere out in the Japanese Technological Empire, or the Pacific Rim rival that looked to overtake it any day now. It was also theorised that just maybe there is one Mr Johnson, who travels a lot, and plays all the Corps against each other, leaving such minor variations as race, age and gender to his crack team of on-call cosmeticists.

Such a person would be incredibly busy, given the current, the ever-present climate in Geneva FEZ... But then the Corps came up with people like that all the time. Headware telephone wired from early childhood, marketing degrees from age of 12, a skill-soft for powerdressing and a compulsory tan. Most of these slags dropped dead or burned out in their early 30s. The rest... Grudd knows.

Wrightman snapped out of her musing, but knew she hadn't missed much. This Johnson had gone on for a bit about reputation, professional operators, etc. The actual job apparently entailed some travel, non-contact espionage - no wetwork. What had caught Wrightman's attention was the line about payment. The actual sum wasn't astronomical, but she'd hinted at something else - A year's Corporate Medical Insurance. If Johnson wasn't wearing Mirrorshades - always mirrorshades, damn them - Wrightman could have sworn she'd winked. What did she know? Could she know? Could they do anything about Wrightman's affliction?

'Attendance would be much appreciated,' Said Johnson, with a stock mid-european accent. 'And we've laid on a small function room and some ordeuves.' - Wrightman laughed inwardly at that. '8:15, warehouse 3, 3356 Strasse Sternhammer - Just by Sørennson Airport if you're interested. Shall we leave it at that?'

The connection ended, leaving Wrightman alone on the streets. Shadows beckoned to her...

***

'Dragon speaking. Lets get to th' point shall we?'

'Very well, Mr Draknevov. Silent infiltration, some travelling. No wetwork. Your basic salary, plus... Information. How's that sound?' Said the pale-blonde Johnson.

'All well and good up to the "no wetwork" point. My curiosities are aroused... What "information" would we be talking about?'

'Thats up to you, Mr Draknevov. Rest assured, my associates have their sources. We have a substantial file on your background, Mr Draknevov. 8:15, warehouse 3, 3356 Strasse Sternhammer - Just by Sørennson Airport if you're interested. Shall we leave it at that?'

***

Jackson was next to receive a vid-call.

'Mr Jackson? Or would you prefer 'Cyber-Skitzo?' Said the woman in mirrorshades.

'Call me Indigo.' Said Indigo.

Johnson pursed her lips, and looked at something off-screen for a second.

'How would you like to supplement your income?'

'Supplement my what?' Jackson snarled.

'She means "earn some money."' Ms Holmes tutted, testily.

'Oh. Well we just went and got some, thanks'

'I know,' Said Johnson, keeping her composure despite the oddness of talking to someone with such astounding visibly chaning hair and personality traits. 'You see, we've been after you for some time now...'

'Well I hope your life insurance is paid up, slitch...' Snarled Indigo, visibly restraining herself from grabbing a gun.

'NOT in that way.' Johnson corrected quickly. 'We wish to hire your talents. We believe we can offer goods which you won't find easily available on the streets. Internal goods.'

Making herself visible from the human argument that was the Jackson collective, Ms Holmes, came to the fore.

'Very well then Ms Johnson, if you'll just give us the details...'

***

Claudette killed the connection and took off her mirrorshades. Grudd on a monobike, what was Mr Johnson thinking, hiring these freaks? Surely his whole operation was doomed, relying on the malformed trash of the streets like this. A Vampyre, a drunken assassin, a Cyber-Psycho... Jovis wept! During that last conversation it was all she could do to keep her composure. Doing the job of a Mr Johnson wasn't her forté, and a professional might be able to see through that. Nevertheless...

The ball was in her court now. She was Johnny-on-the-spot. She had the torch, her job was to run with it... Blah blah blah, the self-help expressions reeled themselves off. She selected the rest of Johnson's files - Patch. Clay. Kennedy. Shatter. Bunny. Hopefully some of these would be a calming influence on the group as a whole.

But then, she reasoned, maybe the chaos would be good for her plan.

She made the calls, and then contacted Personel dept. for some handy goons.

[CKW]

The warehouse stood upon the rubble littered streets, soaked by the highly toxic goo of Lake Geneva.It's tattered bulk made the only walker on that part of the City to turn up its gaze, lured to judge it's size, like many other people did in the past. The gun cocked in his hand, its barrel pointing at the skies, perhaps at Heaven...if he was a believer, that is. All signs were clear. A gun, a person in the middle of nowhere... alone? No. There was someone else, someone who was hiding, clenching in the cloak of Darkness, as a kid afraid of a monster does in it's mom's clothes. He could sense it. He swore he could even smell his fear, and hear his heartbeat. It all was a clockwork deathtrap, whose target had activated it long ago. And, over the years, it's many gearworks spinned, snapped, to deliver the impulse to him. The last, and definitive mechanism wich would trigger his death.The man named Patch breathed deep, holding the gun with resolution. Calmed and slow. He'd enjoy this moment. The time of the demise of Donny "Doughnut" Spades, former HRT chief. Former HRT murderer. Former man whose blood was tinted with the blood of angsty kids. HIS former buddies. Patch would make sure he'd be a former alive person.

No reception in the entrance. A good signal. Probably the old wardog was exhausted, and had just tried to find somewhere to take a nap. Or perhaps he had made so many enemies he had to crawl to a hellhole to hide from its wrath. Better not let all of them down, and deliver him a payback.
Some rats squeaked as Patch crushed the antique magazines that were sprayed all over the place.His back against the wall, to prevent sneaking up. Not that it was easy to do, after all, there was enough gloom to allow him to see. But probably that fragger had cybereyes aswell. He could have afforded them.

Clank clank clank.

He'd like to make sound. He'd like the bastard to heard him coming.

End of the road. Thought Doughnut. One day you can have anything you want, destroy all stuff, and be mean and people will be thankful for it. At least the Daisaka corp. A single mistake, and you're gone. And then all people wants your head on a pike. Literally. But there was little time for mourning. A bastard was coming. They want him dead? Hah? And how many of them will have to fall to do such a thing?

His arms snapped with the wired reflexes, the muscles rippled. Cybereyes zoomed, while his plated chest breathed deeply. He seized the automatic machine gun. He'd kill anyone.


"DIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" And the shots roared towards the entrance. Patch barely had time to dive for cover, as bullets grazed his leg and arm. He was impatient. And with automatic weaponry. Not a good thing. But it could be used against him. After all, taking out an HRT leader wouldn't be easy...

Bits and bits of concrete sprayed rattling down the stairs as the deafening roar of the machinegun reverberated across. It's near endless gunfire suggested a machinegun belt. It stopped. His seizure of fear had stopped. Too bad, he could have emptied its ammo. Patch still thought in its safe cover, when a scared rat squeaked.

An unorthodox idea but effective nonetheless. The flying and squeaking highly contaminated furball flew away towards the door just to be propelled by a lead wind agains the opposite side, chunks of hell knows what part of the rat blowing in a wide cone.

Click click click.

The sound of luck. An emptied machinegun.

"Now or never."Patch muttered to himself. If the bastard had another magazine, he'd have never stood any chance against him. After all, the only way to enter was the now bullet bitten doorhole. He propelled himself to the middle of the door, adjusted his smartlink, gritted his teeth and...

BKOOOM!!

The sound of a .54 firing. His whole body rattling with recoil. Doughnut stood in shock, still clinging to the trusty machinegun he had been using, depleted. His second magazine was nowhere to be seen. If only... he had it at hand...

Patch grinned, the whole stomach of the redheaded middle-aged man turned into a bloody mess, it's guts hanging from the exit hole, while the front was littered with shattered armor plates. And it burned. All the stomach juices slowly digesting his entrails, burning him from the inside in an agonic death.

"Burn in hell you bastard!" He grinned, while delighting how its victim was starting to suffer the first spasm of the state of shock.

Spades' eyes opened, a glimpse of his now clogged memory came to life. It couldn't be! All those arrogant punks had been obliterated! And a single gangster couldn't take the Doughnut of Doom!

"Heck... you..." Those were his last words, before the pain gaping sounds while he tried to get up, and his wired reflexes, overloaded with pain, made him rattle like a ragdoll, and fall flat on his face and pierced stomach, making him wince even more. Patch wished he could enjoy all those minutes in wich the life of the bastard would be extinguised, but he had stuff to do.

BKOOOM!! A second blow. The wristphone... and the wrist of Donny, too, shattered in its raw pieces. Now he'd not be able to call for help.
His job finished, Patch turned its back to the spasming bastard, and started to slowly descend the ladder. The wounds were a bit stingy, and he'd need to wash his hand after touching that rat-thing. Seriously.

[VO]

"Ugh"

Edward Chan swung a huge fist at the punch-bag just as the phone began to ring. It swung back up as he ducked out of the way and rifled through the pockets of his disgarded longcoat for his phone. His huge body shook - rivers of sweat pouring down his back, joints aching from the exertion. The legend collapsed onto a bench in the gym.

"Hello?"

"Is this 'Clay'?"

He inspected the picture on the vidphone. A young woman, corp probably, a bit shaken.

"Speaking" said the man known as Clay warily.

"Are you interested in a job, Mr Clay?"

"Carry on". Clay pulled on the longcoat over his vest and stood up, adding "I don't come cheap, you know."

"Your talents are appreciated, Mr Clay. The work may involve some travel."

"Did I say I'd accepted?"

"Of course not. '8:15, warehouse 3, 3356 Strasse Sternhammer, near Sørennson Airport. I hope I'll enjoy the pleasure of your company."

"I'll think about it." Clay clicked the 'off' on the vidphone and the picture flickered to nothingness.

There was much work to do.

[LeFire]

The man unsheathed his sword with the ease of practiced movement... four feet of shimmering alloy with an edge that could rival a surgeon's las-scapel. Holding it by the hilt at his waist, he eased forward towards his target, which stood unmoving and still, unwary of the approaching human.
He didn't make much noise when he moved. Especially when he was only wearing a light armour vest under his clothes. His step was sure and steady, moving with the smooth controlled power of a veteran street-merc.

"Thunk!"

The stab was clean and deep, embedding itself into the target. His mind was suddenly filled with the strange roar of magic running into his sword, destructive energies vengeful at being freed rippling up into him, seeking to tear and rip into the essence of the puny human that had dared to trip the magical prison.
Except that this was no normal puny human... The magical wave stopped cold in his arm, suddenly resisted by a solid wall of force, an unmovable barrier. The next moment witnessed the magic ripped apart and consumed by a million hungry wraiths as the power of a Spellbreaker neutralised the broken energies of the spell.


"All right. Now get out of the way."

Shatter glumly stepped aside as the elf waved him off. The metahuman bent to examine the hole that Neutraliser had made in the wood of his door, and hissed in dismay.
"Did you have to make such a big hole? She was a beauty! And now you've ruined her finish!"

Controlling his wrath with the same unmovable wall that he had clamped down upon the spell, Shatter replied.
"Look. The sword needs to have sufficient contact with the material before I can break the spell. You either get the hole, or spend the rest of your day locked outside your apartment."

The elf sniffed at him, then pulled a credstick and tossed it without another word. Shatter caught it with his left hand as the metahuman slammed the door, leaving the merc-turned-improvised locksmith in the shabby corridor.

Moron. Idiot should know better than to fool around with magical locking traps at his level of magic.

Business was lousy. Apparently no one needed the services of a Spellbreaker at the moment. And Shatter had been reduced to doing mudane jobs far below his typical fair. Getting rid of bad summons, dealing with cases of magical retention, and the occasional elvish idiot locked outside his house with a miscast locking spell. Shatter had made it outside into the street when his wristphone beeped. He looked at it and grinned.

Hmmm. Business at last.

[Nyerguds]

*Bzzzt*

In an automatic movement, Bunny tapped the button on the side of his wristphone and looked at it while it clicked open.
"Bunny listening."
"Hello." the woman at the other side of the line said. Johnson. Bunny thought. Good... I can use some money. "I have heard you are currently without steady employment." the woman continued. Bunny didn't even start thinking how they knew his old pal Trevor was dead. It didn't matter... they just knew.
"That's right... I suppose you have some kind of proposal for me?"
"Indeed I do." she said, the plastic smile looking even more fake when she actually smiled. "If you don't mind travelling a bit, which I'm quite sure you don't."
"Uhuh. Get on with it." Bunny said calmly.
"It's an espionage job, and we could use a man with your talents."
"Uhuh. Any familiar faces on the job?" Bunny asked.
The woman looked off-screen, most probably to check some data.
"If they come, I do believe so, yes."
"Nice." Bunny smirked.
"I'm expecting you at 8:15, warehouse 3, 3356 Strasse Sternhammer. That's near Sørennson Airport."
"Yeah, I know the place. I'll be there."
"Wonderful. Shall we leave it at that?"
"Yeah. Bye." Bunny said, and closed the connection before Ms. Johnson could. It gave him the satisfaction of thinking he might've ticked her off, even though he knew nothing seemed to even faze those people.

"Right. Let's get going then." he smiled. He liked the prospect of getting out of Geneva for a while. Anything was better than this hellhole.

[CKW]

The tired figure of Patch leaned towards its front, then with a jolt, stretches his body out of the sofa to attend the call. It was getting a bit late, even for an emergency. Lazily, he slided open the door with the PRIVATE sign, the barrier that delimitated the end of his clinic and the start of his haven. He checked the gun was loaded before even daring to try and open the door hatch. Smartlink was working, and so did the gun's mechanism. For being a slum, the location of his clinic was usually quiet, but sometimes you just got trouble, and it was better to be prepared. The hatch slid open, to reveal a coated figure of some sorts, of a light but fairly tall build. One could venture to say it was a woman, but the coat muffled its body too much to get a clear conclusion.

"State your business." Said patch, peeking on the pitch black shadow that covered its face.

"Nurse Gallagher. I search for Patch. May sent me." The voice answered, filled with disdain and haste. A feminine voice that didn't like too much being out in the cold of the streets.

At last. Thought Patch. He had asked for an assistant for ages, and now that his clinic got a bit crowded, he was needing it almost desperatly.

He swung the door open, nodding to the nurse to come inside the clinic. She entered, placing her coat on the nearby operating theater. May had told she was a newbie nurse who had recently got out of her instruction, and still brainwashed with the corp mentality. But damn May, she had never told him Gallagher was a dark elf! A well built one, nonetheless, judging by the hints her white nurse clothes gave away. She was dressed for the ocassion, complete with heeled shoes and a nurse hat. Behind that shadowy skin of her, a disdainful expression remained, while her eyes kept sizing Patch up, and examinating his scar. Specially his scar.

"Go get my luggage, boy, and warn the doctor." Oh my. She was so brainwashed he'd mistaken him for a bodyguard or an aide of some sorts.

"I'm the Doctor." Patch dryly replied, answering back her disdainful expression. And like him, eyeing up a part of her face. Concretely the silver half-moon tatto she had in her right cheek. She raised an eyebrow, and combed her white long hair.

"Hmph. But still, wouldn't you carry a ladies' luggage?" She answered, with a sly grin. Patch knew that his peers were devious, but for his dark peers, it was a complete understatement. They were plain evil and twisted, and by the hell, this nurse was showing an example of that. Patch had no more choice than drag the heavy suitcase she had been carrying and close the door.

He scratched its arm graze, it still stinged, even more than the situation of having a newbie nurse bossing around. "Can you use a gun?"

The nurse looked puzzled for a while, then nodded as if it was a natural thing, showing proof of an automatic 9mm gun concealed in her nurse dress.

"Good, you're in. I'll show your room."

"You know, you could have some less... crappy ambience." She ventured to say, fiddling with an articulated lightpost.

"Stick or leave."Charles' sight locked on hers again. Her disdainful expression vanished to reveal sheer resignation. He had just remembered her situation.

***

After a few fast food dishes, everything was settled. Gallagher was at least personable if you didn't mind her arrogance and shrewdness. She could be a newbie, but she gave the impression of learning quickly. He shouldn't have doubted on May, she kinda had an eye for these things. Scan auras, and that, gave her some kind of empathic awareness. Patch smiled, now a bit fond of his new partner...

And then the vidphone rang. A bit of a mood killer, but it had to be answered, so the field medic turned it on, to reveal a feminine face. Given her looks, it was surely a corp member, or had been in the past.And young too. Just great.

"What do you want?" Patch dropped casually, with a hint of distaste in his voice. He could see her reaction to his hostility... Or maybe she was intimidated by his looks.
"Wouldn't you be interested in earning money?" Her speech was slightly forced,as if she had more than one worry in her mind.Johnson or not,she hadn't learnt how to properly mask emotions.

"I'm interested yes. But I don't go shadowrunning that easy." Patch tossed the line like a nasty-aimed brick."I have a clinic to watch out."

His interlocutor fumbled around, searching for some data. Apparently she knew he could come with this, and she'd counter.

"Ah, yes, the clinic" The corp woman said. "Well, i heard it was running low on supplies..and you know, i could help you in that."

Patch's eyebrow slightly raised, accentuating his scar. "Nice research you did there. You got my attention. I'm all ears."

The woman gave him a cosmetically enhaced grin that one could understand as some sort of relief expression...

"This job may involve some travelling." She dropped, now more confident of herself.

Patch took himself a while to think. He eyed the vidphone, then Nurse Gallagher, and then the phone again. Coul he risk to leave everything in the hands of her...?

"Okay, no problem. I'm in." The scarred elf sighed. If the clinic went down, "Spring" May would be the next. That'd be for sure.

"8:15, warehouse 3, 3356 Strasse Sternhammer, near Sørennson Airport. I'll meet you there."

Patch hung.Another shadowrun, with travel involved. On the positive side, he'd have to get out of Geneva to avoid the heat regarding Donny Spades' murder, so why not on a shadowrun?

[Desolator12]

Dragon hailed a RoboCab, and asked to go to the Sørennson Airport. It was near the meeting area, and it was a public place: Not somewhere someone would never go to, thus less obvious to anyone tracking his every movement. To the untrained mind, it'd look like Dragon was skipping town for a while. However, Valk'ry knew better.

"I'll get your ass someday fragger..."

Dragon exited the RoboCab, and made his way to Warehouse 3, using the shadows to his advantage. He walked into an alley-way and, checking for other ocupants, donned his Assassin-Garb.

"This may prove to be fun... sad thing is, Johnson doesn't seem to know that a bad espionage mission usually turns into wetwork", and that's where he'd be needed the best... of course, he could use the Shocker as a non-lethal weapon, stunning the person or knocking them out completely, but where's the fun in that?

Dragon entered the Warehouse, eyes alert just in case Johnson was bogus and this was a trap: He'd made enemies in the past, not to mention Valk'ry...

[SW Freak]

Jackson shoved the vidphone back in his pocket as he whipped the bike around. He gunned the engine and roared away. After all, it didn't do to leave a Johnson waiting, especially when they contacted you so...directly.

"Yo, Jack, what about the other 'run?" Indigo threw the bike into a turn as she took control

"Not important. This on'll pay better. Hey Teach?"

"Yes, Jackson?" responded Ms. Holmes at the sound of her nickname.

"Any idea how Mr. Johnson back there got hold of us so easily?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, Sam usually forwards us 'run info, right?"

"Indeed. A most-"

"Reasonable agreement, I know. You've said before."

"Well, I was meerly commenting on her willingness to help."

"Provided we grab her some more customers and a little extra cash each time. And repay Thirsty's tab. Eventually."

"Two thousand nine hundred and eighty three Nuyen sixty seven at last count," said Thirsty, sounding almost satisfied.

"Yes, well, in answer to your earlier question," interjected Ms. Holmes before that old arguement flared again. "I don't know."

"...What, that's it? I thought you knew everything."

"Sarcasim is the lowest form of wit, my dear Jackson. Perhaps this young Mr. Johnson has plenty of informatives, people in the corps, perchance."

"Well, we'll just have to ask, won't we?" muttered Inidgo, gripping the handlebars with white-knuckled intensity, denting the right one with her claw.

"Jeez, Indie. What's eating you?"

"I don't trust her. She...I...her...I just don't trust her," she finished lamely.

"Whatever. The pay's good, and we don't have to kill anyone this time. That's always nice when the renties take particular interest in us."

"Hmm," hmm'd Ms. Holmes.

"'Hmm?' What 'hmm?'"

"Well, it's merely a change. Usuasomeone dies when we are hired. This time perhaps I will get a chance to work on my diplomacy skills."

"Yeah, maybe." With that, Jackson gunned the engine again, speeding up from the disgustingly respectable speed Teach always drove at.

Within minutes, the bike schreeched to a halt outside the warehouse, brakes squealing as Jackson powerslid into the courtyard. He stood from the vehicle and looked around, Indigo reaching for her pistol to ease her nerves.

"Relax, Indie. It's just a regular 'run."

"I dunno...You know that feeling we get when we're about to get shot again?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I've not got that feeling yet, but it's definitly an option."

[AI]

Wrightman sighed, reguarding her vid-phone as if it was a dangerous animal. She really didn't want to do this. She hated calling in favours. Especially now, I mean look what almost happened to Helen. And then there was Gary...

She stopped herself there and took a deep breath in. Tapping her worn down, filth encrusted nails against the cabinet beside the bed. This only depressed her even more. She'd need to find another home soon, somewhere quiet and seclued. Or at least somewhere with very few people that would be missed...

"Oh God, what's wrong with me..." She muttered to herself, realising she was thinking like that again. That strange mix of detective and vampire that constantly rose to the front of her mind to justify her actions. It was a blessing sometimes, especially in the first few months, but it just seemed like sometimes she didn't know if she was in control or fooling herself that that was the case. Either way, it frustrated her to no ends.

Cutting free from her trail of thought, she dialed the number. She knew that it would take her hours to walk to the airport, especially in this traffic, and he'd understand. He had to, I mean what with that cat of his. Last she had heard it wasn't hunting mice anymore, but it had been awhile since she'd been in touch. She'd kind of cut her ties with everybody except good old Thurg. Mainly as he was the only one who could still pack a punch that hurt.

"Hi Bunny!" She said brightly, as his face appears on sscreen. She couldn't help beaming at him, it was so nice to see a friendly face again.

"Hey. Caught some gangers lately?" Yeah, like she hadn't heard that one before...

"Pretty girl in a white suit... It's like shooting fish in a barrel, Bun." She flippantly explained. "Look, I need a ride to some warehouse by an airport..."
"Lemme guess, warehouse 3, 3356 Strasse Sternhammer?" He asked. She closed her eyes breifly, and then her beaming became even more radiant.

"You're doing the same job!" She almost squealed in excitment. "Hey, did that slitch of a Johnson tell you there would be 'ordeuves'"

"Ouch, that was harsh..." He said, sympathetically.

"Yeah well, I've just eaten." She said, kicking the corpse from the end of the bed in disgust and stretching out on it, nestling her head onto the pillows. "So I'll meet you by my old place 'round about six thirty?"

"Sure, I'll see you then. Bye!"

"Bye."

She let Bunny close the link, so it didn't look like she was hanging up on him. She knew it was silly, but considering how paranoid her 'friends' seemed to be these days... Of course, she was wrong to think of Bunny like this. She knew this as well as he did, but it still nagged at her.

She needed some rest.To clear her head more than anything.

She set the alarm on her vid-phone so she could be out of this thrice damned cheap motel room in time to meet Bunny and settled down benath the sheets. She reguarded the two-bit scum (yeah, all she had to do was keep justifying it. Make her depise him, hate them all. They're scum, after all... No way anybody would miss them) that had tried to take advantage of her earlier with distain and flicked out the lights.

[tagbert]

A lone figure stood illuminated by the hazy light pouring in a broken window. He stood in the narrow space between several overly large crates hiding; apparently unaware of the light streaming in. He stuck his head out past an auspicious crate marked “First Aid.” The smell emanating from the wood suggested otherwise, but then, he already knew what they contained. Which was what had led to this entire unfortunate situation

Pulling his head back into his hiding space, he squared himself for a quick dash. It was nearly twenty metres to the office and a good half of that was in plain view of half the warehouse. He wiped a fair measure of sweat from his face and tried to calm his breathing. Now or never.

He cleared the crates almost stealthily, lurching awkwardly forward with all possible strength. One hand remained glued to his side in a vain attempt to seal a bloody bullet hole. The faint clapping of his shoes on the ground sounded like thunder in his mind, each step a beacon to his presence. With one final rush, he collapsed on the office door, hand twisting frantically at the knob.

The door slid open and released his weight, sending him sprawling onto a filing cabinet. Groaning with the pain, he pried his other hand, covered in dried blood, from his side to begin pulling out drawers at random. One drawer hit the ground with a crash, and seconds later, another followed, already checked.

“Looking for this?” He spun almost 180 degrees in a flash, eyes bulging as a battered old Colt handgun was tossed on the ground in front of him. He raised his head slowly to see a short Elven woman standing in front of him, imposing though she was nearly a head shorter than he.

He stuttered, seeing another handgun still firmly in her grasp, violet eyes regarding him stolidly. “K-k-kennedy, you don’t want to-”

“You know it’s really rude to run away while we were having such a meaningful conversation,” She glanced at the floor for a moment, running a hand through green hair in mock forgetfulness. “I think we were discussing the merchandise, was that it?”

Darting his eyes back and forth between the gun on the ground and the elf before him, the man tried to raise a false bravado, “My employers-”

“Are likely dead, and are certainly not standing in front of you right now. If you don’t tell me where the stuff is hidden, I’m petty enough to kill you and burn the entire warehouse down.” She cocked her head at him inquisitively, “Would you prefer that?”

“N-no, it’s just, they never told me where it is exactly. I really d-don’t know.” He barely managed to get the last phrase out before his head gave out and dropped to examine the ground again.

“My employers have been watching you for some time, they know your history, they know your many sordid dealings,” She paused at this, savouring the fact that her quarry likely didn’t understand the word, “and they know that you know where the merchandise is hidden. So if you don’t tell me where it is, I’m going to have to find out how many more bullets your stomach can hold.” She leaned in close, barrel of her gun never wavering, “And frankly, I don’t think it’ll hold very many.”

At that, Kennedy leaned back and waited for a response, slouching against the office door with her gun hanging at her side. The man seemed overly preoccupied with re-examining his wound and making slight whimpering noises. She waited for him to crack, waited for her threat to sink in. He made no move to speak though, his posture suggesting…resignation.

“They never crack,” Kennedy sighed and stood straight, raising the gun to chest level. From somewhere in the back of the office came the vaguely melodic tune of a vidphone.

“Yours?” She asked the man, gesturing with the barrel of her gun towards the sound. He shook his head weakly and she walked cautiously around him to search the office desk; an assortment of legal documents housed by several large pieces of rotting wood. As Kennedy set to work emptying drawers and discarding them on the floor, she kept one eye and her gun trained on her target. After a moment or two of searching, her hand came up with a ratty looking wristphone, chiming away to itself.

She nudged the volume down until it was almost inaudible and tilted the screen away from the man. Kennedy frowned after a moment before replying, “Who’s this? How did you know I was here?”

Another, more lengthy pause ensued. “Actually, I’m kinda busy right now-” She cut off and sucked in a breath sharply. “Really. Of course. 8.15, warehouse 3, 3356 Strasse Sternhammer. By the airport.”

Frowning slightly again, Kennedy turned off the wristphone and tossed it on the ground. The man raised his head from where he slouched and looked at her expectantly.

“New job,” she said flatly, “Bad for my employers. Bad for you.” Her bracelets jingled as she raised her arm and her trigger finger sent its regards.

[Wesforce]

'- A blatant disregard for International and corporate Law, this issue has gone too far already. We Demand That Neuwerke repeal their Illegal pricing policy, and offer us the 99-year lease - as discussed - Of commercial property on their North Sea Arkoblock - '

'And I repeat Neuwerke's position: Not until Grexxon ceases all its economically damaging activities Targeting Newerke in areas we have Agreed to cooperate already-'

Claudette clicked the 3DTV connection off, Things were moving too far, too fast. She'd have to move things along a bit, or miss her window: By the looks of things, the lunatics had taken over the asylum and war was inevitable. Grexxon had managed to browbeat The UCAS Navy into sending their last remaining aircraft carrier Battlegroup to escort their own Naval units, and were going to be in range within a day, if not hours. Neuwerke had the backing of the Imperial Japanese European Squadron - or Perhaps it was the other way around.

Funny, Claudette mused. From here, this all seems to stupid, so petty... Whereas if I were still a Fighter Pilot, I'd happily follow orders, and shoot those Grexxon bastards down 'til the cows come home... Or they got me again.

Still, things are different now. Fate has delivered me an opportunity too good to miss.

Claudette stood up. One of the heavy-set plainclothes NEU men guarding her looked once at her, then turned back to the door he was stood by, a matt-black G12A at port-arms looking like a child's toy in his vat-muscled hands.

Rain and wind lashed the airport, beating a steady tattoo against the darkened office window. Twinkly fairy lights in the night sky formed the vague outline of runways, taxi ways, fuel depots - And there, coming in from the North-East, the massive bulk of an R501 Airliner seemed to appear impossibly quickly from the darkness, mist spiraling away from the four vectored-thrust jet engines set within the full-body manta-styled wing. The oceanic-looking aircraft settled onto the runway gracefully and pulled off onto a hardstanding. Already a small convoy of Drone service vehicles were dutifully following it - A refuelling tanker, a baggage train, a passenger coach, an emergency firetender and sundry others. They all had sodium-yellow safety lights atop their chassis, even thought their need was not required anymore. Apart from the passengers and the Air-Traffic Control Riggers, everything was automated; Handled by drones on microwave tight-beam

Claudette let her vision wander - She had a great commanding view over the small airport from her once-abandoned building. But the chunky, heavily-modded, weather-beaten Van winding its way along the desolate, long-disused construction road just South of the airport was anything but an Aiport Vehicle. And there she saw, not too far behind the van, several other vehicles coming up the trashed service route. Several Robocabs, and some big hulk on a bike, despite the rain. It couldn't be more obvious what they all were if they carried a huge fragging Neon Sign saying "Shadowrunners R Us!", and they were coming her way.

'You, you've done guard duty on meets like this before, right?' Claudette said to the Dwarf guard to her left, who favoured a slung Short-barrelled autoshotgun discreetly under his blazer.

'Stay sat at the desk, keep yer mirrorshades on and let 'em know whats what. Few of 'em will try an' act tough fer ya, but don't worry, its all an act. 'Sides, if anyone does anything stupid, my boys are chromed and juiced enough to drop 'em before they get their slimy, gutter-trash peashooters outta their holsters.'

'Right' Said Claudette, impressed by the cybered Dwarf's confidence. She half expected him to add a "Yo ho hee har" laugh, but he didn't seem the type. He was one of those "New Dwarf" types who defied convention and shaved their beards to goatees.

And in they came, the "Expendables" as Johnson had put it. Wrightman, Bunny, Patch, Shatter, Dragon, Kennedy, Clay... And the Jacksons. Each of them impressed or scared Claudette in their own way - She'd had a typically sheltered Corporate upbringing. But it was Jackson who creeped her out the most... She didn't think it was possible to have all that cyber, and still live...

'Thank you all for coming.' She said without emotion. 'But do excuse me if I'm abrupt, for time is short. I'm sure I've already explained the nature of the work on offer - On-site information retrieval, no wetwork. However, before we can proceed, I need to know who of you is willing to leave the FEZ - Preferably within the hour.'

[CKW]

"Hm. I tied the stuff before getting here, so guess I'm in". Patch rubbed his chin, while standing up and serious. It was odd, but there was something not quite right with the Johnson. Normally, you don't get professional security that easy. Those guys were the strong, silent type and no doubt would rip anyone to shreds if their wires were crossed. She had a corp upbringing though, judging by her manners and the way she reacted to street scum. Normally Johnsons are soulless corp people who don't betray any hints of emotions. She had the attitude, but years of experience were missing.Or pherhaps it was just a fake... Argh.Extremely shrewd or naive,it should be handled with caution, nevertheless. Besides, who would take such a bunch of weirdos as runners? Runners were weird, but that tower of a man was talking to himself!

After his reply he gave a condescent look to bunny. Maybe his common sense told him the same? Who could know...

[AI]

(OOC: I'm just assuming they are all here, correct me if I'm wrong)

'Johnson, Johnson, Johnson... How queer you appear.'

"I have nothing to stay for. Or collect. Just tell me where to go and I can step on a plane now." She said, and then added. "As long as all expences are paid... And there's the question of payment."

She couldn't help noticing this wasn't your standard Johnson. It was hard not to, she doubted bery much that it would even take a detective like herself to spot it. Any hardened runner would probably know, she assumed. After all, she was hardly in a position to comment.

However, Johnson was paying her wages. And possibly more. These people tended to get edgey if you tried to do a full psychiatric profile on them, or even questioned their motivations. And the last thing any of the people in this room was a jumped up Johnson packing this much hired heat. Enough heavy guns in this room to tear even her apart.

She looked over her team. The Goblin was back, whatever his name was. There were some new people as well, a cybered up pshyco who kept muttering to himself. She'd have to keep an eye on him, he.. She... Actually, keeping an eye on... It wasn't a good idea. Just watching him made her head spin.

There was also a toned elf, who was constantly looking at Bunny knowingly. Old friend perhaps, she hoped to god he hadn't told him about her. But she knew Bunny would never do that, she'd asked him not to tell anybody about her condition. And he'd never betray her like that. Never.

There was also some elf, who she didn't take much interest in. Looked like your typical runner, possibly a hired killer. It was hard to imagine she had any kind of specialised talent. The heavy set man near her on the other hand...

... She could help but gape.

A glance over him with her super-imposed astral vision confirmed her suspcions, he was a mage. He'd be able to see right through her. One quick flash in astral and it would all become clear. He'd know. Luckily he didn't seem like the type to panic, he looked experianced. But on the other hand, he just decide she was a liabilty and kill her there and then. She needed to remain warey of him, keep out of his way. Don't arose suspicion.

And then the very last runner was a very welcome relief. She looked back at Shatter and gave him a slight wave, hoping she caught his eyes. She was suddenly feeling a whole lot better about this run. Surely with both Shatter and Bunny to keep her in check, there wouldn't be any unexpected wetwork on her part...

[VO]

The group who this Johnson had assembled didn't look good. Clay took them in at a steady pace, assessing each as best he could.

First impressions tended to stick. If someone looked like they couldn't handle the run, then Clay knew that, nine times out of ten, they wouldn't.

A goblin. Weapons strapped to his back, bleary eyed and sipping at a flask. Probably fragile in a fight, but packing a punch when allowed to. Cybered to the hip on one leg, but nowhere as close as the next guy, who, on glancing across the astral plane, seemed to have at least half his body replaced with cyberware.

It hurt.

Several elves. One lightly built, didn't look much like a fighter. A liability? Maybe. But then liabilities tended to drop dead pretty quickly in this line of work. The other was most probably some kind of rigger - he didn't register very much astrally or looked armed to the teeth. He looked fairly experianced, but not like the hard-bitten old bastards you tended to get in this line of work. The last one looked ex-military, the kind of guy who'd look fat if he didn't work out, with one of the most exceptionally manly jawlines Clay had ever seen.

Two humans. A stiff young man with a haunted expression and close-cropped blue hair with matching military jacket. Astrally, the runner's sword made almost as much of an impression as it's bearer. Interesting. But not as much so as the last runner.

A human female. Clay shook his head. If the previous guy had looked haunted this green haired girl.... woman, Clay mentally corrected himself, considering the youth of many of the other runners here tonight... was like the Marie Celeste. Physically, there was something tragic about her apperance, but astrally, it was like a smearing of blood across her persona. Clay would know it anywhere.

Vampire.

He wondered how many of the other runners knew this - and how they'd take it when they found out. There was a - perfectly rational - hatred of vampires across the world, it could easily warp into infighting in the team. That would have to be avoided.

All in all, though, the team could be better, but then again it could be worse. There was no obvious leader figure, which was worrying, but there were likely to be a good mix of skills apparent. And the vampire was intriguing.

Johnson was brokering a deal with the her now - talking about travel, expenses. The brown-haired human had already accepted. Most of the others hadn't.

"I'm in," said Clay "as long as the pay's satisfactory. I've had enough of this slaghole anyway."

[Desolator12]

"Wright! Glad to see you're back. Haven't heard from you in a while." Though Wrightman didn't remember Dragon, he did. He saw a look of concern on Wright's face, and remembered why. HMHVV. Dragon noted that, and decided that, at least until she tried to eat him, that her affliction with vampirism would remain secret.

"Although I have my...qualms...against leaving, a run's a run. I'm in."

[LeFire]

Shatter's face flashed surprise at meeting Wrightman, but then it cracked into a genuine smile. He knew that Wrightman was a vampire, but it was his nature to trust. He gave the same glad-to-see-you-again look to Bunny.

Yeah right... same way that you trusted MUNDI to keep their word. You trust too much, fragger.

But the Spellbreaker pushed the dark thought away... knowing that maybe someday he might regret it. Or would he? Shifting his focus to the other shadowrunners as he busied himself cleaning water off Neutraliser's sheath (Shatter figured that he didn't need the heavy armour on this non-wetwork run and didn't bring the backpack), he passed a quick eye over the potential.

Not bad on this run... a good mix of both what looked to be support specialists and front-line battle linemen. All the elves he immediately dismissed as support personnel useless in a face-up slugfest, Shatter humbly noting with some irritation that that locked-in elf fragger had really gotten to him with his attitude.

Gotta watch the racism, boy. MUNDI Media Rules #328: "Elves should not be stereotyped as weak (in public)." MUNDI and the press will have a field day if one of their operatives ... Shatter blinked the thought away.

In fact - contrary to the stereotype - there was a well-built elf standing to his right, a particularly large scar across his face. Shatter figured that he was one of the frontliners, along with the cybered freak. The Spellbreaker regarded the latter with morbid curiousity... reckoning that he didn't need to try breaking any spells targeted at that thing. There would probably fail on their own from the lack of spirit. One more large human... Shatter was about to dismiss him as a dumb frontline meatshield when his routine astral scan flashed a warning.

Hell... A mage!

Using covert techniques trained into him in the Spellbreaker trade, Shatter probed carefully, discerning some aspects of his spectral personality. Strange... none of the fieryness of a fire mage, nor the turbulence of a storm one. Not even the rarely felt background roar of a water mage. This one gave the solid feel of earth... of unmovability. It was like the spectral image of another Spellbreaker, but gave the feeling of the steady march of an unstoppable power instead of a unmovable wall of armoured strength. Very odd.

Filing aside his interest for now, Shatter examined Johnson, sending a usual standard spectral probe her way. It was turned down at the gate as expected, of course. But something was odd about the attitude... instead of a locked gate with the firm politeness of a there-is-nothing-here-stay-clear-please-fraggers sign on a corp urban development site, his probe was ejected with a vigorous shove... as if a mental bouncer had firmly pushed him out of a bar. It seemed... boosted somehow. As if artificial mindblocks had been set up in Johnson's head. Once again... very odd.

But Shatter wasn't going to turn down the offer of a job, of course. Anything beat being a locksmith for an elf fragger... Stop thinking about the fragging elves as fraggers, dammit!.

"Leave within the hour? I'm in."

[SW Freak]

Indigo eyed the Johnson before them. The fraggers had to be massed produced; this one lacked a bit of the...whatever you call that look the slitches usually had in their eyes, but she made up for it with her stoney manner, and her slightly impressive hired help. A discrete glance through her eyepatch with thermal had revealed most of them to be cybered up. Not as much as Jackson, though. Indie took an odd sort of pride in that. In four years of 'running, no one had matched her in her level of cyber, and that gave her an advantage.

She glanced around at the others again, handing the reins over to Jackson so that he could form an opinion too. There was a goblin standing right beside him. Aware, ready to spring, ugly, he was the most unusual mix of race and profession, if Jackson's suspicions were correct. He definatly looked like an assassin, and a shot of thermal imaging revealed him to have a cybered leg, though the form hugging fabric of his clothes had told him that already. His eyes were cyber too, both of them. Jackson didn't know how people could do that. For all the cyber in him, he just wouldn't feel human if he couldn't see through one normal eye.

The next to befall his gaze was a female elf, a skinny little thing that looked like she would be paste if it came to close quarters fighting. Then again, she was probably packing some impressive hardware besides that shoved down her top.

Moving swiftly onwards, Indigo directed Jackson's gaze at the huge man at the back. He and the guy with the sword both had a look of magic users about them. That is to say, neither could look Jackson in the eye without cringing ever so slightly. He had noticed their grimaces as they first laid eyes on him. No doubt checking him out with their mage-o-vision, as they always seemed to do. Made sense, really. They said you could tell more about someone by looking at them through a mage's eyes than if you had known them your whole life. All Jackson cared about, though, was wether or not the fraggers could be trusted. The Collective had known many mages who had stabbed him in the back once it looked like they could get away with it. Fortunatly, most of them had quit trying to use magic on him. Unless they really tried, it usually ended up disapating, somehow. A mage had tried to explain it before, but Jackson hadn't been paying attention, so he had handed it over to Ms. Holmes. She seemed to enjoy it.

Next was another elf, this one male, built on thicker lines than the other. He could be helpful, in a pinch. Certainly he would probably be effective enough in a brawl. Beside him was a third elf who had the looks of a rigger about him; cool, calm, coordinated, could freg off faster than you realise in times of danger. But he would probably be their getaway driver, so it wouldn't hurt to be nice to him. Might earn him some brownie points that he could cash in later.

The last of the group was a human, plain and simple. No sword like the mage, not huge like the other 'caster. Just a skinny little girl with black rings under her eyes, and dark green hair. Nothing out of the ordinary. A glance with thermal didn't even reveal anything out of the ordinary. But..."I have nothing to stay for"? Just another Geneva sob-story, maybe.

"Indie?" Jackson rubbed his temples. He was getting the usual headache from flicking visions so often.

"No idea, Jackson. But she doesn't look too dangerous."

Jackson shrugged and looked back at Johnson again.

"I'm in," he said simply.

"Me too. But I'm bringing my baby along with me," said Indigo, jerking her thumb at her rifle.

"As am I. I've always wanted to visit far off lands."

"Grrrr-owwwl."

"Jackal says "Let's go." As for me...I'm not sure."

"What? Aww, come on, Thirsty! We never get out of Geneva."

"Well, yeah, but all that foreign piss that they call beer..." Thirsty shuddered and then sighed. "I guess I'm in too, though. The renties have been getting too friendly lately."

"Cool. We're all good, provided you're offering enough..."

[Nyerguds]

Bunny looked at the people around him, and smirked. She hadn't lied to him... quite a lot of familiar faces. Some he was glad to see, others he could've done without. Ah well... a job was a job. An if it wasn't in Geneva, well, that was a bonus.
He looked aroudd at the new faces. Some heavily cybered-up fragger, a typical gun-toting chick, and some guy that didn't seem to be anything special at all.
Probably a mage. Bunny thought. Not that he'd normally care about that... after all, he was just gonna drive 'em around. But with Wrightman's condition he knew he had to keep an eye on people that might be mages... grudd knows how they were going to react.

"One note." he said to their would-be employed. "Wherever we go, I need my own van on the run. It has special... modifications I need to perform my work with maximum efficiency."

[Wesforce]

'I regret, Bunny' Said Johnson with a barely detectable smirk at the sound of such an ill-fitting but strangely picturesque name 'That we won't be able to bring your van with us. However, alternate transport should be able to suit your needs - We have access to a ride range of milspec equipment, for the purposes of this 'run only.'

Bunny snorted, as if to say, "I don't like it, but I'm going to have to go along with it anyway' He wondered where Sheila was, and if he should take her along.

'And as for you, uh, Jackson, I can assure you, we will more than meet your current rates. Any of you who accept now, I can authorise a payment of ¥1500 immediately.'

Patch looked at Johnson. She looked back at him. Yes, the deal was still in place. They'd worked out a good exchange on some new parts previously.

All I have to do is survive to pick them up... He thought.

'Well, if we're all agreed, thats that.' Johnson said. 'Give me a moment please.'

She went into a side room, leaving the 'runners to eye themselves suspiciously. She came out a while later, wearing a 1-piece silvered flight suit with Neuwerke markings. an IWS SMG90 was slung under one arm, and she put on a flight helmet which interfaced with the rigger jacks they could now see on her neck. Then she went to the exterior door of the room.

'Follow me.'

She hauled the door back, and the room was flooded with the stink of aviation fuel and the cacophony of the airport. Whirring service vehicles scurrying to and fro, Jet engines spooling up and down on the hardtop, helicopters coming in to land.

Wind and rain lashed the short path out to a helipad where a Tilt-Wing sat - An unmarked grey Neo-Soviet Union aircraft: An Antonov AN-57 Hangman B.

Sweet Jovis Thought Bunny. This bucket of bolts looks to be in a worse condition than Jackson.

'Woah,' Said Bunny, looking at Johnson's getup. 'You're coming with us? You're flying?'

'You're welcome to co-pilot with me.' She winked. 'Not sure how good you are on the Hangman B, but I have skillchips.'

Ugh, skillchips thought Bunny. Suggesting that he use them was tantamount to an insult.

'I think I can do without them.' He said.

'Okay, everyone board, the sooner we get going the better.' Said Johnson. 'I'll brief you on the way.'

The 'Runners shrugged, and walked up to the agine aircraft and the passenger door that opened. It was laid out commuter-fashion - It was pretty much a Neo-SU copy of the ubiquitous IWS Passenger Tilt-Wing that you saw so often, with 2 by 2 seats and a central aisle. There was a locker at one end with A small collection of IWS Assault Rifles and SMGs, with clips of explosive and flechette ammuntion for each, and a satchel of flashbangs. Standard beige workmen's uniforms in a varety of sizes to suit the 'runners weere laid on the reclining seats - Even in Jackon's size. There was also a pile of optical chips.

Bunny swung down the gull-wing crew-door to the cockpit.

Sheila sat inside...

[AI]

Wrightman entered the aircraft, it certaintly looked better on the inside than it did on the outside. Needless to say, she'd slept in worse... Especially recently.

She didn't pay much attention to the storage locker. After all, she had never really been trained to use a gun. Her pistol and air-tazer would suffice, and if not... Well, best not to think too hard on that point. But needless to say, she still wouldn't need them.

She did however give it a quick once over. Considering this run was supposedly 'no wetwork', it still had quite a substanstial stock. A testement to an over-paranoid Johnson, perhaps?

She paused to consider this thought for awhile, then decided she was completely wrong. This was no Johnson. A Johnson did not come on runs with the disposable scum of Geneva. No, this was somebody else... Retired or active Neuwerke pilot by the look of her uniform. How very, very interesting that was. It had given her a little mystery to play with on the flight... But had also left a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

A Johnson who isn't a Johnson at all, but some jumped up flight jockey, leaving the FEZ...Haven't Neuwerke been on the news recently? Oh yes... A trade dispute with Grexxon...

Oh dear.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

The very last think she wanted was to be caught in the middle of corprate warfare. She was no sabotour, and she was certaintly no solider... So what use would a detective be in such a situation?

Ah, but then did they hire her as a Detective, or a vampire?

This 'no wetwork' clause was becoming increasingly suspicious...

So many questions, so few answers... Best in-flight entertainment she could imagine. But that wasn't all. She made her way to her seat, which she confirmed was hers by the awfully coloured uniform that was her size. She wasn't looking forward to wearing that... After all, where would she put her clothes? She didn't want to leave them behind, she'd only just restocked her wardrobe and really didn't want to spend the money from this run doing it all over again.

Under the suit, however, was an optical chip. Standard data-chip. She settled down in her seat and fumbled around in her pocket for her matrix-cable computer. She fed the chip into it and suddenly a whole new world of information was at her fingertips, metaphorically though it was.

'Ah, interesting...'

The chip contained a number of plans and schematics to the Grossunion Arkoblock. Which was interesting in it's self. She pondered breifly what they would be doing there, but decided not to strain herself. All would be revealed in good time, it was just a matter of patience.

She spent a few moments examining the schematics and then flicked her computer off until later. After all, she really wanted to catch up with Shatter and get a chance to ponder the other bizarre little mysteries this run was throwing up.

"Well, as long as we don't have to sit through an in-flight movie..." She sighed to herself.

[Nyerguds]

Bunny swung down the gull-wing crew-door to the cockpit.

Sheila sat inside...
OOC: ^ I suppose this was supposed to come at the end? :rockbrow:


"Well well. Now what on earth are you doing here?" Bunny smiled, as he rubbed the huge wild-looking cat under the chin.

"I thought she'd come in useful." Johnson smiled back at him.
Bunny frowned. "You actually brought her here?! Why on earth would you do THAT?"
"I have my reasons." she replied calmly.
"You're freaking insane." Bunny shook his head. "The mages will totally freak out when they sense her."
"They won't. Your ladyfriend's aura is strong enough for them not to see there's a second one."
Bunny's face went pale at the realization this Johnson actively involved two vampires. "They will when they see her."
"Probably." Johnson smirked while taking place in the pilot's seat. Bunny knew that she had to have nerves of steel to totally ignore the vampire kitty... though knowing Johnsons, she might not have any nerves at all.
He sighed, and sat down in the copilot seat, after giving Sheila a soft push so she'd get off it. This run was suddenly looking totally diferent.

[Desolator12]

Dragon grabbed one of the workman suits... the one that seemed to be fitted for him, and put it in his bag. He then got his colt-45 american out and, inspecting it, put it in the bag carefully as well...

He grabbed one of the chips and, loading it into his handheld, brought up the schematics and studied them intently... if you're gonna drop into hell, you might as well drop with good intel.

After a few minutes of constant viewing, Dragon flicked off the handheld. Then he walked over to Wrightman, wanting to see how the ol' vamp was doing, and to make sure she'd fed recently...

[SW Freak]

"No wetwork, huh?" muttered Jackson as he eyed the guns in the locker. In the blink of an eye, it was suddenly Indigo who was regarding them, though not with suspicion as before. "Oh, hey! Nice! I always wanted one of these things." She grabbed an SMG and looked it over. "Aww, Vinnie would have a field day with this stuff."

She grabbed a couple and, pulling open her coat, hung the shoulder holsters so that the two SMGs she had snatched rested comfortably close. Then she grabbed as many clips of explosive ammo as she could. That flechette stuff could go hang as far as she cared. She didn't really mind the fact that they would probably be killing people again, for a change. At least she would get a chance to increase her arsenal in the process.

That thought in mind, she slung a battle rifle over her shoulder as well. More explosive ammo went into her many pockets until she started to feel like she had enough. That done, she glanced over the other 'runners again. Then she walked over to the big human mage. It would be a good plan to know what he was capable of.

"Hi there," she said, smiling, the movement oddly distorting her face as the lump of metal that was her lower jaw remained unshifting. "I'm Indigo."

"Indigo? I thought your name was Jackson?"

"Nah, that's MY name," said Jackson, butting in, his half-synth, half-natural voice ringing with amusement.

"Don't worry about it. We get that a lot," continued Indigo, infallible in the face of the big man's confusion. "I just wanted to, y'know, clear any troubled waters there may be between us before they actually become, uh, troubled." She tried another smile. "So, what can you do?"

[LeFire]

Shatter ignored his workman's suit as well... The uniform could wait, since his jacket had been customised to enable the mounting of his FG-18 forearm submachine gun, and he didn't see any way of doing the same for the uniform short of ripping open its left sleeve. The gun was silm, silencer-mode capable and fitted inconspiciously around his left forearm... but the caseless ammo that it fed on required an specially customised open jacket vent at the back of the elbow to allow hot gases to escape.

Shatter gave the weapons locker a cursory pass... He didn't have the skill to use any of the assault rifles and SMG's there, and he carried enough ammo already for a non-wetwork job. Besides, he was thinking about the reward promised to him by Johnson... A limited-edition IWS "Longshot" heavy rifle, for the simple fact that it was fitted with the same simple model of neural smartlink used for the FG-18. Given his magical nature (which prevented his from using the more complicated smartlinks) and lack of training in other weapons, Shatter had searched the official IWS Matrix sites and found limited choices... only the Longshot was suitable for his smartlink. It packed a punch close to that of a sniper weapon, but came without a fancy scope. Fitted with a ten-round magazine, it would come in very handy for the times when he was too far for either sword or SMG, which was too often.

Johnson... This one was an enigma. Shatter was still concerned over the magical anomaly that he had encountered during his probe, and something else about her nagged at his subconscious. But he was no detective, and just couldn't place what was wrong with Johnson. He glanced over at Wrightman, and noticed her giving a quick glance at their employer and back at him.

Something isn't right. She senses it.

Shatter gave a brief nod to her, and thought about moving over to sit beside the detective to hear what she had to say. But then the gobbo had decided to head over in her direction. Not one to interrupt, Shatter leaned back into the seat and buckled up instead, waiting for the plane to take off.

[tagbert]

Kennedy reclined in the not-quite-comfortable chair on the plane. She'd avoided contact with the other runners thus far, but she knew her luck couldn't last. Sooner or later one of the freaks might try to stir up trouble. Or worse, conversation.

Under the guise of examining the plane she'd taken in her colleagues, who seemed to be an assortment of typical and atypical street scum. She'd seen how the others had been awed by the cyber-psycho freak and frankly she saw their point. All her years on the streets had never shown her anything quite like that and she'd be perfectly happy to not have to see it again.

Her eyes skimmed over the rest briefly, lingering only long enough on each face to remember the features. Until...a woman wearing pure white caught her eyes. The outfit was strange enough to Kennedy; most of her associates wore variations on black or stolen and ratty clothes, but her sense of unease extended beyond this woman's fashion sense...

Something wasn't right there. Something was definitely out of place. Pretending to examine the decor, she stared at the green haired woman, annoyed. Could have been someone she'd known, but for the white. Could have been a half-breed, but Kennedy couldn't pick out any discernable metahuman traits. Could have been cleverly disguised cyberwear but she knew a thing or two about that.

No matter, just one more freak among many to keep an eye on. Closing her eyes, Kennedy lay back and waited for lift off, visions of green haired women dressed in white dancing through her mind.

[VO]

Clay regarded the collective sceptically. To say there was more than meets the eye would be an understatement... then again, this Johnson had seemed to decide to recruit such an eclectic catalog of misfits it made this cybered thing seem almost normal.

Almost.

Taking off his longcoat, Clay took the seat with the overalls in his side. This left him next to the collective, but he'd have to get to know it sometime. He pushed his fingers into the pocket for a moment, pulling out the ball of putty wrapped in a layer of synth-plastic film.

He peeled it like an orange and dug his fingers into through the substrate which had been enchanted many times before. It shaped itself, twisting and twining through a potter's sculpting without anything but inspiration. Legs and arms formed, an effigic head with tiny pits of eyes, a tiny golem which scrabbled upright on Clay's palm for a breif second.

He spat a globule of blood to the floor. The golem stumbled, then stood up again and began to dance jerkily on his hand.

"That's what I do," said Clay. "But bigger."

[AI]

Wrightman looked up from her musing to catch Shatter nodding towards her. He looked troubled, as if he was trying to size up Johnson, or even this run, just the same as she was but hadn't quite reached the same conclusions. She'd have to speak to him about it at some point. Naturally, she wasn't sure on any of her points just yet, but if they were walking into a corp dispute it didn't help to be prepared.

"Hey, Wright! How's it hanging?"

She tilted her head over her shoulder to see the Goblin from the last run approaching. Behind that, the over-sized mage was demonstrating his powers to that cybered monstrosity.

Ignoring the Goblin for awhile, she watched in awe as a web of magical fibres wove themselves around the lump of cray, breathing life into it. It was an amazing spectacle to watch on her astral-imposed vision, an intricate web of fibres and strands supporting a vague hint of life... And yet in the middle there was nothing. It was dead and alive at the same time...

... But most impressive of all was when it started to dance.

"Wow..." She couldn't help but register he apprciation aloud. "Now that would be hours of fun..."

"Huh?" Blinked Dragon, preplexed.

"oh, sorry... Just in a world of my own..." She apologised. She searched her memory, trying to put a name to the face. He had those swords... Lost a leg fighting Johnson.... Dragon! Yes, that was it. Dragon. "I get along as best I can I suppose."

She forced a smile.

"That's great!" He enthused. A little too enthusiastic. At a guess, she gathered he had something else on his mind... So the next question didn't come as much of a surprise. "Say, it's going to be a long trip and all and I was just wondering... You're not hungry, are you?"

She pondered this for a few seconds. She hadn't long eaten, and under usual circumstances that would keep her going for a day or so. However, she really did want to talk to Shatter as soon as they took off... And much as she loved idle chatter, it could wait.

"Actually..." She began, picking her words and tone carefully. The very last thing she wanted was for this to get out of hand. "I'm feeling rather famished at the moment. It feels like I haven't eaten in days."

"Uh... Really?"

"Oh yes, I feel as though I could eat a troll..." A devious smile played across her face. "In fact, I don't suppose you could get me a small snack... Could you?"

[CKW]

Doing the dirty work for the corps. Heh. Sometimes life is filled with ironies Patch thought, while grasping tightly the uniform that was on his seat. However, even if this was disgusting, he would have to do it. He'd need the medicines and gear to save lifes. Regardless of the now REALLY fishy behaviour of the Johnson. Given her recent behaviour, she did looked like a rigger of some sorts... someone who normally would be a runner, not a Johnson. But there was this corp upbringing... Oh well.He had better be prepared for the unexpected, and things eventually would be revealed.

He took his seat, next to the female elf. He thanked the gods it wasn't the cybered-freak. Well, at least the multi-personality guy was amused by the mage. Good. Keeping it interested would most likely stabilize him.

On the other hand, some of the runners, the gobbo and the sword guy, were chatting friendly with the woman in white, if his elven ears were to be trusted. He'd never know why, but she was suspiciously charming. Like the cheese of a trap. Well, given that the other two were friends of bunny... She could be possibly be trusted. He noted mentally ask Bunny about her sometime.

He pulled his backpack to the front, pressing a button, revealing all sorts of needles, vials, scalpels, bandages, and even a medical scanner. Everything was right. If someone caught a slug, this chemical stuff would significantly rise it's possibilites to make through it. Correct. He then unholstered the gun, weighting it's really heavy barrel.They were given automatic rifles, and he was no newbie at rifle shooting, but he trusted the gun better. He'd keep it no matter what. Just like the knife, both a versatile tool and a weapon. He checked its balance by flipping it, swiftly and smoothly. One time. Three times. Six times. He even made Kennedy turn its sight briefly towards him, and that was quite an achievement if you have a cyberfreak clapping over a puppeteer mage, and a white-clad woman who seems to be the center of attention.

"Name's Patch" He casually adressed, while putting it's knife in the shoulder sheath. Experience in knife fights in gangs was something not even the top notch wired reflexes cyberware could match.

[Wesforce]

Within minutes the Tilt-Wing was given clearance to take off. Strapped firmly into their rigger-seats, Bunny and Johnson powered up the aircraft and whizzed through their pre-flight checks. Once done, Bunny let Johnson apply power to the two huge pod-mounted engines. The rotors cranked, and were soon turning fast enough to allow take-off. The Tilt-Wing lurched into the air and hovered at a height of ten feet down the taxiway until it was clear from the flightpath and wake vortices of the Airliners constantly taking off and landing from the busy little airport.

Beginning transition to vertical flight.' Said Johnson over the Neural link, as the Tilt-Wing started gaining height rapidly. You know, I heard an interesting story about these old Neo-Soviet birds. 99 times out of a hundred, the engines tilt and transition perfectly. The other one time the engines snag their fuel lines and lose all power...

Is it really safe to think about these things when you're neurally in control of said aircraft? Bunny pointed out.

Johnson laughed, but performed the transition flawlessy. The 'Runners in the back didn't even notice the fact they were now travelling forwards instead of up.

When they were cruising safely, Johnson made an announcement.

Can you hold things here? I have to clear some things up.

Roger.

Johnson unhooked and unstrapped herself, and walked back into the passenger bay, where she took up a SMG and clicked home a grey-striped magazine of flechette munitions.

'Thank you for your patience', she said to the assemble 'Runners, noting the way they seemed to be gathering into two groups. Once she had all their attention, even the stoic Mage and his remarkable little clay puppet, she began to explain.

'As I'm sure you'll all know from the chips, we're heading for the Grossunion Arkoblock, in the North Sea. I'm sure you're all equally aware of whats about to happen there. Even if there isn't a major Naval Battle, Grexxon will surely take control of the installation. Our task is to secure vital Neuwerke assets located on the installation: Research and Development Prototypes, Vital instruments, and the collated data of their entire R+D mainframe. You'll notice none of us are dedicated 'Riggers - Thats because I'll be coming in there with you.'

She laughed.

'No offence, but I wouldn't like the idea of you lot poking around with all that sensitve data anyway.'

'Question.' Said Wrightman. 'Why don't Neuwerke just evac all this crap themselves?'

'Because the base commander is a fool, and would rather blow the whole place up than lose it. He knows that if Neuwerke lose the installation, his job is finished.'

'Okay...' Said Shatter. 'Then why don't you just use your own Neuwerke goons to do this job?'

'A good question, to which I wish I had the answer.' Said Johnson smoothly. 'What can I say... There just aren't enough operatives to go around these days. Call it "downsizing.". Besides, I wanted the best, not some mindless goons.'

Nicely done, Claudette thought. Play to their egos... Johnson would be proud.

'Now... Questions?'

[Desolator12]

"Heh... 'Downsizing'...you mean half of 'em got slaughtered in some nasty way" Dragon went on... deciding to keep an eye on Wrightman... if she were lying just to shut him up, so be it... but if she really hadn't eaten in a while...well... there was always the alternate way... and though he didn't have any wood on him, he was confident a few clean cuts could at least hamper her hunger... null persp.

"Ok, I got a question... what happens if that fragger tries to kill us to prevent us from getting the info... I mean, not that I wouldn't mind a bit of wetwork, but it might thouroughly screw your plans, and our paychecks, if he decides to det the whole base." Dragon added in.

[SW Freak]

Jackson glanced at the goblin. He seemed to have a perverse love of killing. It was a little bit scarey, even in this fragged up world. Shrugging a little, he looked back at Johnson. He wanted to put voice to the question that was probably on everyone else's minds: Who the frag are you? A Johnson that wanted to come along on a run was like...in fact, it was so absurd that there was nothing it could likened to. It was in its own messed up category all of its own.

Jackson shook his head and instead settled for, "How are we getting in? Parachutes?"

[Wesforce]

In reply to Dragon's question, Johnson nodded.

'If all goes to plan, it won't come to that. Ideally we'll be in and out without them noticing' She nodded in direction of the overalls the 'Runners had left piled in a distasteful heap. 'A simple subterfuge will let us infiltrate the areas we need to get to, with the help of ID sticks, and under the diversion of the impending military operation. If - and I stress if - You become compromised, then it may be necessary to neutralise Neuwerke personnel, but their cost will be taken out of your payment.'

Johnson had added that clause himself, before his untimely demise, Claudette noted, but she wondered why he'd chosen such an unstable character as Dragon for a job that required subterfuge. Not that Claudette had any problem with that - She knew it would work to her favour.

'And in response to your question, um...'

'Jackson. But I am Miss Holmes.'

'Right. Parachuting would be preferable but extremely hazardous, given the weather - Currently on a level 3 storm warning. You'd be blown wildly off-course, and the toxic nature of the North Sea wouldn't put you in good stead.'

Claudette knew that personally. Half her body was blistered from contact with the murky 'water'. High-doses of painkillers let her ignore them.

'Instead we'll have to land at one of the Station's pads. Shouldn't be a problem, this is a Neuwerke coded and registered flight. However, getting off the pad may require stealth on your part - But I'll go over that shortly.

That seemed to be all the questions. Claudette caught Wrightman's eye while the others pored through the Station information chips, and motioned her over...

[AI]

(Wes, if there's any glaring errors in this post, let me know.)

Wrightman excused herself from her conversation with Dragon, and gave him a 'just kidding' wink of reassurance. That was a mistake on her part. She'd got carried a way in the moment and compromised herself...

... Though she had to admit, it had been fun.

She walked over to 'Johnson' and then straight past her, strolling into the ****-pit of the craft. Johnson's eyebrow arched, but she followed her inside anyway and Wrightman pushed the door closed behind them.

Sheila slinked over from between the seats and rubbed herself up against Wrightman's leg affectionatly. In return, she bent down ever so slightly to scratch the over-sized kitty behind the ears.

"Hey girl, long time no see." She whispered to her as she rose up to face Johnson.

"I'd have rather discussed this alone..." She said, motioning over to Bunny.

"I know. But I have something to say, and I'm willing to bet that Jackson fellow, if not more of them, have augmented hearing, and I really don't want them in listening range." The corners of her lips tugged into a smile. "Besides, Bunny's my minder. He's probably the only person on this ship with a chance of controling me if worst comes to the worst... So if you have any plans involving me, I think it's best he hears them."

"Very well..." Sighed Johnson, her tone suggesting that of a mother humouring a small child. "What's on your mind?"

"Look, I don't care what your files say, I'm a detective first and foremost. So if you hired me as a..." She paused for a few breif moments, before clearing her throat and continuing. "... You know, then I... I'm sorry, but I just don't think I can do this..."

She bowed her head. She hated herself for doing this, but she was still human, and she wasn't going to let anybody undermind that. She was still very much a detective, and she wasn't going to allow herself to become a pet of people like this. She wasn't going to become a monster on demand...

"I'm sorry if I'm jumping to conclusions... But I still have some dignity left... And I'm not keen on losing it."

[SW Freak]

"Subterfuge?"

"Trickery," Ms. Holmes informed him. "Stealth, as she said. Subtlty."

"Sub-titty?" slurred Jackal, unused to words as always.

"Go back to sleep, dear," said Ms. Holmes kindly.

"How the frag are we supposed to sneak in? I don't know that that many Neuwerke-ers have this much metal in 'em."

"Or on 'em," muttered Thirsty cheekily.

"Shut up, Thirsty."

"Fine, fine." He glanced around idly. "Any booze on this hunk o' junk?"

The others ignored him. Best not to get too pissed before a 'run, they had found. Even though Thirsty usually just fell over after the prerequisite amount of alcohol, there were times when he butted in, so to speak, and had almost cost the Collective their collective brains. Right after that, Thirsty had uttered the usual "Never again" and had proceeded to get wasted at That Shadey Place next chance he got.

Jackson sighed as he thought of that beloved bar. It would be a while if he saw it again. If he saw it again. The goblin's question had struck a nerve.

"So, what's plan B if the commander tries to blow the place up?" Jackson asked, voicing a concern most of them shared. Except Jackal, of course. Mostly his only concern was that he was unable to lick his-

"Plan B?"

"Yeah. You know, plan B. Comes right after plan A, preferably before we die."

"Well..."

"There is no plan B, is there?"

"Not as such, no," Ms. Holmes sounded a little sheepish.

"Hey, Jack, I got a plan B for ya'. We all die."

"Ah, shove it, Indie."

"Children, please."

Jackson found the nearest reflective surface and stuck his tounge out at himself. Indigo responded by flipping herself the bird. Then Ms. Holmes gave herself a slap on the wrist. Jackson and Indigo took turns chuckling as they looked over the other 'runners.

"I wanna go talk with that goblin. He's got some fancy knives."

"Man, knives are so old fashioned, Jackson. Get yourself a gun!"

"That's your gig, Indie."

"Yeah yeah."

Jackson halted before the goblin, who was looking at Wrightman's retreating back with an odd look on his face.

"His there. Jackson." He held out his cyber arm. It was generally a good test of character. Depending on the reaction, Jackson could usually tell just how ballsy a person was. "I noticed you had yourself some nice hardware there. Where'd you pick up a couple of swords in this dump?"

[Desolator12]

"Custom-shop... had 'em made specially. One way, they slice... the other way, they rend. Either way, they get the job done." Dragon said to Jackson, returning the jesture after a look of caution. "However, looks like I won't be needing the main feature of 'em..."

"Main?" Jackson replied.

"Sure... the secondary is this little baby..." Dragon said, motioning to a small box with clips on it's side, "...sends an electrical surge through the metal of the sword... heats it up real nice too. Great for either stunning, electrical surges, or my personal favorite..." Dragon grinned

"What?"

"Ever hear that fragged-up story about that guy and the sword that cut the other guy's head clean off? Works just like that... only less blood, since it instantly cooks the innards tough... Perfect for missions where blood splatters would be a no-no..."

Dragon looked past Jackson for a second.

"They may be old fashioned... but it's easier to send a blade down on a person than to aim at the one slashing at you. Let's just say it's personal experience..."

[LeFire]

Shatter overheard the conversation between Dragon and the Collective about swords, but wasn't interested in joining in. He unconsciously brushed his hand against the cool alloy of Neutraliser though.

Swordsmanship was a style that had gone back into vouge after the discovery of reliable anti-bullet body armour. As a defence-first-and-foremost Spellbreaker, MUNDI had taught him well about stopping bullets... the resistant properties of a modern anti-bullet soft armour (like the jacket he was wearing) were designed to stop a sharp impact from a piercing projectile. Synthetic nanofibres in a network conducted the stress of the hit over a large area, diffusing the force effectively and stopping a bullet penetration. Furthermore, in cases where the fibres failed to hold, the design of modern soft armour panels limited bullet energy and subsequent tumbling, ensuring a clean, easily treated bullethole in the victim.

A sword in contrast, applied a less forceful (in comparison to a bullet) but more importantly... a more constant pressure against armour panels over its larger cutting edge. Soft armour nanofibres resisted snapping easily, but not cutting. Thus a good hard stab would usually penetrate soft body armour that would have stopped an rifle bullet. Hard plate protection like his MUNDI full battle armour was more resistant to blades and bullets, but a good hard two-handed cleave would still get through the alloy.

Shatter picked up his abandoned coverall, then with a withdrawn sigh, proceeded to use one of the smaller blades from the weapons locker to cut into the left sleeve. It was not very sharp, but he ignored the fact that he carried a keener edge... to use the long-bladed Neutraliser in that fashion would be utterly distasteful, not to mention dangerous in the confines to the aircraft cabin. Shatter rapidly fashioned several slits in the fabric to accomodate his forearm gun, then struggled into the shapeless bag to ensure that the action was clear and that the double-fan-shaped bullet deflector would still be deployed quickly and safely.

Satisfied with his handiwork, he picked up the information chip and began to commit the details to memory. Stealth jobs meant being able to recall information about the target and the routes to and from it quickly, and he wasn't going to be caught short.

[Wesforce]

On the chips:

--------->From Meuris' Corporate Assetwatch, 2061 Autumn Edition

GrosseUnion Arkoblock - AKA Devil's Hole Arkoblock

Originally an offshore mining platform, Neuwerke purchased the platform and substantially built up its facilities until it became a vast, floating rusting hulk of a city of over 90,000 people. Though there are various industries - Fishing, Oil. Sea Reprocessing, and Tourism, the main focus of the Facility has always been the mining. However, Neuwerke has been winding down operation of the mining facilty in recent years, amid rumours they plan to sell or dismantle the rig.


Population: 90,000> - 95% of whom are Neuwerke Affiliates.

General Manager: Haakon Valdez

Includes a 2,000-strong division of NEU Guards, who run foot, helicopter, fighter and naval patrols. CO: Neuwerke Officer Wayde Van der Tamm

Structure: Originally built (2023-2030) around four main pillars sheltered behind an artificial reef formed by an old, scuttled US Aircraft Carrier (sold off for scrap when the UCAS was formed), linked to the ocean-bed mining and prospecting facility by umbilical pipelines which transport personnel as well as materiel. Since Neuwerke purchased the facility they have added several new sections, including full airport facilities, as well as upgrading the superstructure with revolutionary 'moisture breathing' materials, and replaced the original fusion reactor with a classified power source of their own devising - Rumoured to be a Microwave powerplant fed by a geostationary satellitle.

Alpha Dome - One of the older districts, Alpha Dome recently underwent a costly regeneration program, increasing its industrial output by almost 80%, and creating space for several thousand more workers. Among the upgrades are a monorail system, which covers the whole dome and links it to portside and Schwarzenegger Tower. Most of the area is given over to fully-operational industry, the most visible of which are the oil-drilling/pumping gantries.

NWS GrossUnion - AKA 'The Ship' - A large luxury passenger liner that Neuwerke docked with the Arkoblock. Neuwerke stunned the world when they announced the ship would become a permanent piece of the Arkoblock, and permanently joined it to the stations structure. It serves as luxury and highly-secure, fully self-sufficient housing, as well as command and control over the whole station. The liner has its own power source and communications tower, and a monorail line links it to Alpha Dome. Security maintains a high presence there.

Portside - As the name implies, these are the docking and loading/unloading facilities for the entire station. A hive of activity, this open-sided's dome also includes worker habitats and tourist areas, including a sizable megamall. Recenty renovated, Portside is home to a jarring contrast between neon-lit glitz, and industrial machismo. Security has a visible, yet marginally friendly presence.

Beta Dome - Light industry, worker habs - Largely abandoned (see below). This area is old, crumbling and generally in need of renovation and restructuring: Several overhanging areas are actually in danger of falling off into the sea completely. Accidental deaths are on the rise, particularly in the vicinity of Beta Dome - Home to all the transient non-Neuwerke Population, most of whom were former Neuwerke employees who have been unable to afford the cost of transport elsewhere. (Note: This area is considered lawless and is reputed to harbour arms and drug traffickers. The MUNDI has critiscised Neuwerke publicly many times for allowing such a lawless area to exist on their property).<---------------------------

Claudette examined the troubled Wrightman. She chose her words carefully...

'I... Understand your concerns. But I can give you every reassurance that your place on this mission is down full well to what you can do rather than what you are. We're not after... killers' - Claudette struggled to find a word to describe a Vampyre that wasn't too offensive - 'We need people with brains. People with guts. People with an inquisitive mind, and the gift of the gab - Someone who can double-talk and blag their way past attentive guards' Known outside the Boardroom as Dimwitted Lackeys, Claudette had noted, 'As if they had every right to. Can you do that for me, Wrightman?'

Wrightman frowned.

'When I said I'd prefer no wetwork, I meant it. I don't want to see anyone killed here. Remember, its my company.' Claudette continued.

Just over an hour later, Johnson and Bunny were rigged into the controls again. 100-mph winds buffeted the small commuter aircraft somewhere over the North Sea, causing it to dip and roll slightly - Autocompensating turned what would be a stomach-churning aerial rollercoaster from hell into a gentle bumping.

Receiving landing beacon on IFF Said Bunny. They're advising us to come around to bearing 030, and to reduce speed to 200.

Come around to 030... But keep the speed up. Said Johnson, after a momen't pause.

Won't that make them jumpy? Said Bunny.

It may do, Said Johnson, But we don't have the time to get stacked in their fragging holding patterns. I'm flashing them our priority clearance.

Johnson did so. Then she got on the intercom.

'We're coming into land... Better get ready everyone. Check and stow your weapons, we're going to bluff our way in once we land, then sit down and buckle up. We can leave the heavy stuff on-board until we-'

The hairs on the back of her neck stuck up like she'd been rubbing a baloon against them. A niggling feeling refused to go away. Aware she'd left a conversation hanging, she conjured up her radar-warning receiver in her mind's eye.

Contact! Surface unit, bearing 047. They've launched - Anthaless SAM!

Anthaless, Claudette realised. Those Grexxon bastards... Must have had a sub stationed nearby, and thought we were worth breaking cover to shoot down, thanks to our High-Level IFF

Bunny threw the Hangman-B into a tight dive, and a 45 degree roll that threw the 'runners around in the back like skittles.

The Anthaless Missile was a Rigger-Controlled Naval Surface-to-Air missile - It had neither infra-red nor radar guidance; Rather it depended on a rigger controlling it by tightbeam remote. Somewhere down in the attacking boat's Aerial Warfare centre, a rigger on a remote console jerked and spasmed as he or she projected their consiousness into a mach-3 missile, intent on a fiery and explosive kamikaze run into the Hangman-B.

Deploying countermeasures.

With a mental command as well-trained as the flick of her fingers, Claudette's rigger-mind jettisoned two circular objects behind the Hangman-B from retrofitted dispensers. The two metallic spheres stabilised themselves with a single rocket, firing through multiple venturis, and placed themselves right in harm's way - Right in front of the missile.

The two tesla decoys detonated in small puffs of lightning as the missle shot past. Down below, the missile-rigger screamed in agony as some of that energy was sent down his tightbeam link.

The missile lost its path, and deployed a small parachute as it went on loiter mode.

They might fire again... Get the frag out of here!

Don't have to tell me twice Lady! Bunny Grinned.

Johnson got on the intercom again.

'We've just been attacked. We're not out of danger yet. I'm activating the survival bubbles!'

'Survival What?' Dragon frowned. His seat - All the occupied passenger seats - Suddenly hyper-inflated, to enclose them in an enclosing waterproof canopy.

[SW Freak]

"Sonova-!" cried Jackson, cut off as the bubble knocked him off his feet and scooped him into Dragon's lap.

"Why, I never knew you felt that way, Jackson. Want us to leave you two alone for a while?"

"Shut the frag up, Indie," muttered Jackson, picking himself up. He looked around warily. "If we get dropped out of this damn plane, and I end up on your lap again, I'm gonna scream, I swear."

"Pussy."

"Whiny slitch."

"Stop it, both of you." Ms. Holmes interupted Indigo's reply tersly, turning to peer out of the side of the vaugely translucent sphere. "Is everyone else alright?" Jackson rolled his eyes. She was actually concerned. "Mr. Johnson. What exactly is happening?"

[AI]

Wrightman stirred, lazily opening one eye as the bubble started to close around her. Closing it again and blinking a few times, she raised her hand to her mouth as she let out a low yawn and began to survey the situation.

"At least I'm not being singled out..." She muttered to herself drowsily as she noticed the other 'runners were in the same predictament.

She assumed they were in some sort of trouble. An educated guess would narrow the options down to a natural disaster or Grexxon. She wasn't sure which she prefered. Actually, that was a lie. She'd prefer to be back asleep. Sleep was rare these days, she couldn't sleep at night because... Well, even though Geneva was almost in perpetual darkness due to the overhanging pollution, it was still just a little too intense for her. Made her skin itch, and she could only guess at the long term damage...

And as for sleeping during the day, her body still hadn't quite adjusted to the idea. She'd never even used to take catnaps during the day pre-virus, and now she was expected to sleep through it? She tried to catch snippets of sleep wherever she could, like now. Even though she had wanted to talk to Shatter, she just wasn't sure enough to relay her fears to him just yet. The way Johnson had spoke to her... She geniunly felt like she was in safe hands now. Even if she wasn't a real Johnson, she was still a faithful employee. And while occasionally her features and movements gave away the slightest distaste for the 'runners, Wrightman was fairly certain she did have the connections to fulfil her promises of payment. And that was good enough for her.

In the meantime, she cluctched onto her hat, and the horrificly coloured boiler suit, and hoped Johnson was as good a rigger as she was an employer...

[Wesforce]

Bleep bleep bleep BLEEEEEEEP!

Frag!

Bunny didn't have to look to know that another missile had been launched - And was dead-on them. He threw the Tilt-Wing into as tight a bank as he thought the aged airframe could take, and still the missile was on them. He dived, dropping like a stone, and pulled up just in time to avoid clipping the communication spires atop the Arkoblock, and still the missile was on them, closing so fast they might as well have been standing still. It was like the missile Rigger they'd slotted off earlier was back - Back, and how!

Thats it Said Johnson.

'We're punching out! Hold on to your arses, and I'll meet you on the station!'

Explosive bolts blew sections of the wall off all down the length of the passenger cabin and the survival bubbles jettisoned with filmy bursts of compressed CO2, hurling the 'runners out screaming into the night sky. Bunny and Johnson were the last to go - The rigger cables self-disengaged, making both the riggers pass out from dump-shock, before their own survival bubbles activated and launched them out.

To an observer it would have looked like the Tilt-Wing was dropping small, spherical objects - Maybe Smartmines, maybe lifepods - Before it was left all alone in the night sky. The missile, like a white-hot supersonic telecom pole, impaled the foundering aircraft and actually rammed itself through the airframe before exploding, showering shrapnel over a wide area.

***

Wrightman's bubble hit the water violently, NorthWest of the huge dockside cranes, shaking and spinning her like a rag-doll. Another bubble landed nearby, and she saw Dragon in there - Before the toxic waters washed over the bubble and left a disgusting brown film on the watertight surface. The bubble had a tiny water-impeller allowing just enough movement for it to get to safety, a port for launching a rescue flare (one provided), and enough oxygen for about an hour's breathing (though she wouldn't need that). She hoped it was corrosive resistant though.

***

Shatter's bubble landed within sigght of one of the Domes, and he hit the water jarringly. Something popped in his shoulder, and the pain stunned him briefly - Though it didn't seem like a serious injury. He glimpsed Patch in a bubble floating alongside him. There was blood on the surface of the pod - It looked like Patch's handgun had worked itself loose in the fall and come up and smacked him one on the jaw. He wasn't moving. Struggling for breath within the stale, rubbery environment, Shatter was dazzled by powerful searchlights washing over him. The engine noise nearby told him a Hydrofoil was quite near him.

***

Claudette hit the water, and everything came flooding back. The rubbery stale air, the claustrophobia, the helplessness.

Then she saw the blackened puncture in the bubble, and smelled the caustic Seawater beginning to seep in. She'd been holed by shrapnel.

Everything was the same. Everything was the fragging same.

Lots of thoughts went through her head - Like "surely lightning can't strike in the same place twice" and "why does this drek always happen to me" before her bubble sank beneath the viscous waves.

***

Bunny had the fortune to land close enough to the station to use his waterjet to beach himself. Once there, he tore the rubber apart with his bare hands - For a moment it felt like struggling with a giant jellyfish, all rubber and clingy once it had punctured. The moment he was free, it all got to him. The dumpshock, the force of landing, the fear... He doubled over and vomited on the plastic bubble, retching noisily until he was dry-heaving.

'You're not looking too hot.' Said a voice nearby.

Bunny looked around - He was on a rust-red platform under the lip of a wrecked dome in what looked like an abandoned portside factory.The ground seemed unsteady under his feet, and everywhere he looked everything was a confused mishmash of rust, and clod, blued steel in various states of decrepitude. Off in the distance, lights could be seen, and raised voices could be heard. People shouting, revelling. Market traders advertising their wares.

But Bunny was more interested in the middle distance.

Clay appeared, out of the shadows.

'Oh its you.' Said Bunny. 'You don't look so hot yourself.'

Clay smiled slightly. It was true, Clay didn't feel too right, but he was glad to be on relatively dry ground. However his worst fears had been confirmed. The job had gone tits-up, and they were all alone in the middle of unfamiliar territory.

Bunny heard something off to the left. He turned his head, colours swam crazily.

Bunny saw a Dwarf so stereotypical, he could see the Dwarf Defamation Action Group having a fit just seeing him: A filthy-bearded, staggering drunk hobo, unsteadily holding his dirty-overcoated self next to a burning brazier to warm his hands, singing a bawdy song so tunelessly Bunny at first took it for the sound of a Donkey being strangled. The words went something like:

Cats on the town, Cats on the tiles
Cats with syphillis and cats with Piles.
YO HO TEE HEE HO HAR HAR!

Intrigued, Bunny staggered up to the homburg-wearing figure.

'Excuse me, have you seen a Cat 'round here recently, quite big, scary teeth?'

'So what if I have... HO HO HEE HAR HE!' Leered the Dwarf, and Bunny recoiled in horror, the Fragger had vicious extended canines, that bloodlust in his eyes, the jerky inhuman reactions - And a perfect set of blood-oozing Cat bite marks on his neck.

The Vampyre lunged...

***

Well isn't this nice? Thought Indigo.

Its not my fault! Snarled Jackson.

I'm sure everyone gets jettisoned in survival bubbles, carrying a blessed great anti-tank rifle... Sighed Ms Holmes.

The gun had prevented the Sphere closing properly, and as soon as it hit the water, the toxic fluid had started seeping in. The great weight of Jackson's enhanced body wasn't helping either, and the half-bubble was sinking - fast.

Something closed around Jackson's upper arm. He drew it back reflexively.

What the-?

What are you doing? Asked Miss Holmes.

Its not me- Wailed Jackson. He was being dragged, out through the bubble.

He heard something - Something like a voice. Only it was oddly accented, and spoke a language he'd never heard before. A singsong lilt, almost like the secretive language high-caste Elves were rumoured to use among themselves.

Jackson what the hell's happening? Said Indigo, well worried by now.

Jackson was being dragged through the water now, by the hand. It felt like a human hand. Several hands now, somewhat... Feminine.

I told you its not me! He said, frustrated.

Somehow the water wasn't touching him. He was being dragged through the water at quite a rate, yet it wasn't touching him. Now and then he felt he felt like something strong, and scaled, was pushing through the water just by him. A fin slapped against his thigh - He had the vision of some immense sea-monster dragging himself to his doom.

Imagine his surprise then, when he fetched up clinging to a half corroded-away ladder at the base of the Arkoblock with a sign next to it saying 'Alpha Dome West 3'

[AI]

"No ruptures, that's good..." It was about the only thing that was good about this situation.

She fell back against the bubble, causing it to bob violently in the water and roll backwards. She wouldn't be doing that again. She took a few moments to regain her composure and gather her wits before considering her options.

First things first, she'd have to make landfall. She had a water-impeller and a flare at her disposal to do this. Which meant... She wracked her aching head for the answer, carefully massaging her temples with the tips of her fingers. Right. She'd use the water-impeller to get as far as possible, hoping to grud she was going towards the 'block and not away from it, and then if she still didn't hit land, the flare it was.

She cast a concerned glance to where Dragon had been. She couldn't see him through the film that now coated the pod, but she hoped he came to simular conclusions. If not, then she'd just report his postistion as best she could when she was rescued herself...

... Ah. There was a problem.

Stealth. She couldn't just walk onto the Arkoblock without an explanation, she needed a cover story.

She clutched onto the overalls and smiled. It was a good job she already had one.

Carefully, trying as hard as possible not to rock the rather unsteady bubble too much, she pulled the boilersuit over her own clothes and pulled the zip closed. That wasn't too difficult, thank grud.

Her waterjet started to whir as she started it, churning up the water behind her and clearing a small area of bubble's exterior. She peered out of it to see Dragon's bubble still resting out in the ocean. She felt guilty leaving him behind, but she was nothing she could do for him at the moment.

"I'll be back for you though..." She reassured herself.

Eventually, just when she was about to give up hope and light the flare, her bubble rubbed up against something solid. Clambering to the other side, she ripped it open with one hand, sercuring her hat to her head with the other.

On the outside was a mostly disintergated ladder with a sign displaying the word 'Portland' bolted to the wall next to it. She grasped hold of the structure before the corrosive waters started to burn away her shoes and pulled herself up into the great unknown...

[Wesforce]

Up the ladder, Wrightman found herself on an observation platform overseeing a loading dock: A scene of pandemonium. Hundreds of people - Tourists from the looks of them, were crowding, demanding to be let onto an overloaded cruiseliner. Others were sitting back, watching the spectacle. On a towering, neon-lit balcony, sightseers were taking in the whole spectacle with their minicams. One Ork with a gyro-stabilised cyber cam shoulder mount jogged energetically through the crowd, shouting. He had the look of a professional reporter. Rising high above the scene into the murky sky were the communications spire, looming like some nightmarish cyber-ziggurat out of a trashy cyberpunk trid. Attached to it was the helipad the Tiltwing never reached.

Wrightman wondered if anyone else but her and Dragon had made it off the tilt-wing...

The sudden whip-crack of an electromagnetic rail shot made her turn her head. Two R-103 Delphinus Fighter aircraft were launching from the Arkoblocks airport on trails of fire, launched from an electromagnetic rail sled. They broke the sound barrier as they climbed.

'Sie sind ein wenig aus Ihrem Gebiet, Übertechniker 3. Rang'

Wrightman turned at the voice. It was a man in the bright yellow Neuwerke uniform - He had a Peaked Cap that made him look officious. He was marking things off on a databoard, and had a submachinegun slung by his side.

'Que ferai-je avec elle, l'Aîné Combattent l'Administrateur?' Said a similarly armed uniformed guard by his side.

[SW Freak]

Jackson hauled himself up onto the platform, the ladder falling away beneath him as soon as he put enough weight on it to get him over the edge. He caught himself before he went in with it. He stood there, bent over as he gasped for breath, not from exertion but from shock. The others let him have his time in control; they were all shaken.

"What. The frag. Just happened?" he asked through gasps, straightening up. Now that there was no chance he'd be breathing in the caustic waters below he was free to talk out loud. He preffered to. It made him feel more human and, with the increasing amount of cyber going in almost every 'run, he savoured every time he felt like a normal guy again.

"No fragging clue."

"Helpful."

"Someone-"

"Or thing."

"Or thing," conceeded Teach. "Dragged us to safety."

"Without us getting wet."

Indigo nodded absently and then, with a quiet gasp, swung her weaponry off their shoulders. A quick check belayed her fears; it was all dry. Even their great coat was, despite the fact they had been dragged through some fifty feet of water. A galnce around confirmed the absence of the others, or anyone, for that matter, so she felt safe enough to shrug off the heavy coat and sit with her guns spread out before her. They had lost the jump suit as well as their other clothes and were left with the simple black t-shirt and cargo pants Jackson had put on this morning.

"I told you this was going to go wrong," muttered Indigo.

"No you didn't. You just said you had a bad feeling about it."

"Same difference."

The collective looked up sharply as they heard a desperate cry. Jackson jumped to his feet, pulling the eyepatch off and zooming in quickly. There, some twenty feet out, was Johnson. Even though he was pretty certain she couldn't see him as she trashed about in her bubble, unwilling to sink be low the waters, he felt as though she threw him a pleading glance, yelling silently Save me!

"Jackson! We have to help her!"

"Why?" retorted Indigo, cutting in before Jackson could. "She wouldn't do the same for us."

"That doesn't matter." Ms. Holmes sounded almost hysterical. "We have to help her!"

"That stuff'll melt us in no time. No dice." Even as he said it, Jackson felt uncomfortable. They probably could hold out for a while, even is that stuff. Heavy handed as he was sometimes, Schlock did good work and there was no doubt that the cyber would hold.

Even if that was all that would.

"Jackson..." pleaded Ms. Holmes, and Jackson sighed. In truth, there was no decision. Even if she was a Johnson, they had to save her.

"Well..." he muttered, thugging off his boots, socks and t-shirt and tossing them on top of the jacket and guns. "Here's to getting paid."

With that he took a running jump and dived into the water, his powerful if somewhat scarred body disapearing beneath the corrosive waves quickly. Eyepatch on his true eye to save it, cyber eye taking in as much as it could, Jackson pounded through the water. Each instant was like being slashed at by knives, the kind that were so sharp that you began to bleed before you realised you were cut. He realised dimly that his metallic cheek, cyber arm and right chest were all hissing and smoking, sharply contrasting his flesh, which bore the onslaught with only the occasional whisp to portray the severe punishment it was going through.

Johnson's bubble was in sight. Just a little further! He was forced to dive beneath the surface as his employer sank down.

This is just fragging perfect. Now we're ALL going to die!

Jackson slammed into the survival bubble, grabbing a clusmy hold of it and attempting to wrench it back to the surface.

Shut up, Indie.

He searched his pockets swiftly for a knife, true lung beginning to burn, his cybered one assisting as much as its, by now, inferior technology could.

Why are we even doing this?

Jackson avoided the urge to let out a shout of frustration as he realised he had left his knives behind. That would let in the dangerous liquid and let out the precious little air left.

CLAWS! came the mental shout as Jackal tried to help, his speech slurred even in the mind.

Oh, right! Good Jackal! responded Jackson as he pulled his right arm back and then shot it forward, dragging four ragged lines through the bubble. More water poured in and he gently closed Johnson's half open eyes as she stirred, almost unconscious. Tearing the enclosing sphere away in great lumps, he dragged her out and then shot to the surface as fast as he could.

He took in a deep breath as he breached the surface, but they couldn't afford to rest yet. The water was still burning them, and Johnson looked like she wouldn't be able to stay in for much longer. Muscles aching, metal hissing, skin almost melting, he struggled back to the platform, Johnson almost dead weight in his arms, trying to drag him down with inanimate malevolence. But he made it nonetheless and slammed his claws into the supporting leg, hanging on for dear life. Summoning his reserves, he hefted Johnson on the platform and then pulled himself up, cursing the fallen ladder.

They both lay there, Jackson panting, Johnson's breathing disturbingly shallow. Jackal hauled the body to its knees and shook violently, getting rid of the dirty chemicals that clung and burned. Then Jackson retched violently, jerking around to puke over the edge of the platform just in time. That done, he turned again and looked at Johnson. She was alive. Barely. He grabbed the coat and began drying her off, flicking the hissing droplets off the coat every once in a while. When she was dry, he sat back a little to try and catch his breath, and that was when Johnson's caught in her chest. It took the Collective a moment to realise what had happened, so minute was the change from minimal movement to none at all, but when they did they sprang to action.

Ms. Holmes repeated the steps of CPR in their head as Jackson leaned forward, but she needn't have bothered. Jackson could remember from when he had preformed it on Vinne half a year back after he had had a cardiac episode through overstress. He ignored Indigo's pleas that they just leave her. Hands overlapping, he began to depress her chest, taking extra care not to put on too much pressure with his cyber arm.

"One. Two. Three. Four. Five."

Then he leaned in and, gently, with the care of a lover, pressed his mouth against hers. Maybe it was the life breath he forced into her lungs, the feel of his lips against hers or simply the shock as his cold metal face brushed hers. But whatever the reason her chest suddenly lifted as she took in a deep, very welcome breath. Jackson sat back again as she gasped a few times, eyes darting around.

"It's okay. You're safe." He felt a little sheepish now, almost as though being caught giving her CPR was somehow incriminating.

Seeming to suddenly realise that he was bare chested, Jackson pulled on his t-shirt. Meanwhile, in his mind, Indigo complained some more.

I don't know why you bothered. She's not gonna care.

I couldn't just let her die, Indie. She's still human. And she's still paying our way over here.

That, and you hope that by saving her pretty little neck you'll score some points that'll let you get into her pants later.

Jackson sighed audibly and said, out loud, "Shut up, Indie."

They loved each other like brother and sister, and just like brother and sister they got on each other's nerves the most of the time.

[AI]

"Mes apologies." She said courteously to the French speaking man. She didn't want to take the risk of introducing English to the conversation, the very last thing she wanted was to come across as a tourist. "Je le prends vous n'avez pas été informés des changements?"

"Que?" Inquired the Frenchman curiously. She adopted a casual posture, bottling her apprehensiveness so that only a little shined through to the surface. Too casual and they'd get suspcious, after all, who wasn't a little nervous when getting the once over by goons.

"Le Centre d'Administration Portside était sous pourvu en personnel, ils ont demandé l'assistance d'autres régions de l'Arkoblock à compenstate." She explained, before raising a hand to her mouth and clearing her throat. "Maintenant, si vous ne vous opposez pas, je suis sur un programme serré et ai beaucoup de travail pour faire."

She nodded politely to the German guard, uttering an apology for the inconvience in his own mother tonge before attempting to make her way past them and find out where the frag the others were... If they were still alive.

[LeFire]

Shatter knew when he just had to ask for help... He grabbed the slick plastic handle of the flare launcher mounted to the pod and pulled. With a startlingly loud hiss, the flare erupted from the rescue pod, trailing a brilliant stream of crimson across the sky. In response, he heard the note of the hydrofoil change.

Just grant me this bit of luck for once and let that thing be a civilian job! Shatter cursed as he ran over a mental list of possible incriminating evidence. His sword was mounted over his back, its hilt exposed. Thinking quickly, he grabbed the knife that he had used to cut into his suit sleeve from where he had tucked it into the seat. Shifting himself, he rapidly slit open the survival packet below his seat and yanked out an old Neo-SU style life jacket.

Shatter was an agile man, a consequence of a lifetime of sword training. He slipped into the jacket even within the confines of the pod, the vest concealing the hilt of Neutraliser. It made it impossible to draw the sword quickly, but there was always the forearm gun.

The hydrofoil was nearly upon him already... Shatter reached out to the top of the pod and cut into it with his small knife, yelling for help. He caught his first glimpse of the machine... It was a small one, barely twenty meters in length. A figure stood on the forecastle, signalling to another person behind the wheel to draw alongside Shatter's pod.

Shatter abandoned the pod and scrambled up the side ladder as soon as it came in reach... In the bad light, he could see the man that had rescued him, a young fellow with a bare hint of a beard, a speargun at the ready. Shatter put his hands up... but before he could speak, the teen recognised his Neuwerke workman's uniform and seemed to relax, shouldering his speargun.

Don't arouse suspicion! The uniform has gotten him for now. Shatter thought as he collapsed against the side of the cabin, hands shaking... The teen was trying to ask him something in German, but Shatter knew little of that language. He simply stared right back in the manner of a stunned man, hoping that the teenager would buy the act.

Before the teen could question him further, a shout from the main cabin drew his attention. They had spotted Patch's pod. Leaving him behind, the teen ran to the hydrofoil's prow to man the searchlight. Shatter took the opportunity to slip into the cabin unseen. There was only one dwarf behind the wheel, his back turned.

***

Whoever this elf was, he certainly wasn't light as Joe pulled the comatose form from the pod and left him on deck. As for the pod itself, the little thing was bobbing alongside starboard deck of the hydrofoil secured with a grappling rope, Joe hastily grabbing a backpack and another object from the bottom before it sank. If the elf croaked, at least he would be getting something of value from this particular screwup! It beat doing the usual maintenance run around Portland looking for structural cracks in the section's supports.

Joe scrambled up onto the deck...

The stunned man he had pulled out earlier was gone.

He blinked, then looked down at the object he had taken from the sinking pod. It was a gun... heavy barrelled and unmarked. No Neuwerke maintenance tech would carry something like this... The gun was the sort a runner would use.

The sudden sinking feeling he had originally gotten was replaced by a rush of confidence... Two runners, both unarmed... Bring them in, and looks like Joe might just make it to Neuwerke's GSG-10 Spec Ops afterall!. Joe smugly seated the heavy pistol in his hand the way he had seen it over simsense TV. He looked at the unconsious elf, wondering how he could secure this runner before hunting for the other, his gun slightly raised... before a silenced forearm gun round to the cranium dropped him.

***

Shatter drove the lifeboat towards Portland in silence. He didn't want to kill the teen... but with Patch unconscious on the floor, having the armed teen live was too much of a risk. Shatter couldn't kill his unconscious dwarf boss, so he settled for the next best thing by stealing the lifeboat, grabbing Patch and his gear, and abandoning the hydrofoil.

No one alive had gotten a good look at either Shatter or Patch... the Spellbreaker hoped that pirates from Beta dome might account for the murder. In a foul mood, Shatter drove the lifeboat towards Portland in silence. Finding a ladder, he slapped Patch awake, then half dragged the groggy elf up before he scuttled the lifeboat with a couple of well placed stabs through the weak sheet alloy floor. The boat rapidly sank, bringing all evidence of the runner's hydrofoil trip to a corrosive and watery grave. Shatter scrambled up, to join Patch in Portland. Shatter flipped up his wristphone, grimacing at the slight pain in his shoulder that had hidden under the adrenaline all this while. Time to contact the others.

[SW Freak]

Jackson stood up, stretching his arms. He looked around, aimlessly wondering where the others were. He had taken a couple of steps forward, about to step around the huge piece of machinery they were behind when a guard sidestepped into view, darting around the drilling equipment, weapon raised.

"Halten sie!"

"Huh?"

"He said 'stop'."

"Oh."

Jackson halted, almost oblivious to the stunned look on the Neuwerker's face as he witnessed the quick change from Jackson to Ms. Holmes.

"Guten abend," she said kindly.

"Wer sie sind? Was tun sie hier?"

He wants to know what we're doing here.

Tell him we're Neuwerkers.

He won't buy it. We lost the uniform, remember?

The guard, taking their silence as some form of defiance, tightened his grip on his rifle. Then, glancing past them, he noticed Johnson as she sat up. It took him a few moments to make a guess as to what had happened; here was a poor girl in a somewhat ragged Neuwerke flight suit, here was a man, a big buck who looked as though he could hold her down with one hand. And she was a pretty girl, too... Behind his riot visor, the guard's eyes narrowed.

"Wer ist das?" This time his voice was ladened with even more suspicion. "Wer sie sind?"

Darn. I think the jig is up.

Really? Oh well. Jackal. Your show.

The guard had time to utter a sharp cry of disbelief before Jackal's metallic fist smashed into his face. He flailed a little, visor in tatters, shards imbedded in his face, before Jackal drew his claws swiftly across his throat. Once he was dead, the Collective tossed him into the deep, watching him sink below the surface with a few whisps of smoke.

"Damn...he's coming out of our pay, huh?" asked Jackson, looking back at Johnson. "We should get moving. Find the others. Regroup."

Indie tossed on the coat and returned all the guns and knives to their place. Then she titched as Jackson offered his hand, his real hand, to Johnson to help her up.

You're pathetic.

[Nyerguds]

"Gruddammit Sheila... care to finish them OFF next time, will ya?" Bunny yelled in the distance while jumping out of the vampyre's way.
Luckily, it'd take some time for the Vamp to develop his full set of abilities.. including the regeneration.

"What are you talking about?" Clay said, as he frowned.
"I'm talking about my cat." Bunny growled. "She'd better get back here STAT. YOU HEAR ME SHEILA?!"

The dwarf grinned, his mad eyes staring at Bunny. "YO HO TEE HEE HAR! Kitty will be here, ooh yes... Meow!"
Bunny's eyes narrowed as he remembered his newest acquisition from Bonnie & Clyde. "Eat this, fragger."
He pulled out the bulky cattle prod and aimed it at the vampyre. A flash of white and blue shot out between the Elf and the Dwarf. Bunny knew the cattle prod's 'upgrades' had given it a range of about a meter, but the goblins had failed to mention the fact the cattle prod also had power settings. Surprised, Bunny glanced down as the battery meter of the tool went straight to zero, and the final blue flashes revealed the notorious 'iNferNOOAARGH!!!' setting, after 'kAzAp', 'tOAsTy', 'SMElls bURNt' and 'BaRBecUE!'

Bunny's eyes went from narrow slits to wide open, as he saw the fried corpse of the dwarf fall down mere inches before his feet.
"Damn those gobbos..." he said, still shaken from the experience. He took a few steps back, shivering, before falling on his knees. If he hadn't thrown up already, he'd do it again right now. His stomach was turning as if he'd been making loopings in a Mach 10 jet. He looked up at Clay. "Damn those Gobbos.. they just saved my life..."

With that, he collapsed on the plascrete.


"Are you OK?" Clay asked Bunny.
Bunny opened his eyes. "Uhhnnn..."
"Hey, you OK?" Clay repeated.
"Do I look OK?" Bunny snapped. "I just freaking fried that thing."
"Yeah... so?" Clay frowned.
"There's a reason I'm the rigger." Bunny said, while getting up. "Weak stomach."
He scrached Sheila behind the ears. The big cat made a growling purring sound.
Bunny frowned, and looked at the monster cat. She was covered in blisters from the toxic water, but Bunny knew her vampiric regeneration would fix it all in a matter of hours though. "...How long has she been here?"
"Fragged if I know" Clay said. "Just arrived, it seems. I didn't notice... Oh my goodness! What the freaking hell IS this thing?!"
"Eh, you 're lucky she just fed." Bunny said.
Ignoring Clay's horrific surprise, he gave the cat an intense, angry look. "Next time you finish 'em off properly, dammit!"

[VO]

Clay considered calling Bunny up on complaining about a weak stomach but saying nothing for the moral implications of having a giant blue vampire cat, but thought better of it. The rigger could be his only way off the Arkoblock - if immigration control here on the North Sea rigs was anything like nearby Britsprawl - well, they wouldn't be getting off via legal channels without seventeen different kinds of ID.

Which left him relying on the possibly mentally unstable rigger and his blood-sucking kitty. Things did not look good.

"So," said Clay at length. "Do we have any way of contacting the others?"

[Desolator12]

Meanwhile, another bubble landed just a few meters away from Bunny and Clay... the figure rolled a bit farther onto the shore before a small, sharp, and black knife pierced the side...

"Fraggin bubble... fraggin missiles... and FRAGGING HELL!" Dragon yelled... as he got out of his little confinement...

Dragon looked over at Clay, Bunnie, Shiela, and the now-smoking corpse of the vampire dwarf.

"...gruddamn, not another one of them... It's bad enough that I almost got killed by one of those exact-same fraggers on our first run... hope kitty's full though, because I don't feel like becoming meow-mix here..." Dragon replied tursly... the method and way he was contained and ejected from the flying deathship had put him into a bad mood... at least now he had his workman uniform on, and he slid his 'claw' into a small, hidden sheath amonst the uniform...

"Well... where do we go from here...?"

[VO]

Bunny was shaking his wristphone. It was dripping oily globules of North Sea water.

"The bubble had a leak," he said. "I might be able to get this thing working after a couple of hours work with some tools, but not right now."

Clay looked at Dragon. "You seemed to know the detective. The vampire" - he let the word hang in the air for a moment, best to get everything out in the open now that things had fallen apart - "got any way of contacting her?"

The assassin shook his head. "She didn't give me her new number." After a moment he added "women" disparagingly.

"Well then," said Clay. "I suggest we get away from this corpse and the remains of those bubbles as possible." he nudged one away from the arkodome keyside with his foot, and watched it slide into the water like a disgarded banana peel. "The last thing we want to do is get involved with the security forces here."

"Right," said Bunny, and did the sodden phone back up around his wrist. He turned to Shiela. "Shoo!"

Clay raised an eyebrow sceptically.

"She always comes back," said Bunny. "Usually when she's least wanted."

[AI]

Below the military zones, this area of Portside was, as the information on the datachip had suggested, a bustling tourist trap with empty nightclubs leering out at the packed streets, novelty shops selling tat of all shapes and sizes and countless ways for holiday makers to spend their hard earned creds.

Even Wrightman was tempted to pick up a postcard for Bunny. She subdued the urge just enough so it was nagging at the back of her mind. It was the music, the lighting, the smells. Everything. All of it carefully laid out by Newerke to maximise profit and subconciously trigger your brain into buying whatever they were offering. It made Wrightman cringe, in fact it did worse than that. It truely disturbed her. It was mind control, of the most subtle kind. Turning the public into near-automotons. It just... Wasn't right.

And yet, even though she was disgusted by the moral implications of this, she couldn't help but be thankful for it. The streets were packed. Packed full of tourists, employees and tennants alike. They came in every shape and size... Every colour... Every creed... Every race. The body odur of some was so pungent she could smell it a mile away. Yes, some of them were so just... plump. She was surprised they could support their own body weight, oh buy they did. Their auras exposed to her, so thick and juicy and...

"Urgh..." She screwed up her face, grasping her head in her hands. "This... Shouldn't be happening! I'm... Not... Hungry damnit!"

But it was the sights! The sounds! The smells! Some of them were just screaming to her most pirmal insticts. Drawing her in on a subconcious level! 'Eat me and I can sustain you for a month...'

She threw herself flat against a wall, taking breaths in great gasps. Her whole body was quivering, as if she was having some mild seizure. She needed to get out of here, but there was nowhere to go. Everywhere she looked, all she could see was raw meat. Lambs to the slaughter. Fresh pickings in a Hawaiian shirt!

Hand shaking, she reached for her vid-phone. She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself, but it was no good, she wasn't even sure if this was going to work. She brought up Bunny's number and pressed dial.

It wasn't long before the face of the elf was plastered onto the screen.

"Hey! Was just trying t..." He paused, taking in her contorted expression. "Jovis Christ Wrigh..."

The picture started to crack with statci, until it became nothing but a blue of black and white. Soon after this, a dial tone pierced her hearing with an synthetic voice on the other end of the line stating that 'The person you are calling is temporally unavilable...'

"Buh-neeeeee...." She moaned down the line, unable to form any other words around the lump forming in her throat. This was all she needed! The one person who might have been able to help... Hell! Why was this happening anyway!? This shouldn't have been happening to her, she'd walked the mean streets of Geneva time and time again on a full stomach, and never had a problem. So why now?

Was it the stress of the accident taking it's toll? Had the sudden ejection from the craft drained her that much? Combined with her close shave with the two military personal when she arrived she had had a rough time. And of course, who was alive? Bunny was ok, that was a relief. But what about Shatter? And Johnson. If Johnson was dead, then all this had been for nothing. And they were trapped on here, right before Grexxon was going to bomb them to oblivion...

"No.." SHe gasped, shaking her head. She couldn't think like that, not now. Any other time of course, but not now. Not...

A blood curdling scream snapped her to her senses. It was like the knife of logic cutting through the butter of confusion and instinct. A scream. Which meant somebody needed assistance. She was a detective. She needed to help. She was also a vampire, meaning she was able to help.

Simple.

"S-Sorry Bunny, gonna have to run. Talk to you later." She said, just in case he could still hear her. She doubted it, but it comforted her to think so in a way. "Oh, and that wasn't me!"

She added, as an after thought, just before she canceled the connection and pocketed her phone, dashing towards the sound.

She rounded a corner, into an alleyway that she hadn't seen before, mind clouded by the vision of au... No. She couldn't even think about that. A young female shopkeeper seemed to be petrfied in a mix of fear and disgust, it didn't take Wrightman long to see why.

A body, well a torso to be more precise, was jutting out of a Newerke Waste Disposal Unit like some form of demented jack-in-the-box. He was long dead, his Aura stone cold. Just another inaimate object now. The bottom half of him had been chewed up completely, a failed attempt to dispose the evidence maybe? Or just a dramatic ploy to assure that it was really noticed.

She guessed the later. Anybody wanting to dispose of a corpse this close to the sea could just haul it over board. Nobody would ever find it, it would melt away in minutes. No, this was a killer who wanted to be noticed. Wanted to make sure it was found, and make sure it made an impact...

... That, and the nose was missing. Cut off rather carelessly, almost as if the killer had tried to rip it off. Interesting. He was also noticably a tourist. He had a 'Killing4Kredits UCAS' shirt on, and the lacerations around his neck suggested he had originally been strangled. Camera strap perhaps?

"Oh Grud... Oh Grud, Oh Grud, Oh Grud!" The woman beside her was in shock, not that she could blame her. Wrightman had got used to the sight of blood long before the Johnson case, yet she could still remember the fainting at an autopsy as a raw Daisaka rookie. Ah, those were the days.

"Are you alright Ma'am?" She ventured.

"It's happening..."

"What is?"

"Killings.... Tourist killings... Was all over the news but... Oh Grudd!" She broke down in tears. Wrightman embraced her, resting her head upon the detectives shoulder. It was a hercurlan effort considering what she had just been through, but she concentrated on the faint cinnamon smell wafting out from the womans hair. It was strangely soothing, and reminded her of her mother of all people. Not that she'd ever liked the old hag, but you always had those parental moments where, even if you're mum was a complete and utter bitch right down to the very core of her soul, for a few breif moments she was the centre of your world.

Grud, she was getting too emotional in her old age.

"It's ok..." She whispered. "I'm a detective, I can help. Just how about we go inside, I pour you a cup of synthi-caf and we'll talk about it..."

The woman simply nodded, Wrightman took one more lingering look at the difigured face of the victim and then led the girl inside.

[Desolator12]

"Yah, let's leave the shore and find a more-hospitable place to be around... preferably without rocket-propelled explosives flying at us..." Dragon said...

"...that, and find Wrightman... something's wrong: She's a loner... she doesn't NEED to contact anyone..." Dragon was actually concerned for Wrightman... well...not really for Wrightman, just for the people she'd need to kill to feed...

[Nyerguds]

"Oh shut up." Bunny sneered at the goblin. "You don't know her. You know what happened to her dammit... it's a miracle she's still sane. She needs all the help she can get. Now if only I'd get this thing working again I might find out where the frag she is."
Clay frowned. "You knew her before she was a vampire?"
"I knew my fragging cat before SHE was a vampire, too." Bunny said coldly. "Run gone really freaking bad. No further comment, 'kay, thanks, frag orf."

He sighed. "Ah, frag it. Let's get outta this dump first."

[VO]

The Beta Dome. Old as the arkoblock itself, a warren of crumbling concrete and oily brine, faded billboard for better places in better days. Soycoke cans and burger boxes, condoms, faeces, call-girl's cards and all the associated debris of years of habitation. Walkways cut off in midair creaking in the breeze. Neon signs long fallen dark across places too downmarket to be called brothels. Armed gangs - humans, metahumans and things too ugly to ask. Drug-addicts and dealers, gun-runners to the battered warzone of Shetland SSR, Norway and the tentative six-way skirmishes over the dwindled polar icecap.

"Not a very nice place to be," Clay

"Uh huh," said Bunny.

"I liked it better in the bubble," said Dragon.

Of course there were people here trying to earn a semi-honest living - gangland mobsters couldn't curl round themselves like a snake eating it's tail. There had to be little people to be bullied, extorted and pushed around, addicts couldn't live just on BTL chips and Pixie Dust and foul synthetic things cooked up in the furthest corners of the shadowy Japanese Empire on the Pacific Rim. Clusters of open-fronted shops, paint peeling, haggard people trying to carve some kind of semblance of normality out of the filth and the ruin.

"This is sick," said Clay. "It's a ghetto. They've forced everything they don't like into concentration here."

Bunny nodded as the trio pushed through the crowd of bodies in the marketplace. They had asked for directions but where they recieved each new concourse or alleyway only lead them deeper into the nebulous Beta Dome, and where they didn't people shied away or knives glinted in the shadows.

Eyes watched them.

[Desolator12]

Dragon looked about, his senses tingling... he knew people watched him... the thing was, they probably didn't have metal detectors on them... at least to them, one of the deadliest men there would look like a simple repairman who was lost.

...big mistake.

"I knew her too, just not as much... and in a way, that kitten becoming Captain Shreads-a-lot was the best thing that ever happened to me... that furball saved my life on that run from the dwarf that looked and was affected by the same thing Mister Crisp was back there... I'll shut up about it now..." Dragon said, closing the conversation...

..he fingered where the grips of one of his swords was, and the grip of his modified 45 American... if things were about to get tough...well...

... these weren't Neuwerke Employees... and if they were, the company wouldn't mind losing a bit of dumb muscle...

[LeFire]

"Frag" Shatter cursed his own lack of foresight and his bad luck in equal measure. His calls just wasn't getting through to Bunny nor Johnson, and Wrightman had apparently changed her number without updating him. He didn't have Dragon's number, and had forgotten to get the contacts of the others as well.

Glumly, the Spellbreaker tucked his wristphone away and looked around him, shucking his lifejacket and workman clothes as he did so. Neutraliser presented more of a problem... Shatter couldn't discard it, so he simply cut off the legs of the discarded workman clothing and wrapped the sword in it. The forearm gun was no problem though, tucked away in Shatter's customised jacket sleeve.

Apparently, the two runners had come up somewhere in the docking area of Portside. There was an encircling ring of fenced wire surrounding industrial looking warehouses and various other containers. There wasn't any activity at the moment... but that could change.

Shatter and Patch decided to take advantage of that fact, quickly exiting the area through the main gates of the harbour, through a checkpoint that was manned with only one guard... a sleeping one at that. The mission brief was correct, apparently security was lax here.

Outside the harbour itself was another world altogether! Shatter and Patch blinked as they walked through streets that were packed with people and the bright lights of sales and street strip joints. Moving as unobstructively as possible, Shatter jammed the buttons on his wristphone again and tried contacting Bunny or Johnson.

[tagbert]

OOC: Sorry bout the delay, I've been pretty busy lately and didn't have much time

Striding through the crowds of Portside, Kennedy scowled at no one in particular as she searched the crowd for anyone she recognized. The odds weren’t great; there were simply too many damn tourists and chances were that everyone else had died. She wouldn’t have been surprised, and she certainly wouldn’t have cared if not for the question of payment. If Johnson had died though, the money was already out of her grasp, at the worst possible time.

Oh well, she thought, if anyone did make it, they should be somewhat easy to spot even in this crowd. They’ll stick out like sore thumbs.

Her own bubble had washed ashore after what seemed to be an eternity of staring into the corrosive bile known as the sea. Several bodies and a dampening of her good spirits later, and she’d found herself where she was now. Lost. In an unknown city. Frag.

One hand pulled free her handgun and started to polish the barrel meticulously while she waited on the outskirts of the crowd. Several more minutes passed, seeing nothing but her reflection in the glinting metal of her sidearm. Staring at her own reflection, disheveled black hair hanging limp and wet on her shoulders, mud streaked over her face, she sighed and holstered her weapon. She stood up to leave and noticed a figure weaving its way through the crowds. A figure dressed entirely in white, adorned with green hair. Kennedy searched for a name to match the face and found it almost instantly. Wrightman. Possibly the last of the ‘runners she would have liked to see alive.

Wrightman disappeared into an alley up ahead and Kennedy waited a moment before deciding on a course of action. At the very least, I’ll find out what I can do about getting paid. And with luck, I might get to put a bullet in the freak. Doubts aside, she began picking her way through the throngs of people to locate her last link to Johnson, and the prospect of creds.

[AI]

"Just calm down..." She whispered as she placed a steaming hot cup of synthi-caf down on the table. The woman was pale, very shaken. Not that Wrightman could blame her of course, contry to the 3DTV dramas following the adventures of OAP detectives, murder was not something that entered polite conversation very often. Let alone land it's self right in your trash disposal unit.

"I... I'm sorry..." She stuttered, Wrightman placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder before lowering herself into the chair next to her.

"It's ok. It's only human..." The words made Wrightman wince ever so slightly. Even at the start of the Johnson case, even with the victims being splattered all over the walls, she still hadn't been phased. Which raised questions over her own humanity even before the virus... But she couldn't get into that. Not now, and argueably, not ever. "Did you know the deceased?"

"Yes... Well, no..." She held the cup between shaking hands and took a slow, drawn out sip. "He'd been in my shop... Yesterday. I think. Brought some authentic Portside Soy-Candies. For his niece... He said..."

"You spoke to him then?"

"Only... Breifly. Wasn't very talkative, you get people like that. Some people talk your ears off, some don't. Just the way it is." She explained. Wrightman was relieved that she finally seemed to be getting over the event. "I just told him to watch himself, tourist killer and all, and he just thanked me and went on his way."

"Was there anybody... Suspcious hanging around the establishment at the time? Anything unusual perhaps?"

"No.. Well, maybe. As you can see, there's a lotta people on the streets. Never seems to calm down, even at night, y'know?" She rubbed her eyes, brow furrowed as if a small child trying to concentrate on a mathmatical problem. "Now that I think about it... There was the smell..."

"The smell?" Wrightman's leaned in closer, this could well be a lead.

"Yeah... Like... Well, I can't explain. But there was this rancid smell wafting in from the outside. Might have been nothing, of course."

"If that's all you can remember, then I don't want to press you." Wrightman began, unzipping the overalls and searching her pockets for her e-pad. Once in hand, she scrawled down her number and saved it to a small chip, passing it onto the woman. "If you remember anything else, call me."

"Where are you going?"

"Well, I have to find some of my friends. And then I'm going to head down to the libary or something, find out what I can about this so called tourist killer. Identify a pattern, see if I can second guess him and put a stop to him once and for all." She pondered what she had said for a moment and then added. "Actually, I'm quite new in town. I don't suppose you could give me directions could you?"

Moments later, Wrightman was on her way out. A quite comprehensive map of Portside and beyond uploaded to her 'cable-computer. That would most definatly come in handy later on in the 'run. If you could still call this a 'run. After all, she wasn't even sure if Johnson was still alive out there, somewhere. And even if she was, how would she find her? She didn't have Johnson's number, Bunny's phone was on the blink and... Shatter!

She rolled up the sleeve of her over-alls and coat, displaying her wrist-phone. Just as she was about to search for the number, however, something suspicous caught her eye.

She caught the aura first, she always caught the aura first these days, and then the rest of the body started to form inside of it. A petite, young green-haired elf. A familier one. The assassain from the run...

"Kennedy!" The woman took a shape intake of breath as Wrightman called out her name. "You're alive."

"Yeah." She replied, bluntly. "What about the others?"

"Bunny is alive, but grud only knows where he is, and as far as I know Dragon could still be floating in the middle of the sea or he could be nearby. Hard to keep an eye out for a gobbo in this crowd... Chances are the military might have him anyway."

"Hm. And Johnson?"

"Not a clue." Wrightman admitted. "Was just about to give Shatter a call, and hopefully we can meet up with him on the way to the libary."

"The libary?" Inquired Kennedy, Wrightman just smiled.

"I'll explain on the way."

[Wesforce]

Claudette got to her feet, her steely determination the only thing keeping her upright for now. Jackson called from behind her. She was determined to ignore it. There was so much to do. Contact the others - if they survived. Make contact, get the files, check on the status of Grexxon's movements-

She doubled over, legs collapsing like seaweed, vomiting dark-brown with smatterings of red.

She knew then she'd die if she didn't get medical attention in 24 hours. Not just any old medical attention either - The kind normally held by Corporate Divison heads as a status symbol. The "I've got a 300 foot cruiser" "Well I have my own hospital" trump card that the high-rollers so delighted in comparing.

The opportunity she'd found herself given when Johnson was assassinated had become double-or-nothing. She'd either be able to retire somewhere with her own island, or she'd die.

The cyber-freak was trying to help her up again. She noticed how clean and unsullied by the polluted water - The pollutants that were rotting her from the inside - he was. Damn him. How the frag had he managed that. She squirmed and tried to get free.

'Relax Jackson, calm down. She doesn't seem to realise you're helping her.' He said to himself in one of his effeminate voices, before adding in one of the more Butch ones 'Damn it, okay' and then changing tack again and snarling to himself a bit.

Claudette shook her head, spittle and bile flying. Her vision cleared up a bit.

'I'm okay.' She gasped. 'I'm fine.'

She let Jackson put her in a comfortable sitting position.

'You're not going to be able to move for a while, young lady.' Ms Holmes tutted with the tone of a schoolmarm. 'Do you realise how close you came to death?'

'Mmm' Was all Claudette could manage.

'Can you contact the others?'

'I'll try. Said Claudette. She looked to her wristphone. The screen was blank - The corrosive water had already done its work.

'Huh. Use mine.' Said Jackson.

'Providing you can remember the numbers.' Added Indigo, sneering. She was less than impressed with Johnson.

Claudette tried a number.

'Johnson!' Shatter gasped. Damn it, whats happening? Where are you?'

'Shatter! - '

The picture abruptly dissolved into static, and a blank 'No Signal' screen.

'Oh snap!' Claudette said. 'Its started!'

'Um?'

Claudette looked to the sky. Nothing yet. She tried to get to her feet. Jackson tried to stop her again.

'Dammit, we need cover! This is alpha dome-'

No sooner had the words left her mouth, they were both swept off their feet by a darting, black shape that seemed to bend and flow around corners at nothing more than 20 feet above their heads, with amazing UFO-like agility. A platform with a revolving radar antenna 100 metres away dissolved in a white flash, and the concussion of the explosion swept the two over again. A Neuwerke technician standing too close went cartwheeling into the air, coming apart as he did so. The silence after the explosion was marred by a woman screaming somewhere. She soon trailed off. Several more explosions resounded in ther near distance.

'You lying Slitch, you said they wouldn't sink this fraghole!'

'They won't' Replied Claudette. 'They're taking out the communications arrays.' She looked up. The main spire had taken several hits, knocking off several of the drum-shaped wide-gain arrays and the main satellite uplink branch, but the structure was still sound, as was the mid-level helipad. The one they had planned to land on.

'Looks like they failed. They may be back. We need to get up there.'

'How will we signal the others?'

'Flares. Good old-fashioned distress flares. If we fire some off that platform, it should serve as a rallying point to the other 'runners.' I hope.

'Theres just a bit of a problem with that.' Ms Holmes tutted again, indicating Johnson's less-than-perfect condition.

Sirens blared. The two looked around. An air-cushion vehicle painted in Neuwerke colours and emblazoned with the red cross symbol was navigating its way around the wreckage of the ex-radar site cautiously...

***

Wrightman and Kennedy heard the explosions as a far-off crackling rumble. They weren't much over the general hubbub and chaos of the crowd, but they were enough to make people stop and stare, and give eachother questioning glances.

For some reasons Wrightman thought of Jackson laughing maniaclally and blowing huge whacking great holes in things with his cannon. Maybe.

'HALTEN SIE!

'Sweet Jovis' Wrightman sighed, recognising the voice. It was the Combat Administrator from earlier.

'Gut jetzt die junge Dame scheint es, dass Sie nicht ein Neuwerke Angestellter schließlich sind. Wenn Sie Ihre gleichförmigen Standards sind, sind sehr niedrig. Auf jede Weise sollten Sie bestraft werden-'

The guard with him got his attention.

'Ja, was is los, Nicholai?'

''Поддержите сэра, она говорила с тем свидетелем убийства... Возможно она может помочь нашему исследованию?'

The Combat Administrator looked at Wrightman and Kennedy, staring both down...

***

'Dammit!'

Shatter thought for a moment his luck was changing, but like the lure that is dangled tantalisingly close then whipped away at the last minute, his hopes were dashed. He thought about throwing the Wristphone on the floor and stamping it into oblivion, or throwing the useless object into the air and blasting it.

Whereas a typical street punk might hjave succumbed to such rages, Shatter's trained, disciplined mind filed those urges away quickly, and he took stock of the situation. He knew for sure now that Johnson was alive and -

There, in the distance. Unmistakably the sound of air-delivered ordnance. Cruise missiles, most likely, because as a footslogger, he'd become so intimately aquainted with the various means of delivering explosives he could recognise the sounds of each type of explosion - Not that that meant he liked being near any one of them.

The crowd he was with didn't seem to react much.

Of course they won't. They're used to the spectacular 'BOOM' and mushrooming fireballs that explosions always make on the 'trids. They probably think that thats just power shorting out or something.

Long experience, and his excellent sense of direction also gave him a good idea of where those explosions were taking place too. He stood aside as an electrorickshaw trundled past.

'Heh. Those militar fraggers are acting up again.' Patch murmured. The veteran 'runner didn't look so good.

'So you recognise explosives too then.' Shatter stated.

'You might say that. I have become too far aquainted with them in my lifetime... Man, I need some caffeine.'

***

Dragon, Clay and Bunny steeled themselves for a fight, as the silence all around them (save the incessant lapping of the waves, and what sounded like the popping of fireworks in the middle distance) became unbearable.

'Rowr!' Said Sheila suddenly, and jumped away from Bunny.

'Sheila! Dammit, not again!'

'Ah, okay you got us.' Said a voice from the Shadows. 'Frag, what a bunch of hard-assed combat-junkies you mo'fos are. I'm gonna show meself. Don't fill me fulla joles okay?'

A figure emerged from a manhole, which had seemed closed to the runners a second earlier. Obviously this character had some kind of Den set up beneath it, or at least a hidey hole.

'Name's Jick Dickens. Folks 'round here call me Slippery, but thats not my fault. How'd ya do?'

The rather stunted character held a grimy, true to his name, greasy hand towards Bunny, who recoiled in horror at the stench emanating from the green overcoat (Bunny was reminded for some reason of a Blue Haired Elven Detective working for Daisaka he'd seen once, he wasn't sure why).

'Heh, thats okay.' Said Slippery, wiping his hand across his nose, sniffling a bit and then wiping his scruffy, lank hair (exposing pointed ears). Either this was a paler-skinned goblin, or a very uncharacteristic Elf.

'So uh, you guys want anything? BTLs? NovaCoke? ID Sticks? S'all good man. All top-hole Neuwerke gear, aye!'

[SW Freak]

"Indie."

"Yeah?"

"How far away would you say that ambu-hoverer is?"

"About fifty feet, give or take."

They turned to look down at Johnson.

"And how much do you think she weighs, Jackson?"

"Wouldn't like to say, Indie."

"You're right. Probably too much to contemplate."

"I walked into that one, huh?"

"Yup."

Kneeling, he looked Johnson directly in the eye. She gazed blearily back, impatience bearing down on him like a ton of bricks.

"Y'know, you really should learn to appreciate it when someone does something nice for you."

With that, he hoisted her over his left shoulder, ignoring her injured groan. They would have to see about enlisting the help of one of the upper class doctors around the place, but for now they had to regroup and assess their losses. That in mind, Jackson took off towards the hovercraft, long strides carrying him swiftly towards it. It didn't take long for all six of them to reach it, and Jackson was heartened to see that the rigger had yet to notice them. He pulled the Eagle from its holster and climbed quickly into the cockpit, pressing the gun against the driver's head. The Neuwerker's expression changed from one of intense concentration to one of terror as he glanced at Jackson.

"Hi there. We need a lift, and you just volunteered. Start driving," he said, motioning towards the landing pad. "And be casual about it."

The ambulance began to drift away, as though it had been called to another district. Jackson held the gun in place as Indigo dumped Johnson on the seat beside them with, perhaps, more force than was strictly necessary. All was going swimmingly until they were hailed by a couple of guards who wandered over with infuriating calm as Jackson hastily stowed the pistol.

"Wohin gehen Sie?"

"Uh-uh-uh What?" stuttered the rigger.

"Where are you going?" repeated the second guard.

"Everything's fine. This is okay," Jackson was muttering out of the corner of his mettalic mouth. "We're going to the landing pad to check for injured."

"T-there were reports of injured personnel on the landing pad. I have to ch-ch-check it out."

"Who're they?"

The rigger glanced at Jackson, weighing up his hopes of escaping if he told the truth. He obviously didn't like his chances, because he turned back to the guard and said, "They're, uh...volunteers. We take all sorts in the Red Cross."

"Yes," said the guard, eying Jackson with some distaste. "Obviously. Okay, go on. Just watch out. There've been reports of a couple of Grexxon 'runners about the place. If you are seen with them, you will be shot. You have been warned."

Jackson made a face at their retreating backs and flipped them the mechanical bird as the ambulance started moving again.

"Man, that guy is dumber than you are."

"Thanks Indie."

(GM: Sorry SW, had to edit in a bit. You can't just drive straight to the spire landing pad)

The landing pad was halfway up the huge communications spire structure - still going strong despite the bites the explosives had taken out of it. To get there, the rigger took them into the vehicle-lift. The two guards controlling the lift did a shockingly bad job at checking them out - Or perhaps they cut them some slack, being an emergency vehicle.

One hair-raising ride to the top of the spire-cum-office block earlier, and they were in business.

They arrived without further incident, though there were various 'runner-related rumours flying around on the emergency radio. Each one made Jackson grimace; if they were had, he would stick out like a sore thumb. He glanced at the rigger beside him who looked as though he was contemplating a grab for the radio. Jackson waved the gun in a little "titch-titch" motion.

"Don't," he said simply, and the other man didn't. "Come on."

"What?"

"You're coming with us. What, you think we'd leave you here after you saw us? You'd go telling everyone. That, and my friend here needs some medical attention, and you're the best we've got so far."

"I haven't got any medical training," the rigger lied quickly, though he was shakily unclipping.

"Learn."

The young man gloomily hopped out of the vehicle and gathered up some medicines and salves from the back. Then the three of them began the long troop up the steps, the rigger going first with Jackson and Johnson behind, he supporting her and holding the gun to the rigger's back.

"So, what's you're name, kid?"

"B-b-bob," he stuttered, though it seemed less out of fear and more a speech problem now.

"Really? No drekk? Cool. I always wanted to know someone named Bob."

"We knew a guy named Bob once."

"Did we? What happened to him?"

"We met him, you stabbed him, we got payed."

"Oh yeah."

Bob started to tend to Johnson as she sat down against the railings that circled the tiltwing landing pad. Jackson, on the other hand, took the flare that the woman had managed to save from the bubble and, stepping into the center of the pad and locking it into the gun, fired it. It shot straight up, shining brightly, before twirling down lazily towards the ground, moving so slowly that it would take several minutes to reach the floor.

Hopefully the other 'runners will have noticed it by then.

Huh? You say something?

Just talkin' to myself, Thirsty.

"How's it going, Bob?"

The young man jumped, smearing the paste he was rubbing on some of the worse of the external burns on Johnson's arms a little more enthusiastically so as to seem as he was working hard.

"O-okay, um, -ish. Well...uh, not really. She's not doing too w-w-well. She needs some s-serious medical at-at-at-" He gave up for a moment. "Aid."

"I know..." He turned away, watching over the steps leading up to their position.

"Okay, Sunshine. Question, " said Indigo after a few moments.

"Shoot."

"Why are we keeping this little bugger around? Why not just waste him and get it over with?" She smirked as the little guy looked up in terror.

"Because A; he might be able to help Johnson, and thus we get payed. B; every Neuwerker we waste comes out of our paycheck. And C; he looked at me with those big, helpless, "please take me hostage instead of killing me!" eyes."

"Man, you're such a pussy."

"Meh."

"How long do you reckon it'll take the others to show up?"

"Dunno. As long as it takes, I guess."

"Wow. That's fraggin' zen, that is."

"Shut up, Indie."

[AI]

Wrightman cursed herself. Stupid. Stupid and careless. She'd walked away from them as plain as day, straight into the tourist trap. She should have figured that they'd realise she wasn't going where she was supposed to be going and follow her. Grud, if only she hadn't been so shaken from the 'wing crash she might have seen it coming. But then again, probably not. Ever since the Johnson incident, her mind had been a mess. It's like Bunny once said to her...

'It's a miricle you're still sane.'

She smiled at the thought of Bunny. Hopefully they'd both live through all this dreck to see each other again.

"Hören Sie, ich bin dabei, mit Ihnen gerade zu sein."Wrightman began, holding up her arms, palms flat, as the Combat Administrator trained a gun on her. She was only alive because she could be useful, she realised that.

But do they realise it might take more than a bullet to kill me... She shuddered as the thought entered her mind, and then addressed the Administrator once more.

"Ich bin kein Neuwerker durch den Handel, aber ich bin ein Detektiv zurzeit im Verwenden von Neuwerke." She explained. "Ich werde tun, dass ich kann, um Ihnen in Ihren Untersuchungen zu helfen."

He pondered this for a moment, stroking his chin and eyeing her up. He then lowered his gun and grunted,

"Erzählen Sie mir sehr gut, was Sie wissen."

"Danke." Wrightman replied gratefully. "Können wir das auf Englisch besprechen?"

"Ja."

"Thanks, I think better in English." She lent against a nearby wall and organised her thoughts. "Let's see, so far I know what I've observed. Found the corpse half grinded, means the killer wants it to be found, nose missing. Lacerations around the neck area, strangled with his own camera strap perhaps?"

"So from that I can deduce that we probably have a serial killer on our hands.The hacked off nose is his trademark, although viewing the way it's done leads me to believe that it is usually done in a rush, with no amount of skill involved. This, in turn, leads me to the assumption that we're dealing with your average, or below average, Joe here. As opposed to somebody with even basic medical or military background. Also suggests he, or she, has a problem with tourists coming into the Arkoblock."

"Gud." Said the German bluntly. "It seems you hath already picked up basics, ja?"

"I've deduced what I can. To be honest, it's good to have a case to sink my teeth into..." That one made even her cringe. "... Time's have been tough."

"Qui, you look, 'ow you say? Pale." His guard cut in.

"Like I said, times have been tough."

"Vot did you learn from de woman?" Inquired the Administrator.

"Not much, I didn't want to push her so I left my number." She was about to trail off when she remembered something. "Oh yeah! She claimed there was a putrid smell in the air the day the deceased left her shop. Might be a lead, although I'd need to do more research on the previous cases."

"Then come." The German demanded, Wrightman looked at Kennedy out of the corner of her eye. The young elf was completely unphased by the experiance.

"Excuse me for a moment." She apologised to the assorted people around her and turned to Kennedy. However, she seemed to be staring up at something in the sky, Wrightman followed her line of site to see a flare shoot up into the air. Couldn't be a fluke. It just couldn't be.

"I'll go find them." Kennedy stated, looking relieved to be able to get away from the comotion of Portside and rekindling the the posibility of relocating Johnson.

"Are you sure you can..."

"Yes." She cut her off. Wrightman nodded.

"Please, tell them where I am. And let them know I'll be with you as soon as I can."

The Elf gave a short sharp nod and then retreated. Wrightman bit her lip, she didn't really trust the girl. It was just the way she looked at her... She couldn't know, could she? No, that was absurd. Nobody would be able to tell. But if she looked at her that way now...

She shook the thought from her head. That was a problem for the future. All going well, nobody would have to know. Right now, she had a job to do. And if doing that job meant co-operating with a few miscillanious corpscum, then so be it.

"Lead the way, gentlemen."

[LeFire]

"Flare"

Shatter stopped short and said curtly. Patch drew up beside and clicked his tongue.

"No reason to be firing off flares, not unless the firer's one of ours."

The Spellbreaker nodded, then motioned to Patch to hurry up as they trotted up to a robocab sitting beside the curb. Upon coming within five meters of the thing, its lights and motor turned on. A synthesized voice began before dissolving into a hash of vandalised static.

"Welcome to..."

Shatter stuck his credstick into the customer slot to prevent the ten-second anti-vandal electrical shocking system from being turned on, noticing a patch of burnt skin in the shape of a hand near the vandalised exterior speaker with distaste as he did so. Dumb vandal... the smart ones vandalised the customer slot instead, Shatter thought. The door unlocked with a click and Shatter and Patch hopped into the back, the Spellbreaker pulling the destination map from the control panel and tapping out a location near the flare. In contrast to its wrecked outside appearance, the cab interior was in working condition, the cab pulling away smoothly from the curb.

"Keep your gun ready Patch." Shatter said as he checked the action of the forearm gun.

"Yeah. I know Beta-dome's rep." The medic replied as he pulled back the action on his heavy pistol.

[Wesforce]

Just before the robocab pulled off, Patch suddenly wrenched the dorr back open.

'Patch? What the hell?'

'Sorry, friend,' Said Patch, neatly slipping out justa s the vehicle got up to speed. 'Business to attend to. Maybe I'll catch up with you later...'

And then he was gone - A face in the crowd, sinking beneath the waves.

Patch moved fast, the heavy weight of the pistol reassuring on his hip.

Time to settle some old scores...

As the robocab trundled off, Shatter could only ponder the madness that seemed to have overtaken his comrade.

He must have issues. Either that or the bump to the head he took... Just when you thought things couldn't get any more screwed up...

The robocab took shatter to the base of the communications spire. It was a huge structure, half gantry, half high-rise office block, with the tilt-wing landing pad sticking onto its side halfway up like a fungoid tree growth.

Shatter's breath caught. There were so many Neuwerke yellowcoats clustering around the huge vehicle-lift it looked like some kind of gun-fetishist lifeguard convention - At least thirty men, including a heavily armoured Neuwerke Emergency Unit - NEU - Neuwerke's answer to special forces. Several men in Officer's caps were talking to their business-suited counterparts, pointing up at the pad and gesticulating with their guns.

***

The Combat Administrator cocked his head to one side, and spoke quietly.

'Ja, Ich Bin CombatAdministrator Werdkund, was is los?'

Wrightman realised he was receiving a signal on a headware radio. He nodded a few times, and then snarled.

'New victim?' Wrightman correctly deduced.

'A possibility, madchen. Come, ve haff vehicle.'

The combat administrator and his aide jogged to an open-topped 4x4 electricar, a smoothed yellow utility vehicle with a flashing light on the rollbar, emblazoned with the Neuwerke logo and advertising (which Wrightman noted, was repeated on the Neuwerker's body armour).

The vehicle was at the scene in seconds, and Wrightman saw she wasn't looking at a victim of the same crime immediately.

The Victim was in a sorry state, same as the other. However this one had been partially-eaten, and judging by the feline bitemarks she could see, she could guess what by...

'CombatAdministrator Werdkund hier. Ve haff paranimal attack reported. Send Mage. Repeat: Send mage.'

[AI]

"Dreck!" Wrightman gasped under her breath, her heart pounding in her chest as the Combat Administrator called in for a mage.

This was not good. One scan of the crime scene and the mage would know everything. And worse, what if they blamed her and shot her on sight? Her relationship with these pe...

She turned her attention back towards the corpse. She caught something, out of the corner of her eye. A faint aura, tinged with crimson. No, not that. Anything but that...

"Look out!" She yelled to the others, but too late. The newly born vampire lashed out, grasping the leg of one of the Neuwerke employees and tearing a chunk from it, uniform and all. It was a messy affair, as she knew it would be. He hadn't yet developed his distinctive sharpened canines yet, relying on his blunt teeth alone to rend the flesh from his victims bone.

She winced, closing her eyes and tilting her head to the side. She couldn't bear to look, it was too simular, too much like her own first kill.

"MERDAAAIIIEEE!!!" Screamed the Frenchman, the vampire clawing it's way up his body to his soft, vunrable neck.

"Hold fire!" Werdkund demanded as the Russian drew a Neuwerke standard issue pump-action shotgun on assaliant and victim alike. "Ve vill hit Claude!"

"Frag that, they're both as good as dead anyway!" Wrightman exclaimed, drawing her own pistol and embeding two bullets into the vampires shoulder and lower arm.

The vampire halted it's feeding frenzy, turning it's head slowly towards her. It leered, bloody dripping from the corners of it's mouth. She lined her pistol up with it's forehead, depressing the trigger as quickly as possible.

*click*

"Frag it!" She swore, just before the raging madman charged towards her like a malfunctioning roller-droid...

[Wesforce]

On the creature came, pistoning on the stubs of it's eaten legs like an abominable meat-puppet.

Quite why the Vampyre wanted a piece of another of it's kind Wrightman could only fathom (Maybe Vampyres were naturally drawn to fratricide? Wrightman didn't know, or want to), but she was caught on her back foot.

And at that moment, the Russian-speaking Neuwerker heroically jumped in the way, Shotgun-raised and ready.

'Nyet' He said cockily. 'Let me show you how we deal wi- ARRRGGHHH!!!'

As he jauntily espoused his oft-practiced one-liner, the thing went for his neck and sank its teeth in so far and so hard, the Russian's head was only hanging by a thread when the Vamp chewed. The dead man's Neuwerke Cap, bloodied, dropped by Werdkund's feet. He looked at it distastefully.

BRRRTTTT

His Neuwerke Mini-11 machinepistol (top-feeding mag, a miniscule 6 inches in length) explosively deformed the monster's head with a noise like someone flicking an old-style paper phonebook. The monster and victim both dropped.

'Ach. Such a waste of company resources.' Nodded Werdkund sadly, as he keyed the relevant costs of employee and ammunition expended into his Pocket Secretary.

[LeFire]

Shatter left the robocab and found a vantage point under cover to stay and observe, knowing that going up against thirty bogeys was an obvious route to a sorry grave. He guessed that which ever one of his fellow runners who had fired that flare must have been on the helipad... and if he didn't do anything about the big group coming up, whoever on top would be receiving a whole world of hurt.

Then again, he couldn't contact anyone with a functioning wristphone either, and without Patch to start a distraction elsewhere, Shatter didn't find any pragmatic way to signal those people above without calling too much attention to himself. There was plenty of confusion around him as civilian and unarmed Neuwerkers streamed around the vicinity of the communications tower, but none could be bothered with him in their haste to get to the destinations before another wave of Grexxon aircraft reappeared.

And then the troops received the order to load up on the vehicle lift. Apparently someone had decided to check out the tiltwing pad afterall. Shatter watched vexed as the men took up positions among the four or so Neuwerke vehicles that had been waiting on the lift and awaiting liftoff before the attack had scattered their civilian drivers. He didn't have a hope of stopping them... and then Shatter brushed his sword and came up with an idea.

Slipping from his position of cover, the Spellbreaker hurried to the other side of the communications spire, using the cover of the hurried traffic around the vicinity. The vehicle lift grinded on its way up the tower... .

Four huge vehicle lifts surrounded the four sided tower, and moving such weight required counterweights and their working mechanisms to be installed on the opposite site of the building. Apparently a Grexxon bomblet had fallen short on the other side of the lift being used.... exposing the massive hydraulics that enabled the smooth operation of the lifts. Shatter scanned his eyes over the damaged cylinders, searching for a spot that looked essential for the operation of the assault team's lift...

There

Shatter drew Neutraliser, feeling the single stored charge that was within. A recent counterspell that he had learnt was Spell Redirection, and Shatter made it a point to always redirect and store an attack mana charge in the blade ready for instant use. It was easy enough... Shatter simply stole the spells from magically warded shop windows and doors. This particular charge was electrical.

The electrical surge leapt from the sword like a flash of lightning, the crack of the discharge and smell of ozone making him cringe... but Shatter nailed his target dead center... An electrical motor that coordinated the rate at which the lift was being pulled up. The motor shorted out, and suddenly, the massive lifting power of the lifting mechanism began to go out of sync, the destablisation effect rapidly undergoing rapid degeneration as different motor units pulled the lift upwards at different rates. The stress began to build up at the edge of the lift as couplings moving at different speeds pulled against the resisting metal. Shatter turned and started sprinting, making it to a safe distance before he turned to watch the show.

***

The men on the moving lift opposite to the side of the counterweight systems that Shatter had sabotaged never had a chance... The first forewarning that they had was a ominous creak from the lifting gear. One of the officers looked around, only to drop his jaw as the massive couplings that held the lift to the elevator system split apart in front of his eyes, one side of the lift's edge nearest to the tower being pulled upwards at a different rate from the other side. He had barely began to scream before the lift simply wrenched itself sideways and free of the tower, the scream of tortured metal giving way overcoming the combined shrieks of thirty Neuwerkers as the massive vehicle lift plummeted and bombed into the ground next to the tower, taking all 30 men, 4 civilian cars and 1 armoured NEU with them.

Shatter cringed...

Well... It was grexxon's fault really. Johnson had better not found out the truth about this mess! Paying for 30 Newerkers is sure to put a crimp on the paycredstick.

[Wesforce]

Seeing the complete lack of interest on the faces of the characters near him, Jick suddenly felt like he'd made a bad call. These were obviously very single-minded 'runner types, and they were up to no good. No good of the 'running-around-machine-gunning-and-fireballing-loads-of-people' variety. A very bad call. He began to back off slowly, being careful not to show any of the disquiet he felt.

When he was satisfied he was in the shadows, he finally allowed himself to turn his back and make off. But he bumped into something.

The goblin.

'How did you-?'

'Never you mind, Slickery Jip Dickenson, whatever your name is' Said Irving "Dragon" Drakenev.

'Thats Slick Dickery Jippenson, actually'

'Whatever' Said Dragon, neatly scissoring off the shady character's head with his blades.

'Was that really necessary?' Asked Bunny as Dragon walked from the shadows.

'Grudd knows. Or cares.'

But frag, I needed that. Thought Dragon.

He opened his hands, displaying the items he'd obtained from the stiffening corpse before fear for his hygiene forbade him going any further:

*A battered Neuwerke ID/Bank stick wrapped with peeling masking tape with SJD written on it
*A on old-style paper diary, plastic-bound, written in spiderish handwriting
*An assortment of rainbow-coloured marbles
*An Armstech Friday-Night Special disposable pistol, unfired with 12 rounds in the sealed butt.

The 'runners continued walking. Off in the distance a brightly-coloured flare was fired off the tilt-wing pad attached to the communications spire.

'Maybe the others made it after all?' Wondered Bunny.

His two companions said nothing.

'Well we should try to reach there, anyway.'

They walked on again, in silence, towards the sound of hustle and bustle, a great number of bodies moving, calling, the rattle and clank of metal on metal, and the pounding thump of Deathcore blasting out of blown Neuwerke 3DFX70 Soundscape tm) speaker-panes.

It was a Shadow-market, just like the one that set up shop now and then back in the Volkestadt slums. crudely welded-stalls and the backs of light trucks held an assortment of illegal and dubious-quality goods: Chips and stimms, sticks and bugs. Guns sat by Digicams, and Arcane books nestled nicely among Magical Foci that seemed to chill the very air around them. A sunburnt man in snakeskins stared Daggers at Clay the moment he saw him, and seemed to be waiting for him to go near his merchanidise.

As if, thought Clay.

The - Snake Shaman? - Seemed to hate him, with a passion. It wasn't the first time he'd encountered such Mage-Shaman hostility - And in many cases it went both ways too. He shrugged inwardly. It was of no consequence at this time.

One particularly dodgy-looking stall held Cyberware under a flimsy transparent plastic screen. New-Spec Wired reflex arrays. Ultrasound Cybereyes. A tool laser small enough to fit into a Cyberarm. Dragon was intrigued, yet he couldn't help wondering how many other people the cyber bits had been in.

'Help you gennlemen?' Said a Bulky Elf. Apart from the Snake shaman, he was the only other character here who picked the 'runners out as being outsiders. He was a gunrunner if his stall was anything to go by, but by the lumpy shape of his trenchcoat, he had more merchandize on his person than on display.

***

'Sweet Jovis Grudd!' Gasped Johnson, and Jackson couldn't help but echo the sentiment. From the sounds of it a large part of the spire had fallen away. The two ran to the edge to look over at the damage - And the Ambulance-Rigger saw his chance. He sprinted away and literally dived into his vehicle.

'Frag! Shoot him!' Cursed Claudette.

'Don't do it kid!' Jackson roared, punching a shot through the Ambulance's windscreen. The kid was out of sight, rigged in by now. Dust and smoke briefly obscured the ACV as he put the vehicle into overdrive, in a bid to get away.

But on the landing pad, with the vehicle lift out of action, where to go?

'Kid!'

'Ahhhhhhh!'

The Ambulance skewed erratically, out of control. Only a thin crash-barrier seperated the edge of the barrier from the night sky.

Jackson dropped to one knee, and had the .75 rifle on his shoulder in a fluid motion. With a piercing whipcrack sound, it sent a slug through the majority of the vehicle's body - But it was already crashing through the barrier, into oblivion.

'You... You Idiot!' Claudette screamed. Jackson wasn't sure she was talking about him or the driver.

'Its a hover vehicle... It'll have a soft landing, right?'

As if mocking him, the ACV flipped in the air so its jetblast was pointing it downwards, slamming it into the ground with even more force. When it hit the ground, it did so with a mushrooming fireball.

'No time for it, we have to move on.' Said Claudette, almost fearful. She motioned to the door set into the spire's side. 'In there, we can get to the emergency archives, the first place on our port of call.'

'Right' Said Indigo.

Claudette opened the door - The interior was down to dim red emergency lighting, probably as a result of the missile hits. She had her SMG ready, Indigo noted - Looks like she's going to forego her own advice and open up on anyone who gets in her way now. Not that I can really blame her, given whats happened...

'Frag, hold up.'

'What now?' Said Johnson.

'Someone's beaten us to it.' Said Jackson.

'You know this because?'

'Dead body.' Replied Jackson, playing a laser dot of the prone form of a Neuwerke staffer inside, decapitated with a heavy pistol round.

***

Shatter picked himself up from the cover position he'd thrown himself into when the fragging HGV had hit the ground, barely metres away. In a way it was good, because it was yet another thing the overworked Neuwerke authorities would have to deal with before they came after the 'runners they had to know about by now with all guns blazing. But there's just something about having tonnes of heavy vehicles almost land on your head that tends to unsettle a man.

Ever pragmatic, he decided to keep on going. There were now two ways up to the Communications Spire Landing Pad: The personnel lift (Credstick Auth. Required) and the emergency ladder, which was a several hundred foot climb in the cold, wind and rain...

[AI]

"Are you ok?" She asked Werdkund, as he helped her up. "He... It... Didn't get you, did it?"

"Nein." He replied bluntly, allowing a low tsking sound to escape his lips as he surveyed the damage.

BRRRTTTT

Wrightman gasped, body jolting as if a current had been passed through it, as the machine pistol unloaded another deadly round into the corpse of the sadly departed Frenchman. Bemused, she gave him a lingering quizical look to which he just cocked his eyebrow and utterer,

"Moved." His eyes traveled down her body to her injured ankle.

"I'll be fine." She assured him, hoping he wasn't familier enough with HMHVV to realise it'd be her turn next.

She leaned against the Administrators 4x4, trying to take the weight off her damaged foot. He began to unload equiptment from the back of it, she observed him only casually. There were so many questions buzzing through her head right now, that all she really wanted was a stiff drink and an early night... Day?

See, a murders a murder. Nothing unsual here. Sheila however, that was a whole different cup of synthi-caf. She knew Sheila, she'd even been on the prowl with her on the odd occasion. And she always finished her meals, they weren't just dead. Usually in several different pieces. You didn't get up after she'd gorged on you. So why was this different? It was obviously Sheila, not that she'd tell this Neweuker no-hopers anything of the sort, the teeth and claw marks on the body confirmed this. So why was she leaving them alive?

"Maybe she just doesn't like forgien food..." She muttered to herself, under her breath. Something was definatly unusual, and she needed to speak to Bunny about it as soon as she possibly could.

"CombatAdministrator Werkhund, reporting. Request new taskforce, investigate three murders, Portland Club District Alpha-Two Derek." He tilted his head into his radio, and then continued. "Und where is that mage!?"

Wrightman froze. Mage. She'd forgot about all about that...

"Frag."

[SW Freak]

Eighteen shots left, and then the barret was just dead weight. Should be enough, provided she didn't try any more stupid snap shots like that. Indigo didn't know what she had been thinking; half influenced by Jackson's emotions and half gripped by panic, she had tried to blast the ambulance, incapacitate Bob, something, anything, just to stop the inevitable. It had failed, but that meant little to her. It had been an attempt to save a life, a stranger's life moreso, and was extremely out of the ordinary for her.

"Man, what is wrong with me...?" she mused, ejecting the round from the sniper and hauling one of the SMGs out as they entered the archives.

"Yeah, what is wrong with you lately?"

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've been angry. Angrier than usual anyway. What is it that's freaking you out so badly? I havn't seen you this out of it since that time we took a knife to the eye, and I know it's not that time of the month."

"Well, that knife was your fault, and..."

This Johnson still freaks me out she finished silently.

Why? We've met freakier. Certainly more experienced. At most, she's just a soldier who decided she wanted, I dunno, more cash, or revenge, or something.

Exactly! She's not a Johnson. She's a fraggin' soldier. Johnson's don't accompany 'runners on runs and Johnson's certainly don't almost get them all killed by way of missile.

Yeah, that's usually left up to the 'runners...

Don't change the subject! I just want to know what the frag is going on here, really.

"Frag, hold up."

What now?

"What now?" asked Johnson, unconsciously mirroring Indigo's question.

"Someone's beaten us to it."

Indie took over, pointing out the body before turning to look into the room. She peeled the eyepatch off her cyber eye and onto her real one, flicking to night vision at the same time. She scanned the great archives room slowly, though it was inconcievable to expect to be able to see everything with the great memory banks obscuring so much. Nevertheless, she was sure that the movement she kept catching sight of wasn't imagined, and was definitly malign. She turned to look at Johnson, and just then a laser dot flashed brightly in her cyber eye for an instant.

That was all it took for her enemy. Her vision faceted as first she was almost flash blinded by the laser and then as three heavy rounds slammed into her face, two of them, fortunatly, flattening upon the metal plate that was her right cheek, leaving distinguished dents. The Collective was barely aware of those, however, as the third shattered their cyber eye, spraying shards of glass and carefully engineered lightning playing across their face. They were thrown off their feet, and Jackson landed with a cry that was scrambled with the static of pain. Then, suddenly, unexpectedly, he fell silent. Any light that had been left in the remants of his cyber eye faded.

Brain's shot, thought Johnson. Drekk.

She rolled aside, finding cover swiftly as more bullets started screaming towards her. Jackson's aggressor, and it didn't look like he was alone, trotted forward, gun raised, intent on making Claudette meet the same mate as her accomplise. But suddenly he found a hand grip his ankle in a cold vice that suddenly tightened with the crunch of bones snapping. He cried out in pain and then terror as his leg was jerked out from under him and the man beside him, the one he thought he had killed, was suddenly springing upwards, metallic claws dragging a cruel gash in his gut and up towards his throat, snagging on a plate in the fragger's amrour and instead tearing off his left cheek in a vicious spray of blood that stained the cyber psycho's stubbled face and green hair a deeper shade in the dim red lights. Fingers scrabbling along his face, the beast that had been Jackson tore off the eyepatch and hurled the fragger down in front of him.

"Get what need," he growled at Johnson. "While Jackal kill!" The last words were delivered over his shoulder as Jackal launched himself at the enemies in the shadows, and soon screams and howls of agony were rearing their ugly heads.

[Wesforce]

The adversary hadn't been put paid to quite as finally as Jackson had hoped, however. A level 3 Neuwerke armour vest (with gel-pack inserts and collar protection) had taken the brunt of the slash. That hadn't saved the fragger's cheek however, which flopped off in a welter of blood.

'FRAG!' screamed the man, with an awful bubbling yell. He scrabbled for something on his belt.

Jackson recoiled as something bounced off his head. A cylinder.

BANG!

Static in his head. White noise. His one functioning eye had gone to snow and his ears were like a radio tuned to D.E.A.D. The only thing he felt was the floor rush up and slam him in the face, and someone trying to drag him. The motion was interrupted as Jackson's inner ear had a few things to put in.

His whole body curled up and began a series of muscle-pullingly violent dry-retches.

Being close to a flashbang going off definitely wasn't a good thing.

***

Claudette had seen the adversary, and was in fact staring down the cavernous barrel of his large handgun. But that was preferable to staring the guy in the face - A face from her past.

And then Jackson's intervention...

Just what is it with this guy wanting to save me? She thought, sardonically. Either he thinks he owes me something... Or he's just got a deathwish.

In the confusion that followed, Jackson and the adversary tussled. Then a flashbang went off, right under Jackson's nose. Claudette got a chance to try and pull the Cybered Runner to safety, before his body succumbed to the flashbang's trauma.

By then the Neuwerke Security Detachment were upon them. Jackson was comatose by now.

'You are Claudette Neuwerke' Said the CombatAdministrator at the head of the detachment. It was not a question.

'Yes.'

'You will come with us now.'

They seemed to have lost track of the man Jackson had crippled. A trio of guards snapped plasticuffs onto Jackson, relieving him of his weapons. Upon noticing his cyber weapons - And the blood on them - They decided to use metal cuffs too.

'Don't hurt him...' Claudette called.

'It is out of your hands now.' Said the CombatAdministrator. Now come. Valdez is an impatient man.'

Claudette went with them, turning once to see her Pocket Secretary lying on the floor near the door to the Tiltwing pad. She left it there.

***

Jackson awoke with a start. It felt like he'd been under for hours, but a quick check at his chrono read that only 5 minutes had passed. His head was still ringing with static, and he couldn't tell which way was up from down. It was all his worst hangovers at once, with added rollercoaster.

As far as he could tell, he was in some kind of room. A blank, grey-walled and floored cubicle, with a steel postbox being the only feature of note in the door in front of him, and a button on the wall behind him with "Ring für Dienst" beside it.

Oh things just get better and better don't they? Mocked Indigo, unhelpfully.

Below him, Jackson could hear rushing water. There was a small grate in the floor, but far too small for him to fit through - Maybe 8 by 10 inches.

***

(GM: Don't worry SW Freak, I'm not knocking you out of the action, things will keep moving. LeFire, Shatter will be able to track where they've taken Jackson providing he can get up to the Tiltwing pad...)

[SW Freak]

Screaming instinctual animal fury at being locked in a cage, Jackal threw himself at the heavy iron door before him. But before he was halfway across the small room the chain around his metal arm pulled taut, stopping him short, almost pulling him off his feet. The Collective let out a cry as the violent motion jerked their aching head forward and then Jackson was there, looking around for a reflective surface so he could tell himself off.

"Don't do that again," he said, giving up the search.

Then he looked at the restaint, and its five solid moorings in the wall. Even if he did manage to get one loose, and that seemed really unlikely as he put all his weight and strenght into one of the bolts, the racket would probably bring the guards running. Relinguishing his grip on the chain, he sat down beneath it, trying to combat the terrible dizzyness the exertion had brought about in his already muddled head. Resting his face in his hands, he talked to himself.

Oy, I've been here before. Never again Enthused Thirsty.

I have to agree with Thirsty this time, actually. Never again...should you try to be a fraggin' hero! What were you thinking?

What? I was trying to get back at the fragger who did this. His head jerked up and he indicated their smashed cyber eye.

Sure, said Indie, resting her head on their drawn up knees again, hair streaming down her back once more. And I suppose you didn't give Jackal the reins and tell him to try and protect Johnson.

She's paying us, Indie! I think I would want my paycheck to survive.

Is she? Will she give us the cash when this is all over? I don't know, but still, there's something deeper here. Now cut the crap. If you can't keep your head straight, we're all fragged.

I can keep my head straight, okay? Just...cut it. I'm tired...

"I can keep it straight..." he muttered, trying to reassure himself in more ways than one.

[Wesforce]

People were still crowding the streets. Tourists, businessmen, sightseers, off-duty Neuwerke employees, and given the lateness of the hour, increasing numbers of drunks and chippies. It was absurd... Surreal even, that given the impending Doom, hardly anyone seemed to acknowledge the state of war that was about to break over the station. Indeed mnay seemed to relish in it.

'Grexon Geartrains! Grexxon Geartrains!' Shouted an obese man in Urban Brawl gear coloured after his chosen team - Brave, considering where he was right now. Wrightman wondered if he even knew what was happening.

Across the street was an NFI Chain bar - And then the charming plazzy bright yellow vista was obscured by a Neuwerke staff car. A blackened out NX70 electricar with GullWings that flipped up smoothly, disgorging a Gentleman who stood up with the aid of a Silver-topped Ebony cane. His suit was Pristine and white, with a shiny Navy shirt. He doffed his Panama hat upon seeing a Lady was present, and looked over both Wrightman and Werdkund with a monocled eye.

'Bueno es dente Senor, Senorita. Ernesto Cochbrane Guzzman De la Serna at your service. How may I help you?'

[AI]

Wrightman eyed Don Ernesto catiously as Werdkund explained the situation to him. And he returned the favour, in triplicate. She watched as he twirled the end of his shoelace moustache, noting every little movement. Up and down her body, always with that same knowing glance.

It was like a form of slow, painful torture.

She knew he knew, and it didn't take a detective to work out what he wanted in return for keeping stum. He wasn't exactly the subtle type. She tilted her head away from him, trying to concentrate on Werdkund (whose vehicle she was currently perched on), but could still feel those eyes burning into her like the most intense UV rays she'd ever felt.

"So!" Don Ernesto announced, tapping his cane to the floor for added effect. "We have a murderer on the streets, si?"

He leered towards Wrightman after he said the words, polishing his monocle with a velvet hankerchief from his top pocket.

"Two." Wrightman corrected him. "This one still has a nose. Looks like it was savaged by an animal."

"A vampire, no less?" He savoured the words as he said one, pulling his lips into a sly smile. A lump forced it's self up into Wrightman's throat as she began to become unnerved.

"S-small one..." She uttered, taking a sudden interest in her shoes, dangling inches about the ground. "Goblin, perhaps?"

"We shall know, soon enough." He boasted arrogantly. "Perhaps, myself and..."

He looked at her expectantly, she realised that she hadn't even given her name to Werkhund.

"Detective..." She cleared her throat. "Detective Wrightman."

"Perhaps Senorita Wrightman and I could, ah, compare notes somewhere privately after the ritual, no?"

Wrightman groped for a reply, but found all she could manage was a weak smile and a stifled giggle.

Bloody Spanish fragger...

[LeFire]

Normally, Shatter would have opted for the ladder. However, the experience of seeing thirty or so men smashed flat by the hand of gravity was enough to keep him off such antics at the moment. Taking advantage of the messy situation around the tower (afterall, the place had just been worked over by Grexxon), Shatter trotted quickly over to a freshly dead officer and fished out his credstick and ID. The Spellbreaker didn't fancy trying to use the photo-enabled ID, but the credstick might not be as rigorous in its security tests.

The passenger lifts were currently empty... the result of them having been locked by the now-dead Nerwerkers. The security system wasn't smart enough to know that the officer that was now using the credstick to bring himself up to the helipad was no Nerwerker. Until the man's death was properly updated with the system, Shatter had a free run.

The passenger lift opened at the helipad level, and Shatter slipped out, looking both ways down an empty corridor, wondering just which way a bunch of runners might have gone to.

[Nyerguds]

"Not with THAT junk" Bunny said calmly. He knew that the only one that would probably use the weapons would be Dragon... and he didn't like the way the goblin was eyeing the overrated Neu-sluggers on display. He'd had extensive weapons training as a pilot, and he saw immediately that most of this stuff was absolutely useless.

He looked the elf in the eyes. "Are you sure you don't have anything more... appropriate?"

[Wesforce]

'One wonders if another would even know what was appropriate and what wasn't.' Smirked the scarred gun-runner.

'Lets just say you pick up a few hints and tips on the streets of the FEZ.'

The Gun-Runner's eyebrow raised a fraction at that.

'Takes a fast trigger-finger to survive Geneva.' The Elf said. 'Maybe even as fast as your mouth.'

'Time to put your money where your mouth is then.' Said Bunny.

The Gun-Runner looked at an Ork, who came over to take his place and watch the stall.

'Watch these two.' He told the big, grimy vest-wearing meta. The Ork nodded, and the gun-runner took Bunny behind the stalls. There was an armoured General Metro Van secluded in the loading bay of a warehouse, and the Elf unbarred the vault-like door, and lifted the top of a box inside.

He took out a large weapon - Around about the size of a lightmachinegun. It's casing was dark-grey polymer, ergonomically contoured, apart from the barrel which was long and straigh, with cooling ports along its length. Bunny saw instantly this was no mere Slugthrower. Power cables ran to a compact backpack, with batteries that sat comfortably on the thighs - He noted the rig might even be concealed by a longcoat if need be.

'It seems that in their confusion, Neuwerke might have missed a couple of their prototype energy weapons,' Said the Elf with what was becoming an awed glow. 'Of course I say prototype, but this baby's ready for the market. Once a few more Operators get over their distrust of directed-energy weapons...

'Niiice...' Bunny had to admit, despite himself. The weapon looked deadly and reliable, and would definitely raise a few eyebrows back at the Wastelands.

'Course, if this is a bit much for you, I have the usual stuff. Machinepistols, SMGs, Shotguns... A few experimental grenades - Tesla, Plasma, that kind of thing... And a light squad automatic or two.'

***

A patrol of Neuwerke guards walked down a corridor into a lift, and went down. They seemed intent on their task, but none of their casual glances caught Shatter, taking cover in a doorway at the far end of the corridor. Down they went, into the heart of the spire.

A lit screen caught Shatters eye. An object on the floor behind the jamb of the doorway he sheltered in. It struck him as an object hastily concealed. This was Johnson's Pocket Secretary - He recognised it. According to the screen there still wasn't any reliable signal. It did have the numbers for all the rest of the 'runners. If he could get to a hardwired telecom, he might be able to contact someone through a sat-phone...

A tagged file caught his eye. The names and locations of the Objectives. The first one, he was surprised to see, was tagged with a person's name and location.

Dr Delia Neuwerke, Electromagnetics Research - Spire Level 25, block Alpha-Green

[Desolator12]

"Meh." Dragon said. "It looks nice, but I don't really need it. 'Sides, I have all that I need with me." he finished, looking over at the merchandise

[VO]

Clay had barely glanced at the merchandise - his line of magic didn't care much for focii or trinkets, and his tools for golemism, earth, debris, the world around, was too big to be carried around on his back and usually too unwanted to sell.

Bunny had been led around to see the dealer's private stash - which Clay had no need to involve himself in. If there was anything REALLY useful to them, the runner would have got his hands on it anyway.

"So," said Clay to the Ork. "What's the best way out of this place?"

[LeFire]

Shatter slipped Johnson's pocket secretary into his jacket, resolving to take a longer time to probe through her history when he found himself a safer place. He sent out a pulse of concentric spectral queries, 'listening' hard for any return echoes. None came back with specifically hostile signatures, although there was some signs of alarm, possibly caused by Grexxon's attack instead of the Shadowrunner threat.

Knowing that his credstick authority might be revoked at any time, the Spellbreaker hurried to check the area. There was some hint of blood on the floor and several scorch marks, along with a few shell casings. Shatter swept the spot with an astral scan, revealing a hint of astral residue... There was anger, and a strong sense of resignation touched with an overhanging aura of triumph. Putting two and two together, Shatter deduced that whichever runners who had been here previously had been captured.

Well, he couldn't really track where the captured runners had been taken, so the Spellbreaker decided to go straight for the objective instead. A button push in the lift later, Shatter was on his way to Level 25.

[Wesforce]

'Wots da hurry?' Said the Ork gunrunner's mate in a Germanic-Ork accent. 'Lotza stuff ya kin do heer. Got gunz, got likker, got girlz, got jobz if you iz lookin'...'

He shrugged, his bulky shoulders pistoning up and down making the gesture look a lot more threatening than it was meant to be.

'I have to be somewhere.' Clay said darkly. preferably a great distance from the likes of you.

The Ork shrugged again.

Clay looked at him. The Ork looked back.

The Ork coughed. A rattling, phlegmy sound.

Clay carried on staring him down.

'Look ah ain't partakin' yer with moi knowledge fur nuttin' ya know.'

Clay reluctantly parted with a ¥50 credstick.

'Okay. Ta hed ta Alphur Dom', hed on' up that walkway dere un keep walkin' til ya get to da abandunned powa plant. Den tak' da left tunnel - Da left wun, roight? Un dat'll bring ya up smack bang betwin da habs un da fakkterees.'

The Ork paused for breath and took a swing from a filthy Narcobeer bottle.

'Ta get tur Portside, go down dis street pass da N'Zars Arse pub, den hang a roight und trundle up da alleyways dere... Den go down da manhurl... Wait wait... Um, go up da ladder und through da wrecked enjinraum...'

***

The lift slid smoothly down to level 25 - as denoted by the Green LED readout on the panel - on its magnetic rails and the doors slid open. The rooms here were comfortably pastel coloured, and each one was closed with a heavy door, opening with a keypad and credstick reader.

There was a pistol-armed Neuwerke security man standing by the side to the elevator. He looked at Shatter, nodded, looked back.

Then he did a horrified double-take and went for his gun -

Before he could complete the motion, the far-off pop of a gunshot sounded elsewhere on the floor. A heavy-calibre pistol shot, by the ringing aftertone - And Shatter suddenly had a sinking feeling he knew who was on the receiving end of that shot...

***

Hello... Is there anyone there?

I'm always here Said Jackson. Quit screwing around, Indigo.

That wasn't me, knucklehead. Said Indigo.

'Who?' Said Jackson out loud.

Walk over to the grating, machine-man.

It could be a trap... Said Indigo.

Oh yes, Said Ms Holmes. Whoever it is might suddenly reach up and pull us through an 8-inch grating in the floor.

Jackson could feel Ms Holmes rolling her eyes in his head.

Machine-man, we want to help you! Said the voice, female, childlike, speaking in his head.

'Who's saying that?' Said Jackson, angry and frustrated. 'And get outta my head damn it! Crowded enough as it is!'

He bent down and leant into the grate.

A sound of metal-on-metal, and the post-box sized hole in the door open.

'Was is los, metalfragger?' Said the duty guard.

'Get the frag outta here!.' Jackson growled.

The postbox closed quickly.

But we want you to help us, too.

And how do I do that? Asked Jackson, peering down through the grating. All he could see was rushing water. It was a drainage culvert or something.

You must destroy this place... This evil affront against nature...

Frag, you don't ask for much, do you? Said Indigo.

Our body itself is enough of an "affront against nature" for some. Noted Ms Holmes.

Truth, and is why we are able to contact you like this. Said the voice. And also why I protected you earlier.

***

'Combatadministrator Werdkund! This attack, she ees most defineetly the work of a Vampyre!'

'Ja? You sure of that vould be?'

'The astral traces, thay are, how you say, unmeestakable.'

'Scheisse. Ve may haff on our hands an epidemic.' Werdkund grunted something into his radio.'

'Eexactkly!' Said the Spanish Mage. 'However... I believe the young lady, she would most immeasurably help our investigation.'

The Mage looked at her most unpleasantly.

Werdkund looked at her to, but he at least, was offering her a choice in whether she wantde to stay with him, or stay on the original investigation...

***

Sheila withdrew her jaws from another victim. She kept trying to eat, but always, always there was a distraction. What was it?

That scent again, overpowering...

'Mrowr!'

She bounded off, a jump 30 feet straight up, into the shadows.

The body of another young wageslave lay, twitching spasmodically in the alley.

[AI]

Wrightman sighed. She really didn't want to leave her current investigation. In fact, she yearned for it. She still hadn't adjusted to the mess her last encounter with vampires had made of her life, and was in no rush to go toe to toe with them again. Even if it was only Sheila.

Ah, but that was the sticking point. Sheila. Not that she was worried about the girl, these people posed no threat to her. In fact, it was the people she was worried about. And of course, there was Bunny. If only she could get a message out to him letting him know what was happening...

In the meantime, however, it was best that she stuck with Werdkund. After all, they were safer with her around.

Sliding down from the side of Werdkund's 4x4, she decided to throw herself at his mercy. After all, the mage seemed to be equal parts revolted and fascinated by her, and she wasn't sure where she stood in Werdkund's good books. Wasn't even sure if she got a mention in them.

"I'm as good as an employee." She annonced, stroling towards the two men. "I'll go wherever you asign me to, sir."

"Gud, gud." He noted. "Then accompany Herr Ernesto in his duties, ja?"

She nodded, taking a deep breath before walking over to the mage, who gave her a hardened glance before making his own, dramatic annoncement.

"Come senorita! There ees much to be done!"

He returned to his car, opening the back seat for her like the perfect gentleman. She sighed dejectedly.

Should have stuck with the serial killer...

[Nyerguds]

(I seriously feel like posting how the gunrunner blows off Dragon's head for sneeking behind em, Deso... you char isn't there at all, so he can't comment on the weapon.)

"I must admit, it's tempting." Bunny said. "But I didn't get much budget for the job I'm doing, so I'm afraid it's of out of my league for the moment."
He took another look at the hi-tech weapon. No matter how much he hated killing people, he had to admit to himself he'd totally love to get Bonny & Clyde to install the weapon in his van somehow.
"I might come back for it once I get paid..." he smiled. "If it's still here then."
"And if I am." the gunrunner said. "This place is becoming a warzone. Well, more than usual."
"I know. Well, it depends on what you ask for it, of course. Feel free to name a price; I might just have enough. Anyway, for the rest... we could use some other stuff. These tesla grenades seem pretty neat. Can you give me some specs on those? And, eh... you got some ordinary flashbangs? That could come in really handy."

(edit: forgot about the ¥1500 they got... Well I assume they got it on the plane together with the chips... it was mentioned, no?)

[LeFire]

Shatter responded by driving his stiffened left hand finger-first into the soft neck of the soldier, who folded over and choked, unable to scream and missing his grip on the pistol as he did so. His right hand pulled Neutraliser by its scabbard as he twisted, smacking the trooper across the bridge of his nose with the hard metal of the forearm gun. The stunning blow knocked him backwards against the wall. Shatter punched Neutraliser's hilt straight into the solar plexus, knowing that the blunt impact of the blow could stun through body armour as well.

A hard kick to the right shin sent the hapless soldier to his knees as Shatter slipped to his back, slamming down with a spine snapping blow to the back of the neck with the pommel of his blade for an instant kill. The soldier crumpled, and the Spellbreaker left him there... knowing that speed was essential for Dr. Delia Neuwerke's life, if she wasn't dead already.

Keeping Neutraliser unsheathed, Shatter ran towards Block Alpha-Green, his FG-18 cocked and ready to fire, senses on maximum alert.

[Wesforce]

Don Ernesto had sat down, crunching his portly frame into a lotus position, which astonished Wrightman. She'd not have thought his corpulent frame capabable of such a feat. There on the back seat of his chauffeur-driven vehicle, he'd sat, entranced, deep in the imago-thaumaturgic processes of ritual magic. By one hand, he had a few drops of blood from the Victim - Whose body Werdkund was efficiently having safely disposed of while Ernesto worked. By the other hand, he held an engraved golden flute, inlaid with a white metal Wrightman recognised as Orichalcum - The best material for magic focuses, and one so precious that whole economies - White and black, both - existed only to facilitate its distribution.

After a while, still in his astral-trance, Ernesto took hold of the flute and began playing. Low, sorrowful notes emanated, all but lost to the background racket of the busy street - Where a sizable crowd was now gathering.

Werdkund detailed a security section to move them all along in seconds. Wrightman noted he always seemed to be doing two or three things at once - Collating evidence and reports from both murder investigations and filing them as either useful or not, controlling the crowds, and securing other incidents in his area. He toom 15 seconds to eat the lunch he carried in sachet-form in his thigh pockets.

Wrightman turned her attention back to Don Ernesto, as his ghostly, mournful flute increased in temp. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and the air became charged with what she knew and sensed as concentrated mana energy. Thus prompted, she shifted her view to the astral plane.

The magic was surprisingly strong here, she noticed. Sure there were many thousands of people, most of them with some latent magical presence, in addition to the mages, shamans, spirits and other beings that made their presence felt everywhere in the sixth world. There was something else, too. Some great magical source, emanating from beneath the sea-bed like a submerged sun.

But that was for another time.

For now, Wrightman filtered out the emanating waves of (conversely) fear and joy, and focused on the strings of magic branching out from Ernesto's ritual. The car itself, she noted, was both a ward and a ritual circle, helped by a very fine inlay of Orichalcum. The expense myst be staggering. She wondered if Neuwerke paid for it themselves.

That was a question for another time, as Ernesto felt a tug on one of the strings.

Wrightman followed the string with her astral self - Leaving her body to collapse, caught by an N-guard.

At the speed of thought, her Astral presence darted along the line.

Sheila.

The Vampyre Cat was in heat. She noticed that straight away. Darting here and there, occasionally feeding, seeking the astral-pheromone trail of the other, of whom Wright man could feel no sign.

'Mrowr!' Growled Sheila, and darted at Wrightman's astral form. Wrightman knew that Paranimals - as Sheila, Vampiric, now was - were Dual Natured, and saw as naturally in the astral plane as spirits and elementals, as well as the physical world. She avoided the Cat easily, but succeeded in getting her moving.

She blinked back to her body, and opened her flesh eyes. Ernesto was espouting excitedly.

'The creeture, senorita! We have heem now!'

'Vere is he?' Werdkund appeared.

'I have tracked heem to the outskirts of Portland! - Headeeng for the Beta dome!'

Barely seconds later, Wrightman - In Werdkund's vehicle, and Don Ernesto in his - Were heading for the scene, Sirens blaring, light flashing.

Sheila was heading back to her master...

***

'Tesla grenades. They'll kick out enough power to fry an Ork-sized target within five metres - Depending on what he's standing on, or what have yer. The effect is lessened if there are two or more targets in that range, but its still no picnic. If they don't kill you, they'll be sure to frag up yer cyberware for a while. If you're not sorted for EMP, that is.'

'Hmm.' Said Bunny. 'How much?'

'I'll give you five Teslas at ¥100 each.' Said the gunrunner. Bunny winced.

'I've had cheaper Orichalcum rolexes.'

'Sorry chummer. Latest model Neuwerke tech, take it or leave it.'

'I'll give you ¥500 for the teslas then, with the flashbangs thrown in to sweeten the deal.' Bunny said after thinking a while.

The Gunrunner looked at Bunny. Both of them had a pretty neat poker face, and recognised nous when they sayw it.

'Alright, deal. five flashbangs. Good ones these, too. Detonate one within ten metres of a fragger, he'll think he's just downed 3 bottles of Tir Schnapps. Heh. You're the first guy to ask for these for a while. Common street scum just don't seem to appreciate 'em.'

***

Shatter bowled into the research block, adrenaline in his veins. The area was easy to find, thanks to efficient wall signs. With an extra burst of speed, he barged through the door into the actual room - And his fears were confirmed.

A rather short woman with cropped hair and a yellow labcoat lay sat in a pool of her own blood, propped against a partition wall. A grisly splash of blood marked where her exit wound had been, before she'd slumped down to the floor, streaking blood down the wall behind her. Her eyes were open, fearful and an arm was outstretched, shaking violently. She was in advanced shock, and would die soon.

A note was in her hand. Scrawled hastily on the torn card-paste back of a cigarette pack.

tOo sLOw, FrIenD ;), Read the spidery writing - Including the smily.

Rather curiously, he noted a track from the blood - which had spread quite far into the room. The track was a long, straight line - As if the wheel of a trolley or something had gone through the blood.

The trail led out of the room, and down the corridor to the left - he'd come from the right.

Knowing full well that this area would surely soon be swarming with N-Guards, he followed the trail around a corner.

A man lay unconsious, face down on the floor, wearing thin pale green-blue paper clothes and no shoes. He was middle-aged and had a drip attached to his arm - A bruise was purpling on his mottled bald head. He was murmuring softly.

[Nyerguds]

Bunny smiled. "I'm a tactician." he said simply, as he transferred ¥500 on a second credstick with his pocket transfer device. He was glad its special case had protected the small device from the corrosive sea.

The gunrunner showed him how to activate the tesla grenades and then loaded the goods in a simple black plastic bag.

Right. Bunny thought. Tesla's if we encounter any more of Sheila's runaway meals, and Flashbangs against anything else we might encounter.

Remembering the fried vamp from earlier he didn't like the solution at all, but he knew normal explosives would barely hurt vamps. The tesla grenades were probably about the only things capable of wiping out vampires, except for the energy weapon maybe... but he was pretty sure he didn't have the budget to buy that.

"One more thing..." Bunny said, swinging the bag of grenades over his shoulder.
"What then?" the gunrunner asked.
"How much for that van?"

[AI]

(Apologies for this post being a bit crap, but I have no idea what happens to a car in these circumstances, so I'm basing it off the A-team :p)

Werdkund drove with all the determination of a madman, sirens blaring wildly above them. Wrightman clung to the side of the 4x4 with one hand, whilst slutching onto her hat with the other, least it blow away in the breeze.

"Approaching Betadome, kareful here." Werdkund informed her. "Derr are many lawless neighbourhuds."

"I'll keep that in mind."

In front of them was the sleek, chauffeur car of Don Ernestos led the way. She tried not to think of the man inside, as she eyed the tinted glass of it's back window, but she couldn't help it. The slightest thought of him made her cringe, but then at the same time she was wildly curious.

Here was the run-down as far as she could tell, he knew she was a vampire. He was obviously disgusted by that, just the way he looked at her, that sideways glance out of the corner of his eye. Yet, on the other hand, there was something else. An intrigue, wether he geniunly finds himself drawn to her or sees her as some form of conquest she wasn't sure. She'd need to make further observations on his character to draw a conclusion.

But, that wasn't something she wanted to do.

As much as she loathed to admit it, she was letting him effect her. Letting him get to her, just the very fact she was thinking about this instead of two murder cases was evidence enough of that.

Pull yourself togeather, you're a grown woman for gruds sake! She scollded herself mentally.

"Head, DOWN!"

Werdkund yelled as he banked the 4x4 into a sharp turn, veering off the road. Something, possibly a grenade, exploded under the left side of the van, despite the Combat Admin's best efforts, causing it to tip over onto it's side.

She forced her eyes shut, trying not to think about what was going on as the 4x4 scraped along the pavement before coming to a stop. After a few moments, she opened her eyes, taking in lungfuls of air at a time. She looked over to Werdkund, he didn't look that good. The shattering of the windscreen had sprayed glass over them both, he was left with several cuts on his face and seemed uncncious. But he was breathing. Thank grud he was breathing!

She could feel the stinging pain of nicks and slices in her own flesh, could feel the trickles of blood running down her face. Her regenitive powers were already healing several paperthin cuts, but the rest would take awhile.

Unbuckling her seat belt, she tried to open the door. Nothing. It had caved in with the blast, pushed towards her. She was lucky nothing had impaled her, she didn't even want to guess the state of the chassis.

She pulled herself over the door, quite surprised to find a gun barell pressed against her head.

"Tee hee, yer Neuwerkers shoulda stayed were yer belong."

A dwarf below her flashed her a toothless smile. He was heavily cybered, with a pointly ginger mohawk almost as big as he was. His chest was exposed, nothing but a thin black jacket covering his torso, she didn't dare look any lower. Mainly because of his friends. Orks. Dozens of them. All eight foot something tall, and all looking as nasty and as stupid as the other.

"Name's Dave, shweethart, dese be my Goliaths, yo-ho!" He introduced himself. "Me an' me boys, gonna teach yose a lesson. Gonna force dem corp bastiches ta release Noah da Ark, see."

"N-Noah the Ark...?" Wrightman asked, still somewhat disorientated.

"Me botha, dats whose Noah da Ark is!" The dwarf snapped. "See, Yar-har! Yose Neuwerkers looks afta yer own too, so I was thinkin' maybe we could doa lil trade... My brotha whole, fer you... In bits and fraggin' pieces, yo!"

The Ork lowered his weapon, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her from the vehicle.

"Let me go!" She protested as she failed in mid-air, lashing out wildly. The assembled Orks chuckled slovenly, but for her it was no joke. She could feel it. It was like that second kill all over again. With the elf shooting at her, bullets zipping past her, cutting trails in her flesh. She was infuriated, angry on a primal level. Something was unleashed from deep inside of her, an overbearingly powerful emotion that was beyond even her control.

Bloodlust.

She snapped, digging her nails deep into the Orks arm. She didn't even give him time to retaliate, pulling herself up and tearing a chunk of flesh away to feast on the blood that burbled below the surface. But it wasn't enough for her, she needed more.

Discarding the Ork as casually as one would discard a ragdoll, she leapt for the nearest to him. He was flat on his back before he had a chance to use his weapon, screaming as his throat was tore from his body.

"Holy DREK ON A STICK!" Exclaimed Dave. "I's onna those fraggin' vampire freaks! KILL IT! KILL IT!"

One of the Orks threw a canister into the feeding frenzy that was taking place before him, sheilding his face and encouraging the others to do the same as the flashbang exploded. Wrightman reeled in agony as the light trespassed her eyes, screaming in pain.

With his supernatual nemisis momentarily stunned, Dave drew his gun, only to have his head cave in from the impact of several rounds from a machine pistol.

Leaning over the top of the door of his 4x4, Werdkund sneered out at the Goliaths. Even blinded by his own blood, the Combat Administator made it very clear that he wasn't going down without a fight.

Yet, as all this unfolded around them, the Ork that Wrightman had been feeding on began to twitch with new life...

[Wesforce]

'You vill pay for damage done to my vehicle!' Laughed Werdkund erratically, sending another burst at the gangers. 'Costs currently are totalling ¥3,400 and counting. Vill take payment - in Blut!'

One of the Goliaths stood up from his cover, racking the slide on a pump-action shotgun.

'Let me help vith that.'

Werdkund put two round's into the Ork's face, one bursting an eyeball and the other richocheting off the fragger's thick skull with a visible spark.

As the Ork howled in pain, a ragdoll-like automaton flungitself onto his back, sinking its teeth in. Dave's corpse had reanimated in double-quick time, gorging itself even as bits and pieces of flaked bone and brain matter dribbled from the destroyed skill.

The Ork's shotgun roared in reflex. The unlucky Dwarf was bowled head over heels by the blast, and when he came to a rest, his ribcage was gorily exposed. He choked and gurgled on the cracked pavement, too dumb to realise he was dead yet.

'Werdkund hier, requesting vithdrawal team. Immediate countenance. Code Distress. Flytrap! Flytrap!'

+Ja, Kontrol hier.+ Came the answer on Werdkund's internal radio. +Currently submitting cost effektiveness analysis of vithdrawal team operation. Please allow 3-5 vorking minutes for reply.+

'Acknowledged.' Replied Werdkund, ducking back behind his door.

A pistol round spanged off the car's frame and deflected downwards, collecting the greater mass of Werdkund's left ear on the way.

That'll be another ¥560 in surgery...

But then he saw what Wrightman had become...

[Desolator12]

((-=Jumpstart command sent=-))

Dragon yawned, as he slumped somewhat down onto the ground. Bunny was sure takin 'is sweet old time bargaining for something... well, it better be worth the wait. Dragon was already somewhat uncomfortable, and it wasn't because of the cold, damp ground he was sitting on. They'd spent too much time in one place... Dragon hated staying in one spot too long... it would be the equivalent to just walking up to the sniper holding a 'Shoot Me!' sign...at least, in his mind

[AI]

Blood pulsating through her veins, froth forming in the corners of her mouth, tribal drums hammering against the side of her skull. It was happening, it was like the first kill all over again. Like the time that elf had tried to shoot her down. Only this time it was worse, it was all she could feel. The only thing that had came back after the dazzling light that felt like it was going to burn out her eyes.

She wanted revenge, and she wanted it paid in blood.

As fast as anybody had even noticed she was up, she was gone again. This time almost inhumanly fast. The aroma of the one responsibile for her mind-numbing pain filled her nostrils, as she took him off his feet.

The rest of the gang looked on helplessly, too shocked or disgusted to move as their comrade struggled under this monster. They'd thought she was bad before, bu the flashbang had brought out a whole other level of brutallity. She called at his face, as he struggled to get her off, screaming in agony as crimson lines run fluidly down his features.

"Getit orf! GETTIT OAAAARRRRGGGGHHH!!!!" It roared, as she impatiantly snapped it's wrist. He covered his face with the uninjured hand, but before he knew it her teeth penetrated fabric and skin alike. Drawing blood from a vein in his arm. He jolted in shock, pulling his arm away and eposing his broad neck, with veins protruding like road maps.

What remained the of the gang averted their eyes in disgust as one of their number was devoured brutally just inches away from this.

"S-Sod this..." Said one of the smaller Orks, as he turned tail and ran. One of the elder Orks shot him in the leg out.

"No, SOD YOU!" He spat, before turning to the rest of them. "Kum on, less gitoutta 'ere, ladz!"

And they ran, leaving the fallen youngster there as a distraction. Werdkund considered firing a few warning shots after them, but swiftly decided it was a waste of company resources. Instead, he turned his weapon to the vampire, approaching catiously, with the gun leveled at her head.

When he got near, he saw the young woman as he remembered her. Orange boiler suit stained red, as she lay down over the mutilated body, her soft sobbing causing him to relax his grip on his gun ever so slightly.

She looked up at him with blood-shot eyes, streaks running down her cheeks to mingle with the fluids smeared over her face.

"Go on then..." She whimpered quietly. "Just kill me..."

"Nein." Replied the Combat Administrator bluntly. "You just saved me a lot of time and money, Mein Fräulein."

[Nyerguds]

"That van?" the gunrunner said. "Hah. I'm not sellin' it man. I need it to haul my stuff around."
"Is that a custom job?" Bunny asked. "With the armor?"
"In fact, it isn't." the gunrunner replied. "I know some guy that fixes 'n' upgrades second hand stuff to that and then sells it."
"Sounds cool. Would I get there on foot?"
"Sure. It ain't far. Varenstrasse 27. It's only about a block away." The gunrunner pointed to the end of the marketplace. "Just go left at the end there, and then about a hundred meters on. You'll see."

Bunny smiled. "Thank. I owe you." he said, while walking back to the front of the stall.
The gunrunner smirked. "No you don't. You paid."
"Heh. Right." He turned to his companions."All right people. We're gotta get us some wheels. Follow me."

[Desolator12]

"Finally" Dragon said, getting up from the ground. "You took your sweet time." Dragon looked peeved, but said the previous in a sort of joking manner.

"Ok, Lead on..."

[SW Freak]

We can get you out, metal man. But you have to promise to help us.

Uh...okay.

Promise! You had your fingers crossed.

Fine, fine. I promise to help you take out this festering drekk hole. Now, you can get me out?

Yes.

There was a silence.

How? prompted Jackson.

There was no reply. The Collective knelt before the grill for a while, looking down at the drain water that ran past before Jackson sighed and stood up again. The chains strapped to his cyber arm clinked quietly as he gave them an idle thug, as if they had come loose in the few moments he had been talking to...whatever it was. As a matter of interest, and because he really wanted to escape, Jackson braced his foot against the wall, glanced behind him at the door as if he could tell if someone was coming and then, wrapping both hands around the nexus of the chains, thugged hard.

There was a moment of tension, and then the cell exploded.

Truth be told, exploded was the wrong term. The floor and three walls shattered, however, so great was the force of the pillar of water that slammed into it from below. Jackson gave a cry of surprise and pain as he was first pummeled and then dropped into the quickly rushing water and whisked down the narrow confines of the drain. There were several seconds of complete darkness before a light appeared between his feet, rapidly growing larger as he neared the end of the drain.

He caught his breath as he left the enclosed air of the tunnel behind and promptly lost it again as he slammed hard into the cement of a storm drain. He lay on the gentle slope for a while, getting his act together. Then he stood and climbed over the side of the drain, darting into cover and trying to get a bearing on his surroundings. It didn't look to familiar. Not good.

***

Meanwhille, back in the cell, the guard had just come running back from his coffee break. A particularly loud sound had attracted his attention, and it was his duty to check it out. He trained his gun on the door and then unlocked it and hauled the cell open.

"Was are you...do..ing..."

He stared in stunned silence at the destruction before pelting down the hall and slamming the general alarm. He would be docked some pay for making a disturbance during the busy hour, but if that cybered-up freak was capable of that...

[LeFire]

Shatter didn't take the time to question the bald man... Piecing together the story was too obvious, the person who had murdered the scientist had stolen something, probably an EM weapon of some sort, and cleared out fast with it on the trolley.

No one could go at top speed hauling something that was heavy enough to require a trolley... Shatter sprinted down the corridor, heading for a bend that he knew branched off to another set of lifts. The sound of a pistol slide being racked back screamed a warning to him, and he leapt into a roll as he cleared the corner.

Bullets blasted overhead, singing by as they were fired hapzardly from down the corridor. Shatter swept his forearm gun up as he rolled, targeting two figures that were running away from him, a wheelchair with a pained-looking man in combat gear being pushed in front of them. One of the men was firing at him, his face covered with a pollution mask that possibly offered some disguise.

The man in the wheelchair turned, he seemed to know it was Shatter after them. He knew Shatter... And Shatter recognised him in turn right away. The wheelchair-bound man grinned, astonishingly, and switching to the chair's electric motor, went into a nearby lift.

Shatter squeezed off a short burst, bullets screaming back with the higher fire rate of the forearm gun. The pistol wielder grunted, then clutched his arm convulsively as a bullet snapped his wrist and popped the pistol from his grasp. Another round smacked into his throat and he dropped. The second man collected a bullet in the back, but the quality of the 'thwack' told Shatter that body armour had stopped the round. Spinning, the man skidded as he pulled his pistol. Suddenly hesitating as he spied his dying comrade, the survivor turned and fled as Shatter hammered another two rounds into his vest, unable to score a headshot at that range. Shatter cursed the fact that he had throat-shot the 1st man... No way of questioning him and getting answers anymore.

[Wesforce]

Werdkund lowered the gun, slowly, as if it took a consious effort. He seemed unsure what to do or say next, which struck Wrightman as highly unlikely. He stood there, staring blankly at her. She knew she must look quite shocking to the uninitiated, but...

But then she realised Werdkund was merely receiving information on his headware comm-link. She sighed, relaxed a bit, and wondered if he was going to do anything about his ear. Blood was still dripping down...

The blood...

She forced herself to turn away. She still felt the rage from the flashbang. The blood in her mouth and dribbling all down her front had cooled and was coagulating, and only made her feel ill. The coolness with which Werdkund faced everything wasn't making her feel any easier about things, but she wasn't about to go ripping any throats out again soon.

Don Ernesto's car pulled up. It had somehow escaped the violence, and pulled a sharp U-turn. Now, with the danger passed, he was coming back to pull up alongside her. One mirror-shaded window slid down to reveal Don Ernesto's sweaty, pale, exasperated face.

'Aye caramba! Eet ees a meeracle you are alive! I thought zees cowardly driver would get me - please excuse - would abandon you all to ze steenkeeng savages!'

Werdkund stood next to Wrightman.

'I am commandeering zis vehicle.' He barked. 'Ve still haf ein killer to locate and neutralise.'

'In your condition? What about backup?' Wrightman gasped.

'I am still functionable. Don Ernesto will administer magical first aid.'

'Why of course, mein herr.' The Mage rolled his eyes. But he did get out of his vehicle - seemingly with effort - And began whispering the words of power. A faint blue glow emanated from the hands he passed over Werdkund's wounds, as minor tissue damage was repaired, and the bleeding stopped.

'Danke.' Said Werdkund. 'And Don Ernesto...'

'Si?'

THWACK!

The fist sent the mage sprawling back. He lost his footing and fell, his head leaving a dent in the car door.

'I haf been authorized to deliver physical and financial punishment - which has been carried out - for ze charge of withholding information from ze CombatAdministrator in charge of operations leading to extra costs to ze company. Do NOT let it happen again.'

Don Ernesto whimpered, and snivelled apologies. His driver got out and helped him back into the car. Wrightman could see already he was going to be more compliant, and realised Werdkund really knew how to handle people.

'And what about me?' Wrightman asked. 'You're going to just let me be? Knowing who I am? What I can do?'

'Ja.' Said Werdkund simply.

A pause.

'You haf volunteered unpaid work for Neuwerke, and haf saved ze company several thousand Nuyen already.'

He motioned for her to get into Don Ernesto's car.

'Command haf decided a Backup team would be too costly, but we are authorized to continue pursuit of ze creature.'

Don Ernesto murmured something sulkily, to which Werdkund replied,

'Ah, gut! Ve are not too far away now!'

They drove.

***

When Bunny, Clay and Dragon reached Varenstrasse 27, the found a squat, crumbling grey lock-up with a broken narcobeer holo that covered one wall, and the tattered remains of posters all over the garage doors. Upon these doors a group of half-frightened-to-death Orks were hammering and yelling. When they turned and saw the 'runners, they ran for it screaming. Bunny had never seen anyone, not least Orks, run like that...

One of the shutters rolled up a fraction. A pair of silvered eyes peered from the couple of inches.

'Whash all the fragging noishe aboot? Eh?'

Bunny had walked up to the shutters by this point. Pausing, he got down to the floor to converse with the owner of this place. He got the stubby barrel of a shotgun poked into his nose.

'WELL? eh? I wash ashleep man. Ain't not shlept 'round here for ages man.'

Bunny coughed. The man - an Elf actually, Bunny saw now, albeit a dishevelled, uncharacteristically slovenly one - pulled the shotgun away a fraction.

'Spoke to a guy in the market about a vehicle just now.' Bunny replied.

'Oh you did, did you?'

'Yeah. Said you might be able to help us.'

'Maybe I might, if you got the cash. By the way, there'sh shome huge Cat behind you man.'

[Nyerguds]

Bunny turned around, delight showing on his face. "Shiela! Where've you been girl!"
"Oh, and now he's glad to see his demon cat?" Dragon growled to Clay.
"I sure am." Bunny said. "I'm about the only person that can keep her calm.
He turned back to the Elf. "Don't worry, it's just my cat. She won't harm you as long as I'm around."
"Awright... now whaddaya want?"
"An armored vehicle. Preferably a van." He looked at the other two people. "We should have enough money if we put it together. Unless you prefer to continue on foot, of course..."

His two companions both gave a small nod, and handed him their credsticks.
"Good." he said, and turned back to the car dealer. He flicked the three credsticks before his nose, but made sure the car dealer only saw the displays of the two that said '1500'. "Can we come in?"

"Awright. But doesh that thing have to come in ash well?"
"Yes." Bunny said. "She'd probably scratch your door to pieces if we leave her outside."
"My door can take a lot." the elf shrugged.
"So can her claws." Bunny said with a straight poker face.
"OK, OK, whatever." the car dealer said, opening the shutter to let them in.

The Elf closed the shutter as soon as they were all inside, and walked into the workshop. It was a dirty place, but looking at the reinforced plasteel-beta pieces standing around, Bunny could see this man was using decent material.
"There'sh a good one." the car dealer said. Finished patching 'er up yeshterday. It's yoursh for Four thousand nuyen."

Bunny looked at the inside of the van to see how the mechanic had patched it up. He looked at every detail, sometimes frowning when he noticed something of which he was pretty sure the goblins could've done it better.
"Three thousand." he said casually, without taking his eyes off the car.

The car dealer sighed. "Three thousand six hundred."
"Three thousand three hundred." Bunny replied coldly.
"Three Four hundred. And that'sh final."
Bunny gave the elf a broad smile. "OK, deal!"

Clay and Dragon gave Bunny their credsticks. He took the transfer device, put all the money he needed on one credstick, and gave the final sum to the car dealer. He gave the remaining 50 nuyen back to Dragon.

"Right." the salesman said, giving Bunny a small chip. "This chip has the rigger control access codes. She's all yours."

[AI]

"Excuse me..." Said Wrightman to Don Ernesto. "May I borrow this, please?"

She took the hankercheif from Don Ernesto's top pocket before he could answer. He'd left them for dead, no matter what excuse he'd made up to explain it. Not only that, but he'd tried to play her weakness against her. Werdkund had made him pay for that, and she was satisfied... She wasn't a bloodthirsty person... Well, not in that sense at least.

She wiped her mouth clean with it and then her hands, examining the sticky red substance before stuffing it back into Don Ernesto's top pocket. He gave her a disgusted look, but said nothing, concentrating on the job in hand.

"So, what about the conventional murders?" She asked Werdkund, unzipping her horrid orange (now with patches of red) boiler suit.

"Ve shall handall dem shortly." He stated.

"Right..." She said, unfortably. She didn't like the idea of hunting down Sheila, but she also didn't like the idea of hunting down this nose cutting nutjob without the Combat Admin. He'd proven invaluable, in fact she was sure that the gangers were almost as scared of him as they were of her.

"Senior Werdkund! We are heer! Ay can feel thee curpreet behind all theese!"

"Gud." Said Werdkund, one hand on the door handle and the other on his miniture machine pistol. "Follow! Und be kareful."

[Nyerguds]

In the Varenstrasse, The garage doors at number 27 opened, letting the van with its four passengers out on to the street.

"So..." Clay said. "Was it worth it?"

"Ohh yes." Bunny's synthesized voice came through the van's car radio. "This is one prime rigger system. I think we were lucky the guy was so sleepy."

"Good to know our money was spent on your comfort." Dragon said sarcastically. "what about the van itself though? Armor and such."

"Stop complaining." Bunny answered. "You're the only one that actually has some money left."

He focused on the damage report systems. "From the integrity stats, the armor on the sides should withstand a direct tank hit. Windshield is bulletproof, angle adjusted to somewhat ricochet a direct tank hit. Wouldn't feel good though, but we might just survive one frontal hit... Daaayum, there's quite some engineering in this thing!"

"Well," Clay said, "this, combined with the grenades, should keep us alive for a while."

Just as he said that, a car blocked the road before them.

***

"Eet ees in dat vehicule!" Don Ernesto said, almost panicking.
The Combat Administrator frowned. "Aber who ist driving it?"
"Zere are three more peeple in ze van, sir. Ze creature ees with zem!"
"Normal people?" Werkund asked, obviously meaning the matter of vampirism.
"Yees, one seems a kind of mage though."

"Gut."
The Combat administrator smiled, and stepped out of the vehicle, machinegun by his side.

***

"What the hell..." Dragon said, squinting his eyes to look at the car that blocked their path. "Ah, just ram it."

"Not advisable." Bunny said, his generated voice sounding somewhat uncertain. "...I can see Wrightman's in that car."

"What do we do then?" Clay asked, obviously not keen on picking up a second vamp.
"We stop, and see who her associates are. " Bunny said. He halted the car, plugged out of the rigger controls, and slipped a flashbang in his pocket.

[Desolator12]

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this entire thing" Dragon said as he left the vehicle... immediately he noticed the machine gun held by one of the people leaving the other vehicle... *Fragging great, more automatic weaponry... well, Bunny doesn't want me to shoot, so I won't shoot...*

He also saw the smile on the man's face

*...for now.* he added as an afterthought.

"So, to whom do we owe this one-car traffic block." Dragon said, matter-of-factly... he'd only bring Wrightman into this as a last resort. He didn't mind the vamp, but Assassins, even ex-assassins, never got anyone else involved.

[AI]

Wrightman emerged from the limo, running her hands through her unruly hair. She wasn't surprised to find it splattered with red yet again, but hey, at least her suit was still clean. Seems like the boilersuit had been good for something at least.

"Save your bullets, Herr Werdkund." She whispered softly into his ear, placing one hand on the gun. "They'll only waste the company money."

"And where do you think..."

"Shut up, Dragon." She said, curtly. Taking him by surprise. She walked past him and straight towards Bunny.

"Wrightman!" He cheered, before pulling her close and hugging her. It was only a quick hug, almost over before it had even began - But it stirred something in Wrightman. A warm glow that she'd been lacking... Somebody had touched her, drawn her so close, and her first instinct wasn't to bite it's head off...

... But that said, she wasn't all too hungry.

"Bunny, listen, very carefully..." She said, in a measured tone. "This is Werdkund, he's Combat Administrator for this part of the platform. He's helping me unravel a case I've picked up, but there's something else..."

"Wrightman, what is it?" He asked, clutching at something in his pocket. She looked around to see Dragon, trigger finger as itchy as ever. And now, lumbering behind Bunny, stonic as ever, was Clay.

"See that man in the back, that's a mage..." She lowered her tone considerably, speaking so only Bunny, and probably Clay, could hear. "... They're after Sheila. I don't have time to explain, but she's been a baaaad kitty..."

"Not more vampires..." Bunny groaned. "This makes no sense, she always finishes her prey off..."

"I know, I know..." It was, indeed, a fact she knew all too well. "But listen, Bunny, if she's with you, you'd better think fast - I've seen enough blood today..."

She shuddered at the thought, running a finger through a stand of hair, only to find her finger tips coated in a sickly brown powder.

"...I do go without seeing anymore."

[Wesforce]

(GM: Thanks all for restarting this :color1: )

'This is most irregular.' Said Werdkund, stiffly. Wrightman noticed he hadn't lowered his weapon yet.

'Werdkund, you have to trust me.' Said Wrightman, upon returning. 'Things are bad... Much worse than you may think. You do realise Neuwerke is going to lose this station, yes?'

Werdkund was silent for a while, his visage stony, serious, showing about as much emotion and expression as Mount Rushmore after Pro-NAN terrorists blasted all the faces off it.

Finally he relented.

'Wrightman, this I realise, ja. But still, I continue. Do you know why?'

'Duty. That is why.'

'Will you do your duty for Grexon when they take over the island?'

'Ach, nein!'

'This killer won't be troubling us any more. However, there is still time to catch the other...'

'You know zis because?'

'You'll have to trust me.'

'Do not take me for ein fool, madchen. You are ein Shadowrunner. You are hier because you believe ze station vill fall, und vant to take vhat you can before it does.'

Wrightman shrugged.

'Vell,' Said Werdkund, holstering his gun. 'Ich vill think about that once we catch ze killer.'

Wrightman thought she saw a glimmer of a smile on the Neuwerke operative's face as he got into Don Ernesto's vehicle, displacing the Mage. She was encouraged to follow him. The Limo drove off, with the Bunnyvan following it, leaving a puzzled Don Ernesto in its wake.

***

After a confused period of exploration, Jackson found himself on a plateau - A small loading dock on the shadowed side iof the installation. Up above, helicopters and tilt-wings buzzed, shining spotlights over something on the far side. Lights twinkled, signifying aircraft in the grey, polluted sky, wheeling, turning. Bright flares shot down from one. A moment later came an explosion in the air behind it.

It was an entirely surreal scene, more suited to the News reports that came from the Far East during the Japanese invasions all those years ago. Hong Kong, Malaysia.

Lowering his gaze, his eyes alighted upon a speeding hovercraft, churning up a huge wake behind it. It was a bright pink and white colour scheme, with a large 'A' emblazoned over the front. He recognised it immediately:

Alpha Assault Services. A private security contract organisation, which meant, in other words, Mercenaries.

No sooner had the Jackson collective slunk back into the storm drain for cover, the Hovercraft beached violently. It had a roof-mounted minigun manned by a heavily-armed Alpha trooper. Immediately his colleagues exited from the front ramp, screaming

'Go go go!'

All wore heavy pink and white armour with no thought for camouflage, or anything like that. Armed with Assault Rifles, one with an auto grenade launcher.

The invasion had begun.

***

Breathless from the encounter, Shatter frantically bugged put of the area, knowing it was going to be swarming with guards anytime soon. He pounded up the steps next to the elevator the wheelchair had taken, one flight, two, three until he was at the top again. While he was doing this, yet more alarms and klaxons went off. Something big was happening. Security details were all being called away to the Northern sectors. Others were being ordered to the armouries...

Shatter found himself back up on the anding pad. The signal must have been clear here, because his wristphone beeped. Had the jamming been stopped? He checked. A message from Bunny: Sent some time ago, which had only just got through thanks to the jamming.

A click. A safety catch. Shatter whirled. The wheelchair man, behind him, with a heavy pistol.

'You should have let me finish what I was doing, you know.' Said Patch. 'You are, how do you say, an obstacle which must be removed,..'

[LeFire]

Shatter's body jerked as he clamped down hard on his instinct to whirl around... He forced himself to remain still, trying to gauge the distance from his aggressor to himself. He recognised the voice... Patch. Two meters away, 4 o'clock direction. Patch had not fired first when he had the chance, meaning that he still felt that he had the upper hand. As long as Shatter faced the other way, Patch wouldn't shoot. Yet. Shatter slowly raised his hands.

"Patch? What the hell are you doing? We're on the same team, dammit." Shatter wore his wristphone on his right wrist, and his touchscreen panel was exposed when he was attempting to check the message from Bunny. He flicked his eyes right, taking in the view reflected on the surface.

1.5 meters. Right hand with weapon.

That was all Shatter needed to know.

Patch took a breath to respond as Shatter took a hard lunge right, twirling hard with the edge of his right hand leading, the thumb locked in a 90 degree position that ensured a hard striking edge at the base of his hand.

Despite the initial look of the situation, Patch had misjudged Shatter very badly. The Spellbreaker had no less than six things in his favour... His far better melee skills, his improved speed when unencumbered by his heavy armour, the momentary inaccuracy caused by Patch taking a breath, the fact that Patch could not spin or evade by moving his feet since he was in a wheelchair, the knowledge that Shatter got about the exact distance and hand which Patch held his weapon from the wristphone's reflection, and the fact that Patch favoured a heavy .50 cal with a long trigger pull.

The result was his hand's edge striking Patch's firing arm at the back of his right forearm before the trigger pull was complete. Not as optimal as a inside-forearm strike, which should disarm most opponents. But positions made it the best he could do. The heavy pistol was deflected to the Patch's left and away from Shatter, Patch not managing to squeeze the trigger before Shatter's left hand, already shaped for an edged striking blow, struck him hard on the neck, sending his right jugular into spasm and blasting pain that made it impossible to plan or deflect Shatter's next move.

The Spellbreaker folded his right hand over the .50's slide, and twisted brutally rightwards. Patch was physically stronger than Shatter, but the Spellbreaker was far more experienced at melee. The swordman's entire strength of his right arm on the gun forced open Patch's thumb, then caused overwhelming leverage on his right trigger finger, instantly breaking the extremity. Shatter ripped the pistol away, the force leaving the brutalised finger useless. Patch folded over forwards in instinctive pain.

Shatter wasn't keen on killing the man before he got some answers, so he dropped his left hand on the back of Patch's neck in a classic rabbit punch. His previous blow to the side of the neck would have rendered a weaker man unconscious, but Patch was evidently made of sterner stuff. Still, Patch was out like a light. Not many men could take one at the back of the neck. Shatter knew from melee combat training that he couldn't either.

The Spellbreaker hauled the inert man out of the wheelchair, then shoved him up facing the wall. He knew that the next step was to break a kneecap to render the man immobile, but Shatter was reluctant, settling instead for a very simple trick, roughly tying the man's bootlaces together in a dead knot. It was an extremely quick five second thing to accomplish, since like all professional soldiers, Patch tied bootlaces in a standard "lazy knot" that was meant to be opened in a single well-chosen pull. Yet the whole tying-together thing was so unobvious and subtle that a man didn't realise it until he tried to get up and run. A useful prisoner-handling trick.

Stepping well back out of melee disarming range, Shatter raised his forearm gun (which itself was disarm-proof), set it on "burst", and called Bunny.

[Wesforce]

'Bad thing coming... BAD THING COMING!' Wailed Don Ernesto, banging his head repeatedly against the overturned bulk of Werdkund's wrecked vehicle. His astral senses were going haywire, and not just because of the Ork gangers sneaking up behind him with rusty lengths of chain and metal bars...

***

Sheila stirred softly in her sleep. This put Clay and Dragon, in the back of Bunny's new van, immediately in a state of fear.

'Whats up back there?' Said Bunny's synthesised voice, sensing the change in weight distribution on his suspension.

Sheila's sleep was fitful, and short-lived. The Cat purred, slowly opened an eye, in her astral sense. The scent was overpowering, mind-numbing. She stood up, arched her back, delirious with astral pheromones...

The other. He was here...

'What the-' Was all the time Bunny got between noticing the large heat signature as it appeared - seemingly out of nowhere - And what felt like a cannonball slamming into the side of his Van. Bright searing lines of ain dragged down his metal sides, like claw-marks, tearing metal. The van rocked, despite all of Bunny's frantic maneoverings, and slowly, while accelerating, toppled over, clipping the Limousine on the way and coming to rest on its side in a shower of sparks, its occupants dazed.

'Frag it! THIS WAS A NEW VAN!'

Sheila got herself ready. The other was outside, half again the size of her, mad in heat and would stop at nothing to get at her...

[SW Freak]

Jackson withdrew into the shadows as much as he could, his breath growing quieter and shallower. The wave of soldiers breaking free from the carrier was flowing around him, missing him, passing hi-

No, not entirely.

"Drekk."

One of the troopers had stumbled into the drain. He caught himself before falling flat on his face, and came to a halt just in front of Jackson. Both of them drew a breath of surprise, and both of them lashed out. Jackson's claw all but bounced off the trooper's vest, and then he reeled backwards as the butt of a machine gun slammed into his face.

We are not having a good time on this one, huh, Jackson?

Not at all fun, Indie. Now shut up.

Jackson's hand of flesh snapped out to grab the collar of the very vest that had foiled his attack. He dragged the other man forward as he stumbled back, and again his metal arm came up, this time the hand bunched into a fist. It collided with the armoured helmet before him with a sound much like a hammer striking a gong. The AAS grunt shuddered as his helmet vibrated like a bell. He fell backwards, slipping in the sludge and the muck that coated the storm drain.

The metal man took a couple of steps forwards and slipped as well. His ears were ringing, from both the recent blow and the former bullets to the face still making themselves known. He lost his footing, regained it and hastily avoided kissing the ground, landing on his hands and knees instead. The other man ran a hand through the ankle-deep slime, looking for his weapon. Jackson pushed himself forward, launching himself like a sprinter from the blocks. They were both out of it, to all extents and purposes, probably suffering from concusion. Even so, automatic weaponry needed little aiming and a machine rifle in this slug match could mean a decisive end.

He hit the other man at chest height and wrapped his arms around the midriff that presented itself. The two of them crashed to the ground again, rather messily. Luck threw in her chips, and Jackson remained on top after the two of them had rolled a distance down the declination. He sat up, drew back his metal hand once more and brought it around and down. There was another toll, but this time the storm trooper had been ready for it. He rolled with the punch, dragging Jackson down. He pushed away and staggered to his feet, his mouth opening to frame a cry for help. His breath caught in his chest as he felt a pair of arms hooked around his ankles. He crashed down again with a murky splash. The collective scrabbled forwards, their head aflame. Jackson dragged himself on top of the man as he turned over and then drew back hastily as he found himself staring down the wrong end of an assault rifle.

Indigo threw themselves off the solider as a burst of bullets shrieked past. Then she was scrabbling a hand along the gun, holding it down with her right hand. She slammed the release stud and the clip dropped out of the weapon. The assault trooper rolled, trying to bring the rifle to bear and make the best of the final round chambered. As he did so, Indigo shifted her metal grip on the rifle, shoving the bolt forwards. The bullet sprang out and flipped end over end through the air. The soldier's eyes were drawn to it as though tied to it and he only looked back when he felt the gun torn from his hands; It was to meet a claw coming the other way. He felt it smashed into his forehead, heard the helmet clatter away, saw the claw go back a second time and then felt nothing whatsoever. Indigo pulled herself to her feet, slightly dazed. With the shooting, the beating, the break-out and the flash bang the collective were not feeling their best.

She scooped up the clip and reloaded the machine gun. Then she called the other chick, Wrightman. Grudd only knew how they had managed to get her number, and right now, trying to think through the haze of their mind, she didn't care.

"Wrightman. Indigo here. It's started. The attack has started. Watch out for these pink mother-fraggers. They're hardcore. Alpha Assault Services, it looks like. And where the frag are you? I need a lift."

[AI]

No sooner had whatever drek was going on behind them hit the van, had Wrightman's vid-phone started to ring. She looked down, hoping to see Shatter, but no luck... It was the collective.

"Where are you...?" She whispered, fearing for the safety of her friend. All fears were pushed out of her mind, however, as Indigo explained the situation.

"Listen, Indy, I'm here with the Combat Admin. He has a direct link to Newerke control. Tell me where you are."

"Um..." She... He... It, stuttered, before undergoing a full physical change right before her eyes. Miss Holmes stared back at her. "I do believe we're on the South side of the complex... "

She looked around her, looking for any other identifiable features.

"In the shadow of the main tower..."

"Did you ge..." She began, but Werdkund was already patched in to his superiors, stressing the importance of the incident. "Listen, we'll get there as soon as possible. Just sit tight, we've got our own problems..."

She hung up on him and looked out of the rear-view mirror to see what appeared to be a beast savaging the side of Bunny's van. Overlaid across it's physical form was a sickening blood-red aura, raw and pulsating and yet moving. Dispersing something into the air at an alarming rate... Pheromones. Of course! It all made sense now, of all the things for Sheila to leave her meals half-finished for...

She also realised that that thing might just be able to rip the van open like a knife through soy-butter. If only she could distract it, threaten it's dominance...

... Get horribly maimed and possibly have her stomach cut open...

But what else could she do? Bunny was in there...

[Desolator12]

"Mind telling me what the fragging HELL that was!?" Dragon said, more worried about the fact that he was, as they said in the military, 'Going in hot without intel'. Hell, even Shiela didn't phaze him...

...that is, until the cat used the goblin as a springboard to get out of the vehicle. "Gruddamned Cat! Just because you saved my life one time doesn't make me a trampoline!"

Even though he had no clue what was going on, he drew his pistol and the one 'Claw' that was rigged with the Shocker... If he was gonna die, he was taking some fragger with him... or at least singeing him somewhat...

Just then, he noticed a change in the air... almost putrid to his senses... he had no clue what it was, but it was making him rather uneasy...

[Wesforce]

Indigo crouched low to take stock of the situation. The first Assault Hovercraft, having offloaded it's soldiers, pulled back, swung about and tore off leaving an impressive wake and spray. Already the next two AAS Assault transports had lined up and were on their way to make landfall. The original troopers knelt in guard in a perimeter around their beachead, and were setting up two tripod-mounted machineguns. Another assault troop stood idly, with a multirole missile launcher slung in a louche fashion. Oft-touted as the best in the business, Alpha Assault Services were among the most expensive specialised Merc detatchments out there, and could in many cases rely on their reputation to finish the job for them. Their distinctive armour - Full body protection, including full-face helmets with a single, red, triangular visor and antennae - sported multiple advertising patches. They cared little for camouflage, preferring to be in full view on theor operations - Especially when cameras were on them.

This however, only added to their overconfidence. They hadn't lost an engagement in years, and many theorised that, because they'd had it easy for so long, wouldn't know how to handle themselves in a true crisis.

This ability was about to be put to the test.

Waves kicked up against the edge of the platform. The AAS advance party didn't realise at first, they were busy trying to regain contact with the soldiers Jackson had dispatched, and then a wave washed up far enough to lap around the base of one of the MGs, scattering ammo boxes. The troopers turned.

A swirling vortex of water had manifested before the advancing hovercraft, and there was no way for them to slow down before they hit it. As soon as they did, the current dragged one Hovercraft into the other. No damage was done in the collision thanks to the air cushions that kept them afloat, but one of the vehicle's cushions slightly overlapped the other. The vortex becane stronger, dragging the hovercraft in more. Suddenly one of them was dragged down, under its compatriot. Turbines screamed in protest, propeller blades cutting the water as it capsized. The roof gunner took his chances, jumped, and was dragged into the centre of the whirlpool like a bobbing, screaming cork, and vanished, along with the first hovercraft. The second tried to clear the whirlpool by pouring on the power, and found itself trying to clear a 30 foot bank. The wave crashed over it, then another, and another. The currents dragged it around and around like a mouse on a turntable, until its forward momentum made it flip high into the air - And then down beneath the waves, never to resurface.

A chill ran down Indigo's spine. Magic... Its taste filled the air, like ozone around a power station. If she was affected by the sight, the beached soldiers were positively freaked, staring out to sea where twenty of their colleagues had been snuffed out in seconds. The soldier with the rocket launcher wasn't so cocky now...

That won't keep them occupied long, metal man. Said the familiar voice. Make your move. Destroy this place.

'Hey, there!' Screamed a soldier. 'Slot the bitch, NOW!'

The water churned in a different way as all the AAS soldiers unloaded their weapons. The ripping sound of caseless, ceramic projectiles blanked out all other sounds. Inbetween the maelstrom of bullets, shapes danced. Slick, wet forms, brightly-coloured scaled tails, curved humanoid torsos, swimming between the barrages of bullets. Mermaids... Free spirits of the sea. And Jackson realised who had been talking to him.

***

While Shatter was making his call, an incoming call interrupted him. After seeing who it was from, he decided this one had greater priority.

'Shatter. Whats your location?' Said Johnson. She looked terrible - Face drawn, tired, hangdog expression. From the way the picture swayed, she was running.

'What's yours?' Said Shatter.

'Never mind, I'm on my way.'

Several minutes later, Johnson appeared. Alone - Shatter made sure of that, and only showed himself to her after she saw the indisposed form of Patch, and her attention was elsewhere. She jumped.

'Frag, don't do that to me!.'

He saw that in person she looked even worse. She wore only an armour vest top and her Neuwerke combats. Parts of her were bandaged, but blisters covered a large part of her body. Her eyes were dilated, and from her jerky movements, Shatter deduced she was juiced to the eyeballs, but in serious pain.

'Dammit, I never should have hired this fragger.' She kicked the form of Patch in his wheelchair. 'I saw the whole thing on the security net. Where are the others?'

***

Sheila and the other, larger cat stood, looking at eachother, hissing, walking slowly in circles around eachother. Any observer would have noticed both sported enlarged front teeth - Almost like the sabretoothed Cats of old. A powerful energy seemed to crackle betwen them - To an astral observer it would have manifested as forked lightning.

But this was no battle, this was a mating ritual.

The male of the two brought his attention back to the downed vehicle. There were humans in there... Soft, fleshy, fresh meat and blood. They could be rivals, they could not. Either way, they'd make a fine gift to break the ice.

He'd kill them all and lay their corpses at Sheila's paws for her to play with and drain at her leisure!

Starting with that one with the claws.

He pounced, pinning the goblin to the ground.

***

Dragon screamed, with around 120lbs of Vampyre cat pinning him to metal, crushing him, piercing his abdomen. It was so fast he could swear the damn thing blurred as it moved. Its giant mouth snapped at him...

[Desolator12]

*removed for continuity*

[LeFire]

"I don't know Johnson... I had been tracking both you and the Collective down, but I haven't had success at communicating with anyone until now. Also, I found this. You probably want it back." Shatter said as he pulled Johnson's PDA from his vest and handed it to her. Giving her an odd look, he also retrieved Patch's .50 cal pistol and ammo belt and gave them to her.

"I've been betrayed before. I hope you don't do the same to me." Shatter's statement was simple and honest. Johnson seemed to be his only viable ally at this time, and he hoped it remained that way.

"Patch said something about finishing what he wanted to do, and last time I knew he wasn't wheelchair bound. I bet that we might get some answers out of him, I don't know when he's going to wake. Maybe you want to hang around and do that, or contact the others and get the hell out before everything comes down on us. I for one, very strongly prefer the latter. 2 against unknown odds is suicide." Shatter looked around him on the landing pad, trying to find some form of transportation.

"I wouldn't want to take my chances going out of this building by the interior lifts. And by the way, you don't look too good. When we get a breather, I want to know just what the hell happened to you." Shatter continued as he spied a two seater light aircraft. Grabbing her by an arm, the Spellbreaker hurried to the craft and whipped open the canopy. He cracked a rare grin at what he found.

"Wait. You know how to fly?" Johnson asked. She was a pilot herself, but she wasn't very sure on flying in her juiced-up state.

"Not a clue. I know how ejection seats work though... we used them for fast insertion on MUNDI special forces assault craft. This one's a double-seater zero-zero ejection system, meaning that we can safely strap in, fire it when the aircraft is sitting on the ground, and it'll come down in a parachute assisted low-impact balloon ball in the approximate area that we want it to. Preferably, of course, in the vicinity of what other allies we manage to contact. Won't be very different from our unplanned exit from your Neuwerke aircraft."

[Nyerguds]

"Frag." Bunny swore. There was only one thing he could do... the bag of grenades was thrown in the back of the van when it had toppled.
Too bad for Dragon, but I really have no choice.
He grabbed the flashbang out of his pocket, pushed the cylinder together, twisted the two halves like the gunrunner had explained, and threw it over the tomcat's head.

The cat's reaction was lightning-fast. It got up on its hind legs to grab the plaything in mid-air.

Bunny dived behind the van and covered his ears as the flashbang exploded. A few seconds later, after recovering from the shock, he jumped from his hiding place, ran to the back of the van and grabbed Dragon. A large burn on the cat's snout indicated that the cat had tried to grab the flashbang with its mouth.

For now, the cat was KO, but Bunny knew all too well it'd recover within minutes.

He threw the unconscious Goblin into the open back doors of the van and grabbed a Tesla grenade, only to realize the van was far too close to the cat to use it... they'd all be fried.
He sighed, put the Tesla grenade in his pocket and grabbed another flashbang. If the cat moved again, it'd get another plaything on its snout...

[VO]

My... head

Clay's head spun; something had broken in the van and sparks danced around his head like stars. A loose wire dangled infront of his face. On the astral plane, something throbbed lustily, primal, feline, prone. He felt it's shape with his mind. It was huge, angry, and unconcious.

Fragging hell. Another kitty. A horny kitty.

The van was on it's side. Clay sat up, finding gravity pulling him at ninety degrees to where the floor could be. He'd hit his head on something when the van was flipped, and the flashbang hadn't made it any better. His brow was wet; wiping his hand across it, his fingers came away red and sticky. He'd lost his hat.

"Welcome to the land of the living," said Bunny. "If you haven't noticed, we have Garfield from Hell outside. Any ideas?"

Clay nodded. "I sensed it" His temples throbbed, both from the wound and the astral backwash from the cat. "Got a bandage or something?." As he spoke, a droplet of blood ran down, just in his vision. Around his mouth he could taste iron.

"I think we need to deal with that first," said Bunny. The cat stirred, pushing itself up groggily from the floor. It opened it's mouth, yawning cavernously.
"Frag" squeaked Dragon, shaking his head to clear it as he regained conciousness. Yellow eyes washed over him, malignantly. A sandpaper tongue licked wickedly curved and fanged lips.

Clay dug his fingers into the back of the seat which had formerly been the wall of the van. Now it was underneath him as he crouched, pressed through ripped leather. He feels the metal and plasteel of the van, the arcology beneath it, the sea beneath that sloshing blue and watery.

The cat was on it's feet. It growled, unsteady, coughed up a ball of hair.
"Hold it off," said Clay. Bunny nodded. His hand crept foreward, through the open doors of the van as he leant, pressed low onto the black roadway. He did not close his eyes, instead focusing his blurry vision on the kitty.

He drifts, looses himself and infuses what was once Clay but is not free into the road. He feels the grains of dirt, discards them, passes away from the van and loses that too. He feels the tar that once flowed, feels it call. He seizes it, gives it his heat. Bonds snap like twigs in a storm. He channels it, gives it form, loosely human but all road. It stuggles, wants to flow once again, but now it has a new frame. Up, up, twisting into his form.

"Frag," muttered Dragon again, as the Golem stepped up and out of the tarmac. It was a giant; twice the size of a man and wrought of stinking formless black slurry. As he watched bits of melted tar dripped from it's arms and legs. It's mouth was the colour of darkness. It roared.

[Wesforce]

The giant Vampyre Cat backed off rapidly at the roar, arching its back to make it seem twice as big as it was - To the wounded Dragon, Bunny, and anyone else watching, that was quite big. But not to the reeking black Golem, which remained motionless. It hissed, so fiercely it might have been a pressure cooker, and went into a pounce-crouch, ears flicking back... But as yet the Golem showed no sign of backing down.

The Cat was now entirely perplexed. This thing didn't smell like a human, or react like one, or indeed anything it had ever seen before. Only one thing remained in its mind: The powerful, all-encompassing drive to prove itself to Sheila, to become the Alpha male by destroying or driving off all opposition... And no alien-smelling shiny black sludge-man was going to change that. Opening its cavernous maw and hissing once more, the giant Cat pounced.

[VO]

SMACKPUNCH!

Too grossly large and slow to dodge, Clay twitched a finger of his hand and the Tarmac golem swung one wrecking-ball like fist at the cat. Veins pressed hard against the skin of his arm as he wrestled the magical energy. Unable to halt it's leap, the cat twisted in midair, being dealt a glancing blow by the golem. It's claws raked the construct's chest, finding only coarse ichor that clung to it as it came away coated in tar.

Clay grunted, jerked up from his prone position as the golem was knocked back by the impact. The colossal cat, only slightly smaller and much faster, landed gracefully despite the black pawprints it now left. It turned, hissing, coat and tail puffed up so that it was almost as large as the golem.

"I'm going... to try and smother it." Clay's lips were twisted back, his vision focused on the cat as he danced the golem with a slow and sticky grace around it's enemy. More cautious now, it was darting back and forth at the golem, harrying it before it could react. "I need a distraction," he muttered.

"On it," said Bunny, readying the flashbang.

[Desolator12]

*fragging great... two damn vamp kitties... not that Shiela wasn't much of a bother, but this other cat's got her all riled up...* Dragon thought.

*Well, looks like we gotta end the riling* Dragon thought, grabbing an L-Shaped piece of metal from his back.

"Hey Bunny... what happens when you shoot a grenade?"

[Nyerguds]

"You'll see." Bunny smiled.
Twist, push, throw. Deceivingly easy to use.

Bunny aimed the flashbang over the Golem, to the spot where the cat was standing. However, said cat was now very aware that the brown cylinder was not a toy at all. It jumped back a few meters, though unwilling to leave his mate and his prey, and not entirely realizing the range of the flashbang due to his unconsciousness the previous time, he didn't jump quite far enough.

"Cover yer ears." Bunny hissed. Clay immediately leaned one ear on his shoulder while covering the other one with his free hand, allowing him to maintain control of the golem while protecting his ears. Bunny saw the area between the Golem's legs close to protect them better.
As the deafening blast knocked the cat away, Bunny jumped out of the van and looked past the tarmac golem.

He smiled. "That ought to be far enough, especially with this thing shielding us." He grabbed the Tesla grenade, pulled the ball open, twisted it, and pushed it back together. He heard a soft humming sound build up inside it.

Five, four, three Bunny counted down. The cat slowly got up, obviously still recovering from the flashbang.

Two!

Bunny threw the armed tesla grenade, and dived back behind the Golem.
"Everyone down!"

[AI]

"Vat are you doing, Fräulein?"

Werdkund asked her, as she opened the door of the limo. She gave him a stern serious look - He was prepared to sit here and let the Runners do the dirty work, not wanting to waste valuable company resources.

"Going to help my friends." She replied, bluntly. "What about you?"

"I hath been... Recalled. De task force, Neuwerke require all units to deal with dem." He pulled out a small data chip and handed it to her. "Some of de information ve hath managed to collect on de killer... Use it vell."

She held it in her palm, slipping it in the pocket of her coat which she then discarded on the ground outside the vehicle. She stood bolt upright, staring in awe at the Golem. It was so impressive, on both planes, just oozing power and importance. But she also knew it was slow... Ponderous.

She saw the strained links it had to Clay, vibrant strings buzzing with astral energy, to what was essentially an oversized puppet. Already the cat had become wise to it's tactics, keeping fast on it's feet, bounding one way then the other. He needed a distraction, something to keep it still for long enough so that the massive, near-molten creature could hand one of it's tar coated fingers on it.

As Don Ernesto's limo sped away - Whatever happened to that fragger, anyway? - Leaving her to face the headspinning sight of Clay's magical prowess and the cat's own aura, smeared with crimson and bursting with hormones, she knew what she had to do.

'Kuh-ssssss!'

She hissed, the sound coming out more animal than human, crouching to the ground and baring her teeth. It came to her almost too easily now, naturally. She didn't have to think about it, in fact it was best if she didn't think about it - It was all instinct. She'd become increasingly aware of the instincts she never knew she had since her condition...

"Cover yer ears!"

The words were faint, she barely picked them up with all the hissing and the rumbling sound of the Golem shifting position. But it soon became clear that both the killer kitty and her had bigger problems....

She tried to scream in agony as the blinding light of a flashbang washed over her. She clung to her eyes, falling to the floor as her senses were taken over by an overwhelming pain. Her ears rang with the resulting explosion, giving her her second violent headache of the day. Except this time there was no anger attached to the experiance, just confusion, pain and a deep sense of self-loathing.

Idiot, idiot, FRAGGING IDIOT! Her subconsious screamed at her as her body reeled. Some dreking detective you are!'

They hadn't seen her, they just hadn't seen her and she, caught up in the moment, dominated by emotion and instinct, hadn't seen them. All she wanted to do was help - Save Bunny, prove to the others that she wasn't just some blood-sucking leech that fed off other peoples misery! She was a person, she cared... And look where that had got her. Face down on the tarmac, unable to move with a potentially dangerous creature just yards away.

"... 'one, DOWN!"

Her ears barely caught Bunny's voice, still on the edge of recovery. But instantly her eyes went wide - They hadn't seen her! They just hadn't seen her! She'd dragged herself into this mess, and they still hadn't fragging well seen her!

"BUNNY! NO!"

She cried out in vain, for it was already too late...

[Nyerguds]

The deafening bang and agonizing shockwave that Wrightman had expected and feared never came. Instead, blue flashes zapped around. Most of the electricity was absorbed by the big cat, but Shiela immediately jumped back to evade some of the escaped lightning forks the small metal ball was spitting out in her direction.
Wrightman hit the ground, looking around frantically. She had no idea what was happening, and she was still too numb from the flashbang to realize what was causing the lightning to shoot away around them.

Bunny looked up, only to see a blue flash hit Wrightman. She writhed in pain.
"Wrightman!" he yelled, jumping into the danger zone and dragging her behind the golem. He felt her heart beating like crazy as she lay in his arms.
"Thank goodness you're here." Bunny said, smiling.

[AI]

"Buh-Bunny..?" She groaned, looking at him through the slits of her eyelids. He was barely in focus, but she'd recognise that voice anywhere.

"Yeah..." He replied, seeming a little unsure of himself.

"That...." She said, pausing for a few seconds to cough weakly. "...That wasn't a flashbang..."

"No, it was a tesla grenade..." He informed her, holding her in his arms. Her heartbeat slowed as she let the warmth wash over her aching flesh, breathing slowly to try and match the albeit somewhat panicked heartbeat that drummed in her ear, her head safely nuzzled into his chest. All of the sudden... She felt weak, pathetic - She felt human... Felt like she needed somebody, for more than just a quick snack. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see..."

"No..." She whimpered. "Stupid, stupid, stupid... All my fault... Oh, Grud, Buh-nee..."

She closed her eyes tight, as the her body fought hard to fix the wounds that she'd suffered, she suddenly writhed in his arms, feeling a short impulse of pain run down her back. She couldn't take this, she knew she couldn't take anymore - It was too much. Her head lolled against her saviour, eyes fluttering closed as her body was overwhelmed into unconciousness.

[SW Freak]

Jackson's head turned as he heard a sound best likened to that of a giant, rabid chicken getting caught in the gears of a super tractor. It echoed around the area for a while, almost drowning out the unearthly wails of the mermaids and the rapid gunshots of the mercenaries. He was aware of a couple of other sounds under it as well; the first came from the limo that was even now screaming up the road, some crazy Neuwerker leaning out the window and plugging away with his hand cannon, but the second was much more worrying. It sounded human, and all too familiar. He could have sworn he had heard that scream as a voice moments before. It looked like that help that Wrightman had offered was here, but she was...dead? Just how easy would it be to kill that strange woman?

"Indy?" Silence. "Indy!"

"Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. Sorry. I'm just watching this fragger. That rocket launcher's about to give him a warm welcome soon."

"I know. Think you can make the shot?"

"In the dark? Without our cybereye? Against an armoured enemy? Acting against who knows how much wind resistance and, probably, magic resistance, or some fragged up drekk like that?"

"Yeah."

Indigo shrugged.

"Sure. I'll give it a shot."

She leaned the machine gun on the edge of the storm drain and braced it against her shoulder. Muttering probable statistics and range under her breath, she sighted along the barrel at the same time as the rocket launcher trooper did. No time to make sure; There was a short series of loud BANGs and, though the Collective were too far away to hear it, a shattering sound and a splat. The AAS soldier fell backwards, his aim awry, the rocket shooting straight up into the night sky like a malicious firework. Then Indigo was rolling over the lip of the ditch, bouncing to her feet and moving to intercept the limo.

"Hey! You! Limo-guy!"

He looked around at the absurd call, slowing slightly as he approached her.

"I need a lift and those guys, all their boxes of ammo and their strangly effeminate pink armour will be exploding, oh, about now."

There was silence of a few seconds, bar the purring of the limo. Indigo looked towards the beach head, sighing, just in time to see the rocket crash back down, to tremendous effect.

"So close. So, anyway, I need you to take me to my associates. Your buddies can handle these guys."

She slid over the hood and hopped into the passenger seat. She paused for a moment to sit comfortably, and then pointed her weapon at Werdkund, at the same time as he brought his gun up.

"Mein orders, shadowrunner-"

"Ah, frag your fragging orders. Stop listening to this-" she tore the earpiece for his radio away from him. "And start listening to this." She pressed a single metal digit to his temple. "Furthurmore, I shall endevour to shoot you if you don't turn this fragging car around right the hell now!"

Teach, what was that last thing you just told me to say?

That you'll try to shoot him if he doesn't help you.

Try? I won't try! I will shoot him!

Yes, but in terms of effect, I felt it best that you be exceedingly eloquent.

Elo-what?

Wordy.

Werdkund, meanwhile, had relaxed slightly. After a lifetime in Neuwerk's service, compassion and morality didn't come easy, but threats he could understand. He turned the vehicle around, all the time aware of the gun pointed at him, and sped back the way he had come. If the fight between the mermaids and the mercs had been impressive, then the slug match between the golem and cat was amazing. Jackson recognised the golem as one of the wizard's, what was his name now? Dirt? Clay. That was it.

"Is that the biggest fraggin' pussy you've ever seen or what?"

Werdkund drew the limo to a halt behind the protective shield that was the golem. Jackson looked at him.

"Thanks. If anyone asks, I'll testify that you're eligible for an "Acting Under Duress" tax break. Now go and...I don't know. Shoot someone."

With that, he slid from the passanger seat and hurried over to the elf and the human. The giant cat was aglow with the electricity that had been poured into it, and was writhing and bucking, all the time emiting it's chicken-in-a-tractor's-nuts cry. Jackson crouched beside the other two runners.

"You guys have all the fragging fun. She alright?"

Bunny opened his mouth to answer, but had no time. Before they had even seen it move, before anyone realised it had recovered, the cat was right on top of them, pelting between the construct's legs at top speed, blue lightning earthing itself everywhere. Jackson pushed himself away, using Bunny as his leverage, trying to get both of them out of the way of that bloody freight-train with teeth. As it was the cat lashed out at the closest target, which happened to be the strange half-metal man-thing beside it, the one that stank of flesh and machine.

Jackson was thrown through the air as the claws dragged across him. He heard the sound of metal being rent and a sound like silk being sliced in two before hitting the windscreen of the limo with a cry of pain. As he slid down onto the trunk he left streaks of blood on the glass. He was vaugely aware of a cold wind blowing into his mouth. Strange. Wasn't half his face metal? Maybe he was imagining the metal. Must be these huge cuts he just got. Yup. They looked pretty bad. Massive bleeding, pretty deep. That was a broken rib or two right there. Damn.

The wind blowing in through the massive scar cut into his metal face was replaced by a warm breath. He looked up into the immence face of the cat as it leaned over him, a couple of glowing eyes with teeth.

"I just...wanttosay that I'm sorry I...didn't get paid up front."

With that, he shut up and instead jammed the machine gun as tightly as he could under thing's lower jaw and squeezed the trigger until the world stopped flashing.

[Wesforce]

Finally, all was quiet. The 'runners stood around mulling over the huge blackened, burned and bloody deadweight of the headless Vampyre Cat, before endeavoring to pull Jackson from the fleshy tomb that threatened to smother him. The cybered 'runner was unconsious, and his misfiring nervous system spasmed his body uncontrollably, his hair and facial expressions contorting grotesuely as the hardware failed to understand the signals from the flesh software. A series of clicks came from his appropriated AAS assault rifle as his finger pulled the trigger over and over, but the cylindrical magazine was exhausted.

Clay stood by with his Golem, and the bulky construct leant over and struggled to right Bunny's Van, leaving huge greasy black smears over most of it's surface. Bunny could almost imagine the pain from the bodywork and the cloying feel of being constricted around the chest he'd feel from the chassis damage... But the vehicle was still a going concern.

But where was there to go?

Dragon wasn't in a very good shape - He could still walk and fight though. Jackson was worse. At least everyone was together.

Well, almost everyone.

A joint call was patched through. It was Johnson.

***

'Look Shatter, this whole Op has been one giant grade-A frag up from start to finish.' Johnson said, rifling through Patch's gear. She took several Chips from his person and some small items from a rucksack slung over the back of the chair as she spoke. 'Starting with this fragger. A Gruddamned traitor, not to mention my... Well, lets just say I'm going to need sunblock 3 fragging million for the rest of my life, or a full-body skingraft. We've got almost everything we need, but we need the rest of the team for the next part.'

She paused. Klaxons wailed. Something exploded, too close for comfort. Automatic weapons fire.

'Achtung, achtung, now hear this.' Blared the tannoy, proceeding to announce that the whole station was under invasion proceedings, and that all Neuwerke personnel were to report to the arms lockers.

'That plan of yours with the ejection seat sounds good. Get rid of this scumbag-' She kicked Patch once more for emphasis 'And get it ready. I have to make a call.'

'All of you, I don't know what the hell you've done, but you've been classified as an invasion force.' She virtually screamed at Bunny. 'A Combat-Administrator reported his vehicle as being commandeered by an infiltrator, and there are attack helicopters en route to your position. Get under cover ASAP! We'll meet by the entrance to the ship.'

Wrightman looked around for Werdkund's Limo. It had disappeared sometime during the fight - Apparently being forced at gunpoint to drive back here had been too much for him.

'The ship...' Said Bunny. They'd all seen the maps and schematics - "The ship" was originally a free-floating liner that had been added to the station's structure, and accomodated all the high-ranking personnel. It was probably the most secure part of the station... And Johnson was talking like they'd just be able to drive up to it in the middle of an invasion?

'Get your sorry arses in gear!' Johnson said and ended the call.

***

We helped you, now you must help us.

Water swirled in Jackson's mind. The nebulus, too-blue waters of the deep. The face of the mermaid he's seen seemed to be speaking directly to him, aquiline, slightly freckled.

Great confusion reigns among the island-of-metal. The one who leads has been ended and the stars of the deep are being stolen. Only you can end it all Jackson... You must help us. Destroy this island of metal... Save us...

An image came to his mind. A huge underwater cave, bigger than the station itself, Mermaids swimming around, lost in the abyss. Bright specks shone out from the walls...

Time passed. He saw the same cavern, filled with luminous, glowing stones. Magic! It was all around, seeping from the walls, embedded in the water, into him. He felt what was like to wield and control the forces of mana... His fingers passed through his vision, glowing like the magical stones they held. The Mermaid reappeared and took the stones away from him. He fell, spinning into the blackness.

Men appeared, in deep-water diving suits emblazoned with a malignant N. Great armoured exoskeletons that tore huge chunks from the walls of the cave, scattering the glowing stones, collecting them with vacuum packs.

Fuel. Fuel for the machine...

***

He woke with those words, screaming from the bizarre vision, panting. The first thing he looked at was his hands. Wiping off the blood, he felt about his body, the huge rends the cat had torn in him. They were already scabbed over, healing.

[SW Freak]

Jackson drew a deep breath, let it out in a sigh of relief at the fact that he was still alive, breathed in again and shouted one long obscenity until Bunny slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Shut up. We have to move."

"It's...dead?"

"Yeah. So are we, if we stick around."

Indy? Teach? Thirsty? Jackal? You guys still in here.

It was meant as a joke. Jackson's face twitched as the computer imbedded in his brain continued its haywired electro-spasms. He waited a while longer, staring at nothing, fear slowly growing in his eyes.

Indy? Indy?!

"Indy!" he shouted out loud, clutching his head.

He slapped his metal temple with his right hand a couple of times, making a sound like a hammer striking an anvil. He continued to shout out their names, as though by simple incantation he could make them talk. But it was no good.

"Shut up!" hissed Bunny, looking around anxiously. "Someone'll hear. Shut up!" he enthused again, lashing out with a punch. It hurt him as much at it hurt Jackson, but it did get the metal man's attention. "What is wrong with you?"

"They're gone..." said Jackson, wide eyed, looking directly at the elf but not seeing him. "They're all gone. Quiet. Dead."

He slid off the trunk and took a couple of shaky steps towards the van. Shock finally lifted its veil and he gave a shuddering gasp and sank to his knees. He bowed down, resting his head in his hands, all the time searching his mind for any instance of them. They had-

"Grud damnit, it's still fraggin' raining!" complained Indigo.

"You're right. We should go back inside and have a drink."

"Seconded."

"Shut up, the pair of you," commanded Jackson.

They were lying in the street, blood streaming down their face. Fraggin' Johnson and his fraggin' Neuwerk endorced run. Stupid fraggin' gangers and their stupid fraggin' shotguns. Stupid Jackson for rushing in and putting them all in danger. Stupid everything.

-Simply disapeared... And now he was randomly remembering things. Frag it.

"We have to blow this place up."

"What the high holy grudd are you talking about? Why?"

"The voices told me..."

[Nyerguds]

Bunny signed. "We'll deal with your voices later. Right now we gotta survive."
He looked at the 'runners. "All right, people! Get in the van! Jackson, just a second."

Jackson waited, hoping Bunny wanted to discuss the 'voices'. He had no such luck.
"You may not be aware of it, but that cat was a vampire. While I'm grateful you killed it, you got yourself infected with HMHVV."
"You mean... I'm a vampire?"
"Exactly. Just to warn you... Wrightman's a vampire, and so is my cat. Both are coming with us. So if you feel bloodlust coming up, keep it the frag under control or they'll have your hide."
Jackson looked really depressed now. "Great... so I'm really a mad monster now. Anything else?"
For a second, Bunny looked at the ground, not sure if it was a good thing to tell Jackson about MGJ. Finally, he looked Jackson straight in the eyes.
"As a matter of fact... yes. I feel I really need to tell you this, but erm... last cybered vamp we met started rejecting his cyberware. I haven't got a clue what that would do to you, but I can assure you it wasn't a pretty sight."
Bunny looked around in the air, to make sure he couldn't see or hear any helicopters yet.
"That's all... now get in the van." he said to Jackson, as he got in the front seat.

***

Pain.
Grud damn frag it all. Bunny thought.
The van was still far from thrashed, but to the rigger, the damage didn't feel good at all.

He started the van, and drove off to nowhere in particular. Their first priority was finding a place to hide.

"Right people." his voice came through the car radio. "Any ideas? Now's the time."

[SW Freak]

Jackson sat in the van, staring at his feet. A vampire? Wrightman? That did explain the strangeness...But now he was infected. His breathing quickened slightly. If he started rejecting cyberware now, then Bunny was right; it would be messy. He wondered if he would survive it, if he could stop it. He had had a lifetime of four years staying in control of his body when someone else wanted it. Could he fight this? Maybe. He didn't know anything about HMHVV. Teach probably did. If only she were still there. Suddenly, his body spasmed. He felt an excrutiating pain in his chest, around the vicinity of his replacement lung. It couldn't be happening already, could it? Crying out, Jackson pushed himself into the chair, eyes closed-

It was too dark to see. There was a sticky sort of sound as he changed eyes and then the world flared green. A quick glance, now; the eye would be visible. He looked around and ducked. The target was in there, and had seen the eye. A rattle of machine gun fire thudded into the desk Jackson had hid behind, but he was already moving, sliding out from around his cover and dashing forward. His knife was up and around, drawing a curved line in red across the other man's throat. The target gurgled, grabbing at his throat with one hand while the other went to his belt. It came back up with something small and metallic, that looked remarkably like the pin from a grenade...

Jackson threw up his arm as the grenade exploded, felt shrapnel perforate his chest, felt his arm burn away...

-And Ms. Holmes sat up in the seat, looking around curiously.

"Oh dear. I appear to have blacked out. I do apologise. Where am I, please?" She seemed to remember something, and turned to Clay. "Mr Clay, may I ask if you have noticed anything strange about this facility, in a magical sense? An aura or something of the sort?"

[AI]

Wrightman's body twitched and writhed as she dreamed in her comma enduced state. Well, it wasn't a dream... It was more of a vision. A vision of noses...
... Or lack there of.
The victim was emblazoned on her eyelids, half mangled by the razor-sharp blades of the trash-compactor. Somebody had wanted her, wanted her to see that hideous face... Nose torn clean off.
Nose torn off...
What did it mean?
Her hand twitched, fingers creeping down her side into the pocket of her coat. Except there was no coat - She'd lost her coat. It took a moment to sink in, but when it did she sat bolt upright, suddenly very much awake. Very much alive. And extremely panic-striken.
"The chip? The bloody, fraggin chip!!!" She exclaimed, leaping to her feet and surveying the van. Where was it, somebody had to have picked it up! Jovus H. Blasco, she'd lost it! She couldn't believe she'd lost it.
"Stop!" She exclaimed, pressing her hands against the back door of the van. "We need to go back! We need to go back, NOW!"
"Jovus woman..." Groaned Dragon. "Can't you see I'm half crushed here... And you want us walkin' in..."
"If we don't go back, PEOPLE WILL DIE!" She yelled, banging her fists against the door of the van now. She couldn't lose that lead, she just couldn't. "We have to go back, and if you're not willing to turn this heap of junk around then I'm going to rip the doors off and go with or with fragging out you!"

[Nyerguds]

"Calm down!" Bunny's voice came from the radio. "If we stop now, we are the ones that will die. They sent helicopters after us, and grudd knows what else."
Bunny's voice, although synthesized, did calm Wrightman a bit, but not nearly enough to give up on her case.
"Bunny! We have to go back! There's a very important data chip in my coat!"
"Just a second, darling." Bunny said dryly. The next moment, everyone was crushed against the right side of the van, as Bunny made a ninety-degree turn to the left and crashed into a rusty garage door. The old door was blown away as they parked neatly in the empty garage.

Wrightman looked even paler than before. "H-how did you know it was empty?" she asked.

"Rust holes, and very good cameras." he replied with the same dry voice. "Now, first we secure the building; see if anyone is coming to claim this garage and shut em up. Then, some volunteers can go with Wrightman to pick up her coat. Anyone want to apply?"

As Bunny had expected, no one reacted to the invitation. He plugged out of the rigger control system and turned to the people in the back of the van.
"Sheila?"
The cat looked up at his voice, and purred. She hadn't seemed too shocked when the cat that was courting her was blown away, and seemed perfectly normal again... well, as normal as one could expect from a giant vampire cat.

Bunny knew the cat would stay with Wrightman, and she might be one of the few Wrightman would feel comfortable with... but that did leave the matter of Jackson...
"Jackson?" Bunny said.
"No, Ms. Holmes." she replied in her school teacher tone.
"Right. You got yourself under control?"
"I do think so."
"But are you sure?"
"Not entirely."

Bunny sighed. "Ah, frag it. I'd go with you Wright, but I really can't leave the van alone... and travelling back there with the van is too risky at the moment. Just go and take Sheila with you."
He grabbed a roll from the glove compartment and threw it at the mage. "Clay... stop bleeding all over my van, man."
The mage frowned as he unrolled the bandage. "Couldn't you have given that to me earlier?"
"Hadn't done an inventory check of the rigger system yet." Bunny said, while throwing him a white plastic bottle. "Happy pills, for Dragon."

With that, he got out of the van. "Come on. Clay, J... err, Ms Holmes, come with me. Let's comb this place out. Dragon... hold tight man. We might raid some more med supplies in the building."

He turned to Wrightman, and gave her a quick hug. "Good luck. I wish I could do more."

[VO]

Sorry SW, I can't answer Jackson's question directionbecause of all the other posts since then :p

"I'll go with the detective," said Clay. "Not a good idea to go solo unless we don't have a choice." He'd got Dragon to help him tie the bandage around his head, but he still felt delerious. Think I'd better stay outside in the fresh air.

"I think I need you with me", said Bunny. He glanced sideways at Jackson so only Clay would notice. Although Clay had pointed out to the him that this place did have a strange aura, frankly the collective himself was more worrying.

"Keep Shiela with you," said Clay. He pulled a lump of putty out of his pocket, tearing it in half and turning to the rigger. He quickly but expertly shaped one into a crude figure, about three inches tall. "Take this. I'll be able to get some degree of sense from it - if they jam our communications we'll still a one way channel at least." He cupped the other lump of clay in his hands and blew on it, muttering under his breath and digging the fingers of his hand into the ball. "And this is for emergencies. Keep it in your pocket - when you take it out and flatten it against something, it'll use what it can to make a golem tasked to protect you. Only use it in emergencies though - it's gonna hurt me when you trigger it off"

"Right," said Bunny. "Get back to us a.s.a.p though. We still need to figure what to do with Dragon"

"Gotcha." Clay pulled on his hat over the bandage, and winced. "Wait up, Wrightman." He hurried to the woman who was standing in the hole Bunny had made through the door. She looked like she was itching to get going. They stepped out through the doorway, waiting for the rotor noise of a helicopter to pass overhead. Bunny had made a wide skidmark across the road when he made the turn.

"So," said Clay. "What's on this chip, then?"

[AI]

"Well..." She began, slightly unsure of herself. The question had disarmed her somewhat. "... I'm not entirely sure. But listen, just let me explain..."

"Carry on." He said, in an encouraging tone. She half-smiled at him, after all she'd always been so... Frightened of the mage. Ever since she first saw him, she'd never pegged him to be so laid back.

"Look, I discovered something when I first got here... A murder. That's how I got involved with Werdkund. He was working the case, it was a serial killer." She paused, lowering her eyes to the floor slightly. "Look, Clay, I'm a detective... Nothing gets under my skin more than innocent people getting hurt, and nothing gives me a greater thrill than taking them down. That chip might have some vital leads on this case, I might be able to find out who this fragger is and make him pay..."

She sighed, looking up at him and crossing her arms.

"It might seem petty and insignificant in the middle of all... This. After all, what's one pathetic piece of slime when the whole complex is about to become a warzone? But it matters to me, almost more than this stinking run we're supposedly getting paid for..."

She turned, begining the trek back towards where the fight had taken place. The golem, the cat, the intense pain... God knows how it was all resolved. In fact, since when was Jackson with them? And what about Werdkund, she hoped he was safe...

"I can understand if you want to go back, just don't try and take me with you. I'm bringing this fragger down, even if it kills me."

[VO]

"To be honest," said Clay carefully, "I'm not quite sure what you'd be doing on a run like this anyway, then. Shadowrunning was never about justice."

Wrightman looked at him. "I know. I may not be the World's Greatest Detective, but I've got to do this. It's just... me. Sometimes things are worth more than nuyen."

Clay nodded. "Well, I'm not so sure if we're even going to get anything for this job after all. We got shot down. You seem a smart girl, and if anything I'm impressed to see someone who's obviously a vampire and yet isn't going for everyone's throat. That's not a metaphor, you know." He grinned lopsidedly. "I'll come with you, just to see you don't get hurt. Bunny should be alright without us."

"Thanks. This one isn't your average Johnson anyway."

"She's green," said Clay. "Green enough that Neuwerke wouldn't send her if they had anyone better. This place is fragged. If you ask me as soon as we've sorted out this we should cut our losses and get out - either fade into the civs in one of the busier zones or find a way to get off the arkoblock and fast."

[Nyerguds]

"Now wait just one gruddang minute." the goblin growled. "If you think you're just leaving me here like that you got it wrong. I say we just move on. Their magical thingamajing'll just have ta help 'em find us back."

Bunny frowned, looked at Jackson, and then at the huge skidmarks on the road. The gobbo had a point.. they were practically sitting ducks, in the wrong part of town.

"You're right." Bunny sighed. "There's no way we can survive until they come back. We'll just head into town, spend yer 50 nuyen on some emergency meds or a healing mage, and think of some way of getting on the Ship."

"Sounds good." Jackson said. "Let's get going then, shall we?"

Bunny took the tiny clay figure out of his pocket and put it on the dashboard. the small figure walked around comically, and then sat down, watching through the windshield. Bunny smiled at the small thing as he plugged into the rigger controls.

***

"Populated area, at last." Bunny's voice sounded through the car radio. The mix of vehicles and loads of pedestrians wasn't easy to maneuver through, but that only made Bunny more confident they wouldn't immediately be singled out by helicopters. There were plenty of vans looking like theirs, and with the masses of people walking around them they'd probably even have trouble seeing their license plate.

"All right. Jackson, Dragon... Keep an eye open for neon signs of hospitals, pharmacies or healing mages."

[AI]

"I'd vote for the later option, to be honest." She stated, nodding slightly in agreement. "There's an atmosphere here, can you feel it? As if everyone knows something is coming, deep down inside, yet nobody wants to admit it..."

"Yes, most unsettling." Clay shook his head, heaving his great shoulders as the two walked. "It seems nobody wins when corps go to war."

"Nobody seems to win in war, full stop." She replied, she absent mindedly checked the sky for any sign of helicoptors, Panzers (She remebered the MGJ case all too well), anything. But the skies were clean - In one sense, anyway. "You know, I was frightened of you when I first knew you were on the run..."

"And now?" He inquired.

"I don't know. I really don't." She said. "I trust you, don't get me wrong... But knowing you're a mage, knowing you can look inside my soul... It still sets all my alarm bells ringing."

"I understand. Your life must be a difficult one, constantly hiding in the shadows - Spinning a web of lies to protect yourself and sercure the next meal..."

"Yeah..." It was almost as if he'd taken the words out of her own mouth. "I'm just not used to somebody reading me like an open book. Detective, remember - I was damn good at hiding things before."

"Old habits die hard." He remarked, somewaht flippantly, then looked at her seriously. "We'd best pick up the pace - If the area isn't swarming with Neuwerke milita by now, some street urchin will probably get to your precious chip before we do at this rate."

[Wesforce]

'Got one.' Murmured Jackson. To be more exact, it was Doctor Zeb's Patch'n'Go, a none-too-reputable looking establishment with a walk-in, hobble-out philosophy with only one question asked: Have you got the money upfront?

In this case they did. It was fortunate also that they hadn't come across a first-aid Mage, who would most likely have had some questions about Jackson's "Weird Aura".

'Look at them.' Jackson continued. 'Walking along without a care in the world not even seeming to care that elsewhere on this gruddamned station peopler are fighting and dying just to get a fragging paycheque. Do any of them even care- unhh!'

His mind was confronted again, like a piece of metal being sandblasted, by the images he'd seen. The stars of the deep being plundered...

'How little they all know. Or care.' He grunted.

Jackson, do not be deterred by them, nor by the impurities in your soul, you know what must be done - for yours and our sake. Just as we protected you from the poison men have coloured the waters with, we now protect you from the virus in your lifebeing. But we can't help you forever. You must get to the lowest point of this island-of-metal. Only there will you find salvation.

'Y'all don't take any notice.' Said Dragon, seeing Jackon's face. 'Changin' boy's going all weird on us again. Damn, wish I'd taken some more Vladgrav wi' me.'

***

The thuttering of rotor blades made Clay and Wrightman cautious long before they got back to the area they'd last left her coat. Long tyre marks in the tarmac preceeded them. Once a helicopter went overhead. The dove for cover by the side of the road, but the Assault Troop transport had to have seen them anyway: Even basic IR sensors would let them do that.

Perhaps they were only looking for a Van at the moment, but for whatever reason, they went by and left the two 'runners unopposed.

There was a twinge of Nostalgia as they passed the site they'd been ambushed at earlier. Werdkund's vehicle lay on it's side looking the worse for wear... But still serviceable. Grudd knew it wouldn't last that long, not in this part of town. It even still had an assault rifle in the back. Apparently the presence of airborne N-Squads kept the scavengers at bay.

Wrightman turned suddenly, but couldn't see anything.

'What is it?'

A quick glance with her astral vision confirmed matters. Someone was following them. A Mage.

He stepped out into full view, his white suit spattered with blood.

'Fuoco, you might as well see me now slitch! Following your astral trail was a peekneek! Et ees good to see you again, no? Perhaps Neuwerke will let me back into ze fold once I deliver ze traitors back to zem!'

'Don Ernesto.' Wrightman grimaced.

'First I must make ze call.' Don Ernesto said, and rummaged around inside a coat he had found - Wrightman's coat. He came up with a mobile phone and stabbed a number in with his bloody fingers.

'Do not be moveenk. I can roast you both with a fireball like zat!' He snapped his fingers and behind him, a dumpster exploded with an impressive fireball.

***

Hovering above the sector, Combat Accountant Nicholai Gurevich received an intriguing call on his headware telecom. He spoke to his pilot.

'We haff received ground intel. Head for course 045 by ten.'

He turned to the rest of his N-Squad.

'Da, time to lock und load people. Ve are looking for three targets with magical ability. Our source is considered one of them.'

He pointed his finger forward dramatically.

'N-Squad! Engage!'

[VO]

"Friend of yours?" said Clay. Don Ernesto lifted Wrightman's phone to his ear. She nodded.

"Now would be a really good time for a big fragging golem," Wrightmann whispered. They could hear a helicopter again.

"'ello?" said Don Ernesto, then turned to the two. "No talking! I ponch your face!" He winced and held the phone away from his ear. "Lo siento! Apologías! Stupid runners, they distract me..."

Wish I could make a proper Golem, thought Clay... but I have to touch something. All I've got here is air...which means I've got to be careful.. Silently, with as little movement as possible, he let his mind flow through his fingers into the gaseous molecules around them.

Loose, loose, unable to take form but willing, yes willing to be shaped. Clay slips and flips and twists in nothing, seizing what he can, forming, forging. It is intangible and insubstantial will be good for one try only weak as he is - already as he molds the golem together from nothing it comes apart, empathy tugging at it's form held together by strings of nothing. It is not humanoid no more than it is shapeless, all intention in flux. As Clay shapes he is aware of something eating at his prescence, barely on the astral plane... if he went deeper than perhaps he would know more but then again there are more pressing matters.

There. It is done.

"Si, si!" Don Ernesto continued to speak into the phone, unaware of what Clay was doing. Wrightman watched from the corner of her eye as his body relaxed. She could tell he was performing something with her astral prescence... but what.

A gust of wind bolted from his hands like a racehorse from its box. Papers and empty bottles rattled and twisted in the air as it bore straight for Don Ernesto, rippling with one purpose.

"Mierda!"

The phone went flying as the Spaniard was tripped, bouncing across the floor, the dissipating air golem tossing the coat towards Wrightmann. Immediately as he fell, Clay dropped to his knees, panting, the bandage around his head reddening with blood.

"Deal with him!" he gasped. Wrightman grabbed at her coat and pulled out her heavy pistol, then put a round through Don Ernesto's head.

"Ole!" muttered the dying man with his last breath. The phone squawked on the ground.

[AI]

"Clay!" She slipped her gun back into her pocket, kneeling down next to the hulking form of the mage. "Are you alright?"

"No..." He grunted, gritting his teeth. "But we have to get out of here."

"We can use Werdkund's jeep..." She observed, slipping his arm over her shoulder and using the leverage to help lift him up. "As you don't look in any state to walk..."

"Good thinking..." He said, then eyed the vid-phone that Don Ernesto had so carelessly discarded. "Get the phone, might be useful."

She helped Clay into the vehicle, slipping her coat back on and taking a kind of strange comfort in it. She then scooped up her phone, placing it to her ear as she climbed into the driver side.

"Allo?" She said, in her best Don Ernesto impression.

"Momentary contact break with N-Control." The person on the other end droned bluntly. "Explain."

"It ees the peeg-scom runnars! They thinkeeng they get the drop on Don Ernesto! But I smash their face! Sending the peeg's ronning like the dog!"

"N-Chopper is N-route: Require up to date directions."

"Si! I weel report theengs as they happen, senor!"

She lowered the phone and covered the reciver.

"I think I have them fooled, just keep quiet and hopefully I can throw them off the trail..."

"Lady... In the world of Shadowrunning, nothing is ever that simple."

[Wesforce]

Doctor Zebs took up surprisingly little of the 'runners' time. The stoic dwarf applied some faily decent first aid to Dragon with hardly a word. When he finished the machinelike motion, he waved them out the door with a sarcastic 'Try not to get shot, there's a war on, you know.'

Evidence of such wasn't too forthcoming, save a twofold increase in the number of flights over the station by Naval Helicopters and - so high up in the smog you could barely see them - jet fighters. The tinny rattle and crump of explosions could only just be heard if you concentrated and tried to filter out the noise of all the traffic and bustle of the crowd.

There also seemed to be News Crews everywhere: From the syndicated operations to the independants personified by the cybered-up Combat Correspondents charging around the place screaming frantically into their shoulder cybercam mounts. Bunny swerved his Van to avoid a Grexxon NewsCrew barreling down the cramped road at ten to the dozen. Following them was an NCN Van, firing erratically at them with pistols.

It was starting to look like there were more News Men then actual soldiers.

The sound of rotor blades caused Bunny some consternation, but a simple IFF handshake told him the chopper was yet another media crew, heading for the battlezone. The N-Squads on their tail had seemingly found something better to do.

Fighting their way free of the traffic, Bunny's Van found itself on a straight section of raised road that curved around a smoking chimney stack that rose high into the petrol sky. As it rounded the corner the multitude lights of The Ship came into view, lit up like a fragging non-denominational winter holiday tree. Something rose on a huge fiery column of smoke and streaked into the sky- a SAM. Tracers arced up into the sky after it: An explosion. Out to see, a UCAS Navy tiltwing splashed terminally.

Bunny felt that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he pulled down onto the approach road: The gravid feeling of a world coming up to swallow you with nothing you can do about it. What faced him on the way to the ship was a tree-lined avenue lined with yellow-armoured N-Squaddies, and they all seemed to be staring at him. Minigun emplacements, Anti-Aircraft tanks, a fragging Panzer right next to the fragging ship: Still some distance off yet, but it still felt uncomfortably like staring down the barrel of a gun.

He saw then that this route was impossible. If he'd realised he'd have pulled off the road before he'd come into view and... And what?

Realisation dawned on him. Johnson never intended him to get to the ship.

He stopped, and tried to pull a three-point turn on the narrow road. Two N-Troops saw, looked at eachother and started jogging up, their faces set.

When the Van was halfway turned around, one of the ubiquitous Newsvans had come down the approach road behind him. A young elven woman stepped down, cheery faced, and ran forward, microphone in hand, intent on seeing who this was going into the Neuwerke command centre.

***

Not long now, not long Claudette thought. It was a wild, rough night, but things were still on track. For the second time since this whole thing started, she'd found the situation had completely flipped around. What had started out as a fluke business opportunity had now become a survival necessity. She itched her inflamed skin reflexively.

When she'd been captured, she expected a quick death at Valdez' hands. Maybe a bullet to the back of the neck followed by a long fall of the short sction of the station's communication tower. But no, what she got was a meeting with the furious station commander. He'd asked her what the hell she was doing, and she answered: The same story she'd given to the 'runners she had hired: She was here to retrieve Neuwerke technology to stop them falling into Grexxon hands. It was almost the truth, it only left out the Millions in Nuyen she'd demand for their safe return... Or the Billions she could get from black market sales. Of course there had been flies in the ointment: The crash landing. Patch's orgy of retribution... And getting caught by Valdez. She shrugged.

Valdez took it surprisingly well: The fact that N-Command had written him off and expected him to destroy the station rather than surrender it. Claudette got the impression of a fall guy, a man completely out of the loop of Neuwerke operations. He wasn't so dumb as he'd been thought though. He had his own stake here on this station, over at the supposedly abandoned Deep Drilling Section #17. He confided in Claudette what DDS#17 was involved in, and though she didn't understand magic that much, it impressed her.

Valdez was dead now, the station in command of Neuwerke's Senior Military Officer, Wayde Van Der Tamm. Claudette had a free reign for what she needed to do while the 'runners she had sent caused a distraction at The Ship, and Grexxon landed their forces.

And there was Shatter... She'd keep him along in case she needed a hand at DDS#17.

'Come on Shatter, lets get moving.' She urged.

[LeFire]

Shatter gave a nod, then turned back to Patch and shrugged at the unconscious man.

"Sorry. we both knew the risks when we signed up."

The forearm gun spat.

[Wesforce]

He's even more hardcore than I thought... Claudette thought, astonished. She took a second to regain her composure.

'Alright then, lets go.' She hopped over to the 'plane and eased herself in. Shatter helped her.

Sad day when a fighter jock like me has to be helped into her own 'plane... But frag it. Soon everything will be fine and hunky-dory...

Shatter had strapped himself in, and the canopy closed down. Claudette fired up the navicomp and highlighted the destination she wished to get to, for Shatter's benefit: DDS#17, although it was marked on the map - on all the maps - As 'Disused production facilities' deep in the lawless zone.

'Whats there, Johnson?' Shatter asked.

'The final piece of the puzzle.' Claudette said. She looked at Shatter and gave a weak smile. 'Its almost all over. We get what we need from here, we can go home. And by the way... My name is Claudette.'

The rockets fired, and the ejection pod blasted. Claudette again had that amazing feeling of her own body weighing about twenty times the weight it should, and her neck clicked and burst into fire, worse than the last time she had had to eject.

Great, I can add spinal disorder to the list of things screwed up with me.

The feeling passed, to be replaced with the sick feeling of free fall, slowed somewhat as the survival bubble inflated around her, drifting, drifting...

The landing was anything but gentle, the bubble, although it was weighted to land upside-up, caught on a piece of jagged metal work and tore, spinning end over end, leaving Shatter with a bruised shoulder and Claudette with a sprained knee.

Coughing, she tore herself free from the survival bubble. Again, Shatter had to come help her.

'Thanks. I think we're near.' She told him.

She didn't have to... Shatter felt the charged aura of the air round here, a feeling he'd come to know quite well. The proximity of great magical power barely constrained by wards and shielding, below the Earth's surface.

This is it He realised. The source of what I've been feeling, deep down, ever since I came to this place. Something terrible has been done here... Magic torn from the Earth, being channeled into other forms of energy...

[LeFire]

Shatter twisted his head slowly from side to side, trying to make out the general direction of the power. But it was useless, like trying to pinpoint the source of water from a garden sprinkler while standing blindfolded in it. Whatever was giving off the magical power was blanketing the area with its influence.

He was irritated, to add to his own internal conflict. Shatter had shot Patch through the heart, something that he wouldn't even have considered a day ago. Somehow, there was something that made him do it. Claudette in front of him as he helped her out of the wrecked seat made him think... He had a whole lot of internal reasoning worked out before Claudette had arrived, reasoning on why he needed to get rid of Patch, and dreading it in some way. It all seemed so easy when Claudette told him to get rid of Patch. Maybe it was attraction for the girl?

For a moment, Shatter gave a little mental smile at the thought.

Then it hit him.

She's the closest thing to your boss here. Shatter, you never learn do you? You just followed orders like any dumb soldier. You always dance to the tune of your nearest master. First it was MUNDI. Now its Claudette. And the sorriest thing of all is that you don't know it.

That was enough for him to miss a step. Claudette made to speak, but Shattere just shrugged it off.

"Nothing. The magic here is just a little disorientating."

[SW Freak]

"Indigo, take a look at this set up. Johnson told us to meet her here. Are you thinking what I'm thinking and, if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, you'll know what I'm thinking. I'm thinking maybe you were right."

Then he closed his eyes, and was Indigo. She looked down at the phone, pressed play as she contemplated the rows of troops and nodded. Then she noticed the two guards trotting towards them.

"Bunny. We're about to make some new friends." She looked around, getting her bearings. She knew where the mermaids wanted them to go and, surprisingly, she knew how to get there. She pressed the record button. "Okay, Jackson. We'll play it your way," and then released it. She shoved the phone into her pocket and gripped the handle of the door. "Bunny, I need to know something; if I give you directions to somewhere, can you get me there quick enough that we won't die? And if I get rid of these two, can you get us away fast enough to survive?"

[Wesforce]

The two guards challenged Bunny's Van directly, one dropping down to one knee behind a tree to aim his rifle. The other barked a demand.

'Achtung schweinhund! Sie sind im sanktionierten Territorium während eines Zustands des Korporativen Notfalls! Standplatz und fragging liefern!'

[Wesforce]

Foot to the floor, Wrightman arced round a gentle corner, hitting a scattered ile of bricks in the road. The bump flipped a wheel a good foot in the air, jarred her and Clay's teeth, and Clay's glasses went wonky. He reseated them in a huff.

'I don't believe this 4x4 was designed as an aerial vehicle.'

Wrightman didn't let up any speed.

'I'm not taking any chances, those N-Squadders won't be fooled for long and I don't want an N-rocket up my decidedly non-N arse, got it?'

She swung the wheel round the other direction and pllaied handbrake. The rear of the wheel swung crazily, fishtailing on the cracked road. Clay had barely time to get back on his seat when he was thrown back into it by sheer force of accelration. He wasn't sure if she even knew where she was going, but decided it better not to ask. They were still in the slums. Now and then roads were closed off by barricades or wrecked vehicles, which meant a hasty U-turn. In the near-distancem the lights of the city winked tauntingly, so near, yet so far.

'Ah, Comrade Don Ernesto, where exactly are you at this time?. Came the voice over Wrightman's phone. She remembered to answer in her pidgin Spanish.

'Er, location is... Mierda... Am passing some kind of beeldeengs, headeeng a 'loeste... Es los nachos... Uh, et ees very... decrepit.

+Da, standby. Will advise.+ click

The vehicle's radio crackled a moment later.

+Comrade N-Jeep #697, vere are you at this time?+

'Mierda, I told you, passing some beeldeengs headeeng west! I-'

She realised her mistake.

+Nyet Comrade! You are heading nowhere!' Chuckled the voice on the other end of the radio.

'They've fixed us!' Said Wrightman. Clay, tactically, remained silent.

In no time at all, the N-copter whose rotors never seemed to have faded from the background noise, was bearing down on them again. The spotlight flickered back and forth as it matched speed with the racing N-Jeep. An abandoned refinery offered some cover - Massive overhead pipes blotted out the light for a moment.

'We're almost home free.' Wrightman gritted her teeth.

The N-Copter started firing its 20mm chin-gun. Holes the size of human heads started being punched though the overhead pipes and the cracked floor below...

The road forked, veering right towared the commercial district, and left to the underground access tunnel system.

[AI]

Wrightman regarded the two routes - One led to a place not-unlike the one that she'd originally landed in. Bustling with people, tourists and businesses - The other was an underground tunnel.

She weighed up her options. The N-troopers were obviously insane, and she had a sneaking suspicison that any civilians killed or mained would end up as N-ecessary losses. A war was coming, after all.

No, she couldn't risk that - Couldn't risk seeing anymore innocent by-standers hurt or killed, especially not on her account.

"Frag this for a game of Daisaka Law Enforcement Operatives..." She muttered to Clay. "... We're going underground!"

She jerked the steering wheel to the left, the N-jeep's tires sqealed under the sudden change - But they'd have to grit and bare it. She raced down into the tunnels, finally free from the rattling guns of the chopper and it's over-bearing domiance of the sky.

The tunnel it's self was a two-lane access tunnel, lit by row upon row of flickering or broken fluorescent lights on either side. A barrier ran either side, behind which were several doors that probably led nowhere. It was also incredibly old. Reeking of rust and mould which, now she thought about it, congregated in patchy spots along the wall and ceiling.

"Now what?" Rumbled Clay, his breathing heavy in her ear.

"I... I don't know!" She admitted, hands gripped tight on the wheel. "We'll have more N-fraggers coming down on us in minutes, and I'm not Bunny. They'll shoot us to pieces before I even get a chance to swerve..."

"Those side-doors." He said. "Think they go anywhere?"

"No." She replied bluntly. "Probably just storage cupboards or tool lockers..."

"Hm..." Clay rumbled, stroking his chin. "They're looking for the jeep, not us..."

"Yeah, an..." Wrightman blinked. "You don't think..."

"Perhaps, the N-squaddies can't be chasing us if they're chasing an autonaved jeep." He smiled weakly, Wrightman returned the gesture - The man was either clearly deluded or a genius.

"Are you ok to make the jump?" She asked, setting the jeep to cruise mode, hopefully it'd keep going straight - No matter what.

"I'll manage."

"Then pick a door, cause we're leaving!"

[Wesforce]

The N-Jeep slowed down to a manageable speed. Wrightman jumped off and landed perfectly thanks to her Vampyric agility. Clay had some trouble overcoming his instinct for self-preservation - He made the mistake of looking down and seeing the plascrete rushing by before he jumped.

Oh frag it. He jumped. the ground rushed up and knocked all the air out of him. He span, tumbled. Something in his ankle popped with a grisly wet sound. He jumped to his feet immediately and tested the pain - Manageable, to a trained mind like his, but annoying.

'You okay?' Wrightman called. She was a fair distance away due to Clay's hesitation

'Twisted ankle. No matter.'

The N-jeep roared on obediantly, the autonav keeping speed to a sensible, regulated 40 miles per hour. Wrightman had just set it for the end of this tunnel, the default route. Since the tunnel ran the far length of the island and came out by The Ship - at a security checkpoint guarded by IWS tracked drones armed with 15.5mm Heavy Machineguns - It had a way to go yet.

As soon as the engine tone faded from immediate hearing, it was replaced by another, far deeper one.

Something heavy and armoured this way comes...

'Come on!' She said, and vaulted the barrier. The door she found was locked. A quick pull with her advanced strength made short work of the maglock and tore it free from the wall, revealing a small alcove full of cables and valves, with circuit diagrams and a tool locker. Clay laboured to make the distance, and he did - Wrightman slammed the door and held it shut. The two of them were crammed into an uncomfortably close space... And too late Wrightman realised the hunger was upon her again.

Her teeth lengthened into the lethal, vein-opening canines. When they did, they rattled as the roar of an approaching combustion engine filled the air.

21 tons of a BTR-120 Neo-SU made APC in Neuwerke colours thundered down the tunnel, bristling with an autocannon, machinegun and grenade launchers. Tools clanked against eachother, wires clicked, the whole tunnel seemed to shake and choking diesel fumes filled the air as the N-Squad followed the transponder fix on the N-Jeep...

***

The N-Guards, having had no reaction from Bunny's Van, walked up to it and rather roughly yanked the doors open.

'OUT! OUT NOW! SCHNELL SCHNELL ACHTUNG BLITZKRIEG!'

Bunny's cables were ripped painfully from his head and the dazed rigger bundled to the ground, suffering dumpshock. As it faded, his eyes widened with shock as he found himself staring up the guard's subamachine barrel.

Guard #2 had quite a shock as he hauled back the Van's side sliding door, being confronted with the bandaged Dragon, the monstrous-looking Jackson and-

'Sweet Jovis thats one big fragging Cat' Said the News Reporter from the Van, crowding behind the guard to get a good look at proceedings. The Cameraman next to her focused and started to beam out live.

'Mrrrow.' Said Sheila, sleepily. She started to stretch her front legs out.

'ALARM!' Screamed the N-guard, and did what he'd been trained to do in every emergency:

First, estimate the cost of what caused the emergency.

Secondly - Open fire!

Ceramic bullets zipped and spanged around the interior of the Van. Sheila was hit three, four, five times as the guard exhausted the whole clip in panic, spattering blood over the upholstery...

[SW Freak]

"Thank you," enthused Indigo, and moved forward.

She twisted the gun out of his grip with her left hand and grabbed his throat with her right. Machinery whirred as her cyber arm flexed and, with a strangled cry, the N-guard collapsed into a gurgling heap. The other guard swore and spun to bring his weapon to bear. Indigo threw her own rifle overarm. It hit the Neuwerker's helmeted head with a crack and he stumbled back. The cybered-runner took her oppertunity and darted forward. A burst of bullets slammed into her ribs, but the coat didn't let anything through. Even so, she gave a cry as the impact shook her already injured ribcage. She dropped to her knees and looked up into the guard's rifle.

She threw her right hand forward as fast as she could, the metal glinting as a it drew nearer the machine gun. The N-squaddie's finger squeezed, mechanisms within the gun moved, it spat...

And there was the dull sound of metal meeting metal. The momentum shook Indigo's arm right up to her shoulder but she was already pushing herself to her feet, pushing his gun up with her. Her left hand scrabbled around the trigger as she jammed the barrel of the weapon under the guard's jaw. His eyes widened and he attemped to push her away. But her grip was strong, and the trigger clicked back. There was a spray of red and the guard fell.

"Come on, Bunny." The rigger shuddered as Indigo helped him up. "Come on, Bunny! We've got incoming!"

She all but threw him into the van and hopped in herself. She didn't know if he was okay to drive, but the van was the most defensible position around, though it would have been nicer had it been moving.

[Wesforce]

'Holey moley' Said the News Cameraman, taking a step back from the carnage and using his DNI-Camera, taking a good detailed look at the guard who'd taken a bullet under the jaw. Ceramic ammunition is nasty stuff: When fired against hard targets - Such as a vehicle, a wall, an armoured soldier or anything tough, it disintegrates, doing little-to-no damage save that caused by it's kinetic force. When fired into something with yield - lets say, flesh - They expand out into something halfway between a bullet and a tunnel-boring machine. As it was, half the guard's head was soup. The body kicked and squirmed around, trying to stem the blood gushing out from under the jawline... He was still alive...

So was the other guard, the one with the crushed throat. His helmet had come off when he'd dropped, and visibly choking, he thrashed about for something on his webbing. Since the station was on a war-footing, the guards had extra equipment and ammunition. The guard snatched something off his belt and threw it, then collapsed once and for all: It landed in the back of Bunny's Van through the still-open door. A small round object, the spoon clicked off it as it landed and a digital timer started clicking down from 5.

'Uh oh.' Said the News Reporter and her cameraman.

'Back to the Van?'

'Yeah, we should.'

The two sprinted away from the grenade, but the Cameraman couldn't resist filming back over his shoulder as he did so.

***

'Well, we're here.' Claudette said at the unassuming-looking building. 'You still holding up?'

'Yeah.' Said Shatter, checking his forearm gun.

'Good. Be ready...'

Claudette examined the wall closely for a good few seconds, as if she knew something was there but not quite sure whereabouts. Running her fingers over the surface, she came to a small, almost miniscule seam. Obliging, Shatter stepped forward and, using his Spellbreaker, flicked the panel off, revealing a standard Credstick reader.

Wordlessly, Claudette inserted a Credstick - Valdez' Credstick. Part of the wall sunk in and slid back on smoothly humming motors revealing an empty, unlit room. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, Claudette and Shatter saw nothing but scattered rubble and dust on the metal gridded floor. Claudette stepped in, while Shatter checked each of the corners of the blank, featureless room.

'I take it there's more to this room.' Said Shatter, dry.

'Yes.' Claudette produced a small remote-control, and pressed the button.

Red lighting filled the room immediately - Which was good. It didn't ruin Shatter's night vision.

'Going down.' Claudette pressed another button.

The floor lurched, then the floor dropped out of the room started and descending into what Shatter saw was a milled-plasteel shaft (with, he noted, a steel-runged ladder inset to the wall for emergencies).

The well-concealed elevator picked up pace. Soon the room above them was but a fading afterimage. The red light stayed with Shatter and Claudette. Shatter couldn't make out the source.

'Micro lighting. Hundreds of tiny low-level LEDs bathing us in omni-directional light. Like it?'

It was disconcerting, as if the light came from all around. There were almost no shadows. Faster and faster the elevator dropped, until, at last, it began slowing again.

Claudette tensed. Shatter sensed this (in fact he was becoming adept in her ways and mannerisms).

The elevator pulled in behind a chain-link wall and docked at a waystation flooded with muddy blinking yellow light. The air was stale with old oil and sweat: Sweat from the two guards and a civilian that faced them as the chain-link wall rolled back.

'HALTEN SIE! Identification?' Demanded the senior N-guard, a steely faced Elven man going to grey at the temples.

'I am acting station Administrator Claudette Neuwerke.' Replied Claudette. 'Here is my identification, and that of the previous station Administrator.'

The guard took it while the younger man kept them covered with a drum-fed submachinegun, a nervous tick tugging at her jaw.

The senior guard fed the 'sticks into a reader, and grunted. He turned to the civilian and barked an order.

'Read them.'

The Civilian, another Elf, a woman in her 30's dressed in an elegant green silk skirt, court shoes and a functional blouse, moved forward and waved a well-manicured hand slowly in a figure-of-8.

'Clear your minds of all negative thought.' She instructed, beginning the incantation of a thought-reading spell.

[SW Freak]

"Drekk drekkity drekk drekk..." muttered Indigo, fumbled with the explosive.

She dropped to her knees, her cyber arm cutting thin scars into the van's floor as she scooped up the grenade. Three seconds, and her arm was rolling forward. Two, and she had reached the end of her swing, the grenade beginning its own journey. One second left, and not enough time. The tail end of the blast plucked her from her position and slammed her against the wall of the van, knocking the wind from her lungs. On the other side, there was a rather organic sound as the grenade finished off the poor fraggers Indigo had mangled.

"Bunny. Snap your skinny elf ass out of it and fragging DRIVE!"

More soldiers were moving now, three of them trotting into the street to set up their heavy machine guns, a machine gun soldier covering each one. Indigo opened fire with her three-quarters full clip, scoring one direct hit to a chest and a glancing hit on one of the heavy machine gunnners.

"Yo! Goblin-dude! Give me a hand!"

[Desolator12]

"With Fragging Pleasure" Dragon said, drawing his pistol and, using the van's body as a shield, began picking off the enemies... He knew that the area between the van and them was a veritable killzone: No claws would help him out...

...however, he decided to get his 'Charged' Claw out and turn it on, beginning to heat it up... hoping that by the time someone decided that they could rush the van, it would be hot enough to both sever their heads and cauterize the wound.

"Gruddamnit Bunny, Wake the frag up and DRIVE!"

He managed to take out one of the men setting up a heavy-machinegun, while grazing the shoulderarmor of his guards... at this rate, his ammo wouldn't last... Then, he thought of something. He grabbed a flask of some liquid from his pack and an empty bottle, and tore some of his street-clothes. He proceded to pour some of the fluid into the bottle and stuff some of the clothing into the neck, sumarily soaking it.

"I need a light!"

[SW Freak]

"Pass it over."

Indigo accepted the cocktail, and moved forward, pressing herself against the wall closest the door. She glanced out, made a quick guess as to the range and spun around the corner. The third overarm throw in as many minutes sent the bottle tumbling towards the enemies. Then she quickly dropped to one knee, pressed the stock of her rifle against her shoulder and opened fire. There was a crashing sound and the glass container cracked into a hundred fragments, the liquid inside igniting as the bullet passed through it.

What hit the soliders was an expanding wall of clinging flame. Three of them became human torches, flailing and dropping. Another tried desperatly to pat out the fire hanging onto his shoulder while a fifth tried to extinguish his leg. A full auto fire sweep courtesy of Indigo took out a kneecap or two before the weapon clicked.

"I am REALLY getting to hate that sound!" cried Indigo, darting back into the cover of the van. "Good plan, gobbo. I need you to cover for me though. You got another gun on you?"

[Wesforce]

With med-techs running up behind them with fire-extinguishers for the burning N-Squadders, the tripod-mounted machineguns opened up. Two of them. Heavy muzzle flare and a brutal industrial hammering was the rhythm as Bunny's Van danced to it, rolling under a succession of hits as fire swept back and forth. The Van's skin was tough, but not tough enough. The windscreen blew out, the rear door was blown off it's hinges.

Dragon dropped to the floor. It felt like the Van was being ripped to pieces. He realised that, after what Jackson had done to their comrades, no way in hell were they going to even contemplate taking the 'runners alive.

When he next looked, another one of those massive 8-Wheel APCs was moving into position, next to the Machine-Gunners. If it opened up with its Cannon or Anti-Tank missiles...

Jackson's heart sank.

Another N-Squaddie dropped prone next to the machine-gunners. He'd set down a very familiar-looking and long heavy rifle on it's bipod and was chambering a round.

'DOWN!'

A solid WHIPCRACK sound split the air and temporarily deafened all the 'runners, leaving a trailing vortex of smoke in it's wake.

There was a hole right the way down the body of the Van, as if someone had taken a vehicle-sized apple-corer to it. It was only by the chancest luck none of the 'runners had been hit. Sheila wasn't moving - Bunny could only hope that her Vampiric regeneration wouldn't fail her now.

Would the Van still run with a round through part of the engine block? Battery fluid was starting to leak out over the floor.

There was other fluid leaking.

Some of Dragon's precious Vladgrav had poured out onto the Van's floor. If it caught light...

***

In a small syndicated bar in the commercial district, a woman mulled over her double scotch on the rocks. A large 3DTV was the centrepiece of the empty room. She ran a finger around the edge of the plasti-glass, thinking, and took a slug of the whisky. Cheap synthetic stuff, it burned her throat on the way down, and not in the right way.

The 3DTV showed realtime images of some fight happening somewhere or other around here. It was crazy... Men fighting and dying a mile or so away, life going on as normal here. Kind of.

She was the only person in this bar: Everyone else had either gone home, ran for the evacuation Hovercraft or... Gone to get a ringside seat for the invasion.

It was sickening, the ultimate manifestation of mankind's bloodlust. Or maybe she'd just had too much to drink.

Or maybe not enough.

She reached for the whisky again, and gagged. It tasted awful! She'd once had the displeasure of walking past a site where a van had dropped its load of rotting, diseased fish-carcasses over the access road... This reminded her of that.

But wait... It wasn't the whisky. It was a stench so overpowering in her immediate vicinity that it overcame even the rough taste of the alcohol. There was motion behind her, a figure in uncomfortably close proximity. She turned... Too fast. The world span and wanted to fall off it's spinning top. Arms caught her under the armpits as whoever it was stopped her falling off her bar stool.

'Careful now.'

Her face fell into his armpit. She gagged.

'Jeshush Chwisht... You need a shower.'

'Oh, there'll be showers...' in blood, thought the man, ecstatically.

Behind the man's back, a gleaming surgical scalpel dropped from his sleeve into his waiting hand.

[AI]

Wrightman breathed in and out heavily, trying to keep her hands anywhere but on Clay's body. But it wasn't enough, she was pressed so close to him... He was so fragging damn close! Her body brushed against his with every breathe, no matter how hard she tried to keep her back stiff against the wall and her stomach firmly in. It's almost like her body was taunting her, telling her to take it... But couldn't.

Clay's a friend damnit! He's a friend! A friend! We don't kill friends, and Clay is a FRIEND. He's a friend, he's a friend, he's a friend, he's a...

She repeated the words over, and over again, keeping her eyes shut so tight that it hurt. But it was no good, she could still smell him... Hear his hard thudding hard in his chest... Feel his warm, juicy flesh against her - It was like being tied down, and having your favourite meal pushed under your nose and then rubbed into your face. Only stronger. There was no rationale involved in this, just desire... Just instinct...

BUT CLAY IS A FRIEND! She protested, all but screaming at herself. And we do NOT eat FRIENDS!

Despite this, a globule of saliva formed at the edge of her mouth, rolling down her chin...

... And dropping onto Clay's coat.

[Desolator12]

"FRAG!" Dragon yelled, grabbing the bottle of vladgrav, corking it, and putting it into his pack quickly, as well as grabbing his shocked claw, and handing his pistol over to Indigo. "It can be used as a melee weapon, if you haven't guessed it... don't touch the spikes"

... he had to figure out some way of getting out of this somewhat alive... the uber-kitty was out of commission, there were thousands of bullets aimed their way, and there was a deadly cocktail of Vladgrav and Battery Fluid threatening to engulf the vehicle in flames.

"Where's a friendly face when ya need one" Dragon sighed...

[LeFire]

Shatter felt the first cool touches of the mage's mindprobe, and knew that he had to act fast. A typical spellbreaker iron curtain defence wouldn't work here... not without alarming the mage when she realised that her probe wasn't getting through.

Instead, Shatter expanded his mind to form a channel to Claudette. Having spent more time with her than the other competing mage, the rapid deployment of his mental facilites outsped that of the probe mage, forming up the mental channels before the N-mage could do so. Rapidly, he formed a receiver channel that deftly and subtly guided the mental probe away from key areas of Claudette's mind, only allowing it to pick up subtle points of her personality. Along the way, he also gently but firmly suppressed Claudette's instinctive but unrefined mental blocks, allowing his own to take precedence. Then he guided the whole stream towards his mind. At the same time, subtly graded funnels and diversions formed in his head, each one carefully aligned to allow free flow through his own defences while keeping the alien probes away from the secured regions. The goal was not to stop or slow the N-mage's probe, but to control, divert and flavour it without letting her notice.

He allowed the N-mage's probe - the one that was specifically meant for him - to flow through his prepared lines and diversions, strongly flavouring the probe with faked sexual interest in the mage, knowing that the strong primal urge would simply overwhelm any other hints of deceit the N-mage might pick up through his powerful mental defences. For an additional flourish, he added a vivid mental image of him and Claudette having graphic sex before applying an unsubtle mental hammer to his modified thoughts to mimic that of a man trying his best to conceal the information from the other woman. The N-mage seemed to be the sort that would be turned off by such thoughts... so much the better. Finally, Shatter guided the returning stream through a series of delaying zigzags of thought as Claudette's diverted stream was just entering his mind.

This time, Shatter added a strong, sharp dose of duty, impatience and irritation as befitting that of a high ranking officer, making it radically different from his own modified thought stream. Flavouring it with slight overtones of mental discomfort caused by the disconcerting effect of the tunnel lights, Shatter added a generous dash of faked dislike - of Claudette being repulsed by her unattractive guard. With luck, it might generate some sympathy in the N-mage's mind and cloud her judgement. Then Shatter swept the modified stream back towards Claudette so that the returning flow would have the right direction.

Finally, he delayed the return stream from his own mind to arrive shortly after Claudette's, the slowing deliberately calculated to make him seem stupid and insignificant. That should mask all the heavy modifications that he had to make. He kept a calming shield over Claudette's mind, hoping that she would understand that he had the situation under control.

[Nyerguds]

(OOC: agh dammit... couldn't someone just make em frikking move? I've been a bit busy :()

Bunny cursed. He'd had a few too many rigger shocks lately, and it wasn't doing him much good. He plugged into the rigger control, and assessed the situation.
The damage report showed him which parts of the engine block were damaged. He compensated by releasing one damaged cylinder, working through the rigger commands to stop its fuel feed and to find the emergency control disengaging it from the active cylinders. The battery was leaking too, but apparently still functional for the moment... he managed to restart the engine right away. He also stopped channeling power to his Cattle Prod of Doom. The lethal device was probably charged to the max by now anyway.

Three cilinders left... he thought, as he compensated the system for the new engine configuration. [/i]Should be enough.[/i]

"Hang on!" he shouted as they sped off. Lacking one cylinder, it costed him some time to get at full speed, but luckily, the rifle seemed to take some time to reload.

Before them, Bunny saw the news van speeding away. He immediately followed them, throwing everything he had at his three precious cylinders to catch up on them.

From experience, he knew most of these 'hot news' reporter vans were armored. Heck, the reporters themselves wore bullet-proof jackets most of the time. Stylish ones, but still bullet proof. Heck, idiots like them had been responsible for the release of an entire line of Kevlar Fashion. Not that Bunny cared about any of that at the moment. They had reached a part of the road that was wider than the last part of the approach route, and he had managed to get next to the news van. He'd get in front of them any second now.

He saw the angry looks of the reporters, who were figuring out he was planning to use them as shield. They sped up, trying to stay in front, but didn't succeed.

Stubbornly defying their role as shield for the 'runners, the driver stopped the van dead in its tracks. Bunny saw through one of the still undamaged tiny cameras that the reporter woman was yelling and gesturing wildly at the driver as he slowed down. Suddenly, the driver seemed to realize what she meant, and the news van gained speed again. But not fast enough... the next moment, they were ran off the road by the eight-wheeled monster APC.

"Ohh frag..." Dragon said. "That's not good..."

"Don't worry." Bunny's voice came from the radio. "Ramming that van did slow them down a bit. We'll be off in traffic soon enough."
"Still." Jackson said. "Not like we'll be save there. We don't quite look like any normal van anymore."
"I know." Bunny replied. "You said you needed to go somewhere... seeing as we don't seem to have anywhere else to go, it seems like the best option. Guide me. And somebody clean up that stuff in the van, before we catch fire."

A bit later, they'd managed to leave the approach road completely. The huge APC didn' try to follow them into heavy traffic, not letting a single van lure it away from the ship it was ordered to protect. Bunny hoped the N-Heli's would be too busy with the real war to come after them.

"Right Jackson... where to now?"

[Desolator12]

Dragon tore off another bit of his street clothing to clean the Vladgrav off the floor of the van, tossing the soaked rag out of one of the shattered windows. They were out of danger for now, and his Claw was getting hot, so he turned off the power to it.

"Next time, get me closer to them... if at all possible... and way to save us at the last minute there Bunny"

[Nyerguds]

"Oh DO SHUT UP!" Bunny said through the radio. "If it wasn't for me you'd all be dead three times over! I'm having a splitting headache at the moment. If just one of you had gotten the simple idea of grabbing that news van we wouldn't be in this situation! But nooo, I gotta do everything here! You just shut up and get your napalm out of my van!"

"Hey," Dragon said. "I paid my part of the van, ya know!"

"Right, that's it. I've had two dumpshocks today, I've been attacked by a vampire and I've seen him fry before my very eyes. The van I'm driving has been blasted to pieces, and on top of that my cat's been shot." Bunny's voice sounded more unnatural through the radio as the rigger control had trouble converting his angry thoughts correctly. "This is my final warning guys. DO NOT PISS OF THE DRIVER! Now Jackson, will you please tell me where I'm supposed to go?"

[SW Freak]

Indigo looked mournfully back. Her baby rifle had been taken off her some time ago, and some fragger had just shot at her with it. Well, at least the little piece of drekk that had taken it seemed to have broken his shoulder. Guess Neuwerk training didn't cover the use of super rifles.

"Hmm? She said, as she heard Bunny direct his question at her. "Oh. Right. One minute." She blinked. "Right, was someone saying something?" asked Jackson.

"I said, where to now?"

"Oh. Let's see..." As before, the knowledge was still there. "Left up here, then the third right..."

And so on. It took them a while to reach the entrance Deep Drilling Station #17, but at least they did so without being bothered unduly by any more N-squaddies. Bunny pulled the van up in one of the many little alcoves that dotted the place and Jackson slid open the door.

"You two should stay here. If any trouble arrives, don't hesitate to frag off. Try to find the others, and get off this thing, 'cause I'm gonna do my best to make sure it goes sky high."

"Why are you so intent on blowing this place up?"

"It's just what I have to do. Take care, Bunny. And get paid. Thanks for the gun, Dragon."

With that, the Cyber Skitzo turned and pelted into the building.

[VO]

"Wrightman..."

Clay did not have much experiance with vampires. He knew that they drank blood, and he was pretty sure that if this one happened to drink his blood he'd probably end up a vampire too. Or dead. He wasn't sure which one was worse...

...both were probably as much a bad option as revealing themselves to the N-troops outside.

Frag Frag Frag Frag

"Wrightman... Wrightman..." The detective's eyes had taken on a glazed look, and saliva dripped from her mouth "I'm a friend... a friend." Clay's mind raced. He fumbled through his pockets, looking for anything to distract her.

Should have bought some blood oranges back at the market, he thought, then realised how innapropriate that would be as he stared into the face of death. He could open the door, let Wrightman loose on the soldiers, but that would probably just get them fragged... he needed anything... something.

Then he hit on it. Squirming in the tight space, he reached up to his head and wrenched off the bandage. It was wet with blood, and oozy half-clotted red dripped down his forehead. Wrightman couldn't keep her eyes off the trickle which ran down over his left eye. Clay wiped it up as best he could with the fabric.

"Here..." he thrust the bundle of sodden bandages into her hands. "Chew on this. It's not as good as me, but it will keep you sated until we can get out of here... hopefully."

[Desolator12]

"Yeah, well I want it back, ya hear! Don't go loosing it, or you're gonna owe me more than the damn thing costs!" Dragon said as Indigo left...

"Right...well, what now?" Dragon said, guessing that Bunny could hear him clearly enough. "I could try to see if I can bend some of these panels back into place with my leg...y'know...make it look less conspicuous to those damn soldiers."

[Wesforce]

(GM: Claudette left the building wide open SW ;) - Jackson would be able to see the empty space where the floor used to be and the shaft going down...)

'They're clean.' Sniffed the Mage, drawing back with a hint of distaste. Both guards visible relaxed, and the older one's whole manner suddenly changed with regard to the two. It was a sign of long-term aquiescence to Neuwerke's network of Administrators and Accountants that controlled and applied costs to every aspect of an N-Squaddie's life, from the amount of bathroom time an employee was allowed to take to the cost of each bullet fired.

'Don't bother.' Claudette said. 'We're in a hurry.'

'Yes Ma'am.' Said the Guard. Showing deference to both Claudette and Shatter, he stepped aside for them both to get to the second stage of their journey: A small plastic transparent capsule just big enough for three people to stand up in and strap themselves into with wall-mounted brackets. Once in, the door closed and the capsule went onto internal oxygen. A heavier door closed over the capsule, locking it into the slipway.

The younger guard moved over to a control station and plugged in his ID Credstick.

'Stand by.' He cautioned. 'Warming induction coils.'

Shatter felt the capsule's weight shift as the capsule's magnetic coupling's became powered and the capsule was free to float against the repulsing rails.

'Vacuum pump engaged.'

But Shatter and Claudette didn't hear that. They were busy coping with the incrediby G-Force as the capsule shot down the pipe, deeper and deeper into the ground. Eventually the shock of the sudden acceleration wore off, yet Shatter had more to deal with. The feeling was back. The sense of magic was overpowering, filling him with elation and nausea in equal amounts.

'Don't bug out on me Shatter.' Claudette shouted. 'I need your talents for this.'

Eventually the capsule slowed to a halt, and docked with its destination. Claudette unbuckled herself and moved to help Shatter who was looking slightly uncoordinated. He waved her off: He didn't need her help. She got the door open. A slight hiss of escaping air...

The Cavern was huge. So much so that the word itself didn't do it justice. Shatter quickly realised that it was bigger than the station itself, high above. The air was rank and smelt of the rot of the sea, but there was a breeze from air srcubbers. Overpressure, he realised, keeping the sea from rushing in. His ears throbbed at the thought of it.

Elsewhere a huge section of cave was sealed with a concrete plug, into which was set a circular spiral door, an airlock. A submarine docking point, which must have been how Neuwerke had gotten all their heavy equipment down here. JIM Mechanical diving suits, tracked boring drones, gantries and machinery which supported a walkway strecthing off into the distance where huge stalagmites and stalactites surrounded a great, deep central pit. All the machinery, and miles and miles of heavy, thick heavy gauge power cabling converged. The air was thick with crackling ozone as well as the magic.

Claudette was just as taken aback as Shatter was.

'No wonder Valdez didn't to give up the station.'

Next to the capsule were sets of orange overalls, hard hats, torches and emergency oxygen rigs, two small six-wheeled open-topped electricars as well as radios plugged into a charging point on the wall.

One of the radios beeped with an incoming transmission: Claudette picked it up.

'Report.'

'Capsule control here, Herr Administrator. Ve haff unathorized activity at the surface entrance. Some kind of half-cybered lunatic and a heavily shot-up Van'

The other runners... They'd survived and somehow tracker her down...

Claudette's first thought was maybe Shatter had tipper them off. She looked at him, wincing from the closeness of such overpowering magic.

No... no not him. Too professional. SO what then? However they'd found her, she had to move quick.

'Shatter, we have to get going. This is where you're talent comes in. We need to go down into that pit, the source of all the magic.'

The magic...

It washed against him, throbbing, emanating concentric waves that carried with them the emotions of those who'd had it taken away from them. The mermaids, the life of the sea, awakened and unawakened...

[AI]

Wrightman felt some sembalence of reality and reason return to her as she chewed on the sodden rags. Clay was right, it wasn't as good as fresh - In fact it hardly sated her at all. It was akin to her first night as a vampire, where she'd tried to stockpile and store it - Live on the cold blood of her friend. But it hadn't worked, it was bland and tasteless, doing nothing for her.

Luckily this was a bit more effective, being still warm and fresh, yet she could barely keep her eyes off Clay's head as it oozed. Clay noticed this and wiped part of the bandage across his head again. She accepted it hungrily, savouring what taste she could suck from the hyper-absorbant fabric - Luckily sucking was what vampires did best.

Yet it was still a dangerous game he played. If she aquired a taste... Could she stop herself even when they were out of the confined space they'd managed to trap themselves in?

"Cuh-Clay..." She gasped, forcing out the words despite wanting to use her mouth for other things. "... Need.... Out..."

[VO]

Well, I have a choice between a hungry vampire and the G-troops which I hope aren't outside that door...

Clay chose the door.

He took the handle and turned it, opening it just enough for him to see back up the roadway. Neocrete and metal railings, skidmarks and bits of tiny organic debris. Silence.

If he had had the spy golem still, he'd have used that to investigate. Instead he just stepped out, and looked up and down, checking for the threat that wasn't there.

"Wrightmann? Danger's past, ok? We better get going..."

[SW Freak]

"Drekk, frag, motherfragging sons of drekking drekk." The litany of swears continued on for several moments before a metal claw appeared on the lip of the pit.

Jackson hauled himself bodily over the edge and stood up, right back where he had started. He had wandered down the ladder to have a look, and seemingly there were two guards and someone else down there. The entire structure felt wrong, somehow. Somehow eeirly surreal. Either way, he doubted he could handle everything that would most likely be down there. He would need help. Moving quickly, Jackson made his way back to the van.

"Right, I know I just made my little speech about doing this on my own, but I need some help. Dragon, can you give me a hand? Uh...tell you what, if we don't get flattened, I'll give you a cut of my pay."

Oh grud! What have those drekkin' fishes done to me? I'm...ugh. Kind.

[Wesforce]

Shatter and Claudette were on one of the little six-wheeled deck-scoots, humming along the flattened, metal-grate-floored part of the cave. Shatter couldn't believe how huge the hollowed-out space was, looking up at dangling stalagmites high in the air. It simply couldn't have been a naturally occurring cave. He closed his eyes, big multicoloured spots still appeared inermittently. Claudette tapped him on his hard-hat-covered head.

'C'mon, hold it together Shatter.'

She had her pocket-secretary in one hand, look at diagrams and schematics as she drove one-handed, following a huge line of power cables as thick as the trunk of an old willow tree as it snaked towards the pit.

Once there she parked the electricar and jumped off, running up the steps to a walkway that ran over the pit. In the centre, control consoles and a small cherry-picker-type lift. She looked down, awed by what she saw.

Like a small golden mountain stretching down beneath her. Huge, glowing white-gold-white with unearthly power. No she corrected herself. Earthly power. The sum total of all the power of the north sea, distilled in the form of magical metal - Orichalcum.

The huge glowing mountain stretched down beneath the pit - The pit she realised, was just the opening to an even greater cavern, probably filled totally with more of the precious metal. That much magic concentrated in one place, she knew, was immeasurably powerful. The kind of power that could cause city-swamping tidal waves all over the Atlantic coast, or could cause a magical conflagration that would make hiroshima look like a firecracker.

Power she thought, looking at the heavy-grade machinery that stretched down into the pit.

At the very tip of the mountain, a circle of eight large, carved Orichalcum stones orbited in a circle around eachother silently, like magnets repelling eachother. A circle of thickly bunched copper wiring enclosed the spinning circle, and heavy coils kept that circle in place.

Valdez found a way to convert magical energy into electricity! She'd been told as much, but didn't quite believe it. Now the truth was below her, and didn't seem quite so far fetched. Valdez had been powering the Arkoblock off this power, and keeping the Neuwerke funds that were earmarked for nuclear fuels and reactor maintenance, the N-Board had never suspected... Sneaky. This was what the original Johnson had been after, she realised. He hadn't mentioned it in his nots - or at least the notes she'd been able to read, but he'd hinted at some great source of power.

Perhaps Grexxon knew it too! That was why they seemed to be willing to sacrifice however many men and planes and ships it would take to control this station!

Well, they're welcome to it Claudette thought. She didn't know much about magic, but just one of these stones might be enough to get some Mage to cure her of her condition. Even if not, she could sell it and get herself fixed up conventionally. With all the money she'd get she might even be able to fund a cloning project and clone herself!

There had to be far more power here than the corps could ever want. Enough power to fund whole cities, not just one measly little arkoblock. They wouldn't miss just one stone, like the ones orbiting the tip of the mountain...

'Shatter, I need you.' She said.

***

Clay and Wrightman wasted no time in getting to the city. Explosions and the rattle of gunfire filled the air - The Grexxon Units must have reached the area of The Ship by now, and Neuwerke were making a fight of it. The city was left pretty juch unattended - Once or twice they saw Armed N-squaddies running here and there, but also Maroon-and-white Alpha Assault Servies shock troopers, walking around like they owned the place, posing for the cameras. It was absurd in a way only modern corporate warfare could be.

'Well, where do we...' Clay began, but Wrightman's hackles were up. He could tell, she had that same deranged look in her eyes, the one she had when she lusted after-

'Blood. Nearby.' She began walking towards a bar. A shabby-looking Troll leaned on the wall outside (denting the plasteel with his weight), otherwise the place looked deserted, the lights on but nobody home.

'I wouldn't go in dere If I was youze,' said the Troll, taking a long drag on an inch-thick Troll-sized nico-stick, despite the smoking ban. 'Sum dumb slitch got 'er face all sliced up in dere. Whole plaze stinks.'

[AI]

"It's a break from habit... From what I've gathered..." Wrightman mused, examining the body.

Clay stood behind her, taking the scene with all the cold profesionalism of an experianced Runner. Indeed, most of the denizens of the bar seemed to be taking things equally well - Those that were left. They mainly kept out of the detectives way, either too pissed to care, or just reasoning that they'd all probably die soon anyway. Ah, the joys of living under the corps...

"Are you alright with this?" Said Clay, his head now, thankfully, fully patched up again.

"Yes, I'm a detective remember. I used to see stuff like this on a regular basis..."

"That's not what I meant." He replied, stonicly.

"She's dead. No good to me." She scowled, going back to the body. "Nose is hanging on by a thread, only half cut off - He was interupted. The body I found was half torn to shreads as well..."

"In an effort to dispose it?" Clay suggested.

"Nuh-uh, if you wanted to dispose of something here - You'd just throw it into the sea." Wrightman observed. "He wanted to draw attention to himself... But why? And more to the point, where is he now?"

"Oi remember the little blighter, oh aye..." Murmured the dwarf behind the bar, his face somber and mouth downturned behind his big, bushy beard. Ah, a tradionalist... But this was no time for Yo-ho's, or even Tee-hee's. "... Only caught the back o' the ickle blighter! Oh aye, but the stench! Piss on meh corpse and throw it inna ditch, the flamin' stench o' it all! Like 'e was slowly rottin' away, pet."

"Could you tell me which way he left?" Wrightman asked.

"Aye, reet outta the back door 'e went, fast as 'is wee legs could take 'im."

"Thank you." She said gratefully, before rushing across to the other end of the bar. "The bodies still warm, he has to be close by..."

"Yes, because it's going to be really easy to spot a bloke smeared in blood in the middle of a warzone."

"Not a warzone quite yet." Wrightman reminded him. "And besides, it's just a good job you have a regular bloodhound like me on the case..."

Clay groaned.

[Desolator12]

"Though I don't like the idea of being flattened, at least you'll be first. I'm in, and I expect the pay immediately after. What d'ya want me to kill?" Dragon said, bending the last piece of metal back into place. The van looked as if some drug-laden spider had crawled over the outside, but at least nobody could get a clear shot in anymore. *Who knows* Dragon thought. *A bucket of paint, some welding jobs done, and a mounted 50mm cannon, and I could get to like this damned junker*

"Bunny, you're either on your own, or you're coming with. Either way, I suggest you stash this wrecker somewhere not in front of the building."

[Nyerguds]

"How about inside it, then?" Bunny said, grinning.
Dragon frowned. "You gotta be kidding me."
"Come on, look at that shaft." Bunny said, looking into the gaping abbyss. "How deep do you think that is?"
"It goes pretty much all the way down." Jackson said.
"So basically, really deep." Bunny replied, with a sly grin. "Just the shockwave should kill any guards down there. With some luck I'll punch a hole through the whole island and we don't even have to climb after it."
"Not likely." Jackson said.
Bunny walked away from the shaft, went back to the van and opened the back doors. Shiela gracefully walked out of it, only slightly limping from her injuries.
Bunny smiled, and gave her a light pat on the head. "Heh. You keep amazing me, kitty."

He looked at the two others. "We're hopeless with or without this thing anyway. All in favour of dumping it?"

The other two didn't seem to object, so Bunny rigged into the van and drove it just before the shaft.

"Hey! "Dragon suddenly yelled. "while we're throwing away everything valuable we got anyway... can't we make it go boom a bit more?"
"What do you suggest?" Bunny said, unplugging from the van and leaning out the window.
"Well, you'd be surprised at the effect of just a little Vladgrav in the fuel cell ..."
Bunny suddenly looked a bit pale. "Uh, no offence, but I don't want to mess with the fuel cell..."
"Don't worry!" the goblin said. "Done this before. There's a trick to it." He had that typical look in his eyes that Bunny had seen so many times on Bonny and Clyde.
"Heh, goblins and explosives." Bunny grinned.


A bit later, the volatile mix of vladgrav and hydrogen was falling down the shaft, neatly encased in a really badly damaged van.

"Well, now we just wait for the boom and go down, right?" Jackson grinned.

They didn't have to wait too long. First, there was a bright flash from the insanely deep shaft, and a few seconds later, a slight tremble reached the surface.
"Woah. Hefty." Bunny said.

"Well, let's go down then." Dragon said.
"I'm not coming." Bunny said. "Frag, chances of survival are awfully low as it is. No way I'm going down there."
"Suit yourself." the goblin said, and followed Jackson down the ladder.

"C'mon, Shiela. Let's go find Wrightman." Bunny said.

The cat seemed to have other plans though. It ran into the shaft, and jumped down.

"Shiela!" Bunny yelled, as he ran back to the shaft and looked down. But all he saw were two pairs of four claw marks at the opposite side of the ladder, going down into the darkness, towards the fading screeching sound of claws in plasteel.

"Ah, fragging cat!" he yelled, and climbed down the ladder behind the others.

[Desolator12]

"Hey what's that noi-" was all that Dragon said before he noticed Shiela falling down the shaft, clawing the plasteel to hell.

"Ah, fragging cat!" he heard Bunny say, as he decided to slow his pace down a bit... after all, Shiela ought to be able to handle what's left down there, so why rush dying a horrible, squishey death?

[SW Freak]

As Jackson reached the bottom of the shaft, there were a few gristley crunching sounds. As he touched down in the devastated shaft, carefully avoiding the flames that still burned, he found the source of the sound. Sheila was chomping away at the frazzled remains of one of the storm troopers who had gotten smashed by the falling vehicle. He grimaced a little at the sight, but what disgusted him most was that the smell of fresh blood was almost as appealing to him as to the cat. Biting his lip to avoid perusing the corpses closer, drawing blood himself, he stumbled past them. He gasped a little as his chest twinged, made to move forward again and then doubled over in pain as, for the second time in such a short period, it felt like his lungs struggled to escape. The clawing darkness of pain dragged him under, and like a see-saw, up came Indigo.

"What the ever-loving frag...?" She said, looking around.

She eventually figured out what had happened, at much the same time as Dragon dropped off the ladder. Indigo looked away from him and saw the control panel for what was, presumably, the next stage of the subterranian journey.

"Looks like we need a key or something. Probably a credstick. One of these guards must- aw, jovus..." She muttered as the sickly sweet scent of blood invade her nostrils. "Dragon, grab the card and let's get the frag outta here...Grud..."

[Desolator12]

"Uh... sure." Dragon said, noting Jackson's... aprehension... to the corpses. He scrounged through several bodies until he found the credstick on a half-fried corpse. "Heh... at least I got to have some fun with the van... ok, here we go." Dragon said, sliding the card through the slot in the control panel...

[SW Freak]

After a few moments, their transport arrived in the form of a mag-lev bubble. Indigo glanced inside, noting the size, and then looked across at Dragon. They both then turned to look at Bunny, neither willing to be first. The elf met their gaze before looking down at Sheila with a smile. Indigo hastily got out of the cat's way as Bunny urged it into the bubble, which Dragon sent whizzing down the tube. They waited a few moments before bringing it back up. Indigo looked at Dragon again. He motioned her inside. She sighed before turning and picking up the rifle that had taken the least damage in the chaos. Checking the clip, Indigo stepped into the bubble, strapping herself, awkwardly because of the bulk of her cyber arm, into the wall brackets.

"Someone'll have to stay out here and work this thing," muttered Dragon.

"You knew that when you told me to get in, didn't you?"

"Well...maybe."

"Whatever. Pass me that other guard's credstick." Dragon did so. "Okay. Send me down. If there's an interface down below I'll call you and bring the two of you down."

"Ready?"

"No. Send me anyway."

The goblin worked the controls quickly and soon Indigo's accomidation was floating free of its holdings. Another command and it was sent shooting down the tunnel. Indigo's injured ribs, back, front and, well, everything, really, ached as the g-forces piled on. And then it was over, and the door was hissing open. She was caught off guard by the sheer size of the cavern before her and remained motionless, dumbfounded for a moment. Then she moved forward, pistol in left hand, rifle in right. She got a second shock as lightning arced to life at the far end of the cave. It was impossible to tell what was happening over there, but it was shiney. Shaking herself for the second time in as many seconds, Indigo turned and looked around for a control panel for the lift. None could be found, but nearby a door had the legend "Backup control station" plastered on it. Pushing it open, she saw that it was completely devoid of life. Shoving the pistol into her pocket, she slotted the pilfered credstick into the port and sent the bubble whizzing back up.

Flipping open her vid-phone, she dialed Dragon's number, and said, "It's coming up. Hop in."

"We're in," came the reply after a short silence.

"Right. Down you go."

She hit the appropriate controls, pulled the credstick from the slot and then went to meet the goblin and the elf outside the lift.

"Ready to go?" she asked, pulling the pistol back out of her pocket and holding both of her guns ready. She glanced around at a meow from the dawn of time, and gulped at the sight of Sheila looking...eager.

[Nyerguds]

"Sorry about that". Bunny said to Indigo, using Dragon's vidphone. "We had to let her go first. Care to send it up again?"

"Yeah... sure." Indigo said from the other side of the vidphone. "She's making strange hissing noises though... and she's chewing in mid-air."

"Ehh, probably just the pressure." Bunny said. "Won't kill her."

A bit later, the vac tube elevator appeared in the underground cavern again, this time with the elf and the goblin in it.

"Right." Indigo said. "Let's go then."

[AI]

OOC: Sorry this is a bit meh...

* * *

"Mmm... Faint..." Wrightman mused, as she stalked the back alleys behind the bars, Clay not far behind.

"How faint?" Clay inquiried behind her.

"Well, let's put it this way..." She began, ****ing her head slightly over her shoulder to look at him. "... If even a minor scrap kicks off around here, we've lost him completely."

She carried on regardless, straining her nostrils. It was insane, she should be getting closer - And yet it seemed no matter how fast she ran, the scent seemed to just seemed to have been wisped away by the wind. She ground her teeth together, clentched her fist and was on the verge of hissing in frustration - But it was no good. She should have known it would do no good, but her nerves were frayed. She'd been hunted like an animal, in the centre of a blood bath and had some Spanish psychopath eyeing her up like... Ha, a piece of meat for the last few hours...

"I swear, if we find him... I'm probably going to kill him..." She muttered under her breath. "Rend him piece by bloody fragging piece, rip the gruddamned fragging flesh from his fragging..."

"Wirghtman..." Clay intoned, tearing her away from her string of obscenties. "... Look."

He nodded down, between her feet. She gingerly took a step forward, then cast her own gaze down to meet his. A manhole cover, drenched in blood. She knelt down, running a gloved finger through it sucking it clean.

"Fresh." She smiled, digging her fingers around the corners and lifting it up as if it were a slab of munce. She flicked it away, and shot a glance towards Clay. "Coming?"

"We'll probably be safer down there anyway." He sighed, looking around to see an Alpha Assault Serviceman strolling down the street, being interviewed by a lone combat reporter. He hoped to grudd the man had backup somewhere, as combat reporters were like wolves - He came across a group of them, they'd rip him apart.

"So tell me, Special Assault Unit Commander Second Grade Daishamson, what can the public, our loyal viewers, except from your organisation if occupation is achieved?"

"Well..." He began, smiling and turning towards the camera, a clever ploy to show off a dozen more ads that adorned his uniform from shoulderpad to boot. "That's entirely up to our corprate sponsors."

"Clay!" Hissed Wrightman, before she dropped down into the sewers with a squelching noise. A red-eyed rat sniffed at her curiously, but she bared her teeth and it soon scampered.

The trail was almost non-existant down here, covered by the overpowering stentch of human waste. But there was something else. On her astral imposed vision, she could see a thin trail - A wisp of charcoal grey smoke that became darker and more prominant the further away she looked, She ran her fingers through it, and it dispersed like smoke but when she inhaled it gave her a headache.

"Bad thoughts..." Clay said sagely, behind her. "Strong memories or feelings left behind, imprinted momentarily on the astral plane."

"I guess we'd better go imprint some more, then." She said, before following the newly found trail.

[Desolator12]

Dragon steps out of the lift as well, his 'claws' in hand, as he looks about, occasionally stopping to look at Shiela.

"I really hope that she doesn't have any thoughts of biting me... I mean, sure, vampirism has its perks, but I don't really want to have to add fresh blood to my recipe... I'm pretty sure that would make half of the patrons at the bar I worked at vomit... well... moreso actually. The other half wouldn't care as long as I kept alcohol in the stuff." He says. "Besides... I'm sure the initial pain is a hoot."

"Ok, lead the way."

[Nyerguds]

Bunny glared at Dragon. "Don't tempt her. She's salivating now. Besides, unless you think you can regenerate from a toenail, I think there won't be enough left of you if she bites."

He looked back to Jackson. "So, now what?"

[SW Freak]

(OOC: Excuse the blehness. I should have posted upwards of a month ago. Sorry.)

"Um...We..."

"It's simple, Indigo. We all throw on a set of these overalls, and investigate that mass of light and industry over there."

"Teach? You're back!"

"My goodness, so I am. Thirsty? Jackal?"

"We're here. What happened? It all went-"

"Black. Yes."

"Jackson?"

"I'm here, Indie. Jovus, but that was the scariest thing that's ever happened to me."

The Jackson collective looked at Bunny and Dragon, both of whom were looking at him curiously. Jackson tried a weak smile and then shrugged.

"Looks like I'm back. I thought that vampire stuff had, I dunno, shorted me out, but it doesn't look like it. Anyway, Teach's idea was a good one. Let's throw some of these on and check out that big shiney over there."

"What about Sheila?" asked Bunny as they shrugged into the overalls.

"Oh...I dunno. Teach?"

"A distraction, perhaps? She seems more than prepared to do so already."

"What do you think, Bunny? Let her off the leash for a bit?"

Jackson looked at the overall in annoyance. He had already had to strip his coat off, and now his cyber arm was giving him trouble. Grabbing hold of the offending cloth, Jackson simply ripped the right arm off of the overalls and slipped his arm through.

"Dragon, stow your gun on these little scooty things. We should be able to pass for workers like this, but we can't have any weapons in hand. Hopefully I won't draw too much attention. Anyway, Bunny, what should we do with Sheila?"

[Nyerguds]

Bunny smiled at the oversized cat.
"Go on, have your fun." he nodded at her. He was amazed that her wounds had already fully healed. It always made him think of Wrightman... grudd, where would she be now?

Shiela didn't hesitate a single second, and shot into the cave like a railgun projectile. Apparently, she had smelled some victim...

[AI]

They followed the trail through the sewers, wading knee, and sometimes waist, deep in a mucky greenish brown liquid that looked like it could have been diluted sea-water. And given the quality of the sea-water around here, that wasn't as savoury as it might sound. Wrightman led the way, with Clay throwing the odd catious glance behind his shoulder as he took up the rear.

"We're getting closer." She whispered, the smoke-grey trail they were following now as black as coal crusted sin.

"How close?"

She sniffed at the air, imedately wishing she hadn't. This was one time that her heightened senses were most definatly a disadvantage. She'd had to wipe her eyes several times, just to stop them from streaming, but admist the stink of the sewer and the sweat and dried blood that was Clay, she could smell something else - Something human.

"Very. Maybe around that next corner." She paused, holding out a hand so Clay would stop behind her. "Listen, I'll go on ahead... You stay here and keep watch. He could have somebody else behind us."

"You sure?"

"Am I ever? You're injured enough already, if I need you I'll be sure to scream."

She crept forward, throwing herself flat against a wall and peered around the corner, she'd seen it done in films several times, and couldn't really think of a safer way of doing things. She was met with nothing. Nothing but the same slimey grey walls and putrid water. The only difference was that the black smoke was as thick as smog around an industrial sector. She proceeded with caution, pistol drawn and ready to fire. The further she got, the harder it was becoming to see, but she could smell him. Just. It was that same smell from the bar, much worse than those accustomed to the sewers, but there was still something human masked underneath. And she was gonna find it, and tear it's...

"What the fr-AH!"

Something slammed into her shoulders from above, something heavy. She was knocked to the floor, throwing her hands back to catch her fall. She would have been winded, but that was hardly a problem. She noticed a figure in the mist, and made a grab for it's arm, finding that it was too slick and nimble to get a grip on. He returned the favour by hitting her across the face with something blunt, and unforgivingly solid.

She landed flat on her back this time, her assaliant hopping onto her shoulders. A goblin, a motherfragging goblin! Her grasped a handful of her hair, pushing her head under the water with such force that she banged it on the sewer floor. He was hoping to drown her, that was his first mistake. She wrapped her hand around his neck.

"Got you now, you motherfra..." She screamed, long and hard. Blood trickled into her eyes as her back arched in agony, the goblin snickered.

"Got your nose, she-slitch." He sneered, showing it to her with one hand, while sliding a rusty kitchen knife back into his belt with the other, which he then proceeded to undo. "And lookit that... A nice, new hole to rape too!"

[VO]

Wrightman!

Clay's astral sense caught him before he heard her scream, and he puked red vomit into the sewer. His first thoughts - Golem!- lead his fingers to the filmy surface of the muck and he felt for the pulses of being he could shape into a form. It was milky, murky, and more purpose-strands slipped through his fingers than he could catch. His head pulsed and he coughed more up more blood, then his centre of gravity snapped up from underneath him and he toppled foreward into the sewer.

Stench and slime and darkness zig-zagged with fairy flashes of light. He struggled to focus his mind, felt it come apart like a house of cards. Ripples of muck.

Wrightman!

He struggled to his feet shaky and dripping. He lurched foreward, catching himself on the wall around which the detective had just dissapeared. The world went white then black, and in the between his eyes refused to focus on the clatter up ahead.

The goblin turned, and snarled, Wrightman in the water and the stench of blood in the air. The fingers of Clay's right hand scrabbled white-raw against the wall to keep him upright, while the other searched in the soupy mess of his pockets for his gun. He found it, and brought it up dripping with slime. His mind - clattering about his head like a fly trapped in an empty soycoke bottle - wondered if it would work after immersion in the sewer.

Only one way to find out.

[AI]

BADAM!

Gunfire roared through her head, as fresh blood splattered across her face. Except this time, it wasn't her own. Despite herself, she frowned at the wastefulness of it all and the fact that this was becoming a habit, but all those thoughts were cleared from her head when her vision cleared, the mist lifting to reveal one panic-striken, hunchbacked goblin gazing wide eyed at what used to be his hand, which had been replaced by a crismon fountain courtesy of Clay. He was going paler by the second, whatever ugly thoughts or intentions he had being replaced by a muddy brown aura... One of unbridled fear.

"Yuh... You shot me!" He sqeuaked. Staring from his arm, the the barrel of Clay's gun. "You... You fuh-fraggin'... SHOT ME!"

"Don't... Shut up. I'll... Do it again." Clay heaved. The Goblin panicked at the words, turning to flee - But Wrightman's hand shot out, quick a serpent with wired reflexes and the devils own malita behind him. She yanked hard, sending him sprawling to the floor with a crunch.

"My.... My dose!" He gargled. "You droke by dose!!!"

She crawled through the water on her hand and knees, keeping the other pressed tightly against her face - It wasn't doing much good, blood was she seeping through her fingers. She felt dizzy... Light-headed... And hungry. All at the same time. She clawed her way up the wall, constantly slipping on the moss covered surface - It was more flora than she'd ever seen in her entire life, if she was honest, leaning on it for support once she'd managed to find her bearings.

"You ok?" She asked Clay, as the goblin screamed and flailed in the background.

[SW Freak]

They drove along the opposite side of the cave as Sheila was pelting along and where, from the sounds of it, she was suiting well as a distraction. Gunfire flared and shouts echoed out, all dwarfed by the immense glow coming from the pit. Jackson pointed it out to the others. He glanced around a little anxiously, but no one seemed to be paying him much attention. Most of the workers were interested in the, from here, quiet yet distressing sounds coming from across the cavern. They follwed a huge power chord along its winding lenght.

Jackson kept glancing down at the rifle he had taken, and nervously patting his pocket, ensuring he still had Dragon's pistol. It was sheer nerves, he knew, but the intense feel of magic from up ahead was putting him off balance. It was as he was looking up from one of these checks of the rifle that he saw a shockingly familiar face.

"Told y-"

Indie! Shust! She'll hear.

I told you! That slitch! That back stabbing, murderous slitch!

Yeah. First the boat, now this. Sorry I doubted you, Indie.

I'm sorry I didn't put a bullet through her face first time I fragging saw it!

I'll make it up to you, Indie. The body's yours.

She hopped down from the scooter before it had even stopped and pounded up the steps. She glanced at Dragon as he clambered down from his scooter. Then she looked forward again, pistol in left hand, rifle in right.

"Dragon, watch my back."

Shatter and Johnson spun, the former raising his gun at the same time as Indie. All four were still for a moment, Indigo training the colt on Shatter and her missapropriated rifle directly on Johnson's head.

"Johnson, you fragging slitch! What in the name of Grud is going on?!"

[Wesforce]

'Shut the frag up, turncoat!' Said Johnson. Jackson noted large patches of her skin were notably red and blistering, and she seemed to be in pain. The rash had spread across her face, bisecting it diagonally and marring her somewhat blad corporate-distilled beauty. 'I know you're working for them.'

'Nuh Uh. I'm working for me.' Jackson said, resolute.

'We're working for us.' Teach said, sniffing.

'Whatever.' Said Johnson. By now Bunny and Dragon had come into view. Bunny had noticed Sheila wasn't anywhere to be seen, but didn't want to take his eyes off the unfolding situation to take a look. 'Not one step forward!' Johnson had a submachinegun, its stock extended and braced against her shoulder. She seemed oddly unfazed by someone pointing an assault rifle at her head. Maybe she'd faced bigger weapons before.

They all turned to see Shatter twitch and spasm involuntarily. His gun-arm wavered, but focused on Jackson's head again.

'Shatter!' Johnson called.

'Its... Alright' He sighed. 'Power... Growing. Have to concentrate.'

'Put your guns down!' Johnson said, her face burning with a fierceness none of the 'runners could have credited her with.

'You first.'

'You fragging losers. You're all fired!'

That was the wrong word to use at such a point. Already hyped-up and maxing out her wired reflexes, Indie let off a burst of rifle-fire and a pistol shot. The rifle, however, only being held one-handed, wasn't as accurate as it could have been, and recoil sent one bukllet through Johnson's ear and the other two just over her head as the muzzle rose. She shrieked and ducked-back just as the colt round hit Shatter's visor with the sound of a brick hitting an electricar's canopy. The soldier was only a fraction of a second in recovering, and, screaming in rage and the pain the growing magical singularity was causing in his head, let his Armgun stitch an entire clip of small-caliber high-velocity ammo accross Jackson's body. The Hulk grunted in surprise, but remained standing - Dragon, behind him, was spattered with blood and hydraulic fluids, which irritated his skin.

Shatter reloaded, but his movements were pained, sluggish. Nevertheless, he slammed a new drum into his armgun and took cover at the edge of the pit, covering Johnson.

'Come on, big man!' He roared. 'Let's tangle!' And unloaded at Jackson again.

Johnson meanwhile dodged a smattering of bullets from Bunny, and replied with a well-aimed burst that cut accross the elf's knees and dropped him to the concrete. The businesswoman turned and hopped into the deck-scoot, gunning the little engine for all it was worth, in the direction of the equipment hauls.

Dragon rushed forward, but stopped in his tracks when he caught a glimpse of fur, bulk, and teeth in the darkness.

'Heh. Why bother when Sheila can finish the job?'

But Sheila wasn't after Johnson. Johnson had treated herself with a carefully concocted mix of pheromones and repellents beforehand - You don't take a Vampire Cat along with you without taking a few precautions, afterall.

'Dragon! She's after the blood!' Bunny groaned.

Dragon saw the Cat's features turn daemonically feral, and she launched herself, out of the light, into the opening - A huge distance, covered in a heartbeat. Just enough time to raise a claw, or scream his prayers...

***

Above the noise of Clay flailing and the Goblin screaming and cursing, there was more noise, and increasing cacophony, seemingly felt rather than heard. Wrightman's first thought was Earthquake. Nuts and bolts and flakes of rust started falling from the sewer's ceiling.

Then the roar and whine of banshee-like turbine engines and the squeal of metal-shod treads caught her ears - And the ever-present thud of rotors in the distance confirmed her fears.

'Heavy units! Right above us!' She shouted to no-one in particular. Grexxon was making its final push, and had landed armour. The pipe was shaking tremendously, as if the whole thing might collapse. It sounded like they had a whole fragging parade up there! For a Vampire, capable of living forever, there weren't many fears - But spending an eternity entombed by plascrete and steel at the bottom of the North Sea ranked among them.

[Nyerguds]

No... not like that!

Bunny didn't hesitate. He knew Sheila would survive.

He raised the gun and fired.

The only question was if he'd survive Sheila...

The gun hit the animal in the shoulder, making her spasm in mid-air and crash onto the startled goblin. Dragon was thrown a few meters back, one of the huge claws scratching along his face. If he hadn't been falling backwards, his face would be gone. As it was, he only had four deep carves in it.

Sheila got up, dazed.

Frag frag frag frag frag! Bunny thought. He had to stay calm... he'd had other crises like this, even before Sheila was a vamp. And he knew how to deal with em. Don't give her time to recover.

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, bloody cat!" he yelled at the monster. "You've eaten at least five guards here! What do you go on attacking us for, huh?! Don't give me that look, you've had plenty of blood!"

Sheila looked at Bunny for a few seconds, apparently totally baffled. Then, she gave a pathetic meow, and ran away into the darkness.

Bunny shot an angry look in Dragon's direction. "Gruddamn bastard... I shot my cat for you. And don't you bloody think I'll forget it."

[SW Freak]

"Bring it on, little man!" shouted Indigo by way of retort as she sprinted for the cover of the control consoles.

She felt as much as heard the rounds thudding into the opposite side of the device. The barrage let up for a moment; presumably Shatter was moving for cover himself. Indigo took the opportunity to stand and brought the pistol to bear once more, discarding the over-bulky rifle. The muzzle flared twice, and then the hammer clicked dully. The spell breaker, who had been trotting for the cover provided by the cherry picker lift, gun still trained on the console, took one in the left shoulder and another in the gut, the second impacting with a less than satisfying thud against his body armour. The blows were enough to knock the wind from his lungs.

Seizing the moment, the Cyber Skitzo vaulted over the computers, tossing the colt in the same movement. Shatter was just straightening when Indigo hit him like a freight train. Her right fist lanced into his gut and then, servos in her arm whirring, she hefted him and spun with a yell. Shatter, too sore to have gotten a grip on her, was flung back-first into the console he had, moments before, peppered with bullets. Indigo moved forward, shrugging the overalls off her shoulders so that the top half hung at her waist. The spellbreaker rose as she neared, his right hand coming around, Neutraliser gripped tightly in it. The Jackson Collective had just enough time to register it consciously before their cybered-up reflexes threw their head back. Even then the sword grated noisily against the metal plate that was half of Indigo's face before gouging a hole in their left cheek, just below the eye. She cried out, more surprised than pained, and then ducked in close as Shatter raised his arm to shoot her.

The spellbreaker was prepared for the blow to his chest this time as Indigo struck him shoulder first and wrapped her arms around his waist. He drove his elbow down onto her neck, breaking her grip and then, not giving her a moment to recover, slammed his knee into her face. Stumbling back, Indigo caught her foot on a snaking cable and fell, crashing heavily to the metal floor. Moving as fast as her pained frame would allow, Indigo kicked out, hard. Shatter cried out as his leg gave way and he fell to one knee. Lashing out again, Indigo struck brawlers' gold, and her opponent gurgled and collapsed, trying to fight the instinct to curl up around his personal universe of pain.

Rolling over and swinging her right leg over him, Indigo sat up, straddling him. Her fist went up and then came down like a jackhammer. Shatter raised his hands to protect his face, shield fanning out from his gun. The end result was that his own fists were pressed into his helmeted face, to moderately less effect than Indigo's would have had. Growling ferally, glad to have someone to get it all out of her system at, Indigo raised her fist again. The spellbreaker didn't bother trying to block this time; instead, he moved his head out of the way and directed her fist as best her could. It slammed into the grating an inch from his neck. Clutching her cyber arm desperately and raising his forearm gun again, Shatter tried to get a shot to her face. Shaking his grip off, Indigo pushed his arm away, but gave up her sturdy footing to do so as she lifted a knee off the ground. That was all Shatter needed. He heaved with his hips and sent her tumbling off him. Moving with her, the ex-soldier ended up in Indigo's position of a moment before.

Again his gun came up, and again she pushed his arm aside, holding tight this time to keep him from getting his shot. Shatter responded by falling against her. Neutraliser, inverted to extend past the heel of his hand, snaked towards her throat. Desperate, Indigo squeezed his wrist as hard as she could. There was a crackling sound and Shatter let out a cry. Taking advantage of his momentary weakness, Indigo grabbed his right elbow and pushed his arm away, clearing the sword from her throat. Her arm, having relinquished its grip on Shatter's, came around in a swinging punch that slammed into the side of his head with stunning force. Imitating her opponent's previous move, Indie spun him off and rolled with him. Taking a hold of the front of his armoured vest, she lifted him up and slammed him down three times. There was a crack, and the spell breaker was finally still.

"AND STAY DOWN!"

Standing, ripping the remains of the overalls off, Indigo grabbed her coat and the rifle. Shrugging into the first, she stepped onto her own deck scoot and hared after Johnson. Maybe it was their proximity to the magic playing havoc with their head, or maybe the mer-things were to blame, or possibly just sheer bloody mindedness, but whatever the reason, she was angrier than she could ever remember being. Johnson would pay for her betrayal. She would fragging well pay.

[Wesforce]

Klaxons blared. Rotating warning lights flicked on around the huge concrete and plasteel plug, partially swathing the vast cavern in oscillating bright red. Bunny, trying to control the agony in his legs hurriedly picked up his smoking gun. It took him a few moments to realise what was happening.

'Sweet Jovis!'

Dragon's eyes were wide, still frantically scanning the darkness for the Cat from hell.

'Where are you?'

'Dragon!'

'Shh!'

'Someone's coming in!'

Seconds ticked by, the klaxons kept blaring, then ominously...

Stopped.

The shutters corkscrewed open...

***

Shatter was dead, she was quite sure of that.

His loyal, heroic death had bought her the time she needed. Plugging her rigger jacks in, she interfaced with the system with e mental handshake.

He had been the only one who remained loyal. The only one. Now he was dead, his killer the obstacle to her salvation.

Claudette sealed herself in, and made sure the systems were running one hundred percent. She wouldn't be able to scratch the maddening, cracked sores now covering most of her body, but knew that wouldn't do her much good anyway. All that would help her now was medical attention - And fast. The key to that lay in the pit...

***

Haring off on the deck scoot was tougher than it looked for Indigo. The thing was built for four to six people, yes, but four to six normal-sized people. Somewhat less than half the size of the Jackson collective. Just to stay on the thing, she head to lean right out and counterbalance it, its engine whining pitifully. She was making progress, nevertheless. Johnson was still visible in the near distance as an orange blob of heat, getting closer. Elsewhere, in a world that seemed miles away from this one, some kind of siren was going off. Jackson didn't have time for that right now.

'Jackson!' sounded a small, far-off voice. 'We've got...'

The last word was lost to the whine of the deck-scoot's engine. He craned around to be able to hear.

A mistake. The deck scoot slid out from under him and skittered across the rock, off the level "road" that had been prepared, and fractured itself to a dozen pieces, tumbling over on the rock. Jackson was made of tougher stuff, and rolled into a protective ball reflexively. He stood up quickly, covered in blood and hydraulic fluids from his damaged body.

'Oh yeah. Shouldn't do that.'

'Now you figure it out.' Indie huffed.

'I didn't design the bloody thing did I?' Jackson growled.

'Shut up and get after that slitch!'

'JOHNSON! I'M-A-COMIN' FOR YA!' Jackson screamed.

'Well you've found me!' crackled an amplified female voice.

Stomping along on bulky, plasteel-clad legs, Johnson appeared. A whole half-metre taller than Jackson, wearing a heavy, motorized suit painted bright yellow and black, Johnson sneered at the 'runner from behind her armoured faceplate. A JIM Modular Diving suit, fully-rigged and prepared for deep-sea work. She looked like the Michelin Man after 20 years of working out, fed on a diet of Nu-gain awakened steroids. Four arms whirred and extended from the suit. Two ending in claws, one in an-Oxy-thermite underwater welder, and the fourth in a 1-millon candlepower spotlight - Which shone on Jackson, blinding him, at least until his cybereyes could adjust.

'I thought it was time you picked on someone your own size!'

Jackson fired into the glare, for no appreciable effect. He couldn't see where the bullets were hitting, even though his targeting wares gave him a rough idea of Johnson's location. By that time, she was on him, striding forward on those bulbous legs. A huge claw arm came down in a crushing blow, which Jackson dodged. Another came in from the opposite side, and he dodged again - Right into the path of the sparking welder. He screamed, white-hot agony sparking through his veins as his nostrils filled with the stench of sizzling flesh - His flesh.

A chunk of metal from his already-damaged arm hit the ground with a clunk, and that arm went dead.

***

The thing coming through the plug was big, and black, and shiny. It brought with it the stench of the seabed, and both Dragon and Bunny were suffused with the horror of Lovecraftian nightmares - Some Leviathan from the depths come to bring their existence to the end.

Only when the shape had emerged far enough into the cavern to show the shapes of torpedo tubes and hatches did they realise what it was. Were either of them more into their Jane's Corporate and Naval Vessels Guide, they might have recognised the bow of a UCASN Prince Edward Island class fleet submarine.

A hinged section of the sub's underside hissed, with a spray of steam, and swung open. Four men released their grips on their magnetic handholds and dropped to the floor, the warning lights gleaming off white and pink armour. Alpha Assault Services Aquacommandoes.

The four of them readied their Jet-Harpoons and snapped in fresh Harpoon-pods, with the hiss of pressurised gas.

'Secure the area!' came the voice on their comm-link. 'Cavern will begin flooding in five minutes. We need that crap from the pit before then - We'll start loading it when you take out those assholes over there! Move it!'

The four men spotted Bunny and Dragon, and got moving.

***

In a tangled confusion of screaming, cursing, and flailing limbs during which Wrightman and Clay both had to belt the stinking murderer in their midst, the Vampire, Magic-User and Goblin managed to make their way to higher ground.

The sewers hadn't collapsed after all. The three were treated to the sight of a hard-hat-wearing Engineer from GrexxonCares holding up the entire armoured column of Covenanter-II assault tanks, waving a datapad and arguing with an Alpha Assault Services officer. Crowds of people had gathered at the sides of the road, gawping at the spectacle, or filming on their minicams.

The officer spotted one such onlooker, and had two AAS soldiers drag him out. The guy was wearing the logo of a Neuwerke-affiliated media company. The AAS officer informed him in no uncertain terms that he was breaching copyright by videoing the adverts splashed all over the AAS men's tanks and uniforms, and without further ado, shot him. After that, the rest of the crowd looked away nervously and put down their recording devices.

Now, safely under the cameras of only Grexxon affiliated media, the AAS officer got up and started to read out a speech via throat-implant megaphone about how everyone was liberated from Neuwerke's poor market share and limited product range. There followed news of a curfew to take place with immediate effect against anyone not owning shares in Grexxon or any affiliated business. Meanwhile the tanks slunk (as well as 60-tons of plasteel can slink) quietly away, thwarted by an structural renovation order.

These guys are more interested in looking good than actually enforcing control of this city, Wrightman thought. Already Grexxon functionaries were on-scene, checking people's Credsticks.

She looked at the Gobbo. The Gobbo looked back at her...

Then the Gobbo began to run for the Grexxon men...

[AI]

... Only to collapse in a heap and pass out before he'd got very far.

Blood loss. Wrightman knew. Clay had worked hard trying to stem his bleeding whilst she bit her own lip, it helped that he was so repulsive that the very thought of eating him disgusted her - But still, the scent of that much blood had sent her head spinning until they'd got moving. They'd had to use her coat to patch up the stump that was his arm, but she didn't mind too much. Anything to cut the flow.

She scooped him up quickly, not sure if Clay was in any position to do so. He still seemed weakened by all the magic he'd been forced to cast over the run, stumbling more often than she liked. Hell, she wasn't in that good a shape herself - Her nose completely missing, already scabbed over. But they had to keep moving. And considering the state some of the victims of the resulting war Corp War were in, they'd blend in quite well. She conveyed this idea to Clay.

"If we move inconspiciously, we should be able to get this creep over to the proper authorities before he bleeds to death." She whispered, intentionally not using Newerkes name.

"We don't even know which way to go." He whispered back. "Wait, do you still have the chip Johnson gave us?"

Wrightman nodded, it was part of the reason she'd been so insistant to get her coat back earlier. It had a map of the Arkoblock on it, including several marked, little known routes.

"Would there be anywhere we could go on there?"

"Lemme look..." She fed the chip into her computer, bringing up the map of the Arkoblock. She glanced at the signs, trying to get some idea of where, exactly they were, and when she had a rough idea settled on a location. "The VTOL Station. It's not far, if we're lucky we should make it... But what about the others?"

"We'll worry about that when we're safe."

She nodded, reluctantly. The idea of leaving Bunny, Shatter and Johnson to fend for themselves didn't appeal to her one bit - But she realised that neither her nor Clay would be much help from the inside of a Grexxon prison cell. Or dead. Which was always an option. She slung the Goblin over she shoulder, he was cold. Too cold. She wondered if Werdkund would accept him dead or alive... That is, if he was still alive himself.

[SW Freak]

Oh hells-

Jackson pelted forward, into the light, and dodged through the suit's heavy legs. He glanced behind him, desperate not to lose any speed but curious all the same, and saw that there was no handy opening in the back in which to lodge a couple of dozen bullets. As Johnson turned to fix the searchlight on him again he looked away so's not to get blinded. He heard the crazed slitch begin to pound forward, moving slowly but with a horrible inevitability. Jackson knew he had the advantage of speed and range, but it didn't seem like an awful lot when he only had one arm and she had the advantage of several tons of impenitrable death machine.

Well, even if she melts us, we have one thing to be happy about.

Oh yeah, Indie? What's that?

I'm pretty certain using one of those things to melt people voids the warranty.

Oh good. I'm so glad that she won't be able to get the fragging thing insured.

See? Always a silver lining. There's a wall coming up.

I can see it, Indie. Jackson's feet skid as he turned hastily to his left. You seem oddly calm that we're about to fragging die.

What can I say? We have a habit of saving all my abject terror 'till I have time to savour it. I mean, look; you're having a conversation with yourself.

Point. I've always wondered wheter or not you guys were just crazy voices, truth be told.

Interesting point. I'll think about it immediately.

You do that. I'll stick to trying not to get killed.

Breathing heavily with exertion, his cyber lung giving warnings that it was just about ready to conk out, Jackson hurdled a collection of tangling hosing. Dropping to the ground, he slid under a heavy pipe and pushed himself to his feet. Running from was more important than running to at the moment, which was just as well, because Jackson was fairly certain he was going around in circles. Panting as he jinked around another obstacle, he slowed and turned around. Johnson was having some trouble with the hosing. Not willing to tangle her walker in it, she had to carefully position the feet. As one leg swung up ponderously, Jackson noticed something he hadn't seen before.

Indie! Get out here! I've got it. That fraggin' slitch is going down.

What is it?

Hydraulics. The whole thing is controlled by hydraulics. A few good shots, and the slitch is dead in the water, just like we should'a left her.

Great plan, one problem; we're holding a two handed weapon and we've only got one hand.

You can figure that one out, then. Indigo blinked in the light as the searchlight was shone in the eyes that she was suddenly in control of. Johnson had managed to get past the wires, so Indie took to her heels again.

Once I'm done with Johnson, I'll get you for throwing me out here, Jacksie-boy.

[Nyerguds]

"Gruddammit!" Bunny cursed. He didn't stand a chance. Johnson had shot him in the legs, so he could't even run, and attacking the armed men while laying down there was suicide.

Dragon seemed to have other ideas though. The next moment, one of the six-wheeled deck-scoots cut in between Bunny and the four commandos.
"GET THE FRAG ON!" the gobbo yelled, dragging Bunny onto the scoot without stopping.
"Gahh!" Bunny groaned "My legs, dammit! Where are you planning on running anyway?"
"I don't know!" Dragon said. "Away from those guys, anyway!"
"We'd better try to catch up with Jackson then." Bunny said.
"And meet that psycho bitch again?" Dragon replied, even though he'd been going in that direction ever since he picked up Bunny.

"What the frag..." Bunny said, as he spotted the JIM suit in the distance. He remembered seeing something like it in a rigger catalogue once. "That's a mech diving suit!"
"Bad, right?" Dragon asked.
"Heck no." Bunny said. "You can bet there's more of 'em here. We could escape in those!"
"YOU can, maybe. But I don't have rigger jacks."
"Eh. They probably got some rough manual control too." Bunny said, although he wasn't too sure of that. "Just rush past these two, the suits have to be somewhere in the back there. But for frag's sake, keep your distance."

[VO]

The VTOL strip sprouted away from the side of the Arkoblock. Lashed by the North Sea rain, Neuwerke forces had managed to cling onto the entrance gateways and glass escalators which lead to the landing pads even while Grexxon overwhelmed the Arkoblock proper. Neither megacorp could make a move; Neuwerke unable to evacuate anything useful while Grexxon blockaded it from the arkoblock end of the strut, Grexxon unable to push up to the Neuwerke forces while they held the high ground. In between was a no-man's land, a wilderness of packing crates that would never reach their destination and rusting dock machinery. Clay crouched with Wrightmann in a tangle of machinery. They could see the VTOL aircraft, but the seige prevented them from moving any closer.
Clay felt lightheaded; probably from the blood loss. He turned to his companion:
"What now?"

[Wesforce]

(Back! I finally snapped out of my fraggage...)

Still running, Jackson could only cast the odd, furtive glance behind himself to see where his pursuer was. It was difficult to do while dodging through the machinery around the pit. Difficult still to deduce where she was by listening.

Indigo realised it first.

She's not following us anymore!

Jackson turned, and pushed aside a budle of wires. It was true: he saw arc-light glinting off yellow over by the edge of the pit. The JIM was descending into the pit.

Whoop-de-fraggin' do! Lets get out of here!

'Wait,' said Jackson, 'What about Payback?'

'Jackson!'

Indie turned. Bunny and Shatter were hurtling towards him on a deck scoot, injured, frantic and terrified.

There was a sharp, hissing noise, followed by the PAFF! of an impact. Suddenly Dragon was thrown from the scoot, barreling into Jackson and bringing him down.

Bunny slew the scoot to a skidding halt and looked down at Dragon's seemingly dead-weight across Jackson, with a harpoon sticking out of his back.

'Tango one down!' crackled one of the Aquacommandoes, reloading his jet harpoon. 'Sweet Jovis, get that big bastard!'

***

Wrightman looked at Clay, ducking as a jet screamed by not far from the pad, lashing them with spray and the acrid stink of exhaust. The Golem-summoner wasn't looking too hot...

[AI]

"Are you ok?" She asked, trying to negociate his bulk into a sitting position with limited sucess.

"Just..." He heaved, looked up at her then cringed.

"This'll heal." She said, motioning to her nose. The bleeding had already stopped a few minutes ago, she figured a few days after she got home it'd be as good as new... Still, she wouldn't be winning any beauty contests for a couple of days.

Clay on the otherhand, wasn't so resliant - He'd taking quite a pounding, and had been throwing around magic like it was grown in vats. It wasn't. His head must be pounding by now and his aura wasn't looking all that healthy either. He was gonna live, she kept telling herself that - But there were always buts... But what if the Alpha fraggers got a hold of him and treated him like drek being foremost in her minds.

It was time to bail. She knew it, if they left it any longer Grexxon would declare the Arkoblock a no-fly zone or take the VTOL from Nuewerke and they'd never be able to leave. Not this way, at least.

"We have to move." She said, finally. The mage nodded, having already came to this conclusion. "Can you contact the others?"

[AI]

VO is otherwise occupied right now, so consider this a gift, from VO, to you through the mouthpiece that is Aies - Enjoy!

* * *

There was pain. Clay slipped his hand into the pocket of his trenchcoat, wincing as nerves gutted by magical feedback popped into life, the skin of his hands scraped raw and catching on every fold of the surface of the leather. He sank his fingers into the cold putty, dirt running up and under his fingernails. He closed his eyes and reached into the astral plane.

Clay had never gone astral this way before, never seen it quite so empty. He knew it was the blood loss – while before the magical realm was made of sharp edges and colours more real than reality, the corners were blunted and the colours had dulled. It was cold, too – more cold than ever before, and the flickering unlife that he had given the tiny twin golems was barely reachable. Clay closed his fist slowly, searching, until at last he found it and clenched tight, catching what little he could. The wet slap of the movement echoed through his vision.

He opened his eyes, and caught Wrightman watching him. He smiled weakly.

“Just about.”

Slowly and carefully, Clay began to shape the medium. Potential unfolded into arms and legs, a stubby head with crude thumb-print eyes. He murmured words of power under his breath

“Tell them we’re going to get the frag out of here”, said Wrightman.

The golem’s twin came suddenly to life.

[Wesforce]

'Jackson!' Bunny yelled again. 'We have to get - wait, what's this in my pocket?'

PAFF!

Bunny rocked forwards, eyes rolling in their sockets and closing as the scoot rolled forwards under the dead weight of his foot on the accelerator. The scoot began to drive in circles.

Drek thought Jackson, trying to get to his feet and raising his good arm across his face. A harpoon ricocheted off his metal wrist.

'Is that all you-' he started to say triumphantly, rudely stopped by another harpoon jabbing deep into the kevlar weave over his kidneys. He was dizzy, and felt faint for a second, resting against a huge pipe. Fuzzy pink and white figures came into view, twenty metres off, behind cover. They raised their jet harpoons.

'Surrender!'

There was a sudden rending, tearing crash as Bunny's deck scoot crashed down, down into the orichalcum pit...

***

Standard Assault Group Leader Belloq activated his helmet wipers and looked across the wind and rain-strewn no-man's land of rusted machinery and crates that lef the way to the VTOL pad. There was one Tilt-Wing left, its rotor-propellors already turning. Dozens more aircraft hung in the air, plasma-lamps stabbing down through rain swirling in the gale, and an inbound fog-bank. The aircraft were both Grexxon and Neuwerke, but neither side's air units were shooting at eachother. It was reasoned that Neuwerke had virtually conceded all control of the city, so further air combat was pointless and expensive.

That ceasefire didn't apply to ground units though. Belloq could see through his magnifying cybereyes that dirty, battle-scarred Neuwerke men in torn overalls were still loading stacks of datachips and pieces of technology onto the Tilt-Wing.

'Aufenthalt zurück!' someone yelled. A burst of submachinegun fire sparkled across the divide, felling a mini-crane and making the Alpha Assault Services men duck - all of them apart from Belloq, who knew his ad-emblazoned armour would save him from all but a direct shot to the faceplate from light weapons.

'Prepare for a frontal charge against a fortified position!' he barked. AAS trained regularly for such suicidal moves - not for nothing was the word "assa