[rednblack]

20, APR, 2075.  10:25 p.m. College Station, TX  CAS

@Bookworm

Bookworm lifts up the trunk door swiftly, like tearing off a bandaid and steels herself against hope.  Inside, Breeze's body looks smaller than she'd remembered him being.  The chameleon suit has finished shorting out, reverting to a cold metallic gray color, and she can tell by looking at him that there's no hope.  Peeling back the mask, she notes that his lips have already turned blue, and his eyes -- Ghost, his eyes -- are so vacant and unsettling that she closes his lids and even considers crossing herself.  Where did that come from?  As she checks for a pulse -- a futile endeavor -- Delilah notes a small crater where the back of Breeze's head should be.  Big Daddy was rolling with some big ordnance, whether the size of the piece, the ammo that it was fed, or both.  As a nervous habit, Delilah pulls up an ARO before closing the trunk.

>>Brain Stem: In vertebrates, the brain stem is posterior part of the brain adjoining and structurally continuous with the spinal cord, and in humans included the medulla oblongata, pons, and midbrain.  The brainstem provides the main motor and sensory innervation to the face and neck, and plays a critical role in the regulation of cardiac and respiratory function.  It also regulates the central nervous system, and is pivotal in maintaining consciousness.

@Hopeless

"Slide your SIN here," the man says in a bored tone, barely taking his eyes off the writhing bodies on the trid.  "By sliding a legal SIN, you hereby agree to not break any laws of the CAS while you are a guest at Stoker 8, including but not limited to: prostitution, ingestion or selling of illegal substances, BTL manufacture or consumption, and you hereby waive your right to a warrant should Lonestar, or any other law enforcement agency recognized under CAS law, seek access to your temporary domicile.  It is the policy of Stoker 8 to cooperate with any official law enforcement agency recognized under said law, and Stoker 8, its employess, and affiliates are deemed free of all responsibility of any actions you may take in violation of this agreement."  The words come out as one long sentence, and it's only after uttering them that the man first takes a look at Hopeless and begins to process the room request. 

"Kitchen?  Four?  That'll be ¥150.  Can I interest you in one of our themed rooms, or information on our hourly rates?"  At receiving a negative reply from Hopeless, the man slides 4 magock passkeys to Hopeless and turns back his porno.

@All,

Room 217 is cramped, and not terribly clean.  With a bit of sadness Hopeless thinks back to Breeze's flare up at the safe house, and wonders what this place would do to his complexion.  It'll do in a pinch, though, and once everyone is situated, Hopeless turns on the trids to try to ease Bookworm's discomfort.  Two breaking news stories vie for the team's attention.  In College Station, it seems, there was a recent drug deal gone bad just southwest of Easterwood Airport.  Texas A&M students caught unawares of the goings on were quickly rounded up by Lonestar,though two are still missing and if anyone has any information on the whereabouts of Mr. Clyde Anderson or Ms. Celia Greene, they are encouraged to call an anonymous tip line, as their parents are incredibly worried, etc.  The students in custody claim that an armed drone fired on them, and they would all be dead if it wasn't for the heroic actions of the Savior of College Station, whose whereabouts are currently unknown.  Supposedly allied with the rogue drone operator are two missing suspects deemed armed and extremely dangerous.  Lonestar has currently not released any information about the missing suspects, but they have released the name of one of their downed accomplices, a Shaman operating without a license named Victoria Gonzalez, a citizen of Atzlan.  She was gunned down in a firefight with Lonestar agents just off Hwy 47, which tragically also claimed the lives of two seasoned Lonestar agents.

Other persons of interest are Igor the Bear, a retired professional wrestler who is also a College Station resident.  More than 1 eye witness has placed Igor at the crime scene, and anyone with any information on his whereabouts are encouraged to contact Lonestar immediately.  He is considered to be armed and dangerous, and is potentially one party in this drug deal gone bad.

On another channel, it's a gang war in the DFW that is hogging all the headlines.  A gang feud has erupted in the streets of the DFW pitting The Silver Blade Yakuza against The Feathered, a pro-Atzlan criminal organization.  The death toll currently stands at 15, though with the firefight encompassing a 2 block initial radius before taking to the highways, Lonestar crews are still assessing the extent of the damage.  Some commentators claim that this could be the opening overture of a multi-national gang war, while others claim this particular instance, while deplorable, is nothing more than a fight over turf that has spiraled out of control, as these things often do.

[JackVII]

[20APR2075 2230 | Room 217 | Stoker 8 Motel | College Station, TX | CAS]

Bookworm lounged on the couch and watched the trid through glazed eyes. Between losing Breeze and nearly getting killed herself, the dwarf was really beginning to reconsider her life choices. She also started to wonder whether Eiroa had really gotten over that little frag-up from the last job she had done for her. Looking around the rest of the room, she took note of the two men sitting at the small kitchen table. Error was cleaning his rifle and cursing about how much nuyen the APDS rounds he had fired had cost.

>>APDS: These are military-grade armor piercing rounds—their full name is armor piercing discarding sabot. They are designed to travel at high velocities and punch through personal body armor.

The dwarf waved away the ARO and returned her attention to the trid. The news was not the best. Error was wanted by the police and the two students they had dropped off were also in the public eye. In the good column, it looked like the shaman from earlier in the evening had been geeked. Bookworm made a note to dig a bit further into her. If she was working so closely with Big Daddy, and presumably the Retro-Futurists, something smelled like rotten krill. If the RF is so anti-Awakened, why work with a shaman?

Calling out into the air, the dwarf said, "Alright cummers, I need to get some sleep to help the healing process along. When I wake up, I'm going to finish reviewing the information Breeze had uncovered and start researching any apparent leads. If you need anything, just leave me an ARO note."

[rednblack]

Shortly after 11:00, Error gets a ping on his comm.  He sets down the trigger housing on the rifle he's been scouring away at for the last fifteen minutes, wipes his hands on a hotel towel, and checks the message.  He frowns before angling the device so that Hopeless can read the message.

>>Incoming Message
>>Sender: Dadlez
>>Message: So, our friends looking to throw that surprise party were a little surprised themselves.  Perhaps you've heard about it.  Then I see you've had your own fiesta tonight.  Anything you'd like to tell me?
>>End Message

[saithor]

Archive was up and watching the trids. Breeze, what the **** did you get yourself involved in? she thought as she watched it. She had toyed with the idea of calling his comn, but now it was out of the question. It was to risky that whoever had killed Breeze or Lonestar had gotten their hands on it. Better to wait for the package then draw attention herself. If there was anything to thank her parents for, it was the fact that they were so ashamed that they dumped her on the streets instead of into a corp lab.

[Poindexter]

Ian sits at the kitchen table in the crappy little room, leaning his elbows on the table and his forehead on his hands. All the adrenaline is drained out of him. He's tired. He's hurt. All his body wants to do is get some food and some sleep, but his brain is still raging too hard to allow anything like that to happen. Although he gives off the pure spitting image of defeat, there is a raging mosh pit of discontent and justice denied that blazes inside his soul, getting stronger and stronger by the moment. Perhaps the most infuriating aspect of everything is that he knows he's utterly powerless to do anything about anything tonight. BULLSHIT! There's word that needs to get out. Not to mention, I gotta do something about Breeze before the sun comes up." He swallows hard at the though of Breeze. The Savior of college station is dead and it's all his fault. Why the fuck would I assume it wasn't Big Daddy? Of fucking COURSE it was big daddy. If I had been smart enough to see that right in front of my fucking face the way it was, it would have been obvious that this was a horrible plan.

After watching the news with Error and Book, he hardly reacts, grumbling out only "Damn kids need to call their parents for fucks sake." while still staring at the table. At least I'll be able to get him outta that suit now. Make him less visible. He's in the middle of mentally composing a notice to be sent out to all of his shadow contacts about Dantes when Bookworm speaks up.

"Alright cummers, I need to get some sleep to help the healing process along. When I wake up, I'm going to finish reviewing the information Breeze had uncovered and start researching any apparent leads. If you need anything, just leave me an ARO note."

Ian grunts in acknowledgement to her as she slips into the back room for some well earned rest. Almost got her killed too. If she and shiney suit man over there hadn't been on point like they were, we might all have gotten fucked tonight. He already likes the know it all little matrix wizard more than he wants to, and he hopes those bullet wounds don't get infected overnight. They looked like basic in and out kinda deals. She should be ok. He looks up at Error and says "Tonight, you and me gotta get ridda Breeze. Tomorrow, we gotta get you some new clothes. Wiz?" Error nods in agreement and Hopeless, feeling awkward adds "Hey, good work tonight. Thanks for having my back out there." Almost in response, the massive bastard gets a funny look on his face, then turns his commlink around so Ian can read it.

>>Incoming Message
>>Sender: Dadlez
>>Message: So, our friends looking to throw that surprise party were a little surprised themselves.  Perhaps you've heard about it.  Then I see you've had your own fiesta tonight.  Anything you'd like to tell me?
>>End Message

A loud, long, and defeated sigh pours out of Ian as he reads it. He pauses for a moment, then says, "Tell her we got ambushed trying to link up with some supplies for the job. Tell her we lost Breeze, but none of us got fingered by Star. Tell her they all got away." For a moment, he thinks better of it, but then in spite of himself he adds, "And tell her that we're rebooting all our shit now to lose those marks or this job aint never gonna happen. Long as those assholes can listen in on us, we're never gonna be able to make a move." Ian waits until he's done sending the message, paraphrased however he likes before looking him right in the eye and saying, "Now, I'm sure a guy like yourself knows where to get rid of a body, right?"

Finally finished with his message, Ian reboots his Avalon and sends it.

<< Send Message: B-Know/Tammy/Ticker/Jimbo/Elise
  << Message: Just got burned by a runner called Dantes. Pic included. Reward for any info.

[rednblack]

At the mention of the name "Victoria Gonzalez" Hopeless' ears prick up.  It's mostly a fable, a story told by kids who live and die by the gutters in the DFW, when one of their own turns up in a particularly nasty way.  The rhyme is in Spanish, and he can't quite remember all of it, nor does it translate well to English, but Hopeless finds himself lightly murmuring the parts he remembers,

"Victoria, Victoria, and Victoria Gonzalez
They'll cut off your balls and flay your thighs
Three bodies one face
They bring the Spanish Inquisition up Aztlan way
Then there's something about 'Whether by whip or bullet, magic, or MARK'

"Fuck, what is the rest of it?" Hopeless wonders out loud, and then it hits him: their name: Las Putas de la Muerte.  Even if they're real, there's no way "Victoria Gonzalez" is the real name, right?  Why would the trids be throwing it around?  And if they are real. . .

[rednblack]

Error fires off his reply to the Johnson, and the comm stays quiet.  Either she's processing, or that's good enough for her right now. As he and Hopeless discuss the best option for Breeze's body, Hopeless get a ping on his own comm.

>>Incoming Message
>>Sender: B-Know
>>Message: Yeah, I recognize that sack.  New in town.  He was chumming it up with the bartender down at the Silver Dollar Saloon a couple days ago.  Had himself a little party in the loft above the bar with these 3 hotties, looked like triplets, but I figured they'd had work done, ya know, for gentlemen with discriminating tastes.  After that, chummer rode into the sunset.  Not sure where he's from, but if ur pockets r deep enough, bet I could find out.
>>End Message

[Poindexter]

>>Incoming Message
>>Sender: B-Know
>>Message: Yeah, I recognize that sack.  New in town.  He was chumming it up with the bartender down at the Silver Dollar Saloon a couple days ago.  Had himself a little party in the loft above the bar with these 3 hotties, looked like triplets, but I figured they'd had work done, ya know, for gentlemen with discriminating tastes.  After that, chummer rode into the sunset.  Not sure where he's from, but if ur pockets r deep enough, bet I could find out.
>>End Message

<<Reply: B-Know
  <<Message: No, I think I know where he's from. I need to know where he's going.

[Ryo]

Error sat in a contemplative silence as he slowly and methodically cleaned his gun, hands moving on implanted muscle memory thanks to the reflex recorders riding shotgun in is brain. He didn't pause when his name was mentioned on the news, an almost silent scoff being the only indication he had even heard it. His mind was elsewhere, thinking back to that ambush and the way his body burned from the inside out from the mojo that had been thrown at him. He had always heard that the trids liked to exaggerate magic, not unlike the way they exaggerated guns. But being roasted from the inside by an enemy he couldn't even see had been far more terrifying than anything he had seen in the trids.

He looks up at Error and says "Tonight, you and me gotta get ridda Breeze. Tomorrow, we gotta get you some new clothes. Wiz?"

Error smiled ever so slightly, setting down the gun as he nodded in agreement. To be honest, he was kind of tired of keeping up the charade. Despite being tailored to his body and fitting like a finely crafted glove, he had always felt slightly uncomfortable wearing the suit, like he was just wearing a costume. It was just another role he had been playing, like Igor the Bear.

Just then, his comm pinged, and Error quickly wiped the gun grease off his hands before picking it up to read the message.

"Hey, good work tonight. Thanks for having my back out there."

He didn't reply, just showing the man the message on his comm.

"Tell her we got ambushed trying to link up with some supplies for the job. Tell her we lost Breeze, but none of us got fingered by Star. Tell her they all got away." For a moment, he thinks better of it, but then in spite of himself he adds, "And tell her that we're rebooting all our shit now to lose those marks or this job aint never gonna happen. Long as those assholes can listen in on us, we're never gonna be able to make a move."

He starts typing away on the small keys on the comm as Hopeless gives him instructions.


>>Send Message
>>TO: Dadlez
>> "Ambushed. Decker got geeked. Star saw nothing. Ambushers escaped.Taking steps to shake their surveillance. Situation Normal: All Fucked Up."


Error hits send and looks up from his comm, face impassive for a moment as he looks down at Hopeless from across the table. He briefly considers picking up the assault rifle again, but unless he was planning to polish it to a mirror shine, there wasn't much more cleaning he could do.

"Now, I'm sure a guy like yourself knows where to get rid of a body, right?"

"He was friend. How respectable were you planning to be?" Error asks, his accent getting noticeably thicker as he stops trying to hide it.

"There are soy fields outside College Station. We could go there, maybe dig hole, say few words. Proper burial. Good, respectable. But body will probably be found in a day or two by drone patrol." He begins, his hands tracing the grain in the table absentmindedly.

"Or we go to Ork Town. There are places men know not to go, places where the ghouls hunt. Good place to leave body you don't want found. The ghouls leave no trace."

Error looks up at Hopeless, stopping his hands. He knew better than to crack jokes in a situation like this and kept his expression neutral and solemn.

"He was your comrade. You decide."

[Poindexter]

"He was your comrade. You decide."

A long pause fills the room. Ian knows the truth of situation, but he doesn't want to say it out loud. He wasn't my friend. He was just a runner I worked a job with. But still... He's got a mother out there or something, doesn't he? Probably. She's gonna wanna know what happened to her boy. He tries to speak up, but his throat is clogged and he sort of croaks a little bit before clearing his throat and trying again. "Maybe it's better if the drones do find him. I mean, someone out there is gonna want to know what happened to him, right? I mean, as long as we don't leave anything on him that can lead back to us... There's one more thing bugging him though; That file Breeze sent him. It was about time he opened it up, after all. Might shed some light on whether or not there's gonna be anyone out there looking for him at least. Finally, Ian gulps down hard, says "Well, now that I think about it, there is this file he sent me, on sort of... like, a deadman's switch, y'know?" He doesn't wanna look Error in the eye as he gives the mental order to his commlink to open the file and display the file in a small ARO he can read as he goes. Before he starts actually reading/watching/listening to it though, he has his commlink search the file for the words "mother, father, sister, brother, son, daughter, family, and wife." hoping for some clue as to what Breeze would have wanted done with his remains. Finding none, he lets out a long exhale before saying, "Lets get out to Ork Town."

[Ryo]

Error nods his head in agreement, somewhat surprised by the pragmatism but none-the-less glad for it.

"We will have to be quick and careful when we drop the body. It's already night out, the ghouls will be hunting, and we'll want to be gone before they come. We don't want an invite to that dinner party." Error remarks, getting up from the table to cross to the fridge. He opens it in search of alcohol, but frowns when he finds it empty save for some synthetic garbage he wouldn't use to clean his chrome.

"We need booze. Proper beer, or nice Russian vodka. After it is done, we pay respect by drinking to fallen comrades."

[rednblack]

By the time Hopeless gets in the Americar again, he's feeling a little numb.  Whether it's from the shock of the ambush wearing off, his exhaustion, or the death of his teammate, he's not really sure, but later, when he tries to recall disposing of Breeze's body, or the message that Breeze sent him, it's impossible to differentiate between the two.  The whole ordeal plays out like some kind of bad trid, or the complete inversion of one: instead of training for the big fight, the hero is laid to rest, left to be picked clean by ghouls.  Yeah, this is the shadows.  So much for the code of the samurai.

Panel 1: Ext. Downtown College Station.

An aerial shot, the camera pans slowly as the runners exit Stoker 8.  Hopeless pops the trunk, while the ork, still in his suit and bigger now somehow, carefully places his shovel in the trunk, deferential to its contents.  Obviously, they didn't have a shovel in the hotel room.  Hopeless knows this, but every time he remembers it, that's how it plays out.

(Cutscene)

Panel 2: Int. Americar

Hopeless is the last to enter the car, taking the passenger side this time.  He closes the door, and the two look at one another for a brief moment.

Ork (Heavy Russian Accent):
You sure?  This the play?

The human, Hopeless, nods, and loads up a file from his commlink.

Panel 3: XCU Hopeless' commlink

The shot is tight, focused, with just enough of the road in view to give the impression of forward momentum.  Breeze's face comes into view.  He's splotchy, his eyes are nearly swollen shut, and the drab safehouse frames his background. 

Breeze:
Hoi, chummer.  If you’re watching this, we both know what that means, and if that’s the case, I’m sorry I let you down."

Panel 4: XCU on Breeze, Int. of Safehouse

Breeze:
"If this happened in the middle of our business, omae, I hope you got outta there, and are watching this on a beach somewhere with that goofy motorcycle helmet of yours safely packed away for later.  Seriously.  Later.  If we’re not done yet, then cut this fuckin’ file.  I’m serious.  Ditch the job, frag the Johnson, and find work elsewhere.  This one’s slotted up something fierce.”[/

Panel 5: Int. Americar XCU on Hopeless' reflection in his commlink menu.

A few moments of silence as the sound of tires on plascrete thump along to a brooding soundtrack.  From the commlink window, Breeze's expression is hard, daring, as if he's wishing for Hopeless to close the window, walk away, and forget about this whole mess from beyond the grave.  From the reflection, Hopeless keeps on watching, forcing himself to be dispassionate.

Panel 6: Ext. Aerial view of a highway

A lone Americar cuts through the darkness, the lights of College Station faintly glowing behind it.

Breeze (V.O.):
"You’re still with me, huh?  Figures.  So here’s the thing: you figure you owe someone, and you’re going to see this through, chip?  I’m not going to argue with you."

Panel 7: Ext. Slums of Ork Town

The Americar turns a corner on a derelict residential street.  Two houses can be seen in various states of disrepair.  The corner house has been looted for siding and wiring, leaving only a skeleton of load-supporting beams.  In the foreground Error brings up his hand to cover his face, gesturing like he's scratching his ear, while in the background Lonestar lights flash as two agents talk with the neighbors.

Breeze V.O.):
"If you want to find yourself in the same position as me, it’s a free-ish country, so here’s what you gotta do: find my homeboy, Archive.  You need matrix support for this run, and with our partners dropping like flies, or starting a fucking riot for Ghost’s sake, you need someone on the outside, someone who hasn’t been tainted by whatever the fuck is really going on here.  And that someone is Archive.  I’ve been doing business with this guy for as long as I’ve been running the matrix, and he’s yet to let me down.  This is one decker with some serious skills, and he seems to be fraggin’ everywhere at once."

Panel 8: Int. Americar

Breeze (V.O.):
“Here’s the downside.  I can’t tell ya anything about him.  I don’t even know if it’s a ‘him’ we’re talking about.  As for where to find him, you got me, omae, but I took the liberty of sending him a file on everything I’ve got on the MS labs."

Hopeless reacts to Breeze's confession, and shoots a glance at Error.

Panel 9: Ext. Culvert

The Americar comes to a stop next to a large culvert that opens like a maw outside a long-abandoned municipal building.  Error exits quickly with his assault rifle, and covers the opening while Hopeless pops the trunk.

Breeze (V.O.):
"Don’t go cursing me out quite yet.  I’m a dead man, remember, and it’s not nice to speak ill of the recently deceased.  I files I sent were encrypted.  Attached to this message is the key, and yeah, I’m thinking of you Hopeless, I put a hell of a databomb on that thing should it get intercepted or he not be as trustworthy as I think he is.  So, what you gotta do is take that little key, and get yourself to the Ares Space Museum in the matrix, and plant that little key in the bottom of the deepest valley in Mars.  All they fraggin’ care about there is tagging AROs, so you should be golden.  If you’re interested, and if Archive is interested, then you’ve got yourself a team."

Panel 10: Ext. Establishing Shot, Aerial view: Culvert

The three figures are small, swallowed by the sun scorched grass and the detritus of 20th century America.  Error has one hand on his rifle, and Breeze's leg in the other.  Hopeless has both of Breeze's arms in his, as they half carry, half drag Breeze to the mouth of the culvert. The shot pulls back as they advance, until their figures become imperceptible.

Breeze (V.O.):
"I never figured we needed anyone but us two to get this thing finished anyway."

Panel 11: Ext. Culvert

The bottom part of the shot is Breeze's body, laid on his side with his hand in view.  Always the hand.  Hopeless will never forget the hand.  Hopeless and Error walk to the car, and the scene fades out as the headlamps turn from view.

Breeze (V.O.):
"So, here’s to you, old friend.  And one more thing, if I’ve bitten it before that prick Big Daddy, would you kindly put a bullet in his fuckin’ head for me?  I think his name’s Niles, by the way.  There’s a listing for him in the Retro-futurist sheets I got.”

Panel 12: XCU Hopeless' Commlink

Again, the shot is tight, but shows enough of the road to betray the forward movement of the Americar.  Hopeless holds the commlink loosely, as Breeze's face fades from view and replaced by a 20th century flat-flick.  There's a gore-covered screen lightly obscuring a good-looking Austrian fellow urging Hopeless to "Get your ass to Mars."

Austrian Gentleman
Get your ass to Mars//Get your ass to Mars//
Get your ass to Mars//Get your ass to Mars//
Get your ass to Mars//Get your ass to Mars//

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M6ABu8VtVjs

[Poindexter]

The giant street sam behind the wheel raises one eyebrow questioningly at Hopeless, who remains silent. Having just deposited a fellow shadowrunner in what amounts to an all you can eat buffet, he's also gained a dark little bit of insight as to the future that probably awaits him on the path he's walking. All the braggadocio and pretense had seemed to drain out of Error around the same time Breeze breathed his last. Maybe the happy go lucky asshole bit is just an act, a way to shield his actual emotions from the horrible shit one has to do in this line of work. The dark foreboding city crawls past the window showing reflections of other peoples lives. Maybe I need an act like that. Feeling bad for leaving his unspoken question hanging there for so long, Ian finally responds, albeit somewhat cryptically.

"I gotta go to Mars. Message me if anything happens."

Hopeless reaches down on his right for the lever and leans his seat back as far as it will go. The last thing he wants is to be leaning to the side with his tongue out like a junkie at this hour in this neighborhood with a wanted man behind the wheel. He leans back and fires up the sim mod on his Avalon, and after a brief period of re-orientation, he finds himself inside the matrix. As tired and worn out as he is, the sheer amount of info flying around is almost staggering, but he keeps his wits about him and remembers why he's here.

Looking down at the shining green key around his neck, he knows where he needs to go, but he's never been there before. He reaches one purple robed arm out, with a flick of his wrist, a small bright winged ball of light appears before him. With a cheerful electronic voice, it announces, >>Good morning, master! What do you want to do today? ZombieSlash4 has just added new Co-op modes and there's a poetry slam going on toni-<< But Ian cuts it off before it can finish its rap. I like LISTEN. It's a good little search program, but the ads can get freakin irritating. <<No, little friend.>> he says in a broken and aged tone. <<No. Today, I need to go to the Ares Space Museum. Take me there, please?>>

>>Of course, master! Follow MEEeeeeee,<< the little fuzzball squeals as it streaks off into matrix space, with Hopeless in tow. He knows logically that this whole affair is actually taking seconds at most, but he still cant shake the feeling that it's been much longer than that. As he zigs and zags past hosts in the dark matrix sky, his companion periodically chirping out, >>LISTEN! Aikman auto is giving 3.2%APR financing with ANY trade in! ACT NOW<< and other bits of spam, Ian has time to do a little daydreaming. You've always wanted to be a decker, but never thought you'd ever have the money for a deck. Well, now you've got one, don't you? What's to stop you from learning how to do that shit yourself? Nothing, that's what. Fuck it. Do it, man! Why not? I guess it's just a matter of convincing Error and Book to let me keep it. Unless this Archive character needs it for something.

Before he knows it, the two of them are inside the Space Museum. >>LISTEN! Ares supersquirt on SUPER SALE! 2 for 1599.99 with factory rebate! Keep both the kids cool this summer with Ares!<< With another wave of his hand, the irritating little spamball winks out of existence. Hopeless follows the AROS to the Mars exhibit, floating on his dark fuchsia disk to the dark red surface of the planet. Bringing up a basic Mars map from the museum directory, he finds his way to the deepest valley, still floating over the landscape. Hovering over what the map claims is the correct point, he pulls the key from around his neck and drops it into the valley, watching it plummet to the bottom, still glinting green in the dim sunlight.

Then, waking up out of VR, leaning back in Errors Americar, the absolute bodily desperation to get back to the hotel and get the hell to sleep, the trauma of the last few days all put together, finally catches up to him. Without an inch of sanity left to spare on anything, he shakily blurts out "Ok. Wheels are in motion. We... we... GET! We get to the room and we get some sleep and we see where those wheels have rolled to by the morning. Roger fuckin Dodger?!"

[Ryo]

"I gotta go to Mars. Message me if anything happens."

Error said nothing in reply, not even beginning to understand what that was supposed to mean and instead letting Hopeless slump into a boneless pile as he kept his eyes on the road. He drove in relative silence, with only the sound of the wind passing around his car and the hum of the engine to keep him company. He considered turning on the radio, but almost just as quickly dismissed the thought as he continued to drive back towards the civilized part of College Station. He passed a liquor store and frowned, suddenly remembering how sober he was and how desperately he wanted to change that.

A quick U-turn put his Americar into the parking lot of the liquor store, just as Hopeless lunged back up to a sitting position in a sudden rush.

"Ok. Wheels are in motion. We... we... GET! We get to the room and we get some sleep and we see where those wheels have rolled to by the morning. Roger fuckin Dodger?!"

Error put the car in park and stared at Hopeless a moment, at the complete lack of sanity that seemed to hover just behind his eyes. Poor guy had clearly seen too much shit on this job. He looked like he was on the edge of a psychotic break.

...This was probably a bad time to ask him to buy some booze. He'd do it himself, but with his face plastered all over the news, that was probably a worse idea, but there was no way he was ending this night sober. Error turned from Hopeless to look towards the liquor store, then back at his slightly unhinged partner, debating his choices.

"You could use drink, I think." He said finally.

[Poindexter]

"You could use drink, I think." He said finally.

He turns his disheveled head to look Error in the eyes. Huh? He takes a long pause, mouth open in confusion, before his mind registers the lack of movment and the large ARO on the storefront ahead of him. Slowly, he beings to assemble the bricks of the situation in his head until finally...

"Yeah! Liquor! Cameras! Trids! Cops! Fuck..." A sense of clarity is back in his voice, the mania behind it can still be heard. "Be right back!" He opens the door and slumps out of the car into the parking lot. Not really paying attention, he bangs the door on his shin as he closes it again. "Dammit! Fuckin Piece of-" The tiny white boy raises one foot back in rage, as if to kick a dent in the offending door, but thinks better of it before following though. All I need now is a broken toe. He begins to enter the store, then quickly back turns around, and calls out to Error. "Hey! Whadda you drink?"