[Herr Brackhaus]

The FunOne autopilot announced that time to destination was approximately five minutes with the pleasant timbre of an Irish woman, and Erik raised the back of his seat until he was fully upright. The agent program had plotted several different approaches to the location Mercer had sent him, and the vehicle was currently heading north-west on Alexander Avenue which would take him within a few hundred meters of the warehouse.

"Pilot, maintain speed just below posted limit, and attempt to get within 200 meters of the Westfield structure using public roads only."

"Understood, sir" the program responded and went on to describe the route, but Erik had already shifted his focus to what he considered the important part of the trip. Reaching into the Aether with his mind, the adept opened his eyelids, exposing the empty eye sockets to the world around him.

"Heimdall, lend me your eyes!" he intoned while furiously working the surrounding mana into a spell of divination, his teeth gritted with the strain of pulling in as much mojo as he could possibly handle, the magic coursing through his veins making him feel more alive. He wanted to savor the moment but knew that such an action could be dangerous, and with an almost rapture-like sigh he released the spell. The world around him was instantly brought to life with a clarity and level of detail that threatened to overwhelm him. He could feel every living thing for hundreds of meters around him; insects flitting around in the sky, vermin crawling in sewer tunnels, stray cats and dogs hunting for food on the ground, and humans working the docks and surrounding areas. The vibrancy of it all was nothing short of amazing, and for a moment he pitied the mundanes of the world who would never see it as he did in this instant, confined to their meat eyes as they were.

Almost lost in his reverie, the pilot program brought him back to the real world when it announced that the warehouse was now 800 meters away and closing, and Erik began preparing himself for the next step. Once more he enforced his will onto the Astral, shaping it as he desired, and was pleasantly surprised when the spell formed without taxing him significantly. Uttering a prayer to Eir for keeping him healthy, he once more opened his mind to the familiar sense granted by the spell, and was rewarded with a view of the world that far surpassed what his mortal eyes had been capable of. Now, he not only saw the life surrounding him in all directions, but the structures, landscape, and geography as well; he could visualize in his mind the sewer pipes the rats underneath him were scurrying through, the lightly wooded area to his north where a few ravens were nesting, and the trailers and cars near the water to his left.

When he briefly saw two metahuman shapes closely entangled in the back seat of a stationwagon parked near the edge of the docks, he couldn't help but smile to himself before focusing his senses towards his target for the night. He studied the structure and surrounding areas intently as the vehicle glided along Alexander Avenue when he suddenly recognized one particular life form. "Hello, Mercer" he said out loud to no on in particular, and frowned at the unknown metahumans that sat next to him in the van, one ork and one human as near as he could tell.

The vehicle turned right on Lincoln Avenue, taking him away from Mercer and the others, and again on Taylor Way taking him back towards the target. The pilot made a short incursion onto 49th Avenue North-East before returning to Taylor, while Erik fed everything he could sense to his agent along the way. In turn, the knowbot built a digital framework from the information it got through Erik's DNI, highlighting the three metahumans outside the structure and the seven inside in particular, as well as the tunnel leading away from the structure.

"Agent, instruct the pilot to continue on our present heading. I'd like to see if we can pick up the trail of the tunnel east, south-east of the warehouse without doubling back on Taylor; if we have to go back, take us to Alexander Avenue without passing the Westfield location again. And send the information we've got to so far to Mercer; use the same encryption key as the last time we spoke. He should remember."

As the landscape around him grew less dense he relaxed into his seat and let the sensory input wash over him as the pilot drove on, waiting for the vehicle to come into proximity of the tunnel once more.

[Herr Brackhaus]

It only took a few minutes for the pilot program to circle the Renault-Fiat back to where Erik had lost the trail of the tunnel, and as the passed the warehouse again he realized it would be a good idea to get a better look at his opposition. Projecting his will into the Astral, he called his summoned spirit to him. Clad in ancient warrior garb, she looked rather out of place inside the sleek, modern vehicle.

"Fríða, I need you to go where I cannot; there are three individuals outside the warehouse to the south of us that I know about, a human, a dwarf, and a troll. I also have reports of a spirit keeping watch outside, as well as another ten individuals inside the warehouse; eight orks and two humans. Take a closer look Astrally at the auras of the three metahumans and the spirit outside, and if possible, all of the ones inside. I will conceal you from their sight should they happen to be astrally active but you will need to remain unseen; this is of the utmost importance, so stay undetected at all costs, even if it means not finishing the task. Now hold still."

Drawing mana into himself he shaped the spirits form into a decent resemblance of a small swarm of tiny, mundane gnats. He chuckled to himself at the result. "Most people make the mistake of ignoring the sky in the first place, and even if some of the individuals are dual natured and just happen to look up they are unlikely to care enough about a few insects to investigate further."

The spirit nodded it's head and disappeared without a word, intent on finishing it's service. Erik went back to paying close attention to the warehouse and surrounding areas, especially the orks that were in close proximity to each other. As the vehicle passed Mercer's location once more Erik couldn't help but laugh. "If only I had a way to project into the car from here..."

Shortly after the car swung back onto Alexander Avenue he picked up the trail of the tunnel, and he was pleased to note that it did not go very far. Only 70 or so meters, but with some sort of barrier blocking entry. "That could be a problem" he thought, before speaking out loud to the agent program.

"Instruct the pilot to make a u-turn where appropriate and take us to to Mercer's me.loc ARO. No need for haste, so obey posted limits.

Doubling back yet again he made a final attempt at distinguishing the orks inside the warehouse from each other, before the Renault-Fiat rolled to a quiet stop near a large, box-shaped van several hundred meters across the road from Westfield. The door opened up at a mental command from his PAN, and Erik stepped outside wrapped in the comforting glow of the Astral, then walked towards the van.

Unsurprisingly, a door opened revealing an interior that was obviously as well cared for as the vehicle itself; the emotions attached to the inside shone in bright gold hues almost as brightly as the exterior. Spots of faded reds were likely the remnants of repaired scrapes and possibly bruises, indicating that the owner had been angry at having his vehicle damaged. Before could come within ten feet a distinctly recognizable aura stepped outside.

Erik smiled "Good evening, Mercer. I say, it's been too long." He gave the man a once over even though the strain of holding three sustained spells dulled his senses somewhat. "You seem... surprisingly fit, old chap. From what I'd heard, I expected to find you somewhat worse for wear. Anyhow. I trust you got my earlier message? I have more information to add, and I'm waiting for a report from one of my agents before I'll consider myself done. Shall we?" A mental command to his knowbot was all it took for Mercer to have a MARK invitation to the file Erik's agent had continuously updated during the drive.

Exchanging pleasantries took a few minutes, as Erik introduced himself as Jaeger to the others; SpitFire, a rigger; Achak, an adept who seemed to be suffering some sort of malaise; Flickr, a magician who seemed decidedly ill.

"I might be able to do something to help your friend here, Mercer." Healing would take a lot more concentration than he currently had, but he couldn't stand by and let a fellow Awakened expire before his eyes.

[Tecumseh]

While waiting for Jaeger's arrival, Achak's novacoke bliss turns into novacoke misery.

"Ooooh..." he moans, rubbing his temples. "I think that big drek-headed bigot Shur slapped me with DMSO when he was patting me down. I'm going to kick his big drekky hoop one day, I swear to Mary."

He leans back the passenger's seat so that he can recline with his arm over his face to keep the lights out of his eyes.

"Ooooh... I feel like Flickr looks. Jesus: call me home already."

Jaeger arrives and instead of beaming at him like a coked-up idiot, Achak can barely manage a civil "hoi" and a handshake. Everything is giving him the creeps. Jaeger's eyes are freaking him out, and the magic radiating off the man's foci are roiling Achak's stomach.

"Ooooh... I don't feel so good. What did I eat? Wait, nothing. I didn't have dinner. Uggggh, maybe that's for the best. Or is that the problem?"

There is some discussion about the warehouse, the sentries, and the best way to murder a baker's dozen of sentient creatures, several of which would be highly profitable. Achak barely has the patience to pay attention.

"We obviously can't go right now," he says, slumping forward. "Flickr's a mess and I've got to purge whatever Shur put into my system. Then we can kill these drekheads and then we can go kill Shur."

He groans again, muttering under his breath about why Flickr had to geek Chris and get his head pumped full of corn because of it. He could have done Achak a huge favor and geeked Shur but noooo, that would have been too convenient. Instead he had to blah blah blah.

"What if we don't storm the castle?" Achak says at one point, only half listening to the most recent proposal. "What if we wait for them to come out, then geek them? That gives us a few days to plan and to mend. SpitFire can get some sensors for his whatsits; Mercer can tune up his servos and drek; Jaeger can buy a pair of dark sunglasses. Really dark. I'll help him pick. It works out better for everyone."

[Zweiblumen]

While Jaeger is approaching the vehicle SpitFire asks Mercer to confirm his identity.  With that done, a door opens for the blind mage when he reaches the van.  SpitFire speaks from the sound system, "Hoi, welcome to our merry band of fellows!  Please, come in and make your self comfortable.  We've plenty to chat about.  Folks call me SpitFire."  Then closes the door behind him.  "I apologize for not shaking your hand, in person I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment.  But it's a pleasure to meet you.  If you've any way for me to transmit the recon data to you, feel free to slave it to this address." and he provides the access codes to the van's SimNet.

SpitFire smirks inwardly while in VR listening to Achak deal with his hangover.  While it may not be *his* favorite way to live, he keeps the inside of the van impeccable for "guests."  With a mental command the compartment in front of Achak's seat opens with a glass of fresh water and a pill jar with a few aspirin in it, a cold face compress/eye mask and a note that says "Take two and call me in the morning" neatly tucked on top.

As the conversations continue SpitFire speaks up on a couple of points.
"I'll leave a 'squito floating in the building doing rounds and sending bursts of data back.  We can send a Fly-Spy down into the sewer as I can't seem to find any way into this secret passage from inside the building.  Just need to get someone to clear the brush off the grate for me as none of my drones are currently rigged for that kind of work.  Then I think we can all use a bit of rest before we make any hard and fast decisions, though I'm partial to Achak's idea of hitting them on the road."

[Herr Brackhaus]

Jaeger chuckled at Achak's obvious discomfort. "I don't even need the Talent to tell he's coming off of something." He turned his sightless gaze on the adepts aura, as if looking through him.

"Sunglasses, old sport? Now what use would someone like I have for something like that?"

SpitFire seemed like the usual technophile; entirely too reliant on modern inventions to truly see the world around him, but as Erik subscribed his commlink to the van his agent immediately updated it's own intel with that of the rigger's. "Good work, friend, good work indeed. If you will allow my agent to provide updates from my own reconnaissance?"

As the knowbot began updating the existing information, his summoned spirit returned, materializing suddenly inside the vehicle. As if a Viking warrior stepping out of nowhere was nothing out of the ordinary, Erik calmly spoke to the spirit.

"Fríða, good of you to return. How did you fare in your quest?"

The warrior spirit looked around curiously, taking in the others before making her report. "The three outside are mundane, bróðir, though less... alive than the others; the troll in particular has shadows," she hesitated, "gaps of some kind, all over his aura. Most unsettling. All three of them do, but the troll more than the others." She sent a feeling of what the aura had seemed like, and Erik recognized it immediately.

"Augmentations. She's talking about 'ware, and the troll must be full of it. Continue, please."

With a nod of her head and mouthing the word "augmentation" as if tasting something new and exciting, she went on. "The orks inside are worthy of their name; all but one are sick, and they are all... aug-men-ted. Fascinating." Once more the link showed Erik what the spirit had assensed, and he had a hard time believing what she was sharing with him.

"Are you sure, my dear?" he said quietly, then looked at the blank faces of the others. "Oh, right. She got a feeling the orks are all alike; not identical, mind, but close. As if something made them similar... Hmm. Perhaps... How many kits can Orks have? Could they be siblings?" For a moment he looked into nothingness, apparently lost in thought until Mercer cleared his throat.

"Hmm? Ah, yes. A question for another time, but perhaps an important one."

The spirit finished her report, and Erik stood and bowed. "My honor is yours, friend. May you always find glory on the battlefield until the valkyries arrive to bring you to Folkvangr." With a smile and a bow in return, the spirit vanished as quickly as she had arrived.

Turning to the others, Erik remained standing as he spoke. "Now hang on just a minute, chaps. Mercer asked me to... "peep a warehouse" I believe was the term you used, no?" he smiled at the samurai. "No one said anything about an assault, though I'd be more than happy to take care of the manhole cover for your drone, SpitFire. That being said, perhaps you should fill me in on what's going on before we proceed?"

[Malevolence]

"I must admit, I wasn't expecting a visit in person, but it is good to see you again." He held out his hand in greeting, then put it down awkwardly as he remembered that the man was blind. While Mercer knew that Jaeger could see rather well via the astral, the level of detail for physical shapes made it iffy that he would pick out the gesture. As the man approached, he got a ping from Spitfire looking for an IFF designation. Mercer tagged the man with an ARO by way of introduction to the team, and tagged each of the team members for Jaeger's benefit. He assumed that Jaeger's ever present AI would make some sort of sense of the AROs for the mage, who could not see them.


After Jaeger's report, the team pored over the data, making notes and discussing plans for the assault. This caught the sightless man a little by surprise, and he was quick to remind the crew that he had not signed on for a fight. That, along with the contents he had scoped out in the warehouse had the mystic adept's interest piqued. Mercer was sure that the potential bounties had more than a little to do with it. And since the team's slush fund was a little low, Mercer hoped that perhaps letting the mage in on the job for a split of the rewards might settle the tab for the sneak and peek, so he filled Jaeger in on what was going on with the warehouse. He told him about the vampires tactics - how they were enticing hunters with valuable historic treasures, but tagging them in order to trace the hunters to their lair. How Mercer's team had been hit, and Stake's too. That Mercer and Achak were all that was left of the two teams, but that they had been able to follow the chain up some and found this warehouse. He left out the larger picture - Sunrise and the coalition of Infected working together to secure their safety in the world. He left out the Yakuza connection. He left out the AAAs that were working with Sunrise, and so on. This was information that couldn't be trusted to just anyone until they had decided to commit to the fight. If Jaeger was in, all in, then Mercer would give him the full breadth and depth of the nightmare he had agreed to be subjected to.


Mercer supposed it was a little unfair - leaving out all of that made the objective seem like any other hunting job, and any hunter, seeing the profit in it, would accept. Then Mercer would let the other shoe drop now that the victim had committed to the point that backing out might appear cowardly. But simply knowing the information was enough to get a person killed, so Mercer felt justified in his omissions, telling himself that by introducing them to the full terror of the truth in measured steps, they were given the opportunity to opt out before learning too much and putting themselves in more danger than they could handle. He wondered if Spitfire saw it that way. If the dwarf came back the next day - or not - then Mercer would have his answer.


After his spiel, Mercer made the offer. "If you're interested, we'll be heading back to our temporary base of operations to plan this out. You're welcome to come. If not, I'll wire you your funds and maybe we can catch up after this whole thing's done."

[Herr Brackhaus]

Erik smiled to himself as Mercer offered a hand and quickly retrieved it. The gesture was clear enough on the astral, both physically and in the man's aura. Most mundanes, as well as those magicians unfortunate enough to never have gained the Sight, forgot just how powerful their emotions could be, and thus how easy they could be to read on the Astral plane. Even the best con-man in the world would be hard pressed to conceal their state of mind from someone who could see their very soul, even if most barely had any talent in such things.

"But I am not most, and I have plenty of experience in these matters", he thought wistfully. He didn't miss his eyesight, not exactly; the Allfather had opened his mind's eye to such a degree that it made little real practical difference, though some aspects of normal life was forever barred to him of course. Nonetheless, he ignored the whole thing so as to not put the man on the spot. "People are uncomfortable enough when I'm around."

When Mercer began explaining the present situation Erik noted a rather unusual Astral emotional track; what was left of Mercer's decimated aura was rapidly oscillating between several states, indicating a degree of emotional turmoil. The changes rarely remained for long, but Erik's trained senses none-the-less caught the highlights as the man's aura shifted from the orange of determination to angry red as he spoke of the vampires and their tactics, through the light blue of distraction when he brought up the bounties.

"Hmm. Curious. Mercer knows my reputation well enough; why would he not only bring up compensation, but emphasize it." Fixing the samurai with his eyeless gaze, he stared at the man's aura more intently. The roiling shifts were making it hard to read, and the strain of maintaining enough mana to hold two powerful spells only made it worse.

Erik was not surprised to see the man's aura turn the dark shade of purple that indicated grief as he talked about his and Achak's loss. "We have all suffered losses, dear boy, and before the dream ends we will have lost more" he mentally remarked as Mercer continued with determination. His aura shifted between several shades of green while he spoke of the team following the trail to this warehouse. "Apprehension, fear, and acceptance, if I'm not mistaken. What have you gotten yourself into, old sport. This is most intriguing..."

Finally, Mercer made an offer. "If you're interested, we'll be heading back to our temporary base of operations to plan this out. You're welcome to come. If not, I'll wire you your funds and maybe we can catch up after this whole thing's done."

Erik grinned widely, and the expression caused his horrifically scarred skin to tighten over an already gaunt face. Between the grim, empty eye sockets and the cheerful yet disturbing facial expression, he looked like an artist's colorful rendition of a smiling, skeletal Death-like figure.

"Interested, old sport?" he said with obviously feigned indignation. "Why, I am positively intrigued!" His grin turned into a smirk as he continued.

"Of course, I suspect you're not telling me the whole truth, but that's quite all right; I of all people know that knowledge is power. If what you say is true, it seems we shall have to measure our success in blood; ours, or or enemy's. So let us withdraw and make our preparations, for these are formidable foes indeed."

Extending his own arm in a warrior's greeting, he firmly grasped Mercer's forearm when the man extended his arms. Erik didn't need his astral senses to know that Mercer would be wearing a somewhat sheepish grin of his own, and before exiting the well-cared for vehicle the mystic adept spoke out loud to the team's pilot.

"SpitFire, would you be so kind as to instruct my pilot where it needs to go? I want to make one last round of the warehouse to see if anything has changed while we've conversed before heading to your location." With a curt nod to the others, he strode out of the van and towards his own vehicle, settling in to the comfortable seat as the pilot brought the car online.

[rednblack]

Whatever malady affected the wendigo, it was impossible to tell by looking at them through the grainy feed of the Noizquito.  During their sparring, they moved with a speed and precision which belied their size, and later against the bags they struck with such force that one could easily stagger the other from behind the strike pad.  If anything, they tired more easily than their training and physical condition would suggest, and after about twenty minutes Kreutz has them line up again, where he inspects each one in turn, and then draws blood before sending them back to their shipping container. 

The blood is brought back to the office, where the Noizquito loses view of Kreutz and the others, and for awhile all is quiet.

<<7 DEC 2074, 10:26 // The Safehouse>>

Achak groans and rolls over to the commlink that has just refused to shut up for the last half hour, or so.  Bleary-eyed he fishes the phone out of pocket -- Drek, did I really sleep in my suit last night? -- and activates the touch screen.

<<09:55 @Achak [Lola] Morning handsome. Just got back from my morning date with the gym, and that Sylvan Spring was just wiz.  Thanks, babe xoxo>>
<<Attachment: jxb.trid>>

Achak is greeted with a trid pic of Lola in a ponytail, wearing a neon workout suit in a locker room, her skin flushed as she smiles holding a bottle of Achak's gift up like a trid board off the highway.  That certainly focuses his vision as he pulls up the next message.

<<10:06 @Achak [3L1] Hoi, chummer, how's biz?  Good to hear from you.  I'm off Groto1, but I've got some intel I'd like 2 discuss if ur free this pm.>>

<<10:20 @Achak, Mercer [Amethyst Killarney] I have just been given word from Mr. Abbey that he has found an alternative buyer for the manet, one who is pricing the painting to move.  Mr. Abbey is wondering if you and your team are available for a meeting at 1:30 this afternoon.  Please let us know at your earliest convenience.>>

After splashing some water on his face, Achak finds Mercer, SpitFire, and Jaeger in the common room going over Spitfire's drone feed. 

While the team had been sleeping, Spitfire's Noizquito had dutifully been recording and uploading footage to Spitfire's link, which the thorough ork has been screening, saving, and uploading to his teammates. 

"Alright, scan this," SpitFire says, while Mercer gives Achak a knowing look concerning the text from Duncan Abbey's secretary "after the wendi, the uh, ah fraggit, the ork things got in their little shipping container for an hour, they came back out ready to rumble again.  And rumble they did."

SpitFire blasts some audio from inside the warehouse of Kreutz calling for a "jiyu kumite," "Hey, I know that one," SpitFire pipes up.  "That's like no-holds-barred free fighting."

The language tutor from the trix is paying off well.

The seven wendigo form a circle and two approach the center, bow, and lay into each other with ferocity.  When one taps out, a third enters to do battle with the first, and the process repeats.  Some fights last longer than others, and one in particular goes to the ground quickly and stays there for nearly five minutes until one combatant is able to get his opponent in a leg bar and the second taps out.  Not fifteen minutes pass before they're all looking haggard, "Hey, that one hasn't even fought yet," Mercer says, pointing to the screen, blood is drawn again, and they return to their shipping container.

"It's the same thing every hour, hour-and-a-half," Spitfire says, throwing up a few other file markers, some with better angles than the others due to the drone's positioning at that time.  "And then there's this," he adds, pulling up a bit of feed time-stamped at 04:37.  The Noizquito is nestled into the door frame leading to the office, while looking out at the warehouse proper.  As far as the vid goes, it's pretty worthless, just looking out at the warehouse floor, but the dialogue it picks up between Kreutz and the woman in the ponytail is interesting.  Well, it might be interesting if it wasn't so technical.  Kreutz and the woman in the ponytail are definitely worried about the health of the samples, discussing various scores and their "bounce back" after returning to the lodge.

"Within sixty minutes their blood cells have stabilized, and their auras appear as normal again, but if they've been out recently they seem to degrade faster.  There's some variable that we're not measuring here," Kreutz says.

"What about the lodge?" the woman asks, but Kreutz answers that while fragile the lodge seems to be functioning properly.

"We're going to have to scratch it," Kreutz says finally, an air of resignation to his voice.  "Ireland has potential, and our location was centered on a powerful ley line.  We're out in space here.  Quite literally, for them, anything outside that lodge is outside their manasphere, and the requirements for their lodge don't travel well.

"Aztechnology's not going to be pleased with these numbers."

"I could ping Dr. Ethridge," the woman offers.  "With Zenith currently out of country on mission, she's got a lot of free time, and --

"And have Ares see this?" Kreutz says incredulously.

"It's your call," the woman says.  "It's your neck." at which point the drone begins to move, taking up post above the catwalk and focusing down on the front door, but out of ear shot.

By 06:00, the woman, Kreutz, and the big ork are relieved by four human men in tactical gear, SMGs slung over their shoulders, large pistols on their hips, and sturdy black matte armored jackets, as well as one bespectacled doctor of Aztlaner decent in a white lab coat.  From that point on, the Noizquito doesn't pick up on any movement from the wendigo, as they seem safely "tucked in" for the night.

[Herr Brackhaus]

Erik had decided to spend the night in the comfort of his own home after seeing the safe house, and as a result was only mildly annoyed at the prospect of spending most of the day in such squalid conditions. The intel the team had gathered was intriguing, however, and well worth having to "slum it", as the saying went.

"Fascinating" he muttered to himself when the person known as "Kreutz" began talking about the infected orks and their habitat. "That the "requirements" for their lodge doesn't travel well is not a comforting idea; most lodges can be transported easily enough, which may indicate that this one in particular either contains hazardous or unstable materials, or some other restriction that poses a challenge from a transportation or logistics point of view. And the fact that these infected orks are seemingly unstable outside the lodge... Unusual, to say the least. I wonder..." The scarred man trailed off into silence as he stared off into nothingness.

The mystic adept was suddenly startled back to reality when the recording ended, and he looked around the room at the other team members. Now that he was free of distractions he took a closer look at everyone's auras while speaking out loud. "If the objective is to intercept the orks, I'd say we're better off striking the warehouse after sunrise when the orks are locked inside their lodge. Not only would this allow me to bring magical backup, but we'd only have to deal with what seems like four security personnel, who, while armed and armored, should be no match for that augmented troll we saw earlier. And if the infected somehow break out of their containment a few well placed holes in walls and roofs should expose them to sunlight. Assuming they are still allergic to sunlight, of course."

He coughed as a result of inhaling the dust that had gathered in the safehouse before going on. "With just the four of us, it seems hitting a moving target would be pushing the limits of what we are capable of. Speaking of... Now that I am committed, Mercer," he said with a knowing grin, "be a good sport and kindly fill me in on what you've gotten me involved with this time."

[Tecumseh]

Achak lifts his head to find himself face-down on a cot in Stake's safehouse. There's a sour taste in his mouth and a constricting feeling around his head, throat, and thighs. Drek, did I really sleep in my suit last night? he thinks to himself as he pushes himself up off to the cot to alleviate the tightness he feels. The suit is wrapped and uncomfortably twisted around him, and predictably wrinkled. Achak is highly doubtful that the warehouse has the appropriate tools to press the suit back into shape.

He sits on the cot and holds his head in his hands. Sleeping well after novacoke is almost impossible as the stimulants override whatever exhaustion the user is suffering. He questions the life choices that have led him up to this throbbing headache until he remembers that Lola spent a good half-hour grinding on his lap last night. Then the life choices leading up to this point become rather more justifiable, although he still needs to address the pounding in his brain.

Figuring that he is dehydrated, he staggers out to the main room to find a bottle of water. He's greeted by a cheery message from Lola. "Hey, I'm drinking water too!" he thinks to himself as he raises the bottle to toast her.

Then he finds messages from Duncan and Elijah, both requesting meets. He holds his head, his headache returning as he remembers that he has to deal with this drek. Mercer already has the message from Duncan; he forwards the message from Elijah to the group.

"Last night they said they got to Eli," Achak says matter-of-factly, realizing that he hasn't had the mental bandwidth to process this revelation. "If so, they're trying to set a trap. We should use it to our advantage.

"We should also be mindful that we don't have confusion about each others' identities if something goes sideways on us. We should have an identity challenge in place. In theory we should have a whole series of these but let's start with one. The challenge word is 'sparrow'. If everything is frosty, you say 'Everest'. If you've been compromised, you say 'ruby'. Savvy?"

He takes another swig of his water then looks at Mercer. "What do you make of this message from Duncan? A meet request on three hours' notice? Why so tight? I take him to be the professional type with tight security, but even Duncan is going to have challenges with fraggers who bring significant corporate and magical assets to the table.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Sunrise or one of their affiliates put out feelers to 'repurchase' the Manet to generate some new leads on us. We should be careful not to expose Duncan, nor to expose ourselves" - the phrasing made him pause, given the stained condition of his suit - "if we meet with Duncan. Or, crazy scenario, maybe they make a huge offer to try to 'buy off' the seller so the seller goes to get drunk in Hawai'i and leaves them the hell alone. What do you think?"

He takes another drink. "Speaking of Duncan and fraggers with accents" - a sideways glance at Jaeger, plus a surreptitious one looking for Flickr - "present company excluded, I looked up 'nighthawker'. It's a Brit term for folks who pinch archaeological treasures under the cover of darkness. I guess it sort of applies, but that's why the limey with the Cockney accent kept harping on 'nighthawker this' and 'nighthawker that'. Fragger."

[Malevolence]

"Ok, now that your on board, here's the whole skinny. The zekes are organized. Sunrise is a front for what can best be described as the Infected's version of, I don't know, the Mob. They handle protection for paying clients, help with long term cover identities, and - as is the case with the Wendigo here - provide research that helps move the Infected agenda forward. While these make great super soldiers, I don't doubt for an instant that it may tie in to broader investigations into boosting Infected survivability. I suspect that they also handle food distribution for their clientele. And their protection services extend beyond just providing bodyguards and into eliminating existential threats. Like the Hunters." Normally, as fatigue set in, Mercer's southern drawl became more pronounced, but some part of his college days overrode that when he was focusing on a complex problem. "Study mode" he had called it back when he was wandering the halls of academia. The drawl slipped in when he was relaxed, but when he was worked up over a problem, he wasn't relaxed, and his mental control extended to his dialect.


He made sure that Jaeger was following along, which of course he was even though the eyeless face showed very little discernible expression that might confirm or deny. Mercer knew that the human would butt in with a question without hesitation if he found any of what Mercer said incorrect, confusing, or unbelievable. "Now, we aren't seriously considering taking the whole thing down solo. But we can't just blast the information out over Grotto1, either or the whole thing will scurry underground like cockroaches when the lights come on. If we play it smart, we can cash in some bounties and stymie their operations before they really know what's going on. We try to find out how deep the rabbit hole goes, we get what we can to make it harder for them to vanish in the light of day, and if we're lucky, we might get the info we need to call in the big guns to crush them underfoot before they can scurry away."


The warehouse was dingy. The plunger had been getting quite the workout, and even now unpleasant aromas wafted from the tiny bathroom that occupied one corner of the space. Calling it a warehouse made it sound spacious, but really it was more like an abandoned commercial space. The plascrete walls enclosed a high ceilinged mostly empty space. The furnishings were sparse, consisting largely of rickety crates, completing that abandoned warehouse look. But overall, it was maybe ten meters on a side - spacious by squatter standards, but not the kind of spacious you'd drive a forklift through.


Mercer had played with various AR augments to try to make the space less dismal and had settled on a tropical tiki bar theme, with the walls vanishing to be replaced by four bamboo posts on each corner, and the sea to the west and a tropical forest to the east and endless beach on the other two sides. The bar stood at one side of the hut with shelves of liquor climbing up to the thatched ceiling. The group sat in bamboo chairs around a bamboo table while a steel drum melody played somewhere further down the beach where a large bonfire could be made out, flames licking up at the star-filled but otherwise pitch black sky. As cars and pedestrians passed by the street outside, they were represented as beach goers, walking or running at different speeds depending on their mode of transport. He even tried to make the coffee he drank taste like a slushy tropical mixed drink, but after scalding his tongue he dropped that particular AR improvement. The smell emanating from the toilet became the salty tang of the ocean breeze, and the poor conditions were almost bearable.


"We've got a good deal of information - client list, some major players - including a couple AAAs they are working with - and a few leads." Mercer sends a copy of the paydata they had recovered from the briefcase to Jaeger for him to peruse. Well, for his Agent system to peruse and then regurgitate. While Jaeger digests that, Mercer reaches out to Nori to see if they could stop her form publishing the story she'd planned from their exploits at the Sunrise offices.


<<@Nori [Mercer] Hey little philly, how are you coming along on the story? Think I can get a peek at it before you go to press?>>


Almost immediately she replies <<@Mercer [Nori] Almost finished. Not a chance - you'll have to wait for it like everyone else.>>


<<@Nori [Mercer] Fair enough. Can I ask you to sit on it for a day or two? Got a good lead and don't want them going to ground if your article spooks 'em. I promise I'll make it worth your while.>>


The reply to that message takes much longer to come, and eventually Mercer moves on to other issues, and eventually they all go to bed. In the morning, after Jaeger returns and Achak rolls out of his cot after sleeping off the Novacoke, he gets a message from Duncan, via his assistant, asking for a meet. Achak voices his concern about the short notice. His theory about the offer on the painting potentially being a ruse to draw the hunters out has merit. Especially in light of the message Achak mentions he got from 3L1. "I concur. Eli is compromised, so we should agree to a meet tonight, on or around the same time we hit the Wendigos. Say, 9pm? If we're lucky, they'll pull resources off the warehouse to ambush us there, and we can take the warehouse with less resistance. Then we contact 'Eli' and reschedule for the next day during sun up. Walk into the trap prepared, or ambush the ambushers."


"As for Duncan, we should probably see what he has to say. The timing is suspicious, I agree, but again, maybe we can use their ploy to our advantage. The meet is during the day, so we're likely going to be dealing with shadowrunners, not Infected, if they try an ambush. Duncan's security protocols are top notch, so I doubt we'll get into trouble until after the meet, once they've identified us. They might follow us back to here so they can search the place. Either way, Achak and I go in, the rest of you run overwatch and jump in when they draw the strings on the trap."


"We might even stop off to scope out Kreutz's place. Achak and I can be the calvary in case you guys get into trouble while you scope it out. They know my van, so Achak and I will take that to the meet and you guys go in your respective vehicles, or double up in Spitfire's van." The smell of roast pig fills his nostrils as the AR overlay masks the smell of the food processor preparing breakfast. The bright sun glistens on the water as surfers indulge in their sport. "It's a rough plan, but it's a start. Looks like this'll be a busy day."

[Herr Brackhaus]

Listening intently as the mercenary spoke, Erik had to concentrate to keep his emotions from showing. "How have they managed to become this organized?" he thought with some degree of trepidation. "Granted, some of these infected may have been around for longer than we think, but this is beyond anything I could have imagined."

The explanation went on for some time and Erik only had to interrupt once or twice to ask a pointed question about the intel the group had gathered, and as Mercer sent over the data files they'd collated everything in Erik ordered his knowbot to begin collating everything for further review.

"If it had been someone else telling me all of this, old sport, I would think they had completely lost the plot. But I got a good sense of what was inside that warehouse, and letting those things live would be a right cock up. Now, as for assaulting the warehouse, I'm not convinced going at night is a good idea." The grizzled human brought up a lightly scarred hand and began rattling off fingers. "First of all, if our previous excursion is any indication those wendigo might well be in peak condition and ready for a fight. Second, that hulking monstrosity of a troll might be there, along with Kreutz and the blonde; my guess is they will represent a tougher foe than the lightly armed security guards SpitFire caught on camera this morning. Finally, we'll be at a disadvantage at night; as a hunter one of the first things I learned is the power the sun has over these creatures, and while I can emulate it against single targets, a couple of grenades in the roof at high noon could well turn the tide in our favor."

When the conversation brought up Duncan, Erik couldn't help hide his surprise. "Duncan Abbey?" he exclaimed. When Mercer nodded silently, he continued. "What's that old crook got to do with this? We go back a while, he and I, and Sunrise and company are unlikely to know I'm involved at this point. I could always reach out for an impromptu meeting." He paused briefly and shifted his astral senses to take in the others in the room, noting that their auras were all in the oranges, yellows, and greens of anxiousness, anticipation, and determination.

"Clearly this Kreutz fellow warrants a closer look, and SpitFire and I should be able to take a gander at his place."

[Tecumseh]

"Let's start with Duncan and go from there," Achak suggests. "No sense in making dinner plans when we don't even know what's for lunch."

His stomach rumbles. Mm, dinner. We should do Stir-Friday for dinner tonight.

"I like Mercer's outline for the trip to Queen Anne," he says, eating a slice of cinnamon toast and pushing the crumbs off his suit as they fall. "He and I can go in Mercer's Roadmaster while SpitFire, Jaeger, and Flickr provide overwatch with drones and spirits.

"Speaking of Flickr, has anyone seen him? He hasn't killed anyone else since I fell asleep has he?

"Kreutz works at night, so presumably he's at home during the day. If we want to have an in-person conversation we can swing by his place after Duncan's, maybe catch him asleep. But if we talk to him in person then we have to be ready to move on Dash Point immediately, as his absence will put them on alert. If we just want to poke around his house then we should wait for tonight after he's gone to work. Wait, do you think he works Friday nights? Corpers work all the time, right? Especially corpers afraid of getting eaten for failure.

"As for Dash Point, there's no perfect answer. It's an active port and I'm not sure I want to be detonating grenades at high noon, even if it is an effective strategy. But, as Jaeger says, going at night means going when the wendigos are awake and active, which is equally unappealing. The teddy bears are in bed by 06:00 but that hardly does us any good in terms of sunlight because it's fragging December. Sunrise isn't until, what, 07:45, and even then it's dependent on it not being cold, dark, and wet. Which it will be. As much as I like the idea of HE'ing everything in sight, I think it's going to create more problems than it solves."

Achak takes a moment to slurp some soykaf. His hair is disheveled, his tie is askew, and he hasn't shaved. Stake used to do this kind of planning, he thinks to himself. Now I have to step up and contribute. What would Stake do?

"I think we should go first thing in the morning, between 06:00 and 07:30 after Kreutz and the woman leave. Darkness will help us keep a low profile - we can roll heavy body armor and ARs - and the port might still be sleepy at that hour. If we do it right, we can stealth the four gonks with SMGs and the Azzie doctor before they can raise the alarm. Even if they do, we still have five to ten minutes to do what we need to do. We grab all the intel we can while Flickr and Jaeger murder the Infected in their sleep. Failing that, we'll put a round of APDS through the side of the containers and do the fish-in-a-barrel thing on full auto. Our Alphas have suppressors on them; it shouldn't cause any fuss. If it goes smoothly, we can pop over to Kreutz's place before anyone is the wiser. It will be daylight by then though, so we'll have to be on guard against nosy neighbors, especially since it's Saturday tomorrow."

Achak finishes his toast and washes it down with a Typhoon nutrition shake from the mini-fridge. He contemplates the can as he drinks, his mind still pulled in strange directions by the after-effects of recreational drugs. I'm fairly sure this is an Ares product, but why would Ares pick a Japanese brand name for a consumer product? Whatever. I'm a madman, not a marketer.

He turns his attention back to the conversation, wondering what the others think of his plan.

[Zweiblumen]

Spitfire goes back and forth between tinkering with his drones in the van, dropping into VR to study a couple of languages, practicing a few skills and chiming in on various conversations.  Most of the conversation parts happen via some kind of drone proxy.  The ork really likes to spend a lot of time in his van. Either at the work area in the back or in the comfort of his cocoon.

The Mitsuhama "Hovers", which is most often acting as Spitfire's proxy, buzzes around "looking" over peoples shoulders to see what they're doing or getting views from their perspective or popping around the various crates that were being used to keep a few things off the sparse floor.  The team could start to tell when Spitfire was jumped into the little quad-copter as it was significantly more playful, read annoying, when he was there than when it was just keeping an eye on things for him.

Periodically Patsy would come into the building and relay various bits of information from scouting reports around the building or passing a message along from Spitfire when he was busy.  She, and it was definitely a metallic 'she', obviously had developed her own pseudo-personality.  She was very serious, businesslike, and to the point.  The opposite of Spitfire's goofiness.  Definitely none of the other drones that interacted with the team had any personality to speak of, so her's stood out among the crowd.


The little quad-copter starts juking and dodging a bit more as the conversation picks up.

"Patsy and I can keep an eye on the physical and a bit of Matrix overwatch at a couple of locations, plus we've still got the lil' bug over at Dash Point keeping an eye on things.  I should also be a little more prepared for some subtly rather than just blasting through things ya know?" comes from the speakers on the drone in response to Achak and Mercer commenting on jobs for the less physically bound.  "If things get messy in two places that could be problematic.  But that's when the fun starts, right?" you can almost hear his big toothy grin through the tinny micro speakers and the humming of the drones propellers.

As the conversation gets more into specifics the drones speakers relay the ork's thoughts.  "Personally, I like 0400-0600 for operations.  It's when the night-owls are starting to get sleepy and before the day-birds wake up.  If timing for Kreutz and Ponytail pushes that to 0630, so be it, but much later than that and folks, even on a Saturday morning are starting to get up and notice things.  Some tactical notes that may come in handy for you planning types.  Patsy is a decent sniper, I'm a very good sniper jumped into her.  Punch is, well, he packs a punch.  He's noisy as hell, and bellicose to boot.  But in close quarters a Roto-drone with an SMG popping off can cause a headache or two.  That said, I like to keep him out of sight as much as possible.  The Star isn't a big fan of his load-out.  And of course, we can get some serious distraction going on with the lil' bugs.  When they aren't spying on things they can be quite annoying."

With that, the mini-copter does a few spinning barrel-roll circuits around the team members and the room before settling into a steady hover in the corner.  Obviously Spitfire has gone back to monitoring mode.

[rednblack]

<<7 DEC 2074, 11:00 // The Safehouse>>

"Speaking of Flickr, has anyone seen him? He hasn't killed anyone else since I fell asleep has he?"

As if on cue, the tall elf emerges, rubbing his face with his right hand, and holding a kernel of corn in his left.  He has what might be a gash, or an open pustule above his right eye.  "Yeah, yeah, I'm here.  No other bodies to account for that I can remember.  Look what I found on my, er, 'pillow' this morning," he says, holding up the corn. 

Through the astral Jaeger can see the aura of the grain, which looks like a spent reagent, but holds a bit of Flickr's aura to it as well.  Well, that's wonky as a pair of unbalanced bollocks, the adept thinks to himself.

"So, we gearing up to hit Kreutz's house?" Flickr asks.  "I mean, it looks like he's in charge,right?  I've been waiting to even the score with this hoop."

Around the same time, tucked in tightly in his rigger cocoon, SpitFire receives a text from an old smuggling acquaintance, Nico, a dwarf who's as good on mounted guns as any he's ever seen. 

<<@Spitfire [Nico] Hoi.  Got a line on a ton of loot, going well below market value.  Heavy weapon mounts, some SMGs and ARs already adapted for drone use, a couple of Kanmushis, and ditto for a pair of Flying Eyes.  The eyes are outfitted for nades, but they're loaded with sawdust for whatever reason, so I'd part with those for 700¥ a pop. Still be fine for recon.  Got some ammo and softs laying around too.  Anyway, hit a mug up if you're interested.>>

Achak sends a message to Ms. Killarney, agreeing to the meet, and gets a quick reply.

<<@Achak, Mercer [Amethyst Killarney] Wonderful.  Mr. Abbey will expect you at his office in the Queen Anne district at 1:30.  I will arrange a light lunch.>>

<<@Nori [Mercer] Fair enough. Can I ask you to sit on it for a day or two? Got a good lead and don't want them going to ground if your article spooks 'em. I promise I'll make it worth your while.>>

<<@Mercer [Nori] Breaking news is only breaking news once, chummer.  Our little excursion is getting a little play on the trids, but it's mostly been eclipsed by all those riots down in Renton.  Fragging humanis slitches are making it hard on a girl to earn a living, ya know.  So, how are you going to make it worth my while?  From where I'm sitting I bet that whatever you're sitting on would be fair trade for this nice little data pak I just put together on Laura Pachis.  How about I get paid, and we share notes?  Or at the very least let one of your oldest and dearest chums know what's worth sitting on a bomb of a story over.>>