[rednblack]

"Come back over here," he says as seductively as he is able, playfully shuffling with the ¥475-worth of paper "bills" that he purchased for his time with Lola. "We're safe up here and there's nothing we can do to help. Let's keep the party going!"

Lola shuts the panel and spins around quickly, her auburn hair falling behind those shoulders that Achak would pay way more than ¥475 to take a nibble on.  "Pretty dangerous out there," she says, resuming her position on his lap.  "Talk of weapons, some sort of magical duel bull-drek.  Enough to make a girl scared.  You didn't come in here strapped, did you Achak?" she asks running her fingers down his chest.  "Oh yeah, you came armed to the teeth, eh chummer?"

Achak stuffs a few bills in her g-string and leans back, feeling Lola's tendrils of mana envelop him.

"Before we adjourn to the KO, perhaps we can get these two some help? The establishment here has a medkit, yes?"

As if on cue, the bartender finally makes it around her bar with a briefcase sized medkit, and nearly pushes the waitress out of the way to get to the fallen Amerind.  Even as she begins retrieving some pads to place on his temples and chest, the standing Amerind dismisses her as he speaks to the crowd.

"If you have eyes, then see.  Chris was dead before he hit the ground.  And this man," he waves to Mercer, "speaks of weapons, but who can find one?  I see no knife, I see no gun.  I see nothing on his hands."

And it's true.  Mercer looks at the man's corpse, but his knuckles are bare. 

"You may have a second if you wish," the magician continues, but Shur approaches him and puts a slow but firm hand on the man's shoulder pushing him toward the back exit. 

"Just get out of the club.  Go, go.  You wanted to handle it, your problem now, wiz?

"Alright, everybody," the bouncer continues, "the pawns ain't coming.  We got no problems here."

He looks down at the bartender, but she drops her last patch, and just shakes her head up at Shur.  Shur shakes his head and pinches his nose as though he has a headache, and waves the ork bouncer over before continuing to walk the Amerind out of the club behind Flickr.  "You coming, or what?" he says to Mercer.

Flickr opens the door, and looks out into the alley.  He opens his senses to the astral, trying to see if there are forms in the shadows waiting to strike, but aside from a few rats -- maybe some of the bigger ones are cats.  Maybe.  -- the alley is clear.  When the Amerind approaches behind him with Shur at his rear, Shur says, "You ain't getting back in.  Do your drek, and then get the frag out of here, scan?"

Inside the club, the ork bouncer lifts up the fallen man, and carries him toward the front of the club, the waitress following behind, a little stunned, a little unsure of herself.

[Zweiblumen]

When the Noise hit the roof SpitFire reconfigured his RCC to run noise reduction.  Keeping in touch with his fleet was of primary concern to him, his safety a distant second.

With his network running again, he loads the Swarm program and subtly releases the 'zquitos from his pocket.  While their primary function is to be extremely noisy and blinding, they also work well as subtle spies.  The 5 micro-drones work as a single entity using the Swarm program to share functionality.  They quietly split up and move to start recording the scene below.

As the combatants move outside so do three of the drones continuing to record everything that's happening.  The two inside keep monitor the situation in there.  One following the ork carting off the body and the other watching Mercer and SpitFire.

[Tecumseh]

"I'm strapped, alright. I got my norgoz right here and my hez here. It's our own little rohodo, so let's see your lukro, vruken."

Crisis averted, Achak settles back in to enjoy his show. There's a nagging thought at the back of his head that keeps things from being perfect though.

Chris got killed. It was probably that crazy keep Flickr that did it. Shur must have responded. Why am I not hearing about someone frying Shur's brain like a piece of soybacon? Is soybacon kosher?

He's conflicted, because he knows if Flickr geeks Shur then the place will probably go on lockdown and his private show will be over, but Shur would be dead and that would be wiz. But if Shur isn't dead, the show can continue, and that's wiz too. Achak settles back into the euphoria of his novacoke high. His suit is great; he knows his. His hair is great; he knows it. He only has ¥10,000 but it feels like a million. He's on top of the world, and Lola is on top of him. Everything is eunabo.

[rednblack]

Mercer follows the small crowd out into the cold December night.  Shur waits by the door to usher him out, and then it closes with a loud bang, and the heavy slide of a deadbolt.  "Do your drek and get," the troll reiterates through the barrier.  Mercer turns up the collar on his Argentum coat as he turns to survey the scene.  The alley's narrow, not a great place for an ambush if a crew was to come in from the sides -- too much cover around, too easy to dig in.  Now coming in from above, on the other hand, Now, that'd be a right shooting gallery.  It's a good thing that even with all the noise they started pumping into the club that this new chummer Spitfire is able to keep everything online and on the up and up.  Just as lucky, things look clear on the aerial view.

The Amerind nods at Mercer, pulls back the coat from his wrist to look at his watch and apprises Flickr.  "My second will be along shortly, young'n.  In the meantime, let's discuss our conditions.  Chummer you killed, his name was Chris, and Chris saved my hoop more times than I care to get into right now.  Was he a hot-headed sonofabitch?  Yeah, he sure was.  Was he a little overprotective of his girl?  Yeah, he was that too, but that was no cause to go turning a bar fight into some ghost-damned lethal drek, savvy?  So you and me, we're fighting for blood.  We're gonna be fighting to the death?  Ishkitini demands it.

"So, how do you wanna die, young'n?  Pure astral combat?  Slinging spells?  Spells and spirits?  You let me know, and we'll get this show on the road.."

The alleyway is illuminated by a pair of headlights, and Flickr and Mercer's attentions temporarily shift to the vehicle.  A human female emerges, her hair in a ponytail, and a heavy pistol at her hip.  As she approaches, and her silhouette softens to the point that the pair can discern her features they see that she is quite attractive, and wears a worried look.  "So, Chris is dead, neh?" she says.

The Amerind nods, and passes her his commlink and a credstick.  "Young'n, this is Mel.  Mel, young'n.  She'll be acting as my second, which is to say that she'll put a bullet or three straight between your eyes if you step out of the bounds of our contract, or if your buddy here tries to jump in and interfere.  But if you kill me fair, she's just here to pick up the pieces."

Flickr opens himself to the astral to assess his opposition.  The man is healthy, nervous, scared even, but who wouldn't be in a situation like this.  He's as powerful as Flickr is, with an active power focus, as well as a sustaining focus.  Both are necklaces which glow brightly just above his heart.

[Malevolence]

Mercer stays quiet as the crowd filters out into the night, using the break to double check the tactical situation and wait for a response from Achak. His link remains silent. But the new feeds that he's getting from SpitFire catch his attention.


<<@SpitFire [Mercer] Think you can sneak one o' yer friends into the VIP and get eyes on Achak?>>


The crowd forms a loose circle around the two combatants, effectively creating a barrier should either decide to make a break for it. Shortly after the door closes, the Amerind mentions that he has a second on the way - odd, Mercer had thought that the two Amerinds were part of a group, and he scanned the crowd looking for the others.
"Chummer you killed, his name was Chris." So now we have a name, of sorts. Not enough to dig in to who the man might have been, who else might be coming after them. But the finality of the man's statement made it clear that the other Amerind would not be getting back up. The quick examination by the bar staff had been pretty certain, but Mercer had held out hope that perhaps the life signs were just too faint, but that there might be something to work with. But if the shaman here with his astral sight had seen the body and declared the man dead, there was little chance that the man was still alive. Then the shaman finishes up "We're gonna be fighting to the death. Ishkitini demands it." He wanted to speak up, to caution against more senseless loss of life, but he could see from the crowd that the same blood lust Mercer had used in the bar to move the showdown outside would work against him now. So he just nodded.


But who is this Ishkitini? Some Amerind diety? A quick matrix search showed that it was the Chocktaw name for a horned owl. An animal spirit that they worshipped? Apparently it was part of a superstition, that the horned ow's screech foretold imminent death. But nothing about them being worshipped or demanding blood. I guess it's a Chocktaw thing, and I jus' wouldn't understand.


When the woman arrives in her truck, the crowd parts and reforms not as a circle, but as two lines, still blocking off the alleyway, but leaving the walls open, probably so that someone's head could be smashed against it.


"Young'n, this is Mel.  Mel, young'n.  She'll be acting as my second, which is to say that she'll put a bullet or three straight between your eyes if you step out of the bounds of our contract, or if your buddy here tries to jump in and interfere.  But if you kill me fair, she's just here to pick up the pieces."


Cordial. Concerningly so. Mercer sized up the woman, looking for obvious cyberware and weaponry. He wondered how likely she'd be to stick to the agreement if Flickr put the Amerind down. He was all to aware that she had a gun and he did not. He hoped that SpitFire's drones were packing more than just cameras. She also seemed cool, like Chris was some secondary character in a popular Trid who's death was a plot twist discussed casually around some megacorp watercooler. There were so many things that just didn't add up that Mercer wasn't even sure where to begin anymore.


<<@SpitFire [Mercer] How far out you got eyes? I want ta make sure they ain't jus' keepin' us here long enough for backup to arrive.>>


Mercer checked on the elf, trying to gauge his state, then took his place with the crowd by the Amerind's second. Not only did he not want her to have the advantage of range if things came down to it, but this put him closer to his own ride, again, if things came down to it.

[bangbangtequila]

Flickr sent his command to the spirit as they left the door, the little sprite quickly hanging the satchel over the edge. The amerind laid out his terms and conditions, his bravado failing to hide the aura which was easier to read than a cheap comic strip, underneath the calm exterior shone a swirling tide of fear and nerves, with a healthy surge of adrenaline fuelled aggression. He explained his relationship with Chris, and quite frankly the young elf (it galled a little that the gratuitous use of "young'n" had influenced his own thinking) sympathized. He would behave precisely the same if the roles had been reversed, and after making the mistake of butchering the man before Flickr had to push back a wave of regret at the current situation. As the man left the rules up to him, the satchel dropped lightly down to Flickr, who held a hand up lightly to preclude any unnecessary reactions from his counterpart before reaching in and pulling the loaded gun out. Chambering a round calmly, he reversed his grip with a well-practiced flourish, and held it hilt-first to Mercer, locked eyes with the man, trusting the cautious nature he had displayed to keep him covered from the woman. Hands emptied, he returned his gaze to the Amerind and spoke, quietly but firmly, and with full honesty.

"You speak fairly, and I do not begrudge you your vengeance. I do regret the killing of your comrade, for what little wine that pours*, had I known he was so far out of depth I wouldn't have reacted to his weapon so fiercely." As he spoke his gaze had drifted slightly, rethinking the scenario and how he would have changed his actions should he have known how easily he'd have overcome the warrior. He realized he may have insulted his victim, and snapped his eyes back. "I do not disparage the dead, and hope he rests well. If you insist on to the hilt, spells and spirits - whatever you can bring to bear in the moment is fair." He waved his small spirit away as he said this and it returned to its home plane at the dismissal. "I speak truly when I tell you I do not wish any blood, but I will not wrap my steel.* I name my comrade second."

Taking the traditional five paces, he turned towards the Amerind, left arm folded along the small of his back, right extended straight down at a 45 degree angle, palm forward. He waited for his counterpart to assume the same, his resolve growing hard as steel. His hackles had risen, the ultra-relaxed stance of his training concealing the deathly focus of his raging fury. He had meant every word. He had had no desire to engage him, for the man had every right to claim blood-feud, but now the gauntlet was thrown. His bluster had gone from understandable to grating. His aggressive stance and belittling tone had gone from pitiable to infuriating. The tone of the conversation tilted away from a grieving man doing right by his fallen brother-in-arms to pretentious scum hurrying to his death with the determination of a rabid lemming. A deep part of Flickr knew this was the fierce growling of his soul, but that did not matter. Only the blood, tauntingly remaining within the feeble body of his enemy, mattered now...

[rednblack]

The Amerind turns, his left hand folded against his back, his right extended palm up, and Flickr pounces, reaching into the astral and summoning a fire spirit.  Its form is fearsome, nearly the size of a troll, and it holds a flaming spear in one hand, a weighed net of fire in the other.  Its gladiator mask burns the bright red of tempered steel, but it did not come willingly, and Flickr reels from the drain.  "What would you have me do.  Choose wisely, for when it is finished, you're on your own."

Before Flickr can answer, the Amerind acts.  His right arm strikes forward and up, briefly illuminating the alley in a sickly green light.  Flickr looks in horror as his own hand begins to dissolve.  His fingers lose shape first, then his hand.  Mercer can only watch as the young mage's face begins to droop, and then his whole body folds in on itself, a mass of flesh laying in the street surrounded by Flickr's clothes.

The Amerind grunts in satisfaction.  "So, what now, second?  Will you dishonor your friend by drawing arms?  Plead for his life?  Or sit silently by while I pluck him piece by piece?"

"Jesse," his own second says, a high-pitched timbre to her voice.

[Malevolence]

"So, what now, second?  Will you dishonor your friend by drawing arms?  Plead for his life?  Or sit silently by while I pluck him piece by piece?"


Well, that was fast. And Mercer was in a bit of a corner - the two combatants had fairly agreed to a duel to the death. It would be risky, not to mention unsportsmanlike, to intervene, but he had to do something - just letting a team mate die wasn't the kind of thing that won leadership awards.


He couldn't decide on a course of action - goad the Amerind into attacking? Get the crowd to back giving the elf another chance? And so he started talking and just tried all the buttons.


"That was -" he paused for effect, "underwhelming. I was sort of hoping for a proper mage fight, like in the trids. That bolt the elf threw inside, that was exciting stuff. This ... sludge ... thing - it's kinda toxic mage like stuff, and not the cool scary stuff like in the trids, more half-assed. I kinda feel cheated of a good show." He looked over the crowd to see how his words were being received. Were there nods of agreement? A few, but nothing enthusiastic. And he couldn't see if the insult had found footing in the mage's ego. It almost hurt to criticize the victorious man since his victory was simple and effective - no unnecessary flash or flamboyance - just the kind of style Mercer would use. But he had to try to get under the man's skin, draw on the adrenaline still flowing through his veins from the fight. So he continued on.


"But, y'all agreed to a duel to the death, so as weak as your victory may be, I ain't gonna stop ya murdering this man. 'course, you're sounding a little like you mean to indulge in a little torture before ending him. That ain't sportsmanlike, and I won't stand by and let it happen. Your friend died quick and on his feet, this elf deserves the same honor, and I demand it. I'd also hope that you are man enough to look him in the eyes as you rob him of his life, but if'n you're too squeamish, we'd all understand. Maybe."

[rednblack]

"That was -" he paused for effect, "underwhelming. I was sort of hoping for a proper mage fight, like in the trids. That bolt the elf threw inside, that was exciting stuff."

"Exciting?!  It was exciting for you to see my friend fall dead?"

 

"This ... sludge ... thing - it's kinda toxic mage like stuff, and not the cool scary stuff like in the trids, more half-assed. I kinda feel cheated of a good show."

"Toxic, no," the man says indignantly.  "Chahta sia Hoke!" he finishes proudly.  He glances to his own second, who shakes her head.

"So you want flash?  From the looks of you I would peg you as a man who would appreciate raw efficacy.  You and I, we are not so different, are we?  Bar rooms are not your preferred zone of battle, yes?  Neither are they mine."

"But, y'all agreed to a duel to the death, so as weak as your victory may be, I ain't gonna stop ya murdering this man. 'course, you're sounding a little like you mean to indulge in a little torture before ending him. That ain't sportsmanlike, and I won't stand by and let it happen. Your friend died quick and on his feet, this elf deserves the same honor, and I demand it. I'd also hope that you are man enough to look him in the eyes as you rob him of his life, but if'n you're too squeamish, we'd all understand. Maybe."

"Victory. . ." the Amerind shakes his head.  Finally, at great length, the man produces a small handful of corn from the pocket of his jacket, and approaches what passes now for Flickr's form.  "We shall let the manitoo decide," he says finally before closing he corn within his fist and thrusting it into a soft, fleshy part of Flickr, and withdraws empty-handed.  He turns his back to Mercer and begins walking toward the truck his second pulled into the alley.  His second eyes Mercer carefully, her cybernetic fingers twitching near the Savalette Guardian on her hip.

"I consider this matter closed," the Amerind says before entering the vehicle.  "Care for your friend.  His life is outside either of our hands now."

It's a painful few moments, but Flickr opens his eyes to find himself laying in the rain-slicked alley, a single piece of dried corn in his mouth, which he spits out instinctively.

[Malevolence]

"So you want flash?  From the looks of you I would peg you as a man who would appreciate raw efficacy.  You and I, we are not so different, are we?  Bar rooms are not your preferred zone of battle, yes?  Neither are they mine."


Too true, those words. The Amerind, in that moment, reminds Mercer of an old Aztlan Shaman he'd worked with back in his law enforcement days. The man had always seemed relaxed, even when Mercer was certain that the odds were good that they'd both end up dead. Never hurried, never impatient, never flustered. "The constant and even flow of a stream" one of his deputies had commented once, and it was true. Mercer's mind snapped back to the present as the Amerind finishes up, placing some corn into the soft mass that is Flicker. No doubt that would prove uncomfortable when the elf reformed - perhaps lethal if that particular portion of flesh was Flickr's brain or heart - but not especially torturous. Of course, Mercer wasn't clear on all of the mystical possibilities, but the man did not appear to display any malice. Mercer assumed that it was simply the mystical equivalent of "teabagging".


"I consider this matter closed," the Amerind says before entering the vehicle.  "Care for your friend.  His life is outside either of our hands now."


Mercer couldn't find any words. He wanted to say how much he wished that the two had met under different circumstances, how they were similar and maybe they could be friends the next time they met. But the actions of the man were self explanatory. He was magnanimous in victory, he made his point. All that was left now was for each party to pick up the pieces. Mercer watched the man walk away for a few seconds, then turned back to Flickr's body slowly reforming on the wet pavement. Few of the crowd remained as loud arguing erupted near the bar entrance as the patrons objected to Shur's troll-handling as they tried to re-enter the club.


Eventually, Flickr's eyes flickered open and he stared around madly looking for the death blow before realizing that the danger had passed. Mercer helped him up off the ground, but remained silent. There would be a dressing down for using lethal force in a simple altercation, but not in public, and not here. It was time to go.


<<@Team [Mercer] Bus is leaving. We've overstayed our welcome.>> He picked a neutral point about midway between here and Stake's place that he and Achak were using as a base of operations. <<We'll rendezvous here and plan our next steps.>>
<<Attachment: POI>>


He took one last look around and made for his van.

[Zweiblumen]

Spitfire was recording everything as usual.  Patsy getting her coverage of the alley and the unexpectedly short mage duel.  Flickr being turned to ooze was disconcerting to say the least.

<<@Team [Mercer] Bus is leaving. We've overstayed our welcome.>> He picked a neutral point about midway between here and Stake's place that he and Achak were using as a base of operations. <<We'll rendezvous here and plan our next steps.>>
<<Attachment: POI>>

<<<@Team [SpitFire] I've spare seats if anyone needs a ride.  I'll be outside for 5 min to make sure we are clean.>>>

With most of the crowd outside he was a little conspicuous in his presence.  For the most part, there were just the employees trying to clean up the mess that had been left behind.  He recalled his micro drones while he was still in the booth that had so recently been occupied by his new... business partners?  The Southern Gentleman, Mercer, seemed to be a calm and competent leader.  The old world elf was a surprisingly loose cannon.  When he had a chance he'd definitely want to chat with Achak about the team in private.

With that he coughs loudly as he gets up from his seat so as not to startle anyone that might have forgotten a patron or two might still be in the bar.  He sees the mess that was left behind by the mage and shakes his head sadly.  Shur notices the ork and angrily hustles him out the door.  "Whats that matter with you?  Can't you see we're closing here.  Get outta here before I punt you out!"
Spitfire hustles past with a mock salute, "Sir, yes sir! Sir!  For Shur!"  He finishes with a laugh as he scoots out the door and over to his van.  The door opens as he gets close and he rather ungracefully leaps into the seat before pulling around to the opposite side of the bar from the alley.  He sends his location to the team incase anyone needs a ride while he waits to make sure no one but him is following Mercer and Flickr.

<<<@Patsy [Jason] Follow Mercer and keep an eye out for anyone else tailing him and Flickr, especially the dueler and whoever that was that he left with.>>>

[Malevolence]

The lull in the rain had ended, and a mild drizzle settled down on the parking lot at Kadie's. Most of the patrons had been rebuffed by Shur - apparently the management decided to close early after the evening's events - and had slowly wandered off, most in cars, some on foot, some by taxi. That left the parking lot rather empty, so when Mercer finally decided to guide the Roadmaster out onto the road, he was fairly certain that he was not being followed.


He'd spent the minutes following the duel attempting to reach Achak and had been unsuccessful. Fortunately, Spitfire was able to squeeze one of his mosquito drones into the VIP lounge and determine that their absent teammate was in no immediate physical danger - financial danger, perhaps, but largely safe outside of that. Mercer's eyes, on the other hand, would never be able to unsee the romantic engagement the drone had captured, and he was happy to leave the wait for Achak's funds to deplete to Spitfire.


Mercer kept an eye out for tails as he and Flickr made their way to the midway point. He took the opportunity to discuss with Flickr how the life of a Hunter worked. You laid low, you played nice with law enforcement, and you avoided using lethal force against the non-Infected unless you were mortally threatened. His mind wandered to the assault on the Sunrise building where he had personally ended two men's lives, but he convinced himself that that was an exception - that they were working for the enemy and would certainly have ended him just as readily.


Flickr came from a different world, and Mercer could read between the lines a bit. In his old life, he was expected to get the job done and the lives of enemy combatants were rarely a concern. Any obstacle was to be eliminated as efficiently and effectively as possible unless specifically ordered otherwise. Mercer felt that, as used to issuing orders as Flickr was, he was also accustomed to taking them. So Mercer and Flickr agreed to treat the use of non-lethal force against non-Infected as a standing order. Flickr seemed rather at ease with the idea of treating the Hunting business as a mission with specific parameters, rather than a permanent state of affairs. In time, that view might change as he allowed himself to let go of his old life, but for now it gave him something to hold on to, context to fit this new life and new world into.


It took a while, but eventually all of the crew met up at the empty lot Mercer had chosen. The place was poorly lit, but it was flat and empty, so with the various sensors and such available, they were confident that they had escaped any tails. They also took the opportunity to look for trackers on their vehicles and on their persons. Mercer recalled the deft fingers of the waitress that they had discovered - after reviewing Spitfire's footage of the barroom brawl - had taken the brass knuckles used by Chris and was all too aware that such a skill could just as easily be used to plant an item.


It was here that Achak and Mercer handed the briefcase over to Spitfire for him to work his magic on, and they once again saddled up and headed for "home". Mercer had re-equipped himself once he had originally reached his van, carrying Sean and Joey as well as wearing his mask. He wanted to be ready to respond in a  moment if they should spot a tail, and the mask made looking for any suspicious followers easier besides. He noticed that Flickr was wrinkling his nose an abnormal amount and Mercer was suddenly all too aware that he hadn't cleaned his armor in -


Hmm, was it really that long? The RFID in his armor confirmed that it had really been nearly a week. Stake's place had some rudimentary laundry facilities that he wasn't sure would be up to the task of cleaning a coat the size of Mercer's, and so he resigned himself to finding a nearby laundromat the next day to see about some proper maintenance. They'd have to go shopping tomorrow anyway now that they had doubled the number of mouths they'd have to feed, though he expected that Flickr and Spitfire would prefer their own pads at the end of the day, so it would only really have to cover times like tonight when they got together to strategize. Ah, the glamorous life of a Hunter, all stock management and equipment maintenance.


Eventually, they made their way to the safehouse and began to pool their options. On the one hand, there was the briefcase, which Spitfire was working on while distractedly taking part in the conversation, and on the other there was the all too interesting lead that Flickr brought to the table. The only concern with Flickr's vampire was that there was no indication that he was associated with Sunrise or any of the shenanigans going on there. But on the other hand, a Vampire coming to town just now was curious. And a vampire was a vampire. If the briefcase came up dry, the bounty on this vampire could at least give Mercer an opportunity to see how his new team meshed. Or get them killed. The vampire seemed like he was experienced and thus unlikely to be a fledgling, or at the very least, a fledgling from dangerous stock.


After a couple of hours, Spitfire announced that he had cracked the encryption on the briefcase and lists out the folder structure. He's concerned that the amount of damage to the briefcase might limit what is recoverable, but with luck, there'd be quite a bit of usable data. The team looked over the table of contents and tore into the content itself. Most of the data was gibberish, odd words or sentence fragments that could be made out, but largely meaningless out of context. But a couple of the sections were largely intact, and the team began poring through them and dissecting them for secrets and any information that would point them to their next step in stopping the Infected in their plans.

[rednblack]

It's taken a few hours, but Spitfire is able to piece the access codes together bit by bit, and what's left of the database transforms from a useless jumble of matrix symbols into usable text.  Not bad for a night's work, really, an easy ¥500, and if he wants he can be on his way.  But if Achak was right, and they could be looking at a solid ¥100,000?!  Well, hell chummer.  The big question gnawing its way in the back of Spitfire's brainpan, though, is, Is it worth getting mixed up with the infected over?

It's at least worth looking at, right?  No harm ever came just by looking.  Spitfire smiles at how wrong that last part is, but fires up the root menu anyway.

<<Welc>/come New_Admin_1>>
<<H0w may 1 hhel-_p you/?>>
<<Input: Display "Root Menu">>
<<Error: File Da^ta Corru/pted>>
<<Input: Command: Override>>
<<Access Granted. . .>>
<<>>
<<>>
<<Sunrise, Inc.
--a. Hol7h2j1s an#d b13>uisitions
--b. Payroll
--c. Taxes
--d.(9945x/))jX114D2p9ij//Corrupted
--e. Clients

<<Special Projects
--a. Honeypots
--b. CRISPR
--c. Zenith
--d. Mount Jewett, PA, UCAS
--e. bl4DD6/!@997)2jXn4//Corrupted
--f. Completed Projects for Review

<<Corporate Partnership
--a. Joint Projects
--b. Clients
--c. Steinem a4% ll13<B((^//Corrupted

The root menu, at least, is largely intact.  Spitfire goes about the laborious project of sifting through the files one by one.  The first four are unusable, large chunks of data either missing or corrupted beyond repair.  The fifth, on the other hand is completely intact, spared from the grenade blast.

<<Input: Open File: Sunrise Inc.//e. Clients>>
<<Access Granted>>
<<>>
<<>>
<<Preferred Clients>>

DePalma, Maria.  Contract Established: 2072.  Member Since: 2070
--Address: Sunrise, Inc. Offices, Seattle Branch
--Commcode: 73-33L-49117
--Sunrise, Inc. Branch President
--Previous Contract(s) held by client: Maria DePalma (2070)

Kada, Goro.  Contract Established: 2069.  Member Since: 2069 (2036)
--Address: 1529 Queen Anne Ave. N. #17B2, Seattle, WA  UCAS
--Commcode: 19-61W-59016
--Previous Contract(s) held by client: Hisoka Tanaka (2036), Ryu Jo (2047), Ken Jo (2055)
--Would you like to see dossier(s) on previous Contract(s)?  __Y __N
<<Input: Command: Yes>>
<<Error: The file you are looking for no longer exists>>

Kreutz, Jacob.  Contract Established: 2070.  Member Since: 2070
--Address: 4504 145th Pl SE, Bellevue, WA  UCAS
--Address: 15 Delara, Co. Cork  Tir Na Nog (Withdrawn)
--Address: 179342 #17C W. Chimalli Ave., Tenochtitlán, Aztlan
--Commcode: B7-216-4K266

Pachis, Laura.  Contract Established: 2067.  Member Since: 2067 (2036)
--Address: 3238 112th Ave. SE #11468K7 // Bellevue, WA  UCAS
--Commcode: 39-44K-19724
--Previous Contract(s) held by Client: Stacie Pachis (2036), Stacey Collias (2048)
--Would you like to see dossier(s) on previous Contract(s)?  __Y __N
<<Input: Command: Yes>>
<<Error: The file you are looking for no longer exists>>

<<Gold Clients>>

Brellin, Sandra.  Contract Established: 2072.  Member Since: 2072
Address: 2571 #15B W. Dunkelzahn Memorial Expressway, Seattle, WA  UCAS
Commcode: 81-81E-53661
Dossier: Lieutenant in Knight's Errant 11th Precinct, Ms. Brellin's connections go much higher. She has so far been quite effective in relaying information on claimed bounties for infected, scant as that information is.  Her primary value lies in reading the political climate at Knight's Errant so that we may better position our assets for advancement.  Unfortunately, Ms. Brellin does not have any family for leverage, though she has so far not presented any resistance to our requests.
Recommendation: Continue business as usual, but I want eyes kept on her.  Who can be bought cannot be trusted.

Nozaki, Sora.  Contract Established: 2074.  Member Since: 2074
--Address: 1750 W. Old End Pl., Seattle, WA  UCAS
--Commcode: 44-17Q-33981
--Commcode: 82-29T-65594
--Attachment: Sora.Nozaki.tiff
--Next of Kin: Aiko Nozaki (Daughter), Harumi Nozaki (Wife), Michi Nozaki (Son)
--Dossier: Oyabun of the Kenran-kai, Mr. Nozaki has smartly chosen to put our intel to work for our mutual benefit.  He stands to gain a great deal from the loss of Yukimura specifically, and the weakening of the Kanaga-gumi in general.  We should tread lightly in the coming months in order to bolster Mr. Nozaki's trust in our business dealings and our aims, while also making clear that Mr. Nozaki's's fate, or the fate of his family could indeed be the fate or Mr. Yukimura should cooperation cease. 
Recommendation: Current tax rates should remain fixed until the second quarter of 2076. 

Westfield Logistics, Inc.  Contract Established: 2068.  Member Since: 2068
Address: Lot E16 Dash Point Rd., Tacoma, WA  UCAS
Host: Westfield_Logistics.ecg

Yukimura, Eito.  (Account terminated)

<<End File>>

[Tecumseh]

Back at the warehouse, Achak rubs his temples. It had been an up-and-down night and he hardly knew what to make of it. Shur had been a choob, as expected. Lola had been truly wizzer, as hoped. But then Achak had emerged from the glorious Champagne Room, suit rumpled, to discover that Flickr had geeked a man over a minor provocation, and then had his hoop handed to him out back by the dearly departed's chummer, who then stuck corn in him as some sort of magical comeuppance. Murders inside Kadie's were rare; Shur was usually effective in keeping the most lethal weapons out. It wasn't uncommon for the occasional assault to turn into aggravated assault and, very rarely, into manslaughter, but out-and-out murder was shocking.

Shocking, yes, that's good, Achak thinks to himself, pleased with his pun given Flickr's method of executing his fellow bar patrons. Achak's bump of novacoke had not worn off yet and was helping him take things in stride. He was going to be all sorts of miserable when he crashed, but for now it was keeping him optimistic, and keeping his mind off the fact that the man hired to help protect them from vampires had just been turned into a puddle in an alleyway by someone who was not a vampire. This was distressing, or would be once the drugs wore off. It was also deeply annoying that of all the people Flickr had blithely murdered, none of them had been Shur. This was a missed opportunity and Achak felt the loss of it keenly.

He turned his limited attention to the files pouring out of the briefcase at SpitFire's command. "Stick around for a bit," he says, tossing the promised payment to the ork. "That was too easy for you. Put that big brain of yours on the big picture. Let's make some real nuyen." Flattery complete, Achak goes back to rubbing the bridge of his nose, wondering when his pupils would stop vibrating like the timpani from Bach's Tönet, ihr Pauken!

[Malevolence]

Mercer groaned internally as the status of the files in the briefcase became apparent. The massive damage from the grenade had taken its toll on the briefcases contents. Really, what was the point of an armored briefcase if it couldn't shake off some shrapnel? Of course, the lethal ordinance deployed was also to blame. I recommended that Achak take the grenade launcher, aka the Sister, so I'm as much to blame for this as he is. And I even assured them the 'case could take a 'nade.


On the bright side, at least there was something. Turns out the client list was completely intact, and Spitfire was teasing out a good chunk of the Joint Projects file and would hopefully have much, if not most, of that folder for them shortly. At least we got something.


He looked over the clients and made some mental notes. The vampires - and some long lived ones at that - were apparent, changing their identities every decade or so. Goro Kada, Laura Pachis - wait, wasn't that the woman at the Sunrise Offices? Likely the one that threw that lightning ball at him. And summoned that blood spirit. An address for her was quite a happy find.


Jacob Kreutz got the elf excited, apparently the name he had for the vamp that had caused him such trouble. And if the file was complete, he was not an older vampire. Or he just did not have much of a history with Sunrise. Hopefully he would be less established, and thus less dangerous, than Laura. Mercer could be persuaded to follow the elf's vendetta before they went after the blood mage, but by that same argument, Mercer would like to cut the teeth of his still fresh team on perhaps a silver client or two before trying the big leagues.


The others, and Mercer too, as much as he tried to lie to himself, were weary. But the data coming at them from Spitfire was keeping them amped. Spitfire's drones, on the other hand, needed no rest and kept a watchful eye on the safehouse as the metas were distracted by the treasure trove of data flooding in.


But collecting bounties could now be risky. Sandra Brellin was a client that was apparently embedded in the local KE precinct, reporting on bounties collected, and thus alerting Sunrise to local Hunter activity. Was she a vampire herself? Maybe, maybe not, but either way, killing a cop rubbed Mercer the wrong way. Of course, they were already on Sunrise's radar, so what could Sandra report that wasn't already obvious? An ambush when trying to turn in a bounty? Maybe Sandra could put in a APB on the SINs used for the last bounty, putting them in an uncomfortable position with the law. Or worse, pinching them the next time they came near a precinct looking to claim a bounty. It was so simple, Mercer wondered why it hadn't happened a long time ago, like when the bounties first started. The only answer he could come up with was the natural lack of cooperation - indeed, active infighting - among vampires and other infected. That that fragmentation could no longer be relied on to keep the traditionally solitary predators from cooperating sent a chill deep into Mercer's bones, which was saying something considering how little he tended to feel lately.


This would have to be handled with an abundance of caution. We could hold off on bounties, but that would cut off our primary source of income, thus hobbling our effectiveness. They could try to turn bounties in at a different precinct, or even travel a bit and try a Lone Star precinct. But, of equal worry was the intimation that KE may be compromised at even higher levels if the info Sandra provided on KE's "political winds" was as valuable as Sunrise's Dossier claimed. Usually, Mercer could count on cooperation with the law, but now it seemed safest to consider KE a potential adversary. Again, he mentally groaned.