Charlie disembarked from the VTOL in Columbia and sniffed the air. The scents of a damp jungle, with it's unique tint and unrecognized pollens, created the exotic effect that such a new place embodies. Thousands of scents, each subtly carried, each telling a story. Trees, flowers, a large feline (possibly a meta-cat), and… real tobacco.

Charlie opened her eyes and looked toward that last scent. A short man, unimpressive but for the smell, leaned against a cab. The pilot moved out behind her and gestured to the man.

"That's 32, he'll take you from here."

Charlie nodded and wordlessly made her way to the man.

"Can I buy a few of those off you?" she asked by way of a greeting.

He nodded when she pulled out several rounds of spare ammunition which he traded five of his home rolled smokes for.

"You're the one I'm here for, right?"

Charlie nodded and they took off towards town. 32, he never offered another name, talked the whole way. It was a stark contrast to the silent plane ride from Chicago. Most of what he said didn't interest her but he spoke highly of the Johnson and so the heightened nerves Charlie had been feeling since landing subsided slightly. She wasn't used to running alone and she had next to no contacts out here. Plus, Sid had set this up and who knew with that douche bag?

The city wasn't bad, nothing like Downtown Seattle, but not the CZ either. The place they were meeting was a pleasant cafe near a fountain. 32 parked the cab across the plaza, his engine idling, and pointed the Johnson out. As Charlie started to get out of the cab, the man at the cafe smiled at her, a handsome, older man in a white suit. Then, the bus slammed into him.

Charlie froze for a split second. A thousand thoughts rushed through her mind, ultimately settling on 'frag'. Then she was moving.

"Wait here," she said to the driver of the cab. Do help this driver if he takes off with my Barrett, she thought, the high powered weapon still in its case. Her 'Alamo' was in hand as she jumped on the bus, searching for any clue to explain what had just happened.

The scents of car accident were consistent but for the added mixed of real Columbian coffee. The usual burnt rubber was absent, indicating a hit rather than a freak accident. The driver was dead; no obvious sign of why he'd crashed into her payday. Magic popped to mind and she was immediately reminded that that she was, as far as it mattered, totally alone. She quickly scanned the bus for anything suspicious but was rewarded only with frightened passengers and the distant wail of sirens. Swearing quietly, she hoofed it back to the car.

True to his word, 32 had stayed put despite his obvious instinct to leave. When Charlie climbed back in and said 'go', he was steady on the gas.

32 dropped her at a seedy motel and she bartered some more ammunition for a room. It smelled of insects (dead and living), piss and vomit, and excessively sweaty sex. As soon as she was inside, Charlie paused and took stock; she was out of her home turf, without a job, alone, and possibly being tracked. After all, if she wanted to take out a large predator, first step was driving it out of familiar territory. Sid.

Gambetti had set this job up and that meant he might be involved. On second thought, double crossing seemed a bit over his head. More likely he was a dupe. Either way, he'd have information.

"Sid." Her reception wasn't great but she was getting through.

"Charlie! How's the Bloodhound handling that job? I hear Columbia is beautiful, you having fun?" Bloodhound. Funny, Jazz had just called her that a week ago. Seemed to be catching on.

"My Johnson got hit by a bus."

"Your shitting me!" Sid laughed.

Charlie let the silence convey her thoughts.

"Your not shitting me?"

"…"

"Drek bra, that's some wicked drag, you got a plan?"

"Call you."

"Right, right, what exactly do you need?" Now Sid was paying attention. He sounded a tad drunk but functional and focused.

"Anything you can dig up on the Johnson and who would want to hit him. Also a ride. I'm pretty exposed at the moment and I want to get back before anyone notices I'm gone." … or makes use of my under-equipped state to cross my ass off.

"I'll look into it, should have something in few hours."

"Got it." Charlie hung up and took a moment to steady herself. There wasn't a lot of evidence that anyone was hunting her, but most of the time her own prey only knew they were pursued when they took a bullet to the head. If she was under attack, then she'd make it difficult for them. She quickly changed into something more tropically appropriate; in this case a wife beater, sports bra, and cargo pants instead of thermal layers and Kevlar. The armor jacket stayed, more than a few minutes without it and her agitated state started to move towards panic.

Her rifle was the real problem. Sicne she'd had no idea what to expect on the job, she'd brought her anti-material sniper which was easily the most expensive piece of gear she owned and a memento from her last boyfriend. Given that this was Columbia, a place of poverty by all accounts, she was as much concerned for the safety of her weapon as she was for her life. Still, as long as she kept it close, things would probably be OK.

Sid's return call came in less then an hour. "Not much in the way of investigating the dead guy, but I do have a guy who could get you out the shit. Name's Storm Crow, sort of smuggler extraordinaire from the buzz on this cat. Hit him up, do what he needs, and I'll see you back in Z of C! Ya dig?"

"Thanks Sid, this makes us even."

Storm Crow was at a bar on the edge of town. He wasn't hard to spot, being the only person in the bar with the look of experience. Exchanging names wasn't necessary, Charlie sat down and they spoke quietly, never so much as glancing at each other.

"They got anything good here?" asked Charlie after a moment of silence.

"The Tequila is good, well kept secret."

Charlie nodded and waved the bartender over and makiing her order.

"Hear you need a ride," the man said after the bartender left, speaking with an accent that marked him as local.

"Hear you need a favor."

"Aztlan has been pushing on the treaty, they say it's peace, but if so I preferred the war. I want solid photographic evidence of whats been going on in Bogota: war crimes… atrocities… something they can't just brush off with a few PR reps. Handle it and call me." He slid a commcode over as he stood up to leave.

"Consider it done."

The Tequila was as good as advertised.

The trip into the warzone would require a bus as 32 was entirely unwilling to go that far. Charlie sat at the bus stop, shadows concealing her watchful eyes, until the bus arrived just before dawn. It wasn't as cramped as she'd assumed it would be, and the smells of poverty were both comforting and foreign. In the Sprawl, the scent of the dirty and hard working had been welcome, but this, like everything in this mad alien place, set her a bit on edge.

The drive through the jungle would take most of the day and though it wasn't as cramped as she'd expected, the weather was heating up enough that she had to tone back her olfactory processor, the musk of her fellow passengers being nearly overpowering. The Jungle continued to smell amazing, however. The vibrant scent of life washed over her with every breath. It was intoxicating.

Hours through the ride she had dozed a little, her mind wandering, when the smell of exhaust that didn't come from the bus hit her. She opened her eyes as the bus began to slow and glanced out the window to see a half dozen jeeps blocking the path ahead Twice that in armed figures stood around them, alert and ready. She sat quietly as one of the figures entered, had a heated conversation with the driver that she couldn't understand, and then glanced around before noticing the tall, bald elf in the back.

The man walked back to her seat, which was two from the back, passenger side, and leveled his weapon. His words weren't much use but his tone and gestures made it clear that he wanted her up and off the bus.

For a moment she thought about fighting him, one guy would be easy, punch him with her cyberarm and take his weapon, or vice versa. The problem with that plan was that she'd then be dealing with the other eleven, surrounded by terrified civilians, with nothing but a stolen weapon and her machine pistol. Of course, if she did get off the bus, he might just walk her to a firing line and her best chance at surviving would be missed. If she'd had backup, she might have gone for it, but being alone meant caution. She stood and walked off the bus.

The soldier who'd called her off the bus walked back towards his own people and again Charlie thought about running. With the Jungle as thick as it was and her training in wilderness survival, she could probably outlast them in an extended search. A moment later he came back with another soldier, which was when she noticed that this little militia was comprised of mostly older teens with mismatched weapons. Feeling a little better about her odds, Charlie put on a little more swagger in speaking to the man before her.

"What are you doing here, gringo?" asked the soldier.

"Vacation. I hear Bogota is lovely this time of year." She smiled as her attitude made the soldier double check her, noting the cybereyes with catlike pupils, the scar across her face explaining how she'd lost her real eyes, the obvious cyberarm, and the machine pistol strapped to her leg.

"Right… you heard wrong lady, its a mess."

She looked over his head at the other soldiers. "Who are you guys, exactly?"

He puffed up his chest with pride. "We are the Colombian militia, fighting Aztlan tyranny with every breath!"

"How useful, I'm here on behalf of Storm Crow to collect evidence of Aztlan war-crimes. Figure it won't be that hard to find something I can use."

He laughed humorlessly. "You right about that, gringo, but how do we know you aren't lying?"

"How about a donation? I've got a fair amount of ammo I'm not going to use."

He nodded and Charlie handed over a pair of heavy pistol clips, "Thanks gringo, don't get killed, ok?"

Charlie boarded the bus and returned to her seat as the bus started rolling. As she sat down and the trucks passed into the distance she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Not having backup was getting more and more intense.

Bogota. The war-torn waste of a city that housed the border between Colombian national territory and Aztlan Corporate turf. The place had been a war-zone for decades prior, only recently brought to a calm by the armistice. The city's violent history was obvious at a glance: bombed out buildings, trash everywhere, and huddled figures, the poster children for desolation and despair. Charlie assessed all of it in silence as the bus drove out of earshot. This would do nicely.

She'd been dropped in front of a hotel and, after exchanging a few bullets for a room key, she headed upstairs. She locked the door and braced it with a chair, then checked her rooms, weapon in hand. Sshe hadn't smelled anything wrong but if someone was hunting her specifically, they might be using some kind of scent masking.

Confident that the rooms were clear she pulled out an MRE and considered her next move. Everyone on the bus knew where she'd gotten off and would likely give her up if bribed or threatened. The rebels knew what she was doing and probably Aztlan as well from turncoats or infiltrators. Suddenly, the idea that she was being hunted became far more real. She flipped open her phone and called JoDy, an old friend and smuggler with contacts all over the place. An ARO informed her that she had no service. She stood and walked around, then went to the roof. The result was the same. She couldn't stay here. Her meal finished, she dismissed the thought of sleep, appealing though it was, and grabbed her rifle case. If the doorman saw her leave, he'd say so to anyone that asked. Better that he, or possibly they, think she was still inside.

She opened the window and slid herself and her rifle case out slowly, using her cyber arm to descend the three stories towards the alley below. Her landing was easy enough and, without a high volume of foot traffic, so was moving through the corpse of Bogota, hiding in the shadows of what was once a place of life.

A few blocks away she found what she was looking for: an abandoned school. More specifically an old gymnasium complete with ancient rolling bleachers, the perfect place to hide her rifle case while she was working. She still hated leaving the Barrett behind, but it weight would only slow her down and she couldn't afford that.

From there she hoofed it two hours to the border between West and Central Bogota. On the west side was the Aztlan community, supposedly being rebuilt. Her eyes were constantly up, aware and ready. The border was, as she'd expected, a huge wall. Security checkpoints doubtlessly held soldiers but from several blocks away she could barely make them out. A direct approach was out of the question. Instead she moved through the ruins and shadows until she was right up to the wall, then climbed to the third story of this particular burned out wreck and jumped across the wall into Aztlan territory.

Once over, Charlie again found cover and surveilled the checkpoint from that side. Six sentries, automatic rifles, frag grenades, body armor. They were ready and too big a threat to confront solo. The wall was passable if she could get up high enough, but another problem was coming to mind: sleep deprivation. She hadn't slept in almost fifty hours and was starting to feel it, her enhanced muscles pulling hard against the real thing, pushing her onward. It would be bad to be caught sleeping, but worse to nod off at the wrong moment. Since nobody knew where she was, she figured she'd be alright for a few hours. She was four blocks from the wall, third floor, and tucked in a corner before she closed her eyes and relaxed.

She was running through dense trees and brush that moved and shifted, trying to block her path. Behind her, a pack of hell-hounds howled and barked in their mad pursuit. If she could just make the clearing she'd be fine, if she could just make-

It was mere seconds before she opened them again. Light poured through broken glass and floating dust, the scent of it surrounded her and for a moment it was beautiful. Then the sound that had awoken her was made again. Footsteps. Heavy boots not hurrying but coming up the stairs. Smell matched, frequently cleaned bodies under corporate armor for most of the long sweaty day. Aztlan.

Light as a feather, Charlie darted to the window and jumped, falling easily to the ground and grunting slightly as she landed harder than she liked. The boots continued up the stairs and she moved into the next ruin, checked again that she wasn't being followed, and made her way deeper into the heart of a hostile nation.

Hours of walking brought the high Ziggurats of Aztlan into clear view. The development here was extensive, roads paved and smooth, houses whole and painted, people happy and well fed, and Charlie lurking at the edges, regarding all with a wary eye. She couldn't go in there, this wasn't what she needed for Storm Crow and she'd stick out as soon as she stood up. No, she'd gotten in to range to use her commlink and did so quickly, her contact setting her up with a local, the local refusing to meet anywhere this side of the border. Typical. She also asked him to bring a high rating commlink with a satellite connection. Never again would she be caught out like that.

Getting back over the wall was easier, her landing was witnessed by a pair of terrified children. They might have blown her cover but she gave them a protein bar and left them to gleefully devour it while she moved to meet her contact.

It took another hour to make the meet and find a place to set up. She wanted to get a look at this guy before he got a look at her, plus she wouldn't be caught out in the open if any buses were feeling homicidal. Her mind was drawn from ambush tactics by the sound of trucks and the smell of diesel fuel and Aztlan troops. Breaking from her over-watch she hurried over roofs towards an ancient Church, its stones long worn and its bells ringing out over the city. Her fears were confirmed as she crawled on her belly to the edge of her roof and took in the sight below.

Four Atzlan combat vehicles had rolled up on a crowd of frightened and sick locals and, as she watched, the troops began dragging medical personnel out of the church and throwing them into the trucks. Charlie leveled her rifle at their leader and held, her mind racing. She hated men like these and in any other situation she wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in his brain. If she fired now he'd die, the others would be left to figure out where the shot came from, the crown would panic and try to flee, the soldiers would gun them down and she'd record the atrocities she was sent to find. But innocents would die. People whose only crime was being poor. The SINless. Her people. She still had the officer's head in the cross-hairs as they loaded up the last doctors, as he rounded up his troops, as he got in, and as he drove away. She swore quietly and climbed to the ground, getting a few accounts from the people. After all, first hand stories were worth having with the footage.

Her Contact was late, but he had the phone and a map. More importantly he had the location of a safe house. That he and others knew its location made it slightly less safe, but as Charlie dropped her gear in the hardened concrete room, complete with generator, bed, and rations, she felt more secure then she had since landing. She rested a few hours, going over her footage. She patched a mission report through to Storm Crow and was considering a shower when her commlink rang and revealed a face half used car salesmen and half predatory cat.

"Good afternoon," said the newcomer in a far to smooth tone. "I know what Mr 'Storm Crow' is asking you to do and I-"

Charlie hung up and grabbed her bags. Time to get the hell out of dodge.

Resetting her new commlink, she called Storm Crow. "I have it, we need to meet, they're on to me."

His response was quick, as though he'd been expecting this. He sent a location and said he'd be waiting.

Charlie double timed towards the meet, alert every step. She was close when she smelled the diesel. She was just coming into an open air market as the jeep full of troops swooped in behind her. After that, everything moved very quickly.

She took a hit off of the jazz inhaler, whipped around, and blasted the Jeeps gunner right through the head. The response within the market was instantaneous terror.

Bullets flew everywhere as she dove into a nearby building and took cover. She could hear more vehicles rolling up as well as more gunfire, not just military weaponry either, maybe cartel if she was lucky. As the Aztlaners took cover outside, she shot another through the door frame and turned to run out the back. Time slowed as she saw a small child, a hungry little thing cowering for his life, take a bullet in the chest. She snarled and ran out through the building, turned to the next structure, and ran upstairs to have a better vantage point on the Market.

Things below had turned into chaos, three more Jeeps full of troops had arrived only to be met by an angry mob dragging them down and beating on them. A mage Officer summoned up a fireball but Charlie blasted his head into so much red paste before he could throw it. Next she took down turret gunners and the sat back as the mob did the rest.

Now armed and enraged, the shoppers had become a riot, surging towards the wall and tipping another Atztlaner patrol. For a moment Charlie wanted nothing more then to join them, blast through the border and let Aztlan feel a little fear for their border. She was about to unpack her Barret when reason stepped in. These people would die. If she helped them she would join them. She had other wars to fight. She peered over the wall, watching the crowd move away. She'd be back to help with this one, sooner or later.

Storm Crow was true to his word and got her out of Colombia. She'd lost money in the long run but as she lit up a cigarette she smiled, savoring the tastre of real tobacco. She'd been stranded solo in Bogota and walked out without a scratch. The weekend would make one hell of a story.