The Case of the Missing Niece: Prologue.
Chinatown. Many native Chinese citizens will tell you, once you've seen one, you've seen them all. The main streets of this cultural oasis in downtown Seattle, was filled to the brim the active commlink with augmented advertisement displays. English subtitles lay below neon colored Chinese calligraphy spamming bakeries, seafood markets, jewelry stores, gyrating dance clubs, and of course restaurants all sporting three star quality or higher. Every Chinatown had a nice area reminding Chinese tourists of the denizens of central Hong Kong. But people forget. For every golden sunflower which grows amongst the soil of an average garden, there is a weed growing in between the cracks of the sidewalk polluting the scenery.
Escaping the vibrant energy of Cherry Street, Chinatown, the elven street runner known as Durden followed the GPS system on his Fairlight Caliban commlink towards the housing place of the meet. He found himself on a narrow cobblestoned avenue, incoming traffic was only allowed to travel one way, which was towards him of course. Squatters of all races and metatypes littered this detour like the trash on the ground. Old men of Asian descent were reminiscent of the take out white take out cartons. There was a bum dressed in greased stained black pants and an open shirt that had been ripped in various places talking to himself, screaming at times about gibberish. The bum could have been compared to a large garbage bag which had been sitting on the streets for weeks. Durden remained un-phased. He was used to it. Squats in the Seattle sprawls were filled with disease, germs, and psychotic breakdowns. This was no different. At the end of the block, facing the street was a three story pagoda. A green augmented arrow appeared in the commlink's corner, signaling this was the place.
Durden was as tall and slim like most elves, with bronzed skin so dark it almost looked black in the night, contrasting sharply with the yellow-bone color of his hair pulled back in a tight pony tail. A stylized tattoo of an Eastern dragon started on the outside of the arch of his right eyebrow, trailed down the side of his face, and curled its tail about his neck. The only interruption of the artwork was a thin shrapnel scar showing white against the bronze skin at the wing of the dragon. He was adorned in designer clothing, underneath a black lined coat duster. Sliding refined hands into his pockets, he casually made his way towards the yellow and black pagoda.
An octagon shaped Feng Shui mirror stood above the doubled door entrance. The Chinese believed this mirror warded off evil spirits, especially for buildings facing an open street like this one. A rusty creak acted as a flare for his location and arrival as he pushed open the iron double doors. The first floor of the pagoda served was a restaurant or at least what was left of one. It was a vacant grand ballroom, littered with empty tables, and a bar on the left wall. Sitting at one of the tables was a troll dressed in a purple suit. He was of the large ivory horn troll variety. Across from him was a human woman of unrivaled beauty. She had braided red hair which fell past her shoulder blades, a face fair of complexion, tall in stature and athletic body that was honed by daily exercise. Flanking her was a frail human dressed in casual clothing. Seemingly they did not notice his presence because there appeared to be a discussion going on.
"Darius. I am telling you. The emotions of music should be interpreted by the listener," A femine voice said. "Not broadcasted to them by the musician. It is entirely possible to have the feelings of the musician displayed to them as an option. But as the way things stand now. It takes away from the human spirit and individuality."
"People want to forget their problems and who they are. Research has shown personality disorders metahumans have developed because of being abused socially have affected the way people can be impacted by musical empathy." Darius replied.
"That is exactly why it is important for people to be able to experience music on their own plane. Music heals. It will take time for us to be de-sensitized to the way things are....but it is possible..."
"Isn't going to happen."
The conversation was interrupted as the skinny human male coughed towards him.
"Durden," the female began, turning towards him "Right on time."
He checked the retinal display on the commlink. It read 0200.
"Darius." She continued, smiling and gesturing towards the elf "Allow me to introduce Durden. He'll be the key to finding the girl."
The troll scanned Durden, looking him up and down. The stoic expression contrasted the flamboyant matador-esque suit he was wearing. "He better be Kat O' Nine Tails. I'm trusting you."
"So what's the scan Mr. Johnson?" He had worked with the famous Kat O' Nine Tails in the past. Her runs usually deviated from the norm when it came to the tone of the jobs. They tended to be professional affairs centered around favors, relationships, and trust. Nonetheless he exhibited a professional stern demeanor until otherwise noted. Despite her status as a cultural icon, Kat O' Nine Tails is loyal to her roots and does not let the rewards of fame get to her head. She is down to Earth, humble, and educated on the blights of the sprawl. The dog respected that. He respected that.
"Durden, sit down and relax. We're still waiting for the others to arrive." Kat asked before concluding. "I want everyone to hear this together. If my gut feeling is correct, this one could be personal."
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It took some time but eventually everyone arrived. There were five people in the room in the restaurant in total. The emaciated male went by the moniker of Byron. Like Durden he was a local talent. A hacker of decent reputation. He was also a drone rigger, known for being anal retentive when it came to maintaining the condition of his 'children.' Rounding out the group was a member of Byron's usual team. A ork enforcer named Chicago. Large in size, bulging with muscles, and no doubt sporting more chrome then a 21st century electronic store, the ork spoke in a heavy mid-western accept. In good nature, Chicago flashed Durden a tusk like grin while nodding upward at the elf.
"Let's get 'down to bizzness' sir. Kat tewls us ye have a job of benevolent complexion." Chicago flicked a token in the air and caught it.
The troll Johnson leaned back in his chair. Crossed his heavy legs, and readjusted a dangling hoop earring in one of his horns before beginning. "A few days ago, a young female of great importance to my contact went missing."
"Do you have a name?" Durden asked.
"Yes. Athlea. Athlea Brementon."