Shadows Of Seattle

by Cypher-SB

Seattle, the "Emerald City" and the legendary birthplace of the "shadowrun." It's the big leagues for those who work the shadows, making the good great and breaking those who can't stay in the shadows. But even here not all such shadow work is the stuff of legends. Material based on various published works, but the shadowrunners are of my own creation.

2. Politics & Cover Ups

Politics & Cover Ups (posted 2017/01/01)

I was roused back to consciousness as a small hand rubbed my chest, followed by a contented sigh. It was easy to see how cute and adorable Melody was, especially when she was peacefully resting like she was.

Now she didn't let her guard down for just anyone, and largely it was because of her "blessing" from the comet. She stood at a super petite meter-twenty and was barely over twenty kilograms on the scale, making her about as tall as the average male dwarf at half the mass, and had been so for most of her life now.

No, Melody wasn't a little girl. She simply looked like one. It was just over ten years ago now, when Halley's Comet passed by and created an incredible mana spike the world over and Melody had slipped into a weeklong coma. When she had finally come out of that coma she had awakened to magic. It would be almost a year later before she found out she was a changeling.

When she had found out she was going to remain a little girl for the rest of her life, Melody had began focusing her magic towards ways to try and fix herself. When she finally accepted that this was impossible she settled for changing her appearance and her aura. The most common thing she did was to make herself look like an older version of herself, a disguise that would last upwards of two weeks at a time now.

But right now she was her true self, contented as she lay snuggled up at my side after satisfying some of her more primal needs.

Now one of the worst things that could possibly happen happened. My commlink started humming with an incoming call. My free hand fumbled around for the annoying Sony Emperor, buzzing like a crazed sex toy in my hand as I turned it over to look at the display.

Melody lightly clawed at my chest, groaning her discomfort at being disturbed.

"Sorry, but I gotta take this." I say before pressing the green [Accept] icon. "This better be good, Joss." I say to the fixer on the other end.

Joss Tomes was one of a few fixers I knew. Our relationship was mostly business, but we sometimes shared a few drinks while I regaled him with stories about some of the jobs. The man was honest to ghost understanding about keeping things to himself too, never asked those prying questions, and had a solid enough reputation for having never sold out a shadowrunner. It was because of that last part that the one time someone tried to extort some sensitive information from him that several runners came to rescue him pro bono.

"Far from it," Joss told me, "but I've got a Johnson that needs a cover up. Wouldn't tell me more. He just needed a few guys to meet him at the Plastic Soul later tonight."

"What time?"

"'Round one-thirty."

Drek, I think to myself. With as far as I had to go I had very little time besides dressing and driving. "That's really short notice. Hope he's not expecting a high class presentation."

"Just as long as you don't come in smelling like a ghoul's lunch, I think you'll be fine."

"Right, I'll be there." I told Joss just before hitting the [End] button.

"You really gotta go?" Melody asked, sitting up so I could get up.

"Doesn't mean I've gotta accept it." I tell her as I start collecting my clothes. "Might be on the way back if Johnson's too cheap or this's a milk run."

"At least let me help out a little, k?" she asked, stepping up close to me, her hands at my hips. I was reminded again just how much I towered over her.

Now I knew what to expect, and had actually taught her the spell she now worked on me. It was a cosmetic spell, but something the higher class magician loved since it was like getting a full shower and teeth brushing in one in a matter of seconds. I had also planned on letting the car drive itself while I worked this spell on myself on the way to the meet.

Once the spell was over Melody looked up to me, her fingers toying dangerously close to my genitals. "Now hurry back so I can get another ride, k?" she said with a sly grin.

---

The Plastic Soul was a night club and bar up close to Snohomish that had been open since the fifties. While the outside didn't look too remarkable, it was the interior décor that gave the place its name.

The interior walls were made of something like aerogel, a light blue-gray cloudy material that had some mannequins and parts of them suspended within it, and the furniture had a bit of a BDSM flare to it as the seating and tables were all made from similar statuary shaped to support a chair, tabletop, or other such furniture.

Now if you believed some of the rumors about this place then you'd wonder why anyone would have a meet in a place like this. Almost right away after the place opened it was passed around that each of the mannequins had concealed trideo and audio recorders in them, recording everything they heard and saw. I had it on better authority that most of them didn't have anything of the sort. The booths and rooms in the back were all truly private, and the only ones that had any kind of recording devices were those strategically placed for security (like the three that watched the front door).

Also, as part of the retro feel, it was encouraged to keep your links at least private, if not ghosted. The overall average was about 50/50 between the two, and I ghosted mine all the same.

After checking in at the bar I was shown to a back room that Mr. Johnson had reserved. What surprised me was that I was the first one there. At least Johnson had arranged for drinks to be on him, so I asked for a halfway decent beer before being left alone in the room.

Now I know making a good impression on a Johnson is important, but what a lot of people forget to take note of is the impression that said Johnson gives to you as well. Being late for a meet that you called is not a good sign at all, and the paranoia of the experienced will tell you that you should be figuring at least three ways out of whatever building you're in as you're walking in. In this case it was kinda hard to have three when there were no windows and there was only one door.

Like the rest of the club, the furniture was made of mannequins. I chose a chair resembling a bent over dwarf to support a seat cushion in front of a buxom human woman holding a backrest. Checking around I noticed that two of the chairs was a collection of four dwarves, two orks, and a troll to make a troll sized chair. Considering most of the furniture was scaled more for common folk (elves, humans, and orks) I figured the odds were 50/50 that I'd be working with a troll or other large meta on this job.

Out of respect for a potential client I don't run my Renraku Mindreader or Kodak facial recognition programs. With a simrig concealed in my hair skinlinked to a commlink that I don't use for day to day drek (like broadcasting my SIN) I have a way to use my own natural eyes and ears like trideo and audio recorders. Not quite as sharp as going all cyber mind you, but the margin of error doesn't go up high enough to make that big of a difference. And since Johnson was late I decided to load up the facial and voice recognition programs to record some details, just in case.

It wasn't long before the next person to arrive was shown in, along with someone bringing in my beer, and boy was she a strange looking one. At least she was dressed well enough for a club like this place so she didn't look too out of place. Actually, considering some of the patrons and staff of Plastic Soul she'd probably fit right in.

She was human, of below average height and slight of build, with shoulder length straight brown hair that had some poof to it. What was most striking about her were her stunningly bright green eyes and a techno crossword puzzle of similarly green pinstripe lines running down the sides of her neck and the tiger stripes running down over eyes. Either she went a little crazy with some biosculpting or she was a changeling. Facial recognition came up with nothing, so I knew I hadn't recorded her face before.

So I opened myself up to the astral to take a second look at her. There was a black spot in the center of her head in addition to the black orbs that were her eyes, and another bit at the back of her skull. Not too odd until I noticed that she had an extra pair of arms hidden inside of her cold weather jacket, and they were partially cybernetic to boot. Okay, so some cybereyes set to really bright green, and likely an implanted commlink and datajack. Would be really strange if she really did have a commlink in her skull as I spotted what was often a really hard to notice detail in his otherwise decently healthy aura. And it wasn't that she was a changeling with the green striping in her skin and the extra arms.

She was a technomancer.

Yup, I said it. Technomancer. The boogiemen of the matrix that were blamed for everything that went wrong in the digital realm, the people who could hack your brains by looking at you, and according to some were responsible for the computer virus that wiped out the original internet.

Frankly I didn't believe most of that drek, and that was because I knew a few technomancers already.

The new gal was just sitting down, and looking a little apprehensive about the choice of furniture, when the door opened again. It was a waitress sporting a colorful cybernetic right arm that displayed a rainbow in constant motion flowing out to her fingertips. She was also carrying a tray with my beer and another drink for the woman that had just arrived.

And just behind her was a troll. I didn't need any facial recognition software to recognize the two-eighty centimeter, nearly five hundred kilo mass of augmented muscle.

Deadbolt was a large troll, though part of that was a bit of an illusion because of his cybernetic arms and legs. Granted they were only partials, but they were built to hold more than your traditional implant. Their design meant that he had gained an extra fifteen centimeters in height and reach.

Right behind Deadbolt was a dark skinned ork that I had never seen before. I gauged he was a touch shorter than I was, and built as solid as your average ork. My facial recognition didn't have anything on him either, so I opened myself up to the astral again to get another look at him.

This ork had extensive implants, so much so that he was getting close to the psychotic or dissociative level, and to me that was represented in a person's aura as something like cold ash flaking away from the body. Even Deadbolt was close, but I knew he was taking extensive measures to make sure he didn't get any closer by upgrading the quality of his implants when he could afford to, his body more of a solid granite gray than decaying ash in the astral.

Besides, this ork's implants, the ones I did see, were quite different. Both had bone lacing and muscle augmentations, but that was the limit of their similarities. While Deadbolt also had partial arms and legs, and even part of his skull replaced, as well as full replacement eyes and ears and horns, the ork had a wire system running throughout his body along with some hefty invasion of the major muscle groups, replacement glands, and synthetic tissue implanted below his skin. Likely augmented for strength, speed, and durability.

And I've gotta take a step back again about what I said about making a good impression. For the venue of the meet myself, the human, and Deadbolt were pretty much dressed properly in typical street clothes. Me with a black leather jacket and jeans, the human in casual pants and a slightly bulky and padded red and orange jacket, and Deadbolt was wearing something sportier for the Seattle Screamers (he was really into urban brawl, and quite vocal in supporting the team) along with his own dark blue jeans.

The ork was wearing slashed jeans of black denim that was stained and wore a worn jacket for the Chicago Lightning, the city's combat biker team. Even going to the Sports Bar in Downtown Seattle dressed like that was a bad move, and not because he wasn't wearing a local team's jacket. Would've been better if he was dressed in a three piece suit for a Synaptic concert. And that didn't include the smell of… something I couldn't place when he came into the room.

"So, um, Mr. Johnson?" the woman asked.

Deadbolt chuckled.

"No, I'm not Johnson." I told her. "I'm here to meet him, just like the rest of you." And I took a sip of my beer.

"Where's Mr. Johnson?" the ork asked.

"Late, obviously." I say.

Deadbolt turned to look back at the door. He wasn't checking to see if Mr. Johnson was going to come through, but more of just how much effort he might have to put in into opening the door if we had to make a hasty exit. After he made his assessment he walked over to one of the larger chairs and sat down.

And how did I know that was what he was doing? The second job we did together Johnson set us up, and Deadbolt was the one who managed to bust down the door, and how he ended up earning his name. Ever since then he's always checked out the door he walks through to a meet, doubly so if Johnson's late.

"So, why don't we get some introductions done while we wait. You can call me Bishop." I tell the others.

"Deadbolt." Deadbolt said.

The woman looked at the three of us, and I didn't need any software to tell me she was more than a little bit nervous. "Um… Deacon." she said just a little softly.

The ork simply stood where he was, arms crossed and scowling.

"Aren't you going to have a seat?" I asked him.

"Where's Mr. Johnson?" he asked again.

"Like I said, late." I told him, "It happens sometimes…"

"No, it doesn't." the ork sharply said. Yeah, he was getting pretty mad, and I was starting to figure he had a very specific and set way of how a meet was supposed to go down.

"Why don't you have a seat and wait." I calmly suggest. "I'm sure Mr. Johnson will be here…"

"No! Where is Mr. John…" the ork barked.

"Sit down!" I snap back, putting power behind my words.

The ork's legs almost literally folded beneath him. I had hoped that he would've just sat down in a chair, especially since he was standing right next to one. Instead he plopped straight down on his hoop to sit on the floor. Guess I overdid it a little.

"You can use a chair." I tell him, keeping a stern edge to my voice.

Glaring at me, the ork did stand and sit down in the chair he was next to. Not quite sure why he waited for me to say something. He could've stood right back up again after he sat on the floor.

"So, why don't you tell us your name?" Deadbolt asked.

The ork glanced at Deadbolt, then looked away before muttering, "Junkyard."

"Explains the smell." Deacon said softly.

"What?" Junkyard asked, standing back up.

"Nothing!" Deacon nearly shrieked.

Thankfully the door opened again, and right behind the same waitress was another human. He was a rather thin and gangly human, with dark curly hair cut short, and wore your typical dark gray business suit. He looked a bit disheveled from your typical ten hour work day.

"Mr. Johnson?" I asked as the waitress passed drinks to Junkyard and Deadbolt before leaving, tagging his face for recording.

"Uh, yes." Mr. Johnson said, looking around at the empty chairs and choosing one for himself.

"You're late." Junkyard said gruffly as he properly sat down in an empty chair. Great, not good to point out the obvious so bluntly.

"Uh, yes, there were… complications." Mr. Johnson told us. I certainly didn't need any empathy program to tell me he was nervous and a bit more twitchy than someone might normally be. Either this meet was popping his 'shadow cherry' or we had something of a very delicate nature. I decided to give him a doubt and hope for the later. Yeah, yeah, I know the line about wishing in one hand and drek in the other.

"So, um, I'll get right to the point." Johnson said, breathing in rather deeply. "My boss has some… vices. They're… not exactly proper for polite conversation."

"Right, so what do you want?" I ask, hoping to prod him to be a bit less ambiguous. Sure, you've gotta be careful in what you say because the walls have ears, but not only is 'vice' is an extremely broad term but this guy was being more evasive than a politician.

"Well, he's created a rather big mess…" Johnson started to say.

"It's the Gilchrest scandal." interrupted Deacon. She did not look too comfortable.

"Wait? What?" I ask as at the speed of thought I'm launching my browser program to do a search on the name.

"His boss's Ronald Gilchrest." Deacon said. Just after that my search program was brining up pics of the Seattle council member she had named, and one of them had Mr. Johnson in it as well. All I needed was the first news title that came up to know just what kind of 'mess' Johnson was pussyfooting around.

Ronald Gilchrest was an accused pedophile and child molester, had been charged once or twice in the past, and it looked like this round of accusations might actually nail him to his cross if the media was to be believed. Already I could feel my stomach rolling over.

"So… What is it we're doing?" Junkyard asked.

"Johnson's boss is going to be going to court after the elections next week, and Johnson wants us to clean up the evidence against him." I tell him. Glancing at Junkyard told me he understood the job.

Then my eyes shift over to Johnson, and I can see the relieved expression on his face that I had just said what he was trying to put to words.

"Now the question's how much are the janitors gonna get paid?" I said aloud. Since we haven't accepted the job yet we're still not at the point of no return, and my mind is working out so many possibilities of what we're going to end up doing.

"Thirty thousand nuyen." Johnson answered.

"Each?" Junkyard asked, his eyes lighting up.

"No."

So before expenses that pretty much left us at seventy-five hundred each. Junkyard looked really depressed.

"Thirty thousand's a little light, I think." I say. "Especially for a job like this." I know the odds are good that if we're asking for too much he'll just cut us loose with some hush money at the best. He does that and he'll call out for some others that'll be less… squeamish about this kind of work.

"I… I can add another ten thousand, if you'll keep this between us." Johnson said.

I glanced to Deadbolt first. He didn't look too comfortable about this. Can't say I blame him. The beer in my stomach wasn't sitting too well either.

"Alright, I'm in." Junkyard said.

I was still reading Deadbolt when the ork spoke. I could see some of the cues that he was not happy. But Junkyard's declaration pretty much forced me to a decision. But before I spoke I took another look at Deacon.

If anyone ever looked like they had the drek scared out of them it was Deacon. Her eyes were bouncing from one person to the next, though she seemed to avoid eye contact or looking at Junkyard for very long. I'd bet real money if the door was open she'd rabbit.

"Fine, I'm in." I say. Drek, I hadn't felt so nervous about a job since my very first walk into the shadows.

"You sure?" Deadbolt asked.

Yeah, I know, last chance to bail out on helping a monster walk away from whatever he's done. Still, there were other options.

"Yeah. Got a plan." I tell Deadbolt. Well, I've got a couple of ideas, anyway. All things considered I'm not really thrilled about doing it Johnson's way, but if the chips fall right it just might.

"Sure, count me in." Deadbolt added.

"Looks like you're our last holdout." Mr. Johnson said, looking at Deacon.

"I… I don't know." Deacon said a little sheepishly.

"Frag it, we don't need her." Junkyard said, standing and stepping towards the door.

"The hell we do." I sternly snap back at him. "Who here has 'hacker' in their resume?"

Junkyard turned back around to look at us. I expected Johnson to keep his hands down, and he did, just as I knew Deadbolt wouldn't raise a hand either.

As for myself, well, I can do a little bit of hacking. Well more than kiddylink drek for sure, but that's not the skill set I sell. I read people, I con them, and I sling some rather subtle magic, that's what you get when you hire me.

Looking almost too afraid to move, Deacon slowly raised her right hand.

"Pfft, what's a woman know about hacking?" Junkyard asked.

"You've got a Novatech Airware in your right pocket, running a basic Iris Orb operating system that hasn't been patched since May of '71." Deacon announced rather confidently. "Maybe it's ghosted, but you've got the GPS running with the latest GridGuide map of Seattle…"

"Enough!" Junkyard yelled, stomping up to her. He never got there before I jumped up in her way. Wish I had been ready for what Deacon had smelled.

"If she wants in or out it's her choice." I tell Junkyard, doing my best not to be overwhelmed by the auto garage smell that surrounded him. "But if she's on, we need her. Unless you know a good hacker we can pay to take her place?"

"No, it's alright." Deacon said, "I'm in."

Good timing, as I was about to threaten Junkyard's cut for paying a hacker. Well, if he knew enough math then he'd know having her bit into his cut.

"Now you know a clean-up job like this isn't gonna happen overnight." I tell Johnson as I sit back down, "We're gonna need time. First is time to find out what all the other guy has, and to make sure that there's no connections to anyone of consequence."

Mr. Johnson nodded like he understood. Too bad it looked like his mind was running at full speed just to try and keep up.

And hopefully Junkyard could keep his mouth shut so we could explain everything to him after the meet where we could speak more freely.

"So I guess we'll be on our way then." I say, standing back up.

"Oh, here." Mr. Johnson said, standing up with me. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a business card. "So you can reach me when it's done."

I accepted the card, quick noted the LTG number on it, and pocketed it. "Thanks." I tell him before heading out of the room.

Walking to the front door of Plastic Soul, I thought about the job I had gotten myself roped into and the people I was working with. Certainly was quite different than trying to deliver a chip to someone.

Deadbolt I knew from many past jobs, which I guess I already said. He was good in a fight, and rather good at looking intimidating, and he knew vehicles. Now one might expect an ork or dwarf to be your common rigger, but Deadbolt did that too. I also knew he'd likely follow any lead on a plan I might have, and if he liked it he'd have my back.

Deacon was a new person to me, so I had very little to go on. I knew she was a technomancer, and everyone knew she had hacking skills. Bad assumption of me to make, sure, but the odds are good that technomancer equals hacker.

Personality wise she could be a problem. Already I was thinking she'd be easy enough to convince to go with whatever we would have to do. Problem with that was going to be with Junkyard.

Junkyard seemed a bit low in the brains department, and that by itself doesn't make a bad person or even a bad shadowrunner. But coupled with a bullheaded stubbornness and an 'alpha wolf' personality and we had a problem. Especially if Deacon got cowed by him into doing what he wanted. As for skills, I hadn't a clue what he was good for. I could guess, based on his implants, he was some kind of street samurai, built and trained for fighting and not much else.

Deadbolt was ahead of us, first out the door and held it for us as we walked out. "So, what's the plan?" he asked as I walked past him.

"Find the evidence and destroy it." Junkyard bluntly said.

"Great." I say, turning to look at the ork. "You know how to start? Where to go?"

Junkyard blankly looked at me.

"Thought so." I answer for everyone. "We'll need to gather what we need for the job and stick together while we can and meet up somewhere."

"Not my place." Junkyard said.

"Wasn't even considering it." I reply.

"There's a parking garage next to the Northgate Mall southwest of us." Deadbolt told us, "I might know someone working there that can help."

"Might?" Junkyard asked.

"He might not be working today, or even at this hour." Deadbolt replied sternly.

Mental note, Junkyard deals only in absolutes. Not a good trait to have, especially, as the fifth world saying goes, if a man named Murphy decides to show up. A human I wish I could've met, this Murphy.

"Do his coworkers know you well enough?" I ask Deadbolt.

"I think so."

Junkyard growled.

"It'll have to do." I say, going to my 'link to look up the parking lot. Once I had the address I continued, "Right, so everyone know where we're meeting back up?"

"Yeah." grumbled Junkyard.

Deacon meekly nodded.

"Ask the parking attendant for a Winnebago with wings," Deadbolt told us, "and they should point you to where I'm parked."

"And if they don't know what we're talking about?" Junkyard asked.

"Oh, they'll know." Deadbolt confidently said.

"Right, let's do this." I say.

I took my time going to my own car, a 2070 Hyundai Shin-Hyung. Now it was a little bit tricked out, including a chameleon coating I had preprogrammed to match up with the various fake identities I have. And you might wonder why bother with color changing and just go with black? Well, certain colors tend to draw the eyes of your local law enforcement. White for drug runners, red for lead footed drivers, and black for shadowrunners. Granted it's not true even half the time, it's the expectation, and if you really want to survive long you have to know when to blend in.

And with the current fake ID I was using, my car was bright yellow.

Now for the reason why I took my time was that I hoped to see what Deacon and Junkyard drove before heading out.

Not too surprisingly Junkyard was the first one to leave, driving a beat-up pickup truck that looked like was originally dark green in color. He gunned the engine as he pulled out onto the street, accelerating really hard to gain speed quickly. Well, as quickly as the worn engine could manage.

I was just starting up my own car when I saw Deacon drive by, and thanks to a friend of mine I recognized what she was driving. It was a Suzuki Rogue in a matching red and orange to her jacket, and she wore a matching helmet too. She didn't just bolt out like Junkyard did, actually checking traffic like a good commuter before driving off. But once out on the street she too hit the accelerator, and the power of her motorcycle became apparent as she popped a wheelie, accelerating much harder than Junkyard's pickup could ever hope to manage.

Not needing to wait for Deadbolt I pulled out and left for home.

There really wasn't much that I needed to get, really. Mostly it was for a change of clothes, to collect my Predator IV, and change a chip in my commlink. Like the old SIM cards of cell phones, a similar chip was used in commlinks to carry all of your identity information. It may be quite dated, in a fashion, but there were people who changed their commlinks like you or I would change our underwear, and being able to quickly swap chips around made it easy for those who rode the SOTA edge to keep up with the latest trend.

So, now in my form fitting body armor and compliment of SecureTech's discreet body padding, and red and blue synthleather jacket, and Predator neatly tucked inside, I headed back out again in my now cherry red Shin-Hyung.

The worst part was the driving. That took the most time to get from Plastic Soul, to home, and back up to Northgate to meet with the others. Considering the time I honestly expected to be the last one to get there.

Pulling around to the entrance I saw a lanky and bored looking elf manning the gate. I already had my window down by the time I got to him.

"Running a little early?" the elf asked, "Mall doesn't open for a few hours yet."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that." I reply, "See, I'm supposed to meet some friends here. Was told to look for a Winnebago with wings. You seen any flying around?"

The elf chuckled, hitting a button inside of his heated booth. "You'll find 'em on D-34." he told me.

"So, I gotta ask," I say, "what's so funny?"

"What, you don't know?"

I shook my head.

"It's from an old flatvid." he told me, "And the way you asked it, too. Like you've seen it. Not like the last guy."

"Last guy?"

"Black ork in an old beater. Thought he was gonna leap through the window here if I didn't give him the right answer."

I chuckle. "That's orks for ya, am I right?"

"Too true." the elf replied as I slowly drove into the parking garage.

I took my time to drive up the three levels to find where Deadbolt and Junkyard would be. From the sounds of things at the gate, Deacon hadn't gotten here yet.

Finding Deadbolt's Winnebago wasn't too hard. Certainly couldn't be if Junkyard also found it. The old beater pickup was parked on the passenger side, and with plenty of empty spaces I took the second one from the driver side for myself.

"You have more than one car?" Junkyard asked as I got out of my car. I noticed that he hadn't changed clothes since the meet. Probably just went to get some guns and go.

"Hardly. It changes color." I tell him. There's a moment of confusion I can see as he tries to comprehend a color changing car.

"Glad you made it." Deadbolt said, climbing out of the driver's seat of his white and tan Winnebago. He too had changed clothes for the job, pitching the Seattle Screamers jacket for a much larger armored jacket.

"Same here." I reply. "Your friend at the gate?"

"Yup."

"So what's the deal with the 'Winnebago with wings' bit?"

"It's an old movie you gotta check out." Deadbolt said with a grin, "It's 2D but it's really funny. Maybe a bit dated, but it's a great sci-fi spoof."

"When are we getting to work?" Junkyard asked.

"Slap a patch." I say to Junkyard, "We're still one person short."

"We don't need her. Should just dump her and move on."

"And what if there's evidence we need to clear out of the matrix?" Deadbolt asked, "You gonna pay a hacker to do it?"

"And don't say we all will, 'cause if Deacon's not on the team then any hacker services are coming out of your share." I add.

If looks could kill I'd've been the target of a Thor shot, the glare I got from Junkyard was that menacing. Not like it did any good since he didn't scare me. A good 'Sit boy!' might make him plant his face to the concrete this time around.

And there was little more to discuss when we heard an engine approaching.

"That doesn't sound like the bike she rode out on from the meet." I say.

Deadbolt added, "Smaller engine, higher pitched but tuned. What she rode out on was tuned, too."

I turned to look towards where the motorcycle would be coming from. Then motion drew my attention back to Junkyard and I saw he had pulled a monster revolver.

"Drek!" I hissed, "Put that away before there's trouble!"

"You said it wasn't her." Junkyard replied, still holding the gun.

"We said it wasn't her bike." I corrected, the engine's noise growing louder as it drew closer.

"Same thing."

"No, it isn't." Deadbolt said.

That was about when the motorcycle came around the last corner, judging by the sound, and Junkyard lifted his gun up to shoot. I lashed out to foul his shot, slapping his hand so his aim would end up high. Deadbolt was on him, stepping in Junkyard's way and grabbing the ork by his gun hand.

By the time I had turned back to look at who was coming she was already here. Deacon had pulled right on up to us, having changed her clothes as well, wearing a black leather jacket that was tailored for her four arms, and riding a modified Suzuki Mirage. And I mean modified as in it looked like there was a second pair of grips for her extra arms.

"You know how lucky you are?" I asked her.

With her upper arms she pulled off her black biker helmet, holding onto her motorcycle with the lower pair. It was then I noticed that the green glow was gone from her cybernetic eyes, replaced by a more natural dark brown coloration. "You mean his gun?" she asked. "He wouldn't shoot me."

"Fraggin' bitch, I did." Junkyard barked back.

Did he hear something I didn't? I wondered what he was thinking since there was no gunshot, or even the whisper-like noise a suppressed round makes. Heck, I don't think I even heard the hammer click!

"Um, safety's on." Deacon countered.

"No it ain't!"

"Give it here." I order, reaching up to take Junkyard's revolver. I think Deadbolt gave the ork's hand an encouraging squeeze to let go of it.

"Well?" Deadbolt asked while I examined the revolver. Deacon silently watched.

Now I'm not a complete novice when it comes to handguns. I know how to shoot straight and avoid getting bit by the slide, and I know I don't have a taste for revolvers. Still, I managed to find the safety on this monster of a revolver, and when I tried to switch it off found it was stuck.

I looked up from the gun to Deacon. "You do this?" I asked her.

Her head bobbed up and down very quickly, almost as if she were too nervous to move.

With a thought I loaded up a WiFi scanning program, on a hunch that what I was holding was a modified smartgun.

"It is a smartgun." Deacon said, "I found it registered when I hacked his 'link earlier."

"Bulldrek." Junkyard cussed. "You couldn't find it 'cause it wasn't on."

"Let him go." I tell Deadbolt, closing out my scanning program. Once Junkyard was loose I handed him his revolver back, grip first. "Doesn't matter when the data's saved in your PAN's history." I tell him. So many people forget about saved cache data and the like. You know, the stuff that makes your PAN link back up quicker, matrix sites load faster, and stuff like that.

Junkyard snatched his gun away, checked it over, and though he didn't look too satisfied he holstered it anyway.

"So, now that we're all here, what's the plan?" Deadbolt asked.

"First we've gotta track down what evidence there is against the client." I say, "And best source for that's gonna be the D.A.'s office."

Deacon looked quite nervous. Junkyard, on the other hand, looked like he was ready to spearhead a charge through the front doors.

"Glad I topped off the tank before coming here." Deadbolt said, turning to climb back into the Winnebago.

"Right, let's do this!" Junkyard said with an excited growl.

"I don't know…" Deacon started to say. Even though she apparently had doubts she was still wheeling her motorcycle into the space between my car and the Winnebago.

"Oh, don't worry about what Junkyard's thinking." I tell her, "We're not breaking in guns blazing."

Deacon gave me a quizzical look. Then she seemed to figure it out.

"Don't worry. I can help a little too." I told her, escorting her around to the passenger side of the RV.

Junkyard had already claimed the shotgun seat, which was fine by me. I could care less, really, and any little thing that made him a little bit happy was just fine. He was also changing out the ammo he had in his revolver.

Deacon took the chair behind the driver's seat, leaving me with one right behind Junkyard. Also fine by me if it made her a little bit less nervous.

"Can't wait to hit the office." Junkyard commented as we started moving.

"Oh, you're not going in." I say as I load up my exploitive and stealth programs, double checking the processor load to make sure I'm not running anything I don't need.

"What?" Junkyard asked.

Deadbolt chuckled.

"You said we'd be breaking in the D.A.'s office."

"No, I said the best place for the data we need is the D.A.'s office." I countered, "Means our hacker's gonna gonna break into their network to get the files we need."

"Relax." Deadbolt added, "Sit back, enjoy the ride."

"Text me if we have any problems." I say as I get myself comfortable. Glancing over to Deacon it looked like she was getting comfy too.

"What?" Junkyard asked.

"Hey, didn't I say to relax?" Deadbolt asked.

Before Junkyard said anything I switched over to full on VR. From inside my Transys Avalon I took a data link to my smaller Sony Emperor. There I found a link request from Deacon, so I picked up that data line and followed her out into the matrix.

Virtual reality is quite different from the real world or astral space. In VR you can appear almost as whatever you want, and what you can do is mostly limited to what software you've got and whatever network privileges you have.

Matrix static resolved itself to the gateway of Seattle's government network, and it looked like Deacon was already there examining the firewall.

Now, like I said, in VR you can appear almost as whatever you want. When it comes to technomancers sometimes it's a little less than that. At least, I think it is. Every one I know that I've met online has had some part of their personality somehow get expressed in their online persona. What I saw of Deacon's persona made me a little worrisome.

Like her real self, Deacon's icon was female and she had four arms. Her hair was about the same, but true black instead of brown, her skin was tinted green, and she had numerous scales that were bright green, scales that covered her in place of any clothing. She also had a pair of bat-like wings sprouting from her back, an array of tentacles from all four of her upper arms, and a tail that was as long as her body before it split into three, and just as long again before those three split into three of their own.

Green clawed fingertips, the mess of tentacles, and even all nine of her tails, were poking into the walled representation of the firewall, with thin gold filaments of data trailing away like mystic runes.

Kinda made me feel a little bummed out about my more simplistic icon. Granted it wasn't some 'off the rack' object, but I hadn't put quite as much thought into it either. My icon was closer to basic humanoid robotic on a minimalist concept, but with a properly mounted living head instead of some block of metal with a red lens camera. The head I had found at some artist node, some beautification of an old simsense star, where I had tweaked the ears to be excessively pointed and removed the hair.

And, of course, my running programs were represented in this form. Armor, analysis, and biofeedback filter programs were standard for me, and were worked discretely into the basic icon. Now the body normally was a mirrored chrome texture, but with a stealth program running this was shifted to a matte black, and my loaded exploit program gave me a set of rather delicate claws to neatly dissect a firewall.

After a few hours of work Deacon finally announced, "I found a way in."

"Good, but don't go in just yet."

Deacon turned to look at me, her virtual eyes glowing green like neon rings. "Why? What is it?"

"This job in general." I tell her, "Yeah, yeah, I know, we're criminals and all, but when kids get involved it's different. At least, to me it is. And… I can tell it is for you too."

Even in VR it was hard for Deacon to hide her emotional response. She looked away from me and down to her digital hands. Any empathy software was practically useless in VR, and sometimes even other little cues you can pick up on are obscured through a person's virtual representation, which left very little to go on most of the time.

Fortunately a person's voice was one of those more reliable things, even online.

"I… I just hate it when something like this happens." she said, and I could hear the distress in her voice. What she said would be true for most any person, but there seemed to be something deeper going on.

"I hate it too." I tell her truthfully. "Drek, makes it even harder sometimes considering one of my friends." I wondered if she'd take the bait, and if so how'd she'd take what I'd tell her.

"Why's that?"

"Just someone I know really… intimately." I say, trying to gauge any virtual reaction that could be an emotional one. "We've known each other about ten years now, since before the comet."

I think there was a twitch to her eyes, that kind of widening you can get with a big chunk of understanding. There were very few reasons to mention 'the comet,' and changelings was one of the most common.

"What happened to her?" Deacon asked, looking directly at me now.

"Besides awakening during the first mana spike? Going into a coma for a few days, and never growing up." When it looked like she didn't quite understand I clarified it for her. "She wasn't even nine when it happened, and unless she uses magic to change her appearance she will forever look like she's a little girl."

"And you're… intimate with her?"

"If she was a SINner it'd all be legal, regardless of what she looks like. But yeah, we are. I think I'm the only guy now that she's really that close with."

There was something going on inside her head, but I couldn't quite figure out what. At least it seemed she had a heart and would go for what I was thinking of, just in case.

"So here's what I'm thinking." I tell her, "Go in, find what we need, but don't wipe it out just yet. Cut yourself a backdoor or something so you can get in later and purge it."

"You sure?"

"Depends on what else we find. Might not be as bad as we're fearing."

"And if it's that bad?"

"Ever have a Johnson turn on you?" I ask her back.

Deacon nodded her head.

"Ever turn on a Johnson?"

Even through her VR mask I caught a shocked reaction.

"We're not the monsters here." I tell her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "No matter what we might look like or people might think."

Deacon nodded her head again. "Alright, I'm in." She sounded a little nervous. Wonder if she was thinking if I knew she was a technomancer?

"First time? Betraying a Johnson, I mean."

"Yeah." she said softly.

"Don't worry. Some might hate us for it, others might praise us. Not like runners do it all that often."

She gave me a brave smile, nodding once more before turning her attention to the firewall. In a cascade of digital characters she melted and flowed in through the miniscule cracks she had found.

Setting the virtual world aside into a little ARO, I shifted myself back to the real world. I blinked a few times to let my eyes adjust to the light before saying, "She's in."

They both turned around to face me, Junkyard speaking first.

"So why didn't you go in?" he asked.

"Because she's a big girl and can take care of herself."

Junkyard growled, turning away from me. Guess he didn't like the answer. For a bit I considered asking him what he had against Deacon, but for some reason I felt like I should already know the answer. Well, at least he'd expect me to already know. Figured I'd try hitting up someone I know to see if they knew anything about Junkyard.

"Frag it, it's taking too long." Junkyard grumbled not more than a minute since I came back out of VR.

I decided not to even bother trying to tell him it could take a while. Instead I pulled up a composite of his face from my facial recognition software, composed a brief message, and sent it off to a ganger friend I knew. I had no idea how long it would be for me to receive a reply back.

But that had to wait when Deacon started moving.

"I found a lead on him." she said. Just after that something chimed on the RV's dashboard. "An address where there's someone prosecution's looking to talk with about Gilchrest."

"Meaning they haven't yet?" I ask.

Deacon shook her head. "Someone's been delaying it."

"This it?" Deadbolt asked. "Just got destination update. And it's… Drek! Brain Heaven?"

"Wait, Redmond?" I ask.

Junkyard chuckled.

"Frag it, let's go have a talk with this guy." I say, not looking to give the ork anything to make me think I'll back down in front of him.

"Gonna be a while. We're not far from Sea-Tac on the west side." Deadbolt said. "It'll be past dawn before we get there."

"Fine, could use a cat nap." I say, disconnecting my commlink from the node we had hacked and closing out my hacking programs.

"Tired?" Junkyard asked, trying to sound like he was mocking me.

"Slap a patch. Not everyone's shoved full of 'ware." I counter, taking a guess at what one of those implanted glands I saw might've been.

"Yeah? Why not?"

"Hey! Enough!" Deadbolt barked. "You," he said to Junkyard, glaring, "clap your teeth together and keep 'em that way, or I'll shove your hoop out that door right now."

Part of me hoped that Junkyard would try and call that bluff, because Deadbolt was so lousy at bluffing that he actually did what he said he'd do.

But he didn't. Instead Junkyard gritted his teeth and turned to look out the window to watch the scenery go by.

I glanced over to Deacon, and saw she was back to her sheepish persona. Guess she didn't do too well outside of a virtual environment. I gave her a wink, which drew a slight smile, and reclined my chair to try and catch a few Z's.

"Hey! Wake up! We're almost there." Deadbolt said loudly to rouse us from our sleep.

"Where are we?" I ask, rubbing my eyes to try and help clear away the fog of sleep from my head.

"Issaquah, just about to get off I-90." Deadbolt answered.

I checked the time on my commlink, and figured it had been about an hour since. I also noticed I had gotten a message back. Made a mental note to check it when I could.

"Yeah, lucky we got here." muttered Junkyard. "He took a back road off the freeway to get here. Some shortcut."

"I never said it was a shortcut." Deadbolt countered, "And we never did get lost."

"Yes we did."

We were now stopped at a red light, and Deadbolt turned to look at me. "I took us off the freeway by the Fed-Boeing plant and 'round south of Cougar Mountain. He," he jabbed a thumb at Junkyard, "got all twitchy when he lost his GPS for a while." The light changed and Deadbolt turned his focus back to driving. "But I knew where we were the whole time."

"Bulldrek." muttered Junkyard.

"Remember what I said about walking?" Deadbolt asked. Must've been something I missed while napping.

"We there yet?" Deacon sleepily asked.

Junkyard grumbled, but said nothing.

"Getting close." Deadbolt answered. "Make sure you're ready for trouble."

Brain Heaven was in what was probably the worst area of Seattle: Redmond. Before the internet crash back in 2029 it was quite prosperous with tech industry. The Crash, however, changed all that as the district suffered greatly. Business failed, people moved away, and more businesses failed or pulled out.

One of the things that made the place worse was an area called Glow City. Now if the name alone gives you a nuclear nightmare then you've got the right vibe. It was actually over ten years before the Crash when a nuclear power plant there suffered a partial meltdown and contaminated Beaver Lake to the south and the land around it. Brain Heaven was about three or four kilometers to the southwest, and fortunately beyond the irradiated area.

Now I'll bet the neighborhood here looked beautiful once, and in a fashion there was still some primal beauty to the area in the gloom of a gray November morning, in a post apocalyptic sense. The homes and buildings I could see out the window were in neglect, windows boarded up and all that.

That was when I reached into my jacket and pulled out my Predator IV and a loaded magazine to swap for the one I had loaded in the gun. In this kind of neighborhood you used lethal rounds.

Deadbolt pulled up to one house that looked like it was lived in. Especially when the one vehicle in what passed for a driveway, an old van, actually looked like it was functional. Boarded up windows, intact door, and a lawn that might've been mowed in the last four or five months that was also reasonably free of weeds. Better than the neighbors' lawns as I pondered how many cars we might find if we bothered to mow them.

There was no one to greet us, which was what I was expecting for our unannounced visit so early in the morning, even despite us not being quite so stealthy with the doors.

Then I noticed Junkyard with his revolver in hand, giving it a once over.

"Hey!" I hiss, "Put that thing away!"

"Why? Aren't we hear to…" Junkyard started to ask.

"We're here to talk, not grease the poor slot."

Junkyard gave me another one of those challenging looks. Drek but he wasn't the kind of person to have on a run like this. And drek, I was gonna have to do it again.

"Holster it." I order, backing my words with a touch of magic again.

And Junkyard did, forcefully shoving the huge revolver back, glaring at me as he did.

"Let's go." Deadbolt said, taking the lead up to the front door.

"I'll do the talking." I add.

"That's all you do." Junkyard muttered.

Yeah, I let him have that one. I also hoped I wouldn't have to use my commanding voice on him too much more today. Every time it gets used on someone the more resistant they become to subsequent orders over the next twenty-four hours. That resistance wears off afterwards, but not if I've had to give a bunch of magically backed orders all in the same day.

My commlink pinged with a data request. With a mental tap I got some details of the sender, and hit [Accept] when I saw it was Deacon. The file transfer uploaded some of what she had gotten about who we were about to talk to, so I set this info just off to the side. Then I loaded up my empathy program and other such software, coping a pic of the man's face into the facial recognition program. I also slipped on my power focus, just in case. If anyone ever asked me why it was a ring I'd always tell them it was because it was discrete and always ready at a moment's thought. Amulets are nice, but usually you gotta grab it to activate it, and a ring is already in contact with my skin.

Deadbolt gave a couple hard raps to the door, and it wasn't long before I heard someone shuffling up. Then I heard a deadbolt click near the floor, another just above the doorknob, a chain rattle, a second chain, and then another deadbolt up near the top of the door.

"Guy's serious about his locks." commented Deadbolt.

Last lock was the one to the doorknob itself, and the door was cracked open just a bit. Of course I was up where whoever answered would see me best. Even in the poor light I could see him clearly, and facial recognition immediately pegged him as the man we wanted.

"Hey, we really need to talk." I say, putting on a super thick coating of sweetener and a plastic smile that's mastered by countless government workers, "Can we come in?"

"Hey, um, I really don't know." stammered the human behind the door.

"It's not all that hard," I say, "all ya gotta do is open the door for us."

"Uh, yeah, sure." he said, stepping back as he opened the door for us.

Deadbolt stepped up first, ducking through the doorway and making the other guy step back just by his sheer presence.

I wanted Junkyard in next, and when I glanced at him he seemed quite hesitant. After I gestured that he was next he hesitantly stepped in. Mainly I wanted to make sure that Deacon didn't feel too intimidated to follow right behind him, and so I followed him in.

The front room was cozy, and stuffy, with a few chairs and a couch for furniture, all too well worn and likely new around the time of the first Crash. Further back was an island counter that marked the boundary to the kitchen.

"So, um, what's this all about?" he nervously asked, looking at the four of us while Deacon closed the door.

Jerry was human, his brown hair disheveled and almost in the way of his brown eyes. He wore a tattered bathrobe of some now ugly shade of light blue that couldn't hide his scrawny build.

Before speaking right away I took a moment to work a spell on Jerry. Most of the sorcery I know is rather discrete, and this spell is no exception. I figured it to be a kind of watered down version of a mind probe spell that could simply let me see and hear what a person was thinking without them actually knowing I was peeping in on their brain.

And apparently I took too long as Junkyard spoke up right away. "You know why we're here." he growled.

I held up a hand for him to shut up. Thankfully he did, and took a step back from Jerry as well. At least the dog had some training.

"Well, Jerry," I start off, dropping the sweetener like a kilo of tempo, "we've got a little problem here."

Oh drek, I hear Jerry think.

"Seems one of your clients is getting into some deep drek, and so we're here to do some janitorial work." I continue.

Who? Who? Who? Jerry thought, images of various people flashing through his mind.

"Make sure his whites are that really blinding white, know what I mean?" I ask Jerry.

Junkyard took that as his cue to draw his revolver. At least he held off shooting Jerry's brains out when I raised my hand, but also didn't make any move to holster the thing.

Oh my God, he's gonna shoot me!

Too late. I didn't need my mindreading spell to see that Jerry was scared out of his wits that we were gonna geek his sorry hoop right then and there. I just hoped I could make it work.

"Now it's just biz, but I gotta know first, what're ya gonna do if we let ya buzz turbo outta here?" I ask Jerry, "And please don't lie. I'll know if you lie, and my associate here won't like it. Might not be able to keep him from redecorating in brain matter gray."

"I… I… I got a place to crash, an ID to use, 'n some cred." Jerry told us. "I'll take my car, buzz outta here 'n get it swapped." His mind was buzzing with activity, but what he said was right in line with what he was thinking.

"Got like a spare 'link in your car for that?" I ask.

Jerry nodded vigorously, and I could see him thinking about where he had a hidden commlink, and impressions of how important it was.

Junkyard went to lift his revolver up.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" I go, putting my hand out onto his gun to get him to lower his aim. "Jerry's tellin' us the chip truth." I calmly say.

Junkyard simply growled. I knew this was going against every fiber of his being as to how this run should go down. But the D.A.'s office hadn't spoken to Jerry yet, and if he could disappear then he was worthless to any prosecution against Gilchrest.

And if I ever met up with Jerry again afterwards, he'd owe me a favor big time. That was assuming that someone else didn't kill him first.

"So I can go?" Jerry asked.

"Not just yet." I say, turning back to face Jerry and stepping up close. "See, we also don't like rude surprises, so if you've got any traps set or clients that'll be stopping by. we'd really like to know."

It was really nice that Jerry was so cooperative, but he was also so scared to death of us and what we might do if he did something wrong.

"Uh, no. No clients today." Jerry said, and I could see his thoughts running through what he was expecting today.

"So no one's gonna show up here while we're cleaning the place up?" I ask.

"No! No! I swear!" Jerry cried.

"Get what you need and get your hoop outta here." I tell him.

Jerry looked quite relieved to hear that, scrambling towards the back of the house. I could also hear in his thoughts things he tried to figure if he needed or not, including the importance of a commlink in particular.

"I'll watch him." Deadbolt said, following Jerry.

"We can't let him go." Junkyard said, still holding his revolver.

"Yes, we can." I counter, "And I'm not gonna explain it to you while he's here."

That's when Junkyard did something stupid. He took aim straight at me. If anything he was meticulous about keeping his gun clean as I looked straight down the barrel.

I glanced over to Deacon, and saw her smile at me, and it made me think of this morning in the parking garage.

"Bitch can't help you." Junkyard growled.

Right then the cylinder swung out. No bullets fell out until Junkyard lifted the barrel up to look at his gun in amazement.

A flick of my wrist and my Morrissey Élan is in my hand, and I've got the snub nose of the holdout right under Junkyard's chin before he realizes I even have the gun. But as soon as the barrel touches his skin I know he knows what it is, especially from how his dark eyes bulge out.

"Deacon, if you could collect his gun and the shells, please?" I say in an even tone.

Junkyard and I stand there in silence as Deacon first took the huge revolver from the ork, then picked up the half dozen bullets that were on the floor. She had just stood back up again when Jerry and Deadbolt came back.

"Is… um, there a problem?" Jerry nervously asked. Drek, looks like they were about to have a shootout. He had on a thick looking winter coat and brown slacks.

"Just a little disagreement, that's all." I answer, letting the holdout slip back up my sleeve as I step back from Junkyard. "You manage to get everything? 'Link with your fake ID 'n all?"

"Uh, yeah," Jerry said, "right here." He patted his right jacket pocket, but his mind also flashed to a pants pocket where he had his other 'link.

"C'mon, just get outta here before the D.A.'s goons show up." Deadbolt said.

Jerry needed no extra prodding. Maybe it was the thought that someone from the D.A.'s office was going to show up sometime after us.

"Here," I say, heading over to Jerry, "I've got the feeling you're a little new to this." As a comforting gesture I put my arm around him.

"Kinda… Not really. Done it once before." Jerry told us.

"Only once?" I ask with mock surprise as I slowly guide him to the door. "Well then, guess you know how to avoid Knight's techno-hounds then."

"Techno-hounds?" Jerry asked, stopping. His imagination started to run wild, envisioning some kind of digital hellhound wreathed in static electricity.

"Oh yeah, nasty creatures." I tell him, letting my hand slip down towards his pocket. "They're special technomancer dogs that can sniff out their prey through the matrix."

"But I've got a different 'link with a new ID." Jerry said. Regardless his imagination was still running wild.

"And that'll be like a beacon to a techno-hound. They'll trace your old ID, smell your new ID mixed with it, and they're trained to follow the new ID. They're relentless." I tell him.

"They'll send them after me?" Jerry asked. He could see the digital hellhounds sniffing up digital data like a bloodhound does smell.

"The D.A.'s office will certainly make a request."

"So how can I avoid them?"

Hooked him, and my hand drifts just a little closer to his pocket. "Well, you can't just change 'links anywhere you want." I had his attention, and my hand made for his 'link. "You gotta go to a dead zone, like deep in the barrens. No signal from anything. When you're there, that's when you pitch the old link," I tell him as I slip his 'link out, "and then boot-up the new 'link."

"That's all?" Jerry asked. He didn't notice what I'd done, and so I let my mindreading spell end.

"Almost. Don't use your old link at all. Not until you're in a dead zone to switch it off." I tell him, slipping his 'link into my jacket pocket.

"And that'll work?"

"Absolutely. The techno-hounds will lose you when you're in a dead zone, and won't make a connection to your new I.D."

Jerry nodded, then quickly headed out the door.

"Techno-hounds?" Deacon asked.

Deadbolt started laughing.

"What's so funny? What if they set those hounds on us?" Junkyard asked.

"There's no such thing as techno-hounds." I say. "I made it all up."

"And all that you told him…" Junkyard started to say.

"Was to yank this." I finish, pulling out Jerry's commlink. "It's his main 'link." I toss it to Deacon. "We'll want to know what's all on it." I pretended not to notice Junkyard's scowling glare at me.

"Think he's got evidence against our client?" Deadbolt asked.

"He'd have to be a bigger fool than we're taking him for not to." I say.

"You should be hackin' it, then." Junkyard said.

"Deacon's better at hacking than I am, you know that." I countered.

"It seems basic enough, but I won't want to rush it." Deacon said, "Want to be careful of data traps 'n stuff."

"So, you think it's wise to let him go?" Deadbolt asked.

"The D.A.'s not had a chance to talk to him." I answer, "And if they can't find him to interrogate him, then that weakens the charges against our client."

"And if the D.A.'s tracing his 'link…" Deacon started.

"Then us having it is actually an edge on Jerry disappearing." Deadbolt finished.

"So now what?" Junkyard asked.

"Why don't you go outside and hold up the wall." I suggest. "Make sure we don't have company while we clean up the place."

Deacon meekly offered him his revolver, which Junkyard angrily snatched from her open hands. He slapped it in the holster before storming out the door.

"Um, think he'll notice it's not loaded?" Deacon asked, holding up one of her cybernetic hands, and the six bullets that had popped out of it.

"Probably when he tries to shoot something." Deadbolt answered.

"Right." I say, "So, what've we got from here?"

"I noticed a door at the end of the hallway that had a few locks on it." Deadbolt answered. "Kinda odd that they're on this side."

"We'll check it, but hang on." I say, focusing my mind elsewhere as I rub my steel ring.

Shadows of the mind, send me an agent.

I could feel it in the astral, a spirit that was probably a relative local to the area. Likely was called a hearth spirit back about when I was born.

I answer your call, and offer you three services till the sun sets.

Keep yourself hidden and watch the ork that is outside, and tell me when he enters this home.

Your first service will be done.

"Alright," I say aloud, "let's check on that door."

I didn't really notice the smell of the place until we got further back, a mix of old musty with a peppering of body odor. Not exactly a pleasant mix.

The threadbare carpeting was so worn in places it had holes, and the doors were worse than faux wood in the maker's attempt to make plastic look like wood grain.

There were two padlocks holding the door shut.

"Well, not much I can do 'bout them." I say.

"Let me." Deacon said, slipping around us to get to the door. Out of somewhere she pulled out a lockpick kit, selected two picks, and went to work on one of the locks. I have no idea what she did but it took little effort to pop it off.

Then she tackled the second one, and it was undone just as easy. She stepped aside, and I stepped up to the door.

Carefully I turned the knob, and the door opened easily.

It was stuffy in that room and kinda dark with blocked out windows. Thankfully there was enough light coming in from behind me into the room so I could see.

"Drek." I mutter as the door continues to open.

There were three kids in the room, and at a quick guess I'd say the oldest was maybe twelve or thirteen. One was an ork boy with dark hair and fare skin, and the other two were girls. One was elfin and Asian, likely Japanese. The other human with soykaf dark skin and long dark hair.

And all three of them were completely naked. They were also terrified of me, pulling worn bed sheets up to try and cover themselves.

"What is it?" Deadbolt asked.

I felt Deacon try to move around me to look. She gasped and slipped back away.

"Deadbolt, we're going to Plan B." I say, closing the door.

"Plan B?" Deacon asked sheepishly.

"Great." Deadbolt said, nodding knowingly. "I'd love to hear the details."

I took a deep breath, sighing. I had hoped we wouldn't find something like this. Well, there's the drek in the other hand.

"We're gonna need some help." I say. "No way I'm gonna do anything to kids."

Deadbolt groaned.

"I… I… don't know." Deacon said softly.

"I know someone I can call that'll help, no question." I tell them. "But what'll we do about Junkyard?"

"He'll geek 'em as much as look at 'em." Deadbolt said. "He's dogged on doing the job the right way, no matter how fragged up things get."

I looked over to Deacon to get her impression. She simply lowered her head.

"Yeah, was afraid of that too." I said.

"And there's no way he'll go for this." Deadbolt said. "I tried talking to him on the way over. Guy's got some twisted sense of values and ideas."

"Like there's a certain set way things are supposed to go, no matter what reality's like." I add.

"He'd be a great solder, loyal to a fault. Hell, worse than a dog shaman. So what do we do about him?"

"I'd prefer giving him a chance to walk."

Deadbolt chuckled. "Yeah, you would."

"What about the kids?" Deacon softly asked.

"Right, let's see to them first." I said, "Deadbolt, do what you can to keep our stubborn partner away from them."

Deadbolt nodded and headed back to the living room.

I turned back to the door and slowly opened it again.

The kids hadn't really moved at all from where I had seen them just a little bit ago. There were two beds pressed up together on the right that the girls sat huddled together on. The boy was on his own bed on the other side of the room.

"It's okay, we're here to help you." I say, stepping over to the left. From the looks on their faces they didn't believe me. Can't say I blame them.

With a thought I open up a text program in my 'link to take some notes on the kids. I started with the boy, estimating that he was about twelve or thirteen…

"Male ork, age twelve or thirteen, strong build and a meter-fifty-five." Deacon said softly.

"Wait, what? What're you doing?" I asked.

"You said we needed help." Deacon said, looking over to me, but I noticed her lower hands were held out in front of her in a kinda odd fashion. "Was thinking that if they had some data on the kids they could bring clothes."

"I was thinking the same." I tell her, "But maybe if you don't say anything? Bad 'nough we're scaring them just by being in here."

"I'm not scared!" the boy loudly declared, standing up on his bed to challenge me. Realizing his predicament just a little too late he dropped back down to snatch up his dropped bed sheet to cover himself.

"Don't try to con a con artist." I tell him, stepping over to the bed to sit down. He scrambled away to press himself into the corner to keep his distance. "There's nothing wrong with being scared. Heck, I get scared at times too."

I looked over to the two girls. The Japanese elf girl looked like the youngest, maybe nine at the most. She avoided eye contact with me.

"You do?" the dark skinned girl asked. She appeared to be well into puberty, at least when it came to her breasts. Probably an early bloomer compared to what was considered average. I'd probably even consider dating her, if I were half my age.

"Sure do." I answer.

"He's lyin'." the boy countered.

"Only fools are never scared. Brave people are the ones who can push their fear aside, doing what has to be done." I tell them.

"Um… Bishop?" Deacon asked softly. When I looked up to her I saw her looking at her feet, fidgeting with all four hands and looking very uncomfortable. "I, um, think I got everything."

"Alright." I say, standing back up again. "We'll be outside if you need anything." I tell the kids, putting an arm around Deacon to gently guide her to the door. Honest to ghost she was quick.

"Um…" went a small voice, and I turned to see who it was.

It was the little Japanese elf, and she was desperately trying to hold the sheet to her chest and raise a hand at the same time.

"Yes?" I ask, putting on a genuinely gentle smile.

Sheepishly she put her hand down. "Can I have some water, um, please?"

"I'll see what I can get." I tell her as I back out the door just behind Deacon.

After I closed the door I stopped Deacon in the hallway. "Okay, what's wrong?" I asked her.

"I… uh…" she stammered, "I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout."

"Cut the drek Deacon, I make a living reading people." I tell her. "Now it ain't hard to tell those kids are scared, terrified even, but I could see it in that other girl's eyes she wanted water too, and while they might not understand it they were really eager to see how I was gonna react."

She said nothing, looking down at her feet as she fidgeted with her hands. "Yeah. Saw it too." she said softly.

"Right. Okay, so best I can figure is there's something 'bout this job." I say, "Ever since you said who the client was you've been twitchy." I put a hand on her shoulder, adding, "Hey, we all got a soft spot for kids. Pedophiles like Gilchrest just happen to have a hard spot."

Maybe a bad joke, but I was hoping for something from Deacon. A chuckle, a snort, anything. Some kind of reaction to the humor, for good or for bad.

"He's a child molesters, not a pedophile." she sternly corrected.

"What's the difference?"

She looked up at me, shocked, and like a deer caught in high beams.

"What's the difference?" she asked, "What's the difference!? I'll tell you what the fraggin' difference is!"

The sudden shift from meek to vicious made me take a step back from Deacon, and without much room ended up with my back to the wall.

"The literal definition of being a pedophile is someone who loves children!" lectured Deacon, her voice keeping her new intensity. "Every parent, grandparent, aunt and uncle should be one because they love their kids, grandkids, and whatever! There's nothing sexual about it!

"A child molester is no pedophile! They're monsters that fuck children… and… and…" Her voice began to waver.

"Alright, I get it." I say, keeping my voice in a softer, gentler tone. "You really like kids. Not like Gilchrest, but you really do care about them 'n all."

Eyes clamped shut, Deacon nodded vigorously.

I sighed heavily, finally gaining an understanding of her apprehension on this job. If my guess about her was right then most people would probably lump Deacon in with Gilchrest's lot, but the impression I was getting from her was that she would do everything in her power to never cross that line and become a monster like him or Jerry. And the three kids in the next room were probably an unwelcome temptation to do just that.

Heck, even the Japanese elf girl looked about as old as Melody, and considering my history with her I guess figured I shouldn't be too upset with Deacon.

I took a step closer to Deacon so I could put a hand on her shoulder again. "Look, I ain't mad or anything. Just… surprised, that's all."

"What're we gonna do?" she asked, looking back up at me. I could see that she was really concerned about what I was going to say next.

"Well, first I want some of the details I'm pretty sure you got on those three." I tell her, "I plan on calling a friend to help by at least getting clothes for them." I give her shoulder a squeeze before letting go. "But first I think they need some water first."

Deacon nodded, smiling a little.

Considering the neighborhood I honestly didn't expect anyone to live on the tap water, so straight to the fridge I went in search of the bottled stuff. We were in luck when I found a quarter of the fridge was dedicated to half liter bottles of water. I collected three of them.

"Thirsty?" I ask.

"Not really." Deacon answered.

"I could use a drink." Deadbolt said.

"I think we've got more than enough here right now, so help yourself." I say. "Oh, Deacon, could you send me that data before you get to work on Jerry's 'link?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." she said.

Almost immediately I got a ping on my 'link from her, a file transfer request. I mentally tagged the [Accept] icon and saved the file. On the way back to the kid's room I took a look at the contents, and was a bit impressed by how detailed she had gotten things from how briefly we were in there. In a fashion it was a little scary how well I think she did it.

I opened the bedroom door slowly, trying to give them enough time to cover themselves or at least not scare the drek out of them when I came back in again.

All three of them were pretty much right where I left them.

"Got you water." I said, holding out a bottle to the Japanese elf girl.

Tentatively she stood up on the bed, then walked over to the edge, leaving the sheet behind. She plopped down at the edge, leaving herself well exposed with her hands out to accept the bottle.

"Um, why'd you do that?" I asked, trying to ignore her nudity as I handed her the bottle.

"Papa says we gotta do it if we want water." she answered softly.

"Papa? You mean Jerry?"

She nodded.

I glanced to the dark skinned human girl, and she nodded too.

"Well, papa's gone now." I tell them, "And I say you don't have to do this if you want water."

Immediately the younger girl scrambled back to cover herself once more. Made me feel a little better too. If she was this concerned about her modesty then maybe she hadn't been in this life for too long.

And to help prove my point about it, I held out another bottle to the dark skinned girl in offering. I could see the want in her eyes, and before she even had a hand up I gently tossed it to her. She managed to catch it with one hand, but for a moment the sheet covering her chest slipped.

"Can I have one, please?" the boy asked.

No hesitation, I tossed another bottle to him too.

"Need anything else?" I asked the kids.

Each one of them looked down. Eventually they shook their heads.

"Well," I say, clapping my hands together, "I think we ought to get to know each other a little better."

I saw fear creep up on their faces. Drek, guess it wasn't the best choice of words.

"No, no, no." I tell them, trying to allay any fears, "I don't mean like that. Just names, nothing else. I'm Bishop." My eyes drift over the three, hoping to draw a response from any of them.

The little Japanese elf spoke up first. "Mikiko." she said softly.

"Mikiko, nice." I say, adding her name to the data Deacon had given me.

"M… Mara." the other girl said.

"Mara, okay." I say, noting her data accordingly.

When my eyes settled on the boy he looked away from me. "Tony." he muttered.

"Tony. Alright then." I say aloud, noting his data too. "Well, I'm gonna leave the door unlocked, so if you need the toilet or anything go right ahead." I tell them, "But you might wanna try and keep a bed sheet on or something. At least until we get you some proper clothes."

The girls looked up at me in a bit of wonderment as I backed out the door.

Deacon was relaxing in a chair, Jerry's commlink in her lap. Depending on how serious he was on his matrix security it could be a few hours before she broke in.

Deadbolt had commandeered the couch. Not quite sure what he was doing, listening to saved music files or reading a book, but whatever it was he always seemed to be able to pass time like this without complaint about boredom.

So I took one of the empty chairs and sat down myself so I could open up the message I got back from my ganger friend, Ashley, about Junkyard.

And I guess I oughta give more of the chip truth about who I sent the message to. When I said Ashley was a ganger friend, I didn't mean she was part of any gang in Seattle. She did, however, have friends across many gangs, and had somehow managed to cultivate a kind of neutral reputation between all of them. It also helped that she was a really crazy magician with an authority problem.

Anyway, it was from a friend of Ashley's that knew of Junkyard, more by reputation than anything.

Junkyard had apparently been part of the Blood Brothers down in Auburn. Now I knew a little about this gang, all of African descent, and that was about as deep as the blood ran. And don't let the name fool you, they're not like the Leather Devils and are an all man crew.

Which led to why he wasn't part of the Blood Brothers. See, the gang was led by a woman, and apparently Junkyard had some rather old fashioned ideals about women in general and it didn't matter what their metatype was. Explained why seemed to have a problem with me leaving Deacon alone in the network this morning, or that she was gonna be hacking anything.

In short part of what me and Deadbolt had already figured out. Junkyard was stubborn to a fault, headstrong, and a particularly odd set way he believed things worked. He apparently was also known to fight his teammates if things didn't go the way he expected them. Drek, and I thought this kind of mentality was limited to an old flatvid character. Was a wonder he made it this long in the shadows, let alone life.

"Somethin' up?" Deadbolt asked.

"Asked a friend if she knew anything about the dog outside." I said, "Turned out a buddy of hers did, and we were more right than we thought."

"Uh oh."

"Supposedly gets violent when things don't go his way. Even against teammates."

"Drek." Deadbolt cussed. "I hate this, you know?"

I simply nodded my head.

"How long you think we'll be able to keep 'im leashed?"

"Once he finds out there're three kids back there?" I ask back, "We'll need to put him down." I kinda hated the thought, but the impression I got about Junkyard made someone like Archie Bunker come across as a pro-rights activist.

"Um, excuse me?" I heard Mara ask.

I turned around to look, and saw her standing just at the corner of the hallway, looking tiny and frightened with an almost see-through bed sheet wrapped around her body.

"Yeah, kiddo?" I ask, trying to put up a good front and help keep her calm.

"Um, we were wondering if we could have something to eat?" Mara asked. Honest to ghost she looked like she was ready to bolt back down the hallway in case someone exploded in anger.

"Yeah, sure." I told her, keeping a gentle smile on her face as I got up to head over to the soy processing unit in the kitchen. I mentally kicked myself for not having thought to check it sooner, not just to see how much food was available but also just what kind of quality we could expect.

Well, found some good points and bad. Good was that Jerry didn't have any kind of lockouts on the SPU, and it was still decently loaded in soy stock. The drawback was that it was a cheap Black & Decker SPU with limited functionality.

"Is there something in particular you'd like?" I ask, looking over to Mara.

The girl, hugging the bed sheet to her chest, simply shrugged.

"Well, let's take a look at what papa Jerry was serving up." I say, connecting my 'link to the SPU to bring up its menu and the recent history. From what I found it looked like peanut butter and jelly was the staple food for everyone.

"Same old sandwiches okay?" I ask.

Again Mara shrugged, making something of a 'whatever' kind of sound.

So I dug into the cabinets to find the plates, grabbed three of them and stuck them into the SPU and ordered up three PB&Js, and tweaking the flavors up to 'Normal' before hitting [Start].

The front door virtually exploded inward, with Junkyard demanding, "What's takin' so fraggin' long?" One look at me and Mara and he changed his question to, "What're you doin' with her?"

I'd tell you, but I can tell you already know he's inside, I got from my spirit watching Junkyard.

"Makin' a sandwich." I reply, noticing Deadbolt quickly getting to his feet. And I was already wishing I had added something about keeping Junkyard outside in the spirit's task.

"What's she doin' here?" Junkyard practically yelled.

"Neighbor kid, snuck in through the back," I start to say, taking a sidestep towards Mara. Less in words and more in an impression I sent the spirit my next order, a flash of the three kids and my desire of it to help protect them.

Your next service will be done, the spirit replied.

And at least Deadbolt seemed to know what I was up to too. Junkyard was as pissed as a dragon that just got robbed, and Deadbolt was carefully moving to put himself between Junkyard and the oblivious Deacon.

"You're all fraggin' up the job!" Junkyard yelled. As soon as I saw his hand go for the holster I spun around to grab Mara, throwing the both of us to the floor. I had no idea if he had reloaded it or not, but I sure wasn't gonna take the chance.

And he certainly had reloaded it, and I heard the very loud bang as the shot went overhead.

Holding Mara close I whispered into her ear, "Stay down." I slipped my arms free, rolling onto my back and pulling my own Predator. I could hear what sounded like Deadbolt and Junkyard scuffling, and another gunshot.

"You've done nothing but frag this job from the beginning!" Junkyard yelled. "Johnson's supposed to be there first!"

There was another gunshot, and I was showered with splinters as the bullet tore through the counter me and Mara were using for cover. She couldn't help but shriek.

"We didn't hit the office!" he yelled again, and there was another gunshot, but it wasn't at us.

"You let the pimp go!" Bang! Another new hole in the counter, still too high to hit either of us. Did he think we were crouched down in fear behind it?

"Now I'm gonna kill you, dandelion eater," ranted Junkyard, "'n I'm gonna torch dis place, 'n I'm gonna find Jerry 'n…" He screamed in terror, pure and unadulterated terror.

That's when I took the chance to move for a shot. Maybe risky, but terrified people usually don't shoot straight. So I rolled to my feet and popped my head up above the counter island to see what happened.

It was like the ghost of Christmas past had come for a visit. My spirit materialized, floating like an ethereal ghost, gray and wispy, with arms spread wide like some forgiving angel.

Pistol up I aimed at Junkyard while his back was turned towards me and shot, scoring a hit. He staggered, turning to face me.

I shot again, and hit. Pain brought clarity came back to his eyes.

Before he could bring his revolver up on me I shot him again and again. He tried to dodge, predict where I'd be aiming, but I saw blood blossom from his chest with both rounds, and down he went.

I kept my aim on him as I stood, slowly stepping around the counter to approach him. Junkyard's chest heaved with bloody effort, but he didn't move otherwise.

For some reason I thought of Murphy again, and one of his more obscure rules. To be honest I didn't think I needed to spend the last eleven rounds in my Predator to make sure when one more to the head was sufficient. It took all my self control to not vomit when I saw the inside of his head.

Then I saw Deacon. She was still lying where she had been, but bleeding badly from the right side of her chest.

"Hang on, I'll help ya." I tell her, bolting for Deadbolt's RV.

Third service, do everything in your power to make sure she lives, I send to my spirit as I reach the RV. Knowing Deadbolt he's got a medkit inside.

Now if I only knew where he'd keep it.

After what seemed like an eternity of searching I finally found it, checked it and found it was well stocked. Slapping the lid closed I rushed back inside. I was so focused on getting to Deacon I forgot about the blood on the floor, slipped, and crashed into the counter island.

My spirit was materialized beside her, hand over her gunshot wound like he was keeping her blood in her.

Mara was also standing back up, clutching her bed sheet to her chest, wide eyed in fear as she tried to process the scene before her.

"Told ya I'd be back." I told Deacon as I scrambled to her side with pain shooting through my right leg and not really sure if she's conscious or not. The fact the spirit looked like it was still performing its final task meant she was still alive.

Now one of the really fun things that comes with a medkit is a doctor-expert system to help, with sensors and mess of drugs and such. I know a little, but when it came to patching up Deacon it was nice to know a few little things you can do to help besides just putting a band-aid over the wound.

At least I was able to open up her jacket enough to work, but I had to cut her shirt to get to the wound. I noticed the grid of green lines at her neck ran down to over her shoulder and further on down her arm.

I had almost forgotten about Deadbolt when I heard him groan. "Still alive?" I ask, wiping away some blood before tending to Deacon's gunshot wound. Man it looked like a real mess.

"That hoop head shot me." Deadbolt grumbled.

"Yeah, kinda figured that happened." I said. "And before you start bitching, Deacon got shot pretty bad. Lost a lot of blood. She ain't as bullet proof as you are."

"What happened?" Deadbolt asked with a groan. From other sounds I heard him making I figured he was just pushing himself up to rest against a wall.

"Junk started boasting about what he'd do after he killed me." I said, "And I had a spirit tasked to protect the kids. Said he was gonna burn this place down, so it materialized to scare the drek outta him."

"Now he didn't just run away like a little girl, did he?"

"Fat chance. Managed to shoot him up, though. He won't hurt those kids."

The thought of personally ending his life made me feel a little sick. Yeah, wimpy shadowrunner doesn't like to kill, whaa whaa. Well, guess what, the truly professional runners don't kill every rent-a-cop that crosses their paths on a job. And it's not like I can count the number of people I've killed on one hand, either.

There was a sound like someone dropped a bag of soybeans. I risked looking up from Deacon to see that Mara wasn't standing where I had last saw her.

"I think she fainted." Deadbolt said. With a grunt that comes from a deep pain, he pushed himself to his feet and walked around into the kitchen area. "Yup, passed out. Room's in the back?"

"Yeah. Just knock first, don't wanna surprise the other kids."

"Oh, great." Deadbolt muttered.

According to the expert system I had gotten most of the bits of bullet out of Deacon's shoulder and it had moved on to showing me how to stitch up the wound. I gotta say the first time I did this I almost couldn't actually poke the person with the needle. That was some time ago, and now wasn't so hard.

Deacon winced in pain when I poked her for the third time. Glancing away from her wound I saw her trying to open her eyes.

"Take it easy, I'm still patching you up." I told her, putting a hand on her shoulder. I went to the medkit to see if there was some kind of spray or something that'd help deaden the pain for her. "Sorry, but I don't have anything for the pain."

"What happened?" she asked, speaking softly.

I had given up some time ago trying to sew someone up as gently as possible, and so just poked her again with the needle to keep going. Understandably she winced in pain.

"Junkyard flipped." I told her, "Decided to try to do things his way."

Deacon hissed as I poked her again. "And… he shot... me?"

"Yeah."

"The other kids seem to be okay." Deadbolt said as he walked back into the front room. "Completely convinced I was coming back there to shoot them up." He grunted, and I heard a dull thud. I imagined him kicking Junkyard's body.

"Jerry wasn't…" Deacon started to say, groaning as I poked her again.

"Not a nice guy, I know." I told her, "Just relax, you got it pretty bad."

"Any ideas about what we're gonna do with the kids?" Deadbolt asked. "We certainly can't leave 'em here."

"A few, but I gotta call someone for some help." I told them.

The SPU dinged, signaling that it was done making the sandwiches.

"I'll get these to the kids." Deadbolt said.

According to the expert system I had gotten Deacon completely sewn up, which seemed kinda obvious with the last stitch I had just done. So I knotted off the end to help keep things tight.

"The kids…" Deacon started to say.

"They're fine." I tell her.

"No." she groaned. "Jerry… Ronald… They…"

I leaned in really close to her. I had to tip her off to her little secret that I knew to hopefully get her to shut up. "I know what happens to technomancers when their body gets shot while they're deep in a node." I whispered into her ear. When I lean back I can see her eyes wide with fear doing their best to watch me. When I hear Deadbolt walking back down the hallway I bring a single finger up to my lips in a sign to keep quiet.

"Kids sure were hungry." Deadbolt told us. "So, how's she doin'?"

"A bit stressed out from getting shot while diving. I think she might've gotten a bit of a dumpshock coming back." I answer. "Just needs some rest, I think."

"And what're we gonna do 'bout the kids?"

"I'd just like to send 'em back home, but we gotta figure out if they're SINners or not first."

"The girls… are." Deacon managed to say.

"Well, we certainly can't take 'em home buck ass naked. And I don't think any of us can leave and come back again without drawing any more attention than we might've with whatever shootout you and Junk had." Deadbolt said. He walked back to the couch and carefully sat back down where he had been.

"Drek, right, was gonna call someone." I said. With a thought my contacts list came up and I started scrolling through it for one name in particular.

"Who'd help us with this kind of job?" Deadbolt asked.

I found the name I wanted and tagged the [Call] icon. In two rings she answered, though all I could see in the holographic display was her face.

"Hello." Melody said.

"Hey Mel," I replied, "need a little favor."

"Already? I mean it was just last night…" Melody started.

"I don't think you're even close…" I try to say.

"…when I gave you a really wild ride…" Melody continued.

"Hey! We don't need to hear that!"

"…and a girl needs to rest up again after a wild night like that…"

"God damn it Tiger, shut up!" I yell at my link.

Right away she went as timid as a mouse. "How serious?" she softly asked.

"Like Crash 2 serious."

Sullenly she looked down for a few seconds, then back to the display. "What do you need?"

"I'm sending a text file to you, our usual code." I told her. With a thought I brought up the file, added some extra data to it, put a basic encryption to it, and attached it to the conversation.

It didn't take long for Melody to receive the file, but it looked like she read it through at least three times. "This'll take a little time to get." she said, "Maybe about two hours just to get there, too."

"Well, I'm sure we can make it more worth your while." I tell her, "We had a little… problem with one of the team. Don't think there'll be any problem letting you have his cut of the pay if you help us clean up."

"Yeah, sure." she said wryly, "Bet you're scaring the drek outta 'em. Don't worry, I'll be there for work."

"I'll leave the deadbolt unlocked for ya." I told her before she hung up. Fortunately she and Deadbolt already knew each other. Was kinda amusing to watch her hit on the troll before he knew she wasn't the weedy little girl she appeared to be.

"You sure… it's okay…?" Deacon said.

"She's good for it." I say, "I trust her."

Deacon seemed to relax a little. Then with her natural left hand she slid Jerry's commlink towards me. "It's unlocked. You should… see it…"

"Yeah, sure." I tell her, slipping the link from her hand. Then I found a place to sit and meshed up my 'link with Jerry's. I won't shock you with the details, but I'll say chip truth that I really regretted not letting Junkyard shoot the bastard had I known. Pics, trideo, and even simsense recordings, all of it was more than enough to string him up right next to Gilchrest, along with several others.

While waiting for Melody to arrive, I linked up my facial recognition program to the whole batch of smut on Jerry's 'link and tagged Mr. Johnson for a search. Considering how many megapulses of data there was to run through it took a while to scan everything. I'm just glad I didn't have to spend the time watching all of the trids and simsense.

The search result came up negative. Aside from knowing about this it seemed Mr. Johnson had actually taken no part in it at all. I was starting to figure that we might be able to use that to our advantage. Maybe.

I reran my searches against Ronald Gilchrest's face, and again against Jerry's face. These two hoops popped up several times.

It was a little more than two hours after I called Melody when she finally showed up. During that time I had hit up the SPU and fridge for some more food and water for the kids, as well as a bit for ourselves. Just wished that Deacon was feeling up to eating a little more than just half a grape flavored jelly half sandwich and a bit of water.

"Sorry it took so long." apologized Melody as she came in through the front door, lugging a large and heavy looking bag from Saver's Central in one hand, and hauling another large sack from McHugh's in the other. Her brown hair was done up in a thick French braid with a lemon yellow ribbon at the end, and she had on a pink and bright blue winter jacket sporting a Mercury Maxim logo on the left shoulder. She had on a dark red skirt that almost reached her knees, pink tights, and pink and white sneakers.

"After I left I figured that the food out here would be crap, so I stopped someplace for something better tasting." she added.

"You're looking a little too cute for a neighborhood like this." I comment.

"Frag off, you know I can't wear what I'd really rather be wearing." she retorted, sticking her tongue out at me.

"Which's barely more than what the kids in the back have." I countered.

"Meany!"

"This is… Tiger?" Deacon asked.

"Hey! I didn't say you get to call me that!" Melody cried.

"She really hates that name." I said, "I think I'm the only one who can call her that."

"You are." Melody confirmed. "So, which way?"

I pointed down the hallway. She went straight away for the kids' room.

"So what is the deal with calling her 'Tiger'?" Deadbolt asked.

"A friend of ours is really into that old Japanamation crap from the twentieth." I tell them. "In one of them there's a girl nicknamed 'the Palmtop Tiger' because she's little and her name in Japanese almost sounds like 'tiger.' Melody kinda resembles that character, but that's about it. She really doesn't like any kind of cat references."

"She the… one you… told me…" Deacon said, breathing heavily as she spoke.

"Yeah, that's her. Nineteen now and forever a little girl in body."

"Yeah, and the comet can frag off for all I care." grumbled Melody as she came back, carrying only the McHugh's bag with her and her coat opened so she wouldn't overheat. She reached in to pull out a burger, and when she noticed Deacon said, "What the hell happened to you?"

I held up a hand so Deacon wouldn't say anything. "She got shot." I answered, "By him." I added, thumbing Junkyard's corpse.

Sometimes it was amusing how oblivious Melody could be to some things. She had walked in, out, and through the room and not noticed the dead body at all.

"Drek, little problem my ass." cussed Melody, absently passing me a burger, which I accepted. "Well, might as well earn my cut." she added, turning her attention back to Deacon.

Despite how you might expect little girls to react, Melody wasn't exactly squeamish about blood. Well, not now anyway. She didn't hesitate as she put a hand on the bloody bandage at Deacon's shoulder, drew out a wand with the other, and proceeded to work a healing spell on Deacon.

Now she might not look it, but Melody's got some real mojo. Now she's no more powerful than I am, but she's really studied magic a lot more than I have. And if you think she's like some Harry Potter awakened and needs a 'wand' to work her sorcery you'd be dead wrong. Now she really does like the fictional universe of those old stories, and even admitted that she'd like to shag a few of the characters (and might have really done it in some of the more perverted simsense games you can get from Japan), but that wand wasn't a mere talisman but a power focus.

While Melody held her healing spell on Deacon, I dug into the McHugh's bag for the handful of burgers that would be for Deadbolt. He was looking a lot more with it now after a few hours of rest.

"So, you got a plan?" Melody asked, still holding her spell on Deacon.

"First is to try and get these kids home, or maybe at least with someone that can get them there." I say.

"And getting paid?" Melody asked.

"That depends on Johnson." I tell her.

"Drek, 'Plan B'?" she asked.

"You really don't want to know what's on here." I reply, holding up Jerry's 'link. "Johnson's boss is more than ghoul food if this gets into the wrong hands."

Melody really didn't look comfortable, but didn't say anything. I'm not sure what the kids might've told her, but I doubt it would've taken her more than one guess to figure everything out, even without the hint of clothing sizes that I had sent to her.

"So what is plan B?" asked Deacon.

"We're gonna hit up Johnson with the chip truth of what we're gonna do." I tell them, "That we're gonna help string up his boss by the testicles for everyone to see."

"What if he doesn't go for it?" Deacon asked.

"Oh, I'm sure he will." I say, "See, I got his mug in a facial recognition program, and ran it against all the smut that's in this." Again I held up Jerry's 'link. "Didn't get any hits for him. Ran it again against Johnson's boss and Jerry's, and got 'em both."

"Drek." Deadbolt muttered.

"Yeah, Jerry's one lucky prick. This time."

"So you'll implicate Johnson if he doesn't agree?" Melody asked. "How?"

"I know you might not like seeing the drek again, Deacon, but for this to work you'd need to edit Johnson in into some of the stuff in here." I tell her.

Deacon nodded. "Might not be a very good job." she said.

"Doesn't have to be." Deadbolt said, "Accusation's one thing, but an investigation will end his career. Doesn't matter if it turns up to be fake evidence."

"And hopefully he's smart enough for that." I added.

"That's why you wanted me to leave a way back in?" Deacon asked.

I nodded.

"I'll go talk to the kids," Melody said, "maybe I can get some info on where they live and all."

"Sounds like we're all in." I say with a devilish grin.

---

Over the next few days we dug up some data on our Mr. Johnson. His real name wasn't all that difficult, and I had found that he didn't have the full forty thousand to pay us. Really not encouraging to keep quiet about all of this.

Turned out there wasn't much we could do for the kids as far as getting them home. I found a street clinic where we could drop them off, where they could get properly tended to and everything.

Deacon managed to find a few pics where Johnson, one Kyle Tucker, could get edited into without easily blowing it that they were faked. She didn't like the idea of keeping them on her implanted commlink, but if Kyle agreed to the terms we needed the unaltered 'link.

There were other things arranged as well, and these took a few days. It ended up being late that Friday night when we approached Mr. Johnson with our counteroffer pertaining to Ronald Gilchrest. Melody and myself managed to sneak into Kyle's modest little apartment without any difficulty, and with help from Deacon in the matrix.

It felt like it was too long of a wait, me and Melody using invisibility spells to hide while we waited for Kyle. She was close to the door while I stood near the doorway to the kitchen at the other side of the room.

Just as I was about to call it quits for us the door lock clicked, and in came Kyle. He closed and locked the door behind him, pitching his jacket like what was probably his regular routine.

"Door's secured." Deacon announced.

Melody let her invisibility spell end just as Kyle was looking in her direction.

"Who are you?" Kyle asked, quickly standing up to Melody's sudden appearance.

"Doesn't matter." I answer, letting my own invisibility spell drop.

Kyle's chest heaved as his breathing quickened as he recognized me from the meet. "You're not supposed to be here!" he said in a harsh, hushed voice.

"Yell all you want. Nobody'll hear you." Melody told him. "No! Stop! Don't kill me!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, her voice becoming quite shrill.

Confusion started to creep up on Kyle's face as he looked down at the 'little girl' next to me. Then his eyes bounced back to his front door, but no one came busting in on us. When he looked back to Melody she gave him a smirk and an innocent shrug. What I knew that Kyle didn't was that Melody had surrounded the room with a sound barrier spell once he had come in. He didn't even realize that what sounds from the outside you could hear were no longer audible.

"She's not one of Gilchrest's playthings." I tell him. "And she's actually a lot older than she looks."

"What do you want?" Kyle asked. Nice, right to the point.

"The media might play us as monsters," I tell him, "but we're not all mindless, brutish thugs like the ork you hired." I took two steps towards him, continuing, "As we dredged up what you wanted us to get rid of, we came to realize that Mr. Ronald Gilchrest was a bigger monster than we took him for. There was too much for us to ignore."

Kyle's eyes widened as the realization hit him.

"Now this can go one of two ways." I tell him, "A.D.A. Hightower will soon receive a packet of data sealing Gilchrest's guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt. That will happen no matter what. But you," I gestured to him, "are at a crossroads, and it all depends on you."

"Depending on what?" Kyle asked.

"I'm so glad you asked that." I honestly tell him. "See, we found out you don't have the money to pay up the extra ten thousand in hush money like we agreed upon, so we're gonna need some other… favors to help cover the difference."

"And if I don't agree to this?" Kyle asked.

"Then you're implicated right alongside Gilchrest in all of this." I answer matter-of-factly. "Your financial records will clearly show you paid some shadowrunners to try and obliterate evidence of his illegal activities, for starters. Now by itself it might not seem like much, but we've got 'evidence' to give Hightower of your more… perverted interests. Oh, sure, there won't be enough evidence for a conviction, our 'evidence' won't stand up under the scrutiny it'll garner, no shadowrunners will be found, and you'll probably even be cleared of all charges. But your career will be down the toilet all the same."

Kyle's shoulders slumped as he realized just how right I was. He didn't even have to go to trial, or even an arraignment hearing. Just an accusation alone with Gilchrest would be enough to end his career in politics.

"And if I do agree?" Kyle asked.

"Financially speaking it'll look like you paid a 'Fext Detective Agency,' an online only P.I. for hire that you paid to investigate Ronald's activities. There'll be data showing that you instructed them to forward their findings to Hightower."

I was glad to see that Kyle wasn't a complete idiot. His spine stiffened and he squared his jaw so he had some measure of composure as he came to grips with what this meant. "And in doing this you get me in your pocket." he said.

"Told you he wasn't a complete idiot." I say offhandedly to Melody. Then to Kyle, "Right, we get you. Now don't worry, we're not the greedy, overbearing types. We're also not gonna share you 'round the shadows like the town whore, either. Just the four of us know, and that's the way it's gonna stay."

Kyle's gaze focused on me.

"I'm takin' the ork's place." Melody told him. "He… won't be taking advantage of this… arrangement."

"What do you… No, never mind." Kyle said, realizing that he really didn't need to know what happened to the ork.

I walked past Kyle, giving him a confidence pat on the side of his shoulder as I went by. "Hey, cheer up! You get to play a hero to the community for this." I tell him, standing next to Melody and turning back around to face him. "Could even step up into his spot on the city council for the remainder of his term. If you're lucky you might even get re-elected."

"Alright, fine." Kyle said, relenting and dropping his head in defeat.

"Good to hear." I said, "We'll be in touch."

"Door's unlocked." Deacon told us over our network.

"Wait, wait." Kyle said, his voice carrying some refreshed energy. "What about your money?"

"Don't worry, we're already paid." I tell him, giving him a wink as I follow Melody out the door. "And we'll contact you for the favors, sometime."