I wiLL come home 2

by overlyred

... . ...

2. Part 2

3.1 - "Medical E-Merge Agencies"

Friday, November 30th, 2057 (Shadowrun calendar).

"This is DJ Darco Smooth! Hello, greetings and welcome to one more audio episode! In recognition of the eternal power of reruns, reviews and mash-ups, I'll be doing a summary of what has occurred over the last month or so, mixed in with my up-to-date witty, intelligent and high-brow discourse. Those that obsessively monitor every single audio waveform of this radio show will be disappointed once again, as the last clues heard in the background revealed yet one more abandoned hotel room. ...Suckers. Better luck next time!"

"It looks like those Anti-Flatlining Devices are reaching the end of their life-cycle. Much like the deckers that have reached their own ends by the recently rolled out new black ice. What was speculated as random errors in the AFDs has now been proven to be the test versions of the new electronic lethality. What does this mean for the AFDs? It is possible that they were a one trick exploit that is now bypassed forever, or Mary Falls, Inc has a new trick or two up their sleeve. I'll make sure to keep an eye out."

"Now approaching the two month mark of an ongoing downtown disaster, a single-purpose business alliance of multiple construction and development companies in the Seattle Metroplex area have formed recently. They have labeled themselves the 'Arcology Renovation Alliance.' With the aid of the local and UCAS government, they are in talks to tender bids for the downtown Renraku Arcology. Shareholders are urging Renraku to sell, but the megacorp seems determined to hope for a last minute reversal of fortunes. The other megas don't seem terribly interested in the project, and perhaps are waiting to see how horrible the situation can actually go."

"I believe that the ARA's proposed approach to the problems there are the simplest: if something screws up, tear it out! They aim to gut the place and turn it into something cheap and profitable. I hope that they succeed. Anything is better than the Renraku disaster, right?"

"Now, for no other reason than to pad out my spoken word count and extend the length of this sentence, I'll introduce this next segment as live, unedited audio recordings from the terrorist attack on the DocWagon Annual Shareholders' Meeting early this month at the first-class Westin Hotel. It was the event whereby Chief Operations Officer Michael Davenport was brutally murdered on live trideo. Here's an audio excerpt."

"...With cultured tissue and cybernetic systems. We are excited that Dr. Dasari and Griffin Biotechnology have joined the DocWagon team to provide new treatments and products in the health care field. But all of these achievements come with a price - and not always money..."

"DocWagon supports the lives of stunties, trogs and keebs! We've wallowed in their drek for so long, let's see how YOU like it!"

"Isn't that lovely? I'm sorry if that gave any of the victims flashbacks to that horrible day. The gas attack caused massive amounts of projectile vomiting and explosive diarrhoea. The only injuries were to people's pride and their clothing, though some cases of dehydration were reported. The one exception to this was Michael Davenport, who was knocked out by one of the first gas cannisters, and, in an act of senseless violence, the COO was covered in a flammable propellant, doused in acid, and then set on fire. There wasn't anything left of him except some unidentifiable ashes, mixed with the charred remains of his cyberware. The threat of such a painful end allowed the terrorists to escape completely unhindered, though some bodyguards did get splashed with the flammable propellant."

"The act has had the side effect of boosting sales of air filtration systems, either in portable or internal forms. Keep in mind if any of your future shadowruns involve mass gas attacks, lung filters and other like devices might be more prevalent."

"One such provider of those air filtration systems may be the new corp on the Seattle Metroplex scene, Rose Croix. They are run by CEO Walter Broward, and he aims to be a new major competitor for premiere medical services, biomedical research, and all other related contracts. Dr. Broward has already been labeled as the latest 'Damien Knight,' and has just recently opened his third clinic in the Seattle Metroplex. Their current locations are the downtown core, Fort Lewis, and near the downtown of Everett."

"His corp is thankfully NOT another Crash Cart, as that failed Yamatetsu enterprise was led by a wasp shaman who forcefully implanted those spirits in ideal high profile targets. On top of that, their 'successful' extractions were assisted by the very go gangers that caused them in the first place. ...But everybody knew that, right? Right!"

"Now with the presence of DocWagon, Rose Croix, Paladin Medical Technologies, and Griffin Biotechnology, the market is booming for health-care in the Seattle area. Investors agree, and so do all the shadowrunners that they employ."

"Thats it for now, folks!"

"To reach me, divide your age by zero while speaking into live static, saying my name, DJ Darco Smooth, three times."

"Next time, I'll see how much of a disaster has befallen this wide world in my usual combination of truth, humour and pain. Remember, folks: if you're listening to me, you can pretend things matter."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

9:47 PM. Greenwood Memorial Park, Renton, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS. Kia's POV.

Someone has really gone overboard on setting the stage here, I thought. I was on point for this little tour into the cemetery. It had the perfect ambiance: dark night, dense fog, and a faint distant light. The loudest sounds were the crunches of dry leaves beneath my dress shoes, mixed among the refuse strewn between the fallen tombstones, crypts and statues.

That's enough of that, I continued, and ended my little experiment. Visual cycles on my cybereyes were cycled through to the best one for the moment - darkvision. The attribute was 'smart' enough that I didn't get blinded by the now nearer light.

It held steady as the three of us approached. The light illuminated a leaning granite sundial with a small vault behind it, as well as the slim form of our current fixer in what she believed was covering shadows.

Michelle Rampling greeted us when we came into the well-lit area. "Glad you could make it," she started. There was no recognition of the atmosphere or explanation. It wasn't expected, but a sentence or two would have been nice. I mentally shrugged at the idea, and she continued. "Now that everyone is here, let's get things going. The Halloweener's sometimes use this place for parties and there is no need for any unnecessary distractions."

The elf took in our small group. If there was any doubt of the viability of our success based on it, she didn't comment. Hardpoint's Shademech was providing an eye in the sky, while a number of his smaller Motemechs were likely everywhere around us right now.

"The job is clean and simple," Michelle said. "It's an extraction of some VIPs and some removals of samples from a DocWagon facility in Tacoma. As far as the extraction, there are two primary targets and two additional bonus targets. But keep your focus on the primaries - don't lose one of them for a secondary, 'cause you'll lose everything."

Michelle had a bland, suburban look going on. It was perfect for blending into the shadows, figuratively and literally, though I could not imagine her withstanding the high pressures of a firefight.

"This looks like a very risky job and there is little room for error - I can't tell you any more unless you agree to the job. There are plenty of opportunities for extras."

I looked at Kellan briefly. She hadn't given me a prompt to act as the face for this little interaction, so it was on her to do so.

[G1-Mutus: Another person inside the crypt right here. Likely a guard - possibly a cyber-samurai. No drawn weapons.]

Kellan and myself acknowledged Mutus' intelligence. Our mage leader then walked to a more comfortable distance to Michelle.

"We're good for it, Ms. Rampling," Kellan said. "What are the details?"

The casually dressed elf pulled out a datapad and gave an amazing impression of some corp tutor waiting for their student to pull out their homework.

Kellan gestured to me with a hand wave and said, "He has digital note-taking abilities. No traces, no records, no hands occupied with datapads."

I do? I thought to myself. It was followed with, of course I do - I just outsource it to Hardpoint and Ops N.

The fixer made an approving sound and started reading from her electronic device. "I only have identification numbers for the extractees," she began, with her long, well treated fingers lightly scrolling over the datapad. "The primaries are nine-nine dash three-one-two and nine-nine dash eight-zero-four. You are also to retrieve the contents of safety deposit box three-four dash nine-eight-seven. The secondary targets are nine-nine dash six-zero-three and nine-nine dash eight-one-five. The contents of safety deposit box eight-nine dash six-six-one may also be retrieved as a secondary target. Elimination of all other targets is optional." Michelle finished her inspection of the datapad and looked up at us again.

"We expect the VIPs to be uncooperative and unaware of the extraction, so you..." She was interrupted by our mysterious large guard walking into the light.

"Da t'ing you got to 'member is dat if you screw dis up, you gon' answer ta me!" The massive figure that walked out of the narrow doorway of the crypt could have been easily mistaken for an ork or small troll. He was a scarred black man with three-foot long dreadlocks and eyes done up a theme of 'scary black pits plus more black.' "Dese here bwana mans, they don' know nuttin' bout ta grab... You jus' gets them and gets them safe and secure, mon."

With an obvious accent that overpowering, he must have some serious talents to compensate. I pulled up the cyberware detection suite and mentally whistled at the way he lit up - the Caribbean Leaguer was pulling it close to becoming a cyber-zombie. A request to Ops N filled me in with more details, such as how he used to be a regular street samurai called Dredd, and how he now works strictly for one man - Walter Broward at Rose Croix.

Looks like our earlier extractee is gunning for some little shadow-based advancement, I thought. I passed on the info to the rest via messaging just in time to catch Michelle's intro of the large man.

"This is your Johnson, Mr. Bones," she said, after a throat clearing. "He is here to answer any questions you might have, up to a point."

"So ka," Kellan said in understanding. She turned to the morbidly themed man and said, "Where is the site, Mr. Bones?"

A large part of me cringed at him using that name. Either he hasn't run into Noble Bones yet or doesn't care. In any case, he would be getting an introduction to the fine use of naming conventions rather shortly. I just hope that it is after this run, as I don't want to talk to a Mr. Johnson in a full body cast.

They exchanged questions and answers, while I absent mindedly filled in the missing details, such as the names of the clones we were supposed to extract. A moment of inspiration hit me, and I sent out the query via universal group chat. [G-Kia: There is a massive opportunity here, but I don't know how big it is. We're hitting the DocWagon tissue vault which has samples and full clones of many prominent Seattle individuals - it is the one site that stores all their Platinum level contract holders. Is there something that can be done with samples in a magical ritual or something? It is worth pursuing?]

Kellan timed one of her acknowledgements to Mr. Bones with a sideways nod to me. [G-Kellan: Thanks, Kia. Winterhawk and myself will work on the details. Send tells to either of us if anyone has ideas, but in the mean time, just use your local group chats.]

I paced around as they finished up with some haggling. We don't ever need the nuyen anymore, but it would be rather suspicious if we didn't even try.

"All right, I don't have to tell you your jobs from here," Michelle said. "You can reach me by comm when you complete the run. Remember - seventy-two hours, no more. Good luck." With that cheery send-off, the fixer shut down the light.

The area was left in supposed darkness, though the three of us had our own ways of dealing with it. I headed back towards the street, with Kellan and Mutus trailing right after.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

10:32 PM. The Invisibles Waiting Room, Sanctum.

"Hello, Mr. Shepherd? It's Kia. Do you have moment?" I talked into the Umbrella-supplied computer pad that was currently acting as a vidphone. In a surprising move, he had answered the device directly, instead of having a secretary do so.

"Of course, Kia," he answered with a smile. Long gone was his old, stiff, plastic surgery based ghoul self. The light blue eyed, dark blond haired older gentleman frequently emoted just for the thrill of being able to do so again. "What can I do for you?"

"Two things, sir," I replied, and matched his smile. "One being whether there are any issues with the settlers from the CCZ, and the other is about a DocWagon site - the Kethers building. Do you know of any former old-style ghouls that were around that area? Maybe knew the sewers?"

"Let me get someone," he said, and his head ducked off-screen. Moments later he returned. "One should be along shortly." Adam coughed. "She has rather... Embraced... The appearance based augmentations. Please don't encourage her. You'll know what I mean when she appears."

Not quite sure what Adam Shepherd was referring to, I nodded in mute agreement.

"Things have been hectic lately," he mused, but was not sounding stressed about it. "Tamir Grey and the Ghoultown citizens have integrated rather well, and he has served as a calming influence, as well as that of the town security structure from there. The only thing is..."

"Yes?" I prompted him, as he had trailed off into silence.

"The krill and shrimp tanks have been less than ideally operated," he said. "While they can easily provide all of our needs if functioning perfectly, the... Improperly trained... Individuals that work on them have made such effective operations not possible." Adam shrugged. "Apart from that, there is the inherent chaos of having tons of new 'children' around, but... That is a very positive chaos." His smile was wide and genuine.

I quickly bounced a query and got a response from Ops N.

"I just confirmed something on my side," I said. "You'll be cleared for an increase in about thirty percent of the tanks, with another dozen prefab living spaces to host them and provide more room."

"Excellent." His reply was interrupted as he looked off to the side, and his beckoned hand invited someone over. "Remember what I said, Kia," he admonished me. "She goes by 'Noxx' right now - and don't ask her about her name, either."

As Adam left, a very intensely feminine young woman replaced his picture on the vidphone. She was apparently only wearing short-shorts and an open vest, which fluttered open to reveal the possible reason for her name sake. Only after two dozen times or so of getting flashed and watching her increasingly predatory grin develop did I realize what was going on.

"Noxx," I began, with a mildly forced smile, as I kept my focus on her eyes, "Mr. Shepherd told me that you have some info on the Kethers Building? The one that hosts DocWagon?"

"Sure!" She replied with another large bounce, at least this time free of excessive flashing. She bit her ruby-red coloured lips before speaking, and looked as if she was eyeing me from bottom to top like a piece of meat. Given her history and appearance, that could have many different meanings. "Would I get anything to trade for it?"

I adjusted my seating on the U-shaped couch, as well as my dress pants. They felt a little tight at the moment.

"Every time you look in a mirror, Noxx," I replied with a slight smile. "Unless you think that that is already balanced. I'll pass that message up in such a case."

Her dismissive groan turned into a moan as she closed her eyes. They opened briefly a few times to see if there was any effect on me. There wasn't any - at least, none that she could see. I adjusted my pants some more.

I massaged my forehead with my fingertips and sighed. "Fine," I said, in some sense of calculated defeat. "Since you are so obviously suffering, I'll pass along that some members of the new ghouls are looking to volunteer for some of the more exotic simsense and trideo recordings. I don't know when they will formally start, but... Your name and description will be on there. That is... Conditional on you being at least professional for some few minutes, right now."

With one more grin and a flash of her personal twin peaks, she buttoned up her green vest in record time. "There is an old pump room in one of the basements that someone named 'Tim' - or at least that was what his shirt read - who used to bring bodies and parts in exchange for assorted swag. We had dug into the building via the main drainage pipes. It is a narrow, hidden tunnel that you'd probably need an escort to find, and would prevent entry if you were wearing bulky armour or gear."

"Thanks, Noxx," I replied. "I'll pass that to the rest of the team. Have a good night and... I'm glad you're happy and enjoying yourself." I cut the connection before she could finish extending her welcome offer to me and her 'dozen lonely sisters.' Hardpoint's drones should be easily able to find the tunnel, even with this sparse set of information.

Once more, I adjusted my rather tight dress pants.

What's next, I thought. I cast out some wide-ranging queries to Ops N. Everything looked fine, except... It was being hit by a Yamatetsu special ops team right now. I stashed the computer pad inside my blazer and slid off the couch. A few long strides had me leave the waiting room and enter one of the main hallways.

[G1-Kia: Hardpoint? What's the story with the corp team hitting the DocWagon building?, I sent out as I jogged towards the UIG garage.

[G1-Hardpoint: Rakusho-dayo! I waited till they were inside the vaults to down them. I thought we could always use them at Noble Bones.]

[G1-Kia: Did you think to check this with Kellan? Why don't you do so and find out, chummer.]

Her comments saying that she hasn't heard of them answered that question quickly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

11:27 PM. Vault Sub-basement, Kethers Building, 1366 Crescent Blvd., Tacoma, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS.

We had ended up calling on Noxx and her 'sisters' much earlier than I would have planned. The dozen odd 'new ghouls' formed an assembly line down to the sewers, while we worked in the vaults. Each small vial of fluid was to placed into a self-sealing, self-chilled 'bubble wrap' style bag. There were tons of them. The last thing we'd do would be the full sized clones.

Once we were assured of the sheer durability of the wrapped vials, the three of us had formed an impromptu game out of it - trying to launch as many of the small packages near the elevators as possible before another of the ghouls came up to collect the batch of them.

"Hey, Kia," Mutus said as she bounced a bubble-wrapped vial off of the vault door. The sliding sounds indicated a perfect rebound into the pile by the elevator, and yet one more win by the resident assassin. "There is still that naked guy floating in one of the clone tanks. I think he is hoping we'll just pass him by."

I pulled out another vial and placed it within the semi-inflated form of the bubble-wrap bag and pulled a tab. It rapidly sealed and chilled in my hands, and I attempted to throw it the same way Mutus did. The attempt failed. Kellan's followed soon after, only marginally worse. This was practically assembly line factory work right here. I mentally debated the two options available to me: potentially crazy naked guy floating with a clone in a vat full of nutrient sludge versus at least a hour or two doing present wrapping. Once I remembered that I could use visual filters, the decision was made.

"Never fear ladies," I began as I headed out the first of six dedicated vaults, "I'll go see what the story behind the weirdo is." I missed out who snorted, but my head did catch one of the vial baggies. I redirected it towards the elevator after it bounced off the back of my head with a bit of quick footwork and juggling actions.

I wonder if that counts as my point, I mused to myself. I was just able to see the elevator opening with one of our ghoul associates when I passed into vault four. There, in the dim light, was the man of the hour himself. Some picture comparisons and queries to Ops N later, a name popped up.

"Hi there, Phil Collingsworth," I began, as excessively casual as possible. I wasn't worried about him seeing my face, as we were all decked out in 'sewer armour.' It was the same sort of environmental protection we wore during the biohazard threat at the Azzie facility over a month ago. "How is the hotel business going?"

"...How much do you want?" He asked, resigned to his fate.

The tank that held the clone was horizontally laid out, and could be said to look like a rather fancy bathtub from this position. Apart from the floating body and ooze-like nature of the transparent enclosure, it could be almost homey.

I tapped my helmet. Unless he was a total gonk, the implications were clear - audio and video were being recorded. "Well, Phil - can I call you Phil? I want to call you Phil. I'm going to call you Phil. The thing is... We're doing a rather sensitive operation outside there. Witnesses... Are a problem. Do you understand?"

He nodded stiffly. I really hope he doesn't take a piss in there. That would be nasty.

"So here's how it's going to go," I continued, and drew out my Ares Predator infinity from it's armoured holster. Through my smartlink, I made it generate a rather ominous clicking sound, and brought it beside my thigh, and began to tap the pistol against it. "I'm going to ask questions. You're going to provide answers - full, complete and honest answers. By the end of our little talk, we'll either be very good friends... Or not. Just in case you don't understand, I trust my friends to keep their mouths shut. I don't trust other people." I looked at him. "Which do you want to be, Phil?"

"Friends are great!" He squeaked out.

"Fantastic," I replied, and smiled within my helmet. "Now then... What's your story? Why exactly are you here, naked, inside a tank with a clone? Explain, Phil. Please."

Through the sounds of his stuttering and squeaked words, I managed to piece together a rather nice little con-game. There was a medical technician, by the name of Norman Trasker, who worked out of this very building. He had convinced a fair number of influential people and socialites that they can make themselves look younger by bathing in these special protein solutions. It was, of course, total and complete bulldrek. I told Phil this and he was less than pleased.

"What are you talking about?!" He gestured vividly, and sent a spray of the liquid past me. "I paid five thousand nuyen for this! This is my fourth treatment and... And... It is supposed to remove ten years worth of aging from my looks!"

"It's a secret deal, right?" I asked him, and pretended to nod in sympathy. "Very hush-hush, no names given, certified credsticks, no guarantees? Even though such a treatment in real life would bring in tens of millions or more to the corp that licenced it?"

"Something like that," he finally admitted, while he looked off to the side.

"The best thing about con-games," I began, "is when the targets want to be conned. They want to believe it so badly that they throw away common sense, logic, and nearly all forms of rationality in pursuit of getting what they think is a great deal. Does that sound like you, Phil? Does it?" I crouched beside the tank and stared at the head of his slightly wrinkled form. Some of those wrinkles were from age, while others were from the goop he was immersed in.

"Yeah..."

"Now isn't that just a steaming pile of drek, Phil," I said. "However - congratulations! I actually believe your story!"

His eyes lit up in hope. "Does that mean that...?"

"We get to keep on talking?" I said in reply. "Yes it does, Phil. Yes. It. Does. The big question here is about what you want right now. You go with your offer, and I'll do mine."

The lightly greyed tinge of his hair, glued to his scalp, did nothing to complement the confused stutters he made. I used the time to route some questions to Director Trebheart through Ops N and received some rapid replies.

"I'd really like to go home and forget that all of this happened," he said, once more with an air of hope around him.

I nodded in approval, and said, "Great idea there, Phil." He smiled in relief, and then I continued. "But... I'd like to add a bit to that. Since you've been such a great sport talking to me here, I'd like to arrange a meeting for you. Some time in the next week, a limo will drive by you and a guard will inquire about bathtubs. You'll get in - maybe with your own guard or two, since we're all so very friendly here - and have a mutually beneficial chat together. Now... Phil. Are our wants compatible? Or are you going to go home and start to... Stir up some drek? After all, its not like we don't know where you live or anything."

He swallowed and said, "I think that is very fair, yes. Limo, meeting, bathtubs. Got it."

"Great," I replied. I stood up beside the tank and visibly holstered my pistol in front of him. "Just keep calm till we've cleared out of here, and you can tell Norman that you don't think the treatments are working. Have a great night, Mr. Collingsworth."

I gave him a wave, which he hesitantly returned, and left the small vault room. There was a crowd outside who moved past me once I entered the main area - the bulk of the 'new ghouls' and Mutus. I checked to make sure that Phil was being treated alright - or, in the case of Noxx and other like-minded individuals, with a certain degree of professionalism - and walked over to Kellan. The bare concrete floor was clear of all traces of padded vials, and the vault rooms looked all but emptied.

"What's going on?" I asked quietly asked her, once I was within arms reach.

She lightly tapped my helmet with an armoured fist. "Nothing much, Kia. We just drafted the rest of the ghouls to finish with the vials and clone parts faster. Phil's room there is the last one to process - we should probably take him out of here, too." Kellan shrugged. "After that, we'll place some charges and enough false evidence so that no suspicions are raised for the mass absences here."

"So ka," I said absent-mindedly, as my helmet panned back and forth. I was watching the very new and very improved ghouls move clone parts and padded vials. They had somehow managed to obtain some sort of body armour that resembled spray on body-paint. It was very detailed body-paint, too. A part of me wondered if it was edible - and what it would taste like.

"Did they give you the offer too?" Kellan asked me. I sent a questioning sound her way and she continued. "With Noxx and a dozen of her 'sisters'?"

I laughed briefly and waved the idea away. "Sure," I began, "it might sound fun, but that's all it would be - amateur hour orgy time. Lots of sims do it better, if that is all you are looking for. What about you?" I stopped watching the minor parade to focus on Kellan's armoured figure.

"I passed on it as well," she said. "Though Mutus sent the idea to Ma'fan, and they are considering it."

"Oh, really?" My mind whited out into a haze of pleasant static as imagined that particular scenario. Kellan's finger flicked against my helmet brought me out of it. "Hmm?"

"I said," she began, "are you looking for anything in regards to relationships?"

I stared at paired elevators while I considered the question. Phil and what looked like the last of the supplies were being loaded up. The doors closed and the floor count dropped as I watched it. "The mildest sense of stability, I suppose," I replied. "With Umbrella's resources, it is very easy to have casual relationships practically everywhere, but... Just like fragging greasing someone, it's too easy. How are things with you and Winterhawk?"

"What?" She said, with a tone of confusion. "We... Aren't together."

"Ah, sorry to hear that," I said. "When did you break up? I thought the whole ancient past and magic angle would keep you two going a long while."

"Kia," Kellan said, and began to speak slowly as if to a child or idiot, "we were never together. We just worked on some late night projects - the haul from the lairs of the big D and Naheka are still less than half-way sorted."

I looked at her in shocked silence. I attempted to speak a few times, but kept on shooting myself down. "I... Didn't know that," I finally admitted. "It just seemed so obvious to me. Ma'fan was with Mutus. you were with Winterhawk, Cayman hit it off with Alpha Blue - even through she doesn't like his taste in music, and I... I was doing the single thing."

"That actually makes four of us, Kia," she said. "You, me, Winterhawk and Hardpoint. Though Shadowmech might count for the dwarf, as we don't really know what kind of attachments he has put on that thing..."

We both laughed, and then I looked around. His Motemechs were probably still monitoring the area.

[G1-Kia: I fully support all forms of mechanical-organic relationships. No judgement!, I sent out to the group. Though considering Mr. Umbrella and Ops N, being judgement free would be a very important viewpoint to have.

We've got a large shipment to drop off at UIB, a smaller one to Noble Bones, and the smallest to our Mr. Johnson. To top it off, Hardpoint gets to use some small-scale explosives. Not bad for less than a day's worth - biological samples for every single DocWagon Platinum contract holder in the Seattle Metroplex.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sanctum.

"Kellan? Winterhawk? Please tell me what can be done with ritual magic, when infinite time and power are available. I have a feeling that it will be a very productive lesson."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Saturday, November 31st, 2057. 10:14 AM. Matchstick's, Downtown Seattle, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS. Kia's POV.

I knocked on the door and a voice prompted me in response. "Yes?" the masculine voice asked.

"Steward," I replied. Rather than answer, the metal armoured door swung open.

A large man, dressed in a street casual look, beckoned me in with a knowing smile. A cycle through my viewing modes revealed he was a past street samurai. I led the way, with Kellan and Mutus following. We entered the low-key, private club as a loose group. It was a low to mid-range site, nowhere near the opulence of The Mattresses multi-million nuyen artwork. Synthwood and artificial leather took the place of the real thing, with air filters almost silently working in the background to remove the faint scents that permeates bars everywhere.

"Weapons are fine," he said. "Violence isn't. Welcome to Matchstick's - I won't be your host for the evening, unless you misbehave."

I thanked the doorman for the tip with an amused smile of my own, then headed towards the main bar. I signaled the bartender once he looked our way. Our apparel didn't stand out that much. I was wearing my usual custom-fitted black suit with a red tie for colour, while Kellan had on a urban camo themed set of clothes. Mutus took the suited look further than I did, with a head-to-toes solid black getup, finished with a complementary black leather jacket. The bartender must have approved, as he made the required interested grunts that could be interpreted as, 'what can I get you fine chummers today?'

"Steward," I said again.

The middle aged dispenser of cheap alcoholic drinks gave the three of us a more comprehensive examination. He eventually nodded in approval and waved us towards the back of the club, while he walked behind the counter. He opened the rear doors and waved us forward, and stayed only long enough for the last of us, Mutus, to enter. It was closed with a soft 'click,' and we headed down another flight of stairs. This one ended in a white door, which I pushed open only slightly cautiously.

A more sparse room than the bar above greeted us. Cement floors and walls, topped by a white-painted ceiling furnished with lights that only flickered if you stared at them long enough. I didn't give myself that much time.

"Come on in, chummers," the woman seated opposite a bare metal table said. She gestured to the folding chairs across from her, and we all sat down. A query towards Ops N revealed that she was Eve Donovan, one of the past best fixers in Seattle. A run in Aztlan a few years ago cost her her left arm and leg, as well as that envious position. Eve was tall and athletic, with midnight-black hair cropped short. She was wearing loose fitting white pants and a deep blue dress shirt, that perfectly matched the colour of her eyes. "Thanks for coming."

We exchanged various pleasant noises and introductions before she finally got down to business.

"The run is a datasteal," she began. "You are to locate and remove a valuable file currently in the data banks of one of Seattle's megacorps."

[G1-Kellan: Kia - check with Ops N. Are there ANY Seattle megacorps files that we don't have access to?, Kellan sent me. The blond mage didn't look my way, instead keeping her focus on the fixer of the day.

A check with Ops N confirmed what we all very likely suspected.

[G1-Kia: Nope. Everything is an open datapad, chummer., I sent back.

"...Has hired me to put together a team to infiltrate their rival's facilities and remove the file," Eve continued. "I won't be revealing the name of the corporation unless you accept the job, but the terms offered are fifty-thousand nuyen each now, and another thirty-five thousand on completion of the mission." The dark haired professional leaned back into her own cheap chair, a slight smile on her lips. Any fixer would be proud of getting such an amount for their runners. It was around the same level that Mary Falls offered for that run on Hawai'i, when we had to subdue the feathered dragon Naheka.

"On top of that," the fixer said, "my employer wants to maintain absolute secrecy, and will pay another fifteen thousand bonus, per person, if the file is extracted without attracting any notice." She looked between the three of us. "Sounds wizzer or what?"

[G1-Hardpoint: I don't get it. For datasteals, we basically just walk in - invisibly - and touch the target computers and everything is transferred over via Ops N. We just waste some time to pretend we make an effort?]

Hardpoint was on oversight. If I looked hard, or perhaps simply cycled my cybereyes to the right visual mode, I could likely spy one or more of his Motemechs in this very room. He was outside, doing a slow drive around downtown while we finished our business in here.

[G1-Mutus: You got it, chummer. Easiest jobs in the world. Just do NOT bring up the whole 'what do you need runners for, then?' to Mr. Umbrella. Otherwise he'll just stare at you, and say something like 'that is a very good question, isn't it. What do I need you for?']

[G1-Hardpoint: So ka.]

"We'll take it," Kellan said. "Everything sounds great, pay included." She smiled at the fixer. "What are the details?"

Eve launched right into it without any further preamble. "The target is the Cavilard Research Center run by Mitsuhama Computer Technologies. The Center is a pure research and development facility focusing on compu-optic systems and biotechnology research."

A good portion of my attention, as well as likely the others, were sent Hardpoint's way. He was the past wageslave of MCT, and still retained a good deal of loyalty for the mega.

[G1-Hardpoint: Domo arigato, chummers. I'm fine with a simple, precise datasteal. In fact... Why don't we pad a replacement file with the MCT CEO's ever-popular sex toy rampage video? I'll edit in a looping soundtrack. Give me a few minutes.]

There were a round of suppressed coughs, as Kellan and myself had to cover our laughter. Mutus might have smiled briefly, but other than that she was stone cold faced.

"...The east of downtown Seattle in a semi-wooded area that was formerly a large park, and is set into a hill," Eve said. She didn't draw any attention to our paired coughs other than give the both of us a glance. "The file that you are to steal is codenamed 'Silver Angel.' It is stored in an isolated, high-security computer subsystem of the Center. That particular subsystem is physically isolated from the main network."

The fixer then went into some technical details about the network, and how ideally two separate deckers could be used to bridge the connection and access the data. Neither her nor ourselves brought up the fact that we had no deckers on the team.

"I've already obtained a rough map of the site, if you want to review it," Eve said.

Kellan made a politely dismissive sound. "We've got some rather extensive contacts in construction and architecture," she said. "They are generally very accurate - though thank you for the offer. Anything else?"

"Just the timing," the fixer said. "My employer has made it an absolutely critical requirement that the run go down exactly three days from now, at exactly two AM. They are planning another operation against MCT, and don't want to jeopardize the success of either one."

[G1-Hardpoint: I was going to volunteer myself for it, but I'd rather be sleeping or star-gazing at that point. Does Ma'fan have any plans then? It could count towards her solo operations hours.]

[G1-Mutus: Not at that exact point, no. But I'd prefer to have her hit the place early. A 'perfectly traceless entry and exit' is her standard operational procedure. The only problem with that is leaving a modified file on their system for three days. The MCT wageslaves would likely discover it by then.]

[G1-Hardpoint: Hai. Ops N says... I can leave a Motemech there to finalize the file switch at the required time. Ma'fan is good to go on my end. How does this sound? Kellan?]

"Great," Kellan said, as a dual response to the rigger and fixer, "we'll get started with the planning right away. Nice to meet you, Eve." She extended her hand towards the fixer, who shook it with a smile.

As we were getting up from our chairs, Eve Donovan spoke again. "One other thing," she said. "I need to be present at all the meetings - I'm planning on handling all the details."

Oh, frag no, I thought. You have got to be fragging kidding me.

"What?" Kellan asked, the shocked disbelief bleeding through into the question.

"I might be out of practice as a fixer, but I do have an extensive history as a shadowrunner," Eve said. "I want to make sure that you don't miss anything." She sighed. "This run means a great deal to me, and I can't have anything screw up with it. If my being there helps even in the slightest way possible, I need to ensure it happens."

Kellan sat down again, and Mutus and myself followed her lead. Kellan made a small show of rubbing her forehead, grumbling, and otherwise considering Eve's 'request.'

[G1-Kellan: Kia - I need a massive infodump on Eve, NOW. Just feed it to me as compact and as in-depth as possible., she sent me while still in the middle of her act.

I immediately started the queries running and copied and pasted results directly into the group message system.

"Eve Donovan," Kellan began, "born in Switzerland, raised in Europe. Orphaned at ten years old when your parents were crushed by a mob, and grew up on the streets of Bern and Stuttgart. Pulled off a big Coruscutra extraction right out from under the noses of the Euro-Products Consortium during a resort weekend in Singapore. Formerly one of the best fixers in Seattle, but were all but killed three years ago during a run in Aztlan, near the Torreon fusion plant, while riding a helicopter that was struck by a heat-seeking missile." Our blond haired leader stared directly into the eyes of Eve as she spoke, the only thing between them the glasses that Kellan wore.

Eve went very still and very stiff as Kellan continued to talk.

"You had to pull a long-owed corporate debt out in order to survive that experience, and gained full cyber-replacements for your left arm and leg," Kellan said, and gestured towards the limbs in reference. They were fine jobs, barely detectable as artificial. "Even though you received full limb replacements, you refused any enhancements for them. You recently became the beneficiary of an honour-debt from Alan Corliss, the leader of the street gang, King's Crimson. The Mr. Johnson of this run is sourced from Ares Macrotechnology, and you want this to succeed so badly that you've scraped only a few nuyen off the final amount for yourself." Kellan frowned at that last admission.

[G1-Kellan: I'm going to drop 'our' pay way down. If anybody has an objection, state it right now - along with why you'd want to fragging object in the first place.]

No one sent anything.

"Let me tell you this, Eve," she placed both of her hands on the metal table, palms down. "I'd like to tell you that this run will be the stuff of legends, but it won't. It will be... Invisible, effortless and totally, utterly, perfect. It will also be completely absent your presence. On top of that, we're changing our price."

"I... I don't have..."

Kellan shook her head in denial. "Not like that, Eve." She smiled at the flustered fixer, who was now staring at the three of us in intense apprehension. "This isn't open to negotiation. Half the amount, and..." Our leader made some contemplative sounds. "On top of that, you're to invite us to one of the best restaurants in the city and treat us to a full course meal - right after we've finished the run for you." Her gaze narrowed into a glare, but the grin on her face changed the tone of the expression. "Well?"

"...You're insane," Eve said. "Yes. Of course, yes! Who are you? All of you?"

"Check your security cameras," Kellan said, as she got up from her chair again. "You'll be able to see who isn't there." She led the way to the door and the two of us followed. "Bye, Eve," she said, and sent a wave towards the fixer. "Sleep well and look forward to great results."

Mutus nodded towards Eve in final recognition, while I did a small, jaunty wave.

Another successful negotiation, I thought.

[G1-Hardpoint: How can people not connect us to the Invisibles in Seattle? We're practically advertising it every other run!]

[G1-Kellan: Mr. Umbrella told me it was "Some 'magic stuff,' along with some well worded regular wishes." He didn't offer anything else.]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sunday, December 1st, 2057. 1:44 AM. Bedroom, Kia's Suite.

"Blaahh?!"

That was the word I used to greet Taylor's face on the computer pad, after my panicked button presses activated it. The expression on my face was about the same as that very word. She looked stone cold furious, and I had a brief moment of terror imagining it was directed at me.

"Bug hunt," she said, and her words elicited a wholly different, but much smaller, degree of terror and relief. "Kit up with whatever you want. I'm pissed off. You'll be safe. We leave in twenty minutes."

"So ka," I blearily replied to blank screen. She had already disconnected. I spared a few seconds to look around the room and stretch. Somehow, I don't think my suit and tie were appropriate apparel.

I slid off my queen-sized bed and yawned. Slapped my cheeks a few times to help wake myself up, and ran my hands over my red-topped, short cut, spiked hair.

The all-terrain version of the sewer suit will do fine, I thought.

I walked over to the closet and began to pull out the pieces and put them on. First step was the main body-suit, which went over my underclothes. The material felt slightly wet, even though it wasn't. Some high-tech nano-weave or something, apparently. Then there was the snap on pieces for my feet and calves, hands and forearms, and head, neck and torso. All done.

With a last look at the display case holding over a century's worth of autographed baseballs - I'm as grateful to Ma'fan as she is sick of my requests - I left my room.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

2:21 AM. Ares Arms Research & Development Facility, UCAS (Assumed).

The sounds of Hardpoint's excited whooping from the sheer speed we used in the Shadowmech still echoed in my ears. We were able to handle the gravities - which the rigger dwarf assured us would have been enough to escape the planet - with the aid of a small, crunchy beetle. I pretended it was a candy.

Taylor was wearing a full-body armoured costume that evoked 'preying mantis' and 'warrior goddess.' It was a modified version of what she had worn we the Chicago Containment Zone was cleared out. Just like then, Mutus was also with us. So too were three mantid women. Invisible mantid women.

The only thing Taylor had said about this place was that it was an Ares Arms research and development facility. Other than that, I had no idea where we were. A heavy storm covered the entire area, and only by rotating through my vision modes was I able to see anything. I currently had darkvision, friend-or-foe and structural wireframe active. The only way I was able to see the three mantids was via either magic sight or that friend-or-foe option. As the magical option caused them to glow so much it would hurt without selective filters, I opted for the simpler choice.

The sounds and chills of the weather were completely unfelt, as the environmental containment features of my body armour fully insulated me. Mutus has the same sort of getup as myself, though hers was matte black. Mine was dark, non-reflective red.

Our fearful leader waved us forward into the the remains of what was likely an old office building. There were only four stories remaining. Rubble from the upper floors had collapsed in upon the center, and spread all around it. Many of the surrounding buildings shared the same fate. They looked to be left-over remains from the events of the two-thousands.

The ground entrances were all blocked with fallen rubble.

"Clear it," Taylor commanded. There was no doubt it was a 'suggestion' or something that she merely 'wanted' done. It was said in the tone of voice that if you were told to jump, you'd blow up the planet beneath you so that you stayed up.

In a matter of seconds, concrete pieces larger than my torso and filled with metal rebar strips were thrown off to the side. The doorway itself was broken apart, and the three women engaged in fine, rapid, precise detail to smooth out the opening. Taylor started walking when the mantids began the work, and the task was done by the time the three of us walked through it. The opening was then big enough that we didn't even need to go into single file.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

2:29 AM.

Taylor was again seated on a throne of sorts. It was assembled of concrete pieces and other large rubble, each one fitted and smoothed out by her trio. It was placed so that the worst of the weather was not directly on top of us.

Mutus and myself were standing right beside Taylor. She gave us status updates, in regards to the mantid women's actions, with brief, descriptive sentences.

...

"Sub-level one."

"Environmental units, fuel, generators, guard quarters and storage storage space. Guards bound."

...

"Emergency stairwell."

"Fire elemental... Obtained."

...

"Sub-level two."

"Employee quarters, offices and recreational facilities. Personal found and detained."

...

"Sub-level three."

"Security operations room. Four guards and a builder rigger, bound."

"Data center. Decker found - asleep - and bound."

"Fabrication facilities and science labs. Advanced insecticide toxin... Confirmed."

...

"Sub-level four."

"Decontamination room. Chemsuits, airlock and high power force ward... Destroyed."

"Two specimen storage rooms. Three true form ant spirits, six flesh form ant spirits. .Consumed and... Destroyed."

"Loose flesh form ant spirit found and... Processed."

"Kat's room found. Books and jewelery box secured."

"Kat?"

"...I'll tell you when the shadowrunners arrive, Kia."

"Troll mage downed. Vampire wanna-be."

"Main testing lab. Assault rifles equipped with insecticide rounds. Cell phone, body of Kat Austing and several guards found. Scattered pieces grouped and gathered."

...

"Hello," the throned Taylor said, as she casually waved to a small group walking towards us. "The remains of Kat Austing are over there, as well as some of her personal mementos." She waved towards a large wooden box that had a black plastic garbage bag in it. "I'm sorry that I don't have anything appropriate to place them in, but... I did the best I could with what was here." She shrugged.

"Thank you," the lead elf said. He was a tall figure, blond, with his face wrapped in wet, colourful scarves. He gestured towards the box, and a large male troll and a female dwarf headed towards it. The elf's focus returned to Taylor. "Could you tell me what happened here, aces?"

"Yes," Taylor replied. She almost let it drag out enough to be infuriating. "I was made aware of a breach in an insect spirit lab. It angered me. I came here and cleared out the building, and ensured that what you were looking for was found. Please give my apologies to Stella, and be aware that Ares will find this a costly mistake."

"Is that so?" the blond elf mused, almost as if he was asking himself the question.

Taylor didn't bother replying. By this point, the troll and dwarf had finished moving the boxes outside of the ruined parameter of the building. What looked like a human street samurai was awkwardly shuffling back and forth. He wasn't wearing a scarf, colourful or otherwise.

The group of four runners glanced at what was likely their boss as well as main speaker. The face quietly conferred with the others, then left with a polite wave to Taylor. It was returned with a the barest movement of one of her hands.

They faded into the storm and disappeared from sight.

You chummers won the game by the other team's forfeit, I thought.

"What now?" I asked Taylor. I shifted among the building puddles beside her makeshift throne. The mantids had did such an extensively good job with preparing the site that our own spots even had proper drainage. Mutus and myself wouldn't be standing in deep puddles, even if our armour made them irrelevant.

"We wait for the containment team to arrive, and greet them properly," she said. "It might be a while, so get comfortable."

I sighed, and sent the mental commands to lock and stabilize my armour. I'd be able to relax in it that way. Some more commands caused my personal digital library to pop up, and I scrolled through the selection.

Best plays of the twenty-forties? Or 'The Evolution of Baseball, Nineteen-Fifty to Twenty-Fifty?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

4:06 AM.

Taylor's hailing of the captain of the containment team almost caused over twenty sets of assault rifles to be fired in our direction.

"This is a restricted area!" a random operative said.

A large group of ten jogged our way in tandem. They were all wearing light security armour, helmets included, with no visible seams or openings. It was likely that they had self-contained environmental features. Nine sets of assault rifles were directed our way after the team had deployed around us in a semi-circle.

"State your identity and purpose for being here or we will open fire!"

The one who was not pointing a weapon at us had froze as they stared at Taylor. It likely either in recognition of her from past appearances, or some form of astral sight and the Queen of Queens here had flared some of her wiz power. Head movements and slight lowering of their weapons suggested an inter-group comm discussion. I didn't bother trying to get the details from Ops N.

Taylor kept silent while they figured things out for themselves. The ten eventually lowered their weapons completely and separated into two clusters of five people. One individual from the main group of landed Ares TR-55s walked towards us. His steady cadence suggested military training, and his slow pace was of one secure and confident in himself and his troops.

"Queen of Queens?" he asked the enthroned Taylor, after he stopped a short distance from us. At her nod he continued. "I wasn't aware that Ares had contracted your services. Could you explain why you are here, please?"

"Of course, Captain Brooks," she replied. It was a subtle barb to call out his name and rank, when neither of those facts had been transmitted to her. "I heard something that irritated me - an ant spirit murdering someone over an unsecured cell phone line - and came and cleansed the source of the irritation." Almost as if Taylor knew what the captain suspected, she made as if to reassure him. "I've secured all your living staff and guards in the next building over," she said, and waved off to her left.

Almost immediately, the captain pointed to one of the groups of five then in the same direction Taylor had indicated. If they were surprised with the new ground level entrance, nothing was expressed of it.

"Assuming that is the case, then, thank you," captain Brooks said. "And the facility itself?"

Taylor shook her head, and the mandible like attachments and faceted eyes shimmered with the movement. "It is a complete write-off," she said. "For some strange reason, the structural integrity of the entire four sub-basements had started to fall apart. Your aircraft likely provided the final touch - they can collapse any moment."

He stared stiffly at her, all visible traces of his past geniality gone. The captain's head turned to the side, and a mass of scurrying around occurred near the central landing pad. The multiple Ares TR-55s, vertical take-off and landing aircraft, lifted up and left through the hollow center of the ruined office building.

When the last of the vehicles went airborne, the cleared space started to sink in the center. It was as if it the landscape here was a thick, dark liquid and a drain had been pulled.

Only now did Taylor walk down from her throne. Mutus and myself followed, and the captain kept beside us. We left the building through the same passageway that was opened in the beginning, and turned around once we were at the sidewalk. The entire structure collapsed upon itself as we watched, with not a single wall remaining standing.

"Captain Kenneth Brooks of the Ares Arms Special Magic Corps," Taylor began, while still looking at the dust cloud settling under the rain storm, "the fee for my services tonight is two point five million nuyen. I expect it to be available in certified credstick form, tomorrow morning, at any official Ares building in the Seattle Metroplex." She began to walk away, then paused, as if remembering something. She tilted her head to the side and said, "If, by some rare chance, that amount is not available, I'll take it up in person with Damien Knight. Please let him know that all this could have been avoided if I was hired before-hand. Good-bye, captain."

She walked away and we followed.

A warm bed awaits.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sanctum.

"Hey, Mike."

"Hey yourself, Tay. What's up?"

"I'm going to clear out most of the insect spirits from continental North America over the next few days."

"All right, have fun. Let me know if you need anything at all, okay?"

"Thanks."

"You're very welcome, my Empress."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Append to Sanctum's Notepad:

- Start to think Christmas Gifts! Would Taylor like a castle? Castles are 'in,' right?

- The criminal underworld situation here is pretty stable. I don't get what Marquis is talking about. I guess I'll have to wait longer.

- Infinite compressed time and power supply could actually do interesting things with ritual samples and some enchanted items. Neato!

- Ritual magic to make 'Walter Broward' crap his pants... I know I shouldn't. But I at least wait till he is alone. He wears brown pants! Heh.

- I really need to set up a simsense studio (or a good facsimile), pronto. Noxx and some other 'new ghouls' are releasing decades of sexual frustration. Not terribly surprising.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Headlines of Special Significance:

- (Nov 7/'57) UCAS, Seattle: Human Supremacist Terrorists Commit Gross Acts and Murder of Michael Davenport, COO of DocWagon Seattle

- (Nov 8/'57) Shadowtalk: Davenport's ashes had to be vacuumed off the walls

- (Nov 22/'57) Shadowtalk: Is Walter Broward the latest 'Damien Knight'?

- (Nov 28/'57) UCAS, Seattle: Third Clinic of Rose Croix Opened Near Downtown Everett

- (Dec 1/'57) Shadowtalk: Mass of samples taken from DocWagon's Tacoma storage facility

- (Dec 2/'57) UCAS, Seattle: Cryogenic Storage Facility of Rose Croix Opened by Spokesperson, Trideo Action Hero Domingo Ramos

- (Dec 2/'57) Shadowtalk: High-level talks about the 'Queen of Queens' situation at Ares

- (Dec 3/'57) Shadowtalk: Perfectly timed double run on MCT in a Philippines Enclave and Seattle

- (Dec 3/'57) Shadowtalk: Executive outrage in Fuchi's boardrooms with the playing of the 'donkey dildo song'

- (Dec 11/'57) UCAS, International: Press Release: The Queen of Queens Cleared Majority of Insect Spirits in the North Americas; Thanks Organizations & Governments for 'Strong Support'

3.2 - "Raindrops Keep Falling"

9:34 AM. Tuesday, Dec 3rd, 2057 (Shadowrun calendar). The Greenery, Sanctum. Mike/Sanctum's POV.

I loomed over Ray and he didn't open his eyes. This would have been one of those times that having a shadow would have helped. I ended my mental 'lament of the shadowless' with a cough and his grey eyes fluttered open.

"No shadow?" he asked.

"Exactly," I replied.

"I guess I fell asleep," Raymond said. He put one mithril scaled arm over his eyes, and shut out the light. "It's weird to be able to dream again after going so long without it. A maze of trees, plants and vines." He stretched, then looked around. "Appropriate for this place, at least."

I made as if to sit down beside him, and branches, leaves and moss formed into a chair almost before I was at the ground level. I murmured a 'thank you' to a trailing vine, and it squeezed me in response.

Raymond remained lying down on the mossy ground. "Your small project done with Annah?"

"Yeah," I replied. "All the secrets of the factols are mine... As soon as Nessi and Ziz say I need them." I let out a small laugh at it. "Seriously, I'm glad that they can help manage all the various... Intelligence sources... I have. Otherwise I'd just drown in the details."

"Anything good?"

"Somewhat," I said. "The factol of the Dustmen - that very faction which was so opposed to the idea of your immortality - is lead by a lich who has kept control over that organization the entire run of its existence. Something like... Six to seven hundred years. He just changes up his face and appearance every few decades and gets 'promoted in' by the past leader or something."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Earlier. Sanctum.

I was standing on the ceiling when Annah found me. I exchanged stares with her.

"Wot yeh doin', then?" she finally asked me.

"Thinking," I replied.

"About somethin' worth liftin'?" the tiefling said, with her tail lashing back and forth, though only the barest smile stayed on her face.

"Actually," I started, and raised a hand up... Err, down towards her. "I think so. I was just about to get some lich's phylactery. The plan is to replace it with a dupe, too." I paced back and forth on the ceiling.

She walked up the wall to join me. "Och, yes. Just tell teh crazy tieflin' thief nothin'." Her eye-rolling was rather pronounced.

I made some contemplative sounds. Localized gravity certainly maximizes space, I thought.

Annah looked at me with her head tilted a bit to the side. Her tail flicked side to side impatiently.

"Some fortress in the Negative Energy Plane," I replied, and glanced at her. "Lots of undead, lethal traps and so on. It would need to be an invisible shadowrun. If you mess up, I could cover things with a false body, but..." I'm already adopting some languaging of that future Earth world of twenty-fifty-eight. 'Shadowruns.' Heh.

The red-headed tiefling made a dismissive sound.

"It would take me a few seconds," I smirked at her. "How long would it take you?"

Her eyes narrowed at me. "Get yeh clocks out, so I can steal 'em too."

...

"It's amazing how many liches don't trap their ceiling, isn't it?"

"Uh huh," Raymond said, his eyes glued to the portal screen.

We were in my private lounge, with the main single seat converted more into a long couch. I was eating popcorn. Taylor was eating my popcorn. Raymond was eating his lips. Not literally, thank the gods, that would be rather icky. Just some biting.

Annah is normally invisible when fully 'suited up.' It deference to all the many true sight using creatures and casters in this multiverse, one of the features of her major artifact apparel was an aura of anti-sensory perception. In effect, it was two overlapping layers of stealth: magical invisibility, silence, track elimination and more, combined with a widespread effect that countered other beings ability to bypass those very deceptions.

On screen, Annah's simulated form walked circles around a series of giant, armoured skeletons - likely robbed from some storm giant tomb or ten. I say simulated form in this case because there were no holes or exceptions to the anti-perception effects of her body suit. In order to approximate her positioning, Nessi remotely managed multiple portals at long distances that would not be under the aura's effect. Unlike the limp wristed major artifacts from this multiverse, mine generated effects that propagated through active portals and scrying systems. Can't have some archwizard spy on her and ruin everything, after all.

Another section had the ever-classy lava pit substituted with one of black, bubbling acid. The red-headed thief tested it with a stone scraped from the ceiling of the cavern.

Rather than dropping with a wet plop into the ooze, it was snapped out of the air by a toothy maw on the end of a long, scaly tentacle. A series of other tentacles slithered out, with an assortment of eyes, mouths, claws and acid seeping openings on them.

Annah walked across the stone roof rather quicker than necessary as those appendages flailed around.

We don't have have any tentacle monsters here, I mentally mused.

Taylor munched some more popcorn. I felt her jaw move against my shoulder through her long, slightly curled hair. She had to shift a bit in order to accommodate our height differences, but plentiful cushions ensured she stayed comfortable.

I fed Taylor a few pieces more of popcorn, and her wet lips brushed my fingertips. It resulted in a rather large surge of muffled excitement from mantid women in one of my living tissue sub-demiplanes, and an audible swallow from myself.

...Though the Domain itself may be the exception, I finished my earlier thought.

Annah's form sprinted across the underside of an exterior castle wall before ducking back through an open window.

"She's a good runner," Taylor commented. "She might be a natural parkour artist, too."

Still... I had vague worries about Annah. Considering my distaste for soul-trapping enchantments and how liches were all about soul manipulation, well...

"About three-hundredths of a second," I said.

"Hmm?" Raymond absent mindedly replied, his focus still on the screen.

The red-haired tiefling was now walking along a wall, completely avoiding a trap-saturated floor and an overlapping horde of spectral warriors.

So sad, I thought. All these traditionalists just use pressure plates on the ground, never the walls or ceiling.

"The time it would take to extract her to here and swallow the entire fortress," I quietly said.

This time, Raymond did look at me. "That fortress?" he asked me, and his head tilted towards the portal-screen. I nodded in agreement, and he finally changed his worried expression to a slight smile.

"Thanks, Rainbow," he said, and grabbed a handful of popcorn. Between small mouthfuls, he asked, "So why three-hundredths of a second? Are you getting slow or something?"

I sighed in exasperation, and he chuckled.

Epic wizards, I thought. Never enough power. Sheesh.

I snapped my fingers and refilled the popcorn.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

9:37 AM. The Greenery, Sanctum.

He squinted at me. "You have it with you now?"

"Have what?" I asked, as I gave him an innocent smile.

He opened his eyes wider and chuckled. "The lich's phylactery, of course."

"Well..." I stretched out the word. "Yes." A small, rune inscribed metal box, barely half the size of one of my hands, appeared. I tapped it to bring it to Ray's attention, then stored it back in my hammer-space when he had a good look. "Replaced with a magically identical copy, as you saw. It has all the base attributes, except the primary one. He'll never know unless his current form dies."

We kept silent and watched the trees around us. The plants could literally be heard growing - there were no animals, insects or anything else to disturb that silence. Mebbeth's little house in here was also sheathed in silence, all the better to ensure this widespread tranquility. I don't think her daughter was here today, either.

"What do you think of druids, Rainbow?"

"I don't know, Ray," I said. "I've never eaten one."

He choked out a brief laugh. "And I hope you don't, too! Though I mean more in general, like their... Order, structure, nature and so on."

"More realistically, then," I said, "I... Don't. As in, I don't think of them. I haven't really had an occasion or reason to do so. It's like... Nature, changing shape and magic? Okay. So what? That's it. Why do you ask?"

"I've been thinking about what you said a ways back," he replied. "About moving past the trio I have engraved in my soul: the book-born wizard, the melee fighting warrior and the sneak-thief. Those archetypes have formed separated mountain peaks of cumulative lives experience that I'm only just attempting to integrate and manage. Now, unless there was a way to blend the best aspects of wizards and sorcerers, I -"

"There might be, actually."

He blinked at me in surprised shock, and I held up a hand for a pause.

Nessi? You free? I thought into our shared head-space.

Of course, Mike-ster! She replied.

With a smile and a finger snap, she appeared. Bronzed form clad in a rainbow themed bodysuit, and fiberoptic hair glowing a faint blue. I held out a hand to invite her to sit beside me. She accepted it, and the living plants of my seating enlarged to fit her.

"I was thinking of just slapping in some racial abilities," I said to the pair of them. "Some beholder magic user has the combined traits of sorcerers and wizards or something?" I ended the question with a curious look at the gynoid.

"They are actiually called Beholder Mages," she answered, and leaned against my side. "Their powers must be to offset their lack of original naming conventions. On top of that lame title, you actually need the physiology and anatomy of one of them to follow that path."

"So it wouldn't be possible to... You know..." I made vague gestures towards Raymond.

She shook her head in refusal. "Not without altering his nature so much that all other progressions would be halted." Nessi looked at Ray. "I don't think you want that, right?"

He made some sounds of agreement, while Nessi cuddled in closer beside me.

"What are the defining steps of a wizard vs a sorcerer, anyways?" I asked him. "Maybe some shortcuts can be put in place instead." I curled my arms around Nessi and closed my eyes.

"Spell books and preparation are the major aspects," Raymond said. "A sorcerer needs no spell book and can cast any magics they know without prior preparation, but are limited by the method of innate spell learning and mastery used. They usually have a smaller pool of spells as a result. Wizards, on the other hand, need to devote time to memorizing spells from their spell book and rest, sleep or meditate with them in mind. Only after that period of contemplation are they able to cast spells, and only those spells that were prepared via this method."

"Right," I slowly replied. "I think I get it... So you major bottleneck is essentially only the preparation process - the dependence on a spell book followed by a time of rest?"

"Yeah."

"Let me check some things with you," I said. "Are there any magics that allow a rapid, instant full-night sleep? To replace a memorized spell with another in your spell book? To contingently cause other spells to trigger?"

He made affirmative replies to each of my asked questions.

"Well, Ray," I drawled out, "if you don't mind me further enhancing your spell book, I just thought of a means to get you all the spellcasting perks of a beholder mage - plus more. You interested?"

Raymond arched an eyebrow my way, but it did not stop his arm. Once his hand was in reach of my own, his spell book appeared on it.

I took the green leather bound tome and flipped through the metal foil pages. There were, at least at the minimum, some few hundreds, all filled. I put it between my hands and ramped up Time Acceleration.

...

Some unknowingly long time later, I returned to the normal flow of time and handed it back to him. Yet one more work of 'just a few seconds,' indeed.

"So, I've added to your basic unlimited pages and instant scribe features," I began, as he flipped through the pages. "There are really only two major enhancements. The first is that any memorized spell or spells can be switched out for another from your spell book, instantly, by sub-vocalizing its name. Depending on the level of the spell you want switched in, one or more of your currently memorized spells will be switched out."

He flicked it into his hammer-space, all the while making approving sounds. I noticed the barest movements of his lips as he tested it out, and a wide smile crept over his face.

"The second is a like a 'quick-rest' feature," I said. "In about the time it would take to blink, you get the magical equivalent of a full night's rest - but only in regards to restoring spent spells."

"Great, Rainbow, thanks," he said. "One of those every day will come in very handy."

One? I went very still and quiet.

Raymond looked at me.

"It's not just one, is it?"

I shook my head.

"Is there any limit at all about the times I could use this?"

"No...?" I said, questioningly. Should there have been...?

"Rainbow," he began, and resummoned the green book from his hammer-space. It laid upon his flattened out palms. "This would allow me to cast spells, non-stop... Forever. Yes?"

"Pretty much, yeah," I said, and shifted side to side awkwardly on my plant-based seat. "You... Don't like it?"

"It's not so much that, but..." He carefully placed the book on his scale mithril armoured chest and massaged his scalp through his short, black hair. "How to put this properly... With this one epic, major artifact, I could found empires. Win against armies. Cause planar wars simply by revealing it's existence. Merely possessing it should automatically confer godhood, is what I'm saying."

"Oh," I said quietly. "But... You're not living to found empires or win wars, but to do good. You already cast all your spells quickened, stilled, silent and absent any materials, so... Here is the next step...?"

He sighed and slowly said, "What do you think would happen if I tried to walk into Sigil with this, Rainbow?"

"...Ah. Right."

"Exactly," Raymond said. "It needs some limits, along with some... Counterbalances. That is probably why so many artifacts have their curses and odd quirks."

"Fair enough," I replied. "Pass it over and I'll modify things to be more -" I shuddered dramatically "- sensible for you."

The green book was carefully passed my way with a half-silenced laugh of amusement. I half-focused on it and said, "Earlier, you mentioned about go past your classical trio of specialities. What else was there?"

"I tossed out a lot of choices," he said. "I know that I've been really independent so far. What would change things would be either a dependence on a power - or Power - outside me, which is its own set of complications, or something more interpersonal, like bards." Ray grimaced. "I've never gotten good at an instrument. Ever." More grumbling followed, then he looked at me and said, "What's your take on developments for me, Rainbow?"

"Hmm," I replied as mysteriously as possible. "Lets keep things simple, then. Do you like nature and punching things?"

Raymond stared at me. He blinked a few times, his dark green-grey eyes highlighted by the actions. "Sure," he eventually said. "I'll take any enjoyable distraction from unspeakable horrors and the massive problems my life has seemed to be plagued with."

"Okay, then!" I said. "I've got the perfect pick for you: a druid with a focus on unarmed combat! Maybe even call it a... Monk-druid!"

"What."

"Yeah, it's great," I said, and began to mumble out some half-formed ideas to my self. "Shape-changing, and..."

"Unarmed combat specialist with a nature theme? Hardly original."

"Pffft, says you, mister-thousands-of-years-and-basic-training-specialist!"

"Yes, and those thousands of years of memories say that becoming a druid is a little bit harder than just wanting to become one, Rainbow."

I sighed, and adjusted my grip on Nessi. The filtered light of my Domain's one single artificial sun shined through the green canopy above.

"Ziz says its possible, head-mate," Nessi whispered. "Just start with the seed of the idea. As long as it is low-powered, he should be able to grow into it naturally."

"Yay!" I whispered back to her in quiet excitement. Louder, I said, "We are GO for monk-druids! Let's start with the initiation rites!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

10:14 AM. The Greenery, Sanctum.

Rite One: The Body of Nature.

He was staring at the small mountain of fruits. All manner of berries, melons, citrus fruits and more hung off a large collection of vines and branches. They were bunched together into a cluster about the size of a large four-door, street-legal truck.

"I don't think I'm that hungry, Rainbow," Raymond said while staring at the weighty amount of food stuffs.

I tapped him on the shoulder with a closed fist and comfortably said, "Don't worry, Ray - you will be." I offered him a tiny, rainbow coloured fruit, about the size of a cherry, on my outstretched palm.

He took it and popped it into his mouth. A weird expression came over his face. "That tasted weird. I feel kind of strange, too." Ray looked at me, and timidly said, "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Probably," I said with mocking cheer. "But then again, we agreed that eating one single fruit and saying 'I am now a monk-druid!' was too simple. Just remember to quickly stash your armour and keep in mind that the Lady of the Greenery can make toilets anywhere. Good luck!"

He bent over half-way and lightly groaned. A vine with an overly large strawberry was there, and he started eating. Moments afterwards, a natural wall grew between us, of branches, vines and leaves. The groaning on the other side turned more dramatic.

I cleared my throat dramatically. "The first initiate of the monk-druids is now undergoing the first rite, that of the Body of Nature."

...

"In the ancient past, people knew not what fruits and plants were good to eat. Still, they preserved onwards, eating more and more. In time, they gained intelligence into the ways of the plants, and grew resistances and immunities to their effects. In truth, their body grew closer to nature."

"I... Hate... You... Ahhhhhhhhh..."

"This rite accelerates the passage of time and the effects on the eaters. Those that succeed, gain their first steps towards complete immunities to toxins and poisons of all kinds, as well as an intuitive understanding of the edible qualities of natures' bounties. Those that fail... Take longer."

"I... Want... The... Easy... Way... Blarrgggg..."

"The initiates should know that objecting to the process makes it... Take longer."

"Oh no... Blahhharggg..."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

7:36 PM. The Greenery, Sanctum.

Rite Two: The Climb of Nature.

The flushed and throughly cleansed Raymond looked at the base of the tree. No, it would more appropriately be called THE Tree, as it was the very bottom of Bohu herself - The Lady of the Greenery. It was so massive that we couldn't see the edges - it was at least the size of a small town around at the base. Looking up didn't help things either, as the long distance played tricks with perspective.

She has to be a few kilometers high by now, I thought.

"This one is also simple, but repetitive," I said, as I patted the bright green surface. "You are to climb the whole of this tree to the very head of Bohu, and look into... One... Of her eyes. Which eye doesn't matter. Really. I'm not kidding. To do so, you must either punch, with your bare hands, or kick, with your bare feet, into the surface of the tree. It will start easy, but as you ascend, the soft spots will decrease and become more hard to discern. Ready?"

"No."

"Great!" I exclaimed, then clapped my hands together. Another plant-based wall grew in front of me. "You better get moving, otherwise the tentacle vines will get you!"

"Oh, fuck no...!"

"The first initiate of the monk-druids is now undergoing the second rite, that of the Climb of Nature."

...

"Even before there were people, creatures of all kinds climbed trees to get to the higher rewards. It could have been fruits, nuts, leaves, or simply a higher vantage point. As they climbed, they gained insight and knowledge into how to climb, and an eye for discerning even the most subtle changes of leaf, branch, bark and wood."

"I'm climbing, I'm climbing!"

"Other creatures have hindered their attempts, such as snake-like vines..."

"GET AWAYYYYY!"

"...As well as more friendly - but distracting - fellow mammals who thought such deep thoughts as 'how would it feel if I used this nice, rounded, smoothed stick with a knob on the end to -"

"NO THANK YOU! Climbing climbing climbing..."

"...Them with.' This rite shows how nature grows massive over time, and how it can be found most anywhere. It transforms those once bound to the ground to be more connected to those very climbed trees, as well as hardens their bodies and the blows they can inflict with it."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

4:32 AM. Friday, December 6th. The Greenery, Sanctum.

Rite Three: The Fury of Nature.

Raymond held on to the lower edge of Bohu's right eye. The house-sized circular space was dark at the moment, as her eyes were closed. I was standing on a vine-supported platform a fair distance away.

"Great job!" I shouted over to him. "Good work! You can do it! Keep on going!"

He moaned or muttered something, but I wasn't able to properly hear him.

"Now, the next step is to politely knock on her eyelid, and say 'hello Bohu! I'm ready for the next rite!'" I shouted. "Remember to close your eyes, as hers are rather bright." I Conjured up a pair of heavy sunglasses for myself at the mention.

Mere seconds later, the massive eyelids drew open, and an almost solid shaft of blinding light extended from both eyes. Raymond was caught in the middle, and I could only hope he said the right words.

"The first initiate of the monk-druids is now undergoing the third rite, that of the Fury of Nature!" I shouted.

...

"The earliest shelters proved useless against the fury of the storm. It was only when caves and constructed homes were built that that intensity was somewhat dimmed. Before then - and even in those spans of uncountable years - people supplicated, prayed to, beseeched and offered sacrifices to nature."

"...AHHHHHHHHH..."

"Sometimes, it seemed as if their efforts worked. Often, it did not. Nature responded with rain, wind and lightning and laughed in the face of those peoples attempts to placate her."

"...AHHHHHHHHHHHH..."

"When nature was done with those poor peoples, they were damaged, bruised, frozen, shocked and more. At the end - in the absence of nature's mercy - they were simply thrown away. Thrown far, far, far away..."

"OHHH SHIIITTTTTtttttttt...!"

...

Rite Four: The Passage of Nature.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" screamed Raymond as he flew through the air.

I kept pace with him via a portal. Rather unsporting, but I didn't know quite how to talk to him. Maybe I should introduce this rite before the fury of nature? Hmm...

"This-is-the-fourth-rite!" I shouted rapidly through the open portal. "It-is-the-Passage-of-Nature!"

...

"Sometimes-nature-just-throws-you-away!"

"AHHHHHHH!"

"I'm-sorry-I-did-not-quite-plan-for-this-one! I'm-just-winging-it! Get-it? 'Winging-it'? Ha-ha! Funny, right?"

"NOOOOO!"

"Well-you're-no-fun!"

"TOUGHHH LUCKKKK!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

9:22 PM. Saturday, December 7th. The Greenery, Sanctum.

Rite Five: The Rebirth of Nature.

I stared at the ground where Raymond should have landed. Soil, moss, and other decomposed plant matter lay over the area. As I watched, a small seedling pushed out of the ground. It rapidly grew into a sapling and kept on going. I backed up as it grew larger and larger.

By the time it was a respectable height - about that of a three story house and as wide around as a small car - the growth stopped. The dark brown bark at ground level peeled itself back, and the inner wood split open to reveal a perfectly healthy Raymond, dressed in his armour and covered with a thin layer of sap. His eyes were closed, and he looked comfortably asleep.

"The tail again, Annah? Okay..." He murmured softly. I'm sure I had no idea whatsoever what he was referring to.

"The first initiate -"

"I'M ALIVE!" he shouted, and sprang out of the alcove in the tree. Still completely blinded, he managed to rain down a series of spinning kicks and and a hail of punches to where I had started the sentence.

I was, of course, elsewhere by the time he moved.

"- of the monk-druids has now completed the fifth rite, that of the Rebirth of Nature," I shouted, while constantly keeping ahead of Raymond.

He paused at my words and attempted to clean off his face. A finger in each of his ears removed whatever trace sap was there. "Pardon?" he finally said.

"The fifth rite is finished," I said. The volume was lowered as he seemed to be calmed down.

"...Is it done now?" He squinted at me with the words. His hands ran over his scalp, trying to pick out the dried pieces.

"Do you want me to...?" I made as if to pick at my own hair and gestured at him.

"Sure, Rainbow."

With a finger snap, he was cleaned of all sap traces. "Those were the main rites," I said. "You've just got the ongoing ones left: the rite of Interior Design, the rite of Managing Lesser Monk-Druids, and the rite of Tithing Bohu with Awesome Plant Stuff." I pursed my lips. "Hmm... You should also work on redesigning the rites, and their names."

"YES!" he said. "I'll make them harder!"

"Keep in mind that you are now the founder of a new monk-druid order," I said. "Enjoy it and recruit some worthy individuals." I walked over the mossy ground to him and offered my hand, which he shook firmly.

"Ray," I began, after I retrieved my hand, "I know those rites may have been a bit... Excessive... But the whole point of them was the absolute reversal of the 'easy way.' To make you... Ah... Proud? Sort of? ...Of this journey and your new status as a monk-druid. A glorious member of the Tornado Twisters."

"No."

"The Hard Green Fisters?"

"NO."

"The Leaves of Me Alone?"

"No."

"The Babbling Brook Breakers?"

"Seriously. No."

"The Sacred Order of the Stiff Morning Wood?"

"...Right. That's actually pretty funny. But no."

"The Disciples of the Green Sanctuary?"

"Ah... Sure."

"Yes! So what's next for you, Ray?"

"Annah is. Bye."

"...Damn, that's a fast teleport."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

8:47 PM. Sunday, December 8th. Reno's, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS. Kia's POV.

"Good evening, my name is uh... Johnson," said the corp. She was easy to look at, with lots of flashy jewelery and a military-cut corp suit. Long haired blond and a life of well-managed fitness. "I am looking for some professionals to assist my employers in retrieving some stolen property. The job must be carried out by a low-profile group that can recover the goods with a minimum of attention."

We were in a corner booth, at one of the quieter spots. The dance floor was already a madhouse, with dancers bumping and twirling to the steady beat of nearly twenty MaxMaster speakers. The music was felt more than heard - the deep throbbing bass and the piercing ring of a synth-guitar.

I glanced at Kellan briefly. So far I've haven't gotten a prompt from her for info on the Johnson. I resisted the urge to check in with Ops N anyways.

"This opportunity could prove extremely fruitful, both in terms of nuyen and status," the Johnson said. "Unfortunately, time is of the essence and I cannot give you time to deliberate. My question is a simple one: are you the people I have been looking for?"

"Of course, Johnson," Kellan replied with a slight smile.

She must be getting a lot more confident, or believing in that we can handle whatever comes up. Either that, or Hardpoint was on the case. I'm betting Hardpoint.

'Excellent," the Johnson said with a smile of her own. Likely practiced for years in the corp world, it had a particular sheen to it. I remember wielding it as well, in the Eastern Tiger Corporation. "As I am sure you realize, this is not exactly the place for a business meeting. We will meet at The Banshee at exactly one AM. Do not be late."

I stifled my sigh and looked at Mutus. The familiar elven pointed ears were lightly covered by the blue hair of her bangs. She arched an eyebrow at me in a silent question, and I shook my head minutely before turning back to the Johnson.

"When you get there, ask for Urian," she said. "You will be directed to the meeting from there. Are there any questions about the meeting place? If not, I suggest we all leave. Do not attempt to follow me; it would strain our budding relationship."

Now this skirt is becoming just the slightest bit pretentious.

[G1-Kellan: Hardpoint? Please up the Motemechs you have on our Johnson here to five from the original three., Kellan sent out. A small twist of her lips signalled that she was likely in agreement with my assessment of the Johnson.

[G1-Hardpoint: Is ten alright? I already upped it to ten beforehand. My control is approaching the mid-forties and I want to stretch it.]

[G1-Kellan: Sure thing, thanks chummer. Can you redirect a video feed to our computer pads?, she sent. Kellan already had hers out on the plastic table-cloth covered table. It was angled so that nobody from the interior of Reno's could get a direct line of sight of it.

I copied her actions and multiple split screens soon popped up on it. Mutus didn't bother checking her own, and instead kept a subtle eye out on the crowd and surroundings.

One of the screens had a perspective view of our Johnson. I finally gave in to my earlier temptation and asked Ops N about her - Roxanne Winter, of Global Technologies from here in Seattle. I typed in the info on the screen and a caption over her head appeared with it. Her bodyguard was a street samurai, the same one that was keeping an eye on her from the bar in here. They were tailed by a small man in dingy synth-leather.

Multiple perspectives tracked the trio as they walked away. After about three blocks distance, Roxanne and her bodyguard boarded a private helicopter. The logo on the side was that of Global Technologies. A query to Ops N revealed that the corp was a small software shop located in Bellevue.

The tail stopped about half a block away from the chopper, and spoke into a wrist phone while watching the aircraft leave from behind some trash cans. He headed east after a short verbal exchange, sticking to the shadows, after the vehicle was out of sight.

[G1-Kellan: Down him and pick him up as soon as he is out of sight, Hardpoint., Kellan sent. Our mage leader tucked her computer pad into her jacket. She motioned to Mutus and myself, and we followed her out of the booth. [I'll ask Ma'fan to hit Global Technologies as soon as possible. I want it done before our 2 AM meeting. Not a problem, Mutus?]

The elven assassin gave Kellan a positive reply. We headed through the crowds and out of Reno's.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

9:23 PM. Shadowmech Van, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS.

Kellan wiped her hands off on her camo-styled pants once she was done with the tail. He had extensively pox-marked skin and twisted features, combined with long, black hair that was tied back with a combination of grease and a black rubber band. His clothes were exclusively dirty black synth-leather - jacket, pants and shoes.

"Ferret," Kellan said, as she nudged the man away from her with one of her combat boots. "Just a small fish. He was hired cheap - one hundred nuyen - to trail our Johnson. He didn't even know her name, just what she looked like. Could you check the number he was given, Kia?" Kellan rattled off seven digits, and settled back against her seat.

The van was otherwise quiet. Hardpoint was in his chromed out custom pilot seat, and Mutus was relaxed with her eyes closed. I'd guess she'd be resting, except for the odd flash of a grin on her mouth. A better guess would be chatting with Ma'fan.

A polite query to Ops N quickly gave me the answer. "It is the private phone of 'Junior,' full name Thomas Martelli," I began. "He is an ork that headed Martelli Entertainment, which was recently put under the Global Technologies umbrella."

"Thanks," she replied with a sigh. "Another fine pile of drek we've got here, chummers." Kellan again poked the shabby man with a boot tip. He lolled around, unconscious and relaxed. "Ferret here is such small time, but he could interfere with our plans. On top of that, I don't know if he would last one day in Noble Bones."

Mutus and myself gave a in-depth look at the guttertrash. I agreed with Kellan's estimation.

"Just keep him knocked out for the duration," Hardpoint volunteered. He didn't need to look back, as the Shadowmech was equipped with a mass of internal sensors, scanners and other recording devices. "Make sure he doesn't geek himself due to starving or whatever. That's all."

Lacking any objections from the rest of the group, Kellan agreed. I dragged Ferret to a back corner of the van right after, and resumed my seat in time for the next set of plans.

"Hardpoint?" Kellan hailed the rigger.

"Hai?"

"Please lock in Junior's phone number and head that way," she said. "We've got another customer to interview."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

10:47 PM. Shadowmech Van, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS.

Our pile of sleeping bodies had grown by three. All suited orcs, it composed of two bodyguards and one extensively ugly trog - Junior himself.

"For once," Kellan said, "I'd like to deal with professionals. This guy reads like a combination of angry, greedy and psychotic, all wrapped up in self-entitlement and violence." Her legs were crossed on top of Junior, with her boots moving up and down as he breathed. She was holding his pocket secretary. "This, right here," she tapped the device with an unpainted fingernail, "is a perfect jackpot. It contains extensive information about Junior's conversations with Booker Pengrave, an executive with a Hollywood Simsense Entertainment and competitor of Martelli Entertainment; his insider recruitment of Tee Hee, who is the absolute wizzer decker of Global Tech; some totally unnecessary passwords; and details for a speech this coming Friday. It would be said at the board of directors meeting, and is intended to royally frag over Urian Manes - the CEO of Global and a good past friend of Thomas Martelli Senior." She slipped the pocket secretary back into a jacket pocket.

I looked at the sleeping form of the orc trio. Fitted suits can't cure stupid, I guess. Not that not having the evidence on his pocket secretary would have helped - we had two extra layers of intelligence gathering: Kellan's mind probing and the Shadowmech's scanner.

"Anything else, Kellan?" Mutus asked.

"It depends on how much of a success we want this run to be for Global Technologies, or..." She paused at gave the pair of us a wide grin. "Umbrella Import Group. I'll contact the Director and fill her in on the details." Kellan tapped the tips of her boots together, where they still rested on Junior. "In regards to this ork, yes, in fact. The entire details of a shadowrun that he ordered done, along with the names of the runners. The purpose of the hit against Global Technologies was to retrieve three highly experimental personasoft chips that go well beyond what the Yaks use in their bunraku parlors - the brothels where the joygirls and boys have their minds completely replaced by what chip is used or permanently installed in them, as well as extracting Tee Hee. Junior also has references to two of the runners using those experimental chips, with the exact wording of one being 'messed up with Jack the Ripper.'"

"This has to be a new record for intelligence obtained before we've even gotten hired," I mused out loud.

"Hai," Hardpoint contributed from the front, with a wave for getting our attention. "and it's not done yet, chummers - Ma'fan should hit Global in around half a hour or so, which should help fill in some blanks. I've already got about a dozen Motemechs around there and can stream video if needed."

Mutus perked up at that notice, then settled down again into her seat once she realized that it was a ways off.

"How do you think they'd fit in with Noble Bones, Kellan?" I asked.

"These three?" She indicated the pile under her boots, and I nodded. "It's iffy. Junior has rage and greed to deal with, but he has an excellent head for hiring personnel to support him. However, that very personnel is the types like the two bodyguard goons here." She stared at the three of them in silence. "On top of that, he is rather high-profile. I'd prefer to just drop him off at Lone Star with a stack of evidence - evidence of his other crimes, mind you. Maybe even wipe the details of the past recent shadowrun from his mind. At least that way the greasy Ferret will stay alive, as Junior intended to geek him as soon as possible."

Sounds fair, I thought. Sorry Junior, No home run for you.

Now then, let's see what searching for 'Jack the Ripper' turns up... A set of queries to Ops N had my eyes going wide in surprise. "In the Redmond area, there has been a serial murderer targeting joygirls and boys," I said. "It has been going on for the last four nights, with a total of nine murders. Throat slashes are followed by bodily dissection."

There was silence at my outburst. I coughed quietly. "...Just like Jack the ripper," I hinted, and sounds of understanding followed.

"It looks like we found where at least one chip user is working at," Kellan said. "How big an area in Redmond, Kia? The whole thing, or...?"

"No," I replied. "They have all been within a fifteen block area."

"Hardpoint...?" Kellan asked.

"On it," the dwarf said. "I've put Shademech and a mass of Motes in the area. They'll be keeping an eye out for any likely interactions. We're likely to get lots of false positives, though."

I shuffled over to beside the dwarf, being careful not to step in his many bags of assorted electronics.

"Hey Kia," he said, and ran his fingers through his short brown beard. "What do you have for me?"

"Depends, chummer - your map or mine?"

He laughed, and the interior windshield become a display of the Redmond area. I traced a loose circle with a finger tip, and a trail of colour followed it.

Some more cautious shuffling led to my seat again. Lacking any further comments from Kellan, I pulled out my own computer pad and went to the sports section.

Wiz, I thought. The FDC Senators versus the Detroit Tigers.

My careful studying of the recorded highlights were interrupted by Kellan. "I think we've prepared as much as possible. Let's go drop these four off at one of the Three Hundred's safe-houses and relax for a few hours - unless anyone has a better idea...?"

"Stuffer Shack?" I asked her. It's been a while, and the sludge there would be an interesting change up to the more diverse and high-quality selection offered by UIG.

"...Why not."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

11:04 PM. Stuffer Shack, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS.

The sound of a chime followed our entrance into the Stuffer Shack. I glossed over the dusty hardcopy display of books and magazines, as well as the pale-skinned clerk. She looked to be in her early twenties, with a sort of vapid prettiness that didn't quite work with with the giant orange spike of hair she had.

Mutus peeled off to the right, while Kellan kept on going further in.

The second isle had some guy in baggy fatigues, with a large shoulder-bag and an armoured coat. He was loudly talking to a motor isle display. I stopped at the fourth isle - baked goodies. Cakes, donuts, twisters, Sweeteez, and Krak-L-Snaps. I had a sudden craving for donuts, and then an equally sudden identity crisis.

Is my donut-craving any way associated with a more law abiding life-style? I thought. Will I suddenly want to quit UIG and join Lone Star?

I shook off my delusions with a careful examination of the clear plastic packaging. The large donuts inside looked like they were coated with coarse white sand, while the ingredients list contained a long list of strange, chemical names. My eyes narrowed at the list. Dare I? I dare!

I asked Ops N about the first ingredient name. No way. The second. That's disgusting. The third. People eat this stuff?! The fourth. Organic vomit has more nutritional value! The fifth...

There was a kind of hypnotic haze about the whole thing, especially when Ops N approved passing me the real recipe list from corporate headquarters.

How utterly fascinating, I thought. Sick and disgusting, yes - but still fascinating.

"ALL RIGHT YOU FRAGGERS!" Someone shouted behind me by the front door. I ignored them. "REACH FOR THE SKY OR WE'LL GEEK YA!"

We? Hmm. I sighed, and then hit Time Stop. Right ahead of me was the first gang member. She was a voluptuous young woman with hair done up in the latest Nova style and dyed neon blue. She wore an armoured duster over a skimpy pair of cutoffs and a halter top. She was also aiming an Ares Predator at me.

Drek, I thought. I let go of the donut box and made as if to aim at the ganger. Two mental commands later, my Ares Predator went from my jacket holster to hammer-space, and from there to my hands. One shot was fired at her shoulder, exposed thigh and the tip of her heavy pistol.

A little to my right and further in the store, another ganger was waving his weapon in the air. To a backdrop of personal hygiene soaps, sprays, pads and other products, was the wannabe samurai. Not a wannabe street samurai, mind you, an actual samurai. He was wearing a short, Japanese-styled jacket and his hair - done up in a samurai style top-knot - was dyed blood-red. I think there was a martial artist simsense star who did the same look - Nicky Saltoh or something. He was waving a katana in the air.

Bloody gonk.

There was a rather obese woman with a shopping cart, who was dragging a small child behind her, somewhat between myself and the ganger. Not a problem. I stepped to the right a little to clear my view and give space to the three floating bullets. One shot to the side of his weapon, and another down the open sleeve of his jacket into forearm. It'd probably cause his wrists to snap.

Another step to clear the bullets and I turned around to the front. The big guy who was talking to the motor isle display had sadly not kept to his safer type of insanity. His weapon, a Defiance shotgun, was angled towards the center of the Stuffer Mart. He had pure white hair that was cropped close to his skull. His temples were studded with about half a dozen jacks. I gave myself a challenge - one shot into each opening of the double-barrelled shotgun and another down a sleeve of his armoured jacket.

By this time, the edges of my vision were blackening. A strange part of me wondered if I would stay in stopped time, forever, if I ever let my personal energy reserves completely empty. That might have been the reason I just mentally said 'frag this' and sprayed a couple dozen bullets at chest and legs height of the three gangers by the front door. I then moved back over to the box of donuts, stashed my Ares Predator infinity into my hammer-space, and positioned myself to catch the small box of artificial flavouring on top of artificial baked products.

[G1-Kia: Gangers mostly down. My energy is kinda low, chummers. Make sure everything is wiz., I sent out and then Resumed.

It was like getting completely exhausted in reverse. Among the sounds of screaming, explosions and loud swearing, I very slowly went from 'so tired I could fall forward asleep' to 'I don't even WANT real coffee anymore!'

What was I shooting them with, anyways? A check of my digital logs confirms it: low kinetic dum-dums. Designed for non-lethal impacts and take-downs, assuming I didn't do anything stupid like shoot them in the eyes or anything.

"C'mon, Kia," Mutus beckoned me by the aisle end.

I stood up and followed her, but not before slapping down a handful of crumpled nuyen notes I pulled from my pockets. "For the donuts!" I said to the orange spike of hair that cleared the store counter. "Have a good night!"

...

"Hey chummers. You get me anything?"

"...Donut?"

"There's one left, Kia!"

"I was hungry. Sorry."

"Fine. Domo Arigato."

"You're welcome."

"Do you know what are in these things, Kia?"

"More than I'd ever want to, Hardpoint. Much more."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Monday, December 9th. 1:52 AM. The Banshee, Redmond Barrens, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS.

The brick facade of the building complimented the broken neon sign of the 'Ba sh e' very well. No windows on the structure, as the heavy steel door was all the openings they would need.

We passed through a weapon check-point with no hassle, with our hand guns remaining. Mutus 'sniper special' is in her own personal hammer-space, and Kellan is a mage. The only way we would have had problems is if Cayman came with us and brought along his custom assault cannon.

The steel and wire mesh gate lead into the bar proper. Clear and loud music, though somewhat dated, piped through the place. No stage and no dance floor, but there were plenty of scantily clad waitresses moving slowly through the thin crowd. They slightly counter-balanced the smell of stale beer and a floor covered with wet tiles. I made sure to not look down at what we walked through.

Even this section of the Banshee was designed for deal making and breaking. I spotted what looked like white noise generators bolted to the center of each table, and a series of questions to Ops N revealed how they had varying degrees of performance. Definitely not a place for the most covert, high-end deals.

Kellan asked for 'Urlan' at the main bar, and we were exceedingly slowly directed to a far door. A walk past the troll bouncer led us to another bar - an inner section of the building. There was what looked like a genuine large redwood bar against the far wall, and a series of tables in the center of the room. Compared to the outer area, this place looked much nicer and more secure. The sound of the music was cut off as the bouncer quietly closed the door behind us.

Roxanne - our blond Johnson - was sitting at that far bar and sipping some blue drink. She had changed her clothes to yet another corporate suit of slightly different make, and she looked slightly tousled and winded. She was likely unused to helicopter rides. Her bodyguard escort was also in sight, farther down the bar. That street samurai was holding a mostly full pint glass of beer, but his other hand was held out of sight.

Cautious and mildly threatening, I thought. The perfect impression to make on shadowrunners.

Roxanne rose to greet us as we were spotted, and placed her drink on the the bar. The bartender subtly placed a napkin under it without her notice. As we headed towards our Johnson, she flagged us and directed us to yet one more back door.

It was a small room, filled only with a legless vinyl couch and a card table, along with five straight-backed wooded chairs.

[G1-Kellan: You're up, Kia., Kellan sent from beside me. This was unlikely to be a totally benevolent conversation, but... I've been proved wrong before.

I realized her reasoning when I saw who was likely our true Mr. Johnson: Urlan Manes, the CEO and president of Global Technology's two branches. He was seated on an arm of the couch, next to a more advanced white noise and anti-recording generator box. Urlan was a huge Amerindian, and wore a leather jacket with matching fringed breeches and a decorative loin cloth. Instead of a shirt, he wore a bone vest, brightly decorated with coloured beads and small feathers. He wore equally intricate thick-soled moccasins on his feet that incorporated hundreds of small beads. Each of them had an animal pattern on it.

Before speaking, he flipped a switch on the front of the box and rose to meet us. The device generated a faint, relaxing hum. Roxanne had moved to Urlan's side when we entered the room, slightly behind him.

"Good evening, ladies and gentleman," he courteously addressed us. "My name is Urlan Manes, son of Isheer Many-Manes and president of Global Technologies. The woman who brought you here is Roxanne Wunter." He gestured towards her, and she gave us a microscopic nod in acknowledgement. "We would like to acquire your services."

I attempted to match his courtesy. "Kia, Mr. Manes," I began. "Along with Kellan and Mutus." They made gestures of recognition as I said their names. "We have services that are available to be acquired. Shall we?" I placed my hands on the back of one of the wooden chairs and looked at him questioningly. With his nod, the three of us sat down.

Urlan reseated himself on the couch, while Roxanne stayed standing. "The task is a simple one," he began. "Last night, a member of my staff assisted several thieves in stealing three data chips from my company. Although the defence was spirited, all of the thieves managed to get away. The one who turned against me was like a son."

Tee Hee, decker extraordinaire, I thought. He certainly wasn't referring to Junior, the mean spirited orc.

"But that is no more," he said, with an accompanying small sigh. "I must have those chips back. The actual thieves are of little consequence; the stolen merchandise is vital." Urian looked the three of us over. If he wasn't impressed, he didn't say anything to that effect. "Time is of the essence. However, you cannot charge into battle full of pride and self-importance. This run must be accomplished silently. Am I understood?"

Urlan barely paused long enough for my shallow nod to be registered. "Even a hint of your activities could be disastrous," he continued. "I understand the way of the world. The workman is worthy of his wage. I am, therefore, willing to pay competitive rates. However, I must have the chips delivered here, into Roxanne's hands, no later than 9 AM Friday. It's now Sunday night. That gives you four and a half days to do your job."

[G1-Kia: Any odd takers for noon Monday? Perhaps dinner?, I sent out to the group in a spirit of humour, while my face was completely deadpan. Everybody replied with noon or earlier. I guess I was too generous.

I spent the next few minutes doing some well intentioned haggling. We ended up with around thirty thousand nuyen per member here - yet more money to put into the fund of 'unneeded and unwanted.'

His face stayed expressionless as we finalized the amount and confirmed the run. "I am glad we can come to an arrangement," he said. "Due to pressing concerns, I will not be able to devote the attention necessary to this project. I am, therefore, giving complete control of the operation to Roxanne. Deal with her as you would with me. Do we understand one another?"

"Perfectly, Mr. Manes," I replied.

He merely blinked at my words. "It pains me to say that your search must begin with a young man named Tee Hee. He is a Matrix runner with my company. A very bright boy, but for reasons unknown, he helped the thieves. I assume he left with them. An exhaustive search of his apartment was fruitless, as was an examination of his office. I fear he has gone underground. Roxanne will give you any additional information you need on the boy."

"Let me stress two points to you before you start," he continued. "First, and most importantly, do not attempt to use the chips once you find them. They are prototypes, and they have not been sufficiently tested. Their use could result in severe permanent neural damage. Second, these chips are unique. There are no backups because the thieves trashed the datastore that led to their development. They should not be damaged unless absolutely necessary." Urlan's face tightened microscopically - a subtle glare of warning. "I remind you that your payment for damaged goods is rather small."

There was another verbal exchange of pleasantries and mild warnings, and he left. Roxanne took charge immediately afterwards.

"Ladies and gentleman," she began, as she seated herself on Urlan's former spot. The female corp was professionally poised in contrast to the past Amerindian's relaxed lounging. "If we could get started? I have all of the information we were able to acquire on Tee Hee."

"Hee started with Global about two years ago, straight out of the University of Seattle," Roxanne continued. "He has been a valuable member of our design team, leading the way to several breakthroughs in the areas of skillsofts and simsense. Although a talented decker, he seems somewhat lost when not jacked into the Matrix. He is very naive and forgets things constantly. Like how to get to the store." The blond corp let out an amused sigh. "I must admit, I'm surprised he has lived as long as he has."

"We sent a team to his apartment first thing this morning." She recrossed her legs. "Seems he forgot to pay his rent and was kicked out about two weeks ago. Our personnel entered the apartment and found that it had not been entered in at least several days. No thermal, thick dust, the works. An extensive search revealed nothing. We have no idea where he has been sleeping for the past two weeks."

"His office was a little more interesting. I had the entire contents of his desk brought here," she said, and reached behind the coach. Roxanne pulled out a three-foot plastic cube and set it on the table with a thump. "You can make of it what you will - good luck."

Kellan pulled it towards herself and popped off the lid. She gave the contents a brief look-over before replacing the top.

"If you have any more questions, let me know. Here is my private number," Roxanne said, as she passed me a plastic business card. It had her picture on the front and a seven digit number on the back. "You can reach me here day or night. This room is rented for another..." She paused to check her wristwatch. "Twenty-three minutes. You can stay if you want."

Roxanne smoothly stood up from the couch. "Keep in touch," she said, as she walked past the three of us at the small table. She turned back at the door, and continued, "If you don't have some sort of results within four days, go home. There won't be any point in continuing." She gave us a send-off of a polite nod, and left through the opening. The door closed with a small clicking sound.

Mutus and myself looked at Kellan. She pushed the plastic box my way and I hoisted it under one arm with a small grin.

"Let's head out," our leader said. "I'm looking forward to a fancy lunch today. Maybe at the Mattresses?"

I wonder if they'll have anything worth Ma'fan stealing from it again, I thought, as we left the table and filed out of the room.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

2:13 AM. Private limo outside The Banshee, Redmond Barrens, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS. Director Silla Trebheart's POV.

"Mr. Urlan Manes," I began, "thank you for your presence." I was speaking to the head of Global Technologies. It had been only the work of seconds for the UIG guards - members of the Three Hundred - to politely invite the Amerindian into this limo.

"You're welcome," he said, as he lounged on the wide, black leather, couch-like seat across from myself. Urlan had opted to acquire a drink, and was casually sipping the presumably most expensive liquor available on this planet. The amber liquid was contained within a cube-like crystal glass and chilled with two ice-cold, sculpted pellets of diamond. "What brings the famous Director Silla Trebheart to invite myself for a chat?"

"A conversation on degrees of success, Mr. Manes," I replied. I had a sip of chilled water, and replaced the glass on the holder beside me. The movement of the limo was so imperceptible that holders weren't necessary, but I preferred to act as if it was. "On profit and corporate longevity."

"And how would this conversation go, Ms. Trebheart?"

I gave a light shrug. "In the interests of saving time, I'll summarize the first highlights," I started. "UIG is aware of your corporate activities in regards to your very illegal production and development of three rather unique prototype chips. We're also aware of their loss and all but guaranteed soon recovery."

He shifted the glass in his hands, but otherwise said nothing.

"We have absolutely no interest in interfering with those events," I said. "What we are interested in, is what happens at your executive meeting this coming Friday morning and the months ahead of that date."

Urlan sipped from his crystal glass again. The fringed sleeves of his leather jacket draped across his legs as his arms moved. "What would this interest involve?"

"Simple predictions," I said, and relaxed further back into my own seat. "Assuming your deal in marketing the unfinished skill-based technology to the UCAS military succeeds, you stand to make a short and mid-range surge of profits. After that, however, Global Technology's new corporate height will have risen enough to get noticed by others. What do you foresee happening when that does?"

I remained silent, even as he stared equally silently at me. When you have former Endbringers and sapient cats to engage in staring contests with, this was no challenge whatsoever. I signalled that with a small quirk of my lips.

"Complications," Urlan finally admitted. Rather than engage in another bout of staring, he continued by himself. "Complications that occur anywhere in the development cycle, production activities, personnel, distribution and in sales and usage."

"You're absolutely correct," I said towards him, with a nod of approval. "And is Global Technology prepared for an eternally endless stream of shadowrunners operating against what you just identified?"

"Likely not as much as we would with UIG's support, perhaps?"

I replied with a light shrug and a dismissive wave. "That is an absolute given, Mr. Manes," I replied. "However, that deal - if it were ever to be the basis of a deal - reeks of threats and blackmail." I scrunched up my nose as if smelling something horrid. "UIG is not in the slightest interested in forming such a hostile foundation with Global. Instead, we'd like to present the basis of unimaginably high levels of success. Success to such a high degree that things like complete ensured safety over all the points you've identified are merely an accompanying side perk of whatever agreements made, rather than the basis of them altogether."

We kept equally silent at this point, only sipping from our respective glasses.

"I'm listening, Director Trebheart," he began. "And I'm willing to entertain the prospect that what you are proposing is what you say it is. However," Urlan made a small show of looking at his watch, "can it be done during regular business hours?"

My outward appearing smile was much smaller than my inner one. "Of course," I replied. "We can easily reach you - anywhere, anytime, anyplace. It's not a problem at all."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

2:29 AM. Shadowmech Van, Redmond Barrens, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS. Kia's POV.

There were an assortment of different objects in that plastic box we were given. It was my current job to figure out what possible purpose they had so we could move on.

"Data chips," I said out loud to the interior of the van, as I fished out a half-handful of the small electronics. Nothing special from Ops N. "Null. Some toy that does the twist when activated -"

"I want it!" Hardpoint said from the front.

I ignored him while I queried Ops N. "Null as well, HP. Here you go." I held up the small humanoid figure and a mobile, blurred piece of air picked it up from me. One of his Motemechs.

"Domo arigato!" the dwarf rigger said.

I waved to him in response, and went back to looking in the plastic box. "Two circuit boards... A breadboard... Some resistors... Urban Brawl tickets... Simsense player and some disks... All null." Each went into a plastic bag beside me as they were rejected. I'd replace them in the box again after I was done. Hopefully the remaining items would be more useful.

"A tool kit," I said. It was - according to Ops N - a complete computer and electronic microtool kit. The kit looked well used, and there was an inscription on the case. It read 'Future Good Luck, Flair.' I replaced it back in the box as a 'maybe.' The package of herb tea was poorly wrapped, but smelt nice. The name tag on it read 'Orion's Special Blend, Orion's Organic Grocery, Seattle.'

"Hardpoint?"

"Hai?"

"Can you give me your opinion on this tea?" I held up the package and another Motemech grabbed it.

"It's still fresh, and likely organic," the dwarf replied from the front soon after. "Free?"

"Hai!" I replied, and he sent me another set of thanks.

"A cheap, disposable lighter," I continued. It was likely near the end of its life. There were circuit diagrams worked into the body of it, with the name 'Breadboard Quaff and Stuff' worked into the pattern. Another place to inspect, if we needed to do so. The lighter went back into the box as a 'maybe,' and I pulled out the last item. "A small holocube." There were a total of eight pictures. I toggled through them rapidly to give myself a quick impression, then went through them one by one. The majority of the pictures were of Tee Hee and his friends, obviously taken while he was in college. None of the 'friends' seemed to have a regular presence around the decker, even though he was always the center of attention.

The only completely different picture was of an old, white-haired man. He was smiling up at the camera, holding a cyberterminal. In his other hand was a large coffee mug, with the word 'Flair' on the side. The caption on the picture read 'Dr. Hendrix.'

Success!

With two uses of a nickname - Flair - and a name and face of the user - Dr. Hendrix - we had our next step, courtesy of Ops N.

"We've got a potential lead here," I said, then briefly explained my findings.

Kellan approved, and we changed course to head for Dr. Hendrix's apartment.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

2:54 AM. Outside Dr. Hendrix's Apartment, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS.

It was rather strange to see Mutus in action in the middle of an apartment hallway. Kellan and myself were on oversight, while the assassin angled her large rifle towards the walls of the apartment.

[G1-Mutus: Two people inside. One old man that matches the description of Dr. Hendrix, asleep on a twin bed. Tee Hee is jacked into the Matrix... No, correction - he is asleep, but still connected. He fell asleep jacked in. How do you want to do this?, Mutus sent out. Her arms didn't waver in the slightest, as the sniper rifle shifted between two targets only she could see.

[G1-Kellan: Ensure they stay asleep, safely, please., Kellan sent back, as she glanced at the blue-banged elf.

Two breath-like sounds were heard. Mutus stowed her rifle into her own hammer-space, then applied two finger-tips worth of smart-putty against the holes. As the substance was fading into their surrounding material, she took up a posture of oversight on the opposite wall.

A long blink would have been enough to miss the entire thing.

I guess that is why she's the assassin and I'm just the sharpshooter, I thought.

With a gesture from Kellan, I opened the door with a touch against the maglock and a push against the half-rotted slab. The two men were as Mutus described, both now in a likely even deeper sleep. I walked among the stacks of computer disks, trade journals and printouts that were scattered everywhere. The apartment was a single room plus a washroom. I ended up at the other end, and stared down at the white-haired old man.

[G1-Kia: Everything clear in here. Just some mess otherwise., I sent, then looked back around. There was a small desk, which had a cyberdeck on it as well as a coffee mug with 'Flair' written on the side. The window by the bed offered a rather sad and lonely view of the apartment across the alley, as well as the marks of a long ago removed fire escape.

Kellan and Mutus had come in while I was giving the place a visual inspection. The mage gently pulled out the datajack from Tee Hee's head and sat down beside him. With two people to go through here, it would take a small stretch of time.

I settled down for a wait, and started to practice some quick-draw methods using my hammer-space.

...

We left with the sleeping form of the decker, his cyberdeck, and two tickets to the Hollywood Simsense Entertainment party Tuesday night. Dr. Hendrix remained in his flat, and was gifted with a generously filled credstick, along with a note warning him to not work with HSE until at least this Saturday.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

3:47 AM. Shadowmech van, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS.

"We have the faces and the details of who hit Global now," Kellan explained. "There were four runners - a rigger pilot, a street samurai, a mage and the fixer. The mage, Freya, was wounded and left behind. Tee Hee - the decker here," she tilted her head in the direction of the sleeping youth, "was initially contacted by Junior and offered a souped-up Fairlight Excalibur and a hefty credstick for the betrayal. As we already know, Junior planned to give Tee Hee here a cheap bullet rather than a million nuyen cyberdeck."

The world runs round on idiots, I thought. At least we do our part to reduce them.

"How's the search going through the clinics, Hardpoint?" Kellan spoke towards the front of vehicle.

"Some more minutes until the few spare Motemechs sweep through the nearest ones," the dwarven rigger said back.

"The Redmond area Jack the Ripper? The files from Ma'fan's run on Global?"

"Still a lot of false positives, Kellan," Hardpoint replied, "but the area is well covered. Lots of back-alley action to watch in the mean time."

"She's been done for a while," Mutus said with a yawn. She stretched in her seat and I enjoyed the view immensely. "Nothing really special there, except to prove the various illegalities of Global and that Tee Hee had stashed the wiped files on Junior's system."

Kellan drummed her fingers on her thighs. "We've got a few options while we wait, then," she began. "Depending on how well they turn out, we might be getting a fancy breakfast." The blond mage looked my way. "Who was the Hollywood Simsense contact of Junior again?"

I checked out my stored records. "Booker Pengrave," I replied. "Look him up?"

"Yes, please," she said with a smile. "He's next."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

4:26 AM. Shadowmech van, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS.

The roof of the Shadowmech van remained open while our newest capture descended. I angled myself to catch the unconscious and naked form of Valerie, the rigger and Cleopatra chip user that had hit Global. She was treated a lot more carefully than Booker, who had been pushed to the back of the van. We had hit a two-for-one deal with this pair, as they were sleeping together.

The open roof closed as soon as the large, barely visible form of Hardpoint's Shademech ascended out of it.

"Pass her this way, Kia," Kellan said with a mild edge to her voice.

I complied with a grin, and made the required shuffles to position Val beside her.

"Put Booker in the scanner, too, alright?"

My grin faded as I looked at the middle-aged older man. Some options on my active censoring visual filters later, and I slowly moved him to the small enclosure at the back of the van. Thankfully the system was made to accommodate unconscious people - I simply pulled down a retractable hoop and placed it underneath his armpits. With some button pressing and adjustment of his dragging bare feet, Booker was pulled upright into the enclosure.

I pressed the 'well-done' - my mistake, 'scan' - button and waited while the countdown finished. With a high-pitched, bell-like ring, the safeties disengaged and his unconscious form was again revealed in all its censored glory.

I carefully dragged Booker to the open space on the other side of Kellan. She was still working on Val, but with a mild expression of displeasure on her face.

"What's happening, Kellan?" I asked her.

"Some interference with the nature of the personality chip, I think," she said with her eyes fluttering open. "I don't know what will happen if it is just removed. Could you have her scanned as well?"

I replied with a coolly professional nod and started another trek over to the scanner. It took much longer, especially with how my hands kept slipping.

...

Once we processed those two, things went much faster.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

4:39 AM. Shadowmech van, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS.

"Hello...?" The face on the display of the vidphone was of a very sleepy Freya Goldenhair. Hardpoint had managed to find the clinic and room she was at, and used some Motemechs to smuggle in a video phone to her. Freya was a strikingly beautiful Elven woman with long, thick hair of honey gold and brown eyes. Only a light blue hospital smock was visible as her clothing.

"Freya Goldenhair?" I asked in reply. "I've heard about your recent injury - and the circumstances around it - and thought we could help each other."

"How..." She began than cut herself off. "I don't even have a vidphone. What's going on?"

"Ah, my apologies," I said. I sent a request to Ops N and a sharp inhalation of breath was heard. "Does that clear up things? I'm Kia, by the way."

"The Invisibles," Freya drawled out. "Yes, that does explain a lot, thank you. What do you know already, and what can I help you with?"

"Very professional," I said with a grin. "I like you already."

Freya snorted and pulled some of her honey gold hair behind a pointed ear.

"To be more serious," I began, "we essentially know all the details of the run you were wounded on - who, what, where, why, and so on - and are simply tracking down the chips to be recovered. We've already got one - from the rigger named Valerie. What can you tell me of her?"

The blond elf shrugged and said, "I really didn't get to know her. We talked for a minute or two, but there was nothing in common. You know how it is with those tomboys."

"How about Global Technology and Junior?" I asked.

"Junior who?" she countered. "And my first experience with Global was at the run. I might have heard of them on the news before, but... That's it."

[G1-Kellan: The other runners and HSE, then., Kellan sent from across from me. She was watching a feed of the conversation on her own computer pad.

"Right," I said, and shifted back into my van seat. "How about the other runners? We already know about the extracted decker, so you can skip him."

"The street samurai went by Griffin," Freya started. "He is one of those razors who's right on the edge. That type would sooner cut you than look at you. I hate him, but I ain't going after him. He didn't cross me, so there's no score. He was working for HSE about the same time I was. He seemed to come out of their dustup better than ever. The two stiff rent-a-cops at Global? You can lay that on him."

I made encouraging sounds and she continued.

"Cooperman..." Her face tightened. "That jerk Face is a rat, plain and simple. He'll do anything for a little piece of the action. He's not so much in it for the nuyen as he is for the power. I suppose that's why he went on the run. He must have figured those chips would make him more powerful, for all the good it'll do when I get hold on him."

"He's really into history," Freya continued. "He considers himself an expert in the field. Blessed Lady, if you ever get him started, he'll talk your ear off. The battle of this, the general of that. Can't quite figure it, but he seems to have a serious lock-on for Ghenghis Khan. Why anyone would want to imitate that smelly barbarian is beyond me. In any event, he loves all that old stuff. The more obscure the better."

"You seem to want to have Face take a dive into Puget Sound with a pair of concrete boots, Freya," I mused out loud, then cut off her many positive affirmations when I started again. "Depending on the skill sets of Face - and the interactions of the chip with him - he might be more useful as a permanently employed asset elsewhere."

The cheerful voice she had been using so far dropped a small, but noticeable amount. "How useful and how permanent, Kia?"

"I couldn't say in regards to the first, Freya, but as for the second..." I smiled, and mimed an explosion with my fingers in front on my face. "Does that answer your question?"

"Yes," she said, then somewhat hesitantly continued, "even so, I'd like to be able to see what the circumstances of his employment are for myself. Would that be possible?"

"Of course," I replied. "That is assuming he passes the interview."

We exchanged knowing smiles with each other. Kellan's cough prompted me to continue.

"And Hollywood Simsense?" I asked the elf. "What's your take on them?"

"I've pulled a couple of runs for those spineless snots before," she said, with the faintest edge of a brief sneer. "Some you've probably heard about, some of them I know you haven't. HSE was always after me for one job or another, but after that recent shakeup of theirs, they didn't have the class to pull it off right so I was always turning them down. If I had known earlier that Face was after chips, I'd probably have guessed that HSE was behind the thing but didn't approach me direct 'cause they I'd refuse. I'd also have suspected that those spineless snots might try to get rid of me after the run. I really didn't hit it off with that creep, Pengrave."

"Thats it from my end, Freya," I said. "Anything you want answered?"

"Not really, no," she replied, then pursed her lips. "What about this vidphone?"

"Consider it a gift," I said. "You'll enjoy the features."

We exchanged some more pleasantries and disconnected.

"That went well," I said, as I stretched out. I faced Kellan and inquired, "Pick up anything useful, chummer?"

"Not really," she replied. "It would have been a good start if we got her info earlier, but now... Not so much."

I sagged and I let out a defeated sigh.

"At least Face and Griffin have been downed," Kellan said with a lighter tone. "We just need to pick them up and process them. After that... We're done!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

5:39 AM. The Mattresses, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS.

There existed a pancake that cost over one thousand nuyen. We all ordered it - even Hardpoint, who had opted to climb out of his Shadowmech for a group meal. The layered breakfast dish was composed of thin segments of lobster, caviar and truffles, and finished with Dom Perignon Rose hollandaise sauce. None of us had any idea how it looked or actually would taste. We simply wanted to try the most expensive item available that was considered 'morning food.'

The Mattresses did not change much since Ma'fan had cleared it the first time. The same expanses of dark wood surfaces, with rich burgundy carpeting on the floor. The tables were topped with leather, and so too were the wing-backed chairs we sat in. Artwork again graced the walls, though a query to Ops N told me that they were all very high-quality reproductions.

All of them? I thought to myself, incredulous.

[T-Kia-Mutus: How many times did Ma'fan hit this place, anyways?, I silently sent to the elven assassin.

She just smiled back, and mouthed 'too many' at me.

Obviously.

"You know," I quietly said to the group, "this will be a great opportunity." They looked at me inquisitively. "How easy it will be to reject a thousand nuyen pancake if you don't like it."

"I have a better one," Hardpoint said. He stroked his short, dark brown beard while the anticipation built. "If we don't like it... Ask for it to go, and say we'll feed some street dogs with it."

A silent round of applause was the recognition he received for such inspiration.

...

To our strange disappointment, it was rather nice. We had two each. Hardpoint had his with wasabi.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

10:49 PM. Back Room #3, The Banshee, Redmond Barrens, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS. Roxanne Wunter's POV.

I checked my watch one more time.

Eleven PM, I told them. No exceptions - nothing earlier, I thought. If this was some kind of joke, their pay is getting cut. I didn't have it on me, of course - I'm not stupid. The only things back here worth anything was a small kit that was rigged up to verify the contents of the three chips. It had no other purpose.

I straightened my posture and looked at my watch again.

Where are they?

A message buzzed my wrist phone. It was from Karlos, my bodyguard in the outer bar, and read 'Just one of them came back. He waved at me - the spiky red-haired guy, who likes his suits.' I huffed out a breath of disapproval and typed a message back in, and waited.

The door opened after a single knock, and he walked in.

"Ms. Wunter," he began, "as promised, here are the items in question." Without sitting down, he pulled out a small, opaque plastic bag and extended it to me. It was wrapped around itself a few times.

I carefully pulled apart the plastic covering and withdrew the three chips. At least they appear as described. I placed them on the table beside the kit and put the first one in. Each of them generated a successful 'green light.'

I finally let out a deep breath that I wasn't aware I was holding, and favoured... The red-top... With a slight smile. "Thank you -"

"Kia," he stage whispered to me with an equally small smile.

I pretended not to notice, but I did make the correction. "Yes, Kia," I continued. "Everything appears to be in order here. I'll just send a message so that -"

Kia placed a pocket secretary on the table beside me. "This was from Junior," he said. "We got to him before he geeked you - as he was planning to do. On top of that, we found out that the entire run against Global was staged by him, and the backup files for making the prototype chips were stored in Junior's console there. We also picked up Tee Hee, undamaged, and wrote a brief 'care and feeding of gullible deckers' file. Step one is 'promise them a Fairlight Excalibur.'"

I blinked, frozen. At least my mouth didn't drop open or anything.

"Junior is being dropped off at Lone Star, with his memories of the past little while wiped," Kia continued. "His 'little incident' won't taint the positive relationship Mr. Manes had with his father."

I carefully rewrapped the three chips and placed them inside one of my blazer pockets, and repeated the process for the pocket secretary. "Is there anything else, Kia?"

He pretended to think for a while. "I heard that The Mattresses has a nice pancake dish that costs over a thousand nuyen per serving."

I made some polite noises while I typed into my wrist-phone.

As if a shadowrunner like him would ever get into The Mattresses, I thought to myself, amused. Though he might have contacts there, so it isn't wholly impossible.

"We have a location that you can drop Tee Hee off to," I said, as my focus remained on the small display of my wrist-phone. "As he isn't with you, neither are your credsticks with me. The final exchange can take place then."

"That's perfect, Ms. Wunter," he said. "Thank you."

I wonder if they have a team name, I thought to myself. They seem very professional. I keep on thinking that I've heard of them before, but I can't quite place it. At least they came well recommended.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

9:13 PM. Tuesday, December 10th. 16th Floor, Marxell Building, Queen Anne Hills, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS. Kia's POV.

For once, we're in a party with only the slimmest of business reasons. Though by 'we,' I mean strictly Kellan and myself. Mutus would get mobbed by too many admirers, while Hardpoint wasn't that interested in the whole event.

Strobe lights flashed as lasers bounced off mirrors on the floors, walls and ceiling. Conversation was normally impossible; lights flashed inside the rooms to the beat of the driving music.

In spite of all that, I was hanging out in the kitchen off to the side. Not that it made much difference - it was open to the main living room - but at least it had food. Some 'real' coffee, chicken, tuna and turkey. Nothing spectacular with what I was now used to, but at least it sufficed at finger-food.

[T-Kellan-Kia: Hey., Kellan sent from beside me as she sipped her coffee. [This party kind of sucks, chummer.]

I admired the getup she sported. Now that we could use hammer-space for our own weapons, things like 'concealability' were no longer a factor. The blond mage demonstrated such with a strapless short black dress. Demonstrated it very nicely.

[T-Kia-Kellan: Yeah, I know, I sent back, as I ate what must have been my tenth small bundle of chicken. [Booker Pengrave is now our chummer - and likely to be a better one soon - and Val has a number of options available. Flair is stuck in his flat, and us... Well... Loud music and bad company.] I glanced at her with a smile. [With one exception, of course.]

She smiled back at me over her coffee, eyebrows wiggled on top of her thin-style, wrap-around sunglasses. She needed them, as in spite of Mr. Umbrella's assurances about 'zero essence cost implants,' none of our magic users had opted to install them. Though contacts would serve the same purpose...

I tilted my head towards the large cluster of moving bodies. 'Dance?' I mouthed to her, and she put down her coffee mug and smiled wider.

Time to put my Bullet Time to good use, I thought with a laugh.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

10:47 PM. Wednesday, December 11th. Heart of the Redmond Barrens, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS. Freya Goldenhair's POV.

"What can you tell me about Noble Bones, Numbers?" I asked my 'bodyguard' for the evening.

"We're well equipped, Ms. Goldenhair," he replied, and patted the mounted semi-auto rifle beside him as demonstration. Numbers was a special aide and accountant for Mr. Bones, and he also lent his services to the organization as a whole. He reminded me somewhat of Clean Steve, the cyberware-free assassin, if only in looks. Carefully trimmed blond hair, slacks, dress shoes and a white dress shirt. His one capitulation to the setting was a dark blazer. "Other than that, you'll have to be more specific if you want answers. The 'friendly' draftees get a lot more slack than the involuntary ones." He glanced at me. "Potential draftees, I mean."

"Do you get a lot of 'involuntary' draftees?" I said.

"They come in bursts," he answered. "Depending on what we - and our suppliers - do. Even with all that, however, we have standards to enforce. Nearly every single go-gang member fails to meet them."

"It's not so bad," he continued, as he paced back and forth on the rooftop. "We treat even the involuntary ones better than the organized crime outfits do. If they show promise, they can be switched over - no cranial bomb."

"What do you think about Noble Bones - your impression of it, I mean?" I asked.

"It put talents to good use, Ms. Goldenhair," he said, as he returned to behind the heavy rifle. "And I have a number of talents."

"You'll want these," Numbers said, and fished out a pair of glasses from within his blazer. "Friend-or-foe tech. It helps cut down on 'accidents,' and other screw-ups. Did you want to...?" He gestured towards the rifle and I shook my head. He tapped a spot on the side of his own glasses, and they went pitch black. Numbers demonstrated his remote control of the weapon with some finger movements.

I wasn't sure if it was to reassure me once it started firing, or if he was actually calibrating the device. Either way, I put on the offered glasses. My perception of the world immediately changed - gone was the dark of night and the gloom of shadows. In place of it was stark detail, wire-frames and bright colours. Numbers was light green, as was myself, which I found out by holding a hand out in front of me. Small specks of other colours were viewable all around us in the distance.

"What is the basis of the recognition of friend-or-foe?"

"Trade secret," he replied. "You'll have to buzz me later about it." His head tilted to the side. "It's time."

I had expected a roaring cascade of firepower. Nothing like that happened. Instead, that large caliber rifle was somehow nearly completely silent. It let out small cough-like exhalations in a constant stream. If anybody else around us were firing, I wasn't able to tell.

The activity stopped as suddenly as it had started. Numbers immediately began to dismantle the rifle, which folded together into an awkward looking backpack.

"That's it, Ms. Goldenhair," Numbers said as he headed towards the rooftop stairway. "We're done here." He stopped before he entered the stairwell, and turned his head back towards me. "By the way - Face didn't pass his interview into Noble Bones."

This night turned out a lot better than I expected.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

11:22 PM. Small Office, UIG District, Sanctum. Mike/Sanctum's POV.

"Kia," I said to sharpshooter and beckoned him to the chair opposite. He sat down and I continued, "Is there something I could help you with?"

He scratched his red-tipped hair before he replied. "I'm not exactly sure, Mr. Umbrella," he began. "How about I tell you what I'm going through and we can see?"

I made an agreeable sound and waited. Kia is usually highly 'on the ball' - either confidently informed, or confidently clueless. This sort of speculation on his part is rather new.

"It's like... How to say it... We've turned one of the most dangerous jobs in the world - shadowrunning - into an irregularly scheduled day job." Kia wrung his hands together. He was wearing a light set of slacks and a black, long-sleeved tee. Comfortable, in-base clothing. "Earlier in the week, when an Ares Predator was pointed right at my face, my only real reactions were a slight widening of my eyes and hitting Time Stop. I wasn't even paying attention to my bullet load-out. What... What do you want with us, really?"

I stayed silent.

"As a shadowrunner, I believed that I was part of a... Kind of a resistance to the established, corp-driven world - a world I left and was disillusioned by." He leaned back and stared at the wall above me. "Here, in this corp, that is unlike anything I've ever heard of, I know I'm making an impact on the world. It's still small, but it is more substantial than before." Kia faced me again, sighed and said, "I've sparred with the Three Hundred. Ran through some gauntlets, worked at the shooting range. One thing that I've found out - and all the other Invisibles - was that they are simply better than us, in every single way. Why are we out there, doing runs, while they are... I don't even know what they are doing, really."

"There are some reasons," I began, and hesitated.

What is the best way to frame this? I thought to my self.

"Okay, try this concept," I said, with a more energized tone. He leaned forward in interest. "What would you say that Ops N actually needs - not wants, needs - the Invisibles for?"

Kia rested his chin in his left hand. He started to say something a few times, but stopped himself. "Hardcopy notes?" he finally asked, but nowhere near confidently.

I shook my head again. "Keep in mind Hardpoint's artificial range limits of Neptune," I said. "Then add in unlimited amounts of drones with the capacities of Shademech with their limiters turned off."

"...Nothing," he whispered. "She doesn't actually need us for anything."

"And then add in a billion of those drones," I continued. "What happens then?"

He looked at me with his face tense. "...Anything you want?"

I nodded in reply, and softly said, "So... If we haven't done that..."

Kia's face was blank. He didn't get it. Maybe Winterhawk would - he's been studying the metaplanes, and I've already ensured that he stays 'sane' with quite a few safeguards.

Maybe I am too much of an out of context problem, I mentally mused.

"Kia," I said, "we've haven't done that because we are putting our wants secondary to yours." I sighed, and rubbed my own chin in contemplation. "This might be somewhat of a conversational diversion, but... Say that that gets done tomorrow." Which is completely doable, actually. "Then what? We become the world's most massive soup kitchen and government, rolled up in one. There would be no point for anyone to do anything except what we wanted them to. The world would be stagnant, still and pointless. Safe? Yes. Secure? Yes. But no meaning and no point. That's what we're trying to avoid."

"It's the same idea with your enhancements," I continued, with a gesture towards him. "What would happen if that limit of your stopped time was raised to a hour? Or removed all together?"

"I wouldn't need anyone else from the team," he said, carefully. "With all the vision and ammo options, even taking down spirits is as simple as point and shoot."

"Would you want that?" I asked. "To have those limits removed, and go tell everyone else that they are redundant? That you are so far beyond them that they are pointless? Would it motivate them? Would it drive them to succeed?"

In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought.

"It all comes down to this, Kia," I said. "I - we - want the locals to do the job of fixing their world. Not do it for them. It's not what I'm interested in."

"Their world?"

I nodded.

"So what do you want with this world, then, anyways?"

"To be able to say 'good job everyone! Your planet is all fixed up!' and leave, basically," I replied.

"Leave?"

"I might retain some footholds, but..." I shrugged, and moved my head from side to side. "Compared to what I've got facing me elsewhere, this place is a vacation planet. Horribly painful in spots, yes, but still much, much better than what I've seen and know to be going on... Elsewhere."

"What do you want in general, then?" he asked.

"I'm going to ask for your suspension of disbelief in regards to my answer, Kia," I said with a smile. He nodded, and I continued with, "To put it simply - meaning. Meaning through the motivations, desires, wants and needs of others. To fulfil them, and..." I shrugged. "Friends are nice, too. I have different ways of wording that all. Please think about how many multi-billion nuyen corps have their president, CEO and sole stock-owner available for midnight in-person chats if you consider me joking."

That silenced him rather substantially.

"...I have a temptation to just say that I came in here due to a bad dream, now, just to see your reaction," he said with a wry smile.

We laughed together, even if his did sound rather strained.

"Mr. Umbrella?"

"Hmm?"

"Would we be more useful - have more meaning - in a place that isn't considered a 'vacation planet'?"

"Maybe so, Kia. That would depend on you and the others. Why don't you talk to them and see - the biggest test would be considering that the guests at the Halloween wedding were not wearing quite as comprehensive costumes as you think they were."

"And if we're okay with everything?"

"I might be able to find a suitable teacher for you," I said with a chuckle.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elsewhere. Raymond's POV.

"...Updated my journal," I subvocalized, as I stored my pen and only slightly magical tome into my hammer-space. I have no idea where that panicked feeling came from. Like there was a horrible fate soon to befall me.

3.3 - "The Most Wonderful Daze of the Year"

Wednesday, December 25th, 2057.

"This is DJ Darco Smooth, coming live to you from some place you can't find! Don't let that stop you looking, though, as I'm shaking in my booties - that I don't wear - for the chance to see some fine, fine wetwork specialist ladies. Everyone else is welcome, too."

"Good day, welcome and hello, dear listeners. Today would normally be a happy day for everybody, but... I'll top that off with a Merry Christmas for all, in case it offends you. If is doesn't, I'll repeat it again: Merry Christmas."

"I find myself unable to properly get stone cold drunk with expensive booze on this day, as weighing heavy on my mind is the sad and sorry fate of the Renraku Arcology in the Seattle Metroplex, of the UCAS. Just earlier this month I was exclaiming how their luck had turned after a week of being accident free. The thought was that their techs had some halfway competent wageslaves among the underpaid masses. I guess it was not meant to be."

"Just yesterday - Christmas Eve, no less - in some sort of nightmare-like experience, the Renraku Arcology had entered a security lock-down and trapped all those last-minute shoppers inside. Armoured shutters have been drawn over all points of entry, and Astral defences have been deployed. Automatic weapons are on standby around the structure, but even those are working erratically. The few times that they have managed to fire, only the shock-waves or after-effects have inflicted damage."

"The Seattle government is in talks with Renraku. So far, they have refused all offers of armed corporate deployment for assistance. They insist that the in-building technicians will have to solve the issues. Matrix connections are available, but very unstable. The bulk of Renraku's elite deckers are reputed to be working overtime to solve the issue."

"By this point, any sort of faith in the megacorp's abilities to handle the mess is completely shattered. The small stock price rising with the earlier miraculous recovery has diminished multiple times over. It was only due to the assurances by astrally sensitive mages, that no extensive suffering was going on inside, that Renraku was able to convince the combined UCAS and Seattle guard forces to not take the place by force."

"Now that the miserable fates are somewhat aired, it's time for the slightly more positive news. ...I'm actually wearing pants. They're clean, too."

"In news that you actually care about, the Queen of Queens has made some major moves on the international stage. In the corporate arena, Ares Macrotechnology has announced support for her - via press release and other sources - in the form of a joint effort to develop countermeasures to be used against insect spirits. On top of which, the Detroit region has become another 'absolute zero' zone for those insects, much like the Seattle Metroplex. It's great to see such forward, intelligent thinking from a mega... For a change."

"The UCAS government has also announced full support for monthly audits of their insect spirit-related populations within the States. The CAS government is also rumoured to be in talks with the Queen of Queens, but nothing is of yet confirmed."

"The UCAS military forces, on the other hand, have been greatly excited by the black-boxed personasoft chips supplied by Global Technology. Leaps and bounds ahead of the basic forms employed in the Yakuza and other organized crime syndicate sourced bunraku parlour whorehouses, they have massive potential just yet being realized. Typically, skillsofts exist in one or two grouped activities, but these have no practical upper limits."

"Investors are stone cold out of luck, however, as Global has gone completely private after an internal shake-up of shareholders and stock owners took place. So too are buyers, as the corp has entered into a tightly regulated contract with the military. Deckers and shadowrunners are equally screwed over, as it has been rumoured that -"

"...So you can bend over and take it like a corporate wageslave does every day. However, that experience will get to be slightly more enjoyable due to another corporate success coming out of the Seattle Metroplex."

"'Version two.' 'New and improved.' Long had those words come out of the crap filled mouths of marketing and advertising executives. Now, it's my turn, for that crap to come out of my mouth. I'm not referring to the nibbles I've taken from those execs, but instead - the Anti-Flatlining Device version two, from Mary Falls, Inc. Apart from the various custom features and options, this one can overcome the current, revised generation of black ice that trumped the original. Does this mean that in another three months, there will be yet again some new ice that can defeat it? We won't know till then. In the mean time, if you like not dying while connected to the Matrix - go buy a few. They'd make great gifts, too."

"As MFI makes nuyen by the bucketful, they get to laugh all the way to the bank, as that corporation is also private. Speaking further of privates - and not my own - Hollywood Simsense Entertainment has been roughed up rather substantially."

"A number of months ago, HSE experienced a corporate shakeup that shed almost twenty percent of their top managers and executives. While it made them a leaner, meaner, foreign market distributor machine, the events of the last few weeks damaged their bottom line substantially."

"Normally a two division operation, with their porn and gore filled entertainment done in Seattle, and everything else in Cal Free, they recently split apart to become two in truth. The Seattle nuyen maker has been newly headed by president Booker Pengrave. He has already survived multiple assassination attempts by the barest of thin margins. Booker balances his depression with a steady stream of well-screened joygirls and other forms of momentary gratification."

"For the record, Hollywood North Simsense Entertainment is now also a wholly private corporation. Booker assures all valued consumers of HSE's past crap that he will continue to produce the same substandard crap that they all can still enjoy."

"Now, for a different kind of crap - the one that fills your pants when you shit yourself in terror. Well, not so much the generic 'you,' but rather organleggers in particular, along with their supporting organizations, such as the very hush hush top secret international Tenebrous."

"In fact, just saying that name probably put me on another hit list. Fan-tas-tic!"

"Some sort of rapidly regenerating, immortal and merciless killer that goes by the name of 'oh gawd, please don't AHHH! AHHH! AHHH! Gallllloowwwgreyyyy! AHHHH!' has been spotted all over continental North America. Victims have been reduced to withered, lifeless husks, or merely torn limb from limb. Note that Gallowgrey only opposes those particular types - civilians and other beloved criminals of all stripes have nothing to fear, unless they commit the death-affirming act of interference."

"The latest example of such acts was the gang called the Slaughterhouse, formerly based out of New York. There were one hundred and twenty five members, and now there are none. Not even a token number, like the classic Slaughterhouse Nine, are left to bemoan their fates."

"There has been, of course, quite a large number of bounties offered for the elimination of this being. However, the list of the dead who failed in their attempts to collect it is even longer. When I pressed Lone Star and Knight Errant for their official comments, I had to disconnect after hearing non-stop laughter for over twenty minutes."

"I guess they don't have a spare heart to give."

"In regards to the ever-elusive Umbrella Import Group, they will be gaining quite a large degree of visibility tonight. The Cayman Islands have successfully been joined in some sort of large, three pronged mega-structure that is officially the world's biggest single building. It is over one hundred kilometers long, ten kilometers wide and about a half kilometer high. And no, I'm not talking about what's in my pants. The building - which is reputed to simply have the exterior framework completed - still has some months to go to fill in the interior. For those individuals who comment on the impossibly huge nature of the structure, UIG's official press release goes something like this: 'nanotech, bitches. Deal.'"

"UIG intends to have this massive, long and completely non-phallic demonstration of their construction prowess serve as an advertisement to the international markets. Their press release also states that they are willing to do other large constructions, such as arcologies, with a minimum price point of five hundred million nuyen. Consultations can be had for a mere fifty thousand nuyen flat fee."

"The Cayman Island structure, which is still unnamed, will be launching an equally unnamed space-ship tonight. Yes, you heard me right, folks. UIG is capable of launching their own spacecraft, but can't hire some two-nuyen joytoy to give the world's largest building or a freaking SPACE CRAFT a bloody name. For convenience sake, I'll refer to the structure as the 'Island Wang' and the to-be-launched shuttle as the 'Spacecraft Wang' from now on unless some real alternatives come up."

"Quite a number of callers will be getting surprise Christmas gifts today, of the actually wanted kind. Please make sure your neighbours or other people don't steal it from you."

"And thats it for now, folks! Let's all have a great day today, and Merry Christmas!"

"Remember, to reach me, do a belly flop into the metaplanes while wearing edible body paint and speaking into live static, saying my name, DJ Darco Smooth, three times."

"Next time, I'll probably forget to wear clothes yet again, but bluff my way into your ear-holes via my usual combination of truth, humour and pain. Insert funky catch-phase here - over and over again."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"How about... The Umbrella?"

"No."

"The Really Big Building?"

"No."

"The Wang of Destiny?"

"No."

"My Middle Finger?"

"No."

"What the Wageslaves Feel Every Day?"

"No."

"My Backyard?"

"No."

"Insert Name Here?"

"No."

"Top Secret Weapon?"

"No."

"Damn, this is harder than I thought..."

"...No."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

9:48 AM. Sunday, December 8th, 2057. Side-office by the Sigil Storefront. Mike/Sanctum's POV.

17 Days ago.

"I think it is the Eye of --"

I snapped my fingers and Raymond's mouth sealed over. "Let's not say the V-word, alright?" Once he had reduced his glares to a degree in which he was capable of nodding, I reversed that process. "Sorry about that, Ray. There are... Issues... With that... Being... I'd rather not get into. Can you tell me the details with naming him, please?"

He flicked my forehead, which caused a sharp, brittle cracking sound.

"Heal first," Raymond said, and stuck his bleeding finger my way.

Done.

"Is there somewhere I could put it, Rainbow?" He said, as he looked around. There wasn't much in this room. It had three large, comfortable black leather chairs, a small table between them, and a large table running the length of a side wall.

"Just hold on to it," I replied. "And let me see the eye first. To check if it really is the item, I mean."

He shrugged, and held out his mithril scale armour covered arm. A moment later, a black, uncut gem the size of an eyeball appeared on his hand.

I passed a portal over the gem, hand and all, about a half dozen times. A consultation of the portal-scanned records - which were flagged by Nessi as 'unable to access' - brought a smile to my face. I touched the held black gem and applied some subtle effects to it, while at the same time ensuring that a number of it's qualities were copied. "You can put it away now, thanks."

It disappeared, and he looked at me inquisitively.

"It's the real deal, Ray," I said quietly, very impressed. "Where did you find it?"

"Vrischika's Curiosity Shoppe, here in the Clerk's Ward."

"Where you bought the very interesting Modron Cube?"

"That's the one, yeah."

I drummed my fingers on the black leather armrests. "I've already gotten all that I can from it. Please consider it a personal request to throw it away in some remote location, alright?"

"It's that bad?"

"If you think eventual conversion into an extension of his will is bad, then yeah."

"...I'll make it an priority."

"Thanks, Ray." I leaned forward, and beckoned him to do the same. "There are some rather interesting passive effects. Let's talk options." I gave him a teeth bared grin. With a blink and a finger snap, I adorned myself with a posh monocle and blackboard appeared.

I glared at the offending teacher's tool and replaced it with a whiteboard.

"Special student Raymond!" I said to him in a German accent. "We shall review the accursed nature of that thing, yes?"

"...Sure."

His enthusiasm awed me in its magnificence! Truly!

"Some long time ago, that I could care less about when it was," I began, "there was a wizard. He became a lich, and had one of his hands and eyes cut out by a traitorous underling - by a weapon that he had given to said underling. It was of course filled with the lich's own evil, but..." I leaned forward conspiratorially, and stage whispered. "Nobody really talks about that part."

The whiteboard filled as I talked. In glorious stick-figure detail, a wizard became a skeleton. It then gained a sad face when one of its eyes and hands were cut off.

"Those two parts then became major artifacts, as that maimed undead guy ascended into godhood. Somehow." I did an overly long shrug. "Not that I care about that, either. Those two artifacts then wandered the planes, doing various assorted evil things to further his goals - one way or another."

A poor drawing of an eyeball and a simple hand gained devil horns and goatees. I skipped the pitchforks and angry faces.

"That eye has a bunch of powers that... Well... I could easily give you anyways. BUT!" I thrust a finger into the air. "It also has some traits that I would not be able to easily grant! One of which is like a compass, being able to easily point out where... He... Is."

"How exactly would knowing where an evil god of secrets is help me, Rainbow?" Raymond asked me.

"That is a very good question Ray," I replied. "Please tell me once you have learned an answer. How about... Being able to block his awareness of you whenever you are close to him?"

Ray just glared at me.

"...I'll think of something."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

9:48 AM. Monday, December 9th, 2057. Sigil Storefront.

16 Days ago.

"I heard that you wanted to speak to me?" Those were the first words I asked the back of the armoured giant. Not a literal giant, but as if someone took an Earth Bet basketball player, added some mass to them, and then piled on some half-plate armour of average quality. The metal was all scuffed, dull grey. Not my favourite colour, I'll admit. A shield of the same colour was hitched on his back, and a sheathed sword was at his hip.

"Honoured landowner," he began, and turned around to face me. He removed his full helmet, cradling it to his side. A very pale grey-skinned face greeted me. He had dark circles around his eyes, that were themselves solid white. A short layer of near-white grey fuzz topped his head. "I have followed your advice. As you can see, my restoration was not without flaws."

I stared at him for a while, thinking. He acted like he knew me, but... Formal speaking? Restoration?

"Would you be... Sir Cleve?" I asked him, only half-confident in my query.

"Yes and no, honoured landowner," he replied. His face tightened over those white eyes. "Cleve... Yes. Sir? ...No." He shook his head. "Much like how I was an exception as a bodak - to hold onto my memories and personage as an undead - so too am I an exception as a human. The restoration of my paladin status did not come with it, but other traits did."

A twice over unique being, I thought. How very curious.

I waved to Suplindh, perched in the corner, and his stony countenance returned it with a nod. With that acknowledgement, I beckoned Cleve to follow me, and we entered the much-used side-office.

He made as if to stay standing, but some rather insistent pointing at the large, black leather chair eventually overcame his resistance. He put his sword and shield to the side, and sat down. There was a minimum of metallic clanking from his movement. He seemed like a natural in his heavy armour. His gauntlets were the last things removed.

"I think it has been a few months at least... Cleve?"

"More or less, honoured landowner," he replied, with a nod. Cleve's voice was in no way tied to his appearance. It evoked the mental image of the powerful, deep bass of a famous opera singer.

"Can you tell me some of the highlights?" I leaned forward in interest, but stopped myself. I let my enthusiasm overcome my manners. "Ah... My apologies. I go by Rainbow Umbrella here, and don't insist on any formality. Apart from that - did you want a drink or snack or something?"

His jaw worked as he considered my request. "Heavily watered wine please, if you would... Rainbow. Bread is fine. I'm still getting used to eating again, and rich foods can be upsetting." Cleve shrugged his armoured shoulders. "I also don't want to get used to fine fare."

A finger snap later, and the table in front of us had three new dishes: a plate with a loaf of still-warm bread, an empty fired clay goblet, and a filled pitcher of the same make.

He thanked me, and served himself. The bread was slowly eaten by having pieces torn off. Each one chewed in a methodical, repetitive, and identical process to the one prior, and topped off with a small sip of the watered wine.

"You wanted to hear my tale, Rainbow?" He asked between bites. I nodded, and he continued after the next bit of bread. "It started with a candid discussion with storekeeper Brighteyes, whom I lived and worked with. The topic of my resurrection, costs, and other related issues came up. He pulled in some favours, and... This resulted." He pointed to his own face with a bare hand. "I'm not that disappointed, as my current appearance is more comely than mine original."

I blinked. "You mean to tell me that your light grey skin, white eyes and dark circles around them is an... Improvement over your past looks?"

He nodded, with a faint smile present on his face.

Huh, I thought. Ain't that a kicker.

"It was with my revival that I realized two things: my status as a paladin was no more, and the transition to and from the undead had left their mark on me." Another piece of bread and sip of wine followed. "The pain of the first was all-consuming, with the apparent benefits tied to my past bodak nature rendered as to nothing in comparison. It... Took me a while to get over it. Spoken conferences with a number of priests most holy informed me that my new nature might have complications in regards to the simplicity of atonement and like measures."

I kept silent.

"That was all done in Sigil," Cleve continued. "I consulted a planewalker for a trip back to my own home - a prime called Krynn. It had changed substantially since I had departed from there. The lord I had rescued from the Abyss was dead of old age, as was his son and heir. I troubled not the next in line. The last stop I made before my scheduled reuniting with the walker was at a small shrine of Kiri-Jolith, the god whom I was... Previously... Connected to." His next piece of torn off bread was chewed rather extensively. "After a day of prayer and contemplation there, two brief, simple messages arose to the forefront of my mind. They were of the Bison of Heaven's creed - to work with companions to fight evil while cloaked in courage, honour, justice and unity - as well as a simple caution. That caution was to see the truth via first impressions, and not be blinded by anything else."

Cleve smiled, the brightness of it contrasting with odd nature of his eyes. "You, honoured Rainbow Umbrella, have given me the warmest welcome since then." He sighed. "After I returned to Sigil, more efforts on my part arranged for storekeeper Brighteyes to have a replacement guardian presence. My own journey then went through a number of temples, before ending here." His white eyes locked on mine. "I apologize if I consider myself unfit for priestly duties, as I could have offered you in some form, were I still a paladin."

I shrugged, making a dismissive sound. "Not to worry, Cleve," I said. "I'm still interested, and not going anywhere. What now for you? What do you want?"

"To restore my honour and worth as a paladin the oldest way possible, Rainbow," he began, speaking solemnly. "Through deeds of such significance that the eyes of the heavens are drawn my way in well-regarded recognition." Cleve placed his hands on his armoured thighs. "Are you aligned with just causes? Do you know of any such who I could journey with?"

"I think there are a few people like that, Cleve," I replied with a smile. "Let me introduce you once he shows up again."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

4:28 PM. Monday, December 15th, 2057. Limbo. Raymond's POV.

10 Days ago.

I struck the small bell with the hammer given to me earlier, and the town's champion appeared in a flash of green-blue light. He was a former planewalking knight, whose armour gleamed rather impressively. Mithril, perhaps, or maybe alchemically treated silver. He drew his large, two-handed sword, and saluted me with it, and went to attack the grey slaadi.

The grey signalled the red and blues around us, and they moved in our direction. The blues looked like large frogs, as big and broad as ogres, with almost no neck and a massive, flat head. Apart from their clawed hands and feet, two wicked looking, bony hooks extended out of the back of their hands. The reds were about the same size, but slimmer and more streamlined. Their hands were free of bony accessories.

After a quick summon from my hammer-space, I sighted down the barrel of my held heavy revolver - a Smith and Wesson model five-hundred, or so Rainbow keeps on telling me - and warned the others. "Fire at will," I said. "I'd rather not be swarmed. Limbo isn't the ideal ground fighting environment."

Cleve, finally now in a fitted, through barely magical, set of full plate armour, was off to my left, Annah was to my right, and Grace was behind me. Morte was floating above us in the middle, keeping an eye up top. We were standing on a chunk of stone I had created earlier out of the chaos of this place. It's presence eliminated one more degree of access to us.

With the first crack of Grace's rifle, I started firing as well. No time for subtlety - simply point and shoot. With every click of the trigger, a flash of gore extended outwards from each slaadi. Red and blue viscera; shards of bone; the occasional eyeball or two.

They actually did croak. A cacophony of sound, meant to stun or stagger us. It didn't work - we were made of sterner stuff.

"Chief!" Morte hailed me. "Up top! Filthy frogs coming!"

I aimed up and started firing. There was a tidal wave of the frog monsters headed our way.

Cleve adjusted his stance to cover the angle I was now missing without being prompted. I had a flashback to Dak'kon - my past githzerai companion, fighter and mage in one - with his presence beside me. They were drastically different people. While Dak'kon was philosophical, Cleve was practical or simply silent. The gith treated combat as an extended dance, while the paladin hopeful acted like a bladed wrecking ball.

"Teh frogs are gettin' uppity!"

"Holy war will take one more - and it won't be me."

"It's time to teach you slaadi a lesson."

"For TENTACLES!"

I saved my own battle cry for later. The revolver was stashed in my hammer-space, and I cracked my knuckles in anticipation.

A large blue arm, topped with two spikes, barreled towards my face. I grabbed the two of them and pulled apart. The blue slaadi's hand ripped in two before the spikes came out, and I used the leverage to swing an armoured boot into it's eyeball. Squatting against its face, I ducked the other incoming spiked hand and grabbed the sides of its skull. I straightened out, still holding on, and the foot went through its eye and the back of its head.

"Chief!" Morte yelled. "I'm being deep-throated by a frog! And not in a good way!" He was right, somewhat. Another one of those ogre-sized blues had the mobile skull inside his mouth. He was being slathered with a slimy tongue and chewed on by two ridges of sharp teeth. No penetration yet, but the grating sound was far from reassuring. Even if his helmet provided great protection, I doubt that Morte wanted to observe acid immunity at work from inside a stomach.

A combination of Cleve's sword-work and Annah's blades managed to behead the orally fixated slaadi, and the newly freed Morte let loose a constant stream of profanity.

One down, I thought, and looked around at the insane melee. Too many to go. I yanked my leg back out. Shouts, croaks, and a wave of red and blue everywhere. Our armour was our best protection here - even Morte had upgraded to a helmet. We were still getting beat on. Slaadi, hear my battle cry. It is -

"CHAIN LIGHTING!" I screamed out loud. No need for spell components, focuses, gestures or words. I was beyond that, now. The monstrous' frogs resistance to electricity may have halted one casting. But two? Five? TEN?! Every single one maximized, extended, dual repeated, and cast in mere seconds? No. They had no chance. They danced in their electric seizures as the air around me shone with the blue-white glows.

What was a swarm of of slaadi around us so dense that we couldn't see the chaos of Limbo beyond them became a sea of cooked meat. Steam rose from their bodies.

I heard Cleve's stomach grumble beside me.

"My apologies, Raymond," he said. "It reminds me of chicken. I haven't had it in a quite a while."

"I can assure you, Cleve," Fall-from-Grace began from behind me, "that they taste nothing like that."

Annah and Morte joined in the discussion. I tuned them out as I saw movement through the masses of corpses.

It was the knight from earlier, with his armour slightly scratched from the combat with the grey slaadi. He seemed otherwise fine, and his own two-handed sword was sheathed. He drifted towards our small island of earth and alighted on the edge.

"Who did all this?" He asked, and gestured to the well-cooked dead around us. I raised a hand in response, and he walked over, gauntlet extended. After a firm handshake, he respectively said, "Thank you. You... Substantially down-played your own abilities in town. Being their champion is one of the easier jobs I've gotten, but I don't think I could have taken on this..." He looked around again. "This. Yes. I killed the grey slaadi, but... Claiming responsibility for clearing them all out is not a lie I want to perpetuate." The knight laughed, his armour shaking with the movement. "Especially if it irritates one such as you."

He kept silent, and looked out at the bodies again. With a sharp, short kick of an armoured boot, a fist-sized piece of earth came loose. He grabbed it and hurled it into the mass of slaadi, which set off a chain reaction among the corpses.

"If I may?" Cleve said. "The simplest way of expressing complicated truths is through brevity. You were summoned here by us, defeated the grey slaadi, and the blues and reds are no longer a threat. No elaboration or details ever spoken, simply use that fully honest refrain. You have no control over the assumptions made by the citizens who employ yourself, and assuming that you stick to those words, we shouldn't have any issue over it. Unless...?" His helmet, a full enclosure adorned with two large, curving horns, swung my way in silent query.

"Works for me," I said.

We exchanged some more well wishes and goodbyes with the knight. He left with flash of magic, and we were alone again.

It was only when I had some moments of silence that I realized I've been neglecting the small druidism-based magic I recently acquired.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

3:43 PM. Monday, December 16th, 2057. Luxury tank mock-up, Sanctum. Director Silla Trebheart's POV.

9 Days ago.

"...And thank you, Ms. Falls," I said to the screen. The Hawai'ian native gave me one last smile, and we disconnected. "That is one more corporation under our umbrella, Rainbow."

The man in question was sitting next to my wife - and isn't it so wonderful to actually say that?! - pretending to relax. At this point, negotiating a contract to acquire the bulk of a corporation wasn't anything special. What was an actual issue was next.

Jessica gave me a pair of thumbs up and a mouthed 'good luck,' which I returned with an equally quiet 'thanks.'

"Adam Shepherd's office, please, Nessi," I subvocalized, and the main screen showed a 'ringing' animation. After four such rings, it connected, and the new ghoul himself was front and center.

"Greetings, Director Trebheart," he began. Adam wasn't smiling. His light blue eyes were staring right into the camera, and his tan, light brown hair was visibly gelled. "I was expecting your call."

"And thank you for taking it in person, Mr. Shepherd," I replied. I suppressed any impulses of my own to smile or offer up positive encouragement. "To cut right to the heart of the matter - we apologize for the necessary measures that had to be taken."

He nodded, and said, "I understand the way of the world, Director. My hands aren't clean either. I'm glad that my own memories remain intact, at least - or so I assume."

"Thank you, Mr. Shepherd," I said. "Having the assistance rendered to the Invisibles was beneficial, but... Active security leaks had to be plugged. This way costs the least for all involved."

"I know," Adam replied, and shrugged. "I'm sure Umbrella will impress me again, but in the mean time the... Shine of our new relationship has dulled. That's all."

"Understood. Is there anything we can do for you?"

He shook his head. "We're managing, Director. The bigger concern is paying all these debts back - whether or not they are formally recognized as such. Anything else?"

"No, thank you."

"Good day, then." With one small, sad smile, Mr. Shepherd disconnected.

Into the quiet of the false limo-tank interior, Mike spoke. "It's rather painful to see happiness stripped away like that." His rainbow coloured eyes shifted between Jessica and myself. "We're doing everything we can for them, right?"

A duo of affirmative replies followed.

"Right. Thanks. Do you two need anything? Want anything?"

A pair of negative replies followed.

"Okay... Jess?" He turned to the brunette beside him. "How about... No. Never mind. I'll just relax by myself for a while." He gave us both a brief wave, and disappeared with a finger snap.

"Sils - he left us alone in the tank!" Jessica exclaimed. "He never leaves us alone in the tank." She shuffled over the seats, and moved next to me. Jess pulled me into a sideways hug and leaned her head on my shoulder.

I absently stroked her hair. "I know, Jessy. I don't think he took Mr. Shepherd's reaction that well."

"Yeah..."

"Why don't we think of some legitimate uses for all those ritual samples we gained from DocWagon?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

10:14 PM. Wednesday, December 18th, 2057. Sub-level Three, Jordan Aerodynamics Building, Terminal Z-Zone, Manhattan, New York City.

7 Days ago.

There were only a few of us left able to stand being in the room with her after she got started. The Queen of Queens. Everyone knew the instant she entered the building, as all the insect spirits went still and silent. It didn't matter what else was going on - some of them were in the midst of active surgery. It didn't matter. They stayed quiet and still.

An escort of UCAS Army Rangers brought her through the passages. More correctly, they followed her - at a respectful distance. She knew where everything was, who everybody was. Every person - from wageslave to deep cover CIA operative - was greeted once, by their original birth name, and ignored then after. We actually caught a mole that way, whose name didn't match our records.

Her intelligence is better than ours.

We were all in one of the operating rooms. The machinery was turned off. Apart from the Queen of Queens, there were only a few other people: the highest ranking officer of the Army Rangers on site, the most senior CIA operative, a white-haired lab tech who was busily typing in notes to his pocket secretary, and a 'Mr. Johnson.' The last one unnerved the Ranger and the CIA operative. They had received orders to be deferential to him from very high up, but nothing else was mentioned.

Then there was me, just one lucky guard who had a strong stomach and was in sight of the room when the group entered.

The last... Living... Entity in this room was on the operating table. A flesh form cockroach spirit, anchored to the table with metal spikes. It was slowly tearing itself apart, limb by limb, joint by joint. It was the background sound that filled in the last gap of the ongoing discussion.

Her booted foot tapped the bare concrete floor, and the actions of the insect spirit matched the cadence.

The Mr. Johnson fished out a credstick from within his suit jacket and passed it her way. It disappeared within her grip, without appearing to go anywhere else.

"Thank you," she said. There was an obvious distortion to her voice. She never presumed to hide it. The Queen of Queens - everybody used that title, even though she had said that calling her 'Taylor' is fine - as if you'd call a walking weapon of mass destruction 'Kenny' or 'William'! - wore an armoured motorcycle jumpsuit and helmet, all a blue so dark it might as well be black. No skin was exposed. "We can continue, then. What are you interested in?"

The CIA spook spoke first. "All the medium-sized and larger insect spirit hives within continental North America, please."

Silence followed, only broken by the flesh tearing of the cockroach spirit.

"The only ones left are here," she replied, "in New York City and Manhattan. I spared them in order to support your own efforts, as this outreach towards me was very commendable - and timely. I had already started a national purge after a certain Ares lab irritated me." Her darkened helmet faced the Mr. Johnson with her last sentence.

I thought our Ares connection was supposed to be secret, I thought for a second, surprised. It was followed by thoughts of the massive security breach that the Queen of Queens is - such a simple thing as our corporate connection is hardly an issue at this point.

"We'll need to verify that," the spook said. "Not... Not that we don't believe you. It's a policy thing. Forms to be filled."

More silence. More insect spirit self-mutilation.

She shrugged. "If you look hard enough, there should be between seventy and eighty five hives with inhabitants of less than a half-dozen each. They have remained as a test of your own capabilities - and I have not received nearly enough official support, regardless of what the public word is."

"Ares is willing to publicly support a joint insect spirit-related research lab with the Queen of Queens," the Mr. Johnson said. "A secure site has been under development in the CCZ for the past few months and..."

"I can tell you everything about it," she interrupted him, smoothly. "Thank you. Can you tell me what prompted the change? Correction - tell us?"

His black, wraparound sunglasses panned over the other inhabitants of the room before settling on me. "The guard?"

"Memory is a fickle thing," the Queen of Queens replied. "More so with my encouragement. It won't be an issue."

Memory? What the frag?! I went through some panicked breaths before I felt a tiny pinch on my forearm. Right after, everything was absolutely fine.

"Right. No problems, then," the suit said. "I was given rather large leeway in regards to my permissions, so... Regardless. Less than a week ago, a Mr. Johannson was attending an executive meeting that also hosted Damien Knight in person. In the middle of that meeting, that employee stood up and said 'I have three announcements to make: one, I am an insect spirit. Two, your security sucks shit. Three, your corporate policies in regards to the Queen of Queens are rather discouraging.' He then changed into a wasp spirit form and eviscerated himself - his steaming entrails literally poured onto the meeting desk. By the time security had arrived, the insect spirit had somehow also managed to decapitate itself."

The Mr. Johnson stared at the Queen of Queens.

"Official policy is now that that event never happened, and Ares is a firm supporter of the Queen of Queens." He coughed into his fist. "While Mr. Knight did not appreciate the delivery method of the message, the content was very clear. You'll have no issues on our part. The one highly preferred request is that the region around Detroit becomes an 'absolute zero' insect spirit area - much like the Seattle Metroplex is. Your official response to that request is...?"

"One purge every calendar week is viable."

He visibly relaxed, and stopped himself halfway from wiping down his own forehead.

"I will, of course, help Ares to put in measures to verify my own actions," she continued. "I'm aware of the trust - and the counter-measures against the betrayal of such trust - and would prefer an equally beneficial arrangement for us all."

He nodded, and gestured at me. "In regards to memory...?"

"Say when, and it will be then for him."

"Before I gave you the credstick."

She flicked her fingers my way and the world slowly went dark.

"Now, regarding Roger Willis..."

...

There were only a few of us left able to stand being in the room with her after she got started. The Queen of Queens. Everyone knew the instant she entered the building, as all the insect spirits went still and silent. It didn't matter what else was going on - some of them were in the midst of active surgery. It didn't matter. They stayed quiet and still.

"Corporal!" The Mr. Johnson hailed me.

"Yes, sir?" I had no idea who he was, but the others seemed to defer to him. Perhaps he was a high-ranking black ops official.

"Quick attention check - did I give the Queen of Queens here a credstick?"

"No, sir."

"Very good. Carry on."

In spite of his words, everybody looked vaguely uncomfortable for some reason. I better pay attention carefully - I wouldn't want to miss anything.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

12:01 AM. Wednesday, December 25th, 2057. Shadowmech, on route to Mountain 9347 (Fort Ross), Alaska, Trans-Polar Aleut Nation. Kia's POV.

Current day.

"You don't understand. He spoke to me. He'll kill me with fire from the heavens. God's Wrath will pour down all those with the number of the dragon and the beast, those who betray the saints, will be struck down with the flaming sword." She spoke as if reciting a prayer, with her head moving back and forth slowly. The strange words seemed to calm her.

The image on the screen of the computer pad was of a young woman with a blond crew-cut. A proto-military, masculine look favoured by T-bird riggers. She had introduced herself earlier as Elizabeth Moonstraw.

"How can you hide from the City of God?" Elizabeth looked up at the interrogator who had his hand on her shoulder.

He was dressed casually, in jeans and an Army sweatshirt, but still appeared tense. Still had the posture and bearing of a military officer. Little, if any, of that tension was transmitted to the hand on her shoulder.

For a fraction of a second after she spoke, her expression remained blank and frozen. Then utter horror came over her face. Her eyes widened until they seemed to rip her head apart from the inside.

I hit the slow replay option. The frames clicked forward, each one like a sampling of the latest action-horror trideo. The colour of her skin started to lighten - to bleach itself white, and glow. The glow intensified until Elizabeth appeared like a solid shape of intense brightness. Then white-hot flames flashed from her like a nuclear explosion.

She disappeared in the midst of that. The flames and shockwave of the explosion acted like a cleansing bath to her two captors - an acid bath, that scoured off the flesh from their bodies. The two skeletons fell softly to the ground, and the screen turned to trideo snow.

The video automatically stopped. I used the opportunity to glance up from the screen and look around. Full-sized Shadowmech today, I thought. More of a war operation than a covert one. Everybody was geared up in full-body environmental armour. Mine was comfortable enough that I could pretend it didn't exist - especially when my cybereyes could literally filter out my helmet's presence. I hoped that theirs were as comfortable.

Kellan and Mutus were quiet, while Hardpoint's head was bobbing slightly. Likely more of that J-pop he likes playing inside his helmet.

Time for another replay, I thought, as I turned back to the computer pad. A tap would send the recording back to the beginning. The time and date display read just a few minutes past midnight, December twenty-fifth, twenty-fifty-seven. The moon phase was dark.

Merry fragging Christmas to us. This is going to be a long day.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

12:34 AM. Shadowmech, circling Mountain 9347 (Fort Ross), Alaska, Trans-Polar Aleut Nation.

"If you look out your window on the ground facing side of the Shadowmech, you'll be able to see the clusters of railgun anti-air defences," Hardpoint broadcasted through the interior of the vehicle. "I'll be going nice and slow, so that everybody can get a good look."

I laughed, quietly, but still did the stretch required to see them. Kellan was more enthusiastic, while Mutus simply did a quick peek, as if she was embarrassed about it or something.

"You'll be dropped off right on the helipad," he continued, "so make sure to wave hello to the two rigger-controlled sentry guns right inside the main armoured blast doors. The next rigger is due in about seven minutes, so it might make sense to let the shift change occur first. Your call."

I adjusted the strap on my seat and flicked my pistol in and out of hammer-space. From Ops N's reports, there are over one hundred mage children here. Brainwashed to their cause - some sort of doomsday flavoured Christianity cult angle in order to unify them into total obedience. There was also a bunch of black ops UCAS troops coming, but none of us were worried about them.

I snorted. Yep, that's UIG for you, I thought to myself. A half dozen squads of the finest UCAS commandos are not even worth thinking about. Though since they are governmental rather than criminals, Noble Bones won't be getting them. Pity.

The bigger issues were the mechanical kill-switches and a great dragon that was circling the area. The flying lizard was likely not related to us, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.

"I'm opting for an air insertion," Kellan broadcasted. She was sitting right opposite from me now, settled in after she had checked out the railguns. "Any objections?"

Both Mutus and myself shook our heads in the negative, and Kellan passed the word up to our pilot.

"Your ride, chummers! Central floor is opening in fifteen... Fourteen..."

I positioned myself in the center of the open space. The two others shook their head at my lack of a rappelling cord, but weren't too shocked. I had practiced what I was about to do quite a number of times. I gave them both thumbs up, then waited with my arms pressed against my sides.

"Two... One..." The space below me opened with a near explosively rapid action, and I started to free fall. "Gambatte kudasai!"

"Domo arigato!" I replied, then didn't have much time for anything else. There were only a few seconds to appreciate the white mountain I was heading down to before warning lights started to flash in my vision. A combination altimeter and range finder, it gauged how far I was from the ground and estimated time till impact.

This, I thought, THIS is not doing a run at walking speed.

At three meters above the ground Slow Time kicked in. I was orientated into the dead center of the helipad. Even at this reduced velocity, I still drifted downwards. At less than a hand's width from the ground, I switched over to Time Stop, fell the rest of the way, and walked off the mostly snow-covered cleared area. At the edge of it, I Resumed and waited, staring upwards from where I came.

[G1-Kellan: I think you're having too much fun with that, Kia., Kellan sent from above me. I could see flashes of ice signifying her own descent.

My eyes widened and I turned around, and jogged to the main blast doors that were covered by a rocky overhang.

[G1-Kia: I just break physics better than you do, Kellan., I sent, as I looked up in their direction. [Slowed Time interacts with normal reality one way, while Stopped Time... Breaks it? A little? If you want to be jealous about someone, tell it to the members of the 300 that have been using it for months before us. Besides, you're the one surfing down fragging Ice Sheet spells cast in mid-air, chummer.]

Her landing was a lot less graceful than mine. It was preceded with over a ton of ice sheets, all crashing into the helipad. Kellan and Mutus lowered themselves on their drop-cords among that frozen wreckage, and crunched their way towards me.

[G1-Mutus: Keep in mind that I can shoot you both. From over 4 kilometers away. Through solid walls. Into your rectums with fart gas pellets., the assassin sent.

[G1-Kia: I didn't know you paid that much attention to our rectums, Mutus., I sent back.

She responded with a pair of upraised middle gloved fingers.

Kellan pointed me to the maglock on the side of the main door, and I went over and crouched beside it.

[G1-Mutus: Second rigger is walking through the tunnels towards the front area right now., she sent, while leaning into the surface of the mountain. [I'll let you know once the switch happens. In the mean time, I'll scope the place out.]

I settled down on the snow covered ground and waited. A few seconds of careful attention to my surroundings were ended when I set up some internal alarm triggers and called up the latest baseball replays. It was shown on the inside of my helmet, somehow displayed so that it looked like a large screen trideo.

Now all I need is a popcorn dispenser in here, and I'm all set, I thought, as the crack of a baseball bat and the cheers of the crowd were heard in surround sound.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

12:52 AM. Main entrance tunnels, Fort Ross, Alaska, Trans-Polar Aleut Nation.

Dealing with the rigger was a lot faster than the literal miles of tunnels we had to walk through. If we had those hover sleds from before, it wouldn't be an issue. As is - jogging. Lots of jogging. I passed on the idea of having a trideo screen displayed on the inside of my helmet. Far too unprofessional a habit to get used to.

Kellan used this time to review our intelligence of the site. [G1-Kellan: Short version is this: Colonel Lawrence Fenmore, both a Humanis member and a believer in apocalyptic Christianity, discovered this site and thought of it as his personal gift from God.] She was jogging to the left of me, and Mutus to the right, staggered a bit behind. [He was jealous of magic users, and saw them as a resource to be turned into a fanatical private army. The operation was assisted by an equally demented mage, who saw himself as an archangel. For the past few years, he has been running this operation as a sophisticated blend of kidnapping ring, military school and personality cult. The video we saw was of one of his supply shippers.]

Just a supply runner, I thought. A nobody. And that 'nobody' warrants a magical version of a suicidal cortex bomb.

We continued the slow, steady cadence of our jog in silence for a while longer.

[G1-Kellan: That is what the UCAS believes to be true, anyways., Kellan continued. [We know better. Over a year ago, they dragged in an exception to the 'young female mage children' rule, an apparently crazy human woman. Red hair, yellow eyes. Her picture is on file. Things started to change around then. There was a slow ramping up period, then... It changed. Went more unified, more coordinated. We would have suspected a new type of ant-based insect spirits, but there was no trace of it. What took effort previously became effortless.]

The tunnel was lit by steel-meshed light-bulbs in the ceiling. The entire thing was carved out of the mountain - solid stone all around. Grey granite, I imagine. Or something equally common. We jogged further. Progress was indicated by the center road passage arrows passing by.

[G1-Kellan: The initial amount of 100 children slowly and steadily grew upward, to the current number of 135., Kellan sent. [No news came of that insane woman. Even with the increased amount of involuntary students, the teachers and class time kept on declining, while their training and results sky-rocketed. The prior 'Archangel' - Michael - rebranded himself as a herald of the wounded Earth, and became yet one more participant in the exercises. It appeared to ignite his magical genius or something, as the use of group ritual magic took over completely. They-]

She stumbled, and would have planted face-first if not for a quick application of Slowed Time and a careful catch by myself.

[G1-Kellan: Kia? You do know we're armoured, right?, she sent, as she politely pushed herself off of me. [If it can't take a simple face-dive, we're in big trouble.] She dusted off her knees and stood up straight.

I straightened up, and took a look at her. She was waving her head back and forth slightly.

[G1-Mutus: What just happened there, Kellan?, the armoured elf sent. She was positioned as if to block our mage leader if necessary.

[G1-Kellan: A flash of something. It made me stumble., Kellan sent, her own helm directed at the assassin. [Sorrow, pain... Images... Screams and the scent of a swamp.]

I looked down the tunnel. We couldn't even see the entrance to the facility yet.

[G1-Kia: Chummer... Call me crazy, but I don't think things are going to get better the closer we get to the source of corruption., I sent, with a thumb directed onwards. [If you've got the slightest bit of magical sensitivity, well... Are you going to do the smart thing here, Kellan?] I moved beside Mutus.

[G1-Kellan: What are you talking about? I'm fine., she sent, then suddenly convulsed forward. [I need to go see Mother and tell her how much I love her.] She was completely crouched against the ground by this point, with her helmet resting against the stone surface. [Me-us-I am... Mother's screams... We need more. Me-us-I cry... Love her... Screams... Can't stop...]

Frag this, I thought, and hit Time Stop. Over two dozen bullets of different charges were sent her way before I Resumed - anti-magic, emergency toxin purge, standard sleep and ten-minutes wipe-out, mana drain and more.

Kellan collapsed, and Mutus turned her head my way. The mage's armour quietly fizzed as it auto-repaired.

[G1-Kia: Executive decision., I sent, matching her blank helmet stare with my own. [Nothing good was going to come of that.] She didn't contest that, and I continued. [Hardpoint - we're bringing Kellan back. Some sort of magical interference fragged her up, and I knocked her out before the effects could get worse.]

Time to carry her back, I thought.

[G1-Hardpoint: So ka. Watch the pile of black ops commandos by the front door, alright?]

Mutus and myself supported Kellan between us, and began the long journey back towards the main opening.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

1:12 AM. External door rigger station, Fort Ross, Alaska, Trans-Polar Aleut Nation.

I opened the door to the outside, and wished I had not. Clustered around the open space were a mangled pile of bodies, mostly charred. I wasn't able to identify anything about them - not even how many there were. Too many pieces.

[G1-Kia: Hardpoint! What the frag is going on out there?, I sent as I hurriedly shut the door. [We were bringing Kellan back for pickup, and there were a pile of corpses outside!]

[G1-Hardpoint: Oh, no problem. It's just the great dragon, Kaltenstein. The UCAS troops weren't that discreet in landing, and on top of that, some crazy fraggers attacked him. I'm taking care of the big guy.]

I exchanged a helmeted glance with Mutus. Seconds later, the door and wall around it began to glow red. I backpedaled and started shooting it with as many anti-magic and quick-freeze bullets as possible. The elven assassin joined in. Despite our efforts, the ambient temperature began to rise and steam filled the small chamber.

Mutus opened the inner door to let out the extra heat. When the steam cleared, she tapped my shoulder and pointed to where we had left the downed rigger from earlier. His flesh had flash-boiled off, leaving only a skeleton behind.

[G1-Kia: Your 'taking care of it' just resulted in the flash-boiling of the rigger we had in here., I sent, after a quick inspection of Kellan. Her armour seemed to be holding up fine.

[G1-Hardpoint: Wakatta. I'll stop playing chicken with Kalty here. Drive away, right? I think UIG's policy is no great dragon's deaths... Yet?]

I sent some hurried confirmations, and settled down to wait against a stone-backed wall. A glance at Mutus showed that she was very still. I doubt that this large degree of collateral deaths impressed her, even if it was done by an outside force.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

1:56 AM. Main entrance tunnels, Fort Ross, Alaska, Trans-Polar Aleut Nation.

Mutus' rifle disappeared into her hammer-space after the last shot was fired. She gave me a thumbs up.

My turn now, I thought, and tapped the maglock. It lit up green, and the door swung open. Everything was clear. I turned back to tell.. Tell... Tell who? Kellan and Mutus left me here. That wall irritates me. I should shoot it.

I prepared to do so when a sharp pain against my shoulder brought me back to reality. Mutus was facing my way, crouched, with her rifle pointed towards me. 'Armour breached' warnings flashed for a few seconds until the auto-repair kicked in. With a bit of guesswork and scrolling through my own bullets and payload options, she must have shot me with something like a one-layer armour-piercing pellet combined with an contact-based anti-magic mix. I saved a few variations of it for my own use.

[G1-Mutus: I think I'll stay here, and shoot you sober. Alright, chummer?, she sent me. I noticed the same auto-repair process in her own armoured foot taking place. She must have shot herself first.

Her weapon was a rather intimidating piece of hardware, even if it was in a completely different way than Cayman's assault cannon. Vaguely modeled after a Barret model one-two-one heavy sniper rifle all stripped down, it was scary only by knowing what she could do with it. Given her enhanced sight abilities and the remote penetrative action of that rifle, anything within a four kilometer radius of her could be erased as easy as blinking, and as fast as she could will it.

[G1-Mutus: Good luck.]

A sharp sting in the back of my shoulder followed, with more 'armour breached' warnings.

Straight ahead of me was a classroom with computer workstations. The walls... Were made of layered leafy plants and moss. I shot myself in the upper arm with a wince, just to be sure. A few blinks confirmed it. Real.

Frag, I thought to myself. This place is rather strange.

...

A bathroom built to offer little privacy.

My head is itchy. I need to scratch it.

Another sting hit my back, and I stared at the pistol in my hand. Bullet settings were put at 'armour piercing' and 'high explosive.' That would be one seriously scratched itch.

...

The rigger station. I pushed the giant wooden doll off the chair and absent-mindedly tapped the computers. Small updates from Ops N on their contents popped into my vision.

...

The large office contained seven baseball players. They were all sleeping on the ground. I didn't know why they weren't playing.

I stepped over them to look at the walls, and tapped all the computer hardware on the way. I ignored the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics that popped up. The walls had posted sheets of girls names, numbers and class schedules. Nearly every name had a small picture next to them, and the majority of those were circled in green. The last few names had no pictures, though all those names were circled in green as well.

...

I left the office. The baseball players continued to sleep.

Overpaid fraggers, I thought. Some of us have to stay awake and work.

...

The chapel doors opened at my approach. They were of solid black cast iron, and dripped dark green liquid.

A wave of yellow-green sparks came out to me, sending alarms flaring on my armour. I ignored the illusions.

Another sting on my back followed. Nothing changed.

This was supposed to be the chapel. I could pretend it was, once. A large space, maybe as big as an old-style high-school gymnasium, filled with pews on either side of an open walkway. At the end of it, a few stairs that led up to an altar. Maybe some nice faux stained glass, some religious icons. It would hold a pompous windbag, or a fervent believer. Either one attractive to different seekers of different kinds of truth, slanted or otherwise.

Here, though... Civilization died, and something else rose up in its place. Like some primordial jungle forest, stretching out into the distance. There was no way this could have fit into the mountain. I shot myself in the upper arm to double-check. Nothing changed.

I started to walk into the depths of the green canopies. Every step squished into the moist ground, and caused armour warnings to flare up. I ignored the illusions, just like I ignored the stinging in my feet.

...

At some point it became really hard to walk. It wasn't due to the branches that I pushed out of the way, or roots I had to step over. No, it was a damnable illusion. It showed me that I didn't have any feet or calves left. The stinging sensation stopped with regular applications of localized paralyzation bullets.

I won't be fooled that easily.

...

I'm crawling on stumps now. It's an unique opportunity to practice shooting with the pistol held by my teeth. One of my shots might have winged a woman with red hair, and pale, golden-yellow eyes.

...

Time to take a little nap.

...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

4:22 AM. Medical suite, UIG District, Sanctum. Mike/Sanctum's POV.

Kia's eyes blinked open, and he blearily looked around. I gave him a wave when his head faced my way. He returned it with some muttered greetings and attempted to get his bearings.

After working his mouth and jaw a few times, he was able to get some coherent words out. "What happened... Mr. Umbrella?" He pulled his arms out from under the cot's blankets and inspected his arms and hands.

I shunted my own computer pad into my hammer-space before replying. "Long story short, Kia, Kellan finally opted to call in reinforcements. The mage children had formed some some of gestalt entity that was drawing on the energy of Feuerschwinge - the crazy woman identified in the briefings."

"Eh?"

"Yeah," I continued. "Some seriously messed up shit. She was acting as a battery for a massive ritual magic effect - some sort of reality warping or metaplanes influence or something. It went out of control when Mutus downed the controlling guards, but started to collapse when Firewing herself was downed." I leaned back in the white leather chair. It fit the theme of this room - all of light colours. Blues, greens, whites and other mild pastel shades. The decorative false flowers were even real flowers, modified to appear artificial.

"Huh." He scratched his head, and impulsively pulled out a pair of hairs from the top. They were his default dark brown. He waved them my way with a puzzled expression.

"Ah... Acid," I replied. "Not the kind of acid your armor was designed for. More the type that is backed by reality manipulation and created for the purpose of consuming and remaking... Well... Everything." I gave him a wry smile. "At least you'll be able to change the colour of your hair dye now."

He snorted in amusement, and coughed a few times. He hit this chest to clear it, and said, "Thanks. That was a fucked up mission. What happened at the end? Any... Survivors?" Kia's face was tense, even if his words were casual.

I nodded. "No fatalities on our side, though you did come the closest. The UCAS forces, along with the dragon's attackers, and the staff and guards of the facility are all dead. Dead and buried, as the mountain triggered an unexpected sinkhole after everyone left." I paused, and stared at the ceiling. How much to tell him? "Firewing survived, but her case is... Complex. Same thing with the bulk of the children. The gestalt mind remained, even if their power source didn't."

I gave Kia a faint smile, even as I remembered the video feed from the forerunners of the Three Hundred - children being swallowed up by reforming walls and acid. No expressions of pain, of course, as they were simply part of a greater whole now. But disturbing, nevertheless.

"The official policy, as far as the UCAS is concerned," I continued, "was that the mission never happened. We'll ensure that the families of the lost operatives manage to 'accidentally' come into small piles of nuyen, but will otherwise stay hands off about the whole event. On our end, Kellan and Mutus have had talks with Hardpoint already, in regards to his dragon-baiting activity." I scratched my chin. "Anything else you're wondering about, Kia?"

"Just..." He trailed off, then looked my way in silence. "Are there places that are really worse than this?"

"Yeah, Kia," I replied. "A lot worse."

"Fuck," he muttered, and stared at the ceiling.

As nothing else needed to be said, I left soon after.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

4:34 AM. Mebbeth's house, The Greenery, Sanctum.

"How is she doing, Mebbeth?" I asked as I stared down at the feverish individual. Firewing - Feuerschwinge - had her spirit contained in this human body for some period of years. A human body wasn't meant to hold such a presence, but it had managed - somehow. Adapted and changed in the process.

"Her fire burns brightly, child," the old woman said, as she passed me a chilled, damp cloth. "Strange n' twisted fire. Mayhap I can riddle out what it is." She walked away, her cloth bottomed boots barely making a sound on the living wood floor.

I applied the cloth to Firewing's forehead, and brushed away some of her red hairs while doing so. After a few strokes, I left it there.

Her lips moved constantly, with the faint sounds of whispers coming from them. I bent closer to hear.

"The earth cries... Why did the children hurt her so... Why... Why do they kill her... She is the life of us all..."

I straightened up, and looked down at her with a frown. "It's simple, Firewing," I said quietly. "The worlds are filled with countless scores of stupid, greedy people. They breed more than the smart ones, and the smart ones often turn into stupid and greedy ones given time." I let out a short, sad laugh. "Or perhaps they simply don't care enough to oppose all those daily injustices, and mean it."

I turned back to Mebbeth. She was puttering around a large cauldron that was balanced over an enchanted heating stone. Some of the wall-grown herbs were trimmed and added to the boiling mixture as I watched. "Making some medicines?" I asked.

She tsked me. "Hardly, child," she replied, and stirred the contents with a large, wooden ladle. "This is soup."

Maybe I'll stay here a bit longer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

4:35:01 AM - Predictive Event System - Burst Activation: Started.

December 25th, 2057

- 4:39 AM - Mike/Sanctum enjoys Mebbeth's soup. He has seconds. (*Note: She uses magic. Cheater.)

- 4:47 AM - Adjusted daily sleeping period begins. (*Note: Ensure mild unconscious sexual frustration builds for Mike/Sanctum. It will indirectly foster further connections to the Mantids and Taylor. Explore social dynamics of 'harems' versus smaller dedicated relationships - even the outright objection to it will increase social conflict and prolong his existence.)

- 1:14 PM - Late afternoon wake-up time. Encourage sleeping-in occasionally; this is one of those occasions. (*Note: Assist Mike with Christmas planning, but allow him to come to the conclusions himself with a minimum of input.)

- 1:47 PM - Group lunch, Italian theme. (*Note: Create an authentic Italian pizza, but with the toppings used in the Hebert household. The sensory associations of the past will anchor positive feelings. Subtly arrange for unconscious ties and connections to further form to Taylor and the mantids as appropriate.)

December 26th, 2057

- 12:01 AM - Blood mages in Aztlan start high-level executive coup. Oliver McClure will manage to avoid being killed. (*Note: Manipulate events so that Oliver is scared and then exceedingly grateful to the Invisibles for his rescue. Arrange events so that an 'off the books' corporate alliance is established, but Aztech still remains the designated 'evil corp' of this world. Reexamine later.)

- 12:47 AM - Aztech slaughter has slowed due to lack of victims. Majority have been co-opted as living sacrifices. (*Note: Demonstrate logical remorse if needed, but don't overplay it. Blame Ziz if Nessi is asked why UIG was not warned earlier.)

- 12:54 AM - Dzitbalchén is framed for the murder of Juan Atzcapotzalco, President and CEO of Aztechnology. Tried and convicted in under two minutes. Start of televised sequence. The feathered dragon's sister, Zacualtipán, is unable to assist in time. (*Note: Zacualtipán may prove excellent covert ally against the 'evil' Aztechs. Weigh relative pros and cons with his resurrection in front of her versus others. Revisit later.)

- 1:00 AM - Mass sacrificial 'executions' culminate in Dzitbalchén's death (12 AM Aztlan local time). Great form blood spirit is summoned to kill the source of the Aztech's executives nightmares, but gets freed when unable to target them. Secondary slaughter starts. (*Note: Don't remind Mike that this is his fault.)

- 1:01 AM - Worldwide acts of ritual murder coast on the arcane waveform sourced in Tenochtitian. Triggers the DeeCee astral rift. Astral dragon form that comes out will be accompanied by other spirits and followed by shedim. (*Note: Great opportunity. Ensure that Mike does not figure out that his forceful obtainment of Aban is the reason the rift opened this wide. Destroy 'Ghostwalker' if necessary; maintain control of media. Ensure the public see 'sense' eventually in regards to the great dragon and cordial stalemate develops.)

- 1:04 AM - Invisibles arrive on site too late to save the feathered dragon. Soul metal placed inside living body prior; will be recovered when the pieces are brought back here. Can be used as a peace offering for other great dragons, or as a demonstration of resurrection abilities. The team will have a spectacular success otherwise. (*Note: Wait till external factor warns Mike regarding resurrections and the threat of extra-dimensional entities. Will foster more positive social relationships and interesting conflicts. Estimations of ennui-based collapse of Mike/Sanctum dynamic extended for a further minimum of thirty-five more years.)

- 1:10 AM - UCAS President will be escorted to secure site C. (*Note: Channels 253 through 257 for remote observation.)

- 1:13 AM - Giant golden dildo placed onto the Aztech headquarters. Activation will trigger the cranial nukes of all blood mages within the majority of that nation; will be sold as a magical backlash. (*Note: Manufacture additional blood mages in other locations to ensure that this threat doesn't completely die out. Assist surviving blood mages to limited degree; ensure an irregular flow comes to UIG even so.)

4:35:01 AM - Predictive Event System - Burst Activation: Ended.

Details and notes incorporated into core systems; buffers wiped.

There is no predictive event system.

~ Winged One

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

12:04 AM (Aztlan local time). December 26th. Shadowmech Tenochtitlan, Aztlan. Kia's POV.

Are we too late?

It's funny, really, what one thinks in situations like this.

The Aztlan capital. The center of the worst megacorp in the shadows, Aztechnology, but renowned as the greatest publicly otherwise. Well, they would be, if allowed to do so. Heh.

The largest teocalli of the entire world lay below me. Even as a modern building, Aztech used the Mayan tiered pryamid design for their corporate structures and their temples. They sometimes ended up being the same thing.

It had a new decoration - the splayed open corpse of Dzitbalchén, a feathered dragon formerly employed by Aztech. I'd say that his situation was unusual, but it wasn't. Lots of their corporate failures met their final ends this way. It was a big enough of a body and blood source that the red liquid stained the small block of statue-column supported upper stories.

Dzitbalchén's wings and limp neck mixed with the blood, their feathered edges sodden in those bodily fluids.

The surface of the roof top of the teocalli was also ringed by a circle of human priests, men and women, dressed in loose-fitting sleeveless robes of deep red. Their hoods were pulled back. Runic scars covered their arms and necks.

'Dzitbalchén tried and executed for the assassination of Juan Atzcapotzalco, President and CEO of Aztechnology,' my news ticker reminded me. Considering that those events happened within the course of mere minutes, the truthfulness of Aztech's story was in very significant doubt.

That circle of priests were actually blood mages. While they were not holding hands, they were connected in another way. Intravenous tubing, stuck together via catheters in their necks and funneled through an ornately designed machine the size of a foot-stool.

The Blood Mage Circle. Originally supposed to be named 'The Gestalt,' but after seeing what over a hundred mages can do with ritual magic, I'm not going to use that word quite so casually. Only one of two such groupings existed in the entire world. That group was as powerful as the most powerful blood mage, ten times over. Supposed to be a secret so deeply hidden that only the very heart of Aztechnology was supposed to know about them. And here they were used as mere executioners.

Perhaps calling them mere executioners would be a rather large disservice. Apart from the surrounding skyscraper buildings - none of them any higher than two thirds of the teocalli - there was a new feature. An animate one. A great form blood spirit, newly summoned, about the size of one of those very skyscrapers.

This was a mass coordinated event. At many other teocallis throughout the country of Aztlan, scores of 'justly convicted criminals' were executed by the hundreds. All their departing life energies were sent here to prep the site for this finale - the ritual sacrifice of a feathered dragon.

'Worldwide acts of ritual murder taking place during this seasonally important date,' was written below the other line. There were a number of other headlines there, all begging to be read and depressed about.

I wasn't concerned about those at all.

What I was thinking about were issues rather more immediate.

Mutus was making use of an Ops N assigned augmented reality overlay to choose remote targets and end them in a rapid barrage.

She wouldn't boast, other than give me a faint, pitying smile when I mentioned my single digit kill-count.

Ma'fan got to place the newly designed 'ancient golden phallus of false death' atop the teocalli.

Let her have her 'little' victory. 'Rub with body fluids to activate.' Seriously.

Hardpoint was duly authorized to use the 'big guns' versus vehicles and the blood spirit.

The rigger gets some awesome toys, I'll admit it.

Kellan and Winterhawk formed a tag-team duo of magical death.

Fine. That's pretty wiz, no lie.

Cayman received an order that brought a big smile to his face: blow drek the frag up.

His gun is bigger than mine. He must be compensating.

My directions were to safely escort our one friendly, valued contact from Aztech headquarters, Oliver McClure.

High-level corporate alliances may result from under a hour of my bodyguard work.

No. None of those were important right now. Because I was running on the surface on bullets in Stopped Time and I'm the most fragging wiz guy here.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

1:13 AM (Seattle local time). Private office, UIG District, Sanctum. Director Silla Trebheart's POV.

"Ms. Daviar?" I said to the green eyed elf on the video screen. "This is unexpected. Foundation business, UCAS business, or a late Christmas hello?" I said the last with a small smile.

"Merry belated Christmas, then," the blank faced woman said. "We've got some major problems in DeeCee right now. A zombie apocalypse, to be more specific. It started at the same time as the Azzies executed Dzitbalchén on international television, less than ten minutes ago. Can -"

"One second, Ms. Daviar," I cut her off with a raised hand and tapped at the bank of screens in front of me. With each press of a finger tip, another screen lit up. It wasn't pretty. Apart from the official trideo news feeds, the uncensored truth was far more appalling: the dead rising out of graveyards and morgues, gang fights continuing until both sides were filled with holes and continuing to rampage... It went on and on.

"Ms. Trebheart? Hello?"

I blinked and refocused on the vice president of the UCAS. "My apologies, Ms. Daviar. This is... Rather appalling. Did you want firepower support? Drones or mobile bodies on the street?"

"No," Nadja said, and shook her head slightly. "Consider my request inspired by Glamis Castle. The source of the outpouring spirits has been identified."

Which is...? I thought to myself quietly, as I panned through the different screens. "The Dunkelzahn astral rift? The protest... And the gas attacks against it?"

"Exactly." The elf leaned back into her high-topped executive chair. "The outpouring was preceded by the astral form of a great dragon, and began in earnest when those protesters were slaughtered. The UCAS government is prepared to pay handsomely for an expedited containment of the rift. Do you need to do any preparations to authorize it, or...?"

"No - I'll have my specialist listen in on this end," I replied. "He is the authority behind the particular magic that UIG uses. One second..." I typed in a request to the keyboard in front of me.

"Hey Silla," Mike said, as he strolled in the open office door. "What's happening?"

I gestured to the screens with my head, and a muffled 'well, shit' were heard. He plopped his rainbow suited self down on a seat out of sight of the screen I was using and began to mutter to himself.

"And we're good," I said.

Mike's words began to appear as subtitles on the screen below Nadja's face. "The spirits are shedim. Coming out approximately eleven every second, and slowly increasing. I can't tell if it is a linear or exponential increase. Lesser shedim can merely animate corpses or bodies abandoned by mages, while shedim masters are much more powerful - they are capable of summoning their lesser brethren by themselves.'

I echoed the words to Nadja and her face paled.

"There are a number of mages astrally surveying the rift," she began. "I'll need to... Excuse me." With that, she stood up and strode out of sight. Her chair spun around a few times and gradually slowed down.

"Want me to make a surveillance portal to watch her with, Silla?" Mike asked as his seat reclined fully back. Seconds earlier it wasn't even capable of doing so.

I considered it, then shook my head. We waited in silence, and in less than a minute she returned and reseated herself.

"Thank you for your patience, Director Trebheart," Nadja said, as her arms moved below the edges of the screen. "I've got multiple UCAS Secretaries on the line, and more incoming."

"The Secretary of the Treasury, two of three from Defence, and one each from Justice, Business and Health. The President is in a secure location. He doesn't look happy. Note that background talks are about how nobody is even able to get CLOSE to the rift without dying - we are the ONLY ones readily available to do this in the world, unless they can get multiple great dragons ASAP. Don't touch that concept with a ten-foot pole, though."

"Things should be stable for the moment. Can you confirm whether UIG is capable of containing the rift?"

"Of course."

"How long would it take to do so?"

"Under one second."

I hesitated in relayed that information exactly as Mike had given it to me. "Ms. Daviar," I began, "our issue is not in regards to preparation or sealing time. It is more in that we are fully capable of doing so remotely, and so quickly that a number of accusations may result from the complete ease in which it is done."

"How quickly are you talking about, Director Trebheart?"

"I'll just say that you can pick any amount of time, and it will be capable of being done in less time than that."

We stared at each other in silence. Nadja's green eyes scanned back and forth, and her arms moved under the screen.

"Five minutes?"

"Of course."

She blinked once in surprise, and her arms moved again. Much faster this time.

"The UCAS government is willing to offer its resources in regards to any negative publicity that may arise from this occurrence. Can we talk terms?"

"Absolutely, Vice President. Since you mentioned Glamis Castle earlier, do you know of what the Lord Protector granted that site?"

Nadja's lips pressed together in a tight line. "You are referring to extraterritorial status?"

"Yes. As I'm sure you're aware, UIG is an exceedingly irregular corporation. We're not in the slightest interested in benefits that could be gained solely through the presence or expenditure of nuyen."

Nadja's arms moved under the screen, slowly. "What exact terms is UIG asking for in regards to sealing the rift? Is there anything to make such an offering... Palatable... To the UCAS government?"

"Of course, Vice President," I replied. "First of all, whatever agreement we come to - even if it is broken - will not effect the astral rift's containment in any way. If UIG is displeased, such emotions will be manifested elsewhere."

The elf nodded.

"As this is to be done now, the onus of all lawyers and legalise is on your front. It is an exercise of trust between our corporate presence and the UCAS. If such is broken... Well. I'll say no more."

"Simple list," Mike's subtitles began. "Non-revocable extraterritorial status, as assigned by the UCAS government - irregardless of its recognition by the corporate court - for all property owned by UIG or owned by another corporation in which UIG holds the majority of shares in. The complete ownership of the astral rift and the Watergate Hotel near it - a single purchase to be documented, paid for and heavily taxed. Non-interference in large-scale property sales in the Seattle Metroplex, unless it is to aid us in acquiring it."

Mike's list ended, and I started with my own. "To emphasize the non-monetary nature of UIG, we are also prepared to produce, manufacture and install assets, goods, materials, utilities, buildings and more for the UCAS government at advance credited costs. It would have an effective maximum value of ten billion nuyen per year for five years. And... Whatever you want to pay for the service. To make it official."

Nadja was still and quiet, apart from the movement of her eyes. "What guarantees do we have that UIG will commit to that?"

"We'll provide a precious metal vault, to be inspected and audited by UCAS officials on a schedule. It will be kept secure by our own forces, but maintained completely inside another UCAS military property. No movement of the materials therein will take place until the entire five years pass - the internal contents will simply be designated as owned by one or the other. At no time will the UCAS be held liable for any loss or damages to the contents of the vault, which can be further clarified before installation." I paused. "On top of which, we will require no such guarantees. An extension of trust, with the intention that all these noted points will be hit within the coming month of January."

I gave her a thin-lipped smile of my own. "I won't speak of the measures that will occur if they are not met."

"Understood, Director Trebheart," the elven woman said slowly. "Can the ten billion yearly amount be... Adjusted?"

"Background talk is like 'well, we're fucked ten times over - lets just make sure we enjoy it as much as possible.'"

I arched an eyebrow, which she responded to with an apparently warm smile.

"The original amount is on the books," Mike's subtitles read. "No upper limit for OFF the books. NONE. Milk it as far as you want, but keep in mind ALL our interests, short and long term."

"Vice President Daviar," I began, with a larger smile of my own. "UIG is absolutely willing to substantially increase the amounts - off the official records. I'm sure we can come to a mutual agreement that is much, much more than merely satisfying for all involved."

I love my job, I thought to myself. There is nothing quite like this.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

2:47 AM. Main lounge, Sanctum. Mike/Sanctum's POV.

"Who wants zero gravity?!" I shouted. A chorus of positive noises answered me back, and I slipped my feet into the carpeted ground. A moment of intention later, the gravity in the lounge absented itself. I pulled my feet out and knocked a cushion into the air. It lazily spun around, and continued further.

I relaxed into the weightlessness, only occasionally blasting a random cushion away with a bit of kinetic force.

It was a lot easier for me to act normal - well, my definition of normal - around the Invisibles now, as they had been fully inducted into the weirdness that was the Domain of Sanctum. None of them had yet made the step for binding themselves to my afterlife, but I didn't think it was totally necessary at this point. They instead opted to have modified thinaum - or whatever that soul absorbing metal is called - jewellery or accessories for that purpose.

Kellan and Kia drifted by, propelled by the odd blasts of his paint gun bullets and her stun-bolts.

"Hey, Mr. Umbrella!" Kia called out to me. "When is Raymond and his bunch stopping by? I thought they would have showed up by now."

"Good question!" I called back, and sent them spiralling away from me with some finger launched paint-balls of my own.

Let me check...

I pulled out my linked journal and flipped it open to the last page. Skimming the last few lines, they read 'Rainbow: I think we're trapped in the Demiplane of Dread. -Ray'

Isn't that funny.

I thought Raymond actually wrote that he was trapped in the Land of Mists. I closed the book, shook it a few times, and spun it around in the air. I smiled, and opened it to the last page. The same lines were there.

Something must be wrong.

I held the book and poured enough energy into it that I briefly sweat blood. Once more, I smiled and turned to the last page. It was the same thing. I shut it hard enough to produce a small shockwave throughout the room. The floating cushions were all propelled away from me.

No, I must be doing something wrong here.

I have to try harder. I don't know why I'm crying. I slit open my left forearm and willed power into my blood. It came out looking like glowing white liquid gold and feeling like acid. It was poured over the journal, and was rapidly absorbed.

I smiled again. My smile was so large that my face and jaw had to move to accommodate it. My teeth broke because I was grinding them in how utterly happy, hopeful and optimistic I was. With enhanced strength capable of pressing my fingerprints into tungsten as if it was melted butter, I slowly and carefully turned to the very last page. One. More. Time.

I started at the top and skimmed the entries. Mountains... Mist... Unknown place... Lake... Marit... Pregnant woman... On the way to Tor Gorak... Morte says hi... And, right at the end, the very same entry: 'Rainbow: I think we're trapped in the Demiplane of Dread. -Ray'

My smile faded, and my tears flowed. A cough brought my attention to the crowd now floating around me.

"What's happening, Mr. Umbrella?" Kia asked me. He, like the others, had an expression of concern - and some traces of blood from their ears.

Fuck. I snapped my fingers and everybody's health concerns were addressed. I wasn't able to speak, though. I just stared at him at a loss for words, then curled up in a floating ball. Wrapped around the journal. Slowly orbiting in place, with my tears floating away like tiny little orbs.

"Remember how he said that there are places worse than your world, Kia?" A Taylor asked.

"...Yeah?"

"Well... Ray and his friends are trapped in one of those places right now."

"Oh. Fuck."

"Exactly."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Append to Sanctum's Notepad:

- Shelve the tentacle gift plans for Morte; his muscled lady friends in the Three Hundred will be disappointed.

- Ray's group will get to field test those enhancements from earlier.

- Rework the defences for the Invisibles.

- Keep an eye on Firewing, and recover her draconic corpse from Germany.

- Market those ritual sample ideas some time in the future.

- Investigate that astral dragon. Maybe he knows something about Aban's situation.

- Try to think about something to do with the Watergate Hotel.

- Visit Nordom in the Rubikon; help him and his blasters control their 'murderous impulses.'

- The gestalt of mage 'children' are being rotated among the Three Hundred and the mantids. Nessi will keep an eye out on them.

- Cry more, then pull up the plans for the multiverse destroyers. Remember to think before acting. Then ACT.

- Sell cheap shedim detectors to EVERYONE.

3.4 - "Acts of Illuminated Darkness"

3:10 AM. Thursday, December 26th, 2057. Generic brown room, Rainbow Rubikon, Sanctum. Mike/Sanctum's POV.

"You see that?" I said with a snarl, pointing behind me. There was a rather complicated assemblage of Earth Bet style Tinker-tech, about the size of a car. "THAT, right there, is a genuine, fuck-you-up, MULTIVERSE destroyer!"

I snapped my fingers. "Like THAT, and your multiverse is gone! GONE, BITCHES! Yeah! YEAH!" I did some strongman poses and had multi-coloured fire flare around myself in emphasis. "When I'm done with you, you won't be the Dark Powers - you'll be the Whitewashed Talents!"

Someone coughed behind me, and I turned to see who it was.

Nessi gave me a wave. "Is this a bad time, Mike-ster?"

I faced back to the mirror. The being that was acting as my reflection - identical rainbow suit and hair, but with glowing eyes - gave me a shrug. Nessi's reflection was more normal. That of a bronzed humanoid, with lightly glowing blue fiberoptic hair and triple irised eyes. She was wearing a complimentary, multi-coloured jumpsuit.

"Ehh," I replied, as I stared at the faux reflection of myself. It waved at Nessi, then matched my pose. "I'm just practicing. For... Ya know... My little chat with the Dark Powers."

She poked the Tinker-tech contraption. It was more impressive than the 'Unicorn of Ultimate Doom' we had used to draw out Scion. A mass of tubing, lights, polished metal and beeping sounds, all covering a core of billions of microscopic Von Neumann viral energy drone torpedoes.

"And if they call your bluff?"

"Boom...?" I asked, hesitantly.

"No boom," she replied, with a shake of her head and an admonishing gaze.

"Oh." I scratched my head, and the mirror image looked off to the side, embarrassed. Some finger snaps later, the mirror and it's contents were gone, and the Tinker-tech device was transmuted into a large couch. I plopped myself down on it, and Nessi joined me. We sat there in silence for some minutes.

"What do you suggest, then?" I finally asked her.

"Considering what you've told me of them," she started, "simple polite inquiry should go a long way. I doubt that they did it purely to antagonize you, given their rather cordial - for whatever they are - comments."

I ruminated on her words. A flashback to a certain black dragon's messages caused some more panic to flare up. "What if... What if those Powers are some of the very beings that were 'aggravated' by Ray being pulled out from his fated eternal sentence in the Blood War? This could be their way of 'correcting' things!"

Nessi lightly shoulder checked me. "You still won't know until you ask," she said. "And - before you say anything else - you won't know whether they will reply to you or not if you don't even try."

"Ehhh," I brilliantly said again. "That makes sense, sure." I sighed. "Kind of hard to have a cosmic-grade temper tantrum with you around, you know."

She plopped her bronzed chin on my shoulder. "That's the whole idea, head-mate."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

3:19 AM. Generic brown room, Sanctum.

This is awkward, I thought to myself. A flashback, of sorts, to the day we all first traveled to the Shadowrun multiverse. Since then, I've barely touched formal Gates, preferring the more dynamically adaptable Portals. Much more so when Nessi managed them, of course. I've stopped using physical portal keys, making them more of a mental exercise instead. I don't even know which of my currently active extra-dimensional openings were Gates these days.

I stared at the empty, free-standing, brown stone door-frame in front of me. It matched the generic brown stone this entire room was made of, whose only other feature was sourceless, medium-bright light. The opening didn't change at all underneath my gaze.

"Sooo..." I attempted to scuff the ground with my silken slippers. It didn't work, as the stone was too clean for that. I mentally debated whether I should create a small layer of 'genuine, authentic' dirt before I frowned at myself. That would be a new high in delaying tactics, right there.

No time like the present, I thought, and extended a hand into the space bounded by the door-frame. Instants later, it filled with dense, white fog.

"Dark Powers?" I said. "Hello?"

If they don't reply, I'm going to feel rather silly. Talking to a doorway full of white mist isn't the sanest of activities.

Greetings once more, Mike, also known as Sanctum.

I heard them the same way that I 'tasted' things I Subsumed; like a sensation beyond the normal human limits. If their efforts could be rendered into something audible, the Dark Powers would sound like the flavour of bleached white mono-filament cotton candy wire covered in a dark, tarry depth.

What would an ant see, if it looked up at the magnifying glass? Would it even care as the light around it warped and the heat built into a lethal inferno? Would it be able to comprehend things so far beyond it?

"Hey! Yeah! Great!" I said, stalling. "Ah... I think that some friends of mine managed to end up the Land of Mists. I don't quite know how that could have happened, so I was wondering if... You could fill me in on the details?"

Of course, though bide one moment. We believe that our intentions may coincide with your own. We could stand to gain a great deal from each other beyond a mere exchange of information.

I listened... As every word-like concept fell around me like an accumulation of white ash from a nuclear winter where every little flake was a dissolving, suffering soul.

My attention grew... As the darkness-not-darkness-existing-brightly that they were forced open perceptual senses gods knew not to peer through in the slightest.

At the end of our exchange, I did the only practical thing possible.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

7:24 AM. Tovag, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread. Raymond's POV.

The cries of pain and anguish drew us to the side of the stained, flagstone-paved road. The heavily armoured figure of Cleve kept the pregnant Marit company, while Annah and Fall-from-Grace closely followed me.

There were a small group of soldiers there. At first glance, it could be assumed that they were resting - but a closer inspection prevented such a naive conclusion. Of the twelve, two were dead and the rest were bloody and battered. None looked better for the experience.

"Help us, good sirs, for the grip of death tightens 'round our weary necks!" One of the soldiers called out. If it was an act, it would be a rather short one.

The calls of the soldiers entreated us as if we were normal citizens of their realm. This happened due to our luck in that addle-minded Marit was the first person we met in the... Demiplane of Dread. Her reactions to the appearances of Annah and Fall-from-Grace necessitated some disguises. Changed forms and clothing followed, while Morte went into my own hammer-space. Undead here are altered, and not in the tentacle craving way the skull wanted.

Grace led the way to the wounded, immediately kneeling down and starting some minor acts of healing magic. Perhaps not a direct and selfless act of charity, the goodwill it'd generate with these folk could be leveraged further.

I checked for myself the condition of the soldiers. Their injuries were grievous and strange, manifesting in bloated blistering and oozing a yellowish bile. For equipment, there were a mix of breastplates, chain mail and shields. A symbol adorned them, that of a black sword on a red field, which I wasn't familiar with.

"'Tis a foul place here," Annah quietly said to me.

I agreed with her, but lacked the will to say how very much I did so. Maybe if this domain were merely a torn up battlefield in the middle of the Blood War I'd push out a quip or two, but... Here I'll save it for when things get really grim.

Cleve's armoured footfalls followed Marit's wooden-staff-aided hobbling. The short blond immediately began to talk to the living soldiers, completely ignoring the two dead ones.

"Have you seen my husband, Victor?" She asked of them, and barely waited for a negative response before moving on to the next. "He was sent against the forces of the Whispered Lord, weeks ago." She constantly fiddled with the small ring of beaten copper on her left hand, a memento of that man.

We had tried to tell her of the likelihood of Victor surviving was next to zero, as his troop had returned without him, but she would have none of it. It was the same sort of denial that caused her to disregard the dead soldiers here.

Marit was initially surprised at our supposed knowledge of her native tongue, but relieved to have our company - no matter how outlandish our appearances first looked to her.

One more thing it's good we changed, I thought.

"Hail, soldiers," I said to the newly recovering men. "Could you tell me what has happened here?"

Some finger pointing and looking among the armoured figures directed me to what was their leader.

"Brek, I am, commander of these living here," he said. "Living slightly longer, due to the acts of that blessed priest." Brek indicated the cloaked form of Grace with a bloodied leather gauntlet. "What can I do for you, good sir?"

"I'm seeking information, Brek," I replied, "and perhaps an escort back to your city." We'd be able to grill them further on the way, as well as get a better idea on the state of this Domain. "What is the nature of the symbol you bear?"

"The sword on the field?" He looked at one of the many shields on the ground. "It is the crest of Tovag, the land of which we hail from and fight for."

"Who attacked you?" I imagined either undead or some aberrations. Either were flesh-grinders of the worst sort, capable of taking in armies and spitting out corpses with ease.

"The forces of the Whispered One," Brek replied. "He constantly strives to invade our land." His words were accompanied by a vaguely fond wave towards what might be east.

Mostly likely undead, then, I thought. Not a good sign. I'm glad Morte is safely stowed in my hammer-space.

"What caused those horrible wounds of yours?"

One of his leather gauntlets rubbed over his healed, stubble-dotted face, as if to assure himself that the wounds were still gone. "Terrible war machines made from the flesh of the dead. T'was awful, true, but not nearly as bad as things would be if the Whispered Lord won his way into Tovag."

Whispered Lord? Whispered One? I can't help but think I heard those names before, and recently as well. There was one way to be sure.

"Who rules the land of Tovak, Brek?"

"Our own master is the great Lord Kas," he replied with a grim smile. "He has no love for us, but he's much better than the flayer of souls that we struggle against."

It was with the mention of Kas that things clicked into place with a grim, horrible finality. Kas the Betrayer. The Whispered One. The Eye of... The Hand of... Vecna. We were in an accursed battlefield between those two evil forces. Unless there were other names that somehow bore the same paired resemblance and somehow drew the attention of this land, of course.

I let nothing of my own revelations arise to the surface of my face, instead remaining as outwardly calm as I was internally hectic.

"Where would you and your men head next, commander?"

"Back to Tor Gorak, for resupply and further orders," the soldier said. "Lord Kas needs all the men possible to hold back the forces of the Whispered Lord."

I gestured to the sagged form of Marit. "Would you be open to escorting some slow travellers to there? We would see her safely home, and find out in what ways we could aid your battle."

The commander gazed down the line of newly healed troops. "Aye, I think we could manage that." He gave me a less grim smile, and hoisted himself up.

Cleve was pulling the other soldiers to their feet, and headed my way once finished. Grace and Annah gathered closer at my beckoning, and once the three of them were all here, I informed them of my newfound discoveries of whose lands we were on. A dread silence followed.

"I wonder, Raymond, if we were to die here and now, where our souls would end up?" Grace pondered out loud. "Would they be stuck in the Demiplane of Dread for all time, or be pulled to Rainbow's Afterlife?"

"I donnae think I ever want to know," Annah quietly said, as she shuffled her feet back and forth. The temporary loss of her tail made her posture seem slightly 'off,' but only to those that knew her well.

"Krynn didn't have this... Whispered Lord," Cleve mused. "In all the time I was in Sigil, the awareness of the gods and their powers was prevalent, but distant." He stared at the gathered soldiers. "Things keep on changing."

"Cleve?"

"Yes, Grace?" he said, as he turned back to her.

Cleve has been the most mellow paladin-minded individual I've ever seen. Then again, none that I know of had ever spent decades in the body of an undead monster in the planar metropolis of Sigil - doing so would likely round off countless sharp edges of their personalities. He didn't insist on formality if it wasn't wanted, and limited his assumptions on the 'evil' nature of inherently evil creatures to casually loosening the blade in his scabbard. In regards to Fall-from-Grace, the revelation that she was not in the slightest evil only gave him a brief sound of surprise. To follow that up, he had her go to the various holy priesthoods in Sigil and get blessed and signed writs saying that very thing.

That was followed up by him doing the same thing with Annah, Morte, himself and myself. Cleve paid for it with a loan from me that he insisted on paying back with interest. One more reason his equipment was not as top-line as it could be, let alone the artifact-grade gear the rest of us sported.

"In regards to the maimed one," the succubus said, "take away the gods of Krynn need for balance and replace it with the power-hunger of Takhisis, remove the honour of Sargonnas, add in the envy of Morgion and the avarice of Hiddukel - unchecked by any need or want for a deal or bargain. Top it off with Nuitari's mastery of dark magic. Add secrets as needed."

The big man looked at me in silent question, and I nodded back in confirmation. Vecna didn't temper his greed with alliances or agreements. He wanted it all, and damn those who opposed him. They often ended up dancing to his tune, either via his divinely assisted knowledge of secrets, or their corpses to his necromantic arts.

"Holy war seem so much simpler," he muttered.

Only to some degrees, Cleve, I answered in mental quietude. Face something like the Blood War for long enough and I'll imagine that your perspective of 'holy war' will shift.

Once the soldiers had all reassembled themselves and done a token ceremony over their two dead comrades, we headed out once more on the flagstone packed road. Eastbound, this time, and with a proper idea of where we were going.

It was in that mix of dusty footfalls, worn hope and new despair that I continued what was likely to become a one sided ritual: updating the linked journal that I shared with Rainbow. He may be many things, but an inhabitant of the Demiplane of Dread was not one of them.

I subtly pulled the tome out of my hammer-space and flipped to the last page. The entry below the last one of mine was... 'Ray: Guess who made a deal with the Dark Powers? Hint: Not you! -Rainbow'

What.

It took the comments of the soldiers to free me from the dumb-struck sense of surprise I had. Apparently books, literacy, written language and the related knowledge that could be obtained from them was forbidden in Tovag. I showed them some drawn pictures in the journal to dissuade their interests, and resolved to secretly read further once we struck camp for the night.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

6:27 PM. Tor Gorak, Torag, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread.

The only interruption of our slow paced walk to the city was from an attack of cultists of some sort last night. They were likely associated with Vecna, as their faces were painted with black and white to look like one-eyed skulls. Even in the land of his most vehement opponent, Kas, agents of the maimed arch-lich operated. It didn't bode well for how Kas managed here. Unfortunately for us, the cultists weren't able to pass on any information before they fell under our massed onslaught.

Annah had covertly placed some of their items in her own hammer-space. They consisted of rune-covered black blades, skeletal-seeming gloves, leather armour and dark cloaks. Hopefully we'd be able to get more answers in here.

We had parted with the soldiers on good terms at the front gates. In spite of the wartime situation, the main entrance to the city remained open. Their confidence was likely supported by how Tor Gorak was wholly surrounded by high walls made of dark stone, and further protected by a wide, deep ditch adjacent to those very walls. About a foot of stagnant water filled the bottom of that trench, which contributed to the wet slime and moss that slicked the lower wall.

A slow, but constant, flow of farmers and merchants had passed us by, overseen only by a few guards. The real soldiers and threats were far to the west of us. There was no levity or cheer in the faces or actions of the visitors to the city. Each had sullen, pinched expressions, mixed with a healthy dose of fear. Fear that was directed first at the ever-present patrols, then soldiers and each other. No plaintive beggars or crowds of children to break the mood in any way.

Inside Tor Gorak, we didn't face many challenges. Our appearances had gone through enough subtle changes that we looked like normal, if healthy, citizens. Rare enough, but not as outstanding as we were previously. The streets we walked through were typically empty, as the dour-faced patrols marched through them all, apprehending everyone as they saw fit. We had a few close scrapes, but the presence of the visibly pregnant Marit turned them off.

The small blond was leading us for once. Her uncle, Vocar, had a home here where she also lived.

Her staff-aided hobbles picked up in intensity at the site of a particular house. It, like all the others we've seen, was of dark, cold stone, topped with a thatch and wooden roof. She knocked on the wooden door while we waited in a loose cluster off to the side.

It was opened cautiously to peek out, and then more widely once the man beyond caught sight of Marit. Assuming the person was Vocar, her uncle was an old man, with a long gray beard which hung from his otherwise bald head. He was wearing a simple gray and brown robe.

Young men in the city were either soldiers or Kas' Daggers, patrolling everywhere. Only the old and infirm would be minding houses.

"Dear Marit!" He enthused. "It's so wonderful to see you again! I'm so very glad you're alright."

He was obviously excited upon being reunited with his niece. He didn't pay us any attention apart from a few glances until he finished his inspection of her.

"Thank you all, very much, for returning my dear niece," Vocar said with a large smile. He beckoned Marit inside, and she hobbled out of sight with a smile and a wave to us. "You've done a very great thing, kind sirs and madams." He appeared to be visibly considering his next words. "How did you come to find dear Marit?"

"She was walking, all alone, over a day's journey west of here," I replied. "She didn't seem well put together, either. Marit was searching for her husband, whom she still believed to be alive. Do you know whatever happened to him?"

"Ah, yes," he said, as he stroked his long beard. "A sad tale there. Victor died several months ago. She sometimes 'forgets' these little details. It's quite unfortunate, you know." He gave us a pained smile and shook his head. "How about yourselves? What brings you to the domain of Tovag... Outsiders?"

His question was asked in a hopeful tone, and I obliged him in answering it truthfully. Not out of naiveté, but a calculated leak of information.

"Indeed we are, Vocar," I replied. "We ran across Marit soon after the Mists had pulled us from a faraway land. We've hoped to blend in," I indicated the brown tunic and trousers my armour appeared as, "and would welcome any advice to better do so. We already used our own magics to gain the local tongue."

The others looked askance at me briefly for being so forthrightly honest. I had my reasons for doing so, which would be revealed later. Rainbow's updates of the situation here in the Burning Peaks was both bleak and candid. Sometimes truth worked easier than many complicated plans.

The old man gave us a through examination before finally shaking his head. "You've all done a fine job, I must admit." He glanced at the darkening skyline and made some considering sounds. "There are nightly curfews, and it would be best if you'd obey them. Imprisonment, torture and worse can befall those that disobey it. For yourselves, there is only one local inn - Lefty's. Do you know of it, or should I give you directions?"

"Directions are fine, thank you," I replied. "Just a quick question before we go. I was wondering about the black smudge on..." I indicated the edge of my own face and his own.

He used a thumb to wipe it off, only glancing briefly at the dark spot before it was cleaned on his gray and brown robe. "I must have gotten ink on my fingers earlier while writing a letter and got some on myself." Vocar lightly shrugged. "It happens."

"Of course," I replied, nodding. The first man we meet in the city that bans writing was doing that very activity. It must not be that well enforced. "Now, how about those directions?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

9:08 AM. Friday, December 28th. Tor Gorak, Torag, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread.

In the morning, we departed from Lefty's inn with the directions and pass-phrase to Loreward Banquo's house. We needed to speak to the city's resident 'rebel scholar', and he was the only one that fit the bill. His knowledge was required because we had a strange little gift that was hung on the inn's outer door while we slept there - a small, black, dessicated finger. Not in the slightest magical, but odd nevertheless. What was magical was how we had gained two unwanted followers of our own - an invisible stalker and a quasit. Grace had spotted the traces, while Annah confirmed the actions of the two tails.

Our journey was done by sticking to the back-streets, and we luckily avoided any of the patrols. The only witnesses to our travels were small children, the elderly, and the odd pregnant woman. None of them were curious about us, instead hurrying on to their various destinations without lingering.

At the Loreward's house, I knocked in the required pattern and said the pass-phrase, "Master Banquo, we know you are a ward that is faithful to your masters."

Another cautious individual, he beckoned us in while carefully examining us. He appeared similar to Vocar, with a long beard and a bald head. The difference would be his stooped back and perpetual squint.

Reasonable, I thought. Especially if he has to hide the details of what he does.

"What do you want?" He said without preamble. "I'm here to share my knowledge, but not to waste my time."

In answer, I brought forth the blackened finger our inn was marked with earlier. He took it from my hand without the slightest expression of distaste, all the while making sounds of interest.

Banquo walked his stooped over form to his bedroom, and beckoned Cleve and myself forward. He tapped his feet on the floorboards beside the bed and looked at us meaningfully. "Open this," he said. "I'll need to consult my books."

Cleve waved me off, and knelt beside the space indicated. His pale grey face, blackened eye circles and white eyes were hidden behind a simple illusion. With some investigations with his fingertips, he was able to discern the edges of the concealed space and carefully tilted up the cover. Underneath it was a mass of scrolls and books.

The collection was rather sad, but we weren't in a position to properly complain about it.

Once the contents were revealed, he dismissed us out of his room and settled himself beside the under-floor opening. Banquo muttered something about 'taking a while' as we left.

There wasn't much to do inside the scholar's house. Annah poked at the small fire which pitifully attempted to heat the space, while Grace cleaned up some of the more obvious messes. Cleve stood at attention against the stony surface of a wall, and looked vaguely uncomfortable absent his sword and shield. I, on the other hand, updated my journal.

In much better spirits then when I had first figured out our location, I pulled a pen and the book in question out of my hammer-space, and turned to the last page. There were no further entries from Rainbow past what I read to the group last night.

'Rainbow: We're at the local 'rebel scholar's' location. He'll be doing some research for us - based on a small, black, dessicated finger. Nothing much to do except wait. - Ray,' I wrote into it.

Less than a minute later, I viewed his reply by flicking the journal in and out of my hammer-space. 'Ray: Wait till he gives you an answer, then reassure him that that is all you need. I've just picked up all the sources he has and had them indexed. I could answer any further questions faster then he could. - Rainbow'

Well, I thought, that's certainly convenient.

I continued our exchanges. The others floated by to check what was being written, but otherwise just used the time to relax and not think hard about where we were.

...

Nearly a hour later, Banquo walked out of his bedroom with an old book in hand. He placed it, and the blackened finger, onto his kitchen table. He started to read out loud after the text was opened. We quickly gathered around, as it appeared that the Loreward wasn't going to wait.

"And there shall be a sign," he began, "placed before the victim, before the blood is drawn and the Word is spoken. The sign shall be the finger of a murderer, lost from his left hand, soaked in the blood of a goat for fivescore and three nights." Banquo carefully closed the book once he finished. "There is more in here about the preparation of the sign," he said, and flicked his fingers at the blackened digit, "but it is hardly relevant now, as it has already been created."

His bald head and squinting eyes peered over us once more. "Is there anything else?"

"No thank you, Loreward Banquo," I replied, and retrieved the finger. "We were just looking for that. You've been very helpful."

He mumbled something which sounded vaguely disappointed, and beckoned Cleve to follow. The large figure went with Banquo into his bedroom, no doubt to close the floorboards-based compartment once more. The sounds I heard from there soon after certainly suggested such.

I used the brief time to quickly transcribe, word for word, what the scholar had read from his book into my linked journal. I only managed to see that Rainbow had an extensive reply before Banquo and Cleve came back.

The Loreward ushered us to the front door, and with a simple, bland-faced and emotionless 'good bye,' he closed the door on us.

As Vocar's house was on the way to Lefty's, we resolved to stop by there before we holed up again. We headed out once more, keeping to alleyways and side-streets to avoid the many patrols. The same dark, cold stone and depressed inhabitants were our sole companions. Our two tails didn't count.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

11:14 AM. Vocar's House, Tor Gorak, Torag, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread.

"Hello once more," the pregnant blond said, as she ushered us into her uncle's house. Vocar wasn't present. "You've all been very helpful." She smiled back at us, and made her way to the kitchen. Marit cautiously seated herself and beckoned us to do the same. With her hands gently resting on her enlarged form, she asked, "What can I do for you?"

I looked around the room and didn't see anything that stood out. A simple hovel of wooden furniture, with cast-iron pots and pans featuring predominately. Annah was missing, giving the place a 'grand tour,' and the rest were simply enjoying time off of their feet.

"You seem much better than when we first saw you, Marit," I began. "How are you doing?" Genuine curiosity mixed with more serious inquiry. The petite blond seemed drugged or drunk in some form when we first saw her, and the presence of any such symptoms here would be rather telling.

"Very well, kind sir," she said, favouring me with a smile once more. "I'm tired, yes, but that would be expected. I'm due in a week or two." She patted her rounded belly in emphasis.

No point in asking about her late husband, I thought. What are some gaps she could fill?

"What do you know about your uncle - Vocar?"

She stared off to the side in contemplation, then shrugged. "Not much, truly. He had little to do with me until just recently. Just over three months ago, he began taking an interest in me. Or, more precisely, my pregnancy." She patted her rounded belly again. "He was very excited about it, and offered to help us out however he could. I imagine the dear soul grew lonely living by himself, and wanted the company." Marit paused, and her face fell as she continued. "He was also kind enough to pay for me to live in a boarding house, after... My husband disappeared."

With a light clap of her hands, a smile was quickly restored onto her face. "Now that I'm so close to being due, he brought me here to live with him. A kind, lonely man..."

"That boarding house," I said. "What was it like? Was it a pleasant place, or...?"

"Yes, very much so," she replied, with a fond sigh of remembrance. "A local place. It is run by a very kind old man by the name of Virianis. He became almost like a father to me there. I have not seen him in quite a while. If you run into him, please check how he is doing."

"I'll do so," I said, and put as much concern into my words as possible. That is it for me. "Grace? Cleve?" I said to the pair. "Anything you wanted to check out with Marit here?"

He blinked at me, once, behind the minor illusion that cloaked his face, and shook his head. "Be well, good woman Marit," Cleve said. "Take care of yourself."

Fall-from-Grace didn't have any questions either. She gave Marit a minor curtsy and wished her well also.

Right afterwards, the pregnant woman excused herself, with a claim of needing to take a nap. We didn't need anything from her urgently enough to press further.

Annah appeared once we were outside the dark stone house. I gave one of her hands a brief squeeze, which evoked a grumble and a smile.

"Anything?" I asked her, as I indicated the house we left with a tilt of my head.

"Neh," she replied, with a head shake of her own. "Naught fer writin.' Saw a red and black robe." The red-headed tiefling muttered something about 'precautions,' and that was it.

We started back towards the inn. On my mind - and likely the others as well - were thoughts wondering about what 'letter' Vocar could possibly been writing, if there even was such.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

1:54 PM. Common Room, 2nd Story, The Madhouse, Tor Gorak, Torag, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread.

Virianis was waiting for us at Lefty's. Yet one more example of extreme age in this city, the form of the wrinkled, emaciated man was contrasted only with with a full head of grey-white hair and steely blue eyes. He didn't display any of the infirmity that the Loreward we met earlier demonstrated.

We were led to the Madhouse, the 'boarding house' that Marit had stayed in previously. There, he explained how he hoped we could find one of his lost residents, a man named Dast who was going to speak with a "fellow king." Grace and Annah left to do so, though only after I had placed improved invisibility on the winged succubus. Cleve and myself stayed behind, as we'd only slow that highly mobile duo down.

This common room was a large, open space that sported the only two carpets in the building. A number of the residents were scattered around here, each wearing reasonably clean, but completely mismatched, clothing. Apart from the odd bit of insane giggles and repetitive noises, it was a muted atmosphere. The caretakers wandered around, ensuring that nothing seriously dangerous occurred, while their charges sat on the carpeted floor, chairs or at one of the tables.

Cleve and myself were seated on opposite ends of the room, each at one of those simple, wooden tables. He was playing what appeared to be a very simple boardgame with three of the residents. His expression of rapt concentration was rather diminished in stature by how badly he appeared to be losing.

I seriously hope that that is on purpose.

"I had this place built over twenty years ago," Virianis continued. As we had already done a brief walk-through of the three story building, the owner was now giving me more extensive details. "It was made to house and take care of those that could not handle the pressures of everyday life in Tor Gorak."

With a mild frown, he stared at a resident who was slobbering over a large wooden block. A caretaker slowly encouraged the simple-minded man to less orally fixated activities.

Virianis' steely blue eyes turned back to me. "They receive good care, even though most stay here their entire lives."

"Do they improve under any treatment?" I asked. "Get released for good behaviour?"

None of the caretakers here appeared to be professionally aiding the patients. It was more like a grown-up nursery of sorts, with the sane taking the role of nursemaids.

"Not as such, no," he replied. "Their madness is completely understandable here in Tor Gorak. It is unfortunate, but not inappropriate. Besides, their minds have already demonstrated one instance of breaking. What would happen if they were somehow healed and then broken again? Their suffering would be immense."

I agreed with the old man, even if the logic burnt in it's acceptance. Neither the city of Tor Gorak nor any place in the entire Demiplane of Dread was suited to those with fragile psyches. Truthfully, apart from the most evil and twisted beings, I was unable to think of any who would genuinely be suited to be a permanent resident.

He took my silence as an invitation. "The local patrols of Daggers officially have no opinion of the Madhouse. They have a simple, brutal and effective 'treatment' method: death." Virianis sighed, and his shoulders briefly sagged with the movement. "They are only left alive, and ourselves undisturbed, because the residents here are not a bother nor a drain on the war effort's coffers. That is why Dast's recovery is so important." He looked at the stairs, but no sudden appearance of the patient mentioned occurred.

"What did the reference of Dast going to see a 'fellow king' mean, Virianis?" I said. "I get who he was hoping to seek out, but not the why."

"A two tined fork of an issue," he said, with a loose wave towards the inmates in the common room. "Dast labels himself king, and they support his delusions by using the title of 'King of the Madmen.' His room was dressed up the same way, being the sole place here with only one occupant, and an attempt at a rough throne through his own creative efforts."

Our conversation briefly died out, only renewing again when Virianis began to speak of each individual resident. None had a happy life, and hearing how particularly unpleasant they were was rather disheartening.

Annah, Grace and a young man came up the stairs, as the owner of the Madhouse was regaling me with yet one more sad story. Virianis immediately cut himself off and went over to the newly retrieved youth, while the ladies sat down at my table.

Dast had tousled brown hair and unkempt, mismatched clothes. He kept muttering to himself, even when the old man was fussing over him. A crude, wooden headpiece that vaguely looked like a crown was placed atop his head. It was dyed yellow and had several coloured stones stuck along the top.

"Any trouble?" I asked the pair.

"Not at all," Grace replied. "Ann--" She stopped herself from saying the full name with a 'pardon.' We had resolved earlier to not use our names while a chance of others hearing them existed. "She was very helpful. In less than a half hour of effort, we had managed to track down the wayward soul."

"Aye," Annah added. "Teh succubus has the right of it."

The tiefling was scrunched up right beside me, doubtlessly missing the ability to wrap her tail around me. I patted her thigh, and she let out a sad sigh. "I still donnae like this place."

"Me neither," I replied. "None of it is here to be liked, though."

The question of whether she meant the Madhouse or the Demiplane of Dread itself wasn't specified. It didn't matter, as our comments were equally valid.

The four of us left soon after, with only Virianis' prolonged gratitude extending our stay. We'll split up at Lefty's, as our next step needed to be rather covert.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

4:26 PM. The Library of Kas, Castle Xiphos, Tor Gorak, Torag, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread.

The ancient iron door we breached remained visually undisturbed behind us, near closed and cloaked in a layer of illusionary images and silence.

Beyond it, a narrow passage stretched out into the darkness. Or would, at least, if not for darkvision and the other suite of spells I had active right now. The smooth stone walls glistened with moisture and slime, and water had been collected on the floor in small, irregular puddles. They dotted the passageway, with one at nearly every full stride.

Apart from the constant dripping sound, nothing disturbed the absolute silence in this place.

"Aye, let's loot this place then," Annah said from beside me, the effect of her unperceptability fading when she pulled back her cloak.

"Lead on, Lady of the Shadows," I said, with an invitation forwards.

She snorted, and lightly punched me as she walked by.

We continued deeper in until the straight passage was interrupted by a deep, chasm-like shaft. The open space below rose up above towards the castle heights, and was even more slick with moisture and yellowish slime than what we had walked through. It was edged with a very narrow ledge on both sides, and the opposite side continued with a passage akin to what we just walked through.

Annah made as if to look over the edge, then pulled back. "Monstah," she said.

"You can't be sure," I began, and then was interrupted by a quiet sound arising from below - some sort of wet, sloshing, slurping noise.

I kept quiet while she smirked at me, and did a quick mental check of the spells most appropriate for the situation. Delayed blast fireball, I thought, and subvocalized the words a few times to shuffle memorized spells to include them. I beckoned Annah back, and tossed the half dozen glowing beads down the black shaft.

A rapid sequence of roaring red fire followed - but no cries of pain, or physical traces of creatures hit.

Immune to fire? I mentally mused, then peeked over the edge myself. Further down the shaft, which has to be at least ninety feet, was a horrible, disgusting slimy mass of hundreds of tendrils, tentacles and eyes. It had greenish flesh that was covered in oozing sores, each contributing to the yellowish slime that slicked the walls.

Even though I had seen worse horrors in my long life, the sight of that creature felt wrong on many levels. Not letting it unsettle me, I pulled up some spells from the opposite end of the elemental spectrum. Three castings of polar ray was enough to freeze it, and a cascading tinkle of shattering ice ended the being for good.

Better to make sure.

One casting of wall of stone created a massive plug that just barely fit the diameter of the shaft. It swiftly fell as I watched, and scraped the slime off the walls as it descended. There was no notable sound of impact besides a dull thud, but I felt better all the while.

"All right," I said, and gestured back to... Annah?

She was already halfway across the curved walkway. Her steps, ensured by some upgraded form of spider walk on her boots, were swift and steady.

As I greatly admired the view, I couldn't help but mentally grumble to myself once more: When am I going to use any of those monk-druid abilities? I followed the tiefling after I made a small personal dedication to myself for 'later.'

...

The 'Library of Kas' was no such thing. More like a study, the small chamber that had been sealed by a heavy iron door had not even a half dozen filled bookcases.

Annah stepped through the scattered books and scrolls that lay on the floor, while I checked out the ancient-looking wooden table at the room's center. It was covered with manuscripts, with more on the adjacent chair and ground.

With a sigh, I started cleaning up. Not that it took much effort - I recalled out my palm-sized greater tome of books from my hammer-space, and began to tap every single paper, book, scroll and document collection in sight. Each act of contact caused the item to disappear, bound into a single page of the 'minor' artifact.

I was working on one of the heavily built, wooden bookcases when Annah called out to me.

"Found it," she said, though her dejected tone promised disappointment.

I caught a scroll tube she threw my way and examined it. The item looked impressive. The tube itself was ornately worked gold, with ancient, dust-filled patterns lightly coating its surface. The gem stopper that sealed it was a red ruby, about the size of my fist.

A memory of Rainbow's vaults which had enough gold to bury a town with crossed my mind, and the gem was rendered much less important.

After prying out the stopper, I peered into its depths and saw... Nothing. It was empty. Annah's dejected tone now made more sense. She must have estimated the contents by weight or something.

...

Only after all the various works of writing were bound into the tome of books did we settle down among a cluster of heavy blankets. Annah was curled up beside me, while I went through each small page of the book-storing tome.

The last few rejections enlightened me as to the history of the creature that was in the shaft.

"Out there was one of Kas' old children," I quietly spoke. "He was imprisoned alive after his father grew jealous of the maimed lord's attention towards his son. Apparently Narek was an apt pupil, but... Not enough. He desperately tried some magic that he wasn't prepared for and that... Thing... Was the result."

Annah grumbled. She didn't seem particularly interested. "Eh, I have somethin' to say."

"Hmm? I'm listening," I said, and squeezed her with my free arm.

"...Take off yeh clothes afore I rip 'em off yeh."

I suddenly realized that Rainbow was able to do research for me. I didn't need to. Some scrawled link-journal messages later, my need to personally do it was gone. Then so too were everything we were wearing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

7:19 PM. Room Three, Lefty's Inn, Tor Gorak, Torag, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread. Fall-from-Grace's POV.

It was a simple, if repetitive illusion Raymond had crafted. Him and Annah were playing cards on two sides of the table, and occasionally looked over at the other two sides where we were. Nothing was said by them other than the odd sound of agreement or disapproval.

Cleve and myself were just tossing cards back and forth, and randomly shuffling them. He wasn't big on card games, or any other board games for that matter.

A small covered brazier provided heat for the room, though neither of us really needed it. The warmth was a mildly expensive luxury, and a cover for our differences from Prime Material normal humans.

"Fallen angels and fallen succubi - both the usage of those words and their impact are rather at odds with one another, Fall-from-Grace," Cleve said, as he awkwardly sorted the cards into a straight-edged pile.

"I'm sensing a question in that statement, Cleve," I replied, and looked at the cards I was holding. They were meaningless, like this whole illusion - but the meaning came from that very meaninglessness. "Is it going to come out, or stay hidden?"

His snorted laughter ruined the card-sorting attempt, and he pushed the pile my way.

"I'd rather be reading right now," he said. "At the store of Brighteyes, there was always something new arriving and something old yet to pursue." The prior paladin watched as I deftly shuffled the cards in silence. "How did you rise, Fall-from-Grace?"

I continued to shuffle, and said, "Born to a succubus mother and raised in the chaos of demons, then sold into the brutal tyranny of devils as a slave from that same woman. My time with those baatezu had me see the benefits of an orderly existence, while my history with both races of fiends showed me the inherent futility of evil. All that..." I dealt some cards to the both of us. "Over some thousands of years. A more recent change on top of that, as well."

I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or the cards with his white eyes, but he appeared to be waiting.

"Rainbow's Domain," I continued, with a smile, "offers more than just physical and magical wealth, Cleve. You could say that his perspective is of wish fulfilment, and your desire to earn such largess is simply one more such he'll aim to fulfil."

The near-black skin around his solid white eyes scrunched up as he looked at his cards. "To think that I thought he was just an exiled genie prince..."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

10:13 PM. Room Four, Lefty's Inn, Tor Gorak, Torag, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread. Raymond's POV.

All four of us were nearly cramped into one of Lefty's small rooms. We prepaid for the same two rooms the next day each morning, but wanted this meeting to be rather clandestine. The buzz and haze of anti-perceptual spells helped ensure that.

"We have a small amount of time," I began, and pulled out a single parchment from my hammer-space, and placed it on the one small, rickety table we had. "But it is enough to go over the big details. Grace? Cleve?" I inspected both of them. "Any trouble with our two... Watchers?"

The large figure kept silent, deferring his judgement to hers.

"Not at all, Raymond," Fall-from-Grace replied. "They seemed quite taken with the four of us playing cards for hours."

"Great," I said, with a relieved smile. I flipped open my linked journal to one of the earlier entries. "Now then... This whole mess started with the blackened finger and the Loreward. The key things there were a 'sign' - the finger, then a reference to 'drawn blood' and 'the Word.' Banquo could reveal more in time, but we have a better researcher on our side."

I advanced some more pages in the journal. "His efforts revealed that that one Word is part of three, which must each be spoken as part of three separate rituals. The finger and blood are only part of the first ritual and Word, with the other two being likely vastly different. The details of those rituals should be in a text called the Book of Inverted Darkness, whose location could be only in two places: the now-emptied Library of Kas and the Shadowed Room."

Annah pulled out the scroll case from her hammer-space and passed it to Cleve. He and Grace looked it over, opening it in the process.

"Do either of you have plans for this case?"

I exchanged a look with my red-haired tiefling, and we both shrugged. "No," I replied. "You can have it if you want. What were you thinking of doing with it?"

"A prayer case," he said, and rubbed the gold exterior with a thumb. "Or perhaps..." His voice quieted. "...A very fancy candy container."

"Ah... Just make sure you get it cleaned of anything that has remained, fair?"

He made some sounds of agreement, and I returned to recounting our plans. "As Cleve's new scroll case demonstrates, the Library of Kas was a near total bust. We managed to find out that Kas is more of a monster than ever, as well as one single page that may be of use." I indicated the parchment on the desk, and carefully leaned over it.

"And thus it came to pass in those days that the One Named Only in Whispers looked upon his tortured domain and saw that there was much amiss. Woe to those in that realm those days, for cities were laid waste and the earth itself rebelled against man, all at the behest of the Dying King. The dark and forbidden land had prospered a little, as the Whispered One's attention had been in the endless wars that he waged, and his lieutenant had likewise entreated other lands with his cruel considerations. Now that the sinister lord's gaze turned back to Cavitius, the foul place became even more befouled. While the mad and unspeakable Kas continued to crush the enemies of his dread master, the Dying King looked upon his own homeland and saw that there existed matters which required his cursed attention. One wrong in the dark master's eyes was that the Book of Inverted Darkness had slipped from his evil grasp. Sorcery great and vile located the baleful tome of the Ancient Brethren and brought it back into the skeletal clutches of the Master of the Spider Throne. Restoring it to its rightful place with his other darling treasures, he placed the book in that sorrowful place which some name the Shadowed Room, where few can go and fewer can leave. The Whispered One holds the key to this hidden chamber of forlorn secrets, as do his most faithful of servants. The key, it is said, is likewise a secret, and the umbra of the dark mystery that holds the way into the Shadowed Room lies deep within the fact that there is no way in at all. After the fall of Regelios and the Night of Golden Death..."

I waited while the others read. Even with Cleve's avoidance of Rainbow's 'shower of artifacts,' he didn't refuse something as basic as written and spoken language comprehension. Once they sat back down again, I continued.

"So we have one more confirmation of the Shadowed Room - somewhere in the maimed lich's city of Citadel Cavitius."

I let them contemplate that while I fingered through the pages of the linked journal, and said, "However, our researcher passed some very important details over in the mean time. First, as must be obvious, the maimed lich is who we all think it is. Don't speak his name. Secondly, it has been confirmed that it is indeed possible to stop the Three Words before any of them take place - but doing so will simply push the dates of the ritual into the future, to a time where we won't be here. The only way we can absolutely stop the whole thing from ever occurring is by ruining it after the third ritual has started, but before the Third Word itself is spoken."

"Do those rituals bear a cost in lives and blood?" asked Cleve.

"A very heavy cost," I grimly replied. "But they would be a drop of water in all the world's oceans if we fail."

He put on a pained expression. "Right now, I have the smallest sense of relief that I'm not some ignobly idiotic paladin, who would save the child and let the village burn," the large, light grey-skinned man said with a long sigh.

"I donnae think yeh need to worry there, Cleve," Annah said, smiling. "Yeh can be a barmy any time."

He made a sound of amusement, but didn't reply otherwise.

Not that I'd admit it, I had a flash of longing for the stowed form of Morte. Still, whatever safety he could glean from being in my hammer-space he was welcome to.

"The cost in blood will start with my own," I continued. "It will happen when..."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

12:46 AM. Saturday, December 29th. Outside Tor Gorak, Torag, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread.

...We get attacked, I thought. Just as planned.

The so-called 'ambush' occurred in distant sight of the main south gate of Tor Gorak. A group of ten cultists sprang from the darkness, each black robed figure with their faces painted the same way so as to appear as a one-eyed skull.

Armed with large knives, each with a rune-covered black blade, they started slashing and stabbing in an circling action around us. All the while, they kept up a constant whisper of "blood... Blood... Blood," repeated over and over again.

Cleve was armed and armoured again. Full plate, head to toe coverage, with a massive tower shield bigger than most people, and a bastard sword that wanted to grow up and become a greatsword very soon. He didn't even bother moving in reaction, as their attacks were wholly ineffectual against him.

"Blood... Blood... Blood... Blood..."

Only when he was surrounded on four sides did he strike out against the cultists. A blur of shield bashes and sword slashes later, he stepped out from a ring of four corpses.

Six left.

Annah and Grace fought with two weapons each. Annah had her punch-daggers, while Grace used the two halves of her sniper-staff.

Two left.

"Blood... Blood... Blood..."

I was wielding a pair of knives myself, a model of old faithfuls with nearly a thousand years of experience behind them across different lifetimes. I could literally throw them into the skulls of these two cultists in less than a blink's time.

And that was our problem, I thought. We needed them to get our blood, but they were so damn incompetent while we weren't, it was more difficult to lose than it was to win. The longer we kept up this charade, the more likely the whole thing would fall apart.

Dammit, I thought. This is going to hurt.

"Blood... Blood..."

I threw my head back and roared like a drunken barbarian. Dropping my knives, I charged head-first into the one of the last two cultists. His leather armour proved no protection against my skull, as I heard his sternum and ribs crack underneath it.

Ignoring everything else, I kept on punching the cultist until his face sloughed off and the white of the bone underneath shone through. He was likely dead after the first or second strike. In the midst of my mindless brutality, a sharp line of fire was drawn across my unarmoured throat. The rather inferior quality of the skeleton styled gloved hand in sight strongly offended me for some reason.

I died with a choking gargle, thinking the time I had my skull cracked open to explore what was in there was far more painful.

"Blood!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elsewhere.

A white tunnel gets filled with all the colours of the rainbow.

An endless library of near identical books, utterly still and quiet.

A book gets taken from that library, and flipped to the last page.

The book gets closed.

Some sounds of disapproval and a finger-snap are heard.

The tunnel back is far more colourful.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

4:22 AM. Tuesday, January 2nd, 2058. On approach to Citadel Cavitius, Cavitius, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread.

It was the sky that defined the land.

As we plodded ever closer to that skull-shaped citadel, the absence of sunlight was just one more weight to bear. The sky was an admixture of the ash of the Burning Peaks, an endless, dreary grey that complimented the ancient ash wastelands around us.

The only improvement was the quality of the flagstone road. East, in Tovag, it was stained with the countless scores of spilled, weathered bloody battlefields followed by more mundane dirt and grit. Here, the white bone of its construction was literally white bone. Dusty, but in otherwise excellent condition.

To either side of Cleve and myself stood titanic sandstone heads. They lined the roadside like silent guardians, facing it, every single one unique like a twisted painful parody of a snowflake. There must be thousands of them.

The large armoured figure beside me had adjusted his walking pattern to match my own. Apart from the small sounds of page turning, he was quiet.

Likely relieved to be reading once more, I thought.

"How are you to be doing all this on trust, Cleve?"

He answered without looking up. "Well enough, Raymond." A page was flipped with an ungloved hand. "Considering where we are," and here he looked up and around, and frowned at the skull-shaped citadel looming ever-closer, "nearly anything but the most abject betrayal is a massive step forward. We have been spoiled with an excess of intelligence, and operating without it is no hardship." His white eyes glanced my way, before returning to his book. "Or is it?"

"Somewhat," I replied truthfully, and continued my steps forward on the bone-white stone road. "His methods allowed me to skip the more high-end ones I'd use otherwise, such as legend lore. But divination spells of that grade wouldn't properly work in the Demiplane of Dread, anyways."

Cleve made a brief sound of agreement, but didn't reply further.

...

The details of the skull-shaped citadel came into clearer detail as we approached it. There were two giant, swirling, black holes in the eye cavities of the structure. Even the briefest glimpse in their direction gave me the impression that I was being watched.

Giant vultures circled over the city continuously, and I all but knew that they were undead. No way would Vecna keep living animals of such a size feed and trained, when the lifeless obedience his command dictated was so much easier. The sounds of their eerie, haunting cries were the only thing we heard in this ashen wasteland. Doubtlessly, a single pair of adventurers were beneath their notice.

"There would be greater problems if you were an actual paladin here," I said. "The masters of each realm are able to sense those holy warriors the instant they step foot inside. They can know the approximate location of them at all times."

Cleve kept silent.

"It is worse with holy swords," I continued. "Once drawn, they'll know the location down to the nearest one hundred yards or so. Any holy weapon, truly."

Another period of silence was followed by his reply. "I look forward to it." He grimly chuckled, and I joined in.

...

The road seemed to lead directly into the mouth of the monstrous head. Positioned throughout the bone-white structure were partially-hidden battlements that jutted out of the skull at regular intervals. They were only visible as we came close, as from farther away the white outer walls appeared smooth and featureless.

The closed gates looked like teeth to the opening. Each nearly fifty-feet high, their texture was of smooth, white bones, done in some rippling, repeating pattern.

We stopped a fair distance from the pair of them. Cleve had given me his book back to stash, and retrieved his full compliment of arms and armour. I was kitted out as well, with my usually bare head and hands covered with more mithril. A pair of daggers were at my hips.

The larger man tilted his head in the direction of the gates in silent inquiry, and I help up a hand for patience.

"OPEN," I boomed out. Not close to channeling the ominous tones of the past Transcendent One, it was merely a loud and commanding voice.

The two doors silently swung outward, and we walked inside.

A gigantic figure, easily four times as tall as myself, stood directly inside that newly open space. It was covered with a thick, black robe, and a large amount of jewels hung from it's neck and waist.

Within the monstrous outer shell arose a silent, dimly lit city. Easily small enough to see the full width of, it was filled with strange, white towers and queerly domed buildings. Even though everything had a morbidly ornate grandeur, the smooth, rounded quality of bones overruled all else.

We passed the giant robed figure, and it reached behind us to close the gates with a loud bang. Although it was completely cloaked, to the extent of the drapes of the hood fully covering it's head, I made another easy assumption of it being a skeleton. It resumed a silent pose of waiting and readiness once it's duties were completed.

Cleve's horned helm looked my way in another silent inquiry, and he gestured to the city.

I pointed confidently in a random location, and we started walking once more.

We can't use magic here, I thought to myself. Not anywhere in the Citadel except Vecna's temple. It won't work properly, and attempts to press the issue will draw more attention than we need. At least magic items work fine.

...

There was no transition from night to day in this entire realm. The dim ashen landscape of the skull-shaped citadel was only offset by the dim, skull-shaped lamps that lighted the streets of the city. While they burned without smoke, noise, or barely even an irregular flicker, they did not offer much illumination, but instead left many areas of shadows and darkness. Those blackened areas left spaces for undead spirits to hide and watch all that passed, including ourselves.

Citizens here were split into two distinct groups: the living and the undead. The living seemed less fearful than those in Tor Gorak, but I did not believe that their sallow, gaunt and bony appearances were an improvement. The ones we saw were simply keeping out of the way of the undead, and each did their best to ignore each other. Only their constant encounters generated the flashes of fear we were so used to seeing.

I spotted two such men as we kept to the roadsides. They were raggedly dressed, with their eyes sunken and their spirits obviously broken. Even in that case, they had enough presence of mind to skitter over to the sides as more soldiers marched past. The pair of ragged men were even more fearful of the dark shadows near them, as it seemed to seethe and shudder as they waited for the finely dressed armoured figures to pass them by.

The undead were further divided into two groups, being of corporeal and incorporeal. The solid undead were typically dressed in elegant robes with large hoods, and strode confidently down the city's streets. Even as skeletal soldiers, they wore fine cloaks, gleaming jewels, and beautiful armour. The intangibles kept to the darkness, corners, rooftops and distant city ceiling, and slunk their way around on whatever unknowable errands drove them.

We kept on walking once the street was clear, and gave those dark shadows a bit more distance.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

2:04 PM. Monday, January 1st, 2058. Entry Hall, Ground Floor, The Palace of Vecna, Citadel Cavitius, Cavitius, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread. Annah of the Shadow's POV.

Less than one day earlier.

'Annah: I've got a difficult request for you. It's even hard for me to ask, but... - Rainbow'

'Rainbow: What? - Annah'

'Annah: The Palace of the Maimed One in Citadel Cavitius. There are two extremely important items to acquire in there. Three, potentially, if you want something from the list from earlier. - Rainbow'

'Rainbow: Pike off! Shall I dance in the Lady's shadow at the same time? - Annah'

'Annah: Ah... No worries, then. I'll get them later. - Rainbow'

'Rainbow: Clueless addle-cove. - Annah'

'Annah: Eh? - Rainbow'

'Rainbow: Think I'll turn stag on you? Bar that. Berk. - Annah'

'Annah: Eh eh? - Rainbow'

'Rainbow: I. Will. Do. It. - Annah'

'Annah: Oh. Right. Um. This is a 100% serious thing I'm proposing here. ZERO chances for mistakes, screw-ups, sight-seeing tours, having 'fun.' Any accidents and... Well... - Rainbow'

'Rainbow: Alright blood, what's the dark of the deader power's kip then? - Annah'

I carefully and slowly stretched. I was on the ceiling, between two of the four giant chandeliers that each hung all the way down to the ground floor - nearly five full stories of winded chains and glass, each of them glowing a pale greenish-yellow that barely lit up much of anything. I nearly vibrated with the need to cut them down and crash upon the smooth, polished black flagstone floor so far below.

My resolve was strong, and my punch-blades stayed holstered.

Directly far down below me was the Spider Throne. It was a great, black monster of a chair that was attached to a gigantic spider web that stretched across all of the entire rear wall.

'Annah: The Spider Throne is likely the one and only biggest security risks. The lore about it is true - whoever sits on it sees, hears, smells, tastes and feels every living sensation inside the entire domain of Cavitius. The one on the ground floor is usually empty, while the top-most-one constantly seats the arch-lich himself. - Rainbow'

'Rainbow: So make me a deader like Ray was, some construct like the addled Nordom, or give it the laugh all the way? - Annah'

'Annah: Ideally, your absolutely invisible cloak will overcome everything, but we won't know for sure until it is tested. - Rainbow'

There were two gigantic skeletons in the entry hall. They loomed over the bottom of the staircases that curved up along the walls to the fourth floor. Each were nearly a story in height, and wore a black robe, adorned with heavy gold chains at their necks and waists. A pair of skeletal hands rested on the pommels of giant bastard swords that rested, point first, against the floor.

'Annah: Invisibility against undead and many other things are easy. Just resist the urge to put marbles in their empty skulls or something. - Rainbow'

With one last mental scan over the memorized messages, I walked on the surface of the ceiling towards the fourth floor entrance. I allowed myself a smirk as I recalled Rainbow's words - even Vecna didn't trap his own ceiling.

Now, if only the whole cross-trade takes place without putting me in the dead-book I'll be happy, I thought. All that is left is to face a Power in his own cage and get out afterwards. Simple. Easy. Effortless.

Just like lying to myself.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

7:43 AM. Tuesday, January 2nd, 2058. Citadel Cavitius, Cavitius, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread. Raymond's POV.

"You come to this realm of evil, but have disposed of the evil that trailed you," said a young woman a few paces from the pair of us. She was filthy, dressed in tattered clothing, but carried her head high - unlike the other inhabitants within these terrible walls. "Watch yourselves."

"Pardon?"

"I see things," she replied. "Two faces of grey - Greyface? - and a many many-coloured man that -"

I strode forward, hand raised in a gesture of silence. She cringed, head bowed only slightly, and her words stopped.

There were things that it wasn't safe to speak of in this domain, and details of Rainbow was one of them. Still, being able to see the future in the Demiplane of Dread is a big deal. Normally only under the control of Vistani fortunetellers, any exceptions to that requirement elevated this young woman to unforeseeable heights.

I waved Cleve forward, and the pair of us clustered around her.

A pair of armoured, skeletal warriors, each riding skeletal steeds and carrying large scythes, passed us by in silence. They were the elite enforcers in this Citadel - Reavers. Harvesting the lives of those that fought undead, or breaking up combat between unliving forces.

"Who are you?" I asked, in what I hoped was taken as a calming tone.

"Valuriss," she replied, quietly. "I've seen so much that I don't want to see. The path of the many colours offers... Offers..." She stopped, and sniffled. Tears rolled down her face as she continued, speaking even softer than before. "I know of the price required to exit and am prepared to pay it."

"Exit price?" Cleve's horned helm swung my way in inquiry.

"I'll take care of it," I said. "I'll just say that some deals have stipulations that are unsuited to your past and wanted future profession."

The former paladin wasn't stupid in the slightest. Well... Not in this regard, at least. He looked between Valuriss, myself, and finally out towards the slight bustle of the undead that passed through the streets. Illuminated by the dim lights of the skull-shaped lamps that were prevalent here, he could almost be a gigantic skeleton in full armour, or some kind of death knight.

"I think I understand," Cleve said. "Not enough to like it - not in the slightest - but nearly anything is better than staying here." His armoured shoulders sagged.

"So," I began again. "You know a great deal. Where do we go next?"

The tears running slowly down her face were at odds with her hesitantly happy expression. "Lords, there is but one place for you to go to. It is -"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

11:28 AM. Nearing the Temple of Vecna, Citadel Cavitius, Cavitius, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread.

The Temple of Vecna, I thought. Where we'd find the Shadowed Room and the one and only site in this citadel where magic use is freely permitted.

"Sing the praises of the Whispered One," the newly formed skeleton guard commanded. It was the third challenger of the same type we'd faced along the narrow, winding stairs that lead to the temple. It brandished a sharpened bone sword, but otherwise kept silent.

"The Whispered One's power is supreme," I intoned, in all seriousness.

The bare skull of the guard shifted to Cleve and Valuriss behind me, and they repeated the same words. The guard collapsed back into the wall afterwards. We trudged on forwards over the dusty, narrow, bone-white steps.

The ease in which Cleve had said the required words was explained to me the first time I asked: it was the truth - here. The former paladin in no way acknowledged Vecna as a supreme, universal being, but merely an authority in his own land. In any case, it wasn't worth the quibbling to examine the points further.

...

The top of the staircase entered my sight, and I allowed myself a mental sigh of relief. The path we took started just a stones throw from the main entrance and coiled up and around before it tunneled into the building itself. Those stairs emerged onto a large platform, upon which stood an equally large, bone-white building.

The temple was built into, and extended out from, the massive skull of the city. The eyes - those black voids visible on approach to this death-themed accused locale - were not simply spots of darkness. No. Each were a swirling mass of black negative energy - paired pools of opaque and impassible anti-life that served as the focus of Vecna's power within the citadel. That extensive knowledge is something I'd dare not reveal in any way here, nor the means and methods Rainbow acquired and passed it on to me.

Banners of red and black - like the robe of Vocar? - hung from various places on the building. Each displayed a symbol that suggested a bony, splayed open hand with a naked eyeball in the center of the palm. Further detailing was done via the carvings applied to the temple - leering faces and fiendish forms completely covered all the available surfaces apart from the floor we stood on.

The sound of Cleve's plate armoured boots scuffing the ground brought my visual examination to an end. The last thing I noticed was a living shadow of some sort, as it flitted in the darkness by the entrance.

I suppressed a flinched reaction to the sight. At least a hundred lives had been ended by shadowy byproducts of my own past, immortal existence. I've only died once since reacquiring my mortality - bonding with my living soul, the Transcendent One, in the partitioned manner I dreamed up that still allows me growth, progression and development - but... I have no interest in that lethal fate becoming a habit of any kind.

"Wait here some moments," I said to Valuriss and Cleve. "I want to check a hunch out."

I approached the last bit of darkness I saw movement in, and waited. As I stared into the space, the outline of a shadow fiend revealed itself, and it seeped out of that black space.

"Yessss, mortal?" the fiend hissed out. "Do you ssssseek Threndilla to cleanse you of your offensive life-force?"

Knowing the name of the creature helped. It appeared as a winged demon draped in a full-body dress of black ink, horned head to darkly pooled feet. Fingers, points and other details waved in the air, like living strands of night-fed grass moving in the wind.

I took a calculated risk in my next action.

"SUBMIT TO ME, SHADOW," I intoned with more evocation of the Transcendent One than I had done since we merged. "SUBMIT AND OBEY."

A series of ripples undulated over its form before it spoke again. "Yessss, masssster," it hissed again, as it coiled around me. "I sssserve you... Mosssst willingly."

"TELL ME OF THIS TEMPLE'S SECRETS, SHADOW."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A dried, withered skull turned.

The one, single intact eye blinked.

The arch-lich stood up from his throne, and began to walk.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

12:03 PM. Fourth Floor, The Black Tower, The Palace of Vecna, Citadel Cavitius, Cavitius, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread. Annah of the Shadow's POV.

I am the blood of the cross-trade. I'm everyone's favourite cutter. The dark of it is this: I have conquered my most dreaded enemy.

Impatience.

Though perhaps the sheer terror of being able to sense the presence of the maimed Power in the tower floor above me contributed to my ever-still wakefulness. Walking through rooms of perverse evil and darkness and completely barred from doing even the slightest action that would have physical traces was utterly maddening.

Here, now, my existence was focused only on one single thing: the door to the Forbidden Library. It was carved with an image of a splayed open skeletal hand, with a lidless, bare eyeball in it's palm. Unlike other past doors, the hand-and-eye symbol here was surrounded by a serpent biting it's own tail. An in-depth examination of the metal slab of a door revealed at two potent protections. The first was a lethal contact poison, spread over the entire surface, and continually seeping out to replenish itself. The second was an advanced version of wizard lock.

Neither of them would stop me in the slightest. I could get in, peel the place, and give Vecna the laugh as I left. The only problem with that, is that it would not be absolutely, completely and totally perfect in execution. There was only one way to do that, and it was to wait.

Wait, until...

Slow, steady footsteps sounded from the central staircase, and the door opened to reveal a hideous figure. The arch-lich himself, clad in a high, pointed collar robe, with no other adornment. His exposed flesh and twisted vestige were barely hanging on to the skeletal frame they hung from, and the absence of his left eye and hand were in no way disguised or hidden.

Vecna stepped my way with a sneer, and I expected the worst. In that state of absolute, paralyzing fear he stepped over my microscopic construct form, and made his way to the serpent adorned door.

"We have faith in the serpent," Vecna spoke, with his voice sounding like a thousand whispers all coming out in unison. He strode forward as the door opened of it self, and I followed, my tiny wings moving rapidly and silently.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

12:15 PM. Hidden Vault, The Temple of Vecna, Citadel Cavitius, Cavitius, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread. Raymond's POV.

A short, black stone stairway descended into this oppressively low-ceilinged chamber. Both of us in armour had to duck our heads, as it was barely six feet high.

Valuriss had no such trouble. She followed my gestures, and stood silently against the far wall.

The middle of the chamber was filled with a black and red carpet, embroidered with strange and unknown symbols. Atop of it, and directly opposite the stairway opening, was a pedestal that held a clear glass box.

The carpet dampened any sounds my footfalls could have made as I approached the pedestal. The glass box opened easily, and I retrieved the three carved stones within it. With a soft, smooth, mechanical clicking noise, that action opened a hidden door to my left. I mentally compared the rune stones to the carpet, then led the way.

Beyond that revealed opening, a narrow, and still low, passageway led to another room. The air was thick with dust and age, a vivid demonstration of how rarely anyone came to this doubly hidden chamber.

Three full-length mirrors, their golden frames all ornately engraved with soul-chilling images of agonizing tortures and deaths, stood alone in the room's center. The three mirrors were angled towards the opening, with none of them facing each other.

Cleve and Valuriss again assumed the same postures as earlier, while I inspected the mirrors further.

In the middle of each of those golden-framed mirrors were dark symbols etched blackly into the smooth surfaces. With some comparisons to the held rune stones and the memories of the carpet in the prior room, I recognized the similarities - and the differences.

The rune stones from the prior room's glass box and the engravings on the mirror formed incomplete glyphs that were only present on the outer carpet. In order to solve this riddle of sorts, I'd assume that these stones need to be arranged so that their reflection and engraving line up with the carpet's details.

I peered at the held pieces and the mirrors, while I figured out the best way to do this.

Why can't it simply be a heavy door to smash down, I thought. Smashing things is often an inwardly and outwardly rewarding activity.

"Visitors," Cleve said from behind me.

I turned back, and beheld a group of terrible creatures. Each ghoul had sickly grey flesh, all twisted and rotting. The largest of the seven stepped further into the room, and sneered at the armoured form of Cleve. It licked a long, coarse tongue over it's jagged, pointy teeth and gazed intently at the rune stones in my hands.

"It appears you have discovered the means of entering the Shadowed Room," the ghoul spoke in a rough whisper. "I, too, have searched for the knowledge contained within. If you let me join you, I am certain I could return the favour."

"Really?" I asked in an incredulous tone. "How would you do so...?"

Valuriss moved around the edges of the room while I spoke. Once the mirrors and myself were directly between her and the group of undead, she hunched down further.

"Qoolarn, I am," it's rough whispers continued. "A ghoul lord of some renown in Cavitius." Another series of fang-covering tongue movements occurred.

"I'm not one for favours, Qoolarn," I replied. "But I'll show you something very special."

"What would that be?" it asked, without a trace of hostility in it's voice.

"The simple magic act of how three stones can be changed," I began, and put them into my hammer-space, "into two knives," another pair of customized undead slaying blades appeared in my hands, "and delivered into your rotting skull."

With a blur of speed, the two knives were sent unerringly into the ghoul's diseased brain-pan via it's eyes. I stowed my gauntlets, and cast greater magic fang under my breath.

Cleve had already begun cleaving, while I finally started to use some of monk-druid themed abilities.

This is going to smell afterwards, I just know it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

12:24 PM. The Forbidden Library, Fourth Floor, The Black Tower, The Palace of Vecna, Citadel Cavitius, Cavitius, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread. Annah of the Shadow's POV.

'Annah: The first item you have to get is a platinum crown. It is 1 1/2 inches wide, except for the larger section set with a blue sapphire. It must be the absolutely first thing you touch, wear and exchange in the Forbidden Library. The crown, like everything else there, is coated in deadly poison, so make sure you take whatever measures needed before-hand. - Rainbow'

Done. I adjusted the crown on my red-headed brow, underneath my all-concealing cloak, and swept my gaze over the room once more.

'Annah: The best thing about that crown is that since it can't be located by magic, a non-magical duplicate is perfect. Just make sure that it is placed back in the right location. - Rainbow'

This chamber resembled a museum or trophy room more than a library. The open space was crammed with shelves and display cases, and even with translation features on I couldn't make head or tails out of this barmy place.

'Rainbow: I'm not some addle-coved berk thats new to the cross-trade, blood. - Annah'

A closer count revealed a few dozen powerful magic items, and nearly one hundred texts of different sorts. Vecna himself was reading from a small stack of tomes he had placed on a heavy desk made of bone. The arch-lich made no noises or sounds, apart from the slow, careful scrape of bony fingers as pages were turned.

'Annah: The second item to obtain is -'

Placed on the floor, below a number of mounted swords, was a dusty, mahogany wood box. My steps did not disturb the dust or cobwebs in the slightest as I crouched beside it. A glance back at the arch-lich revealed that he was being assisted by three, blob-like masses of shadows. They were acting as book stands for him, as multiple tomes were being examined at the same time.

A finger-flick popped out some lockpicks, and I started to work on the wooden box. Once the item was replaced with another duplicate, it would have to be relocked the exact same way. We couldn't afford to make any mistakes in getting the -

'- real Sword of Kas - the one weapon truly capable of harming Vecna. - Rainbow'

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Shadowed Room. Raymond's POV.

It took two trips into the Shadowed Room for me to be fully convinced of the nature of the place - it was cut off from normal reality, possibly even moreso than Rainbow's Domain. The room had qualities that resembled the features of the Rainbow Rubikon, or, more specifically, The Boundless - the demiplane where the timeless trait was picked up from.

Nothing changed or remained when we left the room, and no time passed when we were in it.

It was a domed room, with a very high ceiling. Book cases lined all the walls, floor to ceiling, all filled with tomes, scrolls, and texts of different colours, makes and materials. The view through the windows suggested that we were high in the air, with a cloudy sky above us and a vast sprawl of a stone city below.

One of the earlier texts I went through suggested that this tower - this very room - was the main library used by Vecna himself when he was still in the process of conquering the world of Oerth in the distant past. The dread city of Ykrath was a sprawling fortress of miles and miles of towers, castles and cathedrals all dedicated to that maimed lich. A flash back, of sorts, to the type of future that the Whispered One wants to create for himself and everyone else. This single room must have been such a distilled collection of arcane knowledge that it's presence lived on some how - a presence that was accessible by the triple mirror ritual we went through.

We should visit Oerth some time, I thought to myself, and continued to mindlessly flip pages. I spent less than a second on each, with every book typically lasting less than five minutes. It was then thrown onto the ever-growing 'done' pile, which Cleve periodically shoved in the direction of the bookcases I was working through.

I threw the current book and reached for another. I recognized this one from the nightstand it was on. Yellowed pages, obviously cut long ago from an even older tome, revealed a title called... The Book of Inverted Darkness!

My excitement was tempered by the likely thousands of books still remaining. This one required actual study.

...

"Cleve? I found it." I called out from the mound of books I was using as a backrest. Some few hours of examination had borne fruit in the discovery of a reference to the Three Words.

He stepped over my way with minimal noise, and sat down beside me. I reread the page while he was going over it.

'Thus, though the words are many, in this case there are three. The first of the Three Words must be preceded by the Ritual of Recession, and requires speaker's hands to be red with the blood of an outsider spilled in violence.'

The requirements for that ritual cost me a life that ended with me choking on my own blood.

'The second of the Three Words requires a plague to ravage the land. This plague must be without mercy, its survivors clinging to life through fortune alone. The Ritual of Cavernous Thought must be performed upon the pyre of diseased souls, and then can the second of the Three Words be uttered.'

'The time for the speaking of the final Word comes after the murder of a king. Upon his death, the Ritual of Lorn Malison must be performed, and the last of the Three Words spoken.'

'Then, and only then, can a long-dead wizard, great in power and like unto a god, be born anew in woman's womb. Thus born, he is free of whatever shackles or chains bound him before - free to go and do as he pleases. No power, no magic, no force, not even death can hold him then.'

'Woe to his enemies. Woe to any unwilling to serve him. Their days are short.'

Cleve and myself sat in silence while he digested the new content.

"We're going to go back to Tor Gorak in the middle of a plague, aren't we?" Cleve half-questioned. Like me, he doubtlessly already knew the answer.

"Very likely," I replied.

He scratched the short, downy, light grey hair on the top of his head and sighed. "The art of triage is painful in concept and execution. Here, the scales are heavily weighted indeed." Cleve stood up and panned his head across the still-filled bookcases. "We still have a few days in here. Possibly even a week or two, if we rest and have meals."

I was already skimming through the rest of Inverted Darkness before he got up. "No need to rush," I said. "How is Valuriss taking it?"

The black skin around his white eyes tightened. "Not that well."

"See what you can do?"

"I shall."

...

"I've been waiting and waiting and waiting," she sobbed. "I saw you in my dreams, but you never came. But now you're here."

I patted her back awkwardly as she continued.

"Now you can take me away from this awful place," she stammered. "You will take me away, right? The paid price will work?!" Valuriss' hands were tightly wrapped into the robe I wore. "You're not evil or corrupt, and you won't die the final death while fulfilling your destiny, will you?! Please don't die! You have to succeed and rescue me from this horrible place!"

The only noise in this chamber was her sobbing and broken sentences. Further details came out in bits and pieces: how she came from Darken - another domain in the Demiplane of Dread - with her father, who quickly died to the undead here, and how she had been on the run ever since. Her precognitive talents told her to flee, as well as that we were coming.

"You aren't the first," she babbled on. "There were others, but they were unable to take me with them. I know you'll win! You have to! But take me with you, please! Please!"

I ignored my slowly dampening clothing.

The book stacks were about equal right now. We've come a long way in the last week.

...

The passage of time was marked only by the size and location of book piles. The 'done' pile grew, as the 'to do' pile shrunk. When there were less than a dozen works left to process, the seer Valuriss approached me.

"I can't put it off any longer," she said. The young woman had cleaned up decently through the use of magically provided food, clothing and washing materials. A small, mousy individual remained, even if she stayed proud in her periods of silence.

I stood up and stretched, working out what kinks I had gained from resting against a couch shaped from books.

"Cleve?"

He had his own small stack, pulled from the pile I had already finished. He read for pleasure, more than information. His light grey head looked my way at the hail, with his current book placed upside down.

"It's time?"

"Yes."

His armour had been stashed for nearly the entire time here, and replaced with simple draw-string supported pants and a thin, sleeved shirt.

A moment of recollection brought back the relevant parts in what Rainbow had sent me in regards to the Dark Powers: 'Ray: They have been very generous, in their own way. While the normal state of affairs for those in the Land of Mists is eternal imprisonment, they have allowed some very specific loopholes to operate in regards to me and mine. The best news is that we can extract anybody we want, though there is one major requirement to do so. Failing to meet it - or attempting to bypass it - could start a cold war between us among the many planes of this multiverse. The requirement is -'

Cleve stood to the side, while Valuriss stepped into my open arms. As she shivered, I ran my tan-coloured hand down the back of her head. I waited until she had calmed down, and was fully still and quiet.

Then I quickly snapped her neck, and guided her lifeless body to the ground.

'- that they be killed by you, Ray, or anyone else I bring in to the Land of Mists. Either with a melee weapon, or your bare hands, but not at a distance. Note that touching them with your own weapons or hands while some other source kills them also somehow qualifies. Furthermore, the head and heart - or whatever passes for them - have to remain. Anything else is okay to bring back to me for resurrection. In exchange, we don't need to worry about their souls being trapped eternally in that demiplane, nor your own.'

I ignored the reactions Valuriss' body had in death, and smoothed out her clothing. The newly filled soul-catching ring on one of my fingers was insurance for that dread agreement. I stashed it into my hammer-space, as I didn't want the risk of another soul pushing it out.

A hand, I thought, as a serrated blade appeared in my own. It will be strangely fitting. I'll pass on taking out an eye, though.

'Do good, Ray. Don't let the Demiplane get to you... Or me. - Rainbow'

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

12:49 PM. The Library of Kas, Tor Gorak, Tovag, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread.

Things went very fast after the two of us exited the Shadowed Room, and closed the passage-way behind us. Annah's signal for 'urgency' was how hard she impacted me in escaping the the Palace of Vecna. Considering that her senselessly blind and invisible form nearly bowled me over, I grabbed her and Cleve and cast a series of teleports as fast as possible.

One, to the domain border of Cavitius. Two, to cross over and into the Burning Peaks mountain range and three, to the relatively empty location in Tovag - the domain of Kas - that we first arrived here at. Then four, to the hidden interior of the Library of Kas, underneath his oft empty keep in Tor Gorak.

Fall-from-Grace had made a cozy little refuge in the chamber.

"Greetings, all," she said with a bow of her blond head. Grace was seated on one of four matching dining chairs that surrounded a small, round, wooden table. Lighting was provided by a series of candles dotted around the room. Left-over stumps of past candles were clustered in odd spots, but the overall effect was cozy instead of dungeon-esque. "How was Cavitius?"

"Eh, damned horrible it was, succubus," Annah said, as she strolled over to one of the chairs. Tail freed once more, she spun the piece of furniture around and leaned against it, inspecting the contents of the table. Some salted meat and other well-preserved goods were there, which she started eating from. "Don't yeh be askin' me about how much innards a man can pull out've his own guts before enterin' teh dead book. Screamin' all teh while..."

"No need, Annah," she replied. "I'm quite familiar with that piece of information."

The red-head looked at the piece of dried meat in her hands with distaste, and replaced it on the table. "Yeh happen to have some thin' made nary of flesh and bones?"

The succubus pushed a large plate of biscuits Annah's way, who slowly began eating those.

Cleve and myself got seated while the two others had had their exchange.

"We picked up the major details," I said. "The first word and ritual needed the blood of an outsider, the second a plague and pyres of bodies, and the third the death of a king and a pregnant woman."

"That would explain the plague raging outside in the city, then," Grace said, and looked among the three of us. "Are you capable of handling the full details, or...?"

"We've all experienced our own small share of horrors, Grace," Cleve softly replied. "I'm sure that any harsh truths will be mediated simply by you being the one speaking it."

The blond favoured Cleve with a brief, shining smile while Annah snorted. "To begin with, tracking the cultists wasn't especially hard. They did take Marit, as expected. And, in a move that may surprise few of us, Vocar of the ink smudged face and black and red robe is the very leader of the entire cult of the maimed lord here in Tor Gorak. As they have been continually circling around the Madhouse, I can only surmise that Dast's title and recognition as 'King of the Madmen' is enough to qualify for the third and final ritual."

She ate a biscuit while we digested that information.

"The plague here has struck rather strongly," Grace continued. "It progresses over the course of barely two to three days. Some minor symptoms develop into bruise-like sores all over their body, lost muscle control and finally - death. It has spread out of the city, to even as far as the soldiers defending the passes through the Burning Peaks. It has spread across species, even infecting livestock like goats, cows, and carrion eaters." She stretched out her own bat-like wings. "The domain lord, of which this library is named, has relocated to this city from his fortress to the north-west. By his orders, the Daggers are rounding up any living beings with the slightest sign of the disease and throwing them outside the walls."

Grace ate another biscuit, while making a thoughtful expression. "Not terribly surprising. Brutal practicality, really. The smoke from burning pyres of the dead keep on going, constantly, both within and without the city. As we haven't really had much contact with people here, I've made sure the one we've even talked to, Loreward Banquo, keeps in good health. That is it from my end, unless you want further details about any of the particulars." She brushed what trace crumbs there were off her hands, and laced them together on the table. "How went your own expedition, Annah?"

The three of us could see the platinum crown on her forehead - which she was told not to remove by any means until we were back with Rainbow - but the other details were not as easily visible.

"I hafta say..." She finished the biscuit she was eating, and held up a hand with three fingers extended. "Crown - aye, sword - aye, and meh choice..." She squinted at the larger form of Cleve. "Teh sword yeh wanted. Oathtaker or some such."

"Oathmaker?!"

"Aye, thats the one."

In a startling display of speed, the lightly grey skinned man knelt in front of Annah. She leaned back in her chair, obviously uncomfortable, and stared at him with wide eyes.

"Ah... Pardon." He stiffly walked back over to his chair and reseated himself. "I was going to thank you... Trying to... Properly." He grabbed a handful of biscuits and stuffed them in his own mouth. Finished, he looked down at the table. "I've only ever received the second-hand leavings of those better looking, richer, or more nobly connected. A... Gift... Of such magnificence is rather overwhelming." He took in a deep breath and exhaled, and faced the tiefling square on. "Annah of the Shadows, you have my sincere gratitude. I deeply apologize if my expressions of such were unwelcome."

Cleve then went back to silently stuffing himself with the plain biscuits, while the rest of us looked on in dazed surprise.

"Yeh know, it is covered with deadly poison, if that matters teh yeh..."

He shook his head.

"...I might lose it. Some how. Cannae be sure..."

I started on my own bit of dried meat and biscuits, while I thought of our next steps.

Say, I thought to myself as I chewed, doesn't Grace have some magic suited to making decent food? I'll have to check with her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

11:24 PM. Wednesday, January 2nd, 2058. Third Floor of the Madhouse, Tor Gorak, Tovag, the Burning Peaks Cluster, the Demiplane of Dread.

The exterior doors got locked behind us. The caretakers of the Madhouse and Virianis were wounded, but we kept them stable and safe. No fatalities there, nor with the residents. Cultists in the way barely warranted a look at before we cut them down.

As we climbed to the third floor, the chanting became louder.

The window across from the stairs had been covered with several thick boards, which cast the area in darkness. The darkened hallway before us was lined with black, flickering candles that threw strange, twisting shadows on the walls. They produced no smoke, but instead emitted a soft hissing noise that rose and fell with the chanting of the cultists.

Several of those evil Vecna worshippers lined the hallway here. Each of their white painted faces were gripped in expressions of intense concentration as they intoned a quiet mantra of words that seemed to grate upon my ears. The translation magics I had active was only able to pull out a garbled mass of violent, hateful words, and I wasn't sure if it was due to incapacity or a more reasonable censorship for my own sanity.

None of them reacted to our presence. Improved invisibility is incredibly useful in the right circumstances - and these were it. We didn't break in after the cultists entered the Madhouse. We were already there.

Once we cleared the narrower hallway, the larger open space in front of Dast's room was visible. Right by the doorway was the large chair that served as his 'throne.' It had been pulled out of his room and painted with strange red symbols, which seemed to shudder and twist with the rhythmic chanting. Tied to the throne was the King of the Madmen, who looked rather small and terrified.

Virianis' words about residents being made sane then rebreaking again came to my mind. I pitied the poor fool in this instance.

Vocar stood behind the throne, dressed in the red and black robe Annah had discovered much earlier. He was holding up a large, silver knife that was engraved with black markings similar to those on the throne.

The chant stopped as I watched, and the weapon in Vocar's hands flashed with a blinding light. At the same time, a piercing scream came from behind him - Marit must be in Dast's bedroom.

She has begun labour, I thought. And since one of the female caretakers was missing, that person must be in there to help assist with the child delivery. We have until the baby is born to stop the final sequence, but can begin to screw it up any time.

I readied my revolver and waited for the signal.

"HOLY WAR WILL TAKE SOME MORE!" Cleve roared into the open hallway, and two living cultists became four dead parts.

On my end, a single, high-powered bullet took out the back of Vocar's head, and he crumbled to the ground. Grace and myself readied for further combat, but the invisible Cleve had already emptied the space around us and the hallway we walked through to get here.

Annah came out of Dast's room with her hood down, visible. Whatever guards the cultists had placed in there would now be gone. With one last heard roar of Cleve's, the entire ritual collapsed - there were no more people able to do it. The process was accompanied by visual displays, in the form of the black candles bursting into flames and melting into formless blobs; the red paint that was on the throne dissipated, and the ropes around Dast loosened and fell to the ground; and the glowing knife that Vocar wielded so triumphantly dimmed into normality and broke into two pieces.

"This floor is clear," Cleve said, as he walked back to us. His large shield and sword were both on his back again, as Oathmaker had not yet been handed over. "Is this building and occupants secure enough for us to depart? There are cultists still living in the land of Tovag."

"Indeed it is, dear Cleve," Grace said, as she headed out towards the descend

3.5 - "Just Family Business"

Saturday, January 5th, 2058.

"This is DJ Darco Smooth! Right about now, I'm glad to be alive and glad you are too! That you get to listen to my absolutely fantastic program is just one little bonus."

"The past two weeks have been a crazy ride for everyone, and I mean EVERYONE on the planet. Those puffballs up in space got an easy escape, but otherwise the twists of fate laid some epic smack-downs. There is a lot of ground to cover, so I'll be going through it in order."

"I'll immediately break that two week barrier and mention an early contender: the Futuremen gang of downtown Seattle, who have been active there since early December. I normally would not mention a single, simple gang, but they have proven to be unusually effective. They are all chromed up humans and metahumans who quickly form, do their deeds, and disperse. So far, none have been captured alive and lucid, and members have all typically either ran away or viciously fought to the death. Quite unlike the typical mindless violence demonstrated by most gangers."

"Then there was the major disappointment called the Renraku Shutdown. After two weeks or so of being problem free in early-mid December, the entire Arcology went into some form of total lock-down on the high-traffic day of Christmas Eve. UCAS military and the Seattle Metroplex Guard cordoned off the space and wasted taxpayer money on the various food stalls that popped up around them."

"In the meantime, Renraku continued to flail ineffectively with their deckers against the behemoth of 'sucking-so-hard.' Their shareholders would have lost, too, if it hasn't been for all the suspiciously Fuchi-like developments that the mega keeps on producing. It just might have something to do with the face that Miles Lanier, formerly the head of security in Fuchi, has been getting into the good graces of Renraku while he remains on the board of directors there. How he does that is between him and the shadowrunners that he most certainly doesn't employ."

"Further into what media talking heads are calling the 'Twelve Brown Days of Christmas,' the governor of Seattle - whose name isn't important enough for me to look up - showed up, looked around, and did nothing much. At least that is honest - no pretense at being effective, just like the military."

"The UCAS government had allowed escorted technicians from the megacorp into the building. However, they seemed to be more interested in extracting their own execs than solving the problem. A number of other small-scale incursions into the building had slowly managed to extract the rich, famous, connected or otherwise influential people. Everybody else was shit out of luck until recently."

"The suffering extractees reported that conditions inside were not horrible, but merely miserable and utterly disgusting. Environmental control had varied the temperature from frigid to sweltering, with humidity and fire-suppressing measures being added to the mix. There appeared to be a single Renraku corporate holiday theme song playing on endless repeat from the very minute the building went into lock-down. Needless to say, everyone involved was both sick of it - and Renraku - by the time they got out."

"Plain water and horrible tasting - but nutrient full - snot-like paste were the only stable food supply. Spices and flavouring had become an internal form of valued currency, with several factions hoarding the precious resource. The internal food stocks of the restaurants and stalls throughout the Arcology were known to be exhausted by the middle of the third day. The holdouts stayed behind locked doors, where they got to savour the last traces of decent tasting food."

"In regards to industrial and commercial production capacities, nearly all equipment had seized up or completely broke. In order to function once more, the mega would need either full rebuilds or replacements, often across the entire lengths of those massive floors."

"On my end, I'll apologize to the Red Samurai, as they seemed to be doing an admirable job at keeping the peace inside - they weren't even segregating the humans and metahumans. I can already imagine them getting fired for that. Poor bastards."

"Christmas day was a relief for many. Thoughts worldwide were either about enjoying corporate perks, complaining about people enjoying corporate perks, or hoping that nobody stole their delivered 'small bit of awesome' sourced through yours truly. And no, that isn't a nickname. I mean me - the gift program, remember? I still welcome callers for random requests, so keep them coming."

"Once nightfall had hit the Caribbean League, Umbrella Import Group launched Spacecraft Wang from Island Wang during Operation... Wang. According to some esteemed message boards and effortless digital security penetrations, there was absolutely no geo-locational, chronological or magical benefit to launching a spaceship during that time. It's like somebody at UIG said "hey! I want to launch a spaceship on Christmas! That's cool, right? Pretty colours?" and then they did it. It should now come to no surprise that the small craft is maintaining a record-breaking, ever-accelerating velocity and headed into the deeper reaches of the solar system."

"One more thing - that Operation Wang of theirs? The press release? They didn't say WHY they are launching a space-craft. Just that they are. Is it going to Mars? Pluto? The asteroid belt? Deep space? Becoming a kinetic ballistic missile on return course for the planet to wipe out all life and start a genesis program for a new breed of awakened species? Turning the local star we orbit into a giant UIG advertisement for sunscreen?! Fucked if I know!"

"I welcome speculation from any and all callers."

"Now we get to the night of the twenty-sixth. Otherwise known as "oh gawd, zombies are eating mah brains!" as a zombie apocalypse emerged from the astral rift in DeeCee of the UCAS. The president there was doing something very far away, very soon after, while other officials ran around like headless chickens. Literally, in some cases, as the animating spirits - called shedim for some reason - animated theirs and many other corpses."

"Total official death toll vastly exceeds the initially reported ten thousand number by a large margin. Sinners only, of course. The SIN-less don't count."

"In what has been hailed as the 'second grand magic demonstration of UIG' - the first being Glamis Castle and the Wild Hunt therein, in case the clueless need a reminder - the spirit-spewing rift was contained in a rather colourful rainbow sphere. It has since morphed into a cubical form, with two sides displaying clocks and the others with - and get this, people! - signs displaying that the surfaces are available for short-term advertising leases! That's right, folks! If you have the nuyen, you can display some signage on the side of a barrier that contains a magical apocalypse behind it. I don't know whether to be sickened or impressed by the bravado such an offer displays."

"The UCAS government has sold the Watergate Hotel to UIG due to their apparent need to monitor the containment measures around the rift. That makes some sense, as the the Glamis Castle shield is based around a large structure. The corp has immediately cancelled all hotel bookings and placed all current employees on paid leave, to a maximum benefit grace time of two months. The hotel has been physically and otherwise sealed off, and sensitive mages have reported high-power arcane works in the interior."

"Speaking of sickening displays, I'll have to mention what prompted the Z's release: one or the other of the internationally televised dragon sacrifice - excuse me, 'legally ordered execution' - in Aztlan and the blackout that occurred there, or the bursting out of Ghostwalker from the rift itself. Are they connected? Most likely. However, Aztech execs are not commenting, and the newly embodied great dragon is busy waging war in the city of Denver with the assistance of a number of powerful spirits."

"Apparently many people are 'deeply concerned' about this 'highly offensive behaviour' from a great dragon, but none of them are willing to actually do anything - or even link their name to those comments."

"What hasn't gone unnoticed by the world at large and dragon-kind in particular, is that apart from the massive great blood spirit that rampaged in the capital of Aztlan - and hell no, I'm not going to try to pronounce it - the complete body of the 'legally ritually executed' feathered dragon with yet one more damn complicated name went missing. Yes folks, you heard me right - one whole massive dragon corpse, gone without a trace. There have been no mentions from grey or black markets, scientific communities or magical organizations. Some of the scariest conjuncture is that either the blood spirit or a shedim - or, gods forbid - BOTH of those types of creatures had possessed and controlled that corpse."

"So... If you see an undead dragon leading yet one more zombie apocalypse, run, don't walk, to your nearest authority and tell them what the hell is going on. Please. For all our sakes, alright?"

"For another rare moment of only mildly sarcastic weakness, I'll say that the Humanis Policlub protesters at the rift site ground zero were screwed over in a way they didn't deserve. They didn't firebomb a metahuman shop or start a lynch mob before they were gassed with a quick and lethal substance. Those idiotic racists were then turned into equal opportunity mass murderers in the form of the first shedim-possessed zombies."

"I'd say I'd miss them, but... I'd be lying. They could have had a cleaner death, though."

"Clean up operations of the practical and black ops kind continued for the next few days. The public level of peace was shattered on the first day of the new year, when James O'Malley, the Don of the Finnigan family branch of the Seattle Mafia, was shot and killed outside his own home."

"The day after had a DocWagon scandal come to light, whereby a head-office corporate executive pressured a Seattle clinic into hunting SIN-less for organs. As the news exploded onto the trideo, so too did his brains explode against the walls. Likely a better fate than what Gallowgrey would have given him. To offset the leaving droves, Rose Croix has stepped up to fill their place in the metroplex."

"The funeral of the don was held just yesterday - the fourth of January - with a number of notables present. The highlights were Rowena O'Malley, his daughter, who announced that she intended to claim leadership of the Finnigan family and the entire Seattle Mafia as her father's sole heir."

"All she'll have to contend with is the bloody awful infighting Mafia families are known for, including the internal rivalry within the Finnigan family itself."

"A party crasher came in the form of Hanzo Shotozumi, the oyabun of the Shotozumi-Gumi branch of the Yakuza. Accompanied by a small honour guard, he stated something along the lines of how his organization was not responsible for O'Malley's death. He left the funeral with a veiled threat that implied that the Yakuza was planning on retaking all the territory it had ever lost to his better dressed rivals."

"Just today, Rowena kept going with the momentum she started at the funeral. She formally delivered word of her intentions to become capa of Seattle to the the heads of the other local families, as well to the Commissione. That criminal organization will probably place responsibility for the Seattle situation into the hands of Don McCaskill."

"The scent in the air isn't cooking soy-bacon, folks - it's more like a bloody Mob War. Place your bets with local bookies, and hope that they survive to give you your winnings!"

"In the shadowrunning front, Captain Chaos has posted the first of the Underworld collection of files on Shadowland in the past few hours. I've already inserted the odd typo into entries and laughed myself breathless over the reactions when they can't find anything!"

"Ah, Shadowland. Never change."

"Annnndddd I just placed myself on a whole shit load of new hit lists. Fun times!"

"Today also marks the full, formal and complete unlocking of the Renraku Arcology. There was a quietly suppressed scuffle between Renraku security and local forces - something about non-disclosure agreements, I believe - but sanity and superior firepower prevailed. Look forward to a fantastic glut of horror stories bashing the megacorp over the near future. Maybe a competitor will sponsor an official trideo documentary or two."

"For some strange reason, Renraku is still holding on to the Arcology, tooth and nail. You'd think that there is some super secrets or something in there, the way they are acting. The location is otherwise a massive money pit, hemorrhaging nuyen by the thousands - or possibly even tens of thousands - every single day."

"Tomorrow - the sixth - is to be the completion date of one of the most fast-tracked and actually successful construction projects I've ever heard of. Less than two weeks ago it was a weedy patch of poorly maintained dying grass. Now, the work-in-progress that is right beside the Fort Lewis Stockades - a UCAS military-run prison, if my memory doesn't fail me - in the Seattle Metroplex is what appears to be a large, heavily reinforced warehouse bordered by a fenced strip of no-man's-land yardage. No signs, logos, or rental agreements of any sort have been filed. Hopefully the details will come out once everything is finalized."

"I'm seeing a number of callers on the line, so... I'm not going to answer them. That's it for now, folks!"

"As always, to reach me just gargle with genuine Renraku emergency food supplies while speaking into live static and saying my name, DJ Darco Smooth, three times."

"Get ready for the greased, probing fist of truth, humour and pain coming up whenever I get around to lubing it up."

"This is DJ Darco Smooth signing off. And remember - please fill all the wetwork squads hunting for me with chromed up razor ladies!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

9:27 AM. Saturday, January 5th, 2058. Small office off of the Invisible's Waiting Room, Sanctum. Mike/Sanctum's POV.

"Gallowgrey hit another local organ-legging gang, Sanctum," Jessica sighed out. She was sitting straight up on her black leather executive chair. Her long, brown hair was tied back with a simple red ribbon, which complimented the darkened crimson shades of her tailored suit. "A Seoulpa Ring by the name of Tartarus. We managed to pick up some mutant mushrooms that they used for a new drug, but... Other than that, our free spirit was very complete in his sweep. Thirty-two withered corpses added to his reputation."

I hoped she wasn't looking at the pictures of his after-effects, I thought, with a mental shudder. No need for her to do that to herself.

"Every one at least a murderer, right?" I hopefully asked, while I lounged back into my own seat, eyes closed. I was blissfully enjoying the ever-rarer presence of Lionheart, the most adorable, tiniest and cutest kitten in my universe, as he purred on my lap. I didn't know whether he was here because I've had a few rough days, or there was an issue with his long-term brother-in-arms, the Tinyjammer. Either way, I'm not going to object.

"Yes, sir," she replied, and tapped a held computer pad with a well-manicured nail. "It is rather... Messed up beyond belief how common that level of violence is here."

I briefly cracked open an eyelid and peeked at her. "You doing all right, Jess?" I dragged my fingertips over the silken feline head a few times. "Keep in mind that they don't have many 'others' to fight, so..."

"All their aggression goes against each other?" she said, then continued much softer. "Yeah, I can understand that intellectually. It doesn't make it any easier to handle, though."

The sounds of my agreement mixed with the rumbling purrs of Lionheart.

I wonder if Boris would be alright with shrinking down a few orders of magnitude? I mentally mused to myself.

"...Problems."

"Hmm? Sorry, I missed that."

"The main group of Invisibles resolved a rather sticky situation in Seattle before Gallowgrey could catch wind of it." She audibly swallowed. "Apparently some executive at DocWagon... Well... Had been using a team of shadowrunners to harvest organs from... The local SIN-less."

My eyes were wide open and staring at her by the time she finished. Jess nodded a few times until it clicked in, and I relaxed once more.

"So," I started, talking out loud in an attempt to convince myself that what I was hearing was actually real. "We have DocWagon - a supposedly positively reputable medical service company - resorting to this practice for... What? Cost saving measures? Are they insane?! Apart from Gallowgrey, who is known to 'haunt' Seattle, there is the whole blow to the reputation if it ever gets out..."

"More than that, Sanctum," she tentatively offered. "It happened in Redmond - in an area that was known to be under Noble Bones control."

"Wow. They sure screwed themselves over big time." I thought over the issue while I continued to pet Lionheart. In the spirit of making lemonade from lemons, I asked, "Are we benefiting from this in any way?"

"Only indirectly, and in the long term," she replied, once again all business, as her fingertips made light taps against her computer pad. "There continues to be the shadow war waged between the mid tier corps of Rose Croix, Griffin Biotechnology, Paladin Medical and DocWagon. Since we have yet to acquire a medical services based corporation and we still have that entire research corp in stasis from Hawai'i, well... We're deeply involved in all of it."

"Excellent. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she warmly said. "Did you want Kia to give a report on it?"

"Hmm..." I mused the question over. "Sure, but just the highlights."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

11:54 AM. Wednesday, January 2nd, 2058. Rosie's Restaurant, Tenth and Terrace, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS. Kia's POV.

Three days ago.

The meet was set up at an incredibly small restaurant. It had a 'CLOSED' sign on the door, but was opened at our approach.

From the description provided by our fixer, St. James, this man was our Mr. Johnson. He was dressed down in casual attire, whose sharp haircut seemed more expensive than his clothes. A quick check with Ops N revealed the full identity of him: Vincent Capello, of Rose Croix. A new hire. Whether he wanted to impress his boss or cut corners remained to be see. At least he didn't have a reputation for treachery in the shadows.

"Please come in," he politely said, and waved towards the interior.

We filed into the building, and made a beeline towards the obvious meet spot. Two tables had been pushed together, the plastic covering not quite lining up the straight edges. What I presumed to be 'his' side had a computer set up.

Kellan and Mutus sat at the periphery, while I stretched out and assumed an air of relaxed interest on the middle-most chair.

Rose Croix again, I thought. I wonder what the former DocWagon exec wants to hit up?

"Good afternoon," Vincent said, once he had seated himself. He looked the three of us over while we murmured equally meaningless pleasantries, and launched right into his spiel. "I'm interested in acquiring your services to locate an individual my superior wants to meet. This is to be a friendly encounter, whereby the found individual will be brought in for an interview and released afterwards. It should be a relatively simple run, but time is of the essence." He surreptitiously glanced down at the gold Rolex watch he was wearing before continuing. "For each of you, the pay would be..."

Mr. Capello then went into a brief cost summary. I ignored it, but only to the extent of insuring that the amount was neither unrealistically high or insultingly low. We wouldn't need it.

[G1-Kellan: Go for it, Kia., Kellan sent from beside me. The message was accompanied by a foot tap to the leg of my chair, in case I had any lingering thoughts about delaying. I didn't.

"Mr. Johnson," I began, placing my hands on the plastic tablecloth in front of me. "As you said, time is of the essence. We're interested - what are the details?"

"Great," he replied. His small smile drew attention to his somewhat pointy nose, and quickly disappeared. He angled the computer screen our way and started a video while he continued to talk.

The display started with a high-altitude view, slightly shaky. The zoom levels were high enough that the focused targets were grainy, and the lack of lighting didn't help in the slightest. It wouldn't have been a professional source that supplied this. Rose Croix got lucky.

"The attack happened about four AM, just before sunrise."

There was a warehouse centered on the screen. It sat on a small hillside in what looked like the Redmond Barrens, but I'd have to confirm that to be sure. There were tons of worn-down, ill-shod and otherwise shabby looking buildings all over the metroplex.

"This particular video was delivered to us via a series of favours. The rigger whose drone recorded it is not connected to what we are interested in."

A small shanty town sat at the bottom of that hillside, deep in the night's shadows.

Four shapes whose profile suggested large, but normal, humans entered from the bottom of the screen. Each were armed, wore black combat gear and moved as a unit. They initially dropped off a large box among the cluster of shanties, then entered the closest one.

The camera's view zoomed in, but only to catch some other man leaving another shack. His body jerked in shock, and he fell. One of the armed men came into sight, and knelt beside the prone person. After putting aside his submachine gun, the attacker reached for the other's head and appeared to extract his eye.

"It is obviously a case of organ theft. We think that DocWagon is behind this, as an intelligence source has confirmed that they have recently failed to meet certain contract clauses. Desperate measures for desperate needs, apparently."

Which we helped to create, I thought, as I recalled a certain organ vault utterly wiped out a few weeks earlier.

The man in black looked up, then stood and started running with his group. The eye was bagged and added to the large box. Two of them hefted it up with a lurch, and loaded it into the trunk of a nearby black Ford Americar.

The camera tracked the vehicle as it went northwest, then returned to the shanty town.

Some people had gathered around the one-eyed man. A larger figure cradled him in his arms, and weaved back and forth with his head raised, as if singing. A glow enveloped the two of them as the process went on.

The survivors started pulling bodies out of the other shanties. None of them exhibited any signs of life - one larger corpse even had a splayed open chest cavity.

The healer and the one eyed man parted once he seemed to have recovered.

The video stopped after the the healer went to the pile of bodies on the ground.

"We will need further proof of the corp's involvement. That is where the one-eyed man comes in - we want to interview him about what really happened last night."

[G1-Mutus: If Gallowgrey catches wind of this, everyone involved is dead. Maybe not the DocWagon techs, assuming that they are squeaky clean otherwise.]

Vincent turned the screen off and moved the computer back to his side. "Those are the highlights," he said. "Beyond the one-eyed man, any additional evidence is, of course, appreciated and will be compensated for. Any further questions?"

I tapped the table. "This smells of organ-legging. There is a good chance that Gallowgrey has already killed everyone involved, or will do so very soon." I made a big show of looking at Mutus and Kellan beside me. "You do know about Gallowgrey, right, Mr. Johnson?"

He nodded slowly and carefully. "As violent encounters with that... Spirit... Have been met with a nearly one hundred percent fatality rate, I am not authorizing any such contact with that being. Just focus on safely retrieving the one-eyed man above all else." Vincent pulled out a grainy, enhanced photograph and placed it in front of me.

"The address where the violent encounter occurred is on the back," he said, and gestured towards the photo. "The Redmond Barrens."

[G1-Kia: Anything else, chummers?, I sent out, while I pretended to examine the photo and address.

[G1-Hardpoint: I'll send a few Motemechs there in advance. They likely cleared out already, but the drones might find something.]

The rigger wasn't with us. He had remained with the vehicle, and provided constant oversight for our meet. In typical runs where nuyen was an issue, a rigger would appear to get their cut and raise the group's total fee. Since we had no such demands on our income, he didn't have any particular need to meet the fixers or Johnsons. Besides which, his customized pilot seat is far more comfortable. If he didn't keep up his martial arts training, I'm sure the little guy would have gotten a lot rounder by now.

"We'll need to meet with the one-eyed man before 5 pm today," Vincent said. "I can be reached via Saint James for when you're ready."

The deal finalized, we parted with some polite noises and left the restaurant.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

1:24 PM. Raikun Retreat, Sewers, Redmond Barrens, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS.

"You've come with some impressive gifts," Jimbo said. He was the leader of the Raikun - the urban tribe that was hit up earlier. A bloodied bandage covered one of his eyes. He hadn't bothered to get up from beside the large wooden cable spool that served as a table.

Jimbo was referring to the four bound humans we had brought. Each of the Doom Squad members still retained their black urban armour from when they hit the shanty town. Their hands and arms were bound behind them and to their back with reams of duct tape. That same grey duct tape that was over their mouths and eyes.

The warehouse that the Raikun were at earlier was a bust. None of them had remained at the location. The only things we had found there were loose directions to near this location, as well the to-be-gift-wrapped foursome.

"Null sweat, chummer," I replied, as I gazed around the hideaway. This was a large room, built off of a sewer wall in the Redmond Barrens. Judging by the difference in colour of the bricks, it was added some time after the initial construction. Three nearly rotted wooden pillars supported the ceiling. The only furnishings the room had were boxes, crates and some camp beds. "We figured it was the least we could do, after showing up all uninvited."

The dozen people here eyed Mutus, Kellan and myself warily. None of our weapons were on display, so no threatening gestures of any sort were needed.

The inhabitants were dressed in old, brownish clothes, covered with stains. Two were sitting at the table with Jimbo, while some adults were standing around holding steel crowbars. Four kids were off to the side playing games, each doing their best to limit their curious glances at us.

[G1-Hardpoint: I'm glad to see that their spirits are intact, given all that they have went through.]

The dwarven rigger was up top. I'm sure that if I enabled the appropriate vision modes, I'd be able to spot a Motemech or two flying around this room which he used to monitor the situation.

"Is there a reason for them - besides the obvious?" the Raikun leader asked.

"Multiple ones, actually, Jimbo," I replied. "These four dreks have been cutting a very fine line harvesting organs in Seattle. At any time, the very infamous Gallowgrey could have shown up and drained the lives out of these fraggers." I gave a light kick to the nearest one, who kept shaking his head back and forth. "It would be incredibly easy. All we'd have to do is tie them up outside and spray paint 'organ-leggers' beside them. If they lasted more than three hours, I'd be very surprised."

The reactions of the adults varied between grim chuckles and fearful glances to the sewer exterior. There wasn't a consensus about the fate of the four, regardless of the violence they had inflicted on the urban tribe.

"The other has to do with a correction for an... Honourable association, you could say." I walked over to the make-shift table and made as if to sit, but waited for Jimbo's response. At his nod, I settled on the floor. "This area should be under the control of Noble Bones. What you experienced last night is the exact kind of thing they are supposed to prevent. Those four," I looked back at the bound figures, "would be either draftees of the harshest kind once word came out of their deeds, or a simple example. Something less intense than what Gallowgrey could do, but memorable nevertheless."

Jimbo nodded, then looked towards the children. "Mindy!" At his call, the oldest child, who looked like a female teen with long brown hair, turned back to him. "What's been going on wit' the Bones?"

"Eh Jimbo, a group of three have been coming by once or twice a week," she replied. "No demands or nuttin, jus' askin' about us."

He scratched underneath the bottom of his bandage. "Once this drek gets sorted out, I'd like to talk to them more. We can't survive anything like this again."

"Great," I said. "The other reason more directly applies to you, Jimbo." I pointed to his bloodied bandage. "I represent someone who wants to expose what happened to you and your people, and thought you might like to come in for an interview." I narrowed my lips in a thin smile. "You can tell your story, and we might even be able to get your eye back if we move fast enough."

The idea obviously appealed to him, but he didn't want to appear to be overly eager in front of his tribe.

"Kip?"

"They speak truth," the small man croaked out. His rickety form was bent over the table beside me.

A street shaman, I thought. 'Honesty as the fragging simplest policy' wins again.

The tribe leader crossed his arms. "Those four had slaughtered our tribe. Only Ron's family," he gestured with his chin at the last man at the table, "and my own survived. We followed the instruction of Rat, our totem, through the voice of Kip, and found this place. We have no idea who was behind all this, except that it was obviously for our organs." He made slow, deliberate eye contact with Kellan, Mutus and myself. "I am willing to meet who you represent. In return, I want your help to make those responsible pay dearly. I care not one drek about hired muscle - I want the source hit." He punctuated his last words with controlled, heavy fist thumps on the table.

"DocWagon," I said, and thumbed back at the black armoured four. "That bunch work near exclusively for them, and DocWagon is hurting for organs. Grabbing the SIN-less was a simple cost-saving measure."

Jimbo's nose wrinkled, and a restrained growl emerged from within him.

"By working together," Kip croaked, "it would be possible to find enough proof of the culprits of these acts." The shaman angled his thin, twisted frame my way. "It would give us the means to help us find our lost honour, or at least avenge those that had been... Butchered like animals."

"Chummers, these fraggers will pay dearly for what they have done," Jimbo said. "We have two unconventional leads from our friend and protector Rat, and with your help we'll uncover those bastards."

"Already done, Jimbo," Kellan said, from near the door. She didn't give them a chance to mention their plans. "These four have been very helpful." Once the majority of surprised eyes were aimed her way, the mage mimed a connection between her head and the head of the closest of the four. "If you just want to get the local DocWagon exec, it will be incredibly easy. If you're more interested in pushing drek uphill, we'll be more than happy to do so for you."

An excited murmuring came from the adults around the room. The Raikun leader cut it off with a raised hand. "We shall consider their proposed plan. I have spoken." He looked at the shaman. "Does Rat disagree?"

The small, bent man shook his head.

Bases loaded, chummers, I thought. Our home run will be driven right into DocWagon.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

2:46 PM. Second Floor Office, DocWagon Clinic, Fort Lewis, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS.

The man in charge of the Fort Lewis DocWagon clinic was a lot less thrilled with the four bound runners than Jimbo was.

"Mr. Devon Tyler," I began, "you've stirred up quite a nest of devil rats, haven't you."

If I waited long enough, I'm sure that I could watch sweat form and drip down his forehead.

The pasty-faced wageslave looked between the Doom Squad and us, chewing his lips the whole while. He eventually squeaked out a timid "Yes...?" in response.

I pulled out my computer pad and tapped the 'play' icon. A prerecorded montage of Gallowgrey's most extreme executions popped up, done in slow motion and with subtitles. I propped it on Devon's desk, beside his computer terminal, and ensured the volume was sufficient to fill the room.

The tinny sounds of long, drawn out screams of agony provided the background for our further conversation.

"Do you know who is doing that, Devvy?" I asked. "He is quite infamous in certain circles."

"Yes..."

I waited for the full answer.

"Gallowgrey." Devon hunched into his synth-leather seat at the whisper of the name. It was almost as if he expected the free spirit to come crashing through the wall at any time. While he could, Kellan had ensured that he would wait a while.

"And why is he doing that, Devvy?"

"Because... Because they engaged in organ-legging."

The duct tape that covered the eyes of the four Doom Squad members had been removed earlier. They, like the two DocWagon technicians we had 'escorted' into this now rather cramped office, had been watching the computer pad with horrified fascination ever since it started playing.

"You are absolutely correct, Devvy!" I exclaimed with mock cheer. "Now then - bonus question time. How many degrees of separation does Gallowgrey follow when he intends on eviscerating - excuse me, 'purging' - all those associated with organ-legging?"

"...None?"

"Strike out!" I continued. "Wrong answer, Devvy." I crouched next to where he was hunched into his seat, and stage whispered, "The correct answer is all of them. From the street samurai cutting open a SIN-less body, to the technician receiving the parts, to the executive ordering it to happen, to the fragging drekhole that gets the parts surgically implanted. Every. Single. One. Dies. Painfully."

A real stretch of a lie, I thought. But not like Devon here knows that.

I tapped his desk under the computer pad, drawing his attention to the video playback once more. There was a rather intense scene of a young ganger being turned into a withered old man, with his skin sloughing off and blood coming out in fast flowing rivulets.

"I just thought you'd like to know that, Devvy, and perhaps..." I looked at the Doom Squad members. "Arrange for a quick, clean death instead?" I stood up and dusted my hands off on my pant legs, then retrieved the computer pad. I pocketed it in the interior of my blazer.

[Q1-Kellan: Less than a minute for him to break., she sent, from her position beside the door.

Kellan was my only other team member in sight, as Mutus had been rapidly airlifted out by Ma'fan for a special assignment in Atlanta, Georgia.

I silently counted the seconds while I pretended to go over Devon's computer files. I had already obtained the relevant cluster of files - a package called 'LifeRaft,' which detailed the contact info of the Doom Squad and the hit encampment - via the ever appreciative work of Ops N. At less than a quarter minute remaining, Devon spoke up.

"Ah..." He began, while white-knuckle gripping the hair on his head, "Would there be some way that that fate could be... Avoided...?"

"I don't know, Devvy," I said, and exchanged a glance with Kellan. She gave me an exaggerated shrug and a smile. "You don't sound really serious about not wanting to die in horrible agony. Perhaps it is something you only want to... Say... Put off a day or two? While you keep running away in terror for the rest of your life?"

Devon's beady little eyes squinted my way. "I am willing to do anything I need to in order to not... To stay alive. To not die by any means, and not have to watch my back the rest of my life." He wheezed through some deep breaths, and muttered some quiet curse words.

"Now that is the kind of enthusiasm I like to hear, Devvy!" I said. "Assuming that your lab tech friends and doomed Doom Squad members feel the same way, it is time for some very creative e-mailing. Records need to be created, Devvy. Records of victims - yourself, those techs, and those runners - who were pressured and threatened into organ-legging against their will."

A series of seven heads bobbed up and down, nodding.

"Don't worry about head office - we've got that covered."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

2:53 PM. Private Office, DocWagon Corporate Headquarters, Atlanta, Georgia, CAS. Mutus' POV.

"This shotgun is your friend. It is your very best friend, as it will save you from what Gallowgrey has in store for you. Now start typing, drek for brains."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

4:15 PM. Saturday, January 5th, 2058. Luxury tank mock-up, Sanctum. Mike/Sanctum's POV.

Current day.

The once familiar lines and creases on the face of Marquis Bones had disappeared into a more smooth countenance. He had taken up some of my offers of youthening rather substantially in the last week, and was here to explain why.

"Rowena O'Malley," Marquis said, as if it covered everything. He let out a long sigh, and leaned back against the black leather.

A rainbow coloured eyebrow twitched. "There were plans, Marquis. They could be summed up thusly: find criminals. Draft criminals. Kill criminals. The end." I waved a hand around in emphasis. "There were some other little details, but... Anyways. How sure are you of this?"

"Substantially," he replied. "I've even had an indirect consultation with your fine, feathered friend. Besides which - plans can change. If I can attach Noble Bones to her, and raise her to the very empty position of head of the international Mafia, well..."

"Accelerated schedule?" I mused out loud, as I stroked my chin.

"Very much so," he replied. "It will save integrating a large portion of Seattle's underworld. Drafted manpower would either go to her organization or my own. Noble Bones can have more pretenses towards legitimacy in such a case, while hers retains some of their traditional imagery and upgrades the more outdated aspects." He stared at the empty water glass beside him in the holder, and I filled it with a finger snap. "Besides which," he said after a sip of water, "she is a local, and I'm not. We were all about elevating the locals, right?"

"Hmm. True."

His suit seemed slightly better fitting today, and his hair cut in a more modern style, instead of the past tied back shoulder length.

"Marquis?"

"Yes, Sanctum?"

"Are you interested in Rowena?"

"Very."

"And how did that come to pass?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

2:53 PM. Friday, January 4th, 2058. Seattle Cemetery, Fort Lewis, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS. Kia's POV.

Yesterday.

This has to be the most visible association Mr. Umbrella has shown for Noble Bones so far, I thought, as I looked around at the black-dressed mourners.

Marquis Bones had given up his normal cream-styled suits for something more befitting the situation. Given his interests, 'beige bone' would be a more apt colour description for his past apparel. Perhaps his current selection was 'blackened bone,' 'inky bone,' or some other variant. He also appeared younger than the first time I saw him, months back with Taylor.

Luckily, Kellan and Mutus had the combination of backgrounds, preferences and tolerances to show up here. They, much like myself, were wearing black tailored armoured suits. In an attempt to differentiate ourselves from the rest of the black-dressed masses, we also wore large, wrap-around style sunglasses that fully covered our ears. They had an odd sheen to them that looked almost like a shifting oil slick.

Cayman had bad blood with the Finnigans which we did not just yet want to 'work on,' while Winterhawk and Ma'fan were both building their reputations in a different way.

Apart from the three of us, one member of the Noble Bones was present: Glacier, a genuine giant. Apparently he was picked up from an intercepted slaving deal from one of the islands in the Caribbean League. Pretty messy recovery, or so I heard. Right now, his greatest luxuries in life were well-fitting clothes, comfortable lodging, and significance. Marquis gave him all of that and more. He was easily the tallest and largest metahuman here, bigger than any of the biggest trolls on display as muscle. Better dressed, too.

He caught me looking and nodded, which I returned the same way. I returned my gaze back to the crowd. Marquis wanted to wait on the outskirts of the event before we mixed among the notables of the Seattle underground.

"Watch," he said to us, with a brief turn of his head.

My focus was directed to Rowena O'Malley, the now fatherless daughter of the assassinated don, and what was going on around her. A Yakuza delegation, led by the oyabun of the Shotozumi-Gumi, the biggest branch of the Seattle Yakuza, Hanzo Shotozumi. His honour guard gathered around him in what was likely ordered chaos.

[G1-Kia: Hardpoint? Could you send us a text feed of what they are saying?]. I sent out the message to our fourth member. He was a ways overhead and to the side, in the fully stealthed Shadowmech. We didn't need an army - we had a veritable flying weapons platform above us.

[G1-Kia: Hai. Here is the backlog - I've been monitoring everyone. It wouldn't have been possible without my Motemechs.]

Those Motemechs were a class of much smaller drones. Typically only equipped with a stealth suite, covert options and one or two basic weapons, they help filled out Hardpoint's arsenal. He was still restricted to one single Shademech, as he couldn't hit the required benchmark of point zero one percent of Ops N's performance with it. He really didn't like to be reminded of that, though.

I quickly scanned through the text feed and stopped at the last line. "It is the blessed season for us to recover our lost lands that are farmed ineptly by others." They turned around and left once that veiled threat was delivered.

"Kia, Kellan," Marquis started, "please stay close. Glacier, Mutus, stop at the first indication that they want you to." He turned around and looked at us, then sighed. "At least you're presentable. Thank you."

With that said, we started towards the cluster of Mafia Families that surrounded Rowena. It wasn't long before our literal giant was stopped by a duo of less imposing, equally suited trolls. Mutus stayed with him and the three of us continued.

Marquis led with the grace of a man used to the social scene. Not a simsense star or a politican, but what I imagined a genuine aristocrat would act like: pure professionalism, care for those under him, and utter ruthlessness to those that oppose his interests.

I wonder how Mr. Umbrella met up with him, I thought. Their connection seems to go back at least some months prior to our team showing up.

Either through a stroke of blind luck or the presentation of a social adept, we had arrived at the hub of activity. We weren't quite rubbing shoulders with endless Mafiso, but they were saturating the area with enough bodies that our presence was not cause for alarm.

Marquis stopped Kellan and myself with a raised hand, and he advanced the remaining steps to be within arm's length of the lady of the hour. There were four obvious armed Mafiso closer to him than we were. Besides Rowena was a rather elderly gentleman. A query to Ops N supplied his details: Albert "Uncle Al" Cavalieri, the consiglieri of the Finnigan family.

The Mafia princess had a background of Irish and Mediterranean descent. She wore her dark hair collar-length, and styled herself in a heavily corporate way. Rowena had an upturned nose and a smattering of freckles, which easily led to me labeling her 'cute.' A label she would quickly lose if she proved herself successful in the underworld here.

"My condolences to you both on this day," Marquis began, with a slight bow. "Please forgive my intrusion, Ms. O'Malley, Mr. Cavalieri. Do you have a moment to spare?"

Al leaned beside her and quietly whispered a few words. At that moment, she put on a mild corporate smile and spoke, "Of course, Mr. Bones. What would the head of the Noble Bones want to discuss?"

"Friends, enemies, alliances and opportunities," he replied, with a lazily waved, black leather glove. He looked between them both, then made an obvious inspection of the surroundings. "Not the most casual of chit-chat, I'm afraid. But I can't imagine you'd want to talk about the weather or such."

Rowena's smile fluttered into the genuine realm briefly before it reverted. "You're correct there, Mr. Bones. Are you available later to go over those topics of concern?"

"Ms. O'Malley, I hesitate to say how available I would be for you, as it could be construed as improper," Marquis said with a mildly amused tone, "But... Yes, of course I am. My completely professional and aboveboard business-place or yours?"

She let out a small laugh, followed by a dismissive gesture. "Mr. Bones, I don't think we are quite at that stage... Yet. Please give your number to Albert here," she said, and indicated her consiglieri. "We'll arrange something soon."

"I look forward to it, Ms. O'Malley," he said with another slight bow. Marquis pulled out an ivory-looking card case and gave two cards from it to the older gentleman, who pocketed them after a brief glance.

Marquis said some more polite words to them both, and we turned around to leave. The way out looked like it would take longer, as certain prominent individuals seemed to be angling towards us.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

4:32 PM. Saturday, January 5th, 2058. Luxury tank mock-up, Sanctum. Mike/Sanctum's POV.

Current day.

"There is more than that."

"There would have to be, Marquis," I said. "I haven't heard of much to impress me so far."

"Wait for this," he replied, and held up a cream-coloured gloved hand. "Less than a hour after her father's funeral, Rowena informed the Finnigan family that she intends to not only claim leadership of it, but of the entire Seattle Mafia as her father's sole heir." Marquis leaned towards me, the edge of an admiring smile on his lips. "On top of that, just this very morning, she delivered word of her intentions to become capa of Seattle to the heads of the other local Families, as well as Don McCaskill and the Commission."

"Eh?" I understood a number of the terms, but the familiarity with with Marquis used them was beyond me.

"The Commission is a council of the heads of all the Mafia families in the Americas," he said, as he relaxed against his seat. "There are two other Commission-structured organizations around the world. Dons are the heads of individual families, while capos - or capas - are the heads of a region, which may include multiple families." At my sounds of encouragement, he continued. "Don McCaskill runs Milwaukee. The Seattle Mafia answers to his family, and it is his choice as to who to assign as capo of all the Seattle families." He drummed his gloved fingers on the armrest. "The Inner Circle of the Commission will probably place responsibility for this whole situation in his hands. So there are three major options in regards to him: kill him, impress him, or clear up things before he arrives."

"I like that last option," I said. "Less wasted time."

Marquis gave me a wide smile. "I thought you might. The faster the rumoured messes of Mafia infighting fall to pieces, the less likely he will be to interfere and more likely Rowena can become capa."

"Fair enough, Marquis," I said. "It seems like you have everything under control here. Thanks for the update." I toasted him with a newly Conjured glass of chilled apple juice, which he matched with his water. "How are Art and Numbers getting along?"

"Your director of finance is getting the finest education possible, Sanctum. I'm sure you'll be impressed with whatever duties you see fit to grant him." He swirled the ice cubes in his glass around. "Your Invisibles might get a workout as well, real soon."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

2:18 AM. Sunday, January 6th, 2058. Bigio Family Estate, Tacoma, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS. Kia's POV.

I attached the metal clip to the body bag and watched it ascend. The cord was anchored via an accessory guideline to the roof, in order to prevent wind from swaying the buoyant 'body balloons.'

[G1-Kia: How many more left, chummers?, I sent as I shifted from foot to foot. The rooftop view at night was wiz, but we've been doing this for hours. At least we were wearing full body armour. Gecko-like effects on my boots kept my stance stable, regardless of how impressive the slicked metal slate roof was supposed to be.

[G1-Kellan: About a half-dozen more places after this, Kia., Kellan sent. She was with Hardpoint in the Shadowmech, invisibly above me. The mage had the dubious honour of wrestling in these oversized mafioso bodies into the scanner.

At least Rainbow Umbrella's assorted personal revelations came with an upgrade to that device. Instead of some long minutes to process a person or item, it barely took twenty seconds.

The presence of the descending body bag drew me from my thoughts. I made sure the safety cables were attached before I unlinked our current customer, then moved over to the next. The 'to be processed' pile was slowly shrinking. At least this way I didn't have to run around with dead-weight, limp, living bodies.

Another near-invisible body bag started to rise.

[G1-Mutus: Gianelli's Restaurant is next! Italian food! Tony 'The Chef' Gianelll, the consiglieri of the Bigio family, works and lives from there. No rooftop extraction.]

I had no idea where the elven assassin was located. She occasionally brought me bagged bodies, but was otherwise effectively invisible.

[G1-Kia: The restaurant has been closed for hours, chummer. You'll have to do homemade again.] I'm glad we can do this late at night. With luck, every single ranked Mafia family member in the entire Metroplex can be processed either this night or tomorrow's.

Just like a factory job, I thought, as the latest body bag descended. I'll resist the urge to pose them in embarrassing positions once it is time to leave.

At least nobody can see me yawn.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

10:47 AM. Tuesday, January 8th, 2058. Warehouse #14, Redmond, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS.

"Welcome," Al said, as he ushered us into the back room. "Mr. Bones well recommended your talents, and I hope to be able to do so as well." He gestured to the cheap office chairs on the bare concrete.

We sat down after he did, and waited for him to continue. I avoided looking too closely at the dark brown stains on the ground. It was likely that many different kinds of 'interviews' occurred in this warehouse.

Eventually, he smiled, and his wrinkles become more pronounced with the action. What hair he had was near-white grey, which started half-way up the top of his head. "Silence can have many uses. It will again be required here, as well as in the future. Are there any problems with such a policy?"

I shook my head. Mr. Umbrella had ways to obtain info other than through us.

"Excellent," he continued. "What I am asking for is simple in concept, yet hard in execution: any evidence related to the assassin who successfully hit Don James O'Malley, the identities of any individuals who did the hiring, and whomever the shooter is. The more comprehensive any of those would be, the better."

"Not a problem, Mr. Cavalieri," I said. "What can you tell us to start with?"

Al looked up at the strut-supported, heavy sheet metal ceiling. "Not much, Kia." He let out his breath with a huff. "The past don was killed by a single shot to his head," Al tapped a finger above his right eyebrow, "from what I've been told is a custom model, high powered sniper rifle based from easily over a mile away. The assassin would have needed to know the don's schedule, as well as a means of bypassing the various defences of his home. This all implies that the assassin is either very good, well connected or both."

[G1-Kia: Spill the paydata?, I sent, while I nodded in response to the consiglieri's words. Kellan's sent a positive response, and I brought Al's attention my way with a cough.

"Pardon, Mr. Cavalieri," I started, "one of the approaches we have taken in regards to our future and ongoing employment is to stretch our intelligence gathering methods over as broad a selection as possible. With the connection Mr. Bones seems to be extending in regards to Family business, our wide net has already caught many topics of concern to you, and likely Ms. O'Malley as well."

The only sign of his possible displeasure were his eyes narrowing briefly. "Go on, please."

I pulled open my blazer with my left hand, exposing the contents to Al, and retrieved my computer pad from it. Kellan and Mutus did the same thing, but with the practised slowness that signified careful movements around a predator. In the case of the consiglieri, it was more a sign of respect than anything else. A quirk of his wrinkled lips may have suggested it worked, but I wouldn't want to assume anything.

He waited while we went through the required finger taps to link our computer pads together. Mine was turned into a dumb terminal of sorts, and passed to our older host. He accepted it, cradling the device as if it was a fragile valuable, rather than the durable piece of equipment I knew it to be.

We could almost see the questions forming in Al's mind, but he managed to restrain himself.

"Thank you for your patience, Mr. Cavalieri," I said. "If you'll watch the screen, we can show you what we've found out so far."

"About what? The assassin?"

"Everything, Mr. Cavalieri. Everything."

I tapped the play button.

"On the evening of October twenty-fourth, two individuals associated with the Bigio and Ciarniello families in Seattle met with Sergei Malenkin." Still shots of three Matrix icons began to advance like a slide-show. "Sergei functioned as a representative of the international super-killers known as Chimera. That organization of assassins..."

...

Albert Cavalieri handed me back the computer pad without saying anything. I repocketed it, equally silent.

For some length of time, Al stared mutely at the three of us.

"The Invisibles?"

I nodded.

"Noble Bones and the UIG? Evidence to support all that you showed me?"

More nods met his questions.

"Well," he began, "I'm sorry to say that I can't sponsor you all into the positions of soldatos, as your allegiances lie elsewhere." Al released a cough-filled chuckle. "You've impressed me. All of you - Kia, Kellan, Mutus. Unfortunately, this business needs to be handled the family way. I'll inform Rowena of the necessities, as this all means that I'll have to wade through some unpleasantries, and you all will need to go through some predictable motions. I apologize if it bores you, though keep in mind I've been through a lot more. There are worse things than boredom to experience."

[G1-Hardpoint: Domo arigato, Cavalieri-san. I'm just more invisible than these chummers here.]

"Thank you, Mr. Cavalieri," I said to the consiglieri. "We'll have more than enough to finish things with this. Any other particular guidelines you'd like us to follow?"

He smiled and shook his head. "Respect and silence, Kia. That's it." His leathery, wrinkled face turned to the others. "Kellan, Mutus. Thank you all for showing up." With that, he stood and gestured politely towards the exit.

We split up and went to our vehicles as soon as we left that back room.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

3:14 PM. Shadowmech, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS.

Patrick "One Time" Finnigan took three doses of UIG's never-patented 'healing elixir' before he came out of his shock-induced coma. The former Seattle Capo was one of the few that had given up their positions rather than have it taken from them. From what our earlier scans of the mafioso picked up, he was greatly relieved to do so. He didn't have the driving fire that nearly every single other capo did. Instead, he made an excellent accountant, and was a skilled Matrix enthusiast.

I poked his massive gut a few times in the hope that he'd wake up - and stay up - this time. Instead, he groaned and continued to pretend to be asleep.

Patrick was a classic Matrix geek: balding, overweight, and with a frame adapted to years of sitting down rather than any sort of physical activity. He wore a poorly fitting suit whose small claim to individuality was a rather horrid, bright orange tie.

[G1-Kellan: I've checked with the office, Kia. You're cleared to tell him as much truth as he can stand., Kellan sent me.

Her 'yes, I am serious' stare met my own 'are you sure?' questioning look. Kellan won this round.

I loudly sighed, and continued to make the big man jiggle. "Mr. Finnigan? Hello? We're the Invisibles, and thought that we'd rather meet you in person." He kept on jiggling, even as I gained less amusement from making him do so. "Sorry that you had to have an... Ah... Medical condition, but you seem fine now. Can we talk, please?"

His groaning transitioned to grumbling as he awkwardly propped himself into a seated position. Rather than immediately reply, Patrick took a moment to inspect us and the interior of the Shadowmech.

Kellan and Mutus were both seated against the vehicles sides, each attempting to act as nonchalant as possible. In Mutus' case, it might not be an act. The blue-banged elven assassin was once more meticulously inspecting her custom rifle, and didn't seem in the slightest aware of what was going on. Kellan, our blond mage and leader, wore her typical camo-styled, large sized clothing and was doing something with her computer pad.

I was squatting in front of the jiggle master, in the walkway that led to the pilot's seat. Our dwarven rigger, Hardpoint, had his little nest there, and was likely paying attention to us and many other things as well. One of the benefits of all the drones he had, I thought.

Our large guest didn't look too impressed as he stared at me. Is it the spiked red hair? I turned the checking action into a wave, in the hopes that he'd choose now to say something.

"Can you do the phone thing, please?" he softly said. At my confused expression, he continued, "When the Invisibles meet someone who doesn't quite believe they are who they say they are, there is a 'phone thing' they do." Patrick rested his pudgy hands on his pant legs, and the odd twitches of his fingers mimed the moments of someone long accustomed to a cyberdeck.

"No problem, Mr. Finnigan," I began, but he cut me off.

"Patrick, please," he said with a frown. "Less chance of confusing me with others in the family that way."

I nodded in understanding. He wasn't in good graces with his aunt or son, both of whom had wanted Patrick to be someone he wasn't.

I sent out an electronic query to Ops N, and pulled out my cell phone. Less than three seconds of him viewing the screen on it seemed to convince him, as the device was quickly waved away.

"That always seems to work," I mused out loud, as I put it away. "Though nobody ever told us what was on it." I gave him a look, and he shook his head. The mystery will remain.

"My apologies for any difficulties that arose due to my health." He rubbed the back of his nearly bald head, at an apparent loss for words. "I suppose this whole encounter is a follow up to the e-mail I sent earlier?"

I nodded, and settled down further beside him. There was no need to strain myself squatting for however long it took, and I didn't really care if my suit got a little dusty.

"Well, apart from the rather grievous breach in protocol you've all demonstrated," another frown marred his round head, "this is the easiest way to communicate, I suppose." Patrick blinked a few times. "Do you know that Al has been kidnapped in order to force Rowena to marry James? James Michael "Jimmy Mac" Finnigan, in case there is any confusion."

[G1-Hardpoint: Hai! It happened a few hours ago. No point in interrupting our lunch, I figured. We could always get him back before dinner.]

"Can't say that I knew before now, Patrick," I said, and suppressed any amused reactions I had to our rigger's message. "As far as I knew, he was fine this morning."

"Yes, he was," the mafioso said with a nod. "It occurred just before noon, when another assassination attempt was made. This time it was against Rowena, and was thankfully ineffective." He used his suit sleeve to pick up whatever sweat dotted his forehead. "The soldatos allied with my aunt used the confusion to spirit away the consiglieri. He is too useful to be killed. Al will just be kept out of sight until the marriage is completed, in a very brief two days."

[G1-Kellan: The old man moves fast! I wonder what buttons he had to push to get things rolling that quickly. It was less than a hour after we talked to him., Kellan sent, under the cover of an amused snort. She was still visibly entertained by her computer pad otherwise.

"In case there was any confusion, that was the reason I attempted to contact you." Patrick grumbled under his breath. "Not that I knew you were the Invisibles at that time, of course." He looked up at me, and asked, "How much do you know about Family tradition?"

I shrugged, and replied, "Likely not enough, Patrick. Does this have something to do with the marriage?"

"Yes," he softly said. "Very much so. The marriage will essentially force Rowena to surrender her claim as the don of the Finnigans to James - her cousin, and a obsessed caveman who pants and moans over a crush he has had on her for nearly two decades." His face twisted into a grimace of disgust. "And the less said about the wedding night, the better."

"I take it you are not a fan of your great-aunt and son?"

I waited through his squinted, silent glare until he finally spoke. "Not in the slightest. Mary "Grand Dame" Finnigan all but disowned me when I stood up to her one single time, and has been grooming James as a muscle-bound mouth-piece for her own aspirations of Family rule for years." He leaned towards me with difficulty, and spoke under his breath, "I think she had something to do with the past don's death, too. However," and here he spread his arms, as if to gesture towards himself, "I'm not exactly in a shape to oppose them."

"Mary may be many things, Patrick," I said, "but responsible for the don's assassination is not one of them. We're already on that case, and just rounding up some evidence for Al and Rowena today. You've given us a time-line to work with, though, so we'll step up our operations a bit."

The eyes on his nearly bald head widened. "You know who is responsible for the don's death already?!" he exclaimed.

"All in a few minutes work," I said dismissively. I could almost see the stars of hero worship sparkling in his eyes. "Say, Patrick... Did you want to go on some runs with the Invisibles?"

"Yes!" he let out in a happy, grunt-like exhalation of breath.

Now all we need to do is find the large man a seat, I thought to myself. Even since Cayman went over to team two full time, the chairs in here haven't been that big.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

7:22 PM. Limousine mock-up, Sanctum. Director Silla Trebheart's POV.

For an ex-Russian spy, I thought, Natasha Romanov meets the beautiful archetype rather well. Dressed in her cover guise as a wealthy widow, the raven haired femme fatale looked more suited to being dramatically rescued than executing perfect murders.

Sergei Malenkin, one of Chimera's public contacts, was also dressed to impress. He appeared as a built, well-preserved blond of undetermined middle age styled as a casual businessman. A former assassin himself, he maintained a cover as an owner of an import and export business in Everett.

They were seated opposite myself, and in between us was a table that was covered with a wide selection of weapons. The hand-picked favourites of those two, it features rifles, handguns, and some small explosives. Not quite enough to outfit an army, but perhaps enough to fully weigh down the backpacks of modern soldiers.

A few taps on my hand-held computer pad, and they both woke up. I skipped through whatever acts they'd put in place with my first words. "Chimera has been acquired by the Umbrella Import Group. This is your orientation session."

I waited, with a pasted on smile, while they went through whatever wake-up sequence was needed. A large degree of attention was direction to the pile of weapons, likely with the ready assumptions that they were trapped in some way. They weren't, of course - there was no need to do so.

Another tap on the computer pad prompted a floating, holographic view of the world to appear. It hovered a few inches above the largest weapons and slowly rotated. It was devoid of any special details, apart from a small number of blinking, red dots.

"If you would poke any of those red spots," I said, and indicated the globe between us, "you'll be able to see the current status of the related Chimera member or associate. We've included all present and past members, as well as any prospective future ones." I tapped my computer pad once more, and gave them another wide smile. "If you could give me feedback on the audio, it would be appreciated. I wanted to present the acquisition of Chimera with a little flair."

Natasha and Sergei started their own exploration of the holographic globe's red dots while an artificially dramatic voice droned on in the background.

"Greetings, members of the secret inner circle of the Umbrella Import Group! I'll be presenting a brand new acquisition - the formidable super-killers, Chimera!"

"The boss just loves that kind of dramatics," I stage whispered to them with a stifled laugh. Their restrained glares did not quite communicate approval of the same order.

"The urban myths are revealed as yet one more predictable and not quite so secret any more organization. Originally part of Department V of the First Directorate of the KGB, they were known as Kamera. However, since they didn't want to be confused with cameras, they changed their name to Chimera."

I let out a little giggle. "I'm sorry," I said with a laugh, "I just get so little opportunities to have fun, I went a little silly. There is only a little more, I promise!" My crossed legs bounced in anticipation.

"After some various historical mess ups, the hitters of Department V found themselves out of a job and went into business for themselves. Self-employed, these new entrepreneurs with the gift of killing, made a killing in more than one way. Small in number, and mostly male humans, these trained espionage agents are able to slip into positions without slipping and falling. They follow the traditional assassin methods of doing hard, quality work."

I stared at the wall. I didn't want to face those two right now. Earlier, it seemed funny - now it was just embarrassing. I'll have to edit it before the meeting.

"Their professionalism follows with their reputation. Unlike the wad-blowing incompetents that fill the rosters of so called 'hitmen,' these assassins don't publicize their actions. But... We know all about them! Here are some prominent targets that have been 'blown away' by the cameras of Chimera."

The synthetic voice continued while I twiddled my thumbs. It was a long list, as it started way back when the organization was first found.

"...A few of their more well known hits are Doris Chan, of Tangent Technologies, Seattle, via a car bomb; Ingrid Hatlelid, Tir Tairngire underworld figure, with cyanide gas; Joe Two Feathers, prominent member of the Seattle Ork Rights Committee, via sniper bullet to the head; Lieutenant Colonel Chris Van Roggen, of UCASMC and the California National Guard, via a poison pellet delivered through an umbrella tip; and James O'Malley, the don of the Finnigan Mafia crime family in Seattle, also via a sniper bullet to the head. The recent failed attempt on Rowena O'Malley was also their work."

"What do you think abo-"

I blinked when the shotgun went off right in front of my eyes.

"You know, that isn't really nic-"

Natasha then used the heavy rifle's shotgun rounds to remove Sergei's head, followed by her own. My contact lenses auto-censored the gory details with cartoon representations, but didn't stop the small gobs of entrails, or whatever they were, from dripping down on me from the limo roof's interior. Ick, seriously.

"Nessi?" I said out loud, annoyed. "Please have Mike resurrect these two. I'm not done talking to them yet. Much appreciated!"

Rather then respond, the two cartoon corpses very slowly began to reform themselves. When they were mostly together, the censorship faded and the sadly redressed pair were alive once more. The loss of a chance to 'accidentally' check out the femme fatale's assets might have contributed to my irritation.

"News flash, fuck faces: UIG is capable of resurrection," I said to the duo, all past traces of levity gone. "What that means for you two, is that you stay alive until we let you die for the last time. Nod."

They nodded. Whatever steel nerves the assassins had had dissolved in their deaths and resurrections.

"Thank you," I said, my irritation marginally lowered. "You had previously met me in a great mood. Now I am pissed off. I'm not going to bother giving you any more details. We can find you, kill you, and bring you back from anywhere on the planet and beyond it. Get lost."

I tuned out the pair as they left through the single unlocked door. A dynamic portal, as this vehicle was a mock-up inside Sanctum rather than the limo currently travelling the streets of Seattle.

My thoughts were narrowed down to one, small area of focus: I blinked. I lost the bet with my Jessy baby. I have to do the dishes. I HATE doing the dishes. We had unseen servants for that, dammit.

...I think I'll ask for another vacation really soon.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

9:35 AM. Thursday, January 9th, 2058. OFFICE, Sanctum. Mike/Sanctum's POV.

The basket of Better-Than-Life chips was set down gently on my desk. The act ran contrary to the judgement that came with it: "A rather sad selection, Rainbow. The 'snuff' recordings had the odd spark of originality, but I could hardly encourage their creation."

Fall-from-Grace sat her winged self down when the I changed the seat opposite me into an accomaditng form. She absent mindedly fingered the magitech crown I had created for BTL and simsense chip use before placing her hands demurely in her lap.

"Not a fan, Grace?"

"The assorted demons of the Abyss would mock their fumbling attempts at torture, while the varied succubi could perhaps use them as advertisements for real pleasures."

Since the changes I had wrought in her passed, Grace was no longer one of those demonic tempters. She likely enjoyed reminding herself of that fact.

"Are you getting somewhat stir-crazy, cooped up in here?" I asked.

Her leathery, bat-like wings fluttered slowly as she considered the question. "It is more a question of significance, Rainbow," she said, as she ran her fingers through the BTL chips. "While you have provided me with veritable years of sensory experiences, I might as well be at a corrupted arcane whore-house for all the singular focus that is given towards sensations of the flesh."

I agreed with her, though I didn't want to experience the sensations required to have in-depth, first hand knowledge like she did.

"How are the others taking -" the house arrest I imposed on them "- staying around here?"

The tips of her wings moved with her small shrug. "Morte has been enjoying the intimate company of select members of the Three Hundred, while Ray and Annah entertain themselves in similar ways." She pursed her lips. "Nordom is still in a state of hair-triggered violence. I won't presume to understand how he can stay in the Rubikon the way time works there, but..."

"But?" I prompted her, interested.

"He would make a good berserker or mass murderer, but a rather poor agent of subtlety, discretion or companionship," she answered me. "Whatever the case, he seems to be enjoying his unique life there. I won't begrudge him that."

"Cleve seems the most frustrated," she continued, "though he has been balancing that with training with the Three Hundred. The former paladin has been cautious enough to avoid dying here, especially given the implications. He still has hopes of catching some holy god's positive regard, and being bound here would likely interfere with such."

She looked at my desk, devoid of anything except the basket of BTL chips she had placed there. "Could you create some of the tea from earlier again, please?"

A quick mental check provided me with the reference, and a finger snap brought the fine china set into being. She poured a small amount of cream, added sugar and stirred.

"How are Sensates for creating artificially assembled experiences?" I was referring to the philosophical faction Fall-from-Grace was a member of in Sigil. The Sensates were devoted to experiencing the multiverse through their senses, though not in a repetitive way that simsense users or BTL addicts lived.

At her inquiring glance, I indicated the basket of chips. She made a sound of contemplation while she finished her sip of tea.

"There is no inherent bias against the means of obtaining sensations, Rainbow. Why do you ask?"

"I've got a small corporation here," I began, offhandedly. "Their stock in trade is generic porn and gore, and the public eats it up. I don't want to interfere with what works, but... I'm thinking that sensory stones and the ability to alter recorded memories could lead to a massive media boom. The same thing the other way, too: *quality* simsense recordings adapted into sensory stones that can be used most anywhere."

She went through more of her tea cup before replying. "You've piqued my interest, Rainbow. What would be involved?"

I spent the next while explaining the details behind the world of simsense.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

2:27 PM. Small office by the Invisibles' Lounge, UIG Wing, Sanctum.

Raymond had walked by when Silla's explanation started.

Good timing, I thought, and waved him towards a newly Conjured chair.

He sat down silently, the only sign of his curiosity an upraised black eyebrow on his tanned face.

"I'm just saying, Mr. Umbrella," Silla continued, after a glance at Raymond, "that Chimera could help us -"

"By killing high-profile people?" I interrupted her.

"Yes..." She looked off to the side at the simple admission.

"Killing people is easy, Silla," I softly said. "Your actions were more likely to form the foundation of a new cult than anything else. And involving the Three Hundred in a world-wide grab like that..."

"It was on your list..."

"And thank you for that, Silla," I replied. "Though that was more of a dream list than anything else." I leaned back into the plush black leather chair. "Apart from death dealing and... Say... Money laundering... I don't know what else to do with them."

My immortal friend broke the awkward silence with a cough. Both of us looked at him.

"I'll first put out that I have likely more experience in dying and dealing death than either of you," he chipped in. "But you might be missing the most obvious targets here: yourselves."

There was a pause while his words sunk in.

"That's a neat idea, sure," I replied, as I thought up some possible scenarios, "but it doesn't necessarily require us to have co-opted the entire organization. We could have done that without having any of them under the unofficial UIG banner."

"How about wiping their last day's worth of memories?" Raymond mused.

Silla shook her head.

"The director here was very complete in her recruiting, Ray," I said with resigned admiration. "They died inside here as well. Even if it was all removed, they'd end back up here again - eventually."

"And the non-interest against using them as assassins is because...?"

"Select targets would be worth killing, in which case Mutus could do it, or not, and I wouldn't want anyone to do it."

The three of us stayed silent as we considered what to do.

If we were a regular megacorp, this wouldn't be an issue in the slightest.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

9:35 AM. Thursday, January 10th, 2058. Shadowmech, Downtown, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS. Kia's POV.

For an middle-aged man, Patrick sure screams well, I thought with a hint of amusement.

"WHY ARE WE GOING SO FAST!?" the big guy hollered, as he gripped onto his chair's armrests with white-knuckled hands.

I didn't know why he was complaining. We had the Shadowmech create an oversized chair for him, and a number of padded straps secured him to it. Short of a hailstorm of artillery rounds hitting us, nothing would disturb him.

"We don't want to be late for Rowena's wedding, or our scheduled appointments," I casually replied. "So Hardpoint is piling on the speed." I had the most recent baseball stats slowly scrolling in the right-most edges of my vision. My estimates were only about forty percent on track. I'll need to review some highlights again tonight.

"BUT... BUT..." He wheezed into a state of hyper-ventilation. The mafioso spoke softer once he had slightly calmed down. "Why did we sleep in?"

I looked at him strangely. "Patrick? Did the anti-hangover meds really knock out your memories that badly?"

"WHAT?!" he screamed once more, as the staccato sounds of automatic gunfire raked over the exterior of the vehicle.

"The joygirls? The endless rounds of shots? The strip-bar tour that ended at Tickler's? 'Little Mimi' who wanted to play 'bouncy bouncy' with you in the champagne room?"

"NOT MIMI!"

I nodded, and he buried his head in his hands, moaning. "Once you go dwarf," he muttered under his breath, "nothing else will do." The accountant kept on along those lines until a new sound drew his attention.

[G1-Hardpoint: Shademech and passenger incoming, up top., the dwarven rigger sent. He wasn't saying much in meat-space, as a good portion of his attention was devoted to dodging traffic and pretending that the various weapons aimed our way mattered.

As I looked up, the roof of the Shadowmech quickly irised open. A large, coffin-shaped drone descended through the opening, and it shut before the device had even come to ground.

"Kia?" Patrick said, his surprise momentarily overcoming his ongoing terror, "What's that?"

Rather than answer, I waited and indicated for him to do the same.

With a small hiss of air, the front of the coffin-shaped Shademech popped open. The figure inside waved away the remaining traces of mist, and stepped out.

"Kia, Patrick, Kellan," Albert Cavalieri greeted the three of us. He didn't look that ruffled for someone that had been travelling inside something barely larger than himself for about a hour. His suit was in rough shape, though. "What's our schedule like?"

"Great, Mr. Cavalieri," I replied, with a pair of upraised thumbs and a smile. That expression went a bit strained as the vehicle swerved to the side and a loud scraping sound filled the air.

"Silence?" he asked me with an upraised eyebrow. It stood out rather well against his wrinkles and receded hairline.

"Eventually," I said. "We're just rushing because our master planner," and here I gestured to the Finnigan family consiglieri, "had to go and get himself kidnapped. You'll be the only one calm and collected, sir. We're just... Noble Bones' loaned out help."

We exchanged small smiles at the falsehood while the pudgy face of Patrick examined us both with poorly restrained curiosity.

"Your tuxedo is in the back, Mr. Cavalieri," I continued. "Though you might want to wait until things settle down a bit before changing. Hardpoint hasn't even begun to hit the crazy stuff yet."

His reply was cut off with another screech-filled lurch of the Shadowmech. He wisely choose to stick himself into the nearest free seat and strap in.

Kellan was using this time to rest up. Smart choice.

...

By the time we had picked up the Ciarniello don, a few other important packages had been obtained.

Don Vince "Numbers" Ciarniello was a thin, hard-faced man in his mid fifties. Like Albert, he was also now dressed in a tuxedo. Messed up clothing wasn't an issue anymore, as we had switched out of the Shadowmech. There were five of us in our current ride - one of the small train of Rolls Royce Phaetons that were headed to the Church of St. Mary in Bellevue.

Vince's past scan had revealed quite a killing in paydata. The least of which was that he was a man ruled by fear. He was afraid of doing anything other than remaining as the don, he was afraid of losing his beautiful young elven wife, and he was very much afraid of his past indiscretions coming to light. He wanted to come out ahead and alive, no matter what. That was how he had been manipulated so easily.

Albert and myself played that game with the don very well by encouraging his paranoia with silent stares that began after only the most cursory of greetings. It was topped with our latest 'package,' a Bigio caporegime - one of the captains of the Bigio family by the name of Anthony "Toothless" Boniduchi. He was in a state of assisted sleep, with Kellan beside him to maintain it as needed.

Don Ciarniello only lasted a few minutes under our gaze before cracking.

"Al," he casually began, "how come the Bigio caporegime is here? Wasn't he recovering in a DocWagon clinic?"

"You're right, Vince," Albert replied. "He was. Anthony here," he tapped the gown dressed Italian man on the shoulder, "is now all better. I've found out that some elements in the families wanted to silence him. Silence him before he could talk about what he knew about who ordered the O'Malley hit."

The don's eyebrows rose fractionally in surprise. "We better keep him alive, then. There are good odds that someone in the Bigio family ordered the hit."

"Si," Albert agreed. "More than that, though," the consiglieri mused out loud, "is that I had some associates do some investigating for me." His eyes briefly flicked over to Kellan and myself. "They found out some rather distressing things, Vince."

The don's fingers twitched, as if he stopped himself from reaching for his concealed pistol. He kept silent.

"Your representative, Dan Grizetti, had been planning on skipping town with a large amount of Mafia money," the consiglieri continued, utterly calm. "He intended to frame you for the many casino skimming jobs involved, and would have done so very easily. Easily because Don Bigio had a file called "Golden Goose" that revealed that someone in your family had supported the skimming."

"Had?"

Albert smiled. "That's what I said, Vince. He had it - now he doesn't. It's elsewhere."

Vince's partially relaxed expression tensed up again.

"I was thinking how grateful I am that you and your family are loyal to Rowena O'Malley, Vince," Albert said. "Especially so much so that any sort of blackmail material wouldn't tempt anyone to betray it."

The don nodded, slowly.

"That's great news, Don Ciarniello," Albert continued, allowing a hint of warmth in his voice. "Especially since she'll soon be getting some interesting ritual samples obtained from a certain private clinic. Insurance, you understand. In case of... Accidents."

"Understandable, Mr. Cavalieri," Vince said. "And what about Dan Grizetti?" The don's fingers balled into fists on his pant legs. He didn't make any attempt to restrain the actions.

"It's worse than what I said, Vince. He was picked up with your wife on the way to the airport. Apparently he was quite obsessed with her - he even went so far as to have affairs with elven women that looked identical to Ivy over the course of months." The consiglieri pulled a small computer pad from an inner tuxedo pocket and handed it to the don.

There was only a single icon on the screen - the ever-traditional green 'play' arrow. The don tapped it, and the colours of a photographic slide-show appeared.

I didn't watch too closely, of course. I valued my health, and the don here was very protective of 'his' Ivy.

The playback went on for a few minutes before Albert disrupted the silence. "You might want to stop that, Vince. There is a lot of material, and we're almost at the church."

He didn't move.

Albert sighed in resignation, then looked at Kellan. "Please wake Anthony up. Hopefully he can get presentable really quickly."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

10:17 AM. Thursday, January 10th, 2058. Church of St. Mary, Bellevue, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS.

"Rowena!" Albert boomed into the church as he strode inside. "I'm sorry that I'm late. I was held up in a cabin in the woods, and my invitation got delayed. My apologizes."

The rest of us followed him in a loose cluster through the center isle. The pews on either side were filled with a scattering of mafioso, whom I'd assume to be mostly from the Bigio family as well as the faction of the Finnigan family opposed to Rowena's rule. All their suited figures turned to watch us as we filed in.

All but a few of the the Ciarniello family made men stationed themselves by the door and walls of the church. If a firefight broke out, they'd have a shooting gallery to work with - even though their cover options were limited.

Rowena herself tore away from the altar and her cousin-and-husband-to-be when she first heard Al's voice. The groom, James Michael "Jimmy Mac" Finnigan, and his great-aunt, Mary "Grand Dame" Finnigan, put on fixed, stony expressions of barely tolerable politeness, and trailed after her.

"Al!" the mafioso princess exclaimed, once she was in reach of the consiglieri. Her outreached hands were held by his, and let go after a squeeze. She was beaming all the while, and looked gorgeous in a traditional white wedding dress. "Thank you for your timely arrival. I was just practicing what a real marriage would look like with my dear cousin here," she said, and waved behind her without even looking at him. "If you hadn't had shown up, I might have messed up some lines."

James Michael didn't stand out in any way, even dressed up in a fancy tuxedo. Just another Italian man, though one who was willing to force his own cousin into marriage with himself.

I restrained myself from entering a state of Stopped Time and feeding him a bullet or two - even if they were tame things, such as 'explosive diarrhoea.'

Mary Finnigan looked closer to sixty than her real age of eighty. She wore a very conservative, long length dress and shawl, adorned with many pieces of antique jewelery and an obvious crucifix.

A number of pleasantries and veiled insults were exchanged while I tuned them out.

[G1-Kellan: Get ready, chummers - the princess is going to arm some explosive words., Kellan sent from beside me. She had opted out of a dress, instead going with a nearly black, dark blue suit. The blond mage looked wiz in the getup, even though I couldn't get much of a read from her from behind her glasses.

[G1-Kia: Ready., I sent, and did some shoulder rolls to limber up. I got some curious looks, but no words were sent my way.

Hardpoint and Mutus also sent affirmatives.

The two of us followed Rowena, Al, Vince and the now-suited witness, Anthony, to the altar at the front of the church. Kellan stuck close to them, while I kept off to the side and ensured that the manipulative relatives remained a distance away. They did, though their glares promised nasty consequences for me.

I didn't mind in the slightest, I thought. Not even if they hate me for the rest of their lives.

"Members of the Finnigan, Ciarniello and Bigio families," Rowena started from her position behind the main pulpit. The microphone system there easily projected her voice over the entire church interior. The priest wasn't an issue, as he had long left. "It has been a long nine days since my father - your don - was murdered outside his very home. Five days since he was buried, and two since an attempt was made on my self."

"Apart from today," she glanced at her cousin before continuing, "neither myself, my family or associates had wasted any time in finding who had hired the assassin used on New Year's Day." She waved forward Anthony Boniduchi to stand beside her. "This man is a witness who was nearly silenced by your brothers in their attempt to cover up the whole operation."

The poor man looked nearly petrified in fear. In spite of all that, he leaned towards the microphones and spoke. "Don Maurice Bigio was -" Anthony was rendered speechless by the bullet that tunneled through his skull and splashed bloody brains and skull shards on Rowena.

Go time, I thought, and hit Time Stop.

I had only one duty right now - protect the altar area. My Ares Predator infinity was pulled out of my hammer-space into my waiting hands. There were already a few bullets headed threatening the space, so I made the shots required to knock them off course and sent a few rounds at their origin points.

Resume.

My Time Stop reflex was hooked up to a Motemech network of Hardpoint's. A diffuse half-sphere of those small, stealthed drones operated as a sensory net that pinged me as soon as a high speed...

Time Stop. I fired another round of shots. Resume.

...Object approached or passed between them from the outside. While it made the whole church scene look like an action trideo with a finger on the pause button, the process ensured that who we wanted to stay alive, stayed alive. We had...

Again.

...Considered a simple anti-bullet ward around the altar, but unless it was perfect, we'd have some serious problems. Then again, Mr. Umbrella could probably make one that...

Again.

...Was considered 'perfect.' Then the old question he passed us would come into play: "What do I need you for, anyways?" If we had the means to do it ourselves, we'd use it instead.

I blinked, and shifted my fingers over the pistol grip. Is it over? I cautiously looked around, and didn't find anyone pointing weapons my way. The brief shootout had destroyed the majority of the wooden pews and marred the walls. I was relieved to see that either by a stroke of luck or excessive armouring, the stained glass windows had survived intact. So too had the large, white statue of a sword wielding angel.

Who blinked at me.

I shook off my surprise and continued to inspect the surroundings. There were a lot of downed mafioso. Now that combat was over, their machismo allowed them to do such things as 'moan in pain,' and quite a few of the living had opted to do so.

Ivy was noticeable through the panicked noises she was making. She looked like the trideo star of Carrie: The Twenty First Definite Edition, nearly completely covered with gore. Judging by the holes in Dan Grizetti's body, some of those bloody remains were probably from him.

He got off lucky, the poor bastard. If Vince Ciarniello had gotten to him first, Dan would wish for a death as simple as a bullet to the head.

[G1-Kellan: We're clear inside here. Hardpoint - keep your drones active in case there are any sleepers. We don't want any last minute 'friendly fire' accidents., the mage sent.

Kellan stayed in close range of Rowena as the wedding gown dressed woman walked purposefully towards the Bigio's seating section. She stepped over the corpses of Mary and James Finnigan with only a huffed breath of approval.

She stopped near the large, wheezing form of Maurice Bigio. The man who ordered her father's death. "Pistol," she demanded, and held out an empty hand. Her eyes didn't leave the large man's face. Less than two bloody bubble filled breaths later, a Walther PB One-Twenty was placed gently in her hand by the nearest hovering suited mafioso. She did a quick, complete inspection of the light pistol, then ground the muzzle into Maurice's head.

As soon as the don's eyes flickered into some sort of awareness, she rapidly squeezed the trigger twice. Some back splash of gore coated her while when the bullets entered - and likely bounced around inside of - Maurice's skull, but it wasn't anything to the degree that Anthony's head exploding beside her caused.

"Done," she said, and held out the weapon to the side. It was taken without complaint, and she turned away from the grisly sight. "Al? Can we get somebody to sort out this mess?" She indicated the whole church with a waved hand. "There are people who handle this, right?"

"Of course, Rowena," the consiglieri answered. He pulled out his personal cellphone and pressed a few buttons on it. "They should be here shortly."

Apparently 'shortly' meant a few seconds, as the main doors of the church was knocked on nearly right afterwards. Some of the healthier mafiosos checked it out cautiously, then opened them widely. A stream of white plastic coverall suited figures came in and immediately started to inspect bodies and stack them by the door.

That went rather well, I thought to myself. Hardpoint and Mutus did good work.

...

Later.

"Sir? Can you free us now?"

"One moment."

The surface of a number of bone-white statues began to bubble. The bubbling exteriors slowly dissolved into granular dust and disappeared, and revealed a dozen metahumans dressed in suits of varying makes. Their only commonalities were a flash of white worn on each - ties, handkerchiefs, and so on.

The last one to be freed was the person contained in the statue of a large, angelic figure that was wielding a sword.

...

Later.

"She would have made a good host, sisters."

"I can't believe you said that. If the queen hears -"

"I know what the queen has done. That doesn't stop me from being hopeful, does it?"

"On your head be it, then."

"As always."

The near-invisible silhouettes of about a dozen giant mantids briefly flared into existence, then disappeared.

...

Later.

"Mew?"

"Not today. Looks like we're not needed."

"Mew..."

"But I need you!"

"Mew."

"Fine, fine... Go have fun with Tinyjammer."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

3.6 - "Let Me Light Your Fires"

Thursday, January 17th, 2058.

"This is DJ Darco Smooth, and I'm here to give you the news that I want to! Hello and good whatever, folks! Today is another fine day to keep on doing whatever you are doing. This new year is shaping up to be a wild one, and lets all hope it doesn't get quite too crazy."

"Now then... In sports - someone is winning. In weather - somewhere it's raining. In shadowrunning - someone is dying."

"For the more interesting news, the Seattle crime scene has been heating up substantially. Or cooling down, however you want to bastardize your metaphors and similes and chicken choking word games."

"Unless your brains have been fried from BTLs, you'll remember that James O'Malley, don of the Finnigan family branch of the Seattle Mafia and overall capo of the region's families, had an unwanted air hole created in his skull via a sniper's bullet that happened on New Year's Day. It is now less than three weeks since that fateful event. What, you may ask, happened in that time?"

"In brief: a metric fuckton."

"Here are the particulars, folks. Keeping the focus on Rowena O'Malley, she attended her father's funeral on the fourth; declared her intentions to rule on the fifth; had an assassination attempt set against her on the eighth; had a perfect alibi for some sort of violent purging of the three Seattle families that occurred on the tenth; had herself declared dona of the Finnigan family on the eleventh; and attended the mass funeral of the recently dead on the fifteenth."

"Yes, you got that right, folks: in ONE SINGLE WEEK after her father was put in the ground, she sorted out all the infamous issues related to the infighting of Mafia families and got herself recognized as head of the Finnigans. It probably helps if I mention the high profile names of the poor dead bastards: Maurice 'The Butcher' Bigio, don of the Bigio family; Mary "Grand Dame" Finnigan, the nearly eighty year old lady with the puppet-strings; and James Michael "Jimmy Mac" Finnigan, the willing puppet and heir-apparent of the Finnigan family."

"At this time, it is not known whether any of those three or the other dead had anything to do with James O'Malley's death, or were simply unwanted roadblocks in Rowena's rise to power. That rise may likely extend to her being declared capa of Seattle, with the only challenger being Vince "Numbers" Ciarniello, the don of the Ciarniello family. For some strange reason, however, I'm getting a rather strong impression that he won't contest her rule."

"Smart choice, Vince! Let's all hope that the Commission formalizes that position for the cute, perky and bloody minded mafioso princess."

"...Who likely wants to kill me now. Get in line!"

"And what have the Yaks being doing in all this time? Oh, nothing much. Launching some raids against Mafia holdings, such as their buildings on Casino Corner. Nuyen flow and blood flow are directly connected for them, and I'm sure we'll see more of both in this coming mob war."

"In an amusing turn of events, a number of high profile gang and syndicate members have been found waking up in strange positions and states of undress, leading to the odd conflict and new relationships. The exact details have been tightly contained, as they all tend to be very macho individuals with fragile egos."

"Some revelations in regards to the Umbrella Import Group have also come up. The purpose of the blocky structure near the Fort Lewis Stockades military prison was revealed by an international press release. Essentially, it is a massive vault meant to hold about ten billion nuyen worth of gold and other precious substances. Totalling six floors and at least one basement level, it holds over two hundred and fifty thousand one kilo bars. The inventory was counted, scanned and randomly manually sampled before UCAS number-crunchers left and the site was sealed."

"While megacorps likely drooled at the process of 'accidental acquisition' of the stash, the UCAS' official release of teeth-grinding and smiling 'no comment' loosely translates to 'WHY the bloody hell did you share that piece of info?!' Thankfully, the reason for THAT was also contained in the press release. UIG is using the site to demonstrate yet one more grand magic act - a warping of space such that movement is only capable in one direction: inwards. Yes, folks, you heard me right: they have some sort of twisty space wham bam thank you ma'am that acts like the event horizon of a black hole."

"In fact, the one and only entrance to the building appears as a square, black void. The 'sealing' of the site involved some sort of ritual magic process that bound the effect to the location for a total of five years. It could potentially be extended, but - in their words - reducing or bypassing the effect would be 'difficult.' That is coming from the same people that made the Glamis Castle barrier, which - if it is to be believed - has had multiple great dragons 'stop by' and poke to no noticeable effect. Which was their intention all along. We believe you. Really."

"And what, you may ask, has the serious, mature and responsible audience of the Seattle Metroplex done to this magical marvel? Why, the only thing they could possibly do, of course: use it as a bloody toilet."

"In UIG's adherence to the idea of 'ultimate passive security,' they have merely monitored the passage of a number of rather loathsome objects. This list includes sewage, toxic waste, bagged trash, body parts, corpses, seniors, infants, drug addicts, live grenades, fired missiles and bullets, bioweapons, chemical weapons, drugs, drones, speeding vehicles, spirits, Awakened creatures... You name it, somebody has vomited it inside there. Hell, UCAS military guards have been caught on trideo taking a leak into the doorway!"

"Somebody at UIG got 'pissed off' enough that a small army of drones entered the place, ostensibly for 'cleaning purposes.' There goes everyone's dream of building a golden bar commune mortared with trash and poop."

"The DeeCee astral rift containment cube was the site of some rather high level excitement two days ago. In what was declared a 'psychotic terrorist attack,' a large explosion ripped open the top third of the Watergate Hotel. This action caused some rather tense moments as the containment energies rippled and pulsed, but automatically stabilized after some few minutes."

"The UCAS government then wiped the sweat off their foreheads, grateful that they finally had a pretext to grant national extraterritoriality to UIG, and did so. Can't have terrorists blowing up their valued zombie apocalypse holder-backers, right?"

"Besides which, wouldn't it be a rather sad state of affairs if, upon Lone Star or some other legal policing force demanding entry to the yet-to-be-found UIG headquarters, they simply said... No? What would Lone Star say to that - pretty please? If you don't let us in, we'll huff and puff and make ourselves red in the face? We'll throw a temper tantrum?"

"C'mon people, get real! So far we've seen three completely different forms of unique magic defences, all impassable to whatever normal means are available in the Sixth World. While they don't seem to operate with quite the ease of a motion activated door, keep in mind that these are just advertisements. They. Are. ADS! The implication there is that they are saving the REALLY good stuff for themselves!"

"...Which is rather scary, when you think of it. I'm just glad that they've stuck to defensive magics. Otherwise... Well. The Queen of Queens is a valued associate of UIG. That puts things in perspective, doesn't it?"

"Besides which, there were no substantial outcries in the media or online against the UCAS' proclamation. An obvious sign of how much the action was supported. Of course? Of course! Heh... Pardon, I must have coughed there."

"The rift cube has finally gotten two full-time advertisements. One side is sponsored by the Humanis Policlub, and features a rugged, clean shaved blond 'all American' human stereotype and some other details I forgot. The other is playing a looped trailer advertising 'The Throbbing Horns of Black Gold,' a softcore romantic simsense drama starring a gay black troll and... A rugged, clean shaved blond 'all American' human stereotype who vaguely appears like a certain ad's host. On top of which, the trailer's scenes are synced to the Humanis advert on the other side, so that when the carefully publicly appropriate action takes place on one side, the ad's reactions on the other are... Well. You have to see it. It has gotten so bad - or so good, depending on your perspective - that any protesting Humanis members get laughed out of the area."

"No Matrix searches have come up with any details of the simsense 'Black Gold,' nor are the figures in the trailer recognizable. The Humanis Policlub was interested in pulling their ad in response, but were cautioned that the trailer would simply take up their prepaid slot. They stubbornly remained."

"Things in Denver continue to heat up. Ghostwalker and his spirits continues to rampage across the city, with various resistances from the different districts armed forces. The only exceptions are that of the UCAS and the Sioux, who had ordered their people to not attack Ghostwalker outright. They even asked the other governments to let the dragon be!"

"Personally, I haven't the foggiest idea why they are doing so, especially when some of their own buildings have been hit. The Rocky Mountain Arsenal base, of the UCAS, and Denver Foodstuffs, Inc., of the Sioux, were both nearly completely destroyed by the blue-tinged, white scaled great dragon."

"The reason for the ordered ceasefire were likely due to the the directions of VP Nadja Daviar and Sioux rep Lucinda Gray Arrow, who were both in the city. This has led to a trickle down effect to the Ute and the Pueblo Corporate Council sectors, who have revoked their 'attack upon sight' orders and instead adopted a more self-defense based attitude. The Aztlan and CAS sectors are still calling for dragon blood - irregardless of how futile their efforts have been so far."

"Noting their limp-wanged thrusts were woefully ineffective, Aztlan had airlifted military forces into Denver - a move that violates the very treaty that bears the same name as the city. This lead to CAS's sector doing the same thing, followed by the Ute sector joining in too."

"Several of the great dragons the world over have issued official comments in regards to Ghostwalker's return. They were generally positive, and mixed sentences that implied one or more of admiration, caution, greetings, kinship and condolences. I personally thought that Lofwyr's 'no comment' was the epitome of style, wit and breathy prose. Bravo, good sir! Bravo indeed!"

"There are a number of another topics to go over, like... Say... How the Renraku Arcology is STILL hosting it's employees for some demented reason... But I won't get into them."

"That's it for now, folks!"

"As always, to reach me just vomit great dragon fire onto fleeing, helpless civilian women and children while speaking into live static and saying my name, DJ Darco Smooth, three times."

"Get ready for the stinging wyvern tail of truth, humour and pain coming up whenever I get around to whipping it out of my pants."

"This is DJ Darco Smooth signing off. And remember, folks: murder is okay if a great dragon does it!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

9:12 AM. Friday, January 18th, 2058. Kitchen, Community Hub, Sanctum. Mike/Sanctum's POV.

I had washed my hands rather obsessively before starting breakfast. I felt that it was necessary, given... Reasons... Reasons like people throwing POOP inside me, for gods' sake!

"Batch number three, Mike," a Taylor said cheerily. She passed me a small bowl of pancake mix, the amount barely suitable for two servings.

The other Taylors gathered around as I carefully poured the thick liquid onto the hot, greased pan. A nearly perfect circle of batter was formed, and soon gained the trademark tiny bubbles of to-be-flipped-ness.

It was flipped.

That was Ziz's role. Flipping, I mean. That way I didn't need kitchen utensils or have to shapeshift my fingers into something suitable. Taylor had suggested forming a spatula-bug, but was vetoed out of that idea rather quickly.

My attention was divided between estimating when the greasy goodness would be complete and surreptitiously glancing at Ziz. I had hoped that since the platinum angel herself would also be eating breakfast, she would signal me the optimal time to... One of her white wings twitched.

"Lift-please!" I said, the two words blurred together.

The near-perfectly pan-fried pancake rose into the air and toured around the heads of the Taylors and myself while we examined it. Colour is good... Nice bubbles... No sign of being under-cooked... Optimal thickness...

"I think we have a winner," a Tay said.

Wing fluffing of us all followed. Apparently Ziz agreed.

"Alright," I said, and quickly ran a Portal over the floating food-stuff. It was now recorded for all time. "We have the pancake cooked. Next step: the piece of bacon!"

Cooking for crowds is a lot easier with duplication magic.

The pancake disappeared into the lightly smiling mouth of Ziz. Nobody mentioned how we could have gotten the pancake near-perfect the first time. After all, a fee of three of them was hardly the most an oracle had ever charged.

...

There were a scattering of people arrayed around the large kitchen table. I was beside a Taylor and Nessi, and opposite Raymond. Everybody was dressed in their own particular variants of sleepwear.

"Have you sorted out what you need to..." Raymond put out a false cough. "To be comfortable with us heading out again?"

I frowned in response. It may be sheer paranoia on my part, but I wasn't comfortable letting Ray or his group 'out' until I had some backup measures in place in the Demiplane of Dread. Since the Dark Powers there had demonstrated the ability to pull him in once via the Mists, there was nothing that said they wouldn't do it again - regardless of whatever agreements we had made.

"I'm working on something, Ray," I said, and poked at my pile of maple syrup covered bacon. "I'm sorry if... I'd rather have everything as safe for you as I could I -"

A hash-brown bounced off my forehead.

"Not to worry, Rainbow," Ray said with a light tone. "It's not like it's the Rubikon all over again. Some weeks or months of downtime could do us well. Some of us, at least." He glanced down the table, and I checked who he indicated.

The new record holder for human - or close enough enough for me to not bother making a distinction - height was Cleve, he of the former paladin-hood.

His light grey figure slightly loomed over the others. He was slowly working his way through a stack of plain pancakes. The only additions to those woefully un-syruped foodstuffs were sausages, each one cut into tiny pieces, and a glass of warm water with a slice of lemon. Cleve toasted me with it when he noticed my attention on him. Viewed through the lens of the Shadowrun world, he looked like a extremely healthy ghoul.

"Right," I said, and turned my attention back to Ray. "I thought of Sigil, but... It'd be kind of hard to ensure you stayed there without popping into an accidental portal. Those things are everywhere there."

He made sounds of agreement while he finished off a fork-full of potato-based goodness.

Wait a sec, I thought to myself. It might be possible for him to stay safely in Sigil if I formed endless disposable time-lines and monitored him with the linked journal! I groaned at the mental image it created - all Ray would have to do is stop and write in it every few steps - for hours, days and weeks on end.

Nope. Not practical at all, I thought as I worked on some of my maple syrup covered bacon.

The Taylor beside me was assisted in her breakfast endeavors with a clothed mantis. The small, ninja themed warrior cut up and stacked food for her by type.

"This one of the self-directed ones, Tay?" I asked her, and moved my head closer to the small figure. It did a complicated series of poses under my attention, and ended up in a 'mantis' pose balanced on one foot.

"Mmm hmm," she agreed, after spearing a perfectly fork-tine thick stack of pancakes. "I'm still not too sure what to do with them, but the mantids like them. As long as these little ones are happy, I don't mind developing them further." She took the top-most square from a bacon stack and offered it to the ninja on a finger tip.

The mantis bowed, and graciously lifted the fried piece and started to nibble on it.

Judging by the the number of food columns on her plate, she doesn't need any more cut up for a while, I thought, and gave her a friendly shoulder bump. "How is the Queen of Queens doing?"

"Oh, you know," she said, and waved her fork around. "Alright. I've managed contracts with the NAN, CAS, Quebec, Tir and more... Mostly things they want to keep low profile. All of them are asking for me to not do 'that Chicago thing,' which isn't a problem. The mantids numbers have been growing - as you've noted by 'processing' them - and the core twelve's power and the rest of them have been growing at a decent rate."

"And you and them...?"

She made a show of wiping a small excess of syrup from the side of her mouth and sucked her finger clean. "I think that you have a very, very good idea of how happily filled the mantids are getting on a regular basis, Mike."

My, what fascinating pancakes I have here. I shall examine them with all my utmost attention.

Taylor's breath brushed my ear. "June twelfth is my eighteenth birthday. Just a reminder." I caught the edge of her smirk as she turned back to her breakfast.

She's not the only one interested in that date, head-mate, Nessi thought into our shared mind-space.

I let out a long sigh, and the gynoid beside me chuckled.

After that, breakfast proceeded without any special drama. Floating food-stuffs regularly paraded through the midline of the table, available either for the taking or defaulting to Ziz; Morte was using his new tentacles as straws, and drank from a number of blended beverages at the same time; Ray and Annah had a little exchange where he covertly gave her back meat snacks covered and disguised - she still hasn't fully recovered from what she saw at Vecna's Palace - while Jess and Silla were much more obvious about their affections. Fall-from-Grace mentioned a work in progress called 'The Throbbing Horns of Black Gold,' and I wished her the best.

Now, if only I could get the image of people taking a leak into my portals out of my head...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

11:27 AM. Friday, January 18th, 2058. Lakewood Shezan, Gravelly Lake Divine & 112th St. SW, Tacoma, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS. Kia's POV.

As this was the second time I've been to the Shezan - and first for the other runners - I did the ordering.

"Four servings of pilau for here, and one with poultry soy to go, please." Don't want to forget Hardpoint, I thought. He still brings up that thing with the donuts sometimes. I looked around the table. "It's primarily a rice dish," I explained. "There are soy versions of poultry, beef and fish available. A easy starter dish from Tanzania."

Their soy protein choices were made, and the closed menus were handed back to the waiter. One of the owner's brothers, if I remember right.

"So, Kiku," Kellan began, once the waiter had strode away from our stall, "what are the specifics?"

Our mage leader had opted to get the details from our Ms. Johnson - one who was comfortable enough with runners to give us her handle. Kiku was a shadowrunner herself, who had worked the shadows for the past eight years or so. She was also Keiko Shotozumi, the second child of Hanzo Shotozumi - the leader of the largest Yakuza faction in the Seattle Metroplex. That particular piece of info was passed on as soon as I found it out. We'd soon determine what her motives are.

"Datasteal," the young Japanese woman said. Kiku had played up the schoolgirl look, adding some leather to it to remove the more obvious vulnerabilities. No miniskirt flashed my way yet, though. I wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or not. Her datajack wasn't immediately visible, but a cyberware scan revealed it to be behind her left ear. "At least on my end," she continued. "I'll need you to be a running distraction for over twenty minutes."

Kellan nodded in agreement, and the half mirrored finish on her sunglasses reflected the booth's lighting.

Kiku lowered her to voice to a near whisper, and casually covered her mouth before speaking, "Hanzo Shotozumi." She looked at the three of us as if we were supposed to be impressed at her ambition.

I'll admit it - I blinked. She is going after her dad's place? She has been doing nothing but targeting the Yaks and Japan-corps for her entire decking career. It makes sense.

[G1-Hardpoint: Didn't we clear his place out two days ago? I've lost track of how many places we hit over the last week.]

Our dwarven rigger was stashed out in the Shadowmech, all nice and cozy. Too bad his food won't be as fresh as ours.

[G1-Kia: Yeah., I replied the same way. [I don't know how Kellan wants this biz played, though. We'll be eating soon. I ordered some rice chicken for you.]

We went over to personal exchanges to debate the pros and cons of Tanzanian rice dishes versus those of the Japanese. He ended up admitting a loss, as he hadn't had any to compare it to.

"I can get into his downtown house," Kiku continued excitedly, "but I'll need a noisy run to ensure that it happens without alerting his security. I already have a great location in mind - the Pachinko Parlour, in Tacoma." She quieted down as our drinks came, then started up again. "It is far away from his place, and is a highly lucrative gambling den for the Yakuza."

[G1-Kellan: Hardpoint? I'm going to need to set a small stage here., our mage sent out as she nodded in response to Kiku. [You might need to either sacrifice some Motemechs or cobble together something. You'll have until our meals are done and yours gets cold.]

[G1-Hardpoint: So ka. What are the particulars?, he sent back.

I ignored the rest of the details. It was just technical stuff, anyways.

"...Main computer, and reprogram it so that the house-rigged games blatantly cheat in favour of the patrons," Kiku said. "It'll get the Yaks attention, and then you'll need to get noticed and then give them a running chase while I do my biz." She continued to answer some back and forth questions with Kellan for some minutes longer, and then our main courses arrived.

...

"Good choice, Kia," Mutus said, as her empty dish was taken. She resumed her casual oversight of the restaurant's interior right afterwards.

Once the table was cleared and the waiter was out of visible earshot, Kellan started to talk business again. "Kiku, I think that we found something recently that would save us both a lot of time and effort. A hard-linked, fiber optic land-line that appears to be an old Shotozumi-gumi connection - it might even be a backdoor to their system. We're keeping it pretty quiet. You could even connect to it from here - we've set up multiple encrypted wireless relays for high bandwidth, full meshed network connections throughout the city. They only activate when certain signals are sent."

Huh. That's a good explanation, I thought. Better than my first one, which was to drag a fiberoptic cable from the Shadowmech into the restaurant.

The twin-tailed curls of Kiko's dark hair bounced as she considered it. "I'd like to, but... I don't have my deck with me."

Kellan held out what looked like a highly modified Motemech to the young Japanese woman. "We have something in case of that," she said with a grin. "This is just a little spoofer of sorts. I had it set to twenty-five minutes of activation, after which it melts down - hardware and all. Connect one end to your deck and another to your cable." She paused, her fingers tapping around the sphere-like item. "You do use anti-flatlining devices, right?"

A sound that crossed between disgusted and amused emerged from Kiku. "I'm not a fragging twinkie, chummer!" she said with a snort, then picked up the former Motemech and examined it.

"Neither are we, Kiku," Kellan said, and indicated the item with a wave. "It's black-boxed, and has a built in expiry date of seven hours from when it leaves my presence. Eight hours will be the complete melt down point. You'll get about ten minutes to check it out while decking, and after that your twenty-five starts to lower - regardless of your connection status. What do you think?"

The spheroid was rolled between Kiku's hands. "This is just a tester, right? You don't know if it will actually get me into Hanzo's place?" Kellan nodded in response to both her questions. "I'd like to check it out, then."

They reaffirmed their contact details, and we all headed out. I paid and picked up Hardpoint's soy chicken pilau on the way.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

3:43 PM. Friday, January 18th, 2058. Shadowmech, Tacoma, Seattle Metroplex, UCAS. Kia's POV.

Kellan had our rigger set up the phone call to be broadcasted into the Shadowmech's interior once she realized it was Kiku. The relaxed silence present inside the vehicle changed to a more attentive one.

"You alright, chummer?" Kellan asked into the cellphone she held. "You don't sound so great."

"I found something," Kiku's voice spoke from the ambient speakers. "Something about very strong 2XS BTL chips coming in from California. It'd either give the... People I investigated a major lead in their business, or spark off a full-fledged war between them and their 'competitors.' I... May have drunk a little to calm my nerves. That's all."

"So the device worked? Great!" she gave us a thumbs up while she leaned back in her chair. "Is it paydata you can use?"

"Oh... Pardon. Domo arigato, it worked fine. Wizzer chrome, right there." Some deep breaths were heard over the line. "And yes. Alright. Long story short, I want some backup for a hit on the warehouse when the chips are coming in. I'll meet you beforehand and pay extra for the access you granted me today, and more for the smash. What do you think of that biz?"

[G1-Hardpoint: Explosions save time and effort, and make me happy., the rigger sent from his pilot's chair. The dwarf had finished his Tanzanian dish a while ago, but wouldn't give me a verdict until he sampled all the different soy meat varieties.

"I've got a counter-offer for you: how about we just rig the place to go up in flames once you give us a signal?"

"You can do that?" Kellan kept silent in reply. Kiku resumed with a laugh and said, "Of course you can. Sorry. Let me check the data here..."

While Kiku fiddled around on her end, Hardpoint threw up warehouse-related data on the wall screens around us. The annotated details gave such information as location, floor plans, distance from nearby buildings, employees, security and more. The most visible details were extra large flashing letters on the bottom of every screen that said 'EXPLOSIONS SAFE!'

The Japanese decker came to the same conclusion, and gave some of same rough details over the audio connection. She hadn't been informed that it was a truly secure line, so the exact specifics were left out. "The site seems fine for that."

Home run, chummers, I thought to myself as the final details were worked out. Balls falling all over the field.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

5:28 PM. Friday, January 18th, 2058. Adam Shepherd's POV.

It was maddening. A cacophony of sound - a near impassable barrier of noise set to drive any man or ghoul insane.

The doorway was a bastion against that realm. A wall that separated a zone of relative tranquility against the space beyond. A simple steel barrier, reinforced with insulating foam.

I hesitated before opening it.

"Mr. Shepherd?" Tamir Grey asked in a tone of concern. "You alright? You don't look so good."

I smiled back at him. It was still enjoyable to be able to do so - to feel the flexible muscles of my face able to move and change. "Quite fine, Mr. Grey. Thank you."

The new ghoul, now in a the form of a curly haired twenty-something, gestured towards the door. "Did you want me to go first?"

Muted screaming came from beyond it, as if in response to his question.

I quelled the rising panic within myself, and answered with a polite, "Please. That would be most welcome."

He flashed me a grin of perfectly aligned white teeth and moved towards the door. A push later, and the passage to the nursery opened. An excited babble of voices started to shout his name, followed by my own, once I was spotted.

Noxx lurched out, and pried off the two new ghoul infants that were wrapped around her legs. They were handed to Tamir, and the dual small figures nearly enveloped his head.

The brave man gave me a thumbs up and blindly stepped into the nursery.

The barely dressed form of Noxx bounced closer and pressed herself against me. "Adammmm..." She stretched out the word.

"Yes, Noxx?"

"You coming to the evening orgy?"

YES! I took a few calming breaths. "I will give it serious consideration, thank you."

She ground herself against me and nibbled my neck. I stoically endured the experience.

Mr. Umbrella, I thought to myself, and waved an imaginary fist at the sky, my simple life of managing a family of ghouls and a small corporation has transformed into...

Noxx slapped my behind and sauntered off. I could dimly hear the restrained pleading of Tamir from the nursery.

...Into a surfeit of happiness and hedonism.

I followed the noise, and braced myself against the impacts. I had barely stepped over the threshold before a tide of little ones crashed against me.

My name was reduced to an incoherent babble by the feral-ghouls-turned-infants.

The head of UIG likely lives even more decadently than this, I thought. I'll let him think I'm still shocked by the memory edits a little longer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

1:42 PM. Saturday, January 19th, 2058. Generic brown room, Sanctum. Mike/Sanctum's POV.

"Mistress of the carnival?" I spoke into the mirror with a faint sense of hope, even though I expected it to break soon after. "Isolde? Are you willing to talk this time, or...?" I had long gone past the point of striding back and forth in front of a tall, reflective surface. Instead, I used a small mirror on a flexible, mechanical arm which was attached to the armrest of my chair. My seating was exceedingly comfortable, and fully reclined. I just had to make sure that I didn't fall asleep out of boredom - or jerk myself awake in shock.

The endpoint of the magic mirror connection I had active was in Demiplane of Dread. The specific Domain on the other side wasn't an issue in the slightest. Instead, there was a very interesting traveling circus that was currently camped there that drew my attention. Isolde was the leader of them all.

I found the troupe of travellers in early January, and had made multiple attempts per day to contact the highest authority among them. More often than not, my efforts resulted in broken mirrors - which I replaced or repaired once space around them was clear of observers.

"What are you, creature of the mirror?" A rather stern voice emerged from my mirror. The surface beyond had just been obscured with a black cloth of sorts. Isolde was being exceedingly cautious - not even risking herself to look into what may be an accursed item. The Demiplane of Dread had no shortage of them.

"Come on now," I said with a resigned sigh. "If I say something horrible, you'd smash the mirror; if I'd say something holy, you'd believe I'm lying and then do the same. I'll just say that I'm someone who attempts to do good, but suffers from a surfeit of power and occasionally falls short in intelligence. I can also say that just as you are incapable of leaving the Demiplane of Dread, so too am I incapable of entering it - in literal truth. Perhaps kind of like yourself, but in a different way altogether. Partial measures like this mirror are one way I stretch my limits." I tapped the small hand mirror with a finger nail, and it briefly resonated like a tuning fork.

When the last vibrating notes died out, she spoke again. "I'll leave defining who you are till later, then. What do you want? Why are you bothering me?"

"Ah..." I cleared my throat. "It was not my intention to bother you. My apologies. In an ideal world, we would have simply had a proper conversation at the first opportunity and the long sequences of broken and repaired mirrors would not be necessary. I'm not interested in just blurting out what I want, though, as that could lead to some sort of potential trade or exchange. What I'd like to do is fulfil one of the greatest quests that drive you in this demiplane, and then - and only then - state my requests. No obligation on your end, except that I'd know your true character in response to what I offer."

"What do you know of my quests, speaker from the mirror?"

"Likely more than you want me to, Isolde," I morosely replied. "But... I do know of your chase - your search for a certain incubus who flees the Carnival's approach when the pamphlets announcing it's presence arrive. You stay with those under your protection, even though doing so pushes away your quarry. A most noble, holy and esteemed act, though not in the slightest effective or efficient - for that one cause. You earn great goodwill instead."

The black cloth shifted on the mirror. "What do you know of the demon called the Gentleman Caller, speaker?"

"Just as I said," I said. "You go places, he gets warned and leaves. So it has happened for as long as you've been with the carnival. I have hopes that doing something significant to aid that search would be enough to put me in mildly good graces with yourself."

"Then why haven't you done so already?"

"Ah, Isolde," I said with a chuckle, "you haven't asked me politely. I don't want a trade, contract, oath or promise, implied or clearly stated. Instead, I'm merely looking for an earnest statement of how much you want me to help you in that matter. Then I'd begin my quest to search for him - which would hopefully take less time than your own." After all, Mistress of the Carnival, your troupe is one of the only peaceable ways to travel through the closed borders of the Demiplane of Dread. It will be the first backup option for Raymond - if this all works out.

"And would that quest then involve bringing suffering, damnation and ruin to the lives of innocents, speaker?"

"I certainly hope not," I said with a frown that she was unable to see. "Apart from how rare 'innocents' of any stripe are in the Demiplane, the only suffering I intend to inflict is that directed towards the incubus in question. Even that 'suffering' would simply be of necessity, not sadism. Of course, all my comments depend on you believing at least some of them. It is my intention to absolutely minimize any real or perceived risk on your end."

"Then... Thank you, speaker."

"You're welcome, Isolde."

"So. Just a statement? No blood, nothing written, no promises, no bonds or securities put in place?"

"Absolutely," I said. "As elaborate as you will it or not, with a preference on formality and absolute truth. That's all. The only obligation is on my end, and even then it is of courtesy rather than of a geas."

"Very well," she said. I heard a deep exhale come through the mirror. "I, Isolde, hereby request that..."

It's been a long time since I've gotten a formal boon like this. I certainly hope that I can live up to her expectations.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

10:47 AM. Friday, January 25th, 2058. Limo mock-up, UIG District, Sanctum. Director Silla Trebheart's POV.

"Ms. O'Malley, Mr. Cavalieri, Director Silla Trebheart of the Umbrella Import Group." Marquis introduced us to each other once they were seated comfortably.

"Thank you both for agreeing to this meeting," I politely began. "Any possible benefits that may arise from here wouldn't be possible without the invaluable prompting of Marquis Bones." He acknowledged the recognition with a small nod. "Please let me know if anyone wants anything - we're fully stocked here." I indicated the side bars with a wave.

"To begin with, I'll state for the record that UIG is in no way a typical corporation by any means," I said. "I won't go into particular details as that would take too long, but... Any questions may be met by rather unexpected answers." I smiled at them both. "It is our current belief that Ms. O'Malley here is sole ideal candidate for the Seattle capa, and we are willing to offer high levels of unofficial support for that. Support which, I believe, you have already had a chance to see in operation."

"Yes, and thank you for it," Rowena said, with a gracious tilt of her head.

"You're welcome, Ms. O'Malley," I said. "Now, please consider this an open forum of sorts. Imagine what you could do - and how far you could go - with unlimited backing and support." I recrossed my legs while I waited.

Albert patted Rowena on the thigh reassuringly, then returned to his guise of calm professionalism. He had originally given the interior of the limo a once-over, and had just began to view areas of specific interest to him. He didn't stare, but did linger on features enough to imply appreciation of them.

"What I would like to know is the highest level of visible support UIG is prepared to offer, director," Rowena said. "The activities based around Glamis Castle, the DeeCee rift, and Chicago's insect spirit purging are rather flashy and overwhelming. In my estimation, literally anything you'd offer would be less - likely even much less - than those. Is that correct?"

"Absolutely," I confidently replied. "Assistance of such a degree ceases to become your efforts. It would merely be ours with a different form of expression."

"How far do you want me to go, director?"

"Assuming that you've talked extensively to Mr. Bones," a glance at the cream-suited man confirmed that with his nod, "you'll know that we have a number of aims focused on the underworld and black markets. For yourself and your organization, our intentions are that: one, the Seattle Metroplex area is utterly and securely dominated by your organization in conjunction with other allied forces; two, that your organization is the undisputed backbone and face of the international underworld; and three, that you ultimately become the boss of all bosses - the capo di tutti capi - of not only the North American Commission, but that of Europe's Alta Commissione as well. If Australia ever gets their act together, you can include them too."

"All that," Rowena mused out loud, "when I haven't even had my position confirmed?"

"There is a lot of faith in your capability to do so, Ms. O'Malley," I said. "It is Mr. Bones' and our hope that you'd be able to do it much faster and more effectively with our assistance. We don't intend to drag you into that planned fate, but to supply... How to say it... A nuclear powered jetpack that you'd use to guide yourself."

"Within certain perimeters as defined by UIG?"

"Of course, Ms. O'Malley," I replied. "Your organization has typically done things and done them a certain way, through either need or tradition. We aim to supply an easily accessible alternative to the former, while your very presence would upgrade the latter."

"Can you provide some examples, please, director?"

I thought for a moment, then looked at Marquis. "Mr. Bones' organization provides a rough template for what we are looking for," I replied. "It mixes professionalism, superlative intelligence, near-zero civilian injuries, high degrees of training, natural and ensured loyalty, and some of the best equipment that money can't buy." I let out a long sigh. "At a large enough size, there would be a need for certain grey and black markets to be filled or dominated by your organization, with or without our assistance. Some of them, like organ-legging, will be eliminated through alternate supply channels or... Awakened pressures... While others would be modified to be more... Positive, accessible and acceptable to larger portions of the population - or at least more palatable than that of your competition." I folded my hands in my lap, and ran a finger over my wedding band.

"Pardon, director," Albert interjected, "but your reference to Noble Bones brings up a big question. How exactly do you want us all to work together - assuming that you do?"

Rowena looked at Marquis and myself, clearly interested in seeing our answer. I added my stare to Mr. Bones, in the intention that he would speak up.

"I've roughly gone over some details with Row... Ms. O'Malley," he corrected himself, and flashed her a grin of pearly white teeth. "The main premise is non-competition, as we have no need for... Traditional... Income sources. UIG," he gestured to me, "and the contracts associated with security work and bone-based services supply me with plenty. The 'protection' of Noble Bones is more aligned with fostering goodwill and the legitimate image I am trying to create for them." His brow creased as he went silent. "On the manpower front, we have been absorbing anyone and everyone that we directly encounter. Some of them... Wash out... Rather quickly, but what remains has a substantial degree of quality. It is my hope that in the coming mob war Noble Bones can integrate all but the most contrary, and indirectly support your organization as needed. If - or when - there is a much more liberal upswing in your recruiting policies, we can revisit this."

He was referring to the general bias in the Mafia first towards blood relatives, followed by white European male humans. Females, magic users and metahumanity often got cut short or cut off.

"That is very clear, thank you," the consiglieri said, and forestalled any further details. "Was there more that you wanted to elaborate, director?"

"Somewhat." I replied, then paused and mentally reviewed the notes on the Mafia's history. "We do recognize that muffling your organization too extensively can have negative consequences on the competitive front. One of the things that we've found out is how exceedingly easy it is for metahumanity to be, in a word, killed. Depending on the situation, alternative means can be engineered that can have much more beneficial short and long term results. In that sense, we find limits as creative restrictions rather than walls to flail and flounder against." Now then - what would be a good example? "Are you familiar with Salvatore Lucania - better known as -"

"Lucky Luciano?" Rowena snorted, and her collar length dark hair bounced with the movement. "You could say that. He founded the American Commission, among other things."

"Then you would also be familiar with the occasionally enforced rule of 'only killing each other' as well?"

"Yes," she replied, in a much more reserved tone. "The idea behind it was that as long as violence is primarily confined to the underworld, neither the government or the police have any reason to complain. Am I to take it that you want the families here in Seattle to adopt that rule with more... Regularity?"

I nodded, slowly. "It is a test to see whether you can use limits creatively or... Not."

Rowena kept silent. I used the time to pull out a bottle of chilled water and served myself. Marquis did the same, though the two mafioso guests waved off my offers.

"Al?"

The consiglieri replied, "I think it is your best bet, Rowena. UIG and Noble Bones here are geared up to become the heavy players in the Seattle Metroplex. We could either join them as firmly established allies, or," the wrinkles on his face shifted with a thin-lipped smile, "see how well running contrary to their plans doesn't work for us."

"Please don't get the idea that we are excessively heavy handed," I started, with the hope to forestall any objections. "Once more, Mr. Bones' organization is the model of the kind of lassitude we're interested in granting allies. Even our corporate acquisitions have a large degree of operational freedom." I paused. "A big difference shows up here in cooperation. As we have no need to compete with each other for limited resources, we are instead obligated to help other portions succeed in their own endeavors."

"How exactly does that work?"

"We have an essentially endless supplier of material goods and product-related services," I replied. "The exact nature of that supply chain will be remaining confidential until it is mutually decided otherwise. That source is extensive enough to easily and completely outfit all three families across the metroplex with arms, armour, and the highest grades of cyber and bioware."

A perfectly sculpted thin eyebrow rose in question. "Delta-grade?"

I just smiled in response.

"This all seems rather extensive for an initial offering," Rowena said.

I shrugged. "As I mentioned earlier, UIG is like that. Perks such as youth," I tapped my cheekbone and looked at Albert meaningfully, "are part and parcel of the deal."

"What's the catch, director?" she asked, in a rare example of bluntness.

"Apart from what I have detailed," I replied. "I'll state that the prospective 'mob war' is a fire whose flames we are fanning very extensively. Large numbers of imported forces are expected for the Yakuza and Triads, as well as either a natural or forced unification of their local organizations. This is intended to be a clean sweep as well as the absolutely highest profile entrance and 'first impression' that you would give the world. The booster rocket stage of your jet-pack, so to say." I gave her an impromptu toast with my glass of water and sipped it.

"Please check out Noble Bones if you want more of a comprehensive breakdown, Ms O'Malley," Marquis said, in an attempt to coast on the positive mood. "Either yourself or Mr. Cavalieri are welcome at any of our buildings on short notice."

"Including the one you live in, Mr. Bones?" Rowena asked with a hint of a playful tone.

"Especially that one, Ms. O'Malley."

Albert's cough drew the pair's attention. "Can we return to the matter at hand, please?"

Now, to work out the details...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

4:48 PM. Saturday, January 26th, 2058. Dona Rowena O'Malley's POV.

"Hello, Ms. O'Malley. How are things in Seattle?"

"Very well, Mr. McCaskill. Thank you for asking. How about yourself? Milwaukee?"

"I'm good, the city's good. Do you have some minutes to spare?"

"Of course, why?"

"Well, there were some people with big names that expressed concerns about Seattle to me. Apparently I was supposed to stop by the metroplex today and check things out. However, I heard that you were doing - as you said - very well. Perhaps even excellently."

"Thank you for the kinds words, Mr. McCaskill."

"You're welcome. So I figured that I didn't need to drop in. I'd just give you a call instead."

"That's fair. There are likely to be some developing circumstances in the next few months - I expect to be entertained by them whole-heartedly."

"Entertained? Perhaps. You have a lot of eyes on you, as I expect you know. People talk. A lot of interest in seeing where you'll go."

"I'm aiming as high as possible."

"You would be! Keep things up, and I'll recommend you to some big names, alright? Success is not only it's own reward."

"I understand completely, Mr. McCaskill."

"Good, good. That's it on my end. I'm sure you're busy, so..."

"Not too busy to host you if you stopped by."

"Maybe I will. I'm busy too. Give my regards to Al, Ms. O'Malley. Have a pleasant evening."

"You too, Mr. McCaskill. Thank you for the call."

...

"Rowena! Hello! This is a pleasure. How are you?"

"I'm doing great, Conor. Thanks. I trust that you're doing well also?"

"Of course. Boston is a great city to be in. What's the occasion? Just wanted to chat with an old friend of your father's?"

"Something like that. I've been making big friends here in Seattle - thought I'd give you a heads up. There is the potential for rather large benefits in the future."

"I'm always intrigued by benefits, Rowena. How far into the future?"

"Just as soon as Seattle gets settled down to my liking."

"Daring. I like it."

"There is a lot of change coming, Conor. Things might get messy."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ IWBH2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Append to Sanctum's Notepad:

- People are PEEING in me! Ewwwwwww! Eww eww eww!

- Rowena seems interesting. I hope she can pull everything off.

- UCAS extraterritoriality! Yay! That is two countries so far.

- Search for the 'Gentleman Caller' incubus in the Demiplane of Dread.

- June 12th! 18th birthday! Ahhhhhh!