Another Day - A Heroic Shadowrun Story

by acetotheface

A day in the life of a runner, narrated by Heroic himself. Out of the frying pan, into the fire, they say. A few too many successful runs have Heroic and his partner cooling their heels, partying their nights away, when his past catches up with him. Prepare for action, romance, intrigue and chaos. Pure chaos. And the birth of a love triangle.. maybe. Did I mention confusion?

Another Day

1.

When you hear about Shadowrunning, and anticipate the life of a disposable asset, you think of a million things. You could be killed, captured and tortured, used for scientific experiments by some corporation. You could be rich, amass a fortune, name your price for your services, or even buy a business and get out unscathed. You might have hot, underworld girlfriends, or boyfriends, or both, who like to wear skintight bodysuits, and cater to whatever fetish you have.

You don't think about what it really means to live in the shadows - living like a ghost in society - having to change your name constantly, move around, watch friends die in front of you, or take a life with your own hands. You think it will be a step up from the drek-eating drek-sandwich you left behind.

And least of all, in your delusional little fantasy, would you ever believe you'd have days like this.

After a string of successful runs, my fixer, Geist, advised that my partner in crime, Chameleoanna, and I, lay low for a while. He also advised that we move to a different part of town. While the runs had been successful, we were thrust into a higher level of notoriety by a few corporations sharing intel. Reputation was everything, but notoriety was never good.

Shiawese hadn't been at all pleased that a few strangers had walked into their vault and then punched their way out – the modus operandi used by the same crooks that pulled the Ares job - a weapon prototype stolen, the ceiling literally punctured by metahuman hands. My hands. They were connecting the dots. Questions were being asked about the shadow asset that had done all this. It was getting too hot in the kitchen, and the chef, Geist, was asking us to take a break.

So we had moved to downtown Seattle. Why not? If we were going to take time off, might as well enjoy it. Obviously, this was Cham's idea. Yes, I had called Chameleoanna "Cham" ever since we coined our street names and dove into the shadows.

Names. Everyone makes a big deal over your street-name, the one that will carry your rep, the rumors of this or that amazing feat. But the truth is, you wanted a name whispered by only the right people, and forgotten by everyone else. So what did it matter? Well, it mattered sometimes, marketability was a factor. Least of all, you wanted to be able to back up whatever you were called i.e. if you were called "Smash" you had better be able to smash something, whether in the real, the astral, or virtual.

Chameleoanna rolled off the tongue. Sure, it was a little silly, but once you met her, you understood. She's a Dryad – unearthly beautiful, rare, and utterly charming. If elves were pretty, almost every one of them fit to be a model, then dryads were born supermodels. Cham moves with an angelic grace, her eyes captivate any and everyone. Just the sound of her voice made your heart ache, a pout and somber tone made you want to cry, and cradle her lithe frame in your arms…

And she is silly. A fearless prankster. Almost no subject is out of her reach to tease you with, and her practical jokes can be merciless. Obviously, I'm in love with her – who isn't? But, I'm also her best friend. I always wanted to be more, but she doesn't seem to see me differently from all the other puppy dog eyes she receives when she walks into a room – male and female.

So, what's the big deal, eh? "What was so bad about days like this?" You ask. What could make a person rant about the darkness of the shadows, life and death, and the unforeseen? Cham wore a catsuit every now and then, didn't she? Some of that Second Skin armor? Buck up to the buckshot, or the shot bucks you, right?

I was talkin' about street names, shadow names. Chameleoanna, the magical, gorgeous little twerp, could command others with her voice, make us invisible, or cast an illusion to make me look like another guard at a corporate lab. The name fit. Unfortunately, she also chose my name.

"I dub thee, my dumb friend, Heroic." Yeah, that's how she talks, you better get used to it. Her totem, or spirit guide, you could call it, is a god of trickery, the Roman God Mendacius. Expecting her to lighten up, ever, would be your first mistake. Trying to figure out a hard definition for her use of the word "dumb" would be your next. Dumb could be great, like - "That's so dumb, let's go!" or dumb could be life in black and white, too simple to be believed as most people tended to use it - "Wow, that's - that's just dumb". Dumb could be cute, like that "dumb widdle hellhound down the street." Or it could be the definition of my usual game when I meet a woman – that is to say, not so great. You really had to go on context clues. Yes, the mistress of the word "dumb," had also come up with my street name.

Heroic. Gods knew, she knew, that I'm no fraggin' hero. But I guess there was somethin' to be said for entrances, and exits, and first impressions. And when I smashed through the wall to take out the guards drawing down on her, I suppose you could say it made a heroic sight. If seeing my black gloves punch through solid armor and splash intestines two meters up the paint among the crisp smell of burned hair fits into your idea of "heroic," that is. When my training kicks in – it's kill, or be killed. It takes a conscious effort to not fight for all I'm worth.

But the name stuck. At first I was full of pride. I was her hero. For once, I didn't just push holes through someone, and cause property damage, just for a paycheck. I had saved a little magi dryad. But whenever she called me the name, her little chuckle followed – the tell-tale sign I had come to know as a clue that she had played a trick, all that was left was for me to figure it out.

Yeah, I got the joke – I was an elf that packed a punch, a melee adept who focused my magic into physical combat skills, senses and powers, and sold it for some scrip. I crashed through the wall thinking I was so swag, smile twisted with battle-rage, I probably looked crazy… and then what I did to the guards. I cut through those guys like a- how did it go? A hot spoon through yogurt? No, that wasn't it. It had to be a different dairy product. (I ain't rich enough to have those too often.)

After a while, she started callin' me "Herc." By then she could see in my eyes that I got the joke. Clearly, I wasn't the brains of the operation – but I got it eventually. As we continued on, job-to-job, I think she wanted me to know for sure that we weren't dating, just running the shadows, together. I have her back, she has mine, that's all. Just the close relationship founded on life and death situations experienced regularly, nothing to see here. No sex.

Well, so she claimed that morning we woke up naked in that bungalow in Aztlan. Either I'd been too drunk, or she zapped me with her annoying Rewind spell. In any case, I couldn't remember. Gods, if something happened that night, I wish I could recall it. On the other hand, if something had happened – and such a moment was so bad that Cham would rather make me forget and pretend that it never happened… maybe it was for the best. Or was it? I could have seen her naked after all. It was a conflict of interest that made my head hurt.

So, what's in a name, right?

Well, here I am, new neighborhood, new fancy coffee joint called the Bonsai Bean, serving real coffee, not that soy-kaf crap, and I accept the charge on my new credstick. It's 2073, so all I have to do is tap the stick on the AR overlay projected through my contacts that appears about a foot in front of me. "Do you accept this charge" blinks above the appropriate green and red buttons below. A hundred years ago, who would have expected coffee beans from China? It smelled good.

One minute later, I see a name flashing on the screen next to the latte' I had ordered, and it takes me a minute to realize that it's my name. Or rather, it's the latest nom du jour attached to my new "every day" System Identification Number, my SIN, attached to this card. To live among the SINners, you had to have a SIN. It's the way of the world. We always activate a completely different one for runs, so that if you get caught, or ID'd, you don't blow your cover identity and come home to find a High Threat Response Team eating your leftovers.

Obviously, Cham had chosen the names for our new UCAS SINs. Obviously, I didn't even ask what name she had chosen for me – it's not like she would tell me, anyway. "You'll find out, dumb-dumb!"

The screen blinked for "Mr. Ules, Herc." Herc Ules. Hercules Yes, there are many things you don't imagine when contemplating a life in the shadows. This had to be one of them.

I was so caught up in my own name, I nearly trampled the woman. I felt something that kept me from plowing into her- my combat sense. Which was strange, because it was clearly an accident, I wasn't being targeted. If anything, it was my fault! Anyway, that little tingle, a useful sense cultivated by many combat adepts, gave me just enough time to jump back – the end result being that half of my coffee was on my wrist, and all of hers had fallen to splash on our shoes.

I buy her another latte, a chance nearly everyone in the cafe would have jumped at. The first thing I notice ,even before I notice that she's human, is how stunning she is. It's almost like she has the glamour power found in Dryad's like Cham, but obviously it couldn't be, not in a human. Perhaps it's just our chemistry, I like to tell myself. She's all smiles and it seems like she wants to talk. Who wouldn't indulge her? We take our drinks to the patio.

Elora. Elora Wendt. Even her name is pretty. We fall into banter, naturally flirtatious. Does she have someone? Maybe. Did I? I don't think so. Don't think so? Laughter. I barely second-guess myself, I'm doing too well to overthink it. That was for later. Dirty looks from the men - regulars at the Bonsai Bean who had probably never gotten the nerve to talk to her. She works in human resources for a mid-level law firm, likely owned by some undisclosed, larger corporation. She doesn't care, it pays the bills. What about you? Architectural Engineering, on sabbatical - the lie comes smoothly, and she seems to buy it.

Hercules? I had to own it. Parents with a sense of humor, I lie. When the hole started getting deep, I usually asked for a shovel and kept right on digging. Well, they must have known something, she replies. Her blue eyes, likely shaped with contacts to resemble the slits of a feline, glittered with… was that lust? One thing for sure, she wasn't making fun of me.

I'm so captivated, I wouldn't have noticed the Westwind honking, but she does, her blonde hair whipping as she turns. The black, two-seater slides a mirrored window down to reveal the typically handsome, typically rugged, typically wealthy breeder in the car. "Come on, Elora, I don't have all day!"

She knew the suit, of course. Also typical. A quick apology, I stand as she leaves, just so her significant toilet-seat can get the message that, yes, we were sitting together, and yes, having a conversation. And then she's gone.

I can still smell her perfume. Flowers, a hint of spring rain. A message blinks in the corner of my eye- I had been pinged by "Wendt, E." Elora had sent her virtual business card before she left. Her personal commlink number glowing in blue characters.

This was good. I needed to meet new people. Meeting an angel like Elora reminded me that I still had it. No, I wasn't going to call her, I don't go for love triangles and breeders into abusive relationships, so I'd already resigned myself to pass this one up. She must have figured me for one of those guys – can't really blame her, on account of my obviously broken nose and the way that I carry myself. Still, she was barking up the wrong tree. Still, I don't mind.

Cham and I, things were feeling like they were coming to a head. It started a couple runs back. A Johnson in Denver had paid for a team to search out who had stolen his most prized possession (you don't want to know), get it back, and bring the culprit to justice. The nature of the crime suggested that the target of their investigation knew the Johnson. Geist, clever fixer that he is, set us up with a pretty interesting group of runners.

I didn't mind the swarthy, Black Shuck. And yes, he is almost as intimidating as his rep. Except for that underlying feeling that we could be buddies if he didn't have this crazy overbearing girlfriend that never let him go out. He's frosty.

So's Black ICe – I mean, not a lot of adept deckers good with a shotgun out there. Respect. Using the cameras to target guards on the other side of the wall, brick their electronic firing pins and smartguns, then shoot them through said wall, he's like an electronic ninja. I didn't even have to destroy any doors.

But that bastard Gig just got under my skin. He's a dryad, like Cham, but with a middle-eastern gigolo thing going on. Probably where he got his name from. He could charm the pants off of anything remotely interested in men. And, of course, just charm everyone else. Social adepts, amiright?

I hate to admit it, but he had been the perfect choice to accompany Chameleoana to the Johnson's cocktail party. Just being there, they caused the crowd to "ooh" and "aah." As the fascinating dryad couple, they navigated the groups and married partners easily. Their practiced social skills, powered by their adept abilities, helped to zero down on two subjects, cutting out half of the casework in one evening.

But it drove me polar, to watch it on the image link in my contacts, to hear their flirtations in my earbuds. Gig was an animal – relentlessly flirting with Cham in between every encounter with a stranger, taking every moment to press close to her body, to run his hand down her back, letting his fingers linger on the rise of her heart-shaped hoop.

She laughed at his stupid jokes, receptive to his banter. How could she fall for this jerk? With just the audio, out of range from his interpersonal magic, he just seemed so squishy. To top it all off, a creepy husband tried to get a little handsy by the restrooms with Cham, and Gig had shown up to the rescue. "Remove your hand, sir, or I'll remove it for you." Oh look, a real hero.

When we had gotten home to get a good night's sheep-toss (hey, some of us sleep harder than others), Cham caught on to my surly mood. "What do you care who I flirt with?" She asked. "I care if it's with someone like him!"

"You actually think I'd fall for Turkish Delight? Come on! Give me more cred than that! I laugh at his dumb jokes because it makes us look like a happy couple – I don't turn him down because I'm supposed to look like someone who likes him, and it strokes his undoubtedly fragile ego. You think I'm stupid, Herc? He follows Astarte – he probably knocked up one of the hostesses in the coat closet."

I gulped, my mouth dry. "He did," I confirmed. "Exactly!" She slammed the door to her bedroom for emphasis. We had never spoken of it again, but things had been tense, ever since. It nagged at my mind that this tension, and the liberal use of my magic mitts on the last run, were related.

2.

Looking back, I probably would have chosen a different coffee shop in the neighborhood, if I were really trying to avoid running into Elora. But here I am, at the Bonsai Bean once again, and eventually, there she is. The excitement of our first meeting is gone, dampered by the way we had left it, and something she's carrying in her heart.

We take our table on the patio, the same one from before. She's still stunning, a sadness palpable in her voice. She is tired of being with bad men, she tells me, tired of being afraid. I tell her that she has to make her own choice. Whether I am here for her or not, whether anyone is, she has to do it for herself, or nothing will really ever change. I can't read her eyes. I can only hope she makes the right decision. I go to sleep that night with fantasies of being "heroic" without my fists.

What I didn't know, at the time, at least, was that Elora was actually a goddess of espionage using a SIN just as fake as mine. And that her handler, a snake worse than Gig called "Harem," waits at her doss to debrief her. She paces, hand on her twisting stomach. She tells him that I'm not like she expected. That I don't live up to my handle. I'm not the violence-solves-everything type. No posturing of toughness, or vows to protect her.

What she also didn't realize at the time, was that Harem comes equipped with tailored pheromones, a cybernetic enhancement that increases his influence with those in range to smell them. What's worse for her, though, is that the effects of the magical Surge on her genes leaves her even more vulnerable. If you don't know about Surge-babies - it's like this: due to the earth's magic pulsation during her birth, or her parent's pregnancy, no one is really sure how it works exactly, she is one of those rare children to be born with all kinds of natural, and super-natural, adaptations. For Elora it's those blue, cat's eyes, a nose as powerful as a wolf's, and more - including the glamour of a dryad, I would someday learn.

That powerful nose makes her easy prey to tailored pheromones, and Harem surely knows this. It's likely part of his control mechanism as her handler. He easily calms her down, and when he kisses her, her body warms and the world seems to matter less. Her world feels good and she hardly notices as he strips off her clothes - the casual sex something a lot of handlers employ to keep the asset from getting too attached to the target. Everything will be all right, he tells her. And she believes him.

When he's done, Harem finds his pants. He lectures her on finishing the mission, on bringing the "boy" (meaning me) back to the apartment. His voice drones on – and she focuses on me, and the last thing I had told her, earlier on the patio of the Bonsai Bean.

It had just been a stab in the dark, really. An attempt to save the chemistry, to find some hope -

"If you go through with it, and you feel like coming out Friday with me and my friend Camille," Yes Cham had given herself a great cover-SIN, "we're going to Flair" I rambled. "Message me and I'll leave your name at the door. We'll be in the VIP. You can tell me how it went or… just have fun." Her thousand-watt smile was a little brighter than my best effort, but I gave it to her anyway, chipped teeth and all.

My face blurs in her mind as she drifts off to sleep. She doesn't even hear Harem reporting on his comm as he stomps out the door.

3.

I know it sounds like I'm exaggerating, a personal bias showing through when I describe Chameleoanna, and dryads in general. But I'm not – their Glamour is actually a magically documented power. A phenomenon, a force of dryad nature.

In picking her undercover SIN, Cham had decided that she wouldn't use a synthskin mask. She could wear the synthetic flesh and distort her features just enough to damper down the Glamour. But in living the highlife on our forced vacation, she wanted to let it shine.

So shine, she does. I think it takes all of a day for her to get VIP access codes to three of the four megaclubs in the plex. She is now one of the three known dryads in the Seattle sprawl. Since Cham's face is so memorable, if any mark on a run sees her face, she always flashes them with that Rewind spell. Thus, we know that if she runs into any of them in the VIP, she will remember them, but they won't remember her. The Rewind spell is irreversible and absolute, simply erasing minutes, to hours, depending on how much oomph Cham puts into it. Since it was a permanent deletion, no amount of magical probing or confrontation with evidence such as a video of the missing time, could do anything to recover such lost memories. So, why the hell not? She had reasoned. For one month, she could be herself, and it would be 10X frag-you fun.

We decide on Flair, because, again, why the hell not? And in addition to why the hell not, DJ Hea7en has a residency, two Fridays a month. Cham tells me, not for the first time, that she's dying to get lost in the sexy, fairy wonderland theme.

We'd already been to the Flair in Tir Taingerie, and this locale was likely very similar. But neither of us had "gone to Hea7en" as fans would say. The line of beautiful ticket holders stretches around the block, but that's not where we're going. As we pass the line, my eyes take in the colors and style of the incoming crowd. "Just like Hea7en" is splashed on electrochromatic fibers woven into tight dresses. Through my contacts, I can see that a few even have AR projections of wings and magnificent auras of energy.

Walking right by the main door, we round to the alley, following a few well-dressed ladies. The VIP entrance hides in the dark, a discreet passage marked only by the obvious line of limousines and photographers. Cham covers her face, and the promotional photographers let out a collective groan. The celeb photographers don't even bother – she isn't famous, just gorgeous. Incredibly gorgeous. Especially tonight. The gossamer, smoky black dress, that lightly floats around her body, clings to her like a shadow, and picks up the pre-show audience feed. The moon and stars float across her as though a piece of the night sky had been torn off and draped around her supple frame.

"Herc?" Elora's sweet voice cuts through my daily pastime of admiring Cham, and time seems to move again. Until I see Elora, and it stops once again. The catsuit of night outlines her body with the deep blackness of space, stars and comets flashing over her curves.

She walks right up to Cham and I, and after a second, I realize she's talking. "… did it, Herc. I kicked him out two nights ago! You were right, it feels good. I deserve… more. To be happy – oh I want to dance tonight!" She squeals.

I introduce Elora to "Camille." For a moment Cham is stand-offish, almost jealous, but then I see her relax. The thing about Cham, she isn't just graceful on the outside – it's how she is inside as well. And seeing a beautiful woman strike out for her independence and self-worth seems to bring out her best. In seconds, they're friends.

What I didn't know was that Cham had also given Elora an astral scan, assensing her aura. Later, when it was relevant, she'd admit that she'd been suspicious of Elora, initially - no not jealous, never that - but saw nothing in her aura. Elora seemed genuinely happy to see me, had no cyberware, or anything immediately unusual – she wasn't even awakened, with no magic of any kind. If anything, something a little more usual – a tinge of the purple hue Cham saw in the aura of many Bliss users. But who didn't party sometimes?

Inside, I find myself accompanied by a dryad, and a human woman just as beautiful as a dryad. My new suit is fitted, my form also displaying the pre-show night sky, but I know that's not why men and women stare at me – at us. Jealousy and interest flashes across the faces of the VIP area and I can easily deduce that nearly everyone here would trade places with me in a heartbeat.

A hostess, an elf-girl with AR wings and wearing not-much-else, shows us to a table, and brings up an AR menu. She informs us that the club has comped us a couple bottles, with a meaningful glance at the two stunners with me.

Halfway into our first drink, Elora and Cham dance together, and I try to remember the image, burn it into my brain so that I can see it in my dreams. Finally, it really feels like vacation. Halfway into the bottle, they pull me between them. By the time we're on the second bottle, Cham pays for a vintage photo-booth picture and pushes Elora and I together so she can jump into our arms.

The second bottle disappears along with the opening DJ. The house starts to adjust for Hea7en's show, projectors and AR nodes track to different positions. Cham can't seem to help her impish nature and uses her mojo juice to convince the staff that we've only gotten one of our comp bottles. I pop the third as she pulls pretty girls up onto our table to dance around the center pole. Elora slinks onto my shoulder, and casually caresses my neck as I refill her glass, then Cham's, thrust in front of me from above. Elora laughs.

"Is she always like this?" "Pretty much," I summarize. Elora goes on. "I heard about the dryad in downtown, but I didn't think that I would meet her so soon." What do you say to that, anyway? Then she gets to her point, "and you moved here with her? She follows one of those Roman gods, are you trying to get me into an orgy thing?"

I choke on my drink. She laughs. "I guess that's my answer." I try to recover, "What if I said yes?" "I wouldn't believe it," she says, "you're just too… heroic… Hercules."

For a moment, I'm confused by the emotions at war inside of me. I'm chilled, does she know who I am? Part of me reaches for relief- that would be great, wouldn't it? Not to lie. But that emotion is swallowed by dread, why would she know me? How? From the shadows, or my childhood at the facility? Wouldn't either be bad?

Warm, drunken logic, reminds me that I am her hero, and she means that in the sappy way most people mean it. I gave her good relationship advice, and she doesn't know jack-drek about me outside of the coffee shop and the club tonight. Oh yeah, and that apparently, my name is Herc Ules.

She screws up her face at the perplexed look on mine. Then she laughs and pulls me into her. We balance our drinks, my arm slides around her back. She smiles up at me. We kiss, and I'm both lost and found. Her lips are soft candy, magic, and everything right about the world.

Suddenly the lights come up on DJ Hea7en, and it is an experience I can hardly describe. She takes us on a hyper-dimensional trip – an overlay of AR and projection lighting like nothing I've ever seen. (I hear that she personally directs a creative programmer to make 'em.) Our clothes, and AR gloves, give haptic feedback. The music is amplified into the very vibrations on our bodies.

The environment swims with interactive moments, like the AR "water" that fills the club. My gloves feel the resistance of liquid as I "splash" Cham and her entourage of angels. They squeal, even though they know it isn't real. Cham reaches underneathe our bottle and throws ice cubes at me, to catch me by surprise.

DJ Hea7en dances, and performs acrobatics, in the middle of the ever-changing cyclone on the stage- a timescape of fantasy and light, darkness, mood and emotional beats. She commands the music from a cyber-synthlink, directing her mix by thought, so that she can flip her body through the air. Her costume integrates the lighting into the weaves. The audience-feed works in tandem – so that we are all part of the show.

At the end, she pulses at the center of an energy ball that shoots out lines to connect to each one of us (that can afford interactive clothes). Projections fill in the lines for those that don't have ractive threads, and the illusion of energy touches everyone in the audience. For a moment, we're all connected. The pulses of light originating from Hea7en's body take the last of it from her, leaving her, then the stage, in darkness. The light pulses down the energy threads and flares out on our chests, which vibrate with warmth, and fade with the bass.

The lights come up as Hea7en bows and waves her way into the wings. The crowd cheers, stunned, and overwhelmed. Cham and her new squad pour out of the booth to run backstage. Alone, at last, Elora fixes my tie. "I don't know what this is, but I like it."

"It came with the suit. Personally, I like skinny ties-" She elbows me, "You know what I mean." When did I get so funny? Anyway, what do you say to that?

I look deeply into her eyes, that piercing blue. I see someone inside of her, someone lost and alone, aching to get out. It scares me and intrigues me at the same time. She blinks, serious. Our kiss carries meaning. It's like we were alone. I wish we were alone. She trembles as our lips part. Wow.

Cham comes back with her entourage of beauties, that have somehow doubled in number, plus men trailing to party with them, and a new friend - DJ Hea7en aka the talented human, Arianna Colburn. The people in the booth next to us are moved to another table, so that ours can expand to fit the party. Elora notices my lack of surprise. I hang out with a dryad, it's rockstar treatment and rockstars all the time. I shrug.

Cham stumbles over arm in arm with none other than DJ Fraggin' Hea7en. "Have you gone to Hea7en?" Cham laughs. I find myself dancing with them. Pagan picnics, this is definitely heaven!

"No," Cham clarifies to me, "we ARE going to Hea7en. Hea7en's Penthouse! Seriously, they gave her a whole fraggin' floor!"

I turn to Elora – maybe she wants to go home and get some of this prime Herculean elf before we drink too much more- but nope she's as excited as a dragon with a pile of gold! She smiles at me, young and genuine - and the night isn't over, I muse to myself. I look from her to Cham, and the starlet in our midst and yell, "Let's go to Hea7en!"

4.

The Orion Hotel had, indeed, given DJ Hea7en the top floor for two nights. They were fully aware that this meant that they had to keep the floor underneath empty, so as not to annoy high-end guests with the sounds of expensive heels, gymnastics, and partying. It's a stunning hotel- a classic, and luxurious for sure, although not quite on the level of the new corporate resorts, which boast more security, more sophisticated robots and the like. In the sixth world, if you want to spend more money, there is always a way.

Anyhow, it's good for the hotel – she is the "it" girl in music entertainment for obvious reasons. And Elora gushes to Cham that she's going to be an even bigger star after the upcoming performances at The Superbowl, The Magi Awards, and of course, Electric Demon Carnival. We duck a horde of photographers at the garage.

It's amazing what a modern hotel can do for guests like Arianna Colburn. Such as move walls around from an AR or Matrix control panel, and create more useful layouts. There were massive rooms for guests, and a few bedrooms – the Hea7en Master, surely something to behold, if we get to see it. I can only let myself fantasize on how I could find myself back there.

As soon as we enter the lights spin up, the AR paint on the walls picking up Hea7en's custom designs. We follow her through the three larger rooms, and watch her choose themes. In each, robot butlers attend to us, bringing more drinks. I switch to a bottle of water, feeling a bit lighter than air.

Someone offers Elora some Bliss and she refuses – never touches the stuff. "Really?" Cham asks, surprised. I don't know what she knows – what she saw in Elora's aura. "Hmph." Her eyes narrow, and Cham cocks her head. I love the way she does that. How can just tilting your head make you look so frustratingly beautiful? But she's acting strange, and I really don't need any surprises, or practical jokes tonight. I tear my eyes away and offer Elora some water, and she accepts, grateful. That smile makes me dizzy.

Cham dives into the crowd pulling one of her groupies from the VIP along behind her. A part of me wants to run after her, another part of me is relieved to be left alone with Elora.

I'm still pretending I'm funny when something pulls me out of my stupor. For a second, I think it's the music, but it's not. I'm all too familiar with the staccato pops of gunshots.

Explosive ammo, from the sound, probably a pistol – the Ares Predator V, I'd bet my left testicle. Suddenly, it's clear that everyone else hears it too, and the place erupts into chaos. "Herc!" Elora clutches to my side. Everyone is pushing out of the room, a bottleneck of pretty people at the double doors. "Let's get out of here!" She cries. "We have to find Cham." I tell her, and I pull us out of the crowd.

I call Cham on the commlink, and she picks up right away. "I can see them – it's a small crew, they're looking for someone, just telling all these people to leave. Said something about a target." Probably after Colburn, she guesses – to ransom DJ Hea7en. It's my best guess as well.

I assure Elora that we'll get her out of there. We retreat back towards the master bedroom and find Colburn and a few guests doing the same. As soon as they're inside the bedroom, I fix Elora with my best apologetic look. If a crumpled forehead could say, "I'm sorry about this," well then, that's what mine would be saying.

"Please stay here, and don't open the door unless it's Camille or I. Got it?" She nods. "I'll go see what this is about." To emphasize this, I pour my energy into my clenched fist and it is enveloped in flames. The wreathe of fire crackles as it feeds on the oxygen around my hand.

Elora looks surprised. Kind of like she's surprised that I can still do this without my gloves, my weapon focus. But then I remember, she's probably surprised I can do this at all, right now. No doubt, she can feel the heat from my fist. I turn up the crumpled forehead.

I set out toward the sound of random shots. I pop in an ear-bud in and connect to Cham. She opens a video feed of her eye contacts and I open it in an AR window in the corner of my eye. From her point of view, I can see that she crouches behind a potted plant, an invisibility spell most likely keeping her from being spotted. Cham is right behind three males- a dwarf, two humans - and an elf-woman, so I know she can't respond verbally to anything I say. They wear fine suits, surely armored - the woman, a dress I recognize as being a number made of ballistic cloth.

"Is this all of them?" I ask, and Cham nods, the view going up and down. "I count four?" Cham nods again. "Magical assets?" Nod. Great. "Adepts?" She nods and swings her head from side to side. "All of them?" She nods. "Any of them a wizard, too?" She nods and fixes her gaze on one of the humans. "Great." She nods, again, being a smartass, even in silence.

I'm about to start spit balling a game plan, when the elf-lady pulls out a collapsible, dynamic tension bow, the cylinder on her back clearly for arrows. She shouts out that she's not interested in anyone here but one person. That everyone can go except for that one person.

"Heroic!" She calls loudly so I can hear her through the wall. "Come with us, and let these good people get back to their party!"

"What the frag?" comes from two voices behind me – both Colburn and Elora hold kitchen utensils, a cleaver and large kitchen knife, respectively. I try to send them back to the room but they insist that they can help. "Ladies, ladies, self-defense classes aren't going to cut it. There's physical adepts and a mage in the other room. I'm a… combat adept, it's going to get messy. Go back to the room and let me protect you."

Elora smirks. "An Architectural Engineer… I'm so gullible." Crumpled forehead comes back into play.

As I push the mortified beauties back to the bedroom, I hear things developing through my earbuds. The human mage turns toward Cham's direction and calls out, "I know you're there. I can hear your thoughts. Might as well show yourself." Four weapons wave at the plant and couch. "She's behind the… plant." The flesh protuberance points right at her. Great.

"Just wait here" I half whisper to Elora and the brave, young DJ.

I walk into the room. "What the frag are you doing?" Cham whines, dropping her invisibility spell. "I could have taken them!"

"Maybe, but there's four of them, and they're practically standing on your toes. Can't burn them alive at this range, can you?" The dwarf chuckles, but the others look nervous at this. The elf-lady with the bow tries to interject, "Hello?"

"Look," I reason with Chameleoanna, "they just want me to come with them. Maybe they just want to talk? No one's trying to kill me. Not right now, anyway. You kill one, maybe two of them, then what? Then they're definitely trying to kill us."

Cham sticks her tongue out at me. "You think you know everything."

"Wow," The elf exclaims, "are you done? You must be Chameleoanna. I think you make a great couple, but unfortunately, we're kind of on a time-table so..."

"Couple?" I blink as Cham runs over me. "Couple? What makes you think I'm his-"

"Look, I've read your file – you live together, you run together, don't act like we're idiots just because you don't do PDA." Cham is speechless, and I don't know whether to laugh or get angry. If only it were true.

The door slams open. It's Elora. "Is- is that really… are you two…?" She walks to me. Everyone just watches her, wondering what she's going to do. As she nears, I see her eyeball the green-haired human's pistol, much like a pro would right before they disarmed their opponent. My mind screams, "She's going to get herself killed!" but outwardly, I remain calm. I have no idea what she is planning on doing.

"Elora" I say, sharply, trying to keep her from doing what I think she is about to do. "Elora, no it isn't true. Whatever Cham and I have, it's about survival, not about—" "Survival?" Cham turns on me. But she winks, letting me know she's up to something. Our banter snaps Elora out of whatever she was planning, and puts the focus on me. I see something in her eyes - confusion, sadness.

"SURVIVAL?!" Cham continues with her outburst, and I cringe, not acting as I wonder what the frag she's gonna do. In my peripheral, I see electricity dancing on her fingertips.

The human, the spellslinger who was able to find Cham sees her charging up for a spell as well, and he shouts, waving his arm over his comrades, likely throwing out some spell defense. Lightning arcs from Cham's fingertips right into him, crackling and filling the air with the smell of ozone - reminding me in some way of Hea7en's performance earlier - only a lot more violent. Good ol' Cham, even when you're a mage, or a mystic adept like her, you know the rule - "geek the mage first.". The mage slams back into the wall behind himself, crashing into some decorative furniture, a little crispy around the edges. Crashing to the floor, I can see he is dazed, but intact.

The archer draws down on Cham, but as soon as the lightning bolt has left her fingers, she jumps for the cover of the couch. The archer answers electricity in kind as her bow-string swooshes, and static shafts crackle through the room, as electricity is gathered by the friction of the arrow traveling through the air, charging the stick 'n shock tips. Non-lethal at least, nice to know.

The green-haired man with the green cat's eyes, strangely reminiscent to Elora's, lunges for me, eager to fight. Claws extend from his fingertips and his predatory grin reveals sharp canines. And then he is all surprise as he trips over Elora's extended foot. I'm too surprised myself to do much but offer a kick at the green dude on the floor, when the dwarf comes hurtling at me.

The stocky halfer comes at me wild-eyed - like some kind of adrenaline junky. He pulls his knees up so he doesn't catch my fist in his stomach. I grab him as we fall to the ground – BRZZT! Electricity pulses through my hands, I see spots. Bastard has an electrified suit. Behind him, I see the green-haired, beast-man pop to his feet, and Elora block his path, facing him down.

Gods she's brave, but that guy is more beast than man, he'll cut her down. I can see fangs filling his mouth as he snarls. The dwarf has his knees on my arms, and follows my worried look to the brave little human woman standing in front of certain death. The dwarf chatters – "I can smell her all over you. I wouldn't want my night to be interrupted either, but it couldn't be helped. You got a bounty on your head, and I'm gonna collect."

Green hair drops his claws to his side and sizes Elora up and down with the certainty of a predator looking at prey.

She shrinks and withers under his dead stare, but then her shoulders straighten and she adopts a fighting pose. A very familiar pose at that – she knows Jeet Kune Do? I almost want to see this, but I really don't. A voice inside me reminds me that a lot of people take the martial art, but most aren't trained to kill – or fight for their lives. The spots start to clear, as I hear the dwarf say, "You wanna tell her to go home? Beastly doesn't play with his food."

Seeing her fighting stance, Beastly, wow, what's in a name? – Beastly calls fire into his hands, just as I did earlier. It's a common power for melee adepts, and it usually means one thing – the guy's good, a killer. Elora adjusts her stance, ready. Is she crazy?

"Elora, don't—" And then there's chaos. The mage is back on his feet, chanting something – trying to take over my mind, turning it to mush. I see Cham toss a lightning bolt at him – which misses but he drops the spell. The elf holds her bow to the side, screaming something I can't hear over the sound of autofire.

Autofire? We all look up, frozen. And I can finally hear what the elf is screaming – she's yelling for us to stop! Stop fighting, there is another threat. Yeah, no drek. I sit up fast and push the chatty dwarf onto the carpet. He rolls to his feet, ready, but cocks an ear to his leader. Beastly drops the flames, while their mage takes a few steps away from us, facing the door across the large room – the door to the exit, and the sound of automatic weapon fire.

"Who is it?" The elf asks the mage. "Yeah, who's in my flat now?" Demands DJ Hea7en, and I just realize that she's come into the room. A couple more of her groupies peer from the open door behind her.

The mage speaks, "Morrigan, are the Ancients supposed to be a part of this run?" The guy must have some nifty detection spells.

The archer sputters - "The Ancients? That street trash? Sub, how many." Sub, the human magi who still smells like burnt hair, turns to us and motions to go back the other way. "About 40 of them and coming this way." he says.

"What else?" asks the archer, Morrigan, I remember the guy called her. He looks at me – why does he look at me? "They have a target."

Aw don't tell me – "Heroic. They're after our prize."

5.

We retreat back to the next massive room, which suddenly seems quite bare without the AR display fired up. Just beyond lies the Master bedroom. DJ Hea7en fixes me with a look. "So, they're here for you? And these clowns are here for you?" The dwarf protests, "Hey!"

With a sigh, I take Elora by the arm and lead her to the frightened gaggle of young women grouped behind Hea7en. These poor beauties who only thought they were going to have the party of their lives tonight. Their flimsy dresses that earlier caught the eye, now appear as a weakness – no armor to guard their tan and glittered skin from the thugs closing in on our position. I glance at Cham, concerned about her, too, her glittering gossamer black dress floating around her – gods, but she looked fierce, not fragile, like these women.

I focus myself back to the issue at hand and address the group. "I'm sorry that my presence here has ruined your night. Please return to the Master bedroom, lock the door, and hide in the bathroom. Stay low, and don't open the door for anyone but us." I look at the elf, Morrigan, the leader of the runners, as I speak. "Myself and these party-crashers will protect you from the gangers. No one is going home to a rape-camp tonight."

Morrigan seems to understand what I'm asking of her. She fixes me with shrewd eyes, questioning - and I nod, yes, I know the price. "I will agree to go with them peacefully, afterwards, for their promise to help me protect you all."

Morrigan looks to her group, they nod. Hea7en, satisfied with this, herds the ladies into the back. She's so calm, I muse, not scared like her groupies. Mother hen syndrome, I guess. She's young, but some people exist to protect others, and that's just how they are. How we are. I'd be stupid to say that I was any different.

My eyes find Elora, stubborn, expressly not going with the other ladies. "Elora." I say, with a sympathetic tone that clearly begs her to go with the others. She puts up her hands to protest but Cham backs me up, "Elora, you don't want to be out here." "I can fight-" but I cut her off "This isn't your martial arts class at the gym, these guys have guns, and they'll kill everyone here but me..." I look at her with care, and cup her face with my hand to look into her exotic, azure eyes "...or worse. Look, I'm sorry that I lied to you, I couldn't tell you… everything… yet. But I was going to. Please, just stay safe, so I don't have to worry about you. I will find you after I clear up-" I cock my head toward the runners, "-whatever this is."

She kisses me, and I can feel her hot tears on my cheek. What a woman. It really is quite romantic. I hear several of the girls by DJ Hea7en sigh as they watch our little drama.

Hea7en hisses - "Elora, let's go." and she breaks away. She keeps looking back at me as Hea7en pulls her into the Master. The locks click.

"Well isn't this heroic." Cham says, dryly. Something inside of me bends, and snaps, with frustration. "Why are you always pointing that out? Seriously." Her teasing voice holds an edge to it. An edge of truth. "Because, dumb-dumb, people are usually declared heroes when they're dead, get it? Heroes are fools, and heroes get killed."

"And you don't want me to die, is that it?" Does she really care about me that much? Her smirk softens, and her eyes twinkle. "Is it a crime to worry about you? After you've saved me so many times?" I'm … speechless. Cham has never been so… vulnerable before.

She leans in, conspiratorially, and whispers, "Once we frag this gang, we can figure out who sent Morrigan and company." And with that, she prances away, into the other room, her dress rippling as though it were under water. The air behind her smells like jasmine flowers and lemons – like our apartment.

My focus wanders. I really don't know what to tell Elora, after this. I could be targeted by an angry corporation, or a few of them, or … my past, which was something Cham knew a little about.

Frag, but how would they have found me? Was it Shiawese? Ares? I suddenly have the urge to grab Elora, break a window and have Cham levitate us out of here. There were too many threats and too many unknowns. My muscles bunch – but then relax. A familiar feeling of focus washes over me- releasing the tension and thoughts of yesterday and tomorrow. There is only right now - right here. A wandering mind, could, no, would, get me killed.

My eyes scan from Chameleoanna to the others, setting up to defend. Morrigan and Beastly lay a huge table that once held appetizers onto its side for cover. Cham glides by them and leaps behind the mini-bar.

The dwarf, with a street handle almost as ridiculous as mine, Boomsky, tells me to stay back from the other end of the hall. Apparently, the tattoo on his neck is a Qi focus that gives him the Fire Grenade spell.

I blink - "Fire Grenades? Really?" He shrugs, "You heard our psychic – there's 40 of dem! This ain't gonna do it!" Boomsky motions to his pistol. He's right, but I don't have to like it. That much fire flying around means it gets dangerous for everyone.

So, the plan is that Boomsky, Morrigan and Cham pound the entrance with arrows and spells. Beastly, and their psychic mage, Sub, were to frag any that got through.

"Don't hold back." I hear Morrigan instruct her people. "They may be gang trash, but they're elven gang trash. This won't be entirely easy." She nods to me. "Stay back, let us do the heavy lifting. We are instructed to bring you back whole and unharmed."

I nod, whatever. I can already hear Cham laughing at Morrigan's request – as if I'd stay back and just watch. Yeah, yeah, I'm fraggin' Heroic, I get it.

Sub's voice whispers in my mind, "about ten of them approaching the door." And we hunker down. Psychic indeed. Before anyone can protest, I sprint across the room and dive behind the bar next to Cham. No way am I hanging back. Cham blinks those pretty lashes as I roll to a crouch next to her. She doesn't even have to say it.

Footsteps tromp to the door, voices, then it is kicked open. A few submachine guns rip off bursts and stop, as the men step into a room void of any targets. I gain new respect for Morrigan and her crew, their experience in combat plain as they wait for the right time to strike.

A rugged elf steps from the middle of the intruders – he has dreads, a pair of gold-plated fangs, and a Browning Ultra Power clenched in his fist. The others clearly defer to him. He sneers. "Next room!"

His spray-painted, armor-plated jacket would have probably protected him from Morrigan's arrow had it not been aimed at his head. As it was, not only was her aim true, she had switched from non-lethal arrows, to explosive tips – which meant that the brains of the group literally had his brains splattered all over his group.

A few more arrows find their mark, a lightning bolt from Sub sears into one of the elves. Beastly takes one with his pistol, Cham chars another with lightning, and in seconds, they're just a pile of seared blood and guts. A light haze of smoke hangs in the air. I can smell burnt hair and flesh through senses sharp with adrenaline.

Sub yells, "more coming to the door from the left – Boomsky, you're up!" An orb of fire, trapped inside of a glowing sphere, arcs from the dwarf. It flies across the room, and bounces around the doorway, around the retaining wall… and BOOMF! The wall distorts towards us from the explosion on the other side - plaster and AR-paint crackling from the stress.

The hazard alarm blares, and smoke crawls in from the other room, pooling on the ceiling. We hear curses beyond. Morrigan asks Sub for a sit-rep and he informs us that the rest of the thugs are rallying for another charge.

The lights go out and then start blinking - emergency lights, on and off and on again. Cham turns to me, "Don't even think—" She lets out a little cry when she finds me already vaulting over the bar. Too late. This is my wheelhouse. Chaos, blood, flashing emergency lights- I feel like I was born in a situation like this. Come to think of it – I was.

When I first snapped out of it at the facility, the lights flashing, security, doctors and … others like me, being ushered into secure rooms, I didn't know where I was. But I knew what to do. At times like this, it's so simple.

Morrigan shouts "Protect the asset" and I remember, hey, that's me. Ahead I see fire, and body parts – Boomsky's work. Through the smoke I can just make out a few black jackets with the Ancient's insignia scrawled on with glow in the dark paint.

I'm an elf, they're elves - sure the slow strobe plays havoc on our eyes, but not as bad if we were human. So it's no surprise that they can see me as I blow into the room. But seein' me isn't even half the battle.

The emergency lights flash. I run between the first two guys just as they're raising their SMG's. I jab my bladed fingers into their guts, their jackets open like an invitation.

Flash. I release the magic in my hands so that I don't cut them in half, and grab their spines. I push them into their men and pivot.

Flash. I use the two unlucky street-meats as meat-shields as their buddies try to shoot me.

Flash. I throw the bodies into the bullet-party and bolt left, pressing into a big chummer.

Flash. I grab his rifle and pull him in front of a pistol. A bang, a look of regret before the darkness swallows us.

Flash. Beastly is a green smudge following after me, until his hands catch fire.

Flash. An Ancient shoots three of his own guys before they are forced to cack their friend – the psychic's work.

Flash. The same one who popped his guy, takes down four more before he gets his. Damn that guy's useful.

BOOF! A denim wrapped boot lands by me, a leg blasted off as Boomsky makes his entrance.

Flash. An exploding arrow bursts a knee, another shaft pops a skull like a melon.

I wish I had my gloves, but I push the thought away. They don't actually do much for me – I don't hit any harder, or push a hotter flame through them, but they do add a little skill. They are magic, after all. But if I can't rely on my own skills, then I might as well eat a bullet.

I see a group of ancients protecting a chick with a Mohawk conjuring something that looks like a black spirit out of a tear in reality. What the frag?

"Mage! Spirit!" I barely have time to shout before I see two orbs of fire crash into the circle and explode. I can hear Boomsky's laugh, but I'm dodging a short machete so who has time to throw cred? Cheeky bastard already knows he's good. Something knocks into me and Mr. Machete, something cold and dark.

Jeet Kune Do is not just a style of fighting, but a way of thinking. The intercepting fist, the "art of fighting without fighting" – it's a philosophy more than anything. As my foe and his big knife fall to the ground with me, I take advantage of the moment. I use my momentum and lever a hammer-strike as we land. My fist slams his skull against the ground and it cracks like a walnut. Well, if walnuts had gray matter inside of them.

A clear, achingly pretty voice I know all-too-well sings, "Mea femina!" And golden sparks shower the room. Cham's Guardian spirit. Who else's spirit is going to arrive shouting "My lady" in Latin?

Flash. I see a shirtless, square-jawed glowing man with a sparkling sword cleave something dark out of the air, a piece of shadow. The darkness screams, then rakes its claws across the spirit's chest.

I stand but I can already feel that I've stepped in front of a rifle, combat sense on high alert. I dodge, immediately, but then there's hot, searing pain. It isn't the first time I've been shot, but it never gets better, that's for sure. An explosion throws me back the other way, and tosses me like a rag doll.

Silence. Blessed silence. And then the world comes back, like a lightbulb made of pain. I feel cold air on my face. It actually feels kind of nice, despite the ringing sound in my ears. I miss the silence already.

The golden spirit throws debris off of me as a beautiful woman I recognize wipes the dust from my eyes. "Still with me, you dumb dandelion eater?" My eyes focus on Chameleoana. "You're a dandelion eater… too." I mutter.

She grins down at me – and for the first time, I see some fear behind her smirk. I try to act like I'm fine. "I could use a dandelion burger about now, with cheese" I tell her. She chuckles and I grit my teeth as she puts the Heal spell on me. It's not exactly a painful spell, but it can be a bit uncomfortable when she rushes it.

As the world gets a little more in focus, a little brighter, I see why she's in such a hurry. The wind I feel on my face comes through a gaping hole in the wall. Or maybe there's no wind at all, but a breeze from those massive, flapping wings. Wings?

6.

Whoever heard of a drake bounty hunter? Yet here the thing is, belching a jet of fire into the room before landing on massive claws, dead center on the hotel carpet. Fraggin' thing looks like a scaley dragon-man, standing upright on hind, or bottom, legs – no larger than a minotaur, but at the moment I can't help but draw comparisons to some kind of animal barn. Huge. It's fraggin' huge!

I finally realize where I am, now that the darkness has moved back from the corners of my eyes, thanks to Cham. I've been dragged behind a bathroom wall. Morrigan looks down on me. "Fire drake. God's what did you do for this bounty, boy?!"

Boomsky lobs some fire grenades at it, and we bolt out of the bathroom and make a bee-line to the next room, not sticking around to see whether it actually hurts the beast, or just tickles it. It roars and heat nearly melts the suit off my back. I dive and roll into the next room.

For some reason, it doesn't follow. The building vibrates as it barrels into another wall – I think. The mages are the only ones who really have a chance now – and the spirits. Sub's probably attacking its mind, trying to take control while Chams confuse it with illusions. Drakes usually have magical armor in addition to the armored hide, so Gods know what will work.

The double doors to DJ Hea7en's bedroom appear in front of me. Beautiful women, sitting and standing, take a collective breath as Morrigan, Cham and I burst into the room. Elora rushes to me with concern. I realize what she probably sees – a crispy, ugly elf covered in his own blood. "I'm fine," I tell her, more embarrassed than hurt - I probably look like charred hellhound food.

The girls have got one of the Ancients tied to a chair only slightly worse for wear. Who pulled this off? Morrigan's face looks off-kilter. She sees me looking and touches her cheeks. With a curse, she rips something off of her face and throws it to the ground. I follow it and it clicks – a synthmask. A programmed, realistic face molded from synthskin to hide her true identity. Same kind Cham uses.

She's still an elf, but with decidedly different features. Not necessarily more pretty or less, just different. But it's not important right now. I slap the restrained, acne-scarred ganger awake and lay into the questions. He doesn't want to play, but then I let him know that everyone else is dead. I'm half lying – I'm sure a couple of his pals will survive if they get medical treatment. The building shakes, the drake roars. Our captive gets the picture.

He spills what he knows. They were hired by some Johnson. He describes a rich playboy, extremely good looking, very persuasive. I glance at Elora – sounds like her ex. Then the elf starts in on Morrigan – doesn't he know her from somewhere? His eyes light up with recognition – seconds before the arrow is planted in his eye. The ladies regard Morrigan with something just shy of horror. She ignores them. Cold. It's why I rarely date other runners.

Sub sends us a thought-burst – they're losing control of the drake, and a High Threat Response Team is storming the floor. There's really only one way to go, but I have no idea how we're going to throw all these people out the window and get them to ground level without getting roasted by a fraggin', flying drake on the way.

Cham puts me to work tearing out the large hot-tub fixture in Colburn's bathroom. The room is a marvel of marble and glass, almost as large as the huge bedroom itself. The drake burls through the bedroom walls in a spray of plaster dust just as we levitate out the window. I sigh, ruefully. I was hoping I'd end up in DJ Hea7en's hot tub full of babes – I was just thinking there'd be some water, we wouldn't be fully dressed, or floating a hundred stories in the air. Or about to get burned alive.

Elora gasps, and I look back as I hear the drake roar, half-expecting my face to be charred off. But it's not that kind of roar. It's a roar of pain as the HTR team lays into the thing. It may be magically armored, but not so much that it can't feel the technological and magical wallop coming its way. Heavy machine gun rounds streak my vision along with bolts of energy before tearing into the lizard.

A form streaks out of the gaping hole and starts falling down towards us. It's Sub! I point and before I can shout Cham nods and snags him with another levitation spell. She looks pale with the effort of holding two spells, but brings him over to the flying hot tub so she can drop the second spell. I yank him aboard. "Nice exit" I chuckle.

Sub just points back the way he came and I look just in time to witness more insanity. Flames splash out of the hole in the building. Then, the animalistic Beastly shoots out the bedroom window, a small red-bearded dwarf over his shoulder. The lizard - belching fire - steps onto the ledge behind them. The dwarf, Boomsky, lobs one of those Fire Grenades back at it – but it's no ordinary grenade. This time, it's the size of a beach ball!

The explosion rattles my chest, even in our rapid descent. DJ Hea7en's apartments collapse into the floor below. The glass windows of the hotel shatter from several floors.

While Beastly and Boomsky fall, the green-haired feral man throws the limp form of the dwarf in front of him. Just what the hell is he doing?

Their momentum carries them into the slightly shorter building across the street. Using Boomsky as a spear, the two crash through the plate glass of the towered apartments and into someone's living room. The women around me seemed to have stopped breathing. "Relax" says Morrigan. "Boomsky is more drained from the spell than that impact. Most of his magic is focused into Mystic Armor, he can take it."

I shrug, if she says so. I guess there comes a time when you need to use your friend as a battering ram. The ground comes closer and Cham arcs us to the other side of the street. Pretty smart. Glass and debris rains onto the sidewalk. A few cars have already been wrecked from the falling pieces, and everyone on the street is running.

I look at the party girls – a few of them have passed out, one of them pukes over the side of the tub while her girlfriend holds her hair. My eyes meet Arianna Colburn's and she just shakes her head as we settle to the ground. Cham wobbles as she jumps to the street. I leap to her side, offering a steady hand. I glance back as Sub helps Elora out. I feel a twang in my chest that could almost be called jealousy. Elora looks at Cham's hand in mine, and I see what I feel written on her face.

Morrigan and Sub usher the women to the awnings of the far buildings, out of the way. I come out of my daze and shout that we need transportation.

"I'll get it." Says Colburn, a DJ with a plan. She sprints into the night, towards the High Threat Response Team's armored troop van. "Wait!" I cry after her as I set an exhausted Cham onto the steps of the opposite building underneath a solid awning.

I sprint after Colburn who disappears into a swirling dust-cloud created from debris. I won't get there in time - they never leave these armored transports unguarded. Colburn is going to get wasted.

A gust of wind blows the dust away and my heart sinks at what I see. The HTR driver, suited up in solid, head-to-toe, light mil-spec armor, stands next to the cockpit. He holds an arm up to the lithe DJ speeding his way. She's fast, I note.

The HTR driver targets her with a machine pistol as Hea7en doesn't heed his calls to stop. She dances to the side as he lets off a burst. I automatically duck low but I can't take my eyes off of her. Her magnetic form and agility present on the stage seems second to this moment – as if this is what she is truly meant for. Her dodge turns into a spin – she throws an arm out to bat his pistol aside and comes around to drive her other arm, no a blade, through the back of his neck. Where did she get a blade?

She pulls it free and I see that her arm IS the blade, and in fact, all of her skin is hard and angular, like plate armor. Fancy nano-tech, not exactly the cyber you'd expect in a DJ's tool kit. She rips open the driver side door and points her right palm inside – no, don't tell me she has a cybergun in her arm!

Yep – the light rattle of suppressed submachine gun fire says it all. Then she's inside the armored vehicle. The passenger door opens and a bloody piece of meat wrapped in armor spills out. I follow behind her and pile into the driver's seat as she slams her door shut.

I gape at her, watching her plated exterior melt into normal skin again, into a face I don't quite recognize anymore. Her hair settles to a rich black color. Even her breasts seem smaller, more petite - yes, it's something I notice, kill me for being observant. She shakes her head and points back towards our group. Her voice is different. "My eyes are up here, Hero. We'll talk later – just go!" "Heroic," I mutter, under the sound of the massive vehicle grumbling to life as I thumb the "on" button.

In moments I pull us to a stop in front of the others huddled under the awning. Perfectly on time, Beastly strolls out of the building, a red pitbull by his side. Must have taken the elevator, I muse, but where's Boomsky? Elora, Cham and the others rush into the transport, as does the other team. And the pitbull, whom Morrigan tells me is Boomsky in his natural form.

A shapechanger. And that isn't the only surprise. All of the women we flew down from Hea7en's doss board with Sub. Laps become seats out of necessity. Cham confides in me that it was her idea – we should wipe their memories before dropping them somewhere safe. Discretely for my benefit, Cham glances meaningfully at Elora, meaning that we should make her forget everything as well.

I don't know how to feel about that. Mostly, it just feels bad. It's probably for the best, but the way Elora looks at me, even after I've been honest about being a runner, a criminal - it makes me wish we didn't have to do it. I look the entourage of tattered beauties over and they stare back calmly, docile. Sub gives me a knowing wink and I shiver - mind control gives me the creeps.

I put the stolen vehicle into gear and start driving, not even sure where I'm going.

7.

Cham wipes the last hour from each girls mind as we drop them at the entrance to an underground mono station. I pull Elora aside before Cham gets to her and she melts into my arms. My partner in crime can see I'm just not ready to let Elora go just yet. I can tell she's disappointed but too exhausted to argue.

We give the pretty young women suddenly wondering where they are and how they got there a story that their limo crashing on the way from the party. From the evidence of their dirty, slightly torn clothes, it seems to explain a lot. Dazed and confused, they buy it.

Morrigan asks me to honor my word and go with them, but Cham points out that their group is obviously compromised. Someone else has wind of their bounty, and judging by the quality of muscle, from ragtag Ancients to a powerful drake, most likely several someone's. Morrigan steams but relents – suggesting the obvious, that we go to ground and figure out what to do. She's not giving up, and I can understand why - if her mission is that compromised, she's a target, too, by any of these parties looking for me. But obviously we weren't going to Cham and I's place and we have no safehouse set-up - this was our vacation, after all.

After trading the armored transport to a chop-shop for a van, surprisingly, we end up at Elora's doss. It's out of the way and the last place anyone would expect. What a woman.

It's a nice house in Pay-all-up. Maybe a little nicer than what I expect. Blue with white trim, like her eyes. The SmartHome Classic Craftsman by Sears, is surrounded by high walls, boasting a SecureTech system. She lives here by herself?

We all agree to freshen up and eat before we speak. Cham finds a couch and passes out, power-napping to recover from casting so many high-powered spells. Morrigan helps Elora raid the kitchen and bring food and drink into the comfortable living room.

I splash water on my face, transforming from a blackened nightmare back into myself again, for what that's worth. The suit isn't too rough, either, due to its armored nature. A little melted here and there. But all I can see in the mirror is an imaginary target on my head. Who the hell is after me?

I call Geist, but the fixer doesn't pick up, which is odd. A little later, I find Cham eating in the living room, after her nap, almost back to her usual self. Everyone looks at me, stealing glances. I know what they're thinking. What the hell have I done?

Arianna calls us to order, "All right, my agent has left forty messages. Before I check in, does anyone want to explain why my bedroom got wrecked by a fragging gang, a drake, and a Knight Errant HTR squad?"

"First, why don't you tell us who you really are?" Beastly growls back. She snaps, "Retired, that's who I am. I used to… do similar work as you all, but I'm a musician now."

Boomsky, back in dwarven form, thankfully wrapped in a blanket, chuckles. Beastly sneers, translating his friends laugh. "Once a killer, always a killer." Boomsky wipes his eyes and adds, "We can smell it on you."

Morrigan settles them with a wave of her arm and gently asks that Arianna reveal her old handle, so that they can trust her. She's quite the diplomat. The runner-turned-DJ relents.

"Mantis." The name drops like a rock, followed by silence. I half expect Boomsky to laugh, but he just sniffs the air and stares. Beastly grunts. "No way-" Falls out of my mouth. Cham looks to me, clueless (for once) "Who's Mantis?"

I stare at DJ Hea7en as I explain. "An elite assassin, Assassin's Guild. But she's … too young, I-" Colburn, Mantis, cuts in. "And how old am I supposed to be?"

I try to work it out. "I mean, she, you, supposedly have killed hundreds of people. To get those numbers, you would had to have started …." "Young." She finishes for me.

I can see it in her eyes, she's telling the truth. I've seen eyes like this – that have seen years of death, and delivered it each time with no hesitation. I see them in the mirror every day. "How-?" She cuts me off. "I got out, that's all you need to know. What about you, Heroic, who's after you? How did you get out?"

And just like that it's back to me. Well, at least we know we can trust her - if Mantis were trying to kill me- I'd already be dead. I work on an answer - but Cham shakes her head, which I know her well enough to mean I shouldn't take the bait. She puts it back on the team. "Why don't you bozos tell me who hired you to take us and why."

"Not the both of you, just him." Morrigan nods at me. "Who?" I demand.

"You know how it is," She says, "we met a Johnson, our fixer vouched for him. Supposedly, he wants to talk to you…"

"But…" Cham prompts her, and she goes on. "But.. that doesn't seem likely. If it were that simple, then who would else would be after you? We don't usually see coincidences like this in the business. Of course I called our fixer, but he has not answered nor returned our messages – which is also highly suspicious."

"Our fixer is MIA as well," I admit. "Look," I level with them, "I don't think I should be going with anyone until we can figure this all out. You can't take me to a safe drop point to meet your Johnson, and I don't know if I want to meet him either. You can't assure me of his identity or intentions, so why would I, anyway?"

Boomsky barks, "You promised!" "You tried to kidnap me!" I stand, pissed and ready, hands on fire. "How can I trust you at all?" My gaze takes in the group and I see Elora, she looks punched in the gut. Her eyes water. The poor thing must be worried about me. Cham may be right – perhaps this is all too much for her.

Morrigan sighs and nods, reluctantly. "You're right, everything about this stinks." Cham gives me the eyeball and I drop the heat from my fists. Morrigan continues, "We weren't even trying to fight you, we wanted to talk it out, get you to come for a conversation, but we weren't supposed to take "no" for an answer, either. But now… we've missed the meet, no one is answering or calling back. I'm not sure exactly what we should do at this point."

Beastly answers, "We hold him 'til we figure it out. I don't jump off hundred story buildings without pay." "Yeah!" Boomsky chimes in. Sub looks at me, dubious, aloof. Probably realizing that I won't go peacefully, and just waiting for the muscle to figure it out. Morrigan sighs.

Mantis clears her throat, "I guess I can help with that." She makes a generous offer – 10,000 nuyen to each one of us if we agree to keep her identity a secret., no negotiations. It's that or she kills us, maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe some other day when we least expect it. No one laughs.

Sub shrugs, while Boomsky and Beastly vote enthusiastically for the cash. Morrigan sighs, "Okay. This scans. Considering the size of this cluster-frag, we're just grateful to get paid at all. With the fact that our fixer is unaccounted for, I think it's the best we'll do." She looks me dead in the eye. "Good luck."

"Lay low for awhile." I tell them. Boomsky snorts, "Wow omae, you think?" They stand to leave and I go to Elora. Trembling, relieved, worried, she squeezes me tightly. I inhale the scent of her.

Mantis pays the bounty hunters, transferring cred onto their untraceable, certified cred-sticks - taking a picture of each one of them with her comm, in turn. As the team makes their way out, Cham asks Morrigan to stay for a moment. The archer waves the others on with instructions to separate and go to their safe houses.

The SecureTech system locks the door, cycling the outer gate open and closed behind the runners. Morrigan shakes her head at the sight of Elora in my arms. "What is it about this guy?" Mantis rolls her eyes. Cham chuckles, "Oh he's a pain in the hoop alright." I groan. Cham goes on, "But let's talk about you."

This seems interesting. Elora puts a hand on my chest and turns to listen. Morrigan blanches, "You know." Cham grins, "I do. You wore a Versacci dress to Miami Fashion Week two years ago that I never got over."

"That feels like a lifetime ago." Morrigan sighs. Cham nods at Morrigan's bow, "It looks like it was."

"I'm sorry, what's going on? Who is she?" I ask. Cham throws her hands up, exasperated with me. "You're the worst elf on the planet. Don't you have any culture? Or do you just hit things?" That was pretty mean. "I don't just hit things." I say, hoping someone will agree. Elora kisses my cheek. "No, you do not."

I smirk back at Cham, who points at Morrigan. "That's Michaela O'Connor, President O'Connor's granddaughter, the Princess of Connaught. You know, as in her mom is on the Council of Stewards of Tir na nOg? She's famous, drek-head!"

DJ Hea7en, or rather fraggin' Mantis, smacks her head, "I thought she looked familiar, but I just assumed it was from a runners-bar." Even Elora was in on it, "Wait, you mean the Tuatha De' Danaan Princess that killed the Prince, oh what was his name, O'Toole, and then disappeared?"

Awkward silence. Morrigan sighs. "Well, now that you know who I am, I suppose I'm supposed to pay you each 10,000 nuyen to keep my confidence?"

Cham laughs, "No! And no to you too, Arianna, we're not taking your money, either. We came to your place as guests and brought you all this trouble. Your money's no good here. No, and you, Michaela, are going to earn our silence with… friendship."

"Friendship?" The Princess of Connaught's eyes narrow to slits. Cham goes on. "If Heroic goes missing, your mother and whoever else in the Tir nation looking for you – like an O'Toole – will find out exactly where you are."

Morrigan grimaces. "Your friendship sounds like blackmail. That's not fair! My team is off the run. I'll have to protect him from other threats?"

"I can't watch him all the time." Cham says. "And we're going to have to wipe this one," She thumbs towards Elora, "And find somewhere else to go so she won't get caught in the crossfire."

"Wipe me?" Elora sputters. "Like hell." I say.

"See what I mean?" Cham is all smiles. "Dumb as rocks. Foolhardy..." Michaela nods and chimes in on the last word, their voices as one, "Heroic."

8.

By the time it's noon, Mantis has gone home. It's creepy watching her face change back into Arianna Colburn. It only takes a moment for the servos in her face to move her cheek bones around, her hair and skin to change tone, even her eyes. She's a quintessential killer - or she was, at least. Her advanced cyber works with the DJ Hea7en gig, I muse, as I watch her athletic, aesthetic form stroll down the driveway. She probably only flies private, which would be the only way she can fly. All that intense cyber would set off both Magnetic Anomaly Detectors and cyber-scanners any day of the week in every airport in the world. And half of it needs to be licensed – starting with that submachine gun in her arm.

The day flies by with no answers. We watch on the trid as Arianna's agent weaves a story about an attempted kidnapping, and the whole world takes the bait. I hit up a few contacts from the sprawl but most don't even pick up their commlinks. What I hear from the few that answer sets me back on edge. Various persons have come through the neighborhood looking for me, from law enforcement to grizzled runners.

I call up this brawler-adept I spar with once a week. Met him through Geist, who happened to be his Fixer, too. Truth is, I don't know his real name, and he doesn't know mine, being that we're in the same profession. I call him Kevin, he calls me Mike. It was better than calling him "that Shotokon Karate kid" and me- "The Jeet Kune Dork." He's an elf, with a similar set of adept powers. I train against other styles as I'm more likely to fight someone out in the sprawl with an unfamiliar tool-kit for inflicting pain, rather than the one I got.

"What did you do?" I can practically hear him pace around his apartment. "Geist is dead. A fraggin' drake took out Jackpoint and that SoyBurger spot next door! They only found half of him, once they put out the fire." I assume it's the upper half, or how would they recognize him, right? Jokes aside, I'm actually thrashed to hear about Geist. He comes off like a slippery fish, but the breeder always paid up front, and never threw me under the bus.

And clearly he hadn't this time as well – or else he'd most likely still be alive. Most likely. Well, either way, it's a moot point: a point that handicaps us on the information side.

Without Geist's network, out here in the fancy boonies, we're cut off from the various hackers and information brokers that might be able to give us a clue about who's after me. Morrigan – we won't use her real name - still can't get through to the three fixers she works with regularly. It's a tell-tale sign – and I can't help but wonder how many of the three have recently been encouraged to stop breathing.

Morrigan accepts that she'll be with us a few days, and volunteers to sleep outside after it gets dark. Apparently, she grew up balancing her lessons in politics and diplomacy against training with the Ghosts. No wonder she's so fraggin' amazing with that bow – must be nice to be elite, trained by the Tyr's special forces unit that protects royals like her. Her archery is some of the best I've seen.

Cham assures the silver-bow it isn't necessary to go to the effort as she plans to deploy a spirit to keep watch around the perimeter, but Morrigan insists it's no trouble. As soon as the sunset dips behind the buildings of the sprawl, she silently scales the walls to take a rooftop perch, creating a hammock with her cloak. She's a real forest-elf, she doesn't even have to use climbing claws, magically gripping the mixed-stone material with just her hands and feet. It even works through the material of her boots. If she's on par with her trainers, then she can jump off the roof and land on her feet without even a sprain.

I can't say I feel bad for her. It isn't that cold at night, this time of year, and she certainly deserves an evening in the doghouse after literally crashing the party last night.

This leaves me alone with Chameleoana and Elora, and some excess of awkwardness. The fact that Cham hasn't set one social, or physical trap - or even teased me for over half a day - has me doubly on edge. Pranks and mischief come natural to her – it's how she blows off steam, and generally entertains herself. The day had passed without even a misplaced item, funny tasting drink, or classic gear-switch-a-roo. This is bad.

Elora is nervous. She can tell I'm on edge, too, which makes it worse, I'm sure. At times, I can't hardly take my eyes off her. When she walks into the room, everything feels lighter, like the drek on our shoulders isn't that heavy when we're together. But then I get that guilty feeling, and pull my eyes away. What right do I have to come into her life and tear it apart like this? What can she hope to get from being with a guy like me?

We move around all the time, Cham and I, always watching our backs. We change identities like Urban Brawl stars go through relationships. The pros in our biz only get to the legendary heights of skills and glory if they live that long. Already, half the people I had ever met in this line of work had either had holes punched through their body, fried their gray matter in the matrix, or met the ire of a mage.

Frag, a few had been caught by corp-security goons, and tortured to death. It's hard to say if the corps ever came after runner families, because runners didn't have families. And there was a good reason for that.

I find Elora in her bedroom watching Bug Hunter on a data-flip. She lies on her stomach, surrounded by pillows. Her perfect body ensconced in a fluffy, white paradise.

I've resolved to tell her that we'll be leaving her tomorrow, and she won't hear from me again, but the show distracts me. I mean, she's such a proper lady, but then there's that Jeet Kune Do stance I meant to ask her about, and now this testosterone-fueled punch-fest of a show. Could we have any more in common?

I stall, watching the star, Damage, pulp true-form bug-spirits, manifested as two, to four-meter bugs, with his bare hands - always quite the thrill. Of course, I secretly harbor a dream that I'll come on the show and decimate some bugs myself. I'm a combat-prototype elf experiment set loose on the world, what else do you expect of me?

I watch her catch the highlights of the Bug-beat-down – she's really into it. She pauses the screen and zooms in a few times, fascinated with the moment Damage's fists sink into the exoskeleton of a gigantic wolf-spider. A smile curls my lips – of course this angel would be a combat-junky as well. Or some civilian version of that; a spectator-combat-junky.

With Cham, I'd never had to face up to the fact that I loved her: I fell for her the moment we met. But I had the distinct impression that if I stayed with Elora for another day, it's a reality I would have to face. I really should tell her goodbye, but I can't help making small-talk about the show.

In moments, my dumb jokes have her giggling, and she scoots some pillows over so I can watch the splatter-fest with her. Laying this close, on her bed, electrifies every cell on my body. My skin tingles where she brushes against me. I can hear her breathing. My heart thunders in my ears.

She looks at me, at my lips, and the dam breaks. We flow into each other, no longer possessing the strength to hold ourselves back. Her kiss, the feel of her in my arms, her skin, her breasts against my chest, her smell – she's haunted me since our first kiss at Hea7en's show. I hadn't kissed her all day, mulling over my decision, finding distance. Being an idiot.

Her passion is confident, there's no question of what she wants as she pull my pants down my legs. But there's something vulnerable about her. As though she's giving me a part of her soul that she normally hides away, even from herself.

I devour her body, worshipping every inch. In the dim room, her hair glows a faint blue, reflecting off of her blue cat's eyes, and with my elven vision I can see everything – a little light is all I need. My lips burn hot kisses across the fashionable blue leopard spots that dot her lower back and hips - undoubtedly some kind of temporary body art. I yank her over me and she pulls me into her, a lover's tug-of-war.

Elora's moans build to cries that burst around me. Stars and comets, our galaxies ignite together.

9.

In the morning, I stretch out on Elora's plush bed. I remember the night as though it were a dream. I feel light, relaxed. A calm I haven't felt in quite awhile. Little do I know that the feeling would be ripped away, and life would go sideways, in short order.

Piecing it together later, we were able to weave the puzzle of events into a timeline:

Cham changes into the blue running shorts and matching sports bra that she "borrows" from Elora and goes for a jog. She waves to Morrigan, who woke with the sun, the nature of sleeping outdoors. It would be the last time they would ever see each other in this life.

Around 20 minutes after Cham has gone, her Guardian spirit, Romeo, is banished by a hostile mage. Cham, about three miles deep into the posh neighborhood, can feel the loss. She runs back towards the house.

It's probably right around that moment that Morrigan leaps from the roof to talk to a little boy that has wandered into the yard. He appears to be about ten years old. She takes his hand, asking where his family is, if he lives nearby. As soon as they touch, he releases a powerful spell, a charred path of magical destruction that boils and burns up her arm, leading to her heart.

Cham tells us later that the spell killed her instantly. The look on Morrigan's face when we find her, the shock and horror frozen in a mask of horror, tells me that my partner in crime is sugarcoating the truth.

In the kitchen, our host, who's body I just memorized thoroughly the night before, sets a soy-protein breakfast bowl to warming, and places two coffee cups intended for her and I by the CoffeeMac as it whirrs away. She smells him, behind her, and turns.

Her handler, Harem, whom I was led to believe is her ex-boyfriend, sneers, arms folded. He is an imposing figure in a fine, crisp, armored suit. His handsome face in the detailed cut is a sharp contrast to her vulnerable morning state, clad in just a thin, satin blue robe.

"Is that a cup for me?" he asks, in a tone not nearly as playful as the question. "What are you doing here? He's in the other-" She motions for him to leave, but he cuts her off. "I know. You were supposed to bring him in, Artemis."

A mean-looking dwarf - bald, with a black beard, and callused knuckles steps into the kitchen. He fixes cruel eyes on her. It's hard to say which of us hates Livron more, between Cham and I. A combat adept, trained in Aikido, he possesses a melee set a lot like my own. He can imbue Killing Hands, and even light them on fire like me. He's just as fast, his senses, just as sharp.

Following Eris, Greek God of Strife, Livron uses a dark power that transmits the damage he takes, with every punch delivered. Every time he hurts someone, he heals his own body. It makes him fearless and aggressive. His name, Livron, translates to "Pounder" in Greek.

Livron was a natural enemy, for Cham – he was death, and she was the joy of life. I hated him, because, I guess, that in him, I could see what I could become. But he had gone too far, long ago – had become addicted to brawls and handing out beatings. I wasn't like that, I liked to tell myself. I hadn't gone mean, at least. Everyone knew his work, because he left a signature story repeated in corporate newsletters, and sometimes the media – "_ beaten to death by a dwarf."

Artemis, a name I would have to get used to, shivers when Livron's gaze slides up and down her body. She smells his murderous intentions. She backs to the counter as Harem tells her that she is dangerously close to "disappointing" him. He comes in for a kiss but she gives him the cheek.

"I- I don't want… I know that your tailored pheromones work better on me…" A grunt, and the bastard licks her cheek. Licks her cheek! Sick fragger. She shakes her head and slides towards the CoffeeMac, the world swirling from the drugs entering her. It's not just his synthetic pheromones, but some kind of drug in his saliva, penetrating her skin. Bliss, Cham would tell her later. But she knows enough, in that moment.

"Bastard!" She gasps. "You've been drugging me the whole time." And she immediately knows why. The familiar warmth spreading through her body is a key to a comforting place he's built inside of her. She blinks, trying to stay alert. It doesn't seem to be hitting her at full strength, probably because she didn't kiss the fragging devil.

Enter the unsuspecting chump wearing his lucky, red underwear and nothing else – yours truly. As I approach the kitchen door, all I hear is her usually dulcet voice sharp with anger, "Frag off!" The sound of breaking glass, a man's cry, the press of bodies – I hear enough, and I make my entrance.

The kitchen door splinters, thanks to my signature "hello." In the corner of my eye, a dwarf I love to hate rolls away on instinct, and I stumble into the brawl. A broken ceramic coffee cup is crumbled over her ex's fancy suit, a few bloody pieces stuck in his forehead.

I see Elora, Artemis, I would learn, kick Harem away, dazed as though he had hit her, his arm raised to strike again. His swing goes wild and shatters a cabinet, revealing a set of freshly cracked plates. She runs to me as he launches back from the corner of the cramped room. Her eyes go wide, fixed on something, someone, behind me. I offer a back kick, but without aiming, it's a crap-shoot and I miss. I can see a small form jump over my kick and come in fast!

Elora throws me to the side and drives an elbow into the dwarf, who bats it aside as he passes. I'm surprised by her instincts. Harem steps aside to make room for the incoming asset to land beside him. When I see the attacker roll to his feet, the world goes red. Of course Livron would take a gig gunning for me. But I have to ask, "What's he doing here?" nodding to Harem.

But then it's just Livron and I, and I have to concentrate. His small form makes it hard to get a solid hit, while his counterstrikes could be fatal. I try to track the action in my peripheral. It quickly becomes apparent that Elora really does know Jeet Kune Do, and she's good. She leverages a stop kick before Harem can get his knee up, and spins away from his following strike.

In return she drops an axe kick, that he barely dodges, and her foot nearly slices through the kitchen counter to the floor. I remember being curious at this – the damage indicative of cyber, or bioware, in lieu of magic, which Cham hadn't detected in the aura read. Later, Artemis would explain that she, indeed, has the same bone-density augmentation that I have – but a slightly higher grade. It's no wonder that her bare foot leaves a path of destruction similar to mine.

The fight is a blur - Livron tries to ground and pound, and we roll. I push him off and kick him away. He crashes off the far wall and then stops, squinting at the other two. I risk a glance… and the Greek ball of muscle books it out the back door, and I can see why. Mr. Wonderful is hunched over "Elora's" fist, a bone-white spike, streaked with blood, protruding through his back, poking through the ballistic cloth of his suit.

She leans close and mutters something about not using the poison because she wants to watch him suffer. I'm frozen in shock, it's all a bit much. The innocent woman I had just spent the night with is pulling a long, sharp bone-spur from her ex-boyfriend's torso. She grabs his jacket to hold him up, wipes her spike clean with the lapel of his suit, and then lets him fall to the floor. The spike slowly retracts back inside of her forearm.

I catch her as she stumbles. I ask what's wrong. "Bedroom. I've been drugged." I help her to the room and she falls to her knees in front of the bed. Before I can fire off a thousand more questions, she reaches under the mattress and drags a black, mil-spec case into the light. My heart sinks as she opens it, revealing gear that could only mean that she's some sort of asset - like me. A player in the shadows, or rather, a pawn for gods knew who.

In the case, I can see several guns of varying sizes- a holdout, a mean shotgun, a submachine gun. I take a step back, "Who are you?" I ask. She tears an antidote patch out of the wrapper and slaps it on her arm. Leaning back against the bed, waiting for her vision to clear, she closes her eyes.

When she speaks, my blood goes cold. "I'm from the facility. They call me… Artemis. I'm sorry."

The surveillance video around the house fills in the rest of the blanks. Livron finds the little boy mage and they ghost over the garden wall. Most likely, Harem paid them up front, and with him dead, they have no idea where they're supposed to deliver me to, nor to whom. So it makes sense that they crush pavement.

By the time Cham returns, sweating from running, and distressed from finding Morrigan's corpse, they're long gone. I assure Cham that we'd get the whole story from Artemis once we were all safe. She had bought that much grace from us by killing her handler. Cham steams, but agrees to "save it for later" and takes a shower while the "fragging honeypot packs her lady-things."

I can't blame her – my reaction hadn't exactly been frosty, either. As soon as I heard that Elora, Artemis, was with the facility, I leapt forward, throttling her neck with my left hand, and threatening with a fistful of flame in my right. The fire crackled, the heat on our faces, the flames reflected in her blue, slitted eyes – her tears, glittering diamonds in the light, tracking down her cheeks.

She didn't struggle, didn't plead for her life. In her eyes, I saw resignation, shame, and acceptance. Then Artemis closed her eyes, waiting for death by my hands. I dropped the flame. "You'll tell us everything, do everything we say."

Her eyes shot open, blazing with hope and something that ripped at my hardening heart. "I'm all yours." She said.

10.

I put on a brave face, but Cham knows I'm gutted. She's twice as angry, no doubt blaming herself for Morrigan's death. Or blaming Artemis. The trust is clearly broken. After Cham astrally scans Artemis for any implanted phones or trackers, we check her gear. We scan the tight, Second Skin armor suit that clings gloriously to her dangerous curves, and her guns.

The problem remains that the facility Artemis (and I) came from likely has a frozen blood sample of hers on file, and can use a ritual to track her, or send some nasty mojo her way. We take the rusty van we traded the HTR SWAT vehicle for and head towards the mountains.

In the back, Cham basically turns the entire van into a vault with a Circle of Protection ritual. It's a warding ritual that erects physical and mana barriers. Not only would we have extra protection against anyone taking shots or crashing into us, the mana barrier would keep out living beings and spirits alike.

The bonus- mana barriers could also hamper ritual spells. If the barrier is strong enough, the rituals won't work at all – which means no magical tracking of Artemis' DNA. She marks some silver rings Artemis has in her jewelry case, magical tokens for us to wear. They'll allow us to pass through the Circle at will, as long as we keep them on our person. The one I get is too small for my hand, but it works in my pocket just as well.

I can tell it's a tough ward, because Cham takes a nap immediately after she's done. It takes a lot out of her. I give Artemis the silent treatment. When she tries to explain, I cut her off, remarking on the weather - I'm not discussing anything without Cham. She looks hurt- but, hey lady, join the club.

I drive us East, passed Snoqualme, into the mountains behind a little group of houses, in a village named Ernie's Grove. It was a fallback point Cham and I set last year, when an extraction run for Mitsuhama made us nervous. It was too far out of town for just about anyone to find us, and no tech to track us on the road for miles. And since the van's previous owners had stripped it down for criminal activity, there was no way to find us through the normal interior cameras and wireless functions you'd find on most modern vehicles.

"We'll stay here for the night." I say, pulling us behind a stand of trees. Now Elora - Artemis dammit - knows why I bought toilet-paper along with food and water at the CaliFarm store we hit on the way. We'll be camping for the night.

Cham wakes and we settle in across from her to get our answers. The seats in the cab of the van were removed long ago, so we sit on the sleeping pad. Artemis faces us both, holding her legs, staring at the blankets on the floor. Cham gets that look that tells me she's using astral perception. If Artemis lies, she'll know.

She begins - her assignment was to bring me in, by any means necessary, including her specialty- seduction. When my guard was down, in my sleep, she was to tranq me for a pick-up team. From there, they'd take me to the Seattle facility.

That hit me in the stomach, like Livron were punching me square in the gut. I didn't even know there was a Seattle facility. I had thought I left that all far behind in London, years ago. To think I was swimming around, care-free, in the same waters as those bastards all this time.

When we had returned to her doss, "Elora Wendt's" house, Harem had told her over the commlink that the other teams, including the drake, were agents of competing, interested parties that wanted to secure me, and my genes, for their own purposes. Of course, she had also let Harem know where we were, which lead to the delightful morning we'd had.

I can't hold back the burning question that has always haunted me. "Why me? What's so special about me anyway? Why won't they just fraggin' quit already? Now there's other parties?" I emphasized the last word with finger-quotes in the air.

Chameleona blanches, "Drake's usually work for dragons." I just curse as that's really the only proper response to that.

Artemis stares at me, those predatorial blue eyes fixed in disbelief. "You don't know? You really don't know how special you are?" Her light voice, incredulous, and filled with compassion, raises the hackles on my neck.

She paints a picture around me far bigger than I had seen for all these years. I thought the facility that created me was a small, illegal research division, perhaps sponsored by a corp trying to get around medical regulations. They'd sell some kind of bio or cyber serum that would help the body to accept augmentations or some drek. I was like a walking sample of what they could do.

I was thinking too small, clearly. I'm not just "a" sample, I am "the" sample- to a breakthrough process that they couldn't repeat. In my escape, during the prison-style riot of the subjects like me, perhaps my kin you could say, I had burned down the entire wing I called home. The highly top secret nature of the project had been kept on a closed box system, and all the files were lost in the fire.

And what was I, exactly? Artemis' eyes sparkled, as though she were thrilled to be the one to tell me first. A fusion of magic and bioware. The 'ware- my synaptic booster responsible for my speed, my bone density, the hardened fists, didn't reduce my magical talent, the reservoir of my magic, even a fraction.

This was opposite to the way it usually worked for everyone else: even a little augmentation drastically lowered their magical power. The facility wanted to perform tests and continue isolating the gene. The ability to add bioware to the limitless nature of certain adept powers was quite an achievement.

Artemis drills it home, "You're the key to changing the entire magic-implant-technology paradigm. Not only the blueprints of super-soldiers, but a new class of mages in general!"

Coloring in the image she proceeds to tell us that it wasn't just this small, corporate R & D lab, either, but several governments funding the project under the Ares Lockheed Division. It was such game-changing research, that a conglomeration of nations had agreed to share it rather than fight over it. But, since my escape, the info had been leaked, and other interests were involved now. In response, some of the countries had sent out their own assets to handle it. It was a bonafide drek-fest.

The surprises keep coming, as she goes on. The facility's assets are some of the most dangerous of all. Artemis is a good example of this. Her parents, a Dryad and Human, had lived in Florida, deep in the George Bayou, a small community called Rhodes Springs. They had also lived under several mana ley-lines. That was intentional, as her mother was some kind of geomancer.

The result was that, while Artemis wasn't born with any magical abilities, she had definitely been affected by magic. A Surge-baby, as I explained earleir, when magic caused genetic mutations, or aberrations. A "spike-baby" as the slur went.

She inherited her Dryad father's Glamour, which explained my impression of her beauty. Her long legs could carry her faster with increased Celerity, like a cheetah – which explains the pattern across her lower back – which I had thought was just fashion. The blue, cat's eyes, glittering as they stare into mine, are real, as well – offering both Low-light, and Thermographics, the best of both an elf and a troll's vision.

She could smell as good as a canine, and as she speaks, her voice is feeding her information via extra-sensory biosonar capable nerves in her head - giving her a layout of the area up to fifty meters around us. An owl had just found a mouse, not far from our camp. Unbelievable.

I marvel at the little creature. Her blonde hair, glowing blue in the dark, along with the blue leopard spots on her lower body were the sometimes unfortunate biproducts of her nature - hard to be stealthy when you glowed in the dark, I suppose. Animals also seemed to smell the wild nature in her cells, she confesses, and react negatively, easily spooked. She was also genetically, very petite. Her delicate frame just can't pack on much muscle.

But the facility had countered for that, by giving her the maximum bone density treatment. She could take and deal more damage, with the bonus of being undetectable by neither Magnetic Anomoly Detectors, nor cyberscanners. And, as I had seen, the facility had also grown a retractable biospike in her right arm, made stronger by the density of her bones.

As if that wasn't enough, the spike was accompanied by a chemical gland and reservoir that could coat the retracted spike with Dog Asp Venom. I had underestimated the deadly girl. The venom caused necrosis within a minute. If it didn't kill you, the dead flesh had to be cut away, surgically. You'd be lucky just to lose a limb. And she produced the poison within her body, no injections needed – Frag me!

They trained her in Jeet Kune Do, under Sensei Kaido and his disciples, just as I had been trained. They instructed her in firearms, as well as how to con, seduce, and flip the mark.

An incredible picture snaps into place. She's more than a spy, she's the perfect assassin. Her senses were honed, her body weaponized, and wrapped in a beautiful, human package – gods, with the Glamour of a Dryad, and the skills of a trained spy that had fooled even the most criminally-minded elves sitting in front of her – namely, Cham and I. She could kill in the dark, frag with the sonar she could kill with her eyes closed! She was never without a weapon, trained to a purpose.

It wasn't all fun and games at the facility– no one knew that as well as I. She had escaped the breeding program, because of the skills she had taken custody of her as a child. Adopted after her parents had gone missing – something I suspect, wasn't a coincidence.

As they tested her, they found her skillset invaluable. And as she excelled into adult-hood, they had, instead, harvested a few of her eggs, rather than retiring her from the field for a pregnancy. A pregnancy that they figured would make her soft, no doubt. I found myself feeling sorry for her all over again – crumpled forehead and all.

She looks away, emotions at war on her face, that disappear in an instant.

"She's not lying," Cham volunteers, and I find myself struggling with the moment. I certainly don't feel special, I've always felt like a discarded toy. And Elora - I want to hold Elora – Artmeis – whatever her real name is, I don't care. Her life had been hell – a hell I had escaped years ago. She hadn't been allowed tenderness, or love. Even her sexuality was just another weapon, honed to perfection. She had lived the sterile, cold, hard life at the facility I remembered in my dreams, my nightmares. Only she hadn't gotten away, like I had – until now.

I tear my eyes away. She isn't "Elora," but Artemis, an asset trained in the art of seduction and sent to bring me back. I'm the target, and even if she hates her masters, how could I ever know that what we have is real? Maybe I just represent the idea of freedom – my life, a personification of all that she wants hers to be. I mean – what, I'm supposed to believe I really inspired her to… start all over?

We key the sunscreen over the windshield and I opt to sleep in the front passenger seat. It's not comfortable, but I know I'm not going to sleep much anyway. Cham and Artemis roll up in blankets as far from each other as possible.

11.

The next day we roll into the town of Ernie's Grove and I hit the local bar. It's a small, dingy joint for travelers of the more transient type – pool tables and trid-poker everywhere, a few sim-sense vending machines selling sexy titles like "Don't put your tentacles there." I go in alone, because I already know what it's like to bring two babes pulsing with Glamour into a bar. We may have fit into Hea7en's entourage, but out here, we'd be the talk of the town.

Eric, the owner, worries over the ancient robo-bartender, as if it would break the moment he looks away. Judging by the rust, I expect that it might. Eric is an older human, his faded shirt a testament to the years. I ask if he knows if anyone has a doss, I correct my criminal slang, a flat, around the countryside that I could rent. I'd be in the area for a few weeks, and didn't want to pay hotel prices.

He looks me up and down with his beady eyes, then shrugs. My accent probably stands out more than my pointy ears. Tyr Tairngerie wasn't all that far away, after all. London, on the other hand... The gray sweater and jeans I picked up from a vending machine a few stops back screams "hard times." Still, he figures elves probably had a little scrip to scrape together. Old prejudices never die.

"Ah my nephew's got a trailer on the backside of his property up the hill there. I'm sure he'd rent it real cheap. It ain't gonna get him much, but I'm sure he could use it."

He calls ahead, and I give him a ballpark figure of what I'm willing to pay to get the deal rolling. Somewhere around 400 for the month, which I flash in paper scrip – the elusive cash notes that they would appreciate. He gives me directions.

His nephew, Dorion, shows me the trailer. It isn't much – a small RV hitch he takes on hunting trips. It has a small water closet with a sink, shower and toilet, a small couch, and a dining area that converts into a queen-sized bed. Between this and the van, we'll have enough room to spread out. A little, at least.

After I pay Dorion, I sweep the trailer for any kind of A/V recording devices. It's clean, and I call the ladies in. They pile out of the van and we decide the first thing we'll do is clean the trailer. It's gross, but so small that it doesn't take long. "Nice find." Cham tells me, sarcastic. But she knows we have no better option. We've got to lay lower than low, considering the heat on us.

Once the trailer is clean, Cham starts building a new Circle of Protection ward inside while Artemis and I unpack. I still can't look her in those big, feline eyes. We cook on the small range, keeping it simple and fresh. Sleeping arrangements find Cham and I sharing the bed, Artemis designated the couch.

We take turns in the small shower before sacking in for the night. Barracks rules- when you mess up, you take last shower, which is how I find myself lying next to Cham on the bed, clean and restless while Artemis washes up.

Cham notices my hard stare at the ceiling, pointedly not looking towards the bathroom and the sound of running water. She rolls onto my shoulder, looking up at me with her gorgeous green eyes. "How are you holding up?"

I sigh, "Alright, I guess. Just a lot to think about, you know?" Chameleona nods, leaning close, like she's going to tell me a secret, or some good advice. Then she kisses me! I'm wide-eyed with surprise, but then I close them with a simple command – kiss now, think later. My hand cups her neck and I pull her close. We melt together, like two pieces of a puzzle finally joined – or even more so, like clay mashed together, two pieces that had only been separated for a moment, that belonged as one.

Then she pulls back to catch her breath. We laugh, she looks down from my eyes, unexpectedly shy. I stumble to break the silence, "Wha- what was-?" She shakes her head, stopping me with her fingers on my mouth as she contemplates what to say.

Cham's fingers trace my lips, and she studies them for a moment. Then kisses me again, tenderly, slowly, separating to press her forehead on mine. The effort it takes to pull away screams that she'd like to continue, but it is neither the time nor the place. "Tomorrow." She says. "Let's get some rest."

Cham grabs my arm and pulls me along as she rolls onto her side, so that I'm spooning her. The scent of her clean hair fills my nose. She seems made to fit in my arms. Her presence grounds me – it's like the world stops spinning for just a moment.

And before I can wonder about what this means for Cham and I, Artemis comes out of the bathroom - and tension fills the room like the steam from the shower. I can hear her crawl into the couch, and then turn out the light. Cham breathes steady in my arms.

Artemis suddenly breaks the silence, "What the-?" The light snaps on and I sit up to see what's going on. She's on her feet, running her hands over her white shorts, and rubbing her fingers together. "I'm all wet!" she exclaims.

She digs into the couch and comes up with a plastic cup full of water. "How did this get in between the cushions?" Cham giggles at her prank. I try not to, but it is damned funny, and I can't help it – I have to laugh. Artemis rolls her eyes and strips off her wet shorts, revealing dainty, lacy white panties. My face drops. I feel warm in specific places.

Smirking, Artemis slips the white panties off as well, naked from the waste down. "You're changing in here?" Cham dives back into the blankets in a huff. First a kiss, now jealousy, Chameleona is as much a surprise to me as Artemis, today.

Artemis winks at me and I throw my head back onto the pillow. I didn't mean to stare. She finds some dry shorts, pops off the light, then comes to the bed, pillow in hand. I can see her clearly, outlined against the darkness by her blue, glowing hair. "The couch is all wet." It's a fact. A dreadful fact. Not a giggle from Cham, whose prank created this mess.

I scoot to the center of the bed and Artemis crawls in. Twenty four hours ago, I was dreaming to be in this situation, in bed with two of the most gorgeous women I've ever met. Now that I'm in it, under the real life circumstances, the kind I should expect in the shadows, it's not exactly what I had hoped. It's not a love triangle, it's a circle of confusion.

I think about Artemis. I can already feel my anger towards her fading. I like her, and I can't help it. I wouldn't say that I trust her completely, yet, but I had a feeling that I would. And Cham. My Chameleona. My lips tingle at the thought – we had actually kissed - it wasn't a hallucination. Where do we go from here?

I entertain getting up to hit the head and sneaking out the window. These two, these incredible women are in danger just being around me. But then, even if I run, the evil trying to find me will surely find them as the closest link to me, no?

Governments, dragons, and the largest weapons manufacturers in the world, with an enhanced asset program, is after us – after me. Well, probably after Artemis as well, if anything to find out what she knows - or to keep her from knowing it anymore. A task that usually requires the target not breathing anymore.

We'll have to go deeper underground. We won't be able to run the shadows under our old reps, not after this. The best we can hope for is to assume new identities, and live, fully immersed in that life. Perhaps Artemis knows more of which countries are involved, so that maybe we can find one to live in that isn't after us. Cham and I have our savings – it was possible. Maybe we could live like the breeders - buy a business, live a normal life.

It would be even better if we could pull of one last, big score, of course. But… I couldn't help but wonder happens next? What happens tomorrow? It's all well and good to make plans, but things just got even more complicated- what with all the kissing, undefined relationships and sexual tension. Due to the cluster-frag of our lives in the world, we were best served staying together. Shouldn't Artemis be factored into the plan? What's that look like, with all of these feelings involved? Feelings I have for both of them? That maybe they have for me? Frag it all, I better not screw this up.

On cue, Artemis makes a little noise – she's having a nightmare. I calm her down, combing back her hair from her face with my fingers, and she rolls into my side, forming to me as a woman does when you're on your back. I call it the "Classic Cuddle Position." Getting comfortable, reacting in her sleep to the movement, Cham rolls onto me as well. Just like that, I'm holding them both.

I am intoxicated by their proximity, their sweet smells and soft breath on my chest. Maybe this can work. Maybe I should worry about it all tomorrow. No one said a life in the shadows would be easy. But it's a cross I have to bear.

I pull the little beauties close. In time, they'll get along. They'll have to. I want to slap myself for being so optimistic, and follow it with two fists, one made of logic, the other reason. This can't end well. I let out a long, slow breath and close my eyes. Tomorrow is just another day. Another day in the shadows.