COMPLETED: Revenge is a dish best served with bullets!

[GM Nick]

A single officer.

The man strides briskly across the entrance yard towards the team, the tail of the trademark blue and gold trench-coat flapping behind him in the wind. A square of black fabric is attached to his shoulder-pad with a chain, designating him a detective. His hat is pulled low, revealing only a crooked nose and thin mustache. His head swivels as he takes in the surroundings; examining the construction and sizable fortifications.

His posture bespeaks the calmness of a highly trained operative, perhaps bordering on foolhardiness, considering his surroundings.

[John]

Max gaits toward the officer with a false confidence. He bears a gash in his forehead from where his skull collided with the troll's nose, and the blood streaks down his brow and around his nose. The collar of his utilitarian white undershirt is pooled with blood and sweat, and the chest is stretched badly from where the troll had grabbed him several times. Max's hair is matted and wet against his forehead, and his knuckles are raw and ragged from where his blows had landed on Tyros's naturally hard skin. Max has looked better. But Max has looked worse too.

The elf does his best not to show the shame, confusion, and rage that all roil within him. The interruption from outside the core group had snapped him back to reality, and even despite his racial prejudices Max realizes how completely out of line his actions have been. He might not be sorry per se, but he knows he was in the wrong and he wishes it hadn't happened.

Dabbing at the gash on his forehead, Max steps up to the Lone Star detective and asks,

"Yeah?"

This could go very badly, depending upon the nature of the visit, and Max is as prepared as he can be for further violence this afternoon.

[GM Nick]

"You look about as I expected..."

The Lone Star detective lifts his head. A pair of piercing blue eyes meet Max's, flooding the elf with recognition and an overwhelming array of emotions. Standing in front of the elf is one of the few real friends he had ever known. For years, the man had served as Max's inside with Lone Star. He had kept him company on many long stake-outs, shared hundreds of beers with the elf, and been the lead investigator on his family's murders. He had aged--drek, had he aged. But it was him, it was...

"Trent McAlistar. Been a long time, Overstreet. A real long time."

[John]

Max takes a short step backward and examines his old friend. Given the day's events, Max is nowhere near being capable of a warm welcome. After a brief moment of silence, Max agrees,

"It has... "

The ellipsis hangs heavily in the air. Max is too broken at the moment for anything more.

[GM Nick]

While most people might be offended or put off by Max's seemingly callous indifference, McAlister simply nods. His eyes register an empathy that has accumulated over many years of watching the elf struggle with addiction and loss. His gaze travels over Max's shoulder and regards the rest of the team, settling for a slight longer moment on the bruised and battered Tyros.

"I have to say, I'm pretty impressed. I never imagined you an entrepreneur."

[John]

Max responds plaintively,

"You know me. Livin' the dream."

After a second has passed, Max shifts somewhat uncomfortably; the elf is clearly in pain.

[GM Nick]

McAlister has an almost telepathic connection with Max. He throws an arm over the elf's shoulder and steers him towards the door.

"And, you know me, Max. I don't pay social calls. I ran across some information that I thought you'd want to know. You have some type of conference room in this fortress?"

[John]

Max is wary, but relents. Max leads his old friend toward the door, where McAlister is subjected to a security check, and onward toward the bar where Max's fight with Tyros had just taken place. Furniture and broken glass still lay scattered all over the place. Stepping toward the bar, Max picks up an overturned stool and sits down heavily on it. Reaching for a half-finished drink that still sits on the bar, Max knocks it back and looks at the Lone Star detective. Max is too tentative to be excited in his interest in what Trent might have to say. Sparking up a cigarette, Max says,

"Alright, go on."

[GM Nick]

Trent pats the empty holster that had held a Ruger Superwarhawk before the security checkpoint.

"Feel so naked without my damn gun..."

He turns his attention to Max.

"I never closed the case on your family, Max. I think a part of me felt that if I did, I'd be giving up--giving up on you, giving up on the justice that they deserve. I fought to keep the case from being archived. My superiors threatened to fire me more times than I care to remember. The entire department was against me at one point, but because of my tenure, they eventually backed down. Years went by and nothing. Then, yesterday, out of the blue, I got an anonymous tip."

[John]

Max looks up from his drink with suddenly rapt attention. The elf says nothing, but his stare is razor sharp and the uncertainty is gone from his face.

[GM Nick]

"This might be nothing, Max. Don't overreact. I know I don't have to remind you that we never found your daughter's body--that thought probably haunts you every single day of your life. Well, we got a hit on our age-enhanced render of her face. Someone reported seeing a girl matching the description in a night club in downtown Seattle. A place called Plastic Jungle. I checked the place out, it's a pretty class joint. The pieces of the puzzle don't seem to fit together, but the pieces are all I've got.

I'm not convinced that it's anything, but I thought you at least deserved to know."

[John]

Max is stunned, but his reverie lasts only a moment.

"Do you have the picture?"

[GM Nick]

"I don't. It's an eye-witness account. I asked the proprietors of the club for a copy of their security footage but they were... less than forthcoming. Something about protecting the privacy of their clientele. Now as a Lone Star officer, I firmly suggest that you stay away from Plastic Jungle."

Trent stands and puts his cap on.

"As your friend, I think I should mention that the bouncer is an ex-con and a drug addict."

[John]

Max stands as his friend does and looks him in the eye. The vast history between the two is colored in countless different shades, and more has passed between them than Max can recollect. Max doesn't say anything-- rather, he nods knowingly. It's all that the situation needs.

[GM Nick]

"Under the circumstances, we won't see each other again. Not for a while, at least. My career depends on it. Good luck, Max. I hope you can find some closure, if nothing else."

McAlistar sweeps from the room.

[GM Nick]

(( Karma will only be awarded to those who actively participate, so feel free to weigh in. ))

[John]

Max watches his friend leave the room and stands for a moment considering the situation. Finally, he looks at Doc as he stands by the door and says,

"You've got to count me out until I can look into this. Sorry to put you down a man, but I have to go."

[Drew Buddy]

Doc looks Max in the eyes, and shakes his head.

"No way in hell I'm letting you do this alone. Clean yourself up a bit, and meet me at the Rover."

[Elliott]

Tyros has been standing in the doorway during the exchange, holding his sleeve to his nose to staunch the flow of blood. It has not worked very well.

Looking at Max, Tyros is tired, physically and emotionally. Maybe this is their chance to set things right and bring peace to the elf. Tyros has always appreciated Max as a teammate, and if he could get the elf over his hatred of trolls, well maybe he could actually like the man himself. "Is that what this is all about? Well, I don't know if you want it, but you can count on my help to get your little girl back". A small smile creeps onto Tyros' face, "Besides the fact that I'm a generally decent troll, if saving your girl gets our company back on track, it's a damn good business decision."

[Stephen]

Val's turns his eyes away from Trent's retreating back to find Max's bloody face. Max might be flippant and rash at times, but the unmasked pain in his haunted eyes which belies such a charade wrenches at Val's heart. Max is his teammate, partner, and perhaps even friend. Only a few moments ago, Val recalls, he was worrying about the ability of the team to remain as one, but Tyros' selflessness offers a spark of hope. A moment of clarity strikes him as he realizes that a team and a group of mercenaries are not one and the same. What makes a group of mercenaries is a commonly accepted contract. What makes a team is a personal bond between its members. Val strides slowly to where Max stands and lays a hand on his shoulder, forgetting for the moment Max's aversion to such a gesture.

"Max... I know this is important to you. We all do. We've had a couple successes lately, and I think maybe we all need some personal time. I, for one, wouldn't mind spending mine helping you figure this out. Not much else for me to do around here anyway aside from visit a few old chums in the VR clubs while we wait for our next client. And, uh... well, I think even with the rough spots here and there, we all work pretty damn well as a team. Maybe if we came with you, we could wrap this up before the rest of us need to fulfill a contract without you. I understand if you want to do this alone, but know that I'll run backup for you if you want it, 'mano."

Val glances around the room at his other teammates, feeling slightly embarrassed.

[John]

Max looks at Doc and Val and nods an appreciative gesture, clearly touched by the camaraderie that he doesn't much feel he's earned as of late. Reluctantly, Max looks at the Tyros with shame written across his face. "Tyros, I..." but the elf can't seem to finish. His embarrassment over his actions is too near to him and too intense, but he doesn't need to finish the sentence. "Thanks," Max says as he looks intently at Tyros.

Following Doc's suggestion, Max cleans himself up and attempts to steel his nerves for how to go about this. Everything in Max's body is crying out to go hammering into the club like a freight train, but talking has always been his gift. His grasp on his self-control is going to be razor thin, but he needs to keep it together.

Max wipes the blood from his forehead in front of a mirror and wonders if-- on the off chance that his daughter is still alive-- she'll recognize him.

[GM Nick]

[ Plastic Jungle, Seattle ]

The Rover pulls to a stop in front of the night club that Trent mentioned. Brushed aluminum and ultraviolet light overwhelm the front entrance, all warped and contorted to resemble artificial foliage. Deep bass notes undulate from within. It's a primal rhythm, one that every member of the team can feel in their temples. Outside is a long line of people waiting to get inside. Their races span the entire spectrum, but they all have one thing in common: money. Trust fund twenty somethings hook arms with perfectly augmented joygirls, who rub elbows with Japanese and Russian gangsters. A few packs of young girls flutter nervously in between.

The bouncer is a troll with at least a head on Tyros. He holds a tablet computer, which looks remarkably small in his gigantic hands. Every so often, he'll shove someone out of line. Nobody looks like they want to mince words once they've been rejected.

[John]

Max opens the rover's door and says,

"I'm gonna take a walk around the building and see what there is to see."

The elf steps out of the rover and begins to move. He's clearly anxious to get inside.

[Elliott]

Sitting within the rover, Tyros looks as if his battering of a couple hours earlier never happened. His healing magic, a shower and a change of clothes saw to that, but the exhaustion is still within him, along with an eagerness to get this whole ordeal behind them all. Gazing out over the scene and switches to astral vision, scanning the crowd and the building for telltale signs of the magically active.

[Stephen]

Val projects his avatar into AR space and begins a data search of the matrix. He attempts to gather any information on the club which might be pertinent to their objective, including ownership, patronage, and possible ties to any underground or criminal organizations.

[GM Nick]

Max walks the streets. He's now in his element. Maybe it's the catharsis from the scuffle with Tyros or maybe it's the faintest glimmer of hope that barely dares ignite itself in the base of his stomach, but his pace is just a bit more determined than usual, his senses just a bit more alert. A rabid desperation is fighting inside of him, begging to be released. The time is coming when the elf is going to have to banish his demons or destroy himself.

He turns a corner and slips into an alley adjacent to the club. A couple of humans in armored suits are engaged in a hushed conversation by the side entrance. They haven't seen Max. Yet.

[GM Nick]

Stat1C5hade plunges into the blinding environment of the commercial matrix grid. There are so many PAN's packed so close together here that the decker can almost feel his commlink bogging down. He strafes the nightclub's patrons, fingertips splayed and rippling each PAN as he passes by. Pretty typical fare. High end commlinks with all the bells 'n whistles for an instant gratification generation.

Giving up, he moves to the nearest information bank. Keying up a search cube, his avatar extends his hands types into an invisible keyboard.

Data Search Test

[Data Search (4) + LOG (6) + Analytical Mind (2) = 4]
2 5 3 6 1 6 2 3 4 3 5 1

A myriad of images, text and trideo emerge from the cube and settle themselves into his field of vision.

Knowledge Test (Val)

[Bars and Clubs (2) + INT (4) = 2]
4 4 2 5 4 5

(( PM'd. ))

[John]

Max gets on the comm channel and says,

<We've got a side entrance here-- couple of armored goons. Tyros, think you could come and puppeteer these guys if things get ugly? I'm gonna see if I can talk my way in.>

Max hustles toward the two, calling openly for their attention. His actioneer business clothes ruffle with the motion of his strides,

"Help! I just saw an ork beating up younger lady in the alley down that way!"

Max points in the direction from whence he just came.

[Drew Buddy]

Doc keeps his eyes on the front entrance, watching the bouncer go through his ritual with the patrons pleading their cases for entry. He keeps an eye out for any patterns, or people of note.

"Val, I don't suppose you could try getting us on the guest list?" He asks suggestively.

[Elliott]

<"Happily, be right there.">

Tyros takes a few seconds to fire up his magical augmentations, making some sharp gestures before his motions speed up and then fade from view (invis, f4, improved reflex, f4, sustaining foci) Hoping out of the rover Tyros runs down the steet and makes a sharp turn into the ally trying to catch up to Max.

[Conway]

Sinjin watches as Max departs the rover, expressionless. The arrival of the LoneStar detective had offered a rare window into Max's complicated past. Apparently the elf, or at least his friendships, did not always stay partial to the grey underbelly of the law where most 'runners hovered. Whoever the detective was, he had displayed no interest in the rest of Max's team. Which was just fine by Sinjin, who's colored past he was perfectly content to leave out of the picture.

Despite only recently having formed their team, it had been obvious to each member that Max's mental state, if left unchecked, would eventually cause more than concern. Sinjin was silently thankful that the situation had come to a head. Thankful as well that the moment had come in the safety of their own compound, away from the blades, bullets and magic of their line of work. Sinjin had been tempted to stay behind, and let the elf sort out his own drek. But, the ready willingness with which the others had offered to help spoke to the magnitude of the bond already developing between the members of FRSR. Not wanting to compromise that bond, he had relented and joined the others in the rover. Besides, their first stop was a gentlemen's club. Who didn't like a night out on the town?

"Yeah, thats not bad thinking there, Doc. And, maybe some VIP reservations? The kind with a dancing pole at the table and all the drinks on the house?" Sinjin comments hopefully, shaking the ice in his nearly empty low ball.

[Stephen]

Val grunts appreciatively.

"Not a bad idea, 'manos. I am slightly anxious about putting Max's credentials on that list, however. He might be known to these guys. If you want me to give it a shot, just say the word."

In preparation for the inevitable go-ahead, Val scans the matrix for the bouncer's deck.

[GM Nick]

(( I rolled the data search and PM'd, I'll add in a knowledge roll as well. ))

One of the goons in an armored suit turns to face Max, his expression wracked with incredulity.

"The frag do I care? Piss off, dandelion-eater, before I feed you your incisors."

[Stephen]

< Alright, 'manos. Looks like we've definitely got a gang presence in this place, and it looks like the VIP area will be a good place to start poking around. I think... If my memory serves me right, this place may be tied to something a bit more organized than a simple gang, but I'm not certain. Sounds there's some guy, Razor, who's kind of the big cheese around this place. Not ringing any bells for me though. Last Razor we ran into isn't much more than a crusty smear on the pavement at this point. At any rate, looks like we gotta get into that VIP area. Give me a sec. >

Val's head lolls to the side as he drops into hot-sim VR and attempts to break into the bouncer's deck with a brute force hacking attempt.

[Elliott]

Moving into range, Tyros reaches out (centering) to touch the mind of the ganger that didn't speak, gently taking control (control thoughts, f4).