COMPLETED: California Dreaming

[GM Nick]

Special Agent Jeng paces in a small circle in the center of Firestarter's conference room. His lower half flickers disconcertingly as the hologram passes through a stray folding chair. The agent is short and garbed in a long, navy blue coat with heavy shoulderpads--unique to the California military's internal investigations unit. A pair of beady black eyes are affixed in a permanent scowl; his expression states clearly that he doesn't trifle or care to be trifled with.

"The Seattle state--as per treaty--is out of our jurisdiction. There are... provisions in the treaty that allow us to extradite war criminals. These provisions are laden with bureaucracy and end up wasting the time of everyone involved. But don't misunderstand me, we're more than willing to go to whatever lengths necessary to see that justice is meted out. I'm telling you this, because I have a feeling that you'll be cooperative once you've seen the irrefutable evidence that implicates him."

Jeng turns and narrows his eyes in the general direction of the team, unable to actually see them from his own trid-phone. Before any member of the team can open their mouth to speak, the holographic image of the agent is replaced by a colorless, but exceptionally clear representation of a war-torn urban area.

"December 9th, 2066. 1800 hours. The place is the San Fernando Valley in California. This recording is holomark triple-buffered, meaning that any doctoring is completely impossible."

Three FreeCal infantrymen stride into the scene, all in identical urban BDUs. The man taking point (a captain, according to the stripes on his shoulder) stops at the edge of a low concrete wall and removes his helmet. The team finds themselves staring at a slightly younger Doc. There's no doubt that it's him. He raises his hand and twirls his index finger.

"The two men with him are private first-class Jameson and specialist Davis. This was both men's first tour," says the disembodied Jeng.

"Alright, men." The holographic Doc jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "I want a secure perimeter here. Motion sensors on all doorways."

The two subordinates mutter affirmations and break apart, skirting the concrete wall. At this point, whatever device is filming pulls back and pans out so that the scene is now a wide-angle view of a decimated apartment building. The scene is playing out over Doc's shoulder.

"Hey Davis, what are you going to do when your tour's over?"

"I got a kid on the way, man. I'm just going to spend my time at home. No more late nights for me."

Doc moves slowly across the wall, running his hand over the rough surface. His gaze is firmly locked on the two men in front of him. He cranes his neck and the trid zooms in. The footage is so clear that a bead of perspiration is visible dripping off the end of his nose.

"I can't believe you. How old are you? 20? And already with a kid."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say--"

The abrupt report of burst-fire from an assault weapon causes everyone in the conference room to flinch. Davis crumples, a single, smoking hole in his helmet. Jameson turns, clutching at and attempting (in vain) to staunch a massive wound in his chest.

"Doc--why?"

There's another report. Jameson's head jerks back and he drops--lifeless. Doc turns his attention toward the camera. His eyes are empty, expressionless.

Jeng makes a clicking sound with his tongue. "These were not just Adams' comrades, they were his subordinates. These men trusted him with their lives, and paid a price for it. You need to ask yourselves--do you even really know the man that you work with? Can you really trust him not to do the same to you?"

The butt of the rifle comes up quickly and collides with the camera. The image vanishes, restoring darkness to the conference room and instilling all present with a sense of emptiness and dread.

[Drew Buddy]

Standing in the back of the room, adams taps an AR icon to put the call on mute.

"I hope I don't have to convince you gentlemen that this is a load of bulldrek. Triple-buffered, signed by the late Dunkelzahn in his own blood, I don't give a frag. That," He says, almost shaking as he points at the frozen holo, "Did not fraggin' happen."

The holo is good, very good. Good enough to give even Adam's a moment's doubt about his own memory of those years.

No, not possible. But who would make this? Who, with those kinds of resources would have it in for me? Is it even possible to fake a record like that?

"It's a hatchet job. It has to be," he says, trying and failing to keep doubt out of his voice.

[John]

Max shakes his head and drags gravely on his cigarette, and says, "You don't have anything to worry about, amigo. My life alone you've saved as many times as you've ended others." The elf looks up from the ember at the end of his smoke and to his compatriot with a distant, mischievous glimmer in his eye, and finishes, "Well.. almost, anyway." His face resumes its serious countenance to reflect the severity of the situation. His left hand ruffles against the canvas pants he wears when not in the field, the stiff fabric not rumpling under the pressure. Max looks back to the transmission, narrows his eyes, and thinks aloud as much as he may be trying to communicate meaningfully, "And even if that were you, I don't doubt that you would have had a good reason to do it." A heavy, cloying silence hangs in the smoky, humid air for a moment. Max glances back to Doc, trying to express to him that if Adams is lying about the recording that he can trust the elf enough with the truth. "I'll have no part in handing you over. And I think I speak for everyone here."

[GM Nick]

Jeng's mouth continues to move, noiselessly. Doc cancels the mute with a single mental command.

"--agreement. You have 48 hours to comply, which will be looked upon favorably. If not, we'll work with Salish-Shidhe to come and collect him."

The corner of Jeng's mouth twitches up in a snicker.

"End of line."

Pixels jitter in every direction and extinguish, like expired fireflies as the trid-call ends.

[Elliott]

Tyros looks on from his oversized chair, a large scowl painted on his face as he gazes at Jeng's image.

"We'll I don't care if you did it or not", the troll says gruffly. "That bastard is in for a fatal surprise of he thinks he can just show up and threaten one of our own!"

Lacing his fingers together under his chin, a look of contemplation rolls over Tyros' oversized features, "Cal Free State cant just waltz into Seattle and seize someone. It would need UCAS cooperation and permission. Honestly, the UCAS owes us, I cant see their gain letting some other state pursue some old, frankly meaningless, war crime. We don't want to get in a pitched battle with the UCAS, but they don't want that either. We are valuable assets and we would make them bleed if they tried to tangle with us. I just can't see the point in their pursuing this. Obviously, there is something else going on here. I think we need to make a call to our friends in the UCAS to hopefully get this witch hunt called off or at the very least find out what is driving it."

[Drew Buddy]

Adams nods.

"I appreciate the sentiment. But something tells me that this isn't going to stop following me around."

He paces the room, agitated,

"I have to to find out where this came from, and why it has come knocking on our door now. Just, just give me a moment," he says, opening the conference room door, and stepping into the hall.

He grabs a folding chair, and pulls it noisily against the wall in the hallway. I need to see every detail. Maybe I missed something...

He sits heavily on the chair, sweat beading on his brow. Bringing up the call log, he selects the recently ended conversation, and goes into full VR.

No distractions, He thinks, as he watches the conversation and the trid clip, fully immersed.

[Stephen]

Val shifts his gaze uneasily from the hallway where Doc made his exit to his comrades. Unbeknownst to him, his foot taps out a staccato rhythm on the floor.

"Doc couldn't have done something like that. Could he? Did you see his face? I mean, I've falsified some footage in my time, but if that's fake, it's as good as I've ever seen."

[GM Nick]

Doc is Sisyphus.

The minutes roll into hours as he replays the snuff film over and over, searching for something--anything that resembles a clue. He paces soundlessly through the concrete skeleton of the apartment building, an uninvited and invisible voyeur in a stranger's nightmare. The first few times, he is unable to watch as his alleged subordinates are gunned down in cold blood. Eventually, his resolve strengthens and he forces himself to look each man in the eye as the end comes.

Doc freezes the frame and approaches his doppelganger. He tilts his head, examining with intense scrutiny a thin gash on his double's chin; only acutely aware that he is rubbing a scar beneath a layer of stubble on his physical body. His stomach clenches, and the acrid taste of bile hints on his tongue. Reason and uncertainty clash in his mind, sending waves of panic through the normally cool and collected medic. The man in the trid is him, there can be no doubt in his mind. But, searching his memory for the specific event, or even those closely proceeding or leading up to renders a sort of resigned, haunting blankness.

[Drew Buddy]

Adams continues to pace the non-world.

Backtrack, Miles, backtrack. Where are we, why are we here?

He stops and looks at the rank and insignia of his comrades and victims. He stops at his own double, and notes the campaign ribbons on his chest, trying to nail down the time frame in his mind by noticing which ones are there, and which are not.

Still a couple of years before the incident with the General, but after I got moved south to the PCC line.

He stands in front of his ghost, and trims the recording of everything but the man staring back at him. The soldiers, the walls, everything fades into black until he is left looking at his double. He watches the recorded man's eyes, as he unfreezes the recording.

[John]

Max leans forward in his chair and watches the door to the hallway. Doc is somewhere beyond that door working through his problems-- his past. Seeing the doubt on his friend's face has confirmed the likelihood that the recording wasn't a fabrication at all, but rather a window into some forgotten past that Doc would have to have known about to think gone forever. The elf rubs the stubble on his face and drops his head, his left hand holding up the weight of his head and rested in his hair. Max's dark, oily locks sprawl wildly away from his fingers in all directions.

Max thinks back on his former life. He had walked countless dark allies and taken a thousand photos of men being serviced by women other than their wives-- he had chased down endless leads and turns around at more dead-ends than he cared to consider. Over the course of his career, he had developed a special way of seeing what goes on around him. Just as Tyros can see into the astral plane, Max's honed powers of observation also see beyond the apparent world. Looking into the world beyond the end of his nose, Max's eyes light naturally upon minor details that lie hidden in the background noise. Those details suddenly stand out in stark relief against the rest of the world, which goes grey in contrast. 'That's what they're hoping I miss,' Max might think in those moments. 'That's what they're going to wish I'd never seen.'

The elf replays the video in his mind, his photographic memory working overtime.

[GM Nick]

Doc examines the abyssal bounds of the trid, where the camera could not record. Military cameras were not uncommon during the skirmishes in California; they were used for reconnaissance, over-watch, and--ironically--to make sure that rules of engagement were adhered to. Judging from the distance between the trid lens and the ground, it would likely belong to an autonomous drone. He stares at the void where it would have been hovering in frustration.

Turning, Doc spreads his virtual palms apart and the wide-angle landscape re-materializes. His gaze picks apart the apartment building, which is one of a thousand identical projects in the area. Half of the units have been exposed by heavy artillery fire, their contents laid bare for the world to see. He moves to the edge of the recording and looks upward into a decimated living room, still populated with soiled furniture. A mixture of emotions battle for supremacy inside Doc, melancholy being the prime contender. It's a long time before he can manage to tear his gaze away, but when he does--he sees it.

A faded applique retains a tenuous grip on the edge of a concrete wall, a contorted freeze-frame from a phantom breeze. The second word on the banner says apartments, but the first word hasn't been picked up by the camera. Doc is however, able to glean the second two letters from the first word, being both A and D, respectively.

[Drew Buddy]

Something tugs at the back of his mind, and he tries to coax it out into the open.

[GM Nick]

Memory Test (5) (Doc)

[LOG (8) + WIL (4) + PuShed (1) = 6]
1 5 1 5 4 6 6 2 2 6 2 6 1

Doc's brow furrows. Retrieving the memory is like plunging his hand into a bathtub full of ice and retrieving a grain of rice. There's something else there, too--something actively fighting his attempts to remember. A wave of nausea passes over him.

"Fountainhead," Doc half-whispers.

A brief, polaroid flash of a younger Doc lifting the edge of the applique and reading it--quite deliberately reading it--flits through his mind.

[Drew Buddy]

Adams leaves the recording briefly to perform a search. He grips the hard-won memory in his mind, as if it might wriggle from his grasp at any moment.

He presses the words "Fountainhead Apartments" into the carapace of his humble search program, and gives it a pat as it streaks off to ferret out any information, such as the location and history of the building.

[John]

It's there. Somewhere. Max doesn't know where yet, but it's there. He doesn't know how he knows, but he saw something in the trid projection that was wrong. "Play back the projection!" Max shouts suddenly, standing quickly and pulling his hand from his hair. The elf could replay the feed himself, but in his excitement in the moment it's easier to have somebody else do it. Val cues is back up and Max's eyes narrow to slits and race over the images presented to him. "Stop!" he interjects before the recording has ended. 'Too far,' he thinks-- his mind racing and his eyes searching-- then says "Replay it from the beginning again." The recording backs up and starts over from the same origin point. Max drags again on his cigarette, but this time as an afterthought. The smoke hardly hits his tongue before he's beginning to expel it. 'It's here,' Overstreet thinks. He clenches his jaw and studies the damning footage of the scene from some long forgotten life.

"Stop! Back it up. Ten seconds." Almost there. That glow is forming in his mind, and the rest of the recording is beginning to fade. Val tracks the timestamp ticker on the recording back ten seconds and resumes play. 'Passed it again!' the elf's frustrated internal monologue curses. "Again!" The recording pauses, traces in reverse at ten-times speed, and resumes once more. 'Where the frag are you?' Max demands internally, knowing that what he's looking for is right in front of his face. It's right here and he's not seeing it, and it's driving him mad. Not just mad-- it's driving his mind to wander. When Max gets irritable, he tends to revert to thinking of taking a hit. His cigarette in his lips, Max's right hand roots in his pocket and thumbs curiously at the pill bottle hidden there. The elf gently rubs the cab and closes his eyes. His thumbprint finds purchase on the cap and plays at it, loosening it easily. A hit or two will take the edge off and focus his mind. He's simply too agitated to see what he knows is right there for him to spot. The cap is coming loose on the bottle and Max's mouth is beginning to water slightly. This drek is good and fragged, and everybody in the room knows it. Fragged and gonna stay that way until-- "There! Pause it!"

Max takes another step forward, his face illuminated by the glow of the projection. The cigarette dangling from his lips falls to the ground as Max's stare remains unbroken. His right hand withdraws from his pocket and he rubs his face again, pinching his bottom lip and tugging at it slightly before releasing his gentle grip. The dead-men-walking fall away into non-focus. The overhead lighting in the hallway dims and casts the rest of the setting into a colorless ghost of itself. The floor drops away and the debris scattered thereupon is swept into the nether realm of disinterest. The shadow. Doc's shadow stalks on the wall to the right of the frame being recorded by some unseen observer. The over-the-shoulder camera doesn't catch Doc's body, but his shadow leans forward cautiously as he moves deeper and deeper into a combat situation that he would have then been unsure he'd survive. He gestures formation commands with his hand elsewhere in the recording. Max's thinking jumbles momentarily and he thinks of all the battles he's survived with the owner of this shadow at his side. Marlowe rests comfortably in Max's hand and Doc stands at the elf's nine-- both players soothing his nerves and giving him focus. The report from Doc's battle rifle deadens the air for a moment, and the exhaust from its expelled payload plays warmly at the side of his face. Max imagines turning to see Doc's trigger finger squeezing off another round, the rifle catching an overhead neon light and glimmering in the night air outside as it fires another round into a Yakuza enforcer who has broken his last kneecap, or severed his last pinky, or whatever.

The elf turns back around and looks at his teammates, and he says, "Look at Doc's shadow. He isn't holding a gun."

[John]

Max moves decisively from the conference room where the team had gathered to the hallway where Doc's exploration is taking place. Max bursts through the door in a hurry, and insists,

"You weren't holding a gun. You couldn't have been the shooter."

[GM Nick]

Max's revelation drifts through Doc's ears, carrying with it vivid memories of pungent cordite, the heat of a muzzle flare, and the steady, almost comforting feel of a trigger on his finger. The faintest sensation of satisfaction trickles through his brain, and then is gone. The barren, war-torn landscape of San Fernando melts away, replaced by the concrete walls of the Firestarter compound. Doc blinks a few times, unable to shake the after-image of himself. Though the VR playback is gone, the dusty, oppressive heat seems to remain resident in his extremities.

[Drew Buddy]

Contradictions run through Adams' memory, dulling the relief that he should feel at Max's declaration. It was not long ago that he had been accused of a crime he was certain that he hadn't committed, and yet now that his comrade has presented evidence confirming that innocence, he suddenly finds himself uncertain.

If I didn't have a gun, why can I feel the shape of one in my hands?

He stands up unsteadily, and follows Max back into the conference room.

Clearing his throat, he says, "Look, I'm not exactly sure what's going on here, but I have to find out. Whatever happened, it's not going to go away, and I think I might have a lead on where it all went down. I can't explain everything right now, but I'm going to need to take the Hound to FreeCal to clear this mess up. Our company schedule is pretty clear for the next couple of weeks, so we shouldn't be needing the chopper for anything else."

His eyes unfocus for just a moment before he continues, "I'll be leaving as soon as I get confirmation of the location."

[GM Nick]

Doc's search routine reports back in the form of a pulsing animation in an AR window. Expanding the text blurb with a mental command, he glosses over it.

<< Fountainhead Apartments
<< 406 Red Rock Rd.
<< Valley Springs Enclave
<< California

[John]

Max's eyes remain steady on Doc's, and he says,

"I'll understand if you want to go alone, but you should know that you don't have to."

[Elliott]

Tyros laughs grimly, "I sure as hell won't understand why you would want to walk into the lion's jaws alone. Obviously this is some kind of sham, so no reason to face it by yourself. I mean, it's a bit crazy going down to California when we have some measure of legal and physical protection staying here in California. Somehow I don't think just coming up with a bit of evidence to prove the vid is a fake will make this all stop. Someone is coming after you, Doc. And I think I speak for all of us when I say that means we feel they are coming after us too. All for one and all that. If we think we can get to whoever is behind this by striking with surprise in California, then I'm all for it, but we're all going."

[Drew Buddy]

A warm sense of camaraderie fills Adams. These are more than just his colleagues, they're his friends, his only friends in this foreign land to where circumstance led him to flee.

"Thanks, chums. It means a lot. Honestly, I'm not sure what I could expect to do on my own. The trail's been cold for a few years now, so I'm not even sure what I could find."

He means the words, but still can't shake the feeling of dread; The feeling that maybe he doesn't want his friends to come along. The feeling that whatever secrets are uncovered might best remain hidden.

[Elliott]

"Before we go running off anywhere, how do we find out who is behind this? Who has a motive to come after you, Doc, after all these years? Why now? This vid could have been faked whenever. Maybe we should start by looking into this Jeng character. He seemed pretty pleased with himself once he leveled the charges against you. Seems like he has some personal stake in this..."

[Drew Buddy]

Adams shakes his head.

"No, the only person who would have had it in for me already had his revenge. There shouldn't have been any loose ends when I left. It was a clean break."

Don't kid yourself, nothing was clean about it.

"Val, any chance you can look at the background of this Jung guy? See if he's the real deal? Maybe find out where his orders originated?"

[Stephen]

Val locks eyes with Doc and nods curtly.

"Aye, 'mano. Whatever I can do, just say the word. I'll get a fetch on looking into this Jeng guy."

An autonomous persona manifests quite literally in Val's head as he runs an Agent and loads it with a payload of standard data-search software. He arms it with what meager information he has on Special Agent Jeng, and sends it out into the matrix to search some of the more public nodes for any information, beginning with news feeds and judicial records. He instructs it not to attempt to gain entry to restricted nodes, but to make a note of nodes which may contain valuable information in the dump file on his commlink.

EDIT: (( Perhaps I can also roll Matrix Crime to see if Val knows of any information black market nexi which would deal with military/law enforcement personnel/internal procedures? ))

[Drew Buddy]

Adams nods and looks around the room.

"I'm going to start flight prep. Anyone who wants to tag along, meet me on the pad in an hour. Val, you good to work over satellite during the flight?"

[Conway]

"From that tedious little man's smirking, I gather we can look forward to a dance with the Salish-Shidhe in the near future. Personally, Ive no experience with them. Any idea what we can expect from their organization? What type of resources they have at their disposal, and how quickly they are able to mobilize? Put frankly," Sinjin smiles, "are they big enough to handle us?"

As the 'runners file out of the conference room, Sinjin plants a meaty hand around Docs shoulder, giving him a rough shake and a friendly squeeze.
"And dont you worry, mate. You'll not be without your friends. In fact I think Id rather enjoy knocking the smug offa Jengs mug."

Sinjin's eyes dance brighter in momentary realization, delighted by his elementary rhyme.

[GM Nick]

The hound's rotors spin up with their trademark whine, tracing a circumference of light as the indicator lamps activate. Given the short notice, the team has decided to disembark at night. Firestarter's helicopter is a slick, obsidian hornet slumbering under a blue halo. The twin jet turbines on her tail section sputter softly, invisible flames feasting ravenously on the chill night air.

Doc closes the exterior diagnostic panel and leans against the side of the vessel, looking out across the wasteland at the distant sea of lights that is Seattle. California is a different world to the man and not one he is eager to return to.

[Drew Buddy]

Adams sits silently at the controls as Seattle slides by to the left, transitioning into the relative darkness of Salish territory. A sense of foreboding grows with every thump of the rotor blades, dragging him further and further from safety, and closer to... To what?

He passes the time planning the route into Free Cal. The longer the team can remain undetected, the longer they'll have to get to the bottom of this enigma. Once they cross the border, there will be no extradition treaties forming a wall between him and Jeng.

Surveillance should be light around Arroyo Grande, they won't be looking too hard for border jumpers there, and the Vandenberg boys were always lazy. With every stealth mod we've crammed into this thing, I can probably cross over the coastline there, and make for the mountains. We should attract less attention once we're past the net. Then it's just a nice, straight shot southeast.

[GM Nick]

The free state of California looks like how fashion designers would decorate the apocalypse.

Hundreds of miles of desert, beaches and chaparral span the duration, stretched taut like ligaments. The landscape is dotted with suburban enclaves, tribal strip malls, and the towering, fortress-esque garrisons of the free state militia. Super highways snake around malls reduced to rubble. Obelisk towers of industry compete with each other to touch the smog-ridden sky. It's as if someone threw a grenade into the worst part of Seattle and then gave everyone a million nuyen.

The Hound banks left, driving a sweeping arc towards the hills rimming the valley.

[Stephen]

Val shifts his gaze away from California's barren landscape as a dump file update notification flashes in the periphery of his vision. He expands the AR window and rifles through its contents.

"Got something on Jeng, though it's not much. Shin Jeng, Corporal with Special Investigations. No commendation record to speak of, but he's been tagged for unruly conduct and excessive use of force, the details of which are classified. Sounds like just the type to stage something like this if he had even a whisper of a reason for doing so. Served a year in Los Alamos in 2064, another tour the following year in the San Fernando Valley, then moved on to San Gabriel in 2066. Any of your tours match up with his, Doc? Any reason you can think of that he'd be gunning for you? I've got his military ID. If you can't think of anything, I could try to get more on him, but whatever else there is is bound to be locked up pretty fraggin' tight."

[Drew Buddy]

Doc furrows his brow,

"Not sure any of it matches up. San Gabriel would have been the closest place and time, but I was mostly working inland. That said, the SI boys usually had a pretty wide radius. Just because he was stationed there, doesn't mean that that's where all his work was done. It's kind of a go-where-needed branch."

A slight chill runs through his spine at the memory. Special Investigations was never a welcome sight on a base.

"I had my own dealings with SI at the end of my career, but I don't recall seeing him in the proceedings."

[GM Nick]

Doc sets the hound down in a flat ravine flanked by on either side by hills. The dessicated, malnourished flora tumbles away from the LZ as the rotors spin down. Opening the windows invites an aroma of sage, dead vegetation, and pollution. A rusted motorbike skeleton--a relic from the early millenia--lies discarded in a bramble of weeds. The team is a few klicks out from the enclave, a decision arrived to due in whole to Doc's desire to remain incognito.

[Drew Buddy]

Adams stands by the open door of the helicopter and squints into the constellation of lights that dot low on the landscape, fading into a dull yellow glow in the distance.

"Honestly don't know why we fought the Pueblo to keep this scrap of land," he mumbles to himself as he opens his pack, and starts laying items out on the floor of the hound.

"Okay, here's the deal. The 'burbclaves don't like guns, so we're going to have trouble taking anything big and conspicuous with us. The good news is that no one knows we're here, and I doubt they have much reason to have heavy guard on the area. They're mostly concerned with gangers and undesirables. Or if they are gangers and undesirables, then they're mostly concerned with easy, weak targets. Key is to fly under both those radars."

Adams zips his Colt Cobra under his suit, and snaps his Sig battle rifle into the gun rack of the helicopter. He looks at his assortment of equipment, and stows the high explosives in a compartment of the chopper as well. He retrieves a small briefcase, and sets it down on the ground outside the chopper.

"We can't go grabbing attention. If this Jeng guy and his cronies get wind that I'm here, then all bets are off. We've gone up against overwhelming odds, but we haven't gone up against an established military in the middle of their home turf. Keep your heads down."

[Drew Buddy]

Adams stares at the distant enclave.

"We should still try to find a side-route in, if possible. No telling how paranoid these people are. Slipping in might be easier than bluffing our way in, and we should be under less scrutiny once we're actually inside," he says, hoping it's true.