Dateline: follows on immediately from last session. Time: 11.50pm local time.

Three members of the team – Able, Garrion and Pitbull – are in a stand-of with Captain Pritchard and two of her Whirlwind security guards, who all have their guns drawn and cocked. Things look like they’re about to go from bad to worse. Pritchard raises her voice and calls out to the manager of the condo tower, who is off with Candyman in another room. “Gerry, you left your implant off again, techno-ditz! Bring Mr. Anonymous back through now – he and his team were just leaving!” As the three make their hands obvious and unthreatening, the tower manager wanders out of a luxury office space and stops, agape. “Uh, Captain Pritchard, what’s going on?” Before she can answer, Able breaks in, speaking to Candyman, “Boss, I think the gig’s up. Time to raise the red flag?”

Candyman doesn’t even break stride. “…and that’s how I got back from Bangkok. I heard your inviting us to leave Capt. Pritchard – if you’ll allow me a moment ,” he walks slowly down the hall towards her, showing no a concern for the incipient lethality in the air, “I can explain the situation.” Pritchard replies without turning her head or changing her aim-point, “I’d love to hear an explanation for why a Rossum black ops crew is in my house.”

At the same time, every member of the team can hear through their communicators a cackling and somehow bird-like voice, the Gomi Emporium’s netrunner Yaffle has been alerted by Able. “You pressed the panic button, Able?” Able tilts his head slightly, acknowledging Yaffle. He communicates to him sub-vocally through his implant. “Code Indigo Blue. Looks like we’ll need that spoof-and-confirmation.” “On it. Stall some.”

Meanwhile, Pritchard is listening to Candyman’s ‘explanation’. He gives her a knowing smile, “Ah, yes, well I suppose your evaluation is largely complete anyways. The fine Rossum employee before you is a infiltration expert hired on contract of Whirlwind Security to test this facility and your reaction to the most likely scenarios. They wish to make sure you’re still a salvageable and even valuable asset to the team, that is also why Pitbull is part of this team. In regards to the personal evaluation, which from the lack of bloodshed, it seems you’ve passed.” Candy gives her a moment to digest before continuing, “You must understand, with the news putting forth the spin of Whirlwind Security as murders of women and children…cool heads are needed.”

Gerry the manager sputters incoherently, and the two cops shift uneasily at the look of shock on their redheaded boss’s face as Pritchard takes this all in. Able nods, tilting his head to the others. “The boss has the right of it. We’ve been contracted out to Whirlwind to perform a penetration test and evaluate your performance. They don’t want you cooling your heels any longer than they have to, now that the media scrutiny has died down a bit.” Able continues as Yaffle messages confirmation that he’s successfully penetrated the root level of Talking Rock Tower’s A.I.-run computer system, “I’m on comms with Whirlwind HQ now; they’ve authorized you to verify Mr. Smith’s identity as management, but no details are to be delivered on the rest of our visit, and we’re to continue the penetration test as-is.”

Dateline: 3 days after last session. Time: 10.30pm local time.

The team are sitting in the unmarked van delivered by Gabriel three days ago. They’ve been waiting for the signal from Snow that she had Dneiter under her spell and it was safe to approach his condo block. The original plan was for her to get him to allow them entry somehow, but they got a phonecall from Candyman on a public booth at the Milehigh Club downtown telling them Dneitner is insisting on taking them to a party out in Pleasant Hill and they’ll all be a no-show and now realize the plan will need some fast changing-up.

It’s a nice night for an infiltration. The crescent moon is obscured by high clouds and a light mist has rolled in from the bay. There’s a chance of heavier fog later, the kind that’s filled with pollution, but for now there’s almost no breeze worth mentioning and even the ever-present lights of the megacity seem slightly subdued. From the multi-storey car park of the mall complex where they are parked, about a mile from the condo tower with a nice view over it’s grounds, the team can see that lights still blaze on several floors of the tower, including all of the first five. There’s some subdued lighting out in the landscaped grounds and from whereb they sit they can see ten feet high, black polycarbon poles rising above the shrubbery every ten feet or so around the perimeter of those grounds.

Able smiles slightly as he shows an atypical nervous energy, looking around the van like a jackrabbit about to pop, “We’ll need to change the plan. A full-on break-in, rather than a social engineering coup.” Garrion agrees, but says that a covert infiltration would still be better, given that the on-site security company boast of having a rapid response team answer any major alarm within five minutes. Pitbull quickly outlines a possible route and some precautions to take against passive defenses on his implant, then sends the outline to everyone’s interfaces. However, just as the three are about to set out there’s a squeal of tyres from the parking levels below and moments later a big, familiar B&B limousine pulls up – Candyman has arrived unexpectedly.

As the slim ex-corporate gets out of his limo, Garrion calls softly, “We thought you were busy partying it up. You decide you didn’t want to miss all the fun?” Candyman winks back, “Snow’s with the target, no reason for me to stay around, it’s in good…hands.”

The alarm chirps to the light of the feeble sun streaming through high bared windows – the thrum of heavy machines, forklifts and large trucks docking form the base line of the days song. In the massive office/home, stirs of movement are made, in the doorway stands an immaculately dressed man with the distracted look of one listening to a litany of messages.

“Mr. C, this is Ragdoll – with Gomi Emporium. We could not talk around the others, Miss Emily would have our business discussed as a private matter. Still, your reputation is known, and we would like to hear your proposal. Just leave us a message at this number and we will get back to you. God Speed with the Ghost.”

The one known as Candyman goes about his morning rituals – reviewing the shipping manifests, meeting with his song birds to hear the word on the street, and going over financing of future orders and ventures. With that all done he slips into a relaxed sprawl at his chair and dials the number.

“Greetings, Candyman speaking. It is my understanding that you keep your territory well cared for – providing protection against riffraff and buying the loyalty of your residents. It would be my pleasure, when my loyalty has been shown, to provide merchandise for your Emporium and arms to your security teams. Thanks for calling Ragdoll, we’ve a plan in place for learning more on the Ghost now – I hope it will be only the first of many procurements.”

Click.

“Now, to tweak fate and learn the secrets of the dreaming prince…”

I wiped my knife clean, and let out a long breath. The guy took too long to break. I wasted a whole morning and the start of an afternoon on some half-ass bounty hunter. Aw hell, I even lost a night that I could have spent sleeping, which didn’t sit right with me. I also knew that I couldn’t stay in this motel. If these tards found me, then I’m sure someone who actually knows how to kill a soldier can find me in the next day at most. And with that, I had made up my mind.

It was time to move again.

I was packed and moving again by dusk. It took me only a few steps out the door to realize how they had found me: my spending. I knew it wasn’t smart of me to use my own money, but I had figured that I could make up for that by choosing a place that I could defend and stay trenched in ‘til I ground them down. And now I realize that I was almost right: I could stay trenched and I really could grind them to nothing, but could I keep that up? How many of these morons could I take before I was out-taken?

So I figured it was time for a new tactic. At this point, I took a sizeable portion of my money from the ATM on the opposite end of the city. I then went to the northern end of city and acquired myself a prepaid card for that amount. Simple right?

It was f*cking nerve-wracking, though. I didn’t just feel like I was being followed. I was certain. But I wasn’t sure if my certainty was instinct or paranoia. It wasn’t too likely. I didn’t see anyone twice in these streets, as I alternated roads, and I never caught the same person behind me when I glanced around turning a corner. As simple as I made the trip seem, Night City was big and as big as it was, it made a long trip. And with that long trip, I felt all the anticipation I ever wanted to feel and so f*cking much more. I knew someone was behind me, and I knew that they really wanted to shoot first and ask my corpse later. They were just waiting for less collateral.

At the end of my trip, I stopped by a bar. Never caught the name of it.

I picked a table in the back, and sat at the chair backed against the wall. I broke in my new card for a couple of shots, and stared at the entrance door. I couldn’t help keeping my eyes trained on all visible movement. The bar man. The waitress. The balding man in the leather coat. The trio of women who had a little too much to drink. I kept a careful eye on all of them. It took a couple of minutes for me get a better grip on myself.

I picked the opportunity to leave when I saw one of the trio whisper to the other, look at me, and giggle to her snorting friend. I had just crossed the doorway when a voice stopped me in my tracks.

“It’s considered polite to leave a tip, urchin. Or Pitbull? Whatever you feel like being called, right?”

I knew his voice, and that was the only thing that stopped me. I hadn’t heard his voice in years, but it was him. Carlos. The man who saved my ass. I turned slowly to face him, not knowing if I should expect him to be pointing a gun at me. Thankfully, he wasn’t.

“Nice to see you too, Carlos. You got business with me, detective, or is this just a chat?” I said as evenly as I could manage.

“Both, actually.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “ To be more precise, I’m trying to avoid business with you through this chat. In case you were wondering, this is my jurisdiction now. All the help you gave me when you were just an urchin helped me get out of that sh*t hole and to where we are now. So here’s the part where I tell you how I’m returning the favor.”

He paused for a second, waiting for me to take it all in I guess. I nodded to him, and he took that as his cue.

“Those guys who hit you up last night were hired by me, to smoke you out into the open. I knew that was the only way I’d be having this conversation with you with no shots fired. Now, I want to inform you that the next time I see you, I will be forced to place you under arrest. And I also want to tell you that if you want to keep your nose clean, I hear that the last place you should be is the Gomi Emporium, speaking to Madeleine about a job. Don’t ask how I know, don’t ask who I know. Drop your name. She’ll know who you are.”

I stared at him, confused and paranoid. He picked up on that easily enough.

“I don’t have to tell you how much sh*t I had to go through just to get us here and how much talking I had to do for you. What I have to do, however, is turn around and get back to work. If I turn around and you are still there, I will arrest you. Now, tip your waiters from here on and have a nice day.”

On that note, he turned on his heel and strolled his way down the street. I didn’t need any convincing to avoid testing his arrest threat, as I was already walking the opposite way by his second step. Now my head wasn’t buzzing with the same paranoia. I wasn’t thinking of any hot-shot bounty hunters gunning me down. Now I was filled with the idea of being arrested again. It was a better fear, but not by much.

I pushed the thought out of my head as I focused on what he said. The Gomi Emporium? Madeleine? A job, hinted at being more than just a little dirty? It was all very enticing. Dubious, but enticing. I figured I could check it out at least.

With all that effort from Carlos, it could be worth it, right?

I walked among the hallways, whistling to myself as I passed students to the left and right of me. The sound of a vertol landing on the pad just outside the building was muted by the sound-baffling materials that covered the walls, but it wasn’t quite enough to silence the hordes of students who walked the halls. The masses moved through the halls while chattering, or stopping in front of a display case, billboard, or classroom in order to speak with their friends prior to class starting. One girl, couldn’t have been more than nineteen, was so glued into her interface that she nearly collided with me, her hands waving about as she played some game in VR that only she could see. I looked down at her, gave the kindly-old-man smile I was famous for, and gave a polite “Excuse me, Ms. Johanson.” Always treat the students with respect – they beat that into you your first year working at the Peterson Academy. Ms. Johanson didn’t even acknowledge me; she just slid into the next available opening in the throng of fellow students surrounding us and continued on with her game.

As I approached my classroom, it struck me as interesting how the students ignored the armed guards standing at the door to each classroom. The vast majority of the students here had grown up with their ever-present bodyguards, but I had grown up in Lower Detroit, a poor kid who had to run with the gangs in order to get by in my formative years. I was only able to now teach at one of the most prestigious of the corporate universities because I had a chance encounter with a senator who was able to get me a choice sport at this same university back when it was still called the Air Force Academy, before the Collapse and the government privitizing everything. I had worked for years to fit myself in with the Glitterati crowd, but it was all just an act – I worked for them, was not a part of them, and they made sure I knew it. It was the story with all of the teachers here.

I stepped up to my classroom door and nodded and smiled at the guard holding it open for me. He was wearing the same gear as the other guards in the hall and elsewhere on campus – an Armatech Discrete Commando tactical suit of military-strength body armor fashioned to look like a classy business suit. I knew there was a filter mask in his inner jacket pocket, right next to the two extra magazines for the Armatech ADI PD-9 Personal Defense Weapon he wore on a strap around his shoulder and carried at his side. I looked him right in the eye as I clapped him on the shoulder when I passed. “Good morning, Phil. How are the kids?” The guard nodded to me, returning my gaze past the old-fashioned glasses I wore as an afectation of what I believed an academic should wear before turning to look back front as he answered. “They’re doing fine, Professor. Looks like this class is going to be a rough one – they’re already making more of a ruckus than last semester’s!” I gave a polite chuckle and shake of my head as I continued on to my desk. The first class of the year was always a special one – this one more so than any that came before. Still, I had a job to do, and it was time to do it.