It’s been a month since I dealt with Remy Sumanting in the permanent kind of way – If I knew the SOB had so many cousins, I would have found a better way, but it’s a little late for that now. Between my shiny new toys, new clothes and the late nights at clubs, I blew through the last of my cash in a hurry – Counting cards at the Ottoman Palace helped, and they have such a wonderful credit line program, but eventually the Bey wanted a payment.

A few “under the counter” cyberware installations and repairs brought in some cash, and selling bots is always profitable, but it doesn’t pay the vig if you just blow the dough on more wild nights and shiny toys and dodging the Sumantings.

A week ago, The Bey offered my a way to cut some debt – accompany some “free-lance on-site consultants” as “field-ready technical support” – yeah, I can read between the lines: A group of Edgerunners needs someone to patch them up and make some bomb-bots. I was game. I knew it would be dangerous, but who knew it would be almost as fun as cards and clubbing? Apparently, The Bey was as impressed with my work as I was with the new line of work: last night I got a call that he’d completely wipe the books clean of any debt I had with him if I helped some guy named Candyman pull a mission that would put The Bey in the good graces of Lady Emily. So, After this I am debt free and in good standing with a mobster, some cartel, and possibly some top-notch runners. Maybe it’ll lead to some paying gigs? Maybe I can keep credit in the black long enough to set up a workshop an make some real money with my skills – then again, cartels and mobsters seem to own all of the best card-houses…

The streets are quiet in the Gray, the few remaining police aircraft cruise along the inside of the uncompleted dome, then nothing but the sound of shoes upon pavement once more. The Gray is not so much a safe district as it is a not so dangerous a district, even then it pays to take precautions; the silent drone hovers above while two Brothers stalk along in the wings. Candy smiles, NEM once took great care of his personal well-being, no doubt it chaffs them that their protections still lingers as well.

It was a show of respect that he was walking into the territory of Fredrik Alburs, Capa of the Death Shivers, on foot with only an honor guard. Already the distinctive stylized shark tag was making itself known – “This place is protected by the Death Shivers”.

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…”