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[Pimp-Boy 2000]

Zebulon glances at the clerk's getup, then meets his eyes and proffers a lopsided grin.

"Jimmy it is, then.  Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jimmy; I'm Zebulon.  Zebulon Vance.  But you can call me 'Zeb' for short."

Zeb keeps his hand extended a moment longer, then shrugs, and goes back to his soda.  He takes a long pull, almost draining the nearly-full bottle.

"Well, I can't blame you for it.  It's mighty peculiar, walking around like this, and not a little conspicuous.  Don't worry, though.  Lone Star will let well enough alone.

Zeb polishes off the rest of his soda, and carefully sets the empty down on the counter.  He reactivates his right-hand gauntlet, and it folds back into place with a *shisssh*.  He leans over, elbows coming to rest on the counter with a *chunk*... getting a bit closer to Jimmy.

"So, Jimmy... tell me, what do you think of Lone Star?"

[Ingo Monk]

Jimmy gulps..hard.

"Uhhmm... " He clears his throat. "Well.. they uhh... keep the peace.. sorta..."

[Pimp-Boy 2000]

Zebulon throws his head back and has a good, long laugh.  There's no humor in it, though.

"I reckon it's a good thing I already drank my soda, else I'd've sprayed it all over the counter!"

"Keep the peace, eh?  You really think so?  We both know better than that, Jimmy.  They might keep overt crime at bay, but they're as much of a menace to a SINless, or anyone they don't like, as they are to the real criminals. They're rotten apples, Jimmy, rotten to the core."

Zeb picks up his helmet and tucks it under one arm.

"There's a disease afflicting Lone Star, Jimmy.  And me... well, I'm the cure.  Part of it, anyway.  If you think about that, you'll see why someone in my position would take a keen interest in protecting himself.  Fortunately, this crazy getup has worked like a charm... so far."

[Ruski]

0:00:58.9
Sparks fly out of the back of the key-pad as Ruski Slams his screwdriver into the power transformer. Hot-linking the power to the yes/no circuts on the security panel wasn't nearly as impressive or skillfull as picking out the correct combination of circuts that'll give you a positive read, and when you are done, all your tools aren't melted, but it's not nearly as fast.

the lights flicker a bit as the power grounds out into the controll board, and the bay door begins it's slow accent skyward.

0:00:42.7

not waiting for the door to reach it's full apex, or even clear the two foot marker, Ruski Rolls out underneath it, falling the four feet to the truck-bay floor.

the lights inside the stockroom continue to flicker, as the screwdriver continues to emit a string of sparks not unlike a whelding iron dropping firefly like ingots of metal to the floor.

standing up and taking only a half second to get his bearings Ruski grabs the energy drinks from the floor next to the still opening bay door, and takes off arround the back alleyway, toward the side where his car is parked.

0:00:22.3

running toward his car Ruski hits the 'disarm' key on his alarm, and pulls out his keys

0:00:12.1

disarming the lock, and greatfull that the enginge is still running ruski slams his door shut, and dumps the clutch.

the squealing tires throw up a smoke screen as the car fights to find traction before launching into the street.

0:00:1.8

"Common babby common... I don't keep you arround for your gas mileage... show me why I pay 180Y to fill up a tank that lasts four days..."

0:00:08.2-

Launching down the street with his heart racing Ruski pulls down a series of alleyways before parking the car and turning off the countdown.

[Ruski]

Folding up the passinger seat Ruski removes his cyberdeck from it's hidden compartment.

pulling the folding satalite dish from the back seat and mounting it on the unrolled window, pointing skyward, he connects the feed from the dish into the primary access point on the Deck.

before jacking in, he also wires the proximity sensors on the car into the hitcher jack, and puts another hitcher jack port into the datajack drive port on his car. (nothing quite feels like driving from cyberspace)

Then the connection is established.


<Welcome User RuskiFace>


Heaya, what can you see in the sky tonight?


<Two Satalites in range.>
1) Fuchi's Much-Music M-Tri-D (VIN:98J23NNX12)
2) Aries Mil-Spec Weather Satalite (VIN:18EX12356)
3) Lost carrier signal (possible black-box)


I feel like a little rock n' roll tonight, let's see what I can mix up.


<Connection Attempted... Ping Rate 45... Standard carrier Protocol.>


"Welcome to your Music Paradise! Please do not attempt to copy any songs viewed on thease channels, as they are protected by ..."


<RUN Valadate_Login 7.6>


"Welcome GUEST! you have 5 Free downloads available before you must register."


<Download Routing Tables>

"Enter: Password"<RUN: SLEEZE_5.4>
<Router.TBL 1.2MP>
<RUN: Patchwork_SAN 3.2>
<Access to Matrix Granted>
Let's see if we can't find our new Stuffer Shack on here...

[Ruski]

<Located Stuffer-Shack (LTG:87.A94.235.7)
Okay Good. Let's see what's in stock.
"Welcome to Stuffer-Shack online! Please Choose your location?"
<Upload address>
"Make your selection from the following Menu!"
1) Place an Online-Order.
2) Check stock on your favorite stuffer-shack-sweets
3) Apply for an exciting Job!
4) Register a complaint (E-mail to: Trash@aztechnology.corp.com)
<Run Valadate_Login 7.6>
"Welcome Corperate Managment to Location 123.4J! Please Make your selection from the following Menu!"
1) Adjust Margins on items.
2) Adjust accounting records.
3) Hire / Fire / Terminate Employees.
4) Empty Complaint In-Box from this location (3,453 new messages)
5) Spy on Employees.
<5>
Let's see now... looks like that armor guy is still sitting there talking to the kid behind the counter... the alarm was aparently tripped when I spiked the bay door... Current ETA... probibly about 1.5 minutes...

[Ruski]

Ruski Carefully opens up his history, and pulls down the music video download menu, running a video stripper through the feed, and piping the remaning music over the store intercom.

The very latest in troll-thrash begins to play over the store's speaker systems.

[Ruski]

And while I'm here, I think I'll just go ahead and give our brave friend here a raise... they certanly don't pay him enough... let's see now... Hire / Fire / Terminate... let's go to hire... and i'll hire him again for ... $457 / hour. that should be enough. oh, and i'll classify it as pest controll. the amount should be about right. now to switch one of the carrier digets on the other pay-scale so he dosn't get two paychecks... that would look suspicious... Hmm... what else to do... Oh yea! Order some Jolt... the blue color.

and... where is it... USP code? I'll have to look that up...

[Ruski]

*The proximity sensor fed through the deck from the corvette sets off a warning light inside Ruski's virtual world*

Oh crap. I do not need this right now.

Bringing up the cars virtual-dashboard he looks at what he's up aghinst.
Inbound, range 10 yards. Speed, 10 MPH. Designation: Vehicle. Identified as Loan-Star. License Plate EJ-45NT, Checking for Vehicle's Registered Officer... McKathy, James. Lutenant, Cyberneticic Restraint Devision.

Oh crap. I REALLY do not need THIS right now.

[kv]

*a shabby looking guy in a trenchcoat comes into the stuffer shack without looking around- maybe for a meal, or maybe to get out of the rain and cold*

"Hey, do you..."

*at this point he notices the guy in heavy armor leaning against the counter, and runs like it's going out of style out the door and back into the street*

[Pimp-Boy 2000]

Zebulon perks up, and cocks his head to one side.  Suddenly, he snatches up his helmet, slamming it home onto the waiting socket of the tin can's collar.  It seals with a *shoosssHHH*.  Zeb's voice issues forth tinnily from the helmet speaker:

"Lone Star.  It appears they're just cruisin' by for the time being.  Still, never hurts to be safe -- getting cornered in here could be deadly... for all of us.  I sure hope we're all on the same page here, Jimmy; if I go down, everyone does.  So if any Lone Star goons come a'knockin, you haven't seen me."

You hear Zebulon muttering into his helmet; presumably, there's an audio pickup in there somewhere.  Is he conversing with a person or persons unseen?  Or is he just crazy?

Zeb strides calmly over to the back of the Shack and slips into the walk-in refrigerator.

[Ruski]

slamming the car into Low-1 and giving it more gas than probibly was necessary Ruski takes virtual controll over his car... the satalite link he's standing in virtually picks up some static and distortion as the LOS necessary for satalite uplink is momentarly interupted. Luckily the vehicle controlls are a drop-over menu that's locally routed, and so free from distortion. using the last moments of conectivity before the link crashes Ruski punches up some information.
<Accessing Grid-Guide Local City Maps... Locating all Patroll cars>
Run Crybaby! and get me a city map with as many back-alleyways as possible!
<Routing emergency status reports, all other officers in area are currently receving priority 1 calls in other sections of the city, their posisitions and headdings will be displayed ontop of your current streetmap.>

The Patrol car slams into the fiberglass back end of the corvette and several sensors start displaying pictures of the asphalt instead of the view dirrectly behind the car.

oh crap oh crap oh crap!
the feedback pain from bad sensors with HOT ASAST is mind-spinningly nausiating... the best way to describe it, is to imagine that two diffrent people takeing bouth of your eyeballs, and spinning them randomly in diffrent directions.

<... ERROR...<Packet Loss Terminal Connection LOST!>... **#@! ... Feedback loop interupted. ping from local hos*SCREEEEAAAACCCCCCHHHHHHH*

Sparks fly as a bump into the wall tears out the satalite feed from it's mounting point on the doorframe, and causes it to drag and bounce allong the asphalt on it's 6' extension cable behind and beside the car for several yards; before ultimatly being compleatly torn off by a post office mail box.

*CRACK*

Another bump from behind, and the feeling of shreaded fiberglass being torn up by melting rubber tires reminds Ruski that he has better things to think about than passing out from pain.

[Ruski]

Receving incoming Autonav commands:*****#####&%$!!... uploa@d1nGGGGLoan-Star Protocal Stop Vehicle*CANNNNNnnnnnNNNNCLE*... upload**TERMINAL LOOP***Static*AProacHHing IIInterXeccct10N!Warning! Dammage Critical. System Falure Immmmmmmmmmmammmment

Ohhh.... My aching head... I wonder how much of this is caffeen withdrawls and how much of this is feedback from the broken car and dumped matrix feed...

The Corvette continus to pull down the street; the police cruzer unable to keep up in the straightaways; corners however, were another matter alltogether.

pull away down the long streach, run a couple of lights; as soon as the cop car is a ways back; make a couple of corners... and there he is again... the front half of his car wasn't looking much better than the back of the corvette... his push bumper was mostly pushing chrome into asphalt at this point. the resulting sparks were partially melting his front tires... slowly erroding his controll ... then it happened. one blind corner too many.

the Corvette dashed down an alleyway. or what should have been an alleyway. aparently what ever was originally a drive through, became a drive-in. a couple of dumpsters and a fire escape closed down the available space to almost nothing. with what was left of the mirrors dragging on the walls, and with the gas pedal digitally pushed all the way to the floor there wasn't much to do.

*CRASH*
followed immediatly by his tailgator.
*CRASH*
...
darkness folowed.
...



_What... is that?
_Where am I?
_
Digital. Gotta Jack-out.
[Sssystem DuuuuUmpppp.......}}}..>>

Ruski Was laying on broken glass. the kind that hurts. staring up at a starless night. lights flickered and danced allong they red and grey stone walls that reached up into the distant sky... His head was held up at an odd angle, kept there by a cord plugged into his datajack. moving his hand to pull the plug he dully noted that it was hard to unplug it with the tension from the weight of his head, and the slipperyness of the blood wasn't helping much. finally the lock gave, and with a wet thump his head hit the asphalt.
Bright stars danced infront of his eyes. it was cold. it would be so nice to be warm. wait... wasn't something important suppose to be happening?

Forcing himself to sit up and spit out the blood in his mouth; Ruski tryed to breathe... it wasn't easy... must be a couple of cracked ribs. giving up on the sitting up, he decided to go for the safer roll over and climb up. it took longer for his sight to return to normal than it did for him to actuall make it half way up. his car had pushed through the dumpsters, at the cost of droping the enginge block onto the ground. the hood was gone. he couldn't even see where. his cyberdeck was mostly cracked in half, and a wire from the passanger compartment led from the dashboard, to the deck, to the wire he pulled from his head. well, that deck wasn't going to be hacking any more servers.  beyond his car was the cop car. in only slightly better shape. the nose was burried under the back end of the corvette, the melting rubber from the rear shreaded tires dripping down into the front seats.  it was at this point that Ruski discovered that he couldn't hear anything. a dull whine replaced his ability to even make out his own coughs of blood.
Why did this place look so familiar?

[Ruski]

The back of the stuffer shack! Ignoring his pain; Ruski Laughed, it was a soundless thing to him. He idly wondered if his ears were dammaged; or if some part of the backlash from dumpshock had somehow turned off his ability to receve information from his ears. well. while he was here; and his deck and car were ruined; he might as well make the most of it. the still spinning lights from the poliece cruzer gave an ominious light to the area. crawling up the steps was a very painfull experence. he looked at his footprints leading from the car wreck to his current posisition. bloody footprints. how Ironic. stopping to open the door from the stockroom to the main floor of the stuffer shack he had a chance to apriceate that his magnets were still in place on the emergency exit door. that should throw them for a loop when they closed off this area as a crime scene. staggering his way to the counter he grabbed a cold caffeen drink on the way, mindless of the bloody handprint he left on the refridgerator door.
as he pulles up to the counter, he sees his own reflection in the security mirror behind the clerk. blood is leaking from  Ruski's eyes, ears, nose and mouth; bouth eyes are red with blood-bruzes, and broken glass and dust was still drifting from his coat like glitter from a fairy-godmother.

he was pretty sure he mumbled something like "can you open this for me", but it was hard to tell without hearing himself. he reached into his pocket with a numb hand... Hmm... $50 cash.
he dropped the wadded bills into the slowy forming puddle of blood on the counter top, and tryed to grin, realizing too late that the charm is lost when your teeth are stained with your own blood.
he tryed his best to look un-threatening, and tryed to say something that sounded like 'please'

[kv]

Kid had a legacy of wrong place- wrong time. His friends joked about it, MFI refused to talk about it, and it was the subject of more than one funny drinking story.

I mean, seriously. Chi-Town. Detroit (where they put refugees when his dad was locked down inside), getting kidnapped by a corp, them telling his mom he was dead. Getting extracted out of S-K's Kennecott Mountain Facility. Being in Seattle for the Comet, taking some time off in Denver right before Ghostwalker got there... a history of bad timing.

Hell, even he and stuffer shack had a bad reputation. They paid him 5000Y a month as part of his 'rehabilitation after he was low of funds between runs and picked up a job in the McHughs, only to witness some runners taking apart a group of gangers with thier bare hands, and then try to threaten the cops with the bloodied remains. Not like he'd never seen anything like that before, but like hell he was going to tell THEM that.

But he'd been out of the running for several months now. He had forged some credentials, and had been teaching computer science to some sixth-graders. It was a pleasant enough existence.

Walking into the Stuffer shack near his new digs was a bad idea. Something so small changed a big thing like that.

He just walked in, and seeing Ruski there, blood pouring out of... well, everywhere. Ruski was mumbling something to the clerk, who looks absolutely terrified, and was trying to decide whether to scream or faint. Ruski's trail of blood wound around to the back of the store... which didn't make any sense.

The blood pouring out of his ears spoke of some extreme dumpshock, so Kid moved into his line of sight before patting him on the shoulder.

He very slowly lipped the words "Hey Ruski! Let's get you somewhere to clean up!" and spoke clearly, not even sure Ruski would be able to hear him.

He tossed the clerk a roll of 100Y notes and said, "Do me a favor- lose the tape and clean up the blood. We were never here."

Putting his arm around Ruski, he walked him out to the Ford Americar with dealer plates outside.