> 5:45pm
> Kabukichō, Sinjuku Ward.
> Neo-Japan, Tokyo District Metroplex

Decades ago, Kabukichō was a well known as an entertainment and red-light district in Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan. Kabukichō was the location of many host and hostess clubs, love hotels, shops, restaurants, and nightclubs, and was often called the "Sleepless Town". Nowadays, it was a hotbed for organized crime. Ruled by a collective of Yakuza clans, Kabukichō was one of the few neighborhoods that was able to thrive without the support of the Mega-Corps. Home to the largest black-market in the Shinjuku district, Kabukichō was primarily inhabited by those of shadier natures: Criminals, thugs, pickpockets, and rogues, though it also held a fair number of "honest" shopkeepers, vendors, and wage-slaves. Here, it was easy to find pretty much anything worth looking for: Weapons, drugs, sex, anything could be purchased here, if one knew the right people and were able to pay the right price.

While infamous for its gang presence, the Yakuza-Enforcer gangs kept general, non-yakuza crime at bay on the main throughways of the district, and Kabukichō was still a relatively popular night-life area, and it was uncommon, but not unheard of for tourists to come visit. If you were able to ignore the extortion, rampant poverty, general squalor, and chaos of Kabukichō, it was plain to see that this neighborhood was considerably more 'fortunate' than many of the underground neighborhoods in Neo-Japan.

---

Despite the light pour of rain, the streets remained populated and crowded as people pushed amongst eachother, eager to go about their businesses, most had their hoods up and heads hunched, others walked with umbrellas, and some-clearly yakuza members strode with confident swaggers. One figure with a black longcoat and rucksack, went about his business as normal, easily pushing through the crowd, but not actively shoving people out of his way. The hood concealed his face, and his jacket remained closed, obscuring the combat armor that covered his body. His hands were shoved firmly into a pair of pockets, and he walked with an unobtrusive manner. Hidden in plain sight, Eric stalked his quarry, maintaining a solid 10 meters of distance between him and his target.

Eric watched as his target, a well-dressed blonde businessman-type, followed by a big burly bodyguard, pushed into a nearby brothel- for business or for pleasure, Eric didn't really know, nor did he particularly care. Following them, Eric stopped at the brothel door, and took a look at the bouncer who stood in the front, controlling the poor folk's entrance. The bouncer, a large, shaven headed man, with a single robotic eye, a cheap, bulky, intrusive looking cyberarm, and a heavy armored longcoat glanced at him, a large, powerful shotgun held casually, almost easily in one hand.

"Takashi." The bouncer said with a grunt.

"Rembo." Eric replied without a glance, his eyes still following his quarry through the windows.

"Favor or not, if you start shooting this place up, I'll fill your guts with buckshot." The bouncer named Rembo told him, not as a threat, but a statement.

Eric didn't answer, he merely pushed the brothel's doors open and stepped inside. Instantaneously he was engulfed with electro-pop music, scantily clad dancers, rows of booth tables, and the mixing smells of sex and drugs. Tracking his quarry, Eric saw the businessman and his bodyguard walking towards a backroom, being escorted by a prostitute. As the backroom's veil was pushed opened, Eric caught a glimpse of another businessman- this one a ginger. So this was a business trip after all. The businessman's bodyguard paused outside for a moment, glaring suspiciously at anyone who got too close to him, before following the businessmen.

Pushing past a pair of prostitutes trying to get his attention, Eric made his way towards the back, triggering his stealth cloak as he did. He caught a couple surprised glances from nearby individuals, but they quickly forgot about him or were distracted by something in this building of sin. A shimmer of air pushed through the veil, the cloth partition shuddering slightly as an invisible Eric went through. He found himself in a long corridor, with several doors leading to several rooms. Standing outside one of the doors was the burly bodyguard Eric's target had been employing. Quickly closing the distance, the bodyguard became aware of the shimmer of air moving towards him, and his eyes widened as a figure materialized through the air, and struck him across the face with an electrically charged fist. A second hand clamped across his mouth to prevent him from shouting out, and the flying assailant landed silently on the otherside of him, stopping him from hitting the ground with a thud.

In a fluid motion, Eric deployed his mono-filament whip and looped it around the bodyguard's throat. The bodyguard looked intimidating, but it was clear he lacked any more than formal base level security training- which was lacking at best. He looked big and intimidating, which was probably why he was hired. But his intimidating presence did little to stop the energized whip from tightening around his throat and cutting through his neck. Now alone outside the businessman's conference room with the severed head of a corporate bodyguard, Eric relieved the body of its pistol, and casually chucked the head through the door's tinted window, shattering the glass and sending a shout of surprise through its occupants.

Kicking in the door, with another one of his own pistols drawn, Eric found himself face to face with a pair of terrified figures- the ginger businessman, and his quarry. Now confidently in control of the situation, Eric holstered one of his pistols and grabbed at one of the nearby chairs, spinning it around and casually straddling it, his pistol hand resting casually on the chair's backrest.

"Please, take a seat, Mr. Hoshiro, and...?" Eric said casually, almost lazily, as he glanced at the ginger man.

"S-Smith." The ginger said with failing confidence.

"Yes, of course, Mr. Smith." Eric replied with false sincerity, the businessman's attempt at hiding his name was futile, but Eric didn't particularly care. "Your nametag says otherwise, Mr. McKinney," he observed, "But its quite alright, because I have no interest in you." Eric said over the blustering of the businessman.

"O-oh, thank god, I'm just an accountant, I'm-"

Bang

The bullet from Eric's pistol interrupted the businessman and sent him falling to the ground, clutching desperately at his chest, sucking sounds from the wound implying that his lung now had a gaping hole in it. The backroom was far enough from the club that the gunshot would attract attention, but not start a panic. "Hmm.. I think about half an hour before he dies, what do you think?"

"W-What are you doing!?" The blonde businessman cried out, half attempting to run to the aid of his friend, but deterred by Eric's pistol trained on him.

"I'm just taking care of some business Mr. Hoshiro," Eric replied casually, "It appears you're on the wrong side of some powerful people, Mr. Hoshiro. My employers are very, very upset with you."

"I-I I can get the money! I just need more time! Don't kill me, please!" Hoshiro pleaded desperately.

"I'm sure you will get them their money Mr. Hoshiro," Eric replied, standing up from his seat. "I'm just here to collect some insurance." he said as he approached Hoshiro.

Hoshiro jumped up to flee, but Eric quickly caught him and slammed him against the table, drawing his energy katana. Eric ground Hoshiro's face into the table, muffling his screams as he cut off Hoshiro's right pinky, the energy blade cauterizing the wound as it did. A digit, even cauterized, wasn't difficult to replace- while he couldn't merely get a cybernetic finger to replace the lost digit because of the cauterization, a cyberhand wasn't too expensive in this day and age. However, it was the message that was the point. Falling to the floor, Hoshiro howled in pain, clutching at his right hand.

Slipping the pinky into a bag and into his pocket, Eric lazily dropped the fallen bodyguard's pistol onto the table and prepared to leave, he could hear the sounds of a bouncer shouting in the distance to see what all the fuss was about.

"20,000 credits next time I see you, Mr. Hoshiro, or we'll have problems." Eric said plainly as he disappeared into a shimmer in the air. "And I'm not someone you want to have a problem with."

---

Stepping back into the rain, Eric quickly left the brothel, his stealth cloak flickering off as he walked away. As he walked, his comm(cellphone) buzzed. Casually flicking it out, he gave it a quick scan.

Got a big job. Meet at the safehouse. - Mr. T.

An old metal song blared through the speakers within the dive bar as a tank of man sat silent at the bar. His bloodshot eyes staring downward, the thoughts going through his mind of pure revenge. Two all too familiar faces that kept popping up even after all the years he had last seen them. The two bastards which had burnt him both literally and figuratively. He knew they were both still alive, ensured it. If anyone was going to end them it would be Max Branch.

His fingers tapped along to the drums of the song, an almost unconscious motion. His helmet was off and in front of him. He breathed out of his own nose, the metallic taste he always tasted within his mouth. The bartender stood at the other end of the bar, a nervous eye upon Max as he sat in a terrifying silence. There were others in the bar, they all kept their distance from the metal jawed behemoth. All except one idiot drunk who just couldn't turn down a dare.

"H-hey man, ya want a drink. You loo-ok like you neeeeeed one. Or maybe a girl?" The drunk asked Max as he approached, the Ronin smelling the stench of alcohol on the man's breath. He was one of the locals, some hotshot trying to impress some floozy. If Max ignored him perha-

"Come on, bro, what's wrong, why-y so cranky?" The drunk pitched in, a stupid grin on his face as Max finally acknowledged his presence. Annoyance filled eyes glaring right at the one that approached him. No words spoken yet. He would give him another kind chance to get the message.

"You really need to get laid metal man, come onnnnn." The drunk said, not getting the message. Max slide off his seat, standing with a clang. The room went silent except for the music as the tank moved to face the man that awoke him. The giant's eyes fell upon the drunk's hands, both augmented. Pitiful.

"Can you smile with that thi-" The drunk started to say before Max literally lifted him off the ground, raising him high enough to look the near seven foot armored giant right in the eyes. The drunk's friends stared at the scene, as did everyone else in the bar.

"Back off." Max uttered, his voice metallic, tone robotic. His words with just the slightest hint of rage behind them. Then he released his grip on the idiot, the man landing on top of the bar, sliding right off on impact. As Max turned to sit back down he felt something bounce into him, trying to tackle him to the floor. It was the drunkard.

"What the fuck was that you freak?" The man slurred out as he tried to push Max over, the Ronin barely getting budged by the maneuver. That was enough, it was one thing to speak to him in such away, another for the fool to lay his filthy augmented fingers on his armor. Now Grizzly was angry. He grasped the drunk by the shoulder, then flung him backwards, into the wall behind. He hit the wall like a rock with a brutal smack, his body falling onto one of the booths. A few broken vertebrate at least, not enough for the angry behemoth.

"These fucking augmentations, you did not need them, you conformed to get them. Only because all of your friends got them. Pathetic." Max spoke out as the drunk wiggled, staring at him as he walked towards him again. One of the women within the bar almost shrieked as Max began to literally yank one of the drunk's augmented hands from the limb. Blood sprayed as the machinery came loose, the man howling in pain as he was now handless.

"I'm calling the fucking police!" The bartender shouted. Max didn't care, he was done here. He flung the machine limb into the wall, it cracking on contact as it landed next to its owner. Grizzly then walked out of the bar with no more haste than he did entering it. He could hear the drunkard's friends going to help out the poor sap. Perhaps it would teach them all a lesson in manners.

---

As Max exited the bar he screwed his helmet on. The HUD came online a split second later as it revealed a recent message.

"Got a big job. Meet at the safehouse. - Mr. T."

Then the giant disappeared down an alleyway, as police sirens blared in the distance hopelessly.

Kasshin Towers is a glass and steel behemoth standing a hundred stories above the neon-saturated Neo-Tokyo surface. A honeycomb of office rooms, it hosts numerous small to mid-sized companies. Most of these legitimate firms were closed for the night, leaving behind empty corridors echoing with the low hum of the ventilation system.

In an anonymous room, behind an anonymous door, a man in scientist scrubs groans as his captors prepare another cocktail of drugs to administer. He struggles against his blood soaked restraints as they approach him with the syringe, but his movements are sluggish and ineffectual. One man presses down, forcing the captive’s hand deeper into the power drill impaling it. As he feels the mangling of his hands and the prick of a needle, all he can do is let out a wet gurgling scream.

The wind roars past a trio of figures as they glide between the skyscrapers. They soar on winged suits, navigating past towering billboards and expansive sky bridges. Moving with precision and purpose, making their way to Kasshin Towers like a trio of silent bats. As they approach, they apply their air brakes, allowing momentum to carry them the rest of the way.

One figure raises its weapon and takes aim at the glass surface they are about to collide with. With a muted cough, the weapon launches a breaching round into the glass, shattering it into the thousand glittering pieces. The three figures quickly follow in, guns blazing as dazed security personnel try to react to the sudden intrusion. While their suits fold in, the bat-like figures clear the office cubicle by cubicle.

They stack up beside a locked door.
“Three heat signatures inside” one figure intones.
“HVI?” the second figure queries.
“Possible. One’s looks like he’s strapped down on a chair.”
“Got it. Breach and clear on my mark. Watch for friendlies,” decides the second one. He turns around and taps the last figure. “HVI’s still alive.”
“Guess I’ll be earning my keep then,” the last man nods.
The second man chuckles, then begins counting down.

The door explodes in a shower of shrapnel. One interrogator fires his pistol at the doorway blindly, while the other ducks under a heavy desk. The lead intruder steps in and to the side, just as a haphazardly aimed pistol round skips off the surface of his armour. He opens fire and returns the favour, dropping his assailant. The second intruder scans for more targets, but is quickly hammered back as the last interrogator reaches over the table and fires blindly with his submachine gun. The last intruder quickly ducks below the line of fire before pumping shot after shot into the table. Mahogany is no match for rifle calibre bullets, and the last remaining interrogator joins his compatriot.

“Clear!” the first intruder yells as he surveys the rest of the room.
The second, injured intruder gingerly picks himself off the floor, waving off the third’s extended hand.
“I’m fine. Check the HVI.”

The third man moves away to free the delirious scientist from his restraints. Laying him down on the bullet-holed table, he begins treating the injuries. The other two intruders begin rigging up the office, preparing for their extraction and to deal with reinforcements.

Sure enough, more enemies appear, their arrival signalled by the chiming of the lift. The two intruders begin shooting as the doors open, cutting down the first ranks of security personnel. A few who had the fortune of better grade armour and the presence of mind to stand behind a few cannon fodder, were able to escape the massacre, ducking out of the lift and into cover. A shootout between the intruders and the reinforcements begin in earnest, and as another lift full of armed men arrive, the situation begins to turn against the former.

“Goblin, we gotta go,” the injured intruder orders the third member of his group. “Extract’s almost above us”
“Roger that, exiting the room. Give me some covering fire.”

The 2 intruders half-stand up and fire into the mass of enemies. They endure the hits they receive, gambling that their armour would withstand the punishment for now. Their enemies are not so well equipped however, and are quickly suppressed by the volume of accurate fire. Goblin bursts out of the room, carrying the scientist in a fireman’s lift while shooting back with his rifle held in his cybernetic arm. He doesn’t stop running until he reaches the pillar behind which his team mates are hiding.

“Is he stable?” yells the injured intruder over the noise.
“Stable enough. I’ll strap him to me and we’ll extract on the same line,” Goblin replies.
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah, trust the doctor on this one. Let’s go!”

As the injured intruder begins yelling instructions over the radio, the other two inflate small balloons attached to a length of para cord. Hooking themselves up to one end, they throw it outside the open window they came in from. The balloons float up into the night sky, emitting a strobing light and dragging the cords with them. Satisfied that the lines were clear, Goblin wore a full body harness on the scientist before securing him onto his own rigging.

Giving one last burst of return fire, the intruders activate the grenades they had laced the office with. Explosions rip through the ranks of the security personnel, and smoke begins to pour out from every direction, flooding the entire area with choking smog. As the dazed enemies struggle to regain their awareness, a loud mechanical droning rattles the building, shaking loose debris and anything not nailed down. The intruders watch their lines, and the moment they feel them catch onto something, they leap out the open window.

A moment of free fall, then a jerk, then slowly being hoisted up into the belly of a drone aircraft. Once again, the Fulton extraction system proves its success.

Safe in the cargo hold, the intruders finally take a breather. Goblin unstraps his cargo from himself and lays him on the prepared stretcher. The company would take good care of their new information asset, hopefully better than the last bunch had. It would of course, depend on how cooperative he turns out to be, but that was frankly not Goblin’s concern.

“Hey Goblin, good job there,” praised the injured intruder, patting the medic on the back. “Thought we’d have to leave the HVI behind after seeing how messed up he was.”
“It was touch and go for a while,” Goblin shrugs. “How about you? Got yourself any souvenirs?”
The intruder grins and peels off his armour and undershirt, revealing a rigid plate of bullet-resistant material under his skin.
“Sub-dermal armour, baby. If I’m lucky, it won’t even leave a bruise in the morning.”
Goblin nods, impressed. “Good insurance. Pity I don’t need to treat that. I could have charged extra.”

While the apparently uninjured intruder laughed, Goblin saw a message pop up on his helmet’s HUD. With a quick eye gesture, he opened it.

“Why don’t you join our next gig? No HVI to protect, but a saw-bones is always welcome in our line of work.”

“Sorry Castle,” Goblin shook his head as he read his message. “Looks like I’ve got another hot date tonight.”
Got a big job. Meet at the safehouse. –Mr. T

Two hours earlier...

Evie didn't like sitting in a bar alone with only her Civ-Grade armour as her protection, but it was the only way to get past the security scanners at the front door. At least the bouncer was content enough to let her through after a brief glance to make sure her bag didn't contain the weapons.

Of course, she had Ares flying outside the club, with a line through the glass windows to her if anything unexpected happened. Now that the hardest part of the infiltration had started, it was time to start on the exit plan. The blue haired girl sauntered up to the VIP lounge, where the owner say. He smiled at her hungrily and waved off his guards.

He was quick to have a drink brought up for her. Evie took a sip and feigned surprise before collapsing in a heap. Hiro Yamamoto enjoyed drugging the call girls and bringing them somewhere else for his own entertainment. It was commonplace enough for young defenseless women to end up roofied and locked in a room with a bunch of men, so people rarely batted an eye. The reason why Mr Yamamoto was being paid a visit tonight was because he liked to film torture porn snuff films. Now that shit was bad for business.

So when the bastard carried her out the backdoor of his club and to a car waiting in the alley, Evie struck. The syringe she had palmed in her hand pricked the man's arm and delivered a fast acting tranquiliser into his system.

It only took an hour for the man to regain consciousness, but found himself unable to move from the neck down. "What the fuck? How...?"

Evie held up her holiday, displaying the bartender's financial details. "Told him to serve me coloured water. Otherwise his daughter's hospital stay would be cut short."

Evie had him strapped to a chair, humming a mellow tune as she tried not to think about the very specific instructions her client had given her. The Ronin was sure the madame either had a really sick, ironic sense of vengeance, or watched too many of the Saw films. Considering not many people bothered watching old dated films, Evie made a mental note not to fuck up the plan in case she got targeted as well.

She picked the drill and sighed, really thankful her neural interface allowed her to manage her memories. The visuals of what she was about to do to the poor sod could be filed under "Memories to never revisit" part of her brain. It was only upon hearing the power tool that Yamamoto began struggling and crying out in earnest.

"What are you trying to do to me, you bitch? You want to torture me, do better than a drill!"

It was just as well he was lying back on the floor and with a sheet over his face. He wouldn't feel a thing and wouldn't know what she was doing until the paralytic wore off and he was allowed to see the nightmare contraption he was in.

It took another half an hour for her to finish attaching every last bit of metal to flesh. Her hands were a bloody mess and she had to refer to a chart every five minutes to make sure she didn't kill the man before the device could do its work. If Goblin wasn't elsewhere on another job, he could have handled this part. She was going to need a lot of bleach and some really strong soap after this.

When she lifted the chair back up into a standing position and Hiro saw what she had done, abject horror fell upon him as he began losing his shit. Evie walked over to set up the camera in front of the mirror, double checking that everything was set in place.

She returned to him and pressed a remote into his hand. "For later. Watch that screen." She delivered the instructions, not bothering to elaborate, before promptly exiting the space.

---

Present Time

The Blooming Rose was a well known brothel on the street. It prided itself on providing "high class girls" to their clientele. To that end, there was a sort of glass display by the door where a couple of girls usually spent their time dancing and performing for the passers by outside, trying to entice them into patronising the establishment.

Tonight, the display was covered by a black curtain. Evie was set up on the second floor of the opposite building, watching the display through the scope of her rifle. Beside her weapon was a tablet, with shot glasses lined up along one side of it. Inside each shot glass were an assortment of sweets from jellybeans to chocolate drops.

"I know you're excited but hold it back unless he escapes, okay?" She cooed to her rifle, stroking it gently as she waited for the appointed time.

"Ladies and gentlemen. I am Madam Scarlet. Most of you know me as the woman who runs half the brothels on this street. For the past year, Hiro Yamamoto has been taking my girls and filming their slow executions. Tonight, I'm returning the favour." A voice came over the speakers that had been hurriedly set up outside the display as the curtain fell away to reveal a bloodied man restrained to am abomination of a chair.

The chair holding Yamamoto had a pair of pistols strapped to its front legs, each one aimed at one of his knees. The man had no pants on, and instead his genitals were sealed inside the glass container and sealed to his skin with epoxy. "Mr Yamamoto, since you enjoy pain do much, let me give you a taste of your own medicine. Those pistols will fire within five minutes of this recording ending. You have a remote in your hand. It activates the kettle glued to your crotch. That's right, you heard correctly, that is a kettle. You are going to boil your own balls off if you want to leave that chair alive. If your finger leaves the button for even one second, the pistols fire."

The lights came on an a countdown was projected on the glass. The crowd on the street stopped in their tracks to watch as the trapped man struggled useless against his bonds, yelling curses and profanities that didn't quite make it through the glass. When it dawned on him that he had to comply to live, he tightened his grip on the remote and clenched his teeth, subjecting himself to the torment.

The man's screams were loud enough to be heard on the other side of the glass, muffled though they were. The liquid in the device glued to him was dyed red as the flesh cooked. Evie took a shot of candy as she hit the corresponding button on the tablet the glass had been aligned with.

>>Releasing Restraints...

The chair let Hiro Yamamoto go as the man fell to the floor and tried crawling away to find an escape route and get out. Evie sighed picked up another shot as she hit the second button just as the man regained enough senses to stand up weakly, leaning against the glass wall and facing the audience, fists pounding uselessly against it as he pleaded for help.

No one rushed to his aid. Nobody wanted to piss off whoever it was that had done this to the sorry fool. Evie looked down at her screen, at the button that said "ARMED" in bright green letters and tapped it. Microexplosives in the man's shins detonated, breaking his legs and causing him to fall back down to the ground as the glass wall slid away and dropped him out into the street.

Even through the pain and shock, Yamamoto continued crawling, clawing at the pavement to put as much distance between him and his own torture chamber. He didn't get very far before Evie picked up the third shot glass and hit another button. This time, a second set of explosives went off in a rib, fracturing it and making it harder to breathe. A countdown started on her screen, timing the next detonation for the next rib in line. It had been such a pain in the ass rigging up small, miniscule bombs that would only break a single rib and not kill him with the concussion outright, not to mention plant them on the actual ribs without breaking them first.

By the time the last bomb went off, Yamamoto was gasping for air, struggling to take in as much air as he could with all his ribs broken and stabbing at him each time he inhaled. The main door of the brothel opened as Madam Scarlet herself walked out, shotgun in hand. "This is what will happen the next time someone hurts one of my girls without her permission or mine." She called out to the street, as she planted her shotgun to the man's face and blasted off his jaw.

There was a knock on the door of Evie's roost as a pretty, young girl dressed in fine gown and elegant make up walked in. "Madam Scarlet was very pleased with the show. The rest of the payment has been wired, and she says you can come visit us any time, no charge."

Evie grunted her acknowledgement. Not that she would ever take up the offer. She had taken the contract because it paid well and Hiro Yamamoto was scum. She didn't expect Miss Scarlet to be even more terrifying. The blue haired Ronin decided within five minutes of meeting the woman that she never wanted to be in the same room again.

A message came in from Mr T at that very moment. Evie picked up her rifle and returned it to the bag. "New job. Maybe some other time." She replied to the messenger girl, who smiled politely and bowed out of the room.

Leaving the building in a hurry, Evie spared only a glance at the bloody mess Yamamoto's corpse had left behind before gunning her motorcycle and speeding off.

> 6:20pm
> Kabukichō, Sinjuku Ward.
> Neo-Japan, Tokyo District Metroplex

Off the main streets of Kabukichō was a small dive bar simply named "Tommy's". A relatively small, single room bar, Tommy's reeked of cheap beer, stale air, and grungy people. Made up of a single bar, several tables, and a few more private booths, Tommy's was unique as it was one of the few places in Kabukichō to have more wooden furniture than metal or plastic, though a fair amount of electronics and metal could be seen jutting out of the woodwork. A haunt often frequented by the less reputable members of society, Tommy's was a hotbed for illicit activity, and a fair number of Ronin, mercs, and yakuza visited often- usually for business, but not uncommonly for pleasure.

Tonight was much like any other night- maybe a bit slower than usual. Most of the crowd tonight appeared to be here for pleasure. A few Ronin sat here and there, exchanging stories about jobs and missions gone right or wrong. There seemed to lack the presence of any suits bearing jobs from clients, and any black marketeers at the bar had decided to take a break. As a result, it was easy for Eric to lose himself in the crowd, only needing to nod to the bartender, Jeremy Thomas, before quietly slipping into the bar's backroom and heading up the stairs.

One rickety wooden door, and two surprisingly complex security systems later, Eric had made it into the safehouse that the team he was part of utilized. The safehouse was for most of the team, their primary residence. While some of the team members may have owned their own apartment, bought with their own money, everyone at the very least had a bed and some amount of supplies and stake in this safehouse. The main living room of this flat had been converted into the team's command center, holopads and data displays slowly scrolling information everywhere- along with several 'hard copies' of information on various companies. There were a few stools, a couch, and a desk chair, along with several tables cluttered with weapon parts, half-used medi-gel canisters, and even an odd chem or two.

Plopping himself on the couch, Eric only had to wait a moment before the bartender, Mr. T himself entered the room and sat himself on the desk chair. The interaction between the two was slight, there was no point discussing details until the rest of the team arrived.

Evie dismounted her bike in the back alley of Tommy's. It was perhaps not a very secure parking spot on its own, but the blue haired Ronin had installed cameras watching the alley and her bike was equipped with an anti-theft system that would deliver a painful electric shock to anyone who tried to start it by force. The ignition was controlled by a biometric lock, and a GPS tracking system that ensured any thief good enough to bypass the countermeasures wouldn't be able to get very far with it.

She rarely entered Tommy's by the front entrance, since a few of the regulars kept trying to buy her drinks. A few tried hitting on her, but most of them were just trying to get her to make some ridiculous contraption they could use for a job. Most of their suggestions were rarely practical, or else were too expensive to make. Over time she just found it easier to use the back entrance for the staff and head into the backroom safe house from there.

Mr T. and Eric were already there, and seeing as they were missing three other members still, Evie decided the two could wait a while longer. "Shower." She murmured lazily as she sauntered past them, smelling of blood and grime from her last job. "Don't give me anymore jobs from Madame Scarlet." She grumbled to Mr T as she picked up a towel, new set of underarmour fatigues and headed into the bathroom with Arbiter. The door was locked and Ares came flying in, hovering over it. Not that she didn't trust her teammates not to peep on her, but it was a running gag at this point and she did it more out of force of habit than anything else.

---

Fifteen minutes later, she was back out in a new set of clothes and a towel over her head to dry her hair, staring into the snack cupboard and playing "eeny meeny miny moe" to determine which packet of sweets to pick. She settled on a Jumbo bag of M&M's and sat back down, tossing one after another into her mouth contentedly.

Saito’s journey began from the clandestine, off-shore UAV carrier, to an unassuming jetty along Tokyo Bay, before hitching ride into the city proper in a company armored car, blindfolded of course. Unceremoniously dumped at the bus depot, he then had to navigate through Neo-Tokyo’s public transportation system, an anarchic mess of competing mass transit firms, locked in a constant turf war over bus routes, air-cab unions and mag-lev rails. Saito ended up sitting through four trains and several bus rides, half of which turned out to no longer stop at his expected destinations due to corporate warfare re-arranging the transit routes mid-journey. By the time he reached Kabukicho, 11 hours had passed since Saito’s shootout at Kasshin Towers (which were , incidentally,a mere 3 blocks away from the bar)

All things considered, Saito was genuinely glad that his commute had gone so smoothly.

Stopping by a vending machine, the weary Ronin tapped his e-wallet on its reader before ordering a trio of large pizzas. Several moments later, the machine dispensed his piping hot order, before thanking him in a recycled electronic voice. Saito cradled them under his shoulder, keeping one arm free while he walked past the front entrance of Tommy’s. A casual glance about revealed nothing suspicious, so he continued his way to its back alley entrance. He gave the distinctive motorcycle parked in the alleyway a wide berth. Saito had bad luck with zap-happy machines.

Saito gave three knocks on the door before boisterously entering.

“Pizza boy here! Got an order of extra-large SAUSAGE lover right here! Or does someone need help cleaning out their PLUMBLING? Maybe I could interest you with my selection of LARGE. BIT. DRILLS?”

Max Branch approached the bar. He had moved on foot the whole way there, a man of his size did not easily fit into a cab, and a bus was a very slow option there were too many stops, too much waiting. His Jetmatic Personal Transport Unit gave him another option to get to the location. Many of the buildings were ones with roofs of short height, he could easily jetpack from one to another, running along the tops as he avoided the bustling streets. It was what he had done much of the journey, the equipment had its usage outside of combat.

The ronin moved through the alleyway as he avoided the front door of the bar. He felt he would have run into the same thing he had faced in the previous tavern, trouble from those that looked at him with amazement. Sure, Tommy's had a 'better' crowd, but he wasn't in the mood to deal with people. As he walked down the alley his eyes fell upon a motorcycle parked there, though he ignored it, recognizing at as a possession of another ronin he worked with.He disliked having to work with others, but it was a way to earn more credits, which was a way for him to further his goal of exacting revenge. That thought made him smile the same as it did when he first thought of it.

Vengeance was a powerful thing, Max was unsure of what he was going to do after he killed those that scorned him, but it did not matter, only the act mattered to him. As he approached the back door he pushed it open, then carefully fit himself through the doorway. As he stepped into the safe house he removed his helmet, he looked upon all within the room with his natural eyes, giving each one a look of acknowledgement. Then the huge ronin moved towards one of the stools and sat himself in it. He was quite eager to see why they all had been called in.

As most of the crew slowly filtered into the small common room above the bar, one could notice how considerably more crampt it appeared. The room was already fairly small- as was the norm in Tokyo, before the various clutter of holopad, weapon parts, and mission memorabilia came in. To top it off, some of the runners- most notably Grizzly was considerably larger than most. Despite this, Jeremy Thomas, a thin, wiry man, who seemed to be somewhere in his late 50s, managed to maintain a dominating presence in this room. Downstairs, he was known as 'Tommy', the bartender. Up here, he went by 'Mr. T', reminiscent of an old tough guy holovid star from several centuries ago- before holovids were on holoscreens. While he no longer looked the part, Mr. T was a well known- and feared Ronin back in his prime, and was one of the few who managed to retire from the game relatively intact.

Now that he was older, he used his notoriety and status gave him considerable cred as a Fixer, a middle-man who found Ronin for Clients and vice versa. Being a Fixer was a tough job, having to deal with the come-and-go nature of Ronin, as well as their relative short lifespan, while also having to deal with Corporate figures and clients without getting set up or taken advantage of. It was hard to find stable, reliable contacts, usually because anyone who needed Ronin for a job was neither reliable nor stable. But Mr. T seemed to be doing well for himself- he at least managed to keep the current Ronin under his employ busy with work- for a cut of the profits of course. He was a fair man to work with. Well, as fair as one could get in the underworld, anyway.

Without even so much as a 'welcome back', Mr. T got right into it. Triggering a holodeck off to his side, two images popped up- one, a large tower, not unlike most of the corporate skyscrapers in Tokyo, the other image was a mug shot of a clean shaven corporate man.

"The name of the game is extraction." Mr. T said simply, "A bit of the same, a bit of the new."

Extractions weren't the most unheard of contracts there were. Often times, in the world of Corporate espionage, corporations would try to steal information and assets from one another- high ranking researchers and scientists, even CEO's and upper-corporate leaders could be considered assets. Sometimes corporations would bribe these individuals, rarely, said individuals would have a change of heart and defect on their own accord- in these cases they usually paid for their own extractions. Sometimes, corporations just paid Ronin to kidnap these assets outright.

"This is Donald Howard, CEO of the Otsuka Corporation," Mr. T stated, though anyone who had been living in Japan for the last decade knew who he was. This young up-and-comer had only recently become CEO of the cybertech juggernaut that was OtsukaCorp, but was already responsible for spearheading revolutionary waves through the cybertech world, and had caused Otsuka's modest stocks to jump up in recent years- allowing it to break into the top 10 Megacorps on the planet. It was no wonder he was a high priority target, though Eric was surprised that the mission was to "extract" and not "eliminate" the young CEO.

"Our Client declined to reveal his employers, but ensures us that the money will be good, and the job itself, relatively simple. You won't have your hand held the entire way through, but they've taken steps ensure your success."

"You'll be hitting Otsuka towers sometime after midnight. A second team will be dealing with electronic security, you guys will deal with physical security, and will locate and extract Mr. Howard. You'll get to meet them at the rendezvous outside the tower, and transport will be provided."

"Payout is 20,000 up front- 5K for each of you to buy set-up materials. 80,000 upon successful delivery of Mr. Donald Howard to the specified location."

"The approach is up to you guys, quiet loud, both. Doesn't matter as long as it gets done. Its unlikely that he'll go willingly, but it is absolutely imperative that you take him alive. So don't fuck it up."

Mr. T fished out 4 credsticks and tossed one to each of the Ronin in the room- reading out 5,000 credits on each. "Any questions?" he asked tiredly, clearly hoping that the answer was no.

Evie listened to the briefing closely, though she was still popping M&M's into her mouth as if they were happy pills. It seemed like a pretty straightforward snatch and grab, though how they were going to get the CEO back out without raising alarms would be a problem. Her bike was fast, but not exactly equipped to carry an unwilling passenger. Even if the citizens mostly ignored unconscious men on the back of Ronin's vehicles, the security forces were paid not to do so. She figured she would leave that problem to the other heavy lifters on her team.

Since the second team was handling electronic security, the techie's role changed to surveillance and ensuring her team didn't walking into an ambush. ARES circling the building would probably light up any patrolling guards, but that still left locked doors and any nasty surprises Mega Corporations were so fond of installing in case Ronin came to visit.

There was a more important question she had to ask before making any of those plans. "Can we trust the other team?" She asked, suspicious. It wouldn't be the first time a team of Ronin took a supporting contract while employed by the other side. Some of them did it just to sabotage the competition. Some did it so they could brag about taking down more renowned Ronin. Whatever the reason, Evie had learned the hard way the only Ronin she trusted to have her back were all sitting in this room. Even Grizzly and his... rough personality.

She didn't doubt Mr T's intel was good, she had nothing but respect for the man. A former Ronin who lived to see his hair turn grey was a valuable asset to have as a contact. The blue haired girl just didn't believe for a second that anyone was infallible. Unless Mr T himself hired those guys, Evie wasn't going to let her guard down against them for one second.

Picking up her own holopad as she received her answer, Evie began accessing blueprints for the tower. Even if detailed plans were unavailable, she needed to at least know if the windows were bulletproof, where the stairwells were, and the exact floor of the CEO's office. The worst extraction missions were the ones where she had to go in blind. Some extremely paranoid Mega Corps designed their towers to be extremely difficult to attack or infiltrate - no common stairwells, biometric locks, bulletproof glass and pressure plates.

She recalled the last time she had to grab a HVT by blowing a hole in his office and grabbing him with a net and zipline as if she were playing a bastardized claw machine with a human being; all because he was being held behind a series of security doors with redundant failsafes and countermeasures. "Please don't give me a headache." She commented more to herself than anyone in the room as she began looking through the files she could find.

Receiving no response to his noisy entrance, Saito gave an exaggerated sigh.

“Tough crowd tonight, huh?”

He stacks the pizza boxes on a common table. They precariously balance on top of the assorted clutter. Retrieving his share, Saito reclines back on a battered couch and passes the time digging into his dinner. He finishes just as Mr. T begins the briefing.
Saito was bemused that he was conducting yet another extraction job. <This is almost becoming a daily grind> he thought to himself.
Hopefully, this target would walk on his own power. That said, if a team of armed Ronins weren’t persuasive enough to turn Mr. Howard into a team player, Saito had a few drugs to encourage him. And if all else failed, he would just let his stun knuckles have the final word. (The word being BZZZzzzt-HNNNNGGGH)

“Hope Mr. Howard doesn’t have a heart condition,” Saito chimes as he rolls the credstick between a handful of sparking, prosthetic fingers. “Nevermind, I better go find out myself.” He would have to trawl through several medical databases and sources, some less legitimate than others. But when 100,000 credits depended on the CEO’s wellbeing, Saito figured better safe than sorry.

Grizzly's eyes stared at the hologram of the tower, as Mr. T began to lecture on the mission, the large man listened closely. It was an extraction, he had done those before, the part that bugged him was having to work in part with another team. He disliked that, disliked it a lot, ronins were unpredictable, he had been aligned with his current team in the room for long enough that he figured that he had their tendencies and psyches down, but a whole other team threw a wrench into that. Especially if they were dealing with the electronic security, a vital part of the mission.

He did not expect treachery, Mr. T would have done plenty of research on the other team to ensure that would not occur. Still, it was a high paying job, and a CEO was a very well connected individual. Perhaps Max would have a word with the man once he was secured by the team. As the mission details were finished being spoken, Grizzly thought over any relevant inquries he could ask the well connected former ronin. Howard wouldn't come willingly, but they only needed him alive. Knocking him out cold and literally dragging him out of his overpriced tower would do the job. If the man was smart, which he likely was if he was a CEO, then he would have his own bodyguards even in the safety of his own towers, paid security patrolling the grounds was one thing.

"What are the specifics of security for the tower? Any idea on the number of guards around and inside of it?" Max asked, his metallic voice pitching in after some of the others had spoken.

"Debatable, but for the most part, yes." Mr. T replied, in response to Evie's question. "This team was the first team hired by the client." implying that the physical aspect of the job- was almost secondary in nature, at least in the eyes of the client. "Most of these guys are unknowns to me. But turns out, I know one of them. Goes by Short-Jack, some whiz-kid with a cybernetic eye, glows blue, hard to miss. He was a bit flighty, if I remember correctly, but he's good at what he does. These guys aren't not corporate assets, and if the money they're getting is anything like the money we're getting, they're in it to win it too."

"As far as physical security goes, there's not much I could scrounge up about the tower. Its a Top-10 tier Megacorp tower, so expect the works, heavily armed security for upper floors, mag-locks (magnetic doors that are nigh impossible to force open), a security suite, rapid-response unit- You'll be relying mostly on the other team for intel within the tower."

Mr. T could sense the general apprehension of this statement. While a good degree of the Ronin in Tokyo were what could be considered "honorable", just as many of them were soldiers of fortune, and the idea of trusting others was difficult- even the trust between the individuals in this room was a measured trust. The security of the tower itself was already enough to deal with without having to worry about trust issues. Breaking the apprehension like an unwelcome alarm clock in the morning was Mr. T's phone, buzzing loudly to let him know that there was something for him to look at. After shooting a quick glance at it, he gave a thin smile to his Ronin.

"Fortunately for you guys, my network of contacts have just pulled through with some possible leads on help with the physical security- if you guys are interested in doing some legwork that is. I'll forward them to you now." he said, pushing a few buttons on his phone.

Eric looked down as his, and the rest of the team's phones buzzed simultaneously. Mr. T had just forwarded them sets of information regarding various individuals. If they wanted to find out more about the job, they'd have to do it themselves. Fixers weren't in the business of doing dirty work- thats why they were Fixers, and not Ronin. It was a rare sign of faith and trust when a Fixer was willing to do the legwork for you, and reliable fixer or not, Mr. T hadn't had that level of faith in anyone for a long time- not since his Ronin days, Eric suspected.

Legwork was an expected part of the job- thats why big jobs always gave them a small portion of the pay ahead of time, so they could buy necessary supplies and do legwork. Greasing palms, extorting weak individuals, it was all part of getting the runs to work. Sure, towers were well built and defensible, but people were weak, cowardly, selfish, stupid.

The secret to a successful mission was finding the poor schlub who used "password" as their password and getting access to their files. The secret to a successful mission was figuring out what time of night the guards are most tired and bored. The secret to a successful mission was recognizing that every seemingly impenetrable system is actually made up of thousands of individual parts, any one of which could be exploited in some way. Guards could be bribed, contractors could be pressured to revealing structural weaknesses, wage slaves could be easily eliminated and impersonated. Like any crime, it was all about finding the weaknesses in the system and exploiting them.

The team had some time before the mission, so it was time to get preparations taken care of. Not nearly enough time to get any cyberware installed, or find and obtain high grade equipment- but enough time to buy extra supplies, cheap weapons, or pursue some of the leads Mr. T gave them. Pulling up the contacts Mr. T gave them, Eric gave a quick scan to find the most notable ones:

There was a Johnny Masahiro- a small two-bit chem pusher in the Kabukichō area. While of no major importance himself, apparently he was in with several of the low-level security guards for the Otsuka towers, he was probably their dealer. Paying him a visit could prove handy. On the other hand, there was also Mr. Cho, an old korean man who worked for major construction contractors in the Tokyo area- and was also on the site for the Otsuka Towers renovation a few years back. Lil' Red was a name Eric recognized. She was an information broker in the Shinjuku Ward. She was a pretty well known hot-shot hacker around the net, her information was generally reliable- unreliable information brokers never lasted very long, but she always needed some form of compensation for her services. There was also Mao Jiro, a Kyodai (small underboss) in the Saiyotama syndicate. It was always risky business dealing with the Yakuza- they typically always demanded for more than they gave, but the knowledge they had could prove useful. Alternatively, they could screw the legwork and use their money go buy weapons, armor, ammo, and meds out the wazoo for a frontal assault.

The list went on, and Eric didn't really feel like looking through the rest. He looked at the others, since they were all working together for this one, they might as well split the legwork. He'd let someone else take the initiative. They could split up to follow individual leads, or group up for some of the more risky leads.

Evie nodded, recognizing the name. As the tech geek of the team, she made it her business to know the competition. There was also an unspoken rule among the more well-known and skilled Ronin that they wouldn't hack each other outside of opposing contracts. In a technologically advanced society like Neo-Japan, a lot of chaos could be introduced by tech savvy Ronin just constantly screwing around with each other. Too much chaos was bad for business. Short-Jack had a pretty impressive list of achievements to his name. "If Short-Jack's the one handling cyber security, we're in fairly good hands. Don't quite know about the rest of his crew, but he's one of the few Ronin I keep an open back channel with." Evie added to her team. They probably had faith in Mr T's intel anyway, but at least that was one less problem to worry about.

When Mr T mentioned legwork, however, Evie groaned. She had just come back from a mission, taken a shower, and was looking forward to at least getting some down time before hitting the streets again. Opening up the list of potential contacts to run down, Evie spotted a familiar name and raised an eyebrow. Lil Red was an information broker and a genius when it came to hacking; and "genius" was not a compliment the quirky Ronin used lightly.

She was also the one Evie had hired to wipe her existence from any databases after her parents' deaths. She was the only one who knew that Evie Asada was very much alive and on the hunt for her parents' killers. Lil Red probably had the means to find out who might be interested in that information, even though that might have earned her quite a paycheck. Evie supposed she might as well pay her a visit. Whatever the hacker had was bound to be solid intel, plus she didn't want to risk someone else going there and finding out who she was.

It wasn't as if she didn't trust her team to know her real identity, she just didn't want it to become a big deal. Her team members had only been interested in her work history and they rarely bothered to share personal stories. Either they didn't care, or had been in the business long enough to know not to ask. Either way, the question had never been broached and so she had never thought it relevant to bring up. It was simply better if they heard it from her own lips rather than something Lil Red let slip. Especially since the Ronin suspected it was the hacker who brought Evie to Mr T's attention.

"Lil Red and I have some history. I can go check her out." She volunteered quietly, scanning the table for objections or to see if anyone wanted to come along. "Making contact alone is safe. Not sure about securing payment. She has unusual business practices." That was an understatement, but Evie was scanning to table to see if anyone wanted to come with her. Worst case scenario, she went to Lil Red's alone and would have to call one of them later hoping they weren't all in deep shit trying to run their leads down.

Max nodded at Mr. T's reply, by the sounds of it security seemed to be as was expected. Though the weathered Ronin always expected tricks with the security, there often was and it never hurt to be paranoid when dealing with such a high profile mission. Kidnapping a CEO was risky business, only an idiot would have 'normal' security.

He glanced at the legwork information, thinking of what he could do to make the job easier. Evie pipped in with her own words, she was going to speak with the hacking genius. The Yakuza lead interested him, but so did the chem dealer. He could easily abuse and 'convince' such a man to do something with his dealings with the guards in the tower. Johnny Masahiro, that would be the giant's lead. Then again, the Yakuza was a different, possibly more prosperous lead.

"And I will go after the Yakuza lead. I have encountered them in the past. One of you could accompany me, if not then I can deal with it myself." Max muttered in his unique sounding voice. He liked going solitary, but the Yakuza were tricky to deal with. Another Ronin helping him could possibly help him get what they needed.

Saito studied the names Mr. T had forwarded, musing over his options. Most of them sounded safe enough to shake down or negotiate with; a dealer, a worker and a hacker. As Oracle volunteered to approach Lil’ Red, he struck it off the list. No point double working; Saito was sure she could handle the lone hacker herself.

The yakuza lead could prove troublesome. He had no doubt that any one of his team members were a match for a Kyodai one-on-one, especially (as it turned out) if Grizzly was going to be the one dealing with Mao. But the underboss commanded considerable men and material by himself, not to mention the possibility that things could escalate and drag his superiors in.

“I’ll back you up Grizzly. One does not simply walk into yakuza business. Two is a more auspicious number,” Saito chimed in before glancing over his teammate’s extensive arsenal. “Being literally armed to the teeth helps, of course.” Since the American had professed previous dealings with the yakuza, for once Saito would shut up and let someone else do the talking.

"So I guess that means Mr. Cho is mine," Eric concluded as Evie volunteered to hit up Lil' Red, while Max and Saito paired up to go after the Yakuza boss. He didn't wait for the others to divulge more details regarding their leads- his in particular was on the far edge of town, and unlike the others, he didn't have a method of vehicular transportation- he'd have to fix that one of these days, because it was getting damn annoying.

Quickly stepping out of Tommy's bar and grabbing a bus, Eric focused his efforts on reading up on Mr. Cho- he wouldn't put much, if any thought into the work of the others. While Eric had small concerns regarding Max's ability to hold his temper when confronted with the Yakuza, he didn't doubt the man could control himself while on work, and Saito, despite his sarcasm and jokish tendency, was reliable and could keep Max from losing his cool. Evie had history with Lil' Red- moreso than the rest of them did anyway, with her being their local-neighborhood snoop. Evie liked dealing with the hacking and tech side of the job anyway, so she'd have been a good choice for dealing with Red anyway. As far as Masahiro and the security team went, it'd be nice to know more about their security, but chances are, low level grunts did know much more than that they should shoot at things that aren't supposed to be there.

If anything, it was Mr. Cho who was the most foreign to them. Unlike the rest of the contacts- whom were all types of people they've dealt with before- hacker/snoops, drug dealers, and yakuza, Mr. Cho was a retired company man. Few 'Company men' managed to earn a retirement fund, granted Mr. Cho's retirement fund was obviously bolstered by some illicit dealings, but hey, everyone's was. But unlike the others, it was unknown how 'straight' Mr. Cho would be. Drug dealers were never straight, but they were cowardly and in general were easy to decipher because of that. Yakuza were harsh, but always honored their arrangements- it was part of the reason they were so big throughout Japan. Mr. Cho on the other hand, he was just a name under a company.

After an hour and a half of long winding, and confusing bus hopping, Eric found himself at the edge of town at Mr. Cho's believed address- a run down motel at the edge of the Shinjuku district- at the border of the next stretch of urban sprawl.