[PILOT] Chapter 3: Mysterious Calls [Emily]

edited August 2013 in ANN_pilot
You touch down on land a few hours later. Did you sleep on the ship? Things got pretty hairy back in the Free City...

You got a little bit of down time to catch your breath before the Mumbai group returns with their half of the intel. Where do you go to unwind?


  • [Emily]

    I go to work. I've got about a hundred things that needed doing hours ago. It's a relief to pull out my Tabook, a thin tablet that expands into about 7 screens as needed. I sit on the floor in my hotel room, wrapped in the most excellently soft, luxurious and heinously overpriced cashmere robe from the room's wardrobe. My tablet is spread in a semicircle in front of me on the coffee table, my Glass is at my temple, and the orchestra is ready to begin.

    Slow, deep breaths. Focus. Center. This is my life now. Not the guns. Not the memories. Not Flower. Not Sexyness, Tankerbelle, Cutter, Knockout. My life is mine.

    I pull up my contacts, open up one chat window and call another. I've got two galleries of promising artists to finalize the details on. Then on to my next album before my agent implodes, and I need to get caught up in the blogs and vlogs.
  • You get a few hours of work in, toiling away at finalizing those galleries, and then later grind out some good riffs — they might need some refinement, but they're definitely well on their way. You're wrapping up the first session you've had to yourself since this whole mess with Josine started, and you get a text:

    The Technocrats are converging on your new friends.

    The text came from a completely secure channel — you have no idea how it got to you, or where the sender might be... But the sender intentionally left the number attached to the text...

    What do you do?
  • The message is a bit confusing. New friends? Do they mean...

    Who is this?
  • Almost instantly, you get the reply.

    A friend. I don't have much time on this line...
  • Why should I trust you?
  • There's a short pause, followed by:
    The technocrats have secured vidfeeds on all of your friends. Attached is a backdoor. Have Utseo run a trace on the address — he'll know the truth. The backdoor will expire in 24 hours.

    The text is followed by an ipv6 address, and a set of access codes.
  • I lean away from the console, take a slow, measured breath.

    Thanks, Scintilla. I assume you'll let us know just what we owe you later. I don't wait for the response. I go dark, even my tattoo dimming to invisibility.

    What the fuck am I doing here.

    I'll wait until Utseo comes to fetch me to give him the message. For now, I need to recharge and sink into oblivion, not necessarily in that order. I pull the small vapor cartridge from my bag, raise it to my lips, and press the button to dispel the Zoner. A deep breath and warm tingling wave later, I'm comfortable and happy and safe from my own stupid mistakes for the next few hours, at least.
  • == END SCENE ==
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