101: The Fundamentals [Briefing/Planning]

[Mr. Johnson (GM)]

"A very good morning to all you New York residents in the Chinatown area, and it is an absolute scorcher out there this morning, isn't it? Somebody call Bush and tell him to sign that Kyoto agreement before we have people literally catching fire on the sidewalk. You are of course listening to Morning Glory with Adam Tanner on 93.3, and don't go changing because right now here's a blast from the past. We're gonna take you back to '01, pre-towers, the good old days. This is Jay-Z with Heart of the City - Ain't No Love."

At five past nine of an unassuming wednesday morning in New York City, several things were happening. At a fine Italian restaurant uptown, young men in carefully pressed suits enjoyed a light breakfast and discussed items torn from the pages of The Financial Times. A hop, skip and two dozen intersections downtown, a young woman made her way contently to the record store where she worked, completely unaware that a few hundred miles a way her elderly great aunt was dying of a rare venereal disease the name of which she would never be able to pronounce.

And on a street corner like any other in central Chinatown, another young woman stepped out of a black limousine and stared up at the sun through tinted Ray Bans.

As the vehicle pulled away, she looked down at the cellular phone resting in the palm of her hand and pressed 'Send'.

A few moments later, at four very different locations throughout the City, four pagers began to vibrate. When examined they would relay a deceptively simple message:

"It's on. Same bat time, same bat channel."

And yet, hidden within these monosyllables and seventies pop culture references was a bevy of vital information. The owners of the pagers would now know both that their presence was expected at a certain convenience store hidden deep in the tightly-packed streets of Chinatown and, if there had been any doubt in their mind, that the last few months of their lives had not just been one really bad dream.

This really was, what their sultry voiced Triad contact had called, 'the time to shit or get knee-capped and beheaded before your pointless ass even raises up off the pot'.

---

GM Notes: So since this is our first run and all, I'm going to be writing out slightly more extensive OOC (out of character) notes than I would normally. The reason for this is, I know we have one or two players on board who aren't very experienced with this style of Shadowrun, or even Shadowrun at all, so rather than pull some "LEARN DA ROPES, ROOK!" thing, I'm going to try to ease them into it this way. It also means that if you can't remember how certain things go, and have been bullshitting your way along so far? This is for you. ;D

This is the briefing/planning stage of the mission, which some people love and some people hate. Basically, you get the IC (in character) explanation of the objectives of the run that is just beginning and you get to interact with your fellow PCs/NPCs, ask questions (IC questions that is) etc. The nature of this first run means that the briefing/planning stage will be somewhat different to how it will be in future, but at least you can get a firm grasp on... the fundamentals (good tie in there, huh?).

Rather than have me now continue and explain what your job is any further, I'd be grateful if one of our experienced players could lead by example.

Gentlemen?

[Song Di]

There simply was nothing worth discussing about the decision. The page came, and Song Di left for the meeting. This was her nature. There was no elaborate thought process, or hesitance to leave behind some activity that she was passionate about. She was passionate about regaining her position of power, and to be quite frank, was growing tired with boredom waiting for such a page as this. It had been too long since progress towards her goals had been made, and this was long overdue.

To humor the masses however, it can be touched on what she was doing with her morning before the call. Discipline had left Song Di waking early, for as long as she could remember. 7:00 am, to the second, any time in which it didn't benefit her to alter that schedule.

Breakfast with her live in connection. They weren't friends, but Song Di... rather, Sousou maintained the pretense of such. Social life, what was popular with girls her age, and the city's casual world didn't interest her. But a knowledge of such was important enough at times, in her work, so it suited her purposes to keep someone around who could connect, and keep her informed on the normalcies of young adult life. The girl's name was Sian, and that was all that really mattered. Sousou knew enough to feign a friendship. In exchange for keeping someone informed, and taking care of the house while Sousou was away, Sian got a free living space, and an easy ride through college. But that's neither here nor there. The point was a meaningless rundown of meaningless activities.

Breakfast together, a bit of exercise time, and then the page, interrupting what was normally a much lengthier routine.

Drive took hold, and the passing of a few moments found Song Di riding behind the wheel of her Aston Martin, at a casual pace. Even more important than the job was to her was hiding that fact from her employers. She was prompt, but the nonchalant arrival made it clear that her life's satisfaction wasn't depending on the job. Parking in her usual spot behind the store, her exit was oddly, and accidentally similar to the previous one. Replace the Ray Bans with a pair of large Black Flys (dominating a large portion of her small face), add a very different sense of style, and a few nervous glances from the nearby bystanders, and there it was.

Silently, she entered from the side, walking with purpose. No hesitation, no browsing, no delay. Straight past the register, and into the closed off back area.

"Ah, Song, it--"

Ignored. The cashier wasn't her concern. Business was, as she entered the usual meeting room.

[Slab]

Five past nine and the beeping of the pager woke Slab. Rather it woke the hard-faced woman tangled in the cheap, tattered from the first wash comforter on the bed beside him. It was she who fished around on the floor and found the pager while Slab continued to snore. "Hey. Hey. HEY!" Shaking him accomplished little more than a slight alteration of the snoring.

The pager blipped, insisting that its owner hearken to its call.

"Fuck this," she muttered. Leaning close to Slab's ear she whispered "Your parole officer's on her way over."

"That shit ain't funny," Slab said after his eyes slammed open. The flat remnants of a bottle of beer helped clear that morning breath taste out of his mouth. It didn't help him remember the woman's name or even where he'd hooked up with her. Pity he couldn't remember what she looked like last night; it had to have been better than the way she looked right now.

The pager blipped again and Slab read the message. It was on - whatever it was. Time for a shower? Shit, why bother. If it was any good he'd be covered in blood and someone else's fear piss before too long. Showering before that would be like kissing the slut after you'd fucked her. He dressed while the skank lit up a cigarette.

"Where you going?"

"Out," Slab grunted and shoved his feet into his well worn engineer's boots.

"You coming back?" Ash dropped unnoticed onto the comforter, making a small hole in the synthetic weave.

"Dunno." He stood and pocketed her pack of cigarettes.

"Hey! Those are mine."

Slab batted her reaching hand away like he would a mosquito.

"You cheap fuck!" was the last thing he heard as he stomped down the stairs to the streets below. 'Just like Mom' he thought.

Fifteen till ten and Slab was just walking into the convenience store. The walk had woken him up and helped him sweat out the remnants of last night's bender but left him dehydrated. Slab solved that by grazing a tallboy of Schlitz from the cooler on his way to the back room. There was no offer of payment. Slab didn't know if that was part of the arrangement or if the clerk was just too bugfuck scared of him to demand the cash - win win situation to Slab. Half the can was gone by the time he was fully inside the back room.

Razor chick was there already. The fuck was her name? Shit, he needed more beer. One thing he hadn't forgotten was the sheer aura of cold-edged menace she radiated. Slab might be a grizzly but not even the biggest grizzly tangled with a wolverine. She was so dangerous feeling that Slab couldn't even see her for the fine piece of ass she was; she was simply not available to him that way to even fantasize about. The sound he made might have been a highly urban 'Hey' or a yeasty belch and clarification was not forthcoming. Slab sat down and unzipped his leather jacket a little bit to allow the pipe in the inside pocket to rest more comfortably.

[Diavolo]

My life isn't what someone would expect from a shadowrunner. Before this started my life's only pain was the sting of sun heated sand burning the soles of bare feet. That's probably because I was the furthest from a criminal someone could be. The only crimes I'd really done were theft of books. Some of the ones I needed for my studies weren't the cheapest on the shelf, so I'd pocket them. But that was it.

"Mela, get it!!!"

Things aren't so different yet, even. It only takes a wave of sand spraying up and the familiarly bittersweet rewarding taste of it in my mouth to remind me of who I am, while a volleyball scrapes past the net and to my opponent's side. Everyone's cheering, so I know it went out of bounds. I hate them all, and they respond in kind. I like that line. I think it's from Prince of Persia.

The more things stay the same, the more they change though. Before I had a GM qualified mechanic look under the hood I would have just fumed and fussed and been angry at the people who jeered me on the beach. Now I get these pangs of thoughts. They're not even fully formed: they're just notions if nothing else. The idea of killing them all. I mean, I'd never do it, but thinking about it makes me happier, now. That's why I'm able to smile while I kneel in the sand, dusting my body off, and spitting out a gob of dirt. Killing is like Lays. Once you pull your first one out of the bag, you can't stop.

"That greasy bitch slicked the ball up! I couldn't get my hand on it clean!"

Obviously, that was a lie. But the pair we're playing are greasy bitches, to be fair.

Where was I? It was self defense, but I've killed. It wasn't my choice but I wish it had been. I'm not so shy about the idea now that I've had my first tastes of it. It's the only time I've felt a problem be so fully resolved. Not worrying about who won, or what would happen in the next few days is an awesome feeling. And this was a magic user, too.

I have a history with them.

What was left behind felt like tingles rubbing themselves into my skin. Let's just say somewhere in the city, a plane left the airport an hour later. And then two more did. I'm not a bad person. I'm not out looking for someone to kill, but I sure wouldn't mind doing that again.

Before the next point can start, I've got Kiki yelling at me from the sidelines. "Hey, Mela! I think Batman's getting horny, or something."

The next few minutes kind of happen on autopilot, you know? I mean, right after I finish thinking about how I wouldn't mind getting my hands on someone else (for self defense purposes only, for sure!) the Sisterhood is paging me? Fuck, you don't have to ask me twice. So it's the water lapping against the sand. It's fluid. It's perfect. It's fate and it's destiny, and it's every higher power I can think of acting through my body flawlessly.

A few short minutes later the sand is showered off of my skin, I'm dressed for work, packing and on the way to the store. I owe them, you know? If I don't do this to pay back what they did for me, they'll probably kill me. At least I get to repay my debt with something I like.

Yeah, I do lock the doors of my El Camino that's starting to show orange cancer around the ass end. Old pieces of shit are just easier to steal. I mean that's what I'd go for, if I was a criminal. Oh, wait. I kind of am. But I mean...

"That'll be $7.72, Mela. Haven't seen you here in a while. How have you been doing lately?"

Sighing, I reach into my pocket and pull out some crumpled bills. I hate when I space out like that. After I pay for my assorted sweets and leave the change as a tip, there's only a delay for one reason. Information.

"You see Song Di arrive yet?"

"Yeah, she's here..."

"What's the weather like?" Why the hell should I have to hide my grin? It's my right to be happy and even let a quiet giggle out. If anyone laughs, I have self defense!

"It's cold." The clerk laughs with me this time, thinking it's a jab at Song Di. If only you knew, "Very, very cold."

With a wink and a smile I leave for the back room chocolate already staining my teeth a little, with a trail of crumbs behind me. Before it's time to work, it's time to play. Taking the seat nearest Song Di, I lean towards the table and rest my chin in one hand, grinning at her. Both eyebrows raise suggestively a few times, as a pair of horns slowly unsheath from the back of my head.

"Get it, Di?" I laugh quietly, turning to Slab as the metal retracts, disappearing from sight again. "You passing that shit to the left or what?"

[Slab]

The horns totally did not fit Diavolo's All American Girl image but who was Slab to play Fashion Police? With or without them, the chick was totally smoking. Just looking at her made him think of the smell of suntan oil, a little house with a white picket fence, bending her legs back until her knees bounced off her ribs and fucking her as silly as her hair was blonde. Oh yeah.

That's why he wordlessly handed over the tallboy of Schlitz instead of telling her to slag off and get her own. "Keep it," he rumbled. There was a tiny piece of chocolate slowly melting on her bottom lip. He could totally imagine what her mouth tasted like. Oh yeah. Slab shifted a bit in the seat to make himself more comfortable and avoided looking at Song Di. One glance at her and the mood would be gone.

"Something on your lip," he said and mimed wiping his own with a thumb.

[Mr. Johnson (GM)]

After the blistering heat of the sidewalk, the stale air of the convenience store seemed almost temperate. The Word took in her new surroundings with a vague smile which broadened ever so slightly when she turned her gaze to Zhi, the store clerk. He raised a hand by way of a greeting and then returned to writing hurriedly in the notepad he kept behind the counter.

The contents of Zhi's notepad, unbeknownst to the man himself, were a popular topic of debate amongst many of the senior members of the Sisterhood. So much so, in fact, that a betting pool had been established, the potential winnings from which were quickly reaching rather ridiculous proportions. The most commonly credited theory was that he was involved in writing a three act surrealist play, the dialogue and ideas for which he culled from his day to day life. The Word herself was dubious, but wasn't about to say as much when there was still big money on the table.

"Are all the usual suspects inside already?"

The Word leaned on the maple wood counter-top and absent-mindedly picked up a packet of Camels from the rack as she spoke.

"All except Cross," Zhi replied.

She paused in the process of unwrapping the packet and glanced over her Ray Bans with an eyebrow raised.

"He didn't show?"

Pulling a cigarette from the packet, she slipped it between her lips and began patting her pockets for a lighter.

"Not yet, at least."

Zhi produced a match from his jeans and handed it to her.

"Well, we'll give him the benefit of the doubt for now."

Striking the match off the wood-work, she touched it to the cigarette tip and drew as much acrid smoke into her lungs as she possibly could. Exhaling, she released what might have been a sigh.

"Alright, Zhi, take it easy."

Zhi grunted by way of a reply and then resumed his frantic scribbling. Shaking her head, The Word made her way over to the back room door. After a brief pause to collect her thoughts, she pushed it open gently and brushed inside, closing it behind her with her heel.

Diavolo and Slab turned to look at her as she entered, but - predictably - Song Di remained focused on a spot on the far wall. Smirking ever so slightly at this, The Word made her way silently over to the desk that had been set up in the middle of the room and leant against it.

"Good morning," she said softly, "I understand Mr. Cross is yet to make his presence felt. We shall give him a few more minutes to arrive before we get started."

[Song Di]

The first arrival was Slab. If he were born a star, he would be a dog. Dark eyes, pooling with darker things glanced upwards only momentarily as he entered. No nod, no wave, and no hello were issued. A look, to Song Di, was respect enough. What came from him was hard to comprehend to her; she'd come from a world of calculated speech, cleverly worded pacts, and deliberate gestures. He was an animal. Half of the things to pass through his mouth, to Song Di's ears, were as much expulsory bodily function as they were words. But taken as an acknowledgement, it was enough. All that she needed as an excuse to return to her normal state. Eyes locked firmly on a speck of dirt on the far wall, mind lost in deep thought, but body still wholly aware of its surroundings.

She was the serpent, coiled low in the garden, waiting for an excuse to strike, and poison paradise.

Those eyes didn't move, but she took notice of his movements. As he sat, and the jacket unzipped, the faintest glimpse of a shifting weight registered. A weapon? A comfort? Either way, soft lips gently turned upwards from one corner, bringing forth a smirk that only served to harden her face further, rather than show joy. Song Di relished in this discomfort, taking the gesture as a sign of Slab's reluctance to be near her. She took it as she took all things, seeking to assert superiority over anywith in sight; weakness. Fear. Nerves. In truth, the gesture was most likely entirely unrelated to her.

But in Song Di's world, Slab was preparing himself to deal with something that he feared. And she loved every moment of it. Moment unfortunately cut short by the second arrival; Diavolo. The rabbit to Slab's dog.

They'd only truly spoken once, and it ended with Song Di issuing a grand threat. In truth, because she'd realized that there was more power in Diavolo than the valley girl image presented would normally betray, and felt threatened by the deception. It was a grand gesture, promising Diavolo that the forces of the ten hells themselves lived within Song Di, and would wash away any who challenged her. From that day on, the girl had taken a strong, strange fascination in Song Di.

It perplexed her. It made no sense. What couldn't be understood was troubling, as it couldn't be fully anticipated.

The warmth of skin against her shoulder unnerved Song Di only slightly, body unflinching as she remained fixed on her focal point on the wall, turning only enough to see the movement of Diavolo's horns. Registered; any information on her rivals which was presented was promptly filed away, and reserved for later use. No response to the joke about horniness. Only the fading of the smirk which had shown itself earlier. The rest of the exchange was observed, but ignored, as the others shared a drink, and seemingly pleasantries.

The only other thing taken note of was the way that Slab looked at Diavolo. Potentially useful.

Before long, The Word had arrived, bringing with her the promise of an opportunity to advance Song Di's position. An opportunity to display, and gain power. No eye contact. No movement. Only softly spoken words.

Cross is late. Clouds over the moon, a storm over blossoms.

"Do we need him?"

[Diavolo]

The good part about guys like Slab is how crude they are. They're not in it enough to be clever about this kind of thing in, so I can see it all laid out on the table. I guess I like to tease it just enough that they climb into my hand. Sometimes I crush them, but I usually just put them where I need them. After leaning back in my chair far enough that I almost tip over, draining every last bit out of the drink in one deep chug, what I do next is only for Song Di. It's her I think about but Slab I look at. I play the game.

Tipping back forward in my chair I lean only a little bit in his direction, setting the empty back down. There's eye contact with him, and while my tongue softly and slowly sweeps across my lips I imagine her. Imagining what Song Di taste likes brings a smile to my face even wider than before. Oh yeah.

My laugh is loud, "That better?"

Swaying back again like the yoyo I am, an elbow comes to rest on Song's shoulder. She doesn't even budge, and I love every second of it. The girl's got some strength in her and some willpower I'd fucking love to test.

It's a hard decision to make, but I figure it's time to lean a little closer, and see how that hair feels. The shape she puts it in looks so aggressive, but I bet it's still the softest I'll ever feel. She smells like vanilla and baby powder. Luckily for my prize though, the boss comes in.

I think she's the boss anyway: I don't understand this place. She's the one who talks to us. She's who I made the deal with. It's this woman who made it all possible for me to get looks like I do from Slab, where someone thinks there shouldn't be anything inside of me. Won't he be surprised when I turn it loose in front of him for the first time?

"What's wrong, boss? Is the Scoutmaster fucking up Gotham again?"

[Mr. Johnson (GM)]

The Word offered Diavolo a thin smile.

"Something like that."

She ran a hand back through her hair and took another long, contemplative drag on her cigarette before continuing.

"Ah well. We shall press on without him."

Pushing up from the desk, The Word pulled off her Ray Bans and blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the light. She let her cigarette fall from her fingers to the floor, crushing it under foot before it had a chance to bounce. Pocketing her sunglasses, she looked up at the trio in front of her with apparent interest.

"Now the reason we've gathered you all here today at this ungodly hour, is my employers - of whom you may have heard - have requested that I put you through a, relatively short, refresher course come trial run to make sure that you are all still... cutting the mustard, as it were.

"It shouldn't be too much of a challenge for you. That is, unless any of you have been exaggerating your abilities to any significant degree."

She threw a wink in the direction of Song Di, but pressed quickly on before she had a chance to respond.

"The exercise will be separated out into three distinct stages. Each stage is designed to test your abilities in a specific area; I leave the task of ascertaining what the three areas are up to you."

Reaching into her jacket, The Word produced two brown envelopes, which she tossed down onto the desk behind her.

"Stage one. In each of the two envelopes is a card on which is written a name; an address and the amount of money which they owe to the Sisterhood. To successfully complete the exercise all you have to do is extract the money from the individual listed on the card and return it here. Nothing too arduous really.

"Originally I had planned to separate you up into two teams and assign you each a card. However, since we are currently missing one operative, I will leave it up to you to decide how to handle the situation."

Rolling up her sleeve, The Word checked her watch and nodded to herself.

"The time is now ten AM. You have until one PM, three hours, to report back here with the money.

"Questions?"

[Slab]

Diavolo's display had its intended effect on Slab. What few neurons remained unclouded by alcohol immediately shut down from oxygen starvation as blood was diverted to another part of his body. "Goddamn," he breathed, then wiped the sweat off his forehead.

Empty can in his hand; couldn't remember how it got that way. With no apparent effort he crumpled it into a mass scarcely larger than a golf ball and then flicked it towards the trash can. It rattled off the edge. Slab grunted, wiped his forehead again, and stared at the floor while The Word gave out instructions. Collection job; no big deal. Slab'd done them before. They could end up pretty sweet, especially if you got the guy good and hurting. Sometimes they'd cough up more than they owed and that was pure profit. And if they didn't cough up enough, Slab always made sure that they'd never make that mistake again. Messily. Loudly.

He didn't reach for the envelopes. Slab was muscle and was happy with that. Song Di and Diavolo would call the shots, he'd just dislocate joints. Let them fight over how to do it, who was alpha bitch, when they'd go and all that other shit.

Slab did have a question though. He looked up from below his brows at The Word. "What the fuck does ascertain mean?"

[Song Di]

The wink from The Word was ignored. Her grave was dug long ago, more than deep enough to bury her. For that reason alone, little from her at this point warranted a personal reaction. Any implications of ineptitude on Song Di's part, false or not, such as they were, were seen as a blessing. Underestimation was the kind of crime that not even the most seasoned of runners could smartly approach. Anyone imagining Song Di as less than she was was at a firm disadvantage in their dealings with her.

This was something that she enjoyed.

Slab's interjection only earned one brief response, internal wholly, but marked and filed.

It means, "This is why Song Di is in charge."

Reaching across the table, the obvious response was taken. Opening both envelopes, Song Di set the two cards in the center of the table, in plain view of everyone. This setting was secured, so convenience was a luxury which could be easily afforded. Two addresses. Their proximity from the shop. Anything that she knew about the targets. Similar thoughts raced through her mind at breakneck speed. All in the name of calculating the best approach. Simple tasks still held space for planning, and room for mistakes.

"Questions. Should we expect resistance? Is there anything we should know about these people? Is this a regular event, or their first time paying the organization? Any required conditions on our retrieval methods? What is the 'catch?' "

And the silence from Song Di returned, cold eyes locked firmly on The Word's. Refusing to stop reading, stop searching, stop invading, until her answers were provided.

[Mr. Johnson (GM)]

The Word returned Song Di's gaze for a moment, her mouth curling up at the sides ever so slightly; then, abruptly, she turned away and snatched up the cards from the table. Holding the first one in front of her she read aloud...

"Stevens, Alex. Apartment B1, 192 Elizabeth Street. $5,000."

Having finished with the card, she tossed it down at Song Di's feet and held the next one up to the light...

"Mai, Chinh. Room 32, 189 Grand Street. $17,000."

Once again, the card fell down at Di's feet.

"That's the information on the targets. If we wanted you to have anymore, it'd be on the cards. As for preferred methods, well, think of this as a test of your discretion as well as your abilities. If the situation calls for it, then use whatever force you deem necessary, but be prepared to justify it later."

She dropped down onto the desk and crossed one leg over the other.

"Oh, and you're quite right, there is a catch. Have fun working out what that is."

[Diavolo]

There's a fucking catch???

Even while I'm answering Slab I can feel the panic setting in, knowing that traps are being set for us, "Ascertain is like... figure out. She's not going to tell us what kinds of lies they're telling us. So it's up to us to try to figure out why they're jerking us around instead of letting us pay off our debts in a way that helps them."

I don't get it, no matter how hard I try. We're here because we owe these people something and they want us to pay it off by doing things that benefit them. I don't understand why they would try to rig our failure. That hurts both of us.

It's while I look at the cards she set back on the table that it hits me.

They're bigger than us. What we owe them was worth gambling our lives for. To them it's not so big, so we're just a game. They can play with us because they don't even really care about the debts. They're just as happy seeing us dead as seeing things made even. That scares me a lot.

I don't even try to hide it. I don't care what The Word thinks or tells her bosses. The fear shows in my eyes when I turn to Song Di for reassurance. I don't expect it, but I wait for it anyway.

"What do we do?" I know better than to ask what she thinks the catch is, or how we can avoid it here. "Someone who'd borrow small money like $5,000 from a triad would be more desperate than someone who deals in bigger money, right? They're the more dangerous one...?"

Weak, but it's all I can offer. For now I'm too busy fearing the idea that they're content killing me for fun.

[Song Di]

Dark eyes moved slowly, trailing the cards as they were taken from the table, and moved back down. Every word absorbed in silence. The lesson in literacy wasn't appreciated; Song Di assumed that even Slab was capable of understanding what was written on the cards. The insult from The Word motivated no one to work harder. Far in the east, Sun Tzu was turning in his grave, seeing the strategies applied by the general of someone claiming to represent a Chinese unit.

Someone who toyed with their soldiers would never win a war. They would win battles, by the desperation of people not wanting to die. But their state would fall to ruin, resented by the people forced to protect it, and moved like pawns. A true general, regardless of feelings, could lead an army by the hand as though it were one beloved son.

"You are unprofessional."

An uncharacteristic spurt of emotion from Song Di, words spit with a venom cold enough to send shivers down a person's spine. That soft, low voice snaked its way into your mind, and wrapped around confidence like a velvet boa, strangling the last remnants of control.

"I'm ashamed to have ever been bested by your group, but understand, now. It was more like the people organized here. More like us. You are nothing but arrogance, floundering against itself and relying on the fact that most people have stronger self-preservation instincts than pride. This luck runs out, always.

"Some would rather die than serve you, who play with them. Some will give their lives for the chance to even hurt one of you. Some value their integrity, and refuse to live in subservience to someone who toys with their lives, for the sake of amusement. I will play, for now. It suits my purpose. But remember that even just to hurt one of you, I would rather give my life than live this way.

"Say what you will of who I am, but I was followed willingly." No glance towards Diavolo and Slab, leaving the gesture vague. Unclear whether she'd meant them or... someone else, "And I will be again. I am a leader. You are a child with a box of toys.

"Your triad will die, by my hands, their hands, or your own. No matter the cause, you will die. It's the path which you've chosen for yourself. You present an image of ineptitude by sending soldiers to represent you, while withholding information which could assist them. You keep people in the dark, so they fumble as you do, and choose that as the face to show the world. You send men into war unarmed, and in the end, will still fail to understand why your efforts failed, and one professional eliminated the entirety of your cadre.

"If you have no information to offer us, leave us to our planning. This job is ours as is. We will do what we deem suitable, profit in ways which we choose, and represent you how we think it fair. We're the gun in your hand, which you have pointed at your own foot."

Turning, she cast her gaze towards the door. Someone was leaving. Either The Word, or the runners. This meeting was over. No one was interested in wasting time, on a deadline, sitting here to be toyed with, insulted, and treated like fools.

[Mr. Johnson (GM)]

The Word listened patiently as Song Di said her piece, her face betraying no emotion save perhaps weary disinterest. Once she was sure that the young woman had finished, she hopped to her feet and spread her arms wide.

"Are you done?"

Not waiting for a response, she turned to look at Diavolo and Slab.

"I hope you were both listening closely to Ms. Di. She is a wonderful example of what's wrong with criminals in this city. Too much intellectual conceptualization, not enough practicality. It shouldn't be a matter of wondering - why am I doing this, what's the motivation for doing this, what are they planning to do with us, yaddy yaddy yadda. It should be a matter of just buckling down and doing the task.

"Because in this organization, no matter how she may choose to explain it, you are treated with the respect that you earn. And this exercise is your chance to earn some."

Extending a hand to Slab, she addressed the two women, but kept her eyes firmly locked on Song Di as she did so.

"The two of you should take a page from Mr. Slab over here. So far, he's the only professional amongst you."

The Word stepped forward and leaned in close to Song Di's face, making sure to put bitter emphasis on each word.

"Oh, and for the record, cunt, I was in favor of just putting you out of your misery at the earliest possible opportunity. Count yourself lucky that she likes you."

Having said her piece, The Word rose up and strode quickly to the door; passing out through it without a moment's backward glance.