| Chapter 5 l'Ours let the man go, who fell with a dull, slack sounding thud. The man's name was Terry Hall, and he had been quite the useful informant, even if Terry had other ideas. On the ground, Mr. Hall looked pale and broken, eyes half lidded, breathing shallow. l'Ours looked down at him, and then closed his eyes, speaking quietly to himself, almost a chant, and then he opened his other eyes. The astral world is a world of power and emotion, and through the slight mana haze of the room, he could see into the past. Mr. Hall's terror lingered like a tangy metallic smell in colour, and the echoes of his spellcasting struck through the background haze with bright, pulsing strokes of power, like Bear's own attempt at interperative art. It hung not like a mist, but more like a hologram, solid, unmoving, but if you watched it long enough, it would slowly fade. l'Ours could not wait that long, and so he stepped to the centre of it, the marks of his actions intermingling with his own, subtley powerful aura. It took a minute, but when he stepped from the room, all that was left was the faint, hollow wheeze of Mr. Hall, and the scraping noise of the rat that now insinctively felt it was safe to return again. l'Ours left the building quietly, but quickly, and continued down the street. Denver was cooling now, and the Warrens - the dark, slum side of the Front Range Free Zone, was humming through the night. Roads were poor here, gangster cars were more practical, larger tires, welded plate over some of the windows, a mount on the rear of a pickup truck for an AK-97 and an ammunition box. l'Ours just stuck his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, the cermaic laminate plates lending weight and even some extra warmth to the clothing. Winter was closing in. He passed several Warrens citizens warming themselves by a burning barrel, past the dreadlocked dealer selling BTLs on the street corner, past the preacher man who made his home in an old, broken down refrigerator. Not everyone here was homeless, and not everyone here was SINless, but there was a feeling of desperation that purveyed through all of the inhabitants of this mostly forgotten place. A year previous the hired police force Knight Errant were tasked to try and bring law and order to this place. Now, their military-esque precinct building lay deserted and ruined, a testimony to the fact that people here did have their own law and order, of a sort, but more over that in this sqalour and desperation they had the freedoms that the more well fed never had, and that, hungry, beaten and poor, they were still willing to fight to keep them. l'Ours liked the Warrens. l'Ours liked more that he only visited the Warrens, however, and didnt have to live here. Because unlike the better parts of the city, people didnt really stare straight ahead and ignore everyone else. They made a show of it here, for self-preservation was the rule, but everything that happened in the Warrens was seen by someone, and people here were desperate enough to collect and sell gossip, any gossip. "Contract out for dinner. NA is 1. Unkwn buyer. l'Ours" The message was sent from one of the few working terminals, maintained by local techies who had rigged up their own credreader in leui of Bell. Jean-Marie would act accordingly, he thought. Then l'Ours walked into one of the many bars that dotted the area, purchased a bootlegged beer, and then took a seat at a second, anonymous terminal, and because he knew Jean-Marie would act accordingly, sent a second message. "Contract out on you. Smoky." * Nicholas Aurelius cancelled the matrix connection. An older man, he missed the days of desk phones, and would have to get one. You couldn't slam down a matrix connection. You couldn't slam down a videophone, for that matter. And after dealing with the Board, he always felt the need to slam something down. |