Welcome to Gaia! ::

Neon hummed in the damp night air, a delicate hand beckoning passers by. The massage parlor was a common sight in the undercity. Aleister was finishing business with the proprieter, an elderly chinaman who had never graced the surly ganger with his name. Only business, and Aleister liked that about him.
His boots scraped on the concrete steps as he climbed the stairs that lead from one of the buildings less obvious entrances. Aleister had come for information, and while the Black Dragons didnt have much strength in the night city, they made up for it with eyes and ears. Aleister left the place in mild amusment, the old man didnt have what he'd been looking for (the location of his dangerous associate, Threl Kaar), but seemed oddly pleased and helpful. Apparently one of Aleister's recent operations had weakened a rival of the old man's. In return for this they were willing to give him a few suggestions in his search. One such suggestion took the form of a club flyer, some re-opening party, it had augured well for purposes of gathering information, whatever the hell that meant. The place wasnt too far, somewhere above him in the KK. It didnt sound like his kind of place, but ya never know where ya might find a good time in this fragging city.

"No, I don't want to buy a pass, and I don't care if it's for the most exclusive club in Civitas." The last word stung his lips like a lemon. Civitas...he was trying to make a few bucks, make a few connections, and it landed him in Civitas-- a sure place to make connections, no doubt, if you had the money to make connections. Then again, Trau wasn't sure if the kind of connections he could make in Civitas would be the kind of connections he'd want. He pressed his way through the crowd trying to lose the kid in the chicken costume. "Furthermore, I seriously doubt the most exclusive club in Civitas would have a chicken as its mascot." A few passerby snickered, but, for the most part, people ignored the shout-match on the street. The kid stood on the corner, looking from the handful of papers he was carrying to Trau and back.

"It's a job, pal. Get one," said the boy as the crowd swallowed him. Trau pressed on through the crowd, looking down at his phone and cursing under his breath. He needed to get a hold of Leadstorm. He needed to find his way out of this place.

"Broken piece of sh-" but before he could finish, his eyes caught sight of something he'd never thought he'd see...never even imagined he'd see. Plastered outside of a club bearing a streaming scrawl of Japanese characters, in digital 3D glory, turning from side to side and quivering with the faintest smirk and washed with a slight blue glow, was his own face.


"Aw...hell no..."

Trau heard little more than popping and crackling from the message. Something here was laying down some heavy airwave cover, and there was little Trau could do otherwise. He tossed his phone aside, thought better of it, and picked it up and put it into his pocket. He scanned his surroundings for a few moments, soaking in the street signs and commerce stench before it all came crashing back.

City of Night... Trau mumbled to himself. He'd been here before, in another age for another employer. Images flooded back to him like a hazy slide show in fast-forward. Maeda Dojo. Kimchi, her features soft and supple, black hair cropped and dyed with neon green. Club Otaku. The Night of Shattered Neon. The last desperate sigh Kimchi let out over her thin, blood-spattered lips. Maeda.

Maeda.

Trau looked up again to shake the memories from his head. He couldn't be here. Not now. Not again. It was years ago, Trau thought to himself, but he knew that it didn't matter. Common street urchins would have forgotten long ago, but the Yak...

...the Yak had memories that stretched back to feudal Japan.

Trau paused again as another thought occurred to him. The whole City of Night couldn't be getting static, Trau thought. Business would grind to a halt down here if that happened...

Payt. It was the same sinister, flat, and sharp voice. Donald Payt.

Trau was jacked fast...but not that fast. Before he could move, something blunt and hard clubbed him across his temples. He slumped against the edge of the rooftop.

Name is Trau. Trau muttered as he blacked out.

Payt. The voice cut, but had a bit of softness around the edges. It's familiar Trau thought, but he couldn't quite place it. It sounded like old Maeda, but it was different. Trau tried to force his eyes open, but the effort proved useless-- it felt like something had locked his brain. Payt, are you conscious?

Trau tried to force his eyes open again, but was met with only frustration. He tried to do the same with his arms and legs, but all he got was a dull, throbbing feeling. He did notice that he could move his jaw, but he wasn't really in a speaking mood at the moment.

I'll take that as a 'yes.' said the voice with a hint of satisfaction. Trau lay motionless, defeated. The smell of clove cigarettes drifted across his nostrils, and he felt the sensation of someone very close to his face. Listen.

The voice could have been Maeda. Maybe he had some work done on his vocal cords, but that just didn't seem to fit. Part of Maeda's intimidation factor was due to the sharp edge he had on his voice...the type of voice that you would imagine the devil to have if he was Japanese. The type of voice that were accompanied by simple motions-- nods, hard stares, methodical walking-- to intensify the fact that he rarely spoke. No, he wouldn't have put a softer edge on his voice because that would have destroyed one of his most powerful board-room weapons.

You've been a very...naughty...investment, Payt. Trau tried to move, but only succeeded in moving his jaw. Don't try to move, Payt. We've put a block on your nervous system...well, we didn't exactly put it there-- it's always been there. Since you started working for us, that is. All it takes is a little tweaking of a console, and you're, essentially, a marionette.

The sensation of closeness, as well as the stink of cloves, moved away from his face. Trau became aware of multiple people standing around in what seemed to be a small, sound-proofed room. He was propped up at a 45 degree angle, stretched out straight as a board.

For instance, the voice continued, if we wanted you to see us, all I would have to do is this...

The sensation of static and memories flooded back to his brain as if he were turned upside down. This was familiar. He'd been having these sensations ever since he came back into the city. It was one of these sensations that made him lose control of the CENTAUR and crash it into this den of sin. He could feel his eyes being loosened, though he was unsure if he wanted to open them.

Go ahead, Payt. I know you want to.

Trau squeezed his eyes closed, then felt the word bubble from his mouth. Trau.

My man said you mumbled some such nonsense. What does it mean, Payt?

Trau grunted, then gave in. He opened his eyes. He was indeed placed at an angle in addition to being strapped down. The room was dim and the walls were covered in dark wine-colored drapes. A pair of black leather couches faced each other across an oaken table. Both the leather and oak were real-- it was hard to fake the wear. A large Japanese man lounged on the smaller couch, a strapped boot hanging over the end, and a pair of identical Asian women in red vinyl jump suits sat on the other. Along the edge of the room stood three others, though they were far enough out of Trau's vision that he couldn't identify their features. At the far end of the room, sitting on a matching oaken desk, was Maeda...or what looked like Maeda, only younger...in a crushed black velvet suit, tracing his finger along a brushed metal box of some sort and grinning with a pair of fangs poking out of his mouth. See? No harm done. Now speak.

It's German.

Ooh...how gorgeous. What does it mean, Payt?

It means "trust." And it's my name, not Payt. Payt is dead.

The man rolled his eyes. Fitting. Whatever you want to call yourself is fine with me. Father might have had an issue with such a ridiculous name, but me? You can call yourself the Prince of Wainscoting for all I care...

Father...then that meant... Where is-

Dead. Quite dead. God rest his soul. The man, young Maeda, held his hands together as if in prayer. The people scattered around the room, who Trau now noticed all had fangs, snickered. Regardless, I'm in charge now. And I've made a few changes.

He slid down off of the desk and wandered over to Trau, a clove cigarette in one hand and the metal box in the other, and grinned a full toothy grin. And we're all ever-so happy you've decided to join the party...