In the wireless Matrix-meshed society of Seattle 2072, a few desperate runners find themselves facing the ultimate nightmare - everything they've ever known, their lives, their goals, their dreams - none of it is real. What happens when the technology you thought was a convenience turns out to be the very tool used to 'keep you in line'? How do you survive when your every move is being watched, analyzed and, and anticipated?

Dicer gave Ghost directions to a place he knew in Everett - an abandoned and long-forgotten warehouse - and the two arrived after an uneventful ride across town. He directed her to a roll-up bay door that looked only marginally less rusty than the rest of the building's exterior. Dicer got off the bike, pulled a small set of keys from a pocket, and unlocked the heavy metal lock attached to the door's bolt. He raised the door and signalled for Ghost to drive the Contrail inside. Once that was done, he lowered the door and locked it, shutting out the night and (he hoped) 'them'.
The interior of the warehouse was free of any crates or equipment; all that having been removed long ago. The floor, sorting counters, chutes, bins, and stalls were all covered in a thick layer of dust. Cobwebs filled the corners, and everywhere silken strands, most heavy with accumulated dust, hung about like old willow trees. There was no light save for the bike's headlamp. Moving with familiarity, Dicer went to a shelf, took down a flashlight, and switched it on. "YOU CAN SHUT IT DOWN," he had to shout over the sound of the engine; loud in the enclosed emptiness of the warehouse.

She shut down her bike. His flashlight illuminated the hall enough for Ghost to see. “So this is it?” My place would have been nicer.The thought floated in her head. Judging by the layer of dust on the floor, nobody has been here in a while. She got off her bike, putting her helmet in the compartment. There was no need for her shades in the gloom, so the albino elf kept them in her coats pocket for now. But what she did was turning the coat inside out, now it was black, a bit less easy to see here. She closed in on him, keeping her senses sharp and observing the are, just in case. “Your turf Dicer, what now?” Ghost looked at him expectantly.

"Follow me," he said and headed down a hall that led away from the open bay area and into the administration section of the warehouse - the beam from the flashlight flitting up at each passed door as Dicer read the words printed there. Shortly he stopped at one marked 'Cafeteria' and opened it.
"Come on," he told Ghost as he stepped inside, "there are chairs in here. We can sit...and talk."
He crossed the room to a round table with four molded plastic chairs and, turning one around backwards, straddled it, resting his arms on the backrest. He set the flashlight on the table, butt-end down, so the beam would give them enough illumination to see each other without it shining in Ghost's sensitive eyes.

“One thing first.” She said. Then she concentrated. ”Quis custodiet ipsos custodes.” She exclaimed. A small, furry ball of light appeared between her and Dicer. It wore an old fashioned police hat and a badge. Ghost instructed it: “Patrol this building and tell me immediately when some metahuman, ghost or drone comes closer than five meter to it. Understood?” The fuzzy ball flashed up once, saying “yes sir” in a high pitched voice and scooted off.

Satisfied, Ghost sat down in one of the other chairs. She did notice his courtesy with the flashlight, but didn’t react on it yet. Then she leaned back and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I think we’re safe here and have enough time now. We got away from these bikers and I really would like to learn what the underworld is the big thing here.” Her eyes pierced right into his. She was not angry at all but serious and quite a bit curious, what should reflect on her expression.

Dicer sat back at the appearance of the little puffball, then watched in amazement as Ghost spoke to it. The furry little 'cop' bounced up to acknowledge her command, then scampered off in a flash. He looked at her, eyebrows raised in wonder, but the moment of levity quickly dissolved back into the previous somber gloom.
He took the set of dice from his coat pocket and placed them on the table in front of him. He gazed at them for a long moment, gathering his thoughts, then looked up at Ghost's face. "It started about six months ago. I was working as a private investigator for various clients - staking out cheating spouses, petty embezzlers, etc. Hacking made the job easier, but it was more of a hobby. That is, until I met Cyrus; an AI who found me while I was in full VR. We chatted many times during those six months; I confided in him my views on the world and reality in general. He told me reality was what you made it. A common enough anecdote, but one that would take on much graver significance later on."
Dicer looked down at the dice again, then picked them up and held them on the flat of his palm. "And he gave me these."

Cheating spouses, eh? We all have our slow times.. Loud she said: “I think I would agree with that AI.” She pointed out to where she knew the blue fuzz was circling the building. “Reality is what you domake of it. I see that every day.” Ghost smiled. “That almost sounds like my story. Although with less technology. When I met my… you could say mentor. It literally opened my eyes to a whole new world.” Her voice sounded sympathetic. “I kept it hidden from everyone for a long time. It felt like an eternity. But I think it was the right decision.” She leaned forward to look at the dice once more. “So these come from the matrix? I must admit I am not really proficient with it.”

"That's just it," he replied, his voice edged with a note of incredulity. "They should not exist in the 'real' world." He set the dice back on the tabletop, as if they were too hot to touch, or as though he were reluctant to do so. "Though the Matrix seems like a real enough place - and electronically-generated plane of existence, if you will - it does not, cannot, take up physical space in our plane of existence. It should be impossible. And yet...an object given to me through my Matrix persona, or 'icon,' is sitting here before us. You can obviously see them. So, the question is: if we two are sitting in the cafeteria of an abandoned warehouse in Everett - in the 'real' world, in other words - how can these dice be sitting here with us?"

The look Dicer gave Ghost was haunted. "When I jacked out of the Matrix and realized I still had the dice," he went on after a moment, "let's just say I have since doubted not only my own sanity, but all of reality as I have always believed it to be. You cannot imagine how that can affect a person's ability to perform even the most trivial everyday tasks, not to mention interacting with other people." A dry, humorless chuckle escaped him, "I've been slapped, and worse, for trying to interact with living metas like we do in the Matrix...suffice to say its rarely appreciated."

“You’ve seen fuzzy, my watcher. He is real, no doubt. But he comes from another plane of existence. He’ll go back there when his duty is over. But I have also heard of things or beings materializing. It’s very rare. Extremely rare for something to manifest permanently. But It happens. I know the matrix is man made, but with all those metahuman minds entangled in it, why shouldn’t the same happen there? Sure, it’s a one in a billion chance, but there they are. I wouldn’t worry about it too much. It’s no fun to go insane.”

She mirrored his dry chuckle. “Believe me, I tried it. Do you know what a shock it is when you suddenly have voices talking in your head that nobody else can hear?” She looks at him. “Maybe you do.” Now her expression changed into a humorous, but also partially smug grin. “Though that doesn’t mean you are allowed to forget your manners. Treat me well or feel the consequences.”

Dicer's momentarily vague expression at that last bit conveyed his confusion better than any words could have. He let it go, his absorption in the situation too consuming to allow side-tracks into personal idiosyncracies. He didn't know how much Ghost really knew about the Matrix and its functions, but he knew that the dice were an impossibility and he didn't know how to impress that fact on her.

Instead, casting around for something to say, he chose the building itself. "I come here because its one of the few places I feel safe - or relatively so, anyway. There are no cameras or other surveillance equipment here. All that stuff was removed back when the former owners moved their business elsewhere. There is no Matrix access here at all, except for our commlinks, of course."

He felt fatigue creep over him and stretched, suddenly putting a hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn. "Oough," he groaned through the yawn, "whew, I guess all that excitement has gotten to me." He glanced up at the chronometer in the corner of his AR overlay; it read 2:00 AM.
He looked at Ghost, knowing she had stayed with him so far, despite his wild tale and apparent mental state, and he had been unable to give her more than shoddy accomodations and a dirty, no-frills place to hole up. He decided it was time he showed her some proper appreciation. Though he still could not shake his suspicions that they were in danger, he knew he still had to persist in whatever reality currently presented itself.

"I could go for a soykaf about now. I know a place that's still open at this hour, or something stronger if you've a mind for that." He tried a grin, but felt it was a poor effort and just looked at her expectantly.

“Soykaf will be fine. Given what happened, I would prefer to keep a clear mind.” She got up, pulling the coat a bit tighter. “How far away is it? Shall we take the bike or will a walk do?” She checked her pistol, then said: “I’m ready. Fuzzy will keep guarding the warehouse until we come back.” She looked into his face. The mention of magic still seemed to fascinate him somehow. “I hope that place has snacks too. Lead on, Gambler of dice.”

"Let's walk it," he told her, "its not far."

They left, Dicer replacing the heavy keylock on the outside of the roll-up door. The already blustery night had turned misty, and the pungent odor of ash from Mt Ranier's still-active eruptions hung heavy in the dampness. Turning their coat collars up against the soggy chill, they walked briskly along the sidewalk - faces turned down to keep most of the wetness off.

As they walked, they slowly became aware of a preternatural silence the late hour could not account for. The light mist grew heavier as well, surrounding the runners in an eerie, sound-suppressing shroud.
"What the-" he began, but his voice trailed off as three silhouetted figures materialized from the fog. All three humanoid in shape, they seemed to be part of the mist. A cultured, charming voice drifted from one, "Quite late to be out walking, is it not?" The speaker moved closer, its form revealed as it drew nearer - that of an elf male somewhere in its middle forties. He wore an obviously well-tailored black suit, though the design had been out of fashion for several decades. His black hair was swept back from a pale forehead, and his eyes seemed to bear a slightly reddish hue as if bloodshot. The other figures stood unmoving, appearing to be little more than dark phantasms in the concealing mists.

Dicer drew his pistol before replying, "Kind of late for uninvited meetings on the street as well, wouldn't you say?" He levelled the barrel at Suit's chest, the threat clear and unmistakable.
The chuckle from the dark man was rich with scorn. He seemed unperturbed by the loaded firearm trained on him. "You must be very brave," he mocked, "or utterly foolish. No matter. My associates are restless, and I grow bored with your inane reparte'. Let us see if your resolve is as strong as you have deluded yourself into believing."
With that he grew hazy, then transparent, then faded away to mist completely. As soon as he was gone, the other two figures began to move closer. As the mists swirled and eddied, they emerged to reveal rough, hairless skin, elongated fingers tipped with thick, ragged claws, and filmy white eyes that seemed useless. Despite their apparent blindness, however, the two moved with slow deliberate steps toward the spot where Dicer stood.

Excrement excrement excrement. Why this?Outwardly, Ghost stayed calm, relying on her martial arts training. She hoped Dicer could handle the situation for a moment longer.
She switched her view into the astral space. The ghouls shone, just like Dicer did. But where was that other guy? She was quite sure she should be able to see him here. She reached into the mana and pulled it up.
Sharp like a discsaw, she put it into her hands.Behind her, the mans voice sounded up. “You look delicious. Scared stiff, poor thing.” She felt more than she saw, how he returned from being mist back into a solid form. He closed in to grab her. “Scared tastes even better.”
Like her teacher Lahen’rent tought her, Ghost concentrated the movement on one single moment in time, turning and hitting the vampire with both hands. One hit him in the throat, the other under the solarplexus. On impact, the mana in her hands charged into his body, disrupting his pattern, causing damage, and pain. He flew back several feet. “Do I look scared?” She let out with a hiss.

Only vaguely aware that Ghost was also under attack - he'd already witnessed her knack for taking care of business, she'd have to handle herself for now - Dicer focused on his two attackers. Though they both seemed a little disoriented, the mouths full of ragged teeth and long, sharp claws were more than enough to make them serious adversaries. Dicer wasted no time considering this, however, and fired his Predator IV at the closest ghoul. A satisfyingly large hole bloomed in the center of the thing's chest, and it was thrown back a few staggering steps from the impact. Dicer's howl of triumph was short-lived as the creature did not go down. Disappointment quickly turned to dismay as the sound of the gunshot, still echoing down the empty street, seemed to pinpoint his location for the other ghoul who homed in on him like a moth to a flame. With a powerful swipe of one claw-tipped arm, the second ghoul landed a solid blow that sent Dicer - barely able to get his free arm up in time to absorb some of the impact - reeling back, pinwheeling his arms in an effort to keep his feet. Ghoul2 (as Dicer thought of it) groaned out its own unintelligible battlecry and hurried forward again. Ghoul1, having regained its balance, also moved toward him, though its progress was markedly hampered - the chest wound having inflicted heavy damage despite the thing still managing to maintain its attack.
Dicer raised the semiautomatic again, this time assuming the shooter's stance of feet apart, both arms raised, and the left hand wrapped around the right wrist. He took aim at Ghoul2's drooling maw and hoped Ghost was faring better than he was so far.

“If you hoped for an easy snack, you have bad luck tonight.” His reply was an angry hiss, but apparently he wasn’t inclined to attack her again right now. Angrily he replied: “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” Ghost stepped closer. “I don’t care. If I get attacked, I hit back.” Again, she drew from the mana. But this time she formed it into a ball of energy. It grew in her mind, sharp like shards of glass, hot like a muzzle flash. She turned her head, looking at the two ghouls, about to attack dicer and released the ball from her mind. It appeared directly between and behind them. It caused their skin to rip and burn as the energy burned it’s way from their own auras into their bodies. The ghouls screams filled the street with agony and hatred. The drain pulled on Ghost. She tried to hide her exhaustion by leaning her back against the wall, crossing her arms before her chest. “Your last chance to leave.” She told the vampire. Seemingly nonchalant.