Message no. 1

From:	ceedawg <ceedawg@*********.COM>
Subject:	Featherstrike
Date:	Sun, 4 Jan 1998 23:27:08 -0600

Prelude:
<Tues. 11:54GMT>
Log entry: Balboa Park, Tues. 3:54amPST.
We've been at this three days now. The stake out I mean. Still now
sight of the pickup man, but Trixxy says we have competition watching
the drop too.
Some kind of nature spirit, she thinks, it's been here (over by the
bushes, under the park bench, actually) about three maybe four hours.
The Boss said to to find out who sent it, want it's purpose is, and if
need be get rid of it. Yeah, right. Us, and what army? He must think
Trix is the Pope, or something. Sure she's coon shaman and all,
but she's only been at it a couple of months.

<Tues. 12:01GMT>
Drek! Something's going down. A black sphere just popped out of
nowhere, covering the bag. I key my
comm-link, "Trixxy scrag that spirit it's mojo'n the bag!"
Static on the receiver. "Deezer, this is Joe. Trixx is busy, she
says it's not the spirit, reports three hostiles approaching from the
south-west, range 100m."
Quickly, I bring my night scope to bear in the direction Joe-Phantom

has reported. Nothing there, I kick it over
to thermographic. Still nothing. "Joe, their invisible. No traces on
the scope. Watch your hoop and don't let'em get Trix!"
Twisting back around, the sphere is fading. OH Frag! Oh frag! Oh
frag. The boss is going to kill me but good. The bag's gone, and no
sign of the thief. "We're fragged folks, anybody see which way the bag
went?"
Joe "Nope, nada over here, and we need a medic for Trixxy. She's
out cold and got a bad case of the shakes."
Celeste cuts in from the van, "Me neither. All four drones are
clear."
Time for plan B. "Celeste, time to activate the pigeon."
Celeste calls back, "Already done love. No joy there. They must
have found it, because it's at your feet."
"DREK ME SILLY!!" I jump from my hiding space. Damn, these guys
were good, bypassed my sentry spikes and my motion sensors.
Breath deep, count to ten, slowly. Look for the homing bug.
Stunned amazement, it's been pinned to the strap of my AK97. Excuse me
while I have the heebee jeebees.
Joe's voice brings me back to reality. "Deezer, the other players
left this behind"
The note read "Tag, You're It"
Weird.. The badguys win this round, plus the next two. With their
stealth, and skills, we should have all been dead. Yet, the left us a
note, and returned my bug to me. Definitely weird. Better call
Banedethal. Flipping back the cover of my watch, it's .... 4:03amPST.
Man is that Elf going to be bent. Wish I'd kept my life insurance up to

date.