The tip glows brightly as I pull in. Code interacts, plays across my psche. Phantom's writhe slowly outward as I release them, twisting densely, before the ventilation exorcises them.

A pair of fake green eyes sparkles at me, then takes my empty glass back to the bar for replacement. The rest of her is, while not, perhaps, literally Real, nonetheless, not fake, and nicely built at that. But those eyes...

They do not see, or, maybe, they only see what they want. Money, Power, Pleasure... The Clothes I wear, Where I am sitting, How I sit, Who I sit with, I must be important... That's what those eyes see. I hold no illusions: I am no Hollywood actor, no heart-throb.

But I don't need to be.

I am a god.

I can move through this place without any fear, at least from those around me. I can have anything I want.

By extension, she see's herself acquiring that from me. She won't, of course, but I don't mind toying with the possibility.

Why not? Is she not also playing? Using the power of her sensuality? Hoping to convert that Power into another form?

It amuses me to play along, with these and other games.

As any usual Downtown club, Paradise Lost was modestly busy for a Thursday night. No raging party here, just the affluent mingling, expressing their ability to do just that, mingle with others like them. A range of the Elite present, Business, Entertainment, Crime, and of course, Exile and Awake.

The latter stood out, if not entirely segregated, by their presence and demeanor. Many of both appeared ill-dressed for the atmosphere, but the remaining crowd knew better than to question that. For that matter, many of them would even have seemed... uncomfortable... associating with the kinds of Blues they had generally despised in former lives.

Not the Casual's. Not that they were exactly from high class backgrounds, but they had learned how to mix. They were not looking backwards. Why not play with the silly little socialites? There was fun to be had, as well as business to attend to. Best to handle both as they came. Naturals.

Thick smoke billowed from their cluster of booths, laughter, and talk, both restrained and otherwise. There was possible work to be had. The meeting would start shortly, other Crew's and Fac's filtering in to attend. Best to enjoy the party in the meantime.

The atmosphere of the club slowly shifted. The Blue's at some level resognizing their growing insignificance, slowly chose to reconvene in other environs.

The laughter died away, the restrained talk became a low buzz, and Operative and Exile alike converged with the appearance of the primly attired, gray-haired man.

Details. That's our expertise. We can stand back and survey, from our roving hack-mobiles if neccessary. Many of these programs resent us for that, perhaps rightly. We have somewhere to run. But this is also our value, and even that pompous butler of a Controller knows it, cannot escape our essential usefulness.

And so we have business. Minor really, just some killing, and possibly some stealing. As I have the knack for this, it will be rather a good game I expect. The others look equally amused. Everyone's ready for some action, we've been waiting for it. My FM is already massaging his knuckles and grinning, as though it will start tonight. Course, not sure he follows the fact that it's not, not the brightest bulb, Inhaler, but solid in a fight, and this ship only needs one brain really, mine.

I briefly phone Crankz, let him know that we will be dispersing shortly. Which we do.

Groups file out, settle in, some to network, some to spy, some to make a point of snubbing someone. We hit the trail. Everyone has a different Exit tonight, just in case. I use the bathroom, or, well, the counter in the bathroom, and after a quick pick me up, head for the elevator.

Green eyes is clocking out, its past "last call" technically, but someone will take over for this party. A brief call to my Op, and he's on it. Good man, has a knack for timing. I gather my coat, and hit the elevator to the ground floor entrance. The valet arrives with the Bordeaux Maserati Gran Turismo just as she steps out the front door.

It's cold. So am I.

I offer a ride, and how can she decline? Turns out she's an aspiring dancer, as well as an aspiring fiend. This makes for a rather aerobic combination. That is, until the mild sleeping draught I introduced to her drink kicks in. Rather convenient for making a strategic exit.

I take the Maserati out onto the freeway to clear my head. Theoretically this is dangerous, but Crankz places a faked 911 call, and Freeway Patrol responds to the Call of Duty. I respond by trying to see how close I can get the car to its supposed limit of 180mph, while puffing on a fatty.

I manage about 179, and take an exit to my exit.

The street seems earily quiet, as I roll into the dilapidated repair shop. I step out, and breathe in the cold Matrix air, let the cold sear my non-existant lungs for a few seconds.

Tomorrow, there will be more games to play, before we return to the club. Paradise Lost?hah! Paradise Found, is more like it...

Brilliant story, man. Captures life in the service of the Merv very neatly. Just a little more descriptive detail, and I would have been there, you know? The first-person POV works very well for you, and it's tough to pull off. Not bad, not bad at all; a very good beginning.

Love the title too. One of my favorite albums.

Looking forward to the next chapter!

(I absolutely loved this, and can't wait to see more of your writing.)

(( /tiphat

thanks for the feedback . I'd be curious to know what album you're referring to Shi. The name came to mind from the opening smoking the cigarette, and Vapor Trail is also the name of a Track from The Crystal Method's Vegas album.

I intend for there to be more, Casual Assignment being the first chapter.

Cheers! ))

Even after a good night in the Sim, I find sleeping in almost impossible. It's the beds, the thing I miss most here in the real. Not really safe to sleep inside the Matrix, but I've been known to take a nap in a good bed once in a while.

Since I'm up, I go over the mission detail's, get my equipment sorted in the Loading Area. It's a pretty straightforward assignment. But sh*t gets f*cked up pretty easy, if yer not prepared.

Inhaler and I look over the rendezvous and the job-site before jacking in. Everything looks clear. Lots of activity in the District though, as other teams work on their portion of the assignment.

MissWhiplash and TheWolf are already there when Inhaler and I arrive, so we start up a hand of Poker to pass the time. The Azaghal's, solitude, and Dragonlover all roll in seperately, but with plenty of time. Good thing, seeing as I'm already down 500,000 info. D*mn that Whippy is one tricky b*tch!

We review the Intel, everyone agrees a two team approach is best. sol and I take off in the surveillance van, the others gear up for the main assault. We get parked on the back street, and Crankz gets us hacked into the internal surveillance feeds from the office. It's pretty standard, security is tight, but not overwhelming. Surprising really, considering other groups are hitting these bozo's hideouts left and right. But, then again, maybe not surprising. They were dumb enough to steal data from the Merv in the first place.

Whippy and company have arrived at the front of the building, and sol runs through a communication check, one-handed on the com, mind you, because he's rolling a spliff with the other. I check both our weapon's, and keep an eye on Tony's Bar beside us, where the Gang's back-up's are hanging out.

The assualt team moves in, sol lights up, and we take turns on the joint while watching the fireworks. Right on cue, the back-up starts pouring out of the bar.

It's no contest. sol and I roll out of the van and catch them from behind, the sound of our Street-Sweepers "thud, thud, thud"-ding up and down the street. Screams, Chaos, Blood... just brings a smile to my face.

sol hops back in the van, and I check the bar for stragglers. Only thing breathing in there is the bartender, and heavily at that, as he peaks over the bar, and then ducks back down again. In another life, I would have killed him as a witness, but in this case, I want one. The more word gets around, the less likely someone will pull this sh*t again.

Back in the van, and the team is already getting the data. Still a lot of fighting, but its pretty one-sided. I take the wheel, and we cruise around front, in case they need re-enforcements. They don't.

It's only a moment before they hit the street. Inhaler's been hurt as usual (the blockhead!), so sol and I take him, and the rest head out to the Hole. We drop him at the nearest Hardline, then head on ourselves.

Its a tense hour or so, as the sun goes down, and we stay low in the bunker. The Operator's keep us updated on the rest of the action top-side, till its time to head back to the club.

A few bluepill's look dejectedly at the sign reading "Private Party Tonight" out front of Paradise Lost, their dissapointment slightly allayed by the somewhat motley appearance of many of the "Guests" being allowed entrance.

The room fills up quickly as teams pour in. Flood is already there, and looking irritated that some teams are almost 5 minutes late. Those that have arrived quickly pass the recovered data packs to the tall pale man standing next to him.

All recovered. Lot's of deletions accomplished. As usual, the old man berates the Operatives for their few mishaps, but even Flood can't hide his general approval of the results. Some of the lower ranking Operatives are already drunk and dancing. Many teams head out, including a large contingent providing escort to Malphas and the Data. Other teams stay, as word has come down that the Man might drop by with congratulations.

One more assignment complete.

"Cheers, matez!"

We all clink glasses and tilt back. Everyone feels good after a job like that. Even Inhaler, who shows up late limping, but strutting like a Pimp at the same time. I rib him pretty badly, and even he gets a laugh out of it.

The Man him self suddenly appears, and now everyone is toasting. A small crowd immediately cluster to his presence, but we stay put in our boothes. No need to brownnose, he will be informed who did their jobs. A raised glass and a nod from sol, acknowledged and returned, is all that's required.

The Merovingian doesn't stay long, but we do. We have some things to catch up on as a Faction, aside from R&R. This time, I'm tired when we roll out. Green eyes is working (hmm, what did she say her name was?), but I'm not in the mood for her games tonight. She gets a smile, but that's it. Maybe if I'm bored some other time, sweetie.

Games are done for this night.

A writing style that easy on the eye/brain. Bravo!

((Another exemplary chapter, Inj! At first, I found myself not liking this one. Then I realized that it's not the writing, it was the actions of the character that I didn't like. Which makes sense, since my personality is best suited to play a Zionite. So, all the more kudos to you. I did more than read it; I felt it.

Oh, and the album I was referring to was Vapor Trails by Rush. Looking forward to the next installment. Cheers!))