"How Many Roads..."
Or: A day in the life of Ernest "Akaran" Unsell

DISCLAIMER: This is a dramatization of one of my missions. Do not read too much into it...I tried to make up the name of the corrupt GM (since that incident, needless to say, didn't actually happen), but it may be the name of an actual one. I apologize if that is the case.

Another day...I rose from a nook in my apartment set aside for meditation...a Kra sculpture in one corner, a floor lamp in the other, and a landscape painting in between. I paused in front of the refrigerator just long enough to retrieve a can of Bingo Cola, and soon emptied it. Tossing the can in a waste bin, I turned and stepped into a closet.

I retrieved a simple suit of black leather...nothing too fancy, but it fit nicely. There was a backpack in the corner I had my combat armor stored in...again, nothing too fancy, except for my Senpai Tertius Decus Armor Coat. One of my most prized possessions, and quite protective while still allowing access to my nanoprograms.

There was only one thing left to do to prepare for the day...my NCU belt, hanging from a hook, all three memory slots filled with some of my better modules. I strapped it on, and walked towards the door, pausing only to pull on a trenchcoat, then placing the backpack with my armor over it.

My Kodiak Turbo stood just outside...I had no Yalmaha, yet, but I hoped to earn one soon. They seemed expensive, but I had heard that certain enemies of the Clans had some nice ones. Perhaps I would find one today.

Turning left, I exited the apartment complex and entered the city proper. As usual, the sounds of communication instantly came over my NCU implant...sounds I disabled for now. I was a couple hundred credits short for my monthly rent, and the best way to earn that would be to check a mission terminal.

I soon reached a pair of terminals near the south gate of Tir, close to the tribute to Opposing Force for their work in cleaning up the Tir River. Keying in my personal authorization code, I began pulling up the missions appropriate for my level of skill, I was presented with five.

Three of them involving tracking down someone...one in Tir, two in Varmint Woods. The Varmint Woods missions alone would cover my rent for this month and the next, but I decided to check out the remaining two before making a decision.

The fourth asked me to track down an mad bomber in Tir County and kill him. Apparently, he had a pattern stored at the local insane asylum. I considered that a possibility, and moved on to the final choice.

The last of these missions asked me to repair a radar display in Tir. I considered carefully...Omni-Tek had been acting more erratic recently, occasionally attacking Clan-controlled cities. I knew that with the radar disabled, there would be several deparments in Omni-Tek jumping at the chance to capture Henry Radiman. It seemed I had no choice.

I immediately selected the radar display mission, downloading the data to my NCU. I examined the location that showed up...it was east of my location, not too far off. The machine spat out a key, allowing me access to the radar facility. Climbing back into my Kodiak, I set off for my objective.

Ironically, it was just across from the entrance to my complex. Parking the Kodiak close by, I removed the backpack I had placed there earlier...the one with my armor. I began to pull it on, over my black leather...it was mostly ena mixture of plasteel and energized armor, with a steel-ribbed breastplate. Sliding on the final piece...my helmet...I spoke the passphrase that would activate the mechanics within. "When the game is done, the king and pawn go into the same box."

It was a proverb from a country on old Earth, apparently referring to a nearly forgotten game called 'chess'. I had heard Radiman was a player, but I had never actually tried to learn it myself. Uncaring of this, though, the circutry in my helmet began to speak. "Passphrase recognized. Voiceprint verified. Welcome, Ernest Unsell."

I grimaced slightly...I had never managed to successfully reprogram it to go by my chosen name of Akaran. But it did not matter...the armor was activated. I stepped in, my nose greeted with a musty scent not unlike that of an old warehouse. I glanced at my personal radar dropdown on the helmet...I wasn't the only person there, it seemed. But why would I be sent to repair a radar display if there were others there?

Something was certainly fishy...I had pulled on my armor before entering in case an Omni-Tek sympathizer tried to interfere, but I hadn't expected them to be there ahead of me. I began to activate my standard suite of combat nanoprogram, multiple clouds emerging and adding to my skills and abilities.

Stepping further in, I noticed multiple slogans spray-painted on the walls...'Fight the System' and 'Funk Omni-Tek' being the most common. Fitting for a Clan storage depot, perhaps, but it still felt wrong. Too...empty.

My su****ions were confirmed when I entered a parts storage closet, hoping to obtain the piece I needed to repair the terminal. An Opifex was standing there, holding a shotgun loosely while digging through the shelves.

"Hey, who are you?" I asked, only to be greeted with a blast from the shotgun. My armor managed to deflect the majority of the attack, and I quickly closed with him. The battle was short, and ended with me as the victor.

A search of his body revealed a few hundred credits...enough to cover the rest of my rent, at least. But I was still duty-bound to repair the display and finish the job. Looking through the shelves, I noticed he had been attempting to destroy the stores of nano-cooled IO chips I needed. But I had gotten to him before he could finish...there was a small box of them still remaining. Removing one, I left the supply closet behind and began to track down the display.

A few rooms down, I encountered a thug...he didn't seem to have any particular Omni-Tek or Clan affiliations, though he did try to attack me. Most likely, he had been paid to interfere, to stop anyone like me from succeeding. He was certainly tough, but my training allowed me to succeed...although it took me multiple uses of my treatment kit to repair the wounds.

I paused after dispatching the thug, trying to locate the radar display on the facility's internal mapping systems. Along the way, I was stopped by a sniper. It took me a few seconds to locate him, but after defeating him, I began to wonder. Was it really Omni-Tek who did this? They seemed more organized than your average gang of thugs...and yet, showed no signs of Omni-Pol training.

I continued to advance through the facility, dispatching thugs with techniques that anyone with Omni-Pol training would easily be able to counteract. My su****ions were correct, it seemed...Omni-Tek wasn't behind this. But who was?

I wish I hadn't found out.

I was near the end of the mission...I had determined the location of the radar display, but there was an argument coming from the room it was in. I paused to listen.

"I've had it with you Sol Bank guys. You keep trying to twist our arms, changing what our mission is. And for what? For a handful of notums Omni-Tek would jump at the chance to sell you."

"Perhaps, Nightshadow. But at far too extorbinant prices. We could not afford enough if we went through Omni-Tek. The clans offer a more reasonable price, but we cannot legally deal directly with them."

"What do you want me to do? I'm just a Genetic Manipulator. I can't rewrite ICC policy."

My mind stopped working around there. A Genetic Manipualator? One of Rubi-Ka's paragons of neutrality and justice...working with Sol Banking Corporation? I couldn't have heard that right...could I?

"I don't care. Just do what you have to do."

"Very well. Ashes to ashes..."

"Dust to dust."

My heart skipped a beat. Sol Banking Corporation was involved with the Dust Brigade? Apparently...but with that revelation came countless new questions. Were they the driving force behind it, or merely someone who would profit from war between Omni-Tek and the clans? As much as I hated Omni-Tek, I hated those who would manipulate us like that even more.

I kicked the door open, and stepped in, fury blazing behind my helmet. "Alright, listen up. I've got a job to do here, and I'm not going to let any of you stop it." The GM turned around, gaped, and vanished in a cloud of notum. The Sol Bank suit wasn't so lucky.

Twenty minutes later, I stepped out. I had finished my mission...and had automatically been submitted for the Late Night award. But something still seemed wrong. I had found an answer about the Dust Brigade, but a whole new host of questions. Unbidden, an ancient koan rose in my head. "How many roads must a man walk down, before you can call him a man?"

It seemed that I had walked down the first road, and found many more lying before me.