//File 0.1 - Clint//

The agent opened the door for Clint and ushered him into the studio, an office inside a glitzy chrome-lined building downtown on Horizon’s Arcology Mile in Los Angeles. Clint’s cybereyes barely got adjusted to the overpowering stage spotlights when a woman sheathed completely in pink snake skin and lustrous straight raven black hair that reached the floor linked her arm around his and squealed "Oh I love him Takeshi-san. Can we have this one please?"

"Forgive Ms Saccharine Sakita for her enthusiasm; People playing at cowboys are a dime a dozen, but a real SimShane is hard to find. Please sit Mr Jericho, it seems you are as authentic as they come. If so, then I have a proposition for you," nodded the man referred to as Takeshi.

What do you do?

"Have you ever watched Gaijin Gunslinger Mr Jericho?" Takeshi beamed with pride as he referred to the smash hit Western trideo series set in Japan. Broadcast trid not only still existed, but was alive, well and immensely profitable in major sprawls. Steeped in the samurai tradition, the notion of the cowboy was not only something the Japanese instintively understood, but wholeheartedly embraced in their media consumption.

"Our studio has successfully pitched its spinoff, a simsense series, to HTB Corp. That's were you come in Mr Jericho. We want to base the simulation on real-life cowboys, not just some actor in ten gallon hat and spurs. The simulation must be able to replicate thoughts, feelings and true experiences accurately, something not any Johnny Six Shooter can do. We are prepared to fly you to neo-Tokyo for both a face-to-face and an AR casting. And if you're suitable, contract you to provide the virtual characterisation for our simsense. What do you think?"

"But you're so handsome Mr Jericho!" Sakita tittered and sidled over from where she sat, two glowing cocktails in her hands. She flicked her tongue at Clint's face more closely than would've been appropriate, and he could've sworn it was forked. Body modifications were of course, de rigueur for many celebrities and stars. "It'd be a shame not to show it." The woman looked at Clint doe-eyed, as if she was not about to take no for an answer.

Above the interaction between Sakita and Clint was Takeshi addressing his concerns, "Of course. Your covered face will lend an air of mystery. Besides, simsense as you know gives the user a first-person interior viewpoint of the action. Nothing will be revealed, you have my word on that.

If you're available to travel, we can fly you out as early as tonight or tomorrow morning. And we'll send a car to pick you up."

"It's a deal then, I'll pack my thing tonight and I'll be ready first light tomorrow morning. It's been a pleasure Mr. Takeshi," bowing his head one last time, "Farewell Ms. Sakita." Clint turns around and leaves...

The limousine promptly arrived at 10am the next morning, the vehicle looking decidedly out of the place in the rundown district of South LA where Clint stayed. Where it pulled up was an uneven pavement, tipped over trashcans, and at least one homeless SINner had made his spot on the sidewalk. He held out his hand as the wagesuit stepped out of the car and looked for Clint's apartment. One of the street gang spotters across the narrow street eyed it with great interest, and could be seen speaking into his commlink. The rest of the road was clogged with double parked vehicles, some which had been parked there forever. The man in the dark suit looked around and found the unit, through a filthy walkway and up a flight of steps, and knocked on Clint's door. "Mr Jericho, ready when you are." If he was appalled or otherwise judgemental of the conditions in which Clint lived, his face did not show it.

With a big duffle bag containing all his rifles and some clothes, Clint knew there wasn't anything of value left to steal in his small appartment. Most of what he had could easely be carried around. His combat armor was packed away, ready to be mailed if needed.
"Let's go then, wouldn't want anybody to be waiting because of me."

Noting Clint's bag, "Will that be all the luggage Mr Jericho? We will take care of your belongings, whatever you need to bring. There is a strict no-weapons policy on flights, so we will be shipping your gear separately. Rest assured they will arrive when you do." An assistant appeared seemingly from nowhere, and began to move Clint's bags, while the man in the suit escorted Clint into the limo.

Van Nuys Airport catered to a significant proportion of the private flights in and out of Los Angeles, including unmanned and drone-based aircraft. The limousine was allowed to pull up right onto the airfield itself, and a number of passengers were already there, including Takeshi and Sakita. Next to the actress were a man and a woman, both appearing to be actors or performers in their own right, from the flamboyant way they dressed. Next to Takeshi stood three men in suits; they appeared to be studio execs of various sorts, the oldest of whom the rest deferred to.

Clint walks up to Mr. Takeshi, "Howdy Mr. Takeshi," tipping his hat, "Ms. Sakita," looking at everybody else, "My name is Clint Westwood, pleased to meet y'all. Now how about we get on that plane, I'm sure we'll have more than enough time to greet each other. After all, I woudn't want to be the cause of a late departure."

The Swiftstream G-12 private jet was not designed to travel as fast as the commercial transorbital or transballistic flights that transported people around the world efficiently. Instead it was built for comfort, when arriving in style and comfort was more important than speed. Pleasantries were shared all round as the boarded. The studio chief didn't talk much, but retreated to the lounge area of the plane where he sat throughout with a drink in his hands, constantly dictating instructions to his assistant, while Takeshi and the other suit talked business and were on their commlinks throughout.

Siouxie Maryland, the other woman, was also another peson invited to the casting. As she conversed with Clint, it was evident that she was a First Nations elven shaman from Tsimshian. The third and last man, who was dressed as a Houngan, a voodoo priest, kept to himself, and didn't speak at all, not even when the enthusiastic Sakita attempt to make conversation. Sakita had to be content with latching herself next to Clint in a playful yet possessive manner.

As the flight wore on, Clint couldn't help shake a feeling of unease he had since he boarded the plane. He couldn't explain it, but something about the entire journey seemed wrong, and he didn't understand why.

Keeping alert with is feeling of unease, Clint still takes the time to try and chat with everybody. If able to, he will talk more with Ms. Maryland, since the cowboy feels he'll be more at ease with someone that understands his way of life more than anybody else aboard. After all, the time where cowboy and indians were at war is long past. They could relate more now that they were trying to resist the new ways of the encroaching civilization by saying truth to the old ways...

Clint narrowed down his unease at two people. One was the houngan. While it appeared that the man was merely sitting at his seat, reclined, drinking copious shots of whatever strange concoction he had requested from the flight attendant, Clint noticed that he was moving his lips, mouthing words or talking to himself, or something else.
The other was the man in conversation with Takeshi. Lim, he was introduced as, from Singapore. He was busy working on both his datapad and commlink, but from what Clint could see, not all that he was tapping on and keying in were to do with numbers and figures and work-related matters. At one point he could've sworn he saw briefly weapon and aircraft schematics.

While moving around the plane, speaking with those that want to socialize, Clint keeps an eye on the two and tries to spot any emergency gear available in the plane...