//File 2.1 - Missy, Domino//

"Fingerprint recognition? Do they still do that?" As horrible as the thought might be, better than a retina scan for the victim, Domino thinks to herself.

It seemed obvious that Missy needed to find out what Shanto was working on at MCT. She had visited his office before, but that was together with him on a project they had collaborated on, something to do with writing arcane programming code. It couldn't have been a coincidence that Domino's dead software engineer also hailed from MCT.

Fortuitiously, Domino had his commlink. In the sixth world, a person's commlink was their entire identity. Sometimes implanted, at other times still handheld, it provided access to the Matrix, contained one's SIN; in combination with fingerprint or voice recognition, retinal scan, or more recently beta wave detection for those constantly jacked into their augmented or virtual reality worlds.

Missy's search of Shanto's apartment had not been as fruitful as she hoped. She had hoped to catch him and speak with him, so that she could verify his involvement in this mystery. Instead the only lead she discovered through her magic led her to Domino. Shanto's blood was on the crystal, which meant the finger was his. Missy had no way of investigating his office, but perhaps the commlink in Domino's possession could be used to pick up the trail from the software engineer's lab instead.

"All roads lead back to MCT, it seems. Whatever it is they're doing, or at least someone there - the 'Pain Man' - is riling the insect spirits. Maybe someone knows something about all this that would help?" She looks thoughtful for a moment. "We do have the deadman's commlink, we should be able to track down his home and maybe scope it out for some more intel. Perhaps there's someone Shanto knows that might have some insight? A co-worker, a friend..." She let's that last question hang in the air, not knowing what Missy's connection to Shanto is (or was) at the moment, and how much she knows about her former-ish paramour's personal life.

While they sat there talking through their options, considering which leads to follow, the dead man's commlink flashed. Domino had left it on the table when she was showing it to Missy, and a message appeared. 2300, same place. 400ny. Wherever this man's appointment was supposed to take place, 11pm was just twenty minutes away.

Domino grabs the commlink and starts searching through the its data - previous GPS info, map searches, any other communications coming from the same source.

Frustratingly, Domino found little on the commlink that indicated where the man's rendevous might be. She saw two or three similar messages with earlier dates, but all they contained were timings and nuyen costs, but no location.

Missy sat there racking her brains at Domino's prompting questions. She didn't know much about Shanto's current lifestyle, but she did remember a favourite drinking hole which he used to frequent after work with his colleagues. If the dead man Domino had met was indeed Shanto's colleague of some sort, perhaps the bar might still be a regular hangout for them. It was a longshot, but it seemed like the only lead they had at the moment.

"I remember Kamebara, a bar in Shinjuku Shanto and many of his MCT chummers used to hang out. Maybe they still do. Do you want to go check it out? I think I'll return to his apartment to see if he might return If I find anything else I'll call you straightaway." A quick check showed that Kamebara was pretty easy to get to, only two stops away on the metro and a short walk.

"It's a start, thanks." Domino gathers herself and rises from the chair. Just before she leaves, she turns and says, "It's good to see you again, Missy. I'm sorry about the circumstances. I hope your friend is ok." With a nod, she strolls from their meeting place and considers who would be the best person to rub shoulders with corporate types.

Domino easily found herself in Shinjuku's Kogane Gai, or Golden Street. In the mega-arcology of neo-Tokyo, it was possible to get lost in the endless streets of Shinjuku's entertainment district. Blocks after blocks of bars, entertainment centres, casinos, legal drug dens, brothels and all other manner of leisure to cater to every whim and fancy could be found in the area; in fact, there were some establishments so deep inside it was nigh impossible to find them twice. Savvy locals knew their way around, but even visitors and tourists did not find it difficult to navigate some of the most popular and frenetic zones. Domino herself had been here a number of times in her short span in Tokyo, and knew at least one or two club owners well. She hadn't been to Kamebara though, but the augmented reality display from her commlink's GPS pointed the way, although it was annoying how ads, deals, and coupons kept popping up on her display every other second as she made her way to the bar.

Missy had collected some possession she had left in the apartment. Shanto's apartment was now her base of operation while she searched for her friend.

Missy radiated power, confidence, and determination, as she walked down Shinjuku Shanto. Her red hair hangs loose emphasizing her non-japanese status, but the silk kimono she is wearing, carries all the hallmarks of a traditional Japanese mage. She is very recognizable, both for Domino and as a force to be reconded with, should any punk see a weak girl in a foreign land.

Entering the bar she hopes to recognize some of the bar staff, but then again, it has been 18 months since she and Shanto last visited the establishment.

On her way to the Kamebara, Domino uses her commlink to locate a public restroom kiosk. She finds an unmarked credstick, slots it, goes inside and then begins to rummage through her messenger bag. She reassembles the outfit from the identity she was wearing when the insect spirit showed up, but matches it this time with long black black hair. She takes an wide toothed comb from her pouch, activates a setting on it, and gently draws it through the bottom 25 or so cm, activating the nanotech and creating tasteful ringlets. Then she removes the straps from the messenger bag, replaces the fastener with a branded buckle, completing its transformation into a briefcase. Finally, sorting through her array of persona documents, she selects Annie Miyoshi, and updates the information to show that she's a low-mid level Nikkei Amerikaijin marketing specialist who works for Trans Pacific Express, a shipping company that does a lot of work with Mitsuhama. Satisfied for the moment, she presses on to her destination.

The slick facade of Kamebara immediately signaled it to be a hangout of corp scions and their wage slave retainers, with a good mix of wannabes media types thrown for good measure. The entrance was a fancy holographic revolving door which made it seem as if there was an attractive greeter standing there at any one time to welcome you. Two overstyled rigger valets stood in front, to take over the sleek cars that pulled up, discharging their occupants, each one in a suit razor-tailored to fit. A pair of bouncers also flanked the doors, motionless; they knew who to let in, and no one who wasn't supposed to be there even dared approach them.

Working this level of the corporate world is a little outside Domino's comfort zone - she generally prefers dealing with mid to low-level types and certainly not so far into their turf. As she surveys the scene she tries to calculate her best approach. She walks over to the bouncers at the door, holding her briefcase in front of her with two hands and trying to look both awkwardly demure and yet confident in the way that foreigners can be when they don't know the local protocols. She looks up at the bouncers, then blushes a little and says, "Um, hello. I'm here to meet Shanto-san from Mitsuhama Corporation. He's expecting me." Anticipating that they might check her bag, Domino stowed everything but a skimpy negligee and some silk cords in the secret compartment of her satchel.

One of the bouncers eyed the woman in front of them, Domino wasn't someone they recognised, although she looked the part of someone who could conceivably be part of the clientele. Neither of them saw the need to shoo her away nor intimidate her, but their aloof Japanese reserve meant that they had nothing to say to Domino, nor did they let her in.

They did however, easily allow another swaggering carbon copy of a corp director enter with his two buddies; they had just alighted behind her.