"Zitterer... it's been a privilege knowing you."

The elf coughed, almost a chuckle. "That bad?"

"Yeah. You'll be dead of internal damage by sunrise unless they keep you together for interrogation. I could probably rouse Sis by burning every ounce of my reserves, but I doubt she could shoot straight. You're too weak to swing a sword, and I don't have mine. We're fucked, it's over."

Thilo grimaced, but shook his head. "Nah. I got one more play. Get my deck over here."

"You're short a few fingers to deck..."

"Top ridge, divots are buttons, fourth from the left. Then second dial from the right, turn to green. But I need it in my face first."

"Why?"

"Voice commands. And she knows my voice."

"...Five or Seven?"

"Five... mostly."

There are seven rules of shadowrunning. Seventh, and most important, is 'Never, ever, make a deal with a dragon.' Because no matter how good the deal looks, you are not getting the good end of a trade with a millennia-old primal incarnation of greed, hunger, and magic. Rule five is simply 'Never trust an elf.' Because while most elves are just people born with Unexplained Genetic Expression, some are as old, and usually as rich, as the dragons.

Artur had been raised to be above racism, even the mild kind directed as the 'prissy pretty-boy' elves... but shadowrunning wasn't kind to people who let ethics compromise their survival instincts. And no one he'd ever met in the shadows was quite as vehement an adherent to Rule Five as Zitterer, an elf himself, who'd always claimed he was an exile from Pomorya due to conflict with the immortal elves who ran it. All this ran through his head in seconds.

"That's... better than our odds without it. Okay."

"And she's going to be so goddamned smug. But... yes."

He grabbed the deck and slid it over into Thilo's face. Fourth from the left... and dial to green.

"Ready."

"Hit spacebar," the decker whispered.

Then, as Artur did, raised his voice to a rasp. "Contingency 574," he managed, "Confirmation: dum spiro, devil's bargain, sunset on the Wadden. Initiate call."

"Not reassuring...", Blauprinz muttered.

"Hah. I didn't keep this secret on a whim, boss."

"Oh, is our little charade over, Thilo dear?," came a female voice in aristocratic, French-tinged German, "that's a shame, it was fun."

"Dying, doll. Internal damage my crew can't fix - and he's a shaman-medic. Security after us. Get the three of us out alive and on the mend and you'll finally have me in your debt."

"Well, I might arrange that. I do have teams I can call in your usual running haunts. Unless you've hidden a trip from me."

"Nah. I like my freedom, but I like my skin better. But debt's on me, not the other two."

"Getting them treated without making them SINners won't be easy."

"Then you'll have more leverage on me. My debt. Maybe they'll play along, but their free choice."

"Be careful how you mortgage your soul, dear, new ones don't come cheap. Running Frankfurt tonight?"

"Good spies. Yah. Within ten blocks of FBV's headquarters. Signal is 27.372, Gora staccato. We've got... Prinz?"

"Maybe twenty minutes before security would notice anyone she sends in. Forty if hers just need to get to us before theirs do."

"Lovely to make your acquaintance, Blauprinz. They'll be there in fifteen, ten if they're on the ball. Thanks for keeping my boyfriend in one piece this long. Ta-ta!"

Thilo grimaced, but his eyes were smiling too much to sell it properly.

"Turn dial away," he whispered again, hoarse from the exertion.

Prinz did, then gave him a skeptical look. "Boyfriend?"

"Not really. She wishes."

"...Flings, some. Old rival. Likes me. Keeps her promises. But no morals."

"Corp?"

"Ish. Immortals in family. Close held. Law. Elites."

"Law firm with strike teams in multiple metroplexes?"

"Favor traders. Johnsons. Meddler, her."

"She going to blackmail us with exposure, later?"

"Doubt it. Keeps deals. My debt."

"Well. There are worse devils."

"Yeah."

A little more than ten minutes later, the deck chirped, and Thilo mustered the energy to get a projection to his jack.

"Just outside. No watchers."

Artur - no, Blauprinz, that was important to keep active now - nodded, and carefully rose to limp to the hatch.

"Gentlemen. I believe you're here to pick up my crew?"

"Attergaa sent us to that effect, yes. Looking for one 'Zitterer' and two of his crew."

"We're all in bad shape, but he's here."

"Good. Triage?"

"Zitterer's got an internal gut wound, get him a stretcher as soon as you can. I might manage a crutch but I'd prefer someone to lean on, or a carry. If you can wake Knällchen she can walk, I didn't have reserves for it."

The man nodded. "Weber, pop one up. Koch and Bauer on rearguard, I'll be point, Schmidt stays on matrix overwatch til we're clear."

That left four to get the wounded out, counting Weber. Professionals, with experience. Good.

"While I'm being thankful for miracles, did you happen to pick up an enchanted hand-and-a-half sword on your way in?"

Weber cursed. "We did. I was hoping to keep it. Yours?"

"'Fraid so. It has a bit of a mind of its own, it would have found its way to someone in my blood family within a year."

"Best not go into detail, what we don't know can't identify you."

"True enough."

They busied themselves, and one called Hartmann looked Zanne over and did a minor working to get her up.

She was quick to violence when woken, so Artur made sure he was in view.

"Stand down, Knällchen. Zitterer's in debt to a corp friend but we're getting extracted and we'll have professional medical attention."

She quirked an eyebrow, but nodded.

Hartmann looked over to Artur. "You're their shaman? Good work on your field medicine - a patch job, but a good one."

He smiled, "Thanks. I'm a good traditional medic as well, keeping body and soul together is my main field skillset."

"A good specialty to have at your back. We'd hire you if you ever left the shadows, I expect - the combination is much too rare."

"I'll keep it in mind - but that's not likely."

"Never is, with you people."

He didn't reply.

He woke later, in a hospital bed. A large capsule was closed over his leg stump, and he could sense some magic active within. He glanced around and saw both of his crew in beds nearby. And a very pale elf, sitting in a comfortable chair near Thilo's bed.

She must have noticed him moving, because she looked up almost immediately.

"Ah, you're awake, Prinz."

"Where are we?"

"Small upscale hospital in Düsseldorf, with several private wings. They usually work with first-party corp black ops, but the same precautions suit shadowrunners."

"Mmh. So no bugs except yours, then. Medical status?"

"Thilo's still in bad shape, but he'll pull through. Probably take some cyberware in the replacement hand. The surgeon complimented your field medicine, he could have been unsalvageable if you had done a worse job."

"Your girl is going to need neuroplasticity treatments to make a full recovery, but that should be fine by the time her hands are back to normal. Your leg is being replaced with bioware - there's an experimental magical treatment to reduce the essence loss, you're the first test case that was a natural injury rather than a deliberate amputation. The hand could get the same treatment if you want it."

"I'll consider my options. You work with shadowrunners often?"

"Often enough. Attorney-client privilege is useful."

"Or the appearance of attorney-client privilege which can't be proved wrong."

"Well, sometimes. You're the Face for your crew, right?"

"The primary one. Some circles Knällchen handles, and Zitterer has been hiding his own connections, apparently."

"Oh, he doesn't have many, we just go way back. I am quite well-connected, but I don't think he's ever asked to draw on that."

"Yes, that sounds like him. You're from Pomorya as well?"

"More or less. My uncle is Boris Teleam."

He nodded. "A notorious name. That would make your employer Teleam & Karlov?"

"Right in one. How did you three meet?"

"Took a run where Knällchen's crew needed an extra decker and their Fixer tapped Zitterer. A bad run killed their decker and face, and the rest fell apart. We needed a decker to make our new crew decently well-rounded, and he was interested in joining a consistent crew."

"And you and your girlfriend Knällchen?"

He laughed involuntarily.

"God no. No, we're family."

"White norm and black ork?," she said, incredulous, "You don't look a bit alike!"

"I was adopted."

"...hmm. And so was she, I gather."

"Didn't say that. I had an unusual childhood."

"I'm hard to fool, Prinz. You were both adopted - and I'm guessing that's related to how a medical shaman who talks academicese arrived in the shadows."

He blinked. "You sure jump to conclusions fast."