When Kellan Colt reached the Underworld, it started to rain. Not very much, just a drizzle from the leaden clouds, which were lit from beneath by the neon glow of the metroplex, spattering droplets of light across the grimy windows of the Grid-Cab.

"Thank you for choosing Grid-Cab, Ms. Webley," the onboard computer chirped cheerfully as Kellan removed her credstick from the slot, her balance now a few nuyen lighter than she would have liked. The cab door hissed open automatically and Kellan climbed out. Someone else was waiting to climb in and the cab chirped, "Thank you for choosing Grid-Cab, please slot your credstick and enter your desired destination:."

Kellan looked up at the kromeglow marquees that climbed the walls to loom overhead, spelling out underworld 93. The building was a converted warehouse: huge, blocky and made of gray plasticrete, pocked with scars and chips and liberally decorated with graffiti, which only added to its character as a fixture of the Seattle nightclub scene. The line to get in already extended down the block, made up mostly of eager young corp-babies dressed up in their latest street-wear for an exciting night of slumming oh-so-close to the Puyallup Barrens, their idea of life on the edge. Mixed in were the locals, their clothes not quite so perfectly coordinated, their "look" not so practiced. Kellan spotted a couple of dwarves, a few elves looking like they'd just stepped off the runway of a fashion show, even some orks and a troll dressed in leathers and torn synthdenim.

She ignored it all, jammed her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and jandered right up past the head of the line like she belonged there, eyes straight ahead, chin up.

A massive hand grabbed her arm and spun her around.

"Hey, where do you think you're going, little girl?" The deep voice carried over the noise of the crowd and the pounding beat of the music pouring out from inside the club.

Kellan looked up into one of the ugliest faces she'd ever seen. He was an ork, which meant he stood head and shoulders above Kellan, above most humans, in fact. His face was straight out of a scary children's story: a broad nose and jaw, sloped brow and white tusks jutting up over his upper Up. His skin was dark and dotted with warts and his brown hair hung in heavy dreadlocks, decorated with shiny bits of metal. His outfit was sharp enough to shave with. He wore a white shirt that strained to contain the bulging muscles of his arms, shoulders and broad chest, and a close-fitting dark vest. His pants were tailored (they had to have been to fit him at all well) and his boots were worn but high quality. She could see that the outfit wasn't brand new, but it was put together in a way that showed the ork (or his employer) had taste, and some cred.

Kellan shook off the ork's hand and drew herself up to her full height, which still left her staring at the middle of his chest, and met his stare with one of her own.

"I'm going inside," she said, putting as much frost into her voice as she could manage.

"How old are you, kid?" the bouncer scoffed. Kellan heard a few jeers from the line, but ignored them, keeping her focus on the bouncer.

"Twenty-one," she replied without missing a beat.

"Let's see some ID."

Kellan produced her credstick and handed it to the bouncer, who slotted it into the portable reader clipped to his belt. Before she handed it over, Kellan keyed the stick to slip the ork some cred, if he wanted it.

"I'm here on business," she said, just loud enough for the ork to hear. His eyes flicked from the display on the screen of the reader to her face and back without any sign of emotion, then he tapped the screen a couple times.

"Oh yeah? What kind of business?" he asked casually, not looking up.

Her initial response was, "None of yours," but she bit that down. There was no point in hacking off the big ork. No real point in lying to him, either.

"I'm looking for someone," she said. "A chummer named G-Dogg." That got him to look up.

"Why?" the ork asked with a smile. "He owe you money or something?"

"Like I said, it's business. He around?"

The ork shrugged. "Haven't seen him, but G-Dogg hits a lot of clubs." He took the credstick out of the reader and handed it back to her. "If I see him I'll let him know that you're looking for him, Miz Webley. Have a good time." He waved her on toward the door of the club.

"Thanks," Kellan said. The ork turned back toward the line, where the next pair of club-kids were loudly protesting his decision to let her cut the line.

"All right, next!" he said. "Let's see some ID."

Kellan walked through the front doors and entered the Underworld.

The first thing that struck her was the sound, a wall of noise coming from the towering amps flanking the broad stage. Flashing lasers pulsed in time to the beat, and a montage of video clips splashed across the floor-to-ceiling screens along the back wall.

Beyond the lobby, a broad staircase curved around the crowded dance floor off to the side of the stage. A band was wailing out tunes at a volume that seemed to make the rafters shake, and the crowd responded with enthusiastic moshing. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the elf fronting the band; his natural charisma made him a perfect lead singer. And she was not surprised to see a sasquatch backup vocalist, since their ability to imitate any sound practically guaranteed they'd end up in the entertainment industry. She'd never actually seen one live before.

Standing in the doorway, Kellan sighed as the light and the noise enveloped her. She'd made it. Of course, her attitude and a decent fake ID, along with some well-placed tips, had gotten her into more than a few clubs back home in Kansas City, but this was fragging Seattle. It was the big time. The Seattle Metroplex was a happening place, a little slice of the United Canadian American States out in the midst of the potentially hostile Native American Nations, right near the elven nation of Tir Tairngire and the California Free State. Gateway to the Pacific Rim, where the shadows were deep and dark, and there were chances at big scores, not the small-time biz of Kansas City.

"Seattle:" Kellan breathed, looking around the club and just taking it all in. The place was jammed with people, most of them dressed in the latest club fashions, all of them gyrating to the music.

Kellan considered the contrast between her clothes and what everyone else was wearing. She wore a beat-up leather jacket over a white T-shirt that hadn't been washed in quite some time, tucked into some old jeans that were a little too big for her and cinched at the waist with a secondhand belt, and heavy work boots on her feet. Obviously, what she lacked in style, she made up in attitude. After all, she was in, and the fashionable were still waiting.

Unconsciously, one hand reached up to brush across the jade amulet she wore on a heavy gold chain around her neck. It was by far the most extravagant element of Kellan's outfit. She still wasn't quite used to its weight, but it felt so right around her neck. From the moment she'd seen it she'd known that it was meant for her. She just wished she knew more about it. Hopefully, that was one of the things she would find out in Seattle.

It had been in a package that had just shown up at her aunt's one day. It was a lucky thing Kellan had actually been home at the time, or she was sure that her aunt would have pawned the contents and she'd never even have known it existed. Her aunt would have used the money to buy some cheap liquor, to help her forget about all the money she'd shelled out for Kellan's care over the years. Which she never let Kellan forget: she was constantly harping on how Kellan was nothing but a burden to her ever since her mother had left her there.