G-Dogg escorted Kellan to a beat-up Honda-Kia Argent parked in the fenced lot behind the Underworld. The car chirped and the lights flashed as they approached, though Kellan didn't see G-Dogg take out a remote control. The ork went around to the driver's side and Kellan climbed into the passenger side. The interior of the car was cleaner than Kellan expected and, when G-Dogg punched in the ignition code, the engine thrummed to life with barely restrained power.

"Nice, ain't she?" the ork said with a measure of pride.

"Yeah, nice," Kellan said, though truthfully she wasn't all that impressed.

"She may not look like much," G-Dogg said, as if answering Kellan's unspoken thought, "but, like they say, she's paid for, and she's got it where it counts. It ain't all about flash, right?"

G-Dogg picked up Route 167, following it north toward the district of Renton, where they merged onto I-405. Along the way, he pointed out different places that he knew, giving Kellan a running travelogue of the sights. In particular, he mentioned the Shadow Lake Correctional Facility, making a point of the fact that he'd never been inside himself, but that he knew more than a few people who had.

"Over that way is Knight Errant's main training facility for the whole Pacific Northwest," he said, gesturing toward the sprawl of lights stretching away from the highway.

"They do a lot of the security work in Seattle?" Kellan asked. Knight Errant was a subsidiary of the megacorporation Ares Macrotechnology, and well known as one of the top-flight security contractors in the biz.

"Not as much as they want to be doing," G-Dogg said with a snort. "All the megacorps maintain their own security forces, naturally, and the police services contract for the metroplex belongs to Lone Star, so Knight Errant is limited to handling mostly Ares security and a lot of comparatively small stuff. They've been gunning to take the metroplex services contract away from Lone Star for years." Lone Star Security Services out of Texas was well known to Kellan, and to any shadowrunner. They provided more contracted police services than any other corporation.

"K-E's got a shot at it again this year," the ork continued. "But odds are the Star will hold on to the contract. They've got the mayor in their pocket, so it's a lock provided they don't frag things up so badly that ol' Mayor Lindstrom has to ditch them for damage control."

The roar of engines sounded from behind them and G-Dogg glanced into the rearview mirror.

"Hang on," he said to Kellan, and then he floored the accelerator so hard that Kellan was slammed back into her seat. The Argent shot forward with a whine from its engine and G-Dogg cut the wheel, swerving into the far-left lane. There was little traffic on the highway so late at night, but G-Dogg still had to dodge around a couple of cars and one drone truck making its way northward, driven by its onboard dog-brain and guided by the metroplex's Grid-Guide computers.

Kellan glanced back over the seat to see a cluster of single headlights behind them, about half a dozen or so motorcycles keeping pace with their car.

"Who are they?" she asked.

"Hellhounds," G-Dogg said curtly. Then he swerved the car to the right, dodging around a Ford Americar that blared its horn at them, the sound quickly trailing off as they blasted past.

Even though G-Dogg slammed on the brakes, they hit the off-ramp so fast that Kellan was sure the ork was going to roll the car. But the Argent dropped back onto all four wheels with a squeal of tires and G-Dogg slowed down a bit as the motorcycles roared past the exit, continuing north on the highway.

"Friends of yours?" Kellan asked the ork and G-Dogg just grinned.

"As if. The Hellhounds claim 405 as their turf, and the Hounds are all norms, humans. They don't much like seeing metahumans in their territory, so I try and stay out of their way, just in case they're bored or something."

He smoothly merged onto I-90, heading west toward the glittering towers of downtown Seattle in the distance.

"So why cut through their turf, then?" Kellan asked. "I mean, we're kind of going the long way around, aren't we?"

"Not really," the ork replied. "I-5 belongs to your new chummers the Spikes. They're a go-gang, all trolls like your chummer Horse, all on fraggin' huge bikes. The Spikes are touchy at the best of times, but lately they're likely to frag anything that comes through their territory. They've come into some new ordnance lately, and they're probably none too friendly towards us right now. The Hounds are a lot easier to avoid."

Kellan thought about the trolls that G-Dogg had fought outside the Underworld. Then she imagined an entire gang of them, mounted on Harleys and armed to the teeth.

"I see what you mean," she said.

The glittering cityscape parted before them as the highway stretched out over Lake Washington toward a heavily wooded island.

"That's Council Island," G-Dogg said as they cruised toward it. "It's the Native American Nations embassy in the plex, but the tribal council lets traffic cross I-90 with no hassle, as long as you aren't looking to get off the highway late at night." The ork eased up on the gas a bit as they approached the island, either to make sure he was observing the speed limit or to allow Kellan a better look, or both.

She took in the traditional-style Salish longhouses with the tall, carved totem poles standing out front, surrounded by thick stands of trees. She also noticed the heavy ferrocrete blockhouses at the checkpoints off the highway, manned by stern-faced Native soldiers wearing fatigues accented by feathers and bead-work that contrasted with the modern assault rifles slung over their shoulders. She thought that she saw a Salish shaman at one of the checkpoints, wearing a bearskin cloak and a bone necklace.

It was the shamans who had secured the future of their people and the Native American Nations. The Ghost Dance War between the Sovereign American Indian Movement and the United States and Canadian governments had been fought in 2017 and won with magic, not long after the Awakening brought magic back into the world. The Native Americans were among the first people to recognize that their ancient traditions suddenly had real power, and they were willing to use it.

At first it seemed like a joke: ragtag bands of Indian terrorists up against the most powerful military on Earth. Then the Ghost Dancers unleashed the power of the four largest volcanoes in the Cascade Range simultaneously. There was no fighting against the power of Mother Nature, so the nations of North America were forced to negotiate with the Indians.

Nearly half of North America was ceded to the new Native American Nations, but the Seattle Metroplex remained a part of what was now the United Canadian American States, situated in the midst of the Salish-Sidhe Council, one of the strongest members of the NAN. Council Island, in turn, was surrounded by UCAS territory, one nested inside the other, with everyone keeping a close eye on everyone else.

Kellan refocused on the present as G-Dogg exited toward downtown Seattle, the heart of the metroplex.

"So, who's this guy we're going to see?" she asked G-Dogg. The ork chuckled evilly.

"Oh, I think you should just wait and see," he said. "Some things, and some people, just can't be explained. You have to see them for yourself. Lothan is one of those."

G-Dogg navigated expertly through the streets of downtown Seattle to the Capitol Hill neighborhood. Like most people who grew up on the flat plains of the midwestern UCAS, Kellan was surprised by the hills in this part of the city. The area was strictly middle lifestyle: row houses and restored Victorians along with small storefronts, coffeehouses and places catering to the shaikujin, "straight citizens" with honest, decent-paying jobs. Kellan wondered who someone like G-Dogg could possibly know in this kind of neighborhood.