Hopping a ship wasn't much different from hopping a train, Elysia reflected as she sat wedged between two large shipping containers, legs folded tightly against her chest. Security was light at the docks, just a small team of guards who made regular rounds, mostly to keep the troublemakers and transients out. The crew members were either too busy supervising the loading of the containers or too drunk from a night at the bars. All in all, nobody noticed her board the ship or perhaps, in the darkness, simply assumed she was part of the crew.

Despite the size of the ship, the containers packed neatly in rows left very few secluded places to hide. As Elysia sat in a crevice between two stacks of containers, each several times her height, she understood why the guards didn’t bother catching stowaways. It was simply miserable on the ship. Not only was her hiding spot cramped, the metal containers became blisteringly hot during the day. It wasn’t much better when it rained; getting wet was the least of her problems. When it rained, the oceans grew agitated and the usual gentle, rhythmic sway of the ship became violent and erratic. The only consolation was that the ship would be arriving at port soon. [i]Only[/i] three miserable days of travel. Next time, she decided, she was taking a plane like a normal person.

Her possessions lay besides her, folded away inside a military rucksack. Elysia sighed as she  at the glanced at the stock of the Ares Desert Strike extending out of the pack, which was the reason for her current situation. You could buy an assault rifle or a shotgun anywhere as long as you found the right people. It was much more difficult to find military sniper rifles on the black market, as the supply was carefully controlled. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to leave the sniper rifle behind and buy an assault rifle instead in New Reykjavik, but she was reluctant to part with the gun that had served her faithfully for seven years. Hence, Elysia found herself cursing her decision in the midst of the Atlantic.

From the slowing speed of the ship and the activity of the crew members, Elysia could tell that they were about to approach land. She rechecked her rucksack, confirming that everything was secured and stretched her cramped muscles as much as space would allow. The sound of container cranes beginning to unload the shipments signalled that it was time to move. Seeing that there was no one in her immediate vicinity, Elysia dashed towards the side of the ship and tossed her bag onto the docks before taking the leap herself. She hit the ground feet-first, and immediately tucked into a roll, moving forwards short distance. Her body protested the rough treatment, but there was no time to lose. She could already see the flashlights of the dock security heading to investigate the noise. Grabbing her rucksack, she took off into the night, taking random turns as she sprinted down the streets. After a while, fairly certain that she was not being followed, she slowed down and took a look around.

Her mad dash through the streets of Reykjavik had taken her away from the main downtown areas and into the poorer regions of the city. Not quite the slums, as the buildings still stood upright and didn’t look too disreputable, but they clearly showed the passage of time. It wasn’t the best first impression of New Reykjavik, but at least it wasn’t the city jail. Finding a small inn nearby, Elysia paid for a small room for several days. Savoring the feeling of having a bed to sleep on, even if it was hard and small, she quickly fell asleep.
[hr]
Elysia woke to the darkness of a cold northern morning. Though her body still ached from the night before, she could move and if things went south, flee. After a moment's consideration, she left her rucksack in her room, taking only her pistol along. It wasn’t particularly discreet, but it was better than walking into a bar fully armed, announcing to everyone that she was a shadowrunner. She left the inn several hours early to find her bearings and scout out the area.

As Elysia entered the Fljót several minutes before the meeting time, she wondered why she even bothered with discretion. The Fljót was a surprisingly normal bar, albeit a bit empty due to the time. In fact, it was too normal; against such a normal scene, Elysia stood out like a sore thumb. She took a little comfort in that she wasn’t the only one who looked out of place. Several others in the bar marked themselves as shadowrunners, whether it was due to the chrome they had or their wary gaze that seemed to say the normalcy of the bar was just a facade. Ordering a soykaf, she sat down at the table of three, greeting the others with a nod. Silence pervaded the atmosphere and she saw no reason to break it.