They were almost high this morning. Of the five, not one could be called a "shadowrunner." Serrin had been, some time back, but those days were recalled ambivalently. Good friends had been made and lasting associations formed, but he’d been rootless and left with a minced leg as a permanent memory of life in the shadows. Married now, and settled, he had no desire to return to his old ways especially with a wife who, though a survivor, had no experience of such things and was far from her country of origin. Michael’s work was strictly decking, almost always carried out from the high security of a Manhattan apartment in the city he had come to call home, and Geraint was a politician and businessman. Streak was the only one looking out for himself among the dangers of the street most days, but even he was an ex-military man.