Wilhelm did not want to get caught up in this.  Tox-screens never looked for scopolamine because nobody was stupid enough to abuse it, so he was covered on that front, but getting spotted with a mysteriously dead corpse would raise uncomfortable questions.  "Drive-drive-drivedrivedrive."  The truck was on run-flats, so Wilhelm had no doubt it could get away even if someone started shooting, and any video footage could be explained away just so long as he wasn't found with the truck.  "Keep going 'till you get back to base.  And make sure you don't break any traffic laws."  José stopped for a signal a couple blocks away from the church and Wilhelm took advantage of the halt to implement phase two of his hastily refigured plan, opening the truck's rear rolling door just a crack, popping a hole in the bottom of one of his carapace's feet, and pouring himself down a grating into the Las Vegas storm sewers.  Manholes belched steam and fire (and occasional frightened hobos fleeing the conflagration below) as Wilhelm crept on grotesque pseudopodia back toward the church.  His investigations into the building hadn't revealed the removal of any bathrooms from the church building in the course of its renovations.  He'd get in that way, boring into the sanitary sewer underground.  And if anyone asked any questions, well, it wasn't unknown for sewers to just explode.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
No, really.  <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louisville_sewer_explosions">It isn't unknown</a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1992_Guadalajara_explosions">for sewers</a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1929_Ottawa_sewer_explosion">to just explode</a>.  This is why you don't pour gasoline down the drain.  Also, yes.  As it turns out there is a race of mole-men living in the Las Vegas storm sewer system.  By which I mean there is a reason you don't see as many homeless folks wandering the streets as you might otherwise expect.  What?  You thought they were the one city in the world that had a decent system of shelters?

Crap, that didn't format correctly.  Guess I don't have the right permissions to make links work here.

---

This message was last edited by the player at 22:48, Thu 17 Jan 2013.

"Shit." Imp called on his eufibre to form a mask and gloves.  "I'll take the fire escape, Sue, you take the rear, Sol, the loading bay.  We'll have to find their security room and take anything that they can use to prove we were here."  Imp drew on some of the quantum in his suit and raced through the parking lot and up the stairs.

The truck sped away, and people realized that the man on the lawn was quite dead.  But a few moments later, it didn't matter.  Suzukaze could no longer break the sound barrier, but she could still cover ground rapidly and disable or kill the average baseline without resistance.  Solitaire could burn equally hard and fast, and Comstock still had enough juice to get heavy and bring that hideous strength to bear.  In maybe a minute, everyone in the place, fifteen grown men in all, had been rendered unconscious and dragged inside.  Michaelists had reached for guns or phones, but never made it.  There was no real threat.

Meanwhile, Impetus dove inside.  They were renovating the place extensively, it seemed, not just reinforcing the old movie-theater walls but also making a veritable barracks and bunker.  A completed basement had the security room that Impetus sought, as well as ample space for supplies, ammunition, armaments and more.  The security room already had a single occupant, however: an oily, flaming vaguely humanoid figure that could only be Hell Kraken.

The pipes had been a tight squeeze, but Kraken had found his way through into a basement bathroom with communal showers.  There had been no resistance: the Michaelists were upstairs, and there were few walls that Kraken could not melt or pour himself through.  Sure enough, there was a full server here, powered up but not yet connected to the OpNet.  There was also a large Cabela's gun safe, presumably with what Chagan wanted.

This was rather simple.  Alarmingly simple, even.  They did not even have cameras set up yet, thanks to the construction.

"You may not wish to come any closer.  It was fortunate that the fire sprinkler system experienced a mysterious loss in water pressure immediately prior to my arrival or else the computers here would have been quite ruined.  Alas that means this building is not long for this world."  Even as he spoke the air around Wilhelm popped and crackled as nitrogen combined with nitrogen in geometries more usually seen in Lovecraftian fiction.  The concrete floor of the server room was on fire.  "I suggest we adjourn to a more comfortable locale.  I shall take care of the safe.  I recall a retention basin at the corner of Oakey and Torrey Pines that looked to be pretty full.  How far would you say that is?  750 meters?"  Wilhelm did some calculations in his head.  An angle of 35 degrees out to do it.  The safe wasn't waterproof, but with a thought it was filled with polyurethane foam which would additionally protect its contents against impact.  It might even float, despite its weight.  Expanding, Wilhelm engulfed the safe then, with a grunt, contracted, squirting the safe at great speed through the ceiling and off into the distance.  "I'll leave the computer to you.  Take the drives at least.  Simple copying may not get all the files.  Don't worry about the safe.  I'll pick it up and we can analyze its contents when I'm more myself.  What do your mobsters here do after a heist?  Meet out in the desert?  Let us do that.  0930, Nipton Road outside of Searchlight.  I think I'll show myself out."  Wilhelm walked back to the church's bathroom and started to pour himself down one of the shower drains, but then he had another thought.  "Could someone call (702) 958-5598 and tell the person that answers to pick me up at the corner of Oakey and Torrey Pines?  I seem to have forgotten my phone."

Imp pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number.  Once the call was finished he looked around.  "Ok, I'll take the computer, lets have a slightly more careful look around before we leave to see if they hid anything that might be of use."

Comstock helped carry out whatever Imp wanted, while Suzukaze silently stalked about the place.  In minutes, they were all gone.  Fire crews arrived to find unconscious Michaelists and an inferno.  No one could exactly put together what had happened at the scene, but the Michaelists insisted it was a premeditated Nova attack.  But pro-nova camp came prepared: Gustav Keld's news networks quickly lambasted the unsafe and potentially illegal modifications to the church, and spun a story where a good Samaritan nova saved them from an out of control sewer fire.

---

The pickup team had little difficulty covering for Kraken; his borderline precognative nova assistant even sent another of his trademark suits just in case he lacked the quantum to construct one on the fly.  That much of the plan went off without a hitch.

More alarming, however, was the degree of sophistication in the recovered safe's contents.  The Michaelists clearly had no idea what they possessed: a variety of motherboards and processors one might expect at a government espionage agency or supercomputing lab, hard-disks with sophisticated decryption software, a variety of research texts and lab notes from individuals with their names redacted discussing the intricacies of decryption, and even some shortcuts that would provide a leg up to anyone interested in hacking government bureaus and agencies from Quebec to Costa Rica.  Someone was clearly trying to learn how to use all of this, but it was unclear how much progress they had made.

More interesting, some of the paper documents and hardware showed very slight signs of fire damage, and not from the day's events.  These things had seen some excitement, perhaps

Most worrisome, however, were the unwanted riders.  The media came with worrisome code that tried to call home, and multiple sets of it.  It would take time to break down exactly who had inserted what lines of code or spyware and what precisely it was all meant to accomplish, but for the moment it was ideal to limit exposure to the OpNet.  Even speed-reading and mega-intelligence had its limits.  Quentin or the Mathematician in their peak ability could probably manage the analysis in hours, but alas neither seemed presently available.

After some deduction, Kraken could be sure of this much: there was a list, and the specific drive which had the list had been stolen, in turn, from the Michaelists.  This had halted whatever the Michaelists had in mind, and so everything had been locked in this safe.

---

Suzukaze had to acknowledge that, for the moment, she was somewhat out of her element and only barely closer to her goal of killing Chagan.  At her peak, she might have moved quick enough to pick through everything before Solitaire and the others arrived, but as it stood all she had was a bunch of baselines, some rifles, and a building in flames.  Comstock was likewise befuddled, and Solitaire had to fill him in on much of what transpired in hyper-speed.  Impetus had a selection of Michaelist literature for his troubles, a valuable inside look at the organization.  Nothing relevant to this Chagan figure, but something to help tear the Michaelists down.

Six hours later, Suzukaze, Kraken, Comstock and Impetus each received messages from different numbers: When You Are Ready, Tell Me Where and When, I Will Be There.

---

At 0930, on Nipton Road outside of Searchlight, a few novas arrived in inconspicuous vehicles to reevaluate the situation.

Wilhelm arrived at the meet early, while all was still dark.  Feeling in a retro mood, he'd taken his driverless '71 Großer Mercedes.  Perhaps it was the overly complicated hydraulic system that ran everything on the Mercedes that even modern technology hadn't been able to make wholly reliable, perhaps it was the fact that he felt somewhat slighted by the fact that he hadn't mounted fender flags on the thing, but Wilhelm never took the Großer out as much as he thought he ought to.  The dictator-special's 7400 pounds had plowed deep ruts through the sand up to Searchlight's disused LORAN-C station, an advertisement of where Wilhelm was waiting.  Just as his Mercedes was more than it appeared to be on the surface, Wilhelm had brought along a few security surprises that he planned on revealing to no one unless his hand was forced.  He hadn't responded to the mysterious message he'd received, but others might have so it only made sense to take precautions.  While he waited, a road train arrived and disgorged a quartet of ROV-8A walker/roller killbots security drones, each armed with the turret off a Tunguska anti-aircraft vehicle and a 500 kilowatt radio-frequency jammer.  The bots knew what to do and scattered through the desert upon being released, wriggling into the sand to conceal themselves and throttling their fission plants down to idle.  Wilhelm hadn't brought along any air support, thinking his use of it might have made his actions too predictable, but he'd chosen the meeting location with a mind to alternatives.  A 700-foot LORAN-C antennae should do nicely as an observation point.  Opening the Mercedes' trunk, Wilhelm withdrew a bot that resembled nothing more than a silicone tentacle with a single camera eye and powered up its pneumatics, allowing it to begin to writhe its way up one of the masts.  It would take a while for the bot to get into position, but Wilhelm had plenty of time.

"Ah, good.  You're all here."  Wilhelm pulled the lever that worked the Mercedes' trunk hydraulics, reached inside and hauled out the safe (even with an industrial-sized air conditioner and spare tire the Mercedes did have an eight-body trunk, probably the reason Idi Amin had owned this one originally).  The safe had seen better days, but it had held up to the chemical beating it had taken a day before.  "A lot of stuff here.  I haven't even gotten to the computer equipment yet.  The systems are all equipped with Hengzhi chips so they're somewhat tamper-resistant.  Can't run the drives unless they're plugged in to the cryptoprocessors and can't do anything suspicious when they are plugged in or else the cryptoprocessors will lose the keys.  It's probably safest to take both the flash storage and the cryptoprocessors apart a layer at a time with hydrofluoric acid and record their data visually, but that takes time.  I have perused the written data though.  Quite thoroughly."  Wilhelm related what he'd been able to glean from the records.  Perhaps some of it would prove more useful to the others.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Alright, I've got 8 successes on an Investigation check to see what was in the notes.  Assume I Holmes'd it up before arriving.

---

Kraken's assessment was thorough and complex.  Little escaped his intellect or tools.  For instance, this situation.  The show of force, with the ROV-8A security drones, kept Chagan away.  But if he did not make such an effort, Chagan would surely notice and exploit Kraken's weakness.  Simultaneously, it was obvious Chagan desired the list.  But Chagan, obviously, also previously had possession of the list.

Kraken could also put two and two together.  People underestimated the reach of his machines and his heuristic algorithms.  Cyberkinetics could undo his work -- there was little that could stop quantum machinations -- but cyberkinetics were in short supply.  And the tolerance of the average American for his Heroic Engineering, Capitalism, and Science made him a government unto himself.  A single answer emerged.  Barring a teleporter or similar quantum complication, the list was still in the Vegas area; he knew because all evidence pointed to the drive with the list being stolen in a robbery at a Michaelist political office in Las Vegas.  January, 2004.  Shortly after the Colombian conflict.  The robbery event had been poorly covered by media outlets: small arms gunfire, a small fire in the office, and unsubstantiated claims of the perpetrator being a nova.  The fire damage on some of the documents from the safe had been the decisive clue.  Chemistry had done the rest.

With this fact established within a 99% confidence interval, other questions remained: how had the list fallen into Michaelist hands?  And why had Chagan not made an effort to recover it for over two years?

By process of elimination, Kraken surmised that the hard drive with the list was in possession of the Las Vegas Police Department.  They'd plugged it in, and it was "calling home" over the OpNet.  Science only knew what such zips and apes thought they could do with it.

Dillon arrived as quietly as he could.  He wore a baseball cap and a hooded sweatshirt and had changed the color and license plate on his truck again.  Anyone else who wanted a ride got one, even Suzukaze if she asked.

"Alright.  So there's no list in the safe.  But there was a list.  So what happened to it?"

"Theoretically a 'porter could have lifted it, or someone who can become immaterial and cause other things to do so as well could have reached through the safe and taken its contents. Or, maybe the list really wasn't there at all.  Kraken, you have any ideas?" Imp was tired of this bumbling around like a monkey.  Before that thrice cursed party he and his companions would have already had the list, and broken whatever encryption was being used to safeguard its secrets.  Now they were so close, but so far a way, like a dog trying to get at the last bit of peanut butter in a jar that was just too small to get its muzzle inside.

"I think we must take a moment to consider what we know.  One..."  Wilhelm held up one hand and started opening the fingers of its grasper like petals on a flower.  "...our mysterious correspondent has been lying to us.  The hard drive that was allegedly the point of this entire exercise has not been in the possession of the people we were directed toward for the better part of a year.  This fact could have been found out through a trivial amount of investigation.  Moreover, those Michaelists could have been handled by the cheapest of private military contractors.  If one had believed the hard drive to be in their possession and desired to get it back one could have handled the problem with much less effort and risk of exposure through that means than through the one chosen.  This leads into two..."  Another finger.  "...the actual point of this exercise was not to reacquire stolen information but instead to prompt us all into doing something in the reacquisition.  Presumably so that we might be caught with our hand in the honey-pot like your Winnie-the-Pooh.  What honey-pot precisely is still up in the air, though the hard drive is almost certainly actually in the possession of the LVPD and, and this is important, known to be there.  So that would be the place to start looking."  Wilhelm paced for a moment, contemplating unknown-unknowns.  "Which brings us all to the matter of what to do.  It is certainly possible to actually recover the hard drive.  There are only so many evidence lockers that the LVPD could have put it in.  But perhaps it would prove more useful to say that we already have and see what happens."

"Agreed, and there is perhaps a way to get the hard drive without resorting to skulduggery.  I've been to the chief of police's house a few times, I should be able to convince him it would be in everyone's best interest if said ahrd drive were to be placed in Utopia's custody, with full sharing of information gleaned from it, of course."

"If the police have it, why haven't we heard about it by now?  And who knows they have it?"  Dillon frowned.  "Once we have it do we turn it over?  Could you make a copy?"

"I don't know. This seems like it's turning out to be a wild goose chase." She leans against Comstock's truck. "Like I said before this could be some form of set up. That or this is just some distraction to keep us busy and out of the way. We need to be careful with our next move."

"The question is, why keep 'us' busy?  We've stepped way back from a lot of things since whatever this thing is has happened to us.  We also possess a wildly disparate skill set, with some overlap, and one of us at least," Imp nodded at Sue, "is pretty well insulated from these sorts of hijinks.  It doesn't make sense, honestly."

"Look, the guy's a criminal.  It's a setup.  So now what?  Do we leave the list with the police and risk this guy making good on his threats?  I still want a chance to meet him face to face."

"I don't even care if we're trying to recover his porno stash.  He's been peddling Soma and other drugs, he's probably behind Zero's abduction, and now he wants a government list of the world's novas.  He's dangerous.  And he's stomping around in my town."

"Unless anyone has a better idea, we need to at least find out where the police are keeping the thing.  Maybe help ourselves to it before another nova finds out they have it and attacks."

"Why keep us busy indeed.  You've hit on the crux of the matter.  Even if everything is above board, or as above board as it can get given the circumstances, why pick us?"  Wilhelm brought up the N! Nova Directory for Clark County.  There were 71 entries, Las Vegas having a nova population density substantially above the national average.  Wilhelm wasn't among them.  Technically his residence was Schloss Solitude outside of Stuttgart, Baden-Württemberg, though he maintained legal residence in Ordino, Andorra for tax purposes.  Wilhelm picked a name at random from the directory.  "Why not this MegaThrust fellow?  Control of plate tectonics?  Surely that would have been useful in a heist.  We were selected for a reason.  Until that reason is known I think all obvious routes forward have to be considered traps.  The reason the LVPD is sitting on this information could very well be that this is some sort of sting operation and they're involved.  How well do you know the Clark County Sheriff, really?  Well enough that he'd give you the tip-off without fail?  It's probably just as likely that they haven't been able to get through the encryption and so they don't know that they have anything more than stolen property, but one must be paranoid in these situations."  Wilhelm paused in contemplation for a moment and paced.  "I have a history with our mysterious correspondent.  We have played these games before, or ones much like them.  He needs no more reason to wish to set me up than I know he has already.  I can speculate as to why an interest has been taken in you."  A gesture toward Comstock.  "Business.  I can make much the same speculations about you."  Another gesture, this time toward Suzukaze.  "You, however, are a mystery to me, Impetus.  Why involve you at all?  You might as well have been picked from the directory.  Before we take the irrevocable step of involving the authorities, one way or another, I would like to figure this out.  It might clue us in to what lies ahead."

"He's got a point.  You're awfully visible, Imp."

Whatever conclusions the four reached, their association drifted apart shortly thereafter and never quite coalesced again over the next few months.  The business of the eufiber nano-weapon, Quantum Remission Syndrome, and the revelations behind Project Proteus and the nova prison complex on Europa interrupted efforts to organize a heist from the LVPD.  Suspicions over the true intentions of the operation did not help either.

--

Consequences, however, never manifested.  There was no revelation of identities to the media, no direct violence against Impetus' Fan Club, no further text messages to secure Project Proteus cell phones, and no detected threat to the Hell Kraken's paramour.  Chagan, a cautious criminal to be sure, made only one further attempt at contact: an email from a generic IP address for a computer in Macao, China.  "If you reconsider, I will be listening."

Mechanus cruised down the Strip, his liquid-cooled, 1250cc engine created a deep thunderous rhythm that echoed off the steel and glass of the strip, and preceded his arrival by half a block.  People glanced towards the bike that was making all the noise, then they did a double take. After all, how many night-black Harley Davidsons had they seen, especially ones without a rider?
He rolled to a stop on the red carpet in front of the Archon, the bass beat coming from within competed with his own.  Once he was sure he had drawn every eye within 50 yards he shifted.  Sparks of electricity began crawling across the big bike, as they traveled his front and rear suspensions began to telescope, and to increase in diameter as well.  His tires underwent a process of hexagonal transmogrification, and rapidly became steel gauntlets and boots.  The sparks of electricity crawled towards the bike's headlight, which folded in upon itself and began to glow with a brilliant cobalt energy, swirling and sparkling within a faceted crystal.  Within moments the process finished, where once had stood a massive black motor cycle stood a massive black robot, its torso was the engine block of the bike, and its arms and legs looked like huge hydraulic rams. Its face bore more than a passing resemblance to the Autobot symbol from the cartoons, glowing crystal set in its forhead.  The robot had no sooner become fully formed when the process started again, it seemed to compact in upon itself, and its surface underwent the same hexagonal transmogrification, only this time flesh and fabric emerged.  Soon a compact man wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket, desert camouflage pants, and black leather combat boots.  Oddly, although maybe not so oddly in this age of masked elites, he wore a fully articulated Autobot symbol mask.  The glowing crystal had submerged itself beneath his forehead. "Hello NV!" he shouted to the crowd, he then walked up to and past the doorman.  Once inside Paidrag headed to the bar, it was long time past party time and he had a lot of catching up to do.  As he walked he scanned the crowd, looking for people he recognized, and for potential conquests for the evening.

Flare wandered the dark streets of Las Vegas.  Since her eruption, she'd come to enjoy the darker side of Vegas, where the glitz and glamour of the strip couldn't illuminate.  She wandered aimlessly, letting her thoughts drift.  She had always been a flake.  Destructive one minute, protective the next.  She walked down back alleys, kicking at debris and cans, just for the noise, but still stopping occasionally to give some cash to the homeless she came across.  She couldn't remember if she had always been so volatile, or if her eruption and time with Utopia had done something to her.  Lately she'd been betting on the latter.

She wanted to leave them and join the Teragen.  She didn't believe in Utopia, and frankly thought they could all rot in hell, but something seemed to be holding her back.  More and more she'd been wanting to go to her friends and join up, perhaps she could soon.

Her thoughts turned to happier times, like her crime-fighting stint as she ambled back to where she'd left her car.

The Archon was bustling and alive, as always.  The center of attention at the bar, however, was Johnny Afterburner.  He'd passed his jet pack to the bartender and was presently chatting up a pair of women while gesturing creatively with a glass of whiskey sour.  "... never going to happen.  We've got it all stitched up, and for every Geryon or Shrapnel out there, there's a Johnny Afterburner ready to put 'em back behind bars."

Wheelman's approach drew Afterburner's attention.  "See, like this fellow here, ladies.  He's coming over to the bar like he's wanting a drink, but you can tell from his face he's up to no good."  He smiled, beaming, instantly likeable.  "Welcome to the Archon!  I don't recognize you, so you must be new."  His handshake was assertive, but not rudely crushing.

When Flare reached her car, Dillon was waiting, leaning against it.  "Hey," he opened flatly.  It's been awhile since they'd realy had time to talk or connect or anything.  Since she'd been shot by the Michaelists, really.  Things had just gotten worse and busier from there.  "We should talk."  Somewhat awkwardly, he realized how he looked.  "The, uh, OpNet said you were wandering around town.  I couldn't find you, but it was easy to find your car so I just ... waited."

Paidrag smiled, and took the man's hand. "Pleasure, chief, name's Mechanus, Devrie's most promisin' new hire.  You're Johnny Afterburner, aintcha? Saw you on the telly a buncha times.
Ladies," he smiled hugely at them, though the effect was somewhat distorted by his mask. "I'm right parched, chief, what'cha figure's the best way to help me?"

Gale was sitting at the corner of the bar, swirling a glass of wine, a white of some sort.  It's not like it would actually affect her, it was mainly to disguise the fact that she was people watching.  The Archon always had an interesting mix, though she didn't think any of her close friends still frequented.

The new guy was drawing a lot of attention.  Given his entrance, it wasn't a surprise.  She couldn't recall ever hearing of a man who could turn into a vehicle.  Taking another sip, she smiled.  At least the newbies seemed to be getting along.