Go shed the old skin - for the new skin
    transgression
Let the old flesh - rotten to trash
    resurrection
Seize the old laws
Riddled by flaws
     Perfection
Open your mind
Don't stay behind
     Progression

Weakness - these days are over
Old flesh - replaced by shiny armour
New thoughts - the mind expanding
Real tasks - that are demanding
This body is invincible
Perfection is the principle

Feel the clockwork
Of the new heart
     Precision
Feed the engine
Of your bloodstream
     Recondition
Move your muscles
Like a machine
     Direction
Give your life
A new dimension
     Extension

Weakness - these days are over
Old flesh - replaced by shiny armour
New thoughts - the mind expanding
Real tasks - that are demanding
This body is invincible
Perfection is the principle

Die Krupps, Iron Man

Night City
Pacifica
Aug 19, 2045
2014 hrs

Conrad's Bodega is quiet, empty except for the fixer, his muscle, and the three edgerunners he's contracted on short notice.  Vernon has left the bar vacant, perhaps keeping his son company upstairs.  Before departing, he placed one bottle of the house whiskey on the small round table the four men occupy (the muscle left pacing the small room in the manner of the cybernetically enhanced with poor impulse control).  Apparently being new part owner of Conrad's has benefits.

"Introductions," Black Jasper says.  He ignores the bottle of whiskey on the table, leaving the glasses empty for now.  The Fixer leans on the table, elbows on the wooden surface, hands clasped, one index finger pointing out in turn.  "Whisper, Kentucky, Cruz Control.  You're here because you've impressed me with your skill in the short term and I need a crew.  Now.  So congrats.  Let's take this contract as a job interview in both directions.  You don't like working with me.  Fine.  No hard feelings.  After the job."

With measured movements, Jasper reaches into his pocket and pulls out a holographic chip reader.  A button click later, the red colored laser hologram of a young woman, maybe eighteen, hovers in the empty space a few inches above the reader.  "This is Daphne Copeland.  She was grabbed last night exiting a party in the old university district at around 2am.  Daphne's father is a VP at Militech and wants her back post haste.  Preferably before Corporate notices that she's missing since losing one's daughter tends to have negative professional consequences."

Jasper's fingers tap the chip reader again, the screen reverting to a timeline with a squiggle of data coordinates.  All the men recognize this as GPS log feed.  "Dear old dad has provided us with a logfile of Daphne's Trauma Team card.  She pinged at these addresses every fifteen minutes going back from 9pm when she left the corporate zone until 2am when her traces vanishes.  Best bet is she got black bagged," he adds, referring to the black nylon bags that have been all the rage lately.  The ones with the copper mesh threading and power plant that act as a portable faraday cage when pinching folks who need to be taken off the carious electronic nanny services available.

"Area of the grab is technically under the influence of The New Inquisition, so there's those assholes.  The recovered footage from Daphne's street rat boyfriend's optic feed, the bits that could be reassembled from the pavement after his brain was forced out the back of his skull, point to Maelstrom. So there's those assholes, too."

"Gig pays 1,000eb each, twenty five percent up front, seventy five on safe delivery of Daphne."

Jasper leans back, crossing his arms across his chest.  "Questions."  It's a statement, not an inquiry.

This message was deleted by the player at 02:27, Sun 03 Jan 2021.

Martin's first reaction is that three kiloeuros plus the fixer's cut is an awfully low rate for recovering a corpo's kid.  He keeps that opinion to himself, though.  Half his monthly rent and groceries is still half his monthly rent and groceries, and more appealing than his usual club security gigs.

"Clock's ticking, then," he observes.  When Jasper crooks a finger in invitation to elaborate, he unpacks his thinking.  "You'd have said something about ransom demands or coercion, because that would be a lead.  No ransom, no 'we have your daughter,' means a low chance that this is to squeeze Daddy Copeland for action or inaction or cash.  Input's hair is on the walls, so likewise no one's using Daphne to lean on him.  That leaves her as a marketable resource rather than a lever, unless she was deep in debt or is precocious enough to be grabbed for intrinsic Girl Genius value."

He cocks an eyebrow and continues at Jasper's headshake of negation.  "Yeah.  Street meat has a short shelf life, so whoever has her is likely to be looking to move her quickly.  Black bag indicates some forethought - if not targeting her specifically, then someone had a shopping list for a girl and she fit the profile.  Academic question is whether they wanted her for ganic parts, chrome extraction, or functions she can only provide intact.  Whichever way, we don't have a lot of time for fuck-around games with the legwork."

He glances at Kenji and Alex.  "You guys check my math on all this, okay?  But I'm thinkin'..."  He thumbs his agent online and siphons the data feed from Jasper's device.  A cool blue projection materializes over the table as he works, addresses for both legitimate and unlicensed establishments flickering into existence next to each GPS datum.  "Club, dive bar, noodle shop with a frosty lemongrass shrimp, underground club..."  He rubs his jaw and looks up at Jasper.  "Where are Charcutiere's talent scouts working this week?

"Charcutiere," he adds to any uncompehending looks.  "The guy who puts together your charcuterie board at a cryo max restaurant.  Little cuts of meat.  Hence the street name for the lead motherfucker in NC's young flesh business."

(OOC - edit to add:)

"One other possibility is that someone took her off as payment for one of her input's debts," he footnotes.  "Case which, the problem is still the same, but a profile on said input might help."

Style Guide: Martin is wearing a vintage Gibson Battlegear Strandhögg jacket in charcoal leather over a Mox Nix Six Six Six t-shirt from the band's Nor Am I Out Of It tour.  Worn jeans and off-beige desert combat boots complete the outfit.  He's freshly-shaven and smells faintly more affluent than his appearance suggests (Personal Grooming 5).  His only obvious chrome is a pair of cybereyes, built to look like blue organic originals except for a thin titanium ring around the iris.  Kenji and Alex would also pick up the outline of a subdermal smartgun interface patch in his right palm, and his speech cadence and nonverbals are indicative of well-tuned boosterware with some serious integration therapy.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:46, Sat 02 Jan 2021.

"Got a few." Kenji says, after the fixer's finished addressing Whisper's questions.

"Why's daddy trying to do this on the cheap?" Kenji almost doesn't ask. The answer, however, might prove relevant to the mission. Regardless, he's not going to turn down the payday, modest though it be. But 3000 Eddies- total- for a search and extraction of a live target is a bargain basement price, even in a buyer's market, and chump change for a Militech VP. Surely, his own flesh and blood is worth more to him than a few thousand Eurodollars. The figure makes the whole job feel... off. The point, however, is probably moot. The gig's the gig and, Kenji's not about to turn it down. As Whisper's already pointed out, the clock is ticking. If the assembled crew can figure out the why of Daphne's abduction, they might be able to narrow down the who.

Kidnapping for ransom makes up a surprising chunk of night city's GDP. Someone boosts a corpo bigwig's kid and doesn't follow up with a demand for a few million Eddies? Kidnapping insurance is pro forma for top execs. Whoever nabbed Daphne is opting out of a guaranteed mega payday here. That suggests more sinister motives.

"What cyber-slash-chrome is our girl sporting?" Kenji asks. Maelstrom is infamous for borging out, and not being particularly choosey about where their "upgrades" come from. If Maelstrom's involved, and Miss Copeland is rocking preem hardware, a live recovery might already be out of the question.

Lastly, "You got a Netrunner looking into this?"

Style Guide: Kentucky wears a black, reinforced-laminate flight jacket over a red Hawaiian shirt, and khaki tactical cargo pants. His dark, chin-length hair is cinched at the crown of his head in a Samurai-style top knot (sans the shaved forelocks). Several days' growth adorns his upper lip and chin. Next to the medtech on the cracked vinyl booth bench is a satchel containing the [medical] tools of his trade. If he's carrying iron, and the interface panel adorning the palm of his right hand strongly suggests that he is, it's concealed.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 03:30, Sun 03 Jan 2021.

"Sup," Alex said with a nod to Whisper and Kentucky, grateful that BJ had pointed them out, because he’d have figured the white dude for Kentucky and the ninja looking dude for Whisper otherwise.

”Everybody knows that Maelstrom and Inquisitors got big beef and capping someone on another’s turf is impolite at best.  So if we front like we’ve got beef with Maelstrom for this, maybe we can pry some leads from the Inquisitors.  Cause shit don’t stay quiet on the street.  We’d need to play it cool with the approach though, Inquisitors don’t play.” Cruz control offers as the new team works through the kidnapping.

When Whisper and Kentucky bring up payment, CC proffers, ”It’s cheap on our end, doesn’t mean it’s cheap on his.  Maybe he’s got three or four other crews looking for his princess.  He’ll, I’d hire half the city if I was some corpo who lost my little girl… presuming I let some chica tie me down with un bebe."

Cruz paused a moment then asked,  ”Black J, have you heard about any competition for this job?”

Style Guide: Cruz Control is sporting black leather motorcycle riding boots and jacket, with shiny rings, rivets, buckles and all that shit.  His top is a color shifting urban flash mock turtleneck, currently set for earth tones, to accentuate his complexion.  His pants are Dolce & Gabbana & Klein dark jeans with a hand embroidered thorn/vine-motif down the sides.  Cruz has a mid-tier shotgun slung crosswise on his back, parallel to his carryall bag, the true provenance of the weapon unrecognizable due to customization.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:07, Sun 03 Jan 2021.

Jasper doesn't move from his position, save slight turns of his head or a tap of his index finger.  Each of the questions thrown his way gets addressed in turn, without hesitation.

"Your read is accurate, Whisper," Jasper says, a tinge of satisfaction in his voice.  "There has been no ransom message.  No message of any kind.  In the occasional kidnap gig I have negotiated," the emphasis is heavy, perhaps indicating a level of distaste with ATM withdraw kidnapping, "there has been contact made within twelve hours.  Her father has not been made aware of any demands.  Or at least any that I have been made aware of."

On the question of flesh peddlers, Jasper punts, calling his muscle into the discussion.  "L," he calls out, causing the high strung solo to stop his pacing.  The thin man turns, blond hair flowing out behind him.  Underneath the mane, sculpted, almost fragile, angelic features emerge, sharp eyes waiting for the request.  "Can you talk to Lily?  Find out where Punk Slick is selecting for talent this week?"

L.Seth cackles.  "She's going to know it's for you."

"Oh well, lucky me.  Make the call.  Please."

The muscle disappears into the hall to make a call, leaving his Fixer in a room alone with three edgerunners in either a display of confidence or ignorance.  Jasper doesn't seem to mind.

When Kenji brings up the pay scale, Jasper nods. "Should you wish an increase in pay, I'm happy to negotiate on your behalf," he answers with no malice or frustration. "I happen to know the father has deeper pockets based on other projects," he gives Cruz a knowing look, "I am currently contracted for."

"Cyberware, according to profile, is standard corporate kid work up: toxin binders, interface plugs, agent, Nanjani Designer eyes, which could be valuable on the secondary market.  Minimal bio-sculpting, apparently her good looks are a feature of superior genetics.  Probably from mom, based on dad.  Fashionware work up for all the latest styles.  No combat mods to speak of." Jasper taps his foot idly. "Nothing out of the ordinary, but we've all seen meat in the street for less."

The heavy oak door cracks open and L.Seth returns to the room sporting a grin.  "Lily says Punk Slick is working Heywood this week.  She also says for you to go fuck yourself."

"Lucky me," Jasper repeats with a sigh.  "Back to business.  We do have netrunner support working this case, but without a hard target, as of yet, we can't get good penetration.  Viceroy is currently pulling what security footage she can from the area surrounding the grab.  When that becomes available, we'll get it to you."

Finally, the fixer turns to Cruz.  "I can say with certainty that there are no other crews working this case.  I was approached due to a preexisting relationship.  Quiet is the order of the day.  Mr. Copeland does not wish this situation made public."

Martin nods and considers the flood of information for a moment.  "We have the last-known locations.  Can Viceroy dredge the socials, cross-reference for the time block and geotags, then run a facial recognition filter?  Party scene, lots of insta being posted.  That may show us if our girl left with anyone besides her input, give us a lead on potential witnesses.  Could also turn up someone in the background who's taking an interest."

Kenji hesitates. Asking for more money feels particularly mercenary, and although money certainly certainly matters to the freelance medtech, honor does too. However, this job is more than a simple extraction; they have to find the target first. Locating the vic is going to take time, and time is money. The client doesn't sound like he's hurting, finances-wise, so it probably wouldn't hurt to ask. Mind made up, Kentucky takes the plunge, addresses Black Jasper. "We wouldn't want you to alienate a valued patron, but this is an investigation as much as an extraction gig, so a higher fee seems fair. If you wouldn't mind asking...", he glances at Whisper and Cruz Control, hoping they don't resent his speaking for them, "... we'd appreciate it."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 19:40, Sun 03 Jan 2021.

"At the very least, I wouldn't think reasonable expenses are out of the question," Martin adds, nodding at Kentucky's interjection.  "I'm sure Viceroy is getting an equal share," at least, "but we may need to loosen some tongues for meatspace investigations.  There may also be medical expenses for field care before any TT handoff."

If the negotiations bother the fixer, he doesn't show it.  "Complex situations result in complex prices.  Given the nature of the proposed job, I am willing to move your compensation to 1,500eb.  Should that prove disagreeable to the client, I will back stop the difference as a gesture of good faith."  Jasper leans forward and starts to pour four glasses of the whiskey from the glass bottle, the brown liquid pooling in the bottom of each glass, no more than a finger in depth.  "Reasonable expenses," he continues, "are reasonable.  Should a large denomination be required, please contact me prior to making promises you feel that I will get to pay."  The fixer slowly screws the lid back on the bottle, eyes flicking up with a sardonic grin in place.  "We'll skip the 'don't skim the bank' lecture," he deadpans, "for obvious reasons."

Finally, Jasper pushes a glass towards each of the three edgerunners looking to earn a pay day.  "Viceroy will contact you with your requested data profile as soon as she has it.  I would expect a few hours at most.  Your down payment will be transferred to the account of your choice at the conclusion of this meeting."

"A toast then," he says, raising his own glass.  "To bringing Daphne back and to good hunting."

Kenji raises his glass, sets it back down on the table without touching its contents. As a recovering drug addict, taking even a sip of liquor would be like handling CH00H2 near an open flame. The fact that he really wants to imbibe Black Jasper's top shelf whiskey is all the red flag Kenji needs. He subtly slides the tumbler away from his spot at the table. Hopefully, his host doesn't take offense at his refusal to partake.

"Since Maelstrom currently seems like the most likely culprit, should we start with the Inquisitors, see if they've heard anything about our missing girl?"

It's common knowledge that the Inquisitors hate Maelstrom's chrome-plated guts. If given the opportunity to hurt their archrival without risking their own un-enhanced skins, they would probably jump at it.

-

Martin raises his own glass.  "Good hunting," he echoes, and sips, respecting the whiskey.

He turns to Kentucky.  "Clock's running.  It's a good angle.  If you're comfortable taking point."  He taps his eye socket, nods at Cruz's hand.  "Of the three of us, you're the least-obviously wired.  We may be lesser evils compared to Maelstrom but we're still anathema to them."

"Salud," A dot Cruz said as he raised a glass to Daphne Copeland's future freedom.

"Man, I guess I could get a sequined glove, a red leather jacket and front as a MJ poser," Alex offered when Whisper nodded toward his hand.

Night City
South Night City
Intersection of Baine and Hough
Aug 19, 2045
2224 hrs

As far as urban hellscapes go, South Night City could be much worse.  Punt a few miles to the east and you've got the Old Combat Zone where the real hard core players hang out.  Here, in New Inquisition territory, it feels a bit more minor league.  Of course, minor league players can kill you just as dead as major league players with the right hardware.  At a lot of folks on the street are walking with the stiff legged assurance of hidden weapons.  Or just right out open carry.

A while ago, maybe turn of the century through 2025, BaHo was a nice place.  Hip restaurants, cool club scene.  And then like the rest of the world, it fell apart.  Condo buildings erected to take advantage of sky-rocketing home values became a paradise of squatters.  After they had been stripped of anything of value on the salvage market.  Throw in some gangs and shit got real. Real shitty.

Now, here in 2045, the New Inquisition has managed to carve enough power to counterbalance the other boosters, as long as you don't mind hiding your upgrades.

Three edgerunners sit in a rented car, the digital meter ticking (complete with digital clicking noise) slowly, minute by minute, as they hunt their first prey of the evening.  The night crowds are out, young people with more attitude than sense posturing and partying.  Loud music plays from several bars, blending together into a wall of noise featuring Korean vocals with Eastern European hip hop.  And some joker is playing Sublime.  Backwards.
With the windows cracked to let out the body odor stench of the car's previous occupants, the smell of street food, probably heavily seasoned kibble or krillmeat, reaches in.

The first sign they have of the New Inquisition stands 30 meters in front of them:  A mid-teen girl wearing a dirty dress and a sandwich board that reads: "Salvation for those who renounce chrome."  She waves politely, if awkwardly, to people as they pass, trying to engage in conversation only to be rebuffed or simply ignored. No one, though, has messed with her.

Viceroy is yet to report it.

"Joan of Arc's hustle has to be around here somewhere," Kenji opines from the back seat of the musty budget rental. It seems unlikely that the Inquisitors would leave their girl out here, unattended, for some rival gang or wannabe toughs to mess with. "Spot 'em yet?"

Kenji hasn't, but not for lack of trying. He's been scanning the sidewalk as he works himself up to approach the novice street preacher, show her their target's holo-pic. She probably doesn't know anything about anything- not if her job is standing on a corner in a sandwich board, handing out flyers to indifferent passers-by. But everybody's got to start somewhere. If she professes ignorance, the  next step will be asking her to arrange a meeting with someone higher up in the cult-gang hierarchy. That is, unless someone higher up doesn't run up on Kenji as soon as he tries talking to the girl...

-
This message was last edited by the player at 16:22, Sat 09 Jan 2021.

"Four o'clock," Martin advises from the front passenger seat.  "Table for three behind the ratburger stand.  I'm pretty sure the cook is an affiliate, too.  He's watching her and they aren't saying anything about it."

He tinkers with his cyberaudio settings for a moment, notching out the ambient music.  "How do you guys take your soykaf?  I need an excuse to be on my feet when you talk to her."

"I'll keep the engine warm and the shotty handy in case shit kicks off. But don't let it," Cruz said.  "Oh and heavy sugar and cream on the soykaf.  Otherwise that shit is undrinkable."

Alex missed having real coffee on the boats.  Submariners had the best chow in the Navy and they didn't skip on the java.  Now he'd go broke drinking the real thing every day.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 09:56, Mon 11 Jan 2021.

Good eye, Kenji thinks when Whisper points out the Inquisitor huscle at the ratburger stand. There's good reason Kiroshis don't come cheap.

"Same for me, please."

While he waits for Whisper to get in line at the coffee bar, Kenji triple checks the flesh-colored dermal tape covering the Smartgun interface in the palm of his right hand. It should pass for real skin at a glance. "Time to go to church," he says, climbing out of the rental. The SOF combat vet does his best to move casually, fighting both nerves and his spun-up nervous system.

"Hi there! I'm looking for my friend. She's about your age, maybe a little older. Went missing recently. Have you seen her?"

Kenji holds out a photo of Daphne Copeland. Hopefully, the Inquisitor huscle assumes their girl has caught herself a fish. He can almost feel their eyes boring into his back. Hopefully, his new partners are watching it too.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 01:42, Fri 15 Jan 2021.

Whisper moves first, stepping out into the human traffic on the sidewalk oddly out of sync with the the residents grooving to the cacophony of background music.  The solo moves south along the street approaching the ratburger stand with just the right amount of attention and pulling up short at a street kaf stand.  The proprietor gives Whisper the once over, sliding his eyeballs up and down, flicks them to the left at the presumed inquisitors the next stall over, and frowns slightly. Deep scars run up the man's arms, disappearing underneath the short sleeves of his Jay's Premium Kaf! (So good you'll drop your input for a cup!) t-shirt.

"Whatcha want, choom?" he asks in fake levity.  The two other customers at the stand lean heavily on the counter, oblivious, or maybe just ignoring, the presence of the solo.

-------------

With Whisper on Inquisitor watch, Kentucky steps out from the backseat of the rented rust box.  The smell of the street hits hard along with the noise that the thin car windows had been buffering.  It still beats the residual smell of warmed over death in the plastic bucket that served as the back seat.

The street isn't the South American battleground Kentucky cut his teeth on, but the idea of moving through hostile terrain isn't foreign and he's able to surf the general flow without drawing undo attention.  "Joan" is facing away from him as he approaches, trying to attract the attention of passerby's who mainly break around her like a boulder in a river.  She raises on hand, trying to get the attention of a downcast woman in long black dress with silver streaks pouring through her hair, but Morticia moves away without acknowledgment.  Closer in, the medic can hear her voice: cheerful, upbeat.

"Hi," she says to a man in a clipped top hat, mohawk peeking through the ring.  "Are you free from the chrome lie?"

"Fuck off," Top Hat growls, brushing past.

"Have a nice day," she chirps back.

She turns at Kentucky's approach, head turning at his question and the photograph the smiling medic holds out.  It's not going to work, Kenji realizes at once.  Milky white orbs, totally blind eyes, flick out at him from the girl's face.  Naturally blind eyes.  Eyes that could be fixed with cloned parts or cheap cyber-optics.  Up close she's older, maybe late teens, innocent in countenance.  Innocence that adds youth in a jaded city.  A wooden crucifix hangs from a simple chain around her neck.

"I'm sorry to hear about your friend," Joan says, a slight frown of sadness crossing her freckled face.  "I will pray for her safe return.  Is she pure in body and in soul?" 

--------------------

Cruz watches his new companions departs and settles into the driver's seat, street howitzer sitting against the door for ready deployment.  No one seems to pay much undue attention to the operation going down on the street.  It doesn't take long to fall into a rhythm with the rental meter ticking on the dash: Tick check on Whisper.  Tick check on Kentucky. Tick sweep the area.  Tick repeat.

A flash of movement in the sideview mirror catches Cruz's eye a second before a face with grinning silver teeth and nappy blond dreadlocks blocks his view out of the side window, block the effective view to Whisper and drawing his attention off of Kentucky.  The girl filling the view is maybe twenty-five, scabs covering her arms and the slight muscles twitch of heavy drug use in her movements.  She might have been pretty once.  Now...now she needs rehab.

"Hey sweetie," she says rapping on the glass.  "It's twenty eddies to park here.  Thirty if you want me to wash your windows.  Fifty if you just want me."  She winks at the last, the eyelid sticking for a millisecond on grime before opening again.

"I'm betting that you come with free parking," Cruz said, eyeing the meat.  "But I don't jam without protection," he added, reaching his hands down to his jeans.

Cruz slipped a fiver-cred stick out first, then unzipped his pants and pulled out el pitón, resplendent in it's Mr. Studd augmented glory.

"I'm out of Trojan Megas, so go get a love glove that fits this bad boy.  It's gotta be in the package, you hear me?  New in the package.  NEW IN THE PACKAGE," he said, repeating the last part slowly and louder than the previous iteration.

"I'm not getting anything or knocking anyone up.  Come back when you have something that fits," he finished, handing over the fiver.  He pulled out a fifty so she could see it, then slid it back in his jeans with an 'off you go' hand motion.

Alright, hopefully that will keep this skank occupied for long enough, he thought to himself.  Alex was betting that this junkie will get distracted by 5 euro on the way to the CVS-MethCentral^(tm) pharam and never come back.

If not, I guess there will be a 55eb parking expense for today.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:07, Tue 12 Jan 2021.

Kenji frowns, hopes the girl can't hear it. How did we miss this? he wonders, looking into Joan's milky white, sightless eyes. At least Whisper and Cruz aren't chirping in his ear*, so hopefully the girl's huscle is still chilled.

Deliberately ignoring her loaded question, Kenji tries another tack.

"I'm really worried about her. Do you know anyone around here I could talk to, ask if they've..." He almost stumbles on the next word, "seen or heard anything?"

*Kentucky wears a radio earpiece as SOP.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 01:42, Fri 15 Jan 2021.

Martin leans on the counter with one forearm, angling his body to keep the Inquisition enforcers in his peripheral vision.  "Three kafs.  Double creamer and double sugar in all of 'em."  He eyes the selection of pastries under Plexiglas, evaluating their likely age and content.

The barista's scars bespeak street medicine.  In this neighborhood, it's even odds whether the guy was patched up or underwent forcible hardware excision.  Martin replays the eye language, assesses the other customers, and decides not to ask.

"I'm sure we can help," Joan says to Kentucky with a benevolent smile.  "Are we not called upon to save our lost sheep?"  Before Kenji can say anything else, the girl raises her right hand up in the air, index and middle fingers crossed over one another. "Leo will be here in a second." She crosses her hands in front of her sign.

It's hard not to turn and face the table where the girl's overwatch is sitting.  Kenji knows better than to tip off whoever is looking that he's aware of their exact position.  And he's got security of his own.  Presumably the girl didn't flash the danger sign, maybe just the "head on over this way" call.

"I'm Teagan," Joan says.  "Are you pure of the digital stain? Can I tell you about salvation?"


---------------

About the time the three caffeine/fat/sugar delivery capsules are placed in front of Whisper, he sees one of the presumed Inquisition members stand up from the table they've been holding down.  The solo can make out the shape of a pistol tucked in the waistband of the man's pants, covered by his loose dark shirt.

"Girl pulled someone," he says with a hint of satisfaction.  "What'd I say?  The freckles. Them freckles are holy gold."  As he starts picking his way through the crowd, the men left at the table reorient themselves to watch his progress towards the girl and Kenji.  Hands don't go to weapons.  Apparently even the fervent believers of the New Inquisition are willing to speak to potential converts without deploying overt violence.  As of yet.

"Ten eddies, choom," the barista says, a bit louder than he needs to.  Perhaps trying to pull Whisper's attention back to him and away from the neighbors next door.


---------

Methasaurus-Rex vanishes from the window, waving the cred stick and what she probably supposes is a decent "come-hither" smile.  Might have worked if the shakes weren't making her lips quiver (and not in a good way) at the same time. "I know just the Instant Satisfaction Machine," she yells back over her shoulder.  And now the bystanders moving past the car know about it to.

The disappearance of the distraction allows Cruz back into the game.  He spots Kenji chatting with the girl, sees the huscle moving towards the pair in no particular hurry, and takes in Whisper with the promised kaf, watching the solo watch the opposition.

If his time in NC has taught Cruz anything about vending machine deployment density, he's probably got about 60 seconds before his new friend returns for servicing.  Unless she decides that 5eb is enough to get high as fuck.

"Uh, yeah sure," Kenji answers, again evading a question regarding cyber. Casually, he shifts his body to open up his peripheral vision on the huscle's likely avenue of approach. He wants to look surprised, not be surprised when the expected gangoon shows up. Once Teagan's plus one arrives, Kenji goes back to the script.

"Hey there. Have you seen my friend? She went missing recently. We're all really worried about her."

"We're" is a very deliberate word choice. Kenji wants to subtly plant the seed that he's not alone, but not in such a way that will put the cultists on their guard.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 18:14, Sat 16 Jan 2021.

Martin keys his implant radio.  "You've got one inbound.  Looks ministerial, not hostile," he transmits.  Not for the first time, he offers praise to the Hoshino neural interface and the covert comms it provides.

He slips a 25eb note out of his pocket and slides it across the counter, then takes a sip of his kaf.  "Oh, what the hell, may as well" he says aloud, feigning decision.  "Let me get three of those Danishes too.  One apple, one cherry, one whatever the hell that is.  Is that peach?"  It'll keep him in position for a minute more.

Alex makes a mental note that he needs a drone in his life, equipped with the same kit he's got on his tool hand, for sabotage and fuckery at distance.  Now all he had was the fervent hope that this chick didn't have the ability to delay gratification.

If Kenji was paying attention to Teagan, he'd hear a pleasant sounding utopian dream of unsullied souls and bodies reclaiming the paradise of Eden.  Mostly, it comes across as an earnest young woman pouring out her vision of a day dream.  The last words land in Kenji's ears like a bomb.

"And I will be made whole again, able to see the colors of a rainbow.  I hear they're beautiful." A quick glance shows Teagan to be smiling at the thought, not crushed by her desire.  Before he can respond, a rough and tumble middle aged man approaches them wearing a long sleeved button down black shirt adorned with a silver cross on each side of his collar.  A matching cross tattoo traces down from the forehead and over one eye before branching off, one arm of the cross reaching across his nose, the other tracking towards the scar tissue of a former ear.

"Who's this wanderer, Teagan?" the man says, eyes tracing over Kenji, perhaps evaluating the odds of conversion versus punishment.  When the sweep is complete, the man's right hand drifts near his hip, indicative of a weapon in his waistband.

"This is my new friend, Leo," Teagan's eyes almost match up to Leo's location, just missing with the background noise making him difficult to track.

"Told you, call me Father.  And friend's got chrome.  Come to repent, Teagan's friend?"

Kenji rolls with his script, pushing forward Daphne Copeland's picture and a subtle sob story.  To his credit, Leo spends more than a third of a second looking at the scan, tongue pushing against the side of his cheek while he thinks. "No," Leo says finally.  "You trying to say I should of?"  The edge of a threat comes into his voice.  "Don't like your looks Chrome Boy.  You lookin down on the pure?"

Teagan gasps.  "Leo! Father! The girl-"

"Shut it." Leo doesn't take his eyes off Kenji. "Got something you want to say, false friend?"

-------------------

Whisper doesn't miss the shift in body language.  The Inquisitor goes from curious to suspicious in a matter of seconds, hand shifting around to be near his weapon, but not on it.  His friends don't miss it, either.  Fifty feet away from Kenji, the other two cultists stand, pushing their chairs back, and start a slow mosey towards the conversation.  Neither looks to be in a hurry, but one does stoop to pick up an aluminum baseball bat that had hiding underneath the table, casually throwing it over his shoulder.

"Don't look like a convert," the one with the bat says.

The street barista drops three danishes in a bag, and sets the bag heavily in Martin's peripheral vision while clearing his throat.  "I hear," he says, "that it's orange."  A beefy hand pushes the bag forward.  "Have. A. Nice. Day."

------------------

Back in the car, a blessedly skank free Cruz watches the incoming thugs and the provision laden Martin form an odd triangle with his position on the street.  No one flowing by has quite reacted to the change of energy, but spending enough time on the road has given Cruz the ability to watch traffic patterns morph around disturbance.  Or maybe it's years of calibrating power flows.  Pedestrians are starting to give a little extra distance from Kentucky, the girl, and the newcomer.  Like animals sensing a storm even if heads aren't turning.

The engine hasn't tilted yet, the shimmy becoming a little worse.  Time still remains to push the system either way, but there is turbulence forming in the flow.

----------------

At that moment, three cellphones buzz.  Should any of the men take the second to identify what came in, their agents all inform them of the same thing.

<<Pending Data Squirt:
Source: Viceroy
Size: 5gb
Accept? Indicate Y/N>>

How's he know I got chrome? Kenji wonders. No point in denying it, though.

"Not looking down at all. This is your neighborhood- we respect that. Figured if anything went down around here, you'd know about it. If we thought your people had our girl, you really think we'd be here asking?"

Kenji studies the man intently, sizing him up, deciding whether the conversation's going anywhere, or if it's time to punch Father Leo in the throat, create some space to draw iron.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 05:14, Sun 17 Jan 2021.

The second time Kenji says "we," it lands in Father Leo's awareness.  Taking half a step back, the Inquisitor sweeps his eyes side to side, looking for the backup Kentucky has brought up again. A nervous right hand moves a fraction of an inch closer to his concealed piece, thumb hooking under the seam of his shirt.  He stares hard at Kentucky, appraising.

"Father Leo," Teagan says softly, seemingly able to hear the stand off in front of her.  "Is not our duty to protect the weak?  To show the corrupt the path to the light?"

Leo's eyes flick over to Teagan and his mouth ticks a tiny scowl.  "It...is."  Maybe the arrival of his own backup gives Leo a bit of confidence.  The casual way the taller backup holds his stained and battered baseball bat tells Kenji it's been used more than once.  The other Inquisitor stands at a forty-five degree angle, watching the crowd.  The crowd that is now openly avoiding the potential furball forming in their midst.

"Okay, friend," Leo's mouth twists like he's sucking on a lemon.  "Tell me why you think we can help you."

"Thanks, man," Martin says easily.  He takes an experimental sip of his kaf, nods, and slips it back into the plastiprint holder alongside the other two servings.  With his thumb, he loosens all three lids.  Then he scoops up the holder in his right hand, grabs the bag with his left, and turns away from the stand.

He doesn't look directly at Kenji as he sets a course that'll take him through the edge of the street crowd, past the developing standoff, and back, eventually, to the car.  Doesn't look directly at anyone, really.  Just another regular guy avoiding trouble, avoiding eye contact, lost in his head, not wholly aware of anything happening around him.

Kenji suppresses a frown as the gangoon steps out of striking range. With his hand already on his piece, Father Leo might be able to draw faster than Kenji can, even with the latter's GI overtuned nervous system. The combat vet Medtech has never considered diplomacy to be one of his strong suits- it's a muscle he hasn't exercised much. His professional life has consisted mainly of patching up holes in allies and, on occasion, punching holes in enemies, not cutting deals with unstable fanatics on city street corners. At the moment, however, his options are limited. He just hopes his mouth isn't about to write a check his butt can't cash.

"'Cause we think she was grabbed near here. Thought you might be pissed that some other crew," he's careful not to use the word 'gang', "is operating on your turf. Heard it might be Maelstrom. Know you don't get along, might want to help us get some payback. We aim to steal the girl back, fuck up the gonks who snatched her while we're at it- 'the enemy of my enemy', and all that. But first we gotta find her."

Kenji carefully gauges the gang lieutenant's reactions. If it turns out the Inquisitors are behind the kidnapping, Kenji's just tipped his hand, and things are likely to pop off forthwith. If that happens, he's going to try to get to some sort of cover while he draws his own iron. Hopefully, Whisper and Cruz Control are getting into position to hit the trio of cult gangoons from behind. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 05:34, Mon 18 Jan 2021.

Cruz was feeling a bit relieved that the 'parking maid' had left, but also on edge as he picked up on the vibe and subtle shifts in posture around the area.  When his phone buzzed, he took the call, mostly to have a distraction visible in hand if others were looking at him, while he subtle surveyed the scene, shifting his eye line between the phone and the surrounding area.

Cruz's agent tracks his eyes and highlights the yes option on Viceroy's squirt.  The download starts immediately and lasts a matter of seconds, five gigs ripping across the wireless network that keeps Night City from descending further into a shitstorm.  After all, what would the angry masses do without 24/7 access to porn, music, porn, and movies featuring violence and sex?

The file is set for browsing, but also comes with Viceroy's observations and input. "Okay," the netrunner says in a husky alto.  "Daphne is already inside at this point.  Watch."  An odd angle video capture starts, taken from a store front next to the club where Daphne was taken.  At the bottom of the capture, a man leans against the wall, viewed from behind, smoking a cigarette and wearing an oversize armored jacket.  "Remember this asshole," Viceroy narrates, a red circle appearing on the sleeve of the coat.  Cruz can just make out some sort of patch on the faux leather.  The speed of the camera feed accelerates, capturing the figure smoking at least four cigarettes, everyone else in the frame blinks around, appearing and disappearing at random intervals.  Then the video abruptly resumes.  The leather clad smoker nods to a woman with short black hair and ugly raw optic cyberware strapped to her face.  "She's a prize, too." The smoker steps out, the woman steps in, and the feed accelerates again.

After another sped up hour or so, the original watcher reappears, swapping places with his partner again.  Instead of vanishing, the woman enters the club.  "I just want you to see the snatch.  I have capture on both faces, but watch..." Time blasts by until the clock shows two minutes before Daphne was snatched.  The smoker puts a hand to his ear, maybe using an implant to communicate.  A gray shitbox van appears, approaching the curb.  Daphne and her date come out of the club, coming into the frame from the below street stairway, at which point the speed of the video goes down by at least half.  It is, Cruz, has to admit, a thing of beauty to behold.

As Daphne enters the frame, the picture bucks, breaks for a split second as a line of static runs the width of the show.  "That was a local EMP thump.  Horizontal spread, ten to twenty feet above the ground.  Fried most of the camera's around the area.  This one is hardened.  Turns out Pierre the Taco Man is paranoid." The panel door of the van opens and two obviously Maelstrom hardasses emerge, each with a Militech SMG in their upgraded cyber arms.  The woman from before follows Daphne and the input up out of the stairs, raising her right arm, a subdermal weapon emerging from the forearm.  Daphne starts to react, pulling her date as she tries to move down the street.  The woman fires, and Daphne starts to tumble, right into the arms of the smoker.

The input moves to protest only to have one of the Maelstrom goons to accelerate to hyperspeed, grasp his face, and ram it repeatedly against a steel light post until goo is produced.  The others focus on Daphne, the smoker pulling the Black Bag from under his coat and rolling the girl into it.  The goons lay down a little bit of gunfire and a lot of attitude to keep the lookie-loos at bay.  A few more steps and they all collapse back into the van with Daphne carried between them.

"Estimated time," Viceroy says, "twenty one seconds.  It's Maelstrom.  And look at this."  The picture zooms in to the the goons.  Each is heavily modified, cyberware and hardware blasting from the skin at weird angles, eyes replaced.  But each sports a tattoo.  A modified cross that starts on their forehead, travels down their right cheek before branching out of their nose and back towards their ear.  The main body of the cross continues down the cheek, only to split again in a twisted mirror of the first branch, same length, but jagged instead of a strait line.  "Never seen this design before.  I don't know this crew.  And another thing.  They never spoke.  Not once."

At the mention of Maelstrom, Kenji gets to watch a bizarre gesture. Each of the Inquisitors makes the sign of the cross over their hearts using their left hands, rights reserved for handling their weapons.

"Demons," Leo spits.  "Serve the devil, hisself."  Next to him, Teagan pales.  The other two goons just look pissed.  "You," the lead Inquisitor indicates Kenji with a nod of his head, "are a sinner.  They are far past salvation."

"Can evil not be turned against evil? To save a sinner?" Teagan asks.

Leto pauses.  Clearly Teagan is the brains of the outfit, even if Leo is the decision maker. "Won't fight them with you.  Won't dig our souls through the mud.  But it ain't us.  Grabbed no girl."  There's an unsaid "lately" hanging in the air, but for whatever reason, the occasional chrome extractor decides not to remind his audience of the side gig. "Do like to see those fuckers burn, though. Let me see the scan again."

Cruz grabbed the best image of the goons and their tats that he could, then sent it over to Kentucky, with an SMS note that simply said, "Ask your new friend about these Maelstrom markings."

With the packets pushed, he scanned the area again, then glanced back down to his unit (the phone, not the other one) and pulled up a supplier site he'd made note of a while back.

If these guys want to sling EMPs...

https://hollandshielding.com/p...romagnetic-radiation

"We're just looking for intel," Kenji reassures Father Leo, taking a step forward to hand over the photo. An incoming message indicator flashes in the corner of the Medtech's smart glasses. "I'm just going to take my agent out of my jacket pocket, OK?". Cruz's forward is there waiting in all of its low-rez glory. Kenji's eyes flick back and forth between Father Leo's tatted visage and the uncannily similar one in the digital close-up. Kenji suppresses another frown. He's just managed to diffuse the situation with the Inquisitor enforcers; this image could blow things up.

"And there's this. Just came in." he says, slowly holding his agent up so that Father Leo can see the screencap. He's close enough for that throat punch, should this latest development necessitate getting kinetic.

-

"Got sin on her.  Eyes shine evil," Father Leo says of Daphne's pic. "Our holy work has not found her."  The tone wavers on judgmental, but not aggressively so. "The Demons show up here sometimes.  Been coming more lately, tryin to push us out.  Stop'em every time.  Blood and faith beat their rot.  Coming from their house of hell.  The Molt.  That's their place.  Crossroads of Janissary and Stein."

Wary eyes watch Kenji slowly remove his agent from inside his jacket.  The medtech doesn't look at the phone, he watches Leo's eyes.  Gets a real good view of the Inquisitor's face registering the picture on the screen.  Watches as skepticism tips over to outrage.

Leo's hand flashes up, reaching for the agent or maybe to attack. The world goes into slow motion as Kenji's reflexes blast into overdrive.  He pulls the phone back, left foot chasing the arm backwards, body twisting for power.  His right hand tilts into a blade as his muscles tense to strike.  The situation repeats for Whisper, experienced reflexes prepping to get the drop on the back up Inquisitors.

And Leo freezes, realizing what he's done.  Kenji sees the halt, telegraphed from what seems like seconds away, holding his strike, but not dropping the preparation for his strike.  Whisper follows suit, unnoticed, but fully prepared.

"Blasphemers," Leo hisses with swallowed rage. His eyes move up to Kenji, fear warring with disgust at the display of augmented reflexes. "Them's the worst the demons have.  Call'em the Arch Devils," he continues, through clenched teeth. mispronouncing the "arch." "Don't know what they call themselves.  Kill their own, too.  See it misself."

At his seeming limit, Leo manages to draw himself up, muster a bit of faux dignity and brush the front of his shirt.  "Now, get gone.  We gotta wash your sin off.  Teagan, find us some real converts."  The Inquisitor gives Kenji one last look and starts to lead the other two goons back through the flow of people, right around a keyed up Whisper without giving the solo a second look.

Teagan smiles shyly in the direction of Kenji.  "I'll pray for you.  And your friend," she says.  She reaches out a tentative hand to shake hands with the medtech, passing a small piece of paper with raised dots to Kenji as she does so.

"Thanks," Kenji replies sincerely, surprised by Teagan's proffered hand
and touched by the genuine warmth of the gesture.

He breathes a sigh of relief, willing his spun up nervous system back into standby mode. It's like rounding third just to get tagged out at home, or a drug crash, without the fun of getting there. Despite the physical discomfort, Kenji feels relief. They got what they came for, and no blood was shed. He watches Father Leo and friends pass by Whisper, makes eye contact with his new partner, cocks his head at the rental. Let's delta.

Back in the car, Kenji passes his agent's reader over the tiny raised dots on the note Teagan slipped him.

"Huh. Gave me her number," he muses. "Says call 'if you need help'. Don't think her boss would approve." He pockets the note, saves Teagan's number in his contacts list, wonders what kind of help is on offer.

"Gangoon calls himself Father Leo. Calls the Maelstromers with the face tattoos in the pics Viceroy sent, 'Arch Devils'. Says they kill their own. Makes 'em sound like some kind of splinter faction- worst of the worst. Said their hang is a place called The Molt, intersection of Janissary and Stein."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 22:05, Wed 20 Jan 2021.

"Wanna drive by and see what we see?" Cruz asks when Kentucky mentioned 'The Molt'.  Alex eased the rental into drive slowly, in an effort to keep Lowell from ending up with hot coffee crotch.

"Should put the 'runner on it before go in," he added, trying to make clear that he's only suggesting a looy-loo at this point.

Martin lets go of the boost gradually, letting the neurachem damp out the adrenaline shakes, and heads back to the car with kaf mostly unspilled.  He takes the allegedly orange Danish for himself, figuring that it's probably bad form to inflict experimental pastry on new partners.

"Nice job.  Huh.  Maelstrom's making a territory push," he muses when Kentucky reports on the conversation with Leo.  "That means they need bodies and funding.  I'm pretty sure she's more likely to bring in cash for them than to make a good draftee."  He pulls up the file from Viceroy and scans it again. "Yeah, let's take a look at the neighborhood.  And keep an eye out for this shitbox van, too."

"Area recon sounds good. I'll call Viceroy." Kenji thumbs through his agent's contact list, finds the number for Black Jasper's netrunner. He catches an almost imperceptible hitch in the ringtone when her encryption kicks in.

"Viceroy, Kentucky. We need everything you can find on a place called The Molt, intersection of Janissary and Stein."

"On it," the netrunner replies, keyboard already clicking away, before hanging up.

Something Whisper'd just said jumps out at Kenji, brings to mind a little 20th century history he'd learned after another kidnap recovery gig- one that didn't end well.

"Rich girl... could do both- bring in the cash, and make a good draftee. You guys ever heard of Patty Hearst?"

-
This message was last edited by the player at 05:24, Thu 21 Jan 2021.

Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J0MYYQ0ymYo


Driving north increases the property value of the Night City combat zone.  The closer to the old University District the (slightly) less shitty the world gets.  The neighborhood The Molt sits in isn't far as the crow flies.  When navigating dead end streets, rubble piles, and ongoing gang fights, it takes a little longer than intuition would assume.

"The Molt," Viceroy intones in the collective ears of the edgerunners.  "The club shows up here and there in screamsheets.  Usually listing a band which goes by the clever moniker 'Fuck 'til Oblivion.'  Latest news was three weeks ago, posted by a reviewer who called the rotted autoshop decor 'the most splendid urban decay I've seen since the 2030s.'  And this is outside the combat zone."  A photo drops in the agent feed of a massive twelve bay industrial auto shop with rusted metal doors reinforced by crossed steel I-beams in an X fashion over ten of the doors.  One of the unobstructed doors sits open facing Janissary with crowd of the cybernetic aficionados milling about in front.  The other unobstructed door opens onto Stein and looks like a service entrance, a few specimens of muscle hanging out for security. Nothing has been done to shore up the outside appearance.  Rust ubiquitous.

"Looking through the city data, this fine establishment has a recorded body count of zero, which based on the clientele, strikes me as statistically unlikely," Viceroy continues.  "Last owner on file was one Erin Murray, but that was twenty years ago.  Squatters' rights now most likely.  If you want real time I'm going to have to reposition, might take a couple of hours."

While Viceroy talks, Cruz navigates and steers their rental west on Janissary.  Reconstruction is underway, the once hip area trying once again to become relevant.  The crew passes heavy equipment parked for the day, taking a break from renewal through annihilation.  Traffic starts to decrease as the car nears Stein, the packs of civilians on the street picking up a more furtive stance, shoulders hunched and refusing to make eye contact.  Then the Maelstrom crews start appearing, individual scouts, then crews of 3-4, easy to spot with their obvious modifications and gang graffiti.  One block from Stein, there's almost a gang cordon: a larger group of maybe five Maelstrom facing west, towards The Molt.   Then nothing.  Whatever is down there, the gang doesn't like it.

When the club itself comes into view, it matches the photo perfectly.  One obviously cybernetic individual that has to be teetering on the edge of psychosis works the door, not so much preventing people from going in as making sure they are cool enough, or warning them what to expect.  Civilians under various drugs lounge against the building.  Cyberware common on everyone.  Most of it raw and ugly.

Cruz steers north onto Steiner giving the crew a view of the service entrance.  A pair of vans matching the model of their target are parked in front of the roll up door, the door partly open but serviced by two more muscle and a few workers carrying crates of alcohol or other fine liquids into the club.  A block away and another crew of Maelstrom hangs, watching for movement from The Molt.

"Dafuq?" Martin queries semi-rhetorically.  "This feels like containment.  When did Maelstrom develop a schism?"

He pauses uncomfortably.  "And, I hate to even say this, but I wonder if it's something we can exploit."

Kenji frowns at the prospect, however unlikely, of working with Maelstrom, but perhaps that's not what Whisper's suggesting. He puts that aside for the moment, focuses instead on the building.

"I imagine a big garage's got to have a pretty open floor plan inside. Not a great place to hide a hostage," or chop her up, he doesn't say. "... especially if they're using it as a concert venue. Place like that got a basement or something?" Kenji asks, the question directed mainly at Cruz. Although he's uncomfortable falling back on stereotypes, Kenji figures any self-respecting nomad's probably got at least some first-hand garage experience*. While he waits/listens, Kenji starts texting Viceroy a request for blueprints for whatever business eventually devolved into The Molt. Hopefully the city has still has an old set on file.

*OOC: AFAIK, we haven't shared respective PC background info IC.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 21:21, Fri 22 Jan 2021.

"Yeah, it probably has several service bays, which means a dark, oily basement.  Usually stairs down somewhere to a large open area, with man-sized trenches above that the vehicle drives over.  Those are probably covered up now.  In the original config they'll have drums to hold used oil, extra filters, giant compressor tank, and extra parts, probably some porn poster... shit like that down in the basement*.  Could easily hold a hostage down there in most that I've seen."

wow, I'm getting to leverage weekends working at Jiffy Lube during EMT school at FTCC for this one... <checks Honda scar - yep, faded but still there>

"Let's walk it back," Martin muses, as much to organize his own thoughts as for any benefit his partners might derive.  "Daphne's out clubbing with her input.  Our assholes have a two-person surveillance team on the club.  They mark her for the snatch team and stay on her when she and the input leave.  The snatch team is two heavies and a driver, staged nearby with a van, but they're relying on surveillance chick's less-lethal implant to quiet Daphne down.  The input is collateral damage, they didn't pause to give him a message."

He thinks for a moment. "Assume they're all fitted with implant weapons.  We've seen three of five and, well, it's Maelstrom.  The heavies are wired for speed too.  Also, they're running internal comms."  He taps his own temple for emphasis.  "No dialogue.

"The vans are used for deliveries.  So they go other places too.  The dock back there?  They're carrying liquor in.  So they don't take deliveries from a distributor, they go get the booze from a shop or warehouse on their own.  Probably no one wants to be seen delivering to them, but point being, they might have another property where those vans go on the regular, too.  So our girl might not be on site here.  Do we have a good way to tag and track those vans?"

Maybe Cruz has some sort of tracker on him, Kenji hopes. If not, the team can tail one of the vans in the rental, see where it goes.

"Once we find out where she is- whether it's here or somewhere else- we can maybe use one of those vans to get in close, and/or for evac."

Looking at the rusty girders welded over the majority of the closed bay doors, Kenji wonders out loud, "Could all that rusty iron act as a faraday cage, block electronic signals?"

-
This message was last edited by the player at 18:07, Sat 23 Jan 2021.

"Track those vans..." Cruz thought about it for a sec, then said, "I'll pull over, someone else can take the wheel."  He didn't care who.

He moved to the backseat, where he'd ditched his gear bag.  Inside, he pulled out a disposable cellphone.  As he held it in his left hand, the fingers of his cybernetic right hand erupted into a plethora of specialized tools.  Within a minute, the phone case was opened and various chips and circuit board pathways were re-soldered.  30 seconds later, the phone was mostly reassembled.

Next a roll of duct taped was produced and Alex pulled off a large strip and folded back on itself.

"Ok, place this on the inside of the bumper.  Phone will send a carrier signal that will be triangulated by tower, which Viceroy should be able to pull for us with this IMEI code," Cruz said, sending a long string of numbers for his regular mobile device.

"Outstanding," Kenji exclaims, turning Cruz Control's first improvised tracking device over in his hands. "Now we just got to install 'em without being noticed. A diversion would be good, but something that won't inspire our marks to beef up security, case this still ends up being the place they're keeping her."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 22:46, Sat 23 Jan 2021.

"Working on it," Viceroy responds to the inquiry on the building's blueprints.  "Nothing in that neighborhood is current, but it's possible I can locate some legacy plans."

Choosing a spot a hundred meters or so north of the The Molt on Steiner, Kenji steers their rental to stop in the parking lot of a burned out Circle-11.  Whisper and Kentucky slide out, each with one of Cruz's improvised tracking devices in their jacket pockets.  The duo spends a few minutes roughing their appearance up a bit to fit into the clientele the neighborhood attracts before starting their walk back south to implant the devices.  Left alone for the second time this evening, Cruz spends a few seconds digging through the vehicle's emergency kit to produce a pair of red magnesium road flares, the discriminating gentleman's choice for distraction enhancement.

At the opening of the emergency kit, the car's central computer pings once.  "You have opened the roadside emergency equipment container," the prerecorded message says.  "Do you require assistance?  State 'yes' or 'no' and roadside or medical assistance will be dispatched to your location as you require."

Kenji and Whisper enter the trickle of residents walking down the sidewalk down towards The Molt.  It's not busy here, but the pass of people is steady.  Steady enough to give them a bit of cover.  Approaching the club, the pair can make out a steady bass beat, almost subsonic, hard enough to reverberate through the ground and bounce through their chests, but no other sound comes through the walls or open door.  No music.  No crowd noises.

Two bouncers lean on the wall on either side of the roll up door, each sporting various mods to make them more physically imposing.  A few thinner, but still modded, "helpers" are still hustling crates of alcohol out of the vans and into the club.  Kenji's practiced eye can see that flesh around much of the the cyberware the helpers are packing is inflamed, signs of gear newly installed.

Whatever is going on inside the entrance remains out of sight.

Coming up on the vans, they're ready for Cruz's distraction.

"No," Cruz firmly responded to the vehicle as a plan started to come to mind.

He moved to the front of the vehicle and popped the hood.  He rippled off a small piece of fabric from a bandana, then pulled the dip stick and smeared oil (or battery gel if this an electrical vehicle) across it.  Next he scoped out a suitable place to place it under the vehicle, where it was unlikely to start a real fire, but would send smoke up through the engine compartment.

The first flare started up with a satisfying 'PRRRZZZHHHTTT' sound. Cruz left it in contact with the small oily rag until it caught fire and started to produce a flame.  He then tossed the flare forward and deployed the second flare to the rear after igniting it as well.

With the hood open, black smoke now rising from the engine compartment, and two road flares out, now came the mix of loud vulgarity as Cruz started to make knife hand motions toward the engine compartment.  Cruz could curse like a sailor, because he was a sailor.

An epic stream of profanity, in both Spanish and English echoed forth, as Alex publicly cast doubt on the martial status of everyone involved in the assembly of this vehicle.

As the black smoke continued, Cruz continued as well.  More yelling at the engine.  More gesticulation.  It culminated in a most profane and pornographic crescendo.

Alexander Cruz leapt onto the bumper, pulled out his manhood, then began to urinate into the engine compartment, yelling and cursing the whole time.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:32, Tue 26 Jan 2021.

Kenji waits until Cruz starts fuming before moving, casually but purposefully, towards the vans. It's hard not to watch the performance. The former combat medic keeps one eye on the objective, the other on the Maelstrom security by the garage entrance. As soon as the gangoons' attention is elsewhere, Kenji takes a knee as though he's going to tie his shoes (a pair of throwback Air Jordans), keeping the bulk of the van between himself and the Maelstromers, and then attempts to fasten the ersatz tracker to the inside of the vehicle's plastic bumper (or other available nook offering a secure purchase and some concealment)...

-
This message was last edited by the player at 19:50, Tue 26 Jan 2021.

Martin moves in on Cruz's signal, too, matching Kenji's casual pace.  He reaches into his jacket for a pack of cigarettes, fumbles the first one out of the pack, crouches to retrieve it with a hand on the van's front bumper to steady himself -

- tucks the disarticulated burner phone under the front edge of the van's skidplate with a firm press to adhere the tape -

- stands up, lights up, and falls back into formation with Kenji.  Unless an observer actually has eyes on them and is timing them, human perception will elide the brief pause in their movement.  At least, that's the theory.

"... that may be the most unexpected tactical use of a Mr. Studd that I've ever witnessed..." he sends on the team channel.

Kenji has to stifle a laugh. "Hold up. You mean that wasn't the first and only time?" he asks, ribbing his partner.

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This message was last edited by the player at 05:06, Wed 27 Jan 2021.

Cruz continues to emit a stream of both urine and profanity, drawing eyeballs and attention from up and down the street.  The two Maelstrom goons move away from the door a little, heads turning to focus on the show being put on for their benefit.    As Cruz whips out his technological tool (in what might as well be an add for An Evening with Mr. Studd at this point), Kenji and Martin whip our theirs.  The duo drop down as casually as they can, attach the cellphones, and rise before starting to move away.  Stress drops away, humor returning at the thought of Cruz's show.

At a distance of maybe ten feet from the van, a voice yells out at them:  "Hey, the fuck you think you're doing?  Think you can just fuck with our shit and walk away?"

Turning at the sound of the voice, Kenji gets an eye full of pissed of Boosterganger standing at the front of the van pointing at a dent in the hood Kenji is positive was there before he knelt down to attach the phone.

The Maelstromer starts to advance, cracking his knuckles and flexing cybernetic muscles.  His partner in security postures up, but doesn't advance. "Need me to teach you some manners, Gonk?"

Kenji backpedals, raises his hands in gesture of surrender,  protests, "I didn't touch it! I swear! I wouldn't mess with you guys!" He's playing up the hapless gonk angle. If the pissed-off gangoon's attention is on him, it's not on Whisper or Cruz Control.  And, so far, there's no iron in play.

Kenji's main goal at the moment is to avoid conflict. A fight now is only going to make the main job harder. He's not above turning and running away, if that's what it takes.

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This message was last edited by the player at 23:23, Wed 27 Jan 2021.

Martin is about to deploy an anecdote from one interesting night at the Disposable Hero when the Maelstromer makes it clear that egress isn't going to go smoothly.  He delays his halt and pivot just enough to look a little slow on the uptake - normal people need processing time, whispers the voice of his cyberintegration therapist - and takes a couple of steps away from the incipient beatdown while watching.  He's a bystander, one torn between self-preservation and wanting to see what happens next.

"Kentucky's got soft contact.  Stand by to pick us up a few blocks away," he sends silently.

With one hand filled, Cruz checked his vibrating agent with the other.  'Roger,' Alexander replied.  He put his phone back in his pocket and his dick back in his pants.  He gave a few mumbled curses, then stepped down, closed the hood, then returned to the driver's seat.  He cranked the vehicle then drove off, jamming to brakes a few times, to give the illusion that the car was stuttering.

Once clear of the scene, he flipped a bitch then pulled down a side street and texted the location back to Lowell.

A hundred kilos of cybernetically enhanced muscle laughs at the cringing display that Kenji puts on.  Whatever the future candidate for psychosis gets out of his alpha-male signaling seems to scratch the itch for violence.  As Kenji scampers and Whisper hustles away, the security man laughs loud and forced.

"You see this Micky?  You see this?  Fear.  I see fear.  You better run!"  The ganger laughs again, the sound taking on the quality of a braying donkey getting fucked by a pinball machine.  He doesn't pursue the medic down the street, allowing the trio of edgerunners to reunite in the planning of their next moves.

With a few minutes to work, Viceroy drops another data squirt into their agents. "Data for this neighborhood is out of date.  The corps engaging in construction aren't filing permits in the public domain, but as luck would have it the original permit for the garage The Molt occupies was filed in the way-back.  There isn't a sewer, per se, but there is an underground electrical vault located underneath Janissary that provides the main power feed to the garage.  Most access is through reinforced steel plating at ground level, but you may be able to gain access to the vault through the basement in the building across the street.  They share the same power requirements."

Three sets of eyes flick up the street to the building Viceroy mentions:  A partially collapsed machinist shop looking like it's been taken over as a squat for a population of...someone.

"Break through door A," Viceroy intones, "move through the utility space.  Break through door B.  I give it a 70/30 that the access point is still there."
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:46, Mon 01 Feb 2021.

"Fucking with the power is also a pretty good distraction," Martin muses.  "Problem is, a bunch of dudes with cyberoptics, odds are pretty good that at least some of 'em are running themoptics.  So we can use it for a diversion but can't count on it to help with stealth."

"Could we overload it to make kinda like a mini-EMP, maybe fry their optics?" It's probably wishful thinking, but maybe Cruz or Viceroy know how to make something like that happen. "Anyway, I hope she's in there," Kenji says, referring to the The Molt currently shrinking in the rental's rear view mirrors, "Or we're gonna have to run another area recon from scratch. Any movement on the vans yet?"

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This message was last edited by the player at 19:31, Sun 31 Jan 2021.

"Like a Techtronica Microwaver?" Cruz said, referring to the only weapon system made by the defunct but famous microwave oven manufacturer.  "You see them every now and then at midnight markets.  You can find EMP ammo too, but these are all reactive solutions and they definitely will alert these guys."

"Gibson IR combat cloak.  Or something like it.  That's what we need," Cruz said has he turned over some ideas in his head.

"Some canvas or another thick cloth draped could spread your thermal signature out in a blob.  Make the human figure less distinct.  And just before you go in, I could pop one of those old transformers out there with an overload when we shut down the power.  Would do two things - one, make the power outage look less suspicious.  Two, create a searing white hot thermal image.  For the next few minutes, they'd likely have an after image in their optics, especially if they are lower end tech.  Like when you look directly at the sun and then try to look at anything else.  Two slow moving thermal blobs might just be dismissed as after image effects."

"Might..." Alex repeated.

With Viceroy looped into the comms, there isn't much of a delay on requests for intel.  At least for intel that is readily available.

"Negative movement on the vans.  I have strong signal quality and let you know if they start to move."

As long as dirty deeds are being committed in the world, the world will have a place for seedy motels.  Especially popular are the establishments that charge their would be customers by the hour for whatever nefarious (or just debauched) activity that needs planned or executed.  Three blocks from The Molt, our three Edgerunners check into an hourly flop house, exchanging extremely false credentials for a room key with an extremely not interested teenager who would rather be staring at his Agent than looking at his customers.  Maybe he just doesn't care.  Maybe at the tender age of seventeen, Jordan has learned that honest denial is a potent form a self defense.

The room itself is about fifteen feet square with a closet that serves as a bathroom.  On top of the bare, if heavily stained, mattress sits a vacuum packed bag of sterilized (if the label can be believed) sheets and pillows.  A locked steel cylinder waits in the corner of the room next to a pair of folding metal chairs, ready to receive "used" linens so that no human hands actually have to touch soiled laundry.  If the people staying here can be bothered to follow instructions.  If they can't, the sign above the can points to the ten eddie fee for clean up.

The vidscreen on the wall turns itself on when the door opens, immediately filling the room with sounds of hardcore pornography, a blond on the screen receiving the enthusiastic attention of a Mr. Studd eerily similar to the one Cruz has been putting on display all evening.  The video dispels all doubt as to the commonly used purpose of the room.

With the vidscreen silenced, the three men in the sordid motel room slide into various states of dozing and/or sleep.  Years of experience allow their caffeinated minds to slip into a half-aware fugue state where time passes but they remain cognizant of emerging threats.

At 0512, Viceroy clicks through on their agents.

"Good morning gents," the Netrunner says, her own voice twitchy with caffeine or some other substance. "Your targets are now in motion, tracking east/south east."  Viceroy dumps a copy of her feed to the agents, sharing what she's seeing on her screen.  A basic satellite map of Night City emerges, two superimposed blinking dots (obviously traveling together) start tracking eat, before turning to avoid the Old Corporate Center.  They pass through the Glen, studiously doing the speed limit, before entering Old Japan Town.  Their ultimate destination is a large almost modern day steel pagoda structure right at the border of the Old Japantown Combat Zone and the Hot Zone of the Old Corporate Center.

"Stand by a sec."  The sounds of a keyboard receiving instructions leak through the feed.  "Okay, here's the most up to date scan of that area.  We're looking at about three weeks ago." The picture blinks, replaced with a day time top down satellite pic of the pagoda.  It's seen better days, but it's also been given over to a fortress like façade.  Not unusual that close to the Hot Zone.  A concrete wall as been erected around the parking lot, blurring images on top of the wall suggesting razor wire.  Five or six vans sit in the lot.  "I've already started a search on the address.  I'll update as I gather."

Kenji rubs his eyes, stretches. Stifling a second yawn, he observes, "Maelstrom's suppliers are early risers,"The vans' departure time strikes him as being odd.

He studies the satellite images of the pagoda-like structure Viceroy's beamed over. If I was holding someone hostage, I think I'd pick this place over a after hours club in a former garage. It's practically an urban castle."

Conversely, that means he'd rather break into the former than the latter.

"Fancy going on another site-seeing expedition?" Kenji asks. He's glad for a reason to leave the sordid squalor of the hourly-rate motel- until he remembers the smell clinging to the interior of the rental car.

This gig' not getting any easier.

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This message was last edited by the player at 22:27, Fri 05 Feb 2021.

"Yeah, we should scope it out.  Also, it might be worth jacking any vehicle leaving that facility, to get credentials, our own hostage or two, and more intel," Cruz offered, the last part with a half-hearted shrug.  Nothing like a good ol' fashion snatch and grab to liven things up and help sort the thugs from the professionals.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:43, Sat 06 Feb 2021.

"Eurgh," Martin supplies.  He finds his water bottle, uncaps it, lubricates his throat, and elaborates.  "I don't think they're up early.  More like still up from last night.  Maybe blending with first-shift service industry traffic.  Do Maelstromers actually hold down day jobs?"

He pans around the satellite imagery.  "Location seems like it'd be better for clandestine fuckery, too.  Let's get eyes on.  See who and what we're dealing with while Viceroy does her thing."

Night City
In motion
August 20th
0523 Hrs

Packing up a motel room where common sense tell you to touch as little as possible takes all of forty seconds.  That includes balling up the sheet being used as an impermeable barrier to the mattress of woe, and shoving the fabric into a can where with any luck it will be incinerated and be reincarnated as a bedsheet in a warm and loving home where only one couple violates it on an hourly basis.  Or maybe an apartment with a widow and a cat.

The rental still waits outside, windows cracked to allow the stench marking the interior to ease out into the Night City air.  From the back seat, Kenji gets the feeling that the stench inside has reached a sort of chemical equilibrium with the stench outside, giving the whole riding across the Glen experience a certain air of corruption equal to the adversaries they are pursuing.

Real estate values climb steadily as the car approaches The Glen, eventually climbing into values that attract those lucky (or desperate) souls that have managed to cling on to reasonable corporate or government jobs that occupy the center of the rebuilding.  If an Edgerunner wanted to retire to a bureaucratic afterlife, he could do worse than the Glen.  It doesn't take long for Night City to regain it's "splendor" and as the trio nears Old Japan Town, grime and crime rates soar.  It's probably best that the early morning sky is just lighting up, most of the boostergangs already tucked into whatever flop or hovel they've managed to find for the night.

Following Viceroy's info, Cruz steers them north towards the Old Corporate Center.  Twisted skeletons of skyscrapers push into the sky, reminders of the bomb that detonated here a few decades ago.  With any luck, they won't be near enough to pick up any substantial radiation, the loose bits blown away, and the cancer rates in this neighborhood not being reported as abhorrent.  At the edge of Old Corporate Zone, Cruz and Whisper can see the top of the steel pagoda that Maelstrom (or their suppliers) have adopted/taken over. The metal structure has seen better days.  Most of the windows have been broken out or fallen in over the years.  Rust stains run down the sloped roofs and mold rises to meet the rust creating odd swirling patterns. The graffiti on the neighborhood walls tilts to the Tyger Claws before splitting into a three way tie between Maelstrom, the Tyger Claws, and what must be Scavs.  The  security wall surrounding the pagoda itself sports heavy Maelstrom tags, along with the double crucifix from the capture.  The theoretical razor wire on top of the wall is confirmed.  A pair of Maelstrom toughs stand next to a chain link gate, currently pulled shut.  Whisper and Kentucky risk passing glances that show a few vans, perhaps their quarry, parked near the main entrance of the building.

The rest of the buildings in the area are a mix of burned out low rise office buildings, a few light industrial sprawls, and an old shopping center.  Best eyes for the pagoda are probably either the shopping center (tagged up with Scav markings) or heading into the actual Old Corp Zone and trying to get up one of the old skyscrapers about a quarter of a mile away.  Who, if anybody, is claiming that site, remains a mystery.

Martin considers asking who died in the rental car, but decides that would be too much like tempting fate.  In all probability, the vehicle has already witnessed at least one death in its time, judging from the size of the splatter pattern on the headliner that repeated cleanings have more redistributed than removed.

"Don't know about you guys, but I like our prospects with the retail space," he observes.  "We can probably buy off the Scavs.  No guarantee with whoever's squatting in the high-rises."

Kenji considers rolling down the window a bit more. It's pick your poison, funk or smog. The former's unpleasant, but probably not hazardous to one's pulmonary health. He decides against it.

"True, but if those towers are just squats for 'fugees, and not ganger stomping grounds, we can probably use them for free. I got trust issues with Scavs; hate to cut 'em in and get burned." Recent memories of how not fun it was negotiating with the Inquisitors spring vividly to mind, "Looks like you're the swing vote, Cruz Control."

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This message was last edited by the player at 21:51, Sun 07 Feb 2021.

Cruz owned an anti-smog mask for as reason and it damn sure got donned before driving anywhere near radiation.  With it, he could keep the window open a bit and feel the breeze, which was nice.

"What a fun town," he remarked with just a bit of sarcasm as they drove through the city.  Some days he missed being back on the sub.  Well, not really, but some days, anywhere but here... would be nice.  Still, duckets had to get made.

"Let's sniff around the towers and if we get bad vibes or pushback, we can parlay with the scavs," Cruz offered with a shrug.  The chance to get a higher vantage point was attractive.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:45, Mon 08 Feb 2021.

With any luck, the prevailing winds for the weeks after the "Johnny Silverhand Corporate Restructuring Incident" carried most of the irradiated blast debris inland and not south.  Between time and weather, the Old Corporate Zone shouldn't be super hot.  Just hot enough to keep out the usual disaster tourists who don't want a couple hundred x-rays an hour.  Or maybe the Night City urban legends of radioactive wastelands do most of the gatekeeping.

Cruz steers the car north out of the Combat Zone and into the Old Corporate.  The rented car gives off a few half-hearted bleets of warning as the internal GPS informs the occupants that they are now in a quadruple billing zone and responsible for any damage or contamination that occurs.  Piles of rubble have been pushed to the sides of the once wide streets, creating a winding two lane passage into the Zone.  Enough salvagers, or enough of the truly desperate, come this way as to create some level of maintenance.

Every window is a gaping maw, glass broken in the initial blast wave and never replaced.  Some buildings, those built more modern art than structurally sound, have given way over the years, creating a landscape of odd angles, blind spots, and possible ambush points.  But the same hour of the day that allowed passage through the Combat Zone seems to be working here.  It's too late for the Boostergangs and too early for the desperate trying to scrape a living.

Traveling a quarter mile takes about ten minutes, avoiding debris and scoping obvious choke points.  The tower in question looks stable enough, rising thirty or so stories into the sky.  The side facing the former Arasaka site droops slightly, probably from thermal nuclear heat.  The side facing the target pagoda looks stable enough, not listing.  A foot path leads through the debris and into dark lobby, entering the building under a sign proclaiming this to be the former home of Stellar Night Industries, LLC.

Kenji rummages in his medkit, removes a pill bottle and a couple of medical PPE masks, offers one of the latter to Whisper.

He reaches over the center panel, proffered capsules in the open palm of his hand, "Here, pop one of these: iodine pills. Should keep your pee from glowing in the dark." He dry-swallows one himself, grimaces a bit at the taste.

Kenji stares up at the office tower as he fits a mask over his nose and mouth. The bent structure has so far managed to escape the attention of the swarms of developers and construction companies descending on the cracked metropolis like winged termites, tearing down the bones of the old to make way for the new, and improved. Night City's living through its own California land rush, 21st century style- good ol' fashioned economic speculation fueled by plentiful cheap labor (the displaced) and the native-born inhabitants' "don't tell me I can't fucking do it" attitude. If Hiroshima and Nagasaki could rise from the ashes in a single generation, Night City can do it in under that.

The combat vet's senses are on alert as they approach the building entrance. He looks for signs of current habitation, gang tags, city condemnation notices, demo warning signs. Barring any opposition from the current residents (if any), the plan is to ascend until the pagoda complex opens up beneath them. Kentucky falls in behind the others by force of habit. It's not that he's a coward- he's not- but if the medic gets hit, who's gonna be there to patch everybody else up?

https://davidson.weizmann.ac.i...ime-nuclear-disaster

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This message was last edited by the player at 02:07, Tue 09 Feb 2021.

"Thanks," Martin says, accepting the pill and the mask.  He swallows one and dons the other, then takes a moment to idly wonder if Stellar Night Industries survived to re-establish itself elsewhere.

"How far up you wanna go?" he asks, taking point and stepping into the lobby.  Discarded prepak meal wrappers and derm packets rustle like autumn leaves in the air currents of his passage.

"Four or five floors up, maybe- high enough to see over the wall, at least," Ken opines. "... assuming this thing looks like it'll hold us."

-

"Four or five seems good to me," Cruz said, shifting his shotgun over from one shoulder to the other.  His only sidearm was a taser, fine for a night club, but in this urban hellscape, he wanted more protection. He could easily imagine needing to ready it and blast some giant mutant rats in a place like this, so it wasn't getting left in the car.  Hell no.

"Sounds like a plan.  Little cardio to start the day."  Martin grins and looks around for the fire stairs.  "Hey, keep an eye out for tripwires and shit."

The trio cuts across the lobby, stepping around broken glass, wrappers, and generalized debris.  Finding the fire stairs doesn't take long.  With the elevator bank resembling a scrambled mess of offset door and twisted metal, the least dusty path through the lobby leads to the north stairwell.  A small statue of a spaceplane lies on the ground, holding the stairwell door open.

For the actual climb, flashlights are the order of the day.  Someone has been keeping the center of the stairs blessedly clear of the kind of the small pieces of detritus that can cause slips and falls on steps resulting in mountains of crap in the corners of each landing.  Occasionally, the piles slump in a manner suggesting someone either died or took a nap on the landing.  Blood stains are, thankfully, absent.  Until the fourth floor.

Starting on the third floor landing, the usual bits of tagging and dick graffiti (Do you really want to 'Message T@NY4 for a good time?') give way to Stay the Fuck Out followed by Deth  Abuv spray painted in a fairly juvenile script next to the door way leading into the fourth floor.  It might be paint, it might be blood, but a dark red fluid runs down the stairwell and there is a pile of rat skulls, bits of flesh and flies included, sitting on the landing above the fourth floor.  The stench of decay hangs heavy in the enclosed space.

Martin is profoundly glad for the loaner mask.  "Got a rat-skull altar and warning tags," he silently broadcasts on the team net.  "No gang tags.  I'm gonna guess juvie edgelord.  Or squatter trying to deter juvie edgelords."

Still, he eases the Beretta Consigliere from its holster.  The grip pad set under the meat of his palm chitters into wakefulness, fails to sync with the base-model un-wired gun, and throws a familiar, persistent error message that he cancels with a mental command and a flicker of equally-familiar annoyance.  Maybe after this job I can start saving for the fucking upgrade again.

Kenji tongues the mic switch imbedded in his lower-right bicuspid to silently break squelch, signaling,

Roger that.

He'd seen some seriously creepy shit during two combat tours South of the Border, but something about the crude yet painfully earnest display of gore, juxtaposed with the incongruity of the setting, produces a particularly unsettling effect. Someone who kills rats isn't particularly scary; someone who believes bragging about it will scare others, however...

He lifts the hem of his Craftwork Orange, 2035 World Tour hoodie with his left hand, draws the Steyr-Nambu automatic from its IWB holster with his right. Not for the first time, he feels grateful that Cruz is toting a scattergun.

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This message was last edited by the player at 05:21, Thu 11 Feb 2021.

Cruz Control slid his shotgun off his shoulder and into his hands, careful not to sweep either of his new partners.  It was perhaps fortuitous that they were all wearing smog masks now, as the magnesium buckshot loads he was carrying would almost certainly result in various fumes, toxic gases, and other nasty effects that the Ref is almost certainly more familiar with than I.  :)

"Do we want to push through or try our luck with visuals one level lower?"

"Four is good", Kenji whispers (he doesn't have cyber audio). He's more than a little curious about the ossuary display's creator, but just fine with leaving it to the imagination.

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This message was last edited by the player at 16:38, Thu 11 Feb 2021.

Entering the fourth floor via the fire stairs puts the Edgerunners at the end of a dark hallway.  Restrooms sit along the wall on the right, doors askew and the smell and stains emanating from the portals hinting that they are continuing to serve their purpose even though the plumbing has been broken for decades.  Moving slowly and carefully, Cruz leads them through the space, hallway giving way to an open concept office filled with broken desks and shattered computer monitors.  Light spills into the room from the empty south facing windows.  A few rain soaked couches and chairs have been pushed close to the edge of the building, providing a sort of view lounge from someone who is, thankfully, absent.  Condom wrappers, cigarette butts, empty cans of alcohol and stimulants, and empty bags of soy snacks litter the floor around the furniture.

Using due caution, the three men ease up to the edge testing the floor and doing their level best not to advertise human occupancy to the outside world.  Due south from their location, the Pagoda stabs into the sky in all its decaying glory.  A small amount of the compound is in defilade, but just along the north wall.  The timing is fortuitous.  A pair of white vans is approaching the compound and the Edgerunners get a good glimpse of the guards pulling the chain-link gate back allowing the vans to enter before resecuring the opening.  The vans park in line with the others already present, backs towards the Pagoda.  A single driver gets out of one of the vans, walking around to the rear of the other, and opening the doors.

This van disgorges a working crew of four Maelstromers who step into the morning sun carrying a black body bag between them.  In seconds, the crew disappears into the main entrance of the Pagoda, leaving the other driver to secure both vehicles before following them inside.


OOC: The exterior concrete wall of the compound is about 10' high, topped with razor wire.  A set of high capacity power lines drop into the compound on the west side from steel towers cutting through the industrial zone although there hasn't any direct evidence of power in the Pagoda.  From this angle, there is a second small gate visible on the north wall of the compound, this one not much larger than a service door and composed of solid metal.  The only guards visible are the two working the main gate.

The body bag is an ominous development, although not an entirely unexpected one. Of Night City's numerous gangs, Maelstrom is perhaps most associated with the illegal parts trade, as both suppliers and users.

"Think this is where they do their... harvesting?" Kenji asks. It's an indelicate term, but there's really no way to put it otherwise.

As he continues looking for cameras or other forms of electronic security, Ken follows up with, "That side entrance looks like our best bet. Either of you any good at picking locks?"

-

"Enh."  Martin wibbles a hand.  "I've been learning but I'm more at a party tricks level than a cat burglar level.  If it's just a key lock and there's no surveillance, we can take our time and I can give it a shot.  Those dudes on the main gate don't seem real interested in patrolling."

He indicates the power lines. "Do those look excessive for this kind of place?"

Alex eyed the setup for a moment.  "Those power lines entering on the west side?  They don't look like kind the city installs.  Aftermarket, designed to handle more voltage and amperage maybe?" he adds with a slight shrug.  "It's likely the run directly into the underground parking.  Or maybe a mechanical room near by."

"Picking locks?  Not really.  I typically just disable everything around it and take them apart.  I do install car alarms and vehicle security systems all day and keep our building system repaired at the shop.  So I can help with cameras, motion sensors, laser tripwires, and any of that kind of stuff." Cruz added.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 07:50, Mon 15 Feb 2021.

"Okay, so I'm up if it's keyed, you're on point if it's a maglock, and if it's just a two-by-four in a couple of brackets, I guess we're both screwed."

Recon complete, the three men step back from the gaping wound in the side of the high rise and start picking their way back toward the staircase.  From his position at the front, Cruz hears them first: footsteps, pounding their way up the stairs at a full run.  One set, followed quickly by several more.

Within seconds, Whisper and Kentucky can pick them up, too.  Second floor maybe, heading up in a hurry.

A voice yells up the stairwell, bouncing out into the hall the Edgerunners are moving down.

"Get back here you little shit!"  A series of pounding footsteps follows the command.  "I'm gonna throw you off this fucking building!"

"Come and find me you prick!"  The voice bouncing back down the stairs is louder.  Closer. higher pitch, too. A girl or maybe a pre-adolescent boy.  Either way, they're going to be crossing the fourth floor landing in a few seconds.

Martin backpedals a couple of steps and ducks through the doorway of a long-defunct executive office, breaking line of sight with the landing.  Not my circus, not my monkeys.  He considers drawing his gun again but, based on the fragmentary dialogue, that would be an escalation with unpredictable results - and gunfire this close to the Maelstrom base is likely to attract all the wrong people's interest.

"No guns if we can help it," he sends to follow up on that thought.  "Bad attention-getter."

OOC: I don't think I've explicitly specified this before, so - otherwise indicated, assume all radio comms coming from Martin are routed through his implant radio with no actual vocalization.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:19, Tue 16 Feb 2021.

Cruz pulls his taser with his right hand after shifting his shotgun to carry only in his left.  He pulled back to a good ambush site for anyone coming down the landing.  Alex didn't like adults who picked on kids.  Whoever was coming, better hope that was an empty threat.  If he cleared the landing, Cruze Control was going to zap his ass.  And if that didn't work, A-dot would go hand to hand.

Kenji grimaces at the sounds of the approaching third parties. The medtech wills himself to ignore latent Good Samaritan instincts to intervene and instead opts to avoid detection. Like Whisper and Cruz Control, Kentucky moves away from the landing and attempts to conceal himself. He primes the reflex booster embedded in his neural network, in case things quickly take a turn for the kinetic, but doesn't draw his sidearm or Tantō. Yet. Detection and threat level will dictate his next move.

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This message was last edited by the player at 04:45, Thu 04 Mar 2021.

Cruz chooses a spot just outside of the door to the landing, folded back around the corner, and able to lunge into action should the situation require.  He doesn't have to wait long.

Taking the steps two at a time, a pre-teen of indeterminate sex hits the fourth floor landing at a full run, moving up as quickly as their legs will take them.  The kid clutches a backpack and is moving so fast that it's more a collection of impressions than an outright observation: funky hair, stained t-shirt, armorjack jacket four sizes to big, and a ratskull necklace.  Then the kid is gone, up the stairs.

Maybe four seconds later, a Scav comes running up the stairs, panting, and carrying a big-motherfucking-machete in one hand.

"You think you can hide from me?" the Scav screams up after his prey.  It's enough for Cruz to act.  From his hiding place, the tech leans out just enough to get an angle, raises his stun gun and fires (-1 charge from Stun Gun).  The weapon snaps, discharging a single barbed probe trailing a pair of wires that catches the Scav in the chest.  A microsecond later, Cruz feels the weapon cycle a charge through the wires.

The Scav freezes, rotting teeth jamming together as his muscles spasm, locking hard at the electrical charge.  The electrical blast ends and the Scav collapses, only to start rising as he moans in pain.  Barbs already in place, Cruz hits the shock function a second time (-1 charge from Stun Gun) before the Scav can recover enough to pull the probe free.

This time the man convulses hard, muscles going rigid and eyes rolling back in his head as the weapon overloads his nervous system a second time and drops him unconscious, face first onto the landing.  A wet slap reverberates through the space as his nose shatters on impact.  In the sudden quiet, the machete slips out of nerveless hands and slides down the twelve steps to the landing below before clanging loudly on the cement wall.

There's no time for self congratulations in Alexander Cruz's world.  With confirmation that the scav is down hard, Cruz lays down his shotgun, pulls his carryall off his back, and grabs a roll of duct tape out of it.

He's on the scav quickly, working the duct tape to wrap hands first, mouth second, and feet finally.  Cruz worked with the speed, skill, focus, and precision that an experienced sailor would work a submarine damage control trainer - as 1200 gallons of water per second flooded in.

"No one needs to worry about hiding from you now cabrón," he muttered as he finished with the duct tape.

Cruz's takedown of the Scaver takes Kenji by surprise. He draws his sidearm and covers the tech while the unfortunate Scav is restrained with duct tape. There might be more where this one came from, and the identity and intentions of the person he'd been chasing are still an unknown.

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This message was last edited by the player at 04:54, Thu 18 Feb 2021.

It's not entirely accurate to say Martin is surprised by the speed and force of the takedown, but the demonstration of competence on the part of his newly-assigned teammate is professionally gratifying.  "Ride the lightning," he informs the unconscious Scav.

He leaves his own weapon in its holster for now and descends the steps to recover the machete.  "You got him, now what do you want to do with him?" he asks.  "Wake him up and squeeze him for local intel?"

The Scav's one potential source of intel; there's another. "Sounded like he was chasing a kid," Kenji observes. "One we just did a favor. Think I should try to talk to 'em, see if they want to repay the debt with some intel on the pagoda compound?"

It's probably a long shot- if the others aren't enthused, Kenji's cool dropping it.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 04:46, Fri 19 Feb 2021.

After Cruz tapes over the eyes, he adds: "Let me check him for cyber before he wakes up."

Alexander popped some tools from his digits and goes to work on the homes here with a pair of micro pliers and a soldering iron.  He's checking for subvocal gear, cyberaudio, optics that shoot darts/flames or whatever shit has hit the streets now.  He's checking for rippers, scratchers, bashers and mashers - everything.  First pass is deactivate, second pass is removal if it won't awaken the Scav.  Cellphone/agent, machete (which will be fun to sharpen in the shop later), and anything of value is stuffed in Cruz's gear bag.  It's a straight jack and robbery, or at the end of the day, that's what it should look like.

Taser comes back out if the guy looks like he's going to awaken.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:14, Fri 19 Feb 2021.

Martin nods at Kentucky.  "Yeah, it's worth a try.  Kid's slightly more likely to be cooperative, anyway."  He pokes the Scav with the toe of his boot for emphasis.

Kenji reholsters his piece, steps over the freshly trussed Scav, cautiously edges his way out on to the landing, does a quick visual check below, then above.

"Hey, uh, 'Rat Lord'! We just tased the shit out of the scumbag was chasing you. Think you could return the favor and tell us about that Maelstrom compound across the way?"

Kenji expects indifferent silence or maybe a defiant "fuck off", but hopes for better.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 19:42, Sat 20 Feb 2021.

The scav doesn't have much.  A piece of bargain basement combat ware in the form of Night City ripoffs of Korean knockoff Japanese scratchers.  A burner Agent.  Some bits of kibble, already half eaten.  Maybe 6eb.

Hog tied and unconscious, he isn't a much of a threat except for the stale body odor of the homeless mixing with the ammonia aroma of taser induced incontinence. A delightful cocktail for those lucky enough to be near it.

Kenji heads a few steps up from the fourth floor landing, not enough to threaten the altar, but enough to steer clear of the puddle of yuck behind him.  Calling out and not expecting an answer, he's pleasantly surprised to hear the slow steps of someone coming back down the steps.  A moment later, the "Rat Lord" appears in all their glory: spiky frizzed hair, somewhere  between teased out and dreadlocks, dirty face of indeterminate sex, massively oversized Armorjack Jacket in Ferrari red, stained t-shirt with a rat skull necklace, a pair of large denim jeans held up with a bunji-cord belt, and a pair of scruffy, yet serviceable, vintage Chuck Taylors scrounged from the irradiated private collection of some Corpo scum's high-rise flophouse.  The Rat Lord clutches a sharpened piece of rebar in the left hand, ready to get stabby.

"Rather be Royce," the Rat Lord says in a sing song voice, "wouldn't I?"  Royce sniffs the air, appraising the scene below them.  "You fried that Scav up good.  Coulda' taken 'im, myself.  Didn't want to."  The bravado coming from the kid is endearing in a probably would have perforated the Scav's guts four or five times on the way to a machete death kind of way.

Royce's eyes narrow.  "Them ain't Maelstrom," Royce continues in lieu of a direct 'thank you.'  "Not no more, no how. They chop up Maelstromers just as much as regular folk. Royce seen it.  Bodies on tables.  Them is worse.  Call themselves Listeners or some shit.  Don't get it."

Kenji's pleasantly surprised that this Royce kid is willing to parley. He relaxes a bit but keeps one eye on the rusty rebar and his hands where the teenager can see them.

"Yeah, they don't talk much do they?" he asks rhetorically, remembering the video footage of the kidnapping Viceroy had shared- at least some of the "Arch Devils", or "Listeners", or whatever-the-fuck they're called, are wired for two-way subvocal comms. "So, you been inside their compound, Royce? How'd you manage that?"

-
This message was last edited by the player at 23:10, Sat 20 Feb 2021.

Cruz pockets or bags the Scav's meager belongings, because why not..

"Listeners?" Cruz said, shaking his head.  "Perhaps these guys have been nagged into cyber-psychosis by wives and girlfriends who want them to be better 'Listeners'..." Alex added with a snort.  It was a bad joke, somewhat misogynistic; it was destined to fall flat.

"I'm impressed," Cruz said earnestly when Royce mentioned that he'd been inside.  A. always wanted to be more stealthy, but when you're packing Malorian Arms level meat, creepin' ain't easy.  At least that's how he consoled himself.

Taking a proud step down, Royce points to their own chest clearly pleased with the compliments being offered.  "Royce has ways.  Here there is always ways."  Another step down and a gritty right hand is offered, palm up, waiting to be greased.  "Royce can show you..."

"Ok, Royce. We can pay for info. I'm going to reach into my pocket now..." Kenji slowly reaches into his front right pants pocket, withdraws a money clip. He peels off a crisp 20eb bill, holds it up but doesn't place it in Royce's grubby mitt quite yet.

"Twenty Eddies now. Twenty more once you've show us the way in. Deal?"

Twenty Eurodollars seems like it would be a significant sum to a street kid, so Kenji opens low, but he's willing to up the amount if Royce balks at the starting offer. Besides, bribe money is a legit business expense in this line of work. Black Jasper should be good for it.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 00:22, Tue 23 Feb 2021.

"Royce is an operator," Martin opines from where he's keeping watch.  He gives the kid a respectful nod before returning his attention to the stairs.

"Doesn't quite remind me of me at that age, but... y'know," he adds over team comms.

20eb is a lot to a street kid.  But Royce is savvy.  Royce knows what Royce needs.  "The twenty goes on the steps," Royce says, exercising due caution. "But Royce doesn't need twenty more."  The kid points to where Cruz has disappeared the machete.  "Royce needs weapons.  The blade after Royce shows you the way."

(OOC: If the knife is a deal breaker, Royce will accept 30eb more as a consolation prize).

"Follow Royce," the kid says, scooping up the eddies and moving carefully around the perimeter of the landing, trying to keep as much distance as possible from the Edgerunners.  The kid pauses only to spit in the face of the unconscious Scav before heading down the stairs.  Outside of the lobby, the rental car engages in an autonomous game of dodge the rocks from a pair of street kids that scatter at the sight of approaching adults.

"Won't need your car," Royce advises before turning and leading the trio in the general direction of the pagoda.  From the street, they're invisible, but inside the rubble a rough interlocking network of paths leads between buildings, inscrutable sigils carved into various pieces of debris passing information to those that need it.  And can decipher the markings. Royce moves carefully, picking a path that takes them through several more buildings and out of direct line of sight from the spaces above whenever possible.  A few groups of Scavs scatter at the appearance of a well armed group moving with confidence, apparently deciding that broad daylight is not a good time to die.  Royce moves with a self-important grace, boosted by paying work.  It's almost beautiful to watch the fluid movement.

"Scavs," Royce says, pointing west.  "Tyger Claws mostly south.  Except for Listeners.  Them used to be Maelstrom.  Not anymore.  Claws stay away from them.  North is poison.  Bad water.  East? Better stuff. Everyone fights for east.  Except Royce.  Royce doesn't go to the east."

The journey takes the Edgerunners to periphery of the old shopping mall.  Royce holds them at the edge of an intersection, sheltered from the mall inside an old bus stop that has seen better days and now resembled a lean-to more than the box it used to be.  The intersection is clear, bulldozed as part of a reclamation project some months or years ago,  leaving the sidewalks a warren a dirt, rocks, twisted metal, and hidey-holes.

"Scavs in the mall," Royce says.  "Hungry Scavs.  Don't need to go in the mall, need to go under." Royce gestures across the street to a partially collapsed doorway near the entrance to the old structure.  A faded sign over the door reads: "Parking levels S1-S4" with a diagonal arrow pointing below the surface.  "Listeners don't know garages connected.  They think it's different, but Royce knows way through."

The path across the intersection is exposed, nowhere to hide in the middle of cracked asphalt.  The entrance to the mall a dark hole of broken open doors.

Cruz produced the machete, then flicked out the Dremel tool on his tool-hand.  The Latino tech gave edge a once over, to make the blade much, much sharper.  Alex then hefted the weapon, to feel the weight, turning it in his hand a bit.  He then Dremeled the blood grove to improve the weight and its center of gravity.  He flicked it around a few times, enjoying its new balance.  The Tech was using his Maker upgrade expertise to improve the machete.

When he was done, Cruz left the it on the steps, with the 20 eb.

"Good work, Royce. Give us a second." Kenji lowers his voice, making it difficult for the street kid to eavesdrop. "If our girl's in there, we can infil through the parking garage, find her, jack one of the Listener's vans and unass the AO. But that's a big 'if'. We hit the wrong place, security's likely to get a lot tighter at the other. We probably got one shot at this." The edgerunner can't think of a way to confirm the girl's presence in either location. It's essentially a coin-flip, but his gut is telling him she's in the pagoda. "Whattaya guys think?"

-

"This feels like the kind of place you'd stash victims," Martin murmurs.  "The club is too public, too much chance of exposure, not a lot of unused space for a workshop if they're really running club operations there.  Here, something fucky is going on.  Even if we don't find our girl, but maybe we get lucky and find intel.  That also feels more likely here.  Or maybe someone else gets lucky and we get them our before they wind up disassembled."

"I like rolling in hot now and taking our chances.  Even if it's the wrong place, like Whisper says, we could get a something that helps.  I can't help but thing this is one of those, 'the first twenty four hours are the only twenty four hours' kinda deals.  We need twice the sex and half the foreplay on this one," Cruz stated in confab with the others.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:37, Thu 25 Feb 2021.

"Ok, yeah- agreed. Let's start here." Kenji says. He glances at Royce, then at the entrance to the garage. "We doing this now?" he asks.

-
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 02:06, Thu 25 Feb 2021.

"No time like the present," Martin agrees.

Bounding across the street in a hunched over run, Royce reaches the stairs to the parking garage.  The street kid pushes a few carefully balanced blocks out of the way before waving back for the trio to follow.  A quick overwatch ensues, Kenji covering Cruz and Whisper before the favor is returned.  Up close, it's clear that Royce has prepped this area, made it look closed off but kept it passable with a few tweaks.  One wonders what else their guide has prepped across the rubble of the old Corporate Zone.

Down the steps, flashlights are the order of the day once again.  "Quick," Royce orders, hugging the outside wall of the steps.  More signs of dying consumer culture dot the steps: receipts, old plastic bags, dead rodents with bite marks that look suspiciously human.  "Scavs don't come down much, but when they do, here in numbers."

S1 gives way to S2 then S3, the smell of wet musty rot growing the farther down the Edgerunners go.  Just below the S3 landing, stale water colored with all kinds of floating oils and other fun organics blocks further access down, the pumps responsible for keeping this resting place for cars dry having failed long ago.  S3 isn't in much better shape.  Mold grows from the walls in a rainbow of colors and decorates the insides of the remaining cars going to rust.  Water drops from the ceiling making the concrete floor slick.  Royce doesn't seem to mind, just keeps moving.

At at last, their guide halts outside what used to be a large exhaust fan.  The metal grating separating errant limbs from giant blades has been pulled back, the blades held up and out of the way by a piece of orange and flaking rebar.

"Here," Royce says, gesturing to the opening below the fan blades. "Listeners through here. Up to S2. Royce doesn't go farther.  Not anymore."

Kenji lowers his heavy submachine gun (imagine a Sig Sauer MPX) to hang on its tactical sling, removes the loose second 20eb bill from his front pocket, holds it out to their guide, "Thanks, Royce. You earned this."

He peers into the darkened opening to the Listener's lair, his body thrumming, mind sharp as razor wire and lit-up like the old Corpo Plaza at night. No chemical compound that Kenji has found- and he's tried a lot- can quite reproduce the natural high of impending life-and-death action. It's the ultimate rush. He'll enter third, as befitting the team medic.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 04:48, Fri 26 Feb 2021.

Martin fastens his armored jacket, draws the Beretta, and takes point.  "Thermoptics" moves up a few notches on the big-ticket shopping list in the back of his head.

"Hey, Royce.  One last question."  He waits for the streetkid's attention.  "'Listeners.'  Any idea what they're listening to?"

Cruz follows in behind Lowell, taser holstered in favor of the shotgun. He had 20-rounds of incendiary ammo and flashbang.  He hoped that was enough for whatever the were facing.  If not, well, maybe there'd be a few unattended firearms lying around he could jack.  Hell, even if they were mounted in cyber-arms, he'd figure out how to fire them is possible.  Or die trying.

"Royce doesn't know," the stained angel guide responds with a shrug.  "Nothing loud.  Silent in there.  Always silent." The offered 20eb disappears into an interior pocket of the armored jacket.  "You need help again, you know where Royce is."  The street kid backs away quietly before turning and disappearing into the fallen temple of consumer desire.

At the front of the line, Whisper picks his way carefully past the 3 foot long fan blades to find himself on a small platform in a ten foot square air shaft.  Off to the right, the air shaft continues down, terminating in the same lake of yuck flooding the fourth floor of the parking garage.  Above him, the shaft disappears into darkness, probably taking a 90 degree turn at the parking level above.  Directly in front, another fan sits silently, motionless, unable to complete its duty of evacuating hostile smells and chemicals from the parking garage.  Passing the blades isn't any harder than the first and the steel grate yields to a careful push and catch, preventing unwanted noise.

This garage is in slightly better shape.  Less mold, more trash, and devoid of cars.  Probably the product of a slowly failing business, not a rapid flame out.  Or maybe no one was parked down here when the nuke went off.  Hard to tell.  The Edgerunner pick their way carefully through the man made cavern and come to a crossroads of sorts.  In interior stairwell off to the east presents an option for climbing to the second level.  Alternatively, they can continue forward up the vehicle ramp to ascend.  At the bottom of the ramp, dozens of plastic garbage bags have piled up, tossed down from above. Some comprised of black contractor grade polymer, others no more than the usual Hefty Cinch Sack.

The space is as quiet as a vacant cathedral.  The only sounds, the careful footsteps of the Edgerunners and their quiet breathing.

Kenji's not looking forward to taking a look inside the bags, but if their contents offer any intel about what the team might find up above, they're probably worth investigating.

Before heading in that direction, he quietly opines, "I think we should take the ramp. More room to maneuver."

As he approaches the bags, he wonders if all of the Listeners have optical implant with low-light capability. If so, the team's flashlight beams are going to announce its arrival in advance. Not ideal, but there's probably nothing to be done about it now.

He kneels next to the nearest bag, draws his Tanto, and slices a small opening in the black plastic...

-
This message was last edited by the player at 23:17, Sat 27 Feb 2021.

Cutting the bag is like popping a seal.  Rot at close range assaults Kenji's nostrils, bearing the sickly sweet stench of human flesh, long separated from living.  Clear fluid carrying chunks of coagulated blood runs from the hole.  Working quickly (and breathing shallowly) the medic enlarges the hole enough to get a eyeful of whatever is in the bag.

Used to combat wounds, Kenji doesn't gag.  A couple limbs and no longer necessary organs take up the dark plastic, along with a few square yards of skin and muscle tissue. A dozen ears are sprinkled through the obscene mix. Most disconcerting is the pile of eyes that have settled in the bottom of the bag, six or eight of them staring in various directions, nerve and blood vessel stumps reaching out to absent connections.  At least two of the eyes are of the cybernetic variety, mismatched, their twins probably somewhere else in this pile of flesh.

The harvests are rough and ragged.  Somebody went butcher mode to do this work.

Kenji's not surprised. The mask helps a bit with the smell, but not nearly enough. He rises quickly, steps away. He faces the others, nods once, slowly, "Yeah, it's exactly what we thought."

"Sloppy work," he whispers. "Either they were in a hurry or they just don't give a shit."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 00:43, Sun 28 Feb 2021.

Martin has seen some shit, as the kids used to say, but this forces him to concentrate on controlling his breathing and wishing he had an olfactory filter installed.  Internal air tank finds its way onto his mental shopping list.

"They didn't keep all the chrome," he observes.  "That's... not Maelstrom SOP."

Unbidden, a memory of a vintage movie, once seen playing in the background during a late-night poker game, bubbles up from his traitor subconscious.  Where we're going, we won't need eyes to see.

With a vile stench in the air, Cruz hates what he's about to ask, but he says it anyway, "Should we pull the cyber eyes and see if they have a video buffer?" he asks.  Even a few seconds of seeing what happened to these people might offer some insight into what they were facing.

Martin glances sharply at the Nomad, realizes the other man finds the suggestion just as revolting as he does, and mentally taps the PAUSE icon on what he was about to say.  "Yeah.  Might have intel."

It's not really any less horrible to face out and pull security while his more technically-minded teammates go to work.  He can still hear the squishing.

Kenji grimaces beneath the mask. Cruz's idea is distasteful, but not without merit. He shrugs out of his combat medic pack, lays it on the cracked concrete, removes a pair of surgical gloves, puts them on.

He removes one of the cyber eyes from the slit in the bag, finds the artificial nerve lead, plugs it in to an input in the medscanner. The diagnostic software locates the cyber eye's video buffer. Kenji opens the player, keys the rewind button, scans backwards as far the buffer file goes, then presses play.

Let's see the last things this eye's last owner saw...

-
This message was last edited by the player at 17:03, Sun 28 Feb 2021.

Silence reigns inside the garage except for the occasional drip of water and the quiet swishing of fabric and tools moving around as Kenji works.  At first, the cybernetic optic doesn't want to cooperate, the system reporting as incompatible.  Kenji identifies this as corporate proprietary bullshit and tells the eyeball to fucking cooperate with a few deft keystrokes on the medscanner.  It obeys.

The buffer doesn't hold much.  Even a high end design only runs a 30 second rewritable buffer program.  Even 30 seconds is enough to get a taste of what the Listeners or the Arch-Demons or whatever the Maelstrom offshoot calls itself is capable of.

The loop is choppy, the eyes of the previous owner apparently sweeping back and forth in panic or pain.  It takes lowering the playback speed to about 1/6 to get anything useful.  The pause function proves especially helpful.  The background appears to be somewhere in an underground structure, probably this garage.  In view is a cybered-up ripperdoc, steel mask concealing the lower half of his face, but not the double crucifix design tattooed onto his face.  Blank steel orbs make up the doc's eyes.  A mechanical hand comes up, pinning the victim's head down though the video still flicks around until is focuses on a pair of tools coming into view: a scalpel and a pair of thick forceps.  At the edge of the recording, the tips of the forceps disappear out of view as they grasp the eye still in the socket.  There is a moment of jumbled movement that Kenji recognizes as the eye being pulled from its host.  The recording stabilizes there for a second or two panning down to reveal a thrashing body covered in a white sheet emblazoned with the double crucifix design.  The view is cut off instantly, replaced with a flat "signal lost,"across a black screen as the scalpel severs the connection.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:20, Sun 28 Feb 2021.

"Fuuuuck," Kenji whispers. Thank god the recording is just 2D high-def video without audio, not Braindance.

"30 seconds is all we're gonna get. The last thirty seconds. Poor vic was alive and conscious during removal. Caught glimpses of the ripperdoc and the room where it happened-  probably somewhere in this garage."

Kenji unplugs the cyber eye, removes his gloves and tosses them into the pile of garbage bags.

"I've seen enough," he mutters, repacking his kit.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 19:30, Sun 28 Feb 2021.

"Okay, that's profoundly fucked up."  Martin swallows hard.  "Nothing usable tactically?  I'm all about shooting these assholes in the face, but once we go loud, they're gonna swarm us, so we need to make the first move count."

Kenji shakes his head, "Not much. It looked like the 'clinic' could be down here in this garage somewhere, and I only saw one Listener- the ripperdoc- in the room during the procedure."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 19:35, Sun 28 Feb 2021.

"Right, go down fighting.  Got it," Cruz said double checking his shotgun.  He'd make sure to count his rounds and save the 20th for himself if needed.

Grisly electronic recon complete, the Edgerunners advance up the parking ramp to the S2 Level.  The good news is that they no longer require their flashlights, this level having power.  The bad news is, this level has power.  Not a lot, just enough to illuminate every 3rd or 4th lightbulb, but enough to create pockets of light inside dark shadows.  The concrete floor here is clean(ish).  The bulk of the debris has been pushed to the walls allowing for easy movement.  And the silence continues.

Well, except for the sounds muffled screams coming from up ahead.

Bouncing from pocket of dark to pocket of dark, the trio picks their way carefully towards the ramp leading to S1.  Signs overhead point to the East Stairs and the Exit.  Ancient No Left Turn and One Way signs hang from the ceiling, faded with age.  And at the intersection of the ramp to S1 and the East Stairs, a large black plastic tent has been erected, the door flaps emblazoned with the double crucifix design.  Light spills from underneath the plastic on the floor and from the mostly closed doors.  Several hospital gurneys stained wit various fluids sit outside the flaps, waiting for their next victim.  Thick cables, power and probably data, crawl down the ramp and disappear into the far side of the tent.

The screams are louder here, though they are growing weaker. Somebody possibly going through some forcible cybernetic redesign or harvesting process.


OOC: The tent is roughly twenty feet wide by sixty feet long.  Door flaps open towards the characters on this side and presumably on the far side.  No guards are visible.

From the decreasing volume of the screams, there's not a lot of time for planning. Martin has already assessed the way his companions carry themselves.  It's clear they're both comfortable with violence, but Kentucky moves with the sharp-edged precision of a wired nervous system and the tanto he's carrying has obviously done some work.  That determines who's number two in the stack.

"Let's start fast and quiet.  Assume they're running implant comms, so we've got to drop them before they can think about needing help.  I'll go in first and take whoever's closest.  Kentucky: number two, take next closest.  Lube: overwatch.  That work?"  He glances over his shoulder for his teammates' reactions.

Whether or not they're interrupting the procedure isn't really the question.  Martin holsters the Beretta and flexes his hands.  In the back of his mind, the Kerenzikov Mark Nineteen chitters with anticipation as he flips the metaphoric latch on its cage.

OOC: Assuming no objections, Whisper will enter the operating theatre, grab the closest Listener's head with both hands, and repeatedly smash it against the nearest hard, sharp, or pointed fixed object.  His Combat Awareness stack puts all five points into Spot Weakness for maximum damage on the first attack.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:47, Tue 02 Mar 2021.

In answer to Whisper's subvocal question, Kenji draws his Tanto, nods, "Let's do this".

One way or another, it's about to get messy. The former combat medic follows Whisper into the tent, senses adrenaline-honed, reflexes supercharged by G.I. cyberware. Training and muscle memory will take care of the rest.

OOC: Once inside, Kenji will go for the closest Listener not getting his brains bashed in by Whisper, his Tanto seeking to land a killing blow as quickly and quietly as possible. If the Listener Ripper Doc turns out to be alone, Kenji will attempt to assist his teammate before assessing the ripper's victim, er, patient.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 01:34, Tue 02 Mar 2021.

Cruz gives a thumbs up, then as Takanori and Lowell prepare to enter, he shifts 180 to clear the team's six.  As the two hardchargers move in, Cruz kept his head on a swivel, ready to dump magnesium buckshot into the guts of anyone who looked like a fuckhead.

Unless it's Kentucky, Whisper, or someone dropping to theirs knees with their hands behind their head at first sight, Cruz will shoot first and ask questions later.

Whisper carefully pulls a tent flap back and opens the door on a chamber of horrors.  The Ripperdoc from the buffer hunches over a thrashing "patient" restrained on an operating table.  Next to the table, a Listener assistant kneels on the ground, head bowed, holding a silver platter above his shaven head that contains a pair of glistening flesh eyes, a couple cybernetic implants, and a large neurojack.  Blood runs from the table, pooling on the heavily stained concrete floor.  Neither of the Listeners seems to take any notice of their new arrivals or the gore they are standing in.

In the process of closing the distance to their targets, Whisper and Kenji have the opportunity to sweep the area behind the makeshift clinic with their eyes.  Not that they have the time to draw heavy conclusions, but they are able to see a dozen or so bodies laid out on tables, six on each side of the tent, laying still, covered in crucifix emblazoned sheets except for their heads which stare straight up with silver eyes.  Data cables sneak across the floor and reach up to those unfortunate enough to be on the tables.

Despite the lack of sound, the two Listeners are clearly communicating based on the subtle shifts of their bodies.  Whisper flexes his hands one last time, reaching and exploding into motion just as the Ripperdoc drops an organic ear on the platter and starts to reach for an implant.  Next to the solo, Kenji raises his tanto high in his right hand, and dives forward to slash.

Whisper gets there first, hands wrapping around the forehead and shoulder of the Ripperdoc, pulling him back and sideways towards a glass fronted metal cabinet holding assorted torture devices/surgical tools.  The doc hits hard, metal jaw striking the side of the cabinet with a satisfying "clang,"  and body crashing through the glass doors to end up with several large pieces of glass embedded in his flesh.

For his part, Kenji goes full Cuisinart, tanto flashing in a pair of attacks, first from right, then a counter from the left that slash deep rents in each side of the kneeling Listener's neck.  Theatrical amounts of blood exit the man's body, but he doesn't drop.  The platter falls from his hands, left hand going to grab at the wounds on his neck, right hand coming up as he struggles up from his knees, turning to regard Kenji with the same plain steel orbs the Ripperdoc wears.

On the ground, the Ripperdoc pushes himself up from the floor, blood streaming down pieces of glass stuck through the white robe he wears and into his chest.

Kenji's seldom seen so much blood leave a human body so quickly, but he doesn't have time to ponder how the Listener he's just opened up is still standing. The edgerunner aims a quick thrust of his Tanto, delivered at a slightly upward angle, at the soft spot between the underside of his opponent's chin and Adam's apple, hoping to finish the job before the startled gangster-cultist has a chance to gather himself and transmit a warning.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 23:02, Tue 02 Mar 2021.

Martin is generally of the opinion that kicking someone is a fine way to give them your foot to use as leverage, but there is one exception.  Namely, when that someone is on the ground and momentarily dazed.  This seems like an excellent time to apply that principle.  He lashes out at the recovering Listener, hoping to put the man down before he regains enough awareness to get out a radio call.

Whisper
brawling attack on Ripperdoc
Combat Awareness: Spot Weakness 5 (+5 damage)

From behind, Cruz heard the grunting and moaning of man-on-man penetration, the slapping sounds of body contact, the drip-drip of fluid release onto the deck, plus the occasional loud banging.

Just like the fuckin' Navy he said to himself as he kept watch.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:06, Wed 03 Mar 2021.

Unfortunately for the Listeners, their opponents are running jacked reflexes that have dropped the world into a slow motion dance.  A dance that leaves the Listeners standing still if you are a believer in relativity.

Shifting his grip slightly, Kenji drops low to get the angle he wants, blade of the tanto reaching for cartilage and flesh.  The medic can see the moment the Listener realizes where the knife is traveling, chin angling, trying to turn away.  It's not enough.  The blade slides right where Kenji wants it to go, punching through the gap just below the chin, traveling upward, and puncturing the brainstem.  A slight clink deflects the knife at the final edge of travel, probably one of the large neural jacks attached to the base of the Listener's spine.  Sudden warmth crawls down Kenji's hand and he sags, suddenly holding the weight of his opponent in his hand.

Next to the medic, Whisper reels back to deliver a massive kick to the Ripperdoc's body.  One of the impaled pieces of glass provides a nice bullseye for Martin's boot and he snaps out.  The black boot lands, driving the Ripperdoc back into the remains of the cabinet.  The impact carries back up the solo's leg in a telltale streak of pain that he recognizes as kicking someone with subdermal implants.*  His opponent is armored.  Not that it matters.  When he hits the cabinet, the ripperdoc's head catches just the below the lip, the force twisting and cracking the cervical vertebra.

In roughly five seconds, the two Edgerunners have dispatched two of the Listeners.  Hopefully their luck holds.

Outside the tent, all goes still.  Cruz tilts, listening for reinforcements.  No sounds of running feet reach him.  Just the slow repeated squeaking of several small wheels coming down the parking ramp from S1.

*OOC: Martin isn't damaged, just a little theatrical pain.

Kenji lowers the dead Listener to the stained concrete where fresh blood mingles with old. It's not out of respect that he doesn't just let the dead ganger fall- he's trying not to make any more noise than he has to. The medtech glances over at Whisper, sees him standing triumphantly over the newly-dead vivisectionist. Not bad.

Kenji extracts the Tanto from his opponent's head; it slides free with an sickening slurp sound. He wipes the blade clean on the dead borg's greasy leathers and stands, surveying the row of "patients" lying on gurneys along the interior wall of the tent. Re-sheathing the Tanto, Kenji approaches the row of quiescent, supine figures, scanning their faces for a potential Daphne Copeland match. He reaches out towards the nearest heavy napper, intending to check for a pulse and half expecting a jump-scare.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 04:36, Thu 04 Mar 2021.

"Clear," Martin sends on the team channel for Lube's benefit as he turns away from his target and assesses Kentucky's.  He gives the medic a nod of approval and appreciation, then moves out of the way as the other man heads for the row of victims to do the part of the job he was really hired to do.

A quick assessment of the scene confirms that he's well and truly unequipped to deal with the level of biotechnical fuckery in play here.  The best thing he can do, he figures, is back up the Nomad on watch, so he moves to the entrance of the tent, kneels, and draws his Beretta.  With his free hand, he tugs back one flap just enough to see out while keeping his face in shadow.

Whisper
Beretta Consigliere (heavy pistol) [9/8]
sentry position at the tent entrance
Combat Awareness: Precision Attack 3 (+1 to attack rolls), Spot Weakness 2 (+2 damage to first hit each round)
This message was last edited by the player at 02:58, Thu 04 Mar 2021.

Alexander transmitted over team comms, "Wheels coming down the ramp," he said.  He pulled back a bit toward the tent.  When he heard Lowell call 'Clear', and turned to move into the butchery, waiving for Whisper to move back inside.

"Hasty ambush," he said, motioning toward the entrance he just came into.  He moved to the back, then took a knee, keeping his shotgun lined up with the entrance, but at the low ready, in case Kentucky and Whisper want to jack whoever comes inside.

Despite the anticipation of a jump scare, Kenji's hand makes contact with the carotid artery of the closest form in the Listener's tent.  His finger tips detect a slow and steady pulse under the tattooed skin of what must be a member of the Tiger Claws.  The teenaged gang member doesn't stir at the touch, doesn't react in anyway, and the medic moves on in search of a specific prize.

He moves down the middle path created by the tables, scanning each form, taking in the complete picture.  Each of the victims lies still, connected to thick cable that bridges the gap between the neural jack at the base of their skulls and a featureless central computer station that hums quietly in the center of the room.  Recognizing Daphne isn't as easy as Kenji hoped, but she's there on the left side of the tent, third table back: head shaved, eyes and ears replaced, and motionless save for her breathing.  If she were simply sleeping, Daphne might still be beautiful.  Here, in this place, she looks like the strung out victim of a crime.  Fragile and violated.

At the other end of the tent, Cruz enters with his news that more Listeners approaches and starts to take up an ambush position, doing his level best to avoid unnecessary biocontamination and large pieces of glass.  Through the hanging flap, Lowell can make out four more Listeners coming down the ramp, wheeling a gurney with a black body bag on top of it.  Based on the shape, they've got another volunteer for whatever experiment they're running down here.

The Listeners don't spot him, but they'll be arriving in less than thirty seconds.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:23, Fri 05 Mar 2021.

"I found our girl, but she's jacked in to something, don't know what yet." Kenji reports, briefly studying the rear flap of the tent. He quickly dismisses the idea of hastily unplugging the girl and making a run for it as too risky, for her and for the team. The best chance of getting out the parking garage alive without additional damage to the package is to create some space, and that means zeroing the approaching Listeners.

The combat medic steps away from the gurney, moves towards the front of the tent. Best to ambush the gangoons at a distance from Miss Copeland- less chance of her catching a stray round that way.

Kentucky
Heavy submachine gun [40/40]
Moving towards tent entrance to participate in hasty ambush
Autofire burst at 10m

-
This message was last edited by the player at 20:27, Sat 06 Mar 2021.

"Four tangoes," Martin reports.  He's pretty sure his teammates can do the same math: it's too many for a second round of silent takedowns.  "Hasty ambush is the answer," he agrees with Cruz.  "Volley them down, then you two start working on the girl while I cover.  Stand by to open up."  He shifts position slightly to ensure his teammates can fire past him rather than through him.

It's not heroism that makes him volunteer for rear guard.  It's the knowledge that the two technical specialist have a much better chance of recovering their target without further damage, and that means they all get paid at the end of the night.

Whisper
Beretta Consigliere (heavy pistol) [9/8]
clearing lines of fire, ready to ambush at 10m or when the Listeners detect the team
Combat Awareness: Spot Weakness 5 (+5 damage to first hit each round)
This message was last edited by the player at 02:54, Sat 06 Mar 2021.

Cruz takes his lead from the more experienced shooters.  He adjusts his position so he can fix the maximum number of fuckers in the path of magnesium buckshot.

neuvo-870P loaded with Incendiary rounds [8/8]

soundtrack:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=quBDtJj_fkA


Inside the tent, the three Edgerunners run a Chinese Fire Drill, rearranging themselves with all due haste tempered with the need for adequate stealth.  Cruz and Takanori take up positions near the tent flap, Whisper holding down the fort to the rear.  Outside, the creaking wheels get closer and closer.  Cruz risks a glance through a fold in the flap and measure the distance at about 10 yards.  It's good, but not great for the street howitzer in his hands.  He waits, muscles tensing.  Next to him, Kenji waits ready for the burst of action to come.

Eight yards.

At six yards, Cruz notes a tilt to the head of the lead Listener, can actually see the eyeballs on this guy track in the direction of Cruz's shotgun.  That puts the two Listeners at the front of the gurney into the max practical range of his weapon.

CRACK!

The weapons bucks in the tech/nomad's hands, shoving back deep into his shoulder, and an artificial sun bursts into existence in the shadowed garage.  Magnesium impregnated buckshot spills out of the weapons barrel, the chemical mix igniting on the striking of the firing pin and consuming oxygen at rapid rate on its way through the air.  Those with cybernetically enhanced or smart glass protected eyes are treated to a rapid dimming of their vision.  Those without get to ride a blue and red afterglow from the glare.  When the glare clears, the two lead Listeners are still standing, starting to react along with their friends. (-1 incendiary shell)

Kenji has something to say about that.  With the selector on automatic, he squeezes the trigger releasing a burst towards the Listener on the front left.  The bullets hit hard (critical hit), starting with the Listener's right leg and tearing it off at the hip.  As the man's body tilts and starts to collapse, the weapon's barrel tracks up and to Kenji's right.  The Listener literally comes apart under the hail of bullets, disintegrating into a spray of bone, blood, and tissue that decorates his companions and the poor bastard in the body bag that is now on fire. (-10 rounds)

As the burst finishes, the medic's enhanced reflexes track the ejecting shell from Cruz's shotgun, emblazoned with a cute little dragon, smoke curling from its nostrils and the bubblegum font stating: DragonFire! Light Up Their Life!^tm

With a reasonably clear lane of fire, Whisper fires at the front right Listener, trying to add a little more carnage to the chaos.  The first round strikes the target square in the chest, cracking the armor jacket the man wears and driving him back a step, blood leaking from the wound.  The second round flies wide, buzzing in between Cruz and Takanori drawing at least one raised eyebrow. (-2 shots)

The remaining Listeners start to react.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:49, Sat 06 Mar 2021.

Kenji points his sub-gun at the closest upright Listener, a little surprised at the carnage wrought by the relatively compact weapon. He squeezes off a second burst, hoping for a similar result.

Kentucky
Heavy submachine gun [30/40]
Hasty ambush from tent entrance
Autofire burst at 10m

-

Cruz hadn't been in a firefight in a while, so as the adrenaline crept up, he fought to maintain focus and control, since he lacked the mods that might help his nervous system process, refine, and accelerate combat instincts.  Still, mankind had been killing each other without tech for a long time before speedware and its ilk were invented.

With a fresh shell in the chamber, Cruz lined up the ghostring on next available hostile target and, satisfied that his crew wouldn't be in the line of fire, squeezed the trigger.

870P+ (Might go with that for it's provenance... simple, easy to type, gets the point across)
Incendiary Shells [7/8]
Blasting if I can do so without hitting Kentucky or Whisper (or our package).

The small corner of Martin's brain that isn't occupied with not dying in the so-far-one-sided firefight makes a note to ask Kentucky what sort of ammo he's feeding that subgun to fucking unzip a borderline-cyberpsycho.  The greater part of his attention switches focus to the two Listeners in back, trying to put some pain on them to slow them down.

Whisper
Beretta Consigliere (heavy pistol) [7/8]
sidestepping for better angles, one shot on each rear-rank Listener
Combat Awareness: Initiative Reaction 5* (+5 to initiative roll this round)

* If we're keeping initiative for the whole scene, this stays at Spot Weakness 5 (+5 damage to first hit each round).

The one sided ambush continues with an onslaught of violence.  Shifting his aim a few degrees, Kenji puts his sight on the Listener behind the collapsing puddle of goo that was his original target and squeezes the trigger again feeling the reassuring thumpthumpthump against his shoulder as the weapon sends tiny packages of kinetic energy down a rifled barrel and out into the universe seeking flesh to shred (-10 rounds).  The Listener goes down hard, not as spectacularly as the first, but equally dead.

Next to the medic, Lube Job attempts a second incineration, his shotgun bringing forth another blast of bright light, a sonic assault on the eardrums, and burning particles (-1 incendiary round, Cruz can't buy a decent damage roll).  The Listener steps back, left arm rising to protect his eyes out of pure reflex, right arm coming up with a pistol clenched in a cyber arm.

With his one of his primary targets falling, Whisper brings his pistol to bear on the rear rank Listener on the right.  This poor bastard is just starting to react to the ambush when Martin's pistol barks out two shots in quick succession.  To his delight, both of these rounds travel straight into his target's center mass (-2 rounds).  This Listener staggers under the impact, but doesn't fall.

With two of their members in various states of death, the remaining two Listeners engage in sheer aggression.  After being nearly burned to death twice, the pistol wielding Listener gives Cruz something to think about, firing off a round from his massive pistol.  Cruz has the time to identify the weapon as rather cutting edge Militech design before it cracks back at him.  The Nomad does his best to dodge, sliding down slightly.  It's enough.  A massive bullet that he swears he can actually see flies past his head, punching through the rear wall of the tent to imbed itself somewhere in the back of the parking garage.

Whisper's target sports a set of gleaming Wolvers emerging from his cyberlimb and crashes forward, still bleeding, to stab Kenji in the face.  Whether it's from the combined noise and death or slipping on the various yuck that used to be his companion, the attack is a massive failure, leaving the Listener off balance and over exposed.  The medic requires hardly a half step to avoid the attack.

The return fire is not entirely unexpected, but the guy with the fuck-off huge blades sprouting from his arm is the more immediate problem.  Martin takes advantage of the Listener's flailing attack and Kentucky's momentary disengagement from melee range to step forward and pump two more rounds into his target from just outside Wolver reach.

Whisper
Beretta Consigliere (heavy pistol) [5/8]
two more rounds into Wolver guy
Combat Awareness: Spot Weakness 5 (+5 damage to first hit each round)

Kenji bristles at the violation of his personal space. The incoming fire is a concern, but the blade-sprouting Listener now well inside his bubble is the more imminent threat. Kenji backpedals further into the tent to create a little more space and fires a burst at the wannabe Wolverine.

Kentucky
Heavy submachine gun [20/40]
Hasty ambush from tent entrance
Autofire burst at [hopefully] 7-12m

-
This message was last edited by the player at 18:45, Sun 07 Mar 2021.

After recovering from his Matrix-esque dodge, A_dot_Cruz racked another shell into the pump shotty then fired it off at the Listeners.

870P+
Incendiary Shells [6/8]
Blasting again if I can do so without hitting Kentucky or Whisper (or our package).

With discretion, and shot angles, being the better part of valor, Kentucky skips back farther into the tent in a showy vault over the jacked in Tyger Claw lying on a slab.  The Listener tries to make a show of pursuit, but the medic gets to his position first with the assistance of an electronically assisted nervous system.  A super twitchy spin to face his target ensues, the sight comes into alignment, and Kenji squeezes the trigger.  Shell casings fall like rain on to the damp pavement, bullets fly, and the Listener escapes unscathed from the first series of threats headed his way. (-10 rounds)

At distances nearing point blank range, Cruz shoves the barrel of his shotgun forward, bringing the weapon to bear on the seemingly fireproof Listener to his front.  The weapon cracks out, light blasting through the space.  Magnesium enhanced buckshot once again streaks across space, impacting the armored jacket of the Listener.  This time, the tech has better luck.  His target doesn't fall, but for the first time since they've entered the Pagoda, the Edgerunners hear a Listener make a sound:  a glass cracking scream of pain and rage as the magnesium ignites the clothes underneath his jacket. (-1 incendiary round)

Near Kenji, Whisper draws a bead on the claw wielding psychopath pursuing the medic farther into the tent trying to settle this guy down for good.  Training calls for a double tap and the weapon fires twice in quick succession. The first round punches into the runner's armor right under his armpit before bouncing around a bit for good measure in between the plates of armor in the coat and leaving a bloody mess stumbling, already dead, across the tent.  The second round passes through the space the Listener was occupying prior to his untimely demise.  (-2 rounds)

The final Listener, psychotic with the condition of being a walking chemical fire, does his level best to shoot Cruz again, screaming as the pistol comes into alignment.  Lube Job sees the pistol come up, sees the second the alignment looks good, and flings himself sideways.  He barely makes it.  The bullet rips through space, leaves a sparking streak across the top of his armored coat and ricochets up and out of the tent.

It's three on one versus a pissed off, screaming, road flare.  And it's been noisy as fuck.

The burning, screaming, still-moving Listener is making himself an obvious target.  Martin puts his front sight in the approximate middle of the magnesium-enhanced flames (thankful for the automatic polarization of his cybereyes) and presses off two more shots.  One left, he counts with a corner of his awareness as the Consigliere launches the pair of 10.4mm rounds.

Whisper
Beretta Consigliere (heavy pistol) [3/8]
two rounds into last Listener
Combat Awareness: Spot Weakness 5 (+5 damage to first hit each round)

Kenji bricks with his third burst. He makes a mental note to thank Whisper for the put-back when the firefight's over.

The combat medic thumbs his sub-gun's selector switch from full auto to single-shot as moves quickly towards front of the tent. It's not hard to spot the last Listener standing- the gonk's lit up like a road flare. Using his weapon's red dot site is liable to leave Kenji temporarily blinded, so he shoots instinctively, squeezing off single shots at the target until the burning gangoon is lying motionless on the cracked concrete floor.

Kentucky
Heavy submachine gun [10/40]
Hasty ambush from tent entrance
Single shots at [hopefully] 7-12m

-
This message was last edited by the player at 05:04, Tue 09 Mar 2021.

"Burn motherfucker," Cruz said as he shifted his aim to one of the downed heavy metal psychos, and put an anchoring shot into his head.  Cruz was ready to dodge again if needed.

870P+
Incendiary Shells [5/8]
Executing fools in their optics, because fuck these guys.  Also, once the fight stops I'm going to loot some bitches and I don't want any comebacks.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:22, Tue 09 Mar 2021.

Single shot proves much more effective for Kentucky than his prior burst.  Two rounds drill directly into the flaming Listener, twisting him first left, then right.  The amateur human torch refuses to die (-2 rounds).  Until Whisper lines up his pistol and squeezes off one beautiful, perfect round that finds its way right through his target's throat, impacts the spine, and blows the cybnetically enhanced head clean off the Listener's shoulders.  The head arcs through the air, a mostly organic Roman Candle trailing blood and tissue (-1 round).  With the opposition dead in a myriad of terrible ways, the Edgerunners emerge unscathed.

Invoking the "they're not dead until they're headless and dead," policy of horror movie survivors everywhere, Cruz drops incendiary shells directly into the faces of the two Listeners that could, maybe in an alternate universe, be feigning death.  If they were, they are most definitely not feigning now.  Instead they join in the modified pig roast that fills the parking garage with the sick scent of chemical fire, melting plastic, intestines, and barbequed flesh. (-2 incendiary rounds).

With combat ending, the situation stands as follows:  Daphne is plugged into some sort of computer system, apparently unconscious, or at least mentally not currently occupying her body.  Eleven other unfortunate victims are laid out on tables in the tent, also jacked in.  Most of the bodies show the distinct markings of various gangs or residents of lower class boroughs.  Daphne is perhaps the exception to this, though it's hard to be sure.   The Listener's latest acquisition is lying in a burning plastic Black Bag, not making any noise.  It is unknown a this point if that is due to a tragic case of bystander magnesium poisoning or tranquilization.  The savage firefight lasted roughly fifteen seconds.  No sounds come down from above, yet.

Cruz didn't have a pistol, just the taser, so he snagged a nice looking one from a Listner.  Then he turned his attention toward Daphne.  Using his Electronics/Security Tech, he tried to evaluate the computer she was plugged into, looking for the most expedient method to  keep the system from doing anything other than keeping her stable, while they moved her.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:27, Wed 10 Mar 2021.

Kenji tries not to step in the fresh gore as he makes his way back through the tent to Daphne's gurney, reloading along the way.

He shrugs out of his combat medic's pack, sets it down beside the unfortunate Miss Copeland, and removes the expensive Medscanner from its padded compartment. "Don't unplug her 'til I figure out what's going on," he instructs Cruz Control.

Attaching the leads to his new patient, Kenji says, "Talk to me, Daphne," not really expecting a verbal response from the seemingly comatose girl. The Medscanner should give him a pretty good idea of her current condition. He trusts Cruz Control to determine whether or not it's safe to unplug her from the Listener computer she's attached to, and Whisper to keep an eye out for fresh trouble while the two techs work.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 04:36, Wed 10 Mar 2021.

Martin reloads automatically, tucking the mostly-expended magazine into a jacket pocket.  Then he flips up his helmet's visor, tugs away the smog mask, and inhales deeply.  The post-combat stench is stunning but he needs the oxygen.

As he does a 360º scan, the burning Black Bag gets his attention.  His colleagues are already working on the reason the team is here, so he looks around for anything that might help extinguish the flames, or at least knock them down enough to extract the occupant.  With luck, the bag hasn't melted all the way through yet, and burning to death while tranquilized seems a shitty way to go if he can do something about it.

A mental command sets his audio filters to notch down Kentucky and Lube's voiceprints and the sounds of their work so he can keep an ear out for incoming cybercult reinforcements.

After evaluating time and efficiency to be the critical ingredient to continued survival inside the pagoda, the Edgerunners set to work.  Cruz scoops a pistol that his trained eye identifies as a Militech Arms M-5445B Adjudicator VHP.  She's a beautiful high end combat design, if not a little scorched and decorated with biomass.  She's also not commercially available yet in this model.  With a little bit of digging with the point of a boot, near the melting body bag, Whisper can find a twin of the pistol in the remains of the Listener Kenji ripped into kibble.

The computer system sitting on the floor is a modern tower design able to shuffle massive amounts of data at high speeds.  If Cruz had to guess, it's the kind of design generally used to crack protein folding or cryptographic algorithms.  Someone has hooked up twelve brains into a sophisticated piece of hardware into something approximating a local net infrastructure.  Each of the data cables runs from the central octopus to a jack at the base of a victim's skull where a few tiny blinking LEDs twitch in sync with the GB running back and forth.  And while he's not a netrunner, the tech knows far better than to simply disconnect Daphne from the machine.  Not while her brain isn't home.  He's pretty sure, though, that given about a minute, he can force the computer to cycle her psyche home.  Whether he wants to do the same for everyone else here is optional, but will be much harder to manage simultaneously.

Next to the tech, Kenji goes to work evaluating their payday with his Medscanner.  The device beeps reassuringly and gives off a green glow with a few caveats.  Daphne is stable, other than inflammation markers in her blood for recent (and rough) surgery.  She's is also under the influence of a probable tranquilizer or nerve block that is keeping her still and unresponsive.  Brain wave data shows that of a Netrunner deep in the zone, though one that is still and extraordinarily regular.  She's not dreaming.  She's having the same experience over and over, several times a second.

Guard duty is critical, but so is damage control.  Whisper takes a knee and peels back the Black Bag to reveal a scorched but not dead woman in her early 30's with burned black hair.  When the fresh air hits her, she moans slightly but doesn't rise to full consciousness.  A medpatch is fixed on the right side of her neck, directly over her carotid artery.  Martin coughs slightly at the smell of burned hair and evaluates his find one more time.  There is no moment of recognition, but he knows the look.  The designer business suit remains.  The tattoo and LED design.  Bodywork.  She radiates the kind of appearance he'd usually be walking three feet behind and two feet to the right of.  Corporate.

"How do these motherfuckers have access to this kind of hardware," Cruz asks, a bit rhetorically, as he stuffs the state of the art handgun into his pack.  He'd have fun hacking it later and even more fun at the range.

"Well, this is crazy," Alex said, reviewing the system.  "Could be some weird brain-dance thing?  Maybe trying to retrieve some memory or some kind of jacked in torture?  Any reason to think she's a data courier?" he speculated and asked out loud.  Whatever the answer, he was sending her mind back to where it belonged, her brain.

"Could be. Neural activity looks kinda like Braindance on loop, but not quite. Physically, she's a bit banged up but her vitals are good. Can you make it safe to unplug her? Don't want to scramble her brains any more than these assholes have already."

Kenji scans the tent room again, wonders, "What are we gonna do about these rest of these poor gonks?"

-
This message was last edited by the player at 00:09, Sat 13 Mar 2021.

"Same way we do: they stole it from someone who bought it," Martin replies distractedly to Lube Job.  He wipes his freshly-acquired Adjudicator on a surgical towel, then double-checks the weapon's safety before tucking it into his jacket's poacher pocket.  He scavenges the previous owner's beltline for spare ammo just in case things get tight again.

Two-fisting his tech, he brings up his disposable cell and his personal agent and snaps paired photos of the slightly-singed corp woman.  He makes the rounds of the surgical ward, repeating the process for each of the other victims, then tucks away the agent.  The burner stays out a moment longer while he fires off the twelve headshots to Black Jasper's secure drop server.  Then he thumbs out a quick message to the fixer, copying his teammates: Found the album you wanted.  The place has a good selection.  I sent you an inventory.  Let me know if any of their other stuff is wishlisted.

With luck, Jasper can run a quick facial recognition scan to see if any of the other victims are on someone's "missing, please find" list.  With even more luck, the scan will work regardless of the recent mutilation.  A real lottery win will have a recovery fee attached to one or more of them.

<<somewhere else>>

"Shit.  Hold on?"

"Hold on?  Now?"

"Yeah, hold on.  I gotta look at this."

"I'm kinda busy here.  Kinda don't want to hold onnnn.... ohhhhh that's not fair!"

"I'll multi-task."

"Fuck you.  I'll solo task."

"Now who's being unfair?  Just gimmie a sec."

"No.  You promised me you'd turn the damn thing off."

"Just.  Wait.  A....fucking Monica Del Rey?"

"Who is a fucking Monica Del Rey?"

"No one who is doing what you're doing."

"So she can't do this?"

"Jesus.  You're making this take longer than it should."

"Ohhhh...poor you.  You'd better hurry.  I'm getting antsy."

"Just gotta do this.  And this.  Annnnnnnd...done."

"About time."

"Lily.  Shut the fuck up and pay attention."

"I hate your fucking...oh...."
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:15, Sat 13 Mar 2021.

"Yo, I can jam two more minds back into bodies if we can find two good candidates.  Look for Aldecaldos tattoos, military tats, gunslinger hardware, shit like that.  And we need to rifle these assholes down some," he said, kicking the nearest Listener.

"Maybe there are some stims around we can load survivors up with and give homies a chance to fight their way out," Cruz offered as he switched between banging out commands to the computer and searching the three closest wired-up victims.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:29, Sun 14 Mar 2021.

Soundtrack:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OXor30_XZMY


The pace of the action goes frantic.  Kenji dives into the cabinet that broke the neck of the ripperdoc and rifles through the contents rapidly.  Boxes fall to the floor, plastic vials crunch underfoot.  Several of the shelves are askew resulting in piles of boxes on the left side of the cabinet that have to be searched, but after about thirty seconds, he finds what he's looking for:  A box of four 10 mg patches of EpiMax stimulant.  Next to it sits an open box of SuperVal patches. The two patches in the box match the one on the corporate's neck.  Without further ado, the medic rips the SuperVal off the Corp's skin and slaps an EpiMax patch on the same site to counter the drug.  He pauses, then attaches another patch on the other side of her neck for good measure.  She'll be wired as hell if it wakes her up, but speed is of the essence.  Or survival.

Taking his search orders from Lube Job, Whisper moves back through the crowd of bodies, going back over the most likely candidates for combat abilities/training/bad attitudes.  The first pick is a stringy little dude, maybe 5'7", with Aldecaldos tattoos on both shoulders and the tell tale signs of significant internal cyberware.  The second pick goes to a tall and lean woman in the back row.  At first pass, there's nothing that advertises itself as particularly useful, but Martin's spider-sense gives off a tingle and he pulls the blanket back to reveal subdermal armor implants on her naked body and a smart gun pad on each hand.  Scars crisscross her flesh indicating an interesting personal history that might be worth hearing someday.  He passes the info off to Cruz who huddles over the computer console.

The computer system isn't one Cruz is familiar with, but fuck it, tech is tech.  There is no keyboard access, the system most likely controlled via a wireless interface, but Cruz stares at it for a few seconds, rips a panel back, likes what he sees and uses a couple bloodstained fingers to move a few jumpers across several of the circuit boards.  Three of the twelve lights present go from green to a blinking yellow.  Attached to Daphne, Kenji's medpad beeps a condition change, her brainwave activity starting to vary from the repetitive pattern it was engaged in before and devolving into peaks and valleys.  It looks to be approaching normal.

For like 40 seconds.  Then it goes wonky, ripping up and down and violently.

Inside the Black Bag, the Corp shouts in pain and fear as she rides a psueudo-adrenaline wave into full consciousness tinged with burned flesh. "Fuuuuuuck!!!!!"

The lights blank out in the basement, dropping the whole parking garage into darkness broken only by the inside of the computer terminal and Kenji's medpad.

For the cherry on top of the shit sundae, Daphne and the other two wakeups begin thrashing and screaming as their minds return to their bodies.  For the medic/former addict, it looks like immediate onset withdrawal symptoms, reminiscent of heroin addicts getting narcan'd back to life only to find their bodies craving the drug again.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:01, Sun 14 Mar 2021.

Martin pulls his flashlight from his belt, twists the head from beam to to wide-area mode, and rolls it toward the ramp so he isn't holding an obvious aiming point in his hand.  The diffuse illumination is a potential liability but it's enough to navigate by.  More or less.

He drops to a knee beside the Black-Bagged corp and code-switches to his professional face.  "Ma'am, my name is Martin."  At least, that's what this year's business cards say.  "We're going to get you out of here but I need you to help us.  Concentrate on your breathing, check your biomon, and get ready to move.  Can you do that for me?"  Instruct, don't leave it open-ended.  Don't give her the chance to try to be in charge.

He accepts a shaky nod as the best he's going to get - and far better than her trying to assert control over an out-of-context situation - and rises to his feet.  Crossing to the woman with the subdermal hardware, he shifts back to peer-to-peer mode.  Something tells him skin contact would be a very bad idea with the reflexes she likely possesses, whether organic or wired, so he settles for crouching to eye level and snapping his fingers in front of her face.  "Yo!  We're extracting.  Take thirty seconds to unfuck yourself, and then we need you on mission, so take what you need from them -" he points, focusing her gaze on the scattered Listeners and Listener parts - "and rig the fuck up."

He waits for her to focus/target on the losing side and, not without a pang of trepidation, slaps the butt of the newly-acquired Militech into her hand.

OOC: Time to see if investing in COOL and social skills paid off...
This message was last edited by the player at 19:37, Sun 14 Mar 2021.

FUBAR doesn't adequately describe the situation. It's devolved from lightly-curated anarchy to utter chaos in barely ten seconds.

Shit.

The power being cut is most assuredly prelude to a Listener assault. However, Kentucky can't fix what he can't see, so he activates the tactical flashlight fitted to his subgun, keeps the white-light beam pointed unthreateningly at the floor. Hopefully, the fabric of the tent will contain most of the light.

There's our girl.

"Daphne!" Kenji says firmly, then gentler, "Daphne. You're OK, Daphne. Your dad sent us. We're here to rescue you."

An unflappable Princess Leia type, the client's daughter is not. Kenji briefly toys with the thought of administering a light sedative to calm her down, but she's already got a veritable black pharmacy sloshing around in her bloodstream. More meds is probably not the solution. Instead he keeps it simple and chem-free, coolly and confidently repeating her name. Doing so feels and sounds awkward, but it's a surprisingly effective trick for calming a panicked patient.

"It's OK, Daphne." Kenji coos, stowing the Medscanner. "I need you calm down, OK? We're gonna get you out of here. Can you stand up for me, Daphne?"

-
This message was last edited by the player at 17:20, Mon 15 Mar 2021.

"Wow," Cruz said, watching people flap around like fish - screaming fish.

"Uh, computer looks fine," Cruz said, very grateful that his profession was technology - nothing that could bleed, piss, puke, or spit on you.  He let Kentucky do his thing with the 'peeple'.  Cruz decided now was a good time to hack his newly acquired pistol.  A-dot was actually better shot with a pistol than the shotgun, which he was now planning to pass off to one of the 'revivals'.  Presuming they got their shit together and didn't have to be 'put down'...
This message was last edited by the player at 17:12, Mon 15 Mar 2021.

Things continue to unfold at a manic pace.

In his pocket, Martin's agent chimes, letting him know that Black Jasper has hit him back with a data squirt.  Four of the pictures he sent over come back with emojis and names attached.  The first is the Corp, Monica Del Rey labeled with a thumbs up.  The next is the smartgun capable woman currently retching her guts out on the floor as she tries to rise: Pandora Dangelo.  This pic comes equipped with a flaming, grinning, devil.  The Aldecaldo sits next, Emil Salerno, a thumbs up sitting at the bottom of his pic.  The man himself looks like he's about to swallow his own tongue and foams from the mouth as he thrashes.  The final pic coming through is a slight Asian man, Kim Ji-Hoon (or Ji-Hoon Kim for the English speakers of the world).  Whisper remembers seeing him in the middle of the pack.  Jasper has helpfully labeled Ji-Hoon with three dollar signs.

Pandora snarls at Whisper as she lifts herself up to her feet, leveling off with both hands on the gurney that was her resting place for the last several unknowns.  Saliva and blood runs down her chin, teeth marks in her lip.  Based on the tilt of her head, she examines the pistol in her hands, reflexes checking the weapon, ejecting the clip, evaluating the load, and slamming the magazine home before checking the pipe.  "Eight," she spits. "Fuckers.  Fuckers!  GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!"  She retches one more time, catches herself as one knee buckles, then turns to Whisper, regarding him with featureless eyes that he can see himself reflected in.  "Front towards enemy," she manages.  If being naked in front of god and total strangers while holding a pistol bothers her, Pandora doesn't mention it.

Under Kenji's ministrations, Daphne's spasms subside and she's able to get out a small and confused "Daddy?  Daddy they won't stop..." She might be able to follow direct physical commands, but she's not going to be showing any initiative any time soon.   Not in her current state.

With practiced hands, Cruz attacks the Adjudicator from the recently incinerated Listener who felt the need to point it at him.  The weapon is a piece of precision hardware, tolerances way down below .00mm.  Probably cost a fortune.  And someone already helpfully destroyed all the serial numbers on the weapon.  He'll be dropping people with it in no time.  Six rounds in the weapon, 8 in each of the two magazines he liberated from the body.

Biochemical pain jolts Monica Del Rey into consciousness.  She can hear screaming and cursing even before her eyes open, even before she realizes it's her screaming.  A nice enough looking solo tries to reassure her that she's going to be okay.  Yeah.  She knows she's going to be okay.  One blanked out period ago she was leaving Night City Gracie, and now she's half in a plastic sleeping bag with expensive tech hair literally melted to her head.  Her biomon tells her that her pulse is racing away at 210bpm, courtesy of massive dose of EpiMax.  It also tells her that she's been poisoned with an extra heavy dose of synthetic valium.  A polite little beep informs her she should sit down and relax while practicing her deep breathing routine.

"Take a deep breath, Daphne. That's it, good. Keep breathing. Focus on your breaths. Good. My name's Kentucky. Your daddy's not here; we've got to go to him. Try to stand up."

Kenji stops himself from shaking his head. This is taking too long. The Listeners will be here any second now and the package is at least another minute or two away from being marginally ambulatory. He glances over at the angrily muttering female solo, immediately notices her nudity. The observation, however, isn't sexual- not at the moment, at least. Her strong, lithe physique is clearly combat-specialized. She could help, as long as she's not a loose canon.

Daphne's standing now, albeit wobbly, on her own two feet. The clock keeps ticking. It's time to run or get ready to fight. Either way, they need to leave the tent stat. Kenji tongues the radio transmit button implanted in his upper jaw. "Package is up, barely. We need to move pronto. This tent ain't stopping any lead."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 18:53, Mon 15 Mar 2021.

”Who the fuck are you?” Monica is suddenly sitting bolt upright in the body bag. She blinks several times as she addresses the guy that just called himself Martin., trying to get rid of the sensation of being blinded that comes with having a flashlight shone in your face. Obviously she knows who he is. He’s just told her. He’s Martin. But who the fuck is Martin?

She can feel her heart pounding so hard feels like it’s about to burst out of her chest as she starts completely ignoring all the advice she's getting to stay calm and control her breathing and starts to extract herself from the lingering confines of the plastic that’s wrapped around her legs and rises to her feet.

Kicking the bag away from her with a foot that’s still shod in a stiletto heel that didn’t come off a bargain rack, she looks round, blinks again as she sees a stark naked woman standing there with a gun. ”Looks like you know how to throw a party, Martin.” Monica mutters with a raised eyebrow. ”Do I get a gun too or do I have to get naked first?”
This message was last edited by the player at 19:06, Mon 15 Mar 2021.

"Rise up Ji-Hoon!" Cruz said as he worked the jumpers to release the mind of the small framed Asian dude who was evidently worth $$$.  Which was at least 31 to 60 USD in 2021 dollars on Yelp.  At 3% inflation for 56 years, it came out to $737.54, or roughly $618.56 euro.  That was enough for Cruz to make it happen.  Never mind that Jasper's scale probably wasn't an almost six decade old, shitty restaurant rating app, unit of measure.

When he was done, he looked up to see Monica Del Ray.  "Hey, nice piece," Alex said, eyeing the goods.

He winked, then pointed at a heavy pistol in the debris that Whisper had inadvertently scrounged.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:39, Thu 18 Mar 2021.

Even at a decades old exchange rate, three dollar signs purchases a sniper rifle and several boxes of ammunition.  Not a terrible deal if all goes well.

So Cruz initiates the same procedure he used on Daphne and the others to revive Ji-Hoon, calling up the electronic gods to bless his holy work.  This time, however, the computer balks, not sending the brain back to the older man in a controlled manner.  Instead, it dumps the connection immediately.  Lights flashing from green to an attention getting blinking red.  If Emil is suffering cybernetic withdrawal symptoms, Ji-Hoon is under a nerve gas assault.  The man's body spasms, arching hard, spine taking on a C shape as it bends the wrong way, each and every muscle clenching.  Teeth break under clenched jaws.  Then, like a puppet with cut strings, he collapses, blood leaking from his mouth. (critical fail)

Kentucky catches the violent movement out of the corner of his eye.  He's still trying to get Daphne moving, and she does her best to cooperate, unsure of where to go.  She clutches the sheet tightly around her chest, holding the flowing makeshift dress with one hand, the other pushed against the side of her head.  "Daddy?" she mumbles again.

Finding the pistol the insinuating tech pointed out, Monica is able to arm herself with a satisfactory Militech Blaze Mk 2 Heavy Pistol.  The two extra mags sitting on the tipped over shelf are enough to give the corp hope that she can ruin more than a few people's days.

At the back edge of the tent, Pandora pushes herself through whatever hell she's experiencing and uses the barrel of the Adjudicator to peek through the flap.  "Dark as fuck," she grits out.  "Which way?"

At the moment the question is asked, the world goes weird.  For values of weird where lunatics are called Listeners, and mirrored cybereyes have replaced perfectly good designer models.  Where brains and singed flesh lay scattered across the floor.  Each of the Edgerunners has the immediate sensation of being watched, a ghost just outside their peripheral vision that refuses to come into focus, no matter which way they rip their heads.  A chill of deep fear, the feeling of someone walking over their grave.

"They're coming," Daphne whispers drunkenly.  "He's telling them to go."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:52, Thu 18 Mar 2021.

Addressing the naked solo's query, Kenji points at the rear flap of the tent with his tac-light beam, "Back door. Bottom level, there's an opening to an adjacent garage. That's our way out."

He turns back to his primary charge, instructs, "Daphne, put your right arm around my shoulder," She complies slowly, mechanically- like someone who's been hypnotized. He puts his left arm around her waist, takes up most of her weight which, as it turns out, isn't a lot. Like most trend-chasing corpospawn, she seems to aspire to a casually undernourished look- one cynical Night City style critics have dubbed "'fugee camp chic". In this three-legged configuration, Kenji will still be able to use his sub-gun one-handed (his right), but he'll be shooting from the hip, essentially. Not ideal, but it's the least bad of the few viable options he's been able to come up with.

"Chooms, let's delta!"

-
This message was last edited by the player at 01:47, Fri 19 Mar 2021.

Martin shakes off the momentary case of the Harveys and nods vigorously.  "Yeah.  Bad shit coming."  He takes a quick inventory of the team and the walking wounded, momentarily hanging on which side of the ledger sheet Monica rightly belongs on.  "Kentucky, Pandora, you two plow the road.  Lube, Monica, evac whoever you can.  I've got rear guard."

He lets go of the don't-freak-the-baselines conditioning and gives the boosterware its head as he darts into cover, bringing the Beretta up to cover the ramp.

Kenji, with Miss Copeland in tow, follows Pandora through the tent's rear flap, trying hard not to steal a second glance at the preceding solo's remarkably taught, yet shapely, ass. He illuminates the point trio's path down the slope of stained concrete with the tac-light affixed to his submachine gun. Its powerful white-light beam cuts through the darkness to the foot of the ramp.

If they run into trouble on the way down, he'll aim to suppress first, then get the package behind the nearest available cover as quickly as possible before reassessing the tactical situation. Even buck naked, Pandora looks like she can handle herself. Hopefully, she's cool following his lead.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 17:41, Fri 19 Mar 2021.

”Just wait until you see what it can do in skilled hands.” Monica replied to the dude that had just pointed out the ‘nice piece’ with a deadpan expression on her face, her heels beating a cadence on the floor as she stepped over to where the pistol lay, crouched down to pick it up, ignoring the corpse that lay three feet from it, although her face did betray a flicker of irritation when she saw that there was a long tear ripped in the material of the black pants that made up the lower half of an exec suit that was clearly meant to show off how important the wearer was. When it wasn’t torn and singed. The upper half wasn’t any better.

The two spare magazines disappeared into the pockets of those torn pants, her fingers brushing against her Agent in her right hand pocket - good, still there - and dumb cell in her other still there too. Then she worked the pistol’s action with a casual familiarity that made it clear that she knows her way around the weapon, pumped a round up the spout. Just in case.

And then things started to get really fucking weird. Monica shivered, visibly. Grasped the handle of the pistol just a little tighter. Felt her finger caress the trigger. Slowly. ”Yeah, let’s get the fuck out of here.” She muttered, not bothering to question how Martin knew her name. She knew his because he’d told her. But she hadn’t told him hers. File that away for later.

She looks at the guy that had pointed out the pistol. ”You must be Lube?” She looks around. Martin had said Evac whoever you could. Monica’s take on that was that she could evac herself. Hey, that was doing them a favour. At least she wasn't like the chick that was asking for Daddy. She nodded towards the Asian dude. ”We taking him too?” Apart from her rescuers - Martin, Lube, the other guy, Kentucky? - everyone else seemed to be in various stages of nudity. It didn’t take a great leap of the imagination to look around this Dantesque Three Pi Squared Circle of Hell - even in the dark - and figure out that she’d probably just had a narrow escape. If they got out of here of course.

"Yeah, Lube Job, sometimes Cruz Control," Alex, talking as he moved to secure a suitable gurney.  When Monica asked about Ji-Hoon, Cruz nodded.  He lifted and shifted the Korean into a more dignified posture that wasn't harshing his c-spine quite as much.  "Word is he's worth good euro."

"This dude, is mi hermano," Cruz said moved toward Salerno.  He guided Emil to the stretcher.  "Montemos!" he said, pushing his old pack member onto the gurney.  "Sostén a este hombre. Él es rico," he said, repeating in English the need to hold on the the rich Asian dude, that he subsequently lifted into the stretcher, pretty much on top of Salerno.

"We're contracted for her," A-dot said, as he tilted his head toward Kentucky and Daphne.  "But the more the merrier," he added with a shrug.  Also, fuck these cyber-psychos he thought, but left unsaid.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
We ride!
Hold this man. He is rich.

---

This message was last edited by the GM at 17:41, Fri 19 Mar 2021.

A makeshift train of the mentally compromised and the just plain crazy takes shape.  Pandora leads the way, head on a lopsided swivel.  One of her legs drags slightly and there's a steady stream of mumbling obscenity coming from her mouth, but she's holding it all mostly together, picking a path using the flashlights coming from behind her.  Kenji can see her occasionally glance up, following the rusting signs for "More Parking Below!"

Daphne is a partially incoherent mess, shaking silently with sobs and repeating "stopitstopitstopit," over and over.  Her weight doesn't equate to much for Kenji, but she's still an impediment.  Just not a very big one.

Behind Kenji, Monica and Cruz pull and push the gurney, respectively, one hand gripping pistols, the other gripping the metal rails of the device.  An annoying squeak emanates from the left front wheel every other second or so, adding to the overall sense of shit going on in the garage.  Two naked men lay in a pile on the metal surface, one groaning from the mouth slightly, the other bleeding from the mouth slightly.

Behind them, Whisper pull security, eyes tracking the space behind them, waiting for the inevitable arrival of the Listeners.  He doesn't have to wait long.  Cybernetic ears pick up the sounds of booted feet descending concrete rapidly.  Were he a betting man, Whisper would be placing money on two groups, one coming down the ramp, the other coming from the stairwell.  It's hard to say which group is larger, but the stairway group is closer, the door about fifty feet behind the trail evacuees with two concrete pillars, each a meter wide, the only cover available.  The ramp from above is about 50 meters back, emerging much closer to the tent than the Edgerunners.  Pandora is about a hundred feet from defilade, the LOS break created by the descending ramp.

"Get ready for contact.  Ten seconds.  Two groups, ramp and stairs."  The transmission goes only to Cruz and Takanori, but Martin doesn't want to give the Listeners a verbal cue on his own position or readiness.

His own flashlight is still near the base of the ramp, casting wide-area illumination.  It'll nicely highlight the Listeners coming from that direction unless one takes the time to deal with it.  The group in the stairwell is the more immediate problem.  Martin slides into the shadow of the nearest concrete pillar, takes a knee for stability, and puts his sights on the fire door.  If he's very lucky, the Listeners behind their point man will get tangled up in whatever Martin's bullets do to that first guy.

Beretta Consigliere (heavy pistol) [9/8]
two rounds into the first plugfucker to open the door
Combat Awareness 5: Spot Weakness 5 (+5 damage to first hit each round)

Solo- literally- against two groups of gangoons? Whisper's good, no doubt, but those are hella long odds. Kenji hasn't been a mercenary long enough to shed the SpecOps community's "leave no man behind" ethos. A good part of him hopes he never will be.

"Kentucky. Be there soon as I can," he transmits on the team net, eliciting a backwards glance from the naked female edgerunner.

"Pandora! We got company. Take her. Wait at the foot of the ramp. The others'll be here in a sec." Handing off Daphne is risky, but Pandora would have to be a complete fool to wander off into the pitch dark, essentially on her own, with someone else's hard-earned payday in tow. That's the kind of stupid that gets even the most street-hardened badass zeroed.

Handoff complete, Kenji turns on his heel and races back up the ramp, selecting full auto and switching weapon-light off as he goes.

"Pandora's got Daphne," he says, dashing past the rolling stretcher party.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 19:24, Sat 20 Mar 2021.

Seeing Kentucky move to help Whisper, Cruz plucked the grenade he kept in a cargo pocket and offered to Takanori as he passed.

"Flashbang - might help in the stairway," he added.  While some of these guys might have level dampeners, others anti-dazzle, probability was that not all had both.

With the handoff complete, Cruz kept one hand pushing on the stretcher, and returned the Adjudicator to his primary.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:30, Sat 20 Mar 2021.

”Monica.” Monica offered in reply when Lube gave his handle. Or handles. ”AKA Karma.” She looks to see if the wheels are turning. Yeah. ‘cos Karma’s a bitch.

Introductions out of the way, she slotted into place at the front end of the trolley, hauled it after her, muttering ”You couldn’t have picked another one?” as the squeaky wheel competed with the moaning guy to see which of them could do the best job of broadcasting their presence to anyone in a half mile radius.

Another few steps and Monica started to hear other sounds, ears that were enhanced to give her an edge in Corporate warfare - usually metaphorically, though sometimes literally - picking up vibrations in the air. The sound of the underground, like a tide sweeping towards them, a darkly menacing chatter buzzing through the air, making the small hairs on the back of Monica’s neck stand on end.

She’s about to pass the word but this crew have obviously got their own private channel, ‘cos all of a sudden things start to happen, Kentucky’s on the move, Cruz is passing him something. A flashbang. Right. Her finger caresses the trigger of her newly acquired firepower. as enhanced eyes sweep the area ahead of her.

The parking garage is eerily quiet, a container of pent up energy about to explode.

Squeak...Squeak...Squeak...

At the front of the line, Pandora D'Angelo takes the payday's weight without complaint, continuing her determined shuffle forward, featureless eyes fixed forward, trying to get clear of hell.

Monica Del Rey and Alexander Cruz push their load of semi and unconscious humanity hard, thoughts turning towards the psychos they know are hurtling towards them.  Just not here. Yet.


Squeak...Squeak...Squeak...

Kenji Takanori runs toward trouble, shifting his weapons, trying to buy time for the group.  Trying to make sure that they not only get paid, but that they survive.  Hard to spend eddies if you're dead in a hole in the ground.  Or being cut apart for reasons he can't yet comprehend.

Martin Lowell hunkers behind a concrete column, pistol drawn, sight on the stairwell door from which he can hear feet approaching.  He takes a deep breath.  With his reflexes riding an electrochemical wave, time dilates.  Expands.  Takes on shapes of collapsing possibility, each moment a collapsing universe, lives led leading this moment of inevitability.


Squeak...Squeak...Squeak...

The feeling of dread they just can't shake shifts, voices on the wind promising death.  Or salvation.  If they could just make out the words.


Squeak...Squeak...Squeak...

The stairwell door is pulled open with violence, bouncing off the wall behind.  Martin has just enough time to identify the figure emerging as one of the Heavies that grabbed Daphne outside of the club before he squeezes off a pair of shots at the cyber-armed asshole.  The weapon barks twice in quick succession, shattering the stillness and throwing all the players involved into this universe. The first round punches a small hole through the bastard's armor.  The second can't find a home as the Heavy moves through the space, bringing his rifle to bear. (-2 rounds)

If Martin's pistol shattered the quiet, the nice and fancy Militech assault rifle gives the eardrums of everyone in the space a proper rogering, spewing out a blast of caseless death at Martin. The solo is just able to get his body back in time as a stupid amount of bullets begin chewing apart the cover he has planted himself behind.  The smell of dust and cordite fills the air.

Behind the action and closing rapidly, Kenji hooks the pin on the flashbang on his left index finger, and at a full run, lobs the grenade forward.  Without stopping his movement, he traces the small cylinder through the air with this eyes, even as he changes direction just enough to end up next to Whisper behind a bit of disintegrating cover.  A massive boom and magnesium bright light flashes through the space.  Kentucky can't see it, prepared and blocked as he is for the blast, but aggression has its benefits.  The grenade lands at the feet of the Heavy, detonating just below him.  The blast catches anyone who is with him in the radius as well.  (Critical! -1 flashbang for Cruz)

Martin leans back around the pillar looking to deal with threats.  A Listener with a pistol comes staggering out of the door, clearly under the influence of the flashbang.  The Heavy, steps back, bringing his hand to his face.  The Heavy doesn't look finished off by the flash, but it looks like Kentucky's throw bought Martin a bit of time.  The solo quickly squeezes off another pair of shots at the biggest menace he can see.  The second round skips off, but the first...the first round finds the seam of the Armorjack jacket, punching through the zipper and tearing through the pectoral muscles of the asshole.  At that hit, the man staggers.  Then snarls in soundless rage.  (Critical! -2 rounds)

At this point, Mr. Murphy comes into play leaving Martin and Kenji in a pickle.  They're not outnumbered, they have a wide shot selection.  Two more figures come through the door: the woman who actually tazed Daphne in a slashed t-shirt and cradling an assault rifle in one arm; the other hand pushes a blind and deaf Listener out in front of her who can't seem to understand what just happened to him.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:03, Sat 20 Mar 2021.

Good idea, Lube Job, Kenji thinks, noting with satisfaction the apparent success of the improvised running throw.

Ears ringing a bit from the flash-bang, Kenji leans out from behind the bullet-chewed concrete pillar on one knee and looses a 10-round burst at the Listener framed by the stairwell doorway (the woman?). The sub-gun's suppressor is considerably easier on the hearing than the flash-bang was.

Kentucky
Kneeling behind cover of pillar
Sub-gun 41/40
Popping out to fire 10-round burst at female Listener (apply Luck if needed to hit)

-
This message was last edited by the player at 06:00, Sun 21 Mar 2021.

As the flashbang detonates, a shiver runs through Martin's silicon, affirmation that the Zeiss and Sony-Sennheiser sensory protection systems are doing their thing.  Better yet, the euphemistically-named distraction device seems to have interrupted the torrent of fire coming from Daphne's abductor.  The woman from the snatch team is similarly-armed but her meat-shield is slowing and binding her movement.  She can wait.

Martin takes a knee, leans out beneath the chest-high zone where the incoming fire was concentrated before Kenji's throw, and launches another double-tap at the Listeners' point man.

Beretta Consigliere (heavy pistol) [5/8]
two more rounds at the Heavy
Combat Awareness 5: Spot Weakness 5 (+5 damage to first hit each round)

"Let's slow down just so I can get this sound under control," he whispered to Karma, as he put his new toy on safe and stuck it in his belt.  Cruz drew from his tech bag an 8 oz. can of Water Displacement 40th Formula.  Duck walking, with one hand on the stretcher legs, he kept pushing, and also started lubricating the wheels.  The damn squeaking had to stop - it was libel to draw fire otherwise.

Move + Action
WD-40 (80/80 0.1 oz spritzes)
Two Shots at Each Wheel.  Long Burst on Loudest Wheel.
Field Expertise 5: instead of attempting a lengthy full repair you can elect to instead temporarily repair your target (at the same DV of a typical repair for the item) to perfect condition as an Action (with full SP and HP, if applicable).
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 11:30, Sun 21 Mar 2021.

One of Monica’s eyebrows shot up. ”Is that why they call you Lube Job? Interesting.” The slightly singed woman then adjusted her pace to match the gurney’s progress.Slowing down wasn't a bad thing really. The thousand Euro Dolce and Vergucci heels that she was wearing were great for walking across the bodies of fallen opponents that had had the temerity to cross her in the boardroom, not quite so well suited to actual fighting. She'd briefly considered dumping them on the gurney - she certainly wasn't going to dump them completely - but had swiftly discarded the notion as her pants were designed to be worn with heels, were overly long without them, so she'd likely have ended up tripping over herself and face palming the floor.

Her heart was beating faster again, although this time she judged it was more likely to be because of the sounds of violence that had just erupted ahead of them rather than any drug or stimulant that had been pumped into her.

Monica blinked, once, twice, the nano processors inside the artificial eyes that had replaced two perfectly good ones doing what the manufacturer claimed they would and bringing the scene ahead into sharper focus, the pistol pointing in generally the same direction. Her parameters for engaging were to shoot at anyone that was fully clothed that wasn’t one of the Three Musketeers. She hoped she would get a chance to take a shot. Her nerves were jacked to the max but she wanted to get some payback on the bastards that had snatched her.

Monica
Moving forward
Looking for threats (Both Cybereyes Image Enhance)
Handgun raised
Firing on anyone wearing clothes who isn’t Whisper, Lube, or Kentucky (2 x single shot)

Fifty feet under Night City, the firefight continues.

If the Heavy was supposed to have felt the effects of Whisper's pistol shot, no one told him about it.  With silent rage, the figure brings his rifle to bear on Martin a second time and lets off another burst of assault rifle fire as he starts to circle the column, looking for an open angle.  Martin is treated to another shower of reinforced concrete being reduced to powder and bits, but escapes unscathed again except for a few stings and a nagging question of how much more damage the support can take.

As Martin shakes off his dusting, next to him Kenji draws down on the female Listener and kicks off burst with his SMG in an attempt to give the woman something to think about.  Or, preferably, end her thought process once and for all.  The weapon pushes back into his shoulder, the reassuring thumps telling him that everything is going as planned.  In the tradition of mid-level assholes everywhere, his target ratchets her "ally" around to take the brunt of the burst, catching the man square in the back as he stumbles around.  (-10 rounds)

With a reasonably clear shot and a target moving to a more "friendly" angle, Martin draws a bead and snaps off two more shots at the raging psycho with an assault rifle threatening him.  The first shot catches his target center mass causing a slight stutter in his step, but not enough to keep the Heavy from sidestepping the next round incoming. The bullet disappears somewhere around the ramp to the parking level above.  Martin doesn't track the miss except to notice that the Listeners don't have reinforcements coming from that direction as of yet.(-2 rounds)

Directly in front of Kenji, the female Listener continues to push her shield towards the two Edgerunners in a display of callous disregard for any life that isn't hers.  The assault rifle in her right hand comes up, rests on the shoulder of her dazed companion and blasts off a burst in the medic's direction.  Kentucky goes flat, the bullets passing over his head and blasting a few fist size chunks out of the cover he and Whisper are sharing.  Her shield probably won't be "listening" to anything for a while now, between the flash bang and being used as a living bipod for military hardware.

For those exfiltrating downhill, a ridiculous amount of gunfire is erupting behind them, the occasional ricochet bouncing through the concrete space with cracks and pings.  Their luck holds in that no one is hit.  Pandora hits the ramp and hauls Daphne along for the ride into cover.  Unfortunately she can't see where she's going from this point with her light source coming from behind.  Monica, Cruz, and the lights out duo arrive a second or two later.  "Where are we going now?" Pandora asks.  She's got Daphne pushed against the wall, her own flesh as a shield.

Even in the dark Cruz knows where the vent system they used for access is. It's about 50 meters ahead on the right.  Right past the stairwell door for P3.

Rolling back behind what's left of the pulverized stanchion, Kenji spits out a mouthful of fine concrete powder and does some quick mental math. The Listeners have the advantage in numbers and firepower, and the outgunned Edgerunners' cover is disappearing quickly.

"I'm thinkin' now's a good time to delta," he shouts over the roar of the gangoons' heavy iron.

"I think that's a fine idea," Whisper replies.

"I'll suppress, you find some fresh cover, then we'll switch?"

Whisper nods, coils, ready to spring.

"Go!" Kenji rolls away from the chewed nub of pillar and looses a long burst in the general direction of the bad guy cluster. If he survives the act, Kenji's plan is to get to his feet and sprint after his partner just as fast as his overtuned nervous system will allow.

Kentucky
Heavy sub-gun 31/40
Suppressive fire towards stairwell cluster

-
This message was last edited by the player at 04:37, Mon 22 Mar 2021.

Cruz produced a sound that was something between a chortle and a snort.  "Not exactly," he said with a slight grin.  The tech then took in a deep breath and refocused.

"Yo, fifty meters up, on the right," Cruz said next, as he pushed the gurney and returned the WD-40 to his bag. Adjudicator returned to his right hand.  Alexander gave the P3 stairway door the stink eye, willing it to stay closed as they made their way to the vent system.

"Next part's going to be fun," Cruz said considered the squeeze through that had to be done to get past the fan blade earlier.  He wondered for a moment if a few buckshot rounds at close range might clear one of the blades.  The longer they could use the stretcher, the better.

Moving/Pushing/Extracting
Shooting any hostile targets that show up.
Adjudicator VHP [6/8]

This message was last edited by the player at 14:19, Mon 22 Mar 2021.

When Lube gave naked chick the next waypoint Monica’s eyes drifted in that direction. For a second she wondered if they were going out the staircase, just as quickly discounted it. Too straightforward. No point doing stuff the easy way. No pain, no gain.

”Like I said to your friend, you guys sure know how to throw a party.” Monica murmured as her heels struck the flooring, the sound suddenly drowned out by the rattle of submachine gun fire in a confined space. She flashed him a smile that showed off dazzling dentistry. ”It’s kinda cool really. I mean, violence is hot, yeah?”

"Moving," Martin pants as he kicks off from the crumbling pillar.  He sprints directly away from the Listener shooters for a few meters, then banks off the remnants of a parking stub and alters course toward the next available cover, swapping mags as he goes.

Beretta Consigliere (heavy pistol) [3/8]
moving and reloading
Combat Awareness 5: Spot Weakness 5 (+5 damage to first hit each round)

"Yeah, hot, I guess," Cruz said with a shrug.  "I mean, it's not a sixty-seven Shelby Mustang..." Alex added, "but it's pretty cool."  A-dot said.

Truth was, he wasn't a violence solves the problem, kind of guy.  He'd have joined the Marines or Army if that was the case.  In the Navy, violence was abstracted to blips on screens, at least until Russian Fizik-3 torpedo holed your boat and let the magic gas out, sending you and your shipmates down to a cold, dark grave.

"Oh, if you see a kid with a machete, he's Royce and he's cool," Cruz said, shifting his thoughts from the days of dying in a tin can, to the days of dying here in this shitty garage.

As Martin breaks away, the Heavy gets off another blast with his rifle, ripping the air with ten more pieces of kinetic death.  The bullets hurl through the air, impacting on the general consensus the PCs shouldn't die on their first firefight.  The single bullet that gets through Martin's bobbing, weaving, and narrative armor bounces off of his actual armor, leaving not much more than a bruise on the Solo's backside and a lesson than autofire is fucking ruthless (gm takes notes).  The second concrete pillar beckons, and Whisper is able to reach cover before any more lead gets sent his way.  He doesn't hesitate, immediately setting up to cover his partner.

The same time Martin runs, Kenji leans out and lets loose a burst with his submachine gun in the hopes of putting some heads down.  The rank and file listeners still under the effects of the flashbang don't react.  Caught out in the open with bullets flying everywhere, the female Listener scampers back into the stairwell.  For his part, the pissed off heavy just keeps coming.  The good news is that the tough is out of ammo and will either have to resort to melee attacks or reload on his next action.  (-10 rounds)  As soon as the burst is finished, Kentucky puts down his head and sprints, arriving in cover a few seconds after Whisper does.

One level down, Pandora drags Daphne along.  The younger girl whimpers under the constant urging of movement the solo inflicts on her.  That, or the bouncer hook Pandora's using driving the thumb of her left hand up into Daphne's right arm pit and lifting just enough that their payday can't stop moving without dealing with some pain.  Not enough to wound, enough to keep her motivated.

Cruz and Del Rey keep pushing.  With the distance to the stair well decreasing, Monica's ears pick up the sounds of bullets bouncing through the vertical space.  She can also hear steps coming down.  Three or four pairs of feet arriving next round.  Cruz doesn't need to be told, he can see the flashes of light from barrel mounted illumination through the narrow  window on the metal door.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:26, Wed 24 Mar 2021.

Kenji slides into cover alongside his teammate, pleasantly surprised to have made it there unscathed. At first glance, Whisper appears unhurt.

"You OK?" Kenji gasps, eyes returning downrange, searching for the next target. It occurs to him that he's burning through ammo at a fair clip, but without significantly reducing the number of bad guys. He can't afford to miss again.

Kentucky
Sub-gun 21/40
Peeking out of cover to locate & engage next target


-
This message was last edited by the player at 00:54, Fri 26 Mar 2021.

Martin does a quick blood check with his support hand.  It comes away clean.  "I'll feel it tomorrow," he says, thankful (not for the first time) for modern material science.

Protected from the effects of autofire and tinnitus, his auditory chrome picks up the clatter of a magazine hitting concrete.  "Fucker's reloading," he hisses, and pops out to exploit the opening.

Beretta Consigliere (heavy pistol) [9/8]
two more rounds on the heavy... something has to connect sooner or later
Combat Awareness 5: Spot Weakness 5 (+5 damage to first hit each round)

Cruz moves clear of the stretcher, switches to his shotgun, and goes prone 6 yards from the door.  With that many dancing lights under the door, he'd hoped that he could get more than one in the buckshot blast.  Hell, maybe even penetrate some armor.  It could happen...

870P+
Incendiary Shells [5/8]
Shooting badguys in the doorway at maximum rate.  Can I use luck to increase damage die?  If I can, I'm dumping all 5 points in.  Otherwise Cruz might not be alive in a round to use it later...
This message was last edited by the player at 08:34, Thu 25 Mar 2021.

On P2, Whisper leans around new column to discover that the empty magazine isn't the only thing hitting the floor.  The Heavy's assault rifle sails through the air, forgoing bullets for pure aggression.  And a giant set of Wolvers sprouting from his raised cyberarm.  A snarl sets frozen on his lips as he charges forward.  Martin, however, has something to say about that.  Pistol comes up, sight goes full, and the trigger gets depressed twice in quick succession.  The first round strikes hard, the Heavy losing a step in his stride from the impact, the stride taking on a decided limp.  Perhaps anticipating the continued movement of his target, Martin leads the second round a bit far and fails to score a second hit. (-2 rounds)

Next to him, Kenji flips on the "sit the fuck down and shut the fuck light," and lets rip another burst of fire from his SMG.  This lights the Heavy up, bullets scoring flesh and dropping the guy to the ground.  Presumably permanently, though he is squirming a little bit. (-10 rounds).

Behind their joint target, Whisper and Kentucky can see the telltale spots of weapon mounted flashlights coming down the parking ramp.  With a little effort, the duo will be down to P3 before the current threat arrives.  The female Listener is nowhere to be seen.

Down on P3, the trio that has so far escaped the direct violence gets to take a turn, much to the surprise of the Listeners that come crashing through the stairwell door only to find themselves on the receving end of a death funnel.  On the ground, Lube Job lets loose with his shotgun flashburning more of the concrete walls.  The buck shot catches the lead Listener square in the chest, the flaming bits of magnesium blowing him apart into smoldering chunks of augmented flesh.  Two other Listeners find themselves on fire, only the fourth managing to avoid trouble for now. (-1 incendiary shell)

Standing in front of the stretcher, Monica lines up the newly acquired pistol in her nicely manicured hand and squeezes off a pair of rounds through the doorway at the burning silhouette of a Listener. Both rounds find their way home, slapping into burning flesh. (-2 rounds) Pandora, understanding words like "payday" and "vengence," puts herself in front of Daphne and squeezes off one round from the Adjudicator while still on the move.  The weapon barks, a bass tone that reverberates through the garage.  The bullet punches through the throat of the other burning Listener, flatlining the shithead.

The Edgerunners are still under heavy threat, but starting to claw back some momentum.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:00, Fri 26 Mar 2021.

"Time to go," Martin observes.  "Fuck," he adds a moment later, as the sound of Lube's shotgun comes from the next level down and visions of a blown mission flit through his head.  As soon as Kentucky acknowledges the need to vacate P2, he gives the Heavy a final assessment (and an insurance round if it looks like he's about to get up again), then bolts for the sounds of renewed gunfights.

Beretta Consigliere (heavy pistol) [7/8]
insurance shot on the Heavy if needed, then running to the next fight, ready to put rounds on the next Listener
Combat Awareness 5: Spot Weakness 5 (+5 damage to first hit each round)

"Sounds like we got 'em surrounded from the inside," Kenji quips, the sound of gunfire echoing up from P3 indicating that the odds have just swung back in favor of the opposition. There's no doubt he and Whisper are outnumbered by the Listeners descending on them from P1 and the P2 stairwell; maybe the reunited team of Edgerunners will have a localized numbers advantage on the level below. "Vamanos," he accedes, rising and advancing at speed to the rear, preparing to reinforce Lube Job's traveling circus.

Kentucky
Sub-gun (11/40)
Autofire burst v any live Listener he encounters at optimal range
-
This message was last edited by the player at 05:18, Fri 26 Mar 2021.

There was no time to celebrate turning one of these assholes into salsa orgánica, gruesa y gruesa.  Alexander rolled, pumped the shotgun, then fired off another round into the closets of the two remaining Listeners.

870P+
Incendiary Shells [4/8]
Shooting closest bad guy.  If I can roll right or left get both in the pattern, then cool.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 10:21, Fri 26 Mar 2021.

”Fuck you fucking mother fuckers.” There’s a distinct note of satisfaction in Monica’s voice even if the curse if slightly repetitive. She didn’t know who these pricks were but they’d grabbed her, doubtless had intended for her to end up the same as the dudes sharing the gurney. Which was really freaking her out. The thought of being hooked up to something, not dead but not alive either. That was very definitely not chilled. So flatlining one of them made her feel a whole lot better about the situation.

The pistol moves in her hand as she seeks out a fresh target. Her adrenaline is still buzzing. It’s more effective stress therapy than a day at a hydro spa. Cheaper as well.

MDR
Heavy Pistol (?/?) *
Firing 2 shots at first target ID’d

* Not sure if Monica would know how many rounds she has as. the pistol was a hand me down

Cruz executes a barrel roll to his left, crossing three feet of abandoned parking garage floor before lining up his shotgun with the two Listeners who remain standing.  The first gives into the panic of being burnt alive inside his body armor and begins frantically trying to put himself out, turning a blind eye to the other threats around him.  Behind the cut-rate Human Torch, the last Listener in the stairwell is trying to bring his own Adjudicator to bear on Cruz.  Cruz disagrees with this course of action and pulls the trigger on his flamethrower.  Magnesium flashes out again, washing over the already lit Listener and igniting his companion.  (-1 incendiary round).

At the bottom of the parking ramp, Kentucky finds himself in the optimal situation of having two self lit targets dancing in the dark.  After trotting forward a few more meters he brings up his can-opener and tries to facilitate the arrival of another Listener to whatever he is listening to.  The weapon coughs out another steady stream of bullets that connect with the panicked cyber-nutjob and immediately cease all efforts of self-extinguishment by the unfortunate asshole.  A smoldering corpse hits the ground. (-10 rounds)

The range for Martin isn't optimal, but the solo has the same target profile that Kentucky had available, except for one target that is giving up the ghost (though still providing illumination).  The second Listener is just outside the stairwell door, and Martin elects to add some pressure to the gangers decision matrix.  He snaps off 2 quick rounds, the first connecting, the second going wide.  The bullet impact twists the Listener on his feet, but he doesn't go down.  (-2 rounds)

Near the fan blades, Pandora turns her attention away from the gunfight and starts navigating Daphne through the obstacle course.  A scowl crosses her face when she sees the small platform she'll be dragging Daphne across, but she doesn't hesitate, just tightens her grip on the moaning girl and starts cajoling in between curses and threats to the voices in her head.

Behind her, Monica punctuates two more trigger pulls with obscene invectives directed at the poor Listener who had the bad luck to cross pissed of Edgerunners who all react faster than he does.  Enhanced ears pick up the sound of the first round richoeting off her target, but the second finds a home, punching a hole in the armored coat that is failing to provide adequate protection to its owner. (-2 rounds)

For his own part, the sole surviving Listener manages to reflexively squeeze the trigger on his pistol as he succumbs to the flames consuming him.  He'll never know it, but the bullet almost manages to catch Cruz.  Almost.  The tech pulls a second barrel roll and get out of the way just in time to get hit with bullet fragments and concrete bit that don't do much more than add some character to his armorjack.

The garage goes quiet except for a slight ringing in everyone's ears.

And the sounds of booted feet rushing across P2 somewhere above and behind Whisper and Kentucky.

"Let's go!" Kenji hisses, reloading his sub-gun and positioning himself to act as rearguard. He doesn't mention the vent in case the pursuing Listeners have augmented hearing. When the others start rolling out, the combat medic backpedals smoothly, covering the team's six as they move to and through the opening into the adjacent underground parking structure. If the bad guys show themselves, he'll try to scatter them with a burst, buy a few more seconds.

Kentucky
Reloading 1/40 -> 41/40
Rear guard
-
This message was last edited by the player at 23:09, Sat 27 Mar 2021.

With the last target down hard, Cruz popped up to his feet, then slung his shotgun.  He was glad that the incendiary ammo had better results than it did earlier.  Being a tinkerer, Alex couldn't wait to get back to the shop and try some new loads and maybe mod the gun a bit, based on his experiences with these 'listners'.  Now however, was the time to vamos.

At a trot, he moved to grab another Adjudicator.  He skipped the mags and ammo this time, cognizant of the need for speed.  He double checked the safety, the slid it into his techbag (which looked a lot like a leather man-purse).  He moved with purpose to the fans, with the goal of getting everyone through as quickly as possible.

”So what’s the plan?” Monica asked Lube as she extracted one of the spare magazines from her pocket, swapped it out for the partly expended one. May as well do it now, while she had the chance. Just in case.

”I mean, I’m guessing you didn’t get in here the same way that I did.” Unconscious and in a bag. Her free hand was on the gurney again, the pistol still held in her other, the sounds of shooting replaced by the click of her heels on the garage floor as she followed Lube.

In reply to Monica Del Rey (msg # 212):

"We came in through the back door.  It's a tight squeeze though.  You gotta take it slow, you know what I'm sayin'?" Cruz replied in answer to Del Rey's question.  He cleared his throat, then pointed at the fan duct ahead.

"Gotta drag these dudes through.  If you can haul Crazy Rich Asian, I'll have one of los vaqueros take mi hermano through.  I'll dump some magnesium ammo in this choke point in case we get followed.  Blast some fools if they try to trail us."

With that, Lube Job pulled out some incendiary buckshot shells and loaded his Remberg 870P+ to the max.  With the remaining loads, he started loosening the plastic shell closure, slinging his shotgun so he could focus on not dumping the contents out... at least not yet.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:23, Tue 30 Mar 2021.

At the fans, Pandora pushes Daphne through the second set of blades before setting her down against the wall.  "Stay," she hisses to the payday belonging to Cruz, Whisper, and Kentucky before turning back to the fans to receive the bodies.  Monica slides through the first fan, grabs Ji-Hoon underneath his arms pits and pulls him across the narrow walkway before handing him off to Pandora.  The human chain continues with Cruz dragging their Aldecaldo acquisition through and passing him through to the collection of XX chromosomes on the far side of the rusted blades.  While Whisper goes through, Cruz sets about dumping tiny balls of magnesium buckshot to prep a nasty surprise for the Listener pursuit.

Outside the fans, Kenji kneels, submachine gun pulled tight to his shoulder, eyes sweeping the space.  The light on the end of his SMG casts a small ball of light through the dark garage, enough to stab out at a target and more than enough to tell someone else where he is.  At the far end of the garage he can see multiple lights coming down the ramp though they haven't turned yet to face him.  If he had to guess, it's a group of four or five Listeners moving quickly.

"Yo Kentucky," Cruz calls out softly, "this place is gonna burn like the clap.  Not that I have it," he tacks on quickly, looking back over his shoulder.  "Let's go."

Kentucky ducks through, picks his way carefully across the now ball-bearing equipped metal platform, and finds himself back with the group.  Daphne's leaning hard on Pandora, Whisper's got Emil draped over a shoulder in a fireman's carry, Monica doing the same with the smaller Kim Ji-Hoon.

"Quieter on this side," Pandora grits out, aiming her blank eyes at Whisper.  "In my head."

"I like where your head's at, Lube," Kenji says, as he steps carefully over and around the scattered incendiary buckshot. Once safely on the other side, he scans the motley assemblage, tries to bring a little order to the chaos.

"We're gonna need some more wheels," he muses out loud. There's no way they'll be able to fit eight people, including two stretcher cases, inside the stank-ass rental sedan. But that's putting the cart before the horse. They all need to reach daylight, first.

Presumably, Cruz Control has a plan to ignite the pyro, so he'll need to bring up the rear. And he shouldn't be alone. Kenji would volunteer for the job, but he's been neglecting his patients and should probably have another look at Daphne, at the least.

"Whisper, help Lube light up the Listeners, then delta. I'll take everybody else to the surface. Hopefully, we'll have a ride waiting when you get there."

Assuming there are no major objections or alterations to his plan, Kenji starts leading the others to the surface, hoping that the Listeners haven't figured out how the intruders got into their lair yet, and are sending a force to cut them off at street level.

Assuming the motley crew makes it to P1...

Reaching the P1 switchback, Kenji announces, "Let's take a break." Hoping his agent has service here, just below street level, he thumbs speed-dial for Black Jasper, waits for someone to pick up (or voice mail),

"Kentucky here. We're gonna need curbside pickup ASAP. Got four bonus packages and the neighbors are a bit rowdy."

Kenji takes a knee and opens his medpack, extracts a Mylar space blanket. Noticing the bedraggled corporat with the really big gun [Monica], he introduces himself, "I'm Kentucky." The MedTech opens the blanket, quickly cuts a slit in the middle and hands it to Pandora. "Poncho."

Moving to gig's main objective, he asks, "Daphne, how're you doin'?"

-
This message was last edited by the player at 01:21, Thu 01 Apr 2021.

General consensus is reached with Kenji's plan.  Especially since nothing better is on the table.  There's a short spasm of activity, Whisper hands Emil off to Kenji. The small Nomad doesn't take much to support, he's more of a block to effective weapon handling than a cause of exertion.  He moans a bit at the transfer, but still can't manage much more than a drool.  The reconfigured caravan shuffles out, headed for the surface leaving behind two Edgerunners with devilish imaginations to slow or end Listener pursuit.

Lube waits, squatting on top of a rotting car that won't stop much more than a screwdriver shoved by a toddler with his shotgun cradled in his arms.  He's up high, has to be to get the angle. Behind the tech, Whisper checks his ammo, slows his breathing and slips into the Zen trance that precedes violence.  The Listeners aren't shy about arriving at the fan blades.  A crash signifies the gurney hitting the floor.  There's a wrench of tearing metal as the first fan is removed from its housing that gets a few raised eyebrows from the ambushers.  Then footsteps.  A crack as someone loses their footing on magnesium marbles.

"Yeah, fuck it.  Vaya al infierno," Lube Job quips before firing off his ignition round.  Below his hip, Whisper throws a couple rounds downrange for good measure.  Then they're moving because nothing announces your position and attracts incoming fire quite like a flamethrower.  The hood of the car buckles as Lube hops down, his boot driving through rust before halting on a 4-cylinder piece of imported shit with a thud.  Whisper grabs his partner, pulls him off the car and starts hustling across the water stained, mold filled parking structure.

Behind the duo, the void space erupts into a bright fireball that casts the shadows of the fleeing Edgerunners forward for several seconds before burning itself out and returning the area to subterranean darkness.  There aren't any screams, but there is a heavy splash that carries across the space.  Someone has a found a gravity assisted shortcut to P4.  Maybe they'll drown, Whisper hopes silently, moving his attention to breathing and not slipping on the decades of yuck his boots are pounding across.

Up ahead, Kenji sets up a quick rendezvous point on the dry ground of P1 stairwell landing.  He's got to get organized, get this whole shit show figured out before they have more company.  The last thing anyone needs is the Scavs in the mall to come looking at all the noise and decide that there's some easy pickings available.  Pandora shoots the medic an inscrutable glance when he offers her the Mylar blanket, but she accepts it without complaint.  The silver reflective eyes make it damn hard to figure out what anyone is feeling unless they are a: unconscious  (Emil and Ji-Hoon) or b: sobbing (like Daphne).  Pandora shifts away in a crinkle of shiny fabric to cover their six down the stairs while Monica watches for surprises from above.

"Kentucky," Black Jasper chuckles, "Sorry to hear about the neighbors.  Two rental SUVs are on the way to your car's last.  Can you vector me in from there?"

"Half a block due south," Kenji reports succinctly. "Pedestrian entrance to the parking garage of the mall."

"Got ya."

The sound of gunfire begins echoing through the dark concrete caverns again.  Perhaps the Listeners are expecting more nasty surprises or maybe they're just pissed off.  In either case, Parking Level P3 is a death trap of ricochets and tracer fire.  It's a spot Cruz and Lowell are happy to leave behind.  The duo dashes into the stairwell and starts climbing, lungs burning and boots thumping hard on the concrete.

"Go! Vamanos!"  Cruz shouts up the stairs.

Kenji doesn't need to be told twice.  Neither does any one else.  Trying to be as gentle as possible, the medic pulls the crying Daphne to her feet and starts to hustle her up the stairs.  Their new corporate addition, Monica, blasts up the steps, stalking out into daylight like someone on the other side of the door owes her a great deal of money, weapon up and bad attitude brandished.  Kenji with Daphne in tow and Emil over a shoulder clears the stairs next, squinting against the bright California sun for a moment and trying to make sense of the situation at hand.  The rubble is still there, Scavs no where to be seen.  Two black SUVs are screaming down the street, possessed by some operating code that has sent them to his location in a hurry.  Pandora pushes Kentucky aside, Ji-Hoon over her shoulder, mirror blanket sending a disco ball effect against the walls of the nearby buildings.

Inside the stairs, Whisper and Lube hit the first level landing before they hear the door open on P3 below them.  Without exchanging a word, both men pause, aim their weapons down the shaft, and rain more violence down on their pursuers.  It's a continues trigger pull twenty feet below ground, the sonic assault punishing even with internally surprised weapons.  A concrete tube can only take so many breaches of the sound barrier before everybody badly wants to be somewhere else.

"Let's go!" Pandora yells down from above.  "Get the fuck gone!"

The rear security element emerges to find Lube pushing Daphne into an SUV, body between her and any emerging threats.  Up front, Monica slides into the passenger seat clutching her own weapon.  The rear hatch shuts slowly, the naked form of Emil disappearing from view. Another SUV sits nearby, rear hatch closing to seal Ji-Hoon in.  Pandora, draped in mylar poncho stands near the open front passenger door, pistol gripped tightly and aimed at the door behind Whisper and Lube.  The rear passenger door is open, waiting.  They don't need to be told where to go.

Lube's boot hits the running bar and he vaults into the vehicle sliding all the way across the back seat.  It doesn't hurt much, not until Whisper lands basically on top of him, shoving his head against the side door.  There's several bangs: two gun shots, two car doors, and a sudden sense of acceleration.

As the vehicles speed away, Whisper raises his head and sweeps the area for any remaining threats.  For a split second he catches a glimpse of Royce huddled down between a few bits of concrete and watching the whole show unfold, face plastered with a lopsided grin.

I'm the one natural one, make it easy
We can take it inside
I can have it cause I act like I love it
It's a matter of pride

Yeah, we can take it
Good excuse for an endless spree
Good because we made it
Your world is falling down, you may as well crash with me

-Folk Implosion, Natural One