<<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.