The sense of angst remains omnipresent, a miasma of despair that swirls around Nyx’s mind, torments her soul with unceasing promises of a death that would be neither swift nor painless. And then she sees a door open and those disembodied taunts coalesce around a single shape that strides towards her with the same sense of dread purpose that she moves towards him, each step they take reducing the distance between them.

Was it him? Had he caused this? Nyx smiles to herself as the layers of black kevlar that had covered her face move swiftly and silently back into their assigned niches in her armored bodyglove, revealing her face to the approaching manifestation of death. She wants him to see her. To know who killed him.

The black clad Soviet sentinel’s lips curl into a smile as cool air brushes over her newly exposed skin. Only one of them is going to walk away from this fight. The violence is going to soar to new heights, a zenith of chaos and fury that is about to erupt and she is going to be at the center of it, standing in the eye of the hurricane as it tries to rip her apart.

The whip in his hand crackles, sings, as energy courses through it, the air around it humming and sizzling, a weapon for the new times unlike the katana that is held in Nyx’s hands. Old versus new. The assassin lunges into her opponent’s reach, a pirouette that would have been breathtaking in its elegance if it had been on stage at the Bolshoi and a prima ballerina’s goal was to decapitate the male lead in a dance of death.

Folded steel hisses through the air, carving its own song as it seeks its mark, one that is whispered softly, in contrast to the frenetic tech beat that is the whip her opponent wields, the neo Gladiators joining battle in their own Coliseum.

Nyx
Moving towards whipmeister and engaging with katana
As many attacks as possible (no particular part of the body targeted)

On the other side of town, the beatings continue apace.

Caldwell the Netrunner jacks out of the Listener system, wiping sweat from his brow.  His nerves sing as the world slows back down, the electronic space giving way to the speed of meat.  There’s a series of dull thumps and grunting that draws his attention back to the physical.  He gives off a chirp of surprise when he sees his boss slamming the face of a Listener repeatedly into her knee, blood flowing liberally from her arm, feral grin on her face.  She looks like she’s actually enjoying this moment.

“I got it!” Caldwell yells.  “I got the data!”

Monica doesn’t even look at him.  “Great.” Thud.  “Slag.” Thud. “The.” Thud. “Stack!” Crack. The Listener’s jaw folds, metal bending from repeated the repeated impacts.  MDR lets the unconscious shit bag drop to the ground, bleeds on him a little bit, then begins the process of dismantling the rest of his implanted cyberware with a combination of harsh language and the heel of her boot.  Because fuck this guy.

On the other side of the room, the Netrunner tries to block out the sound of meaty splats coming from behind him while he places a shaped thermite charge on the Listener computer system.  Practiced fingers find the necessary slot in between the data spikes and the internal storage and he pulls the thin tab that turns the simple tool into a creature of exothermic chemistry.  A deceptively quiet pop sounds and the air is suddenly inundated with the scent of burning plastic.  With any luck, he won’t burn the building down.

Monica grabs Caldwell by the collar, dragging him to the door leaving behind boot prints of Listener goo.  “Up!  Up!”

Arriving at the third floor unveils a scene reminiscent of Lucha Libre wrestling match.  Pandora uses the damaged body of one Listener to pummel a second into the floor.  Ringo’s on the ground wrenching the neck of the final Listener back in a modified sleeper hold while the poor bastard tries to get his pistol turned at an angle to get the solo off his back.  He isn’t quick enough.  Ringo twists, gets her legs locked under a couch for leverage, and arches her back.  The cervical spine of the cultist lets go with muffled crunch.

“Kannerack?” Karma snaps out.

“Other room,” Ringo pants, separating herself from her victim.  She dusts her self off while she catches her breath. “Hospital bed. Psychotic fucks have her all gorked out and hooked up to a veritable cornucopia of computer bullshit.”

“Can she be moved?”

Ringo shrugs in a motion that says: not my department.. “Sure?”

Pandora finishes off her own task and ambles over.  “Do you smell burning?”

Current evidence suggests that the thermite burning downstairs might be a tad more effective than strictly necessary.

“Grab the girl.  Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:36, Sun 05 June 2022.

"Whoa," Cruz manages to get out as the drone finishes its attack run.  Alex extends his left arm at the drone as it starts to fly away.  10 milliseconds after his mental command, the Militech Arms M-5445B Adjudicator Smartgun had cleared the cyberarm housing and was ready to fire.  With 8-rds ready, Lube waited for the smart part of the Smartgun to optimize the shot, then fired.


1 round at drone from the excellent quality Adjudicator Smartgun [Grants +2 to Ranged Attacks Checks]
[8/8]

Lying on her side within a settling cloud of pulverized drywall, Sam points her Adjudicator at the passing drone and squeezes the trigger repeatedly. It's less from any realistic expectation of hitting the small, fast-moving target, and more from a reflexive response to being nearly decapitated by a flying machine- fight or flight in the 21st century.

-

Squaring off like Mark Bonds, Kenji swings.  Were the techpriest’s knee a ball, the result would have been a line drive.  As it is, there’s a pleasant (or unpleasant depending on perspective) crunch as the submachine gun makes a decent impersonation of a Louisville Slugger.  Bone snaps and the Listener goes down with an audible hiss of pain.  With momentum on his side, Kenji drives his attack forward.  The submachine gun goes up in the air, turns, and lands in his hand in the proper orientation for a ranged weapon.  A single bullet thumps out from a smooth trigger pull.  The tech priest starts to raise his head only to have it smacked back down courtesy of high velocity metal.  Flesh tears out of his cheek to reveal the sub-dermal reinforcement underneath.  Still, that had to hurt.  (-1 round)

Broken leg and bullet to the face or not, the Priest twists and throws himself forward claws leading the way.  Kenji pushes off his forward leg and slides back out of range, claws finding only empty air.

Backpedaling furiously, Whisper gets some distance between himself and the raging/bleeding Mesa.  It’s not so much a question of aiming the Adjudicator as just pushing it towards the onrushing psycho and pulling the trigger.  The hand cannon goes off a second time, a heavy caliber round looking for a home in the chest of its target.  Mesa helpfully fails to get out of the way, staggering as the impact shatters bone and steel.  He looks like dog shit.  He looks like he could fall down at any second.

He looks like he’s still coming. (-1 round)

A reinforced roundhouse slams into Martin’s chest, picking him up and throwing him back (-8HPs, -1 armor).  The good news is that Mesa hit hit him so hard that he flies clear of the follow up swing.  The solo will be feeling that hit in the morning.

Nyx flows into combat with the Herald, the two of them engaging in a fierce dance.  Her opponent is fast, surprisingly so.  Even with enhanced nerves the whip is splitting the air towards her before she can fully close the distance.  Sonic booms crack out as the waited tip finds the range.  There’s a still moment of nothing then Nyx feels the cold burn of rent flesh.  It’s not bad, she knows that much, won’t even slow her down.  Maybe just piss her off. (-6 HP, -2 armor)

Katana leading the way, Nyx closes the distance with her opponent and pirouettes once, blade thirsting for blood.  It won’t get it with the first pass.  The Herald folds back, blade passing over his chest.  Nyx twists her grip, cuts back and makes contact, blade tearing through reinforced flesh.  It’s not enough to stop her opponent.  A split second moment passes, two killers evaluating each other. Taking the measure.  Then the dance continues.

The drone at the top of the stairs banks hard, spinning almost in place as the driver (wherever he is) reorients for a second pass.  Sam and Cruz hope to not give him the chance.  Two Adjudicators bark out, side by side.  Sam’s bullet tears into the thin armor plating that shields the drone from attack, sparks and metal shards flying.  Alex’s bullet follows the detective’s right into the drone.  The vehicle lists hard, rotors flaming out on the right side of the craft and drops to the ground. (-1 round each)

Cipher and Lube scamper out of the way as a burst of fire sprays out of the drone’s front for a second time, but the blast is ineffectual, serving nothing more than to turn the craft away in the hall.  It’s a threat, but now only a minor one.

Continued moans and whimpers come from the stairs behind as Viceroy continues to climb.

The opening moves spark a heightened sense of awareness in Nyx’s head, a euphoria of sorts as she feels the kiss of the lash rip at flesh and fibre, a rush of blood through her veins, the sense of her own heart pounding in her ears, of nerves that are on fire as the katana attempts to even the score.

The first round leaving both opponents blooded but far from beaten.

It almost feels like foreplay to Tri. An appetizer for the delights still to come, the dance of death that is unfolding between them as sound and fury erupts all around them. Everything else is there but not there. This is personal. Intimate. Their own private tryst. And only one of them is going to walk away from it. The ultimate zero sum game.

The Russian killer looks her opponent in the eyes for a split second. Then lunges forward again, the katana held in both hands, a whirlwind of finely honed steel glinting as she tries to stay in close, where the whip might be less effective and land a more debilitating strike than her previous efforts.

Cruz wanted that drone.  He bolted from his static position to flank the damn thing, his tool hand quivering in anticipation of rendering it... fully compliant.  He would deeply probe its internals; all five of his specialized fingers penetrating the drone's housing, until it was his and his alone.  Cruz was going to use that drone like a 5 eb. Thai... well, you get the point.

Sam rises, brushes drywall dust from her hair. The tampon-equipped tech seems intimately occupied with the now quiescent killer drone, so the private eye heads in the direction Nyx had gone, ready to render assistance should the Russian solo require it. Having lost track of how many rounds she'd fired from the Adjudicator, Sam takes this opportunity to reload the big pistol.

-

Kenji almost has to admire the techno-priest's toughness and drive, but it's hard to truly appreciate someone who's trying extremely hard to kill you. The combat medtech's internal counter is telling him the subgun is running danger low on ammo, but there's no time to reload. He empties the mag at the badly injured but still very dangerous Listener cleric, hoping he has the rounds- and the aim- to finish the job.

-

The neural feed from Martin's CorpoReal helpfully informs him that he has a cracked rib.  Long experience with blunt force trauma had already gotten him to that point without cybernetic assistance, but it's good to know that Philips' programming team agrees with his assessment.

Getting up will take time he can ill afford to spare, but getting into a ground fight with Mesa - or, worse, staying down and getting curb-stomped - is definitely a losing proposition.  He's lost the Consigliere somewhere but the Adjudicator is still in his dominant hand, so he pushes himself to a knee, cranks off a third round at the oncoming mountain of sloppily-installed chrome, and uses the shock of the recoil to clear his head and force himself back to his feet.

[37/45 HP, torso armor -1]
Militech Adjudicator (very heavy pistol) [7/8 AP ammo]
One shot to center of mass on Mesa, moving back toward Kenji
Combat Awareness 5: Initiative Reaction 5 (+5 to Initiative rolls)

Bullets thump out of the SMG in Kentucky’s shoulder, tracing a line across the short distance between the medic and his target.  Unfortunately while bring his weapon around, the loose sling strap catches in Kenji’s harness, halting the momentum necessary to get the barrel pointed where it needs to go.  The hoped for spray of death and dismemberment disappears into the concrete walls, a final tracer round announcing the empty magazine by bouncing between the cleric, Mesa, and Whisper, ping-ponging its way down the hall.  (emptied magazine, critical failure)

For his part, the cleric holds still for a second, perhaps taken aback by the fact that several bullets just passed harmlessly through the space around him.  Perhaps his faith has been rewarded.  It’s enough to push him to renew his attack.  Razor sharp claws reach out to rend Kenji’s flesh again.  Once.  Twice.  Still tangled in his harness, Kenji can’t get out of way of the first attack.  The claws come through, ripping past the armor protecting his flesh.   The sling snaps, ripped in two by the same attack.  Freed from his mess, Kentucky ducks the second swing, escaping further damage. (-3 HP, -1 SP)

Behind the medic, Whisper takes fairly desperate shot at the oncoming cyber psychotic storm heading his way.  Turns out his luck is as bad as his partner’s for the offense.  The round goes wide and Mesa rampages into the Solo’s personal space.  Two massive swings come his way.  Martin’s first attempt to dodge the haymaker is a thing of beauty to behold, the recoil of the howitzer in his hand propelling him to his feet and back.  If the dodge is beautiful, the attack is sublime, fully anticipating where Martin would end up.  The impact slams Whisper into the wall where he has nowhere to go to avoid the follow up, another fist cracking into his torso. (- 1 round, critical failure, total of -4 HP, -2 SP)

The dance of death Nyx engages in continues, its terrible beauty visible only to its participants.  Another sonic boom cracks over the Russian’s head as the whip seeks blood.  Sweeping under this attack is trivial, she saw it coming seconds before it arrived.  Maybe so much so that she gets cocky.  The follow up finds her body, armor tearing as it does its job and slows the blow enough that her skin only tears instead of being rent open. (-3 HP -1 SP) 

Nyx’s lunge goes forward, hands driving the curved blade towards the hostile machine/flesh hybrid.  The point punches into her target, thirsting for blood and it drinks.  When the sword comes free, Nyx is treated to a spray of blood, the beads running down the surface of her suit.  The Herald hisses at the contact and comes for more, stepping past the follow up swing, and avoiding further damage.

Upstairs, Lube’s hand tools descend into the guts of the helpless drone, trained hands attacking the circuit boards and mechanical innards.   It’s over in seconds.  The built in failsafes fall to the onslaught of skilled hands.  Lube owns this thing.  Better yet, he’s restored one of the engines to life.  The results may not be pretty, but she’ll fly for a few minutes.  Given a control device, Lube can use this drone at his own discretion. (Medium SMG, 30/40 rnds remaining)

Sam gets her reload, exchanging the slightly used magazine for a fresh one.  At her feet, Viceroy grabs her boot, pulling hard.

“Help me,” she gasps, face an open wound of raw emotion. “Please.”

"Owfuck," Martin subvocalizes/wheezes/transmits as Mesa's second door ram connects.  He's still hanging onto the Adjudicator but his biomonitor is throwing increasingly urgent advice/warning messages about ceasing whatever he's doing that's causing the trauma.  It clearly has an incomplete understanding of the situation.

Okay, fine, fuck this.  Martin skips around the cyberpsycho, rams the Adjudicator's muzzle into his lower back about where a kidney should be on a normal human (and where hard armor is impractical if the recipient wants to maintain any degree of torso flexibility), and yanks on the trigger.

[33/45 HP, torso armor -3]
Militech Adjudicator (very heavy pistol) [6/8 AP ammo]
Contact shot on Mesa, hoping to find a place with less subdermal armor
Combat Awareness 5: Initiative Reaction 5 (+5 to Initiative rolls)

Fury follows sound, the crack of the whip as it rends the air serving as a portent of what it will do flesh a few seconds later, although the gap between the two feels linger to Nyx, the chemical stimulants pumping through her brain serving to make events unfold in their own time continuum, one that is detached from the real World, though that bubble is shattered for a moment as the searing torment in her side as the pain courses through her, radiating out from where the whip struck. She knows that she’s bleeding, doesn’t need to check, can feel the wetness trickle down her skin inside her body glove.

But so is her opponent, his blood on the outside of her suit. Dark crimson will barely show against kevlar bodyweave that is as black as a moonless night but other droplets paint a picture on her chin and throat as the performance moves into its next act, the performers face to face, all the while Nyx forcing herself to ignore the disembodied voice that whispers seductively in her ear, the one that tells her that she is going to die this night, that the battle is going to end with her lying there on the floor, blood seeping out of a multitude of wounds where the lash has torn and sliced at her flesh, that her head is going to be mounted on a spike like a trophy.

”Nyet!” She snarls at the chattering voice, a feral growl as she wills it to be silent

She looks at her opponent. Meets his gaze. Smiles, licks his blood from her lips suggestively.

And when he moves to swing the whip Tri moves, attempts to outflank her attacker with a back flip that will see her leap across the floor, leaving the space where the whip was directed empty and giving the Russian assassin a chance to strike her target from a different angle, one he cannot immediately defend against.

Soooooo….
The general plan is to do a back flip out of the way of the Herald’s whip (Contortionist or Athletics?)
At first I thought of jumping over him to land behind but that’s probably not feasible because of the extra height of the flags and stuff that he’s toting so I’m thinking more a diagonal leap, to the side, maybe followed by a step to the left to try and sort of outflank him and get a clear shot with the sword
Does that make sense?  Or have I been watching too much Matrix?…)

Cruz pulled out his laptop then linked it to the drone.  With swift WASD keystrokes, he started to maneuver the drone, sending it toward the fray ahead.  First, he would look for other drones.  They might not register this hacked unit as OPFOR, so perhaps he might surprise them.  Counter-drone ops was the first order of business, but if there were no other enemy drones, then scouting and spotting any unengaged Listeners was the second priority.  Third priority was anything that looked like an amplifier or speaker.

While a strafing run on bastards engaged with Whisper and Nyx was tempting, he wouldn't risk friendly fire and didn't trust his skills with this drone enough not to hit his friends.

Drone Ops
Medium SMG, 30/40 rnds remaining
Looking for targets that won't risk hitting a friendly.
1) other drones, 2) unengaged Listners, 3) speakers/amplifiers

Reestablishing a solid base, Kenji drops the sub-gun, launches a push kick at the Listener's sternum. The idea is to create some space, and buy a couple of seconds. Doing any damage would be a bonus.

As the combat medic's tac-sneaker speeds towards the cleric's chest, Kenji's hand reaches for the pistol residing in the holster concealed in his tac-jeans. If Kenji connects with the kick, he'll step back into a shooting stance and start putting pistol rounds into his foe's face.

-

Viceroy looks to be in a bad way, but the damage doesn't appear to be physical. Whatever spooked Lube seems to have hit the netrunner twice as hard. It's not that Sam doesn't want to help, it's that she has no idea how. Lube seems to have snapped out of his fugue state since arriving back at ground level, maybe- hopefully- Viceroy will too.

Sam reaches down, drags the distraught woman the rest of the way out of the stairwell. "You're OK," she says. "I'll be right back."

The very real, very imminent threat is the Listener mixing it up with Nyx. Cipher moves towards the fracas, Adjudicator at the ready. If it's not over by the time she arrives, once Sam has the two duelists in view, she'll try to establish a clear line of fire and/or wait for an opening in the melee before adding some hand canon fire to the scrap.

-

It’s anybody’s fight at this point.  The Listeners push hard, unwilling to yield their sanctum.  The Edgerunners tasked with bringing them down scrap not just for their mission, but for their lives, and increasingly it seems, for their souls.

Kenji’s kick lacks the finesse of a trained martial artist, born instead on battlefields and bar fights like this one.  Once again, his opponent fails to attempt a dodge, pushing forward.  With a solid foot strike that halts on reinforced flesh, Kenji gets his space, draws his Adjudicator, and fires.  Bullets being somewhat more dangerous than tac-sneakers, the tech priest attempts to respond but the range is too close, the draw too fast.  The wound that results is vicious, tearing out the Listener’s left eye and leaving a gaping wound in the priest’s face.  It’s a wound that doesn’t stop him.  Yet.  (-1 round, critical hit)

A soundless cry escapes from Kentucky’s opponent, one the medic is sure he can feel reverberating in his chest.  The first follow up is sloppy, probably due to losing an eyeball.  The second comes in perfectly, and Kenji, despite the dodge of his life, can’t quite get away.  More razor cuts streak across his skin leaving bleeding lines and torn armor (-4 HP. -1 SP)

Behind Kenji Whisper twists and schemes, trying to get the best of Mesa.  The solo hesitates a split second, dives under Mesa’s first punch, punches his pistol forward and pulls the trigger.  Mesa can’t clear the weapon, not in so close.  A muffled blast roars out taking a massive chunk of flesh with the resulting blast.  Struggling to stay upright, Mesa throws another punch, mirror eyes fogged over with blocked pain and blood loss.  Stepping inside the swing and avoiding the impact proves to be a trivial exercise.  (-1 round)

As the whip wielding Herald continues his attack, Nyx goes airborne, turning body horizontal to the ground.  Out of the corner of her eye, the Russian can see the whip flash beneath her, then as she hits the ground and rolls instead of popping back up, the whip passes harmlessly over her head.   Nyx kippups back to her feet and drives forward at the oblique, katana flashing out.  Sam freezes on the ground, hands held steady ready the follow through.  Next to her, the Herald teeters, then collapses as his right leg separates from his body three inches above the knee.   Turning again, Nyx slashes down, opening more skin and bone.  (critical hit)

Lube drives the drone down the steps, passing over and through the carnage filling the entrance to the basement.  There aren’t any drones emerging to speak of, but he does see speakers.  The ones mounted above the shoulders of the Nyx’s opponent who is busy bleeding out on the ground.

Whatever relief Viceroy had at human physical contact evaporates as Sam pushes past her.  Or tries to push past her.  The fear bathing her system in ice goes to a thousand two steps past the NetRunner.  Cipher’s legs go out and she hits the ground, dry heaving in fear as she slides down the steps, into the jaws of her own personal hell. 

"Captured an enemy drone.  Mayhem incoming," Alex said over team comms.

Cruz, long a veteran drive-by-wallah, did exactly that... well, as best he could via the drone.  He popped off a burst toward the shoulders of Nyx's latest victim, hoping to catch both speakers and maybe a some throat meat with the attack.

Drone Ops
Medium SMG, 30/40 rnds remaining
Bullet Printer Go BRRRRR
This message was last edited by the player at 19:48, Tue 14 June 2022.

Most people, having just had an eye shot out, would run/faint/seek medical attention. Clearly, the Listeners are not "most people".

Kenji, it seems, has made the classic mistake of bringing a gun to a knife fight. Teeth gritted against the pain of his wounds, he reaches towards the small of his back with his off hand, slides the Ni-Ti-Nol light combat Tanto free of its sheath.

He squeezes off another round at the priest, but it's primarily intended as a feint. Before the report of the weapon has stopped echoing around the hallway, the combat med tech lunges forward with a slashing back-hand knife attack aimed right for the jugular...

-

Mommy!

Sam white knuckles the railing to stop herself being sucked into the many-toothed maw of the cosmic horror that's made its burrow in the abandoned TV station stairwell.

She tries to backpedal, slips, falls hard on her ass. It almost jars her back sensate. Almost. Her hypothalamus pimp-slaps her frontal lobe, screams at it to fuck off. The wild animal formerly known as Samantha/Sam/Cipher kicks wildly at the wet steps, wrenches her shoulder pulling on the rail. There's a light behind her, air that doesn't stink of fear sweat and fresh urine. The beast's jaw unhinges, strains towards her...

-

What the actual fuck is it gonna take to drop this guy? Martin rhetorically observes.  The Adjudicator is blasting no-shit chunks out of Mesa, each of the big 13mm solid copper rounds chewing ragged holes in subdermal armor and soft tissue alike.  The cyberpsycho is slowing down but that just means the disparity in hand-to-hand killing power is narrowing.  Martin keeps circling, staying on Mesa's more-damaged side, and fires again at bad breath distance.

[33/45 HP, torso armor -3]
Militech Adjudicator (very heavy pistol) [5/8 AP ammo]
Another contact or near-contact shot on Mesa while evading the Fists of Fury™
Combat Awareness 5: Initiative Reaction 5 (+5 to Initiative rolls)

The dance has reached its climax. Nyx finds herself momentarily regretting that. She’s breathing hard, blood running down from at least two places that she knows of where her flesh has been sliced open. Somewhere close by she can hear a scream. And there’s still that feeling of unease that slithers across her soul.

But it’s her opponent who’s bleeding out on the floor absent one leg.

The Russian assassin’s lips form a brief smile as she steps behind her obviously mortally wounded foe, raises the katana that is dripping with blood, droplets falling to the floor like rain in Gorky Park. ”Do svidaniya tovarishch.”

The blade slices through the air. And a heartbeat later his head rolls from his shoulders. She’d made it quick for him.

Nyx is already spinning round, augmented eyes looking for the next dancer.

The pistol in Kenji’s hand barks again, seeking death and destruction.  He gets it.  Another bullet plows in the Tech Priest, rocking him back and sending him staggering.   The follow up proves as effective, the short sword slicing across the LIstener’s neck and emerging with a spray of blood.  With a gurgle and hand plastered to his neck, the Priest goes down feebly crawling back toward the hallway he emerged from. (-1 round)

As goes the Priest, so goes Mesa.  Whisper get the angle he’s been looking for, get the barrel up under the psycho’s ribs, feels the barrel slide in between subdermal reinforcement.  Smiles with a hint of satisfaction, and pulls the trigger.  No bark reaches Whisper’s muted ears.  He can’t hear the grunt as the bullet smashes through cartilage, diaphragm, lungs, heart, bounces off an armor plate, and heads back the way it came.  The solo feels the squished form of the bullet blow out of Mesa left flank, decorating his suit with little bits of meat.

Mesa falls, dead, internal organs reduced to slop. (-1 round)

WIth Nyx moving away, Lube has a clear shot to the source of their raging emotions.  Given that it is still, hitting just means not jamming the system.   The drone brrrrrps, shell casings dropping to the floor.  Everything above mid chest disappears in a spray of bullets and tissue.  Bits of metal fly through the air each coated in hemoglobin and red blood cells.  What was once broadcast equipment suffers complete system failure, shattering utterly.

The signal, the infrasonic promise of death and damnation, halts. (-10 rounds)

Viceroy throws up for the third or fourth time.  The fear may be receding, but the lingering effects are very much there.  Sam comes to her senses as she scrambles up and away from the Great Maw.  Lube regains his senses fully, no longer terrified of what lies below even if a nervous twitch hits his eye at the thought of descending again.

For Kenji and Nyx, they kind of lose the nagging feeling that the world is a shitty place, only to observe that they are standing in a fairly shitty place.  Whisper deals with his chemical hangover in a cone of silence.

In one direction, they have the promise of flickering screens and medical gurneys.  In the other, the map’s promise of the server room.

Martin is somewhat acquainted with the various ways a human body can cease functioning, and is, in fact, himself in a profession which generates such results on a fairly regular basis.  Eviscerating Mesa with large-caliber contact shots is still somewhat more appalling than his usual gigs.  The world will almost certainly be an incrementally less awful place with the cyberpsycho gone, but for the moment, the solo is still covered in someone else's blood.

His hands go through the motions of reloading while he stares at the nearest fluorescent light and concentrates on overriding reverse peristalsis.  The mechanical simplicity gets him through the immediate issue in an "I'll pay for this later" sort of way.  ChrisAlice is probably going to have some things to say in their next session.  But it's enough to put him back on mission.

The Adjudicator goes back into its holster and the Consigliere goes back into his right hand, smartlink resetting with another reassuring piece of normalcy that really isn't normal for the vast majority of people who still have their factory original nervous systems.  Martin reverses course, heading for the last place he saw Viceroy.  "Status check, sound off," he transmits.  "Anyone still got a fight?"  Toggling his audio dampers back to normal levels is something of an afterthought.

Beretta Consligliere (excellent smart heavy pistol) [9/8 + 3 full mags + 1 partial 2/8 mag]
Militech Adjudicator (excellent very heavy pistol) [9/8 + 3 full mags + 1 partial 3/8 mag AP ammp]
Combat Awareness 5: Initiative Reaction 5 (+5 to Initiative rolls)

This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 02:47, Tue 21 June 2022.

Cruz set the drone to land, then snapped his laptop screen closed, as he moved to join the others.  His first order of business was to collect his shotgun that he had ignominiously thrown.  His second order of business was loot.  He started eyeing the cyberwear on these psychopaths, looking for any discrete systems he might be able to pull quickly.