Shadowrun
Shadowrun Play => Play-by-Post => Topic started by: SnowDragon on <11-16-14/2340:04>
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What Happens In Seattle...
Fort Lewis. Suburbia. For many, this would be the high life, beyond that which they could even begin to hope for. Running water. Constant power. Matrix access all the time. Real food, even, on the occasion of a particularly fortiuous event. Maybe the last place one would look for shadowrunners, nestled in amoung the families above that of the wage slave class. For those who have been all the way down at the bottom rung, those who live in Fort Lewis have it made. Nevermind that there is so much, much more above them that would be achievable, having the basics that everyone had at the turn of the 21st century, the effort that goes into obtaining them is nearly unthinkable.
The hour is late, at least as far as the clocks say. For those who found their lives in the shadows, it was just the beginning of another day at the office. It really was a thrill, survival concerns aside. Freedom of control of everything, everyone around you. The corps might run the world, but the corps *needed* the shadows. They *needed* you. It was one way of looking at it, if it helped you sleep at night. Or the day. You were not entirely convinced that the home base's Central Home Network wasn't possesed by a sentient malovence that fell afoul of any and all who thought to use it for anything it was designed to do.
Linked through commlinks, they begin to buzz and howl with an alarming intensity. It's not for a moment that you realise the tone. With a team this synced, everyone knew everyone. When the CHN couldn't get an answer through one, it rang another. And then another. Until every electronic device in the house was trying to wake its owner. The affectionately named "Rapid Response" Tone, or otherwise known as "I need you RIGHT THE DREK NOW." from the fixer known as Armstrong, Slobbertooth's main man. A provider or warmth, happiness and, of course, sweet, sweet moolah. But, by the time of the clocks, somewhere between Balls'thirty and too early to give a damn, and well after the standard timeframe for a job drop, he was in a huge hurry.
It didn't matter who slapped the big green button first. The message came through the same. A shadowteam you'd worked with before, many a month ago, on the big Azzie heist. The payday which secured this little piece of realestate and the hateful, spiteful computer system that ran it. They were in big trouble, pinned down at a train yard less than ten minutes from home and they were calling for help with all the firepower one team could bring.
Wasteland ran the crew, some big 'ol trolls with light machine guns for sidearms, making a name for themselves in the smash and grab collumn of the 'work wanted' section, with an emphasis on smash. Despite how it orignally all sounded when you first met them, they were entirely professional, who's love for wanton destruction had taken on an artform to distract and confuse the fuzz, who envariably saw the damage and went to go crack some gang skulls for the quick case closure.
The police scanner was eerily silent.
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Since bnc is the newest team member and has not participated in the Azzie run in person, she lets Slobbertooth or whoever wants to answer the phone. She doesn't sit idly, though, but immediately starts to trace the location of the commlink the message has been sent from.
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This isn't going to be good.
Slobbertooth took the call and spoke into the phone, making a mental note of where all of his gear was, "What's new K?" (Japanese)
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Torrent hated these kinds of "jobs".A call in the middle of the night with no time to prepare accordingly..
Still, he had to admit it wasnt all bad: when you need someone to save your ass you cant disagre with his price.
But can you really put a price on a good night's sleep?
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Before Slobbertooth had even hit the big green button to take the call, the lithe Elf everyone called Jane Doe was reaching for her pistols. She always kept the close at hand, and instinct told her that the shrill tone of the "DREK! I'm fragged! HELP ME!" alarm wasn't going to end with some game show host telling the team that they had won the lottery. Grabbing first her two-gun shoulder-rig off its assigned peg, she slid her arms through the straps and slid her Savalette Guardians into place. The guns disappeared under her short but stylish racing jacket. A quick breather centered the young woman after this rapid fire activity, and she entered the room where Slobbertooth had entered the call with a pensive look on her face.
"We got trouble, chummer?" Jane asked, looking to the Ork.
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Adrift in a dream, Krestov was thinking back to the Academy days. Middle of the night, the alarm goes off, and it is drill time once again. He grinned, before realizing the alarm sounded...off. almost like a comm call...
Blinking twice awake, the big troll heard the various calls go off through the household as he lay, piecing together the impending commencement of an op, and his instincts and training told him the same thing: High Threat Response. And they've been picked as backup. Taking one deep breath, Krestov hopped to his feet, the resultant thud sending a small tremor throughout the abode. Dressing calmly but quickly, the troll donned his BDU shirt and pants,.slipping on his shoulder holster and combat boots. Checking his Crusader, he slipped the gun into its position under his arm before slipping the plated jacket on. Grabbing the rest of his gear, he joined the others, his blonde mane sweeping over his eyes.
Noticing that Slobbertooth had picked up the line, he waited for the ork to finish the call before speaking. "Sit-rep, comrade. What is our objective?"
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With the shrill siren call of the commlink finally falling dead, leaving in its wake merely the silence of the night all around them. Armstrong's laced AmericJapan accent filled the other end of the voice line with a very rapid sort of tone Slobbertooth was not all that familar with. "One of my other teams, Wasteland's group, has been ambushed. Something went very wrong, there was to be no other presence in the area. Address packet was already forwarded by message, lock it in and get there now and get them out of trouble. Wasteland will handle your extraction fee." He hung up as well, Armstrong's personnal way of saying 'I called you with something to say and now I have nothing else to say so piss off.' But simple business associates were not bought vans as a gift for being 'perfect' operatives by their fixers.
BNC's trace led her on a whirlwind of local signal towers from point hub to point hub until she was finally able to track the source of the signal down to a moving vehicle, nearly an hour away across the other side of Seattle itself from where the team called home, and even she was even able to lift the commcode of the 'link the voice call was coming from. And even if she didn't know it personally, it would only take a moment to confer with the team that the call was indeed coming from Armstrong's business 'link, the one he used to handle everything of a distasteful, shadowy nature.
If Armstrong's address message was linked to the big screen in the main room of the home through the CHN, or if it wasn't, whatever the case happened to be, the information it displayed was the same. An overhead picture, almost ripped straight from a commsat feed showing the nearby train freight yard. The main building was circled with red pen, clearly the main objective. All around were railway lines, box cars, heavy freight. A hub of activity no matter what the time since the introduction of drone controlled locomotive shunter vehicles that would work no matter the conditions, time of day, without breaks and all without complaining.
The signs of the modern world.
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No time to lose.
bnc, less routined as the others, but quickly adapting, jumps into her chameleon suite, holsters her (almoste entirely legal) Defiance EX in her hidden arm slide and puts on the concealable holster in the small of her back, in which she sheathes her Ingram. Then she grabs her backpack, containing the medkit (which again also contains some drugs) and a mini camera.
As soon as that is done, she activates our van from the Matrix, starting the engine and driving it right to our door, so that we can leave any instant.
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Torrent wears his chameleon suit and loads his Guardian with stick n shock ammo.He disliked firefights in uncrowded places where you ended up being a target for evey unfamiliar face, as there was no way you could act as an innocent and non-threatening bystander.
Could be worse.Could be us the ones ambushed
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Slobbertooth rolled his eyes. "He could have at least waited for a confirmation." (Or'zet) No time to dwell on that. He'd bring it up the next time they shared a soy kaf.
Slobbertooth's following words were spoken quickly. There would be more time to explain in transit. For now, the crew just needed to know the major details."Extraction. Wasteland's Crew. They're paying, not Armstrong. Trainyard. Gear up. Gun up. Mount up. We're out of here in 5 minutes. Here are the coordinates, Jane. We discuss battle plans en route"
Slobbertooth grabbed everything except his climbing gear, magnesium torches and spare meta links. Medkit in the right pocket. Ammo in the interior jacket pockets. "I need to get a vest or something." Crusader 2 in the quickdraw holster. HK-227 hanging by the sling over his shoulder. He activated his microtransceiver and jumped in the back of the van.
"All set."
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"Hey Slobber..what the fuck was Wasteland's crew doing in a trainyard?And who the hell has them pinned down?Those guys are usually armed to the teeth!"
Torrent was already seated inside the van , checking the smartlink of his eye contacts by pointing the Savalette Guardian at his own face.
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Slobbertooth switches through the filters on his helmet to make sure the Thermographic setting is working. He'll probably need it. "Don't know why they're there. Don't know who it was that ambushed Wasteland. No one was supposed to be there."
He looks up. "... Why do you have a gun pointed at your face?"
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Torrent felt the impulse to give a pretentious pseudo-philosophical answer about warriors and how they are always at both ends of a pointing gun, but dismissed it.
"Smartgun systems make me dizzy.This helps me get over the dizziness so I won't throw up once the shooting starts"
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The information of the location out on display, along with Slobbedtooth's quick words, were more than sufficient for Krestov to act. Grabbing his mags, IR light, patches, and a few sets of taster darts, he placed them in his several pockets and punches on his body, slipping his transceiver's earbud on just in time to hear the check.
"Copy that" the troll muttered before lumbering out to the van, taking his place in the far back, the suspension dropping a few inches under his weight. "They must have gotten careless...milk run turned bad, I think.". Pulling out his Crusader, his eyes whirred a little as he connected the smartlink, checking over the condition in his very procedural manner. "We still have their commcodes? Give them to bng. I want to know their exact location and status before we arrive.". He allowed himself a little grin. "Think that's doable, small one(Russian)?"
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"Right," was the direct, and monosyllabic, response that Jane gave to Slobbertooth, before spinning on her heel and heading for their team van.
Jane simply double-checked her belt-full of spare magazines, if only for peace of mind. Her gear was decidedly low-key, and she had already strapped up before she had even come in to check on the nature of the emergency call. Still, on her way to their garage, she did grab a couple of KA-BAR knives just in case she needed to get up close and personal for the extraction. The Elf was about to slid into the driver's seat when she noticed that Krestov had already hopped in, as evidenced by the suspension being lower than it should have been.
"If that Russian makes it so that I have to realign this beast again..." Jane started to mutter under her breath, before becoming it became an inaudible string of curses.
Getting into the driver's seat, Jane made sure to make the Bulldog roar a few times, to warm up the engine a bit, and to let the rest of the team know that transport was ready to go.
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While bnc jumps on the car, she reboots her beloved Novatech Navigator, taking up little enough space to compensate for Krestov.
"Already on the move, cobrat."
As soon as she's fastened her seatbelt, she leans on Krestov's shoulders and her body falls limp.
"I'm online, chummers. See you in a sec."
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Slobbertooth turned towards the driver's cabin when bnc shut the door. "Punch it, J."
He turned to face the rest of the group. "I'll admit that I'm not happy with the parameters for this job. We don't know who the targets are, how well armed they are, who they are, or what their vectors of attack are. If they've pinned down Wasteland's crew, they're either heavily armed or in heavy numbers. "What I would give for some AK-97s (Or'zet) Maybe bnc can get us some more info on her vacation away from meatspace.
"Hopefully we'll have an element of surprise, and the noise of the trains and equipment will provide cover for our approach. Are any of you familiar with the area?"
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The van's big V8 engine roared into life at BNC's electronic urging, the first sign of true activity in the neighborhood which the team resided. Right out the front door, the rest of the team was able to pile in through the side hatch and with a short squeal of tires burning on the footpath, they were off again without anyone in the street being so much the wiser about the true intent of this little late night road trip. With guns and ammunition loaded and at the ready, Jane put the van through it's paces, traffic lights and the gridlink be damned. They had somewhere to be and they had somewhere to be five minutes ago.
BNC worked fast, and the standard view of the team's commlinks had begun to change and morph, flickering to a new overhead display before it grew into life in the centre of the van through the technological magic that was Augmented Reality, where all could see it except Jane, the driver, as she had more important matters to attend to. The orange tinted commsat map was live, ripped from the commercial hunk of steel, metal and solar panels in high orbit.
The trainyard itself was a beehive of locomotive activity, hundred tonne monsters forcing even heavier cargo back and forth until they linked up to other carriages to form entire trains that would be shippped out later that evening. A single road led up to a series of three brick structures with smashed out windows. Everything was intact. Nothing was on fire. And from the looks of it, there was no exchange of gunfire from the AR feed, either. In fact, with five minutes to go and memories of how Wasteland's team had performed during the Azzie heist still fresh in your minds, things were quiet. Way too quiet.
But, according to the map markers BNC was adding to the map at a rapid fire pace showed that this was the place. Down to a twenty metre margin for error thanks to the structure they had taken cover in, Wasteland's team was here, in the middle single story structure. Krestov knew this place, it was one of the first commercial freight yards to be turned into a drone only operation. It once employed over two hundred people between the signal operators, train drivers and paperwork filers but when the corps developed a drone that could drive a train, remove the signals and even do the paperwork digitally, all those jobs went right out the window. Now the structures and the train signals sat there abandoned, as they hadn't been used in over twenty years.
Around the last corner, the dull roar of the van was overshadowed by a helicopter buzzing above them and past them at a relatively low altitude. And then, silence as Jane brought it all to a stop. A break in the chainlink fence where this never used road lead up into the trainyard itself. You had arrived to the fire support request.
BNC got the comms dialed in. Silence, to match the night sky all around them.
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After some 10 seconds you hear bnc's voice again.
"Hey, chummers, I got a Christmas present for you."
First, she produces a virtual map ARO which is pretty much a more detailed version of the one we already have - with a pin marking the exact position of one of the team members.
"That's their position. Or at least, one of their member's position. Jane, I already uploaded it to the van's innards. Now, here's another one:"
She creates another ARO, a cell-phone decorated as a Christmas present.
"I hacked their communication and redirected it to a second channel. Thought it might be interesting to be up-to-date regarding their momentary situation. Maybe it gives us a clue who, how many and which kind of jerks are attacking them."
She listens to the channel, then pauses. Nothing
„Goddammit, Chummers! Something is certainementwrong here. I’ll try to figure out, what it is.“
Immediately, she puts herself to work again.
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Krestov gave a nod of approval as the decker's work unfolded before them, patting the shoulder of bnc's meatsuit. "There we go...hmm...". Panning over the map, the troll's brows furrowed, mulling the situation over.
"It is odd that things are this quiet. The train yard will not have civilians...thank the corps for that. Assume all nontargets are hostile". If our targets aren't the opposition, he mused gently as he loaded a mag of full-metals to his Crusader, racking the slide to load it. As the van pulled away from suburbia and approached more industrial surroundings, a thought entered his head. Instead of shouting over the engine, Krestov subvocalized, transmitting to the team that way.
"They might not be expecting backup. I can try to reach them, but I won't do it without your approvals. Recommendations?"
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Torrent seems frozen for a moment as he studies the map ARO.
In what seems to be a reflection of his mood,the color of his hair changes frequently and tonight it is a bleached white.
Then, responding to Krestov:
"I can go and have a look.If bnc manages to spot any other wireless mobile devices in the area,maybe she can can keep me away from hostiles."
Then, turning to bnc
" Isnt that right,gorgeous?"
Irritatingly flirtatious towards a decker who's jacked in VR....well that was smooth Torrent
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[All is sent directly over the matrix, but big blocks of orange just look ugly.]
In return to Krestov: "Don't. Not yet, that is. This stinks. If they are under attack, they'll have to communicate. There's nothing. I'm just about to find out whether they contacted Mr. Johnson at all.
Jane, don't enter the freight yard before I could confirm they requested our help. I already traced the commlink call before he hung up and it really came from our Johnson. Dunno how much you trust him - I don't."
She turns to Torrent. "Basically that's right, honey, but only if they have gear online. If there's a mage or adept without running commlink, I can't warn you"
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Slobbertooth rakes his hands over his face, and then shouts. Even when one can speak many languages, cursing always comes from the native tongue. "This drek mission is already fragging fragged. Shit! (Or'zet) I didn't like any bit of this, and that's before we had a bird flying over us, and before we found out Wasteland's team probably already got geeked, if they were ever here in the first place." After some tense kneading of his brow, he calms down a bit.
"We're not going in the front, but," looking at bnc, "if that comm was genuine, we are going in. It's no longer an evac, this is an intelligence mission. If our last job together pissed off the Azzies this much, we need to know that by yesterday so we can all buzz from Seattle."
With a toothy grin, "Wolf might want a bit of revenge, too."
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"I see two entries at ground level,front and back.I think I should go and scan the yard for anything unpleasant, as soon as bnc checks the wireless activity.If it's clear, Krestov and Slobbertooth can go to the front.I will circle the building and cover the back entrance, with Jane's help.What do you think?"
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Slobbertooth nods in agreement. "Ping us when you two are in position. We'll go in first, and draw fire form any expecting party. You move in on our signal, or if we give the all clear." He then looks over at bnc. "Will you be alright by yourself in the van?"
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"Slobbertooth: Comm's genuinity confirmed. Last outgoing call was to Mr. Johnson, after that: nothing. No team conversation. This is either a strange trap or the assassination squad is real dangerous.
Maybe you can drop me some hundred meters away where I can hide somewhere which is not our van. I guess it would make for an obvious target.
I'll upload any online devices' location, except for non-armed drones, into our map ARO ASAP."
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Krestov gave a curt nod, his Crusader disappearing under his jacket as he cracked his neck. "Good girl. I will set a couple sensor tags to keep an eye on you."
"Wasteland and her crew are normally armed to the teeth, and tough to kill. bnc, their hacker has a a swarm of drones, so finding the location devoid of them is a high cause for concern. Torrent, Jade, we will breach when you are in position. Slobbertooth, stay behind me on the breach; if they are baiting us, I take my chances with an M202 over yours, hah." As he spoke, one meaty hand gripped at his combat helmet, the other. Cleaning the visor of streaks and debris.
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bnc stirs and stretches.
"No sensor tags on me, buddy. If I'm unconscious, my monitor will call you. Otherwise use the damn phone". She grins, dann puts on the helmet of her chameleon suite and hides in a hidden spot somewhere close to but outside the area, reboots her deck, then goes VR again.
"So far I can't see any icons safe for those we already know. I'll keep watching. I had to reboot so our private channel got lost. But since they were not communicating anyway, this is not going to hurt."
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Everyone was ready to proceed. BNC was still in the matrix world, gather intel, providing a constant uplink of information to the AR map overlayed to the commlinks and tactical glasses of the team if they wore them. Positions of drones as they moved about the trainyard, and an alarming stillness in the all important location of Wasteland's team. Even their drone swarm seemed inactive, still, silent. The trainyard was... an area unlike any raid one had ever undertaken. Noise wasn't really an issue. The screeching of metal and thick rumbling of train engines made sure that even the most inept of sneaking souls could make it through here without making so much as a peep that someone might hear accidentally. In exchange, the visual cover *moved* with the times, almost like the trainyard had it's own heartbeat and bloodflow. Even 'at rest', one had to make slow footsteps with their backs against the boxcars as they slowly shifted across the yard.
Slobbertooth, as you navigate the last two tracks before actually reaching the old carpark and the middle building to which it is actually attached, something seems off to you about the enviroment. It's... a smell, rather than a visual thing. Something sits ill at ease within your mind until you make the very last train car and then you can see it, as well as smell it. Melted metal. And bullet holes in this box car. Further examination while stepping alongside it reveals a spotty pattern of bullet holes remarkably consistant with what you might expect from a shotgun blast loaded with 00 buckshot. There are four seperate impact areas, but this car is on the move, and could be from just about anywhere on the yard when someone took to the metal with a boomstick.
Torrent, Hoping the trains is much easier for someone of your size, well, compared to a troll that is. While your... larger companion makes for boxcars and otherwise carriages with actual cargo loaded to them, you are able to make use of empty carriages with your lower profile, ducking in behind poles and cargo cranes as they whine and rumble and lift their freight to trains awaiting. One of your footsteps is unsual, you could hear it. Looking down, it's blood. You've just stepped in a pool of blood, against one of the railway lines halfway to your destination door.
Krestov, http://youtu.be/d08cUCRqjS0?t=40s .Having said that though, you make it to your door of choice without issue.
bnc, You *know* for a fact that helicopter was an Ares Dragon, big heavy chinhook replacement when Ares realised they could massively undercut Boeing in the heavy lift department. But what you also know, is that when you attempted to grasp at it's matrix signal, it slipped away from you, like trying to grab onto a slippery fish. You manage to pull a partial tail number, 6638, before you lose it completely. Additionally, your fast acting mind now no longer restricted by that puny, weak meatbag of yours. You can fix the location of a biomonitor to a commlink of Wasteland's team. The long piercing beeeeeeeeeeeep of a flatline answers the questions as to why all the murderbots are inactive.
Lanazador, is following Torrent as NPC backup for safekeeping when he returns safe and sounds from his RL car accident.
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Slobbertooth presses up against the wall next to the door with Krestov, deploying his HK-227s retractable stock. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself. Now to find out how fragged we all are.
"Slobberooth and Krestov in position. Go on your signal."
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"Let me check for any maglocks.I prefer to go in quietly."
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As the van came to a halt, Krestov's eyes opened, head raising as the internal switch in his instincts flipped on: it was go time. In a swift motion, the troll donned his combat helmet, single-pane visor covering his eyes and flickering to life, its systems activating into combat mode. His various AROs quickly arranged themselves the way he liked: map overlay to the side, along with condition monitors, environmental indicators, etc. The only thing that stayed near the middle was his smartlink reticle. As the van stopped, the door slid open, and Krestov moved surprisingly quick for a troll, grabbing his riot shield and jumping to the ground, the van's suspension raising a good couple inches upon his departure.
As he weaved through the trainyard, his heavy steps were the only things out of the norm he could notice. The 'silence' put him on edge, and he felt like something was off. Following Slobbertooth, he pulled out his Crusader in his main hand, quietly clicking off the safety and taking up position opposite the ork, looking for him to give the signal.
"Affirmed. I can open or kick the door, your call"
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Torrent readies his pistol.
This is fucked up.
"Going in in 3...2....1..go!"
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Slobbertooth raised his HK-227, and modified the thermographic vision on his helmet.
"Kick it. If we have hosts, let's distract them for Jane and Torrent."
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Krestov gave one curt nod, stepping in front of the door in two strides, taking a stance facing parallel to the door's facing. Two deep breaths, that was all that was heard on the comms before, like a coiled spring, the troll moved. One step, side-step, the front leg lifted up at the knee, the back foot rotating away from the door. His hips shifted, throwing the force of all 400 pounds of his weight into his front leg, springing straight and driving his heel into the door like some great wrecking ball. (http://orokos.com/roll/234505): 10d6t5 5.
Knowing that his hit struck true, he didn't wait for confirmation on the results of his kick, as the resultant noise would alert any 'friends' they had.
Breach initiated. Go go go!
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"Drek. I hacked a bio-monitor. Our target is dead as any corpse can be."
Let's do some work. Crap - there's way too much to day. Where shall I begin? Intel, always. Knowledge is power, in the shadows and everywhere.
bnc takes a deep virtual breath. Oh, I almost forgot! I'm still not used to go in a team. bnc configures our commlinks and smartguns as slaves to her deck, then tries to gather what information she can find on the freightyard.
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Krestov kicks in the 'front' door. Torrent pops the rear. Krestov's heavy, heavy shoe connects with all the force and anger of a man woken at balls'thirty can muster, and combined with his body weight, turns the heavy oak portal blocker into nothing but splinters and bits and pieces which splatter the room. The doorway frame cracks visibly as the hinges are ripped from their resting place. Not a half a second later, Torrent makes his entry and in less than a second, the wide open space is completely under team control. There used to be offices in here, that much was certain, until the old dry wall fixtures were ripped out, and likely reused elsewhere to save money. Old computer terminals and wall fixtures still remained, like a wallphone so old it beloned in a meseum, and a timetable outdated about twenty years ago. There are old stacks of boxes that stand around, as if this building had been repurposed as storage and then forgotten about some years later. The cobwebs are thick and fierce with a place like this. If it weren't for the desperate call for backup, you'd have put good money on being the first people to enter in a long time.
Some of the old office equipment remained. A table here, a chair here. Torrent sees it first as clears to his left. The rigger, the source of the flatline. Back rested against the wall, a trail of blood from where the orc stood when he'd been hit to where he lay sitting now. A bloodied hand rested against the wound in his chest with a rag, clear sign that the man had bled out trying to keep his drones in the air at the same time as trying to keep himself breathing.
Krestov splits to the left around the main stack of boxes. Shell casings lay scattered, in a thick sort of line leading further into the boxes to his right. But six steps in was where they ended, the cause of which is clear. The team's first troll and machine gunner with his M202, still smoking and barrel glowing a soft red lay with two holes in his flak jacket... And a third execution style to the skull to put him down for good. A glance back where you came from reveals what might be why, a line of chunks missing from the wall, three or four were bloody, like confirmed hits on an attacker, by his facing.
Breaking to the right behind Krestov was Slobbertooth, his heels crunching over dust and long dead spiders the whole way down. A quick 90 degree turn to the left when the 'hallway' made of boxes and wooden crates. The rustling of metal lifting brought his attention quickly to the ground, a raised SPAS-22 shotgun aimed downrange (And right at him!) before the bleeding form of Wasteland was able to ID the target and lowered it a slight. "You're late," Came the out of breathe introduction before the shotgun clattered to the floor, clattering like it was completely empty. There's soft whiff of smoke rising from her vest, probably a commlink, smoking from the round that had penetrated it and gone into her shoulder.
bnc, in the wide open digital world that is the matrix, you find that helicopter nevermore. You *know* it's there, you can just feel it. But, it's gone, and you've no idea where it is. More heartening though, is you can locate four of the army of Wasteland's team drones, Idling, hovering Optic-Xs with cut down Protector SMGs strapped on. Waiting for master's orders that would no longer come. But aside from their drones and their equipment, you locate two more bodies, the remaining of Wasteland's team with further, deeper searching. The other machine gunner was killed at the northernmost corner, two tracks in, on the opposite side of the trainyard where you entered it from. His commlink his smashed, likely by enemy fire, his attached devices hanging threadless and pinging now and against for their host device no longer operating. There is nothing else in the trainyard. Beyond the carnage and the loss of life already evident, whoever did this had already cleared out. There's nothing left in the trainyard at all. Just you... and the corpses, and the barely alive Wasteland.
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Krestov stopped in his tracks as he spotted the first troll's freshly slain form on the ground, noting the shell casings. No one uses cased ammo anymore...this one enjoyed the classic style.. Quickly scanning the surrounds, he cleared the area before setting his shield down, holstering his Crusader as he dropped to one knee. Propping up the body, he pulled the M202 away from his hand before crossing them before his chest. Reaching up, he closed his eyes before bowing his own head, as if paying reverance and giving a quick field 'final rites' deal.
His comm was silent for a couple moments before he finally spoke up, his rumbling voice quiet and withdrawn. "Man down...executed."
-
Slobbertooth surveys the room, shielding his nose from the smell with his arm. "Well, it could be worse. They could still be suffering." (Or'zet)" He notices the drones. They're hovering. They're armed. "Matrix overwatch, can you shutdown these drones, or at least prevent someone else from remotely taking control of them?"
Slobbertooth lowers his HK, approaches and kneels down next to Wasteland. "You can tell our driver the route she should have taken after this, let's get you stable and jet." He pulls out the medkit he keeps in his pocket, but realizes Wasteland will probably need more than what he has on him, and holds out his free hand to Krestov.
"The departed will wait comrade. Wasteland needs a trauma patch."
-
The quick orders from the ork brought Krestov from his reverie, reminding him that there was a job to do. "Understood, on my way" He subvocalized before standing. He stepped nimbly, clearing the distance in a matter of seconds before he was upon Slobbertooth, positioned in front of Wasteland. Without a word, he reached into one of his pockets, withdrawing the requested trauma patch.
"Hold still, we will get you out of here" He rumbled softly, finding a bare spot of skin to apply the patch. Activating it, he let the cocktail of painkillers, stabilizers, and coagulants go to work on the Ork. He would wait one moment before speaking again.
"Recommend we extract the target as soon as possible. Same goes with the fallen. Link visual feeds to me, I want a look at everything if possible. For Wasteland, I can and will carry as able."
-
"I found the rigger.Why was he inside the building?It doesn't seem right, from a tactical perspective."
-
"Strange news, chummers. There appears to be no enemy activity. I guess the team has already cleared. I can find no commlinks save four ours and theirs and nothing else apart from the drones. There might, however, be a really skilled decker outside who conceals something from me. I can't even find the drekky helicopter."
"Matrix overwatch, can you shutdown these drones, or at least prevent someone else from remotely taking control of them?"
"I can. I will have to lift the protection from the strongest of your links, though. Maybe I might put them to good use, but I think I should join you in meat. I just heard there are survivors. I'm coming instantly. There's little I can do online anyway."
If nobody objects, bnc switches her deck to AR mode and returns to her meat body. She quickly unsheathes her gun and makes for her team in what speed she can muster reasonably without making herself a potential target. Even while running, she lifts the master slave configuration of the strongest four commlinks in our team and enslaves the four drones. "On the way. Position him in a way the he doesn't lose too much blood. Eight-six-eight-two, what do you need a vis feed of?"
-
"She, Malyutka." Krestov muttered in reference towards Wasteland, their survivor. Hidden under his helmet, his cheeks flashed red in reference to the handle she used. Ignoring that, he gave a response to explain his intent.
"Visual feed of as much as we can of the fallen and surrounds. To confirm what our witness knows and make up for what she missed." He paused, kneeling beside Wasteland as his mind did a quick count. "The fourth, a troll, is not in the vicinity. Possible he fell outside building. Locate and I can go confirm when you get here. Step light and swift."
Turning back to Wasteland, he used his arms to steady her, trying to get her in a comfortable, stable position. "Help is coming. Can you tell us what happened?"
-
"Apologies"
bnc pants heavily, yet her online voice is clear and almost calm.
"I marked the Wasteland team's 'links in your ARO map. The orange triangulars. One of their team's commlinks is offline, though. I also fed in the four drones, of which I will take care of thouroughly 'soon as Wasteland's clearly not wasted.
If they've got a cam, I might feed real visuals."
Breathing heavily, bnc arrives in the interiors of the boxcar. Looking at the carnage, she has to steady herself at the wall. "Oida, Scheiße," she curses. "What the f..."
She closes her eyes for an instant to recover, than gives her best to be her professional self again. She kneels besides Wasteland and examines the wounds for a couple of seconds while she opens the medkit without looking at it. You know from your only run before that bnc has a knack for medicine and that she knows what she's doing (given her mind is clear).
"Krestov, get her out of that vest, while I prep my stuff. Hurry."
bnc takes out the pinchers, the needle and some hygienic cloth, while Krestov (hopefully) undresses Wasteland. She then urges him to move her in a lying position and prepare something to drink. bnc tries to locate the bullet(s) and, if possible, remove it/them, before applying bandages and medication, ever watchful for the stopping of either breathing or her heartbeat.
She seems worried and upset, and from the expression on her face, you are not entirely sure, whether she is really focussed on the tasks. Her fingers, however, appear to know what they're doing.
-
Slobbertooth realizes it would be better if he didn't interfere with bnc too much. He grips his HK and begins moving back to the entrance he came through.
"I'll watch our exit."
-
"Look out for the god-damn heli!"
-
Without a word, Krestov nodded at bnc's orders, stepping closer to Wasteland with arms out. Taking one breath, he scooped her up in one sweep, lifting her to a crate at about thigh level for him. With a sweep of his leg, he cleared any debris on top of it before setting her down on her back, taking care to be the gentle giant and not aggravate wounds. using a ripping motion, he tore away her vest, clearing away any material blocking wounds for their teammate to go to work..
Once finished, he followed the last order, reaching into his pocket and fishing out a troll-sized metal flask, the cap the size of a doubleshot glass. Uncapping it, he poured a serving of an overpoweringly strong, dark drink and offering it up.
-
"Water you id...."
She calms down. A bit. "She needs water, not alcohol!"
-
"If it is safe for our client, I think it's time to leave.I'll go back to the rear entrance and provide cover."
Torrent turned away from the dead ork and headed for the exit.There was nothing he could do for the deceased but he felt some sympathy for Wasteland.A team leader with a concience might suffer from survivor's guilt.
-
Krestov pauses before giving a nod. Must be a Russian thing, using Alcohol to dull the pain like that. Returning the liquid and recapping, he stowed away his flask and withdrew a small metal canteen. This time it was actually water.
"Here. As the doctor orders..." He glanced up at Torrent, giving a nod. "We will move once she is safe to move" came his short, blunt reply as he knelt down, picking up any dropped effects near where Wasteland had lain, including her shotgun.
-
Finally she lets out her held breath in almost a sigh.
"She should be fine by now. Torrent, if possible, forge something like a stretcher or so. She's stable, but badly wounded nonetheless.
Now, let's collect we can in order to extract intel before we leave. Krestov, gather the commlinks of the deceased ones. And, most important, don't forget about the rigger control panel! I'll do what I can to get hold of the drones. They might have cameras or something.
Slobbertooth, are you there to protect my limp body for a sec? Thanks, mate."
bnc sits down somewhere comfortable, mind racing, and dives in to the Matrix once again.
-
Wasteland had taken a few hits, more than anyone really should (And one hit was far too many in this line of work), and she was carrying some serious injuries. Aside from the clean penetration of some larger calibre rounds, the armour vest torn to bits just then by Krestov's overwhelming strength had absorbed a handful more by the metal debris that rolled and fell from the torn vest tatters, which cleared the way for bnc's medical work to take place. The effort of staying conscious long enough for the help they'd hired to arrive had been too much, and once stabilised, she moved off to drop back into VR. Taking over the drones wasn't much of an issue. It seemed these murder bots were actually online, thanks to some clever coding on the part of the rigger himself. If he ever went down, they would revert to protecting the rest of the team, or anything else friendly (Which apparently included you and your team, given that they hadn't rearmed and filled you full of holes.) They considered you friendly being the main point to take from that check, which also meant they didn't resist your attempt to claim them.
Krestov's search for where Wasteland fell in the hopes of finding her personal kit results in you returning a custom milled smoke grenade, a TNT filled high explosive grenade and a velcro back pouched that must've loosened with all the blood on it, containing a box of match grade 7.62 heavy ammunition that fed into the team's M202. Spare ammunition.
Slobbertooth takes up rear guard, covering the effective rear of the building. The trainyard is noisy, but quiet compared to the noise you should be expected with Wasteland and her crew got their drek rolling and started laying waste to an area. And from the carnage you've already seen, they gave it their all and got outguned. It's on the way to the back door that you realise you've only seen signs of discharge from Wasteland's crew, not from whoever put them down. Whoever did this... They didn't miss. The only sign they were ever here was that hole with blood where the machine gunner tagged his killer.
Torrent, the rigger must have been chased in here. Perhaps his preivous position was compromised and he had to fall back with the team. Wasteland's vehicle of choice is nowhere to be seen, either. And Wasteland never left that truck modified to be a ramraiding bulldozer far behind. She was parnoid about losing it, such a silly thing, you remember that clearly looking into the face of the dead rigger, you spoke about it before the Azzie mission. Wasteland said she'd cut his balls of if he so much as misplaced it while he had control over it...
bnc. With the drones under your control, and headed back to the van, you do another sweep, but find nothing else. Flying them back wasn't... easy, but you manage to scrape them back to their new home. From your expert eye on overwatch, this was one hell of an ambush, but you don't need to be an expert to see that. But the area appears as safe as it had ever been, well, at least before Wasteland and her crew arrived to do... whatever it was they were paid to do.
-
Picking up the box of ammo and the grenades curiously, he stashed them in a bag along with the shotgun and threw them over his shoulder. The exposed part of his face (mouth and jaw) denoted a hardened expression, as of someone deeply focusing on the work without desire of distraction. He couldn't help but be impressed by Wasteland's refusal to succumb to the gunshots, even for an ork. Getting up, he picked up the broken remnants of Wasteland's link, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"You will survive.." He said softly, turning and giving a nod of recognition to Slobbertooth. Leaving the duo, he bounded off with a speed surprising for a troll, returning to the resting point of the troll gunner in the building, collecting the link, weapon, and what he could for the bag. Regrouping with Torrent, he did the same with the rigger: commlink, RCC, weapon, etc. "The less we leave behind, the better. This place is automated, not abandoned. I've got a location on the last member, will retrieve what I can. Did they have a vehicle? With access, I can drive it out of here with everything" And with a nod to Torrent, he bounded off.
-
Slobbertooth glanced back into the main room, "bnc, if your patient is ready to talk, can you find out where she would like to be dropped off, or if she's driving her team's transport out of here.
"If she's ready to move, we're leaving." Slobbertooth looked back down the sights of his HK. "We've already been here too long.
-
These are professionals. They do what has to be done, and waste no time. Good. We need everything we can get to find out what the heck has happened here.
She gehts up, suddenly alone with Wasteland. "Dudes? Anybody? I can't carry Wasteland on my own, you know?"
Waiting for the others, she looks around. Commlinks collected, rigger control collected, there's nothing to do. Wait. Wait. Wait! Holy Jesus, what's that?"
bnc can't suppress a grin. Hastily, she opens the medkit again, resists the temptation of picking up a little Golden Mirror and instead takes out an empty phial. She unpops it and walks over to where one of the attackers got hit. Carefully she collects as much blood as possible and pops the phial shut again.
This might be even better than the 'links.
She than waits anxiously for the others to return, gun at the ready. "Chummers, I might have found something interesting."
-
By the time bnc had piped up about something interesting, Krestov was already out in the trainyard, hearing his team through his transceiver over the roar of the moving cars. Apart from the background noise, the yard was deathly quiet, putting the hairs on the back of the troll's neck on edge as he rounded a corner, coming upon the resting place of the other troll.
He stopped, almost in shock at the brutal scene before him, the body's face still with eyes wide open, mouth agape in shock. It was all too clear he was not expecting what their assailants had for him...likely the first to fall. Kneeling down, he closed those eyes out of respect. "Rest well, friend..." was all he said before picking up his gear, slinging the body over his shoulder and making his way back to the building.
It was several moments later before the big guy's hulking frame was back in the building, setting down the one troll next to the other before returning to Wasteland's staging area with bnc. "Sorry I am late...all assets are in this building now. What did you find?"
-
"Blood, my friend. If I get a decent sample and we find a proper spellslinger we can find out where these bastards are. There are rituals known to many Awakened which enable them to enchant them without knowing their location with only some drops of blood."
She smiles. "There are some ifs, but this might be the key to find who ore where these bastards are. Not the typical hacker approach, is it? But it might work, and it might work better then the typical hacker approach."
-
Slobbertooth is intrigued, but he does have an objection to the optimism. "Not to put a damper on things, but how do you know that's our attackers' blood and not he blood of the people we were supposed to save?"
-
"Uh, well, I'm not sure ... just because I think Wasteland's machine-gunner wouldn't shoot his own team, perhaps. Apart from that it's just speculation." She grins and winks at him.
-
Krestov had remained silent during this exchange, doing a quick check of how secure the gear he picked up was. Once extraction was a go, there would be little time to handle spilled goods in the transport. Pulling up his ARO map, he studied it carefully, speculating, trying to find something he might have missed. Speaking into his subvocal mic, he piped in.
"Not to distract from the latest crime investigation technique, but have we located their transport, if they have one? Also, comm-check. Torrent, Jane, you still with us?"
-
"Affirmative.Say,Krestov, does this seem like a botched operation to you?Because if I didn't know Wasteland and her crew were shadowrunners I'd say that this mess seems like a professional hit.Execution."
-
Done with the biz - collecting commlinks and the rigger control, harvesting a sample of blood - bnc exhales heavily and looks around.
"Jesus fucking Christ. Where have I gotten myself into? This mess, this... this carnage. Sweet Jesus, I need something to calm down. Where's the medkit?
bnc snaps open the lids of her medkit, longing for a dose of Whoom, an Austrian drug which would calm her down a bit. Everyone in the party knows she's addicted to it, although she claims she's in total control. Just when you started wondering how she could still get hold on it in Seattle, you figured out she's actually brewing the stuff herself. But as far as you know, she's not selling it.
She picks out a pack of the silvery patches and hesitates. You're on a run, you drekhead. There's no way you can let anything cloud your wits! She casts a glance at the corpses around her and closes her eyes to refrain from vomitting. The very moment she hears Krestov's voice in her head.
"Not to distract from the latest crime investigation technique, but have we located their transport, if they have one?"
She drops back the patch and closes the medkit. Grow up, girl. It's not the first murder you've seen. Focus on the job!
"We have not. Is it important? I guess, if I log on using Wasteland's comm, I should be able to trace it down. That is, assuming she MARKed it, which I think she would have done. Or else, I might try the rigger control. Question is: Is it important right now or can it wait until we're somewhere safe?
And in real voice, audible only for Krestov, she adds in a whisper. "Ivan, can you hold me for a second?"
-
The troll hmmed quietly to Torrent's question. "Even with them as a runners, your view is noted. I am inclined to agree" Setting the pack down, he leaned over where Wasteland lay, checking to see if she was responsive at all. He was not worried about stability; the trauma patch still applied to her combined with bnc's talents dissuaded any doubt of the orkette's safety.
bnc's comment brought him to reality once again, and he gave a little shrug. "Consider it low-middle priority. Acquiring it would ease extraction of all assets here once we are ready.."
He paused, hearing the whisper next to him as he slung his riot shield over his back, helmeted face turning towards her. Silently, he nodded, bringing an arm out and pulling her in, a firm but gentle grip holding her in place. "...you're handling yourself well. We're almost through this." He whispered to her, muting his transceiver for the moment, letting her push away when she was ready. Face hardening, he gave a nod, tapping his neck with his free hand. "Assets are secure. Recommend we bring vehicle to the door for extraction.."
-
She presses herself hard against Krestov, biting her lips. Pull yourself together, girl. If any of the others catches wind of what you're doing her, your career is over and done with.
She inhales deeply, eyes closed, and remains yet another couple of seconds in Krestov's firm grip, before she steps back with a sigh. "Thanks," she whispers almost soundlessly, then resumes an almost steady voice on the communication channel.
"I recommend checking the car's location when we're back and safe. They might have taken it with them. If so, it will lead us directly to their place in half an hour or so.
Fighting down the urge to Whoom herself to peace, she steps out of the boxcar, waiting for Jane's car to show.
-
"I'll go to get the van." "I probably won't blow out the transmission."
Slobbertooth shuffles out the door, his gun raised as he crossed back through the trainyard towards the van.
-
bnc shakes her head to get clear again. Apparently she had fallen asleep for just a second, though it felt like a longer time. But now she's wide awake again, and ready for anything fate might throw at her.
-
Ah ha! There it was. Wasteland's vehicle. Though it could hardly be called as such really considering it's design and what you really knew was hiding underneath the form of that vehicle that looked like a semi truck with a box car on the back. The thing was literally a wheeled, highly modified bulldozer, bullet proof and you wouldn't doubt for a second there would be light tanks that couldn't penetrate this thing. The last time you'd seen it was smashing through a wall during the Azzie heist. Hidden on the other side of the trainyard, parked against some low income housing. Sadly, not taken as loot by whoever the hostiles were.
Slobbertooth, you make it to the team's van without further issue. There are still no sirens. No sign around here that anything is even slightly out of the ordinary. Surely the cops should at least be on their way, right? But, there's nothing. It doesn't explode either when you hit the ignition and rumble the thing to the carpark for your extraction route.
Krestov, bnc, Wasteland seems stablised for now, at least safe enough to move. She's carrying a lot of injuries though, and despite them all, somehow still conscious, or at least fading in and out on account of the hit of drugs flowing through her system. Reliving the incident, this one, or something else. "Front... rear. Hose them..."
Torrent, out of the back of the building, you can see that truck after minutes of staring at it not realising it for the distance and through all the traincars slowly moving about the yard. It's shut up and pulled tight, shut down and cold. Little did the machine know it's owners were almost all dead. Something catches your eye as well, on top of one of the buildings, about two rows back, one of the seven story ones that looks over this place. A whisp of black smoke that floats into the sky.
-
"I found the truck!Stay sharp,I'm moving nearer.I guess its powered down and locked, since bnc didn't find it."
Perception roll ->Top of the building/smoke (http://orokos.com/roll/243192): 10d6t5 3
I spend one edge point for my sneaking test just to be sure-Second Chance
Approaching the truck (http://orokos.com/roll/243193): 17d6t5 4
Second Chance (http://orokos.com/roll/243194): 13d6t5 6
So I can use 8 hits (Limit)
Please remember because of Traceless Walk anyone trying to hear me passing has -4 dice.
-
Slobbertooth backed up to the office building, "Alright, the ride is here. Lets exfiltrate, shall we?"
-
Krestov stood up from his reverie as his earbud came to life with the sounds of his teammates, the big troll standing up straight with a sharp intake of breath. Slinging his shield over one shoulder and the bag of collected gear on the other, his lips curled into a sharp frown of resolve, preparing his body for bearing the weight he was to carry. Turning to the fail decker next to him, he gave a nod. "Pave the way. We must go" Were the only words he said as he put his arms under Wasteland at her neck and knees, Giving a grunt as he picked her up gingerly.
"Principle is secure. Heading to Exfil" Was all the troll said as he departed the warehouse. If he had time to recover the other three bodies, he would, but if not, so be it.
-
"Confirmed. Let's get the drek outta here."
bnc slides the blood sample into the medkit, checks the place one last time, suppresses a shudder one last time, steps aside to let Krestov (and Wasteland) pass. She unholsters her gun, unsecures it and follows Krestov.
-
Wasteland's truck is something to behold. It's almost a piece of Seattle history. That's how Wasteland's crew got started. They'd drive the bloody thing through walls and take a store for everything they owned, tills, safes, everything. Load it into the back of the vehicle and sort it out later. Channel 98 had refered to the crimes as the 'Unstoppable ramraiders' given to that nothing seemed to slow them down, not traffic bollards, not reinforced walls, nothing. Eventually when they found shadowrunning they stopped performing them, and let the crimes become one of the great unsolved misteries of the era. Up close, it's easy to see why they got that name. The truck is like the unholy love child of a snowplow, a bulldozer and a main battle tank. It carries fake corporation tags so Lone Star wouldn't harass them, an armoured car company, you knew it could be changed at a drop of a hat with it's spoof chips and chameleon coating.
Wasteland herself doesn't put up a fight, hefted and carried back to the van. There is silence. Bnc has her blood sample secured within the medical kit. Did the local population simply... miss this giant automatic gunfire?
bnc, Krestov, your departure for the team's van is both effortless and uneventual.
Slobbertooth, somehow, you manage to get the van to the exfiltration point without blowing out it's transmission.
Torrent, you are the sneakest person that ever was, and you are now close enough to touch a piece of Seattle history. You don't see anyone, and no windows look down at this direct position. In fact, as far as you can tell, someone would have to be on the street or on a roof to see you from here, and you see neither of those two.
-
Slobbertooth asks Torrent over comms, "Anything interesting in Wasteland's ride that you want to grab for safe keeping?"
-
"Nothing in particular.Tracking devices, signs of battle,anything that can satisfy my curiosity."
-
With a stoicly solid expression on his features, Krestov eased Wasteland into the van, doing his best not to aggravate her injuries and make her comfortable. He then followed by grabbing the recovered gear, stowing them into the far back, concealing them so as to not look conspicuous. Nodding to Jane, he stuffed himself into the back with her, motioning for bnc to follow.
"Principal is safe and ready for exfil. We can recover their truck if needed, but I feel we have no further need to be here. Let us regroup and form a plan on safe ground, da?" Heaving a heavy sigh, the troll eased back into the seat, pulling his helmet off, his blonde mane falling into place as he shook off the helmet feeling. A hard expression on his face, he closed his eyes and tapped at a console at his belt, turning off his simrig. There was no more need for it.
-
bnc sighs as she drops into the place beside Krestov, leaving the passenger's seat for Slobbertooth.
"It's over now," she says with relief, forgetting to use the public channel and thus audible only for Slobbertooth and Krestov.
"What now? Are we going to investigate what happened? Shall we wait for Mrs. Johnson (she casts a look at the heavily wounded she-ork to her right) to recover and give new instruction? Shall we drink ourselves to death, celebrating that we survived another day in the shadows?"
Whoom! This is what I really need now. I have to get my fucking Whoom! soon as we get out of this place!
Subconciously, she feels for the troll's hand and looks up to the van's ceiling, waiting for the tension-relieving feeling of the vehicle getting into motion.
-
Slobbertooth notices the girl's actions, the movement of her hands, and her general posture. This girl is in for a rough surprise. This was a pretty nice day, all things considered. Slobbertooth gets out of Jane's way so that she can drive, and moves into the back of the van, deactivating the wireless functions on his guns and nonessential equipment.
Slobbertooth gives the girl a smile, and tries to lighten the mood. "You forgot the most important step, bnc. We get paid."
-
She smiles, regaining her posure.
"I didn't forget. I just... found it more professional to first do the job and imply the payment."
She nods in his direction.
<<<<<< After returning >>>>>>
bnc eases herself into the couch while Krestov is carrying Wasteland in, followed by the others.
"Ah, now, you're the professionals. Shall we wait for Wasteland to recover before we do anything? Or shall we start doing some research?"
She did not take her Whoom, by the way.
-
"You guys are no fun..."
....
After the team arrives at the hideout Torrent remains in his quarters.The black smoke returns briefly in his thoughts
-
Krestov did his best to be gentle, the troll gingerly setting the unconscious Wasteland down on the couch of their hideout, confirming she wasn't going to roll off before retrieving the recovered gear. Once inside and unloaded, he slipped out of his jacket, surprisingly not cold despite being in merely cargo pants and a tank top. Must be the adrenaline. bnc's question snapped him out of his thoughts though, as he glanced at their client.
"I doubt we will see her awake for some time. I would not recommend a stim patch either. Nor would I anticipate payment upon her awake. Think about what we know...that chopper from the way in might be worth checking if we can. The drones might have some recordings we can use. Word of professional teams being hired for wetwork... it is unfortunate our best witness will not be awake, but we must do what we will."
-
"Right. So here's the decision: Will we investigate this assault not knowing whether we get paid for, or no?
Let's vote. I say yes. Reputation sometimes is more valueable as money and this is the chance to show we are more than just mindless mercenaries. Ah, speaking of..."
bnc gets up and opens her medkit. She removes the blood sample and puts it into the fridge. This might be nothing. Or everything.
"What say you?"
-
Slobbertooth shrugs, but agrees. "Our reputation probably won't take a hit if we don't investigate something we weren't paid to investigate, but our team might. I'm too paranoid to not think that this could be related to the recent Azzie raid, so it's worth checking our for our own health, at least."
Slobbertooth looks at his jacket and jeans. "I was really hoping to get paid soon, though. The orc needs a new suit."
-
"A moment. As you know I wasn't with you when you performed this Azzie raid. What exactly happened and why do you think it might be related to the attack on Wasteland? Was her team with you then? I'd love to know details! That's my part of the business after all."
-
Slobbertooth speaks, agreeing that bnc should know some of the details.
"I'll fill you in on the basics. The raid on Aztec was a heist big enough that it afforded us our current housing situation. We worked with Wasteland's crew on the raid, so that's the tie between this attack and that job. You're probably wondering why a company worth trillions, and who runs a country would care enough to send a kill team to geek us after such a relatively small theft from their coffers."
Slobbertooth shrugs, "Welcome to dealing with the meanest megacorp around. Welcome to the profession."
"I'm going to need a bigger gun."(Or'zet)
-
"Oh. Guess that qualifies for a profound research. Ah, and Slobb: Red Englisch mid uns, wei sunst faung i mein Linza Dialekt außa und daun vastehst du ned amoi mid ana Linguasoft an Meadaldreg. So-ka?"
She smiles, knowing that there is no gear so sota as to be able to translate Austrian dialects.