[Sentinemodo]

Once again self inducted paralysis taken over the CodeMonkey's body. When he opened up to his Matrix senses the glory of the electron night was surrounding him.

First things first. He opened up Doberman's ARO and issued guard body order, and left it with the view from Doberman's camera. Now down to the Stormcloud node...

Let's take a look what commlink nodes are subscribed to this cell... Monkey's icon was sculpted as a cartoon like chimp character and it was programmed to make random moves during the instants on inactivity.  It took the moment to scratched itself over the back with the enormous long hands.

Oh there it is... damn no commlink nodes...   

[Xzylvador]

He turned around as Holland mentioned him and found himself looking straight into the Wasps compound eyes. They seemed to trap him as he felt the monster's mental tendrils reaching out to him, probing his mind for weakness. It felt as if a dozen ice cold tentacles were trying to dig into his skull.
Devoted instinctively focused on who he was, why he was and at this moment even more important, where he was. Standing in a puddle of blood flowing out of the lifeless body of a person who he had fought alongside with as a team, only to have ended up being killed by the poisonous sting of a creature just like this one.
Anger flared hotter than the sun, burning the tentacles. Determination built up inside his mind and grasped the tentacles before the Wasp could pull them away. The fire of his righteous anger followed them back to their source. He felt the Insect Spirit's anguish as his burning rage entered its mind.

It was he who let it go.

"We've got one bug left to squish."

[Kontact]

Having been so viciously rebuked, the large wasp, faded from sight, back into the astral.  Several other wasps still circled inside the magician's dome, throwing themselves against the barrier, but several more disappeared along with the large one.

[Crossbow]

Digger felt completely out of his element, but with no one else stepping up, he pressed the elf to keep him focused and on topic.

"Looks like your girlfriend is giving us a second to chat.  We are here, and I guess D is willing, so lay it out for us capo, what do you need doing?"

[Kontact]

Holland perked up and sat cross-legged on the floor.  He was suddenly somber and spoke quieter and calmer.
"Oh, thank ghost..  You're like angels.. making that horrid bitch go away..  How did you do that?  Oh, please, god, teach me to do that."
He bent forward slightly, dropped his head into his hands and started to sob quietly.
"I just don't care.  I don't fragging care.  Call the army.  Call Lucien Cross.  Call the Ghostbusters.  Call freaking Ares.  Just please..  I don't want to be here anymore.  I can't be here anymore."

The strain of maintaining the protective spells seemed to be taking a toll on the mad elf's composure.

[Kontact]

CodeMonkey, snapped out of his VR trance to find himself dragged to a different part of the floor.  Now propped up against the balcony railing by Digger, he reached into his front pouch and pulled out a long tube.  Twisting it and opening it, a metal mesh came out and, clearing the tube's mouth, fell open to produce a dish antenna.  Code pulled the jack from the bottom of the dish and plugged it into his commlink.  This done, he pressed a button on its stem, producing a  small spike when he proceeded to shove into the balcony railing to anchor the device.  The world wide matrix blinked on in his link and he dove in.

After several minutes of research, Code managed to gather a good deal of information on this man, Holland Green.  First, he found a filmography briefly detailing his life and work.  Born 2013, he is world-famous trid star and stage performer well known for his work in several high-budget trideo productions as well as his initial rejection of the simsense format for storytelling. 

A short clip from an academic repository pops up. "If we could learn as much from feeling our face as from looking in a mirror we would not need mirrors.  Film-craft allows us the perspective to see ourselves while being free of ourselves.  I believe that a level of removal from the action of the story is necessary for greater understanding to be reached.  To simply feel is not enough to learn, otherwise, we would all be sages."  The voice matches that of the man below well enough in a cursory inspection.

It goes on to say he retired to Québec City in 2058, where he is seen occasionally, but prefers his privacy.  He owns several high-end restaurants in the country of Québec as well as the UCAS and is know to frequent them occasionally.  The old images of his face are immediately recognizable as similar to the rail-thin elf on the floor of the set, but there are some subtle differences besides his gaunt, skeletal form.  The more current images taken since the crash of 63 show a man with a much fuller and happier face, which contains several of the identifying marks from the filmography's pictures which the elf below lacks.

[Crossbow]

Digger suddenly snaps his fingers.

"Hey, mebbe we can get the firebug ghostie from downstairs to come up and burn the buggies the rest of the way out?  That could work right?"

[Kontact]

After a little bit of Matrix searching and reading, CodeMonkey saw a swirling ball of light fly into view and pulse warmly to indicate that the blimp had lowered itself into range.  He momentarily gave up his search to jump in and pilot it close enough to hear the discussion being held over the gargoyle's shattered form.  Back in the blimp, Code quickly confirmed that all his systems were functioning properly and began to drift around the outside of the building.  He was very glad that the wind was slack at this time of the evening since it wouldn't interfere with the audio on his trid-cam.  There were five men standing about.  Four men with dusty long coats, shotguns and rifles standing toward the building and a wiry-looking elf with a large gun on his back which you earlier identified as the sniper.  It seemed he was speaking heatedly with four other men.

"...an asshole, Morgan.  You have no clue what you're trying to pull down on your own head." 
"Is fancyboy Jack afraid of a few ghosts?  Way you were swooning over that shooter I thought maybe you'd found someone to replace your brother for your nightly ass-"
The sniper, identified as Jack, snapped his fist into the speaker's face, hard.  The other man, Morgan, fell straight to his back almost as if the punch and the fall were a single motion.  Jack then looked at the other three men and finally up to where the blimp was idling.  He looked at it for a second, blinking twice, then turned his gaze back toward the man writhing on the ground, covering his face.
"..pff-uggin.. gill you.. puggin dead nan.. Jack.  fink you gan.."
Without another word, Jack jumped into the air and came down hard on the man's chest with his knees.  There was no fight left in him.  Hard to tell if there was anything left in him.  Jack stood up and brushed himself off a little. 
"Get him out of here.  I'm going up there to look for my brother."
As the three others dragged the unconscious man away, Jack pulled out a cigarette, lit it and stared at the blimp for a second.
"You get that last part?" He said, smiling.  "I'm coming up."
He pointed to himself, the building, and then the sky.  laughing a little, he put his hands in his pockets and started strolling towards the Cross building.

While Code was watching this take place, another orb of light appeared in his vision, floating just on the periphery of his sight.  He reached out and touched it now with his mind, resolving it into a sensor view from the van on the west side of the building.  It seemed there was a vehicle approaching.. 

[Sentinemodo]

Stormcloud blinked twice (zoomed in, zoomed out) with a optic camera in confirmation, climbed a little higher and focused on the incoming vehicle. Code inside the drone added another query to the research - identifying similarites between pictures of Holland and 'Jack'. General query on 'Jack' as well, and fired up node detection analysis on the incoming vehicle.

[Kontact]

Code caught sight of the vehicle about two city blocks to the north and closing fast over the rough terrain of the pot-holed street.  A couple of honks to nearby pill-boxes let anyone in earshot know that this fast mover was an expected sight.  It looked like an open-framed dune buggy or ATV with a massive.. thing at the wheel.  It pulled up outside the western entrance near the van, and almost immediately, the van's TIe software resolved two hidden nodes.  One from the car and one from the man.  The nearby elevated train line along that road obscured the sight considerably, so that it was hard to make out details, but it seemed like a large humanoid got out of the vehicle, went around to the back, and lifted the better half of a motorcycle out the rear to carry toward the tower.

[Xzylvador]

Subvocal: "As far as I know, this weird elf and the bugs are working together. How else could he have survived here for that long?"

"You want to know how to do that? Gather your thoughts and fight those damned things."

Devoted looked again at the dead body of one of his fellows, then crouched next to it and started dragging it towards the elevator shaft. With the help of the others, he could lower it and himself to get it to the fire. If they didn't, he'd have to levitate again, but he had to admit to himself he hated the idea of using magic in this place more and more; the bugs were obviously attracted by it, and that had resulted in Ruckus' dead. Maybe if he hadn't...
"If you're not going to help, I'll do this alone. I'm not leaving his body here." He wanted to say it over subvocal, but the physical strain of dragging the body caused his voice to be louder than he meant.

[Mindset]

The broken lower levels stretched like a maze of pit fires, huddled masses and unwashed chaos across Jack's field of vision as he entered what was once the building's lobby. A long pitted and bullet ridden security desk sat in front of the defunct elevator banks and a haggard man brandishing a tire iron glared menacingly from behind some plastic construction material now acting as a domicile. The Gatekeeper. Every building had one.  You paid your tolls here first or they made sure every squatter was looking to gut you as you delved deeper into the structure. It worked like some kind of fucking magic and the word of mouth spread like it did with the bugs via hive-mind. The Keeper had the look of desperation, a look of knowing that this plot of broken plascrete was his and if you wanted it, there would be blood and to the victor goes the spoils.

The squatter eyed the Elf and the Elf eyed him. How long had it been for this bearded resident? How long had he been living with his lot in life? How long had he been defending his territory inside the building from those forced to survive outside or from the raiders and the bugs? Either way, a tiny bottle of Isopropyl Alcohol slid and bounced along the the broken floor, stopping near his plastic abode. Jack pointed to the bottle and tipped his cover. Payment for a weathered eye and a struggling family. The guy could trade that or invest it with the local healer. It might feed the younglings and the woman the Elf's thermoptics had picked up cowling behind the man's plastic walls one day.

One Day. Jack thought about what that really meant here in the CZ. One Day was the modern Chicago dream. It held promise. It held hope. Today, however, it was still nothing but a fucking dream. He unslung his rifle and watched as the light show signaling the Smart connection played out like Christmas in his field of vision. His dream died with his brother.  Today was all he had left. Tomorrow he'd mother-fuck those responsible, sure, but today was what mattered. One day he'd be back up with his brother running shit again. One Day.

The horn blasts echoed off the plascrete canyon walls and reverberated inside of the building's lobby. A sanctioned runner. Sometimes a good thing but sometimes not. Wheeling around, Jack took a knee and readied his rifle to the shoulder. He was exposed to anyone coming in via the front entrance. Not a good tactical situation. If said runner was making a line for the building Jack hoped he came with good intentions.

[Ten-Hex]

The hulking thing hauls the bike scrap with apparent ease towards the tower. It's just over six feet tall but ridiculously broad, with wide arms that hang nearly to its knees, but making out more features is difficult due to its heavy protection. A full set of bike racing gear, layered with obvious gel packs, dyed in a makeshift urban camo and with a matching helmet covers the thing. The fingerless gloves do reveal heavy, spade-like digits or claws that could be covered in what looks like bark.

As it spots Jack, the thing begins to reach for its helmet with its spare hand and bellows out in a gravelly, deadpan voice, "Jack. Shit. Good ta see another ol Haymarketer kickin around still."

The helmet comes off, revealing what could possibly be some sort of ork (if one relaxed their eyes and got reaal imaginative about it), with a bald head, yellowed tusks and a bull-thick neck. What really grabs your attention is the fact it looks like the lovechild of some Bavarian ogress and a giant maple tree, with thick brownish bark-like skin mottled with green licheny patches. A few tiny fern-like growths around the ears stretch eagerly skyward as the helmet comes off, seeking out whatever sun they can. The treeman's face is about as blunt and expressionless as his voice, made all the more so by opaque protective covers on his eye sockets designed to look like curved panes of amber.

"Still smokin them death sticks, eh? Shit'll kill ya, man." He grunts, adding, "You here on biz too? Lemme just trade in this hunkajunk with the slags for some supplies, an we can talk shop."

If there is a rifle pointed in his direction from the wiry elf, the treeman pays it no mind. Jack's good people, a trait rarer than fresh food among Zoners, and you treat good people like kin if you want this city to shine once more.

He looks back in the direction of the van for a brief moment, grunting again.

[Mindset]

Distance scrolled down the right side of Jack’s field of vision thanks to his connected range finder as the walking tree expunged itself from the Humvee.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you’re one ugly sight this late in the day, my man. What’re you looking to trade that pile of shit for, anyway? Oh, hey, not for nothin', I could use a hand getting Jim’s body back. He’s upstairs somewhere. I got some beer back at the Atoll if you're game.”

Tossing the guttering cigarette towards the door, Jack pats the breast pocket on his vest out of habit. The soft pack is still there. Lowering the weapon from his shoulder, he opens the loop on the retractable stock. He feels it close into itself rather the watches it happen and reconnects the weapon back across his chest as he shakes out a new cigarette. Hanging it loosely from his lips, he motions with his lighter-laden hand towards the bike parts.

"Nice haul, by the way. Dare I ask where you scammed it? I scoped what I assume is a group of scav’s up there from across the street. I don’t know if they’re jumpy or what but I’d rather have a walking Red Wood at my back if they get weird. You need a hand walking that toaster somewhere? I'd offer to carry it but, well...."

Jack motions with the lighter at the big man and then at himself.

"It probably wouldn't work out too well considering..."

[Crossbow]

Digger moves to the shaft and gently takes Ruckus' body from the mage.

"I won't leave him here either, but you don't bury the dead till the fight is over.  Let's take this a step at a time, we are on the clock here kid, and the job comes first, kay?  Now, get it together."