[Jack_Spade]

Isaint nodded at Tobbis remark: "Fair question: But actually an ambush here would be a lot more devastating. A tunnel needs only to access ways blocked to be the perfect trap. Above we can choose from a much wider variety of battle grounds. Besides - if I remember Victorias warning correctly - our combinded presence will sooner or later draw out some freaks that want to test how hard we really are."

To Al he said: "That is the one million dollar question. Maybe we should ask that clown for help. They seemed willing to go out of their way to help us - that is up to that incident with Solo. Worth a try in my opinion."

"Hey Solo, do you still have a commcode from one of that troupe?"

#166

[adamu]

With Solo trying to reach the clowns, Al figured they shouldn't leave Art - or whoever he was - waiting.

He thought of having Tobbis or Solo do some of their fancy matrix magic to make sure his comm wasn't tracked, but then decided simple was best. He typed out the following on one of his throwaway 'links: <<Art! PTL you're alive, baby. Thought we were going to have to go highest bidder with this package. Not my style. I work for a living. Things were scorching hot, so we ducked into Nightside. Now we are good and lost, but trying to make our way to Earl's Court, wherever that is. We're in a wifi hotspot now, but it's mostly dark down here. We'll lay low, then find a way to make contact again in forty-eight. Alouicious Harlan Guthrie, esquire.>>

Then he hit send, crushed the thing to bits under his Doc Marten workboot, and dumped the pieces into the bag he'd used to be sick in.

[Aria]

[Thursday June 18th, 2076, ~10:25, Nightside Market, London Below, London]

With the negotiations concluded, apparently to Doctor Pellietere’s satisfaction, it comes time to head out again to make your rendezvous.  Solo has furnished the group with the Clowns contact details and to collective relief they have agreed to provide an escort once more before they set up for their performance.  A group of murderous mime artists might seem like an unlikely choice of guide but it is hardly the strangest thing the group have seen or done down in Below…

Whilst the bustle in the market continues unabated the group are aware that they are now drawing far more looks than they might be comfortable with as they emerge from the eatery.  Closing ranks they head once more towards the surface…

***
_#52

[Jack_Spade]

Isaint didn't try to encourage the use of tactical movement. The group had been wittled down to much and speed was now more than ever important. Now that Goodnight no longer looked out for the girl, they did resemble much more a classic security detail: The Frenchmen, Jackhammer, Al and he himself all were taller than their respective charges. Tobis and Solo minding their respective field of expertise.
Of Nitro there was no sign. Isaint had given up trying to predict the movements of this free spirit.
They moved fast but somehow the market did stretch on a lot further than before. And apparently missing the psycho reputation of Goodnight or the Banshee company suddenly a lot more sinister looking people were looking their way.
<<Eyes up everyone. Have your weapons ready - I see a lot of hungry eyes directed at us.>>

[pistolgrip]

Aaron keeps his weapons put away to keep his hands free. He walks in the back of the group, as usual, though he gives a thought to walking in front. The trouble with that idea is that he has no idea where he's going, and someone with a computerized map does. So reassures himself of the importance of rear guard while keeping an eye out for anyone following them or moving for weapons. Once the group is moving again, he flips on his comm to make sure he doesn't miss any secret messages from the guys with wires in their brains.

Being an ork, and a rather large one at that, Aaron was used to drawing looks from crowds. He enjoyed knowing that generally nobody would mess with him given his superior size. He liked that most of his job as a bodyguard had been to fill doorways or block halls, and most times just showing up was winning the fight before it started. But even with his newest 'ware, it seemed the people down here, if you could call them "people", just didn't seem to get it. It was like they didn't care about a big ork, or that other ork with a gun and military gear, or anybody really, except for the family that they were protecting. It must've been obvious that they were from the surface, and that someone felt they were important. Perhaps that communicated opportunity to the people of Below. Perhaps it simply offended them that someone from the surface was being treated like they were better. Perhaps curiosity was simply more sinister in a place this far from the sunlight. Whatever the case, people were coming close, uncomfortably close, and Aaron wasn't sure about fighting off a whole crowd. One or two gangers, sure, but a dozen freaks? He had no idea what they were capable of, or how far his talents would get him down here. So he checked his armor nervously and kept walking, hoping for the best.

33 posts

[adamu]

Al shepherded his charge through the press of the market as fast as he could, and if he'd wanted to get out of this hellhole before, he was yearning for it now. Besides the simple degeneracy of it, things were just too crowded. And, increasingly, too interested. He'd really underestimated the prophylactic effect Goodbye's presence had offered them.

But then, just having been with her had probably generated its own degree of attention, so that now that she'd bailed...

Nitro had disappeared. Now there were barely more protectors than protectees now. And with this marketplace press, it was all they could do just to keep from being separated.

Isolated.

Lost.

Gone the way of Smiley. Of Mel.

Well, that wasn't going to be this family, he thought, left hand on Rachel Pelletiere's shoulder, guiding her, gently hurrying her along, sometimes having to grip her painfully just to keep the crowd from separating them. In his right hand was his Remington 990 rocking an armor-piercing clip. In this crowd, though, he'd more likely be wielding the butt than the business end. On the other side of Rachel was Spike, and it was all the three could do to keep moving abreast.

His eyes were peeled for anyone that might be a threat. But hell, from what he'd seen so far, the cocks of the walk down here were scantily clad uber vixens or tarted up mimes. Back in the ash wastes of Puyallup, he could move cross gang turfs and do biz in the Crime Mall, and generally spot threats before they got too close. Hell, he could do the same in Accra, Bangkok, Cairo, Delhi...but down here...if some vampire rabbit started killing his mates he wouldn't be surprised, and here he was without a holy damned hand grenade.

The crowd swept him within earshot of Isaint. "Hey, these clowns do know that the only direction we's innerested in is up, right?"

[Jack_Spade]

"Well, I'll be sure to tell them once we meet up. Damn this place. It's nice of them to help us out, but it would have been even nicer if they'd met us at the cafe. Honestly, fighting killer fire spirits wasn't so bad compared to this. At least with those you know exactly where the danger comes from.
But this shall also pass - only it's probably going to become worse before it gets better." Isaint knew that in this lot he would have no chance to use his rifle effectively. The hand guns and his focus would have to do.
"But wait till we get up. My contact confirmed that he had my order ready - and luckily it's a package that is able to move itself quite swiftly..."

[adamu]

"Yeah, once we find out where in creation we comin' up, I can try callin' my girl ahead an' havin' that replacement set o' wheels I ordered waitin' for us. She's supposed ta have it ready by now. Or...is this quite swiftly movin' thing you ordered a ride also? Either way, won't hurt ta have two."

Al flinched despite himself as a skinny green-skinned ork-thing brushed past, and the little human slapped the guy's fishing hand out of his pocket forcefully enough to know he'd been made, but softly enough to let the freak know he'd do best to just move on quietly rather than risk a confrontation.

That was the second pickpocket Al had fended off since they'd left the cafe, making him wonder just how solid Goodbye's promise of pristine law and order was here in her little utopia. He'd been in places like this before - not underground, but the culture wasn't that far off Seattle's Crime Mall or half dozen other "free markets" he'd spent time in. The peace held only until the stakes got high enough that some with enough juice came in that all bets were off.

He felt that spot behind his right kidney flare again, and there were those ghostly brass knuckles on his right hand again.

[Jack_Spade]

"You guessed it. It's a medical evacuation drone - fully VTOL capable. A real bargain. I plan to use it as mobile resupply depot and if necessary to move my body to the next shadow clinic - or anyone else who needs it for that matter." Isaint talked, but his mind wasn't with it. Instead he continued to scan their surroundings.

Unbidden memories resurfaced. Rome 2072, his first gig as a real bodyguard. The would be starlet Maria Scupo had just survived the second round in "The hottest virgin" show and somehow managed not only to attract a rabid fan base but also score the enmity of thousands of frustrated would-be good guys and matrix creeps. Even a rape gang had left their disgusting posts on her fan host. She had insisted on taking the scenic tour through the city, stopping at every shrine and chapel dedicated to her name sake. Every minute more and more fans and onlookers followed them. The press of the masses became stronger and stronger. Ian, the head of security pleaded with her to get into the armored limousine, but Maria refused, enjoying to much the adoration of her fans. It was the first time he had taken a bullet for a charge.
The man appeared suddenly and there was no smile on his face as he drew his colt. Isaint still could see the laser pointer travel up to Maria's shaply breasts. His reaction was as much instinct as it was training. He jumped and covered the starlet with his body.
He learned two things this day:
1. Getting shot hurts really badly
2. Trying to be a meat shield is useless if your opponent uses armor piercing discarding sabot rounds
His blood and Maria's mingled, he survived she died - staring into his eyes with a shocked and surprised look.
And he remembered his thoughts then and afterwards: I should have killed him to protect her.

Isaint gripped his gun harder...

[adamu]

"Roger roger. So we'll still need the van fer the group. Second we know where we's plannin' to hit the surface, I'm onna 'link. Still got Art's Elite on tap, too, but reckon that ride's been made."

Then he shut up. Less mouth, more eyes, he told himself.

[obidancer]

His hand on his gun, the Frenchman was ready to draw and shoot. His senses were in full alert, and he could feel his companion were equally focused.

The Frenchman had taken off his coat and gave it to the Doc. His chameleon suit was plenty of protection for him and in spite of all of the team effort a loose bullet was always a risk. It was a bit big on the smaller and older man, but it should give him decent protection should drek hit the fan.

How do we spread the word out that we're going deeper?

[Aria]

[Thursday June 18th, 2076, ~10:25, Nightside Market, London Below, London]
 
Nitro is nowhere to be seen, and more worryingly he is not responding to any comm hails…that only serves to ramp the group’s tension levels higher than the pressing crowd does by itself…
 
When the shit hits the fan it does so with spectacular style… from somewhere in the crowd a whisper of magic distorts the air around the group and suddenly Natasha breaks away, her enhanced agility easily allowing her to duck into the crowd before she can be grabbed…she shouts “I’m coming” as she lunges past the onlookers
 
An elf child, no more than ten, stylised thorn tattoos writhing across his cheek, steps forwards and blows and handful of dust into Solo’s face.  Consequently Solo begins to scream and claw at his face and his spiritual puppeteer whisks him into the dubious safety of the crowd…
 
Rachel struggles against Al’s wiry strength in an attempt to go after Natasha and the crowd suddenly back away from the group, possibly in response to the Doctors wildly waving weapon, but more likely in the certain knowledge that shadow crowds seem to have that bad things are about to happen…
 
***
_#53
 
 
 

[obidancer]

The Frenchman really hated Magic! It was always more trouble than not.
His gun was already brandished as soon as Natasha burst away. His first instinct was to cover the Doc however. His left hand grabbed the Doc's arm so he wouldn't decide to shoot randomly in the crowd and he positioned himself to cover the man.

Seeing that a kid attacked Solo was disturbing;
In one flowy movement he aligned his gun with the kid and was ready to shot should he reach for anything or do anything other than flee.


Let's ready an action to see what the kid would attempt. If he flee the Frenchman will let him, if not he gets the bullet in his knee.

Called Shot - Specific Target: Knee: 16d6t5 5
Original DV: 9
DV Limit: 1
Effects: Stunned (target must make a Composure
(2) Test or receive a –10 penalty to Initiative
Score), Knockdown (target must make
a Strength + Agility (DV+3) Test or fall prone),
Slowed (target’s Movement, both Walk and Run
rate, is halved and no Sprint Tests are allowed),
Winded (target is unable to perform Complex
Actions for a number of Combat Turns equal to
the original DV of the attack)

If attack succeed he will take 1DV plus the effects. I'm particularly looking at the Winded one so he can't do complex action for quite a while.

[/spoiler]

[Jack_Spade]

Isaint cursed. He had his gun out, but couldn't get a clear shot. "Guard them." was all he could say before he threw himself into the crowd after the girl, dodging, jumping and weaving without regard for those who got in his way.
Adrenaline gave him wings but he could feel how the distance between them grew wider by the second.

Gymnastics:
Gymnastics: 11d6t5 2 [11d6t5=3, 3, 4, 1, 4, 2, 5, 2, 3, 1, 6]


#170

[adamu]

Dammit to hell, that Goodbye witch done sunk her hooks into that poor girl! Al thought as he switched to internal air and strengthened his grip on Rachel.

"Spike: Natasha!" and the hound was off, half a step behind Isaint. Solo was gone - Al would have traded his life for the insane old runner's, but he wouldn't trade the family. That was how it had to work. French had the Doc and Jackhammer had William, and they needed to keep it that way. He hoped Tobbis was okay. "Ever'one else stay the fuck together! Circle the family!" he shouted.

Looking around for any sort of alcove or shop the group could find a least a little cover in, he growled in the ear of a panicked Mrs. Pelletiere: "Yer son is here an' he needs you to chill. Spike an' Isaint'll find yer girl."