[Tecumseh]

Doc digs up some information on Ohanzee's contacts to add to what Ohanzee learned earlier.

Long Shadow's address looks like a talismonger shop in the Sioux side of Denver. Long Shadow is a Shark shaman and the online reviews for his shop reflect that. Common adjectives include "cold", "ruthless", and "heartless".

>>>>>(That's putting it kindly. This guys has lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll's eyes.)<<<<< --Quint

>>>>>(Long Shadow doesn't form personal attachments and doesn't give discounts. I've been going to him for two years and am on a first name basis with him. ("Long," I say. "Top," he replies.) I went in last week to get myself a little treat for my birthday. Some mundane gonk - a pinkskin, no less - who had never been in a talismonger shop in his life was in there at the same time, bought the same thing, and got the same price as I did. Frag that!)<<<<< --Top Shot

The business doesn't have listed hours. Or, more precisely, it says "Open 24 Hours".

>>>>>(He doesn't sleep. Or he sleeps standing up. With his eyes open.)<<<<< --Leo

>>>>>(Bring a gift or an offering - a sacrifice, really - to help defray the worst of Long Shadow's instincts. Pork is recommended, if you can find it.)<<<<< --Colonel Kernel

There is no suggestion that anything has happened to him (or his shop) recently; he seems to be open for business.


Styles' is a Denver-based fixer. His UCAS-sector address shows up as crappy Sichuan restaurant with bad online reviews called "Chen's Village". From the exterior photos, the restaurant appears to be a concrete hut with no windows.

>>>>>(Full of dark corners for doing dark deeds.)<<<<< --Broncomaniac

Several restaurant reviewers commentators mention that it is "a good place to go if you want to die", although it is unclear if that opinion pertains to the food or the clientele.

>>>>>(This restaurant is popular with information brokers and adepts with the Iron Gut power.)<<<<< --MedMan

>>>>>(The drinks are stiff here. Probably helps kill off the bacteria on what you just ate.)<<<<< --HanSidney

>>>>>(Styles is primarily an information broker. He can also provide other services traditionally offered by a fixer, including fencing, hiring, equipment acquisition, and so on, but his true talent is keeping the pulse of the city.)<<<<< --Zoomy

>>>>>(While ambitious, Styles prizes loyalty above all else. I've never even heard a rumor of him selling out or betraying a client, even when it was in his short-term interests to do so.)<<<<< --Huahine

>>>>>(Roger that. I was hired to, uh, lean on Styles for a piece of information on one of his teams. He never bent, never broke. Stand-up guy; I felt bad about what I did to his ankles.)<<<<< --Tommyknocker

>>>>>(But don't let your guard down around him. He's willing to appear weak to lure others into a false sense of security, or strike deals that seem to benefit someone else more than himself, but in reality every move he makes is well calculated to improve his own standing. He's crafty and plays the long game.)<<<<< --Catori

Similarly, there is nothing that suggests anything has happened to Styles or Chen's Village recently, other than a health inspection that produced a barely-passing grade.

[Zweiblumen]

And then there was the fact that knowing this about Doc makes Ace trust him more.  He fires off some attachments.

<<Send Message
<<Recipient: Doc
<<Message: .
<<Attachments: Rhodes
<<gunslinger.png

Doc looks over at Ace as he receives the data and nods.  He pulls up two more AR windows and throws the data from each attachment into one.  He instructs his Agent to find any information it can on those two sources and then proceeds to do the same himself.
As he's pouring through AR data he says, "Feels like Chino is the man for getting us places, and it seems like we might be able to use Styles to possibly get us a new ride?  Seems pretty reputible from all accounts.  Feel like giving him a call Ohanzee? ... Oh, and isn't your last name the same as this mountain?"  He pulls up the picture of Ogallala Peak from Katsina's pictures.  "Maybe you're from there or some other connection?"

[Tecumseh]

Katsina listens to the conversation. She receives the files that Doc and Sam send. Watching the video of Doc, she shrugs before dismissing it. It's not significantly more disturbing than what Ace just did to the troll. Doc's language was more inflammatory, and desecrating corpses is unnecessary, but the end result was much the same. Dead is dead, unless you're undead. She tosses the ARO aside with a snap of her wrist.

"Who knows," she says to Doc in a more normal tone, the wind lessening now that the team is off the highway and in town. "Maybe you were under the influence. Drugs, or a BTL, or even the nanites, not to cast aspersions on your character. Whatever you were last night is different than how you are now."

She scans through the file Sam sent, puzzling over the code with Mom for a moment before turning her attention to the exchange with the Johnson. She thinks on it but doesn't say anything.

"We either need to keep moving or find a safe spot for the night. Might be hard to disappear in a town the size of Carbondale." There's a grocery store on your left and a strip mall on your right with a barber shop and a pizza joint. "Probably not much of a shadow community either.

"Nice place to raise kids, but I'm guessing the SINless are gorosa here. Outsiders."

[Tecumseh]

Ohanzee, through the muddled mass that is his mind at the moment, tries to think of what he knows about Carbondale and Defiance. The answer is "not much". Defiance, despite being the larger of the two, doesn't even register at all. As for Carbondale, the "shadow community" - such as it is - largely consists of low level drug and BTL peddlers. There are no safehouses, per se. The druggies or the chipheads might let you crash with them for a night if you brought a party pack with you to keep them occupied, but that's about the best Ohanzee can do in his present state of mind. He shudders at the thought: chipheads have terrible personal hygiene. Best to pick up some diapers at the grocery store if you go that route.

Tabling the idea until he learns more, he calls Styles. He answers almost immediately.

<<Small Shadow,  how goes it? How did things go with the dame?>>

There's little warmth in Styles' voice. He seems to be after information, even while exchanging pleasantries. And what name did he use? Small Shadow?

Ohanzee expresses interest in a van and a place to crash.

<<A van, sure I can do a van. What exactly are you looking for? You want a legal vehicle rented under someone else's SIN or do you want something completely untraceable and off the books? Just to ferry you to Defiance or you want it longer? What kind of condition will you be returning it in? I might need a damage deposit.

<<I've got a reliable safehouse in Defiance but the madam is strict. ¥20 per person per hour, minimum of 12 hours. You get what you pay for: she's watertight. Place isn't half bad either. She might even make you breakfast. I'll make the introduction for ¥200.>>

[Malevolence]

<<Small Shadow,  how goes it? How did things go with the dame?>>

Ohanzee keeps it brief and close to the vest. He matches Styles business like demeanor.
<<It's ... complicated, as per usual. I got what I needed from her, so there's that.>>

<<A van, sure I can do a van. What exactly are you looking for? You want a legal vehicle rented under someone else's SIN or do you want something completely untraceable and off the books? Just to ferry you to Defiance or you want it longer? What kind of condition will you be returning it in? I might need a damage deposit.>>

<<I want something the Star won't look at twice. Something that'll make it through a checkpoint if it comes to it. Typical laying low requirements. As for style, simple is fine - a Bulldog or Governor. I'll need it for at least a day. If it does it's job, it'll be back in the shape I borrowed it in. I'm not using it to start any trouble, just getting from point A to point B while staying off the radar.>>
It's unavoidable that Styles will know where they're hanging their hats tonight, but beyond that, Ohanzee is loathe to share any further info. Not how many people there are, not where their ultimate destination is, not a timeline. He might have a reputation for loyalty, but Ohanzee doesn't know that their business relationship is. If Styles provided Ohanzee the work stealing the artifact, and Ohanzee hasn't yet delivered said item, Styles may think that Ohanzee is screwing over a client of his, which would make Styles a dangerous person to provide information to. Even the information already provided might prove too much, but it couldn't be helped.

<<I've got a reliable safehouse in Defiance but the madam is strict. ¥20 per person per hour, minimum of 12 hours. You get what you pay for: she's watertight. Place isn't half bad either. She might even make you breakfast. I'll make the introduction for ¥200.>>

<<Sounds good. Make the intro. If it all works out, maybe I'll bring you a souvenir.>>
Hopefully that was vague enough that it could be interpreted as generous or joking, depending on their relationship.


Ohanzee slots his credstick and sends the 200¥.

[Tecumseh]

Styles confirms the cred transfer.

<<You don't want a Governor; Aztechnology vehicles will draw ire in the PCC. The Fiat Eurovan is nice and less likely to poke a Native in the eye than a UCAS or Aztlan product.

<<If you want it legit and don't expect trouble, you should just rent one legally. Call up one of the outfits in Defiance; they'll send you one on Pilot. 30 minutes, done. Cheaper than me.>>

Curious that's he's offering free advice, plus suggestions for cheaper alternatives. Maybe he really does play the long game.

<<Here's the address for the safehouse. Madam's name is Kimama. Make sure to call her the "Madam of the House", not the "housemadam". I'll tell her you're coming. It will look abandoned; it's not.>>

The address is two klicks north of Defiance, down a very narrow, winding lane that follows Mitchell Creek.

[Malevolence]

<<Good advice. I'll go that route, then. And thanks for getting me a place to crash. I got a couple friends that might be looking for a new line of work. Things like this help my case when I tell them why they should be talking to you.>>

<<Take care, omae. I'll be in touch once the heat dies down.>>


Ohanzee forwards the address of the safehouse to Chino, then reports what he learned from the call to the others in the van. After getting approval from the rest of the team, he rents an appropriate vehicle to pick them up at the strip mall.


"Chino, drop us off here at this strip mall. We'll get the rental and catch up with you wherever you ditch this piece of drek. While we're waiting, we can do some shopping in the store across the street. Sound good."

[Tecumseh]

Chino slows down and pulls into the parking lot of the strip mall on the right. It's 4:30 on a Friday afternoon and some of the daytime businesses - like the barber shop - are clearly winding down for the day. Others, like the pizza joint, are in the lull before the dinner rush. It's a relatively public spot, with cars passing in and out of the lot regularly. The Masked Woman seems visibly relieved that the road noise has finally died down.

"I don't think we can unload here and pass unobserved for half an hour," Katsina says. "Let's wait for the van to arrive from Defiance, then make the exchange somewhere more private. In the meantime, we can take the opportunity to pick up some of the things we didn't manage to get in Aspen, like security tags.

"I can stay with the van and discourage any would-be thieves." She glances to the window on her left and sees her reflection. She gives a soft sigh. "I suppose I should look different."

Behind her mask, she closes her eyes and whispers. The first part is inaudible, but slowly her voice raises until she murmurs, "Ozidano teheron, milessaratish. Imo medaron co versakhan." Then there is a familiar glow about her, a flash of fire that fades quickly, and in her place there sits Ivana Kutchukokoph, Japanese-Russian elf. She's not quite as tarted up as she was in Aspen, having decided to play it down a bit for the more middle-class Carbondale, but she features the kawaii almond eyes and the милый cheekbones that would make her the envy of any human female.

"Alright," she says. Her voice is now mildly accented and she smells like jasmine. She concentrates, turning one of her happier memories into the mana that will sustain the loop of the spell. The memory disappears, and is replaced with the question of whether it was worth it to give it up in exchange for the spell. At least she can function in society now. "Let's do this."

[Malevolence]

When Ohanzee gets out of the van, he checks the position - sight lines are good and it is parked so that the worst of the damage is largely hidden from view by another van in the next spot. Once the rental arrives, they can move to somewhere more secluded to make the swap, reducing the risk of some bystander seeing them moving weapons or a very memorable artifact. Keeping blood and gore from transferring over will provide a different, and gruesome, challenge, but will also be greatly simplified by having a more secluded spot..


But for now, there was a rumble in his belly and the opportunity to pick up some badly needed supplies. Like a knife. Ohanzee had cursed his helplessness at something as simple as a stuck seat belt and had immediately resolved to remedy that shortage at the first opportunity. And here was the opportunity. Double checking himself for blood on his clothes, he heads toward the sporting goods store.


It's a small affair, but every meter of wall space - up to the ceiling - is covered in shelves or peg board. A small selection of hunting rifles and even crossbows sits near the back, and there is where Ohanzee finds the knives displayed. Browsing through the knives, he picks up something cheap that will do the job, then thinks better of it. A multi-purpose tool can help him be prepared for more than just a jammed seatbelt. He decides to splurge and picks up a rather nice survival knife. While in the boy scout frame of mind, he heads over to the camping equipment and picks up an infrared flashlight and a ski mask.

As he grabs the ski mask, he remembers that he is still on the hook for a ballistic mask in Aspen that he will not likely be able to pick up. Can't have such a ding on his SIN - those sorts of things have a way of haunting you. He quickly messages the purveyor he bought it from and explains that his trip was cut short, unfortunately, and he would not have need of either of the masks, nor the biometric reader after all. No, I would not like them forwarded to my residence - I already have perfectly good ones there that I had simply forgotten to bring. Next he hits up the sports section and finds a black motorbike racing helmet - not too gaudy or too large. He'll be attaching a small camera to it and hopefully it will simply look like he's some extreme-sport-ophile. Checking his funds, he returns the ski-mask - the helmet will have to do for hiding his identity when needed, the dark visor making it all but impossible to see his face when it is closed.


After completing his purchases in the sporting goods store he moves on to the personal electronics store - it is clean and decked out with gleaming metal and awash in AROs - and grabs a few secure RFID tags - he hadn't been able to get these in Aspen - and then browses the cameras, looking for something small that he can attach to his newly acquired helmet. He selects a simple camera - one of the smallest they had without suddenly paying a premium for the small size - and buys it, skipping the extended warranty plan.


With his funds dwindling and the items on his mental shopping list checked off, he finally turns his attention to the insistent noises coming from his abdomen. The pizza from the morning had been phenomenal, and he found himself veering toward the pizza shop before stopping himself. The pizza from Mr. Moran's fridge had been top quality stuff. The low-rent soy based product from this restaurant would be a disappointment so soon after that fine repast, so he plays it safe and heads to the teriyaki place. Drowning soy in corn based sweetener and salt was much more difficult to screw up - or improve upon - than pizza. It was a chain place he'd eaten at many times before, or, he assumed he had as he hadn't needed to even glance at the menu before ordering. The food was familiar and satisfying - mostly because he was famished, but also because apparently it was a cuisine with which he was accustomed.


While he ate, he updated his data dump from the morning and copied it to three of the RFID chips. Then he wiped everything from his phone except his SIN - no contacts, no call history, no messages or photos or text files. Everything that had been important now lived in triplicate on the hardened chips he then secreted around his body and set to wireless off.


Throughout the entire shopping excursion, he had spent no more than a handful of minutes in parts of the stores that didn't allow him to see the van or other members of the team. It made him nervous to split up, and so having visual contact comforted him, and so when he was finished eating, he found the largest group of teammates and met up with them, waiting indoors and out of the cold for the rental van to arrive.

[Poindexter]

As much as he'd like to focus on the men firing at him, his fuzzy memory just won't allow him to. In this crazed half dream, half memory, Sam can't really see the details in much; only the things he's already familiar with. The faces of the men called Doc, Chino, and Ohanzee, the floating crate containing the obelisk, the XM30 barking relentlessly into the chaos; all these things are quite clear. But as for the scene around him, it all seems to blur into a vague and blurry zone of simply, "hostility." Slowly, but clearly, a more detailed picture begins to form in near slow motion in his slumbering mind. It starts deep inside his own head. The memory of a pre-accident thought; the first one he's had. "This room has an exterior wall!" The thought hits him like a bolt of holy redemption from the clouds and lights his entire brain on fire. Soon, the memory extends into his actual hearing. He can feel himself turning to face the ork and hear himself about to speak his name, shouting the words, "The western wall! Kick us a hole in it and I'll cover your flank, -"

"Chino, drop us off here at this strip mall. We'll get the rental and catch up with you wherever you ditch this piece of drek. While we're waiting, we can do some shopping in the store across the street. Sound good."

Sams eyes crack open, immediately awake and alert, but still groggy for a moment. The dream? Completely gone. He searches his brain frantically for the next word, Not CHINO!!! C'mon, what WAS it?! Cover your flank, Monster? Cover your flank, Charlie? Cover your flank, Skeeter?! DAMMIT! Voice still buzzing with sleep, he grumbles out, "M'nna ridewiCh w'Chino." He inhales with a snort, loudly through the nose and sits up straighter in his seat as he reboots all his gear. God dammit. Gazing out at the strip mall before him with narrowed eyes, he mentally composes a list of things he needs before taking another look down at his blood flecked armor jacket pocked with bullet holes and decides that a change of clothes is in order if there is to be any shopping done. Still with the semi-confusion of recent sleep in his voice, he turns around to face the rear of the bulldog and asks, "Didn't someone buy us all a change of clothes back there?"


It isn't the fact that he's unarmed that has Sam feeling apprehensive. His bare hands are enough to make short work of most any foe. It's not the bland khaki slacks, brown faux-suede loafers and red long sleeve polo style shirt he's currently wearing that paints him as a corporate drone either. To be honest, he loves the way it makes people not look at him like a potential threat and is considering dressing like this from now on, if there indeed IS much more of "from now on" left. Nor is he nervous about buying all the high end burner phones from a civilian store. The shopping cart full of real, honest to god, high end, PIG-bacon as well as the miscellaneous camping gear provide a good cover story, he feels like. He's not even worried about leaving the obelisk alone for it to do god knows what to whoever was left with it. No, what he's worried about at the moment is the SIN he's about to buy all this stuff with. "Ralph" was definitely burned. Spirits surrounded the house he called home, so that one was out of the question. Only way to find out if "Frank" is still good is to try it out on some non-threatening civilian shit first. If I get declined? No problem. I'll just leave with an apology and no fuss. If a fuss gets made, maybe this turns into a shoplifting sort of thing, we'll see.

Making certain to take no longer to shop than Chino does, he arrives at the cash register with a tired "long road trip" look in his droopy eyes. With a small yawn, he says, "Only a few more hours to go..." to the register clerk as he waves his comm over the sensor, making the transfer of funds, and "hopefully" verifying his SIN is not compromised.

The clerk never looks up from his trid and hardly even notices Sam as he puts his items in plastic bags and walks calmly back out of the store. Unless that man is in there calling the authorities right now, I think something finally went well. He knocks twice on the door of the bulldog before being let inside. "So, where are we headed from here?"

[8-bit]

"Didn't someone buy us all a change of clothes back there?"

Chino parks the car and turns around. "That's a good question, because I don't think that going out in this," he indicates his charred clothing, "is going to fit well with our story."

Katsina points towards the stash of items, and then starts chanting. Chino shrugs, and rummages around for a set that fits him, while Sam does the same.

They enter the store together. Not exactly the most inconspicuous duo, the Troll and the Ork, but it couldn't be unheard of. Chino nervously thinks about the fact that he's not broadcasting a SIN. He might not remember much, but this place looked like the kind of store where they only want "legitimate people". He pulls on the sleeves of his shirt. It fit, but it just didn't feel right. It wasn't armored, and Chino had the feeling that he was used to dressing a little more colorfully. He forced himself to stop his nervous fidgeting. Now is not the time.

He glances at Sam and then splits off. It would be awkward if they followed each other everywhere. He went over the shelves, looking at the endless supply of camping gear. "Guaranteed to keep you warm! Choose ThermaBlanket!" People fall for this drek? He grunts and moves onward. It isn't long before he finds himself unconsciously palming the simchip. He knew he liked BTLs, but this was a little ridiculous. Why was he so nervous? There was no one here, no suspicious security guards, no life-threatening situations. So what the hell was going on? He puts the chip back in his pocket. It's not long before he meets back up with Sam. He's heading towards the checkout. Chino absently pokes around. He doesn't even have to feign interest. "Bacon? Nice!"

He looks towards the register with the clerk obliviously watching the trid. He knew it was nonsense and he shouldn't worry, but Chino gave in. He wasn't going to talk to the guy if he had to. Turning to Sam, he says, "I'll go get the car ready." He calmly walks out the door, heading to the Bulldog. It's not until he gets inside the driver's seat that he heaves a sigh of relief. Why was he acting so strange? He pushes it out of his mind. He calls up an ARO of Denver on his commlink. Focusing on the map, knowledge slowly starts to return to him. He can't remember much, but he does remember a place in the CAS Sector. It was an upscale BTL den, but anything might be useful. Who knew, maybe he could sell his simchip for some money, if necessary.

The thought of simchips brought back memories of Doc's video and the simchip that rested in his pocket. The images brought up no emotions for him. Except ... a tinge of satisfaction and a hint of delight. The thought of ending another being's existence, it elated him. He ... longed to destroy. That helpless clerk. His complete unawareness of his surroundings, his vulnerability. It was so tempting. He wanted to crush his skull.

The knocking on the door shook him out of his reverie. Chino looks down at his hands, tightly gripping the arms of his seat, a deathly pale color. He let go, his arms sore. That's why he was so nervous inside. He was a killer. Or, at least, a part of him was. And he wasn't sure he wanted to change. He looks back towards the ARO. Now wasn't the time, he needed to help his friends. They might not have been friends before, but they were now.

He closes the ARO, opens the door, and helps Sam unload their purchases.

[rednblack]

Ace notices Ohanzee picking up gear, checking his funds, frowning, and then returning the item to its place on the shelf.  He approaches and says softly, "Hey, chummer.  When Katsina and I found her, err, our, apartment, I found a credstick with a bit of jing to it.  Get what you need, I'll get you covered.  Also, I can get a mini-welder and some nails if you think having caltrops would be handy.  They won't do much for run-flats, but if our pursuers are running from their seats too, it could be useful.  What do you think?"

Thinking better of it, Ace decides to comm the whole team.

<<@Team [Ace] Found a credstick of mine back at the apartment.  If anyone's low on funds, I can cover you no problem.  Shoot me your list, and I'll get it done.>>

Shopping goes smoothly.  Ace is able to find what he needs and feels fairly confident in his SIN to get them out of here.  Just a law-abiding drone about to go out for a climb.  Nothing to see here.  Ace stops by some kitchen timers and comms Sam. 

@Sam [Ace] Found some kitchen timers that may be useful to you.  I know that's not what they're made for, but let me know if you want em.>>

[Poindexter]

@Sam [Ace] Found some kitchen timers that may be useful to you.  I know that's not what they're made for, but let me know if you want em.>>

<<@Ace [Uncle Sam] Thanks, but I got that covered already.>>

[Tecumseh]

After transforming her appearance, Katsina casts again, reaching out with her mind - far out - to find those with hostile intentions toward her. She means to make this one permanent, so she opens wide and lets the mana race through her like a river.

"Melegar versakhan," she hisses under her breath, trying to ride the mana like a wave. She miscalculates the volume, and the cold flood of mana chokes her and takes her breath away. She gasps for air as she regains her composure and beats back the worst of the drain. The sensation leaves her dazed, but the end product is a relief: a strong spell, and no active threats. Shuddering from a lingering chill, she offers up another memory - this one of a the fine carving that she made for and gave to Ace, of which she was particularly proud - to lock the spell in place. The memory fades and is replaced by the sixth sense of her newly quickened spell.

Free of the burden of sustaining spells, Katsina turns her attention to a series of preparations. She cannot Heal as Ohanzee can, at the tip of a hat, so she first creates two healing preparations. She removes two throwing knives and begins to inscribe them. The second inscription involves an owl, a fox, and a frog. She's particularly pleased with its potency and artistry, although it conjures a haunting memory of another preparation she had been proud of but can't quite remember. Shaking it off, she pockets the preparations and turns to the next. First, one for Combat Sense. The end product is admittedly weak preparation but it is the most she feels comfortable with, given the residual fatigue she feels from spellcasting. The final preparation is for a physical barrier. She is uncertain of the exact effects but there's no other way to find out than to try or to remember, and right now remembering is hard.

[Tecumseh]

Chino walks around the store without Sam, wondering why it is that he can't buy anything without a string of alphanumeric characters that gives society permission to sell to him. Many places would consider it a formality, of course, and accept hit certified credstick. Nuyen is nuyen, after all, and money doesn't smell, but this place is a bit more straight-laced than that.

Chino gets a tingling feeling in the back of his neck, the one that says he's being watched. He turns but there's no one there, just the Transys Office Maid drone mopping the floor behind him. He walks to the end of the aisle, eyeing the local ready-to-eat food - Gina Cucina tamales, Nude Food energy bars, Salud Salad - before realizing that the drone is mopping steadily behind him. Chino checks his boots, momentarily panicking that he is tracking a string of bloody footprints into the store, but no, his feet are clean. The floor looks clean too, even before the Office Maid polishes it rigorously. Then it dawns on him that this is his escort, his chaperone for the shopping trip. No employees want to shadow the SINless ork who's jacked like a bodybuilder, so the drone gets the job and will get some cleaning done while it is at it. Chino sighs and goes to meet Sam near the checkout.


Back at the van, Katsina is finishing up her fifth and final preparation. The presence of so many people staying behind in the Bulldog has deterred any would-be prowlers. Ohanzee's comm gets a ping that his Fiat Eurovan is just a few minutes away. Finishing her magic, Katsina turns her attention to the task of figuring out where to leave the Bulldog.

"We can't get far on the tires we have," she says. "Not far enough to get us to any cliffs we could roll this off of. There's a quiet road just across the river to the west. Pros, it looks pretty quiet. Cons, burning the van might be visible from town. Maybe a few liters of bleach instead?" She creates an ARO and shares it with the group.

The Eurovan pulls up to the assigned spot. Walking over to investigate, the team finds that the "Sports Package" is either clever marketing or a complete misnomer. The van looks no sportier than usual and certainly doesn't look appropriate for extensive off-roading; if anything, it looks like a family-friendly option for a long road trip, maybe one that involves a gravel road to grandma's house. Still, it's a massive upgrade from your current situation. Not only are all of its windows intact, but it doesn't smell like a charnel house inside! In fact, it's been sprayed with a can of NuCar Smell®, which may or may not be carcinogenic but will remain on the market until conclusive proven to be, at which point it will be rebranded and sold by a different subsidiary unfettered by any of the legal restraints or agreements binding the previous subsidiary.

The Eurovan has a better pilot program, so Ace and Katsina agree to take it (or, more accurately, to have it take itself) while Chino and Sam drive the Bulldog. A rendezvous point is selected where the obelisk and contents of the Bulldog can be transferred to the Eurovan covertly, perhaps after a rigorous cleaning so that they don't pollute the new ride. Ohanzee's SIN is on the line, after all, and no sense giving the people trailing you any additional help. Doc and Ohanzee decide who they want to go with, and the vans depart.