Shadowrun
Shadowrun Play => Play-by-Post => Topic started by: Tecumseh on <02-11-15/1159:37>
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Katsina listens to the conversation from inside the Bulldog. She looks up at the man's final words. She sees Ace lower the shotgun to shoot the man in the torso. An act of mercy? To grant the man a pretty corpse for his funeral? Or was Ace aiming for the man's armor to knock him out instead of killing him?
Ace pulls the trigger. The Enfield shouts, sending buckshot straight through the man's armor jacket. The ballistics material can't resist the point-blank shot; it tears away. A puff of red mist erupts from the troll as he slumps over. Katsina continues to watch for a second as Ace takes the man's glasses, then looks down again to resume her work.
Ace runs back to the van just as Torch Bearer begins his shuttle run around the battlefield. Ace drops the shotgun outside the Bulldog and flips the troll's glasses to Ohanzee as he gets in. The dwarf examines the glasses; their wireless functionality is on. Frowning, he looks for a list of recent activity. He finds a message sent just a moment before the man was shot.
>>> To: Ehawee
>>> From: Chankoowashtay
>>> I love you. Never forg-
Ohanzee recognizes the names as Lakotan. Ehawee means "laughing maiden" while Chankoowashtay means "good road". He turns off the wireless functionality and reboots the glasses.
>>> Welcome to your AzAnteojos!
>>> ManosMenosTM Image Link active
>>> StarBrightTM Flare Compensation active
>>> KrystalKlearTM Vision Enhancement II active
The glasses are too large to fit anybody but Sam or Chino.
Ace slams the door behind him and Chino hits the gas. While the obelisk is going to seriously shorten the lifespan of the tires, the silver lining is that the additional weight is providing marvelous traction in the icy conditions. The Bulldog catches the road easily and roars off, putting distance between the team and Slaughterhouse Gulch as quickly as possible. Ohanzee turns around in his seat just in time to see Torch Runner duck inside the RV. A moment passes, then a jet of flame erupts from the RV's windshield. Ohanzee feels Torch Runner's satisfaction via the spirit-summoner link. Then the commlink stomping resumes.
Katsina sews as quickly as possible. She pauses for a moment distribute blankets around the van for people to wrap themselves in while she works. The faster Chino drives to get away from the scene, the faster the wind rips through the open windows. You had such a good stretch of being warm and comfortable, and now you're back to wear you started: in a damaged Bulldog, on the run, freezing your tails off. At least you're not upside down this time. Not yet anyway.
The road stretches out in front of you. "Where to?" indeed.
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Once the van is in motion, Ohanzee takes a moment to relax and gather his thoughts. The message in the glasses was disturbing to be sure, but this kind of work had its risks. The child was probably better off not knowing its father, and depending on just how pregnant the mother was, she might be smart to abort it. Ultimately, Ohanzee knew that the troll would have done the same to him had the roles been reversed, and in a darker corner of his mind, he fully expected it to come to that some day. The way things are going, that day will likely come sooner than later.
He tossed the glasses to Doc, still dazed as he was from his unceremonious ejection from the Matrix, and said "See if you can find anything of use on these - like if he was transmitting any video or images of us".
Doc said he would need a few minutes to get over the dumpshock, and then he would start healing Chino and any others that needed it. So Ohanzee had some time to relax. But Chino's observation about the tires nagged him. "If anyone has a moment, see if you can find any spare tires. A vehicle this size, they should have at least one." Following his advice, he wistfully delayed his rest and made a quick pass around the inside of the van looking for the outline or other indication of a compartment that might hold a spare tire. While he searched, he proposed a destination. With their options limited, heading straight to Denver was out of the question. "Let's try to make Carbondale. It's big enough to get lost in and should provide plenty of options for getting a new vehicle. Then we can try to make Denver from there. The van, as seems to be our MO, will need to be burned."
A few minutes later, the TorchBearer signaled to Ohanzee that his task was complete, and then the link vanished as the spirit returned to the place from which it had been summoned. Ohanzee took a brief moment to make sure that evidence of the spirit was cleansed from the areain which it had operated, then settled in to begin summoning a Raven spirit, acknowledging Katsina's request for concealment. Almost mumbling to himself, his chanting nonetheless filled the confines of the blood spattered van as he relaxed his focus to let the mana flow through him. Reaching out across the Astral sea to the metaplane of Air, Ohanzee called with his will. Long moments passed, the strain taxing his small form, but no answer was returned. Near the brink of exhaustion, he tried again, straining for a spirit to heed his call, but it seemed they had abandoned him, and the strain finally pushed him past his threshold. Ohanzee slumped over in his chair, unconscious and unresponsive, his body finally giving in to the accumulated strain of the past hours and demanding rest.
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The glasses thump into his chest as Doc clumsily grabs at them. Still dazed from the dumpshock and current events, he numbly begins to fumble with the glasses. He goes over the last hour of use to see if there is any usefull information. As he finishes he looks up and sees Ohanzee slumped in his chair, at first he thinks the charismatic dwarf was simply in the astral again until he noticed that his biomonitor was beeping a warning. Running a quick look he sees there's nothing he can do for the dwarf. Ohanzee simply needs to rest at this point to recover from the taxing efforts of the day. All Doc can do is make sure he's secure in the seat and as comfortable as possible. The medic makes sure the harness is secure and a blanket is tucked around the dwarf as warmly as possible.
After ministering to the dwarf, he looks to the burnt ork. "Damn Chino, you literally got lit up. Take a couple of these and I'll start working on you as soon as I can think clearly. You don't want me hooking the medkit up to you backwards or anything." Then he looks at Sam and sees the wounds he is completely ignoring. "You, sir, need to rest. Hold this here, and this here. I'll get to you after I'm done with Chino and Ace." Finally he looks at the machine that is Ace after he's done taking his frustrations out on the poor side panel of the van. He hands Ace a compress to hold to his wounds to slow the bleeding while he's still shaking off the last of the effects. Doc can tell Katsina is in pain, but he can't see any of her wounds from where he is. Its obvious to him that he's a well trained physician at this point and wonders what happened that he isn't simply practicing medicine somewhere instead of shooting people and running for his life. He'll talk to her about her wounds after she's done with the window. Keeping everyone warm will make his job a lot easier.
"As for where we go, I honestly don't care at this point. Someplace warm. If anyone has a contact they can try and ring up for a safehouse or something in their comlink that would be wiz. We all need a rest even more than we did yesterday."
Doc takes a few minutes to sit in his seat and close his electronic eyes, shutting out the world for a few moments of peace. He knows it won't last long, but he relishes the illusion of calm as everyone is lost in their own thoughts.
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More killing. The enormous blood flecked troll stares out at the road ahead. Is this what we were meant for? He thinks of the dent Ace put in the wall, and of his own blinding speed and pinpoint accuracy a few minutes ago. It certainly seems to be what we have been built for. The snowy white nothingness sprawls out before him from his vantage point in the front seat. Those trolls i just murdered could easily have been a younger version of me for all I know. Is there a wife of mine such as his out there somewhere?
"If anyone has a moment, see if you can find any spare tires. A vehicle this size, they should have at least one."
Ohanzee's words barely make an impression on his thoughts at the moment. The awakened dwarf had been dubbed the unofficial leader of the crew, and he certainly seems trustworthy, as well as being a skilled summoner, but is he really up to the task? Finally thinking to take his goggles off, he scratches his head while staring out of the front windshield into the arctic wonderland outside. What happened to me back there? Am I such a warmaster that my reflexes and training just took over and brought me out of that rage? He pictures the obelisk in his mind again. Or was that foul thing defending itself from us again? The frown hasn't left his face since he first noticed the bulldog they're currently riding in, sitting by the side of the road waiting for them, and with his current mood going the way it is, it would be foolish to assume it would be leaving anytime soon.
"Let's try to make Carbondale. It's big enough to get lost in and should provide plenty of options for getting a new vehicle. Then we can try to make Denver from there. The van, as seems to be our MO, will need to be burned."
Sam blinks at the mention of Carbondale. I should know something about that city. Big time, well connected gun runner like myself should have some connections in most cities around here. How did a gun runner get involved in a massive shadowrun like this anyway? Shouldn't a man like me have been simply doing business? With the money I must have been making, I shouldn't have been doing things like that, yet here I am. Why? It couldn't have been the money... His fingers wander their way around to the holes in his armor jacket. None of them go all the way through, but he can feel the cold seeping in a little bit more than it should. For a moment, he wishes he hadn't declined the blankets offered to him by the masked woman, but only a moment. Better to freeze to death than to accept help from someone who wont show you their face. For the first time, he looks away from the road ahead and stares at her through the rearview for a moment. What is her motivation here? Both she and Ace seem to be working from a different manual than the rest of us. "Destroy the obelisk and destroy the world?" What the hell does she know? And why wont she share it with us? He sets his eyes back on the road ahead.
"You, sir, need to rest. Hold this here, and this here. I'll get to you after I'm done with Chino and Ace."
Without looking at the little human who'd been calling himself Doc lately, he responds. "I'm not bleeding. Save your supplies for the wounded." His thoughts continue to ramble. I'd have blown that magic rock into pieces last night if not for him. He's certainly very capable in the matrix, and no slouch out of it either, but is he really who I think he is? For all I know, he could be a decker who murdered our decker and set his whatever-the-hells to make things look how he wanted them to. That's what good deckers do, isn't it?
"As for where we go, I honestly don't care at this point. Someplace warm. If anyone has a contact they can try and ring up for a safehouse or something in their comlink that would be wiz. We all need a rest even more than we did yesterday."
Contacts. Safehouses. My world is inside this truck. I have clients, or perhaps bosses, I'm not sure who. But people with whom I do business in code. A code I have botched and more than likely drawn more heat to us just like the apartment did. Things look bleak for the mighty troll who had taken to calling himself "Uncle Sam" yesterday, almost as a joke. Now, jokes are the furthest thing from his mind. He is certain of nothing other than one thing. Destroy the world or not, if they push me, i WILL destroy that rock. And if the world should go with it, than so be it.
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Doc scans through the messages on the image link of the glasses. They only display what was sent and received within the last 15 minutes or so. Presumably the rest are on the man's commlink, which was recently smashed to pieces (with great enthusiasm) by Torch Runner.
>>> From: Johnson 1
>>> Detection match. Target acquired. Bison RV with trailer.
>>> From: Sierra (Me)
>>> Clearance distance suggests extreme load, 1200kg+. No capability to rabbit.
>>> From: Johnson 2
>>> Prepare to engage.
>>> From: Delta
>>> Matrix contact.
>>> From: Johnson 1
>>> Spirits out.
>>> From: Hotel
>>> On the way.
>>> From: Johnson 2
>>> Target is Awakened and dangerous. Alive, if possible.
>>> From: Johnson 1
>>> Dead, just as good.
>>> From: Johnson 2
>>> Collateral damage is not a concern. Secure the idol and exfiltrate.
The rest is combat chatter from the battle itself, with status updates and a growing sense of alarm at the level of opposition. The "Johnsons" are insistent about continuing the operation. Doc's analysis of the chatter suggests that "Johnson 1" was the combat mage troll and "Johnson 2" was the tattooed elf that shot himself in the leg.
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Ace looks over the exchange, quickly scrolling past the last text the young troll sent to his -- now widowed -- wife. Frag, I wish I hadn't seen that. The thought that the troll would've done the same to him is little respite. In all honesty, that might've been the better outcome. Ace gives a glance to Katsina, and banishes the thought from his mind. No time for any of that. What's done is done. It's time to focus now, "Ace." Get it together, soldier.
Ace hands the glasses back to Doc, and says, "I think we're dealing with small, independent cells here. The fact that these guys needed, and were able to, find local support tells me that they're well-trained, autonomous, and connected. It also tells me that they're stretched. I would rather have my own team than outsource the labor. The fact that they were surprised by the level of resistance they encountered tells me that they may not be sharing information between cells. Otherwise, our contact last night with the helicopter would have resulted in them being, well, 'better prepared.' We don't want to see them better prepared. So, there's either an information lag between the cells and HQ, or they're effectively acting on their own. If it's the latter, we're in much better shape, and might even have some time on our side. If it's the former, there's no telling when that lag will shore up, and we won't be able to count on taking a breather.
"About the target, they were on the lookout for one particular awakened between us. Somebody here is the ringleader in their eyes, and given the ancestry, Ohanzee is the most likely to fit the bill."
Ace copies the picture of the gunslinger to his comm, which he also passes to Doc. "I grabbed a shot of "Johnson 2" on my way in the Bulldog. Maybe you can find something on him?"
"As for where we go, I honestly don't care at this point. Someplace warm. If anyone has a contact they can try and ring up for a safehouse or something in their comlink that would be wiz. We all need a rest even more than we did yesterday."
"I have one contact I can try. Was hoping to get in touch when we left Moran's, but that didn't shake out. I'll give it a shot if you guys think it's a smart move, but given what little I know about myself, I've been hesitant to reachout . . . But yeah, someplace warm would be good."
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As the haze of dumpshock finally wears off Doc rouses from his reverie. He switches places with Katsina so he can sit behind Chino while he drives and hooks up the medkit to him. He must have done this sort of thing before as he doesn't find it awkward at all to work around the harness and the seat while seeing to Chino's burns. The medkit chirps in just about every alarm possible once he's connected and begins running through most of its routines. Injecting several different concoctions of pain killers, immuno-boosters and cell regeneration accelerants, the pain quickly receeds from Chino's face. Looking over his patient Doc says, "A bit of respite, one of the finger wagglers can help you some more, otherwise, it's just bedrest from here on out. I can help with pain killers as we go if needed." And then he removes the various tubes and sensors from Chino.
Turning around to look at Ace next he mutters, "Good thing I know machines as well as bodies, he's 50/50." As Ace is less distracted, it's easier for Doc to get him hooked up to the machine. Ace is no where near as badly hurt as Chino was, but the bouncing of the vehicle seems to be effecting Doc more than before. After running through the protocols on the medkit he looks up at Ace, "Sorry chummer, that's the best I got for you. I'm sure Katsina can get you another something before too long." As he looks the mysterious woman's way. "You wouldn't happen to know how a bunch of blood samples ended up in our lunch bucket, would either of you?" He says casually as he's removing the machine from Ace.
As he approaches the Troll, he gets rebuffed again. "I know you're a big tough Russian, but you still took a couple of rounds. It's not much, but we need to be at our best. I'm sorry I peeked in on your private conversation, but that's literally my job, just like patching you up is. It's why you guys want me around. And hell, the healthier you are, the better chance you've got for blowing up the idol if anyone else is trying to stop you."
He glances once at Katsina, and sees she'll brook none of his interference, so he hooks himself up. Running through a quick diagnostic, he sees he's doing much better than he was this time yesterday. Which isn't saying much. The kit goes through its routines and he gets his cocktail of meds and almost instantly feels better. This is literally the healthiest he can remember being.... which agian, isn't saying much.
Finally he moves to the unconsious dwarf. He's been out for a while, and Doc is pretty sure he's not just flitting around in the Astral. Hooking up the kit, he sees the majority of the damage is either old or outside of his ability to deal with. The cost for achieving the amazing feats the finger waglers do. Firing up the system one last time, he's able to come up with a cocktail that will put at least a small dent in the damage done to the diminutive man. As the medicine is delivered, Ohanzee's eyes pop open and he sits up with a start. Doc puts a hand on his chest to brace him, and calmly says, "Passed out on us there, omae. You're still in bad shape, but I've done what I can to help."
With that done, he stashes the medkit with the resuply kit so they are both available when he'll need them next. He figures it'll be sooner than he'd like it to be. Then he relays the information from the glasses to everyone and then powers them off, making sure they are completely inactive.
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Katsina sews as quickly as possible. The cold wind rushes in through the missing windows. Once its done, she staples it up so that it can block the worst of the wind and maybe retain a bit of the van's heat. Chino and Sam are in the front seats. They have the heat cranked up as high as it will go, which creates a bubble of warmth around them that largely disappears by the time it gets back to everyone else in the rear. One nice thing about the wind though: it helps cut down on some of the stench. The decker vomited when Doc dumpshocked her ass, and the sour scent does not benefit from the heater being on high. Katsina cleaned up the worst of it, but still. You miss the RV already.
Doc finishes his rounds of first aid about the same time that Katsina is done sewing. She sniffs, smelling the liberal application of NuSkin to Chino's crispy exterior. She has two healing preparations already prepared. She moves forward to the space between Chino and Sam.
"Chino, hold this." she instructs, passing a throwing knife to him.
Chino, at least passingly familiar with the ways of magic, obliges. He nicks his finger on the point of a cold throwing knife as Katsina says, "Dae" in Sperethiel. He's about to protest the pain when suddenly it disappears. A glow envelops him - as if Ohanzee's Torch Bearer has jumped into the van - then fades. When it's gone, Chino's pain goes with it. He looks at his arms, checks the fist that he punched the fire spirit with. They look good. Better than that, they look great! It's almost as if the spirit had given him a manicure instead of a third-degree burn. He flexes his hand, which moves freely and easily. The relief in his face is palpable.
Katsina does the same for herself next. Her face hurts from where the spirit kicked her astrally while she was down. You would hope that an enchanted mask, present on the astral, would provide some protection against that sort of thing, she thinks to herself. But no such luck. Is my nose broken? Are my teeth loose? she wonders, but she doesn't want to take off the mask to find out. Instead, she grabs her other preparation, triggering the same hot glow around her - like an open oven - before it fades. When it's gone, her face feels whole again. She relaxes a bit, then pulls out a lynchpin and begins to inscribe it for Ace.
She draws on the throwing knife, listening to the others talk while she works. She draws a peasant woman in traditional garb, perhaps a young mother, on one side. On the other, she draws a farmer, an ancient depiction with a pitchfork instead an army of drones to do the work. They are passing something between them, from one side to the knife to the other, but what is lost to the edge of the knife. She looks on it proudly when she's done, then leans forward to hand it to Ace.
Ace reaches out to take it. He touches the small hilt and a flash goes off. The flare compensators in his eyes react quickly, dilating his pupils to maintain continuous vision. When his eyes refocus he sees that the inscription on the knife is gone, the magic reducing the scene to dust. The wind circulating around the Bulldog whisks it away. Katsina grabs Ace by the shoulder suddenly and grips it tightly. Ace is shocked by the strength of it for a moment, the force far exceeding Katsina's size. It feels like she's pressing something into him, an outside force. Then she withdraws her hand, leans back, and looks out the window.
It's noisy in the van. The blankets don't protect from road and wind noise, which are substantial at 100kph. You practically have to yell for everyone to hear you.
"When Ace and I were in town, we stopped by an apartment tied to a fake SIN of mine!" Katsina begins, almost bellowing. "It was a safehouse, not burned yet! We found evidence that we were looking for APB! Why, we don't know!
"The blood was in the fridge! It's not 'mine' - I know my bloodtype! I don't know if it 'belongs' to Ace or APB though! I doubt it! I brought it because our previous selves thought we needed it!"
She looks over the message from Doc, the forwarded transcript of the troll's glasses. Behind the mask, she sighs.
"The elf was Black Lodge! I'm guessing the other Johnson was too!" She holds up her hands to absolve herself of the association. "I'm not Black Lodge! ... I don't think! Whenever I think about them, I get a sinking feeling! Seems like they're after me, probably figuring that I'm with the obelisk!"
She leans back, wrapping a blanket tightly around her. She doesn't seem keen to linger on the topic.
"We should go to Carbondale! The bigger, the better!"
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Looking around blearily, Ohanzee confirms that he's only been out for a few minutes - maybe 15 tops. They are approaching Basalt, and apparently in his "absence" the team had agreed with his suggestion and continue on to Carbondale. Without Raven to help hide them, the extra distance would be critical, and Ohanzee wasn't about to attempt to try calling another spirit now. He'd need whatever strength he could muster in order to move the crate to whatever vehicle they found in Basalt.
Maybe it was time to reach out to some contacts. Indeed, that seemed like a better idea now than it had earlier. They had established a very distinct method of operation, best described as "slash and burn", that provided an easy to follow trail. Changing tactics now would go a long way toward throwing off their pursuers - all of them, he hoped. How many were there now? He reviewed his thoughts briefly.
The attackers in the helicopter were almost certainly working for whoever they stole the artifact from. They were well trained, well funded, and professional - all jack boots and company colors. And zealous to a fault.
The attackers at the RV today were more like runners - independent, poorly funded, and less cohesive. Mercenaries as opposed to regulars. And if Katsina's outburst was informed, they probably had their own zealous leaning - religious as opposed to corporate. Ace's musings about the Natelys and their secret society conspiracy nonsense made it seem like a lot of mysterious organizations were conspicuously present in a very small geographic locale at one time, too many to be coincidence.
It was obvious that they belonged to two different groups, and they were both after the artifact. The second group had honed in on Katsina, triggering her enemy detection spell. But they hadn't expected the rest of the team, or, Ohanzee surmised, they hadn't expected Blue Team. Again, he had to backburner a bunch of questions that needed asking concerning Katsina and her role in all of this. No. No more. He could see the prudence in not mentioning her more direct actions against Blue Team - specifically her use of her influence spell - in the presence of Uncle Sam. Ohanzee trusted the troll with his life, but he was short of temper and Ohanzee wanted answers, not infighting.
He was about to confront her on these issues when she speaks, explaining the blood and the possible origin of their most recent pursuers. It neatly explains everything, but not to Ohanzee's satisfaction.
"What makes you think they are Black Lodge? And equally importantly, who are you? You never take off your mask, you run faster than should be 'humanly' possible" Ohanzee didn't like the phrase "metahumanly possible", "and you literally glow when you cast spells. When I think on it, you haven't eaten since we woke up in the crashed van even though there was good food and the rest of us were famished. There is no equipment to transfuse the blood, so either you were selling it on the black market or you need it personally for something other than transfusion. I've been around enough spirits to be familiar with dual-natured beings and I'm strongly suspecting that that is the case with you. Dual-natured plus blood equals vampire, or worse, in my admittedly limited knowledge of such things. Now, I'm open minded in such matters - being infected with an unknown virus does wonders for your tolerance of magic diseases and those infected - but I have to be able to trust those I'm working with. Prove me wrong or prove me right, but come clean or get out."
Still so many more questions to ponder, but with so many unknowns, he had to trust the people he kept close. So these were the first questions to address.
-
"I know you're a big tough Russian, but you still took a couple of rounds. It's not much, but we need to be at our best. I'm sorry I peeked in on your private conversation, but that's literally my job, just like patching you up is. It's why you guys want me around. And hell, the healthier you are, the better chance you've got for blowing up the idol if anyone else is trying to stop you."
Sam turns his horned head, still spattered with a little bit of blood from the close range gunfire earlier to face the human. With a cold, even, almost detached tone "It has nothing to do with whether I trust you or not. It's merely a question of supplies." The wind whistles through the broken window in the small silence between them before Doc grins grimly and says, "We got plenty, big guy. Don't worry about us." A few seconds pass between them before Sam turns back to the road, nods his head, and says "Do your worst, Doc."
A few moments later, the masked woman begins shouting over the roar of the wind and the longer she speaks, the more questions he has.
"When Ace and I were in town, we stopped by an apartment tied to a fake SIN of mine!" Katsina begins, almost bellowing. "It was a safehouse, not burned yet! We found evidence that we were looking for APB! Why, we don't know!
Why hadn't their safehouse been burned?
"The blood was in the fridge! It's not 'mine' - I know my bloodtype! I don't know if it 'belongs' to Ace or APB though! I doubt it! I brought it because our previous selves thought we needed it!"
Blood in the fridge? They found blood at their safehouse and brought it along?
"The elf was Black Lodge! I'm guessing the other Johnson was too!" She holds up her hands to absolve herself of the association. "I'm not Black Lodge! ... I don't think! Whenever I think about them, I get a sinking feeling! Seems like they're after me, probably figuring that I'm with the obelisk!"
Who are the Black Lodge? How does she know enough about them to fear them? Come to think of it, she was the one who mentioned those other four groups this morning. How does she know all these things?
Sam is a slight bit stunned when Ohanzee begins shouting. At first he assumes the dwarf is only shouting over the noise, but there's a tone to it that almost seems angry and suspicious.
"What makes you think they are Black Lodge? And equally importantly, who are you? You never take off your mask, you run faster than should be 'humanly' possible and you literally glow when you cast spells. When I think on it, you haven't eaten since we woke up in the crashed van even though there was good food and the rest of us were famished. There is no equipment to transfuse the blood, so either you were selling it on the black market or you need it personally for something other than transfusion. I've been around enough spirits to be familiar with dual-natured beings and I'm strongly suspecting that that is the case with you. Dual-natured plus blood equals vampire, or worse, in my admittedly limited knowledge of such things. Now, I'm open minded in such matters - being infected with an unknown virus does wonders for your tolerance of magic diseases and those infected - but I have to be able to trust those I'm working with. Prove me wrong or prove me right, but come clean or get out."
Sam turns around in his seat with his right hand on his seatbelt buckle, just in case it should come to blows back there. How does HE know about this Black Lodge as well? Infected? Infected with what? Does everyone here know things they're not sharing? Sam briefly considers speaking, but thinks twice about it. It's quite possible that his most deadly foes are inside this bulldog with him, and any info given to them could be used against him down the road.
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Having patched everyone up as well as he can, Doc pulls the cyberdeck out of his arm. Opening up his hardware kit, he starts to pull it apart. Knowing there isn't much time he takes a few shortcuts and does a minimal amount of repair to just get the bloody thing working again. After about 15 minutes and adding the smell of burnt ozone to the cacophany of smells already permeating the van, his deck reboots and he's able to sense the matrix once more. As it comes online all of his AR windows come back up. The location one shows they are on the outskirts of Basalt.
Listening to Katsina and Ohanzee, he knows tensions are going to start rising. And while he wants answers, the van isn't a place to have a fight. Sitting down and resolving this with everyones cards on the table is what he'd prefer to see done.
<<<@Team [Doc] Back online folks! Not in any position to get in trouble, but better than nothing. Another hour or so and I can have it as good as new. Time to heist another car? How about one of these? <Vehicles_List.AR> Listed by type and location.>>>
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In the pause that lingers after Ohanzee's demand, the determined tinkering of Doc occasionally rises above the bowl of the wind, and reminds Ohanzee that he still has his commlink off. Absently he flicks his trodes and commlink back on without taking his eyes off of Katsina. He shifts his perception to the Astral to see her staring back at him. He tries to read her emotions as she work up a response.
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Doc does a quick search of nearby icons. This area is known for tourism: mountain biking in the summer and skiing in the winter. As such, many of the local tourism companies have vehicles for transporting clients and their equipment.
>>> Device detected!
>>> GMC Hermes (Delivery Van)
>>> Standard Upgrades: Shelving, storage space
>>> Device detected!
>>> GMC Hauler (Tractor Trailer)
>>> Standard Upgrades: Sleeper Cabin
>>> Device detected!
>>> Conestoga Vista (Bus)
>>> Standard Upgrades: Bathroom
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Katsina listens to Ohanzee patiently, waiting for him to finish. Behind the mask, her expression is inscrutable. On the astral, her aura is smooth as glass, almost unnaturally so. Ohanzee, head still spinning, has trouble focusing. If he hadn't known that her mask was an active focus, he might have missed it. He can sense no hostility from her, no alarm, but nor can he pick out anything else other than the fact that she's alive. Or is she?
She sits under her blankets, listening. Then she lets the roar of the wind fill the cabin for fifteen seconds while she thinks. Finally, she nods.
"I know they were Black Lodge the same way that you know that vampires are dual-natured and run inhumanly fast: I just remembered it."
She's not shouting now, just projecting her voice as best she's able to be heard clearly over the wind.
"I glow when I cast because I follow Hecate, the Light-Bringer. She is worshiped at night by torchlight. Other traditions might call her Prometheus, or Fire-Bringer. She calls us to be servants to those around us, and to never refuse help to those who sincerely ask for it.
"The mask is for the sun. I am Infected, but infertile. I am a carrier but cannot transmit it.
"For all that, I am in the same position as you. I don't remember who I was or how I came to be here with you. But, in the larger scheme, I believe Hecate led me here to help. This obelisk may be the new fire: either transformational or terribly destructive, depending who controls it."
She stays motionless under her blanket, eyeing the reactions of those in the van.
-
Ace looks to the cooler, thinking about what he had assumed were some sort of preemptive medical supplies within. Instead it's food, both the pizza and the blood, and this makes Ace a little uncomfortable. Had Katsina not admitted to her infection, Ace wouldn't have believed it.
"Wait, like vampire vampire? Like, fangs, and crosses, and garlic vampire?! But Katsina was out with me in the daylight? She is right now too? Shouldn't you be smoking or something? I just, I just, I don't know."
-
Katsina listens to Ace, wondering how much misinformation to correct. Perhaps it is not surprising that a corper would have limited exposure to the topic, except what he might have seen on the trid late at night.
"I can be out right now because of the mask and because all of my skin is covered. When we were out earlier I was wearing all of this under the disguise of a Mask spell." She pauses and thinks. "I can return to that appearance if it makes people more comfortable."
She turns her head slightly to Ace, and stops raising her voice. It's hard to hear over the wind.
"I think you knew. Before."
-
The decker/medic starts to think about what he knows about HMHVV, and it's quite a bit. He starts asking questions before he's really taken the time to organize his thoughts.
"Do you remember which strain you are infected with? And how can you be sure you are infertile? Also, it seems you remember a lot more than most of us do, but are claiming to be effected the same way we are. What else do you know about the oblisk/idol artifact? This is begging a lot more questions than it answered." Doc stops talking long enough to think a little more on what's said.
"Assuming you're memories are as swiss cheese as mine are, I'd like to run a few tests just to make sure none of us are in danger of becoming infected. I'm also very curious as to what kind of insight you might have on the nanites, and how they would/could effect you."
-
Katsina listens to the barrage of questions from Doc. Internally, she wishes she didn't have to answer them, but she also knows that questions are a better sign than bullets. Questions lead to understanding, understanding leads to acceptance, and acceptance might just improve everyone's odds of survival.
"I don't have any of my short term memories. I don't know what the obelisk is, I don't what the nanites are doing, I don't know who any of you are, and I don't know how we ended up in a van upside down together. I have flashes of my long-term memory, but they're like the hazy recollection of a dream after you wake up.
"I am guessing that my healing power is keeping the nanites at bay. If I were infectious, it might be a potential cure for the nanites, but I would not wish the infection on anyone." She bows her head slightly. "I wish I were not."
She thinks about the request for a test, then nods to agree.
"I have Strain I. A test would be reasonable."
-
Ohanzee listens quietly as the dialog continues. He was happy that it had remained a conversation and not a more violent encounter. The air was being cleared, and that was enough. He wasn't sure she was being entirely truthful, but neither was anyone else, it seemed, and he was content to let them - especially Doc, who seemed to have the most knowledge about Infected - keep her honest. It freed him to ponder other things that weighed heavy on him.
Again he counted the parties pursuing them, trying to categorize them. The PCC and the organized crime in Aspen were unknowns - likely they had no hard information on who Ohanzee and his team were, and might even be entirely unaware of the larger number of infractions they had committed. The mob probably still didn't know the hunters were dead, and so far likely just assumed they had failed to deliver or sold to another bidder or something. The PCC also likely had little clue about the hunters and might or might not suspect arson for the Moran residence - it had been choreographed to appear somewhat natural, so it depended on how much effort they put into the investigation. And with the larger string of crimes going on, it might only get a cursory investigation. The Natelys' abduction might never get reported if, as Ace surmised, they belonged to some secret handshake organization. The front company they worked for would probably keep it hush-hush as part of some damage control and if they ran into the PCC at the RV, it's likely that the PCC would focus on them rather than the actual abductors, all of which assumed that the team that had attacked them on the road didn't end up taking the fall.
He gave the odds of the mob pursuing them as nearly zero and the odds of the PCC giving chase as better than even.
Which brought him to the attackers - both teams. The first team were obviously attempting to recover the artifact. If Ohanzee's team could identify them, then they would likely know who they stole the artifact from. The second team seemed to be after Katsina and if her assessment of them was correct, they worked for the Black Lodge. Ohanzee knew of them only by reputation - whispers on the street. Some Awakened organization bent on nothing short of world domination, or some such. Hopefully Katsina would have more information or Doc could turn something up.
The spirits watching Sam's house were another unknown. Did they belong to one of the other already considered parties, or were they yet another group who wanted bad things for Ohanzee and the others? Considering they knew enough to know where Sam lived, he suspected it might even be the people that Sam - and by extension the rest of Blue Team - worked for. Which potentially limited their options for dumping the artifact safely.
The artifact. Gloria had belonged to the Atlantean Foundation, which Ohanzee knew considerably more about, as heavily involved in magical artifacts as they were. They would certainly be interested in what the team was transporting, though it wasn't unlikely that they might also be who the team stole the artifact from to begin with.
Lastly, we have the Nately's security team. Again, depending on how things went at the RV, they might think that the abductors were dead and give up the chase. Or the PCC might keep them too busy to give chase. Or they might get together and compare notes and then combine their resources and come at us.
They needed answers, but more than that they needed distance. You can't necessarily outrun your problems, but when staying and fighting isn't an option, running is at least a good delaying tactic. If they could cross the border in to the UCAS side of Denver, it might at least make the PCC less of an issue. And if they could lay low long enough, maybe the other parties would lose interest. They'd been as careful as they could, cleaning up and burning as much evidence as they could, so hopefully with a little distance, the trail would run cold for at least some of their pursuers.
But crossing borders carried its own risk. First, they needed a car they didn't hijack. If he could find a fixer in Carbondale, or if one of his contacts could put him in touch with someone there, they might be able to borrow a ride to Denver. But at the border they'd have to show ID. Were any of their IDs burned? What about Doc and Chino, who didn't even have IDs? Ohanzee didn't know much about smuggling other than that it was likely expensive.
In either case, they'd have to start making calls soon if they were going to get any support in Carbondale. But the conversation at hand was necessary, cathartic even, and he resolved to let it go in for at least a little longer before moving on to other pressing issues. Until the sun went down, they weren't going to see behind the mask and even as tired as they all were, it was unlikely she'd be able to get away with blatant dishonesty in a van full of hardened runners. Mostly, it was having to read between the lines and look for willful omission.
But at least she had come clean about being a vampire. Or she had admitted to that in order to hide something worse, but that was too paranoid even for Ohanzee. But something still bothered Ohanzee. She had come clean about being a vampire, but there was still missing pieces to how she came to be a part of Red Team.
"I still don't know who you are. What you are, sure, but how did you come to be a part of this team? We've all retraced our steps over the days leading up to yesterday, with varying levels of success. Most of us have chosen to share that information with the others, again, to varying degrees. But not you. Do you truly have no information of interest on your commlink?"
-
"I still don't know who you are. What you are, sure, but how did you come to be a part of this team? We've all retraced our steps over the days leading up to yesterday, with varying levels of success. Most of us have chosen to share that information with the others, again, to varying degrees. But not you. Do you truly have no information of interest on your commlink?"
"Careful now, Ohanzee," Ace warns. "What you're talking about here in an information differential between these . . . groups of ours. Now, I don't know what that means in your line of work, but where I come from it means one thing: somebody is about to take a dive, and someone else is about to take their turn in the sun. Not eight hours ago, I trusted this team with information that could've led to bloodshed, and I don't even know how those spirits got a bead on us. So, you want to ask Katsina about her commlink, that's fine. I'd like to know myself, but I need you to know that I haven't had much in the way of assurances from you people, and that puts me on the brink of being scared. So far, you've seen me nervous.
"What I'm saying is, you can ask your questions, but how about you throw a little information this way too, eh?"
-
Katsina turned to the dwarf. If there's a look of pique on her face, it's hidden behind her mask. If there's annoyance in her aura, the dwarf is too woozy to pick up on it. She continues to speak up over the wind and the flapping blankets as the Bulldog shoots up the highway toward Carbondale.
"I've shared the same as I've received, which is nothing. I don't know who you are, how you came to be a part of this team, or what's on your commlink. In that regard, we are even."
She feels a niggling sensation in the back of her brain. A follower of Hecate must give help whenever it is asked. She's pretty sure she could tell the dwarf to get stuffed in this situation, but it would be more helpful to be forthcoming.
"I don't know how Red Team formed. I don't know how or when Red Team crossed paths with Blue Team. I don't know if we're your backup or your competition. Whatever we were before, I think it's safe to say that we're Purple Team now.
"On my commlink I have one contact whom I believe to be friendly. She told me to look for Ace in Aspen. I have not had an opportunity to follow up with her yet. I planned to do so from the cabin before we were forced to evacuate. I will be happy to do so once we get settled someplace.
"Also, I have photos of mountains. Lots of photos. I don't recognize them. They might be recon for the job, or they might be sightseeing from my last trip to Romania." You can't quite tell if she's being sarcastic about the Romania part.
She gives Ace a look and a hissing sigh that may or may not be audible over the wind. She turns and looks out the window again, pulling the blanket tightly around her.
-
Without a word, Sam begins composing two messages on his comm. Once they're both complete, he gives the mental orders to send the first one to Ace and Katsina, and store the second one for later.
<<@Ace, Katsina [Uncle Sam] I've already sent a copy of all these files to the others. Now you have them. You know everything I know, which is nothing.>>
<< Send File/s: TheWholeShebang>>
Once he's verified that both files have been sent, he announces loudly over the wailing wind, "I'm taking a nap! Unless we're in peril, leave me be!" before pulling the collar of his jacket up as high around his face as he can get it, slumping down in his seat and leaning his head down, nodding along with the bumps in the icy road.
-
"I've shared everything I know about myself. I have a couple of contacts that don't seem relevant - I have no contact with them, just a name and a commcode. One's a fixer and one's a talismonger. I've shared them with Doc only so that he could find out more information on them. I'm keeping more detail than that to myself only because they may be my last link to my past and until I have a better grip on what's happening - and who I can trust - I don't want them ending up dead like Gloria did. If I had any conversations with them I would share the content of those conversations, but I don't."
"So you were sent to Aspen to find Ace. Ace was company man that changed sides. Any indication as to what you were to do when you found him? Eliminate him? Help him find the person he was sent to find? Any idea how APB fit into all of this?"
He waits for Katsina to answer, then moves on.
"I agree with Ace, we have too many secrets in this group, and it is putting us all at risk. I can't compel anyone to share info," he glances darkly at Katsina as he mentions coercion, "but I strongly recommend it. The sooner you share, the better it is likely to be received. If you wait until it gets someone killed, you're much less likely to walk away from the ensuing 'conversation'".
"You claim I've shared nothing with you, but you seem to forget that I told everyone about Gloria, including my interpretation of events leading up to the events of last night. Other than two nondescript contacts, that's everything I know about my past. As to my present, I am what I appear. I don't know anything significant about myself that all of you do not."
"I'd like to request that you forward your pictures and contact information to Doc once he is up and running again so that he can see where those pictures are from and if your contact has any info on line we might find useful - affiliations, etc, as well as if she has had anything newsworthy happen to her recently."
"Also, you say that the obelisk may be 'the new fire', whatever that means. What does that mean? Is there anything you know - or think you know - about the artifact that you haven't shared with the group?"
-
"So you decided that your contacts aren't relevant and don't wish to share them, but you want us to share all our contacts with you? So that you can decide if they're relevant or not? Do I have that about right?"
Is she shouting to make herself heard or is she getting that annoyed? She looks out the window and shakes her head to herself.
"I don't know why I was looking for Ace. After I found Ace, we were looking for APB. I don't know why either, but given that we somehow met up with you it seems clear that we were going after the obelisk too, either cooperatively or independently.
"Here are the photos I have," she says peevishly, uncovering her arm from the warmth of her blanket to throw an ARO at Ohanzee and Doc. There are pictures of forests, of natural formations, of various plants and mountain areas. There are an awful lot of pictures of the mountains. The time codes suggest these were taken a few weeks ago, although GPS tagging appears to have been disabled at the time. "I'm keeping my contacts as long as you're keeping yours.
"And the 'new fire' is a metaphor," she says with the most condescension she can muster. She mumbles something under her breath that sounds like mkkng mrkhn in the wind. "It's a figure of speech that identifies something as being the same as some unrelated thing, for rhetorical effect, thus highlighting the similarities between the two."
Katsina grits her teeth behind her mask. Hecate admonishes her. You must make allowances for the lesser-witted, dear. He is hurt, tired, and confused from his reckless oversummoning. Try to be patient with the little pulă. Katsina nods to Hecate - but to herself by everyone else's account - and resolves to be more patient.
"I've said what I know about the obelisk. It's old. Five thousand, maybe ten thousand years old. I don't know what it's for or why anyone would want it, other than the obvious rarity of Fourth World artifacts. What I do know is if the Black Lodge wants it, then it's not something they should have. But nor is it anything that any of us want. Let's find a buyer and be rid of it. If people want it this badly then we don't need to smuggle it into Denver: they will come to us. Maybe the right buyer can get us our memories back. Let's figure out who to contact, how, what to ask for, and where to safely meet. Let's do it before we get geeked or geek each other."
She scans the list of vehicles that Doc gathered.
"In the meantime, let's not freeze to death. I vote for the bus - plenty of room to spread out." It's clear she'd like some space.
-
Ohanzee speaks as calmly as he can considering the noise from the wind. "No, I decided that since I had no communication with my contacts that there was no useful information to share. Again, if there had been communication, I would have shared that, if not contact details. That is all I am asking of you. I have suggested that you share your contacts with Doc, again, as I have done, so that he can perform matrix searches for relevant information. If APB were still with us, I would have been fine with you sharing them with her instead, but we do not have that luxury. I am not asking you to do anything - ANYTHING - I have not already done myself."
Ohanzee ignores her jab about metaphors. Metaphor or no, something as transformative as fire is rare, even amongst 4th world artifacts. Assigning such importance to it was undue without more information than she had shared. But it was obvious that she would share no more. Reluctantly, he let the topic drop.
As for smuggling it into Denver, perhaps she had a point.
"As for vehicles, I think it may be time to change up our MO. Instead of stealing vehicles - or carjacking them - as we have done previously, I think we should reach out to the shadow community here and see if we can borrow a vehicle from a willing party. If our pursuers are looking for burned husks, they will miss the much softer trail of an underworld deal. I think it is time that we reach out to any contacts we can trust - or try to learn which ones we can trust if there aren't yet any - and see if they can put us in touch with a local fixer or chop shop that can give us a clean car for the trip to Denver."
"However, some of us do not have ID. Getting across the border, hot car or not, will be a challenge. I'm open to ideas. And Katsina has a point about the artifact. We may want to consider risking staying here - or just this side of the border - for another day or two to offload it before crossing into Denver."
-
The cold is getting bitter and teeth chattering inside of the well ventilated vehicle. As he gets the finishing touches on the makeshift repairs to his deck, he listens to Katsina's response to his barrage of questions. And then sees Ohanzee tear into her even more. Ace reacts in, what appears to be, an amazingly restrained manner.
"Thank you for that. Once we get settled tonight, we'll look over your condition. And thank you for your contact list. I'll start doing a search on that while we find someplace to stay, and some way to get there. Posisbly finding a no-tell motel that isn't as picky about their guests?"
The cyber-eyes take that unfocused look on as he starts pulling up AR window after AR window, scanning through information as is multitasking and looking through various data stores.
-
Chino looks down at his skin, turning his normal looking hand. Good as new. The wonders of medicine and magic combined. And to think it was only a few minutes ago that I was a burnt Ork.
As the others talk, Chino remains silent. He starts mentally listing the high points of the little talk. Paranoia, Check. People shouting, Check. Katsina is a Vampire ... Okay, that was a new one. That would explain the blood bags. At least she was coming clear with it; a lot of things started to make sense. He thought about vampires, and what came to mind made him shudder. Could he still trust her? He probably had been the most trusting of Blue Team, although even he had secrets he didn't want to reveal.
It isn't long before Katsina and Ohanzee start getting into an open argument.
"I've shared the same as I've received, which is nothing. I don't know who you are, how you came to be a part of this team, or what's on your commlink. In that regard, we are even."
"I've shared everything I know about myself. I have a couple of contacts that don't seem relevant - I have no contact with them, just a name and a commcode. One's a fixer and one's a talismonger. I've shared them with Doc only so that he could find out more information on them. I'm keeping more detail than that to myself only because they may be my last link to my past and until I have a better grip on what's happening - and who I can trust - I don't want them ending up dead like Gloria did. If I had any conversations with them I would share the content of those conversations, but I don't."
"So you decided that your contacts aren't relevant and don't wish to share them, but you want us to share all our contacts with you? So that you can decide if they're relevant or not? Do I have that about right?"
Chino palmed his commlink. Blinking, he quickly removed the simchip from the commlink and put it in what was left of his pocket. Placing the commlink within Katsina's reach, he said, "You can take a look at my 'link if you want. There's nothing on it but some messages from our previous run that none of us remember clearly. It doesn't even have a Fake SIN, and if anything, that's the most obvious indicator that it's a burner." Pausing a moment, he continues, "There aren't any contacts that I'm aware of; although slowly I'm remembering some stuff. I am not sure how I'm part of our team, although I know I knew Doc for a while before our escapade."
Shifting lanes, he remarks "Now you have my side of the story. You probably shouldn't wake Sam unless you have a death wish." The car rolls to a stop as the light ahead of him turns red. Turning in his seat, he continues in a slightly louder voice, glaring at Katsina and Ohanzee, "Now that that's over with, can we stop this pointless bickering? Personally, I don't really care if we were on different paths before our accident. Even you," he glances at Katsina, "being a vampire doesn't change my mind. Over the last two days, we've saved each other's lives multiple times. Whatever comes, we're going to have to face it together. And I would rather not have us backstabbing each other out of paranoia, thank you very much."
The light turns green, and Chino turns back to driving. The cold wind ships sharply against Chino's new skin, but the feeling doesn't even grasp his attention. He can't see the expression on anybody's faces, but he assumes there is probably a mix of anger, guilt, and confusion. They start talking again, and Chino puts his mind to thinking about places they can go; the memories start coming back. Slowly, but they start coming back, and Chino soon realizes that he knows quite a bit about the ins and outs of Denver, or at least, parts of it. Some of the memory is still tantalizingly missing.
As the others are discussing the next step to their plan, Chino chimes in, "My memory is still very foggy, but I'm starting to remember some things about this city. I think I might have been a smuggler, even if it was only part time. If we can get a car that isn't so obviously beat up, I might know a place or two to crash at. No guarantees, but I'll try to remember more."
-
Now that they are in a town and driving more slowly, Doc lowers his voice to a normal level for the vehicle. "I've been keeping one secret from everyone, because I'm not comfortable with it. But, it can't be any more uncomfortable than admiting you've HMHVV. I'm pretty sure I'm a complete psychopath. I've a short video from the end of the run when I stole this deck and killed the previous owner..... Quite gleefully I might add. My old persona sculpt was.... disturbing, and I know more about porn and dog fighting than anyone should know. Chino, I'd love to know more about your thoughts on previously working with me. I thought that since I couldn't find any information on the 'trix about me, and no one remembered me I could make a new person and start over. But that doesn't seem likely. I'm going to have to pay for my past sins sooner or later, and knowing about it will make that easier. Here's the video if you guys want to view it."
<<<@Team [Doc] video_01.mov>>>
You look down at your arm, checking out the cyberdeck screen on your forearm and hitting a few buttons on it.
"Yeah, you see that? You see, you fucking dick biscuit? I took your shit and made it my shit. Your deck is my deck now. Fucking asshole shooting my motherfuckin' gear." You hear yourself say, before lowering your arm to look down at the table in front of you, where the broken Renraku Tsurugi sits in pieces. Hardware and Cybertechnology tools are also littered about, making it obvious that you just switched out the decks.
"Look at what you did! LOOK AT IT! Didn't even have the decency to spare the drives, trog knocker. Do you have any idea how many files I lost? My whole trid library! All my music! All my porn! If I hadn't already killed you I'd kill you again!" You turn around at this point, seeing a body on another table, a sizeable hole in the skull where an implant was torn out. You point your arm at the body palm first and you hear the massive retort of a shotgun, and the head is pulped by the blast of flechette.
"Oh well, I guess I'll have to start over. I'll just have to make this video the first entry in a new collection of my dead enemies. Peace out, sweat monkey. I'm gonna feed your corpse to the barghests in the yard. Hope you rot in hell."
"I don't think I want to be that person anymore.... whoever it was. But I think there's value in learning who he was before I kill him completely." His use of the world 'kill' seemed rather intentional there.
-
Chino thinks about Denver and start to remember details about what it takes to get in and out of one of the premier smuggling hubs in North America.
Denver is also known as the Front Range Free Zone. Much like the Seattle Metroplex - wherein many cities were consolidated into one "Seattle" - "Denver" is everything between Boulder and Colorado Springs. It's roughly kidney-shaped, about 175 klicks long (north-south), and less than 90 klicks across at its widest point. The border is known as the Outer Boundary, although riggers and smugglers call it "the Line". The question is how to get inside the Line.
Denver itself was divided into different sectors. Because of the annexation of the Ute Nation by the Pueblo Corporate Council, the PCC now controls the entire western half of Denver. This is good news for you. There is decidedly less security trying to get into the PCC sector when you're already coming from the PCC. That's not to say no security, but less. Many border checkpoints will only have a skeleton crew (maybe four chummers with machine pistols and weekend plans) instead of a team of bored skullcrushers with a Citymaster and a hard-on for geeking shadowrunners.
The border itself is a double-fence about 10 meters high, topped with monowire, patrolled by drones. The fence has motion sensors but is (usually) not electrified. Occasionally there are patrols with guards with dogs and/or paranormal animals. Spirits and watchers also circulate at irregular intervals, just to keep you guessing.
That's the bad news. The good news is that the PCC has almost 300 klicks of border to patrol, and most of it is coming in from their own nation. Do they immediately replace every fragged-up sensor? Null. Does the fence line follow every cliff and ravine? Null. Chino knows several places where you can slip into the Free Zone without so much as seeing a fence or a guard or a sensor. The catch is that it's rugged terrain, and much easier to fly than go on foot. On foot is an option, but it's slow and leaves you vulnerable to interception for that much longer. That said, the FRFZ is also lousy with small airports. There are small, short-hop carriers aplenty, some of which may be willing to ferry you across for the right price.
Doc flips through his AR feed rapidly, comparing the photos that Katsina took (took? or just had?) against imagery freely available online. It only takes him a few minutes before he starts getting some matches. There's Elk Tooth, and Hiamovi Mountain, and Marten Peak. There's also an Ogallala Peak (https://www.google.com/maps/place/Ogalalla+Peak,+Rocky+Mountain+National+Park,+Colorado+80510/@40.1702165,-105.6666756,11z/data=!4m2!3m1!1s0x876bd6605b3a7bdb:0x3356eb7d637ceefd). (It's that Ohanzee's last name? Does that mean something or is it a coincidence?).
Doc notices the obvious pattern that the photos are clustered around a relatively tight geographic area. The mountains are on the PCC side of the border (not in the Denver FRFZ), but are very near to the border with Sioux Nation. It's pretty remote, but if you wanted a set up shop nearby, the closest piece of civilization would be Boulder... where Sam had a house.
-
<<@Ace, Katsina [Uncle Sam] I've already sent a copy of all these files to the others. Now you have them. You know everything I know, which is nothing.>>
<< Send File/s: TheWholeShebang>>
The troll keeps on surprising. Ace looks at the information shared with him and can feel his heart rate dropping. Right now, there's more pressing business, but he files the information away for later retrieval.
"Agreed about Denver, and our MO. It's probably a long shot, but any chance Chino might know of a spot we could stash the obelisk? We'd be able to move a lot more freely if we weren't tied this hunk of metal for all of our movements."
Ace watches Doc's video and feels his stomach turning. It's certainly no worse than anything Ace has done, and from the looks of the corpse, at least Doc -- more accurately the hoop that had previously inhabited Doc's body -- didn't torture the guy before geeking him. Still, the joy in the killing, that's what hits Ace the hardest. Back when he was mostly flesh, he can remember the thrill of combat, and there was an element that was almost intoxicating about a firefight, but since he woke up in that van, every fight has taken place at a distance, as though he were watching someone else. People squick me out.
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 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.
-
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?"
-
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."
-
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. Ą20 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 Ą200.>>
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<<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. Ą20 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 Ą200.>>
<<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 200Ą.
-
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.
-
<<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."
-
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."
-
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.
-
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?"
-
"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.
-
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.>>
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@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.>>
-
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.
-
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 (http://goo.gl/maps/5r0xs) 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.
-
Doc stayed in the van to finish his searches for Ace. Going from node to node moving data from one AR window to another as he compiles notes and data on each topic. He looks up, and comms, <<<@Team [Doc] Can someone grab me a beer and a slice while we're here? Ace has my 'stick, just charge it to that. And if we are going to be in reputable places we might need to look into getting at least some cheap burner SINs for Chino and me if we can scrounge up the scratch for that. Ohanzee, any chance your fixer can sort you on that?>>>
While his agent sorts through some data for him, he reviews the ARO Katsina sent to the team. "River looks like a good place to me. It also breaks the pattern of just burninating everything in our wake. Couple of gallons of bleach before we sink it and the water should take care of the rest."
-
Ace adds a couple gallons of bleach and a 12 pack of real beer to the growing number of supplies on his cart, and heads toward the checkout line. He smiles at the clerk as he slots his credstick, and offers, "Hope your shift goes smoothly," before loading up the bags and heading to the Bulldog.
-
After a twenty count, Ohanzee heads out to the newly arrived rental van, inspects it, and then jumps in to the battered van where the obelisk rests.
<< @Team [Ohanzee] The dump site and exchange site look good. Let's head out, get it done, and get to a warm bunk and a good nigh's rest. >>
<< Doc, I'll see what I can do, but it's unlikely he can get anything turned around on short notice - things like that usually take a couple days. Let's see how the safehouse he recommended turns out before we trust him with SINs. >>
-
Sam has been sitting quietly in the Bulldog, waiting with the other members of the team and not making eye-contact with them for only a couple of minutes when the rental van pulls up. He leers at it through one window, suspiciously. I doubt it's armored, but the amenities are probably nice. Noticing Ohanzee's short frame making its way across the parking lot to inspect the new vehicle, he grows eager as another time for he and Chino to talk privately nears. He stays quiet, watching as the team leader "kicks the tires" as it were before deciding it's acceptable and giving the go ahead for the rest of the team to join him. Relieved as they are to be out of the foul smelling death wagon, Sam expects only he and Chino to be left to escort the commandeered vehicle to it's final resting place. The two of them are just about to start on their way when they hear a knock on the passenger side door. Sam frowns heavily as he looks to see who it is, but is a bit relieved to see Ohanzee's friendly mug looking back at him. Better him than the corp, the vampire, or the decker, I suppose.
Sam spends the first minute or two of the trip fiddling with his new burner comms, ignoring any conversation near or toward him. Finally, once his task is completed, he pipes up. Turning sideways in his seat to address both the dwarf and the ork, he holds one of the burner comms up.
"Turn all of your gear off. Everything. Anything that could be used to listen in on us. Trust me." He waits, silently holding the burner out in front of him until his companions have complied, then continues. "I don't know the details, but I have discerned the important generalities. And they are, as follows. The three of us, in addition to the decker in the other vehicle are a team of heartless psychopaths hired by a dishonorable party to steal an artifact capable of destroying the world. Ace, the vampire, and the dead one known as APB are three individuals of great strength and power who appear to have come together for the purpose to take that artifact back. This leads me to two conclusions; Firstly, that WE are the villains here. Monsters hired to do a monstrous deed. Secondly, and born from the first conclusion, is that our plan to destroy the artifact was a plan concocted by monsters for selfish or fiendish purposes. If we are to "take this second chance" it seems we've been given, shouldn't we abandon the old plan? Try and undo the wrongs we've already done?" He takes a moment to look back and forth between the two faces before exhaling long and hard. Without another word, he slaps the burner commlink down into the hand of the dwarf and turns back to face the road, waiting for Ohanzee to read it out loud.
It only has one file on it. A text file. It reads...
<<@To whom it may concern
I know very few things, lacking even my own name or where I came from, so I won't waste time with a backstory. Such a thing wouldn't be important anyway. What is important is the fact that I have in my possession, an ancient artifact, the likes of which the world has not seen in tens of thousands of years as well as the means to destroy it with a mere thought, should I desire to. The power contained in this artifact is so great, that when I destroy it, there is a very good chance it will tear the very fabric of this world asunder with catastrophic results across all continents. I do not want to do this, but will do so without a second thought, if pressed.
What must you do to keep me from doing this? My demands are quite simple:
1- Contact either The Draco Foundation, The Atlantean Foundation, The Dunkelzahn Institute of Magical Research, or The Astral Space Preservation Society. Send them a copy of this message.
2- I want a representative from any or all of those four groups to come meet me and take this damn thing from me.
That's all there is to it. To stop the destruction of your world, all you need do is come take this foul chunk of metal from me and remove the millstone from around my neck. If you are the offended party from whom I stole it, I'll even give it back for no more a fee than an explanation of events. Fair warning though, I am heavily armed and well supported by some of the most paranoid and trigger happy killers in the world. If you attempt to take it from me by force or deception, you will die. I've killed too many already and I don't want any more blood on my hands. PLEASE make certain this message finds its way to the proper eyes.
[Uncle Sam]>>
The dwarf finishes reading it out loud, then looks up at Sam, inhaling to speak. Before he can finish the breath, Sam interrupts him.
"I've got three more burners just like it. I'm thinking of setting them to open broadcast and just dropping them in a trail behind us, once we switch vehicles. I'm also planning on sending that same text file to every contact in my comm as well as a few random commcodes just for good measure. Unless one of you gives me a damn good reason why I shouldn't, I'm going ahead with the plan at the first opportunity."
He sits, looking out at the road and the snow swirling in a vortex around them, waiting for an answer.
-
While the others are shopping, Doc stays in the van to conduct matrix searches with his agent. Donning his gumshoe hat, pipe, and magnifying glass, Doc's persona sets off with a bloodhounding sniffing and slobbering at his side.
There's not much to go on, but Doc is familiar with some of the darker corners of the Matrix, the places where secrets are whispered and gossip is shared among those in the shadows. Doc is largely stymied by the search for Rhodes but his faithful hound picks up the scent and races through several nodes before finding a short exchange.
>>>>>(Looking for information on guy named Roads. More metal than meat. My magician says it hurts to look at him.)<<<<< -Whistling Pete
>>>>>(Yeah, I got a score to settle with him. He took down my samurai with the back of his hand while blowing up my drones with his other hand. Using laser beams. Losing Jake was a shame, but I really had a thing for that Doberman.)<<<<< -Randy Wang
>>>>>(It's not Roads, it's Rhodes. I don't have a good handle on what he is. He's with Ares but he's not a Johnson, nor a fixer, nor an asset. My guess is he's some combination of the above. Ares only sends him out if there's a major problem - I'm talking about "blood magic cult" problems, not "oh, my junior executive of nose wiping went missing" problems - or if they want something badly. If Rhodes wants what you have, it's easiest just to give it to him.)<<<<< -Sloppy Jane
>>>>>(I heard Sloppy got her nickname because she gives it up so easily. Nobody has any use for a smuggler who drops her shipment the first time her radar pings.)<<<<< -Rigger X
That's all Doc or his agent can find on Rhodes. He turns his attention to the photo of the tattooed man from the van. He finds a match for the photo on a discussion board for Cheyenne runners.
>>>>>(Anybody know this guy? Whirling dervish of guns and ammo? I saw him shoot the wick off a candle on a quick draw, then pegged a flea's ass mid-hop. My team needs some new talent. Lost our last shooter to bad luck. By which I mean bullets.)<<<<< -Hawwwnuhhh
>>>>>(I don't know his name. He's Sioux though. Probably Dakota.)<<<<< -Why Sioux Serious
>>>>>(How do you know?)<<<<< -Hawwwnuhhh
>>>>>(Those are "honor feathers" in his hair. Active-duty Sioux Defense Force personnel wear them on special occasions. They are not official awards but they are more coveted than actual medals. The custom has trickled down into the civilian world, especially in gangs. Only Wildcats can wear eagle feathers though.)<<<<< -Why Sioux Serious
>>>>>(Do you mean this guy is a Wildcat?!)<<<<< -Hawwwnuhhh
>>>>>(Not necessarily, but if he's not then it does mean that he can hold his own against any Wildcat that might object to him wearing them. Which they would, if he's not Special Forces.)<<<<< -Why Sioux Serious
>>>>>(Good luck trying to recruit him. He's Aleph Society.)<<<<< -Abagnale
>>>>>(Bulldrek, like you would know.)<<<<< -Fianchetto
>>>>>(Try Brotherhood of the Iron Crescent.)<<<<< -Cheyenne Sam
>>>>>(Should we list off every public and secret magical society? Or should we just admit that we don't know?)<<<<< -Fianchetto
-
Doc whistles appreciatively as he's pulling up info on Ace's contact "Rhodes". From the shadows of the Matrix, he finds out that this guy puts the hurt on folks. Mostly folks like themselves. Looking over the info he found from on the shooter, it looks like more of the same. Another badass hired by someone to get the oblisk for some group or another.
<<<@Team [Doc] Welp, Ace's 'friend' definitely has a name for himself in the shadows. Seems he's a fairly effective recovery specialist for Ares. See attached file. And our shooter is another version of him, though with a bit more of a cloud of mystery around him.
>>File: rhodes.info
>>File: shooter.info
>>>
-
Ace reads Doc's attachment on his commlink, and sits, reads it again. I wonder who Jake was. Sorry, chummer. Ace would like to believe that Rhodes is not him, just someone like him, cooked in the same batch, or hatched, or whatever it was they did to make him, well this, he thinks as he flexes his cyber hand. If Rhodes is another Instigator™ then maybe Ace could get some answers. Sure, he'd probably get burned, and it's unlikely that Ares wants a defective model out on the loose, but maybe they'd be able to unload this hunk and he could scramble off with Katsina somewhere quiet. Worst case scenario, he'd end up like the people he used to hunt, and probably for a very short time, but best case scenario . . . Highly unlikely I was thinking in 'best case' terms before. I wonder how else I've changed?
Unfortunately, that's probably not the case. Unfortunately, like everything else since he woke up every clue he's come to just points to that datalock in his head. But if Ace is Rhodes, then who is Rhodes on his commlink? Who's on the other end of that number?
While they drive the rental out to the drop-off location, Ace says, "So, what do you guys think? Should I call this number from one of those commlinks? Can we do anything to protect our location if I do? And Doc, what do you think your chances of breaking this datalock would be without killing me?"
-
Ohanzee processes what he has just read and heard. The intent behind the plan - undoing the wrongs they have already done - appeals to him. Getting rid of the obelisk also appeals to him. And considering that their previous selves used to be cold-blooded murderers, he was inclined to let the obelisk keep their old personalities. But the approach seemed haphazard. Why not simply reach out to these organizations directly? Why have some random person act as mediator?
The way Ohnazee saw it, there were two parties in the pool of interest in the artifact that likely wanted them dead - whoever they stole it from and whoever they stole it for. Whatever other groups were after them, they likely didn't know about the artifact. Well, except for what was previously Red Team - they likely had an employer that may very well have been an interested third party. There were four organizations in Sam's list that deal with ancient artifacts like this, and - as they had learned from both Katsina and their experience with the Natelys - there were possibly any number of secret magical societies that might be interested. Those could not be allowed to have it at any cost, so that left the four in Sam's list, and there was every reason to believe that at least one of them was already after them. Would their change of heart mean anything? Especially if they had just told their "competitors" about an artifact that they had obviously gone through great effort to keep secret?
Wait, we have an idea where we grabbed this thing, at least in a broad sense it had to have been within driving distance of where we woke up in the wrecked van. If, like Sam stated, we were hard-core killers, and thus necessarily hired by Bad People, then it is possible, maybe even likely, that we stole it from one of the legitimate organizations. Maybe one of them has a known or rumored facility near here that might give us a clue. Or one is associated more closely with Ares, considering the KE pursuers in the Hound.
"I agree with the plan, but I'd rather leave less of it to Fate. I don't like the idea of just dropping these commlinks and relying on some good samaritan doing the right thing. I'd rather reach out to these organizations directly - make the offer to all of them. There's a good chance that we stole it form one of them, and given that Doc has been unable to find any info about it on the Matrix, the owners had gone through considerable difficulty to keep in hidden. Of your four organizations, we are almost guaranteed to make one enemy and likely at least one ally. Pitting them against each other, while unpredictable, is likely safer than standing alone against any one of them."
"Moreover, the other, less savory, organizations that are likely already pursuing us - including our employers - might seek to interfere for the sole purpose of forcing our hand - what guarantee do we have that we weren't hired by some group that wanted to use it to tear a hole in reality? It could be very much in their interest to get you to follow through on your threat."
Ohanzee scans the text again. The scenery rushes by silently, while the wind pours into the vehicle loudly. He holds up the phone. "I'd like to have Doc see if he can't figure out which of these organizations operates near here - rumors or otherwise - so that we might have some idea which one we might have stolen this from. I want to do the right thing, but I don't want to end up dead or in prison. I'm fine trading in a payday for immunity, but that won't keep the other parties we've fragged off from taking revenge. Your threat brings the four organizations to the table and makes less appealing the option of just geeking us and taking it. After that, we need to make sure that we walk away from the exchange with at least some headstart from any parties that might carry a grudge. Information on who those parties might be would be a nice bonus."
"That's my take on it. And there is still one more thing that we need to address." He wags his index finger, pointing it at each of them and out of the van to indicate Doc. "Our infection. It's not magical, so most of these organizations are unlikely to help us with that. The Draco foundation might, being interested in pretty much all areas of research. We might end up spending the rest of our lives in a quarantine facility, or they might just decide it's better to kill us and learn what they can via dissection, but however the deal with the obelisk goes, we still have that to worry about. Basically, we might survive handing off the artifact only to succumb to this other unknown. Might be worth it to try working that into whatever deal we make regarding the artifact."
He pauses for a moment to review his thoughts, then wraps up with "Any other ideas?" as he looks between Sam and Chino.
-
Katsina, sporting her new look as Ivana, sits in the back of the Eurovan while Doc programs it to rendezvous with the Bulldog. She's already enjoying the lack of blood splashed around liberally, which - however appetizing - was not suitable for an extended journey, especially if they were to encounter SecForce at some point.
Ivana watches the Bulldog drive off and wonders if it's a major strategic blunder to leave Sam alone with the obelisk. The destruction of the obelisk would be... catastrophic, as best she could tell. Not that there's a lot of precedent for destroying Fourth World artifacts, but she doesn't want to be a trailblazer in the arena.
What if Sam attaches his bomb? Spellcasting is dicey: her Influence spell only lasts a few minutes. Would that be enough time for the troll to remove the device, or is disarming it an extended process? Chopping off his hands would be counterproductive, and that's only if she could get through that titanium bone lacing. She'd have to convince the dwarf and maybe the ork... She inhales sharply, hoping it doesn't come to that.
Ivana finishes her last preparation and goes to put it in her pocket. As she does, she feels a lump in her coat. Pulling it out, she sees that it is APB's commlink. She tuts and passes it to Doc for further examination. Doc switches it on and cracks the Firewall in about three seconds. He rifles through the commlink's contents, which are pretty meager. Technomancers only need them for external hard drives, and there's nothing indicating that APB was actively using the current device before yesterday's run. Doc does find some video files that look interesting though...
20:22
The footage is from a security camera. There are heavy stone walls, much like the ones that Chino kicked through. Sure enough, the wall explodes a moment later and Chino runs through. He turns, looks to the right, and shouts at someone, "HEY! Over here, drekbrains! Yeah, you, numbnuts! Get over here so I can gouge out your eyeballs and skullfrag you!" Then he kicks the opposite wall and runs through it. A few moments later he is pursued by a squad of four security guards who run in from the right. Their movement is restricted by their milspec battle armor. They lumber after him.
20:25
Another camera with a timestamp a few minutes later. There's a burst of dust and rubble, then Chino runs into frame. He turns around, grabs his groin, then shouts obscenities at someone off-camera. "Rolling thunder, bitch!" It's a catchphrase from a popular simsense franchise, Jack Slade: Totally Jacked Up. Chino's barrage of insults continues: "Too slow, pops! I'm gonna rip over to your house and throw your old lady a hump!" There's scattered automatic fire that pings around him. He spins around, kicks down another wall, and is gone. The same security guards follow, but this time they're joined by a swarm of security drones.
20:27
Another camera. Chino runs onto the scene and collides with Katsina, who was running from another direction with her claymore drawn. Chino, being much larger, is hardly fazed, but Katsina is knocked to the ground and drops her sword. Chino looks unsympathetic. "Ever make idiot wine?" he shouts at her as she rolls to her back, assuming a defensive posture. "Find a gang moving in on your turf and STOMP 'EM!" He then slams his heel into her face, smashing her head into the ground. Looking over his shoulder, he sees the pursuers getting close. He takes off running. Katsina shakes off the kick (which was probably strong enough to blast down a wall), then gets up and starts running in another direction like nothing happened. The guards arrive on the scene. The troopers pursue Chino while the drones go after Katsina.
20:28
Another camera. Katsina is surrounded by drones, some flying, others on the ground. She throws her claymore like a javelin, skewering one of the roto-drones mid-flight. Instead of falling back to Earth, the claymore stays suspended. The light around Katsina flares, and then she swings her arms like she's still holding the claymore. It rips out of the roto-drone and flies through the air in a huge arc that brings it down onto a Steel Lynx combat drone like some sort of goddamn guillotine. Katsina spins, and the claymore turns into a tornado. It flies around, obliterating Ares Duelists and GM-Nissan Dobermen, all under her telekinetic control. Seconds later she has reduced a half dozen combat drones into scraps and kibble. She extends her hand; the claymore flies back to her and she sheathes it in one smooth motion. She runs off.
20:30
The same footage you saw previously from the Knight-Errant HTR team. Chino kicks down a wall. Ohanzee exits, levitating the crate with the obelisk, while Sam backpedals out of the hole, hosing down things down with liberal applications of suppressive fire. It seems to be working. Previously, the pursuers were always 10-12 seconds behind Chino. This time, Blue Team seems to have built its lead to a full minute. The security guards finally limp through the breach, but are then met with a minigrenade that detonates right at their feet. The armor seems to absorb the worst of the shrapnel, but it knocks them down all the same.
-
Chino continues driving as the other's talk. It seems everyone else had come to terms with their previous tendencies towards violence, but Chino still hadn't made up his mind. To them, it was all in the past, those were different people. For him, it just felt right. It was so much more comfortable being chased and in danger, at least then you could rip your enemies to shreds as they came after you. He didn't like this feeling, the feeling that they were going to be safe, at least for the moment. It felt like a trap. It just turned his paranoia up to 11. Still, the plan seemed like a good idea. Getting your enemies together to either obliterate with you, or to let you go free seemed like a decent proposition.
Something still bothered him though. It took him a second to realize it, but he finally pinpointed it down.
"Any other ideas?"
"Just some thoughts." Chino pauses a moment to consider his words. "Are we really certain that we were hired to steal this thing and blow it up? I know that Sam had quite the argument with our Johnson, and as far as we can tell, the bomb was our safety measure. I'm not saying our Johnson wasn't a downright ass who was probably intent on evil, but somehow I don't think the run was as simple as we think it was. After all, considering the resources that have been used to track us down, you would think that if they wanted the obelisk blown up, they could have just sent a missile launcher or two with their teams. They didn't though. I don't have the answers to why we were sent for this thing, or what the Johnson wanted with it, but our explanation for it seems a little too easy, too convenient." Chino lets out a disheartened laugh. "Of course, that could just be the paranoia speaking."
He takes a moment to check the map. Almost there.
"Hell, we've made it this far. The plan sounds good, if we get the others to agree. We'll need an exit plan though, and that's where I come in." He makes a turn before calling up an ARO. "I'm slowly starting to remember some things, including some ways in and out of the city. I've marked them on a private ARO for us. Another thing that I seem to remember a great deal about are BTLs. I'm pretty sure I'm a user. There's a parlor marked on the map. It's pretty far from here, in the CAS Sector, but it might be a place you can hide in. It caters to upper clientele, and is good with secrecy. I have a simchip, and I'm pretty sure it's unique. If you need to, sell the thing. It might be able to get you some cash to disappear with. Just, don't slot it, all right?"
Chino pulls up to the rendezvous point, waiting for the others. He compiles a message with no body, just an ARO, but waits to send it.
"I don't plan on going anywhere, but you might not have a getaway driver. Let's face it, this plan could get us killed, or this disease could get us killed. Frag, with how these last couple days have been, who knows what could happen. That's besides the point. If I die, I would rather have you guys not be stranded with me. We psychopaths have to watch out for each other, if you understand what I mean."
-
Doc reviews the images from APB's phone, then wordlessly passes them on.
<<<@Team [Doc] .
>> APB1.vid
>> APB2.vid
>> APB3.vid
>> APB4.vid
>> APB5.vid
>>>
He looks up at Katsina, "Nice moves. I wonder where Ace was durring this?"
-
"We aren't certain we were hired to blow it up. It actually seems that the bomb was a deadman switch cooked up after Sam provided some unsolicited sexual advice to our Johnson, so we almost certainly were hired to deliver it to our employers intact. But we don't know that our employers didn't intend to use it as a weapon - either by means of some fundamental property of the artifact, or simply blowing it up in a populated area. Us destroying it might be a viable plan B for them if they learn of Sam's threat, whatever their goals are. I am reasonably certain that the four organizations listed by Sam are not bent on malicious use of the artifact, hence my desire to contact them directly and hopefully not tip off any other organizations. Of course, that assumes that these organizations are not compromised by agents of some secret organization - or all of the organizations."
Ohanzee pauses for a few seconds, looking down in thought. For the first time he notices that aside from the blood and gore, the van appears to be either new, or well cared for. He wonders if it is a rental too. He runs his thumb over the powered off commlink he holds in his lap, not liking being out of communication with the other van for too long.
"As for exit plans, anything you can remember to get us in to and around Denver when needed will be critical. Chances are that that is where we will have to go to meet with these organizations. And I think I speak for both of us" he gestures, indicating Sam, "when I say that I sincerely hope we will all be making use of that information. But I appreciate the thought."
"Are we agreed then? We will reach out to these four organizations directly and explain our memory loss and freely give the artifact to whichever one can provide us with answers and a little help dealing with the trouble the artifact has caused us, and provide a reasonable guarantee that it will remain out of the hands of whatever foul party hired us to take it. And if we can get some help with our mystery affliction, all the better. We will run the plan by the others for approval, but do we at least have consensus here?" He waits for any objections before nodding, and then turning his commlink back on.
He finds a message from Doc waiting on it and reviews the video attachments. Chino was a bad ass. As was Katsina, though he had to wonder at why the drones held their fire long enough to be obliterated one by one by her flying sword. Did her thermal signature throw them for a loop, confusing their dog brains into momentary indecision? Or was it staged? And why does it only show those two? He could only imagine that APB had been monitoring the feeds, either as part of Katsina's and Ace's plans or as the security spider for whatever facility this was. The fact that their pursuers had at least some of this same footage meant that it had not been erased, or at least the clip with three of the four members of Blue Team had not. Doc had apparently been elsewhere, presumably assisting from the matrix, or fixing his deck - which would explain the lack of cleanup on the video footage.
Perhaps Sam and Ohanzee were sneaking in under Ohanzee's invisibility spell while Chino made a major distraction, leading the guards on a wild goose chase - gathering them all up and away from the true objective. APB may have deliberately left the one piece of video for the security forces to use to locate Blue Team, but cleaned up any video of Red Team. It still doesn't answer how they all made nice and ended up in the same van, though considering Katsina's use of mind influencing magic, it was entirely possible they didn't make nice at all. In which case, when the van crashed they might have been driving to wherever Red Team had wanted the artifact rather than where Blue Team had intended to take it. But Influence only worked for a short while - there was practically no way it could last long enough for Katsina to direct them to a different location. Had Chino crashed the van intentionally? Perhaps by the time the spell had worn off, Blue Team had found itself at gunpoint.
He tried to recall where all of the guns were when they first awoke. It seemed like forever ago, but the few details he could remember made it possible, but not necessarily likely. Ace, pulling his weapons out of a duffel - if he had them at gunpoint, they wouldn't have been neatly stowed. Katsina, picking her claymore up from where it lay haphazardly across the roof cum floor of the van. It's possible she had that drawn in order to threaten a hostage, but it seemed more likely that it wouldn't fit in a duffel and that she had been disarmed. All told, the evidence pointed more toward Blue Team being in control in the van - Sam was in the rear most seat, and armed, giving him coverage of the three members of Red Team - seated neatly together if Ohanzee's memory served. So, the most likely scenario was that either Blue Team had taken Red Team hostage or they had indeed teamed up before everything went to pot.
He kept his musings to himself for now - such discussions would not help team unity, and it had been fraying lately without such help. He sat back in his chair and tried to keep warm against the chill.
-
"I agree with the plan, but I'd rather leave less of it to Fate. I don't like the idea of just dropping these commlinks and relying on some good samaritan doing the right thing. I'd rather reach out to these organizations directly - make the offer to all of them. There's a good chance that we stole it form one of them, and given that Doc has been unable to find any info about it on the Matrix, the owners had gone through considerable difficulty to keep in hidden. Of your four organizations, we are almost guaranteed to make one enemy and likely at least one ally. Pitting them against each other, while unpredictable, is likely safer than standing alone against any one of them. Moreover, the other, less savory, organizations that are likely already pursuing us - including our employers - might seek to interfere for the sole purpose of forcing our hand - what guarantee do we have that we weren't hired by some group that wanted to use it to tear a hole in reality? It could be very much in their interest to get you to follow through on your threat."
Sam's instinct is to jump in and rebut every point, but he uses his patience and perception to really listen to the end instead of arguing. And what he hears at the end is a point he doesn't like. They might INDEED want us to detonate it and play right into their plans.
"I hadn't considered that the detonation of the artifact might be exactly what certain parties want. How about I make a promise to the two of you and to the two of you only?" He doesn't blink his massive eyes nor look away from the road and snow as he speaks. "I promise upon my life; the only thing the old me and the new me share in value, that I will not detonate the obelisk. I'll threaten, I'll bluff, I may even arm and set the timer on it, but I will not detonate it. I swear on my life. Does that solve the problem?"
Ohanzee hesitates a moment, thinking before he replies.
--------------------------
Having moved on to another topic, the dwarf eventually brings up another point Sam feels he needs to comment on.
"Our infection. It's not magical, so most of these organizations are unlikely to help us with that. The Draco foundation might, being interested in pretty much all areas of research. We might end up spending the rest of our lives in a quarantine facility, or they might just decide it's better to kill us and learn what they can via dissection, but however the deal with the obelisk goes, we still have that to worry about. Basically, we might survive handing off the artifact only to succumb to this other unknown. Might be worth it to try working that into whatever deal we make regarding the artifact."
"PFFFFFFT! Isn't that all life really is? Surviving one thing only to succumb to another?" He waits only a moment before turning his head to face Ohanzee. "But yes, we SHOULD enlist the aid of any of those multi-trillion nuyen possessing groups in order to get these things OUT of us. I could not agree more strongly on the subject."
"Hell, we've made it this far. The plan sounds good, if we get the others to agree. We'll need an exit plan though, and that's where I come in." He makes a turn before calling up an ARO. "I'm slowly starting to remember some things, including some ways in and out of the city. I've marked them on a private ARO for us. Another thing that I seem to remember a great deal about are BTLs. I'm pretty sure I'm a user. There's a parlor marked on the map. It's pretty far from here, in the CAS Sector, but it might be a place you can hide in. It caters to upper clientele, and is good with secrecy. I have a simchip, and I'm pretty sure it's unique. If you need to, sell the thing. It might be able to get you some cash to disappear with. Just, don't slot it, all right?"
If he remembers the area, I should too. Why don't I?
Sam turns his head back to the road and says to Chino. "I'm going to slot it once we turn our gear back on." Noticing the look of "whatthefuck?" on Chino's tusked face, he adds, "If I'm promising to you that I won't use my only ace in the hole, no matter what, then I'm slotting the damn chip. If you fear I'll think less of you, you're a fool. I think no less of the vampire nor the Ares assassin borg, nor the... Dwarf?" Looking at Ohanzee and seeking to conjure up something horrible and factual to call him. It's at this very moment that Sam realizes something. There's not a shred of evidence beyond his association with us to suggest Ohanzee here used to be a crazed sociopath at all. Hmm. Then something else hits him. There's really no evidence that I am, either."
"Are we agreed then? We will reach out to these four organizations directly and explain our memory loss and freely give the artifact to whichever one can provide us with answers and a little help dealing with the trouble the artifact has caused us, and provide a reasonable guarantee that it will remain out of the hands of whatever foul party hired us to take it. And if we can get some help with our mystery affliction, all the better. We will run the plan by the others for approval, but do we at least have consensus here?"
Staring forward unblinking and with firm jaw, Sam replies, "I say we do both. We reach out to them directly and we drop the burners. Deal? Also, I don't think we should be doing any big meetings with anyone in a downtown, populated area at all. There's going to be bloodshed and I'd prefer it all come from us and the unlucky fucks who've been sent to kill us. Make them come out into the snow to meet with us. Much harder to lay a trap for us like that. Thoughts?"
-----------------------------
Chino pulls up to the rendezvous point, waiting for the others. He compiles a message with no body, just an ARO, but waits to send it.
"I don't plan on going anywhere, but you might not have a getaway driver. Let's face it, this plan could get us killed, or this disease could get us killed. Frag, with how these last couple days have been, who knows what could happen. That's besides the point. If I die, I would rather have you guys not be stranded with me. We psychopaths have to watch out for each other, if you understand what I mean."
Cocking his head to the side, Sam looks directly at Chino and says, "I actually have no idea what you mean by that? Mind spelling it out for me." Genuine confusion crowds his face up into an ugly mask of flesh and horn.
-
Ivana sits back and watches the videos provided by Doc while the Eurovan drives itself. Chino running around, making a big commotion. The stomp looks like it hurt, not that she remembers it. If anything, she's grateful that the kick didn't obliterate her mask, seeing as how Chino's feet shatter stone walls with ease. She was lucky that Chino hadn't infused his kick with killing energies; she wouldn't have recovered from that. Perhaps Chino slipped up, or maybe he did it intentionally to leave Katsina behind to distract the guards. Now, here she was, healing him from third degree burns. How a day changes things.
She watches the fourth video. I hadn't remembered that trick, she thinks to herself, watching the sword bifurcate hapless drones. Momentarily she wonders if she quickened the wrong spell. Perhaps she should have locked in a powerful version of Magic Fingers, one stronger and more agile than her physical self, extending her reach as far as she could see. Being strong in person is great, but she has a limited amount of karmic energies to pour into such things. She would gather more, in time, provided she lived long enough. The vampire exhales, calculating. She can probably lock down one more spell... combat sense? Telekinesis? Her mind spins.
"Ace was probably playing with the barghests," she says finally.
-
"I'm going to slot it once we turn our gear back on." Noticing the look of "whatthefuck?" on Chino's tusked face, he adds, "If I'm promising to you that I won't use my only ace in the hole, no matter what, then I'm slotting the damn chip. If you fear I'll think less of you, you're a fool. I think no less of the vampire nor the Ares assassin borg, nor the... Dwarf?"
A look of horror flashes on his face before going back to a mask of calm. Chino shakes his head. "It's not myself that I fear for." He sighs and places the chip within Sam's reach. "I doubt I can stop you anyway, and no, I'm not going to explain what I meant. You'll figure it out." That damn son of a gun is going to slot it. I seriously hope it doesn't affect him like it affected me. Should I tell him how I nearly lost my grip on reality from slotting it? No, it might not do the same thing to him. I hope it doesn't. He continues, "Remember, the BTL feels real, but it isn't. You might experience some," he hesitates, looking to find the right word, "interesting emotions while in there. Just keep that in mind."
"Are we agreed then? We will reach out to these four organizations directly and explain our memory loss and freely give the artifact to whichever one can provide us with answers and a little help dealing with the trouble the artifact has caused us, and provide a reasonable guarantee that it will remain out of the hands of whatever foul party hired us to take it. And if we can get some help with our mystery affliction, all the better. We will run the plan by the others for approval, but do we at least have consensus here?"
Staring forward unblinking and with firm jaw, Sam replies, "I say we do both. We reach out to them directly and we drop the burners. Deal? Also, I don't think we should be doing any big meetings with anyone in a downtown, populated area at all. There's going to be bloodshed and I'd prefer it all come from us and the unlucky fucks who've been sent to kill us. Make them come out into the snow to meet with us. Much harder to lay a trap for us like that. Thoughts?"
He's echoing my thoughts exactly.
Chino notices a transmission from Doc. He waves it away. "My thoughts exactly. That way, we have a better chance of getting them all grouped together in one spot. They'll have to come to us, in a place of our choosing. It makes it easier to plan for and escape from. We'll know the terrain." The memories of the last encounter they had with others was still fresh in his mind, at the rich man's house, the name eluded him. That did not end so well. Actually, considering we all came away alive and relatively unscathed, it could even be considered a success. Shaking his head to get rid of his stray thoughts, Chino replies, "You guys know my point. I'm in on the plan."
"I actually have no idea what you mean by that? Mind spelling it out for me." Genuine confusion crowds his face up into an ugly mask of flesh and horn.
Drek, do I tell them about my ... erratic feelings? My need for violence? I don't plan on dying, if I don't have to, but something tells me that I'm heading towards my last fight.
Chino looks away from Sam. "Forget about it. I think that last fight has made me start feeling my own mortality. It's just a precaution, just in case." He left out the part of "just in case this fight pulls me in and I die in a blaze of violence".
Even now, he was still keeping secrets. Everyone else seemed to have come clean about, well, pretty much everything. They might still be lying about a few things, but everyone was putting things in the open. Everyone except him. He kept telling himself he was doing it for their own good. Or maybe it was for his own good. He knew he could trust them; he was probably the loudest voice in trying to work as a team. It's just ... he couldn't tell them. Not yet, anyway. They weren't ready.
A small voice in his head spoke, "Or are you not ready?"
Chino sits back in his seat and stares forward, deliberately keeping his thoughts away from his face.
-
"Okay, we make them come to us here. It's a crap shoot either way - here we might have a terrain advantage like you say, and it also means we control the terrain and get there first, limiting their options for laying a trap. But we might also have those that are pursuing us catch up at an inopportune moment. I'm still unclear on what advantage dropping the burners gets us - the fewer parties present the better it seems to me, but maybe there is a tactical consideration I am overlooking. Help me understand."
-
Ace pawns one of the poacher's commlinks in his hand. He's made up his mind, but when it comes to actually making the call, he's hesitant. If it goes straight to voicemail, and he hears his own voice, fine, things could be worse. But what if a woman answers? Ace looks to Katsina, and quickly turns away when "Ivana" looks back. If there is a woman who answers, should he even speak? It could provide some information as to who he is, though probably not what he was doing, but what would that information cost her? Perhaps it would be better if the her, whoever this rhetorical her is from Ace's past life, never heard from him again. He's certainly not the same man. And if it's a stranger's voice, that's the most terrifying prospect of all. And also, it's the only one that provides any real incentive for making the call. What a mess. Ace takes a deep breath, dials quickly, and waits for what's to follow.
-
Ace places the call and wait for it to connect...
...
...
...
There is no answer. Ace has the opportunity to leave a recorded message, or to send one via text.
Having received no response, Ace wonders if he would have answered it, had he received a call from an unknown commcode. Perhaps, yes, given his desire for answers at the moment, but under normal non-amnesiac situations? Perhaps not. He can't recall if there are SOPs for this, but he guesses that if an asset needs to make contact from a third-party commlink, then said asset might need to send a message in advance to explain who it is, perhaps one using a code phrase or a certain syntax, like Sam uses with "Mom". Not that Ace has any memory of what might be required, if anything, but calling from an anonymous commlink doesn't seem to be working.
-
After Ace's call produces no results Doc looks up and says, "Maybe when we open up that data lock of yours we can find some more answers. Shouldn't be too much further to the safe house then we can get started on that."
-
Ace disconnects the call before the voicemail comes up. No pre-recorded message, eh? Shocker. He'd rather not leave his voice on the machine, so he sends a text instead.
@Rhodes [?]<<I Naturally Say ThInGs AT OppoRtune times. Other times, I need someone to check in, and tell me what's up. Help, please?>>
Ace shuts down the comm as soon as he's finished typing.
After Ace's call produces no results Doc looks up and says, "Maybe when we open up that data lock of yours we can find some more answers. Shouldn't be too much further to the safe house then we can get started on that."
"Yeah, that might be a good idea. I sent a text. I'll reboot, and check for messages in a few minutes, but it's just as likely if they decide to check in, that they do so on my commlink, and I don't know how to proceed there. Of course, they probably know my commlink anyway, so maybe nothing's lost if I answer. Anyway, I'm not going to want to have anything to do with them once we get closer to the safehouse."
-
"Good point. I'll use this time to keep working on repairing this," he says as he points to the cyberdeck in his metallic arm. "I don't think I'll be much help in getting the oblisk into this van, and we don't need too many cooks in the kitchen. Having a fully functional 'deck is probably a better use of my time."
Seeing no objections, Doc pulls out his hardware kit again and starts pulling apart his arm. First he removes the device from his cyberarm so he can work on it with both hands. Wtih a headlamp from his tool kit he hunkers down and opens the case and shines the light into the guts of the machine. His left arm is extremely dexterous while his right arm is fairy clumsy, and he uses it mostly to just hold thigns in place. The cyber arm twiches and manipulates tools with finite precision. Having the luxury of a little more time and the comfort of a non-shot-to-hell working environment helps emensly. While not the best working conditions, they are good enough to get the thing mostly fixed. One more session should get it back to new.
-
"I'm still unclear on what advantage dropping the burners gets us - the fewer parties present the better it seems to me, but maybe there is a tactical consideration I am overlooking. Help me understand."
"It has nothing to do with tactics. It's all about the truth coming out. The more light we shine on this mystery, the more we'll learn about it. So let's tell everyone to bring their torches and show up to the same party at the same time. Who knows what might come out?"
-------------------------------------------
Chino looks away from Sam. "Forget about it. I think that last fight has made me start feeling my own mortality. It's just a precaution, just in case."
The expression of confusion still hasn't left his face. "What, exactly, is "just a precaution, just in case?" What are you talking about?"
-
It's only a five minute drive from the stores to the agreed rendezvous between the two vans. Before you have a chance to finish your respective conversations, the vans are rolling to a stop on a rough, barely maintained road. There aren't any tracks in the snow; you are the first ones to pass this way since it last snowed. That's good news, as far as this being a discrete place to exchange the contents of the two vans and to dispose of the Bulldog, but it also means that there is a visual record of you passing this way. The weather right now is cold and clear. The sun is dipping behind the mountains to the west and the temperature is dropping rapidly. It's colder here than in Aspen. Current temperatures in Aspen are still hovering around freezing but where you are it's about -7 Celsius. Cold.
Chino pulls the rear of the Bulldog up to the rear of the Eurovan so that the obelisk can be moved the shortest distance. Ivana grudgingly leaves the warmth of Eurovan, prepared to help clean the things from the Bulldog so that no unpleasant stains migrate from one vehicle to the other. She's thinking that the dwarf will simply levitate the obelisk, allowing her to clean it mid-flight, but Ohanzee expresses reservations about his current physical state. Ivana appraises him closely; he is indeed wavering, on his last legs. He looks like he wants nothing more than to take a nap right now, the adrenaline from the fight having left his system.
After a minute of discussion, it is decided that Sam, Chino, Ace, and Ivana will move the obelisk while Doc and Ohanzee clean it. Ace brings out the cleaning supplies he purchased. The four movers grunt and groan as they hold the obelisk while the dwarf darts underneath to make sure that the bottom is clean. Ohanzee watches with reservation as he sees Ivana, seemingly an 18-year-old Japanese-Russian elf, bearing the load of the obelisk that hovers over his head, but on the astral he can see the spell that circulates around her muscles and makes her quite as strong as a human Olympic weightlifter. Ohanzee finishes his task and then darts out from underneath the obelisk through Sam's legs.
The move complete, the group takes a few minutes to scrub the portable property coming from the Bulldog, wiping everything down with the family-size carton of Brichert Clean-M-Up! handiwipes that Ace bought. Discarded wipes go into the Bulldog; clean gear goes into the Eurovan. Once that's done, it's time to do the same for yourselves. Ohanzee, having sat where the hapless magician met his grisly end, is particularly affected. Ivana sniffs at him, her heightened smelling picking up more than just the blood in the Bulldog and the lunch that the decker vomited when Doc dumped her. Ohanzee's armored clothing, which hasn't been changed in at least a day (and which has seen a lot of action since then), will need a good wash, she decides.
Ivana zips about, both to keep warm but also to be thorough. She takes special care to get everyone's shoes cleaned, especially the soles. She pauses for a moment to wonder if she has a spell to sanitize things, but alas she does not. She makes a mental note to ask Hecate about that the next time. For now, the work must be done by hand.
Once that's done it is time to bleach the Bulldog. Ivana takes the bleach, then pauses for a moment to cast. She glows - less this time, but still visible if you're looking directly at her - then unscrews the caps and chucks the bottles into the van. She mentally flips them over, then "catches" the bleach as it drains out. She holds the bleach in floating, globular balls, then splashes it on every interior surface of the Bulldog. It circulates and churns, forming itself into a wave that races up and down the length of the van, then swirls. It's rather like watching a washing machine or a dishwasher. Once she's satisfied that the job is complete, she looks to Chino and Ace to see if they want to push it into the river. Then it's time to go! It's cold!
-
"It's a good wash," Ace says, apprising the Bulldog. "Should we give her a soak cycle?" Ace waits until the minivan can be re-positioned so that its nose is pointing toward the river. With some more time, it would be possible to make it look as though the vehicle had lost traction and skidded to its resting place in the icy waters of the river, but they don't have the time, the energy to cast, or the means of doctoring the tracks on the fresh snow. Problematic, but far from the worst thing they've faced today.
With the van positioned, and put in neutral, Ace, Sam, and Katsina -- now Ivana -- post up at the rear bumper and push. There's a slight lip at the edge of the road, and it takes the whole team a little digging in to clear it, but once the Bulldog hits the incline, gravity does the rest of the work for them. Ace watches as the van crunches along the snowy bank and onto the ice of the frozen river. Fingers crossed, chummer. Fingers crossed.
#
When the whole team has made its way inside the Eurovan, and they're on their way to the safehouse, Ace looks around, with the hint of a small smile crossing his lips. "You know, this is the first time we've all been in a car together that wasn't stolen, bullet riddled, covered in gore, or filled with hostages. I think I'll drink to that. Anybody else?" he asks rifling through the groceries for the beer.
-
After piling into the clean van, Ohanzee takes the beer offered by Ace, politely participates in a toast to commemorate their clean and comfortable new ride, then downs the rest of the beer. A warm feeling comes over him, but it is not the buzz he had hoped for, but the "reward" provided by the mysterious nanites in his system. He gamely remains awake for a few minutes, following the conversation as best he can, but soon enough he passes out - not from intoxication, but from exhaustion. Even if the discussion over what to do next comes up, Sam and Chino are on the same page and can make the arguments just as well as he could.
-
As Doc toils away on his deck, Ace pulls out a beer. The distictive crack of the can opening gets his attention. Suddenly he's an overpowering urge to have a beer. "I'll take two or three of those mate!" As Ace tosses him one, he pops it open and shotguns the whole can in one chug. Looking at the can in something of disbelief he looks to Ace for another. "Man, we need some time to figure out what on earth is up with these nanites. Though it feels like I could win a couple of drinking compititions at this rate. New line of work?" Doc laughs at the idea. He knows that he needs to finish repairing the deck before he can concentrate on anything else.
"Oi, Ohanzee, how much did your chummer tell you about this place we're going to?"
-
Once the Bulldog is given its last rites, the team turns and piles into the Eurovan. Chino gets behind the wheel, Sam sits shotgun, and everyone else gets in the back. The upgrade is immediately obvious, and not just due to the condition of the van. It is both much quieter and much warmer, thanks to having windows, and the seats are made out of a soft synthleather. It's easy to get comfortable, and Ace cracks open a few road beers to commemorate the occasion. Sometimes survival is marked one day at a time; other times, it's marked hour by hour.
Ivana waves off the beer, giving Ace a raised eyebrow that probably means I don't think you want to drink with me. It's hard to tell if she's being serious or bemused, but a crack of a smile - one of the first that anyone has seen from her - indicates a certain amusement.
Doc and Ohanzee take beers. Doc guzzles his down like a spring breaker and quickly looks for more. You wouldn't think that drinking while working on the hardware of a cyberdeck is a productive combination but Doc seems to be making it work.
The drive begins quietly. Chino turns onto Highway 82 going north. It's dusk now and getting darker. Ivana contemplates working on more preparations, but decides there will be plenty of time to do so at the safehouse. Doc looks up and asks Ohanzee a question, but is the dwarf even awake?
-
Ace keeps watch out the back but doesn't notice any suspicious activity, or anyone trying to follow the van.
Ivana's head bends toward the window, then cranes to look upward.
"We've got a drone in the skies ahead. One of those glider-type ones. Seems to be following the route of traffic, headed north. I wonder if they were trying to catch up with us but we gave them the shake with our stop in Carbondale?"
She looks again, wishing her mask had vision magnification. It doesn't, but its Zeiss Uhu optics are top-of-the-line. She's able to spy some telling details painted on the side.
"It has a SecForce emblem. They don't have any reason to be looking for this vehicle. It might just be a traffic drone, checking speeds and SINs. Chino, switch to autopilot for a few minutes until we pass. PCC has a law where you don't need a driver's license if your vehicle is on pilot. Ace is broadcasting his SIN so we should be covered."
She continues to watch the drone, privately annoyed by how technology can bypass her best efforts. Her Detect Enemies spell, strong and locked in with a bit of her memory that she'll never get back, is useless against drones. The "elf" looks at Doc and his disassembled deck and hopes that it won't be needed before he has it put back together.
Edit: Spelling.
-
"You know, this is the first time we've all been in a car together that wasn't stolen, bullet riddled, covered in gore, or filled with hostages. I think I'll drink to that. Anybody else?"
Chino nods and accepts the proffered drink. He hadn't realized just how thirsty he was. Shrugging, he downs half of it like it was water. Chino's eyebrow raises as he sees Doc down a beer and work on another. All without seeming to be affected by it. Humans don't usually have such a great tolerance for alcohol, so it's rather impressive. He looks at his own drink and then turns his eyes to the road without drinking. He didn't want to crash the car again.
Chino avoids Sam's gaze. Things were rather quiet, especially since he hadn't answered all of Sam's questions. Sam had the simchip, but he hadn't slotted it yet. Chino focuses his attention on the road again, they had to get moving.
A while later, Katsina pipes up.
"It has a SecForce emplem. They don't have any reason to be looking for this vehicle. It might just be a traffic drone, checking speeds and SINs. Chino, switch to autopilot for a few minutes until we pass. PCC has a law where you don't need a driver's license if your vehicle is on pilot. Ace is broadcasting his SIN so we should be covered."
Chino shifts it into autopilot and finishes off the rest of his beer. "Got any more of this back there?" he asks as he shows the empty can.
-
Looking up to see what "Ivana" is referring to, Doc gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. It's possible it's just a traffic drone doing routine sweeps, but it's also possible it's specifically looking for them. The van is clean, and Ace is an upstanding corporate citizen, so they should be okay. But that does little to ease his nerves. He goes back to getting his deck back to a functional state as quickly as he can.
-
The Eurovan drives north and manages not to be stopped or detained or flagged for additional investigation. Your credentials check out, just like 99.9% of the cars on the road. You pass underneath the drone, which is moving slower than traffic, and continue on your way. You're one of the masses. For once, that feels good.
You pass through Defiance, a larger town than Carbondale, before merging on the old Interstate heading west. A couple exits later, you take a right and are following a small road running north, parallel to Mitchell Creek. The road is not well-maintained, with few turn-offs or driveways. It hasn't been plowed but the Eurovan - laden with a heavy load - has enough traction to navigate the curves successfully. Trees and bushes lean over the road, creating a snowy canopy as you get further from town.
Finally you see an old bed and breakfast, which - just as Styles said, looks closed for the winter. The road is on the west side of Mitchell Creek but the house is on the east side. There's a small foot bridge that leads over the creek. Closer examination reveals that it is made out of wood. Whether it can bear the weight of metahumans carrying the obelisk is unknown.
The house itself has no lights on, nor any indication that anyone is there. Thermographically, the house has no heat signature. It seems to be the temperature as the surrounding air, which is about -8 C.
(http://www.mitchellcreekbb.com/photo_gallery/w_photo1lg.jpg)
(but with more snow)
(http://www.mitchellcreekbb.com/images/exterior_creek_large.jpg)
-
Ace lets out a long sigh when the traffic drone fails to keep pace with him. For the next few minutes, he still eyes the road behind them apprehensively, but when Sec Force fails to show in force, he leans back, rubs his cyber eyes, and takes another thoughtful swig of his beer. Then he's back at his post again, until the Eurovan comes to a stop at the B&B cum safehouse.
Once, in Defiance, Ace reboots the hunter's commlink to check for messages, and immediately turns it off after his check.
When they pull to a stop outside the safehouse, Ace eyes the wooden bridge suspiciously. "I don't think we're getting our payload across that thing," Ace says. "How visible is this thing in mojo-space if it's in a car? Do we, uh, maybe need to take turns keeping watch outside tonight?"
-
Ace turns on the hunter's commlink and finds a series of messages.
>> To: Reggie
>> From: Susan
>> February 1, 10:02am
>> Baby, where are you?! You said you'd be back first thing in the morning! Call me!
>> To: Reggie
>> From: Susan
>> February 1, 12:05pm
>> Reggie, you're stressing me out. John and Kenny's wives haven't heard from them either. We're all worried! Call us!
>> To: Reggie
>> From: Susan
>> February 1, 3:12pm
>> Please, please call. You know I get nervous when you go hunting. I called the hotel and they said you never checked in last night. Are you okay?! Did you crash?! I've contacted the authorities in Aspen and gave them a description of the Rover. They're looking for you. Please call me as soon as you can, but if you're hurt and can't respond then know help is on the way. I love you. Come home safe.
Ivana looks skeptically at the bridge. "Is that thing even wide enough for us to stand on all four sides of the obelisk while carrying it?" She shakes her head doubtfully.
"I don't think we have to keep watch all night. If we give Ohanzee an hour or two to recover, he should be rested enough to cast and levitate it over, right?" She looks to the dwarf, uncertain if he's even awake.
"It should be fairly concealed within the van. I could do a ward, but that would take at least an hour, and probably several hours if we wanted it to be robust. I can just watch it until Ohanzee's ready to move it."
-
"Yeah, I don't think hauling the oblisk through the snow manually is the best idea. I'd say we should get Ohanzee inside and get some rest while we take turns keeping an eye on it for a few hours." He gently nudges the dwarf's shoulder to rouse him. "Come on omae, time to get you some real sleep. We're here."
-
The activity prompted by the arrival of the van at the safehouse brings the dwarf groggily back to consciousness, but he continues to sit with his eyes closed, trying to hold on to the last tendrils of sleep's comforting embrace. When Doc gently nudges him and implores him to wake, he grudgingly opens his eyes to the bright cabin light, immediately squinting against its glare and even more immediately cursing his decision to open his eyes in the first place.
"I'm up." he grumbles, slowly shifting his weight so he can take stock of his new surroundings. It's hard to make out in the dark, but he eventually spots the safehouse and the bridge that is causing the consternation. "Where are we supposed to park?" If the safehouse is supposed to look unoccupied, having a parking lot full of vehicles would pose a significant problem. There had to be a garage or other covered area to park. It was also possible that they were expected to send the van away after disembarking.
What to do with their prize - or curse, depending on how you looked at things - while they were staying here? Would it be prudent - or even allowed - to bring the item in, even without the issue of actually moving it? Time to become familiar with the house rules.
Out of recent habit - and perhaps long habit - Ohanzee reset all of his gear, then stood. "Let's go meet the Madame and see what our options are."
-
Ivana offers to stay with the van while the others "check in", or whatever the applicable verb is for a safehouse.
The van doors open and you step outside into the cold evening air. The wooden foot bridge is narrow but seems sturdy enough - it doesn't sag under the weight of Sam - but it is slippery. If anything, the compacted snow provides better traction that the wet wood underneath.
After crossing the bridge you turn north and walk a short distance to the house. Even as you get closer, you don't see any lights or see any heat signatures. The walkway up to the front door has not been shoveled. There are few steps up to the covered porch which wraps around the house, and a welcome mat in front of the door that says "WIPE YOUR FEET".
The door is locked. There's a old-style doorbell but there's no sound when you press it. It must alert someone's commlink though, because after a second there's a CLACK and the door unlocks and swings open. The door itself is shockingly heavy. Passing through, you see that it looks like the locks are magnetic seals, like they use in bank vaults.
There's a short hallway that leads into the house, with another door at the other end. The hallway is just as cold as it is outside. You hope some portion of the house itself is heated or it's going to take some of the "safe" out of the "safehouse", given the overnight temperatures. A long rug runs the length of the corridor.
You get to the end of the hallway and open the second door. A blast of warm air hits you, along with jazz music and the smell of something cooking. The house is decorated like a bordello, with garish furnishings and red velvet wallpaper.
There's a podium immediately in front of you, behind which stands a giant troll woman of ample proportions. She's of mixed ancestry - there must be some African and Native American in there - with dark skin and black hair. She wears an old-fashioned purple dress with a bustle (as if she needed it) that's equal parts cleavage and cover. She stares wrathfully at anyone who neglected to wipe their feet.
"Reservations?" she booms. You don't think she's yelling; you think maybe she always talks like this. Big woman, big voice.
-
Ohanzee turns off wireless on all of his devices before heading to the safehouse. The hallway after the entrance concerns him - in addition to its ability to separate the presumed noise and heat of the inside from the outside, maintaining the illusion of vacancy, it also makes a rather effective mantrap. A good security precaution, and it improves his impression of the establishment, but considering the uncertainty of their circumstances, it presently causes him consternation.
Once in the inside proper, the warmth has a near immediate effect on him, and he is on the edge of losing his struggle with unconsciousness when the troll speaks, her booming voice jolting him to attention. He debated asking if she was Kimama, but decided to let her introduce herself if she chose. "The Ohanzee party. Styles made the arrangements." He tensed - if Styles was untrustworthy, now would be the most likely time something would happen.
-
Without opening his eyes or moving a muscle, Sam speaks. "I'll wait here with the Mask." Once everyone but he and the woman are alone, he slowly opens his eyes, reconnects his DNI and boots all his gear except the burner comms back up, slaving it up to his personal commlink which itself, is running on silent. He watches the rest of the team cross the snowy bridge ahead of them on foot and without looking at the woman to whom he speaks, he says, "So, if you were the goddess Hecate herself, what would you do with the obelisk?"
-
Ivana is not particularly surprised when Sam stays behind, as he seems to catnap whenver possible. Not a bad strategy, given the persistent and unscheduled threats they face. But she is surprised when he asks her a question.
She pauses to think it over. It's not a bad question. What would be the highest and best use of the artifact?
After a moment, she starts to answer. "Hecate would have the advantage of knowing what the obelisk is for," she begins. "At this point I feel confident that it is the reason why we have lost our memories, but I'm having a hard time imagining a purpose for such an artifact. Perhaps to give someone the opportunity to start over, to wipe away their sins? But the indigenous peoples of these parts didn't have the same concept of sin as the modern world does."
She thinks on this. "I suppose that's something we haven't discussed. If this was discovered around here - perhaps where those photos were taken - then it is probably an artifact of the people who were living here in the Fourth World. Presumably such a powerful artifact is religious or spiritual in nature, but that might be my own bias. Perhaps it was for legal purposes: punishment for those who were deemed beyond rehabilitation. A draconian possibility, but of course it is difficult to extrapolate based on our own weak grasp of magic. The Fourth World lasted over five thousand years; the Sixth World is only sixty three. Our understanding is so limited compared to theirs; we can comprehend their artifacts no better than they could understand space flight."
She pauses for a moment to reflect on her final answer. "The spiritual side of me would want the artifact to find its way to the descendants of the original creators, which could be Ohanzee for all I know. The scholar in me wants to study it and learn. I suppose the answer is that it should go where it can do the most good and the least harm, if only we could know where that was."
The buxom troll belle coos, "Ohh, Lordy, yes. Y'all are expected. Ą20 per person per hour, up front. Overnight minimum. Make your mark. Breakfast and comfort options available. I'll signal the bellboy."
She presents an old ledger book to Ohanzee, the kind where a guest's name and address would have been entered by hand. Ohanzee glances it over and see that there is no particular need to use a real name or address. According to the book, Maria Mercurial has been several times, as has Dunkelzahn, plus Holly Brighton, Gary Cline, and Rasputin. Perhaps the provided name serves as an alias for the duration of your visit.
The woman gives Ohanzee an old fountain pen. Whether he knows how to write manually is another question. Some of the other guests have simply made Xs. Who knows what the purpose of the ritual is, other than tradition. Everyone is expected to sign.
A young lad of muddled ethnicity appears by her side. He's short, and is either a thin dwarf or a small human. He's wearing a purple velour uniform that's only a little less absurd than the troll's dress. She presents him with a handful of old-fashioned keys, which he quickly palms away. He looks for bags to carry.
-
Ohanzee looks to Ace, prompting him to provide his credstick. He wasn't comfortable relying so much on Ace's boon, but considering his own balance, he had no real choice. He glances at the bellboy and shakes his head, indicating they have no luggage for him to carry. He pauses and takes a moment to look at his aura, and the troll's, to see if they are Awakened.
As he signs "Crazy Horse" in the ledger, he asks "Is there somewhere we should move our car?"
-
The troll doesn't blink an eye at the arrival of Crazy Horse. Perhaps the false name was unncessary, given the fact that Ohanzee already had a reservation under his real name. Or maybe Ohanzee is the real name and Crazy Horse is the fake name. Who is to say?
Ohanzee tries to assense the troll and the boy. His eyes cross, he gets dizzy, and he quickly decides he should leave that until tomorrow after he's had some rest. In the meantime, he's more or less certain that they exist, but that's about as far as he can commit at the moment.
The troll nods to Ohanzee. Seeing there is no need for a porter, she releases the boy to direct you to the best place to park.
"Jacquez here can show you," she says, as she pushes the ledger to Ace.
-
"We'll start at 24 hours, and see where things go from there. We have 2 more in the vehicle," Ace says producing his credstick. He signs in as John Hawkwood, and for the first time notes his handwriting. There's a severe slant to it, but the letters are well-formed, studied, which catches Ace by surprise. He replaces the pen in the stand, and steps aside for his teammates to step forward.
Ace rubs his chin thoughtfully, looks to Ohanzee and Chino, then turns to the troll. "Some of us will probably be in need of razors and shaving cream, ma'am. Beautiful place."
-
While the rest of the team signs their names, Ohanzee asks the Madame of the House "Are there any House Rules we should be aware of?"
-
Doc walks up to the podium after Ace is done and takes the pen. Without thinking he signs his name Dr. Jeckyll in very precise script. It's almost elegant and obviously something he's used to doing. Thinking back to the video of him acquiring his current 'deck and the details of his persona in the matrix before he changed reminds him how very twisted he was. Probably more appropriate to sign it Mr. Hyde. Shaking his head, he hands the pen to Chino.
-
The troll slots Ace's credstick. "Thank you, Mr. Hardwood," she says, misreading Ace's severely slanted writing. She takes Doc's name, then Chino's. She seems to be loosening up a bit now that the cred has been transferred.
"Here are the house rules:
1) My name is Kimama and I am the madam of the house. You may call me Madam or, if you are feeling flirtatious, Mistress. [She winks covertly at Chino.]
2) No in-and-out privileges. Once you gone, you gone. We will be locked in until your departure time.
3) No wireless, no spirits, no ritual sorcery, nor anything else that may be tracked here. [Doc notices that there's no wireless signal, either from the remoteness of the location, or from wifi inhibitors in the velvet wallpaper, or signal jammers, or all three.]
"The rest is negotiable. Jacquez here -" she pronounces it zhock-kwez "- will fetch your friends and your luggage. Follow me, please."
Jacquez returns the keys that the Madam had given him and runs outside to Eurovan. He hops into the driver's seat, his head barely rising above the dashboard. He removes an ingenious contraption that allows him to work the pedals despite the fact that his feet fall well short of the floor. He gives a polite nod to Sam and Ivana but otherwise acts as if small boys in purple outfits hijacking your vehicle are an ordinary occurrence.
He puts the Eurovan in gear and pulls forward down the snowy road. Suddenly he veers to the left and drives it straight into the hillside. The hill opens up then slides back into place behind the van as it enters. Jacquez parks the van in the middle of a small cave, then hops out and begins looking for bags to carry. He grabs an armful of guns, stacked in his arms like cordwood, and goes down a flight of stairs that leads him to a passageway that travels underground, underneath the creek, and then up a flight of stairs into the basement of the house.
Inside, Kimama leads a tour around the house. It is old-fashioned but luxurious, with dim lighting and creaking wooden floors. The only things missing are external windows and the aforementioned wireless signal. Kimama leads you into a room with a long table lined with chairs. The table is set with cutlery, china place settings, and linen napkins.
"This is the dining room. The kitchen is through those doors. You may provide for yourselves or you may order meals through Jacquez. Meals are not included with your stay and will be charged accordingly."
She leads you into a room lined with books. Actual, physical books in bookshelves that might be made out of real wood. Maybe it is vat-grown hardwood but it still looks good. There are comfortable plush chairs for sitting.
"This is the library. Books may be taken to your room but not from the premises. Cigars and brandy are served in here after dinner. Additional charges apply."
She takes you next door. There is a billiard table along with tables for playing cards.
"This is the game room. As we do not offer wireless, more traditional amusements are provided. Other services are available upon request. Contact myself or Jacquez. Charges apply."
She leads you upstairs, where the guest rooms are. She unlocks a door with a physical key and pushes it open. The room is dominated by a bed large enough to comfortably fit a troll. There is a bedside table with a small lamp, as well as a bureau for clothing. A small private bathroom adjoins the bedroom. It is barely largely enough to accommodate a troll, but it offers some privacy, including a narrow shower.
Kimama turns and drops the key into Ace's hand.
"To protect your privacy, a Renraku Manservant will turn down and tidy your rooms. I will send up a razor and some shaving cream, Mr. Hardwood. If you prefer a more personal touch, I will send up one of the girls. Or boys. Rates available upon request."
She assigns rooms to the rest of the group and the looks to see if there are additional questions. Jacquez continues to shuttle baggage back and forth as quickly as his small legs can carry him.
-
Chino accepts the pen, and then looks at the paper. The letters are the same, but the pen felt strange in his hand. He puts his name down as "Gary Cline". The letters are jagged, but readable. Clearly, he didn't have much practice doing this. He sighs and puts the pen back on the podium. It will have to do.
Once shown to his room, Chino switches all his gear to wireless off. He didn't get a signal anyway, but might as well be a good guest. Looking in the mirror, Chino grimaces. He definitely needed a shave. He looked away from the mirror, and idly wondered what he was going to do. Ohanzee needed some time off, and everyone else seemed to be busy, as well. There wasn't anything for Chino to fix, to work on. It was going to be a long day or two.
-
Ivana grabs her bag from the apartment, plus Ace's. She follows Jacquez up the steps into the basement, then up another flight up stairs onto the main floor. Jacquez wordlessly pushes the guest registry book to her. The faux elf taps her chin with the pen before settling on "Nadja Daviar", to whom she bears a passing resemblance in her current form.
Ivana joins the rest of the group just as the tour is concluding. Kimama pauses for a moment to scowl at the elf before wordlessly dropping a key into her hand. Ivana delivers Ace's bag and then turns to the rest of the group.
"What do we want to do?" she asks. "Should we clean up, get some rest, then meet for dinner in an hour or two?"
She eyes Ohanzee, wondering if he'll be able to wake up in an hour or if he'll be out like a light. "Or we could meet now then sleep for the night. The obelisk is in a cave and should be relatively concealed from the astral."
-
"I'm partial to getting Ohanzee a couple of hours of rest first. Then meeting up for dinner and discussing things. Only thing I can do while here is fix objects and people. I should be able to finish both of those things today. I'm okay staying here a day or two. I've a little bit of money I can throw at the problem, but I'm gonna start running out soon at these rates."
-
Sam is not happy with leaving the obelisk unattended, and moves quickly through the safehouse, taking little time to admire its fine furnishings or homey atmosphere. He only stops briefly at the book, signing "Uncle Sam" before moving off to his appointed bathroom. That bed looks quite tempting. He shakes the thoughts of comfortable slumber from his head. I'm just here to shit, shave, shower, and clean the blood from these clothes. Then it's back to the van. Realizing that cleaning blood from an armor jacket is probably not a speedy process, he also figures perhaps he'll have some food while he waits as well.
After about 20 minutes in the bathroom alone, the giant troll emerges back into the common area clean shaven, shampooed, and wearing nothing but an enormous troll-fit white terry cloth robe and a pair of matching fuzzy bath slippers. He's almost smiling as he says to whomever is present "What's the food situation like here?"
-
"How 'bout we meet in the dining room in a half hour. Change, clean up, relieve yourselves, whatever. I want to get some plans solidified before I get some sleep, and I don't want to put that off much longer."
The party breaks to go about their business, and Ohanzee heads to his room. Once inside, he eyes the bed longingly, then moves to the bathroom. Pit stops have been few and far between, and he was actually a little surprised he hadn't wet himself when he passed out earlier. After using the toilet, he eyed himself in the mirror. He rather liked the beard he was growing - the wild look rather suited him, he thought. The grime - and other stuff - that caked his body and clothes were not a good look he decided, and so he stripped out of his clothes and hopped into the shower, where he spent nearly ten minutes just enjoying the hot water. In another five minutes he had washed from head to toe and exited the shower to dry off. He threw on the provided robe - the only change of clothing he had - and combed the tangles from his hair. His power focus never left his neck.
By now, he was short on time to get to the dining room, so he shoved his commlink and a few essentials into his pockets and headed to meet the rest of the team.
-
Kimama leaves you to settle in. As she descends the stairs, she calls back to you, "No weapons on the dining table!" Evidently this has been an issue in the past.
Ivana sees a little more light in Ohanzee's eyes than she expected. She nods to the plan. "I'll get started on dinner. We'll use what's in the cooler to avoid, uh, charges."
She disappears into her room to clean up, conscious that the afternoon was not necessarily a sanitary one. In the shower, she scrubs hard, envisioning the remains of the enemy mage that Wolf tore apart. "Out, damned spot," she hisses to her bloody gloves before realizing that there's absolutely no natural light present in the house: she can traipse around in her undies without fear of sunburn. She gives up on the gloves and turns her attention to her hair, where she was cut by the falling dishes in the RV. After washing out the dried blood, she tosses her hair up in a towel and emerges from the bathroom in a bathrobe, only to find Uncle Sam wearing the same. She sighs, unable to overcome the social taboo of wearing the same thing as someone else, and retreats into her room to change.
Shortly thereafter, Ivana is in the kitchen. Having shooed away the resident Manservant drone, she stands in command of the pots and pans. She feels reasonably comfortable here and is almost certain that she used to do some cooking... before. Before the amnesia, certainly before becoming a vampire. Throwing open the lid to the cooler, she grabs out the frozen entrees and begins to cannibalize them for ingredients. Most of this is going to have to be done by scent and a vague memory of what smells right. Luckily she has a heightened sense of smell that helps compensate, and shortly thereafter she has a presentable dinner of chiftele (pan-fried meatballs), served with mămăligă (a cross between corn bread and polenta), ardei umpluţi (stuffed bell peppers), and plăcintă cu (a thin pastry filled with apples) for dessert.
She brings the food out to the dining room and looks around uncertainly, not knowing what people's tastes are. "I had to use what was in the cooler," she says preemptively, just in case someone doesn't like it. She pours beer and wine as people begin to eat and talk.
-
With the decision made, Doc nods and moves off to his room. He his clothes from the RV fight and puts the clothes Ace and Katsina bought for him on the bed. Walking into the bathroom he turns the shower on and gets the steam going while he quickly shaves. Then he steps into the luxory of the hot shower, washing away the last two days of stress and anxiety. For once he almost feels safe here. There's no outside communication, which makes him naturally nervous as a resident of the Matrix, and hidden from anyone looking for them. If it wasn't for the usurious prices, well deserved though they may be, he would stay here forever and forget the world. Alas, that is not his lot in life. Getting toweled off and changed into the nicer clothes he feels like a new man.
As he walks out to the dining room he smells the delicious foods that Katsina has once again prepared for them. Seeing both Sam and Ohanzee in their matching bathrobes, he can't surpress a belly busting gufaw. After everything they've been through seeing the giant in fuzzy slippers standing next to the dwarf in matching attire just sends Doc over the edge. Blushing brightly as he knows he's not at the top of Sam's friend list to begin with, he quickly apologizes and points out the levity that the situation lends to their overall situation. Trying to quickly brush that under the carpet, he looks more seriously at Ohanzee. The shower and shave, odd on a dwarf, have obviously helped a great deal, but it's obvious to Doc that the diminutive man still desperately needs rest. In a surprisingly authoritative tone Doc says, "We need to get some food in you and then rest as soon as possible. We should go over immediate plans, but leave the long term stuff for after breakfast. You," he looks sternly at the dwarf, "really need to sleep."
He looks up just as Katsina brings him a beer, which he downs in a single large gulp while thanking her in the same motion.
-
He stripped off his layers before heading into the shower. There was time to kill; nothing else to do. He only spends a couple of minutes in the shower; he had the feeling that he wasn't used to long showers. He then takes a few minutes to shave; taking care not to cut himself.
Quickly drying off, he tosses the towel on the floor and looks at his clothes, laying on the bed. He sighs, picks up the charred, slightly bloodied, jumpsuit and folds it up. It would still be useful because it was armored, but wearing it to dinner was probably a bad idea. He slipped on the "normal" clothes that he had been wearing earlier. No blood on these. Picking up his commlink, he checked the time. 10 minutes had passed. Well, I've got nothing better to do. Might as well see what we're eating. He starts toward the door, then notices the towel he left on the floor. He picks it up, and hangs it up. Opening the door, he glances back at the eerily pristine room. He shrugs and heads towards the dining room.
He enters the room; only Katsina is there. He nods in greeting, and takes a beer from the cooler. Pulling out one of the seats, he pops open the beer, sits back, and silently sips the beer. Everyone else starts to filter in; Sam and Ohanzee in bathrobes. Chino smiles at the sight; a Troll and a Dwarf in the same attire, it was almost comical.
Everyone sits down, and the food is brought out. Chino starts filling his plate and eating, as the others start to talk.
-
In the shower, Ace scrubs and washes with the efficiency of a military man. Once, out of habit, he cuts the water after wetting his skin and begins to lather up. Interesting. Maybe I was born SINless . . . or was a Navy man. SINless doesn't fit. How would I have that memory of the lake? Ace turns the water back on, and enjoys the heat for the rest of the shower. Upon exiting, Ace checks out the shaving accouterments. In keeping with the old feel of the hotel, a boar brush, shave cup, and safety razor have been set out for him. He does his best to work up a good lather, but doesn't add nearly enough water to the cup. Still, the shave is pleasant, and it does more to bolster his spirits than the shower does, in the end.
Showered, shaved, and dressed in the terry cloth robe, Ace exits his room to join his companions, taking in the scent of Katsina's cooking.
-
As Katsina puts the food out, Doc starts digging in. Chugging another beer and taking all the carbs he can get his hands on.
In between one of his beers Doc looks to Ohanzee and says, "This is pretty much your meeting at this point. Given that, I'd like to propose for tonight we get you healthy and let me finish repairing my deck. I can also see what we can do about Ace's data lock tonight. Also the rest of us get a good night sleep. As for what we do after that, I'll throw my lot in with which ever what Ohanzee wants to go. He's gotten us this far, so until that stops working I'm good with it."
-
As the masked woman and Sam briefly run into one another in the common area, identically dressed, she's obviously embarrassed by the situation enough to leave so as to rectify it, but before she can be off, Sam says, Wait!" then, taking his tone down a notch, adds, "please, wait." After a short pause, he looks her straight in the eye and asks, "Is this your real face or another mask?"
-
I'm not sure my leadership has necessarily been a good thing, but we are alive. Except APB, but that was a pretty freak occurrence, and one could hardly consider him rightly in control of himself, much less the team at that point. He finishes chewing the food he was enjoying before standing to speak.
"Largely, I think we are all already on roughly the same page as far as where to go next. In broad strokes, we want to hand over the obelisk to one of a handful of trustworthy organizations" he used air-quotes as he said the word "trustworthy". "The short list so far is the Draco Foundation, DIMR, and the Atlantean Foundation, which Ivana mentioned this morning. Beyond that, I think the general consensus is to head to Denver. I think Chino has some plans for getting across the border there. After that? Maybe try to fix our nanite problem and figure out who we were - I think most of us don't have any strong desire to return to our old lives, but knowing what skeletons might turn up to haunt you just makes good sense."
Ohanzee paused to look around the group, making sure that there were no obvious signs of disagreement. He continued.
"While all of the organizations we are considering likely have offices in Denver, Sam has suggested making them come to us out here to make the exchange. He makes some good points, so I'll let him detail his plan. Sam?" Ohanzee then sat down after gesturing to the Troll.
-
"While all of the organizations we are considering likely have offices in Denver, Sam has suggested making them come to us out here to make the exchange. He makes some good points, so I'll let him detail his plan. Sam?" Ohanzee then sat down after gesturing to the Troll.
Giving the dwarf a frustrated look, he speaks nonetheless. "I have no details. I only wish to head out into the cold wild places to have meetings with these men. Easier to defend against potential treachery and more difficult for injury to innocent bystanders." Then, as an afterthought, he adds. "I also plan on sleeping in the van as I don't like leaving that thing out of sight."
-
As the masked woman and Sam briefly run into one another in the common area, identically dressed, she's obviously embarrassed by the situation enough to leave so as to rectify it, but before she can be off, Sam says, Wait!" then, taking his tone down a notch, adds, "please, wait." After a short pause, he looks her straight in the eye and asks, "Is this your real face or another mask?"
Ivana stops at Sam's call. She turns and listens.
"It's a mask," she admits. "A spell."
Then, an apologetic (?) smile. "For what it's worth, I don't even remember what I look like. Can't see my own reflection."
Ivana listens to the dinner table discussion before adding her thoughts.
"I think Sam is right," she says. "I don't see any benefit to going into Denver and dealing with the borders. Make them come to us so that we can choose the time and place. We can scout in advance, know the terrain, and be better prepared for contingencies."
She looks around to see if Kimama or Jacquez are within hearing distance. They probably hear all sorts of things, many of them very profitable, but there is no need to tempt them unduly.
"We must remember that the obelisk is worth at least a million nuyen for the precious metals alone, aside from its worth as an artifact. Even if we are dealing with a trustworthy" - she vocally mimics Ohanzee's air quotes - "organization, we must acknowledge the fact that it would be far cheaper to hire a team - multiple teams, even - to kill us and take it, rather than to pay for it. Unless, of course, we just give it away instead."
She scans the room, looking for reactions.
"I would certainly rather be paid for it. Whoever we were before, and whatever means of making money we had, are gone now. The obelisk is our payday, our fresh start. Unless we want to keep stealing and squatting for the rest of our lives, we need to make some money. At some point the obelisk may represent more risk than it is worth, but until then I think we should try to get paid. As much as it is a burden now, it could mean freedom for our futures.
"If we go this route, we need to find a buyer and set a price. I don't really know how to do either."
Ivana falls silent to let others voice their opinions. She sits back and contemplates the wisdom of allowing Sam to spend the night alone with the van. She presumes that the cave will be locked-in, just as the house is, so there's no danger of him running off with it, but what if he decides to destroy it once and for all? The thought gives her a cold shiver. But is he becoming attached to it? He doesn't like to leave it out of sight. Is he bonding with it? Is this the artifact's magic still at work? Is that why she herself does not want to destroy it? The feeling seems rational to her, not emotional, but would she even know if she were being manipulated? She would like to think so but her understanding of magic is nothing compared to the artifact. Is is nuclear fusion, and she is a peasant girl striking a piece of flint.
-
Doc listens to the others as they voice thier ideas and opinions.
"Selling in the woods works for me. Would be nice to get ourselves a satalite uplink from somewhere so we can have some kind of matrix overwatch, as we can be damn sure whoever comes out will have it." He sits back for a moment, casually drinking his beer for once instead of chugging it, in thought. "As for a payout, I'd be fine with a new identity at least a few months rent somewhere... far from here, preferably warm. Possibly even help in identifying what's going on with the nanites? But even if we don't want to advertise that, just enough resources to get their on our own works for me. But we should really keep this particular metting short. Ohanzee needs sleep, and we may be able to get some more info literally out of Ace's head."
-
"I think we're agreed then," Ace says. "We'll sell the obelisk this side of Denver. Doc, whenever you're ready we can give my head a look. I think we should get what we can from the datalock before approaching any of the institutes. 'Rhodes,' whoever he is, is the kind of guy sent to deal with bad mojo, and we may get a better idea of what we've been hauling around."
-
Looking to Ace, "That works for me. Gimme a little bit to look after Ohanzee and finish getting my deck sorted then we should be good to go. Meet in the library in 90 minutes?"
Turning to Ohanzee, "You ready to call it a night? I want to get you hooked up before I start working on my deck."
-
Ohanzee shovels one last bite into his mouth and washes it down with some water. He's avoided the beer, being unsure whether or not the feeling of euphoria the infection provided was for behavior that was not necessarily beneficial to the host.
"Yeah, way past ready." Ohanzee gets up and heads to his room, brushes his teeth and without waiting for Doc to provide guidance, passes out on the bed.
-
Doc makes sure the dwarf is comfortable and applys a med-patch to his head. Pulling out Ohanzee's biomonitor he sets up a few alerts and monitors his recovery for the next 30 minutes. Comfortable with the progress he is making, Doc quietly exists the room and closes the door behind him.
In his own room, Doc finally has some space to work on his deck. He spreads out his hardware kit on the bed and goes back to work on the deck. It must be the beer or possibly the unaccustomed silence and saftey of the secure house, but he's having a hell of a time diagnosing the last few problems. Finally after an hour of work his stolen deck is as good as new. Oddly, this pilfered piece of equipment is the single item he knows better than anything else in the world right now. Knowing that he's about to be late meeting up with Ace, he pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and packs up his gear.
Walking into the Library he positions two of the chairs close enough to each other so that his universal cable will reach from his arm to Ace's head and gets ready to pick a data lock.
-
Ivana says, "We don't need answers tonight but we should be thinking about it. We'll have to scout out a location and figure out a price. Once we check out and get wireless access back I can run an estimate based on the value of the precious metals in the obelisk, but in reality its age and rarity make it priceless."
Seeing that dinner is breaking up, she starts gathering the plates and utensils. Taking them back to the kitchen, she begins the process of cleaning. She fills the sink with hot water and soap, then starts scrubbing the pots and pans.
She hears something move behind her. Turning, she finds Jacquez watching her covertly. Assensing his aura, she sees that he is hungry. She plates up some of the leftovers and places a setting for him at the counter. He sits on a high stool, his legs dangling. Placing a linen napkin across his lap, he eats quietly with a knife and fork while Ivana does the dishes.
Ninety minutes later, Ivana waits for Doc and Ace in the library. She wants to be there in case something goes wrong. If Ace starts twitching and foaming, or Doc starts tweaking and freaking, someone should be there to pull the plug and put them back together again. She runs her hands over the plush chair while silently praying to Hecate that Ace's head doesn't pop like a balloon. Her cyberware scanner hadn't seen any kink bombs, nor had she detected anything dangerous on the astral, but now is not the time to be caught off-guard. The Sixth World requires constant vigilance, even when locked in a safehouse.
-
Once Ace enters the room and sits Doc literally plugs into him, then retreats into the Matrix. And he's astounded at the silence. There's nothing, just his devices and the datalock. It's nice that there are no distractions, but down right creapy with the silence. Concetrating on the lock he pulls out his scalple and begins his attempts to literally make his mark. It takes some short time, but he's able to finally get all 3 marks on it, and with that he has access. With access he begins to investigate what's inside.
-
Hearing everyone in agreement makes Sam certain his plan is a good one. With nothing left to say on the matter, and imagining his clothes are probably clean by now, he excuses himself from the group with a "Well, if anyone needs me, I'll be in the Van. I don't want to let that damn rock out of my sight for any longer than I have to."
A few minutes later, back in clothes that feel familiar, if not terribly comfortable, he's laying down across the back row of seats in the van, staring at the simchip in his hand. Well, I suppose it's time to see just what we're capable of... Checking again for a fourth time to make good and damn SURE his commlink doesn't have a hot-sim mod, and if it does, that it is turned off, he slots the little chip into the side, gives the mental order through his trodes to play the file, and closes his eyes, hoping for the best.
A few minutes later, he snaps back to his senses, alert and pumped to the gills with adrenaline. "Fucking shit cock FUCK cunt! Am 'I' the big lug?! Am I the fucking BIG LUG?! Fuck ME, I simply fucking CANNOT fucking be the fucking big fucking lug!!
Sam sits up cross legged on the seat, pulls his dufflebag into his lap, slowly unzips it, and removes the bomb from it. He holds it in his hands, staring at it, thinking more calmly, more coldly about what he has seen.
-
Following dinner, Chino makes a discrete inquiry to Kimama about the availability of certain forms of electronic entertainment that might be available for a connoisseur to peruse and potentially purchase.
Kimama nods and silently produces a felt-lined wooden case containing a dozen or so chips.
"The dreamchips are Ą20, the moodchips are Ą50, the tripchips are Ą100, and the personafixes are Ą200," she says in her best version of a whisper, which isn't all that quiet. These are largely street prices, and Chino may (or may not) be impressed that Kimama is not gouging her captive audience. Or perhaps he's getting a special deal?
He browses the case. The chips feature AROs with descriptions:
Bloody Monday: Ą20 - To what lengths will war-hero Pierce Colton go in order to protect his wife and daughter from the bloodthirsty mobs on the infamous Night of Rage? Watch Pierce fight fire with fire!
The Rage of Achilles: Ą50 - Rage, goddess! Sing the rage of Peleus' noble son, Achilles! The Greek hero will have his revenge against wicked Agamemnon for the theft of Achilles' concubine, the beautiful queen Briseis.
Molecular Haze: Ą100 - See the molecule, feel the molecule, BE the molecule! From diatomic hydrogen to mesoporous silica, this first-person molecular spectroscopy will blow your fucking mind.
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Zzzzzzzz....
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Chino selects three from the case, and offers Kimama a credstick. She subtracts the cost and hands it back to him.
"Thank you, Madame. Have a good evening."
He goes back to his room, and pulls out the chips. The feeling of the chips in his hands is comforting. I must have used these a lot before the accident. Slotting the Bloody Monday chip into his link, he lays back on the mattress and commands his link to run the chip. Smiling, he loses himself in the emotions and story of the BTL.
-
Chino feels pretty good on the mattress, but the Blood Monday feels AMAZING. Hyperreal! The sensations, the emotions, the vividness of it all!
Pierce is a decorated hero of the Ghost Dance War, who has sworn to live quietly and die peacefully after confronting the horrors of a civil war. He has an intensely photogenic elven wife, Sadie, and a charming five-year-old elven daughter named Emma. He is living in suburban tranquility in Snohomish, north of Seattle. Doing repairs around the house, cooking dinner for his wife and daughter, taking out the garbage, etc. The love sequence with his wife is FANTASTIC. On February 7, 2039, he settles down to watch Monday Night Urban Brawl on the trid when a commotion breaks out in the street.
Outside, local humans are rounding up metahumans and herding them onto school buses. In response to the 14th Amendment to the UCAS Constitution (and similar legislation throughout the world), which proclaimed that metahumans had rights of citizenship, metahumans are being collected and detained "for their protection". Pierce responds to a knock on the door and opens it to find a half-dozen mouth-breathing human thugs who leer at his wife and giggle at his daughter's discomfort. Pierce refuses their demands, and they turn violent. Pierce responds with his CQC training, disabling the men, breaking several arms and knees, and leaving them unable to reproduce. His catchphrase is, "Not my wife, not my daughter, not anybody!"
Pierce and his family are forced to run. His wife and daughter slow him down and he is frequently forced to stop and fight rearguard actions against violent policlub members. His fighting is creative and unorthodox, and he usually triumphs over his adversaries by utilizing unconventional tactics, including improvised explosives and misdirection.
Pierce runs into Captain Dick Lastima, a Seattle Metroplex Guardsmen, an old officer of the USA who is still on active reserve with the Guardsmen. Dick and Pierce knew each other from their enlisted days, when Dick was Pierce's commanding officer. Pierce pleads for assistance but Dick declines to assist Pierce, nor any metahumans. Lastima orders him to stand down and "side with your own kind". Pierce responds, "Their kind is my kind, is your kind, is our kind!" and drives the man's nose into his brain. The Metroplex Guard, led by Lieutenant Hader, pursues Pierce, compounding his problems.
Pierce and his family race to the docks of Everett, hoping to find a boat to take to safety. There they find metahumans being barricaded into warehouses, and members of the Hand of Five policlub preparing to firebomb the warehouses. After securing his wife and daughter, Pierce surprises the Hand of Five and causes many of their bombs to go off early, immolating militant policlub members in the flames. However, Pierce cannot stop all the bombs and several warehouses are lit ablaze while the people trapped inside scream.
The Metroplex Guard shows up to arrest Pierce, so he leads them on a chase that culminates in front of the warehouses. Cornered, Pierce gives himself up. He delivers an impassioned speech about how they can arrest him, beat him, execute him, whatever they want, but first they must save the screaming innocents. The rank-and-file Metroplex Guardsmen disobey a direct order from Lieutenant Janus to arrest Pierce, and instead rush to free the metahumans from the fire. Lieutenant Hader fights with Pierce, determined to make him pay for the death of Captain Lastima. Pierce, wounded and exhausted, is pinned and is about to have a knife plunged into his chest when his wife, Sadie, strikes Hader from behind with an crowbar, knocking him unconscious. Pierce, Sadie, and Emma embrace as the trapped metahumans are freed and stream toward safety.
The recording ends. Chino stirs. He's sweating profusely. He feels.... exhilarated. Exhausted. Adrenaline. Aroused. Relieved. Paternal. Disappointed by reality, which is dull and boring compared to the BTL. Also, his bladder is about to burst (http://orokos.com/roll/264525). That's the problem with BTLs: none of the normal neural feedback. It's so easy to wet the bed, or starve to death, or anything in between.
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Doc shares each file with Ace as he accesses them, encrypting them lightly more out of habit than anything else. Making sure Ace has the key for the files. The files he finds that are unencrypted are definitely interesting, but the files that APB locked up (and well, just not well enough), are absolutely fascinating.
<<<@Ace [Doc] Figures you and Katsina...or Ileana, had a thing going. She's seemed rather protective of you. I wonder if her condition has protected her at all? Anyway, this is your data and I'll let you share it. Wish we'd take.n the time to do this back in Aspen. Did you find any more data at Ileana's safe house?>>>
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Ace reads the files Doc was so expertly able to recover, and makes plans to send copies to the rest of the team during breakfast the next day. He'd send them immediately if not for the lack of the wireless in their safehouse. He clasps hands with Doc, and locks eyes with the man. "You've given me more of myself, than anyone I know. Words won't do, Doc. I'll be forever in your debt. You can say that you did it for the team, or for everyone's survival, and that's chip, but I owe you for me. If you'll excuse me, I think Katsina, Illeana, and I have some things to discuss."
Ace sends a copy of the file to Katsina, and turns to her. "Your name is Illeana. The rest is in here. I think we may have some adjustments to make to our plan tomorrow. But maybe now, we get a little bit of sleep, eh?"
-
Katsina/Ivana/Illeana watches the exchange between Ace and Doc and perhaps thinks that Ace is being a little melodramatic. Reviewing the file, she wonders if Doc had really given Ace "more of [himself] than anyone [he] knows". The file is informative, certainly, but it's not exactly a window into Ace's soul.
"Illeana is the name on my SIN. My good SIN," she says. "Looks like I trusted you enough to give you my real fake name," she adds wryly.
"It's coming together," she says. "This is Red Team's piece of the puzzle. We're halfway there." She looks at Doc, privately scanning him to see if he has an equally informative file locked away in his head. Doubtful.
She taps the arm of her plush chair, exhaling and reviewing the file again. She stands, debating how different she is than what she used to be. How different is Ace? He must have been alright, before. Or was she lonely? Or in need of friends if she no longer trusted her coven? Much to consider.
She stands to leave with Ace, in case he wants to talk. "See you in the morning, Doc."
Doc checks on Ohanzee, making sure that he's comfortable and hydrated. He checks again once more before going to bed himself. The dwarf is sleeping deeply, barely moving other than his breathing. Doc adjusts the thermostat in the room, then retires for the night.
It's very quiet in the house - as quiet as you can remember, not that you can remember much. You are the only guests, and the separation from the outside world means that there is no noise from the outside world. No wind, no distant traffic. Some may find this restful; others may find the lack of white noise disturbing, or eerie.
In the cave, Sam tilts back the seat of the Eurovan and wraps himself in a blanket. The cave is warmer than the freezing temperatures outside, Lord be praised, and the Eurovan helps insulate him even further. Plus, Sam is Russian, or at least he speaks Russian. Either way, the cold doesn't really bother him. The bucket seat is comfortable enough to lie back in, but rolling to his side makes it less comfortable. Sam fidgets as he mentally prepares arguments and defenses about why he can't really be connected to those nutters, "Hack" and "B".
Inside, a noise. A grandfather clock chimes the hour. Then, silence again, except the tiny tick-tick-tick of the grandfather clock's arm swinging left and right like a metronome.
Time advances. Jacquez skitters about, making sure that needs are being met. To compensate for the lack of comm communication, each room is equipped with a string that rings a bell in the servant quarters to summon Jacquez. Satisfied that all is quiet, Jacquez retires for the night.
Morning arrives, or so you presume since you can't see any daylight. But your commlink says 07:00. You smell something, unless you are Sam, in which case you smell Eurovan. It's coffee, eggs, toast. Bacon, real bacon, if you happen to know what that smells like. Smells like the resident house vampire is getting breakfast ready.
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The battle for sleep proves grueling, and its spoils; far slimmer than hoped for. Sam has been awake for a few hours, staring at the obelisk.
"I was going to blow you to bits, you know?" he says matter of factly to it. "Did you stop me? Or was it one of the good guys?" He continues speaking to it, much in the spirit that a child would to a doll, despite his slightly overbearing "Grizzly hunter" sort of voice. "Whatever the hell you are, I suppose I owe you a debt of thanks. You've given me a second chance, so for that at least, Thank you."
A look of disgust washes over his face. "I'm talking to a billion year old rock."
He steps out of the van and back into the garage, headed for the kitchen, dropping his blanket halfway between the two. Upon entering the kitchen, he finds Mask is cooking the bacon he purchased yesterday and it smells amazing. Standing near her, a little too near for normal comfort zone, he says "Good work." Then steps away and heads for the table. "You clearly have the situation in hand, so I will leave you to your work, reaping the fruits when called upon." After sitting down and stretching his arms out with a loud groan, he asks, "Chino hasn't come out of his room yet, has he? Or Doc?"
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The smell of food brings Ohanzee gently to consciousness, mercifully releasing him from the nightmares that had filled his dreams. He had slept fitfully at first, his body too exhausted to dream, but eventually his body recuperated, and his subconscious turned to other things...
The sun gleamed through the windows of the fuselage as the plane cruised above the clouds. The dwarf sat lazily in a chair facing a cowering group of executives. The hand-cannon he leveled at them was the same that he carried now.
"I'm gettin' tired of waiting. Someone tell me what I wanna know, or I start killing people." A wolf spirit, mangy and vile, nowhere near as majestic as the spirit he had summoned earlier, growled at the group to emphasize the threat. He idly took note of the suit he wore - fancy, like something befitting a junior exec. The words weren't spoken, but were transmitted over a magic link to the minds of the hostages.
The pilot, a braver, but less imposing, metahuman than the rest spoke up, reflexively speaking rather than projecting it over the magic link. "You're just as trapped as we are - the security forces were alerted the moment you pulled your gun. You can't possibly hope to get out of this alive unless you give up now."
Little Shadow smiled. The same deadly smile he gave when people called him "Small Shadow" instead. "They'll be too busy trying to keep it from raining bodies to stop me." He stood up and retreated to the cockpit, closed the door, and watched the people through the window in the door.
"It's about to get a bit windy in there, so, mercifully, I won't be able to hear you. But, when you change your mind, I'll know." The spell that linked their minds continued to function and was flooded with a low murmur of confusion. A brief moment of concentration, and the pilot that had spoken earlier stands tall, and walks toward the hatch to the outside. The executives and their lackeys watch him uncertainly, then with great consternation as he begins to work the door controls. They scramble to grab for anything they can, screaming both verbally and with their minds for the pilot to stop what he was doing, but to no effect. The hatch gives, violently yanking the pilot out the opening as it comes free of the plane. Almost immediately, the cabin temperature drops as the cold wind roars in and the warm air is sucked out. The vortex formed by the gushing air rips anything not secured from its resting place and throws it around the cabin before inevitably sucking it out the opening created by the missing hatch. The sound is deafening, loud even in the cockpit, before it is drown out by the various alarms as the plane reports the drop in cabin pressure, then adjusts for the uneven drag. The dog brain pilot struggles to keep the relatively small jet stable. The pilots presence disappears from the shared communication link, and in his absence Little Shadow speaks. "If you don't want to share his fate, you had better start talking."
"You are a mad man!" one of the junior executives, in good shape, leaps to a cabinet and opens it, struggling to hang on while he rummages through it. Shortly, he pulls out a parachute and begins to put it on, always keeping one hand to secure him. He fails to see the wolf spirit leap at him, and with a quick snap of the jaws, the hand holding the the parachute is severed and pulled out the opening along with the parachute it still clutched. Not thinking, the man clutches at the stump with his remaining hand, losing his only tether to the plane, and is thrown across the cabin and dashed unconscious against a wall. As with all loose items, he is sucked toward the hatch opening, spared only when an ork woman grabs his body with her free hand and wedges it between two seats, applying her weight to keep it secure.
"Mad, perhaps, but not unreasonable. For instance, I could have my pet dispose of all of the parachutes, but I think that's unnecessary." The wolf had positioned itself by the closet that the junior exec had pilfered for the parachute, and presumably more remained within. It watched the passengers as it guarded the remaining parachutes, lest any of them get the same idea. "Once I have what I want, I have no interest in what happens to you one way or another. In fact, it might be interesting to see you fight over them." He paused to imagine it for a second before continuing. "Of course, the plane can still make a safe landing, so they likely aren't necessary, and if they were, the longer this goes on, the less competition there will be when the time comes." Another brief moment of focus, and the ork that had saved the junior exec shifted and yanked the exec from his place of safety. The body arced through the cabin, spraying blood from the stump as it went, hitting one of the other passengers before finally disappearing out the maw of the hull breach. The ork shook her head as the spell wore off, her face awash in horror at what she had just done. The look she threw at the dwarf could have stopped traffic. He laughed.
"I'll tell you what you want." an old human male finally offered, resignedly. "You won't live long enough to make use of it anyway." The other passengers tried to hide their relief. The man who had "spoken" was the most senior exec and the others had not wanted to crack before he had and risk surviving only to be ruined for failing their superior. The man gave him a code to unlock a file he had on him, and Little Shadow scanned the files contents before speaking agian.
"See? Was that so hard? Thank you for your cooperation." he cracked the door to the cabin. "Now you may commence fighting over the parachutes." He pulled three small spherical objects from his pocket, armed them with a thought, and threw them into the cabin, closing the door behind them. The wolf immediately vanished back the astral as the grenades bounced about the cabin, the horrified passengers diving for the closet with the parachutes or to find cover behind seats or any obstruction they could find. One lost control and vanished out the open door. The dwarf watched with intense joy as another went out the window as the ork woman pushed others out of her way as she charged toward the closet with the parachutes. She grabbed one and lept out the door, putting it on as she went. A mental command sent the wolf spirit after her, ensuring she would not reach the ground alive.
Then the grenades detonated. The plane was ravaged - the structure of it began to disintegrate as the hundreds of holes they had caused were ripped apart by the phenomenal friction of the rushing wind. Those that had managed to find cover and survive the explosion were suddenly realizing that their stay of execution was brief. The plane split in two and the cockpit where Little Shadow watched began tumbling. He pulled his jacket tight and grabbed onto the handles at the sides of the door. He watched the altimeter count down as the nose of the plane fell to earth. At half a kilometer, he pulled at the door latch and heaved it open then jumped form the debris into the warm air of a summer night. With a brief moment of concentration, his levitation magic took hold, and he slowly drifted to the earth.
He used the restroom, cleaned up - throwing water on his face to clean away the sweat, and exited his room, following his nose to breakfast.
"Good morning." he says to Sam and Ivana before grabbing a coffee. "Anything I can do to help?" he asks as he looks over what Ivana is cooking. His mouth waters and his stomach grumbles. She shoes him away, so he sits down and waits for breakfast to be ready, and for the rest of the team to arrive.
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"Anything I can do to help?"
"Seen Chino or Doc?"
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"Nope. Just woke up. Why, what's up?"
-
Chino shakes his head and alleviates his needs. After he's done, he sits back on the bed, and contemplates slotting another chip. Reality was looking like a bad idea, and that last chip had been amazing. Then again, he couldn't remember anything else to compare it to, so perhaps it wasn't the best review. Looking at the commlink, he shakes his head in disgust. Not tonight. He would have to face reality eventually, and he might as well save a few of them for the road.
He gets under the covers, but manages to stay wide awake. Just like a junkie who had been without their favored drug and had finally managed to get their hands on some; nothing, not even biological needs, could stop their impulse to indulge in their vice. Chino looks towards the link, sitting just a few feet away from him. It would only take a moment, and then he would be out of this dismal place. For the time being, anyway.
No! He tightly clenches his fingers together into a fist. He had thought getting a hit on a BTL would help; it had only made things worse. They weren't safe yet, his team still needed him to be functional. Not oblivious to the world, experiencing some hyperreal drek. He tosses and turns, and finally manages to settle into a restless sleep.
In his dream, he is bombarded by images, and sights, and colors. It was likely a side effect of the BTLs, and his recent condition. His brain was trying to process information after he had deliberately screwed around with it. The cacophony of sounds and feelings continues, sometimes not even matching at all. The elf from the BTL with a feeling of despair; Ohanzee with a feeling of anger; APB's body with a feeling of happiness. Doc's face on Sam's body, then meshing into a Katsina without her mask, blood dripping from oversized fangs; Ace's dead body in her arms.
Chino wakes up with a gasp. His gaze darts around the room, and he throws the covers off of himself. He backs up against the head of the bed.
And then, reality sets in.
He was in a safehouse, in his room. It was morning. He had just woken up from a dream. A nightmarish dream, but just a dream.
He sighed and shook his head. Looking down at his hands, he sees that he had been scraping them and tightening his fist so much, that he had actually drawn blood. Getting out of bed, he moves towards the sink and turns the water on. Throwing some water in his face to wake up, he proceeds to washing the blood off of his hands. Superficial wounds, nothing more. In the mirror, a haunted look greets his gaze. He rubs his face with his hands. Perhaps taking the BTL had been a worse idea than he had thought.
Walking back into his room, he picks the covers up, and tosses them on the bed. His eyes are drawn towards the commlink, but he turns away. Don't be ridiculous Chino, it's just a commlink. Just don't slot any chips and pick the damn thing up.
He palmed the commlink and slid it into his pocket. Turning back towards the mirror, he takes a quick inspection of his face. While looking slightly haggard, it no longer looked like a man haunted by a demon. It would have to do, hopefully the others wouldn't notice.
He headed for the dining room; the smell of bacon guiding his path. It helped wake him up, and he realized he was starving. Walking into the room, he sees Sam and Ohanzee sitting together; Katsina is busy cooking.
He nods. "Mornin'." He pours himself a cup of coffee.
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Ivana shakes her head apologetically to Sam, but then - on cue - Chino arrives. He looks a bit worn, his aura showing some dark swirls that probably aren't beacons of health. The swirls seem mostly mental; physically, Chino appears to be in fine form. Katsina privately wonders if that's due to the best muscles that money can buy or ... something else. Who knows. Maybe the nanites are the healthiest things about us. Them.
Seeing that people are starting to congregate, she starts plating breakfast. She makes an omelette for Sam, adding bacon, onions, and bell peppers. She then looks at Sam, remembers that he was the one who bought the bacon, and adjusts the ratios accordingly. The final product looks to be as much bacon as egg.
"A Denver omelette!" she announces proudly as she flips it onto a plate over a bed of home fries, garnishing it with a spring of cilantro. It looks lovely and soft, much like the curvy Russian-Nipponese elf herself
She looks to see if Ohanzee and Chino want the same or something different. If they look at her on the astral, they will notice a new spell quickened on her aura. It's the same spell she's quickened on Ace, but, curiously, a less powerful version. What's it mean that she quickens more powerful spells on others than she does on herself? An indication of selflessness, or simply the arbitrary nature of alchemical casting?
She begins working on the next serving.
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Ace awakens and enjoys a brief morning shower to more thoroughly revive himself. I think, before, I would do this to loosen up my muscles. Not necessary now, but interesting how this old habit has stayed with me. He tries to dismiss any importance attached to Illeana's name. Ok, so it was her SIN, her good fake, but lots of people use their real first name for their fakes. His own were very similar, after all. And she wasn't playing him. Not before. Not now. No, she'd come down on the right side on this one, had abandoned the Black Lodge to keep the obelisk out of the wrong hands. He would've noticed before, right, if she was using him for some other, deeper, aims. Plus, it was not like she was out using her mojo to frag around with anyone's minds, or anything.
He casts the robe aside in favor of the clothes that Katsina had made for him yesterday, and follows the smell of bacon to the kitchen. "Hoi," he says rather absently to no one in particular as he looks for a cup to put coffee in, real or otherwise. After a few sips, he looks at the team, and pulls his commlink from his pocket.
"Doc did good last night. We're both still breathing, and he was able to get this." Ace sends a copy of the files from his datalock to those present who don't already have it.
>>December 24, 2074
>>Agent Case,
>>We have a new mission for you. One of our agents has gone missing, and was last seen en route to Aspen. We do not know if she is dead, compromised or gone rogue, but she missed her last check-in and has not responded to any attempts to contact her. We need you to find her, and find out what went wrong. Attached is a dossier on the agent and her last mission. An alibi has been provided to explain your absence from your current assignment. Read it, memorize it, and follow standard procedure. We do not want these files falling into the wrong hands.
>> Target: Mireille Smith
>> Age: 23
>> Race: Elf
>> Emergence: Technomancer
>> Mireille Smith is a technomancer who was brought to the attention of Ares three years ago when she attempted to hack into Seattle University to guarantee her acceptance into college. The subject was an honor student at Charles Wright Academy in Tacoma but had a record for grand larceny that would have prevented her admission under normal (non-hacked) circumstances. The hack did not go well. The reports that were filed indicate that a campus spider linklocked Miss Smith into the host while attempting to trace her location. She then proceeded to unleash a small army of sprites. By the end of the siege, she had bricked 35% of the devices on campus and corrupted much of their matrix infrastructure, and put three security spiders in the hospital from biofeedback damage. She successfully broke the linklock by bricking her attackers, but Convergence hit several of her sprites and her position was traced to her home, where several illegally-owned items were discovered by the raiding officers. She was gone by the time they arrived but was caught three days later trespassing on Ares-owned property while attempting to modify files Knight Errant had collected on her. She was involved in a brief gunfight with security personnel, after which she was promptly arrested and sent to prison.
>> Officially Miss Smith's record says that she was paroled for good behavior after two years and required to broadcast a criminal SIN at all times, as well as strictly forbidden from hacking or compiling sprites. Unofficially, she is working for Ares as a deniable asset, and participating in technomancer research programs in exchange for a shortened sentence.
>> Miss Smith's latest assignment was to investigate the Atlantean Foundation's research into some ruins in the Pueblo Corporate Council, not far from Bolder, Denver FRFZ. Ares has taken an interest in the actions of the Atlantean Foundation after receiving reports that they are behaving oddly on certain expeditions in the PCC and threatening Ares interests there. Satellite analysis of the site combined with statistical analysis of the data traffic to and from local nodes suggests a high probability (96.8% or higher) of a significant discovery at the ruins within the last month. Miss Smith was to investigate and report back with her findings immediately. She missed her last check-in and has not responded to any attempts to reach her. Given her history and propensity for destruction, Miss Smith is not routinely provided with as much discretion and latitude as we provide to our Instigator operatives, but she is considered a competent asset and her successful recovery is a priority to management.
>> Your assignment is to find Miss Smith, discover what she has learned, and respond accordingly within your mandate. She was last seen en route to Aspen, although her motives for going there are unclear.
>> Your alibi for your current position is attached. Good luck, Agent Case.
"And here's my mission log."
December 25, 2074
Ace arrives in Aspen on Christmas and immediately began looking for APB.
December 25, 2074 to January 3rd, 2074
- The search was unproductive and uneventful. Ace also explores some of the smaller towns nearby.
January 4th through 10th
- On January 4th, Ace senses that he is being followed. This impression continues for several days.
- On January 10th, Ace again feels that he is being followed. He manages to turn the tables on his tail, who turns out to be the Masked Woman, whom he refers to in the file as Illeana. Ace traps her in an alley and a fight ensues. Ace gets the upper hand and is in a position to kill Illeana, but he interrogates her instead. She reveals her nature as a vampire, and explains that her coven is being manipulated into interfering with Ace and his mission. This did not necessarily mean that she had to kill Ace, only that she was instructed to detain him or otherwise disrupt his activities. Ace decides to let her go unharmed. She is surprised by his mercy, and the fact that he doesn't care she's a vampire, which makes her curious enough to stick around long enough to develop an interest in him.
January 11th through 18th
- Over the next several days, Ace and Illeana become friendly, and then cooperative. Ace initially seeks to "turn" Illeana, seeing her as a valuable magical asset, but eventually becomes fond of her and develops feelings for her. She seems genuinely kind and helpful.
- Illeana is eventually convinced that Ace's goals are more noble than those of her coven, who she no longer trusts due to external interference. She commits to helping Ace find APB. The sexual tension between them is growing daily. Ace agrees to share Illeana's safehouse in Aspen.
- On January 18th, Ace reports that his Ares Instigator™ βSynthetic Torso is "fully functional".
January 19th through 24th
- A honeymoon of sorts. Ace and Illeana continue their search for APB while returning to the safehouse to frequently "regroup".
January 25th
- On January 25th, APB triggers her distress signal. She is immediately recovered by Ace and Illeana.
- APB explains that her exploratory run against the ruins went sideways. During the run, she uncovered evidence that the Atlantean Foundation research team had been infiltrated by religious cultists.
- APB retreated to Aspen (thinking that security and/or the cultists would look for her in Boulder, the nearest city) to lay low. She went to a bar, picked up the toughest looking guy, and shacked up with him for a few weeks while waiting for things to cool off.
- APB provides the results of her aborted hack. She says that the Atlantean Foundation has uncovered an ancient obelisk at an archaeological dig. Its value is inestimable and would surely be worth a significant commendation from Ares were they to successfully bring it in. Ace agrees.
January 26th through 30th
- Red Team lays the groundwork for their run on the ruins. They conduct physical, astral, and Matrix reconnaissance. The details of this are included in the file, including the location of the ruins. The location ties out with the photographs that Katsina has on her comm.
- The Atlantean Foundation is referring to the artifact as the Blank Slate. They are actively conducting research on the obelisk in situ, but with mixed results. A couple volunteers were rendered into mindless husks after "reading" the "writing" on the obelisk. The obelisk somehow robbed them of their minds, leaving only an empty shell of a body behind. These shells are still alive and can perform involuntary functions (breathing, blinking, heartbeat, etc.) on their own, but seem to be devoid of higher thinking.
- The cult appears to desire the obelisk to worship it. Their religion seems to be based off indigenous beliefs dating back to the Fourth World.
- Illeana is nervous about the power of the artifact and who else might be looking for it. She is more comfortable with the notion of Ares having it than her coven, which is actively being manipulated by forces she does not trust, or religious fanatics, whom she also does not trust. Illeana agrees to help retrieve the artifact for Ares, but warns that the group that manipulated her coven will surely hire runners of their own to do the same. (Illeana was not instructed to recover the artifact, only to interfere with Ace. She feels certain there must be another team actively pursuing the artifact.)
January 31st
- Ace records the contents of this file to his data lock prior to the run.
He sits down to his meal, and again eats with a clean and swift efficiency. The food is good, but it seems Ace enjoys the smell of it as much as the actual meal once it enters his mouth. Maybe they did a better job with olfactory senses than my "taste buds." he wonders. Makes sense.
He turns to Sam and says, "I've got a favor to ask. Once we're through in here, I was hoping you could take the smartlink system off that hunter's rifle and attach it to mine. Could come in handy for what's coming next."
To the group, Ace says, "Looks like the Atlantean Foundation is a no go. Makes me nervous about some of the others as well. It looks like before I was trying to get this thing to Ares, which makes some of my previous understanding about what I was doing and what was going on prove flat out wrong. I'm wondering if Ares might be the way to go now. They might be able to help with the nanites, and they could certainly get everyone here some start-up cash and a good quality SIN."
-
Getting a full night of actually restfull sleep was amazing. Doc stretches and does the three S's. Cleaned and groomed, the smell of bacon draws him out into the dinning room just as Chino is getting there. He walks over to Ohanzee and sees that he's looking hearty and hale, as a dwarf should. And smiles his hellos.
Taking a seat at the table and thanking Katsina for preparing a wonderful meal again.
"So, AF may be out, but we don't really have anyone we can actually trust. Ares would definitely have the resources to get us to retirement, but they also have the resources to just take this from us. Nothing a little Thor Strike can't take care of if you know what I mean. I'm starting to get more and more concerned about these nanites and where they came from. Why I have more than everyone else and where we want to go next. If I'm going to get any more information, I'm going to have to leave the safe house. I'm only so useful in here."
-
"So, AF may be out, but we don't really have anyone we can actually trust. Ares would definitely have the resources to get us to retirement, but they also have the resources to just take this from us. Nothing a little Thor Strike can't take care of if you know what I mean. I'm starting to get more and more concerned about these nanites and where they came from. Why I have more than everyone else and where we want to go next. If I'm going to get any more information, I'm going to have to leave the safe house. I'm only so useful in here."
Ace nods. "True, but anyone who can get us to retirement has at least a fighting shot of taking the thing from us. I don't think anyone here is looking to make millions, just enough to be, well, whoever we're going to be now. Trying to forcibly take the obelisk from this team could potentially be extremely costly. They know they'd be up against at least one Instigator, and I certainly don't outclass the other people at this table. That's a lot of human capital to throw at the problem, including the training, the ware, etc. They may find it to be much more cost effective to buy us off. Well, buy you chummers off. Not sure what they'll have in store for me. It seems I've given a bit of latitude, but I may also be damaged goods now."
-
Katsina finishes dishing up omelettes and pouring juice and coffee.
"It's a tough question but we need to figure out what life looks like for each of us after this is all over. Where do we go, do any of us stick together, how do we reboot our lives?
"Ace, do you want to return to Ares? For everyone else, Ares obviously has deniable assets, like APB. I don't know if that's a desirable career choice for anyone, especially since we don't have anything else on our calendars, or if people would prefer to be paid to go away.
"Ares might be able to help with the nanite problem, or to recover our memories, but that would be putting ourselves in their hands. That's a lot of trust to put in a megacorp; we could end up as Ares test subjects."
She looks to Ace, almost apologetically.
"I would very much understand it if you want to go 'home', but I'm not sure there's as much for me there. I don't have the same nanite issue, likely due to my healing factor. I'd like my memories back but I have to weigh that against the risk of being a guinea pig for the rest of my unnatural life. After this is done, we might have to go our separate ways."
She looks to Doc.
"We have 10 or 11 hours until the doors unlock. We can use that time to plan our next steps and talk about our futures. Once we have some ideas, we can form a course of action for when we're back on the road with wireless."
-
He nods. "Mornin'."
Sam bolts up from his seat upon hearing the familiar voice. He holds out the simchip to return it to Chino. "Mary mother of FUCK, Chino! That chip almost gave me a heart attack and I was running it on COLD sim! How the hell did you and Doc watch that nightmarish thing on hot and not just wake up and blow your brains out when it was done?!"
---------------------------------------------------
"I've got a favor to ask. Once we're through in here, I was hoping you could take the smartlink system off that hunter's rifle and attach it to mine. Could come in handy for what's coming next."
"Consider it done." he says with a nod.
-
Ace considers Katsina's words, and flies back to the naming issue. He also could have listed her as Illeana as a way to protect her. Knowing her nature, and knowing what Ares might do with a vampire . . . well, it would make sense even if he knew her real name -- assuming it wasn't "Illeana" -- that he would name her as such for his handlers. But her good SIN? He glances around the room and is reminded of his fleeting memory hunting down runners, gutting them, bringing the survivors back to HQ. How would he feel about that work now, having broken bread with his quarry?
"I'm not sure that 'home' is really home anymore. Retirement for me sounds like the most attractive option, but I'll always have to worry about Ares. Perhaps less so, if we go with them to turn in the obelisk. Maybe not," he says.
-
Sam bolts up from his seat upon hearing the familiar voice. He holds out the simchip to return it to Chino. "Mary mother of FUCK, Chino! That chip almost gave me a heart attack and I was running it on COLD sim! How the hell did you and Doc watch that nightmarish thing on hot and not just wake up and blow your brains out when it was done?!"
Chino shrugs as he accepts the chip back. "I did warn you about it. I've probably got some sort of tolerance for these things, but I have no idea about Doc. He hasn't seen it."
He sips his coffee. It might not be the best coffee, but it tasted amazing. It was like drinking liquid gold.
As Katsina serves the food, Chino greedily starts in. The bacon is so good, combined with the hot coffee, it was heavenly. Almost makes you wonder if there's a BTL for this. Chino pauses a moment. Now where the hell did that come from? Did I really just wonder if it came in BTL form? What is wrong with me? He forces the thought out of his mind, and goes back to eating; although it is a little more slowly and he has to force himself to swallow.
Once his plate is empty, he pushes it forward, pours himself some more coffee, and sits back in his chair. Ace elaborates on the information they got from his datalock; nothing that surprising. Although the method of Red team's formation was certainly interesting; Blue team's was probably just as bizarre.
"It's a tough question but we need to figure out what life looks like for each of us after this is all over. Where do we go, do any of us stick together, how do we reboot our lives?"
"What would I do if I got out of here? Slot BTLs all day? No, no, no." Chino shakes his head. "Despite my amnesia, I think there's a part of my old self that is still ingrained within me. Call it genetics, or whatever you like, but I have the feeling I'm going to end up in the shadows again. I somehow doubt Ares would accept me as a 'covert operative'. Probably going to get out of town, at least for a bit."
He looks at the others. "Aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves? Figuring out what we're going to do after we're free is all well and good, but I think I'd rather be free first."
He turns to Ace. "You said that the Atlantean Foundation is out. I don't think so. We were willing to hand it back to Ares, back before we knew how connected some of us were to it. What's so different about the Atlantean Foundation? They might be interested in magical artifacts, but they're still a corp. Buying it off of us would be the easiest way to get this back, and they'll figure it out, too." He takes a sip of coffee. "I mean, think about it. If we leave out the Atlantean Foundation but invite everyone else, they have no way of competing for it. That makes them more likely to crash the party or go after us. You know they'll find out about it somehow." Taking a moment to let his words sink in, he continues, "And what about Ares? Even if it isn't your home Ace, you were sent to get the obelisk. They may or may not believe our story about amnesia, but they definitely want the thing. Can we afford to leave them out? They probably have even more firepower than the Atlantean Foundation if they wanted to bring some heat on our negotiations."
Chino sits back and waits for the others to respond.
-
Chino shrugs as he accepts the chip back. "I did warn you about it. I've probably got some sort of tolerance for these things, but I have no idea about Doc. He hasn't seen it."
Sam goes ice cold and his face, a bit pale. He slowly turns to face "Doc" with a look of concerned apprehension on his face. "You haven't seen it?" He glances briefly at Chino before continuing. "You recorded it, you know?"
-
Ohanzee eats quietly as the team discusses their plans going forward, and various other things. Sam's reaction to the BTL is disturbing, and Ohanzee can't stop himself from asking "Am I in it?"
The information pulled from Ace's datalock is interesting. Ohanzee mulls it over.
The artifact. We now know who we stole it from and where. And possibly for who, vaguely. Ohanzee updates his mental timeline to include the obelisk being discovered in late November and Blue Team being brought on to steal it shortly after in December. Red Team and Blue Team apparently met for the first time during the heist. Still no indication as to why they both happened to choose the same night to make their move. It is now unquestionably responsible for their amnesia, and apparently worse for a few unfortunates from the Atlantean Foundation. It is a good thing, apparently, that they are/were unable to read the inscriptions on the tablet affixed to the obelisk. But then how did the way they activated it differ from the reading of the tablet? Was it triggered by the crash, or did it cause the crash? Was that really even relevant?
Or were they mindless husks after all, animated only by the nanotech flooding their systems? That seemed unlikely - technology and magic mixed only in spectacularly disruptive ways - technological control of his body should be unable to use his magic just as spirits were unable to use technology when possessing a body with cybernetics. And that, again, failed to explain Ivana. Ileana. Katsina. Whatever. The vampire. Of course, he didn't know much about anatomy or technology, but to him it seemed reasonable that the nanites might be keeping the lower cogitative functions active - the so called reptilian brain - and new personalities had thus been able to form in the void left in the higher brain. Again, it seemed unlikely, but maybe Doc would have more insight.
And the artifact apparently had some religious significance. Specifically, or just because it is ancient? Would it perhaps be referenced in some obscure religious text from this region?
The Atlantean Foundation. Infiltrated - perhaps to the point of corruption - by secret cults. Ohanzee wondered which one hired them. The Black Lodge? Not likely since they had already fielded Ivana and the operatives they had run into did not recognize him while they had been aware of Ivana. Not whatever group of crackpots the Natelys belonged to or they would have recognized him as well. So, some other player. Great - someone else that would surely come looking for them in time.
Ares. That was new. It offered great promise as an option to turn the obelisk over to since they had an in, presumably, with Ace. But there were also reasons to be cautious, many of which had already been brought up by the others. He knew that they were big on stomping bug spirits, so they certainly had every bit as much reason to be interested in the artifact as the dedicated magical foundations, and would be just as likely to use it for "good", as loose as that definition tended to be in the sixth world. He wasn't sure how his old self felt about them, but having access to the resources of such an organization to learn about his ailment and shield him from his enemies, known and otherwise, was tempting. But it was hard to shake the thought that he had spent a lifetime learning to live outside the law - and the grasp of the corporations - for a reason. It bore more investigation, but for now, he felt he could go either way.
Blue Team. There was already reason to believe that Chino and Doc had been true sociopaths. He wasn't sure if Sam was in the BTL, just that what it portrayed disturbed him, so he still wasn't sure there was much reason to believe that he and Sam were equally disturbed. But if his dream was more than that, perhaps a memory... But if they were hired by some religious cult with nefarious purposes, then they were probably not necessarily moral paragons.
Secret societies. Too many to shake a stick at. One influencing Ivana's coven - likely the Black Lodge. One infiltrating the Atlantean team studying the artifact. And whatever group the Natelys belonged to. The last two could be the same, but considering the religious cult was apparently indigenous, and the Natelys hardly looked Native American, that seemed like a stretch. But in all, were any of them actually doomsday cults? Would it be all that bad if any of them ended up with it?
Of course it would - turning people into blank slates - potentially moldable - could be a potent tool, or weapon.
The future. This was in many ways the most important topic. Ivana had made her case, as had Chino - Ares was not an option for them. And Chino was right, they were uniquely suited for this kind of work and Ohanzee had trouble imagining doing much else. He supposed acting as some wage mage wouldn't be the worst thing in the world though. But they didn't have to stick together. It made sense to, though - they could trust each other more than they could trust anyone else, and they were tied together in three very significant ways; the mind wipe, the nanites, and the consequences of their actions over the last day and a half. But each of them had to do what was best for them.
Ivana could return to her coven if she could manage to release it from whatever foul influence had chased her away. Ace could return to Ares - the hero returning with a prize. But Blue Team had what seemed, by all accounts, to be a depraved or even miserable existence to return to. They could sell out and hope for a corp Job, or they could submit to whatever whims and research their chosen benefactor decided, or they could try for a big score and try to start over here or somewhere new. Sticking around seemed like a bad idea considering the heat they had garnered, and they would have to navigate a sea of people that knew them better than they knew themselves, few of which were likely to be trustworthy. Better to be a stranger among strangers than an enemy or rival among strangers.
Next steps. He couldn't see a reason not to include Ares in their proposal. It might be well armed, but it had an asset (or two, as far as it knew) in place that would hopefully make the aggressive option, well, less of an option. And there would be the other organizations there to help keep them in line. It might even be worthwhile to extend the olive branch to the Atlantean Foundation. If their local research team had been compromised, their "liberation" of the artifact could be viewed as just that - liberation. And what should they ask for in exchange for the obelisk? Ivana was right - it was priceless, and they could reasonably ask for millions. But that kind of money brings that kind of heat. Having friends in high places might be worth more in the long run. Or, at least, not having quite so many enemies in high places.
Split a million five ways? It seemed like it would cost at least that much to risk resources and highly trained assets against Purple Team and whoever else showed up at the bargaining table. Or maybe they were looking at this all wrong. Maybe they should just dump it on the black market and be done with it. Get some serious money from someone that can manage moving such a piece - it was unlikely that some secret organization with nefarious purposes could outbid Ares or any of the magical research groups. Win-win - they get money they can use to start over, and they can be reasonably sure that the artifact won't fall into the wrong hands.
Ohanzee shares his thoughts with the group.
-
"Am I in it?"
Briefly shaking his head, Sam responds, "No, neither am I."
-
Doc is a certifiable genius. He doesn't really do crossword puzzles - they're too easy. He's more likely to design and populate a crossword puzzle... from scratch... without actually writing it down... while simultaneously considering the merits of the Sicilian Defense in chess, specifically comparing the Classical, Dragon, Najdorf, and Scheveningen variations for their various merits and drawbacks. Given all this brainpower at his disposal, it's little wonder that he's curious about the nanites in his system. He is a bit of a doctor, after all, one who dabbles in hemotology in his free time. He certainly doesn't have a medical lab at his disposal but - using biomonitors, his cybertechnology kit, hardware kit, and one of the medkits - he's able to jury-rig something that might give him a high-level understanding of what he's dealing with.
He sets something up while keeping watch on Ohanzee, with the idea that the final product could be used to monitor both Doc and Ohanzee overnight to see what sort of variations might be present in each subject. That will also give him a time series of data to examine if there are variations in nanite activity overnight. Having cobbled together a couple monitors, he sets them up on the dwarf and himself and then slips off to sleep.
In the morning, he has some initial results. Certainly not a diagnosis, but some high-level findings that provide clues:
1) The main concentration of nanites is found in the prefrontal cortex. This region of the brain is closely associated with planning complex cognitive behavior, personality expression, decision making, and moderating social behavior.
2) The second largest concentrations are located in the endocrine system, especially the thyroid and the adrenal glands. Some of the activity is highly reminiscent of what Doc would expect to see in certain bioware, such as a suprathyroid gland or an adrenaline pump. In fact, based on some of the levels of activity Doc is seeing (and can correlate with some of his more intense dreams), he guesses that it might be possible to consciously "activate" these glands for a physical boost in an emergency situation! Such use would certainly take a toll on the user - likely heavy fatigue - but it might be useful in a stressful or life-threatening situation. Similarly, the nanites might allow a subject to push beyond their usual limits of exhaustion, staying conscious when - under ordinary circumstances - the person might have passed out.
3) The nanites also seem to act as highly efficient scrubbers, keeping the subject's system clean of infection or other contaminants. Ohanzee's system, as a dwarf, is naturally clean, but Doc himself is surprisingly clean given the less-than-hygienic day that he just had. Using the bioware parallel again, Doc thinks that this functionality is similar to a pathogenic defense spleen, or a toxin extractor liver.
Doc can't say for certain what the negative side effects of the nanites are, but at least they seem to be symbiotic instead of parasitic. He doesn't have a solid explanation for why his case is so much more acute than Ohanzee's - he estimates that his level of nanites is approximately five times the level of the dwarf - but it could be a case of the dwarf's natural physiology interfering with the nanites, or it might just represent the fact that Doc has been exposed for longer. He does note a small but noticeable increase in the nanite levels for both himself and Ohanzee just overnight. Whatever they are, they are spreading.
-
As he is finishing breakfast, Doc mentions the research he did starting in the evening. 'My initial diagnosis of the nanites is that they appear to be rather beneficial at this point, though the expansion rate is still bothersome. They are concentrated in two major locations right now. Cognitive centers in the brain, primarily the prefrontal cortex, and primary hormone generators, again primarilly the thyroid and adrenal glands. They also appear to be helping keep us, at least Ohanzee and myself, healthier by scrubbing our system like another liver and spleen. I'm sure there are negative side-effects of all of these advantages, and I'm concerned about the rate they are spreading. But for now, they are behaving similarly to the way bioware does without the impact on the essence of what makes us "us."
Sam goes ice cold and his face, a bit pale. He slowly turns to face "Doc" with a look of concerned apprehension on his face. "You haven't seen it?" He glances briefly at Chino before continuing. "You recorded it, you know?"
Sarcasm driping from his voice Doc says, 'Yeah, I remember everything that happened before 72 hours ago.'
Sighing and calming himself again, 'Sorry Sam, but no, I don't remember making any recording. The only one I know about is from when I stole this.' pointing at his arm. 'But that makes some sense, I wonder if I was a cinematographer as well as a drek-hot decker and docter? Anyway, I guess we should all watch this and see how horrible Chino and I used to be? Chino, are you okay with that? I'm sure I could get the trid projector to display this peice of art I've apparently made. Maybe we can figure out some more about our past.'
-
He looks at the others. "Aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves? Figuring out what we're going to do after we're free is all well and good, but I think I'd rather be free first."
Ivana says, "I don't think we're getting ahead of ourselves. Figuring out the goal will inform the route. If Ace wants to go home, then we involve Ares. If Ace doesn't want to go home, we leave them out."
She looks at Ace. "I'm not a corper - at least, I don't think I am - but I would guess that your service is no longer voluntary. Given the quality and extensiveness of your cyberware, you likely represent too much of an investment for them to simply let you walk. And while you know that you don't remember any dirty secrets, they don't know that, and I doubt they could be convinced."
He turns to Ace. "You said that the Atlantean Foundation is out. I don't think so. We were willing to hand it back to Ares, back before we knew how connected some of us were to it. What's so different about the Atlantean Foundation? They might be interested in magical artifacts, but they're still a corp. Buying it off of us would be the easiest way to get this back, and they'll figure it out, too." He takes a sip of coffee. "I mean, think about it. If we leave out the Atlantean Foundation but invite everyone else, they have no way of competing for it. That makes them more likely to crash the party or go after us. You know they'll find out about it somehow."
"These are all fair points. Still, involving the Atlantean Foundation makes me nervous. One, there's the very real emotional response of being forced to pay ransom. When they're doing the math of what it would cost to get it back, that might nudge them in the direction of, 'Let's spend Ą300,000 on a dozen shadowrunners rather than Ą1,000,000 in ransom.' Second, we don't know how extensively they've been infiltrated by this cult. The cult won't be using a predictable cost-benefit analysis, and there's the additional risk of returning the obelisk to the Foundation only to have it end up in the hands of religious fundamentalists."
Ohanzee shares his thoughts with the group.
Ivana nods. "An excellent summary." She nods some more, impressed. "Really excellent." She glances at Doc, idly wondering if his big brain had anything to do with Ohanzee's roundup. Or maybe Ohanzee's subconscious worked this all out while he was asleep for twelve hours. Either way, she's impressed.
"We have to do our own risk-reward calculus. Do we want to start a bidding war to get the highest price, but knowing that the losing parties will like send hitters to the meet? Or do we want to agree on a more modest price that keeps the heat down?
"This obelisk could be the proverbial 'one last score'. I mean, it's worth a million for the previous metals alone, maybe two. Combined with its magical significance? We could ask for ten million, fifty million, more! The sky's limit. But we have to survive to spend it.
"If Ace is going back to the mothership, and the rest of us are willing to settle for less, then maybe we deal with Ares alone. That keeps us under the radar, and the risk-reward equation changes accordingly.
"Ares would certainly have the capabilities of helping with the nanites, if you decide that you even want help. It sounds like the nanites aren't the flesh-eating variety, at least. Doc is still alive and functional, maybe even healthier than ever.
"If Ace doesn't want to go back, or if we decide we want 'frag you' money, then we have to shop it around and accept the risks that come along with that. But that could set us up with a million each, a lifetime of high style, and no need to ever work again."
She looks to the group to assess their ambitions and how they want to play this.
-
Ace weighs his options. From his standpoint, Ares is the best bet for a quick payout, help for the team on the nanite front, and generally for keeping the obelisk out of the wrong hands. He wonders if it's some of the old corp programming working its way through his gray matter, but the fact that Katsina tends to agree quiets that storm a bit. And then there's Katsina. . .
He can see himself, on a beach at midnight, somewhere warm, somewhere with luminescent jellyfish, and a clear sky, somewhere Illeana won't be wearing a mask. That sounds like a future.
"I think I want to go home," he lies.
-
The silence drags on for a bit as the words already spoken hang in the air. This is a weighty moment, and what is said here can either save them, or get them killed. Ohanzee is tempted to cash out, sign on to some stable job with Ares and not have to think quite so much about the big things. But that was the problem - he couldn't just let someone else make the big decisions for him. He suspected that most shadowrunners didn't choose the life for such lofty reasons - they were likely little more than petty criminals looking to make a buck. But the big names inspired others because they fought the iron grip of the corporations. They didn't think that what the corps decided was what was best for them, or for anybody else except the corps. He fancied that he was that kind of runner - he had the skills to make good money as a wage slave, but he couldn't hand the reins over to some mega.
Of course, looking at the company he kept and what he knew of their pasts, it was much more likely that he didn't take the cushy job because they wouldn't have him - he was probably wanted by the law in every place he had ever been, whether they had ID'd him or not. It was for both of these reasons that considering any relationship with Ares after the deal was done was a bad idea. If he was the idealist he hoped, it would never work. And if he was the criminal he feared he was, they'd discover his past and he'd pay for the crimes of a man he no longer was.
The deal had to end with cash, and possibly information. Any sustained physical proximity to Ares or any of the other organizations as part of the deal was out until each of them could be sure of their friends and enemies and what parts of their past might come back to haunt them.
So, take the payday. That left two choices. Dump it for a fraction of its worth on some unknown talismonger, or dump it for a fraction of its worth at some high stakes meet full of unknowns. Either of those options risked party crashers. Was there safety in numbers? If four different organizations were represented, would they deter each other from trying anything?
Hell, going back to the talismonger idea, they cold just drop it on a fixer for nothing more than the value of its mundane components. That appealed to the dwarf - it was unpredictable. Any one aware of the artifact probably had every talismonger under surveillance of some sort, going on the assumption that they would look for one to dump it at. They would probably never suspect that they'd just offload it as a mundane item.
But who? Would Styles have enough weight to afford such an item and even be interested in taking it considering the obvious heat? Ohanzee had promised him a souvenir, after all. Or would Sam's contact be a bigger fish? Assuming they didn't want Sam dead just on principle, they might have the resources to work with an item of this value.
Baby steps. Let's figure out who to sell to later, but start by seeing if everyone can agree to sell through an intermediary.
"I'd rather sell the artifact for what we can get for it and then make ourselves scarce. I think that staying together is the smart move, safety in numbers and all, but that's only a suggestion. For all I know - for all most of us know - we are wanted by the law, or any number of corporations. We might walk in the front doors of some Ares office to start our new life there only to find that they've been looking for us for some crime we committed years ago. I don't want to live like a fugitive, but until I know for sure that I'm not, it seems the smart play."
He looked around to make sure everyone was at least paying attention. "I'm thinking that as far as selling it, we basically ignore its magical nature. Sell it as valuable metals to whatever fixer we can find that will move it. Get a million nuyen or so off of them and be done with it. After we've got the money, we can let them know it comes with some baggage in the form of some bad people hunting it down. Quite frankly, I'm not all that concerned with who ends up with it. So far as I know, no one wants to out and out destroy it or turn it into a bomb. Right now, short of falling on someone, the scariest thing it does is urn you into a drooling vegetable if you happen to read the magical lettering on it that only a small fraction of very learned people in the world can do anyway. Turning that into a weapon would require sending your enemy to school for months so that they can learn some long forgotten language and then somehow tricking or forcing them to read the inscriptions. Even considering our circumstances where we accidentally triggered it to a lesser effect, it still requires proximity to the device such that it would be significantly easier to just shoot a person."
"If some crazy cultists want to shove it in their secret underground lair and surround it with incense and candles so they can chant at it all day, more power to them. The world's lived without it for over 5000 years, it won't miss it if it disappears into someone's basement for a few more. If it turns out to be some device for summoning evil spirits via some ritual sacrifice or other end of the world drek like that, then they'll have enough other, better equipped, organizations breathing down their neck. After its sold, we can send a dossier on it to whatever organizations we want - or to the world at large, let everyone know it exists. Once it loses its secrecy, it's much harder for some drekheads to cause serious damage with it."
"To that end, Sam's contact seems like they might have some serious pull. If that bridge isn't hopelessly burned, I say we give them a call. Otherwise, I can see what Styles is willing to do. He's small potatoes though. This might be more than he can afford, and more than he wants to take on. Everyone we approach will be doing the same basic math as we are - is the profit worth the risk?"
"So, next step? Once we're done recuperating here, I say we find someplace to bury the thing while we look for buyers. Leave a couple of us to sit on it if we feel its exposed, but the rest of us can make calls or head into Denver to look for buyers. Really, it's just a matter of finding a place to lay low while we find a buyer. If we can find out more about us or our guests" he indicates the nanites by pointing to his head where the bulk of them are congregating, according to Doc's analysis, "while we're keeping a low profile, all the better."
-
Ohanzee turns to Ace and says solemnly, "If you want to go back to Ares, you have my blessing. You and Katsina know more about your pasts than the rest of us, so you have the luxury of making that decision. All I'm saying is that anyone that chooses to remain at large should stick together. But we should each make the decision that is best for us, barring those that disadvantage the others."
Then he turns to Doc. "I think I would like to see it that way. Might make it easier to watch, and I get the feeling it is something we should be familiar with."
-
Then he turns to Doc. "I think I would like to see it that way. Might make it easier to watch, and I get the feeling it is something we should be familiar with."
"It's Chino's chip, and up to him if he wants to share it. Given the video I've shown you of my previous actions, I can imagine what's on it, and his reticence to share it. Ball's in his court as far as I'm concerned."
-
Sam is starting to feel bad. He's been so desperate to find out something, anything concrete about who he used to be that he only assumed Doc felt the same way. But the look on his face as the prospect of watching the BTL is discussed is starting to make the troll think twice. What if he's just trying to do what we're all trying to do? Forget about the past and move on with this second chance. Finally feeling guilty enough to speak, Sam pipes up. "It was not my intention to 'out' anybody. If you'd rather not watch this horrifying thing Chino has on his chip, I understand. I've already seen it and I never want to watch it again." Still feeling awkward, the troll adds, "I apologize, Doc." The words feel foreign to his lips, as though he has to think hard to remember how to make the shapes in the right order.
-
Doc looks to Sam, "I've a morbid curiosity as to the contents of it, as well as hope that it will provide some insight into our past, as disgusting as they may be. I didn't even know about this chip until this morning. You don't have anything to apologize for, other than assuming I'd remember something specific from before the accident. Unless this was recorded after that? In which case that brings up a whole different can of worms."
He pushes his empty plate a little bit away and leans back in his chair a bit and pulls up notes that he's made in a few AR windows.
"It doesn't look like Ares likely knows much about the artifact. Ace was sent to find APB when she failed to report in. APB was sent to investigate the Atlantean Foundation's research as a result of 'odd behavior' from some of AF's expeditions into the PCC that were 'threatening Ares interests there.' It would be nice to know a little bit more about what Agent Case's 'mandate' is/was, but from the data we have we can assume it was to recover APB and possible anything of interest she found. I feel that if Ace is still on good terms with Ares, which we don't know for sure but can assume a to a certain degree given his "latitude", then dealing directly wtih Ares would likely produce the best risk/reward ratio in terms of profit to likelyhood of getting shot in the brainpan."
"The Atlantean Foundation would probably be able to pay only a fraction of what Ares could, and there's the fact that we have reason to believe they've got internal problems that preclude them from being a 'good' caretaker for the artifact. I'm not particularly partial to this option, as I feel it has a very bad risk/reward ration. High risk, low profits sounds like bad business to me."
"DIMR feels like a good neutral party for negotiating with, however if Ace returns to Ares he's likely to get into a world of drek when they find out he sold the artifact to DIMR. Especially if we don't even include Ares in the negotation. If Ace chooses to 'go home,' as he put it, this would basically be a non-starter for his well being. Which I've come to care about over the last few days. However, if Ace changes his mind about returning to Ares, I think given DIMR's positioning and status that they would be a very safe and reasonable negotiating option."
He looks to Ohanzee now and says, "With all due respect, and you've done really well by us so far so that quite a bit, I don't think selling to a fixer or fence will get us enough to slip out from under this. We are actively hunted, and several of us don't even have a fake SIN. My 1/6th cut of Ą50k or Ą60k wouldn't even get me out of Denver let alone get any of us started on figuring out who we were, or if these nanites are gonna kill us. Though at this point I don't think it's as bad as all of that, still something I'd like to get more information on. We are running out of resources at this point. Also, as for 'letting crazy cultists shove it in a cave.' Well, that's a gamble. Sure, if the Children of the Dragon want to sing and dance around it at midwinter or some drek, who gives a slot? But if someone like Winternight figures out they can strap a bomb like Sam's to it and put the world to sleep, they are going to do everything they can to accomplish that. Additionally, the Atlanteans didn't have enough time to figure out everything about the obelisk in the two months between when they dug it up and when it was stolen; there are almost certainly other secrets that will be revealed with additional time and research which we have no way of knowing if they are good or bad. Seems like a really high risk for a really low reward from my perspective."
"As for calling a big party and having everyone bid on it, I'm sure we'll get the largest offer that way. However, I don't see a good exit strategy for us. If everyone is in one place at the time of biding, the three losers are likely to try an gang up on the winner (and us probably for good measuer). If we hold the bidding remotely, it's unlikely we'll be able to provide enough security to ensure that the loosers don't find out about where the trade will happen and once again, everyone gets shot in the brainpain. We've got the MAD solution if we can make sure that only Sam can disarm the bomb (and do it remotely), but there's a lot that can go wrong there. I'm sure I'm missing something, but this still seems like a bad solution for us in general."
Doc takes a deep breath. This is the most he can remember ever talking at once. And the brain dump seemed to relieve him, while leaving him visibly drained. Then he looks up at Ace and says, "The best solutions I see are either asking you to negotiate with Ares for us, or for you to join us in the shadows and we find a way to sell it to DIMR."
-
"I think I want to go home,"
What the fuck is he saying? One minute he doesn't want to go back to Ares, the next he's the poster child of a homesick corper. What the hell is he thinking?
While he certainly didn't mind giving it back to Ares, for a nice big ransom, at least, there was no love lost between him and the corp. Even in the two days that he remembered, he couldn't help but hate them. He had a feeling that he wasn't exactly corp material in his previous life.
He tries to keep it off his face, as he listens to everyone else talk.
"I'd rather sell the artifact for what we can get for it and then make ourselves scarce. I think that staying together is the smart move, safety in numbers and all, but that's only a suggestion. For all I know - for all most of us know - we are wanted by the law, or any number of corporations. We might walk in the front doors of some Ares office to start our new life there only to find that they've been looking for us for some crime we committed years ago. I don't want to live like a fugitive, but until I know for sure that I'm not, it seems the smart play."
No shit. We've only been chased by at least 2 corporations and had law enforcement hot on our tail in the past 72 hours. And there's probably another corporation or two who haven't sent anyone after us yet, plus a religious cult to boot. What is his point?
"I'm thinking that as far as selling it, we basically ignore its magical nature. Sell it as valuable metals to whatever fixer we can find that will move it. Get a million nuyen or so off of them and be done with it. After we've got the money, we can let them know it comes with some baggage in the form of some bad people hunting it down. Quite frankly, I'm not all that concerned with who ends up with it. So far as I know, no one wants to out and out destroy it or turn it into a bomb. Right now, short of falling on someone, the scariest thing it does is urn you into a drooling vegetable if you happen to read the magical lettering on it that only a small fraction of very learned people in the world can do anyway. Turning that into a weapon would require sending your enemy to school for months so that they can learn some long forgotten language and then somehow tricking or forcing them to read the inscriptions. Even considering our circumstances where we accidentally triggered it to a lesser effect, it still requires proximity to the device such that it would be significantly easier to just shoot a person."
And get a minor fraction of it's price? Anyone who is making a transaction of a million nuyen for a single item is going to thoroughly check it out. Hell, anyone who can assense the damn thing will have a pretty good idea what it is. They'll either try to backstab us, or they might just get the hell out of dodge to avoid the heat.
Chino quietly seethes, not hearing the rest of Ohanzee's words. A million nuyen split 6 ways seems way too fucking little for all the hell we went through with it. I'm all for getting rid of it, but not for that.
"With all due respect, and you've done really well by us so far so that quite a bit, I don't think selling to a fixer or fence will get us enough to slip out from under this. We are actively hunted, and several of us don't even have a fake SIN. My 1/6th cut of Ą50k or Ą60k wouldn't even get me out of Denver let alone get any of us started on figuring out who we were, or if these nanites are gonna kill us. Though at this point I don't think it's as bad as all of that, still something I'd like to get more information on. We are running out of resources at this point. Also, as for 'letting crazy cultists shove it in a cave.' Well, that's a gamble. Sure, if the Children of the Dragon want to sing and dance around it at midwinter or some drek, who gives a slot? But if someone like Winternight figures out they can strap a bomb like Sam's to it and put the world to sleep, they are going to do everything they can to accomplish that. Additionally, the Atlanteans didn't have enough time to figure out everything about the obelisk in the two months between when they dug it up and when it was stolen; there are almost certainly other secrets that will be revealed with additional time and research which we have no way of knowing if they are good or bad. Seems like a really high risk for a really low reward from my perspective."
Chino nods. Everything Doc's saying makes sense, at least to him.
Trying to calm down, he speaks up, "I'm not exactly partial to dumping the thing either. I doubt any buyer is going to be naive enough to go into a negotiation blind. Especially when it's a million nuyen for one item. He's probably going to have mages; they'll assense the damn thing and tell him what the obelisk is. Sure, they might not know exactly what it is, but they'll be able to see how much power it has. The buyer is either going to backstab us, where we don't get paid, or just back off, and we don't get paid again. No one is going to buy something this hot. It might not be public knowledge that the obelisk was stolen, but anyone able to ascertain its power is going to realize very quickly that it's worth a lot more than a million nuyen. Then they'll come to the conclusion that we're just trying to unload the thing, and they'll walk away from the deal."
He pauses a moment to consider his words. "We've been through way too much to get such a small return on selling this. We lost APB, and while I can't say I knew her well, that could have been any of us, even me. She just was unlucky. We've been chased by multiple strike teams, and are wanted by law enforcement for several crimes. A million split 6 ways isn't going to go far, especially if we're still going to be running for our lives."
Draining the last of his coffee, he continues, "Besides, we have another thing to worry about. If we dump it on the black market, or even privately to a single corp, everyone else will still be coming after us. We could be facing dozens of strike teams before they realize we don't have it anymore. Even then, they might still come after us to find out who we sold it to. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm getting really damn tired of having to fight trained security forces. And that doesn't even cover the Natelys or Denver law enforcement. At least selling it for a decent price to a corp could buy ourselves some protection and reprieve, but even then ..." Chino shrugs. "Even then, we really need someone to make a deal." He glances at Katsina. "There is one thing you're right about, money isn't the only thing we're going to need to ensure our continued survival."
He lets out a sigh. "If Ace wants to go back to Ares, I'm sure we can figure out a good price and get the deal we need. Who knows if they really would honor it though? Corporations aren't exactly known for their scrupulous honesty and humanitarian desires. They might just pay the money to get the obelisk and Ace back; then continue to send strike teams at us. An open bidding war seems like the riskiest solution to me, but if we can coerce everyone to play nice by threatening to detonate the thing, it might be the best way to work it out. And while I'm sure DIMR can give us a good price, they don't have the pull to help us disappear. I think they're only good for the cash." Rubbing his face with his hands, he ends, "I really, truly, do not know what the best option is. To be honest? They all seem terrible in one way or another. Anyway, that's the way I see it."
He leans back in his chair and pulls out a simchip. He places it on the table. Turning to Doc, he softly says, "Here. Watch it if you want, it doesn't matter to me. All our secrets are out anyway, I doubt anyone will find it that surprising. The trid projector will isolate you from all the hyperreality and emotions of it, so knock yourselves out." Taking a moment to consider what he just said, he adds, "Figuratively, of course."
-
Listening to the group discuss payment, plans, the future, etc has finally convinced Sam that he's not cut from the same cloth as the rest of them. Two days ago, he was near obsessed with the payment from this job. Now, what with thoughts of ancient curses and mysterious nanites on and in him, it's the furthest thing from his mind. After listening to the rest of the group go back and forth about this and that, he finally pipes up.
"Forget about 'after this'. I don't feel like there is any such thing. For any of us. It's quite likely that we'll all die before this is over and if we don't, whoever manages to save our skins will never let us go. Pardon me if this is rude, but I feel like we're just kidding ourselves with all this talk of a big payday and retirement and going home and whatnot. Our home is in that van outside. Frankly, I couldn't care less if we don't see a dime from this whole thing. I only want three things; Answers, these nanites out of my body, and to be left alone."
-
Ace turns to Chino and Doc. "You're absolutely right. Once Ares has the obelisk, unless you're willing to come on board, they will have no reason to care about your survival. They will also have to reason to want to kill you. Or anyone here. No nuyen in it. While I agree that there's no reason to trust one of the big ten here, it will be painfully obvious to them that the obelisk will not be in their hands if it were not for your actions. As far as I'm concerned that would make you like any runner team: pay 'em off, be done with it. If we go that way, Ohanzee, I want you there to help conduct the negotiations. I'll do what I can to make contact, but also make it clear that the best way to insure the safe delivery of the artifact will be dealing with us as a team. Doc, you can have some MARKs on my comm when we do so, for the safety of the team. I may say some things to put them at ease, but rest assured my priority will be getting all of us away from the buy in one piece."
"The trouble," Ace continues, "will be making contact. Rhodes hasn't proven fruitful yet, and I'm unsure the best way to contact my handlers. My cover ID was a pharmaceutical company in Denver, so that may be worth a shot, but we're going to need a location with outside the safehouse to reach out from, and we need a plan there."
"As far as planning for tomorrow, and the tomorrows to come, I agree that we can't count on any of us being alive, but that doesn't mean we don't plan for it. That is the goal, right? Get rid of this thing, and hopefully get paid enough to start new lives for those here who want them? It's a longshot I'm willing to work toward, and I certainly don't see what our options otherwise are."
-
"I do not require money to start a new life."
-
This was going very differently than the conversation in the bloody van. In that conversation, reducing risk was more important than maximizing profit, and yet here the trend was strongly leaning toward getting rich. Sam seemed the only person to share the original view, but he supposed he shouldn't be that surprised - Doc, Ace, and Katsina were not party to the original discussion, and so he should not have assumed that their view of the situation would align. But Chino's 180 was a little confusing. Or maybe he had misinterpreted his position during the discussion in the van.
"Ace, I will take as much of a role in the negotiations as I can, I just need to know what it is that the team wants. I'm trying to keep a mental tally of who wants to get stinking rich from the obelisk - high risk, high reward - and who just wants to ditch it and get out with their hides intact, with any nuyen gained just being icing on the cake. I'm also trying to understand who wants to throw their lot in with some corp or organization, possibly as a lab rat, and who wants to disappear into the sunset and start over with a new identity. Or something in between. So let me see if I have at least agreement as far as who wants what.
"Those that want to make as much money as possible: Doc and Chino. No stated preference from Ace or Katsina. Sam and I firmly in the survival-trumps-all camp, with a strong preference towards information and/or materiel aid over nuyen.
"Those that want to turn the negotiation into some form of employment or protection deal: Ace wants to go to Ares, everyone else wants to steer clear of Ares or anyone other org. I'll add that my main aversion to throwing in with Ares or whomever is simply that I don't trust them and feel it is more likely that I end up in a lab, cell, or morgue than live there happily ever after.
"I do note, however, that aside from Ace, no one seems particularly averse to selling the obelisk to Ares, then parting ways with them. And no one seems particularly averse to sticking together after the obelisk is gone. So, let's start from there.
"Let's call Ares plan A. We sell to them and then take what we get and try to start over somewhere else. Ace is still free to stay with Ares in this scenario because they should be happy that he got them the artifact despite the specifics of how. Our questions then become:
"A. Do we include anyone else in the bidding?
"B. How much do we ask for?
"C. What else besides nuyen do we ask for? This would include assistance with the nanites or interference to protect us from any repercussions.
"D. How do we manage the bidding and exchange?
"E. Where do we go afterward?
"Let's try to get a consensus in that order. So, do we reach out to Ares exclusively, or do we start a bidding war?"
-
"Ohanzee, this is the first time you've completely disregarded what someone said, so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt here. At no point did I say that I wanted to go with the highest risk to get the bigest reward. I specifically suggested going with a medium risk/medium reward situation. The problem with the middle ground is that it leaves one of our own, Ace, hung out to dry. I'm not a fan of that solution. The problem with going with the low end 'low risk/low reward' solution is it does nothing to improve our survivability other than making it so we don't have to lug around a huge peice of metal and stone.
"My preference is still to hope that Ace changes his mind on returning to Ares, but I don't feel I have the right to tell him he can't do that if he wants."
Doc mutters under his breath "Money is just the tool to keep our heads attached to our necks."
Shaking his head Doc looks at Sam and says, "I'm very confused by what your goals are and what you measure success to be. You want to know what 'this' is, and you want 'answers.' But you've yet to ask a question. You want the nanites out of your chrome, but all we know about them is that, at this point, they are beneficial to us. Possibly not in the long run, but for now they are helpful. Do you want to know the full history of this 4th World artifact? That'll take years and years of research by hundreds of people working furiously to fully answer. I have a mild curiosity to that history, but I'm much more concerned with learning about how we came to be here so that we can get people to stop shooting us... at least until we, as individuals or a group, choose to take another job where, hopefully different, people shoot at us again."
He stands up to stretch and work the kinks out of his shoulders. Rubbing his forehead he looks back up at the group. "To be clear, I'm not in this for the money. I'm willing to bet the 'old' me was, but right now, I just want to know that I can lay my head down somewhere two nights in a row without worrying about someone trying to take it off. I've grown fond of my head over the last 72 hours or so."
"To answer you questions more directly Ohanzee, unless Ace changes his mind, I vote Ares with the caveat that I'd really much prefer DIMR. And I'd rather not do an O.K. Corral, but if that's what's determined to be the best I'll back that play as well. I've commited myself to the group, and wanted to make sure that everyone knew what I know."
Doc is now he's pacing back and forth trying to think through each point while he's talking.
"A. I'm the wrong guy to answer this question."
"B. We've estimated the raw material value at several million and the mystical/historical/research value as priceless. I'd say we start at Ą6M and work our way down from there. I say 6, because the math is easy." he say's with a wink.
"C. Medical care, and or access to medical facilities. Preferably for life, but for the next week/month would probably suffice for our Nanite situation. And some sort of name clearing/protection from others. Again, this is something Ares is going to be better suited for than DIMR, but I'd place this lower than the medical facilites as almost all of us, Ace excepted, have been hiding from the Law in one way or an other for at least some time if not all of our adult lives. We've the skills to disappear into the world if we've a few resources."
"D. That is going to wholey depend on who we end up dealing with. If Ares, then I'd defer to Ace for that. If DIMR, I'm likely to defer to Sam on that as it's a tatical question that he seems best suited to answer. If a fence/fixer/talismonger I think you" looking at Ohanzee[/color] "are best to answer that question."
"E. To Disney Land!,"[/color] he says with a grin on his face. "What? Not a good idea? Okay, fine. Real answer would be likely to head to Denver and some form of medical facility. After that, the world would, hopefully be our oyster. If we got answers to our past we could find out if we have people we care, or cared, about. I'm doubting anyone gives two shits about me, but I can see that being different for Sam, Ohanzee, Ace and Katsina. Chino and I are apparently horrible people. To realistically answer this question, we are going to need more information first. Or, ya know, Diseny Land?"
He leans back in his chair and pulls out a simchip. He places it on the table. Turning to Doc, he softly says, "Here. Watch it if you want, it doesn't matter to me. All our secrets are out anyway, I doubt anyone will find it that surprising. The trid projector will isolate you from all the hyperreality and emotions of it, so knock yourselves out." Taking a moment to consider what he just said, he adds, "Figuratively, of course."
He stops pacing and picks up the chip and says to Chino, "Thanks, I'll watch it in private once we've finished here."
-
Ivana/Illeana/Katsina listens to the responses. Ohanzee has offered a good summary of the questions confronting them.
"A. Do we include anyone else in the bidding? "If Ace wants to go back to Ares, then I would vote we give Ares right of first refusal. If Ares doesn't want it, or isn't willing to pay, or Ace changes his mind, then I would vote for DIMR as Plan B."
"B. How much do we ask for? "I think six million might be a fair price if they were dealing with another organization with significant resources to defend themselves. I'm worried that the handful of us won't be able to generate the same professional respect. Ace's status complicates things. I think it's possible that they will balk at paying anything when their supersoldier might be expected to bring it back for free. I'm not a negotiator but I would start at two million, willing to go to one-and-a-half. That should be enough to survive on. Not a fancy life, but a livable one."
"C. What else besides nuyen do we ask for? This would include assistance with the nanites or interference to protect us from any repercussions. "We could ask for SINs. I don't have the nanite issue and, frankly, I'd be a bit nervous about asking for their help with it. If what Doc says is true - that they are beneficial like bioware but without the associated effect on your essence - then I think there's a very real possibility that Ares will find the nanites just as valuable as the artifact. Getting rid of them could require a long period of study and... tests. Ace might not be able to avoid that, but the rest of you should be wary. Ares could decide that you are too valuable to let go."
"D. How do we manage the bidding and exchange? "If it's Ares, I think Ace should make contact and start the discussion. They didn't respond earlier but that was when Ace was using the hunter's comm. I bet they'll answer if he uses his own commlink. I presume he has some record of communication with them from before. As for the exchange, I think we'll be looking for something outdoors with minimal opportunities for an ambush. Either a field where we can see everyone coming and going from a long way off, or in the woods where we have cover to make an escape if things go sideways." She looks to Ace and Sam as the tacticians.
"E. Where do we go afterward? "If you guys are taking some time off for treatment then I will go my own way. If you're shacking up with Ares for a bit then you could ask them to drop you off somewhere convenient, somewhere quiet."
She looks to Ace for confirmation. All of their next steps hinge on him.
-
Chino shakes his head. "If we're going for the money, of course I want as much as possible. I don't trust anyone in the shadows to be able to get us out of the heat of multiple corporations, law enforcement, or crazy-ass magical societies. I don't trust any of the corps either. Could we strike a deal to get the hell out of the spotlight? Sure, and I couldn't give a damn if I got a single nuyen if they did. I just don't see it happening. Money is the only thing that can help us; enough of it will likely get us out of fire."
He watches Doc pace back and forth. "All the money in the world isn't going to do drek for us if we're dead. On the flip side, getting rid of this thing without being free from pursuit isn't going to help us stay alive. Money can help us hide; make us disappear. Promises from corporations that aren't fulfilled won't help us."
Chino sighs. "To answer your questions, it's up to Ace if we want to include multiple people in the bidding. If he's going back to Ares, that's the logical choice to go to. I'd ask for at least 2 million. That's ample money to disappear, which is all I care about. You can ask for some name clearance or whatever the hell you want. I just don't see why Ares, or anyone else, would feel inclined to honor it after the deal is done. You negotiators can figure out how to manage the transaction. As for where we go, that depends. I can remember that I know a hell of a lot about Denver; and it's easy to lose tails in the multitude of borders. Then again, everyone knows we are in Denver, and any contacts we had before know we operated in Denver." Chino shrugs. "We're probably stronger in numbers, and we're the only people who understand what we've all been through. I can go with the group on that."
Chino pushes his chair back, and stands up. Turning to Katsina, he asks, "Is there any more coffee ready?" Before she can answer, he shakes his head. "Nevermind, I'm about ready for a beer anyway." He rummages in the cooler to find a beer.
-
Ace rubs his cyber eyes, and drains the rest of his coffee. "Ares seems attractive for the safety, the payout, and possibly for the nanite front, though it doesn't seem as though anybody wants to go there. Can't blame you chummers, honestly. With DIMR getting a lot of attention and generally being thought of in high respects from the group, maybe we should focus there, at least initially. Don't worry about me and Ares. With my memory fragged and my protocol wires all crossed to hell, I'll be able to make something work, though I might need Doc's on a couple tech fronts.
It sounds like aside from getting me back to Ares, most of the group wants to avoid a big ten, so let's see where DIMR stands. So, if we're in agreement there, where do we start?"
-
"Those that want to make as much money as possible: Doc and Chino. No stated preference from Ace or Katsina. Sam and I firmly in the survival-trumps-all camp, with a strong preference towards information and/or materiel aid over nuyen.
"Survival most certainly does not trump all with me. Answers do. I don't care as much that I make it out of this alive as I do about learning what 'this' is."
"A. Do we include anyone else in the bidding?
"B. How much do we ask for?
"C. What else besides nuyen do we ask for? This would include assistance with the nanites or interference to protect us from any repercussions.
"D. How do we manage the bidding and exchange?
"E. Where do we go afterward?
"A. Yes, everyone. Everyone who wants to come and their mothers. B. Irrelevant. C. Information on who we were. Removal of the nanites. D. We invite everyone to one big party and we let the truth come out in the broad daylight. E. Wherever we want, or think we can survive."
Shaking his head Doc looks at Sam and says, "I'm very confused by what your goals are and what you measure success to be. You want to know what 'this' is, and you want 'answers.' But you've yet to ask a question. You want the nanites out of your chrome, but all we know about them is that, at this point, they are beneficial to us. Possibly not in the long run, but for now they are helpful. Do you want to know the full history of this 4th World artifact? That'll take years and years of research by hundreds of people working furiously to fully answer. I have a mild curiosity to that history, but I'm much more concerned with learning about how we came to be here so that we can get people to stop shooting us... at least until we, as individuals or a group, choose to take another job where, hopefully different, people shoot at us again."
"Isn't it obvious? I want to know who I was. Why I was in a van full of killers with a million year old rock and the means to destroy it. I don't need to know everything about the artifact. In fact, I doubt I'd understand most of it. But i very much want to know how it fits into the events at hand. Beyond that, I don't much care about it. And maybe you think the nanites are beneficial and maybe they actually are, but until I learn what they are, what they're doing to us, and how they got there, I'm not working off that assumption. I want them out."
"It sounds like aside from getting me back to Ares, most of the group wants to avoid a big ten, so let's see where DIMR stands. So, if we're in agreement there, where do we start?"
"I have no such aversions. If Ares can provide what we seek better or faster than anyone else, I say they get the damned thing. I care not."
-
"OK, so other than Sam, we all defer to Ace on whom to contact with a preference of DIMR over Ares. Ace is fine with DIMR, so DIMR is definitely in. Sam wants to include everyone, so let's take a vote - who is actually against shotgunning the invite?"
"I was apparently way off on my understanding of where people were leaning for profit. It looks like about 2 mil is generally accepted as a good starting point, and we will go up or down from there based on the negotiation."
"What else to ask for. We seem split on this. I think we are in general agreement that there isn't much more we can learn about the artifact - any information on it was almost certainly lost during the fifth world, so anything beyond what we already know will involve months or years of research, which we aren't willing to wait for. Information about us or getting our nanites removed, or at least getting more info on them, seems strongly championed by Sam and is something we are all curious about, but I'm not sure whether it is wise to include this as part of a negotiation - it puts us at a disadvantage and risks the other party frakking us with it. I'll go with the consensus, but I think I agree with Chino on this point that money is simpler to negotiate for and can then be used to solve this information problem. Material aid (weapons, gear, transport, etc) is something to explore. I'm not sure about asking for fake SINs since if our goal is to disappear, letting them know our fake identity is probably a poor strategy."
"Remote and outdoors seems to be the consensus for how to handle the exchange and possibly the negotiation. Unless there are objections, we'll go with that."
"And what comes next? It seems we are agreed to stick together and try to lay low. Denver is one suggestion, at least short term. It's as good a plan as any - the only other option is to try putting some miles between us and here in the hopes of making it hard for any remaining pursuers. So let's start with Denver and see where that gets us - if the heat stays on us, we'll reconsider."
"That about sum it up? We talk to DIMR for sure and possibly others depending on the vote. We ask for 2 mil on cash and use that to try to solve our other problems - no need for transport if we're sticking around Denver. We find a nice, remote wilderness area that meets our needs tactically and arrange the meet there. Then we take our loot and head to Denver to try to unravel the mystery of us and wait for the heat to die down. If I've got that right, then let's vote on whether we make this a DIMR exclusive, or at least give them right of first refusal, or we broadcast to everyone."
"I'll lead off. I say we keep it simple and give them right of first refusal. Too many variables the other way - it increases the chance of one of the smaller parties that don't feel they can compete with the big boys deciding to take actions into their own hand and too much chance we end up with a dozen way Aztlanian standoff. We can make them think we are in contact with others, which might improve our negotiating position and perhaps entice them to play fair to avoid the wrath of the other bidders."
Ohanzee finally takes a deep breath as he eyes the others, waiting for their responses.
-
"Remote and outdoors seems to be the consensus for how to handle the exchange and possibly the negotiation. Unless there are objections, we'll go with that."
Sam nods his head firmly in agreement with this point.
"And what comes next? It seems we are agreed to stick together and try to lay low. Denver is one suggestion, at least short term. It's as good a plan as any - the only other option is to try putting some miles between us and here in the hopes of making it hard for any remaining pursuers. So let's start with Denver and see where that gets us - if the heat stays on us, we'll reconsider."
But at this one, he cocks it to the side in confusion. "Isn't Denver the opposite of remote and outdoors? I believe we ought to keep roughing it until this whole thing is over with, one way or another."
-
"I think it's safer to only include one party in the negotiations, so I vote against shotgunning the invite.
"Ohanzee's on the right track. Answers regarding the artifact will take months if not years. The same might be true for the nanites, for all we know. Unless you are willing to put yourselves in someone else's hands for an extended period of time then the best option is to get paid and seek treatment independently. Or even bankroll a small lab for Doc! He's certainly got the brainpower to get the bottom of it, given enough time. Between his medical and his technical expertise, one of the best researchers in the world could be sitting at the breakfast table with us right now.
"If we want to reach out to DIMR then the main hurdle is that we don't have an 'in' with them like we do with Ace for Ares. We either need to arrange for an introduction or we need to cold-call them. Both have their risks. Involving more people is inherently riskier, and if we go through Ohanzee's fixer then there's the risk that he's not an independent party. Cold-calling DIMR might fall on deaf ears, as it's relatively uncommon for strangers to show up on your doorstep with a Fourth World artifact in tow.
"One thing that could help our cause is a quicksilver camera. It's basically a camera that takes a photo of the astral plane. To mundane eyes it will look iridescent, but someone Awakened can assense the photo and see a snapshot of the of the subject's aura. In this case, it should allow us to convince DIMR that what we have is as remarkable as we say it is.
"The good news is that quicksilver cameras are not restricted and you can find them in a decent talismonger's shop. The problem is that they cost Ą2,500 and I don't know where the nearest talismonger's shop is. I could make one from scratch but the process would take me a week. Given how challenging it has been to survive 32 hours, I'm not sure we have a week to spare. Taking a photograph might be hard; the obelisk is so blinding, it's like trying to take a photograph of the sun. But I think we can do it with some trial-and-error.
"So I would suggest that the next step is to check out of here, find a talismonger, get a quicksilver camera, take photos and reach out to DIMR. Meanwhile, we need to be researching an exchange site and conducting some reconnaissance.
"And, Sam, Ohanzee was suggesting we go to Denver after getting rid of the obelisk. Until then, remote and outdoors is probably a winning strategy."
Illeana finally stops talking and starts to think about what life after might look like. She had thought people would go with Ares to resolve the nanite situation, leaving her nanite-less self on her own. The possibility of selling the device to the Dunkelzahn Institute of Magical Research changed that thinking. Would she want to stay with the group? She doesn't have much in common with them, other than the amnesia and the shared hardships of the last day. Would she want to connect with DIMR professionally? Was Ace really going back to Ares? She didn't remember much but she was reasonably sure that it was rare to find people who were willing to overlook her condition. She takes a deep breath and waits to see how the group responds to her suggestions.
-
I likewise agree with Ohanzee," Ace says. "I want less eyes on this, not more.
"Doc, what would our chances we could narrow our search of who to reach out from DIMR with some of your nova matrix skills? If we could get that quicksilver, it's
'quicksilver,' right? Anyway, if we can get one of those pics directly to someone in the upper echelons, we could potentially further limit our exposure. That kinda thing possible? About how long would you need with a good connect?"
-
At the mention of setting up a lab for the research Doc perks up. "That would be an interesting thing to use my time on once we are out of this mess. I like that idea. If we could get someone to fund the lab, give them some rights to the research? That, a fake SIN and someplace to live would settle me just fine."
Looking to Ace, he responds "I'm sure I could find a comm code in a reasonable amount of time if I've got someplace safe to surf for a little while. Might also be able to find someone selling the camera if Ohanzee's connection doesn't happen to have one we could borrow. And you've got a decent amount of jing on that credstick of yours, yeah? Maybe find a used one or somehting? I'll have a lot more options once we're out of here."
Thinking about where to go next, "Maybe we pick up some actual camping supplies, a few insulated tents, a portable stove and whatnot. Then actually head out into the hills, far enough to be hard to find, but close enough that we can get something of a matrix signal... or picking up a sateite uplink and we can go even further."
[spoiler]I can't find the reference to it, but I'm thinking something along the lines of the tent in the fluff from R&G p.144.[/spoiler]
-
"And, Sam, Ohanzee was suggesting we go to Denver after getting rid of the obelisk. Until then, remote and outdoors is probably a winning strategy."
"Ah." He nods his head, understanding now.
I likewise agree with Ohanzee," Ace says. "I want less eyes on this, not more."
Well tough titty, captain kill-bot. Sam has started re-thinking his whole "They were the good guys and we were the bad guys" idea. The basic premise is the same, but he's re-examining the whole "Heroes vs Villains" bit. Something about Ace and Mask still just don't feel right to him. He doesn't think it's who they used to be that's giving him this feeling. Nor does he believe it's cause of who they are now. Maybe it's the differences between the two. Something doesn't match. He'll be damned if he can put his finger on what it is though.
-
Chino pulls out a beer and pops it open. He goes back to his seat and silently drinks it. Today was looking pretty depressing. Again. He still wasn't sure what he liked about these people. So far, they didn't exactly mesh personality-wise. Maybe when it was all over they wouldn't have to argue and butt heads all the time. Yeah. Just like maybe Katsina isn't a vampire and maybe I don't have a BTL problem and maybe we didn't steal the artifact at all! Maybe they just gave the thing to us! Maybe ...
As the others lay out their plans, Chino chimes in.
"One thing that could help our cause is a quicksilver camera. It's basically a camera that takes a photo of the astral plane. To mundane eyes it will look iridescent, but someone Awakened can assense the photo and see a snapshot of the of the subject's aura. In this case, it should allow us to convince DIMR that what we have is as remarkable as we say it is.
"The good news is that quicksilver cameras are not restricted and you can find them in a decent talismonger's shop. The problem is that they cost Ą2,500 and I don't know where the nearest talismonger's shop is. I could make one from scratch but the process would take me a week. Given how challenging it has been to survive 32 hours, I'm not sure we have a week to spare. Taking a photograph might be hard; the obelisk is so blinding, it's like trying to take a photograph of the sun. But I think we can do it with some trial-and-error.
"So I would suggest that the next step is to check out of here, find a talismonger, get a quicksilver camera, take photos and reach out to DIMR. Meanwhile, we need to be researching an exchange site and conducting some reconnaissance.
"These ... quicksilver camera things. They're reuseable right? Because it would be all kinds of annoying if we had to pay for each individual photo."
"Maybe we pick up some actual camping supplies, a few insulated tents, a portable stove and whatnot. Then actually head out into the hills, far enough to be hard to find, but close enough that we can get something of a matrix signal... or picking up a sateite uplink and we can go even further."
Chino perks up at the thought of moving again. "Perhaps somewhere in the woods? That way, we wouldn't be easily spotted by helicopters in the air, and we would be relatively out of view. I mean, I don't know if it would be any safer then the hills, but maybe? What do you think?"
-
"A quicksilver camera can hold five mana-sensitive film plates at a time. Those will come with the camera. We then have five chances to get the image right. That should be enough. The trick is that the photos are actual, physical objects. You can assense them in person, but that means just sending a copy of the image to someone's commlink isn't going to get the message across. We need to find an office or a person to deliver it to."
Ivana frowns a bit, wondering about the best way to make this happen.
"The directors for the DIMR are scattered across the globe. The good news is that there are at least three of them right here in the PCC. The bad news is that there are in the L.A. area. That's, what, a 16 or 17 hour drive from here.
"An alternative would be not to go straight for the top. DIMR should have an office in Denver, likely in the UCAS sector. A couple of us with good SINs might need to make a day-trip to drop off a package for them. Maybe Doc can find us the head of the local office. He or she should be high enough in the food chain to negotiate with us. Or they could reach out to the local board members."
Ivana listens to the talk about camping.
"Let's not forget that it's still winter out there. Daytime temperatures are freezing and nighttime temperatures are well below. I'm sure there's equipment available to make it survivable, if not comfortable, but that's a significant capital expenditure. Of course, so is staying here.
"On that note, we need to figure out where we're going after this. Doors unlock around 6pm tonight. Then we pop up for a matrix signal and a talismonger shop, but then what? I'm guessing the lack of in-and-out privileges means that we're not welcome back here right away, or if we are then we're locked in for another long stretch."
She looks over to Ohanzee, who seems to be on the mend.
"I guess part of that will depend on how well Ohanzee stitches up."
Ivana starts the process of cleaning up from breakfast. She gathers the dishes, deposits them in the sink, and wipes down the counters. She listens as the conversation continues.
-
Breakfast wraps up. Once the dishes are done, the group retires to the library where Jacquez is setting up a trid projector. The projector is not normally out - it would disrupt the period-specific decorations of the room - but it is available for guests who might need it. The device projects a trideo hologram into a five-meter cube directly above the device. Jacquez sets it up in the center of the room so that you can sit around it in the wingback chairs and on the plush sofas that are available.
Jacquez retires from the library, shutting the doors behind him to give you a degree of privacy. Doc inserts the BTL into the projector and hits Play.
The filming is in the first-person perspective. The cameraman looks down at his arm, checking out the cyberdeck screen on his forearm and hitting a few buttons on it. You catch the date as August 13, 2074. The camera looks up and see Chino standing next to a heavy door. Chino and the cameraman are stacked up, preparing for a violent entry.
"Hack, you're recording, right?" Chino hisses at the camera.
"I'm recording, I'm recording, you two-balled bitch!" Hack responds, barely suppressing laughter. [You recognize the voice of the cameraman as Doc's.] "Pull your panties out of your ass, B!"
Chino smirks. "And you'll edit it up later?" he asks. "Take the filters off?" he adds with a sly smile.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll do it up all nice and pretty and I'll give it to you wrapped up in a bow when we wake up spooning tomorrow!" Doc retorts with evidently glee.
"Not so loud! Not so loud!" he hisses, trying not laugh.
"This sneaking shit's not really by thing," Doc respond - slightly quieter - with evident mirth.
Chino does a laugh-snort, then tries to get his game face on. "Okay, okay," he says, practically giggling before doing his best to compose himself again. "Okay, okay. The only things holding us back are fear and good judgement."
"Never had a problem with either," Doc says.
"Me either. Let's hit it!" With that, Chino spins into position in front of the door, which appears to be armored steel. There's a flicker of a pause, and then his leg snaps forward into the door. The door rips out of the frame as if it has been hit by a bullet train, launching it into the room with insane force.
"KNOCK, KNOCK!" Chino yells as he races into the room. Doc follows him closely, wielding a shotgun. In the room they find a half-dozen Asian men. Doc introduces himself with the shotgun, screaming, "BLAT, BLAT, MOTHERFUCKER! BLAT BLAT!" A couple of heads explode; the camera shakes with glee and recoil.
Chino is off doing his thing. His thing involves dodging gunshots by jumping onto the walls and running around the room horizontally, then kicking people in the head before they can adjust their aim. The camera catches one particularly brutal Tae Kwon Do kick that either breaks the man's neck or crushes his skull, you're not sure which. Maybe both.
"FUCKIN PRIMO MOTHERFUCKIN KILLIN TIME!" Chino bellows, quoting a popular line from a famous trid-action star.
Chino is a blur, much stronger and faster than Doc is. He hurdles a long table, staying in the air an impossibly long time, before dropkicking another goon into the afterlife.
Doc exchanges a look with Chino. Doc then looks over to the two remaining Asian men, paralyzed at the violence which has encompassed them so suddenly.
"Don't shoot!" one Asian guy says, throwing up his empty hands with a wild-eyed look of fear and panic. The other does the same. Chino hesitates. That gives Doc enough time to empty a shotgun slug into the belly of the guy on the left. The guy on the right makes a break for it but Chino takes his legs out from under him and then silences him with a curb stomp. "Black bag for you!" he shouts, quoting a different trid star this time.
Doc lowers his weapon and walks into the room. It's full of weapons in various states of assembly. Many are cheap assault rifles - Colt M23s and AK-97s - destined for the streets. "This will make the big lug happy," Chino says. "A little late for Mother's Day but Mom will be happy all the same."
Doc looks around and realizes that the last man he shot is still moving.
Doc goes over to him, looking down as the man twists and groans from a grievous wound to the abdomen. The shot has exposed tattoos up and down his torso; they go along with the ones on his arms and his neck. The tattoos are of flames and dragons. Doc reaches down to the man, saying, "Here, let me give you a hand." Doc grabs his arm and then discharge his cybershotgun, blowing the other guy's arm off. The mist of blood and gore splatters the camera. Doc laughs hysterically.
"Damn, Doc, that's cold!" Chino says with a look of reservation. "Ain't you got a Hypocritical Oath or something you're suppose to uphold?" Seeing that Doc's not going to do it, he stomps on the man's chest to put him out of his misery.
"B, you're just mad because we tied, three-three!" Doc shoots back at him.
Chino smiles, then holds up a finger to wave back and forth. He steps back, pointing to where the metal door flew into the room: it crushed a man against the far wall. All Doc can see are the broken legs sticking out from underneath the door, and a growing pool of blood.
"Four-three, bitch!" Chino shouts with glee. Doc laughs with him, then goes up for a high-five with his shotgun hand. Chino slaps it with concussive force, then realizes Doc has tricked him into high-fiving his gory hand. He looks down at his bloody palm, then looks up at Doc. He laughs and shakes his head. "You're too much, Hack. You're too much. But, seriously, get me that recording, neh?"
Doc laughs with him and the recording ends.
-
"Ok, not much to do while we're hanging out here, so rest up. Once we're out, Sam, you're in charge of scouting out a place to camp and a place for the eventual meetup. Kat - Ivana. Wait, what do you prefer to be called now? Anyway, you are in charge of getting us gear to camp out in the wintery wild, as well as the camera. Doc, I'll need your skills to help find someone to reach out to at the DIMR. The rest of us are here to help."
"Anything I'm missing? Anything anyone disagrees with? If not, let's do this thing with the BTL."
As breakfast breaks, Ohanzee catches up with Doc and they head off to watch the BTL.
-----------
After watching the BTL, Ohanzee is glad to have watched it on the trid rather than in VR, or even hotsim.
"Sounds like you and Chino knew Mom, and I'm guessing the big lug was Sam. You still good with Doc, or do you want to try Hack on for a bit?"
-
"Ok, not much to do while we're hanging out here, so rest up. Once we're out, Sam, you're in charge of scouting out a place to camp and a place for the eventual meetup. "
A quick nod. "I'd rather find several, but I'll start with one."
"Anything I'm missing? Anything anyone disagrees with? If not, let's do this thing with the BTL."
After a quick inhale, Sam butts in. "Aaaaaaah, the first time I watched that was in coldsim VR. Even without the full BTL experience, it was..." He swallows. "It was emotionally engaging. Now that I know what to expect, I'd like to watch it again. See if I can see something else. I'll join you and Doc."
Once everyone who's watching is assembled together, Sam sits down. With an almost regretful expression, he silently glues his eyes to the action around him. He tries not to blink this time as the horror and delight of bloodlust plays out around him, desperate to remember something, recognize anything at all that may give him a clue as to who he was. He prays that he's just some explosives expert hired on for the job and not the "Big Lug" everyone is about to hear about near the end of the death orgy dancing through the room. He's relieved when it's over.
"Sounds like you and Chino knew Mom, and I'm guessing the big lug was Sam. You still good with Doc, or do you want to try Hack on for a bit?"
For some unknown reason, Sam really wants to slap the little dwarf right now, but he holds his rage in check, more confused by it than anything else. Not a fragment of it shows through his face or mannerisms. I am NOT the Big Lug!!! Rather than give away his fears to those who may choose to exploit them, he instead blurts out all of a sudden, "HACK! is not here. If he were, he'd murder us all, just to get an erection." He stops himself in mid-rant before he can say anything truly horrible. "I'm sorry. I didn't sleep well. I... I need to go fix Ace's gun." He nods his head briefly before leaving the room an headed to the garage.
-
"Sounds like you and Chino knew Mom, and I'm guessing the big lug was Sam. You still good with Doc, or do you want to try Hack on for a bit?"
For some unknown reason, Sam really wants to slap the little dwarf right now, but he holds his rage in check, more confused by it than anything else. Not a fragment of it shows through his face or mannerisms. I am NOT the Big Lug!!! Rather than give away his fears to those who may choose to exploit them, he instead blurts out all of a sudden, "HACK! is not here. If he were, he'd murder us all, just to get an erection." He stops himself in mid-rant before he can say anything truly horrible. "I'm sorry. I didn't sleep well. I... I need to go fix Ace's gun." He nods his head briefly before leaving the room an headed to the garage.
After watching the trid, Doc is sort of nonplussed. He shrugs and says very clinically, "That jives pretty well with the video I have on my stolen deck. Looks like we were stealing guns from the Yakuza for someone who has the same connections as Sam. Possible it wasn't him, but seems reasonably likely the three of us were some kind of gun runners at the very least. With a penchant at the least for killing people for fun. And I'm guessing from Sam's reaction that some of the emotional bits are erotic?"
"Yeah, pretty well convinced we were not nice people. And Chino, you don't have any references to 'Mom' in any of your contacts? It's likely only one of us would have had contact with the buyer so it would make sense if you didn't. But would be nice to be able to colarborate pieces of data. And no, I've been 'Doc' or 'Crumpled' for as long as I can remember, no need to call me anything else. Its not like 'Hack' was my identity, just a street name."
"Thanks for sharing the past with us, no matter how distrubing it was, Chino. Once I have 'trix access again, I'll check news feeds for incidents like this. Should give us some more information. Ohanzee, time to get your wounds looked at again."
Doc connects to Ohanzee's biomonitor again, and pulls out some of the medical supplies. Applies a new medical patch and another injection of boosters.
"Dunno if it'll work, but try concentrating on the nanites to see if they can help repair some of the damage done. I don't know how they work, but it appears that some of them are activatible. Can't hurt to try."
-
Ah, what the hell. I might as well watch it again. Can't be that bad on a trid projector.
After the simchip is finished, Doc speaks up.
"That jives pretty well with the video I have on my stolen deck. Looks like we were stealing guns from the Yakuza for someone who has the same connections as Sam. Possible it wasn't him, but seems reasonably likely the three of us were some kind of gun runners at the very least. With a penchant at the least for killing people for fun. And I'm guessing from Sam's reaction that some of the emotional bits are erotic?"
Chino considers a moment.
"Erotic; lustful; bloodthirsty; maybe a few others that don't really exist except in BTLs. Pretty much. I have to admit, it's not as bad as it was on hot-sim."
"Yeah, pretty well convinced we were not nice people. And Chino, you don't have any references to 'Mom' in any of your contacts? It's likely only one of us would have had contact with the buyer so it would make sense if you didn't. But would be nice to be able to colarborate pieces of data. And no, I've been 'Doc' or 'Crumpled' for as long as I can remember, no need to call me anything else. Its not like 'Hack' was my identity, just a street name."
Chino holds up his commlink. "Burner. If I did have 'Mom' as a contact, I don't remember. And this commlink doesn't help; it's a blank except for conversations with the people here."
He goes quiet for a minute or two. "About our camping site; do we want to try and cross a few borders before setting up shop? It might help throw some of our pursuers off our trails and create a bunch of confusion. I can remember a few ways to get through border control without being spotted."
-
"Seems silly to wish myself better, but I guess it's not all that different than DNI or magic. And it's what the doctor ordered. I'll give that a try." Ohanzee thought of another odd scenario that presented itself due to the presence of the tiny machines in his body - they responded positively to alcohol, meaning that if this worked, alcohol might prove to be a potent medicine for the infected team members. Instead of worrying about drug interactions with alcohol, it'd be prescribed right along side them. He smiled a bit at that thought, then went to get another beer while he mentally tried different ways of directing the little machines.
After completing his experiment, he pondered the trideo. He understood Sam's reluctance to face that aspect of his past, but he was almost certain that the trio had known each other for a while prior to the events of the 31st. But so far there was no evidence that Ohanzee had had any relationship with them. Was that him denying the obvious, as Sam had done? Or was it simply more likely that he had been a member of whatever organization - cult - had infiltrated the AF's dig team? Perhaps he was the inside man.
But that left a few niggling problems - what was that conversation that Sam had had with his Johnson? If Ohanzee also worked for the Johnson, presumably another member of the cult, then why would he have gone along with Sam's insubordination? Or was Sam considering selling to a third party, and Ohanzee had convinced him (magically or otherwise) to break the agreement? And still, the apparent collaboration with Red Team completely breaks any explanations Ohanzee could consider. If you consider Ohanzee a member of neither Red nor Blue team, how did three teams, by all current accounting working at cross purposes, end up together in a van in the middle of nowhere with no evidence that they were at each other's throats, and indeed, likely cooperating?
Ohanzee, with some distress, pondered the counterintuitive fact that the more they learned, the less things seemed to make sense.
------
Hours later as they drove away from the safe house, Ohanzee allowed himself a moment to cast a spell on himself. He had watched on the astral as Katsina had made her spell effects permanent and that had triggered a memory - not of a past event, but of knowing how to do that himself. Since then he had wanted to try that as well, to remedy his lackluster performance when the bullets started flying. It could very well be the difference between life and death one day, maybe today. The spell he would cast - one that would amp up his reflexes - was draining and he had not wanted to risk casting it before now, before he was fully rested. And it was good that he had waited as the spell took and was strong. The strain of casting impacted him just as he had expected, but no more. And as he gritted his teeth and powered through the fatigue forming the spell had wrought, he saw the world around him crystalize. It didn't slow as it was often shown on the trids - it continued on at just the same pace, but he was aware of more, responded to its changes quicker. It was like the difference between being groggy and being awake and alert, only this was to alert as alert was to groggy.
He maintained the spell, enjoying the effect for a minute before closing his eyes and focusing on the astral world. He observed the way the spell interacted with his aura, saw it intersect in places. He focused on those intersections and weaved the mana flow so that instead of merely crossing through, the pattern melded together. As the connections hardened, his aura did so as well, becoming less malleable, not unlike the scabs from a new tattoo. These would heal over in time, he knew, as the process of living brought new experiences and his astral form was forced to change and adapt again. As the scabs healed and fell off, to complete the simile. Then, and only then, could he "imprint" another permanent casting, would the mana flows be malleable enough to adjust so that they could feed a new spell without requiring his constant attention.
He vaguely recalled an instructor referring to the process as "trading potential", giving up learning a new skill or honing your bodyor mind or otherwise making use of experience and hard work in order to gain a magical benefit over a mundane one. He supposed that the comparison was apt as the aura would only be softened up enough to make another spell permanent once it had been exercised, not just with time, but with knowledge and experience, forcing it to adapt as it interacted with the world, the stronger that interaction the faster the aura would again be ready. Experience and training, the vehicle through which people grew, was also, it seemed, the method through which the spirit could be made to absorb the magical manipulations that caused spell effects. He was sure that this was all very zen, but for him it was merely a rule of thumb that allowed him to understand why he couldn't just make every spell he wanted permanent - why there was a limit to his ability to enhance himself in this way.
He inspected his handywork and once satisfied let his concentration drop, and the spell held, sustained by his very essence. He could also see that his ability to apply more spells to himself was exhausted for now. Wistfully, he shifted his gaze fully back to the material world, again marveling at the clarity, the efficiency, with which his mind and body responded to the world.
If only he could similarly affect his ability to make sound long term decisions.
-
"Kat - Ivana. Wait, what do you prefer to be called now? Anyway, you are in charge of getting us gear to camp out in the wintery wild, as well as the camera. Doc, I'll need your skills to help find someone to reach out to at the DIMR. The rest of us are here to help."
"Call me Ivana in public, since it will make the most sense given the Japanese-Russian elf appearance. Privately... Kat, Katsina, Mask, I'll know who you mean.
"I can get the camera. I'm not an expert in winter or survival gear. I'll need some help." She looks to Ace, who not only has some survival experience but also has the best endowed... credstick. "After we get out of here we should head straight into town to get things before stores close for the evening.
"That raises the question of where we're going to spend tonight, unless we want to launch straight into our sub-zero camping experiment. The Eurovan might offer us some shelter too."
She joins the others in the library to watch the BTL. It could actually pass for a decent action trid, although the execution of unarmed prisoners might limit its widespread appeal. She doesn't really know how to feel about it. Is it that bad? she asks herself. Have I done worse? Either to eat or for work? I killed that hunter, sent him beyond the veil. Is this so different? She pushes into the wingback chair, trying to bury herself in it.
Doc and Chino were treating it as a game. Inhumane, perhaps, but its not like their targets were beacons of innocence. Was Doc a psychopath? Was he under the influence of the nanites, or did those come later and actually make him more humane than he was before?
She looks around the library at the others. She sees the nanites in their auras, however faintly. Are the nanites encouraging us to cooperate? Or forcing us to? If I don't have any, where do I fit in? Am I just here because I'm the helpful type?
So Chino - or "B" - had a bit of a BTL problem. Hardly surprising; it's hard not to get hooked on something that is, by definition, better than life. Doc had a bit of a killing problem. I'm not sure he's alone in that. She thinks of herself with the hunter, and Ace with the Natelys. She exhales, and tries to clear her mind.
The day passes. Ivana distracts herself by doing laundry. Sam transfers the external smartlink to Ace's Lancer quickly and professionally. Doc monitors Ohanzee, who is healing like a champ. Not surprising for a dwarf, but still a relief. Ace and Chino do their own things. People rest, nap, and recharge for the events to come. No one imagines the last chapter will be any easier than the earlier ones. Ivana and Ohanzee organize lunch, then a quick dinner before its time to go.
"I'm out of ... rations," Ivana confides at dinner, somewhat embarrassed. "I"m fine for now; tomorrow might be okay too, but after that... let me know if anyone is giving you trouble! I'm here to help!" She does her best to smile and make light of the situation.
There's an audible buzz that signals when it's time to check out. Kimama makes sure there aren't any stragglers. Jacquez offers to help ferry your bags to the Eurovan. You pile in, Chino in the driver's seat, and then pull out of the cave.
You're back outside. It's cold, dark, and snowy once again. Chino pilots the van down the narrow lane, dark branches brushing the van from the side of the road. Doc's eyes roll back and he practically groans with pleasure as he gets a Matrix signal again.
"Ragged Mountain Sports," he says, sending an ARO with directions to Chino. "Hurry, it's closing soon."
"And here's a talismonger," Ohanzee says. "Tawa & Tokpella."
Ivana gives Ohanzee a look. She tilts her head, then studies his aura for a long moment. Then, without saying anything, she grabs one of her throwing knives and inscribing a preparation on it while Chino drives.
You arrive at Ragged Mountain Sports. It's a large retailer with a big parking lot out front. The parking lot is mostly empty; the vacant parking spots are already accumulating a dusting of the snow that's lightly falling. Inside, employees are tidying the store and getting ready to close. It looks like you have about 15 minutes until they kick you out.
-
"That raises the question of where we're going to spend tonight, unless we want to launch straight into our sub-zero camping experiment. The Eurovan might offer us some shelter too."
"I say we stop somewhere and blow our load on some high end camping gear and disappear into the mountains."
"I'm out of ... rations, I"m fine for now; tomorrow might be okay too, but after that... let me know if anyone is giving you trouble! I'm here to help!"
A thoughtful look crosses his mighty face. "Answer me a few questions about your condition?" Seeing that she's willing to talk about it, he continues. "Just pertinent stuff, I promise. One, how much blood do you need? Two, is the victim killed? Three, is the victim at risk of infection?" Before she can answer him, he continues. "Because if the answers to those questions are, 'Alot', 'No', and 'No', then I volunteer to be your donor."
Sam sticks with her when she heads into the talismonger shop, but plays the side guy and keeps his mouth shut the whole time. Before the two of them split from the group, he says to Doc, "Head into that sporting store over there and spend whatever it takes to get us the best camping gear they've got. Consider that we'll be living in whatever you buy for a while, so get whatever portable matrix amenities you may need as well."
-
"I say we stop somewhere and blow our load on some high end camping gear and disappear into the mountains."
Everyone in the van is familiar with the basics of outdoors survival, with the notable exception of Katsina, who knows squat. The group puts its (male) heads together to start formulating a shopping list while Katsina scribbles away on her alchemical preparation. It quickly becomes apparent that Ohanzee knows the most, and can account for altitude sickness, avalanche danger, nutrition, and so on.
If your intention is to disappear into the wilderness, like Sam suggests, you'll need a significant amount of gear: food (although you still have some in the cooler), a heat source and fuel (lots of fuel to melt snow for water), tents, sleeping bags (maybe even sleeping bag liners given the overnight temperatures), sleeping pads, ground cloths, backpacks and/or sleds, poles or ice axes, snowshows and crampons, etc. Ohanzee knows how to make an igloo or a snow cave, so maybe you can save on tents, but there are six of you, including a very large troll and a very large ork. This is not an inexpensive proposition.
A thoughtful look crosses his mighty face. "Answer me a few questions about your condition?" Seeing that she's willing to talk about it, he continues. "Just pertinent stuff, I promise. One, how much blood do you need? Two, is the victim killed? Three, is the victim at risk of infection?" Before she can answer him, he continues. "Because if the answers to those questions are, 'Alot', 'No', and 'No', then I volunteer to be your donor."
Ivana opens her mouth, then freezes. She tilts her head, wondering if she heard that correctly. Yes, she did; she has excellent hearing. Then she opens her mouth again, only to come up short. "I... I..." she stammers. She then repeats the process all over again.
"I can get by on a liter a day," she says finally, after regaining her composure a bit. She seems to be blushing. "The average metahuman male has about 5 liters. A standard blood donation would be half a liter. You can donate blood once every two months." She pauses and rubs her head, wondering how she knows all this. She glances at Doc to see if he can confirm it.
-
"Well, it doesn't look like you can count on us for the long term, but if Sam can give a half liter, I can too. We're going to need to figure something out soon, though. Right now, we're on a strict timeline, though, so Ohanzee you got a list for us? If we can split it up, we can get what we need before they close up for the night."
Ace starts doing the math on Katsina's dietary requirements. Short of come and go access to a blood bank, it's hard to imagine how she's going to keep herself fed assuming they can walk away from this without preying on any "innocents" who happen to be around. Of course, it might be about the same thing with them in the forest, depending on how long it takes to set this deal up. Drek, this could get bad.
Ace runs his hands through his hair, adjusts his jacket, and prepares to exit the Eurovan.
-
Ohanzee stares out at the falling snow for a long moment, then sighs. "Katsina's condition puts us at a small disadvantage for remaining 'off the grid'. We can potentially keep her 'fed' for two to three days, depending on how much more blood an orc or troll can give than the average metahuman, based on her numbers, which I don't doubt. We'll almost certainly have to either supplement her diet with unwilling victims" he blanches noticeably at the thought "or rob a blood bank, both of which are likely to send up a red flag for our pursuers, especially since it is likely that at least one group is aware of her condition - whatever organization it was that had infiltrated her coven. So, we have to find a way to do one or both of those things discreetly. Such subtlety has been a singular challenge for us thus far, but I believe we are capable of success here. My vote is for the blood bank, but if we go that route, we need to hit it before we leave town so we can put as many miles as possible between the blood bank and our camp. Also, as our current location is a bit of a cross-roads, it helps hide our true destination while later cities might not. Option "catch and release" would require us to camp within range of potential victims, eliminating the possibility of deep wilderness and severely reducing our overall options."
His piece said, Ohanzee waits for the others to chime in with their ideas before moving on to the topic of gear. He works up a list of gear and sends it off to the others. "This is a worst case list of items we will need - if we camp in a clearing in tents. If we can find shelter - a cabin, a cave, or even an igloo, we can remove the need for tents." Thinking of igloos, Ohanzee wonders if he could get a water spirit to build an appropriate shelter, or even a spirit of earth to excavate something warmer. A shaping spell would also be useful, but he was pretty sure he didn't know any. He also cursed his lack of access to fire spirits as they would be all sorts of useful for heating - both living quarters and food. "I might be able to garner the assistance of a water spirit to help us move over dangerous ground without the need for the snowshoes and poles, cutting our need for those to maybe two so that a pair of scouts can travel without my having to be present all the time. A water spirit might also remove the need for the snow shovel and could also provide potable water without having to use so much fuel. But the cold weather gear, cooking and eating tools, and sleeping bags are mandatory. The sleeping pads are a luxury - they beat sleeping on a bed of leaves to provide insulation from the ground. Especially considering the only leaves we're likely to find this time of year are evergreen needles. We can probably get by with 2 or 3 backpacks if Katsina and I supplement our carrying capacity with magic. The downside to saving that money is that it leaves the rest of the team at a significant - perhaps insurmountable - disadvantage if one of us is incapacitated."
He does some mental arithmetic, looking blankly out the window while he ponders. The wind, it seems, can't decide on a single direction, causing the snow to drift every which way as it falls, shifting from moment to moment. The irony is not lost on him, as he sees his history of indecision in a brief moment of self-reflection. "That's still a few grand worth of gear, not including food. That'll probably be about 100Ą/day for nutritionally balanced fare, and that's still nowhere near the quality of food we've been enjoying as of late." The smell of bacon sprang to his mind. "We could also just buy a stack of soy pizzas for 100Ą, which would last us a week and save us the need to dig a latrine." He smiled mirthfully at his joke, then returned to business.
"Considering the daily cost, we'll have to move fast to get our deal done before we run out of cash." He wondered how being homeless could be so expensive.
-
"My vote is for the blood bank, but if we go that route, we need to hit it before we leave town so we can put as many miles as possible between the blood bank and our camp."
"So is mine."
"The downside to saving that money is that it leaves the rest of the team at a significant - perhaps insurmountable - disadvantage if one of us is incapacitated."
"We should spend whatever it takes for all contingencies. What exactly are saving this money for anyway?"
-
"You save money for Plan B," Ivana says, "just in case you find out that Plan A involves saber-toothed cats, thunderbirds, eyekillers, greater wolverines, or pissed-off storm or mountain spirits."
She listens to the suggestion of hitting a blood bank on the way out of town. A quick Matrix search reveals that Defiance does not have its own blood bank but instead shares a mobile blood donation center (in an RV) with several local communities. There is a small local hospital called Valley View that might be possible to raid.
"I have this neat trick that makes it easy to break in," Ivana says. "A vampire can assume mist form, but the challenge is that I can't take anything with me or bring anything back out other than bonded foci. I do have the Mask spell to assume other appearances, so I don't have to look naked even if I'm freezing my witch's tits. I could try something crafty like slipping in via mist, then walking out the front door dressed as an EMT or a doctor. Not sure how that's going to fly in a town where everyone knows each other though. Ohanzee might be able to string together something clever with his illusion magic. We'll have to hope that the security of the hospital in Defiance, population 10,000, is less than rigorous."
Chino, citing a lack of a SIN, makes no motion to leave the Eurovan. Doc, also lacking a SIN, stays put and continues his series of Matrix searches. That leaves Ace and Ohanzee to play Supermarket Sweep through the sporting goods store. Ivana gives the address of the talismonger to Chino, which is a short distance away. Chino drops off Ivana and Sam, who go inside while the murderous B/Hack duo remain in the van.
The inside of the talismonger shop is relatively small. It is presided over by an old crone of an Amerind woman who looks inclined to throw the young strumpet elf out on her ear until "Ivana" placates her with a tactful greeting in Hopi, plus a rapid series of compliments about the shop. Sam pokes about while the old woman eyes him as she would a juggernaut in an art gallery.
Ivana is tempted to look about but knows that she's on a tight timeline. Furthermore, practically everything in the store is aspected towards shamanistic traditions and would be largely useless to her. She finds a quicksilver camera but receives a rude shock when she looks at the price. Ivana's sweet cooing in Hopi does nothing to placate the old hag, and Ivana silently kicks herself for not having the foresight to assuming a more pleasing form before she entered the shop.
<<@Team [Katsina] Bad news, there's only one quicksilver camera in stock and the price is non-negotiable. It's Ą2,750. Doesn't look like I can swing a locals' discount.>>
She grabs the camera and takes it to the counter, where she finds Sam fiddling with some katsina dolls. The old woman looks like she's about to object, but then notices Ivana carrying a big-ticket item and decides to crinkle her face into a smile instead. Ivana holds her tongue too, refraining from making a joke about Sam playing with dolls. He did, after all, just offer to feed her, and that is not something she takes lightly.
-
Once Chino and Doc are alone in the van, Chino turns to look at Doc. He remains quiet for a few moments.
"Do you think that the nanites are changing our personalities? You said that they were concentrated in our cognitive centers. I just wonder because ... well, we seem so different than we were in our past lives. Maybe the amnesia is the only cause, but I can't help but wonder if the amnesia was just a convenience; the nanites themselves are forcing us to change." Chino looks thoughtful. "We didn't seem like great people before, but what if the nanites are controlling us? Are they programmed to be able to take over? Like a kill-switch?"
He turns back to the wheel. "You know the most about them; I was just curious if you had any theories."
-
"I have this neat trick that makes it easy to break in," Ivana says. "A vampire can assume mist form, but the challenge is that I can't take anything with me or bring anything back out other than bonded foci. I do have the Mask spell to assume other appearances, so I don't have to look naked even if I'm freezing my witch's tits. I could try something crafty like slipping in via mist, then walking out the front door dressed as an EMT or a doctor. Not sure how that's going to fly in a town where everyone knows each other though. Ohanzee might be able to string together something clever with his illusion magic. We'll have to hope that the security of the hospital in Defiance, population 10,000, is less than rigorous."
Listening intently to Mask speak, he waits until she pauses before adding anything. "If the more stealthy angles don't pan out, I have no problem with doing it the other way."
<<@Team [Katsina] Bad news, there's only one quicksilver camera in stock and the price is non-negotiable. It's Ą2,750. Doesn't look like I can swing a locals' discount.>>
<<@Team [Uncle Sam] I say we spend whatever it takes This needs to be done right.>>
-
Ace and Ohanzee stride into the sporting goods store. The staffers look up, wary of customers who interfere with their long-awaited closing hour. The duo adopts the same dynamic they had when introducing themselves to the Natelys, with Ace as the corper and Ohanzee as the charming sidekick. The employees are visibly annoyed until it becomes apparent that Ace and Ohanzee aren't here to browse. Ohanzee quickly figures out that they are paid on commission and soon has every employee at Ace's beck and call. Ace directs the proceedings imperiously, as would befit a corper, as the worker bees buzz about gathering up everything on the shopping list. Closing time comes and goes, but none of the salespeople are objecting to the prospect of earning several hundred nuyen on a Ą5,000+ purchase. The piles of survival equipment quickly accumulate, and Ohanzee wonders if they're going to have to leave the obelisk behind to fit it all in the van. A half dozen sleeping bags - plus sleeping rolls - take up a lot of room!
Ace pays and the employees wheel the whole procession outside to load it up into the van. Ohanzee quickly casts Trid Phantasm to make the obelisk look like a giant crate full of luggage and other equipment for the trip. Everything gets wedged in, but the van is full to the brim and you all have stuff in your laps. The employees smile and wave as they return to their newly-depleted store.
"mmrphr hnng snrflblt," Ivana says from underneath the pile.
<<@Team [Katsina] Nevermind. Where are we headed to next? To the hospital then?>>
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"Aye. Let's get a look at it and see what there is to see. If you want to probe its Matrix defenses, Doc, I'd be grateful for Katsina's company during the astral recon. Best to peep while in route - saves time and gives us a head start on running should we be spotted."
-
In response to Sam's questions about how much blood he could give Doc responds, "You could spare 2-3 liters but we'd have to keep an eye on you at altitude and in extreme weather conditions. And the rest of us could do .5-1 liter. So we are talking 4-5 liters from the team. That'll buy us almost a week."
"Aye. Let's get a look at it and see what there is to see. If you want to probe its Matrix defenses, Doc, I'd be grateful for Katsina's company during the astral recon. Best to peep while in route - saves time and gives us a head start on running should we be spotted."
Listening to the talk about the blood bank, Doc starts digging up records on what he can find. When Ivana/Katsina/Mask and Ohanzee mention the hospital he starts looking into the overall security of the place.
[spoiler]Matrix Perception (Comp 5 + Int 4 + Quali 1 + Spec 2 + DJ 1 - Range Noise 1 = 12) (http://orokos.com/roll/272529): 12d6t5 6 limit 8[/spoiler]
Once Chino and Doc are alone in the van, Chino turns to look at Doc. He remains quiet for a few moments.
"Do you think that the nanites are changing our personalities? You said that they were concentrated in our cognitive centers. I just wonder because ... well, we seem so different than we were in our past lives. Maybe the amnesia is the only cause, but I can't help but wonder if the amnesia was just a convenience; the nanites themselves are forcing us to change." Chino looks thoughtful. "We didn't seem like great people before, but what if the nanites are controlling us? Are they programmed to be able to take over? Like a kill-switch?"
He turns back to the wheel. "You know the most about them; I was just curious if you had any theories."
"That's a good and valid question. I'll need a lot more equipment and time to be able to answer that well. It's possible, given the location. But the amnesia isn't helping diagnose on many levels. As for a kill-switch? If we are being controled by an individual entity that makes sense, but I'd think they'd have hit that switch already when we went AWOL. So, probably pretty safe on that front, unless of course we are actually *doing* what that entity wants. We can furrow down a really deep rabbit hole there. We just don't have enough information to make a sound deduction yet. I think a lot more of our personality shift has to do wtih the amnesia. We don't remember what we were like, so we are defaulting to aligning more with social norms, or what goes for social norms among the outcasts of society. Theft and murder is okay circumstantially, but we seem to balk at random shooting and rape at this point. At least, *I* feel that way. The idea of sexual assult hasn't really come up in the last few days. All things considered, I'm betting the world is better off if 'B' and 'Hack' forgot who they were."
"The news reports say the cops linked our killing spree to gang violence. The guns stolen from the Yaks are assumed to have been smuggled out to other gangs, which is probably true... just by us instead of something more organized. Again, assuming we aren't actually part of something more organized."
"We've still got a lot of questions to answer."
While the porters are piling equipment ontop of him and Kat, Doc sends out a message to the team:
<<<@Team [Doc] I've done some digging on local DIMR folks. Most of the PCC people appear to be in LA, but there may be one that is local and I'll need to do some more research. One Walks-with-the-Wind is listed. I was able to get a lot more info on Denver. They've got a decent sized office in town. It's run by an elf by the name of Jessica Jäger. I've got photos, looks like she's Hmong rather than Northern European. I'm sure I can get an address if not a comm-code for her.>>>
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Chino drives. Doc drops off into cyberspace while Ohanzee and Katsina astrally project.
Some quick research indicates that Valley View Hospital has 78 beds, plus a Level III trauma center. That means that the hospital must have surgeons, emergency physicians, anesthesiologists, and nurses on-duty 24 hours a day. It does not have the full suite of specialists that you would find in a large hospital, but it does have resources for emergency resuscitation, surgery, and intensive care for most trauma patients. In theory, that includes a well-stocked blood bank.
Zooming around on the astral, Ohanzee and Katsina spot two air spirits patrolling the premises. They don't appear to be materialized. Timing the patrols, the two shadowrunners take a peek inside. Most of the staff and patients are not Awakened, but there is one shaman and one adept. They appear to be employees rather than patients. There are a couple rent-a-cop security guards inside, plus one SecForce trooper stationed in a squad car near the emergency entrance.
On the Matrix, Doc finds that the hospital's host is on the local grid. The grid is called DefianceNet and is provided by the PCC itself. The grid is superb, and there is no Noise for targets within 1 km. The host rating of the hospital is 5 and its Firewall rating is 8. Doc remembers a tidbit about the PCC having an above-average number of technomancers. He wonders if that fact is reflected in the Firewall, or if the hospital is just taking its patients (and their privacy) seriously. He's guessing that there's a spider on duty, but it's a coinflip whether he (or she) would be local or remote.
The security obviously couldn't withstand a direct assault, but rather seems to be designed to quell minor episodes while calling for back-up for major incursions.
-
Flashing his pearly whites as the last of the camping equipment is loaded into the van, Ace is nevertheless dismissive of the workers as they finish. What corper wouldn't be? He acts as though he's unaware of the fact that they've stayed late, and gives them a brief but cordial wave, as he loads up in the Eurovan and they drive off. Spreading joy and cheer. Hopefully, they're able to treat themselves to something nice off that commission. Good for them.
Ace can't really explain why, but he feels in good spirits. This running thing, maybe he could get used to it. It's a strange position to be in less than 24 hours after he nearly became paste on the side of a strange road in a strange country, but as far back -- which isn't far at all -- as he can remember, he's had few chances to feel optimistic; he doesn't want to pass on this one. And then the talk turns toward robbing a hospital. That goes a way toward dampening his spirits. Yes, security looks manageable, and yes Katsina needs to eat, but planning and executing a raid in the time that it takes to drive there before setting up camp for the night? That seems risky. And desperate. Of course, bleeding themselves dry, setting up camp, and then having to break cover to come back later doesn't look like the right way to go either.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, and rubbing his eyes a bit while the security at the hospital is discussed, Ace says, "This looks workable. It also looks dangerous if we can't get in and out, and by out I mean a ways from the hospital in a number of minutes. The mist form looks promising, but personally I'd feel better with some backup in case. It might be good to have someone posted on the SecForce officer. Doc, what are your chances of being able to shut down the security cameras? Do we want to use a plant on-site before we start the raid proper?"
-
"The spirits will likely make any illusions ineffective, unless they are small and short-lived. I think the best bet might be to have Katsina do her trick to get in, avoiding the spirits. It's unlikely that the shaman or adept will be astrally perceiving at any given moment, so while it's best to play it safe and avoid them anyway, it isn't critical. Once in, grab what you can carry and we can have Doc block cameras and open doors while you sneak out. Once in a common area, you can probably just walk out the front door. Again, just don't get seen by the spirits - even if they don't peg you as a vampire, they are very likely to find any Awakened suspicious, especially one that walks out without having walked in. Indeed, a hand-off might work better, keeping Katsina away from the entrance entirely. Maybe in a restroom?"
"As Ace mentioned, it might be useful to have the rest of the team tactically located. If we can get the IDs of a couple current patients, perhaps we can pretend to be waiting for them in the waiting room - gives us an innocuous excuse to be there and wander the public areas more or less at will, especially keeping a tab on the officer, and it gives an excuse for one of us to hit the head for the exchange. I propose most of us hang back in the parking lot, but two on the inside to provide surveillance, distraction, or rapid response would be useful. Ace and I might draw the least attention from the people there, but because of the spirit patrol, I might be more of a liability inside the hospital. Doc needs to be here, and Chino is our driver, so it looks like it might have to be Sam and Ace. They aren't a matched pair unless you think Sam could pass as Ace's bodyguard, so they might have to arrive separately."
"That's the vague outline of a plan, anyway." Ohanzee sits back, hoping one of the more tactically inclined might flesh out the details, or point out why it is fatally flawed from the get go.
-
"Yeah, I can't go in. Between my lack of SIN and the likelyhood of going VR, I'm best off in the van. It'll be tough, but I can probably manage the cameras. Getting patient data could work, but it'll start my clock earlier. Remember, I've only got so long before I've GOD comes down on me again. That was not fun last time."
"If you want patient data, I can try and get that now. Do a reset, and then prep for the cameras once we are on site. I'll be able to do a little more recon while I'm grabbing the data. It does add a significant amount of risk, so if you don't think it'll be useful, lets skip it. However, if we are able to get in and out more easily, then lets do it."
"Another option, if I'm going in and 'doctoring' Doc, gawfaws at the tripple-entendre he happened upon there. "the files to start with. We could make Sam a patient with an order for a large amount of blood. Get that delivered, and then have him discharged with the supplies. This would be easier if I had a SIN and could make my self is assigned doctor as well, but we work with what we've got. Just need to get Sam into a hospital room, but with a visitor ID to start, and then a fake patient ID once inside it shouldn't be too difficult."
Doc starts thinking outloud now, going through possibilities:
"I could get a patient for Ohanzee and Sam to visit, and have a patient ID and room ready for Sam. The two of you go in, and then Sam becomes a patient. Have an orderly deliver a dozen pints of blood to your room as 'prep' and I'll switch who Ohanzee is seeing to Sam. Then get the discharge paperwork done, and the two of you waltz out with the goods in hand. Ohanzee can smooth talk anyone that asks too many questions, and it's a free ride. Maybe have Ace and Kat there as visitors also just in case things go sideways? Though I don't think Kat could hang out for too long, someone/thing is bound to notice her hiding in plain sight after a little while. Spoofing the MAD sensors at the door would even let Sam and Ace go in armed if they can hide their weapons well enough. Well, Ace *is* a weapon, but you know what I mean."
"Man, wish I could get in there to do a few scans on us before we left, but I think that's pushing our luck a bit further than it'll stretch. Anyway, that seems like it's got a lower risk than a smash-n-grab. But, we are *good* at smash-n-grabs, so there's that too. I'm down with either plan. I can kill the cameras and get some ID's or we can go full con artist on them."
Doc rummages through the cooler looking to see if there's any more beer left. He looks like he's hopped up on caffeine or maybe cram. Finally finding a beer, he pops the top with the muzzle of his cyber shotgun and chugs it in one go. "Looks like we might need to make one more stop for some more beer. With the little scrubbers going, I drink this shit faster than water. Though we should get the cheep drek, we are starting to get low on funds."
-
Sam likes what he hears coming from the heavily armed decker in the backseat of the van.
"I could get a patient for Ohanzee and Sam to visit, and have a patient ID and room ready for Sam. The two of you go in, and then Sam becomes a patient. Have an orderly deliver a dozen pints of blood to your room as 'prep' and I'll switch who Ohanzee is seeing to Sam. Then get the discharge paperwork done, and the two of you waltz out with the goods in hand. Ohanzee can smooth talk anyone that asks too many questions, and it's a free ride. Maybe have Ace and Kat there as visitors also just in case things go sideways? Though I don't think Kat could hang out for too long, someone/thing is bound to notice her hiding in plain sight after a little while. Spoofing the MAD sensors at the door would even let Sam and Ace go in armed if they can hide their weapons well enough. Well, Ace *is* a weapon, but you know what I mean."
"I like this idea. No need to worry about hiding weapons though. I'm willing to go in unarmed. I'm quite the weapon myself. I don't know if I've mentioned it yet, but I am also quite heavily augmented. None of it is terribly obvious, but I'd bet I've got as much, if not more chrome than Ace here. If things go sideways, I can get out of there just fine without any weapons."
-
Ivana looks embarrassed by the conversation and the amount of effort going into this that only benefits one person directly. It's clear that her tradition puts her in the position of being the one who helps others; being the one helped is unfamiliar and uncomfortable.
She holds up her hands after a bit. "The issue is mine so the risk should be mine as well," she says. "I can't really ask you to put yourselves in harm's way on my behalf.
"I think Ohanzee has the outline of a good, low-impact plan. The spirits are on the astral but they are unlikely to be patrolling the vents. Doors aren't going to be locked from the inside." She glances a bit uncertainly at Ace and Doc to confirm this. "If I can get in, I can pretty much help myself and then walk out the front door.
"The problem is that my quickened spells light me up on the astral like an Imbloc festival." She pauses midthought. "Speaking of which, that's today."
Ivana shakes her head, almost disbelievingly. "How could I just now be remembering that? The changing of Hecate from the Crone to the Maiden. The first signs of spring, the return of the sun. It's traditional to celebrate it with huge blazes, torches, candles. Fire in every form."
She sighs to herself, as if she had almost forgotten her own birthday. She spins a finger around in a circle, and suddenly her head is wreathed in a crown of lit candles. It's just an illusion, powered by the same spell that keeps her looking like a teenage trollop, but it's still mildly alarming to see it in an enclosed space such as the van, especially one so tightly packed. "I'll make a campfire tonight," she says finally, the thought seeming to settle her.
"Back to the matter at hand. I think getting in is the easy part. Getting out unseen is the trick. If I'm carrying a cooler with me then I'll be exposed to the spirits. I'll be able to see them on the astral but by then it will be too late. What I really need is someone on astral overwatch helping me with the timing. The problem there is that I can't take a commlink inside with me in mist form, nor can the person on astral overwatch communicate via commlink anyway. Maybe a spirit could help conceal me, but it's still a big risk. Let's not pretend like this van is the world's greatest getaway vehicle. If someone calls us in, we're going to get caught before we make it five klicks. I don't want to scrap with SecForce like we scrapped with Black Lodge. We've made it 24 hours without a major incident and I'd like to keep the streak, and us, alive."
-
"I like Doc's plan. It neatly avoids the problem of dodging the spirits, though it means that it all relies on Doc avoiding Matrix threats. But that hardly seems like a risk." He casts a respectful nod over at Doc. "How confident are you that you can do this from the van? Would you prefer us to try to get you physical access, at least initially, so that you can gain access to the system?"
"I think that Sam, Ace, and myself should be capable of holding our own for a minute or so for the rest to show up if things don't go as planned. Bringing Kat might be more risk than it's worth if she's pegged as Infected. If it gets FUBAR, we shift to smash and grab before the big boys arrive."
He nods toward Katsina "If we decide on Katsina doing the infiltration, the others might just be able to follow in a random patient - I have to imagine that even in a town this size there's a fair amount of activity in the emergency room. It saves Doc having to break in to the host twice or start the clock early."
"I'm also open to ideas on how we can tweak either plan to get Doc access to some equipment he needs in order to help diagnose the nanites, but I have to imagine that might be too much to bite off. But we might be able to swipe some gear if the opportunity arises. Or get a scan or two on our 'patient' while we're in there, maybe by a trained orderly if it's too complicated for us to do with Doc's guidance."
-
She holds up her hands after a bit. "The issue is mine so the risk should be mine as well," she says. "I can't really ask you to put yourselves in harm's way on my behalf.
"Bullshit." states the troll, matter-of-factly. "From a purely self-serving point of view, you are half the astral capability this team possesses, as well as a lethal combatant. Your issues are our issues so long as we remain a team." He looks her right in the eyes of her mask.
"I like Doc's plan. It neatly avoids the problem of dodging the spirits, though it means that it all relies on Doc avoiding Matrix threats. But that hardly seems like a risk."
"Indeed. The spirits spotting a spellcasting mistform vampire seems like a far greater likelihood than some spider noticing Doc here."
-
She holds up her hands after a bit. "The issue is mine so the risk should be mine as well," she says. "I can't really ask you to put yourselves in harm's way on my behalf.
"Bullshit." states the troll, matter-of-factly. "From a purely self-serving point of view, you are half the astral capability this team possesses, as well as a lethal combatant. Your issues are our issues so long as we remain a team." He looks her right in the eyes of her mask.
Ace had opened his mouth to speak, but the troll took the words right out of it. He nods his head appreciatively.
"I like how this plan is shaping up. I'm willing to go in without any guns as well. The mist form may still be useful with the SecForce guard, assuming that Katsina would be outside the patrol spirit's field of vision in the parking lot, or in the car itself. If not, we'll just need someone posted up nearby, should he get alerted. Other than that, are we ready to go?"
-
Chino steers toward the hospital while the plan takes form.
"I'm worried about the quickened spells," Ivana says. "Ohanzee and Ace are lit up just like I am. I'm concerned that those will be a red flag for the spirits on patrol. That basically leaves Sam as the only one of us who has a SIN and no spells."
She looks to Doc.
"I don't know much about hacking, or hospitals. At some level, do we even need to go in? If we're hacking, why not simply have an autodoc deliver us a dozen units? It will be like those drive-in burger places, neh? We don't even have to get out of the car. Sam can just roll down the window.
"If we think that's too suspicious, maybe have Sam go inside to retrieve it from the autodoc. Ohanzee can coach him if he needs some fast lies, and Doc can provide the medical speak. I could cast a spell to make him look like a medical technician. That way he would look different for the cameras too. I bet a sustained spell would generate less attention than a quickened one. Or we could skip the spell altogether and just send him in. Different risks to each."
Chino makes the turn toward the hospital. It's not very busy at 7pm on a Saturday evening. The parking lot is dark and filled with more snow than cars.
"I don't think it's visiting hours," Ivana says. "We might generate suspicion if we try impersonating guests. Let's try the low-impact approach. If we're getting too much attention from SecForce then I can drop a little hint in his head that he'd rather be catching up on the news. Isn't there a big Urban Brawl match tomorrow? The run-up to that could be sufficiently distracting."
-
"I don't think that we can have the auto-doc bring it out to the car, but we could have Sam walk up to the pharmacy and retrieve his 'prescription'. Let me get to work."
With that Doc slips out of the meat and welcomes the Matrix into his consciousness. His avatar already looking like a professional doctor, he approaches the host and subtly goes to inscribe his mark on the edifice. He skillfully begins to apply his caduceus when the host suddenly notices him and slaps the hospital logo right on his forehead! Jolted with surprise, he quickly logs out and reboots.
Somewhat startled Doc jolts up almost immediately after diving in. "Fuck me! Got knicked on my first swing by. Can you guys spot the SecForce patrol? See if kicked the hornets nest? Hopefully, they'll think its just some rich kid trying to play a prank and got caught, but I don't want to risk it. Might need to wait a little bit before trying again."
Somewhat dejected, Doc grumbles about how the code he was spinning should have been more than good enough for that host. "I'm gonna need to see if anything actually spotted me other than automated responses hitting me."
Sinking back in the Matrix, he changes his avatar to his detective persona. Looking like an olde-timey Sherlock Holmes, he sends his agent to look around the host and see how crazy it is. Meanwhile, he looks to see if there are any new security type personea wandering around the hospital.
[spoiler]Doc's Search: Matrix Perception (Comp 5 + Int 4 + Quali 1 + Spec 2 = 12) (http://orokos.com/roll/274612): 12d6t5 2 (sigh)
Agent's Search: Agent Matrix Perception 12+2 + 2 for VR = 16 (http://orokos.com/roll/274613): 16d6t5 5 (better)
[/spoiler]
-
"Well, bugger all. Ace, any ideas on what their response to a failed hack might be? Will we be facing increased physical security in addition to heightened Matrix patrols? How long will we have to wait for things to quiet down to normal? Or is the non-Matrix plan still an option?" Ohanzee looked around, half expecting to see armed guards pouring out of the hospital and taking up a defensive perimeter, helicopters dropping swarms of heavily armed and armored troops down rapelling lines and the sort. He knew that was not the way things work outside of trids, but he was still a little surprised to see that, at least for now, things looked completely unchanged in the meat world. He couldn't see the lone sec officer, but he expected that he was receiving a message on his comm about now to give him a heads up that there was a "security event" and to look out for potential followup.
"Chino, we might not want to be in the parking lot for the next half hour or so. If the van full of people doesn't stand out, the two mages and the quickened spells on board certainly will." Ohanzee wasn't sure how much it might help mask his presence, but he resisted the urge to peek into the astral. Katsina, not having any choice in the matter, would have to keep an eye out for threats on that front. He was beginning to notice a pattern of Murphy striking at pretty much every turn. It seemed the best laid plans always met with improbable failure. Maybe smash and grab was the only real option available to them - subtlety seemed to elude this team no matter how hard they tried.
Ohanzee sighed and watched the world outside as Chino exited the parking lot of the hospital as unremarkably as possible.
-
<<<@Team [Doc] Likely that nothing horrible is going to happen, I didn't press my luck. Keeping an eye out ot be sure. One thing that might (or might not) make this easier is physical access. That'll get me in the host more easilly, but still going to have to deal with the host itself to make the edits, so in the long run I don't think it'll matter that much. So, given that, lets move out of the parking lot and let me get things set up and not draw attention to us. Once I've got Sam in as a properly paid for patient that is supposed to recieve 15 pints of good ol' type-O, we can can drive in and pick it up.>>>
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Chino pulls out of the hospital parking lot and drives south on Highway 82. After a kilometer, there's an Apex - colloquially known as "The Ape" - the local competitor to Stuffer Shack. Stuffer Shack is owned by Aztechnology, which has been officially booted out of the PCC. They're dragging their heels, naturally, but in the meantime the locals are trying to grab market share. It's as good as place as any to wait. It's probably as good as place as any to hack too. The local grid is so good here that there's no noise from a klick out, and no one will think twice about a van sitting in a supermarket parking lot.
There's a steady stream of people heading into and out of the Ape. Shoppers carry their roach condos, Zap-O-Nuke microwaves, "Beauty and Her Beasts" simsense chips, Slurpee-doos, Zap-corn, Sweeteez and Krak-L-Snaps, AlmostEgg, BacoSoy, Maxiblast Sugar Bombs in three flavors (Red, Green, Purple), Koko chocolate substitute beverages, choco-slurps, berry-bombers, Boostergum, SucroZoom, Womp-Snappers, Shmoozies, Snorkels, Shakeups, Fizzygoo, and Ludivenko's Lovely Soya-Sloppies. It's a magical wonderland of NERPS. Your mouth waters thinking about it, because that's what the advertisers have been conditioning you to do for your whole life - amnesia or no amnesia. The only one unmoved is Ivana, who secretly doubts that you can buy blood plasma at a retail outlet.
"Are you actually going to hack the system and enter Sam as a patient?" Ivana asks Doc. "Could you just jump into the drone and hijack its routine? Or spoof the necessary commands?"
-
"Hmm. Not a bad idea. How frequent do you think it is, this close to Aspen, that a private physician might send a courier service to pick up supplies to treat a VIP? I expect there would be a cost in that case, but if you can insert an order I suspect you can mark it as paid or charge it to an existing account. Then we just have to pick it up at the front desk. As couriers, we'd be subject to less scrutiny I would imagine. Indeed, one could reasonably expect that Shadowrunners might even be 'legitimately' hired to perform such a discreet and important service."
"In any case, type O might raise more suspicion than other blood types. As a rarer and more resell-able resource, it would likely fall under more scrutiny than a type that was in less demand. And I doubt Katsina is particular about the blood type." He looks to Katsina for confirmation. "A good con hinges on the details. If you are next to a soy-dog cart and ask someone for 2Ą for a 'bus ticket', and the soy dogs are 2Ą, they'll probably see your intent. But if you ask them for a different amount - say 1.5Ą, which they'd likely round up to 2Ą - then they are more likely to believe your story about being stranded and needing a bus ticket, and less likely to realize you just want a free soy dog. We're in the relatively unique position of not caring what blood type we get, and so it is easier for us to obfuscate our true goal. Blood thieves would most likely be after type O neg, so by not asking for that, we reduce how suspicious we appear considerably."
-
Ace nods to Ohanzee as he talks. Makes sense. Good thinking.
As the shoppers file in and out of the Ape, Ace figures it's as good a time as any to grab some cheap brews.
I'm going to go get us a couple cases. Let me know if I need to come running." With that, Ace makes sure his SIN is set to Anderson, and that the rest of his wireless is off before opening the door to the falling temperatures outside.
Even though he only plans on grabbing 2 cases of beer, he grabs a small cart -- no sense in having to drop something and call more attention to himself, should the need arise -- and finds the beer aisle. Once there, Ace realizes he doesn't know squat about the cheap stuff, and continually finds his eyes wandering to a couple of Aspen made Porters. Nope, nope, nope. In and out. Let's do this. With a sigh, Ace grabs 2 cases from the bottom shelf, and heads to the checkout.
-
Ace wanders into the store, absorbing the normality of it all for a minute. No fire spirits, no bullet-riddled vehicles, just everyday people going about their everyday lives. It's Saturday night, and they're grabbing their NERPS and entertainment for the evening. Of course, this being the Sixth World, the whole scene could go off the rails at any moment. An explosion could tear open the side of the building and a motley hit squad could come in looking to geek the mistress of some mid-level corper with more testosterone than brains.
It could happen, but it doesn't. Ace finds his beer, which is little more than flavored water, and drops it into his cart. He wheels around the store and finds a pair of rocker wannabes making out in the pet food aisle. The guy is dressed head to toe in white synthleather. Ace gets the distinct impression that the dude is packing heat, although Ace can't consciously pinpoint the exact reason why. The girl is wearing a skin-tight black synthleather jumpsuit featuring about forty-two working zippers and with nearly eight meters of mesh chain wrapped around her body. They entwine, yin and yang, and slobber all over each other's faces. It's a touching scene.
Ace pushes the cart to the front counter. The RFID tags in the beer tally themselves automatically; the attendant barely looks up as Ace taps his credstick to pay. Ace then wheels the cart outside, into the cold waiting night.
In the van, Doc drops off into cyberspace after the allotted 20 minutes have passed. The data streams slip cleanly around him. It's satisfying, being jacked into the Matrix here. Pueblo takes it seriously and it shows. Doc turns and is at the hospital in a blink. Despite the distance, there's no lag, no decay in response times. It's like the Valley View Hospital host is actually on his cyberdeck.
Donning his doctor's uniform, Doc takes his scalpel and tiptoes up to the side of the host. A flick of the wrist and a twist of the code leaves him with a tidy mark. The sliding doors of the host swing open in welcome as he struts inside confidently.
Inside, the personae for doctors and nurses flit back and forth. Doc quickly spots the Patrol IC, which is dressed as a security officer. The officer zips around, observing the Matrix activity and looking for anything untoward. Doc moseys over to the file system, flipping through it to find what he's looking for. He finds that the patient and billing files are both protected, and breaking the protection is a noisy prospect. There's little chance he'll get away with it, given the patrol IC and the prior alert, so he decides to hijack another doctor's persona to do it for him. He slips up behind one such doctor and - while the security guard is looking the other way - scratches his caduceus on the woman's persona. He then whispers in her ear that it would be great if she could enter so-and-so as a patient needing such-and-such units of AB blood.
The woman's head swings around and glares at Doc. His eyes go wide, wondering how the hell she noticed what he was doing, only to have the security guard points and shout "HEY!" at the top of his lungs. Everyone stops and turns to look as the system system goes into full alert. Doc groans. Kat might have to miss a meal or two.
-
The bad news brings Ohanzee's spirits down even further. Try number two failed, and it looked like the system was now on high alert. It was time to move on. Kat and Doc provided a few additional hospital an clinics with blood on site. Ohanzee looks down the list. Aspen is out - they couldn't safely head back that way. Defiance was already a bust. Frisco and Vail are on the way to Denver which is convenient, but is likely also what their enemies are expecting. Grand Junction is too big a city for comfort at this point. Rifle looks nearly perfect on paper - it's a zig when the enemy expects a zag and it is a very low population. But the information they have on it shows that it is a very exclusive, very high end, clinic. For patients, those are good things. For potential thieves, it indicates a risk of higher than average security.
The team gets to work gathering astral and matrix intel and surprisingly Rifle is not very heavily defended. Of all the options, it gets his vote. It's not without it's problems, of course. Rifle is rural and self sufficient - everyone is armed. If it comes to violence, there would be no civilians. That means that the security isn't just the uniformed guard, but every person within earshot. But if they did it right, no shots would be fired - no one would even know there was a robbery until the team was long gone.
Long gone. That got him thinking - how long were they holing up? How long would it likely take to get things set up. Ohanzee figured less than a week, meaning that Katsina could subsist off of the team's provided "rations" for long enough to get everything worked out and in motion. Of course, Ohanzee was more than a little squeamish about being a meal, so having blood to go in convenient, portable sippy pouches still seemed a worthwhile precaution - better than the alternative of convenient, walking flesh bags.
"I vote we start with Rifle. I imagine our enemies will expect us to head toward Denver, so this puts us out of their search pattern, but it's still not too far out of the way. It's low population and rural, making it a good candidate for laying low. The high ratio of weapons to citizens works both ways - it means more potential sources of incoming fire if things go south, but also that our arms and armor are less likely to stand out. Hell, they're probably rugged folk, so we're even less likely to stand out, which means less chance of things going off the rails. And the clinic seems like a softer target than the one here in Defiance so long as it doesn't come to violence."
"And if that ends up a bust, we start heading East and try our luck with Frisco and Vail. With any luck, our pursuers will see the action in Rifle and think we're headed West after all."
-
Ivana says, "I agree that Rifle could be a double-edged sword." She stops and reflects on the irony of the statement, then shakes it off.
"It's possible that SecForce has less of a presence there if you have a self-policing community. Or maybe SecForce has to work double-time to prevent minor situations flaring up into major escalations.
"I'm not sure we could pass as ranchers. Maybe I could, with a couple tweaks." Her form smoothly melds from the Russo-Japanese elf into a hay-chomping Hopi tomboy as she adjusts her spell, although it's hard to see her over the mounds of camping equipment packing the van. "The more rural we go, the more suspicious they're going to be of outsiders. I think this camping thing could raise some eyebrows, maybe drawing undue attention. Who goes camping in February? We might have a better time posing as researchers, not that academics are going to be any more welcome than corpers roughing it.
"But that's if we even go into town. We could just head off into the woods and bypass civilization altogether. It's not going to kill me to miss a meal anymore than it would bother you. Besides, if we get the quicksilver photographs tonight then we'll pass back through town tomorrow on the way to deliver them. I can vape in and out of the hospital and get a quick fix. Once these photos are out I think we'll start to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I would imagine that we'd be in touch with the DIMR within a day, and maybe completely free of the obelisk within 48 hours. With that in mind, let's not get ourselves captured getting supplies that extend beyond our immediate needs."
-
Doc realizes he's been snake-bit twice today. Dodging the watchful eye of the Patrol IC, he quickly retreats from the host, jacks out and reboots his 'deck.
"Fucking shit fuckers. Damn lucky ass fucking IC bitches." Doc fumes. Taking several deep breaths, he reports yet another failure.
"I'm sorry Kat, I got caught a second time. I valued our secrecy over brute force and they got a lucky tag on me. The bad news is that we've worn out our welcome at this hospital. I don't think it'd be wise to try for several days. The good news is that there are 7 other sources within a reasonable distance. Also, between the 5 of us, we can safely supply you with 5-6 liters of blood and we've the equipment to extract it cleanly." Doc forwards the list of possible blood sources to the team.
"I don't think we are at the point where we need to risk doing a full assult on a hospital to keep everyone safe. And I think it would risk exposure we don't need today. If we are still in this situation in 2 or 3 days, then that'll be more of an necessity.
On other news, did anyone manage to grab a satellite uplink while we were in town? I could use one while were are camping." Doc starts rummaging through the gear looking for the remote uplink.
-
As Ace gets out of the van, headed for the store, Sam decides at the last second to go with him, mumbling "Too much stuff in my lap to have a full bladder." as he undoes his seatbelt and steps outside into the deathly cold. "Wait up!" he shouts to Ace, a few steps ahead of him as he jogs.
After returning from the bathroom, the massive troll finds his companion, eying some expensive bottles of spirits before finally grabbing a case of beer. As the two of them walk toward the register, he finally asks a question that'd been on his mind for days. What's it like to be in love? Do you still feel like you're in love with her? But at the last second, he chickens out and asks another one out loud. "What's up with everyone and beer? Is there something I'm not following?"
-----------------------------------------------------
Later, back in the van...
"I vote we start with Rifle. I imagine our enemies will expect us to head toward Denver, so this puts us out of their search pattern, but it's still not too far out of the way. It's low population and rural, making it a good candidate for laying low. The high ratio of weapons to citizens works both ways - it means more potential sources of incoming fire if things go south, but also that our arms and armor are less likely to stand out. Hell, they're probably rugged folk, so we're even less likely to stand out, which means less chance of things going off the rails. And the clinic seems like a softer target than the one here in Defiance so long as it doesn't come to violence."
"And if that ends up a bust, we start heading East and try our luck with Frisco and Vail. With any luck, our pursuers will see the action in Rifle and think we're headed West after all."
"Rifle scares me. I can't lie. I don't like it at all. Too many random factors that we'd never see coming. Not to mention, if things go wrong, a lot of citizens get caught up in it. I don't want to kill anyone I don't have to and the possibility of that happening is a lot higher in a place where everyone is armed. You do present a compelling argument, however; Especially if the Matrix theft route goes more smoothly this time."
"I'm not sure we could pass as ranchers. Maybe I could, with a couple tweaks." Her form smoothly melds from the Russo-Japanese elf into a hay-chomping Hopi tomboy as she adjusts her spell, although it's hard to see her over the mounds of camping equipment packing the van. "The more rural we go, the more suspicious they're going to be of outsiders.
"But that's if we even go into town. We could just head off into the woods and bypass civilization altogether. It's not going to kill me to miss a meal anymore than it would bother you. Besides, if we get the quicksilver photographs tonight then we'll pass back through town tomorrow on the way to deliver them. I can vape in and out of the hospital and get a quick fix. Once these photos are out I think we'll start to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I would imagine that we'd be in touch with the DIMR within a day, and maybe completely free of the obelisk within 48 hours. With that in mind, let's not get ourselves captured getting supplies that extend beyond our immediate needs."
Both selfless and tactically sound. This woman truly is the hero of the story. Sam nods his head deeply as she talks. "I like that idea as well." is all he says out loud.
"On other news, did anyone manage to grab a satellite uplink while we were in town? I could use one while were are camping."
"Ace did the shopping. I know I don't have one in my lap right now, but beyond that, I couldn't say."
-
"Damn!" Chino punches the steering wheel when Doc delivers the news. "Damn damn! Let's get out of town before the cops start looking for vans full of guns and the SINless."
He pulls out of the Apex parking lot, then heads north.
"We got corpers to our right and rough-and-tumble locals to the left. I'm not sure we blend with either, but I think the people after us will expect us to go right."
With that, he merges onto Highway 70, heading west.
"Let's stop in Rifle to get a satellite what's-it for Hack, then blow town. We'll just drive down some road until the pavement ends or the snow stops up. We'll park under some trees to avoid aerial surveillance. We got beers now, it'll be fuckin' great!" He slams the steering wheel again, hard, and easily warps it.
"Whoops, hahaha. Sorry about your security deposit, little O," he laughs proudly. "Here, big man, pass me a road beer wouldja?" He opens his hand expectantly, then slaps his fingers against his palm in a one-handed clap to indicate his impatience.
There's another Apex in Rifle. Chino stops, then gets out and takes a semi-public leak directly in the parking lot. (Sam is almost positive that is against the local etiquette.) Luckily it's late and the erratic behavior seems to escape most people's notice.
"I need some crisps, mates. I'll be right back," he says with a slight accent. He begins to stride confidently toward the store until Ace and Sam corral him and convince him that it would, in fact, be tactically unsound for someone without a SIN to go into the store. Chino pouts but submits on the condition that someone buy him a big bag of Salt Licks, the saltiest chip on the market. (They are largely inedible to non-orks and non-trolls.) "Anchovy & Olive flavor!" he shouts after Ace.
Satellite links are somewhat of a specialty item, and Doc warns Ace and Sam that a store like the Apex might not carry them. An electronics store certainly would, but there aren't any open this late on a Saturday night. Doc's fears are unfounded though, as this is the PCC, where the corner supermarkets are laced with cutting-edge tech that wouldn't be out of place in high-end stores in Seattle. Cheaper, too. Instead of the expected Ą500, a top-of-the-line model is available for Ą420.
The Apex also has a full line of chips marketed toward orks and trolls. In addition to Anchovy & Olive, they also have Bourbon Street Margarita, Caper & Okra, Soy Sauce & Sake, Firecracker Stuffed Jalapeńo, and Singapore Street Noodles w/ Shrimp & Snake.
-
"What's up with everyone and beer? Is there something I'm not following?"
For a moment, Ace thought the troll was going to ask something a bit more pointed, but he shrugs and says in a low voice, "Something to do with the nanites, I think. Beer still just tastes like beer to me, but Doc especially seems to have developed quite a taste for it. I haven't seen you chugging it down, though. Are you uninfected?" Ace ponders his poor choice of words, but isn't sure how else to put it.
#
Once they pull into the Apex in Rifle and corral Chino back in the van, Ace asks Sam if he'll join him once more in the supermarket. Once the pair is inside, he asks, "He seems to have gotten more erratic in just the last hour or so. I'm worried that once we get to a campsite, he's going to go nuts without something to do."
He grabs the biggest bag he can find of the offending sounding chips, and hands them off to Sam, so they can go grab a satellite uplink.
-
"What's up with everyone and beer? Is there something I'm not following?"
"Something to do with the nanites, I think. Beer still just tastes like beer to me, but Doc especially seems to have developed quite a taste for it. I haven't seen you chugging it down, though. Are you uninfected?"
Sam lets an amused smirk cross his face as he answers. "Oh no. I'm quite infected, but I'm flattered that you assume I'm a good enough person to care about other people's problems this much."
"Chino seems to have gotten more erratic in just the last hour or so. I'm worried that once we get to a campsite, he's going to go nuts without something to do."
"I'll keep him busy. Don't worry. He'll have more than enough to keep himself occupied with." When the two of them get to the checkout line, Sam excuses himself, leaving Ace to pay while he uses the facilities before getting back on the road. This might just be the last time he has access to plumbing and he intends to enjoy it while he can. The big russian is no stranger to roughing it, but he still has a deep appreciation for modern amenities and they will be missed during the group's impending self-imposed exile.
-
Ace and Sam pay for the umami chips and the satellite uplink - the combination of which registers no surprise among the clerks mindlessly tending the automated checkout process - and return to the cold air of the winter night. They walk across the parking lot and Ace almost slips in Chino's puddle of urine that's already formed a miniature lake of ice. Chino rolls down the driver's side window expectantly, flooding the van with cold air.
"Hey, hey, you found them!" he shouts out the window joyfully. "And you bought a giant chip bowl too!" he says, pointing at the satellite uplink. "Did you get any dip to go with it? Horumon? Nankotsu? Tororo, natto, basashi? Anata wa totemo shinsetsu desu!"
You have no idea whether Chino speaks Japanese now or if he's simply quoting one of the catchphases from Godzilla vs. Ghostwalker.
Ace and Sam get in. Chino gets in and starts driving without directions. He whistles. Katsina, in her new look, exchanges a glance with Ace.
Chino drives north toward the forested mountains. "The ranchers will have their livestock in barns over the winter," he shouts to no one in particular, oblivious to the fact that it is quite (quite) unnecessary to shout in the van. "I doubt they even have their drones up in storms like this." He indicates the swirling snow and the biting winds you enjoyed while the van doors were open.
He drives past the ranches and onto the logging roads. The road turns from concrete to gravel, which crunches icily under your tires. The extreme weight of the van - loaded with six metahumans, and obelisk, and a comical amount of camping gear - provides excellent traction that keeps you glued to the road. It also pushes the suspension down deeply, leading the bumper of the van to send a spray of snow everywhere like a snowplow.
Chino pushes forward until the Eurovan can't make any more progress against the accumulating snow. Chino cranks the wheel to position the van under a tree, shifts into park, then turns and announces, "We're home!" He grabs a bag of chips and hops out into the frosty night with a lofty whistle.
You look around. It's not the worst spot you could have driven to. Granted there's a huge set of tracks pointing directly at your location, but the falling snow will make short work of those. There's also some tree cover, plus mountains reaching up in every direction, all of which help to obscure you to anyone who isn't directly overhead.
Katsina doesn't know jack about survival but she does have thermographic vision. She speaks up: "Our heat signature will be our biggest giveaway, but I'm not sure we can get around that without killing ourselves, which strikes me as counterproductive. Maybe we can pile snow around the van or tents or something?" She looks at the men, one of whom presumably (hopefully) knows what to do.
-
Katsina gets out the van, the piled camping equipment spilling out into the snow after her. She pulls her lined coat - now stylized as a long rancher's coat - tight around her. The cold is bracing, and she's reminded of waking up upside down in the van. Blessedly, the Eurovan is still upright.
She looks around. There is little to see other than falling snow and black trees. Thermographically, things are just as stark. It's only on the astral where there's some actual texture to the world. In fact, it's almost exactly the opposite on the astral: the trees are bright with life, even in the depths of winter, to the point of being blinding.
She keeps an eye on Chino. Physically he looks the same, but on the astral his aura has changed. He's not simply excited; he's borderline manic. Evidently he's taken it upon himself to procure firewood because he's chopping down trees with his bare hands. But even Katsina knows that green wood is worthless for fires, and surely Chino must know the same. So is he really punching trees for firewood, or because he's bored?
Katsina unloads the van per Doc's instructions. She relishes the incredible strength locked into her by her quickened spell. Did I enjoy this before too? she asks herself as she shoulders a particularly heavy load. Or is it simply the novelty of having forgotten what it's like? Once the camping supplies are out, only the obelisk remains.
She looks to Ohanzee. "What do you think? Would it be better to take a photo of it in the van? The surrounding aura will just be dead machine. Or should we lift it out and take a photo in the trees? That might be even more ambiguous."
If he thinks they should take it out, she hopes that he's willing to levitate it. The team could lift it out manually, but corralling Chino to partake in the effort might be a challenge.
"I'd like to do an Imbolc ritual tonight," she says to the group. "It involves fire, preferably a bonfire. I know that is tactically unsound but it's one of the most important rituals of the year. Do you think we're remote enough? Or, Ohanzee, could you mask the ritual from outside observers?"
-
Doc keeps an eye on Chino as well.
[spoiler]Medicine Roll for CFD (Med 5 + Log 9 = 14) (http://orokos.com/roll/281382): 14d6t5 7[/spoiler]
Its unfortunate that we don't have anything to solidly compare our previous personalities. I think need to get that medical equipment sooner than later.
He trys to get Chino's attention and direct him to more usefull tasks, such as piling the snow as high around them into a pseudo snow fort/giant igloo configuration since he seems to have almost boundless endergy right now. Must be those revolting chips he ate. Eitherway, he plans on having the van's exhaust vent into a long tunnel of snow will help mask its heat and allow it to dissapate into the surrounding area more unnoticably.
"Do either of you two have a good way to shape the snow for us into blocks? It would make this a lot easier." He says with a smirk. He wonders if his more laidback attitude is a result of the nanites also. He seems to be almost placid about the whole situation now. Though that could simply be from the ammount of stress they've endured over the last several days that this situation is simply another event now. Food for thought.
Once they have the ring built, he sets the uplink up so that he can get to it easilly. He'll leave it powered off for the most part to prevent it from showing up on the matrix as well as to conserve its power supply.
-
Chino fixes Doc with a cold stare, and ceases his assault on a particularly stout fir. "Noooo Prooooblem," he exhales heavily, his breath a mix of steam and anchovies. He bounds away, and starts wrapping up snow in his arms on his knees oblivious to the cold. He works fast, and in a matter of minutes, he's stacked up quite a wall. Ace also tries to assist in the barricade making, though he's working at a slower pace, trying to conserve energy. At a certain point, Ace sees that his efforts would be better spent packing and refining Chino's work, as he can't quite get the same amount of snow in each "sweep," like Chino can. At one point, Ace has his back to the group as he tops off the wall when he's struck in the back of the head so hard that he face-plants into the snow. Instinctively, his cyber spur comes out, and he wheels around convinced that the group is under attack to see Chino standing and smiling with another snowball in his hand. Ace lifts his jacket at the shoulders to let any errant snow fall back to the ground and rolls his eyes.
"Alright, big guy. Whaddya say we finish up here, and then worry about playing grab ass?"
-
Ohanzee stared out the window as Chino drove them towards the desolate location that had been chosen for their impromptu camping trip. Snow filled his vision - his world - as it had from the moment he first awoke. He decidedly did not like snow. The evergreens stuck up like jagged teeth among the skeletons of less hardy deciduous threes, and his mind wandered toward thoughts of monsters and horrific spirits devouring the world. Then to tinier monsters, the molecular machines racing along the pathways of his veins and arteries and, perhaps more disconcertingly, his nervous system.
He was curious about the former Ohanzee, the one that had presumably vanished into the artifact the carried with them. Or swallowed up into the gaping maws of the tiny machines. He wasn't sure anymore, but he was curious. Not just about which mystery was responsible for his current condition and who he was before, but about the larger impacts that both mysteries entailed. Who else was infected by these strange nanites? What was the purpose or function of the obelisk, beyond just its religious significance?
He sighed and looked away from the whitewashed, desolate landscape rushing by the window. Inside the van the group was restless, apprehensive. The prospect of living in the winter "wonderland" that had been ever-present outside whatever heated box they had found themselves in for as long as thy could remember was not a prospect they readily embraced. Ohanzee sure wished there were another way, but they had to have some time to work without interruption in order to put their plan in motion and previous attempts to do so through breaking and entering, kidnapping, or grand theft had ended poorly, so the only legal option available with their funds and general lack of legal ID (not to mention large collection of contraband) was to leave civilization behind.
But they would have to act quick. In addition to the risk of death from exposure, starvation, or any one of myriad dangers they might be exposed to during their wilderness adventure, they were at risk from each other. Ohanzee knew quite a bit about metahuman nature, and staying cooped up with any given group for long periods of time was a recipe for conflict. And he could already see the edges fraying. Chino was behaving quite oddly - perhaps giving in to the stress and finally "snapping". Sam was withdrawn, and so hard to read, but Ohanzee had the feeling that he was up to something - he snapped out of his isolation at a moment's notice to join excursions into public shops, showing uncharacteristic interest. He hoped it was just the big guy needing to stretch his legs, leaving the cramped quarters of the van. Ohanzee supposed he could have a minor form of claustrophobia. Katsina had already taken to snapping at the others, as well as Ohanzee, on occasion. Her temper had started out much longer, and seems to have been growing shorter as their time together lengthened. And Ace...
Well, Ace was implacable. He supposed he was more machine than man and that the only psychological ailment he had to fear was cybephychosis. He was, as ever, a calm and steady voice of reason, friendly and patient almost to a fault. It wasn't that he seemed friendly or genuine, just perpetually unperturbed and willing to lend a hand. Like some automaton or intelligent tool. It's not that he didn't have a personality - he was interesting, bright, and had opinions. He just seemed to have one emotion - not too happy, not too mad. Aside from Katsina's admission to being Infected - with a capital "I" - and his announcement about being some corporate drone in his past life, he hadn't really seen him react emotionally to anything.
Of course, the same could be said for Ohanzee. He knew he was a tempest of emotions, most kept hidden, and he had felt the pain of APBs passing rather acutely, but he tried to keep such things hidden. Was that what Ace was doing? He imagined both of them would do quite well at playing poker.
Finally, the van struggled along the snow covered path until it could no longer. Chino forced it over to the side of the road under cover of a nice pine before the van stopped with a jolt and settled into the snow. There was a long pause as everyone delayed before leaving the warmth of their ride, but Chino was the first to move, swiftly bolting out the door like a swimmer taking the plunge into the deep end of a cold pool. The warm air of the van rushed out, replaced with the icy cold of the outside, and everyone awoke from their lethargic delay as one, and filed out.
Doc took quick control of the situation, redirecting Chino's boundless energy into useful work crafting shelter and hiding the heat signature of the van. Ohanzee listened to his instructions, checking them against his survival knowledge and could find no flaw. Indeed, the human again demonsrtated his brilliance by coming up with solutions to problems that Ohanzee hadn't even considered. After a short while, he left Doc and Chino and Ace, who had joined in, to their task and helped Katsina unload the van. As they came to the obelisk, she asks if they should move it outside the vehicle or not before taking the astral photo.
"I'm partial to leaving it in the van. It has no aura that might be recognized. You can't recognize a face in the crowd if there are no faces." Of course, once the photo is taken the question is where to put it. But that is a question for later.
Ohanzee goes to check on the others as Katsina sets up the camera. Doc asks about whether anyone has any good ideas for shaping the snow, and Ohanzee almost kicks himself as he realizes that a spirit would likely be able to shape the mud and ice much faster than the metahumans struggling at it before him. He summons them as needed to dig into the earth or pile and secure the snow come ice. It isn't long before they have a spacious and secure shelter. While directing the spirits, in turn following Doc's directions, Katsina asks about performing her ritual.
"I'm not sure. I suppose I could throw up invisibility or an illusion of some sort, but that might stick out like a search light on the astral. Perhaps a spirit's assistance in concealing us might help." He ponders these options as he continues guiding the spirits.
-
The battle-worn troll has had something on his mind for the whole ride. He just stares out the window with furrowed brow, lost in mystery and frustrated by it. He simply can't seem to follow through all the way on one thought process before another one jumps up and demands his full attention, beginning the circle anew. There are tiny robots in his body that may or may not have erased his personality. That may or may not be a good thing because of the likely options of the type of man he used to be, there are no good ones. His best option, the one he prefers, is that he was a shadowrunner who specialized in explosives and was hired on for this particular job as a fill in. Although, it's equally likely that he was in charge of a gang of villainous murderers and thieves or possibly even a mole working for the black lodge. Also, IF his memory has been eroded away, the robots might not be the culprits anyway. It might be the millennia old artifact that had wiped away some other poor schmucks' memories while it was being experimented with. Schmucks? How do I know a word like schmuck?
When Chino finally stops the van and it slowly starts to empty out, Sam waits until everyone else is finished, so as not to bump into them. Even as nice as it is, this van really isn't meant for trolls to be moving around inside it. Once he's emerged like a mean, horned butterfly from a cold, metal cocoon he stretches his arms wide and groans loudly. He can hear the team starting to make plans and decide on who's doing what and helping who. Doc and Chino are already moving on to creating snow bricks, which gives Sam a sense of relief. He had been worried he'd have to babysit the crazy bastard himself the whole time. Before the planning stage can get into full swing, he turns to Mask, Ace, and Ohanze. He almost seems a bit happier, now that he's out in the open, and he even has a little hint of optimism in his voice as he says, "I need to survey the area. Figure out where the defensive positions are. It will take several hours, I imagine. Does anyone want to join me? I'll only need one of you and any of you will do."
-
Katsina brightens when Doc asks if anyone has a good way to shape the snow into blocks. With one fluid move she has pulled her claymore from its sheath, an impish smirk on her face. She sets about to work, gleefully stabbing the sword into the snow to cut blocks of snow and ice.
Doc and Ohanzee teach her what to look for. The snow must be hard packed, yet not so hard that it will not cut. (With her magical sword, this is less of a concern.) The blocks must not be layered with streaks of soft snow that would break when handling. The blocks do not have to fit perfectly; the gaps may be filled with loose snow. Once complete, the warmth inside combined with the wind outside will cement the blocks firmly together. Ohanzee's water spirit spritzs the blocks with mists of water. Before long, the van is encased in a thick candy shell.
Ace is able to achieve much the same effect with his cyberspur. The work is momentarily delayed by Chino's snowball to the back of Ace's head. Strange, Katsina thinks to herself. I would have thought that my spell would have allowed Ace to detect the "attack". But perhaps the spell can tell friend from foe, or can distinguish a playful, non-lethal attack. Still, it's curious that he can dodge a bullet but not a snowball.
"Hey," she calls out to Chino, jutting her chin toward him. "Batter up."
She turns to the side and holds the claymore in front of her like a baseball bat. Turning the flat of the blade to face Chino, she leans over and shakes her toosh a bit to invite a pitch. Chino obliges, and Katsina WAPS the snowball into a puff of powder. With her increased strength, her bat speed is tremendous. Woe be to the one who gets the edge of the blade instead of the flat.
Katsina nods to Sam's suggestion. "Scouting is a good idea. Be careful though; the temperature is falling, and things awake in the woods are hungry this time of year. Will it really take hours?
"I'd go with you but I have a ritual to perform. We should figure out watches for tonight too. I have my spell, which should always be active now, even when I'm asleep. That gives us an edge. Still, we should maintain astral coverage at all times. A spirit, certainly, and also Ohanzee or myself if we can manage." She exchanges a look with the dwarf, who seems to be accumulating a layer of snow of his own.
"You're welcome to take the photos now while I do my ritual, or I can do it when I'm done. We can probably leave it outside for the night. More room in the van that way, and it's not like someone could move it without our notice anyway. We can cover it with snow to help dull the aura so that it's not shining like a beacon."
-
"I need to survey the area. Figure out where the defensive positions are. It will take several hours, I imagine. Does anyone want to join me? I'll only need one of you and any of you will do."
"Sure," Ace says, knocking the rest of the snow from his collar. "I'll go. Gimme a sec, though. I'm gonna want my full load out."
He returns to the van while Katsina and Chino play baseball, and retrieves his laser rifle, makes sure his machine pistol is topped off, and grabs the bundle of microwire and rappelling gloves. When he rejoins Sam he says, "This isn't quite as good as monowire, but I figure we can use it to make our new home a little more secure. We've got 200 meters to work with, so we should be able to get the road in at a few different heights, and some other logical choke-points of ingress. What do you think? Otherwise, lead the way, and I'll follow."
Once the pair makes off, and Ace starts to feel the cold air beginning to chill him through even the Ares Survivalist suit he's wearing, he sends off a comm to Sam:
<<@Sam [Ace] Hope Katsina has good luck with that bonfire. I think I'm going to need it.>>
-
"I need to survey the area. Figure out where the defensive positions are. It will take several hours, I imagine. Does anyone want to join me? I'll only need one of you and any of you will do."
A niggling in the back of his head says that he should go - perhaps a mixture of curiosity as to Sam's behavior, or maybe a subconscious tactical decision - they could need magical support if anything happens. Or maybe he just wanted to get away from Chino for a bit - his irrationality was becoming unnerving. Doc seemed to have him under control for now, and getting away from him might prolong the amount of time before cabin fever brought things to a head.
"Count me in. Couldn't hurt to have some astral surveillance, or levitation if we need a better view at some point. And if we do come across anything awake and hungry, I'd have an easier time getting a half ton of useful meat and fur back to our camp than anyone else." He didn't mention that the last part omitted the very likely scenario that anything hunting at this time of year was either metahuman or awakened, and his support could therefore be critical - better not to imply they might be unable to handle potential threats without him lest they take it the wrong way. And if they do run into metahumans, it might be better to avoid conflict in order to not give away their presence in the area - and his magic and social skills could be key there as well.
Yes, it was definitely a tactical decision, and nothing more.
-
Ace, Sam, and Ohanzee gear up to scout the area. On go the gaiters, snowshoes, gloves, hats, and balaclavas.
From both maps and the immediate terrain, it's obvious that you're in a deep, forested valley. The road runs north-south, with steep inclines on each side. Ohanzee's survival instincts compel him to study the terrain, wary of the potential for avalanches. The primary concern would be if the weight of the snow increases to the point where it overcomes cohesion to the snow pack underneath. Luckily, this doesn't seem to be an immediate threat. Ohanzee doesn't see any evidence for recent avalanches, nor are there large swaths of trees that have been knocked down like matchsticks. Ohanzee knows that the trees sticking up through the snowpack can help hold the snowpack in place. The thick forest of mature evergreen trees is anchoring the slab quite effectively, from the looks of it.
The snow and ice crunch underfoot. Walking is a chore. Sam has the longest legs but also weighs the most. Even with the snowshoes, he occasionally punches through the snow and has to drag his leg out. Ohanzee weighs the least so he falls through the snow less often, but when he does his short legs make it difficult to recover. Walking with snowshoes is an awkward process, requiring a bow-ledgged stance so that the inner edge of the snowshoe doesn't clip the opposite ankle. When it does it feels like you've kicked yourself, because you have.
Thick clouds roll up and down the valley, obscuring things further. It's quite difficult to see, even with thermographic vision. Ohanzee's thermo flashlight allows him and Sam not to run into trees. Ace uses a flashlight borrowed from Chino, but it's disconcerting when your world doesn't extend beyond the pool of light ten meters in front of you. Your breath billows up and obscures your vision even further, crusting your eyelashes and eyebrows with frost.
Identifying defensive chokepoints is not difficult, as the valley channels traffic effectively. The most logical approach would be the way you came, as continuing up the valley simply leads you higher in the mountains. Maps show that this road dead-ends eventually, so there shouldn't be any ground traffic coming from that direction unless it's on foot. It's always possible that someone could drop in, but Ace knows that a vertical insertion into forested terrain would be a nightmare, and doubly so at night. Only the truly desperate would attempt it.
There is no lack of trees to use for boobytraps or neck-height fishing line. Studying the terrain with Ohanzee, Sam figures that he could set off an avalanche with a few meters of det cord, should the need arise. It would cut off your return to civilization, but it could be an effective tactic to consume interlopers, or at least to slow them down sufficiently to make your own escape into the wilderness.
A cloud passes, enveloping you with a cold, damp wind. Ohanzee has the best insulation, which is good because he has the least meat on his bones. Sam's armor has the least insulation, but his body is so large that there's much less concern about his core temperature dipping dangerously low. Plus, given his damage compensators, Sam barely feels the cold. Ace and Ohanzee wish they could say the same, but they can't.
The lap around camp is almost complete when Ace's eyes fall on a footprint. Huh, that's funny, he didn't think they had made a full circuit yet. But wait, something's amiss. It's not a snowshoe print, it's a bare metahuman footprint. Something big, with feet the size of Sam. Looking closely, he sees the the edges of it are crisp and sharp and haven't been eroded by the wind. It's brand new. He follows for a few more steps until the footprints disappear mid-stride. He spins in a circle, but there are no more footsteps within sight of what his flashlight allows him to see. A chill goes up his spine. Maybe it's just the wind, or maybe it's Katsina's spell.
-
A footstep disappearing midstride means one thing to Ace, and that's that they must belong to something that went up. He readies his Lancer, and takes a few steps backward before mentally dictating a message to the team.
<<@Team [Ace] something's out here with us. Metauman. Large. Barefoot. Possibly in the trees. Sam, advise. Team check in. >>
Ace extends his cyber spur, and sweeps his flashlight toward the canopy.
-
Ace's warning sends a chill down Ohanzee's spine, made worse by the chill from the weather. He could feel himself freezing up at the impending danger, but he forces through it for now, shifting his perception to include the astral. He'd been using his Vision sparingly - the ice was treacherous and demanded his full attention to avoid injury or worse - so the warning had found him with it inactive. Now, he took in the bright astral world, a world of daylight level brightness as the auras of countless trees and other hardy plant life, stalwartly bearing the harsh winter as many of them had for decades, illuminated the realm of spirits and magic.
[spoiler]
Assensing [Assensing 4 + Intuition 4] (http://orokos.com/roll/283587): 8d6t5 3
[/spoiler]
He contemplates calling a spirit to their aid, but years of living among metahumans distrustful of mages (years he could not remember, of course, but still managed to shape his insights) had taught him to show caution before relying on the less subtle displays. It was still possible that this didn't need to turn into a fight, and the arrival of a spirit would be seen as an act of aggression to any Awakened opponent - metahuman or otherwise - and the visible act of summoning would mark him as a twitch to any mundane opponent, possibly sparking a negative reaction from fear.
But Wolf's name was at his lips, astrally speaking. And, just for show, he drew his revolver from its holster and held it at low ready.
-
Only mildly disappointed at Ohanzee's joining he and Ace, Sam decides that the dwarf's astral vision may prove useful in the task they undertake and slogs off into the snow with his two companions. He can't stop thinking about the fact that Ace and Mask were in love. For as long as he can remember, he'd never had cause to think about love, as a topic, at all. For a brief flash, back on the snowmobile with Chino, he felt like he might have, but not full thoughts about it, not until the two of them had spilled the beans about their past, thanks to Doc's help. Since then, he's thought about it a LOT and he feels rather silly for doing so. There are bigger things to worry about than why certain people want to fuck other certain people more than others!
He makes note of the area he'll need to place the detcord in, and marks it with an ARO on the map he's been creating, using his comm. Sam slows his pace a bit, allowing the dwarf and the human to catch up with him as he nears the top of a hill. Once they do, the troll hits a button on the burner comm he bought at the store, then throws it to Ace.
"This is the last one."
"The last burner, and the last time I hide anything from the group ever again. See, when I started this plan, I still didn't trust any of you to do the right thing and not sell us all out. By the time I knew that we weren't gonna fuck each other in the ass, I had already started, and I had to keep going." He takes a pause. He looks uncomfortable, but stands firm in his words. "It's not as bad as you're thinking. There were four other burners identical to that one, each with the same file on em. I've been leavin em all over the place, hoping the right person will pass it on to the right person, so on and so on." He shrugs, but continues. "I guess you guys were going for your sniper rifle approach on unloading this thing, and I decided to do more of a shotgun type thing." There is only one file on the burner. It reads;
[spoiler]<<@To whom it may concern
I know very few things, lacking even my own name or where I came from, so I won't waste time with a backstory. Such a thing wouldn't be important anyway. What is important is the fact that I have in my possession, an ancient artifact, the likes of which the world has not seen in tens of thousands of years as well as the means to destroy it with a mere thought, should I desire to. The power contained in this artifact is so great, that when I destroy it, there is a very good chance it will tear the very fabric of this world asunder with catastrophic results across all continents. I do not want to do this, but will do so without a second thought, if pressed.
What must you do to keep me from doing this? My demands are quite simple:
1- Contact either The Draco Foundation, The Atlantean Foundation, The Dunkelzahn Institute of Magical Research, or The Astral Space Preservation Society. Send them a copy of this message.
2- I want a representative from any or all of those four groups to come meet me and take this damn thing from me.
That's all there is to it. To stop the destruction of your world, all you need do is come take this foul chunk of metal from me and remove the millstone from around my neck. If you are the offended party from whom I stole it, I'll even give it back for no more a fee than an explanation of events. Fair warning though, I am heavily armed and well supported by some of the most paranoid and trigger happy killers in the world. If you attempt to take it from me by force or deception, you will die. I've killed too many already and I don't want any more blood on my hands. PLEASE make certain this message finds its way to the proper eyes.
[Uncle Sam]>>[/spoiler]
Ace is looks up at Sam, about to react to what he's read, when suddenly, something grabs his attention. He moves backward, readying his weapon. The killbot has clearly seen something Sam hasn't, but the big troll doesn't stop to ask what. He's already moving into a predictive flanking position with Ace based on his movements, when the message pops up in his goggles.
<<@Team [Ace] something's out here with us. Metauman. Large. Barefoot. Possibly in the trees. Sam, advise. Team check in. >>
While crouching behind a chunk of rock, Sam pulls the Pioneer 60 from it's sling and hopes that whatever it is up in the trees, it isn't armored.
-
<<@Team [Sam] Probably a sasquatch. They're drooks, probably just curious.>>
Ace points his flashlight up in the tree. The beam lands on a something covered in tawny orange fur. Sam and Ohanzee can see it too. What is that, a bear? A rug?
It looks at Ace with wide, frightened eyes. It emits a high-pitched signal of distress, then turns its head to look at something in the forest. It's fear reaches a crescendo, then it leaps from its perch to another tree, then another. As it flees, you can see it indeed looks like a sasquatch, an enormous humanoid not much smaller than Sam, covered in thick winter fur. It uses its long legs to propel it off the tree, then its long arms to grab target branches. Was it afraid of Ace, or something else? You spin to see what it might have been looking at.
@Ace
[spoiler]You see nothing in the trees. The branches sway in the wind, snow continues to fall, but there doesn't seem to be anything up there. You hear some snow fall out of a tree and hit the snowpack on the ground with the gentle whap of a big snowball hitting a soft target. Katsina's spell causes a tingle in the back of your head, an itch at the base of your skull that suggests something is amiss.[/spoiler]
@Sam:
[spoiler]You see nothing in the trees. The branches sway in the wind, snow continues to fall, but there doesn't seem to be anything up there. You hear some snow fall out of a tree and hit the snowpack on the ground with the gentle whap of a big snowball hitting a soft target.[/spoiler]
@Ohanzee:
[spoiler]You don't see anything with your thermographic vision. Your astral sight is a completely different story. You see three large humanoids, about the same size as the sasquatch. Two are on the ground and one is in the trees. They appear to be pursuing the fleeing sasquatch. There is hunger in their auras. They are hunters, and right now you are standing between them and their prey.[/spoiler]
-
Ace spins around from the fleeing Sasquatches, trying to put eyes on whatever is pursuing them. If it's bad enough to make him want to turn around, if it's bad enough to risk turning your back on a Sasquatch, it's got to be pretty fraggin' bad. But there's nothing there. Nothing he can see anyway. Ace runs his checklist. He should be afraid, but like the run-in on the highway, he's running off of muscle memory and protocols.
Astral security: check
Flanks: open
Front: no visibility, no contact
Rear: retreat is most likely possible
Leadership: compromised.
He pockets his flashlight to better support the Lancer, as well as ceasing to be a beacon of light himself, and crouches low.
<<Team [Ace] Sam, orders?!>>
-
The sight of three creatures, Awakened and astrally perceiving, causes Ohanzee to catch his breath. He immediately relays what he sees to the team.
<< @Team [Ohanzee] Two low, one high. Coming fast. We're not their quarry. >>
After marking the locations of the three he sees for the others, he turns his eyes, and his flashlight, to the one in the trees. Perhaps if they know they have lost the element of surprise, they might be less inclined to break pursuit of their existing quarry. He makes no aggressive action, nothing that might cause them to feel threatened by him, just "I see you - keep moving". He's more than acutely aware that he is the only member of the team that has not taken cover, or even a defensive crouch. Of course, as the only astrally perceiving team member within sight, it was unlikely that such things would do much good - he'd stand out like a beacon on the astral until he could completely obscure himself behind another aura.
On the plus side, he wasn't feeling cold anymore. If anything, he was sweating a little.
-
<< @Team [Ohanzee] Two low, one high. Coming fast. We're not their quarry. >>
Checking out the ARO in his goggles, Sam puts two and two together and figures something must be chasing the sasquatches. He's torn. On one hand, he's happy these whatever they ares aren't after him, but on the other hand, he feels bad for the tree dwellers. From what little he can remember about sasquatches, he knows they're an intelligent, peace loving, gentle people who feel fear and pain just like anything else. With a resigned sigh, he makes his decision.
<<Team [Ace] Sam, orders?!>>
<<@ Team [Uncle Sam] Whatever's chasing the sasquatches, light em up. Can't have viscous woodland killers this close to our camp.>>
He strains his eyes, looking down his rifle sights up into the trees, seeking a target.
-
There's a silence before the storm. The wind whips the snow up around you while the cold sinks through your clothes.. Will the hunters go around you or through you? Or are you a suitable substitution for the escaping sasquatch?
Ohanzee sees the hostility in the auras of the others. He can tell that the targets are all Awakened, and all about as powerful as he is.
There's a horrible screech from the forest as the attack begins.
-
<<@ Team [Uncle Sam] Whatever's chasing the sasquatches, light em up. Can't have viscous woodland killers this close to our camp.>>
There's no questioning from Ace, no second-guessing. He begins mentally dictating a response: <<@Team [Ace] Ack- when he feels movement in front of him. He still can't see anything on the thermo aside from the cold air and cold snow, but Katsina's spell is doing its part, and Ace has just enough time to lean back as the Lancer is knocked from his hands. Whatever it is, it's big, and it's strong, and it's right fucking in front of him. Ace opens his palm and strikes forward with his right hand as hard as he can, trying to find purchase for his Shock Hand to put the invisible assailant down -- or at least slow it down some.
-
Ace can't see whatever is coming for him. In the small patch that's visible around his flashlight there is only black and white. Black trees, black sky, white snow. Thermographically, there's just cold and more cold. If he had to rely on his own senses he would surely be mismatched. But he's not alone. He finds an invisible angel on his shoulder, whispering instructions in his ear.
Lean back, Katsina whispers. He does, and feels the rush of wind from a claw swiping downward at his face. It misses him but knocks the Lancer down.
Duck, the voice says, so he does as another swing rushes over his head.
Counter, 10 o'clock. He snaps his right hand out, palm forward, and crashes it straight into his assailant. The shock hand discharges, pumping whatever it is with thousands of volts of party time. The beast drops, creating a huge imprint in the snow as its tweaking and freaking creates an inadvertent snow angel. A snow angel. Maybe that is what's in Ace's ear.
-
In a flash Sam is next to Ace, the full force of his body weight brought down hard into the snow. At first, Ace can't tell if the stomp hits or not, but he sees the snow angel flinch to his right, slightly, and since he doesn't hear the sound of breaking bones, he can only figure that Sam missed. Ace knows he can't afford to let the creature stand again, so he rears back and puts the full force of his own body weight into his shock hand, burying it in the creature's fur. He can hear the breath intake of air, and then the crunch of snow as the creature's limbs flail about, the smell of burning hair fills his nostrils, and then the creature is still.
One down.
-
Sam still holds the rifle in both hands as he changes tactics rapidly at the last second. He'd hoped to fill whatever that thing is full of flachette as it charged, but hadn't counted on just how fast the damn thing was. In a heartbeat, it was already on top of Ace, batting the laser out of his hands and almost taking his larynx out. Sam had already taken a stride or two toward the beast when Ace's insane reflexes kicked in and he brought it down with the shock glove. It's not dead yet. He raises that mighty boot of his again and brings it down as hard as he can. Only this time, the mighty boot has a not so mighty snow shoe attached to it, and the added weight and odd shape messes his aim up. The creature thrashes out of the way at the last second; Good thing too. He might have had to walk back to the camp with one shoe.
Then two things happen, nearly at once. First, Ace hits the poor bastard with another god knows how many volts from that shock hand of his, while it's still on the ground, throwing the scent of burning fur into the air. Secondly, he notices one of the ARO's Ohanzee had painted for them earlier getting too close, too fast. Not having a clue which direction the attack is coming from, but knowing damn well it is coming, Sam throws his bodyweight to the right as hard as he can, as though he were shouldering an invisible door. In the blink of an eye, he knows his choice of direction was wrong, but at least he picked a direction. Had he remained still, the razor sharp claw would have been right at his unarmored throat. "Luckily", he's only raked across the lower abdomen. The claw tears deep from behind, through his layers of battered armor, thick clothing, and rough skin, at last finding flesh and blood, deep underneath. The sensation is of no consequence to the horned juggernaut, though. The instant his feet touch ground a moment later, he shifts his weight and spins around 180 degrees to face the monster. Using his momentum from the spin to propel his titanium laced shinbone around at a ridiculous velocity, he whips it into the outside of his attacker's kneebone, caving it in at a freakish and agonizing looking angle.
-
The creatures attack as one, each taking the meta nearest them. The one attacking Ohanzee chooses to strike with a deadly ray of pure mana - invisible in the physical world, but bright and arcing like a bolt of lightning on the astral. Ohanzee sees the mana being gathered, shaped, and turned to its deathly purpose, and he uses his own ability to manipulate the permeating energies of the astral to try to disrupt the beast's efforts. But the attack was too swift, and Ohanzee too exposed, and the hot sting of destructive power ripping at very essence momentarily replaces the biting cold of the Colorado winter.
Ohanzee fights down panic - a fear that seems to grip him during the first moments of conflict - and reaches out to the spirit world for aid. Three Awakened - maybe not all Mages, but there was no reason to rule that possibility out - with imposing physical prowess vs. three metahumans - two un-Awakened whose technological modifications might physically put them in the same league, but leave them lacking magically, and one Awakened that might match them in raw magical power, but was woefully outmatched physically - was not the sort of odds he felt comfortable with. He knew that Wolf, or the specific incarnation of the great spirit, that he had summoned a little over 24 hours ago, was unlikely to heed his call. As proud as he might be, and willing to fight, even the scrappy spirit had to occasionally admit its limits, and it was unlikely that the spirit had healed all of its wounds completely. So to help save noble Wolf's pride, Ohanzee calls to a different beast spirit for aid - the lightning-fast Diamondback.
With the spirit world's usual promptness, the coiled snake appears near the summoner and takes stock of the mage as the quick chant the dwarf used fades from both the physical and astral realms. Apparently satisfied with its assessment, it looks around the scene it has found itself in, tongue darting in and out as it tastes the auras nearby. The spirit speaks directly to the shaman so that the other astrally aware beings can't listen in.
Sshaman, do you not know of the nature of Ssnakess? We prefer ssmaller prey. It watches as Sam and Ace curbstomp the fastest of the assailants. But ssome are known to weaken larger prey with venom, and ssimply wait for other predatorss to finissh it off.
And with no further explanation, the spirit awaits Ohanzee's instruction.
-
The form in the trees is horrified by the turn of events. Moments ago, a hunt in progress. Now, disaster strikes. It sees the first attack miss Ace - the concealed strikes never miss! - and then the little man struck back with the force of lightning! The second attack found its mark, but the great beast was not felled. Far from it, the titan came back swinging and now the second of them was screaming in pain after having its kneecap kicked up somewhere into its thigh. The second descends into a panicked, berserker rage at the pain.
And then, to top it all of, the bite-size one summoned an alarming apparition on the astral. Well, two can play at that game! The figure waves its paws, spinning the wind into a shape that takes the form of a glowing violet bear on the astral. Bear looks at Diamondback, then to its summoner, then back to Diamondback, then runs off.
Diamondback hisses at the third, which recoils in horror. Enmity had existed between their kinds since the dawn of time, with their ancestors crushing the others' heads while the others struck at their heels. Diamondback rattles, the sound gripping the creature's mind and conjuring up untold pain from generations past. It pivots on its tree, then leaps away into the darkness as fast as its arms and legs may carry it.
-
The beast howls in rage and pain as it tries in vain to operate it's leg properly and is rewarded with agony instead. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam sees another piece of snow fall from the tree and hit the ground. He looks up, expecting another attacker from above, but only sees one of the furry demons flash by above him, from one tree to another. It's trying to escape! Maybe summon help! Drop him! Figuring he's got maybe a second or two before the beast before him regains his footing, he braces the Pioneer 60 against his shoulder and lines up a shot. Unfortunately, the bugger is gone. He squints his eyes, and uses every bit of vision magnification his goggles can give him, but to no avail. Finally, he does a little bit of math in his head, imagines where the creature would be if it kept moving in the same direction at the same speed, and pulls the trigger. The loud hunting rifle rings out in the quiet night, clearly audible for miles around, but if the flachette found it's mark, Sam can't tell. Immediately, the big troll feels foolish. Don't do that again, you moron! We're trying to HIDE here, Tupitsa!
He doesn't have too much time to analyze his feelings on the subject as the furry clawed bastard with the broken knee pours all of its power into it's remaining leg and lunges forwarf toward the frosty troll with both claws outstretched. Although the attack still has all the power behind it as before, there's no more speed, grace, or suprise to it and Sam is easily able to bat it's monstrous talons aside with the rifle butt. Noticing that it's attention is no longer focused on him, Ace shoots forward around the back of the monster's knees, hobbling it even further and giving it nearly no chance to defend against Sam's next attack.
With his teeth grit and lips pulled back in a snarl, Sam growls loudly from the back of his throat as he puts all of his weight into a massive haymaker. He swings his right fist in an arc like a wrecking ball and, bringing it down on the top left of the creature's forehead, he can feel the skull crack first, and then dent before he pulls his fist back. Any meta Sam's ever seen would be dead before it hit the snow, but with this thing, he's not certain. He drops back into his low, snowshoed fighting stance, awaiting either a counterattack or a death spasm.
-
Content from the smell of burning fur that the downed creature will not be standing up again anytime soon, Ace wheels around Sam who looks locked in combat with another of the invisible foes. He feints briefly with his cyber spur, feels the thing knock his arm wide, and follows up with open-fisted jab. It connects, and whatever it is, it steps back, but Ace is certain that it's still up. A moment later, he sees Sam throwing up his guard. It must be going for Sam's eyes, Ace thinks, as he flexes back on his cybernetic legs. If they're built at all like people, then it must be off balance now.
Ace lunges forward, low, and feels a mass of fur in his face, as he wraps his arms around the creature's legs. Yep, only two of them. That's a good sign at least. He must have come in at a good angle because Ace can feel the creature going off balance. There's also something off about its legs, like it's already wounded, and Ace can swear there's the softest sound of bone grinding on bone as he tries to hug the mass of fur in close, as he mentally dictates a comm to his teammates.
<<@Team [Ace] Ohanzee, numbers?>>
Once Sam's wild punch connects, Ace feels the creature twisting backward. He wrenches his left shoulder in and up, upsetting the creature to hit, Ace assumes, face-first in the snow. Is it down? For good?
-
The snow falls silently, and much of the combat unfolds similarly. The creatures are quiet and nearly invisible against the snow. Ohanzee does his best to update his teammates to the whereabouts of the enemy - his Sight allows him to see them clearly - but even though he can see them, his equipment cannot tap into his vision and automatically mark them with an ARO. His eyes focus on the physical locations that his Astral vision tells him the creatures should be, but he can see nothing. He mentally commands his commlink to mark the locations his eyes focus on as he looks from aura to aura. There, heading toward Sam. There, heading toward Ace. There, sitting still. The AROs dutifully appear in his, and his team's, vision. He hopes it will be enough. The first seconds of the engagement are a blur - Sam and Ace tag team the one that had attacked Ace, Ohanzee takes his licks from the mage
He sees his assailant flee as Diamondback stares him down with a blood curdling hiss and rattle. On the Astral, the spirit is impressive - as thick as a large man's torso, and as tall as an Ork even though it is coiled up. He sees the fear color the beasts aura, leaving the stain of it behind as it leaps from tree to tree. Diamondback glances briefly at the other remaining enemy, but seeing it facing down two of Ohanzee's allies, decides to pursue the fleeing foe. Ohanzee also considers assisting Sam and Ace, but the fight is so close in that he fears he'd do more harm than good. He doesn't have many options for attacking the fleeing creature. He can shoot it with his pistol, and almost certainly miss. He could Fireball it, and risk damage from the stress of casting, plus who knows what sort of collateral effects. Or he could hit it with a stunning spell. He opts for the latter - it's not optimal, but anything he could do to slow it down was worth doing. He finds the mana here surprisingly malleable - and abundant, considering the lifeless vista - and launches the stunning bolt of energy arcing toward the fleeing mage. But the mage throws everything he has into his defense - Ohanzee see's tendrils of defensive mana reach out from the mage toward the incoming projectile, tearing it apart and deflecting it from its course. By the time it reaches its target, it is severely weakened, and whizzes by the creature, missing by mere inches.
Diamondback has better luck - being wholly astral, he darts after its frightened quarry, and sinks its fangs deep into the beast's aura. It streaks through with pain, and Ohanzee can see from the aura that the victim nearly loses its balance - a dangerous proposition as it swings high above the forest floor. But it manages to keep its - footing? grip? It's hard to say.
Ohanzee can see that Sam and Ace are closing in on the other standing foe, and so he and Diamondback press their advantage while the creature is defenseless in its terror, attacking again like they did before. Ohanzee is distracted as he updates the AROs, marking the fallen one as an X, the one they are surrounding as stationary, and the fleeing one's vector with a squiggly line showing its erratic route. The distraction prevents him from properly centering his mind and protecting it against the raw mana channeled into his spell, but he manages to keep it controlled anyway, directing it harmlessly though his mind and body as the spell forms. But both he and Diamondback have no luck - the creature is moving fast, and with the addition of the Z axis to its options for avoiding incoming fire, it is able to foil their attempts to further wound it.
<<@Team [Ace] Ohanzee, numbers?>>
Ohanzee again updates the AROs - all of the creatures are down except the fleeing one, and it is moving too fast for the ARO to be much help. He's even losing sight of it as more and more trees obscure its aura from his view. It was up to Diamondback now to chase it down, unless Ohanzee opted to project his soul into the Astral in order to pursue it. He decides against it for now, and instead messages the others.
<<@Team [Ohanzee] Spirit pursuing the last one. I might follow if needed. >>
-
One left. Astral overwatch in pursuit. Things are looking very different for Ace than a moment ago. He tracks Ohanzee's ARO as he raises his Lancer, zeroes in, and pulls the trigger once.
<<@Team [Ace] Hit?>>
Ohanzee gives the affirmative, but Ace doesn't relax yet. Laser rifle at the ready he considers wheeling on Sam. The big guy's guard is still up, but could Ace concentrate his fire, let loose with 3 of his 4 rounds left to penetrate the troll's armor and sub-dermal plating. His mind flashing back to the moments before the atack.
"This is the last one."
[spoiler]<<@To whom it may concern
I know very few things, lacking even my own name or where I came from, so I won't waste time with a backstory. Such a thing wouldn't be important anyway. What is important is the fact that I have in my possession, an ancient artifact, the likes of which the world has not seen in tens of thousands of years as well as the means to destroy it with a mere thought, should I desire to. The power contained in this artifact is so great, that when I destroy it, there is a very good chance it will tear the very fabric of this world asunder with catastrophic results across all continents. I do not want to do this, but will do so without a second thought, if pressed.
What must you do to keep me from doing this? My demands are quite simple:
1- Contact either The Draco Foundation, The Atlantean Foundation, The Dunkelzahn Institute of Magical Research, or The Astral Space Preservation Society. Send them a copy of this message.
2- I want a representative from any or all of those four groups to come meet me and take this damn thing from me.
That's all there is to it. To stop the destruction of your world, all you need do is come take this foul chunk of metal from me and remove the millstone from around my neck. If you are the offended party from whom I stole it, I'll even give it back for no more a fee than an explanation of events. Fair warning though, I am heavily armed and well supported by some of the most paranoid and trigger happy killers in the world. If you attempt to take it from me by force or deception, you will die. I've killed too many already and I don't want any more blood on my hands. PLEASE make certain this message finds its way to the proper eyes.
[Uncle Sam]>>[/spoiler]
Ace knows exactly what he'd have done before, if a teammate had violated the parameters of the mission. Step 1: Neutralize the teammate. Step 2: Assume leadership position. Step 3: Damage assessment. Step 4: Make tactical and strategical adjustments as needed to insure the success of the operation. Step 1, practical considerations: Ace isn't sure that he can drop the troll. Sure, maybe he can get the drop on him, but it's likely that Sam is still on high alert as well, and he's fast as well as tough. If Ace can't drop him immediately, then Ohanzee will certainly get involved, and that would not end well for Ace. Waiting was an option, until the adrenaline had subsided, until he could seize a more advantageous position, perhaps firing from cover.
Step 2, practical considerations: The truth is, Ace isn't as good a combat lieutenant as Sam. He's used to working solo, or in small groups as the infiltrator, or the shock troop. No, Sam had more skills, and made the chances of overall success greater. There would also be the attitudes of the team to keep in mind. So far, they've done well by not killing each other. Would the team think Sam's infidelity to be worthy of death, or would they see Ace as the rogue operative. What would their internal calculus be? Chino is certainly unstable, but would they turn on Ace as well, minimizing the chances that they could all walk out of this alive. These were shadowrunners after all, and they may not see Sam's actions in the same light that Ace does. And then a thought strikes him, They're not the only ones who are shadowrunners, you dumb hoop. You're a shadowrunner now. What do you think Ares would do if they knew what you were up to? Yes, Ares would kill him certainly, but Ace expect that. He's made his piece with it, but he hasn't violated the trust of the group, has he?
There was also this fight to consider. Sam had made his call, and he had seen it through. Whether it was dealing with the house in Aspen, or the ambush on the highway, Sam had done is part to keep the team alive. Yeah, back at that ambush, Sam had rushed out to be the bullet sponge when Ace was sure he was he was done for, and couldn't hit anything. Maybe all this thinking is just Ace's corp programming, and it doesn't have much application to life in the shadows. Or maybe that's why shadowrunners don't live so long.
No, Ace thinks dropping the Lancer to rest in its sling, and turns to face Sam. "Any idea what the fuck those things are?" he asks as Ohanzee approaches them.
Thinking about the rest of the team, and the fact that they haven't responded yet, Ace fires off another comm.
<<@Team [Ace] Threat neutralized. All team member check in. Ace present.>>
Moments pass, and when no one checks in, Ace think it's most likely that they're too far out for the comms to function. At least, that's what he hopes is happening. Cyber spur out, he approaches the downed creatures in turn, to make sure they're dead.
<<@Team [Ace] Ohanzee, probably best to make sure they stay down. You want any live ones, if that's still an option?>>
-
Doc has been continuing to work on the igloos that will house the team. Chino's apparent endless energy and Kat's new found strength make short work of it. Soon they are able to relax a bit as they wait for the scouting team to return. He sets up the satalite uplink and does a quick check of the local area for any matrix activity at all. Finding none aside from the team members, as expected, he leaves the link on as a way for them to keep in touch while they are scouting. Once they return he'll turn it back off to help conceal their location even more.
Suddenly he hears the unmistakable bark of the hunting rifle fire once in the distance, and races out of the confines of the snow house to check the area. Seconds later Ace sends a message:
<<@Team [Ace] Threat neutralized. All team member check in. Ace present.>>
<<<@Team [Doc] What threat? Heard a gun shot, everyone okay out there? Chino and Katsina are her with me still.>>>
-
With the last one down, Ohanzee sends an update to the team, indicating that all three are down, their location, and their general level of health - one is fading fast and will die without care, the others are merely knocked out.
To Ace's query, Ohanzee answers "No clue. Best I can tell is that they are Sasquatches, same as the one that they were chasing. I vaguely recall that Sasquatches are usually peaceful, so I don't know what got into these."
<< @Team [Ohanzee] Present, and no, I can't think of any reason to keep one alive. >>
-
Back at camp, Katsina begins work on her Imbolc festival. She gathers what dry wood she can scavenge, then has Chino chop it into pieces with his bare fists. She prepares an altar of stacked firewood, then a circle of small fires, drawing geometric designs in the snow with her claymore.
She explains to Doc and Chino, but mostly Doc since Chino is periodically slotting a chip:
"Imbolc is half way between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox. The time of quickening is at hand; it is the crossroads of the year. It is a time for divination, a time to discern and perhaps choose our path for the year ahead. Appropriate, given our situation, don't you think?"
After arranging the altar, she lights the fires and casts the Circle with her claymore grasped in front of her, pointing down.
"This is the time of the feast of torches,
When every lamp blazes and shines
To welcome the rebirth of the God.
I celebrate the Goddess,
I celebrate the God;
All the Earth celebrates
Beneath its mantle of sleep."
She thrusts the claymore into the ground, which sticks in the snow. She lights a candle that she stole from a survival kit and slowly walks the circle clockwise, bearing the candle before her.
"All the land is wrapped in winter.
The air is chilled and
Frost envelopes the Earth.
But Lord of the Sun,
Horned One of animals and wild places,
Unseen you have been reborn
Of the gracious Mother Goddess,
Lady of all fertility.
Hail Great Hecate!
Hail and welcome!"
She stops before the altar, holding the candle aloft. She lights the stacked wood at the altar, then stares at the flame before releasing the Circle.
-
"Any idea what the fuck those things are?"
Sam is quiet. He thinks about what he can remember about sasquatches, which isn't much, as he inspects his wound. It's not bad, but it's going to require attention. Dammit. He's about to ask Ace what he thinks of the burner comm from before when a flurry of conversation starts up.
<<@Team [Ace] Threat neutralized. All team member check in. Ace present.>>
<<@Team [Ace] Ohanzee, probably best to make sure they stay down. You want any live ones, if that's still an option?>>
<< @Team [Ohanzee] Present, and no, I can't think of any reason to keep one alive. >>
<<Team [Uncle Sam] Sam present. Lets let him live a bit longer. I want to see what he does. Doc, can I send you a live feed from the admittedly low quality camera on my smartgun? Maybe you can shed some light on this? Help us figure out what's stalking around our camp?>>
-
Sam transmits to Doc but receives only garbled gibberish in return. He tries again but the result is the same. With no wireless grid it's too far to connect directly comm-to-comm.
The adrenaline is starting to wear off and the cold is beginning to sink in. Sam is big enough that his body can maintain a stable temperature around his core even in extreme conditions, but the fact is that the sasquatch shredded through his armor jacket and its insulation. Sam can't feel the wound - if his damage compensators hadn't handled it then numbness from the cold would have - but the torn jacket does mean that his risk of exposure is that much greater. The blood is starting to freeze against his skin.
Ohanzee feels like he spent 30 seconds in a Siemens-Nixdorf NukIt microwave oven. He feels tight in his skin, his blood feels hot, and he's not entirely sure if he has his eyebrows or not. Diamondback circles its prey, seeking permission to complete its assignment.
Ace is unharmed but is eager to be done. Tactically, he agrees with Sam's original assessment that leaving hungry predators prowling around your camp is not prudent. That logic has not changed. If anything, it's doubly true for predators which are all but invisible to mundane eyes.
Minutes pass. The unconscious targets don't stir. The tawny orange sasquatch that was being chased does not reappear. The night stays cold and quiet as the snow continues to quietly accumulate on the forest floor. Ace pops his spur.
The trio moves to finish their loop. The remainder of the traps and snares are set, then it's time to return to camp. Katsina's fires glow brightly and are pleasingly warm to thermographic vision.
Sam wobbles a bit on the final approach into camp. At first he passes it off as clumsiness with his snowshoes, which seems unlikely given that Sam's bioware makes him as limber and graceful as the great Russian ballerinos. He takes a few more long strides toward camp but then has to stop and prop himself up against a tree. Ace wonders if Sam lost more blood than he let on, but didn't they figure that Sam could give up a liter or two to Katsina? Sam's wound is ugly but doesn't seem that grievous.
Ohanzee assenses Sam and it's immediately clear that he is unwell. To punctuate the point, Sam collapses onto his hands and knees, then projectile vomits into the snow. Then he flops on his side and groans painfully, his damage compensators useless against whatever he's confronting.
-
To punctuate the point, Sam collapses onto his hands and knees, then projectile vomits into the snow. Then he flops on his side and groans painfully, his damage compensators useless against whatever he's confronting.
Doc sees the giant fall to the snow, and then hears him vomiting. "Stand back, that's not just from wounds." He pulls up his balaklva as a paltry defense against any possible airborn contaminates, opens up one of the medkits and begins to examine the groaning behemoth.
-
While the trio stands in the snow, waiting to see if any more of the beasts arrive to check in on - or finish off - their fallen brethren, Ohanzee stays Diamondback's fang. Soon.
Not liking being exposed, he finds a tree and stands with his back to it while he summons his magic and channels it into healing himself. He asks Sam if he would also like him to tend to his woulds, but Sam waves him off. He claims it is only a minor wound, but to Ohanzee it looks rather grievous. Regardless, he doesn't press - if the troll can power through it until they return to camp, then he can maximize the benefit of the team's healing resources by having Doc tend to him first. Once magic had been applied to an injury, mundane medicine could no longer help - short of bed rest and time.
Finally Sam sighs and gives the go ahead to complete their patrol of the camp and laying of traps, satisfied that the dying - but alive - creatures did not stir from some preternatural regeneration nor have allies come to their aid. Or enemies come to finish them off. Turning away, he gives Diamondback the go ahead to finish off its vanquished prey - the anxiousness it had displayed made Ohanzee sure he did not wish to witness the deed. He was tempted to dismiss the spirit, but decided that so long as it was here - and considering what they had just faced - it would be good to have another ally accompany them on their patrol.
But the remainder of the trip was uneventful, and soon the camp was in sight, a welcoming fire visible as they approached. Perhaps too visible, the cautious corner of Ohanzee's mind provided. He pushed it down - while tactically imprudent, the fire was core to Katsina's ceremony and thus to her general demeanor, and besides, the warmth would be welcome. Once they arrived back at camp he could dismiss Diamondback and summon a spirit of air to thin the smoke as it was likely more visible than the fire - hidden by the thick trees as it was - unless you were already almost directly above the camp. But they barely made it to the outskirts of the camp when the giant troll collapsed, heaving, to the cold ground. Doc rushed to his side and immediately began tending to his wound.
"Move him near the fire. Let's try to keep him warm." Ohanzee suspected now that the claws that had delivered that wound had delivered something else as well - a disease or toxin of some sort. He peered intently at the large man's aura to see if he could find out if his suspicions were correct and perhaps glean some information. He was also curious as to how the nanites would respond to such a malady infringing on their turf. Though he wouldn't have wished this on any of his friends, it did present an opportunity to see if the nanites provided them any resistance to infections or toxins (other than alcohol). They seemed to be unable to make any headway against Kat's Infection, but HMHVV was as much (or more) magic as it was disease and so might escape the ability of the little machines to battle. With that unpleasant thought, he hoped that the current malady was not magical in nature and that the little buggers could lend a hand or two (billion).
-
Looking at the ground where he should be seeing the dead remains of the "sasquatches," Ace worries about leaving them so close to camp. He knows what happens in the corp world when the scent of death is in the air, and could only assume that it would be the same way here. There isn't much choice though, and so the trio head out to finish with the snares and traps.
While holding back a branch so that Sam could set a half hitch Ace uses his free hand to slip the commlink back in the breast pocket of the troll's jacket. "You keep it."
What else was there to say really? Sam was not the type to want to hug it out or brawl it out, and Ace isn't really sure how you act with friends. Is that was these people are becoming now? It's bit of an uncomfortable thought. Katsina is enough of a complicating factor, and Ace was genuinely hurt when the knowledge of her infection was forced out into the open instead of being confided in him, and that feeling made Ace feel petty and child-like. What difference should it make, where the information came from, so long as he had it?
With Sam, it was mostly a tactical decision, but there was something else there too, and it was something that wasn't just a reluctance to kill. If Ace had his memory, at least he would know if his opinions toward this new team were something similar to the bond he felt with others in his unit in the pre-Instigator days. As it stands, Ace believes that Katsina is the first person he liked in a very long time after becoming what he is now.
But "You Keep it," said two things as far as Ace could tell. It said, "I trust you with it now," and Ace does believe he can trust Sam, but it also says, "You walk with the weight of it." Surely the big man can handle that.
"Where'd you leave them?" Ace asks of the other burner commlinks. It'll be important for them to know what the chances are for third-party involvement, and under what timeline.
"Do the others know? If not, we need to tell them."
#
The light from Katsina's fire washes over Ace in a sense of relief. With the comms jammed up, Ace has been worried, though he hasn't said anything, that whatever was out there may have had a second party near the camp. He picks up his speed as much as his snow shoes will let him, and at first he can't tell that anything is wrong with Sam until he hears a branch snapping. Looking back at his friend -- Yeah, maybe that is the word. -- he sees the large man had broken a branch cleanly off trying to balance himself. Sam says he's fine, so Ace doesn't push the matter, though he does slow down to keep pace. And then slows more, as Sam's movements become less controlled and more jerky. When Sam collapses against the tree, Ace rushes to him and Ohanzee. Seeing how Ohanzee is taking preparations against disease Ace mentally switches on his internal air tank, and stops breathing.
After a cursory look over him, Ohanzee says,
"Move him near the fire. Let's try to keep him warm."
Ace helps get Sam those last few meters, and posts up worriedly, trying to give Doc and the waggly finger types room to work.
Chino, it appears, is not taking the news of Sam's illness so well. "What do you mean he's unconscious? Wake him the fuck up?" he nearly yells kicking over a tree. "And whaddya mean you couldn't see them? You use your fucking eyes for fuck's sake." In the end, Chino sits near the edge of the fire, thinking about slotting a chip.
-
Something isn't right with Sam. He keeps up the same pace and he keeps his back straight, but with every step through the blinding snow, he feels worse and worse. Whatever it is, it will pass. I'll be fine. But after another ten minutes of walking, he feels like a bag of hot dog shit. Despite the fact that he can feel the cold winter air seeping in through the tear in his jacket, he's drenched in sweat and actually enjoys the cool breeze on his ribs. As long as he can make it back to camp and get a good night's sleep he'll be fine. Or at least, he hopes. A dark voice in the back of his head wonders, What if the nanites are doing this to you, because you haven't been drinking beer? From behind, he feels Ace slip the burner back into his pocket and the mere sensation of being touched by another person almost makes him wretch. A few seconds later, the chromed human speaks to him, the sound of his words, irritating the inner ear.
"Where'd you leave them?"
He takes a deep breath and speaks slowly and evenly as he answers. He'll be damned if he's gonna let on that just the act of walking makes him wanna vomit his boots out. "One at the safehouse, and another at each stop we've made since then."
"Do the others know? If not, we need to tell them."
Just keeping one foot in front of the other, Sam answers. "I suggested the idea to Ohanzee and Chino. They both advised against it. I did it anyway. I plan on telling the others when we return." He turns to look at Ohanzee for a moment as he continues. "Sorry, Hanzee. It just felt like the right move."
-------------------------
Soon, Sam's vision is getting blurry. He can see the camp ahead of them, but he kind of doesn't care. His fingers and toes are all tingly. I haven't seen a butterfly in a long time. The sweat has finally stopped pouring out of him, but that may be cause his pores are frozen shut with the stuff. Is snow supposed to wave like that? The massive troll is feeling positively groovy. He vaguely notices that there's a big fire, but whatever. Hey, there's Chino!!! But that's not his real name. Sam begins staggering toward him, intending on giving him a big hug. Only getting a step or two before losing his balance and stopping, he tries to point at Chino, but only manages to sort of twitch his right arm in the general direction before bellowing out, "YOU'RE A TRID STAR, KID!" and collapsing onto all fours in the snow.
He remembers tasting his boots in the back of his throat before everything goes dark.
-
Against his advice, the team all gather around the fallen giant to help move him towards the fire. Doc tsks quietly to himself as they all fuss over their fallen comrade. He goes through the diagnostics and readout from the medkit and biomonitors. His face turns ashen as he's reading the results.
In an authoritative tone Doc sets forth the rules, "Okay, no more contact with the patient. He's contracted Ghilani Moneriviridae, otherwise known as HMHVV Strain II. While highly contagious, it does need to be injected. So, open wounds near him are a problem, as is ingesting his vomit, fecal mater, sweat, saliva or any other bodily fluids."
He looks at Ohanzee and Katsina and continues, "There is very little technology can do to help him. And little I can do other than monitor his health, make him comfortable and try to keep him as healthy as possible so his own body, and possibly the nanites, can fight the infection. If either of you have anything that can bolster his body and or mind, or better yet specifically fighting diseases it would give him a fighting chance." Addressing the rest of the team once more, "Survival rates are extremely low, but Sam is extremely tough. If he does survive, he'll drop into a coma and devlop Jarka’s Syndrome within the next 20 hours. Those with this syndrome are referred to as fomóraig."
Doc finishes his diagnosis and report of the patient and returns to being a team member, obviously stricken by the news of prognosis. He looks worryingly at Sam as the Russian's body struggles to fight off the disease knowing there is nothing more he can do for him.
-
As Doc continues to monitor Sam's condition he becomes more and more worried. Sam's immune system appears to be compromised. Running some more checks, Doc sees that this is likely from receiving immune-suppression treatments for recent cybersurgery or a bio-genetic procedure. Not only will Sam have a hard time fighting the retrovirus, but he'll be even more susceptible to normal things like bronchitis and pneumonia. The decker-cum-docter checks the supplies of their various medkits hoping to find something that can help boost his companions chances of winning this personal battle.
-
Katsina rushes forward to check on Sam. She agrees with Ohanzee that moving him by the fire would probably be best for Sam, plus it will give Doc some more light to work with. She hooks a hand under one of Sam's armpits while Ace does the same. Using her magically boosted strength, she heaves and lifts his shoulders off the ground just enough to drag him the final distance to the fire.
She has a flat, even look on her face while Doc delivers his prognosis and warns everyone to stay back. "I can be your hands," she says. "I'm not at risk for infection. Further infection."
Internally, her thoughts are at war with themselves. Infection is not a death sentence, but would it be better to be dead? Personally, she regrets her condition; she wants to be a giver, not a taker. But could she make that judgement for another? Would Sam even know the answer, were he in any condition to contemplate it and answer?
"I don't have anything that will help," she says ruefully.
-
Katsina studies Sam's astral form. She can see the Infection marching through his veins, advancing like soldiers sweeping through peasants. The nanites try to beat the Infection back but are overwhelmed.
"I'm going to try something drastic," Katsina says. "I can try to suck it out like snake venom."
Doc raises a finger to object, knowing that the sucking snake venom was a myth busted over a hundred years ago. But what's the harm in trying here? Doc is losing the battle against Sam's HMHVV and he knows it.
Katsina whispers something to herself in Sperethiel and then removes her mask - pulling it out of thin air from most perspectives, as her spell conceals the mask behind her new "face" - before setting it down next to her. She looks up at Chino, who she eyes warily as he stomps about and gnashes his teeth. "Keep and eye on Chino, please," she asks Ace and Ohanzee, unsure of how the ork will react to the scene.
Kneeling in the snow, Katsina bends down to the wound and bites Sam's abdomen. She dips her face low and tries to be as discrete as possible under the circumstances. After a minute, she sits up and spits a bit with a distasteful look on her face.
"It tastes awful," she admits. "Like a scoop of dirt mixed into your water." She shakes her head to indicate her doubt about the attempt. Doc continues to monitor Sam's vitals and confirms that the transformation is well underway.
"He's slipping into a coma," Doc says after another hour. "This one's going to be close."
Another hour passes as Sam convulses and sweats profusely with everyone watching on in silent vigil. Finally, Sam's body spasms, then is still except for his breathing.
"It's too late," Katsina says gravely. Doc nods at the verdict.
What should I do? she thinks to herself. I could drain his remaining essence. He'd slip away, nobody would have to know. Would people secretly prefer that, even if no one is brave enough to say it? Or is Sam one of us, no matter what?
She tries to wring her memory for her own transformation event, but all she can remember is the shock and panic. Did I want this? she asks herself. Was an I an accident? She looks at her mask, feeling that it must be a clue of some sort. She picks it up, places it on her face, then whispers again in Sperethiel. There's a small click as the mask locks into place behind her spell.
Doc studies the monitors and does the calculations. "The transformation will be complete in 20 hours," he announces.
Katsina nods. "We need to rest soon, hard as that might be. We should make a plan for tomorrow. For your safety, you should not be here when Sam wakes up. He'll be hungry and confused. I remember the trauma of it if not the actual details. I can coach him through it, but it will take some time.
"His diet is going to be a complication. The good news is that he'll be omnivorous - except for cooked meat - but he'll need metahuman meat to survive. It doesn't have to be immediate, but Sam's a big guy and will need quite a lot. I'm guessing 25 kilos a week, which is rather more than the 'proverbial pound of flesh'.
"There will be other complexities too, but we'll get to those in time."
She looks around to see if anyone has any questions, assensing them to gauge their reactions to the situation.
"Ohanzee, we should probably maintain our astral overwatch scheme. Do you want first watch or second?"
-
Why didn't he see it? The creatures should have looked wrong. Sam's wound should have looked wrong. But they hadn't. Maybe he just didn't look hard enough. Maybe if he'd tended to the wound sooner.
A thousand maybes, and yet logically he knew there was nothing he could have done. Try as he might, he still could not discern Katsina's condition by looking at her aura. But knowing that didn't help his mood.
As the firelight waned, the group stood vigil over the felled troll. It had been hours since he had confirmed that he had no magic, no spirit power, that could help their friend. It was still unbelievable to see Sam succumb to anything - he had been a rock, an unstoppable force, an immovable object. All of these things - fearless, stoic. And the invisibly small disease had finally done what bullets and car crashes had failed to do - bring the giant man low. He worried with the rest of the team as Doc worked to keep him alive. The odds of survival were slim, the odds of fighting off the disease even worse. Ohanzee could see, when he specifically looked for it, the nannies struggle valiantly to defend against the invading disease, but struggle as they might, their failure was soon evident. The Infection came on like a storm, hammering against the meager defenses of the nanites like tidal waves crashing down on a coastal village.
After hours of sweaty-palmed hand-wringing, Doc and Katsina confirm their worst fears. "It's too late".
And now the real worrying began. The troll lived, but the Infection had won. Doc provided details on what physical changes they could expect, but what of Sam? What of the friend that had bled with them for the entirety of the short days since they'd first stirred in that overturned van? Would he still be there? Was the technological infection the reason they had forgotten their past, the reason they were who they were now? With the nanotech gone, who would remain? Of course, Katsina was free of the nannies too, and she still claimed to suffer from amnesia, so it is just as likely that the artifact was to blame. After the results of the tests the Atlantean Foundation had run, it seemed the safer bet. This was not the way he wanted to find the answer to that question.
Vampires he knew - not just because they had had one amongst them for as long as they could remember, but because they were much more well documented by the media. Whatever memories he still had deep in his mind of the time before the obelisk (he was almost sure now that that was the cause of their memory loss), they had some rudimentary information about vampires. They were, as a rule, bad, but they were still rational, feeling metahumans. Fomóraig were completely alien to him. Were they angry, aggressive beasts like those that had attacked them? Or were they more in control of themselves, mostly like their previous selves aside from their new abilities, weaknesses, and hunger?
Doc says that the transformation will be complete in 20 hours, and Katsina mentions her intent to guide him. They seem to know what she is talking about, and so it seems that with proper care and guidance, he might be the same old Sam they have known, just in a new body. Ohanzee sends a prayer up into the cold, cloudy sky to the Great Spirit. We could not save his body, but please, I beg of you, save his soul.
When Katsina asks which shift he'd prefer, he volunteers for the first shift. He couldn't sleep now if he wanted to, so he may as well put his restlessness to use. No one brings up the issue of the burner phones, and Ohanzee doesn't care to think about it now either. One crisis at a time if you can help it.
-
"Okay, no more ... Moneriviridae, otherwise known ... vomit, fecal mater, sweat, saliva or any other ... can do to help him ... his own body ... fight the infection ... If either of you ... extremely tough ... into a coma "
We love making snow angels. Andrei and I. He's a few years younger than I am, but this is the first winter he's been old enough to run around and play with me. He doesn't make snowballs very well; They tend to disintegrate into powder before they reach their target. He's not patient enough to make a snowman, and he gets frightened on the sled, but we make snow angels for hours. He giggles while he kicks his legs and flails his arms, his laughter filling the mountain air around their tiny, isolated home. Mother calls them from the porch, as it's starting to get dark. "Okay, no more horseplay! Time to come inside!"
"Okay, no more Mr nice guy!" Even as big as I am nowadays, Dad's always been bigger, and he's always lorded it over the whole family. This is the first time he's ever hit me though. And he hits hard. And repeatedly. Mother cries, but even through the entire beating, I can't tell if she's crying cause of the beating or cause of what I am. I try to shield my face, but that only enrages him further. He knocks my hand away and breaks my left horn with his enormous hands. The pain is excruciating. "Moneriviridae, otherwise known as an abomination!"
College life is incredible. I had no idea how sheltered I'd been my whole life. Parties like these are only the tip of the iceberg, too. "Moneriviridae, otherwise known as Stigma. I can think of a lot of uses for a man of your size." is how the fashionably dressed ork gentleman introduces himself. Something about the way he's dressed, the way he carries himself, as though he owns the whole world. Something about the confidence, the unapologetic frankness about him draws me to him in a sense. We talk for a few minutes and I'm even more enchanted with his entire persona. I want to be this man. He looks me deep in the eyes and says, "Consume me. Flesh, mind, organs, vomit, fecal mater, sweat, saliva or any other substance which may give you sustenance."
"And if you get any vomit, fecal mater, sweat, saliva or any other foul thing on your body I will kill you." He punctuates each item on the list with a hefty swing from that cruel right fist of his. Between punches, I look up at him, bleeding from my lip and cheek wondering if I'll ever be big enough to kill him one day. He just keeps on screaming. Mom tries to calm him down, but he screams at her too. "Dammit, don't you get it?! This is the only thing we can do to help him!"
This is one of the more dangerous trails he could ever hit with the snowmobile. At least Sammy is here. He's only known Sammy for a couple weeks since the cool ork with the funny accent moved into the school district. "C'mon, it's my own body! Yours too!" He says as he guns it uphill and starts the run. It's cold and it's dark and I'm already exhausted, but I follow after him. Even though I'm terrified, I'm more exited to try it out. Maybe fifteen minutes of zigzagging though trees and rocks at high speeds in the pitch black, save the headlights later, we come across a small clearing and slow down for a moment to see the sights. There's a dead man here, smashed up against a rock with his snowmobile. Took the turn too fast, it seems. Probably only been here a week or two. Now, the fear is winning the competition. This isn't fun anymore. I'm going back. Pointing at the wreckage, I call out to Sammy. "What about his own body, huh?" Sammy looks sad and disappointed in me. "I'm sorry dude. I can't do this. I'm going home. See ya at school."
"...and further tissue damage by the body's immune cells and the chemicals, called cytokines, they release to fight the infection. The result can be impaired nutrient absorption, excessive water and mineral loss through the stools due to..." God! This knowitall just drones on and on. I hate this school anyways. Who the hell even still dresses like that. There's only like 5 other kids, and they're all rich kid human corpers who hate me even though I could kick all their asses. I don't even get why I'm the only little kid in a class full of adults, but it's pretty damn intimidating. I don't know if they notice I'm just a scared little kid yet, but sooner or later they're gonna. Two of the other kids start passing notes back and forth. I know they're about me cause they keep looking at me. Finally teacher sees them and says, "If either of you have anything you'd like to share, you can read it out loud to the class." Oh God, please no?! Everyone is going to laugh at me when they hear it.
"If either of you ever see eachother again, it will be a cold day in hell." Dad doesn't speak angrily or even with any emotion at all. he just sits in his chair, reading his news in his stupid ARO that looks like an old timey newspaper, sipping his tea and speaks like the cold hearted asshole he is. My heart is breaking. I'm never going to see my best friend ever again. If I weren't certain he'd beat me for it, I'd cry. It's all I want to do. "You've got to be extremely tough about this, boy. And you'd damn well better."
-
It's the worst kind of helplessness. Ace stands at the outskirts of the group, and at first there are things to do. Calm Chino for one, who after his initial outburst sits looking off into space. And Ace did what he could to keep the fire fed while Katsina and Ohanzee doted on Sam, but that work didn't do much to calm Ace's thoughts. If he hadn't been so agitated about the commlink, if he wasn't at the very moment of the attack questioning Sam's combat leadership, would he have reacted faster? After dropping the first one, could he have gotten to Sam a moment earlier to wrap up the monster's legs, staying him long enough for Sam to put in his killing blow?
I am malfunctioning, Ace thinks. This questioning, these feelings of guilt reduce his effectiveness, and the team is not in clear. Camp is not a safe place, but he's practically tripping over himself keeping the fire going, and he can't seem to focus on his surroundings. He tries to run an internal diagnostics of the situation. The periphery is trapped, they have their weapons close, but those things come from the trees. And then Sam. Back to Sam, how he might die, or perhaps worse become like one of them.
Katsina's words that she can help guide Sam should he turn makes Ace feel better about the prospect of keeping Sam in some sense, but it also means that she doesn't hold out much hope for him beating the infection outright. Half a second. That's all Ace would've needed. It's all he had to delayed for them to be in this mess. He was too worried about conserving ammo, and now his friend is in a comma. And then there was the commlink to consider. He doubted Katsina, Doc, or Chino would take a look at it right now, distracted as they were, but this is not how Ace would like them to find out. Ace also decides that he won't have the chance to slip the commlink back out of Sam's pocket, so he decides that he'll have to let it lay for now. If Sam lives, they can have that talk, but he won't deprive Sam of the right of bringing it to them himself. If . . . the other, then Ace will tell them before they make their next move.
Forcing his brain to focus, at least now he has a plan, Ace makes one last check of the perimeter and finds that their astral overwatch has been decided. "Wake me if you need another set of eyes," he says. "I'm going to sleep, or try to anyway."
-
Katsina nods to Ohanzee, then heads to the van to turn in. She crawls into the front seat normally occupied by Sam. Tilting the seat back, she wraps herself in a blanket to ward off the chill that rushes in every time the door opens, then takes off her mask. She feels better with the mask on, like a safety blanket, but it's still a challenge to sleep in.
Closing her eyes, her thoughts turn to Hecate. Goddess, please guide us.
She tries to squeeze her memory for any recollection of her own conversion, seeking some clue that might ease Sam's transition. She remembers... darkness? Does she really remember darkness or is that the memory of nothing? Darkness... then a light. Well that's all terribly symbolic and completely quotidian as it happens every time you open your eyes, she thinks to herself.
It's not hard to fall asleep, or at least not as hard as she might have feared. Maybe, just maybe, there's something in the back of her head that tells her that she got through this, so others can too. Sam was bigger and tougher and she wasn't the least bit concerned for him physically. His psyche was the more concerning point. Would he become feral - she recalls the deranged look on his face as he carried the bomb to the obelisk in the overturned RV - or would he retain a sense of restraint? Would he even remember how to operate the bomb?
Asleep, she dreams, then remembers the dream when she wakes up to roll over. A party. I can't even remember having been to a party. I must have at some point... right? But I have no memories of parties. I can conceive of what a party is and what goes on at them, but have no personal reference points. Then back to sleep.
Another dream. A coupling in bed. Ecstatic. She wakes up again, wonders where that came from. A feeding? A rush of essence? She clears her mind then resumes her sleep.
Outside, Ohanzee can do little but sit next to the fire and watch Doc's medkit monitor Sam's vital signs. The story on the astral mirrors the tale told by the beeping electronic device. The infection creeps through Sam, branching down every capillary and extending out to every pore. It's not hard to see and he wonders why he never noticed it in Katsina, or the Sasquatches. They must have training, he realizes. Probably helps with the hunt.
Chino grabs a case of beer and wanders off on his own. Are the nanites compelling him to drink like that, or is he trying to drown the pain of Sam's transformation? Or is he a reckless BTL addict who is trying to numb the pain of not being able to slot a chip right now? He lashes out in the distance, knocking over trees or breaking rocks when they get in his way. Ohanzee and Diamondback keep tabs on him, Diamondback checking and doublechecking to see if Chino is a threat and, if so, is he edible?
Ohanzee and Diamondback keep watch all night, throwing wood on the fire to ward away the frozen night air. Diamondback comes to Ohanzee as dawn begins to break in the east.
Shaman, my time is nigh. Command me or releassssse me.
-
Watching as Sam looses his battle against the infection and slips into a coma, Doc sees that it's almost a release for the giant. While in the coma his body is disconnected from his mind. The infection rages and tears apart Sam's body, rebuilding it in its own image, and meanwhile his consciousness is blissfully unaware of whats happening. Existing in a dream state, removed from this temporal plane.
Doc is releaved that the team has the resources to help make Sam's transition more comfortable. Knowing the only thing he can do to help his colleague is to repair the wounds created by the tranformation so that when he awakens he'll only have to deal with his new state and not healing the damage as well, Doc sets to keeping the biomonitor and medkit up. Resigned to the circumstances, Doc starts to look at the situation more objectively. Analzying what's happening to the nanites, how they react. Watching what happens to Sam's implants and bioware. Fascinated by the destructive capacity of the infection as it tears through the host body. Doc takes notes on the pathologies of the event and quickly looses track of time. He fails to notice the way Ace is pacing and looking so distraught. Completely fails to be aware of Chino going off on another rampage destroying the army of snowmen he had spent the previous hour creating. Again, something that failed to make it into Doc's consciouness. Ohanzee trades off watch with Katsina, and the only reason Doc realizes this is because they both come to check on their commrade. It's a good thing he's not needed for a watch during the night as he would have completely missed it.
A small part of his mind reminds him that his companions might be distrubed by his cold analysis and entrancement with the process, but that barely makes it into the consious level of thought. He knows he'll have to make an effort to be more personable in the future.
-
Ohanzee's watch passed in relative uneventfulness. "Uneventful". The whole thing was one big "event". Saying that the was uneventful was a little like saying that the ambulance ride to the hospital during a heart attack was "uneventful". But it was, at least, free of surprises. No attacks, no sudden revelations. Just the utterly predictable, and utterly devastating, course of the retrovirus as it consumed Sam's body and reworked into something else.
Sam's groans and breathing punctuated the otherwise silent watch. Doc administered aid - applying ice to cool the fever, wiping away the troll's voluminous sweat, and then keeping him hydrated. At some point, the sweat turned to a caustic substance that disintegrated the rags that Doc was using and so Doc simply stopped wiping it away. Ohanzee took over for Doc frequently, but the Decker never seemed to leave Sam's side for long. Ohanzee doubted he even slept, but Doc assured him he was fine. Cat naps, perhaps? Or maybe the night passed in such a blur that Ohanzee lost track of time and the Doc really did get longer bouts of sleep. All he knew was that whenever he looked in on Sam, Doc was there as well or had asked him to watch Sam while he went to get more ice or blankets, or wring out the rags of sweat, or whatever.
Diamondback was a critical part of the guard shift as Ohanzee's focus for anything other than Sam was fleeting. At dawn, the spirit departs with Ohanzee's blessing, though Ohanzee is sure the spirit is slightly irked to have been kept so long, and for such a comparatively boring task. Some spirits prefer the calm, others prefer the thrill of battle. It was fortunate that your mood often affected your summoning so that you often ended up with a spirit whose prediliction matched the circumstance. Diamondback had been summoned into the heat of battle, and so was predisposed to it. Watch duty was not it's forte, but it performed dutifully and admirably. Ohanzee offered up a small handful of his reagents as thanks before the spirit went and the large snake seemed pleased.
Doc was adamant that Ohanzee not touch Sam, for risk of infection. The wound on Sam's abdomen closed shortly before Ohanzee's shift ended, though Doc assured him it was simply part of the transformation - Sam would not have the rapid regeneration that Katsina enjoyed. He supposed that was a good thing considering the troll's extensive cyber and bioware, but still. He also looked in on the disease's progression on the astral every so often, and when he went to wake Katsina for her shift, the troll was as mundane as Doc or Ace. Six hours later, when he awoke for breakfast - again, "awoke" being an inappropriate choice of words - the troll was Awakened, though he still slept restlessly. He had also taken to muttering the odd phrase, sometimes in English, sometimes in Russian, and occasionally calling out in wordless yells.
By now, the physical changes were readily apparent - his fingernails were now long claws, his arms and legs were longer, and his skin was now visibly calcified and uneven looking almost like small barnacles had grown all over his body. And the excretions were also visible, covering every inch in a glistening sheen. How will we get him into the van? And still the practical part of his mind provided the uncaring thought: how will I be able to save my security deposit?
He caught Ace's eye here and there, wondering if he would broach the subject of the burner phones. After a non-productive night of sleep and the constant pattern of standing near Sam, realizing there was nothing to be done, leaving the camp to find something to do, finding that nothing seemed important as Sam lay unconscious and changing, then heading back to stand near Sam and repeat the process, Ohanzee felt he would finally welcome the conversation about the burners. Ace may have sensed this, and shook his head every time Ohanzee looked his way expectantly. Finally they were alone for a few moments out of ear shot of the rest of the team and Ace elaborated that he felt that Sam should be given the opportunity to bring up the topic with the others. As much as Ohanzee might have welcomed the distraction, he agreed with the logic. Sam deserved that much, and he might need something like that to take his mind off of his other worries.
By the time the second night rolled around, Ohanzee was fidgety as a Jazz addict. He had to keep his mind and hands busy and so he threw himself into doing every little task he could think of. He backseat drove as Doc did Matrix recon until the human simply dropped into VR so he wouldn't have to deal with him. Even so, Ohanzee sent a steady stream of messages demanding status updates. He had trouble focusing enough to stay in the astral for long and then suddenly he had focus, and threw himself into astral reconnaissance. Later he found out that Doc had snuck him some mild drugs - a relaxant and a depressant he guessed - to help calm his nerves.
-
Ace wakes to the surprise of having slept. He'll take it. He stumbles outside to see the fire still going strong and checks on Sam before doing anything else. He looks . . . monstrous, like something out of a gory low-budget trid, or a Halloween costume. The sheen to his skin makes him look plastic, and the protrusions are uneven in a disturbing fashion. Doc explains some of what's happening with a shrug, and Ace tries to focus on the fact that the chest wound has closed. That's a good sign, right?
Ace gives Doc a pat on the shoulder, and goes to find a tree to relieve himself by. "No, no, no, not there," Chino says, just getting up himself. Ace can't imagine a world where a statement like that would serious, and continues with this Ares Survivalist when Chino adds, "Look, omae, you know how dogs mark their territory?" Ace nods. "Well, so does pretty much everything else. Things that can hurt us out here, probably don't really wanna. With exceptions," Chino adds, casting a downcast glance at Doc and Sam. "But all night I've been drinking and marking camp for us, and right now, you're already standing in Chino territory. You want to help, you can go south of the van. I haven't been there yet, wiz?"
Ace shrugs, and does as Chino suggests. With the number of bottles around the campsite, it doesn't seem as though Chino was exaggerating the extent of his progress already. This is a new one on me. Astral security, physical security, and now chemical security.
After breakfast, everyone seems restless and agitated. Ohanzee is hounding Doc, Chino, having already chopped enough wood to last them another day, maybe two, is just pacing around, and while Katsina is being rather still after the end of her shift, she doesn't seem in top form. It occurs to Ace that they haven't talked much since getting here, and he approaches a little awkwardly, asks how things with Sam look, since she's been there and all before. "Hey, I know Sam was going to feed you, and we never got to around to that before. You've got to be hungry. I know that Sam was going to be able to take care of you better than the rest of us can, due to his size, but we need you at full strength. You, umm, you want to eat something? I'll be fine, and we can figure out another method when we decide on our approach to the DIMR."
After, Ace expresses an interest in returning to scene of the fight. Chino, still with a residual anger for the position that Sam is in, jumps right in. Ace also asks Ohanzee if he'd like to go, given how restless the dwarf looks. When it's all settled, Ace heads out with the group, trying to find the bodies of the downed critters in the light of day.
-
As dawn approaches, Doc takes a moment to setup the satalite uplink so he can compare his notes with published studies on Fomóraig and HMHVV Strain II. It's as if he thinks he can find some cure that no one else has now that he's got a patient in front of him. The pace he works at is feverish, obsessive. At one point, Ace comes up and puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him down and Doc just freezes. He's been working through the night burying any emotions or worries under the pretense of working. Nothing he's doing is going to change Sam's situation, he just feels he has to try something, anything to try and make a difference. Finally, after the team has breakfast, Doc admits defeat. Head low, he takes Katsina's spot in the van and crashes into unconsciousness.
His sleep is fitfull and restless. Dreams, more like nightmares, continue to plague him. Scenes from the chip where he and Chino slaughter the gun runners for fun, images of him killing the decker during the artifact run. Nanites running through changing the way he thinks, magic draining away his memories. Personality and memory fading from his conciousness. Shadows of Alzheimer's haunting him. And finally, Sam coming to devour him for not being able to save him.
He wakes with a start and stares around to see only Kat watching carefully over Sam. He quietly begins to weep in the van hoping no one sees his breakdown.
-
At Ace's invitation, Ohanzee practically falls over himself to accept. Even with a few days of growth on his face, his untempered excitement and diminutive size bear a strong resemblance to a small child that just got invited to go to the candy store. On the trek out to the site, Ohanzee is mostly quiet, but every few minutes says "I should see if Doc found anything" and sends him a message. It escapes his notice that all of Doc's replies follow a pattern, generated by simple instructions that Doc had provided his agent in order to blow off the little dwarf. Eventually, to Doc's (agent's) great relief, the party passes out of comms range of the camp and Ohanzee has nothing but the scenery to distract him, though he checks for signal about every 30 seconds.
Considering his constant hounding of Doc, one would think that he'd be less irritated when Ace keeps him on task with questions about what he sees on the astral, especially since without that guidance, Ohanzee's wandering thoughts would have prevented him from keeping up astral overwatch. But his agitation overcomes his logic, and he grumbles and makes snarky comments even as he dutifully shifts his perception to the astral to provide updates.
-
Great, Ace thinks walking, trying to keep his eyes peeled for invisible monsters that may jump from the trees. I've got a chip-head and astral overwatch who's spending more time watching his link than the mojo. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Still, good to be out, get away from camp, and have something to do.
<<@Ohanzee [Ace] How's the astral looking?>> Ace comms, thinking the dwarf might not be paying enough attention to hear him if he spoke.
"Same as the last time you asked," Ohanzee answers. "Trees are still living. The snow's still not."
Ace is careful to point out where the tripwires and snares are located, but he's worried about the dwarf, as distracted as he is, and tries to lead so that Ohanzee will simply follow in his footsteps a few meters behind. It seems to work out ok. Chino, meanwhile, doesn't talk much, but whenever he sees a nice mound of snow, he gives it good kick. The snow shoes diminish the effect quite a bit, but there's still a nice burst of powder when he does so.
When Ace thinks they're near the spot, he alerts Chino, so the ork can start tracking, and Ace looks to the trees, seeing if he can spot broken branches or other tell-tale symbols of last night's combat.
-
Katsina opens an eye in the morning. At least, she thinks that it's morning; the ice cocoon around the van blocks the natural light, thank Hecate. Did I dream... Can I now... she thinks to herself, wondering if something was unlocked - or remembered - in her sleep. She retrieves her mask and slips it on, whispering Sperethiel to herself as she does.
Outside, she pulls her lined jacket tightly around her to ward away the early-morning freezing temperatures. She's pleased to find the fires still going. She checks on Sam, making sure that he'll be in the shade when the sun rises. His new allergy will probably set in once he's awake, which won't be until after sundown, but no sense in him starting life off with crisp, blistered skin. Not that it would be much of a change, she thinks, looking over the nodules and greasy acid beginning to emerge from his pores.
Raiding the cooler for food, Katsina begins the process of making breakfast. Nothing too complex - she doubts that anyone has much of a palate at the moment - but she still wants it to be good. Sausage, bacon, eggs, biscuits. Coffee, certainly. Comfort food for uncomfortable times.
Once the men have been fed and Ohanzee has gotten some rest, Ace rounds up volunteers for a small expedition. "I'll watch over Sam," Katsina says. "If you find any hunting, go ahead and bring it back. Sam will be hungry when he wakes up. Not hungry hungry, but still."
Ace leads his band of merry men off into the snow. Getting away from camp is a welcome distraction. Chino calms down a bit, settling into his task of tracking the group's circuit last night. Snow fell overnight, covering most of the tracks, but he still does an expert job of identifying small broken branches and footprints under trees, which didn't get as much snow. He strings them together until you're back at the scene of the fight.
Ace doesn't have any trouble finding the corpses. Rigor mortis and freezing temperatures have locked them into their death poses. Nothing molested them overnight.
On the astral, Ohanzee and Chino see free spirits doing whatever free spirits do. Spirit of air whipping spirits of snow into small white tornadoes. Spirits of the mountain, indifferent, standing still as the tornadoes flow over them.
Chino cracks his knuckles. Ohanzee looks over and sees a glint in Chino's eye that looks somewhere between mischievous and murderous. Ohanzee reels him in. "No profit in it," he says.
Chino scowls and pouts and looks like a chastised child, but obeys. He picks up a rock the size of a baseball. Ace is initially concerned that Chino's going to bean an air spirit, but instead he waits for a mountain spirit to look over. When it finally does, Chino slams the rock between his hands and turns it into pebbles.
"Checkmate, cabron," he says menacingly, quoting some B-grade action trid. He lets the obliterated rock fall from his hands. "Sic semper spiritus."
The spirit, unmoved, turns and looks away.
-
This was a mistake. He was sure of it now, as they stood over the bodies of the crazed Sasquatches. Not only had it not taken his mind off of Sam's (worsening?) condition, but it also now put him out of contact with where all the action was happening. He had no idea if Doc had made any progress on the Matrix front. He couldn't stop by to check on Sam in person - what if he awoke and needed something only Ohanzee could provide? Like - . Well, it didn't matter that he couldn't imagine what that might be, all that mattered is that it could happen, and he wouldn't be there - again.
He kicked at one of the corpses, partly to verify that it really was dead (it's an icicle, but you never know, right?) but mostly out of spite, or frustration, or both. The ice cracked and a puff of powder rose briefly before settling down again. And Chino was here, as active and annoying as a caffeinated child. The denizens of the forest had already caused them untold trouble, and here Chino was, chomping at the bit to piss off the spirits that called this place home. Explaining that they already had enough enemies as it was proved futile, and so Ohanzee had to adopt a pattern that was not unlike a cross between a parent and a squad leader. Short, direct, clear. Orders. "No." "Stop that." "Stay on mission."
Stay on mission. Ohanzee said it almost unconsciously, but then nearly choked on it once he realized what he was saying. With his wandering thoughts, even he wasn't staying on mission. Even though he could analytically appreciate that Ace was the most focused of the bunch, he still resented his constant insistence that Ohanzee watch the Astral. "Sure thing, boss." "Oh, great idea, Captain Obvious." "I know what I'm doing, Robo-Cop."
And at last they were back at the spot where the ambush had happened. The creatures were easy to spot - well, easier. White on white was still a challenge, but whatever magic had assisted their concealment had faded - probably with the sunrise. Ace broke off some body parts - fingers, fangs. Ohanzee suspected that he had gotten a shopping list from Doc before they set out. Idly he admired the foresight, but overtly he was just as snarky as ever. "You know, we brought some provisions with us if you're hungry." Chino guffawed, which made Ohanzee wish he hadn't said it much more than the dark glance that Ace threw his way before his mask of professionalism snapped back into place and he pretended not to hear the comment.
The trip back to camp was equally uneventful. The other Sasquatches seemed content to remain hidden - or they had cleared out of the area entirely. The moment he was back in radio range he began pestering Doc and receiving the same canned responses. Ace transmitted some information - pictures and results of some tests he'd run with one of the smaller medkits - and shortly Doc announced that the creatures they had killed were Bandersnatches - Infected Sasquatches. A mere 16 hours or so too late to do Sam any good. Apparently there were bounties on them in the CAS and UCAS, but not in the PCC where they were slain. Not that they couldn't claim the bounty anyway with some creative re-working of the events, but was it worth the risk dealing with the authorities for the 15-22kĄ it would garner? The general consensus was no - for now. The artifact was potentially a plenty big score on its own, and turning in a bounty on an Infected when you were acquainted with not only one but two, seemed a step too far. In any case, if the deal with the obelisk went South, this could be revisited.
Once back at camp, the same routine started over again - check on Sam. Wander around camp to keep his mind off of Sam. Wonder how Sam is doing. Check on Sam. Repeat. Major discussion and any decision making was studiously avoided. When the sun set, Sam would awaken - Awakened. Katsina would help him through his first moments and it would either be Sam that walked out of the makeshift tent that had been built around him, or some ... thing. This could be some somber Birthday celebration of sorts, welcoming back their good friend, or a nightmare of blood and death as they put down whatever monster had stolen the body of their dearly departed.
Preparations would have to be made in case of the worst. Ohanzee tore off to find Ace and Katsina and warn them as the sun started to dip below the mountainous horizon, only to come upon them standing at the door of the tent, sharing a tender moment. He was about to interrupt with his urgent realization when he noticed that Ace was already loaded for war. He could even see Doc, sitting beside Sam, loading a clip into his cyber-shotgun. His epiphany was apparently old news to the others, who had had their heads in the game all day.
He cleared his throat to announce his presence, then took his place in the tent. He was tempted to call forth Wolf, to keep him close and ready, but decided against it. Sam would see the spirit, and his "eyes", unaccustomed to the Astral world, could see the violent spirit as a nightmare or an imminent threat. Better to keep him calm. And so Ohanzee stood in the tent, praying that as different as the body was, that the eyes would be the same.
-
While the others are off, Katsina keeps an eye on Sam. She watches him grow, sees his skin toughen even further while he packs on fast-twitch muscle fibers.
"He's getting hard, and hard-headed," she says aloud, mostly to herself.
He's going to be tough to control once he wakes up, she thinks. Stronger than anyone except maybe Chino. Bullheaded too. Can't depend on a spell to make him change course.
She exhales, considering her options.
A thought goes off in her mind. Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel, she thinks, not even certain where the thought came from. A plan begins to form around it.
Seeing that he's not going anywhere fast, she decides to get up and walk around camp. She scans for reagents as she goes. The area is well-aligned with her Wiccan beliefs, making the collection relatively easy. The central tenet of Wicca is harmony with nature, so being in the pure-driven snow on a forested mountainside is pretty ideal. Within an hour she has collected two small bundles of twigs tied together with strands of her own hair.
The rest of the party returns. "We're getting close," she says, looking at Sam. "It's almost time. It would be best if you were not in the immediate vicinity. Avoid undue temptation, as it were. But, if you can't bear to leave him, at least stay in the van. Or downwind."
She kneels by Sam's side as his movements start to get fitful and more frequent. She closes her eyes and prays over him, mixing the twigs she collected with herbs and small bunches of dried flowers that she had squirreled away in her pockets. A spell takes shape - a powerful manipulation of the mana around Sam's arms and legs, tying them to his body. He'll still be able to move but he'll be sluggish and clumsy. That should allow the others to run, if worse comes to worst, she thinks to herself, wondering how Sam will interpret the spell with his new astral vision.
Once again Katsina tries to recall what she went through when she Awakened, but the memory is lost for now. She shakes her head, hoping that it's not gone forever, then puts her hand on Sam's chest. Suddenly she is racked with deep-chested coughing, the byproduct of such a potent spell. She bends her head forward and rests it on Sam while she catches her breath.
"Sam," she says in the most soothing voice she can muster between coughs. She wheezes, trying to catch her breath. "Sam, wake up!"
-
Over the years, the bruises heal and are forgotten. Independence has been good to me. I have loved and been loved, stolen and been stolen from, betrayed and been betrayed. There have been a lot of snowmobile rides over the years, but there's one I soar into on slick dragon wings; the only one I really remember. The only one that can't possibly be a figment, conjured up by some feverish infection. Chino and I. We're on our way back to our pilfered luxury home in the mountain suburbs after pushing our former vehicle off a cliff. I'm too big to pilot this thing, but Chino seems to merge with the little guy like he does with all machines. We're going pretty fast and catching some serious air from time to time. Chino is somewhat the daredevil and I have to hold on as tight as I can with my arms around his waist to avoid falling off into the snow. Despite the cold, the adrenaline coursing through our veins as we swipe between trees and plow through snowbanks has us both sweating. My sinuses have been opened up like crazy by the brisk mountain air and my head is swimming with the scent of motor oil, pine trees, and Chino. His breath, his sweat, his skin, his flesh. I can't control myself anymore. I have to have him. I'm not even sure what my own thought means until i crack open my massive maw full of razor sharp, acid dripping teeth and pierce the calm mountain air with a howl of bloodlust. I'm just about to land my very first ravenous bite into his shoulder, just about to feel his warm blood, coursing down my chest in pure joy, when I feel a weight on my limbs. I fall like a feather from my seat, fluttering slowly to the ground and watching that sumptuous and wonderful ork slowly sail away into the white. The rage and desperation in my heart are about to burst it through my chest when I hear a soft voice calling me...
"Sam," she says in the most soothing voice she can muster between coughs. She wheezes, trying to catch her breath. "Sam, wake up!"
The calcified and acid covered beast snaps it's armored eyelids open, revealing his feral, bloodshot eyes beneath. Without a thought or a breath, he lunges at the nearest form he can find, the woman in the mask, howling in hunger at her.
"Принесите мне орк!"
-
[End of Chapter III. Chapter IV thread here: http://forums.shadowruntabletop.com/index.php?topic=20859.0]