Down in the Gutter: IC, Surviving to See Tomorrow is Goal #1 Options

[WinterRat1]

Down in the Gutter IC Thread.

This is the IC thread for the Down in the Gutter Campaign. Once your character is approved and you receive the green light from the GMs, you may begin posting here. The OOC thread will still be used as normal.

Down in the Gutter OOC
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hh:mm:ss (Specific Day) November 1, 2070
Character Name

Use the exact format above, a two line information stamp at the beginning of each post.
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[WinterRat1]

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:

A time to be born and a time to die,
A time to plant and a time to uproot,
A time to kill and a time to heal,
A time to tear down and a time to build,
A time to weep and a time to laugh,
A time to mourn and a time to dance,
A time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
A time to embrace and a time to refrain,
A time to search and a time to give up,
A time to keep and a time to throw away,
A time to tear and a time to mend,
A time to be silent and a time to speak,
A time to love and a time to hate,
A time for war and a time for peace.

-- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, the Bible, New International Version.

I believe the Bible is divinely inspired; in its entirety the inerrant Word of God and the complete revelation of His will for the salvation of man, and the Divine and ultimate authority for all Christian faith and life.

There are those who will disagree with my views, perhaps vehemently so. That is their prerogative and right. Nonetheless, I believe anyone who was in Kingsgate during the month of November in the year 2070 will agree, truer words were never spoken.

When I originally wrote the essay entitled ‘Red October: A History of the Recent Kingsgate Gang Wars’, my motive was to increase my knowledge, my purpose to gain power, my desire to ensure the safety and survival of me and mine. However, as the volume began to take shape (first draft nearly complete, final entry for October 31 still pending), I realized I was wrong to compile such a document for the aforementioned reasons.

Not because the volume did not achieve its intended purpose. To the contrary, I believe that over the course of time it became a tremendously valuable document to many different people, for a variety of reasons.

Rather, as I talked to those involved in the war, as I gained insight into their stories, their histories, their identities, they gradually transcended their roles as mere witnesses to a grand picture of which they were an insignificant part.

The people I talked to did not necessarily become more significant to me as a result of their participation in my work. They were already my family, one I was willing to go to the wall for, in some cases, to die for. No, I gradually came to see them as people who didn’t care about their place in the larger story. After all, they knew no one else ever would. To them, the tragic, and in their own way, monumental events of Red October were just life as usual in the gutter, to be ignored and unrecognized by the world around them just as they always were. If no one else cared, why should they?

History is a rich tapestry, replete with epic stories whose impact shaped the world, and famous characters whose influence defined eras. Those stories, and the men and women who wrote them with their lives are meticulously documented and researched so that future generations may learn and benefit from those who came before.

I have no such illusions about the characters in my journal and the events of their lives. Even the best of us is street scum, one amongst millions of other insignificant people who will come and go with the world never even taking note of our birth, presence, or passing.

And yet, I find in the end that may be the strongest reason I can think of to continue my documentation of the history of our gang past Red October. Even street scum deserve to have their stories told; to leave some mark, however small, on the world we’ll leave behind when our time here is over. Not because anyone else will ever read it, and not because anyone would care if they did.

They deserve to have their stories recorded because these people mattered to someone. Perhaps only to their friends or family, perhaps only to their significant other, perhaps only to the gang, perhaps only to themselves. I can tell you with certainty; each one of them mattered to me. No matter what my personal feelings about them, for a time in my life, they were my family, and they mattered like no one else ever could.

I don’t expect anyone to understand. If you’ve never turned to your murderous psychopathic brother for backup when the guys across the street were trying to turn you into a source of body parts to sell, you won’t get it. If you’ve never asked your druggie whore of a sister to loan you money that she earned off her back so you could eat that day, you don’t have a clue.

I’ve been there. I know. For whatever flaws these people had (and believe me, I could write on that topic for years and not finish. Hell, Grack and personal hygiene, or lack thereof, is a novel in itself), they were family. Family without a voice, or an advocate, or anyone to care whether they lived, died, or ever existed at all.

I know I won’t change anything by writing this, and I don’t care. I’ve decided to continue my journal as a running chronicle of our time together as a family. To tell what happened after Red October. What happened to us in the ups and downs we experienced together as a gang, as a family; from our beginning during Black November till the end, whenever it may come for us. In the end, that’s reason enough, and all I’ll ever need to continue this until I’m gone too. This is for everyone in the gang. This journal is for no one but the people who are in it. These were their lives, and here are our stories.

Your brother,
Stephen ‘Shade’ Wu

[WinterRat1]

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Sewer under alley off of 124th Pl NE
Grack

Grack open eyes slowly. Was Glorious One dream? No. Grack feel good. Grack feel very good. Grack was hurt. Now he not hurt. Only Glorious One can do this.

What to do? Grack hungry. Where Legion? He tell Grack what to do. But Grack hungry. When Grack is hungry, he cannot be happy. Want to be happy, so must get food. Mmm…food.

No food in sewer. Sleeping in sewers not fill Grack’s belly. Must go to World Above to find food. Find what happen to friends. How to do this? Grack not know how long he been sleeping in World Below. Grack sad, he is confused.

Wait! Grack wise now! Glorious One say, "Never give up. Once you start, never give up. The rest takes care of itself."

Ahh…Grack wise, but Glorious One is wiser. Grack hopes to be as see-mart as Glorious One some day. Yes he will, he knows this. He must listen to Gator, go to World Above. Smash bad guys, find food, find friends, find Legion. The rest will take care of itself. Grack is happy now.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – 126th Ave NE & NE 144th St
Badmarsh

Pain. A constant element of Badmarsh’s life. From the streets of Kolkata to the Barrens of Redmond, it was with him as long as he could remember. Looking down at the dark stain spreading across his shirt and wincing at the burning in his side, he is once again reminded of the central position pain holds in his life.

Leaning against a building for a moment to catch his breath, he notes the four women looking at him expectantly. His three whores, plus the new girl. Must be the inner whore in her.

He looks around. It seems like they’ve lost their pursuit, at least for the moment. Still, those guys are still out there, the streets are dangerous, he’s hurting, the whores are a big liability in the warzone Kingsgate has become, and the new girl is still a big unknown. But he can’t leave them; they look to him for protection and guidance. And of course, they’re his livelihood. Fuck.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – NE 141st Way
Legion

Limping westward towards 124th Ave NE, maintaining composure as if his wounds were a mere scratch. Sword in hand, attempting to rally the survivors together. Scavenging anything possible on the way, looking for anything useful to be used in rebuilding.

Already thinking, plotting, and planning. Legion wasn’t anywhere close to finished. He was just getting warmed up. His mind worked like a machine: orderly, precise, dependable. A quick mental checklist formed itself immediately in his head, items instantly separating themselves into categories for his easy reference.

What Legion knows:

1. The war is lost. Hammerpack started the day at 50% casualties after a month of war. Of the three squads remaining on defense, only Legion, Riptorn, and Ill Duce made it out before headquarters went up in a gasoline and crankcase oil firebomb. Riptorn made it a block before drowning in his own blood from multiple gunshot wounds to the torso. Ill Duce made it two before succumbing to a headwound left by a spiked baseball bat.

2. Raider Nation is in no condition to continue to push south. Legion estimates that out of 60 effectives at the start of the gang war, Raider Nation is down to at most 40, more likely 25 to 35. Their daily gang operations are in disarray, and the streets are littered with the casualties of five weeks of unrelenting urban violence.

3. The 8-Balls were destroyed by an explosion in their factory. Cause unknown, responsible parties unknown.

4. The Corsairs have been destroyed.

5. The Splintered Crash have been eaten by the 162s.

What Legion suspects:

1. The truce between Raider Nation and the UV Nights is shaky at best. Raider Nation, while weakened from a month of combat, has momentum on their side. Now would be the time to crush the UVN beneath their heel and claim their place at the center of the Kingsgate area.

2. Raider Nation must break off from their offensive operations to resume normal gang business, as well as rebuild and rearm.

3. The worst of things are over. With the destruction of the Hammerpack, the flames of war should begin to die down.

4. The Black Plague, while relieved of the pressure of rivals immediately on their doorstep, will not move to increase their territory. Rather, they will wait to see how aggressive Raider Nation emerges from the war. It's an opportunity, but if they push too far north, they run the risk of antagonizing a gang flush with victory. Plus, it would be useful to maintain some kind of buffer zone / DMZ with Raider Nation to the North.

5. The Steel Demons will increase their territory, but will not push too close to the UV Nights on the off chance that this treaty between Raider Nation and the UV Nights proves durable.

What Legion does not know:

1. The status of the two squads on flanking defense, specifically if Ghost is alive or not.

2. Where the Heartbreakers stand on the winner and survivors of the gang war.

3. If the 162s have full bellies.

4. What the Emerald Lotus will do.

What Legion plans:

1. Gather the survivors of the Hammerpack.

2. Move south along the 124th, scavenging as we go.

3. Find a building to hole up in, let the dust start to settle.

4. Reform the pack. Assign responsibilities. Gather supplies: water, food, weapons

5. Recruit additional soldiers, establish territory

Satisfied with the list and subsequent plan in his head, Legion moves with purpose. Step 1: Gather the survivors of the Hammerpack. Snarling at the pain from his wounds, he fights down the weakness. Time to get back to work. The pack must be reborn.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Roaming up 132rd Ave. in Splintered Crash turf
Felix & Shade

It was a road Felix and Shade had walked many times before, a side street on the old Splintered Crash turf. Only tonight was different. A thick veil of death hung in the air amidst the smell of acrid smoke and gunpowder that lingered. That itself wasn’t out of the ordinary in the Barrens, but the amount of violence that had taken over in the last week was beyond explainable.

Burned out shells of vehicles were hardly a strange sight to see in the neighborhood, but a racing bike laid down in the middle of the street still smoldering was a rare occurrence. Shade spotted it first. Likely the driver of the bike, face down against the curb of the street. There wasn’t much left of the bike itself to be recognizable, the gas tank exploded from what appeared to be a well-placed shotgun shell. And then as the pair approached closer there was the massive slick of blood. Dark and shining on the pavement like oil, only the stench of iron in the air gave it away.

It was a macabre scene at best. The body of the biker twisted in a grotesque position as it hugged the curb. A leg barely hanging on to the body around mid-thigh, and likely the source of the majority of the blood on the street. The biker was likely dead as they didn’t move or even appear to breathe. A helmet obscured their true identity.

As the pair approached tentatively with the intent to loot whatever was left off the body Felix spotted something that sucked the very breath right out of him. A glimpse of a familiar logo on a leather jacket, or what was left of it amidst the road rash. A pair of silvered angel’s wings and a very familiar name between them.

Halo.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – In a ruined house on 124th Pl NE
Thumper

The world slowly came back into focus as Thumper gingerly opened his eyes. Whatever the frag he’d been hit with, it had done a number on him. Slowly he staggered to his feet, felt dizzy, then slumped back to the ground, leaning against a wall and closing his eyes to steady himself.

After a few moments he opened his eyes again and looked around. Apparently he’d been launched into what appeared to be what had once been a restaurant. The roof he’d thought he crashed through had, in actuality, been a table that now lay in pieces around him, and chairs were scattered everywhere. He heard movement, both outside and farther back in the building, and immediately ducked lower. He didn’t know who was around him, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Just north of intersection of 128th and Vineyard
Bockscar

It was time to go. Chest wound or no, Bockscar was starting to come to the conclusion he was just going to have to suck it up and beat feet. As far as he could tell, it was just him and the kid holding down the flank, and Raider Nation was regrouping.

Whether they were regrouping to push forward or fall back he wasn’t sure, but if they were going to charge, he was rapidly down to having nothing to throw at them but harsh language and a bad attitude. His own supreme badassness notwithstanding, he was pretty sure that wasn’t going to cut it.

Poking his head out for a better look, he couldn’t see anyone out there. Turning to the kid, he hissed, “Hey kid, you see anyone out there?� The kid slowly and carefully peeked out, looked around for a while, and then turned back to him, shaking his head. “No. Don’t see anyone,� the kid whispered back.

Good news: They couldn’t see anyone.
Bad News: They couldn’t see anyone.

What now?

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – 126th Ave NE & NE 144th St
Nevada

The smoke burned in Nevada’s lungs as she gulped for air, riding the adrenaline high and feeling the burn in her legs from the mad dash away from their attackers. For the moment, it appeared they were clear. For the moment, she stressed to herself. Things had gone from bad to worse on the streets since she’d left the 8 Balls turf and arrived at Frankie’s.

Looking over at Badmarsh, who was leaning against the wall examining the extent of the injuries he’d taken while healing one of the girls, Nevada took the opportunity to thumb fresh shells into the shotgun. No one said anything for a few moments, and suddenly she realized she was actually looking to him for direction.

What the fuck? I just met this guy and I’m already looking to follow his lead? Dammit girl, keep it together! Now ain’t the fucking time to get messed up in the head!

Silently she berated herself, but after she’d finished, she realized she was still in the same place she was five seconds ago: alone, scared, and looking to Badmarsh. For what, she didn’t know. And if she was completely honest with herself, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – An abandoned building on 132nd Ave.
Aziz

They were closing in on him, white eyes staring hungrily at him, claws extended and grasping, mouths open in anticipation of feasting on his flesh. The ghouls were everywhere, and there was no escape. He tried to run as fast as he could, but they were on him before he could move, dragging him to the ground. He flailed wildly, trying to free himself from their steel talons. One of them grabbed his arm and sunk its teeth into his arm and began tearing flesh free. Shrieking in pain and terror, he desperately tried to shake it off. The ghoul almost paused for a moment to grin, then ripped flesh free from bone and chewed, smiling at him all the while. Suddenly he realized that he knew this ghoul, its twisted features taking a more familiar countenance with that sadistic grin. JJ.

“NO!� Aziz jerked awake, Kalila half-drawn before he realized the ghouls were only figments of his imagination. “Oh god…� Aziz cradled his head in his hands, trying to get his head screwed on straight. He shivered as a gust of wind ripped through the holes in the wall.

It wasn’t safe here. Who knew where the ghouls were now, roaming the old Splintered Crash turf? He wasn’t sure if anyone had heard him scream, but he was in no condition to find out. He had to move, now. Before anyone found him. Before they found him.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Street Side Roller's garage
Fool

It was like a scene out of the chip Fool had slotted a few weeks ago. Razzi Feroz, the uber asskicking hero is working his way to take down Poe “Bull� Greckian, the mob boss for the city, but the villain finds out that Razzi has some fuck-toy. She needs to be almost as good as Razzi, he wouldn’t accept less, so the slitch is a buxom redhead who repairs, and rides, motorcycles at a local garage.

The blue eyed ganger had felt the flash of fire and heat, along with the concussive force behind the blast, as the mob goon’s stack of hidden C12 blew the garage to hell and back. It was some top notch wiz-work. It almost felt more than real, like he could have died in the explosion. He knew it was worked though, since Fool had ‘seen’ real explosions in buildings just like it in other chips.

This…this was cold hard reality. There was no stopping the action, no pressing the off button. He could see the charred and mutilated bodies of his family, lying broken in pieces, among the ruined wreck of the equally broken Roller’s headquarters. As he fell to his knees, he scanned the scene in front of him. Panning from left to right, like a time honored cliché, his blue eyes came across and noticed his friends one by one… Drekks… Oilslick... Monkeywrench… Lucky…Broken like the twisted scorched sheet metal that consisted of the once working garage.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Mouse's Apartment complex on 119th St
Child

As he took the last few steps down the long staircase attached to Mouse’s apartment, the sickly looking teenager could only wonder what happened over the past couple of days as he had hidden from end of the world. No… not the world, just the end of the Rollers.

Though he wasn’t the strongest one out of the bunch, not by a longshot, he wasn’t the dumbest either. Hell, he might as well have been considered fuckin’ Einstein amongst these violent savages. Smart enough to figure out that if he wanted to survive, survive longer at least, he needed to get the hell away from the Rollers or what was left of them.

Feeling the chilly November wind blow into the hoodie which covered his red hair, Child had to summon all his will to not just turn around and walk right back to the warm arms of his lover. He knew he couldn’t do that though; he had caused her enough trouble and was risking her life just by being there. Not to mention he was sick of dealing with her slitch of a mother.

Stuffing his hands into the hand warmer pocket on the hoodie, the lost Child took the first step forward to looking for his new family. The question was, who would take him in?

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – LoCoS Headquarters
Ink

Blood. Blood everywhere. Dripping off his hands…rolling off the countertop…smeared all over his and his brothers’ faces…cloths soaked in the fraggin slag…it was like the stuff was creating itself out of thin air in the LoCoS headquarters, just to piss Ink off as he worked feverishly on Carlos’ bullet wound.

Ink knew he wasn’t a doctor of any sort, but was the only one they had. The only one his brothers could rely on to help patch them back up. The only hombre who planned ahead enough to not actually be in the fraggin fights just in case this happened.

One by one he watched and heard them go. Either he was working his magic hands on his brother when he noticed that his patient just wasn’t breathing anymore or during one of his small breathers, where the Cuban descendant would smear more blood on his face, he would notice one less moan of pain.

The first he knew about was Lorenzo. Poor slot didn’t have a chance with a bullet half ripping out his left lung. Still, the artist worked on his brother till his last breath before moving on to another.

Knives had been burned somehow; Ink still couldn’t figure it out. Was like something from the inside, magic maybe. There was nothing Ink could do and had to steel his nerves to pass on to the next one.

Poncho…well, Carlos, who was on the table right now, had dragged that poor hunk of slag back even with half his head missing. Like it was clean sliced through. Carlos himself was still breathing, thank the Virgin.

Ink couldn’t figure out where some of the other guys were. They just weren’t here, that he knew. Letting out a sigh, he resigned himself to the fact that they probably either ran or died. And they would be here helping if they ran…

The labored breathing and moaning from the Hispanic man on the table turned to a hacking labored cough before Ink could continue. He barely had time to register that his left eye was burning as a thick red ooze was flung into it from the spray of his brother. Still, Carlos was still here, Ink told himself as he tore through the pain to try and continue working…

Cough… Ba-bump… Ragged breath… Ba---bump… Ba---bump… slight wheeze… Ba… bump…

Ink could feel it, the last bit of life was slipping through his hands even as he worked on saving it, his last brother. Ink yelled at Carlos as he tried to think of the next fix, the next spot to try and stop the bleeding. Anything to keep someone around.

Carlos was fading and fast…almost nothing…a slight beat of the heart…no breath. Then a sharp intake of air…Carlos’ dying breath…then nothing…

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – 124th Ave NE near 140th Street
Jaya

Jaya was lucky. He knew it and would admit it before anyone else.
He was lucky to see the three Black Plague bastards edging their way down the street towards his fallen kin, was lucky to not be noticed when they passed his hiding spot, lucky that he was able to take two of them down with his bare hands before the third got a shot off, lucky that his one round left in that mag shot true…

There had been a lot of luck on Halloween. All Hallow’s Eve…Good luck, which he just enjoyed, and bad luck, which those poor fraggers and his kin had.

He could look back towards the battlegrounds, his shattered and broken brethren, death in the most honorable way. Valhalla would be singing and welcoming in the fallen warriors, but Jaya would be alone.

Turning away from the sights and smells of the dead, the human moved farther into the street the adept heard yelling from farther ahead. The different pitched voices of meta-humans banded together. They were getting louder…

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Brickhouse Boys HQ
Johnny Soho

Stepping through the giant hole in the front of the building, big enough for a dump truck to drive through…hell, a dump truck did drive through, Johnny could only see the ruined walls and furnishings of the once Brickhouse Boys HQ. It wasn’t much, but it was what he had called home since arriving. Or at least his friends hung out here, and that counted for something.

The ork could only think about the way the Asphalt Kings had torn down the rival gang, one shop at a time. It surprised him to see the gang’s headquarters in such good condition, compared to the individual shops he had passed on his way back.

As he made his way through the main entrance area and into one of the back rooms, the Englishman could only notice the way the building seemed lifeless. Not like there was no one around (even though there wasn’t), but that it truly felt like no one had lived there. Ever. Then it hit him that things were gone…taken. Shrugging, he could only chalk it up to life in the Barrens; take what you can and survive.

Stepping up to the doors that lead to the back room the gang used as a storehouse, he halted. Sensing something wrong, he listened in to hear something, or someone rummaging around in the next room. Almost instinctively, his hand reached inside his armored jacket to the heavy pistol…

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc

A loud groan startles a huge rat, from drinking in a pool of liquid on the rubble lined floor to zipping out a hole in the wall. The dark room is silent and still for a few seconds longer, but is broken completely as the pile of rubble shifts up and to the side. In the gloom and dust, what one would mistake for rubble was actually a giant of a man covered in blood, mud and dirt.

Shaking himself off, causing dust to hang in the air around his large frame, Doc examined the damage to his body. Shaking most of it off as minor cuts and nicks, he looked around the barren back room he occupied.

One of the walls had a good sized hole in it, about the size of two of his fists wide, which he could see over into the next room through. The door on the same wall was barred by the only piece of furniture in the room, a chair that looked like it was brought in for just that reason.

In a moment of clarity in his fuzzy mind, Doc started to check his gear. Gun…check. Betsy…check. Duffle bag of supplies and equipment…It took a bit for him to fully go through the last one, but everything seemed in place.

Putting his ear up to the door and looking through the hole in the wall, he could only guess that there wasn’t anything out there. At least, he couldn’t sense anything out there. Then he heard a sound at the front of the building…

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Corner of 124th and 146th headed southbound
Tootles

*Wheeze, pant, breath, wheeze*
Leaning against a wall to one of the buildings of the unfamiliar area, Tootles could see the ruins in front of him. They stretched on forever, a ruined husk of what was once a great city. In other times, it would have been great for playing hide and seek with the other Lost Boys, Peter flying around laughing like he usually did.

Not now though, it was time to fight back against the bandits, the thieves, the pirates! His hand tightened around the bow grip as his other pushed off from the wall to then check on the sword at his hip. Placing his hand on the pommel of the sheathed sword seemed to help his breath come back to him as the human boy took a deep breath and continued his trek farther into the ruinous area.

“This way! This way!� the flying fairy repeated for the umpteenth time as she excitedly pointed in the direction they were going. “If we go this way, we will find the rest of the boys and Peter!�

Southeast…The area the ‘Hammers’ lived. Maybe that’s were the others went…

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Corner of 132th and 136th headed westbound
Trojan

The rumbling of the Growler beneath the dwarf seemed to give him comfort as he turned onto the main road headed back to the Brickhouse Boys' garage. Going down the 136th had been a big risk, skirting both the Heartbreakers and 162’s turf, but it needed to be done to check back in. Things had gone wrong, fraggin wrong this night. There was no telling what else would go to slag tonight.

Weaving easily between a burned out wreck and an overturned barrel, Trojan kept an eye open for anything suspicious as he made his way through the small gauntlet that seemed man made more than by accident. Things were hot in this area and being caught out here could be bad to a dwarf’s health, especially with the creepy undead things nearby, he thought with a shiver.

Rumors were that the LoCoS had pissed off the Heartbreakers somehow and were on the losing end, but the zombie things were going nuts about something too. If he got caught alone, he was as good as ghoul chow.

He was almost through the small maze of junk and scrap when Trojan heard a racket of crashes down an alleyway to his right. Even as he broke through the last turn and straightened up his bike, he could see…things, crawling out on all fours, their grey and yellowed flesh hungering with blood red eyes. Covered, no, bathed in blood and other nauseating parts, they didn’t hesitate to turn their savage faces towards the rumbling bike and rider before starting a gallop on all fours…

[adamu]

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Sewer under alley off of 124th Pl NE
Grack


Of course the first thing young Grack did was change his music chip, replacing Race War with Tusk Master's splendid "Kill with Pride."

Approaching the ladder to the manhole he'd escaped through - How long? Race War back to start - player on repeat. But how many times? - he concentrated again. Until a few moments ago, he had been sure - in the way he was sure he enjoyed biting whores' ears off - that there was no one above in Their World that meant him harm. Of course, he would be happy to do some more fighting, but attacking from behind was always preferable. So now he concentrated again.

Enemies? Feel them. Know them. FEEEL them! Where are you?

He concentrated until his head hurt and he saw double. He concentrated for a long three seconds. Because Grack was nothing if not persistent.

Finally, sensing absolutely nothing, he was completely confident that no foes waited in ambush above him. Sensing enemies was hungry work.

Ascending the ladder, he found his four vicitims. How sweet the sight of victory.

How sweet the sight of victory.

Hungry, he went to the fattest one and had a nibble. Food was scarce in the Barrens and one made due with what was at hand.

Hand. Tender.

But this plodder's flesh was not at all sweet. Tasted not of man-flesh but, in fact, mildly of fish. And then he had an inspiring thought.

Sushi!

Plastic Sushi - open 24/7 - was just around the corner. Our Hero immediately set about checking his fallen foes for cash, but found none. Not to despair, he had plenty of his own. But his search did turn up another prize. There, under the corpse of one zakhan he had strangled, was a shiny object of wonder. Long, hard, all of tungsten - a material young Grack certainly could not identify, but he knew a good weapon when he saw one - and with a razor sharp axe head. Hefting the beast, his hand struck a tab in the hilt and and a delightful little stiletto-thing popped out the back end.
Oh my, but what a choice Halloween present this little toy was. He would have to take it trick-or-treating.
And where better to do some tricks and get some treats than Plastic Sushi!

As he headed out of the alley and on to 124th Place NE, it occurred to him briefly that his fellow gangers might need his help. Off in the distance there were still occasional screams and gunshots, and as close as Plastic Sushi was, it was in the opposite direction of where Legion had intended to make a stand.

Cannot fight on empty belly. Be quick.

And so he was off, a hungry lad in search of nourishment, confident in the knowledge that no one in his vicinity meant him the slightest harm.

This had been one of the happiest days of his life, and was only getting better.

[Fresno Bob]

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – An abandoned building on 132nd Ave.
Aziz

Aziz awkwardly struggled to his feet, wounds in his legs and torso screaming in protest as he made his way up, bracing against the wall for support.

I need to get out of here... but where can I go?, he thinks, reaching inside his jacket for his cigarettes, but his arm turns out too damaged to properly manipulate the pack, and it falls to the ground with a soft thump.

"Fuck...", he breathes, not wanting to risk falling back over to get them. He staggers out the way he came, feeling only slightly better than he did on the way in. The streets are fortunately deserted, but the night air is chilly, cooling the sticky blood on Aziz's face and legs.

I can't risk getting my bike just yet... the 162's could still be there. Guess I'm walking.

He tucks his hands into his armpits and limps off down the street, hoping to run across some friendly ground.

[grendel]

00:04:29 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – NE 141st Way, Kingsgate, Seattle, UCAS
Legion

The clouds of industrial smog that overhung the city skyline to the southwest glowed sodium orange from the streetlights. Here, amidst the torn and gutted apartments and businesses of Renton, the diesel black clouds were lit an angry orange by the fires still burning. Hot blood flowed down Legion's side, rivulets snaking their way down his leg to pool in his boot. The cut, a horizontal slash from the center of his torso across his left lateral abdominal muscles, was a parting gift from Raider Nation. It would require stitches, or, at the worst, some superglue and duct tape. Now was not the time, though. He kept his left arm pressed against the lips of the wound in an effort to staunch the flow. The other half dozen wounds across his body were less of a concern. Eventually they would need to be cleaned, disinfected, and bandaged, but they wouldn't slow him down much. A body in the street interrupted the path of his thoughts, and he carefully scanned the surrounding buildings for an ambush before kneeling next to the still figure.

Lessard. Sorry kid. You were good. You listened, you followed orders, you fought well. Tell them you fought by my side. That'll get you a good seat in Hell.

Keeping an eye on the sidewalks, Legion rifled through the young ganger's jacket and pants. He came up with a pack of Red Apple cigarettes, a find that brought a wry smile to his face. Lighting up, he blew a stream of smoke into the night sky. The nicotine washed away the taste of blood in his mouth, although he still wasn't sure if he'd chewed his own cheek or drank his enemy's blood. In the end, he supposed, it amounted to the same thing. Leaving the cigarette to dangle from his lips, he pressed his left arm against his side again and regained his feet. Another cluster of bodies littered the intersection ahead, one of which appeared to still be living. Legion inhaled another mouthful of smoke before setting off again.

[Abbandon]

00:3:23 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Street Side Roller's garage
Fool

What the hell happened....He had just spent the last half hour giving it to his favorite prostitute Beyonce' which was one of the best things in his life besides his gang and now his gang was almost all dead? Scanning the surrounding area he found no signs of whoever had done this. Kneeling there in the street he used his neon blue cyber eyes to zoom in on the carnage, he wanted to see who all had died but some of the bodies were to badly burned.

Standing up his long black hair and long armored duster flapped in the wind generated by the blaze in his former home and hang out. All he could hear was the snap crackle pop of stuff burning. Reaching down and inside his jacket he pulled the knife free from its sheath on his right leg in a blade down grip. It was anything but safe around here and he needed to check to see if his stuff had been turned to slag.

Mentally he flipped on his wired reflexes and then moved his knife hand around a bit to judge the speed. It was always trippy how slow things moved in this state. If the fires in the garage hadnt killed most of his friends and his home, the way they licked at the sky in slow motion might have been considered beautiful. Fit for a movie.

Fool walked to the big garage door leading into the garage, by now most of the fire had burned everything there was to burn and were dieing out in the center of the garage. Seeing the fire so close up caused him to grimace and recall the burn marks all over his body, most of which had been replaced by dermal armor. This time would be different, he was in control of his actions.

There was a path leading back to the back office and storage area. Taking a deep breath he sprinted towards the door and smashed his way through, the wooden frame having been burned away made the metal doot easily give way. About a third of the stuff in here had melted just from the heat that had been generated. Moving over to the shelves he found his two dufflebags intact. Slipping the knife back in the sheath on his leg he took the two dufflebags and slung them over his shoulder.

Looking around at all the other stuff back here made him think about the friends he had lost, shaking his head he left everything. Im sorry guys. Sprinting from the garage he ran north and into an alley. He needed to think. Was this really happening? Was the Side Street Roller gang really extinct? Who the hell took us out? We had been holding our own against the Steel Demons and the Hellhounds. I...need to find a new place to call home. He had knelt down next to a dumpster and was staring down at the ground, as his eyes came back into focus he zeroed in on his commlink and checked it. His friends list appeared in a window in his field of vision, none of the people on it were either in range, had their commlink active, or were even alive. He was alone...

[Unarmed]

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – ???
Doc

Silas was falling. Everything around him was pitch black, but for some reason his own body was illuminated perfectly. He looked down at his hands. Both were still flesh, still whole. He brought a hand up to his face and could not feel the familiar burn scars that he'd now had for years. He realised he wasn't falling, that he was actually being pulled down by hands. At first one pair, then a second, then a third. 'Why am I being pulled?', he thought. Then he felt heat below him. And he saw fire. Terrifying, burning, destructive fire. He felt more hands clasping at his large bulk. He tried to batter them away with his hands but they kept pulling. The fire was getting larger. He looked down at his hands again and they had both turned to bloody, charred stumps. He let loose a bloodcurdling scream of anguish. So many hands. Pulling. Pulling. He saw the charred corpse of Memphis as he fell by. He thought he saw dissapointment on the troll's features. He fell past Pupil and Lefty. They were dissapointed too. He was getting close to the flames now. A large, laughing face suddenly filled his vision. He was able to somehow put a name to the face. Meltdown. The tendrils of orange and red licked up at him. They were burning his clothes. The giant face told him he was going to burn slow. He was in the flames now. Burn slow. He was screaming in terror. Burn Slow. His flesh was melting off of his bones. Burn Slow. The pain, the pain. Burn Slow.

Burn Slow.

Doc opened his eyes into a gray Redmond night. I am still alive, he thought.



00:01:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc

Doc felt like shit. His head was still pounding from the Kamikaze wind down, and sleeping on a concrete floor is rarely anyone's idea of comfort. Sitting up in the relatively small room, he took a moment to examine his surroundings. Looks like it might have been a restaurant. Anything worth taking is looted, but that's unsurprising. He rummaged through the gear he'd taken with him. He'd left a few things back at the Evergreen Medical Center back on former 8-balls turf, but he basically had his life on his back at this point. He stood up. There were a lot of broken plates and cutlery on the floor so he decided to tread carefully in an attempt to be quiet. He stepped on a fragment of a plate and it made that horrible sound of breaking china that might give away his position to anyone in the area.

There was a large hole in one of the kitchen's walls so he peered out briefly. As he stared out the hole he heard a sound from further up in the building. Easing his Manhunter out of it's holster, he started to creep towards the front of the building. He stopped before he reached the doorframe to the next area of the restaurant, considering his options. I don't know what kind of fragging codewords the Hammerpack use to identify each other. If this guy is UV and mundane, he's dead. If he's UV and a mage, I'm dead. And if he's hammerpack, who the frag knows? Of course, it could always be a devil rat. Doc put both hands on his pistol, ready to come around the corner slowly.

[pragma]

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Thumper

Thumper needed a drink.

That wasn't unusual. It wasn't until he opened his eyes that he understood just how badly he needed one. The world was swimming and it felt just like that time someone had just shattered a few tables on him. As he gingerly touched his side to test for broken ribs he remembered that the UV Nights had effectively shattered a table on him.

He managed to get a foot under himself and braced himself against a dusty chair in the ash filled diner. It was dark, but the fire on the street gave him enough light to work with as it painted flickering shadows on the walls.

As he gradually stabilized himself, Thumper felt around on the ground with one hand. In spite of the blood trickling down his face he smiled because his hand was resting on a long, solid table leg.

Every beating has silver lining motherfucker, now get up.

Rising to his feet, Thumper spun his head towards a noise in the back of his restaurant. This was a mistake because the world started spinning again. He dropped to one knee next to the door to the back, poised to strike at the first thing that came through.

After three seconds of deafening silence, Thumper raised his voice and asked, "Who the fuck's back there?"

[Vegas]

00:01:23 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – 126th Ave NE & NE 144th St
Nevada

In her head went the inner struggle. Back and forth and back and forth till she got nowhere and ended up right back where she started. She realized the assets and liabilities to her situation and the glaringly obvious liability came in a set of three. As her fingers reached into her jacket pocket they wraped around the familiar black pack of Sampoerna’s, she flipped her vision into thermographic range as one of the clove cigarettes found it’s way between her lips. There was a flare right in front of her as the auto-igniter on the pack did its job and then in the distance the warmth of four bodies glowed back at her.

She widened her perceptions as she looked up and down the street, taking long drags on her cigarette in between trying to ferret out any other living creatures who would pose the most immediate threat, if any. She exhaled around the black filter between her lips and her finger tightened slightly on the trigger of her shotgun. Her eyes kept moving up and down the block, but her words were meant for the now bleeding Indian ganger just a few feet away.

“Can you walk?�

[Konsaki]

00:01:25 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc + Thumper

Doc heard a man yell quite clearly through the open doorway as he hid on a side of it. ‘Frag, someone heard me…’, he cursed his luck as he flexed his grip on the Manhunter. Images ran through his head about a UV goon looking to finish him off, but also remembered that he was on Hammerpack turf. It was a fifty-fifty chance of either or… or it could be just some gutter trash out there...
Taking a slow quiet breath, the troll finally formed a plan in his head. If it’s UV, shot it; if it isn’t, try not to… Nodding to himself, he jumped around the corner and through the doorway, slicing the pie just enough to save his hide…

Thumper was paranoid as shit as he crouched with the makeshift club in his grip. Course, it’s not really paranoia when people are really out to get you, so in all reality, he was playing it safe. At least that’s what he thought as he readied himself to knock the living shit out of anything that came through that door too quickly.
When that event actually happened though, the Hammerpack grunt’s eyes went wide in surprise as a giant of a troll leaped through the doorway that separated the dining area from the kitchen. Thumper looked up at the troll, Doc looked down at the ork. It seemed like forever and a day, but it was only a split millisecond.

“Whoa! Hold up!�, was all the 8 Baller was able to get out as he raised his hands in a non threatening manner before the taught muscles in the ork’s legs snapped. Like a rocket, they lifted him up and toward the troll, while his table leg swung in an ark aimed to smash the giant somewhere that might cause damage.
Connect it did, right into Doc’s exposed ribs, but Thumper knew something was wrong as soon as he hit the troll. There was no give in the flesh he was striking and other than a grunt caused by the impact, there was no sound of pain.

[WinterRat1]

00:06:34 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – NE 141st Way, Kingsgate, Seattle, UCAS
Legion

Continuing his westward trek down NE 141st Way, even Legion was somewhat struck by the sheer carnage that existed on the streets. Fires lit up the night sky, and smoke and smog clogged one's view of the stars. Even more so than usual, at least.

Bodies lay strewn more frequently than usual, and it was obvious to even the casual observer this gang war had been for keeps. It was uncertain if other gangs had relaxed their usual initiation standards or there were just a lot more people involved in this war than anyone thought, but it certainly seemed like there shouldn't have been this many bodies clogging the streets.

Shrugging off the random musings to retain his focus as he approached the former Hammerpack-Ultraviolet Nights border (cause who the frag knew where the border really was at this point?), he paused at the intersection of NE 141st Way and 124th Pl NE.

Facing 124th Ave NE, on his right, in an abandoned building, he thought he heard yelling and sounds of a commotion. On his left, in the Plastic Sushi restaurant that was still in amazingly good shape, he was reasonably certain he saw flashes of movement within.

[Meriss]

00:01:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – LoCoS Headquarters
Ink

Light spills in though the open window and mixes with the pooling blood. A figure stands in front of the counter, hands clenched tightly to the edges. Ink sighs deeply, The last of the LoCoS he thinks. he looks around the house at the bodies of his hermanos. "Santa Maria, why couldn't I save them?" He asks the air. The stillness gathers, the silence confirms this place is a tomb, a tomb to his gang. Ink stands shakily, the lack of sleep and Nova finally beginning to catch up to him. Can't sleep here, ese, 162s'r out and about. One thing was sure in his mind though. The ghouls would not feast on his 'manos. He searches Carlos' still form and places the valuables in a pile on the counter. He spends the next thirty minutes doing the same to each gang member. Finally he has a respectable pile of weapons, drugs and other valuables.

Enough to get me to someplace safe, ese. Vengence could wait, survival was the first order of buisness today. He gathered Carlos' body and carried him out to the back lot. Ink repeated the chore for each of his brothers. Finally he had a pile of bodies in the lot. He gripped one of Fuente's molotovs. He lit the rag fuse and tossed the flaming bottle into the pile of dead men. The fire licked up a the bodies like a hungry ghoul. The smoke of the burning added itself to the darkened sky. Ink slowly and tiredly recited the Ave Maria, praying for the souls of his friends and brothers. He turned and went back into the house, as a single tear rolled down his grime covered cheek. He slowly gathered his demo book and stuffed it into his backpack. He repeated the process with his medikit, tat kit, and piercing kit. He tucked his stash of Nova into the outside pocket. The pistol Gonzo left him was tucked into the waistband of his faded denims. Ink shook out his sweat soaked shirt and put it on. He gathered his brothers valuables and tucked them into the pack as well. He took the old leather jacket from the floor, and reversed it so the LoCoS patches wouldn't show. Then put on the relic of days gone by. "Hermanos, I won't forget you, I'll make the Plague puntos pay. The Heartbreakers too, those puntas will all pay. Adios amigos, miss you." The Cuban made a fist and held it out to the empty house. He turned and left through the side door.

00:32:05 Saturday, November 1, 2070 - Outside LoCoS Headquarters
Ink

A quick check of his link revealed the time and the date. Nona is prolly going outta her mind, I missed Dios des los Muertos. He snickered at the the silly thought. Dios would never be the same. His hermanos had indeed become muertos. He began picking his way up the street toward the Gato, trying to stay in the shadows to avoid drawing fire.

[Unarmed]

00:02:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc

Even though the table leg did not connect with much force, Doc reflexively grunted at the impact. Doc relaxed a bit when he saw that the ork in front of him was wearing Hammerpack colors. He thought he recognized the ork as Thumper, one of Legion's enforcers.

"I'll let you get away without paying for that one because you're probably nervous as fuck. I would be."

Doc strapped his pistol back in its concealable holster, still keeping his eyes on the ork. He looked around the room for reinforcements but found none. There were broken tables strewn about the place, but he didn't think that it was likely there was anyone else hiding behind them. He ran his hand threw his stringy brown hair, head still pounding from the night before.

"Does this mean your boys made it out alive? I wasn't standing to see if the UV nights pushed through the line or whether or not we held em off."

[rob]

00:06:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – An abandoned building on 132nd Ave.
Bockscar

From sitting down, hunkered in the prone, behind the wheel of the car in front of me, I can't see much. 'Course, I'm behind the thickest part of the car, which is nice (engine block and two tires + axles between me and someone else's bullet), but this ain't gonna work well. There's movement a couple hundred meters down the road, but between the midnight fog, the dust cloud from the building I blew the corner off of, and other shit, I can't tell if it's bad guys or gorillas in the mist.

And I ain't doing well. The left sleeve of my jacket has basically been ripped off around the armpit, so the kid could bandage my lung. The condom stuck to my chest flutters a bit every time I breathe out, releasing little globs of frothy blood and the pressure from my lung. Squirming sends slivers of pain up and down my side - there's probably a rib or two shattered in there, in addition to the bullet damage.

I hawk up a nice chunk of bloody phlegm and swear for a second or two under my breath before I tell the kid what's up. "Aight kid, we're moving. Gotta get something for your leg. Two jobs for you. One, turn over and look down range. Stay in cover. You see something that you KNOW - I say again, KNOW - is enemy, or starts shooting at us, just fucking shoot at them and I'll come back and kill 'em for you. Two, grab your commlink and message any and every hammerpack dude still in comms. Get a read on where they are and how many can come help us. Do it. Holler if you pick up comms."

Leave the AK sitting where it is and crawl back to the shotgun the dead Raider dwarf dropped. Throw the shotgun over by the kid. Crawl back to Leon and the Raider corpses. Search the bodies, looking for Leon's commlink, guns, medical supplies, drugs, anything - I'd kill for a hit of Nitro right now. Grab whatever I can find, wrap it up, and crawl it back to the kid.

I sit up into a crouch and drop my weight lightly on the the kid's back to keep him still. Start whispering bullshit at him, to keep his mind off what's going to happen. "Don't move, kid. This is gonna hurt. Bite your shirt if you need to. While you do, if you ain't got comms with anyone, try Leon's link." Pull the tourniquet from the med bag and chunk it tight on his leg. "Shut up. Keep quiet. Bite your shirt." Kick his legs a little bit apart. Rip the survival knife off the side of the car and drop the IV bag on his head. Cut his other pant leg off and cut it into 4 long strips. "I'm splinting your leg, with this nice brand new shotgun. It'll be yours afterwards, kid." Drop the shotgun between his legs and tie it to his ruined leg in 4 places. Best splint I got.

"Aight kid, you got anything from anyone?"

[HeySparky]

00:02:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Hunkered against a building on the SW corner of 126th Ave NE & NE 144th St
Badmarsh

It's November now. The night is cold. In the distance, where fires burn, smoke blots out dark swathes of the orange-lit cloud cover. Precipitation falls, alternating between a drizzling patter and the soft clicking of sleet. A young man and four young women crouch in the shadowed shelter of doorway. The young man and one of the young women look anxiously up and down the street. The young woman sweeps a shotgun to and fro. She speaks and looks at the young man for a reply.

---

"Shit." Badmarsh pronounces, droplets of rain fly from his beard.

"Are you--" He stops, angry. His eyes go"'Can I walk?' Oh man... Bitch, why don't you just shut the fuck up?"

You've done enough.

Badmarsh shakes his head in disbelief, "'Can I walk?'" He shakes his head again, voice dropping as he half-mutters to himself in a hybrid of Hindi and Cityspeak. A bit of it is clear, indirectly addressed to Nevada. "...your raggedy...showed up...fucked up than this." The seething pimp hitches up against the wall readjusting the shotgun in his grasp. More shaking, more muttering as he thumbs more shells into the shotgun from the bandoliers across his chest, "...you... won't be...to walk...done with..."

He glares at all of the women and composes a message to Legion. <[Badmarsh] Legion. You got ears? Good news, I got the girls. Bad news, I'm on foot. Almost home. Where you at?> The pimp's face, blood-streaked and wet appears in the caller box of Legion's comm.

He takes a deep breath and straightens, bloodstained shirt pulling tight across his chest and belly. His eyes blaze red. The light from them refracts and sparks in the moisture on his cheeks and brow. The auras of the women leap out at him, pulsing with the unmistakable throb of the feminine. The normally sluggish swirl has gone jagged and sharded. Frankie's particularly.

He leans out, ready to flinch back the moment he sees the astral torch of another soul. He looks left. Right. Left. Right.

[Vegas]

00:02:23 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Hunkered against a building on the SW corner of 126th Ave NE & NE 144th St
Nevada

She blinked once. Her vision returned to normal. She stared at the ganger who was using the wall of the building to stand. She blinked twice.

She could feel her teeth grind hard against one another as she clenched her jaw, biting back the majority of the various curses and generally rude thoughts. A few hissed out under her breath.

“Fucking…you arrogant… prick. Last time… ask you… fucking ok.�

Her anger flared violently inside her as her hand tightened into a fist. Sure she was once a whore and it was easy to fall back into the routine. It was just as easy to stay aggressive, stay “freelance� and Badmarsh seemed to forget that she also wielded a shotgun. A hot tempered female and a shotgun didn’t usually mesh well together, tonight was no exception. She was itching for a reason to twitch a finger.

She continued to mutter to herself as took the final drag from her cigarette and flicked the filter into the trash-strewn street. She looked back to check on the girls before turning her attention back fully onto the streets. She felt like she had a target painted on her in neon fucking green sitting here waiting for Mr. Spooky Glowy Eyes over there to make a move. She was edgy, she was anxious. She felt trapped and it was a feeling that extended well beyond their current physical location.

[pragma]

00:02:05 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Thumper

No one was answering the question. Thumper was on the verge of relaxing when he saw a pistol come around the corner. His wires were on; he was moving before he could register the eight ball tatooed on the pistol hand. After the club connected his brain caught up with him

... I saw a troll tearing into a group of UV Nights ...

He eased off as the troll started talking. After the giant had finished his speech Thumper responded:

"I don't know what we've got in the area. I was sent in to deal with the UV Nights crew you were tangling with. We had a guy in the area -- but I haven't seen him. Real stinky guy, holes in his cheeks."

He eyed Doc carefully. "We ought to try to round him up. Then hook up with a bigger crew. You got anyone else in the area?"

[grendel]

00:10:17 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – intersection of NE 141st Way and NE 124th Place, Kingsgate, Seattle, UCAS
Legion

Legion rested against the cool steel of a streetlight at the intersection of the two major thoroughfares of the Kingsgate area. Transferring his sword to his left hand, he dragged from his cigarette again, flicking the ash into the gutter. Movement to his left as well as across the street drew his attention, and he scanned over his right shoulder back towards Raider Nation turf for signs of pursuit.

Seeing none, he weighed his options, not particularly liking either. In the middle of his decision making process Badmarsh's message popped up on his vision. Legion smiled, moving his lieutenant from the status: unknown column to the survivor's column. His eyes scanned up and down the street as he replied.

: call connected -> Badmarsh :
"I'm dismounted as well, on the corner of 141st and 124th. Pack turf is compromised. I'm heading south. Gather what you can and meet me at 124th and 136th."

Legion ground out his cigarette beneath his boot, hefting his sword in his right hand again, and once more wondered which building would lend itself best to his purposes.

[yoippari]

00:02:30 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – NE 136th St Kingsgate, Seattle, UCAS
Trojan

Trojan weaves through the remaining wreckage and probably rubble with ease and races down 136th. Those things can probably find a free meal on every corner of Kingsgate, why would they ever try to chase down a bike? I left you a meal back thataway you disposal, go eat. No one ever said a ghoul was smart.

He didn't quite realize the poor choice in routes until he got to the salvation army block. There wasn't any shots being fired but there were definitely bodies on both sides of the streets. One in the middle of the street almost took the bike out.

Eventually Trojan gets to 124th. From here it's a straight shot home, but with the streets like this he isn't counting on a straight anything.

[Abbandon]

00:10:23 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – 120th N Ave. and 132nd St.
Fool


Whats the plan Fool, you cant sit here all night. You don't know if whoever did this will swing back around to look for survivors....The guys were telling stories about hooking up with the Hammerpack and some other gangs for this rumble..I should try to find someone from that crew and see if they would take me in...yeah thats a plan. The best place to find Hammerpack boys would be to head north, jesus the Raider Nation is between me and them....oh well no choice.....

Fool dug around in one of his dufflebags and pulled out a Fichette Security 600 Pistol and a couple of clips of ammo, no point in letting anything get to close. Dumping the clips into the pocket of his duster he stuffed the pistol down the waist of his pants. It would probably be easier to get there in a straight path but who the frag knows what is out there in the dark of the night, probably hellhounds and ghouls like that simflick i watched on halloween. If I go by road I will be more visable but hopefully I will be more safe to..

Fool stood up and went back to the exit of the alley and looked back at the garage that had been his home for the last few years, alot of memories were made there some good some bad but it was home and it was all going up in smoke. Those guys had became his family. Now he needed to be adopted by a new family. Turning he began walking out of the dead end street off 120th N Ave. which the now extinct Side Street Rollers had made their base of operations in a pretty big garage.

Whenever he could he stuck to the shadows as he made his way to 120th N Ave. His heart was beating a million times a minute and all the carnage did nothing to help. As he walked North along 120th N Ave. He saw more fires in various states of consumption and bodies of innocent ordinary folks ho had been gun down who werent even wearing gang colors. At first he was angry at whoever did this but as the body count rose he began to think maybe he was lucky he had been away when all this happened. He doubted very much if his skills would have made any difference in this outcome.

Looking down an alley he saw a ghoul dragging off a corpse or what he hoped was a corpse and shivered. He picked up the pace. He was almost to intersection of 120th N Ave. and 132nd St. from there he would head back east to one of the main dividing lines in kingsgate the 124th Ave. which almost perfectly split the Kingsgate area up and down the center. As he neared the intersection though he thought he heard something and he was getting a bad feeling. He kept moving but was on full alert......

[carjack_malone]

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 - Brickhouse Boys HQ
Johnny Soho

Johnny's grip on the gun is heavy, a sign of his nerves. The weapon is drawn from the waist band of his jeans, hidden from view in the small of his back. The weapon is lowered down in his hand along the side of his leg in an attempt to hide it. No sense spooking anyone to act first if they were armed as well besides, if they only came with a knife or club Johnny would like to see their face on how fucked they were. Johnny waits what seems long moments.Ah bollixs he thinks to himself as he opens the door and slides in as stealthly as he could manage considering the orkish frame.

[Unarmed]

00:04:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc

"Fuck no, man. You're looking at the last of the 8-Balls, as far as I know. I'm not ruling out the possiblity, but it's highly-fragging-unlikely."

Doc went into the back room to fetch his duffle back with the remainer of his things. He looked back at the ork in front of him.

"Where do you think your guy will be, and how the frag do you know he's alive? I couldn't hear anything out the back, at least when I checked."

[Lindt]

00:11:45 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Corner of N124th and N132nd
Child
So this is it. Child pushed the glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. I'm gonna die out here tonight. Child suddenly knew no more then a handful of people in the entire city that may have been alive. Thankfully the most important one had been tending to the black eye her mother had received on the job. He had bummed ¥20 off Mouse just in case he needed to ease a problem out, but that was all the money he had to his name. He promised to check in come morning.

Child stopped to look at the Yamaha parked against the curb. Right now that was perhaps the only chance he stood of seeing dawn, riding fast and away from this place. But first to end one era. He pulled the last reminder of The Rollers from a saddle bag, a beaten jacket with his name in blue and green. So it ends my friends, so it ends. Child wadded the jacket up and tossed it into the pile of garbage on the side of the street. Child took a few moments to try and let the events of the last 8 hours sink in.

The engine on the bike had been toyed with, but he knew it had potential. Its big problem right then was the fact that it was all Mad Max'd and painted up for a Hellhounds rider. But right then so long as it moved faster then he could walk, it would have to do. It wasn't like he could go fix it. Child secured the saddle bag, and checked on the strap holding his weapon to his back. Now what, where is safe

Child told his Erika to wake. He had turned it off when he realized that the markers denoting his friends had started to wink out one at a time as the comlinks failed to the fire. Child made his mind up to get off a side street, and head for the main roads. He had just turned onto NE 124th ln heading for 132 when his com popped up several windows in his field of view. There was a marker, and it was moving along the south side of 132nd headed for 124th. Child stopped the bike a block up, in what used to be LoCoS turf and pulled the tag open. FOOL, you big stupid deluded shit. His mind raced to launch the messenger app.

Fool? You alive? Please tell me your alive, cause I really don't wanna have to take your com back from what ever took it.

A background note showed up at the same time, a message from Aaron, wondering if he was alive or not, not that he cared. Child replied in the same, yes he was alive, and it was great to know you care. He shut the bike down, as much to stop drawing undue attention to himself, as to save a few drops of fuel in a situation where it might come down to drops.

[pragma]

00:04:12 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Thumper

"Don't know that he's still running, but its ..."

The heavy crunch of a footfall outside cut Thumper short. He dropped next to the door and jerked his head toward the front.

He whispered: "Keep your piece pointed out there ..." as he reached for the door.