Caracas: Hole in the Heart, IC Thread Options

[Rystefn]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

<<If you see the woman or the pilot turn their attention away, shoot them.

Shoot a woman? Some people might balk at such an idea, but El Mono had lived on the mean streets of Caracas for far too long to think women were any less vicious or deadly than men. Hell, his current problems were instigated by a woman. Equal opportunity, right? When he saw the dark woman jump out and start barking orders, Mono didn't hesitate. He lined up the Azzy assault rifle and whispered over the coms.

I've got the puta in my sights. You say go, and her face is swiss cheese.

Setting the targeting reticle on the woman, Mono quietly waited for his moment...

[Grimm]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Alex walked along silently with the cadre of mercenaries towards the destination. His body was on autopilot while his mind was seemingly elsewhere; not a far stretch for someone generally strung out on Bliss. Deciphering the patterns of the information flow around the boat’s network had taken a bit out of him. That was alright. The only time Alex felt alive was when he was almost dead.

He studied the fabric of the firewall before finding what he thought looked like a pattern in the information flow. A slight adjustment of his complex form gave it a bit better efficiency against this particular problem. The Matrix called out to him, trying to drag his soul and mind further away as he called on it for his own uses. But there he stayed. He let his complex form climb along the proverbial firewall like an ivy vine looking for holes. The stealth form that blanketed him in his work would keep him relatively safe, depending on how tight the defenses of this network were. It would find its way in, sooner or later.

[AStarshipforAnts]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Harper followed the troll, not like she had a choice. Even someone with as much cyber in her as Harper couldn’t do much against the combined weight and pull of a troll and a whole chain full of drugged women. The dock and its poor construction and unknown spills and supplies were rough on Harper’s feet. It was far from intolerable, but also added to the weakness she felt. Barefoot and naked, like the day she was born.

Then she spotted the length of steel rebar, laying half-hidden in a puddle of some dark and murky liquid. It was no AK or vibro-blade. But, that grime-covered steel might as well have been smiling at Harper, inviting the girl to pick it up.

Yes, yes. Closer, it called to her. The young woman edged closer, trying to angle her progress towards the make-shift club step by step. Even though her captor didn’t seem to bother looking back, Harper couldn’t help but feel a shiver of uncertainty and anxiety as she bent over and grabbed the steel from its dirty puddle of water and worse. Something disgusting and dark began rubbing off on Harper’s palm and fingers as she gripped her make-shift weapon. All that was left was the chain, and its weight, and the distance between Harper and the Troll. Wherever that van would take Harper, the razor girl wasn't interested. She licked her lips. Now what?

[Doc Chase]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]


"...Your balls chopped off, you fucks?!"

This was the moment. The rules of the game were simple: Have a reason for being there. Be someone vague. Every lie you tell to garner a piece of information is one you may have to back up later. View the situation and use it to your advantage.

The situation was simple: There are four men next to a truck that don't know the team from Alejandro, as well as a woman that would likely instill feelings of lust in the men of the team. The objective: Look like they belong there. Procedure: Don't let the men get a word in edgewise. Any of them. It was time to fly.

Sonora interjected a smooth, professional tone before the guards could answer.

"Our deepest apologies," she called, modulating her voice to project no true regional accent. "There has been a slight change of schedule that we could not quickly convey."

"You four," she said, gesturing to the guards at the truck. "Get the truck ready."

She injected more than just power into her Voice, it was Power, pure and simple. The Power of authority and adrenaline, modulated in such a way that she would have to be what she said she was to these men, and thereby she would have to be what she said to this woman. Speaking of which...

Sonora turned back to the woman with the assault rifle, the game taking life on its own. "As I said, there was a slight change and we don't wish to keep you any longer than necessary. There has been a request that we inspect the shipment, personally. With the brewing situation, we felt it prudent to make haste. Don't you agree?"

[Abschalten]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

The guards before the truck hesitated a moment after Sonora Voiced her command at them. For a sliver of a second, they looked dazed. A wave of disorientation seemed to ripple through them, and then as soon as it had hit, they were lurching towards the truck and making preparations to load it.

The stunning, charcoal-skinned woman regarded Sonora with narrowed, suspicious eyes. When Sonora addressed her however, using her abilities to help her sell the con, the woman visibly loosened up.

"I like a woman who can take command of bootlicking dogs like these bitches," she spat, gesturing to the dutiful guards with a disdainful and dismissive gesture. Turning back to Sonora, she regarded the woman with a more admiring -- though still guarded -- expression. "Name's Gabriella. Haven't seen you before. You new to Bolivar '49, or just working with them?" she asked, also giving a brief glance to the motley crew having followed Sonora.

She attempted to regulate her tone, to make it appear that she didn't care one way or the other. However, Sonora could see the minute, tell-tale signs of unbridled curiousity spidering across the woman's face. The feigned relaxation of her facial features -- she was trying too hard to seem nonchalant about this. The creasing of the faint wrinkles near the corners of her eyes, as well as the wondering twinkle within them -- try as she might to turn her face away, she was looking for clues, such as the ones that Sonora herself was reading off of this Gabriella like one of those last-century pop-up children's books.

---------------

Alex

There was a spider indigenous to the region called the silver-backed widowmaker. The silver-backed widowmakers were known for their expert climbing abilities, able even to ascend the sheerest and smoothest of slopes with little to no trouble, even if wet. Paraentymologists theorized that the spider manifested some sort of innate ability akin to adept Rooting, one step at a time, all the way up to their desired location. The silver-backed widowmaker was also known for its deadly venom and its innate cloaking abiliites. You wouldn't see the thing until it was climbing across your hand. By the time you felt the pinch of its bite, it would already be too late.

Alex was like that spider, tenaciously clinging to the Firewall, even though shifting ivy and gouts of rain tried to shift him away. He found a tiny crack in that wall, and he was inside, like a ghost, burrowing into the host and finding himself with full access to the Leviathan's systems, weapons included.

((Matrix Perception Test, Computer+Analyze, +2 for TM Perception bonus))

---------------

Harper

One by one, the doomed women in the collared train were being to the ramp leading into the back of the waiting truck. The troll let go of the chain and pointed into the back.

"In," he growled, his tone implying he expected no balking or resistance.

One by one the women shuffled past him, and as each one moved by him, he gave them a swift, painful crack on the ass, prompting them to continue inwards. Each woman let out a surprised and pained yelp, which seemed to please him even more.

Distracted as he was at abusing the merchandise, he didn't see the large piece of rebar that Harper had picked up. In fact, held down to the side as it was, he didn't even notice it when she was right next to him, and his hand was rearing back to give her a swat as well.

((If Harper is attacking him now, she'll get automatic Surprise on him.))

[Rastus]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

<<Oh hell, she's one of those kinds of women. This is having to suffer through that social studies teacher I had all over again.>> Smiley thought aloud over the teams PAN as he rolled his eyes from behind the face-concealing shades and rebreather mask he wears. <<Mono, if and when you gotta shoot, make it someplace that hurts. She giving me a migrane already.>>

After taking a moment to wait for the PAN's encryption to swap, he uses the camera in his eyes to catch a photo of the scathing loud-mouthed, charcoal-skinned woman chatting with Sonora, sending the picture to Devilbwoy with a simple question attached: <<Who the fuck is Gabriella?>> Once that's done, he takes a short moment to look up at the drone hovering above them, gesturing at it to rise a little higher in the air so it can get a better view, at about the same time he mentally sends the command. There was no reason for Smiley to act it out, but he figures that might help convince any onlookers that whoever is controlling the drone is well away from the docks and not one of the crew.

[Doc Chase]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Bolivar '49? Smiley, you pendejo. Did you set me up? Did you set us up?

Chingame. She's looking for information. Keep. Her. Guessing.

"They just need to be shown whom to respect, is all. A pleasure, Gabriella. I am Ms. Cruz, and these are my associates."

Sonora's face broke into a gentle smile. despite her left eye wanting to tic at Smiley's sexist comments That man needed a bullet in the kneecap.

People with her training had their own language, that of minute tics and movements that could tell a story. It could be used to send signals to another with the training, but with enough of an eye on the world around, each movement spoke volumes.

Take this Gabriella. She wasn't expecting someone who could resist being cowed by force - or who could ignore her striking looks. It unnerved her. It confused her. And it made her want to know more. She tried to treat it as nonchalance, but it was feigned. Sonora knew this woman wanted to know more, and wasn't trained in the same things she was.

As such, Sonora stuck to her own personal game plan.

"I work for the highest bidder," she said with that smile still on her face. The object was to make this woman feel more at ease, to let her guard down for that fateful moment when Mono would then end her life. It was...unfortunate, Sonora thought, but necessary.

"Today," she said, "That involves making sure the merchandise is received in good order, so the cabrones have to bitch about something else. There must have been some trouble, if we were called."

She smiled again, looking towards the boatswain at the controls and that rotary cannon.

"Don't mind the boys here. They're here to ensure mine and Gato's safety. May we come aboard?"

She would have to pray later for this. It hurt her heart, and her heart was in enough pain.

[Isinghar]

[Monday, November 16, 2072, 00:01 AM; Barlovento, desolate beach... 4 nights ago]

Down by the sea, the drums call. The villages of Barlovento spring from their sleepy states for La Fiesta de Archangel Miguel, also known by Santeros as Legba the Old Man of the Crossroads. During San Miguel the drums, tambores, of Barlovento pound relentlessly, all day and all night, while the locals dance their sensual, slinky moves, fueled by firewater and rum. At some point, figures of the saint do get carried into the water, and children are baptized, but essentially, it's a good excuse for a party.

There are two types of tambor being played. One stands-up, about waist-high and nearly two feet in diameter. The other is long and tubular resting on the ground. It has skin stretched over one end. That's where the drummers hit it with their inch-thick wooden sticks. About three or four men will crouch along its length, pounding. The rhythm is mesmerizing, oscillating between frenetic and frenzied and back again. A percussive passion-pendulum. There are horns too, blown in staccato bursts on the off-beat. They're huge conch shells, held up high, with one end drilled out for a mouthpiece. They make a deep down bass sound which boom-boom-booms.

Everyone's black. All the drummers are men. The women egg them on and join in the chants.

The dances mimic the mating prance of birds. Tight, jigging movements, with all the emphasis on the hips. Pelvises move in taut, winding, concentric circles, knees bend and feet shuffle. Couples size each other up, with the man coming as close as he can to the woman. She ducks and dives in swoops and jibes, always eluding his embrace. The battle of the sexes, Afro-Caribbean style. It's also a bit like pro-wrestling, one dancer tagging another who then enters the fray with new vigor.

An old woman starts to shout and reprimand the people for something. About twenty curlers knit into her hair, and she's wearing a flowing dress of far too many colors for it to be coordinated with anything but her wrath. Dancing shouldn't involve touching, she seems to be explaining, with plenty of hand flailing.

One of the dancers is a stunning woman, with gold, dangling earrings and bright red lipstick to match her bikini top and shorts. The top was too tight, and looked uncomfortable, unlike her shorts which do little to conceal her voluptuous curves. She dances wildly before a young handsome man; he wears a loose, cotton white shirt and pants, and has a bright red scarf tied around his neck. His golden-green eyes flash against the fire as he spits a stream of white rum into it... As the flames explode a ghostly figure can be seen contorting above the flames... the crowd hushes and the music stops... Legba has been called...

The young man's eyes turn white, as though he's been stricken blind, and he speaks in a rumbling voice, in a language none understand...

The old woman bows before the young man and asks in a hushed voice, "Thank you Wise One for coming to our aid... We seek Guidance and Advice... the City of corrupted flesh and decay, has erupted into an endless dance of death and fire... people shiver in fear and cower in their homes... in the air is the smell of gunpowder and burning flesh... what does all this mean?" she implores to the Great Spirit.

The crowd listens patiently or maybe in awe and fear of the power emanating from within the young man. The only sound is the waves of the sea crashing against the beach, the wind whistling through the palm trees... The old lady and the young man appear to be contorting in fear, unbeknown to the crowd; images of death and destruction are flooding into their minds...

The roar of massive war engines unloading from battleships and storming the beaches... Vector thrust aircraft screaming across the sky, dropping bombs across the city... fires burning, children screaming, woman begging for relief... bullets and rockets rain down in a torrential downpour. The symbol of an Aztec Warrior is branded on all these machines of war... armed soldiers march into the streets, threatening the citizens and screaming questions an inch from their faces, “[i]Donde estan los Santeros? Tienen brujos escondidos aqui? (Where are the Santeros? Do you have witches hidden here?)”… a young man handcuffed, kneeling against a wall, blood running down his shirt… a uniformed soldier steps up behind him, aims a massive pistol to the back of his head and fires!... [/i]

Santos breaks into a cold sweat as he recognizes the executed man, Why would the invaders be after him and other Santeros?

As though reading his mind the old woman speaks, "The Aztecas fear practitioners of Santeria because of the close bond they have with Amazonian Cantomble… We must abandon the village and seek refuge in the jungles to the east and south. I have friends there that will provide refuge."

Santos at that instant confirms the suspicions he’s harbored about the old woman, and the clandestine meetings she has been having the last few months with strangers to the village: She is an agent of Amazonia, or at least has been cooperating with them for some time.

Abuela Rosario interrupts his train of thought and continues, “Someone needs to stay back in the city… hiding… watching… Santos will you stay and be my eyes and ears?”

Santos shakes in fear, I owe a lot to Abuela Rosario, but what she asks of me is suicidal! What can one man do against the overwhelming forces heading towards Caracas? Where will I hide? The Great Legba has shown us the folly of staying in the City, and what the Aztecas will do to me if captured… No this is crazy! I will not be a victim ever again!

As Santos turns to the old woman to respond, he sees her eyes full of desperation and fear, If I do nothing, will I be able to live with myself? The shade of Rodrigo sways in the wind…

“I will do it! But under my terms! I will get out of the city at the first sign of things getting out of control.”

He turns inwardly and asks Great Legba, Are there any other pendejos in the City with similar fucked up goals?, maybe I can build an alliance of convenience with them to pull this shit off!

He does not have to wait long for a response, as a new image floods his mind:

Deep fog, swirls around a dark dock... A small yacht is seen gliding into the pier... A ragged group of heavily armed and armored misfits, surrounding a beautiful elven woman and a young, nervous man break through the fog...

Santos recognizes the docks and pier that Legba has shown him in this vision, he again feels doubts about this course of action, but at least he will seek out these fools first before deciding what to do next…

[AStarshipforAnts]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Harper wasn’t quite lucid enough to try to hide her intentions from anyone observant enough to notice her. She watched as the troll swatted each woman shuffling into the truck, watched his smirk grow and the confused eyes of each of the girls. The razor girl didn’t have any problem with the casual swat on the backside. But, this troll and those painful sounding cracks piqued the young woman’s urge to break bone and cut flesh. This wasn’t about the women in the line. This was about some sick mother-fucker hassling girls who couldn’t fight back because it got his rocks off.

As Harper’s turn in the line approached, her own grin began to pull at the corners of her lips. The hand swings back. For the moment, no recognition of the troll’s true predicament even reflects in his eyes. In the speed of a few half-thoughts, Harper activated her wired reflexes and whirled into motion. There would be blood. There would be the wet snap of bone. Even if this idiot wasn't directly responsible for her current predicament, he was going to get the brunt of Harper's rage and frustration at the opening of this truck.

Her own hand falls back, gathering momentum to meet the huge, muscular troll’s meaty slab with her own comparatively tiny and delicate one. Hand razors shot into place with a familiar slide of metal on flesh. Harper aimed for the huge man’s hand, hoping to destroy or at least maim it. As that motion began, Harper's eyes went wide as she scanned for the look on her soon-to-be victim’s face to bloom into realization.

“Hey, trog,” she whispered in English, much clearer than she should have been able to. She didn't know if he'd understand English, but he'd understand 'trog'. With dancing, furious eyes, Harper completed the arc of her stabbing, slashing hand to the end of her make-shift club of rebar and began swinging to kill. Maybe the girls behind the street sam would finally learn what they were supposed to do when some pendejo swats your ass too hard.

[Grimm]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Alex sighed softly to himself as he found his way into the system. That of course, was only half the battle. And not really even the difficult one. He knew there would be things lurking for him inside; waiting for someone to do exactly what he was attempting. The technomancer glanced around the area at the different people talking; his attention really only there to detect the sounds of gunshots so he could take cover. Once he found the defense mechanisms in the Leviathan’s node, it would be all his. He reached out and sifted through the code, trying to find the tell-tale signs of threats in the node. They were there, he just had to find them.

[Isinghar]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Santos had spent the last four nights hiding amongst the illicit cargo containers transported in an out of Pier 40, waiting for the elfin muñeca and her pandilla. The downpour did not let up and the cheap poncho he bought off the street vendor Monday night was fast becoming his new favorite possession. Standing around in the rain all night was something he had not needed to do since he was rescued off the streets by Abuela Rosario and his mind wandered off to the review the events that brought him to his current situation…

Leaving the village with his few meager belongings on Cashassa’s bike… grabbing on tightly to her luscious body while the bike screamed into high gear… the cheap doss she helped him find in La Guaira was his new home and he crashed there during the day while his nights were spent hanging out on Pier 40… Cashassa had not wanted him to get involved with the Azzies and advised him to get out of Caracas now… well it was maybe too late for that…


Off in the distance at the end of the Pier he sees a yacht sailing in. Is that the one? I better get a little closer to see if it’s them…

Just as Santos moves from his hiding place to get closer he is distracted by the line of half-naked women being dragged by a huge troll… blood immediately courses from his brain to his dick (what do you expect from a 17 year old!) and he stops mid-stride to gawk at the girls… he notices the small, skinny one at the end of the line, Wow! What is that loquita doing with that rebar? Oh shit! Nah, no she’s not! She’s going to swing it at the hijo e’ puta trog!

[Abschalten]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Gabriella smirked back at Sonora and nodded. "Highest bidder, yeah. I know all about that. La Alianza were jerking us around on what these guns were worth, so we had your employers make us an offer. Seems Bolivar were a little more eager to get their hands on these goodies. Way I figure it, La Alianza are probably still smarting over that and vowing revenge or some shit." A dismissive toss of her head showed what she cared for concerning that.

"Anyway..." Gabriella snaps her fingers, and a ramp extended from the deck of the Leviathan down to port, and the guards by the truck run aboard. "Careful with those crates, you pigs," she barked at the men. By the angry expressions on their faces, her biting words are starting to have a negative effect.

Sonora could see her impossible lies being accepted as truth to this woman. The laxness of the woman's facial muscles spoke of her dropped guard, her rushed demeanor of her impatience to finish this transaction and be elsewhere. To Gabriella, "Ms. Cruz" and her cohorts were no longer a threat, just buyers.

---------------

Santos and Harper

Santos melted through Pier 40 like a ghost. His friendly spirit, Surri, had at Santos' request inhabited the body of his beloved pet mongoose, Reina. From there, Surri had a free hand to affect the physical realm, and he used all the powers at his disposal to make Santos as noticeable as invidual droplets of water in the steam billowing off of the waterfront. Even when Santos walked within a few feet of somebody, they looked right past or through him and made no indication that he'd been spotted or Surri's concealments compromised.

It was as Santos was skulking through Pier 40 that he saw, around the back of a warehouse, a completely nude woman with a long length of sturdy-looking rebar. She stood before the large troll leading her up into the back of the truck, and obviously she caught him off guard, because before Santos could blink, she sank that rebar into the troll's head with a sickening, wet crunch, maybe the sound a pumpkin would make if you kicked it in.

The troll staggered, a hand raising to his slightly deformed head. Before he could tumble towards the ground, the woman struck again, a solid swipe taking him across the face. Blood spewed out of the trolls mouth and painted the wall of the building nearby, and the clatter of teeth and broken tusks accompanied it.

The sudden, violent scene caused the women already in the truck to scream. As they begun backing away from the carnage, they were inadvertantly dragging Harper further up the ramp and into the truck against her wishes.

"What the fuck?" came a voice from the front of the truck. Santos saw the driver's side door open, and a bulky ork jumped out. A large caliber revolver was in his hand before his booted feet squelched in the muddy ground.

---------------

Alex

Sonora kept Gabriella busy. Good. While the girls were chatting it up, Alex was studying the inner workings of this node he found himself in. As he let his digital mind's eye examine the surroundings -- a sparsely sculpted node, just appearing to be a large room with a bank of monitors examining various sensors, cameras, and other subsystems of the Leviathan -- he saw the icon of a large, robotic humanoid sitting in the "Captain's Chair," turning his head this way and that as he studied the ship's numbers. By the way he focused on the cameras, he was keeping a careful eye on the meeting below.

A moment of disorientation washed over Alex as he saw himself in the cameras, simultaneously watching the ship and watching the ship watch him watching the ship.... Alex's eyes glazed over for a moment, and with a single deep breath the nausea faded quickly.

((Computer+Stealth roll))

---------------

Smiley

<<Gabriella?>> DevilBwoy messaged back. <<Dat lookah be deh Bad Mama b'hind deh Drownahs nah. Not deh leadeh, she jus' keeps t'ings propah fuh 'em. Prob'ly Puck is up in deh ship. I t'ink dey're hooked up, yanno? One ain't nevah far from deh uddah.>>

Smiley's drone ascended higher and higher into the night sky. Though the fog tried to obscure visual readouts, the sensors and other gadgets therein managed to pierce that solid veil.

And he saw more than he wanted to.

To the east, and closing in on the team's position fast, a group of men clad entirely black, all wielding automatic weapons and moving in a practiced, methodical squad formation, moving from cover to cover as they closed in. Fifty meters away at present, by their stride and their movements, they could be on the team in no time.

To the west, another group of men, similarly armed and armored, but wearing the gang colors of Bolivar '49. Assault rifles in hand, they moved as though going somewhere they expected to be, not rushing but not taking their time, either. They were a bit closer, perhaps 30 meters away, having just left the din and noise of the Bazaar behind.

And out at sea, lights. Lights from ships. And lots of them. Were those naval class ships?

Mierda. Those are Aztlan flags!

[Rastus]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Just as Smiley was about to make a smarmy remark to Devilbwoy, he felt his blood run cold as he saw what was fast approaching. He gave a shiver as he activated his wired reflexes and made his way up the gangplank and onto the boat, messaging the rest of the team on the way. <<We need to hurry this up, there are bad guys with big guns making a beeline towards us. Be here any minute if they don't get distracted on the way.>>

Taking a few steps forward on the deck, he gives his drone a command to get back down closer to the ground and face outwards from the gangplank while being ready to open suppressive fire the moment the smartlink on his AA-16 registers the trigger being pulled. Turning to face the person manning the gatling gun on the deck, he tightens his grip on the autoshotgun in his hands before messaging the team once again. <<Everyone step aboard quick and be ready. Sonora, keep Gabriella from offloading anything, say you want to check a few crates before anything gets off the boat. El Mono, fire at will upon Gabriella once at least Sonora and Alex gets on the boat, everyone else can fight their way aboard without problem.>> Then, he waits for El Mono to make the first shot...

[Rystefn]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
<<We need to hurry this up, there are bad guys with big guns making a beeline towards us. Be here any minute if they don't get distracted on the way.>>
Damnit! Good thing Smiley had that eye in the sky. Otherwise, they might have been right fucked by this. as it was, things were about to get real hairy real fast.

<<Everyone step aboard quick and be ready. Sonora, keep Gabriella from offloading anything, say you want to check a few crates before anything gets off the boat. El Mono, fire at will upon Gabriella once at least Sonora and Alex gets on the boat, everyone else can fight their way aboard without problem.>>

El Mono kept the targeting reticle lined up with the oblivious woman and waited for Sonora to board the boat, his finger resting on the firing contact.

Roger. Get ready for the action sequence.

[Isinghar]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Santos chuckled to himself as he saw the troll's head cracked open like a rotten pumpkin, La chica es una Fiera! (The little girl is Fierce!), I would not have guessed such a small package carried such a big punch... He continues to admire the lovely ladies, when he spots the ork truck driver jumping out with a heavy pistol, Hey who told that pendejo to bring a gun to a naked rebar fight? I'll even the odds out a bit... Maybe la chiquilla will thank me appropriately afterwards for helping out...

Part of his mind continues to fantasize on a fitting reward he should get from the young lady, as the other focuses in on summoning mana from around him into a focused powerful burst of energy. He visualizes the release and a bolt of energy slamming into the ork...

[Grimm]

Alex swallowed back the bit of nausea that hit him when he caught himself looking at himself in an almost infinite loop. There was a much more important job to be done at the moment though, one that could not see him throwing up all over his meat-body. In the back of his mind he let the intrusion complex form he had crafted dissipate back into the furthest reaches of the Matrix. Now, he took to picking apart the icon that sat on the chair. He sifted through the information that glided around it, trying to determine what exactly it was and how much of a threat it would prove to be. Alex silently wishes he had a bit more time, but he knew the window was going to be closed soon. If anything, he might have to act on the fly. Once that was done, he opened himself to the other traffic of the node. He looked for the tell-tale signs of defenses or IC that might not be hidden well from him.

[AStarshipforAnts]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

“Shit! Shit! Shit! You dumb bitches!” Harper shouted in English as the women began screaming and trying to move away from the presumably dying or dead troll. As huge body finally fell to the ground, and the puddle of blood under the brute’s ruined head began to intermingle with the muddy ground, Harper congratulated herself on a job well-done. She really wanted to make sure her victim was going to stay down for good, but didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. The young woman made a good show of trying to stand her ground. But, even she couldn’t do much against so many panicking girls pulling her back into the truck with their combined weight and strength.

Gagging from the yanking collar around her neck, Harper stumbled back several feet further up the ramp. She spent a few seconds of swinging her rebar club at the air and spewing a proverbial stream of English obscenities and barely-coherent thoughts before even trying something halfway productive. “The fuck is wrong with you chicas? It's a God-damned body now. Can't do anything to you. Calm the fuck down!” Harper's accent would peg her as a UCAS woman from the start, as heavy as it was, even if her looks didn't. Most of the chained women were variants on caramel and mocha, brunettes and raven-haired girls that each bore a superficial--but passing resemblance to Harper's idol. But, they were nothing, nothing like Zero. The razor girl could get that the girls she was chained to didn’t know how to fight, that they were drugged and scared. But, this shit was just stupid. They should be embarrassed, getting saved by some pasty-pale, red-head gringo like Harper.

[Doc Chase]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Sonora's AR display was going crazy with messages from the team. Apparently, there was a bad moon rising.

As the four stevedores tromped onto the Leviathan, Sonora made a move to follow, shouting commands just as Gabriella did.

"Hold off on bringing the load off the boat until I inspect some crates!" she called.

At this point, Sonora wasn't about to take 'no' for an answer. Mono had a bead on the woman. Alex was getting dragged up the gangplank with her. Bolivar '49 had suborned the shipment before they could do it for them, and now everyone was converging on this blasted ship like it had a radio beacon screaming orders to the world to fuck it in the ass.

"This should only take a moment!" Sonora called as she moved up the gangplank and onto the boat. At the very least, one wanted to get the crates open and a weapon in hand. With luck, they might even be loaded.

[Abschalten]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Gabriella paused as Sonora suddenly made for the gangplank after Smiley pulling a slightly occupied-seeming Alex in tow with her. Sonora caught from the corner of her eye that Gabriella had suddenly grown quite suspicious. The dark woman pressed a hand to her ear and began moving her lips silently.

Smiley's drone dropped altitude and begun to hover closer to the ship, its weapons systems ready to open fire at his pre-ordained command. In doing so the drone lost the vantage it had previously had, and so he could no longer see any of the iminent threats. But he knew they were coming, and that had to count for something.

As everyone moved on board, Gabriella was left standing by herself, hand pressed to her ear, subvocalizing. Her other arm was raising her assault rifle, and she looked as if she were about to use it. But alone as she was, with nobody else impeding the view, El Mono currently had the perfect shot...

------------

Alex

Alex, meanwhile, was just moving with Sonora easily prodded into any direction since he was busy watching the icon in front of him in the Captain's Chair. He took a moment to observe the icon before him, and figured it for that of a security hacker/rigger, probably on board, and by the slow, ponderous rate at which he was working, more than likely he was also just using AR instead of being fully inside the node.

With a mental effort, he concentrated on becoming just another background process of the node. His "form" faded and became a ghostly translucent color, then totally transparent. When the icon in the Chair looked right at Alex's icon, there was a tense moment before Alex realized that the icon was looking straight through him at some monitors directly behind him. Alex turned to look at them as well, and saw that they were being watched as they ascended the gangplank.

Suddenly, Alex heard a voice intone in the room from all directions at once, the voice of Gabriella down below, talking to the one currently keeping watch.

"Puck, something's wrong. We're aborting the drop. Waste them and let's get the fuck out of here."

To which the icon in the room replied out loud: "Understood. Locking on now."

A targeting reticle on the monitor focused on the bodies of himself, Sonora, and Smiley as they moved aboard, following them as they moved to meet with the guards currently grabbing the shipping crates.

---------------

Santos and Harper

The ork stormed down the side of the truck, around to the ramp where all the commotion was going on. He skidded to a halt, boots squelching through the mud as he did, when he came across the body of the troll with the caved in skull, brains splattered about like some sort of piñata.

Looking up, he saw a naked Harper, the gory rebar still clutched in her hand, with a blob of brain matter dripping off implicatingly. Struggling against the frightened mass of chicas dragging her further into the truck, the collar partically strangulating her air supply, she didn't see the ork until he had raised the pistol directly at her.

At which point his eyes rolled up in his head, and he fell over, slumped across the ramp.

[Grimm]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

The momentary feeling of fear passed and was passed by the burning feeling in his gut he got before he fought anyone. It was a longing pang, from someone that longed for a better life, existence, or circumstance. His mind wandered to the various things he had wanted out of life as it reached out through the node and picked up bits of excess data. He watched himself and his teammates on the monitor and pondered letting the weapon systems fire. No one would even miss them. Though hopelessness walked side-by-side with the technomancer, there was one thought that kept him going through everything. The one thought that kept him putting one foot in front of the other until he eventually stumbled into his grave.

Hookers and Bliss.

The technomancer flicked his virtual sight around, looking at the edges of the node where the bits of data had attuned to him. With a thought, he brought the data in towards the rigger’s icon at a high velocity; like a fragment grenade exploding from the virtual walls onto the Captain’s Chair.

Alex paused and popped a message off through his physical commlink, <<@Team: We’ve been made.>>

[Isinghar]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Santos and Harper

The ork stormed down the side of the truck, around to the ramp where all the commotion was going on. He skidded to a halt, boots squelching through the mud as he did, when he came across the body of the troll with the caved in skull, brains splattered about like some sort of piñata.

Looking up, he saw a naked Harper, the gory rebar still clutched in her hand, with a blob of brain matter dripping off implicatingly. Struggling against the frightened mass of chicas dragging her further into the truck, the collar partically strangulating her air supply, she didn't see the ork until he had raised the pistol directly at her.

At which point his eyes rolled up in his head, and he fell over, slumped across the ramp.

A satisfied smirk appears on Santos' face as he watches the ork drop, Serves you right Pendejo!

He looks around to see if anyone else has noticed what has just happened by the truck. La Fiera is a gringa. How interesting... I wonder who just bought her?

Santos decides to take a closer look at the truck, the troll and the ork, Maybe there are some keys here for the women's chains...

I nearly forgot about la muñeca on the boat! Coño! pretty naked women can be a real fraggin' distraction. Hope she has not disappeared onto the ship and already left the Pier. Barabás should be able to handle this job...

He concentrates on the image of a sleek dark-brown Rhodesian Ridgeback, Barabás come to me, boy! Attuning his perception to the Astral sphere he watches as his faithful scenthound rushes towards him, Shadow the elven lady and keep me informed of where she goes, he commands the Watcher as he sends a mental link of the muñeca and her associates.

He then cautiously approaches the truck, looking for any signs of more hostiles in the area.

[Doc Chase]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

<<We've been made.>>

Like hell we have.

A contingency plan popped into Sonora's head as she glanced up and saw the drone dipping closer. She put her own hand to her ear, as if the drone was telling her a secret to her, and only to her - the bodyguards only needed to be so much meat.

That wasn't the true case, but the time for half truths and obfuscation was nearly over. Now it was getting the details right, and she would need to play the part.

Rage came easy to Sonora, both to her joy and dismay. The fury put things into focus, allowing for perfect clarity when it was most needed, but it came at the price of precious time for her beleagured corazon.

Were she better with numbers, she could probably come up with an equation telling her how many beats it cost her to get her blood hot. She wasn't that good, so Sonora simply estimated. That in itself got her pissed.

As the four hombres brought the crates onto the deck, Sonora whirled and pointed an accusing finger where Gabriella was bringing her assault rifle up.

"Mierda!" she yelled, loud enough to get the unwitting stevedores' attention. This is where things got interesting.

"You sold us out to a third party, puta! Tell me why there is an Azzie strike team on the way right now! Did you think you could get paid twice?!"

[Abschalten]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:52 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Everything happened all at once.

Sonora spun and pointed Gabriella out, implicating her in a vile deceit to everyone else on board. The dark-skinned woman paused, but only for a moment, because that's when automatic gunfire began ripping through the night. El Mono held the trigger back, and almost like magic little holes opened up in her stomach, chest, and face. The woman's body shuddered as the rounds slammed into her, and blood hung in the air like a metallic-tasting mist. She fell backwards, gazing up at a leaden sky with eyes that have already lost their light.

As Gabriella was being shredded, the mounted minigun began whining, the barrels spinning up and preparing to lay into the people on board with rapid fire death. Alex however, launched his code at the rigger inside the ship's node, tearing into his icon by way of introducing spontaneous code faults and subroutine abortions. The loss of command caused the minigun to suddenly swing wide and drop. The rounds exploded from the gun, leaving a bullet trail in the deck that ran menacingly towards Sonora but then averted around her. The barrel raised up long enough in its swing to catch one of the four guards, slicing upwards at an angle that half-decapitated him and sent him falling backwards overboard and splashing into the choppy ocean.

Meanwhile the remaining three guards were now hiding behind the crates. One of them had the brilliant idea to crack them open and start arming themselves, seeing as things were now getting pretty shitty.

---------------

Santos approached the truck, completely unseen, right as the minigun fire was beginning to erupt nearby, quite near their location in the direction of the elven chica he was so interested in.

This din of battle caused the terrified women in the back of the truck to freak out even more. They lurched away from the ramp, jerking Harper off her feet and onto her back, then dragging her across the rough floor of the truck. The pressure from the color cut off her air, and she found herself without a voice with which to plead for them to calm down. It was effectively a noose.

This was the scene that Santos saw as he skulked up to the back of the truck. The ork still took his rest on the ramp, which lead up into a truck full of panicked women. As he looked down both sides of the vehicle, he saw nobody else moving to engage them.

He did, however, hear from the direction of the Bazaar the noises of those who were shouting, alerted of the battle further along Pier 40, and running to engage.

[Rastus]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:52 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

With everything going so fast, Smiley had trouble keeping up even with his jacked up reflexes. After hearing Gabriella behind him come down with a nasty case of death courtesy of El Mono, he looked up to the mounted minigun to see that not only had the guy behind it apparently walked off while Smiley was plotting, but the damn thing was being moved by remote! The fuck? Did I hallucinate that fucker being there or what? Acting on instinct he dashed ahead and did a feet-first baseball slide under the arc of the minigun before it started firing upon the deck.

Rolling over, he could see three guards start digging through the crates to arm themselves after one of their friends lost face in the worst possible way. Lining up the smartlinked sights of his AA-16, Smiley pulled the trigger and sent a 3-round burst of 12-gauge buckshot at one of the goons, then one more at a different goon. While the aim seemed steady upon pulling the trigger, the one thing he didn't expect was how much more earsplittingly LOUD the unique gasvent on his shotgun made each individiual shot compared to his old SPAS-22, which was made considerably worse by the enhanced hearing equipment he wore that didn't have a dampener installed. Immediately after firing Smiley groaned painfully as he took a hand off his shotgun to yank the headset off his ears.

[AStarshipforAnts]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:52 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Harper fell backwards, the collar biting around her neck. The floor of the truck was rough on her skin; the razor girl could feel layers of dried grime rubbing off onto her back and the backs of her legs. She didn’t even see Santos as he walked about the truck and continued to thrash around, expecting the ork to shoot her until she finally catching a glimpse his slumped form out of the corner of her eye.

Shit shit shit. Don’t tell me I’m gonna get killed by these stupid, panicky bitches after all of this. As her air supply cut off, Harper began to panic herself. The collar and chain continued wrenching her back. Time without fresh oxygen began to make itself known, and little black spots shimmered into existence at the edges of Harper’s vision. Either those girls were going to have to calm down soon, or someone was going to have to give Harper a hand. Otherwise, she was going to be an even more serious situation. What a stupid way to go. If Zero could see her now, she'd be so disappointed.