Caracas: Hole in the Heart, IC Thread Options

[Isinghar]

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

Santos is momentarily distracted by the sound of machine gunfire, but then sees the pretty gringa writhing on the truck bed and gasping for air, and he immediately springs into action. He sends a mental comand to Surri to drop the spells cast on him, then he runs up the ramp yelling in the most commanding and authoritative voice he can convey, "Calmense niñas! Todo esta bien! Yo no voy a hacerles daño, pero tienen que hacer caso y caminar hacia mi. (Calm down girls! Everything is going to be OK! I will not hurt you, but you need to do as I say and walk towards me.)"

He then grabs a hold of the chain pulling on the gringa's neck, and tries and force some slack by pulling firmly on the girls to walk towards the front of the truck. He gives them his most honest and calming smile, while he pulls on the chain, and uses his other hand to show them that he is unarmed and just needs them to calm down. "Asi es... tranquilas... yo no les voy a hacer daño... (That's it... calm down... I will not harm you...)"

[Doc Chase]

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

As if thematically appropriate, time slowed to a crawl the moment the first spark of lead ripped through Gabriella. Dark eyes already looked skyward in her last moments, as if she prayed to the angels of Caracas for salvation. Sonora could see the stark path laid before the woman as Gabriella spun and fell to the ground.

It was a future history as terrible as her last moments. Rage and sex were all the woman had, using her wiles to ensure the boat stayed together for one, maybe two more voyages before it was boarded by pirates and the meager crew overwhelmed. She died there, tied to the bed she and the pilot shared wearing nothing but shame and regret as her life was choked out of her very eyes after the crew had their way with her.

Another path had an end with an AZT naval destroyer, ending in much the same way. Each path Sonora could see ended the same - in blood and gore. Knifed in a Miami bar. Immolated Amazonian forces near Rio. Pulled into the deep with the Leviathan by an Awakened Leviathan - a path that cropped up often; cruel proof of Fate's sense of humor.

The burst of noise and light that ended Gabriella's spark on a Caracas pier was perhaps the most merciful of all paths, though Sonora reasoned that she may have a personal bias.

Glittering brass started to fall on pavement and on deck as the heavy-caliber autocannon opened up, the stattaco beat making Sonora's teeth shake. She could almost make out every round as it spit out of the barrel, working its way closer and closer.

Sonora was finding that these moments were allowing a certain clarity of mind for her. As the cannon's firing arc drew closer, she did what one tended to do in firefights. She grabbed Alex and dropped to the deck, protecting the Matrix magician with her own body as the rounds chewed up the deck around them both.

Okay, so it wasn't what everyone would tend to do in a firefight.

The heavy beat of the autocannon was joined by the bass thump of a shotgun on fully automatic fire. She knew the hombres carrying the crates didn't have that kind of firepower, so it could only be Smiley clearing the deck.

Sonora was content to let the boys do their grisly work. All she had was her aptly-named Manhunter, and she let the gunmetal fill her hand as she covered the dock. Mono would be diving onto the boat soon, and it sounded like there were reinforcements on the way.

[Abschalten]

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

Smiley brought his auto-shotgun to bear on the guards near the weapons cache. Any temporary bonds shared with these men in their mutual hatred of the now dead Gabriella was dispelled once they found themselves on the wrong side of his gun's barrel. Such is life in Caracas, and indeed, all over the world. The first man, unable to find cover in time, found himself shredded by the shot peppering him. A multitude of tiny holes sprouted up all over his body, squirting blood all over the half empty crate of weapons. The man beside him, reaching for the crate, took a blast to the chest, the other two effectively and raggedly amputating his arm below the shoulder. Before he fell away out of sight behind the crates, his screams ripped the night into tatters and blood sprayed out in pulsating gushes, some of it painting Sonora from head to toe like a lawn sprinkler.

The group of men skulking from the east, the ones skulking from cover to cover and clad entirely in black, paused once they heard the eruptions of Smiley's ridiculously loud AA-16. These shots also gave his aerial drone permission to start suppressing the area liberally. Gunfire split the night with a rapid-fire rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat, which caused the group to return fire, strafing out from their cover as they attempted to take out the cause of the suppression, hidden away in the dense fog and only revealed by the light of the gunfire.

Figuring that they're suddenly being fired upon, the men to the west of the Leviathan, those wearing Bolivar '49 colors, began firing back. Shouts split the night as the area all along the Pier around the Leviathan turned into a firefight. All parties involved found it exacerbated when armed vultures and opportunists from the Bazaar began rushing up, seeking to murder those they can and loot the bodies later. On this night, chaos came to roost on Pier 40.

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

Alex

Alex's cyberattack on the Puck, the rigger's, icon was enough to distract him and disrupt his control of the minigun turret on deck. Alex was able to simultaneously see the man in the turret snarling as he pressed a hand to the side of his hand in concentration. Meanwhile, the icon in the Leviathan's node, suddenly aware that it was being assaulted from within, located Alex's living persona. Rising up out of the seat, the rigger's vaguely humanoid icon withdrew a sword and lunched for Alex's living persona, trying to bury it inside of his icon.

((Being attacked, need to roll Response+Firewall for Defense))

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

Santos and Harper

Santos's efforts at calming the frightened gaggle of women had immediate and obvious effects. Despite the fact this man approached with obvious magic, his raw Charisma and his seeming trustworthiness, on top of the fact he was sparing them an unenviable destiny, caused them to immediately suck up their fears and stand still. Oh they still huddled near each other, but now they weren't in constant retreat. The chain and collar that was previously taut and strangulating Harper was now slack, and she had the opportunity to breathe air, precious air, once more.

[Rastus]

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

With his ears still ringing, Smiley braced the shotgun against his shoulder as he mentally switched the firing mode to full-auto via smartlink. Time was running out for this, they needed to hurry, yet they couldn't have enough time if they were moving at the speed of light; if the happy people making a bee-line for the boat didn't get them, the oncoming Azzie fleet just might when they make their way out.

After taking a half-moment to aim for the last goon hiding behind the crates, he lets loose a controlled full-auto burst, but despite his best efforts his grip is shakey and most of the burst jumps around too much. Furthering his problems at the moment, he notices a tiny bit of movement out the corner of his eyes and turns his head slightly to see that the guy manning the minigun never disapeared in the first place, and now he's standing right above a prone Smiley...

[Isinghar]

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

Santos is barely able to contain his surprise at having calmed down all the women, when the world erupts into crazy maelstorm of machine gunfire, the loud explosions of automatic shotgun fire and the shouts of dirty vultures cirrcling around the carcasses of the dead, Mierda, time to get out of here

He helps the gringa to her feet, "Yu now hou tu drive truck?" he asks in broken English. "Yu look keys on trog and ork for chain. I start truck, get us out of here."

Santos will run around from the back to the truck cabin and look to see if it's started and/or if the key are in the ignition. He hopes Barabas is following the elf chica, and sends him a mental request, Barabas, have you found the elf chica?

[Doc Chase]

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

The world was red.

Sonora fought the impulse to vomit as a dying man ruined her clothing, spattering her with the warmth of life. The deck was already nearly cleared away, Smiley's rotodrone she had christened The Smiling Jackass(not vocally...yet) dancing in the fog. She could only track it by the sparks of rounds against its metal skin, and the return flash of the muzzle as it made a bad night for Pier 40 even worse.

Smiley himself was not in the greatest position. While he wasn't in the firing arc of the autocannon that Puck and Alex were fighting over, the pilot was in smacking distance of the rigger with the autoshotgun.

Sonora, against better judgement, took careful aim with her Colt. The target looked to be behind ballistics glass, but looks weren't everything. She took a careful look at him, searching for a weak spot, an opening - even a distraction to pull his attention away from the Matrix fight for just one second - which should be just what Alex needs to end it.

There. She squeezed the trigger, the heavy pistol bucking once in her hand.

[AStarshipforAnts]

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

Harper coughs perhaps a half-dozen times, peering up blankly at the ceiling of the truck as her lungs fill once again with air. Breathe in. Breathe out. You’re alright, Harper. She felt someone help her to her feet, her legs shaking for perhaps a second before the razor girl began to regain her composure. Sometimes it doesn’t matter who you are or what you’ve done. The prospect of a very real, and perhaps very immediate death by asphyxiation can shake you up.

She smeared the sweat off of her face with a bloody hand and looks Santos up and down. A kid, by the looks of it. Blinged out. Some kind of mojo-slinger, by the looks of what happened to the ork. Could she trust him? Hell, she'd just met him. But, the razor girl didn't have anyone to turn to in this country. She'd just have to see where it went, and take care of any problems as they happened until she got a better grasp on just what the hell was going on. Harper stared at the mage as he spoke to her, obviously confused judging by her facial expressions. Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head before replying to him in rapidfire, if heavily accented Spanish,

“Shit, amigo. I don’t know what the hell you’re saying. You speak Spanish or what?” before she starts ambling slowly out of the truck to search the bodies of the ork and troll for anything valuable. Hopefully they kept a couple of credsticks on them, or something. Harper paused briefly, listening to the sounds of gunfire in the distance.

“I hope you can drive. I’ve done it all right a few times when my ol’ pal needed someone to watch the wheel. But, I flunked my matrix license exam three times,” she yelled back to the mage, mussing her hair as she starts searching the bodies.

[Abschalten]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:53 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Santos

The magician's view of the naked gringa in front of him faded as he reached out mentally for his Watcher. The physical world dropped out of existance and his sensorium was hijacked by the impressions sent to him telepathically by Barabas.

Being a creature of pure mana and astral energies, Santos only saw what he would were he there astrally: auras, emotive impressions, astral shadows and the dizzying swirls of mana.

And yet from how Barabas had centered one aura in particular in his psychic panorama, Santos knew easily that this was the elven chica that he'd been so compelled to rendevous with by way of those visions.

Of course, the visions didn't include the cloying emotions of tension, raw fear and agony hanging in the astral environment. The entire area reeked of these things, and it was like breathing in caustic fumes while chugging sewage to be in the area, even by proxie through a Watcher's "eyes." The cries of combat were heard all around, and now and again a piercing spike of emotion would shred the astral environment as a life force was snuffed out by the violence going on.

Such were the emotional vibes in the area that the Watcher was doing his best to keep from unravelling from the psychoactive background charge in the area. Indeed, being shown these things as he was, Santos felt almost as if it were he that was being assaulted, the buildup of mana trying to pick his aura apart thread by thread until it unravelled.

Unable to maintain its link to his master, Barabas dropped the connection, and Santos was dumped ungracefully back into his own mind, once again staring at Harper while she looted bodies.

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

Harper

Harper dug through the troll's corpse and patted down the ork while he napped in an effort to find anything useful. Aside from the ork's gun and a knife hanging off the troll's hip, she didn't find much in the way of weapons. They each had cheap, prepaid commlinks, useful for maintaining throwaway, one-time communication channels, but nothing any more serious than that.

Neither of them had a spare change of clothes in their back pockets exactly. But the coat that the troll was wearing would wrap her up easily. It would, of course, be rather long in the arms and be somewhat baggy on her, but she could at least be covered -- and even better, armored.

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

Smiley

Smiley let his autoshotgun thunder in the night, and it sounded almost like a natural disaster landing right on top of everyone around the Pier. He had to brace himself in order to keep the shotgun from sending him staggering backwards, his unsteadiness giving the last guard near the weapons time to duck down and keep from being blown away into the next world.

Right as the full auto spray died down, the lucky remaining guard popped back up with a shiny, chromed-out new assault rifle in his hands, and he took aim at Smiley, using the lull in combat to return fire of his own.

((Defend however you will, Smiley: Reaction or Full Defense, either way.))

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

Sonora

Sonora was oblivious to all of this other combat going on, since she decided to focus on Puck. Taking her time, she lined up a careful shot, watching closely for some sort of opening, some sort of weakness she could exploit.

And then there it was. When the turret swivelled just right, a split second occured where if she were just quick and lucky enough, she could squeeze a bullet through an opening in the bullet-proof defensive panel and right into an organ. The world slowed at that moment, as if moving through amber as it hardened, she herself finding raising her arm for the shot almost impossible in its languid pace. Exercising enough force in her finger to pull the trigger back felt as if it were taking aeons.

And then she blinked, feeling as though she were being snapped back from the future back into the present by way of some sort of cosmic rubber band. The existential shock of being displaced from a different point in time numbed her and caused a spiking jolt of pain to slice through her brain.

And then, there it was... The turret swivelled just right, and there was an opening.

She fired.

With a yelp, Puck tumbled out of the seat, blood splashing up inside to coat the transparent bullet shield, obfuscating vision through to the other side.

Moments later, she saw him crawling out from behind the turret on his back, both hands covered with his own blood as he tried to staunch bleeding from his lower abdomen. The man was crying out, screaming in fact, and obviously in intense pain.

[Doc Chase]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:53 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

The rapid beat of an assault rifle turned Sonora's attention away from the writhing man now on the ground away from the deck gun, and towards the not-yet-writhing man with the assault rifle firing at Smiley. At least, she was reasonably sure it was Smiley, her head was pounding as if she had already been shot but she had no time to check for a wound.

The red dot of Sonora's laser sight turned to rest on the center mass of the man with the assualt rifle. There was a blaring in her ears that seemed distant, almost tinny. It was little surprise, she surmised, since there was so much gunfire in such a tight schedule - but the sound itself was confusing. What was it?

She watched for the right moment, and the Manhunter bucked in her hand once more.

[AStarshipforAnts]

[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:53 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Harper began humming a little jingle to herself as she stripped the troll down of anything that could have been useful. The coat went first. It slid over the young woman’s shoulders in a way that almost engulfed her. She probably looked like a child, like a little girl playing dress-up with mommy's clothes. If mommy was a huge thug of a troll, that is. Dissatisfied with the fit of the coat, she flapped her arms experimentally a few times before cutting at the sleeves with her hand razors. Shit. She couldn’t fight with shit covering her hands. Even if the coat reached her ankles, it didn’t matter. A girl needed her hands to work. Maybe she'd get lucky enough to bum some nuyen off of the mage over there to get some armor that actually fit.

The knife and gun were deposited in the coat pockets in closest proximity to Harper’s reach. Although, it was a bit of a stretch. The street sam left the rest of the troll’s possessions strewn haphazardly around his corpse, like the contents of a messy child’s toybox. Unfortunately, there were no keys to be found. Maybe whatshisface over there had something good? Harper moved her attention to the ork, digging through his pockets and throwing his things left and right.

[Isinghar]

[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:53 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Santos breaks out of his reverie, Mierda the mana warps around the Pier must have been too strong for Barabas; Frag! I cannot lose the elf chica...

He looks back at the gringa, shrugs his shoulders and shouts back to her, "Gringa, sorry but you are on your own from here. Take care of the hysterical naked chiquillas, will you? I came down here looking for someone and need to get back to that. Maybe our paths will meet again some other time."

With that he heads towards the Pier. As he moves he concentrates on pulling strands of mana to cloak himself, and vanishes into thin air... The strain of pulling the strands of mana around him is too strong for him to shrug off, and blood trickles down his nose.

[Abschalten]

[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:55 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

The guard firing at Smiley followed him with an extended pull of the trigger. Automatic fire discharged in a prolonged stacatto, every round just barely managing to miss Smiley as he ran for and dived behind cover - a fiberglass raft for use in case of catastrophic emergency.

Distracted as the guard was in seeking to shoot Smiley down, he had no chance to notice the little red point of light appear on his chest. By the time he'd turned to regard Sonora, now obviously holding a gun towards him, he was too late. The revolver bucked painfully in Sonora's careful grasp, and the round hit the guard dead in the chest. A small puff of red mist indicated that the bullet had, indeed, found purchase even through his armored vest. It was a bit low for some of the juicier vitals, however. The man fell back behind the crates, the assault rifle tumbling from his hands to clatter on deck.

About this time, El Mono came vaulting out from the night, appearing suddenly out of the mist and rolling to his feet. Panting, with blood streaming out of both corners of his mouth, he turned quickly and began firing over the side of the ship, letting his own assault rifle pepper whatever was obscured by the mist down on the Pier.

Though largely fogged, this was the scene that Santos arrived to see - The Leviathan still tied to deck, with a bloody firefight and melee down on the Pier. There were two, no, three sides... maybe four. It was complete bedlam, with allegiances and sides changing almost by the second. Men in black clad covert-ops style armor fought with gangers from Bolivar '49, both groups in turn trying to hold off the rabble of opportunistic murderers and vultures trying to overtake them AND storm the Leviathan - after all, if whatever is on deck is worth all this slaughter, SURELY it's worth hijacking!

An earth-shattering, resounding BOOM resonated in the distance, shockwaves spreading across the water from the warships surrounding the harbor. A loud, reedy whistle needled the night, its pitch descending by the second, until a large fountain of water erupted in the harbor and shot up into the air like a spontaneous aquatic volcano.

In short, it was the worst breakdown of order that Pier 40 had seen in at least two weeks.

[Isinghar]

[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:55 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Santos ducks behind the closest cover he finds, Coño 'e su madre! What the hell is the elf chica dragging me into?!?

While he hides behind cover, Santos takes his time scanning the battlefield looking for the elf chica, and tries to make sense of the chaos before him.

[ Spoiler ]

7d6.hits(5) → [5,3,1,1,6,6,3] = (3)

The smell of cordite, blood and guts is a powerful repellent, warning him to stay away and head for the hills... This is just the first battle in a war that is going to tear this fraggin' city to pieces, the dead tonight are the scum-sucking bottom feeders of Caracas... maybe they deserve to die... but what about tomorrow? How many Rodrigo's will there be crawling under Azzie boots? But, why should I care? Let them all kill each other... I've already done my part tonight; the Gringa lives because I intervened, isn't that enough!

He turns around in disgust, torn between returning to the truck and safety or storming into the middle of the war zone and dodging stray bullets to get onto the Leviathan. Then suddenly and without warning he starts running towards the ship, weaving around gun-battles, hurdling over dead bodies and zig-zagging around pools of blood!!!

[Rastus]

[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:55 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

With the goon no longer shooting at him, Smiley pops out of his cover, taking the oppertunity to fire a shell into Puck before making a dash across the deck and vaulting over a the stack of crates, where he slips after getting distracted by a huge plume of water that was sent skyward by the detonation of a cannon shell hitting the seawater, which causes him to promptly tumble face-first onto the ground.

After righting himself and pressing his back against the crates, he starts shouting over to Sonora. "I get the sneaking suspicion the navy doesn't want us to leave, and to prove we're even more fucked, we gotta think of a way to take out the radar on a ship or two or they'll be able to see us for kilometers! If we don't, they'll be able to hit us with guided weapons." Smiley pauses a moment to heft his shotgun to the ready and fire a round into the recently fallen goon, just to be sure, and looks over to the woman near him, "Cannons I can dodge, but rock-Holy shit, what happened to you? You get hit?"

[Doc Chase]

[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:55 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

That was it. The ship was theirs, and Sonora had greviously wounded two. Part of her wanted to walk up to Puck and end his life with a bullet to the temple, but a passing shell from Smiley's automatic had ended that temporary fantasy.

He was yelling at her. She could barely hear it over the whistle of the- mierda that's a shell!

"...Did you get hit?!"

Sonora took cover herself behind more crates, the ruby dot of the laser sight playing near the gangplank where an incredible firefight had erupted. Her chest hurt, but that was always the case. Her head hurt, but that was because her brain was screaming things at her - things that managed to keep her alive. It was the devil lurking within the details, prodding a nerve here and there and dancing at the pain it caused. Pain for her, pain for others. Still, she was alive, and there was only one real response that Sonora could make:

"Smiley! This idea sucks!"

She pointed to the prone form of Alex on the deck, which had a Sonora-sized clean spot where she protected him from the evils of arterial spray. "He's still hacking the boat! Once we can drive it, this puta should have jammers! Right!?"

Yelling as she was at Smiley, she almost didn't catch the silhouette as if from the corner of her eye - a splash of water here, a waft of mist there. As if of its own accord, her Manhunter trained on the gangplank.

Waiting.

[Rastus]

[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:55 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Smiley couldn't stop himself from glaring at Sonora and her opinion on how his idea measured up thus far. "This idea sucks? This idea was fucking perfect until the death squads out for your head decided to see how you were feeling this fine November day! This shit would of worked fine had you not made enemies with the second largest fucking corporation in the world!" He looks over the crates for a minute, "And no, I don't think this thing has jammers that are up to the task. We're going up against Aztlan battleships, not harbor patrol. Worst comes to worst we might have to use brute force and shoot their radar system with a really big sniper rifle."

Looking into the nearby opened crate, Smiley pulls out a rifle but prompty tosses it onto the deck. "I need you to look for a sniper rifle amoung these guns. I'm rusty but I can do the shooting." He tosses his autoshotgun onto the back of the prone Alex, "Hold that for me, wouldja? I'm going to give that minigun a spin until you get control of the ship." Then, he leaps over the crates and runs to the mounted minigun on deck, giving it a hard kick to spin it around so the barrel faces the docks. Once the gun points to the right direction, he pulls back the trigger and sprays a thick stream of hot lead towards nearby Bolivar gangers and covert-ops troopers alike in suppressive fire.

[Doc Chase]

[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:55 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

"Perfect? We stole the fucking guns from the people you wanted to give them to!"

Sonora wanted to hit him. So bad. So bad. Instead, she kept the pistol trained on the loading ramp for all of ten seconds before rifling through the...rifle crates, cursing a fluid stream of Aztlaner Spanish towards the crazy man on the minigun.

"Look for a fucking sniper rifle we had two of the damn things and what does he give Mono? He gives Mono an AK and a pat on the fucking head then tells me they're my death squads and I'm not the only fucking one being hunted by the second largest corporation on the fucking planet that's shooting cannons at us right now..."

Even though she was digging through crates, her senses were extended towards the gangplank. If anyone was taking a step on it, she'd have to be the next line of defense while Smiley, Mono, and the others suppressed the pier.

The one part of her mind that wasn't being used to absorb detail did take some small comfort in the thought that she'd get to slap him when this was all over. Maybe even hit him with her shoulder bag. Yeah.

[AStarshipforAnts]

[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:55 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Harper muttered something under her breath, something that to the gist of ‘Fuck, that is just like a man to go running off,’ as she stalked off towards the driver’s side of the truck. She certainly couldn’t get anywhere chained to a bunch of girls. For one thing, the logistics would make driving nearly impossible. Her Spanish was coming back easy enough that speaking that instead of English was starting to become a second nature. If only her accent could fade a little, she’d be golden.

As the young woman took the keys from the truck’s ignition and began attempting to unlock the heavy collar from around her neck, she turned to the side and began chatting up the girl chained next to her.

“So, what do I do with you chicas? Someone like me can’t go drivin’ around with you bunch, it’s bad for my image. Unless you can use a knife or a gun. Can any of y’all use a knife or a gun or what? Shit, I’m gonna have to drop y’all off somewhere. Anyone know where I can drop y’all off? Sounds like there’s something big going down there, and I don’t think any of us are armed for that kind of party. So, we’d probably best get the hell out and fast,”

She inclined her head in the direction of the firefight on the water, not that she knew what lay in that direction. Hopefully the rest of the women would get the right idea.

[Abschalten]

[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 10:01 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

The chaos continued for quite some time.

Smiley made for the mounted minigun, and shortly thereafter the night was crushed by the relentless sound of rapid-fire death shredding those on the pier. Before one's eyes, gunmen fighting it out on the ground could be seen being torn apart, shredded, turned into a fine, and painted all over the nearest wall. Smiley swept the gun back and forth, barrels whining endlessly. Men took cover behind objects that had no hope of stopping the rounds, and they were still found when the aim was directed at them.

Sonora, using her highly attuned perception, danced around the blood and gore near the crates to find herself a rather large-ish caliber sniper rifle. So large was the damn thing she could barely lift it. Smiley was busy, of course, so she couldn't get his opinion of the piece, but she figured the stamp on the side that said "Barrett" was meaningful.

Even though the minigun dominated her sense of hearing, she was still acutely aware of the mysterious, invisible visitor that was approaching. Once Smiley began going apeshit, the entity had (wisely) taken cover, but she had some sort of idea where it was.

It was almost as if she could barely see the thing just out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked straight at it, it was gone. Possibly some sort of magic? Even so, she could make out footsteps, see mist swirling where the body had passed. Oh yes, she couldn't see them, but she knew they were there.

El Mono was still contributing to the massacre. He'd taken a round in the shoulder somewhere, and blood was trickling down his arm. He stood a mite unsteadily on his feet, but he looked solid otherwise. He stood up to rain some death over the side of the ship then ducked back down, before Smiley could take his head off with minigun fire.

Alex, meanwhile, stood up holding his head (and his ears). He went across the comm channel to everyone:

<<I have the ship, finally. The other guy just fuckin' gave up. What do you want me to do now?>>

The entire time all of this carnage and pandemonium was raging, more shells were fired from the Aztlan naval fleet, sending geysers of water spraying violently towards the leaden, overcast sky. The shells were falling closer and closer to the Leviathan and the Pier itself, as if they were slowly recalculating their aim and trajectory.

-------

The keys in the ignition gloriously also held the keys for Harper's release. As she chatted up the other women in the collared train, she began freeing them as well. Well shaken, the women began to scatter in different directions as soon as the bonds were off of them, obviously rejecting Harper's offers of knives, guns, and being driven away from the battle. Apparently, they were too scared to be with someone who had just bludgeoned their troll captor to death with a piece of giant rebar.

That left Harper alone with the truck, right as the gun battle at the docks took a particularly violent and loud turn. She knew that noise: somebody was putting a fuckin' minigun in the mix of all that, and by the sounds of it, was putting a mean hurting on whomever was involved on the other end of it.

What to do? Decisions, decisions.

[Isinghar]

[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 10:01 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Santos keeping his head down peeks a glance at the Leviathan and shifts his perception to look at the auras of the combatants on ths ship. He's immediately assaulted by the tense emotions of raw fear and agony; he is choking on the smell of sewage, blood and fumes that impregnates the astral space and the chaos and dizzying swirls of mana and astral shadows overwhelm his senses. In shock he immediately retreats to the physical world, which although as nightmarish a landscape as any he has ever seen, was at least not as emotionally charged as the astral environment.

Frustrated in his attempts to study the astral aura of the elven chica so he can seek her later, he is forced into having to board the ship, In this time of need I call on you Great Shango, the Sky Father, Bringer of Lightning and Thunder! Send me one of your Warriors to possess this living vessel! Santos' eyes turn upwards as he enters a spirit trance; a large naked african warrior holding a spear and wooden shield and covered in battle scars and paint rushes towards him, lightning and thunder crackling around him. The spirit extends a hand towards Santos and the electricity courses through his body and the Warrior merges with Santos' aura...

On the physical world, the puddles of water where Santos lies in, start vibrating and rippling in harmony with the Spirit World, as though dancing to the beat of an unseen and unheard drum... electricity arcs from one puddle to the next leaving the air charged with a smell of ozone and singed flesh.

Santos feels the power of the Warrior Spirit rushing through his veins; he can barely contain the violent urge to leap into battle and rip off the heads of the vultures falling before the mini-gun. Still he holds the Spirit in check, patiently waiting for the right moment to continue his insane dash towards the Leviathan.

[AStarshipforAnts]

[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 10:01 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

She made a noise of general disapproval as the women scattered out of sight. Fine. Whatever. More room in the van for Harper! With the last of the women unchained and gone, the young woman slid into the driver’s seat of the truck and turned the ignition. After a moment, Harper swore and started fumbling with the seat settings, finding that she couldn’t quite reach the pedals. She spent a few minutes trying to get the seat to an acceptable orientation, finally giving up with a scowl. It was obvious that whoever normally sat in this seat was twice Harper’s size, making it quite uncomfortable.

The fight she heard seemed like as good of a place as any to go. After all, who could be causing that kind of ruckus but her own team? Maybe they had gotten into some shit and landed in the same area. Maybe they were even looking for her when some idiot pulled out that minigun.

After a scrape or two against the building wall, Harper set off for the pier, one truck and a few weapons better of than she started.

[Doc Chase]

[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 10:01 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

"Smiley! We need to get this heap moving! Alex, Mono - cast us off!"

It was no use. The rigger wasn't going to hear her until he let off the trigger of that rotary, or it ran out of ammo, or the barrels overheated to melting. Alex was up, and Mono was still firing - everyone else was missing or dead.

She wanted to be sick. It was supposed to go smoother than this. A word here, a touch there, a quiet promise and quick summit with Gabriella and the pilot off the boat, and the team sails off with a red ribbon tied to the moor so the bad people knew they'd been had.

Now there were dozens of red ribbons scattered all over the dock. None were cruelty-free, but instead laden in lead, steel, and cordite, strips and chunks of flesh and viscera. Her heart hurt even more now, even with the medications. It was heavy with the blood spilled, all for a hold of weaponry that she didn't use and that was supposed to go to one of the piles of meat laying on the bloodstained concrete.

The Azzies, dead. Bolivar '49's gun team, dead, everyone-wait. Not everyone. There's still one left - what's he trying to do?

Sonora could still feel one presence somewhere amongst the carnage on shore. She couldn't direct Smiley to fire on it because she wasn't sure exactly where it was - but they also hadn't used their magic to attack yet. They were waiting for something.

No time. Solve that problem later, large boat is shooting at us now.

She holstered her Colt and hefted the Barry(she'd known a Barry, once, in Monaco) that fired bullets that were as long as her hand. She knew how these types worked, even if she preferred a pistol - magazine goes into the bottom, pull the charging lever back, hear the snicker-snack of the round being pushed into the firing chamber. Barry was a very large gun, and she wasn't sure she had the strength to handle him(much like Barry in Monaco, which is why she'd left). Since Smiley was busy, she would take the shot at the boats to kill the radar. How hard could it be? Aim for the most expensive looking thing, right? She was good at finding expensive things.

To a bystander, it may have well been a sight reserved for action trideo. Diminutive Elven woman, striking in features and dressed in corporate chic-okay, last year's corporate chic - with a heavy rifle as large as she was braced against the railing as she sighted at a distant ship that was walking shells from its deck gun towards the pier and the boat moored there. Sonora pulled the ribbon tying her hair free, and let the red silk float on the smoke and air as she took a prepared to take the impossible shot.

[Rastus]

[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 10:01 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Satisfied with the carnage he has caused with his new friend Mr. Minigun, Smiley ducks down and withdraws his thermal smoke grenade, pulling the pin and droping it at the base of the miniguns mount. Oughta keep any survivors from accurately shooting back, and it'll disipate when we move. After jumping over the crates, he notices Alex awake and Sonora in possession of a new Barrett sniper rifle. "Oh hey, you guys have been holding up your side of the plan!" Looking over to the woman with the large rifle, he yells out, "Hey, don't bother shooting at them NOW, they're still using unguided cannons. Better off shooting our mooring lines so we can get moving without delay. Don't forget to take the safety off, either!"

After picking up his AA-16 from the deck, he calls off his drone and gives it the command to land on the deck and secure itself to the rails using it's articulated arm before barking an order to Alex, "Get the engines started for me, time we became a dot in the horizon." After that's said and done, Smiley dashes inside the Leviathan and towards the control room, intent to take the helm and get outta here before someone in the Azzie fleet learns how to use those damn cannons, or god forbid the radar-guided missiles.

[Isinghar]

[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 10:01 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Santos hears the mini-gun finally stop it's dance of death and destruction, It's now or never!!!

Shaka let's go! Onto that ship as fast as possible!!, he commands his spirit friend.

Leaping up from the puddles of water mixed with blood, guts and entrails, as one being they rush towards the ship. It looks like the elf chica is distracted aiming a fraggin' huge weapon at the gunships sailing in the horizon, Coño, is she trying to shoot down a ship with a gun?? Maybe this chica is not the smart operator I am looking for... Even I know that bullets just bounce of ships...

Despite his lose of faith in the elf chica he continues to dash down towards the ship and runs up the gang plank. The noise of his boots slapping against the sturdy wooden frame would easily awaken the dead, so he prepares Shaka to dive onto the deck and stay down as soon as he gets there...

[Abschalten]

[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 10:01 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]

Smiley let the minigun lull to a stop, the barrels smoking and possibly faintly glowing with the heat build-up threatening to warp them into uselessness. Smoke streamed from the holes, and as the choppy ocean pitched and rocked the Leviathan, empty shell casing clinked and rolled around on the deck.

The Pier was akin to a charnel house. The bodies of the dead were everywhere, perforated by the mad gunfire that tore through their ranks in "suppressive" fire. A few survivors remained, huddling behind damaged cover that survived the vicious bullet storm. Most of them were whimpering or offering thanks to appropriate saints and gods for their continued existence, but as of yet still too shaken and timid to rise up.

Alex stalked off down the stairs beneath deck. He spoke over the team's comm channel, <<Going to see if I can get full control of this thing. I say, we get the fuck out of here.>>

El Mono meanwhile wasted no time reloading his assault rifle - his last clip - and then taking wavering, tired aim at the mooring lines. A few bursts later, the bullets shredded the thick ropes enough that another pitch of the ocean jerked the ship and snapped the line entirely.

Santos dashed through the smoke of Smiley's grenade, reaching the deck of the ship. He was still invisible, but the smoke parted and curved around his form, something Sonora was able to notice with her highly-trained and magically-enhanced perception.

Before she could react to this development, a large truck came barreling down towards the dock, its side scraping loudly against the side of a brick warehouse. A couple of gunmen who had just risen up from their concealment did so at an inopportune time - right as they raised their guns towards the Leviathan, the truck turned them into road pizza. They barely had time to scream before the read axle was smashing them down into the pavement and leaving read smears behind. This was Harper behind the wheel of the truck, a truck that Santos unmistakably recognizes.