2072: Game World, IC thread for 2072: Recruitment always open! Options

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]

The dream was elusive, a mad dash of colors and sounds, swirling through the mind as water through a sieve; Anselm fought to hold onto some thing, some contextual clue that would give meaning. The rash of sounds and the violent reds that swirled through his inner sanctum threatened to overwhelm him and then he cried out to his Lord and Savior. Abruptly, the torrent of imagery slowed to a trickle as his spirit gained weightlessness, borne aloft by an unseen force. Just as quickly his world stopped and the pain came pouring back to the surface, "Allons enfants de la Patrie, le jour de gloire est arrivé!" The harsh voice of his bodyguard cut through the stupor like the quenching of a new forged blade in water, accompanied by the sound of gun fire and the immediate sense of open air and acrid smoke.

[JxJxA]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

During his instruction---nay, attempted indoctrination---at Shiawase, the various trainers and wetwork veterans always hammered home this one rule: Get the job done without drawing attention to yourself. Gemeaux had a history of violating that functional mantra due to a penchant for theatrics and professional flair. After all, if you are going to kill someone, why not do him or her the favor of getting taken out in style? A person only dies once, so make it memorable.

Taunting police in broad daylight is not something he had ever had in mind.

When he hears the unmistakable roar of submachine fire, he glances back at his attackers. Electronics and protein exchanges make it seem like time slows down. He takes note of the attackers' postures, the way they hold and fire their guns, the slight hitch in the left one's stride, and various other details that might come in handy when intuitively calculating trajectory.

With a rifle in hand and another slung across his back, diving his not an option. Instead, he opts to weave and pivot, legs pumping him towards the only available cover in sight---a lovingly tended garden that is completely oblivious to the fact that it is soon to be torn up by gunfire. As he does his best to dodge the incoming hailstorm of bullets, he continues onto the next verse.

"Contre nous de la tyrannie, L'étendard sanglant est levé! L'étendard sanglant est levé!"

<<[Vivienne]: Damien, you are giving away your position! What are you doing?!?>>

<<[Gemeaux]: Hopefully saving a life, my dear.>>

I just hope that someone is around to save mine...

[RdMarquis]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Church of Our Lady, 2 Connaught Road, Fleet, UK]
SIN: Spencer Lovett

As their enemies begin firing, Mordred ducks into a roll that takes him behind the car. No shotguns this time. They were probably lethal ammo. He emerges near the hood, shifting his body into a Firefight stance to minimize himself as a target. The adept raises his pistol, seeking the policeman he hit seconds ago. Persistent, aren't you? It was a quality he admired, but generally in people who weren't trying to kill him. Mordred's pistol spits another three bullets at the man.

[Notsoevildm]

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 12:05 PM; Crappy Hotel, Northern Corridor, Chicago]

Safely back in her crappy hotel room and out of the sun, Copperhead slumps on the bed.

What a lousy morning. Having to go out in the fragging sun and then that trog goes and ruins my best top. Ah well, at least the hacker seemed a solid sort. No combat experience and what was with the fake datajack? And the street sam, plenty of cyber but what the frag was up with her aura?

Once the glare induced headache has receded to just blinding, she hauls herself back up and takes a couple of painkillers from her medkit. She unties her hair and carefully untangles the trode net then washes it out in the sink. The water is lukewarm so she quickly strips off and washes her hair and body to clean off any remaining blood and gore. Satisfied that she is now properly clean again, she crumples her bloodstained clothing into a ball and tosses it into a bag to dispose of later.

She pulls on some sweat pants and a t-shirt from her bag and sits on the floor and begins to sing. The room fades around her as she slips from her body to join Snake on the astral. Toghether they sweep around the containment zone, dipping into it here and there where the taint is least obvious.

This is a place of pain and death, child lectures Snake. It will lessen your connection to me, one that is already limited by the metal in your body. While I will help you as much as I can, you will have to rely on that steel and your own wits.

[July 8th, 2072, 17:22 PM; Crappy Hotel, Northern Corridor, Chicago]

As the light begins to fade Copperhead returns to her body. She changes out of her sweats, pulling on her form fitting armor. This time she goes for the urban warrior look with a tight, camo-pattern top and combat trousers and her battered black army boots. She decides against the full camo armor, settling for the long coat again, but does stick the big Enfield shotgun and her folding staff into her sports bag, which she slings over her shoulder. Then with a mental command to the Beast spirit under the bed to protect the room, she heads out to meet the others and do some last minute shopping at Fawkes' container.

[Aria]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Church of Our Lady, 2 Connaught Road, Fleet, UK]

The advancing officers are beginning to concern you somewhat as they shrug off the punishment that you are levelling upon them. Their sweeping bursts of fire skim the air where Mordred crouches and Gemeaux vaults his way through the manicured hedge. The rounds that impact on the body of the limo don't richochet off as might be expected, rather punching through the armour plate...it would seem they are serious about stopping you this time...

Inside the house Tsubaki stumbles into the garage and apart from the clouds of dust and cobwebs sees an ancient Eurocar Falconer...a battered saloon that looks older than she is...hopefully it has fuel in the tank and an engine that will turn over...

[mister__joshua]

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 18:00 PM; Fawkes' Container, Northern Corridor, Chicago]

It had been a funny day. She'd still not properly spoken to the team she was supposed to be working with, but she had at least seen them now. The troll Copperhead was a strange one. Jess had had to hide her face laughing when she'd exploded that troll at Fawkes' earlier. Of course, openly laughing at that sort of thing can cause people to think you're crazy and that wasn't the first impressions she was looking to give off. She'd fetched Copperhead some clothes. Jess found it was always best to get the mage onside early because they're the ones it's hardest to hide your secrets from. Better friend than foe. And it was nice to go for another whirl around the bazaar. She liked to observe. Keep quiet and take in surroundings, analyse people. Her software was showing her that Copperhead seemed pissed off and short-tempered. Maybe she just caught her at a bad time. Ælias seemed quieter. Maybe a little anxious. Certainly not at home in a place like this. She'd spend the rest of the afternoon playing her character. Meeting the locals and being as friendly and natural as possible before heading to the container to meet up with the others.

[JxJxA]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

The severity of the impact THUDS gives Gemeaux a bit more speed in his stride.

Armor piercing rounds? Looks like they took my mistake a bit personal... Time to employ the Carnot strategy of Shadowrunning...

Spotting a patch of gravel, Gemeaux suddenly pivots on one leg, swinging his body around to face the enemy. Still sliding on the loose gravel, he crouches into a firing position. He levels the sniper rifle at the closest pursuer, and picks a targeting equation that best capitalizes on the snatches of details he spied when the enemy first opened up on him. He pulls the trigger twice before pushing himself out of the crouch, and continues his flight away from the police.

"Entendez-vous dans les campagnes, Mugir ces féroces soldats? Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras, Egorger vos fils, vos compagnes!"

[Fairy]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN=Active; SIN:Nina Okada

Reaching out with one hand, Tsubaki touches the surface of the old car with her index finger, and picks up a small layer of gray dust on her fingertip. Of course, though, Tsubaki couldn't expect anything less. A little old car for a little old lady in a little old house. It looks like it will drive... She hopes it does. In the meanwhile, Tsubaki will suggest the old car in the garage for Charlie to operate. However, when she takes a peek back out through a window, with the intention of checking on the situation outside, there is that curious Citymaster vehicle that catches her eye. Then, there's Car Number 2... Is it even vacant?

There is no reason to step outside until it is very clear that the cops are distracted with the song and dance the Frenchman is displaying. She will have to take a moment and observe for any signs of movement inside the Citymaster from behind the window first.

[RdMarquis]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Church of Our Lady, 2 Connaught Road, Fleet, UK]
SIN: Spencer Lovett

One down. And who knows how many more to go (wearing the same armor, of course). His colleague with the sniper rifle definitely had the right idea. The old lady's house would be safer than a wrecked limo. He was in plenty of trouble with the law already. Why not add breaking and entering to the list?

Before making a run for it, Mordred decides to get the mage's attention. The adept's leg comes up to give the door a sharp kick. Last chance to get the hell away. He then follows Gemeaux toward the house, firing at the remaining policeman.

[Notsoevildm]

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 18:05 PM; Fawkes' Container, Northern Corridor, Chicago]
PAN: Hidden, SIN: Charlotte Church

Copperhead swaggers down the street with a casual, exagerrated sway to her hips. The sun was sinking behind the buildings and the thermal patterns as they shed their heat were strangely beautiful. She hums along to 'Horns on the outside', one of her favourite Trollgod tracks. Her right hand weaves a complex pattern in time to the music as she calls Rattle, one of her watcher spirits to her side.

Walking along the row of containers, she spots the cybered woman with the strange aura. She gives a friendly wave, asking the obvious, "We da first den?"

She eyes the container, differing only from the others by the number spray-painted on the door and a slightly more elaborate keypad lock.

Rattle, take a look inside and make sure there's nobody home. I've had enough surprises for one day!

When the watcher gives the all clear, she smiles to Jess as she taps in the code supplied by Fawkes, "Might as well do some last-minute shopping while we waits, neh?"

[JxJxA]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

<<[Vivienne]: Damien, smartgun information is showing that your recent target has stopped moving.>>

Thank the Lord for small miracles...

<<[Gemeaux]: Understood. Always glad to hear good news, my dear.>>

<<[Vivienne]: Not nearly as much as I enjoy giving it. Now go get the other one.>>

Gemeaux pivots again, pulling the same maneuver as before. Unfortunately, the grass lawn is a bit more slick than the gravel from before. He uses his knee to help kill his momentum, and suddenly feels his pants leg tear under the force of the friction.

And I LIKED these pants!

He lines up a shot, pulls the trigger twice, and watches his shots impact the armored policeman. Mordred follows suit, and he watches the last enemy combatant fall. The man falls to the ground in an ungainly fashion, buffeted about by the flying slugs.

Gemeaux grins beneath the respirator, and gives his counterpart a salute. He welcomes the chance to catch his breath and rest his weapon. He hopes that this is the last time he will have to play fox for the police's hounds. However, seeing the suspiciously stationary Citymaster reminds him that his respite could be cut short at any moment.

I do not suppose they would be sporting enough to let me have a smoke first...

[Aria]

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 18:05 PM; Fawkes' Container, Northern Corridor, Chicago]

Inside the container there is a cornecopia of equipment, some corporate branded, some cobbled together from various sources, all of it no doubt grey or black market. You fill the time while waiting for Ælias by browsing through the various items, picking out those that would be useful and discarding those that would be too cumbersome to carry through the zone.

As you are rummaging a commlink hanging amongst a pile of others notifies you of an incoming message and then the dirty holoprojector renders a crude image of Argent's head and shoulders floating in the dusty air of the container.

<<Fawkes told me I would find you here. You need to hurry now, our time seems to be running out. My sources tell me that hostiles are sniffing around the outside of the Blackwater perimeter looking for a way in. This 'link will download a mapsoft which will give you the approximate coordinates. There should be a satlink in here somewhere...grab it and take it with you, the final details will be sent when you call in. It's not that you aren't trusted, it's just a precaution against the chip falling into the wrong hands. Do you have any questions while I'm here?>>

[Aria]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]

The respite is momentary...as you take a breath and the limo door swings open and closed with a grating sound, the whine of acutators fills your ears and the turret on the citymaster tracks towards the limo. A grating voice issues from hidden speakers

"This is the police. Lay down your arms and surrender your position. You have two minutes to comply before the use of deadly force is authorised"

and then the machine gun spits death in your direction...about two seconds into the two minute countdown

[Notsoevildm]

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 18:05 PM; Fawkes' Container, Northern Corridor, Chicago]

Copperhead feels like a kid in a candy store. She gleefully rummages through the assorted gear, picking out a various items for their trip. She considers then discards some brand new Victory line armor vests in desert camo pattern. While still in their original packing, the desert pattern is more likely to make them stick out in the CZ than blend in. Instead, she picks through some dusty, navy blue Industrious line jumpsuits that are at least two seasons out of date. She guesstimates sizes that might fit the kids by holding them up against Jess for comparison. She adds a mixed pair of low-light goggles, a modern chinese or japanese set, she's not sure which, and an older bulkier set of UCAS military ones. A pair of cheap Israeli Seco light pistols and a box of ammo just about complete the pile, when she gives a short shriek of glee.

From under a pile of combat jackets she pulls a large troll-sized, green and black TruSilk corset, which she immediately starts to try on for size, peeling off her current outfit with abandon.

"Frag me wid a spiked stun baton. Dis is a Vashon Island original and only last season too by da looks of it" she grunts as she squeezes into the armored steampunk lingerie. She has just about finished doing up the last buttons, buckles and straps, when the commlink activates and Argent's holo appears.

Concern and worry flit across Copperhead's features as she listens to the message. Suddenly, she is all business again.

<<Argent, what can you tell us about da kids? Dey got names? What do they look like? And deze hostiles, are dey mundanes, breeders, cybered?>>

She looks about the piles of gear, wondering what a satlink looks like.

"Ælias, I'll bring da gear fer da kids. You find da satlink gizmo and brings it, okay?"

<<I can leave tonight. I'm done wid dis town. Just need to change me into ma armor and picks up da rest of ma gear from da hotel.>>

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:05; Fleet Road, UK]

The world which had dissolved into maddening pain moments before slowly stabilized to some semblance of clarity as Anselm slowly opened his eyes to see the roof of a vehicle and felt more than saw that he was alone for the time being. He sat up gingerly and quickly ducked back down, hitting his already bruised temple as he did so at the sound of more automatic weapons fire.

"Dominus conservet eos qui operantur in nomine tuo. Et ne nos malum gladium portat, ut eos qui sanctum tuum regnum occupare." Anselm centered himself as quickly as he could, and offered up his prayer with all the will he could muster before muttering a few of the most sacred oaths of Michael the most revered Archangel to shield him from sight. Feeling the calming effects of the blessings flow over him Anselm quietly moved to the door and slipped out before shutting it out of habit. A quick look around showed a scene from war, a tank of some sort was firing at a house with an old lady lying prostrate on the ground, where the vehicle Anselm had been in and could now see was the limo that had been alotted to transport him and his charges to the West Country was inconveniently in the crossfire, no doubt to shield the poor woman from the crimes of those in authority.

Anselm moved quickly towards the house, the only real center of safety, taking care to keep the limo in between himself and the monsters in the tank. Only as he reached the corner of the house did he realize that the markings on the tank were familiar... the marks of the local law enforcement.

[Trigger]

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 18:05 PM; Fawkes' Container, Northern Corridor, Chicago]

Ælias shows up from the shadows around the Corridor as the others begin to open the container. He is wearing the same clothing as before, but the facial scars and ridges are gone, and his face and hands are shades lighter than before, though the trode/datajack still sits connected to his temple.

"Oi, it's me, Ælias!" he shouts out before entering the clearing, remembering the deadly force and speed of the troll woman's spell. He walks with a steady, but aware, gait and keeps his eyes on the shadows around them. He smells of Snuff cigarettes and sweat, having spent the last few hours mapping the area in his head and looking for a decent hotspot where he could experience some live Resonance, not the stuff he could beam in through the satlink on his backpack.

For the second time that day, Ælias averts his gaze as Copperhead changes attire, sticking his head into the container for anything to take his mind from the outside world. Argent's message beams in about then, nearly jumping in surprise again, hoping he kept his cool in front of the runners.

Ælias listens to Argent and Copperhead go back and forth, admiring the troll's insight and planning for the future. They were traits he looked for in team mates and something he knew that Argent appreciated too, so he had little worry about the team she put together; it was nice to have his expectations met. While they talked he continued to dig through the container, easily finding the other satlink and adding it to the mesh of electronic equipment on his backpack. Then came the shopping for himself, though there was little in the container that he didn't already have. There was a set of camo SecureTech PPP armor pieces that he grabbed and added into his own armor, fitting them underneath where possible. There was also a mesh military style vest in the container, with a few attachments, that caught his eye. When his hand touched it and began to access the programming inside his eyes lit up. It was a Smart Vest, a vest that tracked what was carried on it and adjusted the weight for optimal maneuverability and access. And it had a canteen, two ammo pouches, and a ration pouch attached. It wasn't ork sized, but it was made for a human in the military, so Ælias still fit, albeit a tad snugly.

He watched as everyone else suited up, readjusting their loads and double checking everything before heading deeper into the CZ. They all knew what they might be facing out there, but no one showed too much hesitation or fear. They were professionals, or they were supposed to be, and this was their job. His job too, he reminded himself for the fifth time that day. There was no backing out now.

[RdMarquis]

"Cute." Mordred ducks behind the doorway of the house. As much as he wanted to imagine they were at a stalemate, the fact of the matter was that the police far outclassed them in terms of weapons and numbers. A direct assault would be a losing proposition, as would trying to wait them out. "Any bright ideas?" He asks the others. The adept consults his mapsoft of the city. If they couldn't outfight their enemies, perhaps they could outmaneuver them. Mordred looks for an escape route that involved rough terrain or narrow streets. Anywhere a tank in training couldn't follow them.

[Fairy]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN=Active; SIN:Nina Okada

The whole situation discourages Tsubaki. Silver eyes glance over to the brunette male. Running dry of bright ideas, she shakes her head. There is getting the rest of the way on foot, but no one here is a track super star, are they? "I'm afraid I'm still trying to figure that out..."

[JxJxA]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

When the bullets from the Citymaster begin to fly, Gemeaux does the only thing reasonable under the circumstances. He offers his opponents a one fingered salute, and resumes his mad dash behind the house. He tries to contact the others via commlink, but hears the telltale buzzing of jamming static. Grumbling, he pops the cartridge out of his sniper rifle. He rests the rifle against the house, and reaches into his pocket for the other half-used cartridge. He pops out the four remaining bullets from that one, snapping them into the other cartridge.

Six...seven...eight...nine... Nineteen more shots, and who knows how many of those fools are in that monstrosity... May have to switch tactics... Carnot's strategy works quite well when YOU are not the poor soldier relentlessly following up on an enemy...

He pockets the empty cartridge, picks up the rifle, and pops in the nine-shot cartridge. He reaches into his pocket, reassuring himself that he has the thermal smoke grenades. Depending on what the next step the police have planned, he might be able to generate a deadly hail of gunfire of his own...

[Notsoevildm]

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 19:19 PM; Edge of CZ, Chicago]
PAN: Hidden, SIN: Charlotte Church

Copperhead had returned to her hotel with her loot and changed into her full armor. Her look was no longer street tough, more UCAS military. The combat armor was set to urban night, a random pattern of greys and black that broke up her outline. A pair of bulky goggles had replaced her shades, sitting on top of a big, mat black respirator that covered the lower half of her face. Her hair was tied back in a tight bun and she had even applied combat stripes to her horns. Assorted ordnance was clipped to the webbing on her torso and hips and the look was completed with the big Enfield shotgun with its large drum magazine.

She had packed the extra gear for the kids into her backpack then, concerned about how heavy it was getting, took out the tent figuring she could sleep rough for a couple of days if they had to. Then she had folded up her spare clothes, including the Vashion Island corset and packed them, along with her long coat and the tent into her big sports bag.

She had left the 'do not disturb' sign on the door to her room, paid a week in advance and warned the desk clerk that no-one should go in while she was gone as she had left a spirit guarding it. She had manifested Rattle to back up the threat, releasing the watcher once she had left the hotel.

Standing now at the edge of the CZ, she gives an involuntary shudder. She can feel the taint ahead of her. She hums tunelessly under her breath, callling on Snake to aid her, but the only response from the Serpent is a faint whisper, more felt than heard.

Be careful, child.

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Fleet Road, UK]

As Anselm ran for cover he spied a familiar figure dashing through the hedgerows to the next house over. "It would seem my errant bodyguard is turning tail... better go find out what is going on." Thinking quickly Anselm turned to run up behind Gemeaux, careful not to get in his line of sight between himself and the tank just in case the intrepid Frenchman decided to loose off a few rounds in their general direction.

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@Fortune's Forecast (Adrian/Saint)
[April 18th, 2072, 00:53:30; Everett, Everett Medical Center, Room 403]

The slightly balding middle aged man sitting at the coffee table in front of them didn't reply for some time, apparently engrossed in some AR feed by the odd jerking motions of his eyes and hands as they fluttered across the table as if tapping out some macabre tribal rhythm. A few minutes passed before his eyes abruptly focused on Saint's rather obvious assets and his whole countenance warmed up immediately, "Ah yes, may I help you? I was not aware of any appointments today; Dr. Bailey, GP."

He barely glanced at Adrian who seemed to be engrossed with a detailed survey of the generous appointments in the waiting room.

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@Fortune's Forecast (Adrian)
[April 18th, 2072, 00:53:30; Everett, Everett Medical Center, Room 403]

The first thing that struck Adrian about the waiting room was how much it clashed with the general state of disarray that plagued the rest of the hospital, this man did well, extremely so if the paneling on the walls really was actual wood... Adrian remembered seeing some teak that looked similar to the stuff covering the walls while visiting an old temple a few years back and that stuff was enormously expensive. Adrian could tell immediately that the good doctor was not remotely interested in him with such an enticing specimen of the gentler sex apparently as interested in him.

It didn't dawn on Adrian for a few seconds until he realized that he felt much more at peace her than he had in many years, something about the feeling of this place made Adrian feel almost like he was comfortably in a meditative trance, mildly channeling to clear his mind.

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 21:21:00 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]

Hawk chuckled and nodded his head shortly as if acquiescing to the slightly defiant statement, "Da, my young friend, I too do not like to lose... but I don't think you will, at least not the way you expect eh? Go there, have fun, enjoy yourself as I really think you'll enjoy the place. Young as you are you seem pretty traditional, like my own son. You will have a good time, trust me."

He tossed an envelope that he had drawn unseen somewhere from one of his deep coat pockets and dropped it on the bar counter in front of Jack, "A little walking around money for tournament, you'll be staked when you claim your entry as Mr. Azdof who will of course have been registered online."

[RdMarquis]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:21:11; Church of Our Lady, 2 Connaught Road, Fleet, UK]
SIN: Spencer Lovett

"I think it's time to go," Mordred says to the silver haired woman. He moves to help her support Charlie. Putting the ork's arm over his shoulder, the adept heads for the other door of the house. Mordred regarded the old lady. "We'll need to leave her if she's not hurt bad. I don't think the police would do anything worse than question her about us." They couldn't exactly bring her along for the ride. It would just be adding a kidnapping charge to their list of crimes. While the police had been reckless enough to get her caught in the crossfire, there was no reason for them to actually try and harm the old woman. The adept makes sure his hood is securely over his head and opens the door. "Hurry."