Let's Get Gritty IC Options

[Belvidere]

Wasteland. That's what they call it now. Chicago that is. They say that nothing is worth a damn thing anymore. They say that the if the bugs don't frag ya, then the radiation will. They say the only people left there are the crazies and those lookin' to no be found. But what most don't know. They're right. Containment Zone, Wasteland, Drekhole, Abyss. Oh I've heard all the names. My favorite name of all, Home.
Believe it or not, there are some of us who love this place. It's the only thing we know, and it's ours. No corp is going to try and claim this place and only the crazies go into the truly dangerous places. So I ask you, are you up for it? Cause you know what they say chummer. Only roaches and twinkies can make it in a place like this. Care to prove'em wrong?

The air around Fort Hope kicked up as the wind whipped through the shanty houses and makeshift bars and buildings. What was left of the bombed out buildings from days passed served as a foundation for the scrap metal structures that passed as buildings. Though occassionally the study builing stood strong, usually heavy bricks had manages to keep it from collapsing to the ground.

The people of Fort Hope went about their daily tasks, from rounding up kids to making sure the makeshift walls they'd surrounded themselves with held strong. It has been a year since Fort Hope build itself out of a near anceint junk yard nearby. But now it was full of something that was more rare than money in Chicagoland, life. And the life within Fort Hope was full of just that. Hope.

Lt. Foxx walked about the buildings and people, making sure everything move smoothly, helping when people needed it and doing all he could for anyone. His large Ork build would intimidate many, but his gentle smile tended to soften any fears one had of him, besides, there were more than enough things around to be scared of. But right now, Lt. Foxx didn't smile, he was busy and it was obvious. He was looking for a few members who might actually be up to the job.

"Aye, you seen Blanks and the crew?" Foxx asked, standing in front of a small food stand, taking a seat ot the bar giving the woman behind it a smile.

[Seth]

Umbra was standing with some other warming his hands at the fire in the steel drum. His hair was unkept, and his clothes had seen better days. The jumpsuit had been patched a few times where something had sliced through it. Umbra had a ruckstrap with a broken strap with him, carrying some valuable possessions.

Umbra's nose was constantly twitching, his eyes darting from point to point checking looking sniffing. No danger seen. Rat was right this is a good place.

Lt Foxx was looking for people to do things. Rat said that Umbra was to help Lt Foxx, so now was a good time to be seen. Also Umbra was hungry, and perhaps Lt Foxx was buying food and drinks.

Umbra moved towards Lt Foxx, and raised his hand to attract Lt Foxx's attention: Unless Umbra tried hard, most people ignored him.

"Can Umbra help?"

[Tanegar]

Glass-Walker sidles up. He is a genial Salish man in his mid-thirties; his long black hair, shot through here and there with threads of gray, is pulled back into a ponytail, and crow's feet are beginning to show around his eyes. He has a slightly distracted air about him; the spirits of this place are restless, whispering to him almost continuously, and the words of other metahumans sometimes pass him by. His dress is casual: sneakers, jeans, a t-shirt bearing the logo of some goblin-rock band popular back home. Only his armored duster and the Ruger hunting rifle slung over his shoulder belie the image of the easygoing left-coast hippie. Glass-Walker has only been in Chicago a short time, but he is learning the lessons of this place well: never go anywhere unprepared.

Glass-Walker nods a friendly greeting to the ork, Umbra. Umbra's aura is overlaid by a chittering, scurrying presence: Rat. Umbra embodies his totem well, with his furtive manner and preference for hidden, subterranean places. The Architect is tolerant of Rat, with a tinge of wariness: integral to the urban ecosystem, rats can also be plaguebearers, agents of pestilence and rot. Still, Umbra seems a decent sort, and Glass-Walker hopes their agendas will, if not prove congruent, then at least not interfere with one another.

Glass-Walker turns his attention to the other ork, Lieutenant Foxx. Opening himself to the astral, he sees-hears-tastes Foxx' aura.

"What's shakin', ell-tee? You seem less than Zen."

[Belvidere]

As the two moved toward Lt. Foxx and sat at the bar, a plump woman with a cheery smile and bright blue eyes turned toward the three, her plump breasts bouncing with her tubby body as she bounced from the small table behind her she was working at to the bar in front of the guys.

"Why 'ello boys. What can I do for ya'll?" she said with what sounded like a most definitely southern accent. She fiddled with the sythaglass mug in her hand, wiping it with an already dirty rag to try and scrap the paint thinner and muddy water booze.

Lt. Foxx turned as they spoke to him, returning their words with a bit of an expected grin. He leaned back against the bar and beckoned for them to sit next to him.

"Get us a few cold ones while we wait for the rest of the party." he said roughly, his voice harsh, but rather friendly. He was a broad shouldered Ork with a rough and dirty look. He wore an old school military jacket with more than a few pins scattered across it, with everything from military service pins and goblin thrash rock pins. Beneath it he wore a form fitting t-shirt, revealing a muscular physique. His heavy denim pants were barely worn or torn from life, his small attempt at "dressing nice".

He barked a laugh in response to Glass and then smiled to Umbra. "I do believe there is. And it has to do with why things ain't quite so zen Chumms." he said, spinning back towards the bar.

[Edana]

Lazily basking in the sun on a nearby roof, with her jacket wadded up as a makeshift headrest, Mel is resting when the movement of a familiar form in the corner of her eye catches her attention. Lifting her head up to confirm her vision, she grins to herself, then grabs her jacket and quickly climbs down before making her way towards the stand where Umbra and Glass-Walker are chatting with Lt. Foxx.

In a sort of ritual that never grows old for her, though it has probably shaved a few years off Umbra's life, she stays out of sight until she's close enough to launch her small frame at the much bigger ork, as she yells out her greeting, "Umbra!". Once he's had a moment to recover from the playful tackle-hug, she admonishes "You need visit more."

Finally deciding to pay attention to the others present, she pats down her faded t-shirt and removes a bit of dust from her hair with a quick shake of her head before querying, "Trouble?"

[Notsoevildm]

Blanks rubs his short cropped dirty brown hair as he examines the piece of plastiglass sticking out the kid's arm. There's a lot of blood but fortunately it looks like the glass missed anything vital. He slowlys eases it out of the kid's arm as his father holds him down.

"Sorry son", soothes the blank-eyed man. "But I just don't have the meds to give you something to ease the pain."

He puts pressure on the wound as he looks up to the boy's father. "You got any alcohol?"

The man nods worriedly and hurries off to the back of the shack, returning quickly with a nukacoke bottle filled with a yellowish liquid.

"Oh frag me", groans the medic as he takes the bottle. "Is this Jed's homebrew? The stuff that tastes like piss and petrol?"

"Sorry. It's all ah got", replies the worried man.

Blanks grimaces as he takes the bottle and sniffs it. Then he takes a shot. "Frag me, it's worse than I remember!", he coughes as the bitter liquid burns his throat.

"This is gonna hurt son. But it's either this or risk losing your arm to infection."

The boy screams and writhes as Blanks cleans the wound with the foul brew. Fortunately, the kid quickly faints from the pain, making it easy for him to stitch the wound closed. He then cleans himself up as best he can and takes half the bottle of hooch as payment, promising to return in a couple of days to check up on the kid.

He then puts his beaten up armor back on and checks and holsters his big pistol before heading out into the sun. His eyes adjust automatically to the glare as they feed data to his brain. He ambles through Fort Hope, nodding or waving to the people he recognises, even if only by what he treated them for. He stops by Billy's store to see if the scavenger has found any medical supplies for him but leaves disappointed.

"Oh yeah, the Fox was looking fer ya," Billy shouts after him as he leaves.

'Oh great' thinks Blanks as he steps up his pace. 'Either someone's been shot or is about to get shot. And that probably means it's gonna be me getting shot at.'

As he approaches the bar, if you can call it that, he spots the big ork. 'Frag, he's got his serious face on.'

He also sees a few others troubleshooters. 'Hmm, the indian is Glasswalker. Claims to be a city shaman, whatever the hell that is. The twitchy one is Umbra, a rat shaman if I remember right. And, oh crap, the weird little mutie girl. What was her handle again? Melinda, no just Mel.'

He puts on a genuine, friendly smile as he nods to each of the assembled group. As he turns to the big ork, the smile slips off his face to be replaced with a concerned look.

'Heard you were looking for me and by the looks of it, it's not good news.'

[Belvidere]

Foxx glanced between the four rather rag tagged group of people and just shook his head, his jagged tusks in the straight face that had grown over the smile as they all arrived. He leaned back and let out a heavy breathed sigh and rolled his shoulders as if to get a kink out of his back.

And though it was a little apparent he was stalling, or didn't quite know what to say he did his best to try and hide that what he had to say wasn't pretty.

"Four stiffs turned up outside the gate. Headshots, heavy caliber drek. Like back from the war. Whoever geeked our hunters wasn't playin' 'round. Dey' were lookin' to send a message." he spoke quietly, and hushed up quick as the plump woman bounced back over with synthaglass mugs for everyone else. He took a long hard pull from it and set it back down hard with a heavy sigh.

"Things got fragged for 'dat team. I wanna know who did it." he finished, glancing between the four, his eyes mournful, but his face hard and stern.

[Tanegar]

Glass-Walker closes his eyes, his lips shaping a brief prayer for the departed. When his eyes open again, they are hard and flinty.

"When the hunters went out the last time, did they tell anyone where they planned to go? Maybe they strayed onto gang turf, and somebody felt threatened."

[Notsoevildm]

"Well that's just the dogs bollocks, I hoped it would be someone else who was gonna be getting shot at. Looks like it's gonna be us."

Blanks takes a long drink from the cool drink in front of him. He grimaces at the watery, soy flavoured beer but at least it gets rid of the taste of the moonshine. He cocks his head at the ork, questioningly.

"I'd like to take a look at the bodies if you haven't burned them yet. I did a semester on forensic medicine at Renraku. Might give us an idea whether these folks were taken out by a sniper or whether it was a close up kill."

He points two fingers at the side of his head and mimics getting shot.

"And Glass has a point. I don't fancy walking into a trap. Would be good to know where they were headed."

He looks to Umbra and then Glass-walker, his blank stare locking on each of them in turn. "Think you boys can get a rat to scout the area or look through some windows to get a handle on our shooter?"

[Tanegar]

"If we can narrow down the possible murder site or sites, it might be possible to isolate the astral signature of the killer or killers. I'd also like to assense the bullets, if any were recovered."

[Seth]

Umbra ponders the problem. Some people have been killed, as a message. This is a very nasty message. Blanks is right. People that send a message often want to see how the message is received. There is probably someone watching the camp to see what we do.

"Umbra thinks we need to stop any more messages. Umbra will go and see if he can find if anyone is watching the camp" Umbra puts Mel down "Would friend Mel like to come too?"

[Edana]

As the others gather and get the story from Foxx, Mel listens, while carefully keeping Umbra between herself and the one called Blanks. Much of the nuance and discussion is lost on her, especially as it turns toward details of the investigation. Still, it is clear that there is something wrong and the big ork is worried.

Taking the offered mug, she ponders what to do while drinking, apparently unfazed by the flavor of the cheap beer-like substance.

What kill hunters? Must be stronger hunter. Dangerous.

When Umbra asks about scouting out the area, she nods vigorously, "We hunt. Track killer, find reason." Finishing her drink, she sets down the mug and follows the rat shaman out, shadowing his movements and keeping her eyes and ears open for anything unusual.

[Notsoevildm]

Blanks sets down his glass and pinches the top of his nose, as if fighting off a headache. Jeez, they're just like little kids.

"Come on Glass," he sighs. "If they have a sniper watching the fort, you're the only one around with more than a handgun. And headshots are kinda difficult to patch up."

He turns his blank stare to the ork. "I'll check the bodies later. Right now I aim to keep those two idiots from being added to the bodycount."

He rises and gives a nod to the ork, then heads off briskly after the rat shaman and the little girl. As he goes, his hands run over his body, checking his equipment, loosening his pistol in it's holster and patting his pocket to confirm that the little medicine bottle containing his supply of Cram is still there.

Behind their armored covers, his eyes dart about, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

[Tanegar]

"Hey, like the Bard said, man: lead on, MacDuff."

As Glass-Walker sidles along after the medic, he casts a thought into the astral: Hey, guys, I need a little favor down here.

After a moment, the translucent form of a brass clockwork pigeon appears perched on a nearby fencepost. Glass-Walker directs his thoughts at it: Thanks for coming, little bro. I need you to look around, see if there's anybody within a hundred yards or so who looks like they're hiding. They might have a rifle. Thanks again, dude.

[Belvidere]

As the team rushes out the door and into the waste beyond the walls of Fort Hope, the Lt. Foxx steps up from the barstool and shakes his head while paying the barkeep.

"Aye. Hope I din't jus' gett'em fragged." he said, watching them hustle out of view and into the glaring sunlight of the CZ. He walked out of the bar and back towards the hole in the wall he called a home, trying to be cheery along the way.

As the the four of you crunch your way outside of Fort Hope, you can all see the spattering of blood on the ground where the bodies must have been. Blood is pooled in an area and a small trail goes off into the distance into some of the more crumbled and ruined buildings.

As you follow the trail around the corner of a shell of a building a glint of sunlight catches Seth's eye from the hole that would have once been a window of a four story building. On the second floor about 100 meters away something metal glints again drawing his attention.

From the window pokes out a long metal barrel that was a little to polished. And a man shaped head head stares down the scope.

[Seth]

"Umbra sees a sniper. Umbra will sneak up on him. Friend Mel: can you tell the others?"

With these words Umbra moved towards the building the sniper was lurking in.

[Tanegar]

Glass-Walker looks around for a moment. His experience of growing up hunting in the Salish Council lets him identify a nearby building as a good spot to set up a countersniper nest. Trying to look casual enough to deflect the sniper's attention, he moves toward the building.

[Edana]

Cringing a bit with every bit of crunching gravel behind her Mel scowls, but keeps her thoughts to herself. Ugh, city man need to learn how to sneak. At least he not close enough to draw attention to me and Umbra.

Her attention is soon brought elsewhere though when Umbra quietly asks her to inform the others that he saw a sniper and was moving forward to investigate. Nodding her assent, she turns around and carefully works her way back to Glass-Walker and Blanks' position. Once there, she holds up her hand in a motion intended to stop them and points to the building Umbra saw the sniper in. She then states in a low voice, "Umbra see sniper there. He sneaking up. Me going to follow. You not quiet, be careful."

Her message delivered, Mel turns back and carefully picks a path through the rubble and buildings, circling outward to come at the sniper's location from a different angle than Umbra had chosen.

[Notsoevildm]

Blanks' face betrays the slightest hint of concern at Mel's words. He follows Glass towards the cover of the nearby building, the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention as cold sweat drips down his back. He forces himself to not look in the direction of the sniper until he is inside the building. Then he unstraps his battered pilot helmet and settles it on his head, lowering the scratched glare shield over his eyes. His mirrored eyeshields may protect his eyes but they could all too easily give his position away to a sniper.

He fumbles in his pocket for the bottle of pills. He hesitates for a moment, then slips one of the tabs into his mouth. He closes his eyes and waits for the familiar rush of adrenaline as the cram speeds up his system. More than anyone, he knows the risks of addiction, but he figures he'd rather be an addict than a corpse.

He draws his heavy pistol and moves up next to Glass, looking carefully for the sniper then planning a safe route towards him, or her, through the wrecked buildings.