IC: Into the Abyss, The crushing black depths... Options

[Ninja Please]

(Spartan @ Group)

"Well, if they don't know what is going on, they're certainly expecting the worst. I mean, drek, do we look like a search and rescue team?" Spartan shifted around his seat, trying to get comfortable for the long flight. No, his first impression was assault all the way. Too many orks, thats what gave it away. People didn't use his type in this large of numbers unless there was some serious work to do.

But beyond that, it was the two shamans that worried him. Magic was rare and expensive, and any job that needed two users was cause for concern. Still, no matter, he thought. The money was worth the stretch.

"As far as how to operate, I think we should be clear on something. Not to sound crass, but what exactly are our objectives here? I think we should put just as much effort into securing the employees as we should on the computer, even if it limits our options a bit."

[Gyro the Greek S...]

(Tiptoes)

Tiptoes nods. "I think he was pretty clear in what he wanted. Data first. People if possible." He paused again. "Ammunition expenditures don't appear to be covered by our agreement. I don't plan on shooting anybody I don't have to. As for the rest, we can't know what's going on until it's on top of us."

[Dashifen]

(Gin)

I lower my voice, hoping the pilot is more concerned with take-off rather than listening to us. Leaning into the rest of the group, "You know what interests me? I did a quick magical check on what's in those crates. They're full of medical supplies, which I can understand, but also food and some kind of small weapons. I wonder what they're for. I don't remember the Johnson saying anything about supplies being sent down to the facility? Do you all?"

[Shadow]

The rigged pilots voice echoes through the aluminum framed aircraft.

"welcome to Oceanic cargo flight, registration number 108LST. We will be taking of shortly. The wind is from the south today and our approximate flight time will be 19 hours. The weather in Guam right now is sunny with 15 mph winds from the east. The Flight cabin will be sealed for the duration, you need to speak to me please let the Cargomaster know. Please avoid walking around during the trip."

The rear door came to life and started closing with the squeal of hydraulics. The plane lurched forward as a runner pulled it out of its birth and on to the runway. Once the huge wings were clear the hangar the mighty propeller driven engines burst to life with a roar that drowned out all sound.

Five minutes later the plane was in the air heading for twenty thousand feet. The noise from the engines was so great everyone with un augmented ears donned the ear protection provided under each seat.

[Gyro the Greek S...]

(Tiptoes)

Tiptoes closed his eyes and tried to think out the situation beyond the deafening buzz beyond his ear protection. The trip was being surprisingly easy on his nerves thus far. Beat the hell out of the Puyallup sewer system.

The most likely possibility is that they just happen to be sending these supplies with us on some other errand. Resupply for whatever facility we'll be landing at. He looked around. I don't know how big that sub is going to be, but I don't think that it could hold an Airtruck's worth of supplies.

[Raiko]

(Mirage)

"I suggest we treat anybody we meet down there as a potential hostile, I am not suggesting that we go in all guns blazing, but we need to secure the first survivors we come across and find out what's going on."

"Much as I'd like to rescue everybody, I can't believe that our employers haven't tried something already, before going to the expense of hiring us. I figure something very bad has happened down there, and we can't take any chances with the survivors till we know what."

"We need to make sure we secure the submarine as well, it's our only guaranteed method of getting back out."

[Dashifen]

(Gin @ Mirage)

"You think it's worth leaving someone behind at the sub to make sure that nothing unexpected happens? We seem to have a plethora of talent on this one."

[Bearclaw]

(Wishbone)
If we've got their data, we've at least got something to negotiate with. Until then though, we seem to be stuck trusting them. A bomb or something like that seems a little overboard. One, it will immediately create an adversarial relationship with the only guys who could help us if we needed it, and two, it's an empty threat. What are we gonna do? Blow up the sub?

[Gyro the Greek S...]

(Tiptoes)

"I think our employers are our number two concern. Number one is whatever the problem they're having is."

[Method]

(Vertigo)

Vertigo nods at Tiptoes.

"I think you hit the nail on the head. Our first objective should be to secure some kind of safe zone within the arcology to base our operations out of. Second should probably be to make contact with whatever is left of the local security detail and find out whats really going on down there."

...probably wouldn't hurt to do some legwork on Guam, either, if we have the time...

[Shadow]

The first few hours of the flight runs smoothly. The aircraft and her crew obviously know there job. OUtside is nothing but featureless blackness with the occasional light black cloud floating buy. The visible crew finds a spot and sleeps. And you all find the constant vibration of the aircraft and the drone of the engines lulls you into a coma like state where sleep comes easily....

The sudden shudder of the aircraft brings you all to a very alert state. Theres a 'bang' like a gun going of and the plane drops several hundred feet. A quick glance outside reveals muddled daylight and storm clouds.

[Bearclaw]

Wishbone

Feeling the beginnings of panic, Wishbone looks to Spartan, figuring the big Merc had probably flown into more hot LZ's than the rest of them.
I'll panic when he panics. At least I come with a built in parachute, assuming I'm not still in the plane when it plows into the ocean, disentagrating and scattering our pieces over miles of ocean.

[Ninja Please]

Spartan

Spartan grunts as the plane shakes him back to awareness. Gazing out the window does not do anything to reassure him. He doesn't know much about aircraft, but bangs, storms, and unexpected drops in altitude are seldom good experiences. Christ, he mutters under his breath, Its hitting the fan already. We've still got engines, even if they are props, and so far the pilots have been compentent.

Ah, screw it. Nothing we can do about it back here anyway." APCs, thunderbirds, planes... it didn't matter. Once you strapped down, you were nothing but a taxi passenger. Faith in his team had saved him in the past, and would have to do so again.

Noticing Wishbone's look, Spartan throws him a double thumbs up and a drek-eating grin. Spartan then tightens his 5-point. If we're going down, I'm doing it with a smile on my face."

[Gyro the Greek S...]

(Tiptoes)

Tiptoes's lips creased together as he grit his teeth.
Next time, he thought, I go semiballistic.

[Shadow]

The next few hours are filled with sudden drops that leave your stomach in your throat, and loud bangs that have you wondering if the wing just came off. The pilot, nor the crew speak during this time, apparently to busy to talk to the cargo.

The overly bright sun finally peeks through the windows as the plane begins its final decent on Guam.

"We are two-zero minutes out, cargo master secure the load."

The man who had slept buckled in most of the journey glances around the cabin, when he sees no one out of their seat he replies.

"Cargo secure."

20 minutes later the sky truck comes in for a smooth landing on a small company owned airstrip. The plane taxi's to a stop in front of corrugated aluminum hangar. The engines slow to a stop and the back door opens.

The rush of fresh air feels great after the aircraft fuel laden air you had been breathing. Right behind it though is a wave of dry superheated air that drys your skin and makes it hard to breath.

[Gyro the Greek S...]

(Tiptoes)

Tiptoes carefully undoes the straps holding him to the bend and removes the bright red protective earmuffs that had been over his ears for the journey.

Silently, he stands and checks himself, as well his equipment.

[Shadow]

The crew waited patiently for the passengers to file out before they began the arduous process of unloading the cargo.

Guam was hot, really hot. 100 degrees in the shade easy. Standing in the shade next to the hangar were two men, one was obviously a manager, the other was just as obviously a operator.

The manager waved you all over, "Hi, I'm Michale Wincott, I am going to be your liaison on the ground, this is Dutch, he’s uh," the blond haired man spoke up, "I'm the guy who is taking you down to hell."

The manager gave Dutch a sideways glance before continuing, "he will be going with you as a representative of the company. Now we have to hurry, Typhoon "Hurly" is going to be here in a day, and it takes that long to get to the site by boat."

A cargo truck sits a few meters away with the Oceanic logo on the side.

[Method]

(Vertigo)

Typhoon Hurly.... don't like the sound of that....

Vertigo shouldered her ruck sack and followed Wincott toward the truck. She had a menacing feeling that any exit strategy they might devise was going to be made moot by the massive storm. She turns back to the other members of the group.

"So if our insertion is by boat and there's a typhoon barreling down on this area we should probably plan on taking extra supplies incase our extraction is... delayed..."

She tried to sound matter-of-fact for Wincott's benefit but she hoped the rest of the team would read the concern in her facial expression.

[Dashifen]

(Gin)
I squint my eyes as my distate for this situation grows, "What is the classification of this typhoon? What kind of conditions can we expect at the site and will the vessel be able to await our re-surfacing on site or will it return here to outlast the storm."

[Shadow]

"Well," the man squinted to the south," currently our people think its a Cat 3 with winds in the 60 knot range. However they are confident it will hit cat 5, possibly cat 6 before hitting Guam. So we have to get you to the sight, which is in the path of the Typhoon, before that happens. These things rarely last longer than a week so I don't see the extraction when the job is done being a problem. Right Dutch?"

[Bearclaw]

Guam, June 5th 2064, 1200 pm (Wishbone)
Spirits, thinks Wishbone as he throws his duffel over his shoulder, from the frying pan into the fire. He starts to sweat before he even makes it down the ramp.
He listens to Wincott, with a bad feeling beginning in his gut. He tries to shrug it off, but Typhoon sounds bad. Bad with a capitol T.
Trying to at least look cool, he says, “Can I get a few minutes and maybe a beer before we hit the boat? Or at least the beer. And I agree with Vertigo about the supplies. We should go down with two weeks food and water for everyone.”

[Fortune]

The man introduced as Dutch appears to be in his early-to-mid thirties, and is quite large and solid for a human, standing 1.91m (just short of 6' 6") and weighing in at 103kg (226lb). His blond hair is cropped short in the traditional military style, and his square jaw is meticulously clean shaven. He has a rigid, military bearing, standing ramrod-straight as he watches the ragged-looking group of 'deniable assets' disembark from the airplane. In spite of the oppressive heat, he is dressed in a chic, dark gray, corporate suit. At his feet sits a battered olive drab rucksack, against which leans what appears to be a customized, matte black shotgun.

Dutch has a piercing stare, accentuated by a strange metallic tint of his turquoise cybereyes, which he now turns momentarily in Michael's direction before responding to the man's comment in a measured tone.

"Sure. As you say, it shouldn't be too much of a problem. It ain't like it isn't in the company's best interest t' pull us out A.S.A.P."

[Gyro the Greek S...]

(Tiptoes)

Tiptoes regards Dutch cooly. A merc pilot. He swings the strap to his own duffel bag over his shoulder. Interesting that they aren't sending some skinny tech down. Doesn't bode well for us.

[Shadow]

"Well if you will all get into the truck we can get you to the dock and be on the way!"

Wincott gestures to the open aired 6-wheeled cargo truck. You can say one thing about Oceanic, they don't fly first class.

[Method]

(Vertigo @ Wincott)

"Hold on a minute. No offense, but I'd like some reassurance that everything we will need has been taken care of. Forgive me if I don't take your word for it, but I need to see the supplies we've requested before I get on any boat. I think my teammates will agree with me..."