<<Eyeballed clinic. Been some action here recently. Weenies rolled through here a while ago.>>

Al assumed Pesto was reading along on some sort of AR doohickey.

<<We'll come to you. Now's the time. Coincidence or more crazy players, it don't matter. Whatever we decide to do to that place, it'll be easier if they're still off balance.>>

Sliding out of the booth, the unshaven little man showed his ork companion a mouthful of teeth clamped in a grin around his cigarette. "Let's mount up, compadre."

Pesto sees Al wave at him almost as soon as he enters the diner. The orc only gets to take a few steps towards the mane before Al gets up and closes the distance between them. Since he was monitoring the brief chat between his teammates the orc was not taken unaware. Before leaving the diner Pesto raises a finger to Al letting him know to wait a minute. Then the orc grabs a large soykaf to go.

As they near the van Pesto disengages the security system and opens to driver's side door. A quick step in, a moment to get comfortable in the driver's seat, a small sip of soykaf as he makes sure Al is settled in, then a mental nudge to start the van and away they went towards the clinic.

Al sat up front next to the ork. He had his shotgun cradled on his lap - considering the seat he was riding in, it would have offended his deep sense of poetry not to. It was a pump-action Remington 990, pretty much off the shelf. No bells & whistles for this hombre, though he did have a fairly nice scope, but it wasn't attached right now. Spent most of its time on his Ruger anyway.

Watching the city go by, he still marvelled. He'd been here several months now, but it was a still a wonder to behold. Last time he'd been in a truly modern city was London, and that was way back before the Crash. So there was a lot to see and acclimate to, though most of it was nothing but frills - nothing a body really needed to live.

Just appurtenances.

He'd been told that all this was really nothing, that to really see the Emerald City you had to go augmented. Well, he'd borrowed some glasses from Hun and tried it once - and promptly shouted his last three beers all over the floor of his buddy's '53 Americar.

So now here they were in the crown of civilization, and they were living a life straight out of the jungle - shooting and chasing druggies and going to blow some place to kingdom come, more than likely.

People could say what they wanted, but man is and always was a sinful, carnal creature, and until he put off his natural self he could build all the shiny towers of Babel he liked, stack it on top of the Machine of Progress, and underneath it all there'd still be folk greasing the gears with blood.

And today, he was the greasemonkey.

They met Her Glory in an alley about five blocks from the place. Apparently she'd been trying to rustle them up some schematics of the place, and Al was eager to see what she'd come up with.