[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Sonora's Doss, Nueva Caracas; 03:38 AM]

Eh, the women, they confuse him sometimes. When the troll sees Sonora's mouth drop, he realizes that she does not care for his manner of negotiating. But then maybe he's not so sure about that, because her mouth closes and she looks to the bedroom--what's this? he thinks. Is this code? She wants to join me and the puta in the bedroom? Yes. She is so amazed by the size of my huevos that she wishes to ride me. This will be a good night, I shall have them both.

Oh but it seems not to be--because of course the asshole on the other end is yelling now, telling Coatl things that will certainly make it hard for him to partake of either of these women. Heartbreaking, especially now that Carmen has revealed she is giving it away. Of all the fucking luck...

He turns the commlink off once the tirade is over, and--hard as it is--ignores Carmen, turning to Sonora. "Oh, he not happy. He says he knows where we are," he says, shaking the 'link so she knows how they were traced. "And he says they are coming to kill us. And we will beg and be fed to ghouls. I guess I made him angry? You, uh..." He sounds a bit sheepish, almost apologetic. "You prob'ly gonna have to leave. Things gon' get ugly here."

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Back Alley Street Clinic, El Zamural; 04:04 AM]

"This night gets better and better" the elf said with a grin while he quickly brought the hand with the Manhunter up and leveled it at the creatures ahead whose infrared signatures stood out against the bleak background.
Adeptly he squeezed of a round at each of the ambushers, calmy moving the weapon from one target to the other.

Sonora's doss - Nueva Caracas, 03:39 AM
Biomonitor: ARRHYTHMIA DETECTED. REDUCE CARDIO STRESS IMMEDIATELY OR SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION.

Sonora lets loose a stream of curses in passable Sperethiel. It seems to involve homogeny, the male gender, pork, and possibly blood spirits or toaster strudel. Sometimes the language loses its nuance when the speaker's pissed.

She starts gathering up the really important stuff - Medication, weapons, disguise aids. Halfway through, she swaps back to Spanish to address the other occupants of the room.

"YOU!" Sonora yells at Coatl, who clearly has his mind set on what's under a pair of bikini bottoms, "Thinking with your pinga at a time like this! You better get that machete ready, and I don't mean the one you want to use in that bedroom!

"And where did that Juan go! Did he leave the window open? Is he waiting with another machete to try and carve us up, looking for money? Do you need a spare, Carne?

"And furthermore, now I--"

Sonora clutched at her chest, her other hand curled into a fist and pounding on the table. The Oaxaca in the bottle jumps just a bit, splishing onto the cheap synthetic wood, and her breathing grows ragged.

Twice in one night I cannot fucking believe this the Sotalol isn't working

Breathe. In deep, out slow. Survive it, chica.

Taking slow, ragged breaths, the pain started to subside. Residual traces of her inhaler drug were enough to bring her heart rate back down, augmented with training. She couldn't let the situation get the better of her. She couldn't take another hit of the medication, not yet. There was only so much.

In a much calmer voice, she spoke to her roommate.

Carmen, I love you to death dear but you need to get out. We're setting fire to the doss tonight. Get everything you can and head to a new place because I don't want to see you at the hands of La Alianza. We'll split up, Coatl and I will find different digs. I want you safe, hermana.

"Coatl...lo siento. I let my temper get the better of me. Turn that commlink off for now, and we'll vanish once we clear anything that can track us."

El Mono and Chaske
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Behind The Final Round, Nueva Caracas; 03:33 AM]
Right as the man's forehead showers the side of the garbage bin, both Mono and Chaske notice a glint of light off of light, reflecting off of the scope of a rifle held by a black clad body. Above the din of the evening, he could barely be heard to say "Mierda!", and then he was lining his sights up again to try for another shot at the two.

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

Sonora and Coatl
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Sonora's Doss, Nueva Caracas; 03:39 AM]
Coatl's report left Carmen shaken, and her eyes went wide with fear. After Sonora's harangue, the woman began to start weeping, the gravity of the situation suddenly becoming clear to her. Upon receipt of instructions to flee, Carmen turned and ran back into the bedroom, wiping at her eyes. Noises from within indicated she was tossing her own bedroom, gathering what she needed in order to make her own escape.

A couple of minutes into preparations to leave, and a strange crackling noise was heard from the living area. The air in a corner of the room rippled, and then appeared to solidify and congeal into the form of a bare-chested man wearing tribal clothing. He wore an elaborate headdress and had small wooden protrusions through his nose, much like a warrior from one of the nearby Yanomami tribes. He also wielded a large, stone axe in one hand. Obvious, hazy waves of energy emanated from his skin and caused objects behind him to ripple. It was quite evident that this was no man, but a spirit manifested right inside of Sonora's apartment. Upon seeing the giant, brutish troll, the spirit raised its stone axe and screamed, lunging straight for him.

((Initiative for both Sonora and Coatl))

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

Smiley and Sam
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Back Alley Street Clinic, El Zamural; 04:04 AM]
The two men brought their pistols to bear on the left body first. Two bullets ripped through its form, and a spray of yellow dots on their thermal overlays represented blood showering out of exit wounds and painting the wall behind. The elf, being just a bit quicker, was able to whip his pistol over to the right and put a single slug into that one. With a harsh, growling yelp it fell onto the ground and started writhing and clawing at where the bullet had entered.

And then, from all around them, echoing down the alleys and out of nearby storm sewers, from dark corners and behind piles of refuse, more hissing and more growling was heard. Rather than being just two of them, it sounded like many, many more; whether this was an aural illusion from the echoes bouncing off of nearby walls or it was coming from as many individual bodies as they feared was unknown. What could be figured out, however, is that there were more of them, and they weren't too happy that two of their own had just gotten plugged.

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

Stephen
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; The Cat's Paw, Nueva Caracas; 03:41 AM]
((Background Count +2))

As Señor Ramirez talked, he had set the flier back down on the table and smoothed it out. The man rambled on, spilling his guts in hopes that he can forestall this ork in front of him from going crazy. But Stephen saw through this, and he spotted Señor Ramirez slowly reaching underneath the desk for something. The man's fat arm tensed up as if he'd just grabbed onto something...

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Back Alley Street Clinic, El Zamural; 04:04 AM]

The growling and hissing was resounding through the alley. "Shit. That sounds like a whole army of ghuls or whatever these creatures are. Too many to shoot them all!" Especially considering the fact that he only had 6 rounds left in his magazin, which had already been half-empty when he woke up in the alley. And the spare clips were in his trenchcoat. Which was in the car.

"Let's get out of here!" the Amnesiac shouted and started to run towards Smiley's car, shooting at anything that tried to block their path.

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Back Alley Street Clinic, El Zamural; 04:04 AM]

"Oh yeah, of course there's more of them!" Smiley said to nobody in particular as he made a dash forward to the car after the elf. He didn't bother shooting, letting the clearly more talented marksman near him do that job as he wirelessly disengaged the electrified anti-theft system before leaping upwards and sliding across the hood just like one would see in the action movies. With his feet on the ground again after the slide, he sent another wireless signal to start the engine and unlock the doors as he ripped the driver side door open and leaped in, leaning over to shove the passenger side door open all while yelling at the nameless elf to get inside.

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Gematria Applied Analytics, Chacao; 03:41 AM]

All the way to the indoor parking lot, I can't think of anything except what Morris has just told me. I haven't had a purpose in such a long time. Just livin'. Day to day. Week to week. No hope. No goal. But now, everything's different. It's like my life was a some big puzzle, and somehow, someone switched the pieces when I wasn't lookin'. All I had earlier tonight was a reason to die. It's still there. But I've got a reason to live, and a reason to kill for. I hope the Azzies trained their people good; cause I'm fuckin' coming for them. If they ain't sharp, I'll mop the floor with them. I play with the keys in my hand. I ain't holding unto any illusion; this is my last op. My last mission. The sheer size of what I'm up against means I'm going to die. If they're real pros, I'll probably kill a few and get bagged in the process. I throw the keys in the air and catch 'em. If they're amateurs… well, I'll kill them all, go home and sleep it off.

When I find the wheels Morris just gave me, about half of my brain is surprised. The other half is probably still a bit too drunk to be surprised. A nice looking van, and subtle. Although I ain't really the subtle kind, I like having a bit of the odds on my side. I wasn't quite sure what Morris meant by "I'm sure it will be to your satisfaction." I get the full meaning when I get inside. The thing has more fuckin' armor than a tank, and it has a brand new Stoner in the back. I felt sorta naked without a long gun with me. Now, I'm as comfortable as a grunt in a brand new foxhole.

I almost smile as I turn the ignition.

Thanks a bunch Morris. I owe you one.

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071, Palmar de Caridad, 04:23 Local Time]

The drive back "home" ain't quite all that pleasant, but at least, I can listen to the radio now. Takes a few tries before I find a station playing blues. It ain't the best blues, but it does fine. Good medicine. As I drive, I start pushing my thoughts in the back of my brain to make some room. I've got a mission to accomplish, and I need to put my game face on. As far as I'm concern, the op has already started. First order of the day, get the fuck out of my place. Take everything, pack everything, burn everything and leave. Got no real idea where I'll be headin' but I don't mind much. If these guys are coming after me, I'd rather it not be right now. So I need to leave. Pack up and leave.

I park the van in a alley, about a block away from my place. I doesn't look quite mean enough not to get stolen, but I'd be pretty surprised someone could make off with it.

Worst comes to worst; Morris can always get some cash from the insurance company.

Before leaving the van, I take a few deep breaths. I brush my fingers on the handle of my revolver, the smartlink confirming the fact I'm lock and loaded. I ain't really expecting trouble, not yet. But you never know. Maybe these fucks are already on my trail. Maybe I'm two seconds away from being blow to bits.

Then again, it could be worst: nothing could happen.

[Tuesday, 17 November 2071; Behind The Final Round, Nueva Caracas; 03:33 AM]
[Commlink:Hidden]

At the sight of the sniper Chaske quickly whispers a single word into El Mono's ear as he steps behind the orc to obscure the snipers view of his actions, "Flashpak."

Chaske drops the device at his feet and turns to run. He keeps a close eye on the ultrawideband overlay as he makes for his motorcycle.

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Sonora's Doss, Nueva Caracas; 03:39 AM]

At first the troll can't believe what he's hearing, and that this bitch has the nerve to try to bawl him out like this. But her coughing fit gives him a moment to think--and yeah, maybe he shouldn't have focused so much on Carmen, and he was willing to admit that the coming death squad was maybe a little bit his fault. Just a little. So although he seethes a little inside he stays quiet as she lays into him, and coughs, and then quietly apologizes and gets back to packing.

He doesn't help; crazy dame would probably just yell at him for touching something important, or for touching something not important enough. He slouches towards the door instead and takes a position half-in, half-out of the apartment, peering down the tenement stairs to keep an eye out for any death squads, but making sure he kept his ear open in case Sonora had anything else to say. In his right hand he holds the machete, just in case. His left hand is in the pocket of his coat, fingers lightly rubbing against the derm of kamikaze he had in there, just in case. Coatl kept an eye out and tried to keep his mind from wandering, and wondered why he was being called 'Beef.'

The crackling noises caught his attention, and he pulled his head back into the doss just in time to see the bare-chested man begin to materialize. "Ladies," he said, in case they hadn't noticed--but then it screamed at him and charged. That, they had to have heard. Should have popped that derm of K...

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; The Cat's Paw, Nueva Caracas; 03:41 AM]
((Background Count +2))

As Stephen sees Ramirez reaching for something under his desk, he deftly pulls his pistol from his holster behind his back and presses it against Ramirez's temple.

"I was reasonable. I just wanted to talk. But you thought you were going to get the drop on me. To answer your question about why I'm looking into it, 'None of your fucking business'. Of course, now I know you can't be trusted, we'll do this the hard way."

Stephen began to stare intently at Ramirez, focusing his magical energy to the point that his nose started to bleed.

"Tell me... what you... know..."

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Sonora's Doss, Nueva Caracas; 03:39 AM]

Coatl twists his bulk back inside of the room but the room's size and his position throws his attack off. He has to swing the machete in low and it passes through the spirit without the meaty 'thunk' he's used to when he chops into a body. The spirit screeches at him and he thinks, Oh, this ain't gonna be fun...

Dexter
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Apartment, Palmar de Caridad, 04:23 AM]
When Dexter parked the van, he doubted if God could have found it, situated as it was in the gloom of the night and the obfuscating murk of the thick fog smothering the city. His journey down the block was uneventful. No strangers stopped him, no shots were fired at him. Not even a devil rat squeaked in his general direction.

Slowly he made his way up the stairs and down the familiar, stale-smelling hallway down to his apartment. With a little luck, it might be the last time he ever sees this place, since he was gearing up to go off to war with the Azzies and leave bodies in his wake.

The apartment door opens without a fuss. The same scene he left. Darkness in all corners, save for lights coming in from the outside. The same smashed furniture. Nothing had been moved or even touched since his departure.

((Perception Test, Initiative. You can throw in a Radar scan as well since you have that built in.))

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

Sam and Smiley
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Back Alley Street Clinic, El Zamural; 04:04 AM]
Maybe there was a reason this doc's clinic had only had two stars on the Matrix Street Clinic Finder. There might've been a selective bias about the ghouls, though, considering nobody had complained about them since those who would have done so had been eaten.

No sooner had both men gotten in the car than about five ghoulish bodies leaped onto it, thudding onto the roof, the hood, the trunk, and all pummeling the armored metal with their fists and scratching Smiley's paint up even further as they tried to carve their way inside. The sounds created were the expected, ragged screeching of sharp objects across a metallic surface, only done so frantically, as if a starving man smelled lunch on the inside. One ghoul on the hood ran up the glass, and a thundering footstep started a crack in the windshield from which further cracks began to spiderweb outwards.

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

Stephen
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; The Cat's Paw, Nueva Caracas; 03:41 AM]
((Background Count +2))
Before Ramirez can bring up the shotgun hidden behind his desk, Stephen puts his own pistol in the man's face. Sufficiently cowed and now beaten at the draw, the fat man drops his gun to clatter on the carpet, and puts his hands up as if to ward off this crazy ork.

When Stephen puts himself to casting the Mind Probe on Ramirez, he can tell he's pushing himself past the safe limits of what he can do in this place, what with the astral space being so turbulent and hard to control. Forcing the energies in this building to his will strains his physical being, and he feels the force of the spell tearing him up inside, causing burning, painful damage. Blood vessels in one of Stephen's eyes burst, and his nose bleeds onto Ramirez's desk; the man looks aghast at the droplets as well as the deteriorating visage of this man before him. But once the Mind Probe takes hold, Ramirez jerks once and stiffens, his eyes rolling backwards in his head as the ork starts digging through the man's mind.

((You can ask one question per Complex Action))

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

Coatl and Sonora
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Sonora's Doss, Nueva Caracas; 03:39 AM]
Indeed, Coatl's appropriated machete fails to sink into the spirit's ethereal body and produce the desired effect. With the responses of a trained warrior, the spirit attempts to sink that giant stone axe into Coatl's skull while he recovers from the glanced blow. But it's not to find purchase in the troll's flesh, as he dives to the side, scrambling over a sofa as the spirit's weapon totally destroys the coffee table, turning it into a pile of firewood with a single, monstrous blow. The spirit recovers quickly, and raises the weapon again, and with a ululating cry, moves forward in a menacing, aggressive pose.

((Sonora's Turn))

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Back Alley Street Clinic, El Zamural; 04:04 AM]

"I just can't catch a break tonight, can I?" the elf without a name murmured annoyed as the ghuls swarmed the rigger's vehicle. Quickly he swapped out his pistols half-empty clip for a fresh one. "Get us out of here! I'll deal with any corpse-eaters who manage to get in. Guess I need to borrow that shotgun again for a second." Grabbing said weapon he aims for the ghul on the windshield, preparing in case the glass gave in to the constant assault.

Sonora's doss - Nueva Caracas, 03:39 AM
Biomonitor: Heart rate elevated. Reduce cardio stress.

A screaming tribal was in her apartment. The fragger sounded like one of those Semtex-wearing putos out in the Middle East from back in the day, she remembered from her history vids, and as she looked up from the fridge where she was grabbing one of the sorriest Modelo knockoffs the Sixth World had ever seen, she could see a half-naked tribal materialize from the corner of the room as if it were a portal into the ancient times and tear off screaming after Coatl.

At least it knows to go after the big threat, she reflected as she pulled a knife from the kitchen counter and advanced on the fighting pair, the melee itself threatening to spill into the hallway. How did they find us so fast?

When she got close enough, she darted forward with the knife outstretched, angry enough that some screaming tribal was going to call a lot of heat on the apartment in a very short time that she was going to try and knife it in the 'sweet spot', get the knife in between a few vertebrae and sever some connections between veins, arteries and major organs. With a snarl as if she were some junkyard dog, Sonora thrust the knife at the spirit.

Part of her wondered if spirits had vertebrae. Hell, part of her wondered if spirits bled at all.

Stephen
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; The Cat's Paw, Nueva Caracas; 03:41 AM]
((Background Count +2))

Stephen lost himself, felt himself slip away. He wasn't aware anymore of his physical body standing there, so completely immersed was he in the very mind and soul of this man. An entire lifetime's worth of knowledge, memories, and even dark secrets were amassed and within the ork's control to view as he wanted to.

"Tell me how my sister got here."

Images began to whirl through Stephen's own mind as he forced Ramirez to bring those memories to the fore. And then he wasn't in his own body anymore. He was quite vividly in another person's body: the one belonging to this fat pimp in front of him. He was sitting at the bar downstairs near the entrance, drinking some awful tasting swill, with an arm around one of the girl's of this place: an elven woman with features so perfect as to be bio-modded. The doors burst open, and out from the dark, rainy evening came an orkish woman... Stephen's sister!

A grin spread across Ramirez's face. He stood up and walked over to the orkish woman. She immediately picked him out as the owner, and her hands were held together almost as if in supplication. She was gaunt, and there were dark shadows underneath her eyes.

"P-please... I need a place to stay. Told... I was told I could work, and live here." Her eyes were glassy, already shrink-wrapped with tears, and she trembled slightly.

"That depends, chica," Ramirez said sneeringly. The pimp reached out and stroked the orkish woman's jawline in a mockery of affection, examining her. "What've you got to offer us, huh? Show us what mami has beneath those wet clothes..."

There, in front of the entire Cat's Paw staff and the patrons who were inside, he made her strip down, leaving her sopping wet clothes in a pile. She tried to cover herself, to preserve as much modesty as possible. He tapped his lips thoughtfully, but deep down he felt his urges coming alive, felt his libido becoming hot and needful for this desperate piece of flesh in front of him.

"Come with me, mami," he said, with a hand held outwards. "We might be able to make use of you after all..."

He took her up a familiar elevator, down a familiar hallway, and into a familiar office, the very one Stephen stood in at this moment.

Ramirez shut the door behind them.

"Before papi can do for you," he whispered into her ear, the smell of booze strong on his breath, "you gotta do for papi. Comprende?"

As Stephen experienced this vile man beginning to touch and violate his sister, he shuddered back from the memory, letting it drift back off into the abyss of this man's dark, unrepentant soul.

Stephen then asked his second question, the most important one:

"Tell me where my sister went."

Ramirez was downstairs, keeping a close eye on business and the goings-on here in the Cat's Paw. The girls and the boys he pedaled out to the juans and even some juanitas coming in here were getting along with their customers, making small-talk, urging them to buy drinks at the bar, and leading them off into rented rooms to earn their keep.

He turned his head at some bustle down the hallway coming from the elevators. When he saw the most enormous hulk of a troll he had ever seen, his heart dropped down into his shoes. Ramirez knew this monster, the one customer he wished would stay away but kept always coming back for more. He didn't know the troll's real name, but knew his street name, his monicker: " El Hacha" - "The Hatchet." This... abomination often came in after months of absence, and then became infatuated with one of the girls. He would buy up their remaining employment contracts, and after that Ramirez would never see them again. He wanted to say no, to refuse... but El Hacha had a street rep for looking unkindly on those who didn't play the game he wanted to play, hence his name. El Hacha was also a ranking member of La Alianza, and nobody fucked with them, not unless they really wanted to find themselves in a world of shit.

El Hacha had a woman in tow: an ork woman, Stephen's sister. She looked terrified of this brute, with his giant hand cupping her arm as if she were already his property. She had a black eye, and kept her gaze turned downwards in an attempt to let her hair fall down and obscure her face.

Ramirez felt a huge sadness wash over his heart. He'd found himself becoming fond of her, as fond as a man could get when he had dozens of women at his beck and call. Lately he'd avoided having her service him as he felt the relationship growing more patriarchal and less that of a hooker to her pimp. He forced back his tears and his dread, because he knew it was too late.

El Hacha barked, "How much for this pretty little puta?" His sneer was a ghastly, horrifying sight. Ramirez thought if he had to stare at it for too long he would go mad.

But if there was nothing he could do... he was at least going to get a good price for letting his precious Venus go...

He started the haggle timidly. "Well... she is one of our best girls..."

Then the memory ended, and it faded away, leaving Stephen to stare once again at this obese, disgusting sack of meat in front of him, still in the thrall of the Mind Probe.

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Back Alley Street Clinic, El Zamural; 04:04 AM]

After seeing the ghouls scramble all over his car and start scratching off more of it's special paint, Smiley couldn't help but let loose a stream of curses that'd make a sailor blush. He then notices the nameless elf reach under the drivers seat for the shotgun, which Smiley responded to by reaching out to try and wrestle the shotgun out of his hands and then smack the elf upside the head, "You are not going to shoot through my windshield you fucking pendejo, and don't grab my shit without fucking permission!" He looked out at the ghoul on his windshield, shooting a death glare at it shortly before transmitting the wireless signal to immediately discharge the cars electrical anti-theft system; one that known to be capable of knocking out adult humans with a single zap when they touch the car.

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Back Alley Street Clinic, El Zamural; 04:04 AM]

When the rigger stopped him from taking the shotgun the amnesiac let out an incredulous laugh. "Fine if you prefer to to get eaten. Next time I'll submit a written request. Besides I'm just preparing in case he kicks in the window." He switched back to his pistol, the red point of the laser sight appearing between the ghul's eyes. This will have to do then!

Sam and Smiley
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Back Alley Street Clinic, El Zamural; 04:05 AM]
The car began to rock back and forth as the ghouls tried to bash, slash, and smash their way inside. But when Smiley discharged the car's anti-theft system, all of that ceased immediately. The ghouls tumbled off the car like bugs falling from a bug zapper as the interior lights and electronics in the dash board dimmed for a few moments. Save for some new dents, cracks in the glass, and further cosmetic damage the car was unharmed.

Ghoul bodies flopped around on the ground on both sides of the vehicle, shuddering and spasming as they attempted to regain control of their own motor skills after the electrical shock. Some of them gibbered as they writhed around, unable to control themselves.

And then from behind them, both Sam and Smiley could hear more screams. No ghouls could be seen yet, but shadows of their approaching forms spilled across one of the walls of the alley, silhouettes of hunched-over, bipedal forms scrambling and bounding forward to join their comrades now lying on the ground.

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

Sonora and Coatl
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Sonora's Doss, Nueva Caracas; 03:39 AM]
The tribal spirit was too preoccupied with Coatl, the closest worthy adversary in the room. It did not notice the small elven woman slipping up behind with the knife. Sonora put all her fury into the swing, using her outrage and contempt for this spirit seeking to destroy them as much as her hands to drive the blade towards the spirit-forms's back.

Amazingly, the blade sank deep into the spirit's corpus precisely where she wanted it to go. No blood spilled out from the wound as the blade stuck out from the tribal's back, but his form did ripple and begin to fade somewhat, almost as if the spirit's existence were threatened and no longer a certain thing. A hazy fog of energy gushed from the wound, as well as incredible heat. The room began to increase in temperature as the spirit's essence gushed from the severe damage done to its form.

Suddenly the spirit wasn't as impressed with the troll as a foe, seeing as this woman just stealthed behind it while in combat and done a grievous injury to it. It turned and kicked through the shattered pile of the coffee table, then raised its axe as it lunged towards her for a swing.

((Sonora needs to make a defense roll))

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Back Alley Street Clinic, El Zamural; 04:05 AM]

Switching the Colt 2066 pistol still being held over to his left hand, Smiley leans out the window and fires a pair of .45 bullets at the ghoul that was on the hood of the car a moment ago and then slips back inside, holstering the pistol as he looks over to the nameless elf. "Okay, now we go." After speaking his quip, he slams his foot down on the accelerator and peels out, giving a swerve to hit one or two of the ghouls twitching on the ground.

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Back Alley Street Clinic, El Zamural; 04:05 AM]

"Nice! Didn't know you had a bug zapper on the car. One could get the idea you do this kind of stuff regularly..." The elf grinned and let the hand with the Manhunter sink limply to his side while he was pressed into his seat by the acceleration. "I hope that was it for tonight though. There's gotta be a limit on how much bad stuff someone can attract." Looking back at the screaming horde of ghuls he sighed. "Seriously."

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; El Zamural; 04:05 AM]

"This car used to be one of my most prized possessions, before I picked up some deadbeat damsel." Smiley shoots a glance over to the nameless elf, "It's got all sorts of mods for speed, armor, and two active defense methods, but it wasn't made for this kind of night. We've already busted the shocks and pretty much lost the ability to change the color, this shit keeps up and there won't be anything left." He lets off a heavy sigh as he leans back, placing the shotgun he wrestled away from the elf onto his lap. "We're going to Nueva Caracas, I need a drink so damn bad. Then I'm gunna have you strut the streets to pay for the damages to my poor car."

Sonora and Coatl
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Sonora's Doss, Nueva Caracas; 03:39 AM]

The spirit was unmistakably enraged. It reared back cross-armed and made a lunging, backhanded, diagonal swipe, which Sonora parried franticly. The spirit continued its menacing advance, forward momentum in its arm coming back around for another swipe. Sonora backed up just in time to avoid it. With an almost casual disdain the spirit backfisted an easy chair out of its way; it crashed halfway through the paper-thin wall to the bedroom and became stuck in the wood. Sonora kept her retreat, and finally the spirit backed her against a wall. Unable to retreat further, it swiped through her puny defenses to land that stone axe into the meat of her shoulder and collarbone.

Fortunately the armor vest held, though looking slightly worse for wear. The axe head failed to penetrate, and though the force of the blow sent her straight down to the floor on her ass, the spirit failed to draw blood on her. The flesh around the impact felt as if on fire, the bruise already starting to form and the flesh to stiffen.

The spirit raised its axe above its head and once again gave that triumphant, ululating battle cry.

((Sonora takes 3S damage.))

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Sonora's Doss, Nueva Caracas; 03:39 AM]

Coatl tried to grab hold of the warrior as it turned to face Sonora, but couldn't seem to get a grip on it. It would slip from his grasp without even noticing him, or the "flesh" would warp and turn to smoke around his fingers, working free before it smoothed over and became real again.

It trashed the flat in its quest to destroy Sonora. This creature's single-mindedness worked to the troll's favor as he moved up behind it and slashed at it with the machete, the steel digging deep into the ephemera where its shoulder blades would be. Another blast of that warmth came out and Coatl wrinkled his nose at the smell of it.

Coatl and Sonora
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Sonora's Doss, Nueva Caracas; 03:39 AM]
The machete sunk into the spirit's back, and it gave a piercing shriek of agony that wailed painfully against nearby eardrums. That probably woke up everyone in several floors, if the noise of the fighting had not already. The tribal spirit reached behind its back and clawed at the blade sticking out, but it was too late. The spirit crackled with energy and then dissipated. When it vanished suddenly, it released a small shockwave of energy that sent Coatl tumbling backwards over a loveseat. The room felt like a blazing inferno now from all the heat exuded into the room by the spirit's destruction. A small, smoldering black patch of burned carpet marked the location where it was disrupted.

((Combat is Over))

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Sonora's Doss, Nueva Caracas; 03:39 AM]

Coatl let out a groan from his place on the ground, and slowly rolled onto his knees so he could get up. Using the couch to prop himself up he stood and dusted himself off, making his way through the debris to Sonora and offering a hand to help her up. "Carmen," he yells, eyes on the easy chair stuck in the wall, "You okay?"

"'N' how 'bout you?" he asks Sonora in a quieter voice. He'd seen the trouble she had had earlier when she'd yelled at him--something was wrong there and he didn't want her keeling over before they could even make it out of here.

Sonora's doss, 03:39 AM
Biomonitor: Physical stress detected. Heart rate elevated. Reduce cardio stress.

"I hate this fucking city," Sonora replied to Coatl. Now she was sweating like some sort of hog underneath the vest. It was slim enough to be worn under clothing but it still felt far too bulky; still it had saved her from a rampaging spirit she had actually stabbed.

"I'll be all right," she continued as she sat there for a second. Her ass hurt, her shoulder really hurt, and now there was nothing but kindling for furniture. "You all right? Carmen okay?"

Taking another moment to recover, Sonora finally got to her feet, testing the material of the vest and her shoulder. Both were intact; she was lucky. "We should probably go now. Carmen! We need to go!"

[The Cat's Paw, Nueva Caracas; 03:42 AM]
((Background Count +2))

As Stephen felt his mind disconnect from Ramirez, he felt the mixed emotion of Ramirez's sadness for his sister's fate mingling with his own, until it was gone completely.

"Your regrets are the only reason this is so quick."

Stephen pulled the trigger, blowing Ramirez's brains onto his carpet behind his desk. He quickly searched his body, stealing his commlink, keychain, and whatever else he could grab on his body. After he was sufficiently convinced he had most of his possessions, including the shotgun that had fallen to the ground under Ramirez's desk, Stephen shoved the body into the footwell of the desk.

Then, a moment later, Ramirez was standing over his own body. Or at least, that is how it appeared. From the entrance to the suite it would appear Ramirez was standing behind his own desk, clutching his shotgun and nursing a grazing wound on his right arm. As his guards burst into the room, 'Ramirez' shouted,

"What am I paying you for?! He already shot me and is getting away! He went down the stairs you worthless Putas!"

[Tuesday, 17 November 2071; Behind The Final Round, Nueva Caracas; 03:33 AM]
"Flashpak."

Clever motherfucker... Like a stunt out of one of the more awesome trids, this. What the fuck are you doing, asshole? Run now, admire later! El Mono took off after the guy, ignoring for the moment the question of how the sniper had found them so fast. Right now, putting distance and a few buildings between them and the sniper was priority one. Hopefully, turning his back and closing his eyes would protect his vision enough to get to the bike. Hopefully, the stoner would still be able to see well enough to drive. Fucking hopefullys were piling up way to goddamned fast for Mono's liking. Nothing else to do, though. Only other option was to stay and try to talk it out. Fuck that noise, hombre. El Mono would try to stay and talk it out with a fucking Juggernaut first.

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Sonora's Doss, Nueva Caracas; 03:39 AM]

No response at all from Carmen. Once Sonora is up Coatl says, "You'd better check on her," and moves back to the door. He peeks over the railing, certain an assault team will be moving up the stairs. He can feel eyes on him--a resident on the fourth floor, either brave or stupid, who came out to investigate the sounds of battle instead of huddling in their bed until it blew over. Coatl glares up at the man and resumes his search below.

Sonora's doss, Nueva Caracas - 03:40 AM
Biomonitor: Stable

Sonora nodded and pulled her Colt, the laser sight deactivated as she made her way into the bedroom to check on Carmen.

"Chica, are you okay? We should be going!"

Chaske and El Mono
[Tuesday, 17 November 2071; Behind The Final Round, Nueva Caracas; 03:34 AM]
At a word - "Flashpak" - both men averted and covered their eyes as they made a run for it down the back alley. The device came to life abruptly, the capacitors within driving the dizzying, blinding display of lights that got an audible response from the sniper on the roof.

"Agh! Carajo! I'm blind! Somebody help me!"

Both men lost the sniper as they rounded the corner, making their way back to the front of the building where Chaske's bike was located. The thick fog still hung in the streets, obscuring distances and even rendering the opposite side of the road into vague shapes.

Right as they were about to mount the bike to make yet another escape, a form leaped off of one of the buildings across the road, sailing into an arc and then landing hard on the pavement about ten meters ahead of them. The neon lights made the form more visible than it had been earlier, when it was giving chase. He held an assault rifle in both arms, crossed in front of his chest to brace it for his landing, and wore the same head-to-toe black armor as before. But this time his goggles were up around his forehead and his face was uncovered. A look of murder was painted on his face. This close, it was easy to see that the sides of his head were shaven, giving his hair something of a crest on his head.

Vibrations of similar impacts could be felt through the ground, the sounds coming from somewhere behind them, obscured in the fog.

((Initiative for both Chaske and El Mono))

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

Sonora and Coatl
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Sonora's Doss, Nueva Caracas; 03:39 AM]
The smell of burnt carpet hung heavily in the air, and the room felt almost a good ten degrees warmer than it had just a few minutes ago. The living room was in total chaos, the disarray resulting from the violent combat that involved Sonora, Coatl, and the spirit.

Of Carmen there was no sign. She vanished at some point during the fight, having been in the room when the spirit manifested. The bedroom was torn apart, as if a person had been rummaging through belongings without any regard for putting them back in place. Sonora could easily tell that Carmen had grabbed some of her clothes and a few personal effects before escaping out onto the fire escape. The window itself was still open, the gauzy drapes trailing out the window to blow in the evening breeze.

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

Smiley and Sam
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Streets of Nueva Caracas; 04:21 AM]
As Smiley applied acceleration to his battered ride he left the tide of ghouls behind him, gladly letting them suck on the exhaust in the process of a getaway. Quick as they were in their loping, aggressive gait, they could not hope to keep up with the speeds Smiley's vehicle could achieve thanks to his "modifications."

After a time the dilapidated, crumbling buildings and shantytowns of El Zamural were traded in for the flickering neon signs and AR adverts of Nueva Caracas. Conditions were still too unfavorable for the women to be prowling the streets looking for tricks to turn -- most of them had written this night off as a lost cause. And yet the clubs were still active, and the brothels still had their doors wide open, as if to say "It's bad out there... won't you come in where it's much nicer?"

As they were driving through the main thoroughfare of the neighborhood, the duo came across some unexpectedly thick vehicular and pedestrian traffic, people spilling out of a nearby club. This was the Cat's Paw, one of the best, nicest, and more well-known cathouses in the area. The mob didn't have an air of celebration, however. It looked as if men with guns were corralling some of the people outside into the groups and looking through them.

The vehicles in front of Smiley's were driving around the metahuman traffic to keep on going towards their destination, though the going was still slow. At one point a man became so enraged and indignant at his treatment that he started poking one of the armed guards in the chest with his finger. This prompted a couple of them to point their automatic weapons at him and fill him with holes. This sufficiently cowed the rest of the people outside into going along with their treatment. The cars started to give an even wider berth after that.

All in all, a strange sight to be seen outside of any brothel, and especially this one.

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

Stephen
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; The Cat's Paw, Nueva Caracas; 03:45 AM]
The guards of the Cat's Paw ran into Señor Ramirez's office hoping to find the man himself, and in that regard they were not disappointed. Stephen not only looked the part but he acted it out flawlessly as well, using the realistic-seeming illusion to fool the guards into believing his con.

Upon orders from their "jefe", they ran out, spreading through the building to search for... Stephen himself. Of course, some people don't bother to look at what's really in front of them.

Stephen had Ramirez's commlink, the elevator key, and his shotgun. He remembered the quickest route to the elevator, and with his "credentials" as convincing as they were, nothing stood in his way to the elevator.

A message flashed across the commlink's LED display: <<Señor Ramirez: I know our spider is out sick, but I have access to the manual controls in the Safe Room. Do you want me to seal the floors?>>

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

Dexter
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Apartment, Palmar de Caridad, 04:23 AM]
Dexter had played this game too fucking long to be beaten at it. He was careful, circumspect. Though he wished for death most of the time, he never made it too easy for those seeking to turn the tables on him. If anybody was going to put him on the fucking slab, they were going to have to earn it.

He eyeballed the dark corners of the room and saw... minor differences. That broken bottle was a few centimeters too far to the right. That door wasn't closed as much. And he had left the window open, sure. But the curtains had been drawn out through the window -- now, they were blowing inwards with the breeze outside.

Dexter stopped his own breathing for a moment, and almost willed his heart to stop so he could hear beyond the palpitations. This place was old, falling apart, and the floorboards creaked, even when you didn't want them to. Even the tiniest bits of pressure applied to the floors caused them to squeal out. He heard that tell-tale creaking. Somebody was in the back of the apartment. Somebody had been in Papa Bear's house, maybe even sleeping in his bed.

The seasoned, world weary soldier that he was, he knew even to try and sniff out the enemy. All he got a whiff of was the cloying fog of ganja smoke wafting in from next door. It totally eradicated any chance of maybe smelling gun oil or shoe polish (soldiers were so fucking vain in that regard. They'd blacken their boots even if made them smell like a french whore out in the bush.)

Dexter pulled out his big guns. He activated his built-in radar scanner with a thought. Whatever vestiges of the gloom were remaining in his rotting apartment were banished. The radio waves penetrated the walls, the floors, the ceiling, and wireframe overlays showed him where all the walls and doors were, located his remaining furnishings, pointed out sources of EM radiation in the radiowave wavelengths... and pointed out not one but two bodies waiting for him to enter further into his domicile. He knew that pose, with backs against the wall, guns held up at the ready, muscles tensed with anticipation, waiting for the right moment to lean out through the doorway and riddle him with lead. These fuckers thought they had the drop on him.

Well, fuck them.

((Free round - They want to ambush but you have the drop on them. Make your move.))

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Streets of Nueva Caracas; 04:21 AM]

As he drove through the neon-lit streets of Nueva Caracas, Smiley decided to give a half-assed guided tour of the place. "Ah yes, one of the red light districts. Good place for a party, though admittedly I don't come here that much for two reasons. Firstly, I'm a 'girl in every port' kind of guy, yanno? Secondly, the muñecas they sell here? Well... I've seen them as hookers and as cargo, that just kinda ruins it for me. Plus they got a weird look on them sometimes. As if the lights are on but nobodies home. Fucking creepy, man."

After a bit of driving, he stops near the Cat's Paw brothel, looking over to his elven passenger while pointing in the direction of the brothel. "Hey, ain't that the place you got them matches from? Seems like a good place to stop for a drink or tw--" His plotting is interupted by the sound of automatic fire stutacoing from the crowd. "Woah, hello... On second thought, you go in and bring the booze to me. I stay here, inside the spy car with the shotgun. Best you don't poke the guards, too."

Sonora's Ruined Doss - Nueva Caracas, 03:40 AM
Biomonitor: Stable

"She's gone," Sonora said as she peeked out the window. "Girl can move. So should we!"

The woman tapped a message to Carmen as she glanced outside a bit more.

<Chica, tell me when you get to ground. I want to know you're safe. I'll come looking if I don't hear anything by noon.>

Sonora made her way back out into the ruined living room and grabbed the small bag that had the majority of her possessions. The gun went back into the concealable holster, and she figured it would be fine enough to wear the bulkier vest until she got used to it or people stopped trying to kill her. Shouldering the bag (and taking the Oaxaca, the only thing that had any value left in the damn apartment), she moved to Coatl's location and shrugged.

"Shitty place anyway. La Alianza wants a piece of us, but I'm not sure they know who we are yet. I might know a place they hang out - let's go get some eyes on the enemy."

She stopped, and tried to give Coatl a friendly grin. Hell, the tusker had saved her ass after she yelled at him. She really needed to be nicer - he had problems too, and she didn't even get to ask him about them. This, Sonora reflected, would be rectified. He was a good hand with the machete, and between the two of them they had offed a fragging spirit. Surely La Alianza would quail at their might!

That particular thought caused her to snicker, then wince. "Ay, that's tender. Thank you for saving my ass, Coatl. You tell me about who you're looking for, and I might have an idea of how we can solve both our problems..."

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Streets of Nueva Caracas; 04:21 AM]

During the drive the amnesiac had put his formfitting-armor back on, bloodstained as it was, covered by the "clean" clothes he got from the dead ganger. After what he had been through tonight, he wouldn't go anywhere without armor anymore.

He was only half-listening to Smiley's explanations but when the rigger stopped the car in front of the Cat's Paw he looked up and compared the establishment's logo with the one on the match book. It was unlikely that there were two places with that name but you never knew. The logo fit. He must have been here before.

When the guards killed one of the men outside the club he wasn't even that surprised. Of course there was trouble here. Apparently there was always trouble when it came to him. Couldn't catch a break.

He turned towards the rigger. "Suit yourself. While I'm in there could you try and get a look on whatever's on that optical chip? I'll be back in fifteen minutes or so."

Slipping on his trenchcoat (luckily it was black so the dried blood was barely visible) and stuffing the Manhunter into his waistband behind his back he opened the car door and got out. After a second he leaned back in, an embarrassed look on his face. "I guess I'll need some nuyen to buy drinks and get some information out of the bartender..."

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Streets of Nueva Caracas; 04:21 AM]

Smiley peered over to the nameless elf with a bemused look on his face, he pulled a credstick charged with about 150 and tossed it over to the elf, "You're a goddamn mooch. Get a job, ya bum." After handing over the credstick, he stared forward and into his AR space as he began to pull out all his parlor tricks to gain access to the looted commlink.

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; The Cat's Paw, Nueva Caracas; 03:46 AM]

Stephen rushed for the elevator, using the key to start sending it towards the ground floor. He shoved the shotgun into his coat, effectively hiding it from view. He took a moment to reply to the comm message, trying to throw the security off further.

<<RE: Security: Seal the doors to the bottom of the stairs; force him into the hallways above the ground floor and find him! If he shoots up any more of my place, so help me God I'm going to have all your asses!>>

Sufficiently pleased with himself for throwing the Security off his tail, Stephen waited as the elevator slowly, too slowly, dropped towards the ground floor and his freedom.

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Streets of Nueva Caracas; 04:22 AM]

"Thanks." After receving the credstick and pocketing it the amnesiac got out of the car for good and walked towards the Cat's Paw's entrance, trying not to rise the guards suspicion or anger. What's going on here anyway?

Outside Sonora's Ruined Doss - Nueva Caracas, 03:40 AM

Coatl grunted agreement with the plan and carefully slipped the machete into his pants. If he was at all upset about how Sonora spoke to him he didn't show it--he seemed more intent on seeing trouble before it sees them. "Yeah, let's go take a look at this place."

Carefully he picked his way down the stairs--some of the steps had a worrying amount of give on them, and it made more noise than he would have liked. He was worried about saying too much about his past. If he could get someone to help him then great, but he was concerned what others might say if they clued to who he was. But he didn't even know how big of a deal it had been when the Azzies put him on trial; maybe word didn't spread far. Besides which, if nothing else this woman was smarter than him and knew more of the players; he had little choice but to trust her and let her do the planning.

With some hesitation, he started speaking as quietly as he could while they moved.

"I used to run with a crew a few years ago but they sold me out to cover their hoops. Dey were called the Yanqui Drowners--we keelhauled a few Norteamericano spooks that tried to bust us up. Anyway. This crew, we used to do runs up and down the coasts. I don't know if they're still working together but I know they gots to be around somewhere, and I want to find the sum'bitches. Thank them for their loyalty."

Smiley and Sam
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; In Front of the Cat's Paw, Nueva Caracas; 04:22 AM]
A couple of the guards were hauling the newly slaughtered man out to the alley by his arms and legs, their automatic rifles slung over their backs as they labored. When Sam approached a guard and inquired as to events, the guard, not even looking at him, just said "You need to stay out of here. We're looking for a murderer. Somebody gacked our jefe and the fucker is hiding somewhere. You need to--"

The guard looked away from the gaggle of perverts he was guarding and looked straight at Sam for the first time. Alarm was clearly evident on his face. His poise changed instantly from relaxed to suddenly alert and cautious.

"H-hey, man... We don't want no trouble, comprende?" The guard started hefting his assault rifle a little closer, as if expecting to have to use it.

Some of the other guards started to notice Sam as well, pointing him out to their comrades. Suddenly, the people out front of the Cat's Paw weren't quite a priority. All of the guards looked a little nervous.

"Look, uh... Things got a little fucked up last time, and you made your point. Just..." The guard looked a little embarassed, and he lowered his voice to a breathy whisper, so his amigos couldn't hear him plead: "...Could you please just go?"

With the guards distracted, some of the juans began to trickle away into the streets and alleys, the crowds starting to thin out. One of the guards in the back said, "We remember what you did to Rogerio! Chinga a tu madre you motherfuck!"

The guards started to look less nervous and more affronted at Sam's presense, now that they were finding solidaridad amongst their own.

Meanwhile in the car, Smiley could not get his commlink to read the optical chip. Nothing worked. Something about the chip was making it totally unreadable, no matter what he did to try and circumvent whatever bizarre protection was on it.

((Smiley needs to make a Computer+Logic test))

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

Stephen
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; The Cat's Paw, Nueva Caracas; 03:48 AM]
((Background Count +2))
The elevator reached the ground floor with a chipper two note chime. As the burnished, reflective brass doors opened up, Stephen could see the remaining guards rushing into stairwells, after which the security doors lowered with a hum, clanking down onto the floor to seal off any possible escape from above.

Word of "Ramirez's" displeasure with the staff had started to spread, and the remaining ground floor guards were staying clear of him. As per routine security procedures in an event like this, the girls were stowed away in various panic rooms if they were not already "busy." Those who were already "on the clock" got to spend some extra quality time with the juans. The lobby was empty of all but a minimal handful of guards, but none approached Stephen as he reached the front entrance to the Cat's Paw.

Before he could open the door, however, a woman busted in almost as if she'd run right through it. She was wearing a long coat that looked hastily thrown on and buttoned up. She had a duffelbag slung over her shoulder, and she was barefoot. Her hair was peroxide-blonde, tussled mess, and she looked as if she'd been crying, as her eyeliner was starting to streak down her weary-looking face. A light fog of marijuana smoke clung to her.

"Papa Ramirez!" she exclaimed as she bumped into him. "I'm Carmen. Do you remember me? I'm so glad to see you... Can I stay here for a little while?" The woman's fearful expression broke, and she started sobbing, all her bottled-up fear pouring out. "I don't have anywhere else to go!"

The fear radiating off of this woman overpowered the normal astral flavor, and for a moment, Stephen himself was infected by it. A feeling of anxiety crept down his spine, and his knees quavered.

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

Coatl and Sonora
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Outside Sonora's Doss, Nueva Caracas; 03:41 AM]
Just moments after Sonora sent her message to Carmen, she received a response in kind:

<<Am fine. Running. Heard fighting. Got friends at Cat's Paw. Going there.>>

Right as both Sonora and Coatl reached the last step above the ground, right as they were beginning to open up to each other and formulate a plan for taking care of all their problems, they heard commotion coming from up above, through the window they both had just exited out of. They both could hear crashing noises, breaking noises, and voices barking orders.

"WHERE ARE THEY?" one of those voices screeched out in an odd-sounding rasp. Coatl recognized it. It was the apoplectic version of the sinister, creepy man's voice on the other end of the commlink. "Find them! I want to flay them, and skin them alive! They won't make a fool of ME! You! Look out the window!"

((Agility+Infiltration to hide, or Running+Strength to get around the corner and out of sight before you are spotted))

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Outside Sonora's Doss, Nueva Caracas; 03:41 AM]

By the time "Find them!" was being screamed out above, Coatl had recognized the voice. Without hesitation he grabbed Sonora by the waist, hefted her off of the last stair and over his shoulder, and ran for cover. His bravado on the phone was one thing--being cut down from above with no place to hide was another.

Too much going on--even with his advanced ears he couldn't hear enough--couldn't pick out how many there were above--at least four, maybe even six, just judging on the voices and yelling above. In a fair fight he might stand a chance against them. But these assholes weren't interested in giving him a fair fight. Coatl wasn't about to give them one, either.

Outside Sonora's Doss - Nueva Caracas, 0341 AM
Biomonitor: Stable

"I think I remember a few places some of these guys hang out, and we ca--Eeep!"

With a squeak, Sonora is lifted--nay, hoisted -- off her feet and tossed over Coatl's shoulder as if she were a sack of grain. It was the fastest sweep she'd seen in some time, as they were around the corner and out of sight by the time her ears registered a hoarse rasp screaming at people to find them.

Abruptly, Sonora fumbled for her mask and slipped it on, letting the rebreather activate and give her (mostly) fresh air instead of the steam bath the evaporating water was offering the denizens of Nueva Caracas.

She tapped Coatl on the shoulder twice, and thumbed back up towards the doss. The unspoken question was obvious:

Was that who we think it is?

Dexter
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Apartment, Palmar de Caridad, 04:23 AM]
With the radar system stripping away the assassins' concealment and giving away their location, Dexter took his time lining up the first shot. The revolver cylinder turned, and the hammer banged out one of those devastating Ex-EX rounds. The slug smashed right through the wall, and Dexter watched a simulated image of the body on the other side flying forward and crashing through a pile of bottles on the floor. The sound of glass shattering from the impact was slightly satisfying. Dexter whipped the revolver over to the other body and took a split second of time lining up the sights before similarly firing the weapon with just a thought, his mind a more efficient way to pull the trigger than his fingers ever could be. Likewise, Dexter watched the form spin as it took him in the side, right around the kidney. The force of the round propelled him forward and he crashed through a cheap synthwood armoire in the room, turning it into kindling.

The first round made a largish hole in the wall through which Dexter could see faint light vaguely playing off of the forms within. The first target was struggling to get to his feet but failing to do so. He heard a groan from that one, and saw that the assassin could not force himself to his feet. He dropped back down onto his chest with a grunt. The second form, however, scrambled up onto his haunches, stuck the barrel of his weapon out through the hole, and fired a burst back at Dexter with an enraged scream.

((Need a defense roll for Dexter, then it's Dexter's turn))

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; In Front of the Cat's Paw, Nueva Caracas; 04:22 AM]

What the hell? It was apparent to the elf without a name that he had indeed been here before and left a lasting impression too as it seemed. Obviously the guards were getting their courage up and if he stayed too long he could get himself in the next firefight of the night. Only this time against a whole bunch of assault rifles. Not the smartest idea. But he needed to find out as much as he could and if he had to take a few risks, well that's the way it was.

"Calm down fellows, I'm not looking for a fight today. Already got my quota for the night taken care of." He grinned, with a hint of menace showing through. "I was too drunk to remember much of my last visit here anyway. What happened?" He slowly pulled out the last cigarette from his pack and lit it with a match. Deeply inhaling the smoke he looked at the guards expectantly.

Maybe they'll try to kill me now. But at least there's a chance I'll find out what actually happened the last time I was here.
Alertly he watched for any kind of aggressive movements on the side of the guards while trying to appear relaxed on the outside.
Damn without a commlink I can't even signal Smiley to get ready for a hasty exit.

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; The Cat's Paw, Nueva Caracas; 03:48 AM]
((Background Count +2))

Stephen did his best to give Carmen a paternal smile and pat on the back.

"Of course Chica, of course. Things are a bit loco at the moment, but they'll calm down soon enough. Why don't you go over to the bartender; tell him to put it on my tab. I've got some business I need to take care of, but I'll get back to you in a bit."

For good measure, Stephen gives her a firm smack on the ass. That's what pimps do, right? Stephen catches the bartender's eye, and points down at Carmen, indicating, 'This one's one me'.

As Stephen exits the club out the front door, he turns and addresses the two bouncers.

"Listen you two putas, I don't know which one of you let that motherfucker up to my office, but if he leaves this club alive, both of you are going to be scrubbing leche out of the carpets for the next 6 months! Nobody leaves until he's found, comprende?"

With that, Stephen storms off, until he's able to turn into an alley out of sight. While there, his image changes, from a greasy peddler of women to a run of the mill filthy street urchin. The type of person nobody 'sees' Stephen thought to himself. He waited a few beats, and then slowly limped out of they alleyway, until he was able to get to his bike parked down the street, around a corner.

Outside Sonora's Doss - Nueva Caracas, 0341 AM

Coatl nodded at the question, looking around the street to see if any more of these putos were hanging around. Still carrying Sonora he dashed across the street, away from the door, away from the window and the fire escape. Best to put a good distance between himself and those violent bastards.

Ducking into a urine-scented alley across from the tenement, he finally puts Sonora down behind an overflowing dumpster, giving her at least a little cover. He leans on the dumpster to catch his breath, eyes on the building.

Coatl and Sonora
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Outside Sonora's Doss, Nueva Caracas; 03:42 AM]
Coatl made it into the alley in time to keep their whereabouts unknown to pursuers, his troll-length stride being propelled by those massive muscles which earlier in the evening was shattering pavement. The alley they were in was a malodorous, fetid stretch between two more neglected apartment buildings, their height serving well to keep their positions concealed even from high up vantage points.

"They must have gone out the window!" that faceless rasp spat out, loud enough to be heard even from where Sonora and Coatl were hiding. "Everyone out! They can't have gotten far! I want them alive! Get out there and find them! One of you will die every hour until they are brought to me!"

They heard the familiar noises of many feet clank-clank-clank-clank-ing in a spiral down the metal fire escape, down to street level. But getting to the street would take some time, and that would be more than enough time to slip away into the night.

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

Chaske and El Mono
[Tuesday, 17 November 2071; In Front of The Final Round, Nueva Caracas; 03:34 AM]
Chaske scrambled onto his bike and wasted no time in getting his small vehicle to come to life. El Mono was right on the heels of the Amerind, but he stopped short when the man with the partially-shaven head landed in front of them.

El Mono wasn't one to hesitate. He knew the physics involved in such a jump, no matter if any sort of Talent was involved or not, and knew the assassin would have to spend a second recovering from that drop. Before the man could straighten up and get a bead on the targets in front of him, Mono whipped out his Fubuki and aimed right at the man's face. The homicidal glare vanished, to be replaced for the smallest fraction of a second with shock and sudden fear. And then he didn't have a face anymore. Mono's shot was so dead on target, the burst going so directly into the man's cranium, that the assassin's head exploded like a watermelon, and he ceased to have anything above a ragged, spewing stump of a neck. Brain matter splatted across the glass window in front of The Final Round, obscuring the bar's name. The still-warm cadaver dropped down to its knees, letting its assault rifle clatter to the sidewalk, and then fell over in a slump. His blood was sprayed out by a still-beating heart and washed down a storm drain at the bottom of the curb, echoing like rainwater runoff and vanishing below the streets of Nueva Caracas.

((If Mono gets on the bike, Combat is effectively over. However, Chaske needs to make a Reaction+Pilot Ground Craft roll with a -2 Handling modifier for the extra weight, in order to make a getaway.))

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Smiley and Sam
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; In Front of the Cat's Paw, Nueva Caracas; 04:22 AM]
These Cat's Paw guards truly were cowards to lose their nerve so easily. After Sam made his barely-concealed threat at them, several of them began backing up. The guard closest to the elf, the one he addressed first, swallowed hard, causing his Adam's Apple to bob with the effort.

"Uh, you... just came in here like you owned the place, not two weeks ago. Dropped a bunch of dinero, took some of the talent back to the VIP Suite. Came out drunk, started a fight. We tried to restrain you, and you hurt a bunch of guards, and then Rogerio tried to put you down." The guard made a pained expression, but pressed on. "You popped some knife out of your arm, and you took off his huevos. Why'd you have to go and do such a thing? He couldn't live like that. Ate a bullet after he got out of the hospital. Nobody's stopped talking about it. Nobody wants to lose their huevos like that. You've come in here before and never acted like you did."

Meanwhile Smiley was toiling away at the proprietary blockage on the optical chip. There was no way he was going to be able to even begin cracking the code on it until he had the right sort of hardware. A commlink with the appropriate hardware or software would work, but how to determine of all the millions of permutations would be the correct combination?

((Smiley needs to make a Willpower+Logic test))

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Dexter
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; Apartment, Palmar de Caridad, 04:23 AM]
When the bullets began to fly in earnest, women at the pay-to-play next door began to scream.

The first would-be assassin was groaning and in obvious agony, still unable to get to his feet while clutching at a wound on his back. He slipped back down onto the ground. His partner, though, was made of sterner stuff. The second one fired return shots back at Dexter, and though the battle-hardened soldier attempted to duck back around the doorframe, some stray shots found their mark around his midsection. It felt like three giant fists slammed into his abdominals at the speed of light, and it caused a moment's lapse in judgement from the pain.

Dexter risked a moment's glance down. No blood. Instead he saw three flattened metal slugs sticking halfway out of the protective shielding. He wouldn't bleed out like a stuck pig, but he was going to have some fucking awful bruises there for a few days.

Dexter gritted his teeth and used the pain to motivate himself. He took that pain and fed it into the flames of his hatred and his rage, stoking the flames higher until the inferno inside him threatened to turn his soul to ash. Dexter spun back around the doorframe, not mindful of more rounds tearing through the shitty drywall, and he put a round dead on target to the one assaulting him.

The round shattered another section of drywall by the bedroom door. The radar registered a blip of motion, possibly a splatter of blood, and he witnessed a white silhouette hit the floor and begin thrashing, kicking its feet and clutching at its face.

The gunfire ceased after that. Women were still screaming, and he could hear the panting, breathless sobbing from next door from those who were deathly afraid of dying in the crossfire, regardless of how numb they were in day-to-day life. Reminders of death made even the most jaded individuals fearful for their safety. No doubt that's what was going on next door.

The cybered soldier walked into the bedroom slowly, using his radar to check on the status of those within the room. One assassin was still on his back, kicking and thrashing on the floor, laying admist the splintered rubble of his armoire. The faceplate of his helmet had shattered, and he was missing the lower left half of his face. One eyeball dangled about his cheek from a ruined socket, and he was gurgling through a hole in his neck that normally was covered by a lower jaw, which wasn't there any longer. As blood spewed from the wounds, his thrashing became less active and more lethargic. He'd bleed out soon enough.

The other man was still alive, though he too was bleeding out onto the floor. He lay on his stomach in a growing puddle of blood, and there was a hole in his lower back.

Despite that man's battle-hardened exterior, he whined softly, like a small child in pain. He muttered to himself, in Aztlaner Spanish, "My legs... I can't feel them. I can't move them. Can't walk..."

Dexter looked again, and yes, the bullet did look like a spinal. It was doubtful this man would ever walk again, though Dexter noted with a certain grim satisfaction that the man probably wouldn't have to worry about that much longer.

((Combat Over - Give me a Logic+CAS Marine Corp knowledge skill test; a certain detail is tangentially related to that))

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; In Front of the Cat's Paw, Nueva Caracas; 04:22 AM]

As he looked at the optical chip and it's shockingly worthwhile encryption, Smiley thought Hey, the mooch's commlink pieces probably contain the encryption key!, but of course there was a problem; the bastard was still chatting with the guards. Looking over at the nameless elf, a grin crossed his face as another thought struck him. After loading a pair of Ex-Ex shells into the shotgun to replace the ones spent earlier, he extends the folding stock before opening the door and stepping out into the street.

"Hey, the fuck you chattin' for man?", shouts Smiley to the amnesiac elf, all the while making sure to stand behind the armored car door with his shotgun braced against his shoulder and pointed skyward, "Ya job is to collect protection from them puta's, and I ain't talkin' about the workin' girls. Get what they owe so we can go already, we got two more in this 'hood... Or they wishin' to face the wraith of those who really own them, huh?"

El Mono and Chaske
[Tuesday, 17 November 2071; In Front of The Final Round, Nueva Caracas; 03:34 AM]
Chaske's nervousness took over, and he put a little too much torque on the accelerator of the bike. Before Mono could even get on the bike, the vehicle lurched forward. Chaske lost control and the bike began to waver uncertainly. As it finally tipped over, some ten meters from Mono, Chaske threw himself off of it to the side just before he could be pinned beneath it.

The engine still ran, waiting to be remounted and used to escape. But it wasn't going anywhere on its side.

Meanwhile those footfalls from behind sounded closer, and vague images began to form through the mist.

"I have visual contact, dead ahead! Engage targets!"

((Free-form Combat Scene, no rigid initiative order. Mono can make a move. Lifting the bike upright is a Body+Strength (8, 1 Complex Action) Extended Test. If both work together on it, it'll be up faster, but then the men coming up from behind will be unopposed.))

Sam and Smiley
[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; In Front of the Cat's Paw, Nueva Caracas; 04:22 AM]
The guard's eyes went wide, and he held up his hands.

"Wh-what? I didn't know Ramirez was paying out! He's dead, and I don't know how much he owed!" The guard turned to his associates and called out, "Hey! Anybody know what Ramirez was paying out to his bosses?" Much head scratching and shaking ensued. The general sentiment from those present ranged from lingering fear to total confusion.

As the guards out front were fixated on Smiley and Sam and wondering what to do about this shakedown (or even if they were supposed to do anything at all), the handful of remaining detainees out front had finally slipped off, dispersed into the evening to get their jollies at some other venue.

[Tuesday, 17 November, 2071; In Front of the Cat's Paw, Nueva Caracas; 04:22 AM]

Upon hearing the news of the owners recent death, Smiley let the muzzle of his shotgun lower a bit as his face took on a dumbstruck expression for a moment. "Uh, wha? Dead?" He shakes his head, regaining his composure. "Well fuck it, dead men still pay. Everybody pays!" He points to the guard closest to the amnesiac elf, "You, organize the men and get me every piece of nuyen inside that club, even the contents of any safes Ramirez had, and put it-", he pointed over to the elf, "-in his hands. Do this within five minutes and you may consider the club yours to own until we decide otherwise. Or... you can tell our elven friend why you will not do as told. Now move! ¡Vámonos!"