[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
<<If you see the woman or the pilot turn their attention away, shoot them.
Shoot a woman? Some people might balk at such an idea, but El Mono had lived on the mean streets of Caracas for far too long to think women were any less vicious or deadly than men. Hell, his current problems were instigated by a woman. Equal opportunity, right? When he saw the dark woman jump out and start barking orders, Mono didn't hesitate. He lined up the Azzy assault rifle and whispered over the coms.
I've got the puta in my sights. You say go, and her face is swiss cheese.
Setting the targeting reticle on the woman, Mono quietly waited for his moment...
Full Version: Caracas: Hole in the Heart
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Alex walked along silently with the cadre of mercenaries towards the destination. His body was on autopilot while his mind was seemingly elsewhere; not a far stretch for someone generally strung out on Bliss. Deciphering the patterns of the information flow around the boat’s network had taken a bit out of him. That was alright. The only time Alex felt alive was when he was almost dead.
He studied the fabric of the firewall before finding what he thought looked like a pattern in the information flow. A slight adjustment of his complex form gave it a bit better efficiency against this particular problem. The Matrix called out to him, trying to drag his soul and mind further away as he called on it for his own uses. But there he stayed. He let his complex form climb along the proverbial firewall like an ivy vine looking for holes. The stealth form that blanketed him in his work would keep him relatively safe, depending on how tight the defenses of this network were. It would find its way in, sooner or later.
Alex walked along silently with the cadre of mercenaries towards the destination. His body was on autopilot while his mind was seemingly elsewhere; not a far stretch for someone generally strung out on Bliss. Deciphering the patterns of the information flow around the boat’s network had taken a bit out of him. That was alright. The only time Alex felt alive was when he was almost dead.
He studied the fabric of the firewall before finding what he thought looked like a pattern in the information flow. A slight adjustment of his complex form gave it a bit better efficiency against this particular problem. The Matrix called out to him, trying to drag his soul and mind further away as he called on it for his own uses. But there he stayed. He let his complex form climb along the proverbial firewall like an ivy vine looking for holes. The stealth form that blanketed him in his work would keep him relatively safe, depending on how tight the defenses of this network were. It would find its way in, sooner or later.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Harper followed the troll, not like she had a choice. Even someone with as much cyber in her as Harper couldn’t do much against the combined weight and pull of a troll and a whole chain full of drugged women. The dock and its poor construction and unknown spills and supplies were rough on Harper’s feet. It was far from intolerable, but also added to the weakness she felt. Barefoot and naked, like the day she was born.
Then she spotted the length of steel rebar, laying half-hidden in a puddle of some dark and murky liquid. It was no AK or vibro-blade. But, that grime-covered steel might as well have been smiling at Harper, inviting the girl to pick it up.
Yes, yes. Closer, it called to her. The young woman edged closer, trying to angle her progress towards the make-shift club step by step. Even though her captor didn’t seem to bother looking back, Harper couldn’t help but feel a shiver of uncertainty and anxiety as she bent over and grabbed the steel from its dirty puddle of water and worse. Something disgusting and dark began rubbing off on Harper’s palm and fingers as she gripped her make-shift weapon. All that was left was the chain, and its weight, and the distance between Harper and the Troll. Wherever that van would take Harper, the razor girl wasn't interested. She licked her lips. Now what?
Harper followed the troll, not like she had a choice. Even someone with as much cyber in her as Harper couldn’t do much against the combined weight and pull of a troll and a whole chain full of drugged women. The dock and its poor construction and unknown spills and supplies were rough on Harper’s feet. It was far from intolerable, but also added to the weakness she felt. Barefoot and naked, like the day she was born.
Then she spotted the length of steel rebar, laying half-hidden in a puddle of some dark and murky liquid. It was no AK or vibro-blade. But, that grime-covered steel might as well have been smiling at Harper, inviting the girl to pick it up.
Yes, yes. Closer, it called to her. The young woman edged closer, trying to angle her progress towards the make-shift club step by step. Even though her captor didn’t seem to bother looking back, Harper couldn’t help but feel a shiver of uncertainty and anxiety as she bent over and grabbed the steel from its dirty puddle of water and worse. Something disgusting and dark began rubbing off on Harper’s palm and fingers as she gripped her make-shift weapon. All that was left was the chain, and its weight, and the distance between Harper and the Troll. Wherever that van would take Harper, the razor girl wasn't interested. She licked her lips. Now what?
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
"...Your balls chopped off, you fucks?!"
This was the moment. The rules of the game were simple: Have a reason for being there. Be someone vague. Every lie you tell to garner a piece of information is one you may have to back up later. View the situation and use it to your advantage.
The situation was simple: There are four men next to a truck that don't know the team from Alejandro, as well as a woman that would likely instill feelings of lust in the men of the team. The objective: Look like they belong there. Procedure: Don't let the men get a word in edgewise. Any of them. It was time to fly.
Sonora interjected a smooth, professional tone before the guards could answer.
"Our deepest apologies," she called, modulating her voice to project no true regional accent. "There has been a slight change of schedule that we could not quickly convey."
"You four," she said, gesturing to the guards at the truck. "Get the truck ready."
She injected more than just power into her Voice, it was Power, pure and simple. The Power of authority and adrenaline, modulated in such a way that she would have to be what she said she was to these men, and thereby she would have to be what she said to this woman. Speaking of which...
Sonora turned back to the woman with the assault rifle, the game taking life on its own. "As I said, there was a slight change and we don't wish to keep you any longer than necessary. There has been a request that we inspect the shipment, personally. With the brewing situation, we felt it prudent to make haste. Don't you agree?"
"...Your balls chopped off, you fucks?!"
This was the moment. The rules of the game were simple: Have a reason for being there. Be someone vague. Every lie you tell to garner a piece of information is one you may have to back up later. View the situation and use it to your advantage.
The situation was simple: There are four men next to a truck that don't know the team from Alejandro, as well as a woman that would likely instill feelings of lust in the men of the team. The objective: Look like they belong there. Procedure: Don't let the men get a word in edgewise. Any of them. It was time to fly.
Sonora interjected a smooth, professional tone before the guards could answer.
"Our deepest apologies," she called, modulating her voice to project no true regional accent. "There has been a slight change of schedule that we could not quickly convey."
"You four," she said, gesturing to the guards at the truck. "Get the truck ready."
She injected more than just power into her Voice, it was Power, pure and simple. The Power of authority and adrenaline, modulated in such a way that she would have to be what she said she was to these men, and thereby she would have to be what she said to this woman. Speaking of which...
Sonora turned back to the woman with the assault rifle, the game taking life on its own. "As I said, there was a slight change and we don't wish to keep you any longer than necessary. There has been a request that we inspect the shipment, personally. With the brewing situation, we felt it prudent to make haste. Don't you agree?"
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
The guards before the truck hesitated a moment after Sonora Voiced her command at them. For a sliver of a second, they looked dazed. A wave of disorientation seemed to ripple through them, and then as soon as it had hit, they were lurching towards the truck and making preparations to load it.
The stunning, charcoal-skinned woman regarded Sonora with narrowed, suspicious eyes. When Sonora addressed her however, using her abilities to help her sell the con, the woman visibly loosened up.
"I like a woman who can take command of bootlicking dogs like these bitches," she spat, gesturing to the dutiful guards with a disdainful and dismissive gesture. Turning back to Sonora, she regarded the woman with a more admiring -- though still guarded -- expression. "Name's Gabriella. Haven't seen you before. You new to Bolivar '49, or just working with them?" she asked, also giving a brief glance to the motley crew having followed Sonora.
She attempted to regulate her tone, to make it appear that she didn't care one way or the other. However, Sonora could see the minute, tell-tale signs of unbridled curiousity spidering across the woman's face. The feigned relaxation of her facial features -- she was trying too hard to seem nonchalant about this. The creasing of the faint wrinkles near the corners of her eyes, as well as the wondering twinkle within them -- try as she might to turn her face away, she was looking for clues, such as the ones that Sonora herself was reading off of this Gabriella like one of those last-century pop-up children's books.
---------------
Alex
There was a spider indigenous to the region called the silver-backed widowmaker. The silver-backed widowmakers were known for their expert climbing abilities, able even to ascend the sheerest and smoothest of slopes with little to no trouble, even if wet. Paraentymologists theorized that the spider manifested some sort of innate ability akin to adept Rooting, one step at a time, all the way up to their desired location. The silver-backed widowmaker was also known for its deadly venom and its innate cloaking abiliites. You wouldn't see the thing until it was climbing across your hand. By the time you felt the pinch of its bite, it would already be too late.
Alex was like that spider, tenaciously clinging to the Firewall, even though shifting ivy and gouts of rain tried to shift him away. He found a tiny crack in that wall, and he was inside, like a ghost, burrowing into the host and finding himself with full access to the Leviathan's systems, weapons included.
((Matrix Perception Test, Computer+Analyze, +2 for TM Perception bonus))
---------------
Harper
One by one, the doomed women in the collared train were being to the ramp leading into the back of the waiting truck. The troll let go of the chain and pointed into the back.
"In," he growled, his tone implying he expected no balking or resistance.
One by one the women shuffled past him, and as each one moved by him, he gave them a swift, painful crack on the ass, prompting them to continue inwards. Each woman let out a surprised and pained yelp, which seemed to please him even more.
Distracted as he was at abusing the merchandise, he didn't see the large piece of rebar that Harper had picked up. In fact, held down to the side as it was, he didn't even notice it when she was right next to him, and his hand was rearing back to give her a swat as well.
((If Harper is attacking him now, she'll get automatic Surprise on him.))
The guards before the truck hesitated a moment after Sonora Voiced her command at them. For a sliver of a second, they looked dazed. A wave of disorientation seemed to ripple through them, and then as soon as it had hit, they were lurching towards the truck and making preparations to load it.
The stunning, charcoal-skinned woman regarded Sonora with narrowed, suspicious eyes. When Sonora addressed her however, using her abilities to help her sell the con, the woman visibly loosened up.
"I like a woman who can take command of bootlicking dogs like these bitches," she spat, gesturing to the dutiful guards with a disdainful and dismissive gesture. Turning back to Sonora, she regarded the woman with a more admiring -- though still guarded -- expression. "Name's Gabriella. Haven't seen you before. You new to Bolivar '49, or just working with them?" she asked, also giving a brief glance to the motley crew having followed Sonora.
She attempted to regulate her tone, to make it appear that she didn't care one way or the other. However, Sonora could see the minute, tell-tale signs of unbridled curiousity spidering across the woman's face. The feigned relaxation of her facial features -- she was trying too hard to seem nonchalant about this. The creasing of the faint wrinkles near the corners of her eyes, as well as the wondering twinkle within them -- try as she might to turn her face away, she was looking for clues, such as the ones that Sonora herself was reading off of this Gabriella like one of those last-century pop-up children's books.
---------------
Alex
There was a spider indigenous to the region called the silver-backed widowmaker. The silver-backed widowmakers were known for their expert climbing abilities, able even to ascend the sheerest and smoothest of slopes with little to no trouble, even if wet. Paraentymologists theorized that the spider manifested some sort of innate ability akin to adept Rooting, one step at a time, all the way up to their desired location. The silver-backed widowmaker was also known for its deadly venom and its innate cloaking abiliites. You wouldn't see the thing until it was climbing across your hand. By the time you felt the pinch of its bite, it would already be too late.
Alex was like that spider, tenaciously clinging to the Firewall, even though shifting ivy and gouts of rain tried to shift him away. He found a tiny crack in that wall, and he was inside, like a ghost, burrowing into the host and finding himself with full access to the Leviathan's systems, weapons included.
((Matrix Perception Test, Computer+Analyze, +2 for TM Perception bonus))
---------------
Harper
One by one, the doomed women in the collared train were being to the ramp leading into the back of the waiting truck. The troll let go of the chain and pointed into the back.
"In," he growled, his tone implying he expected no balking or resistance.
One by one the women shuffled past him, and as each one moved by him, he gave them a swift, painful crack on the ass, prompting them to continue inwards. Each woman let out a surprised and pained yelp, which seemed to please him even more.
Distracted as he was at abusing the merchandise, he didn't see the large piece of rebar that Harper had picked up. In fact, held down to the side as it was, he didn't even notice it when she was right next to him, and his hand was rearing back to give her a swat as well.
((If Harper is attacking him now, she'll get automatic Surprise on him.))
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
<<Oh hell, she's one of those kinds of women. This is having to suffer through that social studies teacher I had all over again.>> Smiley thought aloud over the teams PAN as he rolled his eyes from behind the face-concealing shades and rebreather mask he wears. <<Mono, if and when you gotta shoot, make it someplace that hurts. She giving me a migrane already.>>
After taking a moment to wait for the PAN's encryption to swap, he uses the camera in his eyes to catch a photo of the scathing loud-mouthed, charcoal-skinned woman chatting with Sonora, sending the picture to Devilbwoy with a simple question attached: <<Who the fuck is Gabriella?>> Once that's done, he takes a short moment to look up at the drone hovering above them, gesturing at it to rise a little higher in the air so it can get a better view, at about the same time he mentally sends the command. There was no reason for Smiley to act it out, but he figures that might help convince any onlookers that whoever is controlling the drone is well away from the docks and not one of the crew.
<<Oh hell, she's one of those kinds of women. This is having to suffer through that social studies teacher I had all over again.>> Smiley thought aloud over the teams PAN as he rolled his eyes from behind the face-concealing shades and rebreather mask he wears. <<Mono, if and when you gotta shoot, make it someplace that hurts. She giving me a migrane already.>>
After taking a moment to wait for the PAN's encryption to swap, he uses the camera in his eyes to catch a photo of the scathing loud-mouthed, charcoal-skinned woman chatting with Sonora, sending the picture to Devilbwoy with a simple question attached: <<Who the fuck is Gabriella?>> Once that's done, he takes a short moment to look up at the drone hovering above them, gesturing at it to rise a little higher in the air so it can get a better view, at about the same time he mentally sends the command. There was no reason for Smiley to act it out, but he figures that might help convince any onlookers that whoever is controlling the drone is well away from the docks and not one of the crew.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Bolivar '49? Smiley, you pendejo. Did you set me up? Did you set us up?
Chingame. She's looking for information. Keep. Her. Guessing.
"They just need to be shown whom to respect, is all. A pleasure, Gabriella. I am Ms. Cruz, and these are my associates."
Sonora's face broke into a gentle smile. despite her left eye wanting to tic at Smiley's sexist comments That man needed a bullet in the kneecap.
People with her training had their own language, that of minute tics and movements that could tell a story. It could be used to send signals to another with the training, but with enough of an eye on the world around, each movement spoke volumes.
Take this Gabriella. She wasn't expecting someone who could resist being cowed by force - or who could ignore her striking looks. It unnerved her. It confused her. And it made her want to know more. She tried to treat it as nonchalance, but it was feigned. Sonora knew this woman wanted to know more, and wasn't trained in the same things she was.
As such, Sonora stuck to her own personal game plan.
"I work for the highest bidder," she said with that smile still on her face. The object was to make this woman feel more at ease, to let her guard down for that fateful moment when Mono would then end her life. It was...unfortunate, Sonora thought, but necessary.
"Today," she said, "That involves making sure the merchandise is received in good order, so the cabrones have to bitch about something else. There must have been some trouble, if we were called."
She smiled again, looking towards the boatswain at the controls and that rotary cannon.
"Don't mind the boys here. They're here to ensure mine and Gato's safety. May we come aboard?"
She would have to pray later for this. It hurt her heart, and her heart was in enough pain.
Bolivar '49? Smiley, you pendejo. Did you set me up? Did you set us up?
Chingame. She's looking for information. Keep. Her. Guessing.
"They just need to be shown whom to respect, is all. A pleasure, Gabriella. I am Ms. Cruz, and these are my associates."
Sonora's face broke into a gentle smile. despite her left eye wanting to tic at Smiley's sexist comments That man needed a bullet in the kneecap.
People with her training had their own language, that of minute tics and movements that could tell a story. It could be used to send signals to another with the training, but with enough of an eye on the world around, each movement spoke volumes.
Take this Gabriella. She wasn't expecting someone who could resist being cowed by force - or who could ignore her striking looks. It unnerved her. It confused her. And it made her want to know more. She tried to treat it as nonchalance, but it was feigned. Sonora knew this woman wanted to know more, and wasn't trained in the same things she was.
As such, Sonora stuck to her own personal game plan.
"I work for the highest bidder," she said with that smile still on her face. The object was to make this woman feel more at ease, to let her guard down for that fateful moment when Mono would then end her life. It was...unfortunate, Sonora thought, but necessary.
"Today," she said, "That involves making sure the merchandise is received in good order, so the cabrones have to bitch about something else. There must have been some trouble, if we were called."
She smiled again, looking towards the boatswain at the controls and that rotary cannon.
"Don't mind the boys here. They're here to ensure mine and Gato's safety. May we come aboard?"
She would have to pray later for this. It hurt her heart, and her heart was in enough pain.
[Monday, November 16, 2072, 00:01 AM; Barlovento, desolate beach... 4 nights ago]
Down by the sea, the drums call. The villages of Barlovento spring from their sleepy states for La Fiesta de Archangel Miguel, also known by Santeros as Legba the Old Man of the Crossroads. During San Miguel the drums, tambores, of Barlovento pound relentlessly, all day and all night, while the locals dance their sensual, slinky moves, fueled by firewater and rum. At some point, figures of the saint do get carried into the water, and children are baptized, but essentially, it's a good excuse for a party.
There are two types of tambor being played. One stands-up, about waist-high and nearly two feet in diameter. The other is long and tubular resting on the ground. It has skin stretched over one end. That's where the drummers hit it with their inch-thick wooden sticks. About three or four men will crouch along its length, pounding. The rhythm is mesmerizing, oscillating between frenetic and frenzied and back again. A percussive passion-pendulum. There are horns too, blown in staccato bursts on the off-beat. They're huge conch shells, held up high, with one end drilled out for a mouthpiece. They make a deep down bass sound which boom-boom-booms.
Everyone's black. All the drummers are men. The women egg them on and join in the chants.
The dances mimic the mating prance of birds. Tight, jigging movements, with all the emphasis on the hips. Pelvises move in taut, winding, concentric circles, knees bend and feet shuffle. Couples size each other up, with the man coming as close as he can to the woman. She ducks and dives in swoops and jibes, always eluding his embrace. The battle of the sexes, Afro-Caribbean style. It's also a bit like pro-wrestling, one dancer tagging another who then enters the fray with new vigor.
An old woman starts to shout and reprimand the people for something. About twenty curlers knit into her hair, and she's wearing a flowing dress of far too many colors for it to be coordinated with anything but her wrath. Dancing shouldn't involve touching, she seems to be explaining, with plenty of hand flailing.
One of the dancers is a stunning woman, with gold, dangling earrings and bright red lipstick to match her bikini top and shorts. The top was too tight, and looked uncomfortable, unlike her shorts which do little to conceal her voluptuous curves. She dances wildly before a young handsome man; he wears a loose, cotton white shirt and pants, and has a bright red scarf tied around his neck. His golden-green eyes flash against the fire as he spits a stream of white rum into it... As the flames explode a ghostly figure can be seen contorting above the flames... the crowd hushes and the music stops... Legba has been called...
The young man's eyes turn white, as though he's been stricken blind, and he speaks in a rumbling voice, in a language none understand...
The old woman bows before the young man and asks in a hushed voice, "Thank you Wise One for coming to our aid... We seek Guidance and Advice... the City of corrupted flesh and decay, has erupted into an endless dance of death and fire... people shiver in fear and cower in their homes... in the air is the smell of gunpowder and burning flesh... what does all this mean?" she implores to the Great Spirit.
The crowd listens patiently or maybe in awe and fear of the power emanating from within the young man. The only sound is the waves of the sea crashing against the beach, the wind whistling through the palm trees... The old lady and the young man appear to be contorting in fear, unbeknown to the crowd; images of death and destruction are flooding into their minds...
The roar of massive war engines unloading from battleships and storming the beaches... Vector thrust aircraft screaming across the sky, dropping bombs across the city... fires burning, children screaming, woman begging for relief... bullets and rockets rain down in a torrential downpour. The symbol of an Aztec Warrior is branded on all these machines of war... armed soldiers march into the streets, threatening the citizens and screaming questions an inch from their faces, “[i]Donde estan los Santeros? Tienen brujos escondidos aqui? (Where are the Santeros? Do you have witches hidden here?)”… a young man handcuffed, kneeling against a wall, blood running down his shirt… a uniformed soldier steps up behind him, aims a massive pistol to the back of his head and fires!... [/i]
Santos breaks into a cold sweat as he recognizes the executed man, Why would the invaders be after him and other Santeros?
As though reading his mind the old woman speaks, "The Aztecas fear practitioners of Santeria because of the close bond they have with Amazonian Cantomble… We must abandon the village and seek refuge in the jungles to the east and south. I have friends there that will provide refuge."
Santos at that instant confirms the suspicions he’s harbored about the old woman, and the clandestine meetings she has been having the last few months with strangers to the village: She is an agent of Amazonia, or at least has been cooperating with them for some time.
Abuela Rosario interrupts his train of thought and continues, “Someone needs to stay back in the city… hiding… watching… Santos will you stay and be my eyes and ears?”
Santos shakes in fear, I owe a lot to Abuela Rosario, but what she asks of me is suicidal! What can one man do against the overwhelming forces heading towards Caracas? Where will I hide? The Great Legba has shown us the folly of staying in the City, and what the Aztecas will do to me if captured… No this is crazy! I will not be a victim ever again!
As Santos turns to the old woman to respond, he sees her eyes full of desperation and fear, If I do nothing, will I be able to live with myself? The shade of Rodrigo sways in the wind…
“I will do it! But under my terms! I will get out of the city at the first sign of things getting out of control.”
He turns inwardly and asks Great Legba, Are there any other pendejos in the City with similar fucked up goals?, maybe I can build an alliance of convenience with them to pull this shit off!
He does not have to wait long for a response, as a new image floods his mind:
Deep fog, swirls around a dark dock... A small yacht is seen gliding into the pier... A ragged group of heavily armed and armored misfits, surrounding a beautiful elven woman and a young, nervous man break through the fog...
Santos recognizes the docks and pier that Legba has shown him in this vision, he again feels doubts about this course of action, but at least he will seek out these fools first before deciding what to do next…
Down by the sea, the drums call. The villages of Barlovento spring from their sleepy states for La Fiesta de Archangel Miguel, also known by Santeros as Legba the Old Man of the Crossroads. During San Miguel the drums, tambores, of Barlovento pound relentlessly, all day and all night, while the locals dance their sensual, slinky moves, fueled by firewater and rum. At some point, figures of the saint do get carried into the water, and children are baptized, but essentially, it's a good excuse for a party.
There are two types of tambor being played. One stands-up, about waist-high and nearly two feet in diameter. The other is long and tubular resting on the ground. It has skin stretched over one end. That's where the drummers hit it with their inch-thick wooden sticks. About three or four men will crouch along its length, pounding. The rhythm is mesmerizing, oscillating between frenetic and frenzied and back again. A percussive passion-pendulum. There are horns too, blown in staccato bursts on the off-beat. They're huge conch shells, held up high, with one end drilled out for a mouthpiece. They make a deep down bass sound which boom-boom-booms.
Everyone's black. All the drummers are men. The women egg them on and join in the chants.
The dances mimic the mating prance of birds. Tight, jigging movements, with all the emphasis on the hips. Pelvises move in taut, winding, concentric circles, knees bend and feet shuffle. Couples size each other up, with the man coming as close as he can to the woman. She ducks and dives in swoops and jibes, always eluding his embrace. The battle of the sexes, Afro-Caribbean style. It's also a bit like pro-wrestling, one dancer tagging another who then enters the fray with new vigor.
An old woman starts to shout and reprimand the people for something. About twenty curlers knit into her hair, and she's wearing a flowing dress of far too many colors for it to be coordinated with anything but her wrath. Dancing shouldn't involve touching, she seems to be explaining, with plenty of hand flailing.
One of the dancers is a stunning woman, with gold, dangling earrings and bright red lipstick to match her bikini top and shorts. The top was too tight, and looked uncomfortable, unlike her shorts which do little to conceal her voluptuous curves. She dances wildly before a young handsome man; he wears a loose, cotton white shirt and pants, and has a bright red scarf tied around his neck. His golden-green eyes flash against the fire as he spits a stream of white rum into it... As the flames explode a ghostly figure can be seen contorting above the flames... the crowd hushes and the music stops... Legba has been called...
The young man's eyes turn white, as though he's been stricken blind, and he speaks in a rumbling voice, in a language none understand...
The old woman bows before the young man and asks in a hushed voice, "Thank you Wise One for coming to our aid... We seek Guidance and Advice... the City of corrupted flesh and decay, has erupted into an endless dance of death and fire... people shiver in fear and cower in their homes... in the air is the smell of gunpowder and burning flesh... what does all this mean?" she implores to the Great Spirit.
The crowd listens patiently or maybe in awe and fear of the power emanating from within the young man. The only sound is the waves of the sea crashing against the beach, the wind whistling through the palm trees... The old lady and the young man appear to be contorting in fear, unbeknown to the crowd; images of death and destruction are flooding into their minds...
The roar of massive war engines unloading from battleships and storming the beaches... Vector thrust aircraft screaming across the sky, dropping bombs across the city... fires burning, children screaming, woman begging for relief... bullets and rockets rain down in a torrential downpour. The symbol of an Aztec Warrior is branded on all these machines of war... armed soldiers march into the streets, threatening the citizens and screaming questions an inch from their faces, “[i]Donde estan los Santeros? Tienen brujos escondidos aqui? (Where are the Santeros? Do you have witches hidden here?)”… a young man handcuffed, kneeling against a wall, blood running down his shirt… a uniformed soldier steps up behind him, aims a massive pistol to the back of his head and fires!... [/i]
Santos breaks into a cold sweat as he recognizes the executed man, Why would the invaders be after him and other Santeros?
As though reading his mind the old woman speaks, "The Aztecas fear practitioners of Santeria because of the close bond they have with Amazonian Cantomble… We must abandon the village and seek refuge in the jungles to the east and south. I have friends there that will provide refuge."
Santos at that instant confirms the suspicions he’s harbored about the old woman, and the clandestine meetings she has been having the last few months with strangers to the village: She is an agent of Amazonia, or at least has been cooperating with them for some time.
Abuela Rosario interrupts his train of thought and continues, “Someone needs to stay back in the city… hiding… watching… Santos will you stay and be my eyes and ears?”
Santos shakes in fear, I owe a lot to Abuela Rosario, but what she asks of me is suicidal! What can one man do against the overwhelming forces heading towards Caracas? Where will I hide? The Great Legba has shown us the folly of staying in the City, and what the Aztecas will do to me if captured… No this is crazy! I will not be a victim ever again!
As Santos turns to the old woman to respond, he sees her eyes full of desperation and fear, If I do nothing, will I be able to live with myself? The shade of Rodrigo sways in the wind…
“I will do it! But under my terms! I will get out of the city at the first sign of things getting out of control.”
He turns inwardly and asks Great Legba, Are there any other pendejos in the City with similar fucked up goals?, maybe I can build an alliance of convenience with them to pull this shit off!
He does not have to wait long for a response, as a new image floods his mind:
Deep fog, swirls around a dark dock... A small yacht is seen gliding into the pier... A ragged group of heavily armed and armored misfits, surrounding a beautiful elven woman and a young, nervous man break through the fog...
Santos recognizes the docks and pier that Legba has shown him in this vision, he again feels doubts about this course of action, but at least he will seek out these fools first before deciding what to do next…
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Harper wasn’t quite lucid enough to try to hide her intentions from anyone observant enough to notice her. She watched as the troll swatted each woman shuffling into the truck, watched his smirk grow and the confused eyes of each of the girls. The razor girl didn’t have any problem with the casual swat on the backside. But, this troll and those painful sounding cracks piqued the young woman’s urge to break bone and cut flesh. This wasn’t about the women in the line. This was about some sick mother-fucker hassling girls who couldn’t fight back because it got his rocks off.
As Harper’s turn in the line approached, her own grin began to pull at the corners of her lips. The hand swings back. For the moment, no recognition of the troll’s true predicament even reflects in his eyes. In the speed of a few half-thoughts, Harper activated her wired reflexes and whirled into motion. There would be blood. There would be the wet snap of bone. Even if this idiot wasn't directly responsible for her current predicament, he was going to get the brunt of Harper's rage and frustration at the opening of this truck.
Her own hand falls back, gathering momentum to meet the huge, muscular troll’s meaty slab with her own comparatively tiny and delicate one. Hand razors shot into place with a familiar slide of metal on flesh. Harper aimed for the huge man’s hand, hoping to destroy or at least maim it. As that motion began, Harper's eyes went wide as she scanned for the look on her soon-to-be victim’s face to bloom into realization.
“Hey, trog,” she whispered in English, much clearer than she should have been able to. She didn't know if he'd understand English, but he'd understand 'trog'. With dancing, furious eyes, Harper completed the arc of her stabbing, slashing hand to the end of her make-shift club of rebar and began swinging to kill. Maybe the girls behind the street sam would finally learn what they were supposed to do when some pendejo swats your ass too hard.
Harper wasn’t quite lucid enough to try to hide her intentions from anyone observant enough to notice her. She watched as the troll swatted each woman shuffling into the truck, watched his smirk grow and the confused eyes of each of the girls. The razor girl didn’t have any problem with the casual swat on the backside. But, this troll and those painful sounding cracks piqued the young woman’s urge to break bone and cut flesh. This wasn’t about the women in the line. This was about some sick mother-fucker hassling girls who couldn’t fight back because it got his rocks off.
As Harper’s turn in the line approached, her own grin began to pull at the corners of her lips. The hand swings back. For the moment, no recognition of the troll’s true predicament even reflects in his eyes. In the speed of a few half-thoughts, Harper activated her wired reflexes and whirled into motion. There would be blood. There would be the wet snap of bone. Even if this idiot wasn't directly responsible for her current predicament, he was going to get the brunt of Harper's rage and frustration at the opening of this truck.
Her own hand falls back, gathering momentum to meet the huge, muscular troll’s meaty slab with her own comparatively tiny and delicate one. Hand razors shot into place with a familiar slide of metal on flesh. Harper aimed for the huge man’s hand, hoping to destroy or at least maim it. As that motion began, Harper's eyes went wide as she scanned for the look on her soon-to-be victim’s face to bloom into realization.
“Hey, trog,” she whispered in English, much clearer than she should have been able to. She didn't know if he'd understand English, but he'd understand 'trog'. With dancing, furious eyes, Harper completed the arc of her stabbing, slashing hand to the end of her make-shift club of rebar and began swinging to kill. Maybe the girls behind the street sam would finally learn what they were supposed to do when some pendejo swats your ass too hard.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Alex sighed softly to himself as he found his way into the system. That of course, was only half the battle. And not really even the difficult one. He knew there would be things lurking for him inside; waiting for someone to do exactly what he was attempting. The technomancer glanced around the area at the different people talking; his attention really only there to detect the sounds of gunshots so he could take cover. Once he found the defense mechanisms in the Leviathan’s node, it would be all his. He reached out and sifted through the code, trying to find the tell-tale signs of threats in the node. They were there, he just had to find them.
Alex sighed softly to himself as he found his way into the system. That of course, was only half the battle. And not really even the difficult one. He knew there would be things lurking for him inside; waiting for someone to do exactly what he was attempting. The technomancer glanced around the area at the different people talking; his attention really only there to detect the sounds of gunshots so he could take cover. Once he found the defense mechanisms in the Leviathan’s node, it would be all his. He reached out and sifted through the code, trying to find the tell-tale signs of threats in the node. They were there, he just had to find them.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:50 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Santos had spent the last four nights hiding amongst the illicit cargo containers transported in an out of Pier 40, waiting for the elfin muñeca and her pandilla. The downpour did not let up and the cheap poncho he bought off the street vendor Monday night was fast becoming his new favorite possession. Standing around in the rain all night was something he had not needed to do since he was rescued off the streets by Abuela Rosario and his mind wandered off to the review the events that brought him to his current situation…
Leaving the village with his few meager belongings on Cashassa’s bike… grabbing on tightly to her luscious body while the bike screamed into high gear… the cheap doss she helped him find in La Guaira was his new home and he crashed there during the day while his nights were spent hanging out on Pier 40… Cashassa had not wanted him to get involved with the Azzies and advised him to get out of Caracas now… well it was maybe too late for that…
Off in the distance at the end of the Pier he sees a yacht sailing in. Is that the one? I better get a little closer to see if it’s them…
Just as Santos moves from his hiding place to get closer he is distracted by the line of half-naked women being dragged by a huge troll… blood immediately courses from his brain to his dick (what do you expect from a 17 year old!) and he stops mid-stride to gawk at the girls… he notices the small, skinny one at the end of the line, Wow! What is that loquita doing with that rebar? Oh shit! Nah, no she’s not! She’s going to swing it at the hijo e’ puta trog!
Santos had spent the last four nights hiding amongst the illicit cargo containers transported in an out of Pier 40, waiting for the elfin muñeca and her pandilla. The downpour did not let up and the cheap poncho he bought off the street vendor Monday night was fast becoming his new favorite possession. Standing around in the rain all night was something he had not needed to do since he was rescued off the streets by Abuela Rosario and his mind wandered off to the review the events that brought him to his current situation…
Leaving the village with his few meager belongings on Cashassa’s bike… grabbing on tightly to her luscious body while the bike screamed into high gear… the cheap doss she helped him find in La Guaira was his new home and he crashed there during the day while his nights were spent hanging out on Pier 40… Cashassa had not wanted him to get involved with the Azzies and advised him to get out of Caracas now… well it was maybe too late for that…
Off in the distance at the end of the Pier he sees a yacht sailing in. Is that the one? I better get a little closer to see if it’s them…
Just as Santos moves from his hiding place to get closer he is distracted by the line of half-naked women being dragged by a huge troll… blood immediately courses from his brain to his dick (what do you expect from a 17 year old!) and he stops mid-stride to gawk at the girls… he notices the small, skinny one at the end of the line, Wow! What is that loquita doing with that rebar? Oh shit! Nah, no she’s not! She’s going to swing it at the hijo e’ puta trog!
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Gabriella smirked back at Sonora and nodded. "Highest bidder, yeah. I know all about that. La Alianza were jerking us around on what these guns were worth, so we had your employers make us an offer. Seems Bolivar were a little more eager to get their hands on these goodies. Way I figure it, La Alianza are probably still smarting over that and vowing revenge or some shit." A dismissive toss of her head showed what she cared for concerning that.
"Anyway..." Gabriella snaps her fingers, and a ramp extended from the deck of the Leviathan down to port, and the guards by the truck run aboard. "Careful with those crates, you pigs," she barked at the men. By the angry expressions on their faces, her biting words are starting to have a negative effect.
Sonora could see her impossible lies being accepted as truth to this woman. The laxness of the woman's facial muscles spoke of her dropped guard, her rushed demeanor of her impatience to finish this transaction and be elsewhere. To Gabriella, "Ms. Cruz" and her cohorts were no longer a threat, just buyers.
---------------
Santos and Harper
Santos melted through Pier 40 like a ghost. His friendly spirit, Surri, had at Santos' request inhabited the body of his beloved pet mongoose, Reina. From there, Surri had a free hand to affect the physical realm, and he used all the powers at his disposal to make Santos as noticeable as invidual droplets of water in the steam billowing off of the waterfront. Even when Santos walked within a few feet of somebody, they looked right past or through him and made no indication that he'd been spotted or Surri's concealments compromised.
It was as Santos was skulking through Pier 40 that he saw, around the back of a warehouse, a completely nude woman with a long length of sturdy-looking rebar. She stood before the large troll leading her up into the back of the truck, and obviously she caught him off guard, because before Santos could blink, she sank that rebar into the troll's head with a sickening, wet crunch, maybe the sound a pumpkin would make if you kicked it in.
The troll staggered, a hand raising to his slightly deformed head. Before he could tumble towards the ground, the woman struck again, a solid swipe taking him across the face. Blood spewed out of the trolls mouth and painted the wall of the building nearby, and the clatter of teeth and broken tusks accompanied it.
The sudden, violent scene caused the women already in the truck to scream. As they begun backing away from the carnage, they were inadvertantly dragging Harper further up the ramp and into the truck against her wishes.
"What the fuck?" came a voice from the front of the truck. Santos saw the driver's side door open, and a bulky ork jumped out. A large caliber revolver was in his hand before his booted feet squelched in the muddy ground.
---------------
Alex
Sonora kept Gabriella busy. Good. While the girls were chatting it up, Alex was studying the inner workings of this node he found himself in. As he let his digital mind's eye examine the surroundings -- a sparsely sculpted node, just appearing to be a large room with a bank of monitors examining various sensors, cameras, and other subsystems of the Leviathan -- he saw the icon of a large, robotic humanoid sitting in the "Captain's Chair," turning his head this way and that as he studied the ship's numbers. By the way he focused on the cameras, he was keeping a careful eye on the meeting below.
A moment of disorientation washed over Alex as he saw himself in the cameras, simultaneously watching the ship and watching the ship watch him watching the ship.... Alex's eyes glazed over for a moment, and with a single deep breath the nausea faded quickly.
((Computer+Stealth roll))
---------------
Smiley
<<Gabriella?>> DevilBwoy messaged back. <<Dat lookah be deh Bad Mama b'hind deh Drownahs nah. Not deh leadeh, she jus' keeps t'ings propah fuh 'em. Prob'ly Puck is up in deh ship. I t'ink dey're hooked up, yanno? One ain't nevah far from deh uddah.>>
Smiley's drone ascended higher and higher into the night sky. Though the fog tried to obscure visual readouts, the sensors and other gadgets therein managed to pierce that solid veil.
And he saw more than he wanted to.
To the east, and closing in on the team's position fast, a group of men clad entirely black, all wielding automatic weapons and moving in a practiced, methodical squad formation, moving from cover to cover as they closed in. Fifty meters away at present, by their stride and their movements, they could be on the team in no time.
To the west, another group of men, similarly armed and armored, but wearing the gang colors of Bolivar '49. Assault rifles in hand, they moved as though going somewhere they expected to be, not rushing but not taking their time, either. They were a bit closer, perhaps 30 meters away, having just left the din and noise of the Bazaar behind.
And out at sea, lights. Lights from ships. And lots of them. Were those naval class ships?
Mierda. Those are Aztlan flags!
Gabriella smirked back at Sonora and nodded. "Highest bidder, yeah. I know all about that. La Alianza were jerking us around on what these guns were worth, so we had your employers make us an offer. Seems Bolivar were a little more eager to get their hands on these goodies. Way I figure it, La Alianza are probably still smarting over that and vowing revenge or some shit." A dismissive toss of her head showed what she cared for concerning that.
"Anyway..." Gabriella snaps her fingers, and a ramp extended from the deck of the Leviathan down to port, and the guards by the truck run aboard. "Careful with those crates, you pigs," she barked at the men. By the angry expressions on their faces, her biting words are starting to have a negative effect.
Sonora could see her impossible lies being accepted as truth to this woman. The laxness of the woman's facial muscles spoke of her dropped guard, her rushed demeanor of her impatience to finish this transaction and be elsewhere. To Gabriella, "Ms. Cruz" and her cohorts were no longer a threat, just buyers.
---------------
Santos and Harper
Santos melted through Pier 40 like a ghost. His friendly spirit, Surri, had at Santos' request inhabited the body of his beloved pet mongoose, Reina. From there, Surri had a free hand to affect the physical realm, and he used all the powers at his disposal to make Santos as noticeable as invidual droplets of water in the steam billowing off of the waterfront. Even when Santos walked within a few feet of somebody, they looked right past or through him and made no indication that he'd been spotted or Surri's concealments compromised.
It was as Santos was skulking through Pier 40 that he saw, around the back of a warehouse, a completely nude woman with a long length of sturdy-looking rebar. She stood before the large troll leading her up into the back of the truck, and obviously she caught him off guard, because before Santos could blink, she sank that rebar into the troll's head with a sickening, wet crunch, maybe the sound a pumpkin would make if you kicked it in.
The troll staggered, a hand raising to his slightly deformed head. Before he could tumble towards the ground, the woman struck again, a solid swipe taking him across the face. Blood spewed out of the trolls mouth and painted the wall of the building nearby, and the clatter of teeth and broken tusks accompanied it.
The sudden, violent scene caused the women already in the truck to scream. As they begun backing away from the carnage, they were inadvertantly dragging Harper further up the ramp and into the truck against her wishes.
"What the fuck?" came a voice from the front of the truck. Santos saw the driver's side door open, and a bulky ork jumped out. A large caliber revolver was in his hand before his booted feet squelched in the muddy ground.
---------------
Alex
Sonora kept Gabriella busy. Good. While the girls were chatting it up, Alex was studying the inner workings of this node he found himself in. As he let his digital mind's eye examine the surroundings -- a sparsely sculpted node, just appearing to be a large room with a bank of monitors examining various sensors, cameras, and other subsystems of the Leviathan -- he saw the icon of a large, robotic humanoid sitting in the "Captain's Chair," turning his head this way and that as he studied the ship's numbers. By the way he focused on the cameras, he was keeping a careful eye on the meeting below.
A moment of disorientation washed over Alex as he saw himself in the cameras, simultaneously watching the ship and watching the ship watch him watching the ship.... Alex's eyes glazed over for a moment, and with a single deep breath the nausea faded quickly.
((Computer+Stealth roll))
---------------
Smiley
<<Gabriella?>> DevilBwoy messaged back. <<Dat lookah be deh Bad Mama b'hind deh Drownahs nah. Not deh leadeh, she jus' keeps t'ings propah fuh 'em. Prob'ly Puck is up in deh ship. I t'ink dey're hooked up, yanno? One ain't nevah far from deh uddah.>>
Smiley's drone ascended higher and higher into the night sky. Though the fog tried to obscure visual readouts, the sensors and other gadgets therein managed to pierce that solid veil.
And he saw more than he wanted to.
To the east, and closing in on the team's position fast, a group of men clad entirely black, all wielding automatic weapons and moving in a practiced, methodical squad formation, moving from cover to cover as they closed in. Fifty meters away at present, by their stride and their movements, they could be on the team in no time.
To the west, another group of men, similarly armed and armored, but wearing the gang colors of Bolivar '49. Assault rifles in hand, they moved as though going somewhere they expected to be, not rushing but not taking their time, either. They were a bit closer, perhaps 30 meters away, having just left the din and noise of the Bazaar behind.
And out at sea, lights. Lights from ships. And lots of them. Were those naval class ships?
Mierda. Those are Aztlan flags!
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Just as Smiley was about to make a smarmy remark to Devilbwoy, he felt his blood run cold as he saw what was fast approaching. He gave a shiver as he activated his wired reflexes and made his way up the gangplank and onto the boat, messaging the rest of the team on the way. <<We need to hurry this up, there are bad guys with big guns making a beeline towards us. Be here any minute if they don't get distracted on the way.>>
Taking a few steps forward on the deck, he gives his drone a command to get back down closer to the ground and face outwards from the gangplank while being ready to open suppressive fire the moment the smartlink on his AA-16 registers the trigger being pulled. Turning to face the person manning the gatling gun on the deck, he tightens his grip on the autoshotgun in his hands before messaging the team once again. <<Everyone step aboard quick and be ready. Sonora, keep Gabriella from offloading anything, say you want to check a few crates before anything gets off the boat. El Mono, fire at will upon Gabriella once at least Sonora and Alex gets on the boat, everyone else can fight their way aboard without problem.>> Then, he waits for El Mono to make the first shot...
Just as Smiley was about to make a smarmy remark to Devilbwoy, he felt his blood run cold as he saw what was fast approaching. He gave a shiver as he activated his wired reflexes and made his way up the gangplank and onto the boat, messaging the rest of the team on the way. <<We need to hurry this up, there are bad guys with big guns making a beeline towards us. Be here any minute if they don't get distracted on the way.>>
Taking a few steps forward on the deck, he gives his drone a command to get back down closer to the ground and face outwards from the gangplank while being ready to open suppressive fire the moment the smartlink on his AA-16 registers the trigger being pulled. Turning to face the person manning the gatling gun on the deck, he tightens his grip on the autoshotgun in his hands before messaging the team once again. <<Everyone step aboard quick and be ready. Sonora, keep Gabriella from offloading anything, say you want to check a few crates before anything gets off the boat. El Mono, fire at will upon Gabriella once at least Sonora and Alex gets on the boat, everyone else can fight their way aboard without problem.>> Then, he waits for El Mono to make the first shot...
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
<<We need to hurry this up, there are bad guys with big guns making a beeline towards us. Be here any minute if they don't get distracted on the way.>>
Damnit! Good thing Smiley had that eye in the sky. Otherwise, they might have been right fucked by this. as it was, things were about to get real hairy real fast.
<<Everyone step aboard quick and be ready. Sonora, keep Gabriella from offloading anything, say you want to check a few crates before anything gets off the boat. El Mono, fire at will upon Gabriella once at least Sonora and Alex gets on the boat, everyone else can fight their way aboard without problem.>>
El Mono kept the targeting reticle lined up with the oblivious woman and waited for Sonora to board the boat, his finger resting on the firing contact.
Roger. Get ready for the action sequence.
<<We need to hurry this up, there are bad guys with big guns making a beeline towards us. Be here any minute if they don't get distracted on the way.>>
Damnit! Good thing Smiley had that eye in the sky. Otherwise, they might have been right fucked by this. as it was, things were about to get real hairy real fast.
<<Everyone step aboard quick and be ready. Sonora, keep Gabriella from offloading anything, say you want to check a few crates before anything gets off the boat. El Mono, fire at will upon Gabriella once at least Sonora and Alex gets on the boat, everyone else can fight their way aboard without problem.>>
El Mono kept the targeting reticle lined up with the oblivious woman and waited for Sonora to board the boat, his finger resting on the firing contact.
Roger. Get ready for the action sequence.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Santos chuckled to himself as he saw the troll's head cracked open like a rotten pumpkin, La chica es una Fiera! (The little girl is Fierce!), I would not have guessed such a small package carried such a big punch... He continues to admire the lovely ladies, when he spots the ork truck driver jumping out with a heavy pistol, Hey who told that pendejo to bring a gun to a naked rebar fight? I'll even the odds out a bit... Maybe la chiquilla will thank me appropriately afterwards for helping out...
Part of his mind continues to fantasize on a fitting reward he should get from the young lady, as the other focuses in on summoning mana from around him into a focused powerful burst of energy. He visualizes the release and a bolt of energy slamming into the ork...
Santos chuckled to himself as he saw the troll's head cracked open like a rotten pumpkin, La chica es una Fiera! (The little girl is Fierce!), I would not have guessed such a small package carried such a big punch... He continues to admire the lovely ladies, when he spots the ork truck driver jumping out with a heavy pistol, Hey who told that pendejo to bring a gun to a naked rebar fight? I'll even the odds out a bit... Maybe la chiquilla will thank me appropriately afterwards for helping out...
Part of his mind continues to fantasize on a fitting reward he should get from the young lady, as the other focuses in on summoning mana from around him into a focused powerful burst of energy. He visualizes the release and a bolt of energy slamming into the ork...
Alex swallowed back the bit of nausea that hit him when he caught himself looking at himself in an almost infinite loop. There was a much more important job to be done at the moment though, one that could not see him throwing up all over his meat-body. In the back of his mind he let the intrusion complex form he had crafted dissipate back into the furthest reaches of the Matrix. Now, he took to picking apart the icon that sat on the chair. He sifted through the information that glided around it, trying to determine what exactly it was and how much of a threat it would prove to be. Alex silently wishes he had a bit more time, but he knew the window was going to be closed soon. If anything, he might have to act on the fly. Once that was done, he opened himself to the other traffic of the node. He looked for the tell-tale signs of defenses or IC that might not be hidden well from him.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
“Shit! Shit! Shit! You dumb bitches!” Harper shouted in English as the women began screaming and trying to move away from the presumably dying or dead troll. As huge body finally fell to the ground, and the puddle of blood under the brute’s ruined head began to intermingle with the muddy ground, Harper congratulated herself on a job well-done. She really wanted to make sure her victim was going to stay down for good, but didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. The young woman made a good show of trying to stand her ground. But, even she couldn’t do much against so many panicking girls pulling her back into the truck with their combined weight and strength.
Gagging from the yanking collar around her neck, Harper stumbled back several feet further up the ramp. She spent a few seconds of swinging her rebar club at the air and spewing a proverbial stream of English obscenities and barely-coherent thoughts before even trying something halfway productive. “The fuck is wrong with you chicas? It's a God-damned body now. Can't do anything to you. Calm the fuck down!” Harper's accent would peg her as a UCAS woman from the start, as heavy as it was, even if her looks didn't. Most of the chained women were variants on caramel and mocha, brunettes and raven-haired girls that each bore a superficial--but passing resemblance to Harper's idol. But, they were nothing, nothing like Zero. The razor girl could get that the girls she was chained to didn’t know how to fight, that they were drugged and scared. But, this shit was just stupid. They should be embarrassed, getting saved by some pasty-pale, red-head gringo like Harper.
“Shit! Shit! Shit! You dumb bitches!” Harper shouted in English as the women began screaming and trying to move away from the presumably dying or dead troll. As huge body finally fell to the ground, and the puddle of blood under the brute’s ruined head began to intermingle with the muddy ground, Harper congratulated herself on a job well-done. She really wanted to make sure her victim was going to stay down for good, but didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. The young woman made a good show of trying to stand her ground. But, even she couldn’t do much against so many panicking girls pulling her back into the truck with their combined weight and strength.
Gagging from the yanking collar around her neck, Harper stumbled back several feet further up the ramp. She spent a few seconds of swinging her rebar club at the air and spewing a proverbial stream of English obscenities and barely-coherent thoughts before even trying something halfway productive. “The fuck is wrong with you chicas? It's a God-damned body now. Can't do anything to you. Calm the fuck down!” Harper's accent would peg her as a UCAS woman from the start, as heavy as it was, even if her looks didn't. Most of the chained women were variants on caramel and mocha, brunettes and raven-haired girls that each bore a superficial--but passing resemblance to Harper's idol. But, they were nothing, nothing like Zero. The razor girl could get that the girls she was chained to didn’t know how to fight, that they were drugged and scared. But, this shit was just stupid. They should be embarrassed, getting saved by some pasty-pale, red-head gringo like Harper.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Sonora's AR display was going crazy with messages from the team. Apparently, there was a bad moon rising.
As the four stevedores tromped onto the Leviathan, Sonora made a move to follow, shouting commands just as Gabriella did.
"Hold off on bringing the load off the boat until I inspect some crates!" she called.
At this point, Sonora wasn't about to take 'no' for an answer. Mono had a bead on the woman. Alex was getting dragged up the gangplank with her. Bolivar '49 had suborned the shipment before they could do it for them, and now everyone was converging on this blasted ship like it had a radio beacon screaming orders to the world to fuck it in the ass.
"This should only take a moment!" Sonora called as she moved up the gangplank and onto the boat. At the very least, one wanted to get the crates open and a weapon in hand. With luck, they might even be loaded.
Sonora's AR display was going crazy with messages from the team. Apparently, there was a bad moon rising.
As the four stevedores tromped onto the Leviathan, Sonora made a move to follow, shouting commands just as Gabriella did.
"Hold off on bringing the load off the boat until I inspect some crates!" she called.
At this point, Sonora wasn't about to take 'no' for an answer. Mono had a bead on the woman. Alex was getting dragged up the gangplank with her. Bolivar '49 had suborned the shipment before they could do it for them, and now everyone was converging on this blasted ship like it had a radio beacon screaming orders to the world to fuck it in the ass.
"This should only take a moment!" Sonora called as she moved up the gangplank and onto the boat. At the very least, one wanted to get the crates open and a weapon in hand. With luck, they might even be loaded.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Gabriella paused as Sonora suddenly made for the gangplank after Smiley pulling a slightly occupied-seeming Alex in tow with her. Sonora caught from the corner of her eye that Gabriella had suddenly grown quite suspicious. The dark woman pressed a hand to her ear and began moving her lips silently.
Smiley's drone dropped altitude and begun to hover closer to the ship, its weapons systems ready to open fire at his pre-ordained command. In doing so the drone lost the vantage it had previously had, and so he could no longer see any of the iminent threats. But he knew they were coming, and that had to count for something.
As everyone moved on board, Gabriella was left standing by herself, hand pressed to her ear, subvocalizing. Her other arm was raising her assault rifle, and she looked as if she were about to use it. But alone as she was, with nobody else impeding the view, El Mono currently had the perfect shot...
------------
Alex
Alex, meanwhile, was just moving with Sonora easily prodded into any direction since he was busy watching the icon in front of him in the Captain's Chair. He took a moment to observe the icon before him, and figured it for that of a security hacker/rigger, probably on board, and by the slow, ponderous rate at which he was working, more than likely he was also just using AR instead of being fully inside the node.
With a mental effort, he concentrated on becoming just another background process of the node. His "form" faded and became a ghostly translucent color, then totally transparent. When the icon in the Chair looked right at Alex's icon, there was a tense moment before Alex realized that the icon was looking straight through him at some monitors directly behind him. Alex turned to look at them as well, and saw that they were being watched as they ascended the gangplank.
Suddenly, Alex heard a voice intone in the room from all directions at once, the voice of Gabriella down below, talking to the one currently keeping watch.
"Puck, something's wrong. We're aborting the drop. Waste them and let's get the fuck out of here."
To which the icon in the room replied out loud: "Understood. Locking on now."
A targeting reticle on the monitor focused on the bodies of himself, Sonora, and Smiley as they moved aboard, following them as they moved to meet with the guards currently grabbing the shipping crates.
---------------
Santos and Harper
The ork stormed down the side of the truck, around to the ramp where all the commotion was going on. He skidded to a halt, boots squelching through the mud as he did, when he came across the body of the troll with the caved in skull, brains splattered about like some sort of piñata.
Looking up, he saw a naked Harper, the gory rebar still clutched in her hand, with a blob of brain matter dripping off implicatingly. Struggling against the frightened mass of chicas dragging her further into the truck, the collar partically strangulating her air supply, she didn't see the ork until he had raised the pistol directly at her.
At which point his eyes rolled up in his head, and he fell over, slumped across the ramp.
Gabriella paused as Sonora suddenly made for the gangplank after Smiley pulling a slightly occupied-seeming Alex in tow with her. Sonora caught from the corner of her eye that Gabriella had suddenly grown quite suspicious. The dark woman pressed a hand to her ear and began moving her lips silently.
Smiley's drone dropped altitude and begun to hover closer to the ship, its weapons systems ready to open fire at his pre-ordained command. In doing so the drone lost the vantage it had previously had, and so he could no longer see any of the iminent threats. But he knew they were coming, and that had to count for something.
As everyone moved on board, Gabriella was left standing by herself, hand pressed to her ear, subvocalizing. Her other arm was raising her assault rifle, and she looked as if she were about to use it. But alone as she was, with nobody else impeding the view, El Mono currently had the perfect shot...
------------
Alex
Alex, meanwhile, was just moving with Sonora easily prodded into any direction since he was busy watching the icon in front of him in the Captain's Chair. He took a moment to observe the icon before him, and figured it for that of a security hacker/rigger, probably on board, and by the slow, ponderous rate at which he was working, more than likely he was also just using AR instead of being fully inside the node.
With a mental effort, he concentrated on becoming just another background process of the node. His "form" faded and became a ghostly translucent color, then totally transparent. When the icon in the Chair looked right at Alex's icon, there was a tense moment before Alex realized that the icon was looking straight through him at some monitors directly behind him. Alex turned to look at them as well, and saw that they were being watched as they ascended the gangplank.
Suddenly, Alex heard a voice intone in the room from all directions at once, the voice of Gabriella down below, talking to the one currently keeping watch.
"Puck, something's wrong. We're aborting the drop. Waste them and let's get the fuck out of here."
To which the icon in the room replied out loud: "Understood. Locking on now."
A targeting reticle on the monitor focused on the bodies of himself, Sonora, and Smiley as they moved aboard, following them as they moved to meet with the guards currently grabbing the shipping crates.
---------------
Santos and Harper
The ork stormed down the side of the truck, around to the ramp where all the commotion was going on. He skidded to a halt, boots squelching through the mud as he did, when he came across the body of the troll with the caved in skull, brains splattered about like some sort of piñata.
Looking up, he saw a naked Harper, the gory rebar still clutched in her hand, with a blob of brain matter dripping off implicatingly. Struggling against the frightened mass of chicas dragging her further into the truck, the collar partically strangulating her air supply, she didn't see the ork until he had raised the pistol directly at her.
At which point his eyes rolled up in his head, and he fell over, slumped across the ramp.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
The momentary feeling of fear passed and was passed by the burning feeling in his gut he got before he fought anyone. It was a longing pang, from someone that longed for a better life, existence, or circumstance. His mind wandered to the various things he had wanted out of life as it reached out through the node and picked up bits of excess data. He watched himself and his teammates on the monitor and pondered letting the weapon systems fire. No one would even miss them. Though hopelessness walked side-by-side with the technomancer, there was one thought that kept him going through everything. The one thought that kept him putting one foot in front of the other until he eventually stumbled into his grave.
Hookers and Bliss.
The technomancer flicked his virtual sight around, looking at the edges of the node where the bits of data had attuned to him. With a thought, he brought the data in towards the rigger’s icon at a high velocity; like a fragment grenade exploding from the virtual walls onto the Captain’s Chair.
Alex paused and popped a message off through his physical commlink, <<@Team: We’ve been made.>>
The momentary feeling of fear passed and was passed by the burning feeling in his gut he got before he fought anyone. It was a longing pang, from someone that longed for a better life, existence, or circumstance. His mind wandered to the various things he had wanted out of life as it reached out through the node and picked up bits of excess data. He watched himself and his teammates on the monitor and pondered letting the weapon systems fire. No one would even miss them. Though hopelessness walked side-by-side with the technomancer, there was one thought that kept him going through everything. The one thought that kept him putting one foot in front of the other until he eventually stumbled into his grave.
Hookers and Bliss.
The technomancer flicked his virtual sight around, looking at the edges of the node where the bits of data had attuned to him. With a thought, he brought the data in towards the rigger’s icon at a high velocity; like a fragment grenade exploding from the virtual walls onto the Captain’s Chair.
Alex paused and popped a message off through his physical commlink, <<@Team: We’ve been made.>>
QUOTE (Abschalten @ Dec 8 2010, 06:27 PM) 
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Santos and Harper
The ork stormed down the side of the truck, around to the ramp where all the commotion was going on. He skidded to a halt, boots squelching through the mud as he did, when he came across the body of the troll with the caved in skull, brains splattered about like some sort of piñata.
Looking up, he saw a naked Harper, the gory rebar still clutched in her hand, with a blob of brain matter dripping off implicatingly. Struggling against the frightened mass of chicas dragging her further into the truck, the collar partically strangulating her air supply, she didn't see the ork until he had raised the pistol directly at her.
At which point his eyes rolled up in his head, and he fell over, slumped across the ramp.
Santos and Harper
The ork stormed down the side of the truck, around to the ramp where all the commotion was going on. He skidded to a halt, boots squelching through the mud as he did, when he came across the body of the troll with the caved in skull, brains splattered about like some sort of piñata.
Looking up, he saw a naked Harper, the gory rebar still clutched in her hand, with a blob of brain matter dripping off implicatingly. Struggling against the frightened mass of chicas dragging her further into the truck, the collar partically strangulating her air supply, she didn't see the ork until he had raised the pistol directly at her.
At which point his eyes rolled up in his head, and he fell over, slumped across the ramp.
A satisfied smirk appears on Santos' face as he watches the ork drop, Serves you right Pendejo!
He looks around to see if anyone else has noticed what has just happened by the truck. La Fiera is a gringa. How interesting... I wonder who just bought her?
Santos decides to take a closer look at the truck, the troll and the ork, Maybe there are some keys here for the women's chains...
I nearly forgot about la muñeca on the boat! Coño! pretty naked women can be a real fraggin' distraction. Hope she has not disappeared onto the ship and already left the Pier. Barabás should be able to handle this job...
He concentrates on the image of a sleek dark-brown Rhodesian Ridgeback, Barabás come to me, boy! Attuning his perception to the Astral sphere he watches as his faithful scenthound rushes towards him, Shadow the elven lady and keep me informed of where she goes, he commands the Watcher as he sends a mental link of the muñeca and her associates.
He then cautiously approaches the truck, looking for any signs of more hostiles in the area.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:51 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
<<We've been made.>>
Like hell we have.
A contingency plan popped into Sonora's head as she glanced up and saw the drone dipping closer. She put her own hand to her ear, as if the drone was telling her a secret to her, and only to her - the bodyguards only needed to be so much meat.
That wasn't the true case, but the time for half truths and obfuscation was nearly over. Now it was getting the details right, and she would need to play the part.
Rage came easy to Sonora, both to her joy and dismay. The fury put things into focus, allowing for perfect clarity when it was most needed, but it came at the price of precious time for her beleagured corazon.
Were she better with numbers, she could probably come up with an equation telling her how many beats it cost her to get her blood hot. She wasn't that good, so Sonora simply estimated. That in itself got her pissed.
As the four hombres brought the crates onto the deck, Sonora whirled and pointed an accusing finger where Gabriella was bringing her assault rifle up.
"Mierda!" she yelled, loud enough to get the unwitting stevedores' attention. This is where things got interesting.
"You sold us out to a third party, puta! Tell me why there is an Azzie strike team on the way right now! Did you think you could get paid twice?!"
<<We've been made.>>
Like hell we have.
A contingency plan popped into Sonora's head as she glanced up and saw the drone dipping closer. She put her own hand to her ear, as if the drone was telling her a secret to her, and only to her - the bodyguards only needed to be so much meat.
That wasn't the true case, but the time for half truths and obfuscation was nearly over. Now it was getting the details right, and she would need to play the part.
Rage came easy to Sonora, both to her joy and dismay. The fury put things into focus, allowing for perfect clarity when it was most needed, but it came at the price of precious time for her beleagured corazon.
Were she better with numbers, she could probably come up with an equation telling her how many beats it cost her to get her blood hot. She wasn't that good, so Sonora simply estimated. That in itself got her pissed.
As the four hombres brought the crates onto the deck, Sonora whirled and pointed an accusing finger where Gabriella was bringing her assault rifle up.
"Mierda!" she yelled, loud enough to get the unwitting stevedores' attention. This is where things got interesting.
"You sold us out to a third party, puta! Tell me why there is an Azzie strike team on the way right now! Did you think you could get paid twice?!"
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:52 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Everything happened all at once.
Sonora spun and pointed Gabriella out, implicating her in a vile deceit to everyone else on board. The dark-skinned woman paused, but only for a moment, because that's when automatic gunfire began ripping through the night. El Mono held the trigger back, and almost like magic little holes opened up in her stomach, chest, and face. The woman's body shuddered as the rounds slammed into her, and blood hung in the air like a metallic-tasting mist. She fell backwards, gazing up at a leaden sky with eyes that have already lost their light.
As Gabriella was being shredded, the mounted minigun began whining, the barrels spinning up and preparing to lay into the people on board with rapid fire death. Alex however, launched his code at the rigger inside the ship's node, tearing into his icon by way of introducing spontaneous code faults and subroutine abortions. The loss of command caused the minigun to suddenly swing wide and drop. The rounds exploded from the gun, leaving a bullet trail in the deck that ran menacingly towards Sonora but then averted around her. The barrel raised up long enough in its swing to catch one of the four guards, slicing upwards at an angle that half-decapitated him and sent him falling backwards overboard and splashing into the choppy ocean.
Meanwhile the remaining three guards were now hiding behind the crates. One of them had the brilliant idea to crack them open and start arming themselves, seeing as things were now getting pretty shitty.
---------------
Santos approached the truck, completely unseen, right as the minigun fire was beginning to erupt nearby, quite near their location in the direction of the elven chica he was so interested in.
This din of battle caused the terrified women in the back of the truck to freak out even more. They lurched away from the ramp, jerking Harper off her feet and onto her back, then dragging her across the rough floor of the truck. The pressure from the color cut off her air, and she found herself without a voice with which to plead for them to calm down. It was effectively a noose.
This was the scene that Santos saw as he skulked up to the back of the truck. The ork still took his rest on the ramp, which lead up into a truck full of panicked women. As he looked down both sides of the vehicle, he saw nobody else moving to engage them.
He did, however, hear from the direction of the Bazaar the noises of those who were shouting, alerted of the battle further along Pier 40, and running to engage.
Everything happened all at once.
Sonora spun and pointed Gabriella out, implicating her in a vile deceit to everyone else on board. The dark-skinned woman paused, but only for a moment, because that's when automatic gunfire began ripping through the night. El Mono held the trigger back, and almost like magic little holes opened up in her stomach, chest, and face. The woman's body shuddered as the rounds slammed into her, and blood hung in the air like a metallic-tasting mist. She fell backwards, gazing up at a leaden sky with eyes that have already lost their light.
As Gabriella was being shredded, the mounted minigun began whining, the barrels spinning up and preparing to lay into the people on board with rapid fire death. Alex however, launched his code at the rigger inside the ship's node, tearing into his icon by way of introducing spontaneous code faults and subroutine abortions. The loss of command caused the minigun to suddenly swing wide and drop. The rounds exploded from the gun, leaving a bullet trail in the deck that ran menacingly towards Sonora but then averted around her. The barrel raised up long enough in its swing to catch one of the four guards, slicing upwards at an angle that half-decapitated him and sent him falling backwards overboard and splashing into the choppy ocean.
Meanwhile the remaining three guards were now hiding behind the crates. One of them had the brilliant idea to crack them open and start arming themselves, seeing as things were now getting pretty shitty.
---------------
Santos approached the truck, completely unseen, right as the minigun fire was beginning to erupt nearby, quite near their location in the direction of the elven chica he was so interested in.
This din of battle caused the terrified women in the back of the truck to freak out even more. They lurched away from the ramp, jerking Harper off her feet and onto her back, then dragging her across the rough floor of the truck. The pressure from the color cut off her air, and she found herself without a voice with which to plead for them to calm down. It was effectively a noose.
This was the scene that Santos saw as he skulked up to the back of the truck. The ork still took his rest on the ramp, which lead up into a truck full of panicked women. As he looked down both sides of the vehicle, he saw nobody else moving to engage them.
He did, however, hear from the direction of the Bazaar the noises of those who were shouting, alerted of the battle further along Pier 40, and running to engage.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:52 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
With everything going so fast, Smiley had trouble keeping up even with his jacked up reflexes. After hearing Gabriella behind him come down with a nasty case of death courtesy of El Mono, he looked up to the mounted minigun to see that not only had the guy behind it apparently walked off while Smiley was plotting, but the damn thing was being moved by remote! The fuck? Did I hallucinate that fucker being there or what? Acting on instinct he dashed ahead and did a feet-first baseball slide under the arc of the minigun before it started firing upon the deck.
Rolling over, he could see three guards start digging through the crates to arm themselves after one of their friends lost face in the worst possible way. Lining up the smartlinked sights of his AA-16, Smiley pulled the trigger and sent a 3-round burst of 12-gauge buckshot at one of the goons, then one more at a different goon. While the aim seemed steady upon pulling the trigger, the one thing he didn't expect was how much more earsplittingly LOUD the unique gasvent on his shotgun made each individiual shot compared to his old SPAS-22, which was made considerably worse by the enhanced hearing equipment he wore that didn't have a dampener installed. Immediately after firing Smiley groaned painfully as he took a hand off his shotgun to yank the headset off his ears.
With everything going so fast, Smiley had trouble keeping up even with his jacked up reflexes. After hearing Gabriella behind him come down with a nasty case of death courtesy of El Mono, he looked up to the mounted minigun to see that not only had the guy behind it apparently walked off while Smiley was plotting, but the damn thing was being moved by remote! The fuck? Did I hallucinate that fucker being there or what? Acting on instinct he dashed ahead and did a feet-first baseball slide under the arc of the minigun before it started firing upon the deck.
Rolling over, he could see three guards start digging through the crates to arm themselves after one of their friends lost face in the worst possible way. Lining up the smartlinked sights of his AA-16, Smiley pulled the trigger and sent a 3-round burst of 12-gauge buckshot at one of the goons, then one more at a different goon. While the aim seemed steady upon pulling the trigger, the one thing he didn't expect was how much more earsplittingly LOUD the unique gasvent on his shotgun made each individiual shot compared to his old SPAS-22, which was made considerably worse by the enhanced hearing equipment he wore that didn't have a dampener installed. Immediately after firing Smiley groaned painfully as he took a hand off his shotgun to yank the headset off his ears.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:52 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Harper fell backwards, the collar biting around her neck. The floor of the truck was rough on her skin; the razor girl could feel layers of dried grime rubbing off onto her back and the backs of her legs. She didn’t even see Santos as he walked about the truck and continued to thrash around, expecting the ork to shoot her until she finally catching a glimpse his slumped form out of the corner of her eye.
Shit shit shit. Don’t tell me I’m gonna get killed by these stupid, panicky bitches after all of this. As her air supply cut off, Harper began to panic herself. The collar and chain continued wrenching her back. Time without fresh oxygen began to make itself known, and little black spots shimmered into existence at the edges of Harper’s vision. Either those girls were going to have to calm down soon, or someone was going to have to give Harper a hand. Otherwise, she was going to be an even more serious situation. What a stupid way to go. If Zero could see her now, she'd be so disappointed.
Harper fell backwards, the collar biting around her neck. The floor of the truck was rough on her skin; the razor girl could feel layers of dried grime rubbing off onto her back and the backs of her legs. She didn’t even see Santos as he walked about the truck and continued to thrash around, expecting the ork to shoot her until she finally catching a glimpse his slumped form out of the corner of her eye.
Shit shit shit. Don’t tell me I’m gonna get killed by these stupid, panicky bitches after all of this. As her air supply cut off, Harper began to panic herself. The collar and chain continued wrenching her back. Time without fresh oxygen began to make itself known, and little black spots shimmered into existence at the edges of Harper’s vision. Either those girls were going to have to calm down soon, or someone was going to have to give Harper a hand. Otherwise, she was going to be an even more serious situation. What a stupid way to go. If Zero could see her now, she'd be so disappointed.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:52 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Santos is momentarily distracted by the sound of machine gunfire, but then sees the pretty gringa writhing on the truck bed and gasping for air, and he immediately springs into action. He sends a mental comand to Surri to drop the spells cast on him, then he runs up the ramp yelling in the most commanding and authoritative voice he can convey, "Calmense niñas! Todo esta bien! Yo no voy a hacerles daño, pero tienen que hacer caso y caminar hacia mi. (Calm down girls! Everything is going to be OK! I will not hurt you, but you need to do as I say and walk towards me.)"
He then grabs a hold of the chain pulling on the gringa's neck, and tries and force some slack by pulling firmly on the girls to walk towards the front of the truck. He gives them his most honest and calming smile, while he pulls on the chain, and uses his other hand to show them that he is unarmed and just needs them to calm down. "Asi es... tranquilas... yo no les voy a hacer daño... (That's it... calm down... I will not harm you...)"
Santos is momentarily distracted by the sound of machine gunfire, but then sees the pretty gringa writhing on the truck bed and gasping for air, and he immediately springs into action. He sends a mental comand to Surri to drop the spells cast on him, then he runs up the ramp yelling in the most commanding and authoritative voice he can convey, "Calmense niñas! Todo esta bien! Yo no voy a hacerles daño, pero tienen que hacer caso y caminar hacia mi. (Calm down girls! Everything is going to be OK! I will not hurt you, but you need to do as I say and walk towards me.)"
He then grabs a hold of the chain pulling on the gringa's neck, and tries and force some slack by pulling firmly on the girls to walk towards the front of the truck. He gives them his most honest and calming smile, while he pulls on the chain, and uses his other hand to show them that he is unarmed and just needs them to calm down. "Asi es... tranquilas... yo no les voy a hacer daño... (That's it... calm down... I will not harm you...)"
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:52 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
As if thematically appropriate, time slowed to a crawl the moment the first spark of lead ripped through Gabriella. Dark eyes already looked skyward in her last moments, as if she prayed to the angels of Caracas for salvation. Sonora could see the stark path laid before the woman as Gabriella spun and fell to the ground.
It was a future history as terrible as her last moments. Rage and sex were all the woman had, using her wiles to ensure the boat stayed together for one, maybe two more voyages before it was boarded by pirates and the meager crew overwhelmed. She died there, tied to the bed she and the pilot shared wearing nothing but shame and regret as her life was choked out of her very eyes after the crew had their way with her.
Another path had an end with an AZT naval destroyer, ending in much the same way. Each path Sonora could see ended the same - in blood and gore. Knifed in a Miami bar. Immolated Amazonian forces near Rio. Pulled into the deep with the Leviathan by an Awakened Leviathan - a path that cropped up often; cruel proof of Fate's sense of humor.
The burst of noise and light that ended Gabriella's spark on a Caracas pier was perhaps the most merciful of all paths, though Sonora reasoned that she may have a personal bias.
Glittering brass started to fall on pavement and on deck as the heavy-caliber autocannon opened up, the stattaco beat making Sonora's teeth shake. She could almost make out every round as it spit out of the barrel, working its way closer and closer.
Sonora was finding that these moments were allowing a certain clarity of mind for her. As the cannon's firing arc drew closer, she did what one tended to do in firefights. She grabbed Alex and dropped to the deck, protecting the Matrix magician with her own body as the rounds chewed up the deck around them both.
Okay, so it wasn't what everyone would tend to do in a firefight.
The heavy beat of the autocannon was joined by the bass thump of a shotgun on fully automatic fire. She knew the hombres carrying the crates didn't have that kind of firepower, so it could only be Smiley clearing the deck.
Sonora was content to let the boys do their grisly work. All she had was her aptly-named Manhunter, and she let the gunmetal fill her hand as she covered the dock. Mono would be diving onto the boat soon, and it sounded like there were reinforcements on the way.
As if thematically appropriate, time slowed to a crawl the moment the first spark of lead ripped through Gabriella. Dark eyes already looked skyward in her last moments, as if she prayed to the angels of Caracas for salvation. Sonora could see the stark path laid before the woman as Gabriella spun and fell to the ground.
It was a future history as terrible as her last moments. Rage and sex were all the woman had, using her wiles to ensure the boat stayed together for one, maybe two more voyages before it was boarded by pirates and the meager crew overwhelmed. She died there, tied to the bed she and the pilot shared wearing nothing but shame and regret as her life was choked out of her very eyes after the crew had their way with her.
Another path had an end with an AZT naval destroyer, ending in much the same way. Each path Sonora could see ended the same - in blood and gore. Knifed in a Miami bar. Immolated Amazonian forces near Rio. Pulled into the deep with the Leviathan by an Awakened Leviathan - a path that cropped up often; cruel proof of Fate's sense of humor.
The burst of noise and light that ended Gabriella's spark on a Caracas pier was perhaps the most merciful of all paths, though Sonora reasoned that she may have a personal bias.
Glittering brass started to fall on pavement and on deck as the heavy-caliber autocannon opened up, the stattaco beat making Sonora's teeth shake. She could almost make out every round as it spit out of the barrel, working its way closer and closer.
Sonora was finding that these moments were allowing a certain clarity of mind for her. As the cannon's firing arc drew closer, she did what one tended to do in firefights. She grabbed Alex and dropped to the deck, protecting the Matrix magician with her own body as the rounds chewed up the deck around them both.
Okay, so it wasn't what everyone would tend to do in a firefight.
The heavy beat of the autocannon was joined by the bass thump of a shotgun on fully automatic fire. She knew the hombres carrying the crates didn't have that kind of firepower, so it could only be Smiley clearing the deck.
Sonora was content to let the boys do their grisly work. All she had was her aptly-named Manhunter, and she let the gunmetal fill her hand as she covered the dock. Mono would be diving onto the boat soon, and it sounded like there were reinforcements on the way.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:52 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Smiley brought his auto-shotgun to bear on the guards near the weapons cache. Any temporary bonds shared with these men in their mutual hatred of the now dead Gabriella was dispelled once they found themselves on the wrong side of his gun's barrel. Such is life in Caracas, and indeed, all over the world. The first man, unable to find cover in time, found himself shredded by the shot peppering him. A multitude of tiny holes sprouted up all over his body, squirting blood all over the half empty crate of weapons. The man beside him, reaching for the crate, took a blast to the chest, the other two effectively and raggedly amputating his arm below the shoulder. Before he fell away out of sight behind the crates, his screams ripped the night into tatters and blood sprayed out in pulsating gushes, some of it painting Sonora from head to toe like a lawn sprinkler.
The group of men skulking from the east, the ones skulking from cover to cover and clad entirely in black, paused once they heard the eruptions of Smiley's ridiculously loud AA-16. These shots also gave his aerial drone permission to start suppressing the area liberally. Gunfire split the night with a rapid-fire rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat, which caused the group to return fire, strafing out from their cover as they attempted to take out the cause of the suppression, hidden away in the dense fog and only revealed by the light of the gunfire.
Figuring that they're suddenly being fired upon, the men to the west of the Leviathan, those wearing Bolivar '49 colors, began firing back. Shouts split the night as the area all along the Pier around the Leviathan turned into a firefight. All parties involved found it exacerbated when armed vultures and opportunists from the Bazaar began rushing up, seeking to murder those they can and loot the bodies later. On this night, chaos came to roost on Pier 40.
------------
Alex
Alex's cyberattack on the Puck, the rigger's, icon was enough to distract him and disrupt his control of the minigun turret on deck. Alex was able to simultaneously see the man in the turret snarling as he pressed a hand to the side of his hand in concentration. Meanwhile, the icon in the Leviathan's node, suddenly aware that it was being assaulted from within, located Alex's living persona. Rising up out of the seat, the rigger's vaguely humanoid icon withdrew a sword and lunched for Alex's living persona, trying to bury it inside of his icon.
((Being attacked, need to roll Response+Firewall for Defense))
------------
Santos and Harper
Santos's efforts at calming the frightened gaggle of women had immediate and obvious effects. Despite the fact this man approached with obvious magic, his raw Charisma and his seeming trustworthiness, on top of the fact he was sparing them an unenviable destiny, caused them to immediately suck up their fears and stand still. Oh they still huddled near each other, but now they weren't in constant retreat. The chain and collar that was previously taut and strangulating Harper was now slack, and she had the opportunity to breathe air, precious air, once more.
Smiley brought his auto-shotgun to bear on the guards near the weapons cache. Any temporary bonds shared with these men in their mutual hatred of the now dead Gabriella was dispelled once they found themselves on the wrong side of his gun's barrel. Such is life in Caracas, and indeed, all over the world. The first man, unable to find cover in time, found himself shredded by the shot peppering him. A multitude of tiny holes sprouted up all over his body, squirting blood all over the half empty crate of weapons. The man beside him, reaching for the crate, took a blast to the chest, the other two effectively and raggedly amputating his arm below the shoulder. Before he fell away out of sight behind the crates, his screams ripped the night into tatters and blood sprayed out in pulsating gushes, some of it painting Sonora from head to toe like a lawn sprinkler.
The group of men skulking from the east, the ones skulking from cover to cover and clad entirely in black, paused once they heard the eruptions of Smiley's ridiculously loud AA-16. These shots also gave his aerial drone permission to start suppressing the area liberally. Gunfire split the night with a rapid-fire rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat, which caused the group to return fire, strafing out from their cover as they attempted to take out the cause of the suppression, hidden away in the dense fog and only revealed by the light of the gunfire.
Figuring that they're suddenly being fired upon, the men to the west of the Leviathan, those wearing Bolivar '49 colors, began firing back. Shouts split the night as the area all along the Pier around the Leviathan turned into a firefight. All parties involved found it exacerbated when armed vultures and opportunists from the Bazaar began rushing up, seeking to murder those they can and loot the bodies later. On this night, chaos came to roost on Pier 40.
------------
Alex
Alex's cyberattack on the Puck, the rigger's, icon was enough to distract him and disrupt his control of the minigun turret on deck. Alex was able to simultaneously see the man in the turret snarling as he pressed a hand to the side of his hand in concentration. Meanwhile, the icon in the Leviathan's node, suddenly aware that it was being assaulted from within, located Alex's living persona. Rising up out of the seat, the rigger's vaguely humanoid icon withdrew a sword and lunched for Alex's living persona, trying to bury it inside of his icon.
((Being attacked, need to roll Response+Firewall for Defense))
------------
Santos and Harper
Santos's efforts at calming the frightened gaggle of women had immediate and obvious effects. Despite the fact this man approached with obvious magic, his raw Charisma and his seeming trustworthiness, on top of the fact he was sparing them an unenviable destiny, caused them to immediately suck up their fears and stand still. Oh they still huddled near each other, but now they weren't in constant retreat. The chain and collar that was previously taut and strangulating Harper was now slack, and she had the opportunity to breathe air, precious air, once more.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:52 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
With his ears still ringing, Smiley braced the shotgun against his shoulder as he mentally switched the firing mode to full-auto via smartlink. Time was running out for this, they needed to hurry, yet they couldn't have enough time if they were moving at the speed of light; if the happy people making a bee-line for the boat didn't get them, the oncoming Azzie fleet just might when they make their way out.
After taking a half-moment to aim for the last goon hiding behind the crates, he lets loose a controlled full-auto burst, but despite his best efforts his grip is shakey and most of the burst jumps around too much. Furthering his problems at the moment, he notices a tiny bit of movement out the corner of his eyes and turns his head slightly to see that the guy manning the minigun never disapeared in the first place, and now he's standing right above a prone Smiley...
With his ears still ringing, Smiley braced the shotgun against his shoulder as he mentally switched the firing mode to full-auto via smartlink. Time was running out for this, they needed to hurry, yet they couldn't have enough time if they were moving at the speed of light; if the happy people making a bee-line for the boat didn't get them, the oncoming Azzie fleet just might when they make their way out.
After taking a half-moment to aim for the last goon hiding behind the crates, he lets loose a controlled full-auto burst, but despite his best efforts his grip is shakey and most of the burst jumps around too much. Furthering his problems at the moment, he notices a tiny bit of movement out the corner of his eyes and turns his head slightly to see that the guy manning the minigun never disapeared in the first place, and now he's standing right above a prone Smiley...
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:52 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Santos is barely able to contain his surprise at having calmed down all the women, when the world erupts into crazy maelstorm of machine gunfire, the loud explosions of automatic shotgun fire and the shouts of dirty vultures cirrcling around the carcasses of the dead, Mierda, time to get out of here
He helps the gringa to her feet, "Yu now hou tu drive truck?" he asks in broken English. "Yu look keys on trog and ork for chain. I start truck, get us out of here."
Santos will run around from the back to the truck cabin and look to see if it's started and/or if the key are in the ignition. He hopes Barabas is following the elf chica, and sends him a mental request, Barabas, have you found the elf chica?
Santos is barely able to contain his surprise at having calmed down all the women, when the world erupts into crazy maelstorm of machine gunfire, the loud explosions of automatic shotgun fire and the shouts of dirty vultures cirrcling around the carcasses of the dead, Mierda, time to get out of here
He helps the gringa to her feet, "Yu now hou tu drive truck?" he asks in broken English. "Yu look keys on trog and ork for chain. I start truck, get us out of here."
Santos will run around from the back to the truck cabin and look to see if it's started and/or if the key are in the ignition. He hopes Barabas is following the elf chica, and sends him a mental request, Barabas, have you found the elf chica?
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:52 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
The world was red.
Sonora fought the impulse to vomit as a dying man ruined her clothing, spattering her with the warmth of life. The deck was already nearly cleared away, Smiley's rotodrone she had christened The Smiling Jackass(not vocally...yet) dancing in the fog. She could only track it by the sparks of rounds against its metal skin, and the return flash of the muzzle as it made a bad night for Pier 40 even worse.
Smiley himself was not in the greatest position. While he wasn't in the firing arc of the autocannon that Puck and Alex were fighting over, the pilot was in smacking distance of the rigger with the autoshotgun.
Sonora, against better judgement, took careful aim with her Colt. The target looked to be behind ballistics glass, but looks weren't everything. She took a careful look at him, searching for a weak spot, an opening - even a distraction to pull his attention away from the Matrix fight for just one second - which should be just what Alex needs to end it.
There. She squeezed the trigger, the heavy pistol bucking once in her hand.
The world was red.
Sonora fought the impulse to vomit as a dying man ruined her clothing, spattering her with the warmth of life. The deck was already nearly cleared away, Smiley's rotodrone she had christened The Smiling Jackass(not vocally...yet) dancing in the fog. She could only track it by the sparks of rounds against its metal skin, and the return flash of the muzzle as it made a bad night for Pier 40 even worse.
Smiley himself was not in the greatest position. While he wasn't in the firing arc of the autocannon that Puck and Alex were fighting over, the pilot was in smacking distance of the rigger with the autoshotgun.
Sonora, against better judgement, took careful aim with her Colt. The target looked to be behind ballistics glass, but looks weren't everything. She took a careful look at him, searching for a weak spot, an opening - even a distraction to pull his attention away from the Matrix fight for just one second - which should be just what Alex needs to end it.
There. She squeezed the trigger, the heavy pistol bucking once in her hand.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:52 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Harper coughs perhaps a half-dozen times, peering up blankly at the ceiling of the truck as her lungs fill once again with air. Breathe in. Breathe out. You’re alright, Harper. She felt someone help her to her feet, her legs shaking for perhaps a second before the razor girl began to regain her composure. Sometimes it doesn’t matter who you are or what you’ve done. The prospect of a very real, and perhaps very immediate death by asphyxiation can shake you up.
She smeared the sweat off of her face with a bloody hand and looks Santos up and down. A kid, by the looks of it. Blinged out. Some kind of mojo-slinger, by the looks of what happened to the ork. Could she trust him? Hell, she'd just met him. But, the razor girl didn't have anyone to turn to in this country. She'd just have to see where it went, and take care of any problems as they happened until she got a better grasp on just what the hell was going on. Harper stared at the mage as he spoke to her, obviously confused judging by her facial expressions. Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head before replying to him in rapidfire, if heavily accented Spanish,
“Shit, amigo. I don’t know what the hell you’re saying. You speak Spanish or what?” before she starts ambling slowly out of the truck to search the bodies of the ork and troll for anything valuable. Hopefully they kept a couple of credsticks on them, or something. Harper paused briefly, listening to the sounds of gunfire in the distance.
“I hope you can drive. I’ve done it all right a few times when my ol’ pal needed someone to watch the wheel. But, I flunked my matrix license exam three times,” she yelled back to the mage, mussing her hair as she starts searching the bodies.
Harper coughs perhaps a half-dozen times, peering up blankly at the ceiling of the truck as her lungs fill once again with air. Breathe in. Breathe out. You’re alright, Harper. She felt someone help her to her feet, her legs shaking for perhaps a second before the razor girl began to regain her composure. Sometimes it doesn’t matter who you are or what you’ve done. The prospect of a very real, and perhaps very immediate death by asphyxiation can shake you up.
She smeared the sweat off of her face with a bloody hand and looks Santos up and down. A kid, by the looks of it. Blinged out. Some kind of mojo-slinger, by the looks of what happened to the ork. Could she trust him? Hell, she'd just met him. But, the razor girl didn't have anyone to turn to in this country. She'd just have to see where it went, and take care of any problems as they happened until she got a better grasp on just what the hell was going on. Harper stared at the mage as he spoke to her, obviously confused judging by her facial expressions. Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head before replying to him in rapidfire, if heavily accented Spanish,
“Shit, amigo. I don’t know what the hell you’re saying. You speak Spanish or what?” before she starts ambling slowly out of the truck to search the bodies of the ork and troll for anything valuable. Hopefully they kept a couple of credsticks on them, or something. Harper paused briefly, listening to the sounds of gunfire in the distance.
“I hope you can drive. I’ve done it all right a few times when my ol’ pal needed someone to watch the wheel. But, I flunked my matrix license exam three times,” she yelled back to the mage, mussing her hair as she starts searching the bodies.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:53 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Santos
The magician's view of the naked gringa in front of him faded as he reached out mentally for his Watcher. The physical world dropped out of existance and his sensorium was hijacked by the impressions sent to him telepathically by Barabas.
Being a creature of pure mana and astral energies, Santos only saw what he would were he there astrally: auras, emotive impressions, astral shadows and the dizzying swirls of mana.
And yet from how Barabas had centered one aura in particular in his psychic panorama, Santos knew easily that this was the elven chica that he'd been so compelled to rendevous with by way of those visions.
Of course, the visions didn't include the cloying emotions of tension, raw fear and agony hanging in the astral environment. The entire area reeked of these things, and it was like breathing in caustic fumes while chugging sewage to be in the area, even by proxie through a Watcher's "eyes." The cries of combat were heard all around, and now and again a piercing spike of emotion would shred the astral environment as a life force was snuffed out by the violence going on.
Such were the emotional vibes in the area that the Watcher was doing his best to keep from unravelling from the psychoactive background charge in the area. Indeed, being shown these things as he was, Santos felt almost as if it were he that was being assaulted, the buildup of mana trying to pick his aura apart thread by thread until it unravelled.
Unable to maintain its link to his master, Barabas dropped the connection, and Santos was dumped ungracefully back into his own mind, once again staring at Harper while she looted bodies.
-------------
Harper
Harper dug through the troll's corpse and patted down the ork while he napped in an effort to find anything useful. Aside from the ork's gun and a knife hanging off the troll's hip, she didn't find much in the way of weapons. They each had cheap, prepaid commlinks, useful for maintaining throwaway, one-time communication channels, but nothing any more serious than that.
Neither of them had a spare change of clothes in their back pockets exactly. But the coat that the troll was wearing would wrap her up easily. It would, of course, be rather long in the arms and be somewhat baggy on her, but she could at least be covered -- and even better, armored.
---------------
Smiley
Smiley let his autoshotgun thunder in the night, and it sounded almost like a natural disaster landing right on top of everyone around the Pier. He had to brace himself in order to keep the shotgun from sending him staggering backwards, his unsteadiness giving the last guard near the weapons time to duck down and keep from being blown away into the next world.
Right as the full auto spray died down, the lucky remaining guard popped back up with a shiny, chromed-out new assault rifle in his hands, and he took aim at Smiley, using the lull in combat to return fire of his own.
((Defend however you will, Smiley: Reaction or Full Defense, either way.))
---------------
Sonora
Sonora was oblivious to all of this other combat going on, since she decided to focus on Puck. Taking her time, she lined up a careful shot, watching closely for some sort of opening, some sort of weakness she could exploit.
And then there it was. When the turret swivelled just right, a split second occured where if she were just quick and lucky enough, she could squeeze a bullet through an opening in the bullet-proof defensive panel and right into an organ. The world slowed at that moment, as if moving through amber as it hardened, she herself finding raising her arm for the shot almost impossible in its languid pace. Exercising enough force in her finger to pull the trigger back felt as if it were taking aeons.
And then she blinked, feeling as though she were being snapped back from the future back into the present by way of some sort of cosmic rubber band. The existential shock of being displaced from a different point in time numbed her and caused a spiking jolt of pain to slice through her brain.
And then, there it was... The turret swivelled just right, and there was an opening.
She fired.
With a yelp, Puck tumbled out of the seat, blood splashing up inside to coat the transparent bullet shield, obfuscating vision through to the other side.
Moments later, she saw him crawling out from behind the turret on his back, both hands covered with his own blood as he tried to staunch bleeding from his lower abdomen. The man was crying out, screaming in fact, and obviously in intense pain.
Santos
The magician's view of the naked gringa in front of him faded as he reached out mentally for his Watcher. The physical world dropped out of existance and his sensorium was hijacked by the impressions sent to him telepathically by Barabas.
Being a creature of pure mana and astral energies, Santos only saw what he would were he there astrally: auras, emotive impressions, astral shadows and the dizzying swirls of mana.
And yet from how Barabas had centered one aura in particular in his psychic panorama, Santos knew easily that this was the elven chica that he'd been so compelled to rendevous with by way of those visions.
Of course, the visions didn't include the cloying emotions of tension, raw fear and agony hanging in the astral environment. The entire area reeked of these things, and it was like breathing in caustic fumes while chugging sewage to be in the area, even by proxie through a Watcher's "eyes." The cries of combat were heard all around, and now and again a piercing spike of emotion would shred the astral environment as a life force was snuffed out by the violence going on.
Such were the emotional vibes in the area that the Watcher was doing his best to keep from unravelling from the psychoactive background charge in the area. Indeed, being shown these things as he was, Santos felt almost as if it were he that was being assaulted, the buildup of mana trying to pick his aura apart thread by thread until it unravelled.
Unable to maintain its link to his master, Barabas dropped the connection, and Santos was dumped ungracefully back into his own mind, once again staring at Harper while she looted bodies.
-------------
Harper
Harper dug through the troll's corpse and patted down the ork while he napped in an effort to find anything useful. Aside from the ork's gun and a knife hanging off the troll's hip, she didn't find much in the way of weapons. They each had cheap, prepaid commlinks, useful for maintaining throwaway, one-time communication channels, but nothing any more serious than that.
Neither of them had a spare change of clothes in their back pockets exactly. But the coat that the troll was wearing would wrap her up easily. It would, of course, be rather long in the arms and be somewhat baggy on her, but she could at least be covered -- and even better, armored.
---------------
Smiley
Smiley let his autoshotgun thunder in the night, and it sounded almost like a natural disaster landing right on top of everyone around the Pier. He had to brace himself in order to keep the shotgun from sending him staggering backwards, his unsteadiness giving the last guard near the weapons time to duck down and keep from being blown away into the next world.
Right as the full auto spray died down, the lucky remaining guard popped back up with a shiny, chromed-out new assault rifle in his hands, and he took aim at Smiley, using the lull in combat to return fire of his own.
((Defend however you will, Smiley: Reaction or Full Defense, either way.))
---------------
Sonora
Sonora was oblivious to all of this other combat going on, since she decided to focus on Puck. Taking her time, she lined up a careful shot, watching closely for some sort of opening, some sort of weakness she could exploit.
And then there it was. When the turret swivelled just right, a split second occured where if she were just quick and lucky enough, she could squeeze a bullet through an opening in the bullet-proof defensive panel and right into an organ. The world slowed at that moment, as if moving through amber as it hardened, she herself finding raising her arm for the shot almost impossible in its languid pace. Exercising enough force in her finger to pull the trigger back felt as if it were taking aeons.
And then she blinked, feeling as though she were being snapped back from the future back into the present by way of some sort of cosmic rubber band. The existential shock of being displaced from a different point in time numbed her and caused a spiking jolt of pain to slice through her brain.
And then, there it was... The turret swivelled just right, and there was an opening.
She fired.
With a yelp, Puck tumbled out of the seat, blood splashing up inside to coat the transparent bullet shield, obfuscating vision through to the other side.
Moments later, she saw him crawling out from behind the turret on his back, both hands covered with his own blood as he tried to staunch bleeding from his lower abdomen. The man was crying out, screaming in fact, and obviously in intense pain.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:53 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
The rapid beat of an assault rifle turned Sonora's attention away from the writhing man now on the ground away from the deck gun, and towards the not-yet-writhing man with the assault rifle firing at Smiley. At least, she was reasonably sure it was Smiley, her head was pounding as if she had already been shot but she had no time to check for a wound.
The red dot of Sonora's laser sight turned to rest on the center mass of the man with the assualt rifle. There was a blaring in her ears that seemed distant, almost tinny. It was little surprise, she surmised, since there was so much gunfire in such a tight schedule - but the sound itself was confusing. What was it?
She watched for the right moment, and the Manhunter bucked in her hand once more.
The rapid beat of an assault rifle turned Sonora's attention away from the writhing man now on the ground away from the deck gun, and towards the not-yet-writhing man with the assault rifle firing at Smiley. At least, she was reasonably sure it was Smiley, her head was pounding as if she had already been shot but she had no time to check for a wound.
The red dot of Sonora's laser sight turned to rest on the center mass of the man with the assualt rifle. There was a blaring in her ears that seemed distant, almost tinny. It was little surprise, she surmised, since there was so much gunfire in such a tight schedule - but the sound itself was confusing. What was it?
She watched for the right moment, and the Manhunter bucked in her hand once more.
[Thursday, November 19, 2072, 09:53 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Harper began humming a little jingle to herself as she stripped the troll down of anything that could have been useful. The coat went first. It slid over the young woman’s shoulders in a way that almost engulfed her. She probably looked like a child, like a little girl playing dress-up with mommy's clothes. If mommy was a huge thug of a troll, that is. Dissatisfied with the fit of the coat, she flapped her arms experimentally a few times before cutting at the sleeves with her hand razors. Shit. She couldn’t fight with shit covering her hands. Even if the coat reached her ankles, it didn’t matter. A girl needed her hands to work. Maybe she'd get lucky enough to bum some nuyen off of the mage over there to get some armor that actually fit.
The knife and gun were deposited in the coat pockets in closest proximity to Harper’s reach. Although, it was a bit of a stretch. The street sam left the rest of the troll’s possessions strewn haphazardly around his corpse, like the contents of a messy child’s toybox. Unfortunately, there were no keys to be found. Maybe whatshisface over there had something good? Harper moved her attention to the ork, digging through his pockets and throwing his things left and right.
Harper began humming a little jingle to herself as she stripped the troll down of anything that could have been useful. The coat went first. It slid over the young woman’s shoulders in a way that almost engulfed her. She probably looked like a child, like a little girl playing dress-up with mommy's clothes. If mommy was a huge thug of a troll, that is. Dissatisfied with the fit of the coat, she flapped her arms experimentally a few times before cutting at the sleeves with her hand razors. Shit. She couldn’t fight with shit covering her hands. Even if the coat reached her ankles, it didn’t matter. A girl needed her hands to work. Maybe she'd get lucky enough to bum some nuyen off of the mage over there to get some armor that actually fit.
The knife and gun were deposited in the coat pockets in closest proximity to Harper’s reach. Although, it was a bit of a stretch. The street sam left the rest of the troll’s possessions strewn haphazardly around his corpse, like the contents of a messy child’s toybox. Unfortunately, there were no keys to be found. Maybe whatshisface over there had something good? Harper moved her attention to the ork, digging through his pockets and throwing his things left and right.
[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:53 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Santos breaks out of his reverie, Mierda the mana warps around the Pier must have been too strong for Barabas; Frag! I cannot lose the elf chica...
He looks back at the gringa, shrugs his shoulders and shouts back to her, "Gringa, sorry but you are on your own from here. Take care of the hysterical naked chiquillas, will you? I came down here looking for someone and need to get back to that. Maybe our paths will meet again some other time."
With that he heads towards the Pier. As he moves he concentrates on pulling strands of mana to cloak himself, and vanishes into thin air... The strain of pulling the strands of mana around him is too strong for him to shrug off, and blood trickles down his nose.
Santos breaks out of his reverie, Mierda the mana warps around the Pier must have been too strong for Barabas; Frag! I cannot lose the elf chica...
He looks back at the gringa, shrugs his shoulders and shouts back to her, "Gringa, sorry but you are on your own from here. Take care of the hysterical naked chiquillas, will you? I came down here looking for someone and need to get back to that. Maybe our paths will meet again some other time."
With that he heads towards the Pier. As he moves he concentrates on pulling strands of mana to cloak himself, and vanishes into thin air... The strain of pulling the strands of mana around him is too strong for him to shrug off, and blood trickles down his nose.
[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:55 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
The guard firing at Smiley followed him with an extended pull of the trigger. Automatic fire discharged in a prolonged stacatto, every round just barely managing to miss Smiley as he ran for and dived behind cover - a fiberglass raft for use in case of catastrophic emergency.
Distracted as the guard was in seeking to shoot Smiley down, he had no chance to notice the little red point of light appear on his chest. By the time he'd turned to regard Sonora, now obviously holding a gun towards him, he was too late. The revolver bucked painfully in Sonora's careful grasp, and the round hit the guard dead in the chest. A small puff of red mist indicated that the bullet had, indeed, found purchase even through his armored vest. It was a bit low for some of the juicier vitals, however. The man fell back behind the crates, the assault rifle tumbling from his hands to clatter on deck.
About this time, El Mono came vaulting out from the night, appearing suddenly out of the mist and rolling to his feet. Panting, with blood streaming out of both corners of his mouth, he turned quickly and began firing over the side of the ship, letting his own assault rifle pepper whatever was obscured by the mist down on the Pier.
Though largely fogged, this was the scene that Santos arrived to see - The Leviathan still tied to deck, with a bloody firefight and melee down on the Pier. There were two, no, three sides... maybe four. It was complete bedlam, with allegiances and sides changing almost by the second. Men in black clad covert-ops style armor fought with gangers from Bolivar '49, both groups in turn trying to hold off the rabble of opportunistic murderers and vultures trying to overtake them AND storm the Leviathan - after all, if whatever is on deck is worth all this slaughter, SURELY it's worth hijacking!
An earth-shattering, resounding BOOM resonated in the distance, shockwaves spreading across the water from the warships surrounding the harbor. A loud, reedy whistle needled the night, its pitch descending by the second, until a large fountain of water erupted in the harbor and shot up into the air like a spontaneous aquatic volcano.
In short, it was the worst breakdown of order that Pier 40 had seen in at least two weeks.
The guard firing at Smiley followed him with an extended pull of the trigger. Automatic fire discharged in a prolonged stacatto, every round just barely managing to miss Smiley as he ran for and dived behind cover - a fiberglass raft for use in case of catastrophic emergency.
Distracted as the guard was in seeking to shoot Smiley down, he had no chance to notice the little red point of light appear on his chest. By the time he'd turned to regard Sonora, now obviously holding a gun towards him, he was too late. The revolver bucked painfully in Sonora's careful grasp, and the round hit the guard dead in the chest. A small puff of red mist indicated that the bullet had, indeed, found purchase even through his armored vest. It was a bit low for some of the juicier vitals, however. The man fell back behind the crates, the assault rifle tumbling from his hands to clatter on deck.
About this time, El Mono came vaulting out from the night, appearing suddenly out of the mist and rolling to his feet. Panting, with blood streaming out of both corners of his mouth, he turned quickly and began firing over the side of the ship, letting his own assault rifle pepper whatever was obscured by the mist down on the Pier.
Though largely fogged, this was the scene that Santos arrived to see - The Leviathan still tied to deck, with a bloody firefight and melee down on the Pier. There were two, no, three sides... maybe four. It was complete bedlam, with allegiances and sides changing almost by the second. Men in black clad covert-ops style armor fought with gangers from Bolivar '49, both groups in turn trying to hold off the rabble of opportunistic murderers and vultures trying to overtake them AND storm the Leviathan - after all, if whatever is on deck is worth all this slaughter, SURELY it's worth hijacking!
An earth-shattering, resounding BOOM resonated in the distance, shockwaves spreading across the water from the warships surrounding the harbor. A loud, reedy whistle needled the night, its pitch descending by the second, until a large fountain of water erupted in the harbor and shot up into the air like a spontaneous aquatic volcano.
In short, it was the worst breakdown of order that Pier 40 had seen in at least two weeks.
[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:55 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Santos ducks behind the closest cover he finds, Coño 'e su madre! What the hell is the elf chica dragging me into?!?
While he hides behind cover, Santos takes his time scanning the battlefield looking for the elf chica, and tries to make sense of the chaos before him.
The smell of cordite, blood and guts is a powerful repellent, warning him to stay away and head for the hills... This is just the first battle in a war that is going to tear this fraggin' city to pieces, the dead tonight are the scum-sucking bottom feeders of Caracas... maybe they deserve to die... but what about tomorrow? How many Rodrigo's will there be crawling under Azzie boots? But, why should I care? Let them all kill each other... I've already done my part tonight; the Gringa lives because I intervened, isn't that enough!
He turns around in disgust, torn between returning to the truck and safety or storming into the middle of the war zone and dodging stray bullets to get onto the Leviathan. Then suddenly and without warning he starts running towards the ship, weaving around gun-battles, hurdling over dead bodies and zig-zagging around pools of blood!!!
Santos ducks behind the closest cover he finds, Coño 'e su madre! What the hell is the elf chica dragging me into?!?
While he hides behind cover, Santos takes his time scanning the battlefield looking for the elf chica, and tries to make sense of the chaos before him.
[ Spoiler ]
The smell of cordite, blood and guts is a powerful repellent, warning him to stay away and head for the hills... This is just the first battle in a war that is going to tear this fraggin' city to pieces, the dead tonight are the scum-sucking bottom feeders of Caracas... maybe they deserve to die... but what about tomorrow? How many Rodrigo's will there be crawling under Azzie boots? But, why should I care? Let them all kill each other... I've already done my part tonight; the Gringa lives because I intervened, isn't that enough!
He turns around in disgust, torn between returning to the truck and safety or storming into the middle of the war zone and dodging stray bullets to get onto the Leviathan. Then suddenly and without warning he starts running towards the ship, weaving around gun-battles, hurdling over dead bodies and zig-zagging around pools of blood!!!
[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:55 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
With the goon no longer shooting at him, Smiley pops out of his cover, taking the oppertunity to fire a shell into Puck before making a dash across the deck and vaulting over a the stack of crates, where he slips after getting distracted by a huge plume of water that was sent skyward by the detonation of a cannon shell hitting the seawater, which causes him to promptly tumble face-first onto the ground.
After righting himself and pressing his back against the crates, he starts shouting over to Sonora. "I get the sneaking suspicion the navy doesn't want us to leave, and to prove we're even more fucked, we gotta think of a way to take out the radar on a ship or two or they'll be able to see us for kilometers! If we don't, they'll be able to hit us with guided weapons." Smiley pauses a moment to heft his shotgun to the ready and fire a round into the recently fallen goon, just to be sure, and looks over to the woman near him, "Cannons I can dodge, but rock-Holy shit, what happened to you? You get hit?"
With the goon no longer shooting at him, Smiley pops out of his cover, taking the oppertunity to fire a shell into Puck before making a dash across the deck and vaulting over a the stack of crates, where he slips after getting distracted by a huge plume of water that was sent skyward by the detonation of a cannon shell hitting the seawater, which causes him to promptly tumble face-first onto the ground.
After righting himself and pressing his back against the crates, he starts shouting over to Sonora. "I get the sneaking suspicion the navy doesn't want us to leave, and to prove we're even more fucked, we gotta think of a way to take out the radar on a ship or two or they'll be able to see us for kilometers! If we don't, they'll be able to hit us with guided weapons." Smiley pauses a moment to heft his shotgun to the ready and fire a round into the recently fallen goon, just to be sure, and looks over to the woman near him, "Cannons I can dodge, but rock-Holy shit, what happened to you? You get hit?"
[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:55 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
That was it. The ship was theirs, and Sonora had greviously wounded two. Part of her wanted to walk up to Puck and end his life with a bullet to the temple, but a passing shell from Smiley's automatic had ended that temporary fantasy.
He was yelling at her. She could barely hear it over the whistle of the- mierda that's a shell!
"...Did you get hit?!"
Sonora took cover herself behind more crates, the ruby dot of the laser sight playing near the gangplank where an incredible firefight had erupted. Her chest hurt, but that was always the case. Her head hurt, but that was because her brain was screaming things at her - things that managed to keep her alive. It was the devil lurking within the details, prodding a nerve here and there and dancing at the pain it caused. Pain for her, pain for others. Still, she was alive, and there was only one real response that Sonora could make:
"Smiley! This idea sucks!"
She pointed to the prone form of Alex on the deck, which had a Sonora-sized clean spot where she protected him from the evils of arterial spray. "He's still hacking the boat! Once we can drive it, this puta should have jammers! Right!?"
Yelling as she was at Smiley, she almost didn't catch the silhouette as if from the corner of her eye - a splash of water here, a waft of mist there. As if of its own accord, her Manhunter trained on the gangplank.
Waiting.
That was it. The ship was theirs, and Sonora had greviously wounded two. Part of her wanted to walk up to Puck and end his life with a bullet to the temple, but a passing shell from Smiley's automatic had ended that temporary fantasy.
He was yelling at her. She could barely hear it over the whistle of the- mierda that's a shell!
"...Did you get hit?!"
Sonora took cover herself behind more crates, the ruby dot of the laser sight playing near the gangplank where an incredible firefight had erupted. Her chest hurt, but that was always the case. Her head hurt, but that was because her brain was screaming things at her - things that managed to keep her alive. It was the devil lurking within the details, prodding a nerve here and there and dancing at the pain it caused. Pain for her, pain for others. Still, she was alive, and there was only one real response that Sonora could make:
"Smiley! This idea sucks!"
She pointed to the prone form of Alex on the deck, which had a Sonora-sized clean spot where she protected him from the evils of arterial spray. "He's still hacking the boat! Once we can drive it, this puta should have jammers! Right!?"
Yelling as she was at Smiley, she almost didn't catch the silhouette as if from the corner of her eye - a splash of water here, a waft of mist there. As if of its own accord, her Manhunter trained on the gangplank.
Waiting.
[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:55 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Smiley couldn't stop himself from glaring at Sonora and her opinion on how his idea measured up thus far. "This idea sucks? This idea was fucking perfect until the death squads out for your head decided to see how you were feeling this fine November day! This shit would of worked fine had you not made enemies with the second largest fucking corporation in the world!" He looks over the crates for a minute, "And no, I don't think this thing has jammers that are up to the task. We're going up against Aztlan battleships, not harbor patrol. Worst comes to worst we might have to use brute force and shoot their radar system with a really big sniper rifle."
Looking into the nearby opened crate, Smiley pulls out a rifle but prompty tosses it onto the deck. "I need you to look for a sniper rifle amoung these guns. I'm rusty but I can do the shooting." He tosses his autoshotgun onto the back of the prone Alex, "Hold that for me, wouldja? I'm going to give that minigun a spin until you get control of the ship." Then, he leaps over the crates and runs to the mounted minigun on deck, giving it a hard kick to spin it around so the barrel faces the docks. Once the gun points to the right direction, he pulls back the trigger and sprays a thick stream of hot lead towards nearby Bolivar gangers and covert-ops troopers alike in suppressive fire.
Smiley couldn't stop himself from glaring at Sonora and her opinion on how his idea measured up thus far. "This idea sucks? This idea was fucking perfect until the death squads out for your head decided to see how you were feeling this fine November day! This shit would of worked fine had you not made enemies with the second largest fucking corporation in the world!" He looks over the crates for a minute, "And no, I don't think this thing has jammers that are up to the task. We're going up against Aztlan battleships, not harbor patrol. Worst comes to worst we might have to use brute force and shoot their radar system with a really big sniper rifle."
Looking into the nearby opened crate, Smiley pulls out a rifle but prompty tosses it onto the deck. "I need you to look for a sniper rifle amoung these guns. I'm rusty but I can do the shooting." He tosses his autoshotgun onto the back of the prone Alex, "Hold that for me, wouldja? I'm going to give that minigun a spin until you get control of the ship." Then, he leaps over the crates and runs to the mounted minigun on deck, giving it a hard kick to spin it around so the barrel faces the docks. Once the gun points to the right direction, he pulls back the trigger and sprays a thick stream of hot lead towards nearby Bolivar gangers and covert-ops troopers alike in suppressive fire.
[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:55 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
"Perfect? We stole the fucking guns from the people you wanted to give them to!"
Sonora wanted to hit him. So bad. So bad. Instead, she kept the pistol trained on the loading ramp for all of ten seconds before rifling through the...rifle crates, cursing a fluid stream of Aztlaner Spanish towards the crazy man on the minigun.
"Look for a fucking sniper rifle we had two of the damn things and what does he give Mono? He gives Mono an AK and a pat on the fucking head then tells me they're my death squads and I'm not the only fucking one being hunted by the second largest corporation on the fucking planet that's shooting cannons at us right now..."
Even though she was digging through crates, her senses were extended towards the gangplank. If anyone was taking a step on it, she'd have to be the next line of defense while Smiley, Mono, and the others suppressed the pier.
The one part of her mind that wasn't being used to absorb detail did take some small comfort in the thought that she'd get to slap him when this was all over. Maybe even hit him with her shoulder bag. Yeah.
"Perfect? We stole the fucking guns from the people you wanted to give them to!"
Sonora wanted to hit him. So bad. So bad. Instead, she kept the pistol trained on the loading ramp for all of ten seconds before rifling through the...rifle crates, cursing a fluid stream of Aztlaner Spanish towards the crazy man on the minigun.
"Look for a fucking sniper rifle we had two of the damn things and what does he give Mono? He gives Mono an AK and a pat on the fucking head then tells me they're my death squads and I'm not the only fucking one being hunted by the second largest corporation on the fucking planet that's shooting cannons at us right now..."
Even though she was digging through crates, her senses were extended towards the gangplank. If anyone was taking a step on it, she'd have to be the next line of defense while Smiley, Mono, and the others suppressed the pier.
The one part of her mind that wasn't being used to absorb detail did take some small comfort in the thought that she'd get to slap him when this was all over. Maybe even hit him with her shoulder bag. Yeah.
[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 09:55 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Harper muttered something under her breath, something that to the gist of ‘Fuck, that is just like a man to go running off,’ as she stalked off towards the driver’s side of the truck. She certainly couldn’t get anywhere chained to a bunch of girls. For one thing, the logistics would make driving nearly impossible. Her Spanish was coming back easy enough that speaking that instead of English was starting to become a second nature. If only her accent could fade a little, she’d be golden.
As the young woman took the keys from the truck’s ignition and began attempting to unlock the heavy collar from around her neck, she turned to the side and began chatting up the girl chained next to her.
“So, what do I do with you chicas? Someone like me can’t go drivin’ around with you bunch, it’s bad for my image. Unless you can use a knife or a gun. Can any of y’all use a knife or a gun or what? Shit, I’m gonna have to drop y’all off somewhere. Anyone know where I can drop y’all off? Sounds like there’s something big going down there, and I don’t think any of us are armed for that kind of party. So, we’d probably best get the hell out and fast,”
She inclined her head in the direction of the firefight on the water, not that she knew what lay in that direction. Hopefully the rest of the women would get the right idea.
Harper muttered something under her breath, something that to the gist of ‘Fuck, that is just like a man to go running off,’ as she stalked off towards the driver’s side of the truck. She certainly couldn’t get anywhere chained to a bunch of girls. For one thing, the logistics would make driving nearly impossible. Her Spanish was coming back easy enough that speaking that instead of English was starting to become a second nature. If only her accent could fade a little, she’d be golden.
As the young woman took the keys from the truck’s ignition and began attempting to unlock the heavy collar from around her neck, she turned to the side and began chatting up the girl chained next to her.
“So, what do I do with you chicas? Someone like me can’t go drivin’ around with you bunch, it’s bad for my image. Unless you can use a knife or a gun. Can any of y’all use a knife or a gun or what? Shit, I’m gonna have to drop y’all off somewhere. Anyone know where I can drop y’all off? Sounds like there’s something big going down there, and I don’t think any of us are armed for that kind of party. So, we’d probably best get the hell out and fast,”
She inclined her head in the direction of the firefight on the water, not that she knew what lay in that direction. Hopefully the rest of the women would get the right idea.
[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 10:01 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
The chaos continued for quite some time.
Smiley made for the mounted minigun, and shortly thereafter the night was crushed by the relentless sound of rapid-fire death shredding those on the pier. Before one's eyes, gunmen fighting it out on the ground could be seen being torn apart, shredded, turned into a fine, and painted all over the nearest wall. Smiley swept the gun back and forth, barrels whining endlessly. Men took cover behind objects that had no hope of stopping the rounds, and they were still found when the aim was directed at them.
Sonora, using her highly attuned perception, danced around the blood and gore near the crates to find herself a rather large-ish caliber sniper rifle. So large was the damn thing she could barely lift it. Smiley was busy, of course, so she couldn't get his opinion of the piece, but she figured the stamp on the side that said "Barrett" was meaningful.
Even though the minigun dominated her sense of hearing, she was still acutely aware of the mysterious, invisible visitor that was approaching. Once Smiley began going apeshit, the entity had (wisely) taken cover, but she had some sort of idea where it was.
It was almost as if she could barely see the thing just out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked straight at it, it was gone. Possibly some sort of magic? Even so, she could make out footsteps, see mist swirling where the body had passed. Oh yes, she couldn't see them, but she knew they were there.
El Mono was still contributing to the massacre. He'd taken a round in the shoulder somewhere, and blood was trickling down his arm. He stood a mite unsteadily on his feet, but he looked solid otherwise. He stood up to rain some death over the side of the ship then ducked back down, before Smiley could take his head off with minigun fire.
Alex, meanwhile, stood up holding his head (and his ears). He went across the comm channel to everyone:
<<I have the ship, finally. The other guy just fuckin' gave up. What do you want me to do now?>>
The entire time all of this carnage and pandemonium was raging, more shells were fired from the Aztlan naval fleet, sending geysers of water spraying violently towards the leaden, overcast sky. The shells were falling closer and closer to the Leviathan and the Pier itself, as if they were slowly recalculating their aim and trajectory.
-------
The keys in the ignition gloriously also held the keys for Harper's release. As she chatted up the other women in the collared train, she began freeing them as well. Well shaken, the women began to scatter in different directions as soon as the bonds were off of them, obviously rejecting Harper's offers of knives, guns, and being driven away from the battle. Apparently, they were too scared to be with someone who had just bludgeoned their troll captor to death with a piece of giant rebar.
That left Harper alone with the truck, right as the gun battle at the docks took a particularly violent and loud turn. She knew that noise: somebody was putting a fuckin' minigun in the mix of all that, and by the sounds of it, was putting a mean hurting on whomever was involved on the other end of it.
What to do? Decisions, decisions.
The chaos continued for quite some time.
Smiley made for the mounted minigun, and shortly thereafter the night was crushed by the relentless sound of rapid-fire death shredding those on the pier. Before one's eyes, gunmen fighting it out on the ground could be seen being torn apart, shredded, turned into a fine, and painted all over the nearest wall. Smiley swept the gun back and forth, barrels whining endlessly. Men took cover behind objects that had no hope of stopping the rounds, and they were still found when the aim was directed at them.
Sonora, using her highly attuned perception, danced around the blood and gore near the crates to find herself a rather large-ish caliber sniper rifle. So large was the damn thing she could barely lift it. Smiley was busy, of course, so she couldn't get his opinion of the piece, but she figured the stamp on the side that said "Barrett" was meaningful.
Even though the minigun dominated her sense of hearing, she was still acutely aware of the mysterious, invisible visitor that was approaching. Once Smiley began going apeshit, the entity had (wisely) taken cover, but she had some sort of idea where it was.
It was almost as if she could barely see the thing just out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked straight at it, it was gone. Possibly some sort of magic? Even so, she could make out footsteps, see mist swirling where the body had passed. Oh yes, she couldn't see them, but she knew they were there.
El Mono was still contributing to the massacre. He'd taken a round in the shoulder somewhere, and blood was trickling down his arm. He stood a mite unsteadily on his feet, but he looked solid otherwise. He stood up to rain some death over the side of the ship then ducked back down, before Smiley could take his head off with minigun fire.
Alex, meanwhile, stood up holding his head (and his ears). He went across the comm channel to everyone:
<<I have the ship, finally. The other guy just fuckin' gave up. What do you want me to do now?>>
The entire time all of this carnage and pandemonium was raging, more shells were fired from the Aztlan naval fleet, sending geysers of water spraying violently towards the leaden, overcast sky. The shells were falling closer and closer to the Leviathan and the Pier itself, as if they were slowly recalculating their aim and trajectory.
-------
The keys in the ignition gloriously also held the keys for Harper's release. As she chatted up the other women in the collared train, she began freeing them as well. Well shaken, the women began to scatter in different directions as soon as the bonds were off of them, obviously rejecting Harper's offers of knives, guns, and being driven away from the battle. Apparently, they were too scared to be with someone who had just bludgeoned their troll captor to death with a piece of giant rebar.
That left Harper alone with the truck, right as the gun battle at the docks took a particularly violent and loud turn. She knew that noise: somebody was putting a fuckin' minigun in the mix of all that, and by the sounds of it, was putting a mean hurting on whomever was involved on the other end of it.
What to do? Decisions, decisions.
[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 10:01 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Santos keeping his head down peeks a glance at the Leviathan and shifts his perception to look at the auras of the combatants on ths ship. He's immediately assaulted by the tense emotions of raw fear and agony; he is choking on the smell of sewage, blood and fumes that impregnates the astral space and the chaos and dizzying swirls of mana and astral shadows overwhelm his senses. In shock he immediately retreats to the physical world, which although as nightmarish a landscape as any he has ever seen, was at least not as emotionally charged as the astral environment.
Frustrated in his attempts to study the astral aura of the elven chica so he can seek her later, he is forced into having to board the ship, In this time of need I call on you Great Shango, the Sky Father, Bringer of Lightning and Thunder! Send me one of your Warriors to possess this living vessel! Santos' eyes turn upwards as he enters a spirit trance; a large naked african warrior holding a spear and wooden shield and covered in battle scars and paint rushes towards him, lightning and thunder crackling around him. The spirit extends a hand towards Santos and the electricity courses through his body and the Warrior merges with Santos' aura...
On the physical world, the puddles of water where Santos lies in, start vibrating and rippling in harmony with the Spirit World, as though dancing to the beat of an unseen and unheard drum... electricity arcs from one puddle to the next leaving the air charged with a smell of ozone and singed flesh.
Santos feels the power of the Warrior Spirit rushing through his veins; he can barely contain the violent urge to leap into battle and rip off the heads of the vultures falling before the mini-gun. Still he holds the Spirit in check, patiently waiting for the right moment to continue his insane dash towards the Leviathan.
Santos keeping his head down peeks a glance at the Leviathan and shifts his perception to look at the auras of the combatants on ths ship. He's immediately assaulted by the tense emotions of raw fear and agony; he is choking on the smell of sewage, blood and fumes that impregnates the astral space and the chaos and dizzying swirls of mana and astral shadows overwhelm his senses. In shock he immediately retreats to the physical world, which although as nightmarish a landscape as any he has ever seen, was at least not as emotionally charged as the astral environment.
Frustrated in his attempts to study the astral aura of the elven chica so he can seek her later, he is forced into having to board the ship, In this time of need I call on you Great Shango, the Sky Father, Bringer of Lightning and Thunder! Send me one of your Warriors to possess this living vessel! Santos' eyes turn upwards as he enters a spirit trance; a large naked african warrior holding a spear and wooden shield and covered in battle scars and paint rushes towards him, lightning and thunder crackling around him. The spirit extends a hand towards Santos and the electricity courses through his body and the Warrior merges with Santos' aura...
On the physical world, the puddles of water where Santos lies in, start vibrating and rippling in harmony with the Spirit World, as though dancing to the beat of an unseen and unheard drum... electricity arcs from one puddle to the next leaving the air charged with a smell of ozone and singed flesh.
Santos feels the power of the Warrior Spirit rushing through his veins; he can barely contain the violent urge to leap into battle and rip off the heads of the vultures falling before the mini-gun. Still he holds the Spirit in check, patiently waiting for the right moment to continue his insane dash towards the Leviathan.
[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 10:01 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
She made a noise of general disapproval as the women scattered out of sight. Fine. Whatever. More room in the van for Harper! With the last of the women unchained and gone, the young woman slid into the driver’s seat of the truck and turned the ignition. After a moment, Harper swore and started fumbling with the seat settings, finding that she couldn’t quite reach the pedals. She spent a few minutes trying to get the seat to an acceptable orientation, finally giving up with a scowl. It was obvious that whoever normally sat in this seat was twice Harper’s size, making it quite uncomfortable.
The fight she heard seemed like as good of a place as any to go. After all, who could be causing that kind of ruckus but her own team? Maybe they had gotten into some shit and landed in the same area. Maybe they were even looking for her when some idiot pulled out that minigun.
After a scrape or two against the building wall, Harper set off for the pier, one truck and a few weapons better of than she started.
She made a noise of general disapproval as the women scattered out of sight. Fine. Whatever. More room in the van for Harper! With the last of the women unchained and gone, the young woman slid into the driver’s seat of the truck and turned the ignition. After a moment, Harper swore and started fumbling with the seat settings, finding that she couldn’t quite reach the pedals. She spent a few minutes trying to get the seat to an acceptable orientation, finally giving up with a scowl. It was obvious that whoever normally sat in this seat was twice Harper’s size, making it quite uncomfortable.
The fight she heard seemed like as good of a place as any to go. After all, who could be causing that kind of ruckus but her own team? Maybe they had gotten into some shit and landed in the same area. Maybe they were even looking for her when some idiot pulled out that minigun.
After a scrape or two against the building wall, Harper set off for the pier, one truck and a few weapons better of than she started.
[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 10:01 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
"Smiley! We need to get this heap moving! Alex, Mono - cast us off!"
It was no use. The rigger wasn't going to hear her until he let off the trigger of that rotary, or it ran out of ammo, or the barrels overheated to melting. Alex was up, and Mono was still firing - everyone else was missing or dead.
She wanted to be sick. It was supposed to go smoother than this. A word here, a touch there, a quiet promise and quick summit with Gabriella and the pilot off the boat, and the team sails off with a red ribbon tied to the moor so the bad people knew they'd been had.
Now there were dozens of red ribbons scattered all over the dock. None were cruelty-free, but instead laden in lead, steel, and cordite, strips and chunks of flesh and viscera. Her heart hurt even more now, even with the medications. It was heavy with the blood spilled, all for a hold of weaponry that she didn't use and that was supposed to go to one of the piles of meat laying on the bloodstained concrete.
The Azzies, dead. Bolivar '49's gun team, dead, everyone-wait. Not everyone. There's still one left - what's he trying to do?
Sonora could still feel one presence somewhere amongst the carnage on shore. She couldn't direct Smiley to fire on it because she wasn't sure exactly where it was - but they also hadn't used their magic to attack yet. They were waiting for something.
No time. Solve that problem later, large boat is shooting at us now.
She holstered her Colt and hefted the Barry(she'd known a Barry, once, in Monaco) that fired bullets that were as long as her hand. She knew how these types worked, even if she preferred a pistol - magazine goes into the bottom, pull the charging lever back, hear the snicker-snack of the round being pushed into the firing chamber. Barry was a very large gun, and she wasn't sure she had the strength to handle him(much like Barry in Monaco, which is why she'd left). Since Smiley was busy, she would take the shot at the boats to kill the radar. How hard could it be? Aim for the most expensive looking thing, right? She was good at finding expensive things.
To a bystander, it may have well been a sight reserved for action trideo. Diminutive Elven woman, striking in features and dressed in corporate chic-okay, last year's corporate chic - with a heavy rifle as large as she was braced against the railing as she sighted at a distant ship that was walking shells from its deck gun towards the pier and the boat moored there. Sonora pulled the ribbon tying her hair free, and let the red silk float on the smoke and air as she took a prepared to take the impossible shot.
"Smiley! We need to get this heap moving! Alex, Mono - cast us off!"
It was no use. The rigger wasn't going to hear her until he let off the trigger of that rotary, or it ran out of ammo, or the barrels overheated to melting. Alex was up, and Mono was still firing - everyone else was missing or dead.
She wanted to be sick. It was supposed to go smoother than this. A word here, a touch there, a quiet promise and quick summit with Gabriella and the pilot off the boat, and the team sails off with a red ribbon tied to the moor so the bad people knew they'd been had.
Now there were dozens of red ribbons scattered all over the dock. None were cruelty-free, but instead laden in lead, steel, and cordite, strips and chunks of flesh and viscera. Her heart hurt even more now, even with the medications. It was heavy with the blood spilled, all for a hold of weaponry that she didn't use and that was supposed to go to one of the piles of meat laying on the bloodstained concrete.
The Azzies, dead. Bolivar '49's gun team, dead, everyone-wait. Not everyone. There's still one left - what's he trying to do?
Sonora could still feel one presence somewhere amongst the carnage on shore. She couldn't direct Smiley to fire on it because she wasn't sure exactly where it was - but they also hadn't used their magic to attack yet. They were waiting for something.
No time. Solve that problem later, large boat is shooting at us now.
She holstered her Colt and hefted the Barry(she'd known a Barry, once, in Monaco) that fired bullets that were as long as her hand. She knew how these types worked, even if she preferred a pistol - magazine goes into the bottom, pull the charging lever back, hear the snicker-snack of the round being pushed into the firing chamber. Barry was a very large gun, and she wasn't sure she had the strength to handle him(much like Barry in Monaco, which is why she'd left). Since Smiley was busy, she would take the shot at the boats to kill the radar. How hard could it be? Aim for the most expensive looking thing, right? She was good at finding expensive things.
To a bystander, it may have well been a sight reserved for action trideo. Diminutive Elven woman, striking in features and dressed in corporate chic-okay, last year's corporate chic - with a heavy rifle as large as she was braced against the railing as she sighted at a distant ship that was walking shells from its deck gun towards the pier and the boat moored there. Sonora pulled the ribbon tying her hair free, and let the red silk float on the smoke and air as she took a prepared to take the impossible shot.
[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 10:01 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Satisfied with the carnage he has caused with his new friend Mr. Minigun, Smiley ducks down and withdraws his thermal smoke grenade, pulling the pin and droping it at the base of the miniguns mount. Oughta keep any survivors from accurately shooting back, and it'll disipate when we move. After jumping over the crates, he notices Alex awake and Sonora in possession of a new Barrett sniper rifle. "Oh hey, you guys have been holding up your side of the plan!" Looking over to the woman with the large rifle, he yells out, "Hey, don't bother shooting at them NOW, they're still using unguided cannons. Better off shooting our mooring lines so we can get moving without delay. Don't forget to take the safety off, either!"
After picking up his AA-16 from the deck, he calls off his drone and gives it the command to land on the deck and secure itself to the rails using it's articulated arm before barking an order to Alex, "Get the engines started for me, time we became a dot in the horizon." After that's said and done, Smiley dashes inside the Leviathan and towards the control room, intent to take the helm and get outta here before someone in the Azzie fleet learns how to use those damn cannons, or god forbid the radar-guided missiles.
Satisfied with the carnage he has caused with his new friend Mr. Minigun, Smiley ducks down and withdraws his thermal smoke grenade, pulling the pin and droping it at the base of the miniguns mount. Oughta keep any survivors from accurately shooting back, and it'll disipate when we move. After jumping over the crates, he notices Alex awake and Sonora in possession of a new Barrett sniper rifle. "Oh hey, you guys have been holding up your side of the plan!" Looking over to the woman with the large rifle, he yells out, "Hey, don't bother shooting at them NOW, they're still using unguided cannons. Better off shooting our mooring lines so we can get moving without delay. Don't forget to take the safety off, either!"
After picking up his AA-16 from the deck, he calls off his drone and gives it the command to land on the deck and secure itself to the rails using it's articulated arm before barking an order to Alex, "Get the engines started for me, time we became a dot in the horizon." After that's said and done, Smiley dashes inside the Leviathan and towards the control room, intent to take the helm and get outta here before someone in the Azzie fleet learns how to use those damn cannons, or god forbid the radar-guided missiles.
[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 10:01 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Santos hears the mini-gun finally stop it's dance of death and destruction, It's now or never!!!
Shaka let's go! Onto that ship as fast as possible!!, he commands his spirit friend.
Leaping up from the puddles of water mixed with blood, guts and entrails, as one being they rush towards the ship. It looks like the elf chica is distracted aiming a fraggin' huge weapon at the gunships sailing in the horizon, Coño, is she trying to shoot down a ship with a gun?? Maybe this chica is not the smart operator I am looking for... Even I know that bullets just bounce of ships...
Despite his lose of faith in the elf chica he continues to dash down towards the ship and runs up the gang plank. The noise of his boots slapping against the sturdy wooden frame would easily awaken the dead, so he prepares Shaka to dive onto the deck and stay down as soon as he gets there...
Santos hears the mini-gun finally stop it's dance of death and destruction, It's now or never!!!
Shaka let's go! Onto that ship as fast as possible!!, he commands his spirit friend.
Leaping up from the puddles of water mixed with blood, guts and entrails, as one being they rush towards the ship. It looks like the elf chica is distracted aiming a fraggin' huge weapon at the gunships sailing in the horizon, Coño, is she trying to shoot down a ship with a gun?? Maybe this chica is not the smart operator I am looking for... Even I know that bullets just bounce of ships...
Despite his lose of faith in the elf chica he continues to dash down towards the ship and runs up the gang plank. The noise of his boots slapping against the sturdy wooden frame would easily awaken the dead, so he prepares Shaka to dive onto the deck and stay down as soon as he gets there...
[Thursday, November 19, 2071, 10:01 PM; La Guaira, Pier 40]
Smiley let the minigun lull to a stop, the barrels smoking and possibly faintly glowing with the heat build-up threatening to warp them into uselessness. Smoke streamed from the holes, and as the choppy ocean pitched and rocked the Leviathan, empty shell casing clinked and rolled around on the deck.
The Pier was akin to a charnel house. The bodies of the dead were everywhere, perforated by the mad gunfire that tore through their ranks in "suppressive" fire. A few survivors remained, huddling behind damaged cover that survived the vicious bullet storm. Most of them were whimpering or offering thanks to appropriate saints and gods for their continued existence, but as of yet still too shaken and timid to rise up.
Alex stalked off down the stairs beneath deck. He spoke over the team's comm channel, <<Going to see if I can get full control of this thing. I say, we get the fuck out of here.>>
El Mono meanwhile wasted no time reloading his assault rifle - his last clip - and then taking wavering, tired aim at the mooring lines. A few bursts later, the bullets shredded the thick ropes enough that another pitch of the ocean jerked the ship and snapped the line entirely.
Santos dashed through the smoke of Smiley's grenade, reaching the deck of the ship. He was still invisible, but the smoke parted and curved around his form, something Sonora was able to notice with her highly-trained and magically-enhanced perception.
Before she could react to this development, a large truck came barreling down towards the dock, its side scraping loudly against the side of a brick warehouse. A couple of gunmen who had just risen up from their concealment did so at an inopportune time - right as they raised their guns towards the Leviathan, the truck turned them into road pizza. They barely had time to scream before the read axle was smashing them down into the pavement and leaving read smears behind. This was Harper behind the wheel of the truck, a truck that Santos unmistakably recognizes.
Smiley let the minigun lull to a stop, the barrels smoking and possibly faintly glowing with the heat build-up threatening to warp them into uselessness. Smoke streamed from the holes, and as the choppy ocean pitched and rocked the Leviathan, empty shell casing clinked and rolled around on the deck.
The Pier was akin to a charnel house. The bodies of the dead were everywhere, perforated by the mad gunfire that tore through their ranks in "suppressive" fire. A few survivors remained, huddling behind damaged cover that survived the vicious bullet storm. Most of them were whimpering or offering thanks to appropriate saints and gods for their continued existence, but as of yet still too shaken and timid to rise up.
Alex stalked off down the stairs beneath deck. He spoke over the team's comm channel, <<Going to see if I can get full control of this thing. I say, we get the fuck out of here.>>
El Mono meanwhile wasted no time reloading his assault rifle - his last clip - and then taking wavering, tired aim at the mooring lines. A few bursts later, the bullets shredded the thick ropes enough that another pitch of the ocean jerked the ship and snapped the line entirely.
Santos dashed through the smoke of Smiley's grenade, reaching the deck of the ship. He was still invisible, but the smoke parted and curved around his form, something Sonora was able to notice with her highly-trained and magically-enhanced perception.
Before she could react to this development, a large truck came barreling down towards the dock, its side scraping loudly against the side of a brick warehouse. A couple of gunmen who had just risen up from their concealment did so at an inopportune time - right as they raised their guns towards the Leviathan, the truck turned them into road pizza. They barely had time to scream before the read axle was smashing them down into the pavement and leaving read smears behind. This was Harper behind the wheel of the truck, a truck that Santos unmistakably recognizes.
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