Down in the Gutter IC Thread.

This is the IC thread for the Down in the Gutter Campaign. Once your character is approved and you receive the green light from the GMs, you may begin posting here. The OOC thread will still be used as normal.

Down in the Gutter OOC
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Seattle Sprawl Map

hh:mm:ss (Specific Day) November 1, 2070
Character Name

Use the exact format above, a two line information stamp at the beginning of each post.
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Please put names in BOLD, a character's thoughts/internal dialogue as well as anything being emphasized in ITALICS, and spoken words in QUOTES. Any form of electronic communication should be in YELLOW. Check for spelling and grammar as appropriate. Oh, and don't forget to turn off signatures for all IC posts please. Thanks!

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:

A time to be born and a time to die,
A time to plant and a time to uproot,
A time to kill and a time to heal,
A time to tear down and a time to build,
A time to weep and a time to laugh,
A time to mourn and a time to dance,
A time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
A time to embrace and a time to refrain,
A time to search and a time to give up,
A time to keep and a time to throw away,
A time to tear and a time to mend,
A time to be silent and a time to speak,
A time to love and a time to hate,
A time for war and a time for peace.

-- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, the Bible, New International Version.

I believe the Bible is divinely inspired; in its entirety the inerrant Word of God and the complete revelation of His will for the salvation of man, and the Divine and ultimate authority for all Christian faith and life.

There are those who will disagree with my views, perhaps vehemently so. That is their prerogative and right. Nonetheless, I believe anyone who was in Kingsgate during the month of November in the year 2070 will agree, truer words were never spoken.

When I originally wrote the essay entitled ‘Red October: A History of the Recent Kingsgate Gang Wars’, my motive was to increase my knowledge, my purpose to gain power, my desire to ensure the safety and survival of me and mine. However, as the volume began to take shape (first draft nearly complete, final entry for October 31 still pending), I realized I was wrong to compile such a document for the aforementioned reasons.

Not because the volume did not achieve its intended purpose. To the contrary, I believe that over the course of time it became a tremendously valuable document to many different people, for a variety of reasons.

Rather, as I talked to those involved in the war, as I gained insight into their stories, their histories, their identities, they gradually transcended their roles as mere witnesses to a grand picture of which they were an insignificant part.

The people I talked to did not necessarily become more significant to me as a result of their participation in my work. They were already my family, one I was willing to go to the wall for, in some cases, to die for. No, I gradually came to see them as people who didn’t care about their place in the larger story. After all, they knew no one else ever would. To them, the tragic, and in their own way, monumental events of Red October were just life as usual in the gutter, to be ignored and unrecognized by the world around them just as they always were. If no one else cared, why should they?

History is a rich tapestry, replete with epic stories whose impact shaped the world, and famous characters whose influence defined eras. Those stories, and the men and women who wrote them with their lives are meticulously documented and researched so that future generations may learn and benefit from those who came before.

I have no such illusions about the characters in my journal and the events of their lives. Even the best of us is street scum, one amongst millions of other insignificant people who will come and go with the world never even taking note of our birth, presence, or passing.

And yet, I find in the end that may be the strongest reason I can think of to continue my documentation of the history of our gang past Red October. Even street scum deserve to have their stories told; to leave some mark, however small, on the world we’ll leave behind when our time here is over. Not because anyone else will ever read it, and not because anyone would care if they did.

They deserve to have their stories recorded because these people mattered to someone. Perhaps only to their friends or family, perhaps only to their significant other, perhaps only to the gang, perhaps only to themselves. I can tell you with certainty; each one of them mattered to me. No matter what my personal feelings about them, for a time in my life, they were my family, and they mattered like no one else ever could.

I don’t expect anyone to understand. If you’ve never turned to your murderous psychopathic brother for backup when the guys across the street were trying to turn you into a source of body parts to sell, you won’t get it. If you’ve never asked your druggie whore of a sister to loan you money that she earned off her back so you could eat that day, you don’t have a clue.

I’ve been there. I know. For whatever flaws these people had (and believe me, I could write on that topic for years and not finish. Hell, Grack and personal hygiene, or lack thereof, is a novel in itself), they were family. Family without a voice, or an advocate, or anyone to care whether they lived, died, or ever existed at all.

I know I won’t change anything by writing this, and I don’t care. I’ve decided to continue my journal as a running chronicle of our time together as a family. To tell what happened after Red October. What happened to us in the ups and downs we experienced together as a gang, as a family; from our beginning during Black November till the end, whenever it may come for us. In the end, that’s reason enough, and all I’ll ever need to continue this until I’m gone too. This is for everyone in the gang. This journal is for no one but the people who are in it. These were their lives, and here are our stories.

Your brother,
Stephen ‘Shade’ Wu

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Sewer under alley off of 124th Pl NE
Grack

Grack open eyes slowly. Was Glorious One dream? No. Grack feel good. Grack feel very good. Grack was hurt. Now he not hurt. Only Glorious One can do this.

What to do? Grack hungry. Where Legion? He tell Grack what to do. But Grack hungry. When Grack is hungry, he cannot be happy. Want to be happy, so must get food. Mmm…food.

No food in sewer. Sleeping in sewers not fill Grack’s belly. Must go to World Above to find food. Find what happen to friends. How to do this? Grack not know how long he been sleeping in World Below. Grack sad, he is confused.

Wait! Grack wise now! Glorious One say, "Never give up. Once you start, never give up. The rest takes care of itself."

Ahh…Grack wise, but Glorious One is wiser. Grack hopes to be as see-mart as Glorious One some day. Yes he will, he knows this. He must listen to Gator, go to World Above. Smash bad guys, find food, find friends, find Legion. The rest will take care of itself. Grack is happy now.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – 126th Ave NE & NE 144th St
Badmarsh

Pain. A constant element of Badmarsh’s life. From the streets of Kolkata to the Barrens of Redmond, it was with him as long as he could remember. Looking down at the dark stain spreading across his shirt and wincing at the burning in his side, he is once again reminded of the central position pain holds in his life.

Leaning against a building for a moment to catch his breath, he notes the four women looking at him expectantly. His three whores, plus the new girl. Must be the inner whore in her.

He looks around. It seems like they’ve lost their pursuit, at least for the moment. Still, those guys are still out there, the streets are dangerous, he’s hurting, the whores are a big liability in the warzone Kingsgate has become, and the new girl is still a big unknown. But he can’t leave them; they look to him for protection and guidance. And of course, they’re his livelihood. Fuck.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – NE 141st Way
Legion

Limping westward towards 124th Ave NE, maintaining composure as if his wounds were a mere scratch. Sword in hand, attempting to rally the survivors together. Scavenging anything possible on the way, looking for anything useful to be used in rebuilding.

Already thinking, plotting, and planning. Legion wasn’t anywhere close to finished. He was just getting warmed up. His mind worked like a machine: orderly, precise, dependable. A quick mental checklist formed itself immediately in his head, items instantly separating themselves into categories for his easy reference.

What Legion knows:

1. The war is lost. Hammerpack started the day at 50% casualties after a month of war. Of the three squads remaining on defense, only Legion, Riptorn, and Ill Duce made it out before headquarters went up in a gasoline and crankcase oil firebomb. Riptorn made it a block before drowning in his own blood from multiple gunshot wounds to the torso. Ill Duce made it two before succumbing to a headwound left by a spiked baseball bat.

2. Raider Nation is in no condition to continue to push south. Legion estimates that out of 60 effectives at the start of the gang war, Raider Nation is down to at most 40, more likely 25 to 35. Their daily gang operations are in disarray, and the streets are littered with the casualties of five weeks of unrelenting urban violence.

3. The 8-Balls were destroyed by an explosion in their factory. Cause unknown, responsible parties unknown.

4. The Corsairs have been destroyed.

5. The Splintered Crash have been eaten by the 162s.

What Legion suspects:

1. The truce between Raider Nation and the UV Nights is shaky at best. Raider Nation, while weakened from a month of combat, has momentum on their side. Now would be the time to crush the UVN beneath their heel and claim their place at the center of the Kingsgate area.

2. Raider Nation must break off from their offensive operations to resume normal gang business, as well as rebuild and rearm.

3. The worst of things are over. With the destruction of the Hammerpack, the flames of war should begin to die down.

4. The Black Plague, while relieved of the pressure of rivals immediately on their doorstep, will not move to increase their territory. Rather, they will wait to see how aggressive Raider Nation emerges from the war. It's an opportunity, but if they push too far north, they run the risk of antagonizing a gang flush with victory. Plus, it would be useful to maintain some kind of buffer zone / DMZ with Raider Nation to the North.

5. The Steel Demons will increase their territory, but will not push too close to the UV Nights on the off chance that this treaty between Raider Nation and the UV Nights proves durable.

What Legion does not know:

1. The status of the two squads on flanking defense, specifically if Ghost is alive or not.

2. Where the Heartbreakers stand on the winner and survivors of the gang war.

3. If the 162s have full bellies.

4. What the Emerald Lotus will do.

What Legion plans:

1. Gather the survivors of the Hammerpack.

2. Move south along the 124th, scavenging as we go.

3. Find a building to hole up in, let the dust start to settle.

4. Reform the pack. Assign responsibilities. Gather supplies: water, food, weapons

5. Recruit additional soldiers, establish territory

Satisfied with the list and subsequent plan in his head, Legion moves with purpose. Step 1: Gather the survivors of the Hammerpack. Snarling at the pain from his wounds, he fights down the weakness. Time to get back to work. The pack must be reborn.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Roaming up 132rd Ave. in Splintered Crash turf
Felix & Shade

It was a road Felix and Shade had walked many times before, a side street on the old Splintered Crash turf. Only tonight was different. A thick veil of death hung in the air amidst the smell of acrid smoke and gunpowder that lingered. That itself wasn’t out of the ordinary in the Barrens, but the amount of violence that had taken over in the last week was beyond explainable.

Burned out shells of vehicles were hardly a strange sight to see in the neighborhood, but a racing bike laid down in the middle of the street still smoldering was a rare occurrence. Shade spotted it first. Likely the driver of the bike, face down against the curb of the street. There wasn’t much left of the bike itself to be recognizable, the gas tank exploded from what appeared to be a well-placed shotgun shell. And then as the pair approached closer there was the massive slick of blood. Dark and shining on the pavement like oil, only the stench of iron in the air gave it away.

It was a macabre scene at best. The body of the biker twisted in a grotesque position as it hugged the curb. A leg barely hanging on to the body around mid-thigh, and likely the source of the majority of the blood on the street. The biker was likely dead as they didn’t move or even appear to breathe. A helmet obscured their true identity.

As the pair approached tentatively with the intent to loot whatever was left off the body Felix spotted something that sucked the very breath right out of him. A glimpse of a familiar logo on a leather jacket, or what was left of it amidst the road rash. A pair of silvered angel’s wings and a very familiar name between them.

Halo.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – In a ruined house on 124th Pl NE
Thumper

The world slowly came back into focus as Thumper gingerly opened his eyes. Whatever the frag he’d been hit with, it had done a number on him. Slowly he staggered to his feet, felt dizzy, then slumped back to the ground, leaning against a wall and closing his eyes to steady himself.

After a few moments he opened his eyes again and looked around. Apparently he’d been launched into what appeared to be what had once been a restaurant. The roof he’d thought he crashed through had, in actuality, been a table that now lay in pieces around him, and chairs were scattered everywhere. He heard movement, both outside and farther back in the building, and immediately ducked lower. He didn’t know who was around him, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Just north of intersection of 128th and Vineyard
Bockscar

It was time to go. Chest wound or no, Bockscar was starting to come to the conclusion he was just going to have to suck it up and beat feet. As far as he could tell, it was just him and the kid holding down the flank, and Raider Nation was regrouping.

Whether they were regrouping to push forward or fall back he wasn’t sure, but if they were going to charge, he was rapidly down to having nothing to throw at them but harsh language and a bad attitude. His own supreme badassness notwithstanding, he was pretty sure that wasn’t going to cut it.

Poking his head out for a better look, he couldn’t see anyone out there. Turning to the kid, he hissed, “Hey kid, you see anyone out there?� The kid slowly and carefully peeked out, looked around for a while, and then turned back to him, shaking his head. “No. Don’t see anyone,� the kid whispered back.

Good news: They couldn’t see anyone.
Bad News: They couldn’t see anyone.

What now?

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – 126th Ave NE & NE 144th St
Nevada

The smoke burned in Nevada’s lungs as she gulped for air, riding the adrenaline high and feeling the burn in her legs from the mad dash away from their attackers. For the moment, it appeared they were clear. For the moment, she stressed to herself. Things had gone from bad to worse on the streets since she’d left the 8 Balls turf and arrived at Frankie’s.

Looking over at Badmarsh, who was leaning against the wall examining the extent of the injuries he’d taken while healing one of the girls, Nevada took the opportunity to thumb fresh shells into the shotgun. No one said anything for a few moments, and suddenly she realized she was actually looking to him for direction.

What the fuck? I just met this guy and I’m already looking to follow his lead? Dammit girl, keep it together! Now ain’t the fucking time to get messed up in the head!

Silently she berated herself, but after she’d finished, she realized she was still in the same place she was five seconds ago: alone, scared, and looking to Badmarsh. For what, she didn’t know. And if she was completely honest with herself, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – An abandoned building on 132nd Ave.
Aziz

They were closing in on him, white eyes staring hungrily at him, claws extended and grasping, mouths open in anticipation of feasting on his flesh. The ghouls were everywhere, and there was no escape. He tried to run as fast as he could, but they were on him before he could move, dragging him to the ground. He flailed wildly, trying to free himself from their steel talons. One of them grabbed his arm and sunk its teeth into his arm and began tearing flesh free. Shrieking in pain and terror, he desperately tried to shake it off. The ghoul almost paused for a moment to grin, then ripped flesh free from bone and chewed, smiling at him all the while. Suddenly he realized that he knew this ghoul, its twisted features taking a more familiar countenance with that sadistic grin. JJ.

“NO!� Aziz jerked awake, Kalila half-drawn before he realized the ghouls were only figments of his imagination. “Oh god…� Aziz cradled his head in his hands, trying to get his head screwed on straight. He shivered as a gust of wind ripped through the holes in the wall.

It wasn’t safe here. Who knew where the ghouls were now, roaming the old Splintered Crash turf? He wasn’t sure if anyone had heard him scream, but he was in no condition to find out. He had to move, now. Before anyone found him. Before they found him.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Street Side Roller's garage
Fool

It was like a scene out of the chip Fool had slotted a few weeks ago. Razzi Feroz, the uber asskicking hero is working his way to take down Poe “Bull� Greckian, the mob boss for the city, but the villain finds out that Razzi has some fuck-toy. She needs to be almost as good as Razzi, he wouldn’t accept less, so the slitch is a buxom redhead who repairs, and rides, motorcycles at a local garage.

The blue eyed ganger had felt the flash of fire and heat, along with the concussive force behind the blast, as the mob goon’s stack of hidden C12 blew the garage to hell and back. It was some top notch wiz-work. It almost felt more than real, like he could have died in the explosion. He knew it was worked though, since Fool had ‘seen’ real explosions in buildings just like it in other chips.

This…this was cold hard reality. There was no stopping the action, no pressing the off button. He could see the charred and mutilated bodies of his family, lying broken in pieces, among the ruined wreck of the equally broken Roller’s headquarters. As he fell to his knees, he scanned the scene in front of him. Panning from left to right, like a time honored cliché, his blue eyes came across and noticed his friends one by one… Drekks… Oilslick... Monkeywrench… Lucky…Broken like the twisted scorched sheet metal that consisted of the once working garage.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Mouse's Apartment complex on 119th St
Child

As he took the last few steps down the long staircase attached to Mouse’s apartment, the sickly looking teenager could only wonder what happened over the past couple of days as he had hidden from end of the world. No… not the world, just the end of the Rollers.

Though he wasn’t the strongest one out of the bunch, not by a longshot, he wasn’t the dumbest either. Hell, he might as well have been considered fuckin’ Einstein amongst these violent savages. Smart enough to figure out that if he wanted to survive, survive longer at least, he needed to get the hell away from the Rollers or what was left of them.

Feeling the chilly November wind blow into the hoodie which covered his red hair, Child had to summon all his will to not just turn around and walk right back to the warm arms of his lover. He knew he couldn’t do that though; he had caused her enough trouble and was risking her life just by being there. Not to mention he was sick of dealing with her slitch of a mother.

Stuffing his hands into the hand warmer pocket on the hoodie, the lost Child took the first step forward to looking for his new family. The question was, who would take him in?

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – LoCoS Headquarters
Ink

Blood. Blood everywhere. Dripping off his hands…rolling off the countertop…smeared all over his and his brothers’ faces…cloths soaked in the fraggin slag…it was like the stuff was creating itself out of thin air in the LoCoS headquarters, just to piss Ink off as he worked feverishly on Carlos’ bullet wound.

Ink knew he wasn’t a doctor of any sort, but was the only one they had. The only one his brothers could rely on to help patch them back up. The only hombre who planned ahead enough to not actually be in the fraggin fights just in case this happened.

One by one he watched and heard them go. Either he was working his magic hands on his brother when he noticed that his patient just wasn’t breathing anymore or during one of his small breathers, where the Cuban descendant would smear more blood on his face, he would notice one less moan of pain.

The first he knew about was Lorenzo. Poor slot didn’t have a chance with a bullet half ripping out his left lung. Still, the artist worked on his brother till his last breath before moving on to another.

Knives had been burned somehow; Ink still couldn’t figure it out. Was like something from the inside, magic maybe. There was nothing Ink could do and had to steel his nerves to pass on to the next one.

Poncho…well, Carlos, who was on the table right now, had dragged that poor hunk of slag back even with half his head missing. Like it was clean sliced through. Carlos himself was still breathing, thank the Virgin.

Ink couldn’t figure out where some of the other guys were. They just weren’t here, that he knew. Letting out a sigh, he resigned himself to the fact that they probably either ran or died. And they would be here helping if they ran…

The labored breathing and moaning from the Hispanic man on the table turned to a hacking labored cough before Ink could continue. He barely had time to register that his left eye was burning as a thick red ooze was flung into it from the spray of his brother. Still, Carlos was still here, Ink told himself as he tore through the pain to try and continue working…

Cough… Ba-bump… Ragged breath… Ba---bump… Ba---bump… slight wheeze… Ba… bump…

Ink could feel it, the last bit of life was slipping through his hands even as he worked on saving it, his last brother. Ink yelled at Carlos as he tried to think of the next fix, the next spot to try and stop the bleeding. Anything to keep someone around.

Carlos was fading and fast…almost nothing…a slight beat of the heart…no breath. Then a sharp intake of air…Carlos’ dying breath…then nothing…

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – 124th Ave NE near 140th Street
Jaya

Jaya was lucky. He knew it and would admit it before anyone else.
He was lucky to see the three Black Plague bastards edging their way down the street towards his fallen kin, was lucky to not be noticed when they passed his hiding spot, lucky that he was able to take two of them down with his bare hands before the third got a shot off, lucky that his one round left in that mag shot true…

There had been a lot of luck on Halloween. All Hallow’s Eve…Good luck, which he just enjoyed, and bad luck, which those poor fraggers and his kin had.

He could look back towards the battlegrounds, his shattered and broken brethren, death in the most honorable way. Valhalla would be singing and welcoming in the fallen warriors, but Jaya would be alone.

Turning away from the sights and smells of the dead, the human moved farther into the street the adept heard yelling from farther ahead. The different pitched voices of meta-humans banded together. They were getting louder…

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Brickhouse Boys HQ
Johnny Soho

Stepping through the giant hole in the front of the building, big enough for a dump truck to drive through…hell, a dump truck did drive through, Johnny could only see the ruined walls and furnishings of the once Brickhouse Boys HQ. It wasn’t much, but it was what he had called home since arriving. Or at least his friends hung out here, and that counted for something.

The ork could only think about the way the Asphalt Kings had torn down the rival gang, one shop at a time. It surprised him to see the gang’s headquarters in such good condition, compared to the individual shops he had passed on his way back.

As he made his way through the main entrance area and into one of the back rooms, the Englishman could only notice the way the building seemed lifeless. Not like there was no one around (even though there wasn’t), but that it truly felt like no one had lived there. Ever. Then it hit him that things were gone…taken. Shrugging, he could only chalk it up to life in the Barrens; take what you can and survive.

Stepping up to the doors that lead to the back room the gang used as a storehouse, he halted. Sensing something wrong, he listened in to hear something, or someone rummaging around in the next room. Almost instinctively, his hand reached inside his armored jacket to the heavy pistol…

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc

A loud groan startles a huge rat, from drinking in a pool of liquid on the rubble lined floor to zipping out a hole in the wall. The dark room is silent and still for a few seconds longer, but is broken completely as the pile of rubble shifts up and to the side. In the gloom and dust, what one would mistake for rubble was actually a giant of a man covered in blood, mud and dirt.

Shaking himself off, causing dust to hang in the air around his large frame, Doc examined the damage to his body. Shaking most of it off as minor cuts and nicks, he looked around the barren back room he occupied.

One of the walls had a good sized hole in it, about the size of two of his fists wide, which he could see over into the next room through. The door on the same wall was barred by the only piece of furniture in the room, a chair that looked like it was brought in for just that reason.

In a moment of clarity in his fuzzy mind, Doc started to check his gear. Gun…check. Betsy…check. Duffle bag of supplies and equipment…It took a bit for him to fully go through the last one, but everything seemed in place.

Putting his ear up to the door and looking through the hole in the wall, he could only guess that there wasn’t anything out there. At least, he couldn’t sense anything out there. Then he heard a sound at the front of the building…

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Corner of 124th and 146th headed southbound
Tootles

*Wheeze, pant, breath, wheeze*
Leaning against a wall to one of the buildings of the unfamiliar area, Tootles could see the ruins in front of him. They stretched on forever, a ruined husk of what was once a great city. In other times, it would have been great for playing hide and seek with the other Lost Boys, Peter flying around laughing like he usually did.

Not now though, it was time to fight back against the bandits, the thieves, the pirates! His hand tightened around the bow grip as his other pushed off from the wall to then check on the sword at his hip. Placing his hand on the pommel of the sheathed sword seemed to help his breath come back to him as the human boy took a deep breath and continued his trek farther into the ruinous area.

“This way! This way!� the flying fairy repeated for the umpteenth time as she excitedly pointed in the direction they were going. “If we go this way, we will find the rest of the boys and Peter!�

Southeast…The area the ‘Hammers’ lived. Maybe that’s were the others went…

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Corner of 132th and 136th headed westbound
Trojan

The rumbling of the Growler beneath the dwarf seemed to give him comfort as he turned onto the main road headed back to the Brickhouse Boys' garage. Going down the 136th had been a big risk, skirting both the Heartbreakers and 162’s turf, but it needed to be done to check back in. Things had gone wrong, fraggin wrong this night. There was no telling what else would go to slag tonight.

Weaving easily between a burned out wreck and an overturned barrel, Trojan kept an eye open for anything suspicious as he made his way through the small gauntlet that seemed man made more than by accident. Things were hot in this area and being caught out here could be bad to a dwarf’s health, especially with the creepy undead things nearby, he thought with a shiver.

Rumors were that the LoCoS had pissed off the Heartbreakers somehow and were on the losing end, but the zombie things were going nuts about something too. If he got caught alone, he was as good as ghoul chow.

He was almost through the small maze of junk and scrap when Trojan heard a racket of crashes down an alleyway to his right. Even as he broke through the last turn and straightened up his bike, he could see…things, crawling out on all fours, their grey and yellowed flesh hungering with blood red eyes. Covered, no, bathed in blood and other nauseating parts, they didn’t hesitate to turn their savage faces towards the rumbling bike and rider before starting a gallop on all fours…

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Sewer under alley off of 124th Pl NE
Grack


Of course the first thing young Grack did was change his music chip, replacing Race War with Tusk Master's splendid "Kill with Pride."

Approaching the ladder to the manhole he'd escaped through - How long? Race War back to start - player on repeat. But how many times? - he concentrated again. Until a few moments ago, he had been sure - in the way he was sure he enjoyed biting whores' ears off - that there was no one above in Their World that meant him harm. Of course, he would be happy to do some more fighting, but attacking from behind was always preferable. So now he concentrated again.

Enemies? Feel them. Know them. FEEEL them! Where are you?

He concentrated until his head hurt and he saw double. He concentrated for a long three seconds. Because Grack was nothing if not persistent.

Finally, sensing absolutely nothing, he was completely confident that no foes waited in ambush above him. Sensing enemies was hungry work.

Ascending the ladder, he found his four vicitims. How sweet the sight of victory.

How sweet the sight of victory.

Hungry, he went to the fattest one and had a nibble. Food was scarce in the Barrens and one made due with what was at hand.

Hand. Tender.

But this plodder's flesh was not at all sweet. Tasted not of man-flesh but, in fact, mildly of fish. And then he had an inspiring thought.

Sushi!

Plastic Sushi - open 24/7 - was just around the corner. Our Hero immediately set about checking his fallen foes for cash, but found none. Not to despair, he had plenty of his own. But his search did turn up another prize. There, under the corpse of one zakhan he had strangled, was a shiny object of wonder. Long, hard, all of tungsten - a material young Grack certainly could not identify, but he knew a good weapon when he saw one - and with a razor sharp axe head. Hefting the beast, his hand struck a tab in the hilt and and a delightful little stiletto-thing popped out the back end.
Oh my, but what a choice Halloween present this little toy was. He would have to take it trick-or-treating.
And where better to do some tricks and get some treats than Plastic Sushi!

As he headed out of the alley and on to 124th Place NE, it occurred to him briefly that his fellow gangers might need his help. Off in the distance there were still occasional screams and gunshots, and as close as Plastic Sushi was, it was in the opposite direction of where Legion had intended to make a stand.

Cannot fight on empty belly. Be quick.

And so he was off, a hungry lad in search of nourishment, confident in the knowledge that no one in his vicinity meant him the slightest harm.

This had been one of the happiest days of his life, and was only getting better.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – An abandoned building on 132nd Ave.
Aziz

Aziz awkwardly struggled to his feet, wounds in his legs and torso screaming in protest as he made his way up, bracing against the wall for support.

I need to get out of here... but where can I go?, he thinks, reaching inside his jacket for his cigarettes, but his arm turns out too damaged to properly manipulate the pack, and it falls to the ground with a soft thump.

"Fuck...", he breathes, not wanting to risk falling back over to get them. He staggers out the way he came, feeling only slightly better than he did on the way in. The streets are fortunately deserted, but the night air is chilly, cooling the sticky blood on Aziz's face and legs.

I can't risk getting my bike just yet... the 162's could still be there. Guess I'm walking.

He tucks his hands into his armpits and limps off down the street, hoping to run across some friendly ground.

00:04:29 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – NE 141st Way, Kingsgate, Seattle, UCAS
Legion

The clouds of industrial smog that overhung the city skyline to the southwest glowed sodium orange from the streetlights. Here, amidst the torn and gutted apartments and businesses of Renton, the diesel black clouds were lit an angry orange by the fires still burning. Hot blood flowed down Legion's side, rivulets snaking their way down his leg to pool in his boot. The cut, a horizontal slash from the center of his torso across his left lateral abdominal muscles, was a parting gift from Raider Nation. It would require stitches, or, at the worst, some superglue and duct tape. Now was not the time, though. He kept his left arm pressed against the lips of the wound in an effort to staunch the flow. The other half dozen wounds across his body were less of a concern. Eventually they would need to be cleaned, disinfected, and bandaged, but they wouldn't slow him down much. A body in the street interrupted the path of his thoughts, and he carefully scanned the surrounding buildings for an ambush before kneeling next to the still figure.

Lessard. Sorry kid. You were good. You listened, you followed orders, you fought well. Tell them you fought by my side. That'll get you a good seat in Hell.

Keeping an eye on the sidewalks, Legion rifled through the young ganger's jacket and pants. He came up with a pack of Red Apple cigarettes, a find that brought a wry smile to his face. Lighting up, he blew a stream of smoke into the night sky. The nicotine washed away the taste of blood in his mouth, although he still wasn't sure if he'd chewed his own cheek or drank his enemy's blood. In the end, he supposed, it amounted to the same thing. Leaving the cigarette to dangle from his lips, he pressed his left arm against his side again and regained his feet. Another cluster of bodies littered the intersection ahead, one of which appeared to still be living. Legion inhaled another mouthful of smoke before setting off again.

00:3:23 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Street Side Roller's garage
Fool

What the hell happened....He had just spent the last half hour giving it to his favorite prostitute Beyonce' which was one of the best things in his life besides his gang and now his gang was almost all dead? Scanning the surrounding area he found no signs of whoever had done this. Kneeling there in the street he used his neon blue cyber eyes to zoom in on the carnage, he wanted to see who all had died but some of the bodies were to badly burned.

Standing up his long black hair and long armored duster flapped in the wind generated by the blaze in his former home and hang out. All he could hear was the snap crackle pop of stuff burning. Reaching down and inside his jacket he pulled the knife free from its sheath on his right leg in a blade down grip. It was anything but safe around here and he needed to check to see if his stuff had been turned to slag.

Mentally he flipped on his wired reflexes and then moved his knife hand around a bit to judge the speed. It was always trippy how slow things moved in this state. If the fires in the garage hadnt killed most of his friends and his home, the way they licked at the sky in slow motion might have been considered beautiful. Fit for a movie.

Fool walked to the big garage door leading into the garage, by now most of the fire had burned everything there was to burn and were dieing out in the center of the garage. Seeing the fire so close up caused him to grimace and recall the burn marks all over his body, most of which had been replaced by dermal armor. This time would be different, he was in control of his actions.

There was a path leading back to the back office and storage area. Taking a deep breath he sprinted towards the door and smashed his way through, the wooden frame having been burned away made the metal doot easily give way. About a third of the stuff in here had melted just from the heat that had been generated. Moving over to the shelves he found his two dufflebags intact. Slipping the knife back in the sheath on his leg he took the two dufflebags and slung them over his shoulder.

Looking around at all the other stuff back here made him think about the friends he had lost, shaking his head he left everything. Im sorry guys. Sprinting from the garage he ran north and into an alley. He needed to think. Was this really happening? Was the Side Street Roller gang really extinct? Who the hell took us out? We had been holding our own against the Steel Demons and the Hellhounds. I...need to find a new place to call home. He had knelt down next to a dumpster and was staring down at the ground, as his eyes came back into focus he zeroed in on his commlink and checked it. His friends list appeared in a window in his field of vision, none of the people on it were either in range, had their commlink active, or were even alive. He was alone...

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – ???
Doc

Silas was falling. Everything around him was pitch black, but for some reason his own body was illuminated perfectly. He looked down at his hands. Both were still flesh, still whole. He brought a hand up to his face and could not feel the familiar burn scars that he'd now had for years. He realised he wasn't falling, that he was actually being pulled down by hands. At first one pair, then a second, then a third. 'Why am I being pulled?', he thought. Then he felt heat below him. And he saw fire. Terrifying, burning, destructive fire. He felt more hands clasping at his large bulk. He tried to batter them away with his hands but they kept pulling. The fire was getting larger. He looked down at his hands again and they had both turned to bloody, charred stumps. He let loose a bloodcurdling scream of anguish. So many hands. Pulling. Pulling. He saw the charred corpse of Memphis as he fell by. He thought he saw dissapointment on the troll's features. He fell past Pupil and Lefty. They were dissapointed too. He was getting close to the flames now. A large, laughing face suddenly filled his vision. He was able to somehow put a name to the face. Meltdown. The tendrils of orange and red licked up at him. They were burning his clothes. The giant face told him he was going to burn slow. He was in the flames now. Burn slow. He was screaming in terror. Burn Slow. His flesh was melting off of his bones. Burn Slow. The pain, the pain. Burn Slow.

Burn Slow.

Doc opened his eyes into a gray Redmond night. I am still alive, he thought.



00:01:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc

Doc felt like shit. His head was still pounding from the Kamikaze wind down, and sleeping on a concrete floor is rarely anyone's idea of comfort. Sitting up in the relatively small room, he took a moment to examine his surroundings. Looks like it might have been a restaurant. Anything worth taking is looted, but that's unsurprising. He rummaged through the gear he'd taken with him. He'd left a few things back at the Evergreen Medical Center back on former 8-balls turf, but he basically had his life on his back at this point. He stood up. There were a lot of broken plates and cutlery on the floor so he decided to tread carefully in an attempt to be quiet. He stepped on a fragment of a plate and it made that horrible sound of breaking china that might give away his position to anyone in the area.

There was a large hole in one of the kitchen's walls so he peered out briefly. As he stared out the hole he heard a sound from further up in the building. Easing his Manhunter out of it's holster, he started to creep towards the front of the building. He stopped before he reached the doorframe to the next area of the restaurant, considering his options. I don't know what kind of fragging codewords the Hammerpack use to identify each other. If this guy is UV and mundane, he's dead. If he's UV and a mage, I'm dead. And if he's hammerpack, who the frag knows? Of course, it could always be a devil rat. Doc put both hands on his pistol, ready to come around the corner slowly.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Thumper

Thumper needed a drink.

That wasn't unusual. It wasn't until he opened his eyes that he understood just how badly he needed one. The world was swimming and it felt just like that time someone had just shattered a few tables on him. As he gingerly touched his side to test for broken ribs he remembered that the UV Nights had effectively shattered a table on him.

He managed to get a foot under himself and braced himself against a dusty chair in the ash filled diner. It was dark, but the fire on the street gave him enough light to work with as it painted flickering shadows on the walls.

As he gradually stabilized himself, Thumper felt around on the ground with one hand. In spite of the blood trickling down his face he smiled because his hand was resting on a long, solid table leg.

Every beating has silver lining motherfucker, now get up.

Rising to his feet, Thumper spun his head towards a noise in the back of his restaurant. This was a mistake because the world started spinning again. He dropped to one knee next to the door to the back, poised to strike at the first thing that came through.

After three seconds of deafening silence, Thumper raised his voice and asked, "Who the fuck's back there?"

00:01:23 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – 126th Ave NE & NE 144th St
Nevada

In her head went the inner struggle. Back and forth and back and forth till she got nowhere and ended up right back where she started. She realized the assets and liabilities to her situation and the glaringly obvious liability came in a set of three. As her fingers reached into her jacket pocket they wraped around the familiar black pack of Sampoerna’s, she flipped her vision into thermographic range as one of the clove cigarettes found it’s way between her lips. There was a flare right in front of her as the auto-igniter on the pack did its job and then in the distance the warmth of four bodies glowed back at her.

She widened her perceptions as she looked up and down the street, taking long drags on her cigarette in between trying to ferret out any other living creatures who would pose the most immediate threat, if any. She exhaled around the black filter between her lips and her finger tightened slightly on the trigger of her shotgun. Her eyes kept moving up and down the block, but her words were meant for the now bleeding Indian ganger just a few feet away.

“Can you walk?�

00:01:25 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc + Thumper

Doc heard a man yell quite clearly through the open doorway as he hid on a side of it. ‘Frag, someone heard me…’, he cursed his luck as he flexed his grip on the Manhunter. Images ran through his head about a UV goon looking to finish him off, but also remembered that he was on Hammerpack turf. It was a fifty-fifty chance of either or… or it could be just some gutter trash out there...
Taking a slow quiet breath, the troll finally formed a plan in his head. If it’s UV, shot it; if it isn’t, try not to… Nodding to himself, he jumped around the corner and through the doorway, slicing the pie just enough to save his hide…

Thumper was paranoid as shit as he crouched with the makeshift club in his grip. Course, it’s not really paranoia when people are really out to get you, so in all reality, he was playing it safe. At least that’s what he thought as he readied himself to knock the living shit out of anything that came through that door too quickly.
When that event actually happened though, the Hammerpack grunt’s eyes went wide in surprise as a giant of a troll leaped through the doorway that separated the dining area from the kitchen. Thumper looked up at the troll, Doc looked down at the ork. It seemed like forever and a day, but it was only a split millisecond.

“Whoa! Hold up!�, was all the 8 Baller was able to get out as he raised his hands in a non threatening manner before the taught muscles in the ork’s legs snapped. Like a rocket, they lifted him up and toward the troll, while his table leg swung in an ark aimed to smash the giant somewhere that might cause damage.
Connect it did, right into Doc’s exposed ribs, but Thumper knew something was wrong as soon as he hit the troll. There was no give in the flesh he was striking and other than a grunt caused by the impact, there was no sound of pain.

00:06:34 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – NE 141st Way, Kingsgate, Seattle, UCAS
Legion

Continuing his westward trek down NE 141st Way, even Legion was somewhat struck by the sheer carnage that existed on the streets. Fires lit up the night sky, and smoke and smog clogged one's view of the stars. Even more so than usual, at least.

Bodies lay strewn more frequently than usual, and it was obvious to even the casual observer this gang war had been for keeps. It was uncertain if other gangs had relaxed their usual initiation standards or there were just a lot more people involved in this war than anyone thought, but it certainly seemed like there shouldn't have been this many bodies clogging the streets.

Shrugging off the random musings to retain his focus as he approached the former Hammerpack-Ultraviolet Nights border (cause who the frag knew where the border really was at this point?), he paused at the intersection of NE 141st Way and 124th Pl NE.

Facing 124th Ave NE, on his right, in an abandoned building, he thought he heard yelling and sounds of a commotion. On his left, in the Plastic Sushi restaurant that was still in amazingly good shape, he was reasonably certain he saw flashes of movement within.

00:01:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – LoCoS Headquarters
Ink

Light spills in though the open window and mixes with the pooling blood. A figure stands in front of the counter, hands clenched tightly to the edges. Ink sighs deeply, The last of the LoCoS he thinks. he looks around the house at the bodies of his hermanos. "Santa Maria, why couldn't I save them?" He asks the air. The stillness gathers, the silence confirms this place is a tomb, a tomb to his gang. Ink stands shakily, the lack of sleep and Nova finally beginning to catch up to him. Can't sleep here, ese, 162s'r out and about. One thing was sure in his mind though. The ghouls would not feast on his 'manos. He searches Carlos' still form and places the valuables in a pile on the counter. He spends the next thirty minutes doing the same to each gang member. Finally he has a respectable pile of weapons, drugs and other valuables.

Enough to get me to someplace safe, ese. Vengence could wait, survival was the first order of buisness today. He gathered Carlos' body and carried him out to the back lot. Ink repeated the chore for each of his brothers. Finally he had a pile of bodies in the lot. He gripped one of Fuente's molotovs. He lit the rag fuse and tossed the flaming bottle into the pile of dead men. The fire licked up a the bodies like a hungry ghoul. The smoke of the burning added itself to the darkened sky. Ink slowly and tiredly recited the Ave Maria, praying for the souls of his friends and brothers. He turned and went back into the house, as a single tear rolled down his grime covered cheek. He slowly gathered his demo book and stuffed it into his backpack. He repeated the process with his medikit, tat kit, and piercing kit. He tucked his stash of Nova into the outside pocket. The pistol Gonzo left him was tucked into the waistband of his faded denims. Ink shook out his sweat soaked shirt and put it on. He gathered his brothers valuables and tucked them into the pack as well. He took the old leather jacket from the floor, and reversed it so the LoCoS patches wouldn't show. Then put on the relic of days gone by. "Hermanos, I won't forget you, I'll make the Plague puntos pay. The Heartbreakers too, those puntas will all pay. Adios amigos, miss you." The Cuban made a fist and held it out to the empty house. He turned and left through the side door.

00:32:05 Saturday, November 1, 2070 - Outside LoCoS Headquarters
Ink

A quick check of his link revealed the time and the date. Nona is prolly going outta her mind, I missed Dios des los Muertos. He snickered at the the silly thought. Dios would never be the same. His hermanos had indeed become muertos. He began picking his way up the street toward the Gato, trying to stay in the shadows to avoid drawing fire.

00:02:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc

Even though the table leg did not connect with much force, Doc reflexively grunted at the impact. Doc relaxed a bit when he saw that the ork in front of him was wearing Hammerpack colors. He thought he recognized the ork as Thumper, one of Legion's enforcers.

"I'll let you get away without paying for that one because you're probably nervous as fuck. I would be."

Doc strapped his pistol back in its concealable holster, still keeping his eyes on the ork. He looked around the room for reinforcements but found none. There were broken tables strewn about the place, but he didn't think that it was likely there was anyone else hiding behind them. He ran his hand threw his stringy brown hair, head still pounding from the night before.

"Does this mean your boys made it out alive? I wasn't standing to see if the UV nights pushed through the line or whether or not we held em off."

00:06:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – An abandoned building on 132nd Ave.
Bockscar

From sitting down, hunkered in the prone, behind the wheel of the car in front of me, I can't see much. 'Course, I'm behind the thickest part of the car, which is nice (engine block and two tires + axles between me and someone else's bullet), but this ain't gonna work well. There's movement a couple hundred meters down the road, but between the midnight fog, the dust cloud from the building I blew the corner off of, and other shit, I can't tell if it's bad guys or gorillas in the mist.

And I ain't doing well. The left sleeve of my jacket has basically been ripped off around the armpit, so the kid could bandage my lung. The condom stuck to my chest flutters a bit every time I breathe out, releasing little globs of frothy blood and the pressure from my lung. Squirming sends slivers of pain up and down my side - there's probably a rib or two shattered in there, in addition to the bullet damage.

I hawk up a nice chunk of bloody phlegm and swear for a second or two under my breath before I tell the kid what's up. "Aight kid, we're moving. Gotta get something for your leg. Two jobs for you. One, turn over and look down range. Stay in cover. You see something that you KNOW - I say again, KNOW - is enemy, or starts shooting at us, just fucking shoot at them and I'll come back and kill 'em for you. Two, grab your commlink and message any and every hammerpack dude still in comms. Get a read on where they are and how many can come help us. Do it. Holler if you pick up comms."

Leave the AK sitting where it is and crawl back to the shotgun the dead Raider dwarf dropped. Throw the shotgun over by the kid. Crawl back to Leon and the Raider corpses. Search the bodies, looking for Leon's commlink, guns, medical supplies, drugs, anything - I'd kill for a hit of Nitro right now. Grab whatever I can find, wrap it up, and crawl it back to the kid.

I sit up into a crouch and drop my weight lightly on the the kid's back to keep him still. Start whispering bullshit at him, to keep his mind off what's going to happen. "Don't move, kid. This is gonna hurt. Bite your shirt if you need to. While you do, if you ain't got comms with anyone, try Leon's link." Pull the tourniquet from the med bag and chunk it tight on his leg. "Shut up. Keep quiet. Bite your shirt." Kick his legs a little bit apart. Rip the survival knife off the side of the car and drop the IV bag on his head. Cut his other pant leg off and cut it into 4 long strips. "I'm splinting your leg, with this nice brand new shotgun. It'll be yours afterwards, kid." Drop the shotgun between his legs and tie it to his ruined leg in 4 places. Best splint I got.

"Aight kid, you got anything from anyone?"

00:02:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Hunkered against a building on the SW corner of 126th Ave NE & NE 144th St
Badmarsh

It's November now. The night is cold. In the distance, where fires burn, smoke blots out dark swathes of the orange-lit cloud cover. Precipitation falls, alternating between a drizzling patter and the soft clicking of sleet. A young man and four young women crouch in the shadowed shelter of doorway. The young man and one of the young women look anxiously up and down the street. The young woman sweeps a shotgun to and fro. She speaks and looks at the young man for a reply.

---

"Shit." Badmarsh pronounces, droplets of rain fly from his beard.

"Are you--" He stops, angry. His eyes go"'Can I walk?' Oh man... Bitch, why don't you just shut the fuck up?"

You've done enough.

Badmarsh shakes his head in disbelief, "'Can I walk?'" He shakes his head again, voice dropping as he half-mutters to himself in a hybrid of Hindi and Cityspeak. A bit of it is clear, indirectly addressed to Nevada. "...your raggedy...showed up...fucked up than this." The seething pimp hitches up against the wall readjusting the shotgun in his grasp. More shaking, more muttering as he thumbs more shells into the shotgun from the bandoliers across his chest, "...you... won't be...to walk...done with..."

He glares at all of the women and composes a message to Legion. <[Badmarsh] Legion. You got ears? Good news, I got the girls. Bad news, I'm on foot. Almost home. Where you at?> The pimp's face, blood-streaked and wet appears in the caller box of Legion's comm.

He takes a deep breath and straightens, bloodstained shirt pulling tight across his chest and belly. His eyes blaze red. The light from them refracts and sparks in the moisture on his cheeks and brow. The auras of the women leap out at him, pulsing with the unmistakable throb of the feminine. The normally sluggish swirl has gone jagged and sharded. Frankie's particularly.

He leans out, ready to flinch back the moment he sees the astral torch of another soul. He looks left. Right. Left. Right.

00:02:23 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Hunkered against a building on the SW corner of 126th Ave NE & NE 144th St
Nevada

She blinked once. Her vision returned to normal. She stared at the ganger who was using the wall of the building to stand. She blinked twice.

She could feel her teeth grind hard against one another as she clenched her jaw, biting back the majority of the various curses and generally rude thoughts. A few hissed out under her breath.

“Fucking…you arrogant… prick. Last time… ask you… fucking ok.�

Her anger flared violently inside her as her hand tightened into a fist. Sure she was once a whore and it was easy to fall back into the routine. It was just as easy to stay aggressive, stay “freelance� and Badmarsh seemed to forget that she also wielded a shotgun. A hot tempered female and a shotgun didn’t usually mesh well together, tonight was no exception. She was itching for a reason to twitch a finger.

She continued to mutter to herself as took the final drag from her cigarette and flicked the filter into the trash-strewn street. She looked back to check on the girls before turning her attention back fully onto the streets. She felt like she had a target painted on her in neon fucking green sitting here waiting for Mr. Spooky Glowy Eyes over there to make a move. She was edgy, she was anxious. She felt trapped and it was a feeling that extended well beyond their current physical location.

00:02:05 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Thumper

No one was answering the question. Thumper was on the verge of relaxing when he saw a pistol come around the corner. His wires were on; he was moving before he could register the eight ball tatooed on the pistol hand. After the club connected his brain caught up with him

... I saw a troll tearing into a group of UV Nights ...

He eased off as the troll started talking. After the giant had finished his speech Thumper responded:

"I don't know what we've got in the area. I was sent in to deal with the UV Nights crew you were tangling with. We had a guy in the area -- but I haven't seen him. Real stinky guy, holes in his cheeks."

He eyed Doc carefully. "We ought to try to round him up. Then hook up with a bigger crew. You got anyone else in the area?"

00:10:17 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – intersection of NE 141st Way and NE 124th Place, Kingsgate, Seattle, UCAS
Legion

Legion rested against the cool steel of a streetlight at the intersection of the two major thoroughfares of the Kingsgate area. Transferring his sword to his left hand, he dragged from his cigarette again, flicking the ash into the gutter. Movement to his left as well as across the street drew his attention, and he scanned over his right shoulder back towards Raider Nation turf for signs of pursuit.

Seeing none, he weighed his options, not particularly liking either. In the middle of his decision making process Badmarsh's message popped up on his vision. Legion smiled, moving his lieutenant from the status: unknown column to the survivor's column. His eyes scanned up and down the street as he replied.

: call connected -> Badmarsh :
"I'm dismounted as well, on the corner of 141st and 124th. Pack turf is compromised. I'm heading south. Gather what you can and meet me at 124th and 136th."

Legion ground out his cigarette beneath his boot, hefting his sword in his right hand again, and once more wondered which building would lend itself best to his purposes.

00:02:30 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – NE 136th St Kingsgate, Seattle, UCAS
Trojan

Trojan weaves through the remaining wreckage and probably rubble with ease and races down 136th. Those things can probably find a free meal on every corner of Kingsgate, why would they ever try to chase down a bike? I left you a meal back thataway you disposal, go eat. No one ever said a ghoul was smart.

He didn't quite realize the poor choice in routes until he got to the salvation army block. There wasn't any shots being fired but there were definitely bodies on both sides of the streets. One in the middle of the street almost took the bike out.

Eventually Trojan gets to 124th. From here it's a straight shot home, but with the streets like this he isn't counting on a straight anything.

00:10:23 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – 120th N Ave. and 132nd St.
Fool


Whats the plan Fool, you cant sit here all night. You don't know if whoever did this will swing back around to look for survivors....The guys were telling stories about hooking up with the Hammerpack and some other gangs for this rumble..I should try to find someone from that crew and see if they would take me in...yeah thats a plan. The best place to find Hammerpack boys would be to head north, jesus the Raider Nation is between me and them....oh well no choice.....

Fool dug around in one of his dufflebags and pulled out a Fichette Security 600 Pistol and a couple of clips of ammo, no point in letting anything get to close. Dumping the clips into the pocket of his duster he stuffed the pistol down the waist of his pants. It would probably be easier to get there in a straight path but who the frag knows what is out there in the dark of the night, probably hellhounds and ghouls like that simflick i watched on halloween. If I go by road I will be more visable but hopefully I will be more safe to..

Fool stood up and went back to the exit of the alley and looked back at the garage that had been his home for the last few years, alot of memories were made there some good some bad but it was home and it was all going up in smoke. Those guys had became his family. Now he needed to be adopted by a new family. Turning he began walking out of the dead end street off 120th N Ave. which the now extinct Side Street Rollers had made their base of operations in a pretty big garage.

Whenever he could he stuck to the shadows as he made his way to 120th N Ave. His heart was beating a million times a minute and all the carnage did nothing to help. As he walked North along 120th N Ave. He saw more fires in various states of consumption and bodies of innocent ordinary folks ho had been gun down who werent even wearing gang colors. At first he was angry at whoever did this but as the body count rose he began to think maybe he was lucky he had been away when all this happened. He doubted very much if his skills would have made any difference in this outcome.

Looking down an alley he saw a ghoul dragging off a corpse or what he hoped was a corpse and shivered. He picked up the pace. He was almost to intersection of 120th N Ave. and 132nd St. from there he would head back east to one of the main dividing lines in kingsgate the 124th Ave. which almost perfectly split the Kingsgate area up and down the center. As he neared the intersection though he thought he heard something and he was getting a bad feeling. He kept moving but was on full alert......

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 - Brickhouse Boys HQ
Johnny Soho

Johnny's grip on the gun is heavy, a sign of his nerves. The weapon is drawn from the waist band of his jeans, hidden from view in the small of his back. The weapon is lowered down in his hand along the side of his leg in an attempt to hide it. No sense spooking anyone to act first if they were armed as well besides, if they only came with a knife or club Johnny would like to see their face on how fucked they were. Johnny waits what seems long moments.Ah bollixs he thinks to himself as he opens the door and slides in as stealthly as he could manage considering the orkish frame.

00:04:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc

"Fuck no, man. You're looking at the last of the 8-Balls, as far as I know. I'm not ruling out the possiblity, but it's highly-fragging-unlikely."

Doc went into the back room to fetch his duffle back with the remainer of his things. He looked back at the ork in front of him.

"Where do you think your guy will be, and how the frag do you know he's alive? I couldn't hear anything out the back, at least when I checked."

00:11:45 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Corner of N124th and N132nd
Child
So this is it. Child pushed the glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. I'm gonna die out here tonight. Child suddenly knew no more then a handful of people in the entire city that may have been alive. Thankfully the most important one had been tending to the black eye her mother had received on the job. He had bummed ¥20 off Mouse just in case he needed to ease a problem out, but that was all the money he had to his name. He promised to check in come morning.

Child stopped to look at the Yamaha parked against the curb. Right now that was perhaps the only chance he stood of seeing dawn, riding fast and away from this place. But first to end one era. He pulled the last reminder of The Rollers from a saddle bag, a beaten jacket with his name in blue and green. So it ends my friends, so it ends. Child wadded the jacket up and tossed it into the pile of garbage on the side of the street. Child took a few moments to try and let the events of the last 8 hours sink in.

The engine on the bike had been toyed with, but he knew it had potential. Its big problem right then was the fact that it was all Mad Max'd and painted up for a Hellhounds rider. But right then so long as it moved faster then he could walk, it would have to do. It wasn't like he could go fix it. Child secured the saddle bag, and checked on the strap holding his weapon to his back. Now what, where is safe

Child told his Erika to wake. He had turned it off when he realized that the markers denoting his friends had started to wink out one at a time as the comlinks failed to the fire. Child made his mind up to get off a side street, and head for the main roads. He had just turned onto NE 124th ln heading for 132 when his com popped up several windows in his field of view. There was a marker, and it was moving along the south side of 132nd headed for 124th. Child stopped the bike a block up, in what used to be LoCoS turf and pulled the tag open. FOOL, you big stupid deluded shit. His mind raced to launch the messenger app.

Fool? You alive? Please tell me your alive, cause I really don't wanna have to take your com back from what ever took it.

A background note showed up at the same time, a message from Aaron, wondering if he was alive or not, not that he cared. Child replied in the same, yes he was alive, and it was great to know you care. He shut the bike down, as much to stop drawing undue attention to himself, as to save a few drops of fuel in a situation where it might come down to drops.

00:04:12 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Thumper

"Don't know that he's still running, but its ..."

The heavy crunch of a footfall outside cut Thumper short. He dropped next to the door and jerked his head toward the front.

He whispered: "Keep your piece pointed out there ..." as he reached for the door.

00:04:18 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc + Thumper

Nodding, Doc shouldered his duffle bag over his back as he moved up towards the front wall. Pulling out his piece from it’s holster, the troll scanned the street that he could see through the windows, looking for movement or heat. The view was pretty clear due to the windows lacking the cloudy, grungy, aged glass, so he had no problem seeing nothing out of the ordinary outside from his vantage point.
What he didn’t see, though, was the same cringing on Thumper’s face as his own when the sound of cracking and tinkling glass shattered the silence of the moment. Both sparing a glance down at the huge black boots the troll wore, they saw what one of his size nineteen’s had found; one of the few big shards of glass that peppered the floor of the restaurant.

It seemed the two inside weren’t the only ones to hear it either, as Thumper’s adept hearing heard a scuttle of movement outside to the north, opposite of Doc’s view to the south. He barely had time to register that he could only hear the scuffling of a person’s boots on the ground as he/she/it tried to keep quiet while increasing their movement.
Taking as a now or never moment, he twisted and pushed on the door, peering into the northern gloom of the night outside. Seeing some movement, he stuck his head out just enough to see a small flash of purple cloth enter the next store to the north. Straining his ears, he could swear that someone was whispering something, but couldn’t make out anything else…

00:11:52 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Alleyway south of 132nd St.
Fool

Being on full alert and not playing a chip in the background of his mind was probably the smartest thing he could do at this moment, he thought. This left him fully aware of the bodies; some alive, some dead; most either drugged or chipped in the alleyways he passed through. Not to say there were a lot, but he passed them by almost every other alley, the people either leaned against the wall or curled into an alcove when they could find one.
These were the poor souls who couldn’t or didn’t have the gumption to find a building to squat in for the night. Fool could only guess that they had a good chance of being ghoul food, but it left him with the thought that he himself was on his own right now too. Just that thought alone was enough to make him look around each corner as he went, checking for people out to get him.

As he approached the 132nd Fool practically dived into a connecting alley which led east, farther from the 120th. Looking around the corner, tentatively, the blue cybereyes clearly saw a couple of Demons leaning against the entrance to the alley from the 132nd. Behind them a vehicle, a motorcycle maybe, burned in the street, silhouetting the men’s forms and seemed to hold their attention.
Continuing to watch from his hidden point, he noticed a third ganger enter the alleyway with a box. The woman with the box set it on the ground and opened it as one of the men raised his shirt up to his ribs. Fool had seen enough action chips to know that she was checking a wound of some sort and thought best to move on while they were occupied.

Just as he started moving down the east running alleyways, around three buildings south of the 132nd, he kept just as alert. He knew he was lucky to see them and change directions before they noticed. Wondering how long his luck would hold up, he continued until he noticed a his commlink chiming with an incoming message.

00:04:32 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc

Doc's entire body cringed as his foot came down squarely on a broken piece of glass. He cursed under his breath. If there was anyone out there, they'd heard it for sure.

I'm not cut out for this sneaking around shit. Give me a guy right in front of me with a gun any day.

Doc saw Thumper stick his head out the door urgently. Doc didn't have any lines of sight heading north, and all he could see south was empty road, burned out vehicles, and broken storefronts.

"What the fuck's out there?" He hissed under his breath at his newfound compatriot.

00:12:11 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Alleyway south of 132nd St.
Fool

Fool looked down at his comm and answered the call from Child. *laughter* You know its going to take more than a gang war to put me in the ground *nervous laughter*. I'm glad to see you are still alive, did you see what happened to the garage? Its been destroyed, completely gutted by firebombs and it looks like it caught almost everyone in it. I mean i couldn't recognize most of the bodies by the time I showed up. Do you know anything about it?

Hey listen you can probably see my location, do you still have your bike and if so can you pick me up? I was thinking I would hole up somewhere near the Hammerpack, Raider line and see whats going on. Our guys were helping them right? Maybe they will take us in or something?

As Fool finished with his own questions to Child he looked ahead a little bit and saw a body that had been pretty hacked up. As he zoomed in what he had taken for cuts and gashs were more like tears and rips, pieces of the body were only connected by skin and clothing. As he flipped through his different vision enhancements he also spotted a very wide or maybe multiple bloody trails leading off to the east in the direction he was trying to go. More corpes or people had been dragged off.

Uhh hey man if you do come for me you should probably know I have some Steel Demons and something in my area so it will probably be dangerous at the least. But just think of it as an adventure like that simflick I was telling you about the other day when you were working on that one guys bike.

Fool couldnt stop scanning the roofs, the entrances to the alley, even the sky. He knew there was bad things around him but he just couldnt see them. It was just creepy. Looking around he tried to take cover in the darkest nook he could find while he waited for a reply from his friend.

00:06:26 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Just north of intersection of 128th and Vineyard
Bockscar

The kid nods his head in response to Bockscar's question and answers excitedly. "Yeah, I'm about to send a message out to Badmarsh and Legion, I just saw them go active and,"

*CRACK*

The sharp report of a rifle, probably some kind of hunting rifle or carbine in Bockscar's opinion, rings out and punches through the kid's head and shatters the commlink he was holding up to show Bockscar. The destroyed commlink falls to the ground and breaks into even smaller pieces. The kid's head jerks in mid-sentence. He stares at the soldier with cold, dead eyes. Then his body tilts and falls to the ground.

Good news: The shot came from Raider Nation's side of the car. The kid got a little too high and talked a little too loudly, making himself a target.

Bad news: They've got a rifle and Bockscar can't see them.

Question: Do they know he's still here or do they think they got them all?

What now?

00:12:33 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – intersection of NE 141st Way and NE 124th Place, Kingsgate, Seattle, UCAS
Legion

A wry chuckle forced its way past his dry, cracked lips. Even amidst the putrid miasma filling the streets of Kingsgate, he could recognize the stench of his enforcer. Legion tapped out another cigarette from his scavenged pack, noting with some despair that only three remained, before lighting up again. Abandoning the support of the streetlight, he limped across the sidewalk to the garishly painted wall of Plastic Sushi. Putting his back to the wall, he glanced up and down the street. Pitching his voice just loud enough to be heard inside, he rapped the blade of his katana against the window sill.

"Yo, Grack! Stuff the last of that spicy tuna roll in your nasty pie hole and get your hoop out here!"

00:06:26 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Just north of intersection of 128th and Vineyard
Bockscar

Son of a b***h. Stupid a** mother f****r. Dumbs**t chingasa puta cabron. F*****g Raiders got me dialed in. Dead mother f****r gave my position away. Gotta move.

Kid dies while I'm splinting his leg. F****r. Drop down behind the car, low as low can go. No movement down the street, huff and puff as my vision focuses in something like panic on the picture in picture from Alfy. Huff and puff with the pain the adrenaline spike sends through my breathing. Sit there for what feels like a month, not moving a muscle, trying to figure out where the hell they are.

Move. Do something. Snake a hand under the car, fast, grab the dud 'nade and shove it under the kid, face up so he's resting on the contact fuze. Doesn't matter much, since it hasn't fired. Reach into my pocket and dump Leon's extra shotgun shells under the body, next to the grenade. Leave the f****rs a surprise. Drop a quick command to the wireless link on the grenade under the kid - drop comms and detonate if anything pulls it off the fuze.

Go time. Grab the pneumatic syringe of 'Kazi sitting on the ground. Slam it into the crook of my elbow, on the gunshot side, let the hiss and stab of the dose tell me it's working. Dump it in my pocket.

Road's 10 meters wide. I'm on the right, 40 or so meters up from the intersection. Grab Alfy and clip the sling to my good side epaulette. Lever myself up, leaning against the car. Huff, puff, and run like a paper dog chasing an asbestos cat through hell; straight for the near left side of the road, across the whole mother f****r, towards Hammerpack central, right as I feel the punch of the 'Kazi through my system.

"I'm up, he sees me, I'm DOWN!" as I tuck into the corner and try to get out of the line of sight.

00:13:00 Saturday November 1, 2070 - Plastic Sushi
Grack

Grack had enjoyed the brief walk to Plastic Sushi immensely, Tusk Master's melodious screams of agony providing the perfect backdrop to the glow of fires in the distance. The title track, "Kill with Pride," enhanced his fond reminisences of his scuffle with the Ultraviolet Nights just a short while ago.

Arriving at the automated restaurant and finding it devoid of patrons, he had fed some cash into the dispensers and received two Plastic Moriawases - the one with the picture showing the most food - which he had set to with the same gusto as any growing boy.

Partway through his repast, however, he caught some sort of motion out of the corner of his eye. Sensing no enemies nearby, he slowly turned to look. There, outside the window, was Legion tapping on the window. Vut. Just come in, he thought. But with Legion everything was always the hard way, always go go go. It looked as though he might be saying something, but whatever it was, it couldn't be more important than listening to Tusk Master. Still, his body language made it clear he was summoning young Grack, and so our protagonist collected his new toy in his right hand and his plate in his left and exited the building. His heavy black leather jacket was in remarkably good condition, but his bare torso beneath was caked and sticky with far more blood than anyone could lose and still be on their feet. Likewise, his olive-drab cargo trousers were black with the the stuff.

Stepping out, Grack was mildly surprised to see Legion alone. Where could all of his other friends be? Didn't they, too, wish to participate in the victory celebration?

It was clear the human was still speaking, but it was simply too much to bear to turn down the volume just at the awe-inspiring crescendo of "Eternal Wejoto." Nonetheless, ever the picture of decorum, Grack proffered his plate of sushi scraps to the young man from whom he'd taken his marching orders for the past five years.

00:00:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Roaming up 132rd Ave. in Splintered Crash turf
Felix

Felix had never been one to talk very much in the first place. Not that he never had anything to say, on the contrary. He kept his mouth shut because he didn't want to bother anyone. He was usually more than happy to simply sit back, enjoy the moment and laugh and giggle his way through the days. Tonight, and especially tonight, the young wizkid even more silent. A big fat lump had clogged his throat and dried his mouth. A knot like he had never felt had wrapped his insides all around. Every minute, he felt like dropping on his knees and hurling in the street. Odds were, he had very little left to hurl anyways. He couldn't quite remember when it was the last time he had eaten.

Limping along the sidewalk, he peered out from under his hoodie and toward his friend. Shade had also been pretty quiet. He walked alongside him, pushing Felix in the shadows whenever something came by. He was glad to have him by his side... but he felt like such a burden. Already weak from just being himself, Felix had busted his ankle pretty good when Toy and Shade had thrown his ass down from the second floor. They could have both used their bikes instead of walking... but Shade had said it would be safer to scout ahead on foot. Even if Felix hadn't complained one time about his ankle, his limp was obvious and everytime he stepped on it, he winced under his hood. Odds were, Shade knew he was too weak to ride, and wanted to spare him more hurt.

Shade, what did I ever do to deserve a brother like you...

As they neared 134th, Shade motioned him into the decrepit shell of a burnt out building. The place had probably been a lovely store of some sort. Now it catered to squatters and junkies. Here and there, a few bums at then end of their rolls were hunkered around a little fire. The whole place stank of urine, smoke and other body odors. The occupants of the place threw nervous looks toward the two gangers as they came in, debating whether or not to make themselves scarce. Felix knew most of the homeless and squatters on their turf... and wasn't worried. It was probably his presence that calmed them down, for they all breathed a sigh of relief when he gave them a slight bow of the head.

"Let's take five minutes." said Shade, his practiced eyes scanning the street outside.

Felix smiled in a tired way behind his brbreathingask. He had worn in none stop since the 162s had hot them, and he could feel its straps starting to almost cut into his pale skin. Letting himself slide against the wall and unto the floor, the young mentalist pushed his hood off his head, brushing away his worries by running a quick hand into his short hair. With a wince of pain, he pulled his leg toward himself to check on his ankle. It was sprained good, but from the feel of it, he hadn't broken anything... he would have known by now.

"How is it?" said Shade in a calm and low voice, his eyes not leaving the street.

Felix looked up toward him, a faint smile reflected in his eyes.

"Oh it's fine... could have been a lot worse..."

A few seconds of silence rolled by as they both looked for something else to say. The wizkid reached and pulled his pants' leg back over his injured ankle.

Felix's head rolled back as the past days started to catch up with him. He was tired, Dead Tired. All he wanted to do was to find a dry and quiet spot, warm to if it could be, curl up into a ball and sleep it off. He still couldn't quite come to grip with what had happened. Why them? They were small time. Amateurs. Nobodies. Even the Lost Boys were more of a menace then the Crash. But things are the way they are. You just roll with it and shut up. Or at least, that was how Felix saw things.

Painfully pushing himself off the dirty floor, Felix grunted in pain. InstantaneouslyShade was by his side, concern on his face as he grabbed the mage under his armpit and lifted him onto his feet.

"Thank you" said Felix in a shy voice, his eyes going to the tip of his shoes.

"Listen Felix, you can rest. I'll go out and check things out."

Taking his hood by the tips of his fragile fingers, Felix pulled it up and unto his head.

"Null presp. I'll be alright." he said with what he hopped was a confident sounding voice.

Shade simply looked at him with his head cocked to the side... which only made Felix even more uncomfortable. He felt like a terrible burden.

"Let's get going. Halomust be worried..."

Shifting the weight of his backpack his shoulders, Felix pushed himself back into the dark street. Around him, clouding the night's sky, he could clearly see black clouds of smoke both close and far, testaments of the burning war that had raged everywhere around them... until it had come knocking on their front door. Both friends walked about another block before the eerie silence that surrounded them was broken.

"About Toy... I'm..." started Felix in a timid and shaky voice "I'm really sorry. I'm sure she's in a much better place..."

Felix had no idea what to say or how to say it. He simply felt like he needed to say something. Shade didn't reply anything. His attention simply seemed to drift out for a brief moment.

It was only when Shade began to slow his place down that the young wizkid his eyes from the pavement and toward the street ahead of them. Through his yellow tinted shades, which greatly amplified the ambient light, he could easily discern the wreck a few meters away. Just like his friend, all his senses were now in alert. Smoke was still rising from the torn bike, and through his brbreathingask, the sweet smell of gasoline still hung in the air.

The events were still fresh. Felix could feel it in his bones. He could feel the lingering emotions in the world around him. They all swirled around him in a colorfull package he had grown accustomed to decode. Pain. Fear. Anger. Guilt. Despair. Kingsgate always oozed of this soup, not matter where you went. Misery and violence had tainted the very fabric of the world. But this was different. It was fresh and sharp.

As they neared the wreck, Felix felt a growing sense of apprehension. He felt his feet get heavier with each step, as if trying to prevent him from getting any closer. He felt Shade stiffen up next to him. A few steps ahead, the torn body of a biker lay half on the sidewalk. It was far from being the first bloodied and gored out body Felix had seen, and odds were it wouldn't be the last. It still gave him chills.

He was about to turn his eyes away, when his felt his hearth stop. No more beating. All blood washed away from his face. He was emptied out in the blink of an eye. For a moment, Felix was no more. He wasn't alive anymore, yet he wasn't dead. He simply wasn't.

Halo.
No.
God.

And then his body was moving on his own, his knees scrapping themselves hard against the concrete as he dropped next to the body.

"Oh God! Oh no! nononononono please no Oh God. Please Halo. Please"

Tears were running down his cheeks. He could barely see. Sobbing and shaking all over, Felix frantically ripped his backpack off his back and spilled it's content on the street. Undoing the straps of the biomonitor he kept around his wrist, he slipped it on Haloand shifted his gaze in a way that was second nature to him.

"Please Halo. Don't do this to me. Please. Oh God...."

00:04:34 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Thumper

"Someone's flying UV colors ..." Thumper said as he looked around for an intact piece of furniture to block the door.

"We got a back door?"

00:04:55 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc

"Is he a spellchucker? Because I say if he's mundane we just frag him."

Doc glanced around the room, looking anxious to run headlong out the front door after the UV bastard.

"There was another room behind the one I woke up in that probably leads out the back. A chair was blocking the door to that room."

Doc was getting nervous. He was worried about the guy summoning up some spirits and just toasting them where they stood. He started to feel the kamikaze itch starting up. He wanted to just end this sooner rather than later, but he didn't know if his companion was as nervous as he was.

"You know what? Fuck it. If the guy is a spellslinger then can't he just summon up spirits or some shit that can find us in here? One could be watching as we speak. I think we either have to take him down or we have to fraggin' run. Fast. If you want to take him out, how about I go in the front door and make a scene and you come around back and take him down?"

00:13:24 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Headed South down 126th Ave NE from the intersection of 126th and 144th St
Badmarsh

Badmarsh shushes the woman's rant and takes Legion's call, eyeing her up and down while he listens.

: call connected -> Legion:
<You got it, Sarkar. I'm on my way. How many are left? I got nothing but you on my comm.> The young pimp's voice is bleak. He signs off while he waits for Legion's reply.

After the call he takes the new girl's chin in his hand, "Aww, chickadee... did I upset you?" His voice is soft, and calm, the red blaze in his eyes a banked soft glow. His hand tightens abruptly, painfully, gripping the dark-eyed woman's jaw, his face, a twisted snarl, "Shut. The. Fuck. Up." The red eyes blaze and his voice echoes strangely. Each syllable is emphasized by a shake. Nevada's nosrils flare as their eyes lock a fleeting look of panic in hers when her mouth works but she cannot speak. He barks a laugh and shoves her away by the face. The shove puts him off balance and he sways on his feet. He shakes his head to clear it before looking up and down the road one last time.

"All clear. We're headed south and west. Not home. Hope one you stupid bitches didn't leave a hot plate on."

Dahlia gasps, worried now that she did just such a thing. She begins to weep quietly, biting her lips to muffle her sobs. Nyna shakes her head at Dahlia. She checked. Of course, she checked. Dahlia swallows and nods. The weeping subsides.

He slings the shotgun onto his shoulder and pulls a pistol, checking the clip before waving Nevada and the girls ahead. He grabs Frankie's arm as she goes by. "Never. NEVER do this again." She tries to pull free of his grasp and he hangs on for a moment and lets her go.

They move south.

00:01:42 Saturday, November 1, 2070 - Brickhouse Boys HQ
Johnny Soho

Easing the door open as silently as he could, the tusker could still hear the old hinges grinding against each other as the door swung inward. Just as the door opened just enough for Johnny to sneak through, he stepped into the large room and behind a singed shelving unit. The sounds coming from farther in the room showed no change, like the brit’s entrance wasn’t noticed.
Peeking from around the burned furniture, he saw a woman picking and choosing through the items she had found in the room. His retro style of dress and manner seemed repulsed by the pure hodgepodge of mismatched cloths and gear she wore. From the boot and sandal on her feet, the discord of attire continued to the long rainbow striped thigh high socks that seemed to have been tie-dyed in sewage of some sort.
This led up to her cutoff shorts which seemed like they could have been pants to a blue pinstriped business suit at one point and farther up it contorted into an even weirder combo of a white shirt with ‘Love and Piece!’ in blood dripped red, which was then covered by a camo green armored vest which had large and cute looking Devil and Angel chibi patches on the back.
Her long grey hair was tied back in a ponytail that went down half her back, but the color belayed her apparent age of what Johnny could only guess at late twenties, still pretty young for a human. Still, her hat brought back a couple of memories of home as he saw the large comical looking multicolored top hat that he remembered people wearing to parties for kicks, but it seemed to work with the rest of her… look.

As she worked through the small pile she had gathered, appraising each item one by one, she seemed to be humming some obscure sounding tune which the Englishman couldn’t place. Every once in a while, she would stop humming and start mumbling to herself incoherently.

00:14:19 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Plastic Sushi and the intersection of NE 141st Way and NE 124th Place, Kingsgate, Seattle, UCAS
Legion

Legion grimaces, his own hearing mildly offended by the industrial noise pouring from Grack's headphones. He gestures impatiently with his right hand, smoke rising lazily from the cigarette held between thumb and forefinger. Pointing with two fingers to his eyes, then across the street at the building where movement drew his attention earlier, then to Grack and back to the building. He said only one word, enunciating very clearly so his enforcer would understand despite the raging Troll metal pounding in his ears.

"Sanitize."

He waited to make sure that Grack understood his orders while he spoke to Badmarsh.

: call connected -> Badmarsh :
"I've just picked up Grack, but that's all I have. Lessard, Mongol, and No Dice are all dead. No word yet on Ghost or any of his squad."

00:00:30 Saturday November 1, 2070- 124th Street NE

The night was filled with the scents of destruction. The air carried its normal miasma of chemicals and refuse, but now it was spiced with fear and desperation. Most of that had to be coming from him.

Jaya looked up at the sound of voices, loud meta-human voices, like the ones he'd listened to as Bender burned. They'd be after him next, he was right on the edge of Plague turf still, and even though the Corsairs were dead, they'd probably still be holding a grudge for awhile.

He looked around for a place to hide, his shoulder kept sending him painful reminders that he was in no condition for another fight, and noticed an open doorway across the street.

Good enough. He thought to himself and bolted for the dark opening.

00:05:02 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Thumper

"How the fuck do I know if he's a spell slinger."

Thumper curled the knuckle of his left hand under his finger and popped it. He liked fights, he didn't like magic. This was a tough call.

"These guys just thrashed the both of us. I say we go out the back and stomp anyone we see. Its a compromise and shit."

He stood and moved toward the back room.

"I'm calling my boys, if you're hell bent on making some fucking noise in front I'll go around the back and start swinging. But I'd rather run than take my chances with the flaming fireball friends."

<<Thumper@Legion,Ghost:: I'm holed up on 124th Pl. NE. I've got UV presence and a big 8-baller backing me up. Advise.>>

00:12:13 Saturday, November 1, 2070- Corner of N124th and N132nd
Child
Child suppressed a whoop of delight in the knowledge that Fool was alive yet.
I have A bike, but its not mine, and I don't think you want me picking you up with it. Its a Hellhounds job, and with the SD right there, bad idea. I'm gonna find somewhere to hide for a few, but Ill keep an eye down 132 for you. Beyond that, ditch your colors and we'll talk when you get here. I don't know who's repeater we are on.

He left the channel open,silently hoping that Fool would gripe about it, giving him the opportunity to agree after the second asking, and giving him someone to shift the blame onto when it turned out to be a monumentally bad situation in the making.
Child had a odd thought that had worked once before, and flipped his account of Miracle Shooter into his active AR. I know I'm not the only banger in Redmond that plays, lets hope they are far away. While the MMOARC program struggled to find a viable connection, Child rolled the Hellhounds bike off the street hoping to find some place to keep his head down for a few minutes.

00:14:24 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Plastic Sushi and the intersection of NE 141st Way and NE 124th Place, Kingsgate, Seattle, UCAS

Grack

A wholesome grin spread across Grack's handsome features upon receiving Legion's instructions.
All other concerns were forgotten at the prospect of honorable combat nobly conducted.
The polystyrene plate of sushi hit the ground at his feet, bits of aquacultured soyrice and krill-toona scattering on the dirty asphalt. Adjusting his grip on his new toy, he set off across the street at a low lope, sticking to shadows and cover, moving with remarkable silence for one of his formidable size. As he ran, he shut down his music, the better to find his quarry. Of course he knew that his amazing new Powers would sense any foes, but old hunting habits died hard.

00:05:12 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc

"I don't know, you saw the fucker. Sometimes they're holding all sorts of shruken heads and shit, you know?"

Doc was getting anxious. They had enough muscle between them to take down at least 5 humans, but the though of getting toasted by a fireball was not looking at all appealing. Whatever they ended up doing, Doc wanted to hurry up and do it. He followed Thumper towards the back of the restaurant.

"Alright, we'll both head out the back. I have no desire to get toasted tonight. Not after what I've been through the past couple nights. If we have a good chance to stomp the guy, let's do it. But if we can walk away clean I guess we fraggin' should."

00:14:51 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Plastic Sushi and the intersection of NE 141st Way and NE 124th Place, Kingsgate, Seattle, UCAS
Legion

Backing Grack from his own position of cover, Legion is surprised to see Thumper's text come through. Then again, wireless service in the area was spotty to begin with and that was before the war wrecked half the transmission points in the area. Glancing around the area again, he fired off a quick reply.

<<Legion@Thumper:: @ Plastic Sushi with Grack. Grab what you can and meet us here. Bring the 8-Baller.>>

00:05:58 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc + Thumper

Looking up at the huge meta-human, at least larger than himself, Thumper nodded in agreement. Messing around with mages wasn’t high on his list of fun things to do, especially with what happened not too long ago with him being sent flying. “Fuck it! Let’s head out the back and get the hell out of here!�, he said as he continued through the doors leading from the dining room to the kitchen.
Doc shrugged as he followed the Hammerpack warrior towards the back door. He couldn’t see the major reason the smaller ork had changed his mind, but it was important enough to sway it. In Thumper’s AR vision, he saw a floating window; the response to the message he sent out to his leader which read, “Connection Lost. Message delayed.�

The pair moved pretty silently through the bare kitchen area. The rubble underfoot, mostly rocks and rotted wood stuffs, was much quieter than shards off glass when trodden on. Still, as Thumper approached the door which had once served as a service entrance in better times, he signaled Doc to halt his advance.
Something didn’t feel right and given the situation the scowling ork trusted his gut and his ears. Putting one of them up to the metal door, he listened to what might be on the other side. If there was anything though, nothing came through and after a bit he snorted in disgust as he knew he was basically walking out into the alley blind.
With a final nod and the flexing of his right hand into a tight fist, he quietly but swiftly swung the door open and dashed across the opening to the first spot of cover he could find, a metal barrel on the other side of the alleyway. From there, he could see pretty much the entire alley, up to a point where it turned on either direction.
Nothing… Other than trash, rubble and other normal barrens alleyway crap, there was nothing. Letting out his breath in a long sigh, he silently motioned back to Doc who was still standing in the doorway with pistol drawn. Nodding, the giant moved out into the oddly wider than normal alleyway, posture more relaxed than it was a second ago but not completely.

With a quick jerk of the head, the tusker pair both turned and started heading south, away from the building containing the purple clad person. They only made it a few meters before a crash and a thud behind them caused Thumper to jump behind a large metal box, his wires jolting him to superhuman heights of reaction, while the larger Doc could only turn quickly while backing against the wall, pointing his gun in the direction of the sound.
What they saw though set them back a few beats as the sight made little sense to them at first. There, back at that same building they were weary about before, lay a person face down on what once was the door to the back of that building. It lay there motionless, Doc’s sights still trained on it, for more than a few seconds before breaking a few snerks and chuckles under its breath.
It wasn’t long after though that another body came flying through the broken doorway, landing right on top of the first. The ork and troll team could only glance at each other in confusion as Doc slowly made his way to a more defendable position behind a dumpster farther back.

By the time he actually made it there, the alleyway was filled with laughter, true laughter of mirth and hilarity coming from the pair of bodies lying on the door. Doc had his suspicions, which were confirmed when a third man in a purple trenchcoat made his way out the door, that these idiots were really fucked up. ‘Probably Bliss by the way they are laughing at each other’, the drug worker thought.
It was readily apparent to Thumper too as soon as the human in the doorway finally notice the trogs down the alleyway and smiled a wide goofy smile before exclaiming, “Oiiiiii, Chuuummersss! You found yourselves some wizzz threads too! Wizzzz…Heh! Wizzz…� He seemed stunned, in his drugged out state, by the words he himself was saying, but finally continued, “Yo… We found these things on some chummers on the street. They didn’t need them anymore… They’s was sleeping really deep.�, he answered to a question no one had asked, but it did explain enough to the ork who had risen from his crouch.


Looking back at the troll who had also stood to his full towering height, he said in a lowered voice, “One fragger in VN colors is as good as another…� Seeing him move up towards the stumbling blessed out human, Doc needed no further explanation on what was coming up next. Though he knew what was coming, the human didn’t as Thumper put his name to good use by rearing back and slugging the man in the face with all his might.
The following minutes were filled with laugher, which turned to cries of pain and laugher, followed by just cries of pain that faded into silence as each of the fools stupid enough to dress in gang cloths during a war were thrashed into unconsciousness.


00:14:51 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Alleyway behind a ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Doc + Thumper

Standing above the broken and twitching bodies, the gangers could only grin at the sight. Even if they weren’t real UVN goons, they sure looked like they could be and the night’s frustrations were happily taken out on them.
Thumper couldn’t help but snort in exasperation though when the window which had previously displayed a lack of connection then flashed, notifying the ork that his message had just been sent. It wasn’t long though before a reply was received from Legion; much needed orders to regroup.

00:20:00 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Roaming up 132rd Ave. in Splintered Crash turf
Last Survivors of the Splintered Crash

Shade's breath caught in his throat as he watched Felix frantically working on the unconscious Halo. He longed to be able to do something, anything, to help his friends out. He'd always trained himself to know his limits though, to know when to push beyond them and when to stay within them. When it came to first aid and healing people, it was definitely time for the latter.

The minutes ticked by as the young mage frantically applied rudimentary first aid to the blond biker. Watching in rapt fascination, and praying hard in his mind, Shade almost didn't hear the scuffling footsteps some distance behind him. An icy fear gripped him inside as he whirled around.

Cursing furiously at himself for not paying closer attention to their surroundings, spurs popped out, wired reflexes kicked his view of the world around him into high gear. They were on the border of the old Splintered Crash-162 turf for God's sake!

Bracing himself for anything from a squatter looking for a handout to an entire pack of ghouls ready to turn them into a midnight snack, the last thing he expected to see was a full-fledged ghost standing only about five meters away.

"Holy drek! Aziz!?!?!?"

The Arabian samurai grinned back at Shade. "The only and fragging only. Getting sloppy Shade? If I was the 162s, you'd have been a pretty easy midnight snack right now."

Shade didn't respond, simply looking down meaningfully at the five meter distance between them. They both knew that was still plenty of room, and more importantly, time for someone with Shade's reflexes to ginsu someone into bite-sized pieces, surprise or no.

Limping towards his friend, Aziz couldn't resist one last dig. "Hell, if I'd wanted you dead, I'd have just shot ya. Them spurs wouldn't do you much good if I was down the block, would they?"

Shade didn't have an answer for that, nor did he try. Instead, his jaw dropped as he considered the pathetic state of his friend. "Oh my god! Aziz, are you ok?"

He rushed over to help his friend as he came into the light, revealing the full extent of his wounds. Battered and bleeding almost beyond recognition, it was obvious that Aziz's miraculous escape from the 162's assault had come at a heavy price.

Shrugging off the Asian ganger's worry with his usual machismo, Aziz shrugged, then winced and readjusted himself as pain racked his body. "Ain't no thing Shade. Gonna take more than a pack of damn ghouls to bring me down. You shoulda known; they're good, but not as good as I am."

Hobbling over towards Felix, who hadn't even looked up at his arrival, Aziz gave the mage a little nudge. "Wassa matter little buddy? Can't even spare a 'wow, I'm glad you're alive' for your old pal Aziz?"

Before Felix could answer, Aziz looked down and noticed what, or more precisely who had such an iron grip on his friend's attention. "Oh shit...what the fuck happened to Halo? Who the fuck did this to her Shade?"

The Arabian whirled angrily, Kalila practically ready to jump out of its sheath, when the exertion caused him to groan in pain and sink to a knee, holding his side. Turning to his friend, Felix gasped aloud at his friend's condition. "Aziz! When did you get here?! Oh my god, Shade, Aziz is alive!"

Quickly looking him over, Felix said admiringly, "You need medical attention, bad. I'm amazed you made it this far on your own!"

"Heh, you know me kid. Tough as nails, eh?" Aziz grinned cockily at him, albeit painfully. Not that he'd ever admit that, of course. "How's Halo kid, she gonna be ok?"

Obviously Aziz hadn't fully managed to observe their female friend, or he would have already known the answer to that question. Looking at the love of his life, bleeding to death on the cold, hard ground, Felix answered, "It's bad. Really bad. I managed to stabilize her, but..." his voice quivers and the other two see tears streaming down his cheeks as he looks up at them. "But I can't do anything else for her! She can't stay like this, or she'll die! What are we gonna do guys?"

Quietly Shade said, "We need to get Aziz and Halo to a doctor, now. No way is any medkit going to fix that much damage. Either of you two know any clinics around here worth the name?"

00:16:14 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Just north of intersection of 128th and Vineyard
Bockscar

Laying quietly and very still as the minutes ticked by, Bockscar carefully went about his preparations, trying to ready himself to make a break for it. He wasn't sure if the 'grenade-under-the-body' trick would work, but he left a few shotgun shells underneath the body just in case. If he could pull it off, it'd give those Raider Nation fraggers a nice, nasty little surprise.

Shooting himself up with a little Kamikaze just for that something extra which he needed, Bockscar rationalized to himself, he then carefully clipped his assault rifle to his jacket and set his feet, ready to take off running.

Finally, sure he'd done everything he could do, and ready to abandon a rapidly disintegrating position, he took a few deep breaths to steady himself, then took off like he was wearing sausage underwear in a pack of wolves.

Trying to maintain good form for maximum speed and moving in a zig-zag pattern, he heard a yell of surprise, then the crack of a rifle shot that ricocheted off the cement near his feet. He ignored it and kept sprinting, not stopping until he collapsed in a heap behind a dumpster in an alley, gasping for air to feed his burning lungs.

A minute or so after he was clear, off in the distance behind him he heard an explosion. He didn't know if he'd actually gotten anyone, but he allowed himself a small smile nonetheless. After all, sometimes it was the little things in life.

00:15:30 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Alleyway behind a ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Grack

Once he'd crossed the street, young Grack had hidden himself deep in the shadows and moved soundlessly down the alley to the rear of the target building. His ears rang in the aftermath of Broken Tusk's anthem, and there was little chance of the silence being broken.
It seems the lad had a somewhat naughty habit of deactivating his commlink whenever he received a termination order from Master Legion - the disappointment when such orders were rescinded was just too heart-rending to contemplate.

For several long minutes he had eased himself along through the muck and garbage that lined the wide passage. Ahead, he could easily sense sound and movement. With patience, he would be the first to strike.

Cleverly concealed within a deep pile of offal apparently dumped from a nearby apartment block, he listened as two pairs of heavy footsteps approached. With almost unbearable anticipation, he let them pass - only to see that the ork in the lead was his cerri Thumper, red Hammerpack sash hanging proudly from his hip. Behind him came the physical and intellectual giant from the 8-Balls affectionately called Doc. No wonder his Power had sensed no foes.

Once they were past him, he arose from his hide and called out quietly, "Skraaa, Thumper. What business with this 8-Ball pig?"

00:15:40 Saturday, November 1, 2070 – Ruined building off of 124th Pl. NE
Thumper

"Skraa - fucking -cha!" Thumper said as he wound up for a monumental handshake/high five.

Grack hissed a warning for silence and Thumper toned down his voice.

"Big guy and I have been tearing up this damn town. Where the fuck you been at." He grinned wildly. He held up a scrap of purple cloth, "We got some UV threads to prove it. He's alright."

Thumper looked at the ground and then back up, with the same grin. "When I saw the UV fuckers with bite marks that you weren't still stuck to, I thought you were a fucking goner."