OOC discussions should go in the OOC thread, found here.

Eight days ago

The news cast switches over to show a feed of a reporter standing outside on an overcast day just in front of Seattle General hospital. The sign to his left makes this clear, even if you hadn't seen the place on the trid or in real life dozens of times already.

"Thanks, Carlos," the rock jawed reporter says as the anchor shifts the feed to him. "Seattle General hospital today issued a flu advisory and warned that this year's flu shots may be protecting against the wrong strains. Hospital admissions are up 36% today with the majority of patients complaining of bad cases of the virus."

The guy smiles and you can't help but wonder what they chisled his head out of before attaching it to the automaton that is his body. He just exudes "fake" from every pore. "Some of the precautions you can take include washing your hands frequently and wearing breathing filters in public places." The list continues and bulleted points appear on the screen. "The elderly are at the greatest risk and should seek medical attention promptly if showing symptoms."

After a bit more droning on, he gives the camera another smile. "Back to you, Carlos!"

Six days ago

A similar scene to the other one results in our intrepid reporter standing outside of Seattle General once more. The scene is subtly different, though, as there are several people milling about in the background. "Carlos, that's right. Over one hundred people have died of this mystery illness in the last twenty four hours."

His face is deathly serious, though he still seems carved from wood. "The victims had reported into area hospitals complaining of flu-like symptoms. Doctors have stated that the fatal stages of the illness in no way resembled any symptom sets known."

"Flu admissions to downtown area hospitals have continued to rise, though doctors warn that no one needs to panic. The fatal cases of the illness have been few and far between, accounting for only about three percent of all possible cases."

"Back to you, Carlos."

Three days ago

Another trid newscast shows a reporter in full biowarfare gear standing in front of Seattle General. Behind him, the sleek hull of an APC is clearly visible, and UCAS military personell have walking the perimeter. "Civilians in the newly errect Downtown Containment Zone are urged to remain calm. The UCAS CDC has established several facilities for observation and quaranteen in the city proper and busses leave hourly from any of six checkpoints."

The screen rezzes a map in the upper right. The DCZ is shown as a red line that circles the entirity of downtown north of Sea-Tac. At Sea-Tac, the line cuts directly west and then north to make a diagonal line to Lake Washington. Half a dozen green triangles appear on the screen highlighting most of the major bridges and an area by Sea-Tac where civilians can get on the CDC busses to leave the zone.

"With the Salish-Sidhe border closed, citizens are urged to remain in their homes. The CDC repeats that there is no need for panic, but that these precautionary measures are necessary."

Now

Fear of the government is one thing. Fear of whatever the hell is killing so many people is another. For some, the disease sweeping downtown is enough to put them on the drab green CDC busses and get them out of town. Many others aren't quite so trusting and have decided to wait it out, holed up in their appartments.

Military sweeps have been coming through the DCZ for the last two nights, rounding up anyone who can be found and shipping them off to the camps. Thousands are dead, and tens of thousands are sick, but the oddity seems to be that the youngest victims were in their twenties. Younger individuals just don't seem to be infected.

As night settles, for one reason or another, you find outself ouside. The need for food and water, the search for a missing loved one, or the pursuit of the God-given right to loot and pilage have taken you from whatever shelter you've found. Unfortunately, now you're square in the middle of a raid.

Overhead, a duo of military pattern thunderbirds rides scout over the advancing wagons and the patrols. One by one, you find your way into an abandoned tenemant and hunker in different areas, waiting with bated breath. The flights pass nearby then on, the building apparently managing to mask your presence.

Kyle glanced out the door, up at the gray sky; a dark gray, to be sure, but there was so much light in Seattle nowadays that it could barely be called darkness. Things were darker than they used to be, though, and looked to be getting darker still.
He stood up, patted his pocket, and pulled out a chocolate bar. Unwrapping it and biting into it, tasting the glucose as it entered his body and moved in to fuel it, he leaned against the door frame and stared into the night.

Fink lies back on his sleeping bag, his hands folded behind his head. It had been a hard week, harder than most. With all the trouble the virus has been causing, people were looking for anything to blame it on, so why not SURGE? A group of humanis punks had been harassing him and while Fink tried to ignore them and move on, but they just wouldn’t have it that way. Calling up a spirit to act as both protection and a distraction had fixed the issue quickly, but a few bruises remained. Nothing a quick Heal couldn’t fix.

Thunder rolled in the distance and Fink could smell rain coming… time to move on and find a place to hide. He gets up and rolls the sleeping bag up, then tucks it away on the back of his chopper. He climbs on and rides off into the night…

Peter slammed through the door, wooden frame shattering as he crashed shoulder first through it. The shouts of the police were right behind him. He took a moment and glanced around. It was a run down apartment building. Empty since the plague broke out.

Sloppy Peter, very sloppy, I knew I shouldn't have taken this job.

The black duffle bag with his equipment and the prize was tightly secured around his torso. Squeezed between his bag and his black trench coat, he wore a red handled Katana. Black clothes and a Balaclava finished of his outfit, all to stay out of sight, not that it did him much good.

The job had been easy really, break into a apartment in downtown, find the safe, crack it, and take the opdisk inside. Peter hadn't counted on the massive military patrols looking for people breaking quarantine. He had gotten into the DCZ easy enough, but trying to get proved much harder. The route he had taken in had been exposed when he returned to it, and while trying to find an alt, he had been spotted by a mage on astral patrol. He had lost the mage by going underground, but he was having difficulty losing the ground troops.

Well theres only one way to go now, up.

The young man charged up the stairs with no more noise than a falling leaf. Unfortunately he tarried to long, another patrol had spotted him going into the building. He could hear the charging footstep below him. Six stories flew by, the roof access door approached, locked with a heavy chain. Slowing only long enough to draw his sword, Peter sliced through the chain like a hot knife through butter. The two halves unraveled making a ton of noise. Peter sheathe his blade and ran out onto the roof. He quickly searched for an exit, no pipes, no fire escapes.

Damn.

"He's on the roof, call the copter back, get some light up there!"

It wouldn't take them long. Another look around. A building, the closest of them all, four meters away.

No time to decide, have to go now!

Running as fast as his legs would carry him, Peter charged with all his might toward the ledge. His right foot hit the lip of the building and Peter flung himself into the darkness. He flew through the air, arms windmilling. The building loomed in front of him as he started to fall. A moment of panick raced through him as he thought it was over. The window appeared in front of, he crashed through the flimsy boards, body tucking up underneath him and instinctively rolling. He rolled to a stop, coming up in a crouch, Manhunter out before him, the tale tale of the laser sight sweeping the hallway. He had lucked out. No wall to stop him just a long hallway of an abandoned tenement.

Kyle cocked his head, hearing the crashes from above. Something up... he reached inside his light jacket, loosening his Browning in its holster, wincing as his headache returned yet again. Damn headaches... he crouched next to the door, waiting.

Ryan huddles under a layer of refuse, afraid to breath. The sound of the 'birds fades and after a few minutes Ryan gets up and slowly makes his way up the stairs to the second level of the building. As he slowly climbs the stairs he wonders what the Army is looking for tonight, and for a moment his old fears return. He reaches the second floor landing and he stops to shake off these thoughts.
"They don't know I'm here, they can't know I'm here. Even if they did know, they wouldn't care." He mutters to himself. "Ya, they wouldn't care. He never cared." He takes a step down the hallway, but a stab of hunger forces him to stop and clutch his sides. Releasing his pain with a slow tight lipped sigh, Ryan again starts walking down the hall. He stops at a door that is slightly ajar, one that, with any luck, doesn't have anyone waiting behind it. He pauses for a second to pull his pistol from his coat and collect his courage. He is about to push open the door when he hears a crash from above. Clutching the gun in both hands Ryan peers up at the ceiling, listening for any clues on what might be going on above him.

Skooter listens carefully, waiting until the sound of the choppers fades before dropping his invisibility spell. He wonders again what could have caused this plague. Being the cynical sort, the first thing he imagines is that it was some kind of bioweapon that got loose. He sure as hell wouldn't get on one of those busses - he doubts any of those people will ever be coming back, whether they were sick or not.

These damn patrols are turning into a major inconvenience to him. Somehow, he's got to get past that DMZ. Right now, it's not too tough to hide, but as more people drop like flies, people like him will stand out more and more. And who knows what they'll do in the end - raze the whole area, maybe. In the meantime, he'll take advantage of all of those people who don't need their stuff any more.

He opens his shoulderbag to look at the latest night's looting. With his own gear in there, there's not that much extra room, but he's snagged a lot of junk food from a Stuffer Shack, along with a few small valuables like fancy butane lighters, multitools, simchips, and so on. Maybe this thing will just blow over in a few months, people will start coming back in, and he'll have a nice little stash of loot. But just to be sure, it would be a good idea to find either a way out, or a really good place to hide.

He starts slightly at the crash from the cieling, then cautiously makes his way towards the noise. He doubts it's the cops - probably just a fellow entrepreneur. Well, there's plenty of places to loot for the few survivors left, so no need to scrap over it. Heck, maybe he and whoever it is could work together, and be more efficient.

Kyle watched from the shadows as the other boy went upstairs. He waited a few seconds, then followed him as quietly as possible, keeping an eye out for anyone around.

Daemon let out a whoop as he drift turns around the corner, two Lone Star cruisers hot on his heels. He throws a fingerless gloved hand out the driver's side window and flips them a Calfornian howdy, putting the pedal down. This whole lockdown deal might be a bad thing for most people, but he'd seen it as open lisence to party.

His parents were outside of the Zone, safe in their little home. His parole officer's wife was sick, so it was easier than ever to play the role of the good boy. Better still, the streets were nearly free of traffic. Sure, there were cars abandoned all over, and Lone Star patrols everywhere. Those just made things more interesting.

A look in his rearview revealed that he'd already widened the gap between him and the pigs by another half block. That's when he catches sight of it above. Hot damm it's a Thunderbird, sleek looking one at that. Riker'd said something about a couple of his boys being rounded up by military types. This had to be one of 'em. He tossed another look back to the trailing patrol cars and grunted. Alright, evasive action time.

He gives his stereo a mental nudge and cranks up his tunes, drowning out the sounds around him. Only Troll Thrash and the pounding roar of his engine to fly by. He jerks the wheel quickly to the right, and uses the drop of a commercial driveway to ride up onto the sidewalk, slowing just enough that he's right paced to stay ahead of the patrol cars. Hopefully the awnings will keep the Thuderbird from getting a fix on him while he thinks of something.

Frag, no time to think, that Thunderbird just came about and dipped lower. Lone Star must have put their eyes on him. He's got one shot. He's only about twenty blocks from an old aparment complex with an undergroup parking lot he's used to dodge heat before. Gonna be tricky with a Thurdebird on his hoop though. Then again, fortune favors the bold. Wonder what it does to the insane?

As he approaches an intersection, and the inevitable drop off of the curb, he plants his foot again. As he sails off the curb, he brings the wheel in a hard left to take the turn back out of the Thunderbird's line of sight. He doesn't look back as his car bottoms out for a second, sparks flying. He winces, but keeps to speed taking the next right. Sure, it's a one way street, but who's there to complain? Pedal already down, Lone Star still not in sight, a Thunderbird on the way, he tightens his grip on the taped up steering wheel, and gives the mental command to trigger the car's NOS. His senses are alive now, as his car blasts to speeds in excess of 400 kph in mere seconds. Sure, the boost's not gonna last, but damn is it a rush. Block after block sails past, and he concentrates on tiny adjustments of steering, keeping dead centre in the lanes. One pothole and he's gonna be a dead devil, but what's life without facing death after all.

He doesn't need to look to know, the image link of his cybereye had a spedometer overlay on it, and his boost is wearing fast. On the plus side, he's only blocks away from his hideout. On the down side, the Thunderbird's screaming up on his tail. If it wasn't for the music blaring in his car, he'd be hearing their inane orders to pull over for detainment right now. What the hell, he throws the arm back out to flip the Thunderbird off too, and as a last second manouver, he crosses to the left, and pulls into a parking complex. He blasts right through the drop bar, a few fragments flickering off his windsheild. This not only gets him out of the sight of the military bird, but hopefully it'll get them thinking he's trapped. He knows these streets though, he knows there's another entrance on the other side of the block. He slows down inside of course. Just enough so he can weave through the aisles. He grunts as he spots a cherry lookign Westwind 2000. No time now, but he catches the spot number, and he keeps on out the other entrance. Wrong side of the booth, but like there's anyone watching it. He pulls back onto the street, and makes for the underground. He's lost the Star, he's hopefully lost his military types. What he doesn't know is they were just overwatch for a bigger raid.

He pulls into the underground lot, and parks quick-like. He jacks out and locks up after retreiving a crowbar and his Roomsweeper from the back seat. As he walks away, the hum off his security system comes to his ears, and he grins. First priority is going to be seeing about closing up this lot. However the frag he's gonna do that.

Peter counted to three in his head. He slowly lowered the Colt and holstered it. His gambit had paid off. The Star must have not heard him leap off the roof, after all who would, he thought with a smile. He stood up, checking himself over for wounds, not finding any he slowly made his way to the the stairs. He listened for a second, hearing the soft padding of footsteps from below. Not the Star, they would be rushing up, hoping to grab me. His hand twitched next to the but of his automatic. No, better go for stealth. He drew his blade, the flat black dikoted Katana reflected no light as he silently unsheathed it. He held it in his right hand, blade tip pointed behind him, he did not wish to kill in it wasn't absolutely imperative. Good thing I'm not a samurai.

Peter see's the approach and quickly sheathes his blade, the stranger looked to be dressed in rags, not the threat Azaezel expected. He waited for the kid to get slightly closer then spoke.

"Hail omae," he said raising both hand in front, palms pointed out. "Not looking for trouble, just a place to crash while the star rolls over."

Ryan watches from the darkened doorway as a young man creeps up the stairs, followed a minute later by a young boy. Ryan struggles with his thoughts for a moment before giving in to his curiosity. He slowly moves to the stairwell, hoping his empty stomach doesn't growl and give him away. He hears someone speak above, but Ryan can't make out the words. Perhaps, if he were closer...

@Kyle

The headache was getting worse, and that... taste was back in the back of his mouth. He knew it was nothing, of course. Definitely not worth turning himself in to the CDC over.

@Fink

Another patrol forces Fink to duck into yet another building. They all started to blur together after the first dozen or so. This part of town was either commercial or mid to high level housing. There wasn't much in between. In the places where power remained, however, no one bothered to answer alarms most of the time and in the ones where it didn't, there were no alarms to sound. While the dull roar of the thunderbirds swept by overhead, however, he realized that this building was occupied.

@Azaezel

This place looks okay, but definitely not secure. That itching sensation that's been driving him nuts since he found out the place was being locked down just won't go away, it seems. Probably just the mental suggestion of the knowledge that there's a plague going on, he realizes, but that doesn't make it go away.

@Daemon

The parking garage Daemon finds himself in is shallow, only a single floor deep. It appears to serve as communal parking for half a dozen tenemants, but there is only one door unlocked. Getting past the locks on the others should have been easy, though two appeared jammed and the others would have required quite a bit of time to bypass in the poor light. The last door offers access to a darkened stairway, and the sound of metahuman voices drifts down the stairs. They definitely don't sound like the harsh voices of military personnel and the sounds of street patrols moving past the ramp above seem to make the decision all the easier.

Daemon takes a moment to listen at the stairwell. Doesn't sound like a sweeper team. Looks like he's good for at least a few minutes. So he walks on over to the driving entrace to the complex, checking for a grate he can drop down. Security fence, takes him reaching up with his crowbar to get a grip on it, but he pulls the thing down as far as it'll go. Chances are a patrol passing by and seeing it'll rule out his being in there.

Crowbar swinging loosely in one hand, Daemon makes for the stairwell where the voices came from, not bothering to keep quiet. They ain't military, then they're no problem.

Skooter comes to a slow and easy stop, grinning up at Peter.

From the tusks, gleaming slightly in the dim light, it looks like this kid is an ork, which means he probably sees pretty good in the dim interior of this building. He doesn't seem surprised by Peter's sudden appearance, but of course, he probably came up to investigate the noise.

Skooter is sleight of build for an ork, wiry and thin, with spikey blonde hair. He is not as ragged as your first glance led you to believe - he is dressed in the same mix of denim and synthleather as any other street punk, although he is wearing an oversized military-style jacket and carrying an equally oversized military-surplus duffel, making him look even smaller and skinnier.

"Hey, it's cool, it's cool. Just heard a noise. Didn't figure it was the cops, so I thought I'd check it out."

Skooter's sharp eyes take in the details about Peter, then he opens up his astral perception to get a bit more information about this human.

Kyle winced slightly as the headache grew more severe. He idly toyed with the idea of it being the new illness, but these were symptoms he'd been dealing with his entire life, as far as he could remember. He walked up behind the other boys, his hand still tucked within his jacket.
Slightly under five feet tall, slight, blonde hair under a backwards baseball cap, Kyle's appearance is unexceptional, but his grim stare would be more at home on a man three times his age. Something in his eyes speaks of a... wrongness within.

Fink rode the Blitzen through the streets, moving from one safe haven to the next, constantly on the outlook for more signs of trouble and trying to avoid it where he could. He used the lack of electricity to his advantage, riding the dark streets without his lights on, his eyes having given him better sight when he changed. A spot light began to sweep over the area and Fink began his search for a new place to hide.

There. He caught a motion from the corner of his eye as someone pulled a security gate down. Whoever it was, he was good at remaining unseen, but Fink couldn't stay on the steets any longer and would have to take a chance.

Slowing down and making a U turn to head back to that underground garage, Fink whispers on the wind and calls fowarth a spirit of the city, "I ask only one thing, the gate ahead needs to be open as I approch."

The spirit acting instantly, rises up as a mass of concrete to open the gate. Whispering thanks to the spirit and releasing it, he pulls into the parking garage as he gate slams shut behind him.

Having a look around, Fink catches sight of a door closing as he pulls into a parking spot and kills the engine. Taking a moment to activate the bikes security system before climbing off.

Gotta be careful, never know how people will react to me...

Breathing deeply, Fink calls out to the spirit world, calling a Hearth Spirit to aid and protect him.

Peter nods to the orc, "soka. I was actually running from the cops omae. My names Azaezel, I got stuck inside thie dreking containment zone. Any way out that you know of?" As he speaks he moves around the other side of the orc, looking down the stairs. "Theres more people down there, moving around, you know who?"

"Naw. Probably just squatters. Either that, or they're folks like me, who see a chance to snag some goodies when people just run off and leave their stuff lying around. I know no one followed me, and the only enemy I got who's still hanging around town is a big, ugly troll with no sense of humor - and he makes a lot more noise. Name's Skooter, by the way."

Skooter steps away from the stairwell, to where he can watch it, and Azaezel, at the same time. He seems to have the almost reflexive survival instincts of a street denizen of the sprawl, but he doesn't seem that worried or apprehensive... just curious.

Azaezel pulls a protein/carb bar out of his pocket and rips the tab open. "All the running I had to do tonight, I'm starving." He takes a couple of bights and moves over to the window. He points up to a roof about 30 feet up and away.

"That's where I jumped from, damn lucky I didn't break anything," he says around a mouthful of food. He finishes the bar up and stuffs the trash in his pocket. He looks around, "well, I don't really have a place to stay so I guess this is it, you doing anything for the night?"

He's just about to open the door when something catches his ear. Hell, it's none to subtle, the gate he just dropped is open again when he looks. He frowns and drops the crowbar, checking the Roomsweeper to make sure it's ready. Dropping back into the shadows he watches for the onrush of military grunts. When moment's later a bike enters the complex, Daemon arches a vibrant orange brow. He waits until the rider's found himself a spot, and starts to steal towards Fink until he figures he's well and close enough, and he levels the Roomsweeper at him.

`You gon close that there gate, hombre; or you expect me to do it again?`

How the frag he opened it in the first place didn't occur to the demonic looking orc. When Fink looks, he'll be staring down a tall lithe looking orc with bright red skin. Daemon's eyes are pure reflective chrome, and his hair, which is swept back as if forever fresh from the wind, actually seems to shift colors like it's on fire. He's not dirty, but he's definitly dressed street. Makes you wonder where he sleeps at night.

Fink nods from inside his hooded cloak, as the gate comes back down.

"You've got an interesting look about you...," Fink says as he throws back the hood of his cloak. The dwarf before Daemon is covered with a corse grey fur from head to toe. His ears have become pointed and two ratlink teeth stick out slightly from his smile.

"Oi, ma names Fink. Mind if I hindout down 'ere for a while witcha? A patrol is coming through the area an' I need a place to keep outta sight."

Skooter shakes his head. "Nah, I got some loot already. I'm done for the night... especially with all of those damn patrols." He looks up at the roof Azaezel indicated. "Damn, that's a pretty long jump. But I can see that you are awakened, like me."

His brow furrows in thought for a few minutes. "Hey, you got any plans, or are you just trying to survive and get a bit of loot set by? Because I'm thinking, if I can get a few people together, we could nab some of the heavier stuff, and we wouldn't have to hide when five or six lazy punks walk around trying to shake people down - damn, I hate people who are too lazy to do their own looting. What do you say? I figure, when you're in a bad spot, you gotta make the best of it."

As he tallks, Skooter still keeps and eye and an ear on the stairwell, wondering if whoever else is downstairs will overcome their shyness and head on up.

Skooter's mention of patrols seems almost hauntingly prophetic. Someone's unsecured earphone outside crackles and an "in position" drifts to those with keen ears a few seconds before a louder voice, this one on a loud speaker, booms out. "By order of the government, this area is being evacutated. Please move in an orderly fashion out of your buildings and to the street."

A peek out of a window shows that there are soldiers stationed all around the building you guys are holed up in. The patrols apparently did not pass by as thoroughly as you may have liked.

Azaezel nods to skooner, "maybe not a bad plan, I don't know about the looting, but I could certainly use some..." "in position"...

"What the drek," Azaezel silents stalks to the window and peaks out for half a second, "were in...," the blaring loudspeaker interrupts him.

"By order of the government, this area is being evacutated. Please move in an orderly fashion out of your buildings and to the street."

"Ok Skooter, know any ways out of this place?"

Fink squeeks at the sound of the bullhorn, "Drek!"

He looks around quickly to see if there are any possible underground exits, while at the same time calling the Hearth Spirit to his side.

It manifests next to him and Fink looks to the spirit, "Are there any exits to this building that lead underground, rather than to the street?"

"I didn't see any entrances to the underground - but I don't really know this building. We could check if we get that desperate. There was a parking garage, but I'm sure they got that covered, too. I dunno. If they're not clustered too thickly out there, I could turn us invisible and sneak us through. Or, if there's an escape route back the way you came in, I could levitate us up there. I don't really have any frag spells - I have a few that would discourage pursuit or knock out a few persistent gents, but no fireballs or anything. Wonder if they got any mages out there..."

Skooter cautiously looks out the window, both to get an idea of the numbers/density of the troops, and to see if there are any mages. If these are just the metro guard's "weekend warriors", then maybe they're not totally fragged... yet.

He grunts, and looks to the source of the noise, then towards that security grate.

`Frag the underground.`

Daemon mutters.

`I ain't leaving my car behind.`

He hefts the Roomsweeper in his hand. The invicible feel of youth coursing through him. Sure they're better armed, trained, and expirienced. He's slick. Let them try and touch his car.

He looks to Fink after a long moment. Alright, so this guy's got mojo. He's not exactly magic dumb, he's seen spirits before. Frag if he knows how to talk to 'em, but he knows 'em to see 'em.

`You got some kind of mojo that'll keep 'em from seein' us? Maybe we can get the drop on 'em.`

"I can pull that rabbit out of my hat, sure. Though it would be better to have the spirits do it for me. Maintaining that many spells at once isn't easy. What's yer plan then?"

Daemon flashes Fink a devilish smile, befitting his look.

`I say we take 'em by suprise, hit and run 'em, and in the confusion maybe we can find us another way out... can't drive out, they'll be smarter than that... and they'll probably cover the sewers too... but if we take a few of them out and then run... who's to say?`

Stupid, crazy? You decide.

Kyle finally managed to shake off the sudden dizziness that had accompanied the headache. He stepped forwards into the light, regarding the others with his characteristically cold gaze.
"We should hurry. They'll be here soon; were any of you seen entering this building?"

The hearth spirit cocks its head to the side as it looks at Fink. The apparition still holds its place on the astral plane, though the form is clearly visible as a small man with hollow eyes in a janitor's jumpsuit. After a few seconds of "listening" to some unseen words the spirit nods. "There is a place, down below, where the tenants leave their vehicles. It leads down to somewhere else, though my gaze does not extend so far."

Skooter steps back from the window to face the new arrival. "Naw, no one saw me come in. Even without my magic, I'm a pretty good sneak; with it, I'm a friggin' ghost. If you know a way out of this building - sewer and utility tunnel, I assume? - then hey, lead the way. 'Cause you're damn right they're gonna be here soon. Right now they're working their nerve up, like any other gang, but they'll start testing the defenses pretty soon. We don't want to be here then."

Skooter isn't too surprised by the new kid's surprisingly mature voice - the kids grow up fast where he's from. "Hope he's not one of the psycho ones..." he thinks silently to himself.

Looking up at Daemon, Fink looks very skeptical, "I don't know... taking the sewers has never done me wrong in the past. I don't really feel like taking on the military if I can avoid it."

His gaze turns to something unseen at his side and after a moment he nods, "The spirits tell me there is a sewer enterance here in the garage. I'm heading that way... and I think you should too. Its better to fight only when you must. Come on."

With that, Fink has the spirit lead the way to the sewer enterance.

"I'm not familiar with this building. Are you aware of the presence of a tunnel, or is that just a guess?"

The building is mostly dark, with the power having been cut back to emergency levels when it was abandoned the first time. The light coming from the spotlights being used outside to illuminate the edges of the building floods in through uncovered windows and under the doors of closed apartments, giving the place a haunting half light.

The garage is still lit by a few florescents, one of them flickering from overuse. Even here, the light from above finds its way through the entrance at one end. The garage itself is perhaps four buidings in size, extending out underneath neighborning complexes and sharing doors up into them. Most of those doors are locked and sealed, though one or two might offer a way up, though judging from the positioning of the forces above they know about the interconenction.

With the spirit's guidance, Fink easily finds a large drainage and service grate, some five feet by three. A cheap maglock holds it closed, though with so little power in the building it appears to be non-functional. Peering down in the half light, the first few rungs appear dry and secure, though the darkness quickly becomes difficult to discern things in beyond that.

Azaezel looks to Skooter, "I think our best bet friend is the basement, sewer, pipes, underground fraggin road, anything, but were going to have to go down, soka?"

Peter secures his pouch back on his hip, and charges down the stairs. Footsteps as light as wind on grass, and barely making a noise, the young man takes 2 and 3 steps at a time. Having no desire for Lonestar to capture him and run his DNA.

I'm not sure how good this ident is, but why find out?"

Kyle followed, moving surprisingly quickly for one so young. On his way down, he idly calculated his rate of travel as determined by his approximate angle of descent, keeping his mind occupied as he kept close behind the other boy.

Skooter grins and follows the other two boys, glad to see that they are quick to act on their own initiative. A group could be more effective, and the wheels are already starting to turn in his head, but he doesn't like playing leader... or nursemaid.

`Alright alright... we'll leave themilitary boys be...`

He grunts, and moves to join Fink in finding the sewer entrance. Some people just know how to ruin the fun. Then again, he'd probably have been ventilated if the guy's mojo failed, so it's probably a good thing they're booting it.

Fink lifts the drain grate open, trying to make as little noise as possible. He then turns to Daemon and says, "You first. I'll have the spirit conceal the gate after we're thr..."

Fink cuts off in mid sentence as a door into the garage opens, he tenses ready to throw a spell and flee. As the three newcomers (Azaerzel, Kyle, and Skooter) make their way into the garage, it becomes obvious they are not military. Fink looks to Daemon, then back to the newcomers, and makes a quick decision… He motions to the sewer exit and in a hushed, but urgent voice, Fink hisses, “Come on! This way!”

The grate creaks back softly, the sound echoing in the empty parking lot. The rungs look dry and solid, though they quickly vanish into darkness. Underground, temperatures are deceptively even, making the entire landscape appear dull and muted to thermographic vision, the hot light of individuals quite pronounced as they move about. Low light vision has an easy time seeing the bottom of the ladder, a dusty platform some ten feet below, though they offer little beyond that. The entire shaft looks to be about four feet across (perfectly round).

Above, the sound of the bullhorn rattles again, though this time the words are indistinct and difficult to understand amid all of the echos.

The door to the parking garage looms in front of Azaezel. Without missing a beat he throws the door whide, tucks, and rolls to the inside of the garage, he comes up in a combat stance, Katana before him.

He lets the other two pass him before shutting the door. He studdies the door for a moment and looks for a good way to jam it.

((Assume that my telling Azaerzel, Kyle, and Skooter to hurry down the drain comes after they come through the door.))

After jamming the door he follows the other two. He spots the others at the drain and nods in mutual recognition. Escape often makes hasty friends. He grabs the gate from the one holding it,

"I got it, get through, I will make sure the grate doesn't open again."

"Does anyone have a light?" Kyle cast about the room, looking for anything that could be used as a torch if the answer was no.

"I've got a pocket light," says Skooter. "I don't know if anyone has anything bigger, but if they don't, it should do."