Sloan, still in the driver's seat hands Olanis his shoulder bag."Take it. There's a Smartgun and 2 IR smoke grenades in there. Use 'em if ya have to."

He yells over his shoulder to the rest of the team: "Hold on!"

Both hands on the wheel, Sloan turns to Olanis and gives him that crooked half grin, "Put your seatbelt on." And winks.

With that, he stomps down on the accelerator atempting to gain as much speed as possible before clearing the mouth of the alley. After that:

[if the coast is clear] He slows the van to 10kph above the speed limit (assuming thats the norm of 2060 like it is now) and makes a beeline for Tacoma. Once he's sure the heat is off, Sloan digs out the pocket secretary and dials Matt's [street doc] number from memory. "Hoi chummer, sorry to wake you but i'm in a hard way and I need your help."

[If I get his voicemail I add "page me as soon as you get this." Either way, after the call has ended, he erases the number and turns off the secretary]

[coast not clear] Keeps the accelerator to the floorbaord in an attempt to clear the Star.

Olanis barely straps himself in before Sloan hits the gas.

"I fragging hate driving fast!"

He checks the Smartgun to make sure the safety is off, clip is fresh, etcetera.

Thinking to himself: Frag... Knew I should've brought my HK...

Olanis crunches himself into the human sized passenger seat. The helicopter is in view as the van rolls out of the alley. In big. bold letters on the side of it it says IIN...the Independant Information Network. It started to circle the building, drawing the cops to shoo them away.

Sure enough, the erea has been sealed. All the major streets are blocked with police cars. The side streets with pylons and patrol cops.

Hearing Olanis grumble, Sloan turns back to the big troll. "trust me," he says with the same crooked smile and wink.

Taking in the situation before him, "Okay guys, its showtime. Unless anyone has a really good plan up his sleave we're just gonna hit 'em hard and hope this bitch has has enough mojo to carry us through!"

Hearing nothing from the team, "Wow, look at all the cops. You'd think we just shot up a coffee joint!"

Slaon stamps his foot to the floor heading southeast [?? towards Tacoma]. "Dub, Jamal! Make with the bang-bang! Here we go!" He cries as the water truck barrels down on the first barricade.

Olanis turns around in his seat and takes a good look at the guys.

"Don't kill any of them! If you do, we're more than fragged over! Now, once we clear the cars, kick the bottles out, it'll lighten us and send a bunch of stuff in their way. Got it?!"

"Echo that! Aim for the vehicles and blockades only!! Then frag with thier heads if you can!" Sloan shouts over the protesting roar of the water truck.

Wil pulls what looks like black sidewalk chalk out of his pocket and pulls a small metal pin out, ready to toss the IR smoke grenade out behind the truck once they clear the barricade. "We have to ditch this truck asap, this feels like a setup."

Dub D gritted his teeth, huddled in the corner of the van, as the sudden acceleration made his freshly sealed wounds sing with pain. But as the van barrels down the street, he hears the raw urgency in Sloan's voice, and drags himself to the front area of the van, looking through the gap between the driver's and passenger's side seats. His face turns grim as, powering up his combat focus, he prepares to grit his teeth and hope the mojo he's about to sling won't make his injuries even worse.

A flickering golden glow suffuses his face, and the tension seems to drain from him, as he raises his hand, which the very air seems to ripple around as he unleashes his magic at the barricade.

Dub D seems the very image of the wounded warrior as he draws the energies he needs, somehow seeming to hurl the mana like a spear, which explodes as it strikes the ground in front of the officers. The cops take the hit as Rook drives through the barrier of pylons. The cops pull out their distinctive Thunderbolt pistols and fire at the van. Bl-bl-blam! Bullets puncture the chassis, not hitting anyone, but water gets everywhere as bullets hit the jugs.

Seening Dub out of the corner of his eye, just hold together a little longer, omae

His attention focused fully on the LoneStar blackade ahead of him, Sloan pulls the wheel hard to left, swerving around the pylon, jumping the curb and sending LS troopers scrambling to get out the way. One particularly slow cop doesn't look like his gonna make it in time.

"Gettauttathefraggin' way!!" Sloan screams and slams on the brakes as he pulls the wheel hard back to the right, fishtailing the water truck to avoid the cop. After straightening the vehicle, he stomps down on the gas pedal to ragain speed and leaves the troopers scrambling in the truck's wake to get a pursuit going.

"Sound off! Everyone okay?!" Sloan shouts over the protesting engine.

"Roger that. All is well. How 'bout we let off some of the load and a few other things to hide us?" He turns around. "Alright boys, toss those jugs out and get us some cover!"

Dub D can only manage a muffled grunt in response to Sloan's question. What would normally be a simple spell for him has left him hyperventillating, with rivulets of sweat running down his face. He huddles back in the corner, battling to stay conscious. At Olanis' barked order, he feebly kicks one of the jugs towards the back of the van.

Jamal doesn't waste time and opens the door in the back and kicks out a water jug, only waiting long enough to see if it breaks by itself before he starts to space out pushing the jugs whenever he notices any cops coming.

Wil is wrenched around as the truck performs it's acrobatics around the barricade. Once past, Wil's smoke grenade drops out of the back of the truck with a Pfffffffffffffff. Wil sit down behind some of the water jugs, then braces himself and starts pushing the jugs out the back with his feet. All the while muttering, "We gotta ditch this truck, we gotta ditch this truck."

The twists and turns of the van sends water all over the inside of the van. Jugs are rolled out the doors, the smoke grenade goes "poof" and billows out it's payload.

Jamal looses his grip, tries to hold on and gets flung out the open back.

"FRAG!" He screams out, as the pavement cuts across his sleeved arms and legs. Only avoiding his face by milimeters.

He tries to stand, up, hopefully hidden in the cloud of smokes, and runs off to the side, hoping to find a side alley to slip into before the pigs notice him.

As Jamal is about to fly out the back of the van, a strange looking creature forms out of water, warped plastic from the jugs, pebbles and street garbage. Jamal flys right smack into the thing, which absorbs the impact easily. It speaks in a squeaking, gritty voice and says, "How rUdE!" With a windup like a quarterback it throws him back at the van, making a perfect shot as Jamal whacks against the few remaining water jugs! The creature starts to trudge away, with the Lone Star cops looking on in amazement before it dissappears in the smoke.

Seeing the "thing" in the rearview mirror, "What the frag was that!?"

"Jamal, Wil! Satus? What the frag was that?" He shouts. Then, "Are they still following!?"

Turning to the Troll next to him, "Big A, see if you can pick up thier radio freqs and give us a heads up. And put your fraggin seatbelt on!!"

"Seatbelt? What th--Oh!" Reach, pull, click, seatbelt's in place. "Got caught up in the rush of things."

Olanis thinks silently for a moment, then shakes his head. "I can't pick anything up. It's all programmed frequencies, I can't just scan."

He finally looks back and shouts. "Where did that come from, and what is it?!"

Huddled in the corner, and thankful for his armored long coat with all of the bouncing around, Dub D still manages to reply, his voice slightly slurred but otherwise sounding as if you were talking with him over soycaf. "Mus' a' been a freee spirit o' man... fasscinatiinnng. City spiirit, one big fragger, wish it would've stuck aroun'..." His academic curiosity makes him forget the pain, until another spasm of it has him doubled over and gritting his teeth.

Seeing the lights fade in the side mirror, Sloan wipes the sweat from his brow and fishes out a pack of Llama Lights. Soft pack. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he shuffles one of the smokes out, replaces the pack in his pocket and lights it with a old, chipped up black zippo.

"OK crew, we through the easy part." He takes a deep drag and holds it for a few seconds. "First thing we're gonna do is head towards Tacoma. I know a guy that can take a look at Dub." Sloan exhales the rest of the smoke out the open window. "Secondly, we're gonna ditch this hunk of drek. I'll probably stay with Dub and my boy so thats gonna be up to one of you. ideally I'd like to trade it and whatever water is left back there for some better wheels. Do any of you know someone that can help out with that? If not I can tapp another 'old friend' of mine. Thirdly, we need to go to ground. A safehouse would be good but there's definitelly a hard rain out there so any ol' port'll do. After that's all taken care of, we have some diggin to do." He takes another drag.

Turning to Olanis, "Big A, make sure that radio isn't sending an SOS back to the corp. Wil, at some point we need to get you to a jackpoint so you can do that thing you do. Also, we're gonna hafta find exactly what we stole and from who and for who. The ork form the coffee joint is gonna 'assist' with that."

Lastly, I want everyone's input on this situation and what we should do. We're gonna keep moving to avoid the Star and whoever else is gunning for us. I think the orks were a rush job and the next team will be more up to the task. Anyone got a bug scanner or similar? I own one but its not part of my travel kit and don't think heading home is the best plan right now."

Sloan, pulls out his pocket secretary: dials Matt's [street doc] number from memory. "Hoi chummer, sorry to wake you but i'm in a hard way and I need your help."

[If I get his voicemail I add "page me as soon as you get this." Either way, after the call has ended, he erases the number and turns off the secretary]

Sloan goes back to smoking his cigarette and taking a winding way towards Tacoma...

Matt listens and an arrangement is made for Dub D to be brought in.

"Best thing I know around here is a Talismonger...." Jamal shrugs, trying to avoid the fact that a Free Spirit just saved his life. "...I'm thinking it'd be wise to summon an elemental or two about now... So, I'm going to try and buy some basic stuff from the guy and see if I can set up a wizard circle or something...." He thinks for a second.... "Actually, if we could find out that Johnsons name, not easy, I could tell you where he is. But we ain't that lucky."

"I've got some friends who can help us out. First let's get rid of this truck and put some space between it and us, think you can run for a bit, Dub? I will have a taxi friend of mine meet us a few blocks from here and from there we can go to a club I used to work for - that should give us a friendly space to rest up and get our heads clear."

Wil pulls a black wand out of his duffle bag. Touching a small button on the wand, Wil moves the wand around the bodies and gear of each of his friends.

Hearing the bug detector beep frnticaly, "Get rid of that tracker." Sloan says as he blows smoke out the widow.

Dub D looks pale and wan, but nods when asked if he can make it for a few blocks. Now that the edge has bled out of the rush of combat and the shock of being shot, he is silently seething at the betrayal. He mentally reviews his contacts in his mind, to pick out the ones who could be useful, and the ones he will want to keep out of harm's way. He really, really would like to go back to his place, but it will still be there (hopefully) once they have taken care of this threat.

"Wil, make your call. If your cabbie pal can make it, we'll arrange a meet. If not, we'll hafta think of something else..." Sloan takes another drag, "This club, do you know the owner? Can we trust 'im? And will he mind a showdow team crashing there for a night or two?"

"I gotta get my stuff, omae. I got a spare place to crash if all else fails. Might be a bit cramped, but it'll do."

Hearing the urgency in Olanis' voice, "Okay, who else need to make a pit stop?" Sloan flicks the butt out the window. "Dub still needs to get some TLC, Wil wants to go to the club, and Jamal and Big A need to pick up some gear. Did I leave anything out?"

After waiting for a responce, "I agree that ditching this thing should be priority numero uno. So, the question is how do we get around? I can hot wire us some wheels but we'll have to find a ride that can fit us."

Jamal nods a bit, not to anything in particular. "Maybe splitting up should be our first priority. Make some plans, and change them last minute for a meeting in a few hours. That seems the safest Modus Operendi."

Sloan nods, "Agreed." He runs a hand through his hair absently. "Unless anyone has any major objections."

Sloan nods his head as if agreeing w/ himself and starts scanning the street and side roads for suitable transportation.

"Wil, if your cabbie pal isn't on duty, tell 'im to get on duty. Big A, get a head count of who needs coms." He shucks out another cigarette and lights it. "Once we find a ride, we'll ditch this a few blocks away. I'll take Dub to the Doc and pick up whatever he needs then meet you back at the nightclub." Sloan attempts to flick the ash out the window but the cigarette hasn't burned enough yet. "Jamal, see if you can't find something to tie up the ork goon. We don't want him waking up on us. And gag his mouth, too." He takes a few drags of the cigarette as the city lights blur by.

"Do we want to try to sell this van and the remaining water to some gangers? I bet they might be interested in the water if nothing else."

Wil reaches into his pocket after planting his ear bud in his right ear. "Ticker, you up? I need a ride for five people, one's a troll. We are looking to go party at the usual place - can you meet us downtown?"

[if ticker can come pick us up]

Wil taps out another number. "Hello, Huahing. I have a small party coming to visit. Could you have a private room set up for us in about 15 minutes? It's a warm night out here, so you may want to ask the boss if it is ok to open the doors or if we should go somewhere else."

Wil tells Ticker, "Great, meet us at the stuffer near that decker bar downtown, you should know the one."


Wil tells Huahing, "See you soon. Call me if the boss wants a closed door tonight."

Turning to the crew, "Alright guys, lets hoof it from here. Try and walk normal DubD, or maybe act a little drunk, we can support you a little."

Wil snatches up his duffle bag and gets out of the truck once it stops. "Follow me. Have a spirit conceal us maybe." Wil heads off towards the stuffer he mentioned to Ticker.

Sloan pulls the van into a nearby alley and parks behind a dumpster. "Thank you for choosing KleenWater travel. Please keep your safety belts fastened and all hands and feet inside until the vehicle comes to a complete stop." Sloan takes the bag from Olanis and shoulders it. He scans the alley way for signs of trouble.

"Dub, change of plans: we'll ride with these guys to the Office. From there I'm hoping to arrange transportation for us." Sloan flicks the cigarette butt into a nearby puddle with "pftzz" and takes up a posistion behind Wil.

"Big A, stay close to Dub in case things get hairy"

The alley is empty except a cat that looks at all of you with a sinister glare for several seconds, then arches it's back and hisses. Then it turns and scampers away. It's been about 15 minutes since the team broke away and parked the van.

Dub D, struggling to keep his eyes open, stumbles along behind Wil and Sloan, groggy and still not quite sure where everybody is going. About 10 minutes after Wil's suggestion that he summon a spirit, he mumbles "I don' do those... 'm a sorcerer..."

Jamal chuckles a bit, if only he kept spirits hanging in reserve. He looks over at Will. "It takes forever to summon spirits, if we had some time, believe me, I'd summon the biggest, nastiest, ugliest, fire elemental I could, but that ain't happening anytime soon." We're gonna have to pretend this is 100 years ago... except with magic spells and all.

Glancing at his watch, Wil winces, wishing they could move faster without attracting alot of attention. "Dead voice." Wil pauses a moment, then continues muttering "Drek, I wonder if we can still find a way to get paid. I can tell already that tonight is going to get expensive."

Rubbing his eyes and looking around, Sloan says, "Yeah, we can still get paid. When we take it outta Johnson's hide..." **shrugs**

"Wil, how secure is this place we're going to? Do many people know you hang there?"

"Used to be home turf. Expect to pay for privileges, but it should be fairly friendly and understanding." Wil says.

After just a few minutes Ticker pulls up in a meta sized taxi van. His window's open and he calls out, "Heya, Will. Get 'em in." He looks at Dub D and whistles. "Whoo! What the frag happenned to this poor bastard? I'm assuming this is all work related. You need anything? I got a couple modified Crusaders for sale. Full auto, baby. One with 2 clips HI-C plastics, one with 2 clips flechette. Action's smooth as silk. Got a few slap patches in there...stim 3's. Got some ration bars and a couple o' those emergency sleepin' bag things...the ones that look like tinfoil. You can check 'em out while we're on our way, once ya lemme know where to."

"Let's get inside that cab." Wil motions to the crew. Smiling at Ticker, Wil approaches the car and gets in beside him. "Thanks for making the special trip, omae, we need a ride to The Office. I called ahead, so they should be expecting us. I will make sure and drop a bet there in your name, what team are you banking on these days?" Wil says, as he climbs in the cab. Wil continues talking to Ticker, chatting about the most recent Urban Brawl game, asking Ticker if he made any cash off it.

Ticker is happy to chat. He talks about Urban brawl, basketball, football and hockey. He pulls out of the alley once everyone is in the van and turns right smoothly. Noting Dub D's bloody condition he takes it easy on the accellerator and brakes. "Boy, he's sure in bad shape. He stayin' in the cab and headin' someplace he can get some help after ya all arrive at the office?"

Sloan slides into the back seat and moves over to make room for Dub and the rest. When he hears the cabbie mention the goods, Sloan shoots Wil a raised eyebrow in a is-this-guy-legit? sort of way. Recieving the the affirmative he says, "I might be interested in one of the Crusaders and a ration bar or two, those are good eatin. I'd have to check 'em myself. You understand."

As he field strips the MP and puts it back together, he hears Ticker and Wil talking about Hockey. Sloan looks up from checking the action on the Crusader. "Hey, did either of you get the score of the Sabre's game? They were up 3-zip over the Canucks in third but I had to...take care of some biz, ya know? I got the telcom at my doss savin' it but I doesn't look like I'll be back there anytime soon."

"Aw, man, ya missed the comeback! It was awesome!" The 'nucks got one late in the third, then tied it up with 2 while the goalie was pulled. In overtime they get another to win it! Frikkin' awesome!" Ticker makes a few more choice comments about dominant players and such. The field stripping of the crusader shows it's a used weapon, but in good working condition.

"Afraid the guns ain't cheap, but I'll give 'em to ya fully loaded and spare clip for 2k each. The ration bars are 5 nuyen each, chummer. The little emergency blankets are 10 each. I got the good stuff up here, though. 2 thermoses of straight vodka and one of straight whiskey! 5 nuyen a cup!"

Hearing the disappointing news, "Figures. Seems like my team can't even buy a win sometimes...Oh well, there's always tonight's game--its a Home and Home, ya know. What kinda odds are the Sabres gettin?"

Sloan watches the empty alleys drift by filled with various forms scum, all trying to make it in the Sprawl. They hit a pot hole and Dub lets out a sharp groan. Sloan's reminded that there are others trying to survive as well...

Man, it seems like this cab is taking days...., he thinks.

Time passes slowly when you're in pain. For Dub D it must seem like years! In reality it's a 10 minute drive to the office. Ticker pulls up in the alley and holds out his hand. "Usual rate, chummer. So, any of ya wanna buy any of the stuff? Last chance."