Wednesday, 17 February 2071, 2314
The Dive, Low-Down, Seattle Metroplex

Spring in Puyallup was once an idyllic time. The fields were verdant, and the skies would open up to a new year of blue horizons. This is no fairytale springtime, though, and a lot has happened to bring Puyallup screaming into the new world. The fields are largely gone, given over to half finished development and tar choked debris fields. The night sky is think with smog, and and a pallor hangs in the air, as if the world can sense the dark times that Low-Down has fallen upon. Three weeks have passed since Bruno was erased from the face of the Barrens, and though the winter's rain may be letting up, the mood in the air is still oppressive.

The evening pall, and the smell of decay that seems to permeate the Barrens, has The Dive unusually busy. It would seem no one wants to be outside, and few want to be alone just now. Drinks are flowing freely, and conversation is at a pitch which threatens to overwhelm the battered old jukebox, and you could almost swear this was somewhere more upscale, in a neighborhood where to walk unarmed was the norm. Everything comes to a stop, however, save the classic rock of a bygone era, when the door clatters open, and a wiry figure enters. Clutching a thin plastic poncho against his chest, the kind that anywhere else in Seattle would be considered disposable, but has obviously seem many weeks use. The squatter looks around, a fright in his eyes, and he stumbles over to the nearest group of Dozen members.

`Fire,` he gasps. `They set the whole place on fire.` The squatter shudders, and starts to viciously cough.

Anyone outside would need be blind to miss the fires the squatter speaks of. As if a pyre dedicated to some massive deity, the flames are visible even two blocks away, and viscous black smoke plumes up in a column that is inky dark against an already gloom filled night. Whatever they set on fire, and whoever they are, they have done a good job of it.

When he heard the word 'Fire', Grim's attention became focused, and almost before the man had finished speaking he was to his feet, and moving towards the door. He paused when the man began coughing, in order to give him a quick once-over and make sure he wasn't in need of immediate first-aid. Seeing a handful of others rising to help (or perhaps just hoping to gawk at a big fire), he pulls his cheap commlink from his coat pocket and mashes a button, gesturing towards the door with the device, while he eyes searched the man for severe burns. "RVs running." he grumbles (barely audible over the energy in the room), "anyone who wants a ride better lend a hand when we get there." His voice carried enough that those nearest the messenger could hear him, but Grim didn't seem to be directing his comment to the Dozen, specifically.

At the word" Fire!" Matto's skin began to crawl. For a second he paused, caught in a flashback of several years ago. His mind replayed the smell of burned hair and flesh, the incredible pain on his face and right side as the jelly gas destroyed muscle and skin. He drew in a deep breath and shook his head, chasing away the past and focusing on the present. Pulling his jacket from the chair he muttered " To Rome said Nero: "If to smoke you turn I shall not cease to fiddle while you burn." To Nero Rome replied: "Pray do your worst, ..." .

Jamming his arms into his jacket as he heads for the door, he pauses again as he catches Grim's offer of transportation. Flashing a thumbs up he says "We must make haste then, not only because we are daily nearer to death, but also because the conception of things and the understanding of them cease first." ( Marcus Aurelius) He nods to Grim and pushes a path through the crowd towords the awaiting RV.

Feral quickly rose to his feet with a determined look after he heard the squatter's news. There was no time to waste. If one of the other gangs had broken the peace treaty they needed to be dealt with.

He hurried towards the door while securing the quick-draw holster at his hip. "Ey, Grim, save me a seat. No one sets a frakking fire here without paying for it."

He shot Matto a bewildered glance as the ork uttered one of his usual cryptic phrases. "Whatever, man. Let's roll!"

"Ahhh, hell."
Exiting from his digital trance, Cosimo rose to his feet reluctantly, his trode band picking up the trigger words from his thoughts.
[Cosimo@Agent: "Vasari. Litmus.]
[Agent@Cosimo: "Fire provokes a primal fear-response. Affect a father-like authority and draw attention away from the fire itself."]

"Hold up! This isn't a fire. This is ARSON. Someone set this fire, and they used a lot of juice to do it. We could be walking into a trap so everyone kit up. Grim, pull your clinic up in front of the door. I don't want anyone getting shot coming out of here. Feral, if you're going with Grim, make like a trid-mage and scout the magespace or whatever for threats first - and survivors second. Matto, I'll follow you guys on foot, and keep you informed. Hold it down out there, brother."
Cozi pauses for a moment to think out some com-texts, then turns to The Squatter, facing him directly.
"Yo! Rain-poncho! Come on over here and tell me what and who you saw. Guests, might be smart to keep away from the windows while we sort this out."

[Cosimo@Bear and Scratch: Message. Bear. Plus. Scratch. Follows- "You're our eyes. Don't be blinded by this fire. Find the source and we'll prevent the next one.']

Leardership test roll for the benefit of the squatters and patrons.

Lucky danced, the heavy thrum of the neo-trance music vibrating through his body as he moved through with the crowd, others pressed in close on every side. The Looking Glass was in full swing now that it was after dark, and spotted skin, tails, fins, and fur filled the Changeling club in a wild display of color. A chaotic fractual display wove it's way through the AR, kept in tune with the shifting music and the swaying crowds by the clubs A.R. jockey. The young man grinned as Izzy bumped into him, the Changeling's oil black skin reflecting light in a rainbow sheen, like oil on water. He was pressed close against another boy with an orange mane of hair and leathery green frills on his head, obviously the boi-toi of the week. Pleasantly buzzed, Lucky wagged his eyebrows at The Looking Glass's young manager, but Izzy's face was grim, and text flashed across Lucky's line of sight now that Izzy had his attention.

<<You're family's burning, omae.>>

Shit.

Lucky turned for the door, spinning on his heel as he realized he didn't have his jacket. Scooping it off a chair, he'd almost made it to the door again through the press of people when he realized that the familiar weight of his keys were missing. He turned, his shouts through the club echo'd in AR with blazing letters that pinged from person to person in his social network.

<<WIDGET, WHERE ARE MY KEYS!?!?!?>>

A few moments later, a thin buzzing cut through the crowd as one of Widget's innumerable micro drones wove through the tight space, dropping the credstick keyed to Lucky's Van in his waiting palm. He could hear Widget's high pitched giggle as he darted out of the club. A few seconds later found him pushing the tweaked van's acceleration, speeding towards Loveland.

This is how it happens. As soon as you start to feel normal again, something blows up.Micky was halfway to home plate with a hot chocolate in a short skirt, and about the time she ran her fingers into his short brown hair, some nut comes in screaming "Fire". The gang seemed to be jumping into action. Grim was already trying to save everyone. Cosimo was trying to take charge while Motto went into book babble mode. Mickey had to admit, it sounded cool, and it usually got him pumped up for this kind of crap.
He took the girl's hand, realizing that he had not gotten her name,"Excuse me love, Friends in need and all that."
The brittish accent was fake, but the girl was looking for something exotic. Micky got up with a wink and turned to catch up with Cosimo,"Anyone else gonna drive? We could use more than one target. "

Scratch had been nursing her synthol and buzzing through the AR feeds for more than half an hour when the squatter burst in. She’d dismissed him as a threat until he started yelling about fire…buunda… where was Summer?

<<Summer, where are you ken? There’s trouble brewing out here.>>

<<I’m getting us a snack at the stuffer…what’s going on?>>

<<I don’t know yet, we’re going to check, just stay put for the moment please. Don’t go home and keep the Cambodian or someone else in sight, ok?>>

<<Will do…>>

She swung out of her seat and headed towards the back door. She checked her pistol was holstered and available, she didn’t like the thing but it was more intimidating than the tiny knives that were her tool of choice. The weather was awful out there but it would keep her hidden from prying eyes, she hoped. Time to go…

“Cosimo, I’ll go on foot too and swing round to get a look from the other side…I’ll keep in touch. Let me know if all hell’s breaking loose!”

The smell of rubbish outside was nauseating and she winced as a pair of devil rats skittered out from an overturned bin and disappeared. The only thing stronger in the air was the smell of smoke…something is definitely burning!

[ Spoiler ]

The language is Or’zet, thanks to the Ancient Files…I’ll make an infiltration roll when we are nearer the scene.

Grim nodded at Cosimo, and directed the RV's pilot program to pull the thing up to the door. Grim appreciated that someone was taking the lead, as he expected to be up to his elbows in work soon, but he was a little apprehensive that the Dozen's priorities would be on finding those who started the fire, instead of finding those who were still in it. He could certainly see the logic in that line of thinking - preventing another fire should be top priority - but it didn't mean he would be happy about it if it meant not putting his skills to use where they could do the most good.

Seeing that the squatter's wounds were not life-threatening, and that Cosimo wanted to get more information out of him, Grim motioned to the front door, looking at Cosimo and grumbled, "..bring him along, if you want. He could use a medkit, and you two can chat on the way." He then headed towards the front door, himself, to meet the RV when it pulled up as close as it could. Whether there was an ambush outside, or not, he would be a lot safer in the armored vehicle - and every second they spent looking over their shoulder as they went might be bought with some poor squatter's life.

Bear was off in his own space at the moment. Physically he was chilling with the rest of the bad boys and girls at The Dive, mentally he was off in the Never-Never trying to wrap his brain around the idea of watchers and how they worked.

Just when he thought they were starting to make sense some squat barges in stinking worse than normal, caughing and screaming fire. In between the first shout and the moment of comprehension was a half second of confusion, then his lanky frame bolted upright!

"What the drek!"

The buzz of his comlink drew his attention for a moment as he caught the incoming text, ::[Cosimo@Bear and Scratch: Message. Bear. Plus. Scratch. Follows- "You're our eyes. Don't be blinded by this fire. Find the source and we'll prevent the next one.']::

Realizing Cosimo and Grim were already in motion he hustled to join them, slipping on his coat and checking his holster as he hit the doorway.

"On it, keeping my eyes peeled. Grim, when we get close you may need to drop me off on foot. Maybe not to. We play by ear, no?"

Grabbing the handle by the rear door of the RV he swun himself aboard.

Composure test:


"Umnnnhhaa... Right. Okay. Leaving now."

Cosimo's shoulders slumped wearily. They'd have listened to Bruno. Hell, he'd have listened to Bruno, and Cosimo didn't listen to anybody. But it's been three weeks since Bruno disappeared and Cozi knew that it was only a matter of time before someone decided to test the Dozen's boundaries. He also knew that, when that happened, the only correct response was decisive, brutal action. An object lesson. "You do not fuck with us, chummer." He had been relishing the thought for weeks. No, no. He must be honest with himself. He's been thinking about going to war since he joined this gang two years ago... Now. Now he felt the surging energy of it inside of him, the momentum pulling him forward like rushing bullets. Fire! Fire! The taste of war was in the air. But...

"Mickey, could you talk to this guy while I grab our helmets from the garage. An iron lung won't do shit to keep the smoke out our eyes."
He started towards the door, clapping a hand comfortingly on Grim's shoulder as he slipped by and started his sprint to the adjoining warehouse with their gear.

[Cosimo@Dozen] Message. Dozen-all. Follows - "If anyone needs gear from the lockup, ping me quick. I'm in a hurry."]

Stopping just inside the door, Matto pulls his Ingram Smartgun X from beneath his jacket. Snaking the cable from the SMG up his sleeve, he slides the connector into the datajack behind his right ear and boots the chatterguns smartlink. The action clacks as he chambers a round and the display lights up. Ammo count flashes a green 32 and the crosshair pops up in his right eye, along with a friendly note reminding him that his software is 392 days old and "please connect to a MSP for more infromation on how to get more out of your Ingram firearm!". A twitch of his eye closes the annoying window.Another twitch and the semi-darkness of "The Dive"lights up as the low-light cycles on in his cyber-eyes. Leaning against the wall he takes a deep breath and says loudly,
"“The greatest happiness is to scatter your enemy, to drive him before you, to see his cities reduced to ashes, to see those who love him shrouded in tears, and to gather into your bosom his wives and daughters...Genghis Khan.”

Weapon at the ready,he rolls out the door.....

Micky throws an arm over the squatter with a smile, and takes his voice to a soothing decible,"hey, relax padre. sit down catch your breath"
He thinks about the lock up, but since Bruno vanished, Micky had been sleeping in lead pajamas. He had all his armor on, and every twist of the wrist reminded him of the sling in the arm of his jacket that held his dart gun. about the only thing he left behined were his tear gas grenades, and he doubted they needed any more smoke.
Looking over the squatter, he tried to organize his thoughts,"So what'd you see man? Who set what place on fire?"

<<(Cosimo@Dozen) Message. Dozen-all. Follows - "If anyone needs gear from the lockup, ping me quick. I'm in a hurry.">>

Great, that's perfect. Micky's going to ream my ass for being so far away from The Dive when somebody hit us.

Lucky fought down the rising tide of guilt and centered himself. For a brief moment, he let his eyes unfocus, the road and the various other drivers blurred away. With a SNAP! he felt the magic streak through him, and he stomped on the accelerator, barely even needing to look as he wove in and out of the traffic at otherwise insane speeds.

Still not going to be fast enough

The scene immediately outside of The Dive is calm, eerily so. It is as if all life had stilled in Low-Down. The few people venturing on the streets at such an hour stand in small clutches, watching the flames and quietly talking amongst themselves, pointing, and shivering at the destruction an unchecked fire could bring to the neighborhood if it spent. This far into Loveland, Franklin was not overly likely to respond. Especially to abandoned property. Cosimo's call to action has spurred the people inside of the bar into a sense of less than chaos, and those people that had been rushing to the single entrance stop, and pull away to clear room for the Dozen that are reacting. While those that are heading to Grim's brightly painted recreational vehicle settle into their positions, and while Scratch prepares to set off on foot, Matto and Grim go for the vehicle, and Cosimo heads one door down to the warehouse lockup, Micky is left to talk to the squatter.

The man is a vaguely familiar face, but such is the case with all squatters. After a certain time living off the grid, people take on similar characteristics. Desperation breeds familiarity. He continues to cough, however Grim is right in leaving him. The squatter has suffered smoke inhalation, but it will not kill him. He slumps into a chair near where Cosimo and Grim had left him sit, and when Micky approaches, he takes a moment to catch his breath. `I didn't see much. Three guys, human or elf I'm not sure.` He pinches at the bridge of his nose, eyes squinting. `They came up on us all friendly-like, and then one of them kicked over one of our fire barrels, and another threw a jerry can onto it. I got clear, and just kept running. No one's gonna respond, no law, no fire patrol, just you guys.`

At the last bit, he starts into a series of racking coughs again. If someone is going to direct him to the RV, he will need a hand.

On the other side of Loveland, Lucky's name proves once again to be true. Despite the fact that Lone Star still tries to maintain a presence on the major roads, and a few gangs claim the turf between the Looking Glass and Low-Down, he manages to get into sight of the ever-growing pyre with no hassle.

Feral was outside the door of the Dive, waiting for the van alongside Grim and Matto. As soon as it pulled up, he hopped inside and secured himself in a seat.

"I'm getting us some spiritual support." the teenager said with a grin as he closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment, opening his eyes to the plane of magic. The first try failed but he kept on and suddenly, it appeared. A big wolf with dark grey fur and glowing yellow eyes, hovering in astral space.

"Thank you for coming, pack-brother. Please wait on the astral plane until I need your help."

The wolf gave an approving growl and vanished. Feral leant back and tried to mentally prepare himself for whatever was awaiting them.

When Feral joined him in the back of the RV, Bear slid over to give the burly orc a little extra room. Though they were eye to eye in height, his lanky build didn't need quite as much room. When he announced he was summoning up spiritual help, Bear kicked himself mentally for not thinking of that as well.

"Good idea, Omea. Guess I should give it a try as well."

Settling back into his seat, Bear tried to focus on the concept of water. It motion and flow, everchanging and unchanging. The background noise and his own nerves keept breaking into his thoughts but he forced them back out and tried again. WATER, FLOWING. WATER, SHALLOW AND DEEP. WATER! Wrappoing his thoughts and needs in a shield of magic he bound it into a form and set its stability. Looking out with eyes that saw the astral, he realized how tiny and weak his little water spirit was next to the wolf that Feral had asked for help.

"Got one. Not much but it might help. Water and fire you know?"

Alex had been spending most of the evening slumped in a corner of The Dive, nursing a glass of what the bartender assured him was vodka, though personally Alex wasn't especially convinced. As the squatter burst into the bar the commotion broke Alex' reverie, though upon hearing the squatters dire announcement he bolted out of his seat.

"Jesus wept" he muttered darkly, grabbing his coat and heading out the door just behind the others, his suspicions about the alcohol completely forgotten as he rummaged in his pockets for the keys to his bike.

Lucky's van wobbles a bit as it screeches to a halt, sideways and half across the street, not more than a block away from the blaze. He's out the door immediately, stumbling a bit in his haste to get out of the van and looking for the rest of the Dozen.

Mickey looks around. The whole crew is moving out and he doesn't want to miss the bus. He looks to the squatter again with concern,"That cough sounds bad, lets get you to my friends van, he might have something that can help."
As they get up he continues working for some details,"what did these guys look like that tried to blow you up? you said human or elf, so they were skinny? how were they dressed?"
Moving out to the van, he pulled a cigarette from an inside pocket of his leather jacket. It was laced with Nova coke. He might need a bit of an edge in this situation. He yelled to Grim ,"hey, can I smoke in here?"

At first, Grim responds simply by turning around in his seat, and giving Mickey a glare like he should know better. Then, after a moment, he shook his head 'no' and strapped on his helmet (and old military-style helmet, painted white with a red cross on each side). Returning his attention to getting the RV moving, he added, "There will be plenty of smoke where we're headed," without a hint of humor in his voice.

As Alex finished shrugging on his jacket, he finally located the elusive maglock key in one of its pockets, and as he strode towards his bike he glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the gang "Anyone feeling brave enough to ride on back? he asks, settling himself in the saddle.

Micky figured as much from Grim. Maybe he should have got some coke in patch form, but hindsight is twenty-twenty. With a flourishing hand gesture, the Cigarette disappeared again,"Understood captain" he said with a salute and a smile. Micky pulled out his commlink and shot off a quick message to Nightsong, a girl he knows in the pirate news bizz;
<<(Micky@Nightsong)Hey grrl, your buddy Micky's got a big BBQ goin in his backyard. You heard anything about it? If not, you might want to get on top of this. Hit me up>>

[Vasari@Cosimo: Once one has assumed an authority position, performing any subservient role only serves to undermine...]
[Cosimo@Vasari: Vasari. Quiet. Browse Matrix. Target Info - {the address of the burning building}. Find blueprints, maps, external images, digital reconstructions, all visual information about the building. Sort by relevance - Government, corporate, media, personal.]

Cosimo sent his digital key to the fourth storage locker, opened it, and grabbed his rifle, quickly slinging it over his back and stuffing two clips into his pockets. "Hrrrmm... guess everyone likes the idea of breathing burning plastic... Vut. I might as well get this suicidal drek over with." With that, Cosimo grabbed his racing helmet, placing it firmly over his head. The familiar bike start screen popped up on its digital overlay. He wiped the visor clear with a command just as Alex, having proffered the gang an expedited trip to the blaze, strolled in and hopped on his bike with practiced ease.

Seeing Alex distracted Cosimo for a moment.
"Yo, Alex. Stay sharp. There's blood in the water. Chodai?" His voice projected out from the tiny front-mounted speaker.
He glanced over at the old retro-style helmet sitting on Mickey's scooter. It would just as likely trap smoke in than keep it out. Pre-digital fashions...
"Scope you at the party, Al."
And with that, he charged out the open garage door and into the RV.

"Alright, Grim. Let's kick this pig."

Scratch set off at a gentle lope, stretching her senses out to encompass the gloom. She’d seen fires before, back in the arc they had been a way of distracting the machines…hopefully this was just a distraction and there was nobody caught inside…she didn’t much fancy the thought of going in there to pull some smelly squatter out. The air tasted of ash and chemicals, her adrenalin was coursing now and the prickle of fear was there. Time to pick up the pace…

Finishing a quick Re-con of the area surrounding "The Dive" Matto heads to the van as everyone loads up. Shooting a quick text to Grim TXTMSG:Matto@Grim:: "The top controls the action and pace.You can't survive in this business without control...Ron Jeremy" as he climbs onto the roof and settles in prone between the luggage racks, facing the front.

perception roll for re-con

Scratch paused for breath…it had been ages since she’d felt well and this wasn’t doing her any good. The ominous pall of smoke was closer but she would have to swing around the next block to come at it from the other side. She’d cut through some of the alleys and she was sure there was an abandoned building that she could use to get some height. Damn them, whoever ‘them’ was, it had been such a nice quiet night!

<<Guys, anyone got sight of the fire yet? What’s going on?>>

Grim's RV lurched forward, shaking a number of medical devices hanging from the cupboards and walls of the make-shift clinic. The RV had a lot of extra seating, but a few of the passengers were forced to stand up and hold onto a number of railings, poles, or inactive medical drones. The ride didn't get much more comfortable. The roads were in bad shape, as always, and, although the RV's off-road suspension helped, Grim was driving a little recklessly in an effort to make up for lost time. As he did, he called out over his shoulder, "There should be some medkits above the sink - like 10 or something. Start passing them around, so everybody has one when we get there."

The rough ride bounced Matto around on the roof of the RV. He dug his StreetStomper™ combat boots under the luggage racks. His regret at not picking up some Gecko Gloves or kneepads was reinforced as the van bounced along, jarring his hez around like dice on a crap table. He shifted around, straddling the A/C housing and wrapped his left arm around the vans sensor bubble. A quick command to the Smartgun X extended the folding stock and he jammed the short gun into his shoulder. Bringing his attention to the street in front of the van he scans the semi-darkness for threats, paying extra attention to alley ways or any likely ambush points.

Clicking the button on the commlink clipped to his collar, he sends a a quick call ..MSG@ALL:"Victory belongs to the most persevering."...Napoleon Bonaparte." he adds "Let's collect some fucking heads!"



(Edited for really bad grammatical error.).

The cloying smell of of smoke fills the air even from Lucky's vantage point. Amidst the ghosts of a commercial strip that had been forgotten in the second Crash a two-storey motel of the old park and stay style sits aflame, its structure groaning under the heat upon its bones. From the back, the place seems deserted, and there is scant sign of distress save for the smoke which billows under every doorway.

As Grim's RV trundles along the neglected streets, potholes jarring his passengers and threatening to throw Matto from his perch, a crowd around the burning structure slows the pace to a crawl. The area is thick with onlookers awash with a mix of emotion from sorrow to scarcely contained frustration. While some people give way to the familiar white vehicle with hopeful expressions painted upon their faces, a half block from the scene is becomes all but impossible to make any forward motion. The view of the burning structure remains obscured by a derelict dollar store for all save Matto.

Those outriders on motorcycles have an easier, though still slowed, time getting through the crowd. Few who see the colors of the Dozen stand in their path, and though they need to at times take to the broken sidewalks, they are confronted with a wave of heat, and a terrible vision. As they arrive, the long-standing sign for the Motel 5, which bears the ironic marquee "hottest rates in town" is engulfed in flame with a series of pops issuing forth as the long dormant neon tubes explode from the sudden burst of heat.

The lower floor of the building is all but fully ablaze, and every window on the forward face of the motel is a gaping maw from which smoke spews, the glass having melted away. The small island of calm seems to be the far corner of the upper balcony, where several families are huddled, with children draped in tattered tattered and water soaked blankets which give off steam from the fire's heat. The gathering are clustered not even ten feet from their salvation, an unscathed set of stairs to the parking lot.

As Scratch steals her way through Low-Down's ruins, she makes good time, unopposed, and unseen.

Lucky:

Scratch:

Matto:

As the RV shudders and bounces to a stop Bear grins over at Feral.
"Show time Omea! Lets rock!"
Grabbing a MedKit off the rack he bails out the back of the RV and scans the scene with his MoJo Vision to see if anything stands out.

As Bear goes Rampaging out of the van, Micky hangs back for a minute with the squatter. He was waiting for a call, and he was in no hurry to suck smoke. He did have his internal air supply, but he was saving that for emergencies. As some of the others stormed ahead he tried to talk some more with the bearer of all this bad news,"Hey, you know anything about the other people living here? any newcommers? or high rollers?"

Cosimo was lost in thought. For the past few, he had been picturing the corner by the motel in his mind. He tried to picture all the possible sniper nests in the area. Where would he go? There were so many places to hide. Just toss a grenade into the intersection. Boom. The Loveland quartet. Bang. Bang. The Loveland duo.

Why the hell would someone light this fire? Who had the stones to try and make a move? Southside was a joke. He used to clobber those kids, sometimes three times in a day. Brothers were out. They'd absorb the crew if they felt they needed the turf. The Triad boys? They're desperate for new avenues of revenue. No gang likes to go from making 20k a day to making 2k. There's no real rackets here for them to take over though. Not enough money in low-down to risk vengeance by not killing everyone. Nothing to take, so why would they bother? Besides, this fire could wipe the whole block if it gets out of control. Then what?

Cosimo's Uncle Leo died in a fire. That's why Cozi got the fireproof coat. Bomb in Leo's car didn't go off right. He just burned. Full thickness. Nick the Prick said there was a pool of fat where he fell that stained the sidewalk. Never got to cave Nick's head in. Something to look forward to. First though, gotta walk into a burning building. What's that thing Matto said? "Sovereign is he who exists, as though death does not." Georges... Bataille? Yeah.

The RV's roll finally ceased with a short jerk, clearing Cosimo's head. Vasari had been flashing an error for who knows how long. Porcheria.

"Alright chums. Let's go die for the contadini."

Alex stood just in front of his bike, the matt black racing helmet dangling from his hand as he stared at the inferno. 'Something's not right here...this is way too damn big to be an accident; but who would want to torch this dive of all places?' he wondered, still contemplating the blaze. He shook his head to clear it, as his left hand strayed towards the chrome handgun on his thigh, reminding himself of its solidly reassuring weight. Joining the others by the RV he glanced at his compatriots. "Time for some thrilling heroics" he said to the others as he began trying to figure out what to do.

Scratch froze, melting in to the shadows of the decaying building. She stilled her breathing…he didn’t belong here, too poised, too clean. Almost unconsciously a throwing blade was in her hand, the light absorbed by the deadly matt stiletto. She couldn’t see his back so had no idea if he was wearing gang colours, nothing obvious from this side.

She gently tapped a message on the holographic keyboard at her wrist, careful to keep the light out of sight from the stranger around the corner…

<<SUV 1 block over 1 man Backup?>> now she just had to wait…

Alex felt his commlink buzz as he finished speaking. Fishing it out of a pocket, he glanced at the screen and saw the message from Scratch. He stared at the screen for a moment before taking off through the crowd towards the next block, his hand staying close to the gun on his thigh as he ran.

The roar of the flames was impressive even over the chattering panic of the crowd. This primal thing which consumed without pause, without concern - there was a purity even in the black columns of smoke which poured from every window. Cosimo was running along the side of the building, shoving back gawkers as he skirted the edge of the blaze, his coat secured tightly around his frame. He was trying to get to a section of the building which wasn't yet belching smoke when Scratch's message popped up on his overlay. One guy? Still here? The guy was either a moron, a tourist or a moron tourist. Any local banger should be 5 blocks away by now.

[Cosimo@Scratch: Message. Scratch. Follows. "Squatter said two guys. Careful. Use comm's camera. Send vid."]

[Cosimo@Dozen: Message. Dozen. All. Follows. "Arsonist has wheels. Ready for pursuit?"]

Just then, Cosimo spotted the huddled families on the 2nd floor balcony.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
He tilted his head towards them.
"Over the railing!! Are you so stupid you'd burn to death before you fell a few feet!!" The helmet's front speaker squawked angrily.
"Hand! Hand me the kids! Come on dammit! Now!"

Jack would never forgive him if he went after the gunshots first, even if they might have been more important for finding out who set the blaze. With a chuckle, the lanky kid turned back towards his van, easily pulling himself onto the roof using the front seat for a step. From there it was a quick leap to the nearest building.

Crowd's too thick. Never make it on foot, and if those squatters were gonna run, they'd have done it. Drek.

He eyeballed the distance between his building and the next for just a moment, no real hesitation as he threw himself across the distance, eyes already on the next jump between his building and the motel's roof. Whole thing was burning on the inside, but there should be just enough room on the edge in front of that second story balcony to catch his footing and lower himself down.

Don't think too much, Lucky, he chided himself as he hung for a moment in the emptiness between buildings.

Scratch steadied her breathing and stepped out from behind the wall, carefully poised for flight or fight as need be. She made sure that her comm was transmitting an image of the man and the car and that the throwing knife was tight in her palm…

She feigned surprise, “Heh omae, what’s doing? Heh, can I bum a smoke?”

As the RV came to a halt (at what Grim guessed was a safe distance), he popped the glove compartment open and pulled out a trode-band, and started shooing everyone out of the sliding side-door, with his other hand. He also gestured at the cupboard (as an afterthought), which was literally spilling high-quality medkits onto the counter and into the sink, but wasn't going to make a huge fuss if people left without taking one. After a second, he slid the trode-band over his head, and plugged the other end into his cheap commlink. As he settled back into his seat, his VR control interface came online, and the four medical drones in the back of the van started to light up. The back-door to the RV slid open, and the drone racks slid out quickly depositing all four medical drones onto the ground before the whole system retracted back into the RV and the robotic chairs began to march towards the fire, scanning their cameras across the scene trying to identify those in critical need of care.

After Feral jumped out of the car he needed a second to evaluate the situation. Then he saw the families being trapped on the balcony, surrounded by flames and smoke. Guess it's on me to get them out he thought while he channeled mana into spells.

"Hey you people on the balcony! Don't get freaked out now I'm gonna get you down! Don't fight it if you start to fly!" The last thing he needed was the targets resisting his rescue attempt.

From atop the van Matto rose, his eyes focusing on stairwell where the prone form lay. The light from the blaze flashed on his face and the heat and smoke rolled over him. His bio-monitor registered the increase in respiration and blood pressure. He felt his heart pumping, pumping,pumping fast and hard. His ears rang and his eyes glazed over, salty tears coating the Ziess lenses on his eyes and running down his face.

He stood, Sub gun hanging at his side, staring as the gang jumped into action. Memories bounced around his head, superimposing themselves over the feed from his cyber eyes. The software in his datajack rolled a constant stream of quotes across his vision, vainly trying to find anything that would sync with what he was feeling and seeing. Finally, the letters stopped scrolling across his vision and stopped. Matto blinked his eyes and focused on the quote.

"There are not enough Indians in the world to defeat the Seventh Cavalry."George Armstrong Custer.
The words glowed, tinted by the red of the flames and he laughed aloud. His feet hit the tarmac even before he could register the thought to jump. Racing for the stairwell with the slumped body he keeps the smartgun tracking left and right.

He approaches the body carefully,looking for wires or signs of a booby trap..

Once outside the van, Micky snapped out the cigarette again. He lead the squatter to the curb by the old dollor store and got on his comm. It looked like Scratch had a suspect in sight, and Grimm probably had his hands full.<<Micky@Grimm: Anything I can do to help Doc?>>

Barely catching himself on the edge, he turned the almost slip into a somewhat graceful looking lowering move, dropping down onto the balcony next to the cluster of frightened people. He arrived just in time to see some of the frightened civilans, shaken into movement by Cosimo's authoritative voice, begin to shuffle children and elder members towards the balcony. He saw Feral below, concentrating, and waved a hand to get the street mage's attention.

"Adults!" he shouted. "Start with the adults! We can get the kids down."

He began to push and cajole, encouraging those left to follow the small group already in action and begin lowing the children down to Cosimo in the parking lot.

Grim's drone began to march toward the area where the people were being rescued and lowered to the ground. Grim expected some minor burns and smoke inhalation that he trusted the drone pilot's medical expert systems to be able to take care of automatically, so, in VR, he "jumped" into one of the drones, and its external speaker crackled to life with the sound of his voice. It swiveled towards the nearest already rescued man, and asked, "Is anyone still inside?" While he waited for the meat-speed response, he quickly sent a message back to Micky: <<Grimm@Micky: If you have a medkit from the back, we've probably got more injuries than I have drones. Otherwise, we need to make sure the nearby buildings are safe, and start sorting out who need our attention, and who came for the show.>>

Bear

The Astral, usually sedate in the sparesly populated region of Low Down, is alive with activity. The mob of squatters create a pool of auras that fluidly writhes as they shuffle about in place, with waves of panic rolling along the surface with each explosion of neon or gas from the fire. There is a concentrated ball of fear on the balcony where the panicked crowd gather. The slumped figure on the stairs has an aura as well, though his is faded, as he barely clings to life.

Scratch

The kid standing by the SUV turns on one work-booted heel with a grunt, and rounds on Scratch as she approaches him. As he draws closer, she will spot the subgun resting on the dashboard of the SUV, within easy reach through the open driver's side window. While the ganger postures up, taking a drag off of his coffin nail, several details become evident. The kid cannot be more than seventeen years old, but he carries himself with a swagger and warriness that speaks of being blooded. There is a hard look to his eyes, and even though he is not overly concerned with the new arrival, his posture is ready to react if needed, and he has left the hand closest to the SUV, and consequentally his weapon, free. Also, while it seems he has taken care to eschew any manner of gangland dress, instead wearing brand free generic work clothing, there is a tattoo visible on the side of his neck - the gothic lettered SSA of the Southside Assassins.

`What you doin' here, girl?` His voice bears the bravado one might expect from one of the Assassins' street toughs. `Doncha know there's a party out there on the street?`

Alex

The press of the crowd is relentless, growing more concentrated the further from the fire Alex gets. Still, the crowd is largely comprised of squatters from the immediate area, and the squatters know the colors of the Dozen when they seem them. Anyone who does not react and try to clear a path is good order does not put up much of a fight when they see the elf's gun. Even with a compliant crowd, the press turns to molasses even as the SUV that Scratch had marked for the gang comes into sight. While Alex shoulders his way through the last few feet of the crowd the distinct sound of gunfire, now much closer and thus clearer over the din of the crowd, alights his ears. A look up to the building that the SUV is parked beside allows him to spot a figure a the third storey window, braced against the frame with an assault rifle at the ready.

Cosimo, Lucky, Feral, Matto
For those moving towards the fire, or rather the oasis of calm where the huddled families wait impotently, things are easier. Even with the ebb and flow of a fluid mob, no one is being pushed nearer to the fire than they want to go, which leaves the area within a stone's throw of the motel itself relatively clear. Bolstered by Cosimo's rallying orders, several of the male squatters on the upper walkway shift and stand. They huddle to offer words of encouragement to their own families, and take up the smallest of their children first. Keen to spend the last moments of their life selflessly heroic, they que up to lean and shorten the drop to Cosimo's waiting arms as much they can. The first of Grim's orderly drones arrives shortly after the first child is dropped, as do a few other brave souls who are inspired to lend a hand. While the huddled masses do not hear Feral's call above the din of fire and fear, Cosimo's rallying call has caused plenty of them to stand, affording the teen mojo-man a nice line of sight on would be levitation targets.

Matto is given a clearer path than anyone else that evening. There is something about a large ork with a rather bright mowhawk that inspires people to get out of the way. Skirting the building is a risky proposition, but it allows him a clean line of sight to the body that is slumped upon the stairs. First glance, from distance, makes it quite clear what happened to the guy was no accident, and reveals just why the people were cowering on the balcony around the corner: the guy's chest has a rather large bullet hole in it. As Matto draws closer, with thoughts of booby traps in mind, he notices something else about the body. It is not actually a body. While only half of the man's chest is moving, there is the distinct rise and fall of labored, shallow breathing from the fallen man.

After a madcap set of scrambling leaps, and a rush across a rooftop where the roofing tar is boiling away in some places, Lucky gets to the untouched side of the motel. As he drops down onto the balcony amidst the shifting mass of people he is witness to two things. First is the third child to be lowered and dropped into Cosimo's waiting arms, and the second, and easily far more troubling, is when the man who had just let go of the infant girl is slammed by the force of a bullet to the shoulder, and goes staggering backwards, almost tripping down the stairs before settling against a wall. The mass of people who had been helping to get the children together emerge into panicked cries, and shy back from the railing again.

Grim, Mickey
While the fire is still raging, the closest squatters to it have a new distraction in the form of a familiar vehicle, and familiar faces coming out of it. Those that were injured and are still mobile start to flock to the mobile clinic, while several start to call out for attention from the orderly drones that start to filter amongst them. While Mickey pulls aside their messenger, two small children come running up to the pair, evidentaly having been seperated from their poppa when he went to go get help. The squatter that Grim's jumped in drone asks about anyone inside of the building takes a moment to overcome the surreal sight of a drone amongst a barrens fire scene, and he shakes his head.

`Got everyone out we could, 'cept those that're up on the balcony.` He seems distressed, which is only natural. `Couldn't do nothin' to help them.`

Micky turns his head slightly to avoid blowing coke laced smoke in the kids faces, but he watches them like a hawk. Kids in the barrens are the best pick pockets you'll ever meet. He addresses them in the warmest and friendliest voice he can,"Hey, are you two busy right now? This man is lost. I'm trying to get all the lost people to meet up here on this sidewalk. Do you think you can keep him company while I find some more lost people?"
Micky covertly snaps a picture of the kids with the commlink in his hand and sends a text to Grimm
<<@Grimm: I'm starting a kiddie lost and found by the van, I'm gonna start trying to sort this crowd as best I can>>

Upon seeing the bullet wound,Matto Instinctively drops prone and blasts a shout to all. "SNIPER!"through the comlink . From the ground, he digs into his combat vest and pulls out the meager medical supplies he carries. Ripping the steri-wrap from his only trauma patch with his teeth as he pulls a tampon and a tube of Mercy-one™ antibiotic gel from the recycled plastic zipper bag. Sticking the tampon between his teeth,he belly crawls forward,watching the surrounding buildings for the sniper.
"He who is prudent and lies in wait for an enemy who is not, will be victorious. -Sun Tzu-' he mumbles into the comlink as he moves towards the wounded victim.

'Oh HELL' Alex thought as he saw the figure above him. Knowing that any hesitation would most likely result in getting shot, he decided to continue running straight for the SUV below the unknown gunman, hoping that they were too distracted to get a clean shot before he got into cover.

That's freakin' awesome. thought Lucky, immediately spinning to try and track the shot back to it's source. Pro's would bail, but a pro wouldn't have been waiting to taking a pot shot at the random street vic, so chances were he'd be sitting in his hole, lining up more shots. If he could just spot him...