Please see the OOC thread for more info about this game.

Also check out the Setup thread which has a little bit of RP and is kindof a prologue.

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The van clatters and bumps along the road up into the mountains. The road narrows in places, and takes wild hairpin turns as it goes steadily upward. The signage along the road is mostly in spanish, but some are in english as well. As the road enters a pass through the mountains, you see that ahead is a large border facility. Judging by traffic, this is a major land route from Aztlan into Bogotá. The border facility is manned by Aztech military police, who inspect vehicles and persons going in or out of the Bogotá Free Zone.

Artemis has taken care of the paperwork, and you each have an electronic - as well as physical - copy of a visa permitting you to travel between Aztlan and Bogotá. It is a Class 12A visa, meaning that you are permitted to carry weaponry into Bogotá. After waiting in a traffic line for some time, a group of efficient and professional Azltan military police unload the van and quickly catalog its contents. Each of you are instructed to register a declaration of what you’re carrying across the border. An officer warns that if you fail to declare anything, it could be difficult to bring the item back out of Bogotá. The van is scanned electronically and magically, as are each of you. The Aztlan personnel are brusque but polite, and if the team is cooperative, then it takes less than an hour to process them and then they are on the way again.

“Welcome to Bogotá.” says Artemis over the comlink. The van drives through a bustling trade town just inside the border. The drive is somewhat more straightforward now, and the road is wider and more straight on the highland plateu. The area is heavily built-up with commercial property of all kinds, and all of it looks like it was built within the last 20 years or so. After a few minutes the skyline of Bogotá proper comes into view, with some towering skyscrapers, and numerous squat and blocky housing or office buildings.

Another checkpoint comes into view - this one looks altogether different than the border post though. A red, yellow and blue banner hangs across the road, marking this as a GLB (rebel) post. The armed rebel soldiers are more motley and less professional in appearance and demeanor than the Aztlan soldiers, and after a fairly cursory inspection, the driver hands an officer a credstick, and you all are on your way once again.

Now the driver picks up speed, and seems to keep a closer eye on the environment, as well as the road ahead. He turns off of the highway and accelerates. The city around you is swollen and dirty. It seems crowded, dilapidated, and a little desperate. The buildings are all solidly built, most are showing signs of age, and many have been added onto, seemingly with improvised building, giving some of the neighborhoods a ramshackled appearance. The driver seems on edge, and produces a submachinegun, which he rests on his lap. He seems to know exactly where he is headed, occasionally checking his comlink for traffic as he threads his way through the city. You can see the city’s airport not far away, despite the massive barriers and walls surrounding it. A single military aircraft approaches to land, not on a straight and flat trajectory but instead spiraling downward like a corkscrew. The sidewalks and sometimes the streets are crowded with pedestrians, a few of whom are armed. Some streets seem almost empty, but others are choked with vehicles, most are cars, but SUVs are not uncommon, and most of the vehicles look a few years old at least.

Eventually the driver turns down a street beside a fortified base. Reinforced earthen berms ring the large squarish fort, and it stands back aways from nearby buildings. A few squat guard towers watch its approaches, and the van pulls up to a heavy metal gate. A handful of armed men are at the gate wearing a mixed bag of armor and clothing. One of them speaks to the driver in a familiar way, in spanish. The guard checks some information on his comlink and then waves at another to open the gate. The van drives into a lot within the compound, which has a few cars and a couple of large trucks. There is another earthen wall and gate across the lot, and a squat fortified watchtower nearby. The van pulls up to this gate and speaks into his comlink. Under the watch of a few people in the tower, along with a machine gun, the second gate opens and the van drives in.

Within a short while, the team is stowing their gear away in their new home. It is a squat, plascrete building that looks on both the inside and the outside like a small barracks fit for ten or fewer people. It seems fairly new, probably only built in the last year or two. Your team the place all to themselves. There are a dozen or so structures just like this one, as well as other larger buildings. The entire compound appears that it could house perhaps 150 people or so. Artemis checks in to verify that you arrived, and to see how it’s going. The base, she calls it Camp Jaguar, is a Zermax facility, and will likely be your new home for the foreseeable future. The base supervisor is a fellow called French, who she says you’ll meet later on. She sends a map of the facility to your comlinks, so you can easily see the commissary, camp watering hole, administrative buildings, and so forth.

You’ve barely settled in when Artemis rings once again. Seems that you all get to pull a security detail tonight. “Best get a little bit of sleep. You’ll be security on one of the camp gates for a 12 hour overnight.”

"Home, sweet home, huh!?"

Tatjana grabs her stuff and begins sorting through it, once they have taken up residence. She produced two bottles of icy clear liquid with some russian letters on the label, looking for a refrigerator to put them into.

Then she pulls out her really big rifle and places it on a table, checking everything thoroughly for maybe fifteen minutes, before it goes back into the bag and is stowed away carefully.

"Don't need sleep, I could rather use a walk around the place here, having sit in that damned van for hours."

"Ci Senorita, I think I may have preferred to travel here on el Burro, no! perhaps I may still have sensation in my ass!"

Hammer replies to Nova and tries to massage some feeling back into the muscles of his legs after dropping his bags near a bunk.

"a few minutes rest will not kill us no, we will be ready for duty of course!"

He addresses the Commlink "Artemis, Senorita we require secure storage, is there such a thing in our facilities Chica? "

Once the commlink has terminated the call, he strips and brushes the days dust from his business wear, then showers, shaves and preps for duty.

Urban camo armor vest and enhanced armor suit, adorned with two quickdraw SMGs on his hips and the Ares Alpha slung in standard non-threat position over left shoulder.

"Muy Beueno! you take good care of your equipment Chica, it will take good care of you. maybe I think Crispy has rifle envy no?!" he laughs and goes back to preparations and stowing non essential goods.

When he is dressed and just before Tatjana makes to leave the room he asks for a momentary team briefing


"There are a few things to consider before we split up muy amigos,
Crispy, can we secure our comms! and get access to the base comms channels please,
Nova while you are out see if you can enhance our maps with some tactical data, Bueno? I appreciate your close attention to tactical detail

I will wait for Brian and Khote to finish in the mess before tasking them, you know how they get antsy if they don't eat. otherwise our time is our own until Stag, comprender? okay have fun"

And he too walks towards the door, hoping to get a look at the hot water before being pushed in the deep end.

At the rifle envy comment Crispy pauses for a moment in the field stripping of his Stoner-Ares MMG. He throws one leg over the barrel, straddling the machine gun in a lewd manner. "Hey Tatjana, I'll show you mine if you show me yours!" His quick laugh dies out just as quickly and he settles back in to cleaning the gun.

His mind is racing with details that need to be set up before the upcoming guard duty. His Stormcloud needed to be unloaded, assembled and fueled. Armor and integrated gear needed a systems check. Might not hurt to set up that tactical network soon, just...



"On it Sarge. You read my mind. I'm sending everyone a commcode to subscribe your 'links to. Tacnet can run through my comm if everyone subscribes. Best way to secure our comms."

<< @Team [Crispy] #### INVITATION RECEIVED. ACKNOWLEDGEMENT REQUIRED FOR SUBSCRIPTION TO NETWORK. >>

Crispy continues the process of checking his gear, his hands moving mechanically while his mind is far away. His AR feed is filled up with windows as he tries to figure out the layout of the network here at Camp Jaguar. Usually places like this had GPS-integrated mapsofts available, along with common squawk frequencies, restricted frequencies, airspace regulations, all the essential vitamins and minerals that a growing merc needed.

After dropping his stuff off in their quarters, Brian heads for the mess.

@Khote: How bout we check out the food? Bet we're gonna find out what tree bark tastes like round here soon enuff.

Let's have a look at the locals.

Unsurprisingly, the food's nothing to write home about. Ignoring the other mercenaries for the time being, Brian heads for the kitchen, looking for the staff.

Hoi there, think you guys could use a hand? Back home I'm used to cooking, takes my mind off other things. You'd be doing me a favor. Name's Brian by the way.

Sadly you can't just walk in somebody's kitchen and tell them their grub is drek. Well, you can, but it's not advisable. Lots of sharp knives.

"I'm gonna head over to that watering hole and see if they have anything decent there. At the very least, I hope for some info about the area, and what to expect around here," Tatjana mentions as she carries her belongings to the room she will be calling her home for the foreseeable future.

When she comes back out, she is only wearing cargo pants, combat boots and a white crop top, apparantly not too shy to show off her good figure. Her cyberarm is also exposed now, and you can see that it runs up to her elbow.

Lazily slung around her hips is a belt with a holster holding her automatic and about half a dozen extra long magazines, and she is still wearing her pendant.



As she enters the small bar, Tatjana stops a few steps in and takes a look around. Who's there, where could she get a seat, preferably with company that looks like she could get them to talk a bit about the place.

After a moment, she turns and heads right for the bar.

"Hey! This lady would like a drink. What's the best you got?"

The watering hole doesn't have a proper name. Well, it does, technically. Building 9. But someone hung a taxidermied wild boar head inside, and so folks have taken to calling it 'The Dead Pig'.

It's not really a chow-hall either, there's a proper cafeteria not too far away, but there's a tiny kitchen in the back of the place, and they can crank out bar food on demand. The people inside the place while their time away when not on duty playing darts or pool, watching sports or movies on a large trideo screen, or playing a couple of faux old school arcade games.

Some of the clients are armed, others not. You can generally tell which people are shooters and which are not. Its not about physical size or even about physique, there's usually just something about their eyes or something that gives them away.

Khote and Tatjana make the rounds, Khote falling in with a couple of operators from 309 Bravo Delta, who are chatting mostly about sports. The fellow behind the bar looks up from his comlink at Tatjana. He gestures to the taps at the bar, there are a half dozen. All are Aztlan or Bogotá beers, it seems. Cerveza Aguila, Costeña, Redd's, Colón Rubia, Aguila Imperial and Club Aztlan. There are a number of bottles behind the bar, clear and dark liquors. A few types of tequila, some rum, and a few whiskeys. A bottle of scotch sits high up on the shelf.

--

Brian finds his way to the chow hall. Its a mostly open building with numerous tables and chairs. Running down the middle is a buffet, and at the far end is a counter and a fairly large kitchen behind it. There are a few warm bodies eating an afternoon meal, and the kitchen staff are working on food for the evening rush. There's always food available, but you generally want to avoid it once the buffet has been out for a few hours. The cook staff, one of them telling a long-winded story about his troublesome ex-girlfriend back home, look blankly at Brian for a moment. "You want to cook?" one asks, finally. He shrugs. They get paid to do this, its their job. They don't often get people who wander in and offer to do their job for free. "Alright, amigo." He tosses a hairnet to Brian and points at the aprons. "Check those soy cakes in the oven, eh?". The skinny fellow picks up the story about his ex where he'd left off. "So she tells me that I have to pay for her comlink. And I tell her 'Your mother should pay for your comlink, since she's calling you alla time on it!"

--

Hammerson finds his way to the main administrative office. Its a long low building with three corridors. There's a sign in physical and AR space that shows where the various offices are. Motor Pool, Security, Operations, Camp Admin, Armory, Purchasing, Personnel Liaison, etc. It is early afternoon, so the halls are not empty, but instead have people going to or from one office or another. There's a desk in the front lobby though and a bored looking elf who appears to be doing some kind of filing. He seems to waver between annoyance at being interrupted, and relief at being interrupted. He's a supply officer and doesn't mind chatting a little with one of the new teams, but he's not exactly a font of useful information. He worries about when the next fuel shipment will be, as the camp's underground tank is running dangerously low.

Finding SOP information and other useful info is easy enough. Its posted here as well as in AR and on an available Matrix node. It's all information you're fairly familiar with though. Corporate contracting differs from military in a number of significant ways though. Since you don't report to a nation's military, you don't operate under the same set of guidelines. For instance, someone has written "Try not to shoot too many civilians" on the AR board. There is more data available that highlights a few of the known local outfits and gangs, referring to them by name, and giving what little data is available about them.

Artemis makes sure that your team gets paid, and the training ground and firing range is located on the far south side of the compound.

--

Crispy has little difficulty in navigating the AR and information publicly available to those within the compound. Armed with the passcodes and a physical chip, you have access to the public information of the camp that is locked to those outside of the compound, or without the codes and chips.

Try not to shoot TOO MANY civilians huh? .. I wonder how many that might be.

Hammer copies the gang info and wanted list into his comm and saunters into the admin offices, wishing anyone not too busy too look up a sincere "Buenas Dias!".

After a few minutes polite conversation with the supply officer as they sip chilled water from the office cooler, he tries to guage interest in camp book keeping of confiscated goods or contraband from on duty. It has been his experience in the past that there are usually a few contacts able to get or dispose of items, its usually those persons who keep the records and also that need the odd favour in return.

Subtle hints dropped and contact details exchanged he wanders out into the bright afternoon air and back to the bunk house.

@309-E [Hammer] << hey Cookie. You managed to wrestle us up some Tacos Amigo ? >>


The door is shut quietly so as not to disturb anyone already napping and he eases himself onto the squeaky spring mattress for a few minutes rest.

Tatjana nods and takes a look at the offer of drinks. Not too bad, considering where we are...

"Anything non-synthetic, apart from the bottle up there, I guess?" She gestures to the scotch bottle that is securely out of easy reach.

She always uses her left hand for that, her real hand, the one she still has. It's a quirk she took to after she had lost her other and got the cyber replacement.

"I would prefer a good whiskey, but I definitely prefer the real stuff!" She gives the barkeep a wink.

After finding out all the information on the camp's network, Crispy sets up the team's tactical network and sends out a message. He's happy to notice no degredation of performance even though he's running full ROT1024 encryption on the dedicated channel.

<<309-E {Crispy} : Tacnet is fully operational. You're all subscribed, running comms through this channel should ensure minimum chance of eavesdropping. Tactical battlefield data is available here, including team and hostile positioning when we have it. This little icon here gives you full access to the feeds from our eye-in-the-sky, although I'm only gonna give admin access to Nova, as she's the only one that seems to know half what she's doing with 'link security. These fancy little dots here, here and here patch you through to the Jag frequencies for general comms, battlefield comms and a special Zermax line specifically for Zermax Group contractors.>>

Finishing up with that task leaves Crispy free to start work on his eye-in-the-sky, a Renraku Stormcloud. He picks up the small drone, not for the first time realizing that most of the bulk is the inflatable bag that keeps the drone afloat for days at a time. The bag was deflated for transport, and so Crispy goes in search of the commissary or refueling station to get his drone aloft.

@309E [Hammer] << Oh dulce maria jesus christ mis ojos te quema hijo puta madre de un perro rabioso >>
@309E [Hammer] << Crispy, muchacho, the TacNet, in the sanitario ... Turn it OFF Amigo, ay ay ay, >>

<<309-E {Crispy} : Sarge...you're the one who controls the feed from your gear. And...uh...I'm near the med tent looks like, you want me to pick up any cream or a slap patch or something for that burning?>>

"Oh Madre Mia, I can turn this Off ? ahhhh ayyy... Knew I should have paid attention to that part of the training !"

Hammer franticly whirls around waving hand gestures as he tries to make sense of the feeds and channels .. and customize the UI to something manageable and functional

<<309-E {Hammer} : No thank you Amigo, but while you are there, make yourself a reservation Ci, ! they gonna need more medics to extract my boot from your ass !>>

<< @Crispy [Nova] 3Ï{*i«‚™µæuî`ªb™ýœ¦¯P}6_ïË„Þ‰&ã.z“�IÁ;Y^(PûŸV‚Õ
oÞ9#KU6D�T®>‡s‹¸”bàN/æ¢(="nVœ·äÒFº7¯–…ôŸ…6ºxM;&6díð#&¦÷W©£ï=)¦ìÿô¤XÚâ5ʪ8 �”4,)â\n¨j›µ¡ >>

<< @Crispy [Nova] Oh... right... need to switch Encryption off for you to be able to read. Anyways... Thank you, Crispy! But I don't think I am the right person for that... had a friend help me set my stuff up, he said it is as secure as it gets, given my hardware. But I am hardly a wiz with that comm stuff. I sometimes have trouble finding the "on/off" switch. Speaking of comm security, here's my PSK, I understand you will need it to read my messages, once I switch my Encryption back on. -- Attachment: [PSK File] >>

Guess that don't happen too often.



Catching the hair net, Brian nods, grabs an apron and gets to work.

What the? Guess it's a good thing I'm only subscribed to get text messages. What kind of burro is broadcasting vid in the base anyway?

He chuckles at the thought of some random stranger picking up their feed, getting a wrong impression. Or maybe the right one.

Let's see what kind of gossip that guy has besides the antics of his girlfriend.

The barkeep nods at Nova and casts a critical eye over the taps and bottles of liquor behind the counter. It always comes down to price and availability. The cost of the real stuff is so much higher than the synth, that most folks aren't willing to pay the extra cash, even if the real stuff is better.

Still, some of the contractors get paid rather well, so some of them are willing to drop the extra cred on nicer refreshments. One of the lagers on tap, the Aguila Imperial, is real stuff. There are also a couple of bottles of liquor that are kept in a locked cabinet that are for real.

A pint of synth beer is only 3 nuyen. But a pint of the Imperial is 18 nuyen. Similar case with the liquor. The bottom shelf tequila is a single cred for a shot. The for real scotch though, an 18 year single barrel, is an even hundred for a small tumbler.

--

Hammer chats with the supply officer for a bit. He seems to pick up on the hints, judging by his body language, but doesn't respond directly. "You know how it is. There's all kinds of stuff coming on base." The people in supply are usually where it's at. But its not uncommon for them to be a little cautious with the new folks about how to get stuff that folks aren't supposed to get. You never know with people. He nods his head knowingly and says "Maybe we can work something out, chum." His name is Enrique.

--

Brian stays busy in the kitchen for a short while. The kitchen staff chat about a variety of things, mostly to do with their personal lives. The shift supervisor wanders in eventually, takes one look at Brian and says "What the fuck? Who are you?" without waiting for an answer he turns to the staff. "Who's he?". He seems annoyed, but not angry. He doesn't make a huge deal about it, and chuckles over the crazy gringo, but shoos Brian out of the kitchen. "What if you cut your finger off, amigo? Then my boss would come yell at me, and say, "Now why the fuck was that gringo in the kitchen?" And I'd just have to look at him real stupid and shrug.". He shakes Brian's hand though and tells him that his name is David.

Tatjana smiles, and nods towards the scotch. "I will take a glass of that for today. And then an Imperial. First day here, obviously, so let's not be cheap."

She immediately pays her bill, her allowance for this month was quite high, still having everything in place from her high-income merc jobs. She would have to tone it down a bit for the time being, and see how things turn out with Zermax, as she probably couldn't afford it for long, otherwise.

Staying at the bar for a moment, while she enjoys the warm sensation from the drink, Tatjana lets her gaze wander over the gathered crowd, picking one group to mingle with to learn a bit more about their situation from those who might have been here for a while already.

Tatjana finds herself at the busiest table in the place. Three men and two women sit at a long table near the back. A human, two orks, a troll and a dwarf. They're having a lively time, and by the sound of it they work together. The table is littered with empty glasses, and half empty bowls of nacho chips. "AND THEN," says the female ork, loudly, "HE SHOWS ME THE FRONT OF THE TRUCK, AND IT LOOKS LIKE HE WENT THROUGH THE ENTIRE BUILDING!" The rest hoot with laughter. They've clearly been here a little while. By their garb, they look like part or all of the motor pool - mechanics. The same ork glances over at Tatjana and seems to barely notice her, but then looks back, "OH HEY!" she catches herself, realizing how loud she probably is. "Hey!" she says, only slightly more conversationally. "You're one of the new 309 people, I bet." she turns to the rest of the table. "Rodgers brought in a van load of new blood." She looks back at Tatjana. "Here! Have a seat! Where are you from?"

If Tatjana lets herself be pulled in, the lot of them pepper her with questions. They seem like nice folks, if a fair bit tipsy. They're curious about where she's from, and about news from where she's at. They've all been "in field" for quite awhile, and a little bit of homesickness bleeds through.

Eventually they remember to introduce themselves. Sacha is the ork chick, and Cheyenne the other female at the table, a human. The guys are Marco, an ork, James, a troll, and "Grease" the dwarf, which they all get a good laugh over, but who later says that his name is Chris. Most of them are from North America, either Seattle or Denver.

Tatjana nods and smiles. "You got it. 309 Echo. Name's Tatjana. Looks like you are having a good time here."

She sits down and joins the talk, telling them a bit about Denver, where she had been before coming to Bogotá. Friendly chatter about the trivial things in life to get your mind off the harsh reality that hits home soon enough, when you are in a warzone. She will also offer a round of whatever they are drinking.

After a while, Tatjana will ask some questions about the city and what to expect and watch out for here.

"You guys been out of the compound on occasion? Anything one should keep an eye on? Or any places one might want to visit, when on a tour around the city?"

The group sitting around the table with Tatjana discuss a few marketplaces, and the night bazaar, but since the GLB shot down a government military aircraft, travel for ZerG personnel has been curtailed. There have been mortar attacks on various facilities in the city, and the violence has been getting progressively worse. There are tons of good nightclubs in the city - those in Centro are mostly for University types. Andres D.C., they all agree, is the best nightclub in the city, but there was a bombing nearby a few days ago, and they've heard that its been shutdown since.

Crispy wanders by the medical tent, noting it's location on the tactical map shared by the team. He was just kidding around with Sarge about going there for supplies, but truth be told, medical areas tended to give him the creeps. One of the reasons he did things himself. He probably should check to see if they were stocked up on Sang Cya, Imuran or even Deltasone. Never know when the noggin' would have a flare-up. He prayed it wouldn't be during tonight's detail. Supplies were doing ok, but they wouldn't last forever.

Continuing past the med tent, he found himself at the commissary. Stepping inside, he laid his drone on the counter and inquired about refueling. Should be pretty standard, the thing ran on H₃0 but lord knew what kind of supply lines they had here. If he could just get this sorted, he'd have plenty of time to head back and have some quality down time before the detail started. Time enough to tinker with his cyber, take a preventative hit of immuno, get a little shut eye...

But, I'm just... Stupid regulations. Like cooking's more dangerous than the stuff I get paid for. Anyway, see you around.

Guess I'll have to set up something myself; maybe organise a BBQ or something. Hmm, admin at 6:30, add some time to change, prep, say 6; still plenty of time.

Bringing up the map of the base, Brian looks it over for a second and heads for the commisary.

Stepping in, he nods at Crispy and looks through the store. After picking up a camo face paint kit and an insect repellent, he walks over to the counter.

@Crispy Hey Crisp, looking for a toy for your toy?

@clerk Hi, we just arrived - 309 Echo - and I was thinking: Bet there's stuff that's on no official list but after a few missions everyone realizes they need. Think you can help me with that?

One of the supply clerks gets Crispy's drone all fixed up. No biggie.

The clerk raises an eyebrow at Brian. "What exactly are we talking about?"

Well, the most ordinary things can save your life. A condom for instance can hold a liter of water if someone decides to put a bullet through your canteen. And I once saw on history channel how soldiers used mirrors on sticks to look around corners before everything had a camera built in; things like that.

What's he thinking I'm asking? How to make a sex doll out of five random household items and half a tree?

The clerk laughs and nods his head, holding up a finger in a "hold on a second" motion. He walks down an aisle and returns, tossing something to Brian. A roll of toilet paper.

Better toss me another then.

Brian shakes his head, pays, throws his purchases into a bag and leaves for their barracks building.

OK,I need toilet paper cause A: he's shitting me B: all the food's full of shitty germs C: there's a genuine application.

Probably D: all of the above.

Anyway, la gente esta muy loca. Better go and take the time to check my gear real good.

Khote had gone with his companions to get a feel for the camp and to back them up if there was any trouble. It quickly became clear that all was in order. The camp was much as he would have expected it to be. When Crispy sent out the invite to the secure comm, Khote absentmindedly subscribed to it registering the added TacNet data in the AR display of his contacts.

After a few minutes chatting with the members of 309 Bravo her recognized from their time in training, he excused himself. It was time to seek the guidance of the Great Spirit in this new land. He stepped out into the open courtyard. Finding an open area that wasn't getting much traffic, he drew a circle within the dirt large enough for him to sit within it. As he sat in meditation, he began speaking in his native tongue:

"O' Tunkasila Wakantanka
Ho naho tuwa mis tate el kin,
Niya tuwa ku wiconi makaowacaga kilyuha kin,
Naho mis. Mis cistila na hokesni.
Mis cin nita wasake na woksape.
Ayusta mis mani el hopa, na kagemita ista
Iho kin luta wimaheliyaya.
Kagemita nape younihan kin wa uskekiya mis yuha
Kage na nugemita pestola naho honita.
Kagamis pksape he ugnasmis okahnige takunlnis ospe kiyemita oyate.
Ayusta ospewakiyemis wouspenis inahme el iyohile canwape na iya.
Nita ola wasake el un isom taka isammita ciyawayasni, tka kize isomtakamita toka-misnala.
Kagamis ohinni winiyela el hi el nita kici sapesni hapena owotala ista.
Ca conj wiconi oiyokpaza, el oiyokpaza wimcheliyaya, woniya wakamita ugnas hi el nis cola istelya. "



Headless of the looks he may or may not be getting from passerbys, he spends the next half hour listening to WakanTanka's answer in the wind. He used his earbuds to filter out all the mundane noises of the camp. He simply listened to the wind for what guidance the Great Spirit would bring him....

At peace, body and spirit, he opened his eyes to the camp when the time felt right. He switched his sound filters off and stood. The Great Spirit told him the time for action would come soon enough. For now though, it was time for rest.

He headed towards his team's barracks with a quick message to the others saying he was catching some sleep before they would be called to duty.

Just before entering their barracks, Brian checks his messages again.

Guess I don't really need all that time to prep, better let Khote get his beauty sleep.

He looks around, spots a bunch of unoccupied weather-worn chairs and sofas, walks over, throws his shopping bag into one, slumps down opposite to it and takes what to him feels like the first deep breath in almost eight weeks.

Training, exercise, weapons training, marching, even more training, tactics, a strange mix of information overload and you-don't-need-to-know bullshit; and soon the first time it's all going to be for real.

What's this nervous crap? You spent your first night alone in the forest ages ago.

He lets out a sigh Alone.

Guess that's it. This time there's other people, not those eco-loons - they don't count. A real team, a pack if you will.

Letting out another sigh, he leans back and takes in the view.

The camp, the city, the forest, wonder what Laura and Stephen would say? "Ugh!" and "Wheres the rocket launchers at?", I guess.

Setting up an alarm for 17:00, he takes a first stab at writing a letter to his siblings.

It was a frantic 8 weeks, still should of thought of them sooner.

Crispy said goodbye to Brian as the teammate exits the commissary, TP well in hand. Good to know they had an abundant supply of the stuff - the times on maneuvers where he'd had to use leaves, or worse, rocks...

After a few moments had passed where it seemed that Brian had well and truly left the commissary, Crispy turned back to the man behind the counter. A feeling of shame came over the comms expert at having to have such secrets from his teammates. But it was for the best - these things kept Crispy alive, and in good fighting shape. Hell, he wasn't sure why he felt shame in the first place! These things were just a natural result of his condition. He wasn't responsible for the need he had.

"So, I've got this condition. My cyberwear acts up sometimes, I've got Super-Serious-Rejection-Syndrome or something. I need these certain drugs to keep it manageable. What're my chances of you having any Sang Cya? Imuran? Hell, even Deltasone would work."

"Let's hope things calm down again. Until then, at least we got this place, right?"

Tatjana spends the rest of the evening chatting with the mechanics about this and that, before settling in and getting some rest.

Their shift at the gate is going to begin soon.

time 18:30
location courtyard in front of admin building, Camp Jaguar

---

The S3 (Staff, Director of Operations) is a lanky human fellow named Lancaster. He's grey haired, but looks like he's done his time pulling a trigger. He has a large electronic clipboard, and is watching quietly as personnel assemble in the courtyard. The sun won't set for another hour, and the humidity is so high that it may as well be raining. But Bogotá is cool year round, generally hovering in the 60's, Fahrenheit.

The assembled personnel wear a wide mix of clothing, gear and weaponry. Most tend toward dark colored utility gear. A few in some variety of camouflage, a couple in denim, and one or two in hard armor. About two dozen people stand around, some chatting quietly with their colleagues, when Lancaster speaks up. "Alright, listen up. I'm handing out assignments now. Grab whatever you need and head to your duty assignment. Keep your eyes open. We don't have any specific reports, so here's hoping its a quiet night. Questions?" He pauses. "Get to it." He looks around, "Where's 309 Echo? Come see me." He looks down to the pad in his hands, and types on it. You hear the comlinks of the operators nearby ding or buzz quietly as he sends information to the assembled group.

Lancaster offers a quick handshake to each of you. "I know you're new here. Welcome. You'll be on the inner entrance gate. Your job is simple, keep your eyes out, and make sure that no one gets in that is not supposed to. There are only a few trucks coming in tonight, so it shouldn't be that big of a deal. If you have questions, ask."

Each of you has a message on your comlink that contains some basic information about your assignment. The inner entrance gate - that you all came through earlier in the day - is a heavy, solid metal gate across the entrance into the camp. On the outside of the gate is the entrance lot, a large gravel parking lot, and the outer entrance gate - manned by local contractors who screen traffic before allowing it into the entrance lot. At the inner entrance gate there is a guardpost on the exterior of the wall, and then a squat guard tower on the interior.

You are given the comlink code for the supervisor on the outer gate. His name is Morales. There are a half dozen guys manning the outer gate. Your schedule shows that there are a handful of deliveries expected overnight. One truck load of foodstuffs expected about 9PM, 309 Bravo will be returning from an operations sometime before midnight, an empty tanker is supposed to come in around 1, and there are two possible deliveries after 2am.

Artemis rings in for a quick consult. She's got the same briefing information as you do. She'll be a quick call away if you need her.

116 Echo is packing up their stuff when you all arrive at the gate. There are a few introductions and then they're out of there, eager to get some R&R.

Khote takes the handshake from Lancaster with a firm grip and silent nod as the team receives their orders.

He double checks the list of deliveries/arrivals in his AR display as they all head towards the inner gate. Appears simple enough. Yet, isn't that always the way of things?

Taking a look at the lay of the land, he makes note of points of cover and the best firing positions should the night go south. Looking to Hammer, "Where you want me?"

Tatjana is wearing her light armor suit, including a light helmet, all black. Her rifle is back in their quarters, and the only weapon she packs is her sidearm, a heavy pistol. A number of magazines are kept within easy reach in pouches around her belt.

The lithe woman accepts the handshake, Lancaster will note that her grip is a lot stronger than her frame might suggest. This might surprise him, or not, depending on whether he knows about her cyber-replacement, which isn't visible now, fully covered by her light armor suit.

"Well then, let's hope for a calm night! We'll keep our eyes open."

Hammer checks his comm for the new data and accepts the handshake from Lancaster

"Muy Bueno Senor, a calm night for us all, Ci!"

With his gear strapped and readied he ambles with the team to the gate house, sharing another legendary piece of humour
about Crispy taking so long at the Med Centre being directly proportional to the number of male nurses on duty.

After the brief passing of duties from 116 Echo and a shouted "buenas noches Amigos, hey next time maybe bring some air freshener, Ci ?!"

He turns to his team,

"Okay Senoritas, we do guard duty, is no trouble not like military bullshit hokay"

"Crispy, keep that weather ballon hidden up there okay, you get your big gun up in the tower Amigo, cover our asses Tatjana too princesa, keep your eyes peeled for trouble out there, take turns resting up but no hanky panky okay"

"Tonto, TP and me, we take turns on the gate and in the bunker down here, if the muchachos on the outside have someone coming in we are all up and alert Ci ?"

"Bueno, we got twelve hours of this, no need to wear ourselves out over a gate, but we are the new guys so we do proper job, Comprender?"

Tatjana, not entirely sure, whether Hammer meant Crispy or her or both with the tower, so she asks: "So, should I get my rifle to that tower?"

"Either way, I will summon us some help to watch out for magical threats, once the sun sets."

When the sergeant confirms, Tatjana heads back to the barracks to get her rifle and a spare clip or two, just in case.

She climbs up to the tower and settles in, looking for a place where she can put her rifle on the ground, using its bipod. The beast of a sniper rifle is far too heavy to be fired without a stable position.

Tatjana also spends some time working her magic, the effects of her spells and chants, however, aren't obvious. It is clear that she has summoned a spirit, which must be hovering in astral space somewhere and hasn't materialized, yet. The whole effort seems to have strained her a bit, but nothing too exhausting.

"Nova's trying to act like she doesn't want to spend hours alone with me in that there tower. Don't be embarrassed, many women would kill for the opportunity to be all alone with me and my big gun!"

Crispy responds to the Sarge's commands with the alacrity of someone used to following orders, even if he does it with that last wise-crack thrown over his shoulder as he heads to the barracks. He had ignored Hammerson's jokes about the male nurses at the time. Memories of prison came too close to the surface for comfort. But soon...Crispy was already dreaming up ways to get even with Hammerson as the comms expert gathered his gear. Rocks in his rucksack? Some disgusting ingredient added to his food during chow-time? The possibilities were endless.

Having everything in place, Crispy walked outside. With a quick mental command the bag inflated on the high-flying drone and it took to the skies. As the chameleon coating on the drone's surface kicked in, the watery, wavery outline in the cloudy sky was the only slight indication that there was something up there. Imagery data immediately flooded Crispy's PAN, providing a clear high-altitude image of the surrounding landscape, with radar and visual data superimposed. Satisfied that the drone was in position, he headed towards the waiting team. His armored jacket bulked him out even more than the loads of gear he was carrying, while the all-black wrap-around goggles gave him a slightly insectoid look. He carried his MMG propped up on one shoulder, the tripod legs folded back along the body of the gun. The other shoulder had an iBall drone perched on it. Nodding to the team as he walked up, he gave them all a quick burst over the tacnet.

<<@Team {Crispy} : Tacnet is verified working condition. Sub your links to the node for the data feed. This little guy on my shoulder here can hide himself by the gate and scan all incoming vehicles. Ready to rock guys.>>

This said, Crispy heads to the tower and ascends to the top while the iBall drone rolls to the outer entryway and secures itself in a good hiding position. Setting up the MMG takes but a moment in the soldier's practiced hands.

Waiting with the others in the courtyard, Brian lets his gaze wander. If you thought we were a motley crew, you'd better not look around. The heavily armored group catches his eye.
...
Nice to meet you."
Okay, some deliveries, some guys coming home, guess we can handle that.
...


Brian nods and does a quick tour of the parking lot while Crispy and Nova get set up.
Now look at that wreck, nothing but holes and tape.
Back at the bunker, he nods at its door and asks in a mock serious tone So, who's the first to dare enter the foul beast's lair and ascertain what treasure she hoarded? ... And whether there's a fragging coffee maker in there.

Crispy peered down the sights of his machine gun for what seemed the hundredth time. If only he had had the time to get the smartlink set up on this rig. He sighed. No help for it now, iron sights would have to do until he could get some new gear to install on Bertha. Imagery data from his eye-in-the-sky caused him to absently bat at his commlink with a free hand, the action unconscious and routine. He'd been having problems with the feed from his drone for awhile, low-res images showing up where he should have been seeing high-fi-trid-quality topo maps of the area. After the shift tonight maybe he'd have time to delve into why this was happening.

He noted the sleeping bag as Nova hauled her gear up into the tower. His mouth was open and full of an improper comment before being snapped shut again. No time for that now. The zeroing in of the sights for the machine gun continued.

The sun sets and the temperature goes from cool to chilly.

A twelve hour guard shift is largely a battle against boredom and fatigue. It's one reason that comlink games are hotly traded.

There is a highway that runs nearby, a few hundred meters away to the south, close enough that there's a constant hum of traffic, and the vehicle lights can be glimpsed A somewhat heavily trafficked two lane road that feeds the highway runs nearby, and from that road, a street angles off to Camp Jaguar. Around 8PM there is a loud boom from the south, beyond the highway, in the direction of the airport. It is followed by the distant chatter of light weapons, and then joined by the heavier tat-tat-tat-tat-tat of a 20mm cannon. There is another boom to the south, then more small arms fire, which tapers off after a few minute, and the night grows quiet once more. Gunfire is not uncommon though, and it seems you can hear a few shots every once in awhile from this direction or that.

9PM comes and goes with no sign of a delivery truck. The guards at the outer gate seem to have a card game going on, and judging by the swearing in Spanish, there's some wagers being placed on the game.

About 20 minutes after 9, headlights turn down the road to Jaguar. Its about a hundred meters, and its quickly clear that it is a semi truck with a trailer behind it. The guards at the outer gate leave their cards on the table and go out to have a look at the vehicle. You can just make out one of them talking to the driver, as a pair of guards circle the truck, inspecting it.

After a few minutes, a voice comes over the local channel. "Hey hombre, camión [truck] coming your way. Looks okay. Rice and beans, eh?" he laughs. The outer gate cranks open. It takes it almost fifteen seconds to open. The truck shifts into gear and drives into the lot, and the gate closes behind it. The driver rounds the bend and heads toward the gate that your team is on. It's a fairly banged up truck. Looks like its probably been hauling loads for a long, long while. There's a driver-human- in the cab, who switches the interior light on. Next to him there's a human woman with a Colt Cobra SMG on her lap. They pull up to the gate and stop the truck, shifting it into neutral and putting on the brake, letting the engine idle.

As the night trails on, Crispy finds himself increasingly bored. His baby all set up and ready to rock at a moment's notice, he has nothing left to do but stew in the monotony that is guard duty and try to stay awake. He considers popping the LongHaul located in the autoinjector in his armor, but decides he's not that desperate just yet. A cup of coffee would go down better, but none's to be had. Strange, he'd always thought this part of the world would be swimming in the rich fragrance of freshly brewed java. With a sigh, he glances over at Nova, who seems glued to her rifle, moving so little as to appear frozen in time. Crispy'd never been cut out for this kind of duty - he was too jittery to sit still for so long.

<<@Team {Crispy} : Anyone got any good multiplayer games to share? I'm bored as shit up here, and I...>>

Crispy's comm chatter is cut off short at the approach of the truck. He takes up a firing position on his MMG, iron sights lined up squarely on the truck's cab.

Following the relay of information from the iBall drone, Crispy passes the intel along over the tacnet.

<<@Team {Crispy} Got 3 in the cab. 2 up front, 1 in the back. Sarge, what's the listed number of passengers supposed to be in the truck for this delivery?>>

<< @309ECHO [Nova] In the meantime, I will fly over and check the truck astrally. I will be unavailable via comm for a moment. >>

Tatjana rests her body in a comfortable way before switching to the astral plane. Her astral body superimposed over her own, but invisible to physical means. Next to her, the spirit hovers, waiting for her commands to fulfill the services he owes her. It is a large, vaguely humanoid shaped plant, resembling the local flora. Several feet taller than her own small body, standing there in calm tranquility.

The mage then zips over to the truck, checking for signs of life and magic in there, and verifying, that there are the three persons, that Crispy picked up with his sensors.

She also takes the time to assense each of them, seeing whether there is anything noteworthy or out-of-place about them. Best gotta be extra thorough on her first assignment.

It's probably just a normal truck with normal people... but you never know.

<<@FRONT-GATE {HAMMER} "Rice and Beans, hey Ese.. Glad we got the last of the TP from the Commissary heh, Bueno for the heads up!">>

Hammer's lenses darken as the full beams swiftly pass over his direction, He strolls forward a few steps with left hand in the air in the "HALT" signal.

Right hand on the rifles pistol grip, casual but ready in case.

"señor buenas noches, por favor espere un momento," he asks the driver to wait while they get the gates working for them in an amicable and non threatening manner.


A quick glance at the AR comm details, he checks the faces he can see against the list he got earlier from admin
and motions for Brian and Khote to circle the vehicle to check for obvious threats.

<<@Team {Hammer} Checking it out now Crispy, Do me a favour and 'don't shoot dinner' okay Ese, I take beans over Chunky Salsa anyday >>
<<@Team {Hammer} Report in asap Nova, taking no chances but we don't wanna start a war, Ci >>

He steps up to the drivers side of the vehicle about two metres back and asks to double check ID and licences while the guys work.

"Is a good night huh Amigo, you see what went down over at the aeropuerto ?"

Hands resting on his AR, Brian waits for the truck to stop, then starts his inspection of the truck.

Walking along the driver side, he remembers his joke about mirrors on sticks from before.

<<@Team {TP} Crispy, think you can take your eyes off the girl for a second and send the iBall to check out the bottom of the rig?>>

After finishing his round, he takes up a position on the passenger side about a foot outside the door's swing.

<<@Team {TP} Checks out from here.>>

<<@Team {Crispy} That's right, don't bend over to check for yourself. Hammerson wouldn't be able to control himself. Elves, you know...>>

Crispy sends a quick mental command and the drone detaches from the wall and rolls out to the idling semi.

time: 21:22:19

Brian and Khote complete a walk around the rig. Its dirty, and someone has written Mamadas gratis [Free blowjobs] in the dirt on the back of the trailer. There are a dozen bullet holes near the top rear of the right side of the trailer. Something small caliber like a rifle.

The drone rolls underneath. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The driver looks down at Hammer nod nods his head. "Si, amigo. Que pasa?" He rests his hand familiarly on the steering wheel and waits. He responds to the question about the airport, shrugging and saying "Misma cagada. Diferente día." [same shit, different day]



time: 21:24:58


edit: added time

time: 21:24:58

crack! crack! crack! At that moment, a few gunshots can be heard from the two lane road that feeds the highway. Small caliber, a rifle. There's a moderate amount of traffic on the road - its not bumper to bumper, but its a somewhat busy thoroughfare.

Then the blare of a car's horn. "Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep" Another gunshot, crack! There's a traffic snarl now, near the entrance of the road leading to Jaguar. A truck, a couple of cars, and an SUV are stopped. One of the cars puts it in reverse and starts backing away from the snarl. The SUV guns the engine, accelerating around the car, and onto the road toward Jaguar, picking up speed as it goes. Your comlinks beep. Artemis. There's a hint of annoyance in her voice. "Some contractors from 309 Bravo should be heading your way any minute now. I just got the word."

The SUV barrels toward the outer gate, and applies the breaks heavily, skidding to a stop before the external gate.

time: 21:26:11

edit: fixed
edit2: time added

Tatjana has only just returned to her body when the trouble begins.

<< @309ECHO [Nova] The three in the semi look valid. Light cyber, light drugs, nothing special. Gonna try to get a visual on the people in the SUV. >>

After sending her message, Tatjana begins to focus on a spell of hers. She closes her eyes and concentrates to let her eyes wander towards the car.

"no hay problema, You are later than we thought Hombre. you have trouble ?"

Hammers line of questioning is interrupted by the commotion at the gate and the abrupt message from Artemis <Mierda! nothings simple >

<< @TEAM {Hammer} HEADS UP ! in the tower .. get me eyes on that shit storm out there, Nova can you see friendlies ? Crispy get me Tactical data are they our boys and what the Frack is goin' on? >>

He waves at the truck Driver with his free hand "Wait here Amigo, we'll get the gate sorted uno momenta!"

<< @TEAM {Hammer} I hear ya Muchachos, MY call get the gate cleared and shift the civilians, >>

" TONTO , TP .. tactical cover NOW! let's see what the frack happens !"
"One of yous drop a call to Lancaster that there's trouble following, we followed procedure so it's their deal now! "

Hammer uses the corner of the small building as cover so he can still see the outer gate, while the guys raise the inner gate to allow the truck access.

<< @ Morales {Hammer} Amigos, SITREP .. The beans aren't cooked yet Muchacho, no need for the rush Ese! >>

**edit formatting**

Brian shakes his head.

Any minute? No shit, Sherlock. Got company too from the sounds of it.



Brian looks at Khote, nods and "Let's spread out!"

As his cybernetically enhanced reflexes kick in, he has the strange feeling of running both at full tilt yet only moving at half speed for a moment.

I'll never get used to the first half second.

He takes cover behind a car and trains his assault rifle at the outer gate.

<< @Team {TP} Ready, contacting Lancaster>>

<< @Lancaster {Brian Marks, 309 Echo} [Gate, URGENT] 309 Bravo coming in, gunshots heard, situation unclear, recon in progress>>