Artemis, Lobo, Nick : Thursday April 7, 2072 (23:28:30) : Little Rock Deli near the Lockheed Corporate Airport
Lobo finishes his sandwich, looks at his empty plate for a moment, shrugs, and then signals the waitress for another. "They never make these in my size."
He looks at Nick and is impressed at the way the kid packs away the food. Wonder if he's packing a new 'thyroid - one of my old buddies had one of those, never stopped eating.
Turning back to Artemis, "Get him over here, let's get this thing on track before we run out of time."
Full Version: [IC] - Shadows of the CAS
Artemis, Lobo, Nick, : Saturday December 24, 2072 (21:17:42) : Santa's Workshop, North Pole
As the brick wall crashes down around them, elves screaming, presents sent flying, Nick's mind is racing almost as fast as his pulse. The gash in his leg is slowing him down, he's out of grenades, and his chameleon coating is on the fritz. He looks out through the dust and billowing smoke just in time to see Lobo leap out from behind a flaming forklift and unload his double barreled shotgun straight into the face of the advancing hellhound, blowing away its jaw and sending its carcass skidding across the floor.
Nick pales. He can't have more than two reloads left.
Another explosion rocks the building, showering the workshop floor in tinsel and shards of colored glass. A booming voice echoes over the loud speakers, taunting them with grim amusement. "Did you really think you ever stood a chance? You should have taken the easy way out and surrendered at the start. Far too late now. I'll enjoy watching you burn."
The whine of heavy rotors fills the air and a black military gunship is briefly visible through a smoldering hole in the far wall, gliding effortlessly sideways through the snowy dark. An arm suddenly shoots out from the rubble behind Nick, grabbing his ankle with an iron grip, and from the wreckage crawls a battered and bloody elf. He's wheezing through the pain, his words garbled and muted by the roar of the flames and the sounds of nearby gunfire, but his gaze and gesture is plain enough - the large red package against the side wall.
Nick makes a mad dash for it, the room erupting in automatic fire. He throws himself down behind the Red Samurai Lieutenant's corpse, rounds plinking off the heavy milspec armor with the occasional spray of fine crimson mist. He carefully works the katana from under his fallen foe, removes the scabbard, and braces himself as the gunfire dies away. Fuck it. Who wants to live for ever anyways? With a rising howl, he slings the scabbard left, then hurls himself bodily right, rolling low under the hail of lead that didn't fall for his feint.
Somehow he's on his feet, he's weaving between crates and high-stacked pallets of parcels, and with one wild swing he's slashed open the red package. He drops the katana on the floor, bullets still whirling all around, and with a look of profound amazement reaches with both arms into the mass of packing foam and tissue paper, struggling to retrieve a massive, menacing assault cannon.
Lobo calls out to him from across the room, fear and concern clear in his voice. "Do you even know how to USE that thing?!" Nick just laughs, a wild gleam in his eyes, and cheerfully replies, "I'm about to learn!", before unloading a tank round into a far doorway, blowing out the wall and scattering a half dozen corpsec soldiers who had been taking cover behind it.
"Nice shot!" Nick shrugs. I was aiming at the APC, but I'll take it!
All at once the roar of a massive engine builds with frightening speed, and without warning a colossal troll-sized motorcycle comes barreling through one of the high windows, hanging suspended in midair for a moment before crashing to the floor, spitting forth clouds of exhaust and bullets with equal ferocity. As the debris clears, the runners can make out an elderly man dressed in red clinging desperately to the rear of the vehicle, while in front the driver unloads a pair of belt-fed machine guns into enemy after enemy.
At last, the continuous blinding muzzle flash dies away, the juttering report gives way to silence, and the rider snaps off their mirrored shades and tears away their helmet, revealing a shock of silver hair rising high toward the ceiling. In unison, Nick and Lobo drop their jaws wide open, Artemis delivering a wink to end all winks before turning to face the stupefied opposition and quip:
"Bangarang, motherfuckers."
~Happy Holidays!
As the brick wall crashes down around them, elves screaming, presents sent flying, Nick's mind is racing almost as fast as his pulse. The gash in his leg is slowing him down, he's out of grenades, and his chameleon coating is on the fritz. He looks out through the dust and billowing smoke just in time to see Lobo leap out from behind a flaming forklift and unload his double barreled shotgun straight into the face of the advancing hellhound, blowing away its jaw and sending its carcass skidding across the floor.
Nick pales. He can't have more than two reloads left.
Another explosion rocks the building, showering the workshop floor in tinsel and shards of colored glass. A booming voice echoes over the loud speakers, taunting them with grim amusement. "Did you really think you ever stood a chance? You should have taken the easy way out and surrendered at the start. Far too late now. I'll enjoy watching you burn."
The whine of heavy rotors fills the air and a black military gunship is briefly visible through a smoldering hole in the far wall, gliding effortlessly sideways through the snowy dark. An arm suddenly shoots out from the rubble behind Nick, grabbing his ankle with an iron grip, and from the wreckage crawls a battered and bloody elf. He's wheezing through the pain, his words garbled and muted by the roar of the flames and the sounds of nearby gunfire, but his gaze and gesture is plain enough - the large red package against the side wall.
Nick makes a mad dash for it, the room erupting in automatic fire. He throws himself down behind the Red Samurai Lieutenant's corpse, rounds plinking off the heavy milspec armor with the occasional spray of fine crimson mist. He carefully works the katana from under his fallen foe, removes the scabbard, and braces himself as the gunfire dies away. Fuck it. Who wants to live for ever anyways? With a rising howl, he slings the scabbard left, then hurls himself bodily right, rolling low under the hail of lead that didn't fall for his feint.
Somehow he's on his feet, he's weaving between crates and high-stacked pallets of parcels, and with one wild swing he's slashed open the red package. He drops the katana on the floor, bullets still whirling all around, and with a look of profound amazement reaches with both arms into the mass of packing foam and tissue paper, struggling to retrieve a massive, menacing assault cannon.
Lobo calls out to him from across the room, fear and concern clear in his voice. "Do you even know how to USE that thing?!" Nick just laughs, a wild gleam in his eyes, and cheerfully replies, "I'm about to learn!", before unloading a tank round into a far doorway, blowing out the wall and scattering a half dozen corpsec soldiers who had been taking cover behind it.
"Nice shot!" Nick shrugs. I was aiming at the APC, but I'll take it!
All at once the roar of a massive engine builds with frightening speed, and without warning a colossal troll-sized motorcycle comes barreling through one of the high windows, hanging suspended in midair for a moment before crashing to the floor, spitting forth clouds of exhaust and bullets with equal ferocity. As the debris clears, the runners can make out an elderly man dressed in red clinging desperately to the rear of the vehicle, while in front the driver unloads a pair of belt-fed machine guns into enemy after enemy.
At last, the continuous blinding muzzle flash dies away, the juttering report gives way to silence, and the rider snaps off their mirrored shades and tears away their helmet, revealing a shock of silver hair rising high toward the ceiling. In unison, Nick and Lobo drop their jaws wide open, Artemis delivering a wink to end all winks before turning to face the stupefied opposition and quip:
"Bangarang, motherfuckers."
~Happy Holidays!
Artemis, Lobo, Nick : Thursday April 7, 2072 (23:28:42) : Little Rock Deli near the Lockheed Corporate Airport
Artemis watches horrified as his two companions scarf down portions of food enough to choke a small horse in just mere moments. Afraid his fingers may get mistaken for sausages by the eating duo he leans back playing with Augmented Reality for a moment.
"The kid is on his way. He says twenty minutes but I say it will be more like thirteen."
Artemis holds up his cup looking around for the waitress.
"Garçon. Coffee"
The waitress makes her way slowly over to the table bringing the pot of coffee with her.
"Garçon means boy." She fills Arty's cup and looks at the other runners making an effort to fill their cups if they wish. "Anything else I can get for you strapping young men?" the comment being more indirectly steered towards Nick as he shovels another bite and a half into his mouth.
Artemis watches horrified as his two companions scarf down portions of food enough to choke a small horse in just mere moments. Afraid his fingers may get mistaken for sausages by the eating duo he leans back playing with Augmented Reality for a moment.
"The kid is on his way. He says twenty minutes but I say it will be more like thirteen."
Artemis holds up his cup looking around for the waitress.
"Garçon. Coffee"
The waitress makes her way slowly over to the table bringing the pot of coffee with her.
"Garçon means boy." She fills Arty's cup and looks at the other runners making an effort to fill their cups if they wish. "Anything else I can get for you strapping young men?" the comment being more indirectly steered towards Nick as he shovels another bite and a half into his mouth.
Artemis, Lobo, Nick : Thursday April 7, 2072 (23:28:42) : Little Rock Deli near the Lockheed Corporate Airport
"Mmm... f'naaah, khan alweffs stup far sumfin' onda roaf."
Nick swallows, take a moment to inhale deeply, stretches triumphantly, covers his mouth to stifle an awkward possible burp that ends up not arriving, and begins licking his fingers clean of saucy goodness. "Check please."
~Umi
"Mmm... f'naaah, khan alweffs stup far sumfin' onda roaf."
Nick swallows, take a moment to inhale deeply, stretches triumphantly, covers his mouth to stifle an awkward possible burp that ends up not arriving, and begins licking his fingers clean of saucy goodness. "Check please."
~Umi
Artemis, Lobo, Nick : Thursday April 7, 2072 (23:42:06) : Little Rock Deli near the Lockheed Corporate Airport
Over the course of the next dozen minutes or so, the runners sit at their table in the Little Rock throwing ideas and concerns back and forth about the job ahead. It is settled that the group needs more information before they can continue. Hearing the very faint chime set off as the front door to the deli opens, The group gives a side long quick glance in the general direction. Artemis's face lights up with honest glee at the arrival of his friend Matt. He makes a quick motion in the air calling Matt over to the table.
Seeing the group, Autowired (Matt) steps up to the counter and whispers something to the waitress. She blushes and giggles at whatever Autowired said to her before entering his order into the AR system. With an exaggerated sigh, Autowired plops himself down at the table. He reaches over and snakes a few french fries from Artemis's plate, dunking them heavily into the cup of rich dark brown gravy...
"The system was prime for the picking I tell ya. Everything laid out nice and neat. I have personnel data, security, shipping & receiving, invoicing and even potentially some extra pay data, but that will require actually getting in. They have a 'Data Vault' that is cut off from all external connection. Most likely they store data backups in the vault. There are bits and pieces gleaned together from office notes and company communications that suggest the physical parts of this job are being stored in another vault, a real physical vault in the R&D department."
Autowired takes a breath and deposits the dripping mush of potato in his mouth giving it only a few chews before swallowing and continuing with his status update.
"Before you even ask about it, the security at that place is a joke. The cameras are at least five years out of date and direct wired to the main security node. I suppose this was their way to trying to make the cameras un-hackable. We see how well that worked out for them. Basically guys I can do the electronic wiz kid stuff on-site or off, doesn't really matter. Depends if you need me for anything physical."
He reaches over and takes the plate from Artemis with the few remaining fries left on it. He dumps the rest of the gravy cup over top. Artemis wipes off his fork and slides it over to Autowired as well, but instead he just digs in with his fingers.
"Go ahead guys. If you have any particulars just ask. I am pretty sure I dug up most everything we will need on this. If not I set a backdoor so I can get in easier next time."
Over the course of the next dozen minutes or so, the runners sit at their table in the Little Rock throwing ideas and concerns back and forth about the job ahead. It is settled that the group needs more information before they can continue. Hearing the very faint chime set off as the front door to the deli opens, The group gives a side long quick glance in the general direction. Artemis's face lights up with honest glee at the arrival of his friend Matt. He makes a quick motion in the air calling Matt over to the table.
Seeing the group, Autowired (Matt) steps up to the counter and whispers something to the waitress. She blushes and giggles at whatever Autowired said to her before entering his order into the AR system. With an exaggerated sigh, Autowired plops himself down at the table. He reaches over and snakes a few french fries from Artemis's plate, dunking them heavily into the cup of rich dark brown gravy...
"The system was prime for the picking I tell ya. Everything laid out nice and neat. I have personnel data, security, shipping & receiving, invoicing and even potentially some extra pay data, but that will require actually getting in. They have a 'Data Vault' that is cut off from all external connection. Most likely they store data backups in the vault. There are bits and pieces gleaned together from office notes and company communications that suggest the physical parts of this job are being stored in another vault, a real physical vault in the R&D department."
Autowired takes a breath and deposits the dripping mush of potato in his mouth giving it only a few chews before swallowing and continuing with his status update.
"Before you even ask about it, the security at that place is a joke. The cameras are at least five years out of date and direct wired to the main security node. I suppose this was their way to trying to make the cameras un-hackable. We see how well that worked out for them. Basically guys I can do the electronic wiz kid stuff on-site or off, doesn't really matter. Depends if you need me for anything physical."
He reaches over and takes the plate from Artemis with the few remaining fries left on it. He dumps the rest of the gravy cup over top. Artemis wipes off his fork and slides it over to Autowired as well, but instead he just digs in with his fingers.
"Go ahead guys. If you have any particulars just ask. I am pretty sure I dug up most everything we will need on this. If not I set a backdoor so I can get in easier next time."
Artemis, Lobo, Nick : Thursday April 7, 2072 (23:42:06) : Little Rock Deli near the Lockheed Corporate Airport
Lobo is impressed with the kid's summary. Finally something seems to be going right on this run.
"Nice job, kid. First things first, can you port over a physical layout of the interior of the building? I'd like to see locations of cameras, elevators, stairwells, and if you grabbed some stills from the cameras video feeds, we can determine what is in each room - at least the ones with cameras in them."
Lobo takes a sip of his drink.
"Next up, most buildings keep a map of personnel and departments for the mail room and facilities maintenance, that file should have a wealth of info as well."
Lobo is impressed with the kid's summary. Finally something seems to be going right on this run.
"Nice job, kid. First things first, can you port over a physical layout of the interior of the building? I'd like to see locations of cameras, elevators, stairwells, and if you grabbed some stills from the cameras video feeds, we can determine what is in each room - at least the ones with cameras in them."
Lobo takes a sip of his drink.
"Next up, most buildings keep a map of personnel and departments for the mail room and facilities maintenance, that file should have a wealth of info as well."
Artemis, Lobo, Nick, Autowired : Thursday April 7, 2072 (23:42:06) : Little Rock Deli near the Lockheed Corporate Airport
As Autowired walks in, Nick tugs at his cap brim and pointedly looks at the wall, trying to discretely gauge this new element to the "teamwork" thing out of the corner of his eye.
In contrast with Lobo's confident professionalism and Artemis' preening exuberance, Matt seems much more workaday, cutting the sort of figure the kid used to see in a half dozen different chopshops and auto-garages around Atlanta. Greasy, in that hard working blue-collar kind of style - an impression driven home by the discount recycled cyberhand and the no-nonsense fashion sense. The sort of guy who you might deliver boosted cars to.
Nick can't help but be inclined to like the guy, working purely off first impressions - not that he's going to open his mouth in front of him before he has a proper reason to do so, though. He quietly goes about eatting his shortcake, making a point of not obviously paying attention to the proceedings.
~Umi
As Autowired walks in, Nick tugs at his cap brim and pointedly looks at the wall, trying to discretely gauge this new element to the "teamwork" thing out of the corner of his eye.
In contrast with Lobo's confident professionalism and Artemis' preening exuberance, Matt seems much more workaday, cutting the sort of figure the kid used to see in a half dozen different chopshops and auto-garages around Atlanta. Greasy, in that hard working blue-collar kind of style - an impression driven home by the discount recycled cyberhand and the no-nonsense fashion sense. The sort of guy who you might deliver boosted cars to.
Nick can't help but be inclined to like the guy, working purely off first impressions - not that he's going to open his mouth in front of him before he has a proper reason to do so, though. He quietly goes about eatting his shortcake, making a point of not obviously paying attention to the proceedings.
~Umi
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