Sandy:

An urgent vibration in her pocket made Sandy jump a little... until she answered her p-sec ( ). It was Hammond again.

"Chica, you are so gonna have to owe me... 500 greased the way to who we needed to speak to for this, scan? Anyway, I managed to sort it. I tried a decker friend for the list on the door, but it's way glacial. Only way was by the book. Levvied the shift manager for some hot new Simsense chicita and her retinue. That's you, babe. The name on the door's "Angellica Obsidia."

Hammond chuckled at what he obviously thought had been a flirtation. Pratt...


Deuce:

"She looks dirty... I wouldn't want to be playing with her... What's she got, honeypie, your credstick? You know hookers from the wrong side can't be trusted..."

She was teasing him and testing him at the same time. Even as she spoke though, she was leading him through the crowd.

"There, lover. With that do, she's bound to be in there. S'a new club - Pipewerkz. Caters to all the trancers, punks and goths. Plays that heavy industrial metal sound that's so popular with the underclasses."

She ushered him toward the line - where he could see Tyen waiting as it happened - with a pat on the rear.

"Come see me after... if you're not too... dirty."


Piper:

"Control, this is Position Two. You call for a plumber?" .............. "Didn't think so..."

The "Large Man" ™ turned to his colleague. "No plumber. That's about the only pipe you'll find here. At least the kind that might need a skinny Daisy-lover for attention. Scan? Piss off..."


Tyen:

The spirit having returned to its vigil, Tyen waited patiently in line. She fit well with the darkly attired youths preceding her. Momentarily, the dandy appeared, with some girl and moved over to join her.

Just as she was turning her attention back to the line - the disdain for his depravations hidden behind her mask - a flicker of something tweaked at her senses.

Opening up to her astral sight, she was confronted with a disturbing scene. Four relatively powerful watcher spirits were buzzing around the outside of Pipewerkz. Disturbing as that was in itself, it was their form which was moreso.

The very nature of watchers is to be shaped by the will of the conjuror. Not always the same, even from the same magician, these four were identical - the same "birthing" no doubt - and appeared to be miniature Knights - on horses and everything - wearing black tabards adorned with three interlinked circles.

Abruptly, one of them stopped its movement. It began to turn toward her, noticing her scrutiny. Immediately, she dropped back to her mundane senses, hoping that its orders weren't specific enough to make the notoriously stupid creatures report her spying on them.

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At the front of the que, four black clad men entered the club, with nary a stern word from the bouncers.

In an alley, behind a retreating Irish back, doors opened, heads turned and eyes... looked elsewhere...

Politely ignoring the flirtation Sandy simply transfers enough money to cover the cost of the task and an extra 100 for the trouble. Bypassing the crowd she makes her way straight to the door and smiles sweetly at the cybered up doorman. "Hey sweety! my names Angellica Obsidia and I think you will find me on that little list of yours!! maybe later when you've finished work we could party together?!" and with that she laughs in a girl next door fashion as he checks his list and lets her through.

Walking down the neon lit stairs she feels music so loud that the bass is making the floor vibrate... as she gets there she starts a slow and methodical search of the place. Looking as causal as possible she walks past the bar, goes for a dance for a while on the floor (making it clear to any man that she wasn't interested!!) before taking checking out the womens toilet and the VIP areas....

"Come see me after... if you're not too... dirty."

Deuce let out a lguh and gave the girl a wink as she turned and walked away. "Nice girl...' he muttered. Turning his attention to tyen, "So honey, miss me? Whatta we got? " Seeing how she wasn't replying, and sort of off in her own little world, Deuce shrugged her no reponse off as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

He watched as four black clad men entered the club, passing the bouncers. "Oh they can't be good..." he mumbled

:: Tyen mulled over the watchers and the more she thought about it, the more they fit with the Lord Protector's rather grandious self image. After the events at his office, Tyen was relatively convinced that while the Lord had not yet recovered his property, that he was well off on a solid enough lead to try and throw off the competition. Only seconds after she came to that conclusion, did she see the four black clad men enter. There was something about the way they moved, the way they were dressed, or even just their basic aura's that radiated trouble. They were not here to party, and she was sure of that. ::

:: Mentally summoning her spirit friend, she gives it a quick mental command before returning to the front of the club. Looks like her it's her turn to pass the scrutany of the bouncers. ::

The backside of Pipewerkz was no fit place for an Irish runner to be, particularly as he‘d metaphorically got his arse kicked out. Piper made a couple of calls to the rest of the Team.

A few minutes later he had the latest intel on what was going on.

Quite why the Lord Protector would have a standing, heavy duty set of watchers on the place was intriguing, not to say bloody dangerous. Add to that four heavyweights looking for a fight. Tyen was probably right. Everyone was like water running downhill into Pipewerkz looking for the same outfall, or in this case a courier with a strange hairdo. At some point the dam was going to burst.

All this went through the soldier’s mind as he made his way to the front of the building and found the others.

“We just walk up to the door and say Angelica’s expecting us. Sandy’s making her way back to the foyer so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

The Runners sauntered up to the two big dudes on the door.

“Angelica’s Party.” The Dandy smiled like he owned the place and the Irishman stood, ready, arms loose, like a good bodyguard should.

As the bouncers look like they are about to say something, Sandy appears from the murky interior. "Come on!! what took you so long! I thought you guys were here to keep me company!" and without really waiting for a reply from the bouncers she virtually drags them inside. As soon as they are out of earshot (which isnt long bearing in mind the noise levels) she points out the suits that went downstairs a minute ago that look like the are here to cause trouble.....

Having neatly avoided a pat-down thanks to the timely arrival of Sandy, the team entered the club.

Pipewerkz was decorated in neo-grunge, the "Pipez" referred to in the name running all over the ceiling, criss-crossing, seemingly at random.

The main area they entered, already full of people, stretched fully fifty metres to the far wall, almost half that in width. A large dance floor occupied the centre of the space, although here it seemed that "dancing" was a term open to interpretation.

Although the space was quite dark, the glare of neon signage assaulted the eyes from the far end of the room, where a twenty metre bar stretched almost the whole width of the club, manned by various beings. A cemicircular stage protruded from the wall on the left, where a DJ's deck and PA had been set up.

Most conspicuously, a massive sign hang on the eastern wall, "DOWN THE PIPEZ" with a large red-neon arrow pointing to a great big hole in the wall... seemingly the only other exit from the room...

Piper ran his gaze over the maze of pipes running along the ceiling and even down the walls. Must have kept a few plumbers engaged for several months, not to mention welders, and jig-saw puzzle experts! He grinned to himself at the thought.

Glancing at the others, he nodded toward the well lit back entrance, or what ever it was. He began to saunter that way, pausing at the long bar and ordering a synthale, not waiting to see if the others followed.

Looking around at the crowd on the dance floor, Deuce gave a bit of a sneer in disgust. These punky dressed trash were not exactly the type that he often associated with, but for the sake of this eve, he had no other choice.
He looked over as Piper headed off in his own direction, towards the neon sign and the doorway. Deuce knew that the "eye in the sky" would be watching them. A place like this must have more than hired goons as security. Leaning over so both girls could hear him, he tries to speak quiet enough that only they can hear, yet talk over the insane music.
"I think we should split up, we can do more damage that way." he said with a grin.

`But who watches the Watchers?‘ crossed Piper’s mind as he sidled along the bar, certain that he was being watched, and made steady progress to the gaudy neon signed stairwell leading into the nether regions of Pipeworkz.

Supping synthale, he sidestepped frantically jiggling bodies of so called dancers, briefly did a two-step with, what he thought might be, a female with virtually no hair and three rings in her intranasal septum and arrived at the head of the stairs.

There didn’t appear to be any reason for not going down. Certainly there didn’t seem to be a security check, at least not on this level. Piper glanced back at the other three, nodding in satisfaction that they, too, seemed to be making progress in his direction.

It was time to take the plunge. The Irishman put his foot on the first step and committed himself to a fairly rapid decent into the depths.

Piper:

Slowly, Piper entered the mouth of the tunnel.

Almost perfectly round apart from the stairs descending along the base, the black tube was lit with winking white LED lights, giving the feeling of walking through a small section of outer space. Shiny new balustrade ran down each side, already slick with the residue of sweat and spilled drink.

Weaving through those also on the stairway, Piper arrived at the bottom. From what he could see, the lower half of the structure was sectionalised into at least four (possibly more) spaces - the one he was in, and one off each of the walls facing him left, right and straight ahead.

Each space was accessed through an archway. Through the leftmost aperature, all was a fiery red, with wisps of (probably) smoke wafting through at ceiling height. To the right, all was blue, the floor appearing (even at this distance) to be slightly wet. All he could see from the space ahead was that the floor dipped away from him, stepping down by merely three or four risers. The room at the base of the stairs continued the "black" theme, dominated by a circular bar in the centre the entirety of which pulsed with low intensity multi-hued light.

Stepping forward and to his left, Piper noticed a shoulder on the opposite side of the bar from himself. The shoulder met an arm, the hand holding a... rectangular piece of some material. A closer inspection - and another step to the left - revealed the owner to be a large gentleman in a dark suit and sunglasses, and the mysterious material to be a photograph... of Natasha Strong.


Sandy, Tyen and Deuce:

In the main upstairs area of the club, the three runners moved apart from each other, drawing stares as they went - Tyen for her uber blackness, Sandy and Deuce for their high fashion - not entirely in keeping with the club's habitues.

Reaching an impasse in their search for the woman, attentions turned elsewhere. Tyen's spirit returned to her.

"Mistress, the human woman has not moved from that room, as far as I can discern. But there are others there, and they are... prying"

The word was formed in Tyen's mind - as close an analogue of the spirit's meaning as possible. She got the feeling, though, of an uncomfortable invasion of the being's privacy by entities unknown.

Deuce, his look drawing attention from all (good and bad) was highly unconcerned with the social situation, and turned his eyes upward, where his keen elven vision discerned security cameras slowly passing over the crowd. He could not assess, however, where the calbes led.

Not taking his eyes off of the cameras, Deuce takes another drag of his cigarette, "This place seems really high tech security for a club for street trash.." He gave the cameras, another once over, trying to not turn his head completely upward as to have anyone notice him looking, especially those on the other end of the lens, looking back.

Piper slouched, leaning against the bar taking an apparently half hearted interest in the shade wearing suit and what he was flourishing. An old film came to mind, he had the set on TriD at the dojo, the Matrix trilogy. This suit was definitely a `Mr Anderson‘, and so were his mates. Like they’d been shucked from the same pod.

The Irishman allowed the briefest of eye contact with the dark lenses above the hooked beak of a nose, and contrived to look elsewhere, unconcerned. His body space got invaded with too much underarm deodorant and the unmistakeable tension of the suit’s muscles close to his right arm. Natasha Strong’s image flashed in front of Piper’s face, too close to focus on.

He pushed the hand gently forward and brought his head back slightly as a gravel voice asked him if he’d “seen this woman?”. Piper stared at the colour picture, a distance shot with a telephoto lens. He shook his head briefly then, just as the image started to move away…

“Wait. Let me see that again.” The suit instantly responded, thrusting the picture back in front of the soldier. “Yeah, it’s the hair, kinda unusual and it caught my eye. Spotted it bought ten minutes ago walking down Lyle Street heading toward Shaftsbury Avenue. Had some creep hanging onto her like he owned her or sommat. Holding her arm like she didn‘t really want to go with him.” Piper half turned his head and saw his reflection in twin pools of dark glass. “None o’ my business though.” He shrugged.

A guttural grunt was the suit’s only response. But he turned away, pocketing the photo and raising an arm.

Piper concentrated on his drink, both elbows on the bar. Behind him four `Mr Andersons’ headed toward each other. Piper’s thinking had his adrenaline building. If the suits had a lead to Strong in this place she was probably here. If his red herring lead them on a wild goose chase to Shaftsbury Avenue he, and the others, would have a finite time to find the woman themselves and get her out to somewhere safe.

She probably wouldn’t want to go, but she also probably knew the OOO were looking for her. And any help she could get ……

The nature of this Run had definitely changed. Here it was, end of the second day and now they were going to protect the very person they were seeking. Funny life, innit!

:: Tyen let the communication flow between herself and her servant, a much more full and complete sharing if information than normal conversation would normally allow, and with a smile to her friend she released it from its services. ::

:: Turning to the crowd of dancers, she joined their frenzied dance, using the sharp quick movements to blend into the crowd, but also systematically wind her way heading along the dancefloor, following the mental map the spirit had provided her towards the place she was sure the girl was occupying. ::

:: Once free of the dancers, she slipped down the passageway and seemed to melt into the blackness of the surrounding tunnel, the only hint of her passage was the momentary flickering of the LED stars embedded in the walls. ::

Deuce did another once over of the dancefloor. He looked for the chick, but with so many freaky dressed people, it could havge been anyone. Appearance like hair was not hard to change at all.
Noticing which way both Piper and Tyen had headed, Deuce figured it was the only logical next step. Picking up a poorly made martini at the bar, he strolled over to the staircase. Must be the VIP lounge, he thought, until he realized that it couldn't have been. No bouncers? No security?
He started to make his way down the starlit hallway. "Tacky.." he muttered.

Piper:

The citric scent of the suited man moved away from the edge of Piper's perceptive range, but the irishman caught sight of him in a reflection provided by the inner mirrored wall of the bar. Mr Suit joined up with two others, a fourth levering himself from where he had been slouching against the wall to come join them.

Entering into a brief discussion, Piper discerned "his" suit-guy gesturing briefly at him, the others looking just once in his direction, not lingering. "Leaning" suit nodded once and began to speak, too quietly for Piper to hear over this area's atonal music.

They continued like that for a moment, before splitting up. Each of them keeping an "eye" (or lense, really) on Piper, they backed away in opposing directions, one of them making toward each of the possible entrance/exits from the room and taking up position by each.

Tyen:

Coming down the stairs, it was obvious to Tyen that something was amiss.

At the foot of the stairs, just off to the right, she could see a "shoulder" protruding from just beyond her line of sight, clad in a dark suit. Slowing her pace, she spread her attention to the othervisible exits to the left and right, spotting similar persons at each of them. Ahead of her, she could make out Piper's form as he leant on the bar.

Opening up her astral sight, she inspected each of them. The one at the foot of the stairs and his counterpart to her left seemed to be "muscle" types, complete with system-wide cybernetic enhancements, although not as intrusive as some corporate warriors. The final suit, standing by the blue-ish hued portal to her right, was awash with magical energy - probably her equal in terms of power, although in the very sterile way of an hermetic mage.


Deuce

True, the Martini was sub-standard.

True, this club was as tacky and "Passe" as it could be.

True, that guy down there was packing heat.

He was half way down the stairs when Deuce made the first target. Professional? This guy is sticking out like a sore thumb... might as well have his piece out already...

The man was standing with his back to Deuce - another error if he didn't know what or who was coming down the stairs - and the bulge under his left arm was practically screaming "Look here, I'm a heavy pistol. Yeah, me! Cool, ain't I?"

Ahead of him, a shadow moved slightly, revealing Tyen's presence. The russian was leaning forward and to her left, looking at something past where he had spotted the blundering suit. Probably at another one, if the ease of spotting this one was anything to go by.

Resigning himself to wait a second (to see what happened with Tyen), the elf flashed a quick grin at a passing girl, who stopped to loop her arms over his head in a smoochy-embrace - perfect cover incase he was being watched.

There were definitely perks to this line of work. He could taste the cheap synthahol on her breath and feel the metal piercings on her tongue as they shared a moment sucking face. Deuce was careful, however, not to spill the sub-par drink he had in his hand. He opened one eye to make sure that the "guard" wasn't moving from his post, and then went back to giving some more, of what this girl wanted.

The ruse hadn’t worked, not that Piper had expected it to. Men like these wouldn’t easily be sidetracked, particularly if they had a trusted source of intel. The Irishman could hardly come into that category by any stretch of the imagination.

Now, of course, all possible exits had been covered, possibly by virtue of the soldiers own, well meaning, interference. This was probably going to get bloody before the night got much older.

Somewhere at the back of his neck Piper got an odd sensation, well not odd exactly, he often got it in combat situations. A sense of how the battlefield lay, where the combatants were and what their line of fire might be.

The Shadow Lady, he knew, was edging down the steps with Deuce close behind, though that feeling had more to do with slurping noises and a female giggle. Trust the Elvin dandy to have a bit of skirt as his shield, or should that be `cover’? Quite where Sandy had got to was another story, she could be useful, chatting up the goon by the green door, or was it blue. Damn these flashing neons, it ruined a good soldiers night vision something chronic.

Sipping his ersatz alcohol, Piper scratched under his armpit, easing the Browning in its holster. He finished the drink and stood back from the bar taking a last, apparently casual, look around the dungeon before stumbling into a tall, good looking man who appeared to have lost his lino.

“Sooo sorry mate!” Piper thickened his brogue to the point of unintelligibility. “S’clumpsy of me. Here, lemme buy you another. Hic! The gent glared in horror at the red wine stain spreading across his crotch then changed focus onto Piper’s face. A terribly upper crust stream of invective issued from Pretty Boy’s lips, some of which even Piper had rarely heard outside of a latrine.

Hardly the sort of reaction a drunken Irishman trying to apologise should be assaulted by and certainly not one which any upstanding bogman would let pass without swift and sure retribution.

Piper produced one of those short flight, heavy impact punches guaranteed to rattle teeth. Drunk the Irishman might be but his aim, to the onlookers - and there were several paying attention as soon as the braying voice began cussing out the inebriate - was sure and took Pretty Boy just on the point of his chin, closing his mouth and projecting him up and back toward the Suit stationed at the least glaring door opposite the entrance stairs.

Dropping into a boxer’s crouch, ham fists clenched for the next blow, Piper danced forward toward Pretty Boy, unsteadily held erect by the crush of people behind him. The pasty face took one look at the advancing Irish drunk and decided cowardice was, after all, the better part of valour and tried to escape, half turning away and driving through the crowd.

Which was exactly what Piper wanted. He bunched his muscles, concentrating effort into weight, stance and aim. The swing, when it started, was aimed at Pretty Boy’s right cheek. Where it finished was going to be, hopefully, between the eyes of the suit by the door to the foam room, shattering smoked glass into eyes which may, or may not, have a bit of wiring behind them.

Either that or Piper would take an early foam bath as the suit dodged.

Deuce heard the sounds of a fight coming from upahead. He heard the crowd getting fired up over it. Leaning his head back against the wall. He rolled his eyes. He knew...He KNEW it had to be the irishman. Something like this wouldn't happen from the ladies. They knew how to act in public. Well the russian woman was a little weird, but still, not enough to stir up drek. And she was smokin' too.
"Whatsa matter..?" asked the girl in between kisses to Deuce's neck.
"Nothing, "he said as he took hold of her sholders and held her back from him, "Run along now." She began to protest but Deuce flashed her a look not to say anything. She made a pouty face and then stormed up the stairs. Women he thought.
Deuce leaned against the wall, still standing halfway down the stairs. He fiddled with his empty martini glass. He'd wait to see how things were going down there before going in. He can handle himself, Deuce thought of the irish soldier. He looked down towards the guard at the bottom of the stairs.

In a vague approximation of a drunken stagger, the Irish Soldier persued the clubber around the bar-cylinder. Contriving to stumble as the punch was thrown, the Suit was caught unaware as a small pink fist impacted on his nose, sending him reeling back against the archway, catching blood in his hand, shaking off his cracked glasses.

Around them, reactions were mixed as half the crowd started cheering, whilst being pushed at by the other half, who wanted so desperately to flee the scene before things errupted into more serious violence...

:: Tyen paused as she sensed the change in mood throughout the room. Pulling back into the shadows more astutely, she refrains from casting just yet and instead uses her mundane abilities to blend out of sight of the henchman scattered about. ::

:: She feels a slight momentary pang of worry for her comrade, but she quickly realizes his actions may offer a significant enough distraction to allow her to make her way to the place still etched in her mind: the wall of astral energy that she was sure held the young errand girl. ::

:: Turning away from the ensuing fight, Tyen slides through the shadowy corners of the floor. ::

But this is London, of course. The Brits are shy, retiring folk who never interfere in someone else’s business. Certainly, apart perhaps from an odd push or shove in an attempt to get out of the way, bar fights just do not escalate in the Big Smoke. Unlike a North American establishment where it seems to be a requirement. Besides, publicans in general find it’s considerably less expensive, in the long run, to ignore any minor altercation, and so do their patrons. The crowd’s attention span was inevitably short lived. Not their problem, just party on Dude!!

“Beggin yer pardon!” Piper had allowed his swing to follow through with his body virtually insisting that the suit slide off the arch and toward the mucky floor. As gravity took over, Piper tried to save himself by grabbing the man’s jacket. Light fingers insinuated themselves in an inner pocket and, just as quickly, came out again as the somewhat foamy floor engulfed the pair.

Piper rested his hands either side of the man’s head, gasping. “Jeez! That’s a terrible mess you’re in. I’ll call a medic.” He rolled to one side, into the suddenly free space under the arch, and stood up, yelling. “Is there a doctor in the house?!” Piper felt his own bruises under his jacket. “There’s a man hurt here!!”

As some people make their way past deuce on the stairs, hurrying to get out of the basement party before it erupts into a bloddy mess, Deuce leans nonchalantly against the wall, keeping an eye on the "guard", waiting for him to make even the slightest move towards Piper and the action.

After having made sure that there was no chance the women they were looking for was on this floor, Sandy makes her way slowly down the stairs as if she is really looking for the crowd she came in with. Halfway down, and she hears the noise caused by her good friend executing a well timed fight/distraction and smiles to herself knowing her distractions arn't quite so obvious to alot of people!!

Ignoring her female friend as she slips past in the shadows and Deuce as he is in the middle of dismissing some under age young girl. She looks around and quickly picks up on what has caused the interest of her comrades.

Working her way into one of the the other two rooms from Piper, she dances her way around the floor, looking and acting to the casual observer that she is just there to have a good time and shake her (very fine) ass to the beat! After a few secounds she looks casually over to the suit by the door, looking to see if he has taken an interest as to whats happening with his counterpart in the next room. She knows, that if he hasnt, she is going to go over to him and do her best to stike up a conversation and see what she can find out. Just as if she were any other single women out for a good time.

Deuce:

Through the small wash of bodies making their way up the stairs, Deuce could make out the guard moving off. Although he didn't move at a run, the Elf's practiced eye could see the urgency in his gait and knew that he had a purpose to his movement - although what that purpose was, he couldn't discern.


Tyen:

Tyen could see little past the rotunda of the bar. She had watched with interest as Piper had chased the slightly damp club patron around the pulsing cylinder of the bar, and had listened with glee to the almighty crack that issued forth in a brief moment of silence. Obviously, a punch generating that much noise would have put the civilian on his back, but almost immediately she saw him back away from the scene - indicating that Piper's blow had impacted on someone else.

As the three suits started moving, the situation became obvious. It seemed reasonable to assume that there was a fourth archway and a fourth suit - the punchee, probably - and the three in her field of vision were moving to intercept Piper.

Tyen was momentarily torn. Her newfound trust in this team had leant itself to a fledgling friendship with its members. Now four large, dangerous looking men were (probably) going to try and take one of them down, and she knew that she could quite easily assist.

But getting into barfights was not her job. It was a distraction.

As the guard moved forward, she opened up her senses to the mental "map" with which the spirit had provided her. Swiftly, she darted down to the foot of the stairs and to her left.

The archway here was dark - but not paint, soot. Little wisps of smoke drifted through the portal which, oddly, smelled of apple rather than carbon. Fake smoke... Inside this area of the basement, everything seemed to be flickering with the light cast by dozens of flaming pipes and miniature chimney stacks like one might find at a big industrial plant. Amidst the isolated infernos, revellers danced and thrashed about to fast paced industrial music - full of harsh drumbeats and thumping baselines.

Moving through the archway, she briefly looked back, opening her astral sight to the bar area. Nothing seemed different. The mage was just in sight, not spellcasting (or so it seemed) and lacking the backup of any form of spirit, save the armour-clad watcher buzzing around, "Bumpity-bum-bum-ing" the "Ride of the Valkyries" and making a general nuisance of itself.

Back in the fire-room, Tyen moved off. Briefly she caught sight of Sandy, dancing her way through the crowd, and grabbed her by the elbow...


Sandy:

A casual glance at the doorway's guard showed him leaving his post, at pace. No-go for the chat-up routing there, then.

With him gone, she was marginally at her leisure to search as she pleased, so she slowed her dancing to scan the crowd for the face of Natasha Strong. Seemingly, however, she was not there.

Suddenly, she felt someone grab her arm. In a dark blur, she was pivoted on the spot and... whoever started dragging her from the dancefloor.

The tingle of her boosted reflexes were just about to bring her assailant's legs out from under him, when she recognised the mask on his... sorry, her face. Realising it was the russian, Sandy allowed herself to be dragged...


Sandy & Tyen:

The shaman leading the way, the two women made their way to the corner of the room. There, concealed behind a smoke stack, was a blackened doorway. Three quarters of the way up, a not-too-subtle sign read "PRIVATE."

Casting a brief glance around to be sure nobody was watching, they opened the door and entered.

Although Sandy contrived to put a lively smile on her face (incase she had to bluff her way out of any security checkpoint they might find), it proved needless. Beyond the door they were faced merely with a blank mid-grey wall, corridor stretching out to the left and right.

Tyen, relying on the spirit's directions, led them to the right. At the end, where the corridor met another, she took a left. Two doors were available to them, but as they strode toward the rightmost, Tyen pulled up short.

"...know she was here. WHERE HAS SHE GONE?"

"I DON'T KNOW! I promise you... please... she came here looking to sell something, but I told her I wasn't interested... I don't do that anymore! I just run the club!"

"What was she trying to sell?"

"Please... I don't know! I didn't ask... jsut told her to go! She only just left, though, you could probably get her if y..."

There was a muffled, brief sound, like a thwonk, followed by a fleshy crash. Footsteps could be heard from within, coming closer...............


Piper:

The "inebriated" Irishman stood up, searching in his pockets for a handkerchief to give the fallen man. Actually, he was pocketing the over-sized wallet he'd taken, but it looked good.

The suit was already making his way up to a standing position, still clutching at his face, when Piper noticed shadows looming over him from behind. He couldn't look too long, though, since the suit he'd dropped seemed ready to beat his lights out.

The bleeding man, obviously none too pleased about getting decked by a diminutive bald man, had cast the handful of blood onto the floor. He grabbed at Piper's jacket and pushed him through the archway.

Piper almost stumbled on the steps, but retained his footing as he landed in the all-white room beyond.

"I'm gonna kick your ass for that..."

The single suit had multiplied now, four of them standing in the archway, watching him. The bleeding one and one other advanced down the few steps, making to attack...

Looking none to lady-like, Sandy reaches up her own skirt to the concealed holster strapped there and removes the small pistol she has. Then without waiting to see what happens, she checks the handle on the door to the left. Right now it boiled down to three options, the first being that if the door was open she would grab her friend and they would try and hide in the room next door while whoever was inside walked past.

Or, option two if that door turned out to be locked, was to hold the pistol at (human/elf) head hight and let whoever came through that door to see what the world looked like from the bussiness end of a gun.

option three, being the least favoured was to simply push Tyen up against the wall and start chewing face like a couple that had simply got frisky and found a quite place. but this left two problems, the first being that it would leave them prone to whoever was about to walk through that door, and the secound that she really wouldn't want to upset the sombre russian women!!

Piper hadn’t thought this through, didn’t have time nor inclination so to do. Attack was always the best form of defence, outweighed, outreached and outnumbered, what else could he do?

Never waste your breath talking, you’re bound to need it later. Piper’s maxim, though he did allow himself a small, wry grin as he launched himself in a two footed flying drop kick at Mr Bloody Nose advancing on his right. If he made contact, preferably on the goon’s already bleeding snout, he’d use the impact to make a controlled fall toward the other advancing suit. From an almost horizontal position on the floor his legs would continue to swing, trying to take the other man’s feet from under him. What happened after that, well that would depend on events.

Somewhere at the back of his mind the Irishman hoped his fellow runners would back him up, if they were close enough. If they did, and were, he prayed fervently they’d remove the Mage first. Hand to hand combat could sort out suits but only death or un-consciousness would solve the problem of a spell chucker.

Oh sorry, that's a no-no, thought the Elf as he watched his 'man' start towards the scuffle. Keeping to the side and out of the way pf those retreating in the opposite direction, Deuce strolls up behind the muscle.
"Um hmm," he coughs, trying to get the guy's attention, "Excuse me," he says as he taps the guy on the shoulder.
As the muscle turns right, Deuce, still holding the empty martini glass in hias right hand, swings it, hoping to smash the cheap glass into the guy's face.

Sandy & Tyen:

Her eyes still on the door, Sandy's hand reaches out behind her to try the handle on the door to her side. At her probing, the portal opens...



[ooc: more will be forthcoming... and Tyen's sheet is on its way...]

Grabbing Tyen with one hand she pushes her way through the door, pointing the gun into the room they enter.

Sandy & Tyen:

The speed with which Sandy closed the door behind them would have qualified the action for the title of "slam" if not for the care she took not to make any noise.

As the portal closed behind them, the space was plunged again into darkness.

Both women simultaneously took a millisecond to mentally review what their eyes had captured in the brief moment of illumination provided from the hallway outside.

From what had been seen, the room they had entered was little more than a storage area, with three parallel rows of shelf stacks, loaded (it seemed) with cleaning supplies.

Sandy pointed her hold out at the door - roughly at head height - moving back to the point where she imagined the corridor's light would not reach.

Tyen also melted back into the shadows, ready to let fly with whatever spell might get her out of this potential mess... until she realised she was standing on an uneven surface. Shifting her weight, a small portion of "something" under her left foot moved too, but it was too dark to discern what "it" was.


Deuce:

At the sound of his voice, the two men turned to face Deuce.

The larger of the two, on Deuce's left, cocked an eyebrow at the American - confused by either the interruption, his accent or both. His shoulders tensed a little - the tension seeming to flow through contact into the one on the right - more diminutive, narrower of build, and slightly less... "hard" looking.

Deuce cocked a grin at them as he made his move...

:: Keeping her keen ears receptive, she fished out her pocket flashlight and flipped it on to illuminate their enclosed area, primarily looking for a better hiding place with more secure footing. ::

In the almost-pitch of the store room, Tyen's pocket flash cast a tiny pool of dim yellow light.

Looking down at her feet, she realised she was standing on what appeared to be a length of flat brown leather.

Following its path revealed the length to be, in fact, the strap of a shoulder bag - the majority of which was being clutched in the arms of a small woman (with, of course, brightly coloured hair and facial piercings) crouched on the floor.

With a pleading look on her face, the woman motioned for silence and darkness...

Sandy looks over with a start at this third person being revealed with the flashlight. Without breaking her gaze or moving her pistol from the door she wispers to Tyen...."Deal with her!"

Deuce:

Not many people can pull off "looking suave and cool" whilst beating the snot out of people. It certainly helps when you're outnumbered, and moreso if one or more of them are bigger than you...

Deuce was, happily, possessed of such a quality. With the grace of a Sim-star, he approached the suits and, as they turned, lashed out immediately.

The smaller of the two took a straight blow to the face with the Elf's martini glass. The bulb shattered on impact, little pieces sticking in the area around his mouth and nose... Guess he doesn't like the Martini either... Even as he was flinching away, however, his colleague made his move.

Fast for his size, the Templar's fist swung in a mighty downward arc, but the immediacy of his attack had left him a little off balance. Deuce's "recoil" from his first-blood attack was still moving him, and the Templar's blow swung wide. Twisting a little more with his momentum Deuce jabbed the stem of the glass, still in his hand, at the man's sternum.

The blow was true, but poorly aimed and with insufficient force to get through the man's clothing to the flesh beneath. It did, however, snag on the fabric - a fact immediately turned to Deuce's advantage as he twisted the glass shard and pushed it around the man's side with all his weight behind it.

The twisting motion had teh desired affect and the hulking man lost his footing, tumbling to the floor.

By the time Deuce had straightened up from this motion, however, he saw his original victim rapidly backpedalling towards the far right wall, flashing a hand up to his ear... speaking into a micro-bead radio...


Piper:

A commotion had started over in the archway, but Piper had no time to considder that. He had more important matters at hand.

He knew precisely what he wanted to achieve, the fight ahead mapped out in his head well in advance - all he could hope for was for the Fates to agree to it.

It was not to be, though, as the suit to his left made the first move - faster even than the Adept could manage - thanks, no doubt, to cybernetic modification...

The luck of the Irish was not with Piper as the speeding fist came in at him. He simply was not fast enough to dodge the blow completely, and so turned it to his advantage.

Turning away from his attacker, marginally, allowed him to take the blow on his left shoulder. The direction of the attack was such that, at this angle, Piper was already moving away from him when it landed. The attack certainly made contact but far from injuring the ex-soldier, it in fact provided a little extra kinetic energy to propel him toward the first target in his battle plan.

Using the impetus to propel him forward, Piper continued the spin, transforming it into a viscious roundhouse kick.

Like a scene from a movie - a comedy scene - Piper's foot contacted with the guy's face but merely turned his head. The turn completed just in time for Piper to see the man shake it off - he hadn't even moved! The effect must have been there, however, for as the man took a step forward to throw his own punch he faltered, swaying out a little and dropping his shoulder just that fraction too far!

Piper saw an opportunity and, abandoning all thoughts of fancy footwork, threw a straight right-jab into the man's chin.

The Templar seemed to take an unhealthy interest in the ceiling as his head tilted back, his balance transferring too far over his rearmost foot, and stumbled back three paces before righting himself.

Jeezez, man, can't you just fall down already? That way, you'll stop getting hit!


Sandy, Tyen and "Target Girl:"

Everything was happening in a blur.

The girl was on the floor, frantically motioning for the light to be cut. Tyen was there, trying to figure a way to "deal" with the girl that wouldn't involve noise, motion or anything else that might alert the suits next-door to their presence. Sandy, likewise, was trying to keep her calm, maintain her "aim" and keep an eye on the other two females... all simultaneously.

Time froze.

As one, the three women heard the adjacent open, and footsteps issue forth. They stopped and voices could be heard...

"That wasn't helpful... why'd you shoot the guy? The Sarge'll rip yer nads off..."

"He was street scum. Who cares..."

A third voice. "You could at least have let me run a mind probe... or taken him in. His aura looked clean as you questioned him, but it might have proved useful..."

"Look... it was my decision. I'll take the knuckle-rap for it. Now, check every crevice out here and we can get back out there and help question the natives."

What sounded like three pairs of footsteps moved away... and the handle near Sandy's waist began to move. It was almost half way down when, all of a sudden, it stopped.

Whoever was turning the handle seemed to be waiting for something. Watching, looking, maybe listening to something. Then, just as suddenly the handle sprang back up and whoever-it-was on the other side just ran off, the rapidly retreating footsteps being met at the junction by three others...


Deuce, Piper, the Templars and the Public:

Back in the main club area, all the regular went out, leaving the areas lit only by their "mood" effects.

The speakers set deep into every available surface crackled with static and burst out with a piercing whine. An over-loud German voice nigh-on deafened the occupants. "Velkom to de Hause off Fun," the voice declared, and all hell broke loose.

Over in the fire room, every possible orifice began to gout the pseudo-fake flame. Heaters worked overtime and the holographic projectors shot fiery darts of red and orange in every direction.

Opposite that, on the far side of the rotunda (incidentally, right behind the retreating Templar), pipes in the ceiling "split" and began spraying water and liquids of various rainbow hues into the room, the pressure behind the jets so great that it spilled out into the main room.

And above Piper and his foes the heavens opened in a different manner. If, indeed, heaven was "in the clouds" then it must have been heavy enough to puch down a lot of good ol' cumulo-nimbus as gallons of frothing, swirling foam descended on the three combatants...

:: Tyen's eyes go wide with surprise and then she lets out the softest chuckle. Putting her finger to her masked lips, she takes her feet off the leather sachel and moves to stand between the girl and the door, overtly making it look like a protective move, but also making sure to trap the girl in the room for all intents and purposes. ::

:: Standing very near the girl, she removes her mask to allow her to clearly whisper. ::

"Don't worry, we're here to help."

:: As was common for her, when it was important, she emphasised her sincerity with a small weave of mana. ::

The broken nosed bruiser was virtually out of the fight after Piper had kicked him and the Irishman’s innate combat assessment told him the other suit was the larger threat now.

Then the heavens opened and it began to snow, or at least seemed to. At least that levelled the playing field, now they would all do a pratt fall for every punch they threw.

So logic dictated that a punch wasn’t the way to go. A missile attack then. Piper stuffed his hand down into his right, outside pocket and hefted his Leatherman. Weighing only a quarter kilo it was nothing, but an accurate throw, hitting in the right spot, would stop a man, of that he was sure. And the Irishman had thrown more missiles, including grenades, than he cared, or had time to, remember.

The hand came out and threw the multi-purpose tool, in one continuous move, straight at the suit on his left, aiming for that place just below the chin, better known as the Adam’s apple. Too low, it would take him in the windpipe. Too high and he’d need to make a visit to the dentist. Either way, the bugger would be hurt, like some cavalry charging horse, and that was the whole point. Go Sharpe

Trouble was, it could miss altogether, which wouldn't be good at all. It was a very useful tool!!

Tyen:

The girl's eyes glazed over momentarily as the force of the telepathic suggestion insinuated itself into her weak mind. She nodded feebly and clutched the bag closer to her chest. "Okay," she whispered.

In relative safety now, the three women were left in the position of deciding upon a course of action - follow the suits out of the network of corridors (since they didn't know why they'd left and how far they'd gone) or wait it out. Needless to say, following the murderous Templars with their quarry in tow would be a decidedly dangerous move if any battle turned against the runners - they could well lose exactly that which they came for...

:: Tyen closes her eyes as she reattaches the sachel and focuses her mind and spirit towards the shadowy corners, coaxing yet another servant from it's mists. ::

"Greetings dark one. I am in need of your service. Myself and my two companions must exit this place undetected. There are several who hunt us. I need you to scout out beyond here to help us decide which path to choose. Under no circumstances should you let them see you. Once you return, I will need your assistance camoflaging our passing."

Deuce let out a sigh at the sight of the man, on his little radio, probably calling for back up. Yeah, this is where things get rocky
Quickly turning his attention, to the guy on the floor, Deuce knew that he too, was going to be a pain.
Sorry guy...
Drawing out his little Fichetti, Deuce takes aim at the guy's head, and squeezes the trigger.

As the area goes quiet, Sandy looks over to Tyen and can see that she is up to something, so simply lets her get on with it...Trusting her team mate to be doing something of use.

Sandy, Tyen & "Target Girl:"

In the ether before her, the spirit makes its presence known - visible on the physical plane only as a deepening of the already prevalent shadows. Acknowledging Tyen's request, the spirit made off to do her bidding.

Moments later it returned, flooding the Shaman's mind with imagery - the Templars running back down the corridor the same way Sandy and she had come. The quartet went out through the door and, as the spirit had returned, were busy forcing their way through a small knot of scared, confused clubbers.

It certainly seemed safe enough - at least in the hallway...


Deuce:

Obviously, as any respectable British gent knows, battle is an equal, honourable thing. Someone punches you, you don't stab them back - unless you're a complete bounder.

Of course, that's Britain. Old fashioned. Deuce, however, was a UCAS native and not subject to such outmoded notions.

Momentarily discounting the fleeing suit, the dandy runner pulled his Security 500, calmly flicking off the safety. With a vague aura of nonchalance he pointed the gun in the rough direction of the prone Templar's head and pulled the trigger.

Even as he did so, the man was reaching for his own gun, eyes wide in surprise at the man's lack of "good form." Deuce's bullet tore into the large muscle at the base of the man's neck, a bloody spray errupting up the side of his head. The man, however, was quite obviously military trained. Where any Corp Security goon might well have accepted the near fatal wound and played possum, this man had his own pistol out in an instant, the other hand clamped over the crimson wound.

The gun was a blur as it cleared the holster - an obviously well-practiced feat - but in the comparative darkness of the club (what with his shades and all), and with his excessive wound, the first two shots he fired went wide, merely ricocheting off the far wall...

So he took the time to remove his sunglasses, and fired again........


Piper:

Piper was really being kept on his figurative toes by these guys. Even as plans and possibilities hatched themselves in his mind, circumstance was continually conspiring to foil them.

With the noise of the gunshots from the bar, his biggest threat - the unwounded suit - upped the ante to suit the obvious live-fire situation. Pulling a massive pistol (in a fairly calm manner) from an underarm holster, the man took his shot at the Irishman.

In a parody of the old cinematic "Bullet-Time" trend, Piper dodged backward, throwing his balance off-centre and tilting toward the floor. Before he was past the "point-of-no-return," however, he was tagged in the left shoulder by the heavy pistol's slug. A fast foot stopped the plunge from continuing. Seems this guy had a thing for Piper's left shoulder...

That simply wouldn't do, of course. Nobody pops an Irishman without just a little change in return.

Stabilizing himself somewhat, Piper opted to forego the "leatherman" idea in favour of a somewhat more direct attack. His open jacket offered him easy access to the butt of the miniature shotgun concealed therein and, in microseconds, it was in his hand, disgorging an explosive slug at his attacker.

From his slightly unusual firing position, Piper's shot was at a disadvantage but still proved effective. The bullet exploded just above the guy's right hip, turning him half-round and forcing him backward, blood oozing from a messy looking hole...

Bloody Yank. This is soddin England fer Chris sake! Piper cursed the Dandy for starting a gun war as he gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulder.
These suits were hard, it was true, but they were Brits and had a code to war by.

But the damage was done and there would be no quarter now, for any of them.

Piper took a millisecond to correct his aim and sent a second slug tearing toward the upper body of the half turned Suit, already pumping life’s blood from the gaping wound in his hip muscle, before turning his torso to fire, one handed, at Mr Broken Nose slumping to his right..

:: Tyen gently takes one of the girls hands in her own and gives her a look of caring sincerity. In order for her plan to work, the girls cooperation was vital. ::

"I can get you out, but you 'ave to trust me. I am shaman...if you let me, I can turn you into animal. Good disguise from bad men. We get you out and safe, then change you back. Yes?"

:: She tries carefully to enunciate each word, her Russian accent heavy despite her effort. Though she strives to maintain a soothing impression, the urgency of the situation creeps into her body language. ::

The girl snatches her hand away from Tyen. "You have got to be kidding me, right? You're not turning me into an animal! Bugger off!" The girl backs farther away into the corner, obviously starting to become scared of these two women as well - even though she knows that they're there to help...

:: Tyen sighs a bit before she responds. She doesn't move towards the girl, but rather steps back slightly and into the center of the small space. ::

"I can show you on me first. It safe, I do it often. I don't know how else we get you out of here. You are so....colorful. Those men will surely spot you if you leave as you are. We have little time..."

Seeing the gun come out from his target, deuce had no chance to move out of the way. Instinctively he fired off the pistol again. "Fraggard..." was all he muttered

Sandy puts the gun away in her small handbag for a secound, knowing that it wouldnt help persude the girl any... and she tries a new approch...

walking over to the scared young thing she kneels down near her and smiles..."Come on hunny, I promice we are on your side. we wont make you do anything you dont want to but trust me... its by far the easiest way! is there anything I we can do to help you escape here with us? I mean, we are all in this together now. If those men see us who knows what they will do?"

Deuce:

The now de-spectacled Templar's shot made a solid impact against Deuce's long coat. It was an intense hit, but probably not life threatening. The American responded with a shot of his own, plugging the guy in the upper thigh - a fitting payment for his sheer audacity.

Behind the American runner, the Mage was readying himself to start slinging spells, but at the moment Deuce seemed more intent on the Leader, who was getting up, to shoot him again!


Piper:

In teh rapidly-filling-with-foam room, Piper's patience was running thin. A second shot to his left matched the hip-hole with a gaping gut wound as the explosive bullet shredded armour and tissue.

Spinning his torso, Piper's gun rang out again at the almost-unconscious man he'd been beating for so long. The groggy man tried to dodge away, but in the slippery surroundings all he managed to do was slip and fall flat on his rear, making what would have been the mirror image gut-shot into an explosive spray of shoulder bone as he took the shot just above the pectoral muscle.

It seemed that They weren't done with the Irishman yet, though. Even as the de-shouldered suit was rising to draw his own piece, the nigh-on disemboweled officer was making a break for the exit - but not without a wild shot off in Piper's direction... which thankfully had not even a remote chance of making contact.


Sandy and Tyen:

Sandy's soothing words seemed to be calming the girl. The runners stood her up and moved to the doorway. "I still don't like it," she said.

Closer to the exit now, they could hear repeated gunfire coming from the main portion of the club. The girl looked almost ready to bolt for the door despite Tyen's magic and Sandy's words...

Sandy knows when she is on a role, so keeps going with the soothing words..."Don't worry about the noise, we will look after you! and if you just agree with us to have some magic cast on you, you will be even safer!!"