Blood Runs Thicker

GM: Viktor
Players: Chaz, Thog, Viktor
Synopsis: In this run, Viktor hires Chaz to perform an op for him. His goal is to prevent Muhammad Saleemi from attending a meeting. Chaz accomplishes this and Viktor and Thog throw a monkey wrench into the meeting by hitting the principal attendant's convoy.
Date: 05MAY70

05MAY70

0231 HOURS

Your phone rings. A name you haven't seen in a long time comes up on your caller ID. "Chase." Your phone rings again.

Chaz grabs his phone and smiles as he answers it. "Hello, you've reached the automated Emergency Broadcast System. If you have an emergency to report, please press 1 now," he says.

There's a grunt from the other end and a slight pause. Beeeep! If you're familiar with ringtones, it's the pitch of number one.

Chaz smirks at the sound of the beep. "Thank you," he says, "So, how may I be of service for you today?"

"Frag me," Chase drawls from the other side of the line, "brother, I got work for you, but I ain't got time for games! I need something done A-SAP. I'm sitting at freakin' Montoni's Pizzeria." He does sound very much in a hurry, "Can you be here in thirty?"

Chaz smirks and nods to that. "Oh, definately," he says as he grabs for his coat. "I can be there in that easily enough," he says as he heads for the door.

"Hooah," Chase sounds like he caught a break, "first good news today. Alright, I've got a Jayhawks cap on. No delays." Click.

Chaz shuts his phone down and moves to get to his vehicle, taking the elevator down to the parking garage before starting to drive to his destination, obeying the speed limit and laws since the last thing he needs is to get into an accident or a ticket.

Montoni's Pizzeria is more or less abandoned at this hour. It is open, though, and as you arrived, a shitty sedan pulls away, "MONTONI'S - delivered in 30 or less, or it's free!" emblazoned on the side. There's a loud explosion as part of the car fails, but its momentum carries it around the corner, hopefully to its destination. Inside the restaurant, you see someone sitting at a booth, alone, twiddling his thumbs. Bustling back and forth between the ovens is a teenage human.

Chaz pulls his car into a parking space, stepping out and letting the security system kick in. He walks into the restaurant, looking for the guy wearing the Jayhawk's cap, his enhanced senses scanning the area. "Let's just hope its not gamenight," he mutters under his breath as he goes through the place.

Gamenight it is not. The delicious, greasy odour of pizza and various sandwiches waft from the door of Montoni's Pizzeria. It looks fairly empty, this late at night, but sitting in one of the booths is a familiar looking elf with a red hoodie and a faded red and blue Jayhawks cap on. The bird grins stupidly in your direction. As soon as you walk in, the elf beckons you over. He's got a paper plate, stained heavily with the remnants of whatever the elf had chosen to eat, sitting in front of him. Besides that, he has what looks to be a phone and a look of impatience.

As you walk in, the hispanic kid working the counter with a pen behind his ear pulls out a well-scribbled notepad and says, "'can I get ya? The anchovies is half off." You look at the anchovies slices and a triplet of flies take to the air under your gaze.

Chaz shakes his head and smirks. "No thanks," he says and smiles. "I'll take a bottle of Bouncy Bubble Beverage and a slice," he says, nodding to one of the booths, "I'll be over there," he says, walking over towards the booth.

The kid doesn't even acknowledge your order as he turns away toward the flickering lights of their crappy drink fridge. As you approach, the elf stands up, leaning over the table. He extends a hand to you, "Prolly don't remember me, but I remember you. Also remember enough of yer skillset that this is prolly a piece of cake for ya."

Chaz nods amd smirks, moving to slide to a seat at the table. "Nothing wrong with a piece of cake," he says, "Sometimes, it can be even easier than pie."

The elf cocks his head a bit and raises an eyebrow, "Ha, dass what I'm hopin', bub." The elf retracts his rough hand and picks up the phone. With a flick, it's open and he jams the power button. "Here," he holds the phone out, "listen ta this." He presses one of the numbers before letting go of the phone…

Chaz nods slowly as he listens to that, turning up his hearing so that the phone can be heard well over any background noise.

You have two saved messages. Message one…BEEP…

"Listen, Corporal, I know we've only just met…but you're the only person I know who…well…yea. Anyways," the voice in the recording is feminine, rushed and flustered, "I need something done under the radar." There's a pause and a sniff, it could be the person on the other end crying, "I need you to interfere with a meeting. There's an arms smuggler…he goes by 'Muhammad Saleem Rajput.' She pronounces the name fluently. "He cannot, I repeat CANNOT, attend this meeting. Under no circumstances, scan? Jesus…" The voice stops and it sounds like a tissue is being withdrawn from a cardboard. After a solid minute, the voice continues. She sounds more shaken than before, "I've included the address of the meet and the time, which is fragging soon. I've given some basic intel on the players there, but I can't be too specific. If the Company knows that I've messed this up, it'll be more than just my head. Please, Corporal Hunt, please," the desperation is overwhelming now, "do not let Muhammad Saleem Rajput attend that meeting. Try not to hurt him…"

End first message. Message two…BEEP…

"Daemons aboun…"

Chaz nods his head as he listens to that, smirking slightly. "Well, this definately sounds interesting," he offers as he listens to it. "So, we've got to stop Muhammad Rajput from meeting his target," He says and nods, considering. "Could replace him, or maybe just redirect him."

The elf leans over again, snatching the phone back from you as you finish the first message. He frowns at the currently playing message and jams the seven button. "Message deleted," the voice chimes. He looks back up at his companion, passing across an optical chip, "Sometin' like that. I don't think it frickin' matters if he shows up at all. Take this chip, got a copy of the trash she sent me. Vague intel, but got the basics. Ya think you can handle this in four hours, brother?" The elf pops what seems to be a pill into his mouth and smashes it with a crunch of his jaws, "Cuz that's about all you got, give or take thirty."

Chaz nods his head and smiles. "Four hours," he says and nods, "I could definately do that. Could probably handle it in the four hours," he admits and nods. "Just gotta find the guy and go from there," he offers and smirks, considering. "The question is finding him or waiting to find him at the meeting."

"Brother," the elf puts the phone back into the front pocket of his hoodie, "I can't answer that for ya…I just hope you pull through on this and you do so real ricky-frickin'-tic, scan?" The elf's hand comes out of the bulging pocket of his hoodie. He's holding a credstick between his fingeres and he hucks it on the table. The flimsy plastic slides to a halt in front of you, "5k, chummer. I know it ain't much, but this shouldn't be too tough for a man'o'yer calibre." The elf twists the cap around backwards so that "K.U." is all that's showing, "If'n you can do it without hurting him, I'll toss another two and a half outta my own pocket." Chase stands up and you see a hold out pistol tucked into his pants. "Good to go?"

Chaz nods as his head, smiling as he moves to stand up, taking the chip and sliding it into his pocket computer. He taps on it to start pulling up information on the screen, waiting to see what details that he can find out about it.

"Oo-fucking-rah," the elf exclaims as you begin to dig into the info. He is about to pass you when he says, "Keep yer' phone on. I'm gonna try and buy you some more freakin' time to work yer mojo, scan?" Chase slaps you on the shoulder before heading out of the Pizzeria. "Put his on my tab, Gonzo!" he shouts from outside. In a few moments, you hear the roar of a small motorcycle as the elf takes off down the street.

As the man disappears, Chaz just shakes his head and smiles. "Well, this could be fun," he says and nods, waiting for the information to pull up. He looks around slowly, as if wondering if he needs to replace an order at this place.

Plop. Your pizza spins around almost a full revolution as the kid working the joint drops the slices in front of you. He walks away without another word, grumbling about a lack of tip from the last person to eat at your booth.

You pop the optichip into your Poc-Sec. Dossiers flash to life on your screen, pics of real dossiers with vital and juicy pieces of info censored by thick, black ink from a marker. One of the dossiers is for a Svetlana Petrov, a gun runner currently active in the area. Another is for a "Kuniko Okazawa" simply listed as a "liason." There's another dossier but the name is blanked out. There is a picture on it of a surly looking orc, african descent. He's listed as a "fixer." The final dossier is one of your target, "Muhamade Saleem Rajput," it lists an alias - "Hawkspur" and amidst a bunch of censored text there is written, "Al-Aqsa Islamic Society." There's a satellite picture of a burnt out office complex in the warrens along with a hastily written address and a time. 0530.

TERRORIST ORGANIZATIONS: Al Aqsa…you've heard rumblings about Al Aqsa being connected with radical, militant Islam…but then again, what Islamic organization has not been connected with Jihad at one time or another.

Chaz frowns as he gathers this information, likely the same information that his target has, so he'll be at that meeting area. If he makes the meeting, its over. He sighs as he reviews the information once more before tapping on his computer, looking to pull up a map of the area.

Chaz mmmms as he looks over the information presented to him. "Stop one man from meeting at a specific time and place in the Warrens," he says and nods. "There's really only three ways to do this. stop the man, stop the others, or eliminate the meet," he says and smirks. "I think I have a few ideas," He says as he grabs his stuff and hightails it towards this target.

Chaz smirks as he movesout to his vehicle, tapping a couple buttons on his computer. "Call Leo, link to car system," he says as he slides in the driver's seat, starting the car up. Once the phone gets answered, the elf nods his head. "Hey, Leo, got one for ya. We've got a couple people in town, one of them working for the Al-Aqsa Islamic Society,"he says, "A couple others who are gun runners and the like. I'm looking to get my hands on them, but hoping to find a specific one, a Muhamade Saleem Rajput, he's a big guy in this, and I need to take him out of things for a while so I can work my magic," he offers to the man, "I'll take the heat on this if things go bad," he says, "But if they go good, well, just invite me to your celebration."

Leo McCarthy (Detective): Leo's gruff voice barks over your car speakers, "Al Aqsa, yea, we've had a few run ins with them." You hear a few staccato bursts of typing as he queues up some information. He hums to himself while he does so. After a minute or two, his voice comes on the speakers again, "Alright, I got someone by that name in the drunk tank about a month ago. Picked him up…actually," there's a few more taps on a keyboard, "not even a few blocks down from that Aqsa place. Officer on duty notes the name of the joint as the..uh…'Riviera.' Sound good, hombre?"

Chaz nods his head as he hears that information, smiling. "You may have just earned yourself a pint on me," he offers and chuckles, "I'll let you know how things go. May have a gift for you." He smriks and uses the cars GPS to detect where this bar is and how to get there.

It takes you about twenty minutes to navigate to the Riviera. Maybe a few decades ago, it might've been a nice place. Only a few of the letters in the light up sign are working, leaving the place dubbed, the "Riv er ." Passing by it, you see its one of those classy hotel/bar combos. A few patrons hobble out of the front door and stumble down the walkway. One, a human male with a shining bald pate and bright red face, salutes you with a bottle of brew.

Muhammad Saleem Rajput: The picture in the dossier is a black and white, obviously taken without the man's knowledge. He's large, for a human, and in the pic, he's shaking hands with an unknown. Light glints off an obvious cyberarm. His skin is fair, fairer than you might expect for someone given his name. His hair and eyes seem to be dark and he wears a long, bushy beard in addition to a head wrap. Part of his skull glints in the light, but you can't tell what this chrome might be.

Chaz nods his head and smiles to the man who salutes him with the bottle. Parking his vehicle, he looks at the crowd, looking for anyone who looks like they have a cyberarm, fair skin and a possibly chrome skull. He then turns his attention to the Riviera, walking in towards it, his enhanced senses kicking in to keep him apprised of everything.

"Heyyyy! Yoooo!!!" A multitude of voices greet you, yes you, as you walk into the Riviera. There are many men here, representing most of metahumanity. Scantily clad women, also of diverse types, are undulating to music that has just begun rumbling from speakers on a stage on the far side of the room. A long bar counter fills the other side and most seats are filled with patrons who are conversing or buying cigarettes from women dressed like slutty bunnies who are walking back and forth with trays. Many eyes are on you and the attitude is quite jovial.

A man walks (hobbles) up to you, his face bright red with excitement (alcohol flushing) and he puts a fat cigar in your hand. He stumbles and his big, stupid eyes look up to your face and he reaches out to touch it, "Greg?" he asks you, the fumes from his breath giving you a buzz.

At the greeting from the man, he takes the offered cigar and looks at him, glad that the olfactory booster has a cutoff switch to it or else he may get alcohol posioning from this man alone. "Not quite the man you're looking for," he says to the man, looking him over.

Totally not getting it, the man drapes an arm around your shoulders. He turns you around to face the stage, where a man is sitting solo on a chair, around which, a trio of half-naked women are gyrating. The man in the chair seems to be enjoying himself. In fact, he seems to have already enjoyed himself. "Course not, Greg, ol' buddy ol' pal…yer here *hic* to see the man o' the hour tanight *hic*" he thrusts a paw in the general direction of the center of tonight's festivities. "Go on," he insists, "go on *hic!* and enjoy yerself. I'll be at the bar if ya need me." The man collapses and there's a roar of laughter from the table to your left.

Chaz looks towards the man at the stage, letting his vision magnification zoom in on the target to try and get a better image of him, with the enhancements, before then he turns his attention to the people at the table, none of them his likely target, but it is almost reflexive anyway.

No dice, chum. Rajput ain't celebrating.

You notice, tucked away into a corner is a barred window, behind which sits a middle aged ork. The ork picks his nose as he watches a trid screen in front of him. After picking his nose, he reaches down to take some popcorn out of a bowl. The bars have an opening, right above the desk, for transactions to take place. The ork also has a large book next to him.

Chaz moves to approach the barred window, taking a few moments to collect himself to get into the proper character. He definately isn't dressed for much, given his current attire, but he might be able to do something. He steps in towards the window and knocks on it lightly. "Sir, I need a moment of your time," he offers, glancing down at the book, trying to get a good look at it, maybe even snap a picture of it if its anything interesting.

"What?" The ork doesn't even look at you, just keeps watching the trid. The trid is on a multi-view setting, all showing CCTV feeds. Some of the feed are showing, presumably, currently fornicating clients in the above rooms.

The book is an older looking book, it's binding worn. The cover reads, "Guest Register" in an all too fancy looking scrollwork for a place like this. It's currently closed. Two of the feeds show two very blurry couples getting. it. on. One of the other feeds is of a female ork showering. The last feed of the four is blank.

"I represent the estate of the late Martin J. Fenwick the Third, who passed away suddenly last night, and I am trying to get in contact with those he mentioned in his will," Chaz says, attempting to sound all formal. "One, we don't have an address for, but have record of him being here. If you can provide me with any information, I would be most grateful, and will make recompense for your troubles."

The ork turns his head, slowly, to face you. "Scuse me, buddy?" You have his attention now, "Martin Fennig the Third?" He shakes his head, "I ain't remember no Fennig character."

Chaz nods his head and smiles. "The man that I'm looking for isn't a Fenwick," he says, "But instead one Mr. Rajput. He has since inherited quite a large sum, and Mr. Fenwick wanted him to have it. However, we have no address on file for him. Any information you are able to provide me on this fellow, I'll be willing to provide 250 nuyen for your troubles, for a few moments work. A fair deal, I think."

The ork's dumb face turns up in a grin, "Well, for that kinda composition, shure I'd be glad to extricate your presidium." He pushes the register through the opening in the bars with a greasy hand. His finger prints leave marks of a questionable nature on the much abused and stained binding. "Feel free to look through da register," he says graciously, "I tink I remember a guy by dat name checkin' in about two weeks ago." The ork gives an ingratiating, gaptoothed grin.

Chaz nods as he goes to examine the register, looking for any trace of Mr. Rajput. He does his best to avoid the marks left by the man, and as he does, he smiles. "I am assuming that this man is still residing here?" he asks, "Or has he checked out since then?" he offers curiously.

The register confirms the man's story. Linking him to a room on the third floor. 305. There's no check out date filled in yet…"Oh, he's still here, I tink. Check upstairs, tird floor." The ork jerks a thumb to a stairwell nearby. The lamp hanging from the ceiling in the well flickers with a buzz.

Chaz smiles and nods, sliding the register back and two hundred and fifty nuyen in scrip left on the top of the book for the man to claim, not wanting to hand it directly over to him. "Thank you for your time, and I hope that you have yourself a good da,y" he says, tipping an imaginary hat to the man.

The ork seems entirely disinterested with you now that you've slotted him some creds. As soon as the scrip finds its way into his pocket via a thorough crumpling, his finger returns to his nose and his other hand to God knows where.

Chaz turns away from the man and lets him do his own thing, moving to head towards the apartment indicated by the information he collected. He grins to himself as he moves, nodding his head. "Some people make it too easy," he says, once he is out of range of the man.

The ancient, wooden stairs creak as they accomodate your weight as you tread on them. The grungy yellow of the lamp flickers as the lightbulb goes through its death throes. Overwhelming odors of stale piss and bilious vile assault your nostrils as you climb to the first floor. As you turn to behold the first floor, you're greeted with a mostly dark hallway. Muffled sounds of passion bleed through the walls. On the second floor, you find an overweight, female ork cradling a pair of pups in the hallway. She tosses you a wan, tusky smile as you pass by on your way to the third floor.

305. You're there. The door looks like any of the others, wooden and shut. There's a peephole, but it's dark and there's no light filtering out into the hallways from the other end of the door.

Chaz turns off most of the sense to his nose as he climbs the stairs, offering a nod to the female ork as he passes quickly before making it to the third floor. Once he approaches the door and sees that it is dark inside, he turns on his enhanced hearing, boosting it so that it should be able to hear anything before bending in front of the door, seeming to be tying his shoe while he leans in to see if there is any sounds on the other side.

From within : A deep voice sings "…Allahu akhbar, Allahu akhbar…ashadu alla illee illl Allah…." Every so often, something touches the floor and there is the rustle of fabric.

Chaz hmmms as he hears what is going on in there. Knowing the language makes it one thing, and especially knowing a bit about religion and various organizations makes it even more interesting. But at least it looks like he is in there. Chaz then moves to step away from the door, but keeping close to the room, ears perked to listen for any changes in the area. A quick glance at his watch for the time, seeing how much he has left before the meeting.

TIME : 03:30
MEET TIME : 05:30

RELIGION : You recognize the words to the Iqama, the Islamic call to prayer. Muslims recite this as they make one of their five daily prayers towards Mecca.

In the meantime, somewhere else in the Warrens…

Shadows slip between the mounds of refuse and ruins of once-promising row homes. A few of these shadows leap to attach to storm drains or climb up fire escapes, where they flit about the battered and burnt out rooftops. The shadows melt away and the night returns to utter stillness.

Chaz mmmms as he looks back from the watch. Three hours until the meet. He could be here for a while. Rather than waiting that long, he decides to take matters into his own hands. He begins by reaching into his own gear and producing a small case. He settles down into a crouch as he begins working on applying a polymask. No point letting the enemy recognize him.

In the time it takes you to put on the mask, nothing much changes. Whomever is inside seems to continue his prayer. Down the hall, a baby cries and it seems like a couple towards the stairs has just started rocking the bed against the wall. The smell of fried fish begins to waft into the dim corridor and is if it weren't dark enough, the lamp at the furthest end of the hall flickers out.

Once having the mask on, Chaz finally takes action against the man inside. Moving over to the apartment, he begins knocking on the door. "Sheila, come on, I know you're in there," he says in a Spanish accented voice as he keeps on pounding on the door. "Come on baby, i know things weren't the greatest between us, but baby, I love you."

Within, the prayer stops suddenly. Fabric rustles and wood creaks as the man stands up. Heavy footsteps thud louder and louder and finally the doorknob turns. Apparently, the door was unlocked.

Wafting out of the room comes the refreshingly spicy scent of frankincense and myrrh, fighting to override the pervasive stench of the hotel. "As salaam alaikum, brother," the tall, fair skinned man says. He wears simple, loose fitting cloth shirt and pants. His beard billows out before him and he looks at you with sad, brown eyes, "I believe you have the wrong door."

Chaz just looks at the man, trying to draw on the feelings of an angry, cheated lover to make himself look in the part as he leans in towards the guy. "So you're the fragger who Shelia left me for," he says and pulls back his arm to take a swing at the man, aiming for a headshot.

The man's sad eyes flash as he suddenly reads the intent in this stilted lover's body language. Gracefully, he makes a short step sideways, and Chaz's well aimed fist obliterates the air over the man's shoulder.

As Chaz is recovering from the shot throwing him off, the Stranger tries to grab to Chaz's arm, the other hand going towards the elf's shoulder, hoping to get a firm hold on him and thus calm down the crazy elf.

As the stranger leans in towards him, Chaz shifts his weight, bringing his forearm in towards himself while pushing away from him with his upper arm to try and elbow him. He connects, but the stranger rolls with the hit, rocking his head back and away, chewing up any energy from the attack.

The man, who until just a few seconds ago, was merely answering his door, reels back from the last blow. He holds out his hands in front of him, "Peace, brother," he takes a step back into the hotel room, "you are mistaken." Looking you up and down, he seems to think you have become a bit more passive, "Come in," he invites, "have tea with me and we will speak of your troubles."

Elsewhere…

Rare silence on the streets is interrupted by a crash of a garbage can falling over and the hurried beat of feet on pavement. Desperate panting is followed by frenetic slavering. A ghoul chases its prey, a teenage human through the street. Neither of them are aware of anything but each other. Predator and prey.

Neither of them see the trio of black SUV's roaring through the night until the pair are reduced to their constituent limbs and gore by the first of the vehicles. The three vehicles cruise on, the lead swishes blood and biological matter from its windshield with its wipers.

Chaz looks at the man and nods his head, looking around. "Sheila?" he calls out and shakes his head, rocking on his feet before taking a slow breath. "She's not here," he says before looking back to the man and blinking and then blinking again. "Tea… That sounds nice," he replies and smiles a lopsided smile, stepping forward.

"No," the man agrees, closing the door behind you, "she is not." With heavy thuds, the man walks over to an electric kettle which is already boiling. It puffs happily as the man reaches down a large mit to pick it up and put it on the counter. Casting occaisional glances at you, he prepares two cups with loose leaves of tea and pours the piping hot water into them. Another, mild, earthy aroma begins to fill the air as he sets the tea on a small coffee table in the middle of the floor. Arranged around the four sides of the table are four embroidered pillows. "Please, sit," he offers.

Chaz slowly walks over towards the table and nods his head lightly, moving to take a seat. "Thnak you," he says quietly and closes his eyes for a moment, taking another breath as he tries to balance himself, still playing on the angry lover angle.

The large man settles himself down after you do, onto the pillow. "Pakistani Chai," he comments as he daintily removes the lid from the cup and takes a small sip, "the ginger will calm you and the cardamom will rebalance your humours." Taking the hot cup into both hands, the man cradles the cup and looks at you intently, "So, my friend," his gaze penetrates you, "what brings you to my home this morning?"

Chaz takes a cup that is poured for him and smells it slowly. "I am looking for someone," he says simply. "And I was led to believe they were here." He takes a light sip of the tea as well and frowns. "It looks like I was mistaken."

Soft, brown eyes look down to the tea, "It is of no concern." Beginning now to work on the tea in earnest, the man asks, "Perhaps I can help you find this woman?"

Elsewhere…

A dead dog lays festering in the middle of the street. Flies land and lay their eggs within its rotting flesh. This gory scene is bathed in sickly yellow light as the convoy approaches. The flies scatter to avoid joining the dog's fate. The SUV driver does not avert his course and the dog's rotting rib cage begins to split as the vehicle's heavy tire makes contact with it.

Chaz shrugs his shoulders lightly. "If she's here," he says and sighs, "I just thought I saw her car outside, and someone said they saw her going into this room," he says and frowns, sipping from his tea. "I thought I could find her and make her love me again."

Those brown eyes watch you sympathetically. He's silent when you finish. "Love is a strange thing, my friend," the man finishes his tea and looks into the leaves at the bottom, "It is God's gift to us, yet it can cause so much pain, there are times when we all wonder whether it is actually a curse." The man pushes leaves around with a finger, "But it is not so. You will know true love, one day, my friend and you will become closer to God." He smiles.

BBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!

A distant explosion makes the windows rattle in their panes and the cups dance on the table. The man does not respond.

Elsewhere…

The lead SUV is flipped over, sideways, and its flaming bulk slams into an abandoned storefront. A few moments later, the fuel tank detonates from the increased pressure and the building erupts into flame. The other two SUVs screech to sudden halts and their drivers begin evasive maneuvers.

Chaz mmms as he sips at his tea, nodding lightly. "I suppose that is true," he says softly. He glances towards the window at the sound of the explosion, blinking lightly. "Well, I think I have taken enough of your time," He adds, "Perhaps I should go."

"It has been a pleasure to share tea with you, friend." The large man sets his tea cup gingerly on the table and rises from his cross legged position. "Should you wish, return again and we will talk more." Passing you the man opens the door and smiles softly.

Chaz nods. And with that, he moves to stand and turns towards the door, walking away from the man and his table and out into the hallway, heading now towards the stairs. After all, need to take off his face and get himself ready, and that's as good a place as any.

DB Dix, holding his shotgun close, ducks further behind the cover he's selected when the SUV detonates. Peeking quickly around the edge he looks towards Viktor's position waiting to follow his lead, since this is his job.

The door clicks shut, closing very softly considering the size and combat prowess of the man closing it. A short time later, his prayers resume. A sultry moan of pleasure escapes the door nearest the stairs.

Chaz removes this face and places it back into his equipment, this time grabbing his ruthenium cloak and gecko gloves, getting prepared for the next round of surveillance. Hooking his phone into his datajack, he dials up Leo again, letting his transducer do the work as he gets equipped.

"ALL TEAMS, WEAPONS FREE!" Viktor shouts into his comm as the golden yellow and orange flames burn in the elf's eys. Dropping his binocs and raising his rifle, the elf drops the rear SUV under the crosshair in his scope and opens fire. CRACK CRACK CRACK! The AK roars angrily.

From scattered positions around the ambush site, small arms fire opens up. Bullets whing off the toughened hides of the generic SUV's as the sound of squealing rubber and roaring engines strains to overwhelm the crackle and secondary explosions from the destroyed lead vehicle.

"Look, bub," an impatient voice comes over Chaz's comm, "I ain't got a Chaz-hotline goin' here." The sound of canned laughter and muffled crunching filters over the comm. Between chews, "Whaddaya want?"

DB Dix pops up like a jack in the box, shouldering and firing a three round burst from the Black Panther. The weapon kicking with the force of a mule, merely rocks his upper body. The rounds themselves 'walk' from the concrete and up the side of the rear vehicle, putting fist sized dents where the last two strike.

Chaz nods his head as Leo answers the phone. "Sure, you may not be, but you remember the guy I was talking to you about before? Well, I found him, and like I told ya, he's got ties with some suspected terrorist groups. They're having a meeting in the city from what I can tell. I have the location of the meet as well as details of those he will be meeting, which should definately earn you some sort of a commendation or promotion," he offers, "In return for pushing your carrer along, I need you to hold this guy for a couple of hours, like five or six hours, if ya can." He pauses and lets the request sink in before adding, "Think about it, the guy who prevented, and possibly captured, terrorists operating in his own city."

The rear SUV completes its turn, one of Thog's heavy slugs punching through the thin armor on the hood. Steam and a horrible whine fills the air as something in the vehicle is irreversibly destroyed. The vehicle's forward motion arrests and the last vehicle, caught in between a wall of flames and a stalled comrade, slams on its breaks.

His Jayhawks cap spun around backward on his head, the elf lets the last few rounds of his mag go, the rounds stitching a line of dents and tears in the middle vehicles side. Unable to proceed further, the four doors of the SUV open, some of the tinted windows rolling down. The two vehicles sprout weapons barrels like metallic porcupines of death and lead starts to fly in two directions.

Over the comm, Chaz hears the characteristic click and whine of a cheap model trid screen powering down. The canned laughter dies away and the chewing sounds halt. "Dat so? Well," McCarthy grunts as he begins to get dressed, "that kinda info certainly warrants a trip back to the office."

Crack! Plaster and glass rain down on Viktor's cap as a quartet of small calibre bullets tear into the window sill Viktor fires from. Some of the glass finds its way down the back of the elf's favorite hoodie. Slamming home another mag, the elf locks and loads and pops up to return fire. The Russian made rifle bucks and roars and the elf smiles, letting the madness of battle wash over him.

Chaz nods his head and smiles, sending over the information of the location of the meet, the targets at the meet and the location and information on the man in the apartment complex. He also gives an estimated time to let him go, well after the meet is over, but given as it could be broken up that shouldn't be a matter, but either way.
«Auto-Judge[]» Viktor (#1471) rolls 6 + 3 vs TN 5 for "Pew pew!":
1 2 3 3 4 4 5 5 7 = 3 Successes

DB Dix hears the whistle of hot lead parting the air near him. Instinctively crouching lower he spots the one guy who seems to be firing in his direction. Gripping firm his Black Panther again, he looses another three round burst.

"Thanks bub," you hear a slam, slide and click as McCarthy locks his door. "You're a model citizen."

What was once a dark, quiet street corner has erupted in a furious firefight. Flaming, leaden rain falls from rooftops and windows, tearing the two remaining vehicles to pieces. One of the guns in a window across the street from Thog and Viktor falls silent, the weapon, apparently a hunting rifle, crashing to the pavement.

Having provided the information to Leo, Chaz just nods his head silently. "It's what anyone would do," he says and disconnects the phone. Turning on the ruth, he starts climbing the walls, in more ways than one. The gecko gloves allow him to move up to the ceiling, using his sensors to make sure the target stays in his apartment, keeping watch in case he tries to bolt.

Minutes pass…life continues in the seedy hotel. The third floor seems to have less prostitution than the bottom two floors, but every so often, contented clients pass between you. One such client stops directly beneath you to have a smoke. The actinic tang of the smoke burns your face and fills your lungs…

The schmuck who dared to fire in Thog's direction has his head disappear in a vapor of red as a solid slug intersects at super sonic speeds. The SUV's door may as well have been a rose bush for all the protection it gave, the other two slugs missing the corpse because of deflection. The last remain nervous electricity causes the man's SMG to discharge until the clip runs dry, about the same time it falls over to gush crimson across the cracked and pocked blacktop.

The one problem with being a fly on the wall, smell rises. Chaz frowns, turning off the enhanced nasal abilities so he doesn't smell the exact content of the smoke, not to mention tasing it on his tongue. Instead, he just remains in place. He does, however, try and spontaneously develop psychic powers, using everything to command this guy to leave.

Blood explodes out the SUV window opposite Viktor as his target disintegrates under the hail of 7.62mm rounds. The elf begins laughing sinisterly at the bloodshed. Out of the corner of his eye, Viktor catches the massive cannon of the trog obliterate his target. That death seems to be enough to encourage the convoy to change tactics.

A few more minutes pass and the guy finally saunters down the hallway.

The five remaining hostiles pull a figure from the middle SUV in good order. Covering him with their bodies, they charge toward a gap in the buildings, an alleyway they can use to lose their attackers. "THEY'RE BUGGING OUT!" Viktor calls over the comm, "BRAVO, PURSUE AND HARASS." Viktor squeezes off another trio of shots at the suited human tortoise which is scurrying across the blacktop to safety.

Chaz hears commotion downstairs. A crash and a great uproar. There's screaming and a deal of movement.

Thog switches to SA and takes pot shots at the retreating forms, no sense in wasting ammo.

Chaz hmmms at the commotion, though doesn't think much about it for the moment, thus gicen the fact that he did call the cops. He will interview if needed, but only time will tell.

Downstairs, everything becomes quiet. ……..thump thump thump thump….boots can be heard thumping their way up the stairs. The first of many armored and shotgun armed forms glides into the hall. With admirable precision, they take up positions around 305 in the tight hallway, communicating in clipped hand gestures.

Viktor rises up from his firing position, double timing to the entrance to the building. The noxious fumes of burning petrol and charred corpses fights with the delicious smell of burned gunpowder. The crackle of gunfire begins to fade in volume as the rest of Viktor and Thog's team pursues the survivors of the ambush. There's a groan from the burning vehicle and Viktor's gleaming eyes flick toward the first casualty of tonight's action.

"Alpha team," <That's you and yo homiez, Thog> "Sit-rep."

Chaz maintains his position around the apartment on the ceiling and hmmms. Silent communication, not bad, but all the noise and commotion may give it away.

Thog's round blasts the guy in the chest as they try to retreat in good order. The entry wound about the size of a pingpong ball the exit about the size of a dinner plate, spraying the man's innards for several feet behind. The corpse lands on it's ass then flops over sideways.

Commlink-Medic> Thog says, "Another target down, KIA"

The lead elements of the take-down team begin the silent count down. 3. The lead man takes limbers up the ram. 2. The front three ready their firearms and tense up. 1. …one of the cops in the rear looks up, his black, mirrored visor reflecting a glimmer of something strange…The lead man swings! BAM!!! The meager hotel door slams inward, partially folling off its hinges. "GO! GO! GO!" The five men charge into room 305. "ON THE GROUND! ON THE GROUND NOW!!!" The last man hesitates for a moment before his visor drops and he storms into the room.

Commlink-Chase> Viktor says, "Roger that. Good fucking work, Alphas. Bravos pursue with discretion. Let 'em go in 10."

Chaz drops to the grond and moves towards the stairwell, this time seeking to get away from the cops enough that he likely won't get spotted again, and close enough that in case trouble happens, he can try and help out.

Clop, clop, clop, clop Viktor crosses the pavement to the smoking ruins of the rear SUV. An SMG clatters to the ground from the rear passenger's door and a blood covered hand grabs at the exterior of the vehicle to pull its owner out. The elf closes with the survivor, rifle lowered.

Thog stands up, looking in all directions, then sighs shaking his head. He comms via transducer, «Anyone injured?» He lifts the heavy shotgun so the barrel rests on his shoulder as he walks towards the carnage.

From down the hall you hear a chorus of 'CLEAR!' After a few minutes, you hear idle conversation as the cops apprehend their target, "Lookit dis fuckin' dune coon." There's some laughter, "Yer' goin away for a long time, Aladdin. We've got special places for sand niggers." More laughter and a different voice, "Yea buddy, yer' gonna have a long time to think about what you were gonna do with all these fuckin' Kalashnikovs." There's a muffled oof as one of the cops presumably hits the man in the gut.

"Fuck, this one's sheathed. Christ, I think I broke my hand…" You see the stranger pushed none to gently into the hallway and he slams face first into the wall. His robes and flesh torn and mangled, the man is led down the stairs in cuffs. One of the cops lingers in the hallway outside the door. Reaching up with the muzzle of his UMP, he pushes at the air under the ceiling. "Huh," he mutters as he walks down the hall to join his comrades.

Viktor pushes the door to the SUV open. Inside, a Japanese man covered in blood and the biomatter of Thog's previous victim struggles to exit the vehicle. The elf's lips curl up in a sinister sneer and he reaches down to grab the torn and holed suit. He heaves the man from the vehicle and tosses him to the pavement where he lands with a shrill scream of pain. The elf reaches under his hoodie and pulls free a long, broad bladed knife and he squats before the man, pure hatred playing across his face. "Ya know," he says, playing with the knife, "I never get tired of killin' you fucks." Beneath broken sunglasses, the Japanese man's face is full of fear.

Commlink-Chase> Viktor says, "Negative. No survivors."

Chaz blinks as he watches the scene, shaking his head. "Well, now I hope this doesn't turn out too badly," he thinks and steps back away from the group, watching for now. As the one guy pokes at the ceiling, he smiles lightly. "Bet he blames it on drugs and alcohol," he adds mentally to his review of the the area and grins, keeping close enough to watch this guy until he's safely taken away.

Thog nods to no-one. He keeps quiet while Viktor plays with his final kill. If not finished before he's in normal talking range he'll say, "Finish him already, y' pointed eared freak."

As the target is securly escored away. Chaz smiles and looks to find a safe spot. He then begins composing a message to the contact provided at the start lf the mission. "Job done, target secured, will not make destination." simple, short and to the point, ass well as hard to intercept and understand.

Viktors front pocket vibrates. "Alright, alright already, shit…" the elf flicks the phone open and reads the message. He smiles and looks at the Japanese man, whose hand clasps at his pant leg. "Looks like you lose tonight, buddy!" Slash. Viktor stands and looks at the troll with the hand cannon, giving him a grin, "Nice work tonight, big guy." The elf tosses a credstick his way while the Jap gurgles his way into oblivion, "As promised. Ms. Steen's tel-com is on the back."

Thog catches the credstick, "Thanks," he rumbles. He holsters the big shotgun on his thigh, the weapon looking about the size of a very large pistol in comparison to his size.

Viktor thumps the massive troll on the chest good naturedly as he walks past him. "Good workin' wit you, big chummer." Spinning his hat back round, the elf walks off into the Warrens to ride out the rest of his adrenaline rush. "Ms. Steen," he can be heard from a distance, "mission accomplished…"

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