Clash of some Titans

Players: Air, Mafen, Adam, Janie, Ghostfist, Grim, Seraf, Nine, Kokemono
Synopsis: Air picks a fight with a distraught Mafen, in the Cybered Arms.
Date: Thur May 27 06:57:04 2070

Mafen shakes his head and gulps down the rest of his glass. "Yeah. I just… wasn't expecting, not the kind of news I'm use to I guess. I dunno… I guess I better get a flight… fuck, I gotta smuggle myself to my own mother's funeral. Fuck." He looks over at Grim when he 'Yo's' at Keegan, and stifles a giggle. "New people in here everyday, eh?" He eyebrows-up at Keegan. "Refill?" The woman seems to ignore him for the moment.

Adam looks over to Mafen for a moment— but doesnt find anything helpful to say. After that he looks back to Seraf and notes, "Well if you can get him to talk— its a good way to complete one of those objectives. As for the other— you'll be better off listing your talents than fishing for work with empty comments. The later is dime a dozen. People who know how to market themselves are more rare."

Listening to a drunk at the bar, Keegan seems unimpressed by his story.

One massive ear, attached below a trollish horn, twitches towards Mafen. Kokemono tilts his head to the side, grunting. "Ah noze a pilot, Mistah." His voice rumbles, but is directed to carry towards Mafen, with an almost sheepish quality.

Mafen opens his eyes a little wider. "Ah. Yeah? They go into the Tir at all?" He points vaguely northwest. But it looks like the alcohol is starting to have an effect.

Janie comes in from the anteroom

Janie has arrived.

Seraf frowns abruptly and deeply at Adam, her eyebrows drawing together somewhat, "But…making empty comments is my one and only truly marketable skill!" A pause provided by taking a sip of her beer (however reluctantly) and Seraf adds, "Seriously, though, I'm just like everybody else: I shoot stuff. Just…from further away. And with more amusing comments to fill reload intervals. Definitely less like Masky McHoody over there and more, uh…subtle? Not sure if that's the word I'm looking for. You get the idea."

Kokemono mmmms a tad, "Ah dunnah, tae be hones'. He fly me from Sea'le o'ah ere, tah Denvah, but Ah dunnah ef'n he g'z a permit foh dah Tir. Ez an 'oomie, doh, so Ah dou' et. Sorrah." the troll looks slightly abashed. "Ah knowz wha'z like tah lose a paren' tah tragahdie." The troll sighs softly and brings his 'mug' to his lips again, taking a long draught.

Mafen shrugs, nodding at Kokemono. "Yeah, that'd do. I could always jump out." He pauses a second, shrugging. "Not that my father would recognize me. Not my face even. Not my bone structure. Nothing really. Eyes different. Nothing. Yeah, I talk to them with a trid mask, makes me look just like… just like I was out of college. But. Yeah." He shakes his head, turns, and slams his fist down into the counter. Again, three times, and on the third time it cracks the countertop slightly around the blow, and the leather around his gloves shows signs of wear at the striking zone. "Fuck."

Keegan walks up toward Mafen. "Will. I can't have you fucking up my bar. If you're getting rowdy, get out."

Janie is just trading the usual polite pleasantries with the bouncer as Mafen's sudden outburst makes them both look up. Without exchanging another word Janie drifts toward the side wall of the room, clearing a path for the bouncer if the situation gets too far out of hand.

Seeing Mafen's plight, Kokemono quickly reaches for one of the random bits of advertisement flimsy from the corkbord. Reaching behind the counter to where he spots a pen, he jots down a number. "Jez tell'm Arigo's son sen joo. Mebbe he take joo, mebbe no. Prolly charge joo. Best Ah ken offah, doh."

Grim quickly shoots a glance twoards the huge elf solamming his fist, then to Keegan and then around the bar hoping nobody starts up. Grim grabs his mask just incase and holds it close to his stomach one hand still on the bar with tapping fingers. Trying to avoid the spilt beer Grim moves his hand still looking at Mafen. Grim sighs and looks over at Keegan waiting for the serious exspression to leave before he asks her for a drink.

Frankie finishes off his bottle of beer, setting it down on the bar counter. He rests a hand on Mafen's shoulder and clears his throat, "Let's make some phone calls, Maf."

Mafen nods at Kokemono, ignoring Keegan for the moment, and takes the number and pockets it. "I appreciate it. Despite…" He rubs his forehead a moment. "You know, despite everything, I juyt, jus, just don't have a good right to the Tir, I mean. No reason to go there. But it's pointless, I mean. No one will even recognize me. Dunno what to do." He sighs, and looks over a Keegan. "Ah, gimme another drink Keegan. Anyways, I saw on UV those rounds in your shotgun aren't armor piercing today. Whatcha gonna do, call your bouncer on me? Duke? You gonna kick me out?" He chuckles, cracking his neck.

Keegan watches as the FDC Senators play a game against the San Francisco Giants on the Trid. "I got 50 nuyen on this game." She mutters. Duke offers, rather helpfully… "Sucker."

Keegan shakes her head. "No more, Tinman. Not for a while at least." She reaches under the bar, down to an ammo compartment, popping out a box of AV shells secretly behind the counter — just incase.

Mafen looks over at Frankie. "Yeah? Who we calling, man?"

Air turns his head to look at Mafen after the fist slamming incident and raises his voice, the first words he's spoken since getting into the pub. "Keep it fuckin' down tinman. You ain't the only person with fuckin' problems." With that he stretches his shoulders back, working the crick out of his spine, and then resets it by hunching back over the bar.

Adam nods to Seraf and notes before paying more attention to the Mafen situation, "Well if you are familiar with the 'lands are— a dossier is a good first step, else a rolodex card is as well. If you can handle yourself, work comes. If not, you could just end up dead." Rather objective in that— given its happened more frequently as of late.

Mafen stands up in his chair, and walks over toward Air. His height towers over the human weaponsmith. "What did you say? You got problems too? You want to compound them?" He cracks his knuckles. "I always liked you, but I could make an exception…"

Seraf is up off her stool and hopping off to the side out of the way as soon as Mafen starts to rise. Her hands go to her back pockets so as to seem as unthreatening as possible. She finds a spot next to Adam while keeping her eyes on the Air/Mafen area of the bar, "Dossier, huh? Haven't done any business in Denver just yet, so 's'good to know. What sorta things people look for in these dossiers?"

Keegan sighs slightly as Mafen steps away from the bar. At least he's not in her face. She lifts the lapel of her jacket up to her mouth and whispers something.

Grims fingers soon stop tapping and his hand bearing his mask soon raises twoards his chest, reaching into the side pocket of his basket he keeps a eye on the large elf and the other while opening his bottle of pills and taking a few. He twist alittle to get a better angle for the door, too many number for a all out brawl. With several things going on Grim try's to watch the elf, the human, and Keegan as she loads the shells.

Janie drifts around the edge of the potential conflict towards where Adam is sitting. "Any idea what touched this off?" she murmurs as soon as she's in easy speaking range.

Kokemono just blinks as the situation devolves. A turkey-fisted hand comes to his head, scratching just below one horn. "Ey, Mistah. Ah don' tink'e meant nuffin by it. 'Ere. Look. Ah got moh beyah den Ah ken drink. Lemme see'z joo glass, eh?"

Air raises his head off his hand to turn and look up at the obscenely oversized elf. Eyes a little deader looking than usual, he turns on his seat and then slides off the stool. "I said, keep it fuckin' down tinman." A short pause as his eyes flicker around and then focus back on the elf. "But why not? It can only get worse from here."

Keegan tunes in the Baseball Game.

Without hesitation, Mafen's ham-sized fists lunge out to Air to shove him by his throat - hopefully toppling the chair — the sound of whirring gyros and the occasional hiss of venting heat from realskinn seams evidence of no lack of force being applied to the situation. Even his eyes go black, with white grids across them — no focus on establishing a human-like eye grid. His voice is digitized and toneless: 'DIE.'

Adam looks to Seraf and hmms. He takes out a business card and gives it to her, "Staying alive is a plus. You may want to clear out. Throw me a vidcall later." Then the man looks towards Air and Mafen as he side notes to Janie in a light tone, "Loss of family for Tin. Despair gripped him pretty hard. As for Aern…" He shakes his head— right about when Mafen goes ape shit.

«OOC» Janie says, "Oh, good. A single stunball won't render the entire room unconscious then."

"Aw fuck," rumbles Frankie as Mafen goes and starts drek with Air. He glances from Mafen and Air to Keegan to the bouncers and then back to Mafen and Air. Tight quarters for a troll to try anything.

Air was apparently expecting Mafen to go ape shit, his reaction is immediate as he ducks and slips to the side, pulling a heavy rated stun baton from inside his great coat and swinging round with it crackling with electrical energy. "Better people have tried," is his growling reply.

Seraf flashes Adam a brief, bright smile of gratitude and inclines her head in acknowledgement so as to not have to try to speak over the scuffle. That said, she edges toward the door…not leaving so much as getting out of the area that Keegan's shotgun might be peppering in the near future. "My money's on the little one."

Mafen chuckles at the club, a moment, as Air swings it around and whacks him a solid one in the temple. There's a loud sound of electric shock — like a tazer going off — and realskinn peels back from the strength of the blow and fake blood oozes from the wound. On someone else, it would be a lethal wound. "Aw, come on, you know better then that, don't you?" He steps forward rapidly, looking to ground Air off his chair, letting up on the choke for a solid blow to the nose. His feet twitch from the electrical strike, but he seems otherwise undamaged.

The regulars in the bar step up — raising weapons, but they hold off now, as the fight hasn't escalated to projectile weaponry yet. The bouncers are retrieving more powerful weapons from the back, but for now they hold off — waiting to see what happens.

A pair of Demons Gangers enter and take a seat at the bar.

Grim quickly places on his mask and grabs a empty bottle on the bar that Keegan forgot to clean up. Ready to break it on the edge if anybody decide to jump in to the hostile actions the two are taking. Eyeing the bouncers as he notes Keegans battle ready face whatever gun she has hidden behind her sacturary/bar. Sliding off the stool Grim his now standing, placing his Navy blue iron mask over his face and tightening it.

Adam moves back to get out of the way from the brawling— which doesnt give much room. He looks to Janie, "Want to 'clear' the room? I can Shield about 7 key people," he says casually.

Air frowns at the lack of any appreciable damage from the power blow to the head. A blow like that killed a ganger stone dead not last week. Rolling sideways out of his chair and rotating on his heel as he rises he brings a heel hard against the big Elf's feet. Unfortunately the tall man is more built for speed than strength.

Mafen's built of near impenetrable alloy. But that doesn't render him inceptible to balance; The strike lands around the knee he was balancing on, and he has to twist his body weight to compensate, sending him twirling while grabbing onto Air's throat. His left shoulder impacts with the table to the right of them, breaking it to pieces.

Keegan lifts the Shotgun. 'Come on! The tables don't come cheap!'

Janie nods at Adam. "Focus on Keegan an' those closest to th'brawlers," she murmurs too softly for anyone else to hear as she slows her breathing, centering herself against the slight buzz that pervades the Arms' astral space even at the best of times.

Grim now backs away watching the shotgun pump load the shell "Dam!" He says as he still keeps bottle in hand reaching over keeping the other hand on his pistole straped behind his back securly in his pants.

Air goes down hard with the big metal elf, smashing glasses beneath them as he takes to trying to drive the shocky end of his stick into Mafen's eyes.

Frankie frowns, shifting his gaze from Air to Mafen to Keegan and back again. This is going badly and, frankly, Ghostfist isn't - Hey. Is that magic? "This is going to suck, ain't it?"

Those big, black-with-a-white-grid eyes.

Adam nods once— leaning back against the wall and taking a slow deep breath. With the emotional energy already charging the room, the steeled shielding within the astral goes mostly un-noticed.

Kokemono just sighs and nods to Frankie. "Yeh. Perdy much."

Two patrons at the bar get in to an argument about the current ballgame on the trid.

Seraf idly watches Adam and Janie, finding their back-and-forth and talk of magic as interesting, if not moreso than the eye-shocking that's going on on the floor. She looks at the card she's been given for a moment, then back over at Adam, "Shoulda guessed you were a magicky sort."

The last strike slams into the eye perfectly well, hitting the cybog direclty into into his left cybereye, shorting out the polychromatic iris entirely to a big, blank sector on the left eye — slightly depressed. The elf reels backward, relinquishing his hold on Air's throat. "Da-" His left hand darts over his eye, apparently in some amount of pain or at least worry.

"Oh drek." Says Kokemono as the spell fires off. Being on the opposite side of the confrontation, he's just within range of the blast, but not close enough for Adam's shielding. 800 kilos of trollflesh bounces facefirst off the bar, leaving a nice pair of horn gouges as the form lands between the two barstools he'd been sitting on with an audible *CRUNSH*

Grim quickly steps back pulling out his pistol in a almost perfect quick draw, grabbing his bag on it's strap the light gleaming off the white faded hands in the thick iron face mask paint job. His feet slide along the dirty floor covered in broken glass and wood chips as he gets a little light headed by the powerfull spell. "Drek!" he says as he registers everything that had just happen in a split second, the troll falling to the floor in a almost slow motion followed by a large slam.

Janie is only peripherally aware of Adam's shielding as she gathers Power to herself, her Mask manifesting as an aura of command and wisdom and afterimages of a bronze shield and spear as she spreads her arms, then claps her hands together with an impossibly loud-seeming boom that bypasses the eardrums and goes straight for the brainstem with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball to the back of the head.

Mafen reels backwards from the force of the sudden magical bolt, crawling back a couple steps and his head spinning slightly. "Holy… drek… you hit… hard…" He shakes his head, and brings a fist down toward Air's diaphragam as fast as he can, pushing his whole weight into it. He seems highly disoriented, but still capable of movement. He slips on the third rapid strike, dropping on his ass. "Ah, fuck." He swings his fist in front of him, but misses. "What the…"

Air was just recoiling for a strike to the other eye when his head gets smacked by a sledgehammer from behind. Reeling from the imagined blow he continues to beat wildly at Mafen while taking punishing blows to the torso. Instinctively he rolls backwards, away from Mafen as he slips, skittering over ruined chunks of table.

Emmitt Smith, one of the regulars, and a longtime cowboy and shadowrunner in the Sioux sector, drops to the ground — out like a light. Around him, Tableau Deaveraux and Salmonella Supreme both drop, flopping onto the ground like dead weight.

Frankie can feel the magical impact of Janie's spell even through Adam's shielding and his own willpower. The trog sets his jaw, tusks jutting out more prominently than normal as he slogs through the magical power churning straight into his brainstem. "Chummers. Play time is over," rumbles Ghostfist through gritted teeth as he moves very, very slowly toward Mafen and Air - it takes a damn lot of focus to soak up a great big chunk of Force 8 stunball.

And yet somehow the instigators of this fight are both still kicking and screaming. Literally.

Adam slowly collects his breathing— the man chiming in with Frankie as he notes, "Enough. Kill each other outside."

Mafen halts for a second, staring forward. "Cranial pressure up 380. What the fuck did you do to me?" Mafen slowly attempts to stumble to his feet, failing to his knees, and grabs Air by the collar — getting slammed pretty hard but nothing more than large bruises welling up like hidden baseballs under his tissue around his face and neck, which he seems to ignore. "What the fuck did you do to me?!!?"

"ENOUGH." The single word still rings with the Warrior's power behind it as Janie levels a glare at the two beligerents. "Ye're both grown adults; it ye absolutely must insist on actin' like a pair o'teenage brats tryin' t'determine who's th'biggest playground bully I won't stop ye, but do it outside where nobody else needs t'get hurt or I'll have a spirit twist th'both o'ye into pretzels."

Air growls something loudly in a foreign language, accompanied by the quiet and smooth metal *shink* sound. Bringing his club around, he flashes it past Mafen's eyes, the crackling coming close, but not touching the big elf before he jams the dikoted hand blade at his neck, sawing his hand back and forth savagely.

Taking a patrons mug, Keegan cuts them off from the sauce. "You've had enough."

«OOC» Air says, "No shit Keegan, no shit."

«OOC» Grim chuckles

«OOC» Kokemono says, "lmfao"

Mafen gacks and gulps as the blade sinks into his neck — his voice instantly goes out to a static buzz — and his left fist wraps around it. He radios, since his throat is occupied, to a channel he thinks Air might be listening to. «Nice one. But you know I barely use that neck.» His hand sinks through the blade and grips tightly around it, metal sinking to the dikoted metal and cinching loudly. He stresses it, pressing against the diamond-coated bladed and attempting to snap it off in his neck.

Seraf scratches her head for a second after the stunball goes off and puts on a lopsided grin, suddenly very glad she got the hell away from the bar and over near the less violent types. Now that there's a lot of the word "enough" goes around, she sidles over AWAY from the door, so as not to get sucked into the proverbial cartoon dustball with fists sticking out in case it heads that way.

Ghostfist reaches up to rub his forehead for a moment as Mafen screams - presumably in Janie's direction - and Air tries to recover. The troll looms over Mafen's imposingly large frame like the Huge Thing that Frankie is. For a second, Frankie starts to crouch down to recover Mafen. At which point Air produces his hand blade o' death.

"You almost took my fragging hand off, Ghost damn it."

The internal sounds of cyberware ramping up operation are obvious as the two forces fight against each other — Air's meat-anchored cyberarm and Mafen's full-borg strength. Somehow, it's a standstill — Air holding the blade into Mafen's neck and pressing while Mafen holds it back from decapitating him.

Air snarls loudly again in Mafen's face, the high pitched whine of servo's and cybermotors loud as the two fight over the hand blade. Air to keep it attached to his hand, and Mafen to break it off. The blade hardly moves now, as they deadlock in a battle of pure strength.

The bouncers re-enter the room from the rear, raising the HVAR weaponry, red-ribboned rounds showing APDS. They're ready to murder somebody if this doesn't get resolved.

Grim quickly ducks a little setting the bottle down on the bar to show no threat as he soon spots the bouncers enter in with the auto-matic weaponry. "That would be a cue to outside!…" he says in a rather loud pitch tone fading quitly at the end. Backing away as he still finds himself strangly interested and fascinated with these two men and there 'terminator' brawling.

A pair of Paladins Gangers enter and take a seat at the bar.

Kokemono snores.

"Well, long as you two are gonna tie one another up," remarks Frankie as cyberware locks up with cyberware. The troll shakes his head slightly at the two and drops into a crouch. One enormous trog hand grabs Mafen by the lapels of his great coat - both lapels in one hand, mind you - while the other hand just grabs Air by the front of the shirt.

With that, Ghostfist stands up straight again. An enormous grunt and snort comes from the troll as he strains to support the enormous amount of weight quasi-suspended in his grip. "Open the door, get the frag outta my way," he growls over his shoulder, voice strained as he starts moving toward the entrance with both fighters in tow.

It may be an unpleasant trip for the portions of their bodies that are scraping along the floor.

Grim quickly shoots out of the mans way carrying the two "Alright!" he says holding his gun up twoards the roof as he ludges watching them leave.

Mafen struggles but it's good to resolve the mexican standoff without being headless and to have the blade out of his neck by the sudden mass between them — not to mention on the border of consciousness, even with his slight overcompensation in the awareness department. "You gotta ruin my fun, ey Frankie? I'm doing fine…" he mumbles as his off-balance, three-hundred kilo self is dragged outside.

Two patrons at the bar get in to an argument about the current ballgame on the trid.

Air is forced to push with his feet alternately, as he gets dragged, to prevent from dragging as dead weight along the floor. "* * * * * * * *" (Swedish)

Janie finally lets herself relax as Mafen and Air are manhandled out of the bar, then looks over at Keegan. "Sorry about th'spillover," she offers, kneeling by one of the unconscious patrons. "Fine-tunin' a wide area spell like that on th'fly's kind of tricky."

She examines the body, then nods. "Looks like he might have a bruise where he landed, but otherwise he should be fine once he wakes up. Couple hours at the most."

Tableau Deveraux wakes up with a start, screaming, 'Ah! The aliens! Everywhere!' He flails his arms about, and thuds on the ground again. 'Ah… my head…'

One of the bouncers with the HVAR, carefully watching the door, moves over to Tableau to grab him, hoisting him up and taking him outside too. They've enough problems…

The Rez is the pulsing, beating heart of the Aurora Warrens. Centered on the Quincy Reservoir, the source of much of the drinking water in the Warrens, it is bordered by Quincy Avenue to the north and Smoky Hill Road to the south. An agreement between the major gangs keeps the Rez as a neutral meeting place and market place, where organized violence on the part of a gang is met by swift reprisal from the other gangs.

What makes the Rez so important to the Warrens is the actual economic activity that takes place here, in the old Summer Valley malls and along the shores of the Reservoir itself. Collectively these marketplaces are called 'The Souk', if you can sell it, someone is selling it here. From old car parts, to Novacoke to Cal-Hots to fresh vegetables from someone's garden, the Rez has it at some point in the day. This market place is absolutely vital to the function of the Warrens, and without it, most of the people in it might starve, both for a lack of a place to buy food, and a lack of place to sell the goods they have to buy food even if it were available.

Not far from the marketplace is the squat, square fortress of the Bastille. It serves as a reminder to the warrens the role that Shadowrunners play in its continued survival, both as sources of money and security. One thing that does not seem to be a problem, overall, is overpopulation in this sector. The presence of money forces those who don't have it to relocate elsewhere.

«Plot» Mafen says, "We're both beaten, bruised, and bloody, and Mafen is gushing fake blood from a practically split throat."

A black and grey haired lady is wandering up the beaten path toward the Cybered Arms, walking on nearly tire-treaded boots. Right now, she has absolutely no clue what just happened, here for other business purposes. :P

A pretty average looking troll is just exiting the Cybered Arms with a Mafen and an Air in tow. Frankie looks to be straining to really heft all of that combined mass, especially since he's half-dragging them along and dazed, stunball'd mundanes have an annoying tendency to get stuck in corners and on things in the way. Even so, Ghostfist is making steady progress by virtue of not stopping until he's in the parking lot whereupon he unceremoniously drops the two of them.

Air lunges forward with his hand, twists and then the handblade dissapears back into the side of his hand with another *shink* noise. Slamming his real hand into Mafen's face he covers the bigger mans eyes as he tries to wrench the cyberarm free of the fullborgs grip.

Mafen relinquishes his grip on the gunsmith's powerful cyberarm, and thuds to the ground, rubbing dirt off of his coat. His voice comes over the digital chip: "*kzzzt*static*aazzzsssk*Jesus, Frankie, you*kssttt*sure can haul some*hiss*weight." He rubs his throat, which is gushing the limited supply of simulated blood, simulating an carotid artery breach in little spurts.

Nine could feel something… something like magic coming back to her, even… even before she got all the way up here. Looking up and toward CA, she frowns slightly when she notices the figures, but it is easy for her to recognize these fellows, especially by their auras upon an astral glance, and she stops short of walking to gape briefly before glancing between the two, getting ready for… something, but holding steady. Undecided just yet!

"I'm gonna feel that drek in the fraggin' morning," is Frankie's hoarse-voiced reply to Mafen. The troll wipes some sweat from his forehead and rolls his shoulders a few times. "Fraggin' arms," he grouses, starting to rub one shoulder and then the other.

Air rolls away through the trash and dirt of the warrens, his greatcoat getting stuck with all sorts of debris. Not to mention the growing red stain of Mafen's cyberblood, on his t-shirt and coat. The assault rifle over his back makes him wince as he rolls over it, before getting one knee under him, to start getting up.

Mafen tilts his head up and clicks his voice processor, going through a diagnostic routine. "Ah, *kzzthissssssssss*static* damn fucked*karzzztttt*up." He clicks off the blood flow to his neck, the skin suddenly going lifeless and pallid like a crude plastic exterior around his head via a call to his diagnostic processor. He looks over toward the woman's approach. "He*statichissssssssthkrhzzzzzt*, *ksssshhrzzttt*ivery if it works for you." He motions toward the truck, slowly getting to his feet. Hs clicks his cyber-holster open, still gripping his neck, laser-pistol extending out frmo his right leg through the seam in his, yes, break-away paints.

Frankie sighs softly and rolls his eyes at Mafen. The troll gives off the air of being perfectly aware of what's going on around him at the moment, though how is up for debate. Maybe he's a freaky cyborg troll like Mafen is a freaky cyborg elf, full of Ultrasound Vision or something. "You two done beating the crap out of one another?"

Nine stops gaping like a CatFish, and then she rushes forward after processing things, but without saying much or doing much else, until she starts to see that the holster is opened by Mafen, and also the laser pistol extending from the seam in the Hammer pants. She shouts, yes… Nine shouts out, "Don't you pull that!!!" whilst directed toward Mafen, green eyes ablaze, and her hand heading inside her greatcoat but not drawing anything.

Air still one knee, spies Mafen drawing a weapon, and does the same. Readying the Ares alpha slung over his back he draws a bead over Mafen. The smartlink cyberware interfaces almost immediately with the firearm, linking to the smartlink and grenade link buried within. Reticles and projected arcs appear in Air's vision as he lines up the weapon, a soft phoomp sound follows shortly, the underslung launcher firing at the big Elf.

The grenade explodes in a dizzying display of force around Mafen, blasting the man back a couple steps with kinetic energy and a flash of light, tearing off a huge chunk of his artifical hair and a large piece of his greatcoat open. "Whoa there." The blast would be strong enought to knock almost anyone over — or out, even, but he seems to take it no problem, save for his left, bruised eye going all cloudy — either a diagnostic or a malfunction. His voice is pecked with digital artifacts, hisses and pops. "Hell, there." He pulls his laser pistol, charging the capacitor. "You really want to go this route, chief? Fire another grenade. You'll be dead before it impacts me." His right eye flickers to a red target sight, and looks Air's prone position over.

All the debris and trash in the area is blown away by the grenade blast, clearing a 32 meter wide circle around them of all lighter debris. It's the cleanest this ground has been in years.

Inside the bar Grim now sitting back down as the mess is getting cleaned up, Keegan hands him a beer as Grim reaches up to remove his mask so he can take a sip.


Sighing Grim hears the boom outside, so instead of taking off the mask he sighs setting his bear to the side reaching aorund him and setting his Colt Manhunter on the counter.

Frankie is almost a meter away from Mafen when he hears the grenade get launched. He gets a half-second to look at Air in utter horror before the shockwave of the detonating grenade hurls him off of his feet. Average size for a troll or not, Ghostfist hits the ground with enough force to split his lip and scrape open the palms of his hands as he slides along the filthy pavement.

"… I am getting kinda mad here."

Air is blasted pretty hard too, blown backwards along with the trash on the street. He'd forgotten about grenade blasts when presented with a monster using a laser pistol. He has one himself, he knows what they do. Rolling to a side he forces himself to get up, to work through the dominated headache. Eyes unfocused he has trouble getting back to a stable platform.

Nine pauses just as the nades go off and she brings up a right hand, since the left is inside her greatcoat. She says something in Sioux quickly, softly to herself, "***" On the astral plane, mana coalesces, forming a storm of lines that create triangles that begin to boomarang. (Sioux)

Mafen suddenly reels, dropping to his knees, and a black liquid gushes from his nose. Brain hemmorage maybe. He chuckles. "Fuck. Anuer. &kzzt& ism. Bad. You fucked up." He aims his laser rifle and pops off one shot — two shots, aiming for center of mass of Air, best he can see through the fuzzy landscape. Then his he wobbles, and flops onto the ground. Unconscious, faceplanating on the pavement.

Adam comes outside after all the explosions. He looks towards Air— then towards Mafen— then finally towards Frankie and Nine, "You know what, I say we let them heal up the hard way for a few days."

Air is just getting up when the invisible spectrum lasers hit him. One of them must have hit the magazine of his Alpha, as it explodes, shattering and sending hot shrapnel everywhere like a grenade going off. The other cuts a slice through the right shoulder of his greatcoat, exposing glinting metal beneath. Falling backwards form the blast of the rifle exploding in his hands he hits the ground and stops moving.

Ghostfist slowly gets to his feet, blood dripping down his face and his forearms as he looks dazedly toward Adam. "… I'd be behind that. Assuming they're even alive still." He grunts and presses a bloody palm to his ribs, frowning a bit as he starts moving toward the cyborg.

The two figures lay on the ground, motionless.

Nine stares iron toward the falling cyborg, but then jumps and yelps, doing a fire drill drop to the ground just as the alpha explodes, it being a much more different sound and unexpected, than the grenade was.

Inside the bar Grim still sitting down as the mess is getting cleaned up, Grim reaches for his bear assuming the battle is over.


Sighing Grim hears another boom outside, so instead of taking another drink he sighs setting his bear to the side again reaching aorund him and setting his second Colt Manhunter on the counter.

Adam nods to Ghostfist as he heads over towards Mafen, "I'll check the full borg. Nine— go check Aern. So long as they are stable— we can throw them into the MASH. Its not far from here." He takes out his Savior and does some base diagnostics on Mafen as he asks, "You get banged up at all?" to Frankie.

Nine looks up from her prone position as her green eyes flick this way and then that way before she gets up to her feet with a very soft groan. Shaking her head some, she jogs over to Aern but without any real expression, going about unslinging her medical kit while her eyes astrally scan him.

"Few bumps 'n' scrapes. I'll be fine once my ears stop ringing," replies Frankie as things get wrangled under control by others. He promptly plomps down on his ass and just sits there for the moment, letting his gaze slide this way and that.

Adam finishes out his assessment and notes, "Yeah. Hes 'fine'. Fine enough not to be dead and can be hauled as roughly as metahumanly possible to a hospital bed."

Nine kneels down next to Air and quietly begins to unpack medkitzin with deft hands. She gets out a nanite battle pack and stabs it into Air's flesh with a little less niceness than one might expect, going all quick and battle field first aid on him. She'll heal it up later if she was too rough, maybe. :P

Nine gets up from the kneeling after this and picks up the main unit before beginning to coach to it off to the side, able to get the reading from a wireless connection used by the little tiny machines inside Air's body. They get directed to the proper places to repair some of the damage done, but not all of it. Some of it will have to heal, magically or mundanely. Yay, Nanites.

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