Dreamchipper Part 2 (2 of 2)

GM: TRISTA
Players: GRETCHEN, KRAFT, HEK.
Synopsis: Continuing on from Dreamchipper Part 2, the log was too large to fit it all in.


JUNIOR SHOOTOUT:

https://www.mipui.net/app/index.html?mid=mt1079bqi6v

The trip to the Rathskeller is uneventful and the location is as you remember it; dismal, run down and depressing. The neon blue lights of the 'Rat s eller' try their best to push through the fog that's engulfing the city, becoming a blur through the hazy mist. The street outside has the usual gutterpunks walking around, couples making their way through the night to reach the safety of home, a homeless man in alleyway pulling a torn blanket around himself to keep out the cold.

The doors open to the bar itself, the steady thumping of synth-bass greeting you along with a flood of warmth seeping out into the street. The usual Dwarf stands behind the counter, accepting weapons larger than a heavy pistol, a bouncer nearby checking over customers to ensure they're honest. Another bouncer behind a metal gate waits for confirmation before opening it up and allowing you inside.

The room is as dark and smokey as you remember it, the floor sticky from years of spilled beer, though tonight the room is mostly empty. A single waitress wanders the area, though only three other customers are here; two men talking business beneath the cover of a white noise generator, the third Roxanne, sitting alone at a table near the rest rooms with her favorite drink; something blue with mist spilling out from the top. They call it 'The Glacier', a potent cocktail of drinks that's sure to have you giggling within the hour.

Gretchen is relieved of her black canvas messenger bag at the weapons check, as it contains a number of contraband items, though in the process of undergoing the security checks, she reveals the Predator III tucked into her belt alongside her boombox buckle. Seeing as heavy pistols are fair game, she keeps it right where it is, and its presence is somehow both rage-inducing and comforting at the same time — conflicting emotions vie for control of her mental state, but she settles in to the meet, flipping up the dark lenses of her glasses on their hinge to reveal tired, over-linered and shadowed eyes. "…Johnson," she mutters as a greeting to the woman with the Glacier.

Hek's entire being has been formed to thrive in, and hopefully live to leave places like the Rathskeller. The Zeiss optics embedded in his eye sockets magnify what little light is available, feeding his mind plenty of clear impressions to act upon. A suite of signal processors that have replaced his ears filter out the auditory assault and allow his mind some quiet in a normally hyper-stimulating environment.
As the newest member of the team who has not yet been introduced, he takes up an auxillary sort of support position. Choosing to remain standing, he does there near the table where he has a reasonable view of what is going on in the sparsely populated club.

Having a clean view over the interior of the club and its entrance, Roxanne spots the new arrivals and politely stands as they reach the table. "You made it.", stating the obvious, but happy about it all the same. Settling herself back into her seat, she easily crosses her legs, clasps her glass together in both hands to rest upon a thigh.

The woman is as you remember her; naturally beautiful, lovely blue eyes - hence the name - shoulder length platinum blond hair, perfectly trimmed with no a strand out of place. Feeling the weather, she's dressed down and comfortably; a pair of jeans, black boots and a thick sweater to keep out the chill. "Did you have some news for me?", she asks. Noting Hek hasn't seated, she motions to one of the free chairs, inviting him to join the gathering. "Tell me it's about Junior. He has become insufferable..".

Hek accepts the offered seat with a gracious nod. Though he is seated, he is far from still. Despite his best efforts not to, he fidgets. Either his gloved fingers drum repetitively atop the table. Or, after he catches himself doing that, his foot taps out a steady rhythm on the floor. And although aware of the conversation taking place there at the table, his eyes constantly scan the room.

Gretchen lets Hek offer his own name of choice, but does make the most basic of introductions by way of gesturing a hand between he and Roxanne with a simple, "Johnson," when looking at Blue. As for what news has come to light she bites her black-stained lower lip before replying, "…we uncovered some details, ja…" She bobs forward and back as though intending to merely nod, but is carried away with reciting events. She has to backtrack on some statements in an effort to get the timeline straight, and melodramatically gestures with her hands while hunched in upon herself.

Though the back room is sound proofed and the door closed, sound does manage to slip through the gaps in the door, though too faint for normal hearing to pick up. To those with hearing amplification, however, there's a rowdy group back there, a few voices arguing amongst themselves with some raised tempers.

Between the Fog and the Dame, Kraft wasn't sure who was blowing more smoke up his skirt; But one thing was for certain, he was determined to break off a piece of this case and get it in the freezer before it went bad. Having taken time before he went into the club to duplicate the recorder's memory over to his PocSec, Kraft seems all set. A friendly nod for the stool that he made 'connections' with at the weapon check in, before the sour faced old borg is heading for Blue's table with the trio crew. Settling in and letting people find their various nooks - letting Gretchen start spilling beans, rocking too and fro like she lost her meds on Route 44 and was about two more tics away from a strait jacket. Twitch had some issues. Still, those false eyes remain locked on the blonde Blue as he reaches into his jacket - and sets the microrecorder down on to the table. Keeping his hand upon it, letting the induction jack do its quiet work as he speaks.

"It's not the whole enchilada, Blue, but it'll keep your boss fed. We found T.H., and we found the man he's shacking up with. Got a confession from both that Marcelli's been double crossing your boss, that he setup the meet, even that he's got the smoking gun; A copy of that prototype set on his terminal back in his office. There was on bit curious, though.."
"T.H. said you were the one delivering the orders from Marcelli." A deadpan look. ".. Frankly I don't care one way or another, s'long as the nuyen's coming out clean on the other side."

The last bit's a lie - just to see how ol Blue eyes reacts.

As he becomes aware of the voices in the back room, Hek's eyes lid heavily and nearly close as he attempts to mute the visual stimuli and better focus on what is being said. For a few moments, he actually becomes still. The tapping of his foot stops and his breathing slows a bit.

There's a faint smile at the mention of Marcelli doing the double crossing, it's brief but there, she's finally caught him out and now she gets to turn the screws. "The data is on his terminal?", Roxanne asks for clarity, a nod to herself, that's even better proof. "I'll put one of our deckers onto retrieving it.". A delicate hand raises, pushes a few strands of platinum blond hair back into place, returns to her misty blue cocktail.

Hearing the accusation from Kraft, the woman doesn't even blink, "I'm sure he didn't.", she replies, "He's a good boy, despite his problems. Will he be coming back to work for us? Urlan would like him back, he's very talented and has helped turn things around for our company.". Though the real question has to be asked, uncertain if Gretchen mentioned it during her flurry of words, it was all so confusing. "What about the chips? Do you have them, or a lead on them?"

With a few mental adjustments, Hek pushes out the noise, what noise there is, from around the bar and the table to focus in on the noise behind the door. ".. *garble* off, 'fore I puts yous down.", the voices are orkish for sure, "You wants to try *garble* fuckin' have you now if *whine*", another voice, "You's should both shuddup 'fore I smacks you all, you's gonna get your chance.".

And then there's a sudden silence around the bar, the music stops with a crackle, whine and splutter. The bartender raises his arms to the heaven, he hasn't had the best day as it is, and he crouches down behind the bar to check on something underneath. The two other patrons of the bar look around at the silence, they speak to each other but the white noise blocks their conversation even under the silence.

A faint grunt and a grouse. "Fair enough; Gotta check my aces, Blue. If you were dirty, that means my line on the payday's compromised. Got your pocsec?" He asks, mentally flicking off the recorder via induction pad contact and tucking it away. Switching to hold out his own pocsec, with the file ready to transfer. "Everything you need to nail that slopebrow to the wall. As for the three chips.."

A glance to Gretchen, and then to Hek. Pausing when he notes how still the hombre's gone, false eyes narrowing thoughtfully, before he finishes. ".. Yeah. We got a pretty damn solid lead. We're going to see if we can nab one of them tonight. As for T.H., you're better asking him. The kid's about as firm as a napkin in a pond, and twice as soggy. He flipped on your for the promise of a shiney toy from a tusker, so it's on you if you want him back. Either way, he's alive."

Which is when the music stops. Ah, hell.

Commlink-TightFist> Hek sends, « Some drek is up in the back room. Orks about to get violent. Don't like the disappearing bartender. »
There with the group, Hek eases his hands down beneath the table and unholsters a Ruger Thunderbolt into his lap.

Gretchen's eyes slide from side to side at the sudden loss of background music and she confesses quietly, "…we're still working on getting the actual chips…" She clears her throat awkwardly behind a fist then explains that in order to retrieve them, "…they'll have to be liberated," and she nods to Kraft about plans to get the first one tonight. She reaches up to tug her knit cap from her head, leaving her shock of unkempt, collarbone length white hair in a lazy asymmetrical swoop with no distinct styling other than how she rakes her fingers through it.

Commlink-MALTESEFALCON> Kraft sends, « Typical night in the Queen City. Someone's gotta bleed. »

Mid-hair rake, Gretchen's breath catches in her throat at the warning, but she shakes her head and exhales a deep breath through her nostrils as she stares down Blue.

Looking around at the sudden silence from the bar, Roxanne checks on the bartender before returning to the conversation at hand, reaching into her jacket pocket to pull out her pocsec and slide it across to Kraft after entering her security details to unlock it. Putting the two pieces of conversation from Kraft and Gretchen, the woman looks a little more worried, from Kraft, "One of them?", to Gretchen, "Liberated?". She sits more upright, places her drink on the table. "Tell me they're not in use. /Please/ tell me they're not in use.". It's possible the woman even pales at the thought, or perhaps it's the light in here.

The bartender pokes his head back up over the bar after a few seconds poking around, "The processor blew.", he tells whoever is listening, as usual his voice is about as interested in his job as he is in watching paint dry, "I'll have it back up in five.". A shake of his head and he crouches back down again to continue his work.

"I'll be right back.." Hek says in the distracted way that people who are extremely focused on something tend to speak. By the time he rises from his chair, the pistol has disappeared back into the concealable holster beneath his jacket.
"Hey chummer." Approaching the bartender. "Who's partying in the back room, and what do I need to do to get an invite?" Barely paying attention to the bartender, he keeps his eyes fixated on the door to the back room, almost as if he can see right through it.
"Alright, if it makes you sleep better, they're not in use."

Deadpans the old borg, as he starts the file transfer between the two pocsecs; It's not more than a couple of seconds to send a third copy of that damning evidence to Blue's side, then pass the pocsec back again.
"Just Twitch, Tacos and I taking a stroll around the Rens in the midnight hour because we love the view." Fingers find their way to Kraft's brow, rubbing slowly; It has the unfortunate side effect of 'bubbling' the polymimetic mask a bit, which he grousingly pushes flat once again. "But like sister said; We've got a bead on all three. You'll have them back.. just have the money ready when we save your boss's keister." A slow, sideways grin. "Before the board meeting, at least."

At the J's plea to not hear the truth of the matter, Gretchen simply tucks her lower lip up against the other in a tight frown. If anyone can sympathize with ignorance being bliss, it's her, but at the same time, withholding information from a J has been known to be an offense punishable by death depending on the circumstances. She mouths the name, "Twitch," to herself under her breath and rolls her eyes.

Tilting her head forward, Roxanne lets her straight platinum blond hair hide her features for a moment, breathing in slowly and exhaling equally as slow, as if trying to center and calm herself, keep down the stress levels. "That's.. not good.", she says quietly; if the music was on, she wouldn't be heard at all. Lifting her gaze again, a hand raises, brushing back her hair, then she reaches over and performs a transfer of data into Kraft's pocsec. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to transfer this, but it might help if they're in use.". Once the transfer is complete, she slips the pocsec back into her pocket.

The bartender, already having a bad day, puffs out a sigh of frustration and looks up from his work behind the counter, "That's a private bar, sir.", the 'sir' sounds so disrespectful, "If you were meant to be there, you would have an invite already.". He goes back to work, poking around at the electronics, a sudden spark causing him to recoil back in surprise. Near the back room door, Mackie the Troll still stands guard; nobody gets past him unless they're welcome.

Hek speaks directly to the troll. "Your party is getting a bit out of control back there chummer." The statement is delivered directly, no room for misinterpretation. "It's in everyone's best interests that you keep it contained on that side of the door." Despite his much shorter stature, Hek does not seem at all threatened by the mass of the troll. If anything, he presents himself as being on the same side. Just another slot, being paid to keep everything civil.

A single bald eyebrow is lifted when Blue slots something new into his own pocsec; He'd have to clean the whole thing out later, and scrub it down with electronic bleach, but still. "A Jay being helpful? That's a new one to me, Blue." He quips, turning false eyes to watch the bartender. It made him uncomfortable, seeing -her- being on the outs like this. All the confident women in his life (this week), and they're all breaking character. Where's the femme fatale with the blonde curtail? Where's the mysterious smile and savvy? Between Blue and Twitch, it may be time to go on a lad's day out. And night out. Maybe a few days out. So he focuses on the bartender's problems until the transfer is complete, before he'll pick up the pocsec and take a look at the new file.

No, he's not induction padding -this- one. Paranoia may be Twitch's forte, but it's Kraft's midnight snack.

"You sure you're cut out for this business? Gets kinda rough in the middle." He's not smiling; That's genuine concern, for a tic, leaking through. Although false eyes keep traveling back to Taco. What is all that about?

And this is the moment when Gretchen excuses herself to visit the ladies room… The awkward quiet from the shorted out stereo system, the J showing visible signs of discomfort, TightFist's confrontation of the doortroll for reasons only hinted at… "Ahm… Excuse me, I need to…" She offers a sheepish non-smile and reluctantly points to the restroom door.

Once inside, the German lets her worry take hold and stares into her own eyes in the mirror while running the water in one sink at full blast.

Mackie the Troll looks down at Hek; he's a well dressed troll, nice suit, tie, shirt, noticably armored jacket. "We haves security there. Nothin' to worry 'bout.", he tells Hek, staring at him with a 'move along' look in his eyes. Across the room, Gus, the dwarf who checks in weapons, leaves his booth perhaps for a toilet break.

"I'm more than 'cut out' for it.", Roxanne replies to Kraft, "I'm just very aware of what those chips can do. They're far from ready for public use.". Reaching out she gathers up her glass, starts to raise it to her lips when..

*BOOM!*

A shotgun blast, Gus deciding he doesn't need the toilet after all but wants to kill the bouncer standing guard at the gate. The body of the man flies backwards with the shot, he didn't stand a chance, sliding across the floor as Gus flicks the barrier allowing the gate to open. People start moving, heads turn, a waitress screams in surprise…

Hearing the boom of a shotgun blast, Kraft and Hek have enough time to look over and see three caped orks making their way into the entry hall, one firing a blast from an Ingram Smartgun that leaves another dead bouncer on the ground. Behind them, Junior follows, shotgun in hand. "Find them and kill them.", he tells his bodyguards.

There's just something about a shotgun blast that puts all the gears into motion; Kraft doesn't even turn around - the grumbling, rusted old borg leaping forward fast enough to kick his chair over, looking to snag Blue and not-too-gently wrap both arms about the blonde witch. Then drag her past the swinging doors of the Women's room, to -relative- safety. At least away from the first few bullets.

Not out of any sense of chivalry, but because Blue was their line to the payday. Denver's Dirty Angel doesn't do good deeds cheap.

Not having a clue what's actually happening, with shotgun blasts and SMG bursts coming from near by, Roxanne trusts in Kraft to do the right thing; she did say she was good at picking the right people for a job, back at The Aurora. Finding herself safe inside the womans room, she reaches into her jacket and pulls out a light pistol. It might hurt a kitten on a good day, but it makes her feel better. "What's happening out there?"

"That's what I was going to fucking ask!!" Gretchen is hunched over a sink, face nearly pressed to the mirror as though looking deep into the patterns of her own retinas when Kraft bursts in with Roxanne in tow. She leans over a steaming faucet that dribbles out at a feeble rate due to poor water pressure.

With the shotgun blast still ringing in most of the patron's ears, Hek responds to the threat instinctively. The tight mass of attackers are just asking for exactly what he gives him. With the sort of practiced, underhanded flick of his wrist that one might expect to see from a street magician conjuring up a bouquet of flowers, Hek flicks a flashbang towards the door. The cylinder tumbles end over end over end, bounces off of the wall above Gus and clatters to the ground right there in the entryway.

Gretchen hastily pushes her glasses up to her forehead and splashes water on her face as the main room literally explodes with activity. She ungracefully scrubs at her skin with her palms as she stares into her own eyes and shudders, her nose erupting with a steady trickle of blood. One still-wet hand dips into a pocket to take hold of a small bauble — a little braided and capped length of Crayola red hair which she wraps around a finger. A pause as she tastes bile rising in the back of her throat and she seems frozen in time, staring into her own eyes. The nosebleed creates a brilliant streak in the sink basin that matches the color of her strange trinket, then she darts for the toilet paper and shoves an improvised plug up into one nostril. "…oh fraaaag…" She sounds dismayed, but like there's no novelty in this scenario — as though it's quite familiar.

With the death of two bouncers, the bar erupts into madness; the bartender who was previously fixing the sound system rises from the bar with a heavy pistol, aims it at the crazed dwarf and pulls the trigger twice. The first shot goes wide but the second impacts, catching Gus in mid run and almost doubling him over. He stops at a table, holding a hand to his gut. The waitress screams and dives over the bar to cower behind, glasses scattering in all directions, while the two patrons try and run for somewhere safe. Spotting the office they try there, but find the door locked!

In the back room, action also erupts, gunfire breaking the sound proofing and then coming louder as the door pulls open, the bouncer inside using it for cover against his attackers. Through the open door Hek can see the bartender of the back bar exchanging gunfire with more unseen attackers, while the bouncer calls on Mackie, "Trouble in here!".

The fearless Mackie turns around and stomps inside, finds the first Ork with a pistol and slams a massive fist into his face. The Ork spins with the impact and drops to the ground, seeing stars but not quite out of it just yet. Score one for the troll!

The three bodyguards, orks in capes no less, ignore the grenade and run straight past it; the first slams the gate open and they all pour through, finding locations inside the bar to find some cover at. They slide to a stop, drop low, prepare themselves before deciding to open fire. Junior, on the other hand, takes a step backwards into the street, waiting for the pop of the grenade before putting himself in any further danger.

Hearing the explosion, the flash of light through the open door, Junior pulls his cape around him and casually walks back into the building, shotgun held casually. He moves toward the nearest table, looking around at the layout of his potential targets before crouching down for some cover.

To a third party observer, the rhythm with which Hek reacts to the threats there in the club syncs up with the way he is constantly drumming his fingers, or tapping his feet.
*tap* Grenade is flung at the entrance
*tap* Lone Star issue Ruger Thunderbolt is pulled from beneath his jacket.
*tap* A finger twitch on the trigger sends a burst at the mercenary taking cover behind the table
*tap* The strobelight effects of the burst fire overlay the ringing in people's ears from the flash bang and gunfire.
Shell casings spiral up out of the breach as the amped up criminal sprays half a dozen rounds through the air in the span of a second. He remains standing there in the open, either unafraid, too caught up in the moment to realize how exposed he is, or overly confident in his abilities to deal with whatever comes his way.

The nearest ork bodyguard ducks his head down quickly as bullets rake his way from Hek's Thunderbolt, tearing up the table and smashing the white noise generator into so many pieces. Little pieces of electronic junk rain upon his head and he visibly cowers; this isn't how it was supposed to go down, he can barely see after the flash.

The other bodyguard dives for cover, there's no other way out, sliding himself across the floor and beneath the table as bullets smash holes into the ground where he was a second before.

"What else? It's a lovely Denver night. Hear the birds chirping?"
Growls the old cyborg as he spins about. The heavy deputy fit nice and snug in the palm of his hand as he pushed the door open, leaning out and stretching his arm as he sights down. A quick glance was all he needed; It was either shoot around Tacos or hit the guy squatting beneath the table in the middle of the room. The cyborg squeezes that cannon in quick succession; The only revovler fast enough to be considered a semi-auto.

BOOM! BOOM! Take that Table. Oh, and guy beneath.

With the Ork already on the ground and unable to see much thanks to flash, he doesn't have much hope; the first shot from Kraft blows a fist sized hole in his leg which causes him to roar in pain, the second shot following up to silence the roar as it impacts into his armored jacket and blows the wind out of him.

At a time like this, Hek is on auto-pilot. Even the additional bundles of synapses and grey matter grafted into his brain are not enough to truly process all of the sensory input coming his way. There are threats all over the place, and plenty of them are still moving.
The sight of the ork wielding the shotgun is enough to focus his attention. A long arm like that in a confined space like the club is all sorts of bad news. It is enough of a threat that Hek actually starts backing up, adjusting his position to put the nearby table somewhat between himself and the attackers as he backs towards corner.
And as he backs away, he addresses the most dangerous seeming target. With a casual ease that betrays the deadly intent behind it, Hek aligns his pistol with Junior and pulls the trigger. Then pulls it again. And then the empty magazine drops from the grip of the weapon, ejected with a mental command.

The burst of fire from Hek's Thunderbolt tears a line up the front of Junior's torso, slamming into his armor jacket and punching through it as if it were paper. Blood pours from each of the holes and the huge ork takes a momentary pause, before he raises that shotgun, lines up a shaking shot and fires. The wall behind Hek's head explodes as the shrapnel hits, bits of wall raining down around him.

With the kind of smooth motion that only comes from plenty of practice and nervous system augments, Hek slaps another magazine into the butt of the Thunderbolt with the ease most people evidence wiping their bangs out of their face. Seemingly no sooner has the magazine been secured than does he pull the trigger again.
*Bbbrraaattt* Another handful of explosive, armor piercing ammunition is hurdled through the air and into the shotgun wielding Junior.

The burst of fire sprays across the area, a round catching Junior again in the shoulder. This one drops him to one knee, but he's not giving up, as close to death as he is. He raises his shotgun and flicks it over to burst fire, a squeeze of the trigger ripping up the table in front of Hek but not able to catch him with a single shot.

"Drop 'em or die, Junior!"

Comes the call from the callouse Kraft, even as he's aiming down the sight of that heavy deputy, the thick barrel swinging to line up with the bleeding slopebrow. He's itching to finish this - and we do mean -finish- - but this is the man who, indirectly or not, is behind Candy's death. Figure Twitch might want a word or two.

Gretchen smears her makeup in the mirror trying to wipe her eyes, leans back to check on the improvised nose plug swollen with blood, then draws Candy's Predator from her belt and pulls the slide. «Sh-CHK» Without a word to Roxanne or Kraft, she ducks out of the women's room and crouch-runs to the next door down while popping off wild shots in the rough direction of a henchman, then ducks into the men's room to take cover behind the wall, propping the door with a toe to have a crack to see out. She echoes Kraft, howling in a thick accent, "Drop 'em or die, ork!"

The battle continues around the rest of the bar, the speed of Hek and Kraft seeming to be a blur compared to the rest; Gus, the dwarf, moves over to the bar and opens up with his shotgun again, this time catching the bartender square in the chest. The bartender grips his stomach to try and stop anything falling out, drops to one knee. The two patrons who were trying the office door see a ray of light, a moment of hope, and sprint for the exit hallway, managing to avoid the bursts of fire aimed toward Junior as they move toward the exit of the building.

In the back room, the door still open for the bouncer to use as cover, one of the Orks can be heard shouting, "Flank him ya fuckin'..", before his words are cut off by a troll fist smashing into his face, Mackie on the rampage moving from one downed Ork to the next. The Mercenary takes the hint and moves around the tables to get a line on the bartender, opening fire and hitting him with a volley of shots. The bouncer, meanwhile, tries emptying a few rounds into the first victim of Mackie, but the rounds don't seem to do what he expected, "What are these things made of?!", he asks in surprise.

In the span of a few brief seconds, Gretchen has gone from 'mostly keeping it together' to 'full-on savage warpaint' due to her shitty makeup and the nosebleed caused by having accidentally channeled her power. She'd fit right in in a 'Real Vikings of the 6th World Sim' with her white hair, skull-like eye sockets from smeared three nuyen shadow, and streaks of black liner and blood.

The Ork that took the first spray of fire from Hek brushes off the spattering of electronic components then stands up, moves slowly around and forward, putting himself into the line of sight of Hek. His Ingram Smartgun spurts out rounds at a terrifying rate, spraying them left and right to try and maximize area, cut down the options to avoid the incoming hail of fire.

Too much input, too much stimulus, Hek's vat grown brain and augmented body are unable to keep up with all of the threats coming his way. So focused on engaging Junior and getting back behind cover, he fails to account for the ork with the Ingram.
The burst fire does its job. Though Hek is undoubtly quick, he is not quick enough to duck away from the hail of lead thrown his way. Luckily for him, the multiple layers of body armor that he wears are enough to disipate the kinetic energy of the bullets enough for the thin layer of dermal weave grafted to his chest to handle the rest.

It's faster than a heartbeat, hearing those feet come charging across the floor. Kraft's servos whirr soflty as his arm swings, pushing through air like it was cotton candy to aim at a charging bodyguard. Eyes narrow briefly in anticipation of the heavy -KICK- of the Deputy's discharge; BOOM! BOOM! Blood makes a spinning cockatrice tail off the bodyguard's side, eating a bit more flesh, but the stumbling thicker rolls in anyways; Just in time for the gun barrel to drop and Kraft to wheel his other curled hand up in a bone-jarring haymaker. Feet up, head down, THUMP.

The bodyguard sprints across the floor of the bar, sidestepping tables and chairs as he makes a beeline straight for Kraft. Boom! The first shot hits his lower chest, spins him slightly but he keeps going, the second BOOM echoes around the bar, hits him almost in the same spot, but he's barely slowing down. He runs up to Kraft, lifts an arm to strike, winces as he realises the pain is real and instead takes a punch to the jaw. With the momentum of his run and the sudden strike, he twirls into the doorframe, bounces off it and falls down to the ground.

Roxanne had been waiting for just this moment, her little pop gun out and ready to draw blood. Her aim is straight, laser sight drawing a bead on the orks back, two quick squeezes of the trigger.. pop, pop.. and the shots barely have the power to leave a mark on the armored jacket. She looks up at Kraft, comparing weapons, looks a little embarressed.

Further north, the injured bodyguard finds himself some cover, but the bartender is still nearby and he doesn't fancy being shot in the back. Raising his Ingram Smartgun, he sprays fire across the bar and the bartender is knocked back with the sudden rain of bullets, his body dead before it even hits the floor.

Taking the moment to find some different cover, Junior moves back to the doorway, puts his back against the wall to make as small a target as possible, shotgun raised upwards in front of him. "I got a better idea..", he calls out in reply to Kraft, "I give you fifty-k each /not/ to find the chips and you all walk away. All you got to do b'fore you go is turn 'round and put a few rounds into Ms. Wunter.".

More often than not it is easier to simply go with an extreme force instead of trying to resist it. And so Hek does just that. As the mercenary sprays him with burst fire, he absorbs the impact and uses the corresponding momentum to turn towards the other attacker who has placed himself between Hek and the bathroom where Kraft is protecting the Johnson.
Attacking without thinking, simply reacting he unleashes a flurry of hand strikes on the mercenary. Palms and chops and fists rain down on the man's head and torso. Some are blocked, some make it through the man's guard to hit vulnerable areas.

BOOM!
Ping?

Kraft pauses for a moment to give Blue a wry sideways smirk as her bullets massage the downed bodyguard, before he puts two in the man's head. Ever seen a watermelon explode? Neat, right? This is nothing like that. Too many bone fragments. Although the second -ping- has him lifting a bald eyebrow before he growls.

"Between the two of ya, slopebrow, she's paying more. You had your chance to keep breathin'!"

Hearing Kraft's response, Junior goes into a rage, he roars at the roof then steps out of cover and starts walking straight toward the gathered group of 'runners. His shotgun booms, fires a first shot at the nearest target, Hek, a click-clack as he sends the next into the chamber and another loud boom, the huge Ork steadily pacing forward as he fires.

Fully focused on dealing with the mercenary whose head just exploded, Hek is only peripherally aware of Junior's growing rampage. Unable to do anything but take the blast, he does so and then some. The pelts that would be so deadly to lightly armored targets are no match for the multiple layers of body armor and cybernetic augmentations that Hek depends on for his survival.

The transition from pistol to submachine gun does not go very well for Hek. Though he moves with the same sort of unerring confidence as he acquires and engages the targets, the results are not up to par. The weapon does its job spraying handfuls of lead towards the attackers. Its operator's aim on the otherhand seems a bit off.

The bodyguard quickly drops down to use the cover as bullets from Hek's stolen Ingram come flying in, ripping up the table and the wall around him. Junior continues stomping forward, a click-clack as he chambers another round, walks toward the advancing bullets. For a moment Hek considered the shots as missed, but the mind kept the body moving even as it was shutting down. With blood starting to flow from his neck, Junior coughs once then falls forward with his ongoing motion, a dead and bloodied mess in the middle of the bar.

False eyes turn past Hek as the Iron Taco takes shells like a duck takes rain. The old borg lifting that gun again, the laser sight lining up with Mook Number Three's skull - rolling slowly along a walking between a dead man's nose and the table top he's hiding behind. The explosive shell, however, pock-marks the table instead, throwing up splinters to fill the dusty air - followed by the concussive BOOM of the Deputy's bark. Muttering, Kraft pulls back into full cover.

Gretchen flinches behind the wall in the men's room, setting down Candy's Predator in the sink with a clatter of black steel on white porcelain to fish out a small strobe from a pocket…

With all the firing behind them, the patrons fleeing the bar speed up, sprinting out into the street and running in different directions. Gus, the dwarf, mutters, "I'm not gettin' paid enough for this..", and also gives up arms and flees for the exit.

The bouncer, previously using the door as cover against the Mercs, switches doors, pushes it out into the front bar, and uses that as cover as he aims at the nearest bodyguard. His weapon bucks in his hand, the first shot takes out a knee, dropping the Ork with a wail to his other knee, the second shot impacts with his chest and almost knocks him off balance, but he's tough; he's on his knee and bleeding out, but he's still breathing. Barely.

Hands slick with sweat, blood and water from wiping down her face moments ago, the German leans out from the men's room and tries to left-handedly lob the little strobe pack up toward the front bar. She manages to flick the little on switch, but as for her off-hand throw…

The flash-pak slips from her fingers and falls to the floor, clattering just outside the bathroom and blasting chaotic bursts of light regardless of the failed toss. She swears and shoves the door closed. "Goddammit!"

The bodyguard just shot by the bouncer rolls off to the side, drops onto his back under the table, throws his weapon off to the side. "I's done!", he says, raising his arms up in defeat, though only barely as the pain on his face shows straight through. Near the bar, the other bodyguard takes a look at the defeated Junior and decides he's not working for anyone either now; his arm reaches out from behind the cover of the wall, gun in hand, and lets the gun drop to the floor. "We's both done.", he confirms.

In the other room, Mackie's heavy thudding footsteps can be heard as he charges down the last of the mercenaries. "I'm out!", he shouts, you can just hear his weapon clattering to the ground, but Mackie confirms it, "Yes, you is!", and theres a thump as fist connects with orkish flesh, then another thud as the body hits the ground.

The reloading of that Deputy is fast; A damn near blurr of fingers as Kraft's thumb snaps the cylinder out, then loads bullet after bullet. Clinkshnt-clinkshnt-clinkshnt-clinkshnt-clinkshnt-clinkshnt-clinkshnt- CLUNK.. He spins the wheel on his wrist, flicks it to snap it closed and draw back the hammer.
Just in time to hear the last of them drop and grab some cloud. Grimacing, Kraft keeps his weapon handy as he slinks from the bathroom, fanning a hand upwards as the flash pak pops and sparkles. "Come on, Twitch, was the sparkler necessary?" He grouses, before he takes in the scene. And the grim frown pulls down on his face. "Bet your ass your done, tuskers."

In the bathroom, Gretchen can see the fumbled strobe module's erratic and blinding flashes shining under the small gap between floor and door, and she curses her clumsiness as she picks up the pistol from the sink basin. The lenses of her shades adapt with each flash of the little light bomb, but it's still enough to disorient. She tries not to look toward the source as she cracks the door an inch, shoulder shoved against the wall.

Commlink-ALPTRAUM> Gretchen sends, « Everybody good? »
Commlink-TightFist> Hek sends, « Yup »
Commlink-MALTESEFALCON> Kraft sends, « Peachy. »

The bar finally falls silent, the lack of music from the previously broken music player and the flashing strobe light from near the bathrooms creating an eerie atmosphere when merged with the smell of blood, weapons fire and the scent of death.

The bouncer keeps the downed bodyguard covered with his pistol; one false move and he's firing. The second bodyguard steps slowly out of cover, arms raised high above his head, slightly stooped forward, and hobbles to the nearest seat to rest his damaged leg. He keeps his arms well and truly raised.

Roxanne slips her popgun back inside her jacket, places a hand on Kraft's shoulder to get his attention so she can give him a respectful nod; no smile, not so close to the splattered brains of one of Junior's bodyguards. "You should leave, before security decides to sweep through.".

"The lady has got a point." Hek chimes in following Roxanne's suggestion. And as he does so, he begins to reflexively wipe down the grip and trigger of the submachine gun, despite the fact that he is wearing gloves.

After a few seconds, the bartender from the back bar also walks into the front bar; he looks seriously injured, blood staining his previously white shirt, a hole through the fabric that exposes another hole in his abdomen. How he's even walking is a wonder. He starts to move toward the storage room, a hand over his damaged torso.

It doesn't take long for Mackie to follow along; he carries an unconscious Ork beneath each arm, steps into the front bar and looks around, lets a whistle of appreciation slip. "Jus' takin' out the trash.", he explains, stomping toward the exit with the Orks.

Gretchen runs the water full blast for a quick second in the even that she gets ill in her attempt to force that sickening, tainted feeling into the back of her mind. Mana, to her feels like a foul oil-slick over the waters of the mind, or soul, or however the mystics want to describe it, but the end result is the taste of bile in her throat at the very least. She shudders, takes a quick moment to compose herself while staring into the mirror with her circle shades pushed up to her forehead, then steps out to retrieve the flash device and pry the single-use battery pack out. There's no recovering it, but best not to leave any evidence behind. On that note, she begins searching for a bottle of heavy duty cleaner. Bleach perhaps.

A quick bottle-hunt rewards the German with a partially used gallon jug of industrial strength Fresh Bowl(tm) which she unscrews the cap from and sloshes around liberally. First in the men's room sink, then she carries it to the women's room and gives it the same treatment, making sure to swab down the sink basin with a wad of Fresh Bowl-soaked paper towels. She slips her breather back on, lets it adhere to her features, then makes her way to Junior's still form while keeping her pistol trained on the bodyguards, twisting from one to the other. She sneers at the head of the entertainment division in disgust before committing to rifling through his pockets.

"Fair enough, Blue."
States Kraft, grumbling to himself as he looks over his shoulder towards Roxanne. Then holsters the heavy gun, letting that lined coat droop back over his frame when he's walking by Hek. "Got a souvenir, bub?" He asks, with a grin. Then it's over towards Junior's cooling cadaver, giving him the once over while Gretchen searches him out. "Gotta ask, rat; Was it worth getting killed over?" No answer. Dead body. Finally towards the back, where Gus had dropped -his- shotgun.

"… Been meaning to pick one of these up someday." He muses thoughtfully. Post-mortem looting is a Runner's bread and butter.
"We done here?" He asks the three, already tilting his head for the exit.

The bartender continues a slow steady path to the storage room, pushes open the door and steps inside; he reaches up near the doorway, pulls a medkit from the wall and brings it with him to the nearest table where he goes to work on himself. The medkit tells him all he needs to know. Mackie drops the mercenaries outside the doorway then comes back for the last one, dragging him by his neck out into the main bar, pausing to look at the body of Junior as Gretchen starts patting it down. "That's a mess.".

He's not kidding, Junior is a mass of holes and wounds, strafed repeatedly from rapid fire weapons he's leaking from what seems like all over. Patting down the corpse, Gretchen finds his wristphone - number 567-2384, the same number that Ferret gave outside The Aurora only a day ago. Has it only been that long? - A set of keys to a vehicle, invitations to the HSE party and a pocket secretary. Not to mention the weapons; a smartlinked Enfield AS7 Shotgun, a smartlinked Browning MaxPower and a Monofilament Whip. It's lucky he didn't get close enough to use that!

Roxanne follows Kraft out into the main bar, stepping over the body of a bodyguard as she goes, her nose wrinkling up in distaste. Not sure what to do with herself right now, she moves back to her table but doesn't even sit down. Then her thoughts start to flicker back into corporate land, now the battle is over, a hand going to her phone and dialling a number. No doubt she's planning to fill Urlan in on the details of what happened here and the fate of Junior.

Gretchen gingerly plucks a few choice items from Junior's caped and bloody remnants and passes off the tech to Hek before slipping to the weapon check to retrieve her belongings. She figures any important revelations that might come out of this scenario will stem from the ork's contact list and trixmail/text history, not to mention what Roxanne might be willing to share, but all of that can be done elsewhere, away from the bloodbath. "Johnson," she calls out, cinching her bag tight over her zipped up hoodie. "If you don't hear from us by the morning…" She lingers for just a moment but leaves the rest of the concept unspoken. There's still a lot of nasty business to attend to before sunrise…

Hek accepts the electronics and heads out of the club. "My kit is in the car, and I don't want to tear these things down right here with the law probably about to show up." He explains to the team as justification for his departure with the hardware.

Trying to fit his hand around the shotty just shows that his palm's too long and the stock is too short; It was made with a dwarf in mind, after all. Grousing for a moment, Kraft'll put it back where it was dropped and head out as well. It's not like he has to worry about fingerprints; He doesn't even have hands. Well, outside of those plastic-and-metal pieces. Although he does pause to glance over his shoulder as Blue starts doing calls on the phone, and smirk slightly.

"Been a blast, Blue. Let's try my place next time."

And out he goes, following Hek! Because Johnny Law doesn't wait around.

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