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GM: Viktor
Players: Croc, Critter
Synopsis: Croc and Critter forcefully deliver a vial of stuff to Armando of Jimmy John's Cheesesteaks.
Date: 14JUN70
Both of you wake up to find yellow courier envelopes slid underneath your doors. Opening them up you find a simple, cream colored piece of paper with writing on it. The writing is in a fine, calligraphic script and it reads, "Deliver to Armando." There's an address printed next to it. "He will know what to do…he may need convincing. Tell him, 'the time has arrived.'"
There's a small bulge in the bottom of the envelope and opening it up you find a slim, plastek vial with a clear fluid in it. Taped to the vial is a credstick with three thousand nuyen on it. The paper promises 'an additional twelve thousand' upon completion.
Picking up the folder Critter looks at it curiously and she puzzles over the note. She looks at the vial and tucks that, as well as the credstick into her pocket. Popping the lock on the maglock she steps outside of the cargo container she lives in. She takes a few moment changing the codes before she goes over and scolds her guard dogs, "No sleepin' on the job boys." She does however feed and water them before she climbs onto her mini-motorcycle. She fires up the engine and starts zipping through the zone heading towards the address.
Checking the map, you find that the address is a location in the CAS sector. Checking out the satellite view, you see what look like a variety of smaller store fronts. Nearby are bigger office buildings.
Croc grunts, taking the vial. He stares at it all for a bit, first, trying to figure out if it is a trap. After ten minutes of staring at it, he takes the paper… rubbing a hand on his head… "Armando? Joo da fuck? Dat greasy spanish fuck I met at da Silk's party? Nah, Can't be."
He pockets the material and goes to put on some clothes that aren't quite as… street. Top hat. Big Coat. Pants with a minimum of holes… and the panther stays at home. The SMG gets tucked inside a coat, though, and soon the big troll is blasting his way on his Harley towards the CAS.
"Jimmy-John's Double Fried Cheesesteaks 'n Fries - since 2016." The address that you arrive at is a small, brick building, sandwiched in between "United Canadian-American Apparel" and "GAP-6th World." Passersby are quite frequent as it is lunchtime. Suits and shoppers walk to and fro, some stopping into Jimmy-John's. The sizzle of grease is quite powerful even across the street from the place.
Keeping her motorcycle helmet off, Critter kills the engine and steps off. She clenches her hands inside the thickly padded gloves before she walks across the sidewalk to Jimmy-John's. Rolling up onto her toes she reaches up and grabs the door knob opening the door so she can walk inside. Once through the door she allows her senses to shift to the astral as she takes in the place.
The aura of the place is a dense fog of green illness. You see many of the customers are in intermediate to advanced stages of heart disease. The workers, though, seem to abide by the age-old rule of 'don't use your own product' and are in decent health. The place, despite the aura of illness, glows with the ambition of many generations of owners.
To the mundane viewer, the shop is a small, shoddy but homey looking restaurant. It has just two tables that are currently occupied as well as a counter along the outer window that is almost entirely occupied. There's a Fizzy-Pop refrigerator with a much smudged window revealing a selection of bottled, carbonated drinks. There's a long line at the counter for people waiting to place orders or pick them up. A small hallways goes deeper into the building and you can see at least one bathroom.
Croc dosn't wear a helmet. Oops. But he's there, now, and shouldering his way into the building, towering over lesser metahumans as he enters… and gods help you if you look at him- in the astral. He's heading right for the counter- ignoring the line.
"What da frag?" a burly ork shouts as the bigger trog butts in line. "Who you think you are bub? Back o' da line." He jerks a thumb to the back.
Stepping to the side as people start to get hostile, Critter is much too small to be getting into a fight with an ork, much less a troll. She pulls her jacket a little tighter around her as she edges along the wall towards the main counter.
Croc gives the ork the finger as he keeps walking.
"You've gotta be kidding me," the ork, a long tusked, crag faced meta mutters. There's rumblings of anger in the line. A middle-eastern/mediterannean looking type man is working the register. He looks up, his nervous eyes wary of the large trog making trouble. Returning to his customer, he continues business as usual, eager to get as much money before this large man drives business away. Several similarly colored men in stained, white aprons work the kitchen behind the counter, in various stages of preparation of sandwiches, pizza and pasta.
Croc puts his hands on the counter, glowering under his top hat. "I am look for Armando," he tells the middle eastern man. "Are joo him? 'It is time.'" He looks back at the line, then back at the man. "Yo necissito Armando!" He hits the counter with a big fist to back up his point.
Seeing that Croc seems to be on the same job as she is, Critter walks a little closer towards him, she looks back towards the crowd as he slams his fist down. She swallows a little at the growing anger as she says, "Oh, I think people are getting angry."
Forced to turn and face the trog, the man working the counter puts up his arms in a placating gesture. The customer that was dealing with him sidesteps. "Please, sir, keep your voice down." He turns back to the kitchen and shouts something in Spanitalian. The both of you hear Armando mentioned. Glancing back to the customer he was helping, the man gives a nervous smile and offers the woman a discount.
"Hey frag face! I'm fraggin' hungry and if I gotta wait another five friggin' minutes for my fraggin' Dagwood, I'm gonna take it outta yer hide!" the ork is nearing rage and his face is flushed red. The previouslyl meek crowd begins to rally sympathetically behind him.
Croc points into the back. "Now," he says, beginning to step away from the counter… and then the ork speaks again, and Croc turns towards him, even the lovely critter forgetten. "Excoose me?" He asks. "Are joo talking to me?" He glances around, over everyone's head. "I don't see anyone else here. Joo must be talking to me." He stares at the ork. "Come, then, little tusk. Take it out of my hide. Swing once, and I will show joo what I do wif -joor- hide."
He focuses on the ork again. "Or havent joo got de dirts?"
She's small and she's dressed down, its not hard to be sneaky especially when there's a fight that looks likely to break out. Once she's around the counter, Critter starts walking towards the kitchen area, looking for people with name tags. If Armando was called in through the opening between kitchen and counter, he might be back here.
"Say hello to my little friend!" The ork snaps and lifts up his loose fitting shirt to reveal a very large pistol. He goes to draw. Two of the customers turn to flee madly and one falls to the ground instinctivly. "No guns! No guns!" the man behind the counter shouts, backing away, but it's too late. The customers eating at the tables and the counter are too slow to react…
Meanwhile, in the back, the commotion has finally reached the kitchen. Three of the cooks are watching the commotion in front. A fresh breeze blows through the kitchen, coming from the rear.
BOOOOM! BOOM! The ork levels the hand-held artillery piece at the trog, a little red laser dot winking on and dancing on his armor, freshly released rage in his eyes. The massive gun kicks twice and the equally massive slugs slam into the troll's chest.
Croc is moving as soon as the gun is drawn… but not to dodge. Instead, the big troll runs right INTO the bullets, letting them pound into his chest. He's bleeding already, but that hardly matters to him, just the most superficial of wounds as he lunges out with a quick combination of blows: a punch to the sternum, an elbow to the face, a stomp for the foot- quick, dirty, disciplined fighting, his blows featuring a wide variety of pain for his would-be murderer.
Croc laughs as he fights. "Your little friend is limp, little tusk. Now we dance!"
Taking the freight train of an elbow to the face, the ork shakes his head, getting an early preview for tonight's constellations. Looking back up at the troll he growls, "Da bigger dey are, da harder dey fall!" He leaps up to attack again, but the troll is faster…
Croc reaches down with a big paw as the ork leaps to the attack, grabbing a hand, twisting it up, spinning the ork around… and then drives an elbow down into the back of the ork's head, dropping him. He growls, picking up the pistol. "Dis is mine," he says to noone in particular, and then he looks at the man at the counter. "Or I will be pressing de charges. Comprende?"
In the face of the Super Warhawk, the man at the counter backs away. He looks like he's ready to break. Many of the customers have bailed or are on the ground, sprawled.
The scent of 'fresh air' catches Critter's attention and she feels the breeze against her neck. She frowns and she starts to run towards the back door, if there was an ambush waiting outside they might be aiming high expecting a troll. None the less she is as ready as she can be as her hobnail boots clatter loudly across the door.
Croc grunts. "Right. Den. I need to see Armando." He hefts the pistol- it's big, but it's still too small for his paws. "Now. Tell him "It Is Time," and El Cocodrillo is here to get him."
Stepping into the back office, Critter sees an open door to a back alley and the back of a man dressed like the rest of the cooks beating feet in the opposite direction.
Croc pauses a moment, and then he's vaulting over the counter. "YO NECISSITO ARMANDO!" He shouts, and hits the cash register, looking around with angry eyes. "WHERE ES HE?"
Backing away further, the former counter guy jerks a thumb to the back, "W-w-w-w-washing dishes…b-b-b-b-back there…."
Croc beats feet for the back, only causing minor property damage as he throws an arm out to knock some crap down- seeing the open door, he takes a leap of intiution and heads for it. "ARMANDO!" He screams again.
Spotting the guy running his butt off, Critter sighs and looks down. There's no way she's going to be able to catch him on foot. She launches a stunbolt and the shadow mask of Raccoon flickers on her features. She feels the mana flow through her and the energy lances into the man's aura. The strain from the spell flowing into him and not her as he staggers. The man keeps running and she says, "Well poop."
Step, step, step, THUMP the guy falls down on the concrete. Critter says, "Aha! Tricky tricky." She rubs her hands together and looks around getting ready to clear any trace of her mana use from the area.
Croc comes out of the back JUSt in time to see critter do the zotty-ness, and he puts two and two together…. he's charging after the guy and scooting him up, suddenly turning to look for somewhere to hide. Brawling becomes kidnapping! "We need leave!" He shouts over at
Croc comes out of the back JUSt in time to see critter do the zotty-ness, and he puts two and two together…. he's charging after the guy and scooting him up, suddenly turning to look for somewhere to hide. Brawling becomes kidnapping! "We need leave!" He shouts over at Critter, the first words he's actually spoken to his team mate today.
Sirens are approaching. You gauge the response team at maybe 6-8 blocks away still.
Looking up at the sound of the sirens, Critter says, "Oh, yeah, we need to go," in agreement. She looks at the guy on the ground and she asks, "Got anything you can carry the guy on?" She furrows her brows and she says, "All I got is my bike and it's too little." She knocks on her helmet as she says, "Can't keep him on anyway, he's too heavy."
Croc grunts. "Not Bikes. We'll pick dose up later. We dissappear into d' city for now… Dis way." He picks an alley and runs down it, searching for… sewer access!
Nodding her head, Critter saying, "Okay," she points towards the guy as Croc takes off, she calls over, "You wanna grab the guy?" She looks confused, not sure what to do. She hears the sirens coming as she shifts towards the guy and then in the direction Croc went.
Being well travelled Sprawl-rats, you guys easily find a way through a nearby alley system to escape from the encroaching heat.
Croc scoops the guy up and throws him over his shoulder. He dips into nearby alleys, getting distance, first- and then he'll start looking for an out-of the way bit of darkness to tort… ask polite questions of this poor bastard. "Good job wid' da' woojoo," he tells the critter. "Can't believe dat tusker was busting my balls. Isn't da world hard enough for goblins widdout us hating on eachother? Da man -wants- us to fight. After da job, can I eat dis guy?"
Blinking as she tries to keep up, Critter says, "I think we kinda got to keep the guy alive." She looks over her shoulder as she runs, she points towards a trog sized manhole and she says, "We can go down there, but you might need to carry me too if the water is too deep."
Croc looks down. "Right," he says. "here, keep dis safe…" he passes it to critter… "And ride up here." He puts her on his other shoulder, and bends down to pry open the manhole cover. Once that's clear… he'll jump, a prisoner over one shoulder and a critter on the other.
Manhole to sewer. Sloshing, squeaking and skittering, once the smell hits you immediately regret this decision. Fortunately, for you, there's a nearby platform for a drainage control subsystem just down the rungs of the ladder. All three of you can fit.
Croc says "Dis doesn't smell -dat- bad. You shoulda seen da sewers in Tenochitlan. Enough smell to turn my hair blue." He lays down 'armando' and starts rifling the pocket. "What was joor name? clitter?"
Fishing around in pack, pulling out a respirator and she says, "Don't be pervy," as she fits it over her face. She looks down at Croc and she says, "Few letters different and your name is funny too." She feels better now with the filtered air and she says, "Critter," so he will know.
Croc blinks. "What? What did I say?" He looks down at the prisoner, pops a hand blade, and pokes the fellow in the bottom of the foot. Time to see if he wakes easy!
Looking over as Croc pokes the guy's foot she says, "No, no, do this." She leans around the troll, hanging onto a horn like a monkey. She swat's the guy on the knee saying, "Time for work!"
…..zzzZZzzz….
Croc grunts. He tries dunking the man's head, next, in the sewage. That doesn't work… he hauls him up again and, sighing, fishes out a patch from his pack. "Stoopid bastard," he mutters. "Dis better be armando!"
A few minutes later…eyelids begin to flicker. Consciousness dawns on the unconscious man…and…BLARGH!!! A stream of vomit pours forth from his mouth as all his senses activate at once and he's overwhelmed. Cheesesteak gushing from his mouth he chokes before rolling over. He sees that he's cornered. He tenses up and stammers, "Wh-wh-what do you want?"
Croc ponders. "Such a question. What do I want. What do any of us want? Freedom for my people. Dat death of de wait man. A Chalupa. To taste de flesh of my enemies as dey scream for mercy. To feel de blood of tyrants beneath my feet. So much."
"Hi," says Critter from behind her mask, "I hope you're Armando." She looks to Croc's head and she says, "Because he really wants to meet Armando." She glances back to the man as she says, "Really, its kinda a situation. Its not good to lie." She wiggles her fingers and she says, "Because I'll know."
The man's head turns jerkily and his eyes dart around…escape…yes, escape from the extremely large scary thing and the equally scary in its own right, but more polite and congenial small thing. No. No escape…"S-s-s-si, me llamo Armando," he responds, unable to realy make heads or tails of the troll's many, unfulfillable requests.
Croc's eyes light up. "Good!" He says. "Ah, Armando. Es Beuno to meet you. I am de devil, and I am here wid a message." He points at Critter. "She has it. And be respectful. I hate humans, and have nuddin' but contempt for cheesesteak. Also, I eat useless people."
"EL DIABOLO!!!" the man cries and reaches into his thin, white t-shirt to withdraw a faux-golden cross. He kisses it and crosses himself many times, feeling as if he has finally made sense of the situation. He looks to the small goblin, the lesser daemon, and waits for his fate to be decided.
Croc thinks Critter is trying real hard to be the shepherd.
Pulling the two vials from her pockets, Critter offers them over to Armando and she says, "We were told to give this stuff to you and to tell ya that the time is now." She waits for the man to collect the items so that she and Croc can go collect their pay.
Hesitantly, the man reaches out to claim the vials. He looks confused…"Two…two?" He seems torn between the fantastical image of what he thinks is happening to what he now knows to be happening, "What am I supposed to do with TWO vials?"
Croc says "Same ting you would wiv one, asshole," reaching out and grabbing the man's head. "Why? You want to give me a problem? You want me to find you tomorrow, the next day? Me? I'm da devil. I want to kill you. I want to taste your blood and give your body to the demons down here where -no- priest can reach you." He twists the man's head, aiming his gaze at Critter. "She? She is your only friend. She is giving you dis chance- TWO chances- to do what you need to. You fail… you have -any- problem- and you're mine. Forever. And you know what will happen Den?" He twists the man's head again, and pushes his face close. "Den? PAIN."
Cowed into complete submission, the man nods quickly, dropping the vials into his pouch. He kicks back away from the two devils and backs against the wall, furiously crossing himself. "I do eet, I do eet…order has not left yet…" Standing up, he backs away from the two to the ladder, climbing up chanting, "I do it, I do it, I do it…" He vanishes up into the street.
Upon returning home, you find another pouch under your doors. Credsticks. 12k. As promised. On the accompanying paper, "Well done."
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