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GM: Little Hawk
Players: Scrimshaw, Janie, Krissy.
Synopsis: Everyone likes Suzi, except the Humanis Policlub it seems. With a bunch of thugs roughing up one of his gang members, Gabriel decides to call in a favor to get the situation sorted out before it is escalated any further. The crew track down the Humanis thugs to the Soaring Eagle Bar and Grill out on the highway in Ute territory, and revenge is served with a side of good old fashioned Old Testament smiting.
Date: December 13th 2069
Sometimes, word on the street spreads surprisingly quickly. Especially when it comes to people who have wronged people who are considered 'one of us'. Young Suzi is one of those people who is most definitely 'one of us'. She's a charismatic young woman, a member of the Saints, who has a surprisingly good rep for being, well, pleasant and personable. Always willing to go the extra mile no matter who she is dealing with, whether she's trying to get hold of the next fix for her buddy, or set up a meet between people who can make each other very happy doing very illegal business. She's not terribly high up within the gang hierarchy, but she's a nice girl. Everyone likes Suzi.
And someone mugged her. The girls eye is swollen shut, and she's got a nasty cut on her lip. Still, word on the street is, she's not so angry about the fact she got mugged, as she is about the reasons for it. The exact reasons aren't entirely clear, but the overall message is clear; she wants people to hunt down these idiots, and get her goods back. Mostly, she needs people quickly, and, well, everyone likes Suzi.
Suzi is currently leaned up outside the Angel Pool Hall, with a few friends, drinking to numb the pain. All in all, things could have been much worse, but still, she looks pretty pissed off. Hopefully, the interested parties would be here soon, and she could get back to work.
Janie was just relaxing and kicking back at the pool hall after her Ordeal when Suzie came in, and once she gets the story out of the girl - and provides what aid she can - she's more than willing to help her get some of her own back. She tries to calm the girl down so she can explain in detail what happened.
It's hard not to hear about what happened to Suzi, when you're hanging out in Angels Delight, Shooting pool and shooting his mouth. A regular down there, Skrim is known as a trucker who comes and goes when he pleases. He steps outside when he hears the commotion, watching quietly, curiously, but armed crossed martially across his chest. Some one's gonna catch a beating on this one. Only question, is who's the motherfucker to throw it?
A big van rolls up. Like, really big. The sort of van that looks like soldiers might be about to jump out of the back of it. Currently it's white, with a sign on the side saying, "Hobo Bill's Mystery Meats" with a picture of a bearded dwarf giving a thumbs up. It rolls to a stop, the troll thrash metal going on inside ceasing just before the engine does. Krissy climbs out, and literally climbs down the couple of steps to ground level. She might not know the saints, but she does know a couple of gangers, and they all say that Suzie is chill, so Krissy is here.
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Centering vs TN 2 for "Centering against the BGcount penalty.":
1 2 4 5 5 11 = 5 Successes
«OOC» Janie says, "BGcount penalty removed. TN for heal spell is 5."
«OOC» Little Hawk nods.
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Sorcery vs TN 5 for "Casting Heal spell, force 3.":
1 2 2 2 3 3 5 8 = 2 Successes
While Skrim and Krissy start discussing what car to take and where to go, Janie carefully cups Suzi's bruised face in her hands, her eyes shimmering a light silvery grey as she pours Power through her aura into Suzi's, to remake what was damaged. While it doesn't do /much/ about the bruises, the bleeding stops and Suzi's lips heal.
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Willpower vs TN 2 for "Soaking L drain.":
1 2 2 3 3 4 4 4 = 7 Successes
Scrimshaw sets his pool que aside. He was discussing a car to take? Shit, he needs to keep up. He grunts an eloquent nod to Krissy, one hand reaching down to shift his manhood to the side. "Aigh't Gabriel. Who the fuckin' fucker gets the fuckstick fucked up their fucken fuckslots with a fucken vengence?"
Suzi waits until Krissy- the transport- turns up to really explain the situation. Though she's obviously happy as Janie heals her wounds. The split lip and swollen eye looking a lot healthier as the superficial cuts close up. "Alright, alright, look." She says, trying to calm down a bit. "Look, you guys know Jock?" And indeed, the regulars who know The Saints might just know Jock. A large ork guy, who has been hanging around a lot recently.
"Well, I've been handling a lot of orders for Jock, see? Apparently, these Humanis thugs didn't like it. They decided that I didn't really need his cash, so… when I was coming back from his place, they roughed me up and took all the cash I had on me. I… well, I don't really care about them, they are idiots but, whatever. I just want Jock's cash back. It's a matter of principle, right?"
Gabriel, who has indeed been hanging out nearby, drinking a beer, nods to Scrimshaw, and then to Suzi. "Like she says." He says, quietly. "Don't need to make a big mess, but, I'm not letting them get off light. Word is they took the cash and headed out towards Redstone, out Ute way. Don't want to think what they are intending to do out there, but whatever they have planned, they better be planning to do it cheap by the time you guys are done with them, alright?"
Skrimshaw grunts again, apparently it being his normal mode of communication beyond 'word-expletive-word-expletive-word-expletive-word.' "Ai'ight. Since she's alive and not all moritificated and gross, we ain't killen no one. Maybe break up a few nice tools, a goodly amount of dem bones be broken up, but no deaths. Sound kosher, or you want blood for bruise?"
Krissy returns Scrimshaw's nod with one of her own then looks to Suzi when she speaks, "Drive down there, get the cash back, take or leave the fuckers who did it. Sounds simple enough." she says then and takes out a rank-smelling roll up and lights up, "Figure I'm driving? There's enough room in my baby for all of you." She says, and thumbs back towards the mighty vehicle she arrived in. "So who the fuck wants to go split some fucking skulls?" She asks the group. She eyes Scrimshaw. "I'm not gonna kill anyone, but my baby has a temper."
Janie looks up from Suzi and nods. "No sense in escalatin' things that far right away," she agrees, then looks to Gabriel. "We'll be sure t'deliver th'message loudly enough that even Humanis punks'll figure it out."
Gabriel seems to consider the option seriously, but shakes his head. "No blood." He decides, firmly. "If we're going to grease 'em, it'll be for more than this. Lets keep things clean, there's no need to escalate. These guys are bullies. They'll back down after they've been given a bloodied nose."
Suzi, mostly, just seems happy that she's not in trouble for losing the money. At least, not yet. "They had a couple of bulldogs." She adds, helpfully. "About a half dozen of them on bikes, too. They weren't subtle."
Scrimshaw nods then, thinking that over. "Aight. We go in two vehicles. Your ride, my rig, and we run some fucken bikes down. We break a lot of shit, I break some noses, I kill anyone who uses lethal force and then we come back and have a brew." He cracks his neck then, canting the jaw to the side at an odd angle a moment before. "Sounds like a good days work."
Krissy nods her ehad then, "Works for me." She comments and then heads back to the truck, opening the back up. "Whoevers riding with me, get the fuck in."
"Simple, straightforward, to th'point," Janie nods. "Sounds like a plan. D'ye want me t'ride shotgun on ye?" she asks Scrimshaw.
You paged Scrimshaw with 'Sure, it'll help me gauge what to expect.'.
Gabriel nods, "You have fun, I'll see about getting you guys some fair compensation. We get what they got on them, though. It's ours, mostly." He can't help but smile, watching the runners get prepared. Perhaps wondering if it wouldn't be fun to be going with them… but he'd left that behind. They could go crush some racist bikes and beat the hell out of the gang. He'd stay here, drink his beer, and worry about making sure his gang kept rolling on.
And Suzi would go sleep off the beating.
The gruff one nods to the truck. "Ayeah… you can ride bitch with me." he says, turning for it. "Mystery Meat!" he says, referring to Krissy. "Your ride able to take the heat from gang heaters?" He asks, refering to its armor.
Janie nods. "I'll get my spare ammo from my bike an'I'll be set t'go." She looks apologetically at Gabriel as she pulls her trenchcoat open and shows the concealed holster with the gun in it. "It's not that I don't trust th'Saints, ye understand - but these /are/ th'Warrens around here…"
Krissy calls out, "I don't need cash. Just get me a couple of doses of long-haul and some nova." to gabriel, before she hauls herself into the cab of her van. She leans out the window to answer the question, "This bitch'll stand up to anything short of a motherfuckin' RPG" she assures him.
Gabriel smirks to Janie, and nods his head, "You'd be crazy not to have something on you." He says, honestly. Then laughs at Krissy. "Sure, sure. I'll see if I can arrange something like that." It'd be tricky of course. Where would a fine, upstanding civilian like Gabriel get hold of some drugs? It would surely be a mystery for the ages.
Scrimshaw grunts his understanding back to Krissy. "Find me on RFreq 302.93 Modulating on an encryption key I'll send direct link." he says, opening the side doors on the non-discript white Ares Roadmaster. It's smaller than the GMC bulldog, but thats okay. It's also more invisible on the road. He gestures inside for Janie, then heads up to the front door.
Janie climbs in, then pulls out her taccom and keys the frequency Scrimshaw indicated and taps the subvocal mike at her throat.
Commlink-Mustang> Janie says, "Comms check. Ye copy?"
Krissy settles into the driver's seat, and then opens up the glove box. She sprinkles a line out onto the dash, and then snorts the white stuff up, leaning back into her chair. "Woo! Let's get this mothafucking party on the road!" She calls out, and then pulls the shutters down over her windows.
Commlink-Puckerface> Scrimshaw says, "Test. I read you."
Commlink-Krissy> Krissy says, "I hear you."
As the runners check gear, comms, and get that extra little edge they need (or may soon need, at any rate) to keep their wits about them, the Saints start to disperse a bit more, Suzi letting herself be guided away by a couple of friends to rest up, Gabriel disappearing inside the pool hall to refresh his beer and take care of some other business. When the trucks have set off, there'll be no sign there was ever a meet here. The kind of casual anonymity that the Warrens so excelled at.
Scrimshaw climbs in to the front seat of the rig, the windows darkening automatic, chromatic glass polarizing. He plugs the datajack in to the area right behind his ear. Theres a moment of disorientation as he becomes the vehicle. The rear compartment slides open to reveal the drone rack. The drones chatter through a pre-flight check, systems powering up then down. Ammo feeds ratchet in to place and sensors spool up.
"Puckerface Express Deliveries, No package to small, no fee too large. Ready to deliver an asswhoopen." he intones over the commfeed.
A young woman with mediterranean features that people could have sworn wasn't in the bar when they left waves at Scrimshaw and Janie before getting on Janie's bike and driving off to who knows where. Janie, for her part, leans back in her seat and gets comfortable.
The white van shifts to black. The logo on the side comes out now, a Fist slamming in to an unsuspecting mans face, teeth comically flying outward. The Company Name becomes 'Associated Service Sales, Wholesale Holistics, Oportunitically Objective Prices, Economic Nessessities.'.
'Best Rates in Town!'
Krissy settles back against the headrest of her car, and a little datajack that's poking out of it slots into her skull, and then leans back forwards a bit,d rawing some fiberoptic cable out of the ehadrest. She takes her commlink out of her pocket, and slots another datajack cable into the back of her head, feeding it into the port on the commlink, and then she settles back and closes her eyes, diving into the machine. A moment later, Krissy IS the car. The engine turns over, and then rumbles into life.
Commlink-Krissy> Krissy, Sounding Metallic, Transduced, "Ready to roll."
The white van pulls out after Krissy. "Lets transform and roll out." Comes Skrim's digitized voice. "You rolling drone cover, or you just the four on the floor?"
Commlink-Krissy> Krissy says, "Don't have the drone rack fitted on this one. I have Raijin in the back, though. I could pop the doors and shoot some folks. Don't know what ammo he has loaded at the minute."
Skrim drives onward. The drone hatch in the top of the vehicle slides open and a pair of rotodrones pop upward on compressed air jets. Once up, before gravity can take over, rotors spin outward on centrifugal force, providing lift and the drones are away. "Aircovers up. Patching Sensor feed now."
A large grey owl takes the opportunity of the open hatch to fly inside the vehicle and perch on Janie's shoulder as the young woman prepares to call on the spirits of the sky for shelter and aid.
«OOC» Janie says, "BGcount 0, so centering against Drain for a Force 6 Wind Spirit."
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Centering vs TN 6 for "Centering…":
1 2 4 5 8 10 = 2 Successes
«OOC» Janie says, "That'll count as one success on the drain test, assuming I have any regular ones."
«OOC» Little Hawk nods.
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Conjuring + 2 (Athena) vs TN 6 for "Calling a F6 wind spirit.":
1 1 1 2 4 4 5 8 11 = 2 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Conjuring + 2 (Athena) - 2 (Successes) vs TN 6 for "KP 1":
2 2 2 3 4 10 10 = 2 Successes
«OOC» Janie says, "Stand on 4 services."
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Charisma + 2 (Athena) vs TN 6 for "Soaking M drain, +1 success from centering.":
2 2 2 3 4 4 4 5 8 = 1 Success
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Charisma + 2 (Athena) - 1 vs TN 6 for "KP 2":
1 2 3 4 4 5 8 9 = 2 Successes
«OOC» Janie says, "Drain soaked. High-order spirits are /hard/."
«OOC» Little Hawk nods, "Nicely done."
As Janie hums tonelessly to herself, the breeze picks up and shifts direction, tousling her hair briefly. "We're set," she murmurs as she mentally directs the spirit to conceal the drones. No sense in advertising their intentions, after all.
«Plot» Janie says, "First service: Concealment on both drones. +6 to all TNs involving attempts to detect them."
The other van just rumbles along for now.
"Was the dark of the moon, on the sixth of June
In a Kenworth, pullin' logs
Cabover Pete with a reefer on
And a Jimmy haulin' hogs
We 'as headin' fer bear on I-One-Oh
'Bout a mile outta Shaky-Town
I sez Pig-Pen, this here's the Rubber Duck
An' I'm about to put the hammer on down…." Intones Skrimshaw in to the mic, falling in to place behind the other rig. He slides his consciousness in to a drone, jetting ahead at speeds far faster than the fourwheelers.
The road out rushes past around the runners. Drones and spirits float in the air above, and the addition of an owl into the rig does make things just that little bit more surreal. Still. At first… it doesn't seem like there's much to write home about. The plains and scrubland around the road and the mountains looming off in the distance aren't exactly the most inspiring pieces of terrain in the world, and there's little traffic to speak of.
The rigs soon pass a sign, though.
'Soaring Eagle's Bar & Grill'
Coupled with a picture of a native american enjoying a beef burger, it doesn't take a genius to guess that the racist thugs out for trouble had passed through here, though. The amount of buckshot peppering the billboard is scary, and it might just lead one to wonder what they had in mind for the real Soaring Eagle.
«OOC» Scrimshaw says, "Time of day?"
"Charmin' bunch," Janie murmurs.
«OOC» Little Hawk says, "Ah, of course. About 7-8pm, sorry, should have mentioned that. You've likely been driving for about 30-45 minutes out of Denver."
The ground rumbles with the passing of the heavy trucks loaded with 55 gallon drums of portable manslaughter. Pebbles jump and hop near the side of the road, dancing in delight to the chaos that passes by, about to be unleashed upon the unsuspecting thugs who had the misfortune to think themselves clever. As twilight finally claims the land, the black rigs massive rack of lights snap on, thought the driver doesn'tneed them. They are for intimidation.
Indeed, the driver of the black rig is high above, mapping the land and relaying information to the two rigs and the other drone.
«Auto-Judge[]» Scrimshaw (#799) rolls Intelligence for "Sensors 4, range of 16 miles on those babies. A few miles ahead of the convoy. COme on baby… daddy needs a new pair of shoes.":
1 2 2 4 4 5 5 7 9
The drone spots the building by the side of the road easily, about twelve miles out. The question is what is going on down there, and that is a question that is a little more difficult to answer from this range.
It looks like there are two vans parked outside, though. Not in the car park either- which is also busy- but literally stopped out the front of the bar. There are a few things which are certain about the bar, though. There's no immediate sounds of gunfire or people outside, that much can be determined through the ultrasound and standard cameras.
And Soaring Eagle's bar and grill, also, is not yet on fire. Which is also a bonus.
Scrimshaw relays this information, fed through his own orientation system for 3-D rendering and profile, back to the other vehicles. The Dash Display lights up for Janie, showing information where it's available, or projected data where it is not.
"We have a hot LZ. Repeat, Hot LZ. Armor up, bitchs!"
"Lovely," Janie murmurs before nodding at the owl, which hoots once before flapping its wings and vanishing into the Astral, soaring ahead of the convoy to reconnoiter.
In his view feild, which is at the moment, impressive, four icons pop in to being. 2 Van's outlined in solid black, showing armor status, with a variety of guages showing fuel, ammunition, health of occupants and so forth, and then two more for his drones. The drone takes a higher altitude, getting above small arms range to establish a stationary position from which to beam tactical data.
Commlink-Krissy> Krissy says, "Understood. I'll need to park up to jack into my RC deck. Didn't get the chance to fit the deck port on my baby yet."
Commlink-Mustang> Janie says, "Understood. We'll cover ye while ye set up."
Commlink-Puckerface> Scrimshaw says, "Pulling along side your rig. Mustang: Change rides."
Commlink-Puckerface> Scrimshaw says, "I'll assault while you get in position."
The black rig guns the engine, roaring forward and swerving up along side the other van. The side door clicks open then slides back, the howling wind screaming through the truck. "Come on. I've seen you do more awesome shit, 'Stang."
Janie grins at Scrimshaw. "Hold 'er steady an' we'll see how awesome I c'n be," she yells back.
«OOC» Janie says, "Athletics test to cross over? TN?"
«OOC» Little Hawk says, "I'm going to set that at 'Extreme' (9). 8 if they can get their rigs exactly matched up (diff. 6 driving test). And of course, Krissy really should open the door for you. :P"
«OOC» Krissy says, "Yar, I'll pose it fter the test :p"
Scrimshaw slides back in to the big truck, his feet becoming the tires, his hands becoming the steering… "Synch on me, Krissy. 59 KPH with a 2KPH headwind. Road is straight for 3 cklicks with traffic 30 seconds out."
«Auto-Judge[]» Krissy (#3862) rolls Car + Combat Pool: 5 vs TN 3 for "-3 form VCR3":
1 1 1 2 2 3 4 4 7 7 10 = 6 Successes
«OOC» Krissy says, "Combat Pool should have been Control pool"
«OOC» Little Hawk says, "S'fine. The numbers are the same."
«Auto-Judge[]» Scrimshaw (#799) rolls Car + Control Pool: 5 vs TN 5 for "VCR 1.":
1 2 2 2 4 8 8 11 11 14 15 = 6 Successes
«OOC» Little Hawk says, "Okay, perfectly synchronized, TN is therefore 8."
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Athletics + Karma Pool: 1 vs TN 8 for "Here goes…":
2 2 2 3 9 10 = 2 Successes
Krissy pulls her own van up alongside scrimshaws, matching his speed almost perfectly. There's a click, and the side door slides back, revealign the inside of the truck to Janie.
RPM's lower to 6603. Precise control of the vehicles systems, gasoline flows in his veins. Change the fuel mixture. More oxygen. Faster, hotter burn. More power with less RPM's. Precise… incrimental… control… And there it is. The vehicles are aligned so well their cylinders are firing on the same pattern. Perfect sympatico.
"Launch Fighters!"
The wind roars around Janie's ears, threatening to dislodge her hat as she leans out, gauging the movements of both trucks and choosing her time… And leaps.
For an eternal breathless second she hangs in between the cars, then her outstretched hand catches the top of Krissy's baby and she swings herself inside.
Commlink-Krissy> Krissy says, "Woooo that's some badass mothafucking shit. Hit the one switch on Raijin there for me. He'll take a couple of mintues to warm up."
The black Rig (Working for A.S.S.W.H.O.O.P.E.N Trucking lines) roars forward now, engine opened to full throttle. Another drone pops up out of the back hatch, putting a total of three in the air. The black truck takes off down the highway, intent on running some motherfuckers down, causing chaos, while the drones snipe from the sky. Mmm. Snipers.
Meanwhile, up ahead, a few things become apparent.
The first is that there are no magicians in the bar. Immediately obvious for the Ally Spirit. There are several individuals with various levels of cyberware, though. The second thing to become apparent, is that the group is big. Six bikes, two large vans, eighteen individuals in total, and they are just starting to leave. Entirely unaware of the ungodly apocalypse that was bearing down upon them.
They also seem to have decided to take a prisoner, that the drones spot. A terrified-looking Amerind bound and gagged, is shoved out the door as the thugs start to roll out on their own, taking it at an easy, relaxed pace.
Commlink-Mustang> "An' th'redhead sticks th'landin'," Janie chuckles on the comm. "Let's see what th'judges have t'say."
Commlink-Mustang> Janie curses as Athena relays her observations. "They're takin' a hostage. Countin' eighteen targets, no mages, some cyber. Looks like they're gettin' ready t'leave already."
«Auto-Judge[]» Scrimshaw (#799) rolls Pistols + Combat Pool: 5 vs TN 4 for "Holding Guy number one. Remington 950 rifle. 9s base damage. The situation is now different than at start, and I will be using live amunition.":
2 2 3 4 4 4 4 4 5 7 9 23 = 9 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Scrimshaw (#799) rolls Pistols + Combat Pool: 5 - 9 vs TN 4 for "Holding Guy number one. Remington 950 rifle. 9s base damage. The situation is now different than at start, and I will be using live amunition. KP 1":
2 4 4 = 2 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Little Hawk (#5711) rolls 4 + Combat Pool: 4 vs TN 4 for "Soaking 9D+4":
2 2 2 3 4 4 5 5 = 4 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Little Hawk (#5711) rolls 4 + Combat Pool: 4 - 4 vs TN 4 for "Soaking 9D+4 KP:1":
3 4 5 23 = 3 Successes
Now a new vehicle. The drone is light on the wind, it's not the heavy truck with its heavy armor. It's almost like being naked, a breezedancer with no protection. But… a big gun. The rifle servo's down in to position, the targeting reticule a distant mote. The sensors zoom in, then again.. then again… then again… Windage is 2KM south/southwest.. Distance is 100 meters straight down. No gravity interference… Wind Temperature is 42 degrees F. Speed at muzzel will be 1200 feet per second.
CRACK.
The man holding the hostage shudders, taking a jerky half step as the back half of his head blows out, splattering the ground.
Commlink-Mustang> "Switchin' t'live ammo," Janie murmurs into the comm as she swaps out her clips with the spares in her pockets.
The little icon representing the man just shot goes dark.
Joel goes down.
It's all fun and games until some poor bastard winds up with their head splattered across the floor. Sure. Joel was a racist bigot, and he'd been plotting murder, but, to these people, he was one of the guys. A friend, a blood brother, and they'd seen- and done- enough violence to know that he wasn't getting back up.
Five men, in total, had been outside, or almost-outside, when the gunshot had rung out. The prisoner. The two men dragging him. Another man with a beer and a shotgun over one shoulder, and, in the doorway, Billy. A barrel-chested man with the most 'ware of the lot. Most visible in the fact that his skin has a pale plastic sheen. Visible in the astral as just sheer darkness woven into every inch of his skin. He seems to realize what is happening much faster than the others, and immediately, he steps back into the bar. The others start panicking, but Billy keeps his cool. Roaring over the growing chaos.
"Get yer guns out and yer backs against a wall or a wimp, boys!"
The 'wimps' in question are the civilians who had been in the bar when the gang descended. There's four in total. A waitress, amerind, and three regular amerind locals- a young man and his wife, and an older, very, very quiet man. The place is pretty cramped with the amount of people inside it, though, and it only becomes moreso as they all try to get down and away from windows. Nobody wanted to wind up like poor Joel, did they?
«Auto-Judge[]» Scrimshaw (#799) rolls Pistols + Combat Pool: 6 vs TN 6 for "Hi Yan Tee, I am the Zig Zag Man!":
1 1 1 2 2 3 4 4 5 5 5 7 9 = 2 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Scrimshaw (#799) rolls Pistols + Combat Pool: 6 - 2 vs TN 6 for "Hi Yan Tee, I am the Zig Zag Man! Kp 2/52":
1 2 2 3 4 4 4 5 8 9 10 = 3 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Scrimshaw (#799) rolls Pistols + Combat Pool: 6 - 5 vs TN 6 for "Hi Yan Tee, I am the Zig Zag Man! Kp 4/52":
1 1 1 4 4 4 5 15 = 1 Success
«Auto-Judge[]» Little Hawk (#5711) rolls 10 + Combat Pool: 4 vs TN 3 for "Soaking 9D+2":
1 1 2 2 2 3 3 4 5 5 5 5 7 10 = 9 Successes
«OOC» Scrimshaw says, "1 more to soak it to an S."
«Auto-Judge[]» Little Hawk (#5711) rolls 10 + Combat Pool: 4 - 9 vs TN 3 for "Soaking 9D+2":
1 1 1 2 9 = 1 Success
The roar of a V-12 Engine is a unique sound in the world of today. On a road dominated by 4-cylinder compacts or electric cars, the deep, threatening rumble of an engine that large is generally reserved for trains. Or aircraft. But the black ASSWHOOPEN van is neither. It's just a big truck with a re-enforced light cage on the front and armor plating thick enough to stop a missile. Most times.
The van catches air as it ramps in to the air over a small pile of dirt, all A-TEAM and shit. IT lands with a bounce and the squeel of tires, twisting slightly before righting itself. The lights and sound act as a force multiplier for the confusion, which is only acerbated when the sound of tearing and rending metal is heard. A Harley Davidson Scorpion flies through the air, gastank leaving a trail of fire in the air as it lands with a thud in the middle of the gangers. No explosion, because belive it or not, its hard to make a gastank explode. They are designed not to.
The van continues its growling meal of motormetal, while above, the drone reorients in a whine of servo motors built around a single vertical axis. The attitude thrusters shift, giving a better vantage as the rifle aims down range. There.. The others are looking at that man. They are taking orders from him. The reticule tries to zoom in, but the overhang of the building is getting in the way. Settling the aiming divice over the mans lower torso, Skimshaw lets another round fly.
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Centering vs TN 5 for "For success, 2:1 if I have any actual successes.":
1 2 3 4 14 17 = 2 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Sorcery + 2 (Totem bonus: Combat spell) + 4 (Athena's Aid Power) + Sorcery Pool: 4 vs TN 5 for "Force 8S stunball, coming up…":
2 2 2 2 2 3 4 4 4 5 5 5 5 9 10 11 14 15 = 9 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Sorcery + 2 (Totem bonus: Combat spell) + 4 (Athena's Aid Power) + Sorcery Pool: 4 - 9 (Successes) vs TN 5 for "KP 5.":
1 1 3 4 4 4 5 7 9 = 3 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Willpower + Sorcery Pool: 2 vs TN 3 for "Soaking D drain…":
1 2 2 2 3 3 3 4 4 7 = 6 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Willpower + Sorcery Pool: 2 - 6 vs TN 3 for "Soaking D drain(KP 6)":
1 3 4 5 = 3 Successes
Janie slows her breathing as she focuses her concentration, tuning out the crashing noises as Scrimshaw takes out the bikes, tuning out the slight jerks as Krissy negotiates the bumps in the road, tuning out everything except the flow of Power, drawing in more than she can handle alone…
… But she isn't alone; Athena is with her, shaping the flow and sharing the burden so that it becomes something she can survive. Slowly - at least to her own perceptions - she gathers the Power, shapes it… And then opens her eyes and directs it at the crowd gathered before the diner, letting it detonate in a soundless, noiseless explosion that sends them spiraling into unconsciousness.
She grits her teeth as the backlash washes over her, keeping the energy from leveling her by sheer force of will.
Inside the bar, one of the other cybered members looks pretty intimidated. Ten guys just fell over, including a guy he knew was much tougher than he was, and there was no visible reason as to why. Another buddy has misplaced the back of his head, and if he isn't very mistaken, some bastard just totalled his ride. Or something had happened to the bikes, he was sure about that.
"Drek…" He mutters, looking to the others. Samson isn't a tall man, but he is… vicious. Ignorant, piggy eyes and a tattoo of a cross over most of his face give the impression that he is not usually known for taking the time to think things through. In line with that assessment, he pulls the SMG out of his pants, and smashes the window looking out to where the bikes had been with his fist. Leaning out, he is greeted by the sight of the truck, and the mangled, ruined mess of his beloved ride.
"… YOU ARE FOCKIN' KIDDIN' ME!?!" He screams, and then squeezes the full clip out at the side of the truck.
This has all the appreciable effect of the pebbles that had been thrown up en route.
Krissy's eyes snap open as the van pulls to a stop, and the tugs the datajack out of her head. She pulls her RCD out of the glovebox and then jacks into it. The drone that Janie activated for her earlier suddenly seems to loosen up a bit as Krissy's brain takes control of its subsystems.
The remaining thugs no longer look so sure of themselves. Samson might be going freaking crazy, but Billy was down, and so were most of their friends. Only five remain, and none of them were really as… committed, any more, to this whole 'lets go fuck up some natives' trip as they had been at the start of the day. "This's all Billy's fault." One of them shouts, suddenly. "It was his idea to come out here, f-fuckin' natives, got some sort of… spirit magic or something!"
Outside the front of the bar, there are five bodies. The man who had been taken as prisoner is down. One of the men who had tried to take him prisoner is down permanently, another two unconscious, one of them face-down in a puddle of spilled beer. The leader of the gang- identifiable by his more expansive cyberware- is also down out there, having fallen forward, though he's semi-blocking the entrance.
Inside the bar, things are chaotic. Most of the thugs had gone up against the front wall to try and take cover when Joel's head exploded. Those same thugs are now unconscious thanks to a wash of magical power. The civilians are huddling at the back, and Samson- a tattooed badass- is spraying bullets out of the side of the building at Scrimshaw's rig, which is crushing his precious bike, and those of the other members.
Krissy's van is taking up position out the front of the bar, and also out the front there are the two vans which had transported the bulk of the members out there. There's only one man who seems to still be keeping his head throughout the chaos.
Abraham is a tall, skinny man, propped up against the bar, with a combat shotgun in his hands. He hasn't said a word throughout proceedings thus far. If anything, he looks pensive. Things aren't looking good, and he's trying to think of some way out of a world of pain. Since no target has begun to present itself other than huge vehicles, however, this is easier said than done.
The van comes to a near stop, the handlebars of a pair of motorcycles caught in the under carriage and dragging along behind it. A front tire goes bouncing across the parking lot, to rebound off a Ford Americar parked yonder. The spotlights swivel, scanning the yard, then settle back on Abraham, bathing him in bright, brilliant LED white lights.
The external speakers activate… "YOU HAVE TAKEN WHAT IS NOT YOURS, ABUSED THOSE WHO CANNOT DEFEND. YOUR LIFE IS FORFEIT. BUT I AM A KIND GOD. A JUST GOD. I WILL SPARE YOU AND YOUR MEN IF YOU MEET TERMS. DO YOU COMPLY? YOU HAVE 3 SECONDS TO RESPOND."
A roar of the engine punctuates.
Commlink-Puckerface> Scrimshaw says, "Krissy, take out one of their vans."
Abraham listens, and winces. Frag. If the trucker had gone with something less… biblical, he could probably have talked the rest of the remaining guys down, but the reaction from the others is immediate, obvious. Even if they can't act on it yet. The shock and pure, impotent rage of the terminally fanatical shines clear on furious, skinheaded features. Abraham, for his part, decides that… given this, it is best if the rest of the group were between him and hot, lead-fuelled death.
"You gonna let him talk that way, Samson?" He drawls, "Don' much think no God'a mine ever took the form of a truck. Why don' you boys go out there an' show 'em what we thinka that, eh? I'll jus'… circle round, buddy. Get 'em from behind."
This said, smoothly, as he starts to slide along the bar, heading towards the window on the opposite side of the bar.
«Auto-Judge[]» Little Hawk (#5711) rolls 5 vs TN 4 for "Leadership test, listen to ole uncle Abraham, boys.":
1 4 4 5 5 = 4 Successes
Samson, with his cross-covered face, is bright red. Incoherently angry. There just aren't words to describe the level of blind, animal rage. How dare this guy? How DARE this guy!? Come outta nowhere, trash his bike, geek his buddy, claim to be GOD?! Aw HELL no! "YOU GO GETTIM ABRAHAM!" He squeals, shoving another clip into his SMG, the short, furious bigot comes charging out the front of the bar, and throws his arms open wide.
"You wanna meet God you son of a bitch!?" He shouts at the truck, "You get outta yer pansy fag van an' I'll send ya to meet the real deal!"
Commlink-Puckerface> Scrimshaw says, "Think I should oblige him?"
«Auto-Judge[]» Krissy (#3862) rolls Gunnery + Combat Pool: 6 vs TN 4 for "Shooting the Guy":
1 1 1 2 3 3 3 5 5 5 5 5 = 5 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Krissy (#3862) rolls Gunnery + Combat Pool: 6 - 5 vs TN 4 for "Shooting the Guy~KP1/12":
1 1 3 3 3 7 17 = 2 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Krissy (#3862) rolls Gunnery + Combat Pool: 6 - 7 vs TN 4 for "Shooting the Guy~KP3/12":
1 2 4 5 5 = 3 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Little Hawk (#5711) rolls 6 vs TN 4 for "Dodge test":
1 1 1 3 4 7 = 2 Successes
"Target Acquired" comes the metallic baritone rumble of Raijin as he levels his gun on the furious humanis member. "Firing Sequence Engaged." it says then, and suddenly a high-velocity round fires from the end of the rifle. It slams into the guy's leg, and the velocity tears straight through clothes, flesh, and bone alike. The exit wound is so massive it removes a big chunk from the middle of his leg.
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Centering vs TN 3 for "Against drain 2:1, another 8S stunball.":
1 1 4 5 7 9 = 4 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Sorcery + 2 (Totem) + 4 (Athena) + Sorcery Pool: 4 vs TN 3 for "Good niiiight.":
1 1 1 1 1 2 3 3 3 4 5 5 5 5 9 9 9 11 = 12 Successes
«Auto-Judge[]» Janie (#4136) rolls Willpower + Sorcery Pool: 2 vs TN 3 for "Soak D stun, +2 successes fro centering.":
1 1 2 2 3 4 4 5 5 5 = 6 Successes
Janie's eyes blaze silvery grey, her hair darkening and her features shifting as her Mask manifests, a visible artifact of the massive power she directs, bombarding the minds of the thugs still standing and battering them into unconsciousness.
And although Abraham had been close, in the end, his position is just as embarrassing as the men whom he had sought to use to cushion his escape. His face pressed up against the window he had been trying to get through, he jerks and jolts a couple of times, and then is still. Not a single conscious soul left inside the building, or outside it, other than the runners. Now all that remained was to get the stolen money and return to Denver.
The drone hops down from the van and then clomps around, checking all of the folks on the ground to see if they remain unresponsive. "All Targets Eliminated. Initate Search Protocols."
It had all been over so quickly, that was the really scary part. Seven seconds, and enough magic and firepower has rained down on the bar to reduce everyone in it to blissful unconsciousness or … well, some, aren't so lucky.
The three 'leaders' of the gang- Billy (the Badass), Samson (the Sacred), and Abraham (the Artful), are pretty easy to pick out from amongst their fifteen other followers. Billy lays downed, unconscious, in the doorway, lightly wounded but dazed and frazzled by Janie's stunbolt. Samson wasn't so lucky, and is missing a good chunk of his leg, unconscious and in a pool of his own blood directly in front of Scrimshaw's truck. Abraham, who had decided to try and cut and run, was cut down as he reached the window, and is propped up against the wall, unconscious and drooling.
Nineteen other bodies lay scattered around. Four out the front, though one of those men is dead, the rest inside rendered unconscious by magic. The civilians easily picked out by the lack of weaponry or armor on their bodies; none of them are really hurt, they'll be fine when they sleep it off.
Amongst the bodies stalks Krissy's drone, starting the work of searching out the goods that needed to be recovered.
Scrimshaw steps out of the Van, dressed in a black armored coat, a cigarette on his lips. "And lo, the lord god said that thou art cast forth from Eden, and in to the land of nod." He kicks one of the unconcious men with a boot, more of a nudge really. "Welcome to Nod, Motherfucker."
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