Globalemits May 2012

May 2012

Mon April 30

The Warrens has been a pretty quiet place for a long while. But maybe it only seems that way? That seems more reasonable, that people are simply distracted. Here you are, in your nice highrise condo, or your pissy little bar in Shenandoah, or maybe, maybe you're up at the Dungeon shaking your ass for 20 nuyen in corpscript and hoping to score enough to get a hit of NOVA before you go home. NO matter where you are, for about two miles around the blast zone, there's a shuddering boom that rattles windows - and it rises from Tir Llewn.

Later in the night, it will come out that Ratman John, a local burnt out street shaman was trying to commune with the spirit of a propane tank using a blowtorch.

Thats… not such a good plan.

It's not second later when pretty much everyone in Orktown and Tir Llewn loses their collective shit. Gunfire breaks out. Cause, the Orks think the Elves attacked (They are not master strategists), the elves think the Orks attacked (More rightly possible, as there's a crater where a building ought be) and quickly, everyones shooting at everyone. Well, kind of in the air too.

Tues May 1

The issues in Roseville are receiving attention. Media attention. The rough cut of Watson's documentary is starting to have clips leaked to the Matrix - and as fast as they are shut down by japanese deckers, they are popping back up. It's hard to say who's winning, but every posting is seen by someone. Acted on by someone. The Datahaven in Denver is lighting up as they track the electronic battle. The Japanese corps really dont' want this getting out. More interesting, is many of the people involved in this little digital dustup are not even Japanese, but American or even European.

A burned out school, riddled with bulletholes, a tattered and faded California State Flag hanging haphazardly from a broken flagpole.

A shallow of dirt that makes no sense - until you realize the tangle of roots is actually a maze of human limbs that have been uncovered by wind erosion.

An abandoned playground, the carrousel crushed by tank tracks.

A roadsign in Japanese, graffiti-painted with white letters that say 'ENGLISH, BITCH!'.

A traincar, standing empty and open beside an abandoned prison camp, testament to no longer being necessary.

These are some of the clips that get out during this little electronic duel being fought.

Wed May 2

It's the day for big ships to move. The USS Dunkelzhan has pulled into port at Eureka. And by 'pulled in to port' we mean, parked off shore and is sending about 10,000 UCAS Sailors ashore for shore leave. The disembarkment is being done via helo and smaller vessels, as Arcata Bay is too shallow to support the massive supercarrier, much less there being a dock large enough to tie off to. Sailors remark that the Dunk could tie off to the entire city of Eureka, but that would just drag the city with the tide.

And what a time it is to be a big ship. Down in Corpus Christi, Aztlan… the USS Iowa is being readied for sail. How did Aztlan get a US battleship? You know know. The old fashioned way. They invaded the city it was docked in and stole the fragger. The story goes that the texans, the moment they seceded from the Union with the CAS, started refitting the ship. And that story is correct. When the Azzies rolled in to CC, they found themselves under fire from the largest artillery platform known to god. But all good things come to an end, and a team of Jaguar Guards took the ship after a long struggle. Something about a cook who was a Navy SeAL.

Anyway. After 30 years, they are getting ready to scrap the old broad, because they have no love for history. As such, she's being readied to sail.

Meanwhile, along the border of the Awakened Mojave, observers report a sudden spike in odd tree growth. Yucca brevifolia is growing at an alarming - and curiously thick - rate all along the border. Stands of Joshua Trees, a traditional denominator of where the Mojave begins, have sprouted in a dense, thick band that follows the entire border. Some 30 meters thick in places, it's a serious impediment to casual border-crossings.

Meanwhile, back on the California Coast, The Dunk has pulled out from Eureka and is headed southward at a steady clip of 20 knots an hour. This is a leisurely stroll, the sort of casual strut down the coast you do when you do not fear a single goddamn thing in valley of the shadow of death. Leaving from Eureka earlier in the day, the Carrier Battlefleet has sent word to Governor Gill that Admiral Chester Rozenfertz intends to sail into the San Francisco Bay and put to shore at Redwood City, part of the Are-controlled south bay. They should arrive in about… a day. If they stop in Mendocino to get a little crunked.

"Salad, Yukon, you are clear for a Field Goal." Comes the crackling sound in Ceasar 'Salad' Jiminez's ear.

Pushing the F-92 Baslisk Air-Superiority Fighter to full military power, Salad is pressed back in his seat. "Copy that, CAG. Moving to speed, pushing to Mach 2.3."

Both planes on the CAP for the Dunk rocket into the San Francisco Bay, sonic booms trailing behind them as trails of white vaporized water curl almost lazily behind them. Traffic on the Golden Gate comes to a halt as the aircraft go through the goalposts - the two upraised pillars of the iconic 150 year old bridge.

"2 points for Uncle Sam." Calls out Chuck 'Yukon' Madic as they curl south, over Treasure Island and head down the bay.

Thu May 3

Weather Forecast satellites over the Caribbean Sea report that Tropical Storm Elliot is poised to reach hurricane strength between tonight and tomorrow - as it makes its way across Barbados. It is expected to cross over the Dominican Republic with a category 3 strength, then turn north.

Fri May 4

After the events in Halferville, people expected there to be an execution or a trial or something. But the Sachverstaendigenrat of Halferville has been silent. Maybe that's because SysSigError, a decker out of Seattle has identified evidence that their terrorist has escaped.. and is now in Denver? Specifically, the tip is that he's in the Warrens… and there's still that big bounty out for him.

Down in Seven Hills, Leon Metzger stands on the hood of a battered GMC MPUV. The armored truck has seen better days, especially as the White Lion of Purity stomps across it. "You heard em, boys! There's a TERRORIST in this town! And if there's one thing I hate, it's a slotten terrorist! And if theres one thing I like more than bashing in a troggy skull, it's gettin paid to bring some leaf-eater to justice! GOOD JUSTICE! Let me get an OY!"

"OY!" roars his crowd of gangers.


"Oy!" they roar again.

Down in South Sunrise, the Horsemen are out looking for that fragger with the quarter million price on his head. Gritty Dawg and Billiums are moving with some other gangers.

"Naw naw naw. I'z a use mah share ta git me some crunka an den I'z gonna get me sum snagglefoofs'n drek. Why, you gots somtin better?" Says Gritty Dawg, walking with an outlandish strut and talking with his hands.

"Yes." Says Billimus, one hand stroking down his big black trollish beard "I, my friend, have somewhat more urbane and erudite desires than you. I have /goals in life./"

"Aawww yeah? Whucha do den billy? Whacha do?"

"I, my compatriot, shall have two women. At once."

Down in Fox Hollow, the Ironsiders have decided that Brother Jonathan's 5th street outreach mission is the place they know that Laz is hiding. It's a brutal fire fight, the superior firepower and coordination of the Ironsiders overcoming the Laymen deacons who were patrolling the shelter. While they don't get what they are looking for, the Ironsiders do ride off with a substantial amount of cash that the mission had been… collecting… for some reason. No one's really sure why.

Meanwhile, to the north, in Shenandoah… the Nightshades are stepping up attacks on the Saints. Is it related to the bounty out on Laz's head? IS it related to the smaller gangs recent alliance to the Sinners in the north? All that is known is there is chaos in Shenandoah as the situation rapidly escalates.

AS the Laymen take stock, Proctor makes a speech from the Fox Hollow Chapel, preaching not love and piety, but prayer and ammunition. The Laymen have declared war on the Ironsiders.

In the Warzone, Gritty Dawg and Billimus are hunkered down behind the hulk of a city buss, long burned out. "We done gone an gone geet DAYD!" says Gritty Bill, cracking open his Roomsweeper and slapping two new shells in, to return fire at the Blackboot Skins that have them pinned down with assault rifles. "Ain' gonna have no snagglefoofs 'er no goddamn wingdangers or no pussy! Goddamn it, I can' be dyen a'fo I had mah firs' pussy o'day!"

"Remarkably salient points." says Billimus with a level sense of calmness to him as he reloads his Ingram sub machine gun. "Perhaps we might offer this argument to our friends the blackboots." He pauses a moment. "LEON! GRITTY BILL IS GONNA SLOT YOUR MOTHER!"

Gritty Bill eyes Billimus. "Ah hatechoo sometimes."

"Well. Lets go kill some people and work out your rage issues."

In the Rez, literally, /in/ the Rez, there's a group of gangers that have decided that Haven has /got/ to be where Laz is hiding out. Members of the Slumdogs, they have cobbled together a little fleet of boat-car-boats. Old cars with barrels strapped to the sides and propellers welded to the driveshafts. They work. Kinda. One sinks on the way in, but four such cars make it into Haven.

But the place is mostly abandoned, it's owner having departed Denver some while back with most of his team. Looting the place, they pull out, setting fire.

For years, Laz has been a fixture in the Rez: renting himself out to slummers visiting the Dungeon for a cheap thrill or some other nefarious business, or as hired protection by local business owners within the neutral zone. Whatever connections or friendships he made there must seem threadbare now, as everyone's hopes are ignited, the hope of getting the hell out of this shithole to a nice clean apartment in the CAS, becomes an easily attainable goal. Street kids, vendors, slitches, whores (snagglefoofs) and tricks alike are passing out descriptions of this character and two things keep coming up: really fragging tall Elf with a sword. That's the word the Steeltide get and where do you find an Elf hiding in the Warrens? Where the frag else, slitches? The Goddamn Warzone.

Sat May 5

Down in the warrens, two elves in Tir Llwen were drug out by bounty hunting teams and beaten to death. Blackboot Skins are said to be responsible for one of the deaths, while it looks like an internal sub gang of the Silver Thorns called the BloodyPricks was involved in the second.

Sun May 6

Down in Fox Hollow, things were already brewing with the IronSiders and the Laymen. Up in arms already, the district is pretty pissed off. It doens't take much to set things alight. In this case, it's a cross-border incursion by Lone Star. That's right. A squad of 20 men in four Mob Masters roll through the Fox Hollow Gate and into the district. They take up positions along a blind curve.

Supervising Sergeant Tim Peterson has command, but he looks nervous. He's 63 years old, and this is his last rodeo. Either this goes off as well as Sorina sold him on it, or this is the end of his career. It's a make or break moment for this 35 year veteran of the force. Scanning over the streets and the buildings, some of the training he got in the CAS Marine Corps comes back to him. Fighting in Texas, house to house in Austin. Snapping out crisp, clear orders he puts a hand to his sidearm when he hears the roar of the engines.

Demons are coming to Fox Hollow.

Rice-A-Oni, the leader of this wing of the Go-Gang called the Demons, she's been fed some rumors. Looks like Brock has his ears to the ground and his tongue in the right places to get information where it needs to be. She gathered up some of her best riders and they went tearing through the warrens. Here they come, in to Fox Hollow. Chromed eyes narrow slightly as she rides - and she senses something is wrong.

But she's not really one to care. She guns the engine on her bike, roaring forward into the maw of the waiting police. It's an ambush, but the Deamons are much like honey badgers. They just don't care. What comes is a brutal battle, the sort of fight that comes once in a while, but is a good example of why the police do not come into the warrens.

Bikes skitter out of control, slamming into buildings, but the drugged up Gangers come onward like a wave. Gunshots, semi and fully automatic ring out. Calls by the police for back up go unheeded, as the police are in the warrens. The fight quickly devolves into close quarters fighting.

Supervising Sargent Tim Peterson is no slouch, he's a grizzled old veteran of war and peace as well as the veteran of the peaceful war called the FRFZ. His hands to either side of Rice-A-Oni's head, he snaps her neck. She collapses like a rag doll to the ground at his feet. 15 of his men are dead. 25 gangers are down. He feels… triumphant. Amazing. Powerful. Except for that spike of pain in his left arm. The way it travels up his arm. His hand comes to his chest as he sinks to his knees.


This is a very bad place to have a heart attack.

The world is full of shadows. The runners live in this twilight, the space between bright lights, the cracks of society where light never reaches. It can lead to a sense of camaraderie, a sense of us-against-them. It can make you forget that the cracks are full of mercenaries who are in this game to make money and not die in the process. Mercenaries who don't care about you - don't think you're worth a damn and will sell you out if it profits them.

The Wire, a matrix unknown with an icon like swirled, gnarled tangles of barbed wire, holds an online auction for information - solid, verified information - about the location of Lazarus 'Tonka' Jones. Bidding climbs from 1000 nuyen, swiftly to a ceiling of 30,000 nuyen. 30,000 nuyen is the value of someone's life. Their allies lives. Their home.

It doesn't take long for it to filter through the professional bounty hunters who are flocking to the area. Be on the look out for Alexandra 'Gemini' Beddleton. For Henry 'Knox' Rydell. Lazarus was seen in the Cranks not more than 10 hours ago and was maintaining a safe house.

Now is the time for fear.

Mission Hills becomes a war zone. Every two bit bounty hunter swarms into the area, looking for the easy score. The Sinners don't really know what the hell to do for a moment. There's too many to fight, too many start a fire fight…and there are people to the north and south who wouldn't mind taking a bite out of the Sinner's little pleasure pits. The Saints to the south have long had problems with the Sinners, as the Sinners use the Nightshades to try and keep the Saints destabilized. The Royals in Heather Gardens would not mind a little expansion, but they sit sort of pretty behind a defensible sector…

But that won't stop Ryan from suggesting it. He steps into Gabriel's office and outlines his plan. The Royals really don't have much interest in it, but the Saints are itching for a fight. Maybe they don't see that Fox Hollow to the south is already fighting, or maybe they think that will protect their southern flank as they shift gangers to the north.

The Saints head north, but… Gabriel's not exactly a leader in war. His orders are garbled at best, which slows their attack. His efforts are halted by the superior coordination of the Sinners, under the control of Sister Sinister. This leather clad dominatrix is not afraid to get out in front with her little command squad of ladysluts and joygirls. Once she sobers up that is. Realizing something is going down, she detoxes and gets into the fight.

The rumble is a brutal one, and both sides take damage, but it's not a spectacular battle. It's a distraction, another star in the sky.

Down on the southern edge of Mission Hills, Mafen is driving his Ford F500 truck. It's a big truck, but it's not exactly armored. So as he passes near a fight between the Sinners, Nightshades and Saints, a round lashes out, slamming into his engine block. Smoke and steam billow up immediately. Comms are down in the chaos, and Mafen looks at the terrain. He's not going to make it to Laz. Not nearly in time to help.

The Horsemen are a ways out from their home of Orktown, but they are following Steel. Steel's made a bit of a name for himself today, gunning down several SilverThorns up in Tir Llwen and bailing the Horsemen out of a jam. When the word comes in about Laz being in Mission Hills, well… they head on over. In force. The Horsemen dont' have a lot of high tech weapons, and they certainly don't have a lot of fighting smarts, but they have numbers. Oh god, do they have numbers. Knives, baseball bats and old pistols, they hurt when you have 5/1 odds in your favor.

Also. Steel. The chromed ork at the front of the pack doesn't use weapons. He just wades into battle, bullets ricocheting off his armor as he smashes into the Sinners. It's a bad day to be the sinners! Pretty quickly, Tycho's tactical genius (Hey, he's got 100 orks all walking in the same basic direction) have surrounded the Crank.

Wyvern tries to pull some of the heat off of Laz. She spreads some word through Henry Del Rey that it's Aztlan, you know, Aztechnology who's supporting Laz, and he escaped from the warrens last night! He's off in the Aztlan sector now. But the problem is, this lie, while seemingly reasonable, does not take in to account the propensity for humans to ignore information that does not play into their biases. They are baised, by want, desperation and effort-already-expensed, to the idea that Laz is in the warrens. A few people, only a few, drop off and investigate other leads… but the Horsemen, along with bounty hunters and other gangs, seem to be turning the area around the Crank into a warzone all its own.

On the Matrix…

The 'Black Cat' is a known name. Second string decker, but solid rep and with some powerful friends in the meat world. When he speaks, people tend to listen. Especially when he's dropping information and tips. He drops the tip that the magical elf, Lazarus 'Tonka' Jones was seen in Tir Llewn recently, hiding out in the old Perry Tower. It's a good, solid tip, and The Black Cat knows who to get the tip to to make it play.

But the problem is, there's a lot of tips flooding the market right now, and none of them are generating the kind of interest or clear details as the one dropped by The Wire. Some bounty hunters pull off to investigate this tip, the pickings at the Crank seeming a litttttle thin, what with so many people there… but it's not a considerable amount. The trix just doesn't reach your average street level ganger too much, so even as trained muscle leaves, untrained muscle swarms in.

Over in Heather Gardens… Ryan tried to arrange for the Royals to come down and hit the north side of the Sinners, along side the Saints. But the Royals and the Saints are no great allies, and the Royals make a lot of money on the Sinners. Still, the chance to take a lot of territory is attractive. Ryan makes his pitch, but Synneove, a leather-clad domme with some daddy issues, she leans over and murmurs in King James' ear. she smiles sweetly at Ryan, but at the end of the day, peace in Heather Garden's is maintained by King James' new friend.

Down in Tir Llewn, it looks like Snow and Fray have set up a little bit of a side business. Smuggling. A sleek Toyota elite with a smuggling compartment. Almost invisible, they say. They can get one person out, and they go to the highest bidder. In the tir they pick up a client - but people are watching. People see. Who's paying to get smuggled out? Who's got the dosh - or the importance - to worry about that?

With Fray in the passenger seat, loaded up and good to go, Snow sets out. It's a bad day, because, almost immediately, Snow runs into a road block of about thirty of our good friends, the Blackboot Skins. Two mercenaries, a flashy car and a hidden cargo. What /COULD/ this be? It smells like money.

Snow guns the engine, throwing the car into reverse as the roadblock opens up. The windshield on the unarmored sportscar shatters, glass spraying in the passenger cabin as she steers from over her shoulder. "Frag frag frag frag!" Says she, whipping the car around, the front end pivoting around the ass end.

Fray calmly loads shell after shell into his combat shot gun. "You. Have a filthy mouth."

What comes next, is an epic car chase. Whirling the car back and roaring down the road, Snow takes the lead. The Blackboot SKins pour after her in their trucks, firing rounds - but really, it's hard to fire from a truck. Bullet's shatter the back window, as Snow weaves in and out of obstacles, taking the sidewalk, the street, and once, even the inside of a warehouse for her escape vectors. The woman can drive, maybe give Starks or Bsyde a run for there money.

But what the Elite lacks, is staying power. She has to avoid obstacles the Blackboots just drive through or over in their trucks. "Can't do this for long, Hardball!" shouts Snow to Fray.

Snapping a final round into his shotgun, a round with a gunmetal grey ring of paint around it, he just smiles, rolling down the window. "Give me a drift curve, three seconds of exposure."

"Right," says Snow, downshifting for power. The car roars as she floors it… "Curve in 3.. 2.. 1.." And then the car powers into a picture perfect, holo-vid powered slide. Wheels pointed the right direction, smoke rising up from the tires, the car glides around the corner.

Fray's shotgun reports - a cannon in a small space, but the AV round slams into the hood of the lead blackboot truck, the vehicle jerking to the side, hitting a dumpster and flipping over into the road. Skinheads have a bad day as their friends run right over them.

In the end, Fray and Snow get out of the Warrens, heading into Heather Gardens and then out into the CAS. The border guard gives them a hard look over, but really, it's the warrens. Bullet riddled vehicles coming out is not so much the problem as them going in. They pull off a while later, and check on their cargo.

And, you know. Here's a complication. During the fight, a bullet clipped their ward, and she's damn near bled out. Still, she's out and she's alive. So. There's that.

The Warrens are on fire. Aurora burns, both with flame and with passion. The Laymen fight the IronSiders. The Saints fight the Sinners and Nightshades. Orktown and Tir Llewn fight each other while Los Reyes Diablos fights against the Aurora Air Corps. King James and his neutral Royals watch this from the top balcony of 'the palace' with an amused sort of air.

Laz is trapped in the neo-warzone of Mission hills. Gangs and bounty hunters surround the crank, only moments from going inside, each fighting for some kind of position on each other. The gangs and the hunters all want Laz, so the fighting outside needs to settle down before anyone goes anywhere.

Sipping his coffee, Mr. Junjiro looks out over the sprawling warrens from atop the Bare Knuckle Gym. "Now. You see?" Asks the japanese man. "Mercy. It saves nothing. Mercy shown to Laz… and the world erupts into flame and chaos.

The bald headed black man next to him does not say anything, instead, watching the night fall on the warrens.

"Nothing to say, brother?" Asks Junjiro. "And to think. I did… nothing… here. I have done nothing. All of this, is avarice and greed. Where, brother… is your inspiration? Your good.. nature?"

"It is here." Says Mercutio, features calm, placid. "Chaos is a ripple in the pond. They all even out… when you stop throwing stones, brother."

Sun May 6

Ever reached out and smacked a hornets nest with a stick? It's not generally advisable. All the sudden, this big swarm of angry, buzzing, biting and stinging insects comes out and they all want to hurt you. Well, maybe you. You and everyone in the area. Everyones going to get hurt.

The Demons and Sorina reached out and smacked that hornets nest. Lone Star and Knight Errant are like brothers. Angry, jocular brothers who slap each other and try and make each other look bad, but brothers. And someone killed 16 cops in Fox Hollow. The police come to rapid high alert, with Fast Response Teams gearing up. They arn't going in yet - yet - but they are here.

Doc Wagon has suspended service to the Warrens, citing increased risk to crews and machines. Those with super platinum level service can still receive service.

Thu May 10

Meanwhile, down at the crank… Inside, Laz waits, pacing. Communications are hard, crackly and static filled between he and Mafen. One of the teams outside has deployed a Jammer to confuse and confound the other teams and it's catching him in the backdraft. Mafen makes his way through the warzone, occasionally challenged, but his ruthenium keeping him mostly safe, and his bulk doing the talking when it does not. Tycho has a bit of an issue with Magork the Merciless, a troll in the gangers he leads. Magork thinks it's time for a real man to lead, so Tycho shows Magork what a real man is. It's an ork made of metal.

OOC: The events with Mafen, Tycho and Laz (And any others who come in) take place directly after the flash point. However, they were delayed in resolution. Vulcan is handling resolution now and the storyline should wrap up in the next day.

Fri May 11

Tycho and his core team flow into the Crank. The first floor is like a whirlpool. There is nothing systematic about the search. This is chaos in its purest form - a nest of rats kicked over and scrambling not for safety, but to grab everything they can before they flee. The first floor is mostly bashed in already, and Tycho only breaks down one door as he searches for laz. That bounty is going to be his. Without finding Laz, they head to the second floor, a moment taken to crush a fallen elf's hand under his heavy boot.

Mafen is no where to be seen in all of this. Where is Mafen? No one knows. His truck was abandoned some half mile away, a round through the engine block. From there, the big elf disappeared.

The Crank is in utter chaos, shouts, whoops, hollers… sounds of doors splintering, walls cracking, and glass shattering. Its a free for all, and anything that isn't nailed down is taken, and anything that is nailed down, doesn't stay that way for long. Rick's apartment gets hit rather hard, everything either carried off or reduced to scrap, the place a royal wreck, losses and repairs totaling 19,015 =Y=.

Oh, Succubus. How appropriately named. When Mumpoker Grusagrig of the Riders of Mayhem busts down her door with a thudding kick, what does he find? He finds a smoking hot elf slitch all spread out on her bed, thighs wide and inviting. It's not subtle. Not even a little. His men file in behind him, and for a moment, Mumpoker doens't quite know what to do. Then his baser instincts take over and he drops his pants. What comes next does succeed in avoiding her apartment being totally trashed, but it comes at a cost. Succubus takes an S wound from the brutal gangbang that follows. Shadowrun is a nasty world. It's a brutal place. To say that it's not, or try to avoid it is to ignore one of the base components of Dystopia, which is an almost primordial reversion of man, the veneer of civility and humanity covering a bestial nature. And Succubus unleashes it in her new 'friends'. They only stop when she's no longer any fun - when she's too broken, too quiet and too wounded to be fun tormenting any more.

Up on the third floor, the sound of a door coming off its hinges marks the entry of the DevilDogs, a small street gang from South Central, into Wickliff's apartment. Wickliff's place has some good shit in it, but its already been evacuated. So they most they find are some personal electronics worth about 5,672 nuyen. Oddly specific, that number.

OOC: Those who had their apartments broken into were chosen at random from the list of people who rent apartments in the crank. Amounts were chosen at random from a range of 0-25,000. Three people were selected. The rest sustain negligible personal losses, but are welcome to +spend money and roleplay a ransacking.

Up on the third floor, Tycho moves along like a locomotive. A ganger from the Marlboro Men, a sort of western themed spiker-gang, charges at Tycho. Tycho's having none of it as he just reaches out and grabs the cowboy by the neck. The man struggles for a moment, and then Tycho's hand squeezes closed on the man's larynx. Crunch, then gurgling can be heard as Tycho throws the cowboy into a wall, leaving a bloody smear as he crumples. And then there's one door left. Tycho's men pull close to him, ready to storm in. This is their -prize-. They fought all the way here, and he HAS to be in this room. Laz is theirs, motherfraggers. Laz is /theirs/.

Up on the third floor - Tycho is about to bust in the door. He pulls back to shoulder-check the door, but he's distracted for a moment. Someone is flashing a damn light in his eyes. He growls, then orders his team into the apartment. There is too much chaos, noise and confusion to let a light distract him from his quarry.

Up on the 3rd Floor, Tycho's team comes into the room with a crashing of doors and a crashing sort of boom! It's very dramatic.

But there's no one here. The room seems empty enough. A quick tossing of the contents is given and Tycho starts to get PISSED. All this for nothing? And then three gangers pause, guns dropping into their hands and focusing in a general area of the room. Magic is afoot here.

But what kind of magic?

They won't get a chance to find out, because at that point, breaching charges go off from the room adjacent, and Vimson's Volares enter the room. A small mercenary/bounty hunting unit formed in the UCAS, they usualy operate out of Ohio, they were in the area for other business as yet unspecified. "Take em down!" Calls out Vimson himself, cigar clenched in his teeth. "Secure that man!"

Guns chatter, a battle breaking out as Tycho and his orks take cover. But lets be real. It's gangers against hardened agents. Gangers start to fall, and it looks like Tycho's gonna have a hard moment of reality about to come his way.

Shit looks bad for Tycho. Smoke and confusion, screaming and chaos. Dying times here. Magork the Merceless takes a shotgun blast to the chest, then slumps over, sprawling on the ground. Wheezer gets clipped in the face, spinning twice then hitting the back wall in a spray of blood. Rounds slam into tycho, and yeah, he's in good armor and he's got ballistic plating, but that shit adds up. He stumbles back, trying to return fire in the confusion.

Red. Someone sees red. Lances of red like laser beams. They light up the room as Mafen drops his camoflauge and wades into combat. Like a tank in his armor, the full borg covers Tycho's retreat, dispatching shots at the Vimson boys.

If Laz was holding out for a hero, Mafen has arrived. The only question now, is what happens?

Betrayal's a bitch.

Tycho abandons the gangers, covering Mafen's retreat against Vimson's Volares. Smoke grenades in the hall cover them further as they slip out of the building. Chaos has unfolded entirely, giving Mafen and Tycho very few major obstacles as they evacuate from the Crank.

Laz, Mafen and Tycho make it to the north border of Shenandoah.

People in the Crank… don't seem to know. The fighting there continues.

OOC: That concludes this issue. Tycho, Mafen and Laz are as of 10 hours after the siege starting, in North Shenandoah. they are free to move about the grid - but Laz may not leave the warrens without a GM'd scene run by an admin. The fighting at the crank will wind down in about an hour, in which they realize there's no Laz - and where he had been confirmed at, Mafen and Tycho spirited him away. Tycho gains respect with Laz and Mafen, but loses it with Ork Town. That dandylion eaten fragger sold them out! Little Jake says so.

Mission Hills starts to calm down. It becomes clear that Laz has escaped - and though the Ork town crew is angry with Tycho, in the confusion and pull back from the battles with Tir Llewn, they can do little about it. The crank smolders, windows blown out and doors kicked in. But one good side to living in a shithole is it's already a shithole. Can't get much worse. People have lost money, have lost property, some people have lost their lives, but the warrens trudges on.

Remember the Dunk? Well. Ares does. The entire Carrier Task Force that surrounds the USS Dunkelzahn (CF-1) has sailed into the San Francisco Bay and has essentially taken over Treasure Island. Until about 3 years ago, Treasure Island was used as an internment camp. At that time, the camp was emptied and abandoned. Now the UCAS Navy is back. Saito has filed a complaint, but really, who's going to argue too much with the UCAS when it has a dual hulled, fusion powered airport housing fighters, bombers and it's own Division of Marines parked in your front yard?

Not Saito. That's who.

Sat May 12

Loveland, Sioux Nation.

Once, during the NAN war, the United States used this small town as a secret repository of ammunition and arms. Now it's the southern most bulwark of the Sioux Nation. Right on the border of the FRFZ, it's one of the most militarized borders on earth. It's impossible to get in and out of, for the casual runner. Garrisoned by the Wildcats, only the best would even consider it.

And the best is what the UCAS sends. Black helicopters that move as silently as the grave, they swoop in low on the remote mountain glade that once housed the Civil Defense Bunker used for storage. It's empty now, long empty, part of a game preserve.

This would not be an issue, this checking of old sites, if the STC had lived up to its obligations per treaty. But Kyle Haeffner, President of the United Canadian and American States… He can't sleep at night. The numbers from California pour in, agents crawling through that state now. He triggered an emergency audit of all stores and supplies. A top to bottom accounting of every ounce and gram of every weapon ever manufactured in this century by the United States or Canada. And thats what these men in Loveland are doing.

Or were.

These probing runs have not been unnoticed. And the pattern easy enough to read. While the Sioux may share the UCAS' horror with the situation in California, they cannot tolerate these probes. They are unwelcome, unlawful and they will be repulsed.

The battle is a running one, but in the end, the UCAS team is crushed. The Wildcats have preparation, location and time on their side. The UCAS troops are relying on speed and stealth. Only one man will survive this moment, carried away by sympathetic locals - which may seem oxymoronic. But as the sun comes up over Denver, a new shadowrunner, disavowed by his government will take his place - Grizzly.

Meanwhile, in Los Angeles…

Grillz sat back in his chair and looked across the bar at the entrance. The gringo came in and looked through the legs of a particularly unattractive stripper to meet the gaze of the orc gang leader.

Lt. David West of the Cal-Guard made his way through the smoke filled club and slid into the booth across from the orc. He nodded once to the burly meta and then again towards the two other large orcs sitting in a table beside the gang leader, his obvious security.

"Hoi chummer, jouz late…" drawled out Grillz, gold teeth glinting momentarily in the glare from the spotlights along the stage.

West frowned and shook his head, "I wasn't aware we were on a set schedule here Grillz." The gringo waved off the waitress who winked at Grillz and added a little extra sashay into her swing as she walked away.

West continued, "So are you and the Locos interested in the offer we discussed?" The military man slid an envelope across the table towards the orc. "Half in advance"

Sun May 13

Even under cover of darkness, eyes are everywhere. Electronic eyes, human eyes, meta-human eyes, they all see what happens to spite the darkness. It is one thing to recruit fighters to fight in a war, it's entirely another to recruit them from foreign soil and not inform that country. Call it bad manners, call it mercenary tactics.

The PCC calls it relocation of an unwanted element. The electronic eye watching this particular operation never sleeps and never blinks. Its red LED simply records and pans, without emotion, taking in the departure of certain elements from the East LA sprawl.

The C-5 cargo plane settled onto the ground at just after midnight. Its running lights were blacked out and it had made the approach through instruments and pure luck. The markings and lack of lights were important as lately at the Mountain Valley Airport, several planes had been shot down regardless of markings.

The rear ramp of the plane started to drop as it taxied to a stop and several large forms could be seen silhouetted in the green tinted light from inside the aircraft. As the plane stopped, the ramp hit the ground and a motley assortment of meta-humanity started to exit the aircraft. They wore a mixture of street chic and murder functional, gathering together in color coordinated clumps that only those with starlight imaging could discern.

Back in Denver, Ramon, the leader of the segment of Los Surenos 13 or SUR 13 that calls the Denver sprawl home, reread the message from his cousin Grill. He couldn't believe what he had just read and had to go over it again. His finger hovered over the delete key on the poc sec for a full moment before he lowered his hand. Frowning he shouted out of the small room behind the garage he kept as a stash house to the other three gang members standing watch out front.

"Hoi, joo tree get in 'ere. We got biz, Shorty joo get on a bike and roll right now back to dey casa and tell La Mina to meet me at da diner pronto eh." The predictably short human male hopped on a bike outside the garage and screamed into the Denver night.

Ramon went back to the message and frowned considering the implications of what he was reading. He understood the need for insurance in some things but why had his cousin and his gang the 8th Street Locos agreed to this stupidity in the first place?

Mon May 14

The large conferance room took up the top floor of Petro-CAL tower, central to Bakersfield. The tower had been commandeered as a faux command post by General Jace Gill and it is from here he directs the defense of Bakersfield. Currently it is occupied by the leaders of ten of the roughest gangs the Los Angeles sprawl could provide. They had been carefully selected - men who had ties to the central valley and beyond - ties that had been cut. Either by the Japanese, or more recently by select, special actions on the part of people who looked Japanese. Never let anyone say that Jace is not ruthless.

General Gill stood at one end of the conference table and nodded to each of the ten gang leaders. His spanish is fluent, as any good Californians might be. "Senores. Tenemos una causa unificada - sus familiares y amigos han sido asesinados, aplastados bajo los pies de la Orktown a Fresno. La ma tambien. Unamonos. No te puedo dar a sus familias atras. Solo puedo darle una oportunidad de obtener sangre por sangre."

(Translation: Gentlemen. We have a common cause - Your families and friends have been murdered, crushed underfoot from Orktown to Fresno. Mine as well. Let us unite. I cannot give you back your families. I can only give you the chance to get blood for blood.)

Kassandra stands on the north stanchon of the Golden Gate Bridge. The wind blows her hair in a beautiful sort of arc behind her. With her, stand the brothers. Junjiro to one side, Mercutio to the other.

"You are a curious addition." Admits Junjiro, eying the woman. "I expected you to be a man."

"Sorry to disappoint with my lack of external genitalia." Offers Kassandra, looking out over the UCAS battlefleet in the bay.

Mercutio is silent, simply observing as the wind jingles the bells of his outfit.

"Oh, not disappointed. Simply.. a sign of the times. THis world is so -different- than previous. So advanced. Last time around your kind were living in mud huts and poking sticks into things."

"The Wheel turns, Junjiro. When left alone, humans are very adaptable. Capable." Says Kassandra. "ARe you so adaptable? ARe your masters?"

"Oh." Says Mercutio. "Junjiro's masters… are very adaptable. It is what makes them so disastrous for mankind."

Tue May 15

Denver, FTZ: Warpdrive Tower.

"California's a lost cause." Says Kassandra, looking over at Johnny.

"I know." Says he, leaning back in his chair, eyes closing. "It's too late to do anything. Haeffners on board. The Media's catching on. All the sudden, the block we've been fighting for years is gone. Like fragging magic."

"Not Magic." Says Kassandra. "Coordination." She lifts a hip to sit on his desk, looking down at the human. "You were right. A coordinated effort at the highest levels. I still don't understand why."

"The answer is chillingly obvious." Says Johnny, steepling his fingers. "All around the world, you have nations rising that are metahuman or ethnic in nature. Tir this, Tir that. The Caliphate, the Black Forest kingdom, Awakened Siberia, the Mojave and Amazonia… Japan's racist as all hell, but even they didn't exterminate 20 percent of their population."

"I see."

"Yeah. I wish you didn't."

California Tower. Its image is synonymous with the modern San Francisco skyline. 150 stories, towering over the bay, it's visible from Napa to San Jose a beacon of power for the Japanese Corporations. The lowest level houses the San Francisco Police Department, deep inside it's cavernous basement. The mid levels are offices and corporate facilities. The top levels are elite housing for executives and VIP's. Self sufficient, in terms of power and most needs, it's nearly an arcology in its size and bulk.

On the 80th floor, Mario Pulliazo finishes securing the canister to the main AC outflow. The junction that takes high pressure supercooled air to the various floors and distributes it to keep the building at a steady temperature. Mario hits his radio. No transmission - just a chirp. A single burst that indicates his completion of his mission. Then, just as smoothly as he entered, he makes his way out. Down on the 40th floor, the 1st floor and also the 120th floor, men sound off.

Grizzly Bluff, overlooking the northern valley. Home of the Bear's Lair, the fortress that Theodore Gill rules from. The central nexus of California Command, all the Cal Guard communications in the northern valley route through it. Built to withstand any NBC short of a direct strike by a 10megaton warhead, the Bears Lair has long blocked the northern expansion of the JPC.

Theodore sits in his command post, sipping his beer. The reports from the south come in, and he reads them. "Sir." Says his communications man. "General Gill is on line for you."

"Put him on."

"Father." Says Jace.

"How are things in Bakersfield? You seem to be doing very well down there."

"As well as can be expected. We've secured ourselves. We've got supply lines and we're doing what we can."

"What's on your mind? Why the call?"

"I wanted to see you one last time."


CH3CH20-P(O)(CH3)-SCH2CH2N(C3H7)2. You can't smell it. Can't taste it. Can't understand it. At low levels, you may get a runny nose and never know you were exposed. Confusion and drowsiness. You might have rapid breathing and chest pains. Your nervous system is shorting out, misfiring and your body sends all the wrong signals.

Theodore Gill never really - nor does anyone in his command bunker - understand what happens. He drops his beer, the glass shattering on the floor as he lurches to his feet. He doesn't make it far as he stumbles forward.

On the view screen, Jace Gill watches, impassive, as his father collapses, then dies.

"End the call. Scrub it from the records." Says Jace, looking away. He's not inhuman. He knows what he just did. His brows flicker. Did he do the right thing? Is this really what's best for California?

His doubt passes quickly. Yes. It is.

Wed May 16

Theodore Gill was a conservative, slow to react governor of California. He always played the long game, which was good and bad. It meant that people could not see his overall strategy for California - and simply presumed he had no will to fight. But it also meant he had a plan and contingency for just about everything from the fall of Bakersfield, to what to do if he had fish for lunch.. to what should happen if he and his command staff were incapacitated in an attack or accident.

It's not that Gill had a great love for the civilian government and the rights of the citizenry. He did not. He was a soldier and a fighter, Theodore Gill. He was just fighting a war, not just a series of battles. It's that Gill knew that if he was killed - the time for the long game was over and it was time to throw the cards down and go all in. By nearly unanimous measure, the California Legislature, with pressure from the military, altered the California Free State's constitution to allow the head of the military to rule as president 'for the duration of the emergency'.

Several senior commanders in the north fail to respond to the call. Third in the list is Jace Gill. By telepresence from Bakersfield and Chico, Jace Gill is sworn is Custos of the Californian Republic.

Four canisters. 1st floor. It blows off first. 10:30 in the morning, during a shift change for the SFPD. Over a thousand police officers are moving through the 10 sub-terrainian floors of the main police department. Within thirty seconds, 900 are dead, and the rest really really wish they were.

Thirty seconds later - as the panicked last moments of the police alert the building to a problem, the canister on the 40th floor releases. Gas filters downwards, through vents and shafts, into every room of the massive skyscraper, and casualties are staggering among the corporate offices and research areas. The only floor spared here, is floor 39, a biological research facility with its own air filtration. Some 42 people survive unharmed here, and they thank every god they know of for it.

30 seconds later, the canister at the 80th floor blows. By this tme, the building rigger has realized something is wrong. Even though he's already dosed, and his body is shutting down, his mind is still sharp. Sharp enough to execute an emergency shutdown and diversion of the California Tower's ventilation systems.

This is a blessing for floors 60 and up of California Tower, but it's a curse for those people up and down Market Street where the heavy vapor settles.

Thu May 17

A phone call between Washington FDC and Detroit, UCAS.

"Dave, look. I don't know what game you've been playing in California, or why you've kept me blind to it, but we can't do this." Said Kyle into the secure line as he leaned back in his chair.

"Kyle. I understand what you are telling me. I can not deny you the truth that I have kept you blind. And I offer my apologies for this. But until now, I have been unable - for reasons bound up in our mutual benefactor, to reveal this information."

"You mean to tell me he knew?"

"Of course he did. WOuld you expect otherwise?"

"Why didn't he leave me any goddamn notes?"

"He left them with Nadja."

Kyle's response is… less than pleased.

"You know the saying, Kyle. Never deal with a Dragon. Now go be a white knight. That's your job. Go do it."

Fri May 18

"Now, blokes, what you see on the other side of the clearing here…" Says SavageMan, Steve Kirkson, Trideo star of the para-nature feeds, pointing to a North American Juggernaut. Sort of a cross of a Rhino and a pissed off armadillo. Known for being able to charge an M-1 Abrhams and usually win. "Is a the amaaaaaaazing Juggah'naught! Look at this beauty! Isn't she grand? See her armored plates, how they shift and… uhho, mates. Look - see her nostrils flairing? She's got out scent now! We better get outta…"

The Camera zooms in, and you can see that the Juggernaught in question -sees- you as you see it. "Oh drek." Says the camera man, starting to back up as the Juggernaught charges. You wouldn't think something so big could be so FAST.

"CRIKEY!" calls out SavageMan, turning to run, a terrified look on his face. He doens't make it far before the horn of the juggernaught catches him, throwing him back over its flanks. The camera falls, and all you see is the Camera's feet running pel-mel for whatever safety he thinks he'll find from a 5 ton armored monster.

Sitting in an office in the Chico State Capitol building (A converted office park), Custos Jace Gill sips his scotch-on-the-rocks with a sort of detatched air. Across from him, sits Kassandra Depavia - or Cindel, as the moment merits. "So let me understand you properly. You're here to tell me that you represent agents of 'various factions'…" You can hear the air quotes… "Who suspect I might have had something to do with the attack in San Francisco… and the attack on the bears lair. And you want me… to… what?"

"Continue what you are doing." She says simply - bluntly. "Your actions are in accordance with our own. Your goals serve our own. You are doing an excellent job."

Jace raises a brow, almost considering. But the seed is planted.


Later that day, as she makes her way into Los Angeles, Kassandra places a call. "The balls in play."

"Good." Says Dave, on the other end of the line. "He's too smart to not consider what we've said."

"Right." Says Kassandra, looking over the Valley. "And now he's going to look for strings in everything. Looking for our operations."

"But he won't find us. He'll only find Junjiro's strings."

Mon May 21

»> The Event Horizon is one of Denvers hottest Virtual Clubs, but tonight, its reputation as a safe place to meet was tarnished. At exactly 9:29 PM Denver time, the Horizon vanished. Everyone in the server was dumped and a few individuals had to receive medical treatment. Word on the streets say the power to their host went out, dumping a dozen other various trix operations hosted there. This was a secure server on a primary power supply. No one knows if it was an accident, or something else. «<

Sun May 27


It's been so quiet. So… deceptively quiet. One might think nothing has been happening there. But the truth is not nearly so pacific. Gill has spent the last few weeks reaving the government. Weakness rooted out, he says, as law makers who do not toe the line are thrown out of office under emergency powers. The Military command has been streamlined, and formerly powerful regional generals have been 'retiring'. It's curious, to see California go from a 'wait and see' stance as it has had since 2034 when they went their own way.. to one of preparing for actual war.


It's been so quiet. So… deceptively quiet. One might think nothing has been happening there. But the truth is not nearly so pacific. Saito is facing near insurrection in his own troops. Fujiwara has gained a great deal of face among the divisions of the Imperial Marines, taking on his own almost as much land as any one colonel holds. The Corporate money that keeps his empire afloat dries up, even as Fujiwara grows wealthy now on the oil of Bakersfield. Reinforcements and replacement parts for his divisions seem to be coming slower, with constant delays. California Tower, his stronghold in San Francisco, has to be abandoned… and burned. It's a beacon across the bay, a 120 story tower, an inferno visible for a hundred miles in all directions.

"You know." Says Admiral Kent 'Mason' Stone, commanding officer of the UCAS Dunklezhan… "That shit looks real uncomfortable." He and his command staff are up on the top deck, watching California Tower burn. "Hail the UCAS Gallivan." Says the Admiral, reffering to the electronics warfare vessel with them. "I want a complete and total shutdown of civilian communications. Let the military talk. For now. But I want all civilian transmissions. Matrix, trideo, radio, cellular service… Take it down."

"Aye aye, Admiral."

Quietly and without fanfare, the bounty on Lazarus 'Tonka' Jones, as yet unclaimed, is rescinded by the California Rangers.

Mon May 28

The sun rises over the San Francisco Bay Area. Smoke from the burning of California Tower lingers, a sort of haze last seen in the 1990s Great East Bay Hills Firestorm that consumed much of Oakland and Berkeley's hills. People wake up and check the Trid for the morning news - or try to connect to Pandorium for their music. But it doesn't work. They pick up the phone to call for service, and thats down too. No cellphones. Outside, drone vehicles that work in the night such as Garbage Trucks and delivery rigs are stalled in the street. Mass Transit is offline. The air is clear of aircraft. It's an eerie sort of calm.

It's not fair to say there is /no/ signal. At exactly 7:30 AM local time, the trideo comes back on line. It's a replaying loop of 'Angry Californian', a song from 2061, penned by Koby Teith, a little-known country-fusion star. The song's a big old warning that California's getting ready to kick Japan right in the nuts. And it was very popular… until people realized California was never going to do that.

But here it is.

In the Warrens.. the Bastille loses power.

The Bastille manages to get the power working again. It seems someone reverse charged the electrical current and blew out the wiring. It will be slow going for a few days, but things are back on line.

Tues May 29

Things in Roseville have been tense, with skirmishes breaking out regularly between civilians and Japanese troops. The Home Guard was brought in to handle the situation, but it becomes increasingly clear that they are incapable of - or unwilling to - put down these minor incidents with the fervor that the Japanese Imperial Command wants. So they bring in the Marines. A warning was sent out, in English and in Japanese. Cease all resistance or the mobs will be fired upon. What had been rock throwing by youth who knew no other way of life, becomes a tragedy.

Imperial Marines fresh off crowd control in San Francisco roll into Roseville. A group of young teens are congregated after school, at a park and are being playfully loud and brash. The marines tell them to disband and move along. One kid mouths off and a Japanese sergeant levels his rifle at the boy. Another teen, a girl, reaches for her cellphone to video the incident, but she never makes it. Thinking she's reaching for a weapon, the detachment opens fire. Six teens die in Rosevile, and what had been a spark will soon roar into a full fledged conflagration.

San Francisco Bay, for it's part, is its own brand of chaos. For 48 hours, the USS Gallivan, a naval electronic warfare platform 'accidentally' shut down civilian communications during a 'routine' test of its systems. Pac-Fleet Command in Seattle confirms that the issue as accidental and that Japanese attempts to eavesdrop on the fleet led to 'automated defenses' from the highly advanced naval battle group and advised that 'further attempts at interference from rebel or corporate groups would be met with force'.

When Admiral McMullins of Seattle was questioned about the seeming double statement, of both accidental discharge and 'functioning as intended', McMullins only said that 'someone had an accident, and a real bad day. Our boys are safe, our ships are secure. Next question.'

Roseville erupts.

Years of repressive rule by the Japanese have created a decided undercurrent of tension. Fueled by decimation of Sacramento's economy after the invasion, by the mega-corporate looting of the former capital city and with the diversion of finance and business from Sacramento to to San Francisco, the tension boils over with the deaths of the Rand Park Six. Unemployment is rampant, especially among anglo youth. Japanese businesses are targeted, exclusive businesses catering to the marines and the corporate officials that oversee most of the economy. Fires break out across town as mobs form. Fury so long stored - fury not only at the Japanese, but the metahuman, the Indian, the dragon and the desert, fury at the Latino, at the very Earth itself for its insolidity.

California is a cauldron of anger that has simmered since 1850. Minor moments of flareup has happened, such a race riots, firestorms and earthquakes, but nothing like what starts to unfold in Roseville… and spread. Like the firestorm of the east bay, this riot spreads. From Roseville to Auburn and Citrus Heights. From there to Sacramento and down to Stockton. You can kick a dog only so long, before it turns back into a wolf. And the moment it happens, is a moment too late to stop it.

On treasure Island…

"Sir." Says Commander James Fulton of the USS Dunk. "The JCS Saiyen, a guided Missile Frigate has just left her slip in Monterey and seems to be headed this way. ETA is 4 hours."

"I see." Says the Admiral. "Thats an awfully small saber to rattle. I think it's time to make it clear we're not rattling sabers. Inform Chico that per our previous transmissions, we are fulfilling our obligations as of… 20 minutes from now. Shut down the bridge. Put CAP in the air and put all weapons hot. Do not fire unless fired upon, but if something locks on or even looks at us with a cross expression, make sure there's nothing there anymore."

"Aye Aye, sir."

Yuba City, three miles from the Bears Lair Quarantine Zone.

"General Gill." Says a man as he approaches the protector and general of the Republic of California. "It's Stone."

Gill takes the call, closing his eyes. "General Gill. Admiral, what can I do for you?"

"You got your boys ready to go?" Asks 'Mason' Stone.

"Done everything I can. Bakersfield is still holding, but with the Desert Rats and the recent influx of irregulars from Los Angeles and from the UCAS… We can make a good press. Can you keep them from talking?"

"Oh yeah." Says Stone. "I think it's time to reach out and touch someone."


"Eh. You're too young. Light the fires and kick the tires son. It's killin' time."

"JCS Saiyen to American Task Force."

"This is Task Force Longarm. Go ahead, Saiyen."

"The Saiyen will take position off the Faralon Islands, outside the Golden Gate Narrow in approximately twenty minutes. Task Force Longarm is respectfully requested to embark from it's illegally held position inside San Francisco Bay."

"Well. That's fairly ballsy. And just how come our position is illegal? We've got a signed statement of basing from Governor Gill of California, giving us rights to this base here. It's a nice base, and I think we'll keep it."

"Governor General Kenji Saito requests you remove yourself from the Japanese Protectorate of California."

"The What?"

"The Japanese Protectorate of California."

"The What?"

"Comms, clean up this transmission. The Japanese Protectorate of California."

"The What?" (laughter in the background)

Tue May 29

To call the situation in the Golden Gate a standoff would be a misnomer. It would require both sides to care. ADmiral Kent 'Mason' Stone and Taskforce Long Arm, comfortably ensconced at Treasure Island, could not give two shits. 2000 marines have secured the island, while a full air wing of aircraft provide a certain kind of security that can only be reinforced by more than enough firepower to level the city.

The Japanese on the other hand, care a great deal. Especially as the riots spread through the entire Sacramento Metro area. Word races ahead of the fires, setting off the stirrings of anger in Fresno, home of The Akuma.

Meanwhile, in Northern California, Jace Gill looks over the fairly fresh forces of North Cal and eyes the chaos to the south. "Right on schedule."

"Indeed it is." Says Mr. Junjiro, raising a martini in salute. "All roads lead to the Golden Gate."

Wed May 30

Apparently sometime last night, Penny Dreadful returned to the Bastille. Something about bullets and magic and needing to keep a clearer, firmer hand on things…

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