Globalemits September 2012

September 2012

Sat September 1

Traffic in the UCAS sector today will be significantly delayed. Stories of elementals going wild in places like public parks or even destroying cars in the middle of the street have been spreading like wildfire and police response has their magical divisions working overtime. All traffic around the Wells Fargo building has been diverted temporarily due to a bomb threat. The KE bomb squad is combing every inch of the building but so far has found nothing.


Falloon and his entourage go over the week's agenda. The Deputy Secretary of Parks and Recreation interrupts the meeting: "Uh, sir, your 6PM with Mr. White has been moved so that we can - briefly - show our support regarding the California Free State…situation."

"I thought this was taken care of, Yanitz."

Yanitz clears his throat. "Ah, yes, sir, but polling suggests you should spend some time supporting minorities. One group in particular has secured a permit."

Falloon sighs and waves the man away.

Flyers litter Denver in a grassroots campaign:

The Tusk Liberation Front and the Affirmative Committee of Cal-Free Refugees will be heard this (( TBD: Flashpoint )) at 6:00PM at the Denver Fairgrounds!

Racial Justice! Refugee Justice! Corporate Malfeasance Against Humanity!

LET YOUR VOICE BE HEARD!


Mon Sep 3

Washington DC is abuzz. For the last 16 years, the UCAS government has been a model of stability and clarity. Kyle Haeffner's administration has for a generation, steered the ship of state away from the chaos of the 2050s, with Bug City, the death of the president, the Universal Brotherhood, the Corp wars and the Archology shut down, then the fear of the comet and the orichalcum rush. He has become an elder statesman, an unmarried paragon of UCAS virtue. But word is.. he's not interested in 20 years as the top man. People look to Daviar, the unknown still mysterious elf, former voice of Dunkelzahn and long serving Veep and Chairwoman of the Draco Foundation as the heir apparent.


But just who -is- Nadja Daviar? She's a woman with no past. No records. A slavic accent and a great dragons trust, but no birth certificate. A SIN but no school transcripts. A face but no history. Many parties have ignored her, focusing on the stability that Kyle Haeffner offered. But they cannot ignore her now. And despite 16 years of solid Veep work, she's as unknown as the day she took the job. The shadows start receiving work orders - serious work orders. The powers-that-be want to know who she is. Runs against the Draco Foundation, Tir Tairngire, the Ukraine and even Ares Macrotechnology come down the pipe as people scramble for information.


"NewsNet reporting live from WarpDrive Plaza, where actions speak louder than words." Inded, behind the professionally poker-faced reporter two massive earth elementals are wreaking havoc. The pair has already left a wide wake of destruction as the camera drones flit by: smashed cars embedded in second-story windows. Streetlights snapped off, their jagged ends pointed at the sky. Crumpled bodies in bloody piles. As one massive stone fist smashes into the ground, asphalt shatters and sprays like shrapnel, and even the reporter flinches. Two small knots of armored men and women at the edge of the plaza face the elementals.


"Knight Errant and Lone Star have both deployed to stop the carnage, and police sergeant Jeffrey Holtzman promises a quick end to the rampage." As if to put a lie to his words, two of the mages concentrating on the elemental collapse quietly, apparently overcome by their own spellcasting. The others scatter as an Americar is hurled towards them. "Even if they are stopped quickly, the damage could run into the millions. This is the deadliest elemental attack since—"


And there's a sudden transition to the network anchor. "We break from our coverage from downtown Denver with another story." Trid feed: a man wrapped in a bulky vest and surrounded by the blaze of sorcerous armor of explosives darts towards the entrance to the Wells Fargo building. The wide angle shows cops charging after him, the familiar sharp crackling of Ruger Thunderbolts filling the air, but the bullets seem to have no effect on him as he barrels through the front doors of the building. A close zoom shows little detail through the bright, magical glare. Wide eyes, wide open mouth. Two cops have given up on firearms and leap to grab him. One catches a leg, stumbles, falls behind. The other tussles for a moment, and the two go down. What happens next is hard to make out, but the man is up and running again and the cop stays down. Somewhere, someone is shouting, "Drek! Get mages, get the fragging mages so—"

Then the shouter is cut off as the feed lights up with the massive fireball exploding outward from the lobby. The two Star officers are engulged, and the others who were pursuing collapse as the shockwave hits them. Then expanding cloud of debris smashes into the camera and the view skews wildly upwards before flickering out. There's a moment of cursing in the sudden darkness before the view cuts back to the anchor The conservatively dressed, impeccably coifed anchor at the desk simply stares at the images behind him: a still frame of the expanding blast and an ongoing feed of the one remaining elemental staggering under a barrage of spells from the mages. The anchor starts to speak, clears his throat, starts again. "In addition to the elementals rampaging downtown, we have a magically-enabled terrorist who has bombed the Wells Fargo building. We will continue to report as these events unfold."


The one standing earth elemental swats ponderously at nothing. Parts of its tremendous mass seem to liquify and then solidy as it comes under assault from all sides. The blurry outlines of air elementals converge on it, and the flames of fire elementals begin to lick up its legs. Even as powerful a spirit as this can only maintain itself for a few seconds under the unrelenting barrage before it wavers and then vanishes. What's left is wreckage: broken cars, shredded street, fallen bystanders. But as the camera pans, it's also clear that for all the chaos the disaster was contained. The buildings on either side stand with nothing more than cracked facades. The street can be repaved overnight. The rubble and corpses will be efficienctly cleared in under an hour.


On the UCAS-ONLINE Trixcast 'The Vista', Barbara Godot interviews Mr. Mark Ryan of The Normalcy Party…

"So, Mr. Ryan… you say that you would favor mandatory registration for all magic users. Some would say that this is a form of 'first step' to internment."

"Don't be silly, Barbara. I don't think anyone has rounded up doctors, and they are stringently licensed. Or hairstylists, and they are regulated for public health and safety. Or perhaps even automobile drivers, and they can get a licence very easily."

"Yes, but your detractors would say that this is something those people -do-, which is regulated, while you are trying to regulate what people -are-. What do you say to that?"

"Well, that's a very good question, Barbara. And to answer, I have to trust that the American People, long after the explosive and dangerous appearence of magic, are not interested in unregulated magic, a genetic quirk that sets some people above the rest. I must trust that the American People trust in the spirit of the constitution of the United States of America, where All Men are created equal.. and if thats not the case anymore, then we do our best to -make- it so. Thank you."


"Ahh, General Colloton, Julio Rameriz, Aztlan News Network. Other nations, specifically the Aztlan Republic and Tir Tairngire have spoken loudly about their unease with the possibility of a Colloton Administration. The Aztlan Republic in specific called you 'a colonial saber rattling European oppressor and enemy of the people. What do you have to say to that?"

Angela stares down the reporter for a long moment. "I say that the United Canadian and American States do not give heed to nor do we care about the words of a nation founded on virtual slavery of its own people. Aztlan is an aggressive military power and infectious economic disease."

There's a bit of a stunned silence from the press corps.

"Ah… General Colloton! Julia Redman, Independent News Network. How would your administration handle the rogue General, Kenji Saito?"

"Swiftly."


Tue Sep 4

"When my daughter's school experienced an influx of Homo Sapiens Robustus from the inner city, many parents reacted with fear. But not me. Not my family. As a member of the Tradition and Purity Party, I reacted with civic responsibility and pride. I helped my school district set up separate but equal class rooms catering to the 'orks' special needs and abilities. We are a rational people, and we respond with traditional values and purity of heart. I'm voting Harold Ramis in November." - Trid Ad on Prime Time.


Wed Sep 5

Derek and Connor meet one last time at a Storage Locker Facility. Ceramic Weapons, grenades, remote triggers, gas masks, are exchanged for large sums of money. The Gun Fund complete. A tenuous truce solidified, separate, but equal.
Derek's contacts manage to convince Fallon's entourage that a photo op and 'soybeer summit' with TLF's upcoming event is "more than possible". Connor gushes praise, Derek slaps him. One final parting update: More meta-refugees have been "liberated" from Folsom in a shadowrun op and are en route to TLF HQ. ETA: Tomorrow.


"California. The land of dreams. The Golden Gate runs red with blood, while metahumans die by the thousands. What did the current administration do about it? What did anyone do about it? Nothing. A failure of epic proportions by the old guard. Too much profit for Ares Macrotechnologies and their bought-and-paid-for President. Remember California. Remember Bakersfield. Vote Colloton in 72." - Paid for by Mothers of Metahumans-CalFree.


In 2070, mana manipulation was linked to over 20,000 deaths in North America. In 2070, mana manipulation was linked to over 140,000 intellectual and property crimes. In 2070, mana manipulation was linked to every organized crime syndicate in operation in North America. Special interest groups want to convince you, the voter, that mana manipulation is harmless. They want to convince you to just lie back and accept that mana manipulation as the inevitable. To accept the rapid encroachment on your personal rights and safety by illegal mana manipulators. Reading your thoughts, rifling your memories. Compelling your actions… with no effective oversight. Vote for Normalcy. Vote for Mark Ryan." - paid for by the Mark Ryan for President 2072 Campaign.


"For too long in the 20th century, the United States of America bled itself dry, exhausting itself on foreign wars, foreign entanglements and over extended conflict and ill-fated diplomacy. When the awakening came, it had nothing left to defend itself. The world of 2072 is far more complex in North America, but still the UCAS continues to try to maintain itself. Federal Subsidies of trillions of dollars flow into the Seattle Metroplex that could have prevented the Chicago Disaster or rebuilt New York City. Trillions of dollars of military spending could be diverted to assist the poor, focusing on True American needs and True Americans." - Paid for by the American National Party and Michelle Diego for President.


HAKSAW NATION STRIKES! What follows is three pages of scrolling financial transaction numbers that show significant backing flows into the American National Party from… Aztechnology. It's all buried under three layers of corporate finance, but there it is. None of it however, is illegal and every dollar comes form corporations based, on paper, in the UCAS.


'Camp Panhandle', Far East Warrens: Two dozen urban camouflaged pup tents, razor wire, paid off gang bangers, and a store front church.
In a back room lit only by the glow of a trideo Caleb laughs, the refugee-soldiers laugh. They watch presidential contenders elbow each other for ideological room on the trid. Everyone will soon know the plight of their people too. A tied up and tortured troll munches on his gag. Caleb turns him to ash.
Caleb laughs. The refugees laugh.


FADE IN - A panorama of the White House Veranda. FOCUS - An woman of Slavic/eastern European features. Dark hair, dark eyes, a dusky skin tone that compliments here well, dressed in a business suit. "Who am I." It's not a question. It's a statement. "Everyone wants to know." PULL IN - FOCUS ON FACE. "I am Nadja Daviar, UCAS Citizen. Vice president for sixteen years. Sixteen years of uninterrupted peace. Prosperity. Economic Expansion and the return to greatness for the United Canadian and American States. Sixteen years of foreign policy that has our relationships with the world. Brought investment back to our manufacturing and funding to our education. I am a United Canadian and American States Citizen, I am an American. And I am confident that you will look at the last sixteen years and see a proven track history of excellence. That is who I am. I would be honored to be the next President of the United Canadian and American States. Lets change the question now. Who are we?" - Paid for by Nadja Daviar for President, 2072.


Early yesterday morning, there was terror at a local UCAS office building. At around 11:30AM, the entire third floor was locked down in what some are calling an aborded cyberterrorism attack. The exact target of the attack is unknown, as several local busines and political entities rent offices and meeting rooms at the complex. When the lights were shut down and all the exits locked by what is suspected to have been a professional attack on the buildings utility mainframe, many office workers and visitors feared for their lives.

"I was so scared." footage of one young man is shown, "After what happened at the warpdrive plaza, I thought there was going to be some kind of bomb for sure. I don't know what happened. Suddenly, the emergency lights came on and we got out the fire escape. This city doesn't feel safe any-more."

Knight errant forces investigating the building after the attack found one casualty. The identity of the man has not been released, but police say that they suspect he was involved in the attack. An autopsy revealed extensive cybernetic modification- including a cranial bomb, which Knight Errant believe was the cause of death. Knight Errant are continuing their investigation into the motivation and coordinator of this attack, and are opening lines to anyone who might have more information.


Wed Sep 7

"Michelle Diego, eh?" Asks the tusker as he looks across the table. "You really want the drek on her? Yeah… I know a guy. He can get you the paydata. You just got to know where to look."

The gentleman seated across the table leans forward, his hands folded on the surface before him, a smile pressed to his lips. "Start in Haiti. Zocolo Produce Manufacturers. That.. is where the trail starts."

"Haiti? I thought she was a UCAS citizen?"

"Look in Haiti. Thats where to start."

"Aight. I'll get my boys moving."


Sat Sep 8

The Warrens, back room of the Bare Knuckle.

Mouzone wants to meet 'The Money Man', Connor refuses. "You're old, making truces. I know you're no longer teaching at Denver Comm-College. /I'm/ the face of the TLF, /no one/ cares about you."

Mouzone's pet gorilla in an ork costume throws Connor around the place. Mouzone beats Connor with a homemade sap. Shotgun pellets slick with blood roll from a rubber hose.

Connor gasps. Connor whimpers and welps. He does the tusk triage tango. Connor relinquishes, "Okay, you're TLF Top Bananna, I piss in a bag for the rest of my life. Here's Derek's number."

Mouzone smiles. He dials. He gets no answer.


Sat Sep 15

Meanwhile, in the FDC…

"I have eyes." Says Mr. Blacke. Seated in his truck parked down the street, Mr. Blacke is awash in the glow of amber monitors and datafeeds, not jacked into his drones, but instead using captains chair mode.

"Very good." Says Mr. White into his commlink. Clad in a ruthenium poncho over his corporate security armor, Mr. White is across the street from the Party Headquarters for the New American Era Party. The security is impressive, with Knight Errant providing the on-site. "I've tagged four locations. Scan them for hidden security… they all seem likely points. Mr. Blue - do a sweep at high speed, do a roof run. We don't want to linger, but shake the tree for me."

Mr. Blue, the Adept, smiles just slightly as she starts her run. She hits the edge of her building, sailing across the gap of the alley without effort. She takes the other side in a combat roll, then comes up to her feet - fast and fleet - to dodge between car-sized air conditioning units and ducting. "Pressure sensors on the roof - laser trip wires near the doors." She calls out while running, sub-vocalizing for all the strenuousness of her. "Not top grade - it can be spoofed." And then she hits the other side, and is gone in a whisper of cloth, landing across the next small side street, atop another building.


Sun Sep 15

The next night, Blue, White and Blacke settle down at a table in the Fairfax sprawl. The dim bulb overhead flickers, but the rolling blackouts won't be hitting this cluster in the sprawl tonight. A cigarette dangles from Blacke's lips as he explains the layout. "Security is positioned here. Patrols are supposed to be random, at least four an hour… but these guys are overtime patrol cops, so they're doing it once every half or so. Going through the motions and relying on the buildings security…"


A little while later, Mr. Blue explains… "The building security is pretty good. Not the most impressive I've seen, but it's not bad. It's going to require an onsite datatap. It's not in my capability to do it that way."

"Thats why I'm going with you." Says Mr. White. "You will go in once I disarm the building's security through a rooftop jackpoint you're going to open up for me in the operational security."


Night falls on Washington FDC. Mr. White and Mr. Blue huddle in the shadows of the alley behind the New American Era building. Down the street Mr. Blacke is in his truck, examining the area through the eyes of his drone high over head.

"Guards are on the far side of the building. I'm sending the distraction… now." Says Mr. Blacke. A cellphone call is made with a mental impulse and down the street, a joygirl feels the phone vibrate. She saunters over to the two Knight Errant patrol men, and what follows is not pretty, but it is distracting and effective. The two cops slip into the alley with the joygirl.

"Distraction Deployed."


The security force is distracted in the most base of ways - the ways people forget still work depending on the situation. Had these been professionally dedicated cops who were not pulling OT to make ends meet… this might not have worked.

Mr. Blue, she makes her run, vaulting over the side of the building and then climbing the drain pipe. So fast and lithe, this physical adept. After a few moments, she comms back… 'All clear. Jackpoint open.'


Mon Sep 17

NEWSFLASH!

The New American Era Party has confirmed that during a breakin at their Washington DC headquarters, 'significant' documents relating to the Vice President and her service have been stolen. Though no casualties were reported, Knight Errant has confirmed that their security was bypassed and the breach is being assessed. When the WhiteHouse was questioned on the severity of the breach, Press Secretary Marlon Winston had no comment, citing an on-going investigation.


Meanwhile… over Aurora… clouds gather. Ominous roiling clouds, boiling out of almost nothing. The UCAS Federal Weather Service is baffled, and flights to DIA and Buckley AFB are being diverted. Lightning flashes start slow, but start to build up. Internal airbursts, the lightning does not fork down to touch the ground yet.


"Buckly Tower, this is Boxcar Four-Zero-Niner on approach vector. We need the strip and we need it now."

"Negative Boxcar, you must divert to Colorado Springs. You must divert."

"Ahhh… thats a negative, Buckly Tower. That's just not happening. We'll land somewhere on top of Castle Rock. We took a bird strike to one engine and she's shut down but leaking hydrolic. We're landing here, or we're landing whereever we damn well please. Copy."

A moments silence.

"Boxcar, this Buckly Tower. We copy."


"Boxcar Four-Zero-Niner, you will need to drop altitude to come in under that anomaly."

"Ahh.. no. Don't think we're gonna do that, Tower. We're flying dead stick as it is and if we drop RPMs we're going to stall, fall and then a fireball."

"sonof… Copy that Boxcar. Pick your course and punch through it."

"Remarkable plan, Buckly Tower. We're going to try it."

With that the Boeing 827 Stratolifter powers up its remaining engines - thrust pouring out as they try to make it through the storm as quickly as possible.


Tues Sep 18

"Boxcar, tower. We're showing increased electrical activity in the anomaly. Be advised."

"What the hell are they saying?" Asks Commander Mark Leifield of his co-pilot. "I can't make it out through the static."

"Neither can I. I'm going to try switching to—" The co-pilot never gets to finish his thought, as a bolt of energy lances out from the storm. It arcs along the aircrafts ion trail, slamming into the wingtip. Now, most aircraft are built with safety mechanisms, and this one is no exception. The problem is when you build to withstand a force of 10, and a force of 20 comes. A further problem when it's an exponential scale, not linear.

Boxcar's wing shears off at the joint with the fuselage. In the movies, this might be done in slow motion, with drama added and an amazing soundtrack. Heroic efforts will be made to pull up, pull up! Get to the chutes and the plane will plummet into some desolate corner of nowhere, a comical little mushroom cloud coming up.

But that's not here. Thats not Shadowrun.


What is Shadowrun, is what happens. No mage saves the day, no dragon swoops in. The wing shears off and the plane falls. IT does not glide, it does not carry forward. It just falls out of the sky. The broken wing goes spinning off, to slam into the Horus Man Primary School Building, located in South Central.

The building has long been used as a base of operations for the Crimson Smoke - and today they are hunkered back at base for the storm. The wing to the massive aircraft slices through the roof, slamming, still fuel laden, into the main gymnasium before it erupts into flames.


The rest of Boxcar 470 (For Real World Reference: Antonov An-225 'Mria') plunges downward gracelessly. There is no elegance, no final requiem for a doomed aircraft. No glory. There is only the long drop and the sudden stop that ends in a fireball. The main impact is in Seven Hills, a debris field about a half mile wide and about a mile long.

While the fireball was massive, it becomes clear that the aircraft ripped itself apart while it fell, scattering it's cargo across this area. What was in the cargo? It's hard to say… but they are all non-descript unmarked Universal Military Transport casings. Some large. Some small. Destined for a combat zone somewhere, and ready for paradrop deployment.

And now they rain down on the Warrens…


In the Warrens, South Central. The Crimson Smoke are - at least for the moment, entirely neutralized. The chaos that breaks out would be devastating if not for the draw of nearly every mobile person to Seven Hills. As such, those who fight the scattered, disorganized Smokers are other gangers, seeking to expand their territory.


Fri Sep 28

The Warrens, Orktown. As gangs duke it out, the Tusk Liberation Front continue to stay under the radar: The occasional liquor store hold up, low level hit jobs, scab work in sweat shops, gun running through the Nevada desert, mass snitching to Lone Star on competing and more authentic Ork activists. Local Street Samurai Hek gets into a firefight outside Krom's Stuffer Shack. Two Dead, One Escaped.
Word is that the "political action group" is nothing more than a violent gang with some serious firepower behind them and expensive backers.
Three weeks ago during a TLF meeting in The Bare Knuckle "Brother" Mouzone steps forward and announces he's the new President 'elect'. Their public protest is postponed, again, but somehow they manage a new one through Denver Parks & Rec. Flyers for Ork Rights. Flyers for a "Day Of Protest". Flyers chastising Faloon: Come join them.


The Warrens, Orktown.

Brother Mouzone and a few members of the TLF cleans pistols at a backroom table in The Big House. Metal Dave and the Horsemen at another table testify to the Horsemen way of life. The two groups ignore each other. Mouzone checks his silver wrist watch.

Ka-BOOM. A car bomb goes off outside! Glass shatters all around the bar, one Horsemen is gravely injured. The TLF and Horsemen run outside to look at the carnage. The perpetrators: Two Anglo-humans in good runner gear. One of the runners gives Mouzone a funny look before his face explodes. Mouzone blows smoke out from his barrel, "My Brothers, the human scum doesn't care about your borders. I offer you my political alignment." Metal Dave grunts. Mouzone counters, "And free drugs!" Novacoke and Cram spill from duffel bags.

The TLF make new friends.


Sat Sep 29

The Rez, Warrens: A large mixed group of Horsemen and TLF make their way on foot through the Rez. Drugs, booze, and general rowdiness despite the persistent rain.

The TLF chant "Ork Rights" while the Horsemen provide security. Placards are waved: /=Y= 4 WARRENS/ /NEXT PREZ IS WATCHING/ /FUCK FALOON/.

Elsewhere in an abandoned building, The Warrens: The rotund fixer known locally as The Other Big Jake breathes his last breath, the last thing he sees is a troll-sized ork of synthetic muscle and steroids. Brother Mouzone hits a button on a blood soaked cell phone. A man's voice answers, Mouzone gives notification: "We won't be using middle men like the last chapter President. You'll need to meet me." Mouzone hangs up.


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