Night City Regional General Hospital, Emergency Room | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:20 AM PST Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)


"Hey," Riggs says without looking up from his device. "Mr. Story. What'd this fellow look like who was airlifted by the AV?"


"Not much I can tell you. He seemed tall, maybe five foot ten to six feet, was wearing a nice suit, maybe a Si-Fuyen or something close. Was a good dancer, though he was kinda clueless that he was pissing off those boosters. He had dark brown hair, or maybe it was just dark, the hair looked recently dyed. Really all I got before the fireworks started."


Officer Riggs enters the information into his handheld and then studies the screen a moment longer. "That was a Trauma Team AV, wasn't it Murtaugh?"


"Sure was," the older cop answers in a distracted tone.


"Anything more you can give me on the victim, Mr. Story?" Riggs looks up from his agent and raises his bushy eyebrows at the wounded solo.


Pausing as if to think on everything, Casino replies, "No. Not really. What is it your looking for from me, Riggs? Who was that guy? Someone important, maybe wanted?"


Before Riggs or his partner could respond an auto orderly appears. Casino hates the things—always had—ever since he'd watched that old classic film about the killer robot titled, Terminator, or something. They'd made a number of follow-up films and had remastered the original into a VR experience as well. But, Casino, like essentially the rest of the world, was all too familiar with the concept of Cyberpsychosis and those who replaced too much meat with metal turning into their own versions of the Terminator.


"What's the injury?" a three foot tall vacuum-cleaner with a holographic round head displaying a smiley face on a round, yellow ball rolls up in front of the three men.


"Gunshot wound to the arm," Riggs explains.


"Would you like something for the pain?" the face turns into a wide-eyed expression of question complete with raised eyebrows.


Not wanting to let the two cops question him further and possibly cause him to slip up, he considers the risks of getting a pain shot. On the one hand, getting some morphine would be an excuse to act all drowsy and non-responsive enough for them to leave him alone. However, getting the shot, depending on the amount of pain killer used, was also dangerous as he could very well actually become drowsy or get hit by a painkiller/truth drug mix and screw up his storyline. The big solo had to admit that without his pain editor, the arm f-ing hurt and he was no longer as young or as tough as he once was, but he could be tough once as he ever was.


Sighing, having made a difficult choice, Casino looks at the robotic orderly through pain-filled eyes. "No thanks. I can‘t afford it. Unless this one is on the city police?"


Riggs gives the leather-clad solo a sidelong glance, "Something of a comedian? Murtaugh, we've a comedian here."


"I heard."


"Tell ya what," Officer Riggs shifts so that he's squared to the injured gunman. "Give me the name of the geek that off'd those boosters and we can talk about some pain meds. You scratch my back, I scratch yours."


"Remember the training, Riggs," Murtaugh mumbles, his eyes still on the television screen. "Human resources don't want us touching no one inappropriately. Lawsuits and all that."


"I've not touched a soul yet, partner, Riggs responds lightly. Then, to Casino, "What'dya say, Amigo? Got a name for me? You see," he holds up his agent so that Casino can catch a brief view of the contents on the screen. Data streaming across the device looks to be some sort of incident report, but Riggs drops the agent back to his lap before the solo can read too much. "The uni's on the scene are documenting a rather large number of casing on the scene. Preliminary reports indicate that there's between—" he glances back to his agent before smiling and returning his attention to the bleeding solo. "—five and seven shooters."


"Five to seven?" Murtaugh wonders without breaking away from his entertainment. "Wasn't there three meatbags in the car?"


"Yup." Riggs nods. "Three. That leaves—" he counts on his fingers for emphasis. "Between two and five potential additional players. This just isn't adding up. I think that maybe Mr. Story is telling us a story, Murtaugh. What'dya think?"


"Why would he do that, Riggs?" the older cop asks blandly. "He don't got no reason to lie to us."


"No, of course not. ‘Cause that'd be accessory to murder, and that'd mean some serious penitentiary time. So, there'd be no reason to lie, would there, Mr. Story?"




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Maggie's Grill | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:28 AM PST
Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)


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Within Maggie's Grill, Ghlahn, Blossom, Echo, and Bloodbank have been nursing their drinks for approximately twenty-minutes by the time Vegas and Fixer arrive.


"Where's your partner?" Blossom pokes the ice in her glass with her index finger and watches it bob up and down in the brown liquid Julieta had refilled moments earlier.


"We ran into a bit of a problem outside the Rat Pack," the Chairman look-alike fills the group in. "Casino got himself shot up pretty bad. He stayed behind to let the cops patch him up, while using his 'Casino Charm' to throw them off our scent while we proceed with the task we signed up for.


"Nice to see you too Doll."


"Chill," the wardriver replies. "You're not at all concerned about the integrity of our run, are you?"


"Well Doll," continued the dapper solo, "no need to worry your pretty little head about my concerns.


"We did manage to meet Starlight and get the hardware that Casino ordered. Fixer has all Casino's heavy duty firepower. I have the Taser. Starlight managed to get herself shot all to pieces, but she was airlifted out by her posse before the cops arrived to take Casino in for questioning. She will be wanting a report soon."


"Is he going to join us later, then? And Starlight—have you heard anything about her condition since you left her?" Echo asks, wondering how bad "shot up pretty bad" and "shot all to pieces" really was.


Blossom rolls the sucker to the other side of her mouth with her tongue and stares at the group's designated leader for a moment before saying, "Seeing how the gig's health affects all of us, I think worrying about one of the team being picked up by cops and our benefactor being ‘shot all to pieces' is more than just your concerns, Choomba."


"Time to focus on the task at hand," Vegas responds to Blossom. "Starlight is expecting an update and you can rest assured that she is pulling strings to get the job done and get a big payday from Santa for finding the boy."


"All right," Bloodbank speaks up and leans forward over his drink after glancing about to make sure no one was within non-enhanced hearing range, circumventing any further possible contention. "Here's the skinny,"


He proceeds to explain the setting of the Bartholomew School, the tenements nearby, the security as they could see it, and the only plan they'd come up with so far. When he finishes, he leans back and raises his eyebrows. "Any ideas?"


"Trail may get too cold by Monday," states the dapper solo, "and no telling where the kid is stashed. Santa is probably getting more fidgety by the hour. No telling who else has been employed to find the kid. I for one have been through too much tonight to let some other Choombas cut in on our action!" He looks each of the men in the eye, before continuing his one-sided conversation. "I want to hear what the Ladies have to say."


Vegas turns his attention to Blossom and Echo, foregoing any foreplay of flirtation. "Okay," he asks without his usual charm, "what course of action makes sense to you dolls?"


"The only thoughts I had was posing as students, which may not work because it's the weekend." Echo responds. "I asked Blossom to check for any activities the school might be having today, like a game or some junk, which might make it easier to get in. Another thought I just had is what about the sewer system or some other underground maint tunnels?"


She leans back and takes a sip of her cola.


"That's all I've got, choomba. You have any bright ideas?"


"Private schools," Blossom audibly pops the sucker from her mouth and points it towards the pretty nomad. "They focus more on academics than sports. There's a swim meet being held in the Central Valley Integrate, but that's it. Nothin' for nothin' on campus.


"I also pulled up a map from the Dark on the sewers in this part of the Integrate," the netrunner twirls her candy about in the air like a wand, "magical-like. There's a central access tunnel that runs under the southeast corner. Looks like there could be a manhole if the data is still right. Don't know what kind of security."


The tiny platinum blonde Asian places her agent on the table and activates the holoprojector at the top, bringing up a 3-dimensional map that hovers approximately ten centimeters over the devices in a ball of transparent tunnels and the bottoms of wireframed buildings twenty centimeters in diameter.


"That's about three blocks back the way we just came," she points to a position on the ball that shows what appears to be street access to the tunnels. "Middle of the street, pretty out in the open, but it'd be our closest way down. See here?" she traces a line down the tunnels and then waves the ball into motion moving it along the correct path until reaching the portion of the map she wants. A quick move results in the map stopping and she once again uses her lollipop to point out the next street level access point. "That's the one that opens up in the compound."


"What kind of security do you think is down there?" Bloodbank queries. "And traffic is still heavy enough from what I saw that it begs the question, how do we get down in the first place?"


The Dapper Solo scratches his head before replying, "Far as I can tell, we need to make like Alice and go down the Rabbit Hole! I do not see any other way and I can still hear Starlight barking orders while her boys patched her up and airlifted her out of harm's way. We need a diversion. You dolls got any magic tricks to complement the firepower that Fixer is carrying?"


"The sewers sound like the only way in unless we wait til monday." Ghlahn adds his consensus in a quiet, non-imposing tone. "Can't say I really like either option. If there is an entrance inside the compound that would get my vote. Easier to bypass security. If we get lucky, the manhole will not be in an area the guards watch. Usually security is more invested in looking outwards than inwards. But, if they are watching, there will likely be bloodshed again."


"No," the medtech shakes his head and looks down at the table. "No more bloodshed if we can avoid it." Raising his gaze, he continues. "The more gunfire, the more media attention. The more bloodshed, the more media attention. We've already drawn a lot of heat. We've got to find a way to do this without killing more people."


"I've three mindcores left," Blossom reports around her sucker. "I've a program that can cloak one meatbag decently enough, but it ain't magic and without knowing the actual security measures this place has in operation, it's a risk, is all I'm sayin'."


"I vote the sewers," the pretty nomad pipes up and points to the tunnel Blossom had brought up on her virtual display. "Look, it's the cleanest approach if we're trying to be discreet."


"Unless we can figure out a way to go in from the top," Bloodbank suggests. "There are those tenements near the school. If we could get an angle, put a line down to one of the school rooftops, and zipline in, anyone got the equipment for that?"


"I've a grapple line," Fixer states in a monotone that speaks as though he doesn't really care. "But it's only twenty-meters in length."


"How far was the nearest building from the tenements?" Bloodbank asks.


"About triple that distance," Echo replies.


"Well," the medtech looks sullen. "That rules that out."


"So, we're back to the sewers then?" the Asian netrunner asks. "OK, then let's discuss how we're gonna get down there.


"The sewer entrance, here," she brings the map back to the street view location and points to the manhole center in the road, "is where we'll need to get in. That's the closest access and unless we want to spend more time down there—which, I don't. These are new boots—then this is our best option. But this is a busy street, even at this time of night, and we don't know what kind of locking mechanism the manhole cover has in place, if any. So, we've got a couple of problems way I see it.


"First," Blossom deactivates the virtual holographic display and pockets her agent. "We've gotta keep from getting ran over while trying to get down through the manhole, and second; we gotta get down in through the manhole.


"Now, I got a techscanner, so I can check and see what bandwidth is being used at the manhole. That should tell me if it's remotely controlled, or has a feed of some kind, but I'll need at least thirty-seconds to a minute for the device to work."


"That's assuming that the manhole is secured at all," Echo adds.


"Oh," Blossom grins and takes the lollipop from her mouth. "They'll be secured, sugarpie. Just ask either of these big boys here—" the grape sucker is used as a pointer to indicate Vegas and Ghlahn. "—and I'm sure they'll tell ya that any security company worth their salt is gonna make sure that they've got all of the ways in and out covered."


"Great," Bloodbank leans forward and places his elbows on the table, clasping his hands before him. "So, what's the plan to get down into the sewers then?"

"Seems like traffic and eyes watching are the two biggest concerns to getting down the manhole. I am confident that I can cause two "accidents", one in each direction that will stop traffic and keep security and looky-loos busy and give us time to get in. Just don't ask how unless you really want to know.

Vegas listened intently as each of his 'partners' gave their input one by one, as to how to get inside the school, when Ghlahn added his two cents worth:


"Seems like traffic and eyes watching are the two biggest concerns to getting down the manhole. I am confident that I can cause two "accidents", one in each direction that will stop traffic and keep security and looky-loos busy and give us time to get in. Just don't ask how unless you really want to know.


The Dapper Solo rubbed his chin thoughtfully, before replying, "Seems like Ghlan has a plan.

"We have some added firepower that Starlight brought to Casino.

"Besides," added the Chairman, "seeing as it's Saturday night, no one will be that surprised to hear about a few explosions ripping up the streets and tenement buildings!"

Night City Regional General Hospital, Emergency Room | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:09 AM PST Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)
"Tell ya what," Officer Riggs shifts so that he's squared to the injured gunman. "Give me the name of the geek that off'd those boosters and we can talk about some pain meds. You scratch my back, I scratch yours."


"Remember the training, Riggs," Murtaugh mumbles, his eyes still on the television screen. "Human resources don't want us touching no one inappropriately. Lawsuits and all that."


"I've not touched a soul yet, partner, Riggs responds lightly. Then, to Casino, "What'dya say, Amigo? Got a name for me? You see," he holds up his agent so that Casino can catch a brief view of the contents on the screen. Data streaming across the device looks to be some sort of incident report, but Riggs drops the agent back to his lap before the solo can read too much. "The uni's on the scene are documenting a rather large number of casing on the scene. Preliminary reports indicate that there's between—" he glances back to his agent before smiling and returning his attention to the bleeding solo. "—five and seven shooters."


"Five to seven?" Murtaugh wonders without breaking away from his entertainment. "Wasn't there three meatbags in the car?"


"Yup." Riggs nods. "Three. That leaves—" he counts on his fingers for emphasis. "Between two and five potential additional players. This just isn't adding up. I think that maybe Mr. Story is telling us a story, Murtaugh. What'dya think?"


"Why would he do that, Riggs?" the older cop asks blandly. "He don't got no reason to lie to us."


"No, of course not. ‘Cause that'd be accessory to murder, and that'd mean some serious penitentiary time. So, there'd be no reason to lie, would there, Mr. Story?"

Casino had stayed quiet as the two police detectives talked to each other trying to bait him into revealing anything to use against him. Well that was going to end now one way or another.

"Look, Riggs right?, I've told you everything I know. I have been more then helpful in your investigation of what happened. Again I was not part of that gunfight as is clear as my handgun was not fired. I was just in the wrong place wrong time and I got shot as a result." Casino told the arrogant prick of a cop through clinched teeth as the Robo doc painfully fixed his arm stopping the bleeding. So far these two had not charged him and Casino knew per his constitutional rights they would have to, to forcibly keep him in custody. The big solo knew he had only a small window in which to make his exit.

"Unless you plan to charge me with some crime, in which case I want a lawyer, I think I'm going to ask you to remove these cuffs and for my property back and take my leave." Seeing the robo doc finish patching him up he stood, holding out his hands awaiting the removal of the handcuffs and the return of his Armalite.

Ok as a holder of a CHL license, police can ask me for my handgun at the scene of a shooting but I have the right to refuse that request as long as my gun remains holstered and with the safety clearly on, so technically I should still have the gun but not going to argue over it. As for being held on suspicion of being engaged in a firefight I believe they can only hold me for a short period of time and must provide me with a lawyer but I'm not sure how that goes, never been arrested lol. Lets see what happens next

Night City Regional General Hospital, Emergency Room | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:25 AM PST Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

"Tell ya what," Officer Riggs shifts so that he's squared to the injured gunman. "Give me the name of the geek that off'd those boosters and we can talk about some pain meds. You scratch my back, I scratch yours."

"Remember the training, Riggs," Murtaugh mumbles, his eyes still on the television screen. "Human resources don't want us touching no one inappropriately. Lawsuits and all that."

"I've not touched a soul yet, partner, Riggs responds lightly. Then, to Casino, "What'dya say, Amigo? Got a name for me? You see," he holds up his agent so that Casino can catch a brief view of the contents on the screen. Data streaming across the device looks to be some sort of incident report, but Riggs drops the agent back to his lap before the solo can read too much. "The uni's on the scene are documenting a rather large number of casing on the scene. Preliminary reports indicate that there's between—" he glances back to his agent before smiling and returning his attention to the bleeding solo. "—five and seven shooters."

"Five to seven?" Murtaugh wonders without breaking away from his entertainment. "Wasn't there three meatbags in the car?"

"Yup." Riggs nods. "Three. That leaves—" he counts on his fingers for emphasis. "Between two and five potential additional players. This just isn't adding up. I think that maybe Mr. Story is telling us a story, Murtaugh. What'dya think?"

"Why would he do that, Riggs?" the older cop asks blandly. "He don't got no reason to lie to us."

"No, of course not. ‘Cause that'd be accessory to murder, and that'd mean some serious penitentiary time. So, there'd be no reason to lie, would there, Mr. Story?"

Casino stays quiet as the two police detectives talk to each other trying to bait him into revealing anything they can use against him. Well, that was going to end now one way or another.

"Look, Riggs, right?, I've told you everything I know. I have been more then helpful in your investigation of what happened. Again, I was not part of that gunfight as is clear as my handgun was not fired. I was just in the wrong place wrong time and I got shot as a result." Casino tells the arrogant prick of a cop through clinched teeth as the pain in his arm surges. So far, these two have not charged him and Casino knows per his constitutional rights, they would have to, to forcibly keep him in custody. The big solo knows he has only a small window in which to make his exit.

"Unless you plan to charge me with some crime—in which case I want a lawyer—I think I'm going to ask for my property back and take my leave." Rising and twisting to extend his still cuffed hands, he awaiting the return of his Armalite.

Both Riggs and Murtaugh follow suite and achieve their feet as Casino does, hands on the heel of their sidearms. Riggs smiles broadly at the leather-clad gunman's speech and looks down at his large hands, held outward expecting to receive the weapon they had confiscated at the scene.

"You know something, Murtaugh?" Riggs says lightly.

"What's that, Riggs?"

"We never did perform a standard Class C on this ‘runner."

"We what? You gotta be kidding me." Murtaugh steps up to Casino and places a hand on his right shoulder. "We've gotta do a Class C. Don't want the Captain getting his panties in a bunch, now do we? You just hold still, Mr. Story. This won't take long and then seeing how you are refusing medical attention, if everything in the scan proves kosher, you can be on your way. Though, we'll want to retain your contact information for the purpose of further questioning."

Murtaugh's hand remains on the heel of his weapon while his partner steps forward with the bulky agent in hand. Riggs punches a couple of commands into the device and then holds it up so that Casino can see the screen.

"Do you know what a Class C Scan is, Mr. Story?" The screen shows a small title reading Class C Scan, Department of Justice, Night City Integrate at the top with a large single button below that simple states Start Scan in the middle.

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Maggie's Grill | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:35 AM PST
Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

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The Dapper Solo scratches his head before replying, "Far as I can tell, we need to make like Alice and go down the Rabbit Hole! I do not see any other way and I can still hear Starlight barking orders while her boys patched her up and airlifted her out of harm's way. We need a diversion. You dolls got any magic tricks to complement the firepower that Fixer is carrying?"

"The sewers sound like the only way in unless we wait til Monday." Ghlahn adds his consensus in a quiet, non-imposing tone. "Can't say I really like either option. If there is an entrance inside the compound that would get my vote. Easier to bypass security. If we get lucky, the manhole will not be in an area the guards watch. Usually security is more invested in looking outwards than inwards. But, if they are watching, there will likely be bloodshed again."

"No," the medtech shakes his head and looks down at the table. "No more bloodshed if we can avoid it." Raising his gaze, he continues. "The more gunfire, the more media attention. The more bloodshed, the more media attention. We've already drawn a lot of heat. We've got to find a way to do this without killing more people."

"I've three mindcores left," Blossom reports around her sucker. "I've a program that can cloak one meatbag decently enough, but it ain't magic and without knowing the actual security measures this place has in operation, it's a risk, is all I'm sayin'."

"I vote the sewers," the pretty nomad pipes up and points to the tunnel Blossom had brought up on her virtual display. "Look, it's the cleanest approach if we're trying to be discreet."

"Unless we can figure out a way to go in from the top," Bloodbank suggests. "There are those tenements near the school. If we could get an angle, put a line down to one of the school rooftops, and zipline in, anyone got the equipment for that?"

"I've a grapple line," Fixer states in a monotone that speaks as though he doesn't really care. "But it's only twenty-meters in length."

"How far was the nearest building from the tenements?" Bloodbank asks.

"About triple that distance," Echo replies.

"Well," the medtech looks sullen. "That rules that out."

"So, we're back to the sewers then?" the Asian netrunner asks. "OK, then let's discuss how we're gonna get down there.

"The sewer entrance, here," she brings the map back to the street view location and points to the manhole center in the road, "is where we'll need to get in. That's the closest access and unless we want to spend more time down there—which, I don't. These are new boots—then this is our best option. But this is a busy street, even at this time of night, and we don't know what kind of locking mechanism the manhole cover has in place, if any. So, we've got a couple of problems way I see it.

"First," Blossom deactivates the virtual holographic display and pockets her agent. "We've gotta keep from getting ran over while trying to get down through the manhole, and second; we gotta get down in through the manhole.

"Now, I got a techscanner, so I can check and see what bandwidth is being used at the manhole. That should tell me if it's remotely controlled, or has a feed of some kind, but I'll need at least thirty-seconds to a minute for the device to work."

"That's assuming that the manhole is secured at all," Echo adds.

"Oh," Blossom grins and takes the lollipop from her mouth. "They'll be secured, sugarpie. Just ask either of these big boys here—" the grape sucker is used as a pointer to indicate Vegas and Ghlahn. "—and I'm sure they'll tell ya that any security company worth their salt is gonna make sure that they've got all of the ways in and out covered."

"Great," Bloodbank leans forward and places his elbows on the table, clasping his hands before him. "So, what's the plan to get down into the sewers then?"

"Seems like traffic and eyes watching are the two biggest concerns to getting down the manhole." Ghlahn offers. "I am confident that I can cause two ‘accidents,' one in each direction, that will stop traffic and keep security and looky-loos busy and give us time to get in. Just don't ask how, unless you really want to know."

The Dapper Solo rubs his chin thoughtfully before replying, "Seems like Ghlan has a plan. We have some added firepower that Starlight brought to Casino.

"Besides," adds the Chairman, "seeing as it's Saturday night, no one will be that surprised to hear about a few explosions ripping up the streets and tenement buildings."

"No deaths, Ghlahn," Bloodbank cautions. "I'm OK with this plan so long as there are no innocent deaths."

"Yeah," Echo agrees. "If you can pull that off, I'm on board."

Blossom leans back in her portion of the bench seat and rolls the lolli in her mouth for a moment before popping it out with an audible suction. "So, what's the full plan?"

Vegas had been plagued with an uneasy feeling ever since going to the school had been mentioned. He had tried to avoid going there by going to the Rat Pack instead, but now his long time partner Casino was in police custody, or worse, as a growing dread kept gnawing upon the emotions of the Frank Sinatra look-alike.

Perhaps he was sensing the inevitable end of his own life, going out in a blaze of glory, or simply disappearing in a hidden alley, or an unknown bend in a sewer?

But, as his past history had confirmed, Vegas was no coward.

The Dapper Solo quickly assessed the situation, taking careful consideration that he may never see his partner Casino ever again, not because Casino would be dead, but rather that Vegas may not make it out of this mess alive!

He asked both Blossom and Echo if there were any better access points to the sewers below: perhaps an entry from a secluded alley or inside a nearby tenement building?

Satisfied with their answers, the Chairman volunteered his services:

"Okay Doll," proclaimed Vegas to Blossom, "you get that manhole open and I will go 'Down the Hatch' first with my guns drawn to protect you in case something down there tries to eliminate you from the equation!

"Without you," added Vegas, "there is no accessing any information from the school files!

"I suggest that Echo follow you and that Bloodbank cover the both of you from behind. Fixer can cover Ghlahn after the Sniper takes out a vehicle or two, or perhaps Fixer can unload some rounds into a building or traffic in the opposite direction with the heavy firepower that Casino ordered from Starlight and entrusted with Fixer, before Casino sent us packing!

"Unless anyone has any kind of better idea," concluded Vegas as he paused for any responses, "we had best get the show on the road, as we are not getting any younger!"

Vegas secured a firm grip on both of his handguns, as he awaited an affirmative response from Blossom, or anyone else in the group.

Night City Regional General Hospital, Emergency Room | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:09 AM PST Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

"Do you know what a Class C Scan is, Mr. Story?" The screen shows a small title reading Class C Scan, Department of Justice, Night City Integrate at the top with a large single button below that simple states Start Scan in the middle.

Casino looking at Riggs knew it was mostly a bluff to see how he'd react, they both knew what the scan would show. If they had any real evidence at this point that he was more involved in the gunfight the scan would have been a priority.

"Again Detective, really? Ahhh been through all this before so yeah I know a C scan. I'll even, in a show of cooperation, tell you what you'll find. As this is a near contact wound there will be clumps of unburned gun powder on the edges of my wound, on the seared zone of the skin around my wound and the clothing the bullet passed through to cause my wound. Considering I was holding the wound with my right hand to stem the bleeding"

Holding up both bound hands to show the right covered in blood and gun powder with the left only slightly covered thanks to being cuffed Casino continued.

"You'll easily find a s*** load of gun powder residue on my hands, among my blood and on my clothing and skin." The big solo looks to the robo doc for confirmation. "That right Doc?"

(After the robot doc confirms)

"Next, as you know by now, unless your people are complete rookies at this, my Armalite has not been fired this evening so it's clear the gun powder is not from that or any weapon fired by me. On top of that if there were any witnesses saying I was one of the shooters, what did you say seven? Eight shooters? I'd be under arrest not sitting here being ‘questioned'

Though he was taking a risk about no witnesses both he and Vegas both well knew that in that section of town too much ‘black' dealings went down for anyone to talk to the cops and not end up listed as a rat or dead.

"So I ask again, charge me, get me a lawyer, fix my arm, and lock me up, enough of this innuendo crap. When it all comes out that I really was not involved then I can have my lawyer start the process to sue you both and your department for false arrest."

His hands still held out, he awaited Riggs and his partners next actions.

Night City Regional General Hospital, Emergency Room | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:35 AM PST Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)


"Do you know what a Class C Scan is, Mr. Story?" The screen shows a small title reading Class C Scan, Department of Justice, Night City Integrate at the top with a large single button below that simple states Start Scan in the middle.

Casino, looking at Riggs, knows it is mostly a bluff to see how he'd react. They both know what the scan would show. If they had any real evidence at this point that he was more involved in the gunfight the scan would have been a priority.

"Again Detective, really? I've been through all this before, so yeah, I know a C Scan. I'll even—in a show of cooperation—tell you what you'll find. As this is a near contact wound there will be clumps of unburned gunpowder on the edges of my wound, on the seered zone of the skin around my wound and the clothing the bullet passed through to cause my wound. Considering I was holding the wound with my right hand to stem the bleeding"

Holding up both bound hands to show the right covered in blood with the left only slightly covered thanks to being cuffed, Casino continues. "You'll easily find a s***load of gunpowder residue on my hands, among my blood, and on my clothing and skin." The big solo looks to the robo doc for confirmation, but the vacuum cleaner-looking machine has moved on to other patients.

"Next—as you know by now—unless your people are complete rookies at this, my Armalite has not been fired this evening, so it's clear the gunpowder is not from that or any weapon fired by me. On top of that, if there were any witnesses saying I was one of the shooters—what did you say, seven, eight shooters? I'd be under arrest, not sitting here being questioned."

Though he is taking a risk about no witnesses, both he and Vegas both well know that in that section of town too much ‘black' dealings went down for anyone to talk to the cops and not end up listed as a rat or dead.

"So I ask again, charge me, get me a lawyer, fix my arm, and lock me up, enough of this innuendo crap. When it all comes out that I really was not involved, then I can have my lawyer start the process to sue you both and your department for false arrest."

His hands still held out, he defiantly looks into Rigg's amused face. "Well then," the officer grins a slightly unhinged affectation. "Is he right, Murtaugh? Would our C Scan have been more of a priority?"

"Maybe," the older police officer replies with wide-eyed innocence. "Wouldn't know as I haven't been patrol in a few years. Maybe I forgot protocol."

"And did he just threaten to sue the department?" Riggs tilts his head to the right a little while retaining the smile.

"I believe he did."

"Interesting," the younger officer replies. "Maybe it's the pain talking. Is it the pain talking, Mr. Story? That's unfortunate because you just turned down the meds that'd take the edge off.

"Tell you what," Officer Riggs steps over to the injured solo and puts a heavy hand on his injured shoulder causing pain to jolt down through Casino's arm into his fingertips as well as resonate through his chest and neck. Despite the intensity of the agony, the solid solo is able to keep his head clear and fend off the blackness threatening to hood him. "We'll just run the scan since we'd plumb forgot previously—as my partner said, we're not normally on patrol, so we may have forgotten a few things from our earlier days. You're still bleeding pretty profusely—that means a lot, in case you were wondering—so I feel it's best for you to just sit tight and wait until a real doctor can see you. Don't you, Murtaugh?"

"Sure do, Riggs."

"And since I now feel responsible for you—we feel responsible for you. Sorry, Murtaugh," Riggs repairs as he pretends to catch his partner's disapproving gaze. "We'll just hang out with you here until you're all patched up."

Giving Casino's shoulder a jarring pat that once again sends pain shooting through his body, Riggs holds his agent up and uses his thumb to press the activation button for the C Scan. "Protocol," he chuckles and shrugs as though he has no other option and is sorry that he needs to continue with this simple procedure.

Passing the device over the wound and then over Casino's hands, he releases his pressure on the solo's shoulder and stands to his full height while regarding the screen. "Would you look at that?" he proclaims. "It does show blood and gunpowder just as Mr. Story said it would."

"Maybe he's a forensics scientist," Murtaugh mumbles.

"Maybe. You a forensic scientist, Mr. Story?" Riggs looks back at the wounded man with raised eyebrows. "All the same; I'll just send these results to the lab. Third party and all that. No disrespect meant."

Punching a couple of buttons on the screen he then replaces the device in his pocket and drops into the chair next to Casino once again. Throwing his legs out in front of him, Officer Riggs crosses his legs at his booted ankles and clasps his hands behind his head, staring out at the gathered congregation of sick and wounded people filling the emergency room lobby.

"Busy night," he states blandly.

"Always is," Murtaugh replies without inflection.

"What's on?" Riggs asks.

"Just watching some football story," Murtaugh informs him.

"You're a big dude, Mr. Story," Riggs observes. "You ever play football?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Maggie's Grill | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:40 AM PST
Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)


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"No deaths, Ghlahn," Bloodbank cautions. "I'm OK with this plan so long as there are no innocent deaths."

"Yeah," Echo agrees. "If you can pull that off, I'm on board."

Blossom leans back in her portion of the bench seat and rolls the lolli in her mouth for a moment before popping it out with an audible suction. "So, what's the full plan?"

Vegas has been plagued with an uneasy feeling ever since going to the school had been mentioned. He had tried to avoid going there by going to the Rat Pack instead, but now his long time partner, Casino, was in police custody or worse and a growing dread keeps gnawing upon the emotions of the Frank Sinatra look-alike. Perhaps he is sensing the inevitable end of his own life, going out in a blaze of glory, or simply disappearing in a hidden alley, or an unknown bend in a sewer? But, as his past history has confirmed, Vegas is no coward.

The Dapper Solo quickly assesses the situation, taking careful consideration that he may never see his partner, Casino, ever again—not because Casino would be dead—but rather that Vegas may not make it out of this mess alive!

He asks both Blossom and Echo if there were any better access points to the sewers below: perhaps an entry from a secluded alley or inside a nearby tenement building?

Satisfied with their answers, the Chairman volunteers his services:

"Okay, Doll," proclaims Vegas to Blossom, "you get that manhole open and I will go 'Down the Hatch' first with my guns drawn to protect you in case something down there tries to eliminate you from the equation!

"Without you," adds Vegas, "there is no accessing any information from the school files!

"I suggest that Echo follow you and that Bloodbank cover the both of you from behind. Fixer can cover Ghlahn after the sniper takes out a vehicle or two, or perhaps Fixer can unload some rounds into a building, or traffic in the opposite direction with the heavy firepower that Casino ordered from Starlight and entrusted with Fixer before Casino sent us packing!

"Unless anyone has any kind of better idea," concludes Vegas as he paused for any responses, "we had best get the show on the road, as we are not getting any younger!"

Vegas secures a firm grip on both of his handguns, as he awaits an affirmative response from Blossom, or anyone else in the group.

The cute little netrunner rolls the sucker around in her mouth while she considers the suited solo from behind her heart-shaped pink sunglasses. Retrieving her drink from the table, she slips the straw past the white stick of the lollipop and slurps in the remainder of the cola. Emptying the contents of the spotted glass, the small woman sets it back on the table eliciting a small clank of glass on plastic. "Sounds like we've got a plan, then, choombas. Ready?"

Wrapping up the conversation and settling individual checks, the team steps back through the foyer and out into the blustering rain. Odorous steam rises from storm grates while rippling puddles of disturbed rainwater reflect the shifting and static neon lights of the digitally veined city. Ground cars plow through the rain sending the occasional wave of dirty water out from underneath recycled rubber tires while the nightlife—familiar with the temperamental weather—go about their business wearing everything from designer rain slicks to trash bags.

The team wends their way through this self-absorbed crowd without incident and within a short time find themselves at the designated location. The street here consists of four lanes, two for each direction. Vapors drift up through the inch-diameter holes in the steel manhole cover center in the street set at approximately eight meters from the edge of the sidewalk. Watching current traffic patterns for a couple of minutes allows Blossom to quickly run a program that predictively puts a car passing by every seven seconds. The air traffic in this part of Night City Integrate has been pushed from directly overhead to the last furthest lane by the architectural protrusions of the building behind the group.

Hale Security Doors is the business on the main floor of the building closest to the edgerunners with Webtrendz on the left as a person faces the structure, back to the street, and Sales Qualifiers, Inc. to the right. An alcove is set into the wall to the right of the latter storefront, which—having passed it already—the party is aware contains stairs leading up to the next floor. This stairwell is flanked by A Novel Place (bookstore) and Kits for Crafts before an alley cuts into the flow. Providing the building follows a traditional setup, the second floor might consist of offices for more white collar businesses, or immediately move into apartments.

Across the street, an equally convoluted and strangely architected building juts up from the swamped street. The storefronts are all lit, the same as those on the side that the edgerunners occupy, and consist of Tatum Limousine Rental, The Rehab Center, SkyCab, Living City Contractors, and The Bass Music Store. Again, the second floor and above likely consists of offices more suited for lawyers and clerks, or apartments.

Assessing the viability of a sniper's perch, M'harú Ghlahn is left with a toss up. Nothing strikes him as preferable. The decision of where to go in order to enact his plan is left to pure circumstance, and the success of the objective a matter of luck of the draw.

"So," Blossom, still sucking on a lollipop, thrusts her hands into her jacket pockets and steps a little further underneath the short awning Hale Security Doors so thoughtfully provides as a shield against the rain. "Guess we wait here until Ghlahn is through shooting the place up?"

Bloodbank nods at Blossom.

"Seems like all we gotta do is wait.". He says, his voice even. He would step outta the rain as best as possible and pull out his gun, checking that it's in top shape for whatever he had to do.

Looking at it a bit warily, once he was finished he would tuck it back into the holster and wait around with the group, looking anxiously towards where Ghlahn is.

((OOC: psyching himself up to use his gun again, then makings small talk while keeping an eye out for when to move))

"Ready", Echo says, and nods to the others, anxious to get out of the busy streets and into the sewers. Too many folks about her makes her nervous, as she prefers the open roads and wastelands to the overcrowded cities. The sewers weren't going to be open land, but at least they're less populated. She takes a casual, yet vigilant stance leaning against a wall, fingers fidgeting within her pockets, ready to spring into action.

With no building looking any better or worse than any other, Ghlan figured he would simply take a walk and see which if any offered a fire escape or other avenue of movement to an elevated position. Once he found one it would be a simple matter of finding a spot. For a moment he looked up and thought about bringing down one of the air cars as that would certainly cause a commotion. It would also bring about the anger of his mates. So he would stick to is plan and try to cause some chaos.

Night City Regional General Hospital, Emergency Room | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:09 AM PST Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

Punching a couple of buttons on the screen he then replaces the device in his pocket and drops into the chair next to Casino once again. Throwing his legs out in front of him, Officer Riggs crosses his legs at his booted ankles and clasps his hands behind his head, staring out at the gathered congregation of sick and wounded people filling the emergency room lobby.

"Busy night," he states blandly.

"Always is," Murtaugh replies without inflection.

"What's on?" Riggs asks.

"Just watching some football story," Murtaugh informs him.

"You're a big dude, Mr. Story," Riggs observes. "You ever play football?"

Looking at the officer next to him, wondering at this suddenly relaxed state, figured to act all chummie could not hurt.

"Started to in High School but I got hurt early in and mom yanked me from the sport. Never played anywhere near pro though."

At the moment at a loss of anything else to try to do to get away from the 2 cops, short of force, Casino settled in to watch the TV, the cute nurses and bide his time.

Night City Regional General Hospital, Emergency Room | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:40 AM PST Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

Passing the device over the wound and then over Casino's hands, he releases his pressure on the solo's shoulder and stands to his full height while regarding the screen. "Would you look at that?" he proclaims. "It does show blood and gunpowder just as Mr. Story said it would."

"Maybe he's a forensics scientist," Murtaugh mumbles.

"Maybe. You a forensic scientist, Mr. Story?" Riggs looks back at the wounded man with raised eyebrows. "All the same; I'll just send these results to the lab. Third party and all that. No disrespect meant."

Punching a couple of buttons on the screen he then replaces the device in his pocket and drops into the chair next to Casino once again. Throwing his legs out in front of him, Officer Riggs crosses his legs at his booted ankles and clasps his hands behind his head, staring out at the gathered congregation of sick and wounded people filling the emergency room lobby.

"Busy night," he states blandly.

"Always is," Murtaugh replies without inflection.

"What's on?" Riggs asks.

"Just watching some football story," Murtaugh informs him.

"You're a big dude, Mr. Story," Riggs observes. "You ever play football?"

Casino Looks at the officer next to him, wondering at this suddenly relaxed state, and figures acting all chummie couldn't hurt his situation. "Started to in High School but I got hurt early in and mom yanked me from the sport. Never played anywhere near pro though."

"Huh," Riggs sounds genuinely surprised.

"Tough break," Murtaugh observes.

At the moment at a loss of anything else to try to do to get away from the two cops (short of force), Casino settles in to watch the TV, the cute nurses, and bide his time all the while trying to remain absolutely still to avoid jarring his painfully injured arm. Like two good guard dogs, the officers maintain a watch on him, but have apparently run out of things to discuss. A few minutes pass in this conditional silence before the room practically explodes with noise, chaos, and a flurry of activity.

It begins with gunfire. A lot of gunfire. The echoing thump, thump, thump of an automatic shotgun draws the beat. Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat of the automatic submachine guns crescendo followed immediately by thwunk, thwap, zing and other impact noises sounding from over Casino's left shoulder, back the way of the emergency room entrance.

"Sh*t!" Riggs growls, rolling out of his seat and drawing his weapon in a fluid, graceful motion. Dropping to his left knee, he quickly slides to Casino's left side and places his free hand on the large solo's leg. "Get down."

Murtaugh moves up and over the back of the chair with the agility of one much younger than he's professed to be. His handgun is also free of its holster as he takes up a rough position behind a marble-lined pillar three meters behind the row of seats they had been enjoying moments before.

Agony tears through Casino's ravaged arm as instinct kicks in, twisting and dropping to a deep crouch next to the cop, hands still cuffed in front of him. Flurrying would-be patients and staff block the solo's view but he manages to stay conscious despite the pain clawing at his shoulder and arm. Squinting through the mass of swirling colors and shuffling feet, the large man spots a heavily armored, black clad figure turning his military grade shotgun on a security agent and opening his chest with a single shot.

"Welcome to you nightmare!" a voice calls out over the cacophony of screams and weapons fire. "Everybody get the hell on the floor! We're in for a long night."

That's when it becomes apparent to Casino that there are approximately ten figures clad in black body armor and full face battle masks moving quickly about the room, making quick work of the ill-prepared sec-forces. These individuals are armed for bear and armored well enough to take on battalions, and they're moving his way fast.

West 43875 St. 52 High | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:55 AM PST
Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So," Blossom, still sucking on a lollipop, thrusts her hands into her jacket pockets and steps a little further underneath the short awning Hale Security Doors so thoughtfully provides as a shield against the rain. "Guess we wait here until Ghlahn is through shooting the place up?"

Bloodbank nods at Blossom. "Seems like all we gotta do is wait," he says, his voice even. He steps out of the rain as best as possible and pulls out his gun, checking that it's in top shape for whatever he has to do. Looking at it a bit warily, once finished, he tucks it back into the holster and waits around with the group, looking anxiously towards Ghlahn.

"Ready", Echo says, and nods to the others, anxious to get out of the busy streets and into the sewers. Too many folks about her makes her nervous, as she prefers the open roads and wastelands to the overcrowded cities. The sewers weren't going to be open land, but at least they're less populated. She takes a casual, yet vigilant stance leaning against a wall, fingers fidgeting within her pockets, ready to spring into action.

With no building looking any better or worse than any other, Ghlan figures he will simply take a walk and see which, if any, offer a fire escape or other avenue of movement to an elevated position. Once he finds one, it will be a simple matter of finding a spot. For a moment he looks up and thinks about bringing down one of the air cars as that would certainly cause a commotion. It would also bring about the anger of his mates. So, he will stick to his plan and try to cause some chaos.

With Fixer now escorting the sniper, the others wait impatiently beneath the awning of Hale Security Doors. Echo watches one direction, Vegas the other, while Blossom and Bloodbank scan all about. Ghlahn leads the silent techie further down the street having already determined that the alleys back the way they had traveled did not contain any of the landscape he's looking for. Approaching the end of the building, hands tucked into his coat, the red-headed man casually casts his gaze into the darkness.

M'harú Ghlahn immediately kicks on his infrared vision and the darkness transitions into hues of green and blue. The absence of reds, yellows, and oranges indicate that at least for the distance his enhanced vision accounts for, there are no living things in the alley. Deactivating the infrared, Ghlahn sees what he's hoping for. Without any wasted words, he leads the techie down the alley and stops twenty meters in just beneath a fire escape.

The metal ladder for the escape is up placing it about three meters overhead. The height isn't imposing for the sniper. He could easily spring up and grab it even weighted as he is with gear. His concern resides in whether Fixer could follow, and (at least thus far), M'harú Ghlahn has managed to keep a lot about his abilities private. Experience has been a harsh mentor but a mentor nonetheless, and the athletic man has found it best practice to reveal only so much as he is required to in order to complete the job. Of course, there are other ways of achieving heights normal human beings might struggle to achieve.

Adjusting his gear so as to secure it more firmly about his person, M'harú Ghlahn takes a couple of steps backward, then lunges into a sprint towards the wall hosting the fire escape. Leaping at the wall, he plants one foot on the rough NuCrete® surface, then the other, and instantly twists using the wall as a springboard to launch himself upward. Successfully wrapping his bare hands about the cold wet metal of the bottom rung, he dangles in a swing for just a second before pulling himself up by sheer upper body strength until his feet can find purchase. Once he's entirely on the ladder, the black clad man works his way to the platform with ease. Lowering the ladder, he turns and begins to make his way up the fire escape as quickly as he can without making a lot of noise, Fixer following a couple of flights below.

As is typical of fire escapes, this one rises to the top of the section, but not all of the way onto the next section. There is not, in fact, a roof upon which the two can take purchase, but instead, Ghlahn and Fixer find themselves faced with the decision to try to enter the apartment outside which the fire escape ends, or to move along the narrow meter-wide ledge to the underside of the next higher structure. Already able to see that the front of the building displays a holographic sign across the upper floor's face, common sense states that the emitters must be installed on something. The question becomes whether or not that installation can support two men. Working his way along the meter-wide ledge won't be a difficult task for the red-headed, fatigue-wearing rifleman. Unless something goes terribly wrong, he should be able to do so without even breaking a sweat. Concern would be for the well-being of the techie accompanying him. A quick study of the window they stand before reveals that the locking mechanism won't be a problem for either man using their B&E kit. But what lies within is a complete mystery. Is it worth the risk to try and go higher? From the front of the building, Ghlahn estimates that he could see at least seven or eight blocks back towards Maggie's Grill, and if he remembers the map correctly, at least three to five in the other direction.

Chilling winds sweep the street where the four edgerunners await the sign of M'harú Ghlahn's success. So far, the traffic has remained steady, matching the cadence of their original estimation. The Streets aren't usually a place that Blossom allows her guard to fall, but surrounded as she is by highly capable individuals, the netrunner retrieves her agent and activates the screen. Waving off her avatar with a swipe of the thumb, she scrolls through a couple of screens and presses an icon bringing up the open source app she had been searching for. A moment later and the screen now represents a public view of the street level they are on, fifty-two. Again using her thumb, the wardriver selects another option within the app and watches for a moment before furrowing her brow and looking up from her device to scan the underside of the awning.

"Huh," she allows the sound to escape around the stem of her sucker. "Well, choombas. Smile for the camera."

Mentally berating herself for not thinking that there would be security systems watching the space in front of a security door provider, Blossom allows the direction of her sunglass-guarded gaze to inform her companions as to the direction of what she's referring to. The agent had picked up the wireless feed. She had done the rest by looking up and opening her eyes, something she firmly wishes she had done before they had all spent minutes loitering within the spotlight of a security camera.

Ghlahn could tell the climb was not an easy one for Fixer. Now, the trail was at a fork. There was no way Fixer could climb any further and the only other option was to break and enter the building. That option presented too many variables. There could be people working late, an alarm, random security patrols or who knows what. "Well bud, looks like this is where we part ways for a bit. I can continue upwards but there is no way you can follow. Wait here and I'll collect you on the way back down. Time for me to do what I do." Ghlahn continued his accent. Without Fixer, he could focus on the task at hand and cause maximum confusion.