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)

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.

"You have got to be f***ing kidding me "The solo muttered under his breath as he watched the 10 masked gun man move through the ER.

Turning to Riggs and his partner.

"Murtaugh take these cuffs off damn it, and give me your heavy pistol and extra ammo. Keep your back-up as your gonna need to go get help while Riggs and I try to hold them in place and keep them from spreading out into the hospital"

Holding out his cuffed wrists, the big solo could only hope that the older cop would agree and do as Casino has asked..........

Bloodbank had no business acting out his plan of theirs, he wasn't really suited for this.

As he holstered his gun and he was told about a camera, he let out a silent curse.

Doing his best to cover his face now, he glanced at the camera and thought I hope this job doesn't come to bite me in the ass

Night City Regional General Hospital, Emergency Room | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:45 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)

"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.

"You have got to be f***ing kidding me," the solo mutters under his breath as he watches the ten masked gunmen move through the ER. Turning to Riggs and his partner he makes a demand.

"Murtaugh, take these cuffs off, damn it, and give me your heavy pistol and extra ammo. Keep your back-up as your gonna need to go get help while Riggs and I try to hold them in place and keep them from spreading out into the hospital."

Holding out his cuffed wrists, the big solo can only hope that the older cop would agree and do as Casino has asked. Murtaugh glances his way and rolls his eyes.

"You must think we're f***king crazy if you think we're handing over any weapons to you," Riggs sneers while never taking his eyes off of the advancing gunmen.

"Any of you choombas feel the need to be a hero," the same gunman who had spoken before bellows. He walks down the middle of the lobby with his submachine gun held up to his shoulder, confident and very much in charge. "And we'll need to make an example of you. Do what we say and you might just make it out of this alive."

"I could flank ‘em," Murtaugh suggests quietly.

"And what?" Riggs counters. "Bruise one of them? That's military grade armor."

"Now," the lead gunman stops his progression only ten meters from the row of chairs behind which the police officers and Casino crouches. His head turns in a slow survey of the room, finally stopping as he looks directly at the back of the chairs. "What have we here?"

Dropping the muzzle of his submachine gun so that it points in Casino's direction, he tilts his head slightly to the right. "Looks like a bunch of would-be heroes."

"Sh*t!" Murtaugh curses.

"Whoa!" Riggs calls out. "Whoa! We aren't being heroes. Ain't no heroes here. I'm just going to stand up now and we can talk. How about that?"

"Sure," the gunman says cheerily. "Let's talk."

"Don't do it," Murtaugh warns but Riggs doesn't listen and rises from where he crouches, hands wide, his weapon dangling from his right index finger by the trigger guard.

"There. No heroes here," he calls.

The gunman's submachine gun lurches with a short burst and next to Casino, Riggs staggers backward to fall against the next row of chairs scattering a couple and overturning the one he encounters.

"Riggs!" Murtaugh yells. His attention momentarily diverted by the murder of his partner, the older officer fails to see the rapid advancement of a smaller gunman, a woman, Casino is able to determine by her figure. "Urk!" Murtaugh chokes when the side of his neck explodes outward in a red shower of arterial blood. Turning in surprise, he grips his slit throat and gives in to the desire to sink into nothingness. The masked female attacker wipes the monoblade wakizashi on the thigh of her dead black tactical pants and turned to face Casino's location.

"Well," the leader says through his mask with a cheerful demeanor. "That's the end of the heroes. Now, what do do about the metalhead, What about it, Metalhead? Wanna talk? Wanna be a hero? Those cops weren't no friend of yours. Question is, are you gonna get flatlined tonight, or uncuffed?"

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West 43875 St. 52 High | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 3:15 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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Ghlahn can tell the climb is not an easy one for Fixer. Now, the trail is at a fork. There is no way Fixer can climb any further and the only other option is to break and enter the building. That option presents too many variables. There could be people working late, an alarm, random security patrols or who knows what.

"Well bud," the stocking-capped, combat masked solo stops long enough to address the techie. "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 continues his ascent without waiting for a reply. Without Fixer, he can focus on the task at hand and cause maximum confusion.

The continued climb is relatively simple for the lithe man despite the gear he's carrying. Rolling over the fire escape's banister he deftly traverses the thin ledge to the corner of the building. Taking time to peer around the corner, he breathes calmly into his mask, the built-in filter clearing the vast majority of the pollutants from the air before it enters his lungs. Before him, the same style of ledge continues across the face of the structure. Quickly counting ten windows, he calculates the time it will take him to move to the center of the building. Fast-stepping across the window spaces, the nimble rifleman makes it to his desired position in short order. Leaning momentarily against the wet brick of the building, he surveys the cross work of metal beams and ductwork extending across the bottom of the protruding structure overhead. Leaping upward, M'haru Ghlahn grabs hold of the lower portion of the I-beam directly overhead and grips it tightly with his bare fingers.

White knuckling the grip and by the sheer strength of his fingers, the black-clad soldier moves hand-over-hand, booted feet dangling over forty meters of open air until he is able to swing his legs up into the crisscross network of thick steel support structure for the holographic projection display. Bringing his hands to meet his knees, he shimmies his body through the diamond shaped hole and settles his feet onto the maintenance catwalk with a dull thunk.

From his new vantage point, Ghlahn is able to see quite some distance both directions down the street. Un-shouldering his Nomad .44, he walks to the left edge of the platform and places his left elbow on the rail, bringing the butt of his rifle to his shoulder. The ideal target is something without armor, thick metal structure, or any safety measures he's going to have to punch through. Most of the regular traffic is just that, unprotected and unthreatening. Smart-vehicles where the driver doesn't actually drive connected to the city's wireless network populate the lanes. These present the problem of automatic safety features built into the system. Not ideal.

Older vehicles are less likely to be outfitted with the same level of protective sensors and reflexive response mechanism. Much older vehicles are the best. Much, much older vehicles are ideal. Patience is the key. Patience and luck.

On the street level, Blossom frowns at the camera and rolls the lollipop around in her mouth with her tongue. They are all on camera now. Each one of their faces. Anything that happens in this area is sure to be pinned on them, at the very least they'll be suspects. Blossom doesn't like being a known entity in the System. She's worked too hard to keep her identity out of the public's eye to have one run ruin her anonymity.

Bloodbank has no business acting out his plan of theirs, he isn't really suited for this. As he holsters his gun and is told about a camera, he lets out a silent curse. Sliding his combat mask over his face, he glances at the camera and thinks, I hope this job doesn't come to bite me in the ass.
"Frag it!" the pretty little nomad huffs. "Too late to do anything now. We should shoot it out and call it done."

"Shooting it out might draw in some local calvary, doll," Vegas drawls. "Keep your backs too it, or keep your face covered. We're betting on the business owner's ambivalence in this case. Blacks and doubles. Best we can hope for."

"And what if that camera covers out into the street? Even the manhole?" Echo asks grimly.

"No way to know that," the dapper don shrugs his broad shoulders and follows his own advice, turning his back to the camera.

"I'll see what I can do," Blossom mutters, already activating her digital holographic keyboard and punching in some code she begins the process of trying to leach onto the wifi signal. "Piece of gomi firewall," Unable to hitch a ride, her next bet is to try and feed the camera a virus. Wishing silently that she could wardrive this beast, the netrunner loads up one of her store bought viruses and leads it in with a program of her own creation that pounds the firewall like a hammer looking for a hole in the ports. This time, her software returns a positive result and the commands are quickly entered sending her virus into the system.

"If the virus I just injected isn't shut down by any security software that may be running, the stored video files should be corrupted. It'll take a forensic computer engineer to repair them after that. Now, anyone got anything to cover the lens?"

(OOC: I'll let this play out. If any of you don't still have access to your character sheets, let me know and I'll grant access again.)

Perched high above his teammates, Ghlahn studies the stream of vehicles still very much alive despite the early morning hour. And there it is. Just turning onto the street is an older van. Rust covers the fenders over the wheel wells, the grill is broken away over the entire driver's side revealing the radiator, and a crack splits the windshield from the bottom corner of the driver's side to just past three-quarters mid-way up the window.

Now comes the real dilemma. What to shoot? Being Cee-Metal, Ghlahn has grown up around machines and machinery. They're built tough, even the older rigs. Shooting through the radiator won't do much to immediately stop the vehicle. From this distance, the .44 round he has chambered won't penetrate the engine block. The battery might be an option if he could figure out what side of the engine it sat. He'd promised his companions he wouldn't kill anyone, options are limited.

Silently cursing his luck at having ammo perfectly suited to the task, Ghlan takes aim at his target. "I said no killing, never said no hurting." Settling his sights on the driver, he fired off two quick round. Bullets to each shoulder should cause the driver to crash, hopefully into another vehicle. that should cause a distraction. Not waiting to see the outcome he moved to find a target coming from the other direction. Not nearly as picky now, anything was fair game.

Night City Regional General Hospital, Emergency Room | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:46 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)

And just like that it was over, Rigg's and Murtaugh dead in front of him. As Casino shook his head in wonder a new choice was brought before him. As the solo watched, the armed and masked leader approached him.

"Well," the leader says through his mask with a cheerful demeanor. "That's the end of the heroes. Now, what do do about the metalhead, What about it, Metalhead? Wanna talk? Wanna be a hero? Those cops weren't no friend of yours. Question is, are you gonna get flatlined tonight, or uncuffed?"

Looking up at the masked leader Casino gave nothing away in his eyes or gestures. Holding his wrists up his eyes never left the leaders.

"Well your right the cops were not friends, and yeah I'd rather be un-cuffed. As for being a hero, well that's not my style, hero's get dead, I get paid."

Echo looks up at the camera, judges the height, turns to Blossom with a mischevious grin and asks, "You have any of that bubblegum you like to chew left, Chika? I have an idea . . . "

(If an affirmative) Echo thanks her with a rare full smile, and pops the gum in her mouth. She then turns to Bloodbank, saying "Care to give a short girl a lift, Choomba?", indicating the camera above their heads.

(OOC - if yes, she'll hug the wall on his shoulders, pulling herself up as far as she can reach, and stick the now soft and well chewed gum on the camera lens.)

Once back down, she will say, "Now we won't get seen going in, let's just hope our mayhem hurries. No tellin' how well they watch these cameras."

Fixer could only watch on as Ghlahn tumbled over the railing and continued along the thin ledge and around the corner. Following the man would be difficult for Fixer but not impossible with a good deal of luck. The bit of wind and wet, slippery handhold turned him off of the idea though. Even with his grappling lin e as an anchor, nothing said that the material of the building would even hold up and keep Fixer from falling, most likely plummeting to what could be his death. This was not his area of expertise. He hated be a liability and not able to show his worth on a job. So far, he was doing a bang up job. He turNed his eyes to the streets around him and kept peering in the windows. He would have to keep over watch from here.

Night City Regional General Hospital, Emergency Room | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:46 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)

And just like that it was over, Riggs and Murtaugh are dead in front of him. As Casino shook his head in wonder a new choice was brought before him. The solo watched the armed and masked leader approached him.

"Well," the leader says through his mask with a cheerful demeanor. "That's the end of the heroes. Now, what do do about the metalhead, What about it, Metalhead? Wanna talk? Wanna be a hero? Those cops weren't no friend of yours. Question is, are you gonna get flatlined tonight, or uncuffed?"

Looking up at the masked leader Casino gave nothing away in his eyes or gestures. Holding his wrists up his eyes never left the leader's masked face.

"Well, you're right. The cops were not my friends and yeah, I'd rather be un-cuffed. As for being a hero, well that's not my style. Heroes get dead, I get paid."

"To the victor go the spoils!" Keeping his submachine gun leveled on the large blonde man before him, the leader of the incursion tilts his head in the direction of Riggs' inert body and says, "Move slowly, choomba. Collect the key and set yourself free, but make no move towards any weapon. You gotta earn that trust."

(OOC: Assuming Casino follows the instructions given.)

Raising his voice so that he can better be heard across the room, the man bellows, "We are the Soil Liberation Group, and we're here to make a statement. All of you unfortunate souls are part of this statement, and you can make it through this without any holes in your body, or you can draw the Ace of Spades in your little gamble. Frankly, we don't want to hurt anyone but if you force our hand, we will play for keeps."

Still keeping the weapon pointed at Casino, he uses his left hand to motion one of his people forward. Those others in the emergency room remains deathly still as though corpses already except for the roaming nurse bots. "You are demonstrating a fever of one hundred and two degrees fahrenheit. Would you like some acetaminophen?" These people are unconcerned with the large, boxy, attendants, however and now the one that was set in motion has stepped up to the nurse's station.

The booth is now empty as the nurse who had been behind the bulletproof glass has vacated further into the hospital for her own safety. Stopping at the door, the soldier in motion retrieves a small block of what appears to be plastic explosives from his satchel. Affixing the block of orange material to the door adjacent to the handle, he proceeds to wire it.

"What's your name, Metalhead?" the leader of the Soil Liberation Group demands of Casino.

(OOC: Assuming a name is given.)

"I doubt that's your real name," the man's voice resonates with amusement. "So, I'm going to call you Mr. Metalhead seeing how I respect you so much.

"Mr. Metalhead, I'm not going to offer you payment in traditional currency. I'm going to do better than that. Be a help to me and I'll pay you by allowing you to live. Cause me any problems and I'll make sure you are forced to watch as I kill every last one of these poor, sickly people while they look you in the eye knowing that you're the reason they're dying. Then, I'll slowly push a Q-tip so far into your ear that it'll go through your eardrum and penetrate your brain.

"It's a slow, agonizing way to die, Mr. Meathead, but I'm guessing that you and I are going to be besties and I won't have to employ such nasty methods of retribution. What d'ya say, Mr. Meathead? BFFs?"

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West 43875 St. 52 High | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 3:20 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)

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Echo looks up at the camera, judges the height, turns to Blossom with a mischievous grin and asks, "You have any of that bubblegum you like to chew left, Chika? I have an idea..."

Blossom blinks through her large heart-shaped sunglasses and pulls the sucker from her mouth to hold it up apologetically. "Just lollies for me, kawaī on'nanoko. No gum. All that chawing and smacking noise is just gross."

Realization dawns on the wardriver as she follows the quick, disappointed glance that the beautiful nomad gives the camera. Providing that Blossom has guessed correctly, Echo's plan was to use the gum to block the camera. It's a solid plan and would be an excellent solution had they any gum. Smiling, the small Asian woman rocks forward on the balls of her booted feet and gives the other woman a friendly chuck on the left shoulder.

"It's all good, Ace Kool," she bubbles. "Slick idea but the virus I sent into the Sys should gum it up, unless we're extremely unlucky."

"I've SpraySkin® we could spray over the lens," Bloodbank suggests as he catches onto the idea. "Just to be safe." He feels a sense of necessity to cover the video camera despite Blossom's assurances. He hadn't donned his cracked skull styled battle mask until after the camera had been pointed out and can't shake that his face will be available for police to associate with any crime in the area.

"Better safe than sorry," Vegas agrees. "Sorry, doll," he adds, looking at Blossom. "But it pays to always have a contingency." The clone of Old Blue Eyes looks to Echo and says, "Work your magic, Baby."

Bloodbank fishes the can of SpraySkin® from his bivvy bag and hands it over to the leather clad nomad. Accepting the aluminum spray can, she looks at Bloodbank and says, "Care to give a short girl a lift, Choomba?", indicating the camera above their heads.

"Not at all," the medtech replies and drops his bag to the wet cement while stepping forward and clasping his together before him and crouching just a bit.

Echo places her left boot in his hands and the wraps her right hand up around the back of his head, pulling herself up. She can feel the side of his face and head pressed momentarily into her stomach against her corset but chooses to ignore the closeness and hoists herself around the medic's heads to straddle the man's shoulders. Together, they approach closer to the wall and Echo is able to easily reach the camera with the can. Hissing foam erupts from the canister's nozzle and covers the camera lens quickly drying into a fleshy-looking patch.

Bloodbank steps back and then drops to a crouch allowing the small woman to slide from his shoulders with ease. Knee-high riding boots firmly back on the pavement, Echo turns to everyone and triumphantly says, "Now we won't get seen going in. Let's just hope our mayhem hurries. No tellin' how well they watch these cameras."

Fixer could only watch on as Ghlahn tumbled over the railing and continued along the thin ledge and around the corner. Following the man would be difficult for Fixer, but not impossible, with a good deal of luck. The bit of wind and wet, slippery handhold turned him off of the idea, though. Even with his grappling line as an anchor, nothing said that the material of the building would even hold up and keep Fixer from falling; most likely plummeting to what could be his death. This was not his area of expertise. He hated being a liability and not being able to show his worth on a job. So far, he was doing a bang up job. He turned his eyes to the streets around him and kept peering in the windows. He would have to keep overwatch from here.

Silently cursing his luck at not having ammo perfectly suited to the task, Ghlahn takes aim at his target. "I said no killing, never said no hurting." Settling his sights on the driver, he fired off two quick rounds. Bullets to each shoulder should cause the driver to crash, hopefully into another vehicle. that should cause a distraction. Not waiting to see the outcome he moved to find a target coming from the other direction. Not nearly as picky now, anything was fair game.

The soles of his boots makes a slight clang as he quickly crosses to the other side of the platform. Raising the scope to his eye he scans the immediate line of vehicles and feels his heart rate increase as he isn't able to see anything remotely suitable. Then, a smaller sedan with an already cracked windshield pulls into the next lane around a larger autonomous cargo truck. Sighting the driver's shoulders again, just like before, M'haru Ghlahn squeezes off two more rounds in quick succession.

Thunder crashes overhead. No. That was gunfire, Blossom realizes and reflexively looks up. Two shots. Ghlahn. Has to be Ghlahn. Looking to the right she can't see any sign of the results despite how much she strains her eyes.

Bloodbank also registers the sound of gunfire from above and instinctively looks to the right, down the street, only his right is Blossom's left. There, with his enhanced eyesight, he sees an old van barely perceptible through the rest of the traffic swerve to the left into oncoming traffic where it is almost instantly struck by a small CityCar. Most of the rest of the accident is lost to the medtech as additional vehicles join in the chaos.

Vegas witnesses the mess down the street unfold with a small sense of satisfaction. Ghlahn had done his job. Echo, too, has the good fortune to look in the correct direction at the gunfire and see the commotion. However, the traffic in their immediate vicinity is still in motion and Vegas says, "Hold up." to keep everyone in place.

Two more reports bounce off of the highrise canyon walls drawing the eyes of the crew to the other direction. Blossom, realizing she had looked the wrong way once Vegas spoke, has now corrected herself and is looking the opposite direction of everyone else. Everyone else, however, notices that luck is indeed on their side as a sedan swerves into oncoming traffic head-on into another two-door sedan. The faint sounds of screeching tires on the wet pavement reaches the edgerunner's collective ears.

"Wait for it," Vegas intones again and all eyes turn back to the traffic in their immediate vicinity, waiting for it to clear up and grant them safe passage to the manhole.

(OOC: Assuming Ghlahn will make haste to return to the group,)

Shouldering his rifle, Ghlahn takes a moment to appreciate his work, but just a moment. Despite the cool nature of the framework and the dampness that the rain brings with it, the sniper is able to hand-over-hand his way back to the ledge without slipping. It would have been so much easier if he'd have had access to the gangway, but that blasted gate would have required someone with better skills than he had at breaking and entering to bypass. Someone like Fixer, perhaps. Unfortunately, sometimes the terrain prohibited the easiest course.

Shuffling along the ledge, he rounds the corner and resolves the remaining distance to the fire escape without incident. Fixer waits for him there and now that the two have joined back up, they progress back down the metal stairs with haste. Dismounting the hanging ladder of they had previously ascended is much easier than getting up it, and the two pause only long enough to determine that the alley is still free from anything they need to be concerned with. Splashing down the alleyway, the pair quickly make the street and slow to an inconspicuous walk.

Traffic is thinning as the work performed by the enhanced sniper disrupts its usual flow. When Ghlahn and Fixer are approximately half-way across the distance to the awning, they see the rest of their groups run from the front of the security door store to the middle of the street.

"Go!" Vegas orders after the last vehicle passes opening the street to them.

Reaching the manhole cover, Blossom immediately drops down and visually takes in the surface of the cover searching for any sign of exterior security measures. Vegas stands over the crouching Asian, his Mark II in hand ready to use if necessary, Bloodbank to his left looking across the street and nervously eyeing the windows of the upper floors. Echo, too, is standing guard waiting on the wardriver to do her thing.

"I don't see any security," Blossom informs them. Then, reaching down with her left arm, she feels the bracer respond to her mental command and slips her fingers in the small hole at the side of the heavy metal cover. Flinging it aside as though it didn't weigh nearly fifty pounds, she peers down the revealed opening and frowns at the odor that rises with the warm steam washing over her pretty face. There, amidst the vaporous water molecules, she spots the cross-work hatching of a laser security grid.

"There you are," she mumbles, immediately getting to work on the keyboard she'd not yet closed.

Each integrate operates its own wireless network. This system runs every autonomous and remote system that the city maintains (usually through contracts with companies rather than their own payroll). The security for the sewers is not the highest priority system, but it isn't the lowest either. Trash compacting systems would fall into that category. Blossom's hope is that she can isolate the wifi signal for the security grid and then pinpoint the exact module controlling this laser grid.

Bright brown eyes flit about as the results of her netrunning play out across her optic viewscreen unseen to the others. The fingers of her right hand dance about the keyboard splayed out from the bracer on her left, using shortkeys to deliver commands. Time slows for her and what seems like an eternity of probes, deflections, rerouting of small data bots, and quickly devised lines of code, she smiles around the stem of her lollipop. Found ya, but her thoughts are already on to the next task: breaking into the module.

Codewall, she recognizes the module security. A mental command streamed through her neural link activates the I-FACING routine and for a brief moment it feels to her as though she's falling. Effects of dropping one's consciousness into the Net are short-felt for an experienced netrunner and within moments, her Anime Schoolgirl Avatar is what she has become. Standing before a glowing wall of scrolling 1's and 0's that stretches in every direction for as far as the eye could see.

"Hai-ya!" the avatar exclaims with wide, flickering eyes as her tiny hands weave in front of her in an intricate, magical pattern before extending both hands directly at the wall. A stream of white light flies from the animated hands and the avatar responds by blowing it's ponytailed, purple hair back and rippling the white button up and plaid skirt as though being hit by wind from the effects of the stream.

White light strikes the wall and immediately begins to deconstruct it. Ones and zeroes fly apart and the hole widens to a point where the avatar can press through. Now, inside the wall, Blossom witnesses various strings of commands like vines hanging from the perpetual blackness of the overhead void. Outside of the Net, Blossom's body has gone limp, kneeling at the edge of the manhole, her hands lying still in her lap while the holo keyboard brightly splays across her bare thigh. To all of her companions, she looks unconscious, her chin resting on her collarbones, wet hair dangling and clinging to her face.

The avatar drops her hands to his thin hips and tilts her head back as she flies forward, large brown eyes scanning the vines of code. Stopping before one in particular, Blossom exclaims, "YÅ«reka!" and reaches out to touch it with tiny hands. The green code vine immediately turns red and the flow of code stops its motion.

Blossom's limp body immediately regains rigidity and she springs up while simultaneously deactivating her keyboard. "The laser grid has been deactivated," she informs everyone with a happy declaration.

"What should we expect down there?" Vegas asks while his intense blue eyes drift across the street to the approaching Ghlahn and Fixer.

"Beats me," Blossom replies. "But it smells like sh*t, so I'm guessing there's sh*t."

Her reply earns the netrunner an incredulous expression from the dapper solo. "All right, I'm first down. Ghlahn," the pair splashes up just in time to receive instruction. "You've got our six."

That being said, the suited man holsters his chrome plated, pearl handled Mark II beneath his jacket and scrambles onto the ladder.

Blossom wasn't wrong. Sickly sweet odors of feces and decay sweep up and over the Flein designer skin mask, barely reduced through the filters as he descends the five or six meters into the black depths. Wishing he had low-lite vision splices, the solo fishes his pocket flashlight from top-coat pocket as well as his designer Mark II. Holding the flashlight so that he can rest his right hand over the rist of his left and have it shine out before him, the solo steps down the tight, round tunnel to allow for the others to join him. The water he finds himself standing in is flowing just below the height of his Flien Wingtip boots, wetting the bottom of his suitpants and threatening to spill over to his stockings. The solo can only imagine what the cleaning bill will be.

"Clear," he calls back up the ladder after painting the tunnel in both directions with his light and seeing only more tunnel, water, garbage, and perhaps a couple of dead rats.

Blossom is next down the ladder, her long, black trench coat swaying behind her as she descends. Dropping into the soup, she wipes her gloved hands in her exposed belly in disgust, apparently not at all concerned that she'd just muddied her flat, tattooed stomach. She, too, produces a pocket flashlight and rolls the beam about her to get an idea of their surroundings.

Bloodbank follows, the smell of the steaming much-filled tunnel slipping under his battle mask and drawing a gagging cough from his lips. He steps away from the ladder and draws his .44 at the same time as his own light.

Fixer is hot on his heels, his bag dangling from his shoulders. Unlike the others, he needs no flashlight. His low-lite vision immediately kicks in and the grays and blues of the effect deliver to his eyes a gloomy, dirty path leading off parallel to the street. The techie's breathing mask eliminates the majority of the odors, but not fully. The smell is quite unpleasant.

Echo and lastly, Ghlahn, descend into the steamy murk. For Echo, the adaptive nano her body is imbued with makes it unnecessary for her to wear an air filter, but it does not protect her from the smell and the sticky feeling of grotesque grime that suddenly clings to her, but a flashlight, she does need and produces after briefly searching through her bag. M'haru Ghlahn is also immediately attacked by the stench, but simply switches off his olfactory sensors with a mental command to compensate. Once planted in the tunnel, his infrared sight kicks on.

"All right, doll," Vegas says with an edge to his voice while wishing his partner was there to help watch his back. "Which way?"

Having already activated her optic view screen vision of the sewer tunnel map, Blossom rolls the sucker in her mouth and points quietly to the left. Without further adieu, the team pushes through the thick air and down the length of the tube.

Three additional times, Blossom gives them directions before they arrive at another access ladder with a steady stream of water pouring down it. Above, approximately six meters, the waterfall cascades over the edge of a ledge from which some yellowish light penetrates the darkness.

"Wait here," Vegas orders, turning off his flashlight and dropping it back into his overcoat pocket. Holstering his weapon, the dapper solo frowns at the falling water and then steels himself for the wet climb up the ladder.

The ledge is strewn with debris. Drenched paper, sacks, even some leaves and branches, are all pressed against a series of metal bars that stretch across the mouth of a drainage pipe barring their way into the school's compound. Beyond the bars, with water rushing over his arms and soaking his topcoat and suit even further, Vegas scans what's visible of the campus for signs of activity.

There's a stretch of grounds approximately thirty meters wide between the grate and the first building. The brick and steel structure is easily identified as a stadium of sorts, smaller than professional teams, but still large enough to handle the types of sports these spoiled kids participate in. To the right of that building, Vegas can see a portion of another tucked between the stadium and what looks like a similar architectural design to the stadium's yet much smaller neighbor. That is multi-storied with a brick academic style that makes the Frank Sinatra look alike think of classrooms. He can't see to the right or left too far, but what he can see of the available compound is empty of traffic. A quick, visual inspection of the bars doesn't show any sign of a gate. The entire bar structure is firmly bolted to the cement alcove.

With his job done, Ghlahn returns to the landing. "Let's go, the others are waiting." Soon both men are back with the group.

Descending into the sewers the smell is exactly what one would expect from an area intended to carry waste. Ghlahn took one whiff and turned off his olfactory sensors, thankful he could ignore the smell. Upon reaching their destination, the group found their way blocked by an iron grate. "I'll watch our backs while you figure out a way past the grate." Ghlahn took up a position about 100m back along their path to make sure they were not followed

Fixer did not have to wait long before his ears picked up a twin set of reports from what he could only assume was the Nomad's rifle. A short silence fell upon him aside from the normal sounds of the high city mixed with that of the thunderstorms before a second pair of reports rang out. Ghlahn was most definitely at work, and with any luck, the shots of his rifle would be mistaken for the peals of thunder. It was not much longer before Ghlahn was cambering back around the corner with an ease that spoke much about either his level of fitness or level of cyberware he was fitted with.

"Let's go, the others are waiting," were the only spoken words from Ghlahn as he hit the fire escape and started at would be a run on flat ground down the ladders.

Though Fixer was unable to see the man's handiwork from his point of view, the techie knew instantly that he did not need to ask the question - Ghlahn had performed his job efficiently enough for the task at hand, perhaps better. Anybody that had suffered injuries, or worse, wound not be on his conscience. Night City was not a place for mercy, something that Fixer had learned the hard way.

Rain water made the walkways and ladders descending down a bit slick, though it was easier than the trip up. A quick pause and a cursory glance told Fixer that there is nothing he needs to be concerned with once he hit the alleyway. Hard soled boots made resounding thuds muffled by the falling rain and the occasional splash of a puddle. Ghlahn could have easily outpaced Fixer but chose instead not to leave the techie behind. Traffic was thinned out a bit from the sniper's work. The rest of their group ran from the front of the security door store to the center of the road as the last of the traffic passed by.

"Go!" Vegas ordered after the last vehicle passed and left the street open to them. Fixer did not much care that the man had become a de facto little commander for the group. He had noticed the man's disposition back at the diner, and the others had just kind of followed suit after that.

Bloodbank, Echo, and Vegas provided protection for the petite netrunner as the bracer on her wrist responded to her mental commands and provided her with the necessary strength to move the heavy manhole cover to the side. The woman's body went limp as her consciousness left it. Fixer had never had an interest in what some would describe as an alternate reality, but he seen netrunners in action before.

After what was only a short time to the group surrounding her, Blossom's body sprung back up into activity, "The laser grid has been deactivated." Fixer could hear her exclaim as him and Ghlahn were closing in the final distance.

"...so I'm guessing there's sh*t." Fixer caught the tail end of the conversation as he clambered up to the group.

"All right, I'm first down. Ghlahn," the pair splashes up just in time to receive instruction. "You've got our six," Vegas states.

Vegas holstered his fancied up weapon before hopping down into the sewers. Fixer noted the light from the hole as the man flipped on his flashlight and cried back up the opening, "Clear."

Blossom and Bloodbank were next down into the sewers, Fixer's lip curling up into a slight smile as their own beams of light came on into activity. He noticed the scent coming up from the manhole and pulled his mask into place before jumping down. As he passed into the dim light, his optics adjusted and before him was a field of shades of gray and blue that gave detail to the world around him. Glorious.

The smell that hit the techie made him choke him on the air for a moment before he could get used to it. Fixer did not want to known how bad it would have been without his breathing mask to filter out the worst of it.

Echo and then Ghlahn follow him down, one more flashlight popping on between the two. He glanced back and noticed that the nomad was peering around as if the world was clear to him with no need of light. 'Optic enhancements,' he knew near immediately though not quite how good.

"All right, doll," Vegas says with an edge to his voice while wishing his partner was there to help watch his back. "Which way?"

Having already activated her optic view screen vision of the sewer tunnel map, Blossom rolls the sucker in her mouth and points quietly to the left. Without further adieu, the team pushes through the thick air and down the length of the tube.

Three additional times, Blossom gives them directions before they arrive at another access ladder with a steady stream of water pouring down it. Above, approximately six meters, the waterfall cascades over the edge of a ledge from which some yellowish light penetrates the darkness.

"Wait here," Vegas orders, turning off his flashlight and dropping it back into his overcoat pocket. Holstering his weapon, the dapper solo frowns at the falling water and then steels himself for the wet climb up the ladder.

Fixer noted Vegas's hesitation as he reached the top of the ladder and could make out the grate. His mental commands moved to the bracer on his right forearm as his left hand moved unzip the zipper all the way to his elbow. A small saw sprang out and began a lazily spin as it was not yet needed to cut into anything. The small whine was its own distinct noise, but perhaps the sound of the storm would dampen it out.

"Let me up, I can check to see if it is hardwired for security, and cut through it if not," Fixer spoke up in a firm tone for maybe the first time. This was one problem he could get them through.

Although bloodbank was fidgety and nervous, the moment he has to go, he moves without hesitation, heading down into the sewers. The stench draws an awful cough from his lips but he draws his gun and light.

Bloodbank nods at Vegas and waits with the group, watching and waiting for anything out of the ordinary.

((If a gas mask would help with the smell, he would probably put that on as well))

West 43875 St. 52 High | Night City Integrate | High City | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 3:30 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)

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

Bars block any further progress. With a sniff containing perhaps a little bit of frustration and a whole lot of horrid aroma, Vegas gently lowers himself back down the water while turning his head to avoid the splash of the water across his arms from hitting him in the face as much as possible.

"There's a series of bars across the opening," he informs everyone in a voice that carries just over the sound of the descending rush of rainwater.

Fixer, having already noted Vegas's hesitation as he reached the top of the ladder, makes some mental commands to activate the bracer on his right forearm as his left hand moves to unzip the sleeve all the way to his elbow. A small saw springs out and begins a lazy spin as it was not yet needed to cut into anything. The small whine is its own distinct noise, but the techie hopes that perhaps the sound of the storm will dampen it out.

"Let me up, I can check to see if it is hardwired for security, and cut through it if not," Fixer speaks up in a firm tone for maybe the first time since joining the group. This is one problem he can get them through.

"I'll watch our backs while you figure out a way past the grate." Ghlahn shifts the position of his shouldered rifle as he turns and begins to make his way back the way they had come, his Colt AMT Model 2000 in hand.

Stepping through the path that the rest of the group opens for him, Fixer grips the cold ladder rungs and attempts to ignore the wash of icy water over his forearms as he climbs. Reaching the lip of the runoff, he grips the uppermost bar tightly with his left hand and mentally activates the techscanner in his right forearm bracer, moving his arm about the space in front of him and reviewing the readings in his optics viewscreen.

Feeling confident in his scan, the techie deactivates techscanner and sets the saw blade in motion. Sparks fly and the sound of grinding metal rolls back offensively into the tunnel. Occasionally, Fixer glances up from his work to scan the yard stretching out before him. Accelerated heart rate and the jarring of the saw cutting away adds sweat to the rainwater coursing over his body. One wrong turn of luck and this gig is fried.

One bar cut through at the top and still no apparent indication that they'd been discovered. There aren't any lights on in the building directly across from them—a gym from all appearances. No lights on in the structure adjacent to it either. The one further away and between the two did have an exterior light on somewhere about it, somewhere not within Fixer's line of sight, but it isn't bright enough to spill over into the yard. The techie proceeds with the lower section of the first bar, towards the base as close as he can get it.

The torch would have cut quicker, but the sparks from the saw are alarming enough. A highly heated source of light would have spilled its soul across the courtyard and played ghostly images dancing in pagan delight while it did so. No. This is the best solution. Time-consuming, but the best nonetheless.

On to the second bar, the first having dropped away into the mud just outside the mouth of the drainage duct. The first had taken him close to four minutes to cut through. He had another four to go.

Below, Blossom displays the only map she can find of the schoolyard to the others. "We're here," she indicates the point on the map and then points clear across campus to a large building off in its own corner. "According to the directory, that's the dorms. And this," she indicates the clumped together group of buildings in the middle of the map, specifically the bottom corner nearest the roundabout. "That's the administration building. That's where we'll need to go to get jacked in."

"Can you pull up a map of the admin building itself, doll?" Vagas asks while looking down at the holographic map.

"Negative, big daddy," the netrunner remarks. "Nothing like that available that I can see. Would need to hack into the city building records to get something like that, and that means a trip downtown."

The top of the second bar is cut through and Fixer pauses in part to allow the vibration through his arm to still and in part to see if there's been any indication that he's been spotted.

"What're these buildings?" Echo asks and points to the structures directly in front of their infiltration point.

"The sports center, classes, and showers," Blossom replies.

Seeing no sign of life in the rain-soaked compound, Fixer begins to cut through the bottom of the second bar.

"Do teachers live on campus?" the lithe nomad woman asks.

"Some," the netrunner nods, her optic viewscreen displaying the brochure site for parents. "It states that there's always a teacher presence even during off-hours and holidays."

"They'd be in the dorms," Vegas adds knowingly followed by a nod from Echo.

"So," the little Asian woman looks up at the others with a smile and water studded, heart-shaped sunglasses. "What's the plan?"

Night City Regional General Hospital, Emergency Room | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:46 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)

"What's your name, Metalhead?" the leader of the Soil Liberation Group demands of Casino.

"Metalhead is fine, no need for real names here is there"?

"I doubt that's your real name," the man's voice resonates with amusement. "So, I'm going to call you Mr. Metalhead seeing how I respect you so much.

"Mr. Metalhead, I'm not going to offer you payment in traditional currency. I'm going to do better than that. Be a help to me and I'll pay you by allowing you to live. Cause me any problems and I'll make sure you are forced to watch as I kill every last one of these poor, sickly people while they look you in the eye knowing that you're the reason they're dying. Then, I'll slowly push a Q-tip so far into your ear that it'll go through your eardrum and penetrate your brain. It's a slow, agonizing way to die, Mr. Meathead, but I'm guessing that you and I are going to be besties and I won't have to employ such nasty methods of retribution. What d'ya say, Mr. Meathead? BFFs?"

"Well to be honest I don't give a s*** about any of these people, don't know them, or want to know them. As far ass BFF's sure why not BFF's and am I Mr Metalhead or Mr Meathead I just want to be sure so I come when you call me."

(using the word ass in place of as but only enough to satisfy myself I wait for any reply)

"However first I need to take care of something personal then I‘ll be your trusty BFF forever"

Slowly moving, making no sudden movements, Casino looked for something sharp, hoping for a scalpel or even a letter opener and a plastic bag or a surgical glove. Finding the useful items he turned to the Soil's leader indicating them and asked before picking them up

"May I? Those two cops took some things of mine and I want them back after this is done."

(Hoping he says yes)

Moving once more, again slowly, well aware of the gun pointed at his back, the large solo made his way to the body of Riggs. Kneeling beside him he paused to look at the cop one last time then cut off the cop's thumb. Placing it in the plastic holding container he moved up the body to Rigg's face and without hesitation cut and tore the right eyeball from the dead corpse's skull. Palming the handcuff key and attached car keys, Rigg's officer badge adding all to the his pockets Casino stood up and turned to Soil's leader.

"Ok now I'm all yours boss"..................

(Ok two things involved with the brutal maiming of Riggs.

1st to get my gear back of course but 2nd to make my mark in the mind of the Soil leader that I'm no goody two shoes but a hardened criminal. Let him think what he wants but doing this mutilation should show him I don't f*** around and gain a little respect, Also even if I do not find anything sharp enough to do it quick I will get the thumb by breaking it off and taking out his eye with my bare hands making sure the retinal area stays very much intact.)

Night City Regional General Hospital, Emergency Room | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:47 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)

"Mr. Metalhead, I'm not going to offer you payment in traditional currency. I'm going to do better than that. Be a help to me and I'll pay you by allowing you to live. Cause me any problems and I'll make sure you are forced to watch as I kill every last one of these poor, sickly people while they look you in the eye knowing that you're the reason they're dying. Then, I'll slowly push a Q-tip so far into your ear that it'll go through your eardrum and penetrate your brain.

"It's a slow, agonizing way to die, Mr. Meathead, but I'm guessing that you and I are going to be besties and I won't have to employ such nasty methods of retribution. What d'ya say, Mr. Meathead? BFFs?"

"Well, to be honest, I don't give a s*** about any of these people, don't know them, or want to know them. As far as BFF's; sure why not BFF's, and am I Mr. Metalhead or Mr. Meathead? I just want to be sure so I come when you call me." Casino pauses for an answer, but when the completely black clad man makes no indication of clarifying, the large solo continues. "However, first I need to take care of something personal. Then I‘ll be your trusty BFF forever."

Slowly moving, making no sudden movements, Casino looks about for something sharp, hoping for a scalpel or even a letter opener and a plastic bag or a surgical glove. The waiting room is bereft of such items in ready view leaving the gunman in a situation where he either needs to compromise his intent or get creative.

"May I?" the blonde cyborg motions with cuffed hands towards the body of Riggs where it is sprawled amidst overturned chairs. "Those two cops took some things of mine and I want them back after this is done."

"Slowly," the incursion leader acknowledges.

Moving once more—again slowly—well aware of the gun pointed at his back, the large solo makes his way to the body of Riggs. Kneeling beside him, he pauses to look at the cop one last time no emotion written on his hard features before he pats the officer's pockets down to first retrieve the key for the handcuffs.

Concussion washes over head and shoulders followed immediately by the strenuous sound of the plastic charge exploding at the nurse's station. His attention drawn momentarily from the task at hand, Casino looks up in time to see smoke clearing and the remainder of the door dangling from a single bent and distorted hinge at the top of the blackened and battered frame. Returning to his pat down, the gun for hire finds the key he's looking for and proceeds to unlock the cuffs, grateful that his Pain Editor is once again in operation. Looking back at the leader of the Soil LIberation Group, the blonde man indicates the small folded knife at Riggs' belt.

"I said no weapons," the masked man remarks off-handedly.

"Just need to insure I can collect my belongings after all this is over," Casino replies flatly. "I won't keep it."

The terrorist is silent for a moment in consideration before motioning that the leather wearing brute can go about what he's intending. Unclipping the knife, Casino is sure to move with deliberate intent so as not to give those watching him any reason to open fire. The blade clicks into place with ease and Riggs' right thumb is taken in hand. Steeling himself for the gruesome task, Casino places the knife to the knuckle and uses all of his considerable strength to press the blade through the flesh, bone, and tendons. Blood flows but doesn't spurt, a sure sign that Riggs' heart has stopped beating and within a span of a number of seconds the grim solo has removed the thumb.

Placing the severed digit in the front right pocket of his black duster, he moves up the body to Riggs' face and without hesitation cuts the right eyeball from the dead man's skull. This is a little squishier and a lot less sturdy. Adding it to the same pocket, Casino silently hopes that the eyeball doesn't get pressed and burst as he rises to his full six foot two inches in height and turns to the Soil's leader.

"Ok, now I'm all yours boss."

"Now," the man's voice is filled with raucous disbelief. "That was some messed up s***, Mr. Metalhead!" He turns his masked features to the woman soldier standing nearby. "That was some messed up s***, wasn't it?" She nods, her covered face and eyes never turning from Casino.

Looking back at his newly acquired mercenary, the leader of the SLG continues, "Of course, now you need to drop that toothpick."

(OOC: Assuming Casino complies and drops the knife.)

"Good," the man says cheerfully. "It seems like we really are gonna be BFFs."

Another of the Liberation group approaches from the nurse's station and leans in to whisper something to the leader. Down past the conversation and the huddled group of hostages, Casino witnesses the gathering of squad cars with lights flashing in the ambulance loading zone.

"Mr. Metalhead," the leader directs his attention towards Casino once again. "Pick up Officer Pirate's handgun by the barrel and pop the clip. Empty the rounds into your left hand and set them on the chair in front of you. That'll leave one round in the chamber. You can put the clip back in and that'll be your weapon for the time being. We're going on a little walk, you and I, and I think you might need to shoot something."

Night City Regional General Hospital, Emergency Room | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - Day 2 (Saturday), 2:46 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)

Placing the severed digit in the front right pocket of his black duster, he moves up the body to Riggs' face and without hesitation cuts the right eyeball from the dead man's skull. This is a little squishier and a lot less sturdy. Adding it to the same pocket, Casino silently hopes that the eyeball doesn't get pressed and burst as he rises to his full six foot two inches in height and turns to the Soil's leader.

"Ok, now I'm all yours boss." Casino told the man he was already thinking of a way to kill. He hadn't wanted to mutilate Rigg's body but thanks to this Soil idiot it had become the only way to get his gun and other stuff taken from him back.

"Now," the man's voice is filled with raucous disbelief. "That was some messed up s***, Mr. Metalhead!" He turns his masked features to the woman soldier standing nearby. "That was some messed up s***, wasn't it?" She nods, her covered face and eyes never turning from Casino.

Meeting the women's eyes Casino knew she would have to be one of the ones to watch out for as she seemed more watch full of him then the rest. He could tell no matter what he did or how well he convinced the leader of their "common interest" she seemed not to be buying it.

Looking back at his newly acquired mercenary, the leader of the SLG continues, "Of course, now you need to drop that toothpick."

Without a word Casino causally dropped the knife and stood to face the terrorist leader.

"Good," the man says cheerfully. "It seems like we really are gonna be BFFs."

Another of the Liberation group approaches from the nurse's station and leans in to whisper something to the leader. Down past the conversation and the huddled group of hostages, Casino witnesses the gathering of squad cars with lights flashing in the ambulance loading zone.

"Mr. Metalhead," the leader directs his attention towards Casino once again. "Pick up Officer Pirate's handgun by the barrel and pop the clip. Empty the rounds into your left hand and set them on the chair in front of you. That'll leave one round in the chamber. You can put the clip back in and that'll be your weapon for the time being. We're going on a little walk, you and I, and I think you might need to shoot something."

Doing as told he bent over removed all the ammo leaving only one bullet locked and loaded. Looking over at the leader and his ‘men' Casino knew the weapons available to him were useless. No open skin for his tazor, heavily armored enough that one bullet would do little and only get him killed. Giving nothing away the large solo knew all he could do right now was play along and follow this guys lead.

Hopefully he'd get lucky and the dice would finally roll his way,.