Outside of The Red Lantern – East Marina – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:30pm
Mae didn’t appear to notice Bulls Eyes reaction to his battle mask, or at least no one could tell because they couldn’t see his eyes now.

“We need a RV or something close let’s try for that if we can” Croaker told Bull’s Eye.

“Whatever the case,” Firewind added, still hunching against the weather. “Can we move this discussion away from the edgy man with the submachine gun?”
Mae thought that a wise decision, no use risking anything if they weren’t going to attempt to boost the van.

“Firewind’s right lets calmly move on, as far as where to go Pacifica’s out too much sec so we head to Rancho Coronado by taxi or bus depending on our available Euro’s.” Croaker said and started them down the street again.
Mae followed in their wake, keeping the smg totting guard locked in his sights until the corner of a building removed him from sight. He walked a yard of two behind the group again, his hand still hovering near his automat as he scanned the street for trouble. He presented the visage of a modern day grim reaper, tall, dressed in black, his face completely hidden behind his black armored battle mask and bandana. A look he found very intimidating to most.

All this talk was boring him, he didn’t have any suggestions and besides he doubted that Croaker would trust him anyway. The man seemed to be very edgy when it came to the black clad assassin; the thought made Mae smile behind his mask. He liked making people uneasy, if they wasted thought on worrying about him then it weakened their reactions, slowing them ever so slightly, which sometimes gave him just the edge he needed.

He didn’t have any plans to do anything against these people, not right now anyway. They were trying to stage an assault against the Megacorps and he really wanted in on that action, but one could never tell when ‘allies’ could sudden turn into ‘enemies’, sometimes in the blink of an eye.

Outside of The Red Lantern – East Marina – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:30pm

**The following is posted in close collaboration with Bromern Sal. Much of it is his words.**

Reverend kept his eyes on Preacher as the solo slowly obeyed his employer's command, slipping the weapon back into his jacket and dropping back into his seat. The lieutenant noticed that Preacher made no comment in reference to Spiff's declaration about not wanting a bodyguard, and as he walked around the table to seat himself opposite Preacher, he did nothing but stare daggers at the man.

"Where is everyone, Rev?"

"Too early in the day for most of them, Boss." Reverend continued to stare across the table at the cowboy, who peered back at the large, bald man with little by way of expression on his pallid face. "Why was the meeting sh*t? Seems to me as you got a plan of sorts working."

Spiff started by noting his man's physical attitude. "First off, calm down. Preacher here should be just your kind of guy. Who else but another religious man should be a part of our organization? He's not just a hot gun either. Word around the street is that he knows his way around the net." He set his phone on the table.

"Rev, it was a sh*t meeting because the plan isn't definitive. We don't have a backup if things go wrong. And Croaker's still got this concept of flapping his wang out there being more important than getting anything done." He put his feet on the floor and pulled up his chair.

"Here's what I want from you Preacher." Spiff spoke for a while, going over the details of an arrangement where Preacher would be his information regarding the net and the web. The discussion of money was brief. Preacher was not a man of many words, so once the figure was reasonable he accepted it. Spiff agreed to pay him 400 eb per month to be his eyes and ears on the net. He wouldn't necessarily have to go on, but instead know what those on it could know. He needed a man who could help him cover his tracks, and Preacher was just the man for the job.

"Now if it ever comes down to you seeing an absolute need to go on the net, you can count on me to help with the cost of equipment and cover your ass while you're under. Let's pray that never happens. And another thing. You're a decent solo too. If you get yourself back up and running like you did before, I'll probably be paying you for that type of work."

He had let Rev see the negotiations because he knew his man. He would need him to be fully capable of taking over while Spiff was out on runs. Moreover, as he turned back to the man, he needed a second opinion. "What do you think Rev? Anything else you can think of to note?"

Reverend shook his head, "It is your show, Boss."

"What's the term of this contract?" Preacher asked with a slow drawl. "Should I decide to take it."

Spiff chuckled. It was just like a solo to be itchy about every opportunity that was placed in front of them. "Terms are a complex thing, Preacher." He picked up his phone and started scrolling through the contracts in a manner so Preacher could see them. "Most of the people there tend to give me info when I call just 'cause they like me. I've never done anything cruel to you Preacher, and I'm offering you cash to do almost exactly the same thing. The only difference is, you've got the opportunity to hang around me for the next few days to avoid this stupid megacorp. Safety in numbers, ya know?" Spiff was pulling it out of his ass because he had too much on his mind. He was trying to figure out how his people could help and he was struggling at finding a reason not to hire Preacher to put a few bullets into Croaker.

"Look, the sum of it is we don't have anyone on the net. None of us. What I need is someone who knows the net so we can avoid a paper trail. When it comes down to it, the only time I'll likely need that for is until this Megacorp comes down, or until I'm a splatter on the street. Still, I like you Preacher, and I'd like you to be a part of my organization. I think you'll like what we do and how we do it. Reverend here is as slick as his pricey suit makes him look. The ones you don't know stay off the radar and still bring in enough to cover the cost of things like this very expensive suit. I think that you could be a good asset to us. You certainly have some marketable skills, but for the next little while when I'm getting to know you, let's keep it to a friendly deal. A few hundred a month to show me how much you really know. When you think it's time to high-tail it, or you think you've proven yourself useful, talk to me. I'll be happy to renegotiate."

"Well, I don't know how much service I can provide where the Net's concerned, Spiff. But if you're willin' to pay me four hundred Eb a month to occasionally scan the Internet, I'll be happy to hit a DataTerm now an again. 'Sides which, if'n I don't have t' keep you alive, it makes it all the more peachy a deal for me, now don't it."

"This guy for real, Boss?" Reverend thumbed his hand at Preacher and raised his eyebrows, causing his forehead to wrinkle something fierce. "You really payin' him four hundred to sit on his ass and play braindance?" The lieutenant shook his bald head and whistled through his teeth. "Your money, son.

"So, what's the plan now?"

"You learn how to do it and I'll pay you to do it, Rev. For now, Preacher is going to keep us alive. Did you pick up everything we're doing Rev? What do you need me to fill you in on?" After a brief clarification of the events so far, Spiff turned back to the cowboy.

"Alright, first thing's first. Am I going to need a new phone?" Spiff was aware of how these things worked. He had posted on a forum recently about the events, and he knew that things like that could be tracked. The question was posed to their man on the inside to see how much of a concern it was. After all, he had been the one to post it.

Preacher remained silent for a moment before nodding. "Wouldn't hurt, though there's a chance they've already traced it back to you, and are negotiating with an info corp to get your ten forty."

"What?" Reverend's deep voice drew the other's attention as he leaned forward and heatedly demanded, "The organization's been compromised? What the hell, Spiff? When were you going to tell me about this?"

Spiff took a deep breath. "I just found out myself Rev. Now perhaps you see why I wanted the rest of the crew here. I would expect excuses from Choirgirl or Sticks. I called you in on this one because you produce results. To say the least, I'm not impressed. Now, you can keep getting hot-headed or you can shut the f*** up so I can find out what changes need to be made."

Reverend shut up.

Spiff turned back to Preacher to finish the conversation. "That's not what I mean. If they know it's me, I'm glad to know it, but can they track me based on my phone? If I get a new phone, do I have to get a new number to keep them from tracking me? Would just getting a new number do fine with my current phone? What about Rev and most of my organization? Since they're in my contacts do I need to change out their phones? What kind of cost am I looking at? I need you to give me the minute details here, even if most of it's over my head. This is the kind of back-and-forth I need from you."

"Your contacts and such are stored on the phone, so you needn't worry about that. Your billing info...well, that's another matter altogether. As far as tracking you by your cell...they could triangulate your position based on cell towers and how good a relationship they got with your service provider, or how good a netrunner they got on staff. But unless you use some dope name to bill, it don't matter if you buy a new phone an' number or not. They likely got you pegged same as they got those who've ever been on camera with Croaker I'd assume." Preacher shrugged. "My advice? Never stay in one place for too long, and at least put your staff on high alert."

Spiff sat up straight and put his phone away. "If that's the case, then we should get moving." He waved over the waitress. "Two things sweetheart. I need to get the check, and I need to speak to Kara. Is she in?"

The waitress nodded, chewing rather wildly on a piece of gum as she eyeballed Spiff and his two companions from beneath heavily painted eyelids. "I got your check, sugar, but Kara ain't working right now. She handles the night crew if you know what I mean. You ought t' come back and see her. Cutest little body you ever seen, but then you likely already knew that or you wouldn't be askin' for her now would you."

That said, the woman held a plastic plaque out towards the fixer. "Credchip, or cash?" Spiff paused. He didn't want this location revealed if at all possible. He turned to Preacher and payed in the way the cowboy recommended.

"If I call Scribe's bodyguard right now, you're telling me they won't start targeting him?"

"Well, if I was you I'd use a pay-per-use phone you can pick up from a Vend-O-Mart so long as we're in this mess."

"Vend-O-Mart sounds fine to me. Let's pick up one of those on our way out. We've got work to do this evening." Spiff, stacked up his plates and finished off his drink and moved it out of the way. Then he looked to his lieutenant. "That business is done. Let's hear your piece Rev."

The Red Lantern – East Marina – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:14pm
Reverend answered his boss relatively quickly all things considered, following the other two out of the building and into the rain. By the time they reached the slate gray sidewalk, there was no sign of the others who’d passed before them, leaving the trio standing alone on the curb. The choices were simple: walk in one of the worst storms of the Spring, catch a cab, or take the bus. Sticking with tradition, Spiff waved down a robo-cab while Reverend finished up his report on his findings.

The door to the gunmetal gray and pewter vehicle swung open revealing a fairly roomy interior, all things considered. Receiving instructions from Spiff, Reverend stood outside the door and waited until they were seated comfortably, the orders given, before giving his boss a nod and closing the door to be off about his business.

The cab was piloted by a limited AI system that had the city streets mapped out in fine detail within its memory banks as well as sensors all about it to keep it from crashing. There wasn’t even the fake-looking driver as seen in holo-vids of eras past, just the charcoal gray dash that protected the computer system, and the card-swipe, electronic bank machine that was designed as part of the dash. A friendly, female voice was the only indication of human interaction from the Robo-Cab company, politely asking for their destination, music preference, and if the climate controls were comfortably set.

Night City, being what it was, had street vendors, DataTerms, and vending machines every few blocks, so it didn’t take long for Spiff to spot a Vend-a-Phone beneath the awning of a Chinese curios shop. The purchase was quick and painless, the machine accepting Spiff’s cash without reservation (though it did fuss a bit about one of the crumpled, multi-colored bills). In no time, the fixer was back inside the cab with the female voice asking the prime questions all over again.

It was a waiting game now…could Reverend deliver on a contact using Spiff’s network so they could get the weapon, and possibly the gear, Spiff was interested in? Preacher sat quietly the whole of the ride, possibly considering just that…though from his soft snore, Spiff highly doubted it.

The Mean Streets – East Marina – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:45pm

---

Outside of The Red Lantern – East Marina – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:14pm
Guardian had to make a decision: his apartment, or some dive motel that took cash. Someplace quiet, someplace relatively safe…the dive motel won for two reasons: if the corporation was, in fact, on to them as DigitalScribe suspected, then it was likely they knew where Guardian’s apartment was, and if they didn’t, he wanted to keep it that way. So, the Red Cab went south deeper into Night City, to someplace Guardian had never been before. As a matter-of-fact, the bodyguard gave the cabbie a random destination and then spotted a likely roost along the way, stopping the vehicle and stepping into the rain once more to check for any possible trouble while Scribe paid.

A short jaunt to the motel office, nostrils filling with the odor of mildew and wet carpet, an ambiguous conversation with a rotund black woman wearing curlers and chain smoking, and the two men were fast checking into a room with a terrace view on the main floor.

“Guardian, you best be ready for just about anything,” Scribe growled irritably as he made his way to the desk and set his bag upon it. “The way those yahoos were bleating about Biotechnica will most certainly lead their bloodhounds to our trail. We’ll be lucky if they haven’t already latched onto one of the groups.”

Lifting his camera out of the bag, Scribe inspected it once more to see if Spiff had actually done it some harm. Assured that it was in good condition, he turned his attention to making phone calls, completely oblivious to Guardian’s activities.

The City Inn – South Night City – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 1:14pm

---

Outside of The Red Lantern – East Marina – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:30pm
The bus was the cheapest, and surest way of reaching Rancho Coronado, and it was the bus that the group quickly found themselves on—a move that resulted in more than enough space between them and the common passenger; more than one of which steadfastly refused to look in their direction. It was a long ride with many stops along the way, but it was affordable, and it kept them out of the rain, though it didn’t afford them much opportunity to chit chat.

Rancho Coronado was the beavertown of Night City. Statics bought tract housing, set up the barbeque in the back yard, parked their status symbol car in the driveway, and envied one another’s lives from behind curtained windows while stay-at-home wives slept with whomever they could get their hands on to alleviate boredom and to inadvertently give the neighborhood something to gossip about.

Bull’s Eye didn’t know whether their luck would hold, but he was seriously hoping they’d be able to find an RV within the maze of suburbia. But there was more to contend with than just the search. Neighborhoods hired security companies to patrol their streets making it safe for those stay-at-home wives to perform their trysts, sunbathe in the back yard, or gossip on street corners, and as the bus pulled up to the stop, the group wasn’t surprised so much as disappointed to see a white security sedan drifting slowly down the road ahead of them.

“There’s no way that this group is going unnoticed,” Peacekeeper muttered as she stared down the street at the obstacle they now faced.

“Those rent-a-cops are gonna be all over us the second we step foot on the pavement,” Bull’s Eye confirmed as the doors to the bus hissed with hydraulics and swung open. “What’s the plan, Croaker?”

Dover Street – Rancho Coronado – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:30pm

Guardian was glad to get out of the Red Lantern. The way the whole meeting was handled got him really, really worried. Even planning such a thing as an assault - be it open or not - against a megacorp was loco, insane, kichigai. And doing it in the open... Sure, the restaurant and the Mallplex in whole was nearly as safe as any public area in the NC could be. But to corp sec, such things didn't really matter. They wanted you dead, you'd be dead no matter where you were lurking. And the downside of being famous was the fact that you could be found quickly and easily. People talked for money or out of fear and most of Night City's areas were fully covered by CCTV. Staying out of sight was very, very difficult.

And Guardian was no longer a nobody. The big man had made a name for himself as was a must in his line of business. And there was no doubt a corporation of the size of Biotechnica would certainly have or would be able to get their hands on his file. Though his home address was hidden from the public, such a matter wasn't even peanuts for the corp sec. Frag! Going to his place was out of the question. He'd have to find a place for Scribe and himself to crash in safely. Or at least a hole hidden well enough to buy them some time until the things was over. For Frank had no illusion how this whole thing would end...

Springed Heeled Jack would probably come out of it without a scratch. There wasn't really anything binding the fixer to Croaker and his lot. And Jack had an army of his own to keep him safe. And Guardian was fairly sure Biotechnica would not start an open war against Jack's people. Sure there would be a warning, perhaps even an assassin, but probably not an open attack... Then again, he'd been wrong before...

So as the big bodyguard and his employer got into the cab, Guardian had already abandoned the idea of heading to his apartment. For all he knew, Biotechnica could already be there and if not there, then surely they'd already raided Scribe's place. No, right now the best place for them to head to would be something no one could predict or even guess, something even Frank himself or DS knew nothing about. In his experience, the best place to disappear would be the North Side, but it would perhaps be too obvious a choice. Therefore, Guardian picked up a random address in the Old Downtown, which was nearly as good as North Side, but a tiny bit less dangerous.

Frank wasn't too worried of getting into trouble even when moving through the gang infested areas of NC. To him, gangers were a bit like pack animals. They knew when to avoid someone out of their league - someone too much for them to handle... usually. Still, he wasn't going to put it on a toss of a coin. A fight always brought attention and attention was the last thing the vid-jockey or himself needed right now.

So flying through the streets of the neighborhood which these days didn't really have a name anymore, Frank kept his enhanced eyes open for the right sign. He didn't know what exactly he was looking for, but still was certain he'd recognize it when he saw it. And true enough, Helsinki Hotel had everything he needed and at the same time nothing anyone else would be looking for. It was a run-down motel like any other. The front was dirty, with strips of paint hanging from the walls and garbage lying everywhere on the ground. The neon sign didn't actually say Helsinki anymore, but rather "Hel in Hot l". The bulbs for the missing letters had probably been burnt-out years ago.

"Yo, mama. We're here!" As the cab pulled to a stop, Guardian was already heading out. Sure, it wasn't the worst time of day yet, but it paid to be sure. Couple of brown baggers raised their drunken heads, but seeing the size of the big bald black bodyguard, decided against it and went back to their business of doing nothing. Satisfied with the safety of their immediate surroundings, Frank stepped aside to let Scribe get out of the vehicle.

Outside of The Red Lantern – East Marina – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:14pm
Riding the bus to Rancho Coronado seemed to take days stop and go stop and go. Croaker wished they had not given up the van to Bull Eyes ganger friends but he was smart enough to know that by now it was for sure on every cops lookout for list.
He thought that finding an RV in this place called Rancho Coronado would be easy until they actually reached it and Croaker finally realized what was meant by the term ‘Beavertown’.

Jesus fracking christ the big nomad thought to himself we get off this bus and all hell will break loose. To top it all off as they passed the first of the many stops to their front a white security sedan was drifting slowly down the road ahead of them, heading away.

Maybe he was being too cautious, maybe he was too worried about Jaimy, maybe he was just finally getting smart but this was not where the group wanted to be. If they got off the bus they would draw immediate attention to themselves and as with the truck in the ally attantion was the last thing they needed. Looking to everyone to let them know they were going to stay on the bus he spoke softly.

“We’re gonna have to try Combat Town, its too open here.”

Once again Croaker had screwed things up maybe Spiff was right and he would only get the others killed but what else could he do. At least with the bus never really stopping for more then a few minutes they were moving and not staying long in one place.

Dover Street – Rancho Coronado – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:30pm
(OK Brom not sure if the bus we are presently on will take us back towards C-Town but if not we will switch as needed. Be advised through the whole trip, I at least, am keeping a look out for any type of RV. Maybe we will get lucky.)

Spiff went over the list of things with Reverend before sitting in the cab. He wasn't 100% happy that Reverend had chosen to take a back-seat, but he knew how much work there was to be done. It was somewhat likely his operations might even slow down this month over this stupid objective.

As Preacher nodded off and Spiff unwrapped his new pay-per-use phone, he did something very out of character. "Hope no one needs me." he mumbled to himself as he shut his phone off. "Doubt they can triangulate without power.

It was time to find a place to lay low for the time being. Spiff thought about using his contacts for this, but it was far too risky getting them involved. Instead, he decided to find a hole-in-the-wall hotel he and Preacher could hang at while he worked over his streetdeals and Preacher explained the specifics of how to stay off the radar.

Dover Street – Rancho Coronado – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:30pm
MDK stood on the bus trying to look as inconspicuous as a man in all black wearing a black battle mask can look while riding public transportation; which is to say not at all.

Since getting on the bus he had not been comfortable and kept looking around at everyone he didn’t know. He felt too exposed here; too closed in by the confines of the bus. It was a bad situation tactically; one ambush here could take out the entire group; he didn’t really think about the collateral damages to the other innocent people, they didn’t concern him. Self preservation was his only motivation here and he didn’t like this one bit. When they stopped a ‘Beavertown’ he wanted to get off of this rolling target, but Croaker seemed to panic at the sight of a security car patrolling the area.

“We’re gonna have to try Combat Town, its too open here.”
MDK snorted slightly behind his battle mask at the man’s apparent lack of nerve. It was only a small security patrol. They should be more than a match for them if they got into a brawl. Mae thought even he could take them out alone if necessary; but he wasn’t the boss on this mission and he was beginning to wonder why anyone was following this Nomad so blindly.

As they stayed on the bus and prepared to leave the area, MDK only sighed slightly and looked around; he felt like there was a target painted on his back here and he was beginning to doubt his own intelligence at falling in with a bunch that seemed ‘gun shy’ and skittish about fighting. How did they plan to tackled the Megacorps if they were afraid to do any real fighting. He hoped he lived to find out.

Dover Street – Rancho Coronado – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:30pm

Dover Street – Rancho Coronado – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:30pm
The decision had been made. Firewind had to admit, he wasn’t a fan of it. The Combat Zone? Seriously? The medtech knew the stories about the place—every major city had one, but Night City’s was second only to Chicago’s, and Chicago’s was very nearly considered one of the most deadly places on earth. Hell! Keahi had heard tell that the Combat Zone was akin to the SouthAm death fields, only urban, not jungle.

For the past twenty-four hours, or so, he’d been nervous, scared, and nearly killed in a number of different ways. He’d somehow managed to avoid it, and keep the majority of those with him from buying the farm as well, yet here it was: Croaker was going to undo all of that with one trip to the Combat Zone in search of a recreational vehicle that only rich beavers could afford.

The islander was about to comment on the inane decision when Bull’s Eye smacked Croaker in the chest with the back of his gloved hand. The bus had been on the move for all of two minutes from the time it had stopped; still heading south.

“You must’ve done something right in another life,” Bull’s Eye growled as he pointed surreptitiously out the rain-streaked window at the fenced in community they were passing.

“There’s a stop three minutes from here,” Peacekeeper added, having spotted that which the other nomad was pointing out: a twenty-one foot RV visible just over the ten-foot stone wall.

Twenty minutes later, and Keahi found himself standing near MDK at the back of the RV keeping watch while Bull’s Eye and Lightning broke into the vehicle. Peacekeeper and Croaker stood watch at opposite corners of the block a few houses down. It took a few more minutes for Lightning to work his magic and, again a few more seconds for the nomad to hotwire the thing. Firewind had been concerned that some housewife would come storming out of the house at the sound of the engine, but it hadn’t happened. They’d picked up the rest of their party and managed to avoid any security on their way out of the community. All the same, Keahi couldn’t help but constantly return to the curtained windows and peer out at the rear view expecting to see the flashing lights and sirens associated with their crime.

“You have it now, Croaker,” Bull’s Eye said dryly as he shifted lanes, moving the massive vehicle from the far right lane they’d entered the freeway on to the lane next over. “The big, white boat is momentarily ours. So we goin’ to the mountains then?”

“That was the plan,” Peacekeeper snapped.

Bull’s Eye proceeded to mumble something under his breath in response.

(OOC: there could obviously be whatever kind of conversation here that you folks deem necessary. Due to the previous intent, I’m assuming that you’re still planning on making it to the mountains with enough time to give MDK his opportunity for some recon.)

The NorCal mountains were just being touched by dusk when the RV started to work its way up the road. The vehicle wasn’t the top of the line RV, but it wasn’t the lowest either. It looked as though they’d heisted the vehicle from someone who’d wanted to make an impression. It did have a navigation system that helped them find the right way, a small kitchenette, a table, a queen bed, and a very small television. It didn’t have a great suspension, and bounced rather energetically every chance it had. Despite this, it housed all of them rather well, and just as the grays of dusk were truly settling in, Bull’s Eye pulled off to the side of the road and put the vehicle into park.

“We’re about ten miles out, if this fancy nav system is right.” The nomad had turned around in the captain’s chair and was peering back at the group on a whole. Croaker had been sitting in the passenger seat, Peacekeeper right behind him in the bench seat behind the table where Lightning was messing with the television he’d dismantled on the ride. Bull’s Eye was looking at MDK now, as most of the eyes in the RV had focused.

“I know the plan was that you go it alone,” Peacekeeper intoned dryly. “But I feel that you might need someone to watch your back, so I’m going with you.”

She didn’t look at Croaker, but kept her gaze leveled on the battlemask, intent on not allowing her man to argue the point—not allowing anyone to argue the point. She’d tracked many a query, and had learned certain skills that would come in handy in just such a situation. It wasn’t prudent in her mind to allow MDK to go off into the evergreen and scrub oak forest alone. She didn’t trust him, true, but when all of their lives depended on the results it was better to follow that old Chess adage of never leaving a piece without cover. Standing up, she retrieved her bag and unzipped it, beginning the work of making sure all of the gear she wanted to take along was on her person, as the bag would remain.

“There will likely be infrared,” Peacekeeper continued in an effort to keep Croaker silent. “We won’t be able to do much about that, but I went after a defecting computer scientist for a corporation a few years back and learned a thing or two about bots and remotes, so at least we have some knowledge in that area should we encounter it.

“Way I see it, we’ve got the majority of the night for recon maneuvers and getting back here. Once we’ve scoped things out we can determine the best course to proceed. Correct me if I’m wrong.” Peacekeeper paused in her gearing up to turn and raise a manicured eyebrow at MDK before continuing with her efforts.

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 6:30pm

Dover Street – Rancho Coronado – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:30pm
Croaker could feel it, the hooded glances from MDK, Firewind and rest except maybe Jaimy. They were losing confidence in him as leader but he knew his actions were the right ones. The less attention they drew the harder they would be to find and track.

As the bus moved towards the Combat Zone, a place very familiar to Croaker, it was Bulls Eye who became something like a hero with his sharp eyes, as he smacked the big Nomad in the chest with the back of his gloved hand.

“You must’ve done something right in another life,” growled the junior Nomad as he pointed surreptitiously out the rain-streaked window at the fenced in community they were passing.

As he too turned to look to where Bulls Eye pointed Croaker felt somewhat vindicated in his decision to remain on the bus, as he too spotted that which the other nomad was pointing out. There before Croakers eyes he too saw a twenty-one foot RV just barely visible over a ten-foot stone wall.

“There’s a stop three minutes from here,” Peacekeeper added, having now also spotted that which the two nomads were pointing out. Twenty minutes later, thanks to Lighting and Bulls Eye they were on the road headed out of Rancho Coronado RV in hand.

“You have it now, Croaker; this big, white boat is momentarily ours. So we goin’ to the mountains then?”

“That was the plan,” Peacekeeper snapped. Croaker wondering at the why of such hoped she was not losing her cool as he had started to do earlier, but that as she had stated was the plan.

“Peacekeepers right we head there as discussed earlier” Having set the course Croaker settled back into the front passenger seat with Peacekeeper just behind him their hands touching. Two hours later Bull’s Eye pulled off to the side of the road and put the vehicle into park.

“We’re about ten miles out, if this fancy nav system is right.” The nomad had turned around in the captain’s chair and was peering back at the group on a whole. It was clear that Bull’s Eye was looking at MDK as most of the eyes in the RV had focused.
Before Croaker could speak he was beaten by Jaimy.

“I know the plan was that you go it alone but I feel that you might need someone to watch your back, so I’m going with you.” Standing up and without looking towards him she retrieved her bag and unzipped it, beginning the work of making sure all of the gear she wanted to take along was on her person, as the bag would remain.

“There will likely be infrared,” Peacekeeper continued. “We won’t be able to do much about that, but I went after a defecting computer scientist for a corporation a few years back and learned a thing or two about bots and remotes, so at least we have some knowledge in that area should we encounter it. Way I see it; we’ve got the majority of the night for recon maneuvers and getting back here. Once we’ve scoped things out we can determine the best course to proceed. Correct me if I’m wrong.” Peacekeeper paused in her gearing up to turn and raise a manicured eyebrow at MDK before continuing with her efforts. It was here that Croaker was able to get in his first words since stopping.

“Once again Peacekeepers right, as a bounty hunt she has damn good tracking skills so it makes sense she go along with you MDK. Once you do your recon meet us back a mile at that thick grove of tree’s we passed as we will hide there and wait for you. If you’re not back by daylight we will play it by ear from that point on...Good luck”

Without a word he took Peacekeeper in his arms for a fast hug and then let her go just as quickly returning to his seat at the front of the RV as the two moved outside. A brief flash of Han Solo hugging Princess Leia goodbye was there and gone and with it Peacekeeper and MDK.

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 6:30pm

Dover Street – Rancho Coronado – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:30pm
Mae was glad when they encountered some blind luck and ran into an RV they could use as a mobile base for this operation. He kept a close eye out as Bulls Eye and Lightning heisted their new ride and quickly boarded as they headed off to their objective.

“We’re about ten miles out, if this fancy nav system is right.” The nomad had turned around in the captain’s chair and was peering back at the group on a whole. Croaker had been sitting in the passenger seat, Peacekeeper right behind him in the bench seat behind the table where Lightning was messing with the television he’d dismantled on the ride. Bull’s Eye was looking at MDK now, as most of the eyes in the RV had focused.
MDK only nodded as she checked his gear and prepared to move out; he knew what was expected of him. He was not however prepared for what happened next.

“I know the plan was that you go it alone,” Peacekeeper intoned dryly. “But I feel that you might need someone to watch your back, so I’m going with you.” Standing up, she retrieved her bag and unzipped it, beginning the work of making sure all of the gear she wanted to take along was on her person, as the bag would remain.

“There will likely be infrared,” Peacekeeper continued in an effort to keep Croaker silent. “We won’t be able to do much about that, but I went after a defecting computer scientist for a corporation a few years back and learned a thing or two about bots and remotes, so at least we have some knowledge in that area should we encounter it.

“Way I see it, we’ve got the majority of the night for recon maneuvers and getting back here. Once we’ve scoped things out we can determine the best course to proceed. Correct me if I’m wrong.” Peacekeeper paused in her gearing up to turn and raise a manicured eyebrow at MDK before continuing with her efforts.

“Once again Peacekeepers right, as a bounty hunt she has damn good tracking skills so it makes sense she go along with you MDK. Once you do your recon meet us back a mile at that thick grove of tree’s we passed as we will hide there and wait for you. If you’re not back by daylight we will play it by ear from that point on...Good luck”

Without a word he took Peacekeeper in his arms for a fast hug and then let her go just as quickly returning to his seat at the front of the RV as the two moved outside.
MDK had remained silent while Peacekeeper rambled and Croaker gave his reluctant consent but when she was ready to go he nodded and stepped out of the RV and begin to head slowly off into the woods.

They hadn’t gone far, just out of sight of the RV when he turned to look at Peacekeeper, his silver orbs observing her from behind his Battlemask.

“So you don’t trust me either,” he said to her as he stopped and turned to face her. His right hand hanging near his smart link automat; he wasn’t reaching for it, the gun just happened to be well placed so that as he stood naturally his hand was in the best position to draw it from it’s low ride holster.

Though she didn’t know it, but might guess, his target reticule had automatically locked on to the center of her forehead as he looked at her face. Though at this range, standing only 3 feet from her as he gazed downward at her, the guns just might not come into play if it came to that.

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 6:30pm

The Mean Streets – East Marina – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:45pm
Spiff’s decision to shut off his phone likely saved his skin. Unfortunately, it also meant that the fixer would be unreachable, and for a business man, that was a very detrimental thing. Fully aware of this change in habit, Spiff and Preacher rode about in the cab sweeping the streets in search of someplace safe to hole up. There were plenty of choices cheap motels were more prominent than DataTerms, and they were on practically every street corner. The question became which one, and how far from downtown Night City did he want to go before he felt “safe?”

Preacher was unsurprisingly unresponsive during the ride. Should Spiff press, he pointedly looked towards the back of the cabbie’s head and then turned to peer out through the wash of rain once more. There were a lot of questions to be asked, no doubt, but Preacher wasn’t about to share dirty little secrets with a perfect stranger in such a private environment. So, the solo remained watchful even though Spiff had said he didn’t need a bodyguard—didn’t want one. If Spiff died, there went Preacher’s paycheck, and as much as he hated to admit it, the team needed to stick together in order to survive this, and right now his link to the team was this hot-headed fixer. So, if he didn’t keep them alive, he’d be hard pressed to keep himself alive for much longer.

“There,” Preacher said after nearly a half hour of driving. He’d spotted a Sunshine Cottages just off the freeway. They’d traveled north of downtown Night City, across the Bay Bridge, and were now in the northern sub-cities. Preacher had always had a hard time with the maps, never really caring about the political lines—to him it was all Night City. All he knew was that the Sunshine Cottages wasn’t a coffin motel, but wasn’t high class enough that it didn’t take cash.

(OOC: assuming Spiff doesn’t object to Preacher’s choice…)

The cab dropped them off with the cabbie accepting payment by Spiff in the form of the colorful Euro bills before speeding off in the direction of Downtown once more. Spiff also procured a room at the price of forty-five Eb, again paying in cash. The room Preacher requested was ground level, at the back of the motel, without pool access. It afforded them an open view of the freeway on its raised path, the off-ramp, and the frontage road that led to the motel.

The room had two beds, a desk, an entertainment center, a closet, a bathroom, and a mirror. It also had a sliding door, a swamp cooler, and a small refrigerator that was stocked with four bottles of water.

Preacher made a quick sweep of the room, checking the phone, the mirror, the television, and the clock radio for bugs. Snatching up the complimentary guide, Preacher thumbed through it.

“There’s Internet access through the television,” he muttered, turning to look at Spiff directly from beneath the rim of his hat. “Not The Net mind you, but the Internet. I can skim forums, blogs, RSS feeds, news sites, and public media, but I won’t really know what’s going on Inside. Do you understand? All the Internet time will be a prepay situation ‘cause you paid cash, but the good thing is tha’ it won’ be on a card, an’ the name you used isn’t traceable to you, so it is fairly safe.”

Sunshine Cottages – Heywood – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 1:30pm

---

The City Inn – South Night City – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 1:14pm
Words were a weapon that could be used to destroy, aggravate, stall, and save. DigitalScribe was capable and familiar with each and every one of those uses, and could claim no favorite. They were each like a child of his, and he loved them all equally. When they’d settled, Frankie had dropped into the single chair at the desk and produced his Zetatech “Black Book” from his pocket. He’d bought the high-end model, complete with the voice recognition transcribing software as he preferred to write his stories verbally, usually while pacing in his conapt, a brandy in hand. Perhaps it was due to self-consciousness, or that he didn’t like his works in progress being reviewed before they were finished, but he was going to start on this project using the tiny keypad built into the Black Book, even if it killed him.

There was no way that he could have known the trouble they were in while he plugged away at the first version of the story. He had no way of knowing that a black ops team had broken into the mallplex business sector, killing his video friend and taking the recorded media. He had no way of knowing that they’d received a response to their “all ears” broadcast for information pertaining to the group of saboteurs: a waitress at a restaurant had individuals matching the description eating, and discussing things pertaining to Biotechnica. She’d even recorded some of the conversation and had provided it to another black ops team just before she “jumped” from the Bay Bridge. Of course, DigitalScribe had no way of knowing this as he continued to type.

Nor was he aware that his and Guardian’s mark had been had thanks to the information provided the black ops teams. He wasn’t aware that they were converging on his very location, so caught up in his second version of the story was he. This is why he had hired Guardian. It was a similar situation to that of a Netrunner needing a meat bodyguard while they were In. Scribe’s only salvation would have to come at the hands of Guardian.

The large black man’s profession required him to remain alert, active, and ever imaginative. It was his creative vision, his own methodology for determining the best assassination approach of his mark that would result in the success, or failure, of his contract. It was his restlessness that gifted him with insight into the future.

Approaching the window, the bodyguard opened a sliver of a view outside by pulling the curtain aside with the knuckle of one finger. The storm was still pounding Night City in its attempt to tear the city apart, but that’s not what interested him. Their room was at the back of the motel, ground level, with a sliding door that opened into the courtyard where the rectangular swimming pool was located. There was one way out without going through another room, and that was to Guardian’s right…the same direction that he spotted two completely black garbed individuals bearing automatic submachine guns, full-face battle masks, combat webbing, and body armor entering the courtyard with weapons at ready.

The City Inn – South Night City – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:28pm

---

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 6:30pm
“So you don’t trust me either,” MDK stated from behind his mask, quite suddenly turning on his heel to face Peacekeeper. The move immediately brought the bounty hunter to the balls of her feet, her hand dropping to the Automag she had holstered at her back waist.

Cocking her head to the side, Jaimy used her left hand to brush some errant hair from her face, its soft blue tip having been faded to black before she’d left the RV.

“You’ve got a complex, Choomba,” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “My coming along on this little excursion has little to do with my level of trust for you—though you aren’t too far off. The only reason I trust you at all in this is because Jack sent you.

“I’m not here to babysit, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Peacekeeper pointed in the direction of their objective. “Going at things alone is about as smart as playing Russian Roulette—I’m here to provide back-up, and to make sure that this mission is a success. You haven’t been here from the start, but our very lives depend on this plan working, so forgive me if I don’t waste any more time in a pissing match with a man who is obviously severely…wanting, and get on with this.”

Peacekeeper made good on her word, turning from the black-garbed assassin to start on her way again, pushing past a pine branch to jog briefly across a small clearing and drop behind a scrub oak surrounded by a sort of fern. Her thermograph sensor was in full operation as she scanned the area ahead. Alternating the view between the thermograph and her infrared where she deemed fit.

(OOC: assuming the confrontation is at an end…)

MDK and Peacekeeper made decent time crawling over the mountainside. A ten mile hike through the mountains is never a simple thing, and even less so over a terrain without trails, markings, or paths. Forced, as they were, to keep in mind the possibility of sensors, bots, and patrols, the pair crept along in the fastest fashion possible. The storm that was raging along the coast was far fiercer than the storm that thundered overhead, but it didn’t make their trek any easier. Many times they slipped in the mud while traversing a steep incline, sliding down a hillside, or worked to avoid a wash. Peacekeeper didn’t complain, because the weather removed the immediate threat of a patrol spotting them from any distance. She’d been through plenty of hellish circumstances before, and this didn’t even register on her high mark.

Two hours into their hike, while cresting a small rise pouring a steady stream of water down over him, MDK spotted the first possibility of trouble. His quick eye saved them from the embarrassment of being registered on a high-mounted, heat-sensitive camera. The pin-point green power light was what gave it away, and MDK’s angle of approach was the only thing that afforded him that particular pleasure. The two had to proceed in a more cautious manner from then forward. Over the next hour they encountered four more of those cameras, and each time, either MDK or Peacekeeper spotted them in what they felt was enough time to avoid detection. Again, the bounty hunter had to thank the weather for the help they were receiving. Even if they weren’t registered by the heat detector, had the rain not been pouring they might have been detected by the visual aspect of the camera.

Three and a half hours into the hike the pair encountered their next challenge. This time it was Peacekeeper who kept MDK from inching into the detection grid. She’d been advancing, leap-frog fashion, with MDK and had been crouched behind the mossy side of a rather thick fir tree scanning the area ahead, first using her thermograph and registering nothing. Then, she switched to infrared as MDK advanced. Just as he reached her position, she’d switched to her image enhancement, scanning left to right across the rushing stream of rainwater, the assassin starting forward just as she caught sight of the small glint of metal in the shrubs before them reflecting a lightning flash.

Her hand shot out right across MDK’s chest, stopping him from moving into the open. “There,” she whispered, motioning with her head. The image was sharpening under her cybernetics. She dropped her voice even more as she realized that audio enhancement might be a possible threat as well. “It’s about three feet in height—do you see it?”

As MDK focused his own cybernetics on the area he discovered exactly what the bounty hunter had spotted. It was about three feet in height as she had said, roughly a foot and a half in diameter, and shaped much like an office trash can. It was smooth, wet from the rain, and nestled within the undergrowth enough that it had been very difficult to discover, and would have been even on a clear day.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Jaimy whispered, crouching just over his shoulder so that her voice practically tickled his ear. MDK hadn’t, but it was out of place in nature enough to immediately realize that it was a possible threat.

Further surveillance of the area they were in showed that the terrain they were in was sloping down to the right at a five percent grade. They were at the edge of a clearing that was maybe forty meters wide and cut in two sections by a rushing stream, overflowing with the rain water. There was very little by the way of foliage in the clearing. If they belly-crawled they might have been able to cross with little chance of notice by the human eye, but this canister was a new threat…unpredictable…unknown. From the looks of things, they’d have to go out of their way by at least fifteen minutes, or more, to avoid the clearing.

“Grand,” Peacekeeper muttered in MDK’s ear once more. “I think we may have entered into their secondary parameter. Any idea what it is?”

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:03pm

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 6:30pm
Cocking her head to the side, Jaimy used her left hand to brush some errant hair from her face, its soft blue tip having been faded to black before she’d left the RV.

“You’ve got a complex, Choomba,” she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “My coming along on this little excursion has little to do with my level of trust for you—though you aren’t too far off. The only reason I trust you at all in this is because Jack sent you.

“I’m not here to babysit, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Peacekeeper pointed in the direction of their objective. “Going at things alone is about as smart as playing Russian Roulette—I’m here to provide back-up, and to make sure that this mission is a success. You haven’t been here from the start, but our very lives depend on this plan working, so forgive me if I don’t waste any more time in a pissing match with a man who is obviously severely…wanting, and get on with this.”

Peacekeeper made good on her word, turning from the black-garbed assassin to start on her way again, pushing past a pine branch to jog briefly across a small clearing and drop behind a scrub oak surrounded by a sort of fern.
MDK smiled behind his mask at her straight forward attitude; as Peacekeeper turned her back to him in a show of defiance and fearlessness, she seemed to know he wasn’t going to attack her; he started after her.

“Just checking,” he said softly, but loud enough she could just make it out, “just so you know, I don’t trust you either!”

As he drew up next to her behind the oak, “But I am glad you came along, I think you’re the only one of the others with the skills we will need to pull this off.”

He started leap-frogging ahead with her, using his own image enhancement optics to keep an eye out for trouble.

Her hand shot out right across MDK’s chest, stopping him from moving into the open. “There,” she whispered, motioning with her head. The image was sharpening under her cybernetics. She dropped her voice even more as she realized that audio enhancement might be a possible threat as well. “It’s about three feet in height—do you see it?”
He saw it, and nodded to her; this was something new to him as well. He zoomed in as much as his optics would allow, on full image enhancement trying to se any details. He shook his head at her question.

“New to me,” he whispered back to her barely audible, “could be a sensor, or some kind of sentry turret… could be anything, but it has a good field of view or fire.. whichever the case may be.”

He scanned the area looking for more of them, now that he knew what to look for. He hated surprises and the MegaCorps had the funds for all manner of research.. weapons research especially.

“We could try going around the clearing,” MDK whispered again, “or … how do you like water?” He asked with a grin, he wasn’t sure, but if the stream was at least a foot deep they might be able to swim or crawl through the rushing water and make it past the ‘thing’.

Even as he said it, he scanned the stream looking for any visible devices that might be guarding the stream itself.

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:03pm

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 6:40pm
With the RV pulled in neatly into the thick strand of tree’s, thanks to Bull’s Eye skill of driving, it was now a waiting game Yet as Croaker sat back to await the return of Jaimy and MDK and knew that for him to just sit around waiting would drive him nuts.

He knew better then to try to follow the two of them as his skill at being quiet in the woods was like riding a Harley Davidson motorcycle through an old folk’s home at midnight. Needing to be doing something to keep his mind off the waiting he decided now was a good time to do the weapon check & cleaning he had wanted to at the club loft, but had been to busy with Jaimy, then too tired, to do so.

“Ok Bulls Eye, Firewind lets do weapon check, ammo count and a good cleaning while we wait for the others. Firewind you help me while you, Bulls Eye, keep a watch out for MDK and Peacekeeper and any unknowns. Ok my medic friend lets get started.”

Grabbing his smart bag Croaker began to empty the weapons and ammo inside it, adding those he carried on him, and making a mental count of weapon type and ammo at hand.


Armalite 44 Heavy Auto Pistol 4 clips, 1 loaded, 3 extra, 8 rounds per clip + box 46 loose, total rounds 78
H&K MPK-11 w/ m-205 Gren launcher, 2 clips, 1 loaded, 1 extra, 30 rounds per clip +10 rounds left from 3rd clip, total rounds 70. 2 Concussion Grenades in launcher.
Constitution Arms MAP Very Heavy Revolver, four cylinders, 1 loaded, 3 extra, 6 rounds per cylinders, total 24 Armor Piecing rounds.
Constitution Hurricane Shotgun, 2 drum magazines, 1 loaded, 1 extra, 40 rounds per drum, total 80 rounds.
Gerber Mark III Double Bladed Combat Knife.

After this mental inventory was complete he began, with the medic’s help, a through cleaning of all of them, including Firewind’s pistol and Bulls Eye Comanche, handing both back when finished. A look to his watch told him that during the cleaning and inventory a good 3 hours had passed since Jaimy and MDK had left.

“Bulls Eye how many rounds you have left for your Comanche”
(After his reply) “Ok here” Croaker said to the other Nomad handing him the Constitution. ”Shotgun’s all yours then. Firewind is this the only hardware you carrying or do you have any other weapons on you.”
(Again after any reply assuming he has only the 1pistol if memory serves) “Ok then better the Doctor then a fighter, we get into the s*** keep your head down and keep us patched up and alive.”

With nothing constructive to do at the moment, Croaker wishing he had not quit smoking as a promise to Jaimy, all the big Nomad could do was wait.........

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 9:40pm
(OOC: Ok Brom just wanted to be sure of what weapons we have with us so please correct my count above if its incorrect in any way.)

Spiff didn't understand most of Preacher's rant. He was a bit distracted mulling over the best way to resolve the current situation. Still, he got the gist of it.

"Find out what you can--and I'd like to know how the bust went with the Wild Things too. I'm just about out of cash which means we'll have to be marking a location with another ATM tomorrow. Think about a good location for that tonight, and that'll be my first task."

He pulled out the pay-per-use phone. It was a piece of junk. Still, a man's power was information. Right now he had collected quite a bit. The question he had been mulling over was not necessarily what to do next, but who to call first. He thought about sending a text, but thought it might be too traceable.

The first man on his list was Reverend. If everyone else died, his right hand man was too d*** important to lose. He only waited for the music to be cut brief to start speaking, not caring about introductions. "They can track you through your phone. Get a pay-per-use and call me at this one." He hung up immediately afterward. He wanted to keep the electronic silence up as much as possible. Still, he was planning on spending the rest of the evening researching the sniper rifle. It might take as much as a week to get it, so he needed to ensure it was worth the risk. He dialed up the black bodyguard. He had caught his number during the luncheon and stored it in his own phone. ((with approval from Preacher of course)) He turned it on briefly to set the number to dial on his temporary phone, then back off.

He had to wait for a response here, but it was almost bothersome to deal with it. "It's Spiff. Since you're the only one I can possibly see as trustworthy who claimed skill with a rifle, I want an honest answer. Can you use that thing to back them up if I buy it? In other words, is it really worth the effort?"

((irrelevant of response))

"Ok. By the way, they can track you boys by your phones. Next time don't ditch the lunch meeting early."

Spiff hung up the phone. He conferred with Preacher briefly whether or not to shut it off and get a new one following the two phone calls. Whether that happened or not, Spiff had an evening worth of Streetdeals to pursue.

A thought briefly faded into his mind during the work that evening. Call Croaker? F*** that.
((If Guardian sees a need for the gun, that's the purpose. If not, I'm looking for 'biggest bang for my buck' bullet-proof glass. I don't know the size of the vehicle they'll be using, so I'll prioritize enough to protect the driver alone. The techie can worry about how to install it))

Sunshine Cottages – Heywood – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 1:30pm
"Find out what you can--and I'd like to know how the bust went with the Wild Things too. I'm just about out of cash which means we'll have to be marking a location with another ATM tomorrow. Think about a good location for that tonight, and that'll be my first task." Spiff answered as he turned the phone about in his hand.

With Spiff’s instructions to dig into what he could of the events that transpired freshly hanging in the air, Preacher snatched the remote from the top of the television set and dropped onto the bed a few feet away, gingerly removing his hat and setting it next to him. The bandage about his temple had been made dingy by the headband of the old hat, and there was a slight bloodstain developing on it from where the solo’s scalp had been cut open by the bullet.

“You want to touch that bank account, I’d suggest you do so as far from where you’re actually operating as possible,” Preacher answered as the screen flickered on presenting him with a menu for movie selection, Internet access, video games, or television. Though his face remained impassive, he was wondering how this man had managed to get into the position he was in; it didn’t seem to the solo that he maintained one lick of common sense, let alone street smarts. Of course, Preacher had to admit that it could all be a ploy…

"They can track you through your phone. Get a pay-per-use and call me at this one." Preacher glanced over at his new employer as the man momentarily confused him with this random statement, but seeing him on the disposable phone, he returned to his Internet perusal. The Internet was a slow and painful process compared to Netrunning, and the remote control for the television made it even more cumbersome, but seeing as how this was all they had for the moment, Preacher was forced to grit his teeth and press on.

The news reports were chalk full of stories on less than pleasant activities—this was, after all, Night City. Within the North American continent, Chicago was, perhaps, the only city warranting a worse reputation. Preacher wasn’t having much luck tracking down any information pertaining directly to the Wild Things for the time being, another blur caught in the corner of his eye drew his attention away from the screen, and back to where Spiff stood near the curtained windows that rattled with the force of the wind and rain.

The fixer was holding his personal phone open with his eyebrows raised as though asking a question. Preacher’s own brow furrowed in momentary confusion.

“Can I turn it on for a minute to get a number?” An exasperated Spiff asked.

“Sure,” Preacher turned back to the Internet. “Jus’ don’t be calling no one from it lest you wanna face some Boys in Black.”

"It's Spiff,” the fixer said into the pre-paid phone once the deep-voiced Guardian said hello. “Since you're the only one I can possibly see as trustworthy who claimed skill with a rifle, I want an honest answer. Can you use that thing to back them up if I buy it? In other words, is it really worth the effort?"

“I can use it,” Guardian responded. “But whether or not it can be used to cover them depends on the surrounding terrain. All we got is satellite imagery, and while I can guess at elevation, it isn’t conclusive without the recon.”

"Ok. By the way, they can track you boys by your phones. Next time don't ditch the lunch meeting early." Spiff ended the call, and turned to Preacher once more. “You think I should destroy this, and purchase another?”

“Who’d you call?”

“Reverend and Guardian.”

“Yup.”

Sunshine Cottages – Heywood – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 1:45pm

---

The City Inn – South Night City – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:28pm
Guardian had put a lot of thought into Spiff’s warning about the phones, and had determined that they weren’t in any kind of trouble. DigitalScribe hadn’t used his phone in some time, and it had been even longer for Guardian. When the pair of black-garbed corporate hit team entered the courtyard, he was momentarily set back. Had he been wrong in his assessment? How had they known his and Scribe’s location? Were they there for them? Could it be that there was someone else in this dive that warranted a lot of money’s attention? All of these thoughts passed through the large man’s head in the span of a breath, followed by the conclusion that it didn’t matter one way or another. His job was to protect Scribe at all cost, and the presence of these two was just too much of a coincidence.

“Pack it up, Scribe,” Guardian said quietly as he moved fluidly from the window to the door.

“Wha—?”

“We’re leaving. Now.”

Peering out through the peep hole, Guardian frowned at the limited range of his vision. He could hear the click of Scribe’s equipment being closed and the rustling of his bag as the media began to hurriedly pack things up. Thunder seemed to warn Guardian of the impending doom they faced as he cracked the door, peering out into the hall. It was his honed reflexes that allowed him to close the door quick enough to hopefully avoid notice as the shadowy black form of another ops agent rounded the corner some fifty feet down the hall.

“You ready?” Guardian slid the door lock into place while he turned about to survey the scene.

“Yup,” DigitalScribe stood near the desk, his bag slung over his shoulder, his trench coat back on, weapon in hand.

“We’re going that way,” the large man pointed out the sliding doors. “On my mark. So, stay behind me, and give me enough room to maneuver.”

Taking four long steps with the grace of a samurai warrior, Guardian positioned himself near the door while unsheathing his monokatana. Frankie took a couple of steps back and placed himself on the other side of the bathroom wall, dropping to a crouch, his Sternmeyer held up near his head, a grim expression on his handsome face. He was, no doubt, wondering how they’d been tagged, the same as Guardian was.

Guardian thought it would be a coordinated effort. The men in the hall (he was certain there’d be at least two, maybe more) would expect the door to be secured. Unless one of them was a ‘borg, it would likely take a couple of seconds longer for them to enter the room than those coming through the courtyard. Glass was all that separated them from their quarry, and that was real easy to break through should a person be determined. There were any number of coordinated attacks that could take place when one was well-funded: flash-bangs, smoke, nauseaters—they were all fairly discreet, and he was fairly certain that this crew wasn’t packing frags, launchers, or anything along those lines. They’d be dead already if that were the case. No, these sardines were looking to keep the hit out of the headlines, and that meant that Guardian had an advantage.

Activating his speedware, Guardian made sure that his interface plug was connected to his Armalite, just in case. Then the world erupted with as much violence as a primeval force as a shadow passed before the glass door on the other side of the curtain, momentarily silhouetted by a flash of lightning. The glimpse into the future was accented by the inward explosion of the glass. Even while the glass shards were caught up by the curtain, Guardian was registering the use of a one-shot glass breaker; a device similar to those used to break the window of a car during an accident by someone trapped inside, but on a much more powerful scale.

The curtains fled the combined onslaught of the raging storm and the intruder that raised his submachine gun towards the sword-wielding bodyguard, but Guardian’s speedware had given him the edge…dramatically so, and the bald, black man was already stepping in with a wicked slicing move. The monoblade’s orbital-crystaline blade sliced through the tendons, veins, and organs of the man’s throat, just below his battle mask’s protective plating, and just above the armored vest. Guardian’s stroke had been near perfect. Blood sprayed from the severed arteries, painting the ceiling with its vivid color, and the man staggered back a couple of steps, dropping his weapon so that he could grasp his throat with both hands just before he tumbled over the low, iron gate separating the pool from the yard. A breath later and he’d stumbled into the pool, kicking and thrashing about as his fluids dyed the chlorinated waters.

Guardian was moving very quickly, already reversing his first stroke to mimic the cut almost exactly in the other direction across the throat of the second would be assassin. This one dropped like a stone, the blade cutting so deeply that it severed the spine, nearly decapitating the head from the shoulders.

Turning about, his dark skin painted with his victim’s arterial blood, Guardian stepped backward through the broken door and into the rain, spinning his sword about in preparation to sheathe it with his left hand while his right reached inside his jacket to produce his Armalite. DigitalScribe acted on the man’s brief nod, darting from the wall, rolling across the foot of the bed, taking one bounce on his left foot before rolling across the other, and tumbling out the door. He wasn’t an acrobat by any means, but he wasn’t about to present his back as a target to whomever Guardian had turned to face, and he wasn’t about to block the big man’s line of fire either.

Rain pelted the media’s face, water from the grass danced about his form in motion, his trench coat splaying open. He’d missed the dead man by a mere couple of inches, but he was up now, and running full-tilt towards the gate. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of wood cracking, and the expert boom of the Armalite as Guardian answered. Eyes wide, the media hit the gate with the ferocity of a man running for his life causing it to swing back on its hinges and bounce against the resistance of its position. But DigitalScribe was already through it and the rebound missed striking him.

Back at the room, water mixing with the fresh war paint he’d just applied, Guardian watched as though in slow motion as the area surrounding the lock blew apart from semi-automatic weapons fire, damaging the integrity of the bar lock. He had no intention to remain behind and do battle with the assassins, but he did intend to buy them some time in their retreat, so he leveled his handgun and fired once at the estimated position of the enemy, then he turned and hauled ass after his charge. As he turned, he saw that door jam inward, caught up momentarily on a stubborn hinge.

He didn’t need to call out to DigitalScribe to run, the media was doing a fine job of it, and had disappeared from Guardian’s view, though the swinging gate was a testament to his flight. The bodyguard knew from experience that Frankie could run faster than he could, all he could hope for was that the man wouldn’t extend himself beyond Guardian’s protective range. Reaching the gate, Guardian turned and, still hopped up on his speedware boost, leveled his Armalite at the first black uniform that popped out of the doorway in pursuit. The shot ripped into the upper thigh of the man, causing him to stagger, but keep on. Rolling on his booted heel, Guardian continued on his way through the gate and past the hedge.

Gunfire sounded from behind Guardian as he rounded the edge of the hedge. Bullets whipped through the bush tossing leaves into the air like the debris of a bombed building. Impacts staggered Guardian, slamming into his back armor, tearing into his armored arms and legs, bruising and biting, but achieving penetration only as deep as the muscle of his right leg about center on his calf. Guardian winced with the pain, but retained his feet. It was always those flesh wounds that hurt like hell.

Scribe was now pounding down the sidewalk, weapon in hand as he cast his eyes about in the hopes of finding some solace, some refuge, from their attackers. He wasn’t necessarily thinking about Guardian, though he liked the big man, he had hired him to protect his skin, and that’s just what he was doing. Still, if Guardian died that’d leave Scribe without protection, and in their current position he wasn’t keen on that idea.

“Damn it!” Frankie growled to himself as he darted behind a parked car and dropped out of sight. He was breathing heavy from the effort of sprinting, and the adrenaline that was coursing through his system. “Damn it!” He was a combat reporter, used to being in the thick of things in order to get the story, but he’d rarely been in a situation where he was involved in the story such as this, and it always pissed him off when he couldn’t take a more distant approach to the action. He’d practiced with his handgun, and could do a decent Dirty Harry, but he wasn’t confident enough in his skills to want to take on trained corporate assassins. “DAMN IT!”

With the last yell, Frankie Tordesky popped up from behind the relative safety of the car’s trunk and dropped his chest and right arm across the slick metal surface, weapon aimed back down the hazy street. Guardian was the first thing he saw. The immense, black-garbed man was hot-footing it a few meters away, his own weapon coming to bear on the media the instant he exposed himself. Good judgment kept DigitalScribe alive as he quickly raised his Sternmeyer in a non-threatening way. Further down the road, however, Frankie caught sight of a black sedan speeding around the corner with almost reckless haste.

“Car!” he called out and pointed his pistol in that direction as Guardian turned and followed suite.

Guardian’s handgun barked and the windshield of the approaching vehicle bounced with the impact, a single hole at about the driver’s location appearing with a network of cracked glass splaying out from as though it had blossomed.

The car kept on, and four black-garbed men rounded the corner, hitting the street in hot pursuit. The traffic on the street was swerving and fast-breaking to avoid the conflict, and Frankie couldn’t blame them. He wished he was one of them right then.

DigitalScribe squeezed the trigger twice, feeling the weapon jump in his hand in response. The window smeared with a white indicator that one round had struck and been rejected, but the other went through the already damaged glass respectively close to where Guardian had put a bullet. This time the car swerved in response, striking another vehicle that had slammed on its breaks as the black sedan had entered its lane. The impact caused the back end of the sedan to lift from the ground, spraying rainwater over the cabin and hood in a rather dramatic arch before it settled again, skidding slightly to the right. The smaller towncar that it struck slid backward due to the impact, glass shattering out across the hood of the sedan, the driver roiling backward from the jarring force of the blow before striking his face on the steering wheel and lying still.

What little relief Scribe felt at the results was shattered as the vehicle’s front wheels spun into reverse, driving the sedan backward through the weather and slamming into the nose of a Chevy that had slid to a hasty stop. It was still a viable threat.

The men who’d followed leveled their weapons as well, and Guardian breathed, “Down!” in response. Bullets peppered the vehicle behind which they’d both taken refuge causing the tires to spew forth their innards, the metal to shriek, and the glass to scream as it blew apart, but it spared the two edgerunners a rather nasty death. The bodyguard knew weapons, and those submachine guns had to have at least thirty round magazines, if not more. These boys were unloading on full auto, blanketing the area with hot lead in the number of a hundred to a hundred and fifty rounds! He had to find a way to get them out of there, and quick too! They couldn’t withstand that kind of firepower with their arsenal, and their limited cover. The problem being that they were on a street in the old part of town, away from the hustle and bustle, the powerful support of the cops, and the ready access of the buildings. They were surrounded by housing, open parks, and open streets. Not many options.

Then he spotted a possible escape route. “I’ll cover you,” he barked as he slapped Scribe in the shoulder with the back of his hand to draw his attention, pointing across the street to a storefront. It was a small furniture shop, mostly synth-fabric and foam, but it had a nice brick wall, one picture window on the left side of the door, and more importantly, the attendants hadn’t reacted to the firefight on the street yet by lowering the metal store face. The problem was that it was a good twenty-five meters away, through an obstacle course of cars people were still frantically trying to move away from the danger, or had abandoned in preference of getting down, and out of the line of fire.

“Go!” Guardian ordered, rising up slightly on his left leg and rolling so that he could fire down the street at the approaching danger. He felt, more than saw, DigitalScribe following orders as his targeting scope secured a victim.

BOOM! The Armalite bucked as it spat the round. The facemask of one of the assailants bowed inward and was suddenly smeared red. The man nearly performed a full backflip in response, but only ended up making it halfway, landing heavily on his face, neck, and upper chest in a manner that most assuredly broke his neck. It likely would have been very painful had he survived the bullet to the face.
Scribe, for his part, leapt immediate from his crouch at Guardian’s command and began to run while popping off a couple of shots. He didn’t even really notice that he completely lucked out and struck one of the pursuers dead in the chest as the man turned. The media’s dual-purpose round penetrated the armor and tore through the assassin’s heart, stopping it instantly. Frankie didn’t even get a chance to watch as the forward momentum of the corporate tool carried the body face first across the hood of a parked car where it stopped, spread eagle. Frankie Tordesky was sliding across the hood of another, light gray colored sedan in a near perfect imitation of the Dukes of Hazard fully intent on pursuing his “get the hell outta there” mentality.

With the success of his shot, and seeing that Scribe had miraculously dropped another of the enemy, Guardian rose up to follow his charge just in time to see the car peel out and dart forward once again, moving to cut off their retreat. Meanwhile, the air about him was filled with more automatic gunfire, a couple of slugs slamming into his armored body and causing him to wince in pain as he staggered after Scribe. Again, fate was smiling on him as none penetrated.

The bodyguard fired again as he ran, registering the spray of water from the armored chest of one of the assassins, but not receiving the satisfaction of seeing him go down. A heartbeat later, he was racing the nose of the black sedan as it jumped the curb and barreled down on him just feet from the storefront—where the metal shield was slowly cutting off his escape. Scribe had already slid inside and was temporarily out of sight in what Guardian was sure was a continuation of his escape, but the media surprised him when he reappeared on his belly, handgun blazing. He was even more surprised when the sedan cut a sharp right, driving its nose into the concrete and brick wall of the store, bouncing, and…Guardian made a great imitator of a baseball player stealing second as he slid underneath the barricade, slick with rainwater.

There were screams. People darting for cover behind counters and items of furniture—people from the street who’d run inside for the same reason Frankie and Frank had. But this didn’t matter to Guardian. Gaining his feet with an agility that belied the minor injury he’d sustained, the bodyguard was moving quickly towards the back of the store.

“Won’t they be expecting us to go out the back?” Scribe asked as he jogged alongside.

“Check your magazine,” was the reply. Guardian was reloading his cannon as he went in a rhythmic manner born of habit while his eyes took notice of each recess, each individual they passed, and each piece of furniture as well.

“Won’t they be expecting us to go out the back?” Scribe asked again as he fumbled with a new magazine, dropping the old one in his trench coat’s pocket as it still held a couple of rounds, and dual-purpose were expensive.

“Yup.”

“OK,” Frankie took a deep breath as he finalized the reload. “So, why the hell are we parading ourselves out the back then?”

The City Inn – South Night City – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:30pm

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Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:03pm
“New to me,” MDK whispered back to her, his voice barely audible above the sounds of the storm, “could be a sensor, or some kind of sentry turret… could be anything, but it has a good field of view or fire…whichever the case may be.”

Peacekeeper frowned. It was never easy…

“We could try going around the clearing,” MDK whispered again, “or … how do you like water?”

“You’re fraggin’ insane,” the bounty hunter hissed as she took in the distance from their location to the water flow. “If that thing is a sentry, or a turret, it’d cut us down before we ever reached the stream. I say we go around.”

She didn’t wait for him to confirm her decision, but slowly crept backwards until she was sure she was out of the thing’s line of sight. Turning uphill, she began the slow ascent through the seeping foliage and slippery mud. She hated this kind of terrain, the combination of the storm and the wilderness. She was an urban hunter, and this was a sour patch of sh*t that she’d managed to find herself rolling in. It was quickly fouling her mood the longer she remained out there. Only she didn’t have long to wait for something else to take her mind off the conditions.

A short while later, having moved uphill and across the water (which turned out to be about a foot deep) they’d progressed deeper into the wilderness when MDK put a stop to their forward momentum by dropping to a crouch some five meters ahead of her, dead still but for his raised fist. Jaimy quickly scanned the area ahead, but it wasn’t until she’d been still for a good thirty seconds before she saw the camouflaged soldier moving slowly through the undergrowth about twenty meters ahead of MDK.

Peacekeeper’s breath caught in her throat as she registered the man’s armored jacket, Biotechnica emblems on the sleeves. He wore armored fatigues as well, and a nylon helmet with a facemask that was most certainly armored. He carried a heavy submachine gun, had a handgun strapped to a utility belt about his waist, and a fighting knife in his boot. His camo was digital woodland allowing him to blend in nicely with the terrain, and he was in the company of five additional corporate soldiers.

This isn’t an ordinary patrol, she thought as she fought to remain completely still in her shadowy cover. It can’t be. We’re still too far from the facility…
Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:21pm

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Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 6:40pm
Croaker had made good on his word, ordering Bull’s Eye to move the RV further down the road as soon as Peacekeeper and MDK were out of sight. The other nomad had complied readily enough, though turning around on that road was no easy task. After some slippage, more than a little swearing, and determination that would have made a bull dog proud, Bull’s Eye managed to do as he’d been asked, and the RV wound up about a mile west of where they’d dropped the two scouts off.

“Ok Bulls Eye, Firewind lets do weapon check, ammo count and a good cleaning while we wait for the others.” Croaker had suggested once Bull’s Eye had turned the engine off. “Firewind you help me while you, Bulls Eye, keep a watch out for MDK and Peacekeeper and any unknowns. Ok my medic friend let’s get started.”

While Croaker dumped their ammo bag on the RV’s table, Bull’s Eye moved to the back of the vehicle and settled himself across the bed so that he could peer out through the curtained back window. Firewind gave the nomad a nod as he passed and then focused his attention on the murderous selection of weapons Croaker had presented.

The two wiled away the hours cleaning and arming the weapons. Once they were finished, and everything was put back in its place (the whole while, Bull’s Eye making periodic sweeps from the back to the front, and back again), Croaker addressed his tribesman.

“Bulls Eye how many rounds you have left for your Comanche?”

“About forty, or fifty.”

“Ok here” Croaker said to the other Nomad handing him the Constitution. ”Shotgun’s all yours then. Firewind is this the only hardware you’re carrying or do you have other weapons on you?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s the only thing I pack,” Keahi cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “You try packing around all the medical gear I carry and see if you want to add a couple of additional kilos.”

“Ok then better the Doctor then a fighter. We get into the s*** keep your head down and keep us patched up and alive.”

“You can count on it,” Firewind said in a tone that was meant to instill confidence.

The interior of the RV fell silent for some time after that. Croaker had moved back to the shotgun position once they’d finished up while Bull’s Eye remained at the rear. Around when the pale green LED display of the clock radio mounted to the underside of the kitchen cabinet flashed 10:45pm, Bull’s Eye swore.

“We got company,” he said, rolling from the bed and rushing towards the front, barely managing to avoid stepping on Firewind’s outstretched legs in the process. “There’s headlights coming down the road!”

Firewind sat bolt upright. If Bull’s Eye was the one seeing the headlights that meant that they were coming from the road leading to the Biotechnica facility, not the city!

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:45pm