Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 6:30pm
As Croaker and Firewind wiled away the hours cleaning and arming the weapons Bull Eye made periodic sweeps from the back to the front, and back again during one of these sweeps 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!”

Croaker at once was up and on red alert 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.

“Bulls Eye will those headlights tag us as they pass??

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

OCC: Ok Brom the above post is more recap then anything as I need an answer to my question, as Bulls Eye parked the SUV. I pretty much know his answer so will be working on a post towards that end. But hey ya never know I could be wrong....NOT .

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 6:30pm
“Bulls Eye will those headlights tag us as they pass??

“Yeah they will for sure.”

“Ok then we go offensive, any vehicle coming from our target is almost a sure bet going to be security. Firewind your gonna be bait, while Bulls Eye and I set up outside to catch them in a crossfire you stand outside and as soon as the headlights hit you do a startled deer, head away from them, and take cover behind the RV.”

With instructions give he next turned to Bulls Eye, while at the same time heading for the door of the RV followed by both the Medic and his Nomad brother

“You go right; I will go left, set up across the road from me as to catch them in a crossfire. Once they get out of the vehicle to chase down Firewind I will start things off with the silenced SMG. Then once they turn towards me you lay into them with the shotgun, or your pistol, hopefully I can take them all out quickly and with no noise but if not you’ll be up.”

With his instructions given Croaker exited the RV to take up his position on the left side of the road.....

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

“Yup.”

Spiff sighed as he shut off his temporary phone. It was a big bill to pay to keep changing phones. Still, hopefully
it had a crappy messaging feature that he could pick up Reverend's new info from before he officially disposed of it.

In any case, he had to get that gun, and now he was down a phone in the process. He'd have to huff it.

"Preacher, I gotta go out to find these d***s a gun. Do you want to ride with or keep on the research end? I think I can request you get a proper keyboard in the lobby if you want, as well."

He decided to change. He could go for a few days in his jeans & t-shirt combo without anyone saying anything. Looking like this he'd be a target the second he set foot on the streets. He made sure to dry-clean-in-a-can his suit before putting it back neatly in his bag, then he saddled himself properly.

"By the way Preacher, I don' know much about these things beyond firing them." Spiff was setting up his holster and putting away his Mustang Arms.

He finished packing himself up and prepared to leave, storing a magnetic hotel key in his pocket. He prepared to head out, with or without Preacher. As he headed out the door, he turned back to Preacher and said "By the way, I'm not impressed." He knew that the hacker would know what he meant. The boy wasn't spitting out anything that was worth a damn. He couldn't even find out about the Wild Things. If Spiff wanted to, he could make one phone call and do that right now. Moreover, he mentions ATMs and his plan is "as far away as possible". Of course, but even that means he has to be there to take out the money at one point or another. Spiff was starting to see why he hadn't hired a netrunner yet. At least he was good at catching bullets.

Then again, maybe that was it. Maybe the solo was weak and tired from blood loss. The guy might be pushing himself too hard. Spiff almost felt bad for his statement, but with how quick he saw the solo jump to defense upon Revs arrival, surely he could handle a bit of web research. Even Spiff had heard of Google.

Still, he had to go downstairs to the receptionist, if for a keyboard or not, he still needed to get her to call him a cab. No way he was going out in this mess and walking from appointment to appointment. He might even have to shoot the cabbie if his contacts start to get a bit too...dark...

In any case, he'd have to see what he could do. He was going out on the streets to talk about a rifle. This was everyday stuff. It should be a walk in the park.

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:03pm
“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.
MDK only shrugged as it didn’t matter to him, he hadn’t planned to walk out there and slip into the stream, he would have went up stream and entered there out of the clearing and then used the stream as cover to move through the clearing past the ‘sentry’. But her way was fine with him so he followed her as she moved uphill and went around the clearing.

He scanned the woods ahead of him with his enhanced sight and when he spotted movement, he crotched and raised his fist in stop her. He zoomed in on the movement and soon saw the first man wearing Biotechnica armored fatigues and carrying a heavy machine gun in his hands. He scanned around knowing he wasn’t alone and soon saw his comrades.

MDK lowered his hand and then stuck it out to his side and with his hand level to the ground he spread his fingers wide; he was signaling Peacekeeper to keep low and not to move.

He watched the other five slowly moving through the wooded terrain, quickly determining their path and how close they would come to their location. His right hand hovered over his smart link automat as they watched and waited. His optics zoomed in to keep a close eye on them, especially the ones closest to them.

His smart targeting optics locked on each of the men and determined their relative position, speed and distance. If he saw any sign of recognition, even a muscle twitch in their direction, he would draw and begin to fire starting with the one he sees move first.

MDK didn’t like the odds here, 3 to 1, but he had been in worse situations, and his cover here wasn’t bad as he crotched in the shadow of a large tree near it’s bole. His dark clothing certainly would help in blending him into the shadows; he just hoped right now Peacekeeper didn’t do anything stupid that might get them both killed.

Right now he waited, looking for any sign they had been spotted. Since this was suppose to be a recon mission, he hoped these guys went right on by, otherwise they would have to kill them and that would no doubt alert the facility that someone was sneaking around the area. He did wonder, why this patrol was out here; they did seem to be quite well armed for a standard patrol. Made him wonder if they had been set up.

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:21pm

Sunshine Cottages – Heywood – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 1:45pm
"Preacher, I gotta go out to find these d***s a gun. Do you want to ride with or keep on the research end? I think I can request you get a proper keyboard in the lobby if you want, as well."

“I’ll stay on,” Preacher drawled as he continued his reviews of the plethora of gang-related articles the search engines had pulled for him. As Spiff was changing, Preacher’s focus was entirely on his job at hand. There was a part of him that missed the Netrunning, but if he allowed himself to think about it for too long those feelings of guilt and loss would start to rise up within, and he’d swallow them back down like a bad bit of Kibble before the depression set in.

"By the way Preacher, I don' know much about these things beyond firing them." Spiff was setting up his holster and putting away his Mustang Arms. The solo glanced over at him and raised his brows.

“Not much to know. Buy some Kleen-bore an’ clean the weapon after every use. You’ll be sittin’ pretty. Don’t clean the weapon, an’ it might just decide to jam up on you in a tight spot.” The Internet became more interesting than the conversation again.

As Spiff headed out the door, he turned back to Preacher and said "By the way, I'm not impressed."

A wry grin crossed Preacher’s lips, “Neither am I, dough-boy. Neither am I.”

Spiff slid out into the hall, closing the door behind him. His thoughts were his own as he made his way to the front desk, leaning casually against the counter and asking the attendant to summon a cab. He went through the usual hubbub of which cab company to use, settling on RoboCab. That way he wouldn’t have to shoot the cabbie if he did have to enter into the seedier side of his profession. It tracked mileage, and the robot could be told to shut its yapper affording its clientele with some peace, but Spiff wasn’t aware of it actually recording his path. Sure, it likely had a lowjack, but that was to be expected of everything at this point. So, when the RoboCab arrived, the fixer made his way quickly through the rain to the open sliding door.

The interior of the cab smelled of evergreen due to the fading air freshener hanging from the cab identification knob in the center of the windshield, but the longer Spiff remained within the confines of the vehicle the more he smelled the underlying scent of mildew probably emanating from the stained carpet underfoot. As usual, the robotic cabbie was a “Smilin’ Jim”, a rather psychotic-looking mannequin with a checkered, plastic cap, who’s head would twist all the way around to look at the passenger when asking for a destination. The mannequin’s face wasn’t constructed, but rather a video display placed over the smooth surface of the balloon-shaped head.

The first stop was another phone vending machine found a couple of miles away from the motel. With the new phone in hand, Spiff quickly checked the messages on his old one, discovering that Reverend had, in fact, left a message with a new number on it. It occurred to the fixer that if Biotechnica’s agents had traced his old phone already, and his first Vend-a-Phone, then they’d have tapped into the number, but in this day and age a cell phone was mandatory, so there was no getting around it.

Dialing Reverend’s temporary number he received the satisfying immediate answer.

“’lo, Brother.”
“There’s some possible trouble, Reverend,” Spiff said as his eyes were drawn to a passing dirigible displaying an advertisement for a new line of cellphones that linked directly into DataTerms for a monthly fee. “The organization we spoke of earlier might have a fix on our people. I need you to get word out—discreetly—that everyone’s to enact failsafe protocols.”

“That’ll cut you off for seventy-two hours, Brother. You sure?”
“Damn it, Reverend! As much as I hate it, I’d hate it more if someone wound up dead because of this screwed up deal. Just make them safe, got it?”

“All right, consider it done.”
Just about any fixer who cared for his organization had contingency plans in place to protect as many of them as possible whenever the s**t hit the fan. There were different degrees in the larger organizations where certain levels of contacts “vanished” depending on the threat, where additional muscle was automatically hired, where heavy armament was purchased…Spiff imagined that Jack had something like that in place, but in his organization there was just the Failsafe Protocol. Everyone went into hiding for seventy-two hours, peeking their heads out only to touch base with Reverend once that time period was over.

“Good,” Spiff breathed into the slim, plastic phone. “Now, let’s talk about one last deal before you disappear too…”

The conversation that followed wasn’t a long one, but it was very informative. It provided Spiff with the direction he needed to pursue that rifle, though he knew it wasn’t going to be an easy thing, at least he had a start. It also put Spiff in the most danger as far as he was concerned. He was spreading himself out across the Underground in search of a high-powered weapon, and if that didn’t draw attention to himself, he could always take out a digital ad on a dirigible billboard.

Spiff was up for a long night. He had plenty of people to talk to knowing that the first of the contacts that Reverend gave up weren’t going to have the end answer. They were just a stepping stone on the dark path that would lead to the final deal. Besides sticking his neck out on the Streets for this information, Spiff was very uncomfortable heading into business deals without bodyguards. It was a rare thing for a fixer to play the Lone Ranger, but that’s just what he was planning on doing, and the first meet bore down on him with the speed of something you’d wished could be avoided just a little longer.

There were docks in Night City, and there were The Docks. Being one of the largest port cities in the U.S., let alone the World, Night City had plenty of ship arrangements, but when someone referred to The Docks they were talking about any number of holdings belonging to various crime organizations and Big Facemen. Fortunately, unless you were someone of Jack’s stature, you didn’t usually find yourself in bed with one of the Dons, but instead worked deals with one of the plethora of facemen then utilized. It was with one of these that Spiff held his first meet in the belly of a smoke-filled office filled with old-world furniture, pictures of Russian scenery, and a bunch of large men carrying big submachine guns.

The contact’s name was Tiny Dispachni, and he was a little fish in the big ocean that was the Russian Maffia. Unlike the usual use of the nickname “Tiny” this man was tiny. He was a midget to be precise, standing only three feet tall. He had a thin beard on his stocky face, a thin mustache, and the most narrow, beady brown eyes Spiff had ever seen. He was balding and wore a combover like it was a badge of honor. The cigar he kept in his mouth made it very difficult to understand what he was saying, and his pin-striped suit made him appear to be a doll dressed up for some rich princess’ tea party, but Spiff kept those thoughts to himself. Respect was the name of the game, and even though Spiff was intent on finding that rifle and getting his ass out of this screwed up deal Biotechnica had put them in, he was more than aware of the fact that every meeting would reflect upon his reputation, and he was still in business building that reputation. He couldn’t afford to screw it up with these people like he’d damaged his image with Jack earlier, so he played it cool.

The end result was that he bought (two hundred Euro) the name of a man who operated a little higher up on the Russian Mafia’s food chain that knew where to get such high-end artillery: The man simply went by Kremlin, and through Tiny’s involvement, Spiff had his second meeting of the night lined up for eight in the evening.

Spiff’s next stop was at a fast food joint where he bought a cheap meal consisting of a kibble burger, fries, and a Coke. Then, as he had some time to kill, he made his way south, closer to the downtown region, where he picked up more cash from an ATM. That had his heart racing, but it went without incident, and he was heading north in his RoboCab in time to easily make his meeting.

Tiny had arranged to have Kremlin and Spiff meet aboard a freighter docked a mile up the harbor from where Tiny and Spiff had met. The RoboCab was told to wait, and then Spiff was escorted up the long boarding plank to the swaying, rocking ship. He was searched then—for a wire; his weapons were left alone as a courtesy. Soaked through again he was escorted into the dining area where, again, he was surrounded by large men and cigar smoke. Kremlin was a very fat man in his shirt cuffs. He was as bald as a man could be with a thick Van Dyke, shot through with gray, and his eyes smooshed by the fat in his cheeks. He wheezed when he spoke, and dragged on that cigar as though it were his oxygen, but he was impressed with Spiff’s approach—it was gutsy, and that made Kremlin laugh until he nearly choked. After the large man had waved off the help of his bodyguards (with an irritated expression on his red face) he’d offered to arrange a meet between Spiff and an arms dealer named Blue Kodiak. The time of that meet was to be three in the morning the following day, and Kremlin insisted that he accompany Spiff to the meeting which meant that Spiff was his guest for the evening.

The hours were eaten away playing cards, eating expensive caviar (which Kremlin apparently sold black-market to some wealthy execs in the area) on crackers, and drinking really strong Vodka. Kremlin liked to make people uncomfortable, commenting on his weight and drawing others to comment as well, then drilling them about fat jokes and disrespecting him. After a while it was easy for Spiff to play along with his game, but it was obvious to the fixer that the large Russian had his bodyguards dancing on a razor’s edge with that game despite the length of time they were spending with him. Conversation was carefully cordial and unimportant, and the cards were kept low stakes so as not to insult anyone…it was a more difficult game than politics, a great training ground for Spiff’s future aspirations.

When the time of the meet with Blue Kodiak drew near, one of the bodyguards placed a call, and Spiff soon found himself back in the rain, though this time underneath an umbrella shared by Kremlin. The Russian did nothing to further conversation as they made their way off the ship and into a long, black limo, leaving the RoboCab with its meter running. It would have been impolite for Spiff to take the time to release it, and what’s more was that the fixer doubted he’d be want to show his situation by using a Vend-a-Phone to hail another cab in front of someone with the clout of Kremlin.

It was a half hour ride in that limo—where more vodka and caviar were shared, and cigar smoke nearly choked Spiff—before they crossed the Bay Bridge, heading north towards North Oak. Spiff knew that region was secured by Militech, another megacorp that was in direct competition with Arasaka Security for the merc contracts of the world. As they crossed the Del Coronado Bay, Spiff could barely make out the towering battleships harbored near the NorCal Military Base off to his right every time the storm cast lightning into the sea. A wire-bridge, the Del Coronado Bridge swayed in the strong winds enough that it was noticeable by the rocking of the vodka in the shot glasses. Spiff was very glad to be off it, and a few minutes later, pulling up in front of a pawn shop just off of the I-16/928 Interchange. The image on the pawn shop’s neon sign was that of a large bear walking on all fours over the flashing, blue word “Pawn.”

They were admitted to the shop by a sour-faced old man with three-day old, white stubble and a wife beater tank top over his scrawny shoulders. His pants were brown corduroys that had brown suspenders hanging limply from them. Spiff quickly learned that this was not Blue Kodiak when they were led to a back room, separated from the rest of the store front by a false wall upon which several televisions were displayed. The back room was dimly lit by yellow-bulb floor lamps. It had a wide, rectangular, aluminum table in the center of the room with four folding chairs. There were no other furnishings in the room, but there were six armed toughs. None of them wore suits, or presented themselves in anything close to business attire. Of course, none of them wore street threads either. The best Spiff could equate their style to was a Nineteenth Century immigrant, but their hardware (both weapons and visible cyberware) were anything but Old World. At the table sat a man with a narrow face, sharp chin, and shaggy hair. He too, had scruff all about his jaw and chin, and he was dressed similar to the old man, but his suspenders were over his shoulders. He also wore a series of gold chains about his neck prominently displaying a gold cross, and more than a few rings.

“Please,” he said through a thick, Russian accent. “Be seated. Papa! Bring some vodka, and be quick about it.”

The old man went shuffling through a door on the opposite wall of that which they’d come through mumbling something in Russian under his breadth that received a glare from the man at the table by way of response.

Kremlin chuckled and made to seat himself, taking up a good portion of the table across from Blue Kodiak.

“This,” Kremlin huffed through his thick lips, his own accent playing heavily across his voice. “This is the fellow I was telling you about, Kodiak.”

“So this is the Spiff, hmmm?” Blue Kodiak eyed Spiff as he sat down next to Kremlin. “And you are to be buying my merchandise? A rifle, yes? Kremlin tells me what rifle you are interested in, and I’m sorry to say that it is not one I can deliver at this time. Perhaps, given the time, I could find one for you, but the market is slim with the rumors of war being spread like old mothers at festival.

“I can, perhaps though, fulfill your need for rifle with another, yes? A rifle I could have in your hands within the hour provided you have cash. It is a Arasaka weapon; The WSSA. You’ve heard of it, no?”

Spiff had not, in fact, heard of it, and he offered up such knowledge with a slight shake of his head. This seemed to please Kodiak as a smile split his lips revealing three gold teeth.

“It is a good weapon, with a range of six hundred meters. It takes three point five millimeter Frag-Flachettes, rarely jams, and has a helical magazine that can hold forty rounds. It is equipped with a silencer, flash suppressor, and a Zeiss scope with computer-enhanced laser sights and range-finder. It is also manufactured with a smartchip, and nightvision. and I would be willing to part with it for three thousand Euro…cash, ammunition is extra.”

Within the hour meant that Blue Kodiak had it in stock. This was something Spiff knew without a doubt, but he was suddenly wishing he had Preacher with him to tell him about the details the arms dealer had just spouted off. He had no idea what Flag-Flachettes were, or whether the three point five millimeter rounds were decent, and he was afraid that if he asked, he might look the fool, damaging his bargaining position. So, once again, he played it cool, turning the conversation towards actually seeing the hardware, and a couple of minutes after the vodka was brought out, the sleek, black weapon was sitting center table, the helical feed magazine empty and sitting next to it. It took a bit longer, with Spiff playing at the weapons specialist while trying his best to remember specifics from holo-vids he’d seen where people were inspecting weapons before the ammunition was brought out and placed on the table as well.

“Kendachi Fragmentation Flachettes,” Blue Kodiak said with enough pride that Spiff could have imagined him showing off a child after a christening. The rounds appeared to be tiny missiles with fin-stabilization. “These fly at up to four thousand feet per second giving them superior armor penetration ratings. This—“ Kodiak tapped the tip of one he’d picked up. “—are filled with C6 plastic explosive and are chemically time-delayed to detonate a micro-second after impact. Big boom, yes?”

Kremlin chuckled as though remembering something that he quite enjoyed, and Blue Kodiak’s smile broadened.

“How much for forty rounds?” Spiff asked, eyeing the little missiles with some doubt apparent on his face.

“Two hundred Euro is all, my friend,” Blue Kodiak kept the smile on his face as he set the flachette back into its box and reseated himself. “The whole of the package is to go for three thousand two hundred Euro. A great deal, yes? And immediately available.”

Spiff sat quietly while he played his finances through his head. He knew he didn’t have that kind of money, but he didn’t want them to know it.

“I don’t know, I’m not a big fan of Arasaka hardware, you know?” he said as he sat back and shook his head, the most disinterested expression he could muster on his face.

“No?” Kodiak also leaned back. “I have never seen concern with their hardware, and there are many of the solo profession who would swear by it.”

“True, but I’m a blue-blooded American, Mr. Blue,” Spiff offered by way of explanation. “I don’t often buy foreign.”

“No foreign, huh?” Blue Kodiak’s expression clouded over and he glanced at Kremlin, spitting something more out in Russian that Spiff didn’t understand, but could tell that the arms dealer was sharing a complaint as Kremlin’s face flushed red and he took a long drag on his cigar before placing a heavy hand on Spiff’s shoulder.

“The Arasaka rifle is a weapon of kings, Mr. Spiff,” Kremlin’s voice hung as thick in the air as the cigar smoke. “You will be doing well to keep that in mind when making this decision.”

Spiff knew there was an underlying threat being shoveled his way, but he didn’t let it show on his face. Kremlin had gone out on a limb to make sure that Spiff got this meeting, for one reason or another. If it should turn out to be a no deal situation, Kremlin wouldn’t look fondly on Spiff. So, the fixer made nice, tilting his head and frowning a bit as he studied the dull black weapon for a moment longer.

“I have to admit, it is a very nice-looking weapon, but my buyer is a bit particular. He had his heart set on the WA 2001. I’m not sure he’s going to appreciate the switch—tell you what, I’ll give you one thousand Euro, cash, for the weapon and ammunition. That way, he’ll be much more likely to appreciate the value.”

“One thousand--!” Blue Kodiak huffed and spit shaking his head and waving his arms about while protesting loudly in Russian.

And thus the negotiations began. They went on for an hour and a half before Spiff was joining Kremlin in his limo once more, the rifle secured with its ammunition on the seat across from him between two of Kremlin’s bodyguards. All for the price of fifteen hundred Euro.

“You have a talent, Spiff,” Kremlin wheezed as he shakily poured himself some more vodka. “I have not seen someone speak the better of Blue Kodiak in some time. It was most impressive.

“You now have a rifle for your buyer, and I have someone who speaks well in my pocket,” Kremlin chuckled and sipped his drink. “A good night for us all, yes?”

Blue Kodiak Pawn – North Oak – Night City – March, Friday 14th, 2020, 4:45am

---

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:21pm
MDK and Peacekeeper remained dead still while the patrol paused in their small clearing and peered about. The one in the lead glanced at his left wrist, then held his hand up and closed it in a fist, “Team Bravo Two reporting. No sign of the possible threat yet. Over.”

There was no crackling radio response indicating that the communication was through the helmet’s device, and his voice was low enough that the two edgerunners had to strain to hear it. Jaimy felt her heart crawl up into her throat. His report meant that they were looking for something specific, something that could very well be them.

That’s when things went south. The lead soldier motioned his team forward with a quick flick of his wrist and then, as he turned towards where MDK and Peacekeeper were crouched, he stopped short, closing his hand into a fist. But it wasn’t him that acted first. One of the soldiers in the back, peering over the lead’s shoulder, suddenly raised his submachinegun to bear, sighting down the red dot.

“Five o’clock!” he called out in an effort to get the other’s attention. It was a good thing that the lead soldier was between him and MDK’s location otherwise, the corporate assassin would likely have been the recipient of a three round burst. As it was lasers started dancing immediately about his area.

MDK wasn’t waiting for the front line to catch on. The Automag was skinned, the hum of the electrothermal enhancement buzzed up his arm, his targeting reticule darting to the face of the man to spot him. Boom! A single shot erupted from the barrel of the specialized piece of weaponry and burned the rain-filled air. The electrically charged round crashed through the armored facemask and ripped into the man’s upper cheek where it disintegrated in a chemical fire that bubbled and devoured the flesh of his face. Screaming, Private Tell fell backward into the brush, his weapon swinging uselessly about his body as he clawed in a futile effort to extinguish the blue-white fire eating his face.

MDK’s reticule immediately darted to the face of the next quickest-moving soldier. This one’s position was at the front of the group next to the lead and back a couple of steps. The pause between the first retort of his massive handgun and the second was barely a nanosecond, and then another round tore through the rain. The armored facemask exploded inward, and a second later erupted with the chemical fire of MDK’s armor-piercing round. Pvt. Heron’s last move was to drop to his knees as his brain humanely shut down before the pain of his situation was registered.

As Pvt. Heron’s body hit the mushy earth, falling to his left, Peacekeeper drew her own automag, the speedholster allowing her to slip the weapon from her back waist and level with little resistance. She’d subconsciously registered MDK’s kills and reflexively went for the lead and the man to Pvt. Heron’s left. The first round put a nice hole through the corporal’s facemask and struck his jaw, sending him staggering backward. His weapon would likely have been flung to the winds had it not been strapped to his body, instead it swung about his torso and went underneath him as he fell between two of his men (who had reflexively stepped to the left and right respectively to avoid impact). The second round also penetrated Pvt. Borden’s mask, destroying his upper lip and nose construct. Borden spun about and went face first into the mud.

Pvt. Ellis had been shocked when Pvt. Tell had called out the position of the threat, and the sudden advent of gunfire, people screaming and falling lit up by blue chemical fire, and two black-garbed assailants had stalled his actions. As Madsen fell between him and Maxwell, Ellis knew that he was fighting for his life. Training kicked in, and the man’s augmented reflexes kicked in. His weapon came to bear, the trigger depressed, and a three round burst barked from the barrel of his H&K MPK-11.

Pvt. Maxwell had been experiencing the same mind-numbing disbelief. He’d signed on as a corporate soldier because the health benefits for his family were unbeatable. Biotechnica had been involved in very few open conflicts over the years and he’d figured he was choosing one of the safest megacorps to be employed by. When he’d been assigned to this remote research facility he’d felt he’d done right as there wasn’t really any reason that he was aware of for another megacorp to rain fire down on them. He’d just written an e-mail to his wife, Patrice, last night letting her know not to worry: it’d been dead quiet, and he’d be home Sunday for a short leave to visit her and his two children. Now, however, he’d realized his severe miscalculation: he hadn’t counted on the insanity of edgerunners. His only recourse was to scream at the top of his lungs and pull that trigger sending another three rounds at the looming, black figure of faceless death.

MDK was rising from the shadows of his position in pursuit of killing, his sleek instrument held before him hungry for more blood. Behind his mask the assassin wore a little smile, a smile that didn’t dissipate as the rounds struck his armored body. Six in total, jarred his athletic frame, bouncing off his armored leather: one to the chest, two to the left arm, and three to the left leg. There’d be bruising to be sure, but the impacts weren’t enough to do more than cause him to take a step back on the slick mountainside.

There were two targets left standing, and MDK wasn’t about to let an opportunity like that pass him up. He squeezed the trigger on his baby twice more in quick succession, barely turning his body to compensate for the distance between the corporate soldiers—the one screaming his head off, the other firing away at him—his cyberoptics sending an instant message to his smartgun aiding in the firing.

Pvt. Ellis didn’t register the bend of his armored face mask, nor did he register the round that broke through it and smacked him in the center of his face with the impact of a big rig. He didn’t immediately feel the pain of his bone collapsing in on itself, his mouth being torn apart and the back of his neck exploding into the rain. He was too focused on the sudden ignition of ghostly fire across his face, blinding his vision, melting his eyelids closed as he attempted to scream…still alive, and still very much aware of his situation.

Pvt. Maxwell didn’t fare any better, although his screaming was cut short as the incendiary round ripped though his cheek and embedded itself in the thick muscles of the back of his neck. Such a hot fire could only be achieved through chemical inducement, and it was just such a case that bubbled up in his throat and erupted from his mouth, nose, and eyes. Maxwell turned about wildly, his mind a chaotic relay of pain, pain, and more pain. His legs kept pumping as his face glowed blue from within, driving him to MDK’s right where he was clothes-lined by a low tree branch. All thought of his family had left his mind, engulfed in the fire that ate at him as he writhed in the weather-soaked leaves and pine needles.

Peacekeeper rose up from her position as well, assessing the situation with the detached cool that she’d developed over the years since her father’s death. Five of the six corporate soldiers danced in spastic thrall, one lay still while the chemical fire MDK’s round had incited ate away at his uniform ignorant of the rain. Despite the wetness of the weather, Jaimy felt her mouth go dry as she realized that everything she’d heard about the assassin had been tame compared to what she’d just witnessed. She knew now with a certainty that MDK was more than any of them had realized: he was dangerous, cold, and deadly efficient. She had no doubt that had she not been there the results would have been similar. MDK would have been walking away from this scene without injury, and six men would have been dead. Peering at him standing amongst the dead and dying, she felt a mixture of awe-inspired respect and disgust well up inside of her.

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:21pm

---

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:45pm
The storm had kept the three in the RV from hearing the gunfight a few miles from where they’d parked. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been enough of a diversion to keep someone from driving the road away from the facility Peacekeeper and MDK were supposed to be approaching.

“Bulls Eye will those headlights tag us as they pass??

“Yeah, they will for sure.”

“Ok then we go offensive, any vehicle coming from our target is almost a sure bet going to be security. Firewind your gonna be bait, while Bulls Eye and I set up outside to catch them in a crossfire you stand outside and as soon as the headlights hit you do a startled deer, head away from them, and take cover behind the RV.”

“No time!” Bull’s Eye called out. The way that the road twisted and turned through the mountains had given them precious little time from the point where the nomad had spotted the headlights to where the vehicle would be reaching their position, and as he ducked to peer out the window, he noticed that it was nearly on top of them.

Firewind glanced between the two men, his bag of tricks shouldered as he prepared to follow whatever direction the more battle-savvy individuals chose.

“They’re maybe twenty meters away,” Bull’s Eye hefted his Comanche and turned back to Croaker. “Those headlights’ll paint us as effectively as radar once we step foot out that door.”

Sure enough, as he completed the statement, the pale white glow of the headlights penetrated the interior of the RV.

“What now?” Firewind asked, his own weapon coming free of its holster.

The RV was positioned with two of its wheels still on the muddied dirt road that accessed the facility, the other two off in the patch of weeds just before the hillside dropped off into the trees. There was enough room for another vehicle to pass with ease, perhaps even two at a time if they were small, but the position had left the RV slightly tilted downhill with the door from the cabin opening almost directly over the decline. The RV’s wasn’t a nomad’s vehicle, it hadn’t been altered to include armor-plating, gun ports, or an escape hatch out the bottom. It hadn’t been something the owner would have likely thought about as the corporation he worked for had secured campsites with facilities for RVs on patrolled roads making it so that the beavers would never have to worry about an attack from a rival tribe, or the Raven Shiff. No, the RV’s walls would provide them with little to no protection should the approaching vehicle be a security team and they decide that Croaker and his friends were trouble.

Lightning flashed followed almost immediately by a thunderclap that shook the glass in the cabin. They had perhaps six seconds before the vehicle bore down on them for Croaker to make a decision.

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

---

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:21pm
The battle took less time than the telling; MDK let out a shuttering breath to still some of the adrenaline coursing through his body. When he had stood up and took the burst of SMG fire it had hurt but it had only fueled that killing fire within him. He had wanted blood and he had got it, but he wasn’t through yet.

Scanning the fallen quickly he saw that they were either dead or dying and at least out of the fight. But the black assassin never took chances. He quickly walked over to the one that was down and not moving, scooped up his H&K MPK-11 in his left hand, made sure a round was chambered and then put a three round burst in the dead man’s head. He turned to quickly walk around the small area where the squirming Biotechnia soldiers lay and would do the same to each of them.

(Assuming he is allowed)

He felt no remorse as he pointed the gun down at the head of what was Pvt Maxwell and pulled the trigger, making a widow and orphans of the man’s wife and two children. Of course he didn’t know anything about them, but even if he did, it wouldn’t have caused him to hesitate one nanosecond before ending the man’s existence. The man, like the others, were Megacorps and they all deserved to die for choosing to work for the wrong side.

As he walked around executing them he spoke to Peacekeeper who seemed a bit stunned by the rapidity of the encounter, “The Corporal of this patrol might have a subdural comm implant. I thought I heard it when he reported in. Check them quickly, take what guns you want. We have to move. He called them in as Bravo Team Two, so there are more out there and probably headed this way.”

(If all goes according to plan, continue)

Once the wet work is done, MDK will snatch up another H&K and head off into the woods towards the direction they were headed when the dirty encounter happened. Once they were about 100 yards he will crouch down and signal her to join him.

“You alright?” He asked her, “were you hit?”

Jason was in his element. He had been out of politics and on the street for 4 years now. The game was not new to him. The way he felt though, had changed. Most of his young life he had believed that, given enough power, he could fix the problems that were out there. The idea was still accurate. It was his methods that he found unsound.

There were scumbags out there, for sure. But the politicians couldn't get involved in this sort of thing. It was guys like him and Springed-Heel Jack that really got things done. This was how the world worked, and if that's how it had to be, that's how it had to be.

Still, his recent epiphany was slightly biased. He was truly enjoying himself. Sure, the first guy he met with had short-man's syndrome, which demanded an unnecessary cash exchange, and the second guy he met with enjoyed cigars on a level that was nearly unbearable, but that didn't mean it wasn't the best time he'd had in years.

Spiff was all about the games and this Kremlin guy sure knew how to have fun with it. He had to keep himself from overdoing it on the Vodka and fun so that he could stay focused for the upcoming meet. He was having quite a good time.

The limo was almost heavenly. Spiff wasn't a smoker, but that didn't make cigars outside the question. Still, there is a limit, and Kremlin had broken the limit and thrown it out the window. In any case, this was how things should be done. This is what Spiff should be riding in. There's no reason to be buckling under the weight of panzies who wanted 6000Eb for "upsetting" them. Hell, there was no reason to be buckling under the weight of this lousy Megacorp.

It had been a lot of work putting on a smile around Croaker. He had to make an effort to be the charismatic man then. Now...he couldn't get the smile to go away. It was so much fun playing the talking games. He could hardly contain himself.

Spiff was seeing the up-side to working from the streets, rather than from a lush office far from reality, but it was a long journey he'd have to take. Still, this part of the journey was definitely going well. He was talking this Blue Kodiak out of a gun with ease. The gun sounded impressive, with rounds that could blow targets to shreds. It definitely had to be worth more than the WA2001, not that Spiff knew anything about that gun either. Still, Spiff knew the pricing game. This gun was worth somewhere around 2000-2500eb if this guy started out at 3000. He was getting a deal.

All of his feelings were confirmed when he sat down back in Kremlin's limo for the ride back to The Docks. “You have a talent, Spiff. I have not seen someone speak the better of Blue Kodiak in some time. It was most impressive."

Spiff was still smiling, but if he could have smiled wider it would have happened. He raised a glass to Kremlin in cheers.

“You now have a rifle for your buyer, and I have someone who speaks well in my pocket,” Kremlin chuckled and sipped his drink. “A good night for us all, yes?”

Spiff couldn't stop smiling, but he thought about doing so. This was a power-pull. Spiff read it very easily. Still, this was Kremlin. The guy liked to play word games. Spiff was game, and he had no problem working with this guy in the future.

"Might want to be careful there Kremlin." Spiff took a sip from the glass and set it back down, winking. "If I'm in your pocket, I'm quite close to your cash, if you get my drift."

"Damn, I'm good!", could've been something Guardian might have blurted out, if he hadn't been Guardian. It was a stupid one-liner in some stupid 90's movie, but it would've suited the scene nicely if Scribe had been shooting with his combat cam instead of his handgun. But it wasn't something the big bodyguard said, for he didn't say anything. There wasn't time for such foolishness right now. There was only one thing they could do and that could be described by another one-liner in another blockbuster: "Fly, you fools!" Guardian and Scribe were on the run.

Had there been any time to review what had just happened or had someone else told it as a story, Frank would've had hard time believing it had really happened. He was good, he knew that well. In fact he was probably one of the best in the business, but surviving an onslaught by not just one, but at least two black ops teams was beyond even his abilities. Not to say they were out of it yet... Not even close.

The heart inside his heavily muscled black chest was doing laps faster than a Hover F1 would. It felt as if the thing was trying to make its way out straight through his flesh and bone. Guardian could feel the Sandevistan wear out and himself slowing down to normal human level. Having grown used to the effects of the speedware, Frank could make use of the increased speed and reflexes right away when it kicked in. Where as a newbie would feel the effects leave his system before he had time to act. But the downside was that he was also affected by the slowing down of things. It was as if his mind was still doing 200 while the body was slowly creeping forward. It wouldn't last long and it was only in his head, he knew. But in the middle of a combat situation, the wearing off made Guardian feel vulnerable for a second or two... But it didn't stop him from acting. He was after all, what people call a professional.

Inside the furniture store, the media and his bodyguard were fairly safe from assassins on the street outside. With the steel shield finally down, it would take their pursuers too long to cut through. But it also meant they had only one way to go. Doing a runner on rooftops only worked in the movies, so they'd be forced to take the alley in the back of the building. "Yup", the big man heard himself answer his employer. "They'll be expecting it now, but they weren't expecting it 5 seconds ago. It ain't much, but that's what we got. So let's move."
The other people inside the store, the staff, the customers and others who had simply run inside for cover were terrified. Guardian could almost smell their fear. They were equally scared of the black ops outside as they were of himself and DS. And he couldn't blame them. He for one was most probably a gory sight - not pretty to behold. A huge bald, black man with his goatee painted red by the blood of corporate gunmen breathing heavily and carrying the biggest handgun in the business in his hand. No, they were wise to be afraid.

WIth practiced eyes and experience, Frank immediately recognized the man who was either the owner of the store or the manager or both and headed straight for the man. "Open it.", he said with a deep voice that didn't exactly promise the man a healthy retirement if he didn't comply in a heartbeat, and nodded towards the back door. Had he had his shotgun in hand instead of the Armalite, Guardian wouldn't even have bothered to ask. But shooting at locks and hinges with the 44 would simply have been stupid and a complete waste of time.

The slim, slightly bent man in his late 50s was shaking so much that it was hard for Guardian to say whether he had nodded or not. But the shopkeeper's short, thin legs carried him with surprising speed to the worn, once blue, metal back door. And the bodyguard couldn't hold it against the man. Had their roles been replaced, he would've been equally anxious to get rid of the two gunslingers in his store. Without a word or any hesitation, Frank stepped through the doorway to assess their situation.

It was just as he had imagined it. There was a back alley running down the block of buildings either way. There wasn't much to be used as cover in case of a fire fight and in general it wasn't really wise to be caught in one in such a place anyway. There were doors across the alley, but they'd be locked too and hence of no use to the media and himself. The fire escapes were too high for them to reach, though in all honesty, Guardian didn't even consider them. Going up only meant getting caught in some other tight spot. And that was what he wanted to avoid. He needed to get the both the hell out of there. There was no way they would be able to cut down all of the assassins and stay in one piece themselves.

Right now it didn't really matter which way took. The two-laner on the right was a bit closer and there'd be more traffic there to give them cover. It would probably be the route the bad guys would be taking too though, but life was one big game of chance. They'd just have to risk it. Not pausing to consider, Guardian launched himself over a wet and crushed cardboard box and headed right. He knew he didn't have to wait for Scribe to catch him, the video jockey was faster than him anyway.

Reaching the corner, Guardian raised his empty hand to indicate DigitalScribe to stay back. Hiding the Armalite behind his back, the big black man took a quick peek to the way the black ops would be coming. He then scanned the whole scene looking for a quicker means to get them out. There wouldn't be enough people walking on the sidelanes to hide them from view - especially himself. There were times when it wasn't an advantage being well over 180 cm tall. No, they'd need wheels.

Outside the Blue Kodiak Pawn – North Oak – Night City – March, Friday 14th, 2020, 4:45am
"Might want to be careful there Kremlin." Spiff took a sip from the glass and set it back down, winking. "If I'm in your pocket, I'm quite close to your cash, if you get my drift."

The large Russian burst into laughter that nearly shattered the windows of the limo with its resonance. He continued to laugh until he started choking, sputtering a laugh through his thick lips as his face turned a deep shade of purple, but he waved off any help that was offered and after a couple of minutes he’d managed to regain his composure, and that’s when Spiff continued his play.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I can get a bag for this, do you?” the fixer said while motioning at the sleek, black weapon on the seat across from him.

“You order online, no?” Kremlin said, still smiling. “Not soon enough? There are plenty-enough stores through city. You find with no problem. Now, tell me, Mr. Spiff, how is it that I do not know of you? Who’s shadow are you emerging from? We could use business associate with your gift of…how you say? Gab?”

I16 Southbound – North Oak – Night City – March, Friday 14th, 2020, 4:50am

---

Alley – South Night City – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:30pm
"Yup", Guardian answered Scribe with his usual panache. "They'll be expecting it now, but they weren't expecting it 5 seconds ago. It ain't much, but that's what we got. So let's move."

Frankie shook his head, but he knew he had a better chance for survival by following Guardian’s advice, than by running off on his own. That’s what he was paying the man for, after all. So, he followed closely as the bodyguard swiftly approached the frail old manager with enough intimidation oozing from him to cause a battalion of Arasaka soldiers to pee themselves.

"Open it.", Guardian said with a deep voice that didn't exactly promise the man a healthy retirement if he didn't comply in a heartbeat, while nodding towards the back door. And just like that the back door was unlocked and they were exiting the building.

There was a back alley running down the block of buildings either way. There wasn't much to be used as cover in case of a fire fight and in general it wasn't really wise to be caught in one in such a place anyway. There were doors across the alley, but they'd be locked too and hence of no use to the media and himself. The fire escapes were too high for them to reach, though in all honesty, Guardian didn't even consider them. Going up only meant getting caught in some other tight spot. And that was what he wanted to avoid. He needed to get the both the hell out of there. There was no way they would be able to cut down all of the assassins and stay in one piece themselves. The whole while that Guardian went about his assessment, DigitalScribe glanced back and forth between the rain-drenched alley outside the relative safety of the store and the store’s metal shield, his handgun still at ready.

As Guardian launched himself over a wet and crushed cardboard box and headed right, Scribe was right on his heels. The media considered trying to ready his camera again, but changed his mind as soon as they began hauling ass down the alley.

Reaching the corner, Guardian raised his empty hand and DigitalScribe quickly slid to a halt some three paces behind the bodyguard. Hiding the Armalite behind his back, the big black man took a quick peek to the right, back towards the street they’d just vacated. He then scanned the whole scene looking for a quicker means to get them out.

“When I say move, you follow me, understood?” Guardian’s deep voice rumbled in the wake of a heavy peel of thunder.

“Just try and go without me.” Frankie was looking down the alley and wondering when he’d see that smashed up, black sedan rounding the corner all intent on running them down.

“Move!”

The two men rounded the corner at a run, Guardian in the lead, DigitalScribe doing his best to not stumble over his protector’s feet. After a second, Scribe realized what Guardian’s target was: the man was looking for wheels, something to get them the hell off the street and out of this vicinity quickly, and before them there was a rich, cherry red city car with the canopy open. The owner of the vehicle was about three paces away, newspaper over his head, talking with a newsstand vendor.

It couldn’t be easy though. Guardian’s sheer size caught the man’s attention much the same way that a charging rhino would have—not that Scribe had seen a charging rhino before in anything other than a nature documentary from the last century. It was nearly comical the way that the young beaver’s eyes widened. Frankie was certain that the immediate thought entering his head was some rival had called out a hit. That was the good thing about the city car: it indicated that the man wasn’t nearly high enough on the corporate ladder to afford the status symbol a bodyguard set. The bad thing (Scribe realized) about that was more than likely it meant the beaver would have some piece of hardware to protect himself.

Sure enough, his hand darted underneath the tailored trench coat, and into the suit coat. For a brief moment, Scribe wondered at the irony of escaping corporate hitmen to be gunned down by a lowly beaver, likely not even affiliated with Biotechnica.

As he rushed forward, intent on sliding into the two-seat vehicle and taking off at the max speed of 35mph, Guardian saw the cherry’s owner reach for a weapon, fear and shock on his face. The man was moving slow, even for a corporate, and the bodyguard knew he’d have no trouble beating him to the punch even without his Sandevastin boost, but the beaver wasn’t his biggest concern. Rounding the corner on foot were two more of those black-garbed corporate assassins, and they’d obviously spotted their quarry.

---

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:21pm
Peacekeeper had to force herself to break the stare she was holding on the efficient killing machine as he walked calmly over to the soldier that was down and not moving, scooped up the leaf-stricken H&K MPK-11 in his left hand, made sure a round was chambered and then put a three round burst in the dead man’s head, further causing the faceshield to bow and warp. As the assassin continued to end the suffering of those thrashing about, lit up by his cruel weaponry, the bounty hunter took a deep breath and began to scan their surroundings. She hadn’t missed the report, and knew that there were likely more men in these woods. For a moment, she became concerned about Croaker, and considered pulling her cell phone to call him and warn him of the patrols, but figured that she wasn’t likely to have reception out here anyway, so after securing their parameter, she turned back to MDK just as he put hot lead into the last of them.

“The corporal of this patrol might have a subdural comm implant. I thought I heard it when he reported in. Check them quickly, take what guns you want. We have to move. He called them in as Bravo Team Two, so there are more out there and probably headed this way.”

Jaimy was trying to regain her composure. She was Peacekeeper, the bounty hunter. Why the hell did this man scare the breath out of her? She’d faced down so many of Night City’s criminals, and never once flinched; not since that incident anyway, why was he affecting her so?

Giving herself a little shake, she moved to the charred remains of one of the soldiers and snatched maneuvered the strap of his weapon from his body, catching whiffs of charred flesh, chemicals, and burnt blood on the wind every now and again. If she’d have been green, she’d have hurled. Unfortunately, she’d seen the victims of those she’d hunted down in similar states before. Yeah, but they’d been dead for some time, she thought as the weapon finally came free of where it had hooked on the man’s helmet. Slinging it over her shoulder with one hand she quickly patted his combat webbing down for additional magazines, finding them and tucking them into her trench coat’s pockets. She repeated the performance on another of the soldiers, before moving back to MDK’s side.

MDK snatched up another H&K before heading off into the woods towards their destination. Once they were about 100 yards from the seen of the ambush, he crouched and motioned her closer.

“You alright?” he asked her, “were you hit?”

“I’m fine,” she wondered at his sudden concern. “You’re the one I should be asking. They fired enough lead your way to drop a bull elephant.”

She couldn’t see his face through his mask, but the man shrugged off her concern and, apparently satisfied with her condition, peered about the woods once more before darting off.

They continued on leap-frogging it, by-passing more security cameras, and encountering at least two more lines of those strange pods, leading Peacekeeper to believe that they definitely had something to do with security. The whole of the way she worried over the fact that such heavily armed patrols were out in weather like this, so far away from the facility they were supposed to be guarding, obviously looking for someone. It set her on edge, and she had to force herself to stop thinking about Croaker back there on that open road, vulnerable.

Eventually, they came across the road once more, and Jaimy remembered that they’d either have to move at more of a northeasterly direction to come up on the southeast side of the facility, or cross the road and continue moving almost due north, putting them on the mountainside east of the facility. Motioning MDK close, she whispered their options.

“If I remember the map,” she said leaning in so that her beautiful, wet face was nearly four inches from his battlemask, and just to the left so that her voice would carry to his exposed ear. “The mountainside on the west side of the facility has some good tree cover, putting us uphill from the place and about four to five hundred meters away. The facility sits atop a hill, right? The east face of that hill is pretty bare, and there are a couple of additional hills surrounding it that way.

“We’d have to cross over the road to go up the west mountainside…” Jaimy paused to peer out at the slim view of the road they had from their cover. She hadn’t seen any security cameras yet, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t there.

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 11:35pm

---

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:45pm
“Quick! Out that side!” Croaker pointed towards the driver’s side of the vehicle. “If it’s a patrol, shoot to kill.”

Bull’s Eye didn’t wait to find out what to do if it wasn’t a patrol. He was already using the stock of the shotgun to break out the picture window of the RV immediately allowing wind and rain to whip in through the disturbed drapes. Meanwhile, Firewind had slipped past Croaker and was already sliding out through the driver’s door, his heavy bag in tow.

It was at that moment that a loudspeaker, or bullhorn, blared: “You in the camper, you are close to a restricted area. Present yourselves with your hands where we can see them.”

Bull’s Eye grinned broadly at Croaker and dropped out the window, the bigger nomad hot on his heels. Rain struck their faces with a vengeance, almost immediately drenching them, the cold biting to the bone.

The instant Firewind had stepped into the night, his heart racing, the islander found himself a few feet from a slope. He’d taken the opportunity to sprint the distance separating him from that relative cover as the headlights of the other vehicle had yet to clear the back of the RV. Still shadowed by the night, the medtech dropped to his left hip and rolled to his belly, sliding down the hill in the mud and muck, his Baretta at ready as he watched the vehicle’s huge tires roll to a stop about twenty meters from the rear of the RV.

Bull’s Eye had to move quick to keep Croaker from landing on his back. Taking the shotgun by the barrel, he crouched-ran to that sloping incline, unknowingly mimicking the medtech’s maneuver, and coming up on his knees, the shotgun raised to his shoulder to provide cover for his tribesman. He wasn’t surprised that this was a patrol; there wasn’t much else that would be coming down the mountain in his estimation. He was, however, more than a little disconcerted as the corporate vehicle came into view. He recognized it almost immediately as an Arasaka-built Kuma Land Rover complete with a pintle-mounted minigun.

As his boots struck the muddy earth, Croaker turned his head to take a good look at the approaching vehicle. He’d always been working guard rotation, controlling the protection of his tribe, or being involved in minor council activity, and hadn’t had much to do with vehicle maintenance, acquisition, or control, but he was a nomad, and the vehicle that had pulled up on their position was easily recognizable as one of the most common military vehicles of the age. The Kuma Land Rover had pretty much become the most popular in running with JEEP some years ago. Arasaka manufactured it, but everyone wanted a piece of it (except Militech, who preferred the HUMMER). Aside from an awareness of what the vehicle was, Croaker knew very little about it—he didn’t like the sight of the minigun attached to the turret though, and with that in mind, the large nomad swept away from the unarmored side of the RV, the submachine gun switched to a three-round burst to conserve the limited ammunition they carried.

From his vantage, Bull’s Eye knew they’d been spotted. The soldier on the pintle gun was already turning that turreted weapon their way. The nomad knew that should Croaker get caught up in that mess he’d be hard pressed to come out of it. Pulling the trigger, Bull’s Eye bellowed his warning to his tribesman as he fired off the Constitution’s four-round burst, the weapon bucking in his hold. The pintle gunner jerked as one of the shells struck his armored chest. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to deter him.

Maybe if they’d played at some sort of subterfuge they might’ve convinced the patrol they’d been caught by the storm while camping and were on their way back when they decided to stop for something to eat, or some such nonsense. This opportunity had been lost when they’d ducked from their vehicle and ran for cover. Private Huff had been working for Biotechnica for approximately three years, and he’d seen a lot of rabbits in his time. People grew curious about the facility, but when the heavily armored and armed rover approached, they scattered. He’d been responsible for the deaths of at least twenty-three people using this minigun of his. 7.62 millimeter rounds weren’t exactly friendly to the human body, and Huff wasn’t exactly friendly to humans. He’d boosted up his reflexes years ago, enhanced his vision, hearing, and biometrics. He’d sold his soul to Biotechnica, and now, here was some more meat for the barbeque.

Leveling the minigun at the running man wearing all black, trench coat streaming out behind him, Pvt. Huff knew that this wasn’t just a curious chrome. This was likely the threat they’d been warned of! Adrenaline began to course through his body with that realization. Bring down the threat and maybe there was a promotion involved. At the very least there’d be a bonus.

Bullets filled the air around Croaker as he ran buzzing past his head like angry insects. Then the impacts registered with the brilliant rapidity of chaos. His left leg twisted out from underneath him in midstride, rotating his body about as the rounds struck his armored plating. Another struck his right leg, this one eating through the armor to bury itself into his thigh with a flash of pain while keeping him from using the leg to catch himself. More rounds struck his arms and chest driving him to the ground with such force that combined, the large nomad found the air driven from his lungs, mud flung up into his face, and the back of his head striking the wet earth. The volley of hot lead had wiped his legs completely out from underneath him, flung him to the ground in disgust, and left him within feet of the hillside he’d been trying to achieve.

Croaker wasn’t out of despite the pain he was in. Using his stomach muscles to pull his torso upright, he leveled the submachine gun at the vehicle and fired off a three-round burst. His vision was blurred by the rain and pain so he wasn’t sure of the effect. Anguishing against the wound in his right thigh, the large nomad rolled—as though in slow motion—to his left knee and struggled to get his foot back underneath him.

Pvt. Marsette had just transferred to this facility from Seattle’s pharmaceutical plant. He’d been there two days when the order had come in to keep an eye out for a possible threat consisting of edgerunners intent on stealing from Biotechnica. Marsette had always despised edgerunners—people who felt that they were above the law. And here he was, driving the Kuma that had found the very threat they’d been warned against. Now it was time to exact some revenge for any number of perceived infractions against himself and other law-abiding figures of the community! At the first sign of the suspects rabbitting, Marsette snatched his MPK-11 from the recess between his seat and Pvt. Huff’s. The Kuma offered very little in the way of cover, but that also meant that he had an open range of fire on the fellow that had opened up with a shotgun. Pulling the trigger, Marsette sent a three round burst after the man’s soul. Water kicked up in front of him, but it was to no other effect.

“Croaker!” Firewind had seen the nomad’s plight from twenty feet away. Eight meters wasn’t much of a distance to clear, but it took all of the medtech’s courage to muster against the minigun. The toe of his boot slipped through the mud as he pushed from his position and rushed towards the nomad, hunched at the shoulders and bent at the waist, his Baretta firing at the car. He didn’t care if he hit, he just hoped that the incoming fire would be enough to discourage them shooting back if only for a short time. When one is trained by The Sandman, however, even random firing can be dangerous.

The medtech was too busy sliding up beside the injured nomad to notice that all three of his rounds had struck the pintle gunner, though none had penetrated Pvt. Huff’s armor it was still an amazing display of accuracy, all things considered. Hooking his left arm under Croaker’s right shoulder, Firewind jerked him to his feet, feeling the weight of the man leaning up against him as they started for the relative safety of the hillside.

“Mobile Patrol, Rover One-Niner-Five reporting enemy encounter on main route,” Pvt. First Class Wreede said while rolling out of the back, passenger side of the vehicle to put a lot of cover between himself and the enemy. His MPK was ready, but he was more intent on getting the report in at the moment than firing on the enemy. “Firefight ensuing.” Glancing over the top of the seats he continued, “One mark wounded, at least two others visible. Mark’s vehicle is an RV, NorCal license plate reading PK9-144.”

Pvt. Fray had been hit. The impact of the submachine gun rounds had taken his breath away, both from the sudden realization that his armor had been penetrated, and the realization that he had at least one bullet buried in the muscle of his right peck. Crying out in rage and pain, he slipped from the back seat of the Kuma and opened up with a three-round burst at the pair struggling off the road. He was not pleased when the ground directly between the pair and the Kuma spat water in protest at being shot.

Colton Harris felt his stomach clench in rage. He’d just found his tribesman roughly twenty-four hours prior after thinking that he was alone once more in this world, and here some corporation was about to end the reunion! Bull’s Eye knew that if that minigunner had another chance to open up on Croaker and Firewind they were likely dead. Turning slightly, he opened up another four round burst on the man. The glass windscreen splayed out with a white blossom, and the gunner jerked again as water sprayed from his chest with the impact of the round, but his armor apparently held.

It was his turn now, and Huff grinned behind his armored facemask, streaked with rainwater that beaded up and ran from the wind. Depressing the trigger he felt the weapon spit death and watched as the ground about the pair sprayed up with multiple geysers. The trench coat bucked twice more and the pair staggered, and then a millisecond later the larger man’s left leg crumpled from underneath them. Pvt. Huff swore under his breath as the two toppled over the edge and out of sight.

Croaker was glad for Firewind’s help, and it was really pure adrenaline that kept them moving. Then the world around them exploded with those noisy insects once more, and Croaker felt the tibia of his left leg snap, and once again he was falling forward. This time taking Firewind with him as the two toppled over the edge of the slope and tumbled through the grass, leaves, and mud. Everything blurred then, the pain was intense, immobilizing, and blinding. Croaker was enveloped in a blanket made of blades.

Marsette kept his weapon leveled as he inched around the back of the vehicle to provide himself with more cover. The one with the shotgun was screaming like some maniac, still firing as his companions went over the edge, victims of Pvt. Huff’s minigun. Pulling the trigger again Marsette attempted to end the fight by ridding the world of the last man standing.

Bull’s Eye felt the rounds impacting against his armor, but ignored their bruising effects, keeping his eye on that turret gunner.

Firewind had lost hold of Croaker when they went over the edge. He’d tumbled, slid, rolled, and slid some more, ultimately winding up quite a ways down the hillside near the steeper incline. Only through falling back on the training he’d received from The Sandman had he retained hold of his weapon, and his bag was slung over his shoulders—though tangled—so it was still with him. Scrambling to his knees he peered about for the wounded man, spotting him eight meters away, up the hillside slowly sliding through the mud, Bull’s Eye visible beyond him still engaged with the enemy.

“Hold on!” he called out as he pushed through the slippery earth to frantically crawl the distance between him and Croaker. Once at his side, Firewind gritted his teeth against the conditions. It was difficult with the rain and mud to see where the big man had been hit.

“Croaker! Where’re you injured? Croaker!” There was no answer. The nomad just continued to writhe in pain.

Having called the encounter in, Pvt. First Class Wreede joined in the fight…sort of. Turning about he snatched up the receiver and activated it. “You are outgunned, outmanned, and outclassed. Throw down your weapons and surrender to Biotechnica justice and your lives will be spared!”

Pvt. Fray could care less for that option. He wanted these edgerunner’s blood. They’d shot him!!! Leveling his weapon, Fray let loose with another three-round burst, watching as water kicked up from the shotgunner’s body and arms with each impact.

Bull’s Eye jerked about as he was impacted again, and again. His mind worked quickly. There were four of the enemy, one with a minigun that could spit out a hundred rounds a every couple of seconds, and by now they’d likely called in reinforcements. Croaker was down, maybe dead, and Firewind was out of sight, possibly hit as well. Surrender to the Megacorp had never even been considered up until now. Maybe if they surrendered Peacekeeper and MDK still had a chance…maybe Bull’s Eye could work something from the inside…

Hoisting his shotgun into the air, Bull’s Eye called out, “We’re done! I surrender!”

Pvt. Huff barely managed not to pull the trigger once more as he swiveled the deadly weapon to bear on the haggard-looking nomad. Wreede lifted the receiver to his lips once more, “Throw your weapons in front of you and keep your hands where we can see them.” Letting go of the receiver, he continued to give orders, this time to his patrol. “Huff, keep that are covered, Marsette, Fray, secure that area.”

“I’m hit, Wreede!” Fray gasped, leaning against the rear fender of the rover. “The bastards got me!”

“How bad?”

“It hurts like hell,” Fray rolled dramatically towards his seat once again, his weapon still pointed at Bull’s Eye as Wreede made his way around the back of the Kuma.

“Then cover us,” Pvt. Wreede ordered as he and Marsette crept slowly towards their captive, concerned that the other two might be waiting in ambush. Bull’s Eye hesitated only a moment before tossing the shotgun away, and gingerly slipping his Comanche from its holster to toss it after the boomstick.

Down the hillside, Firewind unzipped his bag and fetched his airhypo out with practiced efficiency. The interior of the bag had sewn pockets just big enough for airhypo dosages and Keahi had organized his bag so that he knew where everything was, even in the worst lighting conditions. Slipping a smooth, glass canister from its pocket he plugged it into the airhypo and pressed it up against Croaker’s neck. He’d heard Bull’s Eye give in and thought that it was the smartest thing he’d seen either of these two nomads do since he’d met them. As the drug dispersed into Croaker’s system, Keahi knew his time was very limited. Dropping the device back into his bag he retrieved his medscanner, activated it, and began to put it to work.

The drug was quick-working and very soon after the administration of the drug, Croaker went limp, the sedative fully in control of his nervous system. It was as much a mercy to the nomad as it was a necessity. Keahi only hoped he had time to determine where the injuries lay and begin addressing them before the man bled out, or the corporate guards converged upon him and made him stop his efforts.

Pvt. Marsette approached within a couple of meters of Bull’s Eye, who had kept his hands where they could see, his hate-filled eyes watching them as closely as they were keeping an eye on him. “Get up here,” Marsette ordered, motioning in front of him with the barrel of his weapon. “Slowly, and no frackin’ funny business or I’ll dust you off so quick you’d think you’d never been born.”

Without a word, Colton did as he was told, rising to his feet and slowly struggling up the hill. He had to put his hand down twice as he made his way up the mudslide, and once he achieved the summit, he dropped to his knees once again. Wreede, meanwhile, worked his way in wide berth of the captive until he could crane his neck to look over the edge of the hill, his weapon ready. It took him a second to find the two (one hunched over the other).

“Put your hands up! Put them where I can see them, now!” he barked as he came to a full crest of the hillside and pointed his MPK downhill at the hunched man’s back.

“He’s bleeding out!” Keahi called up the hill while looking over his shoulder. “I’m just going to stop the bleeding, OK?”

“One wrong move and I’ll end you,” Wreede called back. “Get him stabilized and then get your asses up this hill.”

“No funny business,” Firewind responded as he turned back to the medscanner to review the results. “I promise.” He didn’t have time for funny business. Croaker’s left leg was broken at the tibia, about two inches from the medial condyle, and the tibialis anterior was suffering from severe trauma. His right leg had trauma to the vastus lateralis, but luckily it had missed all major arteries. Retrieving the bone glue from his bag, Keahi wished like hell he had a light, as it was he had to clear away the mud from the nomad’s wounds, pull the pant leg up around the shin, and administer the bone glue there. He didn’t know how much experience the men at the top of the hill had with medical triage situations, but he was going to get as much done to Croaker as he could before turning him over to the Biotechnica medical team. It wasn’t likely they’d do anything more than make sure he didn’t die until they could try him, and if they were to get out of this, Keahi knew Croaker had to come about sooner rather than later. So, he worked at mending the bone, the healing glue acting as a bridge to close the splintered pieces of bone together while Keahi worked to remove the bullet; which was, thankfully, in a rather obvious position. Next came the tissue glue to mend the muscle on both the shin and the thigh. And lastly came the Speedheal. Sure, it would result in Croaker being a little slower in the end game, but it would double his healing rate, and the nomad wasn’t coherent enough to make the decision.

Tucking away all of his supplies, Firewind put his hands in the air and turned about slowly on his knees until he could see the silhouetted form of the soldier on the hillside. Bull’s Eye was no longer in sight, but Keahi hadn’t heard any executing gunfire, so he figured the man was still alive.

“I’m done,” he called. “He’s stable, but I won’t be able to get him up that hill on my own.”

“Our orders were to eliminate any threat we encountered,” came the reply. “Do you know what that means, Choomba?”

Keahi sighed. It meant that he either figured out a way to get Croaker’s two hundred plus pounds up that hillside or they’d just put a bullet in his brain and not worry about it. Turning about once more he surreptitiously dropped his Baretta into his bag as he shouldered it, then moved up behind Croaker’s head and grabbed the slippery man underneath his arms.

It was very difficult, carrying as much weight as he was in his bag, his medical armor, and Croaker, not to mention the nomad’s bag, but Keahi finally crested the hill to collapse at the corporate guard’s feet gasping for breath and completely worn out. His bag was taken, as was Croaker’s, and all of their weapons confiscated. Croaker was loaded up in the back of the Kuma where Fray sat glaring at him while holding his bleeding chest, but Firewind and Bull’s Eye were made to walk in front of the vehicle back up the slippery road. They hadn’t gone too far when another of those Kumas approached with another patrol of four. Wreede informed them of where the RV was located and two of the new patrol dismounted to continue on to the RV while Firewind, Bull’s Eye, and the rest of the original patrol were loaded up in the other Kuma.

The winding road eventually went between two gatehouses, the chainlink gates parting on mechanized gears to allow the patrol and its prisoners access. There was still some distance left to go, but the vehicles ate it up fairly quickly. Bull’s Eye took in his surroundings from beneath his brow and as secretly as he could while he kept his head lowered. Keahi mostly kept an eye on Croaker. Eventually they pulled into the parking lot of the northernmost building.

“Let’s go,” Wreede ordered as he hopped out of the vehicle, keeping his weapons trained on the men. Seeing Firewind’s questioning gaze towards Craoker, Wreede grinned wickedly. “He’ll be taken to the triage center. I’d suggest you worry more about your own ass right now, Medic.”

It took security cards to gain access on the locks admitting them to the building. The halls within were clean, bathed in pale white light from the opaque panels overhead, and painted a soft eggshell blue. Bull’s Eye kept his head hung. His heart was racing at being a captive once again. The problem with being taken captive by a megacorp was that they didn’t always report it to the law, and that meant that they could enact their own form of justice. Depending on the man in charge at the moment, and the results they were after, it could be worse than penitentiary.

They were led down a number of halls before stopping in front of a thick glass window that was obviously bulletproofed. There they were relieved of all of their armor, leaving them in basic clothing, barefoot, and cold. From there they proceeded on to another room with a similar set up. Behind this glass sat another of the corporate soldiers. When they arrived, this man reached forward and activated a comm. unit.

“Got ‘em, huh?”

“Sure thing, Gunny,” Wreede grinned back from behind his mask. “Another one of them’s pretty shot up—encountered Huff on the minigun—“

“Heh,” Gunny chuckled. “Poor bastard.”

“Any case,” Wreede pushed Bull’s Eye a bit with the barrel of his MPK. “I’d like to get this scum off my hands, if you know what I mean.”

“No problem,” Gunny pressed another button that sounded a buzzer and caused a steel reinforced door to click open where Marsette was waiting nearby. “You can throw ‘em in the holding cell with that other fella who was snooping around a couple of days ago.”

Wreede gave a nod and proceeded to push them on through the door at gunpoint. A couple of halls later and they were at another steel-reinforced door with a card security device. Wreede tapped the door with his weapon barrel as he peered through the thin window at the occupants within.

“Back away from the door, and stay there. You attempt anything and your life is forfeit.”

With the warning in place, he swiped his card once more and opened the door revealing a room approximately twelve by twelve with a ten foot ceiling filled by those same pale panels emitting light. There was a single cot against the far wall, a toilet, and a light-weight folding chair. Within this cell was another man.

This new fellow was built like a two-and-a-half ton truck: broad in the shoulders, ripped with muscle. He wore his blonde hair short and spiked, an affable look about him. His clothing consisted of brown leather pants that looked like they’d seen better days, and a white t-shirt. He too was barefoot. There was a cut just below his hairline on his left temple surrounded by a nasty bruise, but otherwise he looked healthy.

“In you go,” Wreede ordered, pushing Bull’s Eye so that he staggered forward. Firewind followed without hesitation, turning in the center of the room to stare down their captors, causing Wreede to laugh. “What’s the matter, Savage? Not free to roam the plains anymore?”

“That’s the Native American Indians you’re referring to, Prick,” Keahi spat. “I’m Hawaiian.”

Marsette barked his laughter and slapped Wreede on the shoulder. “Can’t tell your apples from oranges, Wreede?”

“Least my last date wasn’t with someone with an Adam’s Apple, Marsette,” Wreede snapped back, pointing at Keahi in unspoken warning as he stepped back to close the door.

“Hey! It was dark—“

With the door closed, Bull’s Eye turned a wary eye on their cellmate. He was all too familiar with cellblock culture, and knew that he’d have to establish dominance immediately to keep respect, especially considering his size in comparison to the gorilla they’d been quartered with.

“Name’s Bull’s Eye,” Colton said in a low tone, his stance one ready to spring. “This here’s Firewind. Fess up, big guy. You a fraggin’ mole for the Big Man, or you on our side?”

Keahi sighed and shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry for his attitude, but we just got shot up and shut down all within a couple of seconds. It isn’t lookin’ so good, so he’s a bit bitchy. What he said is true though; I’m Firewind. What’s your name?”

“Shut it, Medic,” Bull’s Eye growled, still eyeballing the blonde man. “You on our side, or not?”

“What side, Bull’s Eye?” Keahi spread his arms in an exasperated manner. “Look around you, Choomba. We’re packaged. Fried and done. There’s no getting out of this except through megacorp justice. So put it to rest so that we can all get some sleep!”

Bull’s Eye ignored Firewind’s argument and continued to meet the other man’s eye. “Our side, or not?”

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 11:35pm

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:21pm
“I’m fine,” she wondered at his sudden concern. “You’re the one I should be asking. They fired enough lead your way to drop a bull elephant.”
Behind his mask MDK gave a smirk, and shrugged slightly at her comment as he scanned the area for pursuit.

“You hesitated back there,” the Black-clad Assassin said to her, “I thought maybe something was wrong with you, but if your alright then don’t hesitate again, next time it might be your life.”

She might wonder what he was talking about, when did she hesitate? To the Solo’s enhanced perceptions and reflexes she was slow. He had downed two men before she had even drawn her weapon, to him those few milliseconds could mean life or death.

As he headed off in the direction of the facility, he began to wonder if the rumors about Peacekeeper’s rep were just that.. rumors. She had downed some of those Corp stooges but they had been easy and surprised. He now had little doubt that if it came time to ‘part company’ with this group, he wouldn’t have any trouble taking her out of the equation. This thought didn’t cause any remorse, he felt little except the thrill of combat; fear and doubt could get you killed real quickly.

As they continued through the woods he slung the HKs over his shoulder and reloaded his Automag. Those incendiary armor piercing bullets he had picked up had done the trick; they punched through Corp armor like butter and his targets often found it hard to continue the fight when their skin was burning off.

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 11:35pm
As they came to the road again he crouched down and scanned it carefully with his enhanced vision looking for cameras, sensors, hidden patrols, anything. When Peacekeeper moved close to whisper to him he listened but kept his eyes moving watching over her shoulder.

“If I remember the map,…the mountainside on the west side of the facility has some good tree cover, putting us uphill from the place and about four to five hundred meters away. The facility sits atop a hill, right? The east face of that hill is pretty bare, and there are a couple of additional hills surrounding it that way….We’d have to cross over the road to go up the west mountainside…” He nodded to her statement, it was the way he saw it as well. He might think she was slow and didn’t have the stomach for real wet work, but he silently admitted she had a reasonable brain in the beautiful head of hers.

MDK turned his head so the battle mask looked directly into her face when she turned back from glancing at the road; the flat-black mask revealing nothing about the person behind it. It was almost as if she were talking with a robot, a emotionless killing machine as it were, his voice almost mechanical sounding as he spoke.

“The Western approach is the best,” he said flatly, “it will give us a better view and more cover.”

He checked the two HKs he had slung about his body, making sure they were ready and a round chambered. With a head gesture to Peacekeeper, he moved a little closer to the road and stopped just in the last available cover. There he scanned up and down the road checking once again for patrols, cameras, etc. using his full vision enhancements.

(A lot of assumptions from here on… cut me off at any point if something comes up)

Seeing nothing, he gestured to her and motioned her to cross that he would cover her. Sending her first was not a question of cowardice; to him it made sense, she was a smaller target and he was the better, faster shot. He kept an HK in each hand as she stayed low and crossed the road. He waited a full 60 seconds and then ran across himself, keeping and eye both ways. Once on the other side he gestured for her to fall in with him again as she began to leap-frog again through the brush.

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 11:50pm
After about 15 mins, they reach a hill overlooking the western side of the Facility; crouching down in some deep brush they look over the setup. MDK shakes his head at what he sees; these guys are serious about no visitors.

The entire place is surrounded by a 12’ tall chainlink fence, which is no doubt electrified and alarmed; topped with razorwire. His enhance vision spots security cameras every 100 feet around the perimeter, no doubt they include nightvision and infrared sensors as well. His far seeing silver orbs pick out the two man patrol 10 meters inside the fence along with a dog which looks totally ‘jacked’.

“This is not good,” he whispers to Peacekeeper as she crouches next to her. “This place is heavily guarded.”

He continued to scan everything in sight, making a full evaluation on what they could do and what they would need later in order to get into this place as was planned.

“I hope that boyfriend of yours has some connections,” he said with a smirk which she could almost hear in his voice, “we are going to need some serious hardware in order to penetrate their security field and take on this kind of muscle.”

“Better give him a call and report our findings.” He told her as he kept an eye out for any outer perimeter patrols.

(Assuming she tries and fails since Croaker is unavailable)

“I got a bad feeling about this,” he said after Peacekeeper informs him the others cant be reached, “I get the impression someone knew we were coming.”

He turns to her and sitting on the ground in the brush he lifts up his battle mask and pulls down the armored bandana and his silvery metallic orbs lock on her.

“Roving patrols apparently looking for someone,” he says in a whisper, “a lot of heavy security here, and we have to assume for now that the others have been killed, or at best captured. Either way, that leaves us here alone.”

He raised an eyebrow as he watched the expressions of worry upon her face for Croaker and the others, “So, do we go back and verify the condition of your boyfriend and the others? Or do we make a new plan?” He sat there waiting for her reaction and suggestions. If left up to him he would call it quits and get out of here and save his skin since they didn’t have the firepower to tackle the Facility that lay only a few hundred meters away.

“You order online, no?” Kremlin said, still smiling. “Not soon enough? There are plenty-enough stores through city. You find with no problem. Now, tell me, Mr. Spiff, how is it that I do not know of you? Who’s shadow are you emerging from? We could use business associate with your gift of…how you say? Gab?”

"I will tell you, but if it's not to much trouble, could we stop by one such place on the way back to The Docks. I'd hate to be walking around Night City carrying this thing."

He then paused, and picked up his drink to take another sip. Before he pressed the glass to his lips, he paused and raised it up so he could see the clear liquid and the swirls of translucency that proved it to be alcohol, rather than water.

"Where do you get your vodka Mr. Kremlin?"

((some Russian place to be sure))

"And why wouldn't you buy it from somewhere else?"

((because Russian vodka is the only real vodka or something i'm sure))

"And how do you know it is good vodka?"

((because of whatever his tastes are, probably flavor or alcohol content))

"You see, good vodka is hard to come by. It must be properly fermented, properly flavored, and most definitely properly filtered. But looking at good vodka, you can see a very big difference between it and bad vodka. Cheap vodka tastes thick, and the swirls of alcohol mixing in it are very prevalent. Expensive vodka is smooth. You can look at it, as I do with this glass, and see through it clearly. You have to focus on its appearance to find the swirls and even then many miss it."

He took a sip of his glass and smiled, licking his lips.

"Good alcohol is subtle, Kremlin. So is a good speaker. In fact, I'm so very subtle, that you may have even heard of me before, and yet this day you are looking me in the face as though a stranger. I don't showboat my abilities unless it pays off to do so."

He set his glass down and smiled.

"Now, I already told you: if you want use of my gift, it doesn't come cheap. I work for myself and myself alone, but I like you guys. Helping gentlemen like you all for a bit of cash is not out of the question. I just wouldn't count on me being around forever. If that's reasonable to you, then we can work something out. If it's not, then I appreciate your business transaction and thank you for your time."

Unknown Location/Unknown Time - Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020??
The ‘Firefight’ if you wanted to call it that was very short and very bitter for the big Nomad as he ended up in great pain, half dead and out cold.

As he slowly came awake he found himself to be in a triage center stripped of everything but a thin blue medical gown and tied securely to a med bed. With his eyes open and finally fully awake he scanned the contents of the room, at once taking in two other beds with two other patients. One was a young man in his twenties, while the second, this one a women, was also in her twenties. Both had their heads shaved and were hooked up to monitoring equipment with diodes placed on their heads, and down under their gowns.

After a few minutes Croaker recognized what seemed out of place, unlike him they were not strapped down and if Croaker was right in his thinking the big Nomad knew right away what was being done to them.

“Testies” he muttered under his breath just as an average-looking, middle-aged Hispanic woman came into the room checking on the readings of the electronics hooked up to the two ’patients’
After a few moments she moved towards him seeming to check on him and his wounds the whole time saying nothing.

“Where am I” Croaker asked receiving no reply
“Hey lady where am I” once again no response.
“Look Puta where is this place” And once again no reply.

Croaker now knowing that even trying to piss her off was not going to work decided to for the moment to play the good patient. Strapped down as he was there really was not much more he could do, he just hoped they had not kept him alive to add to their collection of testies.

His thoughts then turned to Jaimy and the others and he hoped for their sakes they were alive and free. Last he had seen of any of them was Firewind patching him up and as he was alive Firewind had done his job well. The pain was tolerable and Croaker knew that the only reason he was still alive was his sub dermal body armor and Firewind’s efforts on his behalf.

For now Croaker was alive and partaking in the one thing he hated most…….Waiting.

Unknown Location/Unknown Time - Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020??

“Your friend’s right, you need to get some sleep. Both of you look like s*** and that door isn’t going anywhere in a hurry.”

The nomad slid back to the floor, using the wall to support the full weight of his body as he did so. He didn’t appear concerned or intimidated at the gruff demands of the new arrival. Years of bar room brawls, and more than a dozen arrests had hardened him to the usual stare down and intimidation tactics used by prisoners to command respect and enforce their control over a new cellmate. It wasn’t going to wash, and the sooner the big guy realized it, the better off they were all going to be. The adrenalin still running through his body needed to be diffused in a diplomatic way, as Freeway was in no mood for a tussle, even though his size and training would probably have seen him victorious.

He turned his attention away from them after his brief suggestion and back to the thoughts that had been occupying his mind as the door had opened, but the man's intensity broke the thought train once again.

“Our side, or not?”

It should have appeared rather obvious, even to the most intellectually challenged that he was in exactly the same predicament as them and it needed no explanation. The Polynesian appeared to have already figured that out.

“Oh, and don’t think about jumping the guards next time they come back in.” He patted the bruising mark just below his hairline “Been there, done that. When they take you out for interrogation make sure you take note of everyone you see and every door you pass. This place is a maze and if you’re at all planning on getting out you don’t want to be wasting time deciding which way to go.”

He stared past Bull's Eye and wondered how a man would be saddled with such a curious handle. Maybe he just attracted trouble. Maybe he just asked for it. Like now.

“Get some sleep and I’ll tell you what I know when you’re done”. With that he closed his eyes and covered his eyelids with his hand, offering them as much shade as he could from the fluorescent glow of the ceiling paneling. Finally he shifted slightly away from the two men and the door.

“And the name’s Freeway.”

I16 Southbound – North Oak – Night City – March, Friday 14th, 2020, 4:50am
“You order online, no?” Kremlin said, still smiling. “Not soon enough? There are plenty-enough stores through city. You find with no problem. Now, tell me, Mr. Spiff, how is it that I do not know of you? Who’s shadow are you emerging from? We could use business associate with your gift of…how you say? Gab?”

"I will tell you, but if it's not to much trouble, could we stop by one such place on the way back to The Docks. I'd hate to be walking around Night City carrying this thing."

Kremlin chuckled and motioned towards the blackened windows where the freeway lights were barely penetrating the tint in a feeble attempt to illuminate the storm swept darkness. “It is not morning even, Mr. Spiff. There will be no store open at this hour. But I will do you another favor, yes? I will provide duffle bag from ship. Then you can break rifle down and pack it from sight.” If the man were perturb that Spiff seemed to be avoiding the offer for employment, he wasn’t letting on.

Spiff picked up his drink to take another sip. Before he pressed the glass to his lips, he paused and raised it up so he could see the clear liquid and the swirls of translucency that proved it to be alcohol, rather than water.

"Where do you get your vodka Mr. Kremlin?"

“I have imported from Motherland, Mr. Spiff. It is well worth the endeavor, no?”

"And why wouldn't you buy it from somewhere else?"

“Ha!” Kremlin practically coughed as he laughed. “There is no other place to buy real vodka!”

"And how do you know it is good vodka?"

Kremlin’s eyes glinted and a smile played at his puffy lips. “You tell me, Mr. Spiff.”

"You see, good vodka is hard to come by. It must be properly fermented, properly flavored, and most definitely properly filtered. But looking at good vodka, you can see a very big difference between it and bad vodka. Cheap vodka tastes thick, and the swirls of alcohol mixing in it are very prevalent. Expensive vodka is smooth. You can look at it, as I do with this glass, and see through it clearly. You have to focus on its appearance to find the swirls and even then many miss it."

Spiff took a sip of his drink and smiled, licking his lips.

"Good alcohol is subtle, Kremlin. So is a good speaker. In fact, I'm so very subtle, that you may have even heard of me before, and yet this day you are looking me in the face as though a stranger. I don't showboat my abilities unless it pays off to do so." He set his glass down and smiled. "Now, I already told you: if you want use of my gift, it doesn't come cheap. I work for myself and myself alone, but I like you guys. Helping gentlemen like you all for a bit of cash is not out of the question. I just wouldn't count on me being around forever. If that's reasonable to you, then we can work something out. If it's not, then I appreciate your business transaction and thank you for your time."

“How does that American song go?” Kremlin tilted his glass towards Spiff in a toast. “The desperado, he is sitting on fences for so long…

“Every man finds his start somewhere, Mr. Spiff. Even those who sit on fences as it were must choose a side eventually. Lone wolves are a danger to organizations; they are chaos in an organized society. Who would trust a lone wolf when it is better to trust a comrade? We,” Kremlin spread his hands wide to encompass the whole of the vehicle in his reference. “Are not a small people. We are the Russia, and we are offering you a home, Mr. Spiff, not a job.”

I16 Southbound – North Oak – Night City – March, Friday 14th, 2020, 4:55am

---

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 11:50pm
“This is not good,” MDK whispered to Peacekeeper. “This place is heavily guarded.”

The bounty hunter had come to that conclusion as well. Her heart had sank when she’d witnessed the veritable fortress they surveyed. How would they be able to break that? Especially without bringing the whole of the facility down around them.

“I hope that boyfriend of yours has some connections,” MDK drawled with a little humor in his voice that prickled Jaimy’s skin, “we are going to need some serious hardware in order to penetrate their security field and take on this kind of muscle.”

“Better give him a call and report our findings.” He told her as he kept an eye out for any outer perimeter patrols.

With a slight shake of her head, Peacekeeper dropped behind the girth of a tree trunk to shield the light of her phone from those below. Croaker didn’t have a cell, but Firewind did, and they’d shared numbers to facilitate communication, so it was his number that she dialed. Placing the receiver to her ear she waited as it rang. Eventually it picked up and a strange voice answered.

”Hello?”
Peacekeeper paused, her voice caught in her throat for a moment. Had she entered the wrong number when she’d taken note of Firewind’s contact information? No, she had called him to verify.

“Who is this?” she asked in a low, guarded tone.

”Who is this?” came the returned query.

Peacekeeper abruptly hung up.

“I think there’s a problem,” she whispered to MDK as she sidled up next to him again, the phone still held in her hand. “I don’t think that was Firewind that answered the phone, and it sure as hell wasn’t Croaker, or Bull’s Eye.”

“I got a bad feeling about this,” MDK said, “I get the impression someone knew we were coming.”

He turns to her and sitting on the ground in the brush he lifts up his battle mask and pulls down the armored bandana and his silvery metallic orbs lock on her.

“Roving patrols apparently looking for someone,” he says in a whisper, “a lot of heavy security here, and we have to assume for now that the others have been killed, or at best captured. Either way, that leaves us here alone.”

He raised an eyebrow as he watched the expressions of worry upon her face for Croaker and the others, “So, do we go back and verify the condition of your boyfriend and the others? Or do we make a new plan?” He sat there waiting for her reaction and suggestions.

Jaimy glanced away from those unnerving eyes and studied the compound. Her heart was being twisted and her stomach was filled with butterflies. Was Croaker dead? She agreed with MDK in that the facility had received a warning of some sort. They had, after all, been looking for a threat when the patrol had been ambushed. What if another patrol had found Croaker, Firewind, and Bull’s Eye? Would they have been as capable as MDK had been at dispatching the enemy? She knew Croaker was tough, and he was a decent shot, but she didn’t know much about Firewind and Bull’s Eye. That voice meant that at least Firewind was no longer with his phone, and that meant…Peacekeeper jerked as her phone buzzed silently in hand.

Peering up at MDK again, she cautioned him to wait as she slid back around the tree and opened the display. A simple message read in green:

I’ve a netrunner on board. What’s your 20?
It was Jack’s contact information. Jaimy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’d almost thought he’d left them to boil. Her fingers worked the small digital keyboard as quickly as they could being cold and wet for as long as they’d been.

On target. she typed. I think we’re alone.
She waited.

What’s the gun count? came the reply within seconds.

2
Jaimy glanced over to MDK and whispered, “It’s Springed-Heel Jack. He’s a netrunner ready to assist, but…” Her phone vibrated again.

Are you capable?
“He’s asking if we’re able to proceed,” Peacekeeper raised her thin eyebrows. “A netrunner might be able to get us past the e-sec. If Croaker and the others aren’t dead, they might be in there—“ She checked herself. “—And we still need what’s in there to ensure our safety, and an end to this bull sh*t. What do you say?”

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 11:40pm

---

Biotechnica Facility Holding Cell – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 11:35pm
“Your friend’s right, you need to get some sleep. Both of you look like s*** and that door isn’t going anywhere in a hurry.” The blonde man drawled sliding back to the floor, using the wall to support the full weight of his body as he did so. He didn’t appear concerned or intimidated at the gruff demands of the new arrival.

“Our side, or not?” Bull’s Eye growled again.

“Oh,” the man on the floor said with a dispassionate tone, apparently content to ignore the nomad’s veiled threat. “And don’t think about jumping the guards next time they come back in.” He patted the bruising mark just below his hairline “Been there, done that. When they take you out for interrogation make sure you take note of everyone you see and every door you pass. This place is a maze and if you’re at all planning on getting out you don’t want to be wasting time deciding which way to go.”

He stared past Bull's Eye, a contemplating expression on his face, “Get some sleep and I’ll tell you what I know when you’re done”. With that he closed his eyes and covered his eyelids with his hand, offering them as much shade as he could from the fluorescent glow of the ceiling paneling. Finally he shifted slightly away from the two men and the door.

“And the name’s Freeway.”

Keahi couldn’t help but smile a bit at the pissing match. He couldn’t sleep, and he knew it. The situation, the eventual interrogation that Freeway had hinted at, his hatred for the megacorps—it had his blood boiling and the temperature of it would never let him relax even for a moment.

“Freeway,” Firewind moved to the corner near the door and dropped into it. “How long have you been here? Do you know what they do here? And, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you locked away?”

“He could be a damn plant,” Bull’s Eye growled, preferring to remain standing. “Put here by the corporation to gain our trust and get the information they want out of us without having to damage the meat—meat’s worth something, especially to this corp.

“Are you a plant, Freeway? Huh?”

“Give it a rest, Bull’s Eye!” Keahi stared at the nomad with a incredulous look on his tattooed face. “Even if he were a plant, he wouldn’t frackin’ tell you!

“Look, Freeway, I’m sorry for Bull’s Eye’s bull sh*t. He’s a little strung up, and seein’ how his tribe-brother just got filled full of lead by a minigun, well, he’s got a bone to pick.”

“Bone to pick…” Bull’s Eye glared at the medtech. He knew what Firewind was saying was true. He was taking his anger at the situation out on their cellmate, but he didn’t want to admit it right then. “Shut up, Firewind. You don’t know sh*t!”

“God,” Keahi dropped his head back against the wall where it rested in the corner. “What I wouldn’t give for an airhypo and a sedative. Croaker will live, Bull’s Eye. I saw to that before they threw us in chains. Now, if you want to see him again, I suggest we do what we can to remain civil and productive.”

“Oh, now he’s a tactician and a leader, huh?” Bull’s Eye made his way to the door and started investigating it around the seams. “I’ll get us out of here—oh, and, Freeway, you may have tried to jump them by yourself and got your ass kicked, but now there’s three of us, so I’m not throwing nothin’ out the window just yet.”

Biotechnica Facility Holding Cell – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 11:40pm

---

Biotechnica Facility Monitoring Room – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:15am
The door to Croaker’s room opened admitting two men in suits. They were clean cut, rigid in the jaw, and straight-backed. Each took a position on either side of the door, hands clasped before them as another suit walked in on their heels.

“You must be Croaker,” the man said. He was tall, regal-looking, with brown hair and broad shoulders. His suit looked like it cost a lot of money, and though his skin was deeply tanned and wrinkled, his blue eyes sparkled like gemstones caught in the sands of time. His thin lips twisted in a smile as he sat on Croaker’s bedside and shifted to stare at the nomad’s face. “What a situation we find ourselves in, no? You and your crew were hired to return something to me that I’d lost, and yet here I sit. I have you and two of your companions, but that which I sent you after in the first place eludes me. Why is that, Croaker, or should I say, Mr. Tallon?”

Biotechnica Facility Monitoring Room – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:17am

Wilderness – Northeast of Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 11:40pm
Peacekeeper jerked as her phone buzzed silently in hand.

Peering up at MDK again, she cautioned him to wait as she slid back around the tree and opened the display. A simple message read in green:

I’ve a netrunner on board. What’s your 20?

It was Jack’s contact information. Jaimy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’d almost thought he’d left them to boil. Her fingers worked the small digital keyboard as quickly as they could being cold and wet for as long as they’d been.

On target. she typed. I think we’re alone.

She waited.

What’s the gun count? came the reply within seconds.

2

Jaimy glanced over to MDK and whispered, “It’s Springed-Heel Jack. He’s a netrunner ready to assist, but…” Her phone vibrated again.

Are you capable?

“He’s asking if we’re able to proceed,” Peacekeeper raised her thin eyebrows. “A netrunner might be able to get us past the e-sec. If Croaker and the others aren’t dead, they might be in there—“ She checked herself. “—And we still need what’s in there to ensure our safety, and an end to this bull sh*t. What do you say?”
MDK looked at Peacekeeper with a blank expression as he considered the options of what she was suggesting. If the others had been captured they might be in this facility since it was so well guarded it made a great place to hold them and interrogate them. He silently ran the numbers through his head, chances of survival against the security and firepower they had at this place. He didn’t like the odds, but if Jack’s Netrunner was capable in the least, the odds did improve a little. He knew Jack’s style and that he usually hired the best, afterall he did hire MDK didn’t he?

“Ok,” MDK said to her in a whisper, “your right, if the others were taken then they are probably inside there, so I guess we better get them before they tell them about the rest of us.”

He turned his head to scan the area around the facility before turning back to her.

“Tell Jack that if we are going to go in there,” nodded his head at the stronghold, “his netrunner had better be good. Here is what we will need… they have to get those security cameras on a loop.. a long one… then disable the perimeter scanners… if possible.. cause some kind of alarm on the other side of the complex.. something to draw as many guards as possible. If they can do that.. we might have a chance to get in there… if not.. well hope you don’t mind being a ‘dead’ hero.” He smirked at the last, something that didn’t invoke confidence.

He waited for her to relay the message to Jack and if the reply was that they could do it, then he was ready. He slipped his mask and bandana back in place. He checked the available ammo he had for the two MPK-11s he had confiscated, and slapped a fresh mag in his automag and reholstered it.

If the reply was that they couldn’t do what he had requested, then they would have to wait and come up with a different plan.

If the reply was affirmative, or even partially so, then he nodded to Peacekeeper that they would proceed.

“Tell the net runner to monitor us on the cameras,” as he scanned the perimeter again, “and give him my Optic frequency 038.830 so the runner can send me directions and warnings via the marquee in my optics.”

Once this was done and they were both ready, he would nod to her and take the lead and slowly make his way down through the treeline towards the perimeter.

“Follow my lead,” he whispers to her as they head out, “do exactly as I say and we might get out of this alive.. not likely.. but maybe.”

(OOC: Ok.. not knowing what is going to happen it is hard for me to be very descriptive so here is a general overview of what he intends for them. He hopes the runner can do all he said and they can sneak up, crawling if necessary, to the perimeter fence. They can wait for the guards to move off, timing their route if possible, and try and get past the fence and into the perimeter. His process will be very, very slow, being patient and waiting for guard patrols to pass. He will attempt to breech the fence and get inside to the buildings. Using the net runner’s computer link to his optic marquee to warn him and hoping they can keep a watch on the facilities cameras and use them to help. That is the basics, stop them at any point they run into trouble or something major comes up. Lets see how far they get. )