Spiff had expected the brief lull, but hadn't been entirely sure he'd live to see it. He was glad to see that not only did he live to see it, but so did the rest of the crew he brought with him, but it was no time to slouch. He quickly grabbed his cell-phone and tossed it to Peacekeeper.

"Call your boy and get those wheels here now!" He may have had a bullet in his leg, but he was a face man, and it wasn't the first time he had to be calm in a rough situation. He tapped his datawatch and checked it for Reverend's schematics as he turned to Firewind. "Firewind, cover up her face so we can move her out of here without letting her end up on video. We still don't know where your media is, and I ain't takin' any chances."

((assuming he finds the schematics))

"Alright, Peacekeeper. Lock that door and get out of the way. Firewind, help me move this couch in front of it. It might buy us some time. There appears to be a fire escape through that office, so get our ride down there and let's get the frack out of here."

And Spiff, still limping, helped to move the couch in front of the door. First priority was getting the crew away from more bullets. Then the medic could easily wrap up their wounds. He was sure of it...at least, he was counting on it. Frankly, it was all irrelevant if they didn't survive.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:53am
Croaker watched as Preacher crossed the street to join them as he and Coyote covered the Solo/Netrunner. As it had been with the two of them, so it was with Preacher as he successfully reached them without taking a round of gunfire.
Croaker could not believe the three’s luck in gaining the rear of the Hole without a shot fired at them but he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth so to speak.

Looking quickly around Croaker saw that even though they had made it across the street there was no real back door. The Nomad could clearly see a few windows, but anything low enough for the three of them to enter through where clearly barred. Croaker quietly cursed as he realized that the only entrance was through the front door. Except maybe…..

Thinking fast Croaker hoped the Hole was pretty much like most buildings with a fire escape to its rear.

“This way”

Croaker spoke to Coyote and Preacher as he moved towards the rear of the Hole to be rewarded with what he hoped would be there, fifteen feet from the ground hung the fire escape


“Ok we don’t have much time and I don’t want to go in the front door unless we have no choice so we need to get the fire escape down”

Hopefully one of them with the help of the other two could be lifted high enough to grab it and bring it down.

Coyote sprinted across the concrete expanse, hitting the wall on the west side of Croaker. He dropped down to one knee, partly to make him a smaller target, partly to get out of Croaker’s sight lines. He waited for what felt like an eternity for the preacher man to join them, the ganger’s boosted senses searching out possible threats.

What the frack is going on? Shots from the roof and from inside… had the team inside been separated? The guard from the roof was noticeably absent from his post. And Coyote could make out a flurry of activity happening within the building itself. Was there another hit team going for the same prize? The ganger’s brain tried to tease out the possible scenarios, when the priest hit the wall.

“This way,” Croaker said.

Coyote made a motion to get ready to go around the east side to hit the main doors, where Croaker’s driver was supposed to be coming shortly. It seemed good sense to him. The Wild Things were likely disorganized (or, at least, distracted) by the gun shots inside and out. Hit the main doors, clear a path and (if the guys inside were still alive) press the gangers from both sides.

But the big nomad seemed to have a different plan, and crossed in front of Coyote, as he made his way west.

“Where are you going?” Coyote whispered in a hushed tone to Croaker. But the big nomad was already making his way to the western corner. Coyote took a quick peek around the eastern corner, looking for any sign of Croaker’s man in the van, or Coyote’s hopeful squad car.

[OOC: do I see either… or anything of note at all? Will post more if depending on Brom’s response]

Bullseye having been surprised by the call and not actually hearing what was said, makes a frantic and very hard U-Turn in the middle of town with the truck while keeping his foot glue to the floorboard with the accelerator.

"Damn that Croaker, wish he would have let me acknowledge him first so I could know what his plan was." Bullseye mutter to himself as he keeps control of the vehicle on these rain slick roads and his wild u-turn.

As he heads up the street towards the buildings front, he thinks he hears what sounds like a car backfiring as he gets closer to the building. "I wonder if s*** has hit the fan inside? Has to be the reason he didn't give me time to answer his call. Has to be." Bullseye says to himself again as he hears more clearly now, not backfires from a car but actuall gun shots.

"If s*** has hit the fan in there, will they come out the front thou?" he wonders to himself. "Wish I had a copy of the plans to this building damnit?" He screams while bring the truck to a stop just before the building. "He most have a plan cooking, maybe I can figure out what it is. Try to think like Croaker."

As he tries to figure out Croakers' plan, he also plugs up is ear set incase he gets a call again.

Damn I'm good!, the line from ancient movie came to Frank's mind as he double-tapped at the third guard and dropped him. It wasn't the way he felt however, not even close. Sure, the suckers had been begging for it and Guardian didn't really feel for them or their families. As far as he was concerned, this was war. And in war, there were casualties. His job... His job was to make sure the ones in the body bags were from the other side, not theirs.

But despite the fact that he had just dropped three of the Wild Things and ones armed with rifles at that, it didn't make him feel like he was having a walk in the park. He was good and he knew it, but over-confidence only got one killed. He'd only been able to gun them do so easily, because the enemy was not (and he had to be honest here) - the enemy was not that good. And what really made his point...

“See the other one?” Guardian whispered, craning his neck to peer past Frankie’s arms where the media held his weapon up close to his chest. There was a pause and then DigitalScribe said, “Yup.”

The camera turned just as Frankie did, catching the media popping off his shots. He hadn’t been as confident as his bodyguard in his ability to hit such a small target as the head; hoping to hit anything, he’d gone for main mass. The man fell backward, his arms flailing about as he vanished from view.

“Holy… I hit him,” Frankie breathed in awe at his own luck and then quickly turned back to peer at the bodyguard. “I frackin’ hit him!”

Be it due to his time spent with the Media or not, the moment froze for a fraction of a second and Guardian saw a still shot of sorts or an imaginary strip of a comic book in his mind. That and Scribe's comment turned the situation ridiculous for a moment. There had been led flying around just a heartbeat ago and here was Frankie grinning like a teenager who'd seen tits for the first time. It was just so absurd that it made the black man chuckle.

But the thing was far from over and they both new it. Closeness of death and the possibility of getting killed had a habit of turning people serious. And the comedy of DigitalScribe's joy was quickly washed away by reality. They basically had two choices now - they'd either have to go in or get out. And picking his favorite didn't take too long for the bodyguard. But once again, it was his employer who'd have to make the decision.

“Let’s see what we see through the windows, big guy,” The media was up and moving before Frank could protest.

Dropping to the fire escape as quietly as he could, Frankie made his way to the stairs and, weapon in hand, camera following his gaze, moved to the top story where he could get a good look in through the window. Shrugging, Guardian followed suite.

One of the things that made a successful bodyguard was the skill and speed with which one could assess every situation, especially the scene of gunfight the duo was witnessing. It simply would not do to notice an assailant when the bullet was already in the air or the knife was making its way through an employer's jacket. No, Guardian had learned a long time ago how to read people and scenes - quickly and efficiently.

There was Peacekeeper again with her two associates. Now that he was viewing her handiwork so close, Guardian could see for the first time that she was really as good her reputation claimed. The trio had apparently walked into the den of the gangers through all the guards, carrying their weapons. And despite the fact that the building was filled with armed-to-the-teeth Wild Things, they'd popped the life out of the gang's number one. Just like that.

But Frank now had to think further. The two of them were hunched on the fire escape and it was very probable that someone would be coming to check on the rooftop guards very soon. And what was even more certain, was that the beautiful bountyhunter and her choombas, were going to get some company too. And if the trio of assassins were not going to shoot their way through the whole building, they would have only one way to get out ...

"Scribe. You do know we can't stay here for long, right? There'll be some leather and led coming our way from the top soon and that girl of yours... She's going to use the same route to escape as we are. And despite the heat of the battle, she may still decide it's safer to shoot us first and ask questions later even if she does recognize us not being the enemy. You getting me? So I'd say we either take a hike and fast, or we somehow let them know we're on their side... sort of."

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:53am
Croaker and Coyote waited on Preacher’s approach, their nerves on end as they glanced anxiously up at the barred windows on either side of them. When the cowboy splashed up to them and took up position on Coyote’s other side Croaker looked back towards the street, then further down the rain-washed alley.

“This way,” he hissed into the night as he darted away leaving Coyote momentarily heading in the wrong direction and Preacher standing momentarily distracted by the ganger’s obvious misdirection. The solo couldn’t blame the punk, after all, hadn’t Croaker just sent Bullseye to the front?

“Where are you going?” Coyote whispered over his shoulder, now standing upright near the corner. Amazingly enough, the nomad heard him over the splash of his feet and the thunderous storm.

“OK, we don’t have much time and I don’t want to go in the front door unless we have no choice, so we need to get the fire escape down.” Croaker turned about on his heel, his automatic weapon held casually in his right hand as he hastily explained his plan.

“But don’t that put your tribesman sittin’ like a dressed duck for all them gangers?” Preacher voiced the question that was on both of the other men’s minds. It seemed odd to the solo that the man would hang his brother out to dry like that, but then, he’d never understood Zeroes.

Meanwhile, Coyote, having just heard Preacher voice his own concern, took the opportunity to peer around the corner of the building. He could see the van barely rounding the corner, its headlights blaring across his optics, causing him to squint as the harsh light penetrated his vision. Bullseye was about to pull up in front of the Hole.

Croaker had kept on his way, and as he finished his instruction, the nomad spun about on his heel once more, putting his back to the others, and raced on to the corner of the building. Gazing around the corner, the nomad tried to be both hidden and observant. He could see the length of the alley, basically clear of obstruction, but too thin for anything more than a motorcycle, or a compact citycar to fit through. The fire escape was easily fifteen feet off the ground, the bottom stair pulled up to run parallel with the bottom level. Running his eyes up to the heights, the nomad caught a disturbing sight. There, passing through the iron and steel stairwell to the next level were two figures, both in trench coats, one with an obvious shoulder-mounted camera. It was definitely DigitalScribe, or Jumper, or Frankie, whatever Croaker felt like calling him, it was certainly one in the same. The fellow behind him was someone the nomad didn’t recognize, but it was obvious to him that as he saw them, they spotted him.

Meanwhile, Preacher had remained where he was, next to Coyote, unsure of the nomad’s gameplan. He’d been unable to reach companions in the past and had paid heavily for it. He was very reluctant to leave Bullseye alone at the spillway for the gangers and for the first time that night, he’d disobeyed Croaker’s direct orders while he waited for some sign of sanity, his weapon held ready.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:53am

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The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:53am
The phone left Spiff’s hands and flew through the air to land easily in Peacekeeper’s left. “Call your boy and get those wheels here now! Firewind, cover up her face so we can move her out of here without letting her end up on video. We still don’t know where your media is, and I ain’t takin’ any chances.”

The schematics had shown the fixer the way best possible way out, but he instinctively knew that they had very little time.

“All right, Peacekeerp. Lock that door and get out of the way. Firewind, help me move this couch in front of it. It might buy us some time. There appears to be a fire escape through that office, so get our ride down there and let’s get the frack out of here.”

Peackeeper glanced down the hall at the carnage and then quickly decided that Spiff had something there. Stepping aside, she used closed the doors and turned the knob that locked them. Walking over to the corner by the kitchen and allowed a frown to crease her face as she tried to remember the cell number Croaker had ended up with for the night.

“I got nothin’,” she snarled. “I got frackin’ nothin’! Croaker doesn’t normally carry a cell, and the one he’s got on him isn’t his. I don’t know the number.”

Firewind had cast about for some way to cover Merry Deth’s face as Spiff had instructed, and, finding nothing, had opted to use her tank top, pulling the white cloth up and over her head revealing a perfectly formed torso marred only by the red bra. The medic looked a little sheepishly at the fixer and then both men went to move the couch. Spiff discovered that his wound must’ve been superficial, because despite the pain, he wasn’t hindered too badly in carrying his end, and within seconds, the couch was moved in front of the door.

Having nothing else to do, Peacekeeper made her way towards the office, her handgun at ready. She didn’t know what to expect, but she was always cautious. That’s what kept her alive in the vicious game she called her life. The interior of the office was dark, but the light from the room she’d just come through washed across the rain-streaked windows making it difficult to see anything outside. It looked clear to her though she couldn’t see the way to open the window just yet through the vertically hanging blinds.

“It looks good,” she called back over her shoulder while trying to ignore the pain in her thigh.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:53am

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The Mean Streets – Upper East Side - Night City/Rooftop next to the Hole – 12:53pm
"Scribe. You do know we can't stay here for long, right? There'll be some leather and led coming our way from the top soon and that girl of yours... She's going to use the same route to escape as we are. And despite the heat of the battle, she may still decide it's safer to shoot us first and ask questions later even if she does recognize us not being the enemy. You getting me? So I'd say we either take a hike and fast, or we somehow let them know we're on their side... sort of."

“Frack!” DigitalScribe knew Guardian was right, mostly because Peacekeeper had just started heading their way. His mind racing, the media shook his head, discarding one idea, then shook his head again. “She hates my frackin’ guts Guardian. She see’s us and I’m about eighty percent positive we strike a match. We don’t and we’re playing tag all frackin’ night.”

Looking at his bodyguard with a serious expression on his face, DigitalScribe made a quick decision. He hadn’t known Croaker to ever operate in a kidnapping racket. Nor had he ever heard of Peacekeeper being the type to perform such a deed. He also had his doubts about the slick fixer known as Springed-Heel Jack stooping to such lows, but here he was witnessing a girl being tagged and wrapped up in her own shirt while this crew shot up a lion’s den full of piranha. He knew right then and there that his suspicions were confirmed: something huge was going down and they needed to stay on the team’s six to land the story.

“Down, Guardian, and fast. We don’t have much time.” DigitalScribe’s hand darted into his pocket and went for his phone. He didn’t pull it out this time, instead, he activated the Cabhailer™ attached to the base as he swung around the rail and began to quickly descend the stairs.

As his feet pounded the steel, DigitalScribe glanced up and his heart practically stopped. Peering around the far corner, some thirty meters off and another twenty meters down a figure was peering up at them. Frankie’s thought process sent his cyberoptics into action and the space between them disappeared.

“Damn,” he muttered as he kept up the pace. “It’s Croaker down there.”

Guardian didn’t need to be warned, he’d already seen the man and his own optical enhancements were already at play. He’d determined that the man was large, though not quite as large as he, and he was packing a submachine gun that sported a grenade launcher on the bottom. He’s also already determined that the man was in range of his handgun, if barely, and that put DigitalScribe and himself in easy range of the submachine gun.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side - Night City/Rooftop next to The Hole – 12:53am

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – 12:53am
As Croaker moved into postion he clearly heard the concern for his actions in the words spoken by Preacher and Coyote.

“No I did not as you say, hang him out to dry, but there is no way I want him and our ride out of here trapped in such a narrow area. Look we go up the firescape, blast into the room at the top, find the others and blast our way out the front door where Bullseye is waiting.” A quick breath “Yeah I know he is in a dangerous spot, but we all are, no one said this job was gonna be easy. Now help me get this damn thing down”

It was here that Croaker did look up and to his surprise found himself looking into Scribes eyes. Clear it was that Frankie was just as surprised to see him also and maybe a little scared.
Though Croaker at the moment had no love for the media hound, here in front of him was a golden opportunity.

“Frankie its cool, no gun play between us I swear, just lower the damn firescape and get out of our way. After that you and your friend can do what ya want just hurry.”

Croaker his Subgun clearly pointed away from Scribe and his buddy, waited on the Media hounds next action.

Spiff paused for the briefest second. He wanted to sit down and massage his forehead as the problems started to stack. A lot of things had gone wrong, but this was the most that had happened all at once. They now had to pray for their ride having heard the gunshots through the storm, and he had the bird getting stripped right in front of him. Had his adrenaline not been pumping through his veins, this might've slowed him down. But his brain was going a thousand miles a second, and he now had a way out.

"Peacekeeper," he turned to the gunner, reaching into his pack "head out with us watching our backs. If you hear them make it to the door, take a hint from that twin and go full auto on that wall there." He pulled out his suit jacket and tossed it to Firewind. "Don't go undressing her, put this over her head."

At that moment, Spiff booked it for the office. He knew he didn't have much time, and since his leg was feeling alright, they could fix it later. He just hoped that Peacekeeper was in good enough shape to back them up. He looked at the glass to determine if it was easily openable from the inside and booked it out. ((if he can't find the lock or can't get it open for some reason, he'll shoot it a few times and kick through it))

Coyote made up his mind. This zero could go try and find a fire escape if he wanted to, but Coyote was gonna wait around for their ride… cover the van, and try and clear the entrance for his employer.

The preacher seemed to be in agreement for the moment, so it surprised Coyote when looked back and saw Croaker continued down to the back of the building. What the frack, man!?!
Peering around the corner, Coyote saw the Bullseye pull the van up in front of the Hole, just ask Croaker had told him. The ganger took one more moment to look back at Croaker and was tempted to call the big nomad back. Forget about him, hombre. Man’s willing to let his brother die… the bastard’d have no problem leaving any of us for a meatbag. Still, Coyote wondered what the guy was thinking.

Coyote gave the preacher a nod, “Ride’s here. Those front doors open, and those ganger hit our man, and we’ll be hauling ass on foot.”

The ganger crouched down, steadied his weapon, allowing Preacher to shoot over him if need be.

“You wanna go in low, hit the door, and clear these gangers out? Or shall we stay here, keep our cover and wait to pick them off if they come out?”

He waited for Preacher’s response, attentive to any motion on the street around the van.

Spiff had thrown her the phone and she caught it easily in her left hand as she listened to his words carefully. She glanced down the hall and wondered what spiff had up his sleeve as she turned the knob and locked the door. Peacekeeper moved soundlessly to a corner and tried to remember Croaker's cell that he had for the night. Frowning she growled "“I got nothin’,I got frackin’ nothin’! Croaker doesn’t normally carry a cell, and the one he’s got on him isn’t his. I don’t know the number.”

Annoyed with herself for not having memorized the number to reach Croaker, she shook her head and readied her gun as she approached the office. Cautiously she crept towards the office her gun raised and ready for any surprises as the men pushed the couch against the door. Peacekeeper allowed her mind to run through all the numbers she could, while ignoring the wound to her thigh as she moved as gracefully as a cat. Soundlessly she watched as the darkness was washed away enough to see to the window and after scanning the room quickly but carefully she called over her shoulder "it looks good".

As they moved into the office, she could hear sounds in the distance, and she turned to Spiff as he spoke anew. Carefully she listened and keeping her gun ready she nodded "You got it" she spoke confidently her weapon loaded and aimed towards the designated spot. Calmly she covered her friends her aim rarely missed, no matter how much pain she was enduring, she could keep focused on the task at hand. The blood was beginning to seep through the fabric she'd wrapped around it, and she had too much to do, to fix it now. Peacekeeper continued running numbers in the back of her head as she kept concentrated on her mission "Go for it. I'll watch your back." through her words none would know she was in the least bit of pain, let alone the pain she suffered from the wound in her thigh. The woman's breathing remained calm and her gaze cool as she watched the door with battle hungry eyes. Fear was never found in the eyes of this gunner, and calmly she waited occasionally glancing over her shoulder towards her companions, to ensure their safety.

Firewind stood there as the orders were being given. He watched Spiff move over to the couch, his wounds obviously not hindering him to any degree, and decided that he can wait to be patched up much later than he first thought. They pushed the couch against the door, ensuring that if those gangers wanted to get in here, they'll have to bust and break that door down with all the strength they got.
Firewind backed off from the door, and now he needed to cover the girls face with something. But nothing of use was around, so he would of just had to make due.
Grabbing at her top, he tore it off and wrapped it around her head loosely, making sure her face was not to be shown.

"Don't go undressing her, put this over her head."

" Yeah man, I got it. "

Fire wind caught the jacket and put her top bac down over her chest, and put the coat over her head, stopping any camera from seeing her at all.
He tookhis beretta and holstered it, and dragged the girl into the office, following his comrades. He layed her down on the floor, away from the entrance, and stood next to Spiff, who was staring at the glass.

" So this is our exit the huh, ya think it'll work?"

Fire wind stared back at it, and braced himself for the answer he was going to get back.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am
Tactically speaking, Preacher wasn’t at all pleased with their situation. There he stood dumping acidic rainwater from the brim of his hat over Coyote’s position like a frackin’ fountain, peering around a corner of prefab brick at their only mode of transportation in this desperate situation and it sat in the middle of the most likely flow for damage… in the open.

“You wanna go in low, hit the door, and clear these gangers out? Or shall we stay here, keep our cover and wait to pick them off if they come out?” Coyote asked with his thick Hispanic accent.

Preacher could tell he was pissed. There were little nuances in the syllables, the way the emphasis on particular words, they all expressed the man’s frustration and the solo couldn’t help but feel a bit of the same. He knew that the van sitting there was an open target, and those gangers on the roof had been carrying some pretty heavy hardware. They’d make short work of a delivery van as well as whatever was inside given the opportunity. He could only hope that the action taking place inside was enough to give them some leeway.

“Naw,” he drawled after a second. “We gotta get Bullseye over here, outta sight, cause once them gangers see that parked out front, they’ll be lightin’ it up for the holidays. Cover me.”

That said, the solo stepped out waving his arms over his head and cut a piercing whistle through his teeth.

Inside the van, Bullseye is craning his neck to peer up at the building through the rain-washed windscreen while mulling over the possibilities his brother might be stirring up. He can still see the occasional shadow pass in front of an upper floor window, but for the time, there’s no other life… then movement out of the corner of his eye causes the nomad wheelman to look to the southern corner. There, a black shadow with the shape of a cowboy from a holo-vid appears to be waving him down.

As soon as it is obvious to Preacher that Bullseye has spotted him, the solo waves him over with large, dramatic swings of his arm, then steps back around the corner to lean over Coyote, his H&K at ready, S.W.A.T. style.

“We get him over here and there’s less chance of him becoming a target right away. Then maybe we can fill him in on what’s going down as we know it and cut after Croaker to see what he’ got t’ say.”

Around the corner, Croaker, DigitalScribe, and Guardian faced off.

“Frankie, it’s cool. No gun-play between us, I swear, just lower the damn fire escape and get out of our way. After that you and your friend can do what ya want; just hurry.”

Guardian remained still as stone, and despite Croaker’s move to point his weapon elsewhere, the bodyguard knew that this was one of the people he was being paid to protect the media against. So, he remained steady, his wired Armalite remained pointed at the large nomad’s forehead, the crosshairs in his eye making it a near impossible miss.

DigitalScribe had no time really to think things over. He knew that any second now those in the suite upstairs would be coming out into the rain and he’d be sandwiched between the nomad and his input. Not a pleasant picture to conjure no matter how you looked at it. So, Frankie decided it would be better to appear helpful now than try to explain his way out of a potential crossfire. Stepping quickly to the stair release, the media snapped the latch and then stepped back as the stair descended to Croaker’s feet.

“You’ve got an entire gang with their panties in a bunch, Richard,” Frankie slicked back his TechHair ™ with his left hand, his right still holding his Sternmeyer, though it was at his side as the stairs were presented to the nomad. “I think you could use a little extra help right now. Guardian’s one of the best… and who knows, I might be able to hit something now and again. What say you?”

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am

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The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am
The bounty hunter stood poised in front of the office door, her smartchipped .44 aimed at the entrance to the suite’s lounge, the double doors that now had a couch sitting in front of them. The pain in her leg registered dully, but it was bearable. As she blinked, a mental command registered with her optical implants and the vision in her right eye hazed for a nanosecond while she closed her left eye. Then, the whole spectrum of her thermograph heat vision kicked in and she was seeing the world in blues, oranges, yellows, and reds. It took only a second for the vision to penetrate the drywall and lumber of the kitchen wall and allow her a glimpse of the hall beyond. There, she could see a gathering of ten gangers quickly checking the dead and moving towards the door with cool, black weapons at ready. There were more coming too, but they haven’t yet built up the gall to come busting through the door. Maybe they were waiting for the rest of their buddies to get there, maybe they were terrified by the sight of some of their best bleeding out on the marble floor. Whatever their reason, the trio had precious little time.

Spiff and Firewind stood at the window for a moment while the fixer studied it, the unconscious mark at their feet wrapped up in Spiff’s expensive suit coat.

“So this is our exit, huh? Ya think it will work?” The medic was apparently fairly skeptical of their escape.

Spiff didn’t immediately answer though. Reaching up he flipped a latch, then caught the other one below and pushed the window open. A blast of cold, wet air struck his face along with an icy wind and darts of hard water. The black night was lit momentarily by a crash of lightning that silhouetted the jagged skyline about them in a horrific montage of modern construction. Stepping gingerly to the catwalk, the fixer squinted into the darkness about him and blinked to adjust his eyes as he turned and motioned Firewind to come through with Merry Deth. The pain in his thigh was pretty low right now, what with adrenaline running through his system, but as soon as that acidic rain rolled off his jeans and into the wound it lit up like it was on fire. This caused the fixer to wince and his eyes to tear up, but he grit his teeth against it and, weapon at ready, began to make his way down the stairs.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am

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The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am
Unit A-V-Three-Alpha-Uniform-Alpha was actually an AV-3 “Aerocop”. A sleek black and white with a whole series of light bars all over, top and bottom. It had extra armor, spotlight, and a loudspeaker, the mere sight of it was usually enough to send street punks and posers running for the hills. It was piloted by Sgt. Mitch Avery and co-piloted by Officer Derek Masters. Both men were carrying their usual compliment of weaponry and armor, though their helmets were sitting on the console between them. When the call had come in, they’d been sitting quiet in an alley, their engines cooling. After all, AvGas was expensive and though the AV-3 was a valuable asset for law enforcement throughout any major city, when they weren’t on call, they weren’t patrolling. As a matter-of-fact, Avery and Masters had both been sitting with the radio turned to 104.7 KKID where one of Johnny Silverhand’s classics was rolling through the cockpit. Avery had a Starbuck’s coffee he was nursing and Masters had just finished off the bag of chocolate chip (soy-based) cookies his wife had packed for him for lunch.

“This is Special Investigations we’re talking about,” Masters said after licking the chocolate from his fingers. “All I’m saying is that it isn’t likely it’ll just be a fly-to-hover operation.”

“You figure?” Avery growled as he whipped through the Business Center, weaving between the huge skyscrapers and cutting past the Arasaka Towers, the largest structure in Night City. Lightning forked in front of them and the sergeant frowned at the conditions. Flying in the likes of this, even in an AV, was never anything more than tense. Sure, the AV had its ejection seats, but who wanted to be the cop to have to fill out form AV-W5 telling the city they’d just lost a half a million Euro vehicle because of a little lightning. He’d be back padding the streets with his feet before he could even put pen to paper were that to happen.

“So, I’ve not heard anything on the squawk-box routing any ground forces to the twenty. We’re going in alone.”

“Scared, Masters?”

“This is S.IN we’re talking about Sarge. You’re frackin’ right I got my pulse racin’!”

“Good, then keep an eye out, cause we’re almost there.”

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am

Spiff made his way down the stairs, he knew the others should be following him, but his first priority was to get out of this rain and into the safety of his ride...wherever it was. As he limped quickly down the fire escape, he watched for doors nearby. If the gangers heard the fire escape, they could burst out of them and he'd be back in the mess he was in to begin with. His hope was that they were distracted by the gunfire and had run upstairs.

His second thought, as he stared at the walls of the building, was to look up around him. But given his lack of tech-adjustments in that area, he had little hope of catching sight of snipers. He'd have to rely on the other two for that. He padded down the stairs, watching for the other two to follow him.

The Mean Streets – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 12:53am
Croaker watched Frankie and his bodyguard closely, trying to guage each’s reaction to his words. As he did so he took the measure of the man standing next to the media, the man’s Armilite having not moved an inch from the center of Croaker's forehead. The Nomad could tell right away that this one was quite different then the other two Frankie had with him earlier, his eyes never leaving that of Croaker’s. Wherever Frankie had found him and whatever the media had offered to pay him this guy was all professional.

With a quiet sigh of relief Croaker heard Frankies reply, as the Media hound lowered the stairs up.

“You’ve got an entire gang with their panties in a bunch, Richard; I think you could use a little extra help right now. Guardian’s one of the best… and who knows, I might be able to hit something now and again. What say you?”

Croaker
TO BE CONTINUED

FireWind crawled out of the window and over the cat walk with the item in hand. It was a difficult maneuvor with this person he was carrying, and the rain didnt help at all. He felt a drop go in his eye, and it stung bad. he felt sorry for his companions with open wounds crawling all about. he could feel the sting in the cuts and scratches he had collected through out the fight too. He slightly stumbled, partly climbed down the slippery fire escape, and soon got down onto the platform that Spiff was on.

" So, what do w- hey! that ladders already down, atleast something went right, ready to go?"

FireWind waited for his boss's reply, but he just stood there, staring at someone. then he said something.

"Yes, now where the hell are those wheels?"

He looked down below, and squinted, seeing through the rain a group of people. Focusing in a little more he realized who they were, and tensed up, his grip on his package tightening, and senses sharpening. But they couldnt be all that hostile if Spiff was chatting with them.

" What now Spiff, do we get on down after em and hope for the best?"


( just tell me if i need to edit something, like if Firewidn actually doesnt knwo who it is down ther or anything like that)

(OOC:Jozan its Tann, you know all of the people below you but 1 and thats Raven's character Guardian. You know me as the runner who hired you on and Digitalscribe as the guy that intro'd you to me. So you know we are the good guys for the most part .)
( alright, thanks, I wasnt sure who he knew or not, so thanks for clearing that up =) )