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(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/Stuffershack-1.png)
Welcome to Augmented Reality (http://vimeo.com/8569187)
It's the great equalizer. It'll stop a troll the size of a car as easily as the smallest dwarf or thinnest elf. It ain't a weapon, spell, or even a dragon- it's hunger. When it's time to eat, you just gotta get the stuffers into your stomach before you go beserk.
What are stuffers? They used to be called junk food or munchies. They're probably just as good for you as the nutri-soy and krill-filler, reguardless of those ads from the UCAS Nutritional Council.
When the hunger pangs hit, there's only one place to go (especially when the sun rises in about an hour) to find that kind of chow. It's the place everyone loves to hate: Stuffer Shack.
Okay, everyone, post what you'd be doing between 2am and 4am on a Thursday morning, what you're craving, and how you're getting there. For those of you without cars, bum a ride from a roommate, steal one off the street, or take the metro. Have fun! Play Shadowrun!
Instructions about where items are in the stuffer shack are in the Shadowrun Quickstart rules, page 16. You can download it for free from http://www.shadowrun4.com/wp-content/uploads/Downloads/Shadowrun%20Quick-Start%20Rules.pdf (http://www.shadowrun4.com/wp-content/uploads/Downloads/Shadowrun%20Quick-Start%20Rules.pdf)
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Just pulled my post from the thread Ruski started and moved it here since it was relevant. If you want something different let me know! By the way, I like the idea of using quotes as OOC info. ;)
-Ingo
Eric rubbed his eyes. They told him coding on image links would be much easier on the eyes than doing it on a normal screen. Heck, they even told him having cybernetic replacements would remove eye strain all together. Well.. his new fake eyes still hurt. "Give yourself some time to adjust" they told him, "you'll be fine" they said. Liars. He eventually found out it had something to do with how his brain was wired, and there wasn't much that could be done. He was part of the 0.0001% with this issue. "How special I must be" he thought.
Eric shifted his focus to the image link. "2 AM" he said to himself. He had a meeting with his recruiter at 9, so he wouldn't need to sleep until 4 or 5. He was hopeful for the meeting, he had blown the money from his last contract adding drone racks to his truck so he was running a little low.
His stomach was roaring at him so he checked the mini-fridge. "Empty, just great." With a thought the Ares Roadmaster's systems began powering up, the slight humming of it's systems pulling him away from his thoughts. As he walked to the 'pilot's seat' as he called it, the Roadmaster's engines roared to life. The modified exhaust emanated a deep growl that he thoroughly enjoyed hearing, one of the upgrades he liked best. He ran his hand across the dash as she woke up. She was black on black, sitting in stark contrast to the light grey corp plascrete that surrounded her. The morning before he bought her he had come across catchy song from a century prior by a band called Ram Jam. "Morning Betty" he said with a smile.
As he sat and buckled himself in he checked the sensors to see what was going on in the immediate vicinity. A homeless guy was holding a bottle of weak synthahol and talking to a wall. Apparently the wall was named Richard, and he owed the guy a few hundred nuyen from the card game last week. He must have gone through a case of those bottles to be that plastered. A couple was walking to their car from the night club down the street. The guy was looking at everything but her face, while she went on and on about how much fun she was having while trying to walk in a strait line. Eric hoped for the guy's sake he bought her the right number of drinks, one too many and this sure would be a night he would remember. A few aircraft and drones zipped about the clear night sky. He made sure the weren't watching him, making note of their serial numbers in case he came across them again. The corp lot he was parked in was empty. They had allowed him to park in there even after he finished his contract with them, but after a couple of days he might be overstaying his welcome. "Time to resupply" he mumbled to himself as he brought up his mapsoft and plotted a course to the nearest Stuffer Shack.
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Sly woke up with a lurch; his arms striking out at invisible monsters almost of their own accord.
*CRACK*
The sharp snap of forehead striking shelving bin snapps him back to reality.
In the distance he can hear the trail end of a land-train rumbling away down the road, eventually quieting down so that the only sound was the more steady traffic murmurs from the overpass above him, and the patter-drip of rain against the windshield and roof of his van.
Sly sat up again, slower this time, making sure to duck the shelving bin hung directly above his fold-down cot. Sitting with his head cradled in his hands he does what he can to massage away what is sure to be the first of many headaches today.
Checking his internal comlink he confirms what he already suspected. Nearly 2am. Cell-service is still suspended until payment can be made, and 400 missed calls have filled up his voice/video mail provider. Due to insufficient funds he can’t read the actual messages, but the ‘from’ field tells him everything anyways. The Bank. The other Bank. The credit collection agency. Student loan company. Permits Office. The list goes on; but they’ve all got the same content. ‘Where are you: the rent is due’.
Sly reaches under the bunk-plank and grabs a flashlight. Full Charge. Two hours or better. The light from the occasionally passing vehicle over head is more than enough to illuminate the interior of the van for his low-light vision, but given the option of facing a day with nothing in his hands, and the option of at least having a heavy flashlight handy… he would always chose to have the edge.
Sly’s stomach rumbles with a growl that’s more howl than growl.
He angrily mumbles to himself “Superthyroid, little bit faster and stronger, there’s hardly a downside… unless you can’t afford food… then you starve to death in like three days.”
Activating the Mr.Caffeen and Mrs. Soy machines he dumps the last of the tablets into the processing bays.
“Breakfast of champions… it is the most important meal of the day…”
He checks the calendar on the wall.
“John Ryley. 6AM. Devil Rats .”
He looks over to the equipment carefully stored and cleaned. He wouldn’t probably need the vest. Then again, He’d rather wear it and not need it, than need it and not have it. The dark red ‘devil-dress’, a rip & stain proof uniform complete with helmet and respirator would fit over the armor and had enough pockets and clips to sate the apatite of even the most kleptomaniac of adventurers.
Although his pockets were quite a bit lighter on tricks these days, he still had more than he descended into that first ghoul warren with.
A nice heavy flashlight, and a backup of the same. A shock glove for things that got too close. The bulky ruggedized LASER for things that needed serious dissuading, Of course, there was always the completely silent pistol crossbow. The crossbow was his favorite. A much more advanced version of what he descended into that first dark hole with. Oh well. Fortune and Fame, and all of that.
Another early morning land-train rumbles overhead breaking his thoughts and driving away the nogalistic feelings.
A clear ‘ding’ from his appliances notifies him of his breakfast being ready.
The Black-Tar Coffee is churned out into the waiting cup. The cup is a bit battered like everything here, but at least its clean.
The Mrs. Soy isn’t so friendly. The cardboard and rubber tire flavored paste it pushes out into a bowl is devoid of the expensive flavor additives. If he wasn’t starving he would happily do without.
Turning on the vanity light and mirror Sly initially winces at the brightness of the light, and then fixes his hair while trimming up his goatee.
Clicking off the light plunges the interior of the van once again into darkness as his eyes adjust back to their natural low-light preference.
Eyes closed and re-adjusting to the dark he dumps the coffee into the soy paste and drinks down the foul coffee flavored tar combination as quickly as possible. His stomach is still voicing protests as he sanitizes the dishes and puts them back into their holding spots.
He goes through his mental checklist.
Full charge battery in the LASER. One charge pack in the side pocket. Three charging in the van.
Two extra braces of bolts for the crossbow, with a full brace in its internal magazine.
The sword, in all its impressive glory, would wait in the van. If he needed it on this call, he would be running away, and re-negotiating the pest elimination price before going back.
The crossbow, a silent and dis-ambiguous self-assembling contraption was built into a wrist-guard worn on his right arm. Work boots, polished black and laced tightly finished out the uniform of the day.
After gearing up Sly moves to the driver’s seat of the van, punching up the electronics.
The Hacker charged a lot, but letting him steal electricity from the grid-guide system to charge his electronics was one of the few luxuries he had. Disconnecting from the grid he dropped into the first person control mode and laid out a course to his only job today. Like most of his few remaining jobs, this one was in redbluff where the people who knew him from his original office in Seattle still liked him for past heroics, regardless of what everyone else said. If he could find a discrete overpass to hide under there he would be better off and save on fuel charges; but he hadn’t found anything yet.
“The Early Devil gets the rat…”
Sly turns on the morning talk radio as the autopilot sneaks him into the nearly nonexistent morning traffic.
He didn’t have much cash left, but he considered stopping at a stuffer shack on the way to his appointment. Real ™ coffee would be nice… and he really should get a throw-down comlink his creditors didn’t have the number for.
Leaving most of the heavy weapons (laser pistols, swords, and the chainsaw); in the van. I'll be taking in the crossbow, because it's sneaky, and dis-assembled it looks like a bad-ass bracelet. The armor vest is also worn, as it's more or less part of the uniform, and he is getting ready to work.
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"You can't have a belt feed without the belt, Meadow..."
"I know that, Grimshaw, I have every intention of buying the belt but not that piece of dross. Get a good one and I'll buy it...and for using that name you just cost yourself 10% on the rest of this stuff."
"Ah, Me...."
"Say it again, and I'll knock you on your ass."
Grimshaw sighed around the faint smile he was hiding. "Okay, okay..." the pair struck the deal and the woman strapped everything into an military courier pouch and slung it across her shoulders. The 10% savings she had demanded would be more than enough to get her some grub on the way home, she realized she hadn't eaten for ten or more hours.
She left Grimshaw's hole in the wall the pink and white strands of her hair caught the garish neon, and reflected it back, while the black, blue and purple seemed to absorb the light, it gave her on odd fiber optic look.
She glanced about, checking for threats, she had had taught herself to do so after getting too caught up in her thoughts in the past had gotten her a thorough beating, she still sported a split eyebrow as a souvenir. She rubbed at said eyebrow absently, and tried to figure how far she was from food. She headed down the street, she seemed to recall there was something....
The harsh aura of light which typically surrounded urban Shacks pulsed a few blocks to the west. She made a face, but night owls couldn't necessarily be all that picky, late night grazing was fairly limited in scope. She adjusted her bag and started walking.
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(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/Stuffer-Shack.png)
Every Stuffer Shack looks just the same, exactly like every other- a handy design gimmick from your friends at Aztechnology (Your Friends in the Business... TM).
These places in Denver are exactly the same as the ones in Seattle, or in New York, or any other hole that needs 24-hour coffee and sim supply. You could walk the isles of any Stuffer Shack blindfolded, and if it wasn't for the shoddy matrix connection to this place, probably caused by local hackers stealing signal, you would just order from home and have a drone deliver it to your dive. Hell, given the amount of nuyen you've dropped into this place, you should probably own stock.
The sky is gray with clouds, lit by the street lights of the city. The air is cold and crisp, with that bite you really only get in the mile high city. The snow is caught in little flurries of wind, gathering on the pack that barely melted from the sun yesterday. You wipe your nose and push through it, looking forward to the lukewarm reception at the store; anything is better than freezing in the street.
The parking lot in front of the store is almost completely empty- a Ford Americar with a broken window is parked crooked on the Handicapped spot directly in front of the store. You snicker at the broken window; Denver's weather of choice this season, snow, is unforgiving to car interiors, even synthetic ones. Anyone who's ever smelled rotting synth-pleather is not eager to repeat the experience. There's a ten year old Honda Spirit that could probably use three new tires, parked in the 'employee reserved' parking spot with half a foot of snow piled on top of it. Someone is making the big nuyen. </sarcastic smiley emoticon>
As Eric approaches the front door of the Shack, the automated doors slide aside, and he's assaulted by a wave of AROs. "Welcome back to the Shack, Mister Dubois!" The cheerfully impersonated voice says. "It says here in our records that you recently purchased World of Shadowcraft! Were you aware that you can purchase in-game items using your credit account? Click here to link your credstick to the game!
There are AROs for Neil the Ork Barbarian, recently remade by Horizon; for Nutrisoy, all of your daily vitamins and minerals in one edibile package; For a bunraku sim you downloaded once as a teenager; For mixed drinks and hangover cures; for candies, sorted by your color preferences and past purchases.
Among the hail of messages, each items helpfully asks in a cheerful voice, "Was this item helpful to you?" Lemmings.
Off to your left, just on the other side of the credit transfer station, is a small 'fresh fruit' stand. You stand in front of the holographic representation of fruit in the display, drooling as he thought of the taste of grapes. Wouldn't it be great if Stuffer Shack sold stuff like that? Sadly, this is an ordering kiosk for straight-to-home delivery, where the voice narrates that "Estimated delivery would be in just __Error. >>Address unknown. >>File new address with Corporate office >>Address necessary to generate delivery estimate." A small screen pops up, where you can punch in your address, using street numbers or a GPS estimate.
As Sly enters the building, the LAN hits off his commlink, set to silent, and then defaults to the RFID in his fake liscense. "Welcome, Mister Dante Inferno!" The helpful voice chimes in, continuing "We show that you have never shopped here before, and we are grateful to have you as a new customer!" As you glance around, the layout of the store pops up in your display, although you don't really need it; nearby product on the shelves, identified by RFID tags, begin playing advertisements. The Horizon ads are the hardest to ignore- they're so hot that some groups claim they're psychotropic.
"Please, take a moment to fill out our customer satisfaction survey!" The jolly voice continues "We can notify you of incoming products that fit your requirements for diet and nutrition! Your feedback is very important to us!"
Half of the products that pop up in the AR window have ARO warnings that tell you these products have no nutritional value, or a (much smaller) warning that the products have passed their expiration dates. Each product has an ARO logo pop up, and the following drop-down menu: Purchase this item, Purchase this item online for home delivery, check local markets for pricing, and shop related items.
As a first time customer, a list of the 'freshest' products and a special one-time only discount pops up, advertising their most popular items.
Near the back of the store, there's the mecca of Stuffer Shack- the soykaf machine.
It warms up as you approach, like an old friend seeing you come in on the security scanner. AROs throw out a menu of possible drinks. Coffee with something called selective-serotonin re-uptake inhibitors, called "Happy Caffee" was the top seller this week, with new nicotine-added soykaf "Jittery Java" a close second. Beyond that were your Euro-vanilla roast, your basic "Black Kaf," and "Weak Sauce," the new re-branded decaf soykaf, for the extreme impaired.
The ork behind the counter, an overweight teenage guy with a bad complexion, ignores an equally unappealing dwarven girl chattering at him as she reads through her beauty magazine. The employee is reading through his Horizon SimStarlet guide, watching short clips as his eyes check the timestamp for the end of his shift.
Outside in the street, Sundance shivers against the cold, trudging through the snow and finally giving up and moving to the slush in the street. There's not much worse than walking in brown and yellow slush, but walking in knee-deep drifts of snow and refrozen ice make the list.
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Sylvester sighs as he gets pinged on his fake license.
Well, at least that’s better than two weeks ago when he was simply over-drawn on his telcom account, and not completely cut-off like he was now.
If he had to hear one more gingle about how he could get double-food-stamp rewards programs signed up for free, or yet another job offer because he apparently really needed the money so bad that he should work at a stuffer shack…
Another sigh escapes his lips when he realises that whatever bargain basement telcom unit he’s going to be able to afford on 300 newyen, even with his ‘first customer 2.5% discount’ is going to be loaded to the gills with marketing software that is going to take a hundred bucks for another back alley hacker to chop into it for an hour, making it into something useable…
That brings the price range down to the 200 newyen ‘pay as you go’ telcoms.
Hmm… this one has buttons instead of a UI. How… quaint?
Maybe this one… it’s hard-loaded with the ‘hello kitty’ theme?
Or: a supped-up deluxe model; set to only operate within 20 meteres of an Aztechnology LTG link… it comes with a heads-up map of locations you can log in, and the option to backpay a grand to unlock ‘roaming’…
Sly walks away from the display, clearly this decision needed to be made with a little help. He pours himself a 20 OZ cup of the Euro-Vanilla. “Fagg-a-chino” as his friend William Dukenfield (Currently incarcerated in Seattle) would call it.
Will always was a cheerful slot. The trumped up charges had grabbed up most of his friends and co-workers who were at the office when the powers that be decided to ‘roll up the red carpet’ on them.
Glancing towards the news stand he looks to see if any of his company’s information is making headlines all the way down here… no… (closing his eyes) sometimes it’s better just not to know.
Sly walks back to the phones and starts to look at the Aztechnology proprietary phone… sipping his coffee he starts checking the map; how loaded with spyware could it be? The coverage wasn’t horrible… well, it was better than his current non-coverage…
”How much of this is psychotropic, and how much of it is just going to be ad-ware tracking my habbits?”
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Eric frowns at the ARO bombardment. He had almost forgotten how much the shacks annoyed him. Still though, it was the only place open so his options were limited.
Even though he knew where everything in the shack was, he always found himself wandering the aisles every time he came into one. "Mmmm...apples..." he thought as he came upon the fresh fruit stand. He pondered the fantasy of biting into a big juicy apple to drown out the AROs for a while. Only a short while, as he eventually came back to his senses when some drool almost escaped from his lips. After swallowing a mouthful of saliva, his senses returned and the ARO bombardment began again in earnest. Nearing his acceptable limit, he heads over to the sim section and pretends to browse while he begins hacking into the shack systems. He'd make the systems ignore his ID. "What else..?" he thought. He could turn off the computer voice, but that wouldn't be fun. He could replace the voice with... "Neil." Surely people would enjoy a muscle-bound Ork screaming at customers to buy Nutrisoy?
After he leaves he'll need to erase any logs of his edits, or even presence. He'd need something to do while enjoying his "...soy."
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She glared at the garish horror that was the Shack. Hungry as she was, she hated the intrusive toxic neon dumps. She shivered in the cold, and stamped her feet. An Americar sluiced into the slot in front of the door and a pair of teens jumped out in a big hurry, she slipped in with them, and moved to the back of the shop as they couple satisfied their consumerism with a pack of interesting prophylactics and giggled out into the weather again. Leaving the rest of the customers to wait out the barrage of comparative prophylactic products and options touted throughout...too much of this and she'd seriously consider the emp toy she'd been dying to try out
She found the fruit, not a large selection, but she picked up a few clementines, expensive but worth it. She moved over to the heat -n- eat section and perused the soy dogs, pseudo-pizza, and nocho-ettes. Maybe she was hungry enough for one of each....
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((Layout of the Stuffer Shack))
(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/StufferShack-2.png)
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(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/Dante.png)Sly finds himself wandering the SIM chip aisle (Aisle 9) after picking up his latte, grimly remembering his former coworkers. He avoids the screamsheet feed subscriptions, as well as the few magically-themed pornographic print magazines, for those without AR. Seriously, who chooses to live in a sad lifeless world like that?
Sipping his woodchip-flavored coffee, Sly makes his way toward the disposable phones, popular with Shadowrunners, although rumors said it was for different reasons.
(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/shadowrundatead.jpg)
The Aztech ‘Jai Alai’ phone seems like the best deal, but it’s sealed in one of those indestructible plastic sheaths that prevents you from testing it, turning it on, or even pinging it until you’ve paid an authorized retailer and perhaps registered the device with the local Aztechnology corporate office.
(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/Dubois.png)Eric wanders over to the Sim section, where there’s a worker-looking copainhanging out, looking at one of the corporate leashes, aka PAN connection. You briefly silence the mental tirade that anyone who can’t solder together their own communications equipment doesn’t really deserve to enjoy the Sixth-World.
Eric browses digital anarchy as his eyes are jabbed by points of light on the Sims display. A millisecond of attention maximizes an advert for Beauty and her Beasts, the tale of one elven girl who loves many trolls, buy now for rental or to own! Brought to you by those caring fraggers at Horizon Media Corporation!
Hacking on the Fly is a Hacking (5) + Exploit (4) Test. I’ll give you the +2 dice bonus for this test, but Codeslinger is only supposed to apply for one Matrix action, so you’ll need to choose one; Options are: Hacking, Spoofing, and Cybercombat.
The threshold to connect to the Stuffer Shack through the system Firewall is 2, +3 (to 5) for Superuser account, +6 (to 8) for Admin access. Refer to pg 235 of SR4 – Anniversary Edition for details.
(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/nakano-in-snow-07.jpg)
(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/Sundance.png)Sundance hears the chime of the doors, and the waves of ARO wash over her. Luckily, the store has trouble keeping track of the SINless, so as she stomps the snow off of her boots and avoids the couple touching and slobbering all over each other as they wander past the marital aids to the pet food aisle, where they set up a sloppy display of affection.
Wandering to the back of the store, Sundance finds some packaged ‘fresh fruits,’ radiated to prevent spoilage, although the health warnings say some consumer groups warn that these products increase your risks of cancer.
Sundance can even see the AROs asking if they’re interested in alcohol, prophylactics, or local hourly motel pricings.
There’s a human dweeb holding a jar of pickles and looking through ice cream flavors, although he quickly pushes the lids back down when he notices you looking, and goes back to ‘reading labels’- he’s not fooling anyone, that gross fragger is sticking his fingers in the ice cream.
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Pulling up on the Evo and pulling up to the refueling pump. Hooking the hose up to the fuel tank. Taking off the bike helmet and undoing the jacket to his bike suit. Kneeling down checking to make sure his Colt is still clipped to it's hiding spot. Another successful quiet night at the strip club as part of the security. Kinsey didn't like advertising his magical aptitude but it paid the bills. Nice lil payday enough to cover fuel, groceries, and even a little mad money for snacks and sims.
Walking towards the doors thinking that a Karl Kombatmage marathon was in order. Assensing people coming into a strip club needs a good scrubbing of something completely mindless. "Mmmm sims, pseudo-pizza, and beer....."
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(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/Backtotheshack-denver.png)
As Kinsey enters the store, the pre-fab voice blathers about the latest deals, and how he can save by using the special 'order from home' option to avoid that pesky 9% UCAS sales tax.
There's an orc behind the counter, looking through an ARO. There's a skinny elf in red duds looking at cheap commlinks. There's a couple participating in sloppy makeouts on the pet food aisle, and an elf chick with six different colors in her hear wandering toward the nuke-em station. There are a few other people in the store, wandering around back by the freezer, but they're not readily apparent.
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Sly will be slightly frustrated by the requirements of a masters degree in engineering that is required to pick out a comlink that doesn't totally suck.
he will look at the guy behind the counter doing his best to pretend the world dosn't exsist, and then glance at the couple making out and interested only in pushing the line between soft-core and public indecency.
Sly will ask the store in general, before turning to the most recent entry into the shack.
"Anyone know anything about comlinks? I've got a hundred bucks here for anyone with the software and skills who can help me hack one of these into something remotely usable."
Turning to Kinsey as he is the most sane looking person in the closest vicinity Sly will continue his sad public plea
"How about you buddy, know anything about hacking comlinks?"
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Startled from his revelry acknowledges his AR messaging. "Nope, not a clue friend know nothing about commlinks and fixing all their problems." Moves on down the aisle marking selections from the online shopping so that I can keep an eye on the total. The entire run of Karl Kombatmage remastered and the new TNG series to date, a 12 pack of beer, 2 pseudo-pepperoni pizzas, and the gas for the bike. "Though I will say if you buy a bike in Denver, spring for the tracked model like I did. I just plow through the ice and snow." Puts that out on the Stuffer Shack network for any to read. Begins checking his messages on his commlink for any work from anybody else. Of course if the guy had asked if he knew how to throw a lightning bolt he would not of said yes to that either. Kinsey didn't like that he had 'the Talent'. He didn't want it didn't like it and rarely advertised that he had it. He preferred the cool grip of his Predator or Beretta to the ability to blast a building in half with a thought.
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Eric perks up upon hearing about trouble with commlinks. "An extra bit of money might be worth the few minutes of time" he thought to himself. After finishing up with the Shack's network he heads over to Sly. "Hey chum, I might be able to help you with that" he says while gesturing to the commlinks.
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"Really? Awesome! Okay, I've got 300 newyen, and a hundred of that is yours if you can help me pick out a phone (I'm guessing for about 200) and help me delete off the spy-ware installed on it and set it to a passive mode. I don't need the AR on it, I just want to be able to make calls without my creditors finding the number and tracking me. is that do-able? If it helps, I'm in the Paranormal Critter elimination business. I can get rid of a nest of devil-rats 'gratis' for you or something to sweeten the deal?"
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Roll for previous test to get sysadmin access (Hacking + Exploit = 9):
9d6.hits(5)=3, 9d6.hits(5)=1, 9d6.hits(5)=2 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3305108/)
9d6.hits(5)=6, 9d6.hits(5)=4, 9d6.hits(5)=5 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3305109/)
Succeeded in 4 turns
Eric makes a slight frown at how long it took to gain admin access. He then looks up at Sly. "Should be easy enough, but you should probably buy one before we start messing with it." He smiles. "And I don't think my truck is infested with devil rats, but thanks for the offer."
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Sly points at a phone with one eyebrow raised, and after waiting for a nod from his technical consultant he will digitally ring it up with his certified cred-stick, handing the remaining 114 newyen over after the transaction pops open the hermetic and digital lock seal on the box.
."Okay, here; I'll even pay the piper in advance. ... Now I have a PAN set up with my current comlink, so I don't want any of my goodies registered to this one; Just a quiet and easy way to make and recieve phone calls from a number my crediters can't chase, track, or otherwise drain the life out of..."
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Eric takes the commlink and looks it over. The cheap construction makes him shudder a little. "It's quite simple to remove the bloatware and other crap from the device. Here, let me show you.." Eric starts hacking the device, and describing some of the more simple steps to Sly.
Hacking on the Fly sounds appropriate, to me anyway. I can roll something else if you'd like KV. Standard devices have a rating of 3 on pg 222 SR4A, +6 for admin access means extended test of 9
9d6.hits(5)=3 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3314718/)
9d6.hits(5)=2 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3314727/)
9d6.hits(5)=1 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3314728/)
Glitch on the 3rd roll!! Since it's just a peripheral device and this is an extended test I'll assume the attempt fails and I need to start over. If you feel otherwise let me know and I'll edit this post ;)
Eric looks quite surprised. "Woops, that didn't work." Eric ponders for a moment, analyzing the device. "Let try another way..."
Starting over, Hacking on the Fly
9d6.hits(5)=3 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3314737/)
9d6.hits(5)=5 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3314739/)
9d6.hits(5)=3 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3314740/)
Success!
After gaining admin access Eric goes about modifying the commlink to meet Sly's needs. After a few minutes he says "That should do it." He then hands the device to Sly. "Here, try it out. There's a few other things I can do to it, but it'll take time... probably something for another day. I'm Eric by the way..." Eric extends his hand out with the greeting.
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"Sylvester. Nice to meet you Eric. Add your teclom address in there, I'll give you a call if you're in area the next time I need a technological upgrade."
Handing over a telcom card of his own, Sly will cross out the number printed on the card, and write down the number written on the back of the new phone.
pointing at the patch on his jumpsuit
"I've got the paranormal pest gig going for me, if you run into anything I can either owe ya' one, or give you a finders fee for whatever work I get. I appreciate the help."
Sylvester will begin working on his new tel-com adjusting the settings and changing the background colors.
-
(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/crying-baby-pictures1.jpg)
There's something shrill and cutting about a bay's cry. Even to a drugged-out clubgoer or a hardened Shadowrunner, there's something about it that just grates at you, like a knuckle of a cyberarm dragging across an old chalkboard, or the squeal of a glasscutter doing its work.
Whatever that primal urge is, it's annoying as all fragging hell. Which is why you notice the woman with the screaming baby entering the store. She ignores the entry jingle, now done in a Niel the Ork Barbarian voice, "Get to the Shopp-ah! Get to the SHOPP-AH!"
And quickly puts her head down, almost running toward the back of the store with her screaming progeny.
Sly and Eric chat amiably where they're concluding their business transaction over the modified commlink. Sundance is nursing a cup of black Kaf, the only stuff worth being called soykaf. Kinsey is waiting impatiently for the orkish teenager behind the counter to acknowledge him, and very seriously considering just walking out of the store with his purchases, even though he knows it'll be logged as theft.
(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/BTTS-Denver1.png)
-
Sylvester watches with mild amusement as the woman carries her screaming child to the back of the store.
”That’ll wake you up better than a cup of coffee in the morning.”
Looking down at his half-full (or half empty, if you are that sort of metahuman) cup of soy-caf, a mild look of disgust will creep in at the edges of is eyes and mouth.
”Better than a cup of whatever this is anyways… it’s suppose to be fu-fu and au-natural, but it tastes like someone once drank a real cup of coffee, then pissed on a tree, and collected it in this cup.”
Sly will dump out the remaining half cup, and try something else.
”The Black Kaf is suppose to be more coffee like isn’t it?… maybe if I put some crème and sugar in it?”
Sylvester will move back toward the coffee machine, keeping a half eye on the screaming kid… is the mother giving the kid rum? Well, I guess that’ll quiet her up. And sparing a half second to glance outside. Normally folks running like that are the same folks that leave the motor running… not that he’d blame her in this cold… then again, it was as easy for a vehicle with keys in it to get stolen here, as back home in Seattle…
-
"You know miss your a good example of why half these places are becoming automated." He places his purchases on the counter waiting for the ork. Looking back as the woman hurries down the aisle. Looking out to see if his bike is snowed in yet or not. "I already paid for the gas at the pump so if you could just ring this up before I get stuck at the pump I would appreciate it."
And then the screaming just helps the minor little flicker of the headache behind his eyes flare. Closing his eyes all he can see is the auras of all the people from the club. The three l's is all he saw tonight 'love, lust, and lewd' just oozing out of their auras like there was no tomorrow.
-
Up at the checkout counter, the employee, whose active PAN is logged into his social network as well as a floating Employee ID, which has the words "I am here to serve you!" floating over his smiling face for his employee ID badge. If the picture is any indication, his acne has only gotten worse since starting here. The Employee ID and the PAN have his name listed as Vern Sturgis.
Behind the counter there's a manager's office and a employee lounge where an unattractive dwarven girl sits. She's looking through a digital paper e-reader, casually flicking between pages and taking a quiz. Adjusting how she was sitting and emitting a tiny burp. "Oh, there's a hair removal creme on here you should try for your back," the tiny overweight dwarven woman says. Her PAN and employee ID list her as Veronica Belle.
Vern grunts something between 'sure' and a general noncommittal grunt. He finally notices you standing there, and says "Sorry, omae. One second, let me finish this up."
Then something odd happens. Whump.
There's a flash of light, and a ringing sound, and several of the people near the counter realize they're lying on the ground, staring up at the mangled roof tiles and broken overhead lighting. Something isn't right, something is very not right.
You've heard that the ringing in the ears is the death of that sound- that you'll never be able to hear it again. But that isn't what concerns you. You get up from a position by the counter, or from where you landed after the front of the store was swatted by the hand of God, and you notice the front door is missing. The sedan parked in the handicap spot next to the door is gone, the space nothing but a crater. The front sliders are gone, an empty hole filled with smoke in their place.
The virtual arcade, where just moments ago the remains of a misspent youth beckoned from just inside the door, there's now smoking rubble, including part of the engine from the sedan.
There are several men getting off of motorcycles, most of them wearing motorcycle leathers, metal helmets, and chains. They walk up to the front of the store calmly, surveying the wreckage. Two alike-looking brothers argue, the larger one smacking the smaller one in the mouth and walking forward, barking orders at the others.
Inside the store, the shelves for aisles one and three are shredded by debris, falling over into aisle five and partially hiding the couple who were moments ago making out on aisle seven.
The far side of shelving was spared shrapnel, but the shockwave knocks them over almost completely. Mister Ice Cream shrieks in a terrified wail, and tries to climb into the freezer, slamming the door on himself inside unsuccessfully and repeatedly.
There's been a carbomb. Don't worry, you didn't dodge it, and it didn't kill any of you. It was aimed at someone, though, and these gentlemen are here to finish the job. If you get in their way, you'll be a speedbump. They have assorted pistols and automatics, but for now, Initiatives!
For clarity, the map below includes blue rings for the people who were knocked off their feet, yellow triangles for people thrown against shelving or displays but still standing, and a gray box for the people who are currently hidden by rubble or shelving.
(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/BTTS-Denver2.png)
-
This is what I was doing starting slightly before the car bomb:
Eric chuckles at Sly's remarks of the screaming kid. He tries his best to tune out the sound now regretting he didn't get cyber ear replacements when he had his eyes done. How wiz would it be right now to just turn off certain sounds?
Eric looks at Sly's card, and being a bit curious starts searching about him.
Data Search 5 + Browse 6 + Codeslinger: Data Search 2 = Pool of 13
13d6.hits(5)=6 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3332546/)
Eric stares at the card while searching. While moving from node to node he becomes slightly desensitized to the world around him, his consciousness becoming totally focused on the Matrix. He's snapped back to reality with a sudden pain on the side of his head, that starts emanating down to the rest of his body. Turning off the Matrix AR interface he realizes the world has somewhat gone sideways. A second later he realizes the world is not sideways, he is. Something has happened, and it hurts all over. "Oh God!" his mind screams as he tries to scramble to some kind of cover.
Forgot initiative!
Reaction 4 + Intuition 5 = Initiative 9
Combat Paralysis Negative quality reduces pool by half.
Initiative Pool is now 4 (forget if I round up or down, so I just rounded down)
Initiative test: 4d6.hits(5)=2 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3333916/)
Initiative score = 11, 1 pass
-
"Crap on a cracker!, I know the soycaff is bad, but you don't have to blow the place up..."
Crouching behind the counter covered with broken glass and lukewarm coffee Sylvester activates his gauntlet: the automated servos spinning to form the crossbow system.
OOC:
(Init) Reaction (9) + Intuition (3) = 12 +
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3333890/ (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3333890/) 3, 2, 2, 6, 6, 2, 1, 4, 3, 2, 2, 6 (3 hits)
Init = 15 with 3 combat passes (move by wire 2)
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http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3334214/ (Init 7 Roll: 1,2,2
,3,4,4,5. One hit)
"Oh yeah, that helped my headache...."
Kinsey takes a moment to observe the outside a bit better.
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3334227/
(Observe in Detail Simple action. Perc + Intuit = 5 Roll: 2,3,4,5,5. Two hits)
While doing so he rolls behind the L part of the counter to have cover. Taking that time to pull his Predator from the shoulder holster. The smartlink activating in his glasses all the relevant data.
"Come back to my place she said, we can keep the party going she said, silly me for not taking a drunk stripper up on her offer..."
His last thought just before the rest of the hell breaks loose.
-
Initiative is 7: 5,4,2,1,4,3,6
The shock wave makes a mess and knocks Sundance into a shelf of paper cups, she keeps her feet, but her ears feel like she's been front row at a Screaming Satin Ho's concert for the last three hours. Whatever, it ain't normal, and not normal things are usually followed up by bad drek. Boy scout's marching song time*
*http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fSwjuz_-yao
-
(http://a57.foxnews.com/images/281080/450/350/7_22_050606_tornado1.jpg)
A little mood music (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEM60AVcaRc&feature=related)
Ruski; as Sylvester: INIT:15 (3-passes)
Ingo; as Eric: INIT:11 (1-pass) (4 passes in VR)
Zone; as Sundance: INIT:9 (1-pass)
Bull30548; as:Kinsey: INIT:8 (1-pass)
Bad Guys: Init 6 (1-pass)
Actions:
Ruski: at initiative pass 15: Self-Building crossbow (Complex/automated)/ taking cover. (Simple)
Ingo: at initiative pass 11: Taking Cover. (simple)
Zone: at initiative pass 9: Humming ‘be prepared’ to herself. (free)
Bull: at initiative pass 8: looking outside (free), drawing Aries-Predator (simple), taking partial cover (simple).
As you stumble to your feet and reel from the blast, it's quickly apparent that this was no accident. The gaping hole in the storefront has several people in it- the is a pair of large ork gangers with chains, nanotats, and pleather- but the looks of a real ganger, not one of those weekend posers. There's something about the stench that settles into that leather that you can't fake.
There's a human guy dressed up like an amerind behind them, complete with feathers, warpaint and dreamcatchers. He might be a poser, or he could be a mage- hard to tell from here, especially with your ears ringing like they are.
On the pavement outside, there's another man lying partially facedown in the snowmelt- someone is going to have a major ice cream headache when they wake up; if they wake up.
The lead ork ganger, the one waving a troll-sized pistol and shouting at everyone seems to be asking a question, his greasy eyes sliding all over everyone and everything in sight. He seems to be looking for something.
Behind the remaining rubble of the counter, the ork kid is face-down, an impressive amount of shrapnel dotting his thick skull and making several punctures in his work uniform. He won't be going anywhere soon.
The dwarf girl who had been so annoying just a second ago, now rolls on her side in the fetal position, cradling her knees to her chest and screaming.
Sly rolls easily behind the counter of simense rigs and comms, the ones he had moments ago been choosing from. His AR pings, and the system notifies him that due to his recent purchase, he is being notified of a sale on slightly used goods. I guess the shelf took some shrapnel as well. His gauntlet unfolds into the crossbow with practiced ease, a well-cared for machine. Most people scoffed at the crossbow, thinking it somehow quaint with the era of the firearm underway, but the truth was you could pack more damage into a bolt than you could a bullet, even a good bullet. More bang for your buck.
There's a good chance the gangers didn't even see Sly move- they seem more interested in keeping footing in the sparking lights and mess as they move into the store; all except that lead ork, the ugly one. That one seems determined to find something.
AR shocked by the blast and real life upended by it, Eric rolls for the safety of the shelves, getting to one knee and ignoring the creepily clear lumps that smell meat-ish sticking to his jacket. The gangers might have seen him, or they might not have; it's difficult to say.
Sundance is barely pushed back by the blast- it catches her off-guard of course, but who would be expecting bomb blasts... sometimes you had to ask the stupid questions. Mentally humming an old anthem about being prepared for the worst and always being pleasantly surprised, Sundance simply slides behind the island for cups and straws, and tries not to slip in the Fizzy-Goo frozen dezzerttm.
The motorcycles in the parking lot have headlights pointed into the front of the building, and it makes everything cast long shadows, kind of ominous if you asked me. Makes it hard to judge these fellas impartially, but it's probably safe to assume their mothers are ashamed of them.
Kinsey is at the front of the store, even covered slightly in rubble as he becomes aware of his surroundings. The ugly one (and that's saying something, among the orks walking into the front of the store), is already shouting at him, something that only an idiot would do after subjecting a group to a loud blast that's likely to make hearing difficult. The troll-sized gun doesn't need ears to get its message across, though. It's saying, "Arigato, Omae- we're bad people, here to try and take away your nice things."
There's a muted bark when Kinsey rolls behind the counter with his predator, taking half a second to blink a few times, and make sure his fancy smartlink contacts were in the right place and recieving transmission. He was facing the wrong direction, and these people knew where he was, but at least he had a gun.
Okay, so here we go.
Enjoy the mood music, I've been playing the new Syndicate, and it's awesome.
I posted your actions, and flavor where appropriate. The gangers haven't opened fire, but they aren't exactly being friendly. I made them orks, because... well, the booklet doesn't say, and I like including more metahumans, particularly poor ones.
Anytime anyone fires, I'll include a little 'flavor' from the Food Fight Table on page 18 of the Shadowrun Quickstart rules. I've linked to it before. There's all sorts of goop, from the explosion and from errant ricochets, and I'll be including them and covering you with them as I feel the need. Ingo is already the first victim. :D
Gangers moved into the store and shouted orders to a deaf crowd. Feel free to continue, and we'll keep combat moving along at a turtles pace- compared to a snail, we'll be flying along!
Oh, and red dots mean you're crouched. There's not a good designator for that in this version, so that's what we're going with for now.
'Greyed out' means you're hidden or have good cover from the gangers.
(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/BTTS-Denver3.png)
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"OHGAWD OHGAWD OHGAWD" Eric's mind screams as he panics, his body not knowing how to handle the sudden surge of adrenaline. Noticing the big mean monstrosities at the entrance, "Fight or Flight" becomes pure "Flight" as he scrambles to try to get through the doors to the stock room.
Hopefully I'll be able to find a hiding place! Let's see if they have any cyber or other wireless enabled devices. Always wanted to try combat hacking since 4th came out!
-
Sylvester squinted through the slowly drifting dust created by the vaporisation of plascreet.
He had heard boosted reflexes described in a lot of different ways before his own introduction to the move-by-wire system.
The movies, naturally, got it all wrong. Slow motion? Yea right. More like you feel suddenly encased in jello pudding. The jumped up adrenaline levels making your small motor skills transform from their typical fine-precision levels into banging on rocks with a blunt instrument.
He heard it described best by an ex-navy-seal buddy of his. It’s like trying to play a piano with a sledge hammer. All the time in the world won’t make your actions any gentler.
The first razor boys and girls reflex-jobs attempt: was to try to do as many things as you can at once. Empty entire magazines in heartbeats, punch 10 different people in the face before the first person hits the floor, stuff like that.
Maybe their street doc’s were working out of old refrigerator boxes? Too busy to give them the run-down and let them come back for adjustment every week for six months like the delta clinic did for him?
Whatever the reason, what typically happens if you attempted to empty a 100-round drum in 3 seconds is the recoil typically makes sure the bullets numbered 3 through 100 don’t hit the same spot as each-other, let alone anything close to bullets 1 and 2.
And if you punch 10 guys all in a row, you are working so hard to get your hand to the next guy’s nose that you are pulling the punch before you’ve even connected with the guy in front of you. And… lightly slapping 10 guys has a totally different effect than knocking them all out like in the movies.
So: what most professionals recommended, right after recommending that you find a job that didn’t involve shooting at things that were trying to eat you, was instead of trying to do an impressive number of things in a totally ineffectual way, do one simple thing in a totally impressive way. The results are typically much better.
Like here.
Amped up reflexes, a dynamic situation with inbound hostiles, the gut reaction would be to fire off all of his four bolts all at the lead guy and think up something else once the body was hitting the floor, assuming that he got lucky enough to kill a raging Orc mid-rampage with a glorified-lucky-lawn-dart.
Or… he could use the extra perception time to think… maybe about useless history, but maybe about his current situation and to plan… plan and aim.
One good shot. No…
One.
Perfect.
Shot.
Focus on the Orc’s head. Resist the urge to send the fire command at the first opportunity.
Aim small. Don’t aim for his head. Aim for his eye. The iris of his blood-shot left eye. Aim small, miss small.
Line up the hard sights. Check the target. Wait for the blink. Check with the wired reflexes tied in with the smart-link. Smart-link confirms the firing solution. Still wait for the perfect moment, Last aim activate the infra-red sight. Slightly to the right, move it into the iris. Another blink. The Orc turns slightly, finding the origin of the annoyance? Locking-on, he sees you. maybe? Is the iris widening in recognition of a threat? That’s as big as the target is going to get. If he's looking past me, the silencer will make the normally quiet crossbow vacuum silent; but due to the recent hearing loss suffered by everyone in the store, it was probably wasted effort.
Between heartbeats and holding his breath Sylvester sends the mental command to fire and keeps his hands as steady as if they were formed from marble.
OOC:
Initiative Pass 1: Seek cover, assemble crossbow.
Initiative Pass 2: Simple action: Aim. Simple Action: Aim.
Initiative Pass 3: Simple action: Aim. Simple Action: Fire, called-shot to the head.
Firearms: 4 Agility 7 +2 dice (Smartlink) +1 Dice-pool (Personilized grip) +3 dice (Aim) = 17 dice
Vital-area called shot -4 dice pool (+4 weapon damage) 17-4=13
Crossbow Bolt: Damage 2P (+4 to: 6 physical)
13d6.hits(5) → [6,3,4,2,6,1,3,6,3,5,2,2,4] = (4)
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3422399/ (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3422399/)
Use edge to re-roll failures. (13-4=9)
9d6.hits(5) → [2,4,5,3,1,4,2,2,3] = (1)
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3422401/ (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3422401/)
Total successes: 5
Damage: 6 physical, plus whatever he can’t dodge.
-
The yelling ork reminding Kinsey of the days with his teacher. Good ol' Doc, a retired runner turn street doc. According to him the best in the shadowrun biz as a runner and doctor. Of course he never admitted to being a good teacher.
"Get those hands down boy! <Sharp whack of a rod (or somebodies limb depending on the time of day.> Damn kid you want to get that arm blown off? First thing security, the Star, or hell a ganger with half a brain in his head does when he sees your fancy arm flailing and no weapon is to put one in you. And guess what nine times out of ten they going to hit the thing aimed at them. No you got to keep your hands down. This isn't like the trids or those sims you play. Now put the damn hand down! <Pushing his arm down to his side near his body> See this is the important thing right here the aim. Your hand knows better where it is pointed than you; let it. Summon the formula in your head say the words in a whisper. You know what yelling gets you? Yep same thing a quick bullet to the meat. Now let fly!
"Yeah, you crazy ork bastard you forgot to mention when someone tries to blow your ears out."
The thought of escape still in his mind as he sees it. The kid diagonal from him rabbits for the double doors. The gangers couldn't ask for a better shot to the back if he wanted.
"You stupid punk at least wait til he was looking away."
The choice to let the kid get shot and make his own break for it or go out like an idiot goes through his mind.
"Well Doc always said I was pretty dumb....
Summoning the formula to his mind and keeping his free hand low. Building the magic in that one point between the three gangers he sees. And releasing it once he feels the pressure behind his eyes.
"Damn this is going to fraggin hurt."
OOC:
Observing: Free Action
Casting Spell: Complex Action
Spell Cast: Mana ball (Force 6) [overcast by two making damage Physical]
Spellcasting + Magic= 7 dice (2,6,6,2,2,5,4) 3 hits (number of targets hit 3) http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3422542/
Resist check: Willpower
Physical Damage to self: (Force / 2) +2 + 3 for hits = 8
Drain: Willpower + Logic = 7 dice (1,2,5,1,2,6,4) 2 hits = 6 Physical
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3422550/
Rolling Edge for additional successes.
Edge = 2 (5,4) 1 Hit = 5 Physical
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3422559/
(8+Body/2 rounded up) = 6 -5 = 1 Physical box left.
-
It's funny how your mind starts to work in a dangerous situation, it's almost as if your observing yourself, your body going through motions approved of by the rather detached entity that seems to be running your brain: Why, Yes, that was indeed a bomb blast, such things can be hazardous, it's best perhaps if you get behind the beverage counter for cover. A weapon might come in handy in the near future...
She found herself belly down behind a counter peering down the main aisle with an Ares in her fist. Not much to see, really, debris, another shopper, but there seemed to be movement, and if the movement was heading toward her with a weapon at unfriendly angles...Why yes, a self defense offensive at that point would be in keeping with self preservation...
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(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/Arrowed.jpg)
There's a moment there; when everyone is rolling for cover, and no one had fired a shot, when you think this might be different from all those stories you've heard about the Stuffer SHack, and the one time that a friend of a friend swears that a bunch of dumb gangers held it up, or ghouls attacked at 3am when they were doing a soycaf run.
But it's just a moment. The lead ganger, the ugly ork, is shouting something with spittle flying from his lips, highlighted by the headlamps behind him. There's a red dot on his eye, a look of confusion, and then he just sprouts an arrow.
His left eye, specifically, sparks as an arrow grows out of it. There's no 'twang' of a bowstring, no moment of sighting along the arrow, like in those Derrick Punisher elven action-flix.
Ugly falls like a marionette with its strings cut, not falling in a gentle way. The rough crack of his skull against the rubble reminds you in uncomfortable ways of a melon, and the force pushes the arrow out the back of his skull. There's no doubt in your mind- he's dead.
I have actions for Ingo and Bull, I need second round actions for Ruski and Zone
(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/BTTS-Denver4.png)
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Sylvester’s stomach drops to someplace under the heels of his boots as the screaming Orc hits the ground.
His own moral compass has been ground into dust a long time ago by the paranormal critter rights activist, his own friends and family getting betrayed and murdered, and his own need for survival.
Ghoul nests did the most damage. Once-Metahumans transformed into something worse.
Some people could get by pretending that it was “life or death” and that made it okay. “Him or me, and I choose me.” Was the most common excuse he heard.
But that argument gets a little thin when you have to go dig through a sewer and tear down barricades to get to the nest of nastiness in order to burn it out.
At some point where the effort to locate the trouble you find yourself in exceeds the amount of effort you spent in killing everything there so you “can get out alive” it becomes more of a job, an exercise in lying to yourself so that you can put one foot in front of the other, and still look yourself in the mirror at the end of the day.
Still, this wasn’t an infected ghoul looking to eat the local squatters for lunch, or a paranormal critter with the ability to speak and reason being ‘relocated’ so that it’s astral signature would stop messing with the local shamanic lodge. It was a metahuman, although one that was probably a bad guy. Maybe he had the gangster’s standard bordello of a half-dozen females each with one or two kids of their own he was supporting with his debauchery? Maybe a jury of his peers would blame social media if he got arrested and went to court? Perhaps an evil mega corporation was holding his family hostage somewhere? Or maybe the entirety of the argument was moot, as he became so much wet carbon darkening the cratered sani-tile that makes up the floor of this stuffer shack.
Mentally grinding his near-constant mental dialog under the heel of his boot and pushing it down to wherever his stomach seemed to have relocated its self, Sylvester quietly moves his hands and eyes together as the crossbow reloads its self and the electronic winch draws back the elastic drawstring for the next bolt.
Only a little bit further, and slightly obscured by the fallen debris was the mage impostor. Too far with the debris and backlight to make out any real details other than the obligatory “shoot me first” costume set.
Luckily; the Adams apple was typically in the middle of the neck. If it was a mage, it would be difficult to cast spells without that.
Andrew slowly lets out the breath he was half-holding from the previous shot and begins the mental cadence to line up the next bolt.
No voice, no spells, small and silent, iron-sights are a blur obscured by the focus on the back-lit warlock. with the outline you can tell which way he’s facing, the small blob on the top is his head, the larger underneath is the body, between the two is the neck, in the middle of the neck is the Adam’s apple… aim small… miss small…
OOC:
Initiative Pass 1: Simple action: Aim. Simple Action: Aim.
Initiative Pass 2: Simple action: Aim. Simple Action: Aim.
Initiative Pass 3: Simple action: Aim. Simple Action: Fire, called-shot to the neck.
Firearms: 4 Agility 7 +2 dice (Smartlink) +1 Dice-pool (Personilized grip) +5 dice (Aim) -2 dice for backlighting = 17 dice
Vital-area called shot -4 dice pool (+4 weapon damage) 17-4=13
Crossbow Bolt: Damage 2P (+4 to: 6 physical)
13d6.hits(5) → [1,4,6,4,1,1,4,1,1,2,6,4,2] = (2)
13d6.hits(5)=2 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3438022/)
Total successes: 2
Damage: 6 physical, plus whatever he can’t dodge.
*GLITCH* (I’m guessing a broken crossbow string)
-
"The greatest danger of bombs is in the explosion of stupidity that they provoke."
-Octave Mirbeau
A little mood music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FXCwcyxVOB0
Ruski; as Sylvester: INIT:15 (3-passes)
Ingo; as Eric: INIT:11 (1-pass) (4 passes in VR)
Zone; as Sundance: INIT:9 (1-pass)
Bull30548; as:Kinsey: INIT:8 (1-pass)
Bad Guys: Init 6 (1-pass)
Actions: Round 2 Initiative Pass 1
Ruski: at initiative pass 15: Aim Aim (Fire)
Ingo: at initiative pass 11: Running for rear doors (to Area H)
Zone: at initiative pass 9: Crossing behind Aisle 17 toward lady with baby.
Bull: at initiative pass 8: Nuking brain to cast Force 4 Manaball
Sly lines up the shot. As he slows his breathing and the chaotic world slides to a standstill, the wires in the roofing sparking and making pretty arcs through the air, the florescent lighting swinging and reflecting off the rows of reflective clear plasteel freezers, the civilian trying to close himself behind the minor protection of the clear door.
There's nothing really physical that goes off when a mana-based spell fires. There's that tickling at the hairs on the back of your neck, the immediate and gut-wrenching feeling that you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, and about to have a really bad day. But inanimate objects don't react to mana, so aside from the people, there's no indication that anything went at all wrong.
Of course, if you can see on the Astral, that's another story entirely.
(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/redbolt.png)
You would be able to watch as a tornado of equal parts lightning, fire, and floating cloud of death formed in the middle of the group and then exploded. Even if there hadn't been a ton of interference around the shaman-looking omae, it would have been an impressive sight.
A spell of that magnitude, going off as a contest of wills between two mages? Epic. Not even the trideo hucksters can compare to it, with their bleeding edge special effects can compare- there's just something about seeing raw power, unconstrained, violent, devastating. Like watching a tsunami come toward you, and knowing that you're about to die; it makes the trideo version seem a little lame. The energy fries your senses, and you can even feel the tenderness of a sunburn as the energy washes over you.
Sly, your crossbow string is made from actual spidersilk dipped in plasteel and wound for strength under tension. Part of your brain wonders if that counts as a living thing. There's a canister near the bombers that explodes a bunch of sticky blue liquid, and your brain wonders what part of that was actually organic enough to warrant a response.
Something tips off other denizens of the store, as Mister Helpful and Miss Soykaff bolt for places of relative safety. Unfortunately for the two of them, they happened to plan paths the cross directly in front of the rear stockroom door. They are moments away from slamming into each other when the spell goes off, directly at the front of the store, between the three gangers.
The wanna-be shaman is the first to react, shouting and holding out his hands, as his fake-o dreamcatchers and genuine eagle featherztm catch fire and push away as though he were standing in a great wind. In the astral, again, this sight is much more impressive, as the will from one magi slams against the will of another shaman, sparks and flames curling around their astral forms.
The wave of power overrides whatever defenses the shaman had set up, and the three gangers each react, spitting up blood and bleeding from eyes and ear, nose and fingernails.
Moving carefully over downed shelving and peeking over the remaining shelf before taking a potshot at the beleaguered mage, the last ganger takes some cover. The ganger is firing the classic AK-97, known the world 'round for being cheap to get, easy to modify, and ridiculously simple to remove the serial numbers off of. The distinctive bark punches a hole in the remainder of the counter Bull is trying to take cover behind, and you can feel as it comes through the cheap faux-wood.
Fornis channels his will, casting an orb that's a minor reflection of the wave of destruction that Kinsey sent his way. Not that it would be any less lethal, it's simply a smaller spell.
Lining up his shot, Sly lets out half a breath, and releases. The wanna-be shaman sees him coming, but slipping in that blue goop steals his momentum, leaving him wide open to the bolt, which catches him neatly in the throat. It's hard to tell if it killed him, but the guy has an arrow in his neck, and that can't be good- he goes down in a heap, landing on his back.
The baby at the back of the shop takes this moment to begin crying again. The last member of the gang, face-down out there on the pavement in the snow, begins to move around.
Ruski, okay I looked it up, and you only get 1/2 your skill rating (rounded down) from aiming, so Sly only gets +2 dice from aiming. Not a problem, we'll just keep your roll as-is, and go from there. I didn't know either, so no harm no foul.
Bull, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but its my job as GM to take glee in it. The mage (Fornis) was spamming the area with mana (Astral Perception test would have noticed it- as well as confirming that the 'poser' was an actual awakened talent). He's going to roll his professional pool (two dice) as well as his counterspelling (six dice) to burn down the energy you're flinging in his direction.
Here's Fornis' roll to de-power the Manaball: 8d6 → [1,4,5,4,5,6,2,2], 3 successes.
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3487235/
Burns the spell down to zero. Also a good reason to identify mages and geek them first.
Also, unfortunately, Zone and Ingo have crossed paths at a full sprint. I'm going to need some sort of roll to avoid knockdown: Dodge (2), Gymnastics (2), Running (2), or Unarmed Combat(2)... or another skill that I'm not thinking of, but will probably require an additional success to work.
Sorry, omae.
Fortunately, Fornis takes a crossbow bolt to the throat, which is going to make his remaining few seconds of life much more difficult. And, since the writers neglected to give him any armor, he's going to dodge (-1 dice to his next action, Agility 4 dice, -2 for defaulting. Hoo boy.
Here's Fornis' roll to dodge. If I was a betting man, I'd think probably not so much: 2d6.hits(5) → [1,1] = (0)
And I would have been correct- critical glitch. Ouch. http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3487255/
Dice to resist damage (+2 DV due to fumble on dodge) Body = 3.
3d6.hits(5) → [2,6,2] = (1)
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3487256/
So, with that lucky roll, he's taken 8 of his allotted 9 boxes of damage, and is prone.
Edit: He dead.
To his defense rushes Crank (the last standing ganger), who looks at the maniac with the crossbow and the mage, and quickly decides to start shooting someone.
Crank: Automatics (5) - 1 (moving over broken ground) -1 (attacker has cover) leaving him 3 dice. He's aiming (+1) and firing one short burst (-2), using the last of the professional (2) pool, to cover for his wounds (-2).
2d6.hits(5) → [3,5] = (1)
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3488434/
Bull, that's 1 hit, at 7P. You can dodge (for -1 dice off your next attack), or you can just try and soak damage with your phat armor and bod. Remember your wound modifiers.
Ruski, you have your third-pass action left (I moved the firing sequence up to IP 2, where it would have happened if you could only aim twice).
Bull, you have -3 dice from injuries, please roll accordingly. Feel free to nuke these guys again and die doing it- the Stuffer Shack is a consequence-free scenario, and you can do whatever you want.
edit: Adding resistance dice for the spell, since Bull&Ingo were right, and I was wrong.
Each ganger benefits from +3 successes.
Stooby: 1d6.hits(5) → [4] = (0) (3 successes, but still Toast)
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3488394/
Crank: 3d6.hits(5) → [6,4,4] = (1) (4 successes, takes 5 boxes of damage)
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3488399/
Fornis:5d6.hits(5) → [3,5,1,5,1] = (2) (5 successes, takes 4 boxes of damage)
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3488405/
This also alters the plan of attack, since everyone took damage from Bull, before Sly got his shot. I'll post further edits accordingly.
Edit: Crank fired at Bull, using the last of the professional (2) pool to do so with wounds. He hit (one success), and now Bull gets a dodge/resistance test.
Fornis also attempted to nuke Bull, since... he didn't like getting mana-ed in the face one bit.
Fornis: Spellcasting Manabolt (7 - 2 wounds) (5)
5d6.hits(5) → [6,4,3,5,6] = (3)
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3488470/
That's a manabolt with 3 successes, targeting Bull (unless the AK fire drops him, in which case Fornis will switch targets to Sly to keep things fair).
Drain: F(4)/2 = 2
Willpower (5 - 2 wounds) (3)
3d6.hits(5) → [5,5,1] = (2) (no drain damage, which doesn't matter, because he takes an arrow to the throat in about .085 seconds)
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3488475/
(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/BTTS-Denver5.png)
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Eric tastes the little bit of vomit that appears in the back of his throat when he hears the blood curdling screams and gurgling from the scary people behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he notices a bunch of colors moving his way. In mid-sprint he decides he's close enough to dive through the doors to the stock room hoping to avoid the moving colors while simultaneously trying to swallow the vomit down.
Dodge (2) + Agility (4) = Pool 6
6d6.hits(5) → [6,6,6,1,5,3] = (4)
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3487901/ (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3487901/)
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Sylvester watches as an unseen mage pulls the rapt attention of the gangers, and leaves him with a second and a half to think as something other than a reactive roll.
It won’t take them long to remember him though. And with the broken crossbow retreating back into wrist-guard form, he was left with just his unarmed combat skills.
Sylvester remembers back to the days of unarmed combat instruction. He only went for a year, so he didn’t have a black belt or anything like that. But he did remember the two commandments given to new entrants into the self defense course:
“The first commandment of unarmed combat: Thou Shall Arm Thyself”
“The second commandment of unarmed combat: Thou Shall never fight fair, nor against overwhelming odds. Run and Move.”
The thought of charging down a gangster whelding an assault rifle, armed himself with an empty fist and strong language seemed like a bad idea. Running full tilt with an ejected crossbow bolt as a pokey-weapon was only slightly better. The best option he could see was to get a gun. The Ork he originally shot was armed with a Troll-sized handgun of some sort. Hopefully this was one of those Orks with the “safety third” motto, because if he got over there and found it equipped with a safe-fire system, this was going to be a short sprint. There was some sort of blue sticky slime that got spread out from the manna-ball discharge. Sylvester theorised that the cellulose based container had more ‘all natural ingredients’ than the plastic blue goo pretending to be food. Or maybe there was a dead rat inside there? Either way it was a mess, and he planned on the last three feet of this dash to be more of a slide than anything else.
Time to Drek or get off of the pot.
Sylvester leaves his hiding space and sprints for the opening of the store.
(Athletics:3, Agility:7) (I’ll let you pick the target number and roll)
He’ll grab the troll-gun and (first thing next round) move for cover (perhaps continuing to run all the way outside the store) He has a skill level 4 in the firearms group, so if he’s instantly screwed by his weapon choice he may know it as soon as he picks up the gun.
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OOC:
Dodge (7-5 = 2 roll: 1,3 result: Glitch http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3496389/)
Absorbing damage (If we are stacking armor my armor is 10 for ballistic if going with best 6. And body is 3 as well and I believe that I will let Kid determine what happens with the glitch.)
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(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/syndicate.jpg)
They say that in a gunfight, any gun will do.
Sly can see the details of the oversized pistol as he sprints towards it, noting the 'Type-T' carved in after the ARES symbol and the distinctive Predator logo. A gun specifically marketed to trolls, made with larger handgrips and larger trigger guards for larger fingers.
Sly holds his breath as he scoops up the gun, hoping that the ganger didn't have a smartlink safety, have the gun with a biometric lock, or wasn't bluffing about having a loaded gun. I mean, they blew up the front of the Stuffer Shack, they meant business- but you never know.
A sigh of relief issues at wound-down speeds as Sly checks the gun, finding it loaded, and ready to go. His smaller hands hold the massive weapon awkwardly, but it's still a weapon.
Eric leaps over the blur approaching from his left. He's satisfied that he cleared the other person- he couldn't remember if this was that dude in red who needed help with the commlink, or... was it a girl? The idea of it being a woman only gets worse as he feels the person passing under him clip his boot, a muffled expletive as the woman goes down.
Eric only has a moment to worry about it, as he slams face-first into the doors, which have apparently locked down under security protocols. Or something. Maybe this manager is just the paranoid type. It shouldn't take two seconds to hack the door... it's just going to take a moment for the stars to clear from his vision first.
The gangers round on Kinsey, ignoring the fountain of blood churning out his nose and ears.
Oddly enough, he hears Doc's voice, as the wanna-be shaman chants a ditty and the other ganger starts shooting.
"You know what being a hero gets you? Dead, fragger!"
He couldn't agree more. Time to run and hide, wait for the storm to pass over, heal up with a stripper or two to nurse him back to health.
The shaman's chantings turn to sputterings, but Kinsey tries to get up, to make a break for it. He slips, his hands red, as the machine gun off to his right rattles. He can feel the bullets impact his armor, feels his head whip forward and to the left, feels the brief sensation of falling...
Okay, Ruski gets the gun, Ingo finds a door, Bull takes a nap, Sundance runs to rescue a lady with a baby.
Ruski's new gun is a troll-sized Ares Predator II (super current technology circa 2050). It's loaded, safety is off, and ready to go.
Ingo, I'll need a body resistance roll against Impact armor, against the 2S (stun of slamming face-first into the door). I don't know what armor you're wearing at the moment, apply as much as you think should apply.
First, Sundance's roll for dodging Ingo (Ingo was successful).
Sundance: Agility (4) + Unarmed Combat (3) = 7
7d6.hits(5) → [3,4,4,2,4,5,2] = (1) -- Ouch, not good enough. Sundance takes a boot to the head as she slides under Eric's dive.
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3498453/
Body resistance test against Eric's body of 2;
Sundance: Body (3) + Armor Jacket 8/6 (6) = 9
9d6.hits(5) → [3,6,2,5,3,6,1,4,4] = (3)
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3498459/
So she's good on stun, just... surprised.
Bull: Kinsey's body resistance test; I made the shaman take +2 DV from his botch, so I'll apply the same here. Luckily, you have a ton of armor against just this sort of thing, so you may not be happy, but you should survive.
The attack was originally 1 success at 7P (narrow burst), with the glitch goes up to 9P.
Kinsey: Body (3) + Armor (10) - Wounds (3) = 10
10d6.hits(5) → [3,1,4,3,4,4,2,6,4,2] = (1)
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3498461/
Eight additional boxes... Okay, so that's not good for him. I picture him in Nirvana (or Limbo), with a stripper on each arm, so ... he's at least in a better place?
We're up to the third round. Order is as follows:
Ruski; as Sylvester: INIT:15 (3-passes)
Ingo; as Eric: INIT:11 (1-pass) (4 passes in VR)
Zone; as Sundance: INIT:9 (1-pass)
Bull30548; as:Kinsey: INIT:8 (1-pass)
Bad Guys: Init 6 (1-pass)
Actions: Round 2 Initiative Pass 1
Ruski: at initiative pass 15: (Run, maybe shoot?)
Ingo: at initiative pass 11: (Unlock rear doors to Area H)
Zone: at initiative pass 9: (Continue toward lady with baby)
Bull: at initiative pass 8: (Making out with slutty angels)
(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v437/k1d_v1d/BTTS-Denver6.png)
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As Sylvester clears the coffee covered counter he is attacked by Fornis, the mage uttering the last syllable of a spell before the crossbow bolt reaches his throat.
Switching to the astral Sylvester watches as Kinsey’s signature sputters and fades, while a lightning bolt races towards him in psychedelic hews.
Sylvester puts up his willpower as a tangible shield in the astral plane, but the dying mage’s spell burns through it and still manages to strike him in the chest.
He can feel his lungs tighten, and his heart skips a beat or five as the astral plane tries to kill him. Pushing through the pain his vision goes blurry and he can feel the nervous tremors that precede deep cellular damage. He continues running.
His only consolation is that he gets to see the mage’s astral figure implode as the very real crossbow bolt sinks into his throat.
Take that Fragger!
Sylvester sprints towards the gun missing only a half step somewhere in the middle while the mage microwaves his brain. Sylvester is only half-watching as the thug named ‘crank’ pumps round after round into the pile of meat that use to be Kinsey.
Reaching his destination after what seems an eternity, Sylvester switches back to his natural vision mode and scoops up the heavy pistol with both hands, noticing the “Welcome to Aries” showing up in his-double vision outlined PAN as the smart-link instantly comes online and activates on pickup.
Aim for the one in the middle.
Sylvester fires twice at the still standing Crank’s back, hoping that the heavy pistol is able to keep the gang member down long enough for him to get to his van.
A good friend of his once said: “A pistol is only good enough to fight your way back to your car, so you can pick up the long-gun you should have brought with you in the first place.”
Dicey-Dice:
Manabolt 3 sucesses (difficulty level:4)
Willpower: 2 (edge 2) Magic 1 = 5 dice (need 3 hits… please oh please oh please)
5d6.hitsopen(5,6) → [[6, 6, 3],2,2,3,2] = (2)
5d6.hitsopen(5,6)=2 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3499597/)
Takes 2 points off of the 3 successes.
Resist 6 boxes of damage with 4 body dice.
4d6.hits(5) → [4,4,3,2] = (0) (^%$^%$$$!!!)
Takes six boxes of damage. (moderate wound -2 dice pool)
Gun-shooting:
Aries Preditor type-T
Internal smartlink + 2 dice -2 dice for wrong sized weapon
(net wash)
5P, AP-1; Semi-Auto 15 rounds in a clip. Value 300Y
Agility 7 weapons skill 4 (– 2 for wounds) = 9 dice
9d6.hits(5) → [4,5,3,3,3,6,6,5,6] = (5)
9d6.hits(5) → [6,3,4,4,5,3,6,2,3] = (3)
9d6.hits(5)=5, 9d6.hits(5)=3 (http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3499603/)
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Eric dives over the multi-colored woman thinking to himself that this would look awesome in John Woo III's next trid flick. He smirks to himself as the rainbow catches his boot, turning his dive into a spiral of doom. In a split second the smirk is replaced with a look of terror as his face collides with the door mid-spiral-of-doom-dive.
WHAM!!¡¡!!111!!!
His body seems to float for a second, like a dart stuck to a dart board. In an instant he falls to the ground in a pile, at least that time his face wouldn't break his fall. In a slight daze, he goes into full VR. He thought to himself that if he's going to die, at least he'd record the murder and broadcast it out. One way or another his killer would be brought to justice!
Damage resistance vs. face! Well, his face doesn't have armor so it's just body I supposed. I'll throw Edge into the roll.
Body 2 + Edge 2 = Pool of 4
4d6.hitsopen(5, 6) → [2,3,[6, 5],1] = (2)
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3500149/
Hooray Edge!
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A critic is someone who never actually goes to the battle, yet who afterwards comes out shooting the wounded.
- Tyne Daly
Musica (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RF9fqx4H_Cg&feature=related)
(http://people.rit.edu/andpph/photofile-c/campbell-can-explosion-1.jpg)
The two gunshots echo like cannon fire, putting to rest the myth that troll-sized guns use standard ammo. A lot of the propellant is wasted in the explosion, but it's impressive to see, with the vents on the Predator II making the distinctive firing all that more memorable.
The first bark lights up your nostrils and you can feel the cordite burning your nose. You don't see a lot of guns using older ammunition like this. The impact slams into the unlucky ganger's stomach, and into the leaning shelf of personal hygiene products, a can of compressed white foam spraying out to his left. You remember something from the commercial about the foam being vegetable-based. It sure stinks like an all-natural product.
A half-second to bring the gun back down, lining up the iron sights- this gun's smartlink isn't wireless, it would take a hell of a patch job to get it to work with your commlink, but it works for a quick and dirty fix like this. The second bark echoes, catching the ganger again in the stomach. An errant can of "Campbell's Soup Products," a proudly owned division of ARES sits on the shelf, and takes the ricochet, exploding into red goo. Some people might call it food, you would call it overpriced.
The ganger crumples to the ground, the hacker is still stirring on the slurry pavement outside, but it's clear that the threat is over. Sundance reaches the woman just in time to help her and her crying baby leave the safety of the store. The man trying to cram himself into the freezer isn't listening to any reason, and... that's about it.
You're on the scene of a very violent crime, one of you literally holding a smoking gun.
As Sundance ushers the girl and her baby out of the store, the girl's hood is pushed back from her hair, exposing a cute brunette bob and slim elven ears. "I just know this was that slot, Mel Cozi!" Sundance shushes her, but makes sure she's on her way with the supplies she came to the Stuffer Shack looking for.
Speaking of- the employees are out, and the bomb trashed the surveillance gear. Even if this place wasn't on the edge of the Aurora Warrens, where no sane corp-sec would show his face here in under an hour- and that's if these kids were lucky. Inside twenty minutes, this place would be cleaned out, ripped to shreds by the scavengers. You should get something, while you're here.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is Back to the Shack (also known as Food Fight). You have (mostly) survived intact, and we'll tweak your characters and then re-start once a friend of mine joins us, and we'll be off for another helping!
Also, you get 1 karma for surviving Stuffer Shack. Use it in good health.
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Sylvester continued on in ‘combat mode’ even after the readily apparent ‘threats’ evaporated into so much Denver snow.
As he moves toward his van he glances briefly at the first stirrings of the gang’s hacker, face down in the slush.
”Nice of you to all wear matching patches. Lets me know who to shoot without having to bother playing 20 questions.”
*BAM*BAM*BAM*BAM*
Sylvester’s stirring moral compass continues to swing wildly at the last murder.
Sadly, he had his past experiences with gangs in Seattle to draw upon, and that experience was all bad. Leave one gangster alive, and soon the rest of the clan would reign down hell upon you.
No gangster witnesses = No retaliation.
They may eventually be able to piece together what happened here based on their sources inside the local equivalent of law-enforcement. But there was no reason to make that easy.
Sylvester opens his van, slipping on his matching red gloves, and grabbing his Aries Redline out of its docked charging station.
”There, that should make the rest of the evening go smoother.”
Sylvester moves back into the store. He briefly checks without touching; the four gangsters. Anyone that looks gang-related & still living gets two rounds from the troll-sized gun. Anyone looking more threatening than a twitch or two, will be receiving a detailed lesson in optic appreciation: care of his laser rifle.
Satisfied that the immediate threats are taken care of, he moves to the chore of ‘clean-up’. Time is always at a premium, but an ounce of prevention saves a gallon of blood.
First off: evidence. Sylvester picks his way to the tool aisle getting a pair of pliers out of the jumbled mess. Moving to the still warm corpses he will pull the crossbow bolts out of the skulls. More than likely they are bent beyond usefulness, but there’s no reason to let the loan-star or errant knight enforcers look at them.
Secondly; The story. Everyone loves a happy ending, with no loose ends. He needed something that the local paper would want to print.
Luckily: Kinsey had already volunteered for hero duty. Sylvester grabs a 5 gallon bucket of bleach, some boric acid and steel wool from the cleaning aisle. Moving the bucket to the hero’s corpse, he opens it and places it by Kinsey’s right side.
Thumbing the magazine release, Sylvester drops the half-full magazine into the open bucket, turning the weapon over and ejecting the chambered round into the soup afterwards. Taking the weapon in locked-back ready position Sylvester will open the box of acid and drop the caustic powder over the weapon, then placing it into Kinsey’s dead hand, he submerges the entire grim opera into the open bucket. The acid and chlorine would burn like a bitch if Kinsey was still alive to feel it, but he wasn’t; and the melting hand could cover any scrap of DNA Sylvester happened to leave on the weapon.
So: Kinsey fought an entire gang to the death, defending the innocent members of the community. Then, wishing to remain an anonymous hero, he bled out while trying to clean up the crime scene. There was enough truth in that to keep everyone happy, even if the exact order of events was a little off.
Sylvester drops the steel wool sponges in and around the bucket, pocketing the empty box.
Moving back to his original position by the ruined coffee station Sylvester looks for and finds his broken bow string. Would anyone else look for it? Probably not. Did it need to be here on the off-chance they did? Definitely not.
Once locating the string he will add it to his burn-pocket for later.
On his final trip out of the store he will grab a bag of real un-ground coffee beans and a hand grinder. He was going to get a good cup of coffee out of this mess if it killed him. And maybe a month supply case of the krill-meals? He would get sick of eating it long before he ran out, but being full and miserable was much better than starving to death in the cold mountain air.
Looking over the parking lot he sees Kinsey’s bike, still hooked up at the pump.
Sylvester walks over, drops the nozzle on the ground, and pushes the treaded bike out of the way. Pulling his own van to the pump he retrieves the nozzle from the snow and slurry and fills up his tank.
”A full belly of petrol for a Hero’s send off. Sounds like a fair enough trade to me. Welcome to Denver Mother-Fragger.”
Sylvester hangs up the nozzle and re-enteres the van. He cranks up the heater and drops the van into gear, driving carefully into the ever brightening morning. He still had that Pixy job to take care of. It was going to be a long day.
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Finally in full VR Eric pulls up a resource list, trying to figure out which nodes are still viable. He pulls up a camera feed that didn't get knocked out in the blast and notices that everything has quieted down. He sees the multi-colored woman (as that's what he decides to call her for now) escort the mother and baby out, and the exterminator guy rummaging around. Figuring it's safe now he logs off cracks the door enough to peer into the shack proper. He decides to use the back door to exit and head to his RV.
Once safe in his RV he jacks in and logs into the stuffer shack network in full VR. Not wanting to get involved, he figured the best thing to do would be to remove the evidence that he was there. He connects to the surveillance system and downloads all records starting from 24 hours prior to his arrival. "I'll sift through this later... gotta find out if someone is after me..." He then goes about deleting all surveillance records and cleaning up the logs, making it look like the system hasn't made any recordings in weeks. Afterwards he manipulates the code to make it look like it's stuck in an endless loop, as an explanation of the recording failure. He makes sure to revert any prior changes he made (sorry Neil!).
After a final sweep of the system to clear any logs or other records of his presence he logs off. Sitting up, he rubs his eyes and sits in the "pilot's" seat. The RV roars to life as he notices the exterminator by the fuel pump. He waves as he drives off, not knowing if Sly notices him or not.