The lead ganger, Raucho, begins to raise his handcannon toward Johnnie when two things happen almost simultaneously.
First, a tingling sensation seems to make the hair on your neck stand on end, and you feel the pores on your scalp retract and tighten in an extremely disturbing way. You have all felt the power of a psyker manifesting before, but anyone who would profess that it is a feeling you grow used to should be called a liar.
The lead ganger, Raucho, begins to raise his handcannon toward Johnnie when two things happen almost simultaneously.
First, a tingling sensation seems to make the hair on your neck stand on end, and you feel the pores on your scalp retract and tighten in an extremely disturbing way. You have all felt the power of a psyker manifesting before, but anyone who would profess that it is a feeling you grow used to should be called a liar.
Instead of shooting, the lead ganger brings his hand holding the pistol, and the other to his head, grasping his skull and screaming incoherently at the top of his lungs. His own men seem baffled by this turn of events and look at one another in confusion. Another cry sounds from some distance away to your right as well.
"Aiiighhhhhh, jus' don' stand there, kill 'em, kill 'em all!!!"
Just when Raucho gets enough of his wits about him again to scream an order, you all raise your own hands, miming the brutish thug, and an awful digitized shrieking erupts from Ivaanov's vox like the sound of a squealing hull door being ripped away by the powerful vacuum the Immaterium. It is hard to tolerate even with your ears blocked, and for the gangers it must be agonizing.
Albrek is the first to remove his hands as awful, echoing sound of Ivaanov's screeching vox cuts out. He squats in place, centers his lasgun on the figure dancing in agony in the tower and lets off three quick blasts of his weapon.
The precise lasgun fire lights up the unfortunate ganger in the tower, two of shots hitting him in the center of his head, while the third rips through his arm.
The ganger's headless body tumbles from the window, rifle before it, and crunches to the ground after flattening a small wooden kiosk.
Johnnie shoves his shotgun in the direction of the face of the ringleader and fires.
Called Shot to the Head BS (37 plus certain bonuses for nearness) 1d100=11
He then drops prone between Ishmael and Ivaanov to give the suicidal...er... fanatically devoted Ishmael a clear path to the gangers... er... heretics.
Johnnie shoves his shotgun in the direction of the face of the ringleader and fires.
Called Shot to the Head BS (37 plus certain bonuses for nearness) 1d100=11
[ooc]In the old Top Secret game from TSR, when a hit indicates an area that cannot be hit because the same is under a cover, then it is ruled as a miss. Do we have the same rule here?
Johnnie Rico doesn't bother to mince words. Ganger scum like these wouldn't have let them live even if they had complied. Better to go down in a blaze of gunfire, breathing cordite.
The arbitrator's ears are ringing as the last sounds of the tech-priest's awful dirge echo back to him like the sound of metal augmetic fingers across a slate.
Striding forward he points the barrel of the shotgun at Raucho, the lead ganger, racks a shell, and fires as the brute struggles with twofold agonies of Uriah's psychic power and Ivaanov's awful song.
The explosion rocks his arm back, and the blast from the shotgun rips away much of the burly ganger's scalp and left cheek in a spray of metallic pellets. Amazingly, he does not fall, staggering backward and screaming while wiping desperately at his gore covered face.
Rico then drops to the ground, awaiting the inevitable hail of bullets to come.
I will drop to the ground and will fire my laspistol at T9 ganger, maintaining my Inflict pain.
BS=
I hit
Damage=
As the boom of Johnnie's shotgun resounds back through the roundabout court, the majority of your adversaries are still clenching their hands to their head in agony. As they come to their senses and the awful sound fades, they frantically reach into gelt-scale adorned vests, boots, and shoulder holsters for their armament.
A tall ganger wearing an elaborate fur-trimmed frockcoat shakes off the keening, and levels his autopistol at Iacton as the assassin charges his boss.
As soon as he sees the muzzle flash from the shotgun, one of the gangers to your left rushes for the cover his companion with the autogun just sought, pulling a pistol as he leaps over the bench.
Another thug, this one a heavy-set bloke with a towering blond mohawk and matching fumanchu beard centers his revolvers aim on Rico at the very moment he drops to the ground.
A fat ganger with blackened spectacles and leathers that strain against his swollen flesh aims his autopistol at Ishmael, wildly squeezing off a round before the cleric can fire his own gun.
Those dregs, scavs, and other lowlifes that believe they are allergic to bullets begin to flee from the roundabout in every direction, a cacophonic bedlam of yells are cries replacing the vox-powered shriek.
The first round from the Yellobouros gangers explodes with a crack, passing just over Iacton's right shoulder.
Johnnie hits the deck, just as the second ganger squeezes a round from his revolver. The round rips through the heel of the arbitrator's boot on his right leg, taking some of his heel with it.
The fat ganger chortles when his wild shot hits the cleric in his left arm. Fortunately, Ishmael is right handed and discharges a round of his own.
Ishmael centers his aim and fires at the fat ganger's center mass.
The round blows a clean hole in the center of the hive scum's chest.
The fat ganger staggers back, incredulous he has been hit.
Iacton charges Raucho after Rico's shotgun makes it's mess. His swing is controlled, but the huge brute lowers his head in agony from the pellets, and the edge of the sword whistles over where his neck was a moment before.
No problem Uriah, I won't be posting Round #2 until later tonight.
Seeing the firefight quickly turning into a potential bloodbath, Albrek yells to anyone who will listen:
"Someone take that fragging big ganger as a hostage before we all get killed!"
Iacton is correct, I completely forgot about Dodge. As everyone is entitled to one free Reaction each round, I will roll for both Johnnie and Ishmael who were hit.
Saint Trobriund's House of Worldly Mercy
The more I think on Emrit's words. The more the anger in me rises. "So who is this He?" My voice having a slight quiver to it. If Emrit sold Maia's body to a chop doc for parts... Then again maybe it was Krade. "Go on Doc. Finish your story."
"You also mentioned having a bad week. Like to hear about that after your done telling me about Maia, and 'Bena." I wait for his words.
"For what it's worth, every week is a bad week around here. It's gotten a lot worse since your Wolves got ousted by the Yellobouros. Rumor is that the Vaxus Eviscerator is stalking the alleys again."
Kirsch senses your anger, but he is either too exhausted or too relieved at unburdening himself to care. He looks at you with watery, unfocused eyes.
"I...I...don't know who He was. I awoke one night to someone pounding on the front door. I assumed it was another narco-fiend or one of my regular drunks looking for a place to sleep."
Kirsch seems to fall into the memory while recollecting the event, eyes staring straight ahead.
"When I opened the door a tall, bald man stood there, dressed all in black, eyes as sharp as scalpels. He demanded respect by his very presence. I don't mean like some pretentious Uphive noble either, I've known my share of those. He had the bearing of undeniable authority. I'm not ashamed to say I was terrified of him half out of my wits."
Kirsch sips from his mug again, shaking off a shiver.
"He walked right past me."
"All he said was, 'I come for the girl'."
I am quiet for a long while. Staring at Emrit with angry eyes. I pull out my pistol. Tapping it in my hand. My voice is cold. "I thought you better than letting someone loot a dead child, exspecially Maia. Guess I was wrong."
I unjam my pistol from earlier. "I need a shower to wash this blood off me. I am going to the Gearbox." I put the pistol back in my pocket.
I get up and walk out of the office toward the Ogryn. "I need you to keep guard here. Watch over Sunshine. Okay?"
I look back at Emrit. "See to it that Sunshine lives. If she becomes cold pray to the Throne the Ogryn finishs you."
I make a fist with my right hand and relax it several times trying to focus past my anger. "Emrit your still my friend... I don't know if your guilt is enough punishment. Not my place to judge. But damn it I am ticked. So where is the shower, and I could use some Thrones."
My mind once again clear and sharp. Knowing I need to meet the others at the Gearbox. I need to see Aebe as well. Though there is a knot in my stomach. Think I would rather be in another gun fight than match her stare after what I just learned.
Saint Trobriund's House of Worldly Mercy
Emrit watches you unjam the gun. His face is drawn, haggard, and tired-looking. Redness rims his eyes.
"I did all I could, Sav. I don't expect you to understand. Perhaps, someday you will. I don't want your forgiveness, I didn't need to tell you these things, but I felt you should know. Thanks for listening."
After you speak to the ogryn, waiting patiently outside of the door, Emrit looks over Druuther, coming out of his reverie somewhat.
"I'll tend to his wound as best I can. While your gone we'll both look out for Sunshine. Shower is the third door on the right."
He chuckles when you mention the currency.
"If I had the gelt to give you, I would, but the Yellobouros shake down just about every spare Throne I manage to put away. It's not like the old days when your Pack ran the show."
As you leave the room, the medicae rises from the table, finishing the bottle in a final swig. His voice has grown hoarse.
"Go to her, Sav. But remember, she isn't the girl you left behind. Change is the one constant of the universe. I think I read that somewhere once...or perhaps He told me..."
The Oremor Underhive, Vaxus District, Level -119
Hearing Johnnie's cry of pain, Uriah focuses and channels the churning power of the warp, and the leader of the gangers is wracked again by rippling waves of agony. He continues to stagger about, screeching through the bloody mess of his lower jaw.
Dropping to the ground as the bullets whip through the air around him and uniderhivers run in every direction, he points his laspistol at the ganger just behind and to the right of Raucho and fires.
The subdued crack of the las is punctuated by a flare of crimson light that strikes the thug in the left side of his chest, melting the attached gelt and burning a hole through his vest.
Stepping forward, the awful metallic screech finally subsiding from his overloaded vox, Ivaanov raises his metal shod staff horizontally and depresses a stud on the shaft, firing the las carbine hidden within at ganger just shot by Uriah.
The burst of fire passes just over the ganger's head as he aims his own pistol.
Albrek, successful with his last shot, turns, steps forward a few paces, adjusts his aim slightly, and squeezes off another burst of lasfire at the ganger in the furry frockcoat.
Military drilled, precision lasfire basically cuts the unarmored ganger in half, fuzzy, burning fragments of his ostentatious coat raining down like black snow around him.
Iacton takes a moment to compose himself before once again slashing at the leader.
"Iacton, if he does not surrender, kill him."
Johnnie gasps as the sting of his wound register. He aims his weapon and fires again.
"Yeah I know things have changed." I stop just before the room with the shower. "I will see if I can get the Yellobacks off your rear. Your place is neutral ground as is all the Grey Way. I'm not going to let anyone rattle you for protection money." I enter the shower room.
I take a quick shower. Always keeping my weapons within arms reach. I let the blood wash off my body as well as my clothes. Wringing them as clean, and dry as I can. I need more answers. The Gearbox is the best place for that. I have a bad feeling I will be wearing more blood before the day is over. I get out of the shower and redress.
As I pass Emrits office. "So has the Eviscerator only targeted those not allied with the Yellobacks?" Deep down I already know the answer; but I wait for Emrits response. Then I head down toward the Gearbox. This Wolf is on the prowl, and he is ready to bite.
Juan Rico grits his teeth and pulls himself up to one knee. The wound announces itself with searing pain, as he puts weight upon the heel. All the while blood is beginning to fill his boot, making it a soggy mess. Johnnie's head swims, and everything has a grayish cast for a moment, bu the grizzled arbitrator shakes it off. Pulling the shotgun's barrel up, he racks it again one-handed and fires at the lead ganger who has stopped staggering around and is now reaching for the handle of a long combat knife sheathed on his thigh.
The cone of shot rips through the open space between the lead ganger's legs, as he pivots with the knife toward Iacton, tearing into his leathers and shredding flesh, but for the most part missing him.
As the huge ganger turns, the shotgun blast rips beneath and by him, for the most part harmlessly, and in one fluid motion he withdraws the knife from the sheath with the express intention of ramming it into Iacton.
Just as he turns, however, the assassin pirouettes in place, dancing from one foot to the other to gain momentum for the upward swing of his sword.
When Raucho finally faces Iacton, the blade is already reaching it's destination, cutting into the flesh of the ganger's thick neck just beneath his ruined jaw. Despite the heavily corded muscle, the well-honed blade passes through, seemingly without resistance before emerging on the other side. The bloodied, ruined mess of Raucho's head totters in place for a moment before dropping to the ground with a dull 'whump' as Iacton finishes his follow through. The body remains standing in place, the sordid eye-nipple tattoos staring idiotically into the distance from his chest, before finally toppling to it's knees. Blood fountains up from the headless body and the knife clatters to the ground.
When I do leave the hospice I will have my shotgun under my furs. That way it doesn't look like I am spoiling for a fight. Though anyone who is street savy will know my disposition is not inclined for taking garbage from anyone. One hand will be gripped around my shotgun. The other is in my pocket with my hand on my pistol grip.
When I do get to the Gearbox I want to take a table in a dark corner. I want to observe the crowd and listen to there chatter. See what rumors and what not that I can pick up while I wait for the others to arrive so I can take them to the hospice.
Want to what Aebena from a distance as well. Emrits last words come as a timely warning. Alot has changed in three years. I don't know how she will react to me, or if I can even trust her anymore.
Standing next to the Yellobouros leader's decapitated corpse, Iacton brandishes his blade in front of the four remaining gangers that comprised Raucho's entourage. The sudden, unexpected, and demoralizing turn of events seems to have dampened their enthusiasm for the fight considerably, and two of the younger thugs, barely into their teens, backpedal almost involuntarily as the crowd surges by.
The bolder gangers of the quartet, a pair of dark haired, elaborately tattooed twins, narrow their eyes, raise their serrated machetes, and rush toward the assassin, swinging wildly.
Glancing at Iacton and Johnnie, and then at each other, the neophyte gangers decide they want no part of what is to come, and bolt for the center of the roundabout, into the oncoming crowd, pushing and jostling their way through the panicked dregs looking to escape.
.
.
The fat ganger shot by Ishmael stumbles a few paces backward, almost falling over while clutching at the abundant flesh of his hemorrhaging abdomen, he fires his pistol wildly at the cleric before waddling away quickly toward the cover provided by the rockcrete bench.
Another ganger, this one adorned with dozens of facial piercings and wraparound welder's goggles fires a revolver from behind the concrete bench at Ishmael to cover his wounded mate's retreat.
The fat ganger's shot goes wide, ricocheting somewhere off of stone with a hollow crack.
The ganger behind the bench centers his aim carefully but the murderous scav from just outside of the alleyway blunders into the bullet's path, his head rocking back from the force of the round as he runs past Ishmael, a geyser of blood shooting from his cranium before he skids to the filthy cobblestones.
1d100
Iacton deftly deflects the first machete blade, nearly knocking it out of the ganger's hand such is the force of his parry. The second blade bites through, cutting into the meat of the assassin's chest.
A load roar erupts from the ganger with the outmoded autogun and the long barrel rattles loudly against the rockcrete bench as the juddering weapon dances. The smiling thug fires it on a full auto toward Juan and Ishmael, holding the curved clip protruding from its side to keep his aim level.
Three or four rounds spit out of the weapon with loud, echoing 'pops' before a discordant grinding sound interrupts the fire. This is followed by a repetitive 'clacking' sound. The ganger lets out an extended curse in pidgin hiver cant, and begins slamming his hand into the clip in an attempt to clear the jam.
Ishmael marches inexorably forward, much like on the Void Needle, seemingly uncaring or oblivious to the whistling death of the bullets flying around him.
The pair of gangers flanking the flakboard vendor's stall for cover unload on Albrek, trying to eliminate the dead-eye shot that has snuffed out two of their companions already.
A storm of hastily fired rounds ricochet around or fly about Albrek's crouching form, but the unflappable, disciplined guardsman merely aims down the sight of his lasgun again, drawing a bead on the overzealous ganger as he frantically tries to pull back behind cover again.
Unnatural Aim
Failed, so I will try to hit one of the ones not in melee and not in cover.
BS=
Ishmael moves forward a few meters, abruptly stops in his tracks, and while standing bolt upright, reaches into his cloak for his frag grenade, and casually pulls the pin as if he was yanking the tab on an alluminum beverage container. He considers the object in his hand for a second, and then rolls it under the bench where the three gangers take cover.
The grenade bounces up off of a dip in the cobblestones and doesn't quite make it underneath the stone bench, detonating with a tooth-rattling explosion just in front of it.
The concussive shakes the very ground of the roundabout and shrapnel flies in every direction, the two gangers behind the bench scream in agony as they are pierced by the fragments. Unfortunately for the fat, gut-shot ganger, his Agility bonus (2) is not enough to get him out of the Blast Effect, mostly due to the blocking wall, even though he succeeded on his Dodge check.
The grenade rips the entire left leg off of the fat ganger wounded previously by Ishmael, throwing his body like a bulbous rag doll against the wall of a derelict hab-block. The ganger with the autogun manages to duck in time, but the shrapnel rips under the bench, tearing into his leg and shredding it. The ganger next to him was standing to fire another round and is blown back with concussive force to the ground, choking and coughing from the impact and the rockcrete dust raining down all around. Both are seriously injured, but scramble to regain their footing. The thug with the jammed autogun digs through his vest for a sidearm, while the other sifts through the rubble of the bench for the revolver he dropped.
Rubble and tattered bits of clothing rain down from the sky around Ishmael, and somewhere, someone is screaming. The cleric raises his revolver again, leveling it at the cloud of debris blowing before him, standing fearless and bolt upright while waiting for the two gangers behind the remnants of the bench to emerge.
"Come! Face His Judgment! Cower not, for a death by the gun of His servant will purge you of your iniquity! Come! Stare down this barrel and find the Light of His Salvation in its flash!"
Meanwhile, Uriah steadies his laspistol and fires upon one of the gangers behind the flakboard kiosk near to Albrek. Unfortunately, the shot goes wide blasting a hole into the side of vendor's makeshift stall instead of his target.
Ivaanov moves forward, extending and compressing his metal-shod staff, ratcheting it in some sacred Machine Cult ritual prestidigitation to reload the las carbine hidden within, swinging for the head of the thug whose blow Iacton just parried.
The slightly disoriented tech-priest swings the heavy staff overhead and down, but his target easily dodges away from the blow.
With machine-like precision, Albrek takes another deep breath and fires off another cracking, blazing burst of lasfire at one of the two gangers struggling to keep the cover of the kiosk between them and the marksman.
Three more large holes are punched in the weakening flakboard wall, but the gangers miraculously escape unscathed.
Johnnie fires a shot at the nearest ganger. He then moves to cover to patch himself up.
Spends fate point to gain 3 wounds
Johnnie presses a hand at his wound to stop the bleeding. "This is very ugly."