This post is so that you can dot before gameplay.
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On an otherwise unremarkable night, each of you (along with, one suspects, most of the city) is awoken from sleep by a terrible noise. It is 1:07am. The normally unobtrusive noises of civilian hoverjets and the omnipresent surveillance drones are overridden by a blanket of noise. The turbofans of military transport ships thunder over the urban sprawl of Boston, going with great speed towards a fireworks display of rare power and size.
Anyone looking out of a window can plainly see that one of the most-guarded and ornate skyscrapers in the heart of downtown is the heart of what appears to be a great battle. The skyscraper, the headquarters of UFIA (United Federation Intelligence Agency) is an imposing structure of reflective glass and communications equipment. As the battle rages, emergency communications pop up on implants or on personal comm devices: a government warning to stay indoors, that an emergency curfew is enforced until 8:00am. Just as that warning lights up your phone screens, an explosion flashes from the skyscraper. Anyone who lives closer to the center of downtown can hear the rattle of automatic ballistic weapons, and may be able to see an AHAV (Automated Heavy Assault Vehicle) rumble out of one of the landing troop transports near the site of battle, walking on six legs towards the skyscraper. The flash of energy weapons accompanies the arrival of small atmospheric fighter craft, and the light they give off illuminates barely-visible transports hovering near the UFIA building. The fighters race in circles around the building, needling the transports with laser attacks before they take off. Three transports manage to make it away from the building and into the sky, although two of them are visibly reduced to flaming trails of debris in the sky shortly. The fate of the third is unknown.
The battle, such as it is, lasts about an hour. After that time (around 2:15am) the lasers and the muzzle flashes largely go away. The sky is freed of opposing aircraft. Most of the AHAVs are loaded back onto the transports, which speed back out of the urban airspace, although a few remain on the streets. The night begins to quiet down, although it is precisely that quiet that allows someone who is listening carefully to hear the occasional rattle of additional gunfire somewhere on a nearby street.
Each of you wisely remains inside during this whole event. Maybe you manage to get back to sleep before you have to awaken for your day's events, but when you do, you are met with a flurry of social media and news broadcast alerts. "Terrorists target government agency building!" the news say. Social media networks are full of people posing alongside destroyed hardware or buildings, with captions like "#warzone" or "#myblock". Everyone curious enough to go out during the night either found nothing, or hasn't been seen this morning. A four-block radius around the UFIA building is closed down, although one can plainly see that it and many of the buildings around it have sustained significant damage. There are other news reports as well - news of other attacks elsewhere on the planet. Apparently at the same time, there was another terrorist attack at a space station in Luna orbit, an intelligence building in Mumbai and an unidentified but massive explosion in the mountains to the west of Beijing. The events of the night are the chatter of everyone any of you meet, all day long.
Sitting in your tiny single-occupant cell waiting for the night to be over so the next day can begin, the building you are in is suddenly rocked by an explosion. Even through your thick lead-lined walls, you can hear the rattle of gunfire and the sizzle of laser weapons. Sitting in silence, your cell is eventually broken open. Standing on the other side of the destroyed door is a group of masked and armored men and women, heavily armed. The hallway is full of smoke, and several more captives that you recognize is with the group of armed men and women. The guards who stand watch over the cell block lie dead in pools of blood.
As a group, you liberate more and more captives until somebody's comm unit barks an order you can't quite make out, and the men and women you are with usher you towards the exit. You begin to encounter resistance in the outer halls of the building as squads of soldiers lie in wait, but the group you are with manages to push ever outward, especially with the timid aid of some of the psychics. Making it out of the basement levels, you see the sky through windows of the building, possibly for the first time, but the group you are with is being winnowed down over time. One man is being dragged by his superior, and three more lay down covering fire as the psychics are directed towards waiting hovercraft that float outside of smashed windows ten stories above the ground. As the first group of psychics climbs inside of one, a brilliant flash transforms it into a fireball - missiles fired from a ground-based platform have destroyed it. You are shouted into one of the vessels, which takes off without the soldiers who brought you this far.
The impression is that you got away scot-free, but the transport suddenly begins to veer to the side, and some of the panels near its rear end begin to glow with heat. "We're going down!" shouts the pilot, and the one soldier who managed to make the evacuation with you straps both of you, Maldor and MLE, into the acceleration couches. He's just got the clasp on Maldor's when a sudden impact flings him into a wall, causing both of you to black out for a moment.
When you come to, the vessel is in pieces and slowly smoldering. The hull has cracked open to reveal the starless night sky above, and all of the other psychics who had evacuated with you are dead - from the fire or the crash, and one had bled out from a gunshot wound he had sustained while still in the building. The pilot survives, barely, and when you unstrap yourself and go to him, you can see that a piece of debris from outside has smashed through the windshield and into his torso. He has removed his helmet to breathe, revealing two long antennae extending from his forehead. When he sees you he fumbles with his comm unit, wheezing and coughing blood. Punching in a few commands, he hands it to Maldor before passing away - a maps app, keyed to a destination marked 'Jin Larson, potential asset'. It has location data and shows you the route to get there.
Morning After
Amaryst stared down at the plate of synthetic hamburger and eggs. Bar food, at least at the bars she could afford now, was barely good enough when you were drinking and hungry from a long day of work or night of dancing. It was not something you wanted to face in the morning. At least the potatoes were real.
She looked up at the vid screen above the mountain of bottles. Reports were still confused. The only thing that was clear was that there had been trouble last night. Trouble -- it had been a hell of a fire fight. Even down here in the warehouse district, they'd been able to see it, looking up Water Street. The cops and military had been too busy to enforce the curfew during the fight, and the bars had emptied inthe the street so people could watch. After the streaks of laser, flame trails and explosions faded into glowing embers, the cops started patrolling in force. And the crowd had largely filtered back into the bars.
Amaryst looked around the room at her fellow patrons. A tawdry looking lot at their best, the long night had not improved them. At the end of the bar were a gaggle of young men, heads lolling. She wasn't sure how'd they gotten into the club. They'd obviously been high as kites, probably on Mal-O. And they'd probably being coming down soon, which meant they'd be mean and angry. The drug produced a pleasantly detached euphoria for hours, but once that evaporated its users' anger seemed to need to make up for lost time. The kids didn't look tough enough to be real trouble, but they'd be unpleasant. And unpleasant was something Amaryst had had enough of lately.
She waved a credit stick at the bartender. "Jim, let's clear my check." When he came to take the stick, she said quietly, "You might want to have Big Dave ease that lot onto the street while they're still mellow."
While Jim handled the tab, Amaryst pulled her comm unit out of her pocket. Maybe the nights events would make some people nervous. She'd better start dialing up the agencies.
Bleary-eyed from a long night of carousing and drinking, Korvan glances over at the plate in front of Amaryst. "That almost looks good after a night like that...almost." Korvan quips before reluctantly ordering the same.
Looking up at the vid screen, he asks no one in particular, "What in the f~~# happened last night? I know a little chaos is usually good for business but this seems a bit much."
"And it tastes almost as good as it looks." Eyes back on the vid, the lashunta shovels a forkful into her mouth. And misses slightly. "Shazzbot!" After the curse she chews thoughtfully, her eyes now cast down at the greasy spot on her dress.
"Something big happened. There's going to be fallout. Hopefully it'll lead to some work. I'm down to a few dozen credits. I was thinking about asking Jim and Dave if they needed another bouncer."
The events of last night were stressful, but for Smyrna, sleep was already a far-fetched idea. As soon as 8:00 AM hit, Smyrna bolted out of her apartment. Being in one place for more than a few hours made her nervous. She drove down to pier 132, weaving through traffic and enjoying the chill.
Now, looking over the trash waste that used to be ocean Smyrna could only think about rent. It was coming up in a few days and she couldn't contact her family without risking them. She started tapping methodically on her wrist, a way of activating and using her implanted comm unit without alerting those around her.
While searching, two beady eyes and a ratchet tentacle slithered their way out of her large, black purse. "Whatchya up to hot stuff?" a voice whirred.
"Shut up Tay" Smyrna instinctively replied. "Rent's due soon and we can't go homeless. Since we're already in deep, we might as well go all in."
Smyrna spends the next several hours traveling around public places in the Bronx, checking for info on possible jobs.
Hearing Amaryst's comment about work, Korvan adds "I hear ya. Seems like the corporate tech-boys have finally dug out most of my protocols, so I guess it's time for a real job again. If I hear of anything, I'll let ya know. You do the same, okay?"
Continuing to watch the vid screens, he just shakes his head. "What a mess."
MLE stared at the starless sky through the crack in the strange vessel’s hull. The big black shroud above was freedom, and freedom looked innocuous; deceptively vast and peaceful. The last several…minutes? hours?...had been chaos. It felt like it was the first moment she had to stop and breathe, to try and make sense of what had happened -- what was still happening. The commotion had come so suddenly, the blasts and rattles, the armed people outside her door. The escape replayed in her memory, but she didn’t even remember grabbing the lab coat she was wearing, and barely recalled the duffel bag of food cubes she’d snatched...but she remembered the death, the blood, and the explosions. And the emotions wafting off those present, the fear, the pride; anxiety, hate, desperation, pain...and the relief once they were on board the craft. Then a crash?
Emily unstrapped herself and stood up, then grabbed the duffel like a child who found their lost teddy-bear. She almost reached her mind out to Maldor, but it struck her that she didn’t have to -- she could just open her mouth and talk. ”M-mal..? Maldor?” she asked. ”Is this real? Really real? This is happening?” She joined him at the front of the vessel, and flecked the dead pilot’s antenna almost casually, watching it wobble. ”I think… They’re aliens. Like the ones they brought in for experiments, sometimes. I think they wanted to help us.”
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Cross woke up before his alarm went off. He almost always did that but today was a special occasion and he might have done so even if he did not only require four hours of sleep for optimal performance. Today was a race day, or would have been a race day if not for his lack of a ride.
He ran his morning diagnostics and took his body out of sleep mode. A rush of chemicals burned off his drowsiness and brought him fully awake. He had left his body sitting on the couch, charging line plugged into a socket on his chest below what would have been his right clavicle, if he still had bones that is. His energy reserves were topped off after a night's rest and he was fit as could be.
With a flicker of attention, he brought up his bank account balance on his internals. Experiencing information from his internal hardware was difficult to describe to others who were not plugged in like he was. They did not bother hijacking his visual feeds to scroll information over what he was seeing but rather, it was somewhere between an external thought and the vividly imagined image. Regardless of how wondrous the technology was, his bank account was still in the red, even after he finished synching his internals with his home system.
The media reports started streaming in as he dismissed the bank information. He barely paid attention, there was always violence if you knew where to look. This was just better funded violence. The race would still be on as the Fergus brothers paid out some hefty bribes to the local constabulary to deflect attention. Although the Feds might stomp all over things regardless. Cross knew as soon as he considered this that he would be down there to watch, even if all that did was drive home the thought that his beloved bike was languishing in a pawn shop. Irritated depression swirled in his gut, or at least the nerves corresponding to that area felt a sensation that might be described that way.
Standing up, Cross stalked over to the fridge and grabbed one of the plastic canisters that contained his nutrients for the day and jammed the tip into the port under his ribs, or at least what would have been his ribs if he still had bones. Describing one's layout was difficult without bones. As the canister drained into him, he stared into his reflection in the front panel of the disused microwave. As always, his visual feeds rendered his 'face' as a meaningless blur. It was a bit of custom programming he had slapped together so he did not have to look at it. Instead he grabbed the riding helmet that was his usual public face and pulled it on. The helmet looked like reflective obsidian, an opaque curve that gave the world around him a fish-eye view of itself.
He pulled on a black muskin leather jacket over the plain t-shirt and jeans he had slept in. It was a perk that his body did not produce any kind of foulness and he could go weeks without doing a load of laundry. He checked his piece and the knife sheathed flat against his chest and headed out for the day.
The Morning After,
As Smyrna, Cross, Korvan and Amaryst head out for the day the news feeds incorporate new information: the United Federation head Press Secretary is on Disney News, and several of his underlings are on other news channels as well. They are giving interviews to shed some light on the events of the previous night, and to ensure that everyone remains calm. The official story is that an anarchist terrorist group wanted simply to cause some havoc at the UFIA headquarters, but that they are being tracked. The press secretaries urge people to stay away from damaged buildings and destroyed hardware, and that city officials would have everything cleaned up soon. The secretaries go on to explain that several Federal agents in a UFIA hospital "who had been afflicted with a deadly nerve agent while on a mission" had deliriously ran from the battle and were missing. If any suspicious persons are observed whose behavior may not make sense, they should be reported to the appropriate authorities, as they may be Federal agents who are simply confused by a chemical attack they had sustained which affects their brain function.
Amaryst flips open her comm unit and checks the websites of the various bodyguard agencies. With escaped terrorists on the loose, sure enough there's several job openings, but like all work, it disappears quickly. What kind of job is she looking for?
Hearing Amaryst's comment about work, Korvan adds "I hear ya. Seems like the corporate tech-boys have finally dug out most of my protocols, so I guess it's time for a real job again. If I hear of anything, I'll let ya know. You do the same, okay?"
Continuing to watch the vid screens, he just shakes his head. "What a mess."
"Copy that. Catch you later." Amaryst smiles and pushes back from the bar. Seconds later she is outside, fervently scanning her phone as she walks back toward her rented room.
Going around his neighborhood, Cross gets word of a couple of jobs. One, a fairly easy job: a local gang tough wants his car repaired. He's offering 80 credits to do a quick patch job on his huge-wheeled rover, which has a number of bullet holes and a broken engine from a battle with a rival gang.
The second is offered to him by a man named Rex, who Cross knows as another gangster. He knows that a craft crashed just a short distance away, and he wants Cross to get down there, mark it for salvage and then call in some toughs to haul the valuable ship parts away. He's offering 200 credits, and you better do it quick before the authorities swoop in.
Amaryst gets a ping on her phone - there's no permanent positions up right now, only temporary gigs from paranoid folks after the raid. The best-paid one is a wealthy single woman who wants her home and property swept for potential squatters - she saw a light on before she headed home and has been too afraid to go ever since. The pay is 100 credits to make her home safe, with a bonus of 50 credits in the event of violence.
If Cross could have snorted in derision, he would have. Faruq 'the Chin,' nicknamed rather cruelly for the feature he most lacked, could sit on his shot up ride for a little longer and stew. It would be a good lesson on how unwise it was to constantly pick fights with a bunch of guys he went to elementary school with and had been soundly kicking his ass ever since. Of course, no one ever accused the Chin of having much in the was of self-awareness. Rex's salvage gig was more promising anyway. Getting in close enough to slap a tag and make a call was an easy two hundred in his pocket.
With a snapped message to Rex requesting the details, Cross set off across town. He had to leave his patch to do so but nothing ventured, nothing gained. He checked his piece again, and brushed fingers over the spare clips tucked into the lining of his jacket. They were all there of course, once again the advantage of rarely needing a laundry day meant everything tended to stay where he left it.
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Although being dragged out in the middle of the night was not an unusual occurrence in the station, they weren't usually accompanied by such loud pyrotechnic simulators. Maldor was quick to stand from his bed, but he was honestly suprised by the realism in this exercise. The bodies looked real, and the explosions had an extra percussive weight to them. This must be a major test - best be on my toes today... Maldor thought to himself.
But as the drill progressed, his perceptions didn't quite match his assumptions. Still, he didn't believe it was actually real until he awoke in the crashed transport. He hadn't had a chance to really examine the bodies from before - he figured they were just cadavers staged to look like combat casualties. Wouldn't be the first time...and Maldor had learned to curb his instincts to rush to the aid of the wounded after the staff started booby-trapping the bodies. THAT had been a rough week recovering from the bio-toxin!
So now, with a transport craft full of dead bodies and the girl from the station he knew only as Emily, Maldor finally started to accept the reality of their situation. Em's talking broke his haze, and the years of training kicked back in. "Are you OK? Hurt at all? Let me check..." Maldor checks her out for any obvious injuries, using the basic first aid skills he was taught.
"You seem to be fine. Look, something is happening here. I don't know if this is another test, or what, but we can't just wait here. I think we should proceed to this rendezvous and try to survive in a potentially hostile environment." Maldor notices the bag Emily clutches to her chest and the food cubes it contains. "You have food - good job. Check the bodies and any storage areas for useful gear. Skinsuits, knives, maybe a pistol or pulser. A medkit, or comm unit. Just like our training. Improvise, adapt, persevere. Five minutes and then we push off."
Maldor then scours the transport, stripping the soldier and pilot of their armor and any weapons and handing some to Emily. "Here, put this on under your clothes. If we can blend in with the local population, we should be able to move around in the dusk and dawn hours. Are you proficient with any of these?"
Smyrna, dialog is bolded :)
Smyrna, roll a Gather Information (Diplomacy) check, a Perception check or a Survival check. I'm assuming you're just walkin' around talking to people, but correct me if that's wrong and it might require a different check.
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Jin awakes to a flurry of news, reading over the attacks and the statements by the government in his head while he cooked some eggs, he slowly grew worried as he read on, and after reading and finishing his breakfast he decided it might be a good idea to check in and see if Amaryst, his main friend on planet at the moment, wasn't hurt.
"Cassius, call Amaryst as quick as you can, I want to see if she is alright" He said as he went to his "lab" in the garage, walking from project to project, checking to see how they were progressing in growth. "Yes Dr. Larson." Cassius chirped in his synthesized, cheerful voice.
"Infact, patch me right to her if you manage to get ahold of her, i want to see how she is doing, in the meantime i am going to see if i can't gather some info about this attack." he continued as, satisfied with his samples' progress, he moved to his computer where he began to scour the net for information, looking through news sites and contacting online friends in higher places hoping to find out what happened.
Meanwhile, the AI rang Amaryst's commlink and waited for a response...
Cross gets the details from Rex. The ship crashed into a favela, a several-block radius of informally-built corrugated iron shacks built on top of one another. Rex has it down to maybe a two-block radius. Rex wants the parts partially removed from the ship so that his guys can get in there, grab them, and get going.
Cross sets off towards the favela - it is about a 10-minute walk to the edge of the community, a dense tangle of tall, poorly-built constructions. Thin alleyways snake their way between the buildings, wet with oil and water and covered in trash. Winding his way through the alleyways, it takes Cross another few minutes to find where the ship crashed. It smashed through several buildings, probably causing fatalities and definitely causing property damage that was unlikely to be repaired anytime soon. The ship looks like a small fighter craft. It carries a single pilot, is outfitted with laser cannons and heavy machine guns and has empty racks where missiles might go. It's unlikely to have a Drift engine, and one of its four normal engines is burned and wrecked beyond repair. A trio of small human children, two boys and a girl, are clambering around on top of it. One of them shouts with pain as he touches something that still steams from the heat of the ship's systems, tumbling down to the muddy ground. His friends laugh.
- - - - -
Maldor scavenges the ship quickly for things. There isn't time to strip the dead lashunta of their armor, and most of the stray weapons in the ship have shattered, but he manages to find a few useful things . In addition, he finds a few lockers with useful portable things: Two clips of pistol ammunition (9 rounds each), four rebreathers (disposable face-masks with a small canister of highly-pressurized oxygen and a carbon filter that allow someone to breathe for 10 minutes), an intact injection gun (for medicinals), two vials of analgesic for field surgury, two canisters of sprayflesh, and a utility scattergun with three shells remaining inside.
A couple of duffel bags of things secured, the two surviving psychics head out onto the empty streets, running along the route that the maps app displays. Occasionally, a police cruiser, a drunken wanderer, or another streetwalker may cross nearby... what do you do?
- - - - -
- - - - -
"Jim, go ahead and cash me out." Korvan says, beginning to go through his comm unit, seeing if there are any messages from clients past.
With his meal, such as it was, paid for, Korvan steps out to see what sort of trouble he can get into.
”I’m okay,” Emily said. She focused on Maldor’s words, accepted the items he handed her, and tried to keep a stern, brave face. ”Just some basic training,” she answered his last question. ”I’m not a good shot or anything… If we have to hurt someone, I mean, maybe… I can think them to death.” She didn’t like the thought of having to, but Emily knew it was an option.
She started looking around, rummaging through the vessel, avoiding the areas that were still smouldering. ”It’s not a test,” she said while she worked. ”I didn’t read any minds back there, but I read their feelings… If it was a test they would have known, and then I’d know.” Emily hoped she was right. She didn’t want to think about them arranging a test that could fully fool her empathic abilities, but if they did... Emily squashed that thought and grabbed her gear, following Maldor out of the vessel.
Walking the streets, she tried to keep her head down and her eyes open. It was tempting to stare at others, or look at the few vehicles that passed, or gaze up at the sky. She tried to match the body language of anyone they crossed, hoping not to draw attention to them. ”If it is a test,” she whispered while they walked. ”I don’t know how but if it is -- going where these guys were going would be bad, right? I mean, they’d have to be testing to see if we’d go back if we ever got out. Right?”
"Hey brats, scram before the cops show up," Cross said. His voice was slightly tinny. He could make it sound more human if he really wanted to by actually using the mouth on his face to form the sounds but he preferred that everyone remembered just what he was and did not like admitting he had a 'proper' face.
Amaryst replies immediately to the posting for the rich woman. One hundred for a home sweep. She must be really spooked. It's probably nothing but I'd best stop at home and pick up my armor.
After getting an address and contact information for the woman, she places a call, assuming her best professional voice, "Ma'am, this is Amaryst Geil from the Simon Home Protection Agency ... Are you in a safe place? ... Stay there. I should be at your house within an hour."
She snaps her comm closed and begins a slow jog toward her house, only a few blocks away. There she quickly changes into her usual shades of grey working clothes. She slips into the clamshell breastplate. The rest of the armor goes into a duffel along with her sidearm. The client might find the armor re-assuring, but tired and wired cops be spooked by someone in full armor walking the streets this morning.
On the way she gets Jin's call. [b]"Jin, are you ok?"
Smyrna, now at a public diner, is typing away looking for anything lucrative.
While on the phone with his friend, Jin makes a number of online queries about the events of the previous night. There are a variety of different sources regarding the night's events, but a few things are clear:
A large and well-armed group attacked the UFIA Headquarters in downtown Boston last night. They were equipped with suborbital shuttles, skirmisher-class fighter vessels and a large number of foot soldiers. After they were discovered, UFIA military forces moved in, deploying armor and soldier bots in the nearby area to contain the threat. After a battle that lasted an hour, the survivors of the threat fled into space and the rest were killed. Bos-Wash is littered with spaceship debris and a large area around the UFIA headquarters is ruined from the battle damage.
The government's account is that it is an anarchist terrorist cell that attacked the UFIA building. There are apparently members of the cell, along with poisoned Federal agents, on the loose on the city streets. There are theories abound on the internet about the identity of the perpetrators, but none are conclusive and with only an hour or two passed since the curfew ended, not much information has reached the web yet, except for some videos and images of people posing with destroyed vehicles. Occasionally these videos are disrupted by police or MPs arriving and dispersing the waiting crowds.
- - - - -
Tapping away on her datapad, Smyrna finds a couple of promising jobs for someone her skillset. An EMP weapon went off near the center of downtown, paralyzing the electronics of a number of businesses. The business association of one of the shopping malls downtown is hiring a legion of engineers to get in and repair all of the electronics in all of the businesses today. The wage for a single day's work is 60 credits, and it is expected to take two days. The second job (this one more on the D-L) is being offered by a "legitimate businessman" named Rex: He's pulling in a group of about half-dozen to get in and salvage some working military gear from a crashed ship. He'll hook the group up with wheels, but since it's basically a heavy labor job with a bit of mechanical drilling involved, the pay is low - 75 credits.
- - - - -
Checking his comm unit, Korvan finds the same thing that was true yesterday - his employers have no new work for him, and the events of yesterday have done nothing to change that. Perhaps he'll have better luck tomorrow.
- - - - -
Amaryst gets into a self-driving cab, which speeds across town. It leaves the urban sprawl behind and heads out into what passes for suburbs out here. Tenements turn into houses. At one point, the cab passes by a large wreck - a pair of buildings ruined by the impact of a crashing transport ship (at least, what's left of one). Amaryst is dropped off outside of a large home with a nicely-sized yard and charged 3 credits to her credstick for the convenience. The gate to the home is locked but a quick call to Carol, the woman hiring Amaryst for this job, gives her the code.
Faced with a no-nonsense robo-man chastising them, the children quickly lose their mirth. The oldest one, the girl, calls to the others, "Yeah, he's right. Let's get out of here!" The kids scramble off of the wreck and into an alleyway out of sight.
"What's parenting coming to these days?" Cross muttered to himself as he watched the kids scamper away. Their parents had clearly not instilled the proper wariness of interacting with the filth in those kids. They were more likely to end up shot or stomped by one of the pigs or a corporate rent-a-badge. Performing a reasonable approximation of a sigh, he turned to the crashed fighter and pulls out a utility tool kit. It was time to get to work. He snapped a confirmation to Rex that he was on scene and would have the parts ready for hauling by the time the gang rolled up.
Smyrna's practiced grimace deepens as she weighs her prospects. "Well, if all I'm getting is trash, there's something poetic about working through actual garbage." Smyrna murmured to herself. Immediately, a chipper voice from her bag responds "It takes trash to know trash." Smyrna, rolling her eyes, responds "And who's literally made outta garbage? If we're lucky, we might find something useful to upgrade you with." Then Smyrna contacts Rex to accept the position and starts heading towards the wreckage.
Cross looks over the wreck. His engineering skills are certainly more than up to the task of checking the ship's systems for usability and carefully loosening them for easy transport. Two of the ship's large suborbital engines are capable of being salvaged, although one is completely destroyed and a second has been pushed beyond its limits. The ship's computer can be salvaged, and Cross is capable of easily removing it from its casing and setting it aside. The front of the ship has been crushed inwards, destroying many of the armaments. However, one of the ship's heavy machine guns can be removed. Cross unfastens it and it crashes to the ground. Cross also spends a bit of time in the ship's guts, pulling out valuable intact components from otherwise destroyed parts of the ship, setting them aside.
The pilot of the ship is still in his seat, and apparently what happened is that a large ballistic round smashed through his windshield, killing him instantly. The man is lashunta, and while his armor is ruined, Cross can find a survival flare gun strapped to his ejector seat with three flares in a small case on the gun. Cross also finds the man's personal comms unit, although it is dead.
Smyrna rumbles on her old Harley out to a meet point with the other five toughs and Rex. A motley collection of criminals and vagrants who Rex knows have at least a bit of mechanical expertise, they're accompanied by a massive flatbed transport truck and a number of what antiquity might refer to as dollies. Loaded onto the truck, these fold-able contraptions have a platform that raises using hydraulic engines, straps to hold things on, and electric wheels. It's pushed around from the back like a wheelchair. Rex, a crippled old gangster with an ancient polished wooden cane, stands with them. Directing the gang onto the back of the truck, it rumbles off towards the favela and the salvage. After a few minutes, it stops at the edge of the favela, right where something huge smashed through. The salvage ship can be seen from here, with an android crawling all over it removing panels and components, and the group jumps off the flatbed to guide their dollies over to the wreck.
Amaryst punches the code and slips inside the gate. No point taking chances. She steps to a bush that will screen her from sight of the house before opening her bag. Her gun comes out first, and she checks the safety before laying it carefully on the ground. Then she begins donning the rest of her armor. It's a slow process, even with magnetic guidance between the pieces and self-activating interlocks, but eventually she's ready. She holsters the pistol on her right thigh and tugs her battleglove back on her left wrist.
She nods in satisfaction, putting the armor on always made her feel powerful, all the more so because it slowed her down. Like an oncoming storm front, once she started moving in the armor, the world just had to get out of the way.
Then she activates the armor's comm unit and selects the quick dial for the Simon Agency. "Geil, here. I'm on-site. Everything looks quiet from the front. I'll let you know if I turn anything up."
Seeing Cross, Smyrna perks up a bit. "Hey Cross ya bastard! What's a glorious piece of scrap like you doin in a dump like this?
Knowing that idle conversation could ruffle the wrong feathers, Smyrna grabs one of the dollies and begins to assess the scrap for the more valuable parts. She also keeps an eye open for any tech that might interest her.
A little riskier than I normally care for, but creds are running short... Korvan thinks to himself as he checks his comm unit for reports and details about last night's altercation.
Maybe there's something worthwhile to scavenge and pawn... he thinks, heading toward the reported area.
Cross, being Cross, pockets the comms unit and the flare gun. Perks. Maybe he could get someone to extract the dead pilot's banking information. Now that would be a nice bonus. He looks up as the salvage crew rolls up. Rex pulled out the stops when assembling this crew, it seemed. The reflective expanse of his helmet faceplate snapped to a familiar voice and he caught sight of the traditionally black clad Smyrna picking her way over under the watchful eye of Rex.
Cross gave a quick nod to Rex, then jumped down from his perch. The man did not own Cross like he did a lot of the other toughs and criminals in the area but it always paid to be respectful.
"Same as you, I'd expect," Cross said to Smyrna, "'cept I don't have to worry about chipping a nail." He wiggled fingers at her. A lot of him was built to look roughly human and while they had added lines to his fingers that suggested fingernails, that was a feature that had not truly been replicated.
Smyrna laughed before catching herself midway through a snort. "Well, if ya treat your favorite gearhead to lunch, she might be willing to give ya a makeover."
Smyrna put her back to the other workers, then expertly rifled through her bag, before pulling out two identical black vials. "Would you say your color preference is more ichor waste or neoprene sunset?" Smyrna breathily stated while clinking the vials together.
All this time, unbeknownst to Smyrna, two metallic tentacles slowly reach their way out of her bag and start grabbing the scrap on her dolly.
Treading heavily around the verge of a flowerbed with her eyes trained on the house, Amaryst remembers the aborted call while she was in the cab.
"Call Jin." A few seconds later the connection is established.
"Jin? It's Amaryst. I'm on my armor comm. Sorry I lost you earlier. Tunnels and cabs play havoc with my reception. "
”It’s not a test,” she said while she worked. ”I didn’t read any minds back there, but I read their feelings… If it was a test they would have known, and then I’d know.” W
”If it is a test,” she whispered while they walked. ”I don’t know how but if it is -- going where these guys were going would be bad, right? I mean, they’d have to be testing to see if we’d go back if we ever got out. Right?”
Maldor looks at Emily, a puzzled expression followed by realization and understanding. "Well, if you couldn't tell then it must be real. So going to this place may be our ONLY safe course!"
As they walk, he distributes the gear they found. "Hey Em, did they teach you to shoot a handgun? Why don't you take these clips, in case we acquire one, and I'll hold on to this scattergun. Here are two rebreathers for you, and two for me. We can split the food cubes between us, and I'll carry the medical gear - unless you know how to use them? OK?" Maldor will put the gear into the backpack that he found or in Emily's duffel.
They move through the city streets, following the directions in the unit as they try to blend in with the other people moving about.
Amaryst circles around the building's yard, keeping a keen eye out for danger. Nothing seems to catch her eye as being out of the ordinary or different from the obvious... until she reaches the back of the house and sees the bloody handprint on the rear door.
- - - - -
Cross and Smyrna are able to idly chat while they help salvage the wrecked fighter vessel. All of the other toughs are doing it, in a variety of teasing, aggressive and vulgar tones. The pair help to drill off panels from the ship, load the heavy machine gun onto a pallet, an engine onto two more pallets, and to drive the equipment back to the transport flatbed that Rex brought with him. It seems like Cross has done a pretty decent job at identifying the best portions of the ship to salvage, and he's already taken the only things worth taking that survived that are handheld. Work proceeds at a decent pace.
- - - - -
Korvan heads off into the city towards the nearest report of crashed ships in a solitary search for salvage. Taking public transportation, he arrives at a different area of the city where a large transport had allegedly crashed. Heading into the dense urban tangle, Korvan reaches the site of the crash - a rare public park, the dead gray grass and a play structure designed for children ruined by the crash of a large destroyed troop transport. Debris litters the path from the ship's impact with the ground to its stopping point. A few bystanders are standing around, taking pictures of the wreck or selfies with it in the background. It being early, no aid workers have arrived quite yet.
- - - - -
Equipped, Maldor and MLE head off into the streets as night passes. It is a long walk that takes a couple of hours, but the pair are able to avoid notice by shrinking into their clothes and acting as casually as possible. They follow the directions of the maps app and, as the sun is beginning to rise, reach a humble townhouse in a complex of identical buildings.
With no real sign of aid workers or authorities, Korvan makes his way closer to the wreckage, activating his exocortex as he looks around for anything of note.
"Ichor waste would compliment my skin tone, don't you think?" Cross said. Considering his 'skin' was a layer of matte black material not dissimilar to the low visibility second skin armor Smyrna wore herself, any nail polish she did apply would hardly show up. It could be peeled off and changed out with less fuss than a human's skin but still functioned as a sensory device for him.
As they near the place from the map, Maldor slows to a stop and pulls Emily into a recessed doorway. "We're almost there. How do you want to do this? Just go knock on the door and say, 'Excuse us, are you Jin Larson, potential asset?'" He grins after that, trying to use a little humor to lessen the emotional impact of the past several hours.
"Or maybe we should look around and make sure this isn't a trap or something...maybe you can use that noggin' of yours to kinda, you know, sniff around? But before we go..." Maldor grabs Emily by the hands, bows his head, and whispers: God, you’re my refuge. I trust in you and I’m safe! You rescue me from hidden traps, shield me from deadly hazards. Your huge, outstretched arms protect me — under them I'm perfectly safe; your arms fend off all harm. I fear nothing — not wild wolves in the night, not flying arrows in the day, not disease that prowls through the darkness, not disaster that erupts at high noon. Even though others succumb all around, drop like flies right and left, no harm will even graze me. Amen!
He gently squeezes and then releases her hands, then waits for Emily to weigh in on their course of action.
Emily didn’t fuss with the equipment very much, she simply stowed it in her bag and slung the duffel over her shoulder. The city was much, much bigger than she had expected. She knew the compound was big, but had never really been out of the project’s facilities...walking anywhere for two hours was a long time, and a great distance. Even at a semi-casual pace. Once or twice (approximately 27 times) she looked over Maldor’s shoulder at the device he held. She didn’t even half-understand most of it, but the displayed name seemed familiar… Names weren’t really a big thing at the facility -- she knew very few people by name -- so she didn’t waste time dwelling on it.
As they neared their destination, Emily was more interested in the sun rise. She’d seen the sun and sky so many times in the vids, but it was far brighter in person… ”Wow.” she said, without really thinking about it. Her attention was quickly brought bad to Maldor, as he took her hands and whispered his prayer. She forced her attention back to the building. ”Guess this is it,” she said, quietly. ”I think we should just go for it. If it’s not a test, this probably isn’t a trap, and we shouldn’t waste time poking around. If it is a test somehow...we already failed it, and we’re gonna be in trouble anyway.”
Emily headed for the front door, and eyed the console beside it. She had little idea how to use it but it looked simple enough; she ignored the numbers on the keypad and simply pushed the largest button, the one that said ’Enter’...
A buzz sounds from Jin's door system, signaling that he has guests waiting out front.
Korvan heads out to the ship. The ship's bay doors are open. There are seven corpses inside (both armed and armored soldiers and unarmed men and women in what look like hospital gowns), a bunch of wrecked equipment, and what looks like maybe some salvageable stuff. Weapons, various pieces of technological equipment, maybe some armor, commlinks, computers, and maybe some components from the ship. What can be salvaged depends on how long Korvan wants to spend extracting the stuff and how much he can carry.
The ship looks like it can hold about forty individuals, and Korvan notices a blood trail leave the ship and enter the grass, but his eye can't easily follow it for long.
Fecal matter! This just got complicated. Amaryst pulls the semiautomatic from its holster. She eyes the blood stain and considers her options.
"Jin, if I don't call back in 15 minutes send the cops." Amaryst adds the house address and signs off.
A few seconds later she calls Korvan Vosh.
"Korvan? Are you near a terminal? I need eyes inside a house."
What a mess... Kovan thinks to himself as he scavenges through the remains of the craft, and its former passengers, collecting smaller, easily extractable bits.
Korvan, taking notice of the blood trail begins to try to follow it.
Just as he's about to leave the downed craft he receives and incoming call.
"Hey Amaryst. Sure I'm by all sorts of terminals...just not sure if any of them are functional."
"I'm checking a home in Wellesley. Owner was afraid someone was inside. There's blood on the door. IF there's security it's probably Simon Home Protection. It's worth 50 and I'll buy a round if you can get a look inside. Last thing I need is to walk in on a wounded hophead."
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Noticing that the comm's calls have been a bit spotty this morning, Jin opts to instead send Amaryst back a text. "Hey, i'm fine. I was trying to call and ask you the same thing, but it seems like the connection is a bit spotty wherever you are. How are you? Are you okay after last night? The fighting didn't really get close to my home but i heard your favorite bar was pretty close so i was worried."
Meanwhile, at the front door, a small holoprojector in the keypad flashes to life, but instead of a person it appears to be showing an avatar of some sort, a sphere of free-floating pixels that connect in the center like a spiderweb. "Greetings.." the system pauses for a moment ""MLE, it has been a long time, how have you been? And who is this?" It asks in a familiar chipper voice, as the hologram floated a bit closer to Maldor.
In the background you can faintly hear through the door "Cassius, who is it?" and you almost get the impression of the AI looking away as a moment later theres a crashing sound and then after the door opens, revealing a tall, stocky, grey-blue skinned man with four arms wearing a black t-shirt and some jeans. "..are you sure your facial recognition systems ar-..." he stops mid-sentence as he sees Emily, eyes looking her up and down as well as Maldor.
"Well i must admit there is a resemblance. How could.. oh.. so thats what the 'nerve gas' ruse was covering.." he begins muttering before recomposing himself. "Alright, so how do i know you are Emily and not just a lookalike? And who are you?" he finishes, pointing at Maldor.
"Are you Jin Larson?" Maldor asks, showing the comm unit to the strange man. "And how do you know Emily? Are you with the station?!" Suddenly, his fear and ragged nerves and decade of training kick in, and Maldor quickly puts the tip of his staff up into the man's throat and pushes him into the apartment and against a wall.
"We're NOT going back! I will kill you here and now if you try to make us go back!! Do you understand?!!? Kill you!!" Desperation fills the young man's voice as he holds Jin in place.
"Em, who is this guy, and how does he know you?" Maldor asks without giving Jin a chance to respond. He is obviously at the edge of his endurance and pretty tightly wound at the moment!!
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"Well, that's fair given what probably goes on there." Jin says with a gasp, slowly grabbing the staff with two arms and pulling it to the side while putting his other hands up in an attempt to calm the boy down. "Kid, I used to work with them several years ago, I didn't like how they were treating the kids and I got taken off Emily's part of the project when the military types came in. I quit afterwards."
Meanwhile, mentally, he activated his Comm-link connection and sent Amaryst a text. "Hey when you finish your job, would you mind coming over as quick as ya can? I wanted to talk about your ship. There's some credits in it for ya if ya get here soon."
After a short pause he continued "I wouldn't send a kid back to the place I left, let alone whatever the military types did. How about you two stay here while we collectively figure a way off this rock?" he said in his best convincing tone of voice.
"In the meantime, how about I make you two some breakfast? Food does miracles calming the nerves." Jin nods towards the kitchen.