It’s the great equalizer. It’ll stop a troll the size of car as easily as the smallest dwarf or the 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 berserk. They used to be called junk food or munchies. They’re probably just as good for you as nutrisoy and krill-filler, regardless of those ads from the Nutrition Council. When the 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.
Our story starts with a Shack in the northern Boston Sprawl, UCAS, on March 15th, 2072. The only way you'd know is from the outside, though, because on the inside the Shack looks just like every other installation across the world. Great tracts of neon and fluorescent lights leech away at the colors, giving everything in the place a touch of gray overcast. It's the home of synth-alcohol, soykaf, cheap porno-simchips, 3D greeting cards, pneumatic fluid, cheap fetish trinkets with less magic than a deck of playing cards, and all the stuffers you could want, with none of the social or nutritional value that comes along with a good bite to eat. There's a smell that can't quite be identified, and probably shouldn't be.
You could probably navigate the place with your eyes closed, since you've been in Stuffer Shacks before, and often enough to know the layout. You may not even need to think about what you want to get: some people spend so much nuyen here over the years that they ought to own stock in the company. You've got your soykaf, your soy-snacks, your heat-on-open soy meals in a can; just about the only thing you don't see is genuine food that came out of the ground instead of a factory. But hey, it's cheap, it's open, and it's here.
There are several folks in the Shack at the late hour when we arrive at four in the morning. The store clerk on duty is a young human with half-open eyes, absently flipping through a holo-zine. Chatting him up is a pudgy, homely-looking dwarf, filing her nails and yammering on about what sounds to be a completely mundane day. A middle-aged human man appears to be sampling "ice cream" in the frozen aisle, using his finger to test them before putting the containers back. In Aisle 7 (pet food), a human couple in punk rock regalia--lots of leather, chains, and zippers, with fringe for lack of taste--is getting handsy and romantic.
And then there are our runners...
Sylvie once again turns over the bag of soychips, eyeing it with almost wrathful intensity. In her other massive paw is a nearly identical bag of soychips, with barely different branding and of a smaller size. That one was on sale.
With a resigned sigh, she puts the larger bag of soychips in the cheap plastic shopping bag, and is about to lumber over to the cashier when a sprawling tattoo on her left hands shifts slightly. Grumbling, the young troll moves over to the ice cream isle, giving the man there an odd look.
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Four in the morning. Another night with no sleep. Considering this awful last month it came at no surprise, though.
Submerged in his thoughts came Nicholas Smith, another sleepless day weighting on him. A quick nod to the clerk was the only ceremony, and the man in the long coat went straight to get his fix: soysnacks, cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey.
Well, cheap and sinthetic whiskey but it would do the trick.
When was the last time you drank anything of quality, Nick? Or ate, for what is worth. Rose was the one who knew how to cook, you can barely heat some soywieners without screwing them.
"The devil's kiss first." muttered Nick smiling to himself, as he crossed through the dog food aisle towards the booze one.
Giving a quick look to the post-punk pre-marital couple, Nick reflexively tapped his holster. He was so used to getting shot without getting paid that he usually slept wearing it. That's it... when he slept through a night.
Ignoring his own gesture, he grabbed the least oily looking bottle and headed to get his munchies, where he almost bumped into the undecided troll.
"Pardon, ma'am, I dinnae see you..." was his apology, before continuing his way. Not even four steps later he turned to curiously peek at her as she walked to the ice cream aisle.
Talking to anyone other than yourself for once won't harm you, you chummer. What are you waiting for?
Sighing and wondering what was hetrying to achieve, Nick followed her.
"You seem to be an expert on soychips, which one would you recommend a bored, sleepless, forty years old human? I'm on a hi-carb diet."
Halal. Heh, sure, I guess that's possible. Phineas turns the can of hot-on-open dumpling with onions soup over in his hand. Between the pounding in his head and these insanely bright fluorescent lights. Why, exactly, do they have to be so bright? The man sighs and pulls his Red Sox cap lower over his eyes.
He makes his way over to the drink isle and tries to find some tea. Black. Green. Kahwah...yeah, we'll see. Picking up one of the plastic bottles he taps the top absentmindedly with his thumb as he makes his way to the counter. Turning the corner into an aisle he notices the large troll woman and the other man. He stops short, drops his gaze and hesitates a moment, then turns around to take another aisle. Ugh, this place is always packed at this time of night.
Sylvie gives a small chuckle. "Get a job. That way you won't have to eat this processed crap. Of course, I can't exactly go lecturing you about that," she says, before pausing for a moment. "Snappers. They sink to the bottom of your gut quickly, make you think you're not hungry for a few hours. Or if you need a quick boost in the morning, Chipper Chips are chock-full of soykaf. Lot cheaper, too." The troll shakes her head. "It is sorry that I know this crap."
The troll takes an actual look at Nick, scanning his stance, any bulges that might be weapons, and current state of slouch. "On bad times too, arentcha chummer? Say, do you know any good handymen to fix my friend's bike? She said she'd reimburse me if I got it done fast. My mechanic is outta town right now."
Nathaniel emits a heavy sigh as he leaves the aisle with the pet food, having had to squeeze his way past the amorous couple on his way towards the counter. He ducks down through another aisle quickly, with a large bag of dog food slung over one slim shoulder. "Excuse me," he says, his voice rough and tired. He pauses for a second as the troll mentions a mechanic, backing up a step. "You need a mechanic? I... might be able to help. What's wrong with the bike?" Despite his relatively small size, the massive bag of dog food doesn't seem to hinder him. While he's certainly not as strong as the troll standing in front of him, the elf's thin frame hid strength you might not expect. One chrome arm holds the bag on his shoulder, while the other hovers at his waist, next to the holster of a pistol. He doesn't make a move for it, but it's obvious the man isn't worried about someone catching him without the proper licenses.
His spare hand brushes the bangs of his short hair, a stark white, from his face. "I'm not really a mechanic, per say, but I can find my way around things well enough. I won't have it done in an hour or two, but it'll get done."
The troll smiles. "Thanks for the offer. But the bike's an oldie. Hell, even my Mr. Fix-It had to have serious connections, and ask me for a few favors, to repair it last time it broke down." Sylvie rolls her shoulders and sighs. "It would've been a whole lot easier to get the money together for rent this month if I still had my old job in demolitions. Not the stuff with the explosives, though. I like working with more subtle hand tools. More precise." It's starkly obvious to any shadowrunner that the troll is not-so-subtly dropping hints that a) she's out for a fixer, at least for now, and b) she's hurting for cash, badly.
Phineas starts down another aisle before looking up and seeing the slightly too romantic couple. Seriously? With a sigh and a slight shake of his head he abruptly stops in his tracks. The elf taps the brim of his cap down, pushes the glasses back up his nose, and turns to go down another path. Still idly tapping his bottle, he thinks, Something new every night.
The automatic doors slide open as another late night visitor steps in off the street. Victoria momentarily shields her eyes from the overly bright neon, pulling her hoodie tighter over her neon blue hair. The teen glances at the cashier and nods once before heading straight for the food. She barely seems to pay attention to any of the other customers, grabbing a pre-packaged soyburger from a shelf. "Dad always hated me eating this stuff. But he's no here to complain about it anymore. Besides, I need protein. Even if it's sh*tty soy protein."
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Anya despaired at finding anything that really inspired her appetite. She'd had only three krill-steaks an hour ago, so naturally she was starting to have hunger pangs, and her standards were dropping.
In despair she wandered over to the frozen foods section. She usually didn't buy from here, but tonight she was willing to wade into the deep end of stuffers.
She glanced at row after row of stomach-turning faux-chocolate bars and "ice cream" sandwiches made of things that even she dared not touch...and that when she saw it! The very very, very last quart of Killer Krill Krazy Ripple. Yes! At last, bliss and joy would be hers. She moved to possess that which she sought...
Then a guy moved in front of her. In slow motion he reached into the ice cream section, and...took the Killer Ripple. Anya's heart sank as she knew the depths of despair. Ah well, at least he WHAT THE FRAG IS HE DOING?!? The man opened the quart, tasted a finger-full...and then PUT IT BACK?!?
Anya turned to see what other flavors were left, but her right arm snapped up, her taunt arm holding the autopistol unerringly at the man. "You can either pay for that, or your brain matter can decorate it. Your call, chummer," she mumbles softly to the man. The autopistol disappears back up her sleeve as fast as it came out as her hand falls back at her side.
There are certain places in hell reserved for those types. Right next to child molesters and people who talked during the trids.
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Only half following the conversation about motorcycles and lack of cash, Nick defaulted to his second favourite hobby (the first being talking with himself about how stupid he usually was): observing his surroundings.
That's why the faint -And quite fast, faster than you Nick... must be a chromey or bioaug'd.- shine of a gun caught his attention. The ex-cop tried to listen what all the fuzz was about, but most importantly, to discern if he was going to get shot before dawn.
Recognising the finger dipper, it dawned on him that it was probably a dispute around the rights over a certain ice cream, so he simply returned his attention to the troll and the elf Note to self: the elf must be ex-military, ex-cop, ex-security or at least trained... you know their pose and standing, same as yours Nick...-
Or he tried to, his damned chivalry sense kickstarting again. With a sighing sound, Nick excused himself for a moment, with actual intention of returning with them -You took a liking to the troll's straightforward honesty, aint'ya, bo? Good, you need some friends before you talk back to me instead of only listening-, and walked closer to the young woman and the weirdo, close enough so he could tackle the first chummer to try and open fire before everybody there started a hardcore food war... but far away enough so he wouldn't have to get involved otherwise.
With that plan in mind, Nick started "browsing" the items in that aisle, gazing from time to time to his attention's focus.
Victoria glances around the corner at the rather large woman in the ice cream aisle. Her hand goes straight to the large front pocket of her hoodie for a moment, her form visibly tensing for a moment. "Interesting crowd tonight. Maybe I'll get lucky and someone will start something. I could use some entertainment." She chuckles and grabs a bag of soychips. She hesitates, then decides not to go ice cream shopping when there's a twitchy orc between her and the goods.
The elf turns round the last corner, down the aisle for frozen goods, just in time to see a pistol flashed and hidden as quickly as it came. This is like a bad joke. Phineas pushes his glasses further up his nose and shakes the bottle as he makes a quick u-turn and goes back to finding another aisle to walk through.
The man dipping ice cream doesn't react to Anya's threat for a moment, staring directly at the space the gun occupied even after it's hidden away again. Finally, he stammers out, "S-s-s-s-s-s-" and swallows heavily before he can finish the word. He quickly reaches back into the freezer to grab the container, probably so he can leave.
A new arrival interrupts the exchanges, though, with the dual sounds of automatic doors and a crying infant. Through the entrance comes a moderately attractive elf woman, clutching a baby in her arms. The clerk and his girlfriend--as well as the couple in pet food--are visibly perturbed by the noise, which is interrupting what should be the quiet stupor of the late late night.
Just as the woman reaches the aisles, though, another interruption comes, and chummers, this one's a lot more straightforward. Just outside the doors an explosion occurs, orange flame and smoke leaping up where there was previously a standard car. The shock blasts out the windows and doors all along the front of the Shack, and glass and stuffers go flying. Without the support, the front wall buckles and starts to cave in, and the ceiling groans and shifts over, lights sparking as they sway down. Everyone in the store is thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion, although our runners are quick enough to get to their feet again without much downtime.
There's a brief moment of shocked silence, but one thing's clear: hell's breaking loose at the Stuffer Shack.
Baby. Where's the baby? Phineas wasn't sure why that was his first thought, but he also wasn't concerned with that so much as the failing roof. He didn't bother picking up the things he dropped.
Everyone alright? He says as he steadies himself with a hand on the shelves, and looks around for any sign of the woman and child.
Sylvie wastes no time being dumbstruck, and quickly analyzes the situation. "Everybody! Get to cover!" Sylvie proceeds to scramble behind the nearest shelf and unholster her handcannon-emphasis on cannon.
Victoria's head spins toward the new arrival as the door opens. "So of a..." She barely has time to finish her thought before the front of the store f*cking explodes. She immediately dives for cover behind the nearest shelf, drawing her holdout pistol from inside her jacket. She pokes her head around the corner, quickly assessing the situation.
"Always know who or what you're dealing with," her father always said. "Know their numbers, positions, and armament. Take an instant to plan your moves. How can the environment help you? Where are their blindspots? Who else might be on your side? Take every advantage. Then act."
"Oh, drek," Nathaniel says, ducking and rolling behind one of the shelves as he reaches for his pistol. "Money might be tight, but I knew I should have sprung for the good stuff..." the elf mutters, eyeing the bag of dog food now lying in the middle of the aisle. He pulls the pair of goggles on his forehead down over his eyes, and they light up with the flip of a switch. He checks the magazine of his Ares Predator once before he levels it at the door, finger resting outside the trigger guard until he sees movement.
"Cuervo, if you hadn't wanted your fraggin' soychips..." the elf mutters to himself.
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"Drek," Anya mutters as she picks herself up. Seeing that no one is currently shooting at her, she ducks behind the nearest intact endcap and quietly pulls out the HK 227.
Joining the other eyes sweeping the wreckage, she turns on her Radar Sensor and pings outward, trying to get a count on any approaching hostiles.
3 hits
While waiting for the dust to clear, she notices that a bag of FunSunSoyChips has spilled onto the floor. With her attention co-processor looking out for people trying to kill her, she has attention to spare to reach down and start crunching a few salty chips. 'Bad news: I might die by fire. Good news: Hey. Free chips!'
Our runners come to quickly and begin to take cover draw weapons, knowing a fight is upon them. The direct source of the explosion was clear: it originated in a car just outside the doors, now a smoldering wreck of metal and flame. The more human source becomes apparent shortly after everyone comes to, though: three large figures who step into what was the dingy front of the store. All three are armed, two with pistols and one with a carbine, and the man with the bigger gun calls out in a rough voice, thick with the accent distinctive to the Boston Sprawl's slums.
"Ahright! Nobody gets hurt if ya keep ya yaps shut stay outta the way. Tell me where the lady with the baby is, and ya live to see the sunrise." The speaker takes one more step into the restaurant and you can see he's even bigger than the other two, although not the size of a troll. All three men appear to be wearing ski masks; the two with pistols are wearing armored jackets, while the front man has apparently traded safety for style with a new brand protective vest.
2 hits, total 11
3 hits, total 14
2 hits, total 9
4 hits, total 14
0 hits, total 10
4 hits, total 10
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Great, Nick, moral quandaries. Your skin or the baby's? Who are ya trying to lie to, Nick? It's never yours...
Nick crouched sligthly to peek without offering a clear target and observed the chummers. None of them seemed to carry heavy ordinance, so either they carried some det-candies... or one of them was a wizard.
Nick turned to the itchy trigger woman, and he realised she was an orc. A beautiful and human looking one, but an orc. Smiling, he whispered "Psst! Miss Quick Draw! I'm gonna draw these chummers' attention, can you spot the baby? There's a backdoor over there." as he pointed with his head.
She smells like danger, Nick... danger and vanilla. Or is it verbena? Anyway, cut it chummee. You decided to be a damned hero, go bleed to glory.
Without waiting for a response, he crawled closer to the attackers, stopping before the last standing aisle.
"Hoi, big boy! How can I shut my yap and tell you drek at the same time? It's late and explosions don't fragging help my understanding" he yelled as he prepared to open fire on the speaking one.
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Anya made a quick mental note of the radar-pings and mentally tagged each of them. Baby and lady over there, forth man over there, still inbound.
"Dude," she replies softly to the man addressing her, "these guys just blew up a car -and- my fav 'Shack. Grabbing package an' skee-fragging-daddling are -not- in my wheelhouse. Creds or cuts, they're gonna pay. But you wanna lead off this dance, so let a lady follow."
'That guy look familiar? Smells like a cop. Didn't I date a cop when I first got here? What was his name? Paul? Something with a P? Or an S? Steve? What did he look like?'
The thought goes nowhere as she gets bored and starts lining up a shot on the funboy nearest to her. She didn't really -want- to be the first to shoot. Okay, yes she did. But she wouldn't this time.
Probably.
Sylvie doesn't even waste time for witty banter. She slowly emerges out of her cover, hands up and holding her massive Sheriff by the trigger. "Alright, alright, here's my weapon," she says calmly. "Now I'm going to drop it. Don't worry, the safety's on," In the split second that the handcannon is in the air, Sylvie leaps forward, leg outstretched in a flying side kick towards the nearest goon.
As she lands, she wastes no time, whirling around and delivering a brutal haymaker to another one's face.
"And I thought tonight was going to be boring. Come on, come on, someone do something. Start the party." She's actually smiling, her hands clenched tightly around her pistol. She giggles as the massive troll promptly jumps in and starts to kick the sh*t out of the thugs. "There we go!"
Nick and Anya trade a glance, and it's clear that sooner or later a fight is going to break out--probably sooner. Nick is the first to respond to the gunman, and all three intruders turn their weapons to point at his shelf as he speaks. There's a brief pause and then one of the men with pistols drops it slightly. "Yeah, Crank, he makes a point..."
"Shut up!" The one with the rifle--apparently Crank--shifts his grip on it and takes a cautious step forward. "Listen, how's about ya step outta there and we talk this out."
Nick contemplates this as he keeps his eyes open, glancing through the gaps in the shelving to see what's going on. It's not easy to tell a mage on sight unless they're flashing their skills, but Nick does catch a fourth figure who's made it to the burning car wreck--a figure in some sort of long coat or robe, and not apparently armed.
About then Sylvie makes her own move. The gunmen turn to look at her--all three, switching their attention entirely from Nick--and Crank stupidly lets his gun drop a few inches. "See, now that's what I--" Then the troll launches herself forward, a couple of the goons start to swear, and a foot connects soundly with Crank's face. There's a sickening crunch as his neck snaps backwards, and he drops to the ground without ceremony, the gun dropping from his hands.
The troll doesn't stop there, though, and she swings around in a haymaker to one of the pistol fellows. This one, however, brings his arm up to block the swing, and actually succeeds. After a moment, the sound of the block catches up and sheds some sense: a metallic clang, dampened slightly by the man's jacket. Apparently he's got some chrome under that sleeve.
Guess the easy way is out.
Phineas ducks down behind the shelves and concentrates. This is going to hurt.
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Nick watched dumbfounded as probably half a tonne of troll lunged forward with a kick that even Crank's ancestors sure have felt.
His eyes returned to the man in the robe, and Nick gritted his teeth. Come on, Nick. Trust me, I'm your damned instinct. Why would a civ walk towards a explosion site unarmed within sight of three guntotting thugs? Geek the mage.
With a half-smile, Nick showed from behind the trusty aisle. Raising his gun to better aim, the investigator exhaled and fired. Twice, just to be sure.
"Perfect," Nathaniel mutters, as he hears the sound of the metallic clang. He seems to hesitate for a moment, but ultimately decides to take a shot at the robed figure, guessing it'd be best if he could take out the mage now rather than later. One of the lenses on his goggles rotates slightly, calculating the angle of his shot, and a second later the elf fires twice in rapid succession, both shots headed for the robed man's chest. "Leave the other one!" he hollers, before ducking back behind cover. "I can deal with him later."
"Right, why would I leave one of these thugs breathing?" Victoria leans around the shelf, getting a clear line of sight on the man who hasn't been attacked yet. She lines up her shot and opens fire on the man.
Even as the echo of Sylvie's strike is ringing out, and the leader of the gunmen is falling to the ground, a drekload of bullets comes blazing out of the shelves of the Stuffer Shack. Nick is the first to start shooting, and although he hasn't been looking at shadow work for long, he keeps to one of the field's best pieces of advice and geeks the f*cking mage. His shots both connect with the robed figure's torso, and the newcomer collapses with barely a sound, falling to the pavement outside.
Seeing this, Nathaniel quickly switches his shots to the gunman not yet attacked. His smartgun system activates, pinpointing the best placement for his shots, and the Ares technology doesn't disappoint. The bullets slam into the man's chest, slipping through weak points in his jacket to drop him senseless and bloody to the Stuffer Shack floor.
Finally, Victoria draws her own pistol and fires a couple shots at the only standing figure left, the man who blocked Sylvie's punch. The rifleman might have been the "leader" of the group, but this man once again proves himself perhaps the toughest: both shots connect home, pounding into his torso, but he remains standing, his arm locked against the troll's.
It does look like the tough is smart enough to cut his losses, though, as his wild eyes take in the rapid gunfire and the huge opponent bearing down on him. "Oh, f*ck this drek," he shouts, dropping his arm and stepping back from Sylvie. With barely a backward glance he takes off sprinting away from the Shack, back into the early morning darkness of the parking lot and beyond.
[dice=Damage "Resist" vs. 8P]3d6[/dice]
[dice=Damage "Resist" vs. 9P]3d6[/dice]
Sylvie almost lazily closes the distance between her and the final assailant. When she reaches him, she waves a finger in rebuke. "I have some really f&+$ing critical questions, and when you wake up, you're going to answer them," she says calmly, before swinging an uppercut with enough force to K.O. even the most wired up of prize fighters, following it up with a lightning-fast roundhouse if it proves necessary.
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Anya peeks up from her hiding spot, ready to take some heroic action of some kind or another, but when she sees a charging troll running hell-bent after the last remaining gunman, she things better of it. 'Meh. Why bother?'
She bends down and grabs the remains of the torn bag of chips and stuffs another in another mouthful. 'Mmmm. Chicken an' Waffle!' Not her usual fare, but she's busy claiming it right of conquest. Or Right of Heroics? Right of Savior? Right of Pillaging!
She daintily picks her way across the rubble, sending out radar pings looking for the mother and child that were the target of so much hullabaloo, and also for the clerk and his slotport that was so banally chatting him up.
As Sylvie gives chase to the running man, Phineas ducks down and begins summoning a spirit. It takes a great deal of concentration as he reaches out to contact something powerful, and a trickle of blood starts running from one nostril as his eyes roll back . After a few seconds, though, a ghostly shape begins to take form in the aisle. It is vaguely humanoid in shape, hulking the height of a troll but with a slightly leaner build. Phineas opens his eyes to regard it, and with his sense of astral perception, he sees the spirit open its own eyes, which shine fierce like fire. A voice booms in the elf's mind, deep and hateful. Wh̴o͟ ̴d̀a҉res i̵nv͘ók͢e my̨ ̨p͠resence̶ ͠i҉n͠ this͠ pi̵t̨i͏f̷ul̸ place?̛ S͞ṕe̢ak yoųr̷ ́wil͟l,͏ ̧morta̧l̨,͝ ́an̨d̢ pr̀ay͏ ̷I̴ do͢ n͞ot͢ ͝k͟i͝ll y̴ǫu bef́o͝r̶e ̢g҉o͝ing on ͡my w̕ay̛.͜
Anya, meanwhile, makes her way toward where the woman and her baby fell. The pair seem to be in good shape for going through an explosion: there's a small cut on the woman's forehead, but otherwise she looks only dazed, and the child is quiet, but its eyes are wide open and looking around. They seem more shocked than injured. The clerk and his girlfriend also look relatively fine, as does the man from the ice cream aisle--he's currently trying to climb into one of the freezer doors, apparently not aware the trouble's already over.
Sylvie catches up with the last gunman near the edge of the parking lot, and he glances behind as he hears her heavy steps. "No-no-no-no-no-don't--!" he shouts, and tries to bring his arms up to fend off her attack. It proves harder to stop a troll when you've got a couple of bullets in you, though, and Slyvie's first punch connects heavily with his jaw. He slumps and she easily grabs his unconscious form and hauls him back toward the Shack.
Sylvie walks in brusquely, muttering, "I just wanted some chips. Why do I always end up getting embroiled in some sort of insane plot every time I just want to get a snack?" Pulling herself together, she turns to the other people who had good enough reflexes and gear to hop into action. "I'll put it simply: we don't know who that chick is, we don't know why that baby's important, and we don't know who sent these thugs. But that's not the point. For the ones who still have a scrap of morality, she's innocent, and that's enough to help her out and stop... whatever the hell is happening. I fall in this first category. But for those of you who take the wet work jobs, the ransoming, the terrorism gigs? You're part of this, whether you like it or not. The person who sent these thugs is probably scrambling to find out right now how their target managed to hire a crack shadowrunning team. Sure, you can say f%#& it and leave, but then you'll be isolated. They'll target you. Capture you. Interrogate and torture you until you just say something to make it stop. Then they'll kill you. I don't care how quick your trigger finger is, how much mojo you can sling, how you can convince a raging 'squatch to have a nice tea with you, how you move like a shadow, or whatever your specialty is. You're part of this now." Her speech done, she casually drops the unconscious body. "Now, does anybody have a safe house we can get to before the cops and/or reinforcements arrive? Preferably one with medical supplies? He might be bleeding out." Sylvie then turns to the clerk and says, "I'll give you twenty nuyen if you go to the nearest Inferno club and drop off my groceries there. Devi is going to throttle me if she doesn't have something to eat by morning." The massive troll looks at him expectantly.
"Dramatic much?" Victoria mutters. "It was a pretty standard kidnapping attempt. You don't even need runners for this kind of sh*t. Hired goons can do it. You don't even need good hired goons. Street thugs with big heads can grab some random woman off the street just fine." She slides her pistol back in to her jacket and walks over to the woman with the baby. She offers a hand to help the woman up. "You alright?"
Phineas wipes his nose with the back of his sleeve and responds to the spirit with equal fervor, Pray? Do not presume to speak to me in such a way. You will show me the respect I am due. Now. Protect that woman and her child. Let no harm come to them and...don't kill anyone.
He gets to his feet, steadying himself with the shelves. With a shake of his head, as if to clear it, he steps around the corner as the Troll starts speaking. The elf frowns as he looks around, Is everyone alright? He steps gingerly through the rubble. You two, he says, pointing to the clerk and the girl, Are you alright? Any injuries? He keeps moving and doesn't wait for a response. Hopefully that gets them to check.
Almost ignoring Sylvie, (though, obviously not completely as...how do you ignore someone so large) he moves past her to look at the fallen men. That one I can't do anything about, he says, nodding to the one named Crank, whose head is tilted the wrong way. He walks quickly, but calmly over to the man who had been shot. You. He says authoritatively, as he points towards Sylvie. He kneels down to check the man. Looking back up at the troll, his tone softens for a moment, Sorry, I don't know your name. Those two, indicating the other two men at her feet, Are they alive? his questions come even as he reaches into a leather haversack and pulls out a small red and white medical kit. If this guy's still alive we're going to have to stop this bleeding. How, exactly, am I so calm?
Sylvie shrugs and turns to Victoria. "I've been watching way too many trids lately. Truth be told, that speech was ripped straight from NtOB. Neetob? However you pronounce the acronym. And I meant us. Protecting her. That... might have not been completely clear." Sylvie wisely decides to not upset the woman and her baby, due to her rather... intimidating appearance.
Offhandedly, she says to Phineas, "Name's Gauntlet. They might be. I'm not a medic. But the one I brought in is definitely alive."
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As others are seeing to the woman, the child, the clerk, and his girlfriend, Anya stuffs the last handful of chips in her mouth and lets the bag drop. "Meh. Snatch'n'grab is easy. But blowing up a whole wall? That's just ostentatious. N00b mistake by chippers what saw it on a trid some day an' thought 'D00des! If I ever get to be a shadowrunner Imma totes do that!"
She floats over to the 2 men and a mage that are moving a bit less. She does a quick check on the three of them, then gives each one a good deal of individual attention, thoroughly searching each of their bodies with the air of a professional who has searched bodies before.
3 hits
Valuables are nice, weapons are better, but sometimes you get lucky and find intelligence...and THEN the game begins!
"No, those shots were center mass, and as fast as they're bleeding we likely hit some major arteries. This one started to spasm as he fell; my shots probably clipped his spinal cord. They're dead, or might as well be." Nathaniel moves over to examine the man Sylvie knocked out, taking a look at his wounds. He ignores Anya as he pillages the dead bodies, instead focusing on the man that's clearly still breathing. "Here, let me; I used to... I've got a lot of experience with gunshot trauma." With a practiced hand, Nathaniel pries the bullets out of the man's chest, before wrapping it with some gauze. "He'll need some stitches, but that'll keep him alive. My apartment is just around the corner, if we want to shack up there for the time being."
"W...what?" The clerk's voice is weak and unfocused, much like his gaze. He's just coming to when Sylvie makes her deal, and he's clearly unable to agree or disagree just yet.
As the group comes together and starts talking, the others in the Shack settle down as well, if a tad slowly. The man in frozen stops cramming himself between shelves of ice cream, and sheepishly steps back to the floor, scratching at his balding scalp. The couple in the pet aisle poke their heads out to see what's going on, both with terrified eyes. The clerk staggers to his girlfriend and shakes her awake as they both clear their heads.
In one aisle, Phineas replies to the spirit, which looms over him for a long moment before 'speaking' again. Whoa҉, he̴y th͟ere k̀i̸d, cut ͞th̢e̛ ̵t͘hea̷t̀r̸ic͝s̡.̢ ̢Do n̴ot͡ p̨r̨e̡su̵me͡?̵ Phineas gets the sense of a smirk from the entity, although without looking on it fully in the astral plane, he can't be sure. I'̷ļl̴ ͞s̛h̛ow̢ ͜ýou̵ ͠re̴s̕p̸ec̷t̀ i̡f ̶ýou ̷sh̷ow̵ me ̨m͜i͢n̴e̛. ͞D͢ȩal?̡ ͏Aņd I͜'͟ll pr̶o͝t̕e͜ct y͡our͝ squeéz͟e̛, ͏n͝o ̵worr̸i͟es.́ ͞Jusţ say̛ '̛when,' ͝y͏ơu̧ kņo̧w. It moves an arm in the suggestion of a not-entirely-respectful salute and fades out of view, retiring fully to the astral plane to stand by.
As members of the group begin to look over the gangers, it's quickly obvious that the chrome Sylvie just brought back is the only one still breathing. Anya searches the corpses for their valuables while Nathaniel takes point on patching up the man who's still breathing. The elf's quick hands close up the wounds that are bleeding and stabilizes the man before much time passes by, and he's confident he can be moved without causing more trauma.
The woman looks up at Victoria after a couple of seconds, and with a thin smile she takes her hand and stands up. "Thank you. I... I owe you my life." She speaks with a curious accent that's not fully uncommon in these parts: lilting Irish combined with the street tones of a native Bostonian. "I'll make sure to repay you as soon as I can."
About the time that Nathaniel finishes patching up the unconscious man, and Anya finishes going over the sweet loot, the group hears a new sound beyond the crackle of flames and the whimpering of the baby and the civilians in the Shack. There's a Knight Errant siren coming from down the street, and it's getting louder.
Phineas almost imperceptibly rolls his eyes and smirks as he works. Spirits and their games. I almost prefer the other act. He continues checking the men calmly and quickly as he responds. I'm supposed to quit the theatrics? I'm not the one that showed up as if I'd skipped my morning soycaf. His tone wry as he chuckles quietly to himself, appearing almost mad with his hands covered in another man's blood. Of course, of course. Thank you for showing up at all.
Gauntlet? Nice to meet you. He nods as the elf speaks, You're right, this one is dead too. He frowns as he finishes checking the fallen and wipes his hands on one man's coat. How am I this calm? I should be freaking out right now. Looking around he walks over to the clerk and the girl. Are either of you hurt? Were you hit? Phineas stops suddenly as he hears the sounds of the siren. Some of you may need to go. And if you do, you should do so quickly.
If she leaves, conceal her and her child and get them to safety. Leave no trace to be followed. I have full confidence in your ability to be as discrete as possible. He pauses a moment, and adds, And...thank you. I think I'd be significantly less useful here if I were only talking to myself in my head right now.
Victoria chuckles. "I just enjoy a good dust up. And those morons were hardly a warm up." Her head spins as she hears the sirens coming. "If you'd like to dodge the cops, I'd head out the back while you have the chance. If not, I doubt the Knights will cause too many problems." She glances outside as the sirens get closer. "Personally, I'm going to take my soyburger and leave before they get here. The less I have to chat with the cops, the better."
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Everything happened in a moment. One second he was honouring the time-long advice, and the next a drama-inclined tonne-weighting kung-fu-doing troll have knocked out the runner and is doing his best impresion of a trid.
Never again tell me you are bored, Nick. You just lost that privilege.
The man in the longcoat holstered his iron as he walked towards the elf and her chilf "You aight, ma'am? Good."before he turned to Crank's lifeless body and closed thr distance.
"This one was a doofus, an idiot with more ammo than common sense..." he says before pointing to the fourth figure lying on the ground "But that one was a mage. Hundreth percent sure now. None of them carry blast candies, so he did blow up my favourite convenience store. And that's bizarre, you don't send wizards to kidnap a mother and her child."
You are doing it again... you want to know more, ain't ya? God's sake. You NEED to know more.
Nick walks to the clerk and smiles "Oi bo, it seems we saved your bacon. Ain't it? Those fellas and I only wanted to buy stuff, so how 'bout a deal? I pick the whiskey -which I'll need to swallow this-, we leave through the backdoor and you haven't seen a shit. You dig? Now that I think it would be wise if you frag up the vidfeed, betcha there's security cams in here. Say a mage did it, and don't tell the Knights nothing. I'll drop by when the waters calm and pay the bottle... and treat you to a couple drinks too."
The booze-needed PI returned to the rest and spoke calmly "My place is close, boyos, or we can go to Doc's -anywhere better than here-. I don't know why I am trusting a group of armed unknowns, but hey, you did jump to save her. And her-" he nods towards Gauntlet "-did a moving speech about it all. I'm Nicholas, but call me whatever the frag you want if you do it as we walk out of this pile of dreg. I got ny licenses in order, but something tells me you may not. Who am I to judge tho?"
Gauntlet nods. "Nice to meet you, Nick. Your place sounds good, but then again, any place not currently on fire and half destroyed would be a step up from here. Not really inclined to theatrics myself, really. Bear just really likes trids. And ice cream. In case you couldn't already tell." Gauntlet peers over her shoulder. "Does anybody have a way out of this mess? Preferably one that can fit 8 people and a football-sized package?"
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As Anya finishes policing the bodies, she heads over to Nix. "Hellz ya! A good dust-up will surely get the blood rolling! Up top!" she says throwing up high-five.
She turns to the man and she-troll making light conversation. "And a big hoi-hoi to you as well. Pleased to meet you, Nick," You sure I don't know him?' 'Nope, that guy's name was P...Paul? Pulaski? Puknik?' 'How sure are we?' 'Pretty sure.' 'You're sure you're sure? ' 'Nope. But are we ever?' "And as for this half-a-dozen packages of dried YESbaconYES and a sixer of NagasakiNecterine, I'm -not- coming back to pay for it. Half the store just got shrapneled and the other half is smoke damaged. The whole inventory is a write-off, so I'm not gonna shed moisture over some corp number-cruncher wondering where the burning ashes of the stock is. And...and another bag of Olive&Onion SoyFunHappy chips. Srsly, these are -amaze-.
But you!" she says, pointing the finger-taster in frozen foods. "You are STILL paying for that Ripple!"
She turns back to the group. "I'm Wraith. Lead on. Where we goin'?"
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Sylvie gawps for a moment at the hyperkinetic woman, then shakes her head. "Nick's place, apparently." I... I didn't know it was possible to pronounce Matrix slang.
"I don't care where we go, but I'm guessing most of you won't want to be around once Knight Errant rolls in." Nathaniel hoists the unconscious man up, before hauling him over one shoulder. "Let's go, then. Unless any of you want to take a nap in a jail cell for the foreseeable future." He heads towards the back, motioning for Nick to lead the way. "C'mon, we'll take him to your place and get some answers."
'Like you'd end up in a cell... if anything, I'd have someone trying to get me back to work for them within a week. Still, better to avoid them for now; don't want anyone thinking I'm still something I'm not.'