Contract #2: Gangland, USA.

[Conway]

<Sounds like some good sport, Doc. I'm with you.>

Sinjin checks the operation of his hearing and visual enhancement mods on his new and untested gear as he stikes out after Doc.

[John]

Max spies out the window in the direction of the sound-- his elfin ears now picking up the roar of the bikes' engines. Urgently, the elf comms to the rest of the team,

<Get out of sight! Hide! The sound of them approaching should provide you some cover for your footfalls! Move your asses!>

Max turns to Val and says,

"Gun up, kid!"

The rover sits parked as inconspicuously as it can at the side of the road. Max looks out the passenger side window with Marlowe in hand, ready for the whole world to erupt in an orgasm of gunfire.

[Stephen]

Val utters a vicious curse under his breath. He hunkers down behind the rover's closed door, hugs his rifle to his chest, and tries determinedly to keep his breathing regular.

[John]

Max sees irregularity of the decker's breathing and gives him a hard slap on the shoulder,

"Relax, Pin Cushion-- you're not even bleeding yet. If you're wigging out, I can give you something to take the edge off."

[Stephen]

Val grins wanly as his nerves calm just a bit.

"Like a hug?"

[John]

Even with the situation what it is, Max can't help but laugh.

"Nah-- I think Tyros is your man if you're looking for a hug." Shaking his head, the elf withdraws the bottle of bliss from his jacket pocket and says, "These calm me down, though, and if you're at risk of losing it, it might not be a bad idea."

Max shakes the bottle gently.

(( To clarify, I'm not trying to get 'ALL THE COOL KIDS ARE DOING IT' across with this. ))

[GM Nick]

(( Max, the pusher. ))

A small fleet of motorcycles peels around the corner. These are not the heavy, chrome-ridden hogs that gangers typically prefer. Each machine is a testament to speed: contoured carbon-fiber shells that seem to bend light, run-flat tires as broad as a troll's torso and engines that sound like a hell-hound trapped in a wind tunnel. They move together, incredibly coordinated, as they scream down the street towards the foot of city hall.

[Stephen]

Val hesitates but a second, then shakes his head.

"Nah, mano. I'll be fine. Just the pre-curtain jitters is all."

[John]

Max nods and puts the bottle back in his pocket and says,

"Then I guess you could call this showtime."

Max returns his sights to the gangers and fingers the trigger.

[Stephen]

Val watches Max's finger creep inside the trigger guard.

"Observe or engage? I think it might be a little early to blow our cover with that many trogs about. Perhaps I could stage a little motorcycle accident, though..."

[Drew Buddy]

Doc has the lead biker in his scope. He tracks the ganger's movement, aiming slightly in front of his path of travel.

< What'll it be boys? I say we hold off on engaging them, and see where they go. Might be we can stay hidden, and continue our little sabotage operation. >

[John]

Max smirks balefully and says with surprising intensity,

"Don't worry, amigo-- I haven't blown my wad early since the last time I fragged your sister."

[GM Nick]

Abruptly, all seven motorcycles come to a screeching halt in unison. The rider in the front of the pack--a muscular elf--removes his helmet and scans the intersection.

[John]

Max's eyes narrow as he stares intently at his fellow elf.

[Drew Buddy]

Doc's heart jackhammers in his chest. He blinks a bead of sweat out of his eye as he lays prone under the hedge, crosshairs glued to the ganger's forehead.

< If they spot us, I'm going to drop him. >

[John]

Max's face doesn't change at all as he responds,

<Not if I do first, amigo.>

[GM Nick]

"'s the matter, Gringo?"

The elf folds his arms, straddling the monstrous racing bike.

"Seems Bax and Griff are taking their little leisure break into overtime... Razor, Breakoff, you two go find 'em and tell 'em I want a word."

[Stephen]

Val preemptively scans the group of bikers for their PAN nodes, making sure they're easily accessible should he need to tear a hole in one on short notice.

[John]

Max mutters over the comm channel words that undoubtedly don't need to be said,

<Not good.>

[Stephen]

<"Well, looks like Razor and Breakoff are our new delivery boys.">

[Drew Buddy]

Doc steadies his nerves. They still haven't seen us.

< Agreed, this may be a break for us. Tyros, when the two gangers split off to search for their comrades, we should have an opportunity to grab a new suicide bomber. You want to do that voodoo drek with one of their minds, once they're out of sight? >

[GM Nick]

"What about the rest of us, Gringo?"

"Yeah, we wan' a little R&R too!"

The elf twists around and glares at his subordinates, who instantly fall into silence. "You'll get it, my friends--when Roman allows it."

A troll from the back snorts. "But you're #2. He'll listen to you."

[GM Nick]

Gringo ejects the kick-stand with a mental command swings his legs off the bike. He calmly strides up to the troll who addressed him. The troll--though easily 2 feet taller and several hundred pounds heavier--flinches at the approach.

"Listen, jeffe, I didn't mean to--"

With impossible speed, Gringo's hand flies to the troll's throat and lifts him off the bike.

[John]

Max sits in the rover with the business end of his shotgun trained at the group of metahumans talking down the street. He can make out what they're saying, and it's obvious that they're completely oblivious to the group's presence. The sudden violence between them is not particularly surprising-- it happens with gangers.

A single bead of sweat drips down Max's brow; it's warm today.

The air out here is humid for the irrigation that such an unnatural oasis requires. The grass around has all been green and lush-- the landscaping of the community is impeccable.

Max's nose begins to tickle. He has a fraggin' sneeze coming on.

[Stephen]

Val's eyes widen as he peers over the sill of the door at the scene unfolding before him.

<"Drek of Christ... This just keeps getting better...">

[GM Nick]

"You're a good bruiser, Tower. Very handy in a scrap. But if you ever give me an order again--implied, or otherwise--I'll gut you from dick to tongue. Comprende, muchacho?"

The troll, already turning blue, nods with difficulty.

"Excellent."

Gringo releases Tower, who falls heavily on his handlebars, nearly sliding off the motorcycle. He gasps for breath.

[John]

Keep it together, Max. Breathe through your mouth. Keep it the frag together.

[GM Nick]

One of the gangers--another elf, looks over his shoulder. "Boss?"

"Go ahead, Breakoff. We'll be inside." Gringo sends a venomous glance at Tower. "Working."

"Roger, boss."

Breakoff twists the throttle and he and a human lay down rubber as they circle around the intersection towards the team's position.

[GM Nick]

Resist Spell (Improved Invisibility)

[WIL (4) = 3]
6 4 6 6

Breakoff brings the bike to a screeching halt in the middle of the intersection, staring straight up into the sky. "...the frag?"

[Drew Buddy]

Doc tries to keep his hands still as a fly walks a circuitous route across his arm.

< Okay guys, see what you can do about those two. Make it quiet. Sinjin and I will start laying charges once the others are inside. >

[John]

Despite his best efforts, Max's face begins to twist and contort into the tell-tale visage of a man about to issue forth a bellow of wind unrivaled outside of hurricane season.

[GM Nick]

Razor pulls up alongside his pedigree chum and attempts to follow the elf's line of vision.

"What'cha got?"

Resist Spell (Improved Invisibility)

[WIL (4) = 0]
1 2 2 3

"You're not seeing this?"

Razor shakes his head. "Seeing what?"

[GM Nick]

Gringo and the rest of his pack disappear inside of city hall.

[John]

The elf takes short, staccato breaths as the storm clouds gather inside him. His eyes are squinted shut and his nose is scrunched comically.

[Drew Buddy]

Doc taps Sinjin twice on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

"Okay, we're on."

He continues to make his way to the front of the building.