Run #1 - Big Top Blitz

[John]

Mick steps up to the Vantichrist, spins on their heels, and settles their weight against its steel skin with a bouyant THUD. A protest of "Hey, watch the paint job!" issues from within its mechanical guts. 'Trolls and owls and deckers and talking vans...' The place was getting crowded, and the crowd was full of strangers.

They take another slip from the bottle of Old Man Juanito's private reserve, and once again offer its mouth to their new compatriots. Recognizing the need to grow a little closer to the crew, Mick asks, "Anybody gonna help me with this? Can't kill it all myself..." They shuffle on their feet, their gaze meeting and quickly evading those gathered round. It's an olive branch, but Mick isn't sure if they have any olives.

[Molly]

In theory, the task could have been daunting. She had prepared a whole library of ‘Lone-Star’ specific hashes to speed up her comparisons: mentions of restricted weapons, local jurisdictions, words of appreciation for donuts and her entire library of racial slurs- anything likely to come up in any cop-related content. And yet, as the encryption dissolves before her eyes, it strikes her how unsettlingly easy it all was. It’s as though she’d been tasked to pick the right number between 1 and 2^512… and that number ended up being 12345.

The commlinks of her teammates simultaneously light with an incoming message:

<<~~(,_,C ^ > : Good news, everyone! Turns out Lone Star was using Pretty Drek Protection. Either this is some kind of plant, or it’s just because… y’know, it’s Lone Star. Assuming it’s just tax dollars hard at work, data incoming.>>

The persona takes a digital magnifying glass to each file, skeptically evaluating its metadata, before shrugging, and sending the two smaller icons careening into her crewmates’ commlinks. That leaves of course, the elephant-sized file in the room: the VR.

<<So... Our biggest lead here is in Simsense. I can run it myself, and I can mesh in one of you for the ride. No promises what we'll find on it though, so keep that in mind before you jump to volunteer.>>

(( She’ll Matrix-Perception the files to look for either edits or again, bombs, but assuming she finds nothing, she’ll pass on the goods. :D

Edit for me blanking on the whole 'comms can't run VR' thing. ))

[Drew Buddy]

Mouse's message slots into Axel's brain almost as quickly as it appears in AR. A slow smile forms on his lips.

<<Drek, omae, promise of an all expenses paid vacation to the land where the 'Star got its ass handed to it? Sign me the frag up!>>

He draws a cable out of his RCC, sets the deck for maximum signal, and slots the flashing, wrapped bundle of fibers into the port in back of his neck, and takes a seat across from the form of the diminutive elf.

[GM Nick]

Axel feels the familiar expansive darkness of VR overtake his conscious mind, like an embrace from an intimate partner. He can sense Mouse is nearby, although distance is meaningless in this experience. Mouse plays the recording.

It's like looking through an insect's compound eyes; a kaleidoscope of different vantage points. Some look toward the front of the sleek, gunmetal hull, some behind, one above, one underneath, and two into a cramped cabin. A young human man in a Lone Star uniform approaches the transport, disappearing from one point of view and appearing in another as he climbs through a hatch. The driver spends a few minutes looking over a display panel before nestling into nylon crash webbing. He rubs his bald head (perhaps for good luck?) and slides a cable into the control rig installed in his brainstem. The twin, alcohol-fed engines roar to life amid a deluge of diagnostic data. And then the transport is underway, passing through a retracting security gate and nosing out on to a public road.

Images of Bellevue flit past the litany of optical sensors. Walled enclaves of the well-to-do, massive holographic billboards and fortified structures are gradually replaced by the neglected and ruinous edifices of the Barrens. The environment takes on a sepia tone as housing projects and empty lots roll by. The vista deteriorates further until the transport is rumbling past landfills and junkyards.

Suddenly the pock-marked road is replaced with a blinding flash. The audio sensors drown in feedback as something too loud to process assails them. There's a few frames of a heavily modified motorcycle visible in one of the backwards-facing sensors. The landscape shifts ninety degrees. The transport has rolled. One lame wheel spins ineffectually in the air, the run-flat tire partially melted.

A figure strides into frame, the very essence of a nightmare. It's hard to discern the meta-type of the assailant, wrapped as they are in blood-stained riding leathers and shod in spiked boots. The face, however, dominates one sensor: a grotesque, painted counterfeit of a person. Their lips are bloodied, open in a delighted sneer. Fresh scars trace the corners of the mouth back to ears studded with tarnished jewelry. Wild eyes-- eyes full of madness-- dart from one location to the next. Perhaps most disturbing is the embellished make-up, smeared haphazardly over a canvas of wounds, resembling a schizophrenic street performer. This demonic antagonist points towards the transport and shouts something, but the words are rendered unintelligible by the overwhelmed audio pickups. Using a crowbar, the attacker works the hatch free and manhandles the driver out of the netting. The Lone Star pilot, still reeling from acute dumpshock, clumsily reaches for his sidearm. A brief scuffle ensues, but the valiant efforts are rendered fruitless at the end of the crowbar. The assailant gestures to an unseen party and then leaves the frame, dragging the unconscious driver by his collar.

The majority of the remainder of the recording is just a dozen perspectives on the Barrens at odd angles. Near the end, an ambulance can be seen stopping in the road. A female dwarf in armored EMT scrubs approaches the hatch, crawls in and digs around in the cabin. The recording ends on a freeze-frame of her pulling something from the primary service console.

[ReiyaEmm]

Intrigued but disturbed by Mouse and Axel’s disappearance into alternate reality, Reiya accepts Mick’s offer of what she thinks is tequila. It won’t taste as good as that whiskey she just downed, but it gives her something to do, and if she’s going to continue her trend of warming up to crew members one by one, she might as well start with the one trying to do the same thing. She nods, takes the bottle and a swig before handing it back with what she hopes is an encouraging smile, having observed the orc’s erratic relationship with social interaction. “Thanks.”

Reiya enters the van and looks at Mouse’s unmoving body with concern and some revulsion. Obviously, the crew needs the intel, but the very notion of the bodily modifications needed to achieve it makes her skin crawl. She knows what it’s like to shift one’s consciousness to another realm of existence, but doing so via tech rather than her own training feels like cheating, while leaving one’s body excessively vulnerable. The shaman sits on the floor, removes her crossbow and satchel, and sits with her back against the bench Mouse’s still form occupies, taking a moment to rest. Though her protective instincts have somewhat abated, she may as well ensure the decker won’t fall off when she wakes up.

Mach follows her in and methodically opens her satchel and extracts his food, his only true skill. Reiya watches him fondly, relaxing her heightened state of awareness ever so slightly.

[GM Nick]

The alcove Yung is huddled in offers an acoustical amplification of his commlink's speaker. Despite the sizzle of the relentless rain, Thoryn still manages to overhear the voice coming from Yung's commlink and inadvertently eavesdrops.

< Yung, I spoke with the clinic administrator. He said Camina’s Docwagon policy lapsed, that’s why they never showed up at the game. So now we're stuck with the extraction, the surgery, and the ICU costs. They want payment to keep her there and it's a lot. I would help but... well, you know. You went to take a job, right? Tell me you have good news. We only have a day, maybe two, before they turn her out. Contact me as soon as you can. >

[Molly]

Mouse surfaces as though she'd been held underwater, gulping for air as she jolts from her familiar supine pose to sitting fully upright, spine straight. "SO, WHO WAS BETTING ON 'INHUMAN MURDER-CLOWN SNUFF FOOTAGE?' BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT WE'RE DEALING WITH." If anything, the glib characterization of whatever she's witnessed only betrays her frayed nerves. The distinct sensation of her heart beating in her throat, the beads of sweat collecting at her hairline, and the tremor tugging at her frame could all, as she assures herself, just as easily stem from the chemical cocktail she'd imbibed beforehand, but that fails to explain why she can still perfectly envision that face whenever she closes her eyes.

She casts Axel a sidelong look, half 'I did warn you,' but also one of rare, honest contrition for having dragged his consciousness into a shock vid without any kind of pre-screen.

[MattL]

"Message Kento Mitoshi" <Kento, sorry I haven’t called. Yeah, I took the job and things are moving at a good clip, the group seems capable and I should be able to pull some serious Nuyen. Tight timeline for the job but that’s good, I think it should be done soon. Hang in there, I miss you both; I’ll keep you posted. Aishitemasu, Watashi no tame ni Camina ni kisu.>

Yung stops talking and faces the deserted alleyway as though staring into the abyss. He bows his head for a moment in silent contemplation, then once again looks up to appraise the void.

"Message Jarvis Mora" <Hey Doc, I need some help. I know it’s been a while, lo siento. I’m looking for a mobile ICU and I need one fast omae. Let me know if you can source one and what it’s gonna cost. I’m good for it...you know me. I’m into something right now, might not be able to talk if you call, so send me a DM when you can.>

Yung turns to face the Vantichrist again, only to find Thoryne casually observing his every movement. “No bueno guey, guárdatelo para ti mismo.” he says, narrowing his eyes. As he scrutinizes the troll, a streak of water runs down his cheek, probably just a drop of rain...maybe. The break in composure is a brief fleeting moment trapped in eternity as the newfound companions stare at one another.

Yung ends the contest by once again reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out the familiar round framed glasses. He dons them and strides into the rain toward the jalopy. “So any news on dis box, how our Mouse holding up?”

[MattL]

With no immediate response from the group gathered outside, Yung steps out into the rain once more and janders back to the van; he heads around the side and opens the door. Grabbing a hold of the lapels of his greatcoat, Yung gives them a firm tug, shaking off most of the rain that accumulated while outside. He then ducks into the van and quickly closes the door behind him.

“So then, what we got? Hopefully some good data to move on, you crack dat ting yet Mouse?”

[Drew Buddy]

Axel pops up out of VR like a cork, "Чтоб ты провалися!" he exclaims. He blinks a few times, before looking up at Yung with sunken eyes.

"Oh she cracked it, Akela," he says, hooking a thumb over at Mouse. "And she's not joking. If ever there was a time to bail out, it's now." He yanks the fiber optic cable like it's an IV line full of poison, before quickly changing tack and carefully spooling it up.

He scrubs through the footage again, this time in AR only, grabs a couple of still frames, and forwards them to the team's commlinks. "First image is of our clown friend, second is their bike. I don't know where to start looking, but there's no way someone with a style that distinct can move through the city without being noticed."

[MattL]

Yung scrutinizes the makeup.

(( Roll Knowledge: Gangs or Street Gangs, Seattle ))

[Molly]

She should be used to this by now: being hit with some gut-wrenching garbage after digging through the wrong sides of the matrix. Shock images were a favorite prank of skiddies- alien-looking medical stills and ‘leaked’ scenes of ultraviolence. She’d grown numb to a lot of it: decontextualized bodily fluids and anatomical oddities, all interchangeable, lazily dropped on an unsuspecting audience for a cheap laugh.

But this… This was something different. Maybe it was the immersion, the immediate application to her job. Maybe it was the way that, when the net came down, she wasn’t just watching some Lone Star officer get comically owned. She was watching the beating of an effectively helpless man, barely able to stand with his dumpshock tremors. Maybe she saw- is still seeing flashes of what could easily be herself: a limp body to be dragged. A pile of meat.

Mouse slumps down against the van wall, breath heavy, images from the scene flickering through her mind in chronological order, even with the scene fully over. She already knows she won’t be sleeping tonight- not after that. If anything, she’ll be right back in the file, this time pausing, dissecting it, tagging anything that stands out as wrong… besides the obvious.

“IT’S NOT JUST THAT. THIS DIDN'T SEEM LIKE SOME OPPORTUNISTIC GRAB. MORE LIKE AN AMBUSH.” Her eyes drift shut as she speaks, as though replaying the scene again and again. She lifts a hand, wearly curling her thumb toward her palm, counting off. “FOR ONE THING, IT LOOKED LIKE THE HIT HAPPENED WELL OUT OF BELLEVUE. WE CAN CHECK THAT SEPARATELY ON THE TRAVEL DATA.” She curls another finger inward, touching her thumb. “WHICH MEANS, TWO: PREACHER’S DATA WAS OFF. SOMEWHERE BETWEEN HIS CONTACT AND US, SOMEONE FED US BAD INFO- INTENTIONALLY OR OTHERWISE.”

A third finger: “THE CRUISER HIT SOME KIND OF EXPLOSIVE? OR WAS HIT BY ONE. WHATEVER IT WAS FRAGGED UP BOTH THE AUDIO AND THE TIRES ON THE CAR.” Only now do her eyes drift open, though she’s still staring forward into space, “IT’S ONLY AFTER THE BLAST THAT PAGLIACCI ROLLS UP FROM BEHIND. EITHER HE TOSSED SOMETHING FROM HIS BIKE, OR HE WAS WAITING FOR THE CAR TO HIT SOMETHING UP FRONT.” Axel’s screengrabs speak for themselves as far as the attacker is concerned: the twisted structure of the bike, the clown with the Glasgow grin, like some old Akira scene warped into a fever dream.

“IF ANYONE ELSE NEEDS TO SEE THE ORIGINAL, I’VE GOT THE GEAR TO REPLAY IT FOR YOU. MAYBE SOME OF YOU COMBAT-SAVVY, AT-RISK CHUMMERS MIGHT BE ABLE TO PICK OUT SOMETHING I CAN’T.” It’s only now that she really scans the faces of the crew nearby, Reiya not far from her body, Akela undoubtedly curious about their payday. “JUST KNOW IT’S THE KIND OF DREK YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO UNSEE AFTER.”

[GM Nick]

Yung - Knowledge Skill Check

Street Gangs Knowledge + INT
1, 6, 6, 2, 5
3 hits on 5 dice

Yung immediately recognizes the affiliation of the horrifying personage featured in the black box's recording as a member of the Smile gang; without a doubt the most sadistic gang in the Barrens. He remembers hearing the initiation procedure for a Smile is to kill someone with their bare hands, after which they give themselves the trademark smile mutilation. But it doesn't end there. Every Smile allegedly has a chemical reactor implanted that gives them a steady dose of what they call Rapture. The exact contents are unknown, but it's said to contain phenylcyclohexyl and half a dozen hallucinogens, among other things. Their numbers are few as they are universally hated, even by other gangs. In lieu of that fact, they generally stick to their own turf and only venture out to the 202 corridor to raid. Yung recalls a rumor that they made their base in an old abandoned amusement park called Bongoland.

Although all of this information comes second-hand, he's heard these stories from enough gangers to know there is substantial accuracy in them. He relates everything he knows to the others.

[Molly]

Each word Akela speaks translates into flowing text on Mouse’s digital scratchpad as she listens wordlessly. She’s clearly grateful for the infodump, but the details just make the payday seem impossible. One, lone murder-clown would have been a sociopath- an anomaly. Multiply that sociopath by x, all of whom could be armed to the teeth, when they don’t even need weapons to kill…

Her own words interrupt that grisly line of thought. “SO, FIRST WE CONFIRM THAT THEY STILL HAVE OUR GOODS. IF THEY DON’T HAVE STEADY BUSINESS PARTNERS TO OFFLOAD THEM, THE LOOT MUST BE STASHED SOMEWHERE.” Somewhere like Bongoland, because trespassing in an abandoned theme park would be the cherry on this drek-job sundae. Her attention returns to the rest of her team- who’d likely be standing between her own fragile self and some unhappy gangers, her gaze falling on Mick in particular. “YOU SAID YOU WERE GOOD FOR A FIGHT, NE? ‘CAUSE I DON’T SEE THIS JOB BEING THE CLEAN AND QUIET SORT.”

[GM Nick]

Axel jumps in his seat, startled as T-bone pipes a rousing rendition of Entry of the Gladiators through the van's sound system. The jovial circus theme sounds even more deranged played in half speed. The crackling of the cheap speakers gives the impression of an electronic snigger.

[Drew Buddy]

Electrical jolts travel down Axel's limbs at the sudden cacophony of brass explodes in the interior of the van. Unthinking, he darts forward into the cockpit, and starts ineffectually fumbling with the controls on the decrepit 8-track with feverish intensity. His administrations only serve to raise the volume, before he shouts in exasperation, "Goddammit, T-Bone, shut that drek off! I may not know how to kill you, but I swear to all the gods that if you don't shut this off, I'm leaving you up on blocks outside a Halloweener hangout!"

The sudden silence is deafening, broken only in Axel's ears by his own breathing.

He lets out a breath. "Mouse is right. If one of them could pull this off, I don't like to think what going up against a lot of them will be like. I can bring some backup to the mix," he says, gesturing vaguely toward the pair of roto-drones with their diminutive machine pistols, and the Doberman with its assault rife, "because I don't see this going down quietly."

[MattL]

After relaying the information to his newfound companions, Yung puts his hand on his head and begins to rub his forehead as if contemplating the next move in a game of chess where any choice ultimately leads to checkmate. “Drek meng, well I guess we know why the Padre was so quick to accept my counter proposal eh? Sorry I didn’t ask for more amigos.”

“Look, anyone wanna back outta this fragfest, null sweat omae. This job ain’t gonna be pretty.”

“Hey Mouse, you find anything in dat data about the guns? They in some kinda crate with any identifiable markings? Once we get an idea of what Bongoland look like, we figure out the most likely place to find em, even then we gotta know what to scan for.”

“I got a map system sub back at mi casa. I don’t usually invite people over that I just met, but if it the difference between livin and gettin fragged, I take the risk.”

Yung takes a moment to appraise the reactions of each member of the crew.

[ReiyaEmm]

Reiya stands up and listens intently to the others describing their target, taking a quick look at the image. It doesn’t frighten her, but the heightened tension rolling off those who know more tells her more than anything else. When Akela offers them the chance to back out, she shrugs and responds immediately. “I didn’t come into this expecting it to be pretty.”

The shaman meets Akela’s eyes first, and then lets her gaze circle the room as she speaks. “If this is as bad as you three seem to think, we need as much intel as we can get. I’m no help there until we get close, but once we do, I can do some looking ahead. Clairvoyance, we call it.” She smiles faintly, glancing at Akela. “And if we go through a ton of drek to get the goods, maybe we can nudge the price of our services a little higher.”

[John]

Mick breaks their silent consideration. "Won't be the first time I've messed with the kinds of gangers that moms tell their crotch droppings about to make them eat their vegetables." Frowning, Mick turns to Mouse. "And I'm not afraid of it getting messy. But, I've never seen any of these drekbirds before, and I should probably see what they look like in action," Mick gestures to indicate they would like to see the recording, a devilish grin taking over their face, and continues, "Before I go in unarmed."

The ork lets the moment hang in the air as they consider the plan unfolding in the belly of the vantichrist, Mick suggests, "Sounds like we need to learn as much as we can. I'm no good at rooting around through zeroes and ones with a plug in my head, but I've been known to dabble in not only breaking, but also entering from time to time." Not sure if the point was made, they conclude, "I might be able to sneak around and take a peek without having to make any new friends."

[Molly]

There it is again: the invitation to leave, temptation hanging in the air, an excuse for the taking. Indeed, her continued participation in this seems increasingly absurd. She played their little game, cracked their little code, and pushed the team one step in the right direction. But the cyber-landscapes that make up abandoned spaces: decrepit theme parks or any given spot in the barrens, tend to be digital deserts. It begs the question: when drek hits the fan and bullets start flying, what good will she be? She can’t hack a crowbar.

First things first, there’s the matter of what she can help with- the intel. With a flick of her fingers, she transfers the black box’s contents onto her own deck, re-encrypting them for her own team as a matter of habit. As she unplugs her own cord from the box- its utility now exhausted, she first addresses Akela. “DOUBT IT. FROM MY SCAN, THE BLACK BOX DATA HERE IS SPECIFIC TO THE VEHICLE, PROBABLY NOT THE DETAILS OF THE OPERATION OR CARGO.” At least, that’s what would make sense to her anyway, though it does remind her that she still has the diagnostic and trip data to review. “THE PEOPLE WITH THAT DATA WOULD BE EITHER LONE STAR, MAYBE PREACHER, OR OUR SMILEY NEW CHUMMERS.”

She nods to Reiya, however- the concept of gleaning info from ‘clairvoyance’, while completely and utterly foreign to her, still sounding promising nonetheless. Really, she’d take any info that didn’t mean risking her (or her team) out in meat-space. “REIYA’S RIGHT. EVEN IF WE HAVE TO SHOOT OUR WAY IN AND OUT OF THIS PLACE, WE CAN STILL BE SMART ABOUT IT.”

Which brings her, with some hesitancy, back to Akela’s offer. “OF COURSE. I COMPLETELY BELIEVE THAT THE GUY OUT BUYING STRANGERS DRINKS WOULD NEVER BE SO BOLD AS TO INVITE THEM OVER FOR A NIGHT.” For the first time since leaving the VR stream, her lips curl slightly at the thought. “BUT IT’S PROBABLY PAST OJI-SAN’S BEDTIME, AND WE COULD STAND TO HAVE A MORE COMFORTABLE BASE WHERE WE COULD PLAN THIS THING. YOUR CALL.”

With that, and Mick’s intriguing suggestion, Mouse pauses to rummage through her pack, eventually withdrawing a black band of stretchy polyester that probably hasn’t seen use in its lifetime. “EYES ON THE GROUND WOULD BE USEFUL, YES.” She fiddles absent-mindedly with the fabric until she spots a port, and connects the trode-band to the cable in her own deck. “ACTUALLY, BETWEEN YOU, GRAMPS AND THE BIG GUY, I CAN’T HELP BUT WONDER IF YOU COULD QUIETLY PROCURE ONE OF THE SMILES FOR US. NOT SURE HOW TALKATIVE THEY’D BE WITH THE DRUGS AND ALL, BUT MAYBE THEY’D SPILL SOMETHING IF YOU PUT SOME DENTS IN THEIR CRANIUM.” With that curious thought lingering, she gives the headband a gentle toss toward Mick, the directions for use (i.e. put on head) straightforward enough to forgo explanation.

[MattL]

With Mick joining the ranks of members who have reviewed the footage, Yung decides to go on the ride as well. He takes a seat and produces a black ballistic mask styled after a wolfs head with red accents under the eyes, each ear bears a character written in Japanese 狼 on the right ear and 狩 on the left ear. He places it over his face and waits for Mick to finish.

"I got trodes in dis thing whenever he's done, let's see what we dealing with eh?"

[Stephen]

Taipan is surprised to find himself nodding in Mick's direction. "Always best to know your adversary." From the scene at the bar, he'd half expected the orc to slam down another bottle of tequila and start cracking heads without a second thought. Taipan learns, for the thousandth time, that appearances are indeed clouded reflections of reality.

Nodding his thanks to Mouse, Taipan settles his back against the wall of the Vantichrist as he sinks into VR to review the footage Mouse was able to procure from the black box, and scanning over the trip data.

[Drew Buddy]

As the strangers inhabiting his van continue to take turns learning new nightmares from the VR recording, Axel's attention returns to the two icons in his AR feed.

This is more my speed, he thinks.

He grabs the file with the very familiar vehicle diagnostic icon, and blows it up until it fills his entire vision. He holds his right hand out in front of him in a fist with his thumb laying over the top. He flips his thumb up in a gesture reminiscent of flipping the cap off a bottle, even though his implanted hardware makes such physical analogies irrelevant. It's the small touches that matter. The file pops open, and he dives into the raw data.

[GM Nick]

Taipan - Knowledge Skill Check

Small Unit Tactics + LOG + 1
6, 4, 5, 2, 1, 5, 2
3 hits on 7 dice

Taipan watches the caper play out through the nausea-inducing, multiple sensor recording. He notes the location of the motorcycle, the short duration of time between crash and approach, the hand signal given by the assailant, and the lack of wasted movement. From his extensive experience working in a team of security professionals, he deduces that the ambush was indeed planned and that the Smiles are capable of (at the very least) working together to accomplish a common goal. The Smiles clearly lack the discipline and body language of trained professionals, but it's clear that they've done this before if not something like it.

The trip data file is a topographical rendering of the greater Seattle sprawl. It contains two distinctly different routes: one zig-zags through Bellevue before curving south to Renton, while the other jogs up into the Barrens and ends there. Both routes begin the same, but branch away from each other just before reaching the 405 mega-expressway. Taipan infers that the former was the programmed route and the latter was the route the driver took.

-

Yung - Perception Check

Perception + INT + 1
6, 1, 5, 4, 2, 5, 6
4 hits on 7 dice

Yung - English Skill Check

English + INT
1, 3, 5, 4, 4
1 hit on 5 dice

Yung chews on his lip as he watches and re-watches the segment of the recording depicting the disabling of the vehicle. Through keen observation, he manages to spot a blurred dark spot on the road in a single frame. He recognizes it as a mine but it's impossible to tell what kind.

Even after playing back the frames featuring the Smile, Yung is unable to confidently determine what is being said.

-

Axel - Automotive Mechanic Check

Automotive Mechanic + LOG
2, 5, 2, 4, 3, 3, 3, 6
2 hits on 8 dice

Axel squints at the data, translating diagnostic codes and making calculations. The first thing he notes is that the auto-pilot program was disabled, prior to departure. He determines the vehicle's gross weight remains consistent for a majority of the trip, before taking a loss of one hundred kilograms. Near the end of the file is a long list of warnings that he attributes to a multitude of sensors failing-- likely in the explosion. The driver's vitals are consistent until a massive jump in blood pressure and pulse rate, shortly after which the vitals sensor reads as disconnected.

[Drew Buddy]

Axel's voice seems to come from far away as he summarizes his findings. His attention so wrapped in the data he's viewing that he's almost forgotten about the others in the Van.

"Well, they were definitely doing things they shouldn't be doing. Autopilot was off the whole ride. Not even a check to see if they were going the right way. They were operating way out of their usual envelope."

He scrolls through more data.

"No dropoffs along the way, at least none I can see from the sensor data. Looks like they pulled the driver out, then went back for about 30 kilograms of other stuff in the vehicle. Who wants to guess those are our guns?"

[MattL]

Yung removes his mask, a look of disappointment drifts across his face. “So, sounds like da driver was in on it eh? That’s why clownface didn’t kill him outright, that’s why the Padre’s crew never got a chance at the goods, cuz it never went their way, he changed the route. It was an inside job but they tryin to throw off the Stars.”

“Oye, any of you native speakers got any idea what dis bozo is sayin to his crew?” Yung asks without waiting for a response.

“I can tell you one thing, and T-bone you betta be listening, anyone going near Bongoland keep an eye out for IEDs.”

Yung stops talking momentarily, he closes his eyes for a few seconds before opening them once again with an epiphanic expression. “Ey, there any info on the driver? Anyone see a name or anything in da data? Maybe our Mouse can track him down if these Sonrisas actually let him live. It’s a longshot, but maybe we catch him and get some info on los payasos, sorry...the clowns.”

[Molly]

After the fourth go-round, the beats of the scene have become familiar: Boom > Bike > Roll > Clown > Crowbar > Splat. The shock has numbed with grim familiarity, though the decker still tries to distract herself, snagging still images, labeling timestamps and highlighting features, anything to keep her mind off the crowbar. As she emerges for the fourth time, there’s a visible weariness in her resurfacing, so when Akela seems to light up with ideas, her immediate interest is obvious in its contrast. “YOU THINK THEY KEPT THE DRIVER ALIVE?” As sick of the scene as she is, THAT of all things might warrant another watch. She lets this possibility and its consequences fully process, thinking out loud as she does: “IF THE DRIVER AND THE SMILES WERE TOMOS, THAT MEANS THE COP KNOWINGLY DROVE INTO A MINE WHILE JUMPED-IN TO HIS VEHICLE, RISKING BOTH HIS HOOP AND HIS GRAY MATTER.” She pauses there- the visible stagger from the dumpshock etched into her amygdala, “FOR WHAT? TO MAKE THE AMBUSH LOOK REAL?” Of course, as unlikely as it seemed, it’s still probably not the worst idea that could come from a team of drugged up bozos and anyone who might ostensibly work with them…

She tries again: “MAYBE PREACHER’S CONTACT FRAGGED HIM OVER- TIPPED THE SMILES OFF TO THE HANDOFF, AND LIED TO PREACHER ABOUT THE CARGO’S LAST KNOWN WHEREABOUTS.” Though… how would that play with the data about the route change? Could there have been a third party? She shakes her head, catching herself in her overanalysis. Questioning the motivations of any party tangled up in a job like this is at best, an abyss of a rabbit hole, and not one that would necessarily help them with the task at hand.

At the mention of driver data, Mouse lets out a long sigh- yet one more data point in the pile of unknowns. “NOTHING ON THE DRIVER YET. I CAN TRACE DEVICES IF I CAN FIND THEM ON THE MATRIX- ASSUMING THEY’RE EVEN TURNED ON, BUT THAT’S A LONGSHOT WHEN WE DON’T EVEN KNOW THE GUY'S COMMCODE.” She swallows- mind turning back to her original grisly plan. “I STILL SUSPECT THE MOST DIRECT ROUTE TO THE DATA WE NEED WOULD BE THROUGH THE SMILES THEMSELVES.” This warrants a grimace. “IT’S A BIG GAMBLE, BUT IF WE CHECK OUT BONGOLAND, I COULD SNOOP ON ANY COMMS CHATTER THERE.” ...or her collective team could just try and snatch some ganger off the streets and beat the snot out of them until they talked: a brute force tactic, but one perfectly befitting a gang of brutes.

[ReiyaEmm]

The shaman pulls up a map on her commlink while continuing to listen to her new comrades spout potential plans. Bellevue, Renton, Bongoland. She switches to a topographical view, as the terrain matters far more if she travels there in wolf-form, which she may, especially if this fraggin’ van falls apart. Or, if she goes wolf to do some snooping of her own. Now there's an idea...

Reiya is more of a loner than a leader, but she gathers it’s time to make a decision about their immediate plan, if nothing else. She crosses her arms in front of her and addresses the whole team. “Look, we can go to this Bongoland and do some fact-finding, we can camp out here, or we can go to Akela’s for his map system, and maybe his superior floor,” she muses, eyeing the carpet of the Vantichrist with distaste. “And make a plan after grabbing some more intel and shut-eye. But it’s late. We don’t have many hours of darkness left, so we need to decide our next move now.”

[John]

Mick considers, pitching in their two nuyen, "I say we go give it a look tonight. The cargo is hot, so they probably won't want to sit on it for long."

[MattL]

"If everyone feel ready for this drek, let's at least give it a look. Anyone see a good place on da map we can park this beast without drawing too much attention?" Yung says, giving T-bone a tap on the roof with his fist.

Yung searches through Seattle maps, looking for a location tagged Bongoland.

[GM Nick]

Most of the modern maps of the sprawl have no mention of Bongoland. Yung perseveres, systematically checking older and older maps until he finds one from 2043. He finds a point labeled Bongoland nestled among landfills in a district of the Barrens knows as the Heaps. The area is mostly legacy Industrial zone, presumably used as a garbage can for the decaying waste of Redmond. The closest structure to Bongoland seems to be PolyWorks Chemical Processing-- though, it too disappears among later revisions of sprawl maps. Also abandoned, Yung guesses.

[Molly]

"COUNTERPOINT:" Mouse chimes in, admittedly thrown by the pace with which this plan is progressing. "IF THESE GUYS ARE KNOWN TO USE IEDS, ANY TRAPS WILL BE EASIER TO SPOT IN DAYLIGHT." Also, darkness makes the prospect of killer clowns that much scarier, but that goes without saying.

[MattL]

“Aye, our Mouse not just good with the data, she a good tactician too eh? You right girl, we shouldn’t get too close on da road. You hear that T-bone?” Yung points to the abandoned chemical processing facility. “But what about dis? Maybe we can park el cacharro a little ways off and we approach on foot? I wouldn’t think they put any IEDs so far out, more likely just around Bongoland.”

“I hear ya Mouse, but I do think we got a short time frame to pull this job, and la noche provide us a good window to get a little intel without fully exposin ourselves. But this a group decision so everyone need to weigh in eh?” Yung says, looking around the van to the rest of the crew.

[John]

"Hey," Mick begins, just starting to realize that working with this group might afford them access to materials and tactics heretofore inaccessible to the street brawling ork, "Maybe we can find some kind of blueprint of this Bongoland on the net? Is that possible? Would love to know the lay of the land before I go askin' to join the drum circle."

[Molly]

The suggestion merits a quick nod of agreement."I'LL TAKE A LOOK. BLUEPRINTS WOULD BE IDEAL, BUT EVEN A VISITOR'S MAP WOULD GIVE CONTEXT TO THE IMAGERY WE HAVE." After all, satellite images off a mapsoft tend to show where buildings are, but not what they used to be."THAT SAID, WE MIGHT STILL BE S.O.L. IF BONGOLAND SHUT DOWN BEFORE-" There's a rare stutter in the text to speech transcription: a blink-and-you'll-miss-it recalculation, as though the decker had hit some real time word filter. "MORE THAN FIVE YEARS AGO. STILL WORTH A SHOT." She presses forward as though nothing had happened, already busying herself opening new windows in her HUD, almost grateful to have a new task to distract herself.

(( Matrix search for info on Bongoland itself, please? ))