Run #1 - Big Top Blitz

[MattL]

The winter weather wanes wistfully, wanting, waiting for a new dawn; the elusive ethereal moment when all of yesterday's trials and tribulations are left behind and the promise of something new stands on the precipice. But for the man lingering, crouching silently in the mud, the moment will never come. He is in a quagmire, physically and emotionally, caught in a seemingly sempiternal struggle skulking beneath a stoic surface.

I don’t have time to wait. Sunrise soon and most of these chummers will want to rest, talk about the best plan of attack, discuss, deliberate...I don’t have time.

< We have three at the plant, Reiya an me on the perimeter. You want us to move in when you got eyes on da package? > Yung asks rhetorically, < We ready. >

“You ready Reiya? Taipan say they haven’t found nada yet, but we bout to move toward the mainstage, it showtime, yeah.”

< Axel, Mouse, big man, you ready eh? Maybe figure an approach in T-bone. Keep things running as quiet as possible. Taipan give the go when it time. >

[Drew Buddy]

Axel's existential crisis is cut by the sudden exchange between Mouse and T-Bone. It's not enough to completely raise him from his funk, but it's enough to raise him from his ass.

"You hear that, 'Bone? You're not the biggest disaffected malcontent on this trash heap," he says, nodding toward Mouse, "Let's keep this one."

His moment of levity is cut by Yung's comm chatter, and he finds himself standing, even his short frame requiring him to hunch over in the cramped confines of the van. "Well, finally, something useful!" He says with renewed energy. He unlocks the rear doors, and throws them open to the driving rain and general malaise of this forsaken corner of the megaplex. "Sounds like they may be close to go-time, and they might need a quick ride out." He steps into the rain, and turns around, eyeing the van as if seeing it for the first time. He begins to gesticulate and point as he speaks.

"Okay, this thing is pretty easy to spot..." He looks around at the piles of detritus stacked high on all sides. "If we can cover that godsdammed painting on the side, that'd be a good start." He cranes his neck as if it will help him see above the roof line. "And it's not armed, but maybe we can work with that, seeing as we have to keep the drones close anyway." He steps toward the van, leans in, grabs the doberman drone, and hauls it toward the open doors. He steps back and looks at the result like an artist appraising his own work. It's awful. But it might get the job done. With the doors open, the drone stands in the opening, assault rifle pointing out the back. "It's a start, anyway," he says, words coming almost too fast now.

<<Give us a couple minutes, and we can be ready for an extraction if things go sideways.>>

(( Looking for a sheet of... Anything, really. Canvas would be great, but a bunch of old newspapers would work, too. Anything that can be laid over the sides of the van to hide the mural. ))

[ReiyaEmm]

Reiya can almost feel Akela’s impatience, a subtle nervousness that comes from being caught in a waiting game and unable to wait. She suspects it may be more than a hatred of the waiting and an eagerness to get on with it, but cannot—and would not—pry further. We’ve all got our demons, she muses, and only some of them are spiritual forces. She almost prefers the real demons to the ones we ourselves create.

Overhearing Akela’s discussion over the comms and his brief question as to her state of readiness, Reiya wags her tail and whines softly, the carefully soft, plaintive yet playful sound of a pup (either lupine or canine) that’s ready for action. If she could speak, her response would be less endearing, but no less impatient: let’s fragging get on with it.

[John]

Mick snatches another look at the forlorn form hanging high above the amusement park, looking to all the world like a figurehead on the front of an old wooden sailing ship. "You keep a watch up there, buddy," they say quietly to the figure. "I hear there are bad guys around these parts." Mick gives the silhouette a playful wink, before dropping into a low lope behind Taipan, happy to let the corpo capo flush out anyone waiting in ambush.

[GM Nick]

Taipan - Perception Skill Check

Perception + INT + 1
2, 1, 5, 1, 4, 5, 6, 1, 2, 2
3 hits on 10 dice

Taipan cranes his neck, straining to listen. The flux of rain water pouring off the roof dominates his hearing. He closes his eyes, willing the hearing enhancement augmentation to filter out the distraction. The sound of splashing water dopplers as if he's moving away, until it's just a whisper. New sounds emerge from the eerie silence: weeds trembling in the wind, the creak of the old building settling, and there at the end-- the lethargic breathing of someone sleeping, followed by intermittent scrapes that could be tossing and turning.

Mick joins Taipan, crouching beneath the window adjacent to him. Mick can feel the steady thrum of their heart and imagines the blood in their body flowing in the wake of an enormous fin. They feel as if they're approaching the apogee of a roller coaster, anticipating the drop (and corresponding rush) that inevitably follows. Mick steadies themselves by squeezing fingers into a fist and releasing.

Back at the van, after scouring the area around the chemical plant, Axel finds a weather-beaten green tarp. He takes a corner in each hand and whips the scum off to the best of his ability. Holding it up to the van, he reasons it should suffice to cover the gaudy mural.

Ashamed of me, are you? says T-bone, actually managing to sound offended.

[Conway]

Thoryne spits out a wad of snuff and leans against the van, causing it to pitch precariously for a moment before settling back down. He squints up into the rain. His voice is a grumble on the comm channel, like a blender full of granite marbles.

<< I know we're trying to do this thing low-key, but I've got ample spare explosive. I could rig our intended escape route-- that way, we could blow it if any of those sick fraggers feel like giving chase. >>

[MattL]

< Oye, things gonna seize up soon here we don’t get movin eh? Axel, there only one approach makes sense that I see omae and you not gonna like it. There a moat full of bad shit most of the way round, so no good approach. But the one way to get access I see is dat bridge right below the entrance. I don’t think you wanna cross it, but maybe get T-bone somewhere nearby. >

Yung lets out a sigh, pausing momentarily to consider any better alternative. < I think Reiya and I gotta circle round east side, by the parking lot, check the remains of those buildings while you get ready to move. Dat could be a decent place for support. I’m gonna make a little white noise, keep those bebés dormido yeah? I try to drown that rusty slitch out on the approach, you let me know when you ready. >

Yung produces a white noise generator syncing it with his wireless to amplify the sound of the falling rain.

“Alright Reiya, we check round the east side, circle wide toward the buildings leading up to the entrance. That the only way we get da rest of the team close enough to help out.”

< You hear that kage? You betta say something if you want us to wait on you, otherwise we move to support the others approach. Big man, this go down the way it shapin up, best way to cover our escape if Mick and Taipan grab the package, take out dat bridge. Dios mio meng, we somehow avoid the clown brigade on the approach, wire dat drek up so they can’t follow. >

“We move in a hot minute unless I hear objection, you keep those eyes peeled for more traps when we move, if there one area they're gonna focus, it’s the main entrance.”

< Dat go for you too Axel, this a dangerous way to come at this place, but I see no other option. If you or Mouse got any tricks in that deck, now’s the time. >

[Molly]

The mention of movement of any kind is enough to draw the decker’s attention. She shoves herself off the bench, as though drawing from Axel’s contagious energy. As she approaches the door, she hesitates, as though stalled by some deeply embedded, reptilian-brain instinct not to leave a perfectly comfy spot. Instead, she uses that lingering moment peering out into the darkness, formulating a rough, if overly optimistic plan. <<Once Team T-Bone gets closer, the latency shouldn’t be such complete drek. If they use any kind of wireless whatsoever, that’ll be my best shot at finding it.>>

She places a hand on the side of the Vantichrist, as much to brace herself as to tether, as she properly surveys her surroundings for the first time. <<We know these drekheads coordinate somehow. If it’s with comms, I’ll sit on them, which will give us some heads up for their movements.>> Even with her messages being strictly comms-based, she finds herself gritting her teeth at the sheer implausibility of this happening. The kind of cheap comms available to piss-poor wasteland denizens can’t even handle the local noise. Maybe the Smiles stole some better gear at some point, but that involves effort and half a brain, neither of which Mouse would bank on them having. Then again, they did manage the weapons, somehow.

She takes a deep breath and hops down, now stalling in the name of planning, even as Axel proceeds to do all the damn work. <<Of course, if they use old school drek like… idk, telegraph, flags, smoke signals, I’ll be SoL. Maybe Taipan can interpret for us.>> There it is again: that reflexive levity, wasting valuable characters in the name of some teammate-deprecating humor.

She finds herself leaning against the Van’s rain-slick metal, simply nodding in appreciation as Axel returns with the tarp, and finishing that train of thought. <<If that’s the case, I’ll be here if you need moral support. Or something remotely detonated. They tend to go together.>> It’s a long shot for sure, but as she’s sure her new Troll chummer can appreciate, it does make for a good mental image.

[GM Nick]

Axel finishes smoothing the tarp against T-bone's sheet metal side. It's not pretty, but it covers nearly all of the mural. An AR notification nags his attention. The fly-spy's motion detector has picked up something.

[Drew Buddy]

Axel takes a step back to admire his handiwork. It's ugly as hell, but that's still an improvement.

"Hey, T-Bone, you see? No one is beyond help," he quips to the van.

Gimme a pair of arms, and I'll wrap you in this sheet, and dump your body in the narrows. How's that for help? the van replies.

Axel's retort is cut short by the winking icon on his feed. "All right, chummers, game time," he says, grabbing the icon, and blowing it up in his vision. "Hang on just a sec..."

[Stephen]

Taipan pauses at the sound of restful breathing. He and Mick have been inside Bongoland for hardly fifteen minutes and it's unlikely he'll sleep soundly for the next week, and yet someone manages it here in this particularly macabre blight upon the Barrens. Guess you can get used to anything -- if you've got enough drugs. He glances at Mick and presses a finger to his lips. 'One, sleeping,' he signs with a raised finger and then a palm pressed to his face.

Hearing no sounds other than slumber, Taipan's cranes his head around the corner to peer in the doorway, scanning the shop for any sign of the cargo before moving to check the other. <<Got one sleeping here.>> He glances back at Mick meaningfully. <<We could ask him some questions, but we've been over half this park already and our time is short. Let sleeping dogs lie, I say.>>

[GM Nick]

The interior of the gift shop is somebody's canvas. Graffiti covers nearly every inch of available wall and some ceiling; it's psychedelic stuff: fractals, patterns and pyramids in bright colors. The shelving has been torn down and left carelessly on the floor and manacles installed in its place. Empty food and drink cartons litter the floor. Half a dozen cots have been set up on the far wall and five are empty.

A Smile dressed in a heavily soiled Leprechaun costume is sprawled out, fast asleep. An UZI IV lies within reaching distance. His head is turned away, chin tucked to his chest. One combat booted foot dangles off the edge of the cot, twitching intermittently.

The fly-spy comes back online, transmitting a grainy thermographic image back to Axel. A figure has left the main building via a door adjacent to the main stage and it moving steadily towards the amphitheater.

The timestamp in the corner of Axel's vision flashes 4:16 am.

[Drew Buddy]

Axel swings open the driver's door, and hops in the driver's seat. The van lacks any kind of interface from this millennium, settling instead for an old steering wheel, laid out horizontally like a 20th century bus. He fires up the van, and waits for a moment for all of the little parts in the petroleum distillate engine to start moving and warm up. Compared to diving directly into the brain and skin of a drone, this little ritual feels downright Victorian. Like a particularly byzantine courtship ritual from another era, where the conversation beats around the bush, and strictly avoids getting to the point.

<<Eyes peeled, folks. I've got one>> He tries to think of a suitably impressive, military sounding-term before giving up. <<Uh, I count one... Bad guy moving from the stage to the amphitheater.>>

He throws the van in gear using the column shifter, and shouts to the back, "Strap in! Let's get over to that bridge. Maybe we'll get lucky."

[MattL]

Deciphering the comm chatter, Yung weighs every delicate piece of information, formulating the puzzle in his mind before laying the pieces. He draws a breath, steady, more deliberate and decisive than those that came before. Reiya-wolf can sense the precipice; she can hear his heartbeat rise above the rainfall. It’s time to jump. < Taipan, you take him now, make him give up the package or end it, do it quietly. Too many pawns in play. Things are gonna unravel from here. >

He turns to his wolf companion, vulnerable to her omniscient gaze. “Reiya, I’m going, covering T-bone's approach; I need to make sure it’s safe for the rest of the crew. They probably have a lookout in the front. I need to help them.” Yung bows his head slightly, releasing a palpable sigh that coalesces in the condensation.

“We have a new target coming out of the main building; he’s heading to the amphitheater. Circle away toward the furthest tripwire. You wait a hot second, then trigger that, hopefully drawing the two from the amphitheater and their new friend away while the crew approaches. If we’re lucky, we’ll give Axel and Thoryne time to set up a defensible position. You get back to us quickly okay? The pack fights together.” In perhaps an ill-advised move, Yung puts his hand on the wolf's head and runs his fingers between her ears. “Don’t get caught.”

< Alright, this is it. Axel, Thoryne, Mouse, I’m moving to cover your approach; I expect company. Reiya is moving southwest, gonna trigger a booby trap to draw them off of your approach. Mick, Taipan, you find the package and stay quiet while we deal with these drekheads. >

Yung turns away from Reiya-wolf, and begins to move to the northwest, towards what remains of the buildings between the parking lot and the entrance to Bongoland.

We're fragged...

[Molly]

Mouse doesn’t fuck around when it comes to hopping back in, responding to the sudden back and forth of instruction with a clipped “OSU!” As soon as her hoop hits the seat, she’s back to rifling through her bag. “WE’RE GOING FROM ZERO TO SPICY REAL FAST. WE’LL SEE HOW WE FARE IN A ZERG RUSH.” Her fingers brush against her target: a solid gun case, and she takes a deep breath as she places it upon her lap. Both case and contents remain in pristine condition, practically untouched in the time that she’s had it, aside from the addition of a cheap label- the sticky kind printed out of some ancient machine, which declares in glossy black print: [YOU ARE GOING TO BE OKAY.] She can’t remember if she had intended that as genuine reassurance or vantablack humor.

She takes a deep breath, suddenly conscious of both the weight of the steel, and each bump from the van’s (lack of) shock absorption. She closes her eyes briefly, opting for one last moment of unwarranted optimism, and pings out one last time to the surrounding area- just to confirm if any electronics have come into range since the van left its last position. Her expectations are non-existent: you can’t ping what’s not there, but it makes for a more pleasant daydream than the cold reality that rests in her lap.

[ReiyaEmm]

Reiya feels a familiar mix of excitement, trepidation, and determination as planning moves to action. In human form she might have cast Akela a withering glare for ordering her around, but her temporary lupine form influences her thinking in subtle ways, and as a wolf, obeying the pack leader is second nature. That aside, she’s already developing an appreciation for Akela’s talent for coordination and quick thinking.

Rubbing her head into Akela’s brief caress, she gives him a brief grin, which seems to infinitesimally assuage the concern in his eyes. Then she heads back along the perimeter, hearing Akela head off in his chosen direction. The shaman walks past the first tripwire and approaches the second with some caution, scouting the terrain for ground where she could plausibly dig a hole. She digs a couple in order to disarm potential suspicion of a single hole that happens to be near the tripwire, and to give her team the hot seconds Akela requested.

Listening carefully for the distant sounds of Akela’s footsteps and the Vantichrist in motion, Reiya approaches the tripwire and prepares to trigger it.

(( Perception and stealth checks for the triggering, methinks? ))

[GM Nick]

A peculiar, thrilling sensation had been building under Yung's scalp while in Reiya's company. As he delegates and strategizes, Yung feels anxiety melt away. Something has happened. He feels the weight of responsibility for his new friends but it feels right. It's a moment of clarity. The presence of wolf-Reiya just confirms it in his mind.

Yung turns away and begins to jog through the weeds. The rain is coming harder now, but it doesn't bother him. The pack is on the move, he thinks. He moves along the outer perimeter of Bongoland's property, taking a wide arc to reach the entrance to the park.

An outline looms ahead: a squat cylinder building with a tile roof; the ticketing office. A long archway extends from one side, connecting half a dozen kiosks to a restroom on the other side. The buildings here are in a similar state of disrepair. Windows lie empty. Graffiti covers most surfaces. Yung even spots a few bullet holes as he crouches in front of the ticketing window. Risking a glance inside, he confirms that it's empty.

The Vantichrist jounces and rattles as Axel follows Yung on a parallel trajectory. A few unseen pot holes cause the van to careen, sending its passengers scrambling for purchase.

[Drew Buddy]

Axel holds the van steady as it delivers yet another punch to his tailbone through the seat.

No roads are better than bad roads, he thinks, letting the thought briefly distract him from the elephant in the room.

What the frag am I doing? There it is. The real issue at hand. Sure, Axel is no friend of the law, and not in the every day manner that most people are at odds with the law. He's run from the police. Hell, he's shot at the police before. Well, just the once. But this is different. This isn't a metal vehicle in pursuit down a freeway. If things go sideways, there might not be tires to shoot out to end the chase, and leave him with a clean conscience.

Nor is this one of his usual smuggling runs. Bliss to Redmond. Escapist BTLs to Auburn. Considerably darker BTLs to the shining towers of Bellevue. Everyone has a vice, and Axel is not above delivering them. He deals only with cargo, fancying himself as a strictly business-to-business operation.

And all it took was Carl giving you a message about a priest. Since when do I walk into a church, A CHURCH, and walk out having agreed to steal guns from what look like actual demons? The frag are you thinking, man?

His knuckles are white against the cracked steering wheel. Every hiccup, pop, and groan sounds like the last breath of the van, before leaving them all stranded, miles from help, and in the most literal hell Axel can imagine.

What are you doing?

[Stephen]

Taipan halts mid-stride, momentarily raising his face to the weeping sky, eyes closed, as the increasingly frenetic chatter filters in through his commlink. The people might be different and their words unique, but the energy in the noise between them presages something entirely too familiar since his time in the shadows began: a plan unraveling. "Kuso," he breathes tiredly.

He opens his eyes and begins to move just as he hears his name through the static, bristling at the instructions that follow. <<Negative. Sleeping dogs,>> he replies briskly. Killing a man in his sleep is out of the question, and the chances of having a brief yet productive conversation with a burned out, drugged up sadomasochist, whether at gunpoint or not, do not seem terribly favorable.

Taipan turns to Mick. "I would rather have to cover as little ground as possible once this anthill gets kicked. We should close on the main stage quickly to take full advantage of their... distraction." He advances toward the second vendor stall, hoping to find it clear.

[GM Nick]

Taipan prowls the short distance to the second gift shop and leans against the wall near the rear doorway. He takes a breath and then tilts his head past the opening, leading with his rifle.

The second gift shop is full of (mostly empty) liquor bottles, boxes of prescription drugs, and a variety of laboratory equipment. In one corner is a long table covered with beakers and containers. Across the room is a hospital bed bearing a blood-soaked mattress next to an IV rack. It stands to reason this is where the Smiles manufacture Rapture.

Beyond the second gift shop are the sloping walls of the convention center.

[John]

Mick struggles to keep pace with Taipan for the moment as they try to will back the presence swimming through the depths of their mind. The ork finds themself surprised to discover a hint of gratitude to be with the human. Even if he does read pretty corpo.

Mick makes eye contact with Taipan, gestures back in the direction of the sleeping ganger, and offers a thumb-up. Then, switching fluidly into another set of gestures, points from themself toward the rear of the convention center.

(( Can I get a perception roll for dangers on my approach to the convention center, as well as for a route inside through the back? ))

[MattL]

The heat of the moment, nothing is better, this is where Yung is most comfortable operating. No plan survives first contact with the enemy, but it’s always fun to try. At least there didn’t appear to be a lookout from the most obvious approach, slightly disconcerting, but nothing to be done about that now.

Yung’s more familiar and confident swagger of speech returns < Oye, Axel, looks like we got some clean cover at my position, the ticket booth. You wanna back that fat slitch up here? >

Reiya gonna hit that trigger any minute, maybe give us a little time to get set up.

< When Reiya pop dat drek off, that our chance, those two in the amphitheater and their new amigo maybe go to take a look. >

But maybe not…

Yung slinks into the shadows under the archway attempting to catch a glimpse of the most recent addition to the party through astral eyes, trying to gauge the distance to the entryway bridge.

< Big man, Thoryne, dis be a solid place to set a perimeter for Axel and Mouse to do their thing. You and me, we can make sure it stays that way and Reiya be around not long after she set off the trap. >

[ReiyaEmm]

After straining to hear her pack/crew get into position, Reiya regrets yet again her lack of telepathy, especially without Akela to relate communications to her verbally. Resigned to not being able to know the precise right time, she figures she’s given them enough lead and extends her paw. All right, boyos, she thinks to herself, hope you’re ready to dance. Quickly and firmly, she steps on the wire.

[Molly]

The last pothole is enough to send the very-literal lightweight airborne, albeit briefly. She instinctively clutches the case to her chest as she fights to catch herself, more concerned for the sudden clatter the case would make if dropped than its contents. Pain, bitten back, translates into a long hiss of unarticulated profanity. She reorients herself, and moving with a speed inspired by pain and uncertainty, withdraws the firearm and its magazine from its case. Safety on, she slides the mag into the grip, acutely aware of the heavily armed troll nearby, and the way her unpracticed hands hesitate and tremble with each step. <<I swear, if you guys let the clowns reach this van, I will use my last moments on this earth to publish your search histories.>> With each pulse of adrenaline, another snide remark, only this one’s laced with an implicit, desperate plea.

She takes another breath, forcing her attention away from the loaded weapon and to a new window in her visual space, this one showing her annotated mapsoft, now featuring a blinking red van adjacent to where the ticket booth is. [YOU ARE HERE.] She scans through her running processes, silently disabling all of the ones that she normally relies on to filter out irrelevant icons. In an information-desert like this, any sign of digital life has suddenly gained relevance. Accepting that the noise situation is as good as it’s ever going to be, she reaches out her virtual feelers, like tendrils grasping into darkness, to confirm her fears of what is, and isn’t, in range to her.

(( One last AR matrix perception, same settings as before, just to confirm what’s in visible range- friendly icons included. ))

[GM Nick]

Mick - Perception Skill Check

Shadowrun Dice Roller
Perception + INT
3, 5, 2, 4, 4, 5, 4, 6, 6, 2
4 hits on 10 dice

Mick stands about fifteen meters from the convention center. The building is a large half-circle and they are located near the rear, where the building curves. There are a number of empty window frames on the second story. A single stairwell begins in his line of sight and hugs the building, leading up and out of view.

Yung peers around the corner of a ticket kiosk, towards the bridge. He can't make out much using astral perception-- the landscape is an amorphous amalgamation of the lifeless surroundings in watercolor grays. The rain creates a sort of haze of static. Small bits of astral energy bob serenely in the near-distance-- remnants of a spell, perhaps.

Mouse observes her teammates PAN icons, although Mick and Taipan seem to be out of effective range. There's nothing more included in her query, though whether because of noise or a lack of wireless capability it isn't clear.

Reiya's ears twitch at the audible click as the pin is tugged free of the grenade.

[John]

Thoryne's massive body bounces uncomfortably as the van jounces and jolts over the impossibly uneven ground, forcing the oversized troll to bang his head on the low roof with a meat-meets-steel THUD and squeezing an annoyed grunt escapes from deep in his throat. Without thinking, he slams the fleshy bottom pad of his fist against the roof in flaccid retribution, The Vantichrist barking back at him YEAH!? YOU WANNA GO A FEW ROUNDS, DREKSTAIN!? Thornyne hardly notices the mechanical voice as it issues the rhetorical threat. Instead, the troll is performing his final weapons check with rapt attention. His magazines are topped up, his grenades secured, and his boots are laced. Confident that his tools are in order, the metahuman behemoth extracts a wad of soft, clay-like commercial explosives from his pack and begins wiring it with a radio detonator. His enormous mitts make short, beguilingly easy work of the small-scale task.

[John]

Halfway to the stairwell at the back of the convention center, Mick's brain catches up with the last of the comm chatter, half-heard through the psychic crush of the spirit swimming its way through the chummed waters of Mick's aggrieved nerves.

< Wait, are you fraggin' idiots really gonna set off– >

But it is too late.

[Drew Buddy]

In life, there are events that define the events around them. Moments that are so important, even in their simplicity, that one views the world as things happening before the event or after. Axel doesn't know this. Or rather, he does know this, at least in the most general sense of the idea, he just doesn't understand that his experience at this moment is one that will be colored irreparably by what follows. That this is one of those before moments. Hundreds of meters away, a fuse burns down in a flash-bang grenade, its short journey wending its way to the point that will undeniably draw the line that declares anything that follows to be after.

He follows the comm chatter with only half of his attention. The other half is split between scanning the rubble for movement, and settling his inner conflict about the only subject he typically has inner conflicts over: His gear. Or rather, how utterly useless his gear is in this place.

Let's see, one van that refuses a rigger interface, a bunch of drones that can't run autosofts in this place and can only be directly controlled, and T-Bone's pilot might be able to navigate the rest of the barrens, but The Glow...?

He lets out a breath between pursed lips, and turns his attention to Doug, the doberman drone positioned at the rear door. He runs through its systems, locking the treads in place, activating its stability system, and finally locking the turret's arc to prevent it from shooting the Cavalier Frontier anywhere but out the rear door. That last bit is a nod to his remaining distrust of this group of misfits.

He readies a transfer of control, complete with three marks. And holds them for now.

[GM Nick]

Reiya turns and dashes away from the trap she has just sprung. The wolf form grants her the expediency of a predator and she utilizes it at full gallop. By the time five seconds have elapsed, she's already at the spot where she had parted from Yung, not fifty meters from the park entrance.

The hollow crack of the flash-bang echoes across Bongoland, as much felt in the eardrums as heard. A blinding flash of light accompanies the sound, followed by a fireworks display of smaller explosions. In the aftermath of the disruption, the sound of the rain is eerily hushed.

Even Mick, crouching in the shadow of the gift shop, winces at the clamor.

[MattL]

Well, a little too late to voice objections chummos…

Yung’s interest is piqued by the astral curiosity in the distance, but his instincts keep him at bay in the shadows; until the maelstrom of reaction hits the peak. He appraises the former ticketing booth for potential cover and tactical positioning from the direction of the bridge; strategically adjusting his position like a predator waiting for his prey to make the misstep that leads to their demise. Positioning feels good, save for wherever Mick and Taipan are, but they’re experienced enough to take advantage of the situation. Yet something nags at the back of Yung’s mind. Momentary visions of the smile who hit the transport flash through his head.

< Yo Axel, dat Fly Spy got any hits on a bike like the one we saw in that black box footage? It gotta be round here somewhere, an likely some other beasties these clowns use for transport. You and Mouse locate those if they out here eh? Me and Thoryne watch your backs and keep an eye on how they react to Reiya’s hanabi. >

Yung switches back to the low light vision of his glasses, training his field of view on the entryway in anticipation of the reaction from the Smile gang residing on the other side of the bridge and those within the amphitheater.

[Stephen]

A low growl emits from behind Taipan's clenched teeth as the sharp pop of the flashbang cuts through the rain and a pang of hot frustration crests the cold surface of his composure. Taipan presses himself against the gift shop wall, willing himself to become one with the shadows as he cranes his neck toward the convention center. Just twenty more seconds and we could have been there. He forces himself to take a slow breath, forcing the emotion down and away; anger had its uses, but here, it was only a liability.

Taipan's gaze flicks over to Mick's, their eyes meeting for just a fraction of a second. He never would have picked this one out of a lineup to watch his back in a firefight, and realistically there was still a better chance than not that they'd stab him in it, but for now the cortisol flooding his brain puts those petty thoughts to rest. There would be time for that later.

Holding his breath, Taipan waits to see from where the ants will scurry. He scans the windows of the convention center for heat signatures, and listens intently for the Smile in the bunkroom he's nearly certain is no longer sleeping.

[Drew Buddy]

Axel's virtual ears perk up at the mention of the Fly-Spy. Eager to have a task to throw himself at, he expands the AR window until it fills his vision. Grabbing the virtual yokes, he pulls the tiny drone into a widening spiral, scanning the ground for signs of vehicles.

(( Perception check: Looking for vehicles that aren't completely stripped for parts and up on blocks. I figure the only intact vehicles in the Barrens will be ones that still have owners that use them. Bonus points if I can spot the actual bike from the video. Also generally keeping an eye out for heat signatures on the move. ))

[GM Nick]

Axel's AR display floods him with alerts. Three heat signatures are moving up out of the amphitheater in a south-easterly heading, presumably to investigate the tripped snare. A fourth figure appears in front of the convention center, emerging from a point next to the stage.

Both Taipan and Mick hear activity from the gift shop behind them: the sound of cot springs, the scrape of metal, irritated grumbling.

[Drew Buddy]

<<Three assholes moving southeast from the amphitheater. Akela and Reiya, make yourselves scarce. One more by the stage.>>

Axel scrutinizes the AR feed again.

<<Dammit, it's not here. No eyes on the bike. Or any other vehicles really.>> That last bit almost threatens to calm him down. Just a little.

[John]

Mick is overcome by the only experience that can overwrite rage: necessity.

The ork instantly stuffs the burning hot contempt roiling within them aside, and instead focuses on the sounds issuing from the gift shop. Hugging the wall, Mick takes as much tactical cover as they are able in preparation for whatever rats come scurrying out of the nest.