Run #1 - Big Top Blitz

[GM Nick]

Yung doesn't find anything of value in Junior's blood-spattered pockets, just a few empty inhalers and the smoldering remainder of a pack of Alpacas. He shoves the carcass into the gully with his boot and jogs off back to the van, grabbing a grenade bandolier from Two-yen's corpse in each hand on his way.

[Stephen]

Taipan's pulse quickens in surprise as his head snaps towards the rear of the van to find the wolf leaping inside. He breathes a sigh of relief as he tucks the tag eraser back into its pocket. Not sure I'll ever get used to that.

Mick's invitation to GTFO crackles over the comm, a reasonable and welcome suggestion indeed. <<Should've been away five minutes ago. Axel, let's fragging -->> Before he can finish the thought, he blinks to find a very naked human standing in the space the wolf occupied just a moment before. <<-- uh... I mean...>> Taipan's ivory skin adopts a rosy hue as he tears his gaze away from Reiya and looks at exactly nothing in the exact opposite direction, his left hand gesturing vaguely in the direction of where he thinks he'd seen a pile of discarded clothes.

Just at that moment, Axel's voice filters in over the voice channel, and Taipan sighs at the words. He hastily kicks the packages to the side of the van and secures the points of a nylon cargo web over them. It wouldn't do to have them careening around the back of the van during a frenzied escape from the Barrens -- a scenario which seems increasingly likely by the second.

Cargo secured, Taipan pulls out a jump seat near the rear doors and plants himself in it, executing a most unnecessary exercise of pulling the clip from the FN HAR, checking the nesting of the rounds, slapping it back into the body, and pulling the slide few centimeters back to confirm the chamber is hot. Of course, the smartlink has been painting all the data he's just gathered in his AR feed the whole time, but no tech can supplant the mechanical sense of accomplishment afforded by the ritual.

He glances up to catch Axel trotting back toward the van. "Recon aside, I think this is where you earn your cut... omae."

[MattL]

A sudden wave of lethargy washes over Yung. At twenty two years old an all nighter isn’t much of an issue, but two in a row is starting to take a toll. His feet drag slightly as he jogs back toward T-bone, perhaps his subconscious tricking the body in an attempt to relax for a moment.

The crackling comm chatter momentarily wakes Yung from his delirium.

Frag!

< Get that beast moving, we can hop in on the way out, just keep the door open. >

Maybe there will be time to sleep soon, unlikely though. At this point it’s simply the body and mind going through a series of routine procedures with one goal in mind.

You're gonna make it.

(( DM Jarvis Mora )) <Doc, hope you got a source on that bed. Slot and run omae, at this rate I might need it soon. I got the nuyen, so get that drek delivered...please. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.>

[GM Nick]

The Vantichrist lurches forward, gaining distance from the main stage. Axel hunches over the steering wheel, equal parts enthusiastic and anxious. So far the assault on Bongoland had gone smoothly, but things have a habit of going to shit in the Barrens. The van's transmission chatters reproachfully as Axel works the antique shifter.

Mick follows close behind, easily traversing the terrain on the Spartan's off-road tires.

The fly-spy, having received Axel's recall command, comes zipping through the open driver's window and settles on his shoulder. It flicks its wing, spattering rain water on Axel's cheek.

Yung and Thoryne are waiting at the bridge. The van slows just enough to afford them time to jump aboard. As Thoryne clambers in, the whole chassis shifts perilously to one side before settling as the troll slumps into a jump seat. Yung slings two bandoliers full of grenades over his shoulder and settles into the cargo net.

The van bounces over the bridge, fortunately finding suitable purchase on the slightly drier cobblestones. The suspension compresses and shudders as Axel drives straight over Two-yen's corpse. Mick slaloms easily around the pile of gore that was once a Smile.

A pinkish hue is collecting in the upper reaches of the gauzy horizon. Dawn is nearly upon them. Now free of the treacherous terrain, Axel lays on the gas and the vehicle picks up speed. It's as the convoy is passing the Southern tip of the admissions area that they spot the two motorcycles, weaving in from the parking lot: two sleek Suzuki-Mazda Dragon sport bikes sporting Smile riders. The bikers are coming in parallel to the ticket booths, seemingly dead set on interception.

[Molly]

In Mouse’s defense, she was distracted.

The existence of two remaining Suzuki-Mazda icons had, at one point, been fully on her mind as an unresolved threat. It’s almost as though the immediacy of her anxiety had been overwritten by the first temptation that had been dropped in front of her.

(Or more accurately, two of them.)

The distant sound of revving engines, however, is enough to drop her fully back into unhappy reality: the one in which she’s in a cheap van in the middle of the barrens, stealing expensive goods from a gang of drug fueled murder clowns. She swallows hard, trying to read the faces of her teammates, before recognizing the more important priorities, like evaluating just how deeply fragged they are. “SO… DO WE THINK THESE DREK-HEADS LEARN FROM THEIR MISTAKES? BETTING POOL STARTS NOW.”

She hits the bench almost violently, body twisting with the movement as though she'd been KOed from a punch to the face. Still, there's not exactly time to worry about her meat-flesh right now: she has icons to spot.

Most likely, these clowns have figured out what hit them before, in which case nothing Mouse can do now will make a difference. Still, given their willingness to charge the team that's brutally slaughtered their comrades, there remains a distinct possibility that maybe these clowns aren't the sharpest shivs under the mattress. If that's the case, the following milliseconds are going to be precious, and she's not about to waste another one of them blathering.

(( So, the big question now: do we have icons still, or have they learned their very important lesson about Wireless bonuses? Matrix perception to find out. :P ))

Deck Loadout

(( Overclocker: Data Processing
Attack: 4
Data Processing: 6/4
Sleaze: 5/4
Firewall: 3/2
Programs: Baby Monitor, Bootstrap, Encryption, Fly on a Wall, Fork, Signal-Scrub, Stealth, Toolbox, Wrapper ))

[GM Nick]

Mouse returns to the now familiar static cesspool of the Barrens local grid. It's like easing herself into a bathtub full of nightcrawlers, which is to say unpleasant. Her persona casts about for any sign of activity but the void is bare. Her suspicions confirmed: the Smiles likely engaged manual operation on their vehicles, thereby bypassing the wireless transmitters. It's a small comfort that they'll be forced to pilot manually; meatspace riding is fundamentally slower than being jumped in.

[Drew Buddy]

Once the van reaches a rare (and short) patch of clear ground, Axel spares a moment for his AR icons. Doug, the doberman still reports ready and scanning autonomously for targets, and Wind, the roto-drone still registers the temporary credentials he gave to Mouse. It's the best he can do, driving this old horse and buggy manually. It'll have to be enough.

"The 202 should still have some intact asphalt left, but it's going to be a bumpy ride getting there." He speaks the words aloud, but leaves the comm channel open for Mick. "Hang on, and holler if you see headlights!" He cranks the wheel over several times to get the old van to dodge a burned out wreck of undiscernible make and vintage, before the wheels find what purchase they can on the broken terrain.

[MattL]

“Ssi-Bal-Nyeon!”

A resurgence of adrenaline courses through Yung’s body, like the sudden sensation of falling while drifting off to sleep. He springs up from the cargo net, appraising the rest of the crew.

Bunch of fish in a barrel, and that’s being generous.

“I got a thousand nuyen these go-go-go don’t learn drek.” He responds, looking down at Mouse’s unmoving body. “Oh.” he pauses for a moment before continuing, “don’t suppose you got any bullet proofing on this beast, eh Axel?”

Yung peers out of the closest window in an attempt to locate the intrepid interceptors.

< Anybody got eyes on their approach? >

[GM Nick]

As the Vantichrist pulls away from the park's entrance, the twin Suzuki-Mazdas begin to close in. Looking out the rear window, Yung can make out the glinting of exposed chrome in the pre-dawn glimmer. At their current speed, he guesses their pursuers will be upon them by the time they pass the chemical plant.

Mick glances over his shoulder at the two Smile bikers. They appear to be armed, but the ubiquitous Barrens haze makes it difficult to tell with what exactly.

[Conway]

Thoryne straps in and relaxes into the jump seat, visually checking over his teammates as he works the buckles tight. Despite a conspicuous amount of dark crimson spotting half of their uniforms, the team is all accounted for and appear ship-shape and combat ready. Satisfied, and genuinely impressed, the big troll returns his attention back to their surroundings, scanning out the open doorway as the van hurtles along, jostling and swaying as Axel takes it to the limit.

The team perks up at the sound of approaching vehicles, their heads swiveling about in threat response. Thoryne's eyes glnt wickedly as he spots the bikers, hurtling along beside the ticketing booths. He gently reaches up, taking hold of the radio detonator clasped to this combat vest. Eyeing their speed and proximity, Thoryne attempts to get the timing just right for maximum effectiveness. Then, he thumbs the detonator.

"Adios, muther fuckers..." he quotes.

(( Wrote this in haste, will add more RP elements in a bit...wanted to keep it rollin. ))

[GM Nick]

Dice Rolls

Crashdown
REA + INT + 3 (Evasive manuever)
3, 6, 1, 2, 2, 5, 5, 6, 3, 3
4 hits on 10 dice
Chaz the Rocker
REA + INT + 3 (Evasive manuever) [4]
5, 4, 3, 4, 1, 1, 2, 4, 6, 4
2 hits on 10 dice
-
Dynamite 12P damage base x 2 = 24 (-1/m) 10 meters = 14P Damage
Damage Resistance
BOD + Armor
3, 3, 6, 3, 6, 3, 4, 1, 2, 5, 1, 1, 5
4 hits on 13 dice (reroll)
(( 10P DAMAGE ))
BOD + Armor
4, 4, 4, 1, 3, 4, 5, 1, 1, 2, 1, 4, 5
2 hits on 13 dice (reroll)
(( 12P DAMAGE ))

An earth-shattering, bone-rattling detonation follows Thoryne's activation of the detonator. The kind felt in the nerve-endings. What was once the admissions center for Bongoland is reduced to a seething cloud of debris in the blink of an eye. Then, the shockwave hits, whisking concrete dust and tile shards in every direction. Dross particulate rattles against the Vantichrist like ten different Johnny Nuclear drum loops playing in tandem. The crew inside the van observe small dents forming on the roof as its exterior is pelted with raining chunks of concrete.

The Suzuki-Mazda closest to the blast is decimated by a van-sized slab of flaming debris. The motorcycle tumbles, shedding parts in every direction. The rider is caught in the dervish of whirling, ragged metal and quickly dismembered. A bloody torso bounces into the haze, surrounded by glimmering particles of chrome.

The other motorcycle fares better, but not much. The rider struggles to keep the bike upright as he is slammed by the shockwave and his vehicle riddled with shrapnel. Weaving and fishtailing, the now bloodied Smile presses on, despite a plume of smoke emanating from the bike's motor.

[Molly]

Any residual frustration and regret from the lack of icons takes an immediate backseat to the realization that Mouse is about to witness what may very well be the greatest show on earth.

The roto-drone tagged as 'Wind' jerks into the air toward the back of the van, its movements less a graceful takeoff, and more reminiscent of a short kid jockeying to see over a crowd. In fairness, that's exactly what's happening.

As it does, a soft song begins to pipe through Mouse’s deck: an ode to her teammate's masterful demolition skills, the imagery of which is only enhanced by the background bloom of dawn color. The soft orchestral piece swells into a dramatic chord, shortly before the music is completely overtaken by the blast itself and the sound of shredding metal.

♪ We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when, but I know we'll meet again some sunny day. ♩

The dust hasn’t even begun to settle when the remaining bike breaks from the cloud. Wordlessly, the immersed decker fixates the device’s crosshairs on the remaining ganger, and squeezes the metaphorical trigger.

(( Roll for Gunnery, plus an edge to push the limit? :D Or just delete if this doesn't make sense as intended. ))

[GM Nick]

Dice Rolls

(( Mouse - Long Burst, Called Shot - Rider ))
Gunnery + LOG + 2 (VR) - 4 (Called Shot) [6]
6, 1, 6, 2, 6, 4, 6, 1, 2, 1
4 hits on 10 dice
Pilot Groundcraft + REA [4] - 2 (wound) -5 (Long Burst)
1
CRITICAL GLITCH 0 hits on 1 die
-
Crashdown - Damage Resistance
BOD + 4 (Armor) - 2 (wound)
5, 1, 1, 5, 5, 4, 3
3 hits on 7 dice
(( 4P DAMAGE ))

Wrapped in the silver skin of the roto-drone, Mouse feels powerful. While she's accustomed to VR, there's something empowering about occupying meat space as a chrome copter with a machine-pistol mounted to it. She can feel the micro-servos actuating as she moves, feel the steadiness of her flight as the built-in gyro-stabilizers work their magic and (strangely) smell the environment as the stimuli comes in the form of nitrogen and oxygen concentrations-- data sent straight to her brain from an array of sensors. She observes the diminishing vista of Bongoland through a fish-eye perspective, including the lone motorcycle now bearing down on the team.

Mouse careens towards the approaching rider. Closer now, she can make him out. Crashdown is an obese Smile wearing a hodge-podge of mismatched riding leathers. His head is shaved and a tattoo of a laughing skull glows in the dim light of the Barrens fog. A ghostly green targeting reticle drifts over the ganger, coming to rest on center mass.

The command to fire the machine pistol is less a command and more a feeling; it's the VR equivalent of a battle cry. Mouse pours her contempt into a long burst of small arms fire. The muzzle flare strobes, temporarily occluding the rider from view.

A round flattens against the armored fairing. The next hits the ganger in the stomach, darkening his leathers with blood. A third round hits him in the shoulder, forcing him to twist and yank the bike's fork at an angle. Two more rounds hit his face, exploding the back of his skull with twin splashes of gore. The Suzuki-Mazda-- already travelling at considerable speed and now attempting to move sideways-- now faces the consequences of physics. The bike slides but the overweight Smile is still attached and serves as a fulcrum. Bike and rider begin to crash and bounce, crash and bounce.

The Suzuki-Mazda's fuel tank crumples. Fuel lines snap free. Kinetic force creates sparks when chrome bends at impossible angles. After three rotations, the doomed motorcycle explodes in an impressive fireball. The flaming wreck continues to flip several times before coming to rest among a patch of weeds.

[GM Nick]

The Vantichrist-- now free of pursuers-- races past the chemical plant. The chassis rumbles as the van navigates dirt roads. Slivers of nuclear orange appear in the smog overhead. As the washboard gives way to neglected pavement, the haze begins to thin.

Mick follows closely, their lithe form pressed against the chrome contours of the Spartan. They occasionally spit out a bug, but otherwise are none the worse for wear.

Axel glances over the steering wheel at the distant highway, looming against a chernobyl sunrise. Dawn is breaking in the Barrens.

[Drew Buddy]

Axel stares silently out the front windshield, his AR icons forgotten and the click and sputter of the Vantichrist's engine his only soundtrack. For a brief moment he feels alone, like he's sitting on the edge of the world, watching his own reflection in the haggard, lethargic sunrise. Counting the bodies they left behind would be a simple feat of mental arithmetic, yet his mind keeps sliding off of it like trying to balance a marble on top of a hill. He finally stops struggling with the thought, and lets it rest. He's simply left with the overwhelming impression, the bone-deep certainty that something has changed tonight. A line was crossed somewhere, and he's not even sure that he regrets it. A new ingredient has been added to his life that once stirred in, can't be stirred back out.

And frag, but could he use a meal and a bed. He wipes at his eyes in a feeble attempt to banish the encroaching dryness that comes only from being awake too long.

"So," he says to his new companions. "We got what Preacher wanted, plus some. The less time we drive around on public roads with crates full of guns bearing the 'Star, the happier I'll be."

[Stephen]

Taipan watches the quite literal crescendo of the night's violence manifest itself in the wake of the Vantichrist, one white-knuckled hand gripped around the rear door's handle as he's tossed around as much as the harness in his jump seat will allow him. "Ha!" he exclaims as the dormant wrath of Thoryne's explosives is suddenly set free, though he schools himself back to business a second later. The suggestion of an approving grin, however, remains at one corner of his mouth.

Taipan peers out the rear window to see Mick dodging through the debris of the Barrens, the remaining Smile barreling down on him from behind. Taipan grits his teeth, tensing his muscles as he brings up the rifle and squeezes the door handle, on the brink of shoving it open to give him space to operate his rifle. At that moment, a subtle (well, subtle compared to the scene behind it) cascade of crimson puffs and gleaming sparks traces its way up the Smile's form, only seconds later reducing him and his bike to the latest assimilations to the featureless debris of the Barrens. He isn't exactly sure who is responsible for the airborne burst of gunfire, but he's grateful for it to have eliminated the need for him to engage a target from a moving van with a moving friendly interposed between them. He'd seen men wounded by friendly fire in far more controlled situations. Even though he hardly knew the ork, and was slightly disturbed by some of the glimpses he'd got, he reckoned it would be something approaching a shame for a fighter such as Mick to fall to a stray bullet.

With the adrenaline slowly fading, an ache creeps into Taipan's wounded shoulder. He works it around in the socket, grunting in relief to find nothing serious to worry about. He turns his gaze down to the rest of his person. "Let's get this done. I could use a shower."

[MattL]

Yung stows his Ares Predator V back into the safe recesses of his greatcoat. He falls back into the makeshift bed that is the cargo netting of the Vantichrist. With his last act of consciousness he lifts a finger to the glasses that rest on his forehead and flicks them down over his eyes.

“That it? Dios mio. Estoy listo para una siesta. Anata wa ajina yoi shigoto o shimashita. The name's Yung by the way, wake me up when…”

[ReiyaEmm]

Reiya is only dimly aware of the events happening in quick succession as they leave. The combination of motion sickness from the bumpy ride in this ridiculous van and the exhaustion of holding shapechange for such a longtime have taken their toll, and she just barely registers the pursuing motorcycles being identified and dispatched by the others. Clearly she trusts them to take care of it without her help. Makes sense, she muses. We’ve seen some shit together, and come out of it alive.

Once the immediate danger is past, Reiya thinks about next steps. Obviously they need to actually deliver the goods, but now that they’re close to doing so, the shaman contemplates upping her shamanic game before they embark on another similar venture. Both planning ahead and distracting herself from the nausea, Reiya considers how and what to add to her spellcraft.

[GM Nick]

The team rides in exhausted silence as the van crosses the wasted expanse of the Barrens. The sky is a sea of embers, roiling drifts of polluted cloud pierced by shafts of dawn light. Axel rubs his face wearily as he navigates the highways that run, like tributaries, to the larger super highways. Even T-bone is silent.

It's mid-morning by the time the team returns to the Eaves. The leftover low pressure from the previous night's storm lingers in the form of a muggy heat. It's strange to see the neighborhood without the glaring presence of the loglo. Observing the sprawl of urbanity in the harsh brightness of daylight makes it feel wrong somehow-- naked, even. Axel pulls around to the rear of the the Immortal Son, as he had been instructed via commlink by one of Preacher's Yokai.

The van slows to a shuddering idle at the rear of the church, adjacent to a mortar and stone platform serving as an impromptu loading bay. A pair of Yokai (a Tengu and a Kappa) emerge from the rear doors and approach the van. Their appearance is commensurate with what the team had seen the previous day: individuals garbed in robes wearing hand-carved masks depicting different creatures from Nippon mythology. Both are armed with AK-98's, but they are slung over-shoulder. The Yokai step down into the parking lot.

The Tengu waves a gloved hand toward Axel's side-view mirror, indicating he should back up to the loading bay.

[MattL]

Yung rouses from his brief nap, swinging his legs around in front of him as he sits up.

"We here already?" He inquires, voice still groggy with sleep.

He takes a moment to appraise the two cases with the Lone Star markings, then casts a glance towards Taipan.

"I assume we got what the Padre wants, everything chill with that? If anyone got anything to add before we finish up did biz, now's the time." He takes a moment to gauge the reactions of his new companions, silently judging to see who might have a bone to pick in the negotiations to come.

[Molly]

Mouse has been quiet for the remainder of the trip, peacefully riding out the ebb of adrenaline and the afterglow from that cathartic finish. Even having relinquished the embrace of VR, she can feel an unfamiliar heaviness in her limbs, a weight cast upon her that she hasn’t felt since her digital addictions stole all internal sense of a day/night cycle. She can't tell if it's from the sight of her exhausted teammates, the chemical withdrawal from the P90, or harder to believe still, a rare sense of safety, but for the first time in recent memory, she's actually tired.

Forcing herself upright, she turns her head lazily to 'Wind', now idle and quiet since its recall to the van, and places a hand affectionately on the still propeller. "YOKU DEKIMASHITA. WE KICKED ASS." Her word choice borders on condescension, but then again, she's probably talking as much to the drone as her more fleshy teammates.

She rises, muscles shuddering into a well needed stretch, after the many stretches of the night spent passed out in odd configurations. "STILL THE MATTER OF THE MYSTERY BOX, BUT WE'RE FAR ENOUGH FROM CLOWN-TOWN THAT I CAN GIVE IT A SHOT." She glances from the tantalizing case to her fellow party members. "EITHER YOU CAN STARE ME DOWN UNTIL I FINISH CRACKING THIS THING, OR… FRAG IF I KNOW- KEEP MY CUT AS COLLATERAL IN THE MEANTIME."

[Stephen]

Taipan turns away from the masked apparitions directing the Vantichrist from beyond its dust-coated windows, leveling his gaze at Yung. "I don't imagine any of us would have had the luxury of napping if we hadn't," he replies dryly. A dull thunk issues from his boot heel as he raps it against one of the Lone Star crates. "Enough automatic weapons in there to fuel both sides of a small gang war. Seems to fit the bill." He continues more quietly, as if to himself, "Wonder what he plans to do with them."

He raises his eyes to Yung once more, gaze hard. "You made some reckless moves back there, kid. Timing is often more important than execution," he admonishes sternly. "I would have traded a two to one CQC situation for a little light on the horizon." Taipan chides himself as soon as the words leave his mouth. Under normal circumstances he would have waited until after the night's business to offer the feedback, but the exhaustion begins to wear at his restraint. He sighs, then begrudgingly adds, "but you handled yourself well once things were in motion."

Taipan turns away once more to peer out the rear windows, the maw of the loading dock attended by more Yokai growing larger in his field of view.

[Drew Buddy]

The tapping and clacking of the motor takes on an almost reverent sound as it echoes and multiplies off the concave stones of the makeshift loading bay. If he closed his eyes, he could almost *feel* the van reversing into the bay by pure echolocation.

Beeeeep. Beeeeeep. Beeeeep. What? The artifice of the moment shatters, and messy, complicated reality returns. Axel's vision is a cobweb of lens-flared specular highlights unique to rain soaked surfaces being hit by the first rays of sunlight. Past the glare, his AR icons sit in their familiar places. The drones report inactive/ready, the equivalent of putting a gun on safety... But not unloading it. Safe, but ready. They may have been through the mud tonight, but Preacher isn't family.

Axel shoots the Tengu a lazy grin, and affects a slight drawl as he drapes his arm on the window sill, "Where'd'ya want it?" He asks with all the pomp and ceremony of a Señor Chang's freezer truck.

A flick of the eye is the only indication that he's switched to comms. <<And maybe get that... Special package out of sight. They asked for guns, we're giving them guns. No reason to give them any ideas about what else was recovered.>>

[GM Nick]

Tengu makes the okay hand signal at Axel and moves around to the back of the van. Once the doors are open, he passes the crates to Kappa. Kappa opens the crates and inspects the contents, retrieving a firearm from each, working the charging handles and checking magazines. After the inspection, Kappa nods at Tengu.

Tengu strides back to the driver side window. He reaches into his robes and withdraws a credstick. It's a sleek, obsidian needle with gold filigree.

"YOUR PAYMENT. AS AGREED." The Yokai's voice is modulated-- an androgynous, synthetic sound. "THE BONUS IS INCLUDED. WE HAVE BEEN MONITORING LONE STAR COMMUNICATIONS AND VERIFIED YOUR ACTIONS WENT UNNOTICED."

He hands it to Axel, who recognizes the monogram of one of the largest banks in the world. It's a certified credstick.

Tengu tilts his head almost imperceptibly, possibly listening to some unidentified source of communication. "THE PREACHER CONGRATULATES YOU AND THANKS YOU. YOU ACCOMPLISHED THIS TASK QUICKLY AND QUIETLY. WE HOPE TO RETAIN YOUR SERVICES IN THE FUTURE."

Tengu nods at Kappa, who begins taking the crates inside. The Yokai then lightly slaps his palm against the van's exterior, signaling that Axel is clear to depart. "THE PREACHER WILL BE IN TOUCH."

[GM Nick]

The team has been paid, but loot still needs to be divided. Axel nods at the Yokai and directs the van forward. Mick flips a U-turn and follows. The Immortal Son is no less impressive during the day-time-- a medieval relic of spires and steeples. Preacher's own Seattle basilica. What might otherwise be a quaint landmark has suddenly come to have meaning and purpose to the group. The eccentric fixer is now a lifeline.

The convoy of van and motorcycle head out along the Eaves' main thoroughfare, Barrens-bound. It's time to organize plunder, plan next moves, and get some much needed shut eye.