Clusterfrag

The former battle-medic works furiously, applying sutures and repairing damaged arteries. It's grim work and touch-and-go, but Doc stabilizes the boy. Improbably, no internal organs were damaged, aside from collateral damage to the stomach, which Doc does what he can with.

Many people bearing similar states of dishevelment and the same complexion begin emerging from all four tunnels. Their expressions are horrified, grave, and full of terror. They stand and hold silent vigil as Doc completes his delicate work.

Oblivious to the grime, Val crouches down before his knees can fully give way and leans on his rifle, which is butt-down on the ground beside him. He takes several deep breaths in an attempt to keep from retching, but he can taste the metallic saliva in the back of his mouth nonetheless. He's never been a religious man, but praying seems an appropriate thing to be doing at the moment. He mutters something which could pass as neither curse nor prayer under his breath. He's damned sure nobody's listening anyway.

Doc ties off the last suture, and leans back against the tunnel wall, rifle laying forgotten on the ground a meter away.

He breathes out, and runs his blood-stained hands through his hair.

"He'll live," he says, unable to look any of the surrounding people in the eye. "I'm... Sorry."

A midst the tunnel-vision of Doc's work, he neglected to notice the man edging through the crowd towards him. The cold steel of a shotgun barrel pushes against his right temple. The owner of the shotgun is a human man,close to Doc's age. Tears are streaming down his face. He shouts something unintelligible--in the same language as before--with such fury that flecks of froth eject into the air and land on Doc's shoulder.

Another man, this one older and wearing the sad remnants of a suit, surges forward through the throng and lifts the shotgun barrel away from Doc's face with one hand.

"Ket'sa, Rejik. Grozya tak recha ne!"

The man (presumably called Rejik) glares at Doc's savior, his eyes still full of angry tears. He releases his hand so that the stranger is holding it by the barrel and storms off down the tunnel, screaming to no one in particular until his voice grows hoarse.

The long-haired, bearded man holding the shotgun lets it drop to his side. His face is gaunt and his features wiry, suggesting malnutrition. Despite this obvious ailment, the man carries himself with the air of authority. His movements are smooth and decisive. He turns his gaze to Doc, giving him an expression that conveys both pity and suspicion.

"I am Quinn. Thank you for saving the young one. We should not have surprised you, so it is not your fault. But, what is your business here? You do not belong here."

Doc finally looks up at the man, his face bearing the numb mask refined and sculpted from the countless horrors of his previous life. The thought of keeping his cards close to his chest doesn't even occur to him.

"The arcology, we're going to the arcology," he manages to say.

Quinn kneels down and inspects Doc's face.

"You are not Mitsuhama. What business do you have there?"

Doc looks the man in the eyes. He let me off the hook for what I did. There's no choice, but to return the trust.

"Mitsuhama is holding a man against his will. We intend to help him leave."

Val makes an effort not to expel his breath in a huff. Or die trying, more likley, he thinks pessimistically. Nothing he's witnessed today has buoyed his raft of happy thoughts.

Quinn strokes his beard and eyes the team.

"I see. You seek the way to the bottom of the Mitsuhama city. Is that correct?"

Doc nods, a feeling of fatigue settling in.

"Yeah. You know the way?"

Quinn motions towards the injured boy and several males step forward, stooping to cradle him gingerly between them and carry him off through the crowd. The rest of the disheveled tunnel-dwellers turn, whispering amongst themselves and begin to disperse.

"There may be a way for us to help each other. Come with me."

Doc nods, and pushes himself to his feet. He slings his rifle over his shoulder, and looks back at the team, shrugging, before following behind Quinn.

Val trudges along behind Doc like a child lost in an urban jungle. His eyes cast uneasy and embarrassed glances at the dispersing crowd of strangers around him. His head hangs low on his slumped shoulders, as if he were simply able to disappear by making himself as small as possible.

"Many of those you see here helped build the arcology. When the work was complete, we were forced to live inside the city. Mitsuhama was afraid of the things we had learned while building. Those that refused or could not afford to do so were exiled. Mitsuhama revoked our SINs. We had no place to go so we came together and started living in this district, squatting where we could."

Quinn takes hold of a ladder leading further downward and begins lowering himself.

"Mitsuhama used their influence to drive us underground. Many workers knew these tunnels and it enabled us to elude them. It was inevitable that we settle here, as it was the only safe place for us. Again we used our knowledge of the city to tap into their power and fresh water supply. Those inside the city still sympathetic to our cause--relatives, friends--would occasionally bring us food. It has been a difficult existence."

Now out of the staring crowd, Val reclaims a sliver of confidence. He clears his throat and speaks up, albeit in a sheepishly quiet voice.

"I'm sorry, Quinn. Life has treated you and your people quite unfairly it seems. You mentioned that we could help each other... I figure we owe you one regardless. What is it you'd have us do?"

The tunnels are smaller here and a few centimeters of waste-water races along the bottom. Tyros has to double-over to traverse them.

"It was not long ago that Mitsuhama discovered our clever manipulations of their resources. They placed traps and employed drones to thwart us. Many of our people were killed. We have not been able to return to that area. Life has gotten much harder. We have no weapons, no technology. Those of us with augmentations have long since forgotten how to use them in the two decades since. We need someone to reclaim the water pipes and electrical feeds for us."

He turns to face the team.

"You seem very capable."

Val nods definitively. That the team will help this man is already a foregone conclusion as far as he's concerned. Even if there were dissenters, Val might just stalk off into the dark alone at this moment. Hell, it couldn't hurt his chances much at this point anyway.

"Sounds like the least we could do. Any specific hazards that we should be prepared for?"

Doc nods in agreement with Val.

I owe them more than that, he thinks.

"Only what we've seen. Trip mines, toxic gas vents and electrified panels are some of the some traps that have been reported. Something gunned down several of our scouting party last month. Expect a drone or two. If you can get our water flowing again and the electricity turned back on, I will show you how to get to the city."

Quinn pulls back on a massive access panel, which gives way with a reluctant groan.

"This is the access hatch to the water processing plant. What do you say? Do we have a deal?"

Max steps forward and addresses Quinn,

"We'll take care of it. And we know people who should be able to set you up with new SINs. I think I speak for the team when I say that we owe you significantly more than smashing a few drones..."

Quinn sets the hatch cover aside.

"It is good to know that the world above hasn't completely lost its mind. We have an old cyberdeck that we converted into a communications array to monitor Mitsuhama security traffic. Here is the frequency. You can use it to raise me, should you need to. Good luck."

Max nods thankfully and moves to descend the ladder. Sitting down on the filthy, wet ground, Max places his foot on the first rung, slings his shotgun over his shoulder, and begins his climb further into the belly of Seattle. 'It's always so settling to descend a steel ladder in wet boots,' Max thinks as he lowers himself down. Reaching the bottom, Max unslings Marlowe and aims it both directions, giving the area a broad sweep. Getting on the comm, Max asks,

<Alright, Quinn, where now, brown cow? Follow the pipes?>

Max's lowlight eyes trace along a series of pipes that run along the wall near the floor to his right.

Doc steps through the hatch, and climbs down the ladder. He readies his rifle.

"Keep your ultrasound running. You might spot something we miss."

A man-made fissure in the access tunnel gives a good view of the water processing area.

From the hole in the tunnel, it's a quick run across 20 to 30 meters of earthen floor. A steel staircase leads up to a catwalk which winds its way around several covered reservoirs. At the far end of the room is a large assortment of equipment that makes a rhythmic chugging sound. It appears that there is a control panel of some kind where the catwalk ends.

Doc takes up a position at the opening of the fissure. Feels like a trap.

"Val, can you keep scanning for wireless activity? I don't want a drone or turret to get a jump on us."

Val plants his feet after descending the ladder and nods distractedly while sweeping his surroundings with the business end of his FN HAR. He replies quietly.

"On it, 'mano."

Max crouches next to Doc and finds a hefty chunk of rubble near his feet. Gesturing to Doc with it, the elf tosses it underhand into the fissure to try to flush out motion-detecting drones.

Val's AR is touchy. The 3D overlay swims in his vision, as if trying to synchronize with what he's seeing. The depth of the team and the amount of material between them and the wireless 'net plays havoc with his commlink. If there are any PAN nodes in the area, they're operating on a stealth-net.
Though nothing happens when Max's projectile strikes the earth, he can clearly hear a sound that denotes a metallic surface just underneath the soil and gravel.

Max whispers to his comrades,

"There's metal down there-- under the gravel. Maybe a pressure plate?"

(( Would a security procedures knowledge roll be applicable here? ))

Doc nods,

"Didn't the old man say something about electrified panels?" He whispers back.

Val shakes his head in frustration and shuts down his scanner in an attempt to clear his vision. He leaves only those widgets running which offer an advantage on a purely local level, such as his smartlink feed.

"Be advised, AR is useless here. You'll get no warning from me of any drones or cameras. Looks like we're flying by VFR only at this time."

Val scans with his thermographics for the telltale splashes of color from any mechanical or electrical boxes which might feed power to any nasty surprises.