Clusterfrag

The projected GPS holo-display spins wildly, thrusting animated arrows in Doc's face to guide him back to the road.

Adams follows the GPS, as well as evidence of Alexei's passing, and presses through. He gives momentary thanks that he is controlling the vehicle manually, and can't feel the striking rounds as a remote pilot would.

Doc grits his teeth and flattens the accelerator, ignoring the bright red traction control warning that's flashing at him. A few more rounds strike the Rover, this time from the rear. One manages to lodge itself in the rear window, halfway through the perspex. Any visual contact with the assailants is lost in the chaos of the blizzard. A gut-wrenching shock slams the cabin as the Rover's front tires hit the road and deform to find the best tread pattern. And then they're flying down the highway, speedometer climbing.

Alexei's calm, but strained voice crackles through on the comms.

< We've got company! >

Max whiteknuckles the 'oh-drek-bar' and hangs on for dear life, flinching instinctively away from the pitter-patter of lead hitting the side of the rover and trying not to lose his lunch; he had known that gas station sushi was a bad idea.

Adams weaves the rover as much as he dares on the icy road.

< No drek! > He comms, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

The vehicle veers back across the road, the stream of fire that was striking the pavement now rakes across bottom of the rear hatch. Doc gives silent thanks that the new wheels can't be deflated.

< Give me vector, Alexei, these guys seem pretty damn interested in us! >

A quick glance in the rear-view confirms Alexei's exclamation.

A pair of GMC MPUVs pull in behind the Rover, fish-tailing as they fight for traction. Quickly overtaking them are two Yamaha Rapiers, parka-clad riders tucking low to avoid the howling gale. A uniformed ork wearing a snow mask leans out of the passenger window of the closest MPUV and levels a Heckler & Koch XM30 at the back of the Rover.

Max pulls Marlowe from its stowed position and triggers the window down, letting a rush of freezing air and snow blast into the cab. Getting his bearings with the cold, Max leans out and returns fire.

Adams sneers at the pursuing vehicles, and the sneer slowly turns into a cruel grin.

With a thought, he opens the rear drone rack hatch, revealing the steel lynx tucked up in the rover's internals like a cornered spider, its gun protruding straight backward.

Fire, he thinks at the lynx, steering the rover so that the stream of bullets passes over the MPUV.

[ Max = 50 ]
[ GMC Passenger B = 49 ]
[ GMC Passenger A = 42 ]
[ GMC Driver B = 42 ]
[ GMC Passenger C = 38 ]
[ Val = 37 ]
[ Doc/Rover = 36 ]
[ Biker A = 35 ]
[ Biker B = 34 ]
[ GMC Driver A = 32 ]
[ Tyros = 29 ]
[ Sinijn = 23 ]
[ Steel Lynx = 22 ]

Max levels his trusty shotgun and takes aim at the ork hanging out of the passenger window.
< 7P DAMAGE >

A whiff of blood erupts from the ork's parka as Max scores a direct hit.

Max switches to semi-auto and pops off another round, but this one takes out the side-view mirror instead of the wounded ork.

The man riding passenger in the other GMC swings out of his window. The muzzle flare from his XM30 is easily visible amidst the blizzard.
The Rover's wheels protest as Doc swerves across three lanes to avoid the fire.
Doc flinches as a volley of automatic fire kicks up clumps of tarmac that pelt and roll over the Rover.

The wounded passenger, who is now bleeding against the side of the MPUV, cocks the under-barrel grenade launcher on the XM30.
Doc cranks the wheel again, wincing as a high-explosive grenade detonates on the other side of the highway.

One of the two MPUVs accelerates and matches pace with the Rover.

A human dressed in arctic BDU's springs from the back of the MPUV and leaps to the Rover, slinging his arms around the drone rack.

Adams grips the wheel tightly, and continues to weave, doing all he can to keep the rover and the team out of the hail of gunfire.

A rapier pulls up alongside the Rover and the rider sprays it with fire from a Colt Cobra.
< 1P DAMAGE >
< 4P DAMAGE >

One of the rear passenger windows finally buckles under the constant volley of fire and shatters.

Val hunkers down in his seat, his mind trying to block out the rattle of gunfire on the Rover's flank. He peeks out the window, determining which GMC is carrying the most passengers, and making a mental note of its position relative to his own. He closes his eyes, feeling the electric hum of hot-sim VR grip his mind --

-- and opens them again as Stat1C5hade. The avatar whirls around, peering into matrix space in the direction which the GMC he mentally tagged earlier should be, and attempts to detect its control node.

A serial number materializes above the pulsing orb as Stat1C ferrets out the MPUV's PAN.

The second Rapier screams past the Rover's right flank, unleashing a similar burst of SMG fire.
This time, Doc is ready. He swerves madly, avoiding the brunt of the attack.
The biker weaves, brings up a Colt Cobra and fires again. The Rover's tires squeal as Doc continues to bank away from the gunfire.

The second MPUV roars as it accelerates up to match speed with the Rover. All five vehicles are now running in a parallel line, taking up all three lanes of the highway.

(( Tyros is up. ))

Tyros flinches, head snapping back automatically as the window next to him shatters. Glass pelts his visored face ineffectually, but the suddenness of the act is still shocking.

The big, actually visible troll, flings out one hand (centering), fingers outstretched and let's loose a torrent of crackling blue lightening which snakes out and crackles around one of the bikers (lightening, f6, not sure buy it seems like electricity would hit both rider and bike since they are connected).

< 10P DAMAGE >


Bright arcs of electricity course off the rider as Tyros' spell slams into him.
The biker shakes his helmet and continues pursuing.

((I believe I get +4 dice on combat spells now. +2 from specialization and +2 from mentor spirit.))

(( Noted and edited. ))

Sinjin lays flat on his back and aims a double-footed kick at the assailant swinging from the drone rack.

(( Killing hands, critical strike. ))
The rear window explodes as Sinjin's powerful legs shoot through like a piston and snap the man's back, sending him careening off the drone rack like a ragdoll. His body bounces a few times on the asphalt and is then swallowed up in the blizzard.

The Steel Lynx is unable to engage any active targets, as they're all riding alongside the Rover.

[ Val = 44 ]
[ GMC Passenger B = 43 ]
[ Biker B = 42 ]
[ Max = 41 ]
[ Doc/Rover = 41 ]
[ GMC Driver B = 40 ]
[ GMC Driver A = 39 ]
[ GMC Passenger A = 35 ]
[ Sinjin = 31 ]
[ Biker A = 27 ]
[ Tyros = 27 ]
[ Steel Lynx = 24 ]

Val quickly attempts to register a security account on the node.
The plucky decker quickly bypasses the firewall and assigns himself security user permissions.

Doc ducks as the GMC passenger mere meters away opens fire on him.
Doc ducks low as both bursts ricochet off of the door frame, or pelt the perspex safety glass.

The Rapier on the Rover's starboard side inches closer. The rider rakes the side of the car with fire.
Clumps of tarmac thud against the Rover.
The rider looks down in frustration at the jammed gun and clears the breach by slamming it against the side of his bike.

Max flinches away from the small arms fire slamming into the side of the team's vehicle-- the metallic thrumming of the bullets striking home battering against his patience and self-control. Rage wells within the elf as the team is progressively surrounded by the gang. The ejected shell casing from his previous errant shot goes spiraling into the blizzard-- lost to the fog of snow that tries desperately to swallow all of the players on the field of battle. The biker's jam evident, Max sees his opening and pokes his head back up from behind the door and takes a quick aim on his enemy. His face contorts in a storm of rage, as he shouts out the window,

"CUTE LEATHERS, DREKBAG! UNFORTUNATELY, I DON'T THINK I'LL BE ABLE TO HEAR YOUR SAFEWORD OVER THE GUNFIRE!!"

Max fires and cannot, in point of fact, hear the biker's safeword.

< 5P DAMAGE >

Max blows a significant chunk out of the rider's leg, forcing the bike to sway for a moment before the injured man recovers it.

< 11P DAMAGE >

A geyser of blood erupts from the man's torso as Max's shotgun burst riddles his body. He slumps against the handle bars, which twist and send the motorcycle barreling off of the highway.

Adams notes with satisfaction that there is one less headlight lighting up the frozen road ahead of them. A quick glance shows him that the other vehicles are riding abreast of the rover, and closing in.

"Let's go bowling," he growls, cranking the wheel to the right and tapping the brake.

The protest of the rover's wheels can be felt through the seat as they claw at the ground, redirecting the rover's mass, and pushing its heavy front end into the light back end of the GMC.

(( Pit maneuver on the GMC that Val isn't hacking ))

The Rover collides violently with the rear quarter panel of the MPUV.
Miraculously, the driver of the MPUV recovers from a violet fishtail and straightens out the truck.

The MPUV on the Rover's opposite side barrels across the lanes towards the Rover at ramming speed.
Doc cranks the wheel and swerves out of harm's way.