Run #1 - Big Top Blitz

[Stephen]

The sudden quiet in the tent is deafening. It's not silence, exactly. Mick's heavy breathing fills the void alongside Taipan's own. Taipan's pulse pounds rapidly in his ears. A gentle tap, tap, tap rings crisply through the backdrop of blood flow and breathing, as the sticky Rapture-infused blood drips slowly to the floor from the point of Taipan's motionless katana.

Taipan's eyes flick momentarily to Mick, their chest and shoulders rising and falling in the rhythmic cadence of deep breaths. Throughout the night, after the scene at the bar, he'd been surprised, pleasantly at times, by the ork's skill, decisiveness, and most importantly, discretion; however, in Taipan's experience, the heat of battle is when one can truly get the full measure of another. In the last fifteen seconds, he'd seen Mick more clearly than ever -- and what he's seen unnerves him, though he struggles to put his finger on exactly why. While Taipan is no stranger to the rage of battle, he has always regarded it as a tool to be wielded with cold precision, but he felt he'd caught a glimpse of something different in Mick. While he admired the ork's efficiency, the sheer brutality of Mick's part in this short burst of violence causes Taipan to question what he thought he had learned about the ork over the last hour. Glad they're on my side -- for now...

Taipan flicks his wrist, sending the excess blood and viscera flying from the end of his blade to disappear into the slowly growing pools of it on the floor with a staccato of spatter before sheathing the blade. Ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder, he tears his gaze away from Mick and takes up the rifle again, heading toward the tent entrance to sneak a peek outside.

<<We have four Smiles down in here, and the package secured. Where the hell are the rest of you? You cut us a way out yet or should we loop back the way we came?>>

[GM Nick]

Dice Rolls

Axel - Broadside
Pilot Ground Craft + Reaction + 2 (hotsim) + 1 (Speed Demon) [3]
2, 6, 6, 1, 6, 3, 3, 1, 3, 2, 3, 2, 6, 5
5 hits on 14 dice
-
Yung - Throw technique
Unarmed Combat + AGI + 2 (martial arts)
3, 5, 2, 1, 5, 5, 5, 1, 6, 6, 2, 4
6 hits on 12 dice
Shamrock
Unarmed Combat + AGI - 2 (inferior ground)
6, 3, 6, 3, 2
2 hits on 5 dice (success)
-
Axel - Ramming
Pilot Ground Craft + Reaction + 2 (hotsim) + 1 (Speed Demon)
5, 2, 3, 4, 3, 1, 4, 2, 2, 5, 6, 5, 5, 5
6 hits on 14 dice
Shamrock
REA + INT
2, 5, 2, 5, 2, 2, 1, 2
2 hits on 8 dice (Hit)
-
Shamrock - Damage Resistance
BOD + armor
5, 6, 2, 2, 2
2 hits on 5 dice
(( 22P DAMAGE ))

Axel wills the Vantichrist into a power-slide. The vehicle's tires screech as the van swings into position, still moving forty kilometers per hour.

Yung glances up at the fast approaching van. He takes a step forward and slips an arm underneath Shamrock's arm-pit. Using his extensive martial training, Yung performs a judo throw-- flipping the ganger forward several meters... and into the path of the oncoming vehicle.

Shamrock hits the ground, tumbles, and is instantly crushed underneath the considerable bulk of the Vantichrist. The passengers inside feel a jarring bump. By the time Axel has brought the van to a stop, there's a ten meter long trail of gore on the wet concrete.

[Molly]

In cold, shitty reality, Mouse is currently unconscious in a dirty, haunted van, in a dirty haunted theme park, enmeshed in a binding of her own creation that's equally as likely to break her ribs as to break a fall. Thankfully, she's escaped reality for more pleasant surroundings, namely a dark, featureless void.

At least she has the icons of the drones for company. In this virtual space, an oversized rendition of the fly-spy projects the aerial view of the park overhead, just in time to witness the glorious collision of clown and van.

As much as she was looking forward to taking Wind for a spin, she's not going to deny the convenience and artistry of what just took place. From her likely-crumpled meatspace form, a snippet of a tune pipes from the deck: "♫ That's fuckin' teamwork! ♩"

The persona folds it's digital arms as it reviews the feed like an art critic, watching the trail of gore cool from brilliant orange into greener hues. <<Team T-bone has arrived at the convention center. Just follow the trail of viscera.>> She fires a quick screengrab of the overhead view to her teammates, complete with a helpful, flashing arrow indicating the murder-van at the end of the bloody snail-trail. <<And remind me never to piss any of you off in the future.>>

There is, of course, the matter of that bizarre nagging message that hit Mouse's feed mere moments before going under. <<By the way, either the P90 has gone to my brain, or there's something running wireless out here.>> The persona cranes her monitor head around. <<It's probably tied to some dirty commlink full of clown porn, or else it has no logical reason to be on wireless.>>

With just a fleeting glance backward, to ensure the icons of her new Drone Chummers (and their feeds) remain in tow, she kicks off from the ground, propelling her virtual form upward for a better view. <<I think I'm going to poke it.>>

(( Edit: hosts -> icons.

Matrix perception, please. ))

Settings: Fuchi Cyber-Ex

(( (Base Stats- Locked: Device rating 4, A: 4, S:4, D: 4, F: 2)
Current loadout:
Attack: 4
Data Processing: 6/4
Sleaze: 5/4
Firewall: 3/2
Programs (9 Base Slots) : Baby Monitor, Encryption, Exploit, Fly on a Wall, Signal-Scrub, Sneak, Stealth, Toolbox, Wrapper
Overclocker point: Data processing ))

[GM Nick]

Mouse - Matrix Perception Check

Computer + INT [6] + 2 (Hotsim)
6, 3, 2, 3, 6, 2, 1, 3, 3, 2, 5, 4
3 hits on 12 dice
(( Hidden roll. )) (Success)

Mouse's persona ascends, surrounded by the abyssal void that is the Barrens grid. Artifacts distort the simulated space-time of the locale-- phantoms of errant wireless signals tumbled about by the environment. Being in VR in this place is a feeling not unlike sleep paralysis. Mouse sends out a ping, waving her hand in the area towards a floating question mark.

One. Two. Three. Three distinct icons, albeit flickering in and out of existence. Mouse extends her virtual hands, makes a pinching motion and then spreads them apart. The personae of the icons enlarge. Mouse recognizes the first as the logo of Yamaha-- an automotive company. She has to perform a quick matrix search to reconcile the other two, but quickly determines they are Suzuki-Mazda.

[GM Nick]

Those with image links observe Axel's contribution: the feed from the Fly-spy. The three glowing blobs on the thermographic sensor are all moving up past the amphitheater, towards the entrance of the bridge.

[Conway]

Thoryne steps from the Vantichrist, his AK-98 held high in presentation he quickly pans the area, half-crouched for cover behind a flagging rear door. Dry springs squawk behind him as the suspension rebounds in relief.

"Nice driving, kid." he calls out. "Kinda puts a new spin on getting T-Boned, eh?"

<<Cavalry's here...draw 'em out, we've got you covered for EVAC.>>

"Whatever we do next, lets do it quickly! I'm sure anything still alive in this park heard that gunfire, doped up or not.

The big troll rechecks his chamber, then satisfied, extends a nod toward Akela.

[ReiyaEmm]

The shaman will only admit to herself that she was cowering. The van alone knows how she clung to it for dear life and whimpered during that drive, and this haunted box of metal and pain better not fraggin’ tell. T-Bone’s take down of a Smile was painful for Reiya, not out of any sympathy for the drekhead, but due to the additional jostle. She is never riding the Vantichrist again.

As the van settles and the banter of her packmates reaches Reiya’s ears, the shaman gets shakily to her four feet, growling in frustration with the situation and her own poor choices. She spits out some vomit as far from the van as possible, having held the rest of that excellent whiskey down by sheer force of will. Then she looks around her, teeth bared in anger. Is there no Smile in the vicinity, as promised? Because she really wants to kill someone right now.

[Drew Buddy]

Axel steps out of the van with a look of bewilderment. He turns around slowly, taking in the new road that has been paved with the viscera of the man he doesn't know was called Shamrock. He traces the trail back to Yung, and replays his memory of the moments before, hued as they are with adrenaline and cortisol, the hormones casting a fun-house mirror effect over the sequence of events. The ganger flashed for only a brief moment in the headlights before the Vantichrist unmade him, and yet he can also see it in excruciatingly slow detail, every image larger than life, the man's trajectory so clear, and so slow, that he briefly wonders why the man didn't just step out of the way.

He finally remembers to breathe. The ragged breath turns into a laugh projecting a confidence not matched within him.

"Thanks, omae, all according to plan." He glances back at the van and its new, rapid paint job. "Nice thinking. Any other vehicle, and I might be bothered by the cleanout, but," he waves his hand dismissively at the Vantichrist, "meh."

His eyes flick to the Fly-Spy feed. The other three Smiles seem to have abandoned their posts around the amphitheater, a detail he kicks himself for not noticing as they sped by. You can do better than that, Elias. Situational awareness. You were the eye in the sky.

"Gonna be more, let's get this loaded up." For the briefest of moments, the confidence feels real.

[MattL]

Two lives ended by his own hands in as many minutes. Yung remains motionless, a statue in the predawn light collecting moisture from the diminishing drizzle. Locked in a silent contemplation, an unmoving heat signature in Elias’s eyes. He stands in a half squat, shoulders hunched over slightly as drops of water fall from his rigid fingertips, which maintain an echo of the grip he used to throw Shamrock into T-bone’s path.

Background comms chatter fails to break his fixation, just white noise in a momentary reflection about the value of a life. Finally, it is interrupted by a jovial jest, adding an infinitely more complex layer of gravitas to the situation. Nonetheless, it is enough to snap Yung back to reality.

“I didn’t think that ole slitch could move like that meng, you gassin T-bone up with the premium drek eh?”

Yung stands upright again, regaining a more familiar stature while brushing the concrete dust off the shoulders of his coat.

“Big man, we setup a perimeter with Axel and...uh” He appraises the vomiting wolf, “Reiya-wolf though, she don’t look so hot.”

< Oye, Mick, Taipan, we’re outside. Two down out here and sounds like more incoming. Get that package on da move. >

Yung moves to find some cover from whatever enemies remain, surveilling the area while he waits for Mick and Taipan to emerge from the convention center.

[Molly]

With an RCC, commanding a fleet of drones is akin to a musical act, like a pianist able to noodle on one hand while harmonizing on the other. With just her deck, Mouse is instead playing a solo match of ping pong, as her attention flits from one display to the next lest she drop the ball on any one of them.

It's a superhuman task, achievable only via an overclocked processor and the illegal hot-sim modifications that interface with her every synapse, allowing her to cruise through the matrix at the speed of thought. It's still hardly sustainable.

She checks the icons following dutifully behind her, the way one might habitually check a rear view mirror, and catches splashes of heat moving across the feed. She gives the shimmering image of the Echo a gentle boot, as if to nudge it to action, and with a flick of her hand, targets the blob that’s more centrally oriented.

>Maintain altitude and distance from that central signature until visibility is lost.
>Tether back to last good position if the signal cuts out entirely.

It's hardly an elegant solution, with set variables and if-statements playing a poor substitute for intuitive control. It's also all she can manage right now.

She turns her attention back to the flickering icons, a long string of inject code materializing between her persona's hands as she reports out. <<We've got 3 new devices in the area: one Yamaha, two Suzuki-Mazda. So... biker drek?>> She kneads the script into a dough-like wad, reformatting and reshaping it as she deliberates. <<Either they just turned on or they just got close? Let's find out. :D>>

Her monitor lights up with malicious glee as she pulls at the dark blob of ASCII characters, breaking the string into two identical tendrils, and launches it toward the flickering lights.

(( Hack on the fly! Using fork to target the Yamaha and one of the Suzuki Mazdas. Edge for second chance if I fail miserably. ))

Deck Loadout

(( Swap Overclocker to Sleaze, Swap Sneak for Fork

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

[John]

Mick swims back to shore slowly, wading through the psychic gore until all that's left is the real gore. They unconsciously unclench their fists, which drop easily to their sides, and make eye contact with Taipan. If all they have in common with the human is the tendency to dole out unfortunate souls destinies and being presently covered in blood, that's enough for Mick.

"Got the other Lone Star crate in the other tent. What-say we strip this drekhole of all their goodies and get the frag outta' here? I saw a bike out there that I wouldn't mind riding home." That the ork has no real home to speak of–let alone one safe enough to park a motorcycle–can be their secret for now.

The ork removes their comm from its pouch, opens the voice channel to the team, and reseats it in speaker mode. It's only after they've returned it to its place that they realize they've covered the device in a slime of liquefied goons. < It looks like there are some other presents under the tree this year, too. Can we get a third set of hands in here moving this drek? >

Mick is moving before any response has been issued, first checking the way through to the main stage to quickly check for traps and unseen Smiles hoping to get the drop on them.

[GM Nick]

Mick - Perception Skill Check

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

Mick exits the tent of horrors and strides to the door. They inspect the stage carefully but find only cadavers-- likely unfortunate looters that have been rotting there for who knows how long. Yung stands by the door way, looking pleased with himself. Thoryne is standing watch, his gaze cast towards the bridge. And there appears to be a wolf on top of the van. Puking.

[John]

Mick gives an exaggerated upward nod toward Akela that they only realize probably isn't visible once it's over. < Hey, Flashbang, wanna give us a hand? Way's clear. > Mick turns curtly without waiting for a response, jogging back through the moldering hell of an amusement park to start hustling the Lone Star crates toward T-Bone.

[Drew Buddy]

Axel's ears perk up at the mention of vehicle icons in the area, and for a moment, the incoming danger is forgotten. He looks down, remembering in this moment that he forgot to remove his toolbelt before engaging in a night of violence. Drawing on his earlier all-according-to-plan false confidence from earlier, he walks over to the van before her unconscious form inside reminds him of the futility of the act. He switches to comms.

<<Let me know what you see, Mouse. Got my tools with me, so could attack the hardware, remove tracking devices, or take care of some other problem in the real. Or, you know, sabotage, if that's what where we're going. Have a few ideas that are hard to spot, but should give them a nasty surprise after a few hundred meters or so.>>

[MattL]

Yung furrows his brow in confusion given the recent trend in conversation across comms and person.

< OYE, drekheads! It's not time to celebrate and start unwrapping yet. We got three more clowns makin there way toward us, y'all want to maybe focus on more pressing matters? > Hey asks hypothetically, with the first noticeable tone of irritation in his typically suave voice.

< Eyes on the bridge. >

[GM Nick]

Axel, Mick and Taipan quickly scour the ground floor of the convention center, noting anything they perceive to have worth. There are the two composite crates marked with the Lone Star insignia, the svelte black case marked Mitsuhama, a footlocker full of unopened pharmaceuticals of varied manufacturer, a few fistfuls of jewelry (although whether authentic or not is anyone's guess), an UZI IV, a Beretta 201t pistol, an Ultimax 70 machine pistol, a Shiawase Arms Rain shotgun, and a handful of pilfered credsticks. The firearms aren't in great condition, but they seem serviceable.

As for the rest of the loot, most of the corporate-marked crates are either empty, their contents destroyed or rendered worthless, or of no real value. It seems like the Smiles must have a reliable fence and probably promptly moved the more expensive plunder.

Parked in the back of the building are three motorcycles. Two appear to be in working order, while the third has been stripped for parts. Axel identifies them as a Buell Spartan and a Yamaha Growler. The parts bike has been so denuded that even Axel's trained eye can't determine what it started life as.

Axel leans over the Buell and his distorted reflection grins back in the polished chrome gas tank. Both bikes have upgraded suspension and bulbous, knobby tires-- an essential feature in this neck of the woods. Each bike also has a biometric authenticator attached to the dashboard.

Meanwhile, on the communal fly-spy feed, the three signatures have reached the bridge and are in the process of crossing it.

[Stephen]

Taipan blinks at the ork's rapid transition from killing to looting, then blinks at the fly-spy feed in his image link. "We got what we came for, let's --" he hisses at the ork's back, but they're already through the tent flap. "Kuso," he mutters to no one in particular.

Taipan pulls the Lone Star crate from the tent and begins hauling it toward the stage. He glances around at the paltry selection of stolen goods and poorly maintained weapons, shaking his head in bewilderment that anyone would want any of this drek. Then he glances at Mick and Axel picking through the scene. Ah, he thinks, with just enough awareness of his relative privilege to evoke a pang of guilt.

Continuing toward the stage, Taipan calls, "We've got hostiles inbound, what could possibly be worth..." At that moment, he spots the shotgun lying against a broken crate by his booted foot. He peers at it a moment, glances around, then shrugs furtively. He kicks a boot under the shotgun and tosses it up, catching it in his offhand. He looks up at the other two. "What?" he barks as he continues his traversal of the convention center.

He drops the crate in the stage left wing and rests the shotgun atop it before advancing another meter and taking cover behind the proscenium wall. He checks the fly-spy footage and risks a peek outside to get a view of the terrain.

[John]

Mick forages through the boxes trying to maximize the score, fighting back disappointment as they go. Finally, the ork gives up on the crates, settling instead for the UZI IV, which they sling through their belt with a loop of torn cord taken from what looks like might have once been a coat on what might have once been a body.

Thinking about little now other than getting the frag out of here, Mick crouches next to one of the Lone Star crate, balances the Mitsuhama case on top of it, and raises to make a hasty run to the van.

[MattL]

Yung janders towards the hulking troll, who is carefully maintaining a line of fire in the direction of advancing hostiles. He holsters his Ares Predator V as he walks, placing both hands in the pockets of his Synergist Line Longcoat.

“Yo, big man, I think the team forgot something.” He says, stopping mid-stride and squaring his hips in the direction of the troll. He pulls the right pocket of his coat unceremoniously in front of his crotch. Crouching slightly, he produces two grenades flashing a snide smile at Thoryne.

“I think you’re better with these than I am, eh? Let’s move; we catch 'em midway across the bridge. They won’t have anywhere to go and no cover.” Even as he says the words, a pang of hesitation flashes across his face. He glances over towards Reiya-wolf, stuck atop T-bone, a slight sadness washes across Yung's face. “Chica you gonna be alright? Ven acá! The pack hunts together.” He beckons Reiya-wolf with a flick of his head in the direction of the remaining smiles, issuing a brief but reassuring smirk.

Yung resumes walking toward Thoryne, handing him the grenades before looking back at Reiya-wolf to see whether she decides to join them in their pursuit.

C'mon girl.

[Drew Buddy]

Axel studies the gear with an air of an antiques dealer coming up with an offer, picking over the piles of detritus with the tender care of an archeologist. Not the best pickings here. He grabs the Ultimax, hefts its weight, and finally shrugs his shoulders. A start, anyway. He unloads the magazine, clears the chamber, and shoves the resulting pieces into the large pockets of his coveralls.

He moves to the bikes, and inspects them. The natural enemy of his kind, the biometric interlock, is present on both intact vehicles. He inspects the components, and formulates a plan.

<<Mouse, gonna do a little physical sabotage on these bikes. Do what you do, but don't entirely disable them. Trust me, it'll be more fun if they try to ride them.>>

Axel grabs a leather roll from his tool belt and unfurls it on the ground, revealing a collection of hand tools, ECU readers, and technical miscellany that are the literal tools of his trade. He sets to work, first on the Yamaha, then the Buell. On each bike, he opens the brake housing, removing the pads, and closing the housing back up. Satisfied that the bikes can no longer stop of their own accord, he moves to the triple-tree of each bike. Working carefully, he backs each bolt out until the entire front suspension and wheel of each bike is hanging on by just a couple turns worth of bolt threading. He steps back, mulling his work over, and then squirts a bit of lubricant into the bolt holes to make the connection even more tenuous. He admires his handiwork for a moment before settling into the final, less certain stage of his work: Attacking the biometric locks. He doesn't need to appraise the bikes to decide on the Buell.

(( So the bikes should't be able to stop, and it's going to be nearly impossible to spot the missing pads, unless these guys are in the habit of taking a close look at their brakes before they go chasing intruders away. The triple tree I believe should be hard to spot, but easier than the brakes. If that fails, the entire front of the bike (handlebars, suspention, front wheel) will just straight up fall off after a few good bumps. ))

[GM Nick]

Axel - Automotive Mechanic Skill Check

Automotive Mechanic + LOG
5, 1, 5, 3, 4, 5, 3, 6, 6
5 hits on 9 dice (Success)

Axel - Hardware Skill Extended Check

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

Axel deftly sabotages the Buell Spartan's brakes and suspension. His work is so precise it would likely be missed by even the most accomplished mechanics.

The biometric authenticator is another matter. Axel is familiar with these devices: they're the subject of so much legislation, compliance and insurance bureaucracy that they're over engineered to hell-- and tamper resistant, to boot. Axel begins the disassembly process, taking the utmost care to avoid triggering the many layers of physical intrusion prevention. If he can expose the innards, he'll have access to the diagnostic DNI port and the main ignition circuitry. From there, he figures it can either be hacked or hot-wired. But it'll take a few minutes.

[Conway]

Thoryne's craggy features fissure into a lop-sided grin, his tongue clucking in appreciation of Akela's proffered gifts as the man approaches. He extends a prodigious hand and the grenades ting softly as they drop into the hardened metal of his open palm.

"Now where'd a smooth cheeked fellow like yerself come up with these, eh 'mano?" he intones good naturedly.

Thoryne's speech is slow and casual, but his mechanical hands move with precision as he promptly loads the under-barrel attachment of his weapon with one grenade, before stowing the other on his person. The AK, even loaded with aftermarket upgrades as this particular rifle was, had never been his preferred weapon of choice. But, having come ashore empty-handed as he had, he'd made do with what he could get ahold of fast. This should make it fun, at least.

The grin remains on his face as he appraises Akela with new esteem. "Alright then, partner, let's make 'em feel welcome."

[Drew Buddy]

Axel rolls up his sleeves, and dives into the biometric lock on the Buell.

<<Did the first bit. Mouse, if you think you can do something about these locks from your end, I'd love the help. Working on the Buell now. Unless you've got something else you're working on.>>

The gore and decay of the park fade away as he works on the machine. With a lifetime of scavenging questionable items from disreputable and dangerous places, Axel's "zone" is nearly air tight.

[GM Nick]

As Taipan and Mick load the spoils from the convention center, Yung and Thoryne race to the bridge. While Yung is the more athletic of the two, the troll's massive strides compensate for the difference in ability.

The rain has ceased, given way to a murky fog that billows just above the weeds like chemical vapor. Bongoland is bathed in the wan light of pre-dawn. The maelstrom of smog and atmosphere above the park thins in anticipation of a sunrise.

Yung and Thoryne reach the park-side entrance to the bridge. The only cover is a small lychgate at the bridge's threshold-- a smaller doppelganger of the one at the opposite end. Although the flimsy structure has seen several decades of wear, it should discourage a few bullets. Hopefully.

At the far end of the bridge-- roughly forty meters away-- the three smiles are taking cover behind their lychgate. They seem to be conferring hurriedly but the distance is to great to resolve any words exchanged.

[ReiyaEmm]

There is now something Reiya shares with the rigger, little does she know it; massive disappointment that their glorious plan to speed in and save the day did not happen. She’d thought the vantage point on the roof of the van would be an immense advantage, and allow her to skip the stomach-rollicking ride and in the process, save herself from motion sickness. Alas, no dice. Your own damn fault for getting excited, she reminds herself. Rein in the redemption and revenge fantasies, girl.

Yet in spite of this subconscious resolve, Reiya feels the excitement return when Akela invites her to join him and Thoryne. After all, she does need to earn her share here, and her current perch serves no purpose. Besides, the shaman still wants to go on the attack.

Leaping off the van, Reiya follows and swiftly catches up to Akela and Thoryne. Her nausea dissipates as she runs, and it feels good to be on the move again. All right, she thinks, now it’s really go-time, and they better leave at least one for me.

[GM Nick]

Mouse - Hacking Skill Check

Hacking + LOG + 2 (Codeslinger) + 2 (HS) - 2 (noise)
4, 2, 4, 5, 1, 6, 2, 6, 2, 1, 4, 4, 5, 4
4 hits on 14 dice (reroll)
???
INT + Firewall
6, 6, 3, 4, 4, 4
2 hits on 6 dice
???
INT + Firewall
4, 1, 5, 2, 1, 4
1 hit on 6 dice

Mouse's persona snaps her digital fingers in the general direction of the floating icons. A highly pixelized image of a cat-toaster strudel hybrid rockets out of the ether, riding a brilliant rainbow contrail. As the malicious code approaches the icons it splits into two identical copies. The twin attacks slam into their respective icons.

Five mouse skulls materialize: two floating over the Yamaha icon and three over the Suzuki-Mazda.

[Molly]

The marks land in a multicolor pixelated explosion, punctuated with cloyingly high pitched synthetic nyans. Between that and the comms chatter related to the dismantling of the bikes, the decker’s finally in her happy place. <<You had me at 'creative sabotage of expensive machinery'. Sounds like a fragging party.>>

Still, there’s one particular mention that gives her pause: the name ‘Buell’. <<I’ll be with you momentarily- in meatspace, even. But point of order: we’re currently working on very different bikes.>>

She lifts a hand as she adjusts her programs, which wrap around her persona in a cartoon facsimile of a ringmaster’s costume, complete with a miniature tophat jauntily adorning her CRT. <<Let me call your attention to the bikes over here:>> She flicks a hand outward, a cane appearing in one digital ‘hand’ with the flourish, drawing down a bright, digital spotlight on the two marked icons before her.

(( Trace Icon. She’ll send the location data to her teammate’s comms (ideally as an overlay on the mapsoft.) Most pressing info at the moment is whether or not said icons are moving in meatspace, in part since that'll determine what she does to them next. ))

Deck Loadout

(( Swap Overclocker to Data Processing, Swap Exploit for Track (+2 to trace icon checks)

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

[GM Nick]

Mouse - Computer Skill Check (Trace)

Computer + INT [6] + 2 (VR) - 2 (noise)
6, 5, 1, 2, 5, 5, 1, 2, 5
5 hits on 9 dice
Yamaha
WIL + Sleaze
4, 3, 2, 4, 2, 4
0 hits on 6 dice

A set of coordinates in three dimensional numerals appear in Mouse's field of vision. She wraps her digital fingers around them and slings them to the cartoon van that represents the team's shared intel. A flashing dot appears on the fly-spy's feed, super-imposed by Mouse's data to display the location of the Yamaha. The dot is on the outer edge of the parking lot, but gradually moving closer to the ticketing area.

[Molly]

With the icons illuminated, the bikes themselves revealed to be in motion, the little ringmaster tips its hat, addressing the imaginary crowd of teammates that, at least in her imagination, are totally engrossed in their comms and not just doing their jobs. <<Ladies and gentlemen and smizmars, welcome to tonight's main event!>>

The performance in itself is a sight to behold, if only for the behavioral contrast between the timid decker and the stylings of her bombastic VR persona. In full dedication to the bit, it makes a grandiose sweep of its cane toward the blinking icons on the map. <<As you can see, we have drekhead clowns on bikes, which we assume are careening through Bongoland at death-defying speeds.>>

For once, she lets the movement of the gangers toward the ticketing area speak for itself, rather than comment on the incoming bogies. It’s a bit of performative misdirection, particularly as she slips a little code into the bios of one of the bikes- juuuust in case.

Instead, the persona lifts a finger in a conspiratorial gesture. <<But what would happen if their front halves just suddenly... stopped? With the laws of physics, and a little imagination, let’s find out!>>

(( Overclocker to Sleaze, Swap Track for Bootstrap
Format device (Bootstrap- Suzuki Mazda): On reboot, invert left/right steering
Control device (Forked- Suzuki Mazda and Yamaha- Stop JUST the front wheel on each) ))

Deck Loadout

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

[ReiyaEmm]

As she trots alongside her two two-legged comrades, Reiya restrains the urge to run ahead. Instead, she looks ahead with lupine eyes and astral sight.

(( Perception and astral perception rolls, onegai ))

[GM Nick]

Mouse - Computer Skill Check (Format Device & Control Device)

Computer + LOG + 2 (VR) - 2 (noise)
4, 1, 6, 5, 2, 4, 6, 2, 3, 1
3 hits on 10 dice
Suzuki-Mazda Icon
WIL + Firewall
3, 4, 2, 3, 5, 6
2 hits on 6 dice (Format Device: Success)
-
Electronic Warfare + INT + 2 (VR) - 2 (noise)
4, 5, 4, 2, 5, 5, 2, 6, 3, 4, 6
5 hits on 11 dice
Yamaha
INT + Firewall
3, 1, 2, 6, 1, 1, 1
GLITCH 1 hit on 7 dice (Control Device: Success)
Suzuki-Mazda
INT + Firewall
6, 2, 1, 6, 3, 3
2 hits on 6 dice (Control Device: Success)

Mouse observes with satisfaction as the icons accept process her commands. One of the Suzuki-Mazda icons disappears.

[GM Nick]

Reiya - Perception Skill Check

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

Reiya stands next to Thoryne and peeks around the corner of the lychgate. Using her superior lupine vision she confirms that their quarry has dug in across the bridge. The evidence manifests in a protruding boot-tip, the top of a head, and the glint of steel. It seems neither side of this imminent fracas is willing to risk the vulnerability inherent in charging the bridge.

The astral plane resembles a grayscale, dream-like reflection of the real world. Although, Reiya can pinpoint the gangers' positions based on their auras, which emanate beyond the shelter their cover provides.

[GM Nick]

Axel - Hardware Extended Skill Check

Hardware + LOG
1, 6, 2, 2, 4, 2, 4, 1
1 hit on 8 dice
~Second chance~
REROLL FAILURES
Hardware + LOG
4, 6, 6, 2, 4, 5, 2, 3
3 hits on 8 dice

Axel successfully removes the authenticator's titanium housing without triggering any of the tamper sensors. He dabs the perspiration off of his forehead with his sleeve. The only thing that remains is to remove the anti-tamper system itself. Axel retrieves a shim from his tools and sets to work. Another minute or two and the Buell will either be theirs for the taking or the world's heaviest paperweight.

[Molly]

The icon winks out. Mouse's eyes open once more, as she wakes up once more, into the cold and empty van, where she had, only moments before, strapped herself down. She rolls her shoulders, feeling the webbed nylon sag away from her skin as she does, leaving strips of angry purple welts in its wake from a sharp u-turn she'd witnessed through an aerial camera rather than her own two eyes.

She sighs.

<<...Anyway, if we pass a hilarious pileup on the way out, I'm taking credit.>> She glances back at the Yamaha's icon, watching its coordinates for any hint of resumed movement, or at least the inevitable reboot, but eventually shrugs it off. <<Keep scanning for any remaining bikers IVO the ticket booth, in any case.>>

She grabs her bag by a strap, feeling the heavy shift of hardware inside as she lugs it over one shoulder. <<Anyway, you said you had maglocks to tap, ne? OMW.>>

(( She'll make her way back to the convention center for the eventual Hack on the Fly on the biometric locks. She'll probably keep an eye on the remaining icon as she hikes over, but she'll just reboot once the overwatch starts creeping up, since it's not a massive loss. ))

[Stephen]

Taipan hefts the Lone Star crate bodily into the rear cargo doors of the Vantichrist, on top of the one Mick delivered just moments before, then climbs in himself. He gives the ork a curt nod of acknowledgement, less so for what they accomplished this night, and more so for all the things that could have happened, but didn't -- or at least, not yet.

Rain drips slowly from his damp clothes onto the floor of the van as he tears open one of the Velcro pockets on his tac vest. He produces an RFID scanner and sets to work locating the RFIDs on the Lone Star crates that the Smiles were surely too stupid -- or brazen -- or high -- to scrub.

As he works, Mouse's grandiose narration of her escapades in the matrix filters in through his commlink. He glances over at her limp form in the crash netting, unsure that he'll ever get used to the sensory juxtaposition of actively communicating with someone in such a state.

At first, he feels alarm at her announcement of more incoming Smiles. Next, confusion at the circus-ringmaster delivery of the news. Shortly thereafter, a heady anticipation to know what happens next.

Mouse awakes to find Taipan staring at her, eyebrows raised in anticipation. At her mention of a pileup, he relaxes visibly, looking not so much relieved that a threat has been eliminated, but rather that he's been graced to know the end of a gripping chapter in this night's story. "Not bad," he mutters dumbly before remembering himself, and sets to work again as the image link reminds him that a conflict is quickly approaching. He deftly replaces the scanner and plucks a tag eraser from the same pocket and runs it over the tags on the stolen contraband.