Clusterfrag

Posted: **Mon Jan 24, 2022 10:57 am**

As hesitant as they are to reveal anything to this motley rabble, mission prep is not the time for playing coy or, as Yung might, pumping oneself up. Mick pipes up, "I'm awakened, but completely new to seeing into the astral world. It's not a skill we should rely on." The ork pauses briefly, and amends, "Yet."

Posted: **Mon Jan 24, 2022 11:55 am**

Axel has wasted no time in taking advantage of the Cavalier Frontier loaner rifle. At some point during the discussion of the undersea defenses, he'd left the room and returned shortly thereafter, lugging Wind's case back into the room, sitting on the floor in a cross legged fashion, laying out his toolkits, and going to work on both rifle and drone. In less than a minute and a half, the stock, pistol grip, fore grip and trigger assembly have been removed, leaving only the receiver, magazine, and barrel. He pulls the Steyer TMP pistol out of the weapon mount's cradle, and slots in the skeletonized rifle. He pulls an armored lead out from the depths of the drone's carapace and plugs it into the side of the gun. The drone plays a cheerful rendition of the MCT corporate jingle as the smarlink initializes successfully. "Thanks for this," he nods to Anne-Marie. "It's not so much about the firepower, it's about the free autosoft slot on the Console," he slaps the RCC on the ground next to him and grins. "Isn't that right, Candy?"

As he works, he watches the others and feels—not for the first time—a pang of jealousy at the easy way they interact. At the beginnings of bonds forged in fire. Between sitting in a van, sitting on a train, and now sitting on the floor of this ridiculous rancho, Axel still feels like the odd man out. He's been nothing more than a bus driver, and without a bus in sight now that they're here. Even his "kill" all those nights at Bongoland was more of an accident caused by Akela's quick thinking than any action on Axel's part. He wonders, not for the first time, why Preacher threw him in with this group, and if he himself will ever be tested in the way that his companions have.

Posted: **Mon Jan 24, 2022 3:09 pm**

Even for the information-hungry Decker, whose tradecraft relies on dissecting and rearranging every available scrap of data, the sheer amount of detail required for such an op borders on the overwhelming. As details of logistics and provisioning blend into background noise, the cheerful ping of an incoming message snags Mouse’s attention. A window of text blips into the decker’s HUD, from Reiya of all people, with the kind of simple request that’s impossible to ignore: “Can I talk to you alone?”

Mouse feigns passing interest in the dwindling planning session, in a thin attempt to veil her newly divided focus:
>>MOUSE: I SWEAR, I DIDN'T DRAW ANY DICKS ON THAT CAVE WALL, EVEN THOUGH I CONSIDERED IT.
>>REIYA: What? No. I need a favor.
A pause.
>>REIYA: But I'm glad you held back. I mean, dicks are fraggin' weird.

As the others chatter over drones and awakenings, Mouse shoots Reiya a nod of understanding- both of the sentiment, and acceptance of this favor to-be-determined.

That Evening's Discussion

(( ^ Sidebar conversation between Reiya and Mouse under the jump. ))

Posted: **Mon Jan 24, 2022 4:28 pm**

If I were a Saito fanatic, who would I be...a murderer or fragged mentally?

Yung hums to himself, trying to come up with a tune that fits his lyrics.

He activates the comm link and begins dictating quietly, casting his gaze towards the sky.

Ver 1: Mayday mayday, this is the (shipname), we have been attacked by FreeCal insurgents. Mayday mayday, this is the (shipname), we have been attacked by FreeCal insurgents.

Our communications array has been damaged, we cannot receive, I repeat we cannot receive messages.

This is the (shipname) we are transporting critical medical supplies from (shadow AAA medical subsidiary). Our vessel has been critically damaged, several members of our crew have been killed or injured. We are requesting emergency docking permission. Please do not fire.

###

Hmmm, a little heavy. Maybe don't need two excuses when one will do. Probably don't need to sell injured and killed crew if they fall for it in the first place. Still might ice the cake...

Ver 1.1 Mayday mayday, this is the (shipname), we have been attacked by FreeCal insurgents.

Our communications array has been damaged, we cannot receive, I repeat we cannot receive messages.

We are transporting medical supplies from (shadow AAA medical subsidiary). Our vessel has been critically damaged. We are requesting emergency docking permission. Please do not fire.

Note: Let's get some red paint and something to drape over bodies, might help them relax a bit. Do we shoot up the ship somehow or make it look like we were attackeed?

Mouse: Let me know if you have any thoughts on the message.

Can you do some digging on names of any Imperial Marines mentioned in the news the past few years? It's a long shot, probably not publicized. Looking for any that fit the qualifications for reassignment to Black Site D. Gross misconduct, dishonorable discharge (at least publicly). Anyone involved in major incidents that reflected poorly on the regime, but that might have been secretly lauded by Saito. Thanks (>°-°)>

###

(( DM above message to Mouse. ))

Yung places his hands behind his back, pacing outside the Rancheria.

Still think it could be better...

Posted: **Mon Jan 24, 2022 8:22 pm**

Anne-Marie grins at Mouse. "Men," she says with a chortle. In response to Axel's thanks, she nods. "Truth be told, I'm a little put out that I'm missing out on the action, but Tex needs me here. You all come back safe, eh? Good hunting."

Candy squats with her arms hung over her knees and her rear end hanging out as she watches Axel. Skip the spider occasionally drags tools within his reach; her contribution to the fabrication. She peppers him with questions and-- at times-- suggestions. The ice is immediately broken by their shared passion of drones.

Zal seems relieved that there at least two people who can observe astral threats. "Be sure to notify us on comm if you see anything," he advises.

The rest of the evening is filled with last minute preparations, conversation, and anticipation.

Posted: **Mon Jan 24, 2022 8:24 pm**

0530 hours - Off the coast of Bodega Bay

The M.T. Ōwatatsumi rocks gently as it wends a large arc towards San Francisco bay. The transport ship is a chunky bar of stainless steel hull, bearing faded orange paint. The deck itself is covered by a parabolic canopy connected by its stanchions. Pura Vida Medical is printed on both port and starboard hull, alongside a stylized Caduceus symbol.

The aquamarine expanse of the Pacific ocean froths and churns under the bow of the considerable ship. The sky is clear, lit by a brilliant, bourgeoning sunrise. The smell of sea brine, wet metal, and exhaust are a perfume well known to Thoryne, but take some getting used to for most.

Zal, dressed in an armored vest and tactical pants, leans against a railing near the aft deck. He squints against the light and surveys the barely perceptible silhouette of San Francisco proper in the distance. Zdenka has the helm while the rest of the California Army squad see to their preparations.

"Not long now," Zal says. He turns his back on the sunrise. Ferris approaches from the hold, carrying two sets of sailor's uniforms under her arm. "We need two on the deck while the rest of us hide out in the hold," says Zal. "Who are my volunteers? We'll also need someone to record the mayday."

Posted: **Mon Jan 24, 2022 10:06 pm**

Taipan stands on the deck of the M.T. Ōwatatsumi, face turned toward the sunrise. His eyes close momentarily, feeling the sun's warmth and the cool maritime breeze flirt with one another as they play across his features. For just an instant, an almost imperceptible smile creeps onto his face as the context of the journey and everything leading up to it is forgotten, and all that remains are Kiyoshi and the emptiness of the sea.

The peaceful moment is shattered as Zal's voice pierces the sea breeze. "I'll be of more use down below come business time; more likely a liability up here." He glances at Mick for a moment, giving him what he hopes comes off as a moderately companionable grin. "Could use your help down there, treating these zealots in a cargo hold like clowns in a circus tent."

Posted: **Tue Jan 25, 2022 11:21 am**

[“Alright, my little chickadees. You asked, so I deliver.” The elf from the makeup vid gives a shimmy of feigned excitement, each movement carefully calculated to best show off his delicate features, which have been contoured into a painted softness. “Today, I’m finally going to show you my secret to Tucking.” He leaves a dramatic pause to maximize the implied scandal of his words, before shooting the camera a conspiratorial wink. “...your ears.”]

Mouse doesn’t laugh or roll her eyes, instead fixated on the lesson and the painstaking process of following along. A soft string of "Frag, frag, frag" escapes under her breath as she takes a roll of sports tape to her own ear, in a clumsy mimicry of the video’s techniques. This stream of curses has been a steady refrain for the last hour that she’s been working, fighting to draw straight black lines along each lash-line, shellacking old dumpshock burns with a generous layer of concealer, taking a brush to her unruly hair and fighting entropy and gravity to pin it up. “...cocksucker, motherfragger, tits…”

This newfound need for a disguise more elaborate than ‘Nameless Intern #7’ has exposed a peculiar gap in her working knowledge. She could, for instance, readily identify that the recording was shot with a CU^3, and that the metadata confirms that it has not been altered with post-processing beautification software.

She couldn’t say if the shade of foundation she picked is too harsh for her complexion.

As she tucks the blunted ends of her ears under her hair, she idly scans the myriad detail cluttering her HUD, minimizing tutorial vids, maps of the island, and her own replies to Yung- which read:

>> You’ve been thinking about this, huh? (• 3 •) It's definitely a good start. I can work with this.

>> Here’s a little lesson in trickery: it’s better not to overexplain. The more info we give, the more they can scrutinize, and the less wiggle room we have later. If we tell them we got in a firefight, we’d have to explain how we got out without bullet holes in our hull, and why they shouldn’t be calling for backup against hostile Freecal vessels. (++ kuroikaze drekheads are going to be fragging familiar with the look of blood. Let’s not fake it.)

>> Here’s all the detail I’m giving them: We’re a medical tanker, we hit something and are sinking, we’re just a bunch of civvies so don’t shoot, and no more radio after that. We can fill in the rest as they demand it. You rez?

She brushes the creases out of her Ares “Industrious” uniform, its electrochromic fabric freshly programmed to sport ‘Pura Vida’ logos and colors and gives one last glance to her reflection. Something about this cleaner, professional version of herself evokes the phrase, “Yamato Nadeshiko” in her consciousness. She hates it already.

Still, with this disguise clearly as good as it’s going to get, Mouse makes her way to the deck, just in time to catch the tail end of preparatory chatter. “MAYBE AXEL, THEN? WE JUST NEED BODIES IN UNIFORMS- PREFERABLY HUMAN ONES.” She grits her teeth, obviously not looking forward to the task ahead of her. “YOU’LL HAVE TO TELL ME IF YOU THINK THIS WILL FOOL A HARDENED RACIST. IF I DON’T LOOK TOO KEEBY, I’LL JOIN THE WELCOME PARTY AFTER MAKING THE CALL. IT WILL HELP TO GIVE A FACE TO THE DISTRESS CALL, AND TO HAVE THE LANGUAGE SUPPORT.“

(( Disguise to look human, using the kit for as much of a dice bonus as time/success will afford (up to +4 IIRC?), with an edge for even moar dice/dem exploding sixes ))

Posted: **Tue Jan 25, 2022 1:10 pm**

Mick gives Taipan a nod that is both professional and companionable in equal measure. "Like clowns in a tent." The agreement between them cuts through the tension born of the dire mismatch of their personalities and experiences. Nothing makes odd fellows quite like spilling blood together. The ork smiles to themself. "Step right up folks, and witness the greatest show under the big top. The first few rows may get wet."

Mick steals another deep breath of clean sea air as the brisk mid-dawn fog washes over their face. The air never feels like this in Seattle. Turning from the crowning sunrise, Mick says simply, "Alright kids, I'll be below deck." Another glance at Taipan, a knowing smirk. "Puttin' on a clown show."

Posted: **Tue Jan 25, 2022 5:23 pm**

Dice Rolls

The provided uniforms are utilitarian, to say the least. Provided are two white polyester-vinyl jumpsuits. The shoulders are ribbed with some rigid foam inserts and the slick quality of the material suggests that it's hydrophobic. Patches of breathable mesh are located in strategic places like underneath the armpits and near the hips. The supplied footwear have anti-slip soles. Featured across the breast of the garment is Pura Vida's name and logo.

Mouse admires herself in the reflection from a porthole window. The uniform fits like a glove; coupled with the extra lengths she went to in order to sell the disguise, she might as well be a neophyte sailor on her first day.

Yung's uniform is a bit tight in the wrong places and he finds the jumpsuit downright uncomfortable, but is satisfied he'll pass for an ill-tempered corpo from long distance.

Zdenka descends the stairwell from the bridge briskly. She grins at the pair of them. "Lookin' good." She tosses Mouse a wireless microphone. "Mayday time. You're up. When you're done I'll upload the clip and loop it on all outgoing bands."

Posted: **Tue Jan 25, 2022 6:26 pm**

Mouse catches the mic, shooting Zdenka a nod. Her lips curl nervously as she glances between Yung, and the text of her script hovering in her vision- an amalgam of standardized language, Yung’s more stable ideas, and her own invention.

She swallows hard, closing her eyes briefly as she reaches deep into memory, searching for something familiar. After all, the best lies are rooted in something real, and lucky for her… she’s done this before.

· · · – – – · · ·
4 and a half years prior. Mouse is 15 years old, and her heart is racing with fear and uncertainty, but more than that… pride? She’s just injected a script into the local Soybucks node, forcing the lights in every nearby shop to blink to that familiar beat: [S.O.S.]

She’s trying to explain this to Zero, to tug on digital lapels for his praise like the needy child she is, but he’s not listening. He’s busy relaying something she doesn’t understand- a desperate warning not to jack in, an appeal to take nodes offline, the status of a dozen other decking handles, none of which she recognizes. She pouts, insists he’s being melodramatic, but she nonetheless dutifully takes down his dictation, overlaying it onto digital ad displays, and injecting it into automated label makers.

When this is all over and they get out, maybe then he’ll see everything she did to help. When they get out- - -
· · · – – – · · ·

When she opens her eyes again, heavy blobs of tears tremble precariously across her lower lashes, threatening to drop at the slightest twitch of a muscle.

With a wave of her hand, her deck begins to emit a carefully curated arrangement of background noise: the discordant groan of metal, and constant level of fuzz from struggling-comms, that occasionally spikes into jarring bursts of static.

She takes a deep breath, and starts recording:

“Mayday, Ma̶y̸day, Mayday
This is the M.T. Ōwatatsumi. M.T. Ōwatatsum̶̞͎̓̏̑i̶͈̋̀́,̴̘̘͊͑̋̅ ̸̢̛̙̆͛M̴̰̥͗.̴̧̍̽̚*Ť̵͓́͝͝ZZ̶͔͎͛Z̶̠̫͛CC̷̭͠C̵̬̼̐H̴̘͌͠- with Pura Vida Me̷̤̐dic̴̜͑al
Position is 37 49̶̠̐̆*̶̪̟̏̉̽Z̴͉̼̩̿ZZ̵̹̽ZT̴͓̳̤̄̃̀T̸͈̠̦̏͌*̷̱̀ ̵͎͑̐͌N̷͚̪̲̽orth, 12̵͕͈͌*C̵͙͍͝R̶̙̔̕RRR̵̨̖̎R̷̜͔̂RK̷͕͙̀*, Westbound
We have hit a submerged object and *T̴̢̒͂S̸͉̀̓S̶̡̯̀̄C̵̜̓́C̸̣̰̃͝H̵̪̲̐*pidly taking on water.
Requesting emergency docking permission.
Comms are *̴̫̎͗B̶̙͝B̶̡̾B̶̮̜̍Z̶̛̼̅ͅŻ̵̬̓Z̴̦͓̿Z̷̨̈̋T̵͕͙̏*̷̼͂͑ed. No further radio contact possible.
*C̷̮̀R̶̥͛Ṛ̶͠R̷̥͋R̴̳̽K̸̬͊* civilians on board.
Repeat, we are request̷̩͘ì̶͖n̶͋ͅg̸͚̈́ emergency permission to dock.”

She swallows, deviating from the standard English structure as she slips into formal Japanese, her voice softer, desperate, nearly broken:

“Plẹ̵̕as̸̟͝e, I beg of yo̴̖͒u̸̢͛… Ou̸̯͒r lives are in your ha̸̯̕nds. Over."

She stops the recording, wipes at her eyes with her sleeve and hands back the mic with a weak smile. "Alright, boys and girls. It's showtime."

(( Con! With yet another edge to not fuck this up. ^^; ))

Posted: **Tue Jan 25, 2022 8:53 pm**

Mouse - Con Skill Check

And with Mouse's addition to the subterfuge, it has begun.

Zdenka swiftly returns to the bridge, powered by the nervous energy of impending danger. Mouse and Yung follow the stanchions to the fore deck and stand near the bow. A cascade of sea water glitters in the light of dawn as the ship breaks a wave. A sudden sensation of dubiety assails the pair of shadow-runners. Just a few days prior they were in their element and on their own turf; now, clinging to a borrowed ship barreling towards the nest of a most fearsome adversary.

Down in the hold, Zal and the remainder of his squad stand opposite Axel, Mick, Thoryne, Reiya and Taipan. Being a converted tanker, the below decks are as spartan as it gets. The floor is treated honey-comb steel, the walls and overhead a maze of supports and pipes and girders. What little light is present comes in the form of sunlight seeping through the portholes. A musty, tepid odor tinged with brine pervades the space.

Candy sits cross-legged atop a stack of empty crates, cradling her drones to her chest. Lafayette broods underneath the singular staircase that leads to the deck, wholly absorbed in cleaning his assault rifle. Ferris seems to be meditating in a corner. Charlie and Abeje are quietly arguing over the best formation for an ambush. In an opposite corner Baek is slumped against a wall, presumably monitoring matrix traffic.

Zal stands at the foot of the stair. Though his demeanor remains surly, a zen-like calm has come over the commander. "Let's all switch to comms: channel nine-four."

<< Consider this the operational comms and stay tuned to it for the remainder of the mission. I'm uploading a program to our private GAN called TacStar, through it everyone can see each other's position and status overlaid on GPS and topo data of the objective. Any hazards or waypoints can be easily designated. >>

Zdenka's voice cuts in. << Committing our final course correction. Hold on to something! >>

The ship lurches as it fights the resistance of the water pulling hard to starboard. Candy nearly falls from her perch while Lafayette bangs his head and launches into a blue streak. Zal windmills his arms and manages to maintain balance.

<< Course committed. Mayday sending... and sent. Nothing left to do but wait until we run aground... >> Zdenka comms.

<< Let's get into final positions for the ambush, >> Zal says. << Any movement once this old tub is still might put our quarry on alert. Zdenka, you-- >>

<< I'll hide in the bridge until we're boarded, then come down to back up Mouse and Yung and cut off any possible retreat. Don't worry, chief. >>

The hold is filled with the groaning of steel and the hiss of breaking waves as the Ōwatatsumi speeds ahead under full power. Zal motions to the below-deck team and the members of his squad. << Pick your positions and hold tight. Nothing to do now but wait. >>

Lafayette's gravelly voice hits the comm. << And pray we don't get blown to hell. >>

Posted: **Tue Jan 25, 2022 10:21 pm**

A trace of perspiration springs from the palms of Taipan's hands as the ship lurches toward its new vector, suffusing the air with the familiar electricity of inexorable conflict. He grips the hilt of his blade with steady if slightly clammy offhand. Op site leader? He recalls the moniker with some anxiety, the expectations of leadership suffused within it at odds with his vast experience taking the orders rather than giving them. On the other side of the coin, many of the orders he'd taken had given him plenty of experience effectively ambushing capable adversaries. I guess there's that, he muses, which buoys his confidence slightly.

Instilling his voice with what he hopes is respectful authority, Taipan tunes to the ops channel and speaks. << Mick, help me move some of these crates a little closer to this door. You and I can take up position on either side. >> He stoops down and puts his shoulder into one of the crates, which makes a loud scraping sound as it rasps over the honeycombed steel. Grunting with the effort, he continues. << We don't want to spook them until the last one's in the door, so we'll need as many people out of sight as possible. >>

Satisfied with the position of the crate, he stands up. << Deck crew, we'll need you to confirm the number of opponents coming down. >> Turning to Mick, he continues, << Once the last man is in, we go. Mick and I will focus down the last man in, rest of our fighters can focus down the first. If there are more than two, we pinch in and repeat. >> Recalling the mantra bestowed upon the crew by Zal, he repeats, << Armpits, thighs, back, chin, but if you get a shot at the thighs, take it first. Last thing we want is to have to chase anyone back up on deck. >>

He stops to survey those listening, and he has to suppress a momentary flush of embarrassment as his eyes pass over some of the more hardened soldiers and runners among them, finally landing on Zal. Taipan knows he's likely the world's foremost expert on uncomfortable relationships, but the most salient one right now is that between Taipan as a 'mercenary' and Zal of a soldier. He nods to the man respectfully, but doesn't soften his demeanor.

<< That's how I'd do it, anyway. >>

(( Small Unit Tactics, Dog Pile ))

Posted: **Tue Jan 25, 2022 11:37 pm**

Mick shoves the crates into place per Taipan's tactical suggestion, taking up their position on the opposite side of the entrance versus the world weary street sam. The ork can feel it coming, swimming through the dark recesses of the space between spaces, the insatiable astral form that's haunted them for years now, drawing ever closer as they draw closer to the blood letting. The waters of Mick's mind cloud and churn, the air around their body gone electric. The ork would attempt to suppress the smile if they didn't relish it.

< In position. We want to do this as quietly as possible, so suppressors if you're shooting. And fragssake, don't hit one of us. > Mick locks eyes with Taipan, the look on his face deadly serious. < We've got our box, let's do some killing. >

Posted: **Wed Jan 26, 2022 8:18 am**

Now Mouse knows how Reiya feels: the rocking motions of the boat blending with her underlying anxiety to produce a constant nausea. Trying to make the most of their limited prep time before the approach, and eager to distract herself from her lingering anxiety, she casts Yung a sidelong glance, “WHILE WE’RE STILL FAR OUT, WHAT NAME ARE YOU GOING BY? ‘AKELA?’” She leaves her tone soft, barely audible under the rush of waves. “THERE’S A NON-ZERO CHANCE OUR SIN-NAMES COULD END UP ON SOME SPOOKY MILITARY DATABASE, ESPECIALLY IF OUR INVESTIGATORS PHONE HOME. STILL, I’D RATHER BURN A SIN THAN HAVE THEM QUESTION A MISMATCH.”

With a low, metallic groan, the ship lurches into its final turn, sending even Mouse stumbling across the slick deck. As soon as she’s sure of her footing once more, she straightens up, messaging back to the group:

<<Sailor Mouse and Vashion-Island Kamen are in position. I’ll broadcast the audio from up top, and will manually report anything that’s strictly visual.>>> It’s times like this that the DNI pays for itself, with immeasurable value in being able to communicate with a thought, rather than fumbling awkwardly with a hand-held comm. <<Signal word for distress will be “DOUJIN”- As in, if I’m using that in a sentence, assume we done fragged up.>>

With one last flick of her hand, she sets her deck’s virtual paint job, completing her disguise as she swaps out its icon for that of an embedded commlink. All that’s left now is to wait, to watch for life, and to not let herself break now.

Posted: **Wed Jan 26, 2022 11:22 am**

Mick has been in enough situations that were about to turn bloody to know the value of a little levity between comrades in such moments, and the ork can't help themself.

<< Doujin frag up, Cinnamon Bun. >>

Posted: **Wed Jan 26, 2022 11:54 am**

Axel walks about the ship like a parent hiding Easter eggs before their children wake up. For Echo, the Fly Spy, he places it in the corner of an overhang off the bridge, tiny legs wedged against the perpendicular walls much like the spider who's web he had to remove would have sat. The drone's optics are aimed toward the port side of the ship, chosen because that's where all the opportunities to board the ship appear to be, with gangplanks, openable gates, rope ladders, and all sorts of detritus meant to make entering and exiting a ship easier. He borrows a ladder, and after several maneuvers that would have given those old-timey "safety inspectors" from the nation-state days a heart attack, places Wind, the MCT - Roto, atop the roof of the bridge. The drone's lines are broken up by the transmission equipment, all jagged lines and right angles, and Axel hopes that it won't stand out even if the rescuers arrive by air.

His job complete upstairs, he heads down to the hold with the others, sidestepping a crate that Taipan and Mick are busy placing in front of the door. He places Whirlwind between two large pipes, its rifle dangling between them, and just enough headspace for the drone to take to the air if needed. The last touch is Doug, the less glamourous Doberman. Axel's eyes hunt the room for a suitable ambush spot, before they alight on a sheet of salt-stained waxed canvas. He picks it up, and unceremoniously tosses it over the boxy tracked drone, hiding in plain sight directly in front of the door as just another "crate" in the hold.

Axel pulls his Alta out of his coveralls, and checks the magazine. He crouches behind a crate toward the back of the room, happy to let the more professional meat-suit pilots take the lead. As a last step, he grabs the Fly-Spy's video feed ARO in his hands, and once again splays his fingers out, sending the camera feed to all below deck. <<Gonna keep an eye on things up top with this feed. If all goes smoothly with the deck team, I'll track them when they start to go down to the hold. We should know exactly when they're going to breach that door.>>

The ship groans and creaks, and Axel is reminded of an old flatvid of soldiers during some great war of the last century riding in roughly-made landing craft, puking their guts out just before the doors open and they all get gunned down. He decides to think about something else, instead.

Posted: **Wed Jan 26, 2022 7:21 pm**

Clearly uncomfortable in the uniform that is too snug in several places, Yung nonetheless begins the process of stretching. A slight smile rests on his face as the warm salty air flows through his sinuses; an unfamiliar sensation to be sure. It doesn't last long before being replaced by a stern expression as he begins his kata. After a few constrained movements his countenance transforms yet again, this time into a frown of frustration. He lets out an audible huff, before ending his routine prematurely; pulling the hem of the uniform taught before returning to a more relaxed pose. Just as he does so the boat lurches, had he been in the midst of his kata he would have likely fallen over; instead he manages to steady himself by grabbing the railing of the ship.

He turns to address Mouse's question "Well, I had fancied the name Ken Ryu, but seeing how I only have my current SIN to burn, I guess it's going to be Akela." He rubs the back of his neck as he answers the question, as if to confirm that his false identity is still there. "I guess I'll have to get a new one when we get back home, eh? You know, I'd give us about a 32.33 percent chance of survival, repeating of course." As he says this, the smile once again briefly returns to his face, a last attempt at levity before the situation turns deadly serious.

"What about you, you have a Cinnamon Roll SIN to burn?" He asks rhetorically, turning his gaze toward the island in an attempt to see any signs of movement. "I gotta say, the gods or whoever, they must have a sense of humor. You know what 'Pura Vida means? I mean, you probably already looked it up, or are right now. Pure life, pretty ironic eh?"

Posted: **Thu Jan 27, 2022 7:57 am**

To her considerable surprise and relief, Reiya doesn’t feel any motion sickness on the tanker. She’s not sure whether the rocking of a boat would bother her, but other than the sudden lurches of course correction, this doesn’t. That’s something, at least.

Reiya has her crossbow strapped to her back and her pockets full of her shiny new bolts, but the shaman knows she doesn’t have enough room to use it here. Reiya knows she’s better at spellcraft anyway, but Mick’s warning not to hit one of their own only adds to her concern that she might do just that. She hunkers down and waits. No point in trying to decide what to use until they know what’s actually coming.

The only spell Reiya hopes she doesn’t need to use is Heal.

Posted: **Thu Jan 27, 2022 9:23 am**

<<You not nearly enough of an Oji to be making that joke.>> Mick's message warrants a quiet snicker regardless, even if Mouse still doesn't know how she feels about being a 'Cinnamon Bun'.

The nickname’s second iteration, this time from Yung, is enough to cause her briefly lived smile to tense into a wince. "...YOU KNOW, I STILL DON’T KNOW WHAT TO MAKE OF YOU." She gives him a hard look, as if trying to derive some explanation from his expression. "SOMETIMES, IT SEEMS LIKE YOU WANT TO BE FRIENDS, JOKING ABOUT FLATVIDS, STREET FIGHTER, LEEROY JENKINS- SOMEHOW COMPLETELY LACKING IN IRONY, MIGHT I ADD." Her brow furrows. "BUT THEN YOU GO AND SAY SOMETHING WEIRD LIKE THAT."

She shakes her head, as if trying to cast off the thought, instead looking outward to the rolling waves. "OTONASHI SATOMI. THAT'S WHAT’S ON THE SIN, ANYWAY. OTONASHI-SAN WILL SUFFICE." In fairness, a burned sin is just one of the many risks they're taking, but one she hopes doesn't come to fruition- she's admittedly fond of that name. Her attention back to the job at hand, she scans the horizon for signs of life, keenly aware that with the Kuroikaze now searching for them, their window to chat 'out-of-character' is rapidly closing. "GAME FACES ON. OUR SCENE STARTS NOW." She tilts her head back toward Yung with one last nervous smile, "LET'S SEE IF THIS 'PURE LIFE' TURNS INTO A DEATHTRAP."

Posted: **Thu Jan 27, 2022 9:53 am**

Yung and Mouse grip the railings and squint through the sea spray, watching as the island grows larger. They're past it now-- the point of no return. It's almost a relief to have that anxiety banished and to have one's future left entirely in the hands of fate.

<< Three kilometers... >> Zdenka's murmur is barely audible over the crashing of the waves.

Details on the island are visible now: the jagged, sheer cliff faces, the eroded masonry, the radio tower and antennae array-- and the CIWS turret. Both Mouse and Yung watch it warily, just waiting for it to come to bear on their unprotected tanker.

<< Two kilometers... going radio silent. Brace for impact! >>

The island looms larger. Yung cranes his neck and finds that one of the cell blocks has partially collapsed and is exposed to the elements. Zdenka's chosen landing zone is visible as well: a rambling grade that tumbles into the water. No movement from the turret. No sub-surface explosions.

The Ōwatatsumi plows forward, riding the cresting waves toward her rocky abatement. No movement from the hill-side. Alcatraz is approaching fast, growing large, impossibly large...

The tanker's bowsprit slams into the packed earth of the hill. Yung and Mouse cling for dear life as the sheer force of the impact nearly lifts the aft end of the tanker from the water. A massive geyser of sea water erupts from around the vessel, swamping the decks and soaking the pair. Steel moans under the strain, but the Ōwatatsumi seems to have successfully run aground.

Both Mouse and Yung rise gingerly, favoring body parts that had been banged about. The pair do a quick inspection and confirm that the bowsprit has embedded itself in the island, not unlike a dart in a dartboard. As they are examining the damage, Yung spots a trio of figures.

Standing at the top of the hill are two Kuroikaze in their obsidian black Karuta, which seems to absorb the ambient light. Next to them is a man in armored BDU's-- perhaps a normal detention officer. The Kuroikaze have their weapons held ready, but aren't necessarily aiming at the ship or at them.

Mouse barely suppresses a shiver. The Kuroikaze and their ghostly presence is like a personification of the void that exists within Saito and people like him. They're like two shadows, manifested from the fear and hatred of human beings.

Abruptly, the Kuroikaze lower their weapons and begin swiftly descending the hill. The guard accompanying them struggles to follow, slipping and sliding down the loose earth.

The Kuroikaze move to a position near the bowsprit where they can be seen. One of them points near the foredeck. "Ladder," he says in Japanese. "Lower the ladder then stay where you are."

Posted: **Thu Jan 27, 2022 10:33 am**

<<3 total: 2 Kuroikaze, 1 generic mook.>>

Mouse is taking deep breaths now, trying to steel herself against the chill seeping through her bones, lingering from the ocean spray and now contaminated with her own sense of dread.

”Yes- understood!” Her call back is immediate, obedient. She’s sure that the Kuroikaze would settle for nothing less. There’s a fleeting moment of panic as she scans her surroundings for the pilot ladder, at least until she’s able to spot this. Hopefully, the guards will chalk any hesitation up to nerves, and the recent 'near-death experience' rather than the truth: which involves a ‘How to deploy a pilot ladder’ tutorial silently playing in the corner of her vision.

“Help me secure this.” She addresses Yung, still in Japanese, but her tone much softer, as she feeds the ladder over the gunwale. As soon as the ladder has been sufficiently deployed, she immediately steps back, hands at her side but visible, head lowered as she waits to be addressed.

Posted: **Thu Jan 27, 2022 12:09 pm**

Axel rotates the camera controls on Echo to better frame the new figures. He turns up the volume on the audio feed, but only catches snippets of what could be Japanese over the crash of the surf and settling of the ship.

"You got this," he mutters in prayer to the two more familiar figures on the deck.

Posted: **Thu Jan 27, 2022 12:32 pm**

With Echo placed strategically near the bridge, the individuals crouching in the hold get a clear look at their enemies.

The Kuroikaze's karuta resembles that of the feudal samurai. One might even describe the armor as techno-samurai. The armor plates resemble glossy cards, stacked together and distributed strategically across the body. The sode are oversized shoulder-plates, cast in the image of vipers poised to strike. The haidate and suneate are spiked, and the tabi boots themselves have razor sharp claws, making the armor itself a weapon.

The kabuto helmet features two large horns and a waning crescent moon decoration on the forehead. A protective face-plate obscures the wearer's features, rendering the headgear into the likeness of some terrifying oni. Though, one of the two Kuroikaze has his face-plate retracted, revealing a set of remarkably average Nipponese features.

The speed, grace and surety with which the two commandos move broadcasts a wide array of cybernetic augmentations. Every movement, no matter how minute appears calculated. Purposeful. Not a single joule of energy is wasted.

Both commandos have a katana and wakizashi sheathed at the hip. Visible also are heavily modified XM30 carbines. The closest Kuroikaze takes his firearm and positions it over his upper back where some manner of magnetic implement secures it. His hands free, he swings up and begins mounting the primary gang-ladder while his fellow stands, weapon-ready, at the bottom.

The third man is also Nipponese and of average height and build. He lacks the fluid agility and confidence of the superior commandos and instead waits anxiously for his turn to climb. An Ares Viper sliver-gun is holstered at his hip. It's clear that even though the trio are allies, there's something about their presence that agitates the man. His eyes continually make a circuit of the fore-deck, hull, beach.

The brilliant rays of morning sun seem unable to catch on the obsidian-black armor. As Yung watches the Kuroikaze scale the ladder effortlessly, he's reminded of a person-shaped hole in reality.

Posted: **Thu Jan 27, 2022 3:52 pm**

Once both Kuroikaze have vaulted the gunwhale, they move along the fore-deck. Though they've secured their firearms on their backs, both keep a grip on the pommel of their katanas. The latter to arrive retracts his face-plate, which nearly forces Mouse to do a double-take. Identical twins? No. She realizes with a touch of horror that they're a gene-pair. The wholly commonplace features seem like an amalgamation of innumerable Nipponese faces, distilled down to a sort of mean.

The two jet-black commandos step up to Mouse and Yung, clearly not bothering to wait for the third man; grunts of frustration from over the side of the vessel indicate he is still performing the climb. One Kuroikaze peers over the bow to where the ship has lodged itself in the island. The second gazes at Yung with a dispassionate look of distaste. Promptly, the first returns his attention to the disguised runners. He casts a thousand-yard stare down at Mouse.

"We received your mayday. This island is not a place for civilians, but it can't be helped." Now that Mouse is within a meter of the Kuroikaze, she can clearly detect the subtle voice modulation at work. She isn't sure whether it's intended to charm or intimidate.

The officer finally throws himself over the gunwhale, panting and swearing.

"You speak Nipponese," the Kuroikaze says. It's a statement, mainly one of surprise. His twin is keeping a watchful, distrustful eye on Yung. "This is a medical vessel?" asks the first.

Posted: **Thu Jan 27, 2022 5:57 pm**

As soon as the soldiers ascend, Mouse drops into a deep saikeirei, hoping that Yung follows her lead. "We are deeply sorry for the inconvenience we have caused you. Please accept my sincerest apologies for burdening your team, forcing you to come out this way just for us." She keeps her eyes cast downward as she speaks, hands folded in front of her waist. The words feel strangely foreign to her, the language itself familiar, but every word and conjugation calculated to maximize respect to the soldiers before her, and verbally making herself as small as she feels right now.

She tilts her head upward only when addressed directly, flushing slightly at the mention of language. ”O-of course. It’s only proper…” At this, she forces herself to look upward at the Kuroikaze, if only so he can better see her face, and the fact that, while not the bizarre genetic amalgamation before her, she is at least ethnically Nipponese. Face to face with the heavily armed guards, she’s keenly aware of just how small and fragile she is by comparison, but so long as she can convince them she’s a good, non-threatening little loyalist, she might get out of this unscathed.

She responds to the next prompt with a small nod. ”Yes- Medical cargo, at least, so anything that requires special handling: sterilants, pharmaceuticals, biotech equipment and the like… She rattles off the list as though this were nothing special, even as she quietly buries the lede, distinctly remembering Zal’s words. So long as she bets on greed, she shouldn’t have anything to fear. She hopes he’s right.

She glances sheepishly toward Yung, as though trying to change the subject. “With recent circumstances, our personnel have unfortunately been stretched thin. There are no words that could truly express our gratitude for your saving our lives. We are truly in your debt.” She looks back at the Kuroikaze, wide-eyed, as though with appropriate awe and reverence for the men themselves, rather than the mere power dynamics at play.

Never before has she imagined that she'd be so reduced to licking boots, yet all it would take is the wrong word for that boot to be on her neck.

Posted: **Thu Jan 27, 2022 7:33 pm**

Yung follows Mouse’s lead. First by bowing in a fashion that might be envied by a supplicant, then nodding over eagerly as Mouse provides answers to the questions asked. He averts his eyes from the Kuroikaze whenever challenged, only managing to sneak slight glimpses under the scrutiny of, in his eyes, the second soldier.

Mouse does manage to glimpse what can only be described as a subliminal irritation when their eyes connect briefly, but it washes away as quickly as it was noticed. Yung manages a “Hai.” in response to Mouse’s mention of propriety. Once again returning to nodding fervently as she describes the contents of the ship's cargo.

As she finishes proffering her gratitude and recognition of indebtedness for their help Yung offers an “Arigato, arigato.”

Posted: **Thu Jan 27, 2022 8:37 pm**

Dice Rolls

The Kuroikaze watches Mouse impassively. An unnatural stillness accompanies the pair when they aren't moving, like they've become statues in the absence of motion. "I see," he says.

Still grumbling about the physical exertion, the corpsman approaches, taking a wide berth around the two commandos. A sharp contrast to the genetic purity of the Kuroikaze, the lower ranked grunt has a wrinkled uniform and a spare ten pounds around the midsection. "These idiots," he snickers in English and to nobody in particular, gesturing towards Mouse and Yung. "Crash the ship and they're a full day early."

The silence that follows could be best described as awkward. Though the corpsman attempts to engage the Kuroikaze, they seem to be pointedly ignoring him and he seems too afraid to appeal to them directly. He gives up and resorts instead to observing Mouse with a lecherous expression.

Yung and Mouse realize, over the course of the silence, that the Kuroikaze are probably communicating non-verbally-- though through subdermal means or something even more subtle, it's impossible to say.

"We will inspect the hold now," says the Kuroikaze. It's not a request. "You will watch them," he says to the corpsman.

The corpsman scowls at this development, clearly eager to investigate the hold, but respect or fear of the commandos wins over and he simply nods. He places his hand on the top of his holster and turns the scowl on Mouse and Yung.

Echo, from its perch on the bridge, observes the Kuroikaze move to the hatch that leads to the hold.

"There isn't anyone down there, is there?" asks the corpsman. He thrusts his face closer to Mouse, but seems satisfied when she shakes her head.

The steel slats that serve as stairs into the hold creak under the weight of the two armored Kuroikaze. Their face-plates retract in unison and the protective eye coverings glow as a low-light feature kicks on. In the dim light of the hold, the two descending soldiers look indeed like Oni out of some Nipponese mythology.

Once at the foot of the stair, the two split and move to separate ends of the hold. One of the pair approaches the crates behind which Taipan crouches motionless. He reaches out a spiked shinogote and prizes the lid off a crate in order to inspect the contents. The other Kuroikaze stoops to inspect something on the floor.

Posted: **Fri Jan 28, 2022 9:34 am**

<<Mook is still topside, playing babysitter. If you can dispatch Jackboot Jiro and his twin quietly, I’ll try to talk him below deck.>> Mouse silently messages out, eyes trained on the two hulking shadows until they disappear into the hold.

With the immediate threat to her life out of sight, she turns her attention to the corpsman, and shy smile crosses her lips. Of course, he’s still one more goon that will need to be dispatched, but unlike the two murder machines, they might be able to handle this little piggy on their own. They have a few factors in their favor, namely that: A) This one’s nowhere near as physically threatening, B) He thinks they’re stupid.

…with some reluctance, she further acknowledges that, C) He might be into sailor-fuku.

”I’m truly sorry that you’re stuck waiting with us.” She finally says, deliberately using the same deferential Keigo she’d reserved for the Kuroikaze. He strikes her as the type who’d be all too happy to have smoke blown up his hoop. “To be in charge of such a force… you must be terribly busy. I’m sure you have much more important things to do than waste time with civilians like us.” She lowers her gaze in a pseudo-bashful gesture, both to sell the ruse that she truly thinks he’s the one in charge here… and to hide the quiet probing she’s doing of his comms gear.

(( AR Matrix perception: She’s looking for communications devices, and what the firewall would be. If she gets weirdly lucky and somehow gets a bunch of hits, she’d also have an eye out for any icons running silent in the vicinity. ))

Current Loadout

Posted: **Fri Jan 28, 2022 9:47 am**

Familiar with the cat and mouse game of a high stakes boarding party, Thoryne's nerves are ice cool as the Kuroikaze approach. A long, slow inhalation creeps in through his nostrils, regulating his heartbeat and flooding tense muscles with oxygen rich blood. In the darkness beneath his musty canvas drape, his large ears seem to pulse as boots ping against the steel decking, his knotty cartilage flushed and tingling from throttled-open capillaries as his biology attempts to crank up the gain on his auditory senses. As still as a mouse trap, his massive strength is coiled-spring-tension turned stone. A faint green diode blinks once beneath his cover, confirming that his modular gear, like himself, is at full charge, ready to release their combined stored energy in a violent instant. Your mistake, you swaggering cockroaches, is always the same. You assume yourselves to be the cat...

Posted: **Fri Jan 28, 2022 1:55 pm**

The smell of the nearby Kuroikaze fills Taipan's nostrils as he peeks over his crate just in time to witness the matte-clad soldier pop the lid on the opposite one. Time crawls to snail's pace as electricity surges through the augmented nerve cells in his spinal cord. A bead of sweat runs slowly down his forehead as his body begins to move seemingly on its own accord, the muscle memory of brainstem-deep training dying hard in every neuron.

Gripping the sheath of his katana with one hand to keep it from clattering against the crate, he leans softly out from his hiding place. Guided by one hand, the silvery tip of the katana maneuvers its way between the soldier's legs with excruciating slowness, the other hand following to grip the hilt a moment later. Knuckles turn white and lips peel back from teeth as muscles pull taught throughout his body.

<< Go. >>

In a single blur, he presses the blade's edge hard against the soldier's inner thigh and rips it back toward him in a vicious attempt to sever the man's adductor tendon.

Posted: **Fri Jan 28, 2022 5:45 pm**

Dice Rolls

Taipan's katana moves with a speed that is nigh impossible to catch with the naked eye, little more than a silvery streak lashing towards the Kuroikaze's thigh. Equally quick, however, is the intended victim of the attack. Unagi lifts one of of the tabi boots to meet the attack, impacting the blade with the onyx toe-claws. A shower of sparks hits the honeycomb steel as the katana's trajectory is routed clear of a clean strike.

Unagi casts a downward glance at Taipan. The modulated voice finally displays some semblance of emotion, namely anger, as he says, "Konoyaro...!"

Posted: **Fri Jan 28, 2022 5:59 pm**

Mick explodes forward, aiming to obliterate Tako's femur with a crushing elbow strike.

(( Critical strike, killing hands; called shot necessary? ))

Posted: **Fri Jan 28, 2022 9:10 pm**

Dice Rolls

The ball of fury that is Mick rockets forward. Tako slams a shinogote on the floor and transitions into a hand glide, maneuvering out of the way just in time to avoid the blow.

In the midst of the bourgeoning skirmish, Zal's voice hits the comms. << Signal jammed! >>

Tako uses the momentum to windmill his legs, striking out at Mick's unprotected back with his tabi foot-claws.

Sensing the flurry of movement behind them, Mick tucks into a roll. The titanium razors score across Mick's back, shredding their armored clothing, but failing to draw blood.

Abeje lunges from his hiding spot behind a doorway. The bluish hue of a tungsten karambit flashes in the light emanating from the closest porthole. The ork weaves towards Tako's flank and slices for the exposed armpit. Tako uses his velocity to kick off the wall and out of Abeje's range at the last moment. Stumbling forward, Abeje curses.

Candy is nowhere to be seen, but her drone is. The chrome butterfly swoops up and then darts into a dive, spinning and transforming into a blade. It whips upwards towards Tako's exposed chin.

Tako rotates his torso in mid-air, forcing the blade-drone to impact at an awkward angle. A single droplet of blood escapes the karuta, but it doesn't appear any real damage was done.

Zal swears and vaults the stair, using his body to block any attempt to retreat. He hunkers low in a judo stance and awaits an opening.

<< Sorry, upper deck. >> Lafayette barks over the comms. He rests his Colt M23 rifle on the bottom step of the stair, takes aim at the Kuroikaze engaged with Taipan, and fires. Confined to the hold, the report of the assault rifle is deafening.

The round fired by Lafayette slams into Unagi's lower-back. Pain deadened by augmentations, the Kuroikaze doesn't react but instead focuses on regaining his balance.

On the fore-deck above, the gunshot is somewhat muffled, but still entirely discernible. The corpsman's eyes widen and he looks back and forth between the entrance to the hold and the two disguised Shadowrunners. "What the f--"

Having recovered his balance, Unagi performs a nuki-tsuke. The katana lashes out, lightning quick, but Taipan rotates his own and deflects the blade, producing a clamorous ringing.

Posted: **Fri Jan 28, 2022 9:37 pm**

(( Posting out of order, since Emm's asleep right now ))

A flash of annoyance and thankfulness crosses Axel's face as the report of the Colt can be physically felt by everyone in the hold. Done tiptoeing around. Makes things simpler.

Axel gives the go signal to the two drones, Whirlwind and Doug, that are in the hold with the team. Through the ringing in his ears, Axel can hear a tap-tap-tap of Whirlwind's turret coming online and knocking against the pipes that the drone is slung between. Doug shakes off the canvas like a dog shaking off after a swim.

Axel remains firmly in meatspace, and takes aim with his Morrisey Alta, thankful of the recent Safe-Target system he installed in it. The virtual reticle settles on Tako. He breathes out and draws the trigger back in a smooth motion.

(( Simple action - activate drones, simple action - shoot a mofo. Called shots all around. Drones are all rating 3 pilot, all autosofts are rating 4, and all drones have smartlink + smartlink autosoft. If Tako is down by the time Axel can go, switch to Unagi.
If both are down, pat Axel on the head, and say it's the thought that counts! ))

Clusterfrag

Run #2 - Between The Rock and a Hard Place

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