Clusterfrag

Zal turns to the team. "Remember: Luis De León. We'll do everything we can to take down that uplink, so bring him home safe." He ascends the stairwell, his squad in tow. << V formation-- stay low on approach, >> he comms to them.

The feed from Echo shows the members of the California Army moving briskly up the rocky cliff, sticking to cover where it's available. The immediate vicinity still appears to be clear.

Mouse crouches next to the unconscious corpsman, recoiling at the stench of sake and dried sweat. She (grudgingly) pats the folds of his fatigues, looking for a commlink. Upon finding nothing but a crumpled pack of Yeheyan cigarettes, Mouse surmises the commlink must be implanted. She flips through broadcast comm channels and is greeted by the harsh feedback of generated static, which confirms that the signal jammer is still active and that there is no way the corpsman could have phoned home. Her mind quiets as she switches back to the peer-to-peer, encrypted comm channels used by her team.

The sudden appearance of the commlink's icon would imply that Heizo had switched the device off or concealed it. Mouse sincerely doubts the soldier intelligent enough to perform such an act of subterfuge, but figures it could be standard military procedure under capture. Nevertheless, Mouse knows that most implanted commlinks will automatically reactivate if their owner falls unconscious, to be operable should a subroutine need to call for emergency services. Fortunately, with the signal jammer still active, that's not a concern. An intriguing thought strikes her: if they had murdered the corpsman, they might not have had this opportunity.

Mouse taps the AR icon of the corpsman's commlink with an index finger. Information flits across her field of vision: firmware versions, object identification data, and other technical errata. For military-grade gear, the firewall looks to be pretty paltry. It seems someone needs to invest more nuyen in their IT department.

On one hand, her hopes of tossing the commlink into the ocean have been thoroughly dashed, though part of her does take a twisted joy in imagining chucking the entire corpsman into the bay with his coworkers. Still, this new discovery does offer some tantalizing potential- enough to warrant keeping him around for the time being.

She lowers herself into a seated position and reaches into her bag for her Renraku Gerbil: a petite wheeled drone, which she gently places atop one shoulder. She can't help but notice that Yung seems awfully eager to return to his old duties on the away team, though she won't judge his wanting to make the most of the team's limited time."BRB. SHOULDN’T BE LONG, BUT JUST DON'T GET YOURSELVES KILLED BEFORE I RESURFACE."

With her window to the outside world in place, she lets her meatspace eyes drift closed as her consciousness takes its familiar dive into hotsim. Free of the need to masquerade, Mouse’s persona remolds itself into its favored androgynous model. True to form, Mouse punctuates the shift with a costume change, in this case donning dark robes and a kerchief tied around her monitor, evoking the image of a thief from Nipponese folklore.

Settling into this virtual space, she gives one last check of her feeds: the shared imagery from the flyspy, and now the stream from ‘Boo’ capturing her immediate surroundings, the contents of each appearing like distinct, open windows to the outside world. As soon as she’s confirmed that nothing appears out of place, she scans her surroundings until she glimpses the Commlink icon once more. The persona approaches, lifting the icon of the device as though it were some precious treasure worth stealing, and gives it a couple tentative taps, code seeping from her fingers with each digital touch.

(( Hack on the fly- then hopefully proceed to thoroughly invade this mook's privacy ))

Mouse is intimately familiar with the software and security of consumer devices. Even Heizo's commlink, while mil-spec, is little more than a fancy version of an expensive model one might find in any store. Even the added security features are so commonplace and so fundamentally basic that they present little challenge. The fact that the firmware is outdated doesn't hurt, either.

An army of tiny, cartoon spiders skitter from the periphery of her vision as one of her intrusion programs does its work. The commlink quickly yields control to her, falsely believing her to be the new owner. Three mouse skulls, complete with crossbones flash over the device's icon. Mouse realizes in hindsight that a single mistake would have resulted in the device bricking itself. The hand-off complete, the commlink offers her a tour of its features, which she quickly declines. The customary program list pops open in an AR window.

Meanwhile, in Echo's feed, Zal et al are slinking through a row of overgrown fuchsia. Lafayette holds rear-guard, pausing behind piles of brickwork to provide over-watch. Their steady progress is a grim reminder that the clock is ticking.

“OH GOOD. YOU’RE ALL STILL HERE.” Mouse's eyes flutter open once more as she pulls herself back into this reality- the entire process of hacking having been so brief, she might have looked to an outsider like she was merely nodding off.

Marks in place, she hops up to her feet once more, reaching her arms upward in a casual stretch. “SO YEAH, I GOT ROOT. AND BECAUSE I’M SO DARN NICE, I’LL CHECK HIS MAIL FOR HIM. AFTER ALL, WE DON’T WANT HIS BOSS TO START WORRYING ABOUT HIM…” With a flick of her hand, she pops open the unconscious mook’s messages, thumbing through for anything incoming or otherwise interesting.

As she scrolls, she casts a sidelong glance to the remaining members of her team. “YUNG’S RIGHT, THOUGH. WE STILL GOTTA FIND A CLEAR ROUTE TO EITHER D BLOCK OR ONE OF THE TERMINALS…” She purses her lips in thought. “EVEN IF THEY DON’T TELL THIS GUY MUCH, HE MIGHT STILL HAVE A LIST WHO’S ON DUTY AND WHERE,” she muses, nudging the unconscious goon with her foot as she does.

Still, something about this train of thought seems to give her an idea. “NE REIYA, ARE YOU ONE OF THOSE MAGES WHO CAN LIKE… LAUNCH YOUR GHOST OUT OF YOUR MEAT-BODY AND ZOOM AROUND?” She wiggles her fingers demonstratively in an attempt to supplement her missing vocabulary, (which in this case, appears to be the concept of astral projection.)

If nothing else, it serves as a good test for the newfound arrangement between the two: that Mouse is allowed to ask whatever stupid question she wants, and Reiya can’t be mad about it.

(( Snooping on his mail for any follow up to the Pura-Vida inspection team, any listing of who all is on shift today, or anything else that might be interesting. ))

While Mouse peruses the contents of the unconscious man's commlink, Axel banks Echo over, and begins another sweep of the ground between the team and the cell blocks. The last bit of busywork before the die is cast.

"Double-checking ingress. Once I can confirm we're clear, I say we get in and do the thing."

Mouse's vision is a rapid slide-show of Heizo's private life. Creative pornography, pictures of exotic cars, and (strangely enough) floral arrangements all fly past in a dizzying display of debauchery. Still, it's not any worse than what she's seen on the Matrix. If anything, he was on the vanilla side of the spectrum. The corpsmans' messages are next. Most of the logs are between Heizo and a friend or the woman he was courting-- the latter of whom instantly gains Mouse's sympathy. The only thing of interest seems to be a message from a fellow serviceman. It reads:

// Goto, steer clear of the contractors. I just got chewed out by Hachiman because I caught one in the armory and filed a report. He said I should mind my own business and that they were there at his invitation. Lucky I didn't get demoted. You've been nice to me, so I wanted to give you a heads up. They seem to mostly stick around B-block, but I see them in the galley too. Suspicious fuckers, huh? Oh well. Steer clear, omae. //

Echo swoops and glides low over the rocky terrain. The path to the operable cell blocks is a winding switch-back along the perimeter of the island. The ruined brickwork of older, abandoned cell blocks provides adequate cover for an insertion. There is no sign of any patrol between the grounded ship and the considerable bulk of the detention facility.

Taipan watches the fan of glittering seawater disperse into the morning light as the body of the Kuroikaze splashes down beneath the frothing waves. He wonders how many warriors have been buried without ceremony. When my time comes, will I even get so much as this? He inclines his head slightly in respectful solemnity before turning stiffly and heading below decks.

Taipan nods curtly at Axel. "Agreed. No time to waste. Clock's ticking." He surveys the group grimly. "I want to hold a diamond formation on approach. I'll take the forward point and we need decent shooters on the others. Mick and Thoryne, you be our flanks? Axel, I imagine one of your chrome friends can follow us up at the rear. The rest of you can fill out the sides in between."

He looks over the team one by one, judging reactions. "We keep it tight, we'll make it hard for anyone to get a drop on us." Taipan unslings the FN HAR from his back and charges the weapon, checking the Smartlink readout in his AR feed with rote efficiency.

(( SUT - Diamond Formation ))

(( DM Mouse ))

Gotta say, never considered getting into this biz to make friends, seems like we’re all up to our ears in our own drek anyway; anyone actually concerned about one another? Yung pauses for a moment, watching as Zal’s team makes their way up the rocky cliff. He casts his glance down toward the deck mere moments after putting the thought to text. He had in fact been the recipient of genuine concern, but is still too buried in grief to process that reality.

Fact is, if we live through this, which I do give Jenkin’s odds, verdad, I doubt anyone will want to revisit this working relationship again. Besides, everyone should have enough Nuyen to put whatever demons are haunting them to rest. Although there’s no audience for the display, Yung can’t help but pull his emotional shields from his breast pocket, donning them in an all too familiar fashion.

Anyway, I’m good at deflection he says smiling, as he returns his gaze to glimpse Zal and his companions reach the top of the cliff. Humor, it’s the great thing. It crops up and helps wash our worries away. Anyway, we make it through this and I’ll challenge you to a game of Street Fighter 2: Championship Edition, loser spills the beans.

We better get this show on the road.

Taipan’s sudden arrival on deck and issuance of orders seems to snap Yung out of his haze. He turns to face Taipan, lifts his arms above his head and spreads them out in a wide arc, meanwhile feigning an overt yawn. “Bout time Papi, I almost thought you were a little intimidated by Jefe Zal, lost your chill for a hot minute. Nah, but not you, eh?”

A small smirk plays at Taipan's face in a rare moment of taking Yung's cocky, grandiose apathy in stride. "When I 'lose my chill,' omae, you'll know it. Let's move."

The findings from the commlink remind Mouse of the flipside of such privacy violations: they have an unfortunate tendency to humanize the victims. She tries to swallow these feelings down as she forwards the text of the more interesting message to her team: <<No word on a follow-up inspection, but I did get one more piece of intel for your situational awareness.>> She tries not to think about the likelihood she might have to play contractor again.

Instead, there’s the matter of Yung’s unexpected DM, which she replies to in kind: <<Hey– Didn’t mean to snap earlier. Clearly I’m too salty to be this crew’s toutoi cinnamon roll. FWIW, assuming we don’t all retire from our life of crime, I’d gladly work with you again… assuming you’re not too heartbroken after I crush you between Zangief’s thicc thighs. (•∀ • ) >>

Taipan’s marching orders are met with a familiar blend of surface level anxiety and passive acceptance. She shoots Axel a nervous smile. “GUESS WE AREN’T BEING LEFT BEHIND THIS TIME…”

“THAT REMINDS ME- YOU SHOULD PROBABLY TAKE BOO.” She adds, plucking the little drone from her shoulder. The Renraku Gerbil, little more than a camera on wheels, shivers awake with a soft whir of servos. As she holds it out toward Axel with an outstretched palm, it spins briefly in place, rotating its camera as though eyeing its surroundings, the sight of which draws out a tender smile from the decker.

“CHIP TRUTH, IT’S NOT MUCH. I JUST GOT IT TO KEEP AN EYE ON MY MEATSPACE HOOP, SO IT’S STILL ON FACTORY SENSORS.” As if in demonstration, it crawls along Mouse’s outstretched hand, treading across the upper ridge of her knuckles and effortlessly clinging to the underside of her palm. “I DID SWAP OUT THE WHEELS FOR GECKO COMPOUND TREADS, SO LIL’ BUDDY HERE CAN HANDLE VENTS AND ANY OTHER CRAWL SPACE.”

With a wave of one meatspace hand, she passes a trio of marks to Axel’s rig. “IF NOTHING ELSE, IT’S ONE MORE SET OF EYES, AND I FIGURE YOU’LL DO BETTER WITH IT THAN I WOULD.” Fresh out of excuses to stall the inevitable, her attention flits from the exit to her remaining teammates. “SAA… IKUZO?”

Mick nods their assent to Taipan and Yung, Let's get this death march a-marchin'." The ork cocks an eyebrow at Taipan. "I'm better used sneaking than at a flank, like we planned. Given what our unconscious meat-baggage said back there, I'm thinking I scout ahead and look for medical personnel. Seems like our best bet at getting into D. Either that, or the tunnels." The ork doesn't wait for agreement to begin moving. Whatever the prevailing decision, it can be settled en route.

Shouldering his AK-98, Thoryne stands tall on the foredeck as he surveys the landfall, scanning past the beach and along the outcroppings of rock and scree fields that dot their way along the coast. "Okay, " he says to Taipan, "I'll take the landward flank. That'll keep a clear line of fire between me and any greeting party, should they be so kind as to have sent one." Looking down at Mouse beside him, he gives her a friendly nudge with an elbow "You stay close, and keep yourself between me and the open sea. Any bullets fly you make sure you're behind me. That goes for you, too." he says to Reiya.

Scratching at the rough stubble on his chin, he adds almost as an afterhought, "I don't know much about how any of your talents function, Reiya, but this mention of tunnels...reminds me of the passage we took through the mountains to get here, and the spirit or whatever who lived there...if I got that right. Anyways...any chance you could maybe, reach out here, or however that works, and ask any nearby spirits the whereabouts of this passsage?"

Axel tenderly takes the drone from Mouse's hand like like a veterinarian picking up a particularly small and delicate animal. The movements are practiced and almost perfunctory while still being cautious and respectful. "You're sure?" He asks. He turns the Gerbil over in his hands, and swings the RCC around on its strap so that it's hanging in front of him. He opens the console, and begins the pairing process.

"This'll be great," he continues as if he hadn't paused at all. "With the console, we can push the signal to blast around bends in any ventilation system, while Echo watches our hoops." He sets the drone on his arm, testing the gecko grips and signal. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

Mick climbs out of the hold, wincing at the blinding glory of daylight. They run along the bowsprit and leap on to the rocky cliff face. The grade of the cliff is such that the nimble ork has no problem scampering up it. Once they reach the top, Mick slips behind a cluster of trees. Alcatraz has an aroma, they find: the musky scent of earth, sea brine, and a touch of rusty metal and masonry. It smells old, but also urban which Mick finds oddly comforting.

The soles of Mick's boots are virtually silent as they run along the top of a decrepit brick wall. The ork is finally back in their element, practicing parkour while trespassing. A rose bush shudders as Mick slides past, a silent phantom in an ancient prison. They continue to slide, leap and shimmy in a sort of improvised, free-running jive. The stiffness from crouching in the hold is all but gone.

A cloud of dust is all that announces Mick's abrupt halt. The ork has stopped at the base of one of the many abandoned cell blocks. Their eyes are locked on a steel palisade that is just slightly taller than the building it's adjacent to; mounted atop which is a 360-degree security camera-- a giant, polished digital eyeball. Mick has stopped in time, still hidden from view by an apple tree. Had they noticed it a second later... Mick doesn't want to imagine.

<< Eyes up, shitheads. We've got a three-sixty camera here. >> The ork pauses and plucks an unripe apple from the tree behind which they are stopped. Mick reaches down and grabs a handful of earth, damp and stony in their hand. << Mouse, you got a way to interfere with it before I try the old fashioned way? >>

The handoff of the little drone is an exercise in trust, and Mouse rubs at her upper arm, more flustered than apprehensive, as she nods her assent. “WIND HAS ALREADY SAVED MY HOOP TWICE. IT’S THE LEAST I CAN DO.”

The nudge does result in the slightest of stumbles- less indicative of any force behind Thoryne’s gesture, and instead, a mere byproduct of physics, given the troll’s elbow is easily the size of Mouse’s entire ribcage. Still, she beams up at the would-be protector. “AWW YISS. BEST MEAT-SHIELD EVER.” She hops up, swinging one fist well above her head in a laughable attempt at a friendly shoulder-punch.

This fleeting moment of cheer is only slightly diminished by the incoming message from Mick, and that familiar sense of uselessness when it comes to helping the away team. <<FFFF- Based on what our army buddies said about the set-up here, I’m probably not going to be much help until our crew’s caught up. Do what you gotta do in the meantime.>> After all, any cameras would likely be slaved locally if they’re broadcasting at all. Even with the comms tower functional, she doubts she’ll have any chance of accessing the prison's icons until the team has at least made landfall.

She scans her nearby teammates, clearly not liking what she's about to suggest next. "GUESS THIS MEANS WE SHOULD START CLOSING OUR DISTANCE? EVEN IF WE'RE OUT OF IMMEDIATE SPOTTING RANGE, WE DON'T WANT TO BE SO FAR OUT THAT WE'RE USELESS WHEN DREK MEETS FAN."

Mick frowns at the elf's response. << What about Reiya's crow friend? Think he could get up there and get in its way? >>

Reiya’s attention swings between the questions and the orders lobbed her way, glaring at Taipan and Thoryne respectively as they order them around, but she gets into the desired formation nonetheless. Better to refer to the experts until she's the expert they need, Reiya figures. But Mick’s question gives her pause, because while Mach is really a pet rather than a partner-in-crime, perching—and potentially shitting—on a camera is something she can direct him to do.

“I can’t gain visual information that far away, and I’d rather save calling on Sanasatasamara for when we’re really in need. But let’s see if Mach can help.” The crow, no longer buried in her satchel but on her shoulder, seems perky enough to be cooperative. Grabbing a couple treats, Reiya gives Mach one and fixes her eyes on the camera. Perch on top of that palisade, facing away from us. The shaman figures that Mach’s tail feathers and inevitable grooming will give them enough cover to slip by.

(( Do I need to cast Mindnet for this? If so, Force 2 ))

<< We've reached the perimeter of the admin complex, >> Zal comms. The clipping of a wire fence can be heard in the background. << No resistance so far. >>

Mach regards Reiya with mirror-black eyes. The crow cocks its head to the side as Reiya's thoughts are transmitted to it. Mach makes a hoarse croaking sound and does a little hop before taking wing.

The team observes on the feed as the crow wheels towards the South, circles a few times and then drops down to the edge of the ruined cell block. Mach proceeds to put on a little show, waddling about on the edge of the brickwork.

Mick isn't sure, but could swear they see the crow cast a roguish glance in their direction.

As instructed, Reiya's friend and familiar stops right in front of the camera and sets to work preening himself. Mach is close enough to the bulbous lens as to obscure the angle from which Mick might move past.

Nice work, Taipan thinks in response to the ork's warning, silently noting to himself to more carefully consider their tactical prowess in the future.

<< Roger. No contact, but we've got surveillance to bypass. Working on it. >>

Taipan watches as the crow settles itself in front of the camera, conveniently shielding Mick from view. "Now where do I get one of those?" he mutters, impressed. "Hope everyone's got their running shoes on. We'll need to move quick when it's our turn. Keep it tight."

Maintaining eye contact with Mach, the ork raises two fingers to their brow and offers the bird a salute in thanks for his help. Then, without delay, Mick slips nimbly by the blinded camera.

Mick dashes through the open area, seeking refuge in the crumbling remnants of a cell block. From their new vantage point, they can see a rough path forward that at one time was a corridor. They press on, passing underneath rays of sun that penetrate the plentiful holes in the roof. At the end of the building, Mick pauses.

The way forward is a well-worn dirt path that winds its way along the Southern cliff. At the end of the path is what Mick imagines is cell block A. A massive blast-door has been fixed into the renovated brick building, adjacent to which is a control panel. The edge of the path drops off into the sea, though there seem to be places where the tide comes in nearly to the windows of the cell block.

Mick scans the edge of the path, noting several metal small objects placed at regular intervals. To circumvent the path would require being exposed on the island's main plateau, or braving the sea on the other side.

Other than a (seemingly) abandoned pillbox at the path's head, there's little of note. Though, Mick's vision is restricted by the entrance to the cell block, which occludes that which lies behind it.

The wait is agonizing: a grating blend of helplessness and vulnerability that’s still fresh in the decker’s consciousness. She tries to distract herself, at first turning to menial preparatory work before the group’s mad dash to shore. Her persona, still in its virtual ‘Nezumi Kozo’ cosplay, arms itself with its updated program loadout, before dropping a digital smokebomb as the icon disappears into silent operation.

With that taken care of, she’s left only with more blatant and mundane distractions, and she finds herself idly scrolling through the detailed inner life of the guard, who’s now apparently named ‘Goto Heizo’. “IT WAS A GOOD CALL TO LET SLEEPING BEAUTY HERE LIVE,“ she muses offhand as she swipes through a particular string of videos, which feature a soft-spoken woman giving ASMR ikebana lessons. “HE MAY BE A WASTE OF SPACE, BUT AT LEAST FROM HIS PERSONAL FILES, HE’S NOT DRINKING THE YAMATO-CULT KOOLAID."

“THE HARDCORE RACIST TYPES ALL HAVE A CERTAIN… PATTERN, WHEN IT COMES TO THEIR BROWSING HABITS, AND THIS GUY’S TOO BASIC,” she adds, glancing casually up at her teammates as though she were offering a totally reasonable psychological analysis, and not just damning evidence of her snooping habits.

Once again anxious to underway, Yung subconsciously starts shaking his leg as he leans against the railing of the M.T. Ōwatatsumi. He looks at the ladder that was extended to let the kuroikaze board.

“Since Mick isn’t here to take the flank, I suppose I’ll do that yeah, unless you’d rather I improvise.” He says, turning to smirk mischievously at Taipan. After making the comment he hoists himself over the railing, quickly reaching the rocky ground.

After landing, Yung takes up position on the flank opposite Thoryne. As the group traverses the rocky cliff he muses silently to himself.

Glad I decided to leave the wing tips behind.

At Mick’s announcement of surveillance, Yung stops briefly at the precipice, kneeling behind the trunk of a tree within the small cluster of foliage. He waits for Mach to take position in front of the camera. As Taipan issues his directive to get Yung's muscles tense, preparing for the mad dash toward Cellblock A.

Mouse’s comment breaks the anticipatory silence; Yung manages to divert his concentration just long enough to respond, “Have to agree with you on that one, not only is he clearly a different level of fanatic, but he was also smart enough to see reason; not often that is the case."

Zdenka's unmistakable voice spikes the comms. The sound of something heavy hitting the floor can be heard in the background.

<< Tango down. >>

Lafayette's voice follows. << Nice one. He won't be using that windpipe ever again. >>

<< Cut the chatter, >> Zal comms. << We're seeing minimal resistance. Mostly guards. About to enter the communications compound. How's the cell block team doing? >>

Echo's feed has remained a static landscape since Mick's departure from the ship... until now. The thermo sweep picks up a couple of bright spots moving in from the plateau, coming down to separate Mick from the group. It's not entirely clear where they came from, or how Echo missed them. Their leisurely pace would suggest that they're unaware as to the group of infiltrators downwind from them.

<< Approaching Cell Block A, >> Mick comms in response. << I'm pretty hot to find an easy way in here. Everybody, keep eyes open for signs of medical personnel and tunnel entrances. >>

(( I'd like a perception check for the above, as well as to try to hear anything the two approaching figures may be talking about [assuming, that is, they're in range– not sure on the scale at play here.] ))

A low, involuntary growl emits from Taipan's throat as the twin blips illuminate in his image feed. << Mick, two incoming on course to cut between us. We'll keep weapons cold unless necessary. >> Nodding his head up the hill, he leads the group upward to hunker down outside the camera's field of view.

The relief of the landscape pulses as Taipan's radar sensor periodically paints it in washed out grayscale, a few subterranean tree roots and boulders coming into rough focus like malignant tumors and spiderwebbed veins beneath the island's blighted skin.

Taipan's nostrils flare open as he drinks deep of the morning breeze which blows past the approaching interlopers and around the corner to his place of waiting. Eyes closed, he searches sorts through the complex olfactory cocktail for the sharp iron-aluminum tang of thermite.

(( Radar - Looking for evidence of subterranean passages and keeping an eye on the two tangos should they be in range; Smell - Basically trying to smell if these dudes are Kuroikaze or some other run of the mill fools. ))

Mouse, to her credit, quickly adapts to the team’s movements, and tempers her urge to launch into an enthusiastic, overly-detailed discussion on ‘The kink-scenes of racial supremacists,’ instead concurring with Yung’s assessment with a silent nod. As the group shifts into its pseudo-professional bearing, she too focuses on the task at hand, mimicking a meatspace sonar as she sends out silent pings, and listens for the digital echo of nearby icons.

Meanwhile in AR, Mouse opens one fist like an aperture- a gesture which awakens the microcamera embedded in her glasses and adds yet another stream to the team’s arsenal of information. As she cranes her neck to capture the visuals of her surroundings in one long sweep, she catches herself entertaining a particularly dangerous thought. It’s one that she’s tried to dismiss as juvenile and forbidden, suicidal in its short-sightedness. Still, it returns again and again, persistent and disruptive, like a weed in a walled garden:

Right now, she’s capturing footage of a fragging black site out of a territory that’s largely cut off from the outside world. She can’t help but wonder, to an information-starved audience, how much would this data actually be worth? …And what would happen if she set it free?

(( As the team’s moving inward, Mouse will routinely search for icons, with an extra eye out for anything running silent. No need to respond unless she spots anything. ))

The team creeps forward in a collapsed diamond formation, picking over rocky hillocks and around the skeletal remains of old brick infrastructure nearly hidden beneath an overgrowth of ivy and oleander. Gulls cry nearby, adding a selection to the orchestra of waves crashing on rocks. There's a stillness in the lack of stillness, a stifling agoraphobia courtesy of nature's reclamation of Alcatraz.

Mick edges forward to an empty and dilapidated guard tower just fifty meters from the first row of functional cell blocks. They ease down and flatten against the rusted husk of an old electrical junction box. From their position, Mick can hear the scuff of boots on gritty topsoil, and the melodious notes of banter. They strain to pick out the content of the repartee. Unfortunately, the distance proves too great to glean anything other than their tone, which seems dispassionate.

Taipan, one hundred meters behind and running point, pauses to loose a radar ping. The results flare over his vision in an AR window: a number of faint squiggles that overlap in places, like tapeworms mating. Experience informs Taipan that while there is nothing hollow below him, the readings could suggest remnants of a sub-foundation. As the anomalies are at the margin of his radar's range, it stands to reason they could be the perimeter of something.

As a veritable bouquet of aromas enters Taipan's augmented olfactory system, his frontal lobe sets to work parsing out the individual scents. There's a plethora of floral and mineral aromas, which he promptly discards. Metals, atmospherics, and those known scents of his teammates he also discards. Fortunately, as he is currently downwind of his quarry, he catches enough human spoor to discern a few things. The body odor and perspiration is distinctly male. A faint hint of starch suggests uniforms. There's cordite, too-- firearms. There's no odor that suggests the two tangos on patrol are Kuroikaze.

A few meters away, Mouse squats behind a rose bush, examining her AR feed. A few icons flit at the periphery of her signal range, bearing a slumbering cartoon mouse icon to indicate they are running silent. Her geo-location software pipes the data to Echo's feed, placing them approximately around where Mick is holed up, with a small margin of error.

Axel nearly bumps into Taipain as the team pauses for a moment, so engrossed in the feeds that he only realizes at the last moment that he's been in remote-piloted-meat-suit mode, tracking his own progress in the third person. He stifles an apology—plenty of time for that later when the threat of being overheard is just embarrassment rather than death. Wind and Whirlwind hover near head-height on either side of the team, low enough that spotting them means spotting the team. Doug rolls along gamely at the rear, turret pointed backward, and twitching from side to side.

There's something oddly comforting about the island. The stretches of bare ground hosting an array of scrubby, hardy plant life might not be familiar, but the sensation of moving through ruins—particularly those that are owned by people who would not be happy to know that Axel is trespassing—fits like an old boot. Something about this utterly absurd and highly lethal situation still makes instinctual sense to his hindbrain. All of this adds up to a very unique experience in his life: his instincts telling him to be cool and calm, and his conscious mind telling him that he should be panicking. Usually the other way around.

He turns his attention back to Echo. He sends the little drone on a quick orbit around and high above the team, before sending it back across the island to provide cover for Zal's team. He quietly thanks fate for making the island as small as it is.

The breath is expelled from Taipan's lungs, in part a sigh of relief at the absence of thermite on the breeze. << They're packing heat, but not likely Kuroikaze. >> His face twists in frustration once again as he checks the mission time in his AR feed. << I'd prefer to keep this lid on, but if they don't clear out soon we'll need to isolate and neutralize them. The other moving parts ain't waiting on us. >>

Mick sinks even lower in the undergrowth, melting into the environment. Fingers curl into a fist on each hand, just in case.

The rest of the team sit tight, either monitoring Echo's feed or using their own senses to track the threat. The shrill chitter of insects resumes as all bodies present freeze. A light breeze washes through, wagging branches and kicking up clouds of fine sand. The heat signatures veer just North of Mick and travel to the West.

Taipan and Thoryne are lying flat on the backside of a hillock when they hear the footsteps pass. The pitched, casual sound of two voices speaking in Nipponese reaches their ears.

"Well well, is that really something you do?"

"The barracks are uncomfortable."

"So you go to that place?"

"Yes, just to get to some sleep. It's not as though they are going to escape. Besides, I have to be alert, right?"

"You're crazy to sleep in that place, it could collapse on you at any moment."

"I would die in my sleep so it would be alright."

The voices fade into incoherence as the two guardsmen pass out of earshot. Echo confirms that they are moving to circle back up and around, doing a circuit of the plateau. The drone also gives a better view of the two men: Nipponese male humans of average build with light riot armor and assault rifles.

<<Got some icons lighting up nearish Mick- the kind that don’t want to be seen. Sensors, maybe?>>

Mouse makes a gesture with one hand, extending two fingers as she swaps in her program to fork her code. Her persona seems to shimmer into virtual existence- still obscured by silence and sleaze, and flings a pair of gnarly, harpoon-tipped chains of code toward the sleeping icons in an attempt to get marks on them… and then identify them. It’s a slightly risky maneuver- it would probably be safer to reverse the order: for Mouse examine the icons individually and strategize accordingly, but sifting through silent icons can make for tedious work, and depending on just what might be lurking near Mick, she might not have the time to play detective.

(( Hack on the fly vs. two random silent icons? ))

The team-- sans Mick-- led by Taipan, moves across the Southern cliff towards the cell blocks. Echo's feed confirms that the patrol has moved away and won't be returning any time soon. Everyone arrives safely, piling around the side of cell block A, hidden from view in a small gully that is the only thing separating the building from a sheer drop into the Pacific.

Mick has moved on ahead, slinking from cover to cover as they scour the length of the cell block. All three of the detention areas seem to be identical, and placed in a row. Fortunately for the team, there's no shortage of trees, boulders, and discarded equipment.

A brief respite, it would seem. For the time being.

An subtle sneer sneaks onto Taipan's face as the guard's griping about his sleeping quarters drifts over the team's hiding place. Well, good to know they aren't all as hardened as our friends aboard the ship. He paints the guards' approximate circuit on the tactical map in his AR feed as he mulls the information about an 'alternative' place that some of the guards sleep.

<< Any place that those idiots go off to sneak a nap isn't likely to be well surveilled. Keep your eyes peeled. Place like that might be where we find an alternative entrance to the cell blocks. >>

Taipan peers around the wall and raises a hand, about to give the 'go' order when Mouse's message comes over the comm. He gives Mouse a nod as his hand returns to the lower receiver. << Do your thing. >>