Clusterfrag

[ Outside downtown Seattle... ]

The Rover idles at the foot of a massive gate, awaiting passage. It's at least 5 meters high and wide enough to accommodate several Rovers side-by-side. The gate is furnished from ferro-carbon but etched to resemble a fancy wrought iron deal. These civvies and their vanity. Go Figure.

A gate is, after all, useless without an accompanying wall--which in this case wraps around nine square kilometers of upper-middle class residential and commercial zones. It's an oasis of sorts, being that this particular community is located in a less than favorable destination outside downtown Seattle. One can imagine ganger graffiti would unceremoniously cover the entirety of the wall if it were not for the myriad of cleaning drones working tirelessly to perfect the illusion of suburban denial. If cleanliness is godliness, this place is the fraggin' vatican.

Atop the 'forementioned gate is a holo-board, bearing a pleasant typeface that spells out Cloud Nine. The whole shebang is animated so that it appears as though the lettering is drifting serenely through a cloud bank. A casual passerby probably wouldn't notice the 3" thick plexiglass that protects the board from projectiles. Subtle.

Doc drums his fingers on the steering wheel irritably. They've been waiting for 10 minutes now. Out of sheer boredom, he re-loads the audio file their public inbox received earlier that morning and directs output to the Rover's high-end stereo speakers.

"Hello, employees of Firestarter. My name is Morgan Heckerman, mayor of the Cloud Nine community. I'm leaving this message, because, well... we've run out of options. I didn't want it to come to this, but I have an obligation to my constituents. We--cloud nine--have developed a bit of a gang problem, an infestation if you will. Due to our unique status as an independent city-state, neither Lone Star nor Knight Errant are willing to get involved. Doc Wagon refuses to service Cloud Nine. We don't even get solicitors anymore. These barbarians are destroying and vandalizing our property, terrorizing our residents and hurting our people. We are powerless to stop them. The community leaders and I have scraped together some nuyen. It's not much--probably not what you're used to receiving, but it's all we have. Please help us. Please free us from this tyranny of cruelty."

The message ends abruptly, replaced by a dour mood and the gentle hum of the Rover's twelve-cylinder Mercedes engine.

Doc stops the drumming, and grips the steering wheel for a few seconds before relaxing. His eyes follow the cleaning drones as his mind idly wonders at potential modifications.

Bet that one could mount up a pistol or smg. I wonder if it has a strong enough signal to be effective?

The thought of a swarm of armed cleaning drones brings a smile to his face.

The drumming resumes on the steering wheel. Finally, feeling slightly frustrated, he hits the horn a couple of times, the rover shouting out challenge to the gates of the 'Burbclave.

"Where the frag are these people?"

Max sits in the rover with a grimace on his face. The past few days had been free of the kind of hallucinations that had plagued the last job, but something still seemed off for him. He just felt, well.. weird. It was nothing he couldn't handle, he was quite certain, but he had to be on his toes. If strange drek started happening he would make sure to check in with Doc before he followed his nose too strongly.

The company was coming along nicely. The armory was steadily being outfitted with a host of upgrades that would ensure the continued growth and stability of the company, as well as the strength and fortitude of its employees and owners. The only hiccup there was Tyros, but trogs were always bumps in the road. There's nothing so easy that a trog can frag it up. Max could feel his relationship with Tyros hurtling toward an inevitable confrontation, but he was uncertain of how it would play out. Max had the troll dead to rights in a quick draw and-- in all likelihood-- a fist fight. Sure, Tyros was tough, but the only thing that eclipsed his toughness was his slowness. But he's a magic user, and magic users are not to be underestimated. And trogs are not to be trusted. So...

But Max didn't want it to come to that. He neither wanted to be the troll's friend nor his enemy-- he simply wanted to steer clear of him in situations not professional. It was easy enough to do. Tyros seemed to be a loner in the same way that Max is during his off-time, so the two rarely brushed shoulders. When they did, Max proceeded as if he weren't there. It wasn't so much a cold-shoulder as it was non-confrontation. Things were just easier at the compound if they didn't speak.

That wasn't an option out on a contract, though. The elf and the troll would inevitably wind up butting heads today, but the question was just how nasty that butting would be. Max could feel the tension steaming off himself. So long as the troll doesn't touch me, it'll be fine.

The impatience in the air is becoming too much to bear. Max gnashes his teeth and activates his comm. Keying in the frequency corresponding to the message they'd received earlier, he calms his voice but asks with some assertiveness,

<So what's the deal here, Heckerman? Do we have to climb over the walls?>

Thinking about the situation at hand, Max recognizes the possibility that something within the community could have gone horribly wrong, but he doesn't want to jump to conclusions. Off the comm, Max suggests to Val,

"Maybe try to search for a node or however it is you do it? I've got a bad feeling about this."

Val sighs as he closes the blog he was reading in the AR window in his cybernetic vision.

"Alright, 'mano. And I was so ejnoying this little spot of downtime. Hard enough to keep on the cutting edge as it is."

Remaining in AR for the time being, Val brings up his Scan program and begins scanning the surrounding area for nodes, including any hidden ones, which always seem to be the most useful to him in whatever he's trying to accomplish. He simultaneously loads his Sniffer program and scans the airwaves for any wireless traffic that stands out from the rest of the chaotic, yet vaguely comforting mess of transmissions that permeate the matrix space surrounding Seattle.

Receiving no response from his transmission, Max gets out of the rover brusquely and approaches the wall of the compound, giving it a good look for security measures which would prevent him from scaling it and getting a look at what's on the other side.

Max surveys the gate carefully. There are no obvious defenses or counter-measures, though the top of the gate is festooned with decorative ferro-carbon spikes, which might prove a challenge to navigate. The rat-sized cleaning drones seem oblivious to his presence and he doubt they could pose any real threat, anyway. A distinct lack of vehicles on the roadway approaching the community gate troubles the elf.

Max calls back to his team and says,

"I'm gonna hop on up and take a look."

Wrapping his fingers around the bars of the gate, Max aims to climb up the gate and perch atop the wall so he can get a good look with his binoculars.

Val shuts down his running programs, save for his Firewall, which he nearly always keeps running. The decker is nothing if not paranoid. Trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice, Val reports his findings.

"Well... Doesn't look like I'm getting my virtual self in there. I think FastJack himself might earn himself a few scrambled synapses trying to get through that mess. If I tried you'd need a fire extinguisher ready to save yourselves and the rover from my burning skull."

Doc nods as he taps out a halting, awkward beat on the steering wheel. His eyes follow max up the gate of the monolithic fortress.

"Not surprising, really. These people got so fraggin' paranoid, that they walled themselves off from the rest of the world, and declared sovereignty. It figures that they'd do the same in the Matrix, to keep unclean outsiders like yourself out."

The normally lithe elf is thoroughly winded by the time he reaches the top of the gate. Folding his arms across the top to keep from sliding down, Max gingerly withdraws his binoculars and peers through.

A long, meticulously landscaped lawn flanks either side of the main entrance. Trees (actual trees!) have been planted at committee-designated intervals there-upon. The roadway extends nearly a kilometer past a pond and several solar farms before being swallowed up by a large row of commercial buildings. The actual township is too far away for Max to discern detail of any significance, though a large number of skidmarks deface the road leading to it.

There seems to be some type of security kiosk directly beneath the gate, but whether it's inhabited or not, Max cannot determine.

Max climbs to the top and looks down the other side as he searches for a way to release the gate from the inside. He holds up a finger to his team behind him indicating that they should wait a minute.

Confident that there should be something inside the security kiosk, Max climbs down on the inside of the gate. Opening his comm channel, he says,

<Gonna try to get the gate open on the other side. Somebody keep a gun at my back. I don't want to be totally naked over here.>

Val lets fly with an amused sniff at Doc's comment. He nods and turns his attention toward Max's position as he receives the transmission. He cycles the action on his assault rifle and palms the grip, ready to level it out the window at the first sign from the elf.

"Ironic isn't it? They have a problem with some 'unclean outsiders,' and they invite us in to deal with said problem. As far as they're concerned, bet we're not so different. If they weren't paying so well, I'd say let 'em sort it out for themselves."

The elf lands heavily, flexing at the knees. There's a slight, nearly undetectable whir as his move-by-wire system compensates for the impact. It's a sensation that took a little getting used to, to say the least.

Max prowls towards the kiosk, unbuckling and brandishing Marlowe in one smooth motion. His fingers play along the trigger-guard as he dares the world to give him a reason to violate trigger discipline. Back flat against the side of the kiosk, the elf takes a sharp breath and then pivots, leading in with the business end of his weapon.

The small building is empty. Tell-tale signs of a struggle strike the elf--a comm-piece off the hook, chair on its back, and... an involuntary shiver tickles Max's spine. There's a bloody hand print on the kiosk window.

Max frowns and passes his hand over a small touch-panel labeled Gate Control. The ferro-carbon lattice scissors into itself and slides back into the wall, completely silently.

Doc rests his hands in his lap, finally giving up his short career as a vehicular musician.

< Max, what do you see, buddy? Can you- >

He cuts his comm transmission short as the gate slides open.

"Okay, we're on," he says, with relief in his voice. He pulls the rover forward through the gate, and stops by the kiosk.

Max gazes about the scene and comms back,

<It's like I suspected-- something bad has gone down here. Stay on your toes boys, and give me a lift while you're at it.>

The elf does a quick search of the security shed-- looking specifically for anything that will give him security clearance for what he might encounter further into Cloud Nine.

The bloody hand-print on the window is clearly visible as the Rover pulls up--a grim effigy made all the more sinister by the serenity of its surroundings.

Max nearly steps on a data-chip on his exodus from the kiosk.

The elf bends down to pick up the data chip and pockets it. Hopping in the rover, Max hands the chip to Val and says,

"Tell us what you can find out."

His eyes are steely as Max gazes about the tranquil and spooky scene.

This quiet is terminal and everybody knows it.

Val accepts the chip from Max and gives it a grimace and a once-over.

"Hate this part. It's like eating a donut off the ground in an alley."

He brushes back a lock of hair and inserts the chip into a matching jack behind his ear, but not before making sure he's isolated the jack from the rest of his PAN, lest the chip contain any malware. His mind delves into its contents.

Val's expression is blank whilst he internally plays back the contents of the chip.

(( PMing you with the results. ))

Val blinks his eyes a few times, ejects the chip into his palm, and for a moment simply stares at it.

"This isn't your run-of-the-mill gated community... these people were fraggin' cultists. Pacifists maybe, but cultists all the same."

Val frowns and holds up the chip.

"If Mr. Happy's holo here is to be believed, the citizens of Cloud 9 all willingly agreed to have violence inhibitors implanted in their brains. If they even go near a weapon of any kind, even a makeshift object that they might use as a weapon, all sorts of badness happens. Nausea, blurred vision; they even black out in some cases. Who the frag would agree to that? Apparently the security guards were outfitted with some sort of nonlethal defense weapon. There could be automated versions of them around, and it sounds like without those chips in our heads we'll be prime targets whether we're being aggressive or not. It's not clear whether the security team had violence inhibitor implants. These people were, however, clearly fragged in the head before any of--whatever this is--" Val gestures to the entirety of the barren suburb, "--started."

Adams exhales and rubs the bridge of his nose.

"It's never simple, is it? Okay, so we have clients who may or may not be alive, and who will faint when they see us with all our gear; We have possible gangers running loose in this little fairyland community; And this place's own defenses might be turned against us? That about sum it up?"

Val nods soberly.

"That about sums it up. Wish it had given more information on defenses, but it was just like a holo-pamphlet for new security recruits. Shouldn't be too much longer till we have more info on defenses, eh 'manos?"

Val chuckles halfheartedly and scans the landscape with narrowed eyes.

The faint yet unmistakable sound of gunshots emanates from the city block ahead.

Tyros winces slightly at the gunshot report.

"Time to get some eyes in the sky, Doc. Can you send out your little drones and give us an idea of what the landscape looks like? I'm going to get up there too so I can drop in on any gangers in the open. If I can find one, I should be able to pry some information out of him as to what their numbers are like and where the leader is holed up. That will at least let us form a game plan for how we clean house."

Tyros opens the rover door and steps out into the street. Making several elaborate gestures (centering) and bringing his will do bear on the streams of magic flowing around him, his muscles first seem to relax as his motions grow fluid before the large troll suddenly disappears from sight (Improved reflexes, f4, sustaining focus; Improved Invisibility, f4, sustaining focus). Unseen, Tyros continues his casting, as his feet suddenly lift off the ground as if gravity had been reversed (levitate, f4). Flying up about 100 feet in the air, Tyros makes his way down the boulevard, eyes scanning in the astral spectrum for gangers or civilians alike.

Max looks up in the direction of the gunshots, not needing his superior elfin hearing to determine its approximate origin. Turning back to the group, he says,

"Well, investigating shots fired is as good a place as any to get our feet wet here..."

Before Tyros vanishes into the vertical nether, Max suggests,

"If you can grab a ganger, consider bringing him back to me. You're huge and scary, but I am fundamentally more persuasive-- better chance of getting him to talk."

(( Please roll knowledge skill Security Procedures to determine the most likely place to find a central security terminal in such a complex. Centralized? ))

Tyros lifts off from the ground and drifts towards the sounds of carnage.

(( Got it ))

Doc takes two drones out his pocket, and tosses them out the window. The Fly-Spy and the Dragonfly each slow their respective spins, and catch themselves in the air. Doc commands them to head to an altitude of 40 meters, and head toward the sound of gunshots. He sets two small screens in AR to relay their feed.

"We should get moving," He says to the others.

Doc lays the hammer down on the rover, and it surges forward.

Max braces himself as the sudden increase in Gs pushes him back into his seat. The elf is smiling mischievously.

A gleeful howl fills the cabin as Doc increases the engine revolutions to 9000 RPM. With a single mental command, he dumps the clutch. The traction-reactive polybutolurethane tires spin for a millisecond before softening to a racing slicks viscosity. Everyone present in the Rover is thrown back into the seats as gravity gives them a love tap. The pseudo-sports utility vehicle races down the roadway, belting out a 750 horsepower banshee song.

As the rover screams to the target area, Doc periodically takes his eyes off the road to work the control panel. Bit by bit, he enters a short string of commands into the Steel Lynx.

It's short and simple, but Doc is satisfied that when he punches the release on the large drone, it will actively choose its targets and fight, attacking anyone who fires on the Rover, the team, or the Lynx itself.

On the screen is a blinking button. One touch, and the drone will release.