Episode 2

About a week had passed since the "accident" had happened and Dogtown had been busy in the aftermath - the crew, and every other bloody peon in the sector, stripping the car to nothing and grabbing anything of value or use. The general air in the crew was uneasy - no-one was happy that Uptown geezers had chosen this patch, their patch, for such an act, for their killings. I.D. had been found on the dead guy - his name had been James Mason, not that that meant anything to anyone down here. Or if it did, they were not saying. He had been a government employee; some low-priority bureaucrat who shovelled more shit in a day than a downtown sewer rat, so what the hell could be so important someone would kill him over it, and why had he been out in the gangland ghettoes?

It all made folks nervous, but life went on and there had thankfully been no further sign of the piece-wielding maniac killer. Life was just about getting back to normal when word went round, quick as all hell: Leandro had called a meet. Now, it was time. Kid was coming to the Sub and everyone - everyone - was requested in attendance. The platforms had been cleared of their normal shit, and the plank bridge placed in position. It had been raised to provide the leader with a platform, provided he didn't mis-step. The Goons, his guards, entered first and the Enforcers in residence began filing out of their cracks, filling the space and joking uneasily. Such meetings were rare.

Syke strolled in at an "I-can't-be-bothered" pace, walking with his nose in a book. He sat down at the edge of the crowd, and kicked his feet up on a broken crate. As usual when there was a crowd, Lorry took up a position at the back with Markus. Johnson glanced across - giving Syke a half smile and a curt nod to Lorry. Then a sharp whistle; Sweet, grabbing everyone's attention and pointing to the stairs. Leandro appeared then, walking unaided for once, but gratefully accepting the bodyguard's hand when offered as he neared the platform edge. Strolling across to the makeshift stage, the Dogtown Crew's leader was ominously quiet, giving naught but a sightless smile. Once in position, however the young leader sprang to charismatic life.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you all for assembling on such short notice. No doubt you are all wondering why I have seen fit to call you here..."
Syke stifled a snort and muttered to himself. "Great, chief's been at the Whodunnits again."
"As I'm sure you're aware," Leandro continued straight on, "the accident last week was no such thing. It looks like having," he pauses, "grave consequences for us in Dogtown." Leandro stopped again then; turning to face Syke, he almost smiled but just stared instead, as if willing quiet. A couple of sarcastic groans and chuckles arose from others assembled at Syke's remark and his rebuke.
Unpurturbed, their leader started again. "We gained good salvage, true, but the unmasking of the John Doe as a Suit is a detail that can only bring trouble. So far there are mere rumours - nothing to worry us all, really.
"However," he sighed at this point. "Word travels fast on the street. Other gangs are getting nervous. Touchy. It is for this reason that I have called this meet. This afternoon I received a communication from the Panthers' primarch. He requested a formal meet."

A ripple went through the assembled Enforcers - such meets were rare, strictly emergencies only. Getting tired of standing up, Lorry walked over to the crate on which Syke had his feet and nods at his partner to move them. Sighing, Syke complied.

Leandro went on. "I have, naturally, aquiesced. I saw no reason at this juncture to refuse and risk relations going sour. It would appear that they are worried about the fall-out from the death of a Suit on gang turf, concerned about reprisals - especially as they are themselves closer to the Sprawl. Our position here is somewhat tenuous. We need to maintain good relations in the wake of these events lest some unscroupulous enemy sell us out as the vehicle of his death, given it occurred on our land. Such a toll we could not survive."
"What does this have to do with us?!" Archer, of all people, piped up.
Syke promptly put down his book, and nodded appreciatively. "I was going to say that, but you'd stunned me with those thousand-credit words, chief."
Leandro faced Archer, his sightless eyes finding hers unerringly. "My dear Enforcers, this involves you most intimately. I need you - all of you - to arrange a security detail. It would not do for our guest to suffer anything at all on our turf, and we cannot allow him to bring a sizable retinue less the masses mistake it for a War." Again he eyed Syke without sight before continuing. "A thousand credits. As if any of us shall ever see as much. Nonetheless, such a value is at stake; our very existance cannot be priced, hmm?"
Syke remained impassive. "Not arguing that, chief. So, what's the game plan?"

Leandro stepped down off the stage, turning to leave. At the bottom of the steps he glanced back.
"I was hoping that between you and Sweet something adequate would emerge." He span to face the Enforcers again. "Suffice to say he arrives in the morning; you will be ready. Send me guidelines. Goodnight."
Then, as quickly as he had arrived, Leandro - this time with more aid from his bodyguards - was gone. The tumult of exasperation was not slow to rise.
Lorry turns to Syke, said simply "Sweet..." and sighed; while Syke ignored Lorry, it was evident he shared the sentiment.
"Fuck this for a game of soldiers!" Miles, as mouthy as ever, "who does he think we are, Corp Sec?"
"Shut it Miles, you damn idiot" yawned Sweet, standing slowly from her position near the archway to the sleeping quarters. "Seems you and me have some talking to do, Syke." An evil-smelling breath emitted as she punctuated the sentence with a barked laugh.
"And you'll do it right here," said DJ, wheeling himself out of his office onto the platform. We all figure in this, so lets keep things tight; friendly, eh?"
Lorry stood up. "You know Miles, it's Us against Them. It has always been. The Suits don't see any difference between Panthers or us."
Miles just rolled his eyes in response, saying nothing. Wit can desert anyone in the face of such odds, and Lorry... Lorry was big odds for a shortarse like Miles.
Syke gazed briefly at Lorry, possibly marginally impressed. Then, "alright, Blondie Butch. If you can keep your yapping mutts on a leash, I guess we can let them play."
"Ditto, Smartmouth," came the retort, and the sussuration of chuckles and remarks circled through both squads as their two leads converged to begin the process of hammering out a viable plan.

The process took them well into the night, but when done all present were happy with the results. Sweet's squad would do the bodyguarding - gathering around the visiting Panthers on the ground, while Syke had responsibility for securing the area and intercepting any threats before they became real issues. The plan was set, and the realities of the situation were to be dealt with as they arrived. Sparky wired the basics over to Leandro, and got a quick response - adequate; it would do. All set, the Enforcers collectively went for kip. The next day would be dull, fucking dull; unless something did happen, in which case it would just be a goddamn nightmare.

Early the next morning, Sweet's squad were already in position. Johnson and Sparky were wired to cameras around the old incinerator building that served as Leandro's HQ, and to mics fixed to headsets worn by Sweet and Syke. Sweet was the turf escort, too, out on her bike guiding the Panther's car to the meet. Syke was walking the grounds, yelling at people, occasionally trying to insult Sweet into a road accident over the headset.
"You!" He pointed at Lorry. "Big block of rotten cement. Two rules. No starting a brawl with the Yokel Kittens. And anyone who's not supposed to be here shows, you sit on them and call for backup. Clear?" Lorry simply nodded and forwarded the words to Markus.
"Carrot!" Syke continued, "no triggering the devious traps. Run on the spot if you can't fucking stand still for three seconds."
Stood by the door, awaiting the soon-to-arrive car, Miles just grinned back at Syke and started to exaggeratedly jog on the spot.
"Good boy! Alright, Operation Murphy has - as our esteemed blind freak of a chief would say - commenced. Don't fuck it up."

From high overhead, Archer raised a salute with her crossbow. The car was on its final approach and the time to take up positions was at hand. A crackle over the headsets.
"Alright people, Johnson here. Get ready, and stay alert. We got eyes, but no ears."
The two squads spread out, taking up pre-arranged positions. Slowly the car, with Sweet as escort, turned into the street and meandered its way to the main entrance of the incinerator complex. It stopped with its rear doors level with the entrance, no further movement. Sweet pulled her bike over behind the car and dismounted, approaching the guests' vehicle slowly and deliberately.
Syke got on the line. "Now, Princess, I know it'll be hard, but try not to breathe on them, okay?"
Sweeet reached the door, opened it, and stepped back. She curtseyed - a frightening sight - and then allowed space for the visitors to exit the car. Two of them got out. Sweet looked on edge - probably Syke's comment as much as anything else. The two Panthers - elegantly dressed in black, velvety overcoats; strange they could find such quality in gangland - nodded briefly at their escort. Sweet motioned with her left hand and Miles and Bear stepped forward, the short scout taking up a point position and Bear moving to behind the guests. As the Panthers passed her, Sweet discretely flipped Syke the finger, then fell in step with them; the five moved forward and disappeared into the building.
"Easy, girlie, your Dick will get jealous," crackles Syke's audibly grinning voice over the radio.
A voice, Sweet. "Alright, we're inside, safe."
The response, "We see ya, love" from Johnson.

A flash of light as Archer Signalled the all clear.
"I'll take a stroll with Markus, just to be sure." Lorry began to walk away, Markus barking impatiently when he realized he was let loose.
"Right..." Lorry walked of in the direction the car was coming from. Moving away to the north, partrolling the perimeter of the building, the burly Enforcer and his canine pal wandered slowly, watching for trouble. Behind him, Bones and Nikel took up residence at the doorway. A constant, dull, stream of comments streamed over Syke's headset; the gang leaders had met and were shaking hands. Reaching the corner, Lorry checked, turned and started back southwards. At the door Nikel stirred, rubbing his metal jaw. Bones shifted, looking off to the south.

Lorry returned to where Syke was stood, shaking his head. "Most exciting that Markus found was the garbage bins."
Sweet's voice, commanding. "Alright you bastards, look alive. Leandro is coming out with them - they'll chat in the car. Seems the Panthers want to visit the crash site."
Syke waved dismissively. "Our 'adequate' rating is going in the toilet. Get the damn car, Steamroller." Swearing under and over his breath, Syke continued. "Everyone get mobile. This is now Operation Our-Leader-Is-An-Idiot."
Lorry strode across the road to where the car was parked, got in and turned, pulling over at the entrence.
"Someone called for a cab?"

The expected caustic response did not come. Instead, as Lorry parked up, Bones shouted in alarm, pointing southwards. "Ferals, damn them..."
Following his finger. the Enforcers could see a brace of shapes; huddled, scuttling, naked.
Syke stopped and turned. "Fuck. Princess, get the bigwigs clear."
"Affirmative, Syke. We'll cover their route, if you can deal with the threat here."
"Oh, I'd better, or we'll never consummate our forbidden-"
A flash, and something skipped off the asphalt near the two advancing ferals. Archer's curse was audible even down on the street.
Syke looks up. "Since when do you fucking miss, Archer?"
Suddenly the door to the incinerator exploded outward and Sweet pushed through with Miles, Bear and the gangland diplomats behind; they headed straight for the car. On the rooftop, Archer looked down, shrugged. She was re-loading. On the coms - she'd been wired in, too - "No-one's perfect, Syke."
Lorry shoved Markus into the back of the car. "You stay here. It is dangerous out there," he said as he clambered out of the vehicle.
Snapping out of his inactivity, Syke turned to his partner. "Put the damn wheels to use! Vehicular manslaughter, like!" But Lorry was already out, engine cooling.
Bones and Nikel had taken up defensive crouches, bats raised. Archer raised her bow again, and this time aimed true. The scream emitted by the feral as her bolt took it through the right bicep was harrowing. Lorry gave Bones an angry glare as he snatched his bat.
"Better let the pros handle this."
The smaller man offered no resistance "Lorimer, it's all yours, mate. Not my bag at all." He stepped aside, letting Lorry past, then crossed the road heading for the Sub, and the barriers.

Watching Lorry charge, Syke smirked into the mic as he radioed Sweet. "One down, one to get run over by Dumptruck. And I love you too. How are our VIPs?"
The only reply from Sweet was the sound of her bike's engine warming up. A vocal response came though. Johnson.
"VIPs are getting clear, but guys we've got trouble inside. Two cams just died and it ain't Sparky's wiring that fried them."

Lorry swung the bat hard, hitting the already wounded Feral with all his might. The sight was sickening as the head was left hanging loose by few threads of flesh.
Exasparated, Syke yelled, "No, not THAT one, idiot!"
As if in mocking answer, the second feral emitted a howl and flashed out a limb at the large assailant, its long, fetid nails scraping the side of Lorry's face.
"Aaargh, you son of a ... feral! " Lorry screamed, run dry on witticisms for the day.
"Look the hell out!" yelled Syke, from the as-yet safe sidelines. "Sorry, Dick, bit busy. Cams down? That's not fucking ferals."
Johnson's voice continued over the coms. "Shit, a third eye blind - something's gutting the HQ!"

The sound of charges going off inside the incinerator caused everyone to jump a bit; everyone but Lorry, who was busy smashing the head off the second feral, its form simply crumpling under his brutal assault.
Syke whirled around, trying to get a bead on the noise. "Metalhead! Check it. Archer, cover. Dumptruck's got the... ugh."
"Which one...idiot?" Lorry responded. The two ferals lay smashed at his thuggish feet.
Trying not to puke, Syke nodded at Lorry. "Knew there was a reason we kept you around."
Nikel was already through the door into the incinerator, but his voice carried just fine.
"Fucking..." He ducked back out as quickly as he had run in, diving to the ground. Archer's shot flew over his head as he fell, nailing a large bestial form, dropping it there and then.

The car holding Leandro and the Panthers in had stopped; in fact it had hardly pulled away at all, and the driver was climbing out. Johnson's voice then came screaming but unintelligible through the headset, followed by Sweet's, hers more calmly and with her engine now shutting down as she skidded her bike round.
"The driver, he's packing!"

As he spotted the panther-beast, Syke's eyes went wide.
"Princess! Get the chief out of there with extreme fucking prejudice. It's a set-up!"
"No shit, Sherlock" Sweet's words were spat out, and accompanied by a cracking sound.
Beyond swearing, Syke jumped into the squad car's driver seat and revved the engine. Lorry ran to the car too, pressing in through the door as the engine started. Johnson, sounded off again, calmer now or simply more intelligible.
He was Incensed: "A fucking double-cross. Archer tag that fucking driver. Now!"
In the chaos, Syke still spared a glance towards Archer's position. Then, yelling at Nikel, "move, Metalhead!"

The huge panther reared itself, roaring in pain and rage from the arrow through its chest. It snarled as the pair clambered into their vehicle, the small car about the same size as the beast.
"Alright, then, you overgrown hairball," snarled Syke, putting the vechicle in gear. "This is what was known as a game of chicken."
Suddenly realizing what Syke is up to, Lorry braced himself for the coming impact. Gleefully, Syke stomped on the gas, causing the car to leap forward and slam into the panther-beast, and moments later, the brick doorframe. Trapped between car and wall, the creature flailed sharp claws across the hood and windscreen, splintering the glass with its dying spasms while the vehicle pressed forward grinding its bones to splinters. Eventually, it fell silent. Two meters behind the car, Nickel - still flat on the ground - appeared unharmed, having passed between the wheels. (Syke would later claim he drove safely over Nikel on purpose. Nobody believes he's that good a driver). Nikel looked up, shaken massively by Syke's reckless act and quivering on the floor; the remains of his baseball bat, fractured by the weight of the car, going limp in his hands. He helds his head up for a second, then wilted, the clang as his re-inforced jaw smacked the street startled everyone to life again.

Lorry yelled at Syke, "Great, you killed it!" A pause, "you idiot!"
Turning unsteadily to face Lorry, Syke muttered "and that's how to play... What?"
Lorry continued, ranting. "I ran into close combat with those flesh beasts that I had to hit with a bat over and over again so that our car would still be a car." His shouting was punctuated by Markus' barking from the back seat. The sound of a gunshot fired broke over the tumult.
"Oh shit," came Johnson's voice. "Sweetheart, you alright?"
Archer, reloaded and trigger-happy had downed the driver of the Panthers' car; inside the vehicle a scrap was ongoing, blood smearing the rear windscreen. Sweet was nowhere to be seen, and the coms were strangely quiet. Johnson, no longer mic'ed, emerged from the Sub at a sprint. Syke stumbles out of the driver's seat, blood on his forehead. Taking in the scene, he snaps at Lorry.
"Fine, we'll subtract one paint job from the umpty-twelve things you owe me... I... think I need to sit down." With difficulty, Lorry clambered out of the car with no visible injury. As Syke sanks to the ground, next to Nickel, Lorry managed a quizzical look at Johnson.

The doors of the car which had brought the murderous Panthers clicked open and bloodied figures tumbled out; Bear, recognisible but hurt, followed by the two Panthers dignitaries. One figure remained seated in the car: Leandro. Unmoving. Johnson reached the car then, not stopping. Instead he ran on past, to where Sweet had last been seen, then let out a baleful cry.
"Oh fuck," muttered Syke, trying and failing to get back on his feet as things unfolded before his eyes. Then, feebly, "Lorry, go."
Outside the confines of the car, Bear's ursine strength was soon enough for her to overpower and subdue the two remaining killers. The gentle giant had tears in her eyes, and her foes were beaten into unconsciousness, but alive. Bones and Sparky, aware of the scale of events, re-emerged from the Sub, clearly worried. Only Miles was missing now, nowhere in sight. Bones headed towards where Syke and Nikel lay, glancing down long enough to check they both lived, out of danger. His interest however lay in the beast - pinned between wall and car. Sparky looked round, eyes wide, disbelieving; all he could do was shake his head.

With Markus following, Lorry went over to check on Leandro and the others. Plodding towards the vehicle, the gravity of the situation dawned quickly. Bear was hurt bad but alive, whilst Johnson was bent over the figure of Sweet, his lover a crumpled mess, bent double by a fatal shot to the chest. With trepidation, he glanced inside the car, confirming the worst.

Leandro, while not yet dead, was bleeding out on the back seat, pinned in place by a long, thin blade and seemingly paralyzed; consciousness had long since left him.