There were no more words left in Syke. Only drugs, adrenaline and pure, focused rage. He pounced on the man, bashing the already battered torch on his head. Taken aback by the sudden and frenzied assualt the victim, who had been the driver of the target van, fell back; his aim was thrown as he flailed to keep the hefty metal torch striking his skull.
Lorry had turned to face his would-be killer and ran with his head lowered towards him screaming, ready to tackle him like a football player. Although a practiced combattant, the Corp was too slow. His handgun was only half out of its housing before the gorilla-like Lorry barrelled into him, sending both rolling over the dusty scrub. Markus, sensibly, had released his vice-like grip on the man's other arm, and just about avoided being crushed by his on-rushing handler. The tumbling trio on the ground rolled to a stop with the largest of them on top. With skills only perfected by school bullies and pugilists Lorry established his control over the gunman, punching him out with a few quick fists to the head.
Syke's victim eventually took a clean blow to the head; staggering, he managed to squeeze off a single shot. Syke let the torch fall away as the bullet passed through his shoulder. Syke fell forward, too out of it to notice, and placed his hands on his opponent's face. There was a sickening squelch and a brief scream; the enforcer had jammed his thumbs into the man's eyesockets.
Some way away, the Corp car was revving, spinning a donut, taking a bearing on the remaining Suit. Badly shot up, the man could only raise his uzi and spray wildly at the bulletproof car before, with the driver grinning in sinister satisfaction, the vehicle impacted his torso, sending him flying in a posthumous arc. With a scream of "yeehaw" the driver executed a handbrake turn, now lining up on the scrabbling figures of Lorry and his victim. The screech as the tyres spun to the engine's command was deafening as the accelerator hit the floor and the vehicle lurched forward.
Syke's opponent wasn't moving anymore. The small man was literally at his throat now, teeth bared. From his position sat on top of the gunman Lorry looked up, right at the driver, taking stock.
"We need to go, now!" He yelled.
Motionless until this point, Bo'Geo took a cue from Lorry's words. Springing from his hiding place to one side of the van he vaulted in the open door, diving across the front seats and out the far side. There, rolling up next to Syke, he wrestled his small compatriot off the still twitching corpse of the van driver. Snatching up the keys, which were hung from the dead man's belt, he shoved Syke into the van, and climbed behind the wheel, firing the engine. Landing gracelessly in the back of the van, Syke spat blood - not all of it his own - all over the securely stowed hardware.
"Wrrrrfffgggh?" He mumbled.
Lorry got to his feet and almost into the van. "Wait, I just need..." he trailed off as he turned away.
"No time" yelled Bo' as he slammed the truck into gear, sending it jumping forward, back towards the highway. Lorry couldn't hear him; no one had seen Lorry ran this fast, ever. He sprinted to their wrecked car now far beyond usable, ripped out the old radio, and set off after the moving truck. But the van had started gaining speed, pulling away. Slamming against the rear doors, Syke steadied himself against the handle, which swung down. The doors opened, and Syke got another blow to the head as he reflexively threw himself back inside.
"I'm sorry I kicked you!" yelled Lorry as he spurred himself on, faster, trying to catch up with the van. As if Bo'Geo could hear him.
The colourful fence wasn't slowing, the combined roar of both engines was shattering the air with a decibel level as high as anything the enforcers had heard before. Seeing the doors open Lorry took a giant leap, just grabbing hold of one external door handle and clinging on to both van and radio for dear life. The burly man was pulled, trailing behind the truck, rough ground ripping his knees. From somewhere further back there was a yelp as Markus darted out of the scrub, running for all his worth. The sturdy doors uttered loud creaks in protest, as the design specs - which did not include "must tolerate big lug hanging on" - were tested to their limits, but the hinges held firm, as did Lorry. Closing, though barely, on the stolen van Markus' paws latched onto Lorry's legs, carrying him up, over his owner. Leaping from Lorry's back, the dog landed amongst the crates, skittered over to where Syke was collapsing against the wall. Bo'Geo was driving like a maniac, and the truck shuddered violently as it crested the edge of the highway, the jolt of the small concrete ridge sending Lorry flying upwards, still hanging to the door and radio. The pursuing driver had more power at his disposal, and now on a proper roadway he closed quickly, ramming the back of the truck just as Lorry's form swung down, boucing him off the hood.
"Shit!" Bo'geo was struggling to maintain control, with little time to worry about the condition of his passengers
Inside the van, the impact threw Markus right on top of Syke. The dog took the opportunity to give the rabid enforcer an enthusiastic dose of the tongue to the face.
"Wlllllrrrfffget offa me you rickidulous 'scuse for a birth defect," Syke snarled, grabbing the dog around the throat. Then he blinked. Enforcer and dog stared at each other for a moment. Then there was a thud, as Markus was thrown across Bo'Geo's shoulder, hitting the windshield. The cry of alarm came from both Bo'Geo and Markus alike, and the instincting flinch that the fence made sent the van swerving across the road, just as the car behind closed and rammed again.
"Owe you one, mutt," wheezed Syke, back inside his own head. "Now help him drive. He's worse than fucking Dumptruck."
With both hands busy, one holding the old radio and the other one clutching the door handle, Lorry steadied his feet against the hood of their pursuer's car. Springinig from this precarious position, his body weight caused the one door to swing closed. Utilizing the momentum, Lorimer threw himself into the base of the van, falling on the floor amongst the crates of weapons and breathing heavily, somehow he had managed to pull both doors shut tight.
"All in?" A half-glance was all Bogie could spare.
"I...got...the...radio"
Staring incredulously at Lorry, Syke shook his head. "Yeah, and best of all - the ancient fucking music device is safe! Hooooraaaaargh." He sank down on a case and muttered. "Appears I've been slightly shot."
Looking up from the floor, Lorry replied. "I needed something from the old car to bring to our new one."
Wincing, Syke turned towards Lorry. "I'm so glad you've got your priorities str-owwww."
Their driver snorted audibly at that, and kicked the van up a gear, accelerating off the highway again as he turned, pointing them in the direction of Dogtown.
"Dog help any Ferals what get in my way" Bo' chimed as he weaved the van this way and that, parrying the rams from behind as best he could. The truck careered on, bouncing over the rough ground like two lovers in an oversprung bed. Lorry glanced around the van, inspecting the goods still lying on the floor.
"What did we get?"
"Bloody hope we got some morphine-analogue."
As the other car rammed into the van again, Lorry got up. "Can't that bastard leave us alone!" He began opening the crates inside the van.
"Weapons ARE point-n-shoot, right?"
"Gonna need some persuadin' for that, mate" Bo'Geo called back. "He's pissed 'cause you killed his friend... nevermind nailing his mark"
Scrambling for the medkit, Syke nodded irritably. "Yes, yes. one end bad, one end good, point bad end at bastard, pull trigger-type thing, where are the fucking pain drugs?" The curses were soon followed by a jubilant noise from the wounded enforcer, as he found a hypospray and rapidly injected himself.
Pulling his hand out from a crate, Lorry held up a shotgun. "Syke, have you found the ammunition for this?"
"Hmmmm? Oh, whah, that? Nah, should be here ... somewhere." Gingerly holding his shoulder, Syke started opening likely candidates.
"Nevermind" Lorry extracted a box from his crate. "You know, I've never fired a real gun." he said as he slowly and carefully loaded a round into the shotgun.
"Fucking good time to learn them, big man" Bo'Geo yelled, as the truck hit a bump in the ground, causing everything in the back to jump an inch off the floor.
"Yeah," snorted Syke. "Just remember, it's not an expensive club. Shoot, don't hit."
Fumbling around with the shotgun and his box of shells, Lorry finally managed to get it loaded.
Still sitting, Syke grabbed another shotgun and pulled open an ammo crate. "Well, hello there Mister Armor-Piercing Focused-Charge Explosive Shell! ... this what you got, Semi?" He held up one of the cartridges.
Lorry kicked the back doors open again, standing up with his shotgun aimed directly at the driver. "I'm busy! Just grab something!"
The pursuing car was still right on their tail, front end buckled now from the constant collisions.
After a short pause and a glance at their adversary Lorry spoke again. "Armor-Piercing?"
"Well, yeah. Perfect for cars and fucking cybercats, or suits in tech-armor." Syke chambered a round, unsteadily. "Could have used computer-assisted targetting myself, but what the hell."
The driver snarled at Lorry through the windscreen, aiming a machine pistol at him from out of his window. His aim is lousy though and the spray simply pinged off the doors, the stacatto rhythm matching that of the crates knocking together as the van bumpped over the rough ground.
Lorry lowered the shotgun. "No one makes bulletproof tires as far as I know..." He took a new aim at the front tire, and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.
"It's broken! Damn it!"
"No, you... don't point it at me. It's the safety! It's for keeping sharpshooters like you from... loosing too many limbs."
The "broken" shotgun is thrown out, onto the car, as Syke corrected him; Lorry said "Hand me another one. And shut up!"
"Alright," yelled Syke, tossing his own piece over. "Now try it with the trigger!"
With the new gun, Lorry fired off a shot at the front tire of the pursuing car, causing it to blow. Even at this speed it did not cause their pursuer to lose control, skilled driver that he was. Grimly he eased off, steered into the skid, then set the car in pursuit again, sparks flying from the side as the rim ground itself down on the terrain.
Syke rolled his eyes. "Well, if we'd jacked a car of polytech target-acquiring rocket-spears everything'd be peachy!"
"We'll see how you do without two tires!" Lorry gave the driver a nasty grin and aimed for the other front tire.
His second shot was answered in kind with another burst from the driver's weapon, Both shots were wide of the mark as the Corp swerved to minimise the concussive burst of the shell skipping off his front bumper, scorching the black paintjob even blacker. The tire was un-hit though, and the pursuit continued on.
"Damn. I can't fucking hit anything with everything moving around like ants on steriods!"
"Look, Mister Crack-Cocaine Shot," Syke started. "... ants on what?" A short pause then, "nevermind! Stop going for quality, start going for volume! Shoot muchly!"
Lorry held the shotgun out for Syke to take. "Your turn. If its that easy!"
"Fine!" Syke grabbed the gun, tried to find a stable position. Once established, he fired a rapid series of shots, most of which missed the mark widely. But with explosive shells, all you need is one lucky shot. There was a resounding boom, as the pursuing car disintegrated in a ball of flames and flying debris.
"Huh," said Syke, entirely too stunned for smugness.
Lorry gave him the thumbs up.
Syke nodded, with slight confusion. "And that's how you do it. ... apparently."
The ball of flame behind them followed them on for as long as it took for friction to bring it to a halt, the sky - now almost fully dawning - illuminated by an oily mushroom cloud as the fire hit the gas tank. In the back of the stolen van, the two Enforcers sagged, not bothering to pull closed the doors. Bo' eased off the gas and the three of them, plus Markus - who was in delierium having found some narcotics amongst the seized shipment - rolled safely back to the Sub.
Lorry guided Bo'Geo to the rear entrance, and they headed down the disused subway line. On arriving in the sub itself, all was ominously quiet. Syke cautiously emerged from the car, shotgun on a strap across his shoulder. He peeked out across the platform and waved for the others to follow. Lorry followed with a shotgun in his hand. A scorchmark at the entrance to the tunnel was the only sign that a cybernetic panther had been fried there just an hour or so earlier, and the lack of movement from the platforms was too marked. Clambering up onto the platforms Bo'Geo shouted. A sign of life. Both of the downed mechanical cats had been dragged to a corner - the same corner where Sparky had performed the autopsy on the first such beast they had encounterd. Bodies were piled in the stairwell to the street. It seemed that to a one they were marked. All of them appeared to have been Panthers. Lorry moved over to the mechanical cats in the corner, poking at them with his feet. Whistling under his breath, Syke stepped up towards the pile of bodies.
"Some party we missed."
"Yeah. I'm glad they're dead." Lorry turned away from the cat.
Bo'Geo backed up, crawling to the edge of the platform, not looking at the pile of dead.
From behind them, on the far platform, came a voice. "Back the fuck up. Now, Syke!" Johnson stepped out from a side office on the opposite side. "They're rigged to burn..."
Syke slowly, carefully, took a few steps backwards. "What, no proper warning sign?"
Lorry chimed up. "What about these?"
"Them too... you'd best get over here. All of you. Fast!"
"Okay, okay..."
As if to prove his point, the fizzling noise of a fuse burning down reached their ears, and the smell of pertroleum became noticeable. How had they missed it?
Lorry made his way over to Johnson and Syke followed, waving for Bo'Geo to do the same. As the fuse burnt out, reaching the piled bodies - feline and human alike - the molotovs that had been drained over them lit up in an intense flare, blasting a wave of flame out from the epicentre. The stench was awful, but the necessity of the act soon became clear. Ventilation being what it was in the sub the heat from the blaze was funnelled straight up the stairwell, and over the crackle of the flames came numerous anguished and frenzied screams. Evidently the pile of incapacitated panthers had been holding more back.
Lorry held up his shotgun to show Johnson their success.
Syke flinched back from the fire, then snapped to attention. "Dick! How many of us left standing?"
"Would you believe... all of us DJ's some brain on him!"
The other enforcer clapped him on the shoulder and almost grinned. "For real? Shit, I was hoping we'd at least get rid of the fucking technomonkeys."
Lorry looked back up the stairwell and raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.
Bo'Geo, choking and retching, scrambled up onto the platform, suit now badly singed to go with all the other stains.
Syke glanced over at the dirt-smeared pimp, then looked back at Johnson. "But, I guess fair's fair. We didn't manage to lose Boges, so let's call it even."
"Ha! No such luck." Johnson's voice was weary but full of hope. "We held the bastards back with the 'tovs long enough for Archer to riddle a few. You know the bitch had a small stock of lethal contact poison stored for this event?! That, and some Fent-grenades. Anyhow... more about how we did it later, but boy are we glad to see you. Never thought you two, er, three would make it back alive." Syke finally broke down and smiled, bloody shoulder, bruised head and all.
Johnson simply beckoned them to follow, leading them to the store room down the far end of the platform. Pushing open the door he motioned for Syke to enter. The stench of death and burning flesh still rife in the air, the gathered Enforcers of Dogtown looked up to a one, visible relief on their faces as Syke was recognised. In the centre of the floor, hog-tied and beaten, a red-haired figure lay motionless. Only DJ spoke.
"You were right Syke. Bastard's not dead yet; we left him for you."
Lorry had turned to face his would-be killer and ran with his head lowered towards him screaming, ready to tackle him like a football player. Although a practiced combattant, the Corp was too slow. His handgun was only half out of its housing before the gorilla-like Lorry barrelled into him, sending both rolling over the dusty scrub. Markus, sensibly, had released his vice-like grip on the man's other arm, and just about avoided being crushed by his on-rushing handler. The tumbling trio on the ground rolled to a stop with the largest of them on top. With skills only perfected by school bullies and pugilists Lorry established his control over the gunman, punching him out with a few quick fists to the head.
Syke's victim eventually took a clean blow to the head; staggering, he managed to squeeze off a single shot. Syke let the torch fall away as the bullet passed through his shoulder. Syke fell forward, too out of it to notice, and placed his hands on his opponent's face. There was a sickening squelch and a brief scream; the enforcer had jammed his thumbs into the man's eyesockets.
Some way away, the Corp car was revving, spinning a donut, taking a bearing on the remaining Suit. Badly shot up, the man could only raise his uzi and spray wildly at the bulletproof car before, with the driver grinning in sinister satisfaction, the vehicle impacted his torso, sending him flying in a posthumous arc. With a scream of "yeehaw" the driver executed a handbrake turn, now lining up on the scrabbling figures of Lorry and his victim. The screech as the tyres spun to the engine's command was deafening as the accelerator hit the floor and the vehicle lurched forward.
Syke's opponent wasn't moving anymore. The small man was literally at his throat now, teeth bared. From his position sat on top of the gunman Lorry looked up, right at the driver, taking stock.
"We need to go, now!" He yelled.
Motionless until this point, Bo'Geo took a cue from Lorry's words. Springing from his hiding place to one side of the van he vaulted in the open door, diving across the front seats and out the far side. There, rolling up next to Syke, he wrestled his small compatriot off the still twitching corpse of the van driver. Snatching up the keys, which were hung from the dead man's belt, he shoved Syke into the van, and climbed behind the wheel, firing the engine. Landing gracelessly in the back of the van, Syke spat blood - not all of it his own - all over the securely stowed hardware.
"Wrrrrfffgggh?" He mumbled.
Lorry got to his feet and almost into the van. "Wait, I just need..." he trailed off as he turned away.
"No time" yelled Bo' as he slammed the truck into gear, sending it jumping forward, back towards the highway. Lorry couldn't hear him; no one had seen Lorry ran this fast, ever. He sprinted to their wrecked car now far beyond usable, ripped out the old radio, and set off after the moving truck. But the van had started gaining speed, pulling away. Slamming against the rear doors, Syke steadied himself against the handle, which swung down. The doors opened, and Syke got another blow to the head as he reflexively threw himself back inside.
"I'm sorry I kicked you!" yelled Lorry as he spurred himself on, faster, trying to catch up with the van. As if Bo'Geo could hear him.
The colourful fence wasn't slowing, the combined roar of both engines was shattering the air with a decibel level as high as anything the enforcers had heard before. Seeing the doors open Lorry took a giant leap, just grabbing hold of one external door handle and clinging on to both van and radio for dear life. The burly man was pulled, trailing behind the truck, rough ground ripping his knees. From somewhere further back there was a yelp as Markus darted out of the scrub, running for all his worth. The sturdy doors uttered loud creaks in protest, as the design specs - which did not include "must tolerate big lug hanging on" - were tested to their limits, but the hinges held firm, as did Lorry. Closing, though barely, on the stolen van Markus' paws latched onto Lorry's legs, carrying him up, over his owner. Leaping from Lorry's back, the dog landed amongst the crates, skittered over to where Syke was collapsing against the wall. Bo'Geo was driving like a maniac, and the truck shuddered violently as it crested the edge of the highway, the jolt of the small concrete ridge sending Lorry flying upwards, still hanging to the door and radio. The pursuing driver had more power at his disposal, and now on a proper roadway he closed quickly, ramming the back of the truck just as Lorry's form swung down, boucing him off the hood.
"Shit!" Bo'geo was struggling to maintain control, with little time to worry about the condition of his passengers
Inside the van, the impact threw Markus right on top of Syke. The dog took the opportunity to give the rabid enforcer an enthusiastic dose of the tongue to the face.
"Wlllllrrrfffget offa me you rickidulous 'scuse for a birth defect," Syke snarled, grabbing the dog around the throat. Then he blinked. Enforcer and dog stared at each other for a moment. Then there was a thud, as Markus was thrown across Bo'Geo's shoulder, hitting the windshield. The cry of alarm came from both Bo'Geo and Markus alike, and the instincting flinch that the fence made sent the van swerving across the road, just as the car behind closed and rammed again.
"Owe you one, mutt," wheezed Syke, back inside his own head. "Now help him drive. He's worse than fucking Dumptruck."
With both hands busy, one holding the old radio and the other one clutching the door handle, Lorry steadied his feet against the hood of their pursuer's car. Springinig from this precarious position, his body weight caused the one door to swing closed. Utilizing the momentum, Lorimer threw himself into the base of the van, falling on the floor amongst the crates of weapons and breathing heavily, somehow he had managed to pull both doors shut tight.
"All in?" A half-glance was all Bogie could spare.
"I...got...the...radio"
Staring incredulously at Lorry, Syke shook his head. "Yeah, and best of all - the ancient fucking music device is safe! Hooooraaaaargh." He sank down on a case and muttered. "Appears I've been slightly shot."
Looking up from the floor, Lorry replied. "I needed something from the old car to bring to our new one."
Wincing, Syke turned towards Lorry. "I'm so glad you've got your priorities str-owwww."
Their driver snorted audibly at that, and kicked the van up a gear, accelerating off the highway again as he turned, pointing them in the direction of Dogtown.
"Dog help any Ferals what get in my way" Bo' chimed as he weaved the van this way and that, parrying the rams from behind as best he could. The truck careered on, bouncing over the rough ground like two lovers in an oversprung bed. Lorry glanced around the van, inspecting the goods still lying on the floor.
"What did we get?"
"Bloody hope we got some morphine-analogue."
As the other car rammed into the van again, Lorry got up. "Can't that bastard leave us alone!" He began opening the crates inside the van.
"Weapons ARE point-n-shoot, right?"
"Gonna need some persuadin' for that, mate" Bo'Geo called back. "He's pissed 'cause you killed his friend... nevermind nailing his mark"
Scrambling for the medkit, Syke nodded irritably. "Yes, yes. one end bad, one end good, point bad end at bastard, pull trigger-type thing, where are the fucking pain drugs?" The curses were soon followed by a jubilant noise from the wounded enforcer, as he found a hypospray and rapidly injected himself.
Pulling his hand out from a crate, Lorry held up a shotgun. "Syke, have you found the ammunition for this?"
"Hmmmm? Oh, whah, that? Nah, should be here ... somewhere." Gingerly holding his shoulder, Syke started opening likely candidates.
"Nevermind" Lorry extracted a box from his crate. "You know, I've never fired a real gun." he said as he slowly and carefully loaded a round into the shotgun.
"Fucking good time to learn them, big man" Bo'Geo yelled, as the truck hit a bump in the ground, causing everything in the back to jump an inch off the floor.
"Yeah," snorted Syke. "Just remember, it's not an expensive club. Shoot, don't hit."
Fumbling around with the shotgun and his box of shells, Lorry finally managed to get it loaded.
Still sitting, Syke grabbed another shotgun and pulled open an ammo crate. "Well, hello there Mister Armor-Piercing Focused-Charge Explosive Shell! ... this what you got, Semi?" He held up one of the cartridges.
Lorry kicked the back doors open again, standing up with his shotgun aimed directly at the driver. "I'm busy! Just grab something!"
The pursuing car was still right on their tail, front end buckled now from the constant collisions.
After a short pause and a glance at their adversary Lorry spoke again. "Armor-Piercing?"
"Well, yeah. Perfect for cars and fucking cybercats, or suits in tech-armor." Syke chambered a round, unsteadily. "Could have used computer-assisted targetting myself, but what the hell."
The driver snarled at Lorry through the windscreen, aiming a machine pistol at him from out of his window. His aim is lousy though and the spray simply pinged off the doors, the stacatto rhythm matching that of the crates knocking together as the van bumpped over the rough ground.
Lorry lowered the shotgun. "No one makes bulletproof tires as far as I know..." He took a new aim at the front tire, and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.
"It's broken! Damn it!"
"No, you... don't point it at me. It's the safety! It's for keeping sharpshooters like you from... loosing too many limbs."
The "broken" shotgun is thrown out, onto the car, as Syke corrected him; Lorry said "Hand me another one. And shut up!"
"Alright," yelled Syke, tossing his own piece over. "Now try it with the trigger!"
With the new gun, Lorry fired off a shot at the front tire of the pursuing car, causing it to blow. Even at this speed it did not cause their pursuer to lose control, skilled driver that he was. Grimly he eased off, steered into the skid, then set the car in pursuit again, sparks flying from the side as the rim ground itself down on the terrain.
Syke rolled his eyes. "Well, if we'd jacked a car of polytech target-acquiring rocket-spears everything'd be peachy!"
"We'll see how you do without two tires!" Lorry gave the driver a nasty grin and aimed for the other front tire.
His second shot was answered in kind with another burst from the driver's weapon, Both shots were wide of the mark as the Corp swerved to minimise the concussive burst of the shell skipping off his front bumper, scorching the black paintjob even blacker. The tire was un-hit though, and the pursuit continued on.
"Damn. I can't fucking hit anything with everything moving around like ants on steriods!"
"Look, Mister Crack-Cocaine Shot," Syke started. "... ants on what?" A short pause then, "nevermind! Stop going for quality, start going for volume! Shoot muchly!"
Lorry held the shotgun out for Syke to take. "Your turn. If its that easy!"
"Fine!" Syke grabbed the gun, tried to find a stable position. Once established, he fired a rapid series of shots, most of which missed the mark widely. But with explosive shells, all you need is one lucky shot. There was a resounding boom, as the pursuing car disintegrated in a ball of flames and flying debris.
"Huh," said Syke, entirely too stunned for smugness.
Lorry gave him the thumbs up.
Syke nodded, with slight confusion. "And that's how you do it. ... apparently."
The ball of flame behind them followed them on for as long as it took for friction to bring it to a halt, the sky - now almost fully dawning - illuminated by an oily mushroom cloud as the fire hit the gas tank. In the back of the stolen van, the two Enforcers sagged, not bothering to pull closed the doors. Bo' eased off the gas and the three of them, plus Markus - who was in delierium having found some narcotics amongst the seized shipment - rolled safely back to the Sub.
Lorry guided Bo'Geo to the rear entrance, and they headed down the disused subway line. On arriving in the sub itself, all was ominously quiet. Syke cautiously emerged from the car, shotgun on a strap across his shoulder. He peeked out across the platform and waved for the others to follow. Lorry followed with a shotgun in his hand. A scorchmark at the entrance to the tunnel was the only sign that a cybernetic panther had been fried there just an hour or so earlier, and the lack of movement from the platforms was too marked. Clambering up onto the platforms Bo'Geo shouted. A sign of life. Both of the downed mechanical cats had been dragged to a corner - the same corner where Sparky had performed the autopsy on the first such beast they had encounterd. Bodies were piled in the stairwell to the street. It seemed that to a one they were marked. All of them appeared to have been Panthers. Lorry moved over to the mechanical cats in the corner, poking at them with his feet. Whistling under his breath, Syke stepped up towards the pile of bodies.
"Some party we missed."
"Yeah. I'm glad they're dead." Lorry turned away from the cat.
Bo'Geo backed up, crawling to the edge of the platform, not looking at the pile of dead.
From behind them, on the far platform, came a voice. "Back the fuck up. Now, Syke!" Johnson stepped out from a side office on the opposite side. "They're rigged to burn..."
Syke slowly, carefully, took a few steps backwards. "What, no proper warning sign?"
Lorry chimed up. "What about these?"
"Them too... you'd best get over here. All of you. Fast!"
"Okay, okay..."
As if to prove his point, the fizzling noise of a fuse burning down reached their ears, and the smell of pertroleum became noticeable. How had they missed it?
Lorry made his way over to Johnson and Syke followed, waving for Bo'Geo to do the same. As the fuse burnt out, reaching the piled bodies - feline and human alike - the molotovs that had been drained over them lit up in an intense flare, blasting a wave of flame out from the epicentre. The stench was awful, but the necessity of the act soon became clear. Ventilation being what it was in the sub the heat from the blaze was funnelled straight up the stairwell, and over the crackle of the flames came numerous anguished and frenzied screams. Evidently the pile of incapacitated panthers had been holding more back.
Lorry held up his shotgun to show Johnson their success.
Syke flinched back from the fire, then snapped to attention. "Dick! How many of us left standing?"
"Would you believe... all of us DJ's some brain on him!"
The other enforcer clapped him on the shoulder and almost grinned. "For real? Shit, I was hoping we'd at least get rid of the fucking technomonkeys."
Lorry looked back up the stairwell and raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.
Bo'Geo, choking and retching, scrambled up onto the platform, suit now badly singed to go with all the other stains.
Syke glanced over at the dirt-smeared pimp, then looked back at Johnson. "But, I guess fair's fair. We didn't manage to lose Boges, so let's call it even."
"Ha! No such luck." Johnson's voice was weary but full of hope. "We held the bastards back with the 'tovs long enough for Archer to riddle a few. You know the bitch had a small stock of lethal contact poison stored for this event?! That, and some Fent-grenades. Anyhow... more about how we did it later, but boy are we glad to see you. Never thought you two, er, three would make it back alive." Syke finally broke down and smiled, bloody shoulder, bruised head and all.
Johnson simply beckoned them to follow, leading them to the store room down the far end of the platform. Pushing open the door he motioned for Syke to enter. The stench of death and burning flesh still rife in the air, the gathered Enforcers of Dogtown looked up to a one, visible relief on their faces as Syke was recognised. In the centre of the floor, hog-tied and beaten, a red-haired figure lay motionless. Only DJ spoke.
"You were right Syke. Bastard's not dead yet; we left him for you."
4 comments:
For the emphasized record, "I'm sorry I kicked you!" is just the best line ever.
This session was full of great stuff. Chock full. Not all of it ended up in the game log, as much was discussed on the OOC channels however.
I do think this session illustrates that while IRC may not be the ideal medium to run action scenes it's perfectly possible to do them, and good ones at that. The time it takes is an issue but the outcome is plain.
In other news - remember that russian theatre seige? Yeah, the one where they killed everyone with fentanyl - the really powerful opiate. Fent grenades are similar, but better calibrated for knock-outs of large numbers. Those in the pile weren't dead when they went up in flames.
I was wondering about the Fent grenades. Nice.
I think action scene are essentially done at the same speed as a table top session would run it. (Apart from typing, instead of writing though...)
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