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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 17, 2011 13:08:42 GMT -5
'Of course. Goddamn Junkies.' Good thing he'd planned for this so far. Quickly, he runs through several options. The spikes on the car and truck being somewhat unappealing for ramming, he opts for the more military option.
Briefly humming as the electronics prime, Screech stares down the insane looking human on the car. Softly, he whispers, "Bye."
Hell in the form of a massive hail of ExExplosive bullets rip forth from the primed MP-LMG, tearing up the road, sidewalks, streetlights and parked cars on the way towards the three metas pushing the car.
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 17, 2011 15:46:42 GMT -5
The Ares LPMG roars and tracers scream out across the road, stitching a line up to the car, across the two metas pushing it and into the RPG-toting nutjob on top. Paint, dirt, debris fly everywhere as the bullets smash into cover and flesh. No one gets out unscathed.
Rounds walk up the leg of the human pushing the car and he goes down clutching the torn up limb. His ork compatriot fares better, though he is visibly shook by the impacts. Atop the car, the RPG carrying human is hit and drops to a knee, but does not go down.
The two trolls keep pushing the truck and make good progress. Summoning up some sand, the lone ork keeps pushing his car and, with a thud, its bumper clunks into the truck. Clinging to the rear bumper, the human is dragged a full meter. Shuddering at the impact, the ork gives way to the larger two metas and their larger vehicle.
Atop the car, steadying after the two vehicles come together, the human ganger steadies himself and lets the RPG fly while blood courses down his abdomen and onto the car's roof. The rocket spins off high and left of Screech's oncoming van and explodes against the side of a filling station, blowing a man sized hole out of the wall and collapsing the ceiling near the blast.
Ahead, Screech see that his LMG fire riddled a junked out car. Looking closer, he can see that the car is full of junk - looks like heavy junk - in order to make it more of a roadblock. Piled up on the side of the road flush up to the buildings on either side - on the left a burned out furniture store, its sign still showing through the layers of ash and dirt; on the right an old car repair garage with the aluminium door covers torn off, the interior gutted - are tires, a few junked wrecks, debris and construction materials. Taken together, they make quite a roadblock. Navigating over those piles at anything higher than a few KPH, much less without an off-road suspension and some armored tires, was not likely to go well.
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 17, 2011 17:06:22 GMT -5
"Grrrr........" Screech continues to lay down the fire, focusing on the two metas near the back end of the car. A hail of lead and fire explode from the LMG, carving his mark into this section of the burnt out 'Plex.
'RPG's? Really? What the hell kind of gang was this?'
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 18, 2011 19:50:12 GMT -5
The Ares MP-LMG continues to fire, barely ceasing as Screech slews his crosshairs over the ork. On his display, the hapless ork seems to guess at his impending doom and throws himself in a wild dive off the side of the vehicle. The desperate move does not save him, and Screech can see a few red puffs explode around his torso. Seeing the ork go down, Screech moves on to the human who, recognizing the better part of valor, throws himself behind the engine block and kisses the earth as LMG rounds tear into the vehicle around him.
The trolls produce automatics of their own and begin to lay into the van, emptying their magazines while laughing maniacally.
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 19, 2011 15:25:07 GMT -5
Screech feels the pings of the small arms fire off his face and chest as he barrels down the road, no more annoying than small bugs. Judging by the mass of the cars in the way and the piles of junk on the sides of the road, he doesn't have much in the way of options. 'If all they've got left are those automatics, then maybe the best option here is to just book it. Man, I need a pusher plate on the front of this thing.' He adds it to his work order list in his comm, next to the 3 sedans that Joe just added in the last few hours. 'He must be working late if he's adding in jobs at this hour.'
While Screech is mulling over his next upgrade, the Roadmaster picks up speed as it jolts and jostles down the road. Overlaid on his VR picture of the street is a big target, centered on the junction of the car and truck, dead center in the middle of the road.
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 21, 2011 16:05:46 GMT -5
As the Roadmaster barrels down the street, Screech tries to eyeball how fast he'll need to go to blow through the center of the two vehicles. He can guess the original mass of the car and truck, but he really has no idea how much extra they've added in with junk. Certainly a lot. However, the half a second he has to ponder this isn't nearly enough time to come up with a good momentum requirement, let alone the hail of lead from the trolls and the war-torn street trying to eat his wheels with every pothole.
He can nearly feel every nanite in his brain, transmitting data in massive parallel paths to and from the Roadmaster. Diverting his physical responses into actions in the armored van, the tiny robotic creatures slaved to his will. As the nanites begin to lose charge, they quickly travel down his nervous system to the hive stored somewhere between Screech's spine and spleen.
Just before he plows into the mangled pile of metal that was in his path... 'Was that a twinge?'
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 22, 2011 9:51:49 GMT -5
Leaving a long trail of sparks and debris, as well as a few wide eyed metas spraying away with automatics, in a billowing cloud of dust, Screech's Roadmaster clears the two wrecks.
Immediately upon hitting the roadblock, Screech receives a warning that two of his tires have blown out. With warnings echoing in his ears, Screech attempts to keep his armored van righted as she begins to spin out of control.
Fighting hard, he barely keeps his vehicle from crashing into a light post.
Ahead, Screech sees no other immediate threats.
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 22, 2011 10:57:18 GMT -5
"FUCK!!!" With a trail of smoking rubber and sprayed electronics, Screech attempts to keep the Roadmaster on the two Smart Tires he's got left. 'I thought these things were supposed to be flat-proof. Dammit.' Mulling over his choices, he attempts to survey the damage to the van.
Asides from the tires, she seems to be in surprisingly good shape. No major damage from the roadblock, no sensors out, weapon systems active, otherwise healthy.
"Great, everything's just great."
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 22, 2011 12:00:48 GMT -5
[12 March, 2069. 23:27, Dropoff point, Hell's Kitchen, Puyallup]
After clearing the roadblock, Screech encounters few denizens of Hell's Kitchen interested in so much as a wave. Anyone that looks too long or hard at the van sees the chromed out, sinister Ares Arms manufactured machine gun staring right back at them and quickly thinks the better of sticking around.
A cold thought comes to him suddenly: At least the past kilometer of road has been without turns. This is the only route in or out.
Within a kilometer of the navsoft's predicted end point, the road ends in a snarl of old Jersey barriers, beyond which a vast basalt flat cooks. The dropoff from the road to the flat looks to be at least a clean meter drop, the earth broken off at a shelf.
Casting about for somewhere else to go, Screech notes a dirt and gravel road pulling off to the south, further down which he can see an old barbed-wire topped fence. Figuring that this is his only route, Screech pulls his van off and heads down the road. After a few swerves, he passes through a hole in the old fence only to come upon rows of concertina wire. Looming in the distance, set against the night sky, is the rusted out remains of some kind of factory, its cooling towers and storage units cutting a decrepit silhouette.
Though looking quite deserted, Screech's radar systems and RWS note a surprisingly large amount of electronic activity. Within seconds, a lock-on warning chirps and his RWS indicates that he is being scanned with active sensors.
A few moments later, a few security operators in full body armor stride towards the van from an outbuilding, the reflective black of their visors leaving Screech utterly unawares of their intention.
A request to logon to a secure node pops up, along with a message: "We were not expecting you until tomorrow, and expected all of the gear to come in one shipment. Do not get out of the vehicle, the atmosphere here is highly poisonous."
Sighing with relief, Screech realizes that he is indeed at his dropoff.
Within the hour, his van is fully unloaded.
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 22, 2011 12:44:17 GMT -5
[13 March, 2069. 00:07, Dropoff Point, Hell's Kitchen, Puyallup]
Getting less and less comfortable with this run, Screech begins to think that maybe he should have waited until tomorrow. Since this is the only route, they'll be sure to have another little checkpoint set up tomorrow.
Having logged onto the node, he is waiting for the sec ops to finish. Not feeling up to responding to the query just yet, he begins berating himself again. 'Just couldn't wait for tomorrow. Had to do a test run. Damn it all.' While he's waiting, he begins laying out a design in his head for an extra heavy armored front plate for 'runs like this. 'With a heavy front plate, I could have blown through that roadblock without hardly slowing down.'
When he gets the final message from the node, "We're done. We will see you tomorrow.", Screech nods and leaves the compound, heading back home. Having logged the route in his autonav, hopefully he'll be able to make the trip tomorrow a bit faster.
Oh wait. The tires.
As he rumbles back to civilization, he keeps his gun trained on anything that seems likely to engender more violence. 'Maybe I can do a quick fix on these things tonight or tomorrow.'
As he flips through his list of notes, Screech notes that his mod list is growing, and he's not sure how much more this frame can take before he'll start having to replace instead of supplement. 'Heavy load bearing suspension, front armor plate, maybe a new round of engine mods.... plus repairs.'
Making a decision, he messages Joe.
<<Screech @ Joe> Hey Joe. Know of anyone who might be interested in riding "shotgun" with me tomorrow? Few hundred cred in it if they are.>
He'd rather ask Joe than Keller, especially since the latter is hooking him up with the trailer.
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 23, 2011 12:00:02 GMT -5
<<Joe @ Screech>>
<<I don't play the same games as you, Screech. I don't feel comfortable calling up some of my clients - the off the books types - and asking them out of the blue to work with someone that they don't know. Bad for business. Why don't you ask that Japanese friend of yours that gave you the job? Maybe he has some muscle he can send your way.>>
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 23, 2011 13:30:04 GMT -5
<< Screech @ Joe >>
<<Hey, no worries. You can't work with someone if you don't meet them, though. If there's someone you'd like me to meet at some point, just let me know.
I need to buy some tires from you in the morning, I damaged a couple tonight. Do we have any RunFlats in stock?>>
Screech ponders his next move. It was a little late for messaging, he supposes, but was he being pushy? Joe had tweaked him before about ground pounding versus shop work, but... Hmm. Maybe he didn't really need a shotgunner.... but it would make him a lot more comfortable. What he really needs from Joe were those tires.
<< Screech @ Keller >>
<<Hi Keller - I hope I am not disturbing you. I was wondering if you knew of anyone interested in riding "shotgun" with me tomorrow. Few hundred cred if they are, along with a finder's fee, of course. It wouldn't be until tomorrow evening, so please respond whenever it is convenient for you. Thanks!>>
He's less interested in contacting the Yakuza. Besides, why would they pay him to do the job if they could do it themselves? Maybe there was a young blood they needed to get some experience, but didn't they tend to keep that kind of thing, ah, "in house?"
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 23, 2011 14:31:21 GMT -5
Screech gets fast answers from both of his contacts:
<<Joe @ Screech>>
<<We have a few run-flats laying around the shop. We can toss em on your old bucket if you like. What is with this
buy tires from me' nonsense? Bring em back in decent condition and we will just call it a 'test run', sound good?>>
<<Keller @ Screech>>
<<Don't worry about the time. That is pretty short notice for anyone reliable. You get what you pay for in this business - what is your budget looking like>>
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 23, 2011 14:47:43 GMT -5
<< Screech @ Joe >>
<<Fair enough! This "old bucket" is gonna need a few mods in the near future, too. We can talk about it later, I'll be in first thing. G'night!>>
<< Screech @ Keller >>
<<I understand about the notice, however I felt that after the first foray tonight I might need some backup. 400 cred (plus yours), should be less than 4 hours. I'm handling the driving and main power, I'd just be more comfortable with a copilot, especially with the trailer. Got anyone in mind?>>
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 24, 2011 10:28:41 GMT -5
<<Keller @ Screech>>
<<I'll see what I can do.>>
Two hours pass.
<<Keller @ Screech>>
<<I can not find anyone that I feel comfortable recommending at that price point. I can send a man, but he will negotiate with you directly regarding his payment. Still interested?>>
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 24, 2011 11:50:13 GMT -5
Sighing, he got out of the Roadmaster as he set his Vehicle Tag Eraser on a 20 second delay. Counting down in the middle of the parking lot, he waited for the telltale hum as the van shut down all other electronics and wiped any tags he may have picked up on the way. The turret long since stowed, the van should be fairly innocuous again. There was a faint humming sound from the Roadmaster as it cleaned, then shut off again. Powering back on, he headed back to his apartment.
[13 March, 2069. 02:13, Screech's Apartment]
<< Screech @ Keller >>
<<Thank you for inquiring, I think I'll be forced to pass for now. Perhaps another time when I have more time to plan. Shall I wire you the finder's fee for the trailer or leave it with your contact there?>>
Cooling his heels in his apartment was not Screech's idea of a great evening, but now that Keller finally got back to him, he was half relieved and half disappointed. He would have liked the backup, but he was going to be barely breaking even on this run as is.
Setting his comm alarm for 09:00, he collapsed into bed, praying that he wouldn't be plagued by nightmares again.
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 25, 2011 13:47:41 GMT -5
<<Keller @ Screech>>
<<Wire it to me, I will distribute the funds as necessary.>>
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 25, 2011 14:12:55 GMT -5
[13 March, 2069. 09:00, Screech's Apartment]
The brash strains of the latest pop-rock cover being played over whatever random channel his comm happened to select arouses Screech from his sleep. He quickly sits up, disabling the noise and heading for the shower. A few minutes later he dries off and pulls his clothes on.
He wires 300 cred to Keller from Junichi, his more secure SIN.
<< Screech @ Keller >>
<<Thanks again.>>
With that, he grabs a pack of Insta-Soy-Meal-Express, the latest in a line of instant breakfast foods. With the general taste and consistency of paste, it was at least instant self heating and he could eat it on the way. His first stop, The Chop Shop.
Rolling into the back lot, Screech strolls into the shop from the employee entrance and gives a shout at Joe. "What's goin' on, man?" Screech then heads for the tire pile in the back to grab a few run-flats. "Rough part of town, no doubt."
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 28, 2011 8:09:37 GMT -5
Poking his head around the shop, Screech doesn't immediately see Joe, but he shrugs it off and grabs the set of run-flats Joe had set aside. Same diameter and width, they were pretty much a drop in replacement (minus the added ability of actually handling better).
He spends about 20 minutes changing out the damaged set of smart tires, being careful not to further damage the expensive set of rims. Once he the run-flats are installed, he rolls the smart tires into the back of the shop. Checking the time, he realizes he didn't have that much to do at all today asides from finishing the run later. So, he pulls one of the tires onto the 'shop bench and starts taking a look. 'Hmm.... Impact sensors look pretty fragged, actuators are bent around this third of the tread, communication line seems ok, actual rubber is torn but not destroyed... This could take a while.' Tapping his teeth with one finger, he decides he'll see if he can work at one later this afternoon.
For now, the trailer.
[13 March, 2069. 09:37, Trailer Pickup.]
Rolling up to the location, he gets out of the Roadmaster and looks around for Keller's associate.
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 28, 2011 11:16:43 GMT -5
Hopping out of the Roadmaster, Screech notes the pictured trailer sitting in an abandoned parking lot.
As he approaches, he notes an AR tag:
<<Here she is. If she is wrecked, I'll be looking for compensation from Keller or you. Whoever pays first. - Burns>>
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 28, 2011 11:43:02 GMT -5
Nodding to himself, he hooks the trailer up to the Roadmaster and drives off. Noting the somewhat more awkward driving that it entails, Screech decides that in the future, he'd much rather have cargo stowed inside rather than deal with this again. 'Mmm, handles a bit like driving a fat woman on an office chair.'
Heading back to The Chop Shop, he parks the Roadmaster in the back and goes inside.
[13 March, 2069. 10:08, Higashi's Chop Shop]
Checking the time again, he decides to make the run at around 21:00 tonight. 'Plenty of time from now, time to get on those tires.' He is lost to the world as he sinks himself into working on fixing his smart tires.
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 28, 2011 19:35:59 GMT -5
[13 March, 2069. 12:21, Higashi's Chop Shop]
Joe has wandered in and out a few times while Screech is working, with the latter being entirely oblivious to the former. After a shorter time then expected, Screech leans back and wipes some sweat from his forehead. "Ugh." Joe jumps a little, having largely forgotten Screech was there. Looking at the pile of scraps and parts on the bench and floor, Joe shakes his head. "That mess just from the one? Come on, man..."
Screech laughs. "Come on what, omae? Can't fix an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Or something." He chuckles. "I'll shoot you a list of stuff I've used once I'm done, the other one looks like it's in worse shape."
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 29, 2011 8:30:06 GMT -5
Joe shook his head again. "Your call. Hey, I'm running to the 'Shack to pick up lunch. Can I tear you away from that for a few hours to deal with this Rabbit? I'm really feeling the crunch on this one, man."
Screech looked at the other mangled smart tire, then checked the time. "Yeah, sure. I'm probably not gonna finish that one before tonight anyways."
"Thanks. I'll be back in a few."
Screech nods and logs onto the 'Shop network. The AR list on the Rabbit listed a few minor repairs and a tire rotation. 'Shouldn't take too long...'
[13 March, 2069. 21:00, Higashi's Chop Shop]
Laughing with Joe over a few onigiri, Screech's alarm started dinging in his head. Looking up, he said, "Well, I'd better jet or I'm never making it back." Nodding, Joe waves him on and grabs another synth-brew. "Make it back, omae. I need those tires back." With a grin, Screech ducks out and heads back to the dockyard to get the last of the cargo.
[13 March, 2069. 21:32, Dockyard.]
Letting the dockyard autonav guide him back, he looks around for the loaders from yesterday.
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 29, 2011 13:31:37 GMT -5
[13 March, 2069. 21:32, Loading Area, Tacoma Docks]
As Screech rides into the tall container stacks, the same uneasiness as last time sets in, his heart beat quickening slightly. Here we go again...
Pulling up, around and backing into the loading spot, the same thick, graying Russian saunters over, appraising the van and Screech. 'We were taking bets to see if you'd make it back.' Cracking a grin, he adds, 'I won a bit of money on you. By the look of your paint job and the new tires, it was not easy, though, da.'
Shrugging slightly, the Russian walks off to direct the loading of the containers onto the trailer.
Once finished, he comes over one last time. 'Trailer is going to be dangerous. I hope you can make the delivery, else everyone will have problem.'
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 29, 2011 15:33:41 GMT -5
Screech tips a figurative hat at the Russian. "Glad to help. There are a few loonies out that way, but nothing the old girl couldn't run over."
As they commence loading the containers into the trailer, he stops them. "Could you load what you can in the back of the van? I like, ah, diversifying."
As he watches the loading finish up, he responds to the older Russian. "It's the trailer or another several trips. I don't know if I'll make it through another, let alone another three."
As he powers the Roadmaster back on, he leans out the window. "To be fair, there's only one way I won't make this delivery. If I don't make it, I won't be in a position to care about anybody's problems." With a glance back at the trailer, "I don't want to know what's in these things, I don't. What kind of problems are you talking about, though? Maybe I should have charged more for this..."
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 29, 2011 19:33:23 GMT -5
Smiling, he says 'always charge more.'
Then the Russian shrugs. 'We do not come cheap,' he gestures to his crew. 'If you do not deliver , not only does our employer lose his goods, he loses what he has spent. Nobody will be happy.'
Knocking against the hood with the palm of his hand, 'you are loaded up. Good luck.'
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 29, 2011 19:51:26 GMT -5
Screech waves out the window as he takes off out of the dockyard. Rolling the window back up, he runs the optic cable from the dash into his jack port, sighing as he slips back into his comfort zone.
He lets the various cameras and sensors fill his senses, drifting into a virtual world he is almost more comfortable in than the real world. As he drifts along the twisted highways of the 'Plex, he starts paying close attention to the cars around him. As he nears the Barrens he watches as the signatures of the cars tend towards the dirtier, the older. Soon the cars stop broadcasting their AR image and are picked up on the radar and imaging sensors alone, with no virtual presence asides from their physical mass and heat. The LoneStar warning barrier can be seen soon in the distance.
The windows of the Roadmaster smoke to their darkest and the loading clicks of the LMG can be heard inside the cabin, ready to extend at a moment's notice.
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Post by ScornMandark on Mar 30, 2011 15:54:14 GMT -5
[13 March, 2069. 22:03, Hell's Kitchen, Puyallup Border.]
The red haze of the LoneStar border washes over the Roadmaster like a mist of blood, and Screech feels dirty already. Like a scorpion extending its venomous tail, the Ares MP LMG extends from the roof of the van and starts tracking targets of interest. As he bounces down the pitiful excuse for what used to be a street, Screech puts his sensors back to work, letting the RADAR, imaging cameras and ultra-wideband RADAR become his eyes and ears, feeding him a torrent of information about the dirty world around him. Everything that moves could be coming at him, everything that doesn't could be an ambush. The run-flats let him move a little faster, but with much less sure footing, so to speak.
Dodging around another pothole the size of a small crater, he hears some of the containers clink softly against each other. No matter how well tied down, it seems that there was a little room to play in there. He checked his rear monitor again to confirm the trailer was still attached - so far so good.
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 31, 2011 14:59:43 GMT -5
[13 March, 2069. 22:09, Hell's Kitchen, Puyallup]Screech blows through the LoneStar warning, his autonav loading up the last route's mapping information. Long ago, the van's engine had kicked from grid to internal power, and the vehicle thrummed softly as Screech maneuvered it down the road. Initially, the first thing that seemed strange was the utter lack of traffic. Lean roads is one thing on any given night this far into the barrens, but not a soul was about. Figuring that this was a sign of things to come, Screech set about scanning intently with his sensor suite. The amount of background effects from radiation, pollution, rubble and scrapped vehicles, however, was producing huge amounts of erroneous contacts. When he finally is able to clear up his radar, he notices a cluster of fast-moving contacts moving in quickly both ahead and behind him. Closure rates would bring him into contact with four oncoming vehicles, four more, within the next ten seconds. The chase vehicles were going to take at least 20 seconds by his sensor's estimation. Looks like there is going to be company afterall...
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Post by ScornMandark on Apr 4, 2011 10:15:30 GMT -5
'There we go.... I was beginning to wonder.'Laying on the accelerator, Screech jigs around potholes and bears down on the oncoming vehicles. The thermo and radar displays finally start agreeing with each other, beginning to cancel out the rain and near abject darkness. LMG reports as ready to fire as Screech double checks the ammo load, which is exactly where he left it from last night. Careening around what might have once been a fashionable body mod (or maybe a cyber-leg? Kinda hard to tell), he focuses on not losing the trailer to an errant road trap or crater.
Actions pending GM review.
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