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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 9, 2011 18:53:22 GMT -5
[8 March 2069, 02:21 - Tacoma Warehouse District]
The interior of the warehouse is what you'd expect: falling down, infested with rats (got your VITAS vaccine?), smells like something between decomp and mold. The lights are the kind you see in garages, exposed bulbs mounted in a cage with a handle that terminates in a long cord.
Impulse stands behind his fellow gang members, thick arms crossed over his chest. The deal was going smoothly enough, the sooner they got out of this rat-infested shit-hole the better.
A leather jacketed, horn and tusk sporting, spike covered troll - their contact, a one Gridiron - looked up from his commlink and blinked a few times. 'So, are we good, then? Everyone happy?'
Burner, one of the Blood Eagles - Impulse's gang - stepped forward. 'We fuckin' well better be good, omae, or you got yourself a problem. We came through on the money, now where are you on the stuff?'
Gridiron cracks a toothy, tusky grin, a heavy, belly laugh starting to roll out of his sizable midsection. 'Ya know, 'omae', the irony thick in his voice, 'we was thinkin' that, since you all smoked Cheese the other day, we would just call this even!'
At that, he stuffs an oversized troll hand down into his waist band and levels a Ruger Superwarhawk at the Blood Eagles. The hollow *chowk* sounds of rounds being chambered in firearms echoes throughout the warehouse. The warhawk's disturbingly large barrel is joined by a few others.
Burner appears startled for a moment, his hands starting to come up, but then gathers his sand in an instant and steps forward, rather than back. 'Listen here, punk. You burn us on this, you gonna have a problem. A big one.' Stepping forward again, nearly resting the Warhawk's barrel on his chest, he continues, 'Nobody will work you asshats ever again.'
'What of it?!' Gridiron pushes the Warhawk flush against Burner's chest and pulls the hammer back. The tension in the room becomes palpable.
In the heart pounding seconds, Impulse can see Gridiron's hand tightening on his massive revolver. Suddenly, flood lights light the warehouse from above, through holes in the ceiling.
'THIS IS LONESTAR! WE HAVE THE BUILDING SURROUNDED! LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS...'
By the time 'This is...' is uttered, a cacophonous blast fills the room and Burner flops back onto the ground like a sack of potatoes, a massive hole blown into his chest. Gridiron's eyes twinkle as he begins to slew the pistol towards another ganger. 'FUCKING RATS!' calls out someone in the room, as everyone dives for cover and produces firearms of their own.
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Post by drzaius on Mar 9, 2011 19:23:01 GMT -5
[8 March 2069, 02:21 - Tacoma Warehouse District]Just my fucking luck. Impulse saw Burner take the shot to the chest and immediately dived for cover. Gridiron was going to get his, but that's not where Impulse's mind was at the moment. If Lonestar really had the place surrounded, he was six kinds of fucked. McGarnicle would back him up to a point, but getting arrested on the scene of a homicide armed with a small arsenal and carrying no less than three class A narcotics tends to handcuff even the dirtiest of cops helping out their friends. Regretting he hadn't gotten those fancy exploding bullets (and deep down that he never told his mother he loved her enough), Impulse leaned his back against the overturned table and works on getting the Ak carbine out from under his jacket, fortunately attached on a sling for just such an occasion.
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 9, 2011 19:32:20 GMT -5
Above, the *wha-wah-wah-wah* of the helicopter now floods into the room, along the intense white searchlight. The whole world becomes a deafening series of explosions as gunfire fills the room.
Left of Impulse, Killian an ork in the gang, comes down, covered in holes and missing half of his jaw, broken bits of teeth and tusk clinging to the meat. Killian's eyes blink a few times at Impulse before going dark.
A few rounds slam into the table, zinging off into the darkness beyond the garage lights or floods.
Looking down, Impulse finds that his quivering hands are now gripping a fully loaded, readied AK-97, and, with a quick snap of the wrist, the stock extends.
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Post by drzaius on Mar 9, 2011 20:12:50 GMT -5
Enough of this shit. "Let's get the fuck out of here!" Impulse stand and turns, backing into the hall behind him and making sure the remaining Blood Eagles make a hasty exit. If someone fucked with my bike, they better hope I'm dead before I get there."You're gonna be on the news tonight, assholes!" Impulse levels the Ak and unloads into the room, firing with wild abandon and cackling as his opponents dive for cover. Impulse is making a suppressive fire check against the area the opposing gangers are in. He rolls Agility (4) + Automatics (3) and gets 7d6.hits(5)=0 hits. He doesn't hit anything, but he makes a lot of noise! The bullet spray wildly, mostly towards his targets, as he tries to herd his friends out of the room.
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 9, 2011 20:22:15 GMT -5
Backing through the busted crates, bits of trash, detritus and offal of a long-abandoned warehouse proves difficult and the progress slow. With his AK leveled and belching out bullets at a prodigious rate, several Blood Eagle's gangers begin to make a run for it, firing pistols wildly over their shoulders as they careen headlong through the warehouse, knocking over shelves, falling into dusty desks, trying to avoid the bullets zinging and popping past them. One of the Blood Eagles catches a round in the forearm, barely grazing him but causing a momentary stumble. His eyes wide with terror, he glances at Impulse before turning and standing his ground, leveling his pistol at the Head Takers shooting at him. 'TAKE THIS YOU TROGS! AAAAARRRUUUGGGH!!!!' From behind the table, Gridiron levels his Warhawk and fires into the fleeing Blood Eagles, his huge revolver letting out a ferocious roar. Impulse can see the massive barrel swaying about for a moment before settling decidedly upon him. The immense flash lights up the night. |
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Post by drzaius on Mar 9, 2011 20:34:29 GMT -5
Barely dodging the blast from Gridiron's hand-cannon, Impulse ducks behind the thin door separating the areas and makes for the alley exit.
Saving a few bullets for whatever he has to face outside, Impulse yells back into the room, "This isn't over! You're gonna pay for what you've done! When the cops are done with you I'm gonna fuck you up so bad your goddamn dog won't recognize you!"
As the other Blood Eagles run for the street exit, Impulse dives outside into the narrow alley, confident that his night can only improve from this point going foward.
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 9, 2011 20:50:25 GMT -5
As Impulse heads towards the alley, he sees one of the Blood Eagles letting loose with his light pistol, eyes mad-dog crazy, pounding round after round at the Head Takers. His face contorts into a wild half-grin, half-scream. Suddenly, his wailing is stopped by a meaty smack of an incoming round tearing into his throat. Replacing the wail is a throaty wheezing, leading into a gurgle. His left hand claps over the wound, right arm going limp, but still pumping out rounds as he falls to a knee. His eyes still bright, another round impacts on his shoulder and starts to turn him before another hits him square and he falls to the ground hard and fast. The remaining ganger shouts over the din 'Lets get the fuck outta here, omae! Our bikes are out front!' As he wheels about the left hand turn, headed back street side, a compound *ra-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta* is added to the pops of pistols and pounding shotgun shots. The ganger winces visibly before being hit by a fusillade of bullets fired from the street, his body riddled and falling, lead-heavy, to the alley. Crouching in the doorway, Impulse recognizes the sounds of submachine guns... Lone Star SWAT!
Turn 1, phases 1 and 2 are over. Begin turn 2.
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Post by drzaius on Mar 9, 2011 21:02:08 GMT -5
Initiative for Turn 2. 8d6.hits(5)=1 hits. Impulse goes on 9, 2 passes. sneaks a peek outside the alley, his eyes darting nervously like a caged rat. McGarnicle would probably be pretty ticked if Impulse murdered a host of cops to bust out of here, not to mention the fact that even he didn't think he had the ammo or the ability to do it. Well, one of these assholes must have brought a bike.Impulse runs into the alley away from the cops, but towards the Docks and where Gridiron and his gang are likely spilling out like flushed game running from the hounds. |
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 9, 2011 21:12:54 GMT -5
As Impulse bounds into the alleyway, he catches a glimpse of a full SWAT team advancing towards him, weapons shouldered. At the sight of the ork galloping out the door, AK in tow, the team scatters, falling into firing crouches and diving for cover. A few members begin emptying their SMGs down the length of the alley. Rounds begin filling the whole alley, smacking into the building walls, a nearby dumpster, bits of trash. The whole alley fills with dust and debris in moments. |
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Post by drzaius on Mar 10, 2011 11:05:10 GMT -5
Impulse is running for his life. First attack, full dodge= Reaction (4) + Dodge (3) + Misc (4) = 11 dice. 11d6.hits(5)=4 hits. Impulse dodges. Second attack, suppressive fire (as a side note, I'm not sure the laser sight / range / lighting matter here, but since I net -1 die Im not going to complain too much). Still full dodging. Reaction (4) + Edge (3) + Dodge (3) + Misc (4) - Defended from Previous Attack (1) = 13 dice. 13d6.hits(5)=2 hits. Impulse is tagged, and must resist 5P. Body (6) + Armor Jacket (8) = 14 dice. 14d6.hits(5)=6 hits. Impulse takes no damage from the attack. Final attack. Reaction (4) + Edge (3) + Dodge (3) + Misc (4) - Defended from Previous Attack (2) = 12 dice. 12d6.hits(5)=6 hits. Impulse dodges. Running from the hail of gunfire, Impulse feels some of the bullets connect against his back, fortunately stopped by the heavy armor he decided to wear tonight "just in case". The alley is deafeningly loud, as bits of brick and debris rain down on him as the SWAT members fill the narrow alley with rounds. Impulse hauls ass as fast as he can, knowing his only shot is to be to get to the other side of the alley and hopefully out of the turkey shoot. Impulse is using a simple actions to make a sprint check to try and get him out of the alley as soon as possible. First check: Strength (7) + Running (1) = 8 dice. 12d6.hits(5)=6 hits. Each hit adds 2 meters/turn to his running rate; Impulse can move up to 37 meters this turn. |
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 10, 2011 12:01:22 GMT -5
The snap crack of bullets passing overhead and nearby is augmented with a heavy, sickening thud, like a baseball slamming into a catcher's mit, and Impulse stumbles a few steps, taking the impact through his whole upper body.
His head suddenly leaned low by the hit, his legs pump up and down trying to keep him upright, and he careens down the alley at an incredible pace, bouncing off of a trash can, barely dodging a pile of bricks and debris, deflecting off a wall here, a pole there, before finding himself suddenly at the end of the warehouse, at an intersection, lit overhead by floodlights. Papers float eerily in the air, kicked up by the helicopter, caught in a mesmerizing dance.
His heels come forward, and he screeches to a halt, juking right, then leaping left, having no time to look, knowing that anywhere but here is good. Amazingly enough, when Impulse can spare a thought to it, his AK still rests in his white-knuckle grip.
The alley ahead bears onward into the night, out of the flood light and, hopefully, towards safety.
From behind him, he hears scampering feet and attaches those sounds to what are probably the Head Takers making a hasty retreat out of the back of the warehouse. Accompanied by a few gunshots, the yells of SWAT officers fill his ears. At least they are behind him...
Leaning his shoulder down, Impulse takes off down the alleyway, away from the warehouse shootout.
Making progress down the alley, he does not notice Gridiron kneeling in a small doorway depression, feeding rounds into his Ruger Warhawk until he is past him and the Warhawk has already barked once.
The first round impacts high on the shoulder and causes him to start spinning slightly, giving him a moment's pause to see the toothy-tusky grin of Gridiron behind the massive barrel of his Warhawk. A brilliant flash later, and a second round impacts Impulse and suddenly the whole world is upside down, his body sliding down the alleyway, plowing through the trash.
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Post by drzaius on Mar 10, 2011 12:47:13 GMT -5
Impulse rolls over onto his back and fires a narrow long burst from his Ak into Gridiron, using edge (0/3 remaining). Agility (4) + Automatics (3) + Laser Sight (1) - Wounds (2) - Long Burst Recoil (4) + Edge (3) = 5 dice, exploding 6s. 5d6.hits(5)=3 hits, 2 6s. 2d6.hits(5)=1 hit, 1 6. 1d6.hits(5)=0 hits. 4 hits. 5P+Long Burst+4 Hits=14P feels the slugs dig deep into his back, gritting his teeth and tripping over his own feet, falling into a heap in the dirty alley. Knowing his luck has about run out, he rolls onto his back and sits up, shouldering his Ak as he faces Gridiron. "This is for Burner, you son of a bitch!" Impulse unloads into the troll, hoping against hope it will be enough to discourage him from finishing the job. Just in case, his hand blade slides out with a *shink* in case Gridiron wants to get up close and personal. |
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 10, 2011 12:54:00 GMT -5
Gridiron, seeing Impulse go down, breaks into a long stride run towards the fallen ganger, his meaty fists pumping, mouth slack in a cruel dog's grin. Seeing Impulse's AK come up, his eyes widen, and his broad shoulders start to turn, his body seeking some kind of cover, trying to this way, that way, any way but into the AK's firing line. The first shots stitch up Gridiron's left side, tagging his arm and leg on that side. Turning with the impact, his massive frame lets recoil take the rest of the rounds off down the alley. Gridirion keeps coming.
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Post by drzaius on Mar 10, 2011 15:34:20 GMT -5
Knowing he only as a few shots left in his clip, Impulse raises his carbine to his shoulder and tries to get the little red dot from the laser scope as near to the center of Gridiron's face as possible as he comes barreling towards him. Impulse makes an aimed single shot against Gridiron. Agility (4) + Automatics (3) + Laser Sight (1) - Wound Modifier (2) - called shot (2, for +2 DV) = 4 dice. 4d6.hits(5)=0 hits. His first shot misses. Second shot, same plan. 4 dice. 4d6.hits(5)=3 hits. 10P damage, no AP Trying to steady his aim, the first shot goes over Gridiron's shoulder, but the second was aimed closer to true. |
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 10, 2011 15:52:10 GMT -5
The first shot cracks past Gridiron's head, missing by only a few inches. Flinching, he throws himself behind an abutment. Impulse tracks the troll as he dives, squeezing off a second shot. Again, he misses high. 'You'll have to do better than that, ya worthless trog!' Impulse can hear the troll jeering him from behind the dumpster. Though only a handful of meters away, the thick bricks of the warehouse support buttress will likely ample cover for Gridiron. Turn 2, pass 1 is complete. Gridiron is spending pass 2 diving behind cover. |
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Post by drzaius on Mar 10, 2011 16:09:16 GMT -5
As Gridiron dives for cover, Impulse tries to land his final two shots, hoping the trog will drop before he does. Impulse makes a pair of aimed single shots against Gridiron. Agility (4) + Automatics (3) + Laser Sight (1) - Wound Modifier (2) - called shot (2, for +2 DV) = 4 dice. 4d6.hits(5)=1, 4d6.hits(5)=3. The first shot has 1 hit, the second shot as 3 hits. Both were aimed for +2 DV, so the first shot would be 8P, the second 10P. |
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 10, 2011 16:20:25 GMT -5
Impulse sights the troll, mid air, and fires high. A slow snarl starts across his face, and taking a breath, Impulse pulls the Kalashnikov tight to his shoulder, adjusts and fires a second shot. Gridiron hits the ground hard, sliding into the wall curled up like a babe. The abutment nearly covers even the large troll, and Impulse knows he hit him, but probably only winged. Glancing down at his carbine, he finds the charging bolt locked forward, the chamber empty.
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Post by drzaius on Mar 10, 2011 17:18:27 GMT -5
Hearing the *click* of the charging bolt click forward, Impulse drops the carbine, letting the sling catch it and fall behind him. Knowing that he has the drop on Gridiron, if only for a moment, he unclips the Ruger from his belt and draws it, skittering across the alley and crouching as he walks up towards Gridiron's cover, firing the revolver as soon as he has a clear line of sight and before Gridiron is ready to defend himself. Impulse is firing his Ruger Super Warhawk. Agility (4) + Pistols (3) + Laser Sight (1) - Wound Modifiers (2) = 6 dice. 6d6.hits(5)=2 hits. If it connects, it will do 8P, AP -2. |
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 10, 2011 17:25:04 GMT -5
The last few steps are miles and Impulse can hear his heart thundering in his ears. At first only the boots, but then, after a quick lean, the rest of him. Calling out from behind his cover, Gridiron's voice is raspy. 'Everyone will think it was you. You won't last five...' And then Impulse levels his own Warhawk at the troll, firing. [/url][/spoiler] Letting out a breath, Impulse squints down the alley, seeing a few flashlights swimming his way. Holding a hand over his eyes, he looks up and can see the chopper loitering overhead. 'DROP YOUR WEAPON AND LAY DOWN ON THE GROUND, FACE DOWN!' If the flashlights pointing at him are any indication, it looks like the SWAT teams have moved up... |
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Post by drzaius on Mar 11, 2011 15:29:21 GMT -5
Knowing he didn't have much time, Impulse quickly turned Gridiron over and grabbed his Ruger from his limp hand. "You don't mind, do you?" he sneered, judging from the throbbing in his back that there were likely about 4 left in the cylinder. As the flashlights started turning the corner, Impulse hauled ass down the alley. Impulse spends his first simple action picking up the revolver, then makes a sprint check. Strength (7) + Running (1) - Wound Modifier 2= 6 dice. 6d6.hits(5)=2 hits. Impulse will be able to move 29 meters this turn. |
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 14, 2011 11:14:54 GMT -5
Glancing back towards the SWAT team, Impulse can see a few team members, with weapons shouldered, advancing towards him, one with a hand out gesturing to the ground. Turning down the alley away from Gridiron, away from the LoneStar SWAT teams, and hopefully away from the VTOL overhead, Impulse sets off at a dead sprint. Immediately, rounds begin to fill the alleyway as the SWAT team engages Impulse. Up ahead, Impulse can see the alley split off to the right, towards the docks... If he can just make it... |
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Post by drzaius on Mar 14, 2011 13:37:06 GMT -5
[8 March 2069, 02:25 - Tacoma Warehouse District]Impulse will full dodge as he attempts to evade the police. Reaction (4) + Edge (3) + Dodge (3) + Running (2) - Wound Modifier (2)= 10 dice. 10d6.hits(5)=4 hits. Impulse dodges the first attack. Reaction (4) + Edge (3) + Dodge (3) + Running (2) - Wound Modifier (2) - Defended from previous attack (1) = 9 dice. 9d6.hits(5)=2 hits. Impulse is hit. Damage Resistance Test. Body (6) + Armor (8) + Dermal (1) = 15 dice vs. 5S. 15d6.hits(5)=1 hits. Impluse takes 4S on top of his 8S, putting him at 10S, 2P. He is unconscious. As Impulse runs down the alley like a cornered rat, blood and spittle leaking from his cheeks, he sneaks one final glance behind him and sees the flash of automatic gunfire. The rounds connect with his ribs like a rasta playing the tin drum, and the world goes dark.
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 14, 2011 13:56:12 GMT -5
[8 March, 2069, time unknown, location unknown]
The world comes in flashes - an alley, handcuffed, a car. It isn't until he is in the back of a cruiser that Impulse comes to. Ahead of him, through the windshield, he can see the bustle of a distant crime scene, the red and white strobes of emergency vehicles lighting the night, making the street a kind of cops-only rave. Shifting his gaze, Impulse checks the rearview and notes the scratches across his face, a jagged tear in his cheek - probably from face planting in the alley, bouncing off whatever junk, maybe getting drug across a nail or some glass or any other kind of filth.
Suddenly, the passenger door opens and the cruiser is weighted by McGarnicle dropping his bulk into the seat. 'Hey, there Impulse', he says, clapping the ork hard on the back, hard enough to make him cough. Leaning back into the seat, McGarnicle produces a cancer-stick and lights her up, a rueful smile crossing his lips. 'Some night you're having, chachkee.'
Chuckling at his own joke, he leans over and speaks low and slow, his hot, stale coffee stinking breath washing over Impulse's face. 'Listen here, ratfucker, they have you on one of your throw-away SINs. Right now, you are just 'Johhny Gangbanger' to them. They haven't even collected any forensic evidence yet because those SWAT gorillas are still busy trying to find some heads to kick in. Right now, I am the only friend you have in the world - because if I don't help you, Johnny Gangbanger, that'd be you' - thumps Impulse on the back again, 'is going to jail. You'll be sure to end up in a gladiator academy - possession of controlled substances and firearms, assault with a firearm, assault by pointing against an officer, resisting arrest, at least one charge of manslaughter or murder is likely too...'
McGarnicle leans back again and takes a long drag, letting Impulse mull it all over.
Leaning in again, he continues, cigarette smoke mingling with the words.
'Now I can get you out of this, but then you are a rat - the only guy who makes it out of OK Corral. You're my rat, hear me? And what papa wants, papa gets. And the first thing papa wants is five thousand for saving your sorry ass. Then he wants you to deliver a few of your rat-fucker-gutter-punk buddies with a nice, fat bow on them.'
Leaning out the window, he spits into the night.
'Or I can just leave you here.'
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Post by drzaius on Mar 14, 2011 14:10:17 GMT -5
[8 March, 2069, time unknown, location unknown]
With friends like these...
Straining against the handcuffs, Impulse turns a bruised eye to McGarnicle and simulates something like a laugh.
"That's one hell of an imagination you got there, buddy. 5 large? And some friends to go down for me? They're dead man. They're all dead."
Impulse struggles against the restraints holding him back, trying to get comfortable.
"Getting scraped out of that warehouse, along with the rest of my life. I ain't got a ride, I ain't got a gun, and I'm fresh out of friends. So that's up to you compadre. Am I better friend to you inside or out? I can take it either way, but cred is gonna be a bit tough to come by without 'gainful employment'."
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 14, 2011 14:22:50 GMT -5
Giving a sardonic smile, McGarnicle reaches over and unlocks the cuffs, letting Impulse go. Getting out, he addresses the ganger. 'You are a resourceful little fuck, right? Well, get some resources.' Reaching into his jacket, the detective produces Impulse's Warhawk. With a smooth wrist action, he pops the cylinder out and empties the chambers into his waiting palm, snaps the weapon shut with a wave of his hand and tosses the massive pistol into the squad car. It lands with a heavy thud next to Impulse. 'I figure you might need this to settle a few disputes... Make friends and influence people.'
Turning to walk away, McGarnicle calls out over his shoulder, 'It is five thousand by the end of the month and the juice is running. If I don't have a few good collars and some cred, the next time I find ya, things won't be so fucking cordial.'
'Oh, and you might need this.' McGarnicle underhand's Impulse his commlink. With a wink, he adds, 'might want to ditch the SIN, though.'
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Post by drzaius on Mar 14, 2011 14:35:06 GMT -5
Impulse gets out of the squad car and wipes the blood off of his face. He cracks his back, feeling the bruises starting to form under his now 'derelict-chic' armor jacket.
Impulse sighs as he deletes the fake SIN from his 'link, grunting "Affirmative" when queried,
<<Are you certain you wish to proceed?>>
"Money well spent."
Impulse sets out and starts hoofing it towards where he thinks his place is, keeping an eye out for any transportation he might 'borrow'.
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 14, 2011 16:11:06 GMT -5
[8 March 2069, 04:52 - Tacoma Warehouse District]
The sprawl never sleeps. Noting the time from his commlink, Impulse heads away from the sea of sirens and lights and into the breaking dawn. Not far from the squad car that so recently held him, a police line holds back a few gawkers and, beyond them, traffic slowly mills past, rubber necking civilians wondering what is going on. Overhead, several news choppers have added to the din, their own lights casting down onto the street below.
The docks are alive and well, road noise and machinery floating out over top the buildings. The roads are filling with third or fourth shift workers headed home while the first shifters come in. Mixed in with the sedans are yellow taxis, heavy trucks hauling containers, a few pickups - the usual menagerie of a working class district. The sidewalks are not bustling yet, but metas are walking up and down, to and fro, getting somewhere and going nowhere.
Casting about, Impulse notes that he is not too far from the I-5, maybe a few clicks, and thus not too far from the gang's flop house... Now, about that transport...
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Post by drzaius on Mar 15, 2011 10:08:46 GMT -5
[8 March 2069, 04:52 - Tacoma Warehouse District]Once out of sight of the police, Impulse picks up a scrap of newspaper and starts jogging towards the first car trapped between two others in traffic. He starts vigorously rubbing it on the windshield, completely obscuring the view and making it significantly dirtier than it was previously. "Hey asshole, you're not getting shit from me, piss off!" the rather tame looking driver yells as he rolls down his window. At this point, Impulse takes the opportunity to pull out his massive revolver and shove it in his face. "Motherfucker, you wanna die today?! Get out the car!" Charisma (4) + Intimidation (3) + Character is Physically Imposing (1) + Character is obviously wielding a weapon (2) - Wound Modifier (1) = 9 dice. 9d6.hits(5)=4 hits. Scared shitless, the driver quickly exits the car, as Impulse rips his commlink off his belt and throws it in the passenger side. The other drivers pulled off at the first sign of trouble, letting him drop it into third and floor it away from the scene.
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 15, 2011 10:28:02 GMT -5
'OhmygodohmygodohmygodIhavekidsohmygodohmygodohmygod' The stunned, terrified civilian is at first non-compliant, but when Impulse sticks the huge revolver nearly on the man's nose, the shock breaks as he wets himself. By the time he is leaving the vehicle, he is ugly crying, snot streaming out of his nose, his body shaking like a leaf. Falling to his knees he begins to beg not to be killed. Impulse is already in the driver's seat and has put the car into gear. As he accelerates away, the car splashes the civilian with road muck, and Impulse can see him sitting, statue-like, in the middle of the road, imploring someone, anyone, to spare him as traffic resumes around him, passing by. It will be some time before the theft is reported, but the Grid will ensure that the location of the vehicle is immediately reported. Unless tags are burned and the vehicle has Grid connection turned off (killing power, requiring a hardware and/or hacking test), the Law will come and find the vehicle when it becomes convenient. Impulse probably has a few minutes to an hour or so. |
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Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Mar 15, 2011 10:37:29 GMT -5
[8 March 2069, 05:22 - Canyon & 84th, Tacoma]
Impulse ditches the car a few blocks from his flop-house and starts to hoof it. Turning onto his street, he sees the end of the block is covered in LoneStar cruisers. Lining the sidewalks in front of the Blood Eagle's club house are his gang brothers, laying face down with their hands behind their heads. A few meat wagons are parked with several wounded being worked on nearby or loaded in.
Thanking the gods above that his squat is a block or so away, Impulse just hopes that the Law isn't onto his own place.
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