ShadowSea.Seattle@Jackpoint - March

[ScornMandark]

[5 March, 2069. 10:25, Higashi's Chop Shop, Main Garage - Auburn]
PAN Mode - Hidden

With the quiver in his stomach that still sometimes preceded a run, Screech gave a small nod, an almost imperceptible inclination of his head. [red]"Wakarimashita."[/red] Screech picked up some Japanese and Elf-Speak during his time with Joe, and the simple things were coming more naturally now. He returned to English for the remainder. [red]"My car or yours?"[/red]

He needed to tell Joe he would be taking a late lunch, good thing he was working overtime yesterday.

Maybe today wouldn't be as dull as yesterday after all...

[NoOnesShowMonkey]

[5 March, 2069. 10:25, Higashi's Chop Shop, Main Garage - Auburn]

The man's eyes narrowed at Screech's question. 'Do I look like a bus driver to you?'

On his way out, he pauses. 'Just show up at Eddies, however you get there. We have a vehicle waiting.'

[NoOnesShowMonkey]

[4 March 2069, 23:14 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom]

Mona backs slowly away towards the door to the club, her eyes glued to Zora, watching her - and her knife - like a hawk. Without losing her sight picture, she responds.

I ain't a cop. I've put holes in people for less than what you have done already. Good news for you is that I need someone that puts holes in other people... What do you say you put down yours, I put down mine and we talk like civilized adults?

[ScornMandark]

[5 March, 2069. 10:36. Higashi's Chop Shop, Auburn]
PAN Mode - Hidden

[Red]"Wakarimashita."[/red] 'Nuff said. As the man left, Screech walked briskly to the office. He felt kinda nervous, and didn't bother to try to hide it. [Red]"Oy, Joe... I'm gonna need to take a late lunch. This bimbo box should be done by 12:30, I'll be out for a chunk of the afternoon. Hopefully I'll be done before too long. Sorry to dump this on ya, but you should be ok for today, ne?"[/red]. He really hated to do this, but he was here pretty late last night...

'Probably safest to drive myself,' he thought. No sense being late on account of cabbies.

[phatgdog69]

[5 March, 2069. 23:15, Chop Suey, DJ stage, main floor - Downtown]
PAN Mode - Active

Tuesday nights were always slow, so Nora got to play her hand at spinning for the few meta-souls on the dance floor.

Unfortunately, she was having a bit of a rough night. Kruze put his hand on her shoulder and takes over for her for a minute. "Don't worry about it, Nor, you're doin' fine. Work that damn stress out a bit, then come on back up here"

She was a bit frustrated - Tuesdays were her one day off, and she spent a lot of time on that mix. Nora looked down at the small deck in her sizable hand - sure, it was worn and mediocre, but she bought it herself, not some 'handout', and not some common brand, either. She decided to just work it out on the 'floor for a bit and try again - hey, it was still early, anyway.

SPOILER: Click to show

Hm, still trying to get into character - I might add more later...

[abschalten]

[4 March 2069, 23:14 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom]

"I don't shy from big words," Zora replied simply, defiantly. But even so, she let her combat ready stance ease into a more natural posture. She made the knife disappear with an almost minute and imperceptible twitch of her hand. One second it was being held out, the other it was gone.

Zora lost her composure, then. She gestured to her own face, indicating the wounds, still fresh from her beating the previous night. "Look at face," she said to Mona. "Police dogs do this. Whenever I turn around they are there. Those dogs beat me, chase me. I am never safe. They wave gun in face and talk to me how they are going to make me disappear, lock me in cage and throw away key. I cannot assume you or anybody else is not cop."

Zora walked over to the trashcan and lifted out the gun from where she had thrown it away. But when she did, she kicked the trashcan, her boot leaving a dent of its own in the metal side.

"And you. You contact me how? Through dating site. If you are what I think, you know this is broken protocol. There are channels, methods, keywords. You use none. I am not sure how things are done in North America, but in Vladivostok you do that and you put lives in danger. You put cause in danger." Zora spoke with an eerie calm but her face spoke of how livid she was, barely kept in check. "That is unacceptable, comrade." With that quiet statement hanging in the air, Zora offered Mona back her own gun.

[NoOnesShowMonkey]

[4 March 2069, 23:14 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom]

Mona relaxes as Zora returns to a more normal posture. She holsters her Walther Secura and reaches for the offered Manhunter.

'Honey, you are a long ass way from home. I ain't your comrade, and I don't give drizzlin' shits about how you did business in that communist shit hole. Welcome to the UCAS. Worst case scenario, you coulda got laid.'

Checking the safety while walking over to the sink, Mona retrieves her magazine and seats it, chambering a round before returning the hulking pistol to its holster.

'We do things a bit different here, and here - in my town - you got contacted in what we consider a neutral fashion. Our methods are a bit different and we don't expect you to know them. Hell, we don't want you to know them.'

Tilting her head to the left, her mohawk refusing to bend, her neck cracks loudly.

'Now, to business. You sure seem to move well, and if you do alright on this first little piece, there may be some more in it for you after...'

Mona stops speaking for a moment, letting her eyes run up and down the russian ork standing before her. When Zora does not appear to argue, Mona continues with a throat clearing grunt. 'Some people that I know have a business transaction going down in the next few days and would like to see to it that their business concludes without any problems. They want someone from the outside, someone new, to represent them at the deal. A friend of a friend of somebody I don't give a shit about suggested your ass.' Squinting, Mona gives Zora another once-over. 'Pays pretty well for a nights work, too.

[abschalten]

[4 March 2069, 23:14 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom]

Zora made only movements that most would consider to be natural - shifting her posture, crossing her arms, canting her head to the side. But as Mona talked and gave her initial pitch, suddenly Zora was putting a cigarette in between her lips and lighting it with a match that seemed to almost spring out of nowhere. Zora waved the flame out, and flicked the match at the trashcan. It seemed to go "thump!" inside the can a little harder than one might've assumed, and caused it to skid along the wall.

She left Mona finish and remained quiet for the span of a few heartbeats. Then Zora replied, "I have interest. I have also no money. You mention pay, so I listen. What are details? And do we expect enemies?"

[NoOnesShowMonkey]

[4 March 2069, 23:14 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom]

Mona smiles and shifts her weight to the back foot, crossing her arms over her chest. 'Now Honey, you don't think that I'd go to all this trouble if it was just like buying a soykaf? I need muscle.'

Mona's eyes shift around the room for a moment and she steps forward, closer to Zora. 'Deal is in south downtown, off the I-5 a bit. What I need is for someone to to go along and make sure everything goes down according to plan. The whole buy is being handled outside my organization and I want someone to babysit them but I can't have my babysitter be a dead give away.' Mona cocks her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. 'I heard tell that you have an interest in our movement and that you would be... amenable to rendering aide and the like. 'Course, I don't expect you to work for free: we all gotta eat. How does two grand sound?'

[ScornMandark]

[5 March, 2069. 12:30. Higashi's Chop Shop, Auburn]
PAN Mode - Hidden

[red]'Dammit, dammit, dammit....'[/red] Screech hated running behind, but that was exactly what was happening. A simple exhaust line replacement, stock cat' and muffler, no problem, right? No need to rush things, plenty of time, right? No, of course not. Nothing's ever easy.

He had managed to spot weld on the new hooks for the exhaust line, he'd even managed a reasonable braze from the headers to the main pipe. Unfortunately, the rest would have to wait. The cat' wasn't fitting properly to the main pipe, there was a few degrees of misalignment down the pipe as well, and the stock muffler boltholes just weren't were they should be. His timer started going off in his head, though, and he needed to leave, like pronto. He gave a sheepish wave at Joe, who was less than happy. He had until tomorrow to finish this up, so hopefully it would just be a late night. Hopefully.

Usually these things came easily to him, and frequently quickly. With or without AR overlays, he knew his way around engines, automotive and otherwise. Some nut brought in a speedboat one week, and while Joe was shaking his head, Screech had already pulled the main screw and was cleaning the zinc fittings. Not exactly the most useful skill in the 'Plex, but still...

With a shake of his head, he swung up into the Roadmaster in the back lot. With a rumble and roar, he fired up the engine and pulsed the Tag Eraser. No sense jacking in while all the electronics go down. He had been pretty paranoid about this since some ganger scum tried to follow him back to this side of town with RFID tags.

After a moment, the electronics cycled back on and he pulled the fiber cable from under the dash and plugged it in just behind his right temple. Closing his eyes, he let himself be subsumed by the flood of information now arriving from the sensor suites. Radar hot, pinging off of anything in range. Ultrawideband radar painted a 3D image of the surroundings, while the cameras began showing a visual overlay. A quick check brought a virtual HUD online, giving info about the loadout of his little surprise hidden in the roof - his Ares MP LMG was freshly cleaned and had his EX-EX rounds loaded. He really didn't want to be late.

With a roar, he began running, and his smart tires kept from squealing (barely) as he lept from the parking lot and onto the road. He ran a few times in cold sim, but it just wasn't the same as feeling the rain on his face, the strain in his legs as he pushed her harder than before, or the satisfying feeling of the hot debris raining against his armored skin after another annoying drone fell under the sustained assault of his unexpected machine gun. The Dump Shock was a bit rougher, but totally worth it.

He floored it getting on the highway, hoping he wouldn't run into too much trouble like the gangers he had heard were infesting other parts of the highway system.

[NoOnesShowMonkey]

[5 March, 2069. 13:29 - outside Fast Eddie's Pool Hall; Tacoma]

The 'plex is busy as usual, but nothing out of the ordinary, and the autonav ticks of the clicks in short order. The long, wide highway 167's endless liquor stores and cosmetic mod shops give way to Tacoma's bars and warehouses, though the color palette stays defiantly greyscale. Screech's amenities suit can filter out the low hum of factories and power plants, but the low-frequency vibrations still rattle the bones imperceptibly, leaving those unused to it feeling rather fatigued.

The sky is an endless cinderblock, pocks in the clouds showing a higher overcast, darker splotches indicating acid rain. The wind picks up a bit, blowing a balmy chill.

Fast Eddie's lay in a chasm of massive warehouses, the bottom floors converted to offices and storefronts - mostly import and export businesses, shipping, packaging, package stores and storage. A large neon sign, animated to show a cue ball striking a fully set triangle blinks and flitters in the mid-day grey. The door to enter the pool hall is set down a flight of eight stairs terminating in a solid red door.

Issuing forth from the open door is a cacophony of blues-rock and the lightning crack of cue balls. A low hum stands against the din, conversations in hushed tones, a few curses here in there. The air is smoky and thick, having the scent of being over used and rarely cleaned out.

[5 March, 2069. 13:29 - Fast Eddie's Pool Hall, main hall; Tacoma]

Inside, Screech finds the slim Japanese who approached him at the shop. He is leaning against the counter of a long, defunct bar in mid discussion with another Japanese, older though less serious. He notices Screech enter the pool hall and his eyes narrow slightly, giving Screech the impression that he should wait his turn.

Patrons mill about the inside of the hall, twelve trapezoidal lights casting their clear incandescent light onto the limestone sheets beneath. Players come into and out of focus, leaning in to make this shot or that, checking the angles or chalking a stick. Eventually the suited Japanese at the end of the dry bar nods to Screech, gesturing for him to come over.

'Good. You came. I need you to drive a truck for me. The truck needs to be taken to the east end of Loveland and dropped off there. A man named Spacer will meet you at a warehouse. If you can see to it that my truck arrives there safely, I would be most appreciative.' He leans back against the bar, appraising Screech, waiting to see what he has to say.

[abschalten]

[4 March 2069, 23:14 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom]

Zora fought to keep her expression uncompromisingly stoic, but inwardly she was reeling. Two grand? With that sort of dosh she wouldn't have to worry about starving for a while. Maybe she could even pay the rent on time this month.

And more work to come if she didn't fuck this up? Possibilities rolled through her mind, things she could do if she had a somewhat regular income. Instead of scratching by, she could face life on her feet, maybe make something out of being stuck in this city.

"I will do it," Zora replied cooly, more so than she felt inside. "I take half now, other half when I finish job. You give details, I perform job. Then, we talk about where we go after."

Oh yes. Things were definitely starting to look up.

[ScornMandark]

[5 March, 2069. 13:30 - Fast Eddie's Pool Hall, main hall; Tacoma]
PAN Mode - Hidden

The pounding of the blues rock began grinding a slow measure of pain into Screech's brain-box. He still wasn't sure why the music had to be so loud all the time, this is one of the reasons he didn't like going out. This was the other. Without even knowing it, he casually glanced around, trying to take in everything at once, looking into people's faces as they ordered shots, leaned over the pool tables, and sat hunched over tables - unconsciously seeing if anyone recognized him.

As he walked forward, he caught the signal to wait for a second and stopped where he was. He simply stood there, waiting for the Yak to gesture forward. Eventually the man motioned him forward and briefly outlined the job.

Screech nodded, the gears in his head turning as fast as he could make them. He replied quietly, not wanting to seem even close to raising his voice here. [red]"Hai, I will deliver your truck."[/red] Glancing around, he activated the recorder in his eyes to note these answers in case something went wrong. Which was usually the case. [red]"Please give me the coordinates, and I will ensure it's safe arrival. I have a few questions, if I may, about the delivery; namely: How delicate is the cargo? It is good to know how tied down anything in the back is. Also, are there any undesirables who desire the truck immediately? As in, much to expect en route to avoid?"[/red]

He didn't know much directly about the Yakuza, but he was pretty sure it was considered rude to hammer about the price of the job. Hopefully they wouldn't screw him too bad...

[NoOnesShowMonkey]

[4 March 2069, 23:16 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom]

Mona whistles through her teeth at the mention of 'half up front'. She shakes her head with a rueful grin. 'You sure do have some stones on ya. Alright, I'll give you 500 now. The rest when it is done. The deal is going down in two days, the 6th, at two in the morning near the rail yards off I-5 at 1st ave - I'll send you the exact chords later. You should meet a guy named Filibro; he has the stuff and I'll give you a stack of credsticks to cover it.' At the mention of credsticks Mona's voice gains a hard edge to it and her stare grows cold. 'Now you have already given me one reason to see you floating in the bay, and I tell ya if you give me a second, you won't know what happened but nobody will be able to ID you until they take a blood sample - you got me?'

[NoOnesShowMonkey]

[5 March, 2069. 13:34 - Fast Eddie's Pool Hall, main hall; Tacoma]

The Japanese pushes off the bar and gestures behind him. A thick human with an obvious cyberarm strides over. 'This is Trigger. He will be coming along to make sure you don't drive off with our stuff and that nobody gives you any trouble. As to the cargo: it is not in your interest to know.' He cracks a sly grin before continuing. 'Suffice it to say that the cargo is delicate enough it will not take kindly to being roughly handled, but resilient enough to make it through a fair amount.' Looking away for a moment and not caring to look back at Screech, the suit finishes addressing him without care. 'The route is entirely up to you. The chords for the dropoff are loaded into the truck's autonav so it will plan a route for you. I do not care if you follow it - but being creative can cause you to be late. Do not be late.'

Nodding, the Japanese walks off without so much as looking at Screech, leaving Trigger standing there like a dolmen. 'Waitin' on you, Padre.'

[abschalten]

[4 March 2069, 23:16 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom]

Zora couldn't help herself - she let out a little snicker when the other woman finished with her final statement, one that completely ruined the impassive expression that she'd been so good at maintaining.

"Bad enough I have to deal with shit from pig cops when they say same," she replied cooly while shaking her head. "I don't piss myself with fear when they say it, either."

But then Zora let her expression harden into a scowl. "You need me or you wouldn't be here asking me to do this. It is enough that when I say I do a thing, I do a thing. But I trade you promise for your threat - I do this and you fuck me, ghouls won't find enough of you to nibble on. I don't give a fuck what your reputation in this city is, or who walks scared around you. I have seen and dealt with worse in Vladivostok." Then, she cleared her throat, and affected something resembling a polite, business-like grin, with just a touch of a smirk. "I hope that we understand each other."

[ScornMandark]

[5 March, 2069. 13:35 - Fast Eddie's Pool Hall, main hall; Tacoma]
PAN Mode - Hidden

Screech nods as the suit walks away. Not too far off what he was expecting, but it was good to know he could take a few hard turns. Glancing at Trigger, he nods. [red]"No worries here, omae. Let's roll."[/red] Screech gestures for Trigger to lead the way to the truck. The anxious feeling from the initial job rush was starting to fade into calmer anticipation. However, considering he didn't know even what truck they are planning to take, let alone if he could jack in or not, he was a little hesitant. Still, Loveland's not getting any closer...

[NoOnesShowMonkey]

[5 March, 2069. 13:37 - Fast Eddie's Pool Hall, back parking lot; Tacoma]

Nodding in turn, Trigger strode through the smokey interior of Eddie's towards the men's room, past it, around a corner and then another until finally pushing open a heavy metal door. The grey overcast cut through the pollution haze and burned their eyes, Trigger holding up a hand briefly to allow his vision to acclimate while he cleared the six steps up to the parking lot in two long strides.

From the bottom of the stairs, Screech gets a good look at Trigger. Before Screech stands a nearly 2 meter tall, brown mulletted, salt and pepper bearded former chopper-ganger. The back of his leather jacket (clearly 'concealing' other armor and several weapons underneath) shows an emblem of two large rattlesnakes eating each other's tails, the rattle portion stuck inside the body of each snake at a strange angle, obviously in mid shake. His right arm is obviously cyber, a chromed out hulk with the machine efficiency of a tuned up motorcycle.

Trigger heads toward a large 18 wheeler, 'We ain't got all day, son.' He pulls open the passenger door and produces an Ingram Smart gun, tossing it to Screech with a grin, eyes afire. 'Just don't point it at me, omae.' He then unlimbers a large Defiance T-250 shotgun from behind the seats and a bag of shells from inside the door, slotting a few as he settles into his seat. Looking at Screech through the windshield, he nods towards the driver's seat.

Inside the truck, Screech finds the jack in point in the same place as most commercial trucks - right beside the steering column. Jacking in, he feels his body become lumbering and unwieldy, though possessed by a terrible strength. The operating system of the truck is stock, though the power-on-self-test and self diagnostics indicate that the truck is indeed modified for higher horsepower output, has the low-jack disabled and is equipped with a climate controlled storage container with levels well within acceptable limits.

The autonav comes on and indicates a route to Meridian & 152nd Street East in Loveland. The Autonav places the route down the 705 to the I-5, getting off on the 512 to Meridian before hitting sidestreets. Total trip time, at or under 30 minutes. Weather advisories include heavy rain and pollution (respiration and rain covers) alerts for the southern Metroplex - destination included. A traffic advisory is in effect at the 705 - I-5 interchange with an accident (shots fired) reported along the I-5 near exits for rt. 512. Travel time estimates with current advisories: 64 minutes.

[NoOnesShowMonkey]

[4 March 2069, 23:16 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom]

Mona whistles through her teeth again, 'That mouth of yours sure is going to get you killed, sugar. You really are fresh off the boat, aren't you?' Mona fiddles with her commlink a moment, 'You should have the chords for the meet now. Filibro will recognize you only by picture. I'd suggest being more polite to him, as he probably doesn't feel like he needs you at all...'

Tossing a credstick to Zora, Mona sniffs once dismissively and struts out of the lady's room, leaving Zora by her lonesome.

Zora gets the feeling that she did not make the best impression.

SPOILER: Click to show

Zora now has chords for the meet with Filibro. It is a spot off the I-5 in South Downtown in Industrial East. The chords indicate a soykaf shop.

[ScornMandark]

[5 March, 2069. 13:38, Fast Eddie's Pool Hall, Back parking lot - Tacoma]
PAN Mode - Hidden

[green]Like a huge, heavy bear, Screech starts feeling out the system. Massive, heavy, and with the torque to pull start a building, this rig was something else. He felt his legs, heavy and thick, begin waking up, the pins and needles poking in as the diesel heaters began warming up.

Screech started flicking through alternate routes on the nav system. Most of the main routes still funneled through the 705-I5 interchange. Pretty much any of them that shoved him to Rt. 512 would go through the (likely ganger) mess at the interchange, so...

There. A route that avoided the 705 and I5 entirely. Instead of getting on the 705, he'd stay local on Pacific Avenue then get on 509. Hopefully there wouldn't be too much spill over from the interchange mess and he'd take that to 167, hugging the river until he hit Meridian, and take that down to the drop off. Nice, wide 2-3 lanes each way for most of it. Autonav plugged it at 35 minutes, hopefully not too much more than that from the weather. [/green]

SPOILER: Click to show

The Route

[green]Screech spoke to Trigger through the stereo speaker in the dash, as it was easier than concentrating on his meat shell.

"Alright, let's go. I'll let you focus on crowd control if we need it."

With that, he felt the last of the pins and needles in his legs fade as the diesel finished warming up and he tripped the ignition.[/green]

With a roar, the Rig came to life, eager to push through the 'Plex.

[abschalten]

[4 March 2069, 23:26 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom]

Zora stayed behind in the bathroom for a few minutes after the other woman left. After smoking one cigarette down to the filter, she just stomped out the butt and lit a new one. She just wanted to stand there and think for a while.

She couldn't believe how far she'd fallen in such a short time. Back in Vladivostok, she'd been somebody among the anarchists and anti-government activists. Slowly, she had been becoming something of a leader. Comrades listened to her, not only because of the integrity of her actions but also because in doing so people came back alive.

But never... never back home had she - or anyone - demanded that you scrape and kneel down to others simply as their due. Doing so, in her mind, was just another form of control, which lead to the slippery slope of re-emergence of the state. Coercion was a tool to use against individuals to rob them of their will, especially coercion by threat.

Had the local activists here, in Seattle, fallen so astray of the mission and its principles? Zora could only feel shock and outrage at this Mona, wearing the logos and accoutrements of the Movement and yet resorting to the same fear tactics that State and Corporate puppeteers abused to in order to get their way.

While Zora had been a leader back home, she never abused her influence over others. People listened to her and followed her because they wanted to, not because they were afraid of the consequences if they did not. Already, she was beginning to see the huge chasm between the styles of her and this woman she had just met.

Zora had been given the impression that the other woman had not enjoyed being stood up to. And indeed, Zora felt that this Mona was a bully and a tyrant. Tyrants often did not enjoy it when people stood counter to their will. For Zora to assist this woman in... whatever it was she wanted done, it was undoubtably something to benefit her and give prestige or advantage to her position. In that case, Zora should've just walked away.

And yet, she had given her word. She would do this job, not because she was afraid of this Mona woman - she wasn't - or even because she was afraid of death - she wasn't that, either. She decided that, as she had said, if she says she will do a thing, she does a thing.

Of course, the money was nice. But if this mission rubbed her the wrong way, she would just give it back. That's it, she would just return it all. That would be a nice band-aid to her wounded principles, if only so after the doing.

Zora pulled up the time on her commlink's augmented reality. Ten minutes had passed since the other woman left. With a sigh, she stomped out the remains of this new cigarette and made her way out of the club.

Time to get going, she thought wryly.

She had intended to make corpses out of the trio of thugs at the front door, but so troubled was she by Mona's actions that she just pushed past them on her way out, and didn't bother to retalliate. Her expression was like a thundercloud, grim and promising a storm.

[ScornMandark]

[5 March, 2069. 13:45, Route 169 - Tacoma]
[PAN Mode - Hidden]

[green]Screech shouldered his way through the milling crowd of afternoon traffic, going somewhat faster than might normally be advisable. He wasn't thrilled about the autonav's estimate of nearly an hour still when he had about 45 minutes left, but hopefully he could make up some time here. He had spent most of the first few minutes of the trip in relative silence, neither him nor Trigger feeling much of a need to talk yet. He was annoyed it had taken this long already, but he wasn't up for nailing parked cars and children on the local roads quite yet. Now on the wider road, he hoped things would be a little smoother.

Buildings whizzed past in VR, the Rig's sensor's noting buildings as rather uninteresting blocks off the main road, and thus not worth spending much time processing. The more interesting fields filling his augmented view were the pseudo-overhead view he was getting of the road, occasional ads thrown around by corp-cars and the chronometer in the upper right of his "HUD" he saw in VR. The nearly over-the-shoulder look was achieved simply by virtue of having some of the sensors mounted high up on the cab as well as the standard bumper mounted stuff. It helped as he maneuvered through the crowd, working at getting through a gap here, blocking a cut-off attempt there, and generally soaring down the road like a diesel powered bolt fired from a massive ballista.
[/green]

SPOILER: Click to show

Vehicle test to accelerate through the thoroughfare traffic.
Buggy 'Ware increases glitch range to include 1's and 2's.
First of several driving tests to get the hell to the other side of town. (11d6.hits(5)=8)
11d6.hits(5) → [6,4,6,5,6,6,6,2,6,6,4] = (8) !! (Cap is 10)
Threshold is 5 - 1 (VR control) = 4, so exceeded by +3 hits
Did I do that math right?

[NoOnesShowMonkey]

[5 March, 2069. 14:47, Meridian & 152nd Ave - Tacoma]

Screech is able to maneuver the large truck through traffic, cutting through congestion like a cold wind. His truck snorts, grunts and belches smoke, the diesel engine whining and whirring at his every demand for speed. More than once, Screech has to lay on the brakes hard, causing the massive truck to swim side to side, pushing commuters out of their lanes. From within the matrix, Screech notes Trigger straddling the line between terrified and exhilarated, his scruffy face straining with a tense, toothy grin. 'Hell yes! Now we are moving!', he shouts, pumping shotgun filled fist out the window in triumph.

At 152nd Ave and Meridian, the Grid Gods are kind and the light is green. Screech tears the truck around the corner, his inner ear registering at least seven of the eighteen wheels coming off the ground amidst a smoking roar.

Settling back down to the road with a teeth shaking rattle, the rig barrels down the thoroughfare, scraping a few oncoming cars before settling into its own lane. Suddenly, the Autonav requests a turn.

'Turn right.'

'Right where?'

'Turn RIGHT NOW!'

Screech's lips pursed with effort, the truck again tips onto half its wheel base, the trailer swinging wide like a pendulum angrily shrugging off the laws of physics.

When the truck slows and resettles, it is sandwiched neatly between two warehouses with barely two inches of clearance on either side. A hollow clunk sounds and a dull ringing fills Screech's ears: the trailer has cleared the corner after taking some of the corner with it.

'Omae, you sure know how to run this rig...' Trigger says in a low whisper. 'Just a bit further ahead. I'll call our man.'

Moments later, Trigger is directing Screech to pull the truck up along side a loading dock.

'Stay here, omae. I'll hop out and make the deal. You keep your eyes and ears peeled.' Tapping the Smartgun, he leans close and taps on Screech's head to make sure he is paying attention. 'We don't want anything to go wrong, do we?'

[ScornMandark]

[5 March, 2069. 14:48, Meridian & 152nd Ave - Tacoma]
PAN Mode: Hidden

Screech chuckled a bit at his passenger's obvious enjoyment of the ride. He loved driving in general, and the fact that people were willing to pay him for it? Brilliant.

Screech nods at Trigger and picks up the Ingram, tapping it to his head. [red]"No worries here, omae, just let me know when to peel out."[/red]

[green]He let his comm probe briefly, finding the Ingram quickly and integrating it into his smartlink. He ticked through the brief info the gun read out.[/green] Nothing fancy, but he did wish he had brought his Remington.

He leaves the rig connected, but pulls back a bit to take in the surroundings. He doesn't pay much attention to what is actually being taken in and out of the truck, it's probably better that way. [red]'The less you know...'[/red] He shook his head ruefully. Kind of ironic, really.

[green]Screech does pay a lot of attention to what is actually happening, if not necessarily what is being transacted. Letting the acid rain wash over the cab like a shower of Icy/Hot, he focused more on movements where there shouldn't be, and listened to the autonav's reports about traffic disturbances locally, possibly signifying the Law.[/green] No sense turning a blind eye to the thugs with automatics while trying not to see what's in the box.

SPOILER: Click to show

Perception test to catch anything "sub-optimal"
Perception Test at the drop-off
15d6.hits(5) = [5,6,6,6,2,3,6,4,1,2,3,4,3,4,3] = (5)

[NoOnesShowMonkey]

[5 March, 2069. 14:54, Meridian & 152nd Ave; Warehouse loading dock - Tacoma]

The rain pelts down steadily, the low overcast pushing down and bowing the world below under its weight.

From within the container, the hollow clunk of shoes on steel sounds. Growing steadily in quantity and frequency, Screech becomes aware of more than a few metahumans leaving the container. The cameras show women stepping out into the rain, squinting against the overcast. Along the loading dock stand armed men with respirators, herding the women into the warehouse. Among them Trigger gesturing with the T-250.

Turning his cameras to face either end of the alley, Screech turns his attention elsewhere. At the end of the alley, the rest of the sprawl lives on, uninterested and ignorant of these discarded and forgotten women. The warehouse walls narrow to a terrible maw, and beyond the grey of the sprawl - cars passing by, occasionally people with a downturn gaze. Turning off the main road, a black sedan enters the alley and heads for the loading dock. Polarized windows reflect a flat gleam, concealing the passengers.

[ScornMandark]

[5 March, 2069. 14:55, Meridian & 152nd Ave; Warehouse Loading Dock - Tacoma]
PAN Mode - Hidden

Through the rain, Screech sees the women being led out of the truck. Grimacing a little, he tries to pay attention to the alley. He wasn't exactly a big proponent of metahuman trafficking. On the other hand, he did get paid for facilitating illegal activities, so he tried to just deal with it.

The excitement of the drive is quickly being replaced with apprehension, rising like bile when the sedan enters the alley. Wasting no time, Screech speaks through the speakers at the rear of the truck. [red]"Oy, omae, friends of yours?"[/red] [green]Screech sets the rig's idle throttle a few RPM higher, just to be ready to peel out if needed. With this beast, ramming would be the most appropriate response to hostiles, really. It was just more efficient.[/green]

[NoOnesShowMonkey]

[5 March, 2069. 14:57, Meridian & 152nd Ave; Warehouse Loading Dock - Tacoma]

Holding the shotgun by its pump, Trigger jerks the weapon up and down, chambering a shell. 'Never can tell. I'll go and check it out.'

Walking down the alley towards the oncoming car, Trigger straddles the roadway, making himself a man-made block. The car slows and stops a meter ahead of him and a pair of humans exit the vehicle. Both are wearing chic suits, dark to match their glasses and jet black Asian hair. Trigger begins gesticulating, and when Screech zeros his sensors, he can hear what is being said.

'...quiet the whole time. We are almost done and will be outta here in a few minutes.' The gruff voice of Trigger crackles a bit, peaking the audio until it auto-adjusts.

Impassive as stone, one of the suits responds in Japanese accented English. 'See to it that things stay quiet. If anything happens to our merchandise, it will come out of both of your skins.' Nodding, they both enter their car and back it out of the alley, into traffic and disappear into the sprawl.

Trigger comes walking back, taking long strides. Over the comms, he informs Screech of what happened. 'Just management checking in on things. Nothing to worry about.'

Continuing back towards the truck, Trigger hops up onto the loading dock, shotgun in hand, and heads towards the rear of the truck. The women are mostly done unloading, a few stragglers taking their time, bleary eyed and confused. Two of the armed guards are roughing one of them up, pushing her between the two of them like a pinball until she sprawls out on the ground, sobbing. One looks down with a feral grin and pulls a booted foot back then delivers a measured, savage kick. And another. Within moments, the two guards are kicking and stomping on the woman.

'Careful with the merch. Nobody wants a broke-ass whore.' Trigger strides over and smashes the butt of his Defiance against one of the guard's head, knocking the ork to the ground.

'What the fuck?!', yells the other.

Tension is high and everyone's eyes are blazing. The smell of blood in the air and the chattel's whimpering is the only sound above the rain.

Trigger levels his shotgun at the standing guard, holding it out in his chromed arm like an enormous hand cannon. The ork's look is steely, but there is a hint of fear while staring into the blackness of the shotgun's bore.

'Who the fuck is that?', Trigger asks. The non-sequitor breaks the tension, and the ork turns to look down the alley. The other guard still lay unconscious next to the beaten woman.

Turning his sensors to view what Trigger is looking at, Screech notes a van finishing a laborious turn onto the alley. Its engine roars audibly and the vehicle lurches forward like a charging bull.

[blackcoat]

[9 March, 2069. 13:02, Gracie's For Ribs]
PAN Mode - Hidden

As Arakan walked into the resturant he looked around for a minute, checking that the exits were clear, looking for anything major going down. He didn't really expect anything, Gracie's was well known as neutral territory. Seeing a familiar face in the back of the room, in a booth watching half the exits, he walked over.

"Hey there, little brother," Jorge called out in Or'zet, "Glad you could make it."

Arakan sat down next to the Mafioso, positioning himself in such a way as to watch the other exits, watching his brothers back out of long habit. "Of course. How could I pass up an invitation of lunch here? What's up?

"Mom's worried about you. You don't call, or come around to dinners anymore. Now, before you start, I know that you and Dad don't get along after Migs ate it, but you know he'll put up with it to keep her happy. Oh, and you're an Uncle again. Sals dropped another batch of twins."

Arakan sighed, "You know he won't forgive me until I track them down. But, in order to pull that off, I need money, and now that nobody else in The Family will talk to me, that's getting harder and harder to come by. So, as much as I hate to do this on a social call...got any work?"

[ScornMandark]

[5 March, 2069. 15:00, Meridian & 152nd Ave; Warehouse Loading Dock - Tacoma]
[PAN Mode - Hidden]

Screech's stomach twisted as Trigger sauntered towards the blacked out sedan. [green]The Hauler's tach began growling in response, his adrenaline unconciously tensing the truck.[/green] He relaxed as it was obviously a Yak sent to check on things. More excitement faded into a mild amusement. His amusement faded quickly as he saw the meta getting beaten thoroughly by the guards. He knew they weren't headed anywhere exactly posh and that she wasn't getting anything she probably wouldn't get elsewhere.... but still, on a deep level, it bothered him. A lot.

Fortunately, Trigger stepped in a dealt with the out of line guard. Just in time for another visitor, this one seemingly less interested in polite conversation. [red]'Great, just what I need.'[/red] Quickly, he checked the cameras in the rear of the truck. Two more metas were being offloaded onto the platform, and he could tell there were still several in the trailer, towards the front. [red]'Ok, think fast, buddy. If I burn rubber out the alley, either they chase or they hit the dock. If I ram, they hit for sure but hopefully miss the dock. If it's droned and filled with explosives, we're all screwed anyways. Check.'[/red]

[green]With a flick of his mental wrist, Screech slammed the rear door of the trailer closed. He really hoped the two getting off the truck were out of the way, but there wasn't really time to check. A load of metas had already gotten off, hopefully that would be enough. His voice yelled through the speakers into the trailer area, [red]"HOLD ON!"[/red][/green]

With a roar, he peeled out, careening backwards down the alley towards the van. He really hated putting other people's lives on the line like this, especially those who probably never asked for this, but he felt this was their best chance for everyone else to survive until tomorrow.

SPOILER: Click to show

Phase 1 Free Action - Command rear doors to close.

Phase 1 Complex Action - Ram Attack

Pilot Ground Vehicle (5) + Reaction (4) + Vehicle Control Rig (2) + Control Rig Booster (3) + Hot Sim (2) + Handling (-3) + Running (-3) = 10d6
Buggy 'Ware increases glitch range from 1-2
Skill cap 10, glitch level 5 or more.

Ram Attack
10d6.hits(5) = [2,3,4,4,6,1,5,6,4,4] = (3)

DV = 24P (speed >20, DV = Body) + net attack successes

[NoOnesShowMonkey]

[5 March, 2069. 15:00, Meridian & 152nd Ave; Warehouse Loading Dock - Tacoma]

Error: Door Path Blocked.

Caution! Caution! Impact imminent!

The rear door begins grinding shut, stops with a clunk and retracts leaving the container open. Pulling forward a meter or so, Screech coaxes the huge truck into reverse, redlining the engine.

SPOILER: Click to show

Oncoming van driver attempts to avoid the ram. (12d6.hits(5)=1)

The oncoming truck swerves to the left, scraping the warehouse on that side, losing paint in a long trail of sparks. A few garbage containers are crushed under the wheels, knocked aside or pushed ahead of the truck. Reacting at super human speed, Screech wheels his 18-wheeler deftly about, keeping his vehicle pointed at the oncoming truck. Camera feeds show the few occupants of the container akimbo, tossed about this way and that, eyes rolling like spooked horses.

At the last possible moment, the oncoming truck's driver realizes the futility of out maneuvering Screech's enormous vehicle - the alley simply was not wide enough and Screech's reactions too good - always a step ahead. Slamming on the brakes, a roil of smoke is added to the screech of tires before a thunderous crunch fills the alley.

Flying out of the back of the truck, a female ork goes careening out of the container and soars over the car mouth agape, disappearing into the alley beyond.