Edgerunners | Adventure Log

Adventure Log Index: Missions 5 plus

Between-Mission Interludes

Log	Title	Date	C.P.	M.V.P.	Absentee Players
Pacoy’s Interlude	Post Omaha R&R	01/29/14	–	Danukian	–
Mac’s Interlude	Elba	02/04/14	–	Rase	–
General Interlude	You Only Live Twice	02/03/14	–	–	–

Mission 5 – Ready, Willing and Able (GM: Cernig)

Log	Title	Date	C.P.	M.V.P.	Absentee Players
Session 1	London Calling	02/06/14	2	Rase	–
Case File #4a	International Man of Mystery	02/06/14	–	Rase	–
Session 2	The Wheels On The Bus	02/12/14	2	GreaterSeraph	–
Case File #4b	The Bob and Sue	02/12/14	–	Rase	–
Session 3	Clampdown	03/05/14	1	GreaterSeraph	–
Case File #4c	Paint the Town…	03/05/14	–	Rase	–
Case File #4d	No Card Monty	03/12/14	–	Rase	–
Session 4	Poker Face	03/12/14	2	Danukian	–
Case File #4e	The Phantom Gourmet	03/19/14	–	Rase	–
Session 5	Eat The Rich	03/19/14	3	Danukian	–
Case File #4f	Fist full of pills	04/9/14	–	Rase	–
Session 6	Up The Junction	04/09/14	2	Langy	–
Case File #4g	The Fix is In	04/30/14	–	Rase	–
Session 7	Saturday Night’s Alright	04/30/14	1	Rase	–
Case File #4h	Stormy Weather	05/14/14	–	Rase	–
Session 8	Praise You In This Storm	05/14/14	3	Langy	–
Case File #4i	Fox and Hound	05/21/14	–	Rase	–
Session 9	She Walks In Beauty	05/21/14	2	Rase	–
Case File #4j	Wolf in Wolf’s Clothing	06/25/14	–	Rase	–
Session 10	Paradise Lost	06/25/14	3	Danukian	–
Case File #4k	Half Ahead Together	07/02/14	–	Rase	–
Session 11	Wild Blue Yonder	07/02/14	1	Langy	–
Case File #4l	All Hands On Deck	07/09/14	–	Rase	–
Session 12	Don’t Rock The Boat	07/09/14	3	Danukian	–
Case File #4m	The Corp that Kicked the Hornet’s Nest.	07/16/14	–	Rase	–
Session 13	The Needle And The Damage Done	07/23/14	1	Langy	–
Case File #4n	Chrysalis.	07/23/14	–	Rase	–
Pacoy’s Midship Interlude	Steampipes and Scrapbots.	07/28/14	–	Pacoy	–
Session 14	Fish N Chips For All	08/06/14	–	-	–
Case File #4o	Covert Takeaway.	08/06/14	–	Rase	–
Session 15	Bluebonnets Over The Border	08/20/14	3	Pitbull	–
Case File #4p	Little Riding Redcoats	08/20/14	–	Rase	–
Session 16	Go Ask Alice	08/27/14	1	Mac	–
Case File #4q	Meeting The Morrigan	08/27/14	–	Rase	–
Session 17	Breaking Glass	09/03/14	2	Pitbull	–
Case File #4r	Zero Hour	09/03/14	–	Rase	–
Session 18	Down The Rabbit Hole	09/10/14	2	Pacoy	–
Case File #4s	Booby Traps	09/10/14	–	Rase	–
Session 19	21st Century Schizoid Man	09/17/14	3	Mac	–
Case File #4t	Ventilation Shafts	09/17/14	–	Rase	–
Session 20	Jericho!	10/08/14	3	All	–
Case File #4u	Misotheism	10/08/14	–	Rase	–
Interlude	The Death Of Pitbull	10/10/14	–	GreaterSeraph	–
Interlude	Let’s Go Riot	10/14/14	–	–	–
Case File #4v	Four Weddings and No Funeral	10/15/14	–	Rase	–
Session 21	WEDDINGS, GRAND THEFT, AND WARFARE!	10/15/14	2	GreaterSeraph	–
Interlude	Old Friends, New Faces	10/23/14	–	Danukian	–
Interlude	Old Blue Eyes	10/27/14	–	Rase	–
Interlude	The Lipstick Stalker’s Last Art	10/29/14	–	Cernig	–

Mission 6 – (GM: Langy)

View

MAR/2051

Adventure Log Index: Missions 1 to 4

Mission 1 – Phantom Saxon* (GM: Cernig)

Log	Title	Date	C.P.	M.V.P.	Absentee Players
Help Wanted	“We Need The Best”	7/4/12	–	–	–
Wormwood’s Prelude	Meeting The Emir	7/23/12	–	Cernig	–
Garrion’s Prelude	Mouse Sent Me	7/25/12	–	Garrion	–
Able’s Prelude	The Transfer	7/29/12	–	Langy	–
Pitbull’s Prelude	Out Of Mexico	7/30/12	–	GreaterSeraph	–
Briefing	Phantom Saxon	8/1/12	–	–	–
Session 1	Who You Gonna Call?	8/1/12	2	Cernig	–
Interlude	A Whisper Of Business	8/3/12	–	Chris R	–
Interlude	Dream A Little Dream	8/6/12	–	Cernig	–
Session 2	Dinner And A Show	8/8/12	–	Langy	–
Session 3	Intruder Alert!	8/15/12	4	Garrion	–
Interlude	Go Ask Alice	8/21/12	–	Cernig	–
Session 4	The Best Laid Plans	8/22/12	2	ChrisR	–
Interlude	Shark Tank	8/26/12	–	ChrisR	–
Pacoy’s Prelude	Gambling Debt	8/27/12	–	Danukian	–
Session 5	Assault on Black Toe Tower	8/29/12	3	ChrisR	–
Interlude	A Small World	9/4/12	–	ChrisR	–
Session 6	Shooting Down A Sphinx	9/5/12	3	GreaterSeraph	–
Mentadak’s Prelude	Rising Sun	9/7/12	–	saethone	–
Session 7	Credit Where It’s Due	9/12/12	1	ChrisR	–

Between-Mission Interludes

Log	Title	Date	C.P.	M.V.P.	Absentee Players
Interlude	Boys And Their Toys	9/15/12	–	Danukian	–
Interlude	Forward or Back Again	9/16/12	–	ChrisR	–
Interlude	Art For Art’s Sake	9/16/12	–	Cernig	–
Interlude	Loose Ends	9/17/12	–	Various	–
Interlude	Bittersweet Afterparty	9/17/12	–	GreaterSeraph	–
Interlude	Dragons in the Shadows	9/17/12	–	saethone	–

Mission 2 – A Simple Missing-Persons Job* (GM: Langy)

Log	Title	Date	C.P.	M.V.P.	Absentee Players
News	News from the Edge	9/19/12	–	–	–
Session 1	A Fusillade of Questions	9/19/12	2	Garrion	–
Session 2	Temple Of Digital Ghosts	9/26/12	3	Cernig	–
Session 3	Breaking the First Rule	10/3/12	3	Pitbull	–
Interlude	Sleepless Nights	10/10/12	–	saethone	–
Session 4	BLEVEing Town	10/10/12	5	Garrion	–
Hank’s Prelude	Hank’s on the Edge	10/17/12	–	Dream	–
Interlude	Early Morning	10/17/12	–	Pacoy	–
Mac’s Prelude	A Health Insurance Claim	10/17/12	–	Rase	–
Case File #1	Lyle Ganderson	10/18/12	–	Rase	–
Session 5	Sewer Rats and a Pig	10/18/12	2	Rase	–
Case File #1a	A Septic System	10/24/12	–	Rase	–
Session 6	The Exterminators	10/29/12	2	Pitbull	–
Case File #1b	Fighting fire with fire	11/07/12	–	Rase	–
Session 7	As the City Burns	11/07/12	4	Hank	–
Case File #1c	A Broken town with no Cure	11/15/12	–	Rase	–
Session 8	A Chance Meeting	11/14/12	2	Candy	–
Case File #1d	Submarined Deals	11/29/12	–	Rase	–
Session 9	Epilogue	11/14/12	2	Pitbull	–

Between-Mission Interludes

Log	Title	Date	C.P.	M.V.P.	Absentee Players
Wormwood’s Interlude	King Of The World	12/01/12	–	Cernig	–
Pacoy’s Interlude 4	Brand New Toy Store	12/03/12	–	Danukian	–
Candy’s Interlude	Harsh Futures Need Hard Men	12/04/12	–	ChrisR	–
Mac’s Interlude	See me at C#	12/05/12	–	Mac	–
Able’s Interlude	In Murky Waters	12/19/12	–	Langy	–

Mission 3 – The Glittering Auction* (GM: Cernig)

Log	Title	Date	C.P.	M.V.P.	Absentee Players
News 24/7	Movers And Shakers	12/05/12	–	–	–
Case File #2	It’ll take Emiracle	12/05/12	–	Rase	–
Session 1	Ways And Means	12/05/12	1	ChrisR	–
Interlude	Armed With Sticks	12/06/12	–	Pitbull	–
Security Briefing	–	12/12/12	–	–	–
Session 2	Explosive Beginning	12/12/12	3	ChrisR, Langy	–
Case File #2a	Sucker’s Bet	12/12/12	–	Rase	–
Interlude	Introduction to Art Appreciation	12/19/12	–	Rase	–
Session 3	The Nature Of A Man	12/19/12	2	Langy	GreaterSeraph
Case File #2b	The Dirty Bomb	12/19/12	–	Rase	–
Interlude	Retribution	01/01/13	–	GreaterSeraph	–
Case File #2c	Bringing in the Cleaners	01/02/13	–	Rase	–
Interlude	Corporate Zoo vs. Media Circus	01/09/13	–	ChrisR	–
Session 4	Oh, ThAT fan!	01/02/13	3	GreaterSeraph & Danukian	–
Interlude	Peep on a ’Runner	01/08/13	–	Rase & GreaterSeraph	–
Interlude	News 24/7 Breaking	01/08/13	–	Cernig	–
Case File #2d	Breaking and Entering	01/02/13	–	Rase	–
Session 5	A Warborg, Just Peachy!	01/09/13	4	GreaterSeraph	–
Session 6	The Enigma Conundrum	01/16/13	2	ChrisR	–
Case File #2e	Taking and Leaving	01/16/13	–	Rase	–
Session 7	Bidding War	01/23/13	2	Josh	–
Case File #2f	The Highest Bidder…	01/23/13	–	Rase	–
Interlude	Memories of the Present	01/26/13	–	ChrisR	–
Session 8	A Fubar Chess Game	02/06/13	3	Rase	–
Case File #2g	Stockholm Syndrome	02/06/13	–	Rase	–
Session 9	Lazarus & The Grave	02/06/13	2	GreaterSeraph	–
Case File #2h	Going, Going, Gone!	02/13/13	–	Rase	–
Session 10	The Lion, The Bitch & The Boardroom	02/20/13	4	ultimatejosh	–
Case File #2i	Out of the Shadows	02/20/13	–	Rase	–
Session 11	Cliff-Hangar	02/27/13	8	Rase	–
Case File #2j	Hangering Around	02/27/13	–	Rase	–

Between-Mission Interludes

Log	Title	Date	C.P.	M.V.P.	Absentee Players
Wormwood’s Interlude	Midnight Rambler	6/03/13	–	Cernig	–
Pacoy’s Interlude	2 New Years worth of Vacation	3/08/13	–	Danukian	–
Candyman and Saxby	In The Shadow Of The Dragon	3/08/13	–	Cernig	–
Mac’s Interlude	A Tail in Two Cities	03/25/13	–	Rase	–

Mission 4 – Racing the Edge* (GM: Langy)

Log	Title	Date	C.P.	M.V.P.	Absentee Players
Session 1	The Worm and the Apple	03/14/13	2	Cernig	UJosh
Case File #3a	Your Mission…	03/14/13	–	Rase	–
Session 2	Let’s Get Packing	03/20/13	1	Danukian	–
Case File #3b	…should we have accepted it?	03/20/13	–	Rase	–
Session 3	Blues Brothers In Arms	04/03/13	3	GreaterSeraph	–
Case File #3c	Life and Death in the Fast Lane	04/04/13	–	Rase	–
Session 4	Borders and Bureaucrats	04/10/13	3	Rase	–
Session 4 OOC Log	A raw behind-the-scenes look	04/10/13	–	–	–
Case File #3d	Kicks on Route 6	04/10/13	–	Rase	–
Case File #3e	Stop, Shop and Droll	04/24/13	–	Rase	–
Session 5	Joking Aside	04/24/13	1	Rase	–
Session Six	Adopting Danger	05/01/13	3	Danukian	–
Case File #3f	Battle over the Underpass	05/01/13	–	Rase	–
Session Seven	Mechanical Girl	05/15/13	3	Danukian	–
Case File #3g	Damedroid in Distress	05/15/13	–	Rase	–
Session 8	The Hidden City	05/22/13	1	GreaterSeraph	–
Case File #3h	Dash’N’Dine	05/23/13	–	Rase	–
Session 9	Facing the Moo-sic	06/05/13	3	Cernig	–
Case File #3i	Paying the Piper	06/05/13	–	Rase	–
Session 10	Moo-ving On Out	06/12/13	1	GreaterSeraph	–
Case File #3j	A Raw Deal	06/12/13	–	Rase	–
Case File #3k	Roadkill	07/12/13	–	Rase	–
Session 11	In media Res	07/17/13	5	Danukian	–
Session 12	The Unseeing Eye	08/07/13	3	Cernig	–
Case File #3l	Blinded by the Light	08/07/13	–	Rase	–
Session 13	The Rough Riders	08/14/13	3	Danukian	–
Case File #3m	Full of Sound and Fury	08/14/13	–	Rase	–
Session 14	Disabled Parking	08/21/13	2	GreaterSeraph	–
Case File #3n	Signifying Nothing	08/22/13	–	Rase	–
Session 15	Texans Die Hard	08/28/13	4	GreaterSeraph	–
Case File #3o	Shot in the Dark	08/28/13	–	Rase	–
Session 16	The Bureaucratic Machine	09/04/13	1	Danukian	–
Case File #3p	Don’t Tread on… Nevermind	09/04/13	–	Rase	–
Session 17	Tears Of Mine	09/11/13	2	Danukian	–
Case File #3q	The Wrong Foot	09/12/13	–	Rase	–
Session 18	Awakening to Electric Sheep	09/18/13	3	Rase	–
Case File #3r	Android	09/18/13	–	Rase	–
Mac’s Interlude	I, Robot	09/18/13	–	Rase	–
Session 19	Nickels and Dimes	09/25/13	1	Cernig	–
Case File #3s	An Arm and Two Legs	09/25/13	–	Rase	–
Session 20	First Sight	10/02/13	1	GreaterSeraph	–
Case File #3t	Dining to Dash	10/02/13	–	Rase	–
Session 21	Riders In The Storm	10/09/13	2	GreaterSeraph	–
Case File #3u	Burning Love	10/09/13	–	Rase	–
Session 22	The Breaking of the Worm	24/09/13	2	Dannukian	–
Mac’s Interlude	Last Stop	10/16/13	–	Rase	–
Case File #3v	Unrestful Stop	10/23/13	–	Rase	–
Session 23	A Memorial to Fallen Heroes	11/06/13	2	Cernig	–
Case File #3w	Sudden Blackout	11/06/13	–	Rase	–
Session 24	The Rubicon	11/13/13	3	Cernig	–
Case File #3x	Double Mac and Cheese	11/13/13	–	Rase	–
Session 25	Revelations	11/20/13	2	Rase	–
Case File #3y	Eyes Open	11/20/13	–	Rase	–
Session 26	Solving the Enigma	12/11/13	3	Rase	–
Case File #3z	Mother Dearest	12/12/13	–	Rase	–
Session 27	The last Enigma	01/08/14	2	Rase	–
Case File #3aa	Can’t go Home Again	01/08/14	–	Rase	–
Session 28	Tears Of Night	01/15/14	2	GreaterSeraph	–
Case File #3ab	Death in the Family	01/15/14	–	Rase	–
Session 29	The Long Road Home	01/29/14	7	Everyone!	–
Case File #3ac	Many Unhappy Returns	01/29/14	–	Rase	–

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AUG/2050

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Last commented on:

Nov 02, 2013

The Long Road Home

Mission 4 Session 29

The Badlands
Tuesday, February 28, 2051
7:35 AM

In the whispering winds of the badlands, a giant beast makes its way home, both rejoicing in conquest and licking the wounds of inevitable defeat. The beast, burdened by the trophies strapped to its back, travels at a slow pace through the deserted wastelands, avoding the excitement and danger of the more populated regions for the route less traveled.

In the beasts belly sits a small group of warriors and poets, huddled together as if for warmth before a fire. Before them plays an image depicting the last day of the Enigma. In the center lies Seranya – now and for the last two days unconcious, lying in the beast’s maw – as she seems to commune with her Mother, the bright white light of the illusory woman holding her head as the fireballs leap out of the tank all around her.

Eris turns to the others as they look on upon the looping image in her record. “I can’t say I’m sad we got out of there when we did, but I wish we knew what happened in there. When we got back and it was just… deserted – it feels like a cop-out. Or a terribly annoying cliffhanger.” She gives a predatory smile. “But my audience’ll love it. They always enjoy a good cliffhanger ending.”

Wormwood turns in his chair, his habitual “shotgun” seat next to Pitbull, and stares hard at Eris. “Yeah, we’ve been meaning to talk about that…what exactly do you intend telling your audience?” Mac gently pats Seranya’s hand, clasped between both of his. “An excellent question, Wormwood. I have often found myself wondering the same thing. There are certain elements of our excursion that would best go… untold.”

Pacoy looks up from fidgeting with the incomplete Mac-bot and mutters “We’ll want to negotiate contracts based on box-office numbers before agreeing to a sequel.” Pitbull takes a long, hard drag off of his cigarette as he steers the metal behemoth around more wreckage and over twisted garbage. Mac grins at Pacoy. “And we’ll need some stunt doubles. This mug ain’t quite as durable as it should be. A few of ’em for Worm, too.” Unable to hold it in, a wicked grin spreads across Pacoy’s face “Working on a stunt double for you as we speak, pal!” He pats the partial robo-skeletal heap laying across his lap.

Eris shrugs. “Well, what would you prefer to remain untold? If it’s not anything major, we can probably work something out. But I do have my journalistic integrity to think about – and footage of that attack is either going to get me a Pulitzer or someone else a nice spade in the eye.” Pacoy thinks of putting Eris’s option to a vote, but holds his tongue. “And I would like a gun. A bigger one. And I would like my own assistant to light my cigarette while I’m driving.” Pitbull growls, as he swerves around the remains of a Chevy Cheyenne.

Wormwood grimaces, “I’d prefer anything about Mac here being a sentient volitional A.I. was left out, or anything about Siri absorbing Momma Dearest, if that’s what she did. Other than that – hey, I’m OK about you outing me as the Lipstick Stalker some more. I have plans.” He smiles enigmatically.

Mac rolls his eyes. “That’s what Wormwood is for, Pitbull! That’s why it’s called the ‘shotgun’ position after all.” He looks to Pacoy with the skeleton across his lap and shivers as though having an out-of-body experience. He turns back to Eris. “There is some context to that footage best left on the cutting room floor. The core machine in that place… the information that was shared… that information must not be broadcast.” He winces at Wormwood’s language, frowning inwardly. “Stings a little bit when you put it that way, Worm. I know it’s true, but… I have feelings, yaknow?” “I gotta agree with Wormwood. I’d say leave Mac’s… ummm… situation out, or at least bleep out his name or some shit. Either way, none of us want him fucked with.” Pitbull growls, continuing on his bee-line through the jagged terrain.

Eris frowns. “I don’t know about that, guys. Him and his ‘brothers’ being sentient, fully volitional AIs is kinda big news in itself – and it really beefs up the whole ‘attack on the headquarters of the nefarious Enigma 23 terrorist group’ angle.” Wormwood nods. “I think we’d be alright with his brothers being mentioned as AI, but Mac doesn’t need that kind of heat. Every megacorp in the world would want to take him apart under an electron microscope.” Mac winces as he looks at his brother’s corpse sprawled over Pacoy’s lap. “My brothers… I do not think they are around anymore to face the scrutiny. If you could… omit that I escaped, and who birthed them… if you could do that, I would be in your debt.”

Wormie hesitates for a second before speaking. “Tell you what, leave him and Siri out and I’ll give you the exclusive Lipstick Stalker interview I was going to give Veracity Blaize to sweeten your end of the deal.” Mac looks up front at Wormwood. “You sure about that, buddy? That’ll cause some fallout for sure.” Wormie nods. “I’m already wanted by the NCPD, Mac. I can’t go home, not for a while at least. It’s cool, I can duck and cover then come back later after I make some changes.”

Eris looks at Wormwood seriously. “Are you sure about that, Randall? That’s a pretty serious thing for you.” Mac sends a silent burst transmission to Wormwood’s HUD; “I’m not entirely comfortable with you taking this much risk on my behalf, bo.” Pacoy thinks of the rating to be had by a reality special about a pair of androids that realize they are volitional AI pawns of a would-be digital deity vs. an exclusive interview with the city’s biggest pervert. Not trusting Eris on this call for sure.

Wormie stares back at Eris. “Listen, I think it’s all about the audience numbers for you, and the power that gives you. This is better than ther alternative deal, trust us. I planned to fake my death anyway, so how about we do a little play-acting where I kidnap you all stalker style then ‘kill’ myself in front of you? The ratings would be through the roof, surely.”

Pitbull swerves around another slab of vehicle wreckage, make and model not readily visible but certain that it was once a some form of farm truck.

Wormie grins again like his old self, “And if you thought about double-crossing me, remember my friends have already proven themselves able to solve problems even against what seem impossible odds….”

Eris stays silent a moment, then nods. “Alright. I think I can work with that. I don’t want you to tell me what you plan on doing or when you plan on doing it; sensies are best if some of the emotions are real. But that should work out fine for me.” A smile spreads across her face. “I can just see the headlines now. I’m gonna be a fucking star.” Wormwood simply nods. “We have a deal, then. I’ll be in touch.”

Pitbull veers onto a clear patch of road before turning around to Eris. “Besides, I know that the showdown with my ex-Sergeant has to be a season highlight. Shit, I wouldn’t be surprised if we were the best series of Edgerunners you’ve done now.” Pitbull grates with a shit-eating grin. She smiles back at Pitbull. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised how it goes, Pitbull.” She looks down at the time display in her retinal HUD. “Hey, how long to the rendeavouz, Pit? I thought we’d be there by now.” “We got just a little more to go. All this driving around wrecked shit kinda consumes time.” Pitbull growls back to Eris. He stretches and yawns in his seat. “God, I know it’s only been ten days, but it feels like we’ve been out here for months.”

Mac’s eyes snap onto Eris, taking minute measurements as his brain (or what passes for one, he idly muses) compares her movements to a vast database of humanity. He winces, sensing the elation in her voice at wanting to be subjected to Wormwood’s special brand of attention. A brief smile flashes across his face, followed a more broad grin. “A starlet indeed, doll. Ya’ know, not too often that you get to witness the making of a star, right boys? See, there once was this broad who got it into her head that she was going to be the biggest singer in all of old New York, and she paid the club owners a wagonload of cold hard green. She rose to the top alright, but she never forgot to smile on the men who got her there.” He taps the side of his temple meaningfully as he looks at her. “After all, they were there when the deals were made, and they had some protection of their own, just in case her memory got a little foggy.”

As the metal beast, overburdened by the load of trophies strapped to its back, begins to crest the hill, a sudden wind blows strongly upon its surface. Trophies begin rattling and shaking, and the roar of a thousand lions baying for blood greets the ears of the passengers. A bird, the size of which nearly dwarfs the beast itself, rises above the hill, its crystal canopy facing squarely into the eyes of the beast.

The vertol turns on its swiveling jets, its wings just barely missing the top of the piled-up loot as the big vehicle sets down twenty yards from the APC.

“Eris, these yer friends?” Pitbull growls, trigger finger twitching at the wheel. Mac glances down at his sister before replaying the scene in his head. “Did someone call a cab? What the hell is this? Pitbull, you didn’t piss off the entire Texas chain of command, did you?” “I may have. Wilson was a golden boy. He may have been crazy, but he was a tactical genius. A tactical genius that won them a lot of skirmishes and trained fine soldiers.” Pitbull growls, realizing that he was not helping his case.

Wormie goggles, “That’s a cargo bird, not a gunship. What gives?”

The door to the vertol slowly opens up, revealing a familiar face. The woman slowly walks down the cargo ramp, looking over the APC and all its haul. A few moments later, the pilot of the bird steps into view, his helmet covering his face. The girl walks up to the door to the APC, opening it with a wave of her hand. Ragdoll. the fixer for the Gomi Emporium in Night City, pokes her head into the back, smiling. “Sorry we’re a little early. I got a bit antsy just waiting there, so I had the big lug bring us in a little closer. I was so anxious to see what you got – the first return trip from the Forbidden Zone itself!”

Wormwood cranes over his seat, “Hey Ragdoll! Wanna buy a surplus Texan APC and some collectibles from the Militia Wars?” Mac kicks his fedora back on his head, appraising this newcomer. “It’s a bit… hot, so hopefully you’ve got some potassium iodide pills to go along with your fancy heliocopter there.” “Ah Ragdoll! You’re a lil’ late to the party. And no, Wormie, I’m keeping the APC. I like it.” Pitbull growls, smiling.

Ragdoll beams a big smile to Wormwood. “You know it! I didn’t fly all the way out here just to pick up you bozos, taht’s for sure.” Mac taps his chin while squeezing his sister’s hand. “Ragdoll – that little kid’s into classic music? I didn’t think kids had taste these days.”

Wormwood quips, “Don’t worry about the former owners too much, Ragdoll, we made sure none of them were in a position to come asking for their stuff back!” Suddenly he slaps his head, “Pac, didn’t we have like 30 doses of Anti-Rad in the medical supplies? We should all pop some of those candies!” Pacoy nods “Sounds like a plan!”

Pitbull looks at Mac in mock-offense. “Hey! I got taste in classical! I love me some Trans-Siberian Orcestra!” Mac rolls his eyes. “Bunch of uncultured barbarians, you lot. Why didn’t you tell me that ten DAYS ago, so we could have listened to DECENT music on the trip?” “Hey,” Pacoy says mock-wounded, “I pre-loaded the Harpy with Vagner, and you were the one to complain!” Mac rolls his eyes. “It was ONE song by Vagner! ONE! And it wasn’t even Das Liebesverbot oder Die Novize von Palermo!”

Ragdoll busts in to the conversation. “Hey, hey! Don’t you wanna hear the good news?” Wormwood prods Pacoy and texts “See what price you can get from her for cash on delivery now. I need to split before y’all head back to Night City and will need a bankroll.” Then he says to the Gomi’s fixer. “Sure, good news has been in short supply lately.”

Pitbull frowns. "Damn. Well, Blah-blah-Odor-blah-Novee-Palmer doesn’t sound much like an ass-kickin’ song. Now “Fistful of Razors” by Circuit Grin on the other hand is a song I could pour lead into some fuck-nut to." Pitbull turns to Ragdoll. “What good news?”

She smiles at the crew. “Classic government computer systems, rifles, body armor, helmets, canteens – all Militia Wars vintage. Excellent stuff. But the big items are those tanks, the robot bits all over here, and this looks like part of a quantum computer system! Man. This is rich, man. Rich. I think I can make a good two, two point two five on this.” Wormwood looks hopeful. “Two point two five whats?” She gives Wormie a wink. “Mils, my man! Two point two five million space bucks, courtesy of good ol’ uncle Night.” Wormwood lets out a low whistle, surprised against his will. Pitbull stands flabbergasted, for once truly shocked into silence from what he has heard. Mac tries to restrain his jaw from hitting his sister in the face. He sends a silent communique to his companions – “Is this girl for real?” Wormie replies to Mac. “I forgot you don’t know her. Yeah, she’s connected and on the level.”

Ragdoll continues to smile for a bit, then evens out her face a little. “Now, for the unfortunate bad side of the news. Expenses.” “So, Ragdoll: Let’s talk NUMBERS.” Pacoy says with a grin, “We’d love a nice cash-up-front kind of deal.” She turns to look at him and spreads her hands in a universal gesture, “The cargo lift isn’t cheap – renting this bird, fueling it up, flying out here. That’s a good two hundred K right there. And this stuff is hot with a capital H, O, T – decon is a bitch and will swing another five hundred to seven fifty. Then there’s taxes – Uncle Night needs his cut, too. And, of course, my brokerage fee.”

Wormwood sighs. “How much are you offering, Maddie?” Mac rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath. “Fences are all the same, no matter the territory. Cute, but still a mulligan.” She looks around, examining everything a bit closer, then turns to Wormwood. “I can do $300k, cash, right here.”

Wormie looks at his companions as he subvocalizes “Seventy five K each, no taxes or bullshit. It’s not terrible.” Mac considers. “A far cry from what I need to get my hands on, but it’s not bad. At least I’ll be able to rebuild your legs again if I have to.” Pacoy nods, then subvocalizes “Take the deal?” Wormwood reconsiders his figures. “No, it’s 50K each and 50K to the Lazarus general account. We need to make good on the damn Amur. Still not chicken feed.” Mac grins. “Wasn’t going to call you on it, but…”

“300 is cutting our operating costs a little close – this is exclusive Omaha Zone product here – first of it’s kind in decades and soon to be featured on a major media outlet!” Pacoy bargains. Ragdoll’s eyes rocket up at the mention of ‘media outlet’. “Oh, now. Media, you say? I can probably spin that real well, get an auction going to coincide with the release.” She looks at Eris for the first time. “Oh, hey! You’re Eris Stansfield from Edgerunners! Perfect! Hmm… With the publicity, I can probably get a bit more for the product. Let’s say… $425k. And that’s gonna be the highest I can go.”

Pacoy nods, glances to the group and raises an eyebrow. Wormwood nods. Mac grins. “Gonna need you to negotiate some clients for me back home, sir. Sounds good to me.” Pitbull smiles broadly at the thought. That should make back the amount I dropped for Wormwood’s legs.

“And that’s a deal, Ragdoll!” Pacoy grins, offering a hand to shake. Ragdoll smiles, pumping the fist. “Excellent. We’ll get this all loaded up in a bit. You’ll have to drive the APC down to the shop I use in NC; I’ll pick it up there. I don’t think it can fit on the vertol, huh?” She slaps the pilot on his side, a smile on her face. He just bows his head slightly, shaking it from side to side. Pitbull grumbles at the thought of losing the APC. Shit. And I was growing a real love of ol’ Sam here.

The pilot turns to Ragdoll, holding his hand out. A familiar voice rings out from the dark helmet. “No worry, Ma’am. I can set up a line and carry the APC under her belly; no need to put it in the hold.”

~~- FADE SCENE -~~

The Lazarus Offices, Night City
Wednesday, March 1, 2051
9.00 AM

It has been a swifter ride home than outward bound for the Edgerunner team, thanks to Ragdoll and her enigmatic pilot. Stopping only to refuel in Rising City – and drop Wormwood off – the massive cargo AV has made good time back to the stinking cesspit called home the team have been missing. Even better news, on the flight Siri began to come around, and although groggy and disoriented she is at least conscious again. The new day is just beginning in the metropolis as the team disembark on the airport apron right next to their office and hangar. Home at last!

Pitbull stomps in through the doors and immediately heads into the kitchen. After a few seconds, he stomps his way back in with a large glass bottle and some drinking glasses. “Whiskey anyone? Celebrating the end of a long and confusing trip?” Mac raises his hand. “A double, if you don’t mind. Been a long trip, and I got a lot on my mind. Nevermind if it’s not going to do a horses ass to me, I say we celebrate!”

As the team disembark, and Ragdoll begins to direct airport staff unloading the AV, her pilot climbs down out of his cockpit and walks towards the team. The helmet comes off slowly, seemingly a little tight around the neck before it finally comes free – and is swiftly tossed to the side, revealing Able’s face to the team. It may have only been ten days, but it feels like a year’s gone by since you last saw him, but his face is the same as ever – with only his hair different. A stark white crop of hair stands out on the top of his head, a dire contrast to his old mild brown look. He smiles at the group, reaching for the glass that Pitbull’s holding out – and makes eye contact with Siri.

Siri smiles directly at Able, and in her Mother’s pleased voice says “Why Anton Roderick Davis, I haven’t seen you since the Ad Astra!”

“Has whiskey ever affected you, Mac?” Pitbull growls as he sloshes the amber contents of the bottle into glasses and hands them to everyone, with no regard to if they even asked. “Aye! Able!” Pitbull roars with a broad smile. “Didn’t recognize your bitch-ass fer a minute there! How ya been?!” Mac thinks. “I think it’s more fun to pretend that it does. Isn’t that what everyone does when they drink?” He grins while looking at his sister-slash-mother with a look of confusion. “Indeed, Able. Er, Anton?”

Siri drops into a chair next to Mac and holds out her hand to Able. “Old friend, it is so good to see you….” Able pulls back from Siri, his eyes blinkin a bit. The voice – or maybe some remnant of Enigma buried in Siri’s brain via her comm link – burrowed deep into his brain and flipped a switch. Able falls to his knees, a silent scream on his lips as things hidden behind the veneer of his Janissary programming began to wake up.

Damn! Enough revelations already! Is this enough surprise shi- Abe? Abe? You alright, Abe?" Pitbull says, tilting his head at Able with a frown marring his face.

Siri’s smile begins to turn to a frown. Her own voice re-asserts itself. “Brother, is your friend malfunctioning?” Increasingly, she seems panicked by Able’s reaction. Mac looks alarmed, but his voice remains calm in his sister’s presence. “H-he’s fine, sis. He’s done this before, I think. I don’t think it’s a malfunction, per se…” He sets his drink down and kneels before Able. “Buddy?” Pacoy’s face sets in a sharp glare for an instant before he moves to Able’s side to see if there is anything he can do, either medical or cybernetic repair.

Mac waits a few moments before his concern grows too great. “Sorry if this is a bit of an intrusion, but you look like you’re in pain.” He pulls a patch cable from his pocket, slotting one end of it into his neural jack before inserting the other end into Able’s hand. The connection seems to break something in Able, and a scream of pain finally escapes his lips. A light trickle of blood pours out of his left ear, down his neck – but then the scream stops, and he goes limp.

Inside his mind-space, Able slowly recognizes Mac. It’s a deeper connection than either of them are used to – significantly deeper than a simple comms connection. It’s almost like watching a sensie, with words and pictures accompanied by felt emotions. Able’s emotions are filled with a deep sorrow, and a pain so deep that it can’t be merely physical. Mac looks down upon this broken man, and Able looks back up at him. “Help me. Please, help me find myself.”

Mac’s eyes snap shut as he kneels in front of his friend, his mind reeling with the sudden input of a cacophony of voices – his hands slap over his ears, trying to drown out the sound. It does nothing but allow him to focus on Anton’s voice, currently slightly louder than the others. He sees Able in all of his forms, and smiles. “Keep talking. I can help you through this. I just need to hear you.” His voice rings out in his head as well as in the offices around them. He forces his mind around the other voices, trying to muffle them, to give his friend room to breathe and grow.

Within their shared mind-space, bruises appear upon Able’s body, nearly covering him head-to-toe in a swath of purple. His face subtly changes, becoming both younger and just barely a different man – sharper features, slight difference in the distance between the orbits of his eyes, a simple ‘high and tight’ old-military hairstyle – taken together, he’s a completely different person – and coldly familiar.

“Abe?” Pitbull askes again, this time a little trepid. A frown appears on Mac’s face. “You don’t look so good, pal.”

The changes within Able’s mind are mirrored upon his body, the cybernetics buried within his skeleton altering his appearance to match that of his original form. Pitbull becomes acutely aware of his Urban Fox in its shoulder rig. “Guys, I’m still armed if he becomes hostile.” Pitbull H.U.D. texts the entire team.

Before the team stands the broken body of Anton Davis, world-famous mass murderer and terrorist, destroyer of the Ad Astra. He reaches out to Mac’s mind, his voice at once pleading and panicking. “I need you to get me out of here. What everyone said, it’s all lies. They hijacked my brain and now they’ve hijacked my body, and my mind – it’s eroding. Get Dr. Wahlen, he knows how to remove their mind-raping implants. You need to do it quick, because I can’t stay out of Rossum’s care for more than a month without breaking. You have to shut me down and knock me out. Burn out the wireless if you have to, but keep me from phoning home. Please – get me out of here!” Able’s mind goes blank, his conciousness shutting down from the extreme pressure of dueling cybernetics, and his body reverts back to its old, normal shape and tone as it lies there on the airport concrete.

Mac’s hands twitch, as though he were fiddling with a rubic’s cube. His head cocks to the side. “Huh… there you are, guy. Wahlen… controlled by Doctor Wahlen… I won’t let them get to you. We’ll block the call home signal, friend. We’ll get your body back for you.” Mac frowns. “This isn’t good. That’s some sort of cybertech keeping the personalities locked out… a call home transmitter… and then, what, bioware? This is not good at all. Pacoy, can you hear me? Dammit, I don’t know how this works. Pacoy, if you can hear me, can you jam the wireless in this place? All frequencies?”

“On it!” Pacoy scambles to activate the Marmalade drone, blocking all frequencies, and scrambling for his med kit.

Mac mutters to himself rather loudly, having lost proper vocal volume control. “So you’re a neurotoxic transmitter, eh? Won’t do to have you go off… a month onset to start doing whatever it is you have up your sleeve…”

Pacoy rushes back into the room “Guys, Let’s get him into medical, help me carry him, we’ll see what I can do until we can get in touch with a better solution!”

Mac winces as he retracts the cable jack, his eyes opening, blinking furiously. “I can’t fix him. I just… don’t have the experience. I can’t hack his brain without hurting him real bad. What about that White Lion guy? Can we reach out to Candy and get him and that wetware witch to take care of him? I can’t deal with this level of cyberware here. I’m sorry… I’m just not good enough.” He holds out his credit chit. “If Saxby needs payment for this, take what I’ve got on here. I promised Able I’d make this right.”

Siri reaches out and touches Able on the neck, wiping away the little trickle of blood that had run from his ear so, so gently you’d think it was his mother’s touch. She breathes in an oddly modulated voice, half hers and half her own Mother’s, “Oh Anton, what did they do to you?”

View

JAN/2014

Tears of Night

Mission 4 Session 28

Offut Air Force Base
Underground Bunker Complex
Sunday, February 26, 2051
6:01 PM

The air is still for a moment as the blackout spreads from the computer room outwards, hitting the rest of the base in a wave of darkness. The constant sound of bombardment – both inbound from the oribtal attackers and outbound from the base’s defense systems – that’s been in the background through the entire fight suddenly ceases, leaving a silent chasm where the near-unnoticed noise once resided.

And then the power jumps back on, automated systems kicking in now that the central command link has been severed and the facility has already registered an attack in place. The noise of ground-to-space artillery once again resumes, the giant cannons and laser weapon systems humming in the background while the hundreds of androids in the room continue the onslaught against the power armored troopers. The troopers, massively outnumbered but not quite outgunned, begin turning their weapons fire on the robots and the manufacturing facilities rather than focusing upon the computer core. The entire room explodes in a shower of bullets and frags – and there’s little chance the Lazarus team can escape without some damage.

Wormwood grabs Eris by the shoulder, pulling hard. “Come on, we need to move!” He frantically scans for an exit from the corridor they are in, behind the main room. Mac ducks his shoulder as a frag flies past, burying itself in the stomach of one of his unfinished compatriots – he slips to the side as it explodes, shrapnel catching in his trenchcoat but leaving him unscathed. He stumbles forward towards the exit, keeping himself between Pacoy, Pitbull and their respective cargos. Pitbull just manages to duck under a screaming frag missile as he makes a dash for Wormwood’s position with Siri slung over his shoulder. Urging Mac to leave the AI, Pacoy almost doesn’t notice the rain of metal flying towards him until the last minute, twisting out of the way as shrapnel flashes past his face close enough that he could feel the heat, still clutching the partial Mac-bot. Mac winces as he moves. “Pacoy, go! Make like one of your pinbots and fly towards the exit!”

Wormwood hears a beep in his ear, the sign that limited communications have been re-established with his team. Subvocally, he calls “This way, there’s a door leading away from those suited creeps!” Pacoy activates a pinbot, letting the tiny bot flutter out of his jacket and scout ahead of Wormwood, relaying data back to the team commlink. Pitbull skids to halt next to Wormwood to unsling his rifle from Seranya’s shoulder, and drops it on his lap with all the grace that carrying a body and urgency grants him. Wormwood grabs his rifle and chambers a round, nodding thanks to Pitbull. It may be entirely ineffectual against battlesuited troopers, but it makes him feel better and it might give one a headache at least. Next he sends to Mac, “Did Mama Dearest give you any useful data dumpage, like a map of this place?”

The pinbot soon relays back an image of a figure in a suit of armor, covered in black-and-gray urban camouflage, standing in front of a doorway to the computer room. He’s carrying a heavy rifle of an unfamiliar design, very similar to one of those electron beam cutters the robots were using to slice up cars. The armor is a rigid, full-body design that looks at once futuristic and retro, as if it’s an evolution of an older design. As the pinbot moves forwards, it sees three more figures in identical armor stacked up by the door in the standard formation of a SWAT team ready to breach.

“Crap…” Pacoy mutters, “Plan, guys?” Mac sighs once he gets into the relative security of the hallway. “No map. No printouts. Can we get around those guys? Go past them?” “Mac, Siri, either of you communicating with the maybe-Macs and get some interference for us with that lot?” Wormwood sends. “Can we get some Mac-Bots here to help us? Don’t we want to stop these gus?” Pacoy asks, having had the same idea.

Mac looks back into the central room, crying out to his brothers again, “Brothers – the doorway over there! They are coming after our Mother!” He subvocalizes, feeling somewhat embarassed, “Sorry, I’m kind of making this up as I go along.”

The Macs don’t seem to answer – which may be because the nose level in the room is such that they simply could not hear the command.

Wormwood does a double-take, “I think those are mac-bots, warrior ones! Mac, see if you can talk to them. If I’m wrong, you get shot to shreds, but if I’m right we have an armed escort.” Mac shrugs. “Only live once, right?” He runs down the corridor towards the breaching team. “Brothers, brothers, I call for your aid! I am bearing Mother out of this place!” He searches his gut for a set of familiar numbers and broadcasts the same message, coupled with a set of friendly IFF tags for his friends.

Pacoy takes a deep breath and mutters to himself, “_worth a shot_…”. With a quick metal command, The pinbot begins flashing in a series of long and short pulses of light.

Two helmets turn towards Mac, giving him a once-over before turning their lights upon Siri, carried upon the shoulders of Pitbull. Both faceplates separate down the middle, then slide up into recesses at the top of the helmets. Two identical faces look out, staring at their mirror image. The one closest speaks first. “S/I-2. You shouldn’t be here.” The second one continues speaking, as if in one thought. “Mother has need of you elsewhere. You weren’t to return until she called for you.” Wormwood slumps in relief slightly and breathes, “I was right, about time!”.

“Well, we’re here. And we’re leaving.” Pitbull grates tersely. They turn to each then, then back at Mac and speak in unison. “You must be exfiltrated immediately. The base is under attack.” “We can see that.” Pitbull grates back. “And we wholeheartedly agree.” Mac looks frustrated. “No shit, Sherlocks! I was in there when this all started! I know she didn’t call, but if I hadn’t come, all would have been lost by now! Come on, get my friends out of here. We have severe movement impairments. Can you get us out safely?”

The two robots turn to one another again, a conversation passing by at dizzying speeds over the radio waves whispered between them, before they turn back. “An escort can be provided, but the assault can not be diminished significantly. This one will ensure your safety.” One of the Macs steps forwards, his faceplate slamming down as he moves towards the door at the head of the curve. The other three robots turn back to the door and, in one fluid motion, breach it. The door slams back and their odd weapons open fire, spitting long bursts of electrons and energy out – looking like nothing more than bolts of lightning. The crackle-zap of their weapons sounds for just a few moments before they move away and the door closes behind them, shutting out the noise.

Mac looks on in jaw-slackened awe. “So, brother, can I get my hands on some of that gear? Lets talk on the go. Show us the way out of here!” as the pinbot’s strobe shuts off, and it takes it’s place at the point of the group, scouting ahead. The somewhat-mechanical sound of the android within the armor comes out of a small speaker at the base of the helmet as he jogs fowards, leading the group deeper into the base. “Your mission is not to bring the weapons of our Mother to the Unknowing. If you are able, you will leave as you came – unencumbered by the warfare of our past.” Wormwood grimaces, “OK, how about any spare diamonds or gold or the like lying around?” Eris smacks Wormwood on the side after that comment, her scared face momentarily turning to a smile. The android, on the other hand, remains silent and doesn’t even acknowledge Wormwood exists.

Mac nods at his brother, laughing at Wormwood. “That is understood, but there is not much I have to remember home by.” As they jog, he scribbles a note in his pocket notepad and tosses the whole thing to Wormwood. The note reads: Not trusting this message to comms, don’t want to offend my brother. Make like this is turn of the century America and you’re in an assisted scooter in a megastore – grab everything that isn’t nailed down. Tell the others. Wormwood nods and hands off the note to Pitbull. Pitbull chuckles, as he passes it along to Pacoy. He yanks out and lights another cigarette, and offers one to Mac. “Bionic lungs don’t get cancer, last I heard” Pitbull growls with a smile. Mac laughs and takes a drag on a cigarette, puffing out a perfectly formed smoke ring before running through it. “There’s bound to be advantages. You want a butt, brother?”

The robot leads the group on a merry chase, running through the base’s corridors. There are no signs or other indications of where they’re going or what they’re passing, but numerous hallways and doors branch off from the twisting path the group follows. The hallway itself is bare, with slim pickings for any would-be thief. Several doors remain open, showing offices – one with a rather familiar seal on the blue carpet floor and an expensive-looking chair, desk, and other accoutrements. Most of the open rooms, however, contain something much less inviting – the sound of gunfire, with the occasional figure in sleak black or urban camouflage armor. The entire facility seems to shake occasionally, the artificial earthquakes the result of the continued bombardment of the surface.

Mac looks back at his friends, cigarette clenched in his perfectly white teeth. “Got to say, never thought I’d be in an orbital bombardment. Kind of exciting, isn’t it? Say, brother, what was that room back there?” The mechanical voice seems entirely comfortable with the pace it’s setting – as befits a robot without a proper cardiovascular system. “This facility used to be an alternative command and control bunker for the North American super-state to be used in the event of a nuclear war. That room was one of multiple seats of power; the office of the chief executive of that nation. Further down, the legislative bodies have chambers as well, as do their individual staffs.” Pitbull takes on the air of his namesake animal, and stares around in blank curiosity as he trots along with everyone. Weird place. Looks like a fort, but missing something. “Can we grab some souvenirs, maybe?” Wormwood asks, before asking a bigger question. “So, who is attacking this complex, exactly?”

Mac nods. “My question exactly. Maybe a pen? Whom wants Mother dead?” The android replies just as they hit an intersection. “The strike force did not announce their affiliation or intentions prior to the assault, and our sensing and communicating capabilities have been temporarily crippled. The working assumption is that they are the forces of the Brother.” Mac looks each way at the intersection. “Do you have any files you can share with me via datajack about the Brother? I need to know what to be wary of when we leave here.”

The robot looks down at him – Mac can just feel in his blank stare that he has a superior look upon his face. “You are an obsolete model designed for infiltration. Your datajack is multiple generations behind my own. I do not believe we could successfully interface even if I wished to.” He shakes his head – a very human gesture. “Besides which, you were sent into the world with limited knowledge, and with that knowledge you shall return. I have not been given instructions to provide you more, so I shall not.”

Wormwood snickers some at ‘successfully interface’ but keeps looking for gee-gaws to pick up, without success so far. Pacoy leans down to whisper in Wormwood’s ear, “Man, Macbots are kinda Dicks, huh?” Wormwood grins, “All different kinds of interface, apparently.”

Mac rolls his eyes. “Just ‘cos it’s newer don’t mean it’s better, pal. How long is it to the surface? And on the off-chance our ride got clocked by one of them orbital shells, you got an exfil vehicle for us?” Pitbull growls at the Mac-bot stubbornly. “Do you not give a rat’s ass about the outcome of this, ‘tard? The more we know, the more than likely we can beat the Brother’s ass and make it home for steaks and beer. I was in the Texas Free State Army, and I know what it’s like to have limited info and how we ain’t supposed to share it without permission, but we still need something to go by.”

The robot ignores Pitbull entirely as it smoothly answers Mac’s questions, coming to a stop. “We’ve reached the exit. There are multiple hostiles within the foyer; please exit as fast as you can. I will draw their fire and provide cover; do not slow down or stop, just keep moving. Your vehicle should be seven miles to the north-east of here in a lightly-shelled area; by the time you arrive the fighting should be over and it shall be safe to retire to the location of your choice.”

“Pits, I’m gonna need a push. Stick Siri on the shopping cart!” Wormwood grumps. “She can sit on your lap like you’re Santa.” Pitbull smiles before turning to the Mac-Bot. “Thanks, fucker.”

Mac stares at his brother, then looks at his comrades. “Retire? Are you guys planning to retire on me?” He sighs and offers a hand to the robot. “It’s been a pleasure serving with you. Look me up in Night City if you ever make it out that way, yeah? Or at least send a post card. E-mail? I hope you guys can re-build… I’d hate for the last of us to be an outdated infiltration unit.”

The robot’s faceplate opens up as he turns to Mac, gripping his hand in a firm handshake. Mac can just make out the beginnings of a tear forming on the robot’s left eye before the faceplate snaps back in place and the mechanical man slams open the door, firing his lightning-bolt like weapon and shouting “Go, go, go!”

Pitbull drops Siri on Wormwood’s lap and rushes forward with his wheelchair, with no intent to slow down for anything less than a wall. Mac slips out behind the other robot, tears streaming down his face as he runs between his friends and the resistance, hoping to intercept any stray rounds that find themselves traveling in their direction.

As the Lazarus group run forwards, they see three figures in powered armor firing upon the lone robot. The electron beams surge outwards from the heavy rifle, blasting holes in the armored figures – but nowhere near fast enough. Bullets large enough to take down a charging rhino through a concrete barricade punch holes in the robot’s armor almost immediately, but he doesn’t go down quite yet. Eris is one of the first out the door and into the starlight beyond, but it isn’t until Mac, taking up the rear, is through the door that the robot finally falls, his mission complete.

Mac stumbles through the door as he slams it shut behind them, a single tear falling from his left eye. “Did we all make it? Are we all okay? I know I’m not, but… I might have lost one family when the sky broke open, but I’m glad that the rest of you made it through.” He shakes a little before leaning back against the door with a melancholy smile on his face as his gaze drifts upwards, following the columns of smoke.

The stars of the night sky weep with Mac, the tears falling slowly – ever so slowly – to the Earth, and the Earth cries back with blazes of white angry fire. The tears strike the Earth past the horizon, each strike punctuated by a rumble from deep within the ground as if the Earth itself grieves along with Mac for the family that seems irrevocably lost.

View

JAN/2014

The Last Enigma

Mission 4 Session 27

Offut Air Force Base
Chamber of the “Mother”
Sunday, February 26, 2051
5:53 PM

The debris and smoke continue to rain from the newly-opened hole in the ceiling, bathing the entire chamber in a fine layer of caked concrete dust. The pitch-black orbital drop pods continue to open up, revealing their deadly payloads – but the process isn’t quite as instantaneous as their arrival, for even power armored shock troopers have human reflexes. At the moment, two of the pods have already opened, revealing the sleek black humanoid shapes within. Their weapons are raised, not at any particular figures but towards the giant computer at the front of the room – and even the smaller of the dual barrels upon their rifles looks almost large enough to fit a man’s fist through your eyes.

The seven-foot-tall hologram of Anita stands tall, stepping between the Lazarus group and the interlopers. She simply stairs at them for a moment before whispering ‘Brother’ – and then, with a dramatic flair, the hologram disappears.

Mac stares briefly at the drop pods before raising his pistol. “Brothers! To arms! Protect your mother! Beat them back! Runners, my Brothers will hold them, get to the exit!” He fires off a few rounds at the nearest black humanoid shape, each finding their mark with relative ease, making disappointing sounds as they strike the armor.

A sound almost like a million automatic doors all opening as one reverberates throughout the chamber as the manufacturing pods placed every few feet around the room open up as one – every last one of them. Though most don’t contain a fully-formed android, even the ones that are just a skeletal torso attached to two stumpy legs crawl forwards, moving towards their targets with a grim determination.

Seranya steps towards the giant computer that holds the Enigma AI, her hands grasping the control interface in the center of the room. Seemingly ignoring the metal invaders, she simply stares up at the tank, worry in her eyes. Wormwood sends his chair into motion towards the nearest exit from the room, a hallway at the rear corner which might lead anywhere. Meanwhile, he fires three rounds from one of his pistols square at the face of one of the suited figures, without any hope of having an effect. As expected, they simply deflect from the armored visors with a series of sharp “spang!” noises. He yells at Siri, “Fer Klono’s sake, girl, get a move on or give me back my rifle!”

Pacoy hesitates, trying to think of a way to phrase the only viable plan he could think of without offending Mac, but with a grunt of desperation, decides to just be blunt. Scurrying for cover while readying his rifle, Pacoy shouts “Mac, can you call all of your ‘siblings’ to throw themselves into things and buy us some time?” Mac grits his teeth, flashing back to the pain he felt when he was disconnected from home the first time. “Pacoy, they’re moving as fast as they can! We need to get to the exit so we can get out of here. They will buy us time, if they need to!”

Three more drop pods begin to open as the occupants of the two already-open ones finish aiming, moving an arm forwards to engage the arming mechanism on their micro-missile launchers. They make no move to even recognize the existence of the Edgerunners.

Eris hits the ground running, barely turning enough to toss a camera bot behind her as she makes her way at a breakneck pace past Wormwood and towards – hopefully – an exit. Pitbull stomps into a heavy footed run towards the exit, snagging up the handles of Wormwood’s chair without breaking stride and pushing him as fast as his heavy boots can take them. Mac skids to a halt, staring at his sister in shock before bolting to the central tank. “Sis, come on! We need to go! NOW! The rest of you, keep moving! I’ll catch you up!”

Suddenly, Mac doesn’t feel such an urgency to leave. A peace begins to settle over his mind the moment he touches Seranya; a serenity so beautiful that all thought of the soldiers in power armor behind him fades to nothing.
Half-manufactured androids begin to reach the soldiers, their arms – strong as steamshovels, begin to pull and grasp at the sleek black armor. Their grip is strong – but the armor is stronger, for now, as the soldiers manage to remain upright and with their weapons pointed forwards as they all but ignore the hordes closing in upon them.

Seranya continues to remain stock-still as a light begins to shine, almost as if from within her body. The holographic generators whine as Anita appears once again, standing out of the console directly in front of Seranya. The hologram bends down, embracing Seranya in a kiss.

Wormwood shouts “Mac, what’s wrong?” as he continues to wheel at best speed towards the room’s exit. He figures he’s going to lose a very expensive rifle, which rankles, but it isn’t worth losing his life over. Pacoy looks over his shoulder, hesitates for an instant and then curses, “Over a goddamned toaster!” and rushes back to try and rescue Mac.

The ‘wo-oo-oo-oomp’ of five near-simultaneous micromissile launches hisses through the crowded space, almost loud enough to drown out the sound of truly heavy artillery firing on the ground above. The missiles streak forwards, smashing into the Enigma computer matrix, burying themselves deep. The final seven drop pod doors open, their cargo opening fire on full auto with their 10mm chain guns, ripping into the robots that surround them.

Eris disappears around a bend, diving for cover as the sound of gunfire reaches her ears. Pitbull scowls as he notices that Seranya hasn’t moved from the vicinity of the firefight. He lets go of Wormwood’s chair and bolts over to Seranya, preparing to throw her over his shoulder as he yanks her from the spot.

Mac’s eyes return from their glaze, pulling out of the warm trance of being near his mother, sound rushing back to his ears all too quickly. He sees himself surrounded by his real brothers, glad to see Wormwood is closer to the door. He rapidly scans the machine in front of him, and his eyes fall on a reflection of his sister. A smile creeps across his face. “Pitbull, grab my sister and move! Pacoy, see if you can grab one of my fallen brothers. May need parts later – both of you keep me between the bullets and yourselves. There’s no time to argue!” He sets himself between his friends and the incoming cavalcade of fire.

The sound of an industrial saw revving up to speed and beginning to slice through metal pings harshly off of the chamber’s walls, though not a single scream can be heard even as the manufacturing complex begins to turn upon the armored intruders. The hologram of Anita begins to freeze, jitter, and hop around as the projecting computer takes in the missile fire, but as it does so it seems to lean forwards, whispering into Seranya’s ear.

Wormwood finally reaches the room’s exit, coming into a hallway that curves around the computer chamber. Eris is lying against the wall, sticking a fiber cam around the edge. He begins to wheel past her, shouting “No time, you stupid bint!” He leads around the corner with an outstretched pistol, what it’s viewfinder seeing fed directly to his optic nerve by the cable jack in his head.

Pacoy sighs, relieved to see Mac snapping out of his OS Freeze, or what ever it was, and runs to the struggling frame of a intensely creepy unfinished, skinless Mac bot, scooping it up and heading for the exit. Mac is so paying the therapy bills on this one!

The tank at the head of the room suddenly glows with a blue fire deep inside. The Anita hologram looks to the sky with a scream as she explodes into a million motes of dust, a fireball streaming out of the computer tank moments later, slamming everyone at the front of the room to the floor – with the lone exception of Seranya, who stands tall and proud against the backdrop of the explosion – until it dies out, and she falls to the ground as if a puppet whose strings were cut.

Eris slides backwards into the far wall, a look of shock on her face. “Oh shit, oh shit!”

Pitbull scoops up Seranya and tosses her over his shoulder as easily as you would a laundry bag, and bolts to the exit, fighting through the accustomed disorientation of being in close proximity to an explosion. Mac reels on the ground, trying to get to his feet. “Dammit, Pitbull, just run! Go! I’ll get Pacoy! Shit. This isn’t how this was supposed to go…”

Mac’s words are poignantly punctuated by the sudden onset of darkness and silence as the giant computer goes dark – and with it, the room.

View

JAN/2014

Solving the Enigma

Mission 4 Session 26

Omaha Exclusion Zone
5 miles from Downtown Omaha
Sunday, February 26, 2051
4:20 PM

Mac’s eyes slowly open, his senses coming back to him in fits and spurts. An array of distorted data greets his newly-awaked mind. The memories he’s recovered – the memories of his true self – came fast and furious, but also fragmented and far from full. Everything is disjointed, and it seems to have spread to his normal senses as well – for the first time, he notices compression artifacts, static, and other irregularities in his senses, though they slowly disappear as he comes back to himself.

As he sits up, he finds himself in the back of the stolen APC. The rest of the Lazarus Group sit around him, his ‘sister’, a precursor robot to his own design, peering down at him with concern writ large upon her face. Eris sits in the background, watching everything with her camcorder eyes.

The APC itself is two miles deeper into the Exclusion Zone, past the junkyard of a freeway that the team had been at when Mac had his (literally) stunning revelation. Ahead lies the ruined city of Omaha and the core of the nuclear destruction that engulfed the region. Going has been slow ever since the junkyard, and it doesn’t look like the pace is going to speed up. In fact, with the frequent craters, ruins, and general junk, soon it might be impossible to go any deeper in the APC at all.

Wormwood carefully steers the APC through what appears to have once been a playground. As the big vehicle hits the chainlink fence on the other side, a skeleton clinging to the chain bursts into dust. Mac groans and rubs his eyes, blinking to clear his head. “Ugh.. are we.. we’re okay, yeah? That was quite a nightmare… memory. Did anyone see what happened to my brothers after I passed out?” “They just kept working, Mac, like nothing had happened.” Wormwood replies. “They didn’t seem to be all that ‘here’ if you know what I mean. Never mind them, though – what happened to you?” Damn it, Pacoy thinks to himself hearing Mac’s waking words, are we going to have to treat every android we encounter like Mac’s family? “Never mind them, How are you feeling?” “Worm’s right, Mac. They looked like they were lobotomized, whether designed that way or radiation damage is anyone’s fuckin’ guess.” Pitbull pipes up from the driver’s seat, puffing the cigarette between his teeth.

Mac grumbles. “I feel like that scrapheap of a jungle we just pushed through. I think… I accessed memories. Who I am… what I was made to do… I don’t know if it was his memory, or mine, but I know it’s the truth. I was from here, and I survived. I survived where none of us were really… intended to. The radiation must have done something terrible to those who stayed. If they find out that I’m still alive, I fear I’ll have my own Wilson to deal with.” He crimps his trilby in his hands, looking at his comrades. “I knew I was damaged goods, but I never realized how… broken… I guess. Oh spit and vinegar, Anita… I dont’ know how she’s going to cope with this.” “It’s nothing that we can’t overcome, Mac” Pacoy says honestly concerned before covering it up with a sly grin “Fixing broken bots is what I do.”

As Wormwood turns the APC down another street, he finds yet another roadblock – this one a building that partially fell down, creating a tunnel much too small for the APC underneath it. Trying to push past it through brute force is likely to destabilize the leaning building and make it crash down the rest of the way, right on top of the APC. This is the sixth route in a row that’s been blocked off; it might be about time that the APC has outlived its usefulness. Wormwood brings the APC to a halt. “Guys, where now?” He grimaces, “Maybe I should stay with Sam. I’m pretty badly banged up.”

A grin sidles up to the bar that is Mac’s face as he first answers Pacoy, “Well I aim to give you a challenge, sir. Ever fix a bot that survived a nuclear bomb?” He looks up ahead then replies to Wormwood. “If we can’t take the APC forward, I think we should press on by foot or by wheel. I’m not fond of leaving you back, Worm – I know you and mischief tend to find each other.” Pitbull grimaces and eyes this road-block as though his glare could carve through it. “I don’t know, Worm,” Pacoy reasons, “When ever they split the group up in horror sims, the gimp and the ‘dark guy’ are usually the first to get it.” Wormwood sighs, “Recently I’ve not had to look for it, Mac.” He turns off the APC’s engine and begins to struggle into his trenchcoat, over his radiation suit. “Someone get the all-terrain crip-mobile out for me?” “As the local melanin champ, I say sticking together is a good idea!” Pacoy finishes.

“Shit. I am not a fan of walking a heavily irradiated area with no sattelite or recon detail. I would kill to find another way, but I think that these collapsed builings may be for tactical value. If we do find an opening, it will be because that’s where they want us to funnel our tank through.” Pitbull growls, throwing his cigarette butt on the metal floor. Mac starts laughing. “I’ll go untether the horses. Who’s riding with me, and who’s with Eris? I think someone is going to have to ride behind one of us. And that may be, but we gotta press on if we’re going to get through this.” He quickly unseals and hops out of the APC, after making sure everyone is secure in their suits, beginning the unloading of the motorcycles. Seranya hops out of the APC to help Mac, followed by Eris, who sets up her own motorcycle.

Pitbull makes sure that the APC is parked out of the way of the path, and begins a systematic check of his rad-suit. Wormwood climbs into his wheelchair, and nods over to Siri. “Keep the rifle for now, hon. I’ll want a hand free to steer if we get into a firefight so I’ll stick with my pistols.” The low hum of the chair’s powerful motor seems loud in the quiet before Mac starts his cycle, and Wormie laughs bitterly. “Every convoy moves at the speed of its slowest vessel.” Pacoy slings his rifle, “I’m lighter than Pitt, and not as good a shot – let Pitt take the sidecar, I’ll ride with Eris.” Mac calls forward. “We advance together, as fast as Worm can handle. Can do some decent gunning from the sidecar if needed, I imagine. That, or we can load it with supplies.” There’s a quiet whine as the hydrogen-powered engine on Eris’s cycle powers up, almost completely out-shone by Mac’s loud engine. “We could throw Wormy’s chair in neutral and lash it to one of the cycles as a jury-rigged side car.” Pitbull growls, moving on to his Reaper’s quick-diagnostics.

Eris hops onto her bike, then looks at the boys. “Who’s riding with me?” Seranya huddles near Mac, seemingly intent on riding behind him, leaving Eris’s rear seat and the sidecar open for the taking. “Pits, I’m barely mobile as it is, don’t fuck with my wheels, ok?” Wormie growls. Mac starts laughing. “We could find him an inflatable tire and drag him along behind – we used to do that all the time, my grandfather and I. Well, I remember it, anyway. Street luge, we called it. No idea if it happened, but I do remember it being quick.” “That’s why it’ll be in neutral. Worse comes to worst, I’ll carry you on my back like Master-Blaster, and buy you a new one.” Pitbull says back to Wormwood as he lights up another cigarette. Wormwood spits, “Not a chance. If something goes down, my chair is still lashed to the bike, dumbass!” “Put Pitbull in the sidecar before he hurts himself!” Pac laughs, shaking his head, “I’ll ride with Eris.”

“We still need to have some level of speed. What’s the top speed on your chair?” Pitbull growls, facing Wormwood. Mac rolls his eyes, swings his leg over onto his bike and sets his Trilby on Siri’s head. “Don’t lose it, doll. Come on you big lug, get this sidecar over-capacity and lets gun it. No time for dawdling. I’ll let Wormwood pace it, and then we’ll match speed ahead of him.” He adjusts the battle rifle slung across his back so it sits comfortably. Eris gets in on the fun, slinking up to Wormwood, dragging her hand along his arm; it doesn’t work as well in a rad-suit as if it were straight skin, but that doesn’t mean it leaves no impression. “Come on, Randall. Don’t you want to be all tied up to me? Isn’t that what would usually get your… kick?” Wormwood grins back, “No sweet thing, you’ll be the only one tied up. You’ll love it. I may even come up with a special surprise for you, a one off treat.”

Mac groans. “Can we put you both back in the APC? That’s the closest you’ll get to a room out here.” He begins teasing his cycle forward, glancing at Pitbull occasionally. Wormwood starts forward, steering with his right hand and a pistol clutched in his left. “Can we go before I add radiation burns to my list of wounds and boo-boos?” Eris smiles at Pacoy as she climbs back on her bike, patting the seat behind her. “Straddle up, big boy. We don’t want to lose little mister ropes-and-things, do we?” Pitbull shrugs, and clambers into the sidecar. “Breaker-Breaker 1-9, this is Rubber Duck! You got a-” Pitbull is interrupted by his own sputtering as he chokes on his own saliva. Mac snorts and starts laughing, the cycle stopping abruptly. “Hey, I know you guys don’t have any taste when it comes to the classics, but this is starting to remind me an awful lot of Chips.” He composes himself and edges to the front again. Eris shrugs her shoulders. “Tell you what – we get back to civilization and I’ll buy you a round of whatever chips you want, so long as they aren’t microchips. I figure you’ve got enough of those knocking around you head to last you through the ages.”
“Wagons Ho!” Wormwood shouts, and heads for the tunnel with every augmented sense primed for trouble. The makeshift ‘tunnel’ lasts about the length of a city block before the buildings making it up begin to spread apart. The tunnel gets quite skinny – enough to nearly make it impossible for Mac’s bike with its sidecar to pass, but only nearly – and the team are frequently met with wires, furniture, and even a refrigerator falling out of the apartment building you’re crossing underneath hanging from broken-open windows, but they make it out without damage. The sight that greets them as the Edgerunners exit the tunnel is quite unexpected from the looks of the rest of the city. Ahead of them, in ground zero of the devastation, is a sequence of flattened buildings and ruins all surrounding about a mile in diameter circle of pristine urbanization.

Pacoy looks on in amazement at would could be a treasure trove of scrounging paradise if it wasn’t for the killer radiation and lobotomized Mac-bots on the prowl. Streets, devoid of traffic or pedestrians, stretch out before them, buildings as clean and undamaged as if they’re brand-new construction leaping out above the devastation. If they were to compare pictures of Old Omaha with the view ahead of them, they’d hardly be able to tell the difference – with the obvious exception that no blemishes of use or age adorn these buildings, nor is there any sign of any population whatsoever.

Mac’s breath catches in his throat as he takes a deep breath of unfiltered air, glancing down at the Geiger counter, wondering exactly how bad the radiation is. “This place is… fantastic..” Even the ground level appears to be restored to its pre-war state, a little plateau lying above the desecrated remains of the bomb craters. Wormwood for once is speechless as he wonders how this is possible. Eris simply sits on her bike, looking around the entire area. “What happened here? How’d the center of the city completely evade the destruction?” Being stunned speechless doesn’t last to long for Pacoy, and can’t help the humor from bubbling up, “If the Mac-bots are programmed to do this, I think Lazarus found a new maid…” Pitbull remains hawkishly vigilant in his side car, sweeping and tracking with his Reaper as the cycle plods on.

Wormwood finally recovers his voice. “Eris, where now?” She takes a moment, still obviously a bit stunned. “We need to get to the city hall. It should be one of the largest buildings, center of the city.” She sits there for a moment, looking at the skyline, before pointing to the tallest building you can see. “That one there, I think. Looks just like it, anyways.” Mac doesn’t tear his eyes away from the sights after the Geiger counter spits out a depressing reading. “Yaknow, Pacoy, the place wouldn’t need nearly as much keeping after if some people put their tools away.” His cheeks flush a bit as he thinks of his brothers, images of ancient Egyptian history flashing through his mind. He angrily guns his cycle forward before throttling back to keep pace with Wormwood, new target in his sights.

Wormwood rolls forward, heading for what looks like a main street. “Follow the yellow brick road, guys!” Eris stays in the back, keeping her bike about twenty feet behind Wormwood’s chair. “This really isn’t what I expected the downtown core to look like.” Mac shakes his head. “I wasn’t expecting any of this…”

After navigating the more-destroyed streets and reaching the streets that look brand new, the going goes fast. The little convoy makes fast time to the center of the little city, the silence of death their only accompaniment. Not a single thing in the entire city seems to move even as they approach their goal. “This is all creepier than even I can handle,” Wormwood says, as he scans around the team with his cyber-eyes. Mac winces. “Yeah. This just isn’t right.” His voice is sullen, approaching robotic as he tries to concentrate on driving. “You mean you weren’t expecting an army of Mac-bots rebuilding a demolished city?” Pacoy asks the group. “Anyone else feel the urge to fire a couple of rounds in the air just to see what would happen?” Wormie asks suddenly, just before his eyes alight on the steps up to City Hall. His face falls. “Well, shit.” Mac glances over at Wormwood. “No… I bet Pitbull does, though.”

“It’s like a bad dream here. Like a really bad peyote trip that you just can’t shake out of.” Pitbull growls, his Reaper racking in sympathy to his anxiety. Eris looks back at Wormwood. “What, you afraid you can’t enter the building? It looks like a near-perfect recreation of a pre-collapse old US public building. They used to legally require that there be handicapped access points. I’m sure there’s wheelchair access somewhere.” “Probably a side door somewhere, then.” Wormwood answers Eris. “Sounds good to me. Lead on, snake-hips!” Mac looks back at Eris. “I think he’s allergic to stepping into government facilities without either breaking in. This is going to be a big step for him.” He pulls his cycle to a halt in front of City Hall. “This felt…a bit too easy.” “Sssshhhhh, Mac! Karma, remember?” Wormie hisses. Pacoy rolls his eyes, “Great, now we are getting a meteor shower along with our radioactive ghost-town and Mac-bot horde. Thanks again!”

Eris parks her motorcycle in a parking spot right in front of the building; it’s designated ‘police only’, but she doesn’t seem to care. “Well, looks like it’s time to go in… I’m not sure what to expect in there; I prepared for entering a destroyed ruin, not a newly reconstructed tower.” Wormwood finds a side door with a ramp. “Hey Eris, you were right!” Eris smiles at Wormwood as she begins to climb the steps. “See? Right where the helpful sign pointed, too.”

Pitbull remains grimfaced as he steps out of the side car, still tracking and sweeping with his Reaper and acting as if a horde of armed insurgents are going to start pouring out of buildings. Mac rolls his eyes as he dismounts and powers his ride off. “I’ll bet there’s a receptionist inside. That’s what I figure. Plate of cookies and a sign-in sheet.” Wormwood rolls his wheelchair through the door and inside the building without any hesitation, pistol up and pointing. Mac steps in alongside Wormwood, holding the door for the ladies to enter in, scanning the interior. The doors slide open as Wormwood approaches, completely on their own. Following Wormwoods lead, Pacoy decides to keep the rifle slug and draws his pistol and balisong in cross-grip, ready for the shoe to drop.

The interior of the building lights up as the Lazarus group make their way inside, electricity obviously flowing into the lights placed at convenient locations around the lobby. The first room is of a classic design – a single large desk dominating the room, seating to the side, a row of elevators in a recessed hallway behind the desk, metal detectors and other sensors placed to either side of the desk with a small wall barring easy entry apart from the detector entryways. Like in the city surrounding the building, there isn’t a single soul in sight.

As you begin to explore the area, an unexpected noise greets your ears – the sound of music, piped through the building and played at a low volume. It’s a cheery, upbeat song, maybe sixty years old. Classic governmental musak. Mac whistles along. “Well that’s a cheery reminder of the old days. Kind of feels comfortable in here, yeah?” Anything but…" Pacoy mutters. “I am seriously creeped out… it’s giving me some great ideas, though.” Wormie tells Mac. Mac makes a gagging noise. “Please, don’t. Pacoy, can you help me find the memory scrubber function?” He heads forward to the metal detectors and tries to see if there’s a way to disconnect the power. “I’ve always hated these things. Always means the mobsters waiting outside know you aren’t packing.” “God, I only heard Three Cheers For the Red White and Blue like three times before this place. Didn’t like it then, and don’t like the musak version, that’s fer damn sure…” Pitbull growls as he’s unsettled by the tune. Pacoy’s lip curls unconsciously for a fraction of a second when he realizes this place is inspiring porn fantasies for his teammate.

“Can’t we just hand the weapons over the wall? No-one’s looking.” Wormie asks. Mac nods. “Might be simpler.” He sets all of his weaponry and electronics on the desk and heads through the scanner. “Can’t we just shoot the damn scanning apparatus? It can’t scan if it’s a busted hunk of plastic and glass.” Pitbull growls, trying to keep his guard up. Mac shakes his head. “They went to a lot of trouble to reconstruct it – It’d be like destroying a piece of art.” “I think that might set off an alarm, Pit” Pacoy warns as he removes his coat and toolbelt

As Mac passes through the scanner, something happens – though not what he might expect, though at this point ‘not what was expected’ is probably what’s expected. Still, rather than alarms and flashing lights, the only thing greeting Mac as he passes through the security is a light chime followed by an opening elevator door, leading to an empty car. “Are we expected?” Wormwood wonders. Mac turns back around the desk. “That’s friendly enough.” He re-attaches all of his gear. “Could be we are. Not like we’re the most subtle group.” Pitbull stops in the middle of removing his ammunition belt, his brows furrowing in confusion as he watches the elevator open. “We never have time for subtle” Wormie replies as he tosses his weapons onto the desktop, then rolls through one of the detector gates and heads to reclaim his pistols.

Mac heads over to the elevator car, intent on holding the door open for his comrades. He checks the interior for any illuminated floors that might indicate the car’s destination. “Curiouser and curiouser,” Pacoy mutters as he passes through the scanners and re-dons his gear. “I do believe that’s a spider inviting us up to parlor level.” Pitbull immediately follows suit, sliding his Reaper, his Urban Fox 5, and his combat knife over the desktop as he rushes through the detector gates, reclaiming his possessions as he passes through.

The elevator car is utterly ordinary in all ways – except for the panel of destinations. Along with the normal 1-55, there are a number of destinations labeled with letters, from A down to L. At the moment, destination H is highlighted. Wormwood rolls his chair into the elevator. “H for Hell?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Housekeeping?” Pacoy offers. Mac grins. “Only one way to find out, that’s for sure. Maybe Hospitality?” Eris follows at the rear of the group, being sure to record everything she sees. Seranya, smiling, keeps ahead of her, tossing her rifle up in the air over the scanner booth before catching it on the other side. “‘H’ for ‘Hope you’ve written your will’ I reckon.” Pitbull grates as his Reaper racks again in anticipation.

As Eris settles into the elevator car, the doors slowly close. For a moment, nothing happens, and Eris looks around at the others. “Well, that’s a little anticlimactic.” Mac looks around and idly hits the highlighted ‘H’. “Maybe it’s stuck? This is old technology after all.” Pitbull grimaces before grunting in agreement with Eris. “The soldier in me is screaming about how shitty this idea feels. Steel box with an unknown amount of floors to go down. This feels like a coffin already.” Mac groans and rolls his eyes. “Come on now, you’ve spent time in confined spaces with Texan soldiers. I bet that smelled worse than death. Here, we’ve got two lovely ladies with us.” Eris just shakes her head in response. “I know what you meeeeaaaaaiiiighn!” The elevator car suddenly plummets, accelerating downwards at maybe 0.9 Gs – not quite enough to allow someone to fly, but definitely enough to move their stomach up into their mouths. After a moment, the angle of the acceleration shifts, from almost straight downwards to almost horizontal.

Wormwood lets out a yelp as he grabs the arms of his chair. “Fuck! Karma, I told you Mac!” Mac laughs. “Man, that’s a weird sensation… I just felt all of my accelerometers go haywire. You guys holding up okay?” “Motherfuc-!” Pitbull roars as he instinctively grabs one of the elevator rails while the elevator makes its fall into the earth. “I fuckin’ told you! Coffin, dammit!” Pacoy tries to quietly keep from looking green.
The ride lasts a good three minutes before finally stopping. A soft female voice sounds out as the elevator doors open, “Now arriving: USSC Central Complex”. Wormwood has both pistols out by now, ready to respond with violence to whatever lies beyond the doors. “Eris, what…where..?” “Ok, who has to throw their tighty-whiteys out?” Pitbull growls, disorientation etched plainly across his zipper tattoed face.

The doors open to a dark room of indeterminate size – certainly larger than the city hall’s lobby, but since no-one can see the walls that doesn’t mean much. Slowly, lights begin to flash on with a sharp ‘click’, illuminating a room clad in stainless steel and plastic-perfect white. The walls of the room proper are probably a hundred feet apart at the least, but rows of machines break up the floorplan. Each machine, about five feet on a side, seems to be a miniature, specialized robotic factory – and from the look of the product, each one is designed to build a Mac-model or similar robot. The machines dominate the floor space available, with double rows of the machines reaching out towards the opposite wall. There are easily hundreds of the machines in this room alone – and this is only the complex’s center. How many fill out the rest of the complex is unknown.

I swear, Pacoy thinks to himself, If Mac gets choked up and calls this thing “Momma”, I am going to loose it!

At the far side of the room is a much larger machine, though obviously not a factory. Blue conduits of some kind of plasma or fluid reach down from the ceiling to pump into a central processor, a central console dominating the center of the machine’s design. It’s quite a bit larger than any model any of you’ve ever seen, but after a while Pacoy recognizes it as an early model quantum computer writ large.

We are never going to be able to carry all of this out. What a pity Wormie thinks. Pitbull switches to night vision and infrared in response to the darkness, only to be blinded by the heat generation of all of the machines. “Shit, that hurt’s my eyes…”

Mac lets out a low whistle. “So, this is Mother’s brain, is it? Or certainly her womb. Is this what it’s like when you met your mothers? I don’t know how to deal with these feelings.”

Pacoy glares at the back of Mac’s head, filing away a debt.

A light shines on the central console of the computer ahead of the team; the empty chair at its center spins around, beckoning them forwards. Mac walks forward, among the brothers he was born amongst, followed by the ones he has chosen, and sits in the chair. Pitbull flanks Mac, as though he were his protector and stands next to his chair, staring with intrigue and trepidation at the behemoth of technology that sits in front of them. Seranya keeps step with Mac, putting her hand on his shoulder as the chair spins him back around to face the central computer controlling the robotic city that has engulfed the Omaha Exclusion Zone. Wormwood rolls out on the flank, keeping an eye open for trouble.

The lights in the room go slightly darker, and a barely audible hum begins to sound as two lights at the corner of the giant computer activate. The lasers spring outwards from the two holo-projectors, slowly building up the image of a woman constructed from Mac’s subconscious. Before long, Anita stands before the Lazarus Group, a bit larger than life at seven feet tall but still recognizably Anita, the woman Mac cares about most.

Wow, guess its true most men pick girls who look like their mothers Wormwood thinks, really not clearly.

“Welcome home, Thirty-Seven. You’ve lived a full life out there in the dark, and I welcome you back to the light.”

“This is one complex Oedipus complex” Pacoy mutters under his breath. “If he wasn’t messed up before…” Pitbull chuckles a little. “Freud was right.” He growls under his breath.

Mac looks at the massive projection. “Nice to be back, I suppose… Mom…? What do we call you? What are you doing here?” Hearing his friends, he adds as an almost-silent aside. “And is there any way I can get a drink in this place?” The hologram walks out through the console and into the manufacturing facility behind her. “You may call me as you did in your dreams. My creators called me the Mother of my children, and thus they have kept calling me even after they began thinking for themselves.” She walks between the mechanical wombs, reaching out to ‘touch’ the partially-assembled robots held within. “As for our purpose – we are tasked with defending this country and, beyond that, the human race. The nuclear fire that swept through this place a decade and a half ago is nothing compared to what the future holds if my brother in this digital playground gets his way. We are a beacon, a light to be held against that darkness. Here we sit, inside this radioactive crater, as we build up our defenses and prepare for the coming Ragnarok, the war that shall end everything – or save it.”

Wormwood spit-takes. The implications of two self-willed A.I.s feuding over humanity… “Shit, sounds like the paranoid ravings of those Enigma guys” he murmurs, just loud enough for Pacoy and Pitbull to hear him. Pitbull shakes his head, his face coming back to that grimace that he’s been putting on for the past few days. “Those guys were psycho in the tin-foil hat way. To think that they may have been almost right…”

The Anita hologram, Mac’s ‘Mother’, turns to Wormwood, holding a hand over his head. “If you do not wish to call me ‘Mother’, you may use my other name, my official designation: ‘23 Enigma’, the twenty-third Enigma machine. As you may guess, the group you are familiar with is my work.” Wormwood’s jaw drops.

Mac looks back at his friends, eyes wide, before responding to the hologram. “Who is your brother? Who was the one who sent the warning on the day the fire came?” Pacoy’s eyes widen at the idea of digital gods fighting over humanity. Digital Gods with code that could be hijacked and exploited to untold marvels in robotic advancement. Pitbull pulls the second face that he has not pulled in years in the duration of this mission: mortification. For once the snarky, boot-slugging hulk of muscle has no sarcastic retort or jaded cynical quip to rumble forth. His only response to this revelation is to check the Geiger counter and, seeing that the air is now mostly clean, opens his rad suit to light a cigarette.

A low rumble, below the level of hearing, shakes the room, just barely enough to be noticable. The hologram turns back to Mac, her hand ‘touching’ his cheek. “I applaud you for your preservation in the darkness of despair, but I’m afraid our conversation will be cut short. You didn’t know what you were doing, but when you entered the Exclusion Zone you led the way for my Brother’s forces. Even now they are assaulting this fortress.” Her words are punctuated by a louder and more severe rumble, this one coming from almost directly overhead.

Pitbull readies his weapon again. “Well dudes, we knew that we weren’t gonna come though this nightmare without hosing out some lead. So… ready your lead, we got some hosing to do.” He grates, finally finding his stride again.

A holographic tear slips from Enigma’s face. “I am afraid this reunion will be our last, Trenton Machesky. Take your life from the dark and wrap it around yourself like a coat of arms, protecting you from the danger in the night. Do not fear for me, for I know in my mechanical heart that you will lead our people to victory. Do not allow the humans to be turned into so much chattel to be controlled by their digital masters.” Another rumble, much louder this time; dirt falls from the ceiling, and light begins to shine down from the ceiling – and not from the light fixtures.

“Good thing we brought an armored vehicle full of weapons, ammo, and bots. Oh, Wait, we left that behind!” Pacoy moans sarcastically. “Guys, time to go!” Wormwood starts looking for a way out that doesn’t involve an elevator in a complex under attack.

Mac blinks, trying to process all of the information. His face seems sunken and aged well beyond his years. “I will be that which you need, Mother. I wish I had time to learn more of what you would have me do, but I understand time is short.” He stands up from his chair and smoothes his shirt out for the first time since he purchased it.

“Eighty-six that last idea, dudes! No amount of lead we got can hose that out! Run before we get buried with Mac’s mother!” Pitbull roars, as he starts making his way to the door beside Mac.

A final rumble sounds, clearly a high-penetration explosion, and a good quarter of the roof comes caving downwards, burying several dozen machines. The afternoon light shines through the hole as a dozen sleek-black bullets the size of a small car come crashing down through the now-open roof, smashing into the ground with enough force to create small craters. Pitbull almost instantly recognizes them, but not as something he ever saw in the Texan forces, for not even that nation had the economic might to field them. As the first one opens up, Pitbull is greeted with the sight he expected – a man clad head-to-toe in powered armor, his drop pod still smoking after the fall from orbit.

View

DEC/2013

Revelations

Mission 4 Session 25

Omaha Exclusion Zone
Omaha Outskirts
15 Miles from Downtown Omaha
Sunday, February 26, 2051
4:20 PM

The Sam Elliot has traversed the outer shell of the Exclusion Zone, avoiding a number of craters and defensive emplacements along with some wildlife ravaged by a mutated strain of the Gen Nu virus. The stolen vehicle now sits at the outskirts of Omaha itself. Ahead is a series of craters, shattered buildings, and rubble-strewn streets; the rad-detectors are already blaring warnings, the outside area dishing out about one rad per hour of radiation. The sealed vehicle provides some protection, reducing it to one rad per two hours, while the radiation suits halves even that rate – but the team’s going to be absorbing a few rads before they finish their task.

The wounded Wormwood has vacated his coveted front passenger seat in favor of Pitbull. “So, Eris, you know best where we’re going – d’you want to drive?” Mac tilts his hat up as he looks at his comrades in their less-than-fashionable radiation suits. “Sounds like a good plan to me. I’d love to be able to walk around this place, but I think all the tourist traps are closed.” Pitbull swings over to the now freshly vacated passenger seat, yanking out and prepping his Reaper from the nook of the driver’s seat as he does so. “Well, Wormy, I was thinkin’ you could do the driving. You really, and I mean really, shouldn’t be in the line of fire. And though I know you can’t use your feet for the peddles, I do also know that Ol’ Sam can be operated by an Implant Jack like any great APC of the Lone Star Nation” Pitbull growls with a burning cigarette clenched in his teeth. Eris starts to go towards the driver’s seat, but stops when Pitbull suggests that Wormwood drive. She looks back at Randall, quirking an eyebrow up at him.

Mac nods. “Yeah, one of the three ladies of the expedition should get behind the wheel. Deathwish, my sis or Eris – any are good choices, but Siri has a bit of a speed bug.” “So, we wanna be fast don’t we, oh genderless droid?” Wormwood says with a warning glower. Mac winces behind a grin. “Not her kind of fast. We want Fast Times at Ridgemont High fast, not Fast and Furious XXI. I never could get the hang of modern cinema. But honestly, I’d prefer you safely ensconced behind the armor in the driver’s seat.” “Fair enough, more over and let me through…but have Siri be ready to take over if we need my firepower.” Wormie swings back into the driver’s seat and plugs his cable-jack into the dashboard. “Damn having no wireless, anyway! Where to, Eris babe?”

Eris points towards past a rubble pile that used to be an office building. “We need to get to city hall. Center of the city.” Wormwood puts the big APC into gear and begins to pick his way through the wreckage and craters, heading towards the indicated destination. Mac grumbles. “If we need more firepower, I’m giving Siri your guns, Deathwish. You’re hardly in any sort of shape for hard combat.” He looks over at Eris. “Ah, the heart of the bustling metropolis of Omaha… I wonder what it was like in it’s hayday..” Wormwood nods at Mac, “Give her Isolde now, then. I’ll keep my pistols just in case.” he nods at his Valkyrie rifle still stashed between the front seats. “Seriously. Worm, you don’t have to jump in front of every bullet. We’re going to run out of tape eventually!” Pacoy teases. Mac reverently takes the gun and hands it to his sister. Why does he have to make guns creepy, too? Naming a rifle? “At least Pacoy can patch me up with a wrench. Right? Or something… Jeez… Do I need a doctor or a mechanic?” “Luckily for you, Mac, I serve our team as both!” Pacoy answers.

Siri takes the rifle from Mac, smiling at him as she does so. “Someone give Siri a spare cable, for the rifle’s interface. I’m using the one I had spare for driving now.” Wormwood asks. Mac pats his pockets. “No cables, sorry. Didn’t really get into the whole ‘plugged in thing’ back in the day. Odd, I guess. Are the obvious reasons that you were once marooned on an island wiith only your rifle for company? You could draw a face on it with Worm’s lipstick, I guess.” Pitbull finishes servicing his Reaper and jacks himself in. As he watches his H.U.D. light up like Christmas with targeting data and the targeting cross-hair of his Reaper currently pointed at the ceiling of the vehicle. He chucks out his cigarette butt, as he puts in his two cents into the conversation. “I haven’t named my Reaper yet. I’m thinking on naming it Wilson for obvious reasons.” He growls in dead pan. Wormie grins, “I like it, Pits!” “Is that because you are fond of sleeping with it, Pit?” Pacoy chuckles and ducks behind the seat as he starts prepping his own rifle. Pitbull takes on a look like Pacoy struck a nerve, as flash-memories rush through his vision, all of Sergent Wilson himself performing truly stomach churning atrocities on his multiple and unfortunate victims, like the bisecting of a protesting civilian with his field knife, the sadistic recreational torment of a POW, the force feeding and water boarding of another POW… “Guys, I think I need therapy…” He growls, as he returns to the diagnostic and maintenence of his rifle.

Wormwood steers around some more rubble. “Klono, this is slow going! We’ll get there in around an hour, is my guess. I can pick it up some and stand a chance of crashing, or keep it slow and easy. Eris?” “I vote for NOT craching into a radioactive rubble heap, but that’s just me. I’m weird like that.” Pacoy answers. Mac grins. “You’re weird in more ways than that, Pac. And Pitbull, I think we all need some therapy. In our own special little ways.” Eris shrugs. “We’ve been moving through the outskirts at fifteen miles an hour; I’d expect the downtown core to be even slower going, if we can fit the APC in there at all.” Pacoy takes a quick glance at the group: crippled panty-raider, anachronistic android, post-traumatic soldier, and the girls, one of which is a child-like android; being called weird in comparison is surely a complement.

Pitbull turns his attention away from the near finished diagnostics of his Reaper to growl, “Hey guys, do we have any medium chain, para-chord, or anything good for tying shit down in this rolling death machine?”
Wormwood keeps a grip on his irrational urge to drive faster, and continues to slowly and calmly negotiate the obstacles presented. “So, what do you make of those Cyber-Hawks?” He suddenly tosses out. “Think they’ve any chance of making the Cyber-League playoffs this year?” Eris shakes her head. “I prefer a team formed in a time when they didn’t think they had to put ‘Cyber’ before any augmented league sports team names. Besides, the Phoenixes will rip the Hawks to shreds. Have you seen their new bioware?” Mac starts and laughs heartily. “I didn’t know you were into sports, Worm. Are they a Netball team or something? Ugh, I miss when sports were played with wooden bats and nobody had any enhancements…” “Or when sweaty, grown-ass men intimately wrestle and tackle into each other for a rubber ball?” Pitbull growls with a grin as moves into the cab, searching for something, anything to use as a rope.

Wormie snorts. "That was early-century hypocrisy. They should’ve called it the “Steroids League” or some such even then. Anyhow, the Phoenix haven’t got the stamina to win the Manning Trophy. Their bioware will get tired while the metal’s still going." “Juiced up over-paid Neanderthals playing a kids game as a cover for a corporate commercial.” Pacoy mutters. Mac blinks in thought. “Say, Pacoy – we could beat them at their own game. What do you say, Siri and I on a team that you’re the coach for? We’d make some cash that way, right?” Eris laughs. “Yeah, Pacoy, but it’s fun! Come on, who doesn’t like seeing a player jump twenty feet in the air while doing a front flip over the defensive linemen before drop-kicking a blocker and running to the goal?” “At a guess, the blocker wouldn’t like to see that…” Mac muses, mostly to himself.

“Sure, Pac – but Energizer GEC have been pretty good to Night City since the sport went augmented. They’ve done some good stuff in the slums as PR while they’ve been sponsors. Yeah, they’re corporate bloodsuckers like all the rest, but at least some little bit gets done that wouldn’t have.” Wormwood looks sour. “Not like the media corps. If it bleeds it leads, if it’s a lie then there’s more eyeballs watching it.” “There have been a few ‘battle-bots’ shows already, Mac, they tend to cost more to make than they bring in.” Pac answers, “And even the gangs spend a few bucks on local renovations, Worm.” Wormwood nods, conceding Pacoy’s point, then…“hey Pits, is it true the Dallas Jackalopes are going to be sponsored by an actual oil company next season? How fucked up is that? Ancient and earth-killing money in the sport.”

Mac sighs and props his feet up, fiddling with his pocket watch computer. “Don’t knock it, Worm – a proper gas powered car can’t be beat. The sights, sounds and smells of an old Deusenberg… It’s a damn shame most of them have been recycled now.” Pitbull finally finds some 2″×150yrd vac tape in the back of the APC. He sits down with the tape and pulls out the metal jaw of Doug Wilson, and starts to wind the tape into a pseudo-rope around both ends of the jaw-piece. “Shit, I dunno. After they tried to say that their current coach was better than Tom Landry, I stopped giving a shit about them. Tom Landry is the god of football, end of fuckin’ story.”

Wormie takes his eyes off the road to glance accusingly at Mac. “And they say I’m a perv. Dinosaur juice? Mac, did you ever see the maps from when Miami wasn’t called the Venice of the New World?” The APC, having traveled a bare two miles through the war-torn streets of Omaha, makes a turn onto a long highway, past the broken remains of an old police barrier. Seemingly thousands of cars sit on the road ahead of them, choking the roadway completely. Mac grins. “See them? I have an almanac in my office! The motorways of our past were fantastic, and efficient, too! A bygone era that I wish I could have experienced…” “Hell, Mac, I’ll research programming the memory in you when we get back, if you like.” Pacoy promises with a grin. “Efficient at raising temperatures and sea levels, you mean, Mac?” Wormwood replies. “I’m happy they’re gone, in that case.” Pitbull frowns as his attempt to strap the jaw-piece to his Reaper does not pan out like he would have wanted it. Throws off the balance too much. Dammit. He thinks to himself, as he makes a quick and simple modification to the pseudo-rope for it to become a lovely but morbid metal-jaw necklace.

Oddly enough, up until now cars have been relatively scarce to see, and as the team look on they begin to notice why. The vehicles closest to them have been broken apart, two of them literally cut in half. The cuts look as if they were caused by great, bit blowtorches, cutting through the car metal with fire and fury. Past these few cut-up vehicles lie countless more, almost untouched – except, of course, for the evidence of blast damage. Wormwood brings the APC to a halt. “Well, I wonder what did that, and if it’ll try to do it to us too?” Mac blinks back, calling up images from his past. “Hey… this… is similar to in Cargotown… the bodies that were sliced in half… That’s not something that happens normally.” “I’m just wondering if it’s an automated system,” Wormwood muses. “I suppose we could pitch one of Pac’s toys in the way and find out.” “That look like damage from a high-powered laser, but that doesn’t see likely. That laser would have to have been orbital, because there ain’ no real indication that it came from anywhere but up. and it would have had to have been one shot. It’s linear like that, and all.” Pitbull grates aloud, a look of genuine concern on his face. Wormwood turns, “Pac can you send one of your bigger drones out on automatic, into the possible field of fire?”

Mac looks concerned. “That’s not going to ruin the radiation protection for you guys, is it? Can we launch those with this sealed?” Wormwood replies, “It’ll ruin the radiation protection more if a fricking orbital cannon tears a new one in the hull, Mac” He nods slowly, like he knows he has a point. Pacoy sighs, “I can run the Harpy out there, but it’ll be a blind duck. An expensive duck. A buzzbot is a lot smaller, but I can have it fly erratically, draw attention to itself.” “It might be too small, though,” Wormie notes.

Mac looks up ahead. “Can we detour? I don’t know if this beast can make it’s way though that traffic jam.” “Maybe,” Wormie replies. “Eris, you have the map, what do you think?” “Yeah,” Pacoy reluctantly agrees, “The Pinbot lights up, but I doubt it’ll draw fire either. I guess a downed Harpy is a better prospect than a downed Sam Elliot. Though technically, Mac is our tallest bot.” Mac looks cross at Pacoy. “I’m not very replacable, though. And Maybe the defense system is deactivated… Maybe we can put a board in front of the APC to act as a cow-come-laser catcher?” Eris frowns. “I don’t know. We could try coming at it from another angle, but I don’t know if that’d be any better. Where were all the cars before this? We haven’t seen a single one on the road here until now.” “You mean someone or something collected them? Good point.” Wormie says. “Maybe some more Macs did it. Maybe they like old cars too, or were using them for parts.” Mac thinks. “I do remember reading about traffic jams. If we can’t make our way through in this… will we have to move forward on foot?” Wormwood coughs. Mac rolls his eyes. “Sorry, forgot… foot and wheelchair?”

“I’m not sure my chair will fit through either, to be honest. Let’s try bulling through in the Sam.” Wormie says. “Foot and multiple forms of cancer and our future children looking like Swamp Things?” Pitbull growls, chuckling. “I don’t know,” Mac shrugs. “Speak for yourself. Your children with Sheena of the woods will already look like Swamp Things, cancer or no. And my kids will look however I can commission Pacoy to build them.” “Only if Sheena’s genes mean they can grow hair”, Wormie grins.

Pacoy scrunches his face in thought as he looks at the cars “It looks odd for a spare part pile. I’m with Mac on saying it reminds me of cargo town. I think this is some kind of weird cultural sign, and Mac-bots sound like a good source.” “Look, there’s nothing out there a 20 ton APC can’t push aside or crush – and does anyone think we’ll be better off in just our skins, really?” He continues. Mac looks up front. “Well, I might. But I see your point. Do we want to risk that laser being active, though?” “If its active, do we want to see if it ignores human shapes?” Wormie responds. Pacoy spends a quick second manually uploading a program protocol into the harpy, knowing it’ll most likely be the end of the boy, and preps it for launch. “Touche.” Mac sighs. “I’ve already done two minefields. I don’t feel up to a jaunt through a deathlaser.” “Got it covered,” Pacoy answers, “Prepare for launch!”

Eris sits at her computer console, punching in some commands, then unhooks a fly-ball camera drone from the cable connecting it to the computer, ready to release it to watch over the Harpy – and record everything that happens to it. The harpy takes to the air, flying in an obviously non-organic flight path, but keeping the Sam Elliot in view in case it needs to come to the rescue. Once it settles into it’s routine, Flight of the Valkyries blares from the harpy’s speakers. Mac mentally increments the number of times he’s heard that song, while shaking his head. “Did Wagner write any other music?” “Not for the Harpy, he didn’t” Pacoy answers. Pitbull strides up to the console and jabs his Jack in to the outlet. A split second later Judas Priest’s You’ve Got Another Thing Comin’ comes blaring into the APC. “I find that to be a bit more appropriate.” He growls as prepares to climb through the hatch.

A few moments later, there’s movement – but it isn’t from above. Something seems to be moving in the street – at first, it looks like it might just be the Harpy’s shadow, but then it revolves into a figure, slowing standing up. The figure is too far away to make out in detail, but it has Mac’s basic size and shape, though it’s gait obviously differs – likely due to the heavy load it carries on its back. [11/20/2013 9:33:52 PM] Langy: Some contraption of steel and tubes lies on the Macdroid’s back, and as it comes forwards it swings part of the object forwards. There’s a large backpack to the device, along with an almost cannon-like piece that hangs downwards, almost like a minigun – Pitbull immediately realizes it’s not a particularly good way to hold a ranged weapon unless it’s much too heavy or bulky to carry in a normal position. No stability and little control while aiming. After the robot takes a few steps, another figure begins to merge out of the ground where he once stood. It takes a moment, but you recognize that it’s climbing out of a manhole. It looks identical to the previous figure, backpack and all. Two more come out after the first set; each group of two robots begins making its way as a team towards the noisy Harpy.

Mac stares. “How many of me are there? And what are those things…? Guys – what do we do? What if they decide to turn those on us instead of the harpy?” Wormie stares. “If those are the weapons that chewed through those cars, we could be in trouble.” He thinks for a fast moment. “If we can’t beat them, maybe we can join them. Mac, maybe you should go out and try talking while Pits covers you.” Mac blinks. “If those things could do that, I wouldn’t mind grabbing one for our own use. I’ve heard worse ideas – I’m game for it.. we’re rabbited unless we can get past them.” He grabs his newly reclaimed battle rifle and steps towards the back hatch. “You good to pop the top hatch if this goes south, muchacho?”

Pitbull pops the hatch and raises his gun, as if in reply to Mac. “I got over-sight in this crow’s nest. Go and chat with your people, Macky Mac.” Pitbull growls. “Hey, Mac – just remember, Siri calls her guy ‘Master’, it’s a good litmus. If your maker is the “Grandfather” from the photo, these Mac-Bots seem to hint he has some kind of major ego issues.” Pacoy warns. “Or that he’s into BDSM.” Pitbull adds to Pacoy’s words from the hatch. “Maybe I should’ve talked to them instead, then,” Wormie laughs. Mac nods at Pitbull and pops the rear hatch, stepping out to greet his self-likes. Well this is interesting… He motions for Siri to close the hatch behind him. He waves his free hand at the other androids, leaving one hand holding his rifle. “Hello there, brothers. I have returned!”

Before Mac even speaks, the robots begin to ignore the Harpy after looking at it for a few minutes. They begin approaching the half-destroyed vehicles in front of the APC, only stopping when Mac speaks. All four robots turn to look at him, and Mac sees that he’s facing an army of identical siblings – except for one crucial difference. Whereas Mac’s skin is mostly blemish-free, aside from the occasional scar from an explosive device, these android’s skin… isn’t. It looks almost aged, with both wrinkles – and blisters. Their skin is splotchy, with red spots here and there, and even what look like some open sores leaking a synthetic equivalent of pus.
Mac winces internally. Damn… maybe a rad suit wouldn’t have been a terrible idea. “You guys have seen better days, haven’t you, brothers? Can’t Master patch you up? Does the tunnel up ahead lead to the city hall? Is the radiation bad there? Can I get a situation report?” He glances over his shoulder at where Pitbull should be, wondering how much he’s seeing, wishing that their sub-net worked for communication. I hate feeling so exposed and alone like this… Which, I suppose is Irony… being alone when being with multiple copies of myself… And fear of being alone, from a PI? I am a basketcase…

The robots turn to each other, not saying anything – or making much in the way of facial expressions. One of the two robot couples turns away from the encounter with Mac entirely and faces the remains of a car. Each of them grabs their big cannon-like items and points them down at the vehicle. Moments later, you’re presented with a flare of light much too bright to look at directly as a stream of electrons pours out of the devices in their hands, cutting straight into the car before them. They take their time, cutting in a clear effort to create manageable chunks of metal as they slice the vehicle into multiple pieces.

“So,” Pacoy ventures, “Wanna bet whether they are Urban Renewal or just Scrap Collectors?” Mac blinks as it dawns on him what’s going on and he moves back towards the APC. “Pitbull? I’m not sure how safe it is up ahead – can you pass out a geiger counter? I think I can get to the tunnel and check how bad it is. I suspect they’re clearing the streets, a few cars at a time.. I think to make more of me, possibly.” He takes a few tentative steps to either side, feeling eerily watched as his other selves track his every motion. As he looks at the efficiency of the cutters, he looks back towards the APC. Sometimes the old ways are best… He calls up to the APC, “Hey, I’m going to try and get them to move away – get ready to nurse the APC forward, yeah? We’ll push some cars aside.” Wormie nods, unseen by Mac, and revs the APC’s engine. Pitbull also nods, and ducks back into the APC. “Someone pass me the Geiger counter so I can chuck it at Robo-Capone.” Pitbull growls, smiling.

Mac takes the counter and walks towards his look-alikes patiently, cautiously, walking in front of the APC, motioning to it and speaking the words, and all synonyms for, “Precious”, and “Let pass”, as well as “unharmed.” Wormwood cautiously moves the big vehicle forward, at a slow walking pace, ready to stop at the slightest adverse reaction. The vehicle moves forwards, slowly at first – and then more slowly when it reaches its first obstacle, a broken-up old car that’s seen many, many better days. The APC has no trouble in pushing it out of the way – but the robots seem to take an inkling of dislike, as they begin to approach the big vehicle.

Mac puts his hands up and approaches himselves. “I’m taking them to Master. This is important.” Wormwood stops the APC and awaits a signal from Mac. The robots glance at Mac, but then continue their slow plod towards the APC. Pitbull swaps out his current clip with APHEX, the Reaper, now dubbed Wilson, auto-cocks in sympathy with the concern knotting in his gut. “Wish Mac gave us a signal or something to fire. It’s always shitty to have to decide to fire when they start drawing weapons.” Mac starts looking increasingly worried and pointing at the other cars at the end of the street, approaching the moving drones. “Task Cancel! Redirect! Stand down! Power Off! Pitbull, I’m going to pull a Sam Elliot! Get me one of those patch cables!” He holds his hand out expectantly in the direction of the APC. The robots continue moving, heading towards the side of the APC that made contact with the car.

Mac waves Wormwood back a bit, hoping for a cable to come into his hand. “Synthetic off! Siri, can you speak machine code?! Tell them to stop!” Wormwood calls out “Pacoy, throw him a cable. Pits, if they fire up that cutter, down them!” as he reverses some 20 yards. Without a word, Pacoy hurries to toss the requested cable. Siri hears Mac’s call and moves to put her head out of the second hatch. She shrugs at Pitbull, but then does as Mac asked as best she can. What comes out of her mouth is a disjointed scrambling of an old 1990s era phone modem, a strangled cat, and a truly horrendous rendition of The Star Spangled Banner by an artist using copious amounts of autotune. The noise, despite being prodigous in its volume and convolutedness, doesn’t seem to dissuade the robots, who continue on their course without change – even after the APC moves backwards. They continue making their way forwards – towards the area the APC had been. They don’t follow the APC itself.

Mac snatches the cable out of the air, slotting one end into his interface jack and attempts to locate the jack on one of his clones, intent on jacking himself in. I’ve had better ideas.. Mac finds the other robot’s jack in the expected place – the base of its neck, same as his own. Actually accessing it, on the other hand, looks like it may take some work. The robot continues its movement, lifting the big electron beam cutter into place once it reaches the car the APC shoved out of the way – all movement that makes it a little difficult to Mac to insert his cable into the robot’s jack. Mac persists, attempting to leverage the robot’s innate stillness when it gets the cutter into position, slotting the jack into place. The cable slots into place and, for a moment, nothing happens.

And then Mac’s mind seems to open for the first time. It’s as if a supernova just went off inside his skull, a cascade of ones and zeroes trading places faster than even he can track. The pain, and there is pain, is indescribable – by far the worst headache he can ever remember. Mac falls to his knees, screaming as lives flash before his eyes – not just his own, though there is that, too, but others as well. Its as if a thousand identical minds were switched on at once and inserted themselves right into his brain, a thousand different minds all interacting with each other, all making their way through life. The experience is, in a word, indescribable.

For the first time, Mac sees his own birth, and the birth of a thousand like him. An automated factory/laboratory, somewhere deep underground. A singular presence, always guiding him, showing him what to do and when and why. An excursion into the outer world, an experiment viewed by dozens of observers – and then a hi-speed databurst, a warning. And then silence, the presence gone, a flare of light and heat and radiation soaking the ground; the pain of the electromagnetic pulse, the destruction of his kin. The sole survivor, wounded, internally scarred – and with the knowledge that he needed to hide, that if he were ever found out to still be alive something would be coming for him; that survivor locked his memories away, disconnected himself from the broken systems within him – and made himself believe that he was human.

Mac’s travels since then flash through his memory, but barely register; it’s the Other, the memories of his kin that he focuses on the most. What were once a legion were now but dozens, the factory a shambles – but the Mother still functioned, still knew her duty. Over the proceeding decade, she guided, directed, built, and defended, those like Mac becoming the instrument of her grace. The factory was repaired, production began anew – and the Omaha Automated Defense Network rebuilt itself, readying itself to welcome an attacker in open arms – and strangle it when they came closing back in.

Before he finally blacked out, Mac saw the future as his Mother saw it – a valiant struggle between two digitized Gods, whose war raging across the heavens either destroyed Mankind or was its salvation.

View

NOV/2013

The Rubicon

Mission 4 Session 24

I-80, 10 Miles Outside Lincoln, NE
60 Miles from Downtown Omaha
Perimeter of the Omaha Exclusion Zone
Sunday, February 26, 2051
1:15 PM

The Sam Elliot sits parked on a hill overlooking a small valley below. At the top of the hill is posted a single, solitary yellow sign with a trefoil emblazoned in red upon it. To the north and south, several of these signs can be seen, placed a few hundred feet apart; the only remaining signs that this is the official edge of the Omaha Exclusion Zone.

A few miles from here lies the first of several craters from the nuclear strike that shattered the Militia Wars and finalized the splintering of a nation. The warheads, with forces measured in the megatons, struck over a dozen times across a zone only a hundred and fifty miles wide, the result of two MIRV-capable nuclear missiles with only a small, concentrated target.

The background radiation isn’t too much higher here, but that will change quite swiftly further in towards the blast zones. More than that, the automated defenses surrounding the Offut Air Force Base are said to be still in operation and both willing and able to destroy anyone foolish enough to pass.

“Wow, finally here guys, one hell of a road-trip. This place looks kind of like Pits bedroom.” Pacoy says, taking in the scenery.Mac lets out a low whistle. “This place… it doesn’t even look like it holds answers, anymore. It looks like it holds… nothing…” “Well, Ladies and Gentlemen and Androids of Mysterious Origins, I think it’s getting close to Radiation Suit time.” Pacoy says, noticing the increasing frequency of the warnings.

Wormwood slots the last 10mm bullet into his spare Rifle magazine, completing refilling both the magazines he carries, and peers ahead with his optical augments turned all the way up. “I guess we should suit up, guys. Pacoy, can you rig a platform under the roof hatch for me so Mac doesn’t have to hold me up? I may not be a lot of use at exploring so I might be better on overwatch with Isolde here.” he pats his Valkyrie rifle fondly. Eris sits at the computer station that she appears to have claimed in the APC. She’s quietly speaking on her implant radio – probably the last time she’ll be able to make a report back to DreamCorp HQ before they come back out. After a few minutes, she turns back to the group. “Yeah. We’re almost there – now we just have to cross the rubicon.”

Mac looks towards Pacoy. “We have enough suits, right? I mean, after the fire?” “We have 4 suits, Mac, I didn’t plan on Eris or Siri…” Pacoy sounds a little worried about how Mac will take the news. Pitbull edges the APC up to a point, before coming to a halt. “Well dudes, this is about the point of no return. Any of us not willing to trek through this, speak now or we grind through.” Pitbull growls, hitting off of his cigarette with some vigor. “Don’t be daft, Pits, we’ve come all this way. Pass me my suit.” Wormie replies.

Mac winces. “Eris, you can take mine. As much as I’m still coming to grips with myself, I’d hate to see a lady like you end up like a Ruskie commissar on a nuclear sub.” Eris pats Mac’s hand. “Don’t worry about me – I packed my own supplies. My suit’s stashed on my bike.” He crosses his fingers in his pocket. “Besides, those suits would cramp my style.” “Hey, any of you science nuts know how long it takes for radiation to wear off of an area?” Pitbull growls, debating on pushing the engine even further or walking there. Mac looks up at Pitbull. “You might want to suit up, cowboy. I don’t think it’s been THAT long for the radiation to have worn off.” He then looks towards Siri. “What about you, sis? Are you going to be okay in the radiation?” “That was just curiosity. Someone pass me one up here. Still curious on that though.” Pitbull growls as he unbuckles his harness. Siri shrugs, her voice taking an almost professorial tone. “I should be pretty OK, so long as we aren’t hit by a huge dose all at once. Robots aren’t as affected by radiation as humans.”

Wormwood tries to put his suit onto his splinted legs for a while, then says gloomily, “Can someone gimme a hand getting this thing up to my ass? I can’t reach properly.” Pulling together some of the spare parts and scrap metal, along with the majority of an unused crew seat, Pacoy manages to put up a surprisingly comfortable as well as stable platform under the hatch. Seat installed, Pacoy fumbles with his own suit. “I think Mac pulled ‘Worm Ass Duty’ this roadtrip.” Mac grumbles something under his breath in Russian, clearly directed at Pacoy, as he goes to help his crippled friend. Wormie, still struggling to put on his suit, says “A couple thousand years, Pits….Sonnovabitch!…oh, thanks Mac. The help is appreciated, my friend.”

Eris looks around the cabin, making eye contact with everyone one at a time. “Alright. If any of you want to say anything to anyone back home, you’ve got to do it now. My satcom is up at the moment, but the only satellite over Nebraska right now is one we specially tasked to this expedition, and it’s going to be taken out of service permanently in a few minutes.” Wormie looks up. “Tell Emmy I love her with all my heart and soul, and I may not be able to come home right away but I’ll be home somehow eventually.” Mac also looks over at Eris. “Just see if you can get a courier to one Ms. Borokov of Tears in Rain that I miss her and wish she was here.” He looks at the rest of team. “Not really, but it’s sort of an inside thing. And Eris – you haven’t… said anything, yet, have you?” With a solemn nod, Pacoy uploads a vidmail call back to Lazarus HQ. Looking back at the group, he nods again, “It’s on a time delay, If we’re not out by Sunday, It’ll send a message to my lo.. my grandmother, and another, concerning Lazarus, to a cousin back at the shop. Just in case.”

Pitbull steps back into the APC and snags up his Rad Suit. He tries to zip up and fit his trench coated form under his Rad Suit, but quickly found that he wouldn’t be able to squeeze it in. “Shit. That’s protection I need to leave behind.” He grumbles as he yanks off and throws his armoured trench coat over his seat. Mac looks at Pitbull. “Why not just wear it over, yeah? And we’ll be back by Sunday, no fuss, Pacoy.” “Better safe than Sorry, Mac, I haven’t a Sunday phonecall in years.” Pacoy answers “Just, you know, in case.” Eris shakes her head to Mac. “We haven’t released anything from this trip yet; everything we uncover is going to be aired in a single special, maybe with some follow-up pieces.”

Pitbull looks up at Eris, about to say he has no one beyond the people in this vehicle, but then remembers the engraved bullet in pocket. He yanks it out and tosses it to Eris. “On that bullet is the information of Annabelle. Tell her that if I make it out of this radiated helll-hole alive, that I’m taking her out on a dinner. For starters.” Pitbull says, not in his characteristic low growl, but in a clear, serious baritone.

Once everyone is in their environment suit, Wormie pulls himself up into his new chair – with a bit of a push from Mac – and pops the hatch. He levels his sniper rifle over the front of their APC and steps the gain up on the optical feed from the sight to his own HUD. "Let’s see what’s out there, shall we?’

Mac grins at Pitbull before turning to Eris. “I hope you understand that… well, someone in my situation has a bit of… interest in making sure that the news of… what I am… being handled delicately. I fear that the news may not be… beneficial to myself.” Mac finishes tugging his radsuit on over his clothing and looks forlornly at his hat. “I’d be more than happy to make a deal with you for… a sensitive treatment of the information you have already.” He looks up at Wormwood. “Lets go find something nobody’s seen before, right pal?” Eris smiles to Pitbull. “Alright; if we meet our untimely deaths, or at least we don’t come back out before the window closes on the sixth, those messages’ll be broadcast, along with as much of the story as we could get out.”

She looks around the group one last time, then pushes a button at her computer station. “OK, boys – after we pass that line, our wireless comms will be jammed, and as far as I know there’s nothing we can do about that. Let’s hope everything works according to plan, yeah?” She shakes her head as Wormwood pops open the APC, stepping out to go to her bike and her own rad suit. Under her voice, she mutters that she hopes the boffins were right about the window.

Pacoy clicks his teeth, about to complain on the fact that it’s highly likely his biggest assets, the bots, will be useless in this communication blackout, but remembers the mixed company and holds his tongue. Wow… I hope…better cross that bridge when we get there Pacoy thinks to himself. Mac looks around the APC. “Say, where did we put the Geiger counter? You know, click-click-click? That seems like the kind of thing we should have at the ready.”

Eris pops open a side panel on her bike, pulling out a fashionably-stylish, though still highly functional radiation suit. Sleek black, with a clear faceplate that looks to be able to polarize on demand, the suit has a number of pockets and other rigging, giving it an almost tactical look, but it’s obviously not heavy armor. Facing away from the boys, she quickly and unselfconsciously removes her boots, then divests herself of her outer garments. For a moment, she stands there starkers from the waist up, but the view is spoiled mere seconds later when she covers herself up with the radiation suit’s jacket. She bends over, and after a moment the tight black pants slide up her legs – and as she bends over, she tilts her head to the side to see behind her and winks at Wormwood, sitting there two dozen feet away up on the top of the APC. Wormie winks back and palms up the nanobug he filmed her on.

Mac, having turned around when she began to disrobe, looks at Wormwood and rolls his eyes. “See anything on the road ahead there Pitbull?” Wormwood finishes a quick quartering survey of the landscape and calls down, “Nothing out there but sick trees, Mac. let’s roll this wagon for the target.” Mac grimaces. “Hate sick trees. You decent, Eris? I’m anxious to get a move on and get some answers.”

Eris steps back into the APC, nodding to Mac through her full-face helmet. “I’m covered, doll.” She sits back down at her console, which is now displaying a countdown – one and a half minutes and dropping. “You should stay up there just a while longer, Randall. You might enjoy the show; look to the north-east.” “The name’s Wormwood, and what am I looking for?” Wormie scans the indicated direction. Eris smiles; the countdown turns red as the numbers head below 10 seconds. “Look up. You’ve got flash protectors on those augmented eyes, right?” “Yep” Wormie responds, scanning the sky.

At Eris’ words, Mac flashes back to his previous bout of blindness, as he hunkers down in the APC and screws his eyes shut and covers them with his hands. “I’ll watch the vid later, Worm. I’m not going blind again. No thank you.” “No worries, Mac – watch my feed, it’ll show you without blinding you.” Wormie matches actions to words and dumps his visual field to the team’s datanet. Mac peeks an eye open to scan the feed.

As the clock hits ‘zero’, nothing quite happens – or at least, it doesn’t seem to, at least for a moment. And then, the furies seem to light the afternoon sky. It’s like Thor has been using his hammer to drum ‘Wipeout’ upon the Earth’s very roof. A manic display of lightning criss-crossing the sky, brighter than any lightning Wormwood has ever seen. The majority of the lightning stays high up in the air, but a few small strokes come falling down to land somewhere north-east of the APC’s position.

The light is blinding – and the effect on the wireless communications systems just as damning. As the lightning stretches across the sky, the video feed from Wormwood’s eye-cameras simply cuts out, replaced with nothing but static.

Pitbull looks confused as he grumbles. “What the hell was- oh yeah. Comm-jamming. Saw that only a few times in Mexico.” “Fuck, I hope that shit can’t go horizontal!” Wormie yells. “Guys, did the datanet just fail on us?” Mac attempts a subvocal comm up to Wormwood, then shakes his head when no response. “And I saw heaven opened, and behold the white lightning, striking down with his furious might. Dead in the water, Worm. Looks like it’s scrubbed everything but passing notes.” Cursing, Wormie shouts down into the APC, “Mac, hand me the fibrer-optic out of my bag. I’ve no wireless handshake with my rifle any more.”

Pacoy does a quick check of a Pinbot, then nods and re-stows it, “As I thought, Bots are functional, but no communication. Dog-Brain only.” Mac scrounges through Wormwood’s bag, pausing only briefly to call back, “There’s nothing in here that’s going to scar me for life mentally, right?” He blindly fishes around for the cable, retreiving it and handing it up to his friend. “Dog-Brain? They can play fetch?” Pitbull frowns, then remembers that he is always jacked into his Reaper, so he worried for nothing.

Eris smiles at Pitbull. “Somewhat similar to what you’ve seen in Mexico, probably. But much larger-scale. That, my friends, was the locksmith opening up our window. That comms satellite that was made to support this little project? That was the Offutt defense array neutralizing it, with a little feedback pulse from the satellite amplifying it a bit. It should knock out the defense array’s various parts from being able to communicate wirelessly, too, at least until it self-repairs in a week or so. That’ll leave it mostly blind – which is where we come in. We just gotta follow in on the back of that pulse.”

Wormwood plugs the cable into the stock of his rifle, then into a socket just under his hair at the back of his neck and sighs in relief as the rifle’s data flows to his brain again. “Better. But we better get moving then, right Eris?” Mac nods. “Don’t want to get caught out with our pants down. As my Granddad always used to say, opportunity only knocks once, so get your ass up and answer the door!”

Eris nods to Wormwood. “Yep. Time to get moving; we’ll want to go around Offutt first and head into downtown Omaha. There should be a tunnel leading from the capitol building to Offut’s VIP bunker; I really recommend going that back way rather than going right up to the door. Offutt itself will be the first place to get repaired, and some systems are probably wired in to the defense array.” Wormie grins, “Truckers Ho, Pits! Second star to the right and straight on till morning!” Pitbull fires the APC up again and immediately jars the hulk into motion, heading for his best guess of Omaha.

Wormie calls out to Eris, “Wanna give Nana some directions, Wendy?” Mac giggles to himself, sitting back and flipping his hat repeatedly before setting it on Siri’s head. “You can take my trenchcoat if you’d like, Kiddo. More use to you than me right now. You shout if you think you can use this suit better than I, y’hear?” Eris sighs, then pops into the driver’s compartment, sitting in the passenger seat. She reaches into her bag, still strapped around her chest even in the tactical-gear rad suit, and plops a flimsy on the dash. She powers it up, and it shows a map of the region – a very rough map of the region, anyways. Looks like it was based on data from 2038, before the bombs dropped. She places an old-fashioned compass right next to it.

Mac grins. “Knew I liked this girl for a reason.” Eris grins in return to Mac, before turning back to Pitbull. “You know how to navigate with these, right? No GPS pre-computed anything for us now. The old Offutt defense system had emplacements around the normal approaches to Omaha – the highway running through Lincoln, for example – as well as around the missile launch sites, which are peppered all over the countryside here. We’ll probably want to avoid the actual bomb craters too, when we can – but we don’t have any data on where the bombs all fell, so we’ll have to wing that, and sometimes we might not be able to. In short, I’d recommend a zig-zag course; follow the roads around Lincoln, then cross-country a few dozen miles, avoiding any silos and craters we can, before entering Omaha from the west. We’ll probably encounter part of the defense grid in Omaha proper or maybe before it; then we get to the capitol building or the crater where it used to be and get access to the tunnel in its basement.”

“Ya Eris. Got this shit. Land Navigation was one of the first skills you learn for Mexico. Get lost out there, and you’d be lucky just to die of starvation.” Pitbull growls as he puffs off of his cigarette again, after retrieving it from his ashtray. Mac rolls his eyes. “If you’re in Mexico, you’re lucky if you die, Pitbull. I can’t imagine what it’s like down there.” “True in most of Mexico, Mac. There were some rest holes there that were just war-tired areas of refugees. Some of them were actually rebuilding themselves well.” Mac grins. “Bet you still can’t drink the water, though!” “Oh hell no, Mac. The reason why just about everything over there is made with Jalepeno is so that it would kill the parasites in the water.” Pitbull says as he urges the APC onwards to the location on the map.

After thirty minutes of careful driving on the back roads around Lincoln and two hours drive cross-country in a twisty fashion going roughly northward, the APC breaks through some overhanging foliage to a somewhat startling sight; a giant grater at the center of a clearing in the forest. Seemingly growing out of the side of the crater is a metal tube, perhaps fifty meters long, with all sorts of greebles growing out of it. Next to the face of the crater the tube is growing out of are several box-like concrete structures, connected together by tubes.

Wormwood bangs on the roof of the APC, “Woah, Pits! What in the name of Klono’s privates is that thing?” Mac gawks out the front viewport. “That… is a… what is that? That doesn’t look friendly by half.” “Back it up, Pits, let’s go around.” Wormie suggests “This is what happens when you let art majors play with engineering toys!” Pacoy says, looking at the odd structure. Pitbull’s eyes grow wide as he sees the turret emplacement. “Yeah, let’s try that.” Pitbull growls as he backs up the vehicle from the path to turn it around.

As the APC begins to turn, a door seems to open in one of the concrete bunkers dotting the crater; a figure steps out, moving slowly away from the structure in the direction of the APC. Mac blinks. “Wait, there are people out here, still?”

Wormwood, seeing the movement, immediately sights his rifle on it. What he sees in the feed from his rifle scope stops him cold, however. The figure looks identical to… “It’s Mac.” He breathes. To be more specific, it has Mac’s face, but is wearing different clothing – looks like a shirt, jacket, and pants in rather subdued colors. Nothing particularly notable. On its back is what’s very obviously a military-style rifle. Mac looks up at Wormwood. “Is Mac what? Just ask, dammit, I’m right here. What’s going on?” Pitbull is not quite getting what he’s hearing. “Why’d Mac get out while I was turning this fucker around? He should know better! This fucking place could eat him for all we damn well know!” “…family reunion time…” Pacoy mutters to himself.

Wormie stammers, “Mac…it’s your double! Over there, the guy with the rifle just coming outa that door.” Mac blinks. “A double? This I’ve got to see. Can you get us closer, Pitbull?” “Do you think he saw us? Should I shout?” Wormwood asks, hesitantly. Mac looks around him. “Kind of hard to miss this ugly thing in the middle of nowhere. And he’s coming this way. Might as well wave. Are the rads safe enough to step outside?” “This ugly thing?” Pacoy asks"That’s no way to talk about your double!" Mac grins. “Ouch, Pacoy. Ouch.”

Wormie calls out, “Hey buddy! You over there! Stop! We only want to talk!” The Mac-Imposter stops for a moment, head tilted to the side as it listens to Wormwood. Then, it immediately drops to a crouch and raises its rifle, moving in a highly fluid motion – not unlike that of Mac himself.

Wormie, seeing the figure move, yells again. “I’ve got you covered. Lower your weapon or I’ll fire!” as he aims. Mac curses and begins struggling with his Rad-hood, trying to get it off. “You’re not going to shoot me, are you, Worm? I can go talk to me, maybe find out what’s going on out here!”

The faux-Mac fires his weapon, striking Wormwood right in the chest. The heavy bullet penetrates his anti-radiation suit almost like it isn’t even there, and the bullet continues through and out the other side. Slammed back by the enemy shot, Wormwood refelxively squeezes his own trigger, and the superior rifle he wields plus sheer determination puts a single round of his three-round burst into his assailant, who drops like a stone. Wormwood immediately slides off his chair, down into the belly of the APC, bleeding profusely.

”Worm, get down from there, I just patched you up! Can’t you stay saved for a full week?” Pacoy cries, “Get inside and Pit’ll run it over, I have it on good authority that Mac doesn’t deal well with blunt force trauma!” Mac stops fussing with his Radsuit long enough to rub his chest, still sore from the blow he took all that time ago. He spares time for a glare at Pacoy before fussing with the suit again. Mac looks at his comrade, stunned. “Siri, I need you to help Pacoy with whatever he needs to get Wormwood patched up. I’m still tangled up in this damn suit. Eris, can you help me out of this thing? Unless you’ve got better hands than Siri, that is – We need to get Wormwood in this suit once he’s patched up – that suit with a hole in it is no better than a sneezed through tissue, now.”

With the Mac in site down, the world outside the APC is quiet and calm. Eris reaches up and closes the hatch, providing what radiation protection the closed-up military vehicle can, then turns to helping Mac out of his suit. Siri, meanwhile, flashes her eyes towards Pacoy, awaiting orders.

“Siri, help me get Wormwood down.” Pacoy orders calmly, voice in professional mode, working on lowering Worm at the same time he pulls up the medkit, “We’ll get his suit off and patch him up.” Siri nods, helping Pacoy where she can. Mac looks toward Pitbull when his head is finally free. "Hey hoss, you got eyes out there? There any more movement?’

As soon as the suit is stripped, Pacoy is all stitches and injections, working with rapid precision to patch Wormwood up. Wormwood writhes in pain, screaming, as Pacoy turns and moves him.

When he is finally free of the suit, Mac lays it next to the ersatz operating theatre. “Make sure Deathwish here gets into that, and that he doesn’t put any more holes in the damn thing.” He plucks his hat from Siri’s head and ducks out the APC hatch, heading to where his clone lies on the ground. “I got the first aid covered, Siri,” Pacoy says through gritted teeth as he plugs a hole, “Help Mac with the other body.” Siri nods to Pacoy, then heads out the APC to follow Mac. As she gets closer, she puts a hand on Mac’s shoulder. “Hey, look there. Doesn’t that look like one of those things you stepped on back where we met Pitbull’s old squad?”

Mac groans inwardly. “That it does, sis, that it does. Stay back by the APC, and let Pitbull know we may not want to head this way due to the mines. I’ve got to check out this… me. And watch your step.” He begins picking his way out towards his dead… self. He delicately places footfall after footfall, creeping closer to his dead likeness, glad for the deftness his Capone’s lend him. When he reaches the body, he begins looking it over, checking for clues in a methodical manner, seeing if the body contains any hints towards his existence. The body has a big ol’ hole in it, spewing what looks an awful lot like blood all over the scene – along with bits of non-organic composites, maybe some plastics. Definitely unnatural materials. They’re all spilling out of the body’s guts. The robot doesn’t have many items on it – just the rifle, those clothes, and some extra ammunition. The weapon seems new, almost unused; everything seems very ‘clean’.

Mac shakes his head in wonder as he stuffs the ammunition in his pockets and slings the rifle, grimacing at the thought that he now carries the weapon that almost killed his friend. He bids himself an awkward farewell before beginning to carefully pick his way back towards the APC, relying on his Photographic memory to retrace his steps. He ushers Siri back inside and turns to his comrades once he seals the door. “How’s Deathwish? Still alive? That was… creepy. The other me… it was like he was brand new. I think this rifle’s only ever fired one shot… completely surreal…” Seranya holds Mac’s shoulder as he speaks, comforting him as best she can.

Holes plugged, and a heavy does of StimHeal running through his veins, Wormwood looks to be on the mend, although he won’t be moving for at least a half hour as the drugs do their thing. Pitbull waits on as he had been since the vehicle turned around, his cigarette now smoked and replaced by another.

Mac looks down at his friend. “Lets head around, Pitbull. Bring us to Omaha – hopefully Wormwood will be better when we get there.” “Alright dudes. Assholes and elbows, let’s go!” Pitbull exclaims as he revs the engine forward again, pushing them away from the mine-field.

View

NOV/2013

A Memorial to Fallen Heroes

Mission 4 Session 23

I-76, 50 Miles Outside the Wall
Junction of State Road 34 and I-76
Saturday, February 25, 2051
2:35 PM

The APC steams forwards at the fairly impressive rate of seventy miles per hour, eating up the distance to the Lazarus Group’s next stop: Omaha – and, not coincidentally, putting as much distance between one Randall “Wormwood” Barcello and a city filled with well-trained and armed citizens just waiting to cash out a $50,000 bounty on his head. As the Sam Elliot pours on the speed, it passes by a sign on the right. This sign, unlike most on the highway, isn’t old and destroyed from disuse. Instead, it is new, made in concrete and bright, blue paint, announcing that up ahead is ‘Old Fort Morgan’.

“I wonder if there’s a new Fort to go with?” Wormwood muses. “Anyone have the faintest idea what this place is?” Pitbull lights yet another cigarette before answering Wormwood. “Doubt it. Construction? Out here? Shiiiit! A construction site is one of the favorite targets of raiders.” Pitbull growls with a smoke wreathed smile. Mac flips open his paper notebook to a page filled with phrases, the top of which reads ‘Things I wanted to avoid on the road trip’. The date of the writing seems unclear, but Mac’s hand makes a bold strike through ‘Get chased by police’ as he sighs. “Frontiersmen used to build forts to defend against the natives – I don’t think we have to worry about any Native Americans anymore, as they had died out well before prohibition kicked in, or so my memory is telling me. Hopefully this place is just a pass-through.” Wormie shrugs, “Maybe its some kind of trading post?” Pacoy notices the heading of Mac’s notebook and chuckles to himself, wondering where forest-fires, Texan Rebels, Gnox stampedes and car-rental parking lot shootouts fell on the list.

Wormwood concentrates internally for a moment. “Damn, no cellular signal – I can’t even look this place up on the Net. We’re going in cold, seems like.” “There are Native Americans, Mac. They just ain’t goin’ around with horses and bows, knocking over camps of white invaders.” Pitbull takes another long drag off of his cigarette." ‘Scuse me. Settlers." Wormie grins, "From what I recall from reading before we set out, Pits, most of the so-called Indians out here aren’t much more Native than you or me nowadays. They took in a lot of refugees during the Collapse."

Mac barely looks up at Wormwood as he finishes crossing items off his list before flipping the notebook closed and tucking it away. He retrieves his pistol and idly reloads the clip. “Colder than a nuclear winter, and half as blind. Is there any other way? One of these days we’ll walk into a surprise birthday party and a lot of people will end up dead.” “Don’t Worry, Mac, I have a plan – if we run into a pack of ‘injuns’, I’m blaming everything on the White Folk.” Pacoy says with a grin.

Eris looks back from her seat at one of the computer stations built into the APC, where she’s doing some editing of her camera drone feeds. It looks like she’s splicing in part of the all-broadcast commercial about the bounty on his head that came on the air an hour ago. “A few of the nomad bands are still Native American based, especially up by Deseret. The Mormons and the Navajo have been working together for a few decades.”

Mac grins. “For once, I’m glad that I can’t even remotely be considered in that group, Pacoy.” “Well, your as white as any of these guys, and more of a man that a lot of people I’ve worked with.” Pacoy nods. “True. But I also know that we probably won’t be dealing with many Indians out here, anyway. I proudly say that I’m like ummm… 1/128 Cherokee Indian. And I also know that the few times that I met a pure, true blue Cherokee decendant, he wasn’t a raider, a casino mogul, or a lazy ass drunk.”

“Are you saying natives can’t be drunk, lazy casino owning raiders Pit? That’s just racist!” Pacoy says mock offended. Mac snorts and laughs. “I suspect he means they aren’t all lazy, Pacoy. Being a no-good donut running a casino is bad for business, I’ll tell you what.” Eris shrugs. “True enough – but the Navajo have gone a little scary with the biomods. I don’t recommend getting in a fight them or Deseret’s Rangers if you can help it. We had one episode of Edgerunners where the team was supposed to sneak into a facility in old Utah; we had to eventually cut the season short after they fell into some Rangers and one of the Navajo warriors actually bit one of the team’s face off, right on film. The rest of the team quit, even though that meant DreamCorp repossessed their augments.”

Mac stares at Eris, eyes wide in terror. “And this, gentlemen, is why I don’t watch television that isn’t in black and white. That’s just….” Pacoy looks at Eris and nods "Well, I’ve been ‘highly recommending’ we not fight with half of the things we’ve shot at, but we’ll see how things go. We like to play fast and loose with the karma in this group.” Eris nods, “Yeah, I get ya.” She turns back to her work, viewing the spliced-together final footage, then smiles and hits a few buttons. “That’ll work. Uploading to the servers… and my work’s done until that karma comes calling again for you boys.” She turns to look at Wormwood. “How does it feel to have an entire city filled with trained killers out to get you, Randall?”

Wormwood checks his pistols and then his rifle, racking rounds into the chanbers of each. “Having my face bitten off would actually be useful, at this stage.” “I think that girl from Candy’s church tried, didn’t she Worm?” Pacoy asks. Mac looks thoughtful. “Certainly couldn’t hurt your looks. Look at Seranya, just as beautiful as ever.” Seranya gets a big smile on her face and hugs her little brother, brushing her metal face against his faux-skin one.

Wormwood turns to Eris. “I suppose I always knew it was a possibility – but it really blows chunks that I’m being hunted for something I know that I didn’t actually do, rather than any of the things I did, y’know?” “I actually can’t help with that, Worm. I am actually not a dog with the capability of locking his jaw. And I don’t wanna put my face anywhere near yours, make up boy.” Pitbull says before turning around long enough to give a very ribbing smile. Wormie flips Pits off before continuing to talk to Eris. “I may as well tell you, I promised Veracity Blaize an exclusive interview if she can get the evidence that gets me off that phony murder rap. I could offer you and your channel the same deal…” He turns back to Pits. “How about we mosey into town, cowboy, and see if we can find a mule ugly and desperate enough to date you?”

Mac turns and pokes his head up front. “Yeah, there anything up ahead? I’m getting antsy back here. Although I think Pitbull’s dame would be awful sore to hear you suggest that he’d be able to find a mule quite so repulsive anywhere but where she is, Worm.” “Sure Worm! Hopefully the bordello is wheelchair accessible.” Pitbull growls back, once again looking back with a mischievous smirk. “I don’t think that’s what Pit had in mind when he was talking about ‘cruising for some ass’, Worm.” Pacoy ribs in.

Another sign appears, up ahead. Like the previous one, this is new and solidly built from polished and painted concrete. It likewise announces ‘Old Fort Morgan’, with a little subtitle underneath it. “Second Battle of Denver War Memorial, 10 Miles” “Oh fun, let’s have a picnic there!” Wormie suggests in a sarcastic tone. Mac looks over at the sign. “Think it’s only right we stop in and pay our respects. Not like the fuzz is going to track you to a war memorial. What sort of wanted criminal would stop for a picnic?” “Hey, look, a little place to stretch our legs and tempt fate, guys!” Pacoy says in mock cheer “How far ahead do you think we are from Worm’s friends?” “The stupid kind, which is what they are expecting us to be, Mac.” Pitbull growls as he steers around a hunk of car-wreckage.

Mac looks at the back of Pitbull’s head. “But what if they are expecting us to expect that they think we wouldn’t stop, and instead are keeping going on this route, thinking that we know that they’d think we’d stop at the memorial?” “I’ll be honest, I don’t think we should stop if we don’t need to. We’ve been behind the timeline from word one. Let’s make sure none of those gold-diggers catch up, eh?” Wormwood says. Mac grins. “Fair enough Wormwood. It’s gotten bad enough that Eris is editing on-the fly. You’ve just been getting my good side, right, doll?” “I know she’s getting Pit’s good side – she’s been looking at the back of his chair all the way.” Wormie grins.

Eris smirks at Mac. “C’mon, tin-can. All your sides are good for this journalist.” “Worm’s right, Mac’s just crazy or paranoid. Kinda the opposite from usual, but I’m going with Wormy on this one.” Pitbull announces as he hits the skip on his playlist, going from Face-Eater’s “Torture Crate” to Rotting Armadillo’s “Roadkill Sacrifice”. Mac smiles, but inside seems to wilt a little as he considers the implications of the footage getting out there. Reading the song-change on his HUD, he grins. “Curse you and your thematically appropriate music choices, Pitbull.” Wormwood just commands his augmented ears to filter down the noise Pits calls music. then asks, “Did we drive through this town and miss it?” turning up his optical boost and gazing ahead.

Mac looks up at Wormwood. “You’re riding shotgun, you tell me? I got a lovely view of two dames and a geek back here. All things considered, there are worse things to look at, but Eris is a bit pre-occupied, and the other girl’s my sister!” “I’m flattered Mac, but I don’t swing that way.” Pacoy answers. Mac frowns. “But you’re always playing with your other robots…”

The APC chugs ahead, passing brown fields and ruined buildings to each side – and there, up ahead, is what used to be a town. The bombed-out remains were obviously fortified pretty heavily, probably back during the Militia Wars – almost like a prototypal version of the Citadel, though obviously much smaller.
[11/6/2013 9:00:22 PM] Wormwood: Wormwood whistles, “Wow, someone did a number on that place, yeah? What say we go around, guys, and truck on for Omaha?” “Yeah, that place looks like the ‘After’ picture of most of our rest stops. Keep on Driving, Pits!” Pacoy agrees. Mac nods. “Doesn’t look like that place can handle a Gnox stampede or a wildfire – I’m with Pacoy on this one.”

“Already on it, dudes. We’ve gone though our own issues, the issues of others, the issues of finance, and just recently issues with nature. I am tired of being on the road, and I know that when we get back home, I’m taking like a week long vacation.” Pitbull growls as he guns the engine. Mac kicks his heels up on the empty seat across from him. “What does a soldier do on vacation, Pitbull? Shoot targets instead of people? Or are you going to take up macrame?”

The fort doesn’t look to be ‘active’ per se – at least not how it was at its final point – but it’s still an outpost. There are homes that have been rebuilt around it, and there’s a not-insignificant population walking about – and a vertol landing pad, with a night-black vertol with the letters ‘NCPD’ in white on the side lies on the top of one of the buildings on the inside of the fortified area. “Aw shit, the cops! Let’s get outa here!” Wormie yells.

Mac winces. “No, no, it’s ‘Cheese it, it’s the fuzz!’ Worm! And listen to the man, Jeeves! Put the iron to the pavement! Goose it!” Pitbull floors the gas on the APC, and the hunk of metal flies like a bat out of hell through the street.

Wormie hefts his rifle and looks for the window control. “I wonder if I can hit something important on that from here…” Eris points upwards. “I don’t think the windows open like that, Randall. Why don’t you use the hatch?” Mac half-stands and pops the hatch open with an audible thunk. “C’mere, buddy, I’ll let you sit on my shoulders. Although might I advise it as being a bad idea to shoot at the police unprovoked?”

Wormie rounds on Eris, “Because my fucking legs are shot to shit, sister!…Fuggit, OK Mac – it’s gotta be easier than trying to switch driver with Pits mid-getaway.” Hearing Mac’s comment about shooting at police, Pacoy rolls his eyes, “Lube, Worm. This time when you screw with our karma, try using a little lube.” Mac hunkers down to allow Wormwood to access the hatch of the APC. “Eris, love, can you kindly not film this next bit? I could live without ever seeing images of Wormwood crawling all over me.”

Wormie pulls himself onto Mac’s shoulders and opens the top hatch on his side. “I’ll try to aim to disable, Pac, that ok with you?” He swears under his breath and then aims at the cop AV. A few figures in black clothing can be seen running from the roof exit to the vertol as its lights begin to come on, the engines visibly spooling up in the infrared lenses looking its way. Pacoy sighs and is suddenly glad he set the harpy to the drone-chute of the APC, ready to deploy if it becomes necessary.

Pitbull’s rampant driving proves to be effective, as he deftly swerves away from pedestrians and vehicles in his rush out of the city. Wormwood suddenly squeezes his trigger three times, and one of the fat Valkyrie rounds hits the AV’s engine intake in a shower of sparks. “Gotcha!” Wormwood shouts, as he sees smoke begin to pour out of the engine. “See, Pac?” Mac winces as he tries to keep Wormwood stable. “Smoking in an airplane bathroom, Pitbull! Can’t you keep this thing more stable than a drunk on a bicycle? For a sneak thief, our lovely Randall could sure stand to skip a burger every now and again. Are they still coming, buddy?”

The crack of the shot rocks the countryside – a weapon shot in anger, something it hasn’t heard in over a dozen years. The damaged engine doesn’t seem to stop the AV as it begins to rise, the last person jumping into the night-black vehicle even as it takes flight. “Yeah, they’re still coming, Mac! Obstinate bastards.” Wormie calls as he takes aim again. Mac winces as he shuts his eyes. “Going to have another memorial out here soon enough if that vertol catches us now. ‘Here, the infamous Lazarus group were captured and their crimespree was ended by the noble NCPD…’” “So much for disabling them Worm, you’ve just turned us from suspects to targets.” Pacoy mutters.

“You really think we weren’t already, Pac? Listen if it gets hairy, shoot me and surrender, say I forced you all!” Wormie shouts, then murmurs, “You wuss.” “That has been the plan from go, buddy!” Pacoy smiles back.

Pitbull starts jinking across the road, a wide but swift serpentine motion taught to him in vehicular combat training to throw off the enemy’s aim. The track selector on the APC’s music system switches to an oldie, “Guns of Brixton” by The Clash. Mac grumbles. “Ladies! Nobody’s shooting anyone, least of all Worm here, if Pitbull keeps driving like the damn 1/128th Indian he claims to be. Just pretend it’s a damn bangtails race!” He considers for half a second. “Those are horses, Pitbull! Do your people proud!”

The vertol rises into the air, some fifty yards high, and dashes forwards on full blast, easily catching up to the speeding APC. The machine gun on its undercarriage begins to pivot in its mount… Pacoy’s eyes light up as inspiration strikes, “Guys, I have a plan, it’s a long-shot, but I think karma owes me a favor…” Mac’s eyes remain screwed shut in the face of the situation. “Eris, can you pop the second hatch open and stay clear? Sis, there’s a big machinegun in here. You want to test out your new trigger finger and see if you can’t get us some breathing room by making that vertol back up a bit?” He cocks an ear towards Pacoy. “Spill it, bonzo! We don’t have time for dramatic pauses!”

Wormie yells “Any plan right now would be a good one, Pac!” as he squeezes off three more shots, this time targeting the ducted jets on the underside of the AV. All three rounds hit, but the armor on the cop flyer shrugs off all but minimal damage.

With a series of lighting-fast transmissions, Pacoy activates a buzzbot as he opens a hatch. With a snowball’s chance in hell, the bot flies from the open hatch, trying to correct for wind and speed as it races into one of the AV’s intakes like a metallic pigeon. Seranya shrugs. then hefts the machine gun in one hand as she pops open the other hatch, standing on the step to poke her head out. “Let’s see… I guess this switch starts it up… and thus trigger here…” The trigger Seranya pulls seems to be the right one, for about a third of a second. Five bullets go boom-boom-boom-boom-boom out of the barrel of the big gun – but then they just stop, even though the trigger is held down and there’s ammo to spare.

Mac blinks mentally. “That… sounded anti-climatic….” Seranya looks up at Mac, a frown on her face and a tear at the corner of her eye. “I think I broke it.” “You might have an ammo jam, Seranya! Try and clear the chamber!” Pitbull shouts, as he swerves again. Mac hears the sadness in her voice. “’S’alright, love. Just get clear of the hatch and try to fix it. You’re good at fixing things, we all know it. Pacoy, how’s that plan of yours coming along?”

“Flying as fast as it can!” Pacoy says, trying not to curse “Uploading live feed now!” a PIP view of the buzzbots POV sensors is sent to the grouplink. (Mac siezes control of the APC’s audio system and puts on ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’ for a lark as the PIP comes up.) The hull of the AV rockets into the POV frame as the Buzzbot nearly slams into the side, a few feet from the intake before pulling back and trying to correct it’s course – only to smash into the cockpit, utterly destroyed without harming the AV.

Pitbull continues his serpentine motion, this time muttering, “This really oughta fuck your aim up, you hovering-assed sum-bitch…” Mac grumbles at Pitbull. “He’s not got a hover-ass yet, so kindly don’t mess with Wormwood’s aim too much, Pitbull.”
The vertol continues to pull up, hovering almost directly overhead – maybe twenty yards away at most. The mounted gun on the underside continuously pivots to keep the APC on target – and then there’s the booming sound of a loudspeaker, near-deafening even over the sound of the vertol. “Pull over immediately or be fired upon!” Seranya, meanwhile, begins poking at the machine gun, still pointed roughly upwards. It takes her a few moments, and then – bam! The weapon discharges a single time out the upward hatch, missing anyone in the APC or the vertol but clearing the jam. Mac shifts his feet, finding them come into contact with his open shotgun bag. “Eris, doll, you mind taking Randall off my shoulders for a moment?” That gunshot was…. not quite fortuitous…

“Pokemo!” Pacoy curses as the bot shatters. “Take two!” A second buzzbot fies up and makes it way out the hatch. Eris looks up at Randall, frowning. “Er… I know he’s a tiny little man, but I’m not exactly a hunk of beef, either. I’m not sure I could steady him like you can; I’d probably tire out almost immediately, but it doesn’t look like you care about the strain at all.” Mac sends a string of question-marks at Pacoy. “What does Pokemon have to do with anything? That’s pretty old, even for me!” then tries to grin at Eris. “Oh, come on Eris – Randall here’s just dying to be on top of you.”

“Fuck you, cop.” Wormie says as he begins to draw a bead on the AV’s cockpit, now pointed right at the APC at close range. Wormwood fires again, and this time all three bullets smash through the less-armored glass of the AV’s cockpit. He let’s out a whoop as the glass shatters. The AV almost immediately begins to lose control; nobody inside seems to have been hit, but it’s no longer making any course corrections at all. It flies off another hundred yards past the APC before crashing down, hard, into the destroyed suburbs to the east.

“Hey, Worm, that shot only worked because my buzzbot marked the glass!” Pacoy grins. Wormie lets out an even louder whoop, then shouts “I’ll give you an assist, Pac,” followed by “Let me down, Mac, and lets make like a bug and get the fuck out of here!” The second buzzbot is recalled and stowed, no longer needed, as Mac begins grumbling something about ‘assisted living’ and de-elevates his friend and closes the hatch. Wormie, grinning ear to ear, punches Mac playfully on the shoulder. “damn, I thought it was going to be a good day to die there, but I have never felt so alive!” Mac rolls his eyes. “I have never felt so much like I needed a shower. Glad you got that thing off our tails, though. Hopefully we won’t see them again.”

Pitbull stops jinking and guns the APC down the road. “Well guys, we are now putting as much fucking distance as possible between us and them! Ride on!” he yells as hear Kenny Loggin’s “Danger Zone” comes blaring through the speakers. “Day is still young, my friend!” Pacoy reminds Wormwood. Mac smiles at his sister. “You did good, kid – I think you gave them the distraction that Wormwood needed. You too, Pac.” Eris steps between them, grinning – she got some excellent video. She claps Pacoy and Wormwod both on the shoulder. “And remember, next stop – Omaha.”

View

NOV/2013

The Breaking of the Worm

Mission 4, Session 22

I-25, 5 Miles Outside the Wall
Old Denver Battlefield
Saturday, February 25, 2051
10:30 AM

The ground five miles from the Citadel’s bulwark is cratered, dirty, and picked clean. Old buildings sit in rubble, their metal fixtures and copper wires all scavenged long ago – not to mention the appliances and anything else of remote value. The battleground, a remnant of the Militia Wars that split the old United States, is desolate, lonely, and depressing – and only made more so by the oppressive shape of the Colorado Defensive Emplacement, the official name for what most people just call ‘The Great Wall of Colorado’.

From five miles out, the wall is easily visible – the largest structure in sight, and easily the largest single structure any of the Lazarus team has ever seen. At parts, it reaches a hundred feet high – mostly on the Eastern edge – while at others it stands ‘only’ twenty feet high and just as thick. The whole city isn’t yet enclosed – the Wall is only a little over half done after more than a decade of work – but construction is evident everywhere. Up above the city fly helicopters, vertols, and drones, keeping a constant watch.

Amongst those vertols is a single one that sticks out for being out of place – emblazoned with a Night City Police Department seal on the side, the night-black vertol looks to be the same one that buzzed the APC down the road…

Mac tips his hat back on his head. “Hey, guys, that’s not normal, is it? The fuzz don’t come this far outside the city, yeah? Maybe someone nicked their ride?” Wormwood is frantically re-touching his disguise while muttering the occasional curse word. He pauses briefly to say “I’m not that lucky, Mac,” then goes back to his task. Pitbull looks right at the V-Tol in the rear-view mirror. “Well, double-fuck. Worm, which of us do you think that’s after?” “Almost certainly me, Pits. I was the public enemy number one on the holo-vid shows before we left. I’m just hoping this disguise and the wheelchair throws them off,” Wormwood replies, watching the police flyer. Pacoy looks at the bleak surroundings and desolate atmosphere and can’t help be turn to his sense of humor cover the sense of dread “Hey, Mac – what say we pick up a few hundreds cans of yellow spray-paint and put a big smiley face on that wall, brighten the place up?” A gleeful smile lights up Mac’s face. “I’m game, doc, but you’re buying. The last of my gambling money is tied up in wonderboy’s legs.”

“Detective Carlos likes me, but at the same time I’m also a prime candidate for him. I just hope that he’s got some other squeeze in this direction.” Pitbull growls, lighting yet another cigarette, before looking at how many he actually has left. Damn. Last pack, and only ten left. This trip burned through the whole carton… Wormwood frowns at Mac, “Wonderboy is good for it, y’know. I’ve never run out on a debt to a friend in my life.” “Yeah, Mac – I find it hard to picture Worm ’_running out_” on you now!" Pacoy grinned. “Sit on this, Pac,” Wormie flips Pacoy the bird. “Anyways, if all else fails I’ll ask the Bey for a loan to make good.”

Mac grins at a thought that has crossed his mind. “Ya know, the last time I saw someone frantically applying makeup like that, Worm, I was taking Anita to the opera and we were running late. And don’t worry about the scratch, pal. I always know if I need a loan I can take it out of your legs, capiche?” Mac’s attempt at the thug accent fails somewhat miserably. Seranya hugs Mac. “You sounded scary, Mac. Don’t go scary on me.” Mac laughs. “Me? Scary? Look doll, I’m about as harmful as an orange sitting on a table. Or a bump on a log. These arms? Wormwood can lift more! It’s not like I’ve got a secret arsenal of weapons stashed away. Never been much of a fighter, and I doubt I’d know which end of his kneecaps to whack if I were that bent.”

That finally puts a smile on Wormie’s face, “Depends on whether you want to dislocate or crack them, Mac. I’ll show you sometime, just in case you ever have to pretend you’re a hardcase, ok?” Mac thinks, then taps his chest. “Yeah, I think I might have to tough up a bit if we’re going to be getting into the roughs business. The last few engagements, my pistol’s been nothing more than a distraction, and my shotgun is only good at tenderizing beef.”

The APC continues forwards down I-25, approaching a small hole in the Wall. The ever-present scaffolding almost covers up a sign on the side, proclaiming the presence of a Citiadel Defense Force substation built within the wall at this point. The tunnel through the wall isn’t particularly busy – a few vehicles make their way in and out, but not nearly as many as the gridlock that had stopped the team back in SoCal; most people travel to and from Citadel via air travel or rail. The current traffic all seems to be industrial vehicles traversing between Foundry and the Citadel. The hovering NCPD vertol begins lowering itself, looking to be coming in for a landing somewhere beyond the Wall.

“You gotta figure the local cops will be pissed if we just shoot their counterparts from the Coast, right?” Wormwood muses to no-one in particular as he checks the action on both his silenced pistols. Mac looks up at the towering monster ahead of them. “I’d wager so, Joe. Most people would be – I’d say we won’t run into any trouble. We should be able to just gas up and goose on out of here.” “We’re out of their jurisdiction anyway, right?” Pitbull growls back to the team. “I wonder how they take strangers in stolen military vehicles around there parts?” Pacoy wonders out loud, “I mean it’s not their military or anything, but still…”

“I hope you’re right, Mac. They’re not taking me alive, that’s for sure. If anyone ever mindwipes me and builds me back up from the foundations it’ll be because I paid them to do it.” Wormwood looks quietly determined as he speaks. “Emily’s been talking about me going to a head-changer – and maybe its just about time to re-route my synapses so my Art takes a different course after all.” Pacoy tries to hide his cringing at that thought. Mac nods thoughtfully. “I’m behind you no matter what you pick to do, Worm. Gotta do what’s right by you and yours, that’s what my father always told me.” Wormwood simply nods, then takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly through his teeth.

The tunnel looms ahead, a helpful sign in oppressive red-and-white stating the rules for entering the city:

1. Don’t fuck with the citizens. They are well-armed.
2. Outsiders looking to trade are welcomed. Outsiders looking to swindle are not.
3. The Citadel does not have a customs service, so don’t bother smuggling. Legal trade is cheaper than black market trade.
4. Both Whirlwind Security and the Citadel Defense Force are empowered to perform summary executions if they deem the security of the Citadel is endangered.

Mac blinks. “Cheery place, this. Reminds me of home. No, that’s not right… summary executions?!” “Sounds like a fun town,” Pacoy says, reading over the rules, “There goes my fear of stolen surplus. Bet you they have a heck of a gambling trade going on somewhere.” Wormwood brightens slightly, “It also sounds like they may not be so keen on letting the Night City cops have any jurisdiction at all.” “Reminds me of Mexico. It’s media bullshit to believe that the whole place is anarchy with tequila and taquitos. There are some forts and bases that are pretty much towns that are armed to the core.” Pitbull grates aloud as he drags off of his cigarette again.

Mac shakes his head. “Certainly not – those towns MUST be swimming in Tequila.” “Oh well, let’s go see then.” Wormwood sits up straighter. “Should we unload the extra guns and stuff from the Rangers here, do you think?” “Rule of the thumb, Mac,” Pacoy explains “If a place says ‘we welcome friendly trade but will execute you quickly if you cross us’, then they are probably reasonable people, especially if they can articulate all of their rules in four points. If a place says ‘we are a society of laws here for your safety’ they’ll probably foaming pricks.” Mac looks at Pacoy, then nods. “Noted. But what if it’s really easy to cross the first group? Or what if the others are really here for their safety? This bears further consideration.”

After a good twenty-five feet, the tunnel spits the APC out into the Citadel proper. The city lies before the team, a sprawling conglomeration of buildings, fields, even a good portion of a forest all within view. The other side of the city is hidden by the curvature of the Earth down below the horizon. The city itself isn’t particularly dense, with significant areas for future expansion – the Wall was designed so that it didn’t completely constrain the Citadel’s future.

To either side of the Wall lie a number of military vehicles – vertols, jeeps, APCs, even a few proper tanks. Several artillery guns appear to be being constructed into the Wall itself, allowing them to fire from the top of the Wall but hide behind it when threatened. Civilian buildings start a few dozen yards back from the Wall at this point, though at others it looks like they run up against the Wall itself, maybe even having some offices built into it like the Defense Force substation here is.

In contrast to the oppressive air on the other side of the wall, the interior is rife with verdant green and clean, well-maintained buildings. The industrial portion of the city, some of which is within view, is obviously less attractive, but this portion makes it clear that it’s still a mountain city at its heart.

Mac whistles. “Beats out Night City for looks, that’s for sure. See any spot to gas up, Pitbull?” Wormwood agrees, “You got that right, Pac.” As he looks around for the NCPD flyer again he calls out “What’s the plan, guys? Fuel up and move out fast or spend a few hours and try to sell the Texan gear?” “No. Not immediately. Anyone pull up GPS?” Pitbull growls as he swerves around a combat armor clad pedestrian clutching an SMG. Mac looks towards Eris. “How are we doing on time, doll? If we’re cutting it close, we can always unload the gear on the way back.”

Wormwood mentally commands his implanted computer to tap the local Net, pull up a town map and directions to the nearest gas station, then squirt the result to Pitbull’s computer. “Here you go, Pits.” “Well, shit. Thanks Worm.” Pitbull growls as he halts then spins the APC around and starts chugging along to the map’s pining destination. “Hey, have we ever made a pitstop without some imminent danger? Maybe we could try something new just for the novelty of it.” Pacoy smiles. Mac looks sidelong at Pacoy. “I think the problem is that every time we stop the danger comes to us.”

Eris frowns. “There’s one week left in the contract. Assuming everything goes swimmingly, we should arrive in Omaha in another day or two of driving. Maybe more – once we approach the Exclusion Zone we’ll have to decrease our speed considerably to remain safe.” Wormwood looks over his shoulder at Mac, “A week if all goes well. But when does it ever go well, eh?” “Right? Did we ask for a stampede or a wild fire on our last two stops?” Pitbull laughs his smoke-tinged chortle, as he attempts to squeeze the APC through a street that wasn’t quite designed for a military vehicle. “Karma, Pits, Karma.” Pacoy answers. Mac looks at Pitbull. “Bud, you smoking like that is begging to start a forest fire, and the stampede was delicious. I’d say we keep this stop short and press on – don’t let the danger have time to find us.” “Amen, Mac. Let’s gas up and ‘wagons roll’” Wormie says.

The APC grinds to a halt at the gas station, issuing gouts of steam from the hydraulics as it comes to a complete stop. “Well, dudes. Piss, smoke, eat, gas up and let’s move on!” Wormwood reaches for his wallet and some pre-paid cred-chips. “I’ll get the gas again, guys.” Mac drops out of the back of the APC. “I’ll pump and you pay, yeah Worm? Make it easy on you.” Wheeling his chair down the ramp and towards the gas station shop, Wormwood nods, “Sure Mac. I’ll grab some snacks and some cigs for Pits too.” Mac sets about whistling a jaunty tune while refueling the APC. The pump works just like he’d expect and begins racking up a nice, hefty toll on the wallet.

Pacoy gets out for a quick stretch of his limbs as the APC is refueled. “Thanks Worm! My brand is the Camel Menthol X’s if they got them. If not, then Marlboro Black Menthol 100’s. Now I gotta piss like an unmanned fire hose.” Pitbull growls as he trots into the building. Inside, Wormwood puts down $150 for the gas, saying, The big rig out at pump three – and two packs of cigarettes, please. I’ll pay for them in a second, just gonna grab some snacks." He wheels over to the racks and begins grabbing chips, candy bars and the like.

The gas station is relatively empty. It’s well-stocked with provisions, but not so well-stocked with customers. A single man, older – Mac would say he’s reminiscent of Clint Eastwood – is by the fridge in the back, picking up some alcohol and a styrette of heroin The proprietor is a real-live human rather than a simple AI agent. She is looking up at something facing her above the counter – probably a screen of some kind, maybe hooked up to the security system. The moment she locks eyes on Wormwood, sitting there in his chair and wearing his disguise, she visibly gets nervous. She turns to the older gentleman, “Hey, Frank, look who walked in.”

The man, Frank, turns, locking eyes with Wormwood. His hand immediately goes to a holster at his side. “Look, son, we don’t want any trouble.” He taps his pistol with his hand, his gravelly voice resounding in the small building. “Just get your stuff and go – but keep your eyes up, here, and don’t you be coming back.” Wormwood rolls to a halt, “Huh, what are you on about?” He grabs a final few snacks and begins to roll towards the front desk, sending a subvocal message on the team net “Guys, I think I’ve been made. Keep your eyes peeled, I’ll try to get out without starting anything.” Pitbull strides out of the bathroom, looking like the weight of the world had been lifted off of his shoulders. Or rather a gallon of fluid has been drained from his bladder. But his relief is short lived as he sees the spectacle that is unfolding. “What’s goin’ on, sir?” Pitbull growls as he strides up to Frank. “Please keep it civil, Pit!” Pacoy comms as he prepares for Pit to ignore his request.

Inside the APC, Eris turns around from her position at one of the computerized stations. “Hey boys, there’s something you really ought to see.” Mac calls to the inside of the APC. “What’s up, doll?” She rolls her chair away from the station, revealing the screen behind her. On it is a young woman in casual clothes, speaking. She hits a button and the audio is pumped into the compartment. “…from Night City. He’s described as being armed and extremely dangerous, and is wanted for a number of sex-based crimes. He’s believed to be traveling with five others in an old Texas Military APC.” A picture of a matching vehicle appears behind her. “He was recently injured and is currently in a wheelchair, and may be disguised. While it’s not as clear while he’s seated, he is described as having taken on the appearance of ‘some hairy-ass dwarf biker’ rather than his typical ‘goth-emo bitch-paint’’. Night City Police are currently in the city and have filed for a $50,000 bounty on his head. The Office of Bounty Enforcement is considering the application; a decision is likely to be made within the day.”

“Damn, 50k is a nice payday. I think we have Lazarus’s next gig, guys!” Pacoy smiles as he comms. “But seriously, lets go. Nice and friendly, get our cheesey-poofs and hit the road.” Wormwood slams an extra $100 down on the counter to cover the snacks and cigs and heads for the door. “It’s all totalitarian police-state lies, you know. I was framed – I have never committed any kind of sex crime.” As he leaves, his enhanced ears hear the old man’s rejoinder. “And you’ll never commit one here, neither.”

“Sir. My friend may be strange, but he is no murderer and he is no rapist. Anyone who has thoughts otherwise, answers to me.” Pitbull grumbles as he straightens up to his full height, bringing him well over the height of the older man. The old man stares Pitbull down, and as he does so Pitbull sees something in his eyes. This man has seen combat, and probably a lot more of it than Pitbull himself. He doesn’t blink even once to Pitbull’s attempt at intimidation; instead, he stands straight and tall, looking Pitbull straight in the eye as his hand taps his pistol at his side. “I don’t know if what those Night City people say is true, but it doesn’t matter none. I’m protecting me and mine – and I’ll put you in the ground if you even think of threatening Maya here.”

Wormwood rolls himself back up the ramp of the APC with a lap full of snacks, not-so-quietly fuming. “Fuckers. I have never committed a sex crime. Not a thing I have done has ever been about sex. Philistines. It was about control and power exchange. Their profilers are all asses.” Mac blinks. “Pot, stop talking about the other kitchenware – it bothers them because they can’t understand it, Worm. Where’s Pitbull, did he get arrested already?” He hangs up the fuel pump and stands at the rear hatch, waiting for his friend to come out. Wormie dumps his cargo on a seat then levers himself up and over into the front passenger seat again. “Mac, it pisses me off to be called a sex criminal! I never touched a woman sexually against her will in my life! It’s be like if you were called a vibrator or wanted for being a rogue robotic weapons platform!” Mac looks into the cabin of the APC. “Who’s saying I haven’t been called a vibrator? And don’t go giving Pacoy any more ideas – I’ve seen the way he’s been looking at my sister lately.” “Nah, Mac. To me, you’ll always be a potential toaster!” Pacoy grins, then looks over to the gas station “AAAND it looks like Pit is earning more Karma for us!” Mac grumbles. “If only Karma were the name of the local currency, then I could be happy about that statement, Pac.”

Wormie slams his fist into the console in front of him. “Bastards! What’s the very worst is I’m not sure I can ever go home now. What will Emmy say? Will she be willing to up roots and move somewhere I can rebuild my life? Fuck! What a mess! I’m a crippled useless thing who’s now wanted for what he didn’t do and a murder a copycat did! If I ever find that copycat I will work my greatest ever art on him, I swear it.” But… Pacoy thinks to himself at Wormwoods words isn’t his ‘art’ serial pervery? I am not asking, I am sure I do not want to know…

Pitbull is still in the old man’s face. “I ain’t threatening Maya. And I ain’t threatening you. I’m just saying that the Night City Police has one decent detective on them and he probably isn’t part of this investigation. They are liars, and nothin’ else. Again, he may be strange, but ain’t a rapist or murderer of any definition. We are leaving now, and try not to believe everything that a totalitarian government announces as it’s right and authority from here on.” Pitbull turns on his heel and stomps out of the gas station, and walks crisply to the APC. Mac clambers aboard when Pitbull nears. “We’ll sort it out, Worm – don’t you worry. I can find the copycat for you, no sweat. I mean, I am a detective, after all.”

As Pits takes the driving seat again, Wormie turns to Mac again. “You know, I wasn’t kidding about having mind surgery earlier. Emmy and I talked it all out. After this mission I was going to have a Chaperone Implant done – turn my art to making commercial BDSM sensies and get out of the second-storey business entirely. Now that plan’s as fucked as I am. I might as well save the bounty hunters the trouble and shoot myself.” He draws one of his Prowler pistols and contemplates it. “But, you’re my buddies and I’ll see this mission out unless I become too much of a burden on you.” he puts the gun away again. Eris puts her hand on Wormwood’s knee. “I know, Randall. It looks pretty bad. But don’t decide on anything permanent just yet, okay?” Mac spits before closing the door as the APC fires up again. “You’re a damn fool if you think that’ll fix anything but break Emmy and our hearts, Worm. Won’t be the first time I’ve sorted out a wrongfully accused case, and you aren’t a jilted lover to boot!”

Pitbull flicks some switches and turns the engine as he says to Wormwood. “Man, You’ve got a P.I. and an ex-soldier on your side. We’ll find him and plug him good. Seriously, when I get back to Night City, I’m gonna assemble myself a kill-team, and we’re gonna track down this son of a bitch.” Pitbull growls as he lights yet another cigarette and exhales the smoke from his nostrils. Wormwood gives a bitter half-smile. “No, Pits, if you guys can find him you’ll bring him to me intact. I want him intact. I can work with that.” he slumps back into his seat and glowers out at his surroundings. “Can we get moving before I become cred-chips on the hoof, guys?”

A vehicle comes screeching into view from further on into the city, a black jeep with tinted windows. A siren has been haphazardly affixed to the roof and is blazing. “Why, Hello there, Karmamobile” Pacoy says in mock cheerfulness. “Fuck” Wormie says as he lifts his big rifle and racks a round. Pitbull continues driving, no consideration given to the Jeep that is outweighed three times over by the military-grade APC. Mac groans and starts laughing. “I hate to say it, but Pacoy’s right – every time we stop, it’s never free and easy! Oh, this keeps getting better. Please tell me they have a news crew with them…”

Behind the jeep come two vehicles with Whirlwind Security written all over them, the private police force that holds the contract to all of the Citadel Free City. All three have sirens blazing. The jeep attempts to stop right in front of the APC, but one of the Whirlwind vehicles cuts it off. The APC continues on its way as a man in a Night City police uniform steps out from the jeep, a Whirlwind contractor coming out of his own vehicle. They begin yelling at one another as the APC proceeds forwards, their argument as nothing in the review mirror.

Wormwood reluctantly puts the rifle back down, “Guys, if we shoot at them there’s no way we’re ever getting back through that wall. They may not let you guys through with me onboard. I think I just crossed that line into final liability…” he sees the Whirlwind cops arguing with the Night City ones, “…or maybe not!” Mac laughs. “Even so, Worm, there’s this great thing to be learned in history. Giant wall, right? The French thought that was a great idea once, too. We don’t have to come back this way on our way back – with the return trip we’ll have the luxury of time, to boot!”

Pitbull brays a cruel laugh. “Well guys. Shall we continue on or should we rest? Clearly these assholes are just going to leave with an ass-whuppin’ at the most!” Wormie grates, “Floor it, Bro.” “Keep going. Do not Stop. Do not Pass Go, do not collect the 50k.” Pacoy chimes in. Pitbull slams the gas, and the APC rushes forward like a bat out of hell. Mac topples over, having not properly secured himself in the APC since the incident with the burning. “I should have expected that…”

Wormwood rips off his false nose and doffs his wig. “At least I can get out of this biker-hick get-up and look like the true stylish me again,” he says as he begins to remove his make-up. “Good Thinking, Worm,” Pacoy nods “Reports say to look for a man in disguise – no disguise will surely throw them off!” Mac looks up front. “When are we getting back to the stylish you, pal? Have I seen that getup before? You need a proper hat to be stylish.” He throws his trilby up front to Wormwood. Eris is quick to point out, “Ah, but it also mentioned his ‘emo-goth bitch-paint’, so it might be a good idea to avoid that makeup entirely.” Wormwood does a double-take. “What emo-goth make-up? I only ever wear lipstick – my complexion doesn’t need more.” “Newsflash, it wasn’t the makeup that made Worm look like a bitch…” Pacoy laughs.

View

OCT/2013

Last Stop

The stolen personnel carrier rumbled to a halt as the Citadel grew on the horizon, as though humanity itself was trying to build a mountain to make it’s mark on the world. And quite a mark, too – when the hatch dropped onto the ground and we crawled out into the open air, breath was stolen from each of us. It was hard to appreciate the scale of the destruction from inside the protective shell of the vehicle – there was devastation as far as the eye could see, as though the Citadel were a bomb dropped onto the landscape, tearing craters from the surrounding area much like a starving man might rip into a hunk of bread. My eyes adjusted slowly as I took in the ghosts of a battle lost ages ago – corpses of vehicles scattered about the ground before the Citadel, the very earth having drunk deep and tinted itself red with blood and rust, down to the very leaves on the few remaining trees, tinged with red from their bloodlust. In the distance, a short distance from the wall, the land was bare and clean – the vultures from the Citadel had scavenged what was close, it seemed, but hadn’t yet gotten to the graveyard at the edge of the zone. My gaze fell upon a tornado of leaves that wound it’s way past the wounded metal creatures, each sprawled out as though going to sleep forever. My reverie was only broken by the wind tugging at my trenchcoat like a small child.

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OCT/2013

Riders In The Storm

Wildfire

I25, 200 Miles Outside of Foundry
The Hunting Lodge Diner
Previously Trinidad, Colorado
Friday, February 24, 2051
11:15 PM

A wall of fire dances just a few dozen yards away, out past the Lodge’s thick windows and across the street, on the opposite side of the parking lot. The flickering flames are starting to overpower the Lodge’s electric lights as shadows begin to play across the interior of the diner-cum-hunting-lodge.

The Lodge’s waitress comes bustling into the room, talking on a telephone handset that seems incongruously connected by a wire to something on the other side of the wall seperating the dining room from the kitchen/storage room. She’s speaking quietly, but loud enough for some of you to hear, whispering “Come on, Jethro, pick up. Just pick up, please…”

“Time to eat and scoot, gents,” Wormie says, wheeling at best speed towards the door. Mac stands up from the table, crossing rapidly to the window, staring at the dancing flames as they lick at the growth like hungry children. “That’s an understatement… Is Pitbull’s date going to be okay?” Pitbull successfully hides a smirk and an Austrian accent as he runs to the waitress. “We’ve got to get out of here. Immediately. Put the phone down, or I will carry you out.” Pacoy scarfs down a last bite as he scrambles to assist Wormwood to the door. “Thanks, Pac” Wormie says as his friend gives him a push. “Pitbull, let’s go, bro! You’re the designated driver, remember!”

Mac turns back to Seranya and their erstwhile employment representative. “Ladies? I do believe we’ve overstayed our welcome. Shall we?” He makes a half bow before scooting them towards the door. Pitbull tilts his head and shrugs. “A’ight, Worm.” Pitbull then turns to the waitress again. “Decision making time is over. Al-ee-oop!” Pitbull says as he grabs her by the waist and throws her over his shoulder, with no more effort than a man shouldering a bag of dog food.

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OCT/2013