[2] Sumner Safehouse

Time stops for a moment as Strikers life flashes before his eyes. Did this really just happen, wonder if it's too late to go back. As Striker broke free from the the mass of their bodies he reached for the gun. He tries to get to his feet and brush himself. [City speak] "Miss, if you could do me a kindness by not killing this individual so we can see if he has any value to the group. But if you must, I shall not stop you for now." Striker pulling a gun he kept in his belt along his back, which was dangerously close to entering where the sun don't shine. [English] "I'm pretty sure she's about to kill you my ganger friend, so unless you tell me something valuable in the next moment I let you die." Striker begins to walk away, mutteting something about a professor and a trick. Heading towards the warehouse.

"Gwauhhhh... ?" The ork responded as his eyes rolled back into his skull.

Still holding Kenny as Striker had shown him how to do, Castien takes a few minutes to process what had just happened. This was new for him, even in the pits of the barge he'd never seen Qing dismantle her opponents so viciously before. "Yeah," he says, then coughs, still unnerved by what he saw, "I can do that. Just give me a little to process this all." Realizing he's still holding Kenny, Castien drops the ganger without regard for his health, and begins pacing, psyching himself up for the call he's about to make. Relaxing, letting his wits come back to him. "OK," he says, confidently, "I'm making the call, loot the bodies, see what we can scavenge, something tells me we'll need anything we can get." After speaking to the group, repeating himself in broken City Speak for the Troll, he dials the only number on his comm-link.

"Well...alright then." shaking his head he walks off. Upon returning to the warehouse he places the street sweeper near the entrance and heads out to drag the dead and/or alive bodies inside. "We should move the bodies in case someone else sees." He begins to strip the bodies of their clothes and belongings. Throwing their shirts to cover them, and restraining those who might be alive with their pants. He makes three equal shares of valuables which he will place on the cots of the other three, and make another larger pile of commlinks, weapons and what ever he doesn't recognize that he might find which he leaves near the trideo. Tossing the goods to make piles faster, he does place the weapons with care though. He also tells the other's of what ever he finds, including the extra jackets and other clothing accessories. While working to Gibs, "So I said this to the elf before, but welcome to Seattle. This is a common thing here, even more so in the barrens. Its not all bad though............all of it it is though." Smiling he asks Castien, "So who u callin?"

hehe... GM: Striker might not like the answer to that last question. Anyway, these gangers had a few things. Nothing terribly significant. To start, the coins might be a concern. They appear to be game tokens. "No Cash Value" Each ganger has 20 each - had them since Striker shook down the gangers for their loot. On closer inspection, the coins are stamped. Cut with a matching symbol to their gang patch. Striker turned up 3 more butterfly knives (5 total), and 2 zip pistols. There are 12 rounds of loose light pistol AP ammo, for the shoddy guns. The room sweeper is damaged. It is only useful as a club. There are no tools available to fix the shotgun. There are 5 buckshot shells. The one commlink they had is very broken. So broken to pieces, there is nothing that can save or recover its data. Kenny, Shock, and the Ork are still alive. Barely. Shock has the best health, but he is terrified. Which leaves him disconnected. The other two, are unconscious. There are medical supplies in the safehouse stash. The only warehouse security trait of any value, is the obscurity of this place. Nobody got away, but they might be missed. The commlink connects: "Castien? What's up?" the voice said. It sort of sounds like Wildcard, but happy.

"Wildcard, the only person we have on speed-dial," Castien says with a small grin. Castien scratches his head, unsure of what to say initially, then collects his thoughts and says calmly, "We had a small gang issue a few minutes ago. We took care of it, but we're gonna need a better place to hide the bodies, and we're willing to take you up on that job offer. But to be honest, I'm not sure how safe it'll be here from now on, we might need a new hideout. I know this is a lot to ask, and I know we just met you, but it's all we got right now, and if you can't help we'll figure something out. But I'd rather not have to." Castien scans the group for reactions, good or bad, as he waits for a response.

"Uh-huh..." the fixer's tone seems to turn on a dime, more serious like. "A job. Yes, I can do something for that." the fixer answered, "The safehouse... you will need to make it work. It may not be an answer you want to hear, but that is the only answer I have." Wildcard pauses for a beat. "What exactly happened, again?"

Castien thinks for a second...then says, "One second, Striker has something to ask me." Then he mutes the comm-link and speaks to the group, "He wants to know what happened with the gangers. How much should tell him?" He repeats what he can to the Troll, "[City-Speak]: What should I tell the old man about what happened?" Castien waits for a response from the group before responding to Wildcard.

"Panic." Wildcard quietly said to himself, as he rolled his eyes. The bartender read his face at that moment. "Rookies." he said to the fixer, while knowing the bar regulars would hear him. The old man shakes his head, and then accidentally ended the call. Castien wouldn't know that. To prevent further paranoia, Wildcard sends a texted message to his commlink. to Castien: Just bring whoever out of your team, to the Court Tavern. [map and address included]

GM: After the fact, I can say the gang could have been a threat. Not exactly serious, but the off-screen stuff paired with the on-screen initiatives favored the player character situation. Also, if this were to happen during a live session, it could have been radically different. For sake of storytelling, I believe it went well.

Striker looks up at the sky, shaking his head he just take a few deep breaths. Before he takes a handful of the coins that the gang members had on them. Loading his gun in silence for a few seconds he finally says, "Doesn't matter, I'm guessing he's questing why he's keeping us around at this point. We'll talk more about this later. Also if you call someone," his face tenses up as if he's holding back, "calm yourself " he whispers to himself, addressing Castien, "its super rude slash unprofessional to keep someone on hold." Striker puts his gun away as he turns his back to the others and addresses the now mostly naked gang members, he goes to get some medical supplies and a warm cup of soy cafe. He goes back to the gang members and tries to patch them up as best as possible. Cracking his neck and checking the temperature of the soy cafe, he sets down the cup and gets the corpses of the other two dragging them further away hidden. Contemplating, he returns and sets down a crate next to Shock, he takes the cup of soy cafe and takes a sip of it. Sitting on the crate and staring at Shock, he shakes him "Hey, I'm going to need you to calm down. Here drink this, its still a bit warm. Your first instinct might be throw this in my face, I respect that but..... One, it isn't hot enough to hurt me. Two, there is a troll outside that so far has lived up to all the stereotypes. Three, if you care about your brother's here its in your best interest to talk to me. I've done my best to patch them up, but if you cooperate with me I'll go try to steal a car and drop you off where ever you need."

Impact. Under normal circumstances the force of the Troll's charge should have completely shattered whatever specific skeletal structure she hit. Be it shoulder blades, the ribcage or leg bones. However, the Ork being a durable meta-type second only to Trolls took the brunt of the collision. While the jolt might have been nothing more than a little jarring for the human, the Ork was rendered immobile. Her intent had been to bulldoze a fleeing human and crush him underfoot, but her movements were halted. Her slit eyes centered their focus, the close proximity to the ganger and the human provided her with adequate details. She was surprised that the individual was an Ork, but it was the particular patch on his clothing that captured her attention. Recognition. This person was from the gang that she had discovered during her first excursion outside the warehouse. Communication had failed miserably and their response had been to attack her. It was the source of her fresh cuts and bruises. Experience started to explain the situation to her. Initial situation analysis seemed to claim that they wanted revenge. However, their limited numbers and equipment suggested a naivety and overzealousness. The answer was simple. Fresh meat in the gang attempted to prove themselves immediately through a physical spectacle. She too desired acceptance into a gang: The "Number 5" gang. She didn't actually know their title, but by their prominently displayed patches that was her best assumption. Her slit eyes shifted as the human attempted to communicate with her in City Speak. She caught a few of the words. "Don't kill. Value. Group." With minimal effort she threw the Ork over her shoulder and trotted back to the warehouse. Upon arriving she noticed that the Elf was talking into his comm-link. She stared violent malice towards the Elf, though its target was his communication device. She seemed to have a real hatred of them. He said something to her but the nuance of his statement was too much for her limited grasp on the language. From her understanding he had not said anything in regards to work. After casting a gaze on all of the faces in the room, including the two other gangers she stepped out. The night had fallen. As before time would pass as she made her way towards her destination. With the Ork still clothed and over her shoulder she arrived at the rendezvous point. A nondescript alleyway full of trash, scattered litter and the stench of urine and cigarette smoke. It was this general area where she met the "Number 5" gangers. Had the Ork begun to wake up at any moment during the trip she'd punch him back to sleep. Once there she'd speak. "Here. Ready for Work. Have rival. Sign of loyalty. Willingness." Her City Speak was enunciated slowly and she gestured heavily, pointing to the unconscious Ork in the ganger attire to supplement her meaning.

Castien looks down, disappointed in himself. He goes to unmute the call, but realizes that Wildcard has already hung up. "The old man hung up as soon as I went silent," he announces to the two that understand him. "But he sent me a message, he wants us to meet him at the Court Tavern. I've got the location here too, so we can go whenever you want. And, " he swallows hard, knowing he almost messed this up for all of them, "I'll stay calm next time." Castien forwards the map and address to everyone's comm-link, minus the Troll's, she didn't look like she even wanted to be here, let alone be here with him. He saw that look she gave him, that might have been what caused him to panic. No, he thought, it was just him, not knowing what to say, like always. He'd messed up too many runs in the past because he couldn't keep his composure. His memories were coming back more vividly now, and he remembered that he was the reason some ended in gunfire. That can't happen again. I don't know these people very well, but I know them well enough to not want them all killed. Castien slinks back over to his cot and lays down, thinking about all the botched runs he caused, all the friends he got injured or worse. Most of them didn't blame him, they would tell him how that guard would never have bought the story he told about being delivery-men with a certified package, that had to be signed for by the boss. His only job was to get his team into that tower, he wasn't the only guard, but there were only 3 of them in Castien's team, they could easily sneak past the rest once inside. Too bad they never got inside, because of him. He had to fix it the next day, it made him sick, thinking about how he had to pull the trigger, 1000 yards away, as his target hugged his little boy for the last time in his life. Castien shot up from his sleep. He hadn't even realized he'd been asleep in the first place. How long had he been out? It didn't really matter, he scanned the room to see who was still here, if the group bothered to wait for him to come with them.

GM: Yes. I figured it may turn out this way. Hrmnn... Qing is finished with this scene. We can handle her details off-screen, or in a different - separate scene. That one will prove equally entertaining, and may be the better option to do, visually. The other runners might have a little more to do with this scene. I would like to see where it goes. Castien is also aware of the commlink issue. The call is no longer connected, and now the text message. The runners should decide on that part. I guess I will be prepared for three exclusive scenes. This format will cater to it pretty well. The only thing to be mindful of, is to have players be aware which thread they are reading and then responding to. INCLUDING MYSELF. It should be fun.

Castien finds Gibs sitting on his usual spot, finishing up some sloppy first aid. Some piece of drek street gun, little ganger bastard was lucky it didn't blow up in his face. He clinches his jaw, prying the last bit of buckshot from his side with his new knife and bandaging himself. He cleans the knife and tucks it snugly into his left boot. He nods at Castien but says nothing. Kid didn't have a weapon, and isn't exactly a fighter. No shame in staying out of trouble. Smarter than me.

"Where are you...." Striker puts his hand in his palms as the Troll leaves. Professor, is this what you meant by patience..... Gives a sad look at Castien who seems to be taking a nap, Man, I'm a jerk.... Taking the clothes he took from all the gang members, he ties up the remaining two and tells the one who seems terrified, "Try to get some sleep, this nightmare of yours doesn't seem to be ending soon." "Gibs, I know your hurt but try too keep an eye on these two. I'm going take a walk. I'll take a quick look around see if they have any other friends. But I just need a walk. Also the meeting is up to you, since I'm guessing your the reason he called." He sends a text to Castien that reads, "Sorry about before, might have been to hard before you. Look some very frustrating stuff happened in the street you didn't see with the troll....Look I'm not saying something almost went up where the sun don't shine...but.....needless to say some things happened that aren't your fault. If your feeling up to it, any information you can get out of the remaining two ganger's would be great." He heads out looking around for any more gang member's, but just takes a walk outside.

Gibs nods to Striker as he leaves, and looks to Castien. He will offer him one of the butterfly knives. "It's not my favorite weapon, but it might come in handy. We should figure out why the slotheads came here before we go to the tavern." ..... Gibs looks to the gangers and grins. Cracking his knuckles. They're gonna pay for every grain of powder in that shell. If only I had my old shock gloves! (City Speak) "Your turn. What do you call yourselves, why are you here, what are the coins for? If I don't like your answers, this will get painful."

Shock still seemed out of it. Striker had placed a cup of the soycaf near him. It looked as if he had tried to come out of it, but hadn't succeeded. He has the cup in hand, but at an angle that most of the liquid spilled. Covering part of himself. Draining onto his leg and then onto the cold grey cement floor. The brown stain is starting to dry. The drink is getting soaked up into the porous pavement. Kenny, is still a miserable unconscious pile of meat and broken bone. The ork gunner was taken. She went someplace with him. Two others were announced dead on the scene. Their unrecognizable forms were carted off. The remaining ganger, composed and defiant, stood up and spat at the dwarf. "WE ARE THE WEST COAST SLAYERS! YOU ARE DEAD MAN!"

Gibs looks down at his boot, watching the saliva run down a shoelace and trickle on floor. Some things never change. (City Speak) "That takes care of question number 1. Thank you for your help, but I'm very much alive. Your friends are dead though. Do you want to join them?" Gibs throws him face first to the floor, pinning him with a firm knee. Grabbing a tied up hand behind his back, Gibs grips the ganger's trigger finger firmly and starts to twist it in ways it never twisted before. Gibs' face is one of grim determination, he takes no joy in this. ... "Now how about those coins!? Don't tell me you're on the way to the arcade!"

Castien takes in everything that's happened while he slept. He begins rushing through situations in his mind, what the Troll could be up to, hell, what Striker could be up to, but he let's it go. Unlike Gibs with the ganger's finger. "Alright buddy," Castien says to the gang member as Gibs has his finger held in a way that his finger should not be able to do. "Do you speak English? If not then things might be more painful for you, so you better hope to whatever higher power you believe in that you do," Castien speaks calmly this time, his face showing apathy. He doesn't care about this guy, and he doesn't care about his empty threats, or his...well, OK that finger does look disgusting. He looks the man in the eyes, waiting for a response.

"YESHH! yeshh, I shpeak engishh... Get this dreshkhed off me!" the nameless ganger answers. Tears and pain filling his face.

Castien smiles, "That wasn't so hard, was it?" He then pats Gibs on the shoulder and gives him a look that says Drop the finger, please . "Now I'm going to need you to answer his question, what are the coins for? Remember, failure to answer truthfully will result in immense pain," Castien says, still smiling.

Gibs raises an eyebrow at Castien, impressed with his stomach for this kind of thing and releases the now useless digit. "You've got 9 more, punk. Then I get creative."

"BIZ!" The ganger yelped. "It's how we take care of biz in the gang. Tit for tat."

"Biz huh? So like, favor coins? You give another person one of these and they do something for ya? Here's another question for you drekhead, how'd you get these Biz?" Castien says, his smile gone. More serious, like he was thinking of killing the ganger if he didn't answer fast enough.

"Favor Schmavors... you greasy dandelion eater!" he spits back, "You've got to be a member! ...and you ain't shit!"

Castien blinks once as he wipes away the spit from his face. Then he looks over to Gibs and says coldly, "Another finger, maybe two if you want." Then he looks the ganger in the eyes and calmly says to him, "Or you can answer my question. It's up to you, but you only have three seconds before my friend starts breaking."

The ganger started thrashing. "You stupid elf!" he said as he kicked wildly, "Gave you drekin' answer! Got to drek hell!" He twists and worms around. He manages to get an arm free, and starts to swing frantically.

The ganger started thrashing. "You stupid elf!" he said as he kicked wildly, "Gave you drekin' answer! Got to drek hell!" He twists and worms around. He managed to get an arm free, and started to swing frantically.

Gibs punches the back of the ganger's head, hammering it off the floor.

CRUNCH! Something in the ganger's head broke. Blood began to drain out his motionless body. Kenny is physically broken, and dying. Shock is mentally broken, and useless. Biz is now dead. The ork was carried off. The other two gangers... dead. All six, are essentially accounted for. Even if three are not physically seen. Loose ends? It could be three months, three days, or three minutes before anybody figures out where the safehouse is.

Gibs looks up to Castien sheepishly, letting the ganger's other arm fall to the floor. "whoops!  Oh well, we better go see Wildcard. At least we'll have some more answers for him.  I'm sure the other two will make it back here eventually." Has it really become this easy for me to kill? I left something back on that barge, something I'll never get back.

GM: Wow. What a note to end this scene on. Cool. Back to the Player's Table.