[3] High Eye Fiver

An alley way, like any other in an urban hell hole. The trash is stacked up on top of full cans, crates and bins. The wretched smell hangs heavy in the air. This space between the buildings seemed empty. No animal except five predators of a rival gang to the ork. He was splayed out a cushion of rotten trash bags, split open under his weight. As they came closer, they watched the troll and inspected the ork. Three orks and two trolls, all wearing the red and blue highway patch, that declared their loyalty to each other. They quietly spoke with each other. A strange dialect of City Speak wafted out of their circle. Maybe more like a Japanese based slang. It wasn't a heated debate. More like a careful observation. One of them, had a tone in his voice. Something that might be familiar from the other night. None of them addressed Qing.

The Troll waited patiently at the designated rendezvous location which had tentatively been established the previous evening. Having no physical device, portable or otherwise, that could indicate exact times, the relied on the sun. It had just set after her altercation with the other gangers concluded. Dusk had submerged into night, a sequence supported by the activation of streetlights and the onset of ambient darkness. Jaunting to the location, her intent was to at least arrive within an hour. She understood that her departure would enable her to arrive on time, but an early arrival to the meeting would present her dedication and proposition in a positive light. At least that was the hope. Ensuring that the Ork was still unconscious she laid him out atop a pile of rubbish and patiently anticipated the upcoming gathering. The seasonally chilly night wind bit at her exposed flesh and caused her body to shiver slightly to keep warmth. She grit her teeth at the sensation. The thought of uncontrollable withdrawal induced shakes reminded her of the dire necessity of this endeavor. She needed a secure source of income and stability. That stepping stone would then be leveraged to locate and purchase a definitive cure for her ailment. It all started here. Sensitive hearing twitched as the sound of footsteps were carried by the vigorous wind. The new reverberation was a welcome distraction from the foul stench of her immediate surroundings. While not unfamiliar with such pernicious city odors, it reminded her of the barge, a period she'd rather bury in the recesses of her memory. As the group approached she took stock. The hazy blurs became more focused as they drew nearer, nearby lights illuminating their silhouettes into solid figures. Her attention was on their patches: "The Number 5." Recognition flared and her tenseness decreased slightly. She saw three Orks and two Trolls. They were Metahumans. With the intensity of racism in the Sixth World towards "Goblins" such as themselves there was a subconscious relief. The company of the Dwarf, Elf and Human had been uncomfortable for various reasons, that one not least of which. She observed their initial caution and listened to their hushed conversation. She couldn't understand it, but she assumed something from their gazes. [City Speak]"Hello. Looking Work" She began, her words slow but her tone clear. [City Speak]"Met before. Came back." She pointed at the group, though specifically she aimed towards their distinctive red and blue patches. [City Speak]"Saw yesterday. Brought him as..." She paused, struggling to figure out the correct word. [City Speak]"Proof. Want join. Want Work." She finally said after a noticeable pause. Then she fell silent, awaiting a response.

Among the metahuman gangers, one of the trolls step forward. His skin near black as midnight. His eyes near purple as distant stars. He wears dark leather pants and boots. His chest almost bare, except for a light frilled vest. Something almost current from East Coast fashion. [city speak] "Zha. The puny ork is from West Coast Slayers. He is enemy. Is he your tribute? Is he your way into this?" he asked as he gestured toward the other gangers. "Kill him."

Finally after what appeared and felt like minutes of intense waiting the stiff breaths choked in Qing's throat abated. One of the gangers, the Troll, turned and gave her his attention. The stated physiological difference of the phenotypic expression between male and female Trolls was similar to that of the difference between male and female humans, but far less pronounced. The general, stereotyped belief that male Trolls were far larger and stronger than female Trolls was a misrepresentation and understatement of the race. Research revealed that Trolls are most likely divided into various subspecies among their race allowing for an incredible corporal variety. The fact that she was standing at the same height of the Troll and was even more muscular provided physical evidence of these theories. At his approach and words her sensitive ears shifted and carefully listened to his spoken directives. It took her some time to adequately translate. These moments might have felt like unnecessary dead air or hesitation, but that was an incorrect interpretation. Nothing about her body language suggested her contemplation of the value of the Ork's life. She was merely trying to completely understand the order. In one swift motion her massive hand gripped the meaty, stout neck of the Ork. Her large hands popped blood vessels, condensed muscles and snapped bone. In seconds his trachea was crushed and his neck broken. Like a neglected princess doll, his head bend forward and slacked, swaying from side to side without its structural attachment to the torso. The deed complete she tossed the corpse back atop the garbage and waited for a response from the gangers. [City Speak] "Done."

GM: Okay, I do realize a little timing concern may crop up. It is okay, and we can discuss it more out of character. Especially before, adding more here.

[city speak: all] "Zha. Good. No hesitation what so ever. We like. You join. We take good care of "sister" now." the leader said. "I am Midnight." he bellowed while gesturing to himself, and then he gestured to the others. "This is my crew." He watched Qing. "I answer to Mad Dawg. My boss. He answer to Honcho. His boss." the troll explains, "You answer to me."

Striker from his perch observes the gang getting friendly with Qing. A sad smile could be seen on his face. He sighs once. I might die tonight...maybe that's not a bad thing.....what did the professor say.......a soldier without a purpose could be the most dangerous thing..... The words of a woman ring in his mind, I can't lose Qing, I'm unprepared as it is....fuck He takes aim of a troll, and waits....he closes his eyes and when he opens them a stoic and stern face replaces the sad smile. Bang ......... the sound of a shotgun going off can be heard a fair distance away from Striker, at nearly the same time he pulls the trigger. Not even waiting to confirm the hit he moves out of view and heads to the next position. Breath.... The voice of the woman remains in his mind, Dammit He gets ready on his perch, he takes a breath and aims at another troll. Bang .....Another shotgun is heard from the same position that is away from Striker's position, and at nearly the same time again Striker shoots. He drops down out of view and presses something on his commlink and leaves it on the ground as he runs to his next perch. He takes aim at the third troll gang member, waits and counts down..... 3...2.....1...... an alarm goes off from his previous position coming from his abandoned commlink, moments later Striker takes a shot. He heads down from his elevated perch to a smokey and hidden spot he had prepared in an alleyway near the gang. Through the smoke of a garbage fueled inferno, Striker observes the gang. The final words of the professor ring in his mind, Why.....how...wh..... He continues to keep a stoic look on his face, but a single tear rolls down his face. This isn't like the last time......it isn't......fuck.....

GM: A lot of off-screen prep has been made, prior and during Engin33r's post. Lonestar sirens howl in the distance. They sound like they roar closer with each bang from a shotgun. More than one bullet whizzes into the gang's circle. They react fast. Almost ready for anything. However. this came a little as a surprise. "Midnight, somebody pissing in our Wheaties." one of the orks calls out. He snaps away, and talks into a device. Possibly a sub-vocal microphone. One of the other orks, taken a shot into his smooth bald green forehead. A third prominent eye leaked blood as he crumpled to the pavement. Midnight turns toward Qing to read her reaction. Genuine? She appeared confused, maybe worried. After a short pause, the dark troll gently reached for her elbow. He hesitated, and doesn't touch her. [city speak] "Zha. Come sister. It not safe here." he commanded, having moved his hand closer, but still not yet touching.

There was a brief moment of anticipation after the now lifeless body of the Ork slid down the pile of garbage like discarded waste. Then the result came. The large Troll with deep mahogany skin wore a pleased expression. Minute vestiges of what could be considered joy gently washed across her face, quickly fading back to her usual stoic appearance. She strained her limited knowledge of City Speak to ensure that she completely understood his proceeding instructions. “午夜” “Wǔyè” she reflexively spoke in Mandarian, repeating his name in her native and more comfortable language. Surprised by her own action she quickly straightened and nodded, attempting a response in City Speak. [City Speak] “Yes. Understand. Want work soon.” Her eagerness was driven by a need of stimulants and an unwavering desire to escape her uncertainties by re-entering a world familiar to her. The loud, reverberating bang of gunfire caused her ears to ring. The relative silence had been harshly broken. Her sensitive hearing readjusted to prevent any damage. Her eyes swiveled and turned a translucent green. She looked down either end of the alleyway seeing no immediate danger. Hearing the wailing of police sirens, reason flickered in her mind. The moment that the Troll reached out to pull her she started to run along with them, trying to explain [City Speak] “Other Gang. Like Ork. Attacked. Maybe Followed. Altered Badges.” Hopefully her meaning hadn’t been lost through her hastily cobbled enunciation. She was trying to explain that the Ork’s gang had attacked her before. She wasn’t careful enough and probably got followed. His earlier gunshots might have resulted in Lone Star being called. The additional gunfire from the gang ambush must have directed the already suspicious cops towards them. [City Speak] “I In Front!” She said with confidence. This was to show her loyalty and determination. If there were gangers waiting at the other end of the alley to put them down or even police, she’d roll through them as her first action for their gang.

[city speak] "Zha. Good. No. Vent will lead. He knows where to go." Midnight answered, while reading the situation. He knows very well where his crew is at. Even the unseen members. "To rally point, Vent!" the dark troll barks.

Affirmation crossed the Troll's face. She understood that she was being lead. Now within the gang she just had to take orders and work. That will secure her finances, at least temporarily and give her a new start in this alien place. The constant wailing of the police sirens reminded her of a very unpleasant memory. This wasn't the first time she's dealt with police. It also wasn't her first encounter with Lone Star. None of these were surprising. However, she had a deep secret, confidential information stowed away in her history. Despite the fact that she wasn't a local, she knew that she couldn't allow herself to get caught by Lone Star. She didn't know who she had killed so long ago. In fact, she still didn't know. However, she knew he was important. Important enough to earn her a criminal history with Lone Star that would never fade. Her massive feet pounded the pavement as she followed whomever was leading the way.

He wipes his face, I made a choice....it was the right one.....I've got to remember that............ Striker's head seems to clear, maybe the smoking was reminding him of home. The heat and suspense had cleared Striker's mind, at the end of the they he was a simple man.  Blood...Money....and excitement were all that were needed to clear his head.....and the unexpected... He couldn't help but laugh, Out of everything I expected.... Shakes his head with a grin..... Maybe I'm not as racially enlightened as I thought... The gang's departure was not in Striker's plan, but he wasn't really upset either. Honestly didn't think that was going to work, but I was expecting a bit more fun than this..... Taking a deep breath he, he climbs back up to where he left his commlink.  Following the gang with his eyes, he sends a quick text to someone.   Heading back down to the alleyway on fire, he kneels by a particular big fire, Plan B, what ever that is...... he inhales a bit of smoke enough to cause him to cough and tear up, but not too much.  He makes a frantic call, the words slurred with coughing and artificial tears... He leaves the commlink on the ground and heads back up, watching the gang from his perch and waiting for something..... Well a couple of things could happen in the next few moments.....patience Striker...one must know when to Strike and when not to Strike....goddam why didn't I pick a better name.... Striker takes out his knife and starts playing with it, keeping an eye out for more information.  Waiting for something...an opportunity.   

Something zipped overhead. Fast. Then another thing. Different. Slower. The wailing sirens was coming from these things. They flew over the buildings. Looking, but not really noticing. The drones appeared to be homing in on a signal. Looking for a commlink maybe. They were drawing closer to a particular position. The fire and smoke making it equally difficult to perceive, or find what they were - are looking for. Drones. Not physical manpower. Not live detectives or patrolmen. The signal they received, being given. The operators, the owners of the drones are operating on protocol. Routines. Procedures. The cry for help by a human. Bullied by vulgar metahumans, unconfirmed. No mob detected. No situation validated by Doc Wagon. No parallel signal to the commlink. Cheap. Distraction. No additional assets. No further support. The drones leave.

[city speak] "Zha. Drones. They leave. We safer now. Keep moving." Midnight said, as his crew disappeared into the darkness.