The Den Games Network Forum RPG
virtualoctopus, CKW, Wesforce, Nyerguds
Red clanged against the metal-plated air vent, fumbling for her walkie-talkie. That thing was quiet, and incredibly expensive - and due to the increasing amounts of personal aircraft in urban areas in the late 22nd century, it hadn't been seen as a threat - more like the plaything of some over-rich corporate fragger - until it had opened fire. Not many people would have something that could decapitate a large, heavily built orc, and rip furrows across the concrete roof mounted on their sportscraft.
This didn't look good.
She could saw the orc with the trenchcoat spin, suddenly aware of the monochopper, and recieve the same attention his fellow metahuman had a few seconds before. The agile aircraft raked the rooftop with bullets again, the sound of the weapon drowned out by the roar of the crowd below, and the orc just miliseconds too fast for it - clearly he'd be dead when it passed him again -he was making straight for the door down to the stairwell to backstage - past another air vent (already pockmarked from the attack), and fully across the rest of roof to his destination - a distance clearly far too great for someone who obviously wasn't a corpolympic sprinter.
Hopefully it hadn't noticed her - if it did, she'd be a gonner too.
"Well now. 'Ice' and Tundra. Isn't that funny?" Boomed an all-too-familiar voice from the shadows.
Tundra froze in her tracks. The hulking Russian loomed large. At his height and bulk, he certainly 'loomed'.
He had a bottle of Vodka in one hand, some rather pathetic looking flowers ion the other. Tundra hadn't seen him since the Tourbus. Maybe he'd sneaked in here just to get some vodka.
He spoke again:
"Is your uh, accomplice, Silvia around? I need to..."
His eyes narrowed down to slits.
"Why have you left your post?" He snarled.
Tundra grasped for a reply. In the end Iceman gave her one, by dint of a savage chop to the throat, leaving her on the floor in a heap and gasping for breath. Lucky. If she'd been human, she wouldn't be breathing at all by now.
"Don't get up. I told Mr J he hired too many of you fraggers. Time to make the team miore efficient..."
He walked casually towards her...
The problem with people like Iceman is, they are far too confident. His casual walk was so slow, it gave Tundra the time to undo the lid of her bottle and fill her mouth with water. If this worked, she could get away with this without hurting anybody. And if it didn't, she could get away without hurting herself.
"Heh, Good night you green skinned runt" Iceman ranted in drunken rage. He picked up Tundra until she was face height, just what she had been expecting. And in a very undinified display, spat the water in his face.
"Seems the tables have turned my dear, for I can touch you faster then you can crush me." She smiled at him. Iceman's snarling face was now covered in the traits of uncertainty. "Now may I ask why you are not at your post? Hanging about on a stairway is no place for our valiant leader. And myself? I am merely sending a message to the people on the helip..."
For the first time Tundra heard it. Gun fire on the roof. Iceman heard it too, he dropped Tundra, looking up towards the door.
"Ok runt, point made... but next time." Muttered Iceman as he listened in. "Now be a good little girl and follow me, on the double!"
"Yes Sir!" Said Tundra, with only a hint of sarcasum.
Choak reached out his warped astral prescence, opening himself the Chaso. The spirit being took in the situation, and took over the orc.
The frail physical body took the next bullets, as they tore through his coat and ripped into flame. Inside the trenchcoat his body whooshed upwards from it's smouldering feet in an inferno of magic, into flame. Shots clanged against the door to the shaft.
For Choak, it felt like an eternity - actually, it was a second as the flames rushed across the rootop. Then the orc rematerialised, smoking, beside the doorway, his hands on the handle, ripping it open, and scorching the wood.
He barelled into the sanctum, down the stairs to the first landing, and collapsed, his sweat evaporating in hazy clouds. He coughed up blood, which boiled off the ground almost instantaniously. His footprints had left ash on the stairs.
Having to do that was NOT good.
As Iceman ran to the last landing before the door to the roof, he stopped. Tundra stopped behind him, she couldn't see what he was looking at over his quite large frame, but she could make out green skin. An Ork.
"What's happened, let me see!" Tundra insisted. Iceman moved out the way, still unsure weather he shouls disagree. "Oh, it's him." Tundra muttered, a bit of distaste. The Ork who had played bodyguard for her in the line. Still, she had to help. But she had to get that Russian idiot out of the way first.
"Carry on ahead, I'll stay here and look after him." Iceman obviously didn't need an excuse, he wanted to be up there anyway. When she thought Iceman was far out of sight and mind,she turned the Ork over with great effort.
She was quite surprised with what she saw, while trying to get Iceman away and what with all the suddeness of finding him, Tundra hadn't even noticed he was half naked. She tried not to blush, but she was already quite red before she'd given it any thought.
"Erm... Are you ok M... ARGH!" She began before recoiling in pain. She had place a hand on his forehead, not knowing that he was boiling hot. The Ork stared up at her, almost blankly. Blinded by pain... or maybe exhustion. "I'm going to try and cool you down ok?" She said, not knowing what else to do other then stay calm and look at his face.
She ripped a piece of cloth from her dress, soaking it with cool water from her bottle, still half full and placed it on his forehead, it hissed on contact.
"Ugh..." The Ork groaned, before going into another coughing fit. He tried to get up, but at her own risk, Tundra pushed him back down. He was cooling, that was for sure. But to touch him still made her hands sting.
"Not too fast dear, not too fast." Tundra whispered, trying to be reassuring. She then removed the cloth from his head, soaked it again and placed it back on. More hissing, but it came on slower this time.
"Have... to move." Choak spluttered.
"We will soon dear, don't worry." She said, still telling herself to keep her eyes on his face. She then heard something that worried her, it sounded like Iceman, only he was screaming. "Frag that, we have to move!"
Rusty wasn't pleased. Holding back the swarming fans had been a less than dignified duty, Alexiev certainly didn't seem to mind though. That mute, Crystal, certainly seemed to know her business. She knew how to take care of herself, Rusty could see that, as well as taking care of anybody who dared to cross her. It was then Rusty saw a trail of greenish-brown arc through the air and land on Crystal's forehead. He winced. It was a disgusting thing to do, spit on another person.
Rusty, having been a chopper pilot all of his adult life, was able to hear a familar sound over the cacophony that was the concert and screaming fans. A monochopper. Always interested in such things, Rusty craned his neck and followed the craft as it made it's way over to the designated Helipad. A beautiful craft, built for civillian specifications, with lovely performance and an efficient powerplant. Yet, something seemed odd. Rusty kept watching the Monochopper. There was a professional at the helm of that bird, Rusty could tell. It dawned upon him that the Monochopper wasn't about to land but was in a prime position to initiate a strafing run upon the Helipad, then Rusty noticed a pair of non-standard pods slung along the craft's fuselage. Weapons. He tried to call out a warning but, having neglected his crowd control duty, was buried in a cascade of screaming fans....
"At least I don't have to suffer those frightful heathens, screaming for more gibberish."
Jessica remarked to herself quietly, as she critically examined her fingernails in boredom. She had been lumped with the job of ensuring nobody took advantage of the free buffet backstage. While there was the advantage of not being stuck outside with the crowd this job wasn't pleasant either. Most people who acknowledged her presence at the buffet table either made a pass at her or scoffed at her gold uniform and insulted her, thinking she was just another hired goon. If these fraggers knew I had once been at the helm of the greatest airbourne carrier in history they'd change their tune." She thought, disgusted with the world, as usual.
It was then things got substantially more interesting for ex-lieutenant Hayes.
Three people strode, full of purpose, past her table. Two were elvish women, wearing skin tight leotards and sporting the bodies to do them justice. A dwarf waddled behind them, he looked nervous. Somewhat jealous, Jessica silently belittled the two women; Probably freshmeat for that filthy rapper, and their pimp looks like a complete wimp. She was about to return her attention to her emery board when she saw the dwarf whip his arm up, along with a compact weapon of sorts, and spray loud, metallic death in the general direction of Tyme4Cryme's personal entourage!
After a moment of confusion people began to scream, scatter and suffer. The dwarf kept pouring lead into the entourage while the two elves cartwheeled to each flank and began attacking stragglers in deadly close combat. Hayes stood there, transfixed by what she was seeing. While the dwarf certainly wasn't one to be trifled with, having a high powered SMG, the two women were carving through the crowd with alarming speed, obviously they were chip-enhanced. With deadly precision and group cooperation they forced their way towards Tyme4Cryme's refuge.
Suddenly aware of the threat posed to her own well being, Jessica gripped the buffet table, heaved and tipped it on its side. The bowls of food slipped off the table and shattered on the floor, drawing attention to Jessica inadvertantly. The dwarf's SMG chattered and bullets thumped into table, bored their way through the thin material and shot their way into the wall. Hayes, by now, had flattened herself against the floor and was hugging the cold tiles for dear life. Thankfully, she wasn't hit by the burst of fire the dwarf had sent screaming her way. Hayes just lay there, waiting for it to end. She could hear Russian cursing as the gunfire continued....
The firing stopped abruptly, and Jessica overheard furious cursing in Russian. One of the women was violently scolding Boris the Dwarf fr flying off the handle and attacking prematurely. The three had between them managed to kill just about everyone that had drawn a weapon, and a few dozen more besides. But then, Russian Mafia were never really known for subtlety.
And then, astonishingly, they sat down to wait, eating some of the spiced cakes and collecting weapons up as the survivors whimpered.
Time4Cryme had left the stage, heading back to the backstage area for a bit of a rest. As soon as he did, the crowd redoubled their efforts to storm the stage.
Frag this. If he's not staying, nor am I. Thought Crystal. It looked to her like the concert was over anyway. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
No sign of Tank, or any of the others, but she reasoned they could take care of themselves.
She had noticed Rusty going down, however...
Jumping in heavily with both feet, she got the jump on the maddened fans. She got a bit worried when she saw scraps of gold material in their teeth,...
Rusty was suffocating.
Blood, sweat, tears, cheap beer and the smell of teenage rap fans was never a good combination. When you're being crushed down into a puddle by dozens of the sweatiest, gobbiests and most intoxicated of those fans, it somehow gets worse.
Then he saw the light, and it was blue.
"Where am I?" Gasped Rusty. Breuifly examining himself, he was okay but for bruised ribs, torn clothing, scracthes, and general filthiness.
Crystal shrugged. She knew she was somewhere near the backstage area. She'd dragged Rusty out of there, suing her security pass to get here where the fans couldn't reach. They were completely out of control now, most of them taking out their zip-guns for a bit of a traditional after-gig shootout.
She could just about make out the pathetic 'phut' of the home-made 'pipe-guns' now, and maybe the odd shot or two from a real handgun.
Someone was shouting and screaming in Russian, too.
Iceman was screaming.
Screaming in delight, that is, as was his wont. When he saw the monochopper, he knew his tip-off had been well-received. He considered it a masterstroke, killing two birds with one stone, playing both sides off against the middle and other clever phrases he'd picked up from western 3DTV virtualshows.
He'd suggested getting the 'runners this job as a cover. Doing so, he could make sure they were all where they were needed... Or not.
Fondly imagining the payment he'd be receiving soon, he realised that whoever the Vory had sent wouldn't know his face, so it'd be best to remain out of sight.
He slammed the door on the Helipad and barreled back down the stairs.
That Ork bitch was there. For playing with later. She'd been staring at the floor. He took her by surprise.
"Ugh!" He grunted, ramming into her, punching her full in the face, knocking ehr frail form into deep unconsiousness easily and scooping her up under his arm in one fluid motion while still holding his Vodka. He thought he heard something from what looked like a pile of burnt rags on the floor. The smell of burning flesh made his moth water, but he would get food later. He ran for the doors to backstage and crashed through them too without stopping.
Frag. Two more of them. Time to play the leader again... He thought, seeing Crystal and Rusty.
"We gotta move back to the Bus! I'll cover you!" He yelled, totally at ease with the cliches therein.
Rusty struggled to his feet, more than ready to leave. If Iceman wanted to get the frag out Rusty did not any problem with that. Then he remembered something, he paused and spoke;
"Wait...What about the other Russian, ummm, ya know? Alexiev? And..and, the ork, Tank."
Crystal nodded, her way of agreeing, nobody was going to be left behind. Iceman narrowed his eyes at the mention of Alexiev but kept playing the role of the valiant leader.
"You're right. We'll find them, last known location?"
Rusty looked at Crystal, she looked back and shrugged. Rusty spoke on her behalf;
"Last we saw, they were still on crowd control backstage. Hey, what happened to her?"
Rusty gestured at Tundra, the ork girl in Iceman's arms. Iceman hefted her mass and looked down at her.
"She....met with an accident on the rooftop helipad."
Suddenly remembering, Rusty blurted out;
"Monochopper! I forgot to tell you, I saw one. It had gu-"
"You're behind the times, I already know that. Just get up and find the others. I'll get this one to the bus. Be there in 10 minutes or I'll leave you here."
With that Iceman jogged away. Rusty dusted himself off and spat blood.
"Sheila, I tell ya, that bloke has some problems, reckon he'll fly the coop without us?"
Crystal didn't know.
"Da. This food is excellent."
One of the elven women commented, foraging through the spilt buffet.
"Mmmhmmm. Bedder dan duh fud ah hum"
The other replied, her mouth full of spice cake. The first one came to the upturned buffet table, clucked disapprovingly and began to right the table. She saw Jessica Hayes lying on the floor behind it, eyes shut tight.
"Well well, another survivor. Hello little one."
The elf then called out;
"Natascha, we are having another one over here!"
"Well, put her with the others, Petra."
The elf, apparently called Petra, helped Jessica to her feet and walked her over to where the other, unarmed survivors were. Petra whispered comforting words and assured them that they only wanted the rapper, Tyme4Cryme. Petra spoke to Jessica;
"Your clothes. They are the same as the other guards. If you promise not to make trouble you will live, da?"
Jessica nodded, knowing that even if she wanted to there was nothing she could do against two cyber-enhanced assassins and a gun toting dwarf.
Ash was working her way slowly but surely through the crowd, forcing her way through with a surrounding aura of heat and well-aimed blows to clavicles with a riot truncheon. Occasional gropers and perverts got harsher treament... They littered her wake, 3rd degree burns blackening their stumps before they were crushed underfoot by the crowd. She was making a path to Tank, a landmark among in the crowd whom she knew was close to where Chance was.
Ducking a thrown fan that went hurtling past her ear, Ash suddenly found herself picked up by a huge fist... Only the sight and memory of her scarlet hair managed to penetrate Tank's mind in time to prevent him from tossing her after the airborne youth. Some screamed conversation and rather frantic groping later, they picked up Chance, who had been buried and nearly suffocated in the mess.
It was time to beat a retreat... With Tank bodily bowling a path with tossed fans, the trio retreated to the backstage area. Ash caught a glimpse of blue hair disappearing through a security door and urged her companions towards it, hoping to warn Crystal about the gunfire that she had heard inside the backstage area...
Iceman stopped and pulled a rag out of his pocket. He dropped Tundra with a *thump*. Then he tied the rag onto her as a blindfold.
Spetznats lessons in securing magic users:
1) Blindfold them: They can't cast spells at what they can't see
2) Gag them: So they cant incant for their spells. Better still: Wire their mouths together.
3) Break their concentration. Loud undulating noises are good.
4) Rip off their arms and legs.
Iceman didn't think he'd do part 4 just yet... But he did stop to pick up an MP5 player from the bus. He pressed play, and affixed the hearing trodes to Tundra's head with duct tape wrapped many times around her head and eyes, leaving only her mouth free.
Crystal and Rusty hadn't seen this. Ash had come in behind them, with Iceman leading from the front.
Ash told Crystal and Rusty about the developing gunfight. Crystal tried to reassure her that such a thing wasn't so uncommon at rap gigs, but she had trouble persuading her. Maybe it was the fact that she had to type everything out on an ePad.
"What shall we do now?" The question was posed, by Silvia, who came out from under the table she'd been under when Iceman came in.
"Well, I guess we and our comrades head back to the bus, check on Tyme4Cryme...Ah..."
Then they realised, or rather Rusty did.
"We've got friends out in that riot still! What'll we do without our Deckers?"
The monocopter made one more circle of the helipad, failed to see anyone, and landed, it's rotors kicking up the coat of the dead orc, and blowing Red's hair across her face. From her position, she hadn't been noticed, and hoped it would stay that way. When whoever it was had opened the door, outlined in light for a split second, she had considered making a run for it, but thought better of it, as they could be helping whoever was in the chopper, or just as bad, her dash across the open 'pad would get her torn to pieces like both orcs.
Frag it, no-where to run
She considered for a moment trying to open the air duct, but knew that it wasn't much of a better option - for all she knew, there could be a giant fan deep below, ready to chop her up into parts small enough to be tinned.
And I'm thinking clearly, whoa.
The black aircraft's two roof-hinged doors slid open, their Aztechnology logo visible from her slightly obscured hiding place, the rigger could see inside. Room for about 10 people, packed up real tight, she guessed - maybe less if they had any junk in there. It looked like there was one passenger, and whoever was flying the thing. The passenger was clearly a trogg - huge frame, little head silhouetted in the light from the other side of the pad. Probably not a nice guy.
A voice, thick Russian accent, drifted across.
"Da, we have another wun there. Comrade Jolly, be sorting sorting it out, and secure the door. "
(it's spelled "pieces", VO )
Alanya was completely lost in the crowd. She knew the best way not to get trampled was to go in the same direction... but she didn't see any of the other guys around.
"Frag." she grumbled. She didn't even hear herself saying it in the deafening yelling Cryme's of fans.
Gotta reach the backstage entrance... I know there are some of our people there.
She knew it would be relatively easy, seeing that the crowd was going in thet direction.
Then she realized the error in her plan.
Frag! Then we'll all be caught in this mess!
I gotta get to the side, and fast. Where the frag is that Tank guy?
Alanya was pretty heavily built, but having spent more time in the Matrix than on the streets she lacked Tank's brutal power. And that was exactly what she needed to get out of this mess...
What am I even doing here? I'm a fragging decker!
He sat in the uncomfortable chair of the Monocopter, that was way too small for him. Much like everything was. They had just landed, and even though he had enjoyed the display that was the gunfight to the point of almost smashing the skull of the man sitting next to him with an uncontrolable fist, he was happy for it. He looked himself up and down, quite a change from the old days. He had weapons, not just what he could salvage when he salvaged it, but weapons on hand. He also had grenades, grenades were his friends. His body was also impressive, he was amazed at what the physical training installed by these Russian's had done to him since he left Scotsprawl. He stood up, almost taking half the roof with him and barely got out of the door.
"Are you ready, Comrade Jolly?" Said the one only known as his "Minder". She had saved him from Transys, and had no Russian accent. Which disturbed Jolly for some reason. Of course, she wasn't really here. He just imagined it in his head, sort of like what she would say had she have been here. Another unwanted side effect of being around her too long.
"Ya, Juz' lemme at 'em." He replied, slowly making his way to where Red was stationed. He remembered his Orders, he was not to kill anybody unless they resisted. The target was the Dwarf Rapper, and him alone.
"Yoo dere, State yer bussinez!" Jolly demeanded, which was hard to do as a Troll. The force in action was there, but the words just didn't come out right. Red said nothing. "Luk, Ah dun't wanna hurt ya, so jus' promize if ah leave ya 'ere. Ya'll do nothin', k?"
Jolly waited absentmindly for a responce, examining the contents of his right ear as he did so.
The trogg was huge. Abso-fragging-huge. So huge that if he held up an arm, a frieght train could have ran underneath. So huge he'd give tank a run for his money.
Red was cornered. She knew this, and desperately looked for an escape, finding none. And the absurd offer of escape seemed like some kind of trap - although what could a troll this stupid actually come up with, without some kind of cranial implant?
She gulped, which the monster seemed to take as some kind of response, and turned away, making for the doorway. Red watched as the impressive arsenal of weapons on the beast glinted in the artificial light. There was no way she was going up against something like that, even if the fact that his train of thought was probably still boarding several stations back would give her a distinct speed advantage.
He reached the door, and huge fingers groped for the control. He didn't find it, so instead he dug his fingers into the metal, and simply ripped it off, peering inside like a child.
The smell of burnt flesh drifted across to her, the troll realising it at the same time, despite being much, much closer than her.
"Ooo! Smellz just like momma cooked!" He troll, as if lead by his nose, ambled into the small atrium before the first flight of stairs.
Red saw her chance, and took it. With the element of suprise, she should be able to dodge the thing, and make it down the stairs - it seemed far preferable to her than waiting for the inevitable execution - and in the confines of the stairwell the trogg wouldn't be able to use it's explosives, and the monochopper was landed at too obtuse an angle for it to be able to get her, without lifting off again - something that, as a rigger, she knew wouldn't be possible in the short time to cross the gap.
She knelt, leapt up, and made for the door, just as the bursts of bright, scorching light and the surprised screams of the monstrous troll erupted from the damaged doorway.
It was a while before Jolly finally uncovered his eyes, and this was only at the screaming of the mono Piolet, some frantic Russian Jolly didn't understand. Only then did he realise that he wasn't hurt at all.
"Wot 'appened?" He asked the piolet.
"Dere vos a show of light by a mage, an' then, the prisoner was gone." Explained the Russian.
"Ah see... We go afta 'er?" Asked Jolly, his stunned state really putting his speech off. Or even more so. The Russian just shook his head, then told him to sercure the door. Our friends back stage will take care of them.
With this in mind, Jolly marched down the stairs, almost snapping everyone as his giant feet hit them. He grabbed his gun, even though he wasn't ordered to kill... he felt safer with a weapon.
"'old on, Ah kan 'ere people... Someone 'as been past 'ere recently..." Jolly concentrated on the sound. "Sound's like dey ar' goin' outside... But maybe dey didn't make it."
"Dey 'ave an automobile maybe?" Said the Russian beside him. "Dey may 'ave saw our forces and dey stop?"
Jolly pondered this. Then just shrugged.
"Problee." He replied.
Blind and deafened, the only thing she could feel was Iceman's tightly bound muscles between her. Tundra had been caught out, and she was pissed off. Nobody had ever caught her out, if there was something she couldn't magic her way out of, she could always talk her way out of it. At least she was comfortable in her blue dress. It wasn't the best she owned, but it was her favorite. And very comfortable. The length of it protecting her modesty from what could be Iceman's prying eyes, until they stopped moving.
The music thumped though her head, it was the Time4Cryme trash. It gave her a dreadful headache, no matter how much she tried to ignore it. She tried to focus on Iceman's moving patterns, but found the only thing she could do was grap her Snowflake necklace. She felt she should shout, but couldn't... She wished the Ork was here. She didn't know him, she wasn't sure she'd caught his name, but he owed her one... and had helped her in the line. That she secretly apprciated.
Tundra always acted the self-supporting, independant woman. But she sometimes got lonly... like everyone. There were times where she wanted somebody who would... look out for her? Put an arm around her when she was upset, maybe? Somebody to... dare she say it, love? But, coming back to reality. When Iceman eventually killed her, the fragging sicko he was! She doubted she'd get the chance... she'd never be cared for, just die a hermit in her own right. She sighed, running though more depressing thoughts just t take her thoughts off this racket that people called music! But there and then, she decided one thing. She'd NEVER show fear, She wouldn't give anybody the pleasure. Especially not this evil Russian.
Just then new bursts of gunfire erupted from the VIP area as Crystal, Rusty and Sil pondered their course of action.
Crystal moved to the heavy door. She hard dozens of people screaming, and then a full-blown gunfight erupted. The door was securely shut, and wouldn't budge.
"Fraggin' ell, mate!" Rusty realised. "They're doin' one on Tyme4Cryme!"
"We can't do anything, not without weapons." Crystal typed.
"I AM a weapon!" Silvia said, a bit smugly.
Crystal pointed at her, and then at the entryway to the concerthall, mimed punching her fist into her open palm a few times, and then flapping her arms.
She looked at SIlvia and pointed her finger to her temple, right where a Datajack would be. Then she pointed at Ash and indicated in time-honoured military hand-signals to 'cover' Sil.
Next she grabbed Rusty and dashed out the door, to the Tourbus, hoping Iceman had left it open.
It was, not for long.
She and Rusty just glimpsed Iceman's face as he slammed the door.
Frag. What now? Maybe we could beat up some of those kids and nick their guns... Crystal thought. Smiling, liking the idea.
She dragged Rusty back. They were going to follow Sil and Ash...
Up on the roofpad, having disgorged it's main passenger, the Monocopter began the secondary role assigned to it.
Lifting gracefully, with a pronounced tilt, the sleek vehicle lined itself up with the three tourbuses lined up out the back.
Two figures (undistinguished orange blobs to the Rigger-pilot's thermographic sensor-eyes) sprinted away from the parking area, seconds before the monochopper opened up with it's weaponry. With hardly any noize, the first vehicle was turned into so much gold-filings by a stream of 5mm Sabot rounds that rammed through it like it was paper.
"DIE, Capitalist vehicle!!!" Yelled the rigger. The pilot switched to bus 2...
Tundra could feel the wind. They were outside, he was taking her to the tour bus! She couldn't let him do that, locked away with that maniac he could do anything to her! ANYTHING!As she heard the door of the tourbus click behind her, She panicked and in a very strange moved for her, started to scream and frail. The Russian just laughed, as if he had got the result he had wanted from her at last. But he soon stopped laughing. In fact, he let out a small groan. She couldn't belive it, but she'd caught him between the legs! Now she needed to run, and fast! She made for the door of the bus, slamming it in Iceman's wake. It was a shame she had not the energy to freeze it shut, nor the concentration for that matter.
She lept from his crumpled form, running blindly in the direction of the door. Unable to see her footing,she almost tripped over her dress several times. It wasn't good for running, Tundra rarely wasted the enery. She ripped at the duct tape frantically with he nails, not hearing the snap as many of them broke. She eventually freed herself from the MP5 player and that infernal music was gone. But she was still blind, and Iceland was taking up the chase.
She ran, until she felt the wall, the growling pants of Icemand following her. She needed to find the door, once she was inside, well she didn't know! Maybe the Russian's would shoot her before the fragging maniac got his hands on her! At last she found it, and while Iceman's breath nearly don't the back of her neck, flung it open and ran inside.
And in all the commotion, she was positive she heard something explode behind her. Although in her blind state she wouldn't have seen anything, she was willing to bet she knew what it was.
Jolly plodded into the VIP area. The back stage door was here, and there were signs of an obvious conflict. He could smell the perfume of Petra here, ah dear sweet Petra. A troll like him would never stand a chance with her, but she had fueled many a happy dream. He smiled as he saw the bullet holes in the walls, almost wishing he made himself had made them.
"Ve should watch the back door, ya? Make sure no one get in?" Said the Russian, Jolly nodded absent mindedly and followed him. He caught a glance of something he didn't want to see, people. People he had seen fora moment in Transys, well he recognised the faces. But couldn't give a name to any.
"Oi!" he yelled. "Wot yoo doin' 'ere?"
He was about to get a reply, when Tundra made her alarmed entrance. She hadn'tlong followed Crystal and Rusty in, but they probably had thier minds on other things and hadn't seen her. When she realised there were people in the room, she drew herself back up to full height and stood proudly. They could be the Russian's for all she knew, but you had to die proud if nothing else.
"Erm..." Jolly began, but then regained his senses. "Git yer 'ands up motha fraggaz! Ah've bin ordered not to 'urt ya. But any resinstance and ah'll 'ave to open fire." The piolet followed him, pistol drawn.
"Ve jus' vant Tyme4Cryme, Nobody need get hurt." The Russian insisted. He was shaking, he was weak. He was a rigger, not a fighter. There was an advantage to be had here.
Crystal put her hands up instantly - The Troll carried a gun. A BIG FRAGGING gun - A n IWS-Made Light Machinegun, ammo belt snaking around to the bullet box on his hip, heavy Troll-sized hand and foregrips. Someone his size and strength would be able to control the beast of a gun easily, even while standing and firing full-auto.
Crystal had an idea.
She held up her e-pad, indicating that she wanted to type something for him.
"We gotz no time for playin' games, girlie." He grunted.
Crystal sighed, but ever-helpful, Rusty picked up for her.
"G'day mate, we're, uh, just the toilet attendants, see?" He said, indicating the gold tiger-striped suits they all wore. "And our mates are out there-" He jerked his thumb out at the concert hall, where the occasional gunshot still popped. "Appreciate a little -"
The rest of the plan was cut off as stray rounds from the strafing outside flicked through walls and doors at stupidly high velocities.
The bullets the Monochopper was firing would have shredded an APC or light tank's armour. They shredded the tourbuses in short order, too, and sure there was fluid leaking everywhere from the cracked Hydrogen fuel cells, and Bus 3 was quietly burning in a heap with a translucent blue hydrogen flame.
Flushed with success, the chopper decided to give the building a quick good hosing too, remembering the figures he's seen. Firing at a controlled rate of 2500rpm, he took one pass before going back in to land.
Bullets passed through everyhting - Stadium wall, people in the crowd, tables, chairs, fire extinguishers, pictures of George W Bush - With alacrity.
Everyone had ducked for cover the moment the attack had begun, aside from Silvia (who was too young and inexperienced of combat), and Jolly, who didn't quite realise what was going on.
Crystal got up from the floor. Someone was screaming, harsh, shrilly. The noise seemed to go through her head. It was Silvia, holed through the chest and left arm. Relatively nice, neat round holes though, not the bloody messes that would have been left by hollowpoints.
Jolly had a flesh wound through the left arm. Nothing major, just tissue damage. Just enough to piss him off into reflexively clamping his trigger down...
The weapon let out a heavy thundering roar, sounding more like an artillery barrage in the tight space than a Lightmachinegun. Shredded links fountained to the floor. Bullets sprayed - Into the ceiling.
Iceman stood before him, wrenching the gun away from Jolly's one-handed firing stance, a viciously-sharpened entrenching tool in his hand..
Iceman knew he had to silence that Tundra bitch right now. Her miraculous escape had pissed him off some. He wasn't going to take half measures any more.
He ran for the room, reflexively hugging the floor as his supposed friend in the monochopper almost tore him end to end with his minigun.
A huge jet of heat behind him marked the end of one of the tourbuses. Not the one he was in. Luckily, Hydrogen fuel-cells don't explode as badly as the old petrol engines used to, either.
But then he heard Silvia, screaming, enterred the back room, saw her there, shot and in pain, and a Troll, with a gun.
He knocked the long gun aside before the Troll saw him, screamed Silvia's name loud enough to shatter eardrums, and plunged his Spetznatz-issue entrenching tool (his favoured edged-weapon) with both hands, straight into the Troll's chest, between the hardened pectorals.
Tyme4Cryme dashed through the double doors, Petra Natascha and Boris hot on his stubby heels. He'd barely escaped, and his guards and lackeys had paid with their lives to allow him room to escape.
He was behind Jolly, just as Iceman slammed home his opinions of him...
The panickling Rigger rounded on Tyme, too.
The man was dead before he hit the ground, Tyme's Mac-10 jumped in his hand as 10 rounds were gone in under a second.
"I have just PWNED YOUR BLACK ASS COMRADE!" He yelled triumphantly.
Jolly looked down at the wound the enraged Russian had left. It was true he'd suffered worse, but this one was quite nasty. He'd need to get it looked at. Bullets from the Monochopper continued to zip by, some hitting him in various places. He'd experianced mass bullet holes at Transys, luckily the Russian's had patched them up quite well. It took him awhile to realise what had happened, and the Russian was now beating against his body, kicking, punching and screaming as he tried to down the Troll in a futile effort.
Jolly pulled the tool from his cheast, taking a few deep breathes. He'd orginally rejected Armour underneath his black, armless vest. But now he saw it had saved his life. He still had another minor flesh wound where it had pushed his armour into his skin. It hurt like hell, as did all the wounds he had taken. But his cyber-wear, strengh and possibly ignorance to his injuries made sure he was still standing. He grunted at Iceman.
"Dat weren't vary nice!" He yelled, giving the Russian a swift smack around the head. "Dis is yoorz" He dropped the entrenching tool at Iceman's feet.
He turned to see the Dwarf Tyme run past. He drew two pistols from his belt, he didn't know what they were, it didn't matter, they were weapons.
"'old it right there fraargh!" The seriousness of Jolly's wounds had caught up with him. He slumped onto the floor, allowing Iceman to run past to his friend "Silvia". Tyme ran past him, to the so called toilet attendants. It looked like he'd failed, but he might be able to swing onto the winning side... If any side won after this.
Tundra was still blinded, in the confusion nobody had removed the duct tape from around her eyes. Although, the bullet that connected with her shoulder was enough for her to tell what was going on. Iceman was gone too, that was a relif. She formed a plan in her mind, it was rather limited though. It was to lay low until everything calmed down.
She then remebered the stairs, the Ork on the stairs! Where was he? He could be vunrable to all the gun fire and chaos that was unknown to Tundra's eyes. But she could not go back, not now. She made for the nearest wall and awaited the outcome.
Alexeiv let out a soft yell, when he found out his head was on a sink and he was running out of oxygen. As a result he had raised his head. Quickly.
He was regaining his sight. The crowd...
He remembered the fight, the hordes coming toward and toward him...
And again and again, with fierce strength repelling them. But they came too many in a short amount of time.
And then, darkness. He was under a human waste pyramid...Too much pressure... to run away... choking slowly... two hands... pulling him out...
He looked at the figure that was staring at his back. He had realised throughout the half-broken mirror. He realised where he was now. A toilette. It was strangely empty... because of the blocked door. The figure stood tall... and started to speak to him.
"Hell, Alex! What jobs do you take! Rap fan crowds... uh... I would rather hunt a dragon with an SlingShot. Take a look at this! I have even been bitten!
"Behemoth." Alex recognized the bulky and slightly weird looking ork. Yes. He had been one of Dragonīs buddies.
"Yes, Alex. I dragged you toward here and blocked the door."
Alex firmly asked. "What are you doing here?"
"Briefing you. It is not necessary that you meet Crystal now. Eva decoded the stuff. She knows exactly what, and what is used for."
"You still want to do the job, eh?" The bulky ork gave a wink. "Precisely, i brought some goodies to you."
Alexeiv opened the bundle. His eyes went pleasantly wide when he saw the package. A full ninja uniform... Hell it was better than the ridiculus looking pants that the Rusky dwarf gave to him. He put them on in no time, pleased to have some decent looking now. He also saw the SOCOM pistol with laser sight and suppressor. And a katana.
The katana. A tear dropped through his cheek. It had been of his mother. His motherīs katana...
"Wow... I am..." He could not say it."...impressed."
"Enjoy while it lasts, pal. Now, lets get out of here..." The ork pointed out.
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