The composite shuriken made a soft "wwhhhhhrrrr" as it zipped over the heads of the surging crowd on the ramps of Dante's Inferno. The likelihood of anyone hearing the soft sound over the din of screams of pain, fear and panic, driving gut wrenching techno-base dance music and the gun battle raging on the uppermost level was only marginally exceeded by the odds that anyone would recognize the blur of the spinning star for what it was. Hardly slowing as it excised a nasty (mortal) red gash through the jugular vein of an individual with a Seco LD-120 in his outreached hand, the shuriken continued it's flight, burying itself in the larynx of another corporate suited individual who had just discharged his weapon. The missile interrupted both worthies' further attempts to perforate the backs of the levitating pair headed toward the new cacophony of loudly ringing alarmed fire doors.
In spite of the slim odds, Rook's matrix trained mind not only observed the deadly missile, but immediately reconstructed the events which had preceded the gunmen's deaths. The flying pair (mage and muscle) had levitated out of the horde of bodies spilling down the club's ramps, while Cloak, Wolfman and Rook, slipstreaming behind Corwin ip Theranji's advancing phalanx of bodyguards, moved up from below. Gunman 1's errant first shot, instead of hitting the flyers, had ricochet down two levels of ramp and into an elf woman to Cloak's left while the second shooter continued to draw a bead on the flitting flee-ers. Although the second shooter's attempt seemed marginally more successful than the first, the phys ad's star had simultaneously perforated both gunsels, thereby eliminating a source of potential danger to bystanders while at the same time affecting some aspect of vengance, if not justice, for the fallen dancer. The floating samurai, although primarily concerned with his injured partner, did see both shooters fall into the melee of panicked bodies on the ramp and was turning to see the source of his good fortune when Rook was distracted from the scene by a pair of norms who were as long on attitude as they were short on brains.
"GO DA UDDER WAY! DOWN!! GO DOWN!!!" the chain festooned skin-head bellowed.
"YEAH, YA STUPID TROG! GO DAT WAY!" Skin-head's hirsute companion agreed. When the hairy character amplified his indications by ceasing to point behind Rook and actually trying to turn the youngest member of the Monster Squad, the decker found himself naturally responding with a move from his Tai-Chi class. Bringing his right arm up to grab the wrist pushing at his left shoulder, Rook flowed into a squatting spin. The look on Skin-head's face when Rook stood in his initial position with Hairball somewhere in the moving sea of bodies behind him could not have been more shocked if the orc had unhinged his jaw and swallowed his assailant in a single bite.
"HEY!!!!!" Skin-head articulately observed as he also attempted to turn Rook around. This time the decker locked his attacker's arm and with a gentle push from his other hand, dislocated the offending arm while separating his opponent's shoulder. Not surprisingly, this eliminated all confusion as to Rook's direction.
Ocelot had apparently been right about their momentary lack of pursuit: quick glances backward (mostly by Ocelot himself--'Hawk did not want to risk slamming into a wall, a troll, or a falling statue by taking his eyes off the ramp before them) had revealed a decided dearth of interest in their activities. At this point, everyone around them seemed to be firmly focused on his or her own survival, a state which was by no means a foregone conclusion. During their quick flight through their current level, 'Hawk and Ocelot had observed three messy-looking tramplings and two more statue-related demises caused by the sword of a particularly nasty looking fifteen-foot demon impaling a pair of wide-eyed teenagers who had been too terrified to move out of the way. Ocelot had yelled in an attempt to get Winterhawk's attention in time to avert the latter, but by the time he had made himself heard it had been too late. Sobered but knowing it would be foolish and pointless to stop, they had continued.
They were getting very close to the bottom now--only one or two more levels to go (it was hard to tell because the lights weren't operating properly and even under the best of conditions it wasn't easy to see to the lower levels clearly) before they reached the way down to the eighth level. "There it is!" Ocelot yelled, gripping 'Hawk's shoulder and pointing up ahead. "Damn! Two trolls!"
He was right--instead of the one requisite bouncer guarding the portal, this time there were two. The throng of people trying to push their way downward were being met with resistance from both, who were attempting to shove them back. The trolls and the fleeing clubgoers were all yelling, but it was impossible to make out what anyone was saying. 'Hawk suspected that was the case even at ground zero. "Can you get 'em out of the way?" Ocelot shouted into the mage's ear. It was clear that the exitway was far too small to allow them to simply float over the trolls' heads, which meant that Plan B was in order.
"I'll give it a go!" Winterhawk shouted back, slowing their forward flight.
However, as he settled in the air and gathered his energies to cast a spell, something unexpected happened. Suddenly, there was a disturbance behind the trolls. It appeared that a large number of people were surging past behind them, and this fact was causing the trolls a fair bit of consternation. "Hey!" one of them yelled, turning away from 'Hawk and Ocelot. "You can't do that! Get back here!"
"Huh?" Ocelot called in 'Hawk's ear.
"They're getting in from the eighth-level entrance!" the mage yelled back. "It's supposed to be closed up, but everyone trying to get out's holding it open and the people outside-- bloody hell, those idiots are trying to get in! I can't--"
He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence, because all of a sudden Ocelot had whirled around, nearly dislodging his position. "Go!" Ocelot screamed, seeing an opening while the trolls turned. As far as he was concerned, if a bunch of mental midgets wanted to cement their demise by bulling their way into a killing zone, that was their business. His was getting out.
'Hawk didn't argue. Barely making sure Ocelot was holding on, he zipped forward and shot around the two trolls, who were now busier making sure that the street scum didn't make it in through the exclusive eighth-level entrance (designed so that the creme de la creme, which of course changed by the week, didn't have to fight their way through the common people to get to Hell below) than they were with holding off two guys who might or might not belong here in the first place.
"What was that about?" 'Hawk yelled as they shot through a narrow opening between the incoming wannabes and the trolls and finally made it to the outside. It was getting much easier to talk now as the crowds thinned slightly. "Why the sudden urgency?"
"They're still after us--or at least one of 'em was. Somebody nailed 'em. Didn't see who. Might've been that ork again."
'Hawk sighed. "I just want to get the hell out of here. "
"Just a little further" Ocelot agreed. "Come on, 'Hawk--just get past these people and we're--oh, shit!"
Winterhawk didn't have to ask what he was yelling at this time. It looked like they'd exited the frying pan and catapulted themselves neatly into the fire.
The Shadorat and shapcano. Together again for the first time! This serial continues at Winterhawk's Virtual Magespace. To read Chapter 28 click here.
This story is copyright of the authors. Shadowrun is a Registered Trademark of FASA Corporation. All Rights Reserved. Used without permission. Any use of FASA Corporation's copyrighted material or trademarks in this file should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights or trademarks.
In spite of the slim odds, Rook's matrix trained mind not only observed the deadly missile, but immediately reconstructed the events which had preceded the gunmen's deaths. The flying pair (mage and muscle) had levitated out of the horde of bodies spilling down the club's ramps, while Cloak, Wolfman and Rook, slipstreaming behind Corwin ip Theranji's advancing phalanx of bodyguards, moved up from below. Gunman 1's errant first shot, instead of hitting the flyers, had ricochet down two levels of ramp and into an elf woman to Cloak's left while the second shooter continued to draw a bead on the flitting flee-ers. Although the second shooter's attempt seemed marginally more successful than the first, the phys ad's star had simultaneously perforated both gunsels, thereby eliminating a source of potential danger to bystanders while at the same time affecting some aspect of vengance, if not justice, for the fallen dancer. The floating samurai, although primarily concerned with his injured partner, did see both shooters fall into the melee of panicked bodies on the ramp and was turning to see the source of his good fortune when Rook was distracted from the scene by a pair of norms who were as long on attitude as they were short on brains.
"GO DA UDDER WAY! DOWN!! GO DOWN!!!" the chain festooned skin-head bellowed.
"YEAH, YA STUPID TROG! GO DAT WAY!" Skin-head's hirsute companion agreed. When the hairy character amplified his indications by ceasing to point behind Rook and actually trying to turn the youngest member of the Monster Squad, the decker found himself naturally responding with a move from his Tai-Chi class. Bringing his right arm up to grab the wrist pushing at his left shoulder, Rook flowed into a squatting spin. The look on Skin-head's face when Rook stood in his initial position with Hairball somewhere in the moving sea of bodies behind him could not have been more shocked if the orc had unhinged his jaw and swallowed his assailant in a single bite.
"HEY!!!!!" Skin-head articulately observed as he also attempted to turn Rook around. This time the decker locked his attacker's arm and with a gentle push from his other hand, dislocated the offending arm while separating his opponent's shoulder. Not surprisingly, this eliminated all confusion as to Rook's direction.
******
Winterhawk and Ocelot had new problems to deal with, but at least now they were one level lower than they had been before. Ocelot hung on as 'Hawk slowed his forward progress and ducked into an alcove that had formerly been occupied by a large statue (said statue was currently in pieces on the floor, the body of an unfortunate reveler broken beneath it. "Why are you stopping?" Ocelot demanded as his companion lowered them to the ground and dropped with a lurching and slightly ungraceful thud.
"Have to," 'Hawk said grimly. His arm was bleeding rather heavily now; the wound wasn't a serious one, but the exertion of maintaining the spell and keeping them out of harm's way hadn't done it any good. "I'll need to fix this before we go on. Watch for our antisocial friends, will you?"
Ocelot's mind finally made sense of something he had seen out of the corner of his eye in the crowd behind them. "They're gone," he said with certainty.
"What?" 'Hawk looked up from his efforts to cast a healing spell on his arm without removing his coat. "What do you mean, gone?"
"Somebody nailed 'em." Ocelot paused to rake his gaze across the surging horde of escaping bodies, verifying that they hadn't picked up any new tails. "I saw it right before you took us through. One minute the guy was aimin' at us, the next minute he dropped. Looked like a shuriken, but I couldn't be sure. Everything was happening too fast."
The mage paused a moment to finish up his spell before commenting again. When he looked up, it was with interest. "So-- we've got an unexpected benefactor?"
"Either that or somebody just likes throwin' deadly weapons at random people and we got lucky." Ocelot's tone suggested that he didn't believe that any more than 'Hawk did.
"You get a look at him?"
"Just for a second. Looked like an ork. But there's a lot of orks here, y'know?" As if to punctuate his sentence, a small knot of three stylishly dressed and scared looking orks--one male and two females--headed past them and went on by.
The mage sighed. "Well, it looks like we're on our own again. At least if we've lost our pursuers p'raps we have a hope of getting out of here in one piece." He checked the staff under his coat and looked at Ocelot. "Ready?"
In answer, Ocelot grabbed hold of 'Hawk's shoulders and hung on tight.
"Mind the arm--it still hurts a bit. All right, let's be off." With those words, 'Hawk re-activated his levitation spell lock and lifted them once more off the ground, this time only a few inches. They skimmed across the floor toward the other side of the level and the entrance to the next one. Foremost in both their minds was the hope that they would make it without further incident.
*******
Dahlia Blue, as she had christened herself this month, was torn. On the one hand, the sudden concern/fear/panic that Leo, (unspeakable drekhead numero uno supremo and/or door bouncer) had demonstrated when the fireworks had gone off upstairs had been so absolutely fabulous, that the night might have been her best ever. That the ultra-frosty doorman had shed the mantle of arctic untouchability and actually begun screaming into his com meant, as far as the young, perpetually-relegated-to-the-waiting-wannabe-line woman was concerned, that she would never again have to accord the Troll the reverence he demanded. As if this change of fortune was not enough, in the midst of the arrival of the vans full of heavily armed SWAT-types, a momentary eye contact between bouncer and aspirant had revealed that he had seen her watch him panic and his self-conscious nod had as much as said that if she kept quiet her status, vis-a-vis admissibility, would change.
Unfortunately, before her assessment of how much mileage she could get out of the slip of Leo's icy mask of unconcern had begun, the appearance of a dragon attacking an LTA directly above the club swept such thoughts aside. A Dragon! A Real Fragging Dragon, DB thought with seldom exercised sense of wonder. This state of mind grew right up to the point where the first piece of flaming wreckage broad-jumped down the side of the building. Oh, Drek! This ain't a whizzer PR stunt! DB realized as her awe transformed into panic. We're gonna get caught between..... The young woman's analysis was curtailed by the clang of fire alarms which immediately preceded a tide of metahumanity flooding out of the club.
Although there would have been enough problems, injury and damage had the tightly packed patrons of the popular night spot evacuated the building in the isolation of a barren plain, such was unhappily not the case. Dante's Inferno vomited forth it's screaming bolus of panicked patrons onto city streets where: an aerial battle was taking place on top of the building; menacing men in body armor were establishing a perimeter with ambush and choke points; perpetually frustrated wannabe club-goers, using a logic unique to the late night party crowd, actually tried to force their way through the tide of humanity to get into the club through the now open fire exits. Even those outsiders who had the minimal intelligence required to realize this last action was a bad idea, fell victim to enough mob mentality to stand around watching and demanding "What's happening" rather than attempting to vacate the location.
The albino leader of the black clad mercenaries setting up around the club snarled as he recognized he had underestimated the stupidity of the mob.
*******
'Hawk and Ocelot had managed to make it down yet one more level, due in no way to their own ingenuity and in every way to the rising levels of panic among the thinning but still-significant crowd as above and below sounds of battle and death raged on.Ocelot had apparently been right about their momentary lack of pursuit: quick glances backward (mostly by Ocelot himself--'Hawk did not want to risk slamming into a wall, a troll, or a falling statue by taking his eyes off the ramp before them) had revealed a decided dearth of interest in their activities. At this point, everyone around them seemed to be firmly focused on his or her own survival, a state which was by no means a foregone conclusion. During their quick flight through their current level, 'Hawk and Ocelot had observed three messy-looking tramplings and two more statue-related demises caused by the sword of a particularly nasty looking fifteen-foot demon impaling a pair of wide-eyed teenagers who had been too terrified to move out of the way. Ocelot had yelled in an attempt to get Winterhawk's attention in time to avert the latter, but by the time he had made himself heard it had been too late. Sobered but knowing it would be foolish and pointless to stop, they had continued.
They were getting very close to the bottom now--only one or two more levels to go (it was hard to tell because the lights weren't operating properly and even under the best of conditions it wasn't easy to see to the lower levels clearly) before they reached the way down to the eighth level. "There it is!" Ocelot yelled, gripping 'Hawk's shoulder and pointing up ahead. "Damn! Two trolls!"
He was right--instead of the one requisite bouncer guarding the portal, this time there were two. The throng of people trying to push their way downward were being met with resistance from both, who were attempting to shove them back. The trolls and the fleeing clubgoers were all yelling, but it was impossible to make out what anyone was saying. 'Hawk suspected that was the case even at ground zero. "Can you get 'em out of the way?" Ocelot shouted into the mage's ear. It was clear that the exitway was far too small to allow them to simply float over the trolls' heads, which meant that Plan B was in order.
"I'll give it a go!" Winterhawk shouted back, slowing their forward flight.
However, as he settled in the air and gathered his energies to cast a spell, something unexpected happened. Suddenly, there was a disturbance behind the trolls. It appeared that a large number of people were surging past behind them, and this fact was causing the trolls a fair bit of consternation. "Hey!" one of them yelled, turning away from 'Hawk and Ocelot. "You can't do that! Get back here!"
"Huh?" Ocelot called in 'Hawk's ear.
"They're getting in from the eighth-level entrance!" the mage yelled back. "It's supposed to be closed up, but everyone trying to get out's holding it open and the people outside-- bloody hell, those idiots are trying to get in! I can't--"
He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence, because all of a sudden Ocelot had whirled around, nearly dislodging his position. "Go!" Ocelot screamed, seeing an opening while the trolls turned. As far as he was concerned, if a bunch of mental midgets wanted to cement their demise by bulling their way into a killing zone, that was their business. His was getting out.
'Hawk didn't argue. Barely making sure Ocelot was holding on, he zipped forward and shot around the two trolls, who were now busier making sure that the street scum didn't make it in through the exclusive eighth-level entrance (designed so that the creme de la creme, which of course changed by the week, didn't have to fight their way through the common people to get to Hell below) than they were with holding off two guys who might or might not belong here in the first place.
"What was that about?" 'Hawk yelled as they shot through a narrow opening between the incoming wannabes and the trolls and finally made it to the outside. It was getting much easier to talk now as the crowds thinned slightly. "Why the sudden urgency?"
"They're still after us--or at least one of 'em was. Somebody nailed 'em. Didn't see who. Might've been that ork again."
'Hawk sighed. "I just want to get the hell out of here. "
"Just a little further" Ocelot agreed. "Come on, 'Hawk--just get past these people and we're--oh, shit!"
Winterhawk didn't have to ask what he was yelling at this time. It looked like they'd exited the frying pan and catapulted themselves neatly into the fire.
********
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! The shotgun's roar echoed off the alley's walls, temporarily drowning out the more distant sounds of battle and chaos from inside the club. The noise immediately drew the attention of the roving Disassembler patrol. The gangers' leering skull tattoo-masks turned almost in unison at the sound of the smooth-bore's roar, and like a pack of jackals on the African veldt the organ-legging gangers turned their bikes to home in on the sound.
"Any other questions about my orders?" the albino asked calmly as a wisp of smoke rose from the barrel of his weapon. When none of the black clad mercenaries made any sound, Quillum continued-"Good. Now that we have that issue out of the way, I will repeat- I don't care how many die, but I want any sticks, staves, or rods. That is my only concern, and yours as well....
CRRRAAAAASSSSSHHHHHHH!!
A huge piece of the LTA's gondola smashed into the street less than a block away. All eyes looked up from the burning wreckage to follow the path of the wounded draco form flying above the club as flowers of flame and blood blossomed along its sinuous form when the flight of homing missiles found their target.
"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRR" screamed the dragon. Its reaction was frightening in its intensity as the remainder of the battling airship's gondola was immediately engulfed in a brilliant nimbus of crackling blue-white light. The wyrm watched the now derelict airship drift into the side of a building and satisfied that it had been avenged, left the scene to look after its injuries.
"FRAG!" whispered Joey "Pont" Ponapinto. Joey was wondering precisely what Stewart McGreggor's Black Watch had gotten themselves into. The albino employing the band may have been within his rights in blowing the drek out of that mouthy FNG, Tucker and although in Joey's opinion, cutting the man in half was a waste of ammo, his estimation of his employer's sanity was less troubling than what he was now seeing. His three man squad was part of the perimeter which ringed Dante's Inferno and all of the crew clearly understood that there was a magical item in some stick form that they were supposed to collect regardless of how much collateral damage they had to inflict. What the crew had not been warned to expect was the human equivalent of kicking over an ant hill.
Suddenly, there were people spewing out of Dante's Inferno like the nightclub was... a huge...... spewing...... thing.
No. That won't work, Pont thought as he mentally edited his memoirs. I gotta think of a better way ta describe dis drek or no publisher will touch it. It's like......like...Hell. Yeah! That's it. If the devil's security suddenly fell apart for some reason, dis is what it would look like. Damned souls pouring out of every hole, screamin, wailing, trampling each other in a rush to get away and...and WAIT A MINUTE! Inferno means hell, don't it? Yeah!
The hell of Dante's Inferno vomited forth the damned souls who fled their torment......
It was at this precise moment that the mythical Furies of ancient Greek legend demonstrated not only their existence but their power and their alignment with the equally ancient and equally legendary Muses by conducting Taz's manaball attack directly onto the head of the aspiring wordsmith, sparing the universe any further consideration of Joey "Pont" Ponapinto's literary aspirations. The attack, signaling as it did, the the gangers manifest displeasure with the mercenaries' establishing ambuscades on Disassembler turf, occasioned a major distraction to the otherwise highly focused Black Watch. The ensuing firefight prevented the chaotic flight of the Inferno's escaping patrons from being immediately fatal as the wisest of the club goers quickly recognized the battle on the streets as decidedly unhealthy.
So it was that as Cloak, Rook and Wolfman jostled their way through the throng at the exit they immediately recognized the danger.
The Shadorat and shapcano. Together again for the first time! This serial continues at Winterhawk's Virtual Magespace. To read Chapter 28 click here.
This story is copyright of the authors. Shadowrun is a Registered Trademark of FASA Corporation. All Rights Reserved. Used without permission. Any use of FASA Corporation's copyrighted material or trademarks in this file should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights or trademarks.
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