Speed Racer leaned out of the driver's side window while holding the assault rifle braced against his left shoulder. Roaring like a madman he stood on the brakes and accelerator as the spinning tires squealed out blue clouds of burning rubber. Finally he released the brakes and the Westwind leapt toward the fray like a thoroughbred released from the starting gates. As the sedan rocketed up the street Speed Racer screamed "GET SOME!!!"while firing burst after burst at the mercenaries trying to simultaneously clear the area of gogangers, defend themselves from sniping by Manny and Edge and pin down any fleeing clubgoers who might have some sort of stick.
Because the Disassemblers were conversant enough in battle tactics to recognize and exploit any advantage, they capitalized on Speed's intervention by redoubling their own efforts to dislodge (read disassemble) the interlopers who had set up an ambush on their turf without so much as a 'by your leave'. The combination of the ganger's extra effort, Speed's shooting and Edge's use of gas grenades finally turned the tide.
"C'mon guys, this drekstorm's unwinable. I'm....." <BOOM>. The spread of Quillum's shotgun blast at close range was limited enough to punch a softball sized hole through the would-be retreating mercenary. Although the psychotic expediter had not anticipated the need for this second "object lesson", he savored it and gave no thought to the effect his smile might have on his remaining hirelings. Interestingly enough, it was his actions more than his attitude (and their judgment about the situation's diminishing odds of a happy conclusion) that caused the remaining mercs to turn their guns on their employer. Quillum's smile widened into a grin that was positively feral as simultaneously he and his former employees opened fire on each other.
"Good riddance….." the dwarf began only to be cutoff as a hovering LoneStar Yellowjacket and a newly arrived DocWagon VTOL both opened up with machine-gun fire on the snipers' rooftop nest. While the LoneStar chopper sought to establish order by terminating the firefight, the DocWagon.gunner just wanted to eliminate any threats to the arriving rescue personnel. Both pounded enough lead into the roof to force Manny and Edge to abandon their weapons in a mad scramble to get inside the building. As the flying gun platforms continued to hose down the rooftop, the two samurai made their way to the street.
"THCLACH'XAT!" screamed the furious voice as more and more flashes of the injured phys ad were revealed. Whether it was the internal battle of Cloak trying to recover control of his body, the fury the possessing entity felt over being thwarted in its malefic designs by thrown stones, or some other factor, suddenly the purple nimbus disappeared and Cloak's unconscious and badly battered body dropped a dozen feet to sprawl across the ruble like a discarded rag doll.
As Wolfman rushed to see if Cloak was still breathing, Rook yelled "Hey Rube!" into his com before himself going to see if his leader had survived. Ocelot made his way back to check on Winterhawk.
Winterhawk looked up with eyes filled with pain and exhaustion. He was bent over, his hands on his upper thighs, his back rising and falling with his quick breathing. He was shaking, his complexion (the part that wasn't covered by dust, anyway) an unhealthy pale. Two tiny bright rivulets of blood snaked their way down from his nostrils. His hands were shaking. "Ocelot..."
Ocelot pulled up short. That must have been some mojo his friend had fired off at that spirit--or worse, that that...thing that had taken over the other team's physad had fired at 'Hawk. He grabbed the mage by the shoulders. "You okay? What--?"
"Can't--stay--" 'Hawk got out between breaths. "Too--strong--"
"What's too strong? That thing? What is it? Why did he--?"
Winterhawk glared at him. "That thing--it's got him. It--it wants the staff. Wants to be--reunited. Could barely--fight back-- Compulsion--too strong. If he--hadn't been injured--" He shook his head wearily. "Can't stay. Too--dangerous. Pull--too strong-- when they're this close together. Won't be able to--fight it again--if he awakens."
Ocelot was beginning to see 'Hawk's point. "Okay, then let's get the hell out of here." He glanced quickly over to the scene at the rubble, where the other members of the physad's team were gathered around their fallen leader trying to help. "Are we giving up on talking to them?" He got an arm around Winterhawk's shoulders and started urging him away from the carnage.
The mage shook his head. "We can--contact them later if need be. Just--can't--get close again. These items are--phenomenally powerful. More so than--I feared."
Ocelot spared another glance back at the other team as they headed away. He hoped they could manage to deal with the flail while their leader was unconscious--he was already spending enough time looking over his shoulder without adding another thing to worry about.
As they made their escape with Ocelot nearly carrying Winterhawk, neither he nor the mage noticed the two figures moving around the periphery of the various confrontations, looking around as if searching for something. But then again, the two in question likewise didn't notice the two dusty, dark-clad figures leaving the scene: if they had, they would doubtless have mistaken them for simply two more of the unfortunates who'd managed to get out of Dante's before things had really hit the fan.
At least Ocelot was cooling his heels. Winterhawk was sacked out on the couch, dead to the world, and had been for several hours. At least he looked better now. When they had arrived here around 2 a.m. after Ocelot's rather frantic call to Harry had been answered in the form of an address left at an anonymous drop-box and a nondescript car turning up with the keys in it in the parking lot of a nearby Stuffer Shack, 'Hawk had looked like his odds of making it through the night hadn't been the kind Ocelot would be willing to bet on. He still wondered if he shouldn't have called a doc, but the mage was looking somewhat better now--at least his color was starting to come back. It was anybody's guess when he'd awaken, though.
Ocelot threw himself into a chair next to the couch and munched on some of the soychips he'd found in the place's kitchen, his shotgun laid across his lap in case anybody decided to pay a visit. He'd cleaned up a little himself and done the best he could with 'Hawk, but that had amounted to cleaning the dirt and blood off his face and taking off his shoes and overcoat before stretching him out on the couch. He hadn't wanted to risk touching the artifact, and wasn't sure whether he should leave it where it was or get it away from 'Hawk. Finally he'd left it where it was. It hadn't done too much harm yet to let him have it--at least when it wasn't near its brother. When 'Hawk awakened he'd decide what to do from there with it.
If he ever woke up. "Dammit, 'Hawk, come on," Ocelot muttered. "If you don't show some signs of life pretty soon I'm gonna call a doc and the hell with who finds out we're here."
Surprisingly, as if on cue the mage stirred and rolled his head back and forth a couple of times. He moaned and opened his eyes, looking up at Ocelot with the bleary stare of a man who was either seriously hung over or in the grip of the world's worst migraine. Maybe both. "Wha--?"
"Shh." Ocelot leaned in so Winterhawk could see him. "You okay?"
"No. I feel like elephants have been standing on my head." His voice was faint. Reaching up, he touched his forehead. "No footprints. Must be something else."
"Do you remember what happened at Dante's? With the staff and the flail?" Ocelot leaned in a little more, ready to make his move if 'Hawk should try to check and see if the staff was still in his jacket.
He didn't do that; instead, he brought his other hand up to his head. "Have you got any aspirin--as in, say, a bottle or two?"
"Hang on a minute." Ocelot hurried off to the bathroom and located a largish bottle of aspirin. He hastily got a glass of water and carried both back to the living room. "Here you go."
'Hawk sat up a little, shook several aspirin into his hand, then reconsidered and put a few of them back. He swallowed the remainder, finished off the glass of water, and looked up at Ocelot. "How long have we been here--wherever here is," he added, taking notice of his surroundings for the first time.
"Safehouse. Harry's doing." Ocelot picked up his shotgun again and settled back into the chair. "Are you gonna be okay?"
'Hawk nodded. "Eventually. I suspect I'll have a bugger of a headache for awhile, but I don't think any permanent harm was done." He stiffened. "What happened to the others?"
"The other team?" At the mage's nod, Ocelot sighed. "We left. You said we had to get out of there. I haven't tried to contact them yet."
"We should." Gingerly Winterhawk sat up and leaned back. He patted his jacket to see if the staff was there; upon discovering it was, he relaxed a little. "I don't know if they know what they've got there--not entirely. Especially if their friend the adept doesn't make it."
"'Hawk--what the hell happened back there? That guy was talking in some weird-ass language, looking like he was tryin' to take your head off with that thing. If we hadn't thrown those rocks--"
"Damn good thing you did," the mage said grimly. "I don't think I could have resisted it for long. It wants to be reunited with its other half, and it doesn't care what it has to do to achieve that. That's why I said we had to get out. We can't get near it again. Not until we come up with some concrete plan to get rid of them both. We're going to need more firepower than we've got--and I suspect than they've got as well."
Ocelot pondered that. "So what do we do?"
'Hawk sighed and ran a hand back through his hair. "I suggest we contact Harry and see if we can reach the other team. I'm quite sure they're as anxious to get rid of their half of this problem as we are to get rid of ours. We just can't risk face-to-face meetings--at least not while we're in possession of these damned things."
Ocelot nodded and pulled out his phone. At least it was something to do. He tried to ignore the growing feeling of dread that was creeping around him: he had his suspicions that this was going to get worse before it got better.
"Manny, cover Wolfman and Cloak." He rasped out. "Edge, see what happened to the pair....... Drek! You don't even know who I'm talking about.... Ok, watch this while I.......". the eerie groan from Cloak as the decker held out the wrapped artifact stopped everyone in their tracks.
"Oh, frag" Rook breathed. Looking up at the Samurai he said "You and Speed get him and Wolfman into the car. Then you're with me. Speed, you get them back to base, Manny, blow the shit outta anything that even smells like it wants to get in your way. Edge and I will take the bikes." If he'd had time to think about it, the youngster would have marveled at his tone of calm authority which was so at odds with the gut clenching anxiety he felt for his badly injured friend. He also might have marveled at the ease with which shadowrunners with years more experience had once again deferred to his direction. Given the luxury of time, he also would have regretted leaving the mystery of the pair who had helped out unresolved, however, he did not have time for any of these thoughts as he focused on the Monster Squad's escape and evasion.
The Shadorat and shapcano. Together again for the first time! This serial continues at Winterhawk's Virtual Magespace. To read Chapter 30 click here.
This story is copyright of the author. 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.
Because the Disassemblers were conversant enough in battle tactics to recognize and exploit any advantage, they capitalized on Speed's intervention by redoubling their own efforts to dislodge (read disassemble) the interlopers who had set up an ambush on their turf without so much as a 'by your leave'. The combination of the ganger's extra effort, Speed's shooting and Edge's use of gas grenades finally turned the tide.
"C'mon guys, this drekstorm's unwinable. I'm....." <BOOM>. The spread of Quillum's shotgun blast at close range was limited enough to punch a softball sized hole through the would-be retreating mercenary. Although the psychotic expediter had not anticipated the need for this second "object lesson", he savored it and gave no thought to the effect his smile might have on his remaining hirelings. Interestingly enough, it was his actions more than his attitude (and their judgment about the situation's diminishing odds of a happy conclusion) that caused the remaining mercs to turn their guns on their employer. Quillum's smile widened into a grin that was positively feral as simultaneously he and his former employees opened fire on each other.
********
"Trouble in paradise" Edge said with typical brevity. Manny swung around at his partner's utterance and abandoning his fire on the opposite roof, checked out the scene on the street below. The ambushers, hard pressed by both go gangers and Speed's Westwind were abandoning their positions and opening fire on one of their number. Manny noted the impressive agility and determination of the new target as the black clad figure braved fire time and again to eliminate his adversaries. Even without the mag power of his optics, Manny could see that the single figure would not allow self-damage or the threat of same to keep him from eliminating his attackers."Good riddance….." the dwarf began only to be cutoff as a hovering LoneStar Yellowjacket and a newly arrived DocWagon VTOL both opened up with machine-gun fire on the snipers' rooftop nest. While the LoneStar chopper sought to establish order by terminating the firefight, the DocWagon.gunner just wanted to eliminate any threats to the arriving rescue personnel. Both pounded enough lead into the roof to force Manny and Edge to abandon their weapons in a mad scramble to get inside the building. As the flying gun platforms continued to hose down the rooftop, the two samurai made their way to the street.
******
On what remained of the roof of Dante's Inferno, Nestor prepared to defend himself from the circling yellowjackets and Ospreys. Before he could begin attacking either approaching group, the merc leader who had just shouted at him so rudely sang out "AND If you don't mind, I'd prefer you not shoot up our ride home."
Although his balaclava hid his expression, Nestor was amazed to watch the surviving mercenaries piling into the DocWagon VTOLs as they landed on the roof. He noticed that several of the mercs had peeled Velcro patches off arms and chests, revealing DocWagon logos. Although frustrated by the botched mission, the Mystic Crusader ruefully admitted that the escape plan was brilliant. Even LoneStar would not interfere with DocWagon retrievals and with such a thick crowd of flying ambulances even the keenest LoneStar observer would be hard pressed to say which "rescue squad" had gotten on or off a particular airship.
As the merc leader turned to board one of the hovering ospreys he asked "Well? You coming?"
When Nestor nodded at the unexpected offer, he was initially surprised at the suddenness of the merc's grin. As his consciousness deserted him to the sound of an assault rifle being buttstroked into the back of his misshapen head, Nestor heard but could not comprehend someone saying "I'm sure he wouldn't want to blow our cover...."
********
Although everyone was stunned by the transformation that had come over Cloak, Rook's mind was the quickest at devising a response. When his friend and mentor, now speaking an unknown language in a voice which rattled windows, smiled evilly and drew the artifact from his cloak, the decker found himself grabbing a piece of the demolished building. As Cloak aimed the flail at an exhausted but defiant Winterhawk, Rook chucked the half-brick at his boss. The satisfaction of hitting his target was short lived as a bellow of rage (articulate of fury in any language) followed hard on the thunk of masonry striking flesh. As his lightning eyed leader turned to aim the staff at Rook, the decker was struck by the huge amount of damage that appeared and disappeared on Cloak. There were flashes of bleeding gashes and cuts all over the phys ad's body that disappeared as the floating figure brought the flail to bear. Before he could properly aim the artifact, Ocelot returned the favor Rook had done his partner by himself hitting the levitating form with a rock. Then, before Ocelot could suffer the consequence for this act, the now thoroughly enraged airborne entity was struck be another stone from Wolfman."THCLACH'XAT!" screamed the furious voice as more and more flashes of the injured phys ad were revealed. Whether it was the internal battle of Cloak trying to recover control of his body, the fury the possessing entity felt over being thwarted in its malefic designs by thrown stones, or some other factor, suddenly the purple nimbus disappeared and Cloak's unconscious and badly battered body dropped a dozen feet to sprawl across the ruble like a discarded rag doll.
As Wolfman rushed to see if Cloak was still breathing, Rook yelled "Hey Rube!" into his com before himself going to see if his leader had survived. Ocelot made his way back to check on Winterhawk.
*********
Good thing, too. By the time Ocelot managed to make his way back over the rubble and past the clouds of dust to reach the mage, he could see that 'Hawk wasn't going to be standing much longer. "'Hawk!"Winterhawk looked up with eyes filled with pain and exhaustion. He was bent over, his hands on his upper thighs, his back rising and falling with his quick breathing. He was shaking, his complexion (the part that wasn't covered by dust, anyway) an unhealthy pale. Two tiny bright rivulets of blood snaked their way down from his nostrils. His hands were shaking. "Ocelot..."
Ocelot pulled up short. That must have been some mojo his friend had fired off at that spirit--or worse, that that...thing that had taken over the other team's physad had fired at 'Hawk. He grabbed the mage by the shoulders. "You okay? What--?"
"Can't--stay--" 'Hawk got out between breaths. "Too--strong--"
"What's too strong? That thing? What is it? Why did he--?"
Winterhawk glared at him. "That thing--it's got him. It--it wants the staff. Wants to be--reunited. Could barely--fight back-- Compulsion--too strong. If he--hadn't been injured--" He shook his head wearily. "Can't stay. Too--dangerous. Pull--too strong-- when they're this close together. Won't be able to--fight it again--if he awakens."
Ocelot was beginning to see 'Hawk's point. "Okay, then let's get the hell out of here." He glanced quickly over to the scene at the rubble, where the other members of the physad's team were gathered around their fallen leader trying to help. "Are we giving up on talking to them?" He got an arm around Winterhawk's shoulders and started urging him away from the carnage.
The mage shook his head. "We can--contact them later if need be. Just--can't--get close again. These items are--phenomenally powerful. More so than--I feared."
Ocelot spared another glance back at the other team as they headed away. He hoped they could manage to deal with the flail while their leader was unconscious--he was already spending enough time looking over his shoulder without adding another thing to worry about.
As they made their escape with Ocelot nearly carrying Winterhawk, neither he nor the mage noticed the two figures moving around the periphery of the various confrontations, looking around as if searching for something. But then again, the two in question likewise didn't notice the two dusty, dark-clad figures leaving the scene: if they had, they would doubtless have mistaken them for simply two more of the unfortunates who'd managed to get out of Dante's before things had really hit the fan.
* * * * *
When Ocelot was nervous, he paced. When he was bored he paced. When he was afraid and there wasn't anything he could do about it, he seethed. As he was currently all of the above, he was doing his best to wear a groove in the cheap industrial carpeting inside the safe-house where he and Winterhawk were currently cooling their heels. He was probably raising his blood pressure significantly as well, but he never worried about things like that.At least Ocelot was cooling his heels. Winterhawk was sacked out on the couch, dead to the world, and had been for several hours. At least he looked better now. When they had arrived here around 2 a.m. after Ocelot's rather frantic call to Harry had been answered in the form of an address left at an anonymous drop-box and a nondescript car turning up with the keys in it in the parking lot of a nearby Stuffer Shack, 'Hawk had looked like his odds of making it through the night hadn't been the kind Ocelot would be willing to bet on. He still wondered if he shouldn't have called a doc, but the mage was looking somewhat better now--at least his color was starting to come back. It was anybody's guess when he'd awaken, though.
Ocelot threw himself into a chair next to the couch and munched on some of the soychips he'd found in the place's kitchen, his shotgun laid across his lap in case anybody decided to pay a visit. He'd cleaned up a little himself and done the best he could with 'Hawk, but that had amounted to cleaning the dirt and blood off his face and taking off his shoes and overcoat before stretching him out on the couch. He hadn't wanted to risk touching the artifact, and wasn't sure whether he should leave it where it was or get it away from 'Hawk. Finally he'd left it where it was. It hadn't done too much harm yet to let him have it--at least when it wasn't near its brother. When 'Hawk awakened he'd decide what to do from there with it.
If he ever woke up. "Dammit, 'Hawk, come on," Ocelot muttered. "If you don't show some signs of life pretty soon I'm gonna call a doc and the hell with who finds out we're here."
Surprisingly, as if on cue the mage stirred and rolled his head back and forth a couple of times. He moaned and opened his eyes, looking up at Ocelot with the bleary stare of a man who was either seriously hung over or in the grip of the world's worst migraine. Maybe both. "Wha--?"
"Shh." Ocelot leaned in so Winterhawk could see him. "You okay?"
"No. I feel like elephants have been standing on my head." His voice was faint. Reaching up, he touched his forehead. "No footprints. Must be something else."
"Do you remember what happened at Dante's? With the staff and the flail?" Ocelot leaned in a little more, ready to make his move if 'Hawk should try to check and see if the staff was still in his jacket.
He didn't do that; instead, he brought his other hand up to his head. "Have you got any aspirin--as in, say, a bottle or two?"
"Hang on a minute." Ocelot hurried off to the bathroom and located a largish bottle of aspirin. He hastily got a glass of water and carried both back to the living room. "Here you go."
'Hawk sat up a little, shook several aspirin into his hand, then reconsidered and put a few of them back. He swallowed the remainder, finished off the glass of water, and looked up at Ocelot. "How long have we been here--wherever here is," he added, taking notice of his surroundings for the first time.
"Safehouse. Harry's doing." Ocelot picked up his shotgun again and settled back into the chair. "Are you gonna be okay?"
'Hawk nodded. "Eventually. I suspect I'll have a bugger of a headache for awhile, but I don't think any permanent harm was done." He stiffened. "What happened to the others?"
"The other team?" At the mage's nod, Ocelot sighed. "We left. You said we had to get out of there. I haven't tried to contact them yet."
"We should." Gingerly Winterhawk sat up and leaned back. He patted his jacket to see if the staff was there; upon discovering it was, he relaxed a little. "I don't know if they know what they've got there--not entirely. Especially if their friend the adept doesn't make it."
"'Hawk--what the hell happened back there? That guy was talking in some weird-ass language, looking like he was tryin' to take your head off with that thing. If we hadn't thrown those rocks--"
"Damn good thing you did," the mage said grimly. "I don't think I could have resisted it for long. It wants to be reunited with its other half, and it doesn't care what it has to do to achieve that. That's why I said we had to get out. We can't get near it again. Not until we come up with some concrete plan to get rid of them both. We're going to need more firepower than we've got--and I suspect than they've got as well."
Ocelot pondered that. "So what do we do?"
'Hawk sighed and ran a hand back through his hair. "I suggest we contact Harry and see if we can reach the other team. I'm quite sure they're as anxious to get rid of their half of this problem as we are to get rid of ours. We just can't risk face-to-face meetings--at least not while we're in possession of these damned things."
Ocelot nodded and pulled out his phone. At least it was something to do. He tried to ignore the growing feeling of dread that was creeping around him: he had his suspicions that this was going to get worse before it got better.
*********
Manny and Edge exchanged a look as Rook's cry of "Hey Rube!" came over the com. They immediately doubled the speed of their descent. Now practically jumping down the stairwell, Edge drew his paired katanas while Manny chambered a round in his Colt Cobra.
*********
Speed Racer, who had the Westwind lined up and moving towards the albino from the ambush squad, heard the call on the com and put the car into a high speed 180 degree turn spin. Despite the fact that he was mere seconds away from splattering the ambusher all over the car's front grill, Rook's cry of "Hey Rube!" drew Speed and his vehicle like a lodestone.
**********
"Oh, drek" Rook breathed as he looked at the bloody wreck of his friend and mentor. Cloak bled freely from dozens of gashes and cuts as he lay awkwardly atop the rubble. Everything that wasn't bleeding was swollen and purple. He noted the concentration on Wolfman's face as the straining elf mage use his last reserves of strength to move red glowing hands above Cloak's supine form. As desperately as he wanted assurance that his leader would recover, the analytical part of the young decker's mind began breaking down the situation. Quickly pulling off his long coat, the ork laid it near where the ancient scourge had fallen from Cloak's nerveless fingers and with his foot nudged the artifact into his improvised carry all. As he was firmly tying his coat around it he heard Speed Racer pull up just as Manny and Edge arrived on the scene."Manny, cover Wolfman and Cloak." He rasped out. "Edge, see what happened to the pair....... Drek! You don't even know who I'm talking about.... Ok, watch this while I.......". the eerie groan from Cloak as the decker held out the wrapped artifact stopped everyone in their tracks.
"Oh, frag" Rook breathed. Looking up at the Samurai he said "You and Speed get him and Wolfman into the car. Then you're with me. Speed, you get them back to base, Manny, blow the shit outta anything that even smells like it wants to get in your way. Edge and I will take the bikes." If he'd had time to think about it, the youngster would have marveled at his tone of calm authority which was so at odds with the gut clenching anxiety he felt for his badly injured friend. He also might have marveled at the ease with which shadowrunners with years more experience had once again deferred to his direction. Given the luxury of time, he also would have regretted leaving the mystery of the pair who had helped out unresolved, however, he did not have time for any of these thoughts as he focused on the Monster Squad's escape and evasion.
***********
Quillum nearly gagged as he took in the smell of the sewer. He'd realized he had been been the driver's target only after the squeal of the tires announced that the Westwind had executed a high speed spin. If he were capable of visualizing a world without his presence the expediter might have understood his good fortune. Believing, however, that his death was outside of the scope of possibilities, or, at least not caring about it enough to focus on fate, the psychopath took stock of the situation in terms of his objective. His ambush had fallen apart, both go gangers and his own mercenaries were after him and not only had the target arranged for backup, but the whole thing had taken so long that LoneStar had eventually responded. Although he was frustrated that he hadn't acquired the prize, the expediter had neither regret nor sorrow that circumstances had compelled him to squeeze through the storm drain and into the city's sewer system. It was simply a part of the job for which someone would be made to pay.
The Shadorat and shapcano. Together again for the first time! This serial continues at Winterhawk's Virtual Magespace. To read Chapter 30 click here.
This story is copyright of the author. 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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