What you don't know...
(A Sticks story)
by shapcano
The teenager was still congratulating himself for avoiding the traps on the factory grounds. He'd avoided the deadfall (by common sense), the exterior cameras (by application of skill and timing), and the randomly activated electric ground mats (by pure dumb luck). He hadn't jimmied the firedoor, assuming it was alarmed and had instead spidered up the side of the decaying building and crawled in through an exterior vent for one of the plant's upper story bathrooms. Since there hadn't been any hue and cry at his pushing the fan unit into the darkened tile room, Sticks was feeling more confident about the job. The confidence was soon dispelled.
Making his way through the pitch black and cluttered miasma that had once served as a rest room, he cautiously pushed the door open for a quick peek. Instead of the heavily armed guard he feared, Sticks found himself facing a large message board full of tattered, yellowing, union and company notices. The board had once served the double purpose of an impossible-to-ignore message center and a privacy barrier so that the bathroom's occupants were not in view of the level's workers every time the door opened. Crawling out onto the darkened garbage-strewn floor proved to be a fortuitous course of action as Sticks felt the instability of the flooring before he made the mistake of putting his weight on it. This is deliberate, the teenager thought, the weakened floor is part of the security system for those below.
Studying the dilapidated floor by light leaking up from below was eerie, but it did allow him to find a dark, and hopefully solid area from which he could see the factory floor. Nimbly climbing over the barrier/message board he gingerly checked the floor before leaning out over a hole to catch a glimpse of what was below.
Looking down to the largely empty concrete main floor he saw a double enclosure of chain link fence. The outer fence, encompassing an area of more than a thousand square feet was 10 feet tall and topped with three loops of concertina wire. The inner fence, which ran the interior perimeter three feet in from it's counterpart was identical. So much for quick and easy the teenager thought with a sigh.
Shit! Sticks thought as he studied the layout of the enclosure. One gate at the far end, armed guards posted at the four corners and…damn! Dogs patrolling between inner and outer fences. On top of that, there have to be 70 or 80 people in there. What the hell is this? More to the point, how do I even find Clancy's adopted daughter, much less get her out of there?
As he contemplated the problem, Sticks thought back to his meeting with Clancy. The Troll, a frankly and admittedly craven coward, had put the word out on the streets that Sticks was wanted for a gang problem. When the 16 year old had arrived at the troll's workshop/home, the gunsmith had been more upfront about his actual problem.
"Thanks for commin. I need yer help. My….daughter, Annie…. Well, she ain't exactly my daughter but…. Well, hell, I took her in when she was like 6 and …. she's been wit me ever since…… anyway, I think of her like a daughter and uh, well, look, she went missing, 2 days ago. I sent her out for some chemicals I needed for a little custom ammo and she never come back. I got some contacts in the shadows, cause a my business, ya unnerstand? And I put out da word dat I need ta find her."
Taking a grimy rag from the back pocket of his overalls, the troll wiped his face before resuming "If she run off on her own…. Well, she's old enough, I guess, but I wanted ta at least tell her goodbye. But, my ….uh, sources, traced her on da day she left, (Day before yesterday. I told ya dat, didn't I?) and found she was grabbed off da street. She wuz taken ta da old Floorcrafters factory on Belmont by da train tracks. Ya know da place?"
When Sticks slowly nodded, Clancy continued, "Dey ain't asked fer nothin. No ransom note, no calls, nuthin. I had a..uh, friend go out as a middleman yesterday, ya know, ta try ta broker a deal or somethin before it wuz too late. Dey shot him fer his trouble."
Sitting heavily on a rickety office chair, Clancy looked earnestly at the teenager and confessed, "I got contacts enough ta send an assault team after her, but if dey go in wit guns blazing, who knows who catches a stray bullet? I….I can't risk it."
"Da job is, ta go in quiet and quick, get my Annie an get back out. Yer a kid…. I mean, aw geeze, no disrespect, uh, Senor…uhm….." Sticks upraised hand signaled that he had not taken umbrage at the gunsmith's poor choice of words. "I just meant, yer from the neighborhood, ya don't look outta place and I heard ya can ghost inta places without settin off alarms. Even if ya can't get her out, if ya could let me know enough about da layout and opposition dat a team would have enough intel ta get in without killin her by mistake…"
Sticks remembered trying to analyze the problem as a professional would while Clancy sweated nervously. At the young Escrimador's nod the troll continued. "If ya can get me good intel, I'll pay ya 2,000 nuyen. If you can get her out alive, it's worth 10....uh, 15k.. Here's her holopic" When the troll realized that the teenager was staring at him rather than the picture he stammered "Yer wondering why I'd pay so much? She's….she's my little…. I've taken care a her since…. She's all I got in da world! I'm her pop and she loves me, no matter what I done or who I am…..I...I need her."
The teenager studied the holopic as the troll composed himself after this emotional outburst. Finally Clancy asked "Will you do it?"
"Yes, Senor. I will bring back your daughter." Sticks said with both the solemnity and certainty that only the young can be unselfconscious about.
Momentarily nonplused by the absolute conviction in the young man's words, Clancy mumbled "Thank you" but then stopped the exiting teenager with an exclaimed "Wait!"
As Sticks turned, Clancy asked "What equipment do you need? I can get ya anything you want."
When Sticks shook his head in response Clancy gestured him over to a work table. "You pack a Predator II don't ya?" the Troll asked. When Sticks dipped his head in acknowledgment Clancy pulled a thigh holster with a long barreled pistol from a drawer.
"This one's been modified", the gunsmith explained. "I put a longer threaded barrel on it so it will take dis mirage silencer. Just screws on like dis. The ammo is subsonic hollow point. All but useless on armor but very nasty on unarmored targets. Engaging this catch locks the carriage. That means it will only fire a single round until you manually recock it, but no sound from the action and no spent shell casings bouncing across the floor. Quiet as a whisper. Based on the old US Navy's Seal 'hush puppy'. If ya gotta shoot somebody it maybe won't start a firefight."
"I don't know how she's locked up, but dis magcard is one a da best and should rascal most locks. Just be careful wit it 'cause da lock ends up scrambled after ya use dis ta open it. An take dis," the troll urged as he held out a small cellular/digital pocket phone. "It's pre-paid, completely clean and has a burst send capability. If ya just need ta relay intel. You sure you don't want anything else for this job?"
Again displaying youthful naiveté, Sticks waved off further offers of equipment to set about his rescue.
************
I probably could have demanded an arsenal, Sticks thought as he studied the layout through the gap in the floor, but more firepower is probably not the key, here. Damn. This doesn't look doable. Even if I call for support the poor souls in that cage will get chopped in any kind of a gun battle. I wonder why the hell there are so many of them.... They've got no cover and I can't possibly take out all those guards without an alarm being raised. Its hopeless.... Suddenly, his father's words came back to him with preternatural clarity. "Muscle is not the answer, my boy, nor is quick alone enough. As the antig-antig you wear says, Power and Speed must be guided by Spirit. The dakip-diwa, the warrior mind, will allow you to use your hangin, kidlat, and gilas..." involuntarily reaching up to touch the silver medallion around his neck, Sticks felt the inscribed triangle whose sides were escrima sticks and whose base was a Bonifacio bolo knife. As his father had taught him he silently recited the orayson that his family had used for generations. When he got to the last stanza he ran his thumb over the inscribed Spanish on the back of his medallion, whispering "With my mind and my heart, I cherish the knowledge my instructor has given to me, for it is my life in combat."With a new clarity of purpose and resolve, Sticks studied the problem again.
"Great! Fine! Go ahead! Make a note in your report! Wait, wait! Here's a 5 cred coin. Call somebody who gives a frag! Just stay the frag away from me, corper. I got enough fragin headaches witout your bulldrek."
How do I get myself into this shit, Chaz thought as he stormed away from the corporate suit. First, it was "Just pick up some of the street trash. It's not like they've got anything to look forward to.... listen, winter is gonna be a bitch, you'd be doin them a favor. Who knows, maybe one a them helps find the cure for cancer, and along the way, your boys make enough for cyber enhancements and increased firepower." So we pick up Wino Bob and Janks and a couple a chip heads off the street and we've got fat nuyen and a couple a wiz sub-guns. Then Kevin starts whinin about a smartgun link and Barb wants vat muscle and pretty soon we got patrols out lookin for streeters to sell to Mr. Mitsuhama. Then the fragger says he wants "different demographics". Top nuyen only for such and such age group or race or fraggin hair color. So we start branchin out. "Use nuyen ta make nuyen" the goat sez and sure enough it works. We got a regular freakin conduit goin. Then Goaterez suggests we set up the holding pen and gives us the plans and equipment and all of a sudden, instead of a gang were a bunch of fraggin jailers. Seems like just yesterday we were out on the street hustling beer money from shop owners for protection and now we never even get outta this pit. We're sleeping and eating and working in shifts and fraggin Goat is talking about discipline and attitude. It's like we became fraggin wage slaves without even noticing. Next thing you know, somebody will be asking about sick days and vacation fraggin benefits. This sucks!
While the ganger was storming off, Ramon Guterez, as good as his word, made a note in the report he was dictating into his pocket secretary about the possible need to replace the current leadership of the Stone Killers with someone more tractable and better able to serve the needs of the Mitsuhama Corporation. Since Ramon did not, in point of fact, work for that corporate entity, he thought it a fine detail for him to avoid naming his true employer, even in memos to himself. His true masters at Aztechnology would doubtless agree.
Because Chaz had been pissed off by Mr. Guterez's suggestions about positive attitude and chain of command, he was looking for someone to hit. The problem with the Stone Killers now was, of course, they had become significantly more dangerous to mess with. It is one thing for a leader to punch a junior member of a street gang and quite another when that junior ganger has an assault rifle or wired reflexes or skill jacks for martial arts. Particularly if, as a result of capturing and selling other metahumans, the individual in question has developed a hardened outlook and possibly harbors ambitions to lead the gang himself. What with the cash, enhancements and weaponry which were now commonplace among the gang, at the very least there was a good chance that the punchee might simply walk off, leaving the gang leader with a hole in the guard rotation to fill. No, taking out his aggressions on the other gangers was not a workable scenario.
Chaz briefly considered "disciplining" some of the human cattle that were currently in the pen. His muscle replacements and the fact that the current consignment was largely female, young and relatively fragile argued against this course as there was an excellent chance of permanent damage or death. While this meant less than nothing emotionally or morally to the Ork, he quickly realized that this act would make the consignment incomplete and thereby hit everyone in the credstick. The temporary release would not be worth the pissing and moaning he would have to put up with from the gang. By the same logic, working off his frustrations in other ways with his current "guests" held little allure as days without privacy in the pen had dehumanized most of the consignment to zombie-like compliance and the newest additions were already so terrified that they posed no challenge. Chaz sighed as he recalled the thrill of his early days as a metahuman harvester, when terrifying the prisoners held at least of some amusement for the sadistic ganger.
Lacking a satisfying release, and in spite of the fact that it was against "policy" for the shift leader to be off premises while on duty, Chaz stormed out into the night.
Sticks studied everything from the layout to the captors to the captives with an intensity which demonstrated that he knew his life would depend on getting everything right. He considered shooting out the portable generator that roared along near the front gate of the enclosure as a means of disabling the power for the abandoned factory in order to sew confusion by plunging everything into darkness. He thought about calling for an assault team strike in an area away from the captives as a diversion. He looked at the possibilities of a completely clandestine approach. When he spotted the bolt cutter among the pile of left-over pieces of fencing in a corner of the factory his plan began to come together.
Carefully climbing back over the message board, Sticks made his way gingerly along the wall. Eventually finding a large enough hole in the floor, the teenager silently wormed through the gap with head and upper torso, while keeping his legs locked around a stable piece of conduit. From his inverted position, Sticks scanned for handholds. Eventually he was able to plan his entire route to the floor, and once he was certain he had enough shadows to mask his movement, began his descent.
Grabbing a ceiling beam, Sticks released his leg hold and nimbly pulled himself through the hole. Slinking along the beam, he made his way over to one of the huge roll haulers which, in better days, had moved flooring around the factory. Carefully climbing down the hauler, the teenager made his way to the floor near the corner where the bolt cutters awaited him. Unfortunately, his attention lapsed as he was pulling the cutters from the mound of fencing supplies and he nearly brought the entire pile crashing to the floor. At the last second he saw the pile begin to shift and was able to frustrate both the universal gravitational imperative to flatten all piled items and Murphy's equally universal regulation about loud noises occurring when stealth is attempted.
Bolt cutters in hand, Sticks made his way towards his next objective. This was a guard on one of the fences' corners. This worthy, armed with a Colt Cobra and a matched set of Browning Max Powers at his hips, was apparently more interested in his new Novatech Sandman simisense deck than he was in watching his corner of the containment fence. The Escrimador graphically illustrated the drawback of this skewed sense of priorities by bringing the heavy, long-handled bolt cutters down, (rather forcefully) on the top of the guard's head. Adding insult to injury, Sticks appropriated the now sleeping ork's gear bag, loading that worthy's weapons, simsense deck, ammo, and credstick into it before dragging the unconscious guard out of sight.
Fortunately there was enough ambient noise in the huge expanse of the factory floor that the assault on guard number 1 was not noticed. Guard 2, an ork woman called Bull, not being preoccupied with the delights of simsense, noticed Sticks approach. Her wide grin at the intruder indicated that she was happy that the Escrimador's appearance would provide her with some diversion from the tedium of Guard duty. Her decision not to use either her new Ares Alpha Combat Gun or her Savalette Guardian demonstrated her intention to keep the entertainment private and to make it last as long as possible. The shock glove on her left hand and cyberspurs snicking out of her right indicated that these choices were not necessarily in the best interest of Stick's well being..
Silently setting down the bolt cutters and drawing the spring blade from his belt while pulling a hardwood escrima stick from across his back earned Sticks a hiss of appreciation. Apparently his willingness to face a hand to hand challenge appealed to Bull, whose grin widened to positively obscene lengths as she began to move in. Her blurringly fast cyberspur swipes, revealing, as they did, her mechanical enhancements, may have been a key to her confident anticipation. When the combatants were within 8 feet of each other and just as Bull was about to begin her suitably dramatic pronouncement of doom, Sticks pushed the release catch on the springblade, allowing it's powerful spring to fire the blade into Bull's throat. Insult again compounded injury as the ork slapped at the offending steel with both hands, inadvertently firing her shock glove into her dying body.
After carefully retrieving and reassembling the springblade, Sticks again collected weapons, ammo and valuables from his downed opponent. The scent of ozone in the air was enough warning to prevent the teenager from attempting to acquire the active shock glove. He next dragged the ork's body out of sight and retrieved the bolt cutters.
As Sticks had noted from above, the corner of the fence where Bull had been posted was the start point for both inner and outer fences. This meant that the chain link was anchored to the corner post here rather than being wrapped around it, as it was at the other three corners. Sticks used the heavy bolt cutters to quickly sever the four anchor points and then folded the fence until it met the inner perimeter barrier. Not only did this open a three foot wide gap in the outer fence, but the fold over prevented the three silenced Rottweilers who patrolled the area between inner and outer fences from turning Sticks into so much puppy chow. Both dogs and Escrimador quickly realized that although the folded fence prevented access to a potential meal from one direction, it did nothing to prevent attack from the other direction. Sticks and the dogs therefore engaged in an impromptu race as the teenager worked on the inner fence while his canine adversaries ran the perimeter of the enclosure at top speed.
While he had folded the outer fence inward, Sticks now pulled the inner fence outward. Though this was just in time to prevent the guard dogs from a meal of teenaged intruder, the canines' frantic race for free food had drawn the attention of Guard 3, a dwarf called Rocco. Before leaving his post Rocco hit the comm stud that would normally have drawn the shift boss and looked over at Daisy, the fourth corner guard. Seeing that Daisy was still lost in whatever BTL she had slotted into her brand new chipjack and assuming that Chaz was on his way, Rocco unlimbered his Ingram Smartgun and prepared to use the "Samurai's Sidekick" on whatever was disturbing the dogs.
Sticks left the bolt cutter where he had dropped it and drew the silenced Predator II that Clancy had given him. Knowing that the thrum of the generator would provide enough background noise to cover the sound of the slide, the teenager elected not to lock the pistol's carriage closed. He was on edge as he began creeping into the enclosure, which was probably the reason he recognized the approaching Rocco before the guard saw and attacked him. This two second edge nearly proved useless as the dwarf's wired reflexes and smartgun link were bringing the Ingram 20t in line as Sticks fired.
The first bullet of Sticks' "double tap" hit the dwarf in the chest. Although it caused little more than a bruise as the slug flattened against Rocco's body armor, it did throw off the return fire from the Ingram. Stick's second shot, a little higher because of the recoil of the first round, entered just below the dwarf's jaw. The exit wound was considerably more noticeable as a third of Rocco's skull and most of it's contents were excised in testament to the effectiveness of Clancy's hollowpoints. Rocco's investment in a smartgun link was not entirely wasted, however, as one of the APDS rounds from his Ingram made a very neat hole through the front of Stick's armored jacket, through his left lung and out the back of the jacket.
Although the soft coughs of Stick's silenced weapon didn't even make enough noise to reach his target, the suppressed rip of Rocco' SMG was audible. Therefore, while the teenager sat on the concrete where the dwarf's bullet had dropped him and attempted to seal the painful new ventilation through his body, another Stone Killer decided to investigate the noise. Diablo, an incredibly wide bodied Troll, tore himself away from the latest issue of "UCAS League of Force" graphic novel when the sound he heard in real life was exactly the same as the sound he was reading on the comic page. Grabbing up his Combat Ax, Diablo ponderously approached the supine form of Rocco.
Meanwhile Sticks had discovered an entirely new realm of pain. Oh, shit! he mentally screamed, this isn't good. The whistle which sounded from his chest as he exhaled did nothing to calm the fears running through the teenager. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! I'm gonna die! The bullet went right through me! It feels like my chest is on fire! OH DAMN! Awkwardly pulling the backing from the stim patch he slapped it on his wrist, hoping that the adrenal rush would give him the strength to plug the hole through his body. With shaking hands Sticks ripped the wrapping off a treated sterile pad which he pressed over the pencil sized hole in his chest. Taking a shaky breath, he then repeated the process with a pad for the equally small but significant hole in his back. Oh God, I hope this works Sticks thought as he gingerly inhaled. When he didn't find himself doubled over and coughing up blood, when he didn't find a pink froth bubbling from nose and mouth, the teenager was pleasantly surprised. The pain was great, but not insurmountable and none of the symptoms he associated with a sucking chest wound seemed to be occurring. At something of a loss for how this was, the teenager none the less abandoned theorizing about his own wound and tried to take stock of the situation.
Seeing the huge troll lumbering over to the near headless dwarf, Sticks recognized that the time for subtlty had passed. Pulling the Ares Alpha Combat gun from the bag, Sticks attempted to open fire. Temporarily frustrated by the unfamiliar weapon's safety, Stick figured out how to shoot at approximately the same time that Diablo realized that Rocco's lifeless body indicated that something was wrong. Standing straight up to bellow an alarm, Diablo caught more than a dozen slugs from Stick's new weapon. Although the large holes through the Trolls neck and head prevented him from sounding the alarm, the sound of autofire was quite enough to alarm the gangers.
Switching to single fire, Sticks aimed at the portable generator beyond the far end of the enclosure with the intention of adding darkness to the confusion of the situation. Not only did he succeed in this beyond his expectations, but the explosion of the gas tank which powered the generator had the additional positive effect of driving the captives toward him and incidentally, the freedom of his openings in the fences. Unfortunately when the unfamiliar weapon jammed in the darkness Sticks was in greatest need of it's suppressive fire capabilities. He knew that the gangers were pouring out of their sleeping quarters but he could not make the assault rifle work. He attempted to clear the jam by pumping the handle under the barrel and pushing the buttons by the trigger. When none of these worked, he made the further error of turning the weapon to look at it and when he depressed the trigger again knocked himself backwards as he accidentally fired a mini-grenade from the weapon's built in launcher. The second effect of this inadvertent detonation was to blow a large hole in the factory wall. When the most terrified (most recent) captives made a bee line for this way out, Sticks yelled encouragement to the others as he picked himself up off te floor.
Gathering up his silenced pistol while shoving the misbehaving assault rifle into the gear bag, Sticks heard a single voice giving clear directions amid the shouting mass of Stone Killers. Immediately realizing the dangers inherent in both an organized pursuit and in inviting return fire on his position, the teenager emptied the clip of the silenced pistol at the sound of the voice. With absolutely no idea about his potential success, Sticks holstered his pistol, hurded the slower captives and used the flip phone to call in reports of structural fires. He knew that the prank calls would render the phone useless as it would be hot listed by the authorities, but he also knew that calling Lone Star with a report of 70 freed kidnap victims would prompt absolutely no response. He hoped that the news of destruction of property would motivate a more immediate reaction.
"Where the frag is that Motherfragger Chaz?!" Guterez demanded as he attempted to bandage his hand. He ignored the attempts to quiet him by the Stone Killers hiding behind cover near him. "If that Fragger thinks I'm gonna......."
"SHUT UP!" Barb desperately whispered. "Yer big mouth is givin away our position. Dat's how ya got hit....."
"Don't give me orders, you stupid Trog!" the corp responded. "This is my operation and I....
"Kevin! What did you do?" Barb asked in a whisper as Guterez slumped liquidly from Kevin's hands.
"Aw, drek!" Kevin said "I wuz just tryin ta show him dat we wuz all wantin him ta be quiet is all. I dint mean ta break him. I wuz just turnin his head sos he could see us and.....uh.....Chaz is gonna be real mad, ain't he?" The troll looked like he was about to cry at this last thought.
"Get down, Kevin." Barb whispered. "We won't tell Chaz dat you did this, ok? We'll tell him we wuz attacked and dat da Goat got shot and den jumped by one a da fraggers. Dey broke his neck an shot up da generator an blew up da wall and took da merchandise. Ok? Can you remember all that?"
"Yeah. Bad guys. Stole da girls, shot da goat, broke his neck, blowed up da wall, killed da lights. Got it". Kevin said, surprising everyone including himself.
Once Sticks was certain all of the prisoners were out of the factory, he made his own way out. Seeing the flashing lights of emergency vehicles on the streets reassured him that the escapees would not be immediately recaptured. This reassurance and his own fear of imminent demise from the hole in his chest, prompted the Escrimador to seek medical attention. Several hours later he traded the now worthless flip phone and the simsense deck to an after hours street doc who stitched him up and gave him anti-biotics, but never explained why the chest wound didn't cause any of the symptoms he had read about.
Feeling flush after his successful rescue mission, Sticks called his friend Tommy for a cab ride to Clancy's shop where he would collect his reward..
"Hoi, Sticks" The driver said as he pulled up at the street docs. "You hit the numbers?"
"No, my friend." The Escrimador responded with a small smile, "But I've just finished a little job with a big pay day."
"No foolin? Chill. Anything ta do with the parade of missing girls that the Star found down by the tracks earlier tonight?"
Sticks said nothing but smiled quietly.
"Arctic, chummer! Where to?"
"Clancy's"
"Aw, Omae, yer kidding right?"
"No, what's up?"
"Ain't ya heard? Clancy got cacked tonight. Ya ever seen Annie? Little norm he's taken care of since she was like 6 or 7. She put one in his ear. Yeah. Seems like she tried ta rabbit wit some a his creds. He found out and had her snatched off da streets. Story I heard was dat he had the snatchers sell her ta somebody very unpleasant but then he finds out that the credsticks she had on her don't have most of his nuyen. He tries ta buy her back so he can find da rest of his creds but the unpleasant types ain't interested in compromising themselves by selling her back. I heard Indras got popped in da belly fer tryin ta muscle dese guys on Clancy's behalf. Anyway, couple a hours ago Annie shows up, sneaks inta Clancy's shop and puts one in his ear. End a story."
"DREK!" Sticks exclaimed.
"Sorry, pal. I guess that was your payday, huh?"
"Yeah................. Hey Tommy, you know how ta work an Ares Alpha combat gun?"
END TRANS
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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