Snowguard

Heading over to the ricketing vendor's cart, surveying the fare, Diego looks back briefly at Rachet with a knowing look.

"I think a lot better on a full stomach. Besides, what's the point of getting slaughtered if you didn't enjoy your last meal."

Pointing at the nondescript meat-looking product, Diego orders. "Two, cooked, with Tahine."

"Trust me, you're gonna love this. You new to the Zone? Of course you are! That 'sell me a clue - cheap' look."

Diego exits Bing's, a wave of relief running over her. She got rid of Lig assets and got something for her troubles.

Kebabs

The scent hits her and for several seconds her attention is elsewhere. The taste of slow-cooked meat and other nice bits, usually from some local's hydro set-up. She remembered once, as a child, a kebab her father bought her, with lettuce and tomato and something else. If there was a heaven, they ate kebabs like that.

Noticing Rachet once more, she raises her head.

"You still here? Okay, guess you deserve a cut. What say we get kebabs?"

Diego knows full well that Bing is going to stiff her on the deal, but she doesn't real have anyone to back her play at this point. She's just another piece of street trash, with some moderately-retrievable tech.

"Meh, 15?" she mutters, obviously displeased. "Whatever."

It's not much, but it can get her a couple of extra bullets and a kebab for dinner.

"An' you don't know where it came from, oke'?"

Spying the out-of-place vehicle on the street, Diego tries to put on a facade of 'unnoticed civilian'. Grabbing the drone out of Rachet's grasp, she answers...

"I don't know about you, but I'm gonna get some scrip for this and find a place that isn't..." looking amongst the signs along the Strip, Diego sees Bings', a tech shack, just a few doors away. With unlikely good fortune, she slides in, past the stacks of merchandise. A tiny Asian woman, old when Methuselah was a rookie, is seated on a stool, slurping something from a bowl.

"Uh, is Bing in? I got somethin' for him. Good scrip." Diego didn't know what the lady's English was like, given that her own wasn't that great.

Dragging Rachet behind her, Diego darts down a nearby alleyway, trying to escape the possibility of imminent death. This really wasn't how she wanted to do things. Too much publicity. Too many people on edge.

The booming commands from the A/V put her on the defensive. Diego threw herself against the wall for cover, letting go of Rachet as she did so. She'd given the outsider enough free breaks already. She slipped her Python back into her holster and started moving again, not as quickly as before but still at speed. Hugging the wall, Diego tries to make her way towards the Strip.

The shot above her head sent Diego into a half-sprawl. What on earth was going on here. She and the Mescaleros had an arrangement; they treated her with respect, she didn't shish-kebab them. There were some serious breaches in the verbal contract.

"Hey! What ARE you doing?" she called out, watching as Trasher and the Drummer Boy make for cover. Sometimes the smartest moves just don't seem to make themselves noticeable until an idiot reveals them to you. There was probably a word for that somewhere. Maybe the Germans had a word for it. Someone had said once that Germans had a word for everything. Then again, the only other things she knew about Germans was they had a history of questionable politics and an occassionally decent football team.

Okay, time to move on the fly...

Shooting herself back to standing, Diego pulled the drone up with her. Turning around to Rachet, she thrust the device into her arms.

"Got a hold?"

Without waiting for an answer, she responded.

"Good." Diego grabbed Rachet by the scruff of the collar, almost tearing the fabric of the shirt, and with a jerk, pulled her towards the cover of the alleyways, hot in pursuit of her recent co-tenants. She hadn't seen Trasher around the building much. Maybe he was friends with Jack? Her leg muscles pumped, moving her for towards a solid barrier.

Watching the darkened forms move ever closer, Diego shakes her head.

"Do you ever stop talking?" Figuring that was probably a little harsh for an outsider her lost her home, she gives her a gift; a basic description.

"Thing is, they're Ligs. They come from over there," she nodded in the general direction of the Wall, "Do what they like, and they can, 'cause we're nothing to them. Best y'can do is try an' stay 'live, lay low."

Diego scans the street, firstly for a cover and the for ways out.

Diego makes a 'tut-tut' noise as Rachet extracts her piece. The only reason she hadn't holstered her own weapon was that Johnny's boys were doubtless a might itchy-fingered at the moment, and her weapon, while hardly amazing, was somewhat unique in these parts, and worked as an easy identifier.

"Lady, if they're who I think they are, they're gonna waste you and wipe their shiny Lig boots on you before you get a round off. Put your toy away and get outta here." She was still a little sore about having the pistol aimed at her crotch.

Keeping her gaze on Mescalero's boys, Diego remains crouched. Rachet's lack of subtly would have been humourous if she wasn't next to her and as likely to end up minced meat as not.

"There are unknowns headed this way. Anyone wanting to come here must have no good intentions. I'm gonna fled, hit the Strip maybe, bleed into the bleeders."

Standing on the street, figures running in the distance, Diego tries to keep out of sight of the A/V. This wasn't what she'd wanted to do today, and with that nutjob in B very nearly giving her an extra orifice, she was a little steamed.

Keep it calm. Keep it together.

The Mescalero's were taking up a defensive position, and hadn't considered her a target yet. This was a good sign. Seeing masses of darkness part their way through the southern crowd, she pondered. Rachet's huffing and cursing annouced her exit from the building.

"I see you decided to join us." she quipped. It was then she spotted the drone.

Junk!

Lig Junk!

Expensive-looking Lig Junk!

Diego squatted down, running her hand just above it briefly before finding some way to carry it single-handed. She had little doubt these things had trackers and other nasty technical things on them, but Junkers would be to deal with that. They'd like having something to play with. She'd need to get a good agent to sell it on for her, but it would be scrip.

The southerners cleared the last of the civilians.

"I don't know about you lot, but I don't want to see what happens when Johnny's crew pisses this lot off." Looking up at one of the gangers, she jerks her head towards the impending forms. They'd been good enough to her. Never hassled her. Except that one time, and it had all been a misunderstanding. It was cleared up soon enough.

Hearing the shouts from below, Diego takes it as a sign that the shotgun wasn't a Lig one. She pushed off the wall, bounding down the steps.

"HIT THE STREET!" she called out to them. Her theorising was that if they at least got to ground level, they could figure out where to go from there. With any luck, they could find a bolthole nearby.

"Shit!" she cursed. Her old sitter was back up there. Damn she loved that chair.

Listening to the police told Diego that her earlier instinct to bug out had been right. Ligs didn't like Zoners except as target practice. The Guild would not appreciate their blatent attacks, but were not really in a position to affect a response. Of course, she couldn't even speak to the Guild about something like this. She was having to do her time alone, without intercession. They would be watching, assessing, drawing verdict in their inner sanctum.

The girl upstairs was following her down, and Drummer Boy was pusing on ahead, bike in one arm, some oversized package in the other. The trasher was somewhere ahead also.

The shatter of a shotgun from below sent Diego seeking cover against a wall. The Ligs had said three minutes. Their cleaners must be early.

"Shit!" she shouted, glancing in the direction from which the report issued, not being able to see through layers of wood and plaster.

This was not how she'd planned to spend the day. Going out at dusk, maybe grab a kebab or two, watch a bit of street theatre, or a band, try and line up a shot of cheap hooch that wouldn't send her blind. That was how her day should have gone. Never get comfortable. The Guild would approve of this change of situation, though would never initiate themselves. Too subtle.

Inching closer to the bannister, Diego looked downwards, her pistol held back in reserve.

"Hey! What's goin' on?" That's it. Fake ignorance in the matter. Buy herself a second with the cleaners. She might even luck out and it was just some flathead letting off a round.

DIEGO AND RACHET

 

Rachet's head is getting clearer now - her hearing is back entirely, and her balance is returning. She has a clear view of Diego taking just a step towards the stairwell.

 

Above both of them become aware of another AV, higher pitched engines than before, and sound of sirens, coming closer.

84160[/snapback]

(OOC: No problems, gato. You've got a life.)

Diego stopped where she was, listening to the whine from above, meshing well with the blurt of sirens. With her free hand, she raised a finger to the roof, suggesting the noises around them.

"You here that? That is the sound of a lot of bad things coming this way. It doesn't involve you, or me, but they don't care. They're Ligs, we're not." With that, Diego turned, her greatcoat flaring as she did so. Her sneakers carried her to the stairwell and downwards.

"You coming?" she called out to Rachet.

This is very fictinol . Im not Advocating this ,  im just creating a Simple setting for the " Game of the Dark Future " .

Yes, VERY simple. Common courtesy restrains me from saying what I feel.

Keep in mind , it was a very very quik and dirty Timeline. The reason that no war breaks out is becuase its averted by US pressure on Jordan and Eygpt ( After all , there the 2nd and 3rd Biggest Recievers of US Forign " Aid " ) .

I don't think any level of pressure from the hated American dogs on the governments of these countries would influence the citizens. Keep in mind that both countries have large Palestinian populations. Basically if the gevernments were to side with the US on this issue, you'd get large-scale uprisings of the sort seen in Iran. Have you taken that into account as well?

No , After the US removes forign suppourt for Middle Eastern Country's , The Semitic Country's begin looking for new tradng partners .

I would think their most immediate concern would be avoiding getting crushed by EVERY one of their naighnours. Besides, without American, and their limited nuclear capability, they wouldn't be able to hold out for long.

We'll say Israel Signs a CAFTA Style-pact with the EU , Turkery , Kurdistan , Iraq, Eygpt and  Jordan . Lets Call it the Semetic Free Trage Agreement with Europe ( SFTAE )

I don't even know where to begin with this one. Might I suggest an introduction to Mid-East politics beyond CNN? The whole region is one big family quarrel, and the Israelis are late-comers.

So ? The EU would want to take advantagfe of Israel's distress , i imagine , and Economic's is the drivinmg force in history , not demographic's .

That may be so, but what does Isael have to offer? What's the point of having 43 million extra consumers if most of them are poor? That's something I've never understood about businesses that want to 'expand into Asia'.

By this point , Zionism , Islamism and Arab Natinolism have eroded as Ideaologys , and due to this , a Pan-Semitic Ideaology Occurs .

You're kidding, right? If the 'Dark Future' started happening, I'd see peoples faith becoming stronger not weaker.

Hints:

1) Do some RESEARCH before you bring in something like this

2) Spelling! I don't care what standard you use, but for Frell's sake, have one.

*asshole mode: off*

Hmmm.... Some of what you're suggesting here is very disturbing. I'm hoping this is VERY fictional, as any mention of Israel in my version of events will most certainly ignore this write-up.

The chatter of the radio added to the insanity of the rest of her day, amplifying it. Diego didn't like that, but she'd gained an appreciation of having a handle on as many situations as possible. Drummer and Trasher were headed down the stairs, a good sign. That meant they weren't stupid enough to ignore the inherrent risk of their current environment. She had no issue taking out a target, but if there was no payment in a person's death, Diego didn't need that weighing her down.

2B was another matter entirely. Having hauled her up, Rachet's eyes, filled with a mania Diego found off-putting, stared her down. She said something about hating her. That was good. It meant she still had energy enough to get out of the building. Maybe start over elsewhere. People here didn't have much, so losing it all wasn't such a tragedy.

She heard the click, Rachet's whine, and felt the pressure against her thigh. Of all the stupid-assed things. The holdout, it didn't feel much bigger, was resting right on the patch she'd had to get sewn into her jeans last month. It was a hideous DayGlo yellow. Very Zone. Letting out a sigh, a vain effort to release the building tension, she tried to focus on being calm. She just couldn't. In a moderate, but bitter tone, she went on.

"Awh, Frag.... Look, I don't have time for your shit, kid. If you want to stay here and get a belly full of lead, be my guest. I'm outta here." She makes the barest hint of going to move for the stairwell. If 2B was bent on wasting her she could do it now. She kept her pistol ready, tightening and then loosening her grip, just in case. She didn't like killing innocents, but this was a stand-off she'd rather not be having.

This is rather general, and a little off-topic, but when do games become mortified? There are a number of games up here in the active area that are certainly not.

Oh, and Malek, I've been reading a bit on Transhumanism. Are you still considering a game? I might be persued to get the book.

The insanity continued unabated for Diego. She knew this dance well enough, but there seemed to be a lot more performers than usual. An A/V slid through a visibile gap of outside. And too many props.

Moving Ratchet out the door of her apartment with a little more care, she went to the drummer's place. He'd already taken the initiative and had cleared the gap in the floor. Impressive. He had his hands full, with a sqirming child, the screamer, bloody about the ears, and his bike. People here were attached to what little they owned. She'd doubtless be really pissed if she lost her handgun. Doubly pissed if she lost her easy-chair.

The argument on her earbud made the Ligs sound like petty street hustlers in one of their innumerable pissing competitions. It was all about authority, and from what she could tell, people stepping on each other's toes. That didn't happen in the Guild. Guilder was shown respect, and gave it equally. That was more important than being able to waste a gonk. The destruction of the kid's flat in another shower of screaming let her know that time was short.

"OKAY.... ANYONE WHO CAN HEAR ME, MAKE FOR DA STAIRS! YOU GOTSTA GET OUT!"

The last of her ringing subsided as Cressin headed down. Looking at Weasel, she stops her self from slapping the maniac. "What is it, man? You missing your blankie?"

Diego was mere steps behind Weasel, heading up the stairs when she heard on word.

"Vulcanized".

She'd never had much in the way of a formal education. The FloodZone School Board consisted of a goon with a stick. If he didn't hit you, you passed. That word, whilst not something she could put her finger on, sounded ominous.

The shredding of 6E proved her point. The cacophony of a million splintering items sounded like a sickly distorted power saw she'd on the Strip. How or why anyone would possess a tool that could make such a horrible noise was beyond Diego's comprehension.

As it fell silent, Diego knew that there would be an encore. Time for action. Pushing past Weasel, she headed along the hall, stopping first at Rachet's, then Cressin's. She was hollaring like to Training Master whipping rookies into shape.

"OKAY PEOPLE, WE ARE OUT OF HERE!"

Turning back to the trasher, she points. "YOU, GET YOUR STUFF AND MOOOOVE!"

Reaching into 6B, Diego grabs Rachet by the scruff of the shirt and pulls her up. "30 SECONDS!" Diego wasn't entirely sure how one counted off a second. She'd heard mention of them but her exact timing of one was a little off.

Diego is increasingly appalled by the 'professional' in front of her. Granted, he may have been fast, very fast, but that had not proved to be to his advantage today. Killed by a trasher, his remains looted once, and doubtless again soon. He had interfaced weapons, bio-sculpted features and reflexes that didn't belong in this part of town.

The handgun, despite the fact that it was keyed to him, she assumed, looked very nice. She had little doubt there would be half a dozen tinkers in the Zone who'd re-rig the grattis just for the chance to play with something like that. True, Diego didn't trust most of them enough to actually go and fire the piece afterwards, but if nothing else she could convince the scum to sell it off. If she was really lucky, he might ditch the pills too. There were too many slaves here as it was.

Talk from above made her attempt to plan her next move. It seemed the final gunman upstairs was headed for the roof. Given they had an aerodyne, extraction made sense. The Ligs had come across more than they'd bargained for, and were regrouping. They'd be back. Diego wouldn't be there when they did.

Weasel, appearing only a little calmer than when she'd first seen him a few seconds ago, headed for the stairwell. As he stood, Diego spied Mr Smooth's earbud. That was something she knew of, and was not considered inappropriate for a Guilder. Bending down, she untangles the unit, taking the main receiver, (if one can be found) and popping the bud in her own ear. The unit is silent for now, but unless they change frequencies, Diego can monitor their actions.

Trailing after Weasel, her revolver at the ready, Diego heads back up. The final trooper is bounding up the flight of stairs above her, headed for the roof. The insane trasher led the way, Diego following as it was the only safe passage she knew for now. Maybe she could get that kid to a healer off the Strip. One who wouldn't demand outrageus collatoral. Her screams were audible even here, and plucked at something in Diego, an unpleasant chord she'd rather not feel.

Yeah, get her fixed up, back home, then leave. She didn't like the last part too much. She'd grown really accustomed to the easy-chair.

The first part of Diego's manouver goes off without a hitch. One of the Ligs buys a bullet to the brainpan. Two points. Diego is chuffed, things are happening the way they should.

The swift kick to the abdomen quickly changed her view on that. Where the Hell did Smooth learn skills like that? Not in this part of town, she'd wager, unless he'd sold his soul to the Wall. His gun pointed at her head, she wondered briefly what it felt like, what those others, that bastard just now, and her first hit felt when they took one in the skull. The screaming of the trasher down the hall through things into chaos, first with a reprieve, a brief tussle, then the floor falling out from underneath her.

"Uh......"

Momentarily thrown off-balance, Diego composed herself. She was alive. There were no more holes in her than was natural. That kid from upstairs was still screaming about something. Upstairs? I fell..... through the floor?

Looking over at Weasel atop Mr. Smooth's limp form, she picked up her Python, checking that it was in order. Stepping over towards the corpse, she regarded it briefly. Putting the handgun back into her holster, she watched as Weasel frantically pulled his blade from the Solo's face, trying to clear the gunk from it.

"Well, he's dead." she stated matter-of-factly.

The first bang rockes over Diego, a lot louder than she'd expected. What really got her was the door being blown off it's hinges. It was old and wooden, but more than that it was solid. It served as a worthy barricade against intruders. Stumbling a little, she maintained her footing, waiting for the count. The hammering of rounds down the far end let her know the approximate position of at least one hostile. Gunner, full auto, near stairs.

"Grrrrr...... Ow!" Diego mutters as the second explosion hurt her sensitive auditory system, a little taken aback, but still possessing her faculties. And her pistol. Gripping the handle tight, she prepared to face whatever was out there.

Mr Smooth slid into view, turning to face the scene in B. The kid with the drums. He'd been a little loud once or twice, but mostly had just added something to the atmosphere of the place. Worked as a courier or somesuch. Mr Smooth had some serious UnderScrip to be packing what he did. Blur mask. Goggles. Datajack.

Feh! Diego spat, almost physically. The Guild was very specific about what enhancements a member could have. There were certain contractual obligations that had to be met before each upgrade occured. A Guilder had to earn their right to be better. More specifically, the enhancements were predominantly biological in nature. The cabling coming from Mr. Smooth sure as hell wasn't a nice hairpiece.

The bastard had no honour and was a blight on the profession.

Diego wasn't stupid. She knew he had at least one ally, possibly others nearby. The Ligs wouldn't expect resistance, so the place wouldn't be filled to the brim with troops. She'd clear this level, then make like a shepard and get the flock out! er father had used that phrase a few times, but Diego was a little uncertain of the meaning of the words. A religious shepard and a flock of pigeons just didn't seem to go together.

Walking determinedly from her flat, Diego faces to her right, holding pistol out, discharging it at any hostiles in the way. Heading for Mr. Smooth, she reaches for his neural interface, twisting it roughly if she can, making an effort to pull him toward her as a shield.

(OOC; She has no idea what anyone else is up to at this point. She'll make an effort to avoid Weasel's attack if possible, adjusting as required... Providing she doesn't get dead first. )

The chatter above Diego doesn't fill her with confidence. Whoever these Ligs are after, they're not concerned about collatoral damage. Then again, Ligs usually weren't. They had her boxed in with whoever else was on the floor. The family next door, the punk in corner, the kid with the drums.

They were so humped.

The troops were moving outside, the halls creaking under theit jackboots. One of their number gave a command that made Diego nearly want to throw up. Breathing deeply, she controlled herself, waiting for the next move to play out.

The thunk! and roll of metal gave her something to concentrate on. Okay, it's a grenade. What kind? Unknown.... Flash-Bang? High-Explosive? All possible.... Whatever it was, she had to use it to her advantage. The soldiers would have sensor equipment, but an explosion might well knock it out. She'd never used that sort of thing, but her mentor had let her know it existed. Smugglers used similar devices on their hovers.

Okay.. Explosion, allow two seconds to exit door..... three seconds to get to stairwell... She'd doubtless be a target if They were able to shake off the effects of the blast, but she could get a couple of shots off. Cover would be next to the stairwell and 6A. If she was really lucky she might be able to club one with her gun. Two pounds of pistol hurt.

Diego stuck her fingers in her ears, waiting for the signal to proceed on her fool's errand. Don't hate me daddy.

Diego was seated in the ancient leather easy chair when the first bang went off. It was the opening line of a common-enough string of tales in her life, like the opening theme of an old television show. Except that televisions weren't that common in the Flood Zone. Security were sniffing around again, that was never good.

Lifting herself out of the recliner, she moved the collapsible card table to the side, allowing her unhindered movement around her shoebox. Her place was bare enough to make Spartans look like hoarders. In the next room was an old matress and an ancient but eerily clean blanket. Moving in near-silence across the thin patches of carpet remaining on the floor, Diego slid her feet into her well-worn trainers. She'd picked them up for a bargain price in the markets last autumn and they'd served her through the worst of the winter. There were tales how pirates had hijacked a shipload full of them and smugglers were the only ones able to unload them. The writing on the side was in a language she didn't understand, but comfort and reliability crossed divides like that.

The unmistakeable sound of rounds being discharged downstairs alerted Diego to more trouble on the homefront than she would have liked. She'd been asked to help rough up a squatter who'd started taking an unhealthy interest in one of the kids, but one of the reasons she liked this place was that there were no troubles here. Standing at the door, she grabbed her coat from the hook. It was knee-length and navy blue, old but still serviceable. Beneath it was another antique, her holstered Colt Python. Feeling the pocket of her jacket for spare rounds, Diego slid into her rig.

One of the local kids started hollering as she banged on the doors along the hall. They'd gotten Lazio, it sounded like. Fuckin' bastards. The man had been good in a way that much of the rest of the Zone was forgetting about. He'd let her in when the dumpster she'd crashed in was overtaken in a gang's territorial expansion. He'd even helped her find the behemoth of a chair, and cajouled some of the local boys to carry it up for her.

The roar of a shotgun announced Johnny's underling and his entry to the disharmony below. She'd eyed the piece once, a nice one. The rat-tat-tat response by the police let it be known that Mescalero would be out for blood. With any luck, Diego pondered, she might be able to get down there and get the piece. That'd be very nice to have.

Just then, the scream of an aerodyne and something even more painful tore through the air. Cheap flakes of plaster fell through her roof.

"Shit!" she cursed, throwing herself tight against the wall. The holes let in patches of blue, followed by rivulets of red. They'd gotten the kid on the roof. Diego had once had ambitions of going over the Wall. Something had made her think people were better over there. It had never come to pass, and most days, she didn't even think about the Ligs aside from an A/V overhead or a smuggler's hover getting trashed. The callous disposal of the urchin proved once again that people were assholes wherever you went.

The thump of boots on the roof made her jerk her gaze upwards, shaking her her ragged shag cut as she did. If there were commandos on the roof, it'd be more than likely they'd have a bead on her by now. Security over the Wall had all sorts of flashy gadgets, able to open your mind and make you dance against your will. They certainly knew about all the lead-throwers down here. The whispered audio from the combatants above Diego sounded like a pincer movement being pulled. It was highly unlikely they were after her, but the pusher she'd capped might have been a mole for someone else. How someone with such poor hygiene could manage that seemed inconceivable to her.

The kid in the hall went silent, the faint rush of a door hinges pointing to one of the flats letting her in. Her cries might have been answered by the Trasher over in E. Putting an eye the colour of Columbian coffee to the eyehole, Diego risked peering into the hallway, pressing her revolver against the opening edge of the door. Ligs could come in and do what they felt like, but that didn't mean zeroes had to take it. She tried to focus her breathing, analysing the possibilities ahead. Flight was possible, but risky. Fight was too, but even riskier. Feigning injury would have been smart but have dishonoured her father. There was too much at stake for that.

Diego waited, calmly breathing as the troopers above pounded around like giant mammals performing those graceful dances she'd seen as a kid.

They also re-broadcast news services from overseas. Mostly not in english, but they do broadcast The Journal from Germany in English, as well as what i believe to be a version in german at a different time.

In the interests of balance they also have the News Hours with Jime Lehrer. Pretty dry stuff, but it gives me an idea what other media outlets are pumping. Commercial US product (The Today Show, Sunrise) is usually planned in the early morning, a couple of hours prior to the Australian versions of the show.

SBS new re-broadcasts helps me keep my Indonesia up, and when I can be bothered, my Cantonese.

Plus they also show MythBusters 

Looks at lolad's quote

Somehow I just knew you'd bring that up.