Slicer’s waiting in line at the Metroplex Guard checkpoint out of the Barrens. The guards are bored, but they still have enough firepower and backup to really fuck up everyone’s day should anything happen. The people in the car ahead, a family of orks, get out under the watchful eye of the guards and are patted down, with special attention to the teenage daughter. Then they are allowed to continue on their way and the line moves a bit until the guards pick the next target.
Fucking pigs. One of these days someone is gonna snap and then we’ll have a full-scale riot on our hands. And those part-time warriors have no idea how to handle that.
There’s something to be said for married life. Especially when your wife calls you that she’s gonna mess with Aztech and not to wait with dinner. Fuck dinner, you want backup with that?
Someone hired Frettchen and Ruckus to trash as many Minimarts as possible and they did, all while wearing the colors of the Blood Rumblers. That got them fired from the gang, but it’s another great point on Frettchen’s CV. Anyway, there’s this lawyer who wants to sue Aztech and he, with the help of a mage, found Frettchen and wanted to talk.
Talk was okay, but Frettchen wasn’t really at home to going all witness of the prosecution for him. And there was something really fucking fishy about that guy anyway. So we got ourselves a camera drone and went snooping at the Minimart headquarters. Well, headquarters…more of a dingy office with two people. They had never heard of that lawyer. The secretary did recognize Frettchen, though, and we got out of there before the cops showed up.
Slicer’s at the front of the line and the guard takes one look at him and decides that there are easier people to mess with. He just gives Slicer’s SIN a quick check and then waves him through. He drives past the clinic and turns left towards the still rural part of Snohomish.
Some digging later, with the help of the mage and his little street girl gone private eye-elf who didn’t appreciate being lied to, we had a name for the laywer. We also had three runners on our tails, really hardcore guys at least judging from the guns they waved around. But still, if you want to take down Frettchen and me, you better come out shooting and not waving around a fucking katana. Jeez. Street sams, believing their own hype. That one ran right into my bullet, into Christine and into another one of my bullets. Having a living car gives you an edge in a fight, I’ll admit that.
Frettchen nailed the troll they had, right into the nuts. And I got their rigger, with a blind shot into the car. The troll told us everything he knew, in exchange for us not killing his dog (who takes a DOG to a run like this, even if it’s a Tibetan mastiff?) and for taking him to a clinic. Wasn’t all that much, though, but they were supposed to take Frettchen alive to find Ruckus. Someone is trying to clean up loose ends, I guess.
At the end of the day, we had a shiny new GMC Bulldog, only slightly dented, a case of Cuban cigars, a couple of fake SINs and guns, lots of guns. Including a machine gun. Frettchen wanted to install that one in her van, but we decided to put it in the house. You never know when the local rednecks will decide that they don’t want us around.
Next up: shooting that Aztech guy into the knee until he tells us what exactly is going on. I really doubt that the Minimart run was anything Aztech really wanted, that smells more like some corporate drone trying to impress his bosses. Didn’t really work out that way.