GIG Culling The Herd | Gig

Benedict Cross

Member
Benedict Cross
Eddies
424
THE MOTH BAR
Dogtown, Night City
Time: 1327​


The cool, musty air of the Moth bar felt refreshing after the humidity of walking through Dogtown. But the air of the bar was stale as the mercs were led through by the towering point of contact they'd met, Twigg. Attired in full Barghest combat gear and towering at a hefty 6'5, the Trinidadian had been surprisingly amicable to the mercs. It was a surprise finding out the gig had multiple contenders, but Twigg had opted to bring both to the Mongrel Fixer to adjudicate. There were a number of stares from the patrons of the bar as he entered. The Dogtowners shuffled in their seats, but those clearly sharing an affiliation wave and a cheer, "Twiggay!" One boisterous voice called out. Twigg did nothing but playfully swat the greeting away. His head turned briefly to the mercs as he led them through toward the back corner.

Benedict Argyle Cross nominally used a hood To conduct business in Night City, he was comically paranoid of being made by Zetatech and snatched up. But now he was in the flesh, with one meathead standing guard while another sat at the bar opposite. They were clearly having a laugh as Twigg approached. Footsteps thudding against the cheap flooring. As they drew closer, Twigg stopped. Stood to attention and loudly cleared his throat. From the sound of it, there must have been a good litre of phlegm in it. Benedict's eyes shot up and he nodded, turning to his lunchdate, "I see Mister Carmichael, we best wrap things up." Benedict stood, and his guest reciprocated. The Fixer gave him a handshake, "I'll be in touch in the coming days, and keep you abreast." Carmichael then exited the booth, giving both mercenaries a curt nod before brushing past Twigg on his way out. "So," Benedict's gaze rested on the Biker, "You must be here for the job." His eyes then moved to Minx, "And you must be-"

"Also 'ere for the gig suh." The gargantuan ex Militech merc growled. His voice had a deep tenor to it, and felt rich and textured. "They both 'ere for the job." Benedict's face turned initially to puzzlement, bewilderment and then embarrassment.

"Fuck me," The Englishman lost his previously warm temperament, "Fuck…" He looked to both mercs, "Just… Just a minute." He sat back in his seat, and clasped his hands together and stared at the opposite side of his booth. Benedict was a man of average height, and a little lean. Cross was clearly the best attired figure in the bar with a sleek black suit, and a golden undershirt with jet black tie. He was also the most well groomed with short, freshly maintained hair with a clean shaven face. After a moment of silence, "We'll pay them both."

"What suh?" Twigg's head dropped from where he had been standing to attention to instead stare at his superior. His voice betrayed profound bewilderment. "Ya gonna pay 'em both fer this?"

Benedict stood tall, and nodded. Sharply inhaling he dusted off his suit, and moved out of the booth, "Yes. It's my fuck up, and I'll own it."

"But Benny," Twigg interjected, "What aboutcha bonus, what about the night at Lizzies? We got-" The mercenaries escort seemed quite aggrieved by this development.

Benedict shot Twigg a dark look, "Can it, Twigg." Cross sharply shot down his huscle with a glare. His attentions now turned to the two mercenaries, and gestured to the booth. "Please, please take a seat. I apologise for the momentary confusion." He reached and his pale hands straightened his tie, "I appreciate your patience, and the fact you have both come so far for this opportunity." Benedict's voice was honeyed, and smooth. Like a corpo's. "While I may be new to contracting with mercenaries, I assure you I am not about to send you in half cocked."

Benedict looked at both of them. "I trust you both understand the brief of the task before you." He reached into his suit jacket and retrieved a neon green cigarette case. He opened it, and placed it between the two of them. There was a shard in it, "Take a look over that, those are the specs for the water purifier." The English fixer explained, "But I want to ask, before we proceed any further, were there any questions from the outset?"
 
Attire
Sword

~~~~

The engine purred on the blacked-out ARCH Nazaré as it came to a stop outside the gates of Dogtown. The guards of the City Within the City eyed the biker up and down, then glanced to the security booth across the street with a worried brow. The biker was waved through. They knew his kind. Good business to be had. The ARCH's engine purred a little louder, then roared as it revved off, up into the town.

Outside The Moth they were waiting for him. He set down his kickstand and turned off the bike. A simple press of the keycard in his pocket activated some minor theft deterrent systems he'd stolen from the Tygers.

As they entered, the large Caribbean drew eyes, but some were more focused on his new entourage. A strange pair. There was no mistaking the woman as a Nomad, but some might have easily mistook the Biker for tribal brother. In the Biker's mind it couldn't be more different. The outlander set the Biker on edge, but it was the rule of NC that you didn't fuck with your fixer. If the fixer wanted two on the job, so be it.

Entering the fixer's office, the Biker scanned his surroundings. It was easiest to observe when no one could observe you back. From the man's digs, his setup in the back of the bar, and most tellingly his minor spat with his muscle, the Biker got a good handle on who he was dealing with. A new name in the town, it seemed, judging by the fact the Biker had never heard of him. Yet fresh off a delivery of stimulants to the Animals at the GIM, Dtown was too close, his own curiosity too much, for him to not have gone in for the job. It was rare you'd get a matinee appearance of the Biker, but his interest was piqued. What it said about a fixer who arranged a meeting at 1:30 in the afternoon was that he needed shit done now, waiting for the schmoozing hour was not an option.

The Biker took his seat, the syn-leather of his riding pants crinkling against the chair's polymer. @Benedict Cross laid out the shard, and the Biker caught the cigarette cases' color, a common one in the town run by Barghest. No way this guy was ex... or he'd be dead. Maybe Barghest was branching out into more private merc work and this guy was a middleman. Maybe it meant nothing, but it put the Biker on alert.

"I'd like to cover the basics," the Biker responded to the fixer's probe for questioning, "I can ensure it's fast, but I need to know what degree of cleanliness you're looking for." He turned to make it visible he was looking at @Tyler "Minx" Dawson , "same for you."
 
Attire (+fishnet shirt)

By comparison, Minx's truck caused a bit more of a fuss.

Maybe trying to bring an APC through a military-style checkpoint wasn't the greatest idea, but what else was she supposed to do? It was a thought that'd crossed her mind about halfway to Dogtown, but she sure as hell wasn't going to just up and turn around - or, God forbid, go back and ask for a ride. This wasn't her first time having to figure out how to talk her way into getting to where she was going, and it definitely wouldn't be her last, but she figured having work there had to count for something.

Not that she'd really known much about Dogtown or Barghest before, aside from chatter her family picked up or bits and pieces from 6th Street. Some kind of militia made up of leftover Militech grunts who decided to stay put after the Unification War, which made about as much sense to her now as it had when she'd first learned about it. After flying for NUSA in the same war, she'd been glad to leave it all behind.

Which is maybe what made rolling up to the checkpoint felt so weird, but there wasn't much time to think about that as she watched a handful of figures with rifles jump into action. It was another fifteen minutes of tense conversation before she finally remembered the name of the fixer that hired her in the first place, and that seemed to smooth things over almost instantly. Minx waved as she was finally allowed to pass through, making a mental note to keep the security in mind next time she decided to pick up a gig here.

Getting to the bar was as simple as following the directions she'd been given, and after throwing her truck into park she decided to take a moment to nurse the buzz she'd been working on since she stumbled out of bed about an hour ago. Only after finishing the rest of a half-empty can of beer did she shoulder open the door and hop down, checking her pockets before making sure the door was closed and locked. She was halfway to the door before she remembered to activate the security system with a blink, the confirmation flashing in the corner of her vision as she entered the establishment.

The inside was about what she was expecting, as far as bars went, and there was just enough time to get a good look at her surroundings from behind her aviators before they came to a stop at the booth that also served as some kind of impromptu workspace. It was in the seconds before @Benedict Cross addressed them both that Minx took a moment to glance over the individual she guessed was supposed to be her partner for this job, only to find there wasn't a whole lot to see in the first place. Huh. Anonymity could be a useful tool, she figured.

When they were invited to, she slid into the booth, looking down at the shard momentarily as it was offered. It took her a second to realized @The Biker had also directed his question towards her. "Uhh," She blinked, "Doesn't really matter, I guess. Figure if they get in our way, we'll deal with them."
 
"I understand if you must dispose of any scavs en route to your objective. But what is critical, is discretion." Benedict cast a glance to Minx too as he explained this. "Kill if you must, but make sure to hide the bodies, and not sound the alarm. Remember, there are eddies at stake." Benedict put sharp emphasis on this, and his eyes narrowed. "Your target is the water purification system housed in the basement of the Terra Cognita basement." Cross reiterated, "It is newer than the rest of that wretched building, so it will somewhat stand out. And from our understanding, it is haphazardly installed. More of a jury rigged situation." The former lawyer elaborated, "Your task will be to deposit a chemical within the purifier." His gaze diverted from the duo, and to the bodyguard sat at the bar, "The packages Mister Cannady!" Benedict barked with a click of his fingers.

Cannady, attired like Twigg in Barghest gear grunted some sort of acknowledgement, and walked behind the bar. The barman seemed unbothered by this, as Cannady trundled out two large containers. One was what looked to be a litre sized water bottle. While the second, was much larger. And appeared to be a red jerry can. But modified, with some sort of plastic film around it. And the cap had a digitised lock attached. "Careful does it Mister Cannady." Benedict stepped aside, as Cannady placed the two containers on the table. "Thank you. The protection next, please." Cannady nodded in acknowledgement and disappeared out the bar. "Now, these are the agents you will dispense into the purifier. The first," He gestured to the red jerry can, "Is a modified strain of 'Fantomsekou'." Benedict explained in perfect Creole, "It's an obscure halluciogenic the Voodoo Boys use to apparently expand their mind while netrunning. My colleague has managed to create a strain which will do just that for the Scavs." Benedict continued, "It will start sparking the synapses, and cause them to hallucinate. But by then, it will be too late. Their brains and chrome will be working so hard, it'll short out their circuitry. They will die in a blaze of glory." Benedict looked at the Biker and Minx, letting that information set in, "Unfortunately for us, it will take about ten to fifteen minutes for the Fantomsekou to set into the vents. It needs to permeate. Ergo, I don't want the Scavs coming across this and managing to evacuate the complex."

"This," Benedict gestured to the second, smaller bottle. "Is just chlorine. Unfortunately the Fantomsekou we cooked leaves a distinct, pungent odour. So to mask it, pour this in right after." Cross elaborated, "The Scavs should not notice. Chlorination of water is incredibly common in this part of the world. So they'll see it as a benign malfunction." Cannady returned to the table. This time with a case. Benedict pushed both containers of chemicals further down the table and placed the case on top. He popped the locks, and there were three industrial breathing masks on top of what looked like hazmat suits. "So, regrettably the Fantomsekou batch we've cooked can both be inhaled, and absorbed through the touch. Ordinary clothing should be permissible to shield, but I am offering these as a potential means to head off your own demise."

"Any further questions?"

 
The Biker sat dead still as he listened, and was listening carefully though the fixer wouldn't be able to tell. Digesting the plan, he contemplated. There was a bigger picture here, one he was eager to find the angle from which it could be seen. Dtown, Barghest... scavs? Those were dime-a-dozen, hardly worth anyone's time, let along gassing a whole haunt of them. Of course, the Biker knew it was rude to pry too deeply into these things. But quick and discreet? It was the Biker's brand.

"My own gear will be fine," he beside him to the nomad woman and the skin she was showing, "You might need these, though."

He turned back to Cross.

"So are we supposed to make this look like a chip malfunction?"

@Benedict Cross @Tyler "Minx" Dawson
 
While the plan was laid out Minx listened quietly, and by the end couldn't think of any questions besides those she knew didn't warrant asking in the first place. This way of going about it just overcomplicated things in her humble opinion, but she wasn't being paid to give unwanted tactical advice. Not that she had much to offer anyway, only that she was pretty sure bullets had to be cheaper than however much cooking up all these chemicals had cost.

The offhand comment as to her choice of dress only earned an eye roll, but she would never be one to turn down free gear. Even if she was pretty sure she had a couple respirators stowed in her truck, it never hurt to have extra. Besides, contrary to popular belief, she was capable of having a sense of self-preservation every now and again - even if it didn't always look like it.

"Sounds good." That would be her only immediate reply, and she'd let @The Biker ask his question while her attention turned to the shard and she slotted it.

Her eyes glowed dimly cyan behind her aviators, the specifications of the particular model of water purifier these Scavs were using materializing in her vision. Minx gave the particulars a cursory once-over, and she studied the 3D model for just a few moments more. This specific variant wasn't one she was personally familiar with, but it wasn't like dumping chemicals was a very mentally taxing activity.

The shard returned to the case it had been presented in, and it took a beat for her to fully focus back on the conversation. "How you want us to contact you once it's done?"

@Benedict Cross
 
Benedict looked confused as he pondered the question. 'Could we have made this a frame up?' The Englishman's gaze turned to Twigg who stood stony faced, and giving nothing away. "You know…. I actually can't say I really thought that far ahead about this." His attentions turned to the Biker, "I know, I know! I look like some amateur hour bozo, sitting here with some overly intimidating huscle, and I know I've doubled up on the mercs, so I wish to reiterate that u an a consummate professional…... But no. I don't think the framing is necessarily important." He paused to collect his thoughts. A smile pursed his lips.

"I mean, this is Dogtown. It's not like you need a motive to murder someone. Statistically since you have sat here, three point six two murders have occurred." He grimly chortled, "That, and they are scavs. The rule of thumb when considering killing them, is that they have always earned their reckoning." The fixer mused, "If I may illustrate, the clan who last squatted at Terra Cognita must have fucked up monumentously as they were nearly wiped out to the last man in '77." he raised two fingers, "Two solos stormed the place. Effectively beat all of them to death barring their ripperdoc. And so far the new residents have crossed far more lines than those corpses." Benedict shook his head and smirked as he reminisced, "But returning to your original point," Benedict's gaze returned to the Biker's helm, "I guess, yeah. That would be a good idea." He shrugged, "My primary concern is this operation being linked back to my employers. I cannot emphasise enough the need to be discreet."

Cross' gaze turned to the duo, "Right, so I will want to ascertain the damage before I pay out the bonus." Benedict explained, "Once you're out of Dogtown, and Pacifica, give this number a ring." His eyes began to glow a deep green. Both solos were given Benedict's contact information, "I will compensate you for your time. I would give it several hours until it will be safe enough to approach the compound. So use that as a rule of thumb." He coldly informed them. "Now unless there are any more questions,"

"Happy hunting."

@The Biker | @Tyler "Minx" Dawson
 
All things considered, the Biker had taken jobs for less prepared, less confidant fixers. He was fresh off a run for the Animals, who left a lot to be desired in their form of... business... if their crude ways could be called such. At least cross had been gracious enough to sit them down and ask nicely.

Assured, and expecting the job to be a quick ed all things considered, the Biker rose from the chair, nodded to both the fixer and his muscle, and made for the door.

As he made his way back through the lounge, once again drawing the eyes of the Moth's patrons, he tried to wrap his head around the stakes here. Scavs were low-brow, dirty work any which way you sliced it, and as a general rule of thumb fixers didn't throw money into ventures that weren't promising returns. Unless they were stupid, which the Biker judged as far from the case with Cross. Barghest, current or former, he couldn't quite read that far into it, were not a stupid bunch. Far, far from it. Whatever was happening behind the scenes, there was some weight moving as a result of this.

But the Biker put it out of mind for the time being. He was in Dogtown, with a job from a local fixer that wasn't the Animals, for once. It brought him that much closer to what every merc in Pacifica was looking for: a shot with Mr. Hands. The shot-caller, the one fixer in the the combat zone that was guaranteed not to fuck you over, and the one guy who never seemed to fall in the ebbing and flowing chaos of the place. You knew you were in when you worked with Hands.

Leaving the bar, he hopped on his ARCH and looked to Dawson.

"So what's your deal, Nomad? I don't see you guys in the combat zone too often." The bike's engine started with a purr, a well-built and well-maintained machine. He eyed the nomad's truck up and down. Ugly piece of shit... but powerful. Intimidating even. Compared the beaters that lined the streets of Dogtown, interspersed every so often with some kind of luxury town car, the woman's truck gave off the closest thing to a military feel that wasn't a Barghest APC, and it had the aura of something even they wouldn't fuck with. So far from the Biker's style, but he had to give it the respect it was due.

"Is that beast custom?"

@Tyler "Minx" Dawson @Benedict Cross
 
Of the admittedly few fixers Minx had done business with up to this point, she appreciated that at least this one was straightforward and honest - not just about the job, but everything, which wasn't something often encountered in Night City. Hell, he'd even had a proper sit-down with them; something happened upon even less than honesty, in her experience. Finally, someone from the city who acted like a person for once, and treated other people the same way.

Sure, maybe he overcomplicated things instead of just using bullets, but it wasn't like she could hold that against him. It saved her money, anyway.

Minx watched as her would-be partner-in-crime walked away, then looked down at the containers on the table with a sigh. Grumbling to herself, she heaved the jerry can off the table and managed to tuck the smaller bottle under her arm. The case was picked up with her free hand, and she gave a final nod as an impromptu goodbye before trudging her own way back through the bar and outside.

The second she stepped into the haze of the city was when @The Biker posed his first question, and her initial reply was a noncommittal grunt as she set the jerry can on the ground at her feet. Leaning against her truck slightly, she turned and considered his curiosity properly this time. "Need the eddies same as anyone else, I guess." She shrugged, unlocking her truck with a twitch of her eyes and pulling open the driver's side door. "Heard about Barghest from a couple of 6th Street guys and thought it might be worth checking out. Figured we all fought in the same war, so they can't be too bad."

Her answer was left at that, and she loaded the chemicals into her truck in silence, ensuring they were secured in place with the ratchet straps she managed to dig out. After a final tug to check that it was all set, she dusted her hands off and used the welded step to hoist herself up into the driver's seat, laughing at his next question. "Yeah, sure, whole thing's right off the factory floor." She leaned forward just enough to let her slap the metal plating, giving him a final grin and pulling the door closed with a solid thud.

The engine growled to life, rumbling idly. Minx leaned over to grab a fresh can of beer from the case on the floor, replacing one of the empties in the cup holder. It cracked open with a hiss, and she slurped the excess, waiting for his bike to pull out so she could follow.

@Benedict Cross
 
TERRA COGNITA
Dogtown, Night City
Time: 1412
​
As the duo came close to Terra Cognita, there was an influx in Dogtown denizens. Most congregating around various bonfires, roasting whatever morsels they could get their hands on. While others were huddled in the shade, drinking and smoking. Agitation was in the air with hushed cursed and whispers. As well as the obvious stares as the two interlopers got out of their vehicles. Setting aside their vehicles, and approaching by foot toward the industrial park proper, it became clear why so many Dogtowners were sat in even more of a proverbial gutter.

The Digimortal Complex was crawling with Scavs. At least a dozen or so vans were parked around the structure. This was obviously excellent cover, considering there were four roving squads of three Scavs patrolling the perimeter around the staircase toward the main building. Beyond them, a few clustered groups of the Slavic gang sat around, chatting and drinking in the shade cast by the ginormous structure. Clearly off shift from whatever maleveolent project they were materialising inside. Beyond that there were repeated groups coming to and from the vans, laden with crates of pilfered cybernetics. But more grimly, some were hauling out bodybags from the backs of vehicles. Blood still dripping from the tops. There must have been bodies stacked atop bodies in some of thos vehicles.

Apart from the perimeter, the main entrance was manned by a squad of six heavies. All armed with a mixture of assault rifles and submachine guns but they were distracted, chatting and smoking. Whatever the Scavs were up to inside, it called for numbers. The Slavs were on edge about something, clearly. But through shear numbers alone, it was no wonder Benedict asked for his contractors on this to be discreet. Storming the joint would be suicide, wouldn't it?

@The Biker | @Tyler "Minx" Dawson​
 
The pair ditched their rides a few blocks away from Terra Cognita, given how conspicuous they looked. As he parked, the Biker reached down for the sheathed katana magnetically locked to the side of the bike, his hand hovering over it for a moment. Better safe than sorry, he reckoned, and grabbed it. This was not to be a slice and dice gig, but he'd found in his time in NC that those were jobs that usually started as something else entirely. Shit shows were a third act surprise most of the time.

As the unlikely pair of operators slunk towards the scav haunt, the Biker found a decently sized garbage dumpster to hide the both of them behind as they cased the place. The guards were laughing, smoking and drinking as freebooters did. Their weapons were cheap European garbage, by the looks of it, but even if their shit jammed the Biker knew they'd still be able to produce a hailstorm of bullets.

"Sounds like they're speaking Russian, or somethin' Soviet. Mean bastards, in principle, y'know?" he asked, unsure of the extent the nomad knew about the ethnic gangs of the city. Soviet ex-pats were one of the smaller communities of NC, but they were a far-cry from the type of folk you'd find east of California. "With all that cyberware, if they've got a half decent ripper these goons could be packing mid-tier tech, and a hack-job is still a job to guys like this. We gotta sneak in there somehow. You got any ideas? You wouldn't happen to have a cyberdeck installed, would you?" He prodded unhopefully. A netrunner would have been a useful addition to this op...

@Benedict Cross @Tyler "Minx" Dawson
 
Just as when they'd left the bar, Minx managed to contort herself to carry both containers that held the chemicals, as well as the case with the chemsuits and respirators - complete with her rifle slung over one shoulder. More than she liked to carry with her on any kind of gig, especially one where the whole point was to keep things on the down low, but somebody had to do the heavy lifting. And if she'd learned one thing so far, it was that folks from the city weren't the type to contribute in that regard.

Her arrival to their impromptu hiding spot behind the dumpster was a handful of seconds behind his own, and she took in the many sights and sounds of their opposition as she carefully set the jerry can down to give herself a break. When the question as to her own ideas of how to accomplish their goal came into question, she hummed thoughtfully. Going in through the front door was an obvious no-go, and the guards there didn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon.

Roving patrols, on the other hand, could be avoided. Not that it'd be a walk in the park by any means, but it was preferable to getting into a firefight they'd probably end up losing. "Well, we aren't gettin' in that way." She nodded her head towards the main entrance, shifting in her crouch. "Figure maybe we can skirt around, see if there's a back door they left unlocked." Not that she'd been known to be so lucky with any frequency, but it was worth a shot.

Minx rested one hand on the container that held the hallucinogen, drumming her fingers on the plastic. "And for the record, I'm fine with carryin' everything and all, but we also might wanna figure out how to handle things if shit goes sideways." And unlike the aforementioned luck that was so rare, such misfortune was a far more common occurrence.

@The Biker | @Benedict Cross
 
Further reconnaissance of the Scav haunt would reveal two potential new entrances. The first of which was a disused staff entrance. There still existed a small groupimg of three Scavs gathered around the entrance, along with a van sat out the front. But they were lightly armed compared to their contemporararies. And their post appeared to only exist in the periphery of one of the roving patrols. The door was open, meaning there would be no need to break and enter. Plus, the way the van was parked meant a quick getaway was available for the solo duo.

The second potential entrance was an open service duct. It was concealed from behind a boulder, so no patrols could get their eyes on it. The vent emitted a musty smell, and there was the slow and steady sound of a creaking fan echoing from within. But there was also no guarantee that this passage lead into the Digimortal complex. Terra Cognita was a wash with underground bunkers and tunnels. But if it did lead into the building, it could potentially circumvent most security measures put in place by the Slavic outlaws. Still, it was risky. Who knew what lurked within. And given its proximity to the Digimortal building, it could be some sort of trap.

These were the two options awaiting the intrepid mercenaries. Unless they opted for the most brazen option of them all.

@The Biker | @Tyler "Minx" Dawson
 
"If shit goes sideways we delta, screw it. You look like you handle a gun well." not that the Biker would stick around to find out. The last thing he needed was an entire scav haunt chasing him down the street, and of course the last thing Cross needed was the scavs showing up on his front doorstep. The Biker reckoned that if things did go sideways, given the nature of their illicit operations the scavs would have a techie who might be able to trace things back. He wanted to ensure this was done right.

"I don't like the look of that vent. I mean, it could get us right into the room we need but it doesn't look like we'll have much luck getting the goods through there, let alone ourselves." The Biker didn't bother to state his greatest apprehension, being that crawling through ducts wasn't easy even without a helmet on, and he wasn't going to take it off. He figured the nomad could tell that by now.

"Three guards by the door, I think we could take them down quickly. One of them looks like he's rolling off something, the others might be too. Even if not, poor guy won't know what him 'em."

@Mongrel GM @Tyler "Minx" Dawson
 
Was that how these things usually worked? There were several follow-up questions Minx could think of, but now wasn't exactly the time to ask them - and she may not have been anywhere close to what most people would consider a consummate professional, but there was no shame in trying to play the part. Besides, this seemed like the kind of business where you were expected to learn on your feet, and if all else failed that was something she could do. So sure, if things went bad, they'd leave. That was easy.

Less so still was getting inside, but at least these new options presented didn't leave them on the wrong end of too many barrels. Normally the idea of trying the service duct as a potential in wouldn't seem like a half bad idea, but that was before taking into consideration her extra cargo, not to mention the whole extra person with her. That left them with…one whole other option, and while the idea of having to take down a few scavs to get in the door didn't bother her, stealth ops like this weren't exactly her specialty.

Oh well, it was like Pa always said: you live and you learn, or something like that. Minx squinted as she studied the trio by the door, looking for any obvious weapons. "Yeah, I figure we can take 'em. Maybe hide their bodies in the van, or somethin'. Keep it quiet, y'know." Something else that she was far from specialized in, but there was no time like the present. Maybe that was the saying.

"How'd you want t' handle it?" She glanced sideways at him. "I think I got a knife, otherwise my gun ain't exactly quiet."

@The Biker | @Mongrel GM
 
"Keep the knife handy, but we should be able to do this without it. See the one in the middle, the drugged out one? Leave him for last. Take the guy on the left however you want, I'll hit the guy on the right, then the middle one. Your van idea is good."

Checking to see that the coast was clear of the patrols, he saw their window open as the roving guards rounded a corner headed away from them.

"Let's roll." the Biker dashed across the street using the van as cover so the approach wouldn't be noticed, not before it was too late. The Biker swooped to grab an empty bottle of Broseph ale that had rolled under the back left tire of the van, then broke from his cover and swung the glass hard into the back of the head of his target as Minx dealt with the man sitting across from him, however she chose to. The man went out instantly as the glass broke in half over him, then the Biker dove for the last guy, knocking him to the ground. Atop the man, he placed a black leather glove over his mouth and watched the man's eyes go wide with fear as he tried to fight off his assailant to no avail. It wasn't long before the man asphyxiated in his panic state.

He turned and stood to see if Minx had successfully gotten her target, and to gauge how much blood was on their hands. He hoped none, but who knew with the recipe of a nomad and a knife what would be cooked.

"Lets stash these guys."

@Mongrel GM @Tyler "Minx" Dawson
 
None of the Scav trio noticed the Biker approaching. And even the patrol which may have been in range, it did not notice the duo as they stealthily approached forward toward the entrance. There were three. One tall man. One muscular. And a small, skinny one. As the Biker approached the muscular one, bottle in hand, he caught some conversation. "So you heard about the firepower they have, right?" One of the Scavs chortled, "Ivan was telling me," The Scav continued, "That if the delivery goes through, these Raffen, they have a lot of firepower. Maybe enough, we could say... Leverage some of these Barghest. That fucker, the one they call 'Mongrel', he will pay for his-" The bottle was smashed over the first man's head. And he collapsed to the ground.

"Dim-!" The tall Scav grunted. Before his mask was penetrated by the Bikers glove. The Scav kicked and attempted to buck his assailant. A hand reached and clawed at the Biker's visor. But failed in doing so. The anonymous Scav fell silent in attempting an alert. Limbs falling limp and perfectly unconscious. It was however the Minx who made a distinct mess of it. While her attack had been successful, she had incidentally hit an artery. Blood sprayed from the petite Scav's form as she was gutted like a pig. She made no noise. But nevertheless Minx was now coated in blood.

Upon closer inspection as they laid out the bodies of their victims, it appeared the Scavs were in good company. The van was packed with corpses. In various state of decay. Some seemed fresh. But others already had maggots picking at bloated, pale flesh. It was a sickening sight and a sickening smell. Upon looking into the service hallway it was equally as bloody as Minx. Just a thick layer of blood which seemed to be slowly pouring from the end of it. A sign above, quietly hummed reading 'Employee Change Room', indicating toward the source of the blood. But, there was a door open to the side. It too had a humming sign, reading 'Archive'. It was up to the duo to decide their course of action next.

@The Biker | @Tyler "Minx" Dawson
 
Do it without the knife? Minx raised an eyebrow at @The Biker from beneath her aviators, but didn't comment further as he slinked from their hiding place. Instead she simply followed after him, patting down her jacket pockets until she found her knife. It wasn't anything special, just some small fixed-blade dagger she'd picked up on her drive cross-country, but it would do the job. She waited for him to drop the first one and move behind the other before she struck, and despite his apprehension at her choice of weapon, it served its purpose well.

Maybe too well.

"God fucking damn it!" The curse hissed between her teeth at a near-whisper, and she let the body fall as she stepped back, looking down at herself as she assessed the damage. It wasn't like she'd never had blood on her before, but life had a funny thing with timing that she'd never found amusing. Groaning, she wiped the blade on her pants to clean it; one more smear wasn't going to change anything at this point, and neither was bellyaching about it.

There wasn't much point in trying to clean up either, not that there was anything to do it with, so Minx didn't bother. "Well, now that you've decided t' make yourself useful," she glanced sideways at her companion as he opened the van doors, "You start loadin' 'em, I gotta grab everythin' else, yeah?"

Without waiting for his confirmation, she studied their surroundings for another moment to ensure the patrol wasn't coming back around, then carefully dashed back across the street to pick up both containers and the case, giving another careful look around before making her way back to the impromptu murder scene. If there were still bodies to be loaded she would help in doing so, making it a point to hold her breath the entire time up until the van doors shut for good.

Then she gathered everything else in her arms again, grunting with the effort as she crossed the few steps to the wall of the building so they could peer inside. Minx considered both signs where they flickered ominously above their respective doorways, but for once she was at a loss. "So," She looked over at her helmeted friend, "Whatcha think?"

@Mongrel GM
 
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