Logs for ShadowRN and Associated Mailing Lists

From:	Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject:	Boston - Employment Capital
Date:	Wed, 25 Feb 1998 04:49:46 +0000

Message no. 1 *****PRIVATE: NickNack
>>>>>[OK, so say it, you told me so. Hey, at least we're getting work,
even if everyone is dying in droves. I tell you, you ain't seen nothin'
like this town. It's so hot, it glows in the dark. Sit in some parts of
the city, and you can hear the gunfire. The locals are knowcking ten
barrels of shit out of each other, and smack in the middle is the
Police. Feds are about, but they seem to be thin on the ground - well,
it looks that way anyway.

There's some special task force here that get's on the news inbetween
the latest shoot outs between gangs and cops, you want to see these guys
operate. Armour and weapons to kill a tank, storming through like some
latter day cavalry. The cops are outgunned in the main, they're limited
to what their regulations permit, but their SWAT here sure kicks ass.

We haven't uncovered any leads on Wanderer or any of the other names
that are tied to his scrawny butt, but he's here. His little
giftwrapped packages turn up on trid occassionally. Seems like the
media and local law are trying to figure out if he's a solo or someone
brought in by a crime lord to kill off his opposition. Can't get the
truth of it myself, but if what I hear is true, Wanderer don't work for
nobody - which kind of makes one ask what the hell he's doing.

Crime suffers. If it's not their own bullets, it's the cops, if it's
not the cops, it's something that looks like Wanderer. There's a few
copy cat killings around, people seem to think crucifixion and impaling
are pretty cool ideas, but there's usually copious amounts of dead
bodies and bullets associated - the only real difference between the
killings really. It's possible to pick his stuff out by the lack of
collateral and casings.

Well, as I was saying, we've had some work. Mainly penny ante stuff
escorting shipments, moving drugs and weapons from A to B, but it's an
earning, and Hungry is finding the food here more to his liking. I
don't think he's ever recovered from running out of food on that damn
boat when that Agriculture bloke hired us. You'll get a kick out of
this one - it fits everything you said before we left.

+++++Include: Boston1.vid

Dark streets, the lights either broken or shot out, it seems that the
gangs in Boston have the same problem as Seattle - they love to shoot at
the street lights. It almost classes as a phobia.

A small group of people huddle against what looks like a damned cold
wind, light rain driving almost vertically up the street next to the
alley they take shelter in.

"When's he supposed to be here Marathon. I'm cold." The young girl
probably wouldn't be so cold if she hadn't styled her clothing on the
heroinne from 'Runners Remorse' on the Trid.

"He's still got a couple of minutes to show. Have some patience Cath,
you've seen what it's like in this town. People are kinda bullet happy.
Look at it this way, we've almost made back what we lost when Ralph
pegged out. It won't be long and we can go home. I want to make enough
this time to carry us - if you know what I mean." The young man,
Marathon, looks meaningfully at an immense, though overweight Troll,
sitting on a dumpster chewing on an obscenely large bagette.

"I heard dat." The Troll spits around a mouthful of - something. "I
ain't dat expensif, I pays my way, an' you knows it. I can't help t if
I like food. Hell, you ain't complainin' - you been eatin' better too."
He goes back to chewing on the loaf, it's filling giving even his
powerful jaw a worthy battle.

A tall slim man, dressed in a long dark coloured coat, the design
European and expensive. "I can find nothing. We are safe for now.
This is a mistake Marathon, we should not agree to meets like this, in a
place like this. Not here, it's too risky."

"Oh quit whining Monolith. We've done it before, it's not exactly
unique is it? Where the hell else is the J gonna meet us, the bar of
the Royal Hilton? So it's unpleasant. What's more important, making
money, or making nothin'? If you don't like it you can always push off
back to the digs."

Monolith turns round on Marathon, "What, and leave you kiddies to die
and haunt me? Not a chance. You're going to live to listen to my
whining if I have to destroy this city to make certain that happens."
He sweeps past Marathon, and offers the young girl, Cath, a warmer
jacket. She gratefully accepts it. "Besides, if I wasn't around, you'd
all be popsicles in no time." He looks momentarily at the Troll, still
tearing at the slab of bread. "Well, some of you anyway. Hungry, did
you have to bring that disgusting creation with you?"

Hungry pulls the gnawed loaf out of his mouth, a sliver of something
caught on one tusk. "Hey, you said we'd be here a while. I'm just
makin' sure that I don't give us away. If'n my belly rumbles cause I
ain't eaten you know you're in trubble." He returns to his enthusiastic
gnawing of the bread.

Cath laughs lightly in the background, as Monolith stalks to the alley
entrance shaking his head in defeat. The impression that this is a
regular thing between the team is not wasted.

A battered and rusty Chevy CityVan rolls up, coughing smoke from the
exhaust. An overweight man, dressed in a creased suit eases himself out
of the drivers seat, stretching his legs and scratching his nuts in
relief from being released from the confines of the car. He looks at
the group, pulling his trousers out of his backside. "You S&L?"

Monolith distastefully looks at the man, "Yes. And who might you be?"

"I'm the guy payin' your wages, now shaddup an' listen. Pinkie wants
you to escort some gear across town. He's got somethin' planned and
wants ta make sure the stuff arrives safe like. You already know what
he's payin' all I want is your OK, and I'll pay ya, an' give ya the
details. Hell, I might even drive ya over there."

Marathon takes a step forward, his jacket blowing open in the wind, a
manhunter revealed on his hip, and what looks like an Ingran grease gun
under his arm. His cyberdeck strapped to in an armoured pouch on his
back. "We already said we'd take the job. We just need to know what,
where and where to."

"Yeah, well, Pinkie likes me ta meet with those he's payin' that way if
ya frag him and run with the dough, he's got ya. Insurance, ya know.
Shit!... Where'd he come from." The thug spins at the sound of his
vehicle cracking under something heavy, coming face to face with Hungry.
The bagette heroically stuffed in his jaw like a knife - the bonnet of
the car an impromptu seat.

"Over dere." Comes muffled around the bread, Hungry stuffs a thumb in
the direction of another alley close to the one they're standing in.

Monolith turns from the thug to hide a sudden grin. Turning back,
"Look, we aren't interested in whatever war you people are fighting. We
aren't particularly interested in who you're fighting. You want us to
do something, so, pay up, and let's get this on the road."

"Half up front, the rest on completion. Dat's de deal bud. I ain't
paying nuthin' till you says you'll do it."

Marathon takes a deep breath. "We have already agreed to escort your
shipment, what we...." A single rifle shot cracks out across the
street, the report echoing back and forth off the buildings. The thug
stands for a moment. A large hole in the corner of his forehead, blood
and matter sliding down a frozen face before he crumples straight down,
poleaxed.

Hungry instantly hits the deck, using the car as cover, Marathon,
Monolith and Cath spreading into the dark alley, using whatever cover
they can find, weapons and eyes desperately scanning the area. The
sound of a powerful engine growls through the night as a car powers up
the road towards their position. "Hungry - move it..." Marathon
crouches, aiming for the alley mouth with his Ingram. Hungry starts to
rise, already moving for the alley - the bagette still clenched in his
teeth. As he pounds forward, seeking cover, two machine pistols open up
from the street behind him. Bullets rip into the Chevy, shattering the
screens, turning the rusted body of the car into swiss cheese. Faint
blue flares behind Hungry stop rounds in mid air as the Troll slides
behind a dumpster. The Chevy finally co-operates with the gunmen, and
explodes. The fuel tank, followed by whatever the thug was carrying in
the cab. Spilling petrol adding to the hazards as it floods across the
sidewalk.

Marathon's Ingram spits flame in a futile attempt to hit the gunmen.

The car roars off up the street, leaving the shocked team to stare at
the burning car, before heading of at speed down the alley.

+++++End vid.

So, there you go. You told us it wouldn't be safe here. Seems like you
were right. Even our employers are targets for the local gangs. We've
survived three drive by shootings now, and we're getting pretty good at
spotting them, but it's not a lot of fun when it happens. Hungry's been
a continual shadow for Cath, which is starting to get on her nerves.
The guy is so close, he's dropping crumbs on her hair, but she's safe,
and that matters to him. Monolith is definately suffering the pressure
here, he's so damn jumpy at a meet that it's tempting to leave him
behind, except that if it wasn't for his magic, we'd probably all be on
a slab by now. I don't know how many times he's saved us from stray
bullets and shit, I don't exactly understand it either, he's more intent
on keeping us alive than he is in killing the freak that's shooting at
us. I'd prefer it if he was more his old self, and just vapourised the
scag doing the shooting, but I'm not going to get into another argument.

We took another meet about two days later. The same thing happened. We
arrived early, scouted the place out, found nothing, and some shitehawk
killed the J. Thankfully we haven't been labelled for it yet, but I
figure a few more like that and we're going to get a bad rep. Needless
to say, meets are more carefully arranged now.

It's damned dangerous here, but a sight more fun than listening to those
posing wannabees in Seattle. You know, I might just invite some of them
over here to Boston, so they can see what it's like to really survive on
the streets. There's plenty of work, even if it is damned dangerous
some times. I tell ya, by the time this war is over, there's going to
be some seriously professional runners left, most of the trash is going
to be either dead, or languishing in the pen.

I'll talk to you some more later. Keep the place warm, Cath's looking
forward to soaking in a warm bath when we get back. I figure we can
spend another month or so here before the Police presence gets to thick
to bypass comfortably, then we'll head on back. This is good for us
Nick, we're picking up a lot here that we never had the chance to learn
in Seattle. It's pretty neat in a perverse kind of way.]<<<<<
-- Marathon <04:49:12/02-25-59>

From:	Avenger <Avenger@*******.DEMON.CO.UK>
Subject:	Boston - Employment Capital
Date:	Sun, 8 Mar 1998 06:51:26 +0000

Message no. 2 *****Private: NickNack
>>>>>[Yeah, right, I know, I can hear you already "I tol' ya not ta
go!"
Yeah well, we're here. I tell you though, there's good money to be made
in this place. Loads of opportunities, lots of fun, what can I say.

Hungry's been eating everything he can find - I really want to know
where he puts it all, nobody can eat that much and live!

Anyway, the bad news, Cath got hit yesterday. We were escorting some
scag across town and ran into a turf war. We only just got out with our
damn skins intact. Monolith took a slug too, and Hungry trashed
everything left standing - jeez but he's scary when he's pissed. I'm OK
- hey, don't sigh like that - but the deck got trashed. It swallowed
the rounds I was supposed to get. I mean, it's not like we weren't
prepared, but these fuckers just came out of nowhere, guns and all sorts
of shit happening. Oh, by the way, we've finally hooked up with a
rigger, I reckon that's about the only reason we're still alive, the guy
was invaluable. His name? You'll love it - RingPiece. Yeah, and no
funny remarks OK? Anyway's you can see for yourself.

+++++Include Minicam1.vid

Rain, buckets of it, dropping straight out of a windless sky. Sheets of
water streaming off the concrete, overflowing hard pressed storm drains
and adding to the treacherous condition of the road.

"The sooner we hit the highway, the better. Damn town roads are for
shit." The thick Bostonian accent spits itself around a thick cigar.
The dwarf turns his head to the passenger. "You sure you wanna go this
way Marathon, it ain't exactly the route I'd choose?"

"This is the route the J wanted us to take. We're supposed to meet a
van about a mile up this road, they give us the passenger and we get him
to across town to Moirini. Seems they've done the hard work, all we're
doing is transporting someone. It sounded OK when we took the contract,
and it's paying well. Ah, what's one road from another?"

"It ain't the road, it's th' area. Some of the hardest fightin's been
in this 'hood. They're trigger happy loons up here." The Dwarf hits a
switch and spits the stogie out of the lowering window, closing it again
as the rain pours through. "Shit I hate this damn weather. Be glad
when summer comes round again."

"Have nice summers up here do you?" Cath, checking the loads in her
magazines drops the slide on her Ingram and holsters it.

"Nope, but it don't rain as much."

Marathon snorts and locks the slide on his own weapon, pushing the
selector to burst fire, and engaging the safety. A faint whine from the
rear of the vehicle, followed by the sound of a small gyro spinning up,
and Monlith growls a complaint, "Shut the damn roof will you, it's
bloody pissing down in here. I didn't get in this car so I could get
wet."

"Hey, I've gotta get the drone out somehow, an' I don't much like the
idea of stoppin', OK?" The dwarf stuffs another stogie into his mouth,
striking a match with his thumbnail and lighting the thing in clouds of
thick smoke. The air conditioner rattles for a few seconds desperately
wrestling with the thick smoke before the vehicle clears.

The deep resonant voice of the troll, Hungry, booms from the rear of the
oversized station wagon. "What are you moanin' 'bout Mono, I'm sittin'
under the open roof, it ain't that bad." The troll sits under the
opening mouth wide open, tongue hanging out, catching the rain and
noisily smacking his lips.

"Hungry! Stop that!" Cath reaches out and slaps the troll's leg. "You
can't drink the rain, it's toxic."

"Tastes fine to me." Hungry manages to look offended while tucking into
a large Twinkie.

"Yeah," Marathon laughs, "It would. Hungry, you need help,
desperately."

"HUh?" Another twinkie vanishes into the bottomless pit that is the
troll.

"Never mind sweetie," this time Cath clips Marathon around his ear.
"Marathon's just being mean."

"If Marathon bein' mean, Hulk smash..."

Marathon spins in his seat, almost strangling himself on the safety
restraint, and glares in the direction of the troll. A crumpled comic
protrudes from the breast pocket of the troll's jacket. Marathon aims a
deadly glare at an innocent looking Cath. "Tell me you didn't."

"OK. I didn't. There, happy now?" Cath does a passable impression of
the Madonna, innocence and angelic detachment adding a haunting beauty
to her young face.

Marathon's voice hisses through his teeth, the tone low and angry. "Why
the hell did you buy him another one? Have you forgotten what he did
the last time?"

"No I haven't. He painted himself green and broke a few items of
furniture." Cath steadfastedly maintains her detached innocence.

"A FEW!" It takes a visible effort for Marathon to reign himself in.
"He wrecked the entire bar. All of it, everything was turned into
matchwood. Thank the gods it was in the middle east and not home turf."
Marathon sighs, deeply. "Couldn't you have got him something sensible -
Neil the Ork Barbarian, or The Further Adventures of Thrud would have
done, but not the Hulk."

"Marathon." Cath's tone is similar to that of a lecturing mother trying
to instruct a tearaway child. "He's only 15, he _likes_ The Hulk. What
am I supposed to do, tell him he can't have the comic because Marathon's
being an old fart? It makes him happy, only costs a couple of bucks,
and it keeps him quiet for hours."

"Just assure me you didn't get him a drawing pad and some green paint.
Please."

"No Marathon I didn't." Cath folds her arms, defying Marathon to say
any more on the subject.

Obviously the position is a familiar one, and Marathon subsides. A low
chuckling from Monolith earns the mage a stiff glare, but no more is
said. For a short while the only noise in the vehicle besides the sound
of it's travel, is that of Hungry munching on his 'supplies'.

"Ok, kiddies. There's the van." The dwarf steers the vehicle towards
the sidewalk. "Do your stuff."

The downpour seems heavier, large drops of water pounding the street,
and sluicing off the parked vehicles. A battered van sits a few metres
in front of the station wagon. Three doors and the tail gate open on
the station wagon, and the occupants, minus the dwarf climb out. The
drone pulls up behind a street lamp, keeping the bright glow between it
and the van. Two dark suited figures climb out of the Ford Rambler, and
pull the sliding door open. An overweight well dressed man climbs out
as one of the other suits opens an umbrella. Marathon approaches the
small group with Cath as Monolith and Hungry - now carrying a drum fed
assault shotgun in his huge hands - move to flanking positions, watching
the street and the small group. The three suits walk forward meeting
Marathon and Cath half way between the vehicles.

"Yous guys S'n'L?" One of the heavies manages to get the words around
his teeth somehow, a thick Corsican accent slurring the words further.

"Yep." Marathon keeps the reply simple, helping the thugs to
understand.

The older of the three steps forward. "My name is Berranotsi. I hav'an
importanta meeting acrosstown. My owna people canna be trusted to get
me there safe. Too many of them are a'known to our enemies. You will
take me where I wanna go?"

"Sure Mr. Berranotsi, that's what we've been hired to do." A slight
Italian lilt enters Marathon's voice, in a subconscious immitation of
the older man's voice.

The Italian looks at the Oldsmobile parked behind Marathon. "Inna
that?"

"Yes, Mr. Berranotsi. In that. If you would like to get in the car, we
can get moving. The longer we stand in the open, the greater the risk to
you." Marathon steps aside, waving his hand across in a gesture that
the Italians should lead the way.

With a resigned sigh the old man walks towards the station wagon. Cath,
opens the rear passenger door, and the portly old man slides onto the
bench seat. Cath climbs in beside him while Monolith gets in on the
opposite side. Hungry climbs back into through the tail gate, the
suspension noticeably sinking as he hauls himself in. Marathon pauses
for a moment looking at the two thugs.

"You fail, an'a we come for you." One snarls round his teeth in his
best Bella Lugosi accent.

"If /we/ fail? Yeah, like you boys were first choice huh? If we fail,
it was because the odds were stacked, don't come looking for us, we'll
be pissed off enough anyway, you go looking for the people who did it."
Marathon turns to climb into the station wagon.

"We come for you first, then we killa the others. Mr. Berranotsi is ina
your care. Thatsa biga responsibility."

"Yeah right. Hey, your pasta's probably getting cold, leave me in peace
to get on with this and I'll leave you in peace to eat." Marathon opens
the door as a thug reaches forward to grab his shoulder.

"We'll be a'watchin' you." The comment needs no embellishment, the
threat is thin enough as it is.

"You do that." Marathon climbs into the car, closing the door before
the thugs can say anything else. The dwarf stamps on the gas pedal, and
the powerful engine of the large Oldsmobile pulls the car out of the
curb, and accelerates up the road into the rain.

One of the thugs pulls a radio out of his jacket, mutters into it for a
few seconds and climbs back into the Ford, driving off in the opposite
direction.

The drone accelerates up the street towards the station wagon, landing
on the rack mounted on the front of the roof, magclamps engage, locking
the drone in place. Hanging a right, the dwarf heads towards the
highway. "As soon as we get on the highway, we'll be OK. Nobody can
jump us there, not without drawing serious attention to themselves.
With luck we'll be across town in an hour or so."

"Do nota trust the highway patrol. The cops here are as crooked as the
gooks and spiks. If you see a patrol car, make a'sure you leave it
behind. Mr... err?"

"RingPiece. The names RingPiece, an' drop the Mr." The dwarf continues
to chew on his cigar, concentrating on the road ahead. The heavy car
rumbles comfortably along, joining the heavier city traffic heading
towards the cross town highway.

"What makes you think we'll be any safer on the highway?" Marathon
looks out of the passenger window, inspecting the cars on that side of
the vehicle.

"Can't stop us so easy. This bitch weighs a fair amount, and the mods
I've added make her a nasty old bird. They can't block the road, can't
run us off the road, and they can't start a firefight. Too many eye
witnesses, too much chance of a rapid response from Boston PD. Any kind
of a traffic accident they engineer is going to get itself swamped with
emergency services too quickly for them to make good use of it. The
only way they'll stop this puppy is with a missile, and there's way to
many eyes to see where it came from." RingPiece makes a few adjustments
and seats the fibre connection more comfortably behind his ear.

"You make it sound reasonable, but I don't know. There's been some
wierd things happening in this city, it wouldn't surprise me for someone
to try." Marathon shifts in his seat, getting more comfortable and
removes the ingram from it's underarm holster, placing it in easy reach
in the map pocket of the door.

"Wierd isn't the word. Crucifixions, impalings, bodies dismembered and
laid out in twisted patterns. The latter reminds me of the stories that
came out of Salem a while back from that Vampire scare they had. The
rest... I mean who the hell crucifies anyone these days?" Cath
shudders, partly from the cold of her damp clothes and partly from the
images in her mind. "It's so barbaric."

"People do strange things to each other, Cath." Monolith hands her a
sugar gum, and unwraps one for himself. Hungry leans forward,
concentrated interest a study on his face. Monolith tosses one to him.
"Some lunatic crucifying people is no stranger than some of the things
we heard that came out of Chicago, or New York. And the wierd shit that
went down in New Orleans last year has got to hold the cup for lunacy."

"Well. yeah, but those places are so far away. We're here, in Boston,
and somebody thinks they're in the Middle Ages." Cath pops the sweet
into her mouth and gazes out into the night.

"Not somebody Cath. Wanderer. From what I hear he did the same thing
in Europe, burned a few churches as well I think. I figure he's got
himself some sort of religion, and he's making a quest out of
something." Marathon lights a Camel, crumpling the empty packet and
dumping it out of the window. "Funny thing is, he doesn't seem to be
killing randomly this time. Nobody could get a handle on the German
situation, it was just a bunch of terrorist attacks against the church,
but this time he's more like a vigilante. Killing major criminal
figures, and toasting gangers like there's a goddamn barbeque. I was
thinking of hunting him down when we came up here, something Ratspeak
said got my interest up, but after I checked out the details of some of
the things attested to him, I figured that it would be a bit more
dangerous than we needed. Besides, nobody seems to be hiring for that."

"You should be grateful Marathon," Monolith's level tone, and faint
English accent is subdued below his normal manner. "War, Pestilence,
Death and Jestyr seem to follow in his wake. You heard the rumours, as
I did, what happened to Harley and Haze when they crossed paths with
this bunch. Whatever it is Wanderer is up to, be glad you're not a part
of it. He's dangerous, unpredictable and quite mad. Remember what
curiosity does to cats Marathon. It kills them."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. But hell Mono, aren't you even a little bit
curious?" Marathon turns to face the back of the car. "Christ, he's
asleep." Berranotsi, his head sagging, snores gently, rain dripping off
his fedora onto an expensive wool coat.

"He nodded off almost as soon as he sat down," Monolith chuckles
lightly, amused. "I think he feels safe, and No, I am not curious, not
in the slightest. Wanderer and those who follow behind him are out of
your class Marathon. Even /I/ would be sorely tested against such as
they. Pray they stick to their own part of town, and you do not cross
their twisted paths."

"Yeah, I guess your right." Marathon stares into the back of the
station wagon where Hungry, a huge smile on his face, closely studies
the pictures in his comic. "I wonder if we should teach him to read."
He nods his head in Hungry's direction, a soft affection loosing the
tense expression of Marathons face.

"Cath already is." Monolith smiles gently.

"Heh, I should've guessed." Marathon looks at Cath, who sticks her
tongue out at him.

"If we left everything up to you Marathon, nothing would ever get done."
She goes back to starting into the heavy rain.

Marathon yawns dramatically, and turns back to face forward again.
Glancing across at RingPiece Marathon turns the radio on, a blues
station plays sad songs softly into the car, he leans back into the
chair, stretching his long legs deeper into the footwell. "How long you
figure we're going to take RingPiece?"

"Hour, hour and a half. Traffic's heavy, so we're going to get caught
up on the off ramp goin' back into town. I don't mind much, the more
traffic, the safer we are. Thankfully we don't appear to have a tail,
so we're in the clear this far." The Dwarf shifts the car into another
lane, and powers past a transcontinental hauler, the huge tractor
sending sheets of spray across the highway. Momentarily the screens
blank out from the wash of water thrown up by the wheels, then the
wipers get control again and clear the windshield. "Damn trucks
shouldn't be allowed on the fraggin' highway, damn menace."

"Ah, your only jealous." Marathon grins into the sidescreen. The
dwarfs eyes lovingly following the massive vehicle as it disappears in
the mirrors.

"Bah! Jealous? Of those gas guzzlers? Pull th'other one, it's got
bells on it." The sour tone is just short of convincing.

They drive on in silence, passing trucks, being passed by cars.
RingPiece occassionally accelerating past something then pulling into
the inner lanes, and slowing back behind the vehicles he's just passed.
Happy that no tails are exposed he drives on for a couple of miles
before trying the same trick again.
Eventually he joins the traffic and heads for the off-ramp. "Wakey,
wakey kiddies, we're gettin' into injun territory. 20 minutes to
target."

The occupants of the station wagon stir reaching for weapons, checking
that they're within easy reach. hungry reluctantly folds his comic
shut, finishes his donut and checks the drum mounted in the shotgun's
receiver. The rumble of the road changes noticeably as the car leaves
the tarmac of the highway and exits onto the concrete of the city
streets. The heavy traffic leaving the highway slowly thins as the car
enters the shabbier area of east Boston, the streets become more rucked
with potholes, street lamps more spares and wrecked or dismantled
vehicles more prevelant. After 15 minutes the car slows and heads
towards a warehouse and industrial park. The clamps holding the drone
disengage and the small unit leaps into the air, soaring above and ahead
of the vehicle.

"Mono, give our passenger a nudge. We're almost there." Marathon pulls
the Ingram out of the map pocket and drops the safety. "Here we go."

A group of heavy set men wait at the entrance to a smallish warehouse.
The open the gate as RingPiece pulls the heavy Oldsmobile up to the
fence. One of the men walks up to the car, a menacing HK machine pistol
buried in his hands.

Marathon winds the window down. "Mr. Berranosti for Mr. Moirini.
Delivered as requested." The man gestures towards the warehouse with
his MP7 and rejoins his companions. Marathon winds the window back up.
"Talkative bunch. I'm surprised you've agreed to come alone Mr.
Berranosti, bit of a risk isn't it?"

"In times o'need, you gotta take the occassional risk or nothin' is
achieved. Moirini needs me, so he won't a try nothin'." The mobster
straightens his fedora and pulls his coat straight. RingPiece parks the
station wagon in front of the warehouse, and the team pile out of the
car, checking the area before gesturing for Berranosti to get out. Four
thugs, and another overweight suit leave the warehouse entrance and head
towards the car.

As the two mobsters meet and shake hands, the sound of powerful engines
rips across the deserted complex. Several motorcycles roar towards the
gate, pillion riders blazing at the guards with automatics. The guards
at the gate return the fire, three of them spinning away from the
onrushing vehicles, dropping to the ground lifeless. The fourth remains
behind the gate, one biker leaving his vehicle, assisted by rounds from
the thugs MP7. A flare punches from the lead bike, and the remaining
heavy vanishes in a cloud of flame when the grenade strikes the gate,
demolishing it. A human form stumbles out of the explosion, flames
immolating the shape. The bikes rip through, and spread out across the
concrete leading to the warehouse. The two mobsters run for the
interior, Marathon, Cath and Hungry, along with the four thugs Moirini
left behind open fire on the bikers.

Muzzle flares and sparks from ricochetting bullets strobe the night,
flames lick at the guard hut, and slowly extinguish on the still form of
the fourth gate guard. Three bikers drop their machines spilling the
pillions hard onto the concrete, two get up and continue firing at the
warehouse it's defenders. One guard drops, his face wasted. Ringpiece
ducks down into the foot well of the drivers side and the drone steams
in at head height, the machine pistol mounted inside the casing spitting
flame at the attackers.

More bikers follow behind the first group, some sliding to a halt the
rider and passenger climbing off and taking cover behind pallets and
drums around the entrance. A light grunt, and Cath sit's down hard
behind the oldsmobile, blood slowly soaking into her jacket. Marathon
rushes over to her, spraying wildly with his Ingram. She looks at him,
a puzzled expression on her face, and falls over. Several bikes, riders
and passengers erupt in flame, the fire, almost with a life of it's own,
leaping between the bikes, igniting petrol tanks and people alike.
Hungry lets out a wild scream of anger, and charges around the
oldsmobile, his shotgun firing on full auto, tearing pallets and people
apart. He staggers twice, three times before reaching a group of
bikers. Dropping the shotgun he flails about himself with huge hands,
muscles bunching as he rips arms out of their sockets and proceeds to
beat bikers with the bloody stumps. The only coherent words coming from
his tormented shrieks are "Hulk smash..."

A large biker, blood streaming down the side of his face staggers to his
feet behind hungry, grabs the fallen shotgun and points it at the
Troll's back. He suddenly goes rigid, hops a few steps to the side, and
drops like a stone, blood pouring from his ears, nose and eyes. His
brain mushed. Monolith, his attention distracted protecting Hungry,
drops to his knees, clutching his shoulder. The drone spins in,
machine pistol ending the lives of the surviving bikers opposing
Monolith. More thugs run from the warehouse engaging surviving bikers
with automatics and shotguns. Marathon runs towards Hungry, aiming
short bursts at any leather clad bipeds that look like they might pose a
threat. A fallen biker, rises to his knees and fires at Marathon,
knocking him off his feet. The wind knocked out of him, Marathon stays
down. One of Moirini's thugs empties a full clip into the bikers face.
Hungry continues his orgy of destruction, braining two bikers with an
oil drum, and breaking a wooden pallet over another two.

Less than two minutes later, it's all over. The mafioso guns finishing
off any wounded or surviving bikers. Marathon gingerly picks himself up
off the ground, looks back at the oldsmobile, and gets a thumbs up from
Monolith. RingPiece, his stogie smashed, climbs out of the car, and
reloads his drone, sending it up again, to scoot over the area checking
for any moving targets. Hungry kneels near the gate, blood trickling
down his chest and left arm, beating a lifeless form with it's leg.
Marathon gently grabs the Troll's shoulder. "Hungry - he's dead. Let
it go."

"They kill Cath, now me kill." Tears stream down the Trolls face,
indescribeable pain in his eyes.

"No they didn't. She's OK. Mono's fixing her now. She's alive Hungry.
Go look." Marathon takes the biker's leg from Hungry's hand, and drops
it on the ground.

Hungry looks hard at Marathon's face. "You better not lie to Hungry."

"Go look. She's going to be OK." Marathon takes one last look at the
mangled wreck at his feet, seems to realise it was once a human, and
turns away quickly, swallowing hard.

Hungry dashes off to the car, moving surprisingly quickly for his
enourmous bulk. A shout of pure joy echoes around the yard when he
rounds the car. Stooping low, Hungry gently picks Cath up, her good arm
snakes around the big Trolls neck.

RingPiece stows the drone, "We'd better get out of here. Police'll be
along in a few minutes. C'mon guys, shake it. We don't have all night."

Hungry places Cath gently into the car and climbs in the back.
Monolith, holding his shoulder waits for Marathon, who picking up
Hungry's abandoned shotgun jogs back to the car. "You hit boy?"

Marathon stops for a moment, realisation walking across his face. "Oh
shit..." He unlimbers the armoured bag on his back. Several bullet
holes decorate the long pouch. "My deck. Oh fuck!"

"Be grateful it was only your deck Marathon. Come on, Ring's right,
we'd better be gone." Monolith opens the rear door, and gingerly slides
into the car.

Marathon, cursing, holding the remains of his deck like a baby, gets in
just as the car starts rolling. RingPiece heads out, away from the
scene. Behind them, a limo pulls up, the two Mafioso climb in, and
drive away in the opposite direction. "This place is getting a little
bit too warm Marathon." Monolith, ties a surgical pad to the wound in
his shoulder, grimacing at the pain.

"Nah, the fun's only just starting."

+++++End include.

Turns out the hit was from a Latino gang in the area, who saw a chance
to take out two Mafia heads, maybe earning some more turf in the
bargain. We just got caught in the middle of it. Well, there you go.
We got ourselves beat up, but we're all still alive. Well, mostly.
Cath keeps giving me these killer looks since I threw Hungry's Hulk
comic away, but at least he's manageable again.

Anyway, you take care of yourself, we'll be staying here for a while
yet, there's still money to be earned, and we're getting ourselves a bit
of a rep for getting things done. We've had a few successful runs now,
and we've got some money under our belt again. Things are definately
looking up. I don't know how long this is going to last. The gang war
here is getting seriously heated up. The Police and the feds are
getting reinforcements from the National Guard now, I give it a few more
weeks, maybe a couple of months, and they'll be declaring martial law in
some parts of the city. Well, we've got another job in a couple of
days, I'll let you know how that goes.

By the way, Mono wants to know - how're things in Seattle?]<<<<<
-- Marathon <06:48:09/03-08-59>

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