Roleplayer Guild - Forum Roleplaying Games

[This is merely an excuse to post something I wrote a while ago. Esoteric references are explained in the footnotes. Feel free to add your own tales of battles both epic and gorey.]

With a thundrous roar, the massive engine sent the wartruck screaming across the battlefield, over six tons of ork in the back. The trukkboyz who had the honor of having the warboss ride with them had started out in the front of the assault, but over the course of an hour and a half of bloody battle, the charging line had dissolved. The Boss had picked a new target for them, a pack of eldar jetbikes that had been picking off stragglers for the entire battle. Bad Thrugg Verdonk, leader of one of the most vicious hordes of Speed Freeks* in the universe, was pissed that something was out-maneuvering his boys. He wanted them dead, and was going to deal with them personally. Unfortunately, they'd seen what he did to the War Walkers, and wanted nothing more than to stay out of reach.

"Fasta, ya pansy git! We'z red, but we'z movin' like we'z black!* We ain't Goffs, so punch it! Punch it punch it punch it!!"

Showing more guts than a runt should, the driver glanced in the boss' general direction. "Too heavy boss! We'z got more ork dan trukk 'ere!"

"Don't backtalk me! If you wazzn't drivin, I'd smak ya gud!" A pulse of light and a cacophany of sounds that would threaten to drive a human mad with their chaoticness signaled a squad of Warp Spider's exit from the Warp. "Boyz! Tellyportaz! You'z get dem, I'z got da flyin' gitz!"

The truck barely slowing, the boys lept from the back, eager for a chance to bring back some of the most prized trophies the eldar had to offer. Relieved of five out of the six tons of greenskinned brute, the truck's spike-studded back treads spewed dirt clods until Thrugg threw his weight towards the back of the bed. The extra weight allowed the treads to bite deep into the soil, and the truck rocketed forwards at breakneck speed.

Laughing monstrously, the Warboss watched as the gunner opened up on the rear-most jetbike. Tracer rounds ripped past the airborn warrior, and the target juked. A second volley hit the underside of the jetbike, and it lurched to the right, then plummeted to the ground. It struck a rocky outcropping, and the entire bike shattered into thousands of fragments of wraithbone. The gunner now joined in Thrugg's laughter as he put a new tic-mark into the side of the trukk with his knife.

"Uh, Boss, I tink deyz tryin ta lead us over dere, near dat big fing wit da sword."*

"Wot, da wun wif da bluddy fist? I've fought dem. Dey'z almost proppa! Let'z get 'em, an' go afta da flyboyz later!"

Thrugg carefully climbed over the gunner and driver, and stood on the hood of the trukk, his weight bending the metal just a little. When he though he was close enough, he shouted to the driver, who slammed the brakes as hard as he could. The back treads locked up, as well as the front tires, digging massive furrows into the ground. Thrugg leaped, roaring a battlecry and a challenge to the Avatar of the Bloody-Handed God. It's alien eyes turning to regard this foolhardy foe, it brought its dread sword around to meet the beast hurtling towards it.

Too late.

Warboss Bad Thrugg Verdonk da Dread-Puncha did what all orks do best. He smashed into his chosen foe, oversized cleaver first. He outweighed the Avatar by several hundred pounds, and knocked it flat on its Divine butt. Kneeling on it's chest, he smashed it in the face a few times before it threw him off. The massive, bloody sword swung around and connected with his left arm and bit deep. It would have removed the limb, if not for the still-fresh armor implants he had ordered the doks to graft under his flesh. Even so, it hurt the boss more than he had been since that lascannon got him square in the chest back on Mordax Prime.

Pissed now, he decided it had earned Da Dred Fist. Dodging a few swings and knocking another aside just in time, he clenched his fist inside the massive iron glove. With a krack! and an electric hum, the gauntlet surrounded itself with a red corona. Bellowing at the top of his lungs, he dropped his choppa, grabbed the Avatar by a ridge on its chest, and smashed The Fist home. With a titanic burst of etheric energy, his gauntlet drove deep into his foe's torso, the god-thing's animating force escaping, in search of its shrine. Now fully in the grip of The Waaagh, the Warboss noted the shouts of the trukk crew just in time to turn and catch a volley of fire from the jetbikes right in the chest. Too far lost to his own rage, he barely noticed as his ribcage splinted, lacerating most of his organs. Not stopping for his choppa, he grabbed one of the bikes on the bottom of its attack dive. The sudden weight yanked the skimmer to a dead halt, throwing the luckless rider free. Releasing the craft to spiral away, Thrugg bounded to where the panzee lay dazed. The xeno looked up just in time to see Thrugg stomp on him. Vomiting blood as well as a good portion of his digestive tract into his helmet, the panzee died painfully, his gurgling screams broadcast by the systems in his helm to his wingmates.

Circling back around in search of vengeance, the two remaining jetbikes lined up for another pass. A sudden hail of lead blasted one from the sky. The trukk gunner's triumphant shouts reminded boss and panzee alike that the trukk was still there. Suddenly alone, the remaining panzee hauled at the controls and swung his craft around, aiming for his own lines. Determined not to let any escape, Thrugg sprinted back to his ride, now coughing up bloody foam from a shredded lung. The driver gunned the engine, letting his boss just grab hold as the trukk went by.

Racing to stay ahead of the death-dealing monster behind him, the panzee pilot displayed astounding skill as he juked and wove out of the way of the gunner's fire. The panzee lines were ahead, and the Warboss had calmed enough to know that he would want at least a few boyz with him before he attempted to storm their main force.

A black shadow few over the hunted and the hunters. Looking up, Thrugg saw some panzee tank. He wasn't sure which kind it was, since they all looked the same from below. It rolled over on its back in a display of aerial grace, and brought its turret in line with the wartrukk, a giant glowing crystal illuminating the shadowy cockpit.

Warboss Thrugg had just enough time to think, Oh. It's da shooty kind, before it fired.

The crystal pulsed, and blasted the trukk. The front half of the vehicle simply melted, the crew vaporizing in a burst of fire. The boss was thrown headlong. Instinct from his days as a humble truckboy took over, and rolled as he hit the ground. Sitting up, he found himself within a short run's distance of the panzee.

F**k. Dis ain't gonna be gud. The massive ork got to his feet, and roared his defiance in the face of the forces before him. The tank which had destroyed his truck suddenly exploded over his head. Suprised, Thrugg thought for a moment that he had just blasted it with sheer orkiness. Then a second rocket corckscrewed past and smashed into the massed enemy troops, reducing one to a gorey smear. Turning, the Boss felt a surge of pride as he saw his boys, coated in the blood of their enemies, came racing to fight alongside him. More than a few trucks were filled with the tattered remains of different squads, but the cries of WAAAAGH! were as loud as ever. Turning back towards the enemy, the giant ork held the Dred Fist high, and charged.

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*Speed Freeks: Orks addicted to going stupidly fast and killing things, as differenciated from most orks because they like doing both at the same time.
*Orks associate red with moving very fast, and black with things that are big and slow. Goffs are a kind of ork that favor a slow, unstoppable advance, and traditionally wear lots of black.
*Big thing with sword: The Avatar, a living incarnation of the eldar god of battle.

Hah, orks are hilarious. I think you should write it again, and include the Shokk Attak Gun =D

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\m/ Metalhead for Life \m/

Click my dragons please?

Anyone interested in a Warhammer RP?

Heh, the way those orks talk remind me of the teenage inhabitants of my city...

Only less green.

And better smelling.

The orks, that is.

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'Oh, it's good to be a dwarf, with a cow, not an 'orse, kickin' arse all 'round the year!' - Rapps Cattlesmasher, Dwarven Cow Rider.

[I'm going to keep posting things here. Don't expect anything even close to continuity.]

Crows ripped into the carrion that covered what had been, a week before, open ground that stretched perhaps a mile between the foothills of the World's Teeth mountain range and the forests that, by general aggreement, marked the border of Maridale. Now, the low hills and green fields were covered in shattered bits of armor, dropped weapons, and stinking corpses. The armies had withdrawn, and their champions were going to be sent out to settle the fight.

Baron Falketh eyed his champion. The baron had been plotting his encursion from the mountains for years, but had underestimated the Maridale forces' recent recruitment efforts. Now he was sending a man he barely knew to finish the fight. He didn't like it, but Shinn, regardless of his lack of a past, was as brutal and heartless a creature as he could find, and would willingly kill whoever he told him to.

Shinn himself didn't look like much. Tall, too thin, pale skin that was oddly weathered, as though he had spent years in the desert without seeing the sun. Lank black hair was currently lashed back with a piece of cord. A grinning, gleeful face like a hatchet hinted at the depths of his depravity while doing nothing to forewarn the world of what he was capable of. A cuirass protected his torso. It did not shine. It was too heavily dented and scratched to ever shine again. It was not the armor of a leader or hero, or even a soldier who took pride in his nation. It was the armor of someone who killed people. His round shield matched it, a 3-foot wide disk of battered steel. His sword, though...

The sword was beautiful and horrible. Too straight to be a scimitar, it curved forwards slightly at the base and swept back to centerline as it reached the point. The double edges, unusual on a curved blade, glittered in the dying light. Lustrous black leather wound around the hilt and teeth rumored to have been ripped from the jaws of a dragon Shinn had slew adorned the crossguard. A long chain hooked to the pommel wrapped around his arm all the way to his shoulder, where it was forged directly to his armor. His shield was attached in a similar fashion.

The Baron set his jaw. "Finish this, Shinn."

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Govenor Teseth stood where his disheartened troops could see him. They had fought for him and their homes, and many had died for the same. He wanted them to be here to see what happened. "Men, we are resurrecting a tradition that died before any of you were born. Our strongest against theirs. We know who our strongest is."

The man beside the Govenor wore his red and black uniform proudly, despite the mud and blood that stained it. The Sergeant Major stripes on his shoulder stood out. He'd cleaned them so that people would remember that he wasn't a stuffed shirt, but a fighting man. His iron-grey beard bristled as he listened to the Govenor. He didn't want glory. He wanted to go home, and if smashing the mountainers' skulls open would get him home to his wife, then that's what he'd do. But the men needed the speech. They needed something, anything, to rally them.

The Govenor was finishing. "Sergeant Major Silas Bennet, may the gods walk with you."

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Two men walked onto the field of the dead. Silas gripped his shield tightly and kept his mace loose in hand. It was more of a cudgel than a mace, lacking the spikes and flanges, but the oak haft was aged to the point of being nearly indestructable and the round iron ball atop it crumpled helments and heads easily enough. Shinn paused to gouge a corpse idly.

That was just too much. "Leave the dead be, Stonehead."

Shinn looked up, and called across the fifty feet or so that still seperated them. "Didn't grow up on the mountains, friend."

The sergeant mentality took over. "I'm not your friend. Are you here to fight or discuss lineage? 'Cause if you are, I can tell you some interesting things about your mother."

It didn't work. It would have drawn sparks from the bit hammered into a soldier's soul, the bit that remembers his first drill sergeant. That told Silas something. "Friend, if you met my mother, you'd run the other way. The cranky old bat is a bit of a monster."

The chains wrapped around Shinn's arms began to unwind themselves, pooling on the ground. More slowly spilled from the lower edge of his breastplate. "So an I, I supposed." The mass of chains lifted him, like a set of freakish legs. He released the sword and shield, letting the chains hold them.

Silas went pale. Where did the damn mountainers get a kyton? He thought beack, fast. He'd been an adventurer once, smashing through unspeakable horrors in search of gold and power.

Kytons. He remembered Larwick lecturing the group on esoteric monsters during long marches. He must have said something about kytons. Think! That was it, mind tricks. They could make themselves look like loved ones, in addition to controlling any chain that came near them. Forewarned is prepared.

He murmered a bit. The enchantments laid into his shield woke for the first time in nearly twenty years. The Maridale seal painted onto it cracked and flaked off, the sigul beneath it blazing.

The smug look on Shinn's face disappeared. "Paladin! No! We killed your kind! The Phoenix is DEAD!" He surged forward on his clinking, rattling chain limbs as yet more chains surged from beneath the armor. Silas stood his ground, prayers not spoken aloud since his order was disbanded ringing out in a voice like a trumpet. The Bird of Flame emblazoned on his shield shone like a tiny sun.

The demon's sword came screaming at Silas like the sting of some hellish scorpion. He whipped his shield around to meet it. They clashed, and the sword recoiled as though in pain, letting out a metalic squeal. A nest of chains lashed at Silas' face. He smashed them aside with his mace, shattered links flying.

Silas brought his shield around so it was facing his adversary. With a shout, he sent nearly-forgotten power through it. The light from the holy sigul surged even brighter. Shinn screamed as flesh peeled off his face and arms. A pair of heavy chains knocked the shield aside, though their melted as they did. His own shield whipped around on the end of twenty feet of chain and smashed the paladin, throwing him to the ground nearly fifteen feet from where he was standing.

"IDIOT! YOUR GOD IS DEAD! WE GORGED ON HIS FLESH! YOU ARE NOTHING!" Half a dozen barbed chains snaked out. He smashed two, but more followed, wrapping around his legs. The sword darted out again and sank into Silas' belly, drawing a hoarse scream. A swing of his mace snapped the chain that held the sword, and a few more freed him of the chains on his legs.

The demon's shield, festooned in blades that it hadn't had moments ago, hammered back in. The mace shattered it, jagged pieces carving open the paladin's face. Advancing with shield raised, Silas' faith hammered at the fiend. Flailing chains failed to hold his weight, and Shinn fell to the ground, trying to crawl away.

Silas stood over his writhing enemy. "Don't bother trying to change your face to look like my wife or mother. I'm know that one already." He splattered Shinn's brains across the ground. Thick black ichor oozed across the soil as the demon's body dissolved.

He turned back towards his own lines, his shield a beacon of victory. He could hear the cheers, and could see the men he had served alongside rushing out to him. He knew in a distant sort of way that the Baron was a man of his word, and would withdraw. Maridale was safe for a little while longer.

"Bloody hell." He fell over backwards and let his men carry him on their shoulders to the healer. "Sarah's going to kill me. Promised her I wouldn't get hurt."

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"There are three kinds of plan. The fast plan, the good plan, and the sneaky plan. The fast plan works because by the time anyone knows you're there, you're already stabbing them in the face. The good plan works because they know you're going to stab them in the face, but they can't do anything about it. The sneaky plan works because while you were listening to me explain all this, I stole your sandwich."

[And now for something completely different]

The dwarf sitting on the curb was getting impatient. The light rain was sending trickles down off his mustache, which was annoying, and it was starting to soak through his coat, which was bad. If that stupid-

A van rolled up, the passenger's window down. "Hoi, chummer."

The dwarf stood up. "Open the fraggin' door. My irons are gonna be soaked in a minute." The side door rolled open and a step folded down. Reluctantly grateful for that last part, the dwarf clambered up into the vehicle. No one was in the driver's seat, which was probably good, because the troll in the front passenger seat would have been crowding the driver if there had been one.

The projector on the dash flickered to life. Akisi's matrix avatar hovered over it, a pointy yellow hat perched on a head that was little more than a black ball with eyes. Crunch, the dwarf, supposed that it was supposed to be in shadows under the hat brim, but it just looked weird.

"Mooshy mooshy! How'd ya like the step? I added it 'cause the I added another couple inches of suspension, and then I remembered you an' me still gotta get inside."

Crunch mumbled a bit. "Yeah, it's a help. Still kinda, you know..."

"Awww, is da poor dwarfy a widdle bit embawessed? How do you think I feel? I'm a gnome, you're taller than me. And at least they make clothes for dwarves. I get to shop in the kid's section my whole life."

The troll spoke up. "Quit whining. The Big and Tall ain't much better. Ria's the only one of us who can wear regular clothes." He hooked a thumb at the elf sitting in the back seat. "Let's get moving. We gotta earn some cred back after all these kittycat runs we been doin', and I got a gig tomorrow. Hez is playing at the Crater." B.A. Brax was a drummer in his off time.

The yellow-hatted avatar wiggled a bit. "Cool! I might hafta go meatworld to see the show." Coming from the matrix-surfer Akisi, that was like the Pope converting to Islam. "Now then, we gotta head to the Renraku plant, pop some programs in the 'puters in the main control room, and grab whatever tech we can to make it look like a break-in, so they don't get all 'spicious."

Ria nodded, her blonde ponytail bobbing. "Let's roll. We'll open the place up, you pop a drone or two in, and we'll load up the van with all the expensive stuff we can get. Anything you want us to look for when we go shopping?"

The avatar wobbled, hat flopping around. "If they have the Aisari 12900, grab it. It's 'll be written on the box in really big letters. Not the 11900, I already got three of those."

The van rolled past the Renraku plant as a sedate pace. Brax asked, "Hey, Akisi, Ria, you see anything?"

Akisi chimed up. "I can see a whole drekload a' cameras. I think some are those new magesight ones, but I can't really tell."

"They are." Ria was sitting in the back, legs crossed in the lotus position, eyes closed. "They stand out like a bright spot in the astral. I'm gonna mouse around a little, maybe check the guards at the main gate, see how professional they are."

A mild look of horror crossed Crunch's face. "You think you're gonna walk around in body armor and not attract attention? People notice that sort of thing. and even if you took it off, then you're walking around in a skintight black bodystocking, which also attracts attention."

Ria smiled. "What, you don't carry a bag of street clothes on runs? I just need a second. Now turn around."

They did, including Akisi's avatar, but that was mostly for show.

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The two gate guards were bored. Not the usual guard flavor of bored, where you let most of the mind wander while the rest kept its eyes open, but the full-blown bored where you count seconds until your shift is over. So when the elf girl came sauntering down the steet, they noticed. Ria had changed into a miniskirt and a haltertop, all in green. Interesting tattoos spirals across the revealed skin between the hem of her top and the top of her skirt.

------------------------------

"Wow, they really diggin' her."

The three (technically two) runners in the van watched as their partner teased the muscleheads at the gate. After a moment to appreciate the scenery, Crunch said, "Understatement much, Brax? We could almost walk through the gate right now without them noticing. If we left you here, we probably could."

Akisi was less subtle. "Okay guys, I'm a lesbian now."

Brax mumbled, "Don't blame you, and I don't even like smoothskins. Pull around the corner, so they won't see her get in the van."

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When Ria got back inside, Akisi played a music clip. Some 20-century song about "bringing sexy back."

"Shut it, Net Nerd. I get enough from the boys, I don't need it from the fems too."

The music stopped. A pair of diambodied hands were added to the floating avatar, and they were immediately held up apologetically. "No, really, that was good! No way in hell are thinkin' about their jobs right now."

Crunch looked thoughtful, then grinned evilly. "Hey, I have an idea...."

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A few hours later, the shifts had changed. The night guards were chatting about the latest sports stats for their favorite Urban Brawl teams. One elbowed his friend, cutting him off in mid-sentence, and motioned down the street. "Damn, is that what people wear to clubs now? I gotta get back into the nightclub scene."

Crunch was right. Skintight black bodysuits do attract attention. Enough attention that as the guards watched her pass and walk away, they didn't have enough attention left over to notice the van until it parked in front of them and the door slid open. By then, Crunch had both heavy machine guns leveled and was firing.

Ria ran back to the van as Brax, Crunch, and a half-dozen drones of various models spilled out. Brax tossed her armor to her, and she wiggled into it quickly. "Hey, Crunch, I always wondered. Why do they call those guns Gahumps?"

The dwarf shrugged. "I dunno. Easier to say than 'General Purpose Heavy Machine Gun.' Maybe it's from trying to say the acronym?" His cybernetic arms made tiny whirring sounds as the servomotors compensated for the weight.


[to be continued]

[Continued]

Brax kicked the gate. It was one of those lightweight wrought-iron ones, and not meant to stand up to a big troll backed up by bioware muscle augmentations. Another hard kick popped it off its rails, and from there it was a simple matter to shove it out of the way. Brax stepped aside. "Crunch, you got point."

The three runners and the host of drones made a beeline for the factory floor. At the door, Crunch turned and watched the grounds as the rest of the team huddled around the entrance. A hovering drone the size of a softball extended a small metal probe. A few seconds of beeping and booping passed.

Akisi's voice came out of the tiny grill. "Yep. They got a hella good system. Everyone back up." The drone bobbed out of the way, and a larger one took its place. A small articulated arm extended from its complicated-looking guts. Brax and Ria edged away as the drone began cutting the lock with a high intensity laser. Melted steel ran like butter and solidified in a puddle on the ground. "Okay big guy. Give it a kick and we're in."

Brax did so. No alarms sounded. "Akisi? Aren't there usually sirens and crap when we do that?"

"Not here. They got all their alarms set up for remote triggering. I rerouted them so instead of ringing the security team, they're prank-calling Stuffer Shacks all over town. You guys got thirty minutes before about six hundred deep-dish pizzas show up. Lemme send in a boomer drone."

A drone that looked suspiciously like a grenade with a hoverpad went zipping inside. The hacker drone kept talking. "Hmm... No, I don't see anyone alive in there. If Ria can't see anyone cloaked, then I'm gonna have to say it's all turrets and drones from here. They got the place shielded, so I can't get a direct signal, but as long as the relay drone stays up, I can still gets some eyes inside."

It was at that moment hell broke loose.

An armored truck smashed through the wrecked gates. Crunch shouted a warning to his team just before he opened up with both guns. Bullet belts rattled as they fed out from under his coat. Other than shredded tires and a marred windshield, the truck wasn't affected.

"INSIDE! Akisi, boomstick! Brax, watch for flankers! Ria, do your thing!"

Crunch maintained suppressing fire as the truck braked hard. The grenade-drone that had gone inside zipped back out as Brax and Ria ducked inside, using the doorway for cover. Crunch stomped after them, shedding smoking bullet casings as he went.

As a dozen black-suited security personnel spilled out of the truck, the boomer zipped beneath the engine block and detonated. The vehicle tipped backwards, spilling out the rest of the occupants, then smashed back to earth again, dropping most of the engine. The guards' discipline showed as they stayed focused, half of them staying behind the wreck laying down cover fire as the other half got out of Crunch's firing zone. One of them threw a grenade.

Brax let the cybernetics deep in his central nervous system kick in. he saw the grenade arcing lazily, could almost see the stray bullets zip past like fat bugs. He stepped forward and swung his combat axe, swatting the grenade away. A bullet caught him in the shoulder, but he didn't feel anything more than a slight shove. Ducking back inside, he listened as the grenade went off. Wired nerves still on, he listened to lots of wet, soft sounds of impact. Body parts.

Ria stuck her head around the doorframe and looked down the wall at the four men there. A flickering of willpower send a bolt of energy towards them. It hit and burst with a dull thud. Three of the men were tossed to the ground and stayed there, probably unconscious. The fourth was tossed back by it, but was alert enough to send a few bullets at the streetmage. One glanced off her helmet. Way too close, she thought as she ducked back inside. "One more this side!"

Crunch let a Gahump hang by the strap around his next. "Grenade left two by the truck. Can't get 'em."

One of the drones chirped. "The other four are opening the side door! Fifty feet to your left! Get them, I got the ones at the truck!" A gundrone, a fat disk a little less than a meter across with a light machine gun slung under it, whirred out the door and went airborn, popping off shots at the pair behind the wreck from a high angle.

Brax sprinted for the second door, his long legs and bioware-enhanced body covering the distance shockingly fast. He reached the door just as it opened, axe ready. The first guard saw him and let off a three-round burst as he backpedaled. One went wide, the other was caught by the kevlar chest-piece, and the third smacked hard into the faceplate of Brax's helmet, splitting it open.

It was too late for any more shooting. The 700-pound, artificially enhanced troll went wild with a 60-pound axe. The first took the lead guard's arm off at the elbow. The backswing removed the top of his skull. A kick knocked the corpse into the other guards, bogging them down long enough for him to butcher another one. Guard three scrambled backwards fast enough to dodge a swing that would have split him straight down from skull to belly. Guard four darted his hand forward, discharging the stun glove's electrical buildup into the troll. It would have reduced a human to a convulsing mess, and it was strong enough to rock the troll back.

Both guards got their guns up. Brax's wired nerves were still running full power, allowing him to grab the gurd that had stunned him, breaking his arm in the process, and shift him in front of the other guard. Another three-round burst rattled off, leaving just one guard to worry about. A savage hack, and there were none.

Brax glanced over at the wrecked truck. The gundrone was buzzing around, trying to hit the guards that had ducked back inside it. The fire in the cab would force them out in a minute or two, but the runners didn't have that kind of time. He was ready to go mop up when he saw what Crunch was unclipping from his belt. Hell, he's got it.

The bionic dwarf calmly walked around the side of the truck, where the guards couldn't see him. The drone plinked a few shots off, just to keep the guards worried. Crunch stood just around the corner or the wreck, satisfied smile on his bristly face. Grenade in hand, he let the arming handle flip off, cooked off three seconds, and whipped it into the truck.

The armor was good. Crunch wasn't even scratched by the grenade, and the guards were turned into chunky salsa. "Okay, Akisi. Since your pizzas aren't coming after all, we'll let you bring the van around."

Ten minutes, one nasty supervirus, and half a million Nuyen worth of computer parts later, the team was rolling out the gate. Ria sighed contentedly as she snuggled into the comfortable bucket seat. "That went as well as could be expected. So what time is the show tomottow, Brax?"

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"There are three kinds of plan. The fast plan, the good plan, and the sneaky plan. The fast plan works because by the time anyone knows you're there, you're already stabbing them in the face. The good plan works because they know you're going to stab them in the face, but they can't do anything about it. The sneaky plan works because while you were listening to me explain all this, I stole your sandwich."