[b]Ijin[/b], as it has so often been, your aim is true. The shot was well chosen and perfectly executed; the dart's blackened point penetrates Cho's wrist just an inch or so back from where it meets his hand, depositing its contents into the radial vein. He's a professional--though he flinches, he barely makes a sound at the impact. You think he probably does say something as he smacks the dart against the side of the bike, but through your scope you can only see the grimace of pain. 

The move dislodges the dart before it can deliver its entire payload, but the damage is done. 

Cho turns back in the seat, his eyes now focused forward. As he approaches the next intersection in the alley, you think you see the bike wobble.

[b]Silas,[/b] from your perch on the second floor of the motel you have only a handful of moments to observe the small... thing clutched onto Cho's neck. Your time doing meatball surgery for the Hegemonic Marines left you with plenty of baggage, but it also gave you plenty of practice at judging someone's height and weight at a glance; you estimate that the figure is about four and a half feet tall. The bagginess of the clothes its wearing--perhaps chosen intentionally to hide as much of its body from onlookers as possible--makes it hard to tell what its build is, but if it were a human child, you'd estimate its age at somewhere between nine and twelve years old.

Oh, also--when Ijin's shot rings out, you see it twist its head about wildly, looking for the source of the sound, and from the middle of its visage you see a single optical unit, glowing with soft lavender light.

[b]Molly,[/b] the vendor who seemed so happy to see you just a few minutes before is now watching you drive away in his livelihood, murder in his eyes.

Luckily, murder seems to be in no rush to occupy any other part of his body. Maybe your large, overmuscled companion has something to do with that, or maybe it's just your natural charm. Either way, he's apparently content to stand in the street, shouting invective at you and waving his cheap knife in the air.

[i]Un[/i]luckily, in his haste to try and prevent the pair of you from carjacking his food truck, he has neglected basic kitchen safety. You really should turn off all the burners if you're going to leave the stove unattended, otherwise someone might steal your food truck and spill a pot full of hot oil on the stove, starting a small grease fire. 

That... could be a problem.

[b]Quintus,[/b] even perched on the window of a commercial vehicle being pushed far past its design specs (and we won't even mention its maintenance schedule), Molly has put you close enough to the target that missing him completely would be difficult. You line up your shot to hit the rear AG generator, but the bike wobbles unexpectedly and your heavy blaster instead takes off its back bumper. Cho loses control for a split second from the unexpected impact and goes into a side-on slide. The maneuver isn't the death sentence it would be in a wheeled vehicle, but the road is narrow and he just barely keeps from impacting the detritus on either end of the alley. Cho recovers after a beat and looks up to meet your eyes. The assassin's teeth are gritted, and his expression looks... concerned?

(And holy shit, his pupils are the size of dinner plates--that stuff Ijin hit him with must be pretty strong.)

Now it's his turn again, and the heavy blaster comes up; Cho fires a bolt at the front right tire of the noodle truck. At the same moment, he pins down the bike's throttle, shooting off down the alley intersection. He's clearly hoping that you and Molly will have to turn away from the oncoming blaster fire and therefore from him, giving him at least a slight lead.

Meanwhile, black, pungent smoke is starting to come out of the back of the truck.

[hider=Clocks]
[b][u]Clocks[/u][/b]
[b]Catching Cho-Tyrek: [ [color=yellow]| | | | |[/color] - - - - -][/b] 
[b]Grease Fire Gets Worse: [ [color=green]|[/color] - - - ][/b]
[/hider]
[hider=Crew Status]
[b]Gambits:[/b] 1
[/hider]