[b]Ijin[/b], your second shot is as unerringly accurate as your first. Just as Cho is bringing his blaster up to fire at the truck, your dart sinks right into his carotid artery. He drops the blaster, hand flying up to his neck, but the drugs he's already been hit with slow him down, and by the time he pulls the thing out, its smaller payload has already been delivered.

The bike starts to slow down as his hand begins to go slack on the grip; his other hand, the one that just dropped the gun, grasps the other side, and Cho turns his gaze to the front, shaking his head like a punchdrunk boxer. He's clearly trying to power through the potent cocktail of chemicals you've pumped into him, and just as clearly failing.

[b]Molly and Quintus[/b], the noodle truck is just about spent after the abuse you've heaped on it. The engines are shuddering, the fuses on the dashboard  are winking out under loads they were never meant to sustain, and black grease smoke is pouring out of the back of the truck in an ever thicker cloud. None of that matters right now, though, because your method of attack is based on a piece of ancient wisdom, from back before mankind took even its first faltering steps into the stars.

[i]Force[/i] equals [i]mass[/i] times [i]acceleration[/i].

The weighty truck slams into the rear end of the lightweight hoverbike at an oblique angle. The impact disables one of the antigrav generators, and the mangled back side of the bike suddenly drops even as it goes into a spin, pivoting on its still-functional front "wheel". If the stoned assassin had any chance of keeping control of his vehicle, you've just scuttled it. 

Cho seems to realize that, because he doesn't even try. As the bike careens out of control, he pulls the small figure off of his back, wraps himself around it, and bails. He bounces off the concrete--boy, that looks like it hurt--and lands in an insensate heap next to the door of an abandoned-looking building. He's still, now, but the small figure wriggles out of his unconscious grasp and grabs him by one wrist, struggling to drag him. It doesn't look like they're going anywhere quickly.

The figure turns to look at you, briefly. Its face is clearly not human, but somehow--even in the monocular gaze of an Urbot--you see fear.

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[b]Catching Cho-Tyrek: [ [color=green]C O M P L E T E[/color] ][/b] 
[b]Grease Fire Gets Worse: [ [color=yellow]| |[/color] - - ][/b]
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[hider=Crew Status]
[b]Gambits:[/b] 3
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