Crimson Dawn (part 7)

Crimson had followed Slicer's advice. She’d returned home early, gotten a good night's sleep and been fully refreshed and awake when she got to work the next morning (even being a little early as a way to apologize for her tardiness the previous day). The day had actually seemed to fly past, as she spent her time running over everything she'd seen and done one more time, while trying to figure her own plans. Even the inevitable awkward lunch break conversation with Dennis had been a lot more bearable than usual.

Because when you're about to go off and do something questionably illegal to horrible people for money, the last thing you're worried about is the dropkick in the lunch room, she figured as she fired off her usual 'having a thing' excuse.

As soon as her shift was over, she was out the door and on the move. Within an hour she was at Slicer's apartment, moderately surprised to find her mentor awake, sober and ready two days in a row. "Great to see you, Crimson," he practically beamed as he let her in, offering her a bottle of water. "Shall we get down to business?"

"Please," she shot back. "I've been looking forward to this all day. There's only so long you can spend telling customers where to find toilet paper, baby food and commlink chargers before you want to murder somebody."

He gave a small, snorting laugh. "That's the spirit. I've put together a bit of a kit for you for just this purpose. And before you say anything, no it's not full of monowire, vibroblades, chameleon suits, milspec assault rifles or the like. That's well beyond what we’re doing here and, yes, my budget too." He placed a bag on the table and opened it up. "And by that I mean your budget. Don't get me wrong; I like you, but I can only go so far."

"So what's the deal, I have to pay you for all this?" She asked

"Figure that it's going to be an ongoing deduction from whatever you make," he explained as he unzipped the bag. "Until you get on your feet yourself. You’d be amazed how quickly the cash builds up once you're a regular runner, even after expenses." He shot a glance at her. "And how quickly it goes, especially once we start talking cyberware and other upgrades."

She couldn't help butglance around once again as Slicer said that, noting for not the first time just how shabby and decrepit his apartment was. All of a sudden, she couldn't help but wonder where his money had gone.

"First thing's first," Slicer offered as he began emptying out the bag. "Armoured vest. It's basic but it's functional, and could just save your life. Ideally, you'll never need it, but it's better to have it then not." She took the item in question, giving it a quick once-over. It was a bit large for her and had seen better days, but she could appreciate the functionality of it.

"Number two, a set of goggles with low-light and thermal options as well as zoom and record functions, because Elf eyes can only go so far," he continued. "I'll show you how to link them into both your commlink and your smartgun system-"

"-when I get one-" she added

"-well, yeah, but for now they'll be very useful. As said, it's going to be dark in there and having as many options available to you as possible will help."

The goggles were bulky and not in the slightest bit flattering, but she could see the value to them. "Check."

"Climbing rope and grapple hook. You said the best way in was through the third floor window, so you'll need a way to get to that. Find your vantage point and throw it over there, but make sure it’s secure before you go." He shot her a sideways glance. "I can assume you know how to climb up a rope"

"Star of my high school gymnastics team," Crimson shot back. She wasn't about to mention that it was about the only thing in high school she'd made any effort at and that her academic record was a complete trainwreck. But then, did Slicer even go to school?

"Now for the real trick," he continued as he produced a trio of small cylinders. "These are your basic high explosive grenades, and no, don't ask what I had to do to get these in a rush. I'm not the type to keep them lying around the house you know."

She put her hands up. "Don't ask, don't tell. Got it."

"We'll make a Runner of you yet," Slicer continued, an almost pleased tone in his voice. "You do remember how to use these, right?"

"Yes," She nodded, recalling his lessons again. A part of her training had involved use of dummy grenades, Slicer pointing out that it was more economical and far safer then training with the real thing. After she'd 'killed' herself with one, she had to agree.

"Your average drug lab is a highly volatile mic of repurposed equipment that's one strong tap away from blowing sky high," Slicer continued, "Especially for something as synthetic as Sparkle. One grenade near it will probably set the whole thing off in a massive fireball, which is why you don't want to be near it. Instead, we can once again tie them to your commlink so you can remote detonate them on command. They're not as good as your dedicated, purpose-designed explosives, true, but for what we want they'll do."

"Understood," she again nodded. "So why three?"

"Contingencies," Slicer stated. "We can't predict every last thing that will happen, so it helps to be prepared. You might need to fight your way out, blast a makeshift barricade or whatever else. That's not an invitation to blow the whole place up, by the way. It's still going to be full of more-or-less innocent people. If you come back with two grenades, then I'm happy."

"All makes sense."

"Respirator," Slicer continued as he produced the next item from the bag. "Because that place is going to be full of all sorts of stink, and that's before we get to the lab itself. It'll be producing a whole cocktail of unpleasantness, especially when it goes up. So if you don't want to get lung cancer or wind up high as a kite in the middle of a gunfight, then you’ll want this on. Combine it with the Goggles and you've got a good all-around level of safety protection, plus nobody will see your face, which is also a bonus"

That one struck her a moment. Her fantasy of Runner life had already taken enough blows. But a part of it was the whole idea of her identity, her being this mysterious, dashing but yet also recognizable individual. On the other hand, she also realized that there were perks to not being recognized inside a gang-run slum hellhole drug lab. "Sure," she finally nodded, even if with a bit of reluctance.

The weapon of the Street Samurai (That doesn't use cyber-
razors or other such things)

"And last but not least..." he produced something from the bag that she instantly recognized. A narrow-bladed sword, a slight curve present in its form that was obvious even inside its sheath. "A Katana, from my personal collection, because you never know when you might need to take out somebody quietly, or when you're in too close for guns." He looked down at the weapon and gave a small sigh. "Billy Blaster gave this to me as a birthday present. Now I give it to you, as a mark of a Street Samurai."

"Thank you," she bowed respectfully before accepting the blade. "I will treat it with the utmost respect." Internally she was somewhere between awed at both the gift Slicer had given her and the level of respect that clearly came with it, and the curiosity as to who the frag Billy Blaster was.

"Last thing," Slicer continued after giving her a moment. "Let's see your gun."

She nodded, dutifully handing over her weapon after putting down the Katana. Shed bought the gun herself for a mixture of personal protection and as a way of building up her won arsenal; it was intended to be the first step on the road to her glorious Shadowrunner career. Now as she offered it to Slicer, she couldn't help but feel a little self-aware.

Downside: Boring gun. Upside: Not likely to blow
up in your face

"Colt America L36," He commented as he looked over it. "Near new, and I’d assume never fired outside of gun ranges and your own training with me." When she nodded, he continued. "Functional, serviceable and reliable. Not bad, and a good place to start. Though on a job like this, it's best if you never have to fire it." He handed the gun back to her. "One bit of advice though."

"What?" Crimson asked as she holstered the gun, her mind half on figuring out the most efficient way to carry her equipment.

"If you're cornered and there's no way out, you might want to consider saving that last bullet for yourself." Slicer finished, his tone unexpectedly grim.

-----

She still had Slicer's heavy-handed warning on her mind as she rode through the Barrens, heading back to the building that was the Devil Dogs' apparent Hide-out and drug lab. As much as she’d wanted to put it aside, the implications in his statement was pretty clear, enough to dampen her enthusiasm for what she was doing. This was meant to be her big moment, the one where she finally became what she had wanted to be for so long. Instead she had that nagging feeling in her back of her mind, a sobering twinge that bought her back down to Earth.

The good news was that once she arrived at the derelict apartment block, even a quick examination of the area told her that nothing had apparently changed. Two guards, one front, one back, check.Questionably operational camera, check. Row of mismatched bikes in the same ugly tan, check. And my entrance, check. She'd headed up to the same vantage point as before, getting a better look at her way in while trying to find a good place to get to it from, when something had caught her ears. Holding her position, she waited and watched carefully, Wary for any sudden changes.

Movement caught her attention, her eyes coming to the front of the apartment. The battered Runabout from before was back, its trunk open as gang members began loading it up with crates full of fresh product. Looks like everything's going to schedule then, she assessed. No changes, no reason to think they're on alert or expecting to be invaded at any time. Good.

After finishing her lap to determine that everything was (more or less) as expected, Crimson worked her way around to the side of the building to find her entrance. That involved clambering across an already precipitous, halfway collapsed building up to its mostly gone roof, the perch alone just as dangerous as what she was planning next. No wonder people are willing to live in a hellhole like that, she observed as she sized up her approach. At least it's a roof over your head, if nothing else.

A still-standing upright seemed solid enough, not shifting at all when she pulled on it several times. Confident that it was what she needed, Crimson produced her climbing rope and grapple, tying it securely to the still-functional support. Sighting down the decaying balcony that was her target, she began slowly swinging the grapple, letting it gradually build momentum. It was just like gym class, only with slightly deadlier consequences of a slip-up.

No pressure.

She let fly with the grapple, the hook finding its mark and catching on the remaining railing of the decrepit balcony. Not willing to go over untested, Crimson gave the rope several hard pulls, the grapple barely shifting from its perch. Good. That's about as secure as it's going to be, she figured as she tightened up the line. Then, with more than a little apprehension, she pulled herself up onto the line, both hands gripped onto it with a deathly intensity as her legs wrapped around it as well.

The line held under her weight, with very little give despite the added mass that was being placed upon it. With the utmost care Crimson began to slowly shift forward, inching along the line, careful for every little shift and wiggle it gave as she moved. The process was excruciatingly slow, each motion made with the utmost care not to dislodge the line or upset her one precarious perch. Crawling over like she planned was a risk, but it was also a lot less so then approaching the building from the ground floor and hoping that nobody would be keeping an eye out for somebody trying just that.

Just so long as nobody looked up... The lack of lighting in this part of the Barrens would help disguise her presence, as would the dark, overcast night, but there would be no hiding her form anyone with low-light or thermal vision. Already she was thankful that the Devil Dogs were all humans, which meant that none of them would have any sort of naturally enhanced vision. Of course, that didn't rule out cyberware, optics or any number of other things. One step at a time...

Her eye were focused on the objective, looking out for any movement in the apartment or around it. Her ears were also alert to anything that was out of the ordinary, nearby or otherwise threatening, Rather, all she was getting for no was the background sounds of the Barrens, nicely distant from this particular stretch of bleakness. As calm as she was trying to be, she knew that her heart was racing, every nerve on fire as it was ready to explode into action at the slightest provocation or hint of danger.

Instead, she reached the end of her voyage, swinging off the rope and onto the balcony with a grace and ease of dismount that made it seem like the most natural thing in the world. She glanced back at the rope and hook, knowing that she had no alternative but to leave it there, and simply hoping that it would not be discovered in the meantime. Turning her attention, she instead carefully prided back the already loose board over the doorway, peering inside at the apartment.

The first thing that struck her was not anything that she could see, but rather what she smelt. A damp, fetid, rotting odour permeated the apartment, enough to make Crimson gag and reel back from the doorway. She quickly secured her respirator and goggles before taking another glance, this time wary for what horrors might lie within.

On a first inspection, the apartment appeared to be devoid of Metahuman life, but by no means was it empty. As she carefully stepped inside, Crimson became more aware of the source of the stench. Stacks of garbage, abandoned there and left to rot away filled the room, reeking of purification as they congealed into blobs of fetid waste.

Looking up, she could see where portions of the ceiling had given way, with at least one shattered pipe hanging down from the roof. Pooling water had worked with the waste to turn the apartment into a swamp, the floor squelching underfoot as she made her cautious way through the room, careful not to disturb anything lest it provoke other unseen horrors that were lurking below. Quietly, she was suddenly thankful for the tiny little hole in the wall that was Ashely's apartment. Compared to what she was picking through now, it was a palace. Even Slicer's rundown hellhole was better than this.

That's not actually a window. It's where a bit of wall fell out 

The apartment did still have a door, possibly maintained to simply contain the stench that was coming from within. Now she was cautiously prying it open, glancing outside to examine what she was stepping into. What she found was a hallway, dimly lit by a few, semi-functioning and flickering lights, with doorways leading off to other apartments. The walls were covered in graffiti and stains, with many of the latter best left unidentified. Portions of the floor were covered in debris, making the thoroughfare more of an obstacle course than a convenience.

But what she noticed the most was that there were people in the hallways, something that she wasn't quite ready for. A lone figure caught her eye, enough to have her duck back inside the apartment as she reconsidered her options, trying to think of what to do about them before she risked another glance out, trying to work out a more detailed threat assessment.

The figure was a human man, dressed in the ragged remnants of a once fine coat, his features dominated by wild, matted hair and a matching beard. His skin was blotchy and discolored, although some of that might have been an extensive mass of tattoos. But what struck her the most was the way that he was moving. The man was less walking as he was stumbling and lurching, like he was barely in control of his own body. He staggered forward a little, before hitting something in the hallway and collapsing into a tangled heap. There was silence, before a lout stream of near incoherent profanities escaped his mouth.

To her surprise, there was a reaction. One or two faces peered out from apartment doorways, only to just as quickly disappear with a surprising lack of interest. The ragged man, in the meantime, was left to stumble around in the debris, cursing to himself as he tried to pick himself up.

They don’t care, she realised. Slicer had said something to that effect in his briefing, but now she was seeing exactly what he meant. He's not messing with whatever they have, not directly threatening them and not entering their apartments. And as long as he does that, it doesn't matter if he's on whatever he's on and falling down in the hallways. They're not going to do anything to help him, but they won't stop him either. And in that self-preserving apathy, Crimson could see the advantages. As long as I don't break those rules, I can get through here and get to my objective.

Of course, that would all change when she got to the Devil Dogs themselves. She was under no illusions that they would have the same air of intentional indifference towards goings on. Rather, she suspected they were a key part of why the people in the building kept to themselves. Don't cause trouble, don't get a beating, don't lose what little stuff that you have.

A clean, neat and well-furnished apartment in the Barrens

She cautiously left the cesspit of an apartment she’d been hiding in, slowly making her way down the hall, doing her best to pick her way around the fallen derelict. Fir his part, he had managed to prop himself halfway up and offered her a few choice curses, but even a quick glare form her was enough to have him backing off, his tone dropping from hostile to a much quieter degree of mumble.  Rather, she watched her surroundings, taking in the details. Many of the apartments were missing their doors, while others had improvised coverings in their places. And at least one had scorch marks around an empty doorway.

The other thing that she noticed was a recurring pattern in the graffiti, where the 'Devil Dogs' (or sometimes 'Dogz', as if they weren't that clear on the matter) name had been splashed over something else. Given that there were more then a few bullet holes in the walls, she could only imagine that their takeover of the building had come at the expense of some prior owner. And the residents get a raw deal, no matter what.

As Slicer had suspected, the elevators were clearly long out of action. The doors to one of them were wedged shut, and covers in years of grime and graffiti tags. And the other was jammed half open, nothing but a yawning chasm of blackness within. The stairs were nearby and were at least somewhat free of debris, even if only out of convenience.

She paused at the top of the stairs, quietly leaning against the all and listening. Voices were coming up from below; a man and a woman talking about something, loud enough to be clearly heard, even if what they were saying wasn't that distinct. Sentries on the stairs? She considered. If that was the case, then she could be in trouble. Her plan hadn't called for her to go loud unless it was unavoidable, but given the situation, it seemed unavoidable. Not good.

"If you're looking for a good time, then you've come to the right place, hon." A cracking woman's voice spoke up from behind her. Crimson spun around with almost lighting speed, her hands reaching for her loaned Katana. Instead what she found was an immodestly dressed woman of indeterminable background, leaning against the open doorway of an apartment. Soft pink light spilled out from it, along with an air of perfume that was so thickly applied as to be pungent.

"But if you’re looking to get down them stairs, then I'd advise against it, cutie." The woman continued

Narrowing her eyes, Crimson cautiously approached the woman. "What do you mean?"

"Having the apartment by the stairs is a great spot to ply my trade, and a great spot to see what's going on," the woman explained. "It's hard for me to miss anything that goes on in here, and right now hon you stick out like a sore thumb."

Crimson was suddenly glancing around. "What do you mean?"

"You're clean, fer starters," the Woman continued. Now that she was a little closer. Crimson could see something to what she meant. While definitely nowhere near the same degree of filthy that the derelict in the hall had been, she still was clearly a while between washes, with blotchy patches on her exposed skin. Similarly, her face was surprisingly gaunt, suggesting that she wasn't unfamiliar with addiction herself. "And then there's the ears. As cute as they are, they stand out a lot."

"Are there no other Elves here?' She asked

"None that are open about it," the woman lazily replied. "The Devil Dogs got a real hating for anything that's not human. Drove out or killed anyone else who was living here when they took over the place. Pity too, 'cause it cost me a couple of good regulars."

Crimson quickly flipped up the good of her top, but it was more out of self-conscious concern then any real security. By this point, it was probably too little too late. "So do they guard the stairs or something?"

"Uh-huh. They don't give a devil rat's hoop about what happens above their floor as long as they get a take. But they like to check everyone coming or going to make sure that nobody’s messing with their crap. And trust me, hon, you don't want to be subject to their scrutiny."

Crimson could almost feel the last dregs of her Shadowrunner fantasy collapsing around her. She should have been wired to the nines and able to effortlessly cleave a path through these creeps. Instead here she was trying to beg info from a joygirl for how she could get by a pair of gutter-trash gangers.

She gave a small sigh of acceptance. "So what are you suggesting?"

"Well, I ain't gonna ask what business you have with the Dogs, but if it kicks them a little, then I'm for it." The woman glanced sideways at Crimson. "If you really wanna get down there, then there could be someone who would be willing to help. Go upstairs, apartment 417. Ask for Mister Healy, but be polite about it, as he's none too friendly at the moment."

Crimson glanced to the stairs, then nodded. "And what do you get out of this? Nobody does anything for nothing."

The woman gave a dry, cracking laugh. "Enlightened self-interest, ears. The Dogs are bas for my business, and I ain't got nowhere else to go. But if some of their Sparkle power happened to fall into your pockets and find its way back to me, then that wouldn’t hurt none either."