Crimson Dawn (Part 14)

The sounds of gunfire and the sprays of chipped cement from stray shots might have only been ARO objects, but they definitely were adding to the urgency of the situation. "Got two behind that wall ahead," she sent to Slicer, indicating towards a row of broken cement halfway across the vacant lot. "Possibly a third."

"Understood," Slicer nodded. "They're between us and the exit too."

"Where's my damned drone support?" Crimson replied as she glanced over at both her partner and Outrun who was squatting behind the same wall as the pair of them.

"I guess the company sees me as too valuable to lose," Outrun commented. "Despite the magnificent work you've done so far in extracting me. Clearly you have a talent for this, my lady."

"Slicer, hit him if he talks again," she muttered. "I got to get us out of this mess"

She'd suspected something was amiss when Outrun immediately volunteered to be the target for their mock extraction. It quickly became apparent that his main goal was to use it as an excuse to get close her and let her man-handle him as they tried to get him to their exit. The rest of the Redlines that Slicer had rented to act as guards were lacking in accuracy and coordination, true, but more than made up for it with volumes of enthusiastic sprayfire.

"Maybe we could just use him as bait?" She suggested

"Johnson wants him back alive, remember?" Slicer replied. "If he gets his hoop shot off, he's worth nothing"

"Point-" Crimson conceded, only to be cut off by another burst of simulated fire. "Okay, I have a plan. On the count of three, I'm going to do something stupid. When I do, I want you to rush Toolbag there to the van."

"Roger that," Slicer nodded, one hand on his rifle, the other firmly planted on Outrun's shoulder.

"One," Crimson began, readying her rifle. "Two. Three." As soon as the last word was out of her moth, she leaped into action, taking off with an almost frantic bust of speed. Leaving the safety of their cover, she sprinted across a short gap of open ground, firing seemingly random shots from her training rifle as she went. And then, second later, she ducked down behind an old dumpster, vanishing from sight. It was only an instant later that she emerged, opening up again on the enemy team.

Slicer took the signal, grabbing Outrun and pushing him forward into a run, his training rifle balanced on the ganger's shoulder. With the 'security' team distracted by Crimson's risky push, he was able to make it all the way to the mostly collapsed chain-link fence and then to the rusty Volkswagen Superkombi van on the other side. Shoving Outrun into the van (perhaps a little rougher then he needed to,) he leaped into the front seat.

"Target's in the bag," he sent back to her. "Now get the hell out of there!"

Crimson sent off a quick affirmative before opening up again, emptying the last of her virtual clip into where the two guards were hiding. A satisfying 'beep' told her one of them was down, which was all the incentive she needed. Breaking cover, she sprinted across the last few meters of cracked concrete towards the old van, ducking behind it and then all but leaping into the passenger seat. "Floor it!" she shouted to Slicer, more a joke then anything else. Half because getting to the van was the end of the exercise, and half because she was pretty sure the old wreck couldn’t outrun a fat kid on a scooter.

"And we’re good," Slicer finished as he climbed out of the van, heading back to help Outrun to his feet. "Good work there."

"Thanks," Crimson nodded. "Was a bit rough, mostly having to lug the dead weight around, but I think it worked. Still would be great if we had some drones or something."

"Not every Runner team will have everything," he pointed out. "Sometimes you have to go with what you've got. I mean, it's not like you can just put out a help wanted ad in the newsfax or the like."

"Do what now?"

Slicer sighed a little. "Never mind. Anyway, you had better get going. I'm going to need you back here tomorrow for another round."

"What the frag?" Crimson asked as she handed over her training rifle. "You've been running me ragged. Between you and the day job, I've barely got time to... Well, anything really."

"You want to learn to be a Runner, you gotta work for it," Slicer replied. "And it's not like the lifestyle will get easier. There will be jobs you have to work for days or weeks before you get them done. Or there will be those times when you're on the run for whatever reason and can't afford to rest. If you're not ready for that, then-"

"I get it," Crimson nodded. "And thanks. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow."

"I'll send you the details," he finished. "Just be ready"

-----

"Welcome to Vendor Mammoth, my name is Ashely. How may I help you?"

It was her personal mantra, the one thing she kept repeating. It was ingrained into her thoughts at a level that was instinctive, to the point that she didn't need to think about it at all.

In some ways, to Crimson, it meant that Ashley had succeeded fantastically at being a fake life. She was so bland, so dull, so insubstantial that she didn't need to put any effort into pretending to be her at all. Smile, greet customers, repeat. Easy. Anyone could do it.

As she continued her routine, she couldn't help but think about what she'd been learning in the last few days, examining the Vendor Mammoth store in ways that she wouldn't have before. Use the aisles for cover. Displays could also be useful for some soft cover, but wouldn't last too long under fire. Her eyes roamed past the front of the store. Check-outs would also be some good hard cover, and security might be distracted by scurrying customers and staff.

Valuables are kept in the cash office, which also has direct access to the store's mainframe and Matrix host, she mentally continued. To get there you need to get into the rear area and upstairs, which also means getting past the lunchroom. Back dock has plenty of places to hide, but odds are there's going to be at least one disgruntled Troll back there at all times who might feel like picking a fight for the sake of it.

Front door is a good exit, but would put you onto the street where there will be cops. Loading Dock is good for if you had to get something large out and you had a van on standby. Emergency fire exit is also good as both an in or an out, but sneaking in there you’d probably be spotted by somebody on their smoke break.

The sort of place where violent gunfights normally occur

She thought over the scenario again. Of course, why anybody would be attacking Vendor Mammoth is another matter. That sort of thing only happens in Stuffer Shacks.

Now the thought was lodged in her head and refused to go away, even as she greeted another customer. So why would somebody do a run against Vendor Mammoth anyway? She considered. Maybe somebody here is actually a fugitive lying low. Or maybe after a botched extraction, some bit of new tech was accidently shipped here. Or there's some backdoor in the store's host that allows access to some other system, or maybe could allow them to attack the Vendor Mammoth head office directly.

She glanced outside, seeing how the heavy rain was keeping the traffic away from the store, before letting her eyes roam across the floor again. None of the staff are likely to be a threat, and unless there’s some random psycho in among the shoppers that day, they wouldn't be a worry either, she considered. The Loss Prevention Officer would call for backup as is procedure, so you'd need to jam his comms as well as knock out any other immediate lines the store could use to call for help.

Already the battle of Vendor Mammoth was turning into a surprisingly complicated affair.

-----

For Slicer, some mornings were better than others. This one was proving to be especially bad.

The first thing that came to mind when he woke up was pain. Every joint in his body burned, tracing fiery lines of intense agony across his body and into his spine. Even just trying to shift in bed produced a series of short, sharp spikes, grunts issuing forth as he tried to move enough to get up. The messages before his eyes weren't telling him anything especially bad beyond the usual warnings of how far his ware was beyond its last service date, but everything else was telling him that something was wrong.

Too much running around, old man, he muttered to himself as he managed to swing out his feet, sitting up as his body protested very loudly about every little action he was taking. Ghost, I didn't even have most of the 'ware switched on. Must be raining or something. He bent down to grab a pair of boxers, only to be rewarded by more sharp shocks running down his spine. Grunting to himself, he managed to pull them on before he stood, one hand on his back. Peeling aside the battered blinds, he peered out the grimy window and then slowly, carefully shook his head. Pissing on down. Might as well call the brat and cancel for tonight. I'm not going to be in any state to do anything anyway.

He limped towards the kitchen, taking each step as slowly and carefully as he could before finally stopping by the fridge. Taking a beer bottle, one of the few things that was left inside, he started back towards his room. I should swing by the doc's, see if they have some more meds. These ones just aren't cutting it. The first sip of beer, however, did bring some relief, the cool liquid seeming to drive back the pain building in his head.

He was most of the way back to his room when he heard his commlink going off. "Okay, okay, I’m coming already. Hold your fragging horses." He discreetly hoped it was Crimson so he could reschedule ahead of time and save himself the bother. As soon as he picked up the commlink, however, he could feel the pain coming back, hard.

"Mitch," he began his tone wary, "This isn't-"

"You keep saying that, dandelion muncher," Mitch growled back. "Well guess what, chummer. It's a good time now. We're making this happen."

"Are you out of your slotting mind?" Slicer spat, feeling the pain migrating its way up his spine. "I've said we're not ready."

"Well we're ready now," Mitch shot back. "And while you’ve been fragging around with Injun Joe and waking up drunk, me, Baz, Gaz and Vik have actually been doing all the damned hard work. Now you said that damned kid would be good for this, Slicer. So they're ready now."

"I said that they're not ready, Mitch. None of them are." Slicer countered. "Chip truth-"

"And I say they are. So your little slot had better be there, chummer, or else our deal is off," Mitch growled.

"Look, Mitch, if this is about what happened to your dad-"

"It’s not just that, Slicer," Mitch continued, a simmering anger clear in his voice that immediately made Slicer regret his words, "It’s about you failing to live up to anything you've said ever. It's about you honoring your deals by spending your time flat-out drunk and making excuses. It's about all the times you say it won't happen again, and then it does. I'm calling it in, Chummer."

Slicer swore under his breath. "Right, I got it. I'll let her know."

"I'm sending you the meet details. Make sure she's there." Mitch finished before closing the connection. A moment later, a new message popped up on his commlink. Looking at it, he let loose another stream of silent profanities before draining his bottle in a single gulp.

Well, we're fragged now, he considered as he placed another call. "Crimson, this is Slicer. Change of plans."