Crimson Dawn (part 16)

Crimson had never made it clear why she only ever met her fixer after hours. Telling him that it was because she didn’t get long enough on her lunch break just simply sounded so earth-shatteringly lame that she could barely bring herself to admit it. So whenever she was at the bland downtown Soycaf shop buying bland Soycaf, it was always well after dark. Fortunately, the place was open twenty-four hours to accommodate customer needs to get something better then Stuffer Shack, which gave her some flexibility.

Even though this was the heart of safe, bland, sanitised corporate downtown, she couldn't help but glance around as she waited for him to arrive. Maybe it was Slicer's training getting to her, but it was something she was more and more feeling the need to do. Size up the place, look for threats and make sure there was nobody about to geek you. It sounded paranoid, bit that sort of thinking had kept him alive for decades in a business that tended towards a short life expectancy.

Nothing was immediately registering to her as dangerous. The only thing that really struck her was one Asian man who was hiding at the back of a booth where he'd be as unobtrusive as possible. Even then, it was less because he looked dangerous, and more because she was beginning to realise that he'd been there every time she'd been in, just moving from booth to booth. Does he live here or something?

Her observations were interrupted as her fixer joined her, sitting down at the opposite seat in her booth. "A pleasure to see you again," he began, even if his tone was more business like then his words.

"Likewise," she nodded, shifting a little to ensure that her jacket was closed up. She was wearing still wearing her Vendor Mammoth uniform under that, having not had the time to go home and change before the meeting. It was hard not to feel a little self-conscious.

"I have the information you were interested in," he continued, giving her a small nod. "Of course, I have no idea why you want it, but I can take some very good guesses."

She discretely slid a credstick across the table. He took it, and a moment later, her commlink beeped. "It's all there," he continued, "but I’ll give you the low-down. Your man is a former Lone Star HRT officer who left the force and used some contacts he made along the way to set up his little enterprise. He was a skilled marksman, and had been involved in several incidents where he came into direct contact with Runners. The simple fact that he's alive should tell you that he knows what he's doing."

"Definitely," Crimson replied, her mind already running through ideas of how to disable him. Long range isn't going to work, given his skills. Could get Scav to magic him I suppose, but... It was becoming clearer to her that one of their team had the skills best suited to taking him out. That bought a smile to her lips.

"He lives in a nice little estate in Belleview, one that is full of rent-a-cops," he continued. "Yes, Irony, I know. Most of his working hours are either spent on-site or with clients."

"So I need to get his schedule and look for a weakness," Crimson considered. "Makes sense."

The fixer nodded. "I’m sure that you'll figure something out," he finished as he stood. "As always, a pleasure doing business with you."

-----

The next night was their big meet where they would plan the Run. Krusher had given them an address where he claimed that they could meet discretely without any risk of being seen or overheard; given that the location was a warehouse in Redmond, Crimson had to wonder how it was that he had access to the place.

The location wasn't that bad by Redmond standards, admittedly los as they were. Crimson had been the apparent first to arrive, giving it a quick once-over as she approached. A shabby old warehouse had loomed out of the drizzle, its exterior drab and grimy but also looking like it was structurally sound. And while there were no obvious signs of security, she was beginning to wonder how it was that Krusher had access to the place.

Doesn't look like a gang squat, she told herself, looking for the obvious signs that she'd learned in the last few months. No lookouts, no tags, nothing that immediately gives it any identity at all. And yet, the building was also clearly secure, making her wonder even more who owned it. She stopped her bike, leaning it against the side of the building as she waited there, lurking half in shadow. It wasn't that she was expecting trouble, but she would be ready for it no less.

The antitheses of a cool car

A battered, power-blue Ford Americar pulled up a few minutes later, the lanky form of Protip clambering out of it. Unlike her, the young Decker seemed to be almost casual in his approach. "Hoi Crimson," he began as he stepped towards her, waving as if greeting a friend.

"Hey," she replied with a small nod, her tone noncommittal.

"Interesting place for a meet, huh chummer?" he continued as he looked around. "I wonder why here?"

"Not sure. It's not like it’s an obvious gang hideout. Maybe somebody's front."

"Huh..." He looked around, tapping his comink as he did. "Well it belongs to somebody. The whole place is wired with alarms and sensors. Obviously somebody owns what's in there."

"Not Krusher," Crimson murmured. The burly Ork hadn't struck her as smart enough to spell alarm, let alone install one.

"You think?' Protip asked, glancing around. "Maybe it’s his gang or whatever. He looked like the gang type."

You sound more like a corp kid then I do, she considered. Does your mom know you're doing this?

A rustle from around the corner caught both their attention, Crimson spinning around and drawing her pistol with lightning speed. Behind her, Protip was fumbling with his own gun as she got ready for the worst. A small figure appeared, clad in a filthy coat. Beady eyes peering out form behind a thick black beard.

"Scav!" Protip beamed, clearly relieved. "When did you get here?"

"Been here for ages," The Dwarf muttered. "I was scoping out the place. Making sure it was safe. Making sure you were who you said you were."

"Sure thing, paranoid crazyface," Crimson shook her head. "So Protip's matrix, I'm guns and presumably Krusher is handicrafts and knitwear. What do you bring to this little show?"

"Magic," he replied, his voice barely a whisper as if he was afraid of who was listening. "Bit of firepower. Bit of healing. Sensing. That sort of thing."

"Wiz!" Protip all but beamed. "Looks like we got all our bases covered."

"Yeah, seems that way," Crimson nodded. "So I was thinking about what the Johnson wants and the best way to get it. I got us some info on our target we can use."

Protip nodded. "I did a bit of Matrix-fu myself, all slidin' into their host and being all cool and invisible like. I got us the goods, and all we need to do now is make them work for us." He was beaming now, clearly either very confident of his skills or, at least, doing a passable job of acting it. "We got this made, Red."

Gee, such an original nickname, she considered, but played along for the sake of it. "Right, all we need now is for big ugly to get here and we can throw our plan at him," she nodded. "So I was thinking that the best thing to do would be to extract Bannerman while he's on the move so we can pull him out while his security is at its weakest. So, like, if you could hack his car or something, then me and Krusher could move in and pull him out of it."

"That is so Wiz," he beamed. "I love it."

"Yeah, sounds great," Scav muttered, glancing around.

"I guess the big issue is the order that we do things," Protip considered. "Do we extract him first or will that put them on alert? Or do we hit the site first, but that might scare Bannerman and make him harder to get too..."

A loud roar, followed by a heavy rumbling cut off both of them, both Crimson and Protip turning as a new player entered their little drama. What they saw was anything but discrete or low-key; a chromed, skull-festooned Harley Scorpion rumbling towards them, Krusher leaning back in the massive chopper's seat. The Ork pulled up next to the Americar, stopping the bike and climbing off it with a slowness that had to be deliberate before reaching around to grab something from the other side. It was only as he turned back to the three of them that they saw what it was; a massive battle axe with an engraved skull on the hilt.

"Nice car," Krusher rumbled as he glanced at Protip's vehicle. "Your mom know you’re borrowing it?"

"I, um..." Protip stammered.

"Okay, girls," Krusher continued "The real man's here. Let's get this party started."

Before either of them could say anything in reply, he lumbered past them, slapping his meat hand onto a panel by the warehouse door. There were a few audible clicks, and it swung open. With a grunt, he stepped through, leaving Crimson and Protip (and Scav, who seemed to have resumed his hiding) to glance at each other. "Well you coming or what?" The bulky Ork bellowed form within.

Fine, Crimson stepped inside, the others following behind her. The interior of the warehouse was surprisingly clean and well-lit, with secure packing crates neatly stacked around the walls. "And don't touch nothing" Krusher growled as he headed towards a table in the middle of the room. Crimson wasn't about to, even if a part of her wanted to ask who these crates really belonged to. Because they sure as hell aren't yours, chummer, she considered. Maybe whoever's paying for this run.

"So!" Protip beamed as he stepped up to the table, taking out his commlink. An ARO image append in Crimson's vision, displaying a floating 3D map of the Holdfast compound. "Holdfast is into security, so that means they're going to have covered all their bases when it comes to protecting their own turf. They have cameras and other sensors all over the place and sensors in the fence for starters. Add to that, they have drones and paracritters on site to provide more active defence, as well as their own human security staff."

"As for our target, Bannerman commutes between there and his comfy home in Bellview each day," Crimson continued. "That is, when he's not off greeting clients or on business trips or whatever else."

"Huh," Krusher snorted. "Well then, we all know what we got to do."

"Oh, definitely," Protip nodded. "See, Crimson and I were thinking we could nab him when he's on the way and-"

"Screw that," Krusher spat. "We take him when we hit the compound. We trash the place, get the data and grab the suit all in the one go."

"That's... Insane." Crimson snapped. "It’s going to be hard enough getting in and out of there as it is. With the entire place on alert and our dragging him with us, we're going to be slowed down and an easy target."

"Then we use him as a shield. They ain't gonna fire on their own boss."

"And what if some ass besides that he wants a quick promotion?" She continued. "Your plan is insane!"

"We're going with my plan!" He bellowed as he slammed the axe into the table, imbedding the blade in the surface. "Any of you slots want to argue?"

"Not me!' Protip squeaked. "Brilliant plan. I love it."

"Sounds good," Scav quickly added.

"And how ab out you, Elf girl?" He leered. "You gonna go with my plan? Or are you to scared?"

"Of course not!" She snapped back before she could even think about what she was saying. "I can handle whatever they have. You should be worried that I’m just going to leave you behind." A moment later, her brain caught up to her mouth, but Crimson realised that it was already too late.

The Ork gave a deep, guttural laugh. "Okay then, we got ourselves a plan." He grinned, his mouth twisting around his pronounced tusks. "So let's make it work."

------

It's better at night simply because you can't see how depressing
the place is. It's even better if you never go inside

"You seem to be off your game tonight" Slicer said as he stood, practice Katana at the ready.

"I’m fine," Crimson replied, even if her voice said otherwise. "Can we just go already?"

The two of them were on the roof of his apartment, dummy weapons at the ready. They had been sparring for half the night, with Slicer holding a distinct advantage so far.

"Fine," He narrowed his eyes, shifting his stance ever so slightly. Crimson was on him in a moment, exploding in a furious blur of motion, lashing out in a fast-paced offense. Her speed was impressive given how close to baseline she still was, and her skill not inconsiderable, but Slicer still had the advantage of raw experience. Within moments he had found a gap in her attack, tripping her and sending her sprawling to the roof.

"You sure you’re okay?" He asked.

"Again!" She snapped as she leapt to her feet. Slicer's knees were killing him, but he figured that by now she must be just one big bruise.

He sighed a little and began, advancing on her this time. Crimson managed to block his first strike, pushing him back just a little. He knew that she was using whatever augmentations she had now, while he was still holding back. Even then, she was clearly angry and driven about something.

"Tell me what it is," he continued as he ducked past another swipe before replying with one of his own. "If something's wrong, then you should tell me now. Worst is you eat a few more bruises from me; out on a run, CorpSec won’t care about what's on your mind."

She grunted as she made a few more swings, Slicer stepping around each of them. Her form was getting wilder now, more aggressive but very loose and sloppy. "Fine," she spat between sweeps. "It’s that fragging team of drekehads you set me up with, sensei. What the hell were you thinking?"

Dodge. Parry. Weave. "What do you mean?" He asked, his tone clear as he ducked back again, trying to ignore the sharp, shooting pain from the base of his spine.

Thrust. Sweep. Stab. "Oh come on, you must be blind if you didn't see it yourself!" She spat out. "The decker’s a kid who thinks he's the hottest thing on the matrix. The shaman is afraid of everything and is pants-crappingly paranoid. And the Ork-"

Parry. Block. Riposte. "The Ork?"

Recoil. Swing. Advance. "He's loudmouth bully who thinks he can get his own way because he's bigger then everyone else and is going to get us all killed."

Block. Hold. Stand firm. "This is the truth of life as a Runner, Crimson." He continued as he held back her attack, their blades locked together. "You rarely get to pick your team. If you're a big name prime runner, then maybe you get lucky. Otherwise, you have to work with what you get."

"What, like you?"

"Hardly." He held his ground, ignoring the screaming pain in his joints. "My first team came together by luck and happenstance. I made them work, but it was not easy." He lashed out with a quick kick, one that caught her off-balance and knocked Crimson back.

She rolled with it, flipping and springing back to her feet, charging forwards. Slicer only just ducked past her. "Knowing what they can and cannot do," he explained. "Knowing their limits and my own. And then being ready to work with them." His reply sailed through the air, missing Crimson by an infinitesimal amount.

His student swung back, her blow more focused and tighter then it had been in past. He blocked it, but not easily either. "A true Samurai is not just a warrior, but a warlord. A leader of men, a tactician and a planner," he continued.

"So even if they are a bunch of mindless jerks, they are my mindless jerks," she continued as they broke contact, both of them stepping back, blades at the ready.

"Exactly. In this lie you don't chose your team. But if you are lucky, you can still work with them." He raised his blade, but did not move for the moment. "Do you understand?"

"Hai, sensei," Crimson nodded.

"Good," He finished. "Now, let's see what you can do without that occupying your thoughts."