Screech’s transportation job ends up being a bit more complicated than initially advertised. Whoever set up the job hired some heavy hitters to guard the gear at the port of ingress and left Screech in the lurch in terms of accurate directions. Without having much in the way of area knowledge, much less of the nastier sides of Puyallup, Screech relied on autonav to get him most of the way there. Somewhere along the route, however, autonav no longer provides accurate mapping of the roads. Local gangs, urban decay and wrecks regularly create impromptu or intended roadblocks and radically alter the traffic patterns. After finding himself nearly lost, Screech is in the lone company of a technical – a modified off-road truck sporting an HMG and some serious attitude – headed off into the boiling ash and basalt wastes of outer Hell’s Kitchen. Driving on, he comes to a road block manned by a few of the Kitchen’s anti-social denizens bent on some good ol lootin’. The na’er do wells push two hulked vehicles together to form a roadblock, a mask wearing nutjob atop one of the vehicles fires an anti-vehicle rocket wildly at *Screech*’s oncoming van. The rocket goes wide and Screech dispenses some pretty serious justice from the business end of his Ares MP-LMG concealed in the van’s roof. Flooring it, Screech smashes through the road block, flatting two of his expensive smart tires, but making it through without anything more than cosmetic damage to his beloved step-van. Finding the majority of the remaining route to his drop-off being a one-way-in-one-way-out, Screech nervously allows a few heavily armored sec-ops unload his vehicle before limping home on his damaged tires and turning in, dreading the next day’s run down the same roads – a veritable Ambush Alley.