In the Long Shadow of Steel & Glass

Out in the Boondocks
a soured milk run

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.

On the Lamb
friends like these

Impulse has made it clear of the LoneStar / Head Takers frag-fest of a meet and booked it across town to retrieve whatever of his meager possessions he can lay his hands on. Hurting for sleep, paranoid, on the run from nearly anybody that looks too hard at him, Impulse reaches out to Krash, his Ork Underground contact. Krash arranges at meet at the SEATAC railyards, whereupon he shows himself to be a metahuman of much moral and ethical fiber, provisioning Impulse with a fake SIN, a commlink and a place to lay his head. What is more, Krash promises a source of income in the future – the Ork Underground is always looking for an enterprising young tusker with something to prove.

Calling up Lenny Getz, his arms dealer contact, Impulse tries to find some work. Lenny quickly agrees to meet with Impulse – a move that immediately puts the ork on the defensive. Lenny is as slippery and crooked as they come, and would happily keep a country mile betwixt himself and someone with as much heat as Impulse had coming from around every corner. Knowing he was short on cred, short on time and just about out of options, Impulse heads to the meet – a penninsular park jutting out into the Puget Sound in Tacoma. Knowing that the whole thing looks, smells, feels like a setup, Impulse heads in with his guard up. The local security detail at the gate to the park, seeing a cagey looking ork in bulky body armor trying to walk into their park, intervene, pressuring Impulse to throw the race card and leave in a huff. Briefly casing the exterior fence, he finds a location with no security coverage and, cutting through the barbed wire, hops over and into the park to meet Lenny. The arms dealer, however, is not terribly helpful. Not forthcoming about work, and only asking leading questions, Lenny cements Impulse’s feelings of a setup and, after bidding him farewell, Impulse hops the fence to regain the city. As he clears the shrubs near the fenceline, Impulse spots a huge number of LoneStar cruisers swarming the gate – looks like it was a setup after all.

Calling it a night, Impulse bar-hops before heading back, well sodden, to the SEATAC railyards to catch another bit of rest.


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