Futuristic {Open}աɛʟƈօʍɛ ȶօ ȶɦɛȶǟ քʀɨʍɛ (A Cyberpunk Adventure)

[PixelSymphony]

Apex's eyes shot over to the boss as he spoke. "Righ', righ'. So as I was goin' over with the scrapper, I'm still tryin' to get that part I req'd the other day to work with my bike; I think it's gonna need some custom stuff though so I was thinkin' of takin' Catch to a auto scrap yard I know and lettin' her loose like a kid'n a Stuffer Shack."

She thought over Cleo's question, since she'd been the one to bring up the idea. "Hones'ly, either way would work; there's gonna be a ton'a peeps buzzin' 'bout, both corp and civvies so'f you show up with yer hair'n a bun, an ID badge, and a suit with one too many of the buttons popped up top, ain' nobody gonna look at you twice... 'cept t' look at you know what. 'course, you wanna go all cat burglar," she continued, before rolling her eyes at the realization of exactly what she'd just said, "well, ain' much folks 'kin do if they don't see yah in the first place. So really, 'sup to you. As fer findin' the layout... hrm..." She looked to Bishop and cringed slightly, hesitant to ask what she was about to. "Hey Boss, I hate t' ask y'this but... y' don't happen to remember what Arcos mobile broadcastin' setups look like, d'yeh?"

 

[Gwalihir]

<< “...it would be helpful to find out the layout and come up with an infiltration plan. Am I trying not to be seen at all, or am I going in through the front with my charm and forged documents?” >>

Bishop listened. “I think if we went covert, it would be one chance in, and failure would alert our enemies. If we try the approach through the front door, you could ad-lib your way through several possible scenarios to get the job done. We just need to get you the tech, and let you know where and how to place it.”

<< “...I was thinkin' of takin' Catch to a auto scrap yard I know and lettin' her loose like a kid'n a Stuffer Shack." >>

Bishop nodded. “Catch, you good with that? Got a feelin’ you could dig up biker gold for our girl. Whaddya say?”

<< ...She looked to Bishop and cringed slightly, hesitant to ask what she was about to. "Hey Boss, I hate t' ask y'this but... y' don't happen to remember what Arcos mobile broadcastin' setups look like, d'yeh?" >>

Bishop blinked and considered. “Worried about me, kiddo? No need: I just got blindsided last night, is all.” He reached out and patted the Rigger on the shoulder.

“Never came in particularly handy in my line: suits don’t tend to hang out in broadcast shacks. Yeah, I looked ‘em over and I could draw you a napkin sketch. But I’m thinking the decker will be able to show ya exactly what to look for.”

“I guess that part is on me, then,” piped up Weasel: “I guess I should make arrangements to get him here this evening after everyone has done their runs for the day. Sound good?”

 

[shadowdude505]

Cleo finished eating and placed her fork on the empty plate.

"It looks like I'm going shopping then," she announced as she put her plate in the sink. She began to picture what she'd need for the front-door approach. The tech stuff aside, she figured she'd need a business suit, maybe some glasses, earrings, and a plain black pistol. Personally, she'd also like a plainer set of cat ears and tail, maybe a blond yellow to match her hair.

She walked past everyone and stopped to linger in the doorway; pressing a hand against the doorframe and posing flirtily.

"Go ahead and call your contact, tiger," she told Weasel, flashing her smirk. "But I could use your strong pair of arms in a bit." She was hoping he'd be her chauffeur and help carry her purchases.

"What time should we plan on meeting back up, boss?" she asked Bishop.

She lingered long enough to hear a reply, but she just smiled off any remarks about her flirty personality. She would return to her room and get dressed for the day.

 

[PixelSymphony]

"'ll righ', guess we'll meet back up later 'en- AH SHIT righ' forgot to mention; Boss, kinnae borrow yer van? If'm gonna be draggin' drek back from teh scrappers, gon' need some cargo room. Not t' mention my bike's half-diss'mbled anway," she added as an aside.

"Catch, go to yer measurements off of the boost pipe; it should be sittin' on my workbench, prob next to a bunch of pipe that don't work." A small grumble indicated the frustrations she'd gone through only to find that fact out. "Also, you migh' wan' borrow back that little torch you made the other day, migh' come in userful for getting your material."

The rigger caught word of their catty companion planning a shopping expedition and gave a quick whistle. "Hoi Cleo, 'sumin' boss lets me borrow the van, you want a ride to wherever?"

 

[Gwalihir]

<< "Go ahead and call your contact, tiger," she told Weasel, flashing her smirk. "But I could use your strong pair of arms in a bit." >>

Weasel grinned ear to ear. “I’ll call him while you change. Then I’m all yours!”

<< "What time should we plan on meeting back up, boss?" she asked Bishop. >>

“I’d say somewhere around 5:30 to 6:00, in time for supper,” Bishop replied. “That should give plenty of time for Weasel’s friend to fill us in on his end.”

<< "'ll righ', guess we'll meet back up later 'en- AH SHIT righ' forgot to mention; Boss, kinnae borrow yer van? >>

Bishop nodded. “That’s fine. I can take Tinker’s bike if I need to get out and about.”

<< "Hoi Cleo, 'sumin' boss lets me borrow the van, you want a ride to wherever?" >>

“Don’t worry about it,” Bishop said: “Cleo, you and Weasel can take the Egg.”

Weasel’s head swiveled around. “Boss, you have an Egg? I thought those were extinct!”

Bishop laughed. “Naw, I know they were trendy back in the aught-thirties and kinda disappeared after that, but they’re still around. One is under a tarp down in the garage. Keys are hanging you-know-where.”

“Okay: Cleo, you aren’t gonna buy a _ton_ of stuff, are you?”

Weasel made his way down to the garage and pulled the tarp off of the nine-foot-long mound he had always assumed was some machine of Bishop’s or Tinker’s. Sure enough, it was a nearly spheroid, three-wheeled vehicle made from an egg-shaped polymer dome. The lower half of the support structure was painted white, and the upper reinforcing bars and solar panels were yellow, making the egg comparison even more striking. Eggs were notorious for seeming a lot bigger on the inside than the outside, but it was only built to accommodate two people and what looked like a very small luggage compartment.

“Maybe that’s bigger on the inside, too,” muttered Weasel to himself, opening the rear hatch and waving his arm around inside it. In fact it did seem to have a fair amount of space: enough for several bags of groceries or hopefully for a lady’s shopping trip. “I guess we’ll find out…”

 

[shadowdude505]

"Hoi Cleo, 'sumin' boss lets me borrow the van, you want a ride to wherever?"

"Thanks for the offer, cutie, but it looks like things have been sorted out," Cleo replied to Apex.

“Okay: Cleo, you aren’t gonna buy a _ton_ of stuff, are you?”

"Don't worry, tiger. I have a nice, short list up here," she tapped the side of her head. "I'll meet you in the garage."

After returning to her room to change into her usual attire and retrieve her shoulder bag, she walked over to the passenger side of the Egg.

"Doesn't that look cozy?" she asked in a flirty tone, looking at the vehicle. "Here's what I'm thinking. I need to stop at a clothing store and buy a business suit. I'd also like a new pistol and plainer feline cybernetics; as much as I like the leopard print, I think they'd stand out too much for a business-type of gal."

 

[Gwalihir]

It was a hot, windy morning getting ready to turn into an even hotter day. Bishop had traded down from his trademark black cloak to slacks, an open-collared shirt and a windbreaker, more to protect from the dust and sun than anything, and of course to hide his arsenal. Midnight Blue was packed in a very long keyboard case, hoping Bishop could make the scene as if he were a middle-aged musician.

“Bishop here. Everybody in place?” he murmured just loud enough for the mike in his jaw to pick up.

He strolled through the crowds gazing around like a typical spectator, his eye sending the madhouse scenes back to Nate. Soon he heard Nate’s affirmative.

“You’re good to go, boss. Only one problem: somebody got there before you. It’s a nice, private site: I’d say you can get to ‘im, toss ‘em over the side, and be good. I’d save the rig: looks expensive.”

“I’ll consider it when I see it,” Bishop murmured back to Nate: “This job’s more important than scavenging arms and ammo. But if it’s portable and concealable, maybe.”

Soon Bishop ducked through behind the row of vendor’s booths blocking the view of the track, and padded quietly to the layup site. Sure enough, some scrapper had set up to snipe from right where Bishop had intended to. Bishop laid down his case silently, drew his Bowie knife and approached from behind the shooter. Preferring not to be lying in a pool of the man’s blood when all this was over, Bishop cold-cocked him with the handle of the big blade, then rolled him over, checked for his radio, ammo and small arms, and tossed him over the edge. The cliff was high enough he probably wouldn’t survive the fall.

It would be another hour before the first bikes hove into view. Bishop packed the other gun in its case (one made for a cello), unpacked and set up Blue while listening to the chatter on the other shooter’s radio.

Now the bikes were coming around the turn: six in close formation. He sighted them carefully: none were Apex’s bike. Bishop waited as they went by one of the “automated” nests now controlled by Nate. The nest fired off a series of incendiary grenades, then a hail of bullets directed at the first two bikes. The first was blown off the trail and into the wall by an incendiary, the second was hit by bullets, spun out of control, kicking the rider off before exploding against a boulder in the path.

While the nest reset itself, the other four bikes swept past in serpentine fashion, making it much more difficult to hit them. But Bishop was on it, drawing a bead down on first one bike and firing, then another, then another. If his shots went true, the engine blocks of each bike would either crack, leaking out a trail of oil, antifreeze and smoke, or they would explode, leaving practically nothing. From his high perspective, this was easy as shooting fish in a barrel. Okay: very fast fish in a very large barrel, but so.

He let one bike go through. There was plenty of track remaining: might as well let someone get more than halfway to the finish….

“Bishop again. Just tagged three leaders. Apex, c’mon and hustle it up: we need you up here….”

 

[shadowdude505]

Decked out with her hair in a bun, blond cat cybernetics, a business suit, and a forged ID, Cleo walked into the building that was being used to monitor/control the race. She flashed her ID badge at the security checkpoint and the name "Amelia Catswell" popped up on the computer. The rest of the data made it look like she was a high-ranking corporate security agent and listed her cybernetic enhancements.

"I didn't know they called in the big guns," the security guard said.

"Acros Entertainment doesn't want this race to be tampered with. If we informed you of my presence, then potential saboteurs could find out as well. Sorry, but it's protocol," Cleo replied.

The security guard nodded. "You're free to enter Ms. Catswell."
~~
"I'm in," Cleo said softly enough that only her microphone could hear.

She walked into the security room and noticed a guard sitting at a desk, watching the camera feed. The guard glanced at her, but after spotting the badge clipped to her chest, looked back at the cameras. There was an empty chair for a 2nd guard.

There was a coffee station against the wall, but it didn't look like the guard had used it yet.

"Want some coffee?" she asked.

"No thanks.

Cleo brewed herself some coffee and walked toward the empty chair. She acted like she tripped on the chair leg and ended up spilling the coffee on his shirt.

"I'm so sorry. I've always been a bit of a klutz." She grabbed some paper towels and tried to clean his shirt, but the man shrugged her off.

"Lady, just watch this post until my partner gets back." He ran off to the bathroom.

While he was gone, she plugged in a USB into the computer; freezing the image of the server room and halls connected to it, making them look empty. She unplugged the USB and tucked it away.

"Who are you, where's John?" a male voice asked.

Cleo spun around to see a different guard.

"I'm your surprise backup. Acros Entertainment sent me," she confidently explained. "There was a coffee accident and John's getting changed."

She got out of the chair, allowing the 2nd guard to take it.

"I'm going to make a round."
~~
Cleo planted Nate's device in the server room. "The traps are all yours, Nate," she said into the her mic.

She glanced at her watch before walking back to the security room.

"We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Amelia Catswell. Sorry about the coffee," she said, drawing the two men's attention from the screens just as the images unfroze.

Now she just had to make sure that things ran smoothly.

Gwalihir Pomtormo PixelSymphony

 

[PixelSymphony]

"Hoi, trust me Boss! I'd love to be up at the front of the pack right now, but-" Apex's voice cut off as a high-velocity round screamed by her head, prompting her to duck and swerve reflexively. The rigger downshiftted and flared her engine, breaking traction as she threw the bike into a controlled skid underneath a low-hanging support beam, another round splanging off millseconds after she'd passed through in confirmation of her suspicions. "I don't think we were th' only ones who came up with this idea: I'm gettin' lit up like a g'damn trivid holostar on stage! 's lik' World War 9 out 'ere, can som'un get on th' fraggin' vid feed and figure out where the hell they're shootin' from and then geek th' drek out'f 'em?!?!"

Apex made a quick turn of her handlebars to bring the bike back upright, and continued pounding pavement, a round from a nearby cannon going suspiciously astray and firing off into the distance despite her proximity to the trap. 'll rih', guess this Nate chummer's got some skill't least. She slowed slightly to maneuver the monstrously powerful bike through a series of narrow tunnels at far greater-than-recommended speeds, the tunnel wall zipping by some centimeters from her head as a small bead of sweat formed on her brow from the intense concentration. Without warning, the tunnels suddenly opened up back up into the smoke-filled sky above, and she found herself on a portion of track constructed far, far above the canyon floor, with nary a single guardrail or run-off in sight. Hones'ly, shol've seen 'is comin'. The instant she was straightened up on the roadway, she pegged the throttle: the whine of the charge compressor she and Catch had jerry-rigged into place going from a gentle purr to a screeching yowl as it began to feed more and more boost into the turbine that was the main power source of her bike. The road ahead of her seemed to shorten as meters became tens of meters, and she hoped that the rapid acceleration would throw off anyone's aim directed at her as she was bereft of any sort of proper cover.

"Feelin' a bit exposed at th' moment folks, any chance o' you returnin' fire? I don't min' takin' out another bike once I'm in range but this ain't neither of those!" The pounding heat from the industrial charge compressor began to heat Apex's legs through her armored boots, and for a second, her mind thought back to the adapter pipe Catch had fabricated out of an old piece of drainpipe and what appeared to be some kind of plumbing joint. As she looked down, the joint itself appeared to be holding, but at the temperatures she was running, it was starting to look like a hole was starting to burn itself through the admittedly exactly spec material. "Hoi, Catch? We got a problem... yeah, I gotta a lotta problems, I know! Yer pipe's startin' t'spring a leak, and unfortunately that leak's about to turn my leg 'nta barbecue chick'n 'less you 'kin get a patch on this thin' s'm'how!"

Gwalihir Pomtormo shadowdude505

 

[Gwalihir]

(Hope this is alright: figgered it would be nice to keep the story going until we get Catch back...)

<< "I'm in," Cleo said softly enough that only her microphone could hear. >>

“That’s the girl, luv,” replied Nate. “Ya ‘member where ta plug it in, an’ we’ll be good!”

<< "The traps are all yours, Nate," she said into her mic. >>

“Now we’re playin’! Thank ya, girl!” Nate immediately began working with the controls on the death nests.

<< "Hoi, trust me Boss! I'd love to be up at the front of the pack right now, but-" >>

Bishop nodded. “Understood. You make it here when you make it. Just stay alive until you get here.”

<< can som'un get on th' fraggin' vid feed and figure out where the hell they're shootin' from and then geek th' drek out'f 'em?!?!" >>

“Workin’ on it, luv,” replied Nate: ye’ll be gettin’ support there in jes’ a minute…”

Nate loaded one more password search function, then was in. “Alright! Let’s rock n’ roll!”

<< ... a round from a nearby cannon going suspiciously astray and firing off into the distance despite her proximity to the trap. >>

“There we are, luv. Took one of ‘em out instead o’ you!” Nate began checking the vid feeds for bikes getting suspiciously close to Apex, both in front and back. A couple of blasts from frag grenades and a Gatling, and the bikers were either dead or dispersed.

“Dinna need sa much ta keep yer head down now, luv: oi’ll keep th’ heat off a yas!”

In his nest, Bishop noticed that the other shooter’s radio had gone ominously quiet.

“Crap! Musta’ missed a checkin. They’ll be comin for me… “ Bishop muttered to himself, unintentionally loud enough that the others could hear.

<< ...Yer pipe's startin' t'spring a leak, and unfortunately that leak's about to turn my leg 'nta barbecue chick'n 'less you 'kin get a patch on this thin' s'm'how!" >>

Bishop listened for a reply from Catch. “Apex: there any legal stops for you up ahead? Somewhere Catch could catch up to you and--”

Bishop swiveled just in time to block a machete strike from one of two thugs who had just popped up from behind. He kicked out and caught the man in the stomach, doubling him over and bringing his head down into striking range. The Bowie finished the thug with a head strike, and a thrown knife stopped the other thug dead in his tracks, but not before he got off a shot.

The shot hit the rocky ground to one side of Bishop, but ricocheted into his side. Bishop grunted in pain, but immediately pulled a trauma patch and slapped it on. He waited for a moment in case another thug might come, but none did. He rolled back into position and fired at another three bikes as they came around the bend and over the rise, then stopped to catch his breath.

“I’m hit. Don’t worry: got it under control. Catch, do you have anything: replacement tube, hot patch, whatever, you can give Apex? If so, we gotta find a way for you two to meet down there…”

Static crackled back on the line. Bishop switched his vision to the GPS locator for each of their mikes, and Catch was still back at the start line.

“Friends, I think Catch may have got in a patch of trouble while tinkerin’ with the wrong peoples’ bikes. We’ll get her inna few minutes, but for right now…”

His gaze went to the outfits of the two dead thugs: military pants, shirts, jackets -- and boots. Waterproof, spike proof, fireproof.

“Apex! You know where I’m at! Ride right up under my position, I’ll throw ya a set of boots that’ll get you through!”

 

[shadowdude505]

With the two security guards nearby, Cleo didn’t dare try to talk with the team. She started to watch the security footage monitoring the race to see if she could spot any sign of Catch.

 

[PixelSymphony]

A snort passed Apex's lips as Bishop asked about legal stops: "We're out here geekin' drekheads on bikes fer no other reason than gettin' the biggest credchip we can and yer worried 'bout legality?" However, her cynical mirth was short-lived as no response came back from from the grizzled vet. A concerned frown crossed her face as she whacked her headset questioningly: "Boss? You there?"

“I’m hit. Don’t worry: got it under control. Catch, do you have anything: replacement tube, hot patch, whatever, you can give Apex? If so, we gotta find a way for you two to meet down there…” Static was Catch's only response, and similarly nothing came from Cleo. "Friends, I think Catch may have got in a patch of trouble while tinkerin’ with the wrong peoples’ bikes. We’ll get her inna few minutes, but for right now…”

Apex smacked her gauge cluster in frustration as she interuptted. "Damnit, 'is whole op's gon' sideways!" At least for the moment she didn't have to worry about catching a bullet between the eyes from her clifftop sniper: she'd been travelling in a fairly straight line for the last few minutes and not a single round had been cast her way.

“Apex! You know where I’m at! Ride right up under my position, I’ll throw ya a set of boots that’ll get you through!”

"Boots? Yer gonna give me boots?" Apex loudly grumbled into her mic. "The 'ell you thinkin' I'm wearin' right now y' дебил!" That being said, a sudden lightbulb went off in the rigger's mind and she quickly reconsidered. "Wait 'ang on, y' migh' have a point, jes' do me a fav'r and cut the soles off 'em!" This would be a gymnastic performance to pull off for certain, but with a little bit of luck, she might not be cybering up her legs any sooner than needed. As she passed under where Bishop was camped out, two pieces of heavy footwear (minus their bottoms) flew out, each one representing a near one hundred kilometer an hour collision waiting to happen if she screwed this up.

At that moment, Apex's synapse boosters kicked in, dumping a potent concoction of adrenaline and a variety of other chemicals straight into her nervous system and redlining her reflexes much like the errant charge compressor that was causing this whole mess. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as her senses went into overdrive, the boot covers now slowly tumbling through the air like bubbles in a light breeze as her bike languidly rolled towards them. Knowing her boosted reflex time was limited, she let go of her bike with both hands, relying on inertia to keep her upright as she reached up to pluck the covers out of midair. Then she stretched her legs out in front of her, shoving first one leg through the ad-hoc protective sleeve before twisting to deal with the other one in something that resembled a bizarre striptease in reverse. Just as her boosters shut down to avoid frying her neurons, she threw herself forward back into her seat and grabbed hold of her handlebars, ready to return to the race. Time rapidly reverted back to full speed like a clock that had been freshly wound, blurring her sight momentarily, but regardless she revved the engine to full throttle and was greatly relieved as her leg avoided paying the price. "'ll righ' Boss, I guess I owe ya one if we make it through 'is. 'nway, I gotta race leader to catch up to; you better go check on Catch'n Cleo!"

 

[Gwalihir]

<< "Wait 'ang on, y' migh' have a point, jes' do me a fav'r and cut the soles off 'em!" >>

Bishop had a pretty good idea of what Apex was hoping to do now, and quickly sliced the bottoms off the boots. Pretty soon he saw Apex’s bike approaching, and carefully timed the throw of the boots to reach Apex at the top of her jump. He watched her catch the boots and nimbly draw them on. The act was sheer poetry in motion.

Now that Apex had passed by and there were no bikers close on her tail, Bishop’s main job was done. Had he remained uninjured he would have moved across to the other side of the hairpin curve and kept vigilant, but now there seemed to be no need and his injury was hurting in spite of the trauma patch. He packed his rifle in the keyboard case, and began dragging both cases up towards the entrance. It took more exertion than it should have to drag the two bodies out of the way.

“Nate: do you need anything more from Cleo right now?”

Nate came back. “Naw: the transmitter is disposable and untraceable, an’ there’s nothin’ else ta add. I’ve got control over the deathtraps from ‘ere to the finish: we’re good. If she’s needin’ ta leave, she can do so anytime.”

Bishop grunted. “Cleo: you know where I came to spot the targets. Can you excuse yourself, say you’re going to patrol or something, and come get me in the Egg? I’m gonna need some assistance here.”

He sighed and hoped that Catch wasn’t in too much trouble.

 

[shadowdude505]

Cleo touched the side of her head with two fingers like she was answering a call.

"Uh-huh...yes sir...Understood."

She got out of her seat and calmly, yet purposefully, walked out of the security room.

She got in the Egg and drove over to Bishop's location.

"Before you called, I tried to find Catch on the camera feeds, but I didn't have any luck," she stated moments later. "What's the play?"

 

[PixelSymphony]

With the added boost from the no-longer hazardous charge compressor running at full pressure, the multi-stack internal combustion engine that was contained within the beast Apex road ate fuel and bellowed fire like never before, propelling her at break neck speeds through the rest of the course, easily allowing her to zip by the couple of contenders between her and the front, with again some suspiciously "lucky" breaks with the courses auto-cannons choosing to prioritize her opponents over her. But the front-runner zipped through the explosions just as nimbly as she, and to Apex that meant only one thing. Frag.... it's him. Indeed, as the rigger roared up in second place to just behind where the leader was, she could just make out the bright red fuselage and gaudy flame decals that indicated the motorbike of one Piston Burn. If he was at all affected by the fact that his entourage was now smoking remains via cannon barrage, it certainly didn't seem to be affecting his performance, as he weaved between rock pillars without the slightest bit of hesitation, preventing the remaining traps from being able to draw a bead on him. Damnit, if I can't rely on the course hazards takin' him out, this is going to going to have to get fraggin' pers'nal."

 

[Gwalihir]

<< "Before you called, I tried to find Catch on the camera feeds, but I didn't have any luck," she stated moments later. "What's the play?" >>

“First part,” he grunted, “is to help me get both of these cases packed in behind the seats of the Egg. That’ll take some doing, and with my side messed up, you’ll be doing the heavy lifting.”

Regardless, between the two of them they got both cases in the back behind the seats, and Bishop sat down hard in the passenger seat. “Now, to the starting line. We follow the GPS to find Catch and help her out of whatever she’s got herself into.”

“Might have a clue for ya on that,” remarked Nate over the radio: “Usin’ the GPS I found a camera that includes a view there. Looks like there’s someone gettin’ the bejesus kicked out of ‘em, off in a corner. Willin’ to bet a hundred cred that’s our gal. I’ll send ya the coords to yer little Egg there, ta make the best time.”

“Let’s haul!” proclaimed Bishop, clambering into the passenger side of the diminutive vehicle.

As they headed back towards the starting line, ducking and dodging the crowd members there for the race, Bishop pulled and checked his pistols: a .357 Magnum and a 9mm auto. The bullets for the 9mm looked a little strange, but Bishop nodded in satisfaction. “Charged capacitor rounds,” he explained: “They don’t do much real damage, but when they hit they give a heavy electric shock, like a Taser. If someone hides behind Catch, I can fire one of these and not worry I’m gonna injure her.”

The Egg’s GPS led them quickly to the starting point of the race, and off to the side where there were makeshift tents being used as garages for some of the bikes that had been left behind. They soon saw a group of bikers who did in fact look like they were gathered around someone else and throwing punches. Bishop had the door open before Cleo brought the Egg to a stop, firing at the group. At least three bikers went down before the car stopped.

“Let’s get her!” Bishop said, as he climbed out of the Egg...

shadowdude505

 

[shadowdude505]

Cleo rushed out of the Egg and chased after Bishop.

"Cover's probably blown, might as well give 'em a show," she thought. She slashed her way past some of the bikers as she made her way to were Catch presumably was; her claws weren't exactly lethal, but they would hurt.

"You alright, cutie?"

Gwalihir Pomtormo

 

[PixelSymphony]

Over the comm channel, Apex was catching about half of what all was going on with the rest of the team, such was she preoccupied with attempting to keep up with Piston. He may have been an absolute drekhead, but there was a reason he was leader of the FlameOuts: even with the additional output from the charge compressor running at full clip, it was all she could do to slowly inch closer, and this was at speeds where she was taking turns at angles that threatened to shred her knees off. Still, Piston remained just outside of her reach until a lucky break finally turned her way: a landslide of rubble caused by the final trap going off rolled giant boulders directly across their path, sending Piston veering around them nimbly, but at a slower clip. Apex, finally seeing her opportunity, pointed the front wheel of her bike straight at a rock that has fallen in just the right way, and launched herself into the air well above her opponent, finally giving her the le-

*BANG*

свобода rang as an unknown projectile collided with it, and suddenly her engine sputtered and coughed as it seemed to suddenly lose a large percentage of its power. "What the- oh you fraggin' son of a bitch!" She looked down where once there were high-pressure flames surging from just next to her left leg, now there was nothing, replaced only by the sound of air being spat into the atmosphere like an air vent that had been left open. "YOU SHOT свобода!!!" The next few seconds would determine her continued existence, as there was no way she was going to be able to match her wheel speed to the road with a partially geeked engine; either she was going to have to pull off some kind of miracle landing, or she was going to faceplant and end up spread a molecule thick from here to the finish line. With a silent prayer to any higher powers that even bothered to listen to her anymore, she pulled the clutch all the way open, letting the rear tire freewheel, and leaned back, preparing to put all her weight on her rear tire.

Her rear tire landed with an ear-screeching squeal, more than a little rubber being left behind as a parting gift as she came down hard, her momentum thankfully propelling her forward even as her front wheel slammed into the pavement before her and her shocks rebounded, bouncing her back and forth for far longer than was comfortable. She'd survived... but at what cost? Even as she let the clutch back out to resume her forward thrust, there was no way her engine could put out anything even approaching its previous output, and- wait why was Piston slowing?

As the gaudy orange flamed bike pulled to a position just ahead of her, its rider turned turned around to mock her. "Forget it, Apex, you're nothing but a second rate wheelbitch who turned her back on the gang! Consider what I did today a favor and slag your bike and get the hell out of Circuit City: it's ALL FlameOut territory now! With the money I'm gonna get out of this race I'm gonna put a bounty on your head so big ain't nobody gonna turn it down! You ain't got no friends, no hope, no chance on our turf no more!"

Fury built in the rigger's soul as she clenched her grips, until suddenly, in a moment of white hot clarity, she reached down to a compartment she'd been holding off from going into. "You're wrong on one thing, Piston."

"Yeah? And whazzat?"

"I have friends." And with that, she pulled out the airborne grenade contraption that Bishop had given her before all of this. Piston took one look at the grenade that was present and immediately pinned his throttle, bolting off into the distance, but it was no use: Apex yanked out the pin and the cord, wound up her arm, and threw it as hard as possible towards the slowly retreating figure in the distance, the propellers whizzing to life hallways towards its target and bringing it home. The was a explosion of no small degree, and for a second Apex seriously debated whether it was a good idea keeping such a potent device right next to a massive fire-breathing engine, but at the moment, the results spoke for themselves. As scraps of Piston's bike fell from the sky like pieces of extremely hot, molten snow, Apex spurred her bike onward, coughing and sputtering, but running nonetheless, and in a few minutes, passed through the finish line to an explosion of her own, though this was thankfully of confetti.

With a single motion, she skidded to a halt, leaned into her comm mic and spoke. "I did it chums. I won."

 

[Gwalihir]

There were almost a dozen bikers in the crowd around Catch, but Bishop made short work of most of them. Firing double-handed, he took down half a dozen before they could draw and aim their own guns. Cleo could see some of the bikers jerked spasmodically before they fell: the lucky ones hit by Bishop’s capacitor rounds instead of regular bullets.

One of the goons grabbed Catch from behind and held her up as a shield, drawing a knife and waving it about. Before he had a chance to use it, though, Bishop apparently shot him in the arm, and down he went. Catch collapsed to the ground, apparently unconscious.

The couple of goons who had been lucky enough to get nothing but Cleo’s claws took off running, and Bishop didn’t bother to shoot them in the back. He knelt by Catch and checked her pulse.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said to her: “we’ve got you now. We’re gonna take you back to the nest, get a medic to check you out, and go from there, okay?”

Over the radio came a sudden bit of good news. << "I did it chums. I won." >>

Bishop did a fist pump in the air. “That’s it! Way to go, girl! You made it like a champ!”

He turned to Cleo, still a bit exhilarated by the news. “Alright: let’s get her loaded into the Egg. You take her back to the Nest, and I’ll catch a cab back there. Have Weasel find a medic who can come by to look her over, patch her up. I’ll be there soon.”

shadowdude505

 

[shadowdude505]

Cleo carefully placed Catch in the Egg and started to drive back to the Nest. She dialed up Weasel as she drove.

"Hey, tiger. Mission successful. Heading back now, but we're going to need a medic to look Catch over. Looks like she's been knocked out cold. The others should be on their way shortly."

A while later she drove into the garage and parked.