ALL THE BRICKS - Prologue: What Rough Beast

"Just let him sit in here until we're clear," suggests Death Otter via commlink. "Then just top speed race him out. By the time anyone realizes what happened, we'll be out of there."

Faust quickly gathers his gear sprawled on the seat and conceals them once again under his coat, buttoning it up. He thanks Sweet and disconnects from the call melding in with the crowd, following the group.

Lum the Mad

Lum cocked his head to one side, thinking over the suggestions. Then he grins. With a few deft movements of the fingers and sub-vocalized orders his commands are sent to the drone. He snaps the rig command console closed, stows it in his pack, and slings the whole thing over his shoulder. Pistol secured in its concealed holster Lum is ready to go.

"Let's go then."

[sblock=OOC]Ok, order drone out the back door or a broken window on the back side of the train so it can hide behind the train. Once we're clear he'll give the order to rendezvous.

Medkit 3: 1/3 remaining.[/sblock]

Faust, Herald, Lum, and the partially translucent shape of Death Otter make their way into the terminal. Woodley doesn't put up a fuss and allows herself to be guided out by Herald.

Herald and Lum are attracting looks. They're both obviously trouble, not to mention seriously injured. Death Otter's semi-transparent shape doesn't go entirely unnoticed, either, but nobody's screaming bloody murder about it when they spot her. Tall nail gets the hammer and all that. The runner to blend in the best is Faust, who seems to blend in a little too well and has trouble getting through the crowd. People are constantly walking right into him - he might as well be invisible.

The terminal steps open into a small food court. Off-white tile and bright yellow lighting makes everything look sickly. The group passes through a flavorful cloud of steam venting in great waves from the walk-up counter of All Halal Caesar, the best imitation meat joint this side of Newark Bay. The runners circumnavigate a posse of NYPD Inc. cops crowded around a table eating Nukit soyburgers. An elderly ork in a stained apron nearly runs Otter over with his pushcart, mysterious-smelling links of brownish-red matter swinging from hooks - whatever they are, they're 2n each. There's a long line of business casuals at Nacho Mama and the runners have to shove their way by. The people are all bleary-eyed and it's obvious that everyone is either chemically stimulated or sedated depending on their needs.

The tunnel beyond the food court is lined with storefronts, all of them with Augmented Reality Object (AROs) mascots jockeying for the attention of passersby. Every conceivable surface (including the floor and ceiling) is covered in advertisement videos for the newest movies, video games, or energy drinks. Here the air is artificially scented like at most malls and everything smells like calming lavender. A harried-looking wageslave is shaking a commlink vending machine that won't give him the Meta Link he bought - a security roto-drone approaches and warns him to stop. A SINless mother is being told by a bored Vision Hut salesman that her credstick doesn't have enough for her daughter's corrective surgery. A tracked stall drone is selling virtual AR pets. A family of dwarves is leaving a Stuffer Shack with bags of groceries. A morbidly obese Japanese troll guards the entrance to a strip club called BJ's.

Up ahead are the stairs leading to the street. The runners can wait for the van here in the tunnel or out on the sidewalk. Lum thinks it'll take about a minute to arrive.

Faust bobs and weaves through the crowd heading up to the street to make sure the coast is clear motioning for the group to hang back out of sight.

Death Otter pauses in the tunnel. It was less open to public view in here, but it was also much easier to get trapped. Yeah, no. Better to head on out. Then she could find a spot to keep her head down out of people's way until the van showed up.

She followed Herald out, using him to 'break' the crowds so she didn't have to shove into people and thus reveal herself.

(Annoying double post!)

The runners ascend to the street. The sun is dipping behind the skyscrapers on its way to the horizon and the city's lights are starting to awaken. The streets here have two levels here and along with the parking garages over the intersections help contribute to a dense, hive-like look for the city. The air above is busy with drones of all kinds - advertisement, delivery, and police. The walkways are jammed with thousands of evening shoppers on their way to or from one of the many street-side storefronts. Nobody has time to notice a few bloody punks waiting for a ride.

When the armored GMC Bulldog finally arrives everyone climbs inside, Lum and Herald up front and Death Otter, Faust, and Woodley in the back. The group is is already turning onto an on-ramp when one of the runners spots the fuzz arriving behind them at the steps to the subway. Two NYPD Inc. Ford Americars full of badges, heavily armed and armored, unload onto the sidewalk and disappear down the stairs.

Nobody'd blame the runners for forgetting about the possible screwjob in their future - they deserve a little celebrating after such a close call.

Question is: Where to now? According to Big Mac Sexy, Mr. Johnson wants to meet on the roof of an Elmont housing complex in Jamaica, Queens. It's one of the poorest, most dangerous areas in New York that isn't a Barren.

"I'll be glad when this is all over," says Woodley. She shakes crunchy plastic bits from her hair.

Herald winces as he helps Woodley into the car and then gets in himself. As the car pulls away and the police descend on the scene, he breathes a sigh of relief. Things are fragged up more than he cares to admit.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," Herald says once they're a comfortable distance away. "Let's get right to it. Someone arranged that double-cross, and the smart money's on either our employer, or Big Mac himself. I don't trust either of them, but if it's the Johnson who betrayed us, we can't just show up with Woodley and expect to walk away alive. We need leverage, and unfortunately she's all we have.

I'm sorry, my dear, but you're not out of the woods yet. I will meet with the Johnson, alone. I'll secure our payment, and then I'll leave. Once I'm safely returned to you, we'll let the Johnson know where he can find Woodley, and everyone gets what they want.

My apologies ma'am, but I'll need you to hand over your comlink. You'll receive it back shortly, but I'm afraid I must insist." He makes direct eye contact with Woodley, trying to convey with his tone and expression that he will absolutely not accept "no" for an answer. If she looks down, she may realize that Herald is holding his pistol casually pointed at her leg, not overtly, but certainly deliberately, and will certainly have no reservations against shooting her if necessary.

Lum moves through the crowd a little stiffly. There's a hitch in his usual swagger from trying to keep his ribs from moving too much. He steps out of the subway tunnel with a bit of relief and slides into the driver seat of the van with a feeling like putting on a perfectly-fitted glove. He gives the van a random destination and lets the Grid take over for the moment.

Reaching to his pack he pulls out his control rig. He hears what Herald is saying but dealing with the package, Woodley, is Herald's job and the other is something Lum doesn't want to think about at the moment. He's got something else on his mind.

Lum takes control of the drone, EmOne, and patches into its sensors to have a good look around. He waits until the police are passing through the crowd before having the drone buzz overhead and blast out into the city. He'll have it rendezvous with the van later when he is sure that he's managed to evade pursuers.