Ork Underground IC

Walking through the combat range with his hands in his pockets - he wasn't here for games and he had no intention of wasting ammo - Gnash grimaced at the silhouettes as they popped out from behind corners or flashed across his path. At the section of wall marked with Or'zet, he pressed the indicated spot, waited for the hidden portal to open, then stepped through.
Once inside, Gnash took off his fedora to show respect to the big ork behind the desk (a habit instilled in him from his ties with the Mafia), nodded and said with a heavy Italian accent, "Paisan, I am Gnash, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. If dere's anything I can do for yous - you need somebody's knees broke or you gotta lean on some guy thinks he don' gotta pay his dues - fahget about it, I take care of dat for yous. I'm your guy, you need anything, just gimme da word."
With that, he nodded to the troll waiting for the other runners to arrive and stood to one side with his back to the wall where he could keep an eye on the whole room.

Tos watched as a hideous troll moved into alley 7 ahead of him. A few moments later, an ork in a brimmed hat entered. Tos walked into the alley just as the ork was disappearing into the wall. With the constant movements and flashing lights, it took him a few moments to notice the illuminated portion of the wall. As Tos moved through the shooting alley, he wildly pointed the hand cannon the Ork at the door had given him and squeezed off a few rounds. Something about the uniform some of the human targets were wearing tickled his memory and not in a comforting way.

After a few startled jumps, one dropped gun, and an empty clip later Tos had made it to the illuminated panel. He was unaware that the blue letters he read were in another language. All he knew was that he was supposed to push that spot. The wall slid away and Tos entered just as the ork, now holding his hat, was saying, "just give me the word."

"uh, sorry I'm late. I had trouble finding the place. I've never been here before that I know of." With that, Tos moved to one of the empty seats and sat down to wait for the explanation of why he'd been told to come here. His contact had not steered him wrong yet, but then again, it had only been four days.

W.A.F.E. watches the Troll and Ork guys going through the parcour and entering the hidden wall. After some time he decides to join the group and makes his way through to the hidden door, without shooting at the AR images. As he enters the room he gives a short acknowledging nod to Tommy and afterwards to the group members already in the room. He takes a seat next to Tommy and makes himself comfortable, a slight grin on his face. This will be interesting, let's hear for what kind of business you need a group as illustrious as this seems to become.

Speltch entered the shooting alley indicated as being for him but stood there confused for a moment or two as there wasn't anything in the 'real' world to see except basically an empty room. Speltch's familiarity with AR was fairly non existant as a street person had little need for AR, VR or pretty much any other kind of interface with the matrix. Speltch had been given a comm-link by his fixer, Big Bobby Battan, just to handle the nuyen transfer after Spetch did one of his infrequent 'runs' for him, but Speltch had little use for the thing other than the occasional data-search for stuff. Looking at stuff to buy, or save for just made him and other street people more miserable because they did not have the means to attain such things as a fancy car or nice A rated high-rise condo. None the less, Speltch wasn't looking at his own comm-link right now, and stood confusedly, as first one and then another meta human moved through the room past him and entered another room beyond by accessing something that he could not see. As the second meta-moved through the room, Speltch followed him, though he seemed to be moving through the room in a somewhat erratic pattern, perhaps following a pattern that Speltch himself could not see. As the guy moved to the door, though, the malnourished street shaman stepped up to move through the closing door behind him.

As Speltch stepped into the room, the scent of unwashedness swept into the room before him and Speltch looked around in slight surprise as there were several people in the room, including the large troll seated at the table. "Oi, Chummer, t'anks fer holdin' da door fer me." Speltch mumbled to W.A.F.E. as he moved past him into the room. "Dis seat taken?" Speltch asked to the room in general. He stopped to remove his bag from over his shoulder, an older canvas affair, with a flap cover and a hole in one corner, and the strap broke, dropping the bag to the floor. Speltch bent over to retrieve it, revealing a large tear in the rear of his pants. The troll did not appear to have on undergarments nor appear to be any cleaner under what clothes he did have on. He plunked himself down in the chair and marvelled at its luxuriousness, peering at its leather, and stroking the arm of the chair while muttering to himself.

Tos carefully looks around the room. Aside from "TuTusks" There were three trolls and the gray-hatted Orc. He was aware of their races without exactly knowing why. He had often found himself thinking about these little "facts" that he knew, without knowing how. It could be so frustrating sometimes.

Not knowing how many others were supposed to be coming Tos decided to take the time to really look at his companions.
He started with the Troll that had entered last. Of course, it was hard to miss the "runt." The room had begun to stink of refuse and a robust cocktail of dried bodily fluids. The guy looked worse than he smelled. Tos could understand the not being able to clean himself; he'd been sleeping in his van since he woke up that day. But, Mr. Stench was ridiculous. He found himself wondering what this man could do that would make him so useful.

That brought him to the Troll which had preceded the walking urinal. Now this guy was a Troll! He was at least twice as tall as Tos. Mr. Big was dressed like any other street tough, but there was a sense about him of... well Tos couldn't quite put his finger on it, but this guy seemed to bring a presence with him, almost as though it were outside himself.

Then there was the Ork who had preceded Tos into the room. From the stark form of dress, he looked more like one of the people Bob and Murry refered to as “wage-slaves.” That is, if it weren’t for a certain gleam in his eye. Tos found himself feeling as though this Mr. Hat might bear watching.

That left the troll who had been sitting down when Tos entered. He’d seen the guy enter the ally ahead of Mr. Hat, but hadn’t really gotten a good look at him. Now he noticed the guy was white, and not the natural pinky-flesh color elves and humans had. No, this was more like dead flesh. His hair and eyes were the same. Mr. White didn’t look anything like Mr. Big, but they shared a certain quality…

Shaking his head a little, Tos looked over to “TuTusks” with an expectant expression.

Gnash nodded amiably at each new arrival as they entered. He was glad to see another ork in the mix, though he had no qualms with trolls whatsoever. He noticed the other ork giving everyone the once-over, and he gave him the thumb-and-forefinger 'pistol' salute, but the other missed it. At least, he hadn't acknowledged the gesture, anyway. Gnash let it pass, there was no rush to make introductions, and he resumed his patient stance; his expression that of calm serenity, as if he had no greater ambition nor concern than to hold up that section of wall for however long it pleased Mr Two-Tusks.

"Greetings I am TuTusks, glad you could make it here, please take a seat and lets discuss why you are here."

TuTusks puts his pipe down after one last pull from it, blowing a last smoke ring.

Once you are seated, "I am an agent for a factor that is experiencing traffic issues, ie missing or damaged goods, down here in the Ork Underground. The few survivors of the event have little to describe what happened to them or their cargo, they are basically not coherent when it comes to the time of when it happened to them. But in each event all the cargo is missing and some of the cargo handlers as well. Large amounts of blood were discovered at the scenes, all of it the cargo handlers. Also the cargo handlers were not novices at the cargo moving game either. In their field they are viewed as very good. That is why I have taken the effort to assembly you all here."

TuTusks sits back and waits for you questions.

What could rip apart a group of armed men without a scratch?

Tos looked around the room, he could see that the others were absorbing what had just been given to them, but he needed more information.

"Sir, if you don't mind, can we have some more clarifying information? How many men were apart of these caravans? Of those, how many survived?" Gauging how strong their opponents were... not that he had much to compare with... seemed like a good idea.

"Were all of the attacks in a specific area, or scattered throughout the Underground?" Location would be important, right? If this was happening all over, it would be harder to track them down... wouldn't it?

"Do the clients want retrieval of the goods, punishment for the perpetrators, or both?" He pointedly looked around the room again to gauge everyone's reaction to the last question.

In the past few days he had met a variety of men. Some were thinkers, but others were blood-thirsty killers. Tos wanted to know which type he would be dealing with. Although, from what TuTusks had just said it might be best if he had more blood-thirsty killers at hand when they went looking for whoever, or whatever, had been opening caravans like those tins of fish he'd been eating the past few days.

Two tusks had gotten straight to the point - and by straight to the point, he had pretty much spelt it all out for them on a silver platter. True, questions needed to be asked, but he was more concerned with the crew that he seemed to have been burdened with for this.

A more concerning problem in his mind was the sight of another man's behind from the one that had already sat down... but father had said to be polite before all things.

"Thank you Mr Tusks... I think I shall," he said, as he gently took a seat a way aways from the rip of the man's trousers as he was politely allowed to do.

"I understand how we all probably have quite a few questions, but.. um.. I feel I should introduce myself before anything else. Boris. Nice to meet you all."

Having experience with Mafia families and their politics, Gnash had adopted many of the same views - in particular, that you never allowed anything to reflect poorly on the Family or its associates. Another characteristic he'd learned was that anything could be tolerated and dealt with. So, after Mr TwoTusks was finished speaking - politeness was another habit ingrained in him - Gnash removed his long coat and while speaking, stepped over to the shabbily-dressed troll and held the coat out to him: "I only got one question, Mr TwoTusks. Was dey carryin da same kind of merchandise in each hit?"
With his attention focused mainly on the ork behind the desk, it took a moment or two for Gnash to realize the troll had not taken the coat. Looking around, he saw the troll giving him an exasperated gaze and Gnash finally caught on to his mistake. The troll, half again as tall and wide as he, could never squeeze his frame into the long coat designed for an ork. With a shrug and a wry smirk at his goof, Gnash stepped back, took a seat himself, and returned to listening to the briefing, the expression of patient serenity that was his usual outward appearance once more affixed to his fface.

Speltch scratched his armpit under his coat for a brief moment before his hand reappeared, and he examined something that he held between his thumb and forefinger, before popping whatever it was into his mouth. He realized a moment later that he was around other people and looked embarrassed as TuTusks began to talk. One of the others had walked up to Speltch while he was busy and he started slightly before realizing that the Ork was holding something out to him. Speltch shrunk away from the Ork, slightly extending a hand that shook negatively...Get away, get away, GET AWAYYYY!!! he thought to himself more from being startled than from not wanting the coat. As the Ork turned away, Speltch realized that he coulda traded that nice new coat for a couple of decent soy meals and he cursed himself mentally...

TuTusks gave his little spiel about what they were there for. Speltch had a pretty good idea why he was there. He was pretty good at finding stuff, like caverns, hidden areas, sometimes even people...If the people had guns...Speltch could suss out people with guns from quite a ways a way, mostly because he didn't like going near people with guns. The metas in this room looked like they could all use guns fairly effectively...Least he assumed so, usually only semi proficient people were called in on jobs like this, and Speltch himself was definitely not one of the gun toters...From the sounds of it, we're going to need more than a couple guys good with guns.... Subconsciously, Speltch started to go over the spell in his mind....His escape spell. His salvation spell. He muttered the syllables under his breath slightly as the others began asking questions, his attention turned within, before realizing that one of the others had said something about names...

"Oh, erm...You 'can call me Speltch. Tha's me name, yup." Speltch nodded to the room in general and TuTusks in particular. "An, I don' wanna seem...how'd'ya say it? Outta line? But d'ere was some talk 'bout some...nuyen jus' fer...showin' up? Maybe we should get d'at before...well, yuh know...we all get carried away an'...an' ask a buncha stuff..." Speltch looked and spoke hesitantly...almost hungrily, looking towards their potential employer....

Inbetween a short break of the ongoing discussion W.A.F.E. speaks up: My name is W.A.F.E., nice to meet you *...short side glance on the sleazy ones...* all. Regarding these transports you mentioned, I can only align with the questions already asked. Would you be so kind and give us some more beackground information, TuTusks?

TuTusks watches you each speak and listens.

"There have been 5 such caravans." Tutusks smiles and waits a moment.

"First only had 6 sec men, 2 non secs, cargo was medical supplies *coughs* and used warez *coughs*, what was left was unable to speak or tell what happened to them, of the cargo no trace was found."

"Second had 8 sec men, 1 sec mage, 3 non secs, cargo was medical supplies *coughs*, used warez *coughs* and quality liquors *coughs*, again nothing left to speak of what happened to them or the cargo they were transporting."

"Third had 10 sec men, 2 sec mages, 4 non secs, cargo was medical supplies *coughs*, used warez *coughs* , quality liquors *coughs*, and surplus ammunitions *coughs* again nothing left to speak of what happened to them or the cargo they were transporting."

"Fourth had 12 sec men, 3 sec mages, 1 sec adept, 6 non secs, cargo was medical supplies *coughs*, used warez *coughs* , quality liquors *coughs*, surplus ammunitions *coughs*, industrial explosives *coughs* again nothing left to speak of what happened to them or the cargo they were transporting."

"Fifth had 14 sec men, 4 sec mages, 2 sec adepts, 8 non secs, cargo was medical supplies *coughs*, used warez *coughs* , quality liquors *coughs*, surplus ammunitions *coughs*, industrial explosives *coughs* and luxury foods *coughs*, but this time a sec adept survived long enough to talk. He did not see much a darkness enveloped them, rendering natural, cybernetic and magical sight blind. But due in part of his adept abilities he was able to fight some of them, he knows he fought himself 4 of them, was too busy to know how many others. He knows he killed 2 of them. He knows someone triggered a distress signal of a nature he does not know. All his wireless was rendered nonoperational during the fight. He knows at least one of his sec mates was fighting them also, he heard the troll's laughter, sound of his blades cutting into things, and his invoking his deity figure ODIN. The same troll fell over the top of the adept shielding him for what happened afterwords. The adept was horribly burned by a fiery acidic substance. He survives and and is being treated here in the Ork Underground."

TuTusks pauses and watches each of them.

"At each scene all traces were magically erased"

"The organization that organized these underground caravans is not a novice nor clueless. But their reputation is at stake in this which in their line of work is paramount. In this last caravan all the sec men has expended large amounts of ammunition, from the traces on the walls the sec mages got a few spells off."

TuTusks sits back and waits for the questions.

In a clearly astonished voice: So you tell us there were 5 cargo transports, the last of them guarded by 28 men, of which 14 were trained security personel and three were trained security hermeticians? Nonetheless all 5 transports were robbed with near to no evidence whatsoever and the cargo lost? W.A.F.E. gives away a deep bass chuckle and continues: So now comes the funny part: What exactly do you need us for?

For the first time in, well, longer than he could remember, Gnash found it almost impossible to hold on to his trademark outward calm. Incredulity conflicted with serenity and both were overshadowed by dread. The effect - resembling a petit mal seizure - lasted mere moments before he managed to get ahold of himself once more, his face smoothing into calmness again as WAFE voiced a question, but his tongue felt frozen to the roof of his mouth and he could only look to Mr TwoTusks hoping the ork was not seriously sending them on a suicide mission.

Tos wasn't really able to follow TuTusks description through all the imagery flooding his mind as the man spoke. Mage, that word made him think of balls of fire and strange figures that seemed too fantastic to be real. He wasn't sure which disturbed him more the insanity of the imagery filling his mind, or the surety he felt that such things were in fact real... and that he may have been exposed to such things. Tos came back to himself when he heard Mr. Big speaking.

28 men, and multiple mages?! How can that happen?

Tos couldn't recall if his earlier question had been answered, so trying to sound as though he understood the risks involved he asked again. "Were all of the attacks in the same place, or did they attempt different routes?" Tos shuddered at the idea of so many people being taken out at any time, in anyplace...

TuTusks listens and watches each of their body languages as they speak.

"Correction the last one was not guarded by 28, but 14 security types, 3 security type mages and 1 security type adept. The non security types lets call them truck drivers and loaders."

"Let my clarify the reason for your hiring you are to hunt down those that did this and eliminate them as messily as you are able to. You will not be guarding any caravans etc. Be as effective as you deem necessary to seeking in the pursuit of your goal."

"I am to be your resource coordinator in the endeavor. If you have not yet guessed most of what happened in the underground reaches of Seattle and the nearby regions."

"All of the attacks were in totally different locations at different times. The client who is hiring you figures they have a mole or moles with in their organization, reason for a resource outside of their organization."

"I don' know nothin' from magic," Gnash stated, regaining his composure. He drew the
huge Warhawk revolver from its shoulder holster, held it up at shoulder height with
the barrel pointed at the ceiling, and added, "But one good shot with dis baby an'
dose creeps ain't gonna bother youse no more, Mr TwoTusks."
Reholstering the weapon, he looked around the room at the others, then asked TwoTusks,
"All right, which corp we talkin' 'bout? Do we gotta inside guy? Or do we gotta do dis
da hard way."

Speltch frowned slightly at the mention of mages, frowned deeper at the talk of mages fighting, casting and disappearing, and then his eyebrows furled into confusion at the mention of magic cleansing..."And what do you mean about 'magically cleansed'? How do ya know that? And is the person who found that out available for us to talk to?" Speltch interjected during a pause. The troll took a moment to adjust himself in his chair, and an ominous, low toned rumble announced itself from below the table level. Speltch had the decency to look embarrassed, or at least perplexed...It was a bit difficult to tell.

"Also, can you tell us of what sort of precautions besides route and schedule changes were taken that might have been different from their normal ways of doin' stuff? Maybe what sort of spells were cast? And maybe what sorta info was gathered between thefts, so we don't cover the same ground over again?" Speltch scratched the left side of his face and something dark and mysterious fell off onto the tabletop. He quickly brushed it off the table into his lap...

The flashing red icon in his HUD let Tos know he'd received a message. As he thought about it, the icon expanded across his glasses to display a message from Bob. Apparently the drones had been listening in on the conversation.

<< From: Bob

Did you hear that boss? We get to geek stuff! Murry is so happy he's about ready to spill oil! >>

As he skimmed the first, a second message popped up in response.

<< From: Murry

I say we leave Bob behind, he's got a slow trigger. >>

Those two are always making jokes.

His attention snapped back to the room when he saw Mr. Hat brandishing his hand-canon and saying

Quote :

"All right, which corp we talkin' 'bout? Do we gotta inside guy? Or do we gotta do dis
da hard way."

At the word "corp" Tos was slammed with a memory. More precisely, a strong impression with brief moments of clarity. It was black, and there was pain. So much pain. His head roared, and he could hardly breath. Something was pressing into his chest, he could hardly breath. Something gummed his eyes, through his lashes he could just make out two figures standing over him. Something shining in their hands... an emblem on their chest... he could almost make it out. He tried to blink to clear his sight, but as his eyes closed he felt himself falling. Falling away from the men, from the pain, all that was left was the darkness. Then, even the memory of that was gone.

Tos shook himself, he was covered in a cold sheen of sweat. Mr. Stench had called himself "Speltch," and was speaking.

Quote :

...so we don't cover the same ground over again?"

Frag! What did I miss? What was that I just saw?

TuTusks listens and looks at Speltch.

"There are magical means for you to be able to track someone or something magically, there are also ways I mean spells that make such magical tracking ineffective. There are magical spells that removed any DNA, fingerprints, and any magical links. Such a spell was more than likely used after each attack."

All what you have suggested was implemented ie changing routes, methods etc. None of which seemed to work. Yes this will have to be the hard way."

This is not a corp that is hiring you"

"Their is strong evidence that a mole or moles exist with in the organization, so access to any information from the organization or persons employed by the organization would compromise the tracking down of the attackers."

Gnash listened closely as TuTusks spoke, catching on the words 'mole' and 'organization' like familiar beacons in the darkness. Though some of the Johnson's words escaped him, Gnash knew quite well what a mole was, and though he had some passing knowledge of the group they were being called to assist, he understood the overall situation; somebody had guys planted in the organization to scope out shipment details which they then sent to those who later attacked and made off with the goods.
"So yous wan' us ta be your moles in dis group, Mr TwoTusks?" he asked, thinking he'd hit on the boss' plan. "Dat way we can find out who's leakin' info an' take down da pirates at da same time."

It would be nice if we could get to the point. What exactly do you want us to do? Do you want us to be a part of the next security team guarding a transport? Do you want us to shadow the next transport? Do you want us to investigate and their will be no more transports? Fishing in the dark so to say. Or what? Ahh and most important, how much are we talking? *lifting the right hand and rubbing thumb and forefinger against each other*

"Or is it that you already have a lead... and you want us to follow it from the shadows while your people pretend they have no idea what to do?"

He moved forward on his seat, placing his hands in front of him, in deep thought. He had been quiet this whole time, processing the words going back and forth. TuTusks has always been reliable... in a way. You didn't make a name for yourself if you always try to shank your runners in the back. But it stilll felt like there was something... off... about this mission.

"Unless, of course, you're waiting for us to say if we'd agree to do it or not..."

"Mr. TuTusks, sir. " Tos said, looking around the room at the rest of the "team." Clearing his throat he started again. "Sir, you said our new Boss is worried that this is an inside job. While I understand that you don't want us to officially be in contact with them, as this would likely drive the mole underground until this all blows over. Would it be possible for us to get the info on the organization and as much as you can about the members? This will give us a place to start looking from the outside. Additionally, have any of you heard of anybody recently increasing their holdings in the Underground? Any shifts in territory? This has the scent of a power play as opposed to simple robbery. Whoever is doing this is targeting our new Boss for a reason, and it I doubt it is just because our Boss has stuff. Our Boss wants us to find who did this, and punish them as brutally as possible."

Tos looked directly at TuTusks

"Or have I completely misjudged what you've been telling us?"