Into Shadow IC

The trio, as unsure of each other as their surroundings and purpose, trooped in a loose formation back to the control room. The chamber was still dimly lit, though the once-active terminal now showed a dark, blank screen. Gor, the enigmatic minotaur, remained standing near the electronic wall panel but was no longer plugged in.

Upon entering, Ronin and Suspect immediately notice a change in Gor's demeanor. Presumably, the minotaur received some form of personality upgrade as part of the download. He appears more directly aware - more 'there' - than before.

"Alright, we're running out of time, so I'll brief you all on the move. They'll have detected the power surge it took to bring you here, but that was a necessary risk. Time to gear up. Come with me."

Gor headed to a blank wall and, placing his palm on the sheer, unmarked surface, activated some unseen mechanism which 'dissolved' the wall into another doorway.

"This way, quickly!"

A short time later, after following Gor through more dark corridors which lit up by sections with the same dim, flickering light from indirect lighting fixtures spaced along the point where ceiling and wall met - many of which gave off a buzzing sound or simply refused to glow at all - similar to that of the control room. Anyone glancing back along their path would notice that the sections of corridor previously traversed were again thrown into pitch blackness.

"This world," Gor explained as they hurried along, "is too far gone for rescue...unless you are successful." His quick glance back at the three of you is both ominous and foreboding. "Things are running down here. Electrical power is almost nonexistent. As you may have noticed, I am able to run what little light and equipment I use from my own power generator, but my capacity is limited. If I drain myself too low..." He let the thought go unspoken.

Coming to a halt before another seemingly blank section of wall, Gor placed his palm against the surface and another door sizzled into view. He passed through the entryway and into a room that made each of your breaths stop in stunned amazement. What lay before you was an armory the likes of which would make any petty dictator in the 6th World drool with visions of conquest. Firearms of all kinds, ammo, melee weapons, gear...even a few vehicles with attached turrets.

"The vehicles are useless without fuel, but the weapons, armor, and gear should still be functional. I suggest automatic weapons with high rates of fire. And remember to pack as much ammo as you can carry and still run."

(Ok folks, you can outfit your characters here. Grab your char sheet gear plus whatever weapons you like. All weapons and gear from SR4-A and Arsenal is available. Ammo packs (like a backpack) and worn ammo belts can add additional rounds in an easy-to-carry configuration. Its Christmas come early! "Dashing through the volcanic ash, in an armored Bulldog van..."

Ronin [Armory]

A smile broke out on Ronin’s beautiful face when the Demon opened she door to the armory. Finally a suitable weapon. But her smile soon vanished when she didn’t immediately see a suitable weapon. Racks and racks of guns and ammo but she could not see any honorable weapons. It also dawned on her that this may be a trap.

{Japanese} “Demons are not to be trusted, be on your guard.” She says to her companions, the idea that they do not speak Japanese even entered her mind.

Power cable at the ready the Samurai stepped into the armory to seek out gear.

Some time later Ronin return to the entrance of the armory dressed like some kind of 21st century samurai. Gone are her Kimono and shorts to be replaces with some form fitting body armor that leaves little to the imagination and reveals that she possesses one of the best bodies money can buy. Over that she wears several pieces of samurai armor, but instead of wood they are made of modern composites (the helmet has the demon face mask that works as the necessary environmental protection). A Katana, and its companion blades are tucked in her Obi. A couple of quivers of arrow stick up over her shoulder, she carries a large duffle in one hand and a bow in the other.

{Japanese} “Demon, you have given me this blade, I dedicate it’s use to your service. I am servant. Show me the enemy and I will defeat them.”

{Japanese to the others} “I am ready, lets go.”

[OOC: Jagger, she has the Monowhip tucked somewhere safe and I will have an official gear and arrow listing for you by this weekend (ie the contents of the satchel and quivers]

Despite himself, Suspect whistled appreciatively at the impressive display of combat ordinance. In an aside to Gor as he passed the bullman, he remarked, "You could fraggin equip a small damn army with all this drek."

Glancing around, he caught sight of the samurai girl unashamedly changing into what appeared to be a custom-designed armor suit. He approached the display of armor suits and selected a form-fitted full-body suit and several SecureTech PPP components, along with a SmartPouch system. As unabashedly as she, Suspect stripped down to his skivvies and began donning the armor. Lean and well-muscled, he knew women appreciated his physique, but he hardly gave the girl more than a cursory glance. He was not averse to women, quite the contrary, but now was neither the time nor the place.

Once suited up, Suspect moved on to the weapons' section. His gaze took on an avaristic glint as he surveyed the myriad firearms laid out row upon row. Now and then he took up a weapon and examined it with the familiarity of intimate experience. As any comparative shopper, however, he replaced each item after his scrutiny and moved on to the next type. Some weapons he passed with hardly a glance, his expression scornful.

Ultimately he chose: an Auto-Assault 16 fully automatic shotgun with internal smartgun system and sling; a pair of Ares Predator IVs with quickdraw holsters; 4 fragmentation and 4 incendiary grenades; and an assortment of carrying gear (Jagger see character sheet.)

Fully outfitted, Suspect felt better prepared for whatever they were up against. The gear was cumbersome at first but he knew he would adjust quickly to the added weight. He considered a couple of Cougar fine longblades but dismissed the idea. For now, his titanium claws would suffice.

Looking about him, Leo was first astounded, then disgusted by this huge array of weapons in front of him.
He disliked cold steel, blades, even bullets for that matter. He crept quickly along the shelves, settling himself finally with some form-fitting armour under his clothes, and an Ingram SuperMach, holstering a Cavalier Deputy, stroking the barrel while doing so, favoring the classical "look" along with a couple of dozen of clips in his pants and anywhere he could put them. He turned around to the bull, "Got any medical supplies, any survival gear?"

Gor's gaze is pulled from the room to zero in on Leo as the Rastafarian asks about medical supplies and survival gear. The minotaur's eyes seem to brighten to a flaring intensity and he murmurs, "So, you are the-"
At that moment, Ronin arrives and Gor's scrutiny returns to normal.
"You will find what you seek there," he said to Leo, gesturing to the sought-after section.

"Your honor befits the tradition of samurai," Gor responds to Ronin's pledge. "I accept and receive your pledge as there is no one here of proper station besides myself."
Gor bowed formally to Ronin and, formalities completed, let his gaze drift back to fix upon Leo.

Ronin nods to the demon and takes up a watchful possition while she waits for the others. She follows his gaze to the strange talkin' elf wondering what that was all about.

Suspect returned to the armory entrance, still portioning out various items of gear and ammo among the smart pouches affixed to his combat load vest: a rating six medkit with extra antidote and stimulant slap patches; a wristband biomonitor; several spare clips of both explosive and armor-piercing rounds for his Predators, and four mags each of slug and flechette shells for the auto-shotgun. Anyone catching the expression on his face at that moment would have been reminded of a child at a krill-kandy vendor stand.

Once his kit was stowed, he set to subscribing his weapons' smartgun systems, cyberware systems, and biomonitor to his armor suit's onboard network. The self-contained combat-ready suit came complete with a designated commlink with top-of-the-line Response and Signal ratings as well as a high-grade OS designed for automatic team integration and pre-installed TacNet software. In fact, the suit was so advanced that there was little for Suspect to do while the PAN first scanned and then calibrated all his peripherals for monitoring and optimal performance.
After a minute or so of watching this process on his helmet's HUD, a female voice spoke to Suspect:

"Network integration complete. Establishing user interface. Please designate preferred user address. Common addresses include; Sir, Boss, Lord, Master, etc."

"Sir," replied Suspect.

"Acknowledged, sir. Please designate preferred interface type: current, direct neural, visual only, or any combination including all."

Suspect considered this a moment. He wasn't too keen on the idea of an 'alien' device being directly linked to his gray matter, regardless of how advanced and user-friendly it may seem.
"Audio-Visual for now."

"Acknowledged, sir. Please designate preferred System address. Common addresses include: Computer, System, PAN, etc. In addition, several Personality packages are available, including Sultry Samantha, Mommie Dearest, Max Headnode, etc, as well as a wide selection of classic video and trideo celebrity personalities."

"Let's just stick with Computer and the current personality."

"Acknowledged, sir. User interface is now established and online. Would you like a status report, sir?"

"Not right now."

"Acknowledged."

Now that the preliminaries were over, Suspect once again turned his attention to the matter at hand as well as those around him.
"Aright," he said flatly. "So what's the game plan?"

After having left the armory, Gor led the team to what looked to be a heavily secured door similar to those used in bank vaults. Next to the door was an access panel with a numeric keypad and a palm scanner. Gor entered his passcode and pressed his hand to the reader. There was a loud metallic clunk as the maglock released, then a heavy grating sound issued from the portal as the door itself began to turn in a counter-clockwise spin, literally unscrewing itself from the surrounding wall. A massive hinge slowly swung outward until the door was free.

As the door swung away the group got its first glimpse of the world outside whatever sanctuary or citadel they'd arrived in, and were shocked to find it eerily familiar. What they stood gazing at was Seattle; but even as the well-known cityline and landscape were revealed, the feeling of disorientation swept over them at the realization that this was obviously not the Emerald City of their home.
The city had an abandoned, forlorn cast to it, as if ancient beyond reckoning. Everything within sight was covered with a layer of ash and dust; litter tumbled past, blown by a dry, stale wind; the smell of rotting garbage and something sweeter and meatier drifted through the streets; stripped and rusted hulks of old cars sat slowly disintegrating along curbs whose paint had been long ago paled by acid rain; but above all this, the thing that struck the group the hardest was the silence. No horns blared, no murmur of vehicle engines or pedestrians, no billboards or ad banners cried out their slogans along the storefronts. The place could be summed up in one word...dead.

Gor stepped through the 'hatchlock' and stood silently scanning their immediate surroundings for a few moments. Then, as if sensing danger, or perhaps hearing some telltale sound too low for the others to catch, he suddenly raised both arms before him with the palms out like a traffic cop signalling 'Stop' and shouted to the team:

"We are too late! They are here! Prepare to fight or die!"

Almost as if his words had been a summons a band of filthy, raggedy-dressed individuals abruptly broke from cover - from doorways, around building corners, popping out from behind rusty car bodies - and charged unhesitantly towards the four standing outside the sanctuary. The expression in their dirty faces was of mindless, hysterical desperation. Some waving crude clubs, some bearing improvised edged weapons, they hurled themselves pellmell into the street, screaming incoherent curses and gnashing their broken and rotting teeth in grimaces of bloodlust.

Ronin takes one look at the hoard and realizes that they are in an extremely vulnerable position where they are at. But the samurai wouldn't back down. There was no time for a plan, it was fight or die.

{japanese} "there are to many for style and grace. Use your guns, I will handle any that get to close. If we get overwealmed we pull back to the last corver of the hall we came through, it will make a nice choke point where it narrowed." She hoped they understood Japanese because the enemy weren't going to give her time to repeat herself.

The Samurai pulled her katana and started whispering prayers to her ancestors.

Suspect drew his auto-shotgun and pumped a shell into the chamber. Finally, an enemy he could 'sink his teeth' into. Up to now he'd been obliged to tag along with the others but thin tendrils of doubt had crept into his mind about this whole deal.

But here was a chance to get it on!

From the corner of his eye he caught movement from the samurai girl as she drew her sword, but her words - unintelligible to him anyway - were drowned out as he opened fire on the approaching ragtag crowd. The recoil from his weapon, set on full-auto, slammed against him as he rained down a torrent of shot.
Bellowing at the top of his lungs, though completely unaware of it, he swept the shotgun's muzzle from left to right in a slow, flat arc as round after round blasted across the shrinking gap between his position and the onrushing attackers.

As Suspect blasted away on one side of Ronin, a hail of what sounded like heavy-caliber rounds erupted from gor's side as well. Almost as if choreographed, the two strafed the line of attackers with cold precision.
As Ronin watched, the attackers were literally torn apart by the onslaught. Bodies were first spun around and then exploded; pieces of torn arms, legs, even decapitated heads littered the street. Blood, seeming too brightly red against the washed-out grayness, streaked and splattered the street, the vehicles, even the rundown building front at the far side of the street. The wails of the onrushers were mostly cut off before they could hardly begin to pierce the air.

It quickly became aparrent to Ronin that the attackers - about twenty or so - would never make it far enough across the gap for her to need her sword. Even now a few tried to turn and flee, only to be backshot and collapse in the gore-streaked gutter or sidewalk.

When the last of the attackers laid still - its carcass so decimated it hardly resembled anything metahuman - the echoes of gunfire slammed back and forth down the now empty streets, fading slowly. The resulting silence was so loud it seemed as if sound itself had fled the carnage.

Head down, lips pressed into a thin, almost bloodless line, Suspect disengaged the auto-shotgun's spent clip, let it fall to the ground, and slammed in a fresh one. This done, he shouldered the Mossberg and then turned to face the bullman, his expression one of incredulity.

"This is your deadly horde?" he demanded with a wave toward the litter of the 'chewed up' remains on the street. "This is what's decimated this world?"

He was fuming and still flying on a rush of combat-induced adrenaline, but he couldn't stop. He wanted to jam the barrel of the Mossberg up their so-called leader's hoop and give him a full-clip enema.

"You seriously expect me to believe you couldn't have handled a few thousand of those poor slots?"

As the echoes of gunfire faded in the distance, other sounds replaced them - the hungry cries of still more of the enraged remnants of this decimated version of the Sixth World. The sounds were presently far off but approaching rapidly.

(GM Note: From this point on characters are free to move and act on their own initiative. Gor will act as a source of information, combat ally, and a plot hook, but you guys can do what you like.)

Ignoring the bullman for the moment, Suspect turned to the 'sam-ette' and said, "I don't fraggin know if this drek is what we were brought here for or not, but I say we take it to 'em!" He indicated the still-wet wreckage of their recent kills with an offhand gesture. "If this drek is all they can offer as resistance, we can mow 'em down like fraggin dead wheat! You in?"

The idea of this being an alternate reality or dimensional doppelganger of their own world had proven to give Suspect a taste for all-out homicide - not a difficult transformation at all. Finally here was a way for the man to indulge all his secret fantasies in a way far beyond his wildest dreams.
And, if no one else was willing to share in the game, he'd just go it alone. He wasn't going to let anyone deprive him of this once-in-a-lifetime chance!

Gor stands inmetahumanly still and silent, seemingly unconcerned about the impending arrival of more representatives from the team's 'welcoming committee.' Though he faces the others, his demeanor exhibits no reaction to the conversation or actions. By all accounts he appears to be in a state of hibernation or perhaps focused on some internal stimulus or function. The only telltale sign that he is even operational is the slowly pulsing radiance of his glowing red eyes...

Ronin ears are ringing from all of the gunfire that just surrounded her. She watched as the last of the Ghouls fell to the onslaught.

{Japanese} "And I am here why?" she asked noone in particular. With a sigh she sheathed her blade and turned towards Trigger Happy.

{English} "You may call me Ronin. I have sworn my blade to fight enemy, we will fight together, I join you."

The trio began their trek deeper into the gutted and desolate streets. The sun, westering towards late afternoon, twinkled and heliographed off the broken fragments of window glass, throwing the already darkening shadows into indistinguishable patterns. The steady wind tugged, tossed, and twirled fragments of litter along the gutters and sidewalks, adding further distraction.
The quality of sound became disorientating as they moved along as well. The wails and eager cries of the searching throngs echoed and rebounded off the buildings like canyon walls, creating a cacophony that seemed at times distant and at times all too near. The noise was both unnerving and defeated attempts at getting a fix on its origins.

(Everyone make a Perception test. If you have specializations, make a separate test for them.)

Despite some good quality implants, no one noticed six figures burst from the alleys on either side of the street. By the time the enemies were seen, the only action available would be melee combat. Screaming their charge, the ragged humanoids closed in for the kill.

Initiative rolls, please.

Ok, initiative order is:

Zombie Shufflers (surprise)
Gor 19
Suspect 17
Ronin 12

Let the slow dance begin! Maestro, if you please...

Ronin:

The Samurai was taken by surprise by the enemy. She drew her blade and prepared to see if the enemy would bleed

Logan barely had time enough to look in the direction of the ambushing cretins making their shambling rush from the alley on his side of the street before they were on him. Three rapidly shuffling undead closed in, their arms outstretched, fingers splayed out like claws, their movements uncoordinated as if unaware they had superior numbers.

Scums Attack

Despite the fact they outnumbered Logan, however, their battering, clutching assaults were virtually useless against Logan's armor. The feeble blows inflicted no real damage, although their combined attacks almost accidentally managed to knock the autoshotgun from Logan's grasp, and the weapon was kicked away in the scuffle.

Behind him, facing her own attackers, Logan vaguely heard Ronin draw her sword. The thought of attempting to assist her against these pitiful creatures was not only ludicrous but would most likely be viewed as an insult, and he let the vagrant thought pass with only the most minimal consideration.

Without the shotgun - the zombies were too close anyway - Logan grinned as he let his titanium claws extract with a sound similar to Ronin's blade sliding from its scabbard.

"School's out," he growled, and with lethal precision, prepared to retaliate.

Logan lets it RIP

Logan plowed into his enemies like a titanium-clawed wild thing. The zombies, barely hanging on to a semblance of animation anyway, fell quickly to his slashing and gutting claws. Though there was little to no real challenge to these gutter scum, Logan still revelled in the physical exertion; the flex and reflex of his augmented muscles always got his blood racing and his battle instincts riding the razor's fine edge.

All too soon the ill-fated attackers lay about his feet in crumpled and disemboweled heaps. One thing struck Logan as odd...no blood. His mind flashed back to their first encounter back at the sanctuary...the street and brick walls splattered with dripping gore and blood. What did this mean...?

The Enemy seemed to burst out of the very walls themselves and descended upon the companion. After a brief moment of surprise with the demons scratching at the Samurai's armor Ronin freed her sword.

Scum attack Agility2+Unarmed2+Friends1 (5d6.hits(5)=2, 5d6.hits(5)=1, 5d6.hits(5)=1)

She managed a defensive step back her sword held before her.

"I have been charged with saving this world, I mean no dishonor against you but the demons must be cleansed."

She steps forward, steel flashing:

Spoiler:

a quick slash and a counter slash and two of the demon lay on the cracked pavement, their bodies twitching in their death throws.

The Samurai chick turns to the final demon that attacked her.

Second initiative pass: attack on remaining scum (13d6.hits(5)=2)

Steel flashes in the dieing sun and another body hits the ground.

She looks down on the twitching bodies of the demons, for that is what she things of these thing: Humans once but possessed and animated by demons.

{Japanese} " Go back to the hell From which you came, do not come back"

The battle had ended, it had lasted only a few seconds. She turned to her companion. {English} Are you ok?

She waits for an answer and then rolld the bodies, not expecting to find anything but also not willing to let anything useful get missed.

Ronin and Logan stood amid the corpses of the vanquished; already growing still as their unnaturally endowed life forces ebbed away. With the earlier echoes of gunfire now gone and mostly forgotten, the distant cries of the unseen hordes were fading to intermittent howls of frustration and rage, or perhaps a few were simply the lamentations of those damned to endlessly wander, restlessly seeking they knew not what.

The sun continued to sink toward the far horizon, casting the streets into a deeper gloom with each passing moment. Shadows stretched and lengthened like grasping fingers ready to clutch the unwary traveler and drag them away to unknowable realms of unspeakable horrors. The whisper-whisk of wind-swept bits of litter made the deepening darkness seem alive with furtive, phantom movement. Above all, the first dim stars twinkled gleefully, heralding the impending night and whatever predators might stalk there.

The two unwilling visitors to this dreary reflection of their home began to feel a prickling sensation between their shoulderblades, the tiny hairs of the neck and arms tensing as if receiving a small electrical current. Though similar to the 'feeling of being watched,' this was more a sense of apprehension, like a premonition of some approaching danger or penultimate event. Nervous energy began to tense the muscles and quicken the pulse, triggering an unease that only intensified the escalating dread.

Ronin felt a combination of satifaction and disappointment from the fight with the undead. Surly this isn’t the great enemy the horned demon spoke of, if so then maybe this world deserved to perish to the hoard. Her blade had not tasted blood but yet it was covered with…something that oozed from the bodies. She wiped the blade clean. She had proved herself well in the battle though there is no honor in fighting those who are so much weaker, the enemy stood no chance against her armor and her blade.

{English} “It is getting late, demons are creatures of night, we are not. We should find a place to secure for the night. Perhaps one of these buildings has a room we can secure” (Of course spoken in her broken heavily accented English)

The Samurai chick looked around for a building that looked less decrepit, one with a good solid plasteel construction that they will be able to secure for the night.

With a grunt of disgust at these pitiable wretches, Logan squatted to snatch at the remains of one of his victim's tattered clothing, searching the body for anything useful, or perhaps something that might give a clue as to what had happened to them. He was not, however, surprised to find nothing of any value whatsoever.

Still squatting, Logan felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and he tensed, suddenly wary. Moving only his head and eyes, he scanned the street and shop fronts for any sign of further threat.

Studying the Area

Despite his visual enhancements - low-light was being hampered by the fragments of sunlight still seeping in between some of the buildings, and there seemed to be little to no residual heat signatures for his infrared, there was nothing to see aside from the 'ordinary' apocalyptic downtown facade. Still, some part of Logan's senses, the baser, primal accuity to danger, was firing his nerves and making him feel tense, almost jittery.

"Ronin-" he began, but she was already speaking, almost as if she'd delved directly into his own thoughts. He grunted agreement and rose up from his crouch to join her in the search for a suitable refuge.