The runners open the envelope; inside is a single piece of paper folded in thirds and a small, single-burn datachip. The paper has a decryption code for the chip and a reminder, written in the same neat hand that the original note was written: “48 Hours, Saturday Night At Silphid. No Later Than 1 AM.”
The rigger deftly inserts the chip into a slot in the van’s dashboard and punches in the decryption key. The vehicle’s heads-up display hums to life and black text starts to scrolls up the screen, terminating with a flashing red warning message. The runners read it, then look up at each other. Their first run has been assigned.
The target for this run is a silver metal briefcase. It measures 22”x14”x4” and weighs approximately 4 kilograms. You are to acquire this briefcase by whatever means necessary and deliver it to this location:
Intersection of 177th and Locust
No later than this date:
1 AM Sunday, February 6th, 2061
This is what is known about the target’s whereabouts and other expected conditions:
The case will be transported through Chicago’s O’Hare International airport at 7 P.M. on Friday, February 4th. This is marked on your area map as location A; the return location is location B. The case will be carried by a courier who has been positively identified; a photo has been provided. The courier will not relinquish the case willingly; he may even be unable to do so. Only he and his employers know the combination to open the case.
The courier will be picked up by two Lone Star escorts. They will be driving a marked Ares Roadmaster with registered VIN# 1M8GDM9AXKJ573048 and Illinois plate ID# LS3-5639. Their exact route of ingress to O’Hare is unknown at this time, as is their final destination, but they are expected to be taking major interstates. The only certainty as to the escort’s behavior is that they have no confirmed security clearances with O’Hare, meaning they will have to meet the courier in a publicly accessible location.
There will be a base rate awarded for successful delivery of the target to the return location within the specified time frame.
Bonuses will be paid for:
1) Delivery of the courier (alive) OR
2) Extraction of the combination to the case.
This contract will be invalidated if:
1) The case is opened. DO NOT OPEN THE CASE. Doing so may be hazardous to yourself and those around you.
2) The contents of the case are damaged in any way.
3) The time limit for completion is exceeded.
“Well drek, that doesn’t sound that simple.” The mercenary scratched at his tusk in irritation. “Let’s see, we can’t just blow away the car if he’s in it. We could loose the case, plus theres a bonus for bringing him in breathing.”
“Blow away the car?” Ling Fei pulled the fried chip out of its reciever and threw it out the window. “We have to freaking find him first. Then we can worry about the car. Then we can worry about the case.”
“Hrrrm. Agreed. We should head to the airport as soon as possible and have a look at the terrain, where he’s likely to come out and where he might be meeting up with lonestar.” The rigger looks to the ork, who nods in approval. She draws a cord from beneath the steering wheel and plugs it in behind her ear, shivering as the Roadmaster roars to life. She hunches over and rubs her arms vigorously.
“Brrr. Slottin’ cold out tonight.” She pulls out of the parking lot and points the vehicle in the direction of the airport, letting the autonav guide her through the intersections.
The ork attempts to shift his bulk into as comfortable a position as possible in the front seat, the cat shaman curling up slightly in the bench seat in back.
Crusher speaks. “Anyone got any bright ideas? I can’t think of anything more brillant than just letting them drive to a secluded area and giving them the jump.”
Ling Fei’s voice crackles from the speakers inside the van. “There’s too many variables with that strategy. We could frag the courier, or even the case itself. Besides, opening up on a lonestar van will only give us more stars to deal with, even if we do get the package out of the wreckage. What we need is a way to get to the man without having the cops immediately open up. What if we just posed as his escort? If we play it off right, we could tell him we’re operating in plainsclothes and an unmarked car to avoid unwanted attention.”
Moonclaw leaned forwards slightly to be heard over the engine. “Too risky. They’d be stupid not to have some sort of set greeting or some other way of confirming each other, and it would be impossible to guess it. We’re going to have to dispatch the guards, but I agree that it’s way too risky to just open fire on them. If we can just create a diversion, something to get them to stop the car or even get out, I’ll be able to sneak up on them and put the driver out before the other two know what’s going on. Hrrm. Assuming none of them are awakened. There’s no turning invisible in astral space.”
The elf emitted a thoughtful hum. “I like it. We should use our strengths to our advantage, and I doubt either of the grunts are going to be casters, and even if the courier is we just need to keep him distracted long enough for Moonclaw to do her damage.”
“Right, but lonestar ain’t gonna stop for just anything, especially if they’ve got a fancy case to get somewheres. We’re gonna have to get out into the street ahead of ‘em, and then we’re gonna have to make it compelling enough that they don’t just drive around and carry on.”
“Yea, something that tugs on the heartstrings. How about some sort of domestic abuse scenario? A big mean ork slaps his pretty elf girlfriend around onto the street, and she runs crying for the lonestar conviently rolling down the block. At the very least, I should be able to make them stop and open the door or window. Will that be enough?”
“Grrhmm.. Should be. only takes a second to strangle a man unconscious with a shock glove. I just need enough time to sneak up alongside them.”
“Well, you’re being awfully quiet over there cap’. What do you think?”
The ork was silent for a moment, an ugly, pissed off look on his face. “What do I think? It’s god damn fraggin’ racist is what I think.” The van was silent. “But it’s our best shot. I’m willing to play the wife-beating drekhead if it means getting the job done. Although it feelin’ fraggin’ shitty.”
“I understand. It feels wrong but I think it’s our best bet with the cards we’ve got, and I think playing up the stereotypes can only improve our odds.”
The ork nodded, his face relaxing. “Agreed. Regardless, we should stay open to any new plans. No reason to get locked into one half-baked scheme. Let’s see what sort of recon we can get together at the airport and we’ll move from there, then maybe we’ll head back for a bit of rest and gun-greasin’ before we meet up in the afternoon to stake up.”
“Sounds good, bossman.”
The Ares Roadmaster hums along I-94 over and above the darkened intersections of Chicago’s South side. The lights of Chicago rise up gradually on the right, contrasting sharply with the black emptiness over Lake Michigan. The skyscraper’s spotlights and perpetual, corporate loglo cast narrow shadows through the van’s slitted windows which drift around lazily over the interior surfaces and passengers. There isn’t much traffic this late at night, and the lights of the city fall away behind them as the team approaches O’Hare International airport from the East.
The layout of the approach to O’Hare is not much different in 2061 than it was fifty years ago; urban development stagnated when goblinization turned most of the lower East and South sides into orks and dwarves, which proceeded to kill each other in mass gang combat, and patronage of the International airports fell all over the world because people started to feel less safe at home, much less in a foreign country. There were some additions to the structure of the runways and surrounding clear zones made in 2026, but these have been seen as a largely wasted investment.
The Kennedy Expressway travels West and enters the airport, after which it turns into a circular hub about one mile long with traffic moving counterclockwise. In the center of the hub are a large parking deck, accessed by a service road coming off the Kennedy Expressway, and a train depot. The deck is bare, grey concrete and is 15 levels high, with spiraling ramps on the North and South ends going up and down, respectively. The train depot is painted a nice red-burgundy, and is modeled after old-fashioned train stations in the Midwest; despite this, it is rarely used.
There are inner lanes for quick-moving traffic separated by concrete barriers from the outer lanes, which interface with the terminal proper. After the passengers are dropped off or picked up, traffic continues along the outer hub lanes and merges with the inner lanes, returning to the Kennedy Expressway and from there to I-90/94 East towards Chicago.
The front of the airport is a semicircle of glass facing in towards the traffic hub, with checking counters on the inside behind these. There are metal posts spaced evenly on the sidewalk between the glass and the street which hold up a roof to keep rain out. This structure, the airport proper, is only one or two stories above street level, as most of it is underground; the runways and taxi areas for the planes sit on a recessed concrete field which extends outwards for miles in every direction.
Traffic on the hub is busy at all hours, as people come and go from international flights.
Ling Fei pulls the van into a waiting area and sits back to discuss the situation. “Well we don’t know if he’s coming in internationally or locally, so our best bet is going to be watching the main roads in and out for our marked Roadmaster. Why don’t I leave the car idle at the junction where the expressway enters the airport so we can have the best chance of spotting it here, and I’ll run my condor above the exits going from the airport to scan for our man.”
“Yea, that sounds like the safest plan. We’re gonna need the car ready to jet once we i.d. the package, so you better leave it in the exit lane ready to roll.” Crusher twists awkwardly in his seat to look through the passage to the rear. “Moonclaw, what kind of drek can you cook up?”
“I’ll assume you mean magic and pretend that you have not insulted my ancestors… Although they will not be so forgiving.” The ork began to smile at the shaman’s joke, but quickly reverted to a somber expression when he realized she wasn’t joking. “The easiest thing for me to do is simply project my spirit into the astral plane and search for his face and briefcase there, although if we do not find him immediately I can always summon a spirit residing in the building to aide in our search, but this will be taxing on my link with the manaworld and I may need all the energy I can muster if we run into trouble and I have to ‘cook up some other drek.’” The shaman glared at the ork condesendingly. “What sort of drek can you cook up, mundane?”
Crusher adjusts himself uncomfortably in his seat, not wanting to escalate the confrontation so early in the run. “Well, I can’t shoot my spirit out of my body but my eyes and ears are cybered and I can see shit damn near a mile away in high res. I think I’d be most useful posted up inside the building eyeballing guys coming through. Once I spot him I can tail him back to their meeting spot.”
The rigger furrowed her brow. “I don’t know Crusher, if you end up missing him and we have to get out of here in a hurry, we’d either have to wait for you and risk losing him or leave you behind, and we’re gonna need you if there’s combat. Why don’t you ride shotgun in the van; your enhanced senses can help Boxcar watch the road while I rig my drone in the sky.”
The mercenary seemed unhappy to take orders from a girl a third his age, but he saw the sense in her proposition and relented. “Sounds good enough to me. We’ll have two solid sets of eyes out on the ground, one in the air, and another one or two in the astral place.” He brought his hands down on his trunk-like thighs in satisfaction. “let’s get back to my safehouse and we can rest up and be back here by oh-seventeen hundred.” the rigger turned her attention to the road and the Roadmaster throbbed into gear and pulled away into the early morning.
The rest of the night and morning pass uneventfully. The runners engage in routine weapon maintenance and other preparation. 5:00 PM the next day finds the warriors on the road again.
The team return to the airport by six to begin their survelliance operation. The Roadmaster is parked in the breakdown lane of the highway which exits the airport, at an angle to traffic to give the front seat passengers a view of traffic. Ling Fei relinquishes the driver’s seat to Crusher, giving him an unobstructed vantage point to watch the rear view mirrors and road. He pulls the brim of his hat down low and settles in with a gigantic cup of coffee.
The rigger launches her Condor and rigs it directly, piloting it one hundred feet above ground and utilizing its optical magnification to scan for men matching the package profile while staying as close as possible to Boxcar. She also adds the Roadmaster to her suscriber list and orders it to use its sensors to sweep the roads going in and out for Lonestar Roadmasters.
Moonclaw crouches in the rear of the vehicle, scattering concrete powder and steel shavings on the floor in arcane patterns, muttering whispered incantations to nearby urban spirits.
[moonclaw attempts to summon a force 4 urban spirit, allocating 5 conjuring dice to summoning and 1 conjuring and 3 spell pool dice to resist drain. Her totem adds 2 more dice to summoning. If succesfully summoned she will task it with searching for the man with the case in the area surrounding the building before astrally projecting and searching for him herself at the arrivals exit.]
It’s a long stakeout. The sun sets early during February in Illinois, and by 5:30 PM the sky is showing the last traces of dusk. By 6:30, it is as dark as night, but the field and landing lights from the airstrips along with the headlights from traffic provide a neverending faux-luminance. This is good news for Moonclaw, who waits until the sun dips below the horizon to attempt her summoning.
Her offerings laid out, she calls out with her astral voice, reaching the denizens of the nearby concrete and steel, beckoning them to aid her. She hears an answer in the pit of her mind, faint at first, but more distinct as it approaches on the astral plane. A city spirit materializes faintly before her, taking the form of a swirling cluster of airport garbage: discarded boarding passes, lost luggage tags and small carry-on items, dirt and discarded fast-food wrappers, along with tiny nuts and bolts which glint in the astral ‘light’. A little model plane hovers near the top of mass. The plane tilts its nose toward her and the spirit responds psychically; it agrees to perform for her three services. The summoning complete, and her mind completely clear of the pressure of conjuring, she sends the little spirit scurrying out into the terminals to search for the man with the silver briefcase. She follows it into the astral plane, but finds that the gate entrances and walls have been barred against entry with powerful astral barriers, starting at the security checkpoints for each terminal and extending around the building. She is forced to continue her search in the publicly accessible waiting areas, but the spirit’s innate knowledge of its domain is not impeded; even though it cannot pass the barriers, it informs her that it will know when the man arrives.
True to international airport form, the courier’s flight appears to have been delayed. Unfortunately for the waiting runners, Lonestar was availed of this knowledge and delays their arrival to coincide with that of the courier. At about 8:00 PM, just as Crusher’s coffee reaches room temperature, the spirit comes hurrying to Moonclaw on the astral. It points a tiny trash-appendage in the direction of the T gates and projects into her mind an image of the courier: a mustached human of medium build wearing a gray polo shirt and carrying a case. It also sends her an image which causes her some concern: the case he is carrying is handcuffed to his wrist.
At this same time, Boxcar Rebellion sends an electronic pip up to Ling Fei’s Condor, verifying an approaching Roadmaster with VIN and plates matching those which the Johnson provided. Boxcar reports that the van has been modified with additional armor plating, and has a single reinforced security hatch in the back, which is not acessible from the crew compartment; it also carries no mounted weapon systems. It is roughly 12 kilometers away and traveling towards the airport at 90 Kph; this gives an ETA of about eight minutes. The courier is making good time through the airport; he will reach the terminal a few minutes before the Lonestar van arrives at the rate he is travelling.
Moonclaw’s astral form bobs gently on the astral breeze in front of the monochrome grays of the mundane exit terminals, the outlines of her body robed in a traditional Sioux dress which shimmers a lusterous reflective black in the glow of the spirit world, two impossibly long ponytails rolling lazily about on the eddys of pure energy. She smiles down on the fidgeting city spirit, sending out glowing feelings of gratitude and apprectiation. “You have done excellent, little one. Will you follow me, please? I may have another task for you in a moment.” With these sentiments expressed, she returns her thoughts to the material plane and her surroundings fly past her in a rush as her essence leaps through the astral realm and back into her meat body. She takes in a great gulp of air as her senses return to the familiar weight of gravity on her body, and she brings herself out of her meditative position on the floor to stick her head into the driver’s compartment. “We have located the target. He’ll be out in about five minutes.”
Her consciousness nestled in the tiny body of the survelliance blimp, Ling Fei pans her many-eyed head slowly, sifting through the throng of passengers on the ground 100 feet below with ease, short on breath from the exertion of holding the vehicle steady in the buffeting winds. She hears the distant echo of Moonclaw’s voice in her meat ears, and tugs her senses out of the drone, ordering it to return and dock with the Boxcar at full speed, the thrum of its miniature electronic turbines fading and being replaced by the beat of her own heart. “My sensors have picked up the ‘star—calculators give them 8 minutes until arrival.”
Crusher drains the dredge of grounds and stale coffee at the bottom of his cup, dragging his stiff body upright in the tiny driver’s seat as he rolls the window down and deposits the litter on the side of the road. “Alright, I finished my coffee.”
Moonclaw turns urgently to the rigger. “How fast can we get to terminal T? I can delay the escort for a few minutes at least; if we can get to him before they do it’ll make our job a whole slotting ton easier.”
The other two watch anxiously as Ling Fei’s sensory world leaps into Boxcar’s, her eyes twitching frantically about as she plows through the mountains of information pouring out of the van’s sensors and computational programs. She attempts to consult the maps and autonav predictive routing of the lonestar roadmaster and the maneuvers it would take her own roadmaster to bring the team to terminal T, trying to determine how much time they would have before lonestar arrives if they were to gun it back into the airport immediately.
Boxcar’s autonav, like all autonavs, is factory-set with safe, legal and defensive driving in mind. Needless to say, Ling-Fei’s driving habits can be described as falling outside of these parameters. The autonav in her custom vehicle has been modified to take this into account, but has no further information on the driving habits of Lonestar; it extrapolates their expected driving route from incoming traffic patterns and their recorded speed, which is well within the legal limit.
The T terminal is at the 7 o’clock position on the traffic hub; the runners are positioned at 1 o’clock, on the exit ramp but facing the turnabout to return to the terminals. Boxcar’s modified autonav gives an estimated travel time around half the traffic hub at two minutes. One minute has passed since Ling-Fei queried the computer; Lonestar is now approximately seven minutes away.
The powerful eight-cylinder engine revs as she flexes her legs, preparing for action.
The elf’s body is pressed up against the dashboard as she let’s the ork squeeze past her into the passenger seat. As she lets her body fall into the driver’s seat she pulls the datajack from beneath the steering wheel and plugs it in behind her pointed ear.
“Let’s go goddamn it!” The ork bellows, bracing his arm against the dash with one hand as he buckles himself in with the other. The tires of the roadmaster squeal to life, whipping the vehicle into exiting traffic and into the U-turn lane. She focuses on the road and accelerates as fast as she can, feeling her calves burn as the engine redlines. “Once we get there, we’ll try to play it off like we’s ‘star in plainclothes pickin’ him up. Fei, you give him your best “come with us” routine, and if he doesn’t buy it immediately” the mercenary turns in his seat to face the shaman, who has buckled herself into the rear bench, “you knock him the drek out and we’ll haul ass before the fuzz catches wind.”
Moonclaw nods in silent approval of the plan, her hands pressed against the seat on either side of her body to brace herself against the uncomfortable swerving of the racing van. She closes her eyes for a moment and opens them again onto the astral plane, calling out for her spirit friend. As it flits into the rear compartment, she smiles to it. “Another favor, my friend? There is a lonestar van on the highway heading this way. There are bad men inside who want to hurt me. Will you confuse them for me? Do your best to delay them?” The shaman radiates appreciative emotions again and watches the astral being flash away in the opposite direction of the van.
The Roadmaster accelerates quickly, grinding through the slower surrounding traffic, forcing motorists to the side of the road and ruining many a pleasant homecoming. The autonav tries to constrain the vehicles’ movements to the proper lanes and free areas of the inner traffic hub, but the rigger’s considerable skill is enough to travel the half-mile in the predicted two minutes.
The armored van screeches to a halt in front of the international gate exits. Ling-Fei checks her active sensors’ report on the Lonestar escort; they are still making good time to the airport. They are about 4 miles away, and traffic is holding steady on the interstate.
Crusher’s cybereyes peer out from under his wide-brimmed hat; his gaze sweeps the crowd. He spots the courier through the glass; he must be making very good progress through the crowded airport. The courier pushes open a glass door and steps out into the crowd. He straightens up, looking past the runners’ van, towards moving traffic, clearly expecting to see his marked escort arrive shortly. He is about 70 meters downstream of traffic from the runners’ location, standing close to the street.
The rigger manuevers the roadmaster through the remaining traffic as quickly as possible without drawing undue attention to the vehicle. As she does so, the shaman unbuckles her seat belt and pulls on her shock glove, baring her teeth in a silent snarl as a wave of magic washes over her. [Moonclaw casts improved invisibility on herself at force 4, allocating 5 sorcery dice to the spell and 1 sorcery die to resist drain, as well as 3 additional spell pool dice to resist drain.]
The shaman crouches by the door, concentrating. The spell takes effect without a hitch, and Moonclaw fades into nothingness. Crusher looks back at his human companion, but his gaze passes straight through her.
Ling Fei brings the roadmaster squealing to a halt in front of the mark, and pops the sliding door on the curb side of the car open with a thought as she slips the jack from behind her ear, leaving the car in remote mode.
She climbs out of the driver’s seat and steps out through the open door, placing her left hand lightly on the man’s shoulder to guide him to the car as she gestures towards the open door with her right. “Plans have changed sir,” she says in her most serious voice, cocking her head and pressing her right pointer finger to her ear as if listening to an invisible voice, “someones got the drop on us sir, so we’ve been sent in plainclothes to pick you up. Please step into the vehicle and we’ll be on our way.” She stands with her arms inviting him into the van.
Moonclaw crouches low in an espionage stance and slinks lightly from the door behind her teammate, right fist raised to strike.
[Ling Fei is using her negotiation 3 skill (?) to convince the man they’re his escort, while Moonclaw is using her stealth(sneaking) 5 skill to step unnoticed from the van and slink up directly behind Ling Fei’s shoulder.]
The courier looks at Ling Fei strangely, with some alarm in his eyes, and pulls his shoulder away from her outstretched arm. He doesn’t seem to notice Moonclaw’s invisible form behind the elf. He looks the rigger in the eyes and says, “What are you talking about? I wasn’t told about any of this. You aren’t from Lonestar.. Who are you? What do you want with me?”
He starts to panic, realizing slowly that the only reason anyone would know he was there other than Lonestar would be to interfere with his task. He starts and turns away, starting to make a dash for the airport door.
“Help! Help! She’s trying to get me! I need help!” He points at Ling Fei wildly. People are starting to look at the runners and their van. There aren’t any security officers in sight, but it’s a safe bet that they can’t be far away.
[Moonclaw steps forward and attempts to initiate surprise combat against the courier.]
[Both Moonclaw and Ling Fei take the courier by surprise; he is unable to act in time to stop their next actions.]
Ling Fei shouts “Crusher!” as soon as possible, and delays until Moonclaw has acted. Moonclaw runs full on towards the courier and throws a madly-leaning right hook into the man’s lower torso. [subduing combat 4 with 4 combat pool dice added.]
As Moonclaw strikes, Ling Fei runs forwards to Moonclaw’s left to grab the man by the arms, keeping him from fighting back.
Moonclaw’s normally lithe, penetrating movements are hampered by having to concentrate on sustaining her invisibility. It doesn’t seem to matter much, though, as her brutal strike catches the man completely unawares. Stepping in low and close, she rises into the punch, twisting her left shoulder back and connecting just below the solar plexus. The initial strike drives the wind out of him, his body unprepared to receive the blow. Then the shock-glove triggers, and thousands of volts of high-amp electricity are sent coursing through his body. He stumbles backward a few feet, convulsing and panicked. He is conscious, but just barely, his eyes rolling wildly in their sockets.
Ling Fei grabs him by the arms, but the man doesn’t seem to be in the condition to fight back; she restrains him easily and the courier is unable to act.
Crusher, from his vantage point in the passenger’s seat, can see that the crowd is getting agitated. Two male onlookers, a dwarf and a human, rush to help out the courier, moving from the left and right towards Ling Fei; they are about 10 meters away. Other bystanders are starting to panic. The burly ork’s wired reflexes kick in, and he gets ready to act.
Crusher opens the door to the car and steps heavily down onto the pavement, he begins to run towards the struggle, drawing his heavy pistol and pointing it directly at the nearest bystander, calling out firmly, “Relax motherfucker or I’ll blow your head off.”
Moonclaw remains crouched, drawing back her fist and striking the man again in the ribcage below his heart with the shock glove.
Ling Fei’s diminutive form is doing it’s best to hold the man upright, and she begins half carrying, half dragging the stunned man back to the van.
In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war, but that doesn’t mean that people in an international airport aren’t unusually sensitive to weapons being drawn in their presence. The deadly-looking, cyberware-packing, ork ex-mercenary draws and levels his Browning Max-Power, and everything seems to stop, all eyes on the team of shadowrunners. Both of the approaching civilians pause mid-stride, and the dwarf yells, “Shit, he’s got a gun!” before they both take off in the opposite direction.
Panic ensues. Children start to cry, mothers scream and clutch infants to their chests; baggage is thrown everywhere, cars on the streets peel out, burning rubber and colliding with each other in a scramble to get away. A few seconds later, an alarm is heard emanating from the interior of the building.
Ling Fei is still holding the twitching courier steady, not really struggling against his pitiful attempts to escape; he seems subdued, but conscious.
Moonclaw, still invisible and shaken by the sudden hysteria around her, strikes him again with the shock glove. This proves to be a mistake, as the glove impacts the weak man’s chest, and sends its stunning jolt of electricity through his body and into Ling Fei, who is still in contact with him. The pair seize and convulse for a second, before falling slack; Ling Fei manages to hold on to the courier, who is still conscious, but clearly very stunned and unable to break free of Ling Fei’s grip. The rigger is shaken but uninjured from the shock glove’s electric bite.
Ling Fei drags the weak courier back to the waiting van, depositing him roughly on the steel grip-textured floor in the passenger compartment.
The dwarf and human bystanders are running away as fast as they can. Crusher looks around, taking stock of the chaotic situation. Things have really gone to shit fast, and his warrior’s instinct is screaming at him to move.
Crusher slips the weapon back into his breast holster, the reticle and ammo counter in his field of vision fading as his palm unlatches from the node on the pistol’s grip. “Let’s fuckin’ roll people!” He yells as he turns, throwing his body back into the passenger seat.
The rigger leaves the man slumped on the floor and clambers into the driver’s seat, driving the datajack home into her skull and tearing away as fast as the van and traffic will allow, glancing down at the heads up display for an updated ETA of their enemies.
Moonclaw pulls herself into the back with both hands, whirling to slam the sliding door shut behind her. Once inside, she crouches on one knee by the stunned man and grips his throat with her left hand, bringing her right up in a fist to bash away at the man if he makes a move. With a mental sigh she releases the invisibility spell cloaking her body, and sends out an astral cry for help from the spirit she had summoned earlier that night, her head cocked, listening for an otherwordly whisper to answer.