2 hours had passed, and Grakar was starting to feel hungry again. A simple sandwich wouldn’t do it, it was time for a rat burger (or depending on how busy his chums had been, a hell-rat burger). He jumped on his bike, and pinged the ‘Rat-truck’ to work out where it was.
The rat truck was possibly the best idea Grakar had ever had. He’d had a major score a year previous, and didn’t want to waste the money on sandwiches. He’d been chatting with a fixer friend, and they mentioned they’d been trying to offload a food truck. Some bright troll had thought he’d make a mint selling troll delicacies, and ended up owing the fixer a small fortune. He’d signed over his business, and now the fixer wanted to offload it fast.
The only thing better than a cheap burger, is a free burger! All Grakar would need to do, would be to buy the food truck.
No brainer really.
Turns out the truck came with a staff, and they didn’t seem to mind what they cooked, so Grakar had his sister manage them, and whilst it wasnt making a huge profit, it was keeping itself ticking over. Being a Dwarf, rat burgers seemed like the obvious choice, so the rat truck was born.
The truck pinged him back. It wasn’t far, it was doing a decent trade parked outside a club, so he wove through the minor traffic, making a beeline for it.
Once he held a burger in his hand, he thought about a team. Whatever the lady wanted him to do, he’d probably need a little backup. He’d gone in unprepared before, and it never ended well… well, except that time he’d done a data steal by carrying out the server on his shoulder. That was a barrel of laughs. Medic had never let him live down the fact that a hacker could have stolen the data remotely. Hmm, Medic, he should call Medic.
He pinged a message over letting Medic know about a possible job. Medic had been there the time they’d discovered hell-rats in the sewers. Well, they might have been hell-rats… they looked ratlike, and they were on fire. MF was there too. She’s an odd one, compained bitterly about getting the stench out of her shoes afterwards. Didn’t complain much after she got to try a hell-rat burger though. Man, those HRBurgers are nice.
Grakar put a ping in to MF too, she’d probably be falling out of a club somewhere, and looking for someone to hit.
He should call Makro too. Makro likes Rat Burgers. He also doesn’t like people stealing Rat Burgers. Grakar chuckled, remembering the hit put on the pair of them. All because Makro had punched a corp in the face. Stupid suit. shouldn’t have stolen his burgers.
Half an hour later, the four of them sat eating. Medic had brought a techie with him, Blackout. They sat discussing the potential job, when a message came through from Mrs Johnson.
“Meet at ‘the peaceful slumber’ hotel. Be here in an hour. Bring friends.”
The food crowd from the club had dried up, so the team dropped the sides of the truck, and packed up. Grakar motioned the others on board, and they headed off for their meet.
Outside the hotel, Grakar took a quick look around. He didn’t like hotels, especially not ones that looked like they’d let him stay. This one looked like it’d not only let him stay, but also talk nicely to him. He took a peek down an ally at the side, and a shady looking man was selling something from the top of a crate. As Grakar and the team strolled up, he took a gulp, and headed into full salesman mode.
“You look like respectable folks, perhaps you’re interested in some nice human girls.” His gaze lingered a little longer on Grakar. “Or perhaps some nice Ork girls?”
“What makes you fink I want an Ork Girl?” Grakar growled.
Two voices from behind him, almost in unison, interjected “Yeah, he’s obviously into Dwarves, whats wrong with you man.”
The guy looked a bit stunned, and stuttered and stammers.
“I fink you should go now…” Grakar growled.
MF stepped from behind him, “Grakar, you can’t go killing everyone who upsets you…”
The guys eyes widened even more, and he hastily shoved his datachips and drugs into a bag… Seconds later he was an echoing set of footsteps vanishing down the alley.
Grakar grinned at his friends, and they headed into the hotel lobby.
The man behind the counter, part receptionist, part security started to reach for something behind his desk. Grakar grinned at him, and he reconsidered.
“Uh, you here for Missus Johnson? room 317!”
Possibly the easiest info he’d got recently. They headed up to 317, and knocked daintily on the door.
Grakar let the team do the talking. Mrs Johnson gave them information about the run. Her ex was called Slip. He had a chip. Grakar’s mind wondered. The target Slip, had an info Chip, he was going on a trip… He stared out the window, watching two drunken men fighting over a burger. Grakar wondered what type of burger it was.
Suddenly Makro was talking money. Grakar has lost focus on the conversation, and suddenly they were negotiating. Better play it cool.
“So, uh, who is Slip again? what did he do to piss you off?”
Conversation stopped, and everyone turned to look at him.
Damn, blown it.
“Needless to say, he’s my ex, thats all you need to know…” Mrs Johnson gave him a glare.
Behind her, MF was frantically signalling something with her hands, Grakar didn’t quite follow. He turned to look out the window again. One of the men was eating the burger. The other was slumped against the wall. Bet that burgers really nice.
Mrs Johnson stormed out the room, Grakar turned back, and they were talking mission plan. There were two potential locations. The chip could be at either. One location was in town, a small flat, and the other location was in a ruined part of the barrens. Getting close was going to be tricky, but Blackout and MF said they had this covered. Medic and Makro said they had recon sorted for the flat. Grakar thought he could cover recon of the food truck.
Medic and Makro headed off, and the remainder headed for the food truck. Heading out, they holed up behind a ruined building, allowing Blackout to get a spy drone up, and out to explore the target. Grakar watched the display from the drone. It always made him feel like he was flying. It’d been a while since he’d flown, but he always dreamed he’d earn enough one day to get a vector thrust vehicle of his own. or perhaps a fixed wing. Mmm, wings. Perhaps he should look into pigeon burgers.
The drone returned, having spotted three members of an obvious gang, and Blackout went into a trance. When his eyes focused again, he pulled up schematics of the building on the screen. He gave a detailed breakdown of who Slip was. Grakar stopped listening. His comm chirped. Medic and Makro had found the apartment empty. No signs of a safe, though to be fair, most safes aren’t out in the middle of the room.
He pinged Medic back, and confirmed that they had live targets.
Ten minutes later, the team was reunited. They all had theories on the best way to breach the building. But all of them relied heavily on getting close before being fired upon. Makro hit upon an idea. “I’ll fire up the camera, and tell them we’re scouting for locations for a historical documentary. It’ll at least get us close. Medic and Blackout can provide backup from here, and MF and Grakar can approach with me. Grakar will be my bodyguard, MF can play the part of my Girlfriend.”
MF started to chew gum, and looked incredibly disinterested.
“Hur Makro, its almost like every one of your previous mates!”
It was a solid plan, but as with every solid plan, they rarely survive first encounter with the enemy. Makro probably knew this, and mentioned that if he should use the word ‘Banana’ it was the code to rain hell on the guards.
They set off for the compound, Makro striding purposely, an unlit cigarette hanging in his mouth, pointing out crumbling ‘architecture’ and uttering how wonderfully quaint it must have been. MF chewed gum, looking bored, and occasionally uttering how awful the dust was, and how her shoes would never survive this toxic wasteland. Grakar mostly muttered the word Banana under his breath.
As they approached the front of the Compound, the first guard stood up from fixing his bike. He grabbed he gun, and kicked his mate. The second guard pulled his headphones off his head, and also raised his gun.
“Gentlemen!” Makro started, “Please, we mean no trouble. We’re simply hoping to speak with your Boss!”
Grakar started… no, he said Boss, not Banana.
Makro continued. “I’m filming a documentary on historical clubs of the last century. Your property features quite highly! It hosted some of the best Bands!”
Bands. not banana. Bands.
“My previous documentaries have brought fame and fortune to many that have featured in them, perhaps I could speak to someone?”
Makro was obviously in the swing of things now, and MF was moaning behind him.
The gangers though, obviously had orders, and weren’t wanting to talk.
“Nah, you’re going to have to leave. We don’t want people knowing us. The boss has said no one is to enter. You’re going to have to turn around an head back.”
MF chose this moment to fake a strop.
“Gawd Makro, you drag me all the way out here, and you’ve not even lined up an interview? you’ve ruined my favorite converse!” She stamped her foot for emphasis. “I’m going home!” She stormed off around the side of the building, heading for the back.
“You wunt me to go get her boss?” Grakar asked.
“No thank you, she’ll be back, she gets like this sometimes. you understand?” This last part was addressed to the guards. They both looked embarressed at this outburst, but were still trying to direct Makro back the way he came.
“Sometimes, she just goes Bananas!”
Grakar twitched, and involuntarily yelled “BANANAS!”
His arm shot out, as if it was spring loaded, grabbing the closest guard by the neck. His stun charge fired, and the poor guard dropped to the floor in a stupor.
An apparition burst into life in front of the second guard, completely engulfing the cigarette hanging from Makros lips. The guard started, and Makro fired off a shot into him. The guard turned, and threw himself through the doorway, screaming as he went.
Oh well, so much for the quiet approach.
Grakar kicked the closing door back open, allowed the doorway to frame him for the best possible entrance, and yelled “Knock Knock Motherfuckers.” he fired off a burst into the fleeing ganger, and the twitching body hit the floor.
From the other side of the room, a weapon discharged, followed by a sharp crack as MF also shocked a ganger into sleepytime. MF nodded at Grakar, and he headed to explore the room. The wall exploded next to Grakars head. Someone had fired on him from above. Grakar turned, and a large tusky troll face peered over the balcony above. Grakar returned fire, missing. The fire elemental drifted lazily into the air, firing off a ball of flames that impacted into the trolls chest. Makros threw himself up the stairs, looking for a better angle. He took a shot, leaving the trolls face resembling a hedgehog, bristling with Fletchetts.
The troll could obviously see where this fight was going, and threw himself out the window, landing on the ground outside. He took off at a loping run, hoping to get clear. Grakar burst through the doorway again, hoping that Makro was filming this.
He quickly flipped his ammo type, switching to non lethal rounds. “Nighty night time!” he yelled, and fired into the running troll.
The trolls feet kept running, though its balance was obviously no longer being controlled by its brain. It stumbled into some debris, and nose-dived into a puddle. Strolling over, Grakar sliced through its throat with his knife, then wandered back to finish off the other sleeper. After all, didn’t want them coming round while we’re searching the place.