Grakar – Truck Theft.

It’d been a few hours, and Grakar was starting to worry. Without some form of surveillance They could be walking into a massive trap. He’d talked this over with Deka, and she thought she knew a guy. He admitted to himself that he wasn’t the best person to check out potential colleagues, so told Deka he’d take her word for it, and just to flag the guy when he next passed.

Shortly after, he heard her calling him from outside the van, she had a slightly panicked guy by the arm, and was leading him towards the truck.

“Grakar, you buffoon, this is the hacker I was telling you about. You need someone to help you, this is your man!” The poor guy looked like he had no idea what was going on, so Grakar rescued him from Deka, and took him inside the truck.

Once inside, Grakar told him the important information. “We gut a job, yeah, got to get a truck back, from a minor gang. We need someone to run online interference. Thats you ok? Whats your name?”

“Stronghold. Can you….”

“Great, hello Stronghold, this is MF, This is Medic. Normally I’d introduce you to Makro, but no idea where he’s got to. Oh, and over there on the fryers is Jame…Slayer.

Stronghold still looked a bit stunned. This was probably the weirdest job pitch he’d had. Grakar tagged MF, and left her to explain the details while he grabbed their newest menu item, the PrRatzel. Deep fried Rat tail, tied in a celtic knot. These ones were an acquired taste, but the chili’s gave it a nice kick.

Once Stronghold had accepted that he was press-ganged into the team, they set about planning how this would go down. Ideas bounced backwards and forwards, before they settled on ‘the old switcharoo’.

The Halloweeners were a massive gang, and most wore masks. Who would spot a few extras? especially if those few extras took the place of existing members. Grakar liked the sound of this plan, because firstly, it meant wearing a costume, and secondly, he got to splat someone first.

They decided it was probably best to find a group out near their destination, rather than scouring downtown for a gang. MF hopped on the back of Grakars bike, Medic and Stronghold took Medics buggy, and they headed out.

Traffic was up, though it seemed oddly heavy on the Halloweeners front. Several groups of bikers were heading out in the same direction. They waited for the stream of traffic to slow, and headed in the same direction. After riding around for a while, a group of four halloweeners were spotted by one of Strongholds drones. Grakar pulled over, and MF tried to flag them down, yelling something about making a deal. The bikes blasted past at speed, and Grakar shot away from the curb in pursuit. Stronghold was already on it though, sat in the passenger seat, he slipped into VR, and made connection with one of the newer bikes. Sending a kill command, the engine cut out, the front brake locked up, and the bike together with its rider, flipped neatly through the air, before coming to a rest at the side of the road. The three other riders swerved to avoid it, turned, and spotted their pursuers. They turned their bikes as one, and accelerated towards Grakar.

Behind him, Grakar could hear MF draw her sword. He aimed his bike for the space between two of the bikes, and gunned it. As he approached, Stronghold shut down a second bike, though this one slid to a halt, dumping the rider. MF slashed out, cleaving through the tyre, and rim of the front wheel. The bike catapulted, and the rider slid along the road on his face. Grakar slammed on his breaks, as  did the remaining rider.

MF bailed from the back of the bike, running towards Strongholds section target, who was groggily trying to rise from his prone position. Grakar stepped from his bike, and took the four or five steps towards the last mounted biker. He whistled tunelessly as he did. Once within reach, Grakar swung his fist, discarding the shock charge as it connected. The biker gunned his engine, and took off. Grakar reached for his gun, but this time Stronghold was quicker, He planted a quick shot in the back of the fleeing gangmember, and he toppled from his bike. Behind him, Grakar heard MF dispatching the prone rider.

They quickly scanned each of the riders, to size up who matched each of the groups size. Grakar knew, even before checking, that the guy with the blood pouring down his back would be a match for him. Fate never smiled on a Dwarf. Even a Dwarf who was tall for his height. Stripping the bodies, they started to move them to a slightly less conspicuous location, when Stronghold mentioned that there were more riders a few minutes out. MF and Grakar dumped the bodies out of sight, and Medic levitated the broken bikes away from the road.

Grakar hopped back on his bike, and MF climbed up behind him. Medic mentioned that they should meet up in an hour, and they roared away down the road.

Later, they all met up a short distance from where the truck was being held. The number of passing Halloweeners had climbed, and Grakar guessed that they’d seen close to fifty gang members today. Stronghold did a quick flyby with a drone, and confirmed that there was indeed a large force of gang members in place. Though rather than setting up as a large defensive force, they were partying. Kegs had been set up, and at least half the gangers were drinking heavily.

MF snuck off to investigate, and after waiting a bit, Grakar decided that it would be best if he headed in as backup. Medic jumped on the back of his bike, and they rode in.

Strongholds estimate of half the gang drinking was somewhat low. Once inside the camp, dressed in their stolen outfits, Grakar noted that there were very few guards posted. It’d be pretty dumb to attack this many gangers eh? He scanned the crowd, and picked out where MF was lurking. She was by the truck, talking to one of the guards. Grakar grabbed some beers, and headed over, Medic grabbed some more, and followed.

These gangers were alert. Scanning the crowd, watching the wasteland around the camp. They knew their job, and were obviously well prepared for an attack. Grakar needed to do something that would catch them off guard, if he were to stand a chance of pulling something off.

Plan A, knock the guards out without them alerting anyone.

Plan B, do something dumb, and get the entire camp chasing him.

Grakar downed his beer, slurred out ‘Hold dis!’ to one of the guards, and thrust his beer into her hand. Then he turned to the truck, unzipped, and starting urinating slowly on the truck.

The second guard was obviously a little agitated by this, though the first guard holding his drink was sniggering behind her hand.

It was a good thing he’d downed that pint. The guard was obviously taking a moment to make up his mind.

“Hey, you, stop that!” The guard grabbed Grakar’s arm. Just what he needed.

Grakar faked a look of surprise, and turned to face the guard. Counted silently to three, and stopped urinating on the guards clothes.

His look of iritation turned to one of pure rage, and he swung a punch at Grakar. Exactly as planned! Grakar reach up, and caught the punch squarely in his hand, and released a stun charge while chuckling! “You shouldn’t have dun dat!” he yelled.

Unfortunately though, rather than dropping to the ground twitching, the guard took a moment, then screamed “AMBUSH!” at the top of his voice. Grakar dropped a second charge into him, and he flopped to the ground. the second guard dropped the cup she was holding, and started fumbling for her rifle.

Plan B it is then.

He turned on his heel, and ran for his bike, ducking and weaving, and hoping to make as small a target as he could. As he climbed onto his bike, the first shot caught him high in the back. It tore through his armour, but was stopped by his dermal plating. That was going to bruise tomorrow though.

He gunned the bike, and roared out of the camp. He could already see gang members jumping for their bikes. This was going to be a chase then.

His comm link chirped, and Stronghold’s voice informed him that he had a number of bikes on his tail. MF had taken the opportunity to drop the third guard, and was now driving out of the camp with a few bikes following her too. Medic and Stronghold had done what they could, but they couldn’t catch up with the truck now.

Grak flicked channels, and pinged MF.

“Wotcha, I’m just going to lose these mugs, then I’ll head over and take care of your tail. Meet me at the old dugout? in 30 minutes.”

All he had to do now, was lose these bikes.

He accelerated away, travelling at a speed far too stupidly reckless for these roads, and zigzagged through alleyways and around burnt out wrecks. After a few circles, he realised they’d given up the ghost, and headed for the old dugout.

Finding a decent sniping position, he waited. The truck tore into view, with two bikes close on its tail. The gangers were intent on maintaining control of their bikes, but were closing the gap between them and the truck.

One shot. the first bike’s front tire blew, nose diving the bike into the ground. The rider cartwheeled from his seat, ragdolling across the ground. The second rider barely had time to react before a sceond shot punched into his check, kicking him from his seat.

The truck was now out of site, and grakar counted to sixty, waiting on any more pursuers. None.

He flicked his Comm again. “MF, you’re clear. Meet at rendezvous?”

He picked up his rifle, slinging it over his back, and climbed back on the bike.

Now all they needed to do, was to take the truck through a heavy security-ridden dockyard, and drop it off. What could possibly go wrong.

 

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