She's Got A Ticket to Ride (And She Don't Care)

[The Stranger]

As if on cue the autobus piped up, "Passengers we are now reaching the final stop-The Port, Undercity." There had been a debate among the programmers of the autobus' Passenger interaction software whether to call places by their formal names or not. Finally it was decided that it would come off rude to call someone's home, "the Unregulated Urban Sprawl."

The bus groaned and came to a stop, its hydraulics lowering the bus for the passengers ease of disembarking.

The door opened and each of the passengers began to file out in what is a passable facsimile of an orderly line. As they came off the bus the scent of burning tires and fermenting turnips struck each of them like a slap in the face. Neon lights flashed on and off like they were trying to induce epileptic seizures.

The bus was parked broadways in a large relatively empty parking lot riddled with syringes and broken bottles. The only other vehicle. of note was a dilapidated brown Chevy Forward, a paper thin electric car produced when the company was in government hands. From the car emerged five thin Somalis each wearing green fatigue pants and a long brown painter's jacket.

"Sir,, Tabitha said in Sam's ear, "The federal anti-profiling law, and several local statutes prohibit my IClue app from informing you that the probability that the five individuals of Somali descent engaged in loitering are preparing to initiate a criminal action is 84.9965%."

Each of the Somalis removed a former eastern bloc assault rifle from beneath their coats.

And rising... Tabitha added helpfully as they began opening fire.

The first shots caught preppy punk in the breast and worked their way up to her face, her skull splitting like an overripe melon.

The Japanese shouted something in his native language and drew a sleek black automatic pistol, but never had the opportunity to use it before rounds perforated his black corporate chic suit and he collapsed like a puppet whose strings were cut.

[The Smith]

Sam hated how happy Tabitha always sounded when there was gun fire. Then he turned looking for where he had been looking at the girl.

He ran his only desperate goal to put his body between her and the five assault rifles. As he ran he briefly thought out asking Tabitha the odds of his body actually slowing a steel jacketed round but decided he would not like the answer.

She would be entirely too smug.

[The Stranger]

The little girl in the duck rain jacket was standing on the last step of the bus preparing to step onto the payment. She had her eye-pads on seemingly oblivious to the distinct Kak-kak-kak of Russian-made 7.62mm.

Sam reached the girl swiftly and yanked her to the pavement, throwing his body over-top as the Somali gunmen began walking their fire over towards the moving target.

[Flex]

The moment the gun fire started Natasha swore.

Just my fucking luck.

She saw girl punk get clipped, followed shortly by the Japanese and decided that yes, it was time to get out of here. With a grunt she ducked and slid under the bus, aiming to crawl underneath it and emerge hidden on the other side.

[The Stranger]

Natasha tucked and rolled underneath the bus, arising on the opposite side. There was maybe ten feet until she reached the plasteel and 'krete wall that represented the boundary between Undercity and respectable humanity. She could move left or right. Either put her back in the Somalis line of sight, although hopefully far enough along their flank that they'd not notice.

[Ser Aemon Tully]

Tyler watched as the Somali's drew their assault rifles, he knew he was the biggest target and dove for the asian man's pistol. His plan was to get the weapon and roll under the bus.

[Flex]

Natasha took a deep breath and inched towards the right side of the bus, squeezing herself against it as tight as possible. When she arrived at the edge she peeked around it to see what was happening.

[The Stranger]

Tyler snatched up the Japanese streamlined autopistol, and dove flat under the bus as bullets whizzed over head, thunking into the autobus's wafer thin hull with a "zip-clank clank clank".

[The Smith]

Sam lay on the girl wondering if she was still jacked in. He did not dare check though. He looked around and wondered if he could move her to cover.

[The Stranger]

Cover was not easy to find. The bus itself was concealment, but not cover, as evidenced by the number of holes currently perforating it's metal walls. There was a squat looking metal van about 30 meters to Sam's left but 30 meters was an awful lot of open ground to cover, especially carrying a person.

Natasha notes the athlete-looking fellow has ducked underneath the bus behind her, and Trenchcoat has the little girl covered, acting as her personal meat shield.

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

Malcolm stepped off the bus as gunfire erupted around him. For the first moment the situation felt so surreal, he was unsure it wasn't a nightmarish ARS triggered hallucination. It was only through flexing the cybernetic fingers of his right arm that he determined the stark reality of the situation. In his dreams the arm was always flesh and blood, weak and useless.

Price tossed off the overcoat concealing his augmented arm. As he raised it, the forearm separated down the middle, the hand spun around and flattened out to caress the three gatling gun barrels extending from within. As the barrels began to spin, all hell broke loose as 4000 12.7mm rounds a minute of red hot lead came spitting out of what had been an arm moments before. Price aimed for the attackers and their car, having learned long ago that nothing sent rats scurrying away like a decent explosion.

[Ser Aemon Tully]

Tyler crawled up to where the man and girl were,"We need to get her out of here." He started looking around and spotted the van, he then heard what sounded like a roar from the front of the bus and saw casings fly."I can try to carry her to cover", he held up the pistol,"If you'd cover me it would make it easier."

[The Stranger]

OOC: I think in general it should probably take you a turn or two to deploy the cannon, just because otherwise you'll neutralize everyone before others get a chance to breath, but in this case I've done several turns with Smith and Natasha, so I think we're right on schedule.

The dark of night was split by blinding light and overwhelming heat as a stream of lead death poured forth from the rotating barrels, Malcom walked the fire carefully over the five men and their shitty little compact car. Three of the five men were torn like rag dolls, with the other two screaming and clucking in their native tongue, and diving apart like a pair of synchronized swimmers in a routine.

Malcom turned his attention to the vehicle, which went from viable mode of transportation to Post-modern artistic metalwork in about .956 seconds.

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

OOC: Sounds good

The storm of gunfire suddenly stopped, Malcolm surveying his handywork with some pride. The barrels of his arm cannon remained rotating though, prepared to continue firing at the first neural impulse.

"Throw the guns forward and come out fellas." he shouted to the two surviving attackers, his slight southern drawl evident. "I won't be asking twice."

[The Stranger]

The "Skinnys", as they'd have been called by Malcom's former pals, yammered to each other for a few seconds in their own language, before one stood from behind the car and opened fire at the heavy gunner, while the other took off running. The shots landed scary close to Malcom. He could always tell the difference in sound when the rounds were falling close. He let loose a stream of rounds at the Somali that opened up on him, ending the man's existence, but when he drew his attention back towards the other one, he didn't see him anymore, although the screams from a crowd coming from across the street suggested the Somali was making his way through the crowd and into the heart of The Port.