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Log started on Tuesday, 25 Apr 2000, 7:18 PM EST by "Greywolf2" at "Holodeck 2"
GM Note: Hero Point Totals so far -- Duffy: 19; Ice: 9; Jamie: 3; Jet: 7; Jimbo: 14; Taro: 10
The seats are packed, and so is the pit. Over in one of the sections, the crowd holds up colored boards that form a mosaic of a photograph of Antonia -- daughter of Lord Saglielli, and a vocalist with fame reaching clear across the solar system for over a decade. Above the auditorium, a zeppelin slowly drifts along, underneath the low-hanging clouds, with a marquee running along each side, proclaiming the name "Antonia", though it looks like the lines to a couple of rows of light bulbs have malfunctioned, and some here and there are burnt out. The announcer can be barely heard above the chanting, as he " .... proudly introduces a hot, new band coming up on the Luna scene ... Still Breathing!" Mist gushes from the stage, and multicolored lights on each side make beams that form a triumphal arch of sorts for the band that has the honor of doing the opening set for one of the most popular musical artists of all time. A relatively unknown group, in front of all these people ... Steve must have called in every favor to pull this one off.
There's some chatter over Jamie's radio. "Make sure that zeppelin doesn't come too low. Don't want an accident for the sake of product placement..." "Roger that." "Got a major spill on the crust, level three, east bend. Can someone send a clean-up crew?" And other such chatter. The woman in black leans forward to touch the microphone stand before her. "Good evening, Luna City," she says into it, her voice rich and reverberating with the amplification. "How're you feeling?" The crowd responds with thunderous cheers and applause and stomping! As the noise levels climbs, Jamie slips a hand under his suitcoat, reaching for the bulge of the radio to turn up the volume. There's some more radio chatter. Someone is complaining about another spill on level one in a high-traffic area that hasn't been cleaned up yet. The woman smiles at the hyped, appreciative crowd. "Antonia asked us to come out here and play a few songs for you while she gets ready to give her all. Hope you don't mind the wait too much," she finishes, her voice warm but with a note of wry self-depreciation in it. She leans away from the microphone and nods to the man with the sax. He places the instrument to his lips and begins to play, a rich, soulful solo that fills the auditorium. The drummer kicks in with a beat after a few moments, then the other players join in, changing the music from a lonely, soulful tune to a livelier, more energetic pulse. While they play through the opening melodic line, the singer lifts her microphone and turns her back to the audience, swaying during the slow part, then turning to face the audience and pointing towards them as the beat picks up, and she starts to sing, in a voice as rich and mellifluous as the saxophone's line. The audience begins to get into it, clapping and stomping, picking up the beat. "Still Breathing" may be an unknown, especially compared to Antonia ... but it seems that they're winning the crowd over. The words of the opening song are hard to make out over the roar of the music -- something about life in the Perimeter -- while the singer dances with a ferocious energy that matches the song as she belts out each stanza, bounding and tumbling about the stage in a way that seems likely to jeopardize her grip on the microphone, although she manages somehow to retain it. As the band begins, Jamie steps over to an vantage point where he look out without being seen, taking the time to scan over the crowd again. A faint grimace crosses his face for a moment as he glances upward into the sky. The zeppelin must have gotten the word from security, as it has altered its course, tracing a perimeter around the outside of the auditorium, rather than actually flying over it. The marquee still flashes "Antonia" and other messages such as "Welcome to Luna City" and "We Love You!" The fury of the first song subsides and segues smoothly into their next, a smoother, more melodic piece, featuring a counterpoint of voices between the lead singer, the other woman, and the man playing guitar. The lyrics don't make sense in any conventional way -- it seems like a sung conversation about death, or possibly being born -- but the music that weaves it together holds its own elegance. As the second song concludes, the spotlight wavers, then darkens over the stage, with only a lonely saxophone and a slow drum beat maintaining a cadence. When the spotlight resumes, it has narrowed down to just the singer, who stands still before the microphone. "Your day was bright, but never warm," she croons, drawing out the syllable on the word bright.
"I loved your light, but needed more." The music starts to
pick up, the drumbeat quickening, the bass guitar picking
up the line, the keyboards substituted for the saxophone.
"I stepped away, I heard her call As the sound crashes around him, Jamie presses the earplug in, holding it in place as he monitors the chatter, and then begins to make a patrol around to the other side of the stage, staying back out of sight.
"Brother, you weren't there," she sings in an emotion-laden
voice over the energetic pulse of the music, "Brother, did
you ever care?" She whips her head from side to side,
causing the braids to whirl around her face, then the music
shifts beats as she launches into the chorus. "When the
night falls and the Darkness calls Jamie's radio broadcasts more standard chatter. Nothing really unusual just yet over the security frequency. "Where are you? Brother, where are you?" The singer paces the stage like a caged tiger as the music resumes the rapid previous beat, and words tumble out of her.
"She led me away from your hollow halls,
"On the Perimeter, life is short and cheap,
She rushes towards the edge of the stage with her arms outspread, as if to take in the whole of the audience, while the guitar players sing through the chorus. When they finish, and she begins the next stanzas, her head bows, then she leaps to her feet, moving from side to side about the stage, covering an ever-smaller patch of ground on it.
"When I listened to her, I lost my sight,
"She stole my strength, my will, my spirit,
The singer's movements take on a frantic quality as the others repeat the chorus, a desperate edge to her energetic dancing, which begins to subside as she sing through the next stanza.
"She took my soul and, and wanted others,
The black woman stops moving on the stage, coming to a rest kneeling upon it, and singing the next stanza in a lower, more mournful voice.
"You tried to warn me but I would not see,
For the moment, it seems as if the audience might be holding its breath, listening to the kneeling singer. She croons through the next rendition of the chorus with the other singers, the music slowing, the saxophone taking up the line again. As they finish the chorus, the music resumes some of its earlier punch, and she throws her head back, crying out, "Brother!" her voice impassioned, desperate, pleading. "Brother!" "Brother, where are you?" She hangs onto the final note of the last syllable, letting it die away slowly as her head rolls forward, and her body slumps towards the floor. As the note dies and she collapses against the stage, the other female singer almost whispers as she sings into her microphone, "(...Your day was bright, but never warm...)" The audience goes quiet for a few seconds, as the music dies away... and then waves of applause and cheering begin to circulate through the auditorium. Over Jamie's radio, he hears a crackling voice, "Man, did you hear that? That was awesome!" "Hey! Security chatter only on this channel!" "Roger." "Hey, I still don't have a cleanup here on level 1." The spotlight darkened after the last note, but illuminates the performers again at about the time that the cheering starts. Jet slips to her feet and replaces the microphone in its cradle, waiting for the applause to crest and start to die before she speaks. Several lights begin flashing. Over Jamie's radio, he hears, "All right, they've given the cue. Keep an eye out for the Sky Shark coming in from the west." "Thank you, all of you!" Jet speaks quickly, her face flushed and perspiring from her exertions, "I know Antonia can't wait to meet you, and we won't keep you any longer. Give it up for Antonia, Luna City!" She retreats from the mike, applauding herself, her and the rest of "Still Breathing" beginning their hasty evacuation of the stage. Glancing to the west, Jamie moves to where the band is exiting the stage, and waits for them to finish clearing the area. "Eyes west, if you want to see the great one fly in," he says, as he nears the band. Several stage hands rush out to help "Still Breathing" vacate the stage, under cover of plumes of smoke and brilliant light ... though it doesn't touch the stage itself immediately. In fairly efficient time, the equipment is moved off ... and a Great Grey can be seen cresting over the western side of the auditorium ... and soaring overhead. Riding it is a woman in a blue-black jumpsuit of the type favored by the Etoiles Mortant, bleached-white hair flapping in the breeze. Jet strips off her jacket as soon as she clears the stage, dropping the sweat-soaked item onto the back of a nearby chair, as she positions herself beside Collins, turning to watch the Grey come in. "I forget," she whispers to her bodyguard for the evening, "Where's the real one hiding now?" The faint grin is gone almost before it's there. "As far as we know, she's on the grey; that's the story and we're sticking to it," Jamie whispers back. As if in answer to Jet's question, a double for the pilot on the grey can be seen lurking just off to one side, waving off a small entourage of hairdressers, makeup artists and other assistants. The great grey, meanwhile, flies low over the stage, to the wild applause and cheers of the audience, as it finally registers that their heroine is using this unorthodox method of entry. The vehicle comes down to alight upon the stage ... under cover of a furious blast of smoke and mist and more flashing lights. The stuntwoman disembarks from the great grey, after shutting down its whining engines ... then dashes back, giving a thumbs up to the real Antonia as she rushes out to take her place beside the bike -- and her microphone. Her band strikes up with the opening riff for the title song from her latest album, "Don't Fear the Darkness". The smoke clears enough and the lights shift so that the real Antonia can be seen ... and the crowd goes wild! Jamie does an almost absent-minded "thump" check, tapping his wallet, radio, HG-12 up the left sleeve and other pieces of gear stowed in various places. As the smoke clears, he slips the shooting glasses back on, and peers carefully at the "bike", making sure it's not running. The lead singer for "Still Breathing" chuckles at Jamie's response, and grins wider when she spots the doppelganger and her entourage nearby. She tenses as the Grey executes its landing, then relaxes into a normal smile as the maneuver goes off without a hitch and the music starts to play. The bike is cold, from what Jamie can tell, resting on extended landing skids, and braced far enough from the edge of the stage so as not to risk toppling off if the crowd gets too excited. Meanwhile, Antonia belts out her simplistic if popular lyrics. "Don't Fear the Darkness! Whoa-whoa-oa-oa-oa! Don't Fear the Darkness, BABYYYYY!" As the singing starts, Jamie straightens, face dropping into the careful "blank" professional look taken by bodyguards, butlers and doormen of high-class hotels. "Staying here for her performance, or heading back to the staging area? When do you want to change, clean up, etc., before the bash?" he asks, pitching his voice to carry to Jet. The radio crackles, "Hey, someone call that zeppelin again. They're coming in too close." Prompted by the radio traffic, Jamie looks up and around, trying to spot the zep. The zeppelin is coming over the edge of the auditorium. The marquee reads, "You may not fear the darkness..." Leaning forward a bit to peak around at the audience seated in the auditorium, Jet searches for the Bauhaus nobility-types that Antonia's performance (not to mention her father's presence) should have drawn, trying to spot their box. "Mmmm, haven't decided yet, still wired from the act," she answers. Turning away from her search for a moment, she looks for a glass of water, or a stagehand who could bring her one. A conveniently-placed stagehand is up to Jet in an instant, bringing her a glass of water and a towel. "You were mahvelous!" the stagehand gushes. "What label are you with?" A cold chill walks down Jamie's back, as years of professional paranoia kick in. "Now. I think you want to go clean up right now. Please." The voice starts soft, but quickly sharpens as he moves to "shoo" the band out of the backstage toward the dressing rooms. The radio crackles, "They're not responding!" "Hey, I've got trouble on level 4. Some guy's wigging out ... YAA!" After draping the towel about her neck and taking a sip of water, Jet turns back to look out at the audience, searching the row of elevated boxes again, then blinks at Collins' tone. "What is it?" She starts scooting backwards, reflexively looking to where her bodyguard had last been focused. "Frak," she whispers as she spots the marquee on the zeppelin. "Oh, FRAK!" The glass drops from nerveless fingers and crashes onto the stage. "We gotta get that zeppelin down now, Collins! Durand's name! And clear those nobles out!" "Paranoia, it's what you're paying me for. Take the advice, let's clear the area please," Jamie shakes his head at Jet's statement. "No, we don't; it's in the hands of the security team. We need to get out from underfoot and out of harm's way. Your people, your responsibility, let's move." The radio goes wild with chatter, "Full security alert! This is --" "Clear out that area NOW!" Antonia continues belting out her song, oblivious to the developments of the past few seconds. Reynard and company, meanwhile, appear to have already cleared out, probably anxious to get out of the way even without knowing about this latest development. The zeppelin's marquee shifts to read, "... but you should fear Dark Eden!" "Right, gotcha, just let me get my gun, Collins," Jet says firmly. "I'm not going out into that mess unarmed and unarmored." She beats feet for her changing area. "Why am I not reassured?" Jamie mutters as he follows his principal. "Never take another of these cushy jobs without getting the roles straight." With a bit of jostling around and rushing back stage, as panic starts to slowly set in as word just begins to get around that something's wrong out there ... Jet reaches her dressing room, and her stash of equipment. She dashes into the small area, snatches her trenchcoat off the rack and shrugs into her shoulder holster before covering it with the coat, doing a fast check on the clip and safety of her MP-105. "Okay. Fastest way out of here, Collins?" "Good, grab your crew; we go straight out the back to the cars and don't stop for anything," Jamie rumbles, glancing about. "If that crowd panics, we don't want to be here." Jamie's radio crackles, "... evacuating level 1 ..." "We got another freak out in the crowd! That thing's not HUMAN!" "Reynard, Steve, and Linda already blew out of here; they don't like hanging around after a gig," Jet answers shortly. She recollects where the nearest stairwell is, and heads for it. "They weren't going to the aftershow? Odd," Jamie mutters as he tries to follow the traffic over the radio. "Okay, then that way, and step lively..." As she's already moving, he follows, words trailing off. With a bit of dashing, running and weaving, Jet and Jamie manage to get to the edge of the "crust", on level 1. Several people are swarming toward the exits in a panicked mob, while BLEU officers and suited security officers are doing their best to move them along. The exit doors have been popped off their hinges to make for a wider egress. A stairwell nearby sees no use, however, out of the main flow of traffic. After the crackling from the radio, and at Collins' urging, the dark-skinned woman moves to a sprint. Braids whip out behind her, and absent-mindedly she reaches up to peel the wig off. Seeing the stairwell leading up is unblocked, she dashes up them, two at a time. "Danzwyck!" Jamie bellows, sprinting after her. "Wrong way, frak! Wrong way!" Anyone unfortunate enough to be between him and the stairs get blown aside as Jamie moves at full speed after his patron. If she hears him, she gives no indication, in headlong flight for the fourth level, pulse pounding with every hard stride. Jet manages to bound up the steps, while Jamie seems to have a little trouble bowling past intervening bodies. A chase ensues up the steps ... at which point Jet comes out on the fourth floor. By the sounds of footsteps, it sounds like Jamie is still on level 2, and making his way up. Out here, there's a bit of a panic ... and a bit of deja vu. It looks like it's Gog-Magog all over again, as there's a big overgrown monster of a man (or what used to be a man, anyway) thrashing about, taking bullets from guards and not even flinching. Jet's preliminary scan of the scene does not reassure her. She draws slightly back into the stairwell as she pulls out her MP-105. "Hurry it up, Collins, we need backup!" she shouts down, then re-emerges, prepared to add her own gunfire to the guards'. The freak so far appears to be doing nothing more than thrashing about, since nobody is stupid enough to get within arm's reach, though there is one fallen guard and a few spots of blood that suggest that he managed to do at least some damage before getting cornered by security. At last, Jamie manages to catch up, reaching the fourth floor. Jamie rushes out of the stairway, half-expecting trouble immediately on hand; that's the way this evening is shaping up. "Cardinal's breath, woman, this is not your fight, fall back!" Without breaking stride, the burly ex-Imperial draws his HG-12 and roars in his best parade-ground command voice, "Watch your fire, aim low!" A few more bullets slam into the bestial creature's hide, sending sprays of gore flying. It lets out a roar and reaches over, ripping a drinking fountain from the wall and holding it over its head. "Like Dark it's not my fight! This is exactly what that bunch of nutcases we intercepted a few weeks ago were planning," Jet snarls in response, her aim reflexively dropping at his suggestion. She presses herself back against the wall opposite the monster, and ceases fire as she begins to sidle along it, keeping as clear as she can of the way of the Blue Heaven-dosed man while she tries to get to the box that the Bauhaus nobles had occupied. Jet manages to make an end-run around the thrashing man-beast, avoiding getting his attention. The freak, meanwhile, hurls the water fountain at a couple of the guards ... who deftly sidestep it, then resume their firing upon the monster. Keeping a wary eye on the drinking fountain, Jamie shifts into a firing range stance; the small pistol is almost lost in his big hands. "I charge extra for pointless heroics, Detective!" is lost in the roar as he empties the clip, aiming for the kneecaps of the doomed freak. Once she's clear of the tattooed monster, Jet starts a controlled sprint for the Bauhaus box, focused on spotting further trouble before she runs into it. The freak's kneecaps disappear in a blue-red-black mist of goop and shrapnel, as Jamie blasts them apart. The monster lets out a guttural roar ... but no protest is good enough to stop the inevitable, as he collapses to the ground, crippled, though still thrashing about angrily. Skirting the downed cultist, Jamie ejects his empty clip as he tries to catch up with Jet. Up ahead, it looks like several House Guards in the distinctive crest-helms of the Order of the Condor are escorting members of the Saglielli family out of the Bauhaus box, and toward the "VIP" elevator shaft. Not entirely reassured by the sight of the guards, Danzwyck slows, focusing on the figures as she tries to determine if the Bauhaus "Guards" are escorting a willing Saglielli family, or if the nobles are being encouraged along by force of arms. Closer examination suggests the situation is just what it appears. Jet pauses, lifting her gun to a rest position with its muzzle alongside her shoulder, and taking stock of the rest of the immediate situation. Snapping a fresh clip into the pistol as he walks up behind her, Jamie says, "Detective, if you rush in there, they will likely shoot you down without asking questions. It's their job and they aren't paid to take risks with their patrons." "Understood, Collins," is the woman's brief reply as she glances around. The nobles are escorted onto the elevator, which closes and drops. Outside, through a window, the zeppelin can still be seen. Some police zeppelins can also be seen, converging on the scene. The marquee on the off-course zeppelin reads, "It is too late....," then flashes, "The Megabody is at hand." Taking a step or two over toward the window, Jamie looks down toward the stage, then back up at the zeppelin, trying to spot where its heading, if anywhere. "I have a bad feeling about this," Jet murmurs. She clicks the safety back on her gun and holsters it, shivering as she sees the marquee, then snorting. "If that's so, punks, why're we still here for you to brag about it?" The zeppelin seems to be drifting off, away from the pursuing police zeppelins, but it would seem that they've got the speed advantage over an advertising blimp. "At this point it's best if we wait it out, and not try pushing through the crowd," Jamie growls, "IF we had left promptly, you'd be safe and secure. What now?" Jet steps over to the elevator, scanning it for any obvious signs of tampering, after checking the corridor to ensure no further surprises are headed their way from this level. No, no obvious signs of tampering. It's still a madhouse out there, judging by the noise, and evidently there's more than one of these freaks thrashing about, but not a whole army of them, evidently. Shaking her head, Danzwyck moves towards the now-vacant Bauhaus box. "I'm afraid I'm tapped for ideas, too, Collins. If they were going to get to the Bauhaus nobles, it's up here that they'd've tried, I'd think." She sighs softly. One of the blue-uniformed guards rushes over to catch up with Jet and Jamie. "Hey there -- Some fine shooting you did there. Can you get the missus off of this floor, though? We need to clear out this area." "Detective, it's not a target raid, it's a terror raid; they want as much chaos and fear as they can get. Based solely on their tactics tonight, and the waste of personnel by using that suicide drug." Jamie nods to the guard. "Easier said... right, let's move ..." The radio crackles again, this time with a familiar voice, "This is DA Officer James Watterson ... anybody read? What's the situation out there?" She shoots a glare at the incoming guard, then lunges towards the radio at its sound. "Watterson!" She holds out her hand to Collins in silent request. The radio interrupts whatever Collins was about to say, and he pulls the radio out of his suit coat pocket, handing it to Jet. "Detective Danzwyck here, Watterson, do you copy?" The guard nods, apparently satisfied that Jamie will comply, and moves on down the corridor, finding some other confused people to herd off. "Hey now! Move along..." "It's Jimbo, I copy! Is everybody all right out there?" "Mostly, Jay," Jet answers. "Some downed guards, lots of confusion, but no apparent specific targets. What's your status?" "I read you, Danzwyck," the voice of James croaks, somewhat lethargically. "Great Durand, you wouldn't believe what happened. What's the situation? Is it under control out there?" "Urgh. I've had better," the voice over the radio moans. "I just got worked over something fierce by one of our 'Doom to Luna' boys... you better get some techs over here... I think it's one of the... ugh, hang on... what's your location? I've got something serious to bring up." A voice breaks in over the channel. "This channel is for authorized Feldspar Auditorium security," the voice barks. Jamie motions for the radio, glancing around for possible trouble. It looks like this corridor is pretty much clear for now. The freak that Jamie knee-capped earlier is dissolving into protoplasmic sludge. "Relatively speaking. We got some Blue Heaven O.D.'s causing a ruckus, but the guards are taking them down, Jay," Jet answers, before returning the radio to Collins. The radio crackles, "Acknowledged. Meet me at the crust if you can, Jet, I'll make it worth your while. And sorry for borrowing your frequency, security! Over and out." "Feldspar, this is Collins, be advised my patron is a Dawn Alert detective; something they are working on is linked to this problem. We will be using channel 3, over." Jamie pauses, and adds, "Got that Watterson? Go to channel 3." Changing the channel on the radio, he hands it back to Danzwyck. Danzwyck waits more or less patiently for Collins to finish speaking, giving him a brief but appreciative nod. "Watterson, Collins and I are on level four at present, we'll meet you on level one near the Bauhaus VIP exit. Do you copy?" Moving at a brisk walk, Jet heads for the nearest stairs, one hand over the butt of her holstered pistol, glancing this way and that for signs of trouble. The radio squawks, "This is Watterson, y'all read?" The signal sounds a bit clearer now. "Unless they come in by air, there is no way you are going to get a tech-team into the building, not 'til the crowd thins; call it at least fifteen minutes, maybe thirty," Jamie says as he walks along behind Jet, long legs making easy work of her pace. Jet and Jamie make it back to the stairs at the end, without any hindrance. There are sounds of a few people using the stairs below, but it seems like most of the traffic is herding for those toward the center of the "crust" -- and closest to the parking garages. "Watterson, the crowd's too thick and panicked for us to get a tech team down here in short order," Jet relays. "Maybe fifteen, thirty minutes at the soonest. I repeat, we'll meet you by the Bauhaus VIP exit on level one. Do you copy?" The radio squawks, "Yeah, well... This is pretty Darkin' heavy, so I advise a 10-46 riot squad clear 'em out as fast as possible. I copy, 10-4. En route." "Dark take it all," Jet mutters. As they head down the stairs, she keeps an eye out for a payphone, or signage indicating where the payphones are. "Pay phones, first level?" Jamie asks, fishing in his pocket for a ten crown to feed the machine. "If we can find one that is working, that is, to call in your people. You have authority this far out, or will you have turf war problems?" Jet grimaces at Jamie's question. "Let's just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best, eh?"
Some wrestling through crowds, and a quick stop to a payphone later, Jimbo, Jet and Jamie manage to meet up at the bottom of the VIP elevator, back on level one.
Oh, and his shoelaces are untied. The black-haired woman winces at Jimbo's appearance, shaking her head, "Durand's name, Watterson, can't leave you alone for a minute. What've you got for your pains, officer?" "Officer Watterson, I'm Jamie Collins. I'm the bodyguard for Miss Danzwyck." Jamie stresses the word "Miss". "Since neither of you are on-duty, and are off-turf, I'm the closest you've got to any authority here. Let's hope we don't need it." As he says this, he peers at the officer to see whatever it is that Jimbo lugged up with him. "Reportin' for duty, sir," says Jimbo, tapping his forehead in something resembling a salute. He appears only to be lugging himself, with a slight limp. "Armageddonists, Jet. I followed a guy on a hunch, and he led me to a chunk of the Megabody -- what he said was the Megabody, or part of it, before he tried to tear my head off. By the Cardinal, I don't know if it was, but everything clicked... the emblems I saw, the history I remembered from Payne's books... he meant to set it off as an 'example'... talked like he had every ability and intention." Glancing down at Jet, Jamie silently mouths the word, "Megabody?" Jet shakes her head again. "Frak." She rubs one hand through her own sweat-streaked hair, then looks up at Jamie. "Way back, before Earth got bombed back to the stone age, some Earthers had a plan to blow up Luna, purportedly using a weapon called 'The Megabody'," she briefs him. "The Armageddonists are trying to activate it." Jimbo wobbles a bit on his feet, his face looking more haggard, the creases on his face getting heavier. He hunkers over to brace his hands on his knees. "Like I said, heavy stuff. The components should still be down there, but I dunno if the coolant I used to hose our boy damaged it or not. That's why we need to get our techies in there once the area is secure. I can tell you the whole story back at the station... the combat high's wearing off, and I don't know how much longer I can stay on my feet." Smoothing back his hair, Jamie chuckles quietly. "An ancient weapon, from before the fall. Right. As if you needed that proof to know these cultists are nuts." "No scrud, man ... it's true." Watterson shakes his head, panting. "Someone should go back there now, and guard the door just in case any cultists have any ideas about going back down there." The detective moves to brace Jimbo, guiding him to a nearby bench. "You did good, Watterson. Collins and I'll go scope it out if you'll be okay here? Frag, should've thought to call an ambulance for you while I was at it." With some help, James gets to the bench and drops himself onto it like a heap of rocks. "Go ahead Chief, I'll be fine after I sit a spell. That thing under the stadium's got priority. Stay sharp, botha you."
Following the directions given by Jimbo, Jet and Jamie manage to find their way to a door marked "Employees Only", that Jimbo thoughtfully left unlocked. Down a stairwell, some distance underground, they get to the bottom flight, where a heavy door opens into a hot area full of a jumble of machinery ... and a short distance down the way, through the darkness, they find a hole chipped through the tile floor, revealing a vertical shaft, and a few lamps illuminating it. There are some ladder rungs built into the side of the shaft, and there is a pulley arrangement bolted into the floor, with a rope hanging over, long enough for both ends to descend all the way down into a chamber far below. Just inside the shaft, there is an emblem that reads "NASA", with a logo that looks something like the Capitol symbol. "Dark," Jamie grumbles, peering into the hole. "Specs on this job didn't include tunnel-crawling, I left everything I should have at home." It looks like there's some illumination in the chamber at the bottom of the shaft, and some white mists drifting about. "Durand," Jet breathes. "NASA?" She raises her eyebrows and touches the emblem. "Some kind of health food, I think, don't know," Jamie says offhand, poking at the pulley, checking its setup and condition. The pulley is most definitely a recent addition, and quite sturdy. "It's the name of one of the earliest space programs, Collins," Jet says, looking both awed and puzzled. "Could this thing really be that old?" She peers about for a few more moments, checking for any details overlooked so far, then clicks on the radio. "Watterson, this "Megabody" you found, it's inside the ... uhh ... capsule?" The radio replies, in Jimbo's voice, "It is the capsule. I remembered from the history books... after settling on Luna, the descendant of this NASA organization constructed a missile defense system beneath the crust of the moon. I think, or the Armageddonists think, this is one of those missiles. The guy I froze brought a box down there to activate it with, I guess. Can you see it? It's got a bunch of vacuum tubes." "Can't see anything down there, some kind of fog or mist." Peering down into the tunnel, Jamie adds, "Short of going down there, there is little we can do." "Not much of a missile silo, Watterson," Jet says into the radio, puzzled, then clicks off, preparing to head down the shaft. Placing a hand on her shoulder, Jamie asks, "Detective, what are you doing? It's kept this long, it will keep another hour, 'til you can get a team here. Two pistols, no backup and no real idea of what we are doing here. This is sensible?" The radio crackles, "Don't look at me, I'm on the bomb squad, I don't do rocket science. What's it like down there? I didn't stick around for the mists to clear." The radio cracks, "How's our big purple-eyed popsicle?" Jet listens to Collins, and pauses, clicking the radio back on. "Okay, let me get this straight, Jay. You went down this shaft with the NASA symbol on it, found a purple tattooed guy trying to set off what you and he think is some kind of missile. He beat you up and you froze him?" The radio replies, "Yeah, with the coolant tank on the wall near the shaft. I even managed to keep my hand." The mists clear a little more ... and down the shaft can be seen a prone figure lying on the floor just beneath the shaft, in the chamber below. "Yeah, looks like your Gaian's still frozen, Watterson," Jet answers. "You didn't get a chance to tie him up, did you? Or see if he was dead?" The radio squawks, "I was just trying to haul my butt out of that hole before I got frosty too." Jet sighs. "Roger that." She clicks the radio off, and stares down at the body at the bottom of the shaft. "Cover me, Collins, I'm gonna see if he's still alive and tie him up if he is." She scrounges about for some unused rope or extension cord. There's still the rope hanging from the pulley, plus a number of cables, ropes and extension cords lying about. Any of them should suffice. In fact, there is even a pair of work gloves handy. "Sure, got a gas mask? Something to protect you from the coolant vapors down there? Be a shame to waste your voice after making such a big hit tonight." Jamie is decidedly not being helpful, and has planted himself between the hole and Jet, arms crossed over his chest. After collecting a loose coil of rope and slipping on the scavenged work gloves, the detective grimaces at her body guard. "Look, if the fumes are nasty, I'll stop. I'll go slow. But if that guy's still alive, I want him to stay that way. They don't talk so good dead. And if he starts moving while we're up here, and he's not tied up, he's not gonna be alive long, either." Arching an eyebrow, Jamie rumbles, "If the fumes are nasty? Coolant like that is either compressed gases, which vaporize if heated to room temperature, or something decidedly unhealthy. I know which way I'd wager. He hasn't moved from where Officer Watterson left him, odds are good he's not in condition to move. He's taking a dirt nap." Jet makes a low rumble in the back of her throat as she looks at the tall, former Imperial man. She sniffs at the air gingerly. It smells dusty and dingy down here, of oil and machinery. Shaking his head, Jamie gives a short laugh. "Heavy vapors don't climb up a long hole like that. We're safe up here, and keeping you safe is my job. Listen to the professional, lady, it's what you are paying me to do." The radio crackles, "How's it going down there?" "You have any idea what was in that coolant tank, Jay?" Danzwyck asks over the radio, a touch curtly, her gaze fixed on Collins. The radio buzzes, "Uh... coolant? I dunno. It was super-chilled, and it stopped Beefcake, that's all I was concerned with at the time. Uh ... heavy gas, I figure. You wouldn't want to breathe it... damn, I'm sorry, I should have..." There's a brief pause, then in a somewhat lower voice, "Hey, we've got company up here. Looks like some Bauhaus Blitzers ... bomb detachment." With the radio still off, Jet says evenly to Collins, "Looks like you win." Flicking it on, "Roger that. We'll hold at our position until they arrive. Go ahead and steer 'em our way, Watterson." Jamie nods as the radio, and says, "Please stay here while I look around, make sure there isn't more trouble looking for us." Glancing around for a light, since the room is dark except for this area, he adds, "Blitzers are demo specialists, typically what Bauhaus would send in. I wonder how they knew they needed them for this." It looks like the lighting is rather poor in this room, though it might be possible to grab one of the work-lamps and an extension cord for at least a limited means of exploring the immediate vicinity. Jimbo's voice crackles, "You really want 'em down there? They're kind of... uh... well, your call." "Understood, Watterson. But it's their turf, we're not gonna get anywhere holding out on them," Danzwyck answers. Coiling up an extension cord, and plugging one of the work lamps into it, Jamie takes a few minutes to check out what he can of the room, pistol ready in his left hand. "Roger that, Jet." A little farther from the radio, "Hey, fellas, over here! Yeah, here's my badge ... we've got the location. *Clickfzzt*" In the time it takes Jamie to check out the area -- and confirm that there are no more heretics, terrorists or other nasties hiding in the area ... some Bauhaus demolition experts in heavy armor come down the stairwell.
*** GM Note: Final awards (including points spent during
log): Jet: +5 (+7 -2); Jimbo: +4 (+7 -3); Jamie: +7
*** GM Note: Totals to date -- Duffy: 19; Ice: 9; Jamie: 10;
Jet: 12; Jimbo: 18; Taro: 10
Log stopped on Wednesday, 26 Apr 2000, 12:13 AM EST by "Greywolf2" at "Holodeck 2"
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Standing off stage, a tall, broad shouldered man in a suit
shrugs slightly, adjusting the fit of the straps holding
the claymore scabbarded across his back. Squinting, he
slips on some lightly smoked shooting glasses for
protection against the glare of the spots as he watches the stage.
One spotlight fixes on a dark-skinned woman at center stage,
wearing a slinky black bodysuit with a sequined bolero
jacket over it and a gold chain about her waist. Long
black braids drape down her back as she stands, poised,
before the microphone. Ranged about her, in the larger
spotlight, is another woman holding a bass guitar, a
slightly pudgy man wielding an electric guitar, and an
imposing drum set surrounding a second man. The final
member stands behind a keyboard set with a saxophone around
his neck, just outside the reach of the main spotlight.
Jimbo shambles up in a rather sorry-looking state. His
flannel shirt is gone, with only his bulletproof vest over
his T-shirt. Grime and sweat smear him liberally and a thin
later of dirt coats his goggles. There's a few small bloody
patches where minor abrasions have soaked through his
jeans, and some of his exposed skin bears deep purple bruises.