"Well it's come to this, we should try and capture as many of them as possible, since I'm sure Mr Hemerson would like to know why people keep shooting missiles at him." Gazing towards the thugs his face pales and his voice takes on a hollow ring "A touch of the grave for our friends..."
Ten meters above, a haze thickens to a mist that thickens to a cloud that produces a large woman astride a white horse. She draws out a sword of shining light, raising it, thunder rolls as she swings it downwards it leaps towards the man in black, it's form that of crackling lightning.
"And for the rest of you...la petite mort" Luc's voice is barely above a whisper as his face drains of all cover and his fedora seems to be replaced by a circlet of white....
Damien's eyes nearly bulge out of his sockets. "What...no. YOU SHOULD BE ON FIRE." Pulling his head back into the car, Damien grabs the focus out of his pocket and says a quick chant while gripping it. Then, grabbing his gun off of the floor, he leans out the window and takes aim at the man with the rather large gun, whispering "Boom, boom, boom" while he steadies his hand.
Biting his lip so hard that blood comes out, Damien pulls the trigger and watches thunder emerge from the muzzle.
Putting his gun back in the car, Damien cracks his neck and shouts at the crowd gathered before the limo. "YOU ARE VERY LUCKY THAT I AM SHARING MY FIRE WITH YOU. NOT MANY PEOPLE APPRECIATE THIS, BUT IT IS A GIFT. HAIL ME, FOR I AM PROMETHEUS." Feeling the energy coursing through his veins, Damien watches the arcane fire leap from his hand to the group in front of him, smiling at the brightness of the flame.
Despite the day feeling and looking physically perfect, the light gleams almost coldy off the hoods and bumbers of the vehicles assembled in the little parking lot. Time slows to a crawl for all the participants, as adrenaline and enhancements that make their users more than human speed the rush of battle.
Marcus's grenade launches forward, sluggishly to the eyes of everyone, yet moving faster than anybody can react. It gets to withone one meter of the man with the scarred and no longer smiling face, then explodes in a hellish torrent of force and heat. The impact shatters the man's left arm, and causes bones to erupt from under his skin, and stray pieces of metal rips his chest slightly open. Not deap enough to expose vital organs, but deep enough to see the wall of muscle underneath his skin, at least before the blood erupts from the ruptured arteries and veins.
Another man in leather, standing 6 feet from the grenade and to the right of the leader (from your perspective), is battered by the explosive damage, and a shard of the grenade cust a slice accross his cheek, which soon drips copious amounts of blood, impairing his concentration.
Marcus's follow up shots take the grenadier in the chest, and the three explosive rounds burrow into his flesh and rip apart his torso, splattering the van he was standing against with blood. The second burst causes a gout of blood as he practically disintigrates under the fire. Marcus can see the light in his eyes die.
At least he can the second before Jack's EX explosive round impacts the man's head, and causes his skull to just disintigrate under the pressure. There is literally nothing left above the adam's apple, and his larynx hangs raggedly out his neck. Dental reconstruction might be possible. If you can find his teeth.
At the same time as the Grenadier is falling headless, Luc's spirit flashes it's lightning towards the now bleeding and weakened leader. The electricity raps its cold blue fire around him, causing him to scream as agonizing volts cause all the remaining muscles in his body to contract, forcing the jagged spurs of bone even further out his arm and causing the tear across his chest to widen even further. The scar across the man's face starts to open once again under the sheer force of his agony. Luckily blessed unconsciousness quickly descends upon the man, and he toples out of the sports car and lands in a heap on the ground; breathing, but not moving.
The spirit then directs its attentions to the man with an assault rifle standing to the left of the now-unconscious leader. Lightning once more sizzles and connects with flesh, producing hideous screams, horrible contractions, and the now-too-familiar scent of burning flesh. The man collapses to the ground in contractions that shortly die out. He breathes, but his eyes are closed and he shows no signs of awakening without aid or a few hours rest.
Luc's spells comes right on top of the spirit's actions causing the actions of the men on both the far left and far right to slow down to a crawl. To the left, the men feel like they are pushing through molasses. To the right, the men find themselves unable to concentrate on their shooting, as their minds run through every sexual encounter they have ever had in their lives. They try to focus, but just can't get past the urge to touch smooth heaving flesh once more.
Damien' spell launches into the air, and then takes a sudden turn left, ignoring the now disabled leader and his surrounding men, the ball streaks towards three unaffected thugs, their hands reaching slowly towards their triggers. They never have time to pull them, as the ball of fire explodes in a flash of superheated flame, burning the men to cinders and ripping the very flesh from their bones. The remaining ashes and blackened bones clatter to the ground, in a sound not even heard by those just feet away, as it is swallowed by the deafening clap of the grenade and fireball.
Luke finishes loading his shotgun, and readies it for firing.
Galak in the meantime grunts a little, and hefts his light machine gun into place on top of his Gyro stabilization mount. The two machines come together with a satisfying "cha-chick."
The remaining men, agape with fear and anger, open fire.
Most of the disabled men cannot concentrate enough to steady their aim, and their shots either miss the target by firing wildly overhead and missing the target by at least a foot, or clatter against the heavy armor of the limo.
One tall thin man in a long leather trenchcoat, takes carefull aim at Marcus and squeezes the trigger of his Ruger Super Warhawk. The huge pistol barks and slams upward, breaking the mans shooting stance. The bullet itself slams into the windshield of the armored limo, and while it does not penetrate the glass, it does create a nice large impact mark, two inches above Luke's head.
Hemerson says "Eeep."
A man weilding a submachine gun takes careful aim at Jack, and then depresses his trigger. Instead of the expected gout of flame and bullets, the gun instead makes a clicking, grinding sound. Looking at the gun and working the action the man curses as he realizes the gun is jammed.
Two men with submachine guns take aim at Damien, eyes glittering at the chance to take their revenge for their fallen and incinerated comrades. They depress their triggers and one has his clip fall out his gun. The other's finger slips as the gun fires, the shots go wild and the gun falls to the earth. Landing with a heavy thud. The thugs look at each other, mortified.
Ducking back into the car well before the first round of bullets pelts accross the limo's armored exterior, Jack is grinning. Then the stony visage you've all been acquainted with returns, almost as quick as it had disappeared, just before he ducks back out the window.
Taking aim once again, Jacks rifle kicks back *BLAM*.....*BLAM*.....*BLAM*
Luke glances up at the impact on the windscreen as he stops loading shells into the shotgun and racks the slide. Thumbing open the automatic drivers side window, he subscribes to the smartlink on the shotgun, a HUD appearing on his eyes with all the information he needs and a little picture from the gun mounted camera.
Poking the shotgun out the window, Luke aims the shotgun at one of the guys with SMGs, a look of concentration crossing his face. Bracing the gun against his shoulder, he gently squeezes the trigger. The shotgun roars and a slug is sent racing across the battlefield, the barrel kicking up in his grasp as he racks the slide for another shot.
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Tri-Optimum reminds you that there are only one-hundred-sixty-three shopping days until Christmas. Just 1 extra work cycle twice a week will give you the spending money you need to make this holiday a very special one.
Damien barely notices anything as he fires off another spell. While the enemy numbers had been drastically reduced, there were still targets, and that was no good.
Holding his hand like a gun, Damien whispers "Bang," as a stream of arcane power flies at the man with a shotgun.
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Der Waffle MousBlame this on the misfortune of your birth.New Yark, New Yark.Registered Userregular
edited March 2007
Marcus saw his target essentially explode into a puddle of goo in slow motion as the shots from several firers converged on him. The shots that the goons had fired in return left the group unfazed, leaving at most a large mark in the limo's paint.
He took aim at the source of that shot; a ganger with a revolver who thought he was fucking Clint Eastwood. Just for that, he was next. He took aim, lining up the crosshair on his HUD, and squeezed the trigger, letting loose a burst of explosive slugs.
His field of view was much too limited in the Limo, he pulled the latch and kicked the door open, rolling to the ground, taking cover behind the heavily armored limo door.
He eyed the next biggest threat on his mental list; the goon with the assault rifle. He once again lined up his burst with military precision, and let loose. The digital readout on his gun counted down to a lambent red "33".
A cold hand springs from beneath the driver's seat and grips Luke's ankle. The feeling of shock and the heightened reactions that brings fails to fade as Luke begins to respond quicker than before.
The coms rattle into life and in a raspy voice Luc says "Corpses divulge their secrets to only one being, and it is none of us. Take those we can alive so we can find the source of this."
The noble Valkyrie finds those who have not been wounded and again the shining silver sword swings and again lightning arcs towards those who defy her will.
"Mortals throw down your arms and seek honorable surrender or prepare yourself to be taken!"
Jack's rifle rounds find their marks, screaming like metal angels towards their targets. The first round slams into the throat of a thug holding a submachine gun. It exits in the back making a hole the size of an orange, ripping apart vertebrae in a scatter of bone, blood, flesh and bullet fragments.
The second round, fired so fast that it sound merges with the report of the first, crashes into the chest of a tall hispanic ganger holding an assault rifle. The bullet lands directly over the heart, and the back of the ganger's chest just rips apart and Jack can see the excess blood burble and splash its way out of the mouth of the ganger as he falls backward.
The third round impacts the forehead of a gang member toting a submachine gun, trying desperatly to get it to work. But that isn't his problem anymore. The EX explosive round litterally shatters the mans skull, sending bits of skull and brain everywhere. A particularly large, wet, splotchy bit of brain and skull land on the limo's windshield.
Luke's shotgun round impacts just 1 second after Jack's sniper round blows apart the ganger's neck. The round slams into the chest cavity of the ganger and proceeds to exit through the other side, spilling internal organs out the exit hole, a hole litterally large enough to swing a cat in. Luke can see a kidney and several lengths of small intestine fall out of the hole as the body falls towards the ground.
Damien's powerbolt rips into his target, ripping the soul from his body and causing the most horrifying scream anyone has ever heard. Despite the noise of gun fire and explosions, and the crackle of flames from the small ignited fires left by the grenade and the fireball, flames which smolder and burn atop the grass and the minivans and even the sportscar, the scream rises above it all. Impossibly high, impossibly long, and hideous in that it is not a sound a grown man should be able to make, the scream seems to go on and on, even after the body has hit the ground and the man has stopped breathing. Finally it fades away, not really cutting off, just seemingly moving elsewhere, out of your hearing.
Marcus's rounds quickly find the center of their target's forehead. They group themselves so tightly that you could fit a playing card over the entrance holes. The exit holes are a different story. The explosive rounds fragment inside the man's skull and upon their exit, they tear the whole back end of his skull out and deposit the fragmented remains of his brains on the van behind him.
Marcus's second burst slams into the man who was already dripping blood from his earlier grenade blast. This burst is bit less grouped and lands much lower, one round ripping into the man's groin and exiting as a pink mist, the other two rounds slam into the man's lower torso and the explosive rounds proceed to shatter inside him, and tear into all manner of intestines, arteries and veins. The man drops his assault rifle and collapses to the ground. He screams from the pain and agony of having his digestive system turned into so much confetti. At first his screaming is simply disorganized wails of agony, but his screams before dropping off into unconsciousness and death resolve themselves into repeated cries for his "Mamaaaaaa."
The spirits two lightning strikes quickly claim their victims, wrapping them in cold pale blue electrical fire, wrapping the screaming agonized victims in convulsions, pain and the smell of their own burning flesh. Luckily unconsciousness comes quickly for them, as the pain overloads their nervous systems, and the consciousness is blotted out and their bodies collapse. They still breathe, although very raggedly. Their two submachine guns clatter to the ground as they lose all control of their muscles. Luckily for the two, any burning they may be undergoing is rectified by their losing control of ALL of their muscles. Dampness quickly spreads under their bodies.
The ground that was so formerly grey and listless is now colorful and alive with motion. The red of blood and the colors of the bodies have taken some of the grey from the grass. The yellow of the fire that is threatening to consume one of the vans to the left of the sports car and the fire that is slowly consuming the sports car are adding light and heat to the area. And there is the black smoke rising from the smoldering, but not yet burning grass.
In front of you lay the remains of those who would have harmed your employer and yourself. Now they can harm nobody. Their broken bodies lie near their weapons, almost exclusively Ingram Smartguns, HK XM30's set up as shotguns, or HK XM30's being used as assault rifles.
Those who still breath and live include the man with pale and scarred face, whose bleeding chest wound still flows, though less now then when he was conscious. His hands still grasp and clutch at his Ranger Arms SM-4 sniper rifle. The briefcase used to contain it is in the backseat, perilously close to being consumed by fire. The scarred man lies some 10 meters directly in front of the limo.
The other 3 men lie near their weapons, unscathed except for the electrical burns that cover their bodies. The man with the assault rifle lies to the left of the remains of the grenadier, some 5 meters to the left of the leader and 9 meters from the front of the limo. The submachine gunners lie one meter apart and are 8 meters from the right side of the limo.
And all is quiet, as life resumes its normal ebb and flow.
Hemerson almost faints in his seat, his head lolling back and forth. "I'm still, I'm still alive."
Jack calmly puts his sniper on the duffel bag and pulls out the super warhawk and climbs out of the limo. Giving the carnage a quick look his eyes focus on the scarred man's car. Hurrying over he opens the car and pulls out the man's sniper rifle, its case, and any ammo he can find. Jack takes the rifle and its components back to the limo and makes sure they are secure and unharmed.
Only then does he turn his attention to the unconsious man hanging from the car he just looted. Jack walks back over and pulls him to a safe distance from the wreckage.
Luke surveys the carnage, closing the window in the process. Reloading the shotgun, he puts the box of shells back into the duffel bag. Digging around some more, he pulls out the length of rope and loops it over his shoulder. He also grabs the medkit and with another look around the battle site clambers out of the limo, shotgun in hand, and wanders over to where Jack is pulling scarface from his likely "borrowed" sports car.
"Messy business, inn'it? Let's have a squiz at how this bugger's doing"
Kneeling down beside the unconscious man, Luke looks him over. The wounds don't look too serious, and he's still breathing so he'll probably be fine. Putting the medkit and shotgun down behind him he shrugs the rope from his shoulder and puts a hand in one pocket. He then begins searching all his other pockets and pouches all the while cursing under his breath.
"Got a knife or summin? Seem to have left mine at home. Let's truss this bugger up."
Chrysis on
Tri-Optimum reminds you that there are only one-hundred-sixty-three shopping days until Christmas. Just 1 extra work cycle twice a week will give you the spending money you need to make this holiday a very special one.
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Der Waffle MousBlame this on the misfortune of your birth.New Yark, New Yark.Registered Userregular
edited March 2007
Marcus takes out his hunting knife and tosses it over. "Careful with that, kay?"
He then stands in his position behind the limo door, scanning what's left, his finger still on the trigger.
Damien unconsciously licks his lips. "Hey, guys, we only need one of these chumps, right? Can I call dibs on any of the others?" Gripping his gun tightly, Damien doesn't take his eyes off of their limp forms.
"Woa there, what are you intending to do to the helpless and soon to be bound guys?" Luc glares at Damien while reaching behind his back to retrieve a pair of plasteel restraints and tosses them to Luke.
"Bind his wrist and then pull that tab, they'll fuse in place. Make sure his hands are behind his back when you do that. Now, does anybody have any skill in signal intelligence? I would really like to know if Lonestar or Doc Wagon is on their way. That is perhaps the most important question we have right now."
"Given even a few minutes I can get some good info out of these guys, here's good unless they've called in for help. We really need to know this." Having given his coworkers something to think about the dwarf scans the scene of carnage, his expression grim.
Raising his face heavenwards he addresses the spirit with glowing sword in hand "Thank you for your aid, please now guide the brave departed on their way as is your duty."
As Luc pushes the mans broken arm behind his back, he screams and comes awake just as the binders fuse his arms into position. His broken left arm dangles uselessly, the shards of bone sticking through the skin useless as supports for movement, now serving only to accentuate the obviously terrible pain he is in.
Sitting up against the cold black surface of the limo, the man's scarred face contorts with effort as he seeks to draw in breath and work enough saliva up to spit at you. But after a few seconds of useless effort, he collapses against the side of the limo, heaving what breaths he can stand out his slashed and bleeding chest.
Suddenly, the silence of the area, previously broken only by crackling flames and the moaning of those still unconscious, is broken by a noise. "Beep-beep-ba-beep-ba-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep-beep-ba-beep-beep-beep-beep." Its the theme of "The Great Escape" in beep form.
"Um Gentlemen, I have an meeting I need to be at in 10 minutes" exclaims Hemerson shakily. "If its still Monday. It's Monday right?"
Luc looks up from carefully looking around the area with a grumble "Well if we're in a hurry..." Once more his face takes on a 1000 year stare and from somewhere a man shaped form appears from nowhere. The figures emaciated form is wrapped in a frayed linen shroud all around. "I need this ones secrets, take them from him."
The black space where the beings eyes should be turn towards the bound ganger as it places its skeletal hands upon his head and begins to speak....
In a low, rumbling voice, as if from the grave, the spirit gives forth its answers.
"He came under the bidding of his master, known as Toothsome, to slay Hemerson. Why he does not know, for he does merely as bidden, his fear of Toothsome rules him well. Toothsome will still desire to kill Hemerson, if he may, and as this represented the least and most expendable of Toothsome's men, they were sent first. They came in vehicles they stole, by the simple expedient of murdering the drivers, as brutally as they could."
With this the spirit ends is speech, even as scarface's eyes roll into the back of his head.
And Hemerson, who was watching, stammers and stutters "Um guys.... I really think we should be leaving." Hemerson is as white as sheet, witnessing the spirit's power, and learning that the threat isn't over, seems to be robbing him of what compuncture he still has left.
Damien seems to be slightly agitated. "Sure, sure, let's go, hidey-ho and all that. But, I think it'd be a great idea if you let me have some 'alone time' with one of the survivors." His eyes seem to glint in the sunlight. "It'd be good to send a message to these assholes. Hell, we could even tie him to the bumper, that way we wouldn't waste any time getting Hemerson wherever he needs to be. My gun buddy will back me up on this, right Marcus?"
Luke has a glance around, especially at the surviving enemies, looking like he's deep in thought. The look passes though, and he reloops the rope over his shoulder and grabs the shotgun and medkit.
"Jacks right, we need to get Mr. Hemerson to his meeting. I'm sure Lone Star are on their way as it is. Either them or some more of this Toothsome shmucks goons. Certainly looks like he can afford them."
With another look around, Luke heads back towards the limo and climbs into the drivers seat. He stashes the rope and medkit back in the duffel bag, and puts the safety on the shotgun. This too is placed in the bag, although the butt is left within easy access of the unzipped bag. Buckling up, he again pulls a wire from the back of his neck and plugs it into the limo jack-in port.
With merely a thought diagnostic information streams past his eyes, although there appear to be no problems other than some scuffed up paint. Nodding to himself, he cancels the diagnostic feed, settling for a small display of more vital limo statistics.
Chrysis on
Tri-Optimum reminds you that there are only one-hundred-sixty-three shopping days until Christmas. Just 1 extra work cycle twice a week will give you the spending money you need to make this holiday a very special one.
As if to heighten the effect of Hemerson's words, you can hear up-wind, the long high howl of predators in black and white, of cold corporate justice that seeks only the bottom line and that has no concern if you live or die, except as you effect them.
"I can't think of anything more to get out of Smiley here, any one else? Well then, leave them for the cops and lets get out of here. We should be clean, Marcus watch where else you use those nades, they may pull a chemical marker off the lot and establish a chain of events. Now if you'll excuse me I've got to do a little tidying up." Once more he returns to the limo and buckles in. Leaning back he goes limp...
...and surveys the scene through the lens of emotion and magic. "We've made a pretty mess of this whole bit. Well I suppose I should start with the Mind probe, that's really rather illegal..." Focusing his will he pushes on the astral fabric and begins to smooth out the patterns of disturbance implicating him in this sordid affair.
Damien looks like a magpie that's been denied something shiny. His face downcast, he frowns heavily and says "We'd best be going." He plods away to the limo, not bothering to wipe off the blood and ash from his clothes.
Galack surveys the carnage with a dissapointed look on his face, then slaps his bike lightly. "Stop faster next time, dammit." He puts his gun back in the briefcase and starts up his engine again, glumly ready to finish the rest of the trip to work.
In the astral, while the glow of the trees does not fade, the bright lines and splashes of color that indicate where spells were cast and spirits were summoned and used their powers fade into the grey nothingness that is the air of the astral. Those who still live still give off their astral energy, but many of those who once stood against you no longer show any presence on the astral at all.
People died here. That is the only thing left that shows on the astral.
And in the physical world, the siren howls continue. 7 minutes.
"We best get a move on, we don't want to be caught with this mess. May have to drive a bit quickly too."
Luke gets the engine going and revs it a bit. He looks around, planning the route out in his mind. As his eyes pass over the shotgun sticking out of the duffel bag he stops and stares at it for a bit. Muttering under his breath, he leans over and pushes it fully into the bag, zipping it up in the process.
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Tri-Optimum reminds you that there are only one-hundred-sixty-three shopping days until Christmas. Just 1 extra work cycle twice a week will give you the spending money you need to make this holiday a very special one.
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Der Waffle MousBlame this on the misfortune of your birth.New Yark, New Yark.Registered Userregular
edited March 2007
Marcus decides that it's in his best interests to temporarily stow his Ares. He immediately begins to unload the rounds from both magazines, eventually returning it to his rucksack, still assembled.
"Marcus, this is yours I believe? Also, you may all want to buckle in again."
With that Luke passes the hunting knife back to Marcus. Once everyone is buckled up, he grins evilly.
"Let's get out of here. Brace for Impact!"
With an evil laugh he rapidly accelerates the limo, aiming for the junction of two of the vehicles in the front of the semi circle.
Chrysis on
Tri-Optimum reminds you that there are only one-hundred-sixty-three shopping days until Christmas. Just 1 extra work cycle twice a week will give you the spending money you need to make this holiday a very special one.
It shouldn't be possible for a driver to pass within microns of two vehicles without even scratching the paint, but somehow Luke does it, the rumbling engine of the sleek black limo pulling it forward, between two vans, sliding the limo through with a clearance a knife couldn't slip through. And like a puff of wind, your gone. The limo accelerates like a fish in water, with as little effort and as little outward sign.
In two mintues, Luke is taking a wide left and pushes the car back onto the main road, going over a hill and rejoining the main stream of traffic just before the Lone Star vehicles make wide, squealing and very theatrical turns down the paved road you just left.
All they will find there is dead bodies and unconscious gangers. It is still possible they will get answers from those who remain, but it will take them a while. And they won't have anything they could take to court. Not based on the testimony of carjacking murderers and thieves.
Just in front of you, Galack rides on his motorcycle, the wind blowing over his horns.
After 6 minutes of smooth, if speedy driving, the Shiawase Compound, in its college-like, bucolic splendor, rises on the hills to your left. The high-tech security, with the laser fences, armed drones, and very, very armed guards is all hidden beneath sunny smiles and cheerful voices. But it's still there.
And now you roll up to its front gate. On the other side, corporate extraterritoriality and armed and numerous protection. On this side, relative freedom from Shiawase control and spying.
As the limo cruises up to the perimeter Jack turns his head back.
"Well lads, last chance to change your minds. Anyone want to get off?"
With that he turns back to face the road, resuming his careful drive towards corporation territory and theoretical safety for the client.
Chrysis on
Tri-Optimum reminds you that there are only one-hundred-sixty-three shopping days until Christmas. Just 1 extra work cycle twice a week will give you the spending money you need to make this holiday a very special one.
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Der Waffle MousBlame this on the misfortune of your birth.New Yark, New Yark.Registered Userregular
edited March 2007
"I'm fine as long as they keep their fingers to themselves."
As the limo heads towards the compound, a small device in the dashboard of the limo beeps quietly to itself. As you approach the gate, it lifts itself up to allow the limo to pass by unimpeded, except for the watchful eyes of 5 security guards, tastefully holstering machine pistols.
Luke drives up to the main building, where the VP's, EVP's and other VIP's have their offices. From there, men in black suits come out. They look so similar they might have been cloned. Some of them have scars in different places, others have pockmarks on their face, and one is missing his left pinky finger. But other than that, they are all pale-skinned men wearing black suits with black sunglasses. They have that much in common.
Oh and they all move with the subtle tell-tale signs that they are wired. Their walk is a little too smooth. Their hands are a little too still, like high-end surgery went into supressing the tremors you get with really high-end wires. The way these guys move, if you drew on them, by the time you aimed your weapon, they would have drawn theirs, racked a round into the chamber, aimed at your head long enough to have a good bead, reconsidered their ammo choice, ejected the clip and the chambered round, slapped a new clip with different ammo in, chambered another round, aimed for a little bit, then put two in your skull.
Coporate heavies indeed. And yet not one of them has a weight problem.
They open the door to the back and say "Mr. Hemreson, the board is waiting. They are ready to hear about the events of this morning. MIFD has already informed them there was an incident."
"Gentleman, as employees of Mr. Hemerson, you can stay in the guest lounge. Its up these stairs, two doors to the left, and then up three flights of stairs. Please stay out of the complementary mini-bar."
"As employees of Mr. Hemerson, you are also being granted the following courtesy. You may take pistols into the building, so long as they stay concealed. Please be aware gentlemen, that the moment those pistols become plainly visible, Shiawase security will no longer be so... curteous. Any other weapons you have must stay in the limo, otherwise you run the risk of immediate and permament confiscation and the aforementioned lack of courtesy."
"The Limo can stay at the front of these steps."
With that, Hemerson steps out of the limo, without a word, his face lost in thought. And your employer marches, flanked and lead by the men in black, into the Shiawase building, and out of your sight.
Jack looks the corperate muscle over, clearly sizing them up. They hire good men here, he thinks to himself. And yet they need call me in to puppy guard their snot-nosed ecvp or whatever it is they call him. Whatever, Im here to make a few nuyen, what does it matter to me if he wastes his money?
Glancing back at the limo and running through a mental checklist of what lies inside the duffle bag, "You said no weapons, but what about equipment? Are we to just ignore the possible threat to Mr. Hemerson for the moment?"
Galack steps off of his bike and straightens his tie, giving a smirk at the guards. He begins unloading the dozens of grenades he has secreted around his person and places them in his briefcase, then strides towards the gate. "Luckily," he thinks to himself, "I'm my own best weapon."
Luke unstraps the pouches containing the grenades and ammo. With care, he places them into the duffel bag and unplugs himself from the limo, the cable quickly retracting back underneath his collar. Climbing out of the limo, he runs his eyes over the assembled people and his hand through his thinning hair.
"Time for us to enjoy their hospitality, I think."
Chrysis on
Tri-Optimum reminds you that there are only one-hundred-sixty-three shopping days until Christmas. Just 1 extra work cycle twice a week will give you the spending money you need to make this holiday a very special one.
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Der Waffle MousBlame this on the misfortune of your birth.New Yark, New Yark.Registered Userregular
edited March 2007
Marcus de-activates his smartlink with the Ares, zipping up the bag.
Just pistols? That ain't exactly making me less dangerous.
Damien bites his lower lip until it bleeds, staring at his gun. After a few moments, he tosses it into the limo, blinking as he deactivates his smartlink. Leaning over to whisper in Marcus' ear, Damien mutters "Don't worry, gunbuddy, they shall rue they day they attempted to break out sacred bond." With a grin on his face, due to the knowledge that he still has his spells and a concealed Ares Predator, he begins looking around the compound for flammable materials. You can never be too concerned about fire hazards.
The men in black leave without answering Jack's shouted question. They march on, Hemerson in the middle, as if your existence was an afterthought, a courtesy call paid before they got into real business.
And then they leave you, with the Black limo glittering, even with the scatches and damage. The early morning sun feels good upon your shoulders, and the wind teases your hair, its almost enough to make you forget that you left 9 bodies cooling in the sun and that Lone Star has almost surely found those bodies by now. What the 5 guys you left unconscious will say to the law, nobody knows.
And with that you enter the Shiawase compound.
Its all white. The floors are white tile, the walls are white eggshell plaster, the cealings look like white particle board, or some kind of white material that absorbs sound. The only color is the grey nameplates next the doors. The plates name the rooms, but not their functions. One room says "Dr. Christiaan Barnard room" Another says "Dr. Marcus Barnard room" A third room, visible as you turn into the stairwell on the left says "Van Wyk room." The stairs were, of course, marked "stairs".
The stairs themselves are constructed of concrete painted a flawless white, with a white bannister. The whole place is clean and spotless. You haven't spotted a stain since leaving the limo. Its like a hospital, all the way down to the damnable smell of antiseptics and cleaning fluid. There's nobody there, so far as you can tell. Oh sure, lights are on behind the doors, but nobody is moving from room to room, there's no chatter. The place is just... dead. The place reeks of a morgue, more than a hospital. Hospitals always give you a feeling of people pressured to save and keep life, this place seems to have no life whatsoever associated with it.
On the third landing, exactly where the men in black promised it would be, is a door. Opening the door opens the way into a lounge and finally, color. Tan. The room is all in tans. The furniture is wood, probably stained pine or light oak, covered with the kind of rough yellow cloth (cottony, scratchy, but very cushy cloth) that was popular back in 2030. The room is almost completely shut off from the outside world. There are no other doors, and aside from a small bar, with green and clear glasses for the many different kinds of liquor on display, and 10 chairs, two loveseats, and 3 couches (made from wood and covered in the rough yellow cloth) and some small wooden tables there are no furnishings. The room is itself 36' by 15' in a perfect rectangle. The only light present is coming from the eastern wall, which shows the outside of the Shiawase Campus, the limo you just left, and the main entrance/exit to the campus, all displayed in ceiling-to-floor windows, tinted so that the light yellows as it passes through the glass, giving the room the feeling of late afternoon, instead of the morning that the sun (still visible in the eastern window, though muted by the glass) and your watches and comm systems show it to be.
Posts
Ten meters above, a haze thickens to a mist that thickens to a cloud that produces a large woman astride a white horse. She draws out a sword of shining light, raising it, thunder rolls as she swings it downwards it leaps towards the man in black, it's form that of crackling lightning.
"And for the rest of you...la petite mort" Luc's voice is barely above a whisper as his face drains of all cover and his fedora seems to be replaced by a circlet of white....
Then thunder strikes the same place twice.
Biting his lip so hard that blood comes out, Damien pulls the trigger and watches thunder emerge from the muzzle.
Putting his gun back in the car, Damien cracks his neck and shouts at the crowd gathered before the limo. "YOU ARE VERY LUCKY THAT I AM SHARING MY FIRE WITH YOU. NOT MANY PEOPLE APPRECIATE THIS, BUT IT IS A GIFT. HAIL ME, FOR I AM PROMETHEUS." Feeling the energy coursing through his veins, Damien watches the arcane fire leap from his hand to the group in front of him, smiling at the brightness of the flame.
Marcus's grenade launches forward, sluggishly to the eyes of everyone, yet moving faster than anybody can react. It gets to withone one meter of the man with the scarred and no longer smiling face, then explodes in a hellish torrent of force and heat. The impact shatters the man's left arm, and causes bones to erupt from under his skin, and stray pieces of metal rips his chest slightly open. Not deap enough to expose vital organs, but deep enough to see the wall of muscle underneath his skin, at least before the blood erupts from the ruptured arteries and veins.
Another man in leather, standing 6 feet from the grenade and to the right of the leader (from your perspective), is battered by the explosive damage, and a shard of the grenade cust a slice accross his cheek, which soon drips copious amounts of blood, impairing his concentration.
Marcus's follow up shots take the grenadier in the chest, and the three explosive rounds burrow into his flesh and rip apart his torso, splattering the van he was standing against with blood. The second burst causes a gout of blood as he practically disintigrates under the fire. Marcus can see the light in his eyes die.
At least he can the second before Jack's EX explosive round impacts the man's head, and causes his skull to just disintigrate under the pressure. There is literally nothing left above the adam's apple, and his larynx hangs raggedly out his neck. Dental reconstruction might be possible. If you can find his teeth.
At the same time as the Grenadier is falling headless, Luc's spirit flashes it's lightning towards the now bleeding and weakened leader. The electricity raps its cold blue fire around him, causing him to scream as agonizing volts cause all the remaining muscles in his body to contract, forcing the jagged spurs of bone even further out his arm and causing the tear across his chest to widen even further. The scar across the man's face starts to open once again under the sheer force of his agony. Luckily blessed unconsciousness quickly descends upon the man, and he toples out of the sports car and lands in a heap on the ground; breathing, but not moving.
The spirit then directs its attentions to the man with an assault rifle standing to the left of the now-unconscious leader. Lightning once more sizzles and connects with flesh, producing hideous screams, horrible contractions, and the now-too-familiar scent of burning flesh. The man collapses to the ground in contractions that shortly die out. He breathes, but his eyes are closed and he shows no signs of awakening without aid or a few hours rest.
Luc's spells comes right on top of the spirit's actions causing the actions of the men on both the far left and far right to slow down to a crawl. To the left, the men feel like they are pushing through molasses. To the right, the men find themselves unable to concentrate on their shooting, as their minds run through every sexual encounter they have ever had in their lives. They try to focus, but just can't get past the urge to touch smooth heaving flesh once more.
Damien' spell launches into the air, and then takes a sudden turn left, ignoring the now disabled leader and his surrounding men, the ball streaks towards three unaffected thugs, their hands reaching slowly towards their triggers. They never have time to pull them, as the ball of fire explodes in a flash of superheated flame, burning the men to cinders and ripping the very flesh from their bones. The remaining ashes and blackened bones clatter to the ground, in a sound not even heard by those just feet away, as it is swallowed by the deafening clap of the grenade and fireball.
Luke finishes loading his shotgun, and readies it for firing.
Galak in the meantime grunts a little, and hefts his light machine gun into place on top of his Gyro stabilization mount. The two machines come together with a satisfying "cha-chick."
The remaining men, agape with fear and anger, open fire.
Most of the disabled men cannot concentrate enough to steady their aim, and their shots either miss the target by firing wildly overhead and missing the target by at least a foot, or clatter against the heavy armor of the limo.
One tall thin man in a long leather trenchcoat, takes carefull aim at Marcus and squeezes the trigger of his Ruger Super Warhawk. The huge pistol barks and slams upward, breaking the mans shooting stance. The bullet itself slams into the windshield of the armored limo, and while it does not penetrate the glass, it does create a nice large impact mark, two inches above Luke's head.
Hemerson says "Eeep."
A man weilding a submachine gun takes careful aim at Jack, and then depresses his trigger. Instead of the expected gout of flame and bullets, the gun instead makes a clicking, grinding sound. Looking at the gun and working the action the man curses as he realizes the gun is jammed.
Two men with submachine guns take aim at Damien, eyes glittering at the chance to take their revenge for their fallen and incinerated comrades. They depress their triggers and one has his clip fall out his gun. The other's finger slips as the gun fires, the shots go wild and the gun falls to the earth. Landing with a heavy thud. The thugs look at each other, mortified.
And then battle recommences.
Taking aim once again, Jacks rifle kicks back *BLAM*.....*BLAM*.....*BLAM*
Jordan of Elienor, Human Shaman
Poking the shotgun out the window, Luke aims the shotgun at one of the guys with SMGs, a look of concentration crossing his face. Bracing the gun against his shoulder, he gently squeezes the trigger. The shotgun roars and a slug is sent racing across the battlefield, the barrel kicking up in his grasp as he racks the slide for another shot.
Holding his hand like a gun, Damien whispers "Bang," as a stream of arcane power flies at the man with a shotgun.
He took aim at the source of that shot; a ganger with a revolver who thought he was fucking Clint Eastwood. Just for that, he was next. He took aim, lining up the crosshair on his HUD, and squeezed the trigger, letting loose a burst of explosive slugs.
His field of view was much too limited in the Limo, he pulled the latch and kicked the door open, rolling to the ground, taking cover behind the heavily armored limo door.
He eyed the next biggest threat on his mental list; the goon with the assault rifle. He once again lined up his burst with military precision, and let loose. The digital readout on his gun counted down to a lambent red "33".
The coms rattle into life and in a raspy voice Luc says "Corpses divulge their secrets to only one being, and it is none of us. Take those we can alive so we can find the source of this."
The noble Valkyrie finds those who have not been wounded and again the shining silver sword swings and again lightning arcs towards those who defy her will.
"Mortals throw down your arms and seek honorable surrender or prepare yourself to be taken!"
The second round, fired so fast that it sound merges with the report of the first, crashes into the chest of a tall hispanic ganger holding an assault rifle. The bullet lands directly over the heart, and the back of the ganger's chest just rips apart and Jack can see the excess blood burble and splash its way out of the mouth of the ganger as he falls backward.
The third round impacts the forehead of a gang member toting a submachine gun, trying desperatly to get it to work. But that isn't his problem anymore. The EX explosive round litterally shatters the mans skull, sending bits of skull and brain everywhere. A particularly large, wet, splotchy bit of brain and skull land on the limo's windshield.
Luke's shotgun round impacts just 1 second after Jack's sniper round blows apart the ganger's neck. The round slams into the chest cavity of the ganger and proceeds to exit through the other side, spilling internal organs out the exit hole, a hole litterally large enough to swing a cat in. Luke can see a kidney and several lengths of small intestine fall out of the hole as the body falls towards the ground.
Damien's powerbolt rips into his target, ripping the soul from his body and causing the most horrifying scream anyone has ever heard. Despite the noise of gun fire and explosions, and the crackle of flames from the small ignited fires left by the grenade and the fireball, flames which smolder and burn atop the grass and the minivans and even the sportscar, the scream rises above it all. Impossibly high, impossibly long, and hideous in that it is not a sound a grown man should be able to make, the scream seems to go on and on, even after the body has hit the ground and the man has stopped breathing. Finally it fades away, not really cutting off, just seemingly moving elsewhere, out of your hearing.
Marcus's rounds quickly find the center of their target's forehead. They group themselves so tightly that you could fit a playing card over the entrance holes. The exit holes are a different story. The explosive rounds fragment inside the man's skull and upon their exit, they tear the whole back end of his skull out and deposit the fragmented remains of his brains on the van behind him.
Marcus's second burst slams into the man who was already dripping blood from his earlier grenade blast. This burst is bit less grouped and lands much lower, one round ripping into the man's groin and exiting as a pink mist, the other two rounds slam into the man's lower torso and the explosive rounds proceed to shatter inside him, and tear into all manner of intestines, arteries and veins. The man drops his assault rifle and collapses to the ground. He screams from the pain and agony of having his digestive system turned into so much confetti. At first his screaming is simply disorganized wails of agony, but his screams before dropping off into unconsciousness and death resolve themselves into repeated cries for his "Mamaaaaaa."
The spirits two lightning strikes quickly claim their victims, wrapping them in cold pale blue electrical fire, wrapping the screaming agonized victims in convulsions, pain and the smell of their own burning flesh. Luckily unconsciousness comes quickly for them, as the pain overloads their nervous systems, and the consciousness is blotted out and their bodies collapse. They still breathe, although very raggedly. Their two submachine guns clatter to the ground as they lose all control of their muscles. Luckily for the two, any burning they may be undergoing is rectified by their losing control of ALL of their muscles. Dampness quickly spreads under their bodies.
In front of you lay the remains of those who would have harmed your employer and yourself. Now they can harm nobody. Their broken bodies lie near their weapons, almost exclusively Ingram Smartguns, HK XM30's set up as shotguns, or HK XM30's being used as assault rifles.
Those who still breath and live include the man with pale and scarred face, whose bleeding chest wound still flows, though less now then when he was conscious. His hands still grasp and clutch at his Ranger Arms SM-4 sniper rifle. The briefcase used to contain it is in the backseat, perilously close to being consumed by fire. The scarred man lies some 10 meters directly in front of the limo.
The other 3 men lie near their weapons, unscathed except for the electrical burns that cover their bodies. The man with the assault rifle lies to the left of the remains of the grenadier, some 5 meters to the left of the leader and 9 meters from the front of the limo. The submachine gunners lie one meter apart and are 8 meters from the right side of the limo.
And all is quiet, as life resumes its normal ebb and flow.
Hemerson almost faints in his seat, his head lolling back and forth. "I'm still, I'm still alive."
Only then does he turn his attention to the unconsious man hanging from the car he just looted. Jack walks back over and pulls him to a safe distance from the wreckage.
Jordan of Elienor, Human Shaman
"Messy business, inn'it? Let's have a squiz at how this bugger's doing"
Kneeling down beside the unconscious man, Luke looks him over. The wounds don't look too serious, and he's still breathing so he'll probably be fine. Putting the medkit and shotgun down behind him he shrugs the rope from his shoulder and puts a hand in one pocket. He then begins searching all his other pockets and pouches all the while cursing under his breath.
"Got a knife or summin? Seem to have left mine at home. Let's truss this bugger up."
He then stands in his position behind the limo door, scanning what's left, his finger still on the trigger.
"Bind his wrist and then pull that tab, they'll fuse in place. Make sure his hands are behind his back when you do that. Now, does anybody have any skill in signal intelligence? I would really like to know if Lonestar or Doc Wagon is on their way. That is perhaps the most important question we have right now."
"Given even a few minutes I can get some good info out of these guys, here's good unless they've called in for help. We really need to know this." Having given his coworkers something to think about the dwarf scans the scene of carnage, his expression grim.
Raising his face heavenwards he addresses the spirit with glowing sword in hand "Thank you for your aid, please now guide the brave departed on their way as is your duty."
Sitting up against the cold black surface of the limo, the man's scarred face contorts with effort as he seeks to draw in breath and work enough saliva up to spit at you. But after a few seconds of useless effort, he collapses against the side of the limo, heaving what breaths he can stand out his slashed and bleeding chest.
Suddenly, the silence of the area, previously broken only by crackling flames and the moaning of those still unconscious, is broken by a noise. "Beep-beep-ba-beep-ba-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep-beep-ba-beep-beep-beep-beep." Its the theme of "The Great Escape" in beep form.
"Um Gentlemen, I have an meeting I need to be at in 10 minutes" exclaims Hemerson shakily. "If its still Monday. It's Monday right?"
The black space where the beings eyes should be turn towards the bound ganger as it places its skeletal hands upon his head and begins to speak....
"He came under the bidding of his master, known as Toothsome, to slay Hemerson. Why he does not know, for he does merely as bidden, his fear of Toothsome rules him well. Toothsome will still desire to kill Hemerson, if he may, and as this represented the least and most expendable of Toothsome's men, they were sent first. They came in vehicles they stole, by the simple expedient of murdering the drivers, as brutally as they could."
With this the spirit ends is speech, even as scarface's eyes roll into the back of his head.
And Hemerson, who was watching, stammers and stutters "Um guys.... I really think we should be leaving." Hemerson is as white as sheet, witnessing the spirit's power, and learning that the threat isn't over, seems to be robbing him of what compuncture he still has left.
Glancing around the carnage one more time, "We sure do make a mess of things." And then ducks back into the limo.
Jordan of Elienor, Human Shaman
"Jacks right, we need to get Mr. Hemerson to his meeting. I'm sure Lone Star are on their way as it is. Either them or some more of this Toothsome shmucks goons. Certainly looks like he can afford them."
With another look around, Luke heads back towards the limo and climbs into the drivers seat. He stashes the rope and medkit back in the duffel bag, and puts the safety on the shotgun. This too is placed in the bag, although the butt is left within easy access of the unzipped bag. Buckling up, he again pulls a wire from the back of his neck and plugs it into the limo jack-in port.
With merely a thought diagnostic information streams past his eyes, although there appear to be no problems other than some scuffed up paint. Nodding to himself, he cancels the diagnostic feed, settling for a small display of more vital limo statistics.
Lone Star sirens, 8 minutes away.
...and surveys the scene through the lens of emotion and magic. "We've made a pretty mess of this whole bit. Well I suppose I should start with the Mind probe, that's really rather illegal..." Focusing his will he pushes on the astral fabric and begins to smooth out the patterns of disturbance implicating him in this sordid affair.
People died here. That is the only thing left that shows on the astral.
And in the physical world, the siren howls continue. 7 minutes.
Luke gets the engine going and revs it a bit. He looks around, planning the route out in his mind. As his eyes pass over the shotgun sticking out of the duffel bag he stops and stares at it for a bit. Muttering under his breath, he leans over and pushes it fully into the bag, zipping it up in the process.
"We'd best get moving."
With that Luke passes the hunting knife back to Marcus. Once everyone is buckled up, he grins evilly.
"Let's get out of here. Brace for Impact!"
With an evil laugh he rapidly accelerates the limo, aiming for the junction of two of the vehicles in the front of the semi circle.
In two mintues, Luke is taking a wide left and pushes the car back onto the main road, going over a hill and rejoining the main stream of traffic just before the Lone Star vehicles make wide, squealing and very theatrical turns down the paved road you just left.
All they will find there is dead bodies and unconscious gangers. It is still possible they will get answers from those who remain, but it will take them a while. And they won't have anything they could take to court. Not based on the testimony of carjacking murderers and thieves.
Just in front of you, Galack rides on his motorcycle, the wind blowing over his horns.
After 6 minutes of smooth, if speedy driving, the Shiawase Compound, in its college-like, bucolic splendor, rises on the hills to your left. The high-tech security, with the laser fences, armed drones, and very, very armed guards is all hidden beneath sunny smiles and cheerful voices. But it's still there.
And now you roll up to its front gate. On the other side, corporate extraterritoriality and armed and numerous protection. On this side, relative freedom from Shiawase control and spying.
"Well lads, last chance to change your minds. Anyone want to get off?"
With that he turns back to face the road, resuming his careful drive towards corporation territory and theoretical safety for the client.
Luke drives up to the main building, where the VP's, EVP's and other VIP's have their offices. From there, men in black suits come out. They look so similar they might have been cloned. Some of them have scars in different places, others have pockmarks on their face, and one is missing his left pinky finger. But other than that, they are all pale-skinned men wearing black suits with black sunglasses. They have that much in common.
Oh and they all move with the subtle tell-tale signs that they are wired. Their walk is a little too smooth. Their hands are a little too still, like high-end surgery went into supressing the tremors you get with really high-end wires. The way these guys move, if you drew on them, by the time you aimed your weapon, they would have drawn theirs, racked a round into the chamber, aimed at your head long enough to have a good bead, reconsidered their ammo choice, ejected the clip and the chambered round, slapped a new clip with different ammo in, chambered another round, aimed for a little bit, then put two in your skull.
Coporate heavies indeed. And yet not one of them has a weight problem.
They open the door to the back and say "Mr. Hemreson, the board is waiting. They are ready to hear about the events of this morning. MIFD has already informed them there was an incident."
"Gentleman, as employees of Mr. Hemerson, you can stay in the guest lounge. Its up these stairs, two doors to the left, and then up three flights of stairs. Please stay out of the complementary mini-bar."
"As employees of Mr. Hemerson, you are also being granted the following courtesy. You may take pistols into the building, so long as they stay concealed. Please be aware gentlemen, that the moment those pistols become plainly visible, Shiawase security will no longer be so... curteous. Any other weapons you have must stay in the limo, otherwise you run the risk of immediate and permament confiscation and the aforementioned lack of courtesy."
"The Limo can stay at the front of these steps."
With that, Hemerson steps out of the limo, without a word, his face lost in thought. And your employer marches, flanked and lead by the men in black, into the Shiawase building, and out of your sight.
Glancing back at the limo and running through a mental checklist of what lies inside the duffle bag, "You said no weapons, but what about equipment? Are we to just ignore the possible threat to Mr. Hemerson for the moment?"
Jordan of Elienor, Human Shaman
"Time for us to enjoy their hospitality, I think."
Just pistols? That ain't exactly making me less dangerous.
And then they leave you, with the Black limo glittering, even with the scatches and damage. The early morning sun feels good upon your shoulders, and the wind teases your hair, its almost enough to make you forget that you left 9 bodies cooling in the sun and that Lone Star has almost surely found those bodies by now. What the 5 guys you left unconscious will say to the law, nobody knows.
And with that you enter the Shiawase compound.
Its all white. The floors are white tile, the walls are white eggshell plaster, the cealings look like white particle board, or some kind of white material that absorbs sound. The only color is the grey nameplates next the doors. The plates name the rooms, but not their functions. One room says "Dr. Christiaan Barnard room" Another says "Dr. Marcus Barnard room" A third room, visible as you turn into the stairwell on the left says "Van Wyk room." The stairs were, of course, marked "stairs".
The stairs themselves are constructed of concrete painted a flawless white, with a white bannister. The whole place is clean and spotless. You haven't spotted a stain since leaving the limo. Its like a hospital, all the way down to the damnable smell of antiseptics and cleaning fluid. There's nobody there, so far as you can tell. Oh sure, lights are on behind the doors, but nobody is moving from room to room, there's no chatter. The place is just... dead. The place reeks of a morgue, more than a hospital. Hospitals always give you a feeling of people pressured to save and keep life, this place seems to have no life whatsoever associated with it.
On the third landing, exactly where the men in black promised it would be, is a door. Opening the door opens the way into a lounge and finally, color. Tan. The room is all in tans. The furniture is wood, probably stained pine or light oak, covered with the kind of rough yellow cloth (cottony, scratchy, but very cushy cloth) that was popular back in 2030. The room is almost completely shut off from the outside world. There are no other doors, and aside from a small bar, with green and clear glasses for the many different kinds of liquor on display, and 10 chairs, two loveseats, and 3 couches (made from wood and covered in the rough yellow cloth) and some small wooden tables there are no furnishings. The room is itself 36' by 15' in a perfect rectangle. The only light present is coming from the eastern wall, which shows the outside of the Shiawase Campus, the limo you just left, and the main entrance/exit to the campus, all displayed in ceiling-to-floor windows, tinted so that the light yellows as it passes through the glass, giving the room the feeling of late afternoon, instead of the morning that the sun (still visible in the eastern window, though muted by the glass) and your watches and comm systems show it to be.