ROGUE & SANTIAGO
Rogue hates the Atlantis. But she goes there because the contacts are good, and the pickings easy. Corporates looking for a fast freelance assassination. Medias and 'Runners looking to trade information. Fixers with guns, armor and smuggling jobs. But the place has bad memories. She only comes here because Santiago insists on it.
"You don't let personal caca get in the way of business," he says. A lot he knows. Her back is to the wall of the booth - her mirror shaded eyes scan the room like monitor cameras. What she can't see is covered by her partner, Santiago, from the opposite side of the booth. His burly shoulders bulk the heavy armor jacket - he looks like scowling mountain. He's not her type. But he wants her. Somehow, they've managed to work this out - the way they worked out a combat style; the division of spoils. But he keeps hoping. Stupid Nomad.
Then she finds herself facing what she's dreaded for the last two years; the reason she hates this crummy bar; hates this crummy town. Johnny Silverhand walks into the Atlantis.
He still has the moves, she thinks, as he strides through the big brass doors. Head held high, a cocky light in his pale glass eyes. After all this time, Rogue still can't decide whether she wants him, or just wants to kill him. He looks like he owns the place as he crosses the room towards her; a comment to an old friend here, smiling at a fan there, a narrowed glance at a potential troublemaker; then he's standing in front of her. "Rogue." he says. Like nothing'd ever happened. "I
need your help, Rogue." His voice is urgent, magnetic.
"You can go to hell," she replies levelly. On the other side of the booth, there's a faint sound as Santiago slides one hand over the Mac 10 in his lap.
...
PARTY HARD
Seiche Harada is second in command of Security for the Arasaka complex at Industrial Park. Seiche is afraid. Since early afternoon, the people have been pouring into the large, grassy park opposite his guard position; at first a trickle, then a stream, then a torrent. He can't figure it out. They don't do things like this in Tokyo.ln Tokyo, people are consistent. They make sense. Here, people are animals. He thinks about calling the City Cops, but that would reflect badly on Arasaka. The world's largest security corporation calling for help? What a loss of face. But there are six thousand people crammed into the tableau in front of him.
Up on the makeshift stage, acting as though invulnerable, struts Johnny Silverhand, working the crowd up. Seiche wants him. He wants him dead. But Silverhand might as well be on Luna as far as Arasaka is concerned. A single gunshot could trigger a riot of unbelievable proportions. Seiche can feel the tension building. So can Johnny. An invisible thread binds them as adversaries, eye to eye over a battlefield of unwitting bodies.
Johnny smiles. He's got them, so far. The crowd is paranoid - they expect to be thrown out at any minute. He's been pumping them for the last hour with chromatic and metal rock, getting them edgy and irritable; in a party mood to scream and shout, kick some tail. The first uniformed bozo who interrupts their party is going to get himself hosed.
Got the chrome in the bloodstream
Got a metal soul,
I'm out looking for action,
Guess I'm on a roll
It's like driving the freeway at two hundred miles per hour. The crowd swells and breathes as the first verse goes down, taking on the cohesiveness of a living thing. The bass player picks up the back beat and the two of them slam into the next turn of the song, dragging the crowd with them.
Got the old mega violence,
When I boost, it's for real,
The capacitors roarin' inside my brain
You know just how I feel
Cold chrome, molten lead
Can't be hurt cuz I'm already dead
Ain't no time as real as realtime
I'm chipping in
Chippin in.
Johnny's eyes scan the perimeter of the park. To one edge, he can see Santiago in position on the rooftop opposite of the Arasaka complex. Deep in the crowd, Thompson and Rogue are poised, ready to make the break. All he has to do is give them the chance; the diversion.
All he has to do is turn around and lead six thousand people right into a wall of weapons.
Chippin in (got my head to the wall)
Chippin In (can ya hear me call)
Chippin In (I'm the man of steel)
Chippin in (Is that how ya feel?)
Well, comon!
The moment freezes, hanging in air like a death. Punching his battered Telecaster guitar over to "remote", Johnny leaps off the stage, pushing his way through the crowd. His voice holds solid over the radio mike; powerful, pleading, entreating, seducing, and the huge crowd turns with him; surges around him, swallows him . It's knifeedge balanced - six thousand people teetering on the edge, chanting, singing. At the perimeter of the park, Arasaka police stand guard nervously, their eyes riveted on the mob. Silverhand starts towards them, and they choke on the decision - twenty guards facing down a wall of humanity, centered on one man whose voice holds them, binds them. An assault rifle comes up, and the crowd, like an irritable dog, notices the small army facing them down. The scene is set; the guards distracted, and on the rooftop, Santiago takes aim ...
Then it goes wrong. One of the faceless guards loses his nerve. The staccatto sound of gunfire splits the air. But Johnny is already gone, faded back into a mob that howls like a wounded thing, then surges forward, shattering like surf against armored bodies, lobby doors, massed vehicles, guns. Screams. Gunfire. The strobe flash of the mob tearing a guard apart with vampire teeth, and ripper claws. The sound of a sniper rifle high above the melee, as Santiago methodically picks out guards and blows them away with his Walther WA-2000 rifle. The lobby doors explode inwards as six thousand bodies slam
against them.
Rogue is already in - in when Santiago took out the pair of guards by the main doors. She's on the floor and rolling, a fast dazzle bomb palmed over the top of the security desk to fry the optics of the monitor team, followed by a frag grenade a second later. The deafening explosion goes unnoticed in the typhoon roar of the mob. Thompson's right behind her, his video rig and FN-FAL sweeping everything in his path. Both wear armor jacks with the colors of the infamous Iron Sights boostergang, a known Arasaka hit group.