First Reply High-Speed Crimes and Low-Key Regrets

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

Blaster fire lit up the lobby, echoing through the halls, causing panic up the street.

The first to fall were the patrol officers, flanked on either side as the sound of blaster fire set all three into a shoot first, ask later mindset.

The blaster fire halted. The CorpSec crew took cover behind the torn-open doors, peeking out to discover the authorities had been shot from another angle. As the Besalisk security chief leaned out of cover, two blasters drawn, a Rodian tossed something into the lobby, near the hall entrance.

The besalisk's bolt struck the Rodian in the chest, taking him out.

The object tossed inside began emitting a hiss and a cloud of smoke. No, worse than smoke. The CorpSec squad was soon Paralyzed, and the rest of the Hutt's enforcers entered the lobby wearing rebreathers.

A Trandoshan with a Vibroblade made quick work of the paralyzed security guards. This would all be a tragic accident between the corporate security contractors and the police. No witnesses.

Wiping the blade clean on the dead secretary's blouse, the trandoshan Joined the others. Someone had tripped something here, and the Hutt wanted everything not just swept under the rug, but buried six feet under.

Spoiler: Alert level: 5

Alert Level: 5

1. Hutt hit squad
2. Police reinforcements (-2 to roll, total unit loss, requires < 3)

Glade​

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

---

 

[Glade]

Location: Level 3 Vanos Corp, moving to service elevator.
Rogue Protocol Condition: Glade, Sickle, Chronicle, Juju, Ibis, Savant, Trix
Tag: Whottoomuzz Chantin

Data freed, Savant yanked the plug on the byte-stripper while Chronicle scrubbed their trail. Sickle backed him, AT hardline straight into the network—head slack, her body a forgotten shell. Of critical but questionable importance, Ibis was still busy tagging half the wall with a giant IBIS. Priorities.

Downstairs flatlined hard. Glade's face lost all color—she'd heard every last croak and wheeze before she cut her feed. Everyone heard the shooting but only she knew the damage.

"T.they're dead." Glade's voice was shaky.
"Who?" Sick blinked, yanking her visor down.
"All of them." Breath hitching. Corpsec. Police. Every last card-carrying member of team suit.
"Scratch them off the deck," Sick moved up, trying to brace her friend. "Less heat."

Didn't help much!

Juju and Trix burned up the stairs, daemon-touched, slipping past every cam in a slick short cut, coming behind the crew like they'd been patched in an update.

"Not Denon locals," Juju murmured, her omens dark as ever and ready to spread. "Who then?" Young trix curious. Juju's frown deepened. "Maybe Pyke's. Crymorah. Maybe… worse. Think they've got main access cut." Couldn't be sure, but gut instinct said: expect the worst, warn the rest like always. For once she was right!

"That's it—we're out." Savant severed all links, gave the call.

Worse? Glade blinked, happy to hide behind her visor.

Skirting the edge, just ahead of the action downstairs they hit level three—chronicle calling time. Two levels left to make exit. A new kind of firewall below—hutt-hardwired and mean as hell. Plus, the stink down there absolutely reeked of something real bad.

"Window?" Ibis, the most nimble, was already eyeing the drop and ledges. Three levels up? She might make it. Nobody else would.

"No time to be careful. Think like an architect," Chronicle urged. Ibis was the architect. She knew every job layout better than most. Waiting for her call, Chronicle lobbed an ion grenade straight into the server room. The network wiped in a blue crackle of dead circuits.

"Service elevator. This way." Ibis led them

Glade on cams. Juju on locks. Sickle running interference below, trying to delay again, lock them out and buy time. For half a second, she wondered: how's that receptionist holding up now? Bad night at the office.

Dice:

Spoiler

Dice 1 Cams (Visibility) Glade
Dice 2 Opening Locks (Delays) Juju
Dice 3 Slowing the Hutts below (Delays) Sickle
Dice 4 How well their tracks were covered when accessing the server room. Chronicle + Sickle

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

The cam-feeds were slow to respond, audio before visual, but what came through the visual first was a corner-view of the dispersing gas and a CorpSec crew bleeding like stuck Tauntauns, accented with the flashing lights of driverless police speeders and a secretary caught in the crossfire.

The locks were resistant - giving the crew nearly as much trouble as they gave the CorpSec group. Unfortunately, the Hutt enforcers had half their work done for them, and came prepared with a laser cutter - which soon could be heard from the stairwell as they approached.

The Hutt crew halted abruptly, listening. Whatever Sickle was doing, it had their attention. The Human, with a scattergun raised, split off to locate the interferance.

The Trandoshan continued cutting at the doors while the Rodians approached.

They had time to do it right. The authorities would take a minute to check back in, and a well placed bring ensured they would take even longer.

The Hutt's vengeance was patient, their wrath cold, and their grasp drew ever closer.

Glade​

 

[Glade]

Location: Exiting Level 1 Vanos Corp through a window, heading for a Black Hover Van.
Rogue Protocol Condition: Glade, Sickle, Chronicle, Juju, Ibis, Savant, Trix
Tag: Whottoomuzz Chantin

Scrap! Glade was getting signal loss as she tried to flip the cams off—one managed to catch the side of the crew's heads before static shredded the feed, feeding her scraps from below while losing too much cover topside. Not a full view of their visors, tech, and neon-covered faces, but enough for other slicers to reconstruct something. Juju was struggling more than usual with the locks but making progress toward the elevator. Sickle was holding her own downstairs, delaying the pursuit. Chronicle, playing the network like a digital maestro, wiping what they were really doing full-clean.

Sick near top of her game, tracked someone breaking off headed her way, pulling free her T-shot, hardline, going cold and life returning to her eyes, they'd need to cool them like Tatooine blues, classy but not subtle.

Service Elevator. All aboard!

"C'mon, Sick!" Glade's nerves were on a perma-loop, her chair spinning to face the hallway. Chronicle's charges sealed a final door behind them, their static specialist spoke his signature ion-play. One bad corpo elevator tune later: An imitation denonwave track, barely hidden subliminal compliance triggers, whispering the gospel of endless upgrades and the salvation of the latest tech. The service lift rumbled low.

As they hit level one, a window shattered under sustained blaster fire, shards marking their messy job behind. Spilling out, Glade last, glanced up—maybe catching visor hidden eyes of the Hutt's men, maybe an underpaid receptionist, or just shadows. The crew lifted her hover chair, hauling her up and out, nobody wanting to find who they were.

Rides close by—one sleek black hover-truck, multi-door, big enough to fit all seven plus a chair with attitude. Cool blue neon traced soft lingering halos around the twin repulsor lifts. Trix left a homemade smoker device near the shattered window, finger poised over the trigger.

"See ya from high orbits corpo scum." Trix woohoo'd pressing home to purple smoggy diguse.
"Not sure their suits Trixie." Ibis started the engine, didn't look like them, but the kid didn't know better; most slicers straight off the street wouldn't.

Could they lose them through the smoke, or would it be the streets? Gens coming online, engines spooling, and loading Nato's chair in—all took time.

Dice:

Spoiler

D1 Chronicles Ion Charges and work for the lone tracker above (Flavor Roll)
D2 Homemade Purple Smoke, might not fire at all. (Concealment Level),
D3 Quick or Slow Start: Rolling for how quick they get in, start the truck. (Delays)

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

---

The elevator returning it the first floor did not go unnoticed.

The Hutt hit squad broke off and began taking the stairs, only emerging in time to see the last of the crew boarding the getaway vehicle, blasting at it as best they could as it was taking off - none of them got a karking good look at any of the intruders, and the Hutt would be displeased that they didn't even find what it was that they had taken, or info they had stolen.

A lone Rodian, driver of the Hutt's van-speeder, realizing their life may be forfeit if they fail, makes a desperate act against the fleeing intruders - a high speed chase, bumping and attempting to crash the escape vehicle with the Cartel's own, steering with his left hand, firing a blaster pistol with his right.

This was their last chance to stop them before they lost them in the city.

Spoiler: Car Chase

Rolling 2 dice to oppose - 1st dice needs to beat previous roll of 5 with a 6. If it succeeds, next roll (car Chase) gets a +1.
Car chase dice roll: each Hutt success increases subsequent dice roll by +1. Glade crew only needs to roll higher once to escape.

Countermeasures performed by crew can give Hutt van a -1 to keep it balanced

On a tie, chase continues

1. BLaster fire from lobby
2. Car Chase with Van

Glade​

 

[Glade]

Location: In their Black Hover-Truck burning repulsor-lift!
Rogue Protocol Condition: Glade, Sickle, Chronicle, Juju, Ibis, Savant, Trix
Tag: Whottoomuzz Chantin

Smoke bomb was totally scragged out, fizzling like a cheap scrap-grade ripoff. Trix double-backed to hotfix it and boom—glitching frakker sparked off in his hand. Kid yelped and Juju pulled him away as blaster-fire charred up the air around them. One caught him in the leg, and Trix crumbled like a derezzed holo recording.

"C'mon c'mon!!!" Glade bounced in her hoverchair seat, amping up her rush. Savant slid in to help Juju pull Trix into the back. Hearing them board, Glade leaned into the controls like locked code, feeling the engine burn beneath her. Ibis snapped shots for cover out the back of their truck, muzzle flared wide scatter-rounds, chewing on their glass and duracrete. "Go Glay-Glay!"

Mech-wise, it was a dream team start. Gens hummed like undernet-sugar, repulsor-lift syncing clean. The rig peeled off their street smooth as a holo bantha's butt. Don't ask. But in the back, Juju was working on Trix, pressing down to keep the kid from dumping too much red.

Glade's visor flared a collision alert. Some ganger was trying to T-bone their ride, creeping up like a primed kill-switch. She booted Chronicle from the controls, instincts primed ready. She'd raced, and cut corpo patrols before—this was just another chase right? Maybe.

"Burnin' out suckers!" Buzz-cranked her thrusters to max, the truck screaming into the sprawling lights. "Ghost ya later gonkheads!" As if one crew call wasn't enough, Glade clicked her tongue, feeling another stim hit lighting up her veins. The truck surged, slick and not-so-silent, drawn toward shadows in the city's grid.

Chronicle lobbed an ion charge out the window—static charge rolling inbound. Sick jacked into their systems, fingers playing her anarchist tune, ghosting the enemy firewalls, trying to crack them smart. Just one breach and they'd flip their tailing goon a new rogue-protocol to chew on.

Spoiler

Dice:
1) Glade + Chronicle (Escape Start)
2) Sickle's slicing attempt (Only interfacing for now)
3) Trix's injury roll
Feel free to assume a hit if 1 goes to heck.

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

The building faded into the rearview, and the frantic Rodian was too busy pulling a trigger, pressing a pedal and steering the speeder to notice the slicer's interference of the van.

A flickering light was all the warning the Rodian had that the speeder's power systems were being diverted, scattered uselessly.

The thrusters failed and an alarmed scream was all that the Rodian could let out before the unpowered speeder plummeted into under traffic below, terminating in a fiery explosion.

The crew had made off and their holotrace wiped - and the authorities had a crew of Hutt mercs to pin as the culprit of both the break in and the murder of two officials.

This unknown crew had gotten away, avoided suspicion - but the Hutt would remember. Someone out there had ripped off the cartel, the Chantin Kadijic, and Whottoomuzz would learn one way or another. A temporary setback, but another grievance to bury for the right time, when all the cards were in their hand.

After all
The Hutt always wins in the long run.

OPERATION SUCCESS
~EXIT~​