I&C - Chapter 1 - City of Smoke and Steel
Posted: Thu Sep 24, 2026 3:17 pm
Chapter 1 - The City of Smoke and Steel
Notable Characters with submitted profiles:
Jenna Page: viewtopic.php?p=2516&sid=1c166348b87729 ... 6d5c#p2516
Lorianna: viewtopic.php?p=2513&sid=1c166348b87729 ... 6d5c#p2513
Drake Biltonman: viewtopic.php?p=2505&sid=1c166348b87729 ... 6d5c#p2505
Lucas Bloomfield: viewtopic.php?p=2509&sid=1c166348b87729 ... 6d5c#p2509
Gruber Chekolovski: viewtopic.php?p=2507&sid=1c166348b87729 ... 6d5c#p2507
Bruce Wolfstien/Robbie the Repair Bot: viewtopic.php?t=139&sid=1c166348b87729a ... ef24906d5c
Jenna Page walks the streets of Ishpeming: The Northern Gun: a city of steel, smoke, and military ambition.
Its population swells past 150,000, a restless mix of humans, mutants, psychics, and the occasional magician. Power hums beneath the concrete. Suspicion lingers in every alley. But nothing is outlawed yet. The people here grow up sharp, educated, and wary... just like Jenna.
She moves through the city with the quiet confidence of someone who’s survived too much. After a few brutal run‑ins with the Chrome, she drifts naturally toward their rivals, the Blue Angels. Two gangs locked in a cycle of blood and vengeance. Jenna has buried more friends than she can count, each loss carving her colder, harder, less willing to trust the world.
It is June 4, 102 P.A., and the summer air carries the metallic tang of distant machinery.
She walks beside Lucas, her current boyfriend. He’s all dark hair, dark eyes, and darker clothes and is lean, 5'10", and built like someone who’s never quite figured out how to exist comfortably in his own skin. His attitude is a blend of calm cynicism and smartass commentary, especially when someone states the obvious. But with Jenna, he softens. He sees something different in her, something dangerous, something he respects.
Trailing with them is Lori, bouncing lightly with every step. A true-blue blonde, petite at 5'4", wrapped in her usual colors of blue and black. Her brown eyes sparkle with a kind of oblivious cheerfulness. She blurts out whatever crosses her mind, often the most obvious thing possible, and it grates on Lucas like sandpaper. Still, she hops along, unbothered, a bright little spark in a city built on gunmetal and grit.
Jenna, Lucas, and Lori follow their usual path from the diner, drifting down cracked sidewalks toward 54th Street. The city hums around them with engines growling in the distance, metal clanking from the factories, sunlight glinting off rusted rooftops. When they turn the corner, the rest of the Blue Angels come into view.
Warren spots them first. He bursts out from the cluster of gang members, jogging over with his usual mix of swagger and barely-contained attitude. Short, sharp-tongued, and always two seconds from starting a fight, yet he treats Jenna and Lucas with a rare kind of respect.
Behind him looms the warehouse. From the outside, it looks like a dying beast: walls sagging, metal siding peeling, windows cracked or boarded. It dominates most of the block, a massive structure that seems one strong breeze away from collapsing. But inside, it’s a different world; rebuilt, reinforced, carved into living spaces for every gang member and a handful of close friends. The interior halls are guarded by sentinel members in gladiator armor, each carrying heavy weapons and watching the entrances with disciplined stillness.
The trio stops outside the headquarters, sunlight warming their shoulders. A few clouds drift lazily overhead, giving the day a calm, almost cheerful glow. They chat about the roleplaying game they’d been laughing over at the diner with voices relaxed, steps unhurried.
Jenna keeps her expression neutral, but her mind stays alert. To her knowledge, only two other psychics run with the Blue Angels: Warren, and Drake, the gang’s newest leader. No one else knows what she is. Warren figured it out. Lucas… might suspect, judging by the way he watches her sometimes.
As they stand there talking, Warren suddenly sways. Then he drops, collapsing straight to the ground as if someone cut his strings. No warning or sound. Just his body hitting concrete.
Jenna drops to her knees so fast the others barely register the movement. Her hand goes to Warren’s shoulder, steady but urgent. “Warren… hey! Warren, talk to me.” Her voice is low, controlled, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it.
As she leans over him, a sleek Dodge Rocket slowly and deliberately rolls past. Its engine purrs like a predator sizing up prey. Behind the tinted window, a light‑brown‑haired, green‑eyed stranger studies the scene with unsettling focus, gaze lingering on Jenna, on Warren, on the gang clustered nearby. The car doesn’t stop. It just glides by, watching.
Lucas crouches beside Jenna, scanning the street, tension tightening his jaw. Lori hovers behind them, hands fluttering uselessly.
Jenna turns Warren over. His eyes stay shut. And then she sees the dark red bloom spreads across his chest, soaking through his shirt, pulsing from a massive wound.
Lucas inhales sharply, the sound almost a gasp. The sunlight suddenly feels colder. The cheerful walk, the easy conversation, the calm afternoon are all gone in an instant. Warren isn’t unconscious. He's dying.
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OOC: Scott and Tara, you both are within talking range of each other.
Scott's Address: hoser18@eagle.ptialaska.net
Tara's Zadia57@hotmail.com
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Alec Dallas rolls past in his Dodge Rocket, eyes narrowing behind the windshield as he catches the sight of Warren’s collapsed body. Even from the street, he can tell something is fatally wrong. The moment the realization hits, he brakes hard, the Rocket hissing to a stop.
He moves fast. Armor plates clatter as he pulls them on, each piece locking into place with a sharp mechanical click. The transformation is quick, practiced, like he’s done this a hundred times before. Then he strides toward Jenna and drops to one knee beside her, the sunlight flashing off his gear. The gang members gathered around, eye him with suspicion. He takes one look at Warren. “Looks like your friend was sniped,” he says, voice low, grim.
Alec taps the side of his helmet. “Faceplate down.” His visor slides shut with a metallic snap, and a faint hum rises as his armor activates its thermal scan. He turns his head slowly, sweeping the street, the rooftops, the alleys searching for the ghost of a heat signature, the fading trace of a shooter. While the scan runs, he speaks again, tone edged with suspicion, “So… who was your friend? And why would someone want to kill him?”
The question hangs in the air like a tightening noose. Jenna instinctively ducks and grabs Lucas and pulls him down as a bullet ricochets off of Alec's armor.
Jenna’s voice slices through the panic, sharp and urgent. “Lucas, we have to move him. Now! I can’t help him out here. Where’s the nearest place we can hide?”
Lucas doesn’t hesitate. “Follow me.”
They haul Warren’s limp body across the street, Jenna gripping him with desperate strength, Lucas supporting the dead weight as best he can. The rundown stucco building looms ahead with cracked walls, sagging roof, a place forgotten by the city. Inside, the air is stale and sour. A drunk slumps just past the doorway, barely stirring as they drag Warren past him, his muttered groan swallowed by the dimness.
“Set him down,” Jenna says, breath tight. “I need to work. Every second counts.” She kneels beside Warren, staring at him, almost through him, with her eyes distant, calculating. Lucas watches her, baffled.
“What are you doing?” he asks, sarcasm masking the fear in his voice.
Then Jenna sees it all at once: the bullet’s path, the shattered bone, the trauma blooming inside Warren’s chest. The round lodged near his scapula. The damage around his heart. He’s hanging on by threads.
Lucas tries to steady himself. “So what now? You’re not a psychic or anything… right?” Jenna doesn’t answer. She’s already preparing.
Across the room, Alec approaches the drunk, trying to make sense of the chaos, “So, man… what’s going on?”
The drunk snorts awake. “What? Can’t you hear the firefight? Another damn gang war…” His stench, a vile mix of urine, sweat, whiskey, rolls through the room like a physical force. Alec turns away without responding, moving back to the doorway. His visor hums as he scans the street for heat signatures, searching for the shooter who started all this.
Minutes stretch thin. Then Jenna moves without warning as she plunges her hands straight into Warren’s chest.
Lucas recoils, eyes wide. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
She doesn’t speak or flinch. Her hands work with terrifying precision, navigating warm, slick organs as if she’s done this a thousand times. She finds the bullet flattened, mangled, unmistakably from an assault rifle, and pulls it free. Warren’s body shudders. She withdraws her hands and presses them against his torn flesh. The skin knits together beneath her palms, sealing seamlessly, as though the wound never existed. The room falls silent.
Even the drunk stops breathing for a moment. And Lucas realizes whatever Jenna is… she’s far more dangerous, and far more powerful, than he ever imagined.
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Jedite watches the chaos unfold from the shadows, his posture coiled, predatory. Then, without warning, he launches upward, clearing the alley in a single impossible leap. He lands on the warehouse rooftop like a human‑sized grasshopper, metal groaning beneath his boots. From the corner of the roof, he surveys the street below.
Movement. Two Chrome slip out of a side door, scanning the area with nervous, twitchy glances. his eyes narrow. His hands rise. Twin laser swords ignite with a violent hiss, bathing his face in cold, lethal light. He steps forward menacingly slow and deliberate. The hunt has begun.
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<Chaser1> . Enter Jedite
<Chaser1> Email.... anthonysuxcock@hotmail.com
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Outside, the street turns volatile.
A Chrome soldier steps into view, clad in the gang’s standard armor and helmet; chrome‑bright, unmistakable. Alec ducks back inside the doorway, slipping out of sight as his visor feeds him new thermal readings. More signatures appear across the surrounding streets. More bodies, scattered farther out.
The drunk mutters, “Man… maybe I should get the hell outta here! This is the worst one I’ve seen yet!” A bullet snaps through the doorway, ricocheting off the cement floor, and shatters the bottle in his hand. He barely reacts and just blinks at the broken glass.
On the rooftop, the Chrome soldier edges backward, unaware he’s being watched. Alec tracks him through thermal optics. He fires twice through the stucco wall and roof corner. Two sharp cracks emanate as the energy beam splits the air. The first shot misses. The second hits. The Chrome’s body goes limp as he tumbles over the edge, landing on the pavement with a dull, wet heavy smack.
The drunk suddenly stiffens. Blood spills from his nose and mouth, his eyes wide with agony. Behind him stand two more Chrome. This time in full Urban Warrior armor, painted in chaotic chrome colors, each gripping an L20 pulse rifle.
Alec reacts instantly, diving for cover.
Inside the building, the danger closes in. Footsteps pound overhead from multiple people on the roof. Lucas ducks instinctively, glancing at Warren, then scanning for Lori. Panic spikes through him. She’s gone.
A flash of light streaks overhead. Another beam slices past Lucas’s ear, scorching it. He screams, clutching the side of his head as chunks of ceiling break loose, raining dust and stone over him and Warren.
Jenna snaps toward him. “Lucas, are you okay? We need to get out of here, now!”
********************************
(Not to be confused with gang member Lori, who just went missing)
Lorianna Dastucar Enthorrina Silveldari, or Lori, because nobody has time for all that, stands at the end of the street, watching an extremely silver‑haired man hop off a hovercycle in a hurry. His armor is black, silver‑trimmed, and absolutely screaming “I moisturize.” He leaps to the warehouse roof just as a gunshot cracks through the air.
She looks up the street. Bodies everywhere. Blue‑and‑black gang members scattered like confetti at a very poorly planned parade. Only a few Chrome gangsters remain, and even they look like they’re reconsidering their life choices.
********************************
From his rooftop perch, Jedite watches the chaos unfold. Down below, a man in black alien‑esque armor, Alec, casually uses a C‑14 firebreather to erase a Chrome from existence. Two of Alec’s friends hover in the doorway of an orange stucco building, dragging an unconscious, blood‑coated guy like they’re moving furniture.
Then the blonde girl suddenly yanks her leather‑clad friend out of the way of a bullet with the reflexes of someone who’s been shot at way too many times.
Alec finishes off the last Chrome with an RPG to the chest because subtlety is for people who don’t own rocket launchers. The local militia arrives just in time to be useless. Another Chrome bursts around the corner and tosses a grenade like he’s pitching in the minor leagues. The blonde girl shouts another warning, and everyone sprints toward one of the Chrome, which is definitely not in any safety manual.
The grenade detonates. The silver‑haired rooftop guy vanishes from sight like he’s doing a magic trick.
The Chrome who threw it decides “nope” and sprints away from Alec, Jenna, and Lucas, who is lugging Warren like a very unhappy duffel bag.
Alec unhooks his vibro‑disk, activates it with a dramatic hum, and throws it. It misses. It returns. He activates it again, ready to try for round two, but the silver‑haired man drops from the rooftop like a gothic superhero, landing in a crouch with a laser sword lit and humming.
Lori watches all this from a safe distance, praying nobody mistakes her for a combatant. Or a Chrome. Or a horse thief. Because yes... she’s on a horse.
Alec throws the disk anyway. It slices the Chrome’s head clean off. The body drops, revealing the silver‑haired man standing behind him, laser sword glowing like he’s posing for a poster. The disk loops around his neck politely, not decapitating him, and returns to Alec.
Alec shouts, “Hey, I think we better get the fuck outta here! The boys in blue can handle it!” Then, pointing at the silver‑haired stranger: “Who the fuck are you?”
The man strides forward, retracting his blades with the confidence of someone who has never once lost an argument. He answers coldly, “The leader of the Blue Angels sent me to clean up some Chrome.”
Alec nods. “Nice job! But we need to vacate the area. Need a lift?” He gestures at the incoming militia like they’re an inconvenient weather pattern.
Jedite replies, “How about we meet up later? Name a place and time.”
Lucas and Jenna drag closer to Alec's car. Lucas pants, “I know a good diner about seven blocks from here. It’s calm.” Alec gives Jedite his apartment number, then hops into his Dodge Rocket and drives off in the same direction Lori went.
Jedite calls after him, “By the way, I’m Jedite,” then casually jumps over a two‑story building like it’s a speed bump.
Alec drives up beside Jenna, Lucas, and Warren. “Need a lift?”
Lucas grins. “Yeah, sure!” He shoves Warren into the back like he’s loading groceries.
A militia member starts walking toward Alec’s car. Alec immediately spins the car around and peels out. The militia opens fire. He hears his car get hit by a bullet. “This thing is brand new,” he mutters, deeply offended.
His CB crackles. “Dallas, is that you, you stupid bastard?”
Warren groans awake. “What the fuck... where the fuck am I?”
Alec makes it to his apartment and parks in his usual spot. Jedite is already waiting on a hovercycle like he teleported there.
“Jedite, hello! I’m Alec. You can come upstairs if you’d like.” Alec waves and has his wrist blades extended like he’s expecting ninjas.
Jedite smirks. “No need for that. There’s no one inside.”
Alec shrugs. “Better safe than sorry. Can’t do much when you’re dead…” He steps aside so everyone can enter. He retracts his blades, turns on the lights, and opens his gun safe like he’s showing off a wine collection.
Warren clutches his chest. “Why the fuck does my chest hurt so much?”
Jenna peeks out the window. “That woman is lurking around out there… on a horse.”
Alec strolls over, opens the window, still holding two ion pistols, and shouts down at the pretty brunette with pretty green eyes...
**********************************
Lori urges her horse forward, trying to put distance between herself and the chaos she left behind. The city streets feel too quiet now, too watchful. She’s only a few blocks away from the firefight when a hover jeep glides up beside her, armored men inside bristling with suspicion.
“Miss,” one calls out, voice sharp. “Where are you coming from?”
Lori’s pulse jumps, but she keeps her expression calm. “I came from that way,” she says, pointing behind her. Her long, dark hair falls just right, concealing her elven ears. “And what business is it of yours?” Her tone is controlled, but edged.
“Listen,” the soldier replies, leaning forward. “We have a job to do. If we suspect you were involved in that disturbance, we can detain you.” His gaze lingers on her, assessing. The others shift restlessly, hands near their weapons.
“If you have a job to do,” Lori says, voice low, “then do it. Don’t waste your time on me.”
The driver’s jaw tightens. “Name and where you’re staying. In case we need to ask more questions.”
She gives him a steady look. “Lorianna Dastucar Enthorrina Silveldari. I’m staying at the NG Comfort Suites.”
The jeep goes silent. The driver exhales, almost startled. “Alright… thank you.” They move on, leaving Lori alone with the echo of her own name hanging in the air. She won’t admit it, but the way people freeze when they hear it gives her a strange sense of power.
She continues through the city, eventually circling back toward her hotel. That’s when she sees the Dodge Rocket from earlier, parked like a wounded beast. Bullet hole scarring the bumper. Lights glow in an upstairs apartment. A silhouette moves inside, carrying weapons. A blonde woman peers down at her from the window. Then the silhouette peers through the window as his voice, deep and sharp, cuts through the air, “Who the fuck are you?”
Lori startles, gripping her reins. “I recognized this car from earlier,” she calls back, steadying herself. “That’s all.”
“Hold on,” the man says. “I’ll be right down.” He turns to Jedite. “I need to find some work. Bar run?”
Jedite nods once. “I will accompany you.”
Moments later, all five of them step out of the apartment building. Alec studies Lori with a soldier’s scrutiny. “So… who are you?”
She recognizes each of them from the firefight, based on their movements, their weapons, their faces. “My name is Lorianna Dastucar Enthorrina Silveldari,” she says. “You may call me Lori.”
Alec’s eyes widen. “What the fuck kind of name is that? I can’t even remember it.”
Her gaze sharpens. “It's mine. Given to me by my parents.”
Jedite steps forward, voice calm. “I am Jedite.” Lori remembers the way he dropped from the rooftop, like a silent, precise ninja. Jenna stifles a laugh as Lucas gawks, distracted by her presence.
Alec exhales, grounding himself. “Let me introduce myself properly.” He kneels, taking her hand with unexpected gentleness. “Alec Dallas. And… apologies for earlier. Things get tense when you almost lose your head.”
Jedite’s eyes glow faintly as he observes the annoying exchange. “Where is the bar?” he asks, voice low.
Lori glances at him. “Interesting features, Mr. Jedite.”
Alec mutters, “Nice eyes,” then straightens. “Let’s go.”
Jedite smirks. “I've been called original.”
Alec turns to Lori. “Would you care to join us?”
Jedite’s expression cools, unreadable. He walks to his hovercycle without a word. Alec calls back to Jenna and Lucas, “Stay here. Make sure your friend recovers. The L‑20 that I found should still have a clip.”
Lori mounts her horse. “I’ll come.”
Jenna nods, guiding Lucas and Warren back inside.
Alec starts his car, the 400‑horsepower engine roaring through the complex like a warning. He leads the convoy, consisting of his car, Jedite's hovercycle and Lori's horse, to the Eagle Bar/Café. Glass windows glow softly. The smell of frying food drifts out, warm and grounding.
Inside, Alec sits at the bar. “Whisky,” he says. “And I’m here about a job. Cleaning.”
The bartender meets his eyes with a steady, unreadable expression. “Sit. I’ll bring it... with the receipt.”
Jedite stands behind him, silent as a shadow. Lori finds a menu, scanning it with quiet focus, then orders a bottle of wine and chooses an empty table, watching the room with the wary calm of someone who has survived too much in one day.
The receipt reads as follows:
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Receipt
"Wine: $20
"Whiskey: $10
"House discount due to job order... Ok man, the word on the street is that the Chrome and the militia is looking for you guys. Currently, the Chrome's new plan is to frame the Blue Angels for the death of two militiamen that were killed by an explosive. The militia has also identified you, Alec. I can't offer you a job with you being as hot as you are unless you either help the militia, the Chrome, or the Blue Angels.
"1. Chrome job offer: Sabotage the NG weapons factory, and find a way to frame the Blue Angels for it. Bid: 30,000 credits for the job
"2. The militia members want you to go in and report back in and stand a trial for the death of the two men. Although, they are willing to pardon you if you can bring down the Chrome or find the man that is responsible for the uprising on 54th St and bring him down. IE the Chrome or Blue Angel leader. Bid: 60,000 credits.
"3. Blue Angels need your men to clear your names first, then clear theirs. Everyone knows that you were there... you made enough of a scene. After you clear your name, they want you to clear their name. Bid: A supply of weapons that they can afford. One for each involved with this mission, and an additional 20,000 credits to top that off.
"You are big bad news on the street, man. Keep a low profile and eat and drink your shit and hurry the fuck out! "
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Alec circles options 2 and 3 like he’s signing a peace treaty instead of a job form. He adds his own notes in the margins; because of course he does.
A Naruni Medium Personal Forcefield.
Thirty thousand credits.
Two weapons for himself from the Blue Angels.
One weapon for everyone else who helps.
Plus the twenty thousand.
He hands the paper back with a satisfied nod. “Two birds with one stone, eh?”
The man stares at the paper like Alec just handed him a ransom note as Alec grins. “Thanks. And goodbye.” He leaves before the bartender can decide whether that was polite or threatening.
Outside, Alec climbs into his car, tosses the Fire Breather into the trunk like it’s a gym bag, and heads straight for Militia Headquarters, leaving Jedite and Lori.
The moment he steps through the HQ front doors, chaos hits him like a wall. The waiting area is packed with criminals, gang members, militia officers, all talking over each other. A dozen Blue Angels sit at desks being interrogated. Only three Chrome members are present, looking like they regret every life choice that led them here.
Behind the waiting area: offices, to the right: restrooms and janitorial storage. Farther back is the deep interrogation room and the weapons‑and‑arms center. Below all that is the prisoner section, stretching underground like a bad memory.
Alec barely has time to take in the scene before a detective stands up, spots him, and grins like a wolf, “Well, look who decided to grace us with his pretty‑boy face! Good ole Sgt. Dallas!” He strides over, gets way too close, and whispers rapid‑fire into Alec’s ear, “Boy, you’re in deep shit. Word is you pitched the grenade that killed those two men. Now I think to myself, 'would that crazy bastard do that?' I think not. But you’ve got a lot of ass‑kissing to do when the lieutenant gets back. And I wouldn’t suggest leaving. So what happened?” He tries to sling an arm around Alec’s shoulder and steer him toward the interrogation room like they’re old drinking buddies.
Alec shrugs him off. “Yeah, you know me. I try to keep myself looking nice. Unlike your ugly dog‑shit face.”
The detective sputters. Alec continues, dead serious, “You’ll get the full report. But here’s the short version; I didn’t open fire. A Chrome threw the grenade. Missed me by a mile. Landed by those men. And I got the bastard back. Hacked his head off. Literally.”
The detective stops walking. Alec waits at the interrogation room door, then suddenly remembers. “Oh shit.” He hands over both of his Light Ion pistols like he’s returning borrowed tools. The detective stares at the weapons, then at Alec, then at the weapons again. Alec just smiles.
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Warren looks up at Jenna as the others head out. His voice is rough, still strained. “Jenna… what the hell happened to me? And where’s Lori?” He means their Lori, the Blue Angel who Jenna found dead outside of their gang base.
Alec’s apartment is quiet, dim, and unsettlingly well‑armed. Weapons line the walls in locked cases, more firepower than Jenna ever expected to see in one place. She sits beside Warren, keeping her tone steady. “I kept you alive,” she says. “I wasn’t about to let a friend die in front of me. I used my knowledge and pulled you back. Are you feeling okay?” Once he answers, she tells him everything about the Chrome, the firefight, and Lori’s fate. She’s careful, gentle, but honest.
Warren exhales. “Ahh… I didn’t like that bitch anyway.”
Lucas turns on him instantly, scowling. “Man, you’re a jackass. Jenna could’ve saved her instead of you. You were gone. She saved your life. Try being grateful for..."
“Alright! Shut the fuck up!” Warren snaps, then looks at Jenna, softer. “Thanks. I was just… trying to act tough. I just want to be seen as a normal member of the Angels.” He sinks into Alec’s plush couch. “So who are the others?”
Jenna leans back. “Alec... this is his place. He’s been with us since you got shot. Then there’s Lori… the woman on the horse. If Alec gets his way, he’ll end up ‘together’ with her. But we only met her today.”
“What about the other guy?” Warren asks.
Lucas answers, “Jedite. Something like that.”
Warren’s eyes widen. “Did you see his eyes? And his hair? Wicked cool shit.”
Jenna shakes her head. “Personally, I think he looks like a freak. He acts mysterious on purpose. I don’t trust him.”
Lucas shrugs. “Anyone who can jump fifty feet straight up is tough. Probably one of those wannabe juicer types.”
Warren stiffens. “Hey, I wouldn’t mess with a juicer. I’ve heard stories. Seen what they can do.”
“Whatever he is,” Jenna says, “he’s been decent toward us. Let’s not piss him off. Hopefully he’s not a juicer.”
Lucas nods. “Yeah. Let’s keep him friendly. Makes him a good ally. Wonder when they’re coming back.”
“I don’t know,” Jenna says quietly. “But hopefully soon. We need to figure out what we’re doing about the bodies… and the hideout."
”*******************************************************
Meanwhile, back at the Eagle Bar:
Lori settles in first, uncorking a good bottle of wine and deciding she’s not budging until she’s had at least a couple of glasses and shooing away hopeful wife-seekers. After a few savory glasses paying for the bottle, she tucks it into her belongings and makes a quick sweep through the markets, replenishing whatever supplies she burned through on the road to town. Only then does she head toward Alec’s place.
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Elsewhere...
Meanwhile, Jedite has returned to his contact, Drake Biltonman. The two sit in Drake’s private office, if you can call it that, buried somewhere in the bowels of the Ishpeming underground. The place feels less like an office and more like a forgotten bunker with sweating pipes crowding the ceiling, fluorescent lights flicker in sickly intervals, and every shadow seems to breathe.
Jedite speaks low, as if the walls might be listening. “You’ll have to talk to Alec about training your troops. He’s got more experience with that than I do.” His eyes drift toward the trembling light overhead. “All I need from you is where the Chrome hole up. If you know where their main base is… that’d help. A lot.”
Drake doesn’t answer right away. He combs his fiery orange hair backwards, then scratches the stubble on his cheek. The pipes hiss. Something clanks in the dark beyond the doorway. And the silence stretches just a little too long. He looks up, and begins planning...
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Alec's Place:
By the time Lori steps back into the apartment, Jenna already has the L‑20 in hand, just in case. Lori’s horse is still tied outside like it owns the curb.
Lucas glances up. “So what’s the plan?”
Warren, loud as ever, blurts, “Wow, she’s not half bad! Kinda tall though…”
Lori gives him a glare sharp enough to shave metal, holds it for a couple seconds, then pointedly ignores him as she greets Jenna and Lucas instead, “I don’t know what the plan is,” she says, brushing dust off her sleeve. “They left on some errand and told me to come back here.”
Lucas throws his hands skyward like the universe has forsaken him. “Oh, perfect! Typical! Because we’re not gun‑toting, building‑leaping, mega‑powered superheroes like them, we get stuck babysitting his little armory.”
Warren leans back, eyes drifting up toward Lori with the subtlety of a foghorn. “So… where are you from?”
Lori doesn’t dignify him with an answer. She just fires a look that could curdle milk before turning her attention elsewhere.
Meanwhile, Jenna taps Lucas’s shoulder with the gentleness of someone about to make a very unreasonable request. “Sweetie, would you do me a favor and give me a shoulder massage? I really need one.” He stares at her, then at the armory, then at the ceiling as if hoping divine intervention might arrive and explain how his life became this, “Yeah, sure,” he mutters, still wincing from the burn on his ear. Jenna can’t tell if he’s hinting for sympathy or actually hurting.
Either way, he moves behind her on the couch and starts working his hands gently into her shoulders. The cool release of her muscles easing makes her exhale. “How’s this feel?” he asks.
Warren watches, smirking. “Aaaawww, isn’t that just cute?” His sarcasm practically drips onto the floor.
Jenna doesn’t even turn around. “Warren, shut up and pay attention. If you ever want to keep a girl happy, you better learn how to do this.” Lucas can feel her tense at Warren’s comment, but she forces herself to relax again. “It feels really good,” she tells Lucas, softer this time.
Warren’s smirk fades. “Well soooorry…” He slightly slumps, “It’s kinda hard to feel nice to anyone when nobody’s nice to me. The Blue Angels haven’t even accepted me. You two are the only ones who even give a damn. So why are you so nice?” His voice shifts. He exhibits no sarcasm, no bravado; just honesty.
Lucas keeps massaging, steady and calm. “Because we know what it’s like to feel like rejects, Warren. So it’s best to stick together.”
Jenna opens her eyes, glancing toward the door. “When are they coming back?” she asks again, avoiding the issue as tension creeping back into her shoulders.
With the discussion still simmering, Jedite steps into the apartment.
Lori stands off to the side, arms folded, watching the three like she’s trying to decide whether to intervene or pretend she’s not associated with any of them. Warren gawks at Jenna and Lucas, mostly Jenna, while Lucas continues giving her a careful, steady shoulder massage.
Jedite nods to the room, unfazed by the awkwardness, and holds out a small piece of metal to Jenna. “Drake says you can use this to find out where the Chrome are,” voice calm but carrying weight. “If you do… I owe you one.” He steps back, crosses his arms, and waits like he’s bracing for whatever strange energy this group is about to radiate next.
Jenna turns the metal over in her hands, analyzing every ridge and seam with the same focus she had while trying to relax under Lucas’s massage.
For a moment, everyone’s waiting to see what Jenna sees. Jedite nods towards her as he heads for the door. “If you figure anything out, I’ll be on the roof.” He leaves without waiting for a reply. A moment later, the sound of boots on metal stairs fades upward. Once outside, he strips off his armor and starts working out with fluid motions, sharp strikes, the bright flare of an energy blade cutting arcs through the air in a display of luminescent, circular, arial art.
Inside, Jenna closes her eyes, holding the metal fragment between both hands. The room quiets. Twenty long minutes pass with Lucas behind her; still massaging, Warren watching with wide eyes, Lori leaning against the wall pretending not to be curious. When Jenna finally opens her eyes, they’re almost glowing bright blue.
Lucas breaks the silence. “What was that all about?”
Jenna exhales, shaking off the last of the trance. “Just zoning out. Don’t worry.” She stands, brushing her hands off. “I’m going to talk to Jedite.”
She steps outside, catching glimpses of him through the rooftop shadows, with his black and silver‑lined clothing, muscles coiled, energy blades humming; he regularly switches from one form to another.
“Jedite?” she calls, climbing up. “Umm… they’re in a building. An apartment building, I think. Near the edge of town. And there’s a forest behind it.” She hands him, offering the metal, her eyes still faintly glowing.
*******************************************************
NG Militia HQ:
The head of the board gestures to the lone empty chair, “Have a seat, Staff Sgt. Dallas.”
Alec takes in the room, noticing every face stern, every posture stiff. More people are ushered in from the back, consisting of one restrained Chrome, two Blue Angels. oO( Such a lovely audience)Oo As spits on the Chrome as he walks by, “Fucken pig," and he drops into the chair with a casual slouch. “So, who do I owe the honor of sitting in front of this illustrious crowd today?” He flashes a smile that’s half charm, half challenge.
The audience exchanges indignant glances as the gray‑haired chairman doesn’t blink, “You’ve been accused of causing the deaths, accidental or not, of two of our men. This Chrome claims he saw you throw the grenade. What’s your side of the story?”
Alec folds his arms. “Well now. I’m driving along, minding my own business, when a gang war decides to explode around me. I get out to take cover... and maybe get a little action in. I drop two Chrome in a warehouse. They jumped out, shot a bum, so I shot them. After that, I see a Chrome toss a grenade. I dive out of the way. It lands by the two unfortunate compadres.” He shrugs, “I decapitated the bastard later. And if I may add a little common sense: Why the hell would I throw a grenade when I’ve got an over‑and‑under laser/grenade launcher? A Firebreather, in other words.”
The chairman steeples his fingers. “We also want to question the people you were with. Who are they? Two of them were Blue Angels.”
Alec leans back. “Sure. Coffee would do me good right now,” he waves a hand, “As for other people? No clue what you’re talking about. I was driving, gang war erupts, bullets rain down, I fire a few rounds, break a few things, and then you folks show up. I high‑tailed it out. And you SHOT my CAR!”
The chairman’s tone tightens. “Some city rats claim they saw you with three others. They say you saved their lives. Commendable! But it’s your word against theirs. Their stories match. We need to know what you were doing in the slums. What exactly happened?”
Alec sighs,, “Like I said. It was just me. I fired the shots. I killed those pricks in the alley and the street. Then your men arrived, a gang member threw a grenade at me, missed, killed the militia men, and I hacked his blasted head off! Fair enough?”
The chairman doesn’t flinch. “We can sidestep that. What about the two Blue Angels," he rifles through some notes, " Oh here it is... Jenna and Lucas, who were with you? Didn’t you save their lives when you took down the two Chrome? And then drive off with them?” Around the table, militia staff uncomfortably stare at their hands.
Alec raises his brows. “Jenna? Lucas? Never heard of them. Saved two people? Sure. Someone got shot. That’s why I got out. Then it started raining bullets. Yes, this version’s different, but it’s not important," he leans forward, “I didn’t give anyone a lift. I don’t know them. So you’re actually believing a deadbeat Chrome over me?”
The chairman shakes his head. “No. It wasn’t the Chrome. Militia members and several Blue Angels, including the two seated here, noticed. They know the people you picked up personally. What are you hiding, Sergeant?”
Alec’s smile returns, thin and sharp. “I’m not hiding anything, sir. And I’d like to know why I’m even here, considering the little job offer I got comes with a full pardon.”
The head of the board leans forward, hands folded, voice smooth. “Well, Sergeant, if you take the job, we can grant you a full pardon and a contract as one of our top men. How does that sound? Why pass up an offer like this?” There’s a smile on his face now, it seems too practiced, too ready. Alec can already tell they had this whole pitch rehearsed, “The contract,” the man continues, “would involve some of our hairiest assignments, like undercover work, assassination missions. Pay is negotiable, provided your performance is… satisfactory.”
Alec raises a finger. “Hold on.” He stands, strolls casually toward the restrained Chrome, gives him a friendly smile... then knocks him out cold with a overhand punch. The room jolts, but Alec just walks back and sits down like he stepped out for a glass of water, “Since you’re asking me to take on an entire gang,” he says, settling in, “I want a few things before I start. First, a down payment. And I know you’ve got some nifty toys in that armory.”
He ticks off his demands on his fingers.
“One: a Naruni Medium Forcefield, installed on my armor.
Two: the new Coalition Heavy Plasma Cannon.
And when the job’s done, sixty thousand more credits. Cheap, considering how badly that gang beat the hell out of a platoon of your militia.”
The board murmurs as the chairman clears his throat. “Dallas, we can't offer you the Naruni Forcefield and the cannon is unavailable... assigned to the northern operation. But we can offer you ninety thousand credits to seal the task, plus an agreement to take on at least one more mission. Rates negotiable when the time comes. Don't you already have one of those alien contraptions?”
Alec nods slowly, “Alright, deal! But the second mission is at my discretion. And you’re supplying all my ammo.” He looks around the room. “Now, where’re the keys so I can handpick a nice rifle?"
Looks of disbelief spread like a wave across his audience.
*******************************************************
Later that day:
Jedite addresses the room just after Alec returns, his tone flat and decisive. “I’m heading out to make the Chrome suffer. Whoever’s coming, let’s go. If you plan on waiting around… I’ll see if I can save you any.” Without another word, Jedite strides out of the apartment and takes off down the street, already moving faster than anyone should without bionics.
Jenna mutters loud enough for everyone to hear, “We might as well go. What else are we gonna do? Sit here?” She gets up and heads after him, determined to figure out what his actual plan is. Lori also follows, mostly because Jenna seems to know where she’s going.
Alec moves to his weapons safe with practiced efficiency. He pulls out his WI‑GL4 revolving grenade launcher and loads it with alternating armor‑piercing and frag grenades. He grabs a bandolier and clips and twenty‑four more grenades. Both light ion pistols are holstered. He reloads his 'Fire Breather', packs extra magazines and a reload set, then shoulders the weapon, and throws on his black leather trench coat. Afterwards, he runs after Jenna and Jedite. “Jedite! Slow down, man!”
“Jedite, do us all a favor and slow the hell down!” Jenna shouts, thoroughly annoyed. Unfortunately, he's already out of sight, sprinting up the street like a man possessed. Lucas bursts out of the apartment, leaving Warren behind. He manages to sprint past Jenna and Lori, catching up to Alec, “Uh, Warren says he’s staying behind to recuperate,” he manages between breaths. “I figured I could help.” as he matches Alec's pace, “Can I use one of those pistols? Mine are all back at our HQ.”
The group reaches the outskirts of Chrome territory. Jenna ducks behind bushes, houses, cars and anything that gives her a vantage point, trying to get a clear look of the situation as Lucas arrives. He shouts toward the rooftops, “Hey, Jedite! Jenna’s the one we should be following! She knows what to look for! I think!”
Alec sneaks up next to them, tapping Lucas with his index finger over his lips, shushing him. He hands Lucas a pistol... safety on with no round chambered.
Lucas slips the pistol into his leather jacket, grinning. “Hey! cool. Thanks, man," he then asks Jenna, “Is this it?”
Jenna glances back and then nods forward, “Yeah… looks like it.” Her eyes sweep the area, searching for any sign of movement. “So what’s the plan, guys?”
Alec adjusts his gear, admiring the weight of the Fire Breather settling against his back. “We kick some serious ass,” he says, matter‑of‑fact, as if it’s the only plan that ever existed. His visor flickers as the thermal scan completes. Multiple heat signatures glow from the tents, scattered just outside the city limits, clustered, active and definitely occupied. Beyond that, the landscape is cold. No other humanoid signatures. No movement. Just the tents. Alec lowers the launcher slightly, eyes narrowing. “Looks like there are people in all the tents,” he says to Jenna. “Are you sure this is it?” He shifts his grip on the grenade launcher, settling the weapon into ready position as the silence grows heavier.
Lori arrives analyzing the group. Her eyes narrow as she focuses on Jenna and Lucas, “Are either of you actually wearing armor?” She steps closer, already anticipating the answer. “If not, or if it’s just light stuff, I can cast something on you. It’s not much, and it’ll only last a minute, but it’s better than nothing.”
They both nod enthusiastically for her offer of help.
She smiles, nodding, then readies several combat spells and then focuses, waving several fingers around and speaking in some strange arcane language. Seconds later, both gangers are surrounded by a faint, rippling shimmer; like an invisible field settling around them as a second skin.
They both feel it immediately; a strange, cool pressure, like standing inside a protective bubble. Jenna exhales, rubbing her forehead as her breath splashes back at her, “Well, it looks like we’re at the wrong place,” her voice carries a frustrated edge. “Figures. I’m not exactly great at finding things.”
She suspiciously eyes the horizon, tension tightening her shoulders. “We better go find the right place.”
******************************************************
Rooftops:
Jedite scans the area from his rooftop perch, every detail sharpening under the weight of instinct. A cluster of vehicles sits in the junkyard below, but it's too clean, too organized. They don’t belong. Across the road from the junkyard, a rundown supermarket sits, but not abandoned; its faded sign is defaced with circle of fresh silver chrome spray‑paint, the Chrome insignia gleaming like a warning.
He turns his attention back to the junkyard. Smoke curls from a small shack buried among scattered, dragged‑in vehicles. Shadows move inside, but too many for a simple hideout.
Next to the supermarket, some apartments look inhabited, vehicles neatly parked in the crumbling parking lot. The street's also cracked and neglected as a forest looms behind everything, dark and watchful.
Between Jedite’s building, which is an abandoned, vandalized and defunct power station, and the junkyard, a narrow alley runs like a vein of darkness. Across the two‑lane road, the supermarket sprawls across half a block. Its scratched plexiglass doors barely hold together. Figures drift along the torn‑up terrain behind it on excavated land, leveled but never built on. A perfect place to disappear.
Jedite moves. He swiftly scampers toward the supermarket, silent as a shadow. When he finds no easy entry, he leaps thirty feet straight up, landing on the roof with barely a sound. He draws an energy blade, its hum slicing through the quiet, and carves a hole through the concrete. Debris crashes onto a catwalk below.
“What the hell!” someone shouts. Footsteps thunder.
Jedite steps back from the hole, then cuts a second one beneath himself. As he and a concrete slab drop, he grabs the ledge to slow his descent, letting the slab and rubble rain down ahead of him. He releases, ignites his second blade, and lands in a crouch... ready.
Two men in silver streaked leather stare at him, shocked, hands diving for weapons. A third is still gawking at the ceiling. Jedite stands on a narrow catwalk above crates filled with cybernetic implants and weapons. His awareness spikes, signifying intense danger close by.
A laser shot cracks upward from between crates, missing him by inches and punching a hole clean through the roof. He reacts instantly by shoving the two nearest men off the catwalk in a burst of telekinetic force. They hit the concrete hard, gasping. The 'sniper' fires again, missing and blowing apart a crate of weapons.
“Fuck… this must be Gruber’s friend…” one of the fallen men wheezes.
Jedite’s voice is cold. “Give up, and you live long enough to talk.”
Two men sit where they fell, hands raised. The third freezes mid‑reach, surrendering. But a fourth man, hidden until now, holds his ground. “I have a clear shot at you,” he warns. “I suggest you give up.”
Jedite laughs as he flicks his hand. The man’s weapon rips free, flying into Jedite’s grasp. The man stands, defeated, hands up. “Fucking d-bee,” he mutters. “What do you want with us?”
Jedite motions them together, blades still lit, eyes sharp. “Which of these surrounding buildings do you Chrome use?” Yet, the room holds its breath. The men, mostly older teenagers and young adults, gather in a loose semicircle in front of Jedite. Their faces are tense, eyes darting between him and the surrounding crates.
“We use this place,” says the one who lost his rifle, “Why do you think we’re all here? You’re in for a big surprise when you find out more about us. It ain’t gonna be pretty. Don’t ask me what’s going on, but I do know this. The Chrome are up to something big. I just don’t know what.”
Jedite’s expression doesn’t change. “Maybe I should make myself a little more clear,” he lashes out with a telekinetic strike, fast and precise, catching the speaker across the mouth, temple, and nose, staggering him. Jedite steps forward, blades humming softly. “Where are the other Chrome right now?”
The room goes still. No one breathes.
Jedite faces the other three, energy blades humming faintly at his sides. The young men watch, wide‑eyed, shaken, like prey waiting for the next move, “Well, boys,” he says, voice calm in a way that makes it worse, “if you want to keep living, then I suggest you run. Fast.” He steps forward, gaze sweeping across them, “If you’re out of sight within ten seconds, I won’t kill you. And if I were you, I’d leave the whole area. Because from this point on… any Chrome I see is done.”
He beings counting, slow and deliberate.
“One…
Two…
Three…
Four…”
The captives don’t wait for five.
Notable Characters with submitted profiles:
Jenna Page: viewtopic.php?p=2516&sid=1c166348b87729 ... 6d5c#p2516
Lorianna: viewtopic.php?p=2513&sid=1c166348b87729 ... 6d5c#p2513
Drake Biltonman: viewtopic.php?p=2505&sid=1c166348b87729 ... 6d5c#p2505
Lucas Bloomfield: viewtopic.php?p=2509&sid=1c166348b87729 ... 6d5c#p2509
Gruber Chekolovski: viewtopic.php?p=2507&sid=1c166348b87729 ... 6d5c#p2507
Bruce Wolfstien/Robbie the Repair Bot: viewtopic.php?t=139&sid=1c166348b87729a ... ef24906d5c
Jenna Page walks the streets of Ishpeming: The Northern Gun: a city of steel, smoke, and military ambition.
Its population swells past 150,000, a restless mix of humans, mutants, psychics, and the occasional magician. Power hums beneath the concrete. Suspicion lingers in every alley. But nothing is outlawed yet. The people here grow up sharp, educated, and wary... just like Jenna.
She moves through the city with the quiet confidence of someone who’s survived too much. After a few brutal run‑ins with the Chrome, she drifts naturally toward their rivals, the Blue Angels. Two gangs locked in a cycle of blood and vengeance. Jenna has buried more friends than she can count, each loss carving her colder, harder, less willing to trust the world.
It is June 4, 102 P.A., and the summer air carries the metallic tang of distant machinery.
She walks beside Lucas, her current boyfriend. He’s all dark hair, dark eyes, and darker clothes and is lean, 5'10", and built like someone who’s never quite figured out how to exist comfortably in his own skin. His attitude is a blend of calm cynicism and smartass commentary, especially when someone states the obvious. But with Jenna, he softens. He sees something different in her, something dangerous, something he respects.
Trailing with them is Lori, bouncing lightly with every step. A true-blue blonde, petite at 5'4", wrapped in her usual colors of blue and black. Her brown eyes sparkle with a kind of oblivious cheerfulness. She blurts out whatever crosses her mind, often the most obvious thing possible, and it grates on Lucas like sandpaper. Still, she hops along, unbothered, a bright little spark in a city built on gunmetal and grit.
Jenna, Lucas, and Lori follow their usual path from the diner, drifting down cracked sidewalks toward 54th Street. The city hums around them with engines growling in the distance, metal clanking from the factories, sunlight glinting off rusted rooftops. When they turn the corner, the rest of the Blue Angels come into view.
Warren spots them first. He bursts out from the cluster of gang members, jogging over with his usual mix of swagger and barely-contained attitude. Short, sharp-tongued, and always two seconds from starting a fight, yet he treats Jenna and Lucas with a rare kind of respect.
Behind him looms the warehouse. From the outside, it looks like a dying beast: walls sagging, metal siding peeling, windows cracked or boarded. It dominates most of the block, a massive structure that seems one strong breeze away from collapsing. But inside, it’s a different world; rebuilt, reinforced, carved into living spaces for every gang member and a handful of close friends. The interior halls are guarded by sentinel members in gladiator armor, each carrying heavy weapons and watching the entrances with disciplined stillness.
The trio stops outside the headquarters, sunlight warming their shoulders. A few clouds drift lazily overhead, giving the day a calm, almost cheerful glow. They chat about the roleplaying game they’d been laughing over at the diner with voices relaxed, steps unhurried.
Jenna keeps her expression neutral, but her mind stays alert. To her knowledge, only two other psychics run with the Blue Angels: Warren, and Drake, the gang’s newest leader. No one else knows what she is. Warren figured it out. Lucas… might suspect, judging by the way he watches her sometimes.
As they stand there talking, Warren suddenly sways. Then he drops, collapsing straight to the ground as if someone cut his strings. No warning or sound. Just his body hitting concrete.
Jenna drops to her knees so fast the others barely register the movement. Her hand goes to Warren’s shoulder, steady but urgent. “Warren… hey! Warren, talk to me.” Her voice is low, controlled, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it.
As she leans over him, a sleek Dodge Rocket slowly and deliberately rolls past. Its engine purrs like a predator sizing up prey. Behind the tinted window, a light‑brown‑haired, green‑eyed stranger studies the scene with unsettling focus, gaze lingering on Jenna, on Warren, on the gang clustered nearby. The car doesn’t stop. It just glides by, watching.
Lucas crouches beside Jenna, scanning the street, tension tightening his jaw. Lori hovers behind them, hands fluttering uselessly.
Jenna turns Warren over. His eyes stay shut. And then she sees the dark red bloom spreads across his chest, soaking through his shirt, pulsing from a massive wound.
Lucas inhales sharply, the sound almost a gasp. The sunlight suddenly feels colder. The cheerful walk, the easy conversation, the calm afternoon are all gone in an instant. Warren isn’t unconscious. He's dying.
*******************************************************
OOC: Scott and Tara, you both are within talking range of each other.
Scott's Address: hoser18@eagle.ptialaska.net
Tara's Zadia57@hotmail.com
*******************************************************
Alec Dallas rolls past in his Dodge Rocket, eyes narrowing behind the windshield as he catches the sight of Warren’s collapsed body. Even from the street, he can tell something is fatally wrong. The moment the realization hits, he brakes hard, the Rocket hissing to a stop.
He moves fast. Armor plates clatter as he pulls them on, each piece locking into place with a sharp mechanical click. The transformation is quick, practiced, like he’s done this a hundred times before. Then he strides toward Jenna and drops to one knee beside her, the sunlight flashing off his gear. The gang members gathered around, eye him with suspicion. He takes one look at Warren. “Looks like your friend was sniped,” he says, voice low, grim.
Alec taps the side of his helmet. “Faceplate down.” His visor slides shut with a metallic snap, and a faint hum rises as his armor activates its thermal scan. He turns his head slowly, sweeping the street, the rooftops, the alleys searching for the ghost of a heat signature, the fading trace of a shooter. While the scan runs, he speaks again, tone edged with suspicion, “So… who was your friend? And why would someone want to kill him?”
The question hangs in the air like a tightening noose. Jenna instinctively ducks and grabs Lucas and pulls him down as a bullet ricochets off of Alec's armor.
Jenna’s voice slices through the panic, sharp and urgent. “Lucas, we have to move him. Now! I can’t help him out here. Where’s the nearest place we can hide?”
Lucas doesn’t hesitate. “Follow me.”
They haul Warren’s limp body across the street, Jenna gripping him with desperate strength, Lucas supporting the dead weight as best he can. The rundown stucco building looms ahead with cracked walls, sagging roof, a place forgotten by the city. Inside, the air is stale and sour. A drunk slumps just past the doorway, barely stirring as they drag Warren past him, his muttered groan swallowed by the dimness.
“Set him down,” Jenna says, breath tight. “I need to work. Every second counts.” She kneels beside Warren, staring at him, almost through him, with her eyes distant, calculating. Lucas watches her, baffled.
“What are you doing?” he asks, sarcasm masking the fear in his voice.
Then Jenna sees it all at once: the bullet’s path, the shattered bone, the trauma blooming inside Warren’s chest. The round lodged near his scapula. The damage around his heart. He’s hanging on by threads.
Lucas tries to steady himself. “So what now? You’re not a psychic or anything… right?” Jenna doesn’t answer. She’s already preparing.
Across the room, Alec approaches the drunk, trying to make sense of the chaos, “So, man… what’s going on?”
The drunk snorts awake. “What? Can’t you hear the firefight? Another damn gang war…” His stench, a vile mix of urine, sweat, whiskey, rolls through the room like a physical force. Alec turns away without responding, moving back to the doorway. His visor hums as he scans the street for heat signatures, searching for the shooter who started all this.
Minutes stretch thin. Then Jenna moves without warning as she plunges her hands straight into Warren’s chest.
Lucas recoils, eyes wide. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
She doesn’t speak or flinch. Her hands work with terrifying precision, navigating warm, slick organs as if she’s done this a thousand times. She finds the bullet flattened, mangled, unmistakably from an assault rifle, and pulls it free. Warren’s body shudders. She withdraws her hands and presses them against his torn flesh. The skin knits together beneath her palms, sealing seamlessly, as though the wound never existed. The room falls silent.
Even the drunk stops breathing for a moment. And Lucas realizes whatever Jenna is… she’s far more dangerous, and far more powerful, than he ever imagined.
*******************************************************
Jedite watches the chaos unfold from the shadows, his posture coiled, predatory. Then, without warning, he launches upward, clearing the alley in a single impossible leap. He lands on the warehouse rooftop like a human‑sized grasshopper, metal groaning beneath his boots. From the corner of the roof, he surveys the street below.
Movement. Two Chrome slip out of a side door, scanning the area with nervous, twitchy glances. his eyes narrow. His hands rise. Twin laser swords ignite with a violent hiss, bathing his face in cold, lethal light. He steps forward menacingly slow and deliberate. The hunt has begun.
******************************************************
<Chaser1> . Enter Jedite
<Chaser1> Email.... anthonysuxcock@hotmail.com
*******************************************************
Outside, the street turns volatile.
A Chrome soldier steps into view, clad in the gang’s standard armor and helmet; chrome‑bright, unmistakable. Alec ducks back inside the doorway, slipping out of sight as his visor feeds him new thermal readings. More signatures appear across the surrounding streets. More bodies, scattered farther out.
The drunk mutters, “Man… maybe I should get the hell outta here! This is the worst one I’ve seen yet!” A bullet snaps through the doorway, ricocheting off the cement floor, and shatters the bottle in his hand. He barely reacts and just blinks at the broken glass.
On the rooftop, the Chrome soldier edges backward, unaware he’s being watched. Alec tracks him through thermal optics. He fires twice through the stucco wall and roof corner. Two sharp cracks emanate as the energy beam splits the air. The first shot misses. The second hits. The Chrome’s body goes limp as he tumbles over the edge, landing on the pavement with a dull, wet heavy smack.
The drunk suddenly stiffens. Blood spills from his nose and mouth, his eyes wide with agony. Behind him stand two more Chrome. This time in full Urban Warrior armor, painted in chaotic chrome colors, each gripping an L20 pulse rifle.
Alec reacts instantly, diving for cover.
Inside the building, the danger closes in. Footsteps pound overhead from multiple people on the roof. Lucas ducks instinctively, glancing at Warren, then scanning for Lori. Panic spikes through him. She’s gone.
A flash of light streaks overhead. Another beam slices past Lucas’s ear, scorching it. He screams, clutching the side of his head as chunks of ceiling break loose, raining dust and stone over him and Warren.
Jenna snaps toward him. “Lucas, are you okay? We need to get out of here, now!”
********************************
(Not to be confused with gang member Lori, who just went missing)
Lorianna Dastucar Enthorrina Silveldari, or Lori, because nobody has time for all that, stands at the end of the street, watching an extremely silver‑haired man hop off a hovercycle in a hurry. His armor is black, silver‑trimmed, and absolutely screaming “I moisturize.” He leaps to the warehouse roof just as a gunshot cracks through the air.
She looks up the street. Bodies everywhere. Blue‑and‑black gang members scattered like confetti at a very poorly planned parade. Only a few Chrome gangsters remain, and even they look like they’re reconsidering their life choices.
********************************
From his rooftop perch, Jedite watches the chaos unfold. Down below, a man in black alien‑esque armor, Alec, casually uses a C‑14 firebreather to erase a Chrome from existence. Two of Alec’s friends hover in the doorway of an orange stucco building, dragging an unconscious, blood‑coated guy like they’re moving furniture.
Then the blonde girl suddenly yanks her leather‑clad friend out of the way of a bullet with the reflexes of someone who’s been shot at way too many times.
Alec finishes off the last Chrome with an RPG to the chest because subtlety is for people who don’t own rocket launchers. The local militia arrives just in time to be useless. Another Chrome bursts around the corner and tosses a grenade like he’s pitching in the minor leagues. The blonde girl shouts another warning, and everyone sprints toward one of the Chrome, which is definitely not in any safety manual.
The grenade detonates. The silver‑haired rooftop guy vanishes from sight like he’s doing a magic trick.
The Chrome who threw it decides “nope” and sprints away from Alec, Jenna, and Lucas, who is lugging Warren like a very unhappy duffel bag.
Alec unhooks his vibro‑disk, activates it with a dramatic hum, and throws it. It misses. It returns. He activates it again, ready to try for round two, but the silver‑haired man drops from the rooftop like a gothic superhero, landing in a crouch with a laser sword lit and humming.
Lori watches all this from a safe distance, praying nobody mistakes her for a combatant. Or a Chrome. Or a horse thief. Because yes... she’s on a horse.
Alec throws the disk anyway. It slices the Chrome’s head clean off. The body drops, revealing the silver‑haired man standing behind him, laser sword glowing like he’s posing for a poster. The disk loops around his neck politely, not decapitating him, and returns to Alec.
Alec shouts, “Hey, I think we better get the fuck outta here! The boys in blue can handle it!” Then, pointing at the silver‑haired stranger: “Who the fuck are you?”
The man strides forward, retracting his blades with the confidence of someone who has never once lost an argument. He answers coldly, “The leader of the Blue Angels sent me to clean up some Chrome.”
Alec nods. “Nice job! But we need to vacate the area. Need a lift?” He gestures at the incoming militia like they’re an inconvenient weather pattern.
Jedite replies, “How about we meet up later? Name a place and time.”
Lucas and Jenna drag closer to Alec's car. Lucas pants, “I know a good diner about seven blocks from here. It’s calm.” Alec gives Jedite his apartment number, then hops into his Dodge Rocket and drives off in the same direction Lori went.
Jedite calls after him, “By the way, I’m Jedite,” then casually jumps over a two‑story building like it’s a speed bump.
Alec drives up beside Jenna, Lucas, and Warren. “Need a lift?”
Lucas grins. “Yeah, sure!” He shoves Warren into the back like he’s loading groceries.
A militia member starts walking toward Alec’s car. Alec immediately spins the car around and peels out. The militia opens fire. He hears his car get hit by a bullet. “This thing is brand new,” he mutters, deeply offended.
His CB crackles. “Dallas, is that you, you stupid bastard?”
Warren groans awake. “What the fuck... where the fuck am I?”
Alec makes it to his apartment and parks in his usual spot. Jedite is already waiting on a hovercycle like he teleported there.
“Jedite, hello! I’m Alec. You can come upstairs if you’d like.” Alec waves and has his wrist blades extended like he’s expecting ninjas.
Jedite smirks. “No need for that. There’s no one inside.”
Alec shrugs. “Better safe than sorry. Can’t do much when you’re dead…” He steps aside so everyone can enter. He retracts his blades, turns on the lights, and opens his gun safe like he’s showing off a wine collection.
Warren clutches his chest. “Why the fuck does my chest hurt so much?”
Jenna peeks out the window. “That woman is lurking around out there… on a horse.”
Alec strolls over, opens the window, still holding two ion pistols, and shouts down at the pretty brunette with pretty green eyes...
**********************************
Lori urges her horse forward, trying to put distance between herself and the chaos she left behind. The city streets feel too quiet now, too watchful. She’s only a few blocks away from the firefight when a hover jeep glides up beside her, armored men inside bristling with suspicion.
“Miss,” one calls out, voice sharp. “Where are you coming from?”
Lori’s pulse jumps, but she keeps her expression calm. “I came from that way,” she says, pointing behind her. Her long, dark hair falls just right, concealing her elven ears. “And what business is it of yours?” Her tone is controlled, but edged.
“Listen,” the soldier replies, leaning forward. “We have a job to do. If we suspect you were involved in that disturbance, we can detain you.” His gaze lingers on her, assessing. The others shift restlessly, hands near their weapons.
“If you have a job to do,” Lori says, voice low, “then do it. Don’t waste your time on me.”
The driver’s jaw tightens. “Name and where you’re staying. In case we need to ask more questions.”
She gives him a steady look. “Lorianna Dastucar Enthorrina Silveldari. I’m staying at the NG Comfort Suites.”
The jeep goes silent. The driver exhales, almost startled. “Alright… thank you.” They move on, leaving Lori alone with the echo of her own name hanging in the air. She won’t admit it, but the way people freeze when they hear it gives her a strange sense of power.
She continues through the city, eventually circling back toward her hotel. That’s when she sees the Dodge Rocket from earlier, parked like a wounded beast. Bullet hole scarring the bumper. Lights glow in an upstairs apartment. A silhouette moves inside, carrying weapons. A blonde woman peers down at her from the window. Then the silhouette peers through the window as his voice, deep and sharp, cuts through the air, “Who the fuck are you?”
Lori startles, gripping her reins. “I recognized this car from earlier,” she calls back, steadying herself. “That’s all.”
“Hold on,” the man says. “I’ll be right down.” He turns to Jedite. “I need to find some work. Bar run?”
Jedite nods once. “I will accompany you.”
Moments later, all five of them step out of the apartment building. Alec studies Lori with a soldier’s scrutiny. “So… who are you?”
She recognizes each of them from the firefight, based on their movements, their weapons, their faces. “My name is Lorianna Dastucar Enthorrina Silveldari,” she says. “You may call me Lori.”
Alec’s eyes widen. “What the fuck kind of name is that? I can’t even remember it.”
Her gaze sharpens. “It's mine. Given to me by my parents.”
Jedite steps forward, voice calm. “I am Jedite.” Lori remembers the way he dropped from the rooftop, like a silent, precise ninja. Jenna stifles a laugh as Lucas gawks, distracted by her presence.
Alec exhales, grounding himself. “Let me introduce myself properly.” He kneels, taking her hand with unexpected gentleness. “Alec Dallas. And… apologies for earlier. Things get tense when you almost lose your head.”
Jedite’s eyes glow faintly as he observes the annoying exchange. “Where is the bar?” he asks, voice low.
Lori glances at him. “Interesting features, Mr. Jedite.”
Alec mutters, “Nice eyes,” then straightens. “Let’s go.”
Jedite smirks. “I've been called original.”
Alec turns to Lori. “Would you care to join us?”
Jedite’s expression cools, unreadable. He walks to his hovercycle without a word. Alec calls back to Jenna and Lucas, “Stay here. Make sure your friend recovers. The L‑20 that I found should still have a clip.”
Lori mounts her horse. “I’ll come.”
Jenna nods, guiding Lucas and Warren back inside.
Alec starts his car, the 400‑horsepower engine roaring through the complex like a warning. He leads the convoy, consisting of his car, Jedite's hovercycle and Lori's horse, to the Eagle Bar/Café. Glass windows glow softly. The smell of frying food drifts out, warm and grounding.
Inside, Alec sits at the bar. “Whisky,” he says. “And I’m here about a job. Cleaning.”
The bartender meets his eyes with a steady, unreadable expression. “Sit. I’ll bring it... with the receipt.”
Jedite stands behind him, silent as a shadow. Lori finds a menu, scanning it with quiet focus, then orders a bottle of wine and chooses an empty table, watching the room with the wary calm of someone who has survived too much in one day.
The receipt reads as follows:
*******************************************************
Receipt
"Wine: $20
"Whiskey: $10
"House discount due to job order... Ok man, the word on the street is that the Chrome and the militia is looking for you guys. Currently, the Chrome's new plan is to frame the Blue Angels for the death of two militiamen that were killed by an explosive. The militia has also identified you, Alec. I can't offer you a job with you being as hot as you are unless you either help the militia, the Chrome, or the Blue Angels.
"1. Chrome job offer: Sabotage the NG weapons factory, and find a way to frame the Blue Angels for it. Bid: 30,000 credits for the job
"2. The militia members want you to go in and report back in and stand a trial for the death of the two men. Although, they are willing to pardon you if you can bring down the Chrome or find the man that is responsible for the uprising on 54th St and bring him down. IE the Chrome or Blue Angel leader. Bid: 60,000 credits.
"3. Blue Angels need your men to clear your names first, then clear theirs. Everyone knows that you were there... you made enough of a scene. After you clear your name, they want you to clear their name. Bid: A supply of weapons that they can afford. One for each involved with this mission, and an additional 20,000 credits to top that off.
"You are big bad news on the street, man. Keep a low profile and eat and drink your shit and hurry the fuck out! "
******************************************
Alec circles options 2 and 3 like he’s signing a peace treaty instead of a job form. He adds his own notes in the margins; because of course he does.
A Naruni Medium Personal Forcefield.
Thirty thousand credits.
Two weapons for himself from the Blue Angels.
One weapon for everyone else who helps.
Plus the twenty thousand.
He hands the paper back with a satisfied nod. “Two birds with one stone, eh?”
The man stares at the paper like Alec just handed him a ransom note as Alec grins. “Thanks. And goodbye.” He leaves before the bartender can decide whether that was polite or threatening.
Outside, Alec climbs into his car, tosses the Fire Breather into the trunk like it’s a gym bag, and heads straight for Militia Headquarters, leaving Jedite and Lori.
The moment he steps through the HQ front doors, chaos hits him like a wall. The waiting area is packed with criminals, gang members, militia officers, all talking over each other. A dozen Blue Angels sit at desks being interrogated. Only three Chrome members are present, looking like they regret every life choice that led them here.
Behind the waiting area: offices, to the right: restrooms and janitorial storage. Farther back is the deep interrogation room and the weapons‑and‑arms center. Below all that is the prisoner section, stretching underground like a bad memory.
Alec barely has time to take in the scene before a detective stands up, spots him, and grins like a wolf, “Well, look who decided to grace us with his pretty‑boy face! Good ole Sgt. Dallas!” He strides over, gets way too close, and whispers rapid‑fire into Alec’s ear, “Boy, you’re in deep shit. Word is you pitched the grenade that killed those two men. Now I think to myself, 'would that crazy bastard do that?' I think not. But you’ve got a lot of ass‑kissing to do when the lieutenant gets back. And I wouldn’t suggest leaving. So what happened?” He tries to sling an arm around Alec’s shoulder and steer him toward the interrogation room like they’re old drinking buddies.
Alec shrugs him off. “Yeah, you know me. I try to keep myself looking nice. Unlike your ugly dog‑shit face.”
The detective sputters. Alec continues, dead serious, “You’ll get the full report. But here’s the short version; I didn’t open fire. A Chrome threw the grenade. Missed me by a mile. Landed by those men. And I got the bastard back. Hacked his head off. Literally.”
The detective stops walking. Alec waits at the interrogation room door, then suddenly remembers. “Oh shit.” He hands over both of his Light Ion pistols like he’s returning borrowed tools. The detective stares at the weapons, then at Alec, then at the weapons again. Alec just smiles.
*******************************************************
Warren looks up at Jenna as the others head out. His voice is rough, still strained. “Jenna… what the hell happened to me? And where’s Lori?” He means their Lori, the Blue Angel who Jenna found dead outside of their gang base.
Alec’s apartment is quiet, dim, and unsettlingly well‑armed. Weapons line the walls in locked cases, more firepower than Jenna ever expected to see in one place. She sits beside Warren, keeping her tone steady. “I kept you alive,” she says. “I wasn’t about to let a friend die in front of me. I used my knowledge and pulled you back. Are you feeling okay?” Once he answers, she tells him everything about the Chrome, the firefight, and Lori’s fate. She’s careful, gentle, but honest.
Warren exhales. “Ahh… I didn’t like that bitch anyway.”
Lucas turns on him instantly, scowling. “Man, you’re a jackass. Jenna could’ve saved her instead of you. You were gone. She saved your life. Try being grateful for..."
“Alright! Shut the fuck up!” Warren snaps, then looks at Jenna, softer. “Thanks. I was just… trying to act tough. I just want to be seen as a normal member of the Angels.” He sinks into Alec’s plush couch. “So who are the others?”
Jenna leans back. “Alec... this is his place. He’s been with us since you got shot. Then there’s Lori… the woman on the horse. If Alec gets his way, he’ll end up ‘together’ with her. But we only met her today.”
“What about the other guy?” Warren asks.
Lucas answers, “Jedite. Something like that.”
Warren’s eyes widen. “Did you see his eyes? And his hair? Wicked cool shit.”
Jenna shakes her head. “Personally, I think he looks like a freak. He acts mysterious on purpose. I don’t trust him.”
Lucas shrugs. “Anyone who can jump fifty feet straight up is tough. Probably one of those wannabe juicer types.”
Warren stiffens. “Hey, I wouldn’t mess with a juicer. I’ve heard stories. Seen what they can do.”
“Whatever he is,” Jenna says, “he’s been decent toward us. Let’s not piss him off. Hopefully he’s not a juicer.”
Lucas nods. “Yeah. Let’s keep him friendly. Makes him a good ally. Wonder when they’re coming back.”
“I don’t know,” Jenna says quietly. “But hopefully soon. We need to figure out what we’re doing about the bodies… and the hideout."
”*******************************************************
Meanwhile, back at the Eagle Bar:
Lori settles in first, uncorking a good bottle of wine and deciding she’s not budging until she’s had at least a couple of glasses and shooing away hopeful wife-seekers. After a few savory glasses paying for the bottle, she tucks it into her belongings and makes a quick sweep through the markets, replenishing whatever supplies she burned through on the road to town. Only then does she head toward Alec’s place.
********************************************************
Elsewhere...
Meanwhile, Jedite has returned to his contact, Drake Biltonman. The two sit in Drake’s private office, if you can call it that, buried somewhere in the bowels of the Ishpeming underground. The place feels less like an office and more like a forgotten bunker with sweating pipes crowding the ceiling, fluorescent lights flicker in sickly intervals, and every shadow seems to breathe.
Jedite speaks low, as if the walls might be listening. “You’ll have to talk to Alec about training your troops. He’s got more experience with that than I do.” His eyes drift toward the trembling light overhead. “All I need from you is where the Chrome hole up. If you know where their main base is… that’d help. A lot.”
Drake doesn’t answer right away. He combs his fiery orange hair backwards, then scratches the stubble on his cheek. The pipes hiss. Something clanks in the dark beyond the doorway. And the silence stretches just a little too long. He looks up, and begins planning...
*******************************************************
Alec's Place:
By the time Lori steps back into the apartment, Jenna already has the L‑20 in hand, just in case. Lori’s horse is still tied outside like it owns the curb.
Lucas glances up. “So what’s the plan?”
Warren, loud as ever, blurts, “Wow, she’s not half bad! Kinda tall though…”
Lori gives him a glare sharp enough to shave metal, holds it for a couple seconds, then pointedly ignores him as she greets Jenna and Lucas instead, “I don’t know what the plan is,” she says, brushing dust off her sleeve. “They left on some errand and told me to come back here.”
Lucas throws his hands skyward like the universe has forsaken him. “Oh, perfect! Typical! Because we’re not gun‑toting, building‑leaping, mega‑powered superheroes like them, we get stuck babysitting his little armory.”
Warren leans back, eyes drifting up toward Lori with the subtlety of a foghorn. “So… where are you from?”
Lori doesn’t dignify him with an answer. She just fires a look that could curdle milk before turning her attention elsewhere.
Meanwhile, Jenna taps Lucas’s shoulder with the gentleness of someone about to make a very unreasonable request. “Sweetie, would you do me a favor and give me a shoulder massage? I really need one.” He stares at her, then at the armory, then at the ceiling as if hoping divine intervention might arrive and explain how his life became this, “Yeah, sure,” he mutters, still wincing from the burn on his ear. Jenna can’t tell if he’s hinting for sympathy or actually hurting.
Either way, he moves behind her on the couch and starts working his hands gently into her shoulders. The cool release of her muscles easing makes her exhale. “How’s this feel?” he asks.
Warren watches, smirking. “Aaaawww, isn’t that just cute?” His sarcasm practically drips onto the floor.
Jenna doesn’t even turn around. “Warren, shut up and pay attention. If you ever want to keep a girl happy, you better learn how to do this.” Lucas can feel her tense at Warren’s comment, but she forces herself to relax again. “It feels really good,” she tells Lucas, softer this time.
Warren’s smirk fades. “Well soooorry…” He slightly slumps, “It’s kinda hard to feel nice to anyone when nobody’s nice to me. The Blue Angels haven’t even accepted me. You two are the only ones who even give a damn. So why are you so nice?” His voice shifts. He exhibits no sarcasm, no bravado; just honesty.
Lucas keeps massaging, steady and calm. “Because we know what it’s like to feel like rejects, Warren. So it’s best to stick together.”
Jenna opens her eyes, glancing toward the door. “When are they coming back?” she asks again, avoiding the issue as tension creeping back into her shoulders.
With the discussion still simmering, Jedite steps into the apartment.
Lori stands off to the side, arms folded, watching the three like she’s trying to decide whether to intervene or pretend she’s not associated with any of them. Warren gawks at Jenna and Lucas, mostly Jenna, while Lucas continues giving her a careful, steady shoulder massage.
Jedite nods to the room, unfazed by the awkwardness, and holds out a small piece of metal to Jenna. “Drake says you can use this to find out where the Chrome are,” voice calm but carrying weight. “If you do… I owe you one.” He steps back, crosses his arms, and waits like he’s bracing for whatever strange energy this group is about to radiate next.
Jenna turns the metal over in her hands, analyzing every ridge and seam with the same focus she had while trying to relax under Lucas’s massage.
For a moment, everyone’s waiting to see what Jenna sees. Jedite nods towards her as he heads for the door. “If you figure anything out, I’ll be on the roof.” He leaves without waiting for a reply. A moment later, the sound of boots on metal stairs fades upward. Once outside, he strips off his armor and starts working out with fluid motions, sharp strikes, the bright flare of an energy blade cutting arcs through the air in a display of luminescent, circular, arial art.
Inside, Jenna closes her eyes, holding the metal fragment between both hands. The room quiets. Twenty long minutes pass with Lucas behind her; still massaging, Warren watching with wide eyes, Lori leaning against the wall pretending not to be curious. When Jenna finally opens her eyes, they’re almost glowing bright blue.
Lucas breaks the silence. “What was that all about?”
Jenna exhales, shaking off the last of the trance. “Just zoning out. Don’t worry.” She stands, brushing her hands off. “I’m going to talk to Jedite.”
She steps outside, catching glimpses of him through the rooftop shadows, with his black and silver‑lined clothing, muscles coiled, energy blades humming; he regularly switches from one form to another.
“Jedite?” she calls, climbing up. “Umm… they’re in a building. An apartment building, I think. Near the edge of town. And there’s a forest behind it.” She hands him, offering the metal, her eyes still faintly glowing.
*******************************************************
NG Militia HQ:
The head of the board gestures to the lone empty chair, “Have a seat, Staff Sgt. Dallas.”
Alec takes in the room, noticing every face stern, every posture stiff. More people are ushered in from the back, consisting of one restrained Chrome, two Blue Angels. oO( Such a lovely audience)Oo As spits on the Chrome as he walks by, “Fucken pig," and he drops into the chair with a casual slouch. “So, who do I owe the honor of sitting in front of this illustrious crowd today?” He flashes a smile that’s half charm, half challenge.
The audience exchanges indignant glances as the gray‑haired chairman doesn’t blink, “You’ve been accused of causing the deaths, accidental or not, of two of our men. This Chrome claims he saw you throw the grenade. What’s your side of the story?”
Alec folds his arms. “Well now. I’m driving along, minding my own business, when a gang war decides to explode around me. I get out to take cover... and maybe get a little action in. I drop two Chrome in a warehouse. They jumped out, shot a bum, so I shot them. After that, I see a Chrome toss a grenade. I dive out of the way. It lands by the two unfortunate compadres.” He shrugs, “I decapitated the bastard later. And if I may add a little common sense: Why the hell would I throw a grenade when I’ve got an over‑and‑under laser/grenade launcher? A Firebreather, in other words.”
The chairman steeples his fingers. “We also want to question the people you were with. Who are they? Two of them were Blue Angels.”
Alec leans back. “Sure. Coffee would do me good right now,” he waves a hand, “As for other people? No clue what you’re talking about. I was driving, gang war erupts, bullets rain down, I fire a few rounds, break a few things, and then you folks show up. I high‑tailed it out. And you SHOT my CAR!”
The chairman’s tone tightens. “Some city rats claim they saw you with three others. They say you saved their lives. Commendable! But it’s your word against theirs. Their stories match. We need to know what you were doing in the slums. What exactly happened?”
Alec sighs,, “Like I said. It was just me. I fired the shots. I killed those pricks in the alley and the street. Then your men arrived, a gang member threw a grenade at me, missed, killed the militia men, and I hacked his blasted head off! Fair enough?”
The chairman doesn’t flinch. “We can sidestep that. What about the two Blue Angels," he rifles through some notes, " Oh here it is... Jenna and Lucas, who were with you? Didn’t you save their lives when you took down the two Chrome? And then drive off with them?” Around the table, militia staff uncomfortably stare at their hands.
Alec raises his brows. “Jenna? Lucas? Never heard of them. Saved two people? Sure. Someone got shot. That’s why I got out. Then it started raining bullets. Yes, this version’s different, but it’s not important," he leans forward, “I didn’t give anyone a lift. I don’t know them. So you’re actually believing a deadbeat Chrome over me?”
The chairman shakes his head. “No. It wasn’t the Chrome. Militia members and several Blue Angels, including the two seated here, noticed. They know the people you picked up personally. What are you hiding, Sergeant?”
Alec’s smile returns, thin and sharp. “I’m not hiding anything, sir. And I’d like to know why I’m even here, considering the little job offer I got comes with a full pardon.”
The head of the board leans forward, hands folded, voice smooth. “Well, Sergeant, if you take the job, we can grant you a full pardon and a contract as one of our top men. How does that sound? Why pass up an offer like this?” There’s a smile on his face now, it seems too practiced, too ready. Alec can already tell they had this whole pitch rehearsed, “The contract,” the man continues, “would involve some of our hairiest assignments, like undercover work, assassination missions. Pay is negotiable, provided your performance is… satisfactory.”
Alec raises a finger. “Hold on.” He stands, strolls casually toward the restrained Chrome, gives him a friendly smile... then knocks him out cold with a overhand punch. The room jolts, but Alec just walks back and sits down like he stepped out for a glass of water, “Since you’re asking me to take on an entire gang,” he says, settling in, “I want a few things before I start. First, a down payment. And I know you’ve got some nifty toys in that armory.”
He ticks off his demands on his fingers.
“One: a Naruni Medium Forcefield, installed on my armor.
Two: the new Coalition Heavy Plasma Cannon.
And when the job’s done, sixty thousand more credits. Cheap, considering how badly that gang beat the hell out of a platoon of your militia.”
The board murmurs as the chairman clears his throat. “Dallas, we can't offer you the Naruni Forcefield and the cannon is unavailable... assigned to the northern operation. But we can offer you ninety thousand credits to seal the task, plus an agreement to take on at least one more mission. Rates negotiable when the time comes. Don't you already have one of those alien contraptions?”
Alec nods slowly, “Alright, deal! But the second mission is at my discretion. And you’re supplying all my ammo.” He looks around the room. “Now, where’re the keys so I can handpick a nice rifle?"
Looks of disbelief spread like a wave across his audience.
*******************************************************
Later that day:
Jedite addresses the room just after Alec returns, his tone flat and decisive. “I’m heading out to make the Chrome suffer. Whoever’s coming, let’s go. If you plan on waiting around… I’ll see if I can save you any.” Without another word, Jedite strides out of the apartment and takes off down the street, already moving faster than anyone should without bionics.
Jenna mutters loud enough for everyone to hear, “We might as well go. What else are we gonna do? Sit here?” She gets up and heads after him, determined to figure out what his actual plan is. Lori also follows, mostly because Jenna seems to know where she’s going.
Alec moves to his weapons safe with practiced efficiency. He pulls out his WI‑GL4 revolving grenade launcher and loads it with alternating armor‑piercing and frag grenades. He grabs a bandolier and clips and twenty‑four more grenades. Both light ion pistols are holstered. He reloads his 'Fire Breather', packs extra magazines and a reload set, then shoulders the weapon, and throws on his black leather trench coat. Afterwards, he runs after Jenna and Jedite. “Jedite! Slow down, man!”
“Jedite, do us all a favor and slow the hell down!” Jenna shouts, thoroughly annoyed. Unfortunately, he's already out of sight, sprinting up the street like a man possessed. Lucas bursts out of the apartment, leaving Warren behind. He manages to sprint past Jenna and Lori, catching up to Alec, “Uh, Warren says he’s staying behind to recuperate,” he manages between breaths. “I figured I could help.” as he matches Alec's pace, “Can I use one of those pistols? Mine are all back at our HQ.”
The group reaches the outskirts of Chrome territory. Jenna ducks behind bushes, houses, cars and anything that gives her a vantage point, trying to get a clear look of the situation as Lucas arrives. He shouts toward the rooftops, “Hey, Jedite! Jenna’s the one we should be following! She knows what to look for! I think!”
Alec sneaks up next to them, tapping Lucas with his index finger over his lips, shushing him. He hands Lucas a pistol... safety on with no round chambered.
Lucas slips the pistol into his leather jacket, grinning. “Hey! cool. Thanks, man," he then asks Jenna, “Is this it?”
Jenna glances back and then nods forward, “Yeah… looks like it.” Her eyes sweep the area, searching for any sign of movement. “So what’s the plan, guys?”
Alec adjusts his gear, admiring the weight of the Fire Breather settling against his back. “We kick some serious ass,” he says, matter‑of‑fact, as if it’s the only plan that ever existed. His visor flickers as the thermal scan completes. Multiple heat signatures glow from the tents, scattered just outside the city limits, clustered, active and definitely occupied. Beyond that, the landscape is cold. No other humanoid signatures. No movement. Just the tents. Alec lowers the launcher slightly, eyes narrowing. “Looks like there are people in all the tents,” he says to Jenna. “Are you sure this is it?” He shifts his grip on the grenade launcher, settling the weapon into ready position as the silence grows heavier.
Lori arrives analyzing the group. Her eyes narrow as she focuses on Jenna and Lucas, “Are either of you actually wearing armor?” She steps closer, already anticipating the answer. “If not, or if it’s just light stuff, I can cast something on you. It’s not much, and it’ll only last a minute, but it’s better than nothing.”
They both nod enthusiastically for her offer of help.
She smiles, nodding, then readies several combat spells and then focuses, waving several fingers around and speaking in some strange arcane language. Seconds later, both gangers are surrounded by a faint, rippling shimmer; like an invisible field settling around them as a second skin.
They both feel it immediately; a strange, cool pressure, like standing inside a protective bubble. Jenna exhales, rubbing her forehead as her breath splashes back at her, “Well, it looks like we’re at the wrong place,” her voice carries a frustrated edge. “Figures. I’m not exactly great at finding things.”
She suspiciously eyes the horizon, tension tightening her shoulders. “We better go find the right place.”
******************************************************
Rooftops:
Jedite scans the area from his rooftop perch, every detail sharpening under the weight of instinct. A cluster of vehicles sits in the junkyard below, but it's too clean, too organized. They don’t belong. Across the road from the junkyard, a rundown supermarket sits, but not abandoned; its faded sign is defaced with circle of fresh silver chrome spray‑paint, the Chrome insignia gleaming like a warning.
He turns his attention back to the junkyard. Smoke curls from a small shack buried among scattered, dragged‑in vehicles. Shadows move inside, but too many for a simple hideout.
Next to the supermarket, some apartments look inhabited, vehicles neatly parked in the crumbling parking lot. The street's also cracked and neglected as a forest looms behind everything, dark and watchful.
Between Jedite’s building, which is an abandoned, vandalized and defunct power station, and the junkyard, a narrow alley runs like a vein of darkness. Across the two‑lane road, the supermarket sprawls across half a block. Its scratched plexiglass doors barely hold together. Figures drift along the torn‑up terrain behind it on excavated land, leveled but never built on. A perfect place to disappear.
Jedite moves. He swiftly scampers toward the supermarket, silent as a shadow. When he finds no easy entry, he leaps thirty feet straight up, landing on the roof with barely a sound. He draws an energy blade, its hum slicing through the quiet, and carves a hole through the concrete. Debris crashes onto a catwalk below.
“What the hell!” someone shouts. Footsteps thunder.
Jedite steps back from the hole, then cuts a second one beneath himself. As he and a concrete slab drop, he grabs the ledge to slow his descent, letting the slab and rubble rain down ahead of him. He releases, ignites his second blade, and lands in a crouch... ready.
Two men in silver streaked leather stare at him, shocked, hands diving for weapons. A third is still gawking at the ceiling. Jedite stands on a narrow catwalk above crates filled with cybernetic implants and weapons. His awareness spikes, signifying intense danger close by.
A laser shot cracks upward from between crates, missing him by inches and punching a hole clean through the roof. He reacts instantly by shoving the two nearest men off the catwalk in a burst of telekinetic force. They hit the concrete hard, gasping. The 'sniper' fires again, missing and blowing apart a crate of weapons.
“Fuck… this must be Gruber’s friend…” one of the fallen men wheezes.
Jedite’s voice is cold. “Give up, and you live long enough to talk.”
Two men sit where they fell, hands raised. The third freezes mid‑reach, surrendering. But a fourth man, hidden until now, holds his ground. “I have a clear shot at you,” he warns. “I suggest you give up.”
Jedite laughs as he flicks his hand. The man’s weapon rips free, flying into Jedite’s grasp. The man stands, defeated, hands up. “Fucking d-bee,” he mutters. “What do you want with us?”
Jedite motions them together, blades still lit, eyes sharp. “Which of these surrounding buildings do you Chrome use?” Yet, the room holds its breath. The men, mostly older teenagers and young adults, gather in a loose semicircle in front of Jedite. Their faces are tense, eyes darting between him and the surrounding crates.
“We use this place,” says the one who lost his rifle, “Why do you think we’re all here? You’re in for a big surprise when you find out more about us. It ain’t gonna be pretty. Don’t ask me what’s going on, but I do know this. The Chrome are up to something big. I just don’t know what.”
Jedite’s expression doesn’t change. “Maybe I should make myself a little more clear,” he lashes out with a telekinetic strike, fast and precise, catching the speaker across the mouth, temple, and nose, staggering him. Jedite steps forward, blades humming softly. “Where are the other Chrome right now?”
The room goes still. No one breathes.
Jedite faces the other three, energy blades humming faintly at his sides. The young men watch, wide‑eyed, shaken, like prey waiting for the next move, “Well, boys,” he says, voice calm in a way that makes it worse, “if you want to keep living, then I suggest you run. Fast.” He steps forward, gaze sweeping across them, “If you’re out of sight within ten seconds, I won’t kill you. And if I were you, I’d leave the whole area. Because from this point on… any Chrome I see is done.”
He beings counting, slow and deliberate.
“One…
Two…
Three…
Four…”
The captives don’t wait for five.