Training Day

Sergei snaps too and instinctively checks to see if his gear, including his AK is still on his person. Then the crushing reality hits him. The drone. Pinchy the drone.

"Mother cock suck. We lost Pinchy!"

As the world comes into view Brett fumbles for his retention sling and gets a handle on his weapon. He tries to stand up and yawn. For some reason he feels great and wanders over to the others while they discuss matters he doesn't know anything about. Looking around him he can't help but feel like something is wrong.

Then it rushes back. He checks his bag, see how much he still has and addresses his comrades

"Anybody hurt? If not we need to go!"

Once he gets eyes on his shit, Brett moves to exit the vehicle and takes a look around

"Oh... motherfuckers... you... really know... how to party... We just met, and my head feels like next day after two glasses of Uncle John's moonshine already..." - Neon crawled out from under one of the metal bars that were the part of VTOL just few seconds ago. He checks and sees that his trusty Colt and Machete are on him, and says reassured:
"Two trustworthy friends still with me. What about the others? You are too ugly, Big Guy for me to stay at this gig only with you! Besides Carlisle is right, we may need every fucking gun we can find, no later then this 3 minute track will end. Or is it just a static in my head?" - saying that Neon hit his head with left fist as he would like to throw out something of it.

"Oh... Mr. Brett... I presume... I see we can agree already. Let's get out of here. As fast as we can. But first I take the horny lady out and you get the friendly tech guy? Out of this rumble of course. Then we go. Still having an agreement?" - Neon winked to Brett.

Then to Sergei: "So how does your dog look like, again? You'r sure you had it on you when we fell?"

Brett squints one eye at the Neon Prophet and smiles as he nods.

"Oh yeah. Full agreement. We need to bounce before more cylon's get here."

In comms:
"C'mon ramblers. Let's get rambling. Make sure we still have possession of the case."

"And I thought computer crashes were bad, but fuck me upside down and twirl me like an umbrella, but that hurt." Numa groans from the rear of the VTOL wreckage. He is dangling from his harness, his chest bruised from the impact, and he tastes blood in his mouth from a bit tongue. He breathes a sigh of relief his cyberdeck got lodged in the floor between the seats and seems, on first glance, to be intact. But electronics were sensitive and causes a pit of dread in his gut to form that is now fighting the nausea already making a home there. He releases his safety harness and half falls, half slides down the angled floor of the VTOL. He reaches back and grabs his deck, giving it a little shake next to his ear. "Don't hear any rattling. Might still be ok. Let's get out while we can. Anyone see where the drone fell?"

In comms:
"Let's go! Exfil is a bust and I hear sirens. Grab the case and let's boogy."

Keeping to the plan Neon get's back to VTOL looking for woman that Carlisle told him was called "Flesher". And then he recalls to himself that she, herself told him her handle just minutes ago... must be effects of the crush still. Soon he noticed that one of the seats was almost torn out from its place and has fallen to its side. As he expected, he found Flesher lying behind it. In comms:
Hey... Brats... we have sleeping princess here... luckily it doesn't look as eternal slumber... yet. Any one wants to give her a waking up kiss? By a slap?

Hearing the coming sirens he adds:
Sorry, but that fun will have to wait. Fucking boys scouts are reacting suspiciously fast to our glorious arrival in the district...

Saying that Prophet walks towards Flesher, tries to check if there are any signs of damaged spine and... shrugs his arms... as he would like to say "As if I fucking knew anything about it". Then he unties the belts form Flesher and throws her over his right shoulder. Finally walking out of the wreckage as fast as he can without possibility of dropping her to the ground.

Sergei changes his AK’s magazine and lifts it to the big ready position.

Da, Choombata. Let’s make like tree and fuck off.

He looks around the wreckage for an alley to leave through to minimize their exposure to the boys in blue.

Brett, seeing no one else is grabbing the case, goes back into the wreckage and grabs the case. He then makes sure his rifle, pistol, and shiny new smg all have fresh mags before heading back out

Lets fucking move!

Sergei moves towards the alley, at the ready, sweeping his field of vision around to assess for any potential hostiles. Once there he looks for any cover and directs the rest of the group as necessary.

Deep in Flesher’s unconscious mind, there stirs a memory of easier days long ago when she had just met her mentor, a Ripperdoc from Cairo, Egypt. He had a short mohawk afro with tribal tattoos on either side of his head. All of his cyberenhancements were custom. She remembers thinking that she had never met anyone like him. That moment, even before they were introduced, changed the course of her life. She went from not even knowing anything about the streets to knowing that she’d spend the rest of her days off grid and flirting with shadows. Her parents were furious and she recalls thinking how much she liked it. They were fine as parents but her entire family had fucked it all up by trusting big corpos. Never again.
She started to wake, hearing shouts and being jostled about on the shoulder of…
what the motherloving fuck happened?! Put me down, you gonk! My legs work just fine.

Neon seats down Flesher at the nearby bench. Doing so in a way that couldn’t be further away from being called delicate. Then he adds, in short soldierly words:
„About fucking time. Than start walking. Towards the alley Sergei is securing."

And runs towards the alley Sergei choose as their escape way, drawing his heavy Colt pistol on the way. Leans against the wall on the opposite site than Sergei, nods to him and says at comms:
Going to secure our fronts, Russian brother. You are protecting our rear - as I see it. Direct the sheep after Prophet, as any good Shepherd should.

Saying so: Neon runs down the alley looking for good positon to take in order to secure group’s tactical retreat.