No Strings on Me

"Fuck you, Choom. You fed us a giant shit sandwich. Lucky we got out of there with our skin. And now you call? Please my friend, tell me what you would have from us."

Brett looks to Sergei and shakes his head while making a swiping motion across his throat, as if to say "Nope. Cut that shit."

Brett grabs a pen and paper and scribbles a note down for Sergei.

It reads Hot Box says Jaws is a fucking liar

Brett waits for Sergei to read the note and nods at him when he's finished before scribbling in a hasty addition

We need better gear

No box. Was lost when we got shot down. Give us gear and we go recover, da?

"Ya know I was just saying we need to go shopping, so nows looks like as good a time as any to get out the house. Go for a walk. Clear our collective heads... buy some RPGs... just have a nice day."

Brett smiles at the rest of his crew as he packs up all of his gear and gets ready to bounce

Fucking rats leaving sinking ship. You heard Brett. Let’s make like tree and fuck off.

Prophet catches the keys to the car with a big smile on his face.
"There are no better hands you could put those in this damned town... Farewell brother, let the Road always lead you to the Salvation... and full fuel tank!"

Then Prophet turns his focus to Mr. Brett and what he just said. Casually looks at his watch, slowly puts out his cigar, stand from the couch and finally says to no one particular and to all present there - in the same time:
"Let's leave the walk for Sunday afternoon... Now - I think - you all have to - TRY my clan's car. A trip and sight seeing of suburbs are in order. We will buy the RPG in next grocery store on our way... I will let you open the window Mr. Brett... so the speed and wind will clear all that is left in your head... - he ended with nasty grin, and head to the garage to check the car and prepare it for another, maybe... crazy ride.

Flesher yelled at Numa all the way out the door and even after he shut it in her face. She understood why he had to go, but it triggered her abandonment shit and that made her pissed.

After slumping down on a cot and nearly passing out, she was startled to attention hearing Sergei on the horn with Jaws. She chimed up when the signal went dark.
Nooma chooma up and ghosted us. Now Jaws is trying to fuck us again. This ain’t our day, is it gang?
Then, after wincing in pain remembering the craziness from earlier, thinks that maybe someone else might need patching up.
Anyone need a Bandaid for their boo-boos!?

Mr. Brett writes another note and shows it to Sergei

The note reads "Should we stake out this crash house? See who comes looking?"

As Sergei reads, Brett speaks aloud to the group.

"Nooma bounced and Carlisle fucked off home. Best we stick together now and gear up. Make ready to bounce our damn selves."

Da. We go to safehouse. Now.

Sergei quickly and expertly gathers his gear is is ready to walk out the door within minutes.

You want to keep jerking off into each others mouths like baby birds? Or do you want to live? Let’s go.

"The man speaks in pure poetry."

Brett muses

A camera from a nearby structure (building would be far too generous a term) swivels for a moment before locking on to the car. It observes for a moment before turning to pan the area once more. After settling on what might be considered an alley, it finally stops moving. Moments later a door cracks open and the head of a woman pops out; the head makes the same motions as the camera, observing the cars and then checking some other areas. It would seem what she sees is satisfactory- or at least good enough- because she scurries out from behind the door, unconfidently holding a large handgun in both hands.

The woman is of average height with short brown hair in a cheap undercut and an athletic build, hidden somewhat under an oversized jacket branded with some unknown company's logo. She effortlessly jogs to the car and leans down by the driver-side window. At closer look, you can see that underneath her leisurewear is a skintight outfit, with a hood pulled off and hanging inside the jacket's hood. "You the chooms my friend chatted about? Shap shap, let's dust this place." It's hard to place her accent... maybe Australian?

Flesher had grabbed her spare medkit and drugs from their (former) safehouse and patched up her own wounds.
When they arrive at the new spot, she sees the woman poke her head out and Flesher says,
Nice to meet ya, call me ‘Flesher’. What’s your handle? I’m excited not to be the only set of tits around these gonks.