We decided to strike right away. Spot keeps calling it a milk run and getting shushed by the others. Probably a Slag superstition or something. Maybe it's bad luck to call something easy.
Just like my prediction, it only takes Spot five minutes to reach Brambleton. He stops the van two blocks away from the target building, a noodle shop that's seen better days.
“Alright, I'm ready to head out. Are we good to go, Magpie?” Flash has taken the time to swap out his face, ruffle up his hair, and switch out the quilted satin jacket for oil-stained coveralls. Now he looks like your average older factory worker, one that's been burnt out by at least three decades at the plant.
Magpie pulls up her hood and face cover, now looking the part of the urban kunoichi she is. “Regrouping at the van in ten.”
I step out into the drizzling rain to let Flash exit. Magpie hops out of the window without even bothering to use the door. The unlikely pair of kunoichi and factory worker soon disappear around the corner.
I enter the van again. Springbok offers me a cigarette. Spot is already leaning back, nursing a joint that's definitely not a cig. I accept and immediately light it up. “Are we sure it's a good idea to just rush into the job?”
“We aren't rushing in. That's why those two are out doing recon.” Springbok cracks the window on her side by a tiny bit. “Usually that's my job, but the noodle place doesn't have any internal security cams I can hijack. The exterior ones are at a bad angle too.”
I grunt and lean back against my seat. She has a point, but it still feels like we're improvising on the fly.
“Don't frown so much, Luc.”
I can't muster more than another grunt in response.
Minutes pass in silence, save for the occasional crackling of our cigarettes. And Spot's mystery joint.
I see Flash's hunched over frame turning the corner, hobbling his way to the van. Guy's a real method actor. Magpie joins him not long after, barely visible thanks to her all-black getup. “Heads up, they're back.”
“Okay, here's what's what.” Flash opens up the team huddle after climbing inside the van. “I didn't get a visual of the Empress, but I pegged maybe four guys in the dining area being Triad goons. The other three are just customers grabbing a bite. No access to the back, just one door to the kitchen.”
Not sounding like a good start for us.
“I climbed up the building behind and saw the cat. She's on the second floor, inside a carrier. Guarded by three, from what I could see.” Magpie fills in the blanks. At least we know where Empress Cupcake is now. “There's a back door that looks like it connects directly to the kitchen.”
Time to pull my weight. “That's three goons unaccounted for. Sister Leung was vague about how many are here, but let's plan around the assumption that there are ten. Maybe the rest are hiding in the kitchen posing as staff, or actually pulling double duty and cooking to keep up appearances.”
Flash nods. “Okay, so Plan A. I swap my face back to the earlier look and go in to pose as a delivery guy and make a scene to draw them out. Luc and Springbok post up in the back alley with guns hot. Magpie does her parkour thing and breaks in from the window to klep the cat. Spot waits at the other end of the alley to pick us up. We vamoose back to the tea house and get the rest of our pay.”
It's a bit fast and loose, but it covers the main points. “We got a Plan B?”
“Yeah. Shoot at the ones that aren't us, grab the cat, and haul ass.”
I can't help but grimace at the thought of trapping civvies just enjoying a meal in a crossfire. Better to assume the Triad goons are also packing heat. “What's our firepower?”
“Harcourt Model-M SMG for Springbok. M9s for me and Spot.” Flash shows me his holstered pistol under the coveralls. “I'm not sure what Magpie brought.”
I see Magpie drawing from her chest holster. Oh, that's a good choice. “Mühl AMP? Okay, at least I know we'd be cleaning house if the worst happens.”
Springbok looks at her commlink. “Alright, everyone sync timers and talk through comms from now. Five minutes and we move out.”
----------------------------------------
<
Of course Plan A didn't survive contact with the enemy. It hasn't even been two minutes yet and Flash is already made by the goons inside. Probably on edge from their double-crossing of Sister Leung. It doesn't really matter, we have a crew member to spring out from the hot zone now.
I grip my Adjudicator and nod towards Springbok, who already has her Model-M drawn and ready. She nods back. No time to waste. The flimsy door doesn't stand a chance against my boot, splintering at the handle and swinging open.
The kitchen. A steaming pot is left on the stove. Quick sweep with the Adjudicator's iron sights leading my gaze. No one here, but the noise I just made will bring a couple of them here.
The door leading towards the dining area swings open. A guy, clearly a Triad goon wearing a stained white wifebeater, rushes in while holding a cleaver. My hand snaps in his direction by reflex and I squeeze the trigger. I don't think he even noticed the revolver, probably didn't even feel the round tearing a hole in his chest. He slumps back against a metal counter, a large splatter of blood now painting the wall behind him.
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“Damn, Cowboy.” Springbok sounds almost breathless as she takes cover next to me.
Shouting in Liao erupts from the dining area. A shot rings out. Not the cracking sound of an M9. Not Flash making the shot. Fuck.
<
Okay, at least he's still alive. “Springbok, cover me. I'm pushing in.”
The kitchen door swings open again just as I leave cover. I snap off another shot. Another hit. I hear the sound of a cleaver clattering away. He joins his buddy on the floor.
I stay low and dive through the door, quickly rolling behind what can pass as cover. I hear Springbok's metallic footsteps follow after me. She lets loose a short burst of fire, discouraging anyone from taking potshots at her. I peek over the edge of my cover, quickly scanning the room. I see an overturned table on one side near the entrance; that's probably Flash huddling behind it. I see two Triad goons, both of them shouting while holding guns. Looks like some low quality 3D printed off-the-shelf bullshit, and they're handling it like they're not used to holding guns. Something's off. I don't think they're the ones that got a hit on Flash.
On the other side of the room, I see them. The three people that Flash pegged as patrons, all of them with drawn Marotta 96s aiming at the overturned table. Fuck. I guess they were freelancers, posing as diners. They were probably expecting trouble all along. Too bad for them, we're the ones getting paid to be trouble.
<
She nods and peeks out, spitting hot lead from her Model-M.
“Ah, fuck!” Sounds like she manages to tag one with that spray.
“Take cover!” The freelancers didn't expect that volley of SMG fire. The scrambling of the remaining two gives me the chance to pop out and pop them. First shot. It hits one of them dead in the chest and she goes down. Second shot. Only clips the shoulder. Not ideal, but he's taken out of the gunfight. That side's clear. For now.
I swing my shooting hand in the other direction, where the Triad goons are standing looking lost, like kids separated from their mothers in the produce section. I fire off a shot, and hit one of them in the leg. At least he doesn't have to worry about standing now. The last guy stops lollygagging, probably from seeing his friend getting a leg blown to bits. I duck behind my cover just before he gets his shot off. He keeps shooting, pinning me and Springbok down.
I reload my Adjudicator with practiced ease. Swing out the cylinder, dump the spent casings into my hand and pocket them, insert the moon clip containing five fresh rounds. I take a deep breath, waiting for a lull in the shots peppering us.
Click. The sound every gunman wishes not to hear in the middle of a shootout. I take the opportunity to pop out again and let a shot loose. Straight in the throat. Room cleared.
Springbok and I rush towards the overturned table. Flash hasn't been making a noise, which is cause for concern. He didn't exactly say where he was hit.
“Took you two long enough.” Good. He sounds calm. Maybe it's not that bad.
I slide on the floor to join him behind the table. Springbok shows off a bit of parkour, cresting over the table with a leap. Quick visual inspection of Flash. Looks like he only got tagged once in the thigh, a splash of crimson coloring his light blue jeans. “Can you move your leg?”
“Barely.”
<
“Alright, keep yourself behind cover. Springbok and I will take care of this.”
The door to the kitchen swings open and the remaining three goons burst in, shouting in Liao. I almost feel bad, it's clear we're up against rank amateurs.
I get a clear shot on the lead goon and squeeze my trigger, taking his leg out from under him. My shot takes the other two by surprise and I take full advantage of that, snapping off two quick shots in succession. The door leading to the kitchen and the walls surrounding it are now painted red with their blood.
Springbok takes the time to finish off the ones still breathing, firing single shots from her Model-M SMG. Now we really are in the clear.
<
<
I slip my Adjudicator into my waistband and extend a hand towards Flash and help him up. He wobbles unsteadily on his good leg. “Think you can stand on it?”
He puts his foot down and winces. “Don't think I can.”
“Okay. Go limp.” I see his confusion but he does as I say. Confusion switches to horror when I pick him up in a princess carry.
“If Spot sees this, he'll never let me live it down.”
Springbok puts on her best shit-eating grin. “Nevermind Spot, I won't let you live this down.”
“This way's faster. Springbok, mind taking point?”
“You got it, Cowboy.”
She leads the way back towards the kitchen, hopping over dead bodies with all the grace of her namesake. We pass through the carnage in the kitchen and exit to the back alley. Our van is standing by, right by the mouth of the alley. Our path is clear, and I doubt that there are more Triad goons lying in wait. Springbok rushes ahead and I try to match her pace as best as I can.
Magpie is already sitting in the passenger seat. All three of us enter, and I take extra care not to be too rough with Flash.
I look back at the alley through the window as Spot peels away. Doesn't look like anyone's even bothering to check what the noise is about. Our shootout should've rang out through the neighborhood. But then again, who would they call? Cops don't exactly go this far out.
A soft meow from the front seat breaks my line of thought and yanks me back to the present. The realization hits me: I just gunned people down to take a cat back to its supposed owner.
Empress Cupcake's blue eyes glint in the dark, staring right at me. Ah, what the hell. Probably worth it.