- Joined
- Jan 4, 2015
An unmarked, night invisible tactical aircraft quietly sped through the air, nimbly dodging low slung power-lines like an acrobat
Alex Sat in the plush, heavily gorilla taped drivers seat of his heavily modified Banshee. The VTOL looked like a cross between a full sized 80's van, mixed with an AV8 type Harrier Jump-Jet, with the capabilities of both. The engines however in each wing, that kept the craft aloft, had doubled in size, as well as more than doubled the maximum speed and agility of the craft.
About the size of one of those short buses for troubled youth, It could easily carry a twelve man fire team into a heavily contested drop point while laying down considerable suppressing fire with its multiple rotary barrel auto cannons mounted on the front end. as well as get them back out again after they had completed their mission, with room to spare. However, all of its spacious interior was currently filled with things like pork rinds, and large tanks of pressurized Dr. Pepper.
The combat rigger lay back in the drivers seat, happily sipping on a 128 ounce fountain drink that he had just acquired, letting his eyes roll back into his head, like a crack addict, just getting his fix.
He could be considered handsome for a middle aged human, with a well built, athletic body covered in tribal style tattoos, as well as an impressive amount of classic, delta-ware chrome cybernetics. His dark skin, and short black hair told of a heavy Native American heritage. Half of his mind focused on the taste of his glorious carbonate beverage and various snacks he just picked up...
The other half of his mind was occupied with flying the craft, his brain directly linked to the sensors and controls of the aircraft via a fiber optic wire stretching from his left forearm, snaking across the floorboards, and into the dashboard of the aircraft. Such an intimate connection to his VTOL allowed him to control it with the precision of his own hand, allowing for feats of piloting not otherwise possible.
He didn't so much pilot the Vortex, he Became the vortex. The rush of air into its engines became his breath, the flow of fuel from the turbo pumps became like his heard and veins. It was a little uncanny, but Alex was one of the best and highly sought after vehicle riggers in the area. But right now, he was enjoying his ill gotten gains for a series of missions, and well placed investments. Perhaps it was time to retire then? He could live comfortably somewhere in the Dakota territories...
Just as he was taking another mind relaxing hit off of his drink, something loud glanced off of the bullet proof glass canopy of his vehicle, making him jump, and almost drop his drink. The aircraft likewise dipped low in the air for a moment, as his concentration was momentarily distracted.
A bird perhaps? He was almost home, he could buff it out later...
Then, just as suddenly, three more metallic sounds glanced off the belly armor of his Banshee. Those were either pistol of sub-machine gun rounds... But, as high up as he was?
He sat upright in his chair, and focused all of his mind into his aircraft, taking the sensor suite of the banshee as he would his own eyes, scanning the immediate area.
Just below him. about one thousand feet away, were the roof tops of a Renraku factory, that made... whatever it was that Renraku made there. That company was so huge they likely made a little of everything. As he looked over and through the area, in the spectrum of visible light, infrared, and ultraviolet, he saw two things that looked really interesting...
A small party of six people, armed with what looked like sub-machine guns, were chasing a lone figure that was running and leaping quite gracefully. He was just about to dial in the magnification on his cameras, when a static filled transmission crackled into existence on his radio communication frequency. Frequencies only used by the truly desperate, and more interestingly shadow-runners...
Alex Sat in the plush, heavily gorilla taped drivers seat of his heavily modified Banshee. The VTOL looked like a cross between a full sized 80's van, mixed with an AV8 type Harrier Jump-Jet, with the capabilities of both. The engines however in each wing, that kept the craft aloft, had doubled in size, as well as more than doubled the maximum speed and agility of the craft.
About the size of one of those short buses for troubled youth, It could easily carry a twelve man fire team into a heavily contested drop point while laying down considerable suppressing fire with its multiple rotary barrel auto cannons mounted on the front end. as well as get them back out again after they had completed their mission, with room to spare. However, all of its spacious interior was currently filled with things like pork rinds, and large tanks of pressurized Dr. Pepper.
The combat rigger lay back in the drivers seat, happily sipping on a 128 ounce fountain drink that he had just acquired, letting his eyes roll back into his head, like a crack addict, just getting his fix.
He could be considered handsome for a middle aged human, with a well built, athletic body covered in tribal style tattoos, as well as an impressive amount of classic, delta-ware chrome cybernetics. His dark skin, and short black hair told of a heavy Native American heritage. Half of his mind focused on the taste of his glorious carbonate beverage and various snacks he just picked up...
The other half of his mind was occupied with flying the craft, his brain directly linked to the sensors and controls of the aircraft via a fiber optic wire stretching from his left forearm, snaking across the floorboards, and into the dashboard of the aircraft. Such an intimate connection to his VTOL allowed him to control it with the precision of his own hand, allowing for feats of piloting not otherwise possible.
He didn't so much pilot the Vortex, he Became the vortex. The rush of air into its engines became his breath, the flow of fuel from the turbo pumps became like his heard and veins. It was a little uncanny, but Alex was one of the best and highly sought after vehicle riggers in the area. But right now, he was enjoying his ill gotten gains for a series of missions, and well placed investments. Perhaps it was time to retire then? He could live comfortably somewhere in the Dakota territories...
Just as he was taking another mind relaxing hit off of his drink, something loud glanced off of the bullet proof glass canopy of his vehicle, making him jump, and almost drop his drink. The aircraft likewise dipped low in the air for a moment, as his concentration was momentarily distracted.
A bird perhaps? He was almost home, he could buff it out later...
Then, just as suddenly, three more metallic sounds glanced off the belly armor of his Banshee. Those were either pistol of sub-machine gun rounds... But, as high up as he was?
He sat upright in his chair, and focused all of his mind into his aircraft, taking the sensor suite of the banshee as he would his own eyes, scanning the immediate area.
Just below him. about one thousand feet away, were the roof tops of a Renraku factory, that made... whatever it was that Renraku made there. That company was so huge they likely made a little of everything. As he looked over and through the area, in the spectrum of visible light, infrared, and ultraviolet, he saw two things that looked really interesting...
A small party of six people, armed with what looked like sub-machine guns, were chasing a lone figure that was running and leaping quite gracefully. He was just about to dial in the magnification on his cameras, when a static filled transmission crackled into existence on his radio communication frequency. Frequencies only used by the truly desperate, and more interestingly shadow-runners...
