Home is where the Nuyen is

Episode 2: Steakout

Heading back to where he had parked his hog, KickPuncher tried to remind himself of the plan which the group agreed would have the best chance of success, with the least chance it could be traced back to the team or that weird guy who gave them the contract in the first place. Boiled down, it came to “Sneak in, get the files, sneak out”

No explosives. No helicopters. No impersonation of federal officers. No kicking or punching required…if everything went well.

Really, no fun.

Tuner and Blackout had opted to take the even-less-fun job of overnight the stakeouts, and Blackout was pretty confident he had a hookup who could get them some “just in case supplies” the following day. Epoch was going to try and turn up some more information, and Nova needed to take that security pass scan she had oh-so-smoothly made earlier in the day into an actual working keycard.

KickPuncher was going to have a SoyBeer. Maybe two.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

Something smashed in KickPuncher’s apartment.

Ding! Ding!

Realising he had forgot to silence his commlink when he got home last night, and judging by the light creeping around the curtains he’d clearly slept through-

Ding! DingDingDing!

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” came from some clearly pissed off voice. As he sat up in his bed, trying to stop the-

Ding! DingDing!—

“How do I mute this bloody thing…finally”

Slowly moving through his apartment, KickPuncher brought up the “Operation <tbd>” thread and starting trying to catch up on what whatever-it-was that was so important to wake him from his sleep.

The first dozen or so notices were from Tuner, including a whole raft of images taken from his drones both outside and inside the building. There was some funky image that looked straight off a hippie’s T-shirt which apparently meant there was just a table inside the vault, and the secondary vault looks to be full of nothing important – or valuable.

More discussion reconfirming what gear we would really need now that Blackout has had a chance to check his contacts…apparently “nerve gas is too hard to find this time of year” or something. A sour taste joined the disgusting array of flavours of his dry tongue.

The conversation was still going when he finally caught up. Blackout mentioned he spied another shift change at midnight, and another at 8am.

“Did you put a tracker on the car when it left?” Nova asked

Seen by Tuner. Seen by Blackout. Silence. Epoch posted something about “I told them how to do a stakeout” – but all KickPuncher wanted to do by this point was eat breakfast. Walking to the kitchen still half-reading the flurry of excuses from Tuner and Blackout, shards of a SoyWeiser bottle stuck painfully in his foot brought back recent memories a smashing noise.

“Today is going to be a good day” became a mantra whilst KickPucnher picked brown glass out of his foot, his face clearly not conveying the same message as his lips.

Without much else to do, KickPuncher headed to the Dough Joes Gym and Boxing House to get in a solid workout. Maybe it’s because Orc multi-tasking is not the greatest, or that the hangover from his evening escapade was especially awful, but he was thoroughly confused as to what the fuck tear gas grenades had to do with Soyanara Pasta Sauce Substitute. It was a “Good deal” according to Blackout, but it sounded as though the rest of the team were not convinced. Or at least would not be accepting any of Blackouts offers to come around for dinner any time soon.

Epoch dropped a link of the latest OKAI-mart ad…those things always got on KickPuncher’s nerves. “Maybe a bit of equipment maintenance will sort out my head” he thought as he headed home.

His rifle and pistol had been broken down, oiled and re-assembled. Gloves and vest were charged and ready. The last thing left to do was sharpen the edge of his combat knife, when Blackout sent a message to the group

“We’re going tonight. Meet here at sundown. Time for the old Sleeky Sneak.”

Finally a message that made perfect sense, and brought a smile to Kickpuncher’s face.

“Today is going to be a good day” became a mantra whilst KickPuncher packed the gear he’d need into his sports bag, grinning ear to ear.



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