Post by Gabrielle "Chance" Coleman on Jan 10, 2010 3:43:44 GMT -5
I kept my eyes trained on the large factory, which was two blocks down the street. It was entirely white, its chimneys spewing black smoke and even from here I could hear the whirring of the machines’ engines. I took a seat, pulling my laptop out of my messenger bag and opening it. This is the spot, I thought, glancing down at the street below and checking my wristwatch. I was on the rooftop of an office building, and it was luckily tall enough to make it hard for people to spot me. After my laptop was turned on, I began typing various codes, entering cyber networks without being traced, not once removing my gaze from the factory.
The factory I was so avidly watching is known as R.A.W.M.C, which stands for Rillender’s Automatic Weapons Manufacturing Company. Most people just call it R.A.W.M, and it’s one of the best weapon manufacturers in The City. According to my sources, the company was going to have a truckload of new weapons shipped to the Blues today. I looked up from my laptop, turning my gaze back to the factory. Unfortunately for the Blues, today’s shipment was going to be cancelled.
I wasn’t trying to get noticed. Sure I was a Seeker, but I wasn’t really that desperate to get recruited. I just wanted to help the Runners. That’s one of the reasons why I became one. To help. They’re fighting for what’s right, and I’ll fight with them from the sidelines. Computers and technology is my specialty after all. If I stop that shipment of weapons, I mulled, typing in a few viral codes, there’s a chance that less Runners will die afterwards.
“Chance,” a male voice entered my comm link, and I held a hand up to my right ear, gently touching the earpiece. “I’m in position.”
“Loud and clear, Prescott,” I replied, looking back down at my laptop and bringing up a map of the area. There was a blinking white dot on the map, indicating that it was across the street from me. I glanced at the scrolling codes that were displayed on the screen. “You remember the plan?”
“Sure do. And it’s insane,” the voice replied, and I moved to roll my eyes, but was interrupted as the voice added, “But it’s a risk I’ll take, so no complaints from me.” I smiled.
Prescott. A Runner and, like me, a Seeker. He’s also a acquaintance of mine, somewhat. How we met is quite simple. I saved his stupid ass by screwing up the comm link of the Blues who were chasing him. He still hasn’t told me why they were chasing him. He only laughs whenever I bring it up.
Prescott’s real name is John Ackerson, but like all Runners, he prefers being called by his Runner name. Why he had chosen the name “Prescott,” is no big mystery. John is a history buff. He told me about Samuel Prescott, the man who had successfully delivered the famous message, “The British are coming,” in the Civil War. Apparently he joined Paul Revere in his night ride, and when they were cut off by the British, Prescott took a daring risk and made a run for it. When John was finished telling me this, he said that he always viewed himself as a daring messenger. As a joke, I promptly told him that he’s too stupid to be daring. I received a laugh as a reply.
I looked down from my position on the building, my eyes moving to an alley across the street, which was where the white dot was blinking on my map. There was a man standing in the alleyway, clad in a black leather jacket and dark sweatpants, blending with the shadows.
“Alright, I see you,” I reported, looking at my laptop again. “The truck should be leaving in about 4 minutes, so get ready.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Prescott replied.
I brought up a video feed from one of the cameras at the factory’s east gate. My eyes widened slightly when I saw the gate open, and a large truck soon drove out onto the road. Zooming in on the vehicle, I confirmed its number, and began to bring up more windows of codes, typing rapidly.
“Prescott,” I called, looking at his form in the alley. He held a hand up to his ear when I called his name, listening intently. “The truck just left the factory. You ready?” From up here, I could make out Prescott nodding and putting his other hand into one of his jacket pockets.
“Yeah, I’ve got your explosive right here,” he answered with an amused tone in his voice. I ignored his amusement, pulling up another video feed, this time from one of the cameras in the street below. The camera was trained on a road, watching the cars that drove by. I scrolled through my handmade programs, and opened one that was titled “Interference.” With the program opened, I waited, watching for the delivery truck. The truck’s destination was the Blues HQ, and the road I was positioned at is the only road around here that leads to it. I held a hand over my keyboard, waiting in tense silence, and I felt drops of sweat cascade down my forehead as I watched the road. I nearly jumped when I spotted the truck, driving slowly, clueless of what it was approaching. Wait for it, Chance.
When the truck finally reached where I wanted it, I clicked Enter, and watched as the vehicle’s tires went flat with multiple loud pops, causing it to halt. The driver was shocked, glancing around in confusion and getting out of the truck. I sighed in relief. Part A of the plan was complete.
Earlier, I had placed my own handmade device on the road. When activated via my laptop, it releases a wave of small spikes that are strong enough to pierce the thick rubber of a tire. It’s a small mechanism, which is why it wasn’t noticed by anyone. I waited until the truck was in a place where the device would be completely under it, therefore popping all of its tires. I was surprised we had gotten that far, because I had my doubts about my device’s wiring. I was afraid it wasn’t complex enough to work.
“Nice,” Prescott commented, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“Thanks,” I replied, closing my laptop. Watching the curious crowd that was beginning to form on the sidewalks, I added, “Better get out there before any Blues show up.” I placed my laptop back into my messenger bag, before hoisting the strap over my head onto my shoulders.
“On it.” In an instant, Prescott was out of the alley and on the road, running towards the truck.
The driver shouted in alarm, and, realizing that Prescott’s a Runner, pulled out a pistol from his belt. Clearly R.A.W.M wasn’t expecting an attack if the only defense they have for the truck is one man with a pistol. The driver began firing the weapon, but all bullets missed their target as Prescott sped up, the projectiles grazing him by a mere inch. I stood up as Prescott reached the truck, and he immediately slapped the explosive on it, its strong magnets already locking on to the vehicle’s side. He quickly activated the bomb, pushing the button on its side, before sprinting away, all the while dodging the bullets that followed him. He soon disappeared around the corner.
Thinking I should get out of there as well, I turned and ran. Jumping onto the next rooftop, I started counting down, the numbers coming out in harsh pants. “Three…” I ran up a triangular window, using it as a ramp and sliding down the other side, my body skidding against the glass. “Two…” I continued forward once I was back on level ground, picking up more momentum from the slide. Reaching the end of the rooftop, I ran to a couple of boxes, and tried to focus my strength into my right leg. Stepping up the crates, I pushed forward, springing up and flying through the air, if only for a moment. “One,” I finished, landing on the next roof with a roll before getting up to my feet. There was the sound of a large explosion from behind me, and I nearly collapsed to the ground in utter relief. Part B, the last part of the plan, was complete. The bomb worked, I thought with disbelief, but that disbelief slowly turned into joy. It actually worked!
I turned around, spotting a plume of black smoke with hints of flames rising from behind the buildings. An impressed whistle sounded on my comm. link.
“You sure know your stuff, Chance,” Prescott said, before laughing. “Man, that was one hell of an explosion.”
I smiled. “Thanks. Hard to believe it actually worked.” I shifted my feet, a common habit of mine. “Anyways, what’s the status of the truck?”
“What truck?” the male asked, and I rolled my eyes.
“Prescott, the bomb wasn’t that explosive,” I replied, shaking my head at his joke as I started walking in the direction of my hideout.
Prescott laughed again, and I heard the sound of shuffling. “Let’s see…Well, the truck is really shredded up from the bomb, and I can see the weapons crates. They’re on fire, so now all we need is another-“ A second boom sounded, cutting Prescott off, and I looked back to find more smoke in the distance. “…explosion,” he finished. “That was the truck’s gas tank.”
“I figured,” I replied, facing forward again and continuing my walk.
“Yep, the weapons are totally trashed now. Mission accomplished.” I sighed in relief.
“Thank God,” I muttered, before leaping onto the next building. I looked around when I heard sirens wailing from the streets below. “Prescott, the Blues already have their men patrolling the streets. Better get to the roofs.”
“Already there,” he replied, and I heard a door slam open in the background. “Won’t be long until they send out the choppers either...” I crossed my arms, watching the skies warily.
“Alright,” I said after a few moments, lowering my arms. “I’m already heading to my place, so I’ll talk to you later. Be careful.”
“You too. Later, Chance.” I started running again as Prescott signed off the link, taking a turn and running along a wall, before jumping to the left to land on the next building. It had been a long day, and I couldn't wait to get home, kick back, and revel in the success of today's mission.
I landed on the building that held my hideout, glancing around warily to make sure I wasn’t being watched. It was an abandoned apartment building, around 10 years old. I found this place by accident when I was on one of my morning runs, and I chose to look around. My hideout used to be a filthy condo, until I moved in and cleaned up the place. It wasn’t an easy task, but it was worth it.
I walked over to where the fire escape was, and descended the staircase to my hideout’s window. I moved to open it, until I heard someone walk onto the fire escape. The metal vibrated with a hum as the person stepped onto the staircase, and I froze, refusing to face the person. How could I have been followed? I didn’t see anybody, and I checked countless times on the way here.
I weighed the possibilities. It could be a Blue. Blues today are more agile and quick, and they can run like us. Or it could be another Runner who followed me, God knows why!
Okay, Chance, I thought to myself. Say this person is a Blue. You have two choices. Make a run for it, or stay and fight. Running is the easiest choice I have, but what if this Blue chases me? I might be able to lose him. I narrowed my eyes as I tried to figure out what to do. But, he might not follow me and instead search my hideout. I didn’t want that. He could pillage the place and take my equipment and data, perhaps even call back-up. Looks like I’ll have to fight. I moved to face the person, prepared for a fight, but I hesitated. Damn it, Chance, what are you thinking? I mentally scold myself. You’ve never engaged a Blue in hand-to-hand combat before. I didn’t consider how crazy I must have looked to this stranger. I probably seemed like I was having an inner battle with myself. There’s a gun inside my hideout. If I can just-No, not enough time. He’ll probably just shoot me once I make a move. I mentally sighed. I’ll just take my chances. If it’s a Blue, run inside and grab the gun. If it’s not a Blue, well, wait and see what happens…
With all that thought out, and my mind made up, I turned to face the stranger, tense, and waiting for the worst.
The factory I was so avidly watching is known as R.A.W.M.C, which stands for Rillender’s Automatic Weapons Manufacturing Company. Most people just call it R.A.W.M, and it’s one of the best weapon manufacturers in The City. According to my sources, the company was going to have a truckload of new weapons shipped to the Blues today. I looked up from my laptop, turning my gaze back to the factory. Unfortunately for the Blues, today’s shipment was going to be cancelled.
I wasn’t trying to get noticed. Sure I was a Seeker, but I wasn’t really that desperate to get recruited. I just wanted to help the Runners. That’s one of the reasons why I became one. To help. They’re fighting for what’s right, and I’ll fight with them from the sidelines. Computers and technology is my specialty after all. If I stop that shipment of weapons, I mulled, typing in a few viral codes, there’s a chance that less Runners will die afterwards.
“Chance,” a male voice entered my comm link, and I held a hand up to my right ear, gently touching the earpiece. “I’m in position.”
“Loud and clear, Prescott,” I replied, looking back down at my laptop and bringing up a map of the area. There was a blinking white dot on the map, indicating that it was across the street from me. I glanced at the scrolling codes that were displayed on the screen. “You remember the plan?”
“Sure do. And it’s insane,” the voice replied, and I moved to roll my eyes, but was interrupted as the voice added, “But it’s a risk I’ll take, so no complaints from me.” I smiled.
Prescott. A Runner and, like me, a Seeker. He’s also a acquaintance of mine, somewhat. How we met is quite simple. I saved his stupid ass by screwing up the comm link of the Blues who were chasing him. He still hasn’t told me why they were chasing him. He only laughs whenever I bring it up.
Prescott’s real name is John Ackerson, but like all Runners, he prefers being called by his Runner name. Why he had chosen the name “Prescott,” is no big mystery. John is a history buff. He told me about Samuel Prescott, the man who had successfully delivered the famous message, “The British are coming,” in the Civil War. Apparently he joined Paul Revere in his night ride, and when they were cut off by the British, Prescott took a daring risk and made a run for it. When John was finished telling me this, he said that he always viewed himself as a daring messenger. As a joke, I promptly told him that he’s too stupid to be daring. I received a laugh as a reply.
I looked down from my position on the building, my eyes moving to an alley across the street, which was where the white dot was blinking on my map. There was a man standing in the alleyway, clad in a black leather jacket and dark sweatpants, blending with the shadows.
“Alright, I see you,” I reported, looking at my laptop again. “The truck should be leaving in about 4 minutes, so get ready.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Prescott replied.
I brought up a video feed from one of the cameras at the factory’s east gate. My eyes widened slightly when I saw the gate open, and a large truck soon drove out onto the road. Zooming in on the vehicle, I confirmed its number, and began to bring up more windows of codes, typing rapidly.
“Prescott,” I called, looking at his form in the alley. He held a hand up to his ear when I called his name, listening intently. “The truck just left the factory. You ready?” From up here, I could make out Prescott nodding and putting his other hand into one of his jacket pockets.
“Yeah, I’ve got your explosive right here,” he answered with an amused tone in his voice. I ignored his amusement, pulling up another video feed, this time from one of the cameras in the street below. The camera was trained on a road, watching the cars that drove by. I scrolled through my handmade programs, and opened one that was titled “Interference.” With the program opened, I waited, watching for the delivery truck. The truck’s destination was the Blues HQ, and the road I was positioned at is the only road around here that leads to it. I held a hand over my keyboard, waiting in tense silence, and I felt drops of sweat cascade down my forehead as I watched the road. I nearly jumped when I spotted the truck, driving slowly, clueless of what it was approaching. Wait for it, Chance.
When the truck finally reached where I wanted it, I clicked Enter, and watched as the vehicle’s tires went flat with multiple loud pops, causing it to halt. The driver was shocked, glancing around in confusion and getting out of the truck. I sighed in relief. Part A of the plan was complete.
Earlier, I had placed my own handmade device on the road. When activated via my laptop, it releases a wave of small spikes that are strong enough to pierce the thick rubber of a tire. It’s a small mechanism, which is why it wasn’t noticed by anyone. I waited until the truck was in a place where the device would be completely under it, therefore popping all of its tires. I was surprised we had gotten that far, because I had my doubts about my device’s wiring. I was afraid it wasn’t complex enough to work.
“Nice,” Prescott commented, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“Thanks,” I replied, closing my laptop. Watching the curious crowd that was beginning to form on the sidewalks, I added, “Better get out there before any Blues show up.” I placed my laptop back into my messenger bag, before hoisting the strap over my head onto my shoulders.
“On it.” In an instant, Prescott was out of the alley and on the road, running towards the truck.
The driver shouted in alarm, and, realizing that Prescott’s a Runner, pulled out a pistol from his belt. Clearly R.A.W.M wasn’t expecting an attack if the only defense they have for the truck is one man with a pistol. The driver began firing the weapon, but all bullets missed their target as Prescott sped up, the projectiles grazing him by a mere inch. I stood up as Prescott reached the truck, and he immediately slapped the explosive on it, its strong magnets already locking on to the vehicle’s side. He quickly activated the bomb, pushing the button on its side, before sprinting away, all the while dodging the bullets that followed him. He soon disappeared around the corner.
Thinking I should get out of there as well, I turned and ran. Jumping onto the next rooftop, I started counting down, the numbers coming out in harsh pants. “Three…” I ran up a triangular window, using it as a ramp and sliding down the other side, my body skidding against the glass. “Two…” I continued forward once I was back on level ground, picking up more momentum from the slide. Reaching the end of the rooftop, I ran to a couple of boxes, and tried to focus my strength into my right leg. Stepping up the crates, I pushed forward, springing up and flying through the air, if only for a moment. “One,” I finished, landing on the next roof with a roll before getting up to my feet. There was the sound of a large explosion from behind me, and I nearly collapsed to the ground in utter relief. Part B, the last part of the plan, was complete. The bomb worked, I thought with disbelief, but that disbelief slowly turned into joy. It actually worked!
I turned around, spotting a plume of black smoke with hints of flames rising from behind the buildings. An impressed whistle sounded on my comm. link.
“You sure know your stuff, Chance,” Prescott said, before laughing. “Man, that was one hell of an explosion.”
I smiled. “Thanks. Hard to believe it actually worked.” I shifted my feet, a common habit of mine. “Anyways, what’s the status of the truck?”
“What truck?” the male asked, and I rolled my eyes.
“Prescott, the bomb wasn’t that explosive,” I replied, shaking my head at his joke as I started walking in the direction of my hideout.
Prescott laughed again, and I heard the sound of shuffling. “Let’s see…Well, the truck is really shredded up from the bomb, and I can see the weapons crates. They’re on fire, so now all we need is another-“ A second boom sounded, cutting Prescott off, and I looked back to find more smoke in the distance. “…explosion,” he finished. “That was the truck’s gas tank.”
“I figured,” I replied, facing forward again and continuing my walk.
“Yep, the weapons are totally trashed now. Mission accomplished.” I sighed in relief.
“Thank God,” I muttered, before leaping onto the next building. I looked around when I heard sirens wailing from the streets below. “Prescott, the Blues already have their men patrolling the streets. Better get to the roofs.”
“Already there,” he replied, and I heard a door slam open in the background. “Won’t be long until they send out the choppers either...” I crossed my arms, watching the skies warily.
“Alright,” I said after a few moments, lowering my arms. “I’m already heading to my place, so I’ll talk to you later. Be careful.”
“You too. Later, Chance.” I started running again as Prescott signed off the link, taking a turn and running along a wall, before jumping to the left to land on the next building. It had been a long day, and I couldn't wait to get home, kick back, and revel in the success of today's mission.
I landed on the building that held my hideout, glancing around warily to make sure I wasn’t being watched. It was an abandoned apartment building, around 10 years old. I found this place by accident when I was on one of my morning runs, and I chose to look around. My hideout used to be a filthy condo, until I moved in and cleaned up the place. It wasn’t an easy task, but it was worth it.
I walked over to where the fire escape was, and descended the staircase to my hideout’s window. I moved to open it, until I heard someone walk onto the fire escape. The metal vibrated with a hum as the person stepped onto the staircase, and I froze, refusing to face the person. How could I have been followed? I didn’t see anybody, and I checked countless times on the way here.
I weighed the possibilities. It could be a Blue. Blues today are more agile and quick, and they can run like us. Or it could be another Runner who followed me, God knows why!
Okay, Chance, I thought to myself. Say this person is a Blue. You have two choices. Make a run for it, or stay and fight. Running is the easiest choice I have, but what if this Blue chases me? I might be able to lose him. I narrowed my eyes as I tried to figure out what to do. But, he might not follow me and instead search my hideout. I didn’t want that. He could pillage the place and take my equipment and data, perhaps even call back-up. Looks like I’ll have to fight. I moved to face the person, prepared for a fight, but I hesitated. Damn it, Chance, what are you thinking? I mentally scold myself. You’ve never engaged a Blue in hand-to-hand combat before. I didn’t consider how crazy I must have looked to this stranger. I probably seemed like I was having an inner battle with myself. There’s a gun inside my hideout. If I can just-No, not enough time. He’ll probably just shoot me once I make a move. I mentally sighed. I’ll just take my chances. If it’s a Blue, run inside and grab the gun. If it’s not a Blue, well, wait and see what happens…
With all that thought out, and my mind made up, I turned to face the stranger, tense, and waiting for the worst.
(Sorry if this seems like...too much character development. I feel bad now because I made Chance seem like the most awesome Hacker there was, when she's really not. Hope this isn't too long for everyone. Just wanted to join in on the fun.)