G:InterfaceZero 0.03

#GURPS: Interface Zero

version 0.03
August 20, 2018 - January 6, 2019

Band-Aid Makes It All Better

Friday, August 4, 2090

Where's Phil? You're Not Phil!

First Friday of the month. Time for John to restock the supply closet. Not his favorite part of the job, but it had to be done. There were people out there that needed help and he was gonna need more than spray bandage and anti-inflammatories. The grocery cart that he pushed made all sorts of noise as he made his way to the secondary service dock of South Seattle Medical Center. It was a third rate hospital, but definitely the best one in the area. They were always busy, turning folks away left and right, mostly because they didn't have the credits. Just leaving them to die. 

He pulls the hood of his jacket up over his head as he rounds the corner. He's supposed to look like some sprawler or junkie or something, pushing his cart around. He hates this part, but it's the only way it'll work. If he drove a van up here, security would be all over him. Plus he doesn't drive. Hasn't been behind the wheel is years. 

John approaches the loading dock and sees the steel barrel that's been turned into a makeshift grill. Smoke lazily wafts out of its top. The “go-ahead” signal. John pushes the cart up to the dock and climbs up, looking for his guy. A tall fellow, Russian by the look of him, steps out of a nearby doorway. He's holding a gun, though it's not pointed at John or anything. 

“Where's Phil? You're not Phil,” John says to him nonchalantly.

“Phil isz biszy,” he says in a thick Russian accent. “You're John, the patch man, yes? Come inside,” he motions to the open doorway with his gun. 

John moves through the doorway into the semi-lit hallway he has travelled many times.  Having someone he’s not familiar with makes him very uneasy.  He is glad he can feel “Betty,” his 9mm holdout, against his back.  He prays he doesn’t need to use it but just having it gives a certain level of comfort. John glances back the mob muscle, and laughingly says, “How ‘bout them Cubs?”  The Russian just stares straight ahead with his gun out.

“Fuck the Cubs,” the gangster spits out and shoves John further into the hallway. This part of the hospital is not frequently used and its been much longer since it’s been cleaned. Debris and dead leaves crunch underfoot as the Russian leads him inward. Finally, he stops John and directs him to another doorway to the left. “In there,” he says and gently shoves John into the room. 

Inside the room, what looks to have been some sort of administrative office now being used as a storage area, John sees his contact, Phil, tied to a chair.

There is a red patch on the side of the man’s head where he had obviously been hit recently. When Phil sees John, he starts to struggle and make whimpering noises. He refuses to look in John’s direction at all, and after just a moment of struggling, he sits still again. Also in the room is another Russian. This one is clearly the boss. He is well dressed and clean shaven, his dark hair combed back nicely. High end suit, fancy tie. Definitely the boss. He motions to a chair, “Come in, please, Mr. O’Brien. Sorry for all this, but I couldn’t find your number in my book.” He speaks with smooth, nearly perfect English, only a hint of Eastern European. 

John looks the Eastern European man in the eye, assesses the situation, then states, “Ok, let’s cut the bullshit.  First, I’m not that hard to find so I know this is a meeting was set up to put me in a position where I couldn’t say no to “whatever” you need me to do.  That’s cool, but you do know that you could have of just asked and I probably would have said yes. Second, I know that there’s not much I could do anyway but say yes now. I also realize that you need an off the book doctor for something so you aren’t going to shoot me right now.  I must be very nervous and angry enough ‘cause you got me talking too much.   So here is what I ask.  Just tell me what you want, no bullshit.   We can discuss it.  I might ask a few questions.  But I have to do it regardless.  Also, I need to look at my friend, Phil.  No negotiation on that.  He’s hurt and I fix.  It is in my nature.  It is what I do.  Plus you let him go with no strings attached.  You could just kill him.  Yea, you could. Nothin’ I can do to stop you but I wouldn’t take it well. So, if I live through your request or through this encounter, I may have to patch you up sometime and you may not get, ummm…., let’s say, my best.  Just something to think about. Now I’m done, what do you want?”

The boss sits down, he smiles and leans back in his chair, “I like you, um, hmm, no, no I don’t like you at all, but that doesn’t matter. You seem like what other folk might call ‘a nice guy,’ but whatever, I don’t give a fuck.” He pauses and lights a cigarette. It is long and black and smells expensive. He blows a few smoke rings into the air. His henchman smiles and watches them float up to the dirty ceiling. “Anyway, I think you got the right of it. I need a doc off the books, but I need that doc to be good. Not too good, nobody working at the hospital or urgent care or anything like that. Need a street doc. You fit that bill, but I also need someone I can leverage, and from what I can tell, you don’t got nobody that I can use to leverage. Not really anyway. You are an enigma, an island. But anyway, I know your story is out there, and maybe someday I’ll get a peek at it, but for now, I think I have another way. You seem to like helping people, almost like it’s your job or something,” he laughs at his own joke then gives his man a harsh look when he realizes that he isn’t laughing. The Russian goon quickly joins in with an uncomfortable laugh. “You run a clinic out of your apartment, down in Five Corners, near First South and 168th, right? Above that cheesy pseudo Asian Fusion restaurant and gaming center. Total shithole, but I got the right place, right?” John closes his eyes and nods ever so slightly, knowing that this guy is already certain that he is right. 

“So, here’s the deal, someone’s gonna come into your clinic today, gunshot wound, ehh, lets say wounds, that's probably gonna be more like it.” He turns and smiles at his man, who is now drawing shapes in the dirt on the floor with his shoe. The boss shakes his head and turns back to John. “So, this guy, let’s call him, oh, I don’t know, let’s just call him Guy, he ends up on your table today. You’re gonna fix him up, you’re gonna fix ‘em up real good. Nice and tidy, right? You take care of him real nice like, and that’s a good idea cause his friends probably won’t like it if he don’t make it. But here’s the twist. Before you’re done, you’re gonna leave this tucked away inside of him.” He opens his hands to reveal a folded up piece of gauze. He unwraps the gauze to reveal a small, fleshy little nub no more than a few millimeters across. A few hairs or something seem to be sticking off the side of it. “Organic tracker. Just need to keep track of a friend, but he don’t need to know. Actually, if you wanna tell him, I guess you can, but they’ll probably kill ya for it. You do this, and I’ll have all your supplies that Phil here had ready for ya delivered first thing tomorrow morning. You DON’T do this, and I’ll have something else delivered tomorrow, understand?” He folds the gauze up and sets it on a countertop. He closes his eyes for a moment, nods his head ever so slightly then makes a flicking motion toward John. An image of a man flashes up on his HR display. “That’s him. That’s Guy. We good?”

John puts on his vinyl gloves.  And picks up the device. He searches through his kit for a plastic bag and puts the organic tracker in it. John glances over at the Boss, and proceeds over to Phil to check him out. John does an analysis and realizes that Phil is just banged up a bit.  He grabs a bandage and antibiotic spray to put on Phil contusion on his head.  He then applies the bandage with antibiotic, turns and says to the Boss, “Ok, now we are good. You do know there is another form of leverage you could have used.  It is called money.  I do respond well to cold hard cash.  Yes, I’m a nice guy but that also includes being an honorable guy.  A contract is a contract.  You see, Phil here is my friend not because we are particularly close. We don’t go have beers and talk the current sports games.  He is my friend because he assists in honoring a deal we made.  So, you see I don’t like you now either.  I will do what you ask.  Keep in mind, the more you pull shit like this, I may not be so cooperative.  Because, like you said, you don’t know my story.  And part of me, may not be a nice guy.”  

The Russian mobster looks at John with a sneer. It almost seems as if he is reaching for a gun under his jacket then stops. “Shut the fuck up, asshole. I’m not playing games with you. Put that tracker into that guy, got it. Don’t fuck around.” He turns around to leave, “Zem, let Mr. O’Brien know that I’m serious.” Before John can even turn to look at the other guy, the slugs John in the stomach, hard. John lets out an ooofh and doubles over. He sees the thug with his gun in his hand. “He means it, trust me,” then follows his boss out the door, watching over his shoulder as he leaves. 

After John recovers, John goes over to Phil and unties him.  “You okay? That guy is kind of overly dramatic.  Seen too many gangster movies.”  John then grabs his physicians backpack and heads back to his home/office. John is not sure if he will have enough supply to last but hopefully when he puts the tracker in the guy, this asshole honors his end of the deal.  As he rubs his stomach, he REALLY hopes honors his end of deal ‘cause he remembers how good of a soldier he truly was.  

A Drink at uNLuckys

On the way back to his place, his route takes him past Lucky’s, a favored watering hole of John's. He laughs to himself reading the sign where someone had painted the letters “uN" in front of the name, spelling uNLucky’s. It had been like that for several months. 

John then diverts into Lucky’s and looks around the bar.  He pull up his favorite stool, and orders a double whiskey.  He is hoping that a few of these will calm his nerves.

“Hey,  good to see ya, John,” the android bartender calls out in his cold, metallic voice. “Your usual?”

John smiles as he replies, “You know it, Mac.”

Mac sets John up with a cheap whiskey and slides it down the bar to him. He fills a small bowl with what John assumes are stale pretzels and puts them in front of him. “So, whaddya think about all them simulacra jumpers? There was another one this morning, somewhere in the Heights. I think that makes 5 now.” He motions over his shoulder to the large screen showing, among other things, a news-cast regarding a string of jumping “suicides” involving simulacra instead of Humans. The report stated that there had been 5 incidents in the last several days and that the authorities were attempting to determine if there was a connection between the sims and why they jumped. Each one had been damaged so thoroughly in the fall that a digital investigation of each unit was not turning up many clues. John finishes his drink and places the empty glass back on the bar. 

John shakes his glass to get another. “Simulacra jumpers, you say?”, John replies.  He continues, “I haven’t given it much thought. Of course, I never really studied the psychology of simulacrums.  But you say no clues, so the police believe it may be evidence of foul play.” John grabs a handful of stale pretzels as he ponders the puzzle. “What do you think Mac?  Any theories?”, John asks.

Mac refills his glass and says, “Who, me?  Oh, I don't know. Either they were emancipated and did it on their own accord or someone made them do it. But even that's tricky. Take me. I'm an android. I was built and programmed. I'm owned. A piece of property. The boss can tell me to do any number of things, all of which I'd do, no problem, but ya know what the owner can't make me do? Climb up to the top of a building and jump off. Self preservation coding. I got it. Most of us do. I mean yea, some of them military fighting units can be commanded it do some really dangerous stuff and all, but most anything with autonomous programming won't destroy itself like that. That just doesn't compute to me. Boss tells me to stand on the edge of a high roof and then pushes me himself, well that's another story I guess and then you'd have some newer, more efficient model in here making your drinks for you next time.” The android laughs his pre-programmed laugh, and for some reason John believes it to be sincere. 

As they talk, John sees a woman enter the bar. She smiles at John and Mac at the bar and heads to a booth in the back near the virtual pool table. She sits down with a man that was already sitting there. John does a double take at the booth because he didn't think there was anyone else in the place when he came in. He sucks down the remainder of his drink and chews on one of the half melted ice cubes. 

John thinks for a moment.  Something is sending that this situation is a little off.  He pops one of his stim tabs. Asks Mac for one of those synthohol beers (don’t really taste like beer but at least it doesn’t have the alcohol in it).  He casually moves to a booth where he can watch the room. He quietly removes his gun from it’s holdout holster and sets it on the seat next to him hidden from most eyes. He begins to watch to see what events are about to happen.

The two at the booth do not seem to notice John get closer, they appear to be focused on whatever they are talking about. Mac busies himself behind the bar since there are no other customers in the place. John sips his synthohol and tries to listen to what is going on between the two in the other booth, but he can’t hear them at all. After a few minutes, John starts to think that he was wrong and that nothing is it happens. The man, John now sees as an Asian man, with long hair and goatee, yells out, “What the hell!” and quickly jumps up from the table. “You bitch!” he screams at the woman and flips the table over on her. He turns and bolts toward the front of the bar, coming right past John. 

John grabs his gun as he stands up and attempts to bump the man as he rushes by.  As the man regains his balance, John looks him straight in eye, trying to assess the man.  John then proceeds over to the woman, with his gun in hand, to see if she is ok. 

The man climbs back to his feet as John stares him down. The man looks absolutely terrified as he scrambles around on the dirty tile floor of the bar. As he approaches the booth, the woman leaps from the bench, coming at John with a flying kick. “Who the fuck are you?” she demands. 

John frustrated, drops, and tersely states, “I’m John, and all I was doing was trying to see if your ok.  I guess you are!” As the woman flies over him, John starts to realize what a shit day this has become.

“Dammit,” the woman curses, still worried about the man on the ground with the gun. She whips out a pistol and fires three shots at the prone John.

John yells, “Stop shooting! I’m not going to harm you!” He rolls toward the bar away from the barrage of bullets.  Not sure if he got hit, he hopes to gain some cover behind the bar.

Mac starts waving a dish towel and yelling from behind the bar, “No discharging of firearms within the bar. Violators will be shot!” He leans over, getting something from beneath the bar. The woman curses and looks at the other man, climbing to his feet and moving toward the door.

John scrambles toward the bar and gentle puts his piece on the floor.  He then puts his hands up as he attempts to stand up. 

Mac produces a shotgun from under the bar as the woman and man both exit the building at about the same time, one from the front and one from the rear of the bar. “What just happened?” Mac asks John excitedly. “And just so you know, I don’t think I would have shot you, though my programming does direct me to fire upon violators of our rule. It seems that you were trying to help, so thank you.”

“Mac don’t worry. I would’ve tried my hardest not to violate that rule.  If I would, I just try to wound, at least something I can patch up later quickly.  What just happened? I don’t know. Deal gone sour? Maybe. Anyway, I better go home before my day gets any worse.  Put things on my tab?” John leaves through the front door pointing his feet toward home.

As John makes it outside, he hears several gunshots. Hearing gunshots in this area of Seattle is not that uncommon, but these were close by, around the corner somewhere. 

John debates following the direction that shots came from.  After a few minutes he realizes that he isn’t near his home but around where he thinks the shots came from.

Shot in the Empty Lot

John finds himself in an empty lot somewhere beyond Lucky’s. About 20 yards away, he sees a body on the ground, three kids are hunched over it, fighting over it's belongings. John cautiously approaches the group hovering the body. As soon as John gets within 10 yards, John shouts, “Hey guys, how it hanging?” As moves forward even slower, he pulls his gun out of his holster and tries to conceal next to his leg. As John approaches, the kids scatter, running off and yelling obscenities in his direction. He notes that they don’t run too far and all three remain nearby, watching. Quickly, John sees that the body belongs to the Asian man he saw in the bar recently. He has several gunshot wounds, on to his neck, that is bleeding profusely. He is alive, but probably only barely so. John holsters his weapon, and rushes over to the man. He puts med backpack down and reaches in to receive some bandages and antibiotic. He quickly does everything he can to stabilize this man and checks to see if he has any spinal issues. John believes this man is able to be transported. He yells at the youth, “Any one want some free stims, or money? I need help moving this guy back to my place.” One of the kids flips John off, then steps up a bit and calls out, “Yea, old man, I’ll help ya. 300 creds and some stims! Cash up front, and I get his jacket!” John sees a Credit Request icon from the kid pop up on his TAP display. It shows a request for 500 credits, not the 300 that the kid asked for. A moment later another one for 300 pops up from one of the other kids. Then a third one, from the last kid pops up, but for 3000 credits. John hears the kid curse then the request disappears and a new one pops up for 30 credits. The kid curses again and yells, “300! 300 muthafucker!” the Request icon disappears again then reappears for 3000. It disappears again then finally appears for 300. All the of the kids watch John as he considers their offers. John sighs. He hits his TAP and orders a ZoooM. John then declines all the offers. “Sorry guys, you all are way TOO expensive.”, he yells. He dons his backpack, grabs the man in an attempt to do a fireman’s carry. John gets the balance wrong but is able to semi-gently lower the man down but ends losing his balance falls over on him. He quickly checks the wounds to make sure everything is ok and attempts again. On John’s second attempt, he knew he didn’t quite get the hand placement right. He readjusts and gets the man off the ground to finally make his way to his rendezvous point. On his way, John realizes he hasn’t done this in years and must be a little rusty. Maybe he can talk Kirby or Angela into being his practice dummies for this maneuver. The kids curse and continue to flip John off as he drags the wounded man away. They break out in raucous laughter at one point when John drops the man and nearly falls himself. Finally, John makes it to the corner and the ride is there waiting on him. The driver leans out the window. “Aww, shit, is that dude bleeding out? I don't’ want no blood all over my ride, man! Come on! You look like a big, strong dude, can’tcha carry him? South ain’t that far. Aww, dude, he is bleeding. It’s all over you! You’re not getting into my ride like that!” he proclaims loudly. As John looks at the back seat of the used Nissan, he sees the remains of what appears many young people's mispent adventures. He looks at the driver, and says sarcastically, “You are correct. Blood in your car would ruin it’s pristine and sanitary nature.” John sends the driver on. He deeply sighs as he contemplates the journey ahead. In his army days, he remembers carrying wounded comrades miles to aid stations but he was much younger and much better shape. He looks at the wounded man and says, “You better be worth this.” The Asian man groans, as John starts to put one foot in front of the other to head home.

Second Mob Of The Day

John starts the walk home, carrying this unconscious and wounded Asian man. He is much heavier than he looks and John assumes he has some cybernetic upgrades somewhere in there. About two blocks into his trek, John hears tires squeal loudly around a corner. He turns and sees a blacked out luxury car skid around the corner. Three motorcycles with black suited riders follow the car. Finally, a highly modified JUMP bike comes flying over the rest, landing on the street just past where John is. The car screeches to a stop and the JUMP bike spins and stops at the far end of the street. The motorcycles rev their engines and zoom up and down the street, doing wheelies and burning out left and right. Two of the riders wave machine pistols and the third rider brandishes a wickedly curved katana. John disgustedly sighs and states, “Fuck this.” He lowers the man’s body gently to the ground and casually draws his gun from it’s holster. He desperately tries to hide the exposed gun against his leg as he positions himself between the car and the wounded man. John knows that if there is a fight he on the losing end of the stick but the way his day has been going he doesn’t give a fuck. Maybe this is the day he finally gets back with his unit. Three Asian men in suits get out of the dark car while the bike riders continue to zoom back and forth down the street. The three men from the car all raise assault rifles, pointing them at John. The driver of the car calls out for him to drop the gun and step away from the man’s body. John is pretty sure this must be the Yakuza. “Did you do this to Kanzo?” he shouts out to John. John gently puts his gun down on the ground and takes two side steps away from Kanzo. He shouts back, “NO! I found him likes this and was taking him back to my surgical suite to get back to a working condition. I’m a street doc! I’m John O’Brien!” Still not to sure about the trigger fingers on the hired muscle, John takes two more steps to the side. The Asian mobster takes a step forward and lowers his weapon. He reaches up and pulls the dark sunglasses from his face and cocks his head, looking more closely at John. “You’re a doctor? Surgeon? Can you help him?” he calls out. John nods, affirmative. The man calls out to his companions in Chinese or Japanese or some other language that John doesn’t understand. Several of the men move forward and pick up the injured man, Kenzo, and take him to the car. The man that spoke to John beckons him over, “Come on. We go to your place. You fix him up. You can get your gun. I trust you.” John smiles a little as picks up his gun and puts in its holster. He heads toward the car. He gets to the luxury sedan and says, “I can fix him and I will keep alive on the ride over there.” He gives the driver his address and concentrates on keeping his patient stable on the bumpy ride home. The car, escorted by the bikes, makes is way through traffic to John's place. The parking lot of Lo Pan’s Den - Fine Pan Asian Fusion and Gaming Center is beginning to get crowded. The large HyperObject that is the wizard Lo Pan glides around the lot, just over the tops of the tallest vehicles. He waves and beckons to passing vehicles and people, occasionally throwing a pair of flaming dice that always comes up snake-eyes. As the Yakuza vehicle enters the lot, John notices the HR Lo Pan turn and look in their direction. The smiling face turns sour and the giant wizard shakes his head and holds out his hand as if to say “no.” A notification pops up on John's TAP reminding him that residents of the building are not allowed to park in the restaurant lot even if they are coming in as patrons but instead must use the off-street or alley parking in the back. John signals to park around back. He says to the mob boss, “It has better access to my surgical suite plus you won’t have the hassle of your limo being towed away.” The mob boss signals to driver to go ahead and park around back. John says to the muscle as they haul Kinzo out of the back, “It is the 3rd floor, the apartment all the way at the end of the hallway. Hey, gently. He still isn’t out of the woods yet” He shows them where to place their hands to get a more secure grip. The group takes the elevator up to the 3rd floor. The hallway is dimly lit. John reaches up and touches his TAP and a door unlocks at the end of the hallway. “In there guys,” John states and gestures toward a well lit surgical suite. He puts his pack down in his apartment. He returns to the suite and begins to work on Kanzo. It takes several hours, but John is able to stabilize the seriously wounded man. If it had been much longer before they got here, it would have been too late, John thinks. It’s a good thing that the Yakuza showed up when it did. John then wondered if he would ever think that specific thought again. Then he thought about having another drink, all this surgery was really wearing him down. Normally his clinic was filled with folks with broken bones, small contusions, coughing, STDs, cyber rejection, things like that. Not serious gunshot wounds and all this mafia business. He finishes up with the Yakuza and the gangster in the suit pays him well. “You don't know us, right?” he says as they help Kanzo to his feet and leave. John is quite sure Kanzo recognizes him from Lucky's and gives him a weak sneer before leaving. John thinks he really needs to find another way to make money. John also thinks he needs another drink. He spies a bottle of whiskey on a nearby shelf then remembers he has a couple of free drink credits downstairs at Lo Pan’s. John heads down to Lo Pan’s. He sees his favorite waitress here, Lucy. He attracts her attention and she signals which is her section. He finds a quiet booth in her section and starts checking the news on his TAP. At first it seems the same old crap. Some congressman making a bad decision on something that is being opposed by another congressman from the other side. He sees a vid on how crime is up in Seattle. John thinks to himself, “No, shit.” Then a blog on simulacra jumpers catches his eye. He just started getting into the blogger’s theories when Lucy brings his Scotch. He gives her a free drink credit, and smiles. She doesn’t say much but she always seems to make him smile. He then finds his way over to the subreddit on medical procedures. He posts a couple of questions. Then finishes his drink. Lucy anticipated him and had another Scotch as soon as he finished the first one. He happily gave the other free drink credit plus a few credits extra as a tip.

Fresh Wounds

As John sips his drink, thinking about the events of the day, a call pops up on his TAP through one of the call routers he uses for the clinic. The OOL ID says Grim. John doesn't know anyone named Grim and he wishes he didn't have to use these call routers because since they give him some anonymity for the clinic, it likewise allows callers to use easily spoofed IDs as well. The life of a street doc, he muses. Saving lives and breaking the law. The call continues to flash in his peripheral. He takes another sip of his drink. John sighs heavily, and says “Hello” to answer his TAP call. As the image starts to appear, he states “Watcha need?” John is met with a young, raspy voice speaking quite frantically, “Aww, man. Hey, you the doc? I need a doc! I got three people here. Bee's been shot, the other two are banged up. Can you help? We're in the parking lot of some place called Lo Pan's. Karh tried to stop the bleeding but, um, I'm thinking it didn't work. There's a lot of blood here. Karh went in to look for you but this didn't really seem to be the right place.” The voice pauses for a moment, breathing heavily and John thinks he can get a few words in. John looks at his drink, and sighs heavily into the TAP, “Ok, I will be right out.” He grabs his backpack as he stands up. He scans the bar to see if anyone unusual in the place. He thinks he sees someone by the door, they don’t look like they looking for anyone just drinking. Realizing his TAP line is still open, John asks, “What does Karh look like?” “Ha, like a punk-ass.. um, sorry. I mean he looks like a guy. Bout 20, dark hair. Frowns a lot. Big but eyes,” the voice on the line chuckles again briefly then continues. “Not quite 6 foot, wearing a dark hoodie. I think he was wearing it anyway. Hold on,” the voice asks. After a moment, John gets an image over his TAP. “There, that's him.” Now with a picture to work with, John rescans the room as he makes his way to the door. Almost immediately he sees the fellow, Karh, talking to one of the Lo Pan waiters near the entrance. John makes his way across the crowded bar toward Karh. Upon his arrival, he leans in and says, “Hey Karh, I think you are looking for me. Now, let’s go to your friend before he dies.” The young man looks at John with a bit of a shocked look on his face. John now sees that the front of Karh’s clothes are covered with blood. Karh shakes his head and mutters, “Yea. Parking lot,” and turns and heads back out of the building. He leads John to an old model Tesla. Very old model, John thinks, totally an antique. He notices that the side of the car has some recent damage and several people can be seen inside the vehicle. Karh approaches it and waves his hand, “I got the doc,” he says. John sees an older man slumped over in the front seat and then a young, dark haired man climbs out of the back seat, he is covered in blood. John also notes that he has a sheathed katana in his hand. Two more people, a man and a woman are in the back seat as well. They both appear to be injured. “I’m Grim,” the dark haired man says, “We just talked.” John feels this man quickly sizing him up. He then turns and does a 360 scan of the area, clearly checking it out for danger zones. John thinks this kid, he can’t be more than 20 or so, has had some sort of training, military or private sector security, at least. He looks inexperienced but seems to have a good eye for things. “Where do you want them?” he asks John as he lights up a cigarette. John assesses the situation and states, “Do you think it would be safe to move them outside the car?” He then looks at the man in the front seat and begins to move him onto the tarmac of the parking lot. Karh shrugs and Grim responds, “I dunno. You're the doc right? Bee, in the back. She was shot. Dickhead and the old man were both smashed by a door and run over by a, umm, well, by a rhino. A hybrid, ya know?” John gets the man in the front seat carefully to the ground. As he does a triage of the patients, he states, “You know a little help moving the others would be helpful.” Grim and Karh help John with the injured bodies. As they do so, several people passing in the parking lot shoot glances at what is going on. Some smart ass shouts out, “Let ‘em bleed! Blood in the gutters!” Grim shouts back and flips the bird. Once again, the giant HR Lo Pan ambles over to where they are. It leans over and shakes its head and waves a finger in John’s direction. Another TAP message comes in, this time a direct message from the manager of Lo Pan’s, an older guy named Harko. “Second time tonight, O’Brien. Come on, get it out of the parking lot. You know the rules. I gotta report it to the owner this time.” The giant Lo Pan turns and stands directly over where John and the others are looking over the patients. John cusses as he realizes yet again that he is not to be performing business in the parking lot of his landlord’s business. The owner of Lo Pan allows him to use his apartment for his practice as long as he keeps it out of public view. John considers that Lo Pan’s could probably be shut down, or worse, if the wrong people found out he was running a clinic out of the building. A quick assessment show that the girl, Bee, is in the worst condition. She is suffering from a gunshot wound that has been horribly bandaged. The other two appear to have suffered from some blunt force trauma and may or may not be suffering from concussions, not that that isn’t dangerous, but they’re not bleeding out in the parking lot of a shitty casino and restaurant. Karh glances up as Lo Pan settles in above them then turns to John and says, “Might be best to get them off the street ya know? We are drawing a bit more attention here than either of us are looking for. Where should we go?” John snaps at Karh, “Yes, I know. I live here.” He quickly stabilizes Bee’s gunshot wound. When John finishes he looks at Grim, and says, “Dark One, she should be stable enough to move. Grab her. “ Pointing at Karh, he says, “You and me help the others.” John helps the closest one to him up and escorts them to a back alley behind Lo Pan’s. The alley is dark, and full of garbage. John spies a few of his recent patients on his way to the door. He thinks, “I guess they’ll be back.” When he opens the backdoor, there is a hallway to a rickety, unclean elevator. He looks at the group and states, “We are going to the elevator. It smells like stale piss but hey, it is better than the stairs.” When the creaking elevator gets to the third floor, the doors open to make-shift surgical suite. John motions toward a surgical table and says, “Put the girl there.” He motions his patient to a chair nearby and turns to Bee. He grabs a mask and instruments. He stops suddenly and looks at Karh, “You are going to be my nurse. Not hard. Just hand things to me when I ask. Oh, here is a mask. Put it on.” When he has everything in place he begins.

Cast of Characters: 

Doc John O'Brien: a washed out combat medic turned street doc; played by Dan E

and Jason GURPS as the GM

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