Scene #8207: PNL: The Signal From Europa

Owner	Pose
Stanley Padgett	If you wanted to be seen as "SHADY VAN SERVICES LLC", this would probably be the vehicle to do it with. The van is parked on the other side of the street from the strip mall that houses JIMMY'S GROTTO and the HAPPYCADE GAME JUNCTION. It is a grey panel van, with tinted windows, standard registration, and standard plates. There are also a number of stick-on antennas on the top of the vehicle, the sorts you would have seen in the late 90s to 2000s attached to cars to make sure the cell phones inside had proper signal. There does not appear to be anyone in the front seat of the van, though there is a bunch of wrappers and cups in the space between the windshield and the console. STANLEY PADGETT is not in the Happycade. He is not in Jimmy's Grotto, even though he'd probably be perfectly safe in either of those locations. No, Stanley is currently in the TACO HUT a block down from the strip mall, glumly tapping on his cell phone while getting up the gumption to go and tip the van over and see what comes out. Stanley Padgett \| whats the point of trying to fix stuff if im just gonna abuse the fact i can gofast and kick demons in the face Ioanna Langstrom says, "They're right and if you expect sympathy from me you're in the wrong place." Ioanna Langstrom says, "It's because you are, in the words of one of my drill sergeants, "an unbelievable pussy," and you're getting singled-out because you're the most likely to fold." Stanley's fingers tighten on his drink cup.
Charlotte Newman	That van pulled up shortly after a certain blonde entered the Happycade with a cluster of other girls from Silver Springs. She even hung out with them for a while, gossiping around the UFO catchers and comparing the plushies that some had won. At some point, though, Charlotte excused herself from the crew and went to the bathroom. And never came out. Instead, she emerges from the Taco Hut's restroom. A squishmallow plush cat is dropped on the table near Stanley's elbow before Charlotte takes a seat at his table, cheekily offering, "Won you a prize."
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	DRYCLEAN is not exactly a figure that blends into a crowd. A walking tower of outdated technologies is not something anyone expects to see in your average midwest town, and to their credit, at least they apparently recognize that. Instead, they have taken up the incredibly inconspicuous position of standing up on the... TACO HUT's roof. There seems to be some reliance on the fact that most people, upon seeing something so blatantly out-of-place that it seems comical, will just move on with their day. How they got up there is anyone's guess. Analysis is ongoing. The panel van is obviously attempting to present as some sort of communications vehicle, all antennae and generic visuals. Luckily, though, if there's any one thing that's within DRYCLEAN's wheelhouse, it's blatant attempts at overhearing all nearby transmissions. Like attracts like and all that, ha ha. And so they listen. Waves pulse. All incoming and outgoing communications from that van filtered through their own ears. Their own presence masked, encryption and signatures tuned to prove identical to the van itself. They might have been standing here, doing this, for the past hour. Hard to tell. A voice crackles through Stanley's phone, through some function separated from the actual messenger apps. "Really been starin' at that thing for a while, now, ha ha. Got any plans?"
Stanley Padgett	The communications signal discipline on that van is pretty good. It looks and feels like they're using standard, off the shelf gear here from Lampport, but whatever's actually in that van is a black box. That said, there ARE signals. Like to a nearby drone that's been making lazy orbits of both the strip mall and the Taco Hut. That's certainly not From Around Here... It's a good old fashioned Lone Star Strato, the gundrone just... tooling around, making like it's some recreational widget out for a whirl. Stanly grumbles at the Squishmallow, but does hug it with his other arm, as he puts the phone on the table. The fact that Dryclean is... in his phone doesn't actually surprise him, given what he's gathered about the construct. "...I've been thinking about it. I DID call the cops but they just drove past and left it alone." A grump. There went Lilian's plan.
Caelan Stuart	Anyone with a half-functioning brain can tell that a van that looks like /THAT/ is being used for some shady nonsense. Of course, ostensibly, nobody told one Caelan Stuart that this van was following anyone he cares about around. Nobody did! Nobody! At all! But Stanley keeps forgetting that he pays attention to the multiversal chatter networks like a vigilante scrubbing a police scanner. Also Stanley called the cops, that helps too. Given everything that the people in that van have gotten up to recently, he decided it was best to not say anything and instead just... ...Do something that they would never be able to predict. Something entirely off-grid. And so, Caelan Stuart is sitting at a totally different table, flipping through a newspaper (ABSOLUTE. ANALOG.) with a cardboard cup full of Farshucks Coffee (paid for with cash) steaming in front of him. He is... Absolutely off-grid right now. Or as much off grid as anyone who spends that much on antenna-based surveillance cares about, anyway. They certainly won't think to look for him here, and he is about as inoccuous as one can get. ...But what he's actually doing... His gaze is flickering to and from the paper and the van from beneath a pair of polarized reading glasses that are angled /just/ so that the light obscured the movement of his eyes. Waiting. Watching. The right moment will come. They will let their guard down. They will reveal who they are.
Timespace Riders	"Hi, Stanley, hi Charlotte," sunnily calls a familiar voice. The would-be Demon King of Time takes a seat with them in the TACO HUT. His retainer is not here--though there is likely little doubt that Woz is somewhere in the vicinity. "I hadn't seen you two in a while, so I thought I'd come and visit. Have you two ordered yet? If you're hungry, it's my treat," he offers. On the ROOF, DRYCLEAN is joined by a fellow see-how-it-all-unfolds type, the somewhat unusual time traveler, Woz. He appears in a shroud of Gordian fabric, unfolding and flowing from nothing, straightening itself out into a deceptively unassuming scarf that rests upon his shoulders. Tucked under his arm is a mysterious book with an unreadable title. Both are thrown wide. "Felicitations, robot," he says, arms wide, with a catlike smile. "I am Woz, prophet of the one true timeline, here at the behest of my Demon King." he offers a theatric bow at the waist. "I hope you do not mind the company," he offers, politely implying that he'd be staying even they did.
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	"Ain't exactly the most reliable sorts, ha ha, if what I've picked up is correct. Armed drone in the air, van's locked down tight, active communications." Where one actor moves to detach from the grid entirely, another chooses to become part of it. You could ask DRYCLEAN what they were doing with the vast amount of signals passing through the devices of those friendlies present, and they'd give you a slew of well-articulated answers meaningless technobabble, but the end result is that trying to keep track of them is ridiculously difficult; at best, with enough decryption, the only location that would be given is a point about three miles above the city. It's a pretty specific point, though. Anyone with good enough sight might catch a glimpse of a hovering shape. A two-finger salute is given to the incoming time traveller. "Ain't never mindin' more folks around, ha ha." An uncomfortably long arm is extended for a handshake.
Charlotte Newman	"It's so painfully obvious," Charlotte grumbles, sparking a glance Van-wards from the corner of her eye, "It's almost like they're trying to bait someone into confronting them." She lets out a sigh, eyes closed, and doesn't continue that thought. She's seen enough movies where the spy guys have audio equipment for long-distance eavesdropping, after all. There's no telling if these people are using that or something similar. Her expression brightens though, "Sougo!" The Demon King of Time is greeted cheerfully and she pushes a chair out for him with her foot, "Good to see you again, it has been a while, huh? Are you back in town?" She shakes her head, "I wasn't planning on ordering, but thank you." She's noticed Caelan, but he seems to be Working, so she decides not to attract attention to him. If he has need of her, he'll make it known, she can trust that much. While Sougo seats himself, she sets her purse on the table, then uses it to obscure her hand when she points towards the van down the block, "We were just deciding what to do with that. Whether we get proactive or sit and wait. Dryclean's been watching it-- Did you have any thoughts on it?"
Stanley Padgett	Stanley has not noticed his own foster father in the building, so good is his clandestine disguise. Also, Stanley's mind is sort of focused on that fucking van, so forgive him for being tunnel visioned. That will get him hurt some day. Maybe today. Stanley's barely flinching at the sudden arrival of Sougo, a good friend who hasn't been harping about him or Charlotte for a week and a half, that's nice. "...Hey there, king. Nice to see you." An honest, if tired smile at that. "And yeah, I had the Double Biggie Burrito, so, like... I'm good." The Double Biggie, notoriously is the size of a small infant. Where does he put it? "I'm just.... tired." "...A gundrone? really?" Stanley looks up through the roof of the building as if he could peek through the murky low hanging clouds to spot the murderbot in its orbit. "For US?" Stanley's frown deepens, and there's something profoundly, intrinsically brat that crosses his face, as he stands up and moves to toss out his dinner cartons... and then stalks for the door. Uh oh. CAELAN: The other side of 'detection', outside of DRYCLEAN's signal captures, is the gut feeling of a cop, but also the Eye of the Freeshooter. There's hocus pocus going on in that car. It may be a black box on the EM spectrum, but whoever in there doesn't seem to give a shit about their aetherical signal discipline. Cause it's pulsing slowly with... someone regularly casting spells, every two minutes or so. DRYCLEAN: No one's spotted the KEYHOLE moving in just yet, but who knows if someone down there who's supposed to be watching for TERRORISM will point their radar dishes in just the right angle to spot you.
Timespace Riders	"On that, huh..." He seems to know exactly what she means by 'that,' without looking over his shoulder. "Well, it all depends on how you two are feeling about it," he offers. "There are a lot of ways I could help, but ultimately, whatever happens as a result is something that you guys will have to deal with." He leans forward in his seat. "If you could make a wish--if you could decide, right now, how everything turns out--what would that wish be?" he asks. "That's going to determine how I help, I think."
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	Well, at least things are quiet for the next... few seconds. A plan of some sorts is formed. "Say, you folks reckon you can get the drop on someone already watchin' you? If you don't, I might have thinked up an opener." They're keeping good track of that drone out there, checking if there are active control signals or if it's just on autopilot. Waiting, poised.
Timespace Riders	"'The drop' is both my specialty and prerogative," Woz states with certainty and a flourish of his free hand. With his nose haughtily turned up, he adds, "Elaborate on this opener of yours, and if it passes my muster, you will have it."
Charlotte Newman	"What do I wish would happen?" Charlotte gives Sougo a strange look, "That's a bit of a loaded term, you know." Closing her eyes, the girl shrugs, "Frankly I just want them to go away and stop bothering us, but that probably won't happen until whoever's paying them to be a nuisence stops paying them. I don't know who that is--" The squeak of Stanley's seat pushing out when he gets up makes her pause, glancing his way. She shoots a look at Caelan further back, then at Sougo, "I guess we're doing something about it right now." She doesn't click open any of the apps on her phone to address the space explorer on the roof: "If you have any plotting happening up there, it's probably best to get started. I don't think Stanley's going to wait." Tucking her phone back into her purse, the teen trots after her friend, muttering, "And I don't blame him."
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	A sharp grin. "Turncoat's a fun gambit, ha ha. May as well just give the folks the courtesy of a knock first, y'know? I got lots to discuss on their comms."
Caelan Stuart	Something pulse-pulse-pulses inside the truck. Caelan's eyes tighten as the rhythmic throbbing sends shocks like a migraine through his frontal lobe. A moment passes. Charlotte shoots him a look. He checks his (analog) watch, and slowly stands. Somehow, he manages to make it to Stanley at the door and wordlessly passes by, his newspaper folded under one arm. He's going... Straight to the truck. RSTRAIGHT to the truck. ...Whereupon he... raps gently on the window. And again, when the people inside don't listen. "License and registration," Caelan Stuart, Cop, asks the person who comes to the window. "Officer Stuart, Lampport PD. Sorry for the trouble, but someone asked me to take a look at what you are all up to. Seems like they think you've been following them around, isn't that strange?" He smiles a genial, coplike smile, then nods, "But I've been watching you for a little while now, and you all /have/ been here for quite some time. Mind if I ask what the business purpose of all of..." he gestures vaguely at the antennae, "This, is?"
Stanley Padgett	Stanley stops at the door to the Taco Hut, as Sougo asks that question. "A wish?" He shudders a little bit, the ait coming out of him in halts. "...I'd say I want these jerks to leave us alone and leave the school alone." He pauses and turns to look at Charlotte and Sougo. "...I'd..." He can't say that phrase, can bring himself to say it, but... "...I want them to leave of their own accord. Me beating the piss out of them... isn't... it's not..." Langstrom's words echo in his ears again. Pussy. "...Proactivity doesn't mean it's all going to end in violence, right? It is the cowish terror of his spirit that dares not undertake; he'll not feel wrongs which tie him to an answer." Stanley, quoting King Lear probably isn't the RIGHT choice for this. But Detective Caelan slips past him, whilst he's dropping SICK BURNS from Lady Goneril. And heads right over towards the van. DRYCLEAN! Good news, there's more comms chatter going on! It's all heavily encrypted, but it's clearly someone ringing up someone else and asking for authorization of some sort, or asking for procedures? They're het up about the cop coming over, that's for sure. The window doesn't roll down for a moment or two, and then it does. And behind the wheel is a smartly dressed elf lady. There's some intricate tattoos along her cheek and eyebrows, that glimmer and shimmer in the dim light. The van itself isn't moving, though it could have been. The engine isn't ON but it's one of those fancy new electric vehicles. "Ah, Officer Stuart I'm very sorry to have wasted your time here, but I'm sure you'll find that everything is in order and you don't need to worry about this van." And she leaves it at that, smiling cheerily at 'Officer' Caelan. And then keeps smiling, the smile fading from her eyes as Caelan does not turn and walk away and apologise. Hmmm.
Timespace Riders	"I know," says Sougo serenely to Charlotte. "But it's loaded with good reason. Kings can't just think about 'right now.' Thank you both for your answers," he says, his head briefly bowed graciously. "I think I can work with that." Standing up from his seat, he waits for a few seconds to leave. He strolls leisurely out into the street. And to the naked eye, all it seems like he does is just going into the street to rubberneck, ogling the interaction between Caelan and the driver of the van. But for a brief moment, timekeeping devices in the area flicker. Phone clocks jump forward and backward, dash displays blink oddly. Focused on the driver and their history, he travels back in time along the current of their temporal footprint, to observe past events as an invisible, intangible observer. Who is paying you to be here? If you don't know, then who would? On the roof, Woz smiles. "I see," he purrs with approval. "Most devious of you. Very well. Make your move upon my return, then--I assure you, it will be hard to miss." He flings his scarf outwards. It envelops him completely in whorled fabric and shifting sands, folding into itself and vanishing like water down a drain, leaving DRYCLEAN alone on the rooftop. Elsewhere, Woz consults his book. He searches the pages for the exact most advantageous moment to spring his attack, and waits until that moment to make his appearance, teleporting once more to appear in the street before the van. With a smug grin on his face and a pair of transformation devices in hand, he armors up, slapping a green-and-silver belt with a prominent screen over his waist. Woz's belt--announcing itself as the BEYONDRIVER--fastens around his waist. The sleek, futuristic pocketwatch in his hand slots into a hatch on the right side. Action! Behind him, a laser grid constructs the holographic face of a smartwatch, as he closes the hatch. Projecting! Future Time! The digital screen on his belt displays an image of his armor, moments before it is projected onto his body by the laser grid behind him. Amazing! Time! Future! KAMEN RIDER WOZ? WOZ?! ...is a silver-and-black armored fighter, with a futuristic neon green trim. The faceplate and cuirass of his armor suggest the strap and face of a digital watch, though the usual Rider 'antennae' are here represented as the hands of a clock.
Caelan Stuart	Officer Stuart's smile does not fade, in fact he shows absolutely no sign of anything having happened to him at all! It's the kind of poker face that might make a mind-whammying fair-folk or fair-folk-adjacent individuals wonder whether or not their powers are even still working. Because it's very plain to see that they're /not/ working on /this guy./ "I'm sorry, ma'am," he says, politely, "I'm afraid I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be looking at. If you would kindly provide me with the necessary paperwork, I'm sure we could all be on our way and put this misunderstanding behind us? I'm afraid I might have to write you up if you can't--" Someone HENSHINS behind him. Caelan glances back and arches a brow, but keeps his focus firmly on the van and the woman therein. "--You know how this goes. Procedure and all."
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	And the first move is made. Beat to the punch, per say, so down to business, then. Plans shift. A line. Sever, splice, take some control, like every conspiracy theorist expects the government to be doing. DRYCLEAN's main focus is pulled to the request. Encryption shattered on the fly, math that hasn't even been invented in most worlds applied in the most practical of fashion. In a maneuver that would be blatant to anyone watching the actual communications passing through, they insert themselves as the other end of the conversation, a faint static following, telltale - but only to those expecting a particular construct to butt-in. In a voice that would be suspiciously different if the people in the van were expecting a specific company handler, a reply is given: "Play along. There are people en-route to help clean up, but we're waiting for the drop." People slip up when they think they have the upper hand. Let's test that. Woz would still be waiting to strike, but the timelines are getting close - might go belly-up fast.
Stanley Padgett	THE PAST~ This lady's name is definitely Jennifer Smith. She and her tall buddy, the chromed-up white guy with the Jamaican accent who is very definitely named Dimitri, are standing in an office that Sougo can't place. But there are Solutiony logos all over. "So, that's the job? The whole job? Keep an eye on a kid? That's what they're hiring us for?" The Man behind the desk could be anyone, but Sougo gets the definite feeling that this man's name is Mr. Johnson. They're ALWAYS Mr. Johnson. "Miss Smith, the actual job here is much more complex, but I assure you he is no mere 'kid'. The Subject has shown substantial powers over the last several weeks, he can move faster than the eye can see, and he appears to have other more absurd abilities. The School District has had extraversal intruders. There have been mysterious disappearances and deaths. If we can pin this on the Subject, all the better. Otherwise, you and your compatriots ingratiate yourself with the student body. You are merely... new, exciting security personnel. Have FUN with it, Miss Smith. Just make sure the school plays along."
Stanley Padgett	HENSHIN! Woz, the best time to act is VERY soon. There is a CONFLUENCE OF TIMELINES that are meeting in a CONJUNCTION of FANTASTIC EXPLOSIONS. "Ahem, what I am trying to say, Officer Stuart, is that I am violating no laws here, and I would like to speak to your superior if I could. I can assure you that you are making a very large mistake." There's a glint of ice in the back of that statement, and Miss Smith's hands move off the wheel, as she moves to find her paperwork. A clatter of noise in the back though, and then she's back up, handing over paperwork to Caelan. It's all in order, probably. This is a fleet vehicle for something called Graf Innovations LLC, they're paid up on their taxes through the next two years, the inspections have been done, the- And then Stanley is moving out of the Taco Hut. Miss Smith looks from Caelan to Stanley, and then back to Caelan. Something defeated in her look. The look of someone who's going to have to start a project over. And then she perks up, grazing a finger against an earring. "Look, I'm sorry, we got off on the wrong foot here." Stanley is walking for Jimmy's Grotto, seemingly ignoring the van.
Stanley Padgett	In the sky, the drone peels away from its orbit into a holding pattern, stationary and following a target.
Charlotte Newman	Charlotte glances towards Stanley when he recites more Shakesphere. After a moment, she shuts her eyes and nods once, "I agree. Prudence isn't cowardice. Neither is mercy." She's not putting her phone away, though, even if the display gets a little wonky with Sougo's temporal shenanigans. She lets out a little sigh, stepping out of Taco Hut a few paces behind Stanley. A glance is spared towards the van and Caelan questioning the driver-- isn't that the elf lady from the assembly? This realization nets the vehicle a Rich Girl Scowl in the precise frequency of Just Noticed An Insect, Gross. The fact that she was last seen entering the Happycade and now walked out of Taco Hut is probably burning someone's noodle pretty hard. The sound of the drone has her glancing upward, though. It was, according to Dryclean, allegedly armed and worth being aware of.
Caelan Stuart	There's just a bit of frost in the officer's own expression when Miss Smith starts getting lippy. It's the look in a cop's face that screams 'you're starting to get me suspicious, and you won't like me being suspicious.' "I'm sure I am, miss. But your papers will prove that one way or another, yeah?" And just like that, there is paper! Very interesting paper. Caelan flips through the documents, nodding slowly, "Mmm. Mmm, everything seems to be-- hmm."He arches a brow, behind him Stanley SLIPS AWAY. "Now ma'am, are you certain this is the registration for this vehicle?" He makes a pregnant pause, because this is what cops DO. They make people sweat. He frowns and shakes his head, extracting what looks like a TICKETING PAD from his coat. He just carries that thing around?? "Now, ma'am, first of all I'd like to thank you very much for cooperating, I truly appreciate it. But there seems to be a problem," he offers the papers to the window, but /doesn't/ release them, because he's pointing something out. Something written right there on the registration. "You see, it seems this vehicle is registered to one Graf Innovations LLC. Now, trouble is, I happen to keep up with business goings on, especially around Lampport. Hobby of mine. Do some trading on the side, you see. And I'd heard that Graf Innovations LLC... went under? A little bit ago? So it's very strange to me that a vehicle is still driving around, with all of this equipment, under their name. Very strange, wouldn't you agree, ma'am?" "I'm afraid I'm going to have to write up a citation," he tsks, "Can't be driving around with all of this equipment without it being registered properly, right?"
Timespace Riders	"I've seen it," Sougo says quietly, to no one in particular. "My Demon King, they intend to attack Stanley," calls Woz, leaping into his path and changing forms with the aid of another futuristic watch. The Bowser Armor, a regal affair with spikes on the vambraces, greaves, pauldrons, breastplate and the flowing cloak, quickly forms over him as he intercedes. The retainer lands before Stanley, spear in one hand. "Call your Persona. I shall cover you." Employing rapid spins, the spikes on the armor become the multitudinous points of a whirling defensive maneuver, intercepting and turning aside the attack meant for Stanley. "Thank you, Woz. I guess I'd better join in, too, then!" With his belt--the helpfully-announced TIMESPACE DRIVER--fastened securely, Sougo procures and presses the crown on a futuristic-looking pocketwatch. ZI-O! The name echoes through space. With that watch slotted into place, the display on his Timespace Driver reads AU30 in blocky LCD font. The silver gears and hands of a great analog clock form behind Sougo, ticking away as his hands, held up and out, pantomime the movement of the clock hands behind him in reverse. "Henshin!" Sougo's hands grasp the Timespace Driver and spin it RIDER TIME! Large pink gears envelop him completely before fading to reveal-- o/` Ka-meeen Rider! o/` ZI-O. . . He's an armored fighter in black, white, silver and pink, whose cuirass and helmet resemble the band and face of an analog wristwatch. The hands of this watch form the classic Rider 'antenna,' with pink katakana flying into place over the helmet's face to spell out "RIDER." Zi-O calls forth a straight sword, charging towards the van with alarming speed to slash the front rear wheel in a rolling dive. Coming up, he brings the blade up from the hip before plunging it through the rear wheel on the same side. "Sorry, Detective," he says, before rapping on the side of the van. "I can't forgive you on behalf of other people. But it's not too late for you to ask their forgiveness, and you know exactly who I mean."
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	Prying signals reach out to the drone as it moves into position, waiting, waiting - now. Like a hand closing around a throat, the control signals to the drone are choked out - it's just operating on subroutines, now, until somebody contests the control. Not the most difficult thing in the world, of course, but it would require active effort. A mental reminder set, then, to check who it's registered under. Names are always good. The drone, however, is not the only thing they're attempting to black out. They maintain their stranglehold on the current line of communications that had been opened to their corporation, fielding, screams not registered to who they would be intended for. DRYCLEAN moves over to the edge of the roof and pulls out a shitty plastic folding chair. It's leisurely unfolded and set down, and they recline into it. They adjust their antennae jacket as they watch everything go down.
Stanley Padgett	"Detective, you can hardly expect me to know that the place that has provided me a fleet vehicle has changed its name since it registered it, please stop wasting both of our times an-" Smith braces her hands on the wheel. The shot goes off, the drone wobbles and MOVES to reposition. The .50 BMG round smashes into Woz's Perfect parry, as Stanley... doesn't call Mercutio. His hands are quivering, but he hasn't moved since Woz took up position. Wait, was he TRYING to bait them out? You moron. And then THINGS are happening. DRYCLEAN, more drone signals. Several walker types have come out of deep hibernation modes on the roofs around the place, and more over, in one of the apartments across the street from the strip mall. Stanley's old apartment. The one that his Father and Uncle Sid set up for him. That apartment. The windows bust out of the front of the flat, and a 5 foot tall robot dog comes boiling out of the building. It's yelping in digital noise, an alarm, aimed at distractions, despite the attached SMG in its face. Two more of the things unfold from the roof of that building, and start taking overwatch positions over the street. Zi-O SMASHES through the front line though, and wrecks the deposit of that van... but as he starts asking for apologies and forgiveness, the woman in the front seat seems to have had enough. "VITA IMPETUM." She snarls, and a coherent ball of energy whips through the side of van, straight through it, and smashes into the Rider, and into Caelum. Like... a Manaball of some sort.
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	Hibernation. Of course. It's like these folks know what they're doing or something. According to plan... or at least, they'd insist it was. Nobody's contested that yet. They're content that the people on the ground have themselves handled - they're all elites, after all. Nothing to worry about. More importantly, this many new, controlled targets gives ample lines to trace back, triangulate, locate. One transmission only gives a radius, but two? Three? Or, in this case... half a dozen? If a remote command is what activated them all, they'll know where it came from. Cut the damage off at the root, per say. In other news, what's the other fellow up to? A name, Dimitri. A company, Solutiony, at least presumably. An appearance, a connection, a location, a time. While the aerial drone remains somewhat staggered, something else is run - background sweep. Chat conversations, social media posts, purchase habits, a split second to glean as much about this man as can be tracked through mass communications, public or private. The specifics don't matter, just the broad picture. And using that picture, a question can be answered, in no unspecific terms - What is Dimitri about to do?
Caelan Stuart	"I'm sorry ma'am, but whether you knew or not, the fact is that you're driving around in a vehicle with an outdated license, and that's grounds for a ticket," Caelan shakes his head, scribble-scribbling on his notepad when-- BANG Shit gets serious. "What the hell--" A rider comes crashing down into the van! Robots are coming out of everywhere! Out of everything! Caelan barely has time to shout 'HANDS IN THE AIR' and draw his gun when the elf-woman hurls a ball of raw magic straight at the Rider... and at /him/. Caelan dives, but the orb grazes his side, sending him sprawling onto the curb with a sizzling patch of scorched coat. (He isn't actually /too/ hurt, thank you mid-range resistance. But there are appearances to be maintained and this lady just /zorched a cop./) Which is exactly why Caelan has pulled a radio from his coat and is calling in an emergency to the local police band. There's a damn /robot invasion/ by the TACO HUT, off-duty officer injured by suspects in a surveillance van with out-of-date papers, get in here!!
Stanley Padgett	Their comms are cut, they've been made, and the Shadowrunners have responded the only way they know how. Go Loud. A map of West Lamport unfolds in DRYCLEAN's head, and... The construct actually has to dig for his answer. It was... three different 3G cellular signals from three different VOIP calls that woke up the robodogs. And they're on... autonomous actions for now. Rudimentary AI communicate with each other, triangulating their targets. And their targets are the two kids on the sidewalk, it would seem. A stacatto of digital yelp-barks, and the dogs all leap to the pavement, and stalk down on Stanley and Charlotte, who will be pulling out their powers at anytime... any time... DIMITRI? Oh him? He's in the back of the van. Wait no, he's not in the back of the van. He smashes out of the back of the van, knocking doors off the hinges, and unlimbers to his full 7'5" height. Chrome and steel glint alongside flesh, and the beefy Solo yanks at the fallen car door, and hurls it at Woz.
Charlotte Newman	For all intents and purposes, it's just a pair of teenagers out for a walk while a cop chats with a sketchy van and a multiversal tourist crosses the street. Charlotte trots after Stanley, checking her phone with a puzzled look. Woz drops down in front of them in his armor, prompting her to stop with a jump, "--Eh? Woz, what are--" An extraordinarily loud gunshot makes her jump again. Thankfully, the retainer is there to knock it aside. What is not negated in the least is the screech of surprise from the girl. Surprise becomes terror when Killer(?) robots start emerging from the rooftops and the old apartment. In a terrified, wavering voice, Charlotte lunges that last few inches and clings to her friend's arm, "--What the heck is going on?!" Dimitri bursts out of the van's back doors in an explosion of muscle and machinery, prompting a wide-eyed stare right at him. No persona. No magic. Just a screaming teenager. Hyperbolic condolences paid to any glass in range.
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	Prediction made. Lines projected and drawn across the pavement, complex geometries within what looks like a magic circle of its own. They shift and converge as Dimitri busts open the door, with life of their own. One, two, A THIN RED LINE EXTENDS TO THE HEAVENS. It remains there, in the middle of the road, slowly searing a tiny hole down into the asphalt, a blatant beacon to the chaos as much as the gunshots are. The positioning was already perfect - the door's trajectory takes it one, two, three meters - bisected by the vertical laser cutter. The pieces clatter to the ground on each side of Woz and the teenagers, freeing the Rider to focus on something else in that split second. "Counter, ha ha."
Timespace Riders	The magical projectile smashes directly into Zi-O, eliciting a pained shout as the impact lifts him from his feet. Sparks fly from the pink-and-silver armor, and his impact cracks the pavement. "Ngh... I see..." He stands back up, glancing around with shock to see that there are suddenly much more hostiles here. "So you're not going to talk with words until you've had your say with force. Is that it? That's fine. I can do enough talking for the both of us--and match your force pound for pound!" He procures a pocketwatch of his own--this one with a radioactive hazard symbol on the front. He slots it into the Timespace Driver around his waist and spins it... ARMOR TIME! Hail to the King! NUKEM! A new set of armor appears before him, called from a circular pink portal. The disembodied suit thumbs the tactical straps over its red cuirass, before breaking apart to snap into place on Zi-O. Black plated greaves, a red breastplate resembling a tank top, with energy cells held in vertical tactical straps on either side. A gauntlet styled in imitation of a fingerless glove runs over the golden hands on the watch-helmet, just as black katakana spelling "RIDER," stylized to resemble sunglasses, snap into place over the white 'face' of the helmet. "I'm here to chew ass and kick gum," Zi-O confidently mangles Duke's catchphrase, "And I'm all out of gum!" His fist mashes the stop on the Timespace Driver, starting a golden buildup of energy that cascades down his right leg and concentrates at his boot, crackling audibly. Charging up to the driver's side door, he feathers the trigger on that energy pistol to force the mage into ducking for cover, before punching through the window to yank her from the driver's seat with one hand. His boot flies forward in a forceful punt just after Dimitri clears the back doors, plowing into the side of the fan with enough force to send it flying. "Is this what you learned magic for? Is this why you learned to tap into that potential inside you?" He calls over the din of the fight. "To spy on people and hurt them? To frame them for horrible things on the say-so of someone you've never met? You've been watching them, but have you actually, really looked at either of them?" Woz, meanwhile, is focused on keeping Stanley and Charlotte safe. Given the sudden and drastic change in numbers, this is a rather laborious task. Ruts are worn into asphalt from his rapid deflections, while shouts of exertion punctuate the forceful slashes of his spined spear, his hands wide apart on the haft for extra leverage. He fights defensively, catching the occasional blow or shot from his blindside, but powering through and patiently waiting for the opportunity to counterattack with well-timed stabs and kicks. "I believe I see your plan now," he says to the both of them. "I shall put my considerable talents to use in ensuring its success." He gives a salute to DRYCLEAN: "My thanks, robot,"--before changing tacks and fighting decidedly more proactively, taking the fight directly to the dog drones and employing the armor's spikes in a much more offensive manner.
Stanley Padgett	The police HAVE been called, they HAVE been informed, as Detective Caelan... also doesn't seem to summon his Persona. Interesting. A plan has been ENACTED. Stanley is also on the ground, cowering, moving to "shield" Charlotte with his lanky frame, even as Woz moves to take up positions on the doggo... and pieces of a flying door. The three dogs start taking leaping bites in at Woz, not unleashing those SMGs just yet, seemingly feeling out the path to their targets, the pair on the sidewalk. Smith is pushed and punched and dragged out of the van, and responds by snarling. "Money is money. What do you care, you pompous peacock? SOMNUM." And she promptly tries to 'put Zi-O to sleep' by overloading his nervous system with signals. It'll be more like a seizure. Not fun. She's spitting on the Rider's armor, too. Very Rude. Dimitri is just taking up position on the area, as police sirens start to blare. He grunts, looks to Smith in the clutches of the extraversals... and books it. By leaping up to the rooftops, and doing his best Immeasurable Hank impression to leap from his consequences.
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	DRYCLEAN's kept a bit above all the action, and for good reason. Without the bullets flying, luckily nothing's hit them. Upon Dimitri taking off, though, they stand up from where they've been sitting, right next to his escape path, and - - swings their chair at him. If anyone was paying attention to this happening, they would instantly glean that this may have been the dumbest action anyone has taken within Lampport in the past 24 hours. It's a terrible swing, objectively. Obviously not a fighter. There's pitiful force behind it, and a plastic chair is not known for its combat utility. However, it's aimed with inhuman precision - dodging would end up with it hitting his knees in a bad spot and tripping him somewhat, while just taking it would cause him to bowl directly into DRYCLEAN themselves. That would probably also stumble him. Either option will inevitably result in getting decked, but that sure is fine.
Timespace Riders	So that's the kind of person 'Jennifer Smith' is. I see... then I need to change tracks. Zi-O's body seizes up, his muscles betraying him as he drops the mage and falls to one knee. "But there's always a catch, isn't there?! There always is, with money. You thought you'd just be watching a kid. And now you have to deal with me... ngh... and everyone else," "If money is money," he gasps, pushing a spasming gauntlet against the ground to force himself shakily back on both feet, "Then take mine, up front, and have the catch up front, too!" Zi-O points his blaster towards the dog drones fighting Woz, mashing the trigger to blast them with explosive, hitscan lasers. "Tell the Detective what he needs to know, and I'll not only pay your bail, I'll give you enough to start a new life, far away from these people, far away from Mr. Johnson, where you can put those talents to use the way they were meant to be!" "And the catch... you'll tell other people you know from your line of work that this place is too dangerous to be profitable."
Caelan Stuart	Far-off sirens grow less distant with each passing moment. Caelan grunts and pushes himself upright, his side still smoldering from where the magic bolt crashed into him. This is the important thing. This is what will utterly wreck Solutionsy's attempt at a 'covert' operation. They need to throw off their scent, and the Hunter is nothing if not a seasoned tracker. Its voice guides him, tells him to take his licks now. But... That doesn't mean he has to take /everything/ lying down. "Suspect fleeing by... by /jumping rooftops/ southbound,/" Caelan barks into his radio as he draws his ever-trusty sidearm. One shot. Another. The harsh rapport of gunfire adds to the chaotic din. This has to be convincing, too. He misses the first. He tracks the second ever closer. And the third... Caelan pulls the trigger in his mind. The third shot tears out of his gun, imbued by the barest flash of magic-- just enough to achieve the necessary effect, but too little to really be noticed against the lingering backdrop of magical energy bleeding away from the burn he still clutches a hand to. His bullet, untraceably fast most all bullets are, tears across the distance... And curves ever so subtly to slam directly into Dimitri's thigh, burrowing right into where the gaps in his cyberware meet his human flesh to sever the critical connections allowing him to maintain control over the limb. It's a lucky shot. After all, he did miss twice! Nobody needs to know that Caelan knew exactly what he was aiming for. The hunter's eyes are subtle things, after all.
Charlotte Newman	A screaming Charlotte has become something of a siren all by herself, screeching in alarm amidst the clatter of robot limbs and weapons and gunfire and magic-- definitely an environment that a pair of 17 year olds with no special powers at all should be very, very far away from. In the apparent panic, she does seem to /want/ to run, and to drag Stanley to someplace safer. But she also resists that. Several false starts that she counters and eventually abandons, each time coming to the realization that remaining still is the best thing she can do for Woz's ability to protect them from gundog machines and a crazy elf. So even in a panic the girl has some sense, at least.
Stanley Padgett	Both teens make their starts and stops, before Stanley and Charlotte end up against the wall near Jimmy's Grotto. And it's then that someone ELSE steps in. Jan Kotzya, veteran of the wars in the Balkans, Refugee, Survivor, and Friend To All Teenagers, grabs at the pair, drags them inside the parlor. "STAY DOWN, NOW." Jan is carrying an old shotgun, and he steps outside and strides past Woz. "Robot man, let us not dispense with cowardice." The shotgun comes up, and Jan, alongside the laser blasts from Zi-O, starts laying into the side of the nearest dogbot, crumpling it into the sidewalk. Jan spits on it, and starts reloading his shotgun. "OUTWORLDERS, SORRY JAN IS LATE, Had to find right slugs for ROBOTS." It is unclear if this was an issue before. The other dogbots wheel on Jan and Woz having lost their targets, and sort of... fritz out, and start charging the pair without a plan. This will not go well. Smith SPITS on Zi-O's armor again before growling and huffing. "This was a cakewalk, and you PEOPLE just come in and ruin things." Those elf ears are cherry red, incandescing in rage. "What, you want me to fucking... just... you..." The cops are almost here, and the Mage has a decision to make. "...YOu have to promise safety. No way I go with these cops. We're dead if we do that. You KNOW this." Up top, right next to Dryclean, that folding chair has DONE THE JOB. Dmitri gets CHAIR-DO-KEN'd and crumples over. Nothing at all to do with the bullets whizzing past the robot's head. DRYCLEAN you have a massive Solo who's struggling to find a target with a busted wheel. He's coming right for you, screaming mad in Jamaican.
Charlotte Newman	Captured by Mr Jan and all but hurled into Jimmy's Grotto, Charlotte immediately obeys the bellowed command to stay down. She tips one of the tables over for some extra personal safety and huddles behind it, hugging her legs to her chest. Here, away from the prying eyes of Solutiony's goons and machines, she spares a glance towards Stanley. She's out of breath, red in the face, but pushes on a relieved sort of smile. Quietly, she murmurs, "You didn't have to, but thank you. Just the gesture means a lot to me." He knows she can take a hit, same as he can. But he still decided to put himself between her and danger. The girl nods once, "I think that was very brave." As the noise of the fight is joined by the distinctive barking of a bootleg shotgun, she glances over her shoulder, "What the actual heck was mister Jan /carrying/ anyway?"
Timespace Riders	<B-anter> Lilian Rook says, "Simply do not interact with each individual person as though they are a manifestation of every other person you've ever interacted with." <B-anter> Lilian Rook says, "I'll leave it to your discretion which they are, 'Demon King'." <B-anter> Sougo Tokiwa says, "I already have a pretty good idea, haha. Thanks again!" <B-anter> Lilian Rook says, "You're welcome, I suppose." <B-anter> Lilian Rook says, "I look forward to seeing if you, personally, can be violent and deceitful enough to be as kind as you want to be." >...You have to promise safety. No way I go with these cops. We're dead if we do that. You KNOW this. "I know," says Zi-O gravely. He doesn't--but he can glean just enough from that vision of the past to press the right buttons. "I'll have my retainer get you out of here. The two of you can discuss it at the Grand Dorado, and if you want, he can even see about getting you a job with us. Think about it," he says, before procuring a weathered-looking combination phone and energy pistol. Zi-O radios a command to his retainer. "Duty calls, valiant Jan," says Woz to Jan, after spearing a dog drone and hurling it forcefully into a crowd of its fellows. "But fear not--my Demon King shall fight alongside you in my stead.~" The two Riders change places. Woz vaults a parked car and leaps into the air to clear the distance between himself and 'Miss Smith,' clearing the fray with a shout and landing beside her. A regal flourish of his cloak flicks it outwards. Much as his scarf does, it expands and envelops the two of them, carrying them both safely away from the fray and out to the nearest Warpgate. Meanwhile, Zi-O's entry to assist Jan isn't as graceful. The Nukem Armor isn't about grace--it's about pure brute force. "Hi, Mr. Jan!" he calls, feathering the trigger of the golden energy blaster to harass the dog drones with piercing, explosive lasers. There's virtually no travel time, each one delivering its violent payload at almost the very moment Zi-O pulls the trigger. "Thank you for protecting Stanley and Charlotte," he offers, beating a drone down with a brutal right cross, left snapkick combo. "I like them a lot, too." He kneels to give Jan a better sightline, fanning through the remaining drones before ejecting a spent cell and slamming a new one into the breakopen battery chamber.
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	This is a member of the Watch who, almost constantly, has insisted that they are not a combatant. In the fraction of a second while Dimitri is still going down, they mentally reaffirm this notion, and take the one reasonable option in a close-quarters fight - backing the hell up. They scramble backwards, dropping the still intact chair, and give the appearance of realizing that they have hit the edge of the roof. Hopefully, the incredibly loud static that they've slowly ramped up the volume of over the course of doing so does its job, covering up the actual distance of the encroaching sirens on the street below. It's permeating everything nearby - waves pulse through their own output, any radio-enabled devices on the Solo himself, any speakers close to the roof. They brace to take the tackle head-on. It'll hurt. But more importantly, it'll take both of them over the edge, into the waiting arms of... well, something.
Caelan Stuart	The cops are rolling up. Finally, backup's arrived-- but as it turns out, the one faster on the draw was a slavic pizza place owner with a goddamn semi-automatic shotgun. Caelan wisely decides that he will inquire about where the heck that thing came from and what he's doing with it... at a later junction. Right now, he's got other business. Jan has help in the form of an actual goddamn henshin hero, but the one on the roof isn't so lucky. A cordon of police cars roll up, forming a perimeter around the rooftop scuffle. Caelan makes his way over to explain the situation-- as he sees it-- to the officers, who quickly begin forming ranks. "Drop your weapons and surrender immediately," one of them calls through a megaphone, "We have you surrounded." Meanwhile, Caelan... is getting patched up and giving an Official Report. Someone tried firing on a local teenager, who was saved by a passing by Kamen Rider. And then the people in the very obvious surveillance van with very out of date papers started getting violent. One of them assaulted a cop! It's not going to be a good look for Solutionsy-- not at /all./
Stanley Padgett	Dmitri is snarling. "IMMA CRUSH YOU, YOU PILE OF TIN." He staggers, his leg giving out under him, but there's still enough oopmh in the other to propel him forward, and into DRYCLEAN.... and over the edge.... Hmmmm. Smith.... hugs Woz on the way out. And holds on. Jan, in the meantime, seems happy to have the backup, or to be the backup. The pair make quick work of the last two dogs, which are... well, disorganized and scatterbrained, somehow, and just stop coordinating at all. "HAH! There. No more robots, no more.... danger to teens." He stands up straight, and holds out a hand to Zi-O.... and then finds Detective Caelan. "OFFICER. IS good you have things in hand. I am here to give full report, and also... this gun, it belonged to attackers, you should have it for... evidence."
Stanley Padgett	Stanley, for his part, just hugs Charlotte. "What was I supposed to do, just let you take hits? Nah. Also it looked better." hough he peeks out the window to where the cops are starting to mill around and Detective Caelan is doing his thing. "I knew there was a reason I liked Jan. Also.... we're going to need to get our stories straight."
Charlotte Newman	Charlotte lets out a 'heh', "Yeah, it did, didn't it?" "Also... We're going to need to get our stories straight." "What's to get straight?" the girl asks, "We met up at Taco Hut, went outside, and these goons tried to kill us with robot dogs and-- actual magic?" She shakes her head, "That's literally what happened. Hard to mess up a lie when it's the truth." Eyes closing, Charlotte remarks, "'Why were we at the taco hut?' Asking a teenager why they were at any fast food place in the middle of the day during winter break? Might as well ask why the sky is blue. We didn't do anything, least of all anything out of the ordinary."
DRYCLEAN-SIGINT	Crunch. Breaking glass. Very few people are in a position to tell that DRYCLEAN was fully capable of properly rolling with the fall, but instead they opted to... hug Dmitri on the way down. And hold on. The entire weight of the man just crushes them, cables breaking and leaking a dark fluid, monitors cracking and glass shards spraying. Play up the injury. Add obvious assault, even murder to the charge. Helps avoid questioning. They go limp, though that static still remains, faintly. The beam and its accompanying arcane circle disappear - flicked off, anticlimactically. A small gouge through the street, still bubbling slightly around the edge, is the only evidence remaining.
Caelan Stuart	"Mister Kotzya--" Caelan stares at the man...'s gun. He's a known quantity around here, Officer Stuart. Used to do this beat pretty often back in the day. So of course he knows some of the people around town. "...Right. Got it," he gratefully receives he weapon and pulls out his Handy Cop Note Pad. "So tell me what you saw from the beginning..." (Meanwhile, the first-aid cop who is busy trying to figure out what the heck you put on MAGIC BURNS is trying to deal with Officer Stuart's injury. This is not helped by the fact that he's STILL working. She is having quite a day, miss first-aid cop is. Why did she have to be the one to learn how to do first-aid? Probably a gender role thing. Damn.) Something goes crashing down nearby. Caelan briefly glances over, but other officers quickly move in to surround and arrest the Solo. His job is done-- except for taking Jan's statement, of course.
Timespace Riders	Woz puts up with the indignity of being hugged, but only just. His helmet hides the frown of disdain. Still--he abides by the bargain set forth by his king, and travels with Smith to the Grand Dorado, where she is welcome to stay as a guest with the finest amenities (and security) money and power can provide, until she either finds a line of work elsewhere or signs on--the Concord is always looking for driven, talented people, after all, and magic is often a deeply personal, demanding field. There are questions Sougo would ask of her, but those will be asked and answered later. For now, the boy who would be king removes the watch from his Driver, pink light washing over him. Sougo Tokiwa shakes Jan's hand firmly, smiling bright. He sticks around, adding credence and supporting details to Stanley, Charlotte and Jan's testimony, making the deliberate decision to keep the belt on over his oversized, pastel pink shirt. 'Being a Rider' does not necessarily make one part of Rider Services, his world's emergency response service--but 'having a belt' does tend to create certain associations Multiversally. If nothing else, he can let a few things slip to give the idea that he's some kind of vigilante 'in the neighborhood,' as opposed to the more complex truth. Once that's done, he leaves town, intent on holding Smith to her end of the deal they struck.