Bar Scene

SnowBuni pulled her beige raincoat snug, cinched the belt, and shoved her hands back into her coat pockets, trying her best to keep dry. She pressed back against the dirty-red brick wall in a futile effort to stand on the 3 inch strip alongside the building that wasn't getting pelted with rain. The cement sidewalk, flowing with tiny rivulets of rainwater that carried bits of trash over the curb, was lit in irregular pools by the sickly yellow-green sodium lamps. A yellow cab came sliding around the corner, ignoring the traffic signal, and pulled to a stop in front of her.

A tall man wearing a lumpy black raincoat hopped out of the cab. He handed the cabbie a $20 through the window, and got a small rectangular data cartridge in return. As he turned toward SnowBuni, the floppy brim of his yellow rain-hat hid much of his face, but she could see glints of light reflected off the mirrored visor that covered his eyes.

"Hi, Random," said SnowBuni, stepping forward into the rain. "I wondered who they'd team me up with for this one."

"Me too. Good to see you, Snowy. Hey," he said as he stepped closer to her, "Are those eyes new?" He tilted his head slightly like an inquisitive puppy.

"Nope, same ones I was born with," said SnowBuni, with a slight smirk.

"Oh... They look nice," said Random.

"Thanks. So, what's our goal?" she asked, cutting short the small-talk.

"Just a second, let me check..." said Random, as he pushed his hat back slightly, revealing that the visor didn't just cover his eyes, but was an integrated part of his forehead. With his left hand he slid back a small access cover over his right temple and inserted the cartridge that the cabbie had given him. As he let go, the port cover snapped shut again.

Random twisted his head from side to side several times, as though he was observing the stream of data that was downloading into his brain. He glanced upward, and then returned his gaze to SnowBuni. "Pretty standard recovery scenario," he began. "Looks like we've got a runner. Field operative, but no known security compromise. Not sure if he's gone over or if he's just taking an unapproved vacation. The last ID he had at the time he left was under the name Charles Knight. He's mostly human, Roe-8 like you, but equine. Looks like his only distinguishing external characteristic is... Oh wow... Well, we won't see that if he's got pants on."

Twin three-inch-wide strips of SnowBuni's thick blonde hair shifted downward on either side of her head, betraying her foot-long rabbit-like ears that she was keeping pressed flat and camouflaged against the rest of her hair. It was an involuntary emotional response. Random grinned.

"Anyway," he continued, "Tracking claims that he's inside this bar, and our job is to bring him back. We're to assume he's possibly working with others, might be armed, might be dangerous, but we're to bring him out quietly. Or kill him if we have to. Sounds like fun!"

"Great..." muttered SnowBuni as she grabbed the handle on a black door set in the brick, and entered with Random close behind.

Inside the bar, strobe lights lit the bodies on the central dance floor as they convulsed to the sound of Nine Inch Nails' "Head Like a Hole." Flat black paint on all the walls and the rafters high above absorbed any stray light that might have provided a comfortable sense of the space. Beyond the dance floor was a row of small square tables, and beyond that, a row of booths lined the back wall. A 2nd story balcony kept the booths in permanent shadow. A bored-looking tubby twenty-something with a black "Death Metal" T-shirt and a scruffy beard that didn't hide his puffy, reddened face manned a small counter next to the door. A sign on the counter read "Welcome to the Hole - $10 Cover." "Nice glasses, man," said the counter boy to Random. Random ignored him as he tossed down a $20 and SnowBuni headed for the bar.

Random watched as SnowBuni talked to the bartender and then gestured toward the stairs leading up to the balcony. They rejoined at the top of the stairs. "The bartender said he's up here, room 3."

Outside room 3, SnowBuni glanced up and down the hallway, and when she was certain she wouldn't immediately be seen, pulled out a bulky 10mm semiautomatic pistol. "Activate, Safety Off" she whispered to the gun.

"Activate, Safety Off" echoed Random.

SnowBuni raised her right ear, and put her cheek and ear to the door. Inside she heard the clink of a bottle against a glass, giggling, and then a bubble-headed voice say, "Ooooohhh Charrrrrlie!"

SnowBuni rolled her eyes as she put her ear back flat against her head, then whispered to Random, "He's not alone, but it sounds like he's... entertaining. We'll go in, take a bead, but let's see if we can get out of here without capping anyone, okay?"

"Got it," said Random.

SnowBuni tested the knob, and was surprised to find it unlocked, but didn't miss a beat as she pressed the door open and stepped inside. A single naked bulb hanging from the ceiling lighted the dingy room. A dirty twin bed, with a crater in the middle, sat unused beneath the window on the opposite side of the room. "Charles" was sitting in a cheap armless hotel chair in the center of the room. A big-haired brunette with fairly obvious silicone enhancement was sitting on his lap. SnowBuni was surprised to see that they were both, for the most part, still clothed. The bimbo's right arm, which was wrapped around Charles' neck, held her recently poured glass of whiskey. "Hey!" was all she could think to exclaim when she saw the intruders, as she sloshed her whiskey on Charles' shirt. Charles just raised his right eyebrow slightly, seemingly unsurprised at the quick turn of events, and that a woman was now pointing a very large gun at his head. Random quickly swept his gaze over the entire room, while the lumps under his raincoat shifted slightly.

"Get her..." said SnowBuni to Random, gesturing toward the bimbo, as she stepped forward and grabbed Charles by the shoulders.

"Hey!" said the Bimbo again, as Random slipped a restraining gag over her head. A small box on the gag cinched it tight over her mouth when Random tapped it. She reached up to pull it off, and the fibers of the gag wrapped themselves around her fingers, leaving her hands stuck to her face.

"Can you breath?" asked Random politely. Her eyes were wide with fear but she managed to nod her head "yes."

"Good. It will come off by itself in about half an hour. Don't struggle too much, you might hurt yourself." He set her gently on the floor and put another restraint around her ankles, which cinched them together and then bonded itself to the floor.

Charles didn't attempt to resist. He just chuckled and said, "So, Sylvalagi Special Recovery Forces, I presume? Look, I'm just taking a break. I wanted out."

"Yeah," said SnowBuni, "but really, a human? It looks like you've been thinking with your rather substantial -"

"Hey! She's a nice piece for a Roe-10" objected Charles, as the bimbo's eyes got even wider.

Random looked Charles over from hair to shoes and glanced behind his back, scanning him for millimeter wavelength emission differentials that would reveal any weapons. "He's clean," he said, as SnowBuni pulled the wayward agent to his feet and Random produced a third restraint from his coat pocket. This time Random swung it around Charles' waist and used it to bond his wrists to his belt so he was restrained but could still look almost normal walking out.

"You know we'll kill you if you have to, and you know we don't want to do that," said SnowBuni. Charles looked indifferent.

"Let's roll," said Random.

They made it back down the stairs without incident but as they were walking past the bar on the way to the door, the bartender leaned over and hollered over the music, "everything okay Charlie?"

"A-Okay," Charles hollered back, with a smile. SnowBuni tensed up as Charles spoke, and then jerked his arm to compel him to pick up the pace toward the door.

They were almost to the exit when SnowBuni glanced back at the bar and saw the bartender wave toward the man at the door. "It's a trap!" she yelled to Random, just as a metal security grate came crashing down over the exit. "Gun!" she yelled as the door guardian pulled a pistol grip pump-action shotgun from beneath his counter. She took aim and center punched him. A deep red stain exploded from his chest, and he fell over backwards behind the counter.

As the bartender was drawing a shotgun of his own, Random threw open his raincoat with his four extra arms. They had been wrapped around his torso, hugging him, and he unconsciously smiled at the release from that uncomfortable position. Each of the four extra hands held a gun like SnowBuni's. With his two upper arms, still in the sleeves of the coat, he pulled two more 10mm semi-autos from his belt. He fired all six guns simultaneously at the bartender, who's chest also erupted in a blossom of red as he fell backwards.

Random swiveled his head to scan the rest of the club and realized that virtually everyone on the dance floor was now in the process of drawing weapons. Revolvers, semiautomatics, and sawed off shotguns were being pulled from ankle and shoulder holsters, pockets, belts, and purses. Random began firing into the crowd, six targets at a time, sweeping from right to left. 17 chests erupted into red splotches before Random drew the fire of all 7 remaining club crawlers. They turned Random's chest into a red-stained mess, and he fell over backwards, dropping all 6 of his guns as he went.

As soon as Random had begun shooting, Charles body checked SnowBuni and made a break for the bar. She rolled into a crouch and shot him in the back as he ran.

Boom.

Down.

Taking advantage of the cover Random's distraction provided, SnowBuni tensed up her legs like an over-wound coil-spring and launched herself into a 10 foot vertical back-flip, landing on her hands on the door-side counter and then flipped behind it, crouching next to the stilled body of the door guard. She looked frantically for the security gate release, but found no controls.

"The bartender must have shut the gate," she thought. She heard multiple round being fired from the dance floor, but the counter shielded her. Grabbing the pudgy door guard by the back of his belt with her left hand, she fired three rounds over the counter with her right, hoping to drive the remaining shooters to cover. Then, dragging the guard along as a shield, she rushed for the bar, shooting as she went. She dropped her human shield in front of the bar as she crawled behind. Less than a foot from where the bartender lay, on the underside of the bar, was the toggle switch for the gate, and she flipped it. As the gate went up, and while still shielded by the bar, she ejected the spent magazine from her gun and inserted a fresh 20 rounds in the oversized pistol grip.

Grabbing the bartender for cover this time (who was substantially lighter than the door guy), she retraced her route back toward the door, keeping the body between her and the shooters, who had taken cover behind some of the now overturned tables on the far side of the dance floor. As she pushed the door open into the rain outside, and just as she was about to drop the bartender and make a dash for it, an obnoxious red stain erupted from her chest. She turned around as she fell and saw that Charles was sitting on the floor with his back to the bar, holding two of Random's guns. His bore no sign of injury from previously being shot. "S**t," she though. "A ballistic shirt! We didn't even get vests, and he had a damn ballistic shirt!"

Suddenly the blaring music and strobes in the bar stopped, and far above the rafters a matrix of fluorescent lights clicked on, illuminating the bar and street as well as the domed stone walls of the cavern in which housed the entire scene. The bodies throughout the bar started shifting, sitting up.

<CLICK> "Hold your positions please for final logging!" <CLICK> came a voice over the intercom. Everyone laid back down while a laser-positioning scanner swept across the room and recorded the entire three-dimensional state of the bar.

The intercom voice returned. <CLICK> "All Clear." <CLICK> " The rain on the street was abruptly shut off, and a few seconds later a large bear of a man (literally), wearing an expensive, if almost spherical, suit forged into the bar on his thick legs.

"Hi Boris," said SnowBuni sheepishly. "Not exactly my best performance, I'm afraid."

"Hmph." said the Roe-6 Boris in an impossibly low voice, thickened by his distended animaloid face, "I'd say. Pretty damn sloppy."

"The bartender rolled over where he lay. "Geez, SnowBuni, did you have to drop me so hard??"

"Sorry, Ted." said SnowBuni.

"Alright, boys and bunnies," said Boris, "get yourselves cleaned up. Debrief in the conference room in 20 minutes."

End, For Now...