[IC] One Rainy Night in Chicago

[CadenGallic]

THE ALLEYWAY IN FULLER PARK
6:35 PM

"Now, don't you go fiddling with anything else when you're in the cab with me, y'got it?" Big Rig addressed his new partner, kicking back slightly in the leather seat, hands behind his head as he relaxed a little bit, but keeping an eye on him should he decide to do something incredibly stupid. "There's a few hidden firearms in the cab, in the glove compartment, side of the cabin door, overhead compartment and under the seat. There's a grenade in the head cushion of the seat too, that's for a special occasion, see." He continued to explain, pointing a gloved finger at the various locations, oblivious to the motions of others on the outside.

"NOW! Few more grounds rules. First off, it's my truck, so I pick the radio station. I don't want to hear whinin' about not putting on some pop shit, or whatever you young folks happen to be listenin' to these days." he tapped the radio a few times as his gruff voice made his point 100% clear. No budging on this rule. "If you want food in the truck, clean up after yerself. I don't want rats getting in when I park this thing in the garage later, capiche?" Though he figured this rule wouldn't go down as well, seeing as he still had one or two hot dog crumbs on his shirt from his earlier snack.

"And most important thing, when you get in the truck, lock your side door, you get me?" he showed him by holding the handle of the door and showing a little wedge that, when pushed in, locked the door. "If the door ain't locked, there's a half chance of you flying out when I drive at high speeds, and I WILL drive at high speeds. Or if we're standing still, some asshole can yank the door open and get you out of the car, like this." To demonstrate, Big Rig grabbed the handle and opened the door quickly, with great force, unintentionally slamming it into the person sneaking up on it.

Big Rig heard the slam and it immediatly set him to alert... but, slightly curious, he peeked out at what he'd hit and saw the man in fatigues and the welding mask having gone sprawling. No friend of his, and with that gun in his hand, he doubted he wanted to join the protege line.

"Ok, lesson over, time for a crash course!" He shouted quickly and slammed the door shut, locking it and putting the truck into gear. The mighty armoured rig roared like a demonic hellcat with its tail pulled, and as Big Rig stomped the pedal down to the floor, the truck shot forwards and rushed out onto the street. The night of hell had finally begun and Big Rig was up to bat.

[Atrophy]

FULLER PARK
6:35 PM

FLARE

Flare had one hand on the ground trying to support her buckling legs and her head down when she saw the strobe of red and blue light up the asphalt below her. Shit, shit, shit, she thought, snapping her head up to see the squad car slide to a halt yards before them. Seconds ago, the sirens seemed like they were half the city away. She was certain they would’ve had more time. Whenever one of her flare’s lit up the sky it certainly seemed like the cops drove from halfway across the city. She guessed bigger explosions made for quicker responses. Obvious, really.

She chided herself for even thinking about these things. There were more pressing issues at hand currently, like not spending the rest of her night in jail for starters. Flare kicked it into overdrive and tried to force herself up to her feet so that she could run away like she assumed the others would, but her legs had another idea. They weren’t broken, at least they didn’t hurt enough to seem broken, but they sure as hell were wobbly. She slipped and caught herself from cracking her mask against the ground.

“Dick,” she quietly muttered underneath her breath, already playing out in her mind how the phone call to Mom from inside a jail cell would go.

Hey Mom, it’s me. You know how you thought I was so tired during the day because I was out all night drinking and doing drugs? Well, uh, good news...yeah, that’ s not gonna fly.

“Get the car guy!”

Flare was surprised to hear Arc’s voice and to see that both him and the Toy King had held their ground instead of leaving her in favor of a quick getaway. However, whatever warm and fuzzy feeling that was surfacing inside of her from their sudden camaraderie was quickly replaced with a hot anger as she watched Arc smack one cop in the knee like he was swinging for the fences while the King scrambled the brains of the other one. Flare always had this kind of idea that she was, in a way, working with the police, not competing against them like some of her kind. Shit like this was why she got chased by cops whenever they saw her. Well, that, and the act of maiming petty crooks, but it was much easier to blame others.

Still, all things considered, it was a better outcome than going downtown. She swallowed the venomous words that had risen to her tongue and finished pulling herself back off of the ground, although not without letting a pained grunt escape from her lips. Flare rubbed her neck, looked around between the KO’ed cops and the Fuller Park Crater, and decided that she had done enough for the night. Certainly, disposing of a bomb threat warranted some kind of break. She’d slump home after ditching these zeroes, hang up her cowl, and spend the rest of the night in the tub with hopes that she didn’t wake up the next morning with a full body charley horse.

“Like I was saying,” she said with a huff, picking a bit of garbage off of herself, “let’s get off of the streets.”

Flare took two uncertain steps towards an alley and then stopped, although not because she couldn’t walk. She had seen something in the red and blue glow of the flashing lights: the gun. At first she thought about leaving it there. Ideally, the officer would recover and retrieve his firearm. Then again, things were never ideal. Besides, if she had a gun earlier than she never would’ve gotten close to Derby, never would’ve been blown away by some big explosive, never would’ve almost been arrested, and those two cops never would’ve been put down the path to an early desk job.

Screw it, she thought as she bent down and scooped up the weapon. Flare checked to ensure that the firearm was safe and then slid the gun into the waistband of her jeans. She felt every bit like an asshole for doing so, but the holster on her vest was already occupied. And it wasn’t like she actually planned on firing it anyway, unless some other lunatic throwing pipe bombs showed up on her trip back to her Mom’s apartment. So, like, a fifty-fifty shot.

“Fuck me, I hate walking,” she said with a drawn out groan, as if the others needed to know how each heavy, joint-straining step towards the alley was more exhausting than the last. The roar of a nearby car engine—a cop? No shit, it’s gonna be a cop—drove whatever pain there seemingly was there temporarily out of existence, however, as Flare quickly shot a glance at the other two before picking up her pace and hustling for the comforting safety of a dark alley in one of Chicago’s least friendly neighborhoods.

[Polyphemus]

ALL OVER CHICAGO

"Fuck!" one of the men in welding masks yelled in frustration as Big Rig's armored vehicle roaring away, knocking Iconoclasts aside like bowling pins as it tore out onto the street. He fumbled with his shoulder radio through his gloves, finally managing to key the mic. "Control, we got a runner. Big Rig is taking to the streets. Can we get eyes in the sky?"

"Roger that," one of the women miles away in the command center replied said, conveying the request to teams of Iconoclasts on the South Side. Within seconds, drones began to launch from rooftops, their sensitive cameras searching the streets for Big Rig's vehicles. Only a few seconds later, the radio net crackled to life again.

"We've got eyes on Big Rig." The voice reported a street and direction.

The woman at command nodded to herself, a motion lost on those listening to her all over the South Side. "All units in the area, get on him. We need pursuit vehicles and a roadblock."

"Copy that. Team Four taking over on Big Rig." This voice was a man's, reedy, with a notable Bostonian accent.

Less than a minute after the call was made, three vehicles peeled out from side streets just behind Big Rig's monstrous truck, keeping pace with the armored vehicle and throwing plumes of rainwater from their spinning tires. Two motorcycles and a pickup, driven by men and women who obviously had some skill and long experience at pursuing fleeing vehicles. From the back of the pickup, one Iconoclasts shouldered a G36 assault rifle and fired a volley of 5.56 rounds at Big Rig's truck.

About half a mile ahead of the chase, a heavy semi and trailer were pulled across the road, blocking any passage at all. More and more Iconoclasts were arriving on the scene, grimly checking their weapons and taking defensive positions. "I need any heavy weapons ready to go," one masked man instructed in a Boston accent. Adding action to his words, the Bostonian extended the tube on a M72 LAW rocket launcher- a portable anti-tank weapon, slick with rain.

FULLER PARK

The cacophony of sirens only grew louder as more police cars drew near. Three more rounded the corner, heading straight for the trio of vigilantes.

Ahead of them all was an unmarked Mercury, lights flashing on the dash. The Mercury squealed to a halt on the wet pavement, and a man in civilian clothing jumped out, badge held aloft over his head. He waved at the uniformed cops with a gesture clearly meant to say "hold on, guys". The black-and-whites rolled to a stop, lights flashing.

The man walked slowly and deliberately towards the vigilantes, hands raised. He made no move towards the pistol on his belt. As he drew closer, any of the vigilantes who had watched television earlier that evening would recognize him: Vaughn Czarny, the cop in charge of the Chicago PD's Vigilante Task Force.

"We can protect you!" Czarny offered without preamble. "If you come in without putting up a fight, we can protect you from the Iconoclasts! No one has to die tonight, we've got the manpower to stop them if you help us!"

The anti-vigilante cop stopped twenty feet away from Toy King, Arc, and Flare, hands raised and making no move to attack.

[CadenGallic]

THE ROAD
6:36 PM

"Looks like the war starts now! Suppose it figures you'd go gunning for a big shot like me, huh?!" The truck driver cackled with a certain mad glee. Let these Iconoclasts come after him with all the could muster, he'd shove every single one of their toys up their asses ad out their mouths. He set his truck into high gear as it tore up the road. He checked his rear view mirror, counting a few pursuers, two on bikes and one pickup. And the pickup was the only one taking shots right now.

Big Rig considered his options. He could probably send a little explosive surprise down one of the pipes and that might hit the pickup, that thing was his biggest problem at present. Nah, that would never work, they'd probably miss it by the narrowest of narrow margins. And if these guys WERE prepared, they probably had something awaiting him up ahead. Big Rig knew this road, the chances of splitting off of it were slim to none, roads were too small. So whatever was up ahead, he'd need to be ready for it. He needed to lose the pickup as fast as possible. Once the gunner was down, he could access his mortar cannon on the roof and maybe take out whatever was lying in wait up ahead. Alright, good plan. He could just cut ad run, but if these guys were so foolhardy to try their luck against him, he'd pay them back and then some.

Big Rig wavered for a little, swerving over the road while as his truck took a few hits from behind, the armour plating would hold against moderate gunfire, but even now a little checklist in his head was racking up for repairs he'd have to make. Once he was on the left side, right in front of one of the bikes, he slammed on the brakes as his truck would rocket backward. With any luck, he'd run that pathetic two wheeled excuse for a machine over. Even if he didn't, he could get behind the pickup and let the machine guns in the truck's grille deal with them.