[center][b][h1][color=#44F03E]𝔽[/color][color=#42E93C]𝕦[/color][color=#40E33A]𝕥[/color][color=#3EDD39]𝕚[/color][color=#3DD737]𝕝[/color][color=#3BD136]𝕚[/color][color=#39CB34]𝕥[/color][color=#38C532]𝕪[/color][color=#36BF31]:[/color] [color=#32B32E]𝕋[/color][color=#31AD2C]𝕙[/color][color=#2FA62A]𝕖[/color] [color=#2C9A27]𝔾[/color][color=#2A9426]𝕣[/color][color=#288E24]𝕖[/color][color=#268823]𝕒[/color][color=#258221]t[/color] [color=#21761E]𝔾[/color][color=#20701C]𝕒[/color][color=#1E6A1B]𝕞[/color][color=#1C6419]𝕖[/color][/h1][/b][/center]
[color=008000]
[h3]𝕆𝕝𝕕 ℝ𝕒𝕚𝕝 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕡, ℙ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟[/h3]
[b]ℕ𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝟠𝕥𝕙, 𝟚𝟘𝟞𝟜   𝟙𝟡:1𝟘[/b]

[b][𝔻𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕪 & 𝔻𝕦𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪], 𝕀𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘...[/b][/color]

What was clearly never intended to be a heated firefight had turned the [i]Old Rail Stop[/i] into a warzone. The few scattered Knights, in between their clattering for cover, urgent efforts to procure the machines, and frenzied attempts to keep Taryn and Mackwell locked down, were very clearly under-prepared for the whole ordeal. Despite that, however, the Knights were no small-time gangers. The feared reputation had taken them this far. From industrial extortion to election fraud, it was difficult to tell if the Knights had looked upon themselves as an unstoppable force or simply a group that was too far gone to turn around. Either way, the thieves at the Rail Stop had no intention of losing their fight or dying there that day.

Once Mackwell had abandoned his efforts with his flechette weapon, the gang resumed their goal-oriented offense. Leaping from cover, one comrade would cover the other as he drove himself towards the remaining upright machine. Whatever fire might have held down the Knights' position would quickly perish, though, as Mackwell's Street Shredder tore asunder the cover that kept the suppressing man safe. The Knight ganger struggled from his prone position, remaining immobile for a long moment as he attempted to recollect both himself and his firearm. The determinant ganger remained, soon skidding to a halt in cover behind the final working voting machine. Without heed for the machine at all, the man slammed his shoulder into it to knock it onto its side atop its broken counterpart. 

Mackwell's Prism helmet receiver crackled to life once again as Delilah bounced from one location in Labyrinth to another. The available nodes were sparse around the Old Rail Stop and offered little in the way of valid information. The block around the campaign team that had been almost entirely abandoned just didn't have that many static node connections to the Net. Cyber Matrix nodes, maybe, but Labyrinth was too new. After a complete scan of the immediate area, the best Delilah could find were a set of three linked cameras that offered vision on the outskirts of the Rail Stop. As it stood, the static nodes offered her no insight into the situation of those inside. She was blind, but not entirely deaf as Mackwell's voice boomed in the simulated cyberscape.

[color=#035096][b]"Okay... That's not too hot."[/b][/color] Despite the dire circumstances of her colleagues in the heat of battle and the urgent tone of Mackwell, Delilah seemed to maintain that detached, sarcastic, and uncertain tone to her words. [color=#035096][b]"Cass... Cass... Cass..."[/b][/color] Delilah simply kept repeating the name as she surfed through the available nodes. [i]Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.[/i] The static grid of Labyrinth servers offered nothing. Delilah had no connections, at least in this surface level of Labyrinth. Inspiration struck the netrunner, and the interpretation of the digital world around her began to morph and meld into a completely new environment. Rather than viewing the world from a series of nodes, Labyrinth became a sea of glowing white, broken only by the powerful neon signals that speed back and forth. [i]Moving nodes.[/i] Just like Mackwell's prism helmet, there were always a number of people with devices, drones, or other connected robotic structures buzzing throughout the Reclaim Zone. In honesty, Delilah was surprised to find as many as she had on the abandoned block. The radio signals transmitted to Mackwell returned.

[color=#035096][b]"Ah! There's some sort of vehicle that just came towards the Rail Stop from an alley in the back! And there's more broken signals nearby. If I had to guess the whereabouts of our very own swordswoman, I'd say she's probably where all that nonsense is. Seeing what's for real, though, [i]that's on you.[/i]"[/b][/color]

As Delilah's voice dropped to an indiscernible static once again, it was instantly replaced with the hard fall of the third Knight ganger who smacked hard against the concrete upon Taryn's well-placed volley. The Type-12 was as reliable as ever. Certainly more reliable than any cheap Chinese flechette gun. Of course, one pistol could hardly make you an unbeatable warrior. The downed Knight that Mackwell had previously disoriented blindly took his shot the moment his hand clasped back around his submachine gun, catching Taryn's leg from his low position. Another potshot cracked through the air from the Knight now concealed behind the voting kiosk, his own pistol protruding from above the makeshift cover.

The momentary dialogue between Mackwell and Taryn was all it took to alert the uninjured Knight to his opportunity. The next time the two campaigners would look beyond their concrete pylon, the two prone voting kiosks on the dolly would be on the move towards the back exit of the Rail Stop. The mobile cover was all he needed to race for safety, unaware of the predicament of his still living brother. One might say the Knight's goal of escape was clear, but were the intentions of the Campbell's campaign team any more transparent? Two of the gangers remained, though not for long on either part, and what awaited beyond the open corridors of the Rail Stop was anyone's guess.