[center][h2]High Midnight, Part 1[/h2][/center]
 
[img]https://i.imgur.com/ITOLfZk.png[/img]
 
JP/Collab from [@Xandrya], [@Gunther}, [@wanderingwolf], and [@sail3695]   

The China Doll was still a few hours out from Osiris. Joe retired to his quarters in order to prepare for what was to come. He decided now was the time to alter his appearance slightly. He retrieved his razor, shave cream and a towel; then proceeded to the head. Once there, he shaved off his beard and cut his hair. When he returned to his quarters, his head was completely bald and face was clean shaven. He was quite worried about the encounter about to happen. His worry was more directed toward the crew than himself.

He slipped on a pair of tan canvas work trousers with cargo pockets, black T-shirt, his black work boots and the black nylon assault vest he kept in his duffel bag just for situations like this. He also had a pair of black leather gloves with the fingertips removed and his black wool watch cap.

He loaded twelve, 10-round magazines with .308 caliber ammunition for the H&K 770 gas operated rifle. He used the rifle more for distance and would use it for that purpose this time too. By removing the scope, it worked equally well as an assault rifle. Then he inserted two each magazines into the four ammo pouches on the front of the vest. The best also included a first aid kit, two 2-quart canteens and a butt pack. The butt pack contained spare rations, a weapons cleaning kit and a rag.

By the time the ship landed on Osiris, Joe Hooker was ready to go. He needed to help Cal and Rex unload the pallets. Once that was complete, Joe slung his rifle over his shoulder and headed off into the darkness.
 
Edina stood with the others, feeling like the biggest gorram impostor there was.  Her hands were trembling so badly that she was terrified of the gun that now seemed to have tripled its’ weight in her jacket pocket.   They’d all heard the approaching roar of the hovering bikes.  When the machines finally appeared, their headlights were obvious, yet her nerves wouldn’t stop her from blurting out “there they are!”  She quickly glanced at her four shipmates.  Yuri’s composure held, but she could read some nerves behind his eyes.  The Doctor appeared thoughtful, as if studying a virus under a microscope.  Her glance toward Rex was met with a wink.  But the captain…she’d never seen the kind of cold eyed hardness in the man’s features before.  And in that moment, she found herself thankful that he was here to lead them.
 
The air felt thicker to Alana somehow, almost as if suffocating her. But despite the tense ambience, there was a sense of camaraderie to the crew, one brought on by their sole mission to bring Abby back alive and in one piece. The weapon she'd been loaned by Cal was kept from sight securely tucked against the small of her back, his act of kindness one she was more than thankful for, especially as the gang began descending upon them. Their numbers were impressive, but Alana's bravado didn't waver any because of it. In fact, she felt a slight sense of rage starting to form by their mere presence.
 
As the crew watched, eighteen sky cycles rumbled into the area.  The ‘sleds’ hoverd a meter off the ground as they fanned out to form a semicircular ring around China Doll’s cargo bay entrance.  Headlights played brilliant upon the five would-be defenders as the bikes settled to ground and kickstands were put out.  The riders, all in combinations of denim and leather embellished by the cuts proclaiming their gang affiliations, climbed off their machines.  Not a word was spoken as they squared up with the boat crew.  As a rusty van rattled to a stop behind this armada, the two gang leaders, Root and Pacho, shared a few whispers.
 
Yuri squinted in the headlights’ glare.  [i]So many of them.[/i]  The mechanic hadn’t seen clearly enough to count the horde of bikers, but his rough estimate came in at about three to one in their favor…even with Hook’s rifle out there in the darkness.  He recognized one advantage.  They’d all stepped forward in masse, forming a large, black silhouette before the headlights of their bikes.  If this meeting went badly, China Doll’s crew need only fire into that black blob of humanity.  Edina had moved in close to his right.  He could feel the woman’s trembling through the touch of their shoulders.  “Gonna be alright,” he whispered.  If the shooting started, he might be able to get her off the ramp and out of the line of fire.  If, if, if…
 
Root nodded agreement with Pacho.  Then, with Nips and Cottonmouth flanking him, he stepped forward.  “Which one of you is Strand?”  Probably not a question he needed to ask.  The tall drink of water at their front looked worthy of the introduction, but this wasn’t Miss Madelyn’s Charm School.  “That you?” he asked.
 
"You the fella called Root?" Strand replied from the ramp, not shifting an inch. His eyes passed slowly across Root and his two lieutenants as their dance circled to the next phase in posturing: sizing up the opposition.

From his step toward the Doll, Cal could make out the tools of Root's trade along with the colorful patches muted in the moonless night. His own snub-nose kilo-caliber, a spare from his boot, hung lightly from his cross-holster concealed in the fold of his duster. His eyes met the man's as he added, "Quite the welcoming party you brought all the way from Greenleaf. Could have saved them the trip, though, on account o' we did as you asked without hair nor hide of Alliance." If he was going to deescalate things, now was the time parley.

“That you did,” the bike gang chief replied as he looked over the little knot of people.  Aside from this captain…Strand, the pickings looked pretty slim.  One guy had some beef on him.  Also seemed to be holding nothing more than a knife, not much of an asset for a gunfight.  Skinny guy with a broken arm was packing, considering the bulge in his right pocket.  Two women in the group covered opposite ends of the spectrum.  The blonde had her wits about her, and a cool anger that she kept directed right at him.  On the other hand there was the mocha skinned woman.  Hard to tell if she was gonna leap out of her skin or just pee herself.  That left the Guest of Honor.  “So you ran your cargo under the noses of two cruisers, got it here on time, and collected your little bit of money,” Root observed.  “All according to plan.  But,” he gestured toward the pitiful little crew, “for all your efforts at good faith I don’t see the one fella who’s supposed to be here.”

Cal's hand rose to push the brim of his hat out of his eyes. The biker's dismissive wave may as well have been the universal sign for [i]Chwee Ni Duh[/i]. With a slow shake of his head, Captain Strand's gaze fell to the ancient concrete foundation neath their boots. "Oh he's here..."

Joe was that one fella, but he wasn’t anywhere near the ship. He couldn’t hear any of the conversation at the back of the ramp. He watched from a distance of just under nine hundred meters. He kept the small hand held radio close. It was clipped onto the upper portion of his vest with a small wire and earpiece inserted into his right ear. He peered through the scope. With only a little light available, he could easily make out the group of bikers assembled at the rear of the ramp. They were still a distance from the crew. He could not see the crew that well, but could identify the bikers, one of whom was undoubtedly having a conversation with the captain.

Meeting Root's eyes, the Captain slowly raised a com in plane view before speaking, "Hook? Why don't you let these fine folk you're present and accounted for."

Joe heard the captain’s voice on the radio. He could see the assembled group and their transportation all lined up in a neat row behind them. He was slightly tempted to loose a round into one of their skulls, but thought it best not to play that card yet. They needed Abby still. He panned the barrel several millimeters to the left and found the furthest bike from him. He put the crosshairs on the headlamp and pulled some tension on the trigger. He exhaled, stopped breathing, then completed the rearward movement of his trigger finger. The resultant explosion was just as much a surprise to Joe Hooker as it was to the assembled group below. In less than a third of a second, the headlamp was struck.

Root couldn’t tell from which direction the shot was fired beyond a vague impression of “somewhere to the right.”  As the echo ricocheted numerous times from the surrounding buildings and concrete foundations, the MC president glanced over both shoulders to check the members of his posse.  The only casualty appeared to be one of the bikes, whose headlamp now lay in gleaming shards on the ground.

Captain Strand raised his com again, "Much obliged."

The shot that split the air didn't startle Alana any. After all, the captain had prompted Hook to respond accordingly. She did, however, grow concerned as to the gang's reaction. She continued to keep an eye on them, not so much that fella Root who was engaged with Cal, but the rest of his crew.