Swoopy looked up from affixing a small primer charge to what was left of the dragon's ammo supply and fuel tank. Empty fuel tanks made the biggest explosions, what with all the vapors.

"So boss, it's like this. Ite's down and not coming back up from what I'm hearing. We're gonna drop him somewhere unless we start moving on roads. If we drop him in the UCAS, I've got no doubt that Shriki's contact might not ask questions, but someone is gonna. The only question is when they'd pick him up and skull-fuck his parts until they compromise us entirely. Any way we look at it, even if we bring him along it's 1600 klicks to St Louis  or 650 to the CAS. Maybe we'd make it, maybe we wouldn't. The odds won't be great. Or...well, Colonel Howls at the Poon is kinda a pussy. We're damn close to the border. Nothing saying we couldn't drop link, silently tell him to fuck off, and then cross over to our side. They aren't looking for us and they'll assume we've gone quiet while we E&E. We can slip back around through the CAS and avoid this whole goat rodeo...plus we can stash Ite with a Sioux doc trust we don't have to bring him with or leave him to be mechanically exploited by the UCAS.

Simple enough. Get to Trenton, buy a few cheap links, turn on some fake SINs and we can slip pretty easy past tribal police. Way easier than seeing if we can get through sovereign UCAS territory with a shoot on sight status."

<<01:30 Sunday, January 31st, 2075 - Massacre Canyon, Nebraska, UCAS>>

The fuel in the Dragon was good for 50 nautical miles, but you'll be damned if Shiriki - through effective resource management and crafty use of tailwinds - doesn't squeeze another 10 out of it.

You broke out of the blizzard ten minutes ago. Now, you're treated to a full moon beaming brightly down on you like the Great Satan's own spotlight.

The Dragon coughs and sputters, and Shiriki sets it down in the snow as gently as a tired head coming to rest on a cool, down pillow. Except "cool" in this case is hypothermia and the "down" is going to leave highly obvious tracks that point in your direction.

You climb out of the Dragon. Now that the rotors have come to a stop and the storm has passed, you realize that it's the first silence you've had in a while. But why is it so aggravating? Instead of tranquility, all you feel is angst, like something is scratching at your brain.

Per Chante's instructions, Shiriki has put you down on the lip of Massacre Canyon. The Republican River runs down the middle of it, except that the river is a pathetic rivulet that's been choked off by the dam about 10km upstream. What's left of the stream is frozen.

There's a highway about three kilometers to the north. Given the terrain, you have little difficulty spotting red-and-blue flashing lights approaching your position from the direction of Trenton to the west. The small hamlet might number 1,000 souls, but only if you include pigs and cows in the final tally. You're impressed that they have two cops, let alone two cop cars. Shiriki sends his drones aloft to get a better view.

He actually finds three vehicles approaching. In the lead there's a Toyota Gopher with a make-shift snowplow attached to the front. It's clearing the way for the two Ford Americars trailing behind. The Americars have the flashing lights while the Gopher looks like a civilian vehicle. There's little doubt they're headed in your direction but they aren't moving very quickly. Shiriki estimates that you have a 10-minute head start, maybe 15 minutes if their progress slows once they turn off the highway.

Swoopy considers the canyon. It is spooky, there's no two ways about it. Ghostly images flit in and out of existence, slowly sweeping along the canyon floor. Swoopy is as mundane as a brick, so if he can see it then he knows that the Awakened will have their sixth senses screaming.

Mogwai recoils and cowers closely to Dan-Dan's chest. There's a feeling of foreboding emanating from the canyon. Dan-Dan can't shake the feeling that if the team goes down there, there will be violence. Given the approaching law enforcement, that might be unavoidable, but it feels like this time there will be blood.

Edit: grammar
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:29, Tue 15 Aug 2017.

Dan-Dan steps off the cooling bird, the hissing cat slinking around his ankles before jumping up his back and clinging to his shoulders and neck.

He looks down at his arms. They're covered in blood and he can feel it cooling as it drips, to fall splat in the snow. Splat. Splat. He's certain it's not his blood but that of his victim, from when he'd gutted her. Her hot stinking viscera spilling at his moccasins.

He looks up at Shiriki. And takes a half step towards his next victim, before his iron control asserts itself. Shiriki bears a ravaged expression. A face of grief and dread.

Chante has a rictus snarl on her face, trophies from her fallen foes dangling at her hip. Her warpaint is crude and savage. Blood is smeared around her lips, her own from where her teeth hat cut her lips. A bloody froth from the savage points she'd filed her teeth into. She didn't seem to notice or care.

Slowly, the vision faded. It was not at all ghostly, but filled with colour, sound and stink. This was at the edge of the massacre site. If Chante summoned a spirit now, it would not doubt be a bloody spirit. At least for her. The same might not be the case for the Anglos, if they could summon anything at all. Her face was still a snarl.

"I don't think the watchers will be an issue."

Swoopy looked over the situation, waiting for six to make the big call. She still seemed to be chewing on that one though, and sometimes you needed a bit of action right now.

"Shiriki, jack some of those SUVs from "Massacre Canton Reflections" and send them screaming toward the cops. See what they do. They bite, we swing back out of here along 6 while they deal with that. They don't bite, we know they're bee-lining for the crash and we slip west on the ATVs cross country.

Dan, get Ite ready to move, rough.

I'll set the Doberman to autonomous engagement pointing down that road if you tell me it's good. If the cops do arrive here, that'll bog them down for a bit while we bail. After that I'll be back with an ATV."

Chante nodded at that.  "Also, let's see what we can do to light this bird up.  If it's a blazing inferno, it might take a while to confirm we're not dead in the fire."

She thought a few moments about their medical options.  Drek, they're right, we need to get Ite someplace safe.

"Alright, we take Ite to the border, get him across, then we make the move to St. Louis.  I don't like it, but I knew the risks when I signed on with the 'Cats and I'll be damned if I'll dishonor that right out the gates.  We give the Council a chance to fix it.  Lay low and reassess when we need to."  She looks at the team evenly.  "Any objections?"

Shiriki doesn't like it. The canyon seems off, and while it's keeping the watcher spirits from getting a bead on them, he's worried that it's affecting the processing power of the mojo slingers' domes. Everyone on the team knew exactly what they were going in for when they signed up for the Wildcats, to say nothing of this particular mission. If things had gone sideways at the base, they wouldn't have expected a rescue mission. No, they'd be disavowed, labeled by their own government as some sort of extremist faction, terrorists, maybe even shadowrunners out doing the bidding of some third party.

They'd all signed up for it.

And Shiriki doesn't know if he buys all this CFD drek, but what if it's true? If the OMI was right, then Chante has just ordered him to put the entire Sioux Nation at risk for Ité, and Ité wouldn't want that.

And if OMI's wrong, it's the best chance he's got, he weighs on the other hand.

Regardless, the first steps they need to take are the same: rig the dragon to blow, get some of those ATVs running, deal with the approaching militia. Shiriki finishes transferring ownership of the Doberman, and starts to work on rigging some explosives to his jammer.

"I don't like it, Captain," he says as he works. "We get Ité across the border. Fine. Then what do we do with him? We've got no support, nobody we can call, and once we blow the bird, my jammer's going with it. And let's say we get somebody down to patch him up, bring him back to civilization where he's got a shot at making it, what if he ends up being a headcase? We've just brought CFD to Cheyenne, or Rapid City, done the UCAS' work for them."

"It's the best chance he's got," Chante answers.

"Are you giving me a direct order?" Shiriki asks.

Dan-Dan considered.

On the one hand he didn't much care for rules, especially other's. He did care about doing the best for his patients, as he saw it, though that was more to do with pride and the challenge involved. Also, the colonel was a political idiot who the top brass would happily throw under a bus if it was expedient (and he likely knew this, though you could never tell). Being forced to cart Ite around with them would be he'll on morale if it got back to the wider Sioux military (and they could do that easily) even with the threat of him being a headcase. Dan himself had detected no sign of infection, though he couldn't rule it out without the equipment available, especially in the early hours of contagion. This all argued for giving the colonel the bird, which had a certain appeal to itself.

On the other hand, Danyes didn't like getting caught or facing whatever repercussions might follow from breaking orders. Some of that would fall on the captain and his medical oath would Shield him some. He could also play the religion card as a follower of cat, though that had its own risks and downsides. On the other hand, CFD was serious mojo and not something that you took risks with. Though as a new issue, studying it would put him at the forefront of research and he'd never seen an actual case live. That was all a bit too risky though. Dan liked being well Dan. On balance he'd probably follow orders this time but use it to fling drek at the colonel. Not his call. For now at least he'd follow the Captain. If he voted against and was overruled that would give additional cover.

"I've mixed feelings to  be fair. It's best for the slab of meat to get him to medical facilities, which are best back home. But CFD is serious and no mistake. I've detected none, but can't rule it out without a better facilities or an autopsy. The colonels a worm of course. Even so, he may have a point. Getbme to better diagnostics and I can do s heck of slot more for him. I'd follow orders for now I think, though frankly Cap it's your call. Time to earn those pips."

"On the local yokels, let's send some cars towards them but have them be caught in the blast if you've the skills to do it. That should cause plenty of confusion to exploit. The Cap could add some illusions to further complicate things nicely. We drive off in the muddle. Pets not kill any just yet, we're still under mission parameters and counting coup. Record it if we can, a little keystone cops plays well. I'd like to get that EMP if possible, but not my field. Whatever were doing we need to hustle now."

Chante considered.  It wasn't a good look to waffle, but in a situation like this, it was better to take into account the thoughts of the Soldiers she was with.  No easy answers.

"Two problems on this side.  We don't have any way to confirm and we can't be sure he won't get picked up, in which case we may as well put a bullet in him."  She scowls as those words pass her lips.

She shakes her head, then looks at the troop.

"Alright, we drop him off locally.  I'll give someone a call and hope they can be ready to move him if the time comes.  Beyond that, we leave it to the fates."

She sighs deeply, unconvinced but surrendering to the reality.

"Let's not waste anymore time," she says, then turns, looking at the helicopter.  "Frag it."

She grabbed her gear and, as she did so, pulled up her contact list and made a call.

Swoopy frowns when Chante goes to make the call. The CSAR folks are dead set against electronic emissions, as they often make you dead. But in this instance the watchers are already following you, and the Dragon is about to explode, so your current location isn't exactly a state secret, even though it should be.

Why did those gunships veer off at the last minute? Probably so that the UCAS can get their hands on you to practice some of their enhanced interrogation techniques. The techniques won't be physical, or least not external. They will need you looking nice and intact for your public trial. Hell, they might even spot you a lawyer. Maybe there is some JAG who needs his or her career flushed down the toilet for the same reason that soldiers jump out of perfectly good airplanes: because they are assets, and they are expendable.

Chante dials up Paytah 'Peter' Venom-Spitter, a Tiošpaye Smuggler. He has a strong sense of family loyalty, and the good news is that he considers Chante to be family.

Unsurprisingly, Venom-Spitter's voice is sharp and direct. "What."

Chante responds in kind. "I need an exfil. I'm on the wrong side of the border."

Peter isn't fooled. "Negative. You wouldn't believe the lead wall that's been dropped in the last half hour."

"I would, actually."

Peter is no fool. "You usually have people for this. If you don't, that means you're off the rez both literally and metaphorically. And that probably means you might be the reason for that lead wall."

"No comment."

"I can get in but I can't get you out. What's you second choice?"

Chante scowls. The alternative is so much more complicated. "I have a man down who needs to go underground. If you can't get him back, then at least come to us. Take him off our hands, lay low with him, keep tabs on what's going on, and get him to a doc when the coast is clear. We have a doc ID'd. Get him out when you can."

"That sounds horrible. What's the catch?"

"He's a troll and he's non-responsive."

Venom-Spitter lets out a low whistle that almost sounds like a hiss. "What's wrong with him?"

"Biofeedback. He was busy punching Anglos in the throat."

"My man. But this isn't your standard job."

Chante cuts him off. She figures she'd better name her price in advance, then leverage whatever familial - and nationalistic - feelings that Peter has. Her fingers instinctually go to the hard coin sewn into her cold suit.

"I have five American Gold Eagles. Current market value is ¥2,000 a piece. Don't ask for more because that's literally all I have." She figures large numbers will sound more impressive. "That's $20,000 in UCAS dollars," she adds, guessing at the conversion rate.

There's a long, uncomfortable pause. The flashing lights are getting closer to your position. Shiriki is busy hacking ATVs while his new Doberman sets a perimeter with Swoopy. Dan-Dan is busy trying to keep Ité on the right side of Wakan Tanka.

"Alright," Peter says at last. "Where are you."

"Here," Chante says, dropping a pin. "Five klicks east of Trenton."

"No!" Peter almost shouts. "Nonononono, not Massacre Canyon. You keep me well away from there. Where's the doc you ID'd?

"McCook."

"That's fine; I'll meet you in McCook. I need two hours to get to you."

"Two hours?" Chante complains.

"There's a blizzard between you and me, you know. Besides, you got 35 klicks you need to cover yourself. I'm guessing the name of your game isn't to stop and wait for things to catch up to you. Get moving and I'll meet you there. 03:30."

"03:30," Chante confirms and disconnects.

<<Roll call>> she comms.

<<Contact in five minutes>> Swoopy reports.

<<Seven ATVs>> Shiriki adds.

<<Dragon's ready to breathe fire one last time>> Dan-Dan responds.

<<We're going to McCook. Let's move.>>

 The roar of the heavy machinegun bellowed through the night, and it looked like that pick-up truck, no doubt the pride and joy of it's owners, wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. Looked like the local law still used the grand old tradition of a posse and deputies, or maybe isolated rural areas just generated brave men who would band together when the community was under threat. Dad, had he still been allowed to teach history in the NAN as he did at Chicago, would have probably commented on the poetic justice/irony of a bunch of hyper-masculine, courageous, and aggressive Anglos charging over the plains only to retreat ignominiously in the face of industrial grade firepower manned by Sioux.  The role reversal was, if you thought about it, pretty perfect.

Then again, referring to things like that was one of the reasons Dad wasn't allowed to be so much as an adjunct in the NAN.

Swoopy, unburdened by a doctorate or any likelihood of getting one in the NAN, simply took a bit of primal pleasure in watching the other guys run in fear. Well, his professional self noted the sheriffs themselves were making a perfectly reasonable effort to pull away the wounded and fall back in something approaching control, but instinctively it was the other guy running bloody and afraid - and no one got to be amongst the Sioux's elite shooters without the instinct that told them this was a glorious thing.

An ATV rolled up. Swoopy got on, Doberman in tow.

"Let's go"

As the UCAS militia-men tick closer to the helicopter's landing site, Shiriki sends up his Fly Spies to get the lay of the land and plan their exfiltration to McCook. They start their orbit, and Shiriki grabs Ité's cyberdeck, and sets its scanner to long range. He picks up the patrol cars from Trenton, a pickup with some crude Mr. Plow ARO, and last a number of ATVs they must rent at the site of his forefathers' massacre.

That their opposition wasn't running Wireless Off showed just how out of their depths they were, but in the present circumstances there wasn't much Shiriki could do about it. Ité on the other hand, that fragging troll could've hacked one to crash into another while the third vehicle started to believe itself a toaster and just frag out quit while it was trying to figure out how to turn the two metas in the front seat extra crispy with the woefully inadequate heating system.

Not that Shirki was without his own charms. Dan-Dan finishes with the improvised explosives while the elder elf pops into hot sim and gets to work on the ATVs. If the owner of the rental service wasn't such a historically insensitive hoop fragger Shiriki might almost feel sorry for milking the guy out of seven of his 8 most prized ATVs, but seriously, who stores their ATVs where you don't even need to pick a lock after sleazing a few MARKs on 'em? He has a hard time thinking it's because of some sense of honesty or rural code this side of the UCAS, and instead directs two to scream north-west on a full throttle while the remaining five rendezvous with their present location.

As if those UCAS boys will be that stupid.

As if two screamers will be more loud than five on a stroll

<<Roll call>> Chante comms.

Shiriki comms back with the number of ATVs he's purloined, and then adds,

<<Exfil mapped. Takes us within earshot of unfriendlies. I can slow them down, but can't promise less-than-lethal.>>

Hardly a moment passes before Chante comms back:

<<Take the shot>>

There are some boring particulars, some effort on Shirki's part of disconnecting from his, no Ité's, deck to jump back into a dual-prop murder machine rigged for suicide, and then he's got that Toyota Gopher with the snow plow in his sights.

Here's the way Shiriki likes to think it happened: the driver, some poor slob named Braden Jean, or some equally unfortunate hick name, sees a flash from the helicopter. He doesn't know what to do, doesn't know if death is coming for him, or not, or if he should get out of the way, or even if he should which way he should go, and if he does go is he just gonna drive right into the lane of fire, but in the end he jukes right, but all that was wasted anyway because the rounds strike home before he even finishes thinking it, before his hoop-hole even has a chance to fully lock down in fraggit-this-ain't-what-I-signed-up-for mode. The armor piercing rounds make soy cheese of the front plow and bury themselves in the engine block, which seizes and makes all manner of whines and fire-spitting protestations before it simply quits. And Braden Jean feels a stinking wet trickle, and thinks he's hit, and dives out of the Gopher, and fumbles with the trauma patch the good ol' UCAS boys gave him before he signed up for this shit-show of a mission, and he's got the thing applied before he even realizes it's just piss running down his leg.

Shirki doubts it went down that way.

The Dragon's camera can't zoom in that close, but there's something in the way the Gopher grinds to a halt, the immediacy of it portends something more in the way of grave injury than complete engine failure. When it does come to rest, the Gopher shoots a spout of flame out of its front grill, and Shiriki sees the icon disappear from the matrix. Close enough.

He walks out of the Dragon to find the ATVs pulling up, and the rest of the crew getting Ité situated.

"Alright, we're heading northeast until we hit the riverbed, and then it's pretty much straight east along that little rivulet of ice until we cross south to the mountain range.
 So, keep your eyes out for a good crossing spot. We aren't likely to find anything tall this time of year, so the next best thing is something that won't leave tracks. I'll take point."

As the team heads out, Dan-Dan gives the command for the Dragon to self-immolate, which it does in spectacular fashion. The command is given while they're still close enough to benefit from the EMP, so for a brief moment all is quiet across the canyon as they shut down the ATVs, their comm gear, 'ware, cyberdecks, and all that drek. For a brief moment, they're out there alone, how it must have been for chummers back in the fifth world. And then the explosion hits, and they're rocked in their seats, and the heat wave smacks like the business end of a GMC Gryphon, and it sounds like the kind of explosion that will wake up the sheriff of Liberal, KS UCAS, but it passes, and they fire up their snowmobiles, and drive off into the night, bucking east at the river.

*******************************
*******************************

"But why in the spirits would you stay on?" he demanded, his face red and features twisted in both confusion and frustration.

Chante let out a massive sigh, the exaggerated sort that served as a message that you were over it, that you wanted to move on to something else, anything else.

It was her third such sigh in the past five minutes.

"Ahté, I told you, it's what I feel in my heart.  My duty to use this gift the Spirits gave me to safeguard our home.  I don't expect you to understand, I'm just your little Chante, but you have to let me go.  I'm an Ozuye and I mean to fight.  For me.  For you.  For our ancestors..."

Her father didn't concede.  He never would, Chante was beginning to realize.  "Chante, the ancestors don't need you to fight for them.  And I don't need you to fight for me.  I need you here to--"

"You need me here to cook and clean and be the wówaši wíŋyaŋ... but you had your tȟawíču, remember?  And what did you do?"

"Chante!  Don't talk to your father that way!" came a voice from the next room, rising above the volume of the trideo that was on in there.

Chante glowered for a moment, then turned on her foot.  "Yes, know my place.  I must always know my place.  Well, I know my place.  It's not here.  If I'm not fighting for the ancestors and I'm not fighting for you, then I'm fighting for me.  ME.  And that's all i should need."

She walked out the door and into the quiet night.

*******************************
*******************************

Her father hadn't come to anything after that.  Her basic training graduation, when she was accepted into the SDF Medicine Lodge, the things that were part of her required duty he had been at, all smile; a proud daddy.  But after that night, he never came.  Not when she was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant, not at either promotion.  She didn't even know if he realized she was with the Wildcats.

Now she was 'off the reservation' and reaping her rewards.  She wondered if, at the end of it all, her father would be proud of her or if he'd spend his entire life rejecting the service she had felt called to.  Might not matter.

She looked back at Ité, secured as they could get him but still jostled, each pump forcing Chante to clench her teeth with anxiety, hoping beyond hope that everything they did would be enough to bring him home when all was said and done.  Spirits, she thought, enough to bring ALL of us home...

<<Status of our pursuers?>>

Braden "Handfishing" Jean pushes his Toyota Gopher to its limits. He's a skinny whelp and the man riding shotgun, Wilbur "One Punch" Bailey - who, not coincidentally, is loading a shotgun - never lets him hear the end of it for owning a Japanese truck. "One Punch" is a big beast of a man, as large as Handfishing is skinny, and with more body hair than a boar. One Punch thinks that his nickname is a reference to his knockout power, but everyone else knows that it's a reference to his glass jaw.

"C'MON, Handfishing!" he says, slamming his hand down on the dashboard repeatedly. "Sheriff says the reds are coming!" He racks his Krime Boss shotgun for emphasis.

Handfishing nods. He's not much for words, so he remains silent even as he pushes the gas pedal harder. Behind him, on his gun rack, is his pride and joy: a Marlin 3468SS. The classic .45-70 Government cartridge is powerful enough to bring down most fauna - paranormal or otherwise - and should bag him a Red Man or two.

The Gopher sends up huge rooster tails of powder snow. Normally that would provide an effective smokescreen, announcing the Gopher's arrival while simultaneously obscuring its precise location. Unfortunately, the Gopher is driving straight at the Dragon, and there's no real question about where it is laterally. As long as Shiriki can get the Dragon's guns elevated correctly, their fire should strike home.

<<Take the shot>> Chante orders. Shiriki complies. The Stoner-Ares M202s fire their last 10 rounds due north into the oncoming vehicle.

The APDS rounds chew through the snowplow as if it were papier-mâché. The rounds slam into the engine block, which seizes up and throws a rod. A few of the stray rounds coast through the upper part of the plow and pepper the windshield instead. They rip into Handfishing and One Punch. The Gopher grinds to a halt. Handfishing grimaces and puts a hand to his chest with gritted teeth. One Punch bleats like a goat.

"They got me, Braden!" One Punch whimpers. "They got me!"

The doors open as the sheriffs drag the men out into the deeper snow, just in case the reds resume fire to finish the job.

"I'm dying, Sheriff! I'm fragging dying here!" One Punch whimpers.

"Don't worry, Bailey, we'll get them for you," Sheriff Rosco promises.

The Dragon erupts in a fireball reminiscent of its name. The sheriffs dive on the civilians out a noble instinct to protect others.

Sheriff Coltrane sees the Marlin sporting rifle and grabs it. He fires off four rounds toward the snowmobiles he can see retreating in the glow of the Dragon flames. The rifle, while powerful, has abysmal accuracy, and he hits nothing but snow. He finds a box of rounds rolling around and manages to reload and fire one extra cartridge before he turns his attention to the ATVs barreling in his direction! The sheriffs drag Handfishing and One Punch out of the way shortly before the ATVs plow into the Gopher with a metallic CRUNCH.

"I'm dying!" One Punch bellows. "Tell Pa I love him!"

In the distance, the remaining ATVs recede into the Canyon.

---

Down in the canyon, the coast looks clear. The Dragon and the ATV diversion have accomplished their purpose.

<<Status of our pursuers?>> Chante asks.

Shiriki sends his Fly-Spies up to get a high angle. The full moon provides more than enough illumination to see that the pursuit has halted.

<<Neutralized. Two wounded.>>

Shiriki takes the lead. The others follow his course. There's a flash of movement off to his side that catches his eye. It's nothing, just a reflection of the moonlight off the snow.

Dan-Dan felt his blood stir as they leapt into the waiting vehicles, dragging Ite with them. If he survived the poor slob could look forward to a medical discharge. Frakker.

Behind them, the Dragon breathed its last immolating spectacularly as they brought their electronics back online.

The thunder of their tyres screetching along the asphalt, then cobbles, then dirt track thrummed in his blood, arousing feelings of lust and rage in him. Bloodlust and bloodrage. He glanced over at Shiriki, the Pawnee dog, a cruel smile at his face as his ancestors called out for his blood and terror. The dried scalps at his hip seemed to drip fresh blood.

"Shriki, I've got some good news and some bad news. The bad news is the local spirits demand a sacrifice to appease them. The good news is it's you, Pawnee puppy. Now, I won't lie. this is gonna hurt like a sonnofabitch as it's your pain and terror they want along with your blood. You may be scarred a bit or mutilated some but you should survive, more or less, probably less. Now I'm just going to scalp you. Feel free to scream. It won't hurt me a bit."

Dan-Dan approaches with his knife reflecting the burning Dragon behind them as he approaches, smiling.

Chante growled.  The spirits here were bloodthirsty and pushing her to behave as they would, in their time.  She focuses on the spirit and asserts her will.

It is not your time, Warrior, the two tribes are at Peace.

The Spirit frowns.  "You are a Traitor!  Ride down our enemies or fall with them!"

Gritting her teeth, she reaches down into her rage.  The sacrifices she has made on behalf of her people, no one had the right to question her loyalties.

Silence in the presence of your betters and speak only when spoken to.  The Tribal Leaders have spoken and conflict between the Lakota and the Pawnee are no more.  If you stand against this peace, you stand against the tribe and I will indeed strike someone down today.

The words themselves were unimportant; form given to emotion.  She was only just aware of the words Dan-Dan was speaking and their relevance to the astral forces at play.  Steeling herself, she infused her next command with all of the force of her shamanic power.

STAND DOWN

Dumbfounded, Shiriki coasts to a rough stop, right in the middle of the Republican River. He stares off to the south, horrified, until a shadow crosses from behind him. When he turns, Dan-Dan is approaching with a knife in his hand. "Shriki, I've got some good news and some bad news. The bad news is the local spirits demand a sacrifice to appease them. The good news is it's you, Pawnee puppy. Now, I won't lie. this is gonna hurt like a sonnofabitch as it's your pain and terror they want along with your blood. You may be scarred a bit or mutilated some but you should survive, more or less, probably less. Now I'm just going to scalp you. Feel free to scream. It won't hurt me a bit."

The look in his eyes is unsettling, but mostly for the way Dan-Dan is appraising Shiriki, regarding his scalp like a proper surgeon. Shiriki instinctively reaches for his Predator III, a trailing thought in his mind about how the Sioux really were serpents.

"Turn around, wasicu witko, or I'll turn you around," he says before glancing south again to the pair of figures, blood lust in their eyes.


Shiriki holsters his sidearm, pulls up his balaclava, and grips his medicine back tightly. "Old enemies. Old grudges. Howling Coyote would have never carved out a land for us with such thinking. You failed because you would always look behind you even as you walked forward," he says to the south, and then turns to Dan-Dan, "And you will fail because you're looking nowhere at all. Get on the fraggin ATV Dan-Dan. Let's get out of here."

So. Mojo. You saw that on Trid. You saw it, kinda, at some points in normal life. You saw   enough in small fights, preferably on your side. Or you geeked the make first, because hey, he was still only a man.

That was not the same thing as Ghostbusters VI coming alive in front of you with no apparent source. Just rows of spectral ancestors during it, the old ways not being any appreciably more noble than the new despite what NAN legends would say.

If this was how the mojo heads saw the world all the time, no wonder they were mostly cracked.

Swoops felt himself almost reliving it , silently mouthing words

"Captain, sir, let's jis killem all. The only good injun is dead or tame ones. The boys are spoiling fer a fight. Ride a hundred miles for this, and barren waste no nistake. Fer what? Let e go and have the same redskins put an arrest in us from behind a rock two weeks from now. Kill'em all capn".

A spectral figure turns towards him in a suit of blue and gold shoulderboards, tipping his Stetson.

"No sergeant, I think not. We are here to do God's work with the savage, and they will only meet kind with kind. Deploy the company sergeant, and make it clear to fire upon each other is as tonfiring on the US Cavalry."

Swoopy oft handedly motions to a spectral bugler, a ghostly red and white pennant flaps in the wind.

"Company will advance at the trot. The man who fires without the Capn's say will spend a day on the wooden horse! Forward....." Thwbghaotly echoes..."Frowaaaaaaarrrrrdddd".....MARCH!" "Preaent!....pressseeeent....Arms"

Swoops levels his rifle at Dan Dan. "By god and the 7th, stand down!"

As Dan-Dan stalked towards Shiriki, he saw a rifle levelled at him by Swoopy. It looked antiquated. Unlike the old trids, it was not all walnut and precision but a regulation piece, all stamped metal and gunoil. It was questionable whether it would do any damage, though the modern weapon that presumably underlay it certainly would. Swoops was wearing a dusty uniform, a bit weatherbeaten. It looked in considerably worse shape the  the rifle. His new beard did not suit him at all.

"By God and the 7th, stand down!"

Dan-Dan paused in his advance, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"Now Swoopy, I'm a doctor. There's a good chance Shriki, the cowering Pawnee Cur over there, will survive this. It's a sacrifice to the spirits, but not of his life. Merely, a little blood, pain and terror. It's the emotion they want. I've scalped dozens in my time and at least half of them are still alive and more or less whole. Let's be reasonable, whilst I cut him up a bit.... "

Shirki looks around to his companions in turn, wondering who is and is not in control of their faculties. Chante looks more or less herself, and Swoopy's talking all kinds of drek, but also seems to at least recognize that they're all on the same side. And he's offering good advice to boot, Shiriki reasons.

He takes a moment to delete Dan-Dan as a "friendly" and has his roto-drone begin targeting the Wildcat as he pulls away at a quick clip. With any luck, Dan-Dan will follow, and they're bound to get out of this hellscape eventually. And if he doesn't follow. . . Well, the captain's just gonna have to live with it. The Sioux are obviously not suited for command in the present environment.

Tearing east across the riverbed, Shiriki notes the Pawnee mother and child following in his peripheral vision. Ghost she's disconcerting, but if nothing else the ghostly pair should give him an idea of how far the weird mojo of the canyon extends.

<<@Chante [Shiriki] We need to keep moving. If Dan-Dan doesn't follow, I'm going to tag him with some stick-and-shock. Get your boy in line, or I'll do it for him.>>

The few seconds that it took for Chante to come back to herself was almost forgiveable, with the distraction of the astral aspect.  Almost, if the consequences weren't potentially catastrophic.

"DAN-DAN!" she snarls.  She takes a tomahawk and hurls it, the blade tumbling end over end before burying itself in the dirt at the medical officer's feet, just where his next step would have fallen.

When he looks back her direction, everything in her stance and in her expression demands to be given nothing less than unwavering compliance.  "You will get a hold of yourself.  Carry yourself with the Honor of a Sioux Wildcat.  Shiriki is no less than your brother.  Is your will so easily subsumed?"

The mental shout echoed around Dan-Dans skull. Briefly his eyes seemed to unfocus before snapping sharper than before.

"Thanks Captain, I can use that"he snarled, leaning over and scooping up the tomahawk. He charged!

Running over the snow, he danced through a hail of rounds that spat from above, impossible for them to miss him. Yet, he danced. Pirrouetting, he spun through the air, jumping into the ATV to catch the fleeing Shiriki,  the rounds impossibly missing as he twitched past them. His grin twitched wider in the thrill of the chase.

Gaining, he kicked himself into the air, leaping between the vehicle's. He threw the axe straight at Shirikis back! Before lunging forward and plucking it out of the air an inch from him as he tossed his knife... into his free hand.

Snarling, he slammed into Shiriki. And kissed him roughly, before dancing back and plucking a single strand of loose hair from him, hard.

I told you it would hurt... he laughed as he jumped back onto his idling vehicle. And bowed.

Shiriki guns his ATV, but Dan-Dan closes in fast. The roto-drone dutifully follows orders and lets loose with a burst of stick-and-shock, which the adept dodges expertly a moment before making contact with Shiriki's vehicle. In hot-sim, Shiriki tenses, sees the axe midair, waits for the searing pain, and then, somehow, the pain never comes.

Theatrically, Dan-Dan bows, and Shiriki seethes. He exits hot-sim, and draws his hand up to his head. <i>That sonofaslitch</i>

Swoopy rises out of his fugue state, a spectral Calvaryman replaced by Chante-definitely-not-a-man. Them Dan is streaking towards Shiriki, slipping through a hail of drone fire like a god damned trid. Swoopy angles in behind him as Chante tosses a tomahawk. Not going to give the dumb son of a bitch a chance to "dance", just going to murder him while he's not looking if he keeps it up.

Swoops hits the selector from gel to FMJ, ready to make sure his first shit is also the last one as Dan plucks a hair. He holds the last ounce of trigger pressure as Dan Dan does his theatrics. He leaves the goggle integrated sight picture on Dan's neck from the rear- no armor there good enough to stop a rifle round - and glances towards Chante for how this is all going down.

Unless Dan acts up of course. Then this is going to be a tragic day for Dan's parents, knowing he was killed by the dread anglos.

Heh, it'd even be partially true.

Chante's jaw literally drops as Dan-Dan completes his ludicrous antics. She shakes her head and jumps on an ATV, gunning the engine and catching up.

As she passes Dan-Dan, she snatches her tomahawk from his hand, belting it.

"Can we get our heads out of our asses and get moving now?" she asks tersely.  "Or you got some more fuck fuck games you wanna play?"

Dan-Dan turns to the captain with an innocent smile.

"Hubba hubba"

Then he winks.

"Let's roll..."