Johnny gestures to the images, and makes a series of motions as to cocking and loading several different classes of firearms, swinging a sword, and slinging a wand(?) followed by a confused shrug and head-tilt.
"Huh? You wanna' shoot and stab the dumbfounded wizard? ?_?
...Oh, I get it! Yeah, Obchodnik is going to have what you want. He's down the hall actually, you can't miss his place.""Yo woody, can I load up on ammo somewhere first?"
"Yeah, Obchodnik. Cartridges, shells, grenades, he's got it all."Ulibossk enters the teleporter; Obchodnik's low quality goods were unfit for his brilliance.
Kelly heads to the teleporters
Mega heads on out without a lot of further ado; she was pretty sure she could handle the guy in jail.
"WAIT! I'm here!"
Rochelle suddenly appears, having totally been there during the briefing, and goes through the teleporter.
All the Cazadores who enter the teleporter end up in the Montague Transportation Station, an old rustic building whose interior is populated by cracked walls and moldy corners, a few lights dimly lighting the place up while others are out of commission completely, or missing; if you placed a few toilets in here in place of the teleporters, it would function as a neglected side-of-the-highway rest stop.
Outside, it is a cloudy night yet this street is highly bright from the orchestra of lights emanating from street lamps, apartment windows open storefronts and passing cars. When walking out of the Station, the Cazadores find the building guarded by two police officers in blue uniforms, badges upon their armored breasts, an array of weaponry around their belts, including holstered firearms. The attention of the cops is not placed upon the new arrivals, but upon a shoddily dressed middle-aged man, wearing a stitched cap and ragged clothes, his pants coming down to just above the knees; they do not look like they are shorts, but rather pants that at one point were much longer. "P-please! You gotta' let me in there, I can't live in this got-damn city no longer! Have a heart!"
One of the officers speaks, "You got enough money to tele? You got a certificate that says you own one of them machines, huh?" The derelict looks like a schoolchild being scolded by a viscous teacher. The cop smirks, "Yeah, that's what I thought." The vagrant doesn't say anything, but takes a step towards the entrance of the station, and the speaking cop puts a hand out as a warning gesture, "Stop! Whatsa' matter with you? You ain't understand Montaguese? You. Can't. Go. In." The man takes one more step and receives a shove to the sternum, sending him stumbling back a few steps. "What the hells wrong with you, ya' fahkin' moron? You want a trespassing charge with a disturbing the peace? Get outta' here!" The derelict steps away from the cops and turns to the Cazadores. He makes a pleading gesture with his palms facing upwards, but before he can make a request of them the same cop gives him a swift boot to the hip and he goes flopping to the ground. "Go away before I crack ya' fahkin' skull!" This threat trails the derelict as he limps away, hands on the side of his hip bone. The officer speaks directly to the Cazadores with a more restrained tone, "Sorry 'bout that folks. City's gone down the tubes, we got that kinda' type everywhere, and lot more that are even worse. Y'all take care now, keep your eyes peeled for thugs and creeps, and stay outta' the alleyways."
The Teleportation Station comes out to a two-way street, with both sides dominated by large concrete apartment buildings. Half of the windows in sight are reinforced with either metal bars or wood. The apartments hug each other in tight, adjacent formations, with their facades draped in fire escapes and old air conditioning units that look as though they are preparing to drop upon a random pedestrian about. There are are many square stores in on this street as well, either standing independently or residing at the ground-floor level of an apartment. In bright neon letters, they advertise a diverse series of cheap goods and services: pawn shops, liquor stores, convenience stores, bars, movie theaters, loan centers, barber shops/salons, strip clubs, gun shops, and restaurants are among those visible just from where the Cazadores are standing. Every store is barricaded with metal behind the windows and nearly all have a similar blue sticker on at their front , explicitly declaring that "This property is monitored by surveillance system at all times." Even at this late hour, all of these stores are open.
There street is busy, but not crowded, with a handful of bundled up people passing by. Most locals do not regard the Cazadores at all, but several give an impolite stare as if to say, "This is not where you people belong." Occasionally a car passes by, its windows rolled down and a rickety radio giving a non-stylistic low-fi voice to a rapper or reggaeton singer, or blaring a warped guitar solo. A teenager on a speeding hoverboard misses the Cazadores by inches, though he gives no response as he passes them by.