OOC: Unironic Trigger Warning. So despite some of the soft sci-fi contrivances I had to pull to make the game mechanics work, the general theme of this universe is hard sci-fi. It would be a dis-service to that theme, if things didn't get really brutal now and then, particularly lethal combat. The second mission, the AMR Strikebreaker Escort gets pretty intense. While the violence is technically no more explicit than Dwarf Fortress or Liberal Crime Squad content-wise, some readers may find the non-fantasy setting and dramatic writing style too disturbing. Feel free to skip to the spoiler'd mission summary if you need to. As evidenced by the other two missions, it doesn't have to be like this, but there can be no light without darkness. I'll try to keep us out of edgelord grimdark splatterhouse bullshit, but this kind of stuff can happen. Perhaps you should literally serve as Mrs. Ocean's conscience and convince Ocean's Ten to do things differently?
Int Geo Smilodon ReconFour operators on three ATV's will perform an extended expedition into the highlands of Lossarnach in search of Smilodon big cats. The expedition will use the combined ATVs' extensive payload to bring enough camping supplies to safely spend weeks in the wilderness. Our scout, Nikita, and two pairs of thermal binoculars will aid in the search of these elusive animals. Smartphone cameras will also be used for further documentation. ATV's will be used offroad in silent mode when possible, to cover more ground without alerting the wildlife. If any locals are encountered, the operators should ask about Smilodon sightings or any general knowledge regarding Smilodons. In addition to standard shotguns and revolvers, two Val carbines will be packed for security backup. As a general safety precaution, the base camp should never be unguarded at any hour, and no one should leave the camp alone or unarmed.
Cat Fact: A fully grown Smildon sabretooth cat can close fifty meters in under three seconds.
Ocean's Ten learned this the hard way. But we'll get to that...
Danny Ocean loved the noir-ish intrigues of the big cities, placing extended wilderness expeditions outside of Ocean Ten's traditional mission set. This lack of institutional familiarity shows in Neil's unimpressive plan to wander the wilderness. But can powerful specialty equipment and plenty of manpower compensate for this shortcoming? Your four-man Ocean's Ten expedition into the Lossarnach highlands had weeks in "tiger country" to find out.
As is true for any extended expedition, packing is a chore. The three ATV's provide enough payload for your four men's MRE's and drinking water, but the lack of an interior cabin or tow-able camper means they'll be sleeping in pup-tents. Sleeping under the stars isn't exactly viable when its storming hard and man-eating wildlife are about.
The expedition touches down on a remote spaceport on Lossarnach. Nikita the Scout is first to note that the highlands are off on the horizon, overlooking an expansive forest. After confirming with the shuttle pilot that this was indeed the closest spaceport, your team reluctantly disembarked.
Before leaving the spaceport, Erik Heller remembers to ask the lone spaceport controller about Smilodon sabretooth cats.
"Eh, you don't hear much about those anymore. The mammoth ranchers really drove them out. You might still find them up in the highlands over yonder."
After several hours on the road, they break for lunch. The open and overstuffed ATVs aren't the most ideal long-haul vehicles, but they're tolerable in good weather. Nikita is first to note the lateness of the hour. Soon the others get into pointing out that Neil's plan never identified a campsite, or how to make camp. Remembering Mrs. Ocean's guidance, Nikita is first to note that there is no Team Leader and that as a specialist, she has no other insight in this matter. After further discussion, your team elects Ethan Hunt as their leader for this mission.
Ethan points out a wooded hilltop, and by nightfall, a camp is struck. It's a rudimentary setup: pup-tents and ATV's around a central firepit. After a late dinner, your team tucks in for the night with James "Hoxton" Hoxworth on first shift for nightwatch. The hilltop location is an excellent tactical choice, providing great lines of sight and the ascent providing a natural obstacle to intruders. Experienced outdoorsmens, which your team certainly isn't, would also stress that such a location would keep the camp "high and dry" from storm flooding, although high winds might be an issue. Luckily, the weather proves extraordinarily calm for the duration of the month.
However, as the last nightwatch shift goes to swap the thermal night vision binocular batteries, a mild panic ensues. Despite frantically rummaging through all three ATV's, Erik cannot find the spare batteries. After the entire team then shakes down their personal baggage, it's confirmed that they were missed on the packing list. As a result, only one set of the FLIR binoculars can be used at a time. To avoid compromising camp security with a lack of night vision, Team Leader Ethan decides to call off night operations for now.
Cat Fact: Smilodon sabretooth cats are solitary hunters, whose outright disdain for others push their habitats into regions far from human habitation.
The first several reconnaissance expeditions have mixed results. Using their offroad ATV's, your team quickly maps the geography of the region, locating a small lake and even a natural salt lick. However, while Nikita is the first to note plenty of large, apparently feline, paw prints around these two sites in particular; they've yet to spot a Smilodon in the flesh.
Realizing active pursuit is proving ineffective, Team Leader Ethan decides setting up a camouflaged hide site to stakeout a site is likely a better course of action. Despite the lack of relevant hardware or a construction, wilderness, or camouflage specialist, your team manages to improvise a passable hunting blind that can be transported via ATV. Upon completion, Nikita the Scout recommends the lake as more suitable for observation than the salt lick.
This method of hunting, while less adventurous, proves much more fruitful. Wildlife has gradually grown accustomed to the hunting blind, and don't seem to notice the humans inside it. The next several days of the expedition are leisurely spent recording wildlife with smartphones. Great weather makes for excellent shooting in the sunshine, enhancing their amateur photography into something worthy of professional publication. Various large waterfowl and even a small herd of Pronghorn antelope are seen regularly at the lake, but still no big cats.
Perhaps your expedition would be more vexed by this slow going progress if the overall setting wasn't so lovely. Nikita and Hoxton seem to look forward to spending hours together alone on a wooded lakeside surrounded by the tranquil sounds of nature. By their last few days, Erik notes that while their daylight photography has been somewhat fruitful, clearly its time to risk camp security for night observations. Nikita and Hoxton enthusiastically agree to start spending the night together. Team Leader Ethan agrees, as they're running out of time, Nikita is the Scout after all, and there has been absolutely zero threats to the camp at night.
Cat Fact: Smilodon sabretooth cats are primarily nocturnal and are rarely active during daylight hours.
As the sun sets upon Nikita and Hoxton inside the hunting blind, they eagerly share the lone set of thermal binoculars. Scanning the brush in the twilight, a large white hot blob creeps slowly and stealthily. Tracking the heat signature, they witness a full grown 500lb Smildon sabretooth cat, emerging from the bush to cautiously approach the waterline. Gasping for joy, Nikita then sees three small cubs toddle out to play in the water while their mother drinks. As a loss for words, Nikita smacks Hoxton with the binoculars and points at the sight. The even less stealthy Hoxton exclaims "Holy frak!" upon seeing them, startling the mother and her cubs back into the woods.
Throughout the night observation, they hear a hunt in the distance, and manage to spot at least two more adult Smilodons each visiting the same lake. By dawn, they've witnessed more than enough to document that lake as a thriving Smilodon habitat. Nikita can't contain her excitement as she reports their observations to the rest of the team back at camp. Your team is ecstatic as they congratulate each other on accomplishing their mission. However, Nikita is first to note that they still should observe the salt lick, since they still have three days left. Hoxton immediately supports her suggestion, and Team Leader Ethan signs off on it.
After Erik and Ethan spend the day relocating the blind, Nikita and Hoxton move into their hide sight at the salt lick just before sundown. Little more than an unusual rock outcropping in a natural spring, the salt lick is a dramatically smaller and less scenic site than the lake. Unfortunately, this also means shorter standoff distance and poorer lines of sight, which is why Nikita the Scout had previously advised the team to focus on the lake.
Sadly, the two see nothing the entire night. An optimistic Erik and Ethan then try a day shift at the salt lick, to no avail. Nikita is first to note that perhaps the wildlife isn't used to the hunting blind yet? After hours of more nothing on their last night, Nikita again spotted a large white hot blob plodding through the woods. Expecting the mother and cubs again, she freezes in terror as she witnesses a gargantuan Smilodon, well over 1000lb, patrol through the salt lick for prey. Rapidly shouldering the Val carbine, the giant Smilodon bolts off into the night as it then hears the mechanical click of the safety lever being set to full auto.
Cat Fact: Lossarnach was populated with two species of Smilodon: the lion-sized Smilodon Fatalis, and the twice as large Smilodon Populator. While technically shorter than a modern lion, the Smildon's high density is due to a highly muscular bear-like physique rather than a comparatively lithe feline musclature.
Meanwhile, Ethan pulls nightwatch back at camp as Erik sleeps. It's been a long expedition and Neil's insistence on a nightwatch has proven to be an unnecessary precaution. If these orders weren't in writing, Team Leader Ethan would have scrapped this complete waste of manpower by now. Having drank way too much coffee to stay awake for this bullshit one last time, he desperately needs to relieve himself. After weeks of use, the improvised latrine is getting way too defiled for civilized use, yet it isnt't worth the effort to dig another for this last night. Surely he could just slip into some virgin bushes for once, rather than again being surrounded by his team's collective feces?
Ethan contentedly strips down and settles in, finding satisfaction in his act of petty rebellion. Now there's an old military veteran's adage that "complacency kills." The most dangerous days of a soldier's combat deployment are the very end, as the over-confident veteran drops his guard, expecting the same absent threats he's since survived. Could this prove the end of Ethan?
Cat Fact: Smilodons, like many nocturnal predators, can see at least five to ten times better than humans in low-light conditions.
A certain prickling anxiety works up the back of Ethan's neck: the eerie discomfort of behind watched. Scanning ahead of himself, he sees nothing. He carefully turns around to see two illuminated green eyes in the brush. His pants around his ankles, the startled prey trips and falls. The apex predator sprints and pounces.
Ethan's hands find their grip on a Val carbine and empty a 20 round magazine at point-blank. Enough rounds connect to cause 600lbs of muscle to flinch midair and avoid bodyslamming the half-naked operator down the hillside. Tossing the carbine aside, Ethan struggles to free the .357 revolver at his ankles. The sound of six gunshots in the dead of the night is enough to wake Erik, while Hoxton is calling in a radio check with the sound of an ATV revving in the distance.
While rattled and thoroughly shamed, Ethan is miraculously unharmed physically. Daybreak reveals the bullet-mangled corpse of a male Smilodon Fatalis. Its skull is shattered by approximately three shots, with at least a half dozen wounds in the torso. Its pelt is a bloody mess, but as a male, its prominent and highly collectable namesake sabretooth incisors are fully intact. Planning on leaving Lossarnach for the Mothership Leviathan that morning anyways, the team crudely butchers the corpse and stuffs it in a sealed cooler. Somehow, Leviathan Customs neglected to search this blood-streaked container, and commemorative trophies were made for various personnel within Ocean's Ten.
Once aboard the ship, Sam compiles, edits, and uploads the expedition's report to Int Geo. They are overjoyed with Ocean PMC's work. Some of lake wildlife footage gets published alongside a feature length article on "The Lost Smilodons of Lossarnach." The article credits Ocean PMC with the rare feats of spotting both Smilodon cubs and a majestic Smilodon Populator. Until this article, the Smilodon Populator had been thought to be extinct due to hunting by mammoth ranchers. As Int Geo wasn't expecting enough content to make this a full feature length article on the inital bid, they felt it was appropriate to raise the payout by another 10k.
Mission Results: Success. Zero casualties, 1 EKIA. 30k profit. Personnel notes updated on Data Sheet.
Plan Rating: Mediocre (+0)
Roll (2d4): 4
Plan Execution Result: 4 - Mistakes Were Made
Mission Difficulty Roll (2d4): 8 - Surprisingly Easy
Operator Improvisation Roll (2d4): 7 - Very Good
AMR Strikebreaker EscortFour operators on one SUV will escort an AMR bus of "temporary workers" from a spaceport to a refinery currently beset by demonstrators. Three operators will ride in the SUV clearing the way for the bus, while one will stay on the bus as a rear guard. The two passengers on the SUV should be prepared to dismount as needed. Operators will attempt to use non-lethal force with warning shots and birdshot. Shotguns will be the primary weapons, although one Val carbine will be kept safely tucked away near the driver seat of both the SUV and bus. Given the high visibility and political sensitivity of this operation, all four operators will be masked with balaclavas and dark sunglasses.
You could cut the tension with a knife as your four-man team arrives at the spaceport on Anghabar. While AMR-owned mass media is avoiding coverage of the demonstrations, social media has been flooded by smartphone photos and videos from outside the Red River Refinery. Currently trending is a video of masked demonstrators being dramatically knocked down by AMR security personnel with fire hoses. Your men couldn't help but watch such valuable real-time intelligence compulsively the whole ride down from the Mothership Leviathan.
Simon Templar is first to look up from his smartphone, "Just to confirm guys, we're going full gray ops sterile on this one. Strip any name tapes, insignia, or other identifiers if you haven't already. Mask up before the shuttle ramp drops. Brevity codes for names here on out."
Victor "Mr. Blonde" Vega pipes up, "Also, the plan didn't say anything about specific roles or even battlefield leadership. I'd like to take the Team Leader role."
"No objections here," responds Angus MacGuyver. "If you want command authority of this clusterfrak, more power to you. Literally."
The rest of your team agrees, and Mr. Blonde becomes Team Leader. Furthermore, Simon will drive the SUV, with Mr. Blonde and MacGuyver as the dismounts. Evelyn Salt will ride aboard the bus itself.
The AMR coach bus is unmistakable at the spaceport. Dinghy orange with "AMR" stenciled on all four sides in big block letters, it's not exactly a low-profile/low-signature vehicle. An over-stressed bus driver in a worn AMR polo shirt is relieved to see your team.
"You must be the guys security called in. Everything is going to shit out here. Also, do any of you speak Bengali? I can't tell if these folk want to use the bathroom or order chicken tikka."
Your team scopes out the interior of the bus, and sure enough, it's packed with surprisingly calm South Asian heritage laborers. MacGuyver comments that they probably haven't been on social media yet, and are clueless what they're about to drive into. Meanwhile, the bus driver clearly has, and is visibly trembling.
Team Leader Mr. Blonde briefs the bus driver the plan, "All you have to do is follow our truck. We'll do the hard work. Our girl here is gonna be at your shoulder the whole time."
Salt pats the driver on the shoulder reassuringly while noticing the name tag printed on his shirt, "We're in this together Regis. Ain't nothing is going to happen with me there."
Regis the bus driver is comforted by her reassurances and visibly calms down.
Meanwhile, Simon notices a bearded white man in full black tactical gear with a HK USP .40 in a drop leg holster across the tarmac. Greywater Solutions PMC insignia adorns his shoulders and a name tape identifies him as "J. Ryan." (Of course Greywater would have someone nostalgia'd as Tom Clancy's Jack Ryan.) He calmly waves at your team and gives a wordless nod. He likely saw the Centennial Hawk land, and otherwise recognizes enough of your hardware to identify your team as Ocean PMC. Despite President Nick Clay's theatrics at the memorial service, the actual operators of Greywater seem willing to keep a certain amount of peer-to-peer courtesy in response to Mrs. Ocean's olive branch. Behind him is a gunmetal-grey Ford F-150 pickup, customized with a pintel-mounted M60 7.62mm machine gun, being staged for another mission in the area. The operators working this custom "technical," all similar in appearance to "J. Ryan," are unmistakably blasting Dio's "Holy Diver" from the truck's stereo system.
When your team begun to lead the bus out of the spaceport, the Greywater technical pulled alongside briefly to cheer "Get some, monkey!" while pumping their fists. Clearly they'd been following social media and have deduced what your team is about to attempt. Simon couldn't help but chuckle at the display, and wishes he could be as enthusiastic about bringing unarmored vehicles and unarmored personnel into a riot.
Fifty miles is a fairly long trip, and despite their ominous destination, a certain complacency settles in over the two hour drive. Cut off from social media and focused on watching their sectors, your men remain unaware of the further deteriorating situation at the refinery. Had someone thought to set up a line of communication with security at the refinery, they might have also known otherwise.
The convoy's first warning of trouble is dark black trails of smoke on the horizon. Pollution isn't uncommon on Anghabar, but the Red River Refinery is supposedly inoperable and billows a more typical greyish kind of emissions. As they arrived upon the masses surroundimg the refinery, they begun to hear the traditional anthem of "Solidarity Forever."
When the union's inspiration
Through the workers' blood shall run
There can be no power greater
Anywhere beneath the sun
Yet what force on earth is weaker
Than the feeble strength of one?
But the union makes us strongFully obstructed, the convoy comes to a halt at the edge of the demonstration. Salt watches Regis the bus driver begins rocking back and forth, thumbing a fuscia rabbit's foot keychain, mouthing to himself some unknown mantra or prayer. Before Salt can again reassure him, Team Leader Mr. Blonde calls over the comms, "Guys, we got a gorram wobbly convention out here. Two pax dismounting. Keep your weapons high and heads on a swivel."
It is we who plowed the prairies
Built the cities where they trade
Dug the mines and built the workshops
Endless miles of railroad laid
Now we stand outcast and starving
Mid the wonders we have made
But the union makes us strongThe convoy begins to crawl through the mass of demonstrators. The Land Rover's brushguard bumper and two masked operators high carrying shotguns are enough to threaten clear a small opening directly in the path of the convoy. Yet it's only a small openning, and the faceoff stays within grappling range. MacGuyver and Mr. Blonde are forced to muzzle-thump and buttstroke aside some of the more resistant demonstrators. Several other demonstrators holding picket signs take the opportunity to smack the sides of the vehicles as they pass, a highly distracting but otherwise feeble show of physical aggression. The vehicles run the windshield wipers as the occasional burst of tobacco spits lands right on target.
Burrowing ever deeper into the demonstration, your men each internalize their own threat assessments of the crowd literally within spitting range. Most demonstrators are hard scrabble white caucasians in their teens to middle-age. All are masked, likely fearing later retaliation by their AMR supervisors or worse, AMR-aligned paramilitaries. Most have occupational related gear of some sort, with industrial hard hats and heavy denim coveralls being highly common. Within these ranks, a distinct class of agitators is identifible. Typically wearing a heavy black almost Darth Vader-like industrial facial respirator, these so called "Black Masks" won't seem to back down without a fight.
After several minutes of slow but steady progress, the convoy is again brought to a halt. Concealed well within the crowd, the demonstrators have erected a makeshift checkpoint of sorts. Coils of pilfered concertina razor wire strung across the roadway between two opposing lamp posts, it's an intimidating sight. While clearly impassable to foot traffic, it's conceivable the lead SUV could breech it at speed with its brush guard bumper. However, the razor wire would likely whipsaw across the crowd, catching dozens of bystanders, as well as likely tangle on the vehicle, rupturing tires and even immobilizing an axel. While not the most powerful of breaching tools, the standard issue multitool wirecutters are a more conservative solution to this problem. If only an operator could be ensured enough breathing room to clip through the wire one by one.
They have taken untold millions
That they never toiled to earn
But without our brain and muscle
Not a single wheel can turn
We can break their haughty power
Gain our freedom when we learn
That the union makes us strongSo focused on scanning the hostile demonstrators, Salt and the rest of your team have taken for granted the Bengali-speaking South Asian "temporary workers" so far. By now, the poor dupes are becoming increasingly aware of what they're being brought into. No longer contentedly pacified, they begin opening the window curtains to witness the event around them. Salt whips around to look down the aisle as confused indiciperable Bengali chatter suddenly erupts. She runs down the aisle screaming "Down! Down!" and throwing people to the floor, but it's already too late. The sight of masses of South Asian faces brings electrifying shouts of "SCABS!" across the crowd.
The harmless disgrace of placards and spit on the sides of the vehicles are soon replaced by the dull thuds bottles and bricks being thrown. The non-ballistic side windows of the SUV are soon spider-webbed, and all of the large acrylic bus windows are eventually punched in. Out of abject terror and raw self-preservation, at least the temporary workers are all on the floor now.
Simon calls out from the lead SUV, "Ground team, I need that gorram obstacle clear, right gorram now!"
MacGuyver tries to cut and pull the wire faster, but can only work so fast with a basic multitool. Meanwhile, Mr. Blonde begins firing off warning shots in the air to try keep the crowd off MacGuyver. But ultimately, one man can only fend off a riot for so long. A Black Mask tackles Mr. Blonde from behind and takes him down to the asphalt. Simultaneously, a thrown bottle catches the side of MacGuyver's unarmored head, causing him to stumble into the concertina wire. Quickly snagged, his panicked thrashing against the wire entanglement bring him down to the ground as well. As the angry crowd falls upon your two downed operators, the two other operators lose line of sight on them and are too busy with their own sectors to notice the two casualties.
Mr. Blonde hits the asphalt face first but manages to hold it together. Pinned face-down from behind, he struggles an arm free and unholsters his side arm. Blind firing his magnum revolver behind himself with one hand, he sprains his wrist firing such a powerful handgun from such an erratic position. But the desperate gambit works, and the slug connects, winging his assailant. Breaking free and getting to his feet, his assailant scampers off and the crowd quickly begins scattering as blood is drawn.
While the moderate bulk of demonstrators are now running screaming, the Black Masks take their cue to escalate. Mr. Blonde turns to MacGuyver to see the helpless operator getting kicked in the head by a steel-toed boot. Reflexively, he puts a .357 round in the attacker's chest, dropping him to the ground. Screaming in agony from the now aggravated wrist injury, he swaps the pistol to his off-hand. Nearly choking on a mouth full of loose teeth, he calls out "MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN! WEAPONS FREE!" Stripping off his bloody bandana to breath, he stands over MacGuyver's wounded murderer. Staring him down, Mr. Blonde executes him point-blank to the forehead. "Eighth Commandment, motherfraker."
Mr. Blonde's call of "Man Down" is more than enough to spring Simon and Salt into action. The crowd thinning fast, they can now see MacGuyver dead and entangled in the wire, and Mr. Blonde struggling to recover him. Simon plows the SUV through several fleeing demonstrators getting to them. Needing to free her hands for the recovery, Salt hands off her shotgun to Regis and draws her sidearm.
"You got this Regis," she quickly tells him. "We'll be out of this before you know it."
Not giving the bus driver a chance to respond, she sprints out of the bus to the obstacle. Covering Mr. Blonde as he rips off MacGuyver's clothes to free him from the wire, she guns down yet another Black Mask who thought he saw an opening on your men.
Helping drag MacGuyver into the back of the SUV, Salt's happily surprised to see he's still breathing. Despite being unresponsive with a massive head trauma, MacGuyver isn't quite dead yet. Lacking any medical specialty or appropriate hardware, she does her best to try and stabilize the casualty. Other than reassuring him while physically trying to hold his fractured skull together, there's not much more she can do.
Injured, panting, and exhausted from over-exertion, Mr. Blonde scans the asphalt only to confirm that his pump shotgun was indeed stolen in the scuffle. Returning to the SUV to draw the Val carbine, he sees a Black Mask running from the bus toting the other Val carbine. Reflexively firing the carbine, he again aggravates his bad wrist, but does put a burst of fire into the back of the fleeing Black Mask.
With Salt busy with the casualty, and Simon driving the SUV, Mr. Blonde is the only free body left to recover the Val and re-secure the bus, his injuries be damned. Retrieving the loose carbine, he boards the bus to find the Regis gunned down. Later inspection would confirm the bus driver mis-pumped the shotgun, jamming it. Upon stealing the Val, the Black Mask had full auto'd the dashboard and then emptied the rest of the 20 round magazine down the aisle. Mr. Blonde doesnt't find the workers' blood-stained screams in a foreign language particularly helpful at this point.
"Driver down, bus secured," is followed by a blood sputtering cough. "Frak the obstacle and bring us in hot!"
Simon wastes no time plowing through the remains of the razor wire. It tangles and whipsaws as predicted, but by now there are no more demonstrators nearby anyways. The otherwise passive refinery security manages to get the gate open just in time to let the SUV in.
Now this all would've been great, had the bus not still been immobile. Simon had misinterpreted the Team Leader order as immediate, and neglected to check the status of the bus. Meanwhile, Mr. Blonde had just pushed the deceased driver out of the seat when he noticed there was no key in the ignition. Frantically scanning the floor, and then flinging the bus driver out the door to confirm he hadn't set the body ontop it, he still found nothing. Mr. Blonde looked out the front windshield just long enough to see the SUV and rest of his team long gone. Ready to abandon the bus and "Mogodishu Mile" his way into the refinery, he thinks to do a quick frisk of the slain Black Mask. There it was, a fuscia rabbit's foot clutched in his left hand.
Now it turns out this was only half the solution. The controls for heavy vehicles often are suprisingly different from common consumer grade cars. With half the dashboard indicators shot out, it takes an excruciatingly long time for Mr. Blonde to figure out how to release the parking break. The bus lurches briefly and the gears screech while he tries to get the clutch set.
"I drive!" a nearby worker implores in broken English. Pointing at the bus wheel, he states again emphatically, "I drive!"
Frustrated beyond full tilt, Mr. Blonde dejectedly turns over the wheel to the South Asian worker. Within thirty seconds, they were already through the refinery gate.
Your team is immediately met by a pair of uniformed AMR paramedics. They competently transfer the still non-responsive MacGuyver to a rigid spinal board and affix a neck brace. Shards of mirrored glass are also lodged in his left eye, likely from his obviously non-ballistic sunglasses. Salt, drenched in MacGuyver's blood, has to verbally confirm that she's not herself injured. Mr. Blonde is missing most of his front teeth and can barely get a sentence out before gagging on his own blood.
Some kind of authority figure approaches your team and asks who's in charge. Simon Templar, the only man conscious, uninjured, and not drenched in blood, glances over to Mr. Blonde who wordlessly hands over authority. Introductions are made.
"Sorry to have to meet like this, but I'm Agent Barclay, AMR Counterintelligence & Facility Protection. It's a hell of a thing you guys pulled off out there. But if you guys are the PMC I think you are, I would've expected nothing less. Now you didn't hear this from me, but from one security professional to another, AMR corporate wanted to frak you raw on this operation. But you guys deserve better than that, and I'm going to take care of you."
"That being said, tell your boss to get in touch directly with me for further work. Those industrialists types can't see where this labor strike is going, and really don't understand our kind of work. I need some crafy Danny Ocean-types to shut down this insurgency before it gets out of hand."
Back home aboard the Mothership Leviathan, the wounded operators are transferred to the trauma side of the TI medicine clinic. The good news is that his TI implant was undamaged by the head trauma. Per Ocean PMC's medical plan, he'll still get a fresh body next FTL. They also project MacGuyver will survive, but will lose his left eye. He's some responsive now, but likely won't be ambulatory for at least a month. Mr. Blonde gets checked out as well. His right wrist will be crippled for at least a month, but at least his new dentures give him a winning smile.
In Sam's office, the final payment comes in. Agent Barclay wasn't wrong, AMR fraked them. 5k deduction for "exployee loss" and a 20k deduction for "equipment loss." Shortly later, a deposit from a private account on Anghabar covers the difference of 25k.
That kind of bloodbath definitely wasn't the kind of work Simon Templar was looking forward to when he joined up. It's hard to unwind after seeing that much bloodshed, but he tries to find something to distract himself with. "Wait, what the hell was that song they were singing?" He Googles the lyrics to "Solidarity Forever." Alone in his bunk, he reads to himself the last stanza they never got to hear:
In our hands is placed a power
Greater than their hoarded gold
Greater than the might of atoms
Magnified a thousand-fold
We can bring to birth a new world
From the ashes of the old
For the union makes us strongMission Results: Success. 2 WIA (1 critical condition, 1 light duty), Unknown EKIA (at least 3), Unknown EWIA. 30k profit. Personnel notes updated on Data Sheet.
Plan Rating: Poor (-1)
Roll (2d4): 6
Plan Execution Result: 5 - Competent
Mission Difficulty Roll (2d4): 3 - Much Harder Than Expected
Operator Improvisation Roll (2d4): 4 - Mistakes Were Made
Part 1/2