9514/The Gotham Affair: Little Roundtop

The Gotham Affair: Little Roundtop
Date of Scene:	10 October 2019
Location:	China Basin, Old Gotham
Synopsis:	The General makes his first move in Gotham City, using some Irish thieves and a few dirty cops from Bludhaven to seize an Ameritek munitions ship destined for the Dominican Republic with police munitions. He faces Amarok, and accidentally kidnaps Blurr, who Ameritek thought was a mere sports car.
Cast of Characters:	General (Armstrong), Amarok, Blurr

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General (Armstrong) has posed:
The General had come to Gotham City, months ago, proceeded by news of a mysterious military reform school fire in Carolina. Now a free man (teenager), he had gotten himself into fighting form with the acquisition of a mild base of individuals, all opposed to the plutocracy of Gotham City and its focus on external markers and rules of estate. From those small network, all of them disenfranchised youth, he had slowly tapped upwards into their parents and the parents of other youth, building a concensus funded by a simple investment into the oldest politics of any city - the thieving guilds.

With the support of some fences and underworld night clubs, Ulysses Hadrian Armstrong had rapidly built a tactical recruitment network capable of a small action.

The left the General to obtain a base of operations capable of fortification.

At China Basin Docks, along a large wharf meant specifically for container ships, sat the Lonzon-Igrec, a container ship owned by Ameritek Industries. Classified in presence by the United States State Department, manned by cargo hands with ex-special forces training, and intended on ammunition exports to foreign countries that were beneficiaries of American foreign policy cloaked in corporate deals, the Lonzon-Igrec was The General's intended target for a secure base of operations.

Once taken off shore, of course.

In the misty night, Bludhaven Hostage Negotiations team snipers, three of them, set up rifles and scopes, having been sent by Roland Desmond to acquire a healthy share of the munitions in the ship for Blockbuster's organization, in exchange for Desmond's aid in the affair.

Proceeded by rumors of Irish Republican Army involvement in prospective wharf raids, the cargo hands and crew of the Lonzon-Igrec were on their tip-toes. The General stalked along through the night, flanked by Irish gangsters, armed with assault rifles and SWAT riot guns obtained from Bludhaven PD. They moved behind crates, as the General picked up an electronic device obtained by a friend overseas, an enemy of the Ameritek deal.

He tapped in a code frequency, and all the electronic communications in a three block radius went scramble, alerting the captain of the vessel to an incident.

Amarok has posed:
Amarok sits silent and motionless under the lip of a dockside roof, a sniper sitting none-the-wiser just above him, looking out over the wharf, drawn as the police were by rumors of a terrorist raid. He flinches slightly at the sudden burst of static in his ear as the General activates his scrambler, then tenses up slightly, and in a blink, is gone, slipping like a shadow groundside and onto the hunt.

Blurr has posed:
    On one of the middle decks is one of the larger warehouse compartments. It's mostly filled with crates full of ammo, but there is one thing that seems rather out of place. That being what appears to be a very slick-looking blue sports car that doesn't seem to bear the marks of any particular auto manufacturer. In fact, it kind of looks like something out of a concept drawing, or some custom rig Tony Stark made for himself.

    It has a license plate but if anyone tries to look it up, it's expired and belongs to some John Doe. Other than that, there is nothing to indicate where it came from.

General (Armstrong) has posed:
There's a rolling, low bevel, of the watch horn, as the captain signals a patrol from the bridge.

Cargo hands, hefting up carbines from the stock in the armories, then sally forth, marching along the sides of the boat, looking over the sides with flashlights, along the water and shore. Unable to contact shore with the radio, for reinforcements from the police or their paramilitary sponsers hired by Ameritek, they are trapped, and need to make contact manually, with a scout going down the gangway and making it to a landline.

As the cargohands move along the edge of the boat, shining flashlights along the wooden and metal crates, both squat and long, the Irish gangsters and the General watch behind them, little tiny silhouettes in the dark, misty yore.

There's a click, from a Boy Scout signal, as General depresses a button on a little metal pendant in his hand.

The Irish gangsters roll around their cover, and open fire with AK-47 choppers, firing three round bursts up at the boats, from a decent position back on the shore, hiding behind cover and making very poor marksman as a result of their conservative assaults.

The three snipers watch through scopes, waiting for the cargo hands to mass and return fire.

Amarok has posed:
Amarok slips seamlessly through the shadows, seeming almost to blink from location to location until he's within spitting distance of the firefight. A quick click at the side of his helmet, followed by tossing a pellet from a pouch into the middle of the would-be commandos, and a thick smoke begins spraying out in ernest, choking the air and blinding all within it, and the without to it's goings on.

General (Armstrong) has posed:
The assault rifle fire from the Irish thugs goes wild as the smoke clouds their view, then ceasing their fire and pulling back behind the crates as counter-fire from the ship's deck above peppers through the smoke, tracers and bullet ricocets mixing with the gas.

Coughing and choking, they stagger through the haze, holding their shirts over their mouths, as the General draws a Bowie knife and lurches downwards, touching the ground. He's short, even for a sixteen year old, and he's street trained, but he knows how to fight from a position of weakness, instead of tactical force.

The enemy has followed the false flag. Tactically low to the ground. The enemy has come following the suggestion beforehand. Appraised the ground from the bottom, instead of the air. The enemy does not probe and show care, instead striking the mass. Strategically acting on the level of individual action.

An assassin.

That means, to survive, the General must treat his fellows, as if they were targets, with himself as the secondary concern of the foe. He must make himself low, he must make himself ready, and he must strike quickly, once he hears the sound of his men dying.

The General's crying eyes squint in the thick gas, only lit by phosphorous flying overhead, large knife clenched in his hands, as he wheezes through the smoke, neck straining to avoid coughing and keep himself quiet. He listens, to the patter and coughs and lurching lifts of guns around him, to see the direction of the first assault.

Amarok has posed:
Amarok's assault is brutal and precise, darting out between volleys of gunfire, the smoke posing him no distraction or discomfort through the full helmet. In a blink, he's upon the nearest goon, flipping him over with his rifle and butting him in the eye with it, tossing the gun aside far from reach as he moves to the next, a rough punch to the throat before kicking his knee out from under him, keeping the momentum up with a DDT and rolling through to move to the last of his burst of targets, letting his momentum reach it's finish with a duck behind and a vicious release German suplex through some nearby crates, kipping back up into a low crouch, one hand to the floor as he skulks away from the bullets raining down from the ship and back to the relative safety of the shadows as the smoke begins to clear.

Blurr has posed:
    At the noise of the gunfire and chaos, Blurr starts to come to down there on that warehouse deck. Dazed and confused at first, he wonders just what the slag is going on. But the next thing he realizes is that he can't move, because he's magnetized to the floor...and that feels like someone's dumped a massive block of zolanium on top of him.

    What the--?! How?!

    Cursing inwardly, he activates the holoform avatar, which looks to be a blond teenaged boy much like many of the ones attacking the ship, and starts searching for a way to turn off that slagging magnet...

General (Armstrong) has posed:
There's a crack of rifle fire overhead, and then a cargo hand drops, having been shot by one of the rooftop snipers.

Another crack of rifle fire, and another cargo hand drops.

As the three snipers begin opening fire on the deckhands aligned along the ship's side, The General sees Amarok retreating, having traced and tracked him carefully through the smog, with quiet steps of his combat boots and careful ducks and pauses as the action thrashed around his men.

Then, a soft parade forward, the General moving forward with a short, ducking run, close to the ground and behind the assassin.

There's a switchup of his left hand, to swing a hand and attempt to grab Amarok, before a thrust of the Bowie knife up and aimed at the ribs, the diminuitive combatant taking advantage of the surprise to land a disabling blow to the right side of his foe.

Amarok has posed:
As the General makes his play, Amarok suddenly stops and spins around on a dime, deflecting the knife with the plating on the side of his arm and taking a warding swipe with his leg the General's way, forcing a moment of seperation, "...And here I thought you were cowardly...Not stupid..." He says in a dull monotone, his voice half drowned out by the sound of assault rifles as he slowly straightens up to loom over the ballsy Napolean, his own combat knife slowly slipping menacingly from it's sheath.

Blurr has posed:
    The avatar wanders to the top deck, and finds a bunch of people shooting at people on the shore. They probably don't notice him, as occupied as they are with the assault. Well it certainly seems like the attackers are after -something-. Hmm...Blurr considers how he can work this to his advantage...

    But nothing really comes to mind. He doesn't know enough about these stupid natives! Well he could just set off an EMP, sure. It would hit himself, but at least it might take out whatever machinery is keeping the magnetic field powered. And probably a bunch of other stuff on this boat thing. Which might be bad or good.

General (Armstrong) has posed:
The General backs off at the kick, getting nailed in the gut and grunting. He backpedals and hardens his stomach with a stretch and an inhale, before exhaling and dropping into knife fighting position.

"Stupid?" He grins, showing his teeth. "Just too clever."

He looks up at the much larger Amarok, his advantage cheap shots and cunning play, his height his chief advantage in a fight that is fought over a campaign, instead of a single duel.

The key, is making his duel with his foe, a protracted effort, instead of a brief, singular engagement.

He curls forward, his left hand on his fatigues, squinting in the night as sniper shots and panicked carbine bursts pass overhead in the heavy evening.

He then bursts into motion, his Bowie moving to his hand and thrusting outwards, extending his arm at the expense of safety to his forearm and bicep, the tip of the broad, large knife moving forward with a sidelong stance.

His left arm, meanwhile, comes off his hip and moves up to guard his stomach and torso from a retaliation on his open side, Amarok's knife bearing side, watching Amarok's helmet for the signal to pull back his exposed throat.

Amarok has posed:
Amarok remains inscrutable as the General begins his assault, simply moving lazily from side to side, the knife always just missing him or scraping uselessly against his armor. After a few rounds of this, his off hand suddenly snaps forward, slapping the General hard about the face like a bolt of sassy lightning, darting back just as quickly, "...This is getting sad..."

General (Armstrong) has posed:
As the General's secondary team boards the ship, the cargo hands being executed in rapid order, if they're still alive, the snipers on the rooftops lift their rifles and go hustling off into the night, to get to their civilian cars and drive back to their base in a Bludhaven stakeout house.

The General is slapped about, stumbling sidelong as he catches himself on his heel, knife clenched in hand.

"You fail a primary rule of warfare, friend," the General shares. "You focus on what you see, not on what you can't."

There's a sudden boom, and a riot gun from up top shoots a round of a tear gas grenade to the deck. It explodes in a stunning shockwave of gas, choking gas going outwards in a thrumming mass of chaos.

The General disappears into it, and soon after, the container ship breaks dock violently, the China Basins moorings ripped out as the gangsters pull it out of the harbor, and make full sail out into the Atlantic.