Well, things have gone decidedly pear-shaped recently.
OK, given what we know at the moment, I'm voting for:
[ ] (1.2x) You want to understand what happened in Moscow first. And now you can time your 'investigation' to ensure that the hemophages are busy dealing with the fact that Spetsnaz are firing thermobaric rockets into an opera house. Choose one or both of the options below (note that choosing both requires you to split your team)
[ ] How about we actually just stop pussyfooting around and look into the museum? The power armor even almost works!
Then, after that, [ ] Let's go find some of those Baali the Tsar gave you hints about, and then beat them until stuffing vital information falls out.
...just Baali first, museum second. My reasoning is, the museum isn't going anywhere. Neither is EXEMPLAR. Those are contacts that we can follow up on a little later, whereas the Baalite contacts are going to go to ground once the opera house gets hit. That's going to shake up the vampire underworld and make it hard for us to keep track of things, so let's go play a visit to the Baalites
before things get crazy, and check out the museum in the chaos while all the hemophages are too busy killing each other to pay attention to us.
Write-in for part 1 (beat up Baalites until answers come out):
"One minute."
The loudspeakers blared something in Russian, but John Kessler wasn't listening. Throwing himself up the side of the building, he leaped to the far side of the alleyway before jumping back. Bricks groaned and mortar cracked, but the buildings held - barely - as the heavy cyborg propelled himself upwards with their help.
The noise outside was deafening, but he could hear an even greater roar every time his boots impacted the side of the target building. His breath rasped in his throat, his heart for once speeding up past its normal clockword-regular 60 beats per minute, as he exerted synthetic muscle and bone.
One last leap, a hand on the base of some leering gargoyle, and Kessler was on the roof. The gargoyle's severed torso began to slide off its base with the growl of crushed rock and sliding granite, and only John's panicked last-minute grab kept it from plummeting to the ground below. His heart thumping in his chest, Kessler watched warily as pebbles from the shattered masonry trickled down, but none of the hulking (human) bodyguards by the front door came by to investigate.
"Thirty seconds."
Not much of a surprise, really. The...what was its name, again? The "Something Something Russian, Vodka 4 Everyone,
nichevo?" Whatever. Point was, the combination bar/whorehouse/nightclub/place of various nightlife-ish things was a decent tourist trap but definitely on the edges of Moscow's vampire scene. Henriette's break-in on their surveillance footage had only found a few obvious hemophages, and even then they'd taken steps to try and blend in with the normal Sleepers inside.
All in all, a fairly unappetizing target,
except for the VIPs. Dr. Rosario had been idly checking out the guest list, and noticed that one of the DJs for the top floor dance room was a notable member of the vampire underworld. Her stage name, "Raz," had popped up across the "Wicked City" as a popular performer, who'd shown up at virtually ever major vampire-affiliated nightclub in the past few months. A little more backtracking had found the club's secret: its basement levels housed a large Baalite cabal, and "Raz" was apparently here tonight to meet with them. That meant VIPs, and a potential goldmine of intelligence and assets to seize. It also meant two shitloads of vampires, but then again, that was what he was here for.
"Fifteen seconds."
Padding over to the roof access door, Kessler checked through to the far side, his eyes glowing red. Nodding and slipping a heavy leather glove on his left hand, he braced himself and counted down the seconds.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One-
"Go."
The wail of fire alarms below distracted the patrons from the sound of John making his entrance. Wiggling his fingers and flipping the latch, Kessler slipped inside the building and made his way downstairs. Although the seven-foot, trenchcoat-wearing cyborg still stuck out like a sore thumb (on fire) amidst the sea of Sleepers, he moved downstairs easily with the crowd. Jamelia was already inside, the Arabic woman able to infiltrate in past cameras and bouncers to pull the fire alarm, and Kessler knew she was out on the main dance floor somewhere. He scanned the crowd reflexively, but given that he was looking for a veteran NWO agent who was trying not to be seen, he figured he'd have better luck finding Waldo in a blank coloring book.
As the hordes of Sleepers jammed their way out the front door, the fire alarms above still blaring, (due to Henriette exploiting the network access Jamelia had gotten for her) John ducked into an alcove and activated the holosuit. With the dance floor rapidly emptying, the Baalites began to appear. No longer hidden in the crush of people, the too-pale vampires hissed and snarled at each other in Russian that Kessler couldn't place and didn't really care to listen to, probably insulting each other's Childes or whatever.
"Ready?"
Jamelia's voice was emotionless over the radio. Worried about the vampires hearing him, John simply clicked his mike once. One of the Baalites looked up, even at a noise that minute, and John resisted the urge to curse. He hadn't drawn a weapon to avoid spooking the Sleepers, and even though he was wearing his trenchcoat, it would take him a subjective eternity to open it up. The vampire who'd heard him began to stalk in his direction, only to be distracted by a bright light.
In the distance, John could hear the roar of an engine.
The front garage door of the converted warehouse was wide enough to fit even their monster car. This was immensely helpful as the massive vehicle, disguised under its own Henriette-activated hologram disguise, barrelled through the front door with all the grace of a drunk rhino. As the vampires jumped away, screaming in surprise, the Bobs leaned out of the windows and opened fire. They were wearing heavy greatcoats and steel helmets with red stars on them, and to the astonished vampires outside, the Syndicatemobile looked exactly like a Russian BTR-60.
With the bloodsuckers distracted, John reached for his weapons. The old DhSKs leapt into his hands, and he tucked the two heavy machine guns under his arms as he advanced out from cover. The vampires, distracted by the harrassing fire from the Bobs, were caught unprepared for Kessler's lethal aim. Two hemophages exploded in showers of gore as the 7.62mm bullets plowed through them, John's eyes shifting to compensate for the muzzle flashes of the twin MGs. He tracked the guns to the left, two hemophages darting away as bullets splintered where they'd just been, and light taps to his head let Kessler know that the enemy was shooting back.
Of course, Kessler wasn't the only Technocrat in play. Behind him, the Victors and Bobs had finally disembarked from the car, and were in a defensible position laying down suppressing fire. And above them towered the mighty Iron Lion, the ancient machine roaring to the sound of the diesel engine on its back and the Gatling gun in its left hand. Hemophages were ripped apart as they tried to close with the group, showers of blood decorating the floor as primium bullets shredded their insides and stole their Vitae.
It was too much. The hemophages splintered as the invading Technocrats took the center stage; some broke through the nearby windows and sprinted away through the dark, while others ducked into alcoves to get away from the attackers. The clones spread out with machine-like efficiency, rooting out the few stragglers, as the disguised car revved its engine and backed out of the warehouse. Signaling for the clones to form up on him, John prepared to lead them into the bowels of this place.
---------------
"Shut the fuck up!" Alexei yelled at Grigori, smacking his impudent Childe until the younger vampire was cowering on the floor. "Pull your shit together!"
Grigori whimpered. "Y-yes m-m-my Lo-"
"Stop sniveling!" Alexei bellowed, kicking Grigori for good measure. "Now,
who the fuck is coming for us?"
Communications from topside were sparse. All they'd known was that the fire alarms had been pulled, despite that being practically impossible, (there was
one switch for the damn thing! In the manager's office, even!) and after that...nothing. They'd heard gunshots, screams, a few revving engines, and now silence. Except for the worthless slug now bleeding on his floor, of course.
Leaning down, Alexei hauled up the blubbering wreck. "Who. Are. They?"
"S-s-s-"
"Who?"
"S-st-st-Stali-"
"UNCLE JOSEF IS COMING FOR YOU!"
The voice echoed through the wide meeting hall, reverberating across the metal rafters. In the sudden, shocked silence, Alexei's hearing picked out several important things. For one, the grumbling of a small engine. For two, the
hiss of an open gas main. For three, the sound of footsteps. A
lot of footsteps.
"M'lord!" another voice crackled in his radio.
"M'lord, the escape tunnels are sealed! Some idiot detonated the tunnel explosives too early!"
"That's sabotage, not a mistake," Alexei growled into his radio. "Gather everyone who's left. We'll ambush these bastards in the main hall."
Throwing Grigori out into the open, Alexei hissed for his subordinates to ready themselves for an ambush. They did so even despite their fear; even the visitors from the Sabbat cooperating for once. As the
thump of boots on concrete and the growl of the engine got closer, Alexei ducked behind cover and readied his knives.
The seconds ticked by, broken only by the noise of the attackers. They weren't subtle, whoever they were, Alexei mused. RSFSR Spetsnaz, maybe? Traditionalist lackeys? Whatever they were, he'd greet them with the buried explosives that...no, wait, from the sounds of it they must be already past the traps.
Damn sabotage.
No matter. There were still at least a dozen mature vampires down here, with their backs against the wall and ready to fight until a second death. They'd hold these bastards here, no matter the cost. They'd-
Alexei blinked. Was that
singing?
...
"UUURRRRAAAAAAA!"
The Baalite vampires underground were ready to fight the Russian military, the Traditionalists, or other hemophages.
They were not expecting an army of flamethrower-wielding World War II re-enactors led by a seven-foot-tall Stalin dual-wielding machine guns. With glowing red eyes. And a giant golden metal Thing with a Gatling gun, which seemed to be roaring at them.
"GULAG FOR YOU!" The machine guns chattered.
"GULAG FOR YOU TOO!" The Victors' flamethrower caught a hemophage sheltering behind an I-beam, making him light up in a pillar of flame. Kessler spun and fired at hemophages trying to sneak up on them from the rafters.
"GULAG FOR EVERYONE!"
"You're enjoying this far too much," Jamelia's dry voice echoed in John's ear.
"Man's gotta take some pride in his work," Kessler replied amiably, dropping one DhSK as its magazine finally ran dry.
"ZOMBIE STALIN RETURNS TO CRUSH WEAK BOURGEOISIE!" he bellowed in Russian at the top of his lungs.
"You do realize that the clones don't give a shit, yes?"
John sighed dramatically. "My acting talent is wasted on a pack of Philistines! Wasted, I say!"
"Just shut up and find that VIP," Jamelia orders crisply, now all business. The spy had led Kessler and their impromptu team of clones safely through the traps, and John drops the other DShK as he sees a battered figure disappear through a door to his right.
Anyone tough enough to survive this much is probably high up on the food chain, he thought to himself as he chased the vampire down.
"Was this little bastard a runner before he got turned?" Kessler wheezed, sprinting after the fleeing hemophage. Even wounded, the damn thing was fast.
"Just keep chasing him."
John nodded, though the gesture was invisible to Jamelia. "Aye aye, ma'-OHFUCKSHITTITTIES!" The vampire's bulk landed on him as hands grasped at his shoulders; evidently the vampire had tried to wait and ambush him.
Emphasis on "tried." Now, the hemophage presumed-VIP is slumped over to one side, insensate, with a wooden bullet buried in its shriveled heart. Ten feet away, Jamelia held the smoking pistol up in front of her face and delicately blew on the smoke rising from the barrel.
John scowled. "I totally had that under control."
