The Retarded Warrior and 
DARK Lore Presents:

                   ** Lengths and Extremities: Part 3 **
                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                                 * * * * *

	"Who's the new player?" buzzed Bottle Rocket through the radio.
	Sifton IDed the driver of the Lexus in his helmet and read off what was
printed across the visor:

	"Name: Sanderson, Dennis
	 Aliases: None
	 Born: Jan. 16, 2000
	 Height: 5'9"			Weight: 155 lbs
	 Hair: Light brown		Eyes: Brown
	 Distinguishing Features:
		Stomach - 3" knife scar
		Right Shoulder - tattoo of dagger and ivy
	 Preferences:
		Small, easily concealable weapons (Derringer)
		9mm sidearms
		Shotguns
	 Notes:
		One of Toronto's biggest rebel gun-runners
		Enjoys gambling, good food, drinks, women
		Avoids conflict if possible		
		Average marksman
		Often seen with Leonard Wu a.k.a. Forbidden Image
	 Reward: 
		$90,000 Dead
		$180,000 Alive"

	"Dennis Sanderson eh?" said Bottle Rocket and laughed an amused laugh.
"A live-fast-die-a-sinned-soul type of guy. Sounds like he and I could be
friends."
	"Should we try to take him too?" Sifton asked. "The suits would
probably boost our pay if we can take him back breathing. He must have a
RoloDex full of underground connections."
	Bottle Rocket considered it for a moment then answered "If the targets
stay together, then you nail Sanderson. We'll take the other two. If they
split up, we'll go with the original plan and then get him if it's
convenient." 
	"Affirmative," Sifton said and set the radio receiver down.
	Another man got out of the Lexus carrying ordinance and armour which he
handed to Elminster.
	"Oh shit," Kosk muttered and shifted the Coda in his lap.
	Picking up the radio again, Sifton announced "I don't know if the rest
of you guys saw that but Primary's armed."
	Both Bottle Rocket and Fire Wheel responded promptly, saying that they
did see but it didn't matter.
	After a brief shouting conversation between Karen and Elminster, the
former climbed into the car as did Sanderson.
	"This is Bottle Rocket. Modifications to plan B: Black Cat, follow them
and bring James back alive at all costs. Also, capture Sanderson if
possible, kill him if necessary."
	"Wilco," replied Sifton and started the engine and drove off, seven
car-lengths behind his quarry.

                                 * * * * *

	Michael Raines sat astride the black Yamaha Genesis 12, a newly
designed motorcycle built with corporate Manhunters in mind.
	Aurora bought three dozen of the bikes from Mirai Technologies, one of
the three dominant companies in Japan. In total, the bill came to a cool $72
million, each Genesis costing an even $2 mill and, in the minds of those
paying, worth every penny. A few of the features that the bikes had which
constituted such a high price included a new and improved race engine with a
secondary booster to give it an incredible rate of acceleration; magnetized
steering so that the driver could release the handle bars and drive with no
hands for a few minutes; and hardened steel body with 48-layer Kevlar
overlay that made the Genesis invulnerable to all but the biggest, meanest
rounds on the market. There were many other little features that filled the
600 page user's manual, but the aforementioned were the main topics of
conversation.
	The Fire Wheel unit consisted of four of the local division's best
marksmen, two per bike. Raines drove lead with John Wilkens, Fire Wheel unit
leader riding with him.
	"Fire Wheel, eliminate Elminster's escort and sheepdog him towards the
target zone."
	"Will do," Wilkens replied, turned and gave the other two fellows on
the second Genesis an okay signal.
	They returned the gesture and loaded their SP89 submachine guns with
thirty rounds of teflon. After their weapons were prepped, they slid the
little black guns into their holsters, two built into the motorcycle a few
inches above and behind the engine block on either side for the rider and
one for the driver at the front of the body, under the right handgrip a
hand's width in front of where his right knee would be when the bike was in
motion.
	"Who's our target?" Wilkens asked in a rough, sandpaper voice which
came about after many years of yelling at grunts at the SWAT Academy where
he served as a drill sergeant part-time every summer.
	Raines rested one hand on the front of the motorcycle and peeked out
from the alley in which they were hidden. The two men were making their way
up the street in shoulder-to-shoulder formation, both unceasingly scanning
for sudden movements.
	Raines IDed the escort in his Vision helmet and pulled his head back.
	"Anthony Ducket," he said. "Nobody special, just a little footsoldier.
$25 000 dead, $35 000 alive."
	"Okay," Wilkens said. "We'll hit them on three. If anything goes wrong,
we can't let them trap us in here."
	The others nodded in agreement.
	"We'll cover," he added. "Satchel, you and Morris make sure you hit the
right guy."
	"Ducket's the one with the M-16," Raines said and Satchel and Morris,
who were on the second bike and rearing to go, nodded again and gave him the
thumbs up.
	With his Uzi in hand, Wilkens patted Raines's helmet and silently
counted down using his fingers: three, two, one. He pointed out into the
street and the motorcycle took off like a bullet.

                                 * * * * *

	It didn't matter too much that Elminster and Tony were alertly watching
for movements of any sort as they moved forward for they were still
relatively surprised when a sleek, jet-black monster of a motorcycle
appeared.
	It shot out of an alley between an apartment building and an Italian
deli just ahead of them. The rider pulled out an Uzi and started firing as
the bike streaked across the road.
	Elminster caught two rounds square in the chest, causing him to stagger
backwards. Off balance, he squeezed off a burst of three from his HK,
missing the bike's rear tire by a few inches. Across the street, the large
picture window of a Chinese restaurant exploded into fragments and rained
down onto the concrete.
	Grabbing his arm, Tony pulled Elminster off the sidewalk, up a few
steps and into the alcove into which the front doors of the apartment
building were set.
	Just as Elminster got moving, a second motorcycle, identical to the
first, tore out of the alley, the rider firing off a short burst from a pair
of what looked like Heckler & Koch submachine guns. Whether they were MP5K's
or SP89's, Elminster wasn't sure.
	A small corner of the alcove above his head shattered into brick chips
and dust which showered down on him, making him jump. He hunched himself
over, tucked his chin to his chest and, steadying himself, shot off another
short burst of three one-handed from the HK and then dove into the alcove.
	The first round whizzed by the second rider's head, narrowly missing.
The second and third both hit him in the left shoulder. He screamed long and
shrill and fired madly with the gun in his right hand, shredding many of the
chrysanthymums that sat outside on the first floor windowsill and tearing a
piece out of the heel of Elminster's right shoe.
	"You all right, Steve?" asked Tony, leaning against the alcove wall,
looking down at Elminster who was sprawled on his stomach on the floor.
	"I'm fine," Elminster answered quickly. "They were just conventional
rounds." He turned himself over and rubbed at his chest. "I'm going to get a
couple of big motherfucking bruises there tomorrow though."
	"But you're still alive. That's good." Tony said and started shooting
at the first bike which stood propped up on its kickstand on the other side
of the street. Its passengers also began firing.
	Sparks sprang off the motorcycle as the bullets were, to Tony's extreme
surprise, deflected off.
	The bikers' return fire put several 9mm holes into the door and windows
inset and two found their way into Tony's arm.
	He grunted in pain and emptied the rest of the clip at which point
Elminster provided cover while Tony reloaded. The shooters across the street
ceased fire and hid behind their bike.
	"Can you ride one of those things?" Elminster asked between his firing.
	"Probably," Tony replied. "I used to race motorcycles with my buddies
in Hamilton. I may not be able to pull the same stunts I used to, especially
not with this arm, but I think I can at least get us out of here."
	"Good," Elminster said, dipping his head. "The other two should be
coming around soon. I'll take care of them. Just remember to stay behind me.
I think they want me alive, otherwise the first guy wouldn't have used
regular rounds. If I go out in front, it might confuse them long enough for
us to get a couple of good shots off."
	Tony grunted a quick okay and kept shooting, keeping the first pair at
bay.
	The second bike swung around in front of the building but Elminster got
the jump on them. Another burst of three caught the rider in the side and he
dropped off the motorcycle and onto the road.
	A shot flew at the second driver from the Davao which Elminster held in
his other hand. He had forgotten Tony's warning and made no preparation for
the massive kick of the revolver. His arm leapt into the air causing the
shot to go wide and, instead of striking the driver in the head, it blasted
a large piece out of the top of his Vision helmet.
	The attack surprised the hell out of him none-the-less and he lost
control, tipped over and fell off. The bike skidded along the pavement,
spitting up a brilliant bridal train of orange sparks behind it before
pivoting, spinning 180ø and coming to a stop.
	Elminster rushed out of the alcove, providing cover for Tony who went
to fetch the motorcycle.
	He slung his M-16 over his shoulder before picking the bike up with his
good arm. Swinging a leg over, he whispered under his breath a short prayer
of thanks for the engine which seemed unphased by the minor spill and was
still running smoothly. Giving the motorcycle a quick once-over, recognition
glinted in his eyes and a faint smile appeared on his lips before he shouted
"Get on!"
	Elminster sidestepped quickly, taking shots across the street with the
HK and, as he passed the second driver who laid on his stomach in a daze on
the ground, Elminster fired off two more rounds from the Davao point blank
into the man's back. 
	The massive rifle bullets punched through his vest and bulldozed their
way into his upper torso and eventually came to a halt buried a few inches
in the asphalt on the other side. He shuddered once then became still and
silent.
	Taking advantage of Elminster's divided attention, the first pair poked
their heads out from behind their motorcycle-blind and fired off a burst
that bounced off Tony's bike a little bit behind where he was sitting.
	Elminster returned fire, chasing the two back into cover as he hopped
onto the elevated backseat of the motorcycle, designed to give the rider a
bigger opening over the driver to shoot from.
	"Hang on tight," Tony warned. "I've heard about this bike: Yamaha
Genesis 12, zero to 100 kliks in three and a half seconds!"
	Elminster's eyes widened as he pocketed the Davao and wrapped his spare
arm around Tony's waist.
	The bike shot off like greased lightning, the engine surprisingly
silent but its tires screaming, leaving a thin trail of high-friction rubber
behind it.
	Elminster emptied the clip in his HK as they passed the first pair,
slung the gun over his shoulder and wrapped his other arm around Tony's
waist, his hands locking together. His jacket caught the rushing wind and
puffed up like a parachute as they tore off down the street with the other
Genesis following close behind.SAUCE00Lengths & Extremities Part 3       The Retarded WarriorDark Illustrated    19941017’.

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