Chapter 2 - Ruins of better days

"Spores, nice." a cackling sound follows, it sounds like Cerebrus chuckles on the comment. "Trust me, I revised and rerevised the treatment and it works now. You will be able to help me, as you said wanted to."
A silence follows. The drones stand still, no wildlife can be heard, some wherever in one of the rooms water drips into a container water. Otherwise no sound can be heard.

Taelor's eyes go wide as she wrestles with the implications of the AI's words. "That makes it sound like you zombified the people of Mani Losa and you want to do the same to us. So, you know what? Fuck that and fuck you!" she says as she reaches for her weapons.

With all pretenses of politeness dropped, it seems there's only one way this is going to go. He doesn't relish the thought of being wiped out by a pair of rolling toasters, but his options have disappeared, and the laser pistol is all that's left.
His only movement is to make sure he's not in a crossfire, and for what seems a slow-motion eternity, he sees the tip of his laser pistol rise and train on the rightmost droid.

The group, taken aback by Cerebrus casually stated revelations, first looks at each other and then unanimously grabs for their weapons.
The first drone reacts the fastest and releases a shot on Elan, but his defence easily deflects the bullet and it slams into a metal pipe in the wall, sounding a widely audible ding.

After the loud sound fades, everything happens very fast. Elan replies the shot of the drone with a shot from his laser rifle. It seems to hit something important, because the drone freezes shortly and then slumps down (as much as an egg shaped robot with two rifles can slump).
Moments later a shot leaves Grahams gun. It strikes true, but gets deflected by the drones armor and only damages the one rifle slightly.
Taelor draws her laser pistol, lightning quick. The drone recoils as it's struck by Graham's shot and Taelor uses that split-second to weave in close, pulling her knife out of its sheath as she moves. In close fights, charge an opponent with a gun, flee from one with a knife, her instructor used to say.

She gets in close, close enough to touch the drone. Her knife held in front of her in a reverse grip, she fires her pistol from the hip. The beam punches through the robot, filling the air with the acrid stench of burning plastic.
The silence after the shots is ominous. The air is filled with smoke.
"What are you doing? You're ruining everything. Stop it, you can't leave, I control your ship. My drones will find you!"
Somewhere in the distance a familiar whirring sound can be heard. But for the time being the hallway is free, the drones are dysfunctional.

Graham's mind is spinning. Thinking to solve strategic problems was one thing, but keeping it all together with his life on the line never really appeared on any of his job applications.
"Does anybody have tools with them? Get them out, quickly, if you have them, we might have a more direct way to find the server, rather than wandering around blindly."
Holsters the laser pistol, and drags the drones into a low, make-shift barricade to provide a little cover before the next drones appear.
"If I can access their control units quickly, we can get the drones' navigational data, including the location they go to when they 'run home to mother'."
He's not 100% sure about this, but it seems logical, especially if the drones are autonomous in any way.

Elan isn't as quick on the trigger as he wants to be. The fact that he had to deflect a shot is a bit of an affront. Not as big of an affront as actually getting shot, mind you, but still... he'd rather the other party didn't get a shot off at all.

He fires a burst of lasers into one of the little drones, ripping it up nicely. He's grimly pleased with the effects of the laser rifle, which is why he's been lugging it around this entire time even though it's painfully inconvenient. On a good day he can do that much damage with his mind, but it's not as easy to hit as when you're spraying recoilless lasers in quick succession.

"Time to go," he says, keeping a lookout for more drone. He wants to suggest something but doesn't want Cerebrus overhearing him. As fast as his thumbs can fly, which is pretty fast, he types out a quick text message to the rest of the team:

<<What's the power source here? Solar? Some nuclear generator? Something sustainable for 100 years, it seems. If Cerebrus is distributed across the network, let's see if we can pull the power plug.>>

He hands his metatool to Graham, in case that's what he needs to tear up one of the drones, even though it seems like more of a job for a dataslab.

"Let's set up a perimeter," he tells the others, getting down to business. "I'll take front, Taelor in the rear, Statton in the middle with Graham as Graham does his thing. Eyes and ears open."

Hearing Cerebrus' tantrum about their resistance brought a smile to Taelor's lips. She didn't go looking for fights, but when they found her, she wasn't one to back down. She hadn't been in many and most of them had been training simulations. Still, this one couldn't have gone better.

She sheathes her knife and holsters her pistol. Graham was already fiddling with a drone and Elan was ready to move. "I have my toolkit, if the metatool isn't enough, but that might take too long. We don't want to be a sitting ducks."

"Thanks, Taelor, we'll cover you while you do surgery."
Graham smiles as he hunkers down behind the carcass of the drone. He uses the droid's frame to steady his hand with the pistol, and waits for Cerebrus' friendly 'ambassadors' to round the corner down the hall.
"That was a hell of a shot, by the way", he adds. "Is there more where that came from?", he asks with his characteristic grin.

Taelor squats down and has a look at the drone, looking for panels to open or screws to remove. She chuckles at Graham's praise. "Yeah, just under 4 A-cells' worth."

She finally finds what she was looking for. She removes the screws with her metatool and pulls the panel open, peering inside the drone. "You did pretty good yourself. Spent time at the range in between your shifts?"

It doesn't take her long to find the drone's control unit. Luckily, her shot seems to have missed it, only severing its connection to the motherboard. She unclips it and pulls it out. "Got it!" she says enthusiastically, before handing it to Graham.

"I barely singed its nose hairs, distracted it until you could drop that wrecking ball on it", Graham laughs, as he gets to work on the control unit.
He mutters under his breath, "Now, let's see what this thing has to say. There should be positional data and timestamps every time our metal friend made a move. There should also be an origin of sorts."
He connects the control unit directly to his compad, and starts extracting the data.

Graham's brow furrows in slight disappointment, and he taps a message to his group on the compad: "It looks like our friend travels exclusively around the spaceport EXCEPT for a trip to the government center. That may be where Cerebrus calls home. Ready to move, or do we want to ambush the next pair of 'bots, then head out?"
He ponders whether there's anything else he can do with the control unit, or whether it would just act as a homing beacon. If the latter, maybe he could wire it into the system, misdirecting Cerebrus' counter-punch.

Taelor stands back up and watches Graham's back as he analyzes the data. His bureaucratic knowledge was proving to be surprisingly useful. After he relates his conclusions, she sighs. She really missed being on a planet with a proper GPS network.

"There's no guarantee it'll only be two this time. We're in a dead end here, we need to move. I'll bring up the rear, like Elan said." She adjusts her pack and gets ready to head out.

moarhair wrote:

"There's no guarantee it'll only be two this time. We're in a dead end here, we need to move."

"Getting stuck here with our backs to the wall seems distinctly unappealing", Graham agrees.
"If there are no objections..."
Graham takes a moment to listen for minions, tucks the untethered control unit away, grabs his pistol, and heads toward the end of the hallway.

Leaving the carcass of the droid behind themselves the group silently works its way back the corridor they just came through moments ago. The whirring of other bots is audible every now and again, but nothing comes down the corridor.

Elan going point suddenly makes out a movement ahead and in the same moment the all too familiar whirring sound can be heard. He stops and then without much thinking directs the group into the next door and leans it almost shut. A few moments later two bots pass without stopping. After a few minutes the bots return and pass the room again the other direction. Then the silence returns.
After having waited a few more minutes the group sneaks out of the the room and continues making its way back. Tensed and focused hard on all senses the group slowly makes it way back to the main staircase without any further contact.
Almost crawling up the stairs to not be seen they get closer to the atrium. The exit feels almost in reach, when the sound of more bots spills down the stairs from the atrium. Elan motions the group to stop and wait and slides his body up the stairs in order to get a view of the situation. The scenery is disheartening.
Ahead four bots, similar to the ones before patrol the atrium.
The exit is about 20m ahead and open.

Elan slips back down the stairs to report to the others. He keeps his eyes trained on the top of the staircase, just in case any of the bots on patrol venture that far on their patrol.

"Four bots like the ones we just shot," he whispers. "They're patrolling the atrium. It's about 20 meters across to the exit."

He draws a little diagram in the dust and dirt on the floor.

"Let's use the top of the stairs for cover. Taelor and I can try to sharpshoot two of them. If we connect, we'll have cover for any counterattack.

"Graham can help swing things in our favor too. Taelor and Graham can cover me while I leapfrog to a pillar on the right. Either I'll draw their fire or I'll flank them.

"If we miss, we'll can retreat back down the stairs. Who knows if they can even pursue us down the stairs. It's entirely possible that they can't change the elevation of their weapons to point down." He looks at Graham and Taelor to see if they have any opinions on the matter given their experiences conducting surgery on the ones previously shot.

"Statton watches our backs and patches us up if things go sideways."

Graham ponders for a moment. He'd love to do this a different way, but nothing seems to present itself. If everything goes according to plan, their little group gains a 4-on-2 advantage, which still carries significant risk. If it doesn't go according to plan...
He prefers not to think about it, and their time in hiding isn't infinite -- they need to move.
He whispers, "Seems like the best option, but if there's another choice, I'm all ears. And mustache."
He throws Statton a quick wink and a grin. This doesn't seem like Statton's cup of tea, and if Graham can shore up Statton's confidence a bit, it couldn't hurt. A little bravado can go a long way.
Graham's not entirely sure it's his own cup of tea, but that doesn't matter right now. The group needs to act, Elan has a viable plan, let's not waste the chance, he thinks to himself.

Taelor takes a second to think. The spaceport was a crumbling maze. Finding another way out would be difficult, if not impossible. Sometimes the best way out was through.

She pulls out Mr. B, the rifle she'd taken from Diogenes, and checks to make sure a round is chambered. Satisfied, she nods at the others. "Let's fuck 'em up."

Taelor and Elan sneak back up the stairs, to where they can just see the top of the drones cylinder form. She braces herself, sighting down the rifle's length, steadying her breathing. Being inside, there was no wind to take into account, just the distance and the rifle's quirks. It was a simple, reliable design. She'd practiced a bit with it over the week following their confrontation with Diogenes. It pulled a little bit to the right, so she adjusts her aim slightly.

"Ready," she tells Elan. "On 3. 1... 2... 3!" She squeezes the trigger. Mr. B lets out a deafening roar and bucks in her hands, but her hours of practice pay off. Across the spaceport lobby, the top of the leftmost drone explodes from the impact. It staggers back and tumbles to the ground.

"Well, that was loud. I guess quiet time is over..." Graham mutters to Statton.
He uses the handrail to steady his laser pistol, and he listens for the faint whirring of electric motors, and the sound of wheels on a hard surface.
"Statton, stay close, and check behind us in case there's company from the lower level."
He makes his move, staying low on the stairs for cover. Elan is going to fire and move, and he's going to need that covering fire. Get moving, Middleton. He's seen war movies, and he imagines himself in one. With robots.

Elan slips into position to the right of Taelor. He draws a bead on his target, but his attention isn't as focused as it should be. He's thinking about leaping to his feet and bolting for the column to his right to draw fire away from Taelor while simultaneously flanking the targets. But the thought turns into a distraction, as he pulls his just just to the right of his target. Then his foot slips on a sandy patch of the stairs. He's still in decent cover but he's a fraction of a second behind in a scenario where fractions of seconds decide who lives and who dies.

The roar of Mr. B rolls through the atrium, accompanied by the fizzing sound of Elan's laser rifle.
One drone explodes, leaving just a crater on wheels, the other drones almost simultaneously turn towards the stairs.
With robotic efficiency, unfazed by noise, smoke and casualties they focus on the new target.
However, the drone on the right rolls over a piece of rubble disturbing it's entry into the confrontation, the other two take aim and fire.

The third robot hasn't entered the fray and Graham means to keep it that way. Elan and Taelor don't need anything else breathing down their necks.
He takes careful aim from the top of the stairs, and squeezes the trigger.
The laser blast erupts from the business end of the pistol, and the laser blast sails high and wide -- untroubled by any intervening robotic hardware.
"Hmmph", he says to Statton. "And by 'hmmph' I mean 'fuck'."
With such a lousy shot, maybe his position isn't given away. Graham lines up the next shot, and hopes his friends fare better than he did.

Elan tries to aim at the one on the right that stumbled and hasn't fired yet. He opens up with burst fire. One of the shots hits the piece of rubble and sends up a cloud of dust that obscures the effects of his other two shots. He thinks he made contact but he waits for the dust to settle to see if there's anything left.

The dust settles quickly and at first glance the drone looks undamaged, but it stopped moving and remains where it is, motionless.
The other drones continue towards the staircase and fire on Elan, but the dust must be interfering with the aiming systems, since both shots stray afar.

Taelor staggers back, the wind knocked out of her by the impact of the slug. She almost topples down the stairs, but she manages to find her footing on the step below. Her armored undersuit had diffused the bullet's hit. Hopefully, all that she'd have would be a nasty bruise in the morning... if they got through this ordeal alive.

She hears the drones fire again over the ringing in her ears and she flinches instinctively. She takes a couple of deep breaths to steady herself and steps back up to her firing position, bring Mr. B to bear. She sights the drone who shot her, narrowing her eyes as anger replaces the fear in her heart.

Her rifle roars again. The round punches through the drone's casing, bringing it to a sudden stop.

Graham, determined to make up for his last errant shot, peers along the sights of the laser pistol, tongue slightly hanging out in concentration.
"Come to papa....that's it.....that's it...." He waits for the perfect moment and PEW! The laser blast flashes across the atrium, exploding the planter of a long-dead ficus plant.
Disappointment crosses Graham's face. His friends give him a "What was that?" look. Even the robot, faceless as it is, appears confused.

Elan isn't surprised when the two shots miss him. His telekinetic defenses are subtle and often result in shots being gently deflected. The POCK POCK sound of bullets hitting the wall behind him isn't necessarily familiar but is comforting in it's own strange way.

Elan hears - feels? - the shot connect with Taelor. Boldly, perhaps rashly, he stands from his cover. It draws attention to him so that Taelor doesn't come under any additional fire, and gives him that much more elevation to take a shot with an advantageous angle. The laser rifle comes to bear on the final remaining bot and he squeezes the trigger. Firing laser weapons is odd in the sense that they don't move and barely vibrate; there's little indication that you've fired them except for the downstream effects. And the effects in this case are satisfying: the final bot is ravaged and left senseless.

"Time to move," he says, now taking a moment to check on Taelor to make sure she's mobile.

"Good job distracting the last one," he says to Graham, slapping the older man on the shoulder. "It never knew what hit it."

He moves across the atrium, keeping his rifle at the high ready while using columns and planters as cover just in case Cerebrus has other tricks up its electronic sleeves. Then he covers the rear while giving the others an opportunity to exit first.

As the last drone goes down, the path to the door is free. Using what's available as cover on their way, the group rushes toward the exit. Behind them they can hear more drones whirring, but none come close enough to be visible or even get a shot out. Shortly before reaching the doors the all too familiar voice comes alive over the intercoms. "Impressive, but not enough. You won't leave without my permission, I control your ship." . Again that cracking cackling.
Through the door, in the distance, the crew can see the airlock of the Tsunamis silently shutting.

Taelor nods reassuringly at Elan when he checks up on her. Adrenaline was still pumping through her veins. The pain would come later.

As Elan moves to cover their exit, she takes point, keeping Mr. B at the ready. The outside of the spaceport is thankfully deserted. She motions for the crew to follow.

Thelonius wrote:

"Impressive, but not enough. You won't leave without my permission, I control your ship." . Again that cracking cackling.
Through the door, in the distance, the crew can see the airlock of the Tsunamis silently shutting.

Her stomach tightens as she watches the hatch close. If they didn't wrest control of their ship back from Cerebrus soon, they would have to spend the night in the zombie-infested ruins. Not an enviable position. They had to find his server, and soon.

Taelor turns to Graham. Hopefully the data he'd gotten from the drone would yield results. "So, where to?"

Tecumseh wrote:

"Good job distracting the last one," he says to Graham, slapping the older man on the shoulder. "It never knew what hit it."

"Never knew what missed it, either. Based on the exploding ficus plant, it must have thought we had it surrounded."
Graham shakes his head with a small laugh, wondering whether the pistol's sights were off, or if he needed to sacrifice a live chicken to the god of accuracy. Either way, he felt pretty useless, and was glad for Elan and Taelor.
Oh shit, Taelor!
"Taelor, let's get a look at that. Statton, got a moment?"
He looks around at the crew's surroundings, trying to get his bearings. Graham nods as the pieces seem to fall into place.
"Over there, the government center should be over there." He points with a wave of his pistol, then thinks better of it. For all he knows, anything he points the pistol at could be the government center, a waste reclamation facility, or a ficus plant. Graham points with his finger.

Once there's a free moment, Elan takes a knee. He digs out a new Type A power cell and swaps it into the laser rifle. He gives it a pat, having been fairly accurate with it with the exception of that one gimme shot against an unaware target. He tries to console himself about how the bot was in constant motion on patrol, meaning it wasn't as easy a shot as he initially thought. (It was pretty easy.)

"Guess we better figure this out if we want dinner tonight," he says, looking at the Tsunami that's buttoned up like a clam. "Or unless we want to shoot holes into the hull of our ship.

"What are our options?" he asks the team. "Pull the power plug? Turn off whatever wireless signal Cerebrus is using to hijack the ship? How many viable ways do we have to skin the AI?"

"I'm okay," Taelor tells Statton when he comes to check up on her. "We can do a full check up when it's safe to take off my armor, yeah?"

Truth be told, the adrenaline was starting to wear off and the pain was seeping in. If they didn't get moving again soon, she knew she'd get testy. "Hard to say what our options are until we get a look at the fucker's setup. Let's go check out the government building. It's our only lead. You want point or rear, E?"

Graham gives Taelor a concerned look, but leaves Statton to the doctoring. He flips out his compad, and tries to connect to the Tsunami.
"Senn, what's your status in there? Can your sensors point us to the nearest power source in the city?"
He looks around for any signs of pursuit, and potential places for concealment if they need to take cover.

Once they have a defensible position, Elan takes a knee and gives Taelor a concerned look.

"Why don't you take a breather?" he suggests. "Let Statton look you over. Even if your armor held up, you might have a broken rib. The last thing we need is a fracture turning into a full break, or - worse - puncturing a lung."

He sees Taelor wants to put on a brave air and be tough.

"Sucking up the pain makes you tough," he agrees. "But being in peak condition makes you tougher."

Statton uses his bioscanner to evaluate the damage. When he delivers his verdict, his voice is stronger and clearer than it usually is.

"You've suffered blunt force trauma," he announces. "While there are no fractures, being shot is a nasty shock to your adrenal and cardiopulomnary systems, which take a different toll. It's a high-stress event that will make you more liable to suffer any number of subsequent complications, including shock and/or a heart attack."

He puts the bioscanner away and looks his patient in the eye.

"You don't appear to have any complicating factors, like hemophilia, thrombocytopenia, or a vitamin C deficiency. I can give you something for the pain and to address the hematoma so that additional trauma doesn't turn it into a hemorrhage, which would signify active, ongoing bleeding." He waits for assent from Taelor before proceeding.

Where Taelor grew up, medical supplies were always in short supply. You didn't see the doc for bumps and bruises. Her time in the militia, where a macho attitude was encouraged, had further drilled this into her.

She opens her mouth to object, but a sudden stab of pain makes her wince instead. She sees a look of alarm pass over both of her friends' features.

She sighs. "Fine," she says begrudgingly. She shrugs off her pack and sits, letting Statton do his job.

Senn answers almost immediately. "Hi, are you guys alright? What's going on? We completely lost control over the ship, we can't even cook coffee!
Everything was quiet and suddenly everything shortly powered down and back up and since then, nothing."

"We're fine. A little shooting, guardian robots from a crazed AI controlling the spaceport, that kind of thing. If he has full control over the ship, we might want to talk via compads, if you aren't doing that already. Are you guys able to do a manual override on the hatch?"
Graham keeps it nonchalant, but he knows that the clock is ticking now.

Statton finishes his exam and gives Taelor something for the pain. "Thank you," she says meekly. Guilt and shame had replaced her initial outrage. Her teammates had only wanted what was best for her and she'd let her pride get the best of her. Again.

She zips up her jacket and gathers her gear, getting ready to move on. She walks over to where Graham is talking on his compad. "We should keep moving towards the government building." She leans forward towards Graham's pad. "Senn, let us know if you manage to find something more precise on the sensors. I mean, if you have still access to them."

"We should," Elan agrees, getting back to his feet.

He visually scans for potential threats. He doesn't expect to see the bots rolling around outside, but the only way to be sure is to look. He wouldn't put it past Cerebrus to have something more nefarious, like ... no, he won't say it out loud, won't even think it. No need to give Cerebrus ideas.

"Graham, what are we working with? A general direction?"

Elan looks ready to walk.

"We likely will be, but I'm not sure whether we can close it again, without control over the ship. And frankly I'd rather not leave the door open in this situation."

Graham points in the direction where the afternoon sun is standing. Ahead lie broken buildings of various sizes and a half overgrown road. It's small, but a decent path through the ruins.
The scenery is serene, birds flutter between the trees, small animals rush from one building to the next and the tree tops gently sway in a light breeze.
Alas, the dangers that lie ahead and behind prove the beauty of the scene to be treacherous.

"Looks like our options are to stay onboard overnight with the door open, or leave the ship buttoned up while we fend for ourselves. Neither is particularly appealing, but I think we're going to head to the target. Best to keep the ship secure."
He pauses for a moment. "Be sure to save us some of the food, yeah?" He chuckles, then closes the connection.
"Let's step to it. Shouldn't be hard to find, but let's get some cover before nightfall."

"Let's not pop the hatch until it's night and we need cover," Elan suggests. "We can set up rotating watches to guard the hatch. It's a convenient chokepoint to protect.

"As for now, I'll take point," Elan offers. "Taelor, you want to bring up the rear? Statton's the principal, in the 'protecting the principal' bodyguarding sense, since he can put us back together. Let's go figure out how to pull Cerebrus' plug."

"W-wait, before we leave." Statton leaves the confused group behind and walks behind a large shrub. He is gone for some time, but then returns with a full backpack. "I have some food and water and some blankets. I, errr, stashed it there earlier. Y-you never know." he blushes slightly but then distributes the content of his pack equally.

The group starts moving towards the direction Graham pointed out earlier. It's easy walking for now and after some time the mood lifts a bit. But noone can fully relax. Every now and then sounds can be heard from the ruins, as if large creatures rummage around the rubble. In the corner of their eyes the friends also believe to see creatures lurking in the shadows, but noone ever actually sees anything. It leaves the uneasy feeling of being followed.

After some time of marching the types of houses change. They are lower, but longer and wider. Roofs frequently caved in, the skeletons of the houses tell a tale of an old warehouse district. The buildings are plain, often there is a fence or even a wall around a compound of houses. When the group turns another corner in front of them they see a group of people standing on the road. It's unclear what they are doing, but when the crew appears, they stop, turn around and stare.
They continue to stare dumbstruck, not reacting to waves of hands or shouted attempts of communication.

Elan keeps his laser rifle pointed at the ground. He doesn't want to be seen as a threat, at least not yet.

He tries to study the people. How many are there? How are they dressed? Are they wearing modern clothing or do they look feral? What about their hair? Are they carrying any sort of weapons or tools? He wants to know if they're some of the zombies that the team was hoping to find later. If they are... well, that's inconvenient.

I'm not used to working out in the open like this, Elan thinks to himself. I need a nice safe to crack in some shadowy corner.

The group consists of 6 members, clothing is shabby and torn, they appear to be relatively unkempt.
In their middle they are holding some fruits or similar food.

Taelor frowns. "Do you think those people are 'zombies'?" She pauses. It wasn't what she was expecting at all. They'd been described as animalistic, dangerous. These people were just... "They look kind of... sad, I guess?"

She was unsure how to proceed. They needed one to test the vaccine, but the Cerebrus situation couldn't be ignored. Could they afford to drag a recovering zombie along with them? Could they safely get past them to deal with the AI? They seemed innocent enough from a distance, but who knew how they'd react if they got closer. "Statton, what should we do?"

"W-we should watch out to be non-threatening. That's always a good idea when approaching a pack. Ideally we don't get closer to begin with.
Aside of that, I-I have no idea how they will react. We didn't get to study that."

Graham considers Taelor's words, which may carry far more ramifications than he wants to contemplate.
"That's probably fair to say. Based on our previous conversation with our computerized friend, there may be a more complex relationship between the zombies and Cerebrus than we thought. Shutting down Cerebrus at its source may resolve some problems, while creating others. I doubt this changes our immediate plan, but it may affect our escape. It may have implications for the cure. Hell, it may even be the cure."
He eyes the zombies from a distance with a look of distrust.
"Let's keep moving. Nothing sudden, let's not give them a reason to respond."

Elan stares at the group, which stares back. Honestly? It's about what he expected. Well, in terms of appearances at least. He actually expected more territorial aggression.

"What's the plan?" he asks. "Go around? It could be trouble if they start shadowing us. We could tag and bag one - or six - but then we'd have to pop the hatch on the Tsunami or we'd just be leaving them restrained out in the open."

He starts looking for a route around them that will leave the group at a reasonable, non-threatening distance.

The group carefully circles around the pack in the middle of the road. The people stare at them attentively, one can see that they are tensed and ready to react. In which way is hard to foresee. As our group continues another pack of people emerges from a door on the other side of the road. It's another 6 or 7 people, looking roughly the same as the first pack. The moment they see the group they stop and also stare.
The group continues slowly eyes fixed on the two packs. Or are the two packs in fact one? Silence lies over the tension pregnant situation. Noone seems to want to alarm the other, but somebody has to move, in order to resolve the situation.
It seems like forever until the group reaches the other side and retreats backward away from the pack.
Once the group and the pack are about 40m apart the people start to relax visibly and return to their activities. The group turns around and strides away, an awkward feeling lingering in their necks.