Menniker and Raille looked up to see the rather uninviting forms of a familiar-looking samurai ork and his silent troll partner. They wouldn't quite be able to see her over the dash, but they were certain Vasquez was standing between them. Their suspicions were confirmed when an amplified voice, with a hint of Southern charm, reached their ears.
"We have been given four targets tonight, and we've already got one of them! We're going to take y'all now, and get our money tonight! So you can come quietly and we won't make a fuss, okay?"
"Four?" asked Menniker.
"There's us, and Twitch…and Erg?" Raille replied.
"They can't know about Erg, we met him later…" Menniker replied. "They've got some other poor guy."
"Well, I guess it's up to us to bust him out and run these idiots home."
"Yeah…have fun with that," replied Menniker, getting a sharp glance from Raille as she nearly wrenched the door off of its hinges and stomped out to meet their adversaries. Menniker went into a sort of trance and put his whole mind into Shelob, a trick he'd learned a long time ago for spying purposes. In his new, spidery body, he ran down his arm and out into the street, unnoticed by all. He went to the back of the mercenaries' paddy wagon contraption, and snuck in through the bars in the back door windows. There was indeed a young captive inside, huddled in the corner, wrapped in a blanket and sobbing. Menniker couldn't speak in his current form, so he went in for a closer look. There wasn't much to see. The prisoner was human, but folds of blanket and a head of shiny black hair tinted with red blocked any judgment beyond that. He skittered up the wall and near the prisoner's face for a better look. The prisoner was a girl, and to his surprise, quite cute for a goth kid. She had dark lipstick and her heavy black eyeliner was running down her cheeks from when she had been crying, but she emitted a sort of angelic glow nonetheless. She turned her gaze up and looked Shelob directly in the camera eye.
"You don't have to stare," she said, "I told you I didn't do it. And spider drones don't scare me. I think they're adorable." The soft naiveté in her voice told Menniker that she couldn't have been much into her teenage years…she was 16 at the oldest, and probably younger than that. He let Shelob go into remote and returned to himself. He drew his pistol and put his other drones at the ready. As an afterthought, he adjusted his glasses. He grabbed the door handle and took a deep breath. If Twitch could save a girl because she was a potential ally, he could do it too, dammit.
Meanwhile, Twitch and Erg had made an important discovery: their enemy was not supernaturally quiet, he had some kind of noise jammer, be it a sort of cyberware, a piece of equipment, or, Twitch shuddered to think, a magical talent. However he did it, he was a slick one, sound or no. He had caused Twitch to waste all of his shotgun shells and most of his SMG rounds, and had taken out all but one of Erg's wolves. Between the three of them, they had laid waste to a good patch of nationally protected wilderness. Blow for blow, slice for slice, they were the perfect match. Then Twitch noticed something out of the corner of his eye…he was certain he had seen someone in a wheelchair, but what would they be doing here? He decided to make sure…he didn't want any unnecessary casualties unless he was the sole cause. He was pretty sure that Erg could handle himself, and if not…well, no great loss. Twitch found what he was looking for. Sure enough, there was a wheelchair-bound citizen watching the show. He dashed to their side.
"Hey," he started, "this-is-not-a-spectator's-sport. This-is-dangerous-and-you-should-go-home-now."
The elderly man in the chair didn't move for a long time, which gave Twitch time to observe that he was ancient and rich, and could probably do with much less money than he had. Twitch made a mental note to follow him home. Then the old man spoke at last, in deep, commanding tones that belied his frail frame.
"I know, kid. Beautiful isn't it?"