Pop is keeping an eye out for trouble ahead, completely oblivious to both the person who has been shadowing the group and Goethe slipping silently away into the alley. Pop is merrily carrying on a conversation with nobody, as the rest of the crew is watching Goethe with a puzzled look, except Nightshade. She knows exactly what’s going on.
A few moments later, Goethe emerges from the corner on the opposite side of the building, his AK pressed into a person’s back, between the shoulder blades. “It’s not wise to go skulking around in gang territory, ya know. Accidents can happen,” Goethe says. Pop immediately raises his own rifle at the sneaking figure.
“Take it easy,” the sneak says. It’s an elf with a crude, low-quality cybernetic arm. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“What the hell’s going on here?” Pop demands.
The elf glances around at the motley crew of unlikely Shadowrunners. “I could ask the same thing from you,” he says. “Bunch of misfits with a guide in RIP turf. Smells fishy.”
Pop angrily swings his assault rifle around on its shoulder strap to a resting position at his back and advances on the elf with outstretched hands. He wraps his hands around the elf’s neck and squeezes, as the elf struggles in his grip.
“A filthy 72nd rat, huh?” Pop growls as he chokes his victim. “Wanna’ send some intel back to your fairy bosses, huh? Well, I got a message for 'em! I’ll write it on your corpse!”
“Hey, calm down,” Nail says.
But Pop ignores him. He slams the elf against a brick wall, opening a gash along the elf’s temple that immediately begins bleeding. The elf sinks to the ground, dazed. Goethe can see the elf is completely helpless, and steps in front of Pop.
“Watch it, champ,” Goethe says. “We don’t kill people for snooping, and when you’re with us, you don’t either. I don’t care who’s turf we’re on. Got it?”
For a moment, Goethe nervously considers the possibility that Pop will tear him apart. The orc certainly looks strong enough to be up to the task. But Goethe doesn’t flinch, and his nerves don’t show. Pop sizes him up, looks him in the eye, and sees nothing but steely resolve. The burly ork comes to his senses, and the moment of terrifying rage passes.
Pop’s not about to just let a rival walk away, though.
“You want to let him live? Fine. But I sure as hell 'aint gonna let him walk out of here.” With sudden, furious violence, Pop lifts his foot and brings it crashing down into the elf’s knee. There’s a gruesome snap as the elf’s leg breaks and he cries out in pain. Pop resumes his stare-down with Goethe, but now with a grin. “Problem solved, right?”
The elf cries out in between his shouts of agony, “I heard everything! I know the deal your cyborg made! Don’t do it! You’re good people, not like them. They’re animals, who only want the thrill of murder.”
“Shut up, dog,” Pop says. “We have an agreement. You got nothing they want, and I do. Tough break. Har har! Tough break! Get it?” He nudges his foot against the elf’s mangled knee, causing a fresh scream of agony from the elf.
“I can get you to the vamp lair!” the elf shouts. “There’s more of us here. We’ve been watching you, waiting to see if you’d go through with the deal. We don’t have to be enemies.”
Pop glances around nervously at the news that other elves may be hiding nearby, suddenly regretting his decision to escort the crew alone. He lifts a handheld comlink transmitter to call for backup, but the device won’t broadcast.
“What the fuck did you do?” the ork screams in fury. “Fix it, monkey!”
The elf ignores Pop, and simply nods in gesture to his right. Three more elves emerge from hidden locations in the area, all with various small arms leveled at Pop and the crew. “We can help each other,” the elf with the broken leg says. “Without your cyborg, RIP can’t defeat us. We’ll lead you to the vampire lair, if you break your agreement with RIP. We don’t want anything else from you; just your word. If you decline, well…then we’ve got a whole extra set of problems…”