Bells rang out in a cacophony of clanging inside her head. It was time for all-out panic attack, but it was the moment when a cool head would help the most.
And keeping a cool head was what Vinyl did best.
She had known that it was not going to be the most legal of rave parties, but Vinyl’s not one to turn down a chance to get a crowd pumping, regardless of age, species, or, in this case, legality.
She wasn’t even totally informed on why the guard was likely to bust the joint: the only thing she knew she had to do was split the moment they arrive. She was paid fully in advance for the gig, double the normal rate, so that was a pretty great incentive as well. And a weasel Vinyl was not. So she showed, and she played, and as expected, they arrived, with magically projected voices and stunners.
Vinyl ducked behind the stock decks that she was scratching on as soon as the windows in the auditorium smashed, instinctual training almost instantly taking the reins from irrational surprise and shocked bewilderment. Quickly, but with meticulous and practiced movements, she removed the current disc from the left turntable and slid it away to the hard case, closing the lid shut. The record on the right was her own, so she levitated it, packed it in her custom sport-saddlebag, and peeked out from behind the turntables.
The guards were advancing using a standard tactical maneuver, straight from the textbook. Exits that she could use lit up in her vision as she recalled the layout of the building. Sparing no more than a second to make a decision, she jumped behind a curtain on the stage and took off in a silent gallop that was no less second nature than jamming at her tables.
Turning corner after corner, making sure to stay out of site of the roaming recon teams, she made her way to a back door. Ducking into a side corridor to dodge a visual sweep by a guard at the end of the hall, she paused, and noticed her heart rate was unusually high. Her rate of breathing was tending to more of a pant than anything else. She sighed, and tried to calm down.
As the hooffalls started back up and then began to quiet, Vinyl peeked back out, the trained eyes behind her goggles making use of the now-active night-vision capabilities. No guards were in sight, so she tentatively slid out and continued towards her destination.
Turning the final corner, her intuition finally got through to her, and she slowed to glance out a window by the exit door. Chariots everywhere, magical sirens ablaze; a sweep of the door showed a hastily-applied Royal Standard alarm wire, likely designed to alert them of an attempted escape.
Looking around quickly for something—anything—to use to escape, Vinyl noticed something glowing brightly through the high windows in the room behind her. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she leapt up onto a high table to peek inside.
Even from what little information had registered in her head from her glance into the windows, she knew that this was not just an ordinary growth op or underground market site. This was BIG. She had to get out, now, and silently retreat into the night. Hell, screw silently, she could outrun the guards. She just had to not get caught. Not here.
Quickly levitating a metallic folding chair, she whipped it at the window beside the exit with ferocious speed, and leapt out as soon as was possible, not even caring for the large, bloody gash on her hindleg, that she just acquired from the jagged remnants of glass.
She sprinted off into the night.
[2011-07-13]