World Tree MUSH

     It's early morning in the long standing city of chicago, a place of hopes and dreams for the people within. The sun shines high in the sky almost completely buried behind grey clouds. Model-A, and T cars from Ford roll their way along the roads mixed in with horse and buggies and the occasional tram car. It's a lovely evening with a cool breeze blowing through the massive towers of brick and steel which line either side of the road. 

     On the street corner a newsboy, in his iconic cap stands shouting out at the top of his lungs. Clutched in his grasp is the latest paper, being tossed over to anyone willing to pass by and drop a few coins into his little collection box. "Extree extree read all about it, legislation cracks down hard on foreign imports after mayor caught in scandal!" It's all they'd been talking about in the news for days. The import laws were a major thing for everyone in the country, if handled right it could have meant a continuation of the American dream, the great party following the greatest war in history. Talks had stalled, and for weeks there had been a blanket ban on imports despite improving relations with the blossoms neighbors. 

     Finally the word had come down from on high, and it was final: The ban would hold, on everything but the absolute essentials, and for some people that just wouldn't do. 

     Nearby the sound of a policeman's whistle pierces the air. That rattle rings out followed by a number of gunshots the marching of a dozen or more feet. Just down the road the doors of the 1st national bank bust open exploding out into the street and managing to barely miss hitting any pedestrians who happened to be walking by. 

     Out from inside a figure runs dressed in a pinstripe trench-coat and a massively wide brimmed hat. The notorious Benito Bontade back in his natural habitat, a smile from one ear to the other as he chomps hard onto his cigar. In one hand he holds a Thompson SMG pointed towards the sky, the other clutches strong to his hat trying to keep it in place while also holding onto a burlap bag with a $ sign on the side spitting out money over the top. 

     Bullets wizz past his shoulders barely missing him as he barely manages to avoid being hit by a passing model-A. One of his partners another bankrober manages to be tackled to the ground by a patrolman, handcuffs already behind his back. 

     Benito ducks down low trying not to get his head blown off smoke following him in a trail from his cigar as he leaps quickly over the door of his convertible, and into the drivers seat. His hand slams down onto the horn blaring out the first few bars of the national anthem. He slams his foot on the gas and begins to speed off dollar bills flying out the back of his convertible. 

     Even though the alarm had just gone off there's already 2 dozen police officers on the scene. Shots fire in a barrage from every angle as they get into position pelting the area with bullets as tires pop, and windows shatter. Others are already waiting in their Model-T police wagons ready for the chase burning rubber before speeding off from a stop to engage in the chase.

     After an epic battle for the fate of a whole planet (well, a colony on a moon anyway), one would expect a hero to take a much-deserved rest. Not this hero, though. No, sir, this hero never gets to rest, not as long as he still draws breath. He will forever fight the good fight, righting wrongs and thwarting evil wherever he goes.

Which includes 1920s Chicago, apparently.

"This sucks. It's like a shitty episode of Star Trek. By which I mean /every/ episode of Star Trek." grumbles the turquoise-armored not-so-young-anymore man as he wipes banana peels and used tissues off of his armor, a trail of moldy spaghetti and dirty diapers and other stereotypical trash marking his progress out of a dumpster in a nearby alley and down the sidewalk. He doesn't even know where he /is/, just that he woke up inside said dumpster and when he got out, he'd apparently time traveled or something.

"I swear if this is another stupid Freelancer simulation we somehow stumbled into..." he continues grumbling, stepping out into the middle of the street while failing to notice the sirens and gunfire heading toward him.

     "Don't worry Matches, you just keep quiet and we'll have you outta the joint by the end of the week!" Bontade shouts back as he swerves into the oncoming lane of traffic weaving and ducking to avoid cars. He's not heartless after all, and as a man of his word he'll make sure his partner in crime gets the best lawyer money can buy. 

     A few dozen Model-A police cars tear up the road speeding along with the wall of sirens blaring out as gunshots ring pattering against Benito's Cherry Red Lancia Lambda convertible. As they chase one of the vehicles attempts to ram the Lancia off the road only to have a tire break off in the impact and send it flying high into the air over the Lambda. As they fly overhead the cops inside attempt to take a few potshots at Bontade one of them managing to hit the windshield of the car spider webbing it. 

     "So much for serve and protect." Grumbled out as he just barely notices the blue armored man stepping out into traffic. There are cars on both sides, and an oncoming truck loaded to the brim with mattresses, there's nowhere for him to swerve, and no way he's slowing down with this much bacon on his tail. 

     Slamming on the breaks for a moment the car ducks forward back wheels lifting off the ground as the car barrels along at full speed. His foot is lifted off the break and smacked back onto the gas allowing the front end to work as a scooper, instead of knocking out Tuckers legs it'll scoop him up into the air, over the car and into the back seat. Not an ideal situation but better then being road paste.

     Tucker finally realizes something's going on just as he steps out right in front of Benito's car, his visored helmet turning toward the source of all the noise /just/ in time for him to regret ever leaving the dumpster.

BAM

Partly due to the weight of his armor and partly due to the force of the impact, Tucker leaves a good dent or two in the hood of the Lancia as he bounces across it and comes for a sprawling landing in the backseat. Groaning and rubbing his head (or his helmet, anyway), he mutters a few profanities (including one or two about Benito's mother) before sitting up and looking around.

"What the actual fuck is going on?" he asks, raising his voice over the noise and ducking down just in time to avoid a bullet whizzing over his head. "I mean, granted, this isn't the /worst/ day I've ever had, but it's getting pretty high up there!"

     The cop car which had been flying through the air lands less then a second after Tucker. There is a great explosions of feathers into the air that covers everything in sight as the car slams right into the truck that had been carrying mattresses to market. The distressed cops inside already resuming the process of opening fire as the truck skids to a stop. 

     Past the truck zips a stream of cop cars blaring their sirens at full volume. One after another with some officers hanging out the windows of the cars in order to get a better angle to take the shot. 

     Benito lets out a low sigh. "Take all night to get those dents out." He reaches over taking his eyes off the road for a moment to open up the glove box, and drop a bar of soap from within. As he grabs hold of it he looks back to the road taking a hard turn skidding the contents of the back seat against the wall of the convertible as it skids drifting around and barely managing to avoid even scratching the paint on one of the parked cars. 

     He tosses the bar of soap back to the seat behind him after coming out of the turn. Behind them seven cop cars can't make the turn and blow clean through the building, the cars and everything else. Though they manage to jump out before the building violently explodes into a ball of fire. "Here, should help you out a bit." Leveling out the car as he takes a moment punching out the shot up windscreen with a single strike to improve his visibility.

     Tucker looks up at the feathers flying around everywhere. "Did someone blow up a chicken coop?" This is soon followed by him tumbling into the wall, making incomprehensible noises that might be more cursing. As he scrambles to get up again, he spots the explosion behind them as several cop cars crash into the building. "Wait, are we on a movie set? Please tell me we're on a movie set. That is literally the /only/ thing that could justify this to me."

And then a bar of soap thunks against his helmet, bouncing off and landing on the floor. Picking it up, he gives it a once-over. "Okay, dude, I appreciate you trying to help, but I don't think a bar of soap is gonna clean all this crap off my armor. I'm gonna need at least three showers for this."

     "Not about cleaning your armor, it's about cleaning that mouth." Benito narrows his eyes as up ahead a police barricade has already been set up. "You're lucky it's just soap, I don't take kindly to people speaking poorly of my mother." He swerves to avoid a fruit cart just barely managing it as behind the wall of cop cars slam their way into the cart sending a shower of fruit in every direction. 

     "Sure kid, we're in a big time movie, latest Clara Bow pic." He turns around for a moment as they near closer to the police barricade. He looks exactly like Clint Eastwood, that said he sounds exactly like him as well. "You sure that armor's doing you any good, think you got a bit of a brain rattle." Up ahead the police blockaid grows closer by the second.

     "Yeah, well I don't take kindly to being hit with a fucking /car/." Tucker snaps back, tosses the bar of soap over his shoulder where it may or may not cause some form of havoc. Who knows, in a place like this? "Plus I've been shot at all day and then I woke up in a dumpster and here we are. You'll forgive me if I'm a /little on edge/."

Deciding it's a good idea to slump down in the seat so his head isn't in the line of fire, Tucker takes another moment to gather his thoughts and get a look at his surroundings. "Clara Bow, huh? That sounds /kinda/ familiar... Hey, wait a minute, are you Clint Eastw-"

Oh hey, a police barricade.

"-wwwwatch out, holy shit!"

     The bar of soap is haphazardly thrown over a shoulder and it slides across the ground behind them tumbling between the wheels of the first cop-car in line and then under the second. Each car it rolls under seemingly harmlessly till it gets to the third causing one it to veer off course and onto the sidewalk before crashing into a fire hydrant sending the top flying high into the air a rain of water descending down onto the street below. The cops are disoriented and left in place looking lost and confused for a moment. 

     "Join the club, every time I come back home I wind up getting shot at." As he veers off the road and onto the sidewalk. Each break in the sidewalk causes the car to bump and jolt slightly. "I can't even go down the road for a pack of smokes without something like this coming up." He puffs away on his cigar as people duck into doorways or go into the street to try and avoid him.

     The Lancia circles around the police barricade before ducking back onto the road behind them the front line cop-cars slam through the barricade shoving each-other out of the way as those in the back line follow along leaving the far back to be caught behind the pile up, spinning out of control. 

     "I mean honestly just once I'd like to rob first national without my poor baby getting shot up." He pats the side of the car before looking back over his shoulder at the cop cars that are left. "Hey, while you're back there put yourself to use." He tosses a pistol to Tucker. "Go for the tires, Chief Caboose, really knows how to send out the welcome wagon."

     Tucker flinches and looks behind him at the sound of the hydrant being rammed, heaving a small sigh at all that precious water. "Oh the irony, I could've taken that shower I wanted, but I don't have any soap now. Great." As they veer onto the sidewalk to avoid the barricade, he grabs onto the seat in front of him and holds on tight until they've made it past. "Okay, that's one way to handle it..."

As a pistol is tossed to him, Tucker fumbles to avoid dropping it before he manages to get a good grip. "What? Seriously? You assaulted me with a vehicle and kidnapped me, and now you want me to help you fend off the-" he starts to complain, but then the name of the chief gets to him. After a moment's consideration, he checks the pistol and cocks the hammer, turning around in his seat to line up a shot on the front tires of the car immediately behind them.

"You know what, these guys are probably racist anyway." he remarks, putting his marksmanship skills to use as he pops off a shot. It's no sniper rifle, but...

     The tire of the car that had been speeding up in an attempt to ram the two off the road pops. It's not the usual pop that someone might expect, instead it's a loud boom as the car skids out flipping end over end before coming to a stop managing to take out four other cop cars in the process which block the road. Only one cop car is left. This one doesn't have the standard CPD coloring or logo. 

     The car stands out as something that shouldn't be here at all. It's sleek, pitch black with dark tinted windows and a front grill that might as well be teeth. The man behind the wheel of the vehicle is dressed in a pitch black trench-coat, with a revolver in his hand. Sticking the hand outside of the car he fires a shot off managing to blast the rear view mirror of Benito's car clean off with a single shot grazing past his head. 

     "Just what I needed." Benito mutters to himself gritting his teeth as he looks over his shoulder. "Detective Steel." Sure enough that man in the front seat of that anachronistic car is already gaining on them. The engine roars like thunder as he speeds up closer by the moment. He's soon flanked on either side by a new pair of cop-cars, these ones are more what one would expect out of the early 80's.

     Tucker whistles as his one shot takes out five cars. "Da-ha-ha-hayum, I didn't know I had it in me!" he cheers, then pauses a moment as the new cars roll up. "What the... what is this, Mad Max all of a sudden?"

More gunshots, prompting Tucker to duck his head down again. "Jesus! What'd you do to these guys, eat their children?" he asks, popping back up to lay down a few more rounds as the other two cars surround the Lancia. "Oh, that's not good. You got anything with a little more punch, Capone?"

     "Bontade, but close enough." Benito says taking some evasive manuvers. He slams down on the breaks spining around into a corner before driving into a narrow alleyway for a bit of cover. The side mirrors of the car snap off as soon as they enter the alleyway knocking over trashbins and causing refuse to fly in every direction. The sound of metal scraping echoes into the air as they drive. "Used to be back before the branches started connecting people would barely bat an eyelash when I robbed the first national bank." 

     He narrows his eyes ahead of himself. "Detective Steel's been getting a real big head lately, guy thinks he can wipe out all the crime in the city, and lately he's had the toys to try and make it happen." He reaches under the drivers seat digging around for something. "Ever since we became a blossom, and that new chief of police stepped in that is..... " 

     Digging around he looks for something. "Bless it all..." He looks back over his shoulder calling to tucker. "Under the seat, there should be a few grenades, I hate to use em like this but Steel, and his goon squad aint exactly giving us much choice." A light pause. "I want you to throw it in front of us, should manage to drop part of the building on him and give us enough time to make a break for it."

     Tucker winces at the sound of the car's sides scraping against the alley walls, and also at one of the rear-view mirrors flying back to smack into his visor. "Ack! Okay, yeah, let's pretend I know what all this stuff about branches and blossoms means..." he says, but his grumbling is interrupted by the reveal of grenades. "Aww, sweet!"

Pulling a few of them out from under the seat, he pulls the pin on one and tosses it out over the front hood of the car, letting it roll under. "You know, any other day I would question the sanity of that decision, but I'm just gonna roll with this one. At least this is /fun/!"

     "Bontade!" A gravely voice calls out from the vehicle behind him. Detective Steel seems to be wearing his emotions on his sleeve. "Your crime wave ends here!" As he speeds up bumping into the back of the car pushing it ahead slightly and damaging the rear of the vehicle. 

     "Just stop the c and come quietly, this is your last war-." KABOOOOM goes the grenade right in front of the souped up muscle-car sending bits of brick falling to the ground. Smoke fills the alleyway, bricks falling down from either side. It looks as if they collapsed on top of it potentially destroying the vehicle. 

     Benito lets out a low sigh as they slam up over the curb and down onto street level joining back up with the regular traffic as if nothing had happened. In spite of the fact that the Lambda has seen its fair share of much better days. "Well, that looks like that, now." He pulls off the main roadway to a side street trying to avoid the police net that's no doubt waiting for him. "What on earth were you doing walking in the middle of the street like that?"

     Duck and cover is always the rule with explosives, and Tucker follows the rules when they involve not getting killed. Once the explosion's over though, he peeks out over the back of the car at the destruction he's wrought, pumping his fist with a quiet little "Awesome!"

Turning back toward the front and settling into his seat, he takes a deep breath to calm himself a little. "Whew... Okay, so, for one thing, I basically felt like I just woke up from an all-night bender, alright? Hell, I still can't tell if this is a dream or if I'm in a simulation or what."

Letting out another long, slow sigh, he kicks up his feet on the back of the front seats and spreads his arms across the seats behind him, trying to take a mental diagnostic of how fucked up he feels. "I'm not ruling out time travel either, at this point. I've been through some weird shit. What is this, New York? Detroit? And it's like... the 1950s or something? Not gonna lie, I slept all the way through history class. The teacher was some frumpy old hag, literally /nothing/ worth staying awake for."

     Tucker would find as he stretches out his hands that he's actually setting in a back seat filled with money. 1's 5's 10's 50's, and 100's, all manner of paper money. Though really considering where he's from it could be monopoly money for all the familiarity it would likely bring. Just little slips of cloth with green print on them and faces of dead presidents. Some of it still flutters off into the breeze as they coast along the road at reasonable speeds. 

     There are no stop lights in the sense that one from a modern society would expect instead they are just little signs by the sides of the road that flick between stop, on a red background, and go on a green background. 

     Benito kicks back driving along, taking a long drag from his cigar. "Chicago, 1928." Smoke rolling up from the corners of his mouth as he speaks. He looks towards the world around him letting out a sigh. "Though it ain't very much how it used to be, back in the day." He rolls along coming to a stop at the sign. "Tell you the truth I never much saw need for teachers myself." He chuckles. "My brother was always the only teacher I needed. Used to raise hell all across our village day and night, get into all kinds of trouble." His head shakes from one side to the other slowly as the sign flicks back to green. 

     On the sidewalks men and women move about their day as if the recent char chase never even happened. The way they hold themselves makes it apparent that this is an every day occurrence and most people don't even acknowledge the heavily damaged car rolling down the streets. The clothing is extravagant, the cigarettes are plentiful, and there's not a single ugly person in site, it's unnatural. 

     For Chicago it might also be strange that there's barely even a single homeless person in site for miles, with everyone more or less blending into the crowd and moving about their day to day. Yet for these people, this is home. A cop on the street looks towards them for a moment but instead of actively whistling or running for a phone he just smiles, and offers a wave which Benito returns.

     Tucker watches the world roll past them as they drive on by, idly picking up a 100 dollar bill and giving it a glimpse. "Right, 20s Chicago, gotcha. So... bank robbery, huh?" he says, mostly as small talk, while tossing the bill back onto the seat. "Guess I should explain where I come from, then."

After taking a moment to note the cop simply smiling and waving as they pass by, he shakes his head and continues. "2557 AD, on a moon colony out in the asscrack of nowhere on the edge of the galaxy. That's where I /was/ anyway, before I woke up in a dumpster. I'd just stopped a civil war, kicked some space pirate ass, and I was about to get a big-name government asshole sent to the... er, slammer, that's what you guys call it, right? Me and my friends, we were holed up in his office about to make our last stand against his army of killer deathbots, and then... flash. Nothing."

He gesticulates with his hands to indicate said flash, before leaning back in his seat again. "Besides that, I like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. Anyway, name's Lavernius Tucker, or just Tucker for short. You?"

     "You might think that would surprise me, but once you get a look around I think you'll get the bigger picture." Bontade reassures him after a moment spent listening quietly. "Though you're in good company, I was a soldier before all this business, special forces during the war." The car pulls around a corner and into a parking garage. He starts slowly winding the car up towards the back of the building. "Gotta say though if you were making a last stand Chicago's a good place to wind up." 

     The car pulls up into a parking spot, and Benito honks the horn once playing that familiar tune. "I spent most my life in Italy, with my twin brother, we were close as you could get. He always had my back and I had his, wasn't anywhere we didn't go together until...." He then shuts the engine off. "Let's just say one of the rival companies decided him and his family were valid targets even if they weren't in the business." He pulls out the key tossing it into the pocket of his coat. His expression is stern and there's a bitter gravel to his voice. "Then decided his funeral was a good spot for an ambush." 

     Switching to a new subject he fixes up the collar of his coat. "You did good work watching my back out there against the Chief's men." All the while stepping out of the vehicle, not bothering to use the door just hopping over the side. "In return I, Benito Bontade, of the Benito family, owe you a favor." As he adjusts the cuffs of his outfit looking back to him. "And you can rest assured I am a man of my word." 

     He turns back to the man swimming in cash in the back seat of the ruined convertible. "I'll set you up with a place of your own, food, shower, real Ritz experience."

     Tucker listens, not really having anything else to focus on at the moment, and at the special forces comment he nods and says, "Yeah, I guess you could say I was in a 'special forces' unit too... depending on how you look at it." He does wince at the story of Benito's brother though, shifting so he's sitting with his arms resting on his knees while he leans forward. "Damn, I'm sorry man. I never had a brother, but I almost lost my kid once. It was the scariest moment of my life, I can't even imagine how I'd feel if he died."

Carefully extracting himself from the backseat of the convertible so as not to disturb the cash too much, Tucker lets out a small laugh at the offer. "Man, you really are some kind of mob boss or something, huh? The crazy stuff I get mixed up in, I swear..." He stretches out his arms above his head, letting out a bit of a yawn while several of the vertebrae in his back pop. "Oof... Yeah, I'll take you up on that though. Sure beats living in a crashed ship."

Then, another thought crosses his mind, and takes a few moments to decide whether it's worth asking as he leans back against the car. "Um... so... back there, you said the chief's name was... Caboose?"

     Benito walks over to the armored Tucker and throws an arm around him. "I'll do what I can to make sure you can get back to your kid." Patting him on the shoulder. "Family is one of the most important things that you can have in this world." A large pair of doors formerly flush against the wall open and a number of individuals dressed up in dull grey jumpsuits along with a pair of men in pinstripes come out. 

     Benito tosses the keys over to one of the mechanics who is already starting to tear the car apart on the spot as the men in suits take care of the cash. "I'm no mob boss, Tucker." He laughs with a friendly smile. "Just a simple man working in the family business." He shakes his head a bit as he moves to walk into the building attached to the garage with Tucker under his arm. 

     "Yeah, our Chief of police." He explains even as he removes the arm from tucker taking off the trench-coat to hang on the coat-rack along with his hat. "Took the position a few years ago, right before the bridges started opening to the rest of the tree." He takes a pause. "I'll explain the tree to you after we get you nice and cleaned up, it's..." He trails off setting down the hat on top of the rack as the two find themselves inside of a very upscale restaurant. "Complicated." Then he moves back to the topic at hand as he walks over to a nearby table with a little gold plaque which reads "Reserved Bontade" 

     "He won the position by a landslide and started making changes." He adjusts the collar of the rather nice looking pinstripe suit that was hidden by his trench-coat, having left behind his Thompson in the car. "Those changes have been.... difficult for business."

     Tucker glances at the arm around his shoulders, but figures the guy probably has a dozen of those suits at /least/. Besides, it's probably washable, right? Must easier than fixing bulletholes anyway. "He'll be fine for a while. He's in a private school, fifth grade by now I think. Last I heard from him, he was the basketball star of the school." he says with some pride, though it does occur to him that getting back might be... slow. "I just hope it's not /too/ long..."

As the two of them enter the restaurant, Tucker is momentarily distracted by the fact that, hey, /restaurant/. "Wait, I thought this was your house." he speaks up, but then something even more surprising hits him. "Wait, Caboose won by a /landslide/!? Okay, now I know it can't be my Caboose. That idiot forgot how to /breathe/ once."

He hangs back from the table a bit, worried about messing it up with all the... well, garbage residue on him. It really is gonna take some serious effort to get all that gunk off.

     "It is." Benito comments kicking back in his chair for a moment. Looking up and waiting for a moment. "It's also one of the finest restaurants in town." An elderly man comes out from the back room calling out in Italian with a happy tone, only for Benito to return it, coming back to a stand and offering the other man a hug and the two exchange kisses on the cheek. "I've my suspicions, however you'll find quickly that a little money in the right place makes all the difference." 

     He motions over towards the elderly man. "This is Luigi, he doesn't speak English but when you're ready he'll lead you up to your room, you'll have a private shower, king sized bed, and all the pasta you can eat." A friendly smile crossing Benito's face. "As long as you're here, you're a friend of the family." 

     Back to the topic of Caboose though he goes. "I'm personally of the belief that it wasn't exactly won on merit." He says as his jacket is quietly taken from the coat rack along with the hat, and moved towards the back room. "You see his campaign was the single most expensive in the history of this fair city." As he looks back to Tucker with a serious expression smoke rolls from his cigar a quick tap in the ash tray to knock off the embers. "It was a landslide, but not popular vote, if you catch my meaning."

     Tucker has seen the cheek-kissing thing in movies, and he's still not sure how he feels about it. Just to be safe though, he doesn't say anything for fear of being shot. "Hey Luigi." he greets the old man with a nod and a wave, immediately turning his attention back to Benito afterwards. It's always awkward trying to get past that language barrier, as Tucker has experienced.

"You mean somebody probably paid off a lot of the votes? Why would they do that for Caboose, though? Sure, they could probably use him as a pawn in some convoluted plan to take over the city or something, but there are /way/ better idiots for that." It's about now that the smell of the trash finally gets through Tucker's air filters, and he gags a bit. "Aagh... okay, you know what, we can save that question for later. I've /got/ to get a shower before I'm classified a biological weapon."

     "Well I suppose they saw a kindred spirit inside of him" Benito mentions something else to Luigi, before continuing. He walks over with Tucker and Luigi towards the elevator leading up towards the living quarters. "After all, say what you want about the Chief," As the two step into the ornate elevator and the doors begin to close. "Caboose O'Malley gets the job done." He pauses for a moment. "Even if that job is a very hands on one." He shakes his head,

     As the elevator doors close, Tucker simply says, "O'Malley? Oh, sh-"