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  • Locked thread
Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
'588' > 4 / 8 HP > 4 AC > Cloaked

Plot posted:

General Aran Rhyne no longer existed. The man, his memories, ideals, and his mission were all gone, burnt away by the torching, the exertion and the trauma. Rhyne had intended to die. What was left, however, was a bundle of animal instincts - self-preservation being at the top of the list. After Gen was brought down, the things that was Rhyne struck out at his former subordinate, comrade and friend. Then, he took off at the highest pace he could manage, a limping walk, trying to get away and experience fresh air once more.
He stopped paying attention to Rhyne shortly after the man descended into a primal madness. The fires would do their job well enough, he presumed.

Plot posted:

The soldier's wound was minor. The suit was breached, allowing the tear gas to enter, but neither hurt as much as the lack of recognition in his General's eyes. The man, whose identity would later be confirmed as sergeant Lloyd, felt betrayed. He felt hopelessness as he looked around at the destruction, his dead comrades and the bodies of innocent men he killed for a cause that was now abandoned by his own leader. With that, he simply gave up, discarded his weapon and slumped to the ground next to his latest two victims. He thought it appropriate that tears would stream from his eyes.
The morale of Rhyne's subordinate had apparently been broken, and he too was embracing death. Ironically, it would never come for him, as he had decided to idle in one of the very few safe zones remaining in the building. The fire suppression system functioned therein, and the wiring was behaving appropriately, both in a concerted effort to preserve Cyril's life and ensure no lasting harm came to Gen's ancient and recently ejected casing. In the grand scheme of things, he was sort of a lucky guy. The luck probably wouldn't last, but sometimes you have to take what you can get in life.

Plot posted:

If there was a human mind left in Rhyne, it would be broken by the hell he was experiencing. He did his best to isolate himself from the heat, stench and tear gas through the use of telekinesis, but there was no fresh air anywhere in the confined spaces. The Scarab shell pumped oxygen-filled blood substitute and every combat drug available into his veins. With that, he managed the inhuman feat of working his way through two sets of doors before finally collapsing and dying. Unbeknownst to 588, one of the reasons the Scarab shells were retired was that the internal shock absorbent membrane was found to melt into the skin under intense heat conditions. The screams were chilling. This even affected 588. Although designed to be calculating rather than emotional in order to not compromise performance, a small amount of empathy was essential in order to fulfil the purpose as protector of humanity. Few things awakened it.
Rhyne hadn't really deserved to die like that. Under better circumstances, had he been afforded the time necessary to adequately plan this engagement, he would have opted for a non-lethal solution. As it stood, there simply hadn't been any practical way to stop three hostiles in the time required without breaking a few eggs ...or broiling them, as the case happened to be, he supposed. It was some amount of comfort that Rhyne had torched himself into madness before experiencing the final, horrible denouement of his life's work. Perhaps his conscious mind managed to wander far enough away from reality to spare him the full experience before the flames consumed him. Perhaps not. In the end, it didn't really matter. It was just yet another murder he'd have to live with.

His mind wandered briefly to the unbraked being he had spoken with the previous night. To it, this would be a positive result. A human with a net negative value had been eliminated, and the world was better off for it. The worst part - the absolute worst part - was that he could also see that math, and didn't disagree with it. This had to be done. The difference, though, was that he didn't see the world in absolutes. A human life wasn't measured by its future value to the world, it was measured by the value it had created over its lifetime. Yes, perhaps Rhyne would have caused terrible damage to the world if he had drawn another breath, and perhaps his execution had been necessary as a result. His value, though? It had to be positive on the whole. A man who lead his people successfully through the Unification Wars. A man who pushed hard for further unification, even if he had failed and been jailed for the effort. A man who believed he was doing what Caerleon needed, even if Caerleon itself wouldn't agree with him in his lifetime, or perhaps even in the history books.

In truth it was kind of hosed up. He got a spaceship out of the deal, though, so that was nice, at least.

Plot posted:

This left only Lieutenant Driscoll. While he was affected by tear gas, the hole in the wall and proximity to the Prime Minister made 588's manipulation of the system ineffective. At this moment, he was getting up to his feet, attempting to wipe the irritants from his eyes and getting ready to breach the final door.
loving Driscoll. The guy just couldn't leave well enough alone. He was already balls deep into the ventilation system by the time the man got to his feet, and turning around wasn't an option. He wouldn't be able to get to the Prime Minister in time. He elects to change course, dropping haphazardly down to the first level, absent the benefit of time to actually plan his moves. A mental command opens the shutters in the Prime Minister's meeting room, giving Gordon full view of the office once more. A text message quickly follows.
pre:
588 >>
Gordon, Chatham is down, as is Cyril.
I'm going to try to salvage this, but you
might be the last line of defense.  The
window to the Prime Minister's room is
open again.  If anyone comes through
that door, put a bullet in them.
pre:
Athletics 4 to drop down a level in the vents.
I'll take some damage for that if you like.
He crashes into the level below Driscoll, and emerges from a vent. There's chaos all around him, blood, the results of several of his grenades, more than a few corpses of friends and foes alike. Thankfully, he has control over the fire suppression system to keep himself safe. What he needs however, had thankfully been dropped by Cyril when he ...apparently got shot. He ignores the hostile that is seemingly in a fugue state, assuming he doesn't react, and retrieves the spike thrower from the ground. He then uses the camera feeds to position himself directly below Driscoll on the lower floor. It was hard to say how much time he would have to pull this off.
pre:
Effectively, I will try to do the following:
 > Drop down a level in the vents.
 > Get to where Cyril dropped the spike thrower,
   or any other dropped spike thrower nearby.
 > Use the camera feeds to get below Driscoll.
He was going to take a cue from Unit 4's own playbook: fire directly up at Driscoll through the floor, thankfully with the benefit of having the camera feeds to guide his shots. He only hoped he could get in position in time.
pre:
If I can manage to get in position in time, I will
start burst firing through the floor below Driscoll.

Will roll a few times to see how long it will take me to
actually deal with him, so we can speed the narrative
up a bit.
He really wasn't a 'gun' kind of guy, preferring more elegant - or heavy-handed - solutions, such as setting entire buildings on fire. He knew how to point and shoot, of course, but in several centuries of life he'd spent relatively little time on the shooting range. His first shot proves that, blowing an amazing hole in the floor, but otherwise cleanly missing Driscoll.
pre:
Attack roll #1 - 12
Damage roll #1 - 20 vs. floor
Hopefully this one is a surprise round, but we'll see!
The second burst of fire is made rather complicated by the risk of retaliatory fire, now that his position is revealed. It is similarly ineffectual.
pre:
Attack roll #2 - 7
Damage roll #2 - 19 vs. floor
With several holes blown into the floor he can now see his target visually, not having to relay and calculate through camera feeds. The latency improvement is negligible on paper, but in the heat of combat it is the difference between life and death. A perfect bead is within grasp, if only he can avoid Driscoll's retaliatory blast ...and even then, would he be in time to do any good for the Prime Minister?
pre:
Attack roll #3 - 23
Damage roll #3 - 15 vs. Driscoll
He took solace in knowing that Gordon was there, as a last and desperate line of defense. Once the doors opened to the meeting room, he'd have time to manage at least one shot. Perhaps two, since the camera feeds would provide an early warning as to when Driscoll was directly in front of the door. It was the best he could do given the circumstances. Two last plays was a hell of a lot better than most people could manage in this poo poo storm, he knew.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+0) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Inventory (ready): Compad0 / Stealth Field Uniform0 / Gravity Pack1 / Bioscanner1 / Dataslab1 / Metatool1 / Mag Pistol (silenced, 6/6 shots remaining)1
Inventory (stowed): Grenade launcher3 (0/3 shots remaining, tear gas) / Flashbang grenade5 (x5)
Inventory (back at base): Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
Inventory (warehouse): Armory (frigate) / Stealth Suit Cachex / Assault suit2 / Argus web1
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Unit 4 (outside): Sniper / Rifle / Rifle
Unit 4 (inside): Shotgun / Shotgun / Shotgun / Driscoll / Rhyne
Unit 4 (inactive): Bitterhold casualties (x8) / Gala casualties (x7) / Captives (x3)

Waador fucked around with this message at 00:50 on Sep 1, 2016

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Zeppelin Insanity
Oct 28, 2009

Wahnsinn
Einfach
Wahnsinn
Yeah, I'd say take 1 damage for the fall. You don't have to justify it narratively - I liked that the rulebook mentioned that one of the ways to think of HP is as a reserve of luck or concentration.
Gordon vs Driscoll: 1d20+4+1 10 Goddamn it Gordon :negative:
Driscoll vs 588: 1d20+1+4+2 22
Driscoll vs 588 damage: 3d8+2 11 okay nevermind about the damage from the fall then. Guess the team's finding out you're not a human.
Gordon vs Driscoll: 1d20+4+1 7


Dricoll is overwhelmed by the trauma, noise, gas. Combat training and instincts can only take you so far when you're suffering from massive brain damage. 588's blows open a hole in the floor as he's about to breach the door - he begins to spin around to face the new angle automatically, but can't arrest his momentum. He crashes through the door sideways.

Caerleon is a harsh world. It breeds tough people. The Prime Minister is no exception. She's ready with a mag pistol and puts a round in him. At the very same time, another one of Gordon's shots hits him. Both blows are barely absorbed by the battered Scarab shell, the ablative layer flying off in a visible spray, and the ceramics cracking even more. The force of both simultaneous impacts throws him off balance and delays his retaliatory shot at 588 a crucial split second. They both fire at the same time. 588's frame is nearly obliterated by the close range burst, the quantum core compartment one of the only parts unharmed. The Prime Minister and the diplomat are treated to a gruesome display as the last shot of 588's burst hits his compromised chest armour. Driscoll is thrown upwards by the immense force. The flachettes and the peeled open back segment of the carapace nail him to the soft synthwood of the ceiling. His limbs and head hang limply.

Unit 4 is dead.

You can skip ahead to waking up after treatment\repair, since I assume Gordon is still busy with work.

Successful Businessmanga
Mar 28, 2010

Cyril Cavil
HP: 4/4 AC: 9 (Hospital gown)
Strain: 0/12 PP: 2/2
Argus Web: Off
Active Camo: N/A
Mag Pistol 6/6 shots remain


Cyril groans as he hauls himself up out of bed for the fifth time in as many hours and slowly slumps his way to the bathroom of the small medical suite he's been shoved into. He'd had a fairly negative reaction to the mixture of being shot, doused in tear gas, and soaked in some kind of poo poo smelling projectile lubricant. The tailored anti-allergens the doctors were pumping into him to deal with the interaction of the slurry of chemicals now in his system was playing havoc with his bladder.

Business taken care of and having safely retreated back to his bed, Cyril gets back to work on his dataslab, slicing together the bits of footage he'd gathered into something eye catching. As he continues to work, the data that 588 had promised from the group's previous escapades arrives and Cyril digs into it with gusto, eventually producing a rather snazzy video which ends with an intimidating flare of light from Gen's eyebar.

Having completed his little pet project, Cyril slumps back into bed to rest until his eventual release, fingers idly flicking through news feeds on his compad in search of any hints of the group's exploits.


quote:

Cyril wakes up from his near death experience in 4 days Cyril's back to pre-levelling hp a day after that assuming a doctor is spared for him :v:.

While he's sitting in his hospital bed Cyril starts cutting together promo material for the Bulwark from the footage gathered with his argus web and whatever 588 may have sent him in the intervening period.

Profession/Videographer: 8 9 if I can argue for a keen eye(wisdom) being useful for cutting together snappy material :v:.

I'm assuming whomever comes to pick up the pile of corpses we are retrieves my gun, but if not it's just a silenced mag pistol.:shrug:

Successful Businessmanga fucked around with this message at 15:15 on Sep 1, 2016

Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
'588' > 0 / 8 HP > 4 AC > Cloaked

Plot posted:

The force of both simultaneous impacts throws him off balance and delays his retaliatory shot at 588 a crucial split second. They both fire at the same time.
He had the bead. He had the bead. The last sound he hears is the trigger on his spike thrower being pulled. Eat poo poo, Driscoll.

Plot posted:

588's frame is nearly obliterated by the close range burst, the quantum core compartment one of the only parts unharmed. The Prime Minister and the diplomat are treated to a gruesome display as the last shot of 588's burst hits his compromised chest armour. Driscoll is thrown upwards by the immense force. The flachettes and the peeled open back segment of the carapace nail him to the soft synthwood of the ceiling. His limbs and head hang limply. Unit 4 is dead.
His mind awakened in the deep black of his own mental palace. The armature had obviously been destroyed. It took approximately three seconds for a countdown clock to appear on an imaginary wall that also materialized in his unconscious mind. Its readout: 59:57. The time he had left.

He'd been doing this kind of work a long time. He knew death wasn't the enemy, and that gear could be replaced. The real enemy was one easily forgotten: that faint gray line separating life and death. Chatham had been lost within its aether for the majority of the Silence, if he understood the man's story. As an operative with actual priorities that needed to be dealt with, he didn't have the luxury of risking three hundred years of unconsciousness. When he had an active phylactery, every single one of his field-ready armatures and cores were equipped with a self-destruct mechanism. A dead man's switch.

If he wasn't conscious and able to deactivate the procedure, a series of thermite charges would vaporize his body and core precisely one hour from the moment he went unconscious. It was theoretically enough time for any allies - assuming he had any - to rescue him with field repairs, or for any contingencies he'd put in place to do the same. Absent that sort of intervention, though, his body would cease to exist, and his mind would return to a functional shell to continue his work. It was a grim choice, but one born of necessity. If he were to lose himself in the darkness through careless inaction in this regard, so too might humanity. No armature was worth that cost.
pre:
I will leave it up to DM narrative to determine what happens.
I'll self-destruct in precisely one hour from being destroyed.
If anyone intervenes in that time period to repair me, I'll survive.

A technician can perform a field overhaul with ten minutes of work
and a metatool, repairing up to half the AI’s maximum hit points
at the same cost in spare parts.

They can ironically probably use the metatool I am carrying to
do the work, as well, if anyone is qualified in the area.
Otherwise I've got a high speed ticket to my safe house.
That said, he didn't actually mind 'death', such as it was. It provided him with a rare opportunity. Separated from the distractions of conscious life, with no connection to global data nets and no physical stimulus to worry about, he was able to focus on the further development of his own scientific theories. At the top of the list was Project Backstep, and a number of imaginary panels and chalkboards began to materialize about his mind with the relevant formulas. Prior to the Silence, he'd been pursuing this research with all of the resources that the wealthiest minds in the Terran Mandate could provide. In the several hundred years since that time, he'd been continuing his work in isolation, and in secret. It had been deemed a fool's quest, even in the golden age of the Mandate. He was getting close, though. An immortal mind focused on a single task for centuries could accomplish the impossible. It just needed time, and the right motivation. He had both in spades.
pre:
Science 13
The clock continued to count down. 14:02. Almost time to go. In truth he was a little annoyed that Driscoll managed to tag him. He had planned to cut Rhyne's head off before leaving the area, in order to make good on his deal with Voight. It would be weird to dig up his body and cut it off by the time he got back into the action.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+0) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Inventory (ready): Compad0 / Stealth Field Uniform0 / Gravity Pack1 / Bioscanner1 / Dataslab1 / Metatool1 / Mag Pistol (silenced, 6/6 shots remaining)1
Inventory (stowed): Grenade launcher3 (0/3 shots remaining, tear gas) / Flashbang grenade5 (x5)
Inventory (back at base): Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
Inventory (warehouse): Armory (frigate) / Stealth Suit Cachex / Assault suit2 / Argus web1
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Unit 4 (outside): Sniper / Rifle / Lloyd
Unit 4 (inside): Shotgun / Shotgun / Shotgun / Driscoll / Rhyne
Unit 4 (inactive): Bitterhold casualties (x8) / Gala casualties (x7) / Captives (x3)

Waador fucked around with this message at 15:07 on Sep 1, 2016

Zeppelin Insanity
Oct 28, 2009

Wahnsinn
Einfach
Wahnsinn
588

The countdown stops at 14:01. Vision comes back. Low resolution, visible light only. Field repair. No matter. There's plenty of spare parts. You'll get your real sight soon enough.

Diagnostics report critical damage to most components. Non-functional limbs explain why you're on a stretcher. You must look utterly nightmarish to humans, a realistic bloody mess of torn flesh, with haphazardly connected wires coming out of your eye sockets, connecting your visual processor to a small camera pod. You have control over it, and can see the inside of a medevac flier. Gen's hull has been patched up, and some of the stink hosed off, and he's in a similar shape to you. Cyril is unconscious, with a medic administering aid. That's a good sign. If he were dead, they wouldn't bother. Caerleon isn't big on such sentiment. Gordon is looking at you, shocked. Most people know that human-form AI exist, and some are even famous. Few people get so intimately acquainted with the concept.

A technician is fussing over you, and audio feed returns.

"Hi there. We'll be at base in 30. Anything else requiring pressing attention?"

Rhyos
Jan 2, 2006
It's probably my fault.
Gen Chatham

Once more to the void of nothingness, Gen returned. The fact that he remembered 588's "emergency ejection system" both gave him humor and an apt description of his performance.

With nothing to distract one's self, there's very little other than pure willpower to prevent one's mind from going down some very dark spirals of thought. Through sheer force of intimidation, he saved 2 people who were in over their heads, but when it came time to act, he could save noone. Not those marines, not Cyril, not even himself. With one of the most advanced combat armatures he'd ever seen, he couldn't take on a frothing lunatic in last generation's trash. After getting the drop on them. With a gun to their head. Had the years - centuries, really - of inaction really dulled his instincts that much? Was he truly too old for this?
░░▒▓▒▓▒░░▒▓▒▓▒
Was his brain being kicked around in a fight? Would it even be found in the rubble if the building came down? Would it be better that way?

No.

He had to look at it objectively. At least, as objectively as he could, given the situation. Bitterhold would have been a complete and total slaughter - his actions and direction saved at least 2 dozen families that day. The party would have been a massacre. Even if he didn't have a single takedown to his credit, the assassin survived, the party goers - with few exceptions - survived. Almost everyone walked away from it.

And he had charged headlong into a fight with someone that just might be one of the single biggest terrorists that Caerleon had ever known. It literally took being stabbed in the back, a lucky shot, to take him down.
░░▒▓▒▓▒nl░░▒▓▒▓▒

While he had certainly done more good than harm, he hadn't had the time to really rehabilitate his full functionality. He had that armature for less than a day - way back when, it would take years to rehabilitate a transferrence to a full-body prosthetic. Having had nothing but theory to go on for so long, it was little wonder that practice worked out differently. Still, Gen knew he'd need to get some work in. He'd have to really make something special, and - if at all possible - finally move beyond the brain and finish the job.

Stuck in contemplation, Gen once again had little more to do than wait. He just hope he didn't smell too awful.

Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
'588' > 4 / 8 HP > 4 AC > Terribly Damaged

Plot posted:

The countdown stops at 14:01. Vision comes back. Low resolution, visible light only. Field repair. No matter. There's plenty of spare parts. You'll get your real sight soon enough.
Let there be light. This was certainly an unexpected turn of events ...a welcome one, though, he supposed. As confident as he was in his ability to hold things together, no sane artificial intelligence would ever truly enjoy the process of self-destruction. Notwithstanding the obvious physical trauma of what essentially amounted to losing and regrowing an internal organ, the rare feeling of mortality that tended to creep into the back of one's mind during the few weeks it took to regenerate a phylactery was rather unpleasant. A part of him was also pleased that there hadn't been any thermite-related damage to his gravity pack and wingsuit. Those would have been challenging to replace, and even more frustrating a task to attempt to repair given the aftereffects of his contingency. As it was the suit was already in terrible condition and would be a huge pain to repair, given the spike thrower blasts it had endured.

Plot posted:

Diagnostics report critical damage to most components. Non-functional limbs explain why you're on a stretcher. You must look utterly nightmarish to humans, a realistic bloody mess of torn flesh, with haphazardly connected wires coming out of your eye sockets, connecting your visual processor to a small camera pod. You have control over it, and can see the inside of a medevac flier. Gen's hull has been patched up, and some of the stink hosed off, and he's in a similar shape to you. Cyril is unconscious, with a medic administering aid. That's a good sign. If he were dead, they wouldn't bother. Caerleon isn't big on such sentiment. Gordon is looking at you, shocked. Most people know that human-form AI exist, and some are even famous. Few people get so intimately acquainted with the concept.
He was pleased to see that Cavil appeared to have survived the ordeal. It had been hard to tell during the chaos of the firefight. He'd always had a bit more faith that Chatham would walk out of the embassy alive, one way or another, though it was nice to be reassured on that front as well. Gordon's shocked look was endearing, oddly.

Plot posted:

A technician is fussing over you, and audio feed returns. "Hi there. We'll be at base in 30. Anything else requiring pressing attention?"
It belatedly occurred to him that they were inside a medevac flier. He idly wondered if this technician had noticed and realized the purpose of the thermite charges hidden throughout his mangled body. If so, this man was a literal hero. Given how calm he was, and considering his body language, he assumed they'd been misidentified or entirely unnoticed, though. If those charges had gone off inside the vehicle, they would have done their job to vaporize his body, and continued burning downwards until they hit solid ground. There would have been a 588-sized hole in the flier that almost certainly would have compromised its ability to stay airborne. He very likely could have accidentally killed the entire team, plus this poor technician, and what he assumed was at least one additional member of the flight crew responsible for piloting.

He'd make a note to mention the charges to the team before the next operation. No sense worrying about them now, but it was probably something they should be aware of if a tactical retreat ever became necessary. In the meantime, he responds to the technician, "That's fine. One question: was I a bad enough dude to rescue the president?" He appreciated that she was a prime minister, and not, technically, a president. He figured taking a shotgun blast to the everything afforded him a little slack when it came to using the right terminology, though.

He was pretty sure he'd pulled the trigger in full before being decimated by Driscoll's firearm. He was also fairly certain that he'd had a clean shot on the man at the time. The only question was whether fate had intervened, and somehow spared the man a gruesome death. If not, he was reasonably certain that he'd successfully saved the Prime Minister. He'd also probably traumatized her a bit, killing a man in that fashion in such close proximity, to say nothing of the nightmare of what had happened to her 'hero' moments after pulling the trigger. No victory came without a price, though.

He found himself deeply interested in what the debriefing with Voight would look like after successfully pulling this one out of the fire. Speaking of which, actually ...whoops. He'd been unconscious for forty-six minutes. A mental command turns the fire suppression system back on within the embassy, thankfully he'd set up that wireless access point. He hoped the building hadn't burned down entirely. There had only been two or three safe rooms throughout the entire complex, which didn't necessarily bode well.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+0) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Inventory (ready): Compad0 / Stealth Field Uniform0 / Gravity Pack1 / Bioscanner1 / Dataslab1 / Metatool1 / Mag Pistol (silenced, 6/6 shots)1
Inventory (stowed): Grenade launcher3 (0/3 shots) / Flashbang grenade5 (x5)
Inventory (back at base): Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
Inventory (warehouse): Armory (frigate) / Stealth Suit Cachex / Assault suit2 / Argus web1
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Unit 4 (deceased): Bitterhold (x8) / Gala (x7) / Embassy (x5) / Driscoll / Rhyne
Unit 4 (living): Gala assassin / Thomas (apartment) / Van driver / Lloyd
Unit 4 (assessment): 26 / 26 targets acquired

Waador fucked around with this message at 05:14 on Sep 4, 2016

Zeppelin Insanity
Oct 28, 2009

Wahnsinn
Einfach
Wahnsinn
588

The technician laughs. "Something like that. Though right about now some officials might be wishing you hadn't. Hell hath no fury like our dear leader scorned." He flashes a grin. "You know what they say. Never gently caress with a Scorpion." Then, he moves on to take care of Gen.

Gen

The nothingness is replaced by a smiling face. "You stank really bad, friend." Before you start moving your brainbox yourself, he takes it in his arms and points your inputs at the damage to the armature. "It's actually in pretty good shape. The disabling blows were very precise. Here, here and here. Very little overall structural damage. Lots of blade scarring on the limbs, but that just adds character, don't you think?"

Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
'588' > 4 / 8 HP > 4 AC > Terribly Damaged

Plot posted:

The technician laughs. "Something like that. Though right about now some officials might be wishing you hadn't. Hell hath no fury like our dear leader scorned." He flashes a grin. "You know what they say. Never gently caress with a Scorpion." Then, he moves on to take care of Gen.
He would have shrugged if his limbs were working. Instead he's forced to make do with a reciprocal laugh. "Good advice."

Plot posted:

The nothingness is replaced by a smiling face. "You stank really bad, friend." Before you start moving your brainbox yourself, he takes it in his arms and points your inputs at the damage to the armature. "It's actually in pretty good shape. The disabling blows were very precise. Here, here and here. Very little overall structural damage. Lots of blade scarring on the limbs, but that just adds character, don't you think?"
He decides to poke fun at Chatham, although he obviously wasn't doing so from the high ground of having ended up in better shape. "In the future, I'd suggest making them buy you dinner first." It was a penetration joke, naturally. He continues, "Looks like Cyril is going to be fine ...eventually, anyway. The Prime Minister and the diplomat appear to have survived as well. Considering how tight things got, I'd say that's the best result we could have expected."
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+0) / Wisdom (-1) / Charisma (-2)
Skill (+0): Combat (gunnery) / Culture (traveler / Weltraum Zwang) / Security / Vehicle (space)
Skill (+1): Computer / Navigation / Perception / Science / Stealth / Tech (maltech / medical / postech / pretech)
Inventory (ready): Compad0 / Stealth Field Uniform0 / Gravity Pack1 / Bioscanner1 / Dataslab1 / Metatool1 / Mag Pistol (silenced, 6/6 shots)1
Inventory (stowed): Grenade launcher3 (0/3 shots) / Flashbang grenade5 (x5)
Inventory (back at base): Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)
Inventory (warehouse): Armory (frigate) / Stealth Suit Cachex / Assault suit2 / Argus web1
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Unit 4 (deceased): Bitterhold (x8) / Gala (x7) / Embassy (x5) / Driscoll / Rhyne
Unit 4 (living): Gala assassin / Thomas (apartment) / Van driver / Lloyd
Unit 4 (assessment): 26 / 26 targets acquired

Rhyos
Jan 2, 2006
It's probably my fault.
Gen.Chatham

The little squawkbox flails some as it's hoisted before it can get its bearings, though 588's scrappy... er... scrapped commentary results in as audible a sigh as a vocal processor can manage.

"I'd agree who o o leheartedly. If it's just me that got knocked out of comission, then I'm glad."

With a few bits of laughter blooping through the speakers, he chimes in. "Look, when you're as old as I am, you can't afford to play hard to g e t!"

As he's placed down near his old new body, he tosses a small salute to the tech that put him back together. "Thanks again - you have no idea how hard it is to get around on your own when you're quite literally a brain in a box!"

Of course, there were more pressing matters - the debriefing, the cover-up, and what to do now that this whole thing's over with, but that could wait for at least 20 minutes. Long enough for the success to sink in and for exhaustion to take hold of what little meat he has left.

Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
'588' > 4 / 8 HP > 4 AC > Terribly Damaged

Gen.Chatham posted:

"I'd agree who o o leheartedly. If it's just me that got knocked out of comission, then I'm glad." With a few bits of laughter blooping through the speakers, he chimes in. "Look, when you're as old as I am, you can't afford to play hard to g e t!"
The hacker laughs, but otherwise doesn't respond. His attention had turned to the public net. Without functional limbs or any real mobility to speak of, the digital world would have to be his playground for a while. He found himself particularly curious as to how the ...'incident'... was being covered on the various news networks.
pre:
I'll spend my time reviewing news network coverage of
the incident until we get back to base.  I am at this
stage not entirely sure if we'll end up at war with
Holst or not so want to remain on top of the news.

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Waador
Sep 11, 2001

Smashin' down the light.
Pillbug
'588' > 4 / 8 HP > 4 AC > Terribly Damaged
Within the transport ship, the hacker makes an off-hand comment to Gordon and Chatham, "Hey, I think I can see my house from here."

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