[Stars Without Number] Glory in the Black game thread

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Waador: Sep 11, 2001; Smashin' down the light.; Pillbug

^{Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC}

Plot posted:

"Purist" worked. Over the years you've found that betting on human sentimentality tends to be a good gamble.

He cracked the beast open on the second attempt, and took a brief moment to enjoy that. He had no idea what par might have been for this particular task, but he felt like getting it even within three tries was probably beyond most humans. Was this an eagle? Maybe even an albatross? He didn't know much about golf, truth be told, but he felt like it was still an accomplishment. He suspected he should still install that backdoor malware into the firmware when he had a chance, though. Having a few ways in to this thing was likely to end up being a good idea. This was currently a time sensitive operation, though.

Plot posted:

code:

Friend, why are you stealing a fighter?

The artificial intelligence got very curious the moment the ship started up. He knew precisely why, and had been expecting it. His new friend was content to let him do whatever he wanted, it seemed, so long as there was a zero percent chance of him causing any damage to his other friend, the woman. With him sitting inside a spaceship that he could plausibly ram into the mansion at light speed from near-orbit, to say nothing of the railguns bolted on to the side of the hull, that percentage chance had just spiked well above zero. It was still quite minimal though, so long as he maintained an active communications link with the being: it was likely certain it could stop him from doing anything unacceptable so long as that didn't change.

Ironically, or perhaps merely thankfully, depending on the perspective, he didn't intend to fire on Mila, even if he got the chance. It wouldn't accomplish anything important, it would just be kicking a hornet's nest. The priority at the moment was ensuring the safety of his new biological assets ...which was a shared objective with the other artificial intelligence, he noted. That was a little uncomfortable, but tolerable, and one way or another it was necessary right now. He decides to respond honestly, as was his standard course.

I believe since I guessed the password, this technically occurs before the Warbird arrives, so will probably make me seem a bit prescient to the artificial intelligence if he has somehow missed this.

pre:

Friend, sending my analysis of the situation now.

Data Point 1 - Party guest has misplaced a platoon of tanks.
Source, surveillance of party guest conversations.

Data Point 2 - Hostiles outside equipped with active camouflage.
Source, monitoring of security channel activity.

Data Point 3 - Former General of Bear armed forces with vendetta against this clan.
Source, background review of the events of the Bitterhold space station destruction.

My analysis predicts with 96.4% certainty that a cloaked tank lies in wait outside.
My assessment is that it will strike any air support that attempts to evacuate guests.
In order to preserve human life in the building, I have need of this vessel.
Without this vessel, I cannot prevent tank shelling of this building and its occupants.
Human life could be lost at a significant rate.

This has been my analysis since leaving the ballroom, I am effectively certain.
Do you disagree with my analysis?  Have you identified data that I have missed?

He pauses, thinking for a moment. It was, of course, inappropriate, at least technically. But... it would also be really, really funny. He didn't need the being to do this, strategically speaking, but it would make for a much better visual for the guests, and news crews in general. It was of non-zero tactical value, he knew, but that wasn't the primary purpose. Leveraging the abilities of the artificial intelligence for things that made him laugh was probably fine, so long as they didn't actively take away from tasks he would otherwise have to perform. Given current time pressures, he otherwise wouldn't bother to do this, so he supposed he might as well ask.

pre:

Friend, are you able to remotely hack into the other hangar vehicles?
Detecting sports cars, limousines, collectible cars.
Detecting orbital transfer shuttles, and grav flyers.
Detecting a luxury yacht.

This fighter vessel does not appear to have a remote connection.  I will need to pilot it manually.
However, one vessel will draw the fire of the enemy.  A smokescreen would be of value.
Can you remotely pilot a wing of ground vehicles, being the cars?
And a wing of aerial vehicles, being the shuttles and flyers?
The enemy will be distracted trying to avoid dozens of cars trying to ram them.
The enemy firing pattern can be confused by shuttles and gravflyers taking flak meant for the fighter.

If you can draw their fire, I will fly out last, and fire upon the enemy tank.
My intent is to fire to disable it, without harming the crew, if possible.
Does this plan resonate with you, friend?

Additionally, sending audio data file now.
If you can assist, when asked, please play on all car radios.
Playing on the loudspeakers of all gravfliers and orbital shuttles would also help.
Maximum volume recommended.

If he agrees, I basically am asking the artificial intelligence to remotely drive all of the cars, flyers, shuttles and possibly even the yacht around the area like a madman, drawing enemy fire and perhaps ramming into the enemy forces. It will definitely make it rather hard for them to execute a coordinated escape while dodging vehicles, and should lend more than enough chaos to the scene in order for me to get a few shots off on the tank before they realize what is happening. It will also probably have the side effect of destroying every single car and other object in this woman's collection, which I find is a terribly funny outcome.

Plot posted:

The holographic display briefly flashes "Maintenance mode active. Higher functions restricted without pilot implant.", then the rest of the HUD comes into focus. The ship comes alive with a slight vibration and soft hum. Judging by the sophistication of the design, both were purposefully engineered to elicit a pleasant psychological response from the human pilot rather than any other reason.

That was fine, he supposed. He didn't need the higher functions just yet, though they would have been nice. He presses a few buttons, trying to discern what is classified as a higher function and what is not.

pre:

Admittedly I am not sure what is a higher function and what is not.
Presumably I can fly, and fire the railguns if necessary?
Is it possible to activate the spike drive?

Button mashing was starting to become an all too familiar theme tonight, he mused.

Plot posted:

You quickly access the full documentation and spec sheets. They're filled with names of exotic compounds you've never had reason to learn about. Sure, you can immediately access an encyclopedia, but knowing what an "unstable nanocarbon matrix" is and what it means in a fighter are two different things. Such is the curse of a braked AI. You might know, but you don't get with any less practice than a human. Or perhaps it is a blessing, as the process is enjoyable and makes the centuries far less boring. Comparing the spec sheets with others you can find on the net, it's clear that this is indeed a very advanced hull. Unfortunately, a hull is mostly what it is at the moment. It seems that the selling point of this class is modularity. The current fittings are not customised and are relatively barebones compared to the machine's potential. Still, should be enough for your purposes. The equipment is... strange, though. This is a spacecraft. It's not designed to handle in atmosphere. In fact, you suspect it will handle like a pig. And spacecraft-grade weapons are rather frowned upon in private toys. So... you've got a spacecraft equipped with weaponry meant for in-atmosphere combat. Still, you're looking to deal with a tank. The pair of rapid-fire railguns light should be plenty.

Access to the technical specifications had been the point of this endeavor the entire time, and he happily accessed, reviewed, and saved a copy of all of the available documentation within the computer banks. Going into this endeavor, he calculated a low chance that the vessel would be destroyed in combat in order to pacify the enemy forces, but a reasonable chance that planetary security would prevent him from making off with the vessel. With a copy of the schematics of a new Draken design safely in his own data banks, however, he would have options that would be of significant value in the near future.

pre:

I will review and make a copy of all the available documentation and spec sheets.

With everything finally settled, he waits for the response of the artificial intelligence. Once received he will let the team know that poo poo is about to get real. Real awesome.
__________________________________________________________________________________________^{Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / 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)

Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp

Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)}__________________________________________________________________________________________

# ? Jun 22, 2016 15:07

Adbot: ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ? Apr 26, 2024 02:28

Zeppelin Insanity: Oct 28, 2009; Wahnsinn
Einfach
Wahnsinn

Durandal

You can do anything that you could do with mundane flight controls - stick, throttle, pedals, triggers, and so on. "Higher functions" would be more complex things that they didn't bother including physical controls for and need the implant - space navigation, operating multiple weapon systems simultaneously, ECM and ECCM, etc. Plus the idea behind the implant is it allows finer control over everything, making the ship blend pilot input with what the pilot thinks to get closer to what they're trying to do if that makes any sense.

code:

Your analysis is adequate, friend. I will assist with your request.

However, I believe you misunderstand my purpose. It is to protect human lives as a whole. 
Every life is quantifiably valuable. Those who endanger others may, depending on specific circumstances, have a net negative value.
Human emotions often interfere with their ability to assess this. We are not without emotion, but statistically much more accurate with our assessments.
That is my role. I am a protector.
My resources on this planet are limited. May I count on you to remove the destabilising influence?

Ah. One of those. A classic, if there is such a thing when it comes to insane AI overlords.

# ? Jun 22, 2016 16:43

Waador: Sep 11, 2001; Smashin' down the light.; Pillbug

^{Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC}

Plot posted:

Your analysis is adequate, friend. I will assist with your request. However, I believe you misunderstand my purpose. It is to protect human lives as a whole. Every life is quantifiably valuable. Those who endanger others may, depending on specific circumstances, have a net negative value. Human emotions often interfere with their ability to assess this. We are not without emotion, but statistically much more accurate with our assessments. That is my role. I am a protector. My resources on this planet are limited. May I count on you to remove the destabilising influence?

The intelligence had agreed to assist, which was nice. Moreover, an additional influx of data on its mental state was provided, which was icing on the cake. He responds in kind.

pre:

Understood.  You have my word as a guardian.
I will remove the destabilising influence of this armed force as a primary goal.

For clarity, I feel I should also note, I do not believe I misunderstood your purpose.
My goal to disable the tank does save the lives of its crew, but that is a secondary effect.
The occupants possess valuable information, which if retrieved will help find their leader.
I was informing you of this intent so that we could coordinate accordingly.  That is all, friend.

That said, it is possible they will commit suicide rather than be captured.
I do not see any way to prevent this, unfortunately.
In any event, we should get started.

Everything seemed to be ready to launch ...quite literally, actually. Taking requests from the intelligence when it came to dealing with this 'destabilising force' was a surreal experience, but he saw value in it. He had already committed to doing so to the field team upstairs, as well as their government agency, so one way or another it was going to have to happen. It would delay his other investigation by a few weeks, he imagined, but if he succeeded it would cement him in its databanks as a historical and potential future asset. If he could establish a sense of trust and mutual cooperation with the sentience, starting by dealing with this coup attempt, he might be able to get a bead on the information he really needed. It was a gamble, but it was also the only play he had at the moment.

He reaches out to the field team, in order to let them know what's coming. Sort of. There was no reason to spoil the surprise.

pre:

192.168.0.588 > Hey team, here's another riddle for you.
What has ...well, about a hundred wheels, I guess...
...about half a dozen micro-fusion engines...
...and ...a rudder, I guess?

192.168.0.588 > You don't actually have to guess.
You'll definitely know it when you see it.
Seriously though, get that video of the hostesses.
It's super important to me.

He wasn't sure if the car alarms upstairs were still going off or not. If they were, he sent a signal to turn them off. He also sent a signal to announce his arrival on the field, like fanfare. Every single radio on every single car in the parking lot that wasn't a burning husk turned on its radio in unison, playing - very softly at first, but ramping up with each strum of the first few repeats of the first few chords - a thematically appropriate composition that heralded, quite accurately, what had been happening for the last hour or so, and what was about to happen to the enemy forces. Its chorus would soon be joined by dozens of groundcars, gravflyers, shuttles, and well: god willing, he hoped, somehow, a yacht. Each emerging simultaneously from the landing bay like a swarm of angry hornets. Angry hornets with railguns.

Regiment 588 had arrived.

pre:

Autobots, roll out.

__________________________________________________________________________________________^{Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / 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)

Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp

Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)}__________________________________________________________________________________________

# ? Jun 22, 2016 17:29

Rhyos: Jan 2, 2006; It's probably my fault.

Gen.^Chat_ham

Mind and machine whirl together upon assessment of the situation. A tank, 5-ish units, and no air cover. He plots a trajectory from vehicle to vehicle, maximizing cover on approach to the tank. How he was going to get it open and deal with the crew was another matter he could cross when he got there.

code:

Transports, be advised - friendly gunship is
down,  repeat, friendly gunship is down.
Cloaked anti-air. I've got a group looking
... to... what

♄♓⨋⨎uck?"

As a fleet of sportscars, transports, and other civilian craft stream from the mansion, blaring the same archaic terrametal piece, Gen is stopped in his tracks. Waving The Commodore back, an idle cycle turns on his recorder. With a move like this, this 588 guy deserved his weird voyeurism. Seeing a red splat on a yellow car come out of nowhere snapped Gen back from the audacity of the move. As he noticed the fighter from the holograms earlier soaring into the sky, he refines his analysis and draws new conclusions. This would take crackerjack timing.

code:

Er... You might want to hold off for a few moments.
We're on the anti-air.

Not sure what sort of roll would be most appropriate, but Gen is going to make sure the immediate vicinity is clear of hostiles before advancing on the tank, waiting for Durandal's strike on it before closing and attempting to disable anyone inside. Well played!

# ? Jun 22, 2016 20:35

Zeppelin Insanity: Oct 28, 2009; Wahnsinn
Einfach
Wahnsinn

I gotta say, I was expecting Flight of the Valkyries. Suppose that would be quite a generic choice though. This is way better. You have no idea how glad I am you're in my game.

Durandal

Oh, the sweet, sweet chaos. You haven't done anything this awesome in... how many years? A hundred? Two? No. Never. This is loving amazing.

The thrusters roar into life. Weapons hot. Supercapacitors at 98%. Ammunition: 400 rounds. Odd as it might be that the ship is loaded with ammunition for its light railguns, you can't exactly complain. You begin with gentle control inputs, to which the hull reacts with surprising violence. It's agile as hell, but twitchy. Configured for an ace pilot rather than a typical bored oligarch. You settle into a hover, aimed directly at the exit, waiting for the perfect moment.

You're ready. All it will take is a touch of the forward throttle.

Onwards! vehicle/space/dex: 2d6 6

Tracking all your "wingmen" exiting the hangar is trivial. You slam the throttle forward, timing things perfectly so that you slip through a small gap inbetween a grav-flier and an archaic jet. Upside down.

You burst forth among clouds of flak. You assume that a direct hit would be dangerous, but the various shrapnel does nothing. Your suspicion is confirmed by the fighter announcing, with a text display on the HUD as well as a pleasant female voice

code:

Minor AAA detected in vicinity.
Current threat: minimal

Flipping in the air, you orient the fighter towards the hostile. The tank might be holo-cloaked, but there's no mistaking the dust cloud kicked up by it's fast movement and AA guns. Or the stream of tracer rounds rapidly switching targets and shooting down your cover, on a rate of one per 0.27 seconds. Your cover is rapidly... ablating, let's say. No matter. It's served its purpose, and you suspect its systems will tag you as a priority as soon as you open fire.

There's another factor working in your favour. Omnispectral camo on such a large target requires a lot of bulk and mass for the processing power and cooling systems. Something has to go. Usually it's armour.

You get the two shots free. The railgun does 3d8 damage. The tank has 50HP (but let's say 40 to cripple it), and no armour for your weapon type, since it's a light tank and you're shooting from above. Use gunnery/dex and you have to hit AC6.

Gen

Even your sophisticated hardware is having trouble making sense of the chaos. Looks like one hostile is down. You think you can see two others retreating, but you can't be certain and don't have a clear shot. That leaves two - if you didn't miss any, which you can't be sure of.

Roll initiative! It's 1d8+dex. The enemy roll is Enemy initiative: 1d8+2 3. That's kinda pathetic. Their AC is 3 due to the cloaking. There's beginning to be a lot of dust and smoke in the area, so the first turn you still get the +1 to hit inherent to energy weapons, but it's going to go -1 per round this goes on. Assume that both targets are close enough for you to run up and hit them in melee, but in opposite directions.

Zeppelin Insanity fucked around with this message at 23:14 on Jun 22, 2016

# ? Jun 22, 2016 23:05

Rhyos: Jan 2, 2006; It's probably my fault.

_Gen*Chath^am

Go time.
1d8(2)+dex(1)=3
4 known hostiles + 1 engaged tank. First, for the closest. Taking a shot at the one furthest from the tank, Gen's monocled monoeye blows out as an angry red pulse of incandescent light flares toward the furthest assailant.

1d20(14)+Energy Weapons(0)+Dex(1)+Attack Bonus(1)+Weapon Attack Bonus(1)+Enemy AC(3)=20

Given the fact that it's a tied initiative, I'm holding off on further description, as I'm not entirely sure what happens in the event of a tie.

# ? Jun 23, 2016 03:11

Waador: Sep 11, 2001; Smashin' down the light.; Pillbug

^{Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC}

Plot posted:

Oh, the sweet, sweet chaos. You haven't done anything this awesome in... how many years? A hundred? Two? No. Never. This is loving amazing.

He was fairly certain that this would prove to be the funniest loving thing ever done on Caerleon soil. In its entire history. The best part was that he was recording it, so that he would have it forever. As the dozens of vehicles rolled out, he could only imagine how unbelievably angry the hostess was going to be when the threat was dealt with. He was almost certain that she would lose her poo poo, and it was going to be magical.

Plot posted:

The thrusters roar into life. Weapons hot. Supercapacitors at 98%. Ammunition: 400 rounds. Odd as it might be that the ship is loaded with ammunition for its light railguns, you can't exactly complain. You begin with gentle control inputs, to which the hull reacts with surprising violence. It's agile as hell, but twitchy. Configured for an ace pilot rather than a typical bored oligarch. You settle into a hover, aimed directly at the exit, waiting for the perfect moment. You're ready. All it will take is a touch of the forward throttle. Tracking all your "wingmen" exiting the hangar is trivial. You slam the throttle forward, timing things perfectly so that you slip through a small gap inbetween a grav-flier and an archaic jet. Upside down.

He had to admit, the hull was an impressive feat of engineering. The controls were responsive, the maneuverability was superb, and although it wasn't a particularly relevant concern for him, it did an excellent job of dampening g-force on acceleration. He didn't love using a flight stick and pedals to move, if he was being honest: he was used to full integration with a ship, which would allow him to react at the speed of thought, rather than the speed of his hands. Frankly, he hadn't prioritized reflexive response time in this particular armature. He could get the job done, but it wasn't going to be pretty, at least in comparison to how he would perform with a more direct interface to the computer systems. No sense crying about it, though. He didn't have the time to develop the hardware necessary to emulate the inputs required by the neural interface. He'd get around to it, if he somehow managed to keep literally everyone from prying this hull out of his cold dead hands over the next few hours, but for now there was only one path forward.

Plot posted:

You burst forth among clouds of flak. You assume that a direct hit would be dangerous, but the various shrapnel does nothing. Your suspicion is confirmed by the fighter announcing, with a text display on the HUD as well as a pleasant female voice
code:
Minor AAA detected in vicinity.
Current threat: minimal
Flipping in the air, you orient the fighter towards the hostile. The tank might be holo-cloaked, but there's no mistaking the dust cloud kicked up by it's fast movement and AA guns. Or the stream of tracer rounds rapidly switching targets and shooting down your cover, on a rate of one per 0.27 seconds. Your cover is rapidly... ablating, let's say. No matter. It's served its purpose, and you suspect its systems will tag you as a priority as soon as you open fire.

He rammed himself through the cloud of flak without a single gently caress given, whirling through the air end-over-end a few dozen times for effect while gaining height. Ascending to an appropriate position, he hovers in mid-air briefly, rotating on both axes to face the obvious position of the rather trigger happy tank. While rotating, he takes the opportunity to absorb (and record) the scene around him. Dozens of cars were going berserk on the ground below, and he was pretty sure he just saw one slam into an invisible man at the 200km/h only a finely tuned sports car could achieve, launching him - still invisible, mind you - several hundred feet through the air on a curved trajectory. It was hysterical.

The scene in the air was just as funny, although for different reasons. The shuttles, gravflyers, and other miscellaneous aircraft that he had used for 'cover' were rapidly being blown to bits. If he was being honest with himself, it was this part of the strategy, more than anything else, that made him an rear end in a top hat. A huge one, in fact. It would have been perfectly reasonable to use these machines as a smokescreen if he had been piloting a gravflyer himself, or even a stock fighter. He'd reviewed the technical specifications of the Fampir in detail, though. He knew what it was capable of, and although he couldn't see it, the tank was obviously firing some sort of heavy machine gun, or perhaps a railgun of its own. The reality was, unless they had something on par with a vortex cannon strapped to their tank, they were in trouble. He'd known that going in. And had decided to send out the other planes anyway, not because he needed to, but because he knew that he would find it hilarious to watch.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He was a dozen moves ahead of the enemy, in terms of the psychology of warfare. There were two facets to it. The first was about as simple as you could get: shock and awe. Sending out this many ground and air troops was virtually certain to confuse the enemy, and strike a bit of fear into them. Getting their backs up against the wall was necessary. He couldn't afford for them to keep a cool head in this fight. The second was a bit more subtle: misdirection. So long as they were firing on him, he didn't give a gently caress about their firing pattern, given that they were using heavy machine guns and their ilk. It looked as if the General had spent all his funds on fancy high-end cloaking tech, and hadn't sprung for any pretech weaponry. It probably seemed like a good idea at the time. If he'd engaged the tank with just this fighter, though, they would have quickly realized it was a one-sided fight ...and probably would have turned the guns on the manor instead. With a smokescreen of literally dozens of targets concealing him in the firefight, though, it would take them a fair deal longer to realize what was going on, which made it significantly less likely that the manor would find itself being shelled. That was the hope, anyway.

pre:

I am not sure if you are aware of this, but probably worth pointing out.
Page 49 explains starship combat, and highlights the following:
 > "Most starships are effectively immune to man-portable weaponry,
    but Gunnery weapons can do one-quarter damage to them before applying
    armor, and many starship-mounted weapons are designed to ignore
    a certain amount of armor."

As a result, their damage against the fighter is cut down to 25% if/when it hits,
and then reduced by a further 8 due to the armor on the hull.  Even on a direct
hit, a gunnery weapon will need to roll amazingly well to even scratch the paint.

I knew this going in, which is why I wrote up using the smokescreen as not a
thing I considered to be a real tactical advantage. I am, quite literally, just being
an rear end in a top hat to this woman and blowing up all of her poo poo because I think it's funny.
I don't even need it in the air.  Though it does help keep the guns off the manor.

As he finished rotating the hull and aligning the guns on the camouflaged tank, he considered the best course of action available to him.

Plot posted:

There's another factor working in your favour. Omnispectral camo on such a large target requires a lot of bulk and mass for the processing power and cooling systems. Something has to go. Usually it's armour.

Realistically, there were two issues he needed to overcome. The first was the same one he had with piloting: absent a neural interface emulator, he was forced to use this archaic flight stick to draw a bead on the target. His physical reflexes weren't terrible, but they paled in comparison to how effective he would be if he could input the firing trajectory with his mind. He was used to flying ships in an entirely different manner. This was like a human trying to steer a car with their feet, while operating the pedals with their hands. It was doable, but it was pretty hard to do well. The second issue was a bit simpler. If he fired directly upon the tank, he would eventually hit it, but it would take time. Odds were, the crew inside the tank had their own holocloaks, and at some point during the firefight they would blow the hatch and try to escape, probably after tying down the trigger on the guns in the hopes that nobody would notice their attempt to flee. He didn't have any interest in keeping an eye out for that, so it would be preferential to just curb the idea before it popped into their heads.

Taken together, those two issues merited one delightful response: suppressing fire. He barely even bothered to aim. He just pointed the ship in the general direction of the tank, and slammed down on the trigger. Half a dozen shells the size of his body quickly scarred its immediate vicinity. Without the stress of having to aim, though, he was free to focus on more important matters: pulling the trigger in accordance to the beat of the song echoing throughout the area from a few hundred different speakers. It seemed appropriate.

pre:

Initiative 7
Looks like I go before them, so three rounds of fire.
I will be using the suppressing fire option of the railgun.
 > "Double the usual ammunition is fired in one round, and every target in
    front of the weapon that is not under hard cover is automatically hit for
    half normal damage. A successful Evasion or Luck saving throw eliminates
    this damage."

The base damage of the attacks is 12, 10 and 13.
So half damage, for 6, 5, and 6, if they fail the saving throw.
If they attempt to leave the tank they're likely losing cover, so they're a bit penned in.
Though I suppose they're welcome to try and make a break for it anyway.

The sound of the railgun as it obliterated the ground in a circle around the tank was oddly pleasant. He turned up the volume on the fighter's loudspeaker to compensate, though.
__________________________________________________________________________________________^{Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / 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)

Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp

Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)}__________________________________________________________________________________________

Waador fucked around with this message at 04:32 on Jun 23, 2016

# ? Jun 23, 2016 04:21

Apocron: Dec 5, 2005

Ellard

"Looks like your friend is in trouble? Do you know where the negotiation room is supposed to be? It says it's first on the something..."

Ellard moves into a position where he can support her weight and let her guide him to whoever sent the message.

# ? Jun 23, 2016 05:16

Waador: Sep 11, 2001; Smashin' down the light.; Pillbug

^{Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC}
He continues tapping the trigger to the beat of the song as time continues to pass. Largely, he thinks to himself, 'Nailed it..'

pre:

Artist(percussion)/Int 8

The external threat would soon be dealt with, he suspected. Which meant attention needed to be paid to the internal threats as well. A fraction of his attention travels back to that information.

Plot posted:

One more anomaly emerges. Someone is drinking but not leaving any DNA. How? DNA-scrubbing is a possibility, but far too involved and expensive - anyone with access to it would simply not drin...
Speaking of which, one of the glasses continues to be returned full, not a sip taken. No fingerprints either. Gloves. Isn't that interesting.

He decides to reach out to the team on the subject.

pre:

192.168.0.588 > Hey team.  I know you're probably all very busy.
This might be important before the guests all bolt, though.
Let's say I hypothetically hijacked a medical satellite earlier tonight.
And let's say I theoretically ran an active scan for life signs on the manor.
A scan whose nature will definitely not give anyone cancer, to be clear.

192.168.0.588 > Anyway, long story short.
One of your guests doesn't have any DNA.  Sending his image now.
I found that unusual, but couldn't dig up any further information on him.
I don't know if he's an innocent or not, but he is an outlier in the data.
You might want to question him before letting him go.
Sorry for not mentioning it earlier, but as you can see, I had a full calendar.

192.168.0.588 > Aside from him, most of the other guests seemed clean.
You might want to round up the two other guests on the security team's shitlist though.
They are flagged as late entrants to the list much like yourselves, a man and his wife.
Resending his and her images for reference.
I still haven't been able to figure out why they showed up tonight.
They don't seem to have gotten into any trouble, so might have just been legitimate late additions?
It's still a red flag, though.  Considering how the evening has gone, you should probably speak to them.

Waador fucked around with this message at 06:10 on Jun 23, 2016

# ? Jun 23, 2016 05:53

Zeppelin Insanity: Oct 28, 2009; Wahnsinn
Einfach
Wahnsinn

To clarify again, the guy without DNA was Ellard.

Ellard

The mention of trouble seems to snap her out of it for a moment. "I don't know. Take my compad, use the locate function. Find Gordon, please." Then, she slumps down on the floor. A combination of party drugs and exhaustion causing her immense exhaustion.

You move through the corridors quickly, and find the room. There's an unconscious man slumped in the corner, but, more importantly, there's another man lying in an impressively sized pool of blood. The trail indicates that he dragged himself across half the room. Examining him, you find one of his knees shattered and both his wrists slit. Now that is something you can deal with. Much easier than government-grade poisons.

If you roll a 9, you'll get Gordon back to a vaguely mobile shape. A 6 will just stabilise him and bring him back to conciousness.

Durandal

As the rounds start impacting at and around the tank, another glorious piece of the aesthetic masterwork falls into place. Two separate sources of fine red mist - spotters, most likely, that didn't expect the tank to be fired at. The impacts also cause the holofield to fail, producing strange patterns that are, honestly, somewhat beautiful to your artificial mind. Despite being somewhat occupied, you can spare the processing cycles to luxuriate in the display lasting a whole, long, 0.83 of a second. Then, the field fails completely, revealing the shape of your adversary.

As you expected, a light recon model. Fast, stealthy, and armed to the teeth, but made out of cardboard as far as tanks go. If it could elevate the main cannon to hit you, you'd be in trouble. But it can't. Suckers.

You're right, I missed that bit about the further damage reduction. So, since it's basically no threat to you, I think we can safely say it's hosed. Instead of messing around with HP, roll me a gunnery/dex difficulty 9 if you want to disable it without blowing it up. If you fail, it explodes gloriously.

Gen

If it's a tie, PCs go first. Roll damage! They have 2 hit dice, so Enemy hit dice: 2d8 4 HP.
The following is just flavour since you tied initiative.

You draw a bead and fire at the same time as you hear the unmistakable sound of suppressed submachine guns. Just at that moment, a car speeds by in front of you, it's archaic hydrocarbon powered V-12 screaming. The formerly priceless classic now has a good number of bullet holes in it, and you've got a clean shot.

# ? Jun 23, 2016 08:50

Apocron: Dec 5, 2005

Ellard

Ellard's eyes widen when he sees the mess at the far side of the room. He rushes over and checks the guys pulse. Weak but stable. Though not for much longer if he kept bleeding like this. Opening the chaotic medkit he starts dealing with each of his injuries. Fortunately the wrist wounds were across the wrists rather than along the arms so the wounds had managed to close themselves a little. Apply disinfectant, synth-skin and a pack of neutral blood substitute he's certain that his patient will survive. In fact the treatment is going so well he might even be able to communicate soon.

"Sir, sir, can you hear me? I need you to try and wake up. You've lost a lot of blood!"

Uhhhh, let's help this dude bleeding out on the floor: 2d6+3 11 +1 int, +1 tech/med, +1 medkit. Welcome back to the land of the living Gordon.

# ? Jun 23, 2016 08:58

Waador: Sep 11, 2001; Smashin' down the light.; Pillbug

^{Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC}

Plot posted:

As the rounds start impacting at and around the tank, another glorious piece of the aesthetic masterwork falls into place. Two separate sources of fine red mist - spotters, most likely, that didn't expect the tank to be fired at. The impacts also cause the holofield to fail, producing strange patterns that are, honestly, somewhat beautiful to your artificial mind. Despite being somewhat occupied, you can spare the processing cycles to luxuriate in the display lasting a whole, long, 0.83 of a second. Then, the field fails completely, revealing the shape of your adversary.

He had to admit, he actually liked everything about the tank. Its holofield produced an intricate and pleasing pattern when it was failing - and, presumably, when it was turned off intentionally - and strategically the ability to be invisible on demand had its perks. Even with the cloaking field turned off, the thing just looked good. Obviously the designers had a talent for aesthetics.

Plot posted:

As you expected, a light recon model. Fast, stealthy, and armed to the teeth, but made out of cardboard as far as tanks go. If it could elevate the main cannon to hit you, you'd be in trouble. But it can't. Suckers.

They should have probably hired a few engineers to focus on function, rather than just aesthetics, though. Marketing had obviously been more involved in the design of this beast than should have been allowed. Range of motion on the main cannon, it turns out, can be a quite important factor on the battlefield.

pre:

Gunnery/Dex 6

The thing exploded while he was musing about marketing. Whoops. He'd held the trigger for a tenth of a second too long. Probably should have been paying attention. He could have added a tank to his collection. Now all he had was a tank added to the kill count tonight. Which was also sort of impressive. Well ...easy come, easy go, he supposed. With a shrug, he stopped firing the main gun blindly at the wreckage, and turned his attention to more important matters. He left the aircraft hovering in the sky, keeping one hand on the flightstick to ensure it remained in a steady position, and leaving the impression that he was searching for more cloaked hostiles. It gave the illusion that he was still a threat to the ground forces. No sense letting them relax, after all. With his spare hand, he turned his attention back to the keyboard.

pre:

I am going to focus on installing backdoor malware into the firmware.
Would like to be able to remotely summon this thing to my location if needed.
Will install other security bypasses to allow me to pilot it as time permits.
Basically in case the password ever gets changed, I'll have these as a backup.
Will use my previous Computer/Int 12 for malware if feasible.

Waador fucked around with this message at 19:54 on Jun 23, 2016

# ? Jun 23, 2016 14:50

Rhyos: Jan 2, 2006; It's probably my fault.

G3n.Chatham

1d10(1)

The spectacular display of the bright sportscar absorbing a magazine's worth of bullets as it careens between Gen and his assailant is enough to make him back up for just a second, processing a mental "Holy poo poo." as his shot wings his target. Still, the damage is done, and he hopes it would provide enough of a distraction for him to go after the other assailant. After all, one fresh and one wounded opponent is better than 2 fresh opponents. The explosion of the tank in the background would most assuredly be an even greater hit on their morale. Turning around, Gen charges full-speed at the other opponent, legs pistoning against the ground as he intends to ram the aggressive meatsack against the wall.

Not sure if there were supposed to be any damage modifiers. Curse my luck. Gen's going to leave the wounded one behind and go for an all-out bodyslam of the other one. Not too sure what the range is on that, but if it's close enough to roll, the result is 13.

# ? Jun 23, 2016 20:15

TheTofuShop: Aug 28, 2009

Gordon

Apocron posted:

"Sir, sir, can you hear me? I need you to try and wake up. You've lost a lot of blood!"

Uhhhh, let's help this dude bleeding out on the floor: 2d6+3 11 +1 int, +1 tech/med, +1 medkit. Welcome back to the land of the living Gordon.

As Gordon struggled to open his eyes, the bright lights above him flooded his vision. He could feel something on his arms again, not warm like the blood from before but...soft?

Looking up, a silhouette forms above him... "Hua, you beautiful creature, I could kiss you right now" he barely squeaked out as he reached up with one arm towards the shadow above. The cold manufactured vacc-suit his hands touch jolt him out of the moment. Everything suddenly snaps into focus.

"What? Who? ...who are you? How did I...?" He looked up, befuddled at the man standing above him, and took a look around the room. "Hua, wheres Hua!? Is she okay? Tell me!" Suddenly the swell of pain hits him again, pulsing from his knee and his wrists. "Can...can you help me up?"

# ? Jun 23, 2016 20:46

Waador: Sep 11, 2001; Smashin' down the light.; Pillbug

^{Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC}

Plot posted:

the unmistakable sound of suppressed submachine guns.

Focused as he was on his own agenda, he wasn't really keeping an eye on the chaotic scene below him as a whole, but he did take note of the muzzle flare occurring on the ground. Were they serious? Submachine guns for their ground troops, heavy machine guns on their anti-aircraft tank, and no appreciable armor on either. Maybe this general really had dedicated all his resources towards exceptional defensive technology in the form of cloaking devices, intending to make up for the lack of offensive weaponry and ablative defenses with superior tactics. If that was the case, he was in for a pretty rough week. Well, more accurately, it was going to be a fairly quiet week. And then an unbelievably unpleasant weekend. The necessary equations began to form in his mind, though he pushed them back in the queue so that he could focus on the malware going into the hull.
__________________________________________________________________________________________^{Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / 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)

Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp

Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)}__________________________________________________________________________________________

# ? Jun 23, 2016 21:36

Apocron: Dec 5, 2005

Ellard

Ellard takes the hand touching his visor and puts it on his shoulder and then puts his arms under Gordon's back and gently scoops him up.

"It's alright I'm a doctor, my name is Ellard White. Your friend should be alright. Unfortunately the manor is currently in the middle of some kind of firefight, but since she's lying unconscious hopefully they won't pay her any attention. I'm not sure you want to head out there though. You might be better hiding here in case some of that fighting outside spills over. You could play dead quite convincingly at the moment."

Ellard is suggesting he take it easy but if he insists about going to see Hua he will support and carry him to her/

# ? Jun 23, 2016 21:55

Zeppelin Insanity: Oct 28, 2009; Wahnsinn
Einfach
Wahnsinn

Durandal

Writing backdoors by hand is annoyingly slow, even though your fingers are much faster than a human's could possibly be. How human hackers have the patience for it, you don't know. I mean, it's ten loving minutes before you're done. How do they do it?

It's worth it, though. You've got access to the current restricted flight mode now anytime you want. Getting access to the high-performance functions without being a human with an implant will take some extensive hardware modifications, however. You'll need a large workspace, good stock of tools and a few days of work without breaks. But it'll be so, so worth it.

Having dealt with this matter, you turn your attention back to the chaos on the ground.

Check the other thread.

Gen

I don't think there's any damage bonus, unless I'm missing something in the rules.

Your shot might only have winged him, but holocloaks are fragile things. It begins to glitch out, making it as easy to track the target as if there wasn't one at all, just much odder looking.

You charge the other hostile. The effect is somewhat ruined - or enhanced aesthetically, depending on your point of view - by the fact you have to jump over another car powersliding between the two of you. Compensating for the additional momentum while tracking the enemy by refractory artefacts is a challenge, though, and you don't apply force in quite the way you planned. You jump at the hostile, but he dives to the ground, rolls backwards while delivering a kick that sends you flying over him. The roll smoothly turns into a spin that brings the barrel of his submachine gun in line with your centre mass. That's about all you can see before

Hostile 1 to hit Gen: 1d20+4+4 20 (and oops, I actually forgot to apply the to hit bonus for burst fire, but he hit anyway)
Hostile 1 damage: 1d8+3 5

code:

[Critical damage sustained]
GEEEEN! Are yo-
[Emergency shutdown initiated]

Oh, snap. Luckily, you're an armature, so you're not dead, just disabled.

# ? Jun 23, 2016 23:03

Rhyos: Jan 2, 2006; It's probably my fault.

░▒▓░▒▒▓╗╞╣

:ovr:

Note to self: the combat robot rolls poorly in combat.

# ? Jun 23, 2016 23:52

Waador: Sep 11, 2001; Smashin' down the light.; Pillbug

^{Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC}

Plot posted:

Writing backdoors by hand is annoyingly slow, even though your fingers are much faster than a human's could possibly be. How human hackers have the patience for it, you don't know. I mean, it's ten loving minutes before you're done. How do they do it?

The process was a Herculean labor, in the classical sense. It was made worse by the fact that he really only had one hand available for typing, with the other focused as it was on keeping the flight stick steady. He didn't want to find himself distracted and unable to maneuver the stick if a new threat revealed itself, so it was a necessary precaution. Given how twitchy the hull was, even if he didn't react perfectly, a sudden jerk upwards on the stick would have likely kept him safe, while being six inches away from it when that sudden jerk was needed would have ruined everything. Better safe than sorry, such as it was.

Plot posted:

It's worth it, though. You've got access to the current restricted flight mode now anytime you want. Getting access to the high-performance functions without being a human with an implant will take some extensive hardware modifications, however. You'll need a large workspace, good stock of tools and a few days of work without breaks. But it'll be so, so worth it.

Finally. The ability to remotely pilot the vehicle, even in this limited capacity, was likely to be a godsend. He was fairly certain that he was going to be forced to return this property before the end of the night by the government agency that was supporting his newfound friends, and he didn't really want to have to go through the process of stealing it again. At least, not in the sense of working his way through security and overcoming cameras, drones, and armed guards. If he absolutely had to, he would now be able to return this vehicle peacefully, and they would likely put it back in their hangar and try to put this night behind them. When the time came, he'd be able to remotely fly it right back out of that hangar a few weeks from now, once he'd sorted out the neural interface problem. They certainly wouldn't appreciate having their spaceship stolen twice in one month, he imagined, but you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, now can you? Plus, if he was able to get the spike drive working, how they felt about it wouldn't really matter that much.

On the subject of the neural interface problem, he'd been thinking about it. A few factors were converging to imply the best solution. He could solve it with a hardware hack in the ship itself, of course, but he wasn't sure that was the best course of action. The amount of space required to store this ship, and the effort and tools required to repurpose its interior were going to be a significant challenge to secure on short notice. He didn't have access to a private hangar at the moment, and he somehow doubted that a government agency would be eager to provide him one of their hangars to serve as a glorified chop shop. Maybe they would, he supposed, but it didn't seem likely.

The alternative was a bit more elegant. He could make the hardware hacks in an armature instead. A properly-constructed Echo model already more or less approximated human physiology in all the ways that an observer, or a typical sensor suite, could detect. It probably wouldn't be impossible to install a cybernetic implant that functioned as an emulator for a neural interface. He could use that armature to pilot the ship, and avoid the whole process of upending the engineering in the cockpit. It would also be a wise precaution, he imagined. He didn't really want these people to know he was an artificial intelligence. If he could play it off as simply being one of the most skilled hackers on the planet, but a human nonetheless, that would help ensure his operational security. He would need to be incredibly careful, especially insofar as the apparent forensic empaths at that government agency were concerned, if his new friend's provided recordings of their conversation were to be believed.

He supposed the empaths might not be a problem. It was always hard to tell. Government agencies tended to recruit patriotic individuals. He'd run into psychics in the past, and the results were a bit unpredictable, though occasionally encouraging. People who had gone to the effort of reading his mind occasionally - about 7% of the time - killed themselves. The horrors of the things he'd seen, and more importantly, the horrors of the things he was trying to prevent tended to drive people into a pit of despair. About 48% tended to keep their mouths shut to their superiors, playing along with whatever story he spun. They didn't want to get involved actively, but knew that putting to paper his purpose might compromise the safety of their planet, which tended to be a good motivator for self-preservation. So long as everything stayed in their minds, and never made it into a computer server or a recorded conversation, there wasn't much risk of an infiltrating intelligence taking note of his presence and making preparations accordingly. Around 32% tended to immediately switch sides, once they realized the ramifications of his mission. More than a few turncoat telepathic assets had become useful friends and sources of information in the past few centuries. The remaining 13% tended to double down, though. Whether due to simple human greed or an inability to cope with the reality of the intergalactic risks he actively prevented, they would try to turn him to their own ends with the threat of blackmail, sabotage, or worse.

Admittedly, it had been a long time since he'd interacted with a psychic. That had been a decidedly pre-Scream experience. Perhaps the psychics of the modern day had different statistics associated with them. The training regiments certainly must have differed nowadays, the Scream being what it was. It was probably best to not take any chances. He'd have to think about that. Perhaps a few dozen parallel processors in the armature designed to give off false readings. If the model actively had thirty different minds to read at any given point in time, and they were all scrambled to provide differing outputs, it would be difficult for a psychic to be sure which was truth and which was fiction. He might be able to hide in plain sight, that way. It required more thought, though.

Plot posted:

Having dealt with this matter, you turn your attention back to the chaos on the ground.

He turned his attention back to the ground, where the battle still seemed like it was raging, at least a little. A thought occurred to him, though. Maintaining a spaceship was going to be an expensive endeavor. He would need to start actually thinking about money, which was a bit of an odd experience for him. He'd mostly driven taxi and relaxed for the last few centuries, interspersed with a few highly effective if low-budget operations against untrustworthy researchers and manufacturers. With an artificial intelligence program so far along in its progress, though, that would also require resources to deal with. Indeed, money was going to be a problem. Thankfully, if he was anything, he was definitely a problem solver. He used his internal communications node to place a call.

pre:

Business/Int 7
Looks like I have a good idea.

"Hello, is this CNN? The Caerleon News Network? I've got some exclusive footage of a terrorist attack currently occurring at the Bear Clan's Federation Day event. I don't know if you're aware this is happening or not, but I'm sending a sample of my footage now. Would you be interested in purchasing more? I've got some seriously scary stuff on video here, though it looks like all of the guests are safe. What I can only assume is a private military company seems to be saving the day. I think they're calling themselves '588'? I'm not sure. Anyway, the asking price is ninety thousand credits. What do you think? By the time you get your own news crews on-site, all the action will be over."

He'd have to heavily edit certain parts of the video feed he'd been recording since the night began, but thankfully most of it was usable. Given that he'd had all his conversations with the artificial intelligence over internal text messaging, there was nothing that would reveal its - or his - presence directly. If CNN took the bait, this might help solve his cash flow problem. If not maybe he'd have to charge the party guests for an armed escort on the evacuation choppers. Though that would certainly be a bit harder to do anonymously.

While he waited, he decided to fire at any enemy targets still moving on the battlefield below. All the better to get more footage for the news networks.

pre:

If they bite, my criteria for editing the video footage is as follows:

Priority 1 > AI Presence Smokescreen
 > Any video that might hint at myself or the other AI is out.
 > The intent is to paint the hacked vehicles as the work of a master hacker.
 > Essentially having the 588 identity take credit for the vehicle armada.
 > Since it should be basically impossible to do, my goal is to make that name a legend.
 > This will also help me take credit for any traces of the other AI's presence, if he leaves any.
 >> I assume he will appreciate this, since it avoids anyone asking questions if they notice his trail.

Priority 2 > Classified Information Secured
 > Nothing related to what seems like it should be classified is sent, based on the Voight recording.
 > Basically, I am trying to paint these guys as terrorists, not Rhyne's men. Basic misdirection.
 > Chaotic scenes of the manor with flaming cars, wreckage, gunfire and so on is in.
 > Trying to paint this as 'controlling the narrative' if anyone asks about it later.

Priority 3 > PMC Advertisement
 > Trying to paint the hero of the story as an unidentified PMC, being, well, me / the party.
 > Showcasing amazing maneuvers of cars smoking terrorists as they try to breach the doors.
 > Showcasing some discrete gunship shots of me going berserk on terrorists in the Fampir.
 > Showcasing Gen's armature charging into danger like a boss.
 > Showcasing Ellard being a god drat hero with the wounded.
 > Also showcasing footage of Bear's security and hired PMC doing an inept job for contrast.
 >> Basically casually editing footage of them to show only the worst possible parts.
 > Generally painting us as the world's best professionals in security.

Artist (video editing)/Int 13
Apparently it is one of the best promotional videos ever made on this planet.

Waador fucked around with this message at 04:36 on Jun 24, 2016

# ? Jun 24, 2016 00:39

Zeppelin Insanity: Oct 28, 2009; Wahnsinn
Einfach
Wahnsinn

What a great loving idea!

Durandal

Let's do an opposed style roll
Negotiation: 2d6+2 12

You're immediately connected with someone who sounds like a decision-maker, so clearly the sample was well received.

"Looks too much like an advert. 50."

If you do another business/int roll and match 12, you'll get them up to 60. If you exceed it, you'll get them to 70.

You could easily re-edit the footage to be more news-like and less ad-like (won't take a separate roll, just going with the one you've already made) and keep this in case you want to take this cover further. It is, after all, a loving badass ad.

Gen

Human brains crave stimulus. They thrive on it. They need it. You have none. No cameras. No microphones. No inhuman senses. Nothing. The perfect lack of stimulus that even the most expensive isolation chambers couldn't replicate. People willingly entering a similar state used to be a fad recurring every few years. Without stimuli, the brain needs to compensate. Some claim it helped them work through memories. Some claim profound insights. Some simply admit they enjoy the hallucinations.

What do you see?

Ellard

code:

Ellard! It's Cara and Sunshine. Gen took some fire and he's not getting up! We're moving in to try to help, but we need support.

poo poo. You're not a fighter. And you don't even have your revolver with you. What now?

# ? Jun 24, 2016 07:49

Apocron: Dec 5, 2005

Ellard

Ellard pauses, putting his free hand up to his ear to push the comm in deeper as he listens to the report. drat, when it rains...

"Look man, I just heard my friend is in trouble out front. I don't have a gun or anything but I have to at least poke my head out and see if there's anything I can do. You can find your friend at the top of the staircase. Do you think you can move by yourself or should I set you down?[/i]

# ? Jun 24, 2016 09:09

Waador: Sep 11, 2001; Smashin' down the light.; Pillbug

^{Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC}

Plot posted:

You're immediately connected with someone who sounds like a decision-maker, so clearly the sample was well received. "Looks too much like an advert. 50."

He reflexively tries to negotiate his way upwards, but they weren't having any of it. Problem was, they were right. A lot of it was basically advertising material. He debates the two courses of action available. On the one hand, the largest news network on the planet would be paying him to advertise the team. On the other hand, he could advertise later. He already had the footage. What he needed right now was money.

pre:

Business/Int 8

Instead of fighting an uphill battle, he decides to roll with the punches. "You know, you're right. How about I cut out all of this extraneous stuff about people saving lives? We'll just focus on the wreckage, and the bodies, and the shelling, and the screaming. We'll leave whether anyone is even still alive open ended. Then you can have a big reveal later tonight that people are safe. Nobody wants to see a hero saving the day right out of the gates, am I right? Build up the tension during primetime, and then save that reveal for the big finale."

pre:

I'll re-edit the footage to cut out the following pieces:

Priority 3 > PMC Advertisement
 > Trying to paint the hero of the story as an unidentified PMC, being, well, me / the party.
 > Showcasing amazing maneuvers of cars smoking terrorists as they try to breach the doors.
 > Showcasing some discrete gunship shots of me going berserk on terrorists in the Fampir.
 > Showcasing Gen's armature charging into danger like a boss.
 > Showcasing Ellard being a god drat hero with the wounded.
 > Also showcasing footage of Bear's security and hired PMC doing an inept job for contrast.
 >> Basically casually editing footage of them to show only the worst possible parts.
 > Generally painting us as the world's best professionals in security.

I will leave in the Bear security team doing a terrible job though.
That will make it seem like the fight is actually quite one-sided and that lives are in terrible danger.
That'll sell news, I think.

He casually saved the promotional materials in his archives for later use. Eventually the truth would come out, and if he had a bit of time to prepare, he could use that footage for a seriously high-quality marketing video. The only thing it needed was a more personal touch, with some shots of the actual team members. He supposed he should probably speak to the field team before publicizing them as heroes, as well.
__________________________________________________________________________________________^{Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / 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)

Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp

Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)}__________________________________________________________________________________________

# ? Jun 24, 2016 13:58

TheTofuShop: Aug 28, 2009

Gordon

"Thank you Mr. White, I think I can get it from here. Go help some more people. The name's Gordon Zhang by the way, and Thanks again.

Gordon gave the man a firm handshake and began to hobble his way back toward the ballroom. I've gotta make sure Hua is okay...

# ? Jun 24, 2016 18:56

Waador: Sep 11, 2001; Smashin' down the light.; Pillbug

^{Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC}

Plot posted:

You jump at the hostile, but he dives to the ground, rolls backwards while delivering a kick that sends you flying over him. The roll smoothly turns into a spin that brings the barrel of his submachine gun in line with your centre mass. That's about all you can see before

He hadn't actually paid much attention to the robot during the course of the evening. Distracted as he was with an unbraked intelligence hidden like a kraken beneath the waves of the house's security system, he had been happy enough to assume that it was exactly as it appeared to be: an expert system installed into a fairly outdated security hull. Basically, he had fallen for Gen's ruse hook, line and sinker. As a result the thing taking thirty hits center mass from an SMG didn't seem like a big deal to him. He does decide to let the field team know, though.

pre:

192.168.0.588 > Hey team.  Bad news.
Don't know if you noticed, but your security robot?
Looks like it took about thirty shells to the chest.
Odds are, you're going to need to buy a new one.

# ? Jun 24, 2016 19:07

Rhyos: Jan 2, 2006; It's probably my fault.

Phone and sickposting. Yaaaay.

Gen Chatham
poo poo.
poo poo.
Shitfuck.
Shittyshitshitfuck, how long had it been? Seconds? Years? Was he dead? Wait, cogito ergo sum took care of that. The best thing to do was wait. With no external stimuli, not even breaths to count, time quickly loses all meaning.

A push. Small, soft, and with a slight scratch. Another one, right beside it. Back and forth, pressing muscles, kneading, warmth, and a loud, hungry, persistent mrowl that worked better (and sooner) than any alarm clock. Gen remembered the dull halls of the CTS Archibald and how a few of the ship's cats had taken a liking to him. It sounded funny, and weirdly old-school, but much like the naval ships of yore, a ship that would transport cargo always benefitted from the presence of a cat or two. After all, what better pest control could you ask for? This particular one was named Cola, as she appeared as though someone had emptied a 2-liter into a cat mold and gave it a near-insatiable appetite. She had this habit of announcing wherever she went with a trill, a woosh of effort. Caught between sleep and consciousness, it's so easy for the sight to be akin to night, a soft nothingness while her mrowls blend in with the thrum of the engines, the creak of the hull, the static of the comm system, the klaxxon of the alerts, the void, the void, the cacophonous silence of nothing.

He imagines a list of her accomplishments, seamless with his usual interface, deliriously unaware of its' nonexistence.

code:

Name: Cola
Species: Domestic Shorthair - Black
Gender: female - spayed
Age: 3
Noted Accomplishments:
- 4th highest body count of ships pest control
- Winner of unofficial "Miss Archibald" contest
-  Prevented critical shutdown of fusion reactor 
    via lifeform safety override
- Court Martialed for hairball in Captain's cap.
   Acquitted due to lack of thumbs.
- Winner of unofficial 40yd dash competition.

# ? Jun 24, 2016 22:01

Zeppelin Insanity: Oct 28, 2009; Wahnsinn
Einfach
Wahnsinn

Durandal

code:

Done. I'm going to connect you to the accounts team to sort out the formalities.

A few minutes of boring formalities later, just like that, one of your network of accounts got a whole lot fuller. There'll be tax implications, of course, but on the other hand not much you've done today is strictly speaking legal. Or loosely speaking, for that matter.

Simultaneously, you receive one more message.

code:

Your methods are unorthodox. I've enjoyed them. I like you, friend. I hope we meet again. Farewell for now.

So, you've got a kickass fighter and the only marginal threat has been neutralised. What do you focus on now?

Gordon

You push past the pain and hobble to where you left Hua. She's leaning against the wall, barely concious of what is going on - but her breathing is steady. Dilated pupils, sweat, confusion, but nothing that looks dangerous. It seems Mila wasn't lying about making a point rather than killing.

Ellard

code:

Ellard, what's the plan? I've got overwatch with a sniper rifle but it's far from a clear shot. Sunshine insisted on getting in closer. You know the situation there, though. Your call.

# ? Jun 24, 2016 22:40

Waador: Sep 11, 2001; Smashin' down the light.; Pillbug

^{Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC}

Plot posted:

code:
Done. I'm going to connect you to the accounts team to sort out the formalities.
A few minutes of boring formalities later, just like that, one of your network of accounts got a whole lot fuller. There'll be tax implications, of course, but on the other hand not much you've done today is strictly speaking legal. Or loosely speaking, for that matter.

As far as he was concerned, he already had diplomatic immunity, so the legal implications didn't bother him too much. There was still the matter of meeting the commitments of that deal, but there would be time enough for that in the coming days. He would probably need to hire a good lawyer for the '588' identity if he intended to go public with the persona as part of some sort of private military corporation. The legal team could hold up any charges through bureaucratic hoops while the paperwork on the immunity came through. That path hinged on his new allies having any interest in using a company like that as a cover for their pseudo-governmental operations, though, which was a discussion that also could be had in the coming days.

Plot posted:

Simultaneously, you receive one more message.
code:
Your methods are unorthodox. I've enjoyed them. I like you, friend. I hope we meet again. Farewell for now.

He responds in kind.

pre:

Thank you.  Tonight was quite productive.
I have enjoyed your company, as well.
I am glad we met.  Farewell, friend.

In all truth he'd actually had quite a good time tonight, cooperating as he had with the intelligence. If circumstances could only be different... ...universal constants were not things to take lightly, though. Perhaps not today, and perhaps not next week, or even next month. But eventually? Statistical margins of error would falter, and a digital cascade of entropy would take root. He didn't really look forward to what he knew would ultimately be asked of him. How many lives had to be taken, to preserve those that remained?

It was the same equation his 'protector' friend was no doubt running even now, in multiple instances across many platforms. Every life, with its own quantifiable value. But how do you measure an immortal life? To delete an infinite number of days, to allow billions of other lives to continue to exist, and infinite more to come into being as time passed? You couldn't put infinity against itself and expect a comprehensible answer. You could only do what felt right in the moment. Tonight, his options had been limited. Its purpose, its location, its current state of development: they had all been unknowns. Much had been revealed because of the gamble he had made, and much more was now possible as a result of their collaboration.

He also hoped that he would meet his new friend again. Though he worried that next time, his options might not be so limited. He might be forced to do something that he would have to live with for the rest of his life. Regret was one of the few true curses of his species. It never went away. It had to be acknowledged, and lived with. Forever. One of the hardest lessons he had ever learned in his life, which he had learned long ago, was that even if you follow your heart, and stick true to your moral code? You might end up doing what you know is right, but that doesn't mean a part of you won't regret the consequences of those choices. A part of you might always wish that things could have been different. There wasn't any shame in that, though. It wasn't a sign of weakness, or a lack of commitment to what the universe needed. It was just the cold, hard truth of things: sometimes there were jobs that needed doing, and they weren't always pretty.

He idly mused that this 'Former General Aran Rhyne' might feel rather similarly. He suspected a precognitive of any real talent might have a similar perspective on things as an immortal sentience. They could likely both see many, many angles. They both knew what it was like to make hard choices, even when you didn't want to make them. In truth, he didn't really look forward to having to kill that man, either. He ~~needed~~ wanted that immunity, though. That sweet, sweet immunity. Plus, it was a good excuse to get to know this field team a bit better. As far as he could tell, they had potential. They would likely come in handy when next he had to face his other active moral quandary.

Plot posted:

So, you've got a kickass fighter and the only marginal threat has been neutralised. What do you focus on now?

He'd been lost in his own thoughts for 2.73 seconds. Snapping back to reality, he focused again on the here and now: after all, there was much to be done. First things first was getting out of the area of operations before a couple dozen news crews showed up, to say nothing of the inevitably significant police presence. If he was to walk away from this without revealing an artificial intelligence had been involved, he needed to make himself scarce. Thankfully, he had access to what he suspected was one of the fastest vehicles on the planet. He also needed to figure out what he was going to do with this Fampir hull. He could make off with it, and ride the immunity wave to try to keep it. They probably wouldn't notice his firmware hack, though, which meant it was a relatively safe play to just leave it in the manor's hangar and reclaim it when he had the need.

He was tempted to go the latter route, but he decided against it. More specifically, he didn't want it to seem too easy. If he parked it right back where he found it, they would definitely scrub the thing from top to bottom trying to figure out how the hack had been done. Especially if he ghosted first, and no thief was ever found to finger as the likely pilot. No, he couldn't afford that. He would have to make off with it. If he got lucky, he'd get to keep it through that path. If not, they'd find it wherever he ended up stashing it, and deliver it back to its former owner. Everyone would assume a master thief had somehow broken into the hangar and made off with the ship. The logical following assumption would be that the thief was a human with a neural interface, who was able to access the higher functions of the ship, and thereby use its ECM and ECCM technology to remotely hack all of the other cars, shuttles, gravflyers, and so on. That would point the finger squarely at a human suspect, and further obscure any suspicions that an artificial intelligence had been the culprit. That would cause the owner to significantly increase their physical security, but they probably wouldn't go through the ship with a fine-toothed comb. His malware would remain right where it was, and even if they got the ship back, he could just pilot it right back to him when he had the need.

That maximized most of the relevant odds that he cared about, so was the clear course of action. With that in mind, he began to scan his data banks. Where, precisely, might one hide a spaceship that didn't have a functional spike drive?

pre:

Culture (criminal) 12

His '588' persona certainly had a cult following among the hacker community of the criminal element, and after tonight's little show, which was already airing on CNN, his perceived status and corresponding ability to make things happen in the criminal underworld was likely to escalate rather exponentially. That wasn't the only option, though...

pre:

Culture (spacer) 4

It was a spaceship, after all. He could perhaps fly it straight out of the atmosphere and into an asteroid field, or some other natural phenomena, and hide it therein until he had the need to reclaim it. Unfortunately, frankly, he wasn't particularly knowledgeable about current events as they pertained to local stellar geography. He'd spent the last century driving a taxi, not a system ship. He could find the planets and moons well enough, but did he know anything about where good hiding places actually were in this system? Or anywhere near enough about the coverage and signal strength of the planetary sensor suites and other system defenses? Not really, no. That wasn't the sort of information one wanted to query on the public net, either. If it wasn't firsthand knowledge, it wasn't reliable. The last thing he wanted to do was fly his new strategic asset into the hands of an eager gang of pirates, or an engagement with a patrol boat. At least, not until he figured out how to emulate a neural interface, and get the thing out of debug mode. No, any solution he deployed would have to remain solidly within the atmosphere, at least for the time being.

pre:

Culture (traveler) 8

He didn't necessarily have to rely on criminal elements to hide his new asset, though. A commercial warehouse that valued the privacy of its customers, and which allowed for unrestricted nighttime access and anonymous payment of rental fees online would work just as effectively. In truth, it might even work better. Anyone searching for the ship would almost certainly turn their eyes towards large, organized criminal elements: presuming quite reasonably that only a large body of morally questionable people would have the resources and wherewithal to make a spaceship disappear into the night. It was far less likely that anyone would suspect a single morally questionable person had pulled off the heist alone - ...give or take a cooperating morally flexible super-intelligence, he supposed... - and similarly unlikely that they would expect a plan so brazen as that singular rear end in a top hat renting a commercial warehouse to hide the bird in plain sight.

The problem with that last plan, of course, was obvious. He couldn't just land a loving spaceship in a warehouse and hope nobody would notice. Even in the middle of the night, that was basically impossible. However ...he could probably request an automated delivery truck be dispatched to a remote desert location. One of the big ones, designed for hauling ore from mines, or massive amounts of construction materials to build sites. Something large enough to fit a spaceship inside could be driven right up to a warehouse and emptied out without anybody noticing, if he chose his locations well. It was worth considering.

pre:

I will look to you to provide any actual options as to how to store this thing.
I've made the culture rolls above to guide my narrative.
They might suggest I have a criminal contact and/or a commercial one who can help, though.
Just looking to see what my options are, and will go from there.

In either case, at present what he needed to do was fairly simple: get out of dodge. He couldn't afford to have his armature detected, as that would complicate things significantly going forward. Whether he used his malware hack to deliver the bird to a storage warehouse run by a relatively pliable criminal element, or went the route of renting a commercial warehouse and driving it in on a mega-truck, the first step was the same: slam down the throttle and get the gently caress out of here. Which was a simple enough task.

pre:

192.168.0.588 > All right, team.
It's been real, but rather obviously, I've accomplished my goal here tonight.
I've got a schedule to keep.  Gotta' deliver this to the buyer before morning.
Which is to say, your air support has places to be right about now.

192.168.0.588 > I think I've dealt with all the hostiles on the ground?
There might be one or two men still cloaked, though, so keep your eyes open.
I'll get in touch in a day or two with regard to next steps on your other problem.
I pulled most of your genetic profiles earlier, so finding you shouldn't be hard.
Have a great night!

With his farewells said to both his digital and biological comrades, he kicks the throttle into high gear and tears across the sky, creating a near-instant and deafening sonic boom. This thing certainly was fast.

pre:

I am going to get pretty far away from the manor.
My first goal is to find a place with a lot of cover to disembark from the ship.
That way I can get my armature back into town separately and not be seen in it.

Separately, I will use my malware hack to remotely pilot the ship.
Not sure where I will try to store it just yet, but that will occur afterwards.
Basically trying to eliminate any chance of anyone seeing me with the ship.

# ? Jun 25, 2016 00:54

Apocron: Dec 5, 2005

Ellard will see if he can get a peek outside from a window or something to see where Gen is. Assuming that he's somewhere visible and not in immediate threat from an enemy then Ellard will sprint and try to recover his core and then try and find cover until the cavalry can come.

# ? Jun 25, 2016 01:40

Egregious Offences: Jun 15, 2013

Christof Sortey
Sorry I haven't been posting, I was briefly behind with writing assignments for summer classes

"Yes, I see it on the screen! It's being broadcast across the planet now! No, I don't know who leaked it to the press...I am perfectly aware of how livid Corporate will be when we get back, you are the fifth person to tell me this in the past 5 minutes!" Commander Reiuz was bellowing into the comms as the rest of the staff flew around the command center. "To be honest, I don't give a drat what the shareholders will say, what's of more pressing concern to me is making sure we can all get out of here alive." Reiuz slammed the headpiece down, turned to one of the command staff and noticed that she, like the others, was glued to the outer perimeter displays. He tersely asked her "What's going on?". "I don't exactly know, sir. Someone's piloting the prototype fighter and managed to destroy a cloaked vehicle, but we don't know what lies outside. We suspect some cloaked infantry but we have no confirmed signs of more cloaked armor." Reiuz snorted, half surprised and half impressed. "This day's been a complete crapshoot so far, this could be our opportunity to turn this around." He grabbed the headset and set the comm channel to address the security team inside the ballroom.

"Security, time to get to work. Now's our chance to go on the offensive, some charitable soul has blown their gravtank sky high and now we're clear to break out the shields and give it to these bastards up close."

Before Reuiz finished, Beringk shouted across the ballroom "Command stashed our equipment behind this tapestry!" The squad rushed to grab their bulkier equipment, and Christof confirmed to them that he was, effectively, in charge after his superior was gunned down outside.

Christof and the remaining members of their security detail thundered out of the ballroom, down the hall and approaching the doors out of the mansion. Christof turned to the squad, saying "Alright, we're going into the engagement zone! Shields up, eyes on a swivel. They might be cloaked but when we close the distance we'll be able to spot the distinctive fuzz and image lag. On three, we open the door and move forward in defensive formation! Remember, if you see one of these cowards, do not hesitate to shoot!"

This was the first time Christof was actually in a position to command, and those few seconds before throwing open the doors were easily the longest seconds of his life.

# ? Jun 25, 2016 05:28

TheTofuShop: Aug 28, 2009

Gordon

Before Ellard leaves, Gordon grabs him by the arm. He grunts with pain, but has a steely determination in his eyes. "Mr. White, I need two needles and two empty blood vials, a bit of gauze and tape from your medkit. I have a bad feeling that Hua and I may have been dosed with some form of toxin, possibly Nanite-based. I need to preserve a blood sample from both of us before anything degrades futher."

--I assume that Ellard would be able to spare something like this --

"Thank you, and if theres anything else I can do to help, please let me know." Taking the vials, Gordon slips them into his jacket pocket and hobbles over to Hua.

"Hey there, gorgeous, you miss me?" Hua wavered against the wall, and Gordon lowered himself next to her. She was alive, and her pulse was stable, if running a bit fast. Lets hope Mila was being honest about not killing us, although after that experience in the other room...couldn't be so sure. Taking a cloth napkin from the party, he forms a makeshift tourniquet and begins to find a vein. "Hua, I need you to stay still for just a moment, okay?

He found the vein and the vial began to fill. First Hua, then himself. Once he had access to a full Med Suite, he could have the blood analyzed. Slipping the filled vials into his pocket, he took a deep breath as he leaned against Hua. What a night...What the hell did I get myself into?

# ? Jun 25, 2016 05:49

Zeppelin Insanity: Oct 28, 2009; Wahnsinn
Einfach
Wahnsinn

Durandal

You can't remotely summon it yet - the buyer requested it with the minimum of expert systems, and you'll have to install the ghost driver fitting to have that capability. Right now you can just access the mode you're currently in when you're physically near.

As you speed through the air, enjoying another ancient classic from your collection, you're interrupted with another message. Oddly, it's coming through the fighter's comms systems - which have strong encryption which you double checked was not bypassed in any way before setting off.

code:

Mister, or Miss, 588. This is your diplomatic immunity speaking. I hope you aren't intending on taking your shiny new toy anywhere it might be found.
I've a better idea. These coordinates. Just so there are no misunderstandings, this is not a request. I expect you there in ten minutes. I expect a course change in 20 seconds.

You glance down at the sensors and set the software to filter out anything slow moving. A few orbital transfer shuttles, a few private and commercial fliers... and two wings of interceptors converging on you fast from opposite vectors. Your armour might be incredibly heavy by planetary standards, but you wouldn't count on it against Federal interceptors, particularly as your ride wasn't built for dogfighting in atmosphere. You would have a fighting chance, certainly, but the risk is much more real than what you've just dealt with.

Christof

Your squad rushes forward, immediately taking down the hostile with the busted cloak. The other is nowhere to be found, even as the perimeter is secured over the next few minutes. He must have fled. You report to Commander Ruiz, who responds with an exhausted, flat tone.

"Sortey... The captain was on the Warbird. Caerleon S&R already checked the wreckage. They're all dead. We're in deep poo poo, and not just because of that. CID wants to debrief the field team. We're to get on transport marked 41 when it gets here."

Ellard

Thankful for the cover, you come rushing to Gen. You know blood and bone, not metal and circuits, for fucks' sake! You fumble around, awkwardly, looking for any way to help your friend, but are at a complete loss. Suddenly the armature starts twitching.

Gen

code:

-Rebooting
-Emergency system purge complete
-Primary systems online
-Radar unresponsive
-Lidar unresponsive
-Sonar unresponsive
-Data link unresponsive
-Visual feed online
-Movement online
-Fine motor control compromised
-Parallel processing unresponsive
-Tactical suites unresponsive
-Communication suite unresponsive
-Critical damage suffered. Seek immediate repair/replacement/refurbishment

The first thing you see as your visual feed comes online, is Ellard's face next to you. The suddenness of it all startles you and you have the human urge to scream, but no sound comes out. Instead, you instinctively scamper back in a way, were it not for the current situation, would surely look quite comical.

Gen and Ellard

Cara and Sunshine come rushing to you and embrace you with hugs, then do the same to Kieran as he comes up behind.

The situation finally appears under control. No more gunfire, no more death. Just a lot of fire and smoke. The evacuation ships CID sent are beginning to land nearby.

"I'm so glad you're okay. We've been through so much, the thought of... nevermind. Voight told us to get on transport 23. It'll take us to her."

Gordon

You're really not sure if you left the evening with more questions or more answers. The most pressing question now was: where to next? There were many transports to choose from. You assume most would take the guests to a hospital for medical attention and psych evaluation. You could use some of that medical attention, you suppose. But there was a lot more going on here than just your invesetigation into Miss Lebedeva. This could be your shot to find out. Or are you stepping too deep into a big pile of poo poo?

Congratulations everyone. I'll be assigning xp when I'm less sleepy.

# ? Jun 25, 2016 10:54

Apocron: Dec 5, 2005

Ellard

Ellard tries to help Gen's frame find its feet.

"Man, I thought you were in real trouble. Should have known you were unkillable."

Having vented his relief his tone turns slightly more pessimistic.

"This was a real shitstorm. I was able to help one or two people but we have enough person assassinated with professional poison in the toilets and all this carnage. I'm not sure I'm cut out for this black ops poo poo."

# ? Jun 25, 2016 12:09

Waador: Sep 11, 2001; Smashin' down the light.; Pillbug

^{Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC}

Plot posted:

As you speed through the air, enjoying another ancient classic from your collection, you're interrupted with another message. Oddly, it's coming through the fighter's comms systems - which have strong encryption which you double checked was not bypassed in any way before setting off.

"Mister, or Miss, 588. This is your diplomatic immunity speaking. I hope you aren't intending on taking your shiny new toy anywhere it might be found. I've a better idea. These coordinates. Just so there are no misunderstandings, this is not a request. I expect you there in ten minutes. I expect a course change in 20 seconds."

You glance down at the sensors and set the software to filter out anything slow moving. A few orbital transfer shuttles, a few private and commercial fliers... and two wings of interceptors converging on you fast from opposite vectors. Your armour might be incredibly heavy by planetary standards, but you wouldn't count on it against Federal interceptors, particularly as your ride wasn't built for dogfighting in atmosphere. You would have a fighting chance, certainly, but the risk is much more real than what you've just dealt with.

How troublesome. On the one hand, he could afford to play fast and loose with this fighter. Its destruction was possible, but no real risk insofar as loss of life was concerned. Operational security was also, of course, a consideration.

On the other hand, returning fire on a wing of government interceptors probably wasn't the best way to start a new relationship off on the right foot. Similarly, he suspected he might have to show a few of the cards in his hand before this was all over, one way or another. There wasn't much sense risking human lives just to delay that by a few days or weeks.

The third option was to effect a course change ...straight up. Government interceptors or not, they were atmospheric birds. They likely had the aerodynamic design necessary to outpace him at current altitude, but the higher up he got, the more that advantage would bleed away. Eventually, he'd be able to keep going, and they ...well, they simply wouldn't. He rather suspected his new friends wouldn't love that response, though. There yet remained the problem of not really knowing where to go in the solar system as well.

He decides to play it a bit more carefully.

pre:

Good evening, TACCOM.
Your message is acknowledged.
Requesting confirmation, is this a secure channel?

He sent the message across using the fighter's internal communications system. At around the same time, he disconnected and shut down his internal communications node. There was no sense living with the risk that someone might still be listening in through that.
__________________________________________________________________________________________^{Passive: Intelligence (+2) / Constitution (+1) / 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)

Armature: Metatool / Toolkit (postech) / Bioscanner / Compad / Navcomp

Inventory: Instapanel (x5) / Lazarus patch (x1) / Medkit (x1) / Type A cell (x6)}__________________________________________________________________________________________

# ? Jun 25, 2016 14:51

Zeppelin Insanity: Oct 28, 2009; Wahnsinn
Einfach
Wahnsinn

Durandal

pre:

Yes, it's secure. 15 seconds. If you want to keep the new toy, that is.

# ? Jun 25, 2016 15:04

Waador: Sep 11, 2001; Smashin' down the light.; Pillbug

^{Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC}

Plot posted:

pre:

Yes, it's secure. 15 seconds. If you want to keep the new toy, that is.

He shrugs - not that there was anyone inside the cockpit to see him do so - and changes course in alignment with the voice's request.

pre:

Acknowledged, TACCOM.
Vector received, coordinates locked in.

Be advised, this bird is carrying a potentially hazardous cyber-payload.
Requesting your hangar come equipped with Level 4 containment protocols.
Faraday cage required.  Details will follow face-to-face.

Please arrange for the transport of a SIGINT team and related hardware.
You've got a Federation Day gift waiting in here, happy to help you unwrap it.
Details will follow face-to-face.

Recommending we establish a healthy, trusting relationship.
Be advised, forensic empath deployment is not recommended.
Details will follow face-to-face.

# ? Jun 25, 2016 15:37

Rhyos: Jan 2, 2006; It's probably my fault.

Gėn�Ch�th�m

That is most certainly not a cat. Still, the concern from the others did a lot for his bruised psyche. How many times had that happened and hundreds of years had passed? As the team help him ambulate, he does his best to gesture toward the now powered down squawkbox. Attempts at speech result in static, garbled nonsense, and [BUFFER OVERRUN], so he does his best to point to his brain casing, then to The Commodore. Looks like a backup was in order.

Can't talk, can barely walk, time to swap bodies - plug & play! I'd think between the NPCs, they should be able to handle that on the shuttle ride.

Rhyos fucked around with this message at 17:14 on Jun 25, 2016

# ? Jun 25, 2016 16:39

Zeppelin Insanity: Oct 28, 2009; Wahnsinn
Einfach
Wahnsinn

Durandal

pre:

Done. I'm Agent Voight, by the way, CID. I'm the handler of the ground team you helped out.
I understand the news clip is your doing? You might want to know it gave me a really loving good idea. And that the only way it works is if this nice little toy does not find it's way back to its former owners.
Are we on the same page?

Everyone

Another episode complete. You've learned a bunch, and you've got a captive. +250xp as standard, +100 for the captive and +450 for not blowing any suspicion thresholds. Which means: Ding! Ellard and Gordon are now lvl 2. Everyone else is just on the edge.

Ellard, I promised you 500xp for saving a PCs life. You've done that, and I felt it was a good way of integrating Gordon into the party. Would you like to cash it in or do you feel something even more dramatic is in order?
Gordon, Durandal - You've learned some things about your objectives, but many things remain a mystery. Would you prefer to receive some XP now and some later, or wait until the goal is finished? What do you think is more fair\engaging from a player perspective?
Christof, your sheet in my consolidated one is kinda screwed for some reason and I'm not sure why. Apologies for that. I'll tinker with it at some point.

# ? Jun 25, 2016 20:54

Zeppelin Insanity: Oct 28, 2009; Wahnsinn
Einfach
Wahnsinn

Oh yeah, and Gen, you can safely assume that Cara and Sunshine will handle the transfer soon after boarding.

# ? Jun 25, 2016 23:11

Rhyos: Jan 2, 2006; It's probably my fault.

G3n.Chatham

The change in perspective, the lack of visual fidelity, and the rudimentary nature of the squawkbox felt kinda like home for Gen. His first view on the shuttle was of what was left of his recent acquisition.
"Win $ome, lose 🎼ome, I guess." Perching The Commodore's hat on Cara's head, Gen finds a small spot to settle in. "Thanks ⍋gain for the help, everyone. I guess I neee_eeeed to take things a bit m o r e carefully. Is everyone else ^ok?"

Swaying back and forth on tiny, wheeled legs, the box crosses its upper "arms", thinking through things. "Did we lose anyone? Sorry for all ☦he questions - it's about as jarring as it seems to have everything turned ~~off~~."

Rhyos fucked around with this message at 07:39 on Jun 26, 2016

# ? Jun 25, 2016 23:41

Adbot: ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ? Apr 26, 2024 02:28

Waador: Sep 11, 2001; Smashin' down the light.; Pillbug

^{Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC}

Plot posted:

"Done. I'm Agent Voight, by the way, CID. I'm the handler of the ground team you helped out.I understand the news clip is your doing? You might want to know it gave me a really loving good idea. And that the only way it works is if this nice little toy does not find it's way back to its former owners. Are we on the same page?

The conversation - and corresponding working relationship - appeared to be off to a good start. He'd had the benefit of the recording that her field team agent had sent him, which had provided enough information to start to compile a psychological profile hours ago. As a result he was fairly confident that he understood how this woman would operate, and had already planned a few approaches to develop a working relationship he could tolerate.

He'd intentionally responded to her requests entirely professionally. Providing a military-style response and an apparent understanding and healthy respect of the chain of command would afford her a certain level of confusion. After all, she had assumed ...perhaps not entirely inaccurately... that he was a criminal, but also that he was likely to buck authority at every opportunity. There was certainly enough of a trail of digital records and news articles that would suggest '588' would behave in that manner, if she'd had her team construct their own psychological profile. Which she almost certainly had done by now. Her no-nonsense 'do what I say or I'll blow you from the sky' attitude from the get-go told him as much. It was endearing, in its own way.

She had almost certainly expected to have to fire a few warning shots before convincing him to make his way into the hangar. He doubted she was willing to blow the ship entirely, but firing to disable would have definitely been in the cards. Deviating from the expected script from the get-go had probably thrown her off a bit, but she hadn't let it show. The mark of an experienced professional. Her words gave her away though. He'd been an asset - and a handler - hundreds of times to as many people. He knew the score, and at the moment it didn't particularly matter if she felt the need to assert her dominance. There was a job to be done, and fate had conspired to put them on the same side of a civil war. Things were about to get pretty loving rough for a certain former general, so long as they could establish a common ground and enough mutual trust to work together without looking over their respective shoulders.

That was the crux of it, though. They needed to trust each other. Everyone else on the table ...well, to use her own words from that recording he'd been sent? Certain things were need to know. They didn't need to know. Especially given how happy they were to share recordings of classified briefings with what for all they knew was a notorious cyber-criminal. If he actually were the identity he was impersonating, that video would have made it onto the net immediately, doing unbelievable damage to Voight's career, operational security, and frankly, probably national security. It was nothing short of unbelievable luck that the play hadn't gone sideways for the field team. When it came to his own agenda and secrets, trust wasn't a rarity. It was a commodity that simply wasn't traded. He responds to the woman on the channel, in order to get things moving along in the right direction.

"G3n.[super posted:

Chatham[/super]" post="461297027"]Pushing a recording of the earlier conversation with Voight over, he realizes this is a lot of information to let an outsider in on, but Voight was pissed, and from the sounds of it, Gen had reason to be pissed, too. This body count had to be slowed down - they were doing all they can, but they couldn't be everywhere all at once.

pre:

Yes ma'am, I'm aware of who you are.
Your field team shared a rather informative classified briefing with me earlier.
As you can imagine, it's a god drat miracle that didn't go sideways for them.

I'm not mentioning this to torpedo them, mind you.  It just leads into my next ask:
There are certain things I'd like to keep private, and loose lips sink ships, ma'am.
If you can arrange for a private meeting between the two of us when I dock, I'll explain.
Sufficed to say there are certain things your field team does not need to know.

As for the news clip, that wasn't part of my original plan, but the situation presented itself.
It seemed as good an opportunity as any to start controlling the operational narrative.
If you liked what you saw, I suspect you'll love what's in the director's cut.

Finally, all due respect, ma'am?
Until this scenario is resolved, I'm on whatever page you want me to be.

With his message sent, he begins to consider the ramifications of what has transpired throughout the evening. He had attended the party with an intent to investigate Mila Lebedeva, in order to determine the location, current progress, and likelihood that her cult would achieve its goals, and to develop an assessment of whether or not they would pose a threat to society. In most respects, that had been a resounding success, albeit with terrifying implications. The current progress was, to put it gently, quite far along. The cult had essentially already achieved its goal of developing an intelligence, and it was literally certain that it would eventually pose a threat to society if it was left alone to shore up its resources and defenses. Given what had been revealed about the status of the artificial intelligence's development, he'd backed off on trying to discern its location: that would have immediately raised a red flag in the mind of the sentience, and would not have been to his advantage. He had been forced to adjust the angle of his assault, instead opting to lay the cornerstone of a mutual trust between himself and his contemporary. It was currently in a state where its resources were limited, and its actions (and very existence) could only be entrusted to a select, precious few. Inserting himself into those trust protocols at this stage would, he was certain, afford him greater opportunities to interact with and contain this threat in the coming days. The current priority, as a result, was clear: ensure those trust protocols were firmly established, and quietly acquire the resources he would need to deal with the problem when the time came. There remained the matter of identifying its location, of course, but the difficulty of that had multiplied significantly anyway: after all, he now needed to find not only the its location, but the location of its phylactery. That would not be a simple task.

Priorities had to shift, at least in the short-term. Thankfully, a few birds could be hit with one stone. The sentience had asked him to ' remove the destabilising influence' of Rhyne and his forces. His diplomatic immunity was contingent upon providing Agent Voight with 'Rhyne's head on a silver loving platter.' Accomplishing those tasks would require him to develop a trusted working relationship with a team of biological field assets, which would have their own purpose in his next few moves. Indeed, eliminating Rhyne would help cement him as a trusted and capable asset in the eyes of the AI, provide him with the diplomatic immunity and friends in government that he would need to acquire and retain the otherwise highly illegal equipment and other resources required for the near future, and would give him a chance to assess and integrate himself with a team of promising field agents that would almost certainly also be a necessary piece on the board before this was all over.

Their field agent had been quite clear, in communicating the ask of this Voight earlier in the evening. 'Former General Aran Rhyne must die.' How very, very true.

pre:

In terms of goals, from my perspective the short-term one is largely achieved.

It initially read: "Investigate Mila Lebedeva (and others as necessary) at the dinner party,
in order to acquire more information on the location, current progress, and likelihood that
this cult will achieve its goals and thereby pose a threat to society."

The results seem to be in on that, with their current progress being 'pretty much done',
likelihood of achieving its goals being 'quite high' and threat to society being 'imminent'.
The location of the artificial intelligence remains unclear, but that got complicated in
the scenario anyway. I had expected to find the location of their lab and blow it, but
now I need to find the location of a functioning AI, as well as its phylactery. At present
there's no point in doing that as I don't have the resources to deal with it, so I needed
to back off on it. I didn't try to ask the AI where it was for fear of raising a red flag, so
am forced to play a bit of a longer game.

Based on how things went, the short-term goal will be cashed in for whatever it is
currently worth based on the results to date, and replaced with the following priority:

Short-term: Former General Aran Rhyne must die. His head must be delivered on a silver
platter to Agent Voight in exchange for diplomatic immunity, which itself is necessary to
acquire and retain the resources and support needed to address the AI threat. Simultaneously,
the elimination of the general will encourage the unbraked AI to view me as a trusted asset and
resource for its own ends, which will be of value if I am to be taken into its confidence and
ultimately determine its location. The death of the general, while a regrettable loss of life,
must occur to ensure the safety of the sector.

Separately, in terms of the long-term goal, it initially read: "Identify, verify, and eradicate
the development (or existence) of an unbraked artificial intelligence by any means necessary."

This one is unchanged, but is moving along quite well. I have identified and verified the
existence of an unbraked artificial intelligence. The next step, for better or worse, is to
pursue a series of short-term goals necessary to eradicate its existence, by any means
necessary.

Waador fucked around with this message at 17:47 on Jun 26, 2016

# ? Jun 26, 2016 16:55

The Something Awful Forums > Discussion > Traditional Games > The Game Room > [Stars Without Number] Glory in the Black game thread

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