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Outrail posted:E. [5 xd] A military recon model, better able to withstand the rigors of combat and hostile environments. Less room for tools, but easier to upgrade with military-grade hardware. (6 slots, 1 slot discount on military upgrades) dongsbot 9000 posted:i like that but i think the cutting laser could be useful to cut through bulkheads to and whatnot I figured the military laser could handle airducts and thin stuff as well. Anything thicker would probably take too long for usefulness even with the cutting version and we should have brought specialized equipment for the job at that point. Not Alex fucked around with this message at 22:01 on Jun 3, 2016 |
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Jun 3, 2016 19:40
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Not Alex posted:I believe you're a slot over on the upgrades. The recon frame knocks 1 slot off all military upgrades, so the math checks out. Not Alex posted:I figured the military laser could handle airducts and thin stuff as well. Anything thicker would probably take too long for usefulness even with the cutting version and we should have brought specialized equipment for the job at that point. The AP laser can penetrate structures; one of its selling points is the ability to snipe a qwag through a wall. It only fires in short bursts, however, while the cutting laser is sustained. You could slice through a duct or bore through a plate, but if you were to try to cut around a sealed bulkhead, for example, you'd overheat it. The cutter has limited combat application (not that you want to get shot by it), but you can cut all cycle.
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Jun 3, 2016 20:18
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Can we ran people with the cutting laser, like a tiny flying unicorn? Because if we've got the camo upgrade they won't see it coming until there's a hole in their skull. And the armour upgrade turns it into a tiny wrecking ball. Maybe should have gone with the thrusters.
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Jun 4, 2016 04:04
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Not Alex posted:B E I J M O P Q V X- Visor display for visual overlays. Withdraw our money from Vrade. Okay, sure. This means we have to take money from Vrade though.
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Jun 4, 2016 04:17
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Outrail posted:B. Yes, for study. Plan Outrail, with the noted alteration.
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Jun 4, 2016 05:31
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Not Alex posted:B E I J M O P Q V X- Visor display for visual overlays. Withdraw our money from Vrade.
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Jun 4, 2016 07:43
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I like the stealth drone idea but would prefer a cutting laser and stun probe over the military laser. B. Yes, for study. D. [2 xd] A light civilian recon model, similar to Scuzzy's old body. Fragile but quick, with lots of room for tools. (10 slots) I. [1 xd; 1 slot] Dataprobe J. [2 xd; 1 slot] Electronic Warfare Suite (military) K. [1 xd; 2 slots] Cutting laser L. [1 xd; 2 slots] Stun Probe (weapon) O. [2 xd; 2 slots] Improved Sensors P. [4 xd; 2 slots] Optical Camouflage (military) Q. [4 xd; 0 slots] Stealth Coating V. Move out of your squat into a nicer hab. This will make purchasing amenities for the home possible. [12 xd] Total = 29 xd X. Visor for drone uplink. Withdraw ducats if necessary.
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Jun 4, 2016 14:41
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Not Alex posted:B E I J M O P Q V X- Visor display for visual overlays. Withdraw our money from Vrade. Voting for this. I like the visor idea, keeping our meat eyes so they can't be EMPed means if we ever get captured and held inside an EM field dampener we can still see.,
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Jun 6, 2016 01:51
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Hexenritter posted:Voting for this. I like the visor idea, keeping our meat eyes so they can't be EMPed means if we ever get captured and held inside an EM field dampener we can still see., BRB, writing in eye-eating space grubs.  (Actual update tomorrow, though I can neither confirm nor deny eyeball grubs.)
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Jun 6, 2016 02:25
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Xiphopagus posted:BRB, writing in eye-eating space grubs. Xiphogrubius Ocuphagii 
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Jun 6, 2016 02:31
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 You shut the hatch and key the privacy lock, sealing out the raucous noise and the (what are charitably called) complex odors of the Skate. The pounding music and pounding feet of the dance floor below, attenuated as they are by deck plating and the thick carpet of the private room, provide a gentle bass throb that underlays the ubiquitous ambient station noise.  "Nice place," Vare says, giving the room an appraising glance. "Not really," you admit, grabbing a bottle of shimmerswig and two glasses from the bev-station, "but at least it's expensive." “Still drinking that drokk,” she chides. “You know it's only so cheap and sparkly to appeal to scrod-brained juves who don't know any better.” “You, I recall” you reply evenly, pouring out two glasses, “were the one who turned me onto the stuff.” "When I mentioned scrod-brained juves,” she says with an elegant shrug, “I wasn't excluding myself. Hazard to say, my tastes have matured somewhat since. Speaking of, I'd heard you'd fallen back in with Midas' crew..." "I heard you died," you retort, bringing the bottle down on the table a little harder than you intended. "Regal..." "Don't Regal me, not now. Were you really on that station for research, or was it part of Fury Praxis' twisted little game?" Her eyes flash wide in momentary shock, and she reaches out to take her glass, holding it as she collects her thoughts. "What do you know about Praxis?" "Too much to sleep tight," you admit, "but not enough to do anything about it. I assume she's working some angle, and we're deniable assets, but I've got nothing in the way of proof, or leverage, or..." You shrug helplessly and pound back your drink. Vare watches you for a moment, sliding her own glass back and forth between her claws. "It was a real mining station," she finally admits. "They were really pulling radioactives out of the crust, and I was really working on that project. Just..." "Just?" She gives that same old smirk, a hint of needle teeth peeping out in front, and for a moment you're back behind the pedagogical module sharing an illicit narcojet between classes. "Just...that's not all they were pulling out of the ground." Unbidden, your mind flies over possible scenarios, or at least begins to before you see Vare staring at you and stop, self-consciously. "What?" "You're doing that thing," she explains with a smile twinkling in her eyes. "When you would get a real torchy question, you'd put one claw alongside your tympanum like so..." She mimics the gesture. "And get this look in your eyes. Sharp as anything, but so far away." She reaches over to refill your glass. "Then something would crystalize up there, and you'd look up and say..." "Right," you blurt, feeling a bit exposed. "Right," she confirms, pushing the full glass over to you. You sigh, picking up the glass and peering through the sparkling fluid at Vare's distorted image. "You always could read me that way," you admit, "even when we were juves." "Because we were always a pair, Regal. Two sides of the same ducat, fished out of the same gutter." "You the face," you offer ruefully, "me face-down in the drokk." She sighs, sipping from her drink, and clasps both claws around the glass. "It wasn't fair, Regal. We were both responsible; if anything, I was the one at fault. The Chamber shouldn't have treated you that way." "They had to make an example," you reply, taking another drink and scowling at the taste. "Better the reprobate than the face on the brochure. It's chel...I would have made a drokk node administrator anyway." Your maudlin attempt at a joke fails to land, and the two of you spend a few moments drinking in silence. You listen as the arrhythmic music of Vare's bangles clinking together weaves together with the muffled nova-nova filtering up from the level below and can't help but smile. "I can't believe you kept it," you say, gesturing with your glass at her tail-band.  "It's what you call counting coup," she responds, the carvings on the band catching the dim light as she lifts her tail to examine and rotate the piece of jewelry. "It fits me better than it ever did the Dean's mate. And as the sole material proof of our inaugural mission as partners-in-crime, I feel it's wholly appropriate." "You weren't wearing it when you came back that last time," you say. "Maybe that should have been a hint." "Maybe so," she muses sadly. "I wasn't exactly myself then. I think I was trying to recapture something I'd lost...but I guess it's different when you're that young." "And when you've got arms," you amend. Vare opens her mouth, but you wave her off with a roguish grin. You chuckle, relishing the bittersweet feeling. "It's chel," you assure her. "Limbs under the bridge. You came out of that one smelling like day-lillies, too," you observe. "You've got rare talent for turning drokk into perfume." "And you're a quick learner," she adds. "I'll bet you haven't lied to a Vrantic since." "They do say bilateral brachial amputation is the best teacher." "They say that, do they?" "They are a bunch of cloacas, honestly."  Your glasses clink in accord, and you spend the remainder of the back-cycle getting increasingly drunk and nostalgic. By halfway through the second bottle, you find yourself wondering why you were even upset. It's not until deep into the next cycle's hangover that you realize she never answered your question about Fury Praxis.  “Phantom'z a zweetheart of a frame,” says Kreev, picking with a claw at some kind of squirming parasite on his arm, “and all I'm zaying is you're not uzing it to its potential if you don't zlap a bit of miltech in there.” He sucks on his teeth pensively for a moment, then reaches under the counter, producing a wicked-looking weapon module. “Got a Godzglare 6 here, can boil a zleeb's lobez through a hab wall and a prezzure helmet. And it znugs in nize and happy with the Phantom, right here in front of the caudal ztabilizer.” “Alright,” you concede, “you've sold me on the flasher. But why do I need the stealth coating and the optical camo?” Kreev finally manages to prise the parasite free, and pops it into his jaws with obvious relish. “The coating is pazzive,” he explains. “Prezentz a low profile to zcanners. Good if they're not actually looking for you zpecificially. The optical module is active camo, and it'll make you zlotting invisible to mechz and camz, at least until you make it a zhooting party. Zeriouz power hog, though, watch your charge.” “And the decals? What do they do?” “Look gritchin' as drokk.” Equipment Acquired: Phantom VI Recon Drone Dataprobe Electronic Warfare Suite Anti-personnel laser Improved Sensors Optical Camouflage Stealth Coating Tactical Overlay Visor with drone and weapon link Hab Upgrade: A private domicile above the Pulse Skate with privacy seals and a security cam.  You slump to the bar, visions of indecipherable alien circuits still dancing before your eyes. The bartender, another Rigele whose name you can't even be bothered to remember at the moment, automatically slides you a glass of your sparkling amber tonic of choice.  “Thanks...guy,” you mutter, rubbing the back of your neck to exorcise your burgeoning headache. Study of the mysterious entity's remains has thusfar proven unfruitful. The technology is alien beyond the norm, and you strongly suspect you might be dealing with the work of an Elder race. You're probably going to need to consult an expert on weird alien drokk. But who? A. Get more information from Vare Djata; you don't think she knows anything about the orb specifically, but knowing what Praxis was up to might give you some insight. B. You are persona non grata with the faculty of the Maastrichtian Institute, but Vare was their aurodian girl. See if she can get you in contact with someone in the xenoarchaeology department. C. A, then B. You'll have to be smooth about it if you want to avoid the impression of asking for a favor immediately after an interrogation. D. Talk to Doctor Pnakoptis; it's the closest thing you know to an Elder. E. Scour the Hegemonic Metanet for leads; your searches haven't turned up anything useful so far, but you could double down. You take a long drink, then hold your glass out at arm's length, looking critically at your beverage. “You think I should move up to something more...mature,” you ask the bartender. The Rigele simply stares back at you with unblinking red orbs, then reaches over and pulls the decorative straw out of your glass. “Much better,” you offer blandly, “thanks.” You sigh and scrub your eyes, blinking away fatigue. You've been staring at squidgy lines and broken glass for basically the last two cycles straight; you need a break. Who you gonna call? F. Ramadi Kinu. Spend some chelaxian leisure with your main amphibian. Alternately, if there's a good party, she'll know about it. G. Kamula K. Clean your guns, calibrate your bionics, listen to stories about his ill-fated previous crews. Good times. H. Vare Djata. You still don't know how to feel about her being back. But the urge to talk to her is near-overpowering at times. I. Baz Kemandi. She probably knows some interesting places to hang out, and you can try to get a line on more potential work. J. Someone else: _______________. K. Multiple people! Select all that apply; you won't get as deep with individual comrades, but it could be a good team-builder.
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Jun 6, 2016 18:31
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D, I Let's find some work. Ducats don't earn themselves.
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Jun 6, 2016 18:53
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D F RELAX DAMMIT!
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Jun 6, 2016 21:11
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I made one post in this thread (the first post!) and then forgot about it. It's rad as gently caress. Dialogue, art and mechanics are all top-notch. Bookmarked! Also, CF
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Jun 6, 2016 21:43
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DK: Ramadi & Kamula Even though we spent the boat ride hanging out with Kamula already, he did just lose a significant portion of an arm for us.
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Jun 6, 2016 21:52
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dog kisser posted:Things that made me smile Thanks, I really appreciate it. It's actually quite a bit of fun drawing weird space monsters.
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Jun 6, 2016 22:24
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D, K - Ramadi & Kamula We need to wind down a tad after our recent shenanigans, plus we can bond over limb loss
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Jun 6, 2016 23:23
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EH - We gotta catch up. (Also make sure that E is behind the proverbial seven proxies.)
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Jun 7, 2016 02:02
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D, K, Ramadi and Vare
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Jun 7, 2016 11:31
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D and H It's time to find out what Vare's deal is. Edit: By the way, this CYOA is a joy to read and I look forward to every update. Green Intern fucked around with this message at 14:20 on Jun 8, 2016 |
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Jun 8, 2016 14:07
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 The Update was being deployed by the time I saw the latest vote. So don't fret, those who want to spend a bit more time with Vare; it will be forthcoming.Doctor Pnakoptis waves a bizarrely-articulated probe over the fragments of the fluid entity, currently suspended in an energy field of some kind. “You are correct to bring this to me. My people will not have created this, but its creator will have designed it to combat the Erb.” “So we took down a weapon intended to take down a godlike alien intelligence,” you preen. “I can't help but feel like that's a fairly sizable notch on the belt.” “It is only through projectile weapons and chemical explosives you defeated this, correct? In the theatre of conflict for which this weapon will be intended, no such tools will be employed. Its anti-synthetic abilities will be near-insurmountable.” “So we basically destroyed a battle cruiser with spears,” you reply. “The analogy is not wholly inaccurate.” “You said you didn't...won't...will not have...you said it's not yours. Do you know who...did will have created it?” “The Elder species responsible has, to place the matter in your frame of reference, not yet transcended to the status of Elder species. As such, I am prohibited from interference.” You take a moment to parse that. “So, this is a relic of a species that hasn't yet developed to the technological level to create it,” you offer blandly. “That's what you're telling me.” “Essentially correct.” “So you can't tell me who made it because of some kind of convoluted elder race time-space statute, and even if you could, they wouldn't be able to help me.” “Also correct.” “So what can you do?” “I can sequester this relic from inappropriate interactions, until such time as study is permitted.” “In other words, you can confiscate it and leave me with nothing for my trouble,” you demand, not managing to keep the bitterness out of your tone. Pnakoptis peers at you with its alien head-analogue, tendrils wafting and eyes gleaming with unwholesome moisture, and for a moment you fear you've gone too far. Just when you've almost reconciled yourself to spending the next eon as a brain in jar, Pnakoptis reaches out with a limb and sketches a throbbing green diagram on the air in front of you. “What--” you begin, pulling back. “Silence,” Pnakoptis utters, adjusting the vertices of the diagram with one of its strange appendages. It lets out a chorused concertina noise, and its trunk rumbles. “You seek to improve your body with tools you do not understand. This leads to your destruction. I remove these tools, but your primitive need for perceived parity will be assuaged.” You bridle at the Doctor's tone, but you long ago learned not to snap off at someone who's about to give you something. “Thank you,” you say smoothly, swallowing your irritation. “Observe and select,” Pnakoptis intones, twisting the diagram with a gesture. You reel back as your head swims, and as you watch, images superimpose themselves over your vision. Gritting teeth that suddenly feel loose in your head, you quickly peruse the Doctor's eldritch catalog. "All draw upon the research I will have done to destroy the Erb foe, and will be compatible upgrades to your augmentations." Select an upgrade A. Hive Projector – Nanoassembler reservoirs in your arms create a small army of macroscopic helper drones, useful for delicate tasks or as a form of ablative defense. B. Self-Repair Protocol – Powerful nanoassemblers slowly repair damage to both synthetic and organic components. Also provides some resistance to the effects of shock, trauma, poison, hypothermia, etc. C. EM Hardening – A nanoreactive coating tailored to insulate your bionics from electrical and magnetic interference. Also renders them highly resistant to environmental stresses as a result. “That one,” you blurt, and suddenly retch. “Just...stop doing...things...brain!” You don't know if whatever Pnakoptis is is capable of being smug, but you imagine you see a certain flourish when it extends an appendage to banish the offending diagram. “The selection is made. Prepare your body.”   “Prophets of the Mud, Reeg,” Ramadi comments, “you're blazing that jet with a particular vigor.” “Seen things,” you wheeze, as your body is wracked with a cough. “I receive that,” replies Ramadi, “but slow your suck before you create some kind of spice singularity.” “Seen things,” you insist.  "So, Reeg. Reeg. Now Reeg, stop me if I've misapprehended any of this..." Ramadi drawls. "Gladly," you interrupt. Ramadi looks up from the imaginary scriv she was 'reading', giving you a professorial scowl. “Thank you, Ms. Kore. So she was, if not your actual sister, then a sisterly analog and legitimate bestie, only you were in love with her probably, but you were also happy when you thought she was exploded?” Ramadi loads a fresh pellet into her narcojet and powers up the catalyzer with a faint whine. “Yes,” you begin. “...No...sort of. I mean, there was probably some resentment from the college thing, and all the things that ever turned out like the college thing, but that was my choice. She lied, though, is the difference. She lied to my face, and then some eyeless belligerents crushed my arms with a hydraulic press.” “That's a mighty leap,” Ramadi replies. “You're sure there's what you call a direct line of causality leading from Point A to Point Arms-crushed?” “Well,” you dither, “it's a bit more complex than that...” Ramadi nods sagely, patting you on the shoulder. “In my astounding breadth of experience, it usually is. Sounds like you're possessed of more than a few niggling issues to resolve vis-a-vis the winsome Ms. Djata, which, as your doctor, I recommend you examine at such time as you are not smoked off your feathery gourd." "I mean..." "Speaking of such," Ramadi breaks in, handing over the 'jet. “don't think I missed you managing to refer to 'eyeless belligerents' without slurring, Reeg. Time for Round 2.”  “And then,” you drawl, “you just pump it into a mold and form it whenever anyone needs one!” “A grabjous notion, Reeg,” offers Ramadi, “but I feel the inherent desire of sapient beings not to have their organs liquefied might serve as a barrier going forward.” “Not ones they're using,” you scoff. “Well...actively. Non-redundantly. Just...you know...bonus meat.” “I know the closest I come to being a biologist is when I sold spice to a biology professor that time, Reeg, but I feel like most species don't have a particular glut of bonus meat.” “Well,” you bristle, “that's just...like...your opinion, Kinu. Just because you suddenly have twelve eyes and a voice like thunder, doesn't make you the expert on bonus meat..." “I have literally never seen you this high,” Ramadi says evenly, with a hint of subdued awe. “It's actually kind of majestic.” “We should,” you stumble, “we should comm up Kamuma. Bro-borg gots bestabbened by a floating ball of space-metal, and needs all the friendlies.” “We should entirely comm up 'Kamuma',” agrees Ramadi. “That is an individual in dire need of psychotropic assistance if such an individual ever did exist.” “An' Vare,” you slur, “help me tone Vare. Less get this all sorted, while I'm straighting think.” “Woah, Captain," interjects Ramadi, pulling your fingers away from your wristlink. "One hot mess at a time, Reeg. One at a time.”  “K,” you say as the hatch slides open, “I say, hey K!” You snigger at the genius of your impromptu composition. You are the only one. Ramadi, who has ended up on the floor at some point, wriggles bonelessly up the wall far enough to assume something approaching a seated position. “Kamooooola,” she croons, “my largely, but not as of yet entirely cybernetic shukrava, how it be?” You find your eyes drawn to the empty socket in place of Kamula's left arm. Something inside suggests staring is probably rude, but that voice is tiny, lost in a vast fog of spice-smoke. You laboriously drag your gaze to Kamula's face, but it immediately snaps back to his arm. You drag it back, and once more it snaps to the socket. This repeats until the cyborg's scowl visibly deepens. “Lemme guess,” you slur, harnessing every dreg of wit available to you, “laundry day?” Kamula eyes the two of you with a particular blend of confusion and disapproval that you somehow find absolutely hilarious. You look into his disdainful scowl and can't help but sputter and erupt into hysterics. Ramadi resists for a moment, eyestalks trembling, then herself descends into gales of laughter. “Lefty's still in the slotting shop,” he rasps, shaking his head, “or I'd bang both your smoked-out krumping skulls together until candy came out.” Kamula sighs heavily, grabbing a hand-labeled bottle from the table and dropping into a sagging bioplast lounger with a creak. “Brewed that one up myself, K-K,” Ramadi says, recovering a bit while you still roll on the floor cackling. “ye olden family recipe. Soooo, fair to middling odds that it gives you the brain damage.” “Perfect,” Kamula growls, twisting off the cap with a hiss and tipping the bottle into his mouth.  You are dragged out of sweet black oblivion by an insistent pounding. You try to call out, but the entire inside of your mouth seems stuck to itself, seized as motionless as an unlubricated engine. The pounding continues unabated, and you gradually come to realize it's your own heartbeat; you feel as if your blood is slamming against the inside of your skull with every pulse. You pry open gummy eyes and peel the tongue off the inside of your dessicated cheek. You let out a dry croak worthy of Kamula, then drag your carcass semi-upright. Searching around for some sort of relatively non-toxic fluid to remedy your current bout of near-mummification, you instead see message notifications blinking on your wristlink. Current decrepitude forgotten for the moment, you quickly glean the nuggets of worth from the flood of advertisements. To your pleasant surprise, you have been contacted with a number of prospective missions! Select one (or more) to follow up on: D. Data Assassination – A cabal of sinister infomancers has engineered a toxic meme intended for sale to anti-Hegemony seditionists. Contact: Baz Kemandi. E. Burned Books – Deliver a datavault loaded with literary contraband to a member of a heretical alien sect. Contact: Vz'z the Younger. F. Passing Gas – Smuggle a methane-breathing fugitive off-station while avoiding entanglements with alien slavers. Contact: Ropilionitalicon Hemamikalitaliros XVI.
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Jun 8, 2016 15:14
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Nanoassemblers and Passing Gas
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Jun 8, 2016 15:41
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Deadmeat5150 posted:Nanoassemblers and Passing Gas both of these This cyoa owns.
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Jun 8, 2016 16:09
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I'm honestly surprised we didn't wake up somewhere completely alien to us. B, F
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Jun 8, 2016 16:19
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I have to concur. A, F. Hive projectors and Passing Gas I couldn't stop smiling at all the hijinks in this last update. Green Intern fucked around with this message at 22:35 on Jun 8, 2016 |
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Jun 8, 2016 16:31
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B and F
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Jun 8, 2016 17:33
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A & D With D mostly because I am insanely curious how it would play out.
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Jun 8, 2016 19:54
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1. A: Hive Projector nanoassemblers 2. G: Dreck, which one of these contacts is willing to meet tomorrow, because there's no way we're gonna drag our near-corpse outta here today. If this isn't a problem, F, Passing Gas
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Jun 8, 2016 20:55
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Where do the assemblers get material? Is it our blood? What sort of bullshit can we do with our helper drones? Can we program them to do what were thinking? Or are they totally autonomous? Could we use the nano assemblers and drones to slowly push a hole though a wall? And most importantly, can we fling a handful of drones into someone and have them pick and chew their face off?
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Jun 8, 2016 21:14
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 I would ask voters pushing for 'nanoassemblers' to specify a letter choice, as all of these options are nanotechnological in nature. Thanks! Outrail posted:Where do the assemblers get material? Is it our blood? From your body, primarily from glycogen and fat stores. Your dietary needs will likely increase appreciably if you decide to make use of these. Your species is, by design, more efficient at this process, though this sometimes causes issues later in life for the less-augmented when the various untapped molecule stashes around your body start to cause health conditions. Hazard to say, the Erb were more concerned with fighting their inscrutable wars, and less with Troodon gerontological concerns. Outrail posted:What sort of bullshit can we do with our helper drones? It's better to think of them as one composite drone. You can wear them as ablative armor, or use them as a big amorphous hand with next to no force, but near-infinite manual dexterity. Outrail posted:Can we program them to do what were thinking? Or are they totally autonomous? The swarm, you can control much as you could Scuzzy, and can your Phantom VI. Nanoassemblers have a certain programmed autonomy limited to their task. Outrail posted:Could we use the nano assemblers and drones to slowly push a hole though a wall? The nanoassemblers live inside you, so no. The drone-swarm (at current level), however, could very slowly disassemble an obstacle, but you'd usually be better served knocking a hole in it some other way. Outrail posted:And most importantly, can we fling a handful of drones into someone and have them pick and chew their face off? This is certainly possible, though it's less "instantly skeletonized," and more "covered in thousands of synthetic ants," which is still an extreme deterrent, but could make its combat effectiveness situational. Handy for disabling mechs, for example, or getting around power armor or pressure suits. On the other hand, being devoured by a swarm of robugs would probably give most organic opponents pause, as well.
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Jun 8, 2016 21:57
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Deadmeat5150 posted:Nanoassemblers and Passing Gas Yep. A and F
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Jun 8, 2016 22:06
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A E
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Jun 8, 2016 22:29
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I think everyone voting nano assemblers is voting for the drone swarm. So we could use the drone swarm for first aid and mechanical repair.
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Jun 8, 2016 22:50
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A & D: Infinitely reconfigurable set of precision tools and a job with an established contact who hasn't overly screwed up so far. Shadowrun in Space continues to be pretty great Xiphopagus.
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Jun 8, 2016 23:16
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B D+F An upgrade that helps us not die sounds good.
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Jun 8, 2016 23:32
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CF. EM Hardening, Passing Gas.
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Jun 8, 2016 23:52
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BD, being a meme-smuggler has long been a personal goal of mine.
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Jun 9, 2016 00:09
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B, d, and asap have a dance party where everyone and thing is invited.
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Jun 9, 2016 00:22
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A and F, droneswarm and Passing Gas, though meme smuggling also sounds fun. We should ask about the EM hardening later too. As always, really enjoyed this update. The Lovecraft reference in the good doctors name makes me smile too. Hexenritter fucked around with this message at 02:19 on Jun 9, 2016 |
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Jun 9, 2016 02:14
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A and F to be specific.
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Jun 9, 2016 03:47
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