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Blasphemaster posted:B. Go along with it for now. Consult with the other team members at first opportunity to discuss how to handle this, but for the time being make it clear to Voulge that if Vrade wants a cut of the team's take, he'd better make it worth our while. Sounds good.
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Aug 9, 2016 21:38
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Blasphemaster posted:Go along with it for now. Consult with the other team members at first opportunity to discuss how to handle this, but for the time being make it clear to Voulge that if Vrade wants a cut of the team's take, he'd better make it worth our while.
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Aug 10, 2016 01:49
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Blasphemaster posted:B. Go along with it for now. Consult with the other team members at first opportunity to discuss how to handle this, but for the time being make it clear to Voulge that if Vrade wants a cut of the team's take, he'd better make it worth our while. Not an empty quote.
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Aug 10, 2016 03:32
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CGreen Intern posted:Don't try to screw Vrade, don't try to get cute with his chosen chaperone. Just do a good job and share out any info that won't get you put under even more suspicion. And throw in a line like "Varde's tough but fair, so if he insists then I'll comply. But I'm a little insulted that he felt like he had to insist."
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Aug 10, 2016 06:19
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"I'm sure we could have worked this out in a less insulting way," you comment. "Even when Praxis dragooned me into working for her, I got to pick my own team." "It's simply easier this way," Voulge replies. "You'd be surprised how many times poorly-supervised operators attempted to wiggle into the cracks...You'd think they'd realize with whom they were dealing. We don't expect any such trouble from you, of course; it's merely protocol. Should you have continued protests, however, Uncle Vrade's office is always open..." You swallow with a dry throat. Trips to deal with Vrade personally tend to be one-way affairs. As such, despite your relationship, you've never actually met them personally. You don't, in fact, even know what they look like, though you've heard rumors. Young Rigele tend to adopt a form roughly congruent to a region's dominant species, hence the juranoid shape of most on Gigas. Vrade, however, if gossip is to be believed, either predates Gigas's annexation by the Hegemony, or hails from elsewhere entirely. They could look like almost anything, and the lurid imaginations of the rumor mill have composed a myriad configurations of varying degrees of biological feasibility. “You'll get everything we've got,” you answer finally. “I'll consult with the rest of the team, and have them throw in as well. We'll be happy to have Vrade contribute to the success of the operation.” Voulge pulls a scriv and nods as you transfer the data. “Appreciated. Once you've done so and we've computed the figures, we'll meet to discuss logistics. Until then, Ms. Kore.” You give a lazy wave as Voulge walks away, and tone to Kamula...  “You know you're finally a real outfit when you've got a krumping bean-counter trying to get a peek up under your exhaust cowl,” Kamula rasps. “Congratulations, Kore. No intel to share, but I'll be there. I'll make sure to wear my good knuckles, in case Midas needs his krumping jaw re-broke.”  "This could work out for us, actually," Vare replies. "Vrade is a murderous glob of wrigglies, but they take care of their own. Lending us a logistics officer is score enough, but if we play nice, we can probably swing a few other perks as well. Think we can convince Midas to sucre-speak this Voulge a little? Maybe ripple their plasm a bit?" Your horrified look is as eloquent as your silence. "What? You know what they say: Once you go goo, solids won't do." Your jaw drops slightly farther. "You don't think Midas has ever made it with a Rigele? Sleeb probably coupled with half the species on this station when he was younger. All those "aunts" didn't seem odd to you when you were a juve? Pretty common with male Jurani, truth be told; don't tell me you never ran into it at Maastrichtian." "Just...Just send your Praxis data to Voulge, poz?" You shake your head, trying to dispel images of Midas that way. "Sure, Regal," Vare replies, trying valiantly not to laugh at your discomfort. "And uh...just think about the other thing."  "You tone to Tone," the pilot chirps cheerfully. In the background, you hear something that sounds like a pitched melee, shifted up two octaves. "Catch you at a bad time, Tone," you ask. "We can talk later..." "Negs! Only feeding times for juves. Mates handling. You needs movings?" "We will do," you reply. "We don't exactly have the boat in question yet; it might involve a very...abrupt transfer of ownership." "Says no more," Tone warbles. "Keeps sleebs from filling me with plasmas, and Tone makes the moves." "Just like that? I've got more details if you need them..." "Tone trusts you. Haves to keep juves from resorting to cannibalisms someways." "Tone, if you need--" your words are cut off by something that sounds like a small animal falling into an industrial macerator. "Talks later," Tone trills. Before the transmission cuts off, you hear in the background, "Sister's tails not for food! Releases!"  "I'm not sure what you're so torched about," you say. "You've been dealing with Vrade much longer than me, and I'm poz you've had to make concessions like this when you were running the crew." "But I didn't involve you in some half-shazi committee, did I? Your crew doesn't need to be privy to the entire decision-making process, Kid. It slows things down, erodes trust in your leadership, and inflates egos." "Keeping things from my crew isn't going to be any better at fostering trust," you retort. "That's how we wind up with hilarious miscommunications and grievous bodily distress." "Don't keep them totally in the dark, just give them enough intel to do their jobs." "And cut them loose before they get too comfortable and decide they're indispensable," you offer sarcastically. "I didn't say it," Midas says with a cool smirk, "you did." "Just think of it as a chance to get a bit of inside intel on Vrade's operation. I imagine you'll find playing nice with Voulge far more enjoyable than with a globby brain-job like Virbe." Midas raises an eyebrow. "Don't know who you've been talking to, Kid, but that gun's not been for hire in a very long time." "Just think about it," you say, mirroring Vare. "I've heard that once you go goo, so--" The transmission terminates.  “People,” Voulge calls, “let's get started. We'll admit to not expecting much when we got this assignment, but we have been...pleasantly surprised. The sorts we're typically called to deal with are not known for their...organizational acumen. We once had to transcribe the necessary logistical data off the tattooed flank of a Vierzari bloodsipper; this proved a far less disagreeable task.” “Is that to say that good old Uncle Vrade has given us the go-ahead to do our grife-damned jobs now,” replies Midas, his genial tone doing nothing to take the sarcastic bite out of his words. He's just salty someone else is stepping on his micromanagement toes, you think. You'll grant Vrade a bit of cache just for taking the helium-3 out of Midas's fusion bottle. You glance over at Vare and Kamula, and exchange a knowing smirk. “If you'll consult your data surfaces,” Voulge continues without any acknowledgement of Midas, “you'll see that we've derived two figures here: Launch Threshold and Success Rating. The first, Launch Threshold, gives us our mission window.” “That ship's been there for...well, time ceases to be a meaningful metric when dealing with Elder Races,” you point out. “But that ship's been there a while. Why is this a time-sensitive operation now?” “The data you extracted from the systems of Meropus station, along with intelligence relating to Praxis methods provided by Ms. Djata,” Voulge replies, gesturing to Vare with their stylus, “have proven valuable for composing a predictive model. The Threshold is derived primarily from projected time to Praxis exploitation of the site, as well as the unreliability of the Helix Rippers pirate clan over time.” “What about Fury Praxis,” you ask. “We know she's likely working on this one as well.” “That will be where you come in,” Voulge answers. “Should you gather intelligence on the intentions of Fury Praxis regarding the site, it will certainly allow us to refine the figure. Indeed, both figures will be modified as you gather intelligence and complete pre-mission objectives. Which brings us to Success Rating.” "I think we can figure that one out on our own," says Midas. "We can hope," Voulge replies. "Pre-mission tasks and objectives have been forwarded to your devices." "Wonderful," Kamula rasps. "homework." "You'll find the list tailored to your own particular strengths an proclivities," Voulge responds, "to provide the best improvement to mission prospects. In your case, Mr. K, the prescribed tasks largely involve maintenance of equipment and armaments, tactical analyses, and..." they gesture with their stylus to a munitions crate in the corner, "disbursal of a few materiel items, courtesy of Uncle Vrade." Kamula flicks over the manifest on his scriv, whistling in appreciation at what he sees on the display. "If there are any questions regarding individual objectives, see us individually. If there is nothing else, we will adjourn and reassemble before operation launch." 1. Do you have anything to bring to the table before everyone sets to their own tasks? 2. Do you have anything to consult Voulge about after the meeting? 3. You pore over your task list, and decide on your first course of action... 
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Aug 11, 2016 18:50
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3. First things first, let's get some more drones. It shouldn't take long, and it'll be guaranteed useful.
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Aug 11, 2016 19:00
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3:F
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Aug 11, 2016 19:03
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3. F. We've been putting off our talk with Ramadi for too long.
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Aug 11, 2016 19:04
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Ramadi will be really impressed by all our drones.
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Aug 11, 2016 19:37
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3F
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Aug 11, 2016 21:24
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3F Time to sort this out.
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Aug 11, 2016 23:49
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3A Our drones will blot out the sun. 
Hexenritter fucked around with this message at 04:11 on Aug 13, 2016 |
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Aug 13, 2016 00:50
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Hexenritter posted:3F Drones is A, or was that just a general comment?
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Aug 13, 2016 01:15
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F->A->G->D Get our friend(?) on board, DRONES DRONES DRONES, Praxis time, interview Herr Doktor.
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Aug 13, 2016 03:19
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Xiphopagus posted:Drones is A, or was that just a general comment? I shall amend my vote accordingly.
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Aug 13, 2016 04:09
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"Approachings," calls Tone from the cockpit of the Best Time Fish II as the sub heaves into view of the underside of Thoon. You look up from the stasis crates filling the Fish's compartment, a cargo of relief supplies for the beleaguered people of the Enclave. After some thought on the matter, you decided to bring... A. SPaM rations. Survival Provisions and Medicine; units of food, purifiers, and nutritional supplements with a basic autodoc process to detect malnutrition and deprivation. Taste like licking a bulkhead, but twice as nutritious. B. MicroDox. Small, automated medkits loaded with Raq biological information and a variety of drugs and first aid protocols that fit easily on a belt. C. Spice. A seemingly unethical choice at first glance, but Raq have innate resistance to toxins and pathogens, and intoxicants have a deep cultural significance in addition to their monetary worth. The riskiest to lug around. The most compact option; you may select another option as well as this one. D. Hooch. A milder version of C in most respects, both positive and negative. Much heavier, however. E. Support Mechs. You used some of Vrade's credit line with Kreev to buy a number of racks of basic mechs, useful for repairs and building, security, or any number of other tasks. Raq don't care for synthetics, but these are exigent circumstances. F. Something else.  You step up behind the pilot's seat and peer out the viewport. Inverted domes cluster amidst pylons and instrument arrays that stretch down into the darkening sea, metal skin encrusted with algae and other sessile growth. As the sub drifts toward Deep-3, you see a number of craft clinging to the docking ring, and some simply attached, limpet-like to the hull. "Popular place," you muse. "Scavs and pirates," says Tone. "Smells bloods in the waters." For a moment, his cheerful demeanor slips, and you can see a surprising degree of pain in his button eyes and twitching nose. "Vordubax much the same." You place a hand on Tone's shoulder, and feel him relax slightly. "Find us a parking spot," you direct. "Don't be afraid to take one that's already occupied."  You carefully make your way out of the docking tube, pulser in hand. The sled of supplies hums along behind you on quiet repulsors as you scan your surroundings for trouble. "I'm clear," you transmit to Tone. "Batten her down." "Copies," Tone replies. "Have cares." Scuzzy Jr. glides out of the leaky docking ring into the intermittent rain of the sector proper, and you shake your head as you see the state of the Enclave. In the cycles and dekacycles since the slave trade dried up and the Gigantes withdrew their invisible yet vital blessings, the Raq have been reduced to indigence. Without funds to pay for security, the violent scrapings of Thoon have moved in on easy prey. Many of the brigands now exploiting the remains of the Enclave were, in fact, previously hired security for the Enclave, using their inside knowledge to extract their livelihood via another method. Your drone skims over rooftops, overlaying a weapons scan on your visor that allows you to avoid the greatest concentrations of armed beings as you make your way to your destination: the old temple of Argemone, Tender of the One and Hundred Ecstatic Smokes. You squint through the rain and mist, wrinkling your nose at the moldy stink that was never there before. The shadowy forms of hooded Raq shrink into the shadows as you pass, but you keep your pulser visible and fully charged.  You hear the flare of plasma ignition to one side, and spin to bear down on a wretched figure of a Raq, shuffling out of an alleyway with a sputtering, poorly-kept plasma brand clutched in a white-fleshed grip. The Raq's skin is splotchy and drawn, her eyes crusty and yellowed. She advances with an uneven gait, blade hand trembling. "Stop," you call out, wagging the pulser for emphasis. "Go back inside." She continues forward. If she notices or cares about the charged pulser trained on her, she gives no sign. "I can help you," you cry, "but this isn't the way. Get back!" You see what might be doubt cross the Raq's face, but it vanishes with a shudder, and she charges you with resignation, heavy steps splashing in the street. You... G. Put her down. She's too far gone to save and you weren't planning on getting stabbed today. H. Try to disable her. You have a palm-stunner and superior CQC skill, but she has a knife made of nuclear fire and a very erratic approach pattern. I. Unseal one of the crates and give her some supplies. It's what she wants; hopefully she has enough sense left to take it. J. Drop a crate and run. You are greatly slowed by the laden sled, but hopefully any other over-eager customers will be distracted by the discarded cargo.
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Aug 16, 2016 18:25
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B, C, I. It doesn't take a master knife fighter to kill a master.
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Aug 16, 2016 18:35
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A C I
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Aug 16, 2016 19:17
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Also thanks for making the consequences for our previous decisions stick.
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Aug 16, 2016 23:39
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ACG
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Aug 17, 2016 00:27
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NastyToes posted:A C I This. B and (optionally) E can be brought in after things have stabilized.
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Aug 17, 2016 00:57
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A,B,E in descending order of quantity if that matters. I'm gonna go with I but be ready to H.
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Aug 17, 2016 02:30
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“Look,” you cry, hurriedly keying the nearest stasis crate's access panel, “I've got food for you, just give me a--” You hop to the side to avoid the Raq's lunge, sparks flying from her poorly-maintained blade as it cuts the air. You hastily put the crates between her and yourself, and twist the release plunger. The faint hum from within the crate dies down, and the lid hisses as the seal disengages. As the lid slides back, you hastily reach in and grab the first handful of packets that comes to hand, waving them in front of the Raq. Her jaundiced eyes struggle to focus, and you see her tremble with confused indecision. The sputtering of her brand is the only sound for a long moment, but finally she snatches at the packets in your hand, grabbing a few as the rest scatter to the ground. You don't stop to wait for her, and instead hurry along the street as the Raq scrabbles on the ground to gather the fallen ration packs. Out of the corner of your eye, you see two tailed juves scurrying out of the alley toward the older Raq, who thrusts rations into their grasping suckers and herds them back into the shadows. You continue to make your way to the temple, carefully chosing your route by Scuzzy's scans to avoid any armed entanglements. Having already broken the seal on one of the crates, twice more you simply scatter a handful of ration packs at lurking figures to prevent any repeats of your first encounter. It briefly occurs to you to worry about flaunting your goods in such an environment, but thankfully, you are not attacked before you reach the temple.  The temple of Argemone squats like a green formcrete toad over a once-lovely plaza now choked with debris and what appear to be bodies, its facade blocked off by a crude barricade. Peering from an alley across the way, you count an easy dozen corpses, a few Raq, but mostly other species, haphazardly armored and outfitted. Your lip curls as you see a faint tendril of smoke curling from cracked helmet of a nearby corpse. Scuzzy Jr. detects a weapon charge from an upper window of the temple, and you do the necessary arithmetic. You slowly step out into the plaza with your hands raised, sled creeping along behind you. You pass a scum-clogged fountain in the middle of the plaza, and as you eye the dead pirate leaking steadily into the algae-clouded water with distaste, Scuzzy alerts you to the weapon powering up. It takes every bit of your composure not to bolt, shield, or have your drone laser the sniper, but you manage to stay calm. A swift beam of red lances down from the temple, vaporizing a puddle in front of you in a flash of vapor. You grit your teeth, and stand your ground. “That's far enough,” a harsh mechanized voice calls down from above. “What do you want?” “I'm here to see Ramadi,” you call up. “She with you?” There is a moment of silence, then the voice calls out again, “I know who you are. You're that drokk-funnel merc that sold out Elder Wasit. Setting aside the sheer size of the 'nads you've got to be swinging to come back here, what is it you could possibly want with Ramadi?” You feel a thrill of near-panic as you see the sniper gain target lock on you in Scuzzy's overlay. You don't feel like you've got time for a lengthy explanation, so you chose your first response carefully... A. “Ramadi's family, and I'm here to get her back.” B. “I need her help on a job.” C. “I've got supplies here for your people.” D. “You've got a situation here, and I can help.” E. "I'm sorry."
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Aug 17, 2016 17:15
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C. “I've got supplies here for your people.” I doubt they'll be happy with any response, but maybe showing that we've got stuff for them will help.
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Aug 17, 2016 17:57
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C I want to say add E in there too, but an apology at this point would probably just piss off the sniper. "Oh hey sorry I kinda hosed you guys over, we cool?" *laser sounds*
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Aug 17, 2016 20:34
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C
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Aug 18, 2016 02:26
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"I've got supplies here for your people," you call out. "Food...medicine," this last you offer with as much of a verbal wink as you can whilst yelling up to the third level. There is a long silence, in which you can only imagine the reaction to those in the temple. You don't know for sure if Ramadi is even there; the sniper could even be her, for all that you can tell with their voice concealed. You wouldn't take Ramadi for the type, but presumption has already cost you enough as far as Ramadi is concerned. "You can come in," the voice finally replies, before you can become too mired in anxiety and regret, "but set a feather out of line, and you're swimming home." "That's fair," you admit, and hustle toward the temple with sled in tow. The lower floor of the temple is dark and hot, seemingly without power, and has been given over to a makeshift medbay. Dozens of Raq and a scattering of others with a wide range of injuries and ailments are stretched out on cots, tended to by a handful of truly exhausted volunteers in the tattered regalia of clutch-tenders. You are escorted in by a heavyset Raq in body armor, who ushers you along with mute gestures of his flechette carbine. You start to ask him about the supplies, but the sled is seized as soon as you enter by a matronly middle-aged 'tender, who immediately begins to see to dispensation of the supplies. You head for the lift, but are instead nudged along at carbine-point to a narrow, twisting stairwell. The metal risers are slick with condensation, and more than once your claws threaten to slide off. You note with rising dread that the walls of the stairwell are riddled with finger-width smooth-melted holes, and wonder if the stairs were in use while the lasers sliced through from outside. Despite all this, and the carbine threatening to fill your internal organs with shards of razor-sharp heated metal, you successfully scale the stairs to the top, and enter the room above.  As the guard prods you into the room with the butt of his carbine, you take a look around. Once the quarters of some manner of cleric, the once finely-appointed room has been filled with supply crates, ammo boxes, and tired fighters. They eye you with fatigue and suspicion, and one, a young male with a combat helmet and a bandaged chest, taps his visor meaningfully. Leaning his jury-rigged laser sniper against the wall, he approaches you. "I've got this, Kir," he speaks to the guard with a mechanized tone, one hand resting easily on the pulser resting in a quick-draw holster on his hip. "Have Baghi spell you on the door and get some food." Looking back to you, he points to a doorway covered by a beaded curtain. "In there," he commands cooly. "Don't get clever."  Ramadi looks up from a pile of scrivs as you enter, and you are struck by the tension in her face. Ramadi Kinu, who you never knew to worry beyond where her next 'tap was coming from, seems heavy-laden with the mantle of leadership. "Ramadi," you begin, "it's g--" Ramadi stops you with an uplifted hand, peering at a scriv. "Take the jacks and head to Grid 4," she commands, with the tone of someone speaking over comms. "Try to relieve the pressure on the hydro station. If it looks hopeless, pull out; you won't do us any good dead." Setting down the scriv, she looks up at you with very little warmth. "Regal," she says flatly. "You've...really taken charge around here," you comment, still grappling with surprise. "Didn't have much choice," she replies. Looking to the Raq that brought you in, she says, "Watch the door, 'Jafi," she says with an affection totally absent from her comment to you. "Make sure we're not interrupted." He nods and leaves the room, but not before shooting you a glare that you can sense even through his visor. "Ramadi," you say after he leaves, "I'm--" "Quiet," she interrupts. "I still haven't decided how I feel about you showing up like this, and the last thing I need is you flapping your word-chute and spinning my head around." She stands, silently pulling a narcojet from her cloak. For a few moments, the only sound is the ionization hum of the 'jet, the rain patting on the temple roof, and the report of distant gunfire. "Remorse finally outweigh your cowardice," she asks finally, "or do you need something from me?" You gaze at Ramadi's lined, tired face, underlit by the glow of the 'jet, and feel a pain grip your chest. You want to say that her words aren't fair, but you don't let the lie leave your lips. You sigh, smoothing your crest with a trembling claw. "A little of both," you admit. Ramadi lets out a short bark of bitter laughter, smoke shooting in twin plumes out of her bronchoids. You try to resist, but you can't help but laugh in response, and soon the two of you are caught in a fit of pained, manic laughter. Picking up her dislodged hat, Ramadi looks at you, a soft, wounded expression that speaks eloquently of an unwelcome but inescapable affection. "You're a real pile of drokk, Regal Kore," she states, repositioning her headgear. You pick up the fallen narcojet and take a long draw. "Wisdom," you acknowledge. "I'm not even going to ask why," she begins. "I've always known how you were...I enabled it. I shouldn't have let it surprise me when you finally treated me the way you treat everyone else. I guess the ducats had just never been good enough before." "Look," you protest, "I didn't mean to--" "Stop," she cries, "don't lie to me, Reeg. Don't lie to yourself. I know Midas did a number on your brainmeat as a juve; prophets know how I'd have turned out with that sleeb constantly pouring poison in my head-holes. But that doesn't mean you get to avoid responsibility for..." She looks around, spreading her arms to encompass her surroundings. "...all this! Just because you're an emotional cripple. Now tell me why you're here, Regal. Really." You begin to muster your response, but are distracted by a heads-up from Scuzzy Jr. "Regal, you came this far, don't shut down on me now." "We've got hostiles moving in," you reply. "Lots of them. With a whole slotting lot of hardware." "I haven't heard anything from my sentry pos--" Ramadi's words are cut off by an alarm tone, and the sound of bustling and scrambling Raq outside. "Drokk."   Your scans show a force of pirate raiders, easily two dozen strong, advancing to a muster point just outside the temple plaza. You cloak Scuzzy Jr. and send it closer, and see something that brings a groan of frustration to your lips. Behind the motley swarms of attackers, a small squadron of drones are arrayed around a hunched figure in tattered robes, nestled on the back of an arachnoid frame. It taps on an extremely modded wristlink with a wizened claw, and three heavily-armed gundrones take to the air, rotary cannons dropping from beneath their chassis. Three other drones take up a delta position in front of him. Suddenly...  You feel a sensation not unlike a rake of heated wires brushing down your spine beneath the skin as your technopathic awareness alerts you to the hostile data packets probing your defenses. You feel a revulsion akin to as if the infomancer had touched you with his own withered flesh, even though you realize it was only a passive scan. You know you can expect much worse to come when he focuses his attention on you in truth. How will you protect yourself against the infomancer's intrusions? A. Direct Scuzzy Jr. to kill him, which will have the added benefit of neutralizing the drones. B. Utilize The Best Defense! Use Scuzzy to ride his digital backtrail and hack his 'link before he can do for you. C. [Nanosynthesis] Diffuse your processes to present a lower profile; he can't hack what he can't ping. D. [Nanosynthesis] Lure him into a trapped kernel and trap his consciousness in an isolated data node for later interrogation. What will Scuzzy Jr. be doing physically while this is going on? E. Attacking the infomancer (also select this if you chose A above) F. Running interdiction on the gundrones. G. Taking out any of the raiders that get too close or otherwise pose an immediate threat. H. Defending Ramadi and I to the exclusion of all else.
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Aug 18, 2016 16:54
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A+D E Attack the Infomancer on two fronts. Send Scuzzy to harass in the real world and make it look like we don't know what we're doing while panicking. The trapped Kernel will look like an oversight and he should at least attempt to poke it. Either way the Infomancer gets distracted and we take it out. The forces in the building can handle the mundane attack force.
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Aug 18, 2016 17:31
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D, E
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Aug 18, 2016 18:39
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Arkanomen posted:A+D E This sounds viable, save our rear end while taking out a threat to the Raqs in general. Although, doesn't Nanosynthesis push us further into self-endangering Cyborg territory?
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Aug 18, 2016 19:26
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Arkanomen posted:A+D E I like the dual front attack.
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Aug 18, 2016 19:29
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Plan Ark After this is over and we are safe, I'd like to spin everything like this was all inevitable with Elders acting the way they did always at the mercy of others and it was a wrong that needed to be corrected and now through the hardship her people have a way to rise up without leaning on others' protection and without the shady slave agreements.
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Aug 18, 2016 22:13
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A E
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Aug 19, 2016 00:08
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Plan Ark
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Aug 19, 2016 00:23
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Toughy posted:Plan Ark Yes I am sure being incredibly sanctimonious and pompous about all this will go over just swimmingly.
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Aug 19, 2016 13:51
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Green Intern posted:Yes I am sure being incredibly sanctimonious and pompous about all this will go over just swimmingly. Well, we are right next to an oceanic trench that would freeze over if not for the crushing pressure of the water on top of it. There's an airlock somewhere. Swimmingly would be quite the accurate description, for a few hundred milliseconds.
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Aug 19, 2016 14:12
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Green Intern posted:Yes I am sure being incredibly sanctimonious and pompous about all this will go over just swimmingly. I'm sure it could be pulled off as inspirational I'm not a writer though
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Aug 19, 2016 19:15
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The enemy infomancer is an unknown, but his breed are known for their hacking acumen, and you haven't gotten as far as you have by fighting fair. You consider the Wounded Vere Gambit, but dismiss it; you can't risk the enemy not taking the bait. Instead, you elect for the variant, The Girl in the Tower. The play is risky, but you feel it's your best option, given the circumstances. You raise your data bulkwarks, erecting an intellect fortress with one opening. Ostensibly the sally port from which you will mount your desperate defense, it is in truth the mouth of the trap you lay for your enemy. Scattering buffer contents like tempting morsels, you lay down a honeyed path through your system architecture, ending in what looks like an essential system kernel. When the infomancer comes to plunder your BIOS, he will find more than he bargained for. At least...that's the plan. Time will tell how it plays out. Scuzzy Jr. glides in near-silence above the advancing waves of raiders, its profile lost in the rain. Any who bothered to look up into the falling water would see only a vague blur, dismissed as splashes on a visor or ocular organ of choice. It soars above the attack vector of the incoming gun-drones, ignored. Even as you painstakingly lay your mind trap for the infomancer, your drone has reached its destination, and is closing to weapons range with the target. A lethal lance of crimson killing light pierces the gloom, striking down out of the downpour like lightning from the fist of a vengeful deity. And then...  A field of blue-white static flares to life as the three drones surrounding the infomancer activate their shields, and the beam splashes harmlessly over it. The infomancer peers up at the source of the laser with malicious glee, and a weapon armature flips up from behind his shoulder. Even as Scuzzy fires repeated shots in an attempt to find a weak spot in the enemy's defense, the shoulder cannon fires back at the drone. Scuzzy Jr. initiates evasive maneuvers, rolling and juking to avoid the deadly blue beams while still firing back, but the infomancer's weapon tracks the drone with alarming precision, forcing Scuzzy to use most of its combat processes simply to survive.  The gun-drones arrive ahead of the raider vanguard, and even as the defenders prepare their defenses, the rotary cannons open fire, slamming the facade of the temple with mag-accelerated rounds. The defenders take cover from the withering fire, clutching their weapons wide-eyed as dust rains down on them and the occasional projectile whizzes through the barricades to impact inside the room. You hear shouts and small arms fire from below, as the first of the raiders begin their assault on the lower level. One of the Raq scuttles low across the room, cradling a longarm you recognize as an ionic disruptor; the weapon could effectively neutralize the gun-drones, if its wielder could only manage to get a clear shot. The drones, for their part, keep up the attack; you know they won't have to reload any time soon, as their projectiles are simply micro-thin slivers of metal shaved off a block of the stuff. Most of the drones' mass is given over to recoil compensation, leaving only overheating as a moderating factor. Fortunately for them (less so for you and the Raq), there are three of the things, allowing them to stagger their downtime, with the net result of a near-ceaseless field of fire. Even as you consider your next course of action, a Raq gurgles, rifle clattering to the ground as he clutches his throat sacs and slumps down the wall in a magenta smear. You reflexively deploy your Swarm Projector, feeling the electrostatic tingle as the micro-drones wash over and armor you. What now? A. Attempt to hack the shield-drones via Scuzzy. B. Attempt to hack the gun-drones. C. Attack the gun-drones with your Swarm Projector. This will remove your armor. D. Attack the raiders nearest to the temple with your Swarm Projector. This will remove your armor. E. Fire back at the drones. F. Attempt to commandeer the ionic disruptor and fire at the drones. G. Head downstairs, to help repel any raiders that threaten to break through. And what is your current protocol for activating your shield? H. Have it up any time you're not firing; you intend to end this quickly. I. Only bring it up if you come under concentrated fire; save the power. J. Don't use the shield yet; you might need it later. Just hit the deck if things get too hot. And Scuzzy? K. Keep it up; you're keeping the infomancer occupied this way. This has a slight chance of getting Scuzzy shot. L. As K, but devote more processes to defense, and don't worry about getting a shot around the shields. This is relatively safe for Scuzzy. M. Push the attack, but change focus to a drone, and try to bring the shield network down. This has a moderate risk of getting Scuzzy shot. N. Fire at the infomancer in the split-instant he cycles his shields to fire his own laser. This has a high risk of getting Scuzzy shot.
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Aug 20, 2016 02:11
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CIK. Attempting a direct hack on an infomancer probably won't go well, and it would make him more suspicious about our trap. Keep him occupied and take out the gun-drones so the Raq defenders can do their jobs.
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Aug 20, 2016 02:31
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| # ? Apr 18, 2024 02:07 |
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CIK: Try to disable the IFF on those gun drones physically.
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Aug 20, 2016 02:43
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