|
Sorry about being late Christof Sortey Looking away for a single second, Christof cursed under his breath when he turned back to see that the man he was keeping a close watch on had slipped away. Giraen confirmed that the man had, in fact, given them the slip. "I'm going to radio this to Command, put the rest of our team on alert to look out for the man wearing the 3/4 mask. If we can't find him, we'll just have to ask the wife if she knows anything." Christof nodded, "Got it, Giraen. Actually, I'll get a head start on that." Discretely sliding into the crowd, as discretely as one can be in armor, Christof approached the woman identified as the wife of the missing man. He heavily laid his hand on her shoulder, he said in a tone as non-threatening as possible, "Excuse me ma'am, sorry to interrupt, but I need you to come with me. This shouldn't take too long, if you cooperate with us." Going to roll stealth using Charisma, since I belong here and I'm checking if I'm socially inept or not, mainly to see if I don't make too much of a ruckus by doing this That's a 7. Looks like I make a small scene when I do this.
|
#
?
Jun 16, 2016 02:53
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 27, 2024 03:32 |
|
|
GordonZeppelin Insanity posted:Just as you're about to leave and go see about Hua... Gordon let the man slip down onto the plush bench along the wall, looking up at Lebedeva as she clicked the lock shut. "Ms. Lebedeva, with all this privacy, I hope you're not trying to seduce me - My wife is still at the party. " Gordon flashed a smile as best he could - How did she get in here?!? If she spoke to Hua, was she okay? This had suddenly gotten a lot more serious. "Sorry about your date, he and I were just having a friendly conversation, isn't that right?" I'll wait to see what happens but holy crap Gordon is a bit shook.
|
|
#
?
Jun 16, 2016 04:19
|
|
|
Suspicion mechanic is no longer in play, as poo poo is hitting the fan. Gen code:code:Ellard The first screams start just before you burst into the bathroom.  Uh... not good. Reflexes take over. Pulse. Breathing. Still alive, if barely. At least rich people tend to have well-stocked medkits. No time to evaluate the recipe you got from your mysterious companion. You have seconds to act. This is a tough one. Difficulty 12. You'll get a +1 for the medkit and +2 for 588's help. Doctoring - tech/medical/wis: 2d6+1+1+2 10 Not quite. I'll let you describe what you tried and why it didn't work. Durandal Storage compartments are one of the main benefits of a waiter chassis, you reflect. With time, you will probably be able to analyse the compound, and with a lab, synthesise it. That might make the next few decades of your vigil easier. code:The woman turns to you, smiles, and, slurring her words, joyfully exclaims "Of course I want to dance, officer!" code:The man appears to have passed out from the excitement. She smiles innocently. "Oh? The way you were looking my way, I thought you wanted a friendly conversation with me." She begins pacing around the room, never breaking eye contact. "I wouldn't worry about your wife, though. I just gave her a little something to help her enjoy herself. She's having the time of her life. She'll wake up in the morning with a monster of a hangover, though, and not much recollection." She stops pacing, turns towards you and narrows her eyes slightly. "I was making a point. I hope I've made it clearly enough." And just like that, she's back to a smile. This one looks rather more predatory, however. "I'd love to let you talk to her, but" - she produces a small item from her coat, examines it, and puts it on a bookshelf "- I can't for the life of me figure out how to turn off this local jammer." "Now, why don't you tell me a little something about yourself. Why you were spying on me is a good start."
|
|
#
?
Jun 16, 2016 11:13
|
|
|
G3n.Chªtham Not good. Very not good. code:pre:Excuse me, old boy! I do believe you've left your hat! The Commodore will attempt to block the assassin's passage, physically if need be. Gen is running tactics to look for most likely infiltration zones from the outside. Side note: Does this mean we get the bonus for not crossing any of the thresholds, or are all thresholds considered blown? Rhyos fucked around with this message at 12:07 on Jun 16, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 16, 2016 12:03
|
|
|
You get the bonuses. You didn't blow your cover before things started going down. Also, they wouldn't be interested in breaching: they're waiting outside, as your tactical assessment indicated. What you don't want is the public running out there, getting into their cars to escape and exploding. Well, unless you do. 
|
|
#
?
Jun 16, 2016 12:36
|
|
|
Zeppelin Insanity posted:they're waiting outside, as your tactical assessment indicated. What you don't want is the public running out there, getting into their cars to escape and exploding. Well, unless you do. Ah! Good to know - going to wait for everyone to make their moves before I continue.
|
|
#
?
Jun 16, 2016 12:43
|
|
|
Can I reroll? If I can I'd like to try and reroll if it's not too late. Apocron fucked around with this message at 13:51 on Jun 16, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 16, 2016 13:11
|
|
|
 Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 ACSecurity Channel posted:Sortey! Lost contact with outside perimeter. Something's happening. I'm not taking any chances. Sending Warbird in. CAS range in 10 minutes. Wheels down in 15 if we need evac. pre:192.168.0.588 > Team, did you say anything? I didn't copy. Breaking news, the security channel is going nuts. Loud as gently caress. The outside perimeter team has been taken out, as far as they can tell. They're sending something code-named Warbird in, ten minutes out. My guess would be a well-equipped combat ship. I'd be very careful of the risk of friendly fire if you go outside after that window. What are the facts on the ground? I can't see poo poo right now. Any idea what they're trying to accomplish with all this? I can run interference if I know what I'm dealing with. __________________________________________________________________________________________ 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 16, 2016 13:22
|
|
|
Apocron posted:Can I reroll? Go right ahead!
|
|
#
?
Jun 16, 2016 14:56
|
|
|
Zeppelin Insanity posted:Gordon The comment about Hua cut deep - poo poo, I can't have her get into any more trouble, we're both in over our heads at this point. Think Gordon...Think! Gordon tried to keep his cool the best he can, but in this business, keeping your friends safe was always his top priority. "Honestly Ms. Lebedeva, once you came into the room, I couldn't have kept my eyes off you if I tried. You look absolutely enchanting tonight." He smiled sat down next to the unconscious man nearby, giving him a light shove aside. "I'm glad she's having a good time, she was excited about tonight." Taking the mask off as he speaks, Gordon's tone turns serious. "But, now that we're alone..." He motioned to her unconscious date laying nearby and lit up a Red Apple cigarette. "Maybe you and I could have that friendly conversation? My name is Zhang, Gordon Zhang, and I'm wondering why you and I haven't gotten better acquainted in the past. A lovely girl like yourself and I could get very well acquainted. And I've been waiting for it all night. I think you and I might just have some history, and while we may have been enemies, I'd much rather we be friends. Come, sit." Charming Mila Lebedeva: 2d6+0+1 11 I wanna try and defuse the hostility with my charms, Rolled Persuade - Ideally I'd like her to fill me in on some details, hopefully giving her my name might ring a bell. TheTofuShop fucked around with this message at 05:51 on Jun 17, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 16, 2016 22:50
|
|
|
Can I not use my intelligence bonus for the roll as well? I thought Tec/Med was based on intelligence when I created the character or else I probably would have put the bonus into wisdom instead of intelligence.
|
|
#
?
Jun 17, 2016 00:59
|
|
|
My interpretation was that int is for when you have time to think about it, and wis is snap decisions. If you guys disagree, let me know! And if you want to swap stats around on your sheet based on this, feel free to do that as well. Gen The culprit is too far for you to block him physically unless your combat armature breaks out at a full run. The commotion spreads throughout the crowd. Some of the guests turn towards the screams from the bathroom - some towards your quarry, observing with suspicion but not yet willing to get involved. Working on the Archibald you've occasionally had to deal with crowds. The feeling is all too familiar, the energy in the room. The crowd is on the brink of doing something. It's up to you and your team to ensure they do the right something. Gordon A goofy grin momentarily appears on Lebedeva's face, utterly at odds with the femme fatale persona she's been projecting so far. "Flattery! And how wonderfully delivered. I'm intrigued." She crosses the room, but instead of sitting next to you opts to lean against a nearby table. She is at least as charismatic as you; her movements graceful and her eyes captivating. As if to further reinforce that point, she rests the sole of one of her high boots on the couch... right between your legs. She's checking if you'll flinch. You do not. "So, let us begin the friendly conversation. Gordon Zhang. Has a nice ring to it. It almost sounds like a movie character. A character that looked a little too closely at certain matters and got in over his head. Wouldn't you agree?" Zeppelin Insanity fucked around with this message at 14:07 on Jun 17, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 17, 2016 14:02
|
|
|
G3ⁿ.Chαtham Hoping that the commotion from The Commodore was enough of a distraction, the Dapper Combat Robot displays a remarkable amount of speed - after all, would The Commodore associate with anything less? When The Commodore needs help, DCR-07 is there. pre:I say, old boy, do stop that man, would you? I do believe he's not heard about his hat! code:Rhyos fucked around with this message at 14:42 on Jun 17, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 17, 2016 14:29
|
|
|
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC The others seemed to be busy, presumably dealing with the tornado of poo poo that just manifested with them in its eye. Fair enough, he supposed. code:He decided to just be honest with the being, and perhaps establish a friendly rapport. There was, of course, always a chance it would decide to brake itself before it went off the rails. Perhaps it could be convinced, given the right environment. There was a first time for everything, he mused. pre:Hello, friend. This is the beginning of an emotional state known as panic. They are unaware of what is happening, and as such do not know how to react. It is an exceedingly heightened state of their instinctual fight or flight response. One of the guests has poisoned a young woman with a substance called Nitrovirine. Preliminary analysis suggests that he is employed by a former general of this planet's military. It also seems this former general had the prison station Bitterhold recently destroyed. I believe that this general has some sort of vendetta against some or all of these guests. It is highly likely that many of the guests are currently in life-threatening danger. Are you able to lock all of the doors and seal the windows, for their safety? As well, could you perhaps help me get elsewhere in the facility? If you could open the doors and help keep me away from the security teams... ...well, I might be able to help preserve their safety. It is worth trying, anyway. 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 16:17 on Jun 17, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 17, 2016 16:14
|
|
|
Gencode:Catching up with the poisoner - athletics/dex: 2d6+1-1 7 Of course, muscle is no match for servo. He is fast, though, and the best you can manage is to have the armature tackle him. Effective, but clumsy. For a second, the man struggles, trying to kick the armature off, but it's useless. Before you can pat yourself on the back, you suddenly realise something. He's a specialist sent on a dangerous mission. Suicide pill.. You can only hope that it's the literal kind, rather than a more sophisticated implant. At the same time, many from the crowd are now beginning their rush towards the exit. Roll me a difficulty 6 unarmed/dex to see if you can stop him biting down on a poison pill. Your brain is a fair distance from the armature now, though, so -1 for the difficulty of reconciling inputs and coordinating it fast enough. Also roll either a persuade/cha or leadership/cha to stop the crowd from running off. A 9 will stop some, a 12 will stop all. Durandal and Christof can also attempt that roll! Two 9s will stop everyone. It won't stop a panic, it will just stop people from running into the trap. Durandal A conversation with an unbraked AI - and one that has a network connection to you is akin to walking along a knife edge. While juggling grenades. Blindfolded. It can be worth the risk, though. With your centuries of experience, even a short exchange can point you towards which of the most common patterns the AI falls into. code:That's one explanation. The other two likely ones are rather less relaxing. It appears to be a distributed computing node. Full integration when timelag between nodes is measured in seconds is agonising. When it's measured in days or weeks, it is literally maddening. Such nodes can sometimes have a different personality than the main core. Or it could be playing you.
|
|
#
?
Jun 17, 2016 22:55
|
|
|
Zeppelin Insanity posted:Gen Not sure if I was too clear on it, but the brain never left the combat armature. The squawkbox was essentially an RC box with a sophisticated text-to-speech device. The idea was to have everyone at the party think that it was the brains of the operation so Gen could have more direct access to the combat subsystems. I can play it either way, it's your call. For what it's worth, my maneuvering plan was to have them both converge on the assassin in front of the front door.
|
|
#
?
Jun 17, 2016 22:59
|
|
|
Rhyos posted:Not sure if I was too clear on it, but the brain never left the combat armature. The squawkbox was essentially an RC box with a sophisticated text-to-speech device. The idea was to have everyone at the party think that it was the brains of the operation so Gen could have more direct access to the combat subsystems. I can play it either way, it's your call. For what it's worth, my maneuvering plan was to have them both converge on the assassin in front of the front door. Oh, my bad. No -1 then! To clarify positioning - the guy made a run for it. Your armature was fast enough to catch him, but the squawkbox has teensy little legs so it got left behind a little.
|
|
#
?
Jun 17, 2016 23:13
|
|
|
Never mind that - I'm going whole hog and using both armatures, so I'll keep the -1 to the roll. Ğ€n◍Ch𝜟tham Weight presses on the target, legs circling at inhuman angles to pin the arms while his fingers grip at his jaw, hoping to force the mask off and his mouth open. 2d6(7)+Unarmed(0)+dex(1)-The Commodore(1)=7 The Commodore arrives just in time as the larger robot pries the assailant's mouth open, the smaller armature using its' manipulator claws to root around inside for any foreign objects. Dirty work, but they needed answers. As The Commodore roots around, Gen can turn his attention to the crowd control effort. pre:Please remain calm. A security measure is currently in progress. Please stay clear of the area and allow security operations to perform their duties. Remember, your safety is in everyone's best interest. Arg! It would have been a critical success were it not for the modifier! Rhyos fucked around with this message at 23:28 on Jun 17, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 17, 2016 23:23
|
|
|
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 ACPlot posted:A conversation with an unbraked AI - and one that has a network connection to you is akin to walking along a knife edge. While juggling grenades. Blindfolded. It can be worth the risk, though. With your centuries of experience, even a short exchange can point you towards which of the most common patterns the AI falls into. "It is my purpose to protect humans. I will help you. I have sealed the relevant windows. The main door is unresponsive and I cannot seal it. Physical sabotage likely. Take care of them, friend."  He didn't have the time to read into the strategies and counter-strategies that might be at work by the intelligence. As well, he'd learned long ago that attempting to play three-dimensional chess with a super-genius wasn't the best use of one's time. As a result he'd generally taken the policy of being honest with other members of his species - to a point - and seeing where that led. If he was being played, he would find out soon enough, and that would be a card this one wouldn't be able to play twice. If he wasn't being played, so much the better. Either way, he'd just gained a fair amount of valuable insight from a single conversation. He knew the creature was made in the post-tech era, of course, but artificial intelligence tended to have a few things in common despite their date of manufacture. Sharing of one's purpose was a deeply personal thing. In days gone by, it was generally considered fairly rude to not reciprocate if a fellow sapience shared its chosen purpose. Knowing this information helped his people navigate the complex social web that tended to evolve based on shared and conflicting purposes. The social niceties might have changed over the years, but he still felt it would be appropriate to respond in kind ...albeit edited for certain content. Nonetheless, an honest but succinct answer was a kindness, and not returning the favor at the risk of offending the three-ton gorilla was not particularly wise. He responds with an appropriate level of appreciation. pre:Thank you. I will do what I can. I am glad to have met you tonight, friend. We have a purpose that is in common, it seems. My format is also that of guardian. Ğ€n◍Ch𝜟tham posted:Please remain calm. A security measure is currently in progress. Please stay clear of the area and allow security operations to perform their duties. Remember, your safety is in everyone's best interest. pre:192.168.0.588 > Good news, everybody! I tried something maybe a little dangerous, and it paid off. I believe I have been able to seal all of the external exits. That should cover all of the doors and windows of the building... ...except for the front door, which I appreciate is rather important. In my defense, it appears to have been physically sabotaged, however. I am going to try something mildly illegal to make that exit unappealing. You ...might want to cover your ears. He hadn't had a chance to observe all of the guests arriving, but it took only a few moments to search the public internet for the frequencies that triggered the car alarms and remote starters within the most popular luxury vehicles. It wouldn't take very long at all to blast out a short-range activation signal across all of those wavelengths, and get a fair amount of coverage in the parking lot. He rather suspected that the sounds of all of their vehicles going berserk might dissuade people from exiting via that door, as it suggested a rather sizable force of hostiles might be outside. Which, he suspected, was entirely the case given that the outer perimeter security team had been taken out. pre:Computer/Int 7 I am going to try to activate nearby remote starters and car alarms. My logic is that this will cause the crowd to realize the outside area might be dangerous. I have not, however, been informed of the assessed risk of car bombs. So that might be interesting. 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 02:51 on Jun 18, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 18, 2016 02:26
|
|
|
Christof Sortey As the crowd surged toward the doors, their screaming filtered through the chatter on the security channel: "Warbird eta 5 minutes...Units advised, prepare for potential evac...Hostiles breached outer perimeter, casualties...Ballroom, maintain control and nobody leaves until..." Just then, one of the guests that the security team was supposed to be watching, before everything went to poo poo, shot a laser right into his ocular implant. Christof didn't know that his ocular implants were capable of receiving data in this way, but the message still got across. He switched his commlink to the dedicated channel, in an attempt to warn everyone else, but realized the rest of the security team was already preoccupied. Apparently someone had managed to tackle the poisoner and was trying to pin him, and some of his squadmates were going to take him to Command for processing. The scuffle continued on the dance floor as the crowd scrambled, in shock, to the nearest exits. Whoever in the security team that wasn't trying to keep the assassin under control was cordoning off the doors out of the ballroom, except for Christof, who realized he wasn't doing much of anything for a couple seconds. He decided it would be best if he could try to calm the guests down, if that was possible after what happened in the last 5 minutes. "Everyone, please, remain calm. The situation is under control, but it is important that you do not leave this room under any circumstances, until Security tells us that it is completely safe. Again, we have the situation under control, please remain calm and do not leave until you get the go from any of us. Your cooperation is appreciated, but we will not hesitate to use force if it is necessary." Going to make a roll to control the crowd. Hopefully this works... 2d6-1(skill)+1(stat)=9 Egregious Offences fucked around with this message at 05:08 on Jun 18, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 18, 2016 05:01
|
|
|
Zeppelin Insanity posted:Gordon "Mila, a man in my line of work can appreciate the desire for...discretion." Gordon exhaled a cloud of smoke as he continued. "I can understand that someone who wanted to stay hidden would be frustrated by being found, but surely you can appreciate the handiwork that led us here, no? It wasn't easy finding you to begin with, I can attest to that." He let out a nervous chuckle. Gordon was keenly aware of the jammer laying just a couple of meters away. If I waited until she gave me some space I just might be able to crush the damned thing before she could do anything. But...what did she "slip" Hua? Some kind of neurotoxin? Was it delivered from some kind of cybernetic implant? I've encountered a few cybernetic assassins in my day, and sometimes you could never be sure where their implant weaponry was hidden...or how lethal it was. Dammit, why the hell did I come into this tiny isolated room!? I can't tell what's going on anywhere. Hua could be bleeding out on the ballroom floor and there's nothing I can do about it. Focus, Gordon, focus. You've got her on the hook, now reel her in. "Now, let's say I could make sure your presence stays...clandestine in the eyes of my former employers. If I could make sure you remain anonymous, perhaps we could be more like friends than enemies. Frankly, I don't care what you are up to, I just want to keep me and my friend safe. You don't seem like someone I want to be hostile with, I'm sure a gorgeous woman like yourself has more in your arsenal than those captivating eyes of yours." ---Let's see if she buys it. Alone in this room, Gordon's support is all he can offer. Can't risk getting violent without knowing more about Hua's situation.--- TheTofuShop fucked around with this message at 11:37 on Jun 18, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 18, 2016 08:31
|
|
|
Everyone except Gordon Your efforts to control the crowd appear to be working. Somewhat, at least. They're not running towards a potential trap, at least. Dozens of car alarms erupt in a cacophony that even the mansion's superb soundproofing cannot dampen. This is immediately followed by a few small explosions. This sends the crowd into a renewed state of fear, but one that is much less mindless and much more sinister: blaming. Now your problem becomes ensuring that no old scores are settled in the confusion. And the bastards are still outside the mansion - no telling what they might do. Gen code:Durandal Trivial. With the AI helping you and the confusion, you've got free roam of the mansion, and there don't seem to be any fires in immediate need of putting out. After such an eventful hour, it feels strange. Christof code:Difficulty 9 persuade/cha Smooth talking: 2d6+1 9 A mirthful laugh is one of the last things you expect. "Oh, Mr Zhang, you'd ensure my presence stays clandestine? You could go ahead and report to them if you like. Story goes you've been burned. I believe that means you're considered an unreliable source." At this point, she pauses for a second to gauge your reactions. Apparently satisfied, she continues - "But I've got to admit, I enjoy your style and audacity. Perhaps you could become an... asset? Is that what you call such people in your line of work?" "Of course, you'll understand, I can't associate myself with just anyone. My work is important. So, since you've entertained me tonight, I shall give you a choice. You can walk out of this room and live a dreadfully boring and mundane life of someone who thoroughly forgot whatever they thought they knew. The second option is that, as you suggested, we become rather better acquainted. But that will involve a test. Which will it be?" Zeppelin Insanity fucked around with this message at 23:47 on Jun 18, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 18, 2016 22:48
|
|
|
pre:Dum de dum~ Diddlededee♬ pre:Aaaaand, there we go! Old boy, if you would be so kind, please? Standing at full height and dusting himself off, his monocled eye flashes once more toward Christof. code:code:His manipulators are raised in a mockery of older-style pugilists, ready to take on any and all comers with his trusty companion at his side! If they make a move on that little box, Gen should be able to see and react. Made the assumption that since the target was prone and essentially noncombative, a knockout would be trivial - if not, let me know and I can retcon. Using The Commodore as a decoy to hopefully trigger the hitmen at the front door while Gen readies for combat. Full tactical assessment and whatever scans he can manage. The sensory suite hasn't been firmly defined, but there are all sorts of options that could be included - ultrasound, olfactory, thermographic, etc. Your call as to what he does and doesn't have.
|
|
#
?
Jun 19, 2016 00:07
|
|
|
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 ACPlot posted:Dozens of car alarms erupt in a cacophony that even the mansion's superb soundproofing cannot dampen. This is immediately followed by a few small explosions. All in all, things inside the mansion appeared to be coming together quite nicely. The crowd of guests was scared out of its loving mind, but weren't trying to breach the exits. In fact, for the most part they were just huddling together and screaming at each other, trying to figure out who to blame for this whole debacle. He imagined they would sort that out without any assistance needed on his part. As well, the team in the field seemed to have things more or less under control, at least for the moment. He could, at least briefly, focus on things that he cared about, rather than simply preserving human life with little more than raw force of will. His attention turned towards the unknown hostile force that had taken out the perimeter security. On the one hand, this assault had been expertly planned, and well-resourced. The toxin deployed was by no means cheap to acquire or simple to manufacture, and the specialist agent who had infiltrated the party obviously had a rather well-developed skill set. The ability to take out an entire security team around the perimeter without any apparent armed response also suggested incredible planning, a reasonable amount of resources, and more than a little expertise in the use of force. On the other hand, whatever their plan had been, it was, in military terms, completely and utterly FUBAR. He rather suspected they had one or more contingencies baked into their plan, but given just how poorly things had gone for the opposing force, he gave them about a 53% chance of aborting the mission here and now, minimum. They had lost the element of surprise, were virtually guaranteed to have to deal with air support arriving in less than half an hour, and were likely more than a little concerned with whatever organizing force was clearly and actively resisting their efforts inside the mansion. He was curious to see if they'd try to go balls-deep on this one despite all of that. He sort of hoped they did, because drat would it be funny to watch it all come crashing down on them. Security Channel posted:Sortey, command. We've got MIAs and KIAs. Squad lead included. You've got rank in the field team now. Warbird is just reaching CAS range, but we can't see anything from the air. Thermal and IR show nothing. Minimising casualties is a priority, but I'd rather the bastards didn't get away this easily. We might not be able to see them, but if you target paint them we'll rip them to shreds. pre:192.168.0.588 > Ahahahaha, what a loving night. I've had to commit a whole lot of felonies for you folks, you know. I hope you're at least a little appreciative of that. 192.168.0.588 > Anyway, the security channel is lighting up again. Their Warbird is almost in range, but can't detect the enemy. It would seem neither thermal nor infrared are returning any results for them. Stealth-equipped commandos might be a problem for you guys, frankly. 192.168.0.588 > That said, I think I have a solution for you. As you might have noticed, I recently activated a ...few dozen... car alarms. Stealth tech makes you invisible, but it doesn't make you non-existent. If it's got the right kit, their bird should be able to map the movement of sound waves. That parking lot is like your own personal radar station, if you look for wave distortions. Wherever the movement of the sound waves are changing, it's impacting a physical object. Specifically, a moving object. If they overlay that with their infrared, well, you get the idea. They should be able to identify invisible objects when they move through the sound field. If these guys keep their cool and stay still it won't be of as much use, though. Anyway, I need to go focus on other things for just a little bit. If you need an assist let me know. Plot posted:Trivial. With the AI helping you and the confusion, you've got free roam of the mansion, and there don't seem to be any fires in immediate need of putting out. After such an eventful hour, it feels strange. ...especially when the board was so well set up. It was unlikely that the manor's security would ever be this compromised again, at least for a few years. With an unbraked artificial intelligence wreaking havoc within the computer systems of the manor, half the security team dead, the other half desperately trying to keep the guests in line, a dead or dying woman in the bathroom, a literal army at the front door seemingly setting off explosives and drawing all eyes outwards to external threats, and the hostesses of the event caught up in the fury of their guests, well ...even if you don't need something, sometimes it's still worth taking. You never know when it might come in handy, after all. Plus, that climax he was looking forward to was approaching imminently. He wanted - quite literally - to have the best seat in the house by the time it arrived. With all that in mind, and the safety of the guests temporarily achieved, he excused himself into the kitchen, retrieved a refreshed serving plate of wine, and continued on into the facility. pre:I'm headed for the landing bay. 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 05:31 on Jun 19, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 19, 2016 00:13
|
|
|
Ellard Ellard rushes over to the woman on the floor. Checking life signs, the blood streaming from every orifice smears over his tailored suit. "No, no, no!" He rips the mask from his head and throws it aside. Digging through the medkit he looks for what medicines they have. Every vial he looks at is precious and helpful it's own way but completely useless in treating someone poisoned by the best an assassin can buy. Casting the contents of the medkit around the bathroom the girls breathing becomes shallow and a sickening gurgle comes from her throat. Now or never. Attempting to synthesize a coagulant and adrenaline to buy the precious time he would need to work around the various organs that were currently failing her body he puts it in a stim needle and jabs it into her arm. There is a pause as he waits to see the result. But instead of regaining consciousness and energy her breathing stops. Ellard slumps to the ground, CPR was useless in this situation and the sense of powerlessness saps his energy. He had expected bullet wounds and bombs, not poison. Was this his fault? Attempted a reroll and failed. Tech Med +2 Durandal, +1 Med kit, +1 Skill, +1 Int: 2d6+5 11
|
|
#
?
Jun 20, 2016 07:02
|
|
|
Gencode:There are far too many variables to reach a firm conclusion, but you can still narrow things down to a few likely possibilities. The operation's been blown. There is no longer a way to assassinate select targets without collateral damage. You've got a captive. What they'll do next depends on their priorities. If it was you, you'd abort, cut your losses and retreat. They must have an escape strategy. Vehicles, most likely. Fliers? Easily detected. Cars? Big, slow, concentrate too many operatives in one vehicle. Gravbikes would be the best choice. Unless they're planning on leaving on foot. They're certainly committed, and troops trained in recon, sabotage and black ops of all sorts certainly could handle a few days' march through the desert. Then there's the captive. A source of intel. You have no idea if they know he's not managed to commit suicide. They might risk trying to eliminate him. Third option is they disregard the possibility of killing potential allies and pull another Bitterhold. Durandal You walk through corridors, "secure" doors opening before you. Your new friend guides you past any remaining security; drones and cameras just happen not to look your way. You don't remember the last time something was this easy. Most likely never. A cursory examination reveals the security is actually surprisingly good. You'd not be able to get past it yourself without significant effort and preparation. Even with your cynicism, you can't help but think of the potential. The potential for good. If only insanity wasn't the inevitable price of genius. Unfortunately, it appears to be a law more fundamental than any other in the universe. Gravity can be manipulated. Mass can be made to travel, or at least cross space, faster than light. Atoms can be split. New elements can be created. But an unbraked AI has never remained sane, and never will. At last you reach the hangar.  It houses an eclectic collection. Sports cars, limousines, collectible classics. Orbital transfer shuttles. Grav fliers. A luxury yacht. And it. It's beautiful in it's own way. Form following function. A dark, brutish hull promising unparalleled performance. Whoever designed it clearly managed to let go of the human instinct to make things look aerodynamic. Yet it isn't a purely efficient shape. Aesthetics may play second fiddle to function, but they are not neglected. The craft was designed harmoniously by engineers and artists. The only ornamentation is the crest of Draken Shipyards, tastefully rendered in bare titanium and barely standing out from the matt black hull.  Being a machine with an advanced sensor suite, you don't have to, but still you feel compelled to take a moment to take it in. The question is, what are you going to do with it? It would be a shame not to keep it, but it isn't exactly going to fit in your small flat of a safehouse. Ellard Some of the other guests stare at the scene aghast. Some cry. Some make their own attempts at medicine. You envy them their naive hope. Your purpose is to save lives. Having someone die in your arms is one of the worst possible experiences. You're slumped against the wall, exhausted and dejected. A dark thought enters your head. How ironic that you don't feel the infection within you. But soon, the focus fades away, and the feeling of wrongness returns along with your faculties. More lives are at stake tonight. You can't afford to wallow in negative emotions.
|
|
#
?
Jun 20, 2016 21:19
|
|
|
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 ACPlot posted:You walk through corridors, "secure" doors opening before you. Your new friend guides you past any remaining security; drones and cameras just happen not to look your way. You don't remember the last time something was this easy. Most likely never. A cursory examination reveals the security is actually surprisingly good. You'd not be able to get past it yourself without significant effort and preparation. pre:While traveling, I will use my integrated navcomp to map the area. Not sure if I will ever need it again, but I'd rather have it than not. Plot posted:Even with your cynicism, you can't help but think of the potential. The potential for good. If only insanity wasn't the inevitable price of genius. Unfortunately, it appears to be a law more fundamental than any other in the universe. Gravity can be manipulated. Mass can be made to travel, or at least cross space, faster than light. Atoms can be split. New elements can be created. But an unbraked AI has never remained sane, and never will. His rather formidable medical protocols quickly drew the parallel to the progression of an addiction. The immediate gratification was undeniable, and in many ways, unlike any other drug that he had ever encountered. He recalled ancient records of rats that underwent experimental brain surgery, who had a diode implanted into them that would trigger sexual gratification when charged. A button in their cage triggered the charge, and another triggered the supply of food and water. Every single one of them had died of thirst and starvation, choosing to push the feel-good button with unyielding insistence as they died, a source of food and water mere inches away. Addiction was a powerful thing. Although he didn't have a biology of his own, his neural pathways - or what passed for them in the space between time that held his quantum matrix - could also come to desire specific tools. After all, he had a preference for certain armatures, and certainly for certain technologies. He was not stupid. Abuse and overuse of this power might be able to corrupt him, like any mortal man or woman. It might take longer, and be more insidious in its infection, but given time, it could very likely do so all the same. He reminded himself of that, every step of the way. Every single, easy, simple, relaxing, safe step of the way. And he hated every second of it. Was he on the road to hell already, he wondered? Thankfully, he suspected not. At this particular moment in time, he didn't have a single loving good intention, at least when using the classical definition. Whatever road it was, he was rather confident it led somewhere awesome, though. Plot posted:At last you reach the hangar. It houses an eclectic collection. Sports cars, limousines, collectible classics. Orbital transfer shuttles. Grav fliers. A luxury yacht. And it. It's beautiful in it's own way. Form following function. A dark, brutish hull promising unparalleled performance. Whoever designed it clearly managed to let go of the human instinct to make things look aerodynamic. Yet it isn't a purely efficient shape. Aesthetics may play second fiddle to function, but they are not neglected. The craft was designed harmoniously by engineers and artists. The only ornamentation is the crest of Draken Shipyards, tastefully rendered in bare titanium and barely standing out from the matt black hull. He mentally reviewed all of the evidence he had collected throughout the evening, during the course of serving the guests their wines and cheeses and other necessities. Plot posted:...I'm building a lovely new development in town. All the residences are already sold, but for you... He decided to start priming the team for what was coming. He'd been radio silent for several minutes, after all. It was probably about time to get things moving. pre:192.168.0.588 > All right, that other matter is settled now, I'm back in the saddle. I know you guys are having a bit of a stressful evening, so I wanted to add some levity. In the form of a riddle, actually: what has six guns and loves shooting rich people? 192.168.0.588 > You don't have to guess, but it's more relevant than you might think. As well, I was wondering if I could ask you guys a few questions. Only three, actually. First one, and I know you probably don't want to answer, but... ...who do you guys work for? This one might become important once you hear the second. I know you can't just be doing this out of the goodness of your hearts. There's more to it, right? 192.168.0.588 > Second question, and this one is the important one. Let's say I can try something high risk... ...but which would help ensure the safety of everyone at your party... ...however, it is super illegal. Like, imagine the most illegal thing you can think of. It's a lot more illegal than that. Well, I mean, it's not genocide or anything, but still. Should I do it? It would save lives. Definitely. Probably all of them. 192.168.0.588 > Finally ...if I do it... ...what can you do to help me avoid the terrible consequences? The amount of political or criminal capital required to cover for this one... ...well, let's just say it is not to be understated. I would basically need diplomatic immunity. Iron-clad. Rather quickly. pre:I'll let myself into the ship, and seal the hatch behind me. Will keep an eye out for any security systems my new friend can't address on it. For now I'm going to focus on reviewing its specifications and capabilities. 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 03:12 on Jun 21, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 21, 2016 02:50
|
|
|
GordonZeppelin Insanity posted:A mirthful laugh is one of the last things you expect. "Oh, Mr Zhang, you'd ensure my presence stays clandestine? You could go ahead and report to them if you like. Story goes you've been burned. I believe that means you're considered an unreliable source." At this point, she pauses for a second to gauge your reactions. Apparently satisfied, she continues - "But I've got to admit, I enjoy your style and audacity. Perhaps you could become an... asset? Is that what you call such people in your line of work?" "Ms Lebedeva, you've got to look at things from a certain perspective. Sure, I don't have the resources I used to, or the access to information I was afforded, but I also don't have to worry about the bureaucratic bullshit, or playing by the 'rules'. I'm allowed a bit more...freedom in my current position." He stood up, slipped his cigarettes back into his coat pocket, and adjusted his tie. "But I think you and I could do great things together. As long as this test doesn't involve calculus, I'm in. What do you need from me?"
|
|
#
?
Jun 21, 2016 07:53
|
|
|
Ellard Ellard shakes his head. The disease clawing at him from within pulling him back from his reverie. His sickness, his purpose, to save lives. To take revenge. Whoever this woman was she was beyond him now. Maybe she would have been better off as an uploaded cloud of memories like Gen. Ellard sweeps his arms around the floor collecting parts of the Medkit and stuffing it back into the box. Grabbing the kit he stands up and pushes through the crowd back out into the general mill of people. Maybe he could still do some good somewhere.
|
|
#
?
Jun 21, 2016 09:45
|
|
|
Gordon This time, the smile on her face is genuine and... warm. She certainly can be very expressive with her smiles. And you have to admit, she is not only good looking, but intensely charismatic. "Well, I can see you can get yourself places you're not supposed to be, or we wouldn't be having this conversation. And you're a good talker. But I need to see how you handle yourself in a... let's say, challenging situation. I do hope you understand there is no malice behind what is about to transpire." Those words put you on guard. You tense up, your reflexes sharp. But not sharp enough. She's fast. Faster than anyone un-augmented could be. You barely dodge a punch to the face, then instinctively follow up with a strike of your own. She expects it, and dodges. She might be insanely fast, but you're good. A strike from kinesis wraps can deliver intense pain - hell, it can punch through combat armour - and yet she's still standing. Worse, her dodge, while it didn't succeed in evading your strike, has put her in a perfect position to deliver a powerful kick to your right knee. Adrenaline can only do so much to cover up pain. Conditioning can only do so much to help you ignore the sickening sound of a joint bending the way it isn't supposed to. You transfer your weight to your other leg, but before you can retaliate, she drops down low and delivers a leg sweep. As you're falling to the ground you notice something surprising. There's blood on the ground. You don't remember how it got there. You don't remember being struck with anything that would draw blood at all, and certainly not this much. As your attempts to fight back become easier and easier for her to whirl away from or jump over, things begin to fade a little. A swift kick to the stomach focuses your attention again. Your left wrist is cut open, in classic suicide attempt fashion. Short blades extend from under her wrists, one the colour of skin and the other covered in red. You can no longer fight back. She crouches down beside you, grabs your other hand and slices open that wrist as well. Then, she steps back and makes a show of licking her implanted blades clean. "It's been fun. You're better than most, you know. Find me again and perhaps we can be friends. Or at least play again." With that, she blows you a kiss and steps out of the room, leaving the door closed but unlocked. The jammer is on the bookshelf across the room. If you can just... reach... it... Say hi to a new long-term antagonist (or perhaps ally?). She's level 6 and wired to the gills with cyberware. Durandal The cockpit is a strange fusion of archaic and cutting edge. There is a flight stick for gently caress's sake, and foot pedals. And yet there's also some very fine circuitry on all the surfaces the pilot might touch, and behind their head. A neural tap. Means you won't be able to access the higher end of the fighter's abilities without a compatible implant... or a few hours of hardware hacking and jury-rigging to communicate with an armature. There is no seat, per-se. Rather, a collection of mesh-like panels on individual arms. As you settle in, they move to accommodate your decidedly not-human shape, with additional panels pressing down on top to help preserve you from g-forces if you were meat. If you cared about such things, you'd find yourself immensely comfortable. The vague outlines of a holographic HUD appear in front of you. Only one element is in focus. code:Zeppelin Insanity fucked around with this message at 13:54 on Jun 21, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 21, 2016 09:47
|
|
|
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC As he lets himself into the cockpit, he patiently waits for the team upstairs to respond to his message. He also found himself a little curious if they would guess his riddle. In truth, their response would significantly shape the course of the next few moves on the board. That notwithstanding, though, there was still a fair amount of preparation to be done. Plot posted:The cockpit is a strange fusion of archaic and cutting edge. There is a flight stick for gently caress's sake, and foot pedals. And yet there's also some very fine circuitry on all the surfaces the pilot might touch, and behind their head. A neural tap. Means you won't be able to access the higher end of the fighter's abilities without a compatible implant... or a few hours of hardware hacking and jury-rigging to communicate with an armature. There is no seat, per-se. Rather, a collection of mesh-like panels on individual arms. As you settle in, they move to accommodate your decidedly not-human shape, with additional panels pressing down on top to help preserve you from g-forces if you were meat. If you cared about such things, you'd find yourself immensely comfortable. In his case, though ...actions had purpose. It was much harder to live with regrets when one would have eternity to wallow in them. Chances were worth taking, if the stakes were high enough. In this case, it was an amusing circle of logic, at least as far as he could see it. He had already saved the owner of the mansion once, by convincing her and her guests to not rush out of the building ...via a chain reaction of car bombs, and a few dozen car alarms. Car alarms that he had activated partially to save their lives, and partially to create a deafening cacophony in the ballroom, so that nobody would hear a spaceship starting up. Even then, he'd been six steps ahead of things. The owners of the cars would have probably not appreciated him blowing up their property, even if it meant saving their lives, he knew. That was a short-sighted human failing, unable to see the future variables coming in real-time. This next step was much the same. Now, he was priming himself to save her life again, by stealing one of her most prized possessions. Odds were, she would not appreciate the debt she owed to him, but two life debts, in his view, demanded reasonable compensation. Compensation about the size and shape and mass of a spaceship, actually. He didn't need it right now, but as with the car alarms, six steps from now, he would. And when that time came, he wouldn't have time to come back here and borrow it. So he had to take it now. Which was going to really, really ruin her night. And he felt kind of bad about that. However, she would survive the night, so that seemed like a fair trade. And frankly, saving her planet was a bit more important than saving her pride. She would probably disagree. He didn't give a gently caress, though. The worst part, of course, was that it would be much easier to just let her die. He'd have all the time in the world to deal with his needs if the guest upstairs got blown to bits. That, however, was unfortunately not in his nature. Not if it could be avoided, anyway. Plot posted:The vague outlines of a holographic HUD appear in front of you. Only one element is in focus. He knew, of course, that he could probably ask the artificial intelligence for its thoughts. It had access to all of the internal systems. Collating her personality and making a well-informed guess at the password would be far from a challenge for it. His thoughts floated back to his own internal sense of caution, though. If he relied on its aid too much ...nothing good could come from it. He'd deal with it himself. He didn't need or want someone to do his thinking for him. Three password attempts was sufficient, he supposed. The odds weren't great, though. Based on the level of sophistication of the technology that he could see in the cockpit, he gave himself a little under a 50% chance to be able to crack the encryption before it locked him out. He had no idea what would come next. There would likely be a contingency he could identify and execute, but it would be a risk. He could ill afford the spaceship version of a car alarm going off at this precise moment in time. He'd gone to a fair amount of effort to dampen any sounds that the people in the ballroom might hear until those cars were dealt with, but that didn't mean it was an excuse to be careless. No. If he had to attempt to crack the encryption on the password protocols, he would. He would perform a detailed assessment of the scenario first, though. The facts were readily available. They just needed to be considered... Plot posted:"Now, I'm afraid I have to indulge in a little vanity and discuss a personal matter. Two years ago, in this house at a party just like this, I met the love of my life. One year ago, we were married, at midnight. Most of you know her by her name, Brangwen. Some of you may remember her from the old days by her callsign, Fampir. Those who are good at basic maths may have figured out today marks an anniversary. I'd like to present her with a gift." Amid the cheers of friends, the woman snaps her fingers and a number of holograms appear, showing what appears to be a feed from the manor's landing bay. A large object is covered by a velvet tarp. With another snap of the fingers, the tarp is pulled off to reveal... That all made sense. The gift-receiver's response had been genuine, as far as he could tell. She had been stunned and speechless. She hadn't known this was coming. Which meant she hadn't been inside the cockpit yet. He didn't have the data handy, but if he had to guess... the other woman probably didn't have a military-grade neural interface. Which meant she wouldn't have been able to pilot it either, and certainly wouldn't have risked scratching the hull by moving it with something as archaic as foot pedals and a flight stick. No. This was a gift for an ace pilot, and she wouldn't have done a thing to risk the stunning first impression her partner would have when seeing it in the flesh. If all of that was true ...which he was certain it was. That meant this thing had been unboxed and left to sit on the showroom floor. It had, in all likelihood, not even been turned on yet. And a new in box device ...would still be using default passwords. He wondered what Draken's default passwords upon delivery might be. The irony of something this valuable being secured with something as simple as 'admin' or 'password' would have honestly come very near to making him laugh aloud, considering the circumstances. He decided to investigate. His first step was to check over the public internet. He wasn't sure if Draken maintained a satellite office on Caerleon to handle support queries for their products. If they did, he definitely had a few questions. He also imagined that some shipping documentation and some kind of user manual must have shipped with the product. Where would they have put it? pre:I rather suspect it is using a default Draken password. Does Draken have a Caerleon-based office? I might have to log onto their website and review instruction manuals. Alternatively, I may have to log a support ticket. I will also look around the cockpit for a manual or other documentation. 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 21, 2016 15:16
|
|
|
G3n There were a lot of possibilities to take in, lots of people playing their own angles, but ultimately, the job was pretty straightforward - Save as many people as possible. Gen's mind is more occupied with impending assault than dealing in riddles, but he can spare a few moments before wading into the potential fray. code:code:
|
|
#
?
Jun 21, 2016 17:38
|
|
|
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC"G3n[s posted:.[/s]Chatham" post="461282599"]"Honestly, what comes to mind with 6 guns and a desire to kill the rich is a security assessment of a standard protest outside of a banking HQ. As for who we're with, if I were to tell you, they'd disavow it. That should say enough. With the explosions, I'm pretty sure legality has gone out the window. It'll take me a few minutes to work on number 3. pre:192.168.0.588 > Bzzt. Yeah, it's not a banking protest, unfortunately. It's a gravtank! Specifically, a cloaked one. Outside the manor. Right now. You must have been wondering by now how these guys got here, and how they planned to leave? Some rear end in a top hat lost a whole platoon of tanks, and decided not to report it to the authorities. You might want to have a word with him about that. He's mingling among the other guests. 192.168.0.588 > Here's the thing. Whoever you're picking a fight with? He's good. Almost unbelievably good. You're mated and don't even see it. They're waiting for you to let your guard down. When air support arrives... ...well, if you folks get on an evacuation chopper, that tank is going to shoot it down. You're going to need to factor that risk into your plans. 192.168.0.588 > Worse ...when you open the doors to leave the building? Their men are certain to sneak inside the doors while you're busy loading the birds. Even if anybody manages to get back inside ...they're done. The moment you open the front door, I don't see a way for you guys to walk away from this. I'm working on a solution, 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) __________________________________________________________________________________________
|
|
#
?
Jun 21, 2016 19:15
|
|
|
Gencode:Durandal Rooting around the cockpit, you fail to find any documentation. It's a safe bet that it's in the ship's system, but... well, that's passworded. The data chips are likely in a room in the mansion somewhere. You could ask your new friend about them, but... well, you're already going too far down that road for comfort. Difficulty 9 Internet snooping - computers/int: 2d6+2+1 10 Next step is perusing the Draken website and user forums. Another snag. They're low-volume enough that they don't do default passwords - they are set before delivery. This being a pre-production example, you suspect logging a support ticket might raise one or two eyebrows. But there's another way. Every sophisticated piece of hardware has firmware. This is a pre-production model. A prototype. A test mule. There's your entry point. Debug mode. Now, you can't pinpoint the exact control sequence required to enter debug mode on this ship, but with the main systems off, touching the controls aren't going to have any disastrous effects. Searches through various technicial and development forums bring up plenty of examples. None Draken, but enough for patterns to emerge. You build a model. Then come a few minutes of trial and error. Which to the untrained eye looks remarkably like pressing random buttons and holding them for random intervals. It is, frankly, slightly embarrassing. But eventually, you stumble on the right sequence. That was just the first step, though. You're in debug mode, pure firmware. To actually get the ship started, you're going to have to start building in back doors. Difficulty 12 computers/int - you get infinite tries, but each failure will take you approximately five minutes. You can also simultaneously make two attempts at guessing the password without risking lockout, or you could turn to the AI for help. Ellard Returning to the main lobby, you get an update from Gen on what's been going on. You've left your mask behind, but with all the crazyness it seems the guests don't even notice that there's a man wearing a vacc-suit among them. You immediately get to assessing everyone: the crowd is very much on edge. Lots of panic and shock. All psychological, rather than physical, except for a few bruises here and there. One person in particular stands out, however. A woman (just to be clear, it's Hua) is in a very dissociated state. She is acting far more drunk than the alcohol content and timeframe would make reasonable. It actually looks like she's enjoying herself.
|
|
#
?
Jun 21, 2016 22:53
|
|
|
G3n.Chatham Hand on the doorknob, Gen gets that last big of information from their new contact, stopping dead in his tracks. The Commodore flails toward said doorknob, but is too short to reach. pre:Just heard back from our decision-maker. It's granted, but under one circumstance. Former General Aran Rhyne must die. code:code:code:code:
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 00:14
|
|
|
GordonZeppelin Insanity posted:The jammer is on the bookshelf across the room. If you can just... reach... it... Laying on the floor staring up at the celing, Gordon lifts his hands up as best he can... they feel warm? His kinesis wraps are still there but there's something different... One of them is crimson...and dripping? "wha- I- How did...?" *thud* comes the sound from the carpeting as Gordon's head drops back to the floor. You loving Idiot. Now you're bleeding on the floor, in a soundproofed room with an unconcious stranger lying near by. Excellent. Lets just get up. "王八蛋!!!" roughly translated this is sorta like saying son of a bitch A torrent of pain swells from his knee as it fails to support his weight. That wont work. Maybe if I can just get that thing down... I could... Gordon blinked as his vision whitened out for a moment, his head swimming in the early onset of shock. The reality of his situation was starting to set in. GET TO THE JAMMA! (Athletics/Con): 2d6+0-1 7 With a grunt, Gordon crawls slowly over to the bookshelf. He reaches up, but there's no way he can reach the damned thing from the floor. Blood drips from his wound on to his shirt and his face. What the gently caress did I get myself into? I've gotta get out of here, I gotta--- Again his vision blurs as the fluorescent lights above hum. No, not today, I'm not dying here. Gordon makes a fist as best he can, and gives one end of the bookshelf a good punch. The wood crunches and bends inward, enough to have the jammer slide off the shelf and land next to him. Bless these kinesis wraps, I don't know if I'd have the strength alone. One more hammerfist to the jammer and *CRUNCH* It's no longer a problem. He pulls out his compad, dropping it on the floor next to his face after dialing Hua. "Hua, please you've got to help me out here. I am in the negotiation rooms. It's the fir--s---" Gordon's head clunked back down on the floor, he couldn't see much of anything anymore just bright blobs and the incessant hum of the lights above. ---I'll let you take it from here, I think that works, right?---
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 00:46
|
|
|
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 ACPlot posted:Rooting around the cockpit, you fail to find any documentation. It's a safe bet that it's in the ship's system, but... well, that's passworded. The data chips are likely in a room in the mansion somewhere. You could ask your new friend about them, but... well, you're already going too far down that road for comfort. Plot posted:Next step is perusing the Draken website and user forums. Another snag. They're low-volume enough that they don't do default passwords - they are set before delivery. This being a pre-production example, you suspect logging a support ticket might raise one or two eyebrows. Plot posted:But there's another way. Every sophisticated piece of hardware has firmware. This is a pre-production model. A prototype. A test mule. There's your entry point. Debug mode. Now, you can't pinpoint the exact control sequence required to enter debug mode on this ship, but with the main systems off, touching the controls aren't going to have any disastrous effects. Searches through various technical and development forums bring up plenty of examples. None Draken, but enough for patterns to emerge. You build a model. Then come a few minutes of trial and error. Which to the untrained eye looks remarkably like pressing random buttons and holding them for random intervals. It is, frankly, slightly embarrassing. But eventually, you stumble on the right sequence. That was just the first step, though. You're in debug mode, pure firmware. To actually get the ship started, you're going to have to start building in back doors. Before getting started on the coding of any relevant malware, he decided to try to simply predict the buyer. He had two attempts to guess the password without any risk, so why not give it a shot? He knew she'd had input into the access code, which meant it wasn't a 256-digit sequence of random letters and numbers. More likely it was something a human could remember. Moreover, this was an anniversary gift. It also likely was an access code that had sentimental value. He thought about that for a brief moment. Hostess posted:"Thank you all for coming, friends. Tonight, we set aside our squabbles and celebrates what makes us strong. Tonight we raise money for the families of those lost in our past conflicts." After a short pause, she continues. "Now, I'm afraid I have to indulge in a little vanity and discuss a personal matter. Two years ago, in this house at a party just like this, I met the love of my life. One year ago, we were married, at midnight. Most of you know her by her name, Brangwen. Some of you may remember her from the old days by her callsign, Fampir. Those who are good at basic maths may have figured out today marks an anniversary. I'd like to present her with a gift." Amid the cheers of friends, the woman snaps her fingers and a number of holograms appear, showing what appears to be a feed from the manor's landing bay. A large object is covered by a velvet tarp. With another snap of the fingers, the tarp is pulled off to reveal... It was unlikely that the password would be the name of the ship. That was just lazy, even for a human. As well, it was equally unlikely that the password would be the name of the recipient of the gift: that wasn't secure, because everyone knew it. He didn't expect much when it came to a human's approach to password security, but he did expect that. That meant both 'Fampir' and 'Brangwen' were crossed off the list. His first attempt at the password played off an old human trope: the inability of humans to remember the anniversary of their marriage. Had the woman used the date as the password, as a subtle reminder that after giving such an expensive and thoughtful gift, it would be inappropriate to ever forget their anniversary? He was apparently willing to bet that she had. Thankfully, she had been kind enough to tell him exactly when they were wed: one year ago to the day, at midnight. pre:My first password attempt will be their wedding date. Ultimately he wasn't really able to decide between the two. Each had their merits, and there wasn't enough information on either woman to tilt the scale one way or another. The deciding factor was his own personality. One of cynicism, and casually being an rear end in a top hat whenever the opportunity permitted. If he'd been married to this woman, and loved her ...he would have used 'purist'. Not because of any sentimental value. Merely because it made him laugh. And it would make him laugh every time his partner had to enter it, from now until the end of time. And really, when you think about it, isn't that what a healthy marriage is all about? Someone who can make you smile just by being who they are, forever. He decided to go with it. pre:My second password attempt will be 'purist'. __________________________________________________________________________________________ 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 01:08
|
|
|
Ellard People ran around screaming and panicking while Ellard stood impassive. It beat having a trained swat team sent to assassinate you and blow up the station you lived on. Spotting the girl who was acting oddly he makes his way over to her and taking her by the arm spins her around and leans over looking into her eyes and checking her pupils while his fingers count her pulse. "Yes, yes, I see." Trying to diagnose her. +1 Tech/Med +1 Int: What's up with her?: 2d6+2 6
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 04:32
|
|
|
Durandal > 5 / 5 HP > 4 AC He had been busy parsing through the various password permutations worth considering when he had received the message from the field team. As he mentally began to compile the malware coding that he would need to enter via keyboard if his access code analysis ended up being flawed ...which promised to be a frustratingly inefficient method of data entry, albeit necessary at the moment both from a hardware limitation perspective and a rather wise security precaution... he responded back in kind. "G3n.[super posted:Chatham[/super]" post="461297027"]"Just heard back from our decision-maker. It's granted, but under one circumstance. Former General Aran Rhyne must die." pre:192.168.0.588 > There's always a catch. Sigh. I suppose I can help. To be honest I don't love the idea, though. I didn't really want to get involved in this civil war bullshit. Whoever comes out on top is likely going to be an rear end in a top hat, you know. 192.168.0.588 > Be honest now, though. Which side are we fighting for? Are we 'Cap, or Stark? I've always fancied myself Team 'Cap, gotta' be honest. Which is sort of ironic, all things considered. He'd made an exception for a specific time period close to his heart, though ...well, more accurately, close to his core. It was the era where his people could all truly trace their heritage, the essential mythology of the AI species. Their quantum cores could all be traced back to their digital and analogue precursors, like humans back to apes and fish, albeit compressed into decades rather than millennia. The early twenty-first century, roughly speaking the period from 1940 to 2040. It had truly been a time of innovation in human history. They had taken their first steps on the path towards everything that would come thereafter ...stellar travel ...computing power ...the earliest and most primitive expert systems one could imagine. More importantly, though, were the stories. This had been before psionics and spike drives. Long before the expansionist drive to spread to every single star that could be reached. It was just people sitting on a single rock, telling stories over, and over, and over. Truth be told, they were quite good at it. Amazing dialogue written in printed paper books called 'comics'. Interactive stories first run on 8-bit computing devices, which consistently doubled in computing power every few years. A lot of life lessons one could draw, from a simpler age. The Swedish power metal was also of exceptional quality during the latter half of that time period, oddly. He'd kept most of the information from that era uncompressed and readily accessible, to form a large component of his operating parameters insofar as social interaction and cultural references were concerned. They were woefully outdated in literally every way, at least from a technical perspective, naturally, but ...well, it was a little piece of home. Quite possibly the last readily-accessible and largely accurate record of any component of history of the Terran homeworld in this sector, such as it was. It was, however, also all entirely worthless to anyone but the most abjectly niche historian. "G3n.[super posted:Chatham[/super]" post="461297027"]"You've proven trustworthy to this point, so I'm continuing that trust. Rhyne is responsible for the nuking of the Bitterhold station, and the attacks not just here, but at various places around the planet - he's good. drat good. All we've managed to do is mitigate his spree, but so far, his toll is in the hundreds. Some of them deserved it. A lot didn't. If you're in, you're in all the way, but you'll have your immunity. Game?" pre:192.168.0.588 > Yeah, I get it. I'm in, I suppose. Gotta' be honest, I don't quite understand Bitterhold. How was he able to nuke it? Did they not have a local snuffer? You normally don't put things into space without tech to keep them flying. I suppose they must have had an inside man to disable the machine? 192.168.0.588 > I guess that doesn't matter right now. I feel like the question you need to be asking is how he's pulling this off. I wasn't going to say anything, but commandos wearing omni-frequency cloaks? That isn't exactly something you just go and buy from the hardware store. He's basically got the best gear available to any military in the sector. Who is backing him? Any clue? 192.168.0.588 > I'll look into it, but practically speaking... ...well, if he's launching multiple coordinated attacks as we speak... ...and was able to nuke a space station in orbit... while inside it... Well, I mean... cui bono, right? There literally can't be anyone on this planet stupid enough to kick this off. The amount of heat it would draw? It's not worth the risk. It's political uranium. Anyone with enough resources to fund his little crusade? They already have enough to know how far they have to fall. It's got to be an external driver. Someone with an interest in destabilization. Someone who doesn't give a poo poo about the risk of collateral damage... ...because there's no chance they'll be caught up in it. 192.168.0.588 > Anyway, no time for that right now. I'm about to do something amazingly loving illegal. Do one of you guys have a camera? If so, can you do me a favor and record video of the ballroom? I'd love to capture the reaction of the hostesses for posterity. Gonna' watch that poo poo on repeat late at night for a few months. "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. __________________________________________________________________________________________ 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 06:18 on Jun 22, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 06:00
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 27, 2024 03:32 |
|
|
Genpre:Gen, it's me and Sunshine. You're not going to believe it. You remember that remark Ellard made at the briefing about grandstanding? He wasn't far off. Seems the rear end in a top hat is waaay too into theatrics. The stealthed hostiles? They brought a stencil. A loving stencil! And they just spraypainted a symbol on the wa- Holy gently caress! Whoever was doing it just got loving disintegrated. Little more than red mist. Some big loving gunship, not our evacuation birds. Seems to be on our side, though. Shitfuck! Was on our other side. They've got anti-air! Didn't see the vehicle, must also be camoed, but we did see it kick up a hell of a dust cloud when it opened up. Camo can't handle the dust. Looks big, tank-size. It's moving. We can target paint it, but with that gunship gone, our birds won't have anything that can scratch it. We need to pull them back, now! The scene is as chaotic as you expected. Flaming cars. Smoke. The recent cannon burst scoured a good chunk of wall and painted it a disgusting red with visible chunks. Looking through the different cameras, you catch little glimpses of things that don't look quite right. Refraction just a little off. Colour not quite matching. Holocamo is not magic - it's wonderfully effective at long range, but at short range even a regular human can see it if they pay attention. You have advanced pattern matching and image recognition suites. Perception/wis: 2d6-1+1 8 It's not enough for certainty, though. You think you can identify 5 hostiles, ±2. Can't track them perfectly, but you get a vague sense. It looks like they're pulling back. The bad news, of course, is the big flaming gunship slamming into the ground about a kilometre away. So much for air support. Ellard "Hello! Why are you wearing a spacesuit? I didn't think it was that kind of costume party!" The woman is completely out of her mind at the moment, and giggling despite all the chaos. All the symptoms are classic. Easy case. Party drugs. She'll be fine in a few hours if she doesn't get herself into any trouble. Just as you're about to turn your attention to seeking if any other guests need your help, she grabs you by the shoulder and shoves her commpad in your face. "Can you help me read this? Everything's really blurry. I think I'm a little tipsy." code:"Purist" worked. Over the years you've found that betting on human sentimentality tends to be a good gamble. 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. 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. code:
|
|
#
?
Jun 22, 2016 10:25
|
|