((Go to sleep. Return to walls of colored text. I counter with walls of uncolored text.))
"That didn't work! However, you will be filled with naught but terror after this!"
Thomas leaps 30 feet into the air, stabs the colossus in the head with his Tesla sword, then he fires the coil gun directly into it's head.
You crouch a bit as you coil your legs beneath you, force building in the synthetic muscle, before you leap, soaring through the air and covering the distance between yourself and the beast in an instant. You flatten your hand and the built in tesla sabre system activates, a 10 foot blade of arcing power materializing and extending from your fingertips. [uncon wep roll:4+1] You sweep the blade in a wide arc as you descend, the arcing power carving a swath of exploded, burnt flesh several feet deep into the top of the Altered Colossus. [Dex roll:4+2] You land like a fleshy comet atop the colossus and your weight combined with the newly carved canyon of ruined flesh results in it splitting like a rotten log. As you and a massive chunk of it fall away, you aim the coil gun in your left palm at it and fire. [Con wep roll:5+2] You fire a salvo of 3 shots directly into the beast, each round tearing a hole the size of a man and detonating out the back of the creature with a veritable explosion of gore. [Dex roll: 2+2] You land, the force dropping you to one knee and crushing a dozen men and screeching altered beneath you. You rise to your feet and watch as the wounded beast turns to face you with its remaining half, tentacles whipping toward you with homicidal intent.
Shoot it in the face, then follow-up with Kinetic backhand.
You aim the Gauss rifle toward the chittering insectoid thing and fire. [con wep roll:5-1] The round impacts dead center in one of the creature's boney mandibles and blows it into a thousand bloody shards. The giant centipede shrieks another challenge and then charges, flashing forward like a snake attempting to sink its fangs into a mouse. [Dex roll:5-1] You leap out of the way, rolling to a stop a dozen feet away. The centipede is nothing but a blur as it skitters by, turning and preparing for another charge. You pull your feet up under you and leap forward, trying to bring your Kineticly amplified fist down on it's back as charges away. [Dex roll:1-1] All you manage to do though is to slip on the muddy ground and smash your faceplate against a stone. (You are dazed, -1 to next roll)
Charro wasn't really in the mood for chit-chat. He had a decision to make here. This was important. Finally, he made up his mind and stepped fowards, holding out his tray and jabbing a finger at each of the dessert buttons to see what happens. Then, he will press each of the buttons again and carry the resultant delicious mixture/disgusting mess over to the table with the man who just spoke to him.
"Er, sorry about that. I just... Woke up. Well, I still am waking up, really. I don't really know what's going on either, if that's what you're asking. Just that we're in the famed Hazardous Materials Requisition Corps, get to wear these daggy jumpsuits, eat food that appears to be pooped out of a machine, and that apparently we have a life expectancy measured in minutes, once a mission starts at least."
He shrugs and picks up a spoon. "I'm Charro, anyway."
>Get stuck in. Hopefully at least the food here is good.
The machine dumps out a mixture of what looks like apples and cinnamon in some sort of sugary sauce, pudding (oh god let it be pudding) and a half crushed spray of cookies shaped like little people. The mix mingles together into a rather disquieting sludge as you take it the table and sit down next to the man who cut in front of you in line.
"Er, sorry about that. I just... Woke up. Well, I still am waking up, really. I don't really know what's going on either, if that's what you're asking. Just that we're in the famed Hazardous Materials Requisition Corps, get to wear these daggy jumpsuits, eat food that appears to be pooped out of a machine, and that apparently we have a life expectancy measured in minutes, once a mission starts at least."
You shrug and pick up a spoon. "I'm Charro, anyway." you say as you take a bite of the sludge. It tastes like chocolate pudding and apple sauce mixed with gram crackers.
After awakening, Nikitian felt his head ringing and his sight swaying; however, in a couple of minutes the ache died away - well, mostly. As his mind cleared, he nearly jumped at the spot - he was deemed worthy! It felt like his birthday, his entering the service and the day his family finally accepted him combined together!
He thought that it might be the happiest day of his life - especially so since he was probably not going to live another month (of subjective time).
Well. It didn't matter. To die for the sake of the Magisters and the People of ... o-oh ... was an honour itself, much bigger than a lifetime (of normal life expectancy) of an ordinary military career.
Still, the head was a bit... unstable. Hopefully it will be okay by the time his next assignment - a mission of HMR Corps! - come.
Ah - Steve, if I recall it correctly?
Oh, and by the way, where did I learn that name?.. Well, not that it matters much.
Steve, I must say I am honoured to be chosen - to be allowed to enter the Corps. These valiant men and women, who chose to devote the rest of their lives to the protection of humanity, their noble sacrifice... I am both humbled and exalted by the fact the Magisters - Long live the Magisters! - deemed me worthy and entrusted me, among others, with this great resonsibility of recovering hazardous materials - vital to our victory against the innumerous aliens, mutants and just abominations intent on total genocide or subjugation and eternal enslavement of the human race. But it is also a reward in itself, and I thank you and, through you, the Magisters for this honour, and I shall not fail you. I shall not fail the Magisters.
Now, Steve, where can I find everybody so that I can properly greet them?
Oh, and also - it seems my memory is still dizzy after awakening - Steve, could you remind me the name of our beloved (for it truly cares) State? It feels shameful and hollow not to be able to recall it.
>Never paid attention in history class? Its the United Worlds of Man or UWM. And its not a state so much as...Actually just go ask the armory master for a documentary on it or something, I've got better things to do then explain the history of the universe to you. I'm programming myself to be able to virtually twiddle my thumbs while idiots talk to me.
As per where everyone is, try the rec/mess room.((Guess I can do some RP actions I suppose. Hope you don't mind?))
Bishop's eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the bright light overhead. He rose out of the pod, feeling that familiar ache and drowsiness after effects of stasis. It seemed that they had arrived at their location, and he was free to roam once again. Free... Riiiiight. As he got to his feet and started to walk off the stasis, he heard some idiot raving about how great it was to be 'selected' to 'serve' in this joint. As Bishop walked past, his hand slapped the back of the idiot's head as he went past.
"Your an idiot. You weren't chosen to protect humanity, the magisters sent you here to die for their profit. There is nothing noble about it, its a death sentence and noone has the common courtesy to say so to your face. If you want to do all that you were raving about, you might as well have been in the army or some shit, and STILL have died worthlessly and without mention. So don't praise the people who just sent you out here to die in a most likely horrible fashion for their benefit."
Bishop shook his head as he walked onwards, following the signs to the cafeteria while stretching out his muscles and doing the odd simple coding problem in his mind to get things back up to the speed where they should be.
He had a feeling that it was going to be a long cycle...
Slap that raving idiot upside the back of the head then head to the cafeteria and check out who else is here, and what's for lunch.
((oh, RPing right from the start 
))
Oh, finally a living person here.
Ahoy! ... Comrade, I should probably say?.. Well, unlike you, who, I guess, were given the privilege of choosing (to die the simple or the hard way), I volunteered - and, as you see, was chosen.
Now, I've been in the army - it's where I got this nice haircut. Still, as you see, they kept me fairly intact (despite doing their best to do the opposite, I made it sure) - healthy, able-bodied, no prosthetics of any kind. More than that, serving the army was not nearly as intense and important as this assignment is going to be. So I transferred here to benefit the Magisters and the People most - and, as it might be, make the difference (of what I could not even dream back in the army).
Oh, and one more thing: it's no simple death sentence - the executions these days are pretty fast and not quite painful as they used to be. This, however... By serving on this assignment you agree to be subjected to the worst possible nightmares this Universe has in its sleeve. It might be lifelong (centuries of subjective time!) agony, or total mental destruction, or mutation - grrr! - oh, and you might still live. Just a little more time. Not that being able to live guarantees that you'd be able to enjoy this life - quite on the contrary.
But you still decided to play along - otherwise you'd probably not be here, or would attempt a suicide as soon as you got control over your body. See that wall? You could've bashed your head at it till you crack open the skull or just waited until you bleed out, as well as a dozen other ways of accomplishing the task. But, as it seems, you chose to live - well, for now.
From your attitude it's easy to deduce that you're quite intelligent and rational person, so do you really want me to believe that you believe in surviving through it? Nah, I don't think so. To live as long as possible? Well, that might be closer to the truth. But still, I do believe that you - perhaps unconsciously - undestand how important the task HMR Corps are up to - and that is what, along other things, make you stay alive right now and give no try to escape the inevitably most gruesome end which lies ahead of us on this path - to escape by dying the way you choose, I mean.
And that's why I admire you all, my comrades - you've chosen perhaps the hardest way possible so that (at least, as a part of your reasoning) you could serve the humanity in its darkest hour.
Never mind the slap(s) and follow the comrade to the cafeteria, to seek other comrades.
((Oh this will be FUN! 
))
As Bishop slouched along the corridor, he kept hearing an annoying buzzing sound that, as he focused on it, formed into words. Taking a glance behind him, he moaned mentally as he saw that the raving moron was following him. He was tempted to just bash his brains out on the wall right there and then, but after feeling the slight pressure along his spine which wasn't there before he had been 'enlisted' in this death row program told him that he probably shouldn't. Waiting until the madman was done speaking, he then curtly replied in a bored, slightly monotone voice;
"I never had a choice in the matter, just like almost everyone here. We were forced into this shit unwillingly, and you proudly saying that you joined willingly tempts me to kill you right here and now. But I won't, luckly for you, and I'll tell you why I'm still alive as well.
First, I don't want to die right now. That is simple enough to be its own reason. Second, even if I wanted to bash my brains out on that wall right next to you, I couldn't simply because I would be shocked into submission, which is also why I won't kill you either. Feel along your spine, you should feel small lumps along it. Those are implants that I suspect are for the express purpose of prisoner control. You don't behave, you feel electricity igniting your nervous system.
Furthermore, I would rather be shot than serve this death sentance, because that would at least have some dignity in it. I don't want to serve anyone, because that would mean I'm a slave which I will NOT be. This, this whole program and probably even the government, is a mockery of free will, and you just can't see it, you poor bastard. Still, since I have to work with idiots like you in the future, let me give you some advice so you won't have your neck snapped 'accidently' in a sparing match.
Don't say you joined willingly. Not unless you enjoy pain, and if you do, then whatever floats your jet bike man. Not like I give a shit what you enjoy..."
Now this starts to be interesting.
Okay, comrade, I got your point. Now that I do understand and respect - the right of exercising free will. Then, I shall repeat that I joined here out of my free will. You may think of (as well as openly call) me as an idiot or a madman - certainly, most of my superiors back in the army thought that way.
But it's neither actually - it's that my duty called me, it's that for the People to be able to exercise their free will as much as they want someone has to protect them from those abominable aliens - believe me, abominable they are.
That way I joined the army, 'giving up' my free will (actually, just agreeing to follow the orders out of it - willing (and thoughtful) submission, have you heard of it? *grins*) for the sake of the People.
That way I joined the HMR Corps when I understood that the Corps could utilize me to better extent - and thus I would benefit the People more - than the army. After all, here we protect not only the civillians - we also protect the military part of the People by bearing the brunt of hazards of the materials we recover.
You may not think that way, but just by being here and following the Steve's instructions you give the People the opportunity to exercise their free wills - safely away from the threat of being destroyed or dominated be the xenos. So I do find this assignment an honour in itself, even if it doesn't seem that way at the first glance.
However, I feel I should apologize to you for 'attacking' you with all of this stuff this early. Perhaps one day you could see it from my point of view - and then we will proceed with this dialog. As of now, however, feel free to ignore it as much as you like it - just believe I didn't want to angry or confuse you, comrade.
Oh, and one more thing: being a slave is all about the state of mind, not about being property or something. And willingly and thoughtfully serving is no act of becoming a slave, it's that hopelessly giving up and not caring is. And no friggin' device, however painful, can make you give up - it's that you choose to give up because you choose it's too much to bear.
(In no way does this apply to things that directly change your brain/personality; however, in the end, it's not you - it's someone else they created out of you, so the aforementioned still applies)
Smile to cheer up the comrade and continue following him to cafeteria/looking for other comrades.
Bishop walks up behind Nikitian, who is rambling about honor and dying and other such things, and slaps him hard in the back of the head. Nikitian responds by turning to Bishop and rambling at him and following him toward the mess hall. The two stop half way there and exchange a bit of ideologically based flirting.
Mesk nods at Charro and his slop. "So, you're as fresh as me, huh? What are your plans then? Me, I'm hoping to get my ten missions over with as soon as possible, it can't be as bad as they say, right? I figure they tell people it's horrible so less people volunteer for the missions, so they have to stick around longer. Anyway, what are you in for?"
Look around the cafeteria. Taste "meat 1". Gag. Eat it anyway.
You look around the mess hall. There's a rec room across the way there but the mess hall itself is just a bunch of simple benches and the food dispenser. There are a few people in here, quietly eating by themselves. You take your knife and cut a bit of the greenish meat from the slab and taste it. Tastes like pork with a mild undertone of bleach. But, food is food...you think.
Milno goes once more to examine the "maintenance" doors. He also giggles while passing through the door where the recently-awaken men are sharing a moment of sexual tension.
He turns towards Feyri:
"I am busy at the moment, go eat something, take a nap or lick Jim's face."
You wander by two new conscripts and laugh inwardly as they argue, resisting the urge to suggest they kiss and make up. You wander into the rec room and dismiss Feyri's attempts to spar with you before examining the Maintenance door. It's barely discernible as a door, just a section of wall with the word "Maintenance" written on it and a hair thin seam marking its boundaries. There's no door knob, no key pad, no scanner, nothing to you see as a way of entering.
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Topic: Einsteinian Roulette (Original Thread: Rules, Armory, Misson archive 1-11) (Read 3981446 times)