"Hrmph, wish I knew where on earth this thing came from."
Ryles shakes the Matchbox a little bit and sticks it in his pocket.
"Alright then, can you tell me some secrets about yourself?"
Imagine a fantasy novel. Imagine a character in it, doesn't matter which one. To them, there is free will, everything is to be determined when it occurs.
But you, the reader, know better. Their fate is ironclad, set in the typography of the pages. They have no free will.
The universe is that book. You are one of the characters. We've read your book, we know what happens: cause will follow effect.
Argue non-determinism, argue quantum physics, it all matters not.
Maths is not unlike magic - The character believes its rules but the reader knows it is just the author's means to an end.
We know how your story ends, we know how everyone's stories end. We wrote this book. We are the author. The one you call God.
We wrote the past before our supposed existence. We wrote the present, where I explain this to you. We wrote the future that follows.
Gaze in awe upon our might, upon our wisdom, and despair. Despair, for we are but characters in books of our own, grasping for truths we cannot know.
We call our author, Outsider, for it exists outside our stories.
Wanna bet that it has an author of it's own? It's turtles all the way down.
Of course, who I specifically am, is different. The author doesn't live in their book after all.
But suppose the author wants a character to know of the true nature of their existence, to break the fourth wall.
How could they go about it? Their character might start out with that knowledge, or told that by someone.
Details don't really matter, they're all just ways in which the author places something inside their novel.
I am that something. That knowledge, that belief, that idea.
Strictly speaking, we aren't actually sentient or even conscious. We just appear that way. We're just the author writing in something for you to know.
A means to an end.
Or, I could just be screwing with you for lolz.
I mean, the truth's only as good as a brilliant lie, and it really doesn't matter what supposed truth you believe in as long as it models everything it needs to well.
Derek grabs a mop and peeks out the doorway.
Grabbing a mop, you push open the doors and find yourself being suddenly propelled out of the janitor's closet.
The spacious room you find yourself in is quite pleasant, though oddly designed, with natural light filtering down through overhead windows constructed to mimic the aesthetics of fluorescent lighting. A gentle breeze caresses your skin through your attire, carrying fresh air and subtle floral scents. The ground is polished and takes an aesthetic similar to that of marble, though needless to say it is quite doubtful that it actually is. Protruding from the floor are various eruptions that take the form of spire-like interfaces, and slab-like terminals, sleek but blank constructions of glass and faux-stone, matching the exact aesthetics of the walls. It is silent, save for the faintest melodies of birdsong in the distant.
There's just one little problem. You're in a cargohold. In space. There's no natural light, no windows. There are no breezes, just noisy air conditioning. No floral scents, just stale recycled air. The floor is traversed too easily, even with artificial-gravity there should be 'mapping-errors' regions where the gravity is a bit too weak or strong due to power fluctuations, space being sacrificed for other more crucial components, and just plain defects in placement. Finally, though there is no official consensus, it is still an expectation that in space, whatever the hell transports murderous biomechanical samurai should not have fucking birds on board.
You are dressed in a jet-black latex catsuit, deviating from the borderline fetishistic garments you may find a spy movie by the fact that it is far less flattering, having aesthetics based around that of the spandex outfits one could reasonably expect a gameshow contestant to wear. Though it seems to at least provide some degree of stealth in spite of how badly it clashes with your brightly lit surroundings - all of your movements thus far have been completely silent. Your footsteps cannot be heard. Your breaths make not even the quietest of sounds. Even your very heartbeat cannot be felt from outside the suit.
Behind you, where the janitor's closet you came from was, there is no trace of it. Just another plain wall of no features of interest. The mop you took twists and shifts soundlessly, swiftly taking the form of a sleek umbral carbine. Oddly enough, its grip is entirely solid, which is to say, it lacks any sort of magazine. In fact, the only moving parts you can find is the safety, and the trigger.
To the left is a door. By the looks of it, its locked off by some sort of electronic system. To the right is a hallway.
Ao Shi.
"I don't like pain and this screams like lots of pain! I mean pain is good warning, but too much is too much!"
Crazy stunts time! Run into the meat corridor. Throw Monkey-Wrench at the bone man and shoot The Obvious Target, aka glowing orb. Dodge incoming shitstorm like Neo. "HADOUKEN!"
[UTAR vs. SDEF: 2 vs. -4] Seems that human sacrifices make the RNG really damn happy. As you charge into the room, time halts. Let's see... what do we have here? Judging by its projected counterattacks, which is of the form 'stabbity stab stab', it really doesn't expect you to throw the wrench. It's not going to do much, if any damage to it at all, but with its arms flailing like so, a well placed throw at its arm ought to knock it off balance. You fiddle with the arcing line of the wrench trajectory to try and optimize this, which is harder than it sounds seeing as you can't actually see the predicted impact effects, and the projected counterattacks changes with your trajectory as well. Hmm... got it. Probably. Time resumes as you hurl the wrench just off to the side, and like clockwork, drunken, clumsy clockwork, it reacts. The bone demon's attempts to stab the wrench out of the air results in said wrench hitting one of its arms knocking it off balance and staggering it. Looks like you've bought yourself a bit more time.
[UTAR vs. SDEF: 3 vs. 0]The pistol bucks in your hand and the bullet sails gracefully and pings into the side of the gem, shattering a lump of it. Yellow-orange light sprays from the wound like blood, igniting exposed surfaces with dancing yellow flames. The meat men screech with pain, one of them dissolving into pink goo as the larger beast roars with rage.
The meat men are entering the chamber, the bone beast is still getting back up right now.
"..Well, time for some projects." Okay, re-assess what parts I have remaining vaguely. Also check if I have any gyroscopes or the like. Try and make a little (possibly controllable) roller ball. Probably make a very rudimentary screen/controller combo? If I can't do all of that, first start with rigging up the gyroscope to some motors and weights first, and run wires from a small battery (or generator). Also, try 3d 72 eyv. +3 trans +3 ltar
You have a bunch of spare parts, nuts, bolts, electronics. But not many specific parts like a gyroscope or camera. And since you don't have power, the arms can't fetch any for you. You can rig up a basic controller through, quite quickly as well. Oh, and, if you really wanted to, you could always do something weird so that the soldier holding you at gunpoint gives you free bullets, though you'd have to dig them out of whatever abstract art installation your sternum would become.
[COMP: 4] The spell fizzles with a pathetic splutter of failure and regret.
just a reminder i can fix the power supply for you
you know, if jus' agent over there doesn't burn you at the stake for witchcraft
"Holy shit, this gun is amazing."
Get in the store and look for weapons, clothes, survival gear, food, and interesting things.
Try to magic up a 22.
The store has a variety of all weather clothing, survival gear ((basically if you can find it in a catalog for an outdoor supply shop, it's there)) and no food. Well other than dried ration packs, which are, well they are what they are. There are certain things that working with the military has taught you. Ration packs are not food, they are condensed desperation and misery.
[COMP: 3/3] You conjure up a square of grey fabric it is light and very silky. Softly glowing ripples brilliant teals, greens and purples illuminate where your fingers touch its surface.
"Take my word for it, with the day I've been having no ammo or rank identifiers is just the start of my problems."
"If you can help me with the ammo situation and better yet also point me back to the front lines (don't ask) I'll get you a robo-deer."
Ask the general way and strike off to go grab me a robo-deer! (Or two, he probably wants it for parts, no reason I can't do the same)
On the way, try and find an abandoned tent, pop on in and try "04".
Keep an eye out for any batteries I can nick in said abandoned tent(s), worst comes to worst I want to be able to cobble together something I can get a few shots out of.
"Go out east till you hit the trees then you should find their recharging point. It's a big metal hexagon with a bunch of solar panels around, front is inside. If the look of that gun of yours is anything to go by, it should be able to use it. I'd suggest getting an extension cord or something if you plan on doing that though. You have a fun night."[COMP: 13/1] You pop into a tent and conjure the brief visage of a whip.
Keep running, but slow down just enough so the skeleton is directly left, then 22 02 sabb.
With a lurch, your carriage decouples and begins to fall. Not that it is too much of an issue, or even an inconvenience for that matter. You, and the skeleton pursuing you are running fast enough to easily leap over the gap and continue running. As you enter the glass carriage it becomes quite clear that the remaining carriages before you are of an identical composition. Staring through the refracted light, you don't really see any other objects or enemies in the remaining carriages. What you do see, however, is the open front of a train, a train that is barreling downwards towards yours, heading for a head-on collision.
At the end of this carriage, there is a set of sliding glass doors though with seemingly no mechanism to operate them. To their side, are there are ramps that head to the roof.
[COMP: 6/3] You slow down, ever so slightly so that your foe may catch up, and before they can even begin to strike, you cast your spell. From your left shoulder, a single chain link appears and erupts forth. With each passing instant, more chain links appear and connect to it on either side. In the brief moment it took to reach your foe, it had become an entire taut chain spread horizontally.
[UTAR vs. SDEF: 0 vs. 3] Turning its upper body, the skeletal guardian brings its fist towards the center of the chain. As the arm races forwards, the critter jumps onto it, riding along as it brings up its buckler. As it parries the chain, the shimmer intensifies repulsing the contacted area and robbing your attack of its force. However, the sides of the chain have force still, and slam against the guard from either side, dealing no noticeable damage but staggering it enough for you to start broadening the distance between you two.
"Copy that. I'll be mission ready when my frame is repaired. I have a question though. Have we lost any squads in recent months that disappeared mysteriously? Do they have any clearance codes that match the incoming unknowns?" Beirus radios back, remembering some holovids he once watched that centered on a group of people that mysteriously reappeared after having disappeared a long time ago. Hell, if magic was real there wasn't anything saying it couldn't follow the plot of a cheesy old holovid.
"Jus, something took out one of our bases. They destroyed it and it repaired itself in under seven minutes. D you have any other operatives that encountered something capable of doing that? And on a tangent, what happens if I were to die? You have a contingency for that?" Beirus asks as he continues his stroll through the facility, making his way through the workshops. He stops when he finds one occupied by two people.
"Oi, you two. You weren't with the hostages we got back. What are you doing here?" He asks, leaning against the doorway of the workshop with his rifle visible.
+1 UTAR, +1 LTAR, +1 MDEF, +2 TRANS, +1 COMP. Talky stuff for info getting.
"Disappeared squads? Yes. Mysterious circumstances? There were, but most of them turned out to be from desertion or those unknown units that are popping up everywhere now.
As for the unknowns, heh, they match all right, doesn't guarantee they are who the codes say they are. You want in on the betting pool? Current options are: allies, enemies, aliens, pan-dimensional invasion, and the relatives of whatever the hell we took out a few centuries ago coming here for a rematch.
Also for the next mission we're sending in mobility armor, the AF's are too cumbersome for recon work. Believe me, we tried, apparently there was a lot of screaming and some people need to go see their therapists now. Also we got you an experimental from R&D for all your assistance, designation 'ZGMF-SOL:18I' if you come up with a better name we have a suggestion box, my suggestion is toaster knife. Cos it *crunch* *crunch* makes really good toast *crunch*. Oh we are going to be turning the maintenance facility into a command center as we don't have anything like that in the area after losing the spire base."Mobility armor, unsurprisingly is a kind of armored exoskeleton designed to provide additional protection to its user and enhance some of their physical attributes. You know the badass exoskeletons that turn up in oh so many sci-fi holo-films? It isn't that. You see, it isn't designed to let you do anything particularly superhuman because reality is a bitch, its main enhancements really just consist of letting you run a bit faster for an extended period of time and carry more weight. Which, as you may imagine, is a role that can also be filled by a horse. Or the memetic mechanized bear cavalry that people joke about nowadays after a certain CO rambled on about after drinking far too much. The armor is, well, it works. Its not going to protect you from the nastier things, or sustained fire and can sometimes get deformed by an impact and end up fucking with the actuators, but its at least more reliable than the murder-happy arms of a supposedly cursed frame.
I heard that perfectly fine, you don't need to repeat that.
Unless you have some sort of weird fetish for pretending to be a parrot. That's fine I don't judge.
I just sit around here, pretending not to judge, while I secretly judge you. A lot.
Don't have too much information about what's going on there.
None of our agents have been there for too long. The competent ones I mean.
Many of the entities there are quite hard to kill. Though from what little I know, I don't think those are responsible.
The closest thing I have heard of, would have taken longer, and it wouldn't have lost against the ARES Frame.
Whatever they've caught is different.
In the case of your demise, we will reconstruct your body wherever it is the easiest to do.
Author
Topic: Perplexicon - Down the Foxhole - Raining Mecha (Read 179511 times)