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Author Topic: Guns, Cash, and Glory: A Random-Generated Scifi Rampage [Mission II!]  (Read 56671 times)

Toaster

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"I fancy I will find a tactical use for this gear.  Now tally ho!  Onward to the glory!


Onward!
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HMR stands for Hazardous Materials Requisition, not Horrible Massive Ruination, though I can understand how one could get confused.
God help us if we have to agree on pizza toppings at some point. There will be no survivors.

ATHATH

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This is going to become the next Perplexicon or something.
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Seriously, ATHATH, we need to have an intervention about your death mug problem.
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*slow clap* Well ATHATH congratulations. You managed to give the MC a mental breakdown before we even finished the first arc.
I didn't even read it first, I just saw it was ATHATH and noped it. Now that I read it x3 to noping

Digital Hellhound

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All

The Teleporter Deck proves to be a large, circular room with a floor that hums audibly. Something which looks worryingly like a death ray points down from the ceiling at the center of the room. There is first, however, a connected room of a long table and enormous monitor. Lux instructs the team to take their seats and after some time, the monitor sparks into life. The face of General Tullion fills it, presumably from the bridge.

'Well! Good to see you've all found your way to this briefing. You seem to have picked up some toys to take with you, too. Excellent! There's nothing quite like your first mission, so let's not waste anymore time. Here's the deal.'

The General's face disappears from the screen. Instead, a shuddering, black-and-white film takes up the space, with rather unnecessary projector sound effects. The Justice Corps logo is visible in the bottom of the screen.

A triumphant orchestra blares from the screen, the film opening into a view of clouds, black and towering. Lightning flashes. The music becomes more ominous. Then, a shape - something enormous that pushes its way through the bank of clouds. Sweeping searchlights stab across the view from its direction. The shape pushes on and becomes clearer; an airship, of immense size. Lightning flashes once more, heralding its arrival, and the light illuminates an enormous swastika adorning its side.

'Earth, XII-b. The year is 1948, and the Nazi Terror Fleet holds Europe in its grip. A vast armada of armoured zeppelins, jet-engined sturmeagles and skimmer aircraft, it patrols the skies and reduces entire cities to dust for disobedience to the Führer. Now, we find it over the devastated plains of the Ukraine, where brave freedom fighters are launching daring raids on its ships, but they are outmatched and outgunned at every turn.'

The clouds finally part, revealing the vast zeppelin in all its glory. Smaller airships prowl in its wake, still larger in size than anything airborne has any right to. Streaking bombs fall en masse from their insides, and the music only gets more dramatic.

'At the heart of this dread armada, the blood-stained flagship of the Nazi war machine, the Reichszeppelin Germania. For Europe to have even a slim chance of throwing off the Nazi yoke, this behemoth must fall. If it does not - it is only a matter of time before the last sparks of liberty die out in Europe and leave the world... in darkness. Godspeed, brave Heroes.'

The screen gradually fades out, replaced by the General once more. He looks somewhere far away, shaking his head. 'Sky Nazis,' he says. 'I hate Sky Nazis.'

He turns back to the team. 'So, did you get that all? We're sending you to Earth - one of those parallel ones, anyway, but who can say which one's the real Earth, eh?' he says. Everyone is, of course, fully aware of the Great Glitch, a mysterious event in the distant past which sent hundreds of parallel Earths and alien worlds across the galaxy. It has also made 'it was my evil twin from another dimension!' a decent excuse for galactic criminals. 'You mission: to cripple the Nazi Terror Fleet and eliminate the Reichsmarschall in charge. Use any means necessary to cause as much damage to the fleet as possible. Our intel is limited, because we only thought of this last week, but rest assured, you will face legions of Nazi commandoes who will not hesitate to kill you. But with JUSTICE on our side, I know you won't fail. Any questions? If not, head over into the teleporter chamber there.'

---
Spoiler: Evil Roy (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Vissilik (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Crit (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Speaks (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: London Tanner (click to show/hide)
« Last Edit: August 03, 2015, 01:00:46 pm by Digital Hellhound »
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Russia is simply taking an anti-Fascist stance against European Nazi products, they should be applauded. ¡No parmesan!

Toaster

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"Ah yes.  Even on my world we have heard of the famous Godwin's Law.  It seems with any Earthling it eventually comes down to these National Socialists.  Well, one cannot be too perturbed about going to face such an iconic evil, can we?  We shall sally forth and slay the evildoers!  Onward, gentlemen!"

Onward!
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HMR stands for Hazardous Materials Requisition, not Horrible Massive Ruination, though I can understand how one could get confused.
God help us if we have to agree on pizza toppings at some point. There will be no survivors.

Ruludos

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London jumps out of her chair and pulls off her best salute, honed by countless hours of childish war games. "Sir! I just want to thank you for this chance to join the Corps sir! We won't let you down sir!"

Onward for great justice!

((By the way, Hellhound, will it be possible to take enemy gear? If I bisect a Sky-Nazi, for example, could I take and use his MP34 knockoff?))
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Hiddenleafguy

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(("ONWARD TO UNTIMELY DEATH!!!"))
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IronyOwl

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"The only question, is HOW SOON I WILL CLAIM THEIR SKYSHIP FOR MY OWN?!?!?! AAAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Onward! For hubris!
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Quote from: Radio Controlled (Discord)
A hand, a hand, my kingdom for a hot hand!
The kitchenette mold free, you move on to the pantry. it's nasty in there. The bacon is grazing on the lettuce. The ham is having an illicit affair with the prime rib, The potatoes see all, know all. A rat in boxer shorts smoking a foul smelling cigar is banging on a cabinet shouting about rent money.

Person

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Edit: Getting rid of this.
« Last Edit: December 27, 2017, 07:59:47 pm by Person »
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Please don't let textbooks invade Bay12.
The Conquistadors only have the faintest idea of what the modern world is like when they are greeted by two hostile WWI Veterans riding on a giant potato; Welcome to 2016.

Digital Hellhound

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@Person: Hmm, well. I'm sure I could make those abilities fairly balanced, but I feel if I let it in, everyone else is going to start clamoring for special powers too and shift the focus from the randomized things. Still, I don't see any real problem. I'll put you on the waiting list like this for now.
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Russia is simply taking an anti-Fascist stance against European Nazi products, they should be applauded. ¡No parmesan!

Harry Baldman

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Evil Roy takes a moment to ask this fellow what a Nazi is. Having received a suitably informative answer, whatever that may be, he then ambles off on three to seven of his appendages toward the teleporter.

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High tyrol

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Waitlist
Name: john smith
Gender:
Male
Description:
A bored low ranking bureaucrat
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Toaster

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"Mister Roy, is it?  Well, from what I gather, they are a group of genocidal maniacs from a violent time in Earth's history.  They controlled some country and brought the entire planet to war in their bloodthirsty conquest and, if the stories are to be believed, genetic cleansing.  They were ultimately unsuccessful... but perhaps not in this version of the world.  I understand they have become an iconic evil."
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HMR stands for Hazardous Materials Requisition, not Horrible Massive Ruination, though I can understand how one could get confused.
God help us if we have to agree on pizza toppings at some point. There will be no survivors.

Harry Baldman

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"Mister Roy, is it?  Well, from what I gather, they are a group of genocidal maniacs from a violent time in Earth's history.  They controlled some country and brought the entire planet to war in their bloodthirsty conquest and, if the stories are to be believed, genetic cleansing.  They were ultimately unsuccessful... but perhaps not in this version of the world.  I understand they have become an iconic evil."

Evil Roy thanks the lizard person for his quick reply, even if that wasn't quite who he was asking, and makes it known that Mister Roy is, in fact, a semi-acceptable form of address, if not preferable to his primary name-phonemes.

He follows up with a quick question about what this Earth place might be, assuming the lizard person to be knowledgeable on the subject based on his reply.
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Toaster

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"I am less informed on Earth as a whole, sadly.  I believe they are the birthworld of humans, and I believe there is one in our party."
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HMR stands for Hazardous Materials Requisition, not Horrible Massive Ruination, though I can understand how one could get confused.
God help us if we have to agree on pizza toppings at some point. There will be no survivors.

Harry Baldman

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"I am less informed on Earth as a whole, sadly.  I believe they are the birthworld of humans, and I believe there is one in our party."

Evil Roy expresses slight incredulity at this state of affairs, wondering how it might be possible that someone seemingly well-educated on backwater planet politics would not know much about the backwater planet in question. Then again, there was a human that he could just as well ask instead - now the only question was who that might be. The gibberer, presumably, but he thinks it impolite to ask at this juncture. Not like it terribly matters, right?
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