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I don't care.

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I don't care.

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Total Members Voted: 0

Voting closed: January 04, 2021, 02:28:47 am

[19_EgarAlnis]

Go to a world that isn't a backwater plague-infested hellhole and order a new one, unfortunately. That thing is an antique. It recharges on its own, but if you mess with it, I'm sure it'll break...we could try to find a way to get it to accept hydrogen cells...maybe. Take a look at it.

You retrieve your washed and mended armor from the guards in charge of cleaning it, taking it back to your room. Everything gleams, and you pop open your submachine gun to take a look at the insides. The lenses have been replaced, you note, and the inside is dry and free of dirt. Your guards have done well -- your outlander longknife is even properly oiled. You scratch at the skin of your face while you inspect it.

Faith knocks at your door, standing in the hallway as she addresses you, "Lady Pheobe. Iyal apologizes for the lack of progress. The agent is a difficult nut to crack. She does not dwell in a house or rented room in the city, returning every night to a heavily guarded building on the western side of the Holy City. She believes that she might be able to use her daily route-- but there will be collateral. It's along a busy backstreet, and she has guards. She wants your approval."

Regardless of your answer, the Warmachine captain withdraws herself with a respectful duck of her head.

After checking your panoply is tightly bound, you activate it with a twist of those silicon atoms in the gloves. There's the unpleasant sensation of pain, of wrongness, but it fades, replaced with comfort. [Good morning, Pheobe.] It offers politely, crisply. [Today's helpful notation: If you're feeling pain -- you're probably about to die!]

Helpful.

[Would you like another?]

...No.

[15+1] You exhale a sigh, looking over yourself once more. Then you glance in Emma's cosmetics mirror, scrubbing at the skin of your face with your fingernails as it begins to itch and burn -- something wriggles beneath the skin, many, many black little worms in your veins, you begin to breath hard but then stop, shutting your eyes -- you stop yourself from itching any further.

Lucille. Diagnostic.

[Delusional Parasitosis, brought on by extended exposure to the Plague. There is no cause for concern, Pheobe. Administering a low level antipsychotic.]

The little worms fade away as you catch your breath, staring into the mirror. Everything feels a little less real now, though. You shake your head, lifting out of your seat and pulling on your helmet-- the mask is still down, and it brings you great comfort -- and hides the redness on your cheek.

Spoiler: Status (click to show/hide)

You are Pheobe Gainer AKA Alphira
Local Time: [1235] 11/19/2011
Personal Time: 5 months
Empyreal Time: NO NETWORK CONNECTION.

You feel comfortable in your second skin.
The world feels a little less real to you.

Cohesion: 85%
You are satiated.

Spoiler: Inventory (click to show/hide)

On Body: Mark 15 Battle Armor (Active, Incompatible:Override)
On Body, Beneath Armor:A black and gold armored gambeson.
On Shoulders, :A blood red half-cloak
Strapped across your chest: A worn shield belt. 1/5
Beneath your gorget: A blood red kevlar mesh.
Strapped to your shoulder: A heavy assault SMG painted gold and black.500/500
In a sheath:An inscribed bone-handled, combat long knife.
In a holster: A dull, gray las-gun pistol.250/250
In a holster:An archeotech Cutter Hilt.490/500
Ankle: A knife sheath with a well-made bone-handled stiletto within. (hidden)
In belt: 5 las-gun rifle magazines.
In satchel: Fifteen nutrient cubes, three auto-syringes of modified 'Ballistic', five auto-syringes of 'modified' sleeping medicine, five auto-syringes of 'modified' sedatives.

Spoiler: Powers and Skills (click to show/hide)

Overload: Trained
Bird of Sol's Reign: Qualified
Conquerer's Aura: Initiated
Inferno : Adept
Healing Factor: Apprentice
-Endurance Boost: Amateur.
-Strength Boost: Amateur.
Matter Manipulation:Silicon::Competent
Skill: Charisma: Apprentice
Skill: Attrition Warfare: Apprentice
Skill: Marksmanship: Proficient

Spoiler: Wealth (click to show/hide)

[29.38 credits] in local currency.
Michael's Public House: [+.25 credits per month]

Spoiler: Contracts (click to show/hide)

Array

Spoiler: Ties (click to show/hide)

[Angel] of The Holy City State of SEED
--High Influence within its borders
--Full command of all military resources
--Assigned a personal team of researchers, medical officers, and trainers.

Grandmother(adopted), Handler: Mother Nicole Gainer
--Contactable in person.
--High Influence with Scholars, Crusaders, the Thornton Family
--Current lawful ruler of Steelworks 9 Region (Crusader Supported)

Organization: The Thornton Family
--Contactable through Emma
--High Influence within Steelworks 9 Region
--Allied with Nicole Gainer, you
*Researching: Radio towers*

Organization: Personal Guard
--A complement of fifty-six guards, highly trained, heavily armed. Each carries a las-rifle, a las-pistol, and a personal knife. They wear Heavily Armored Crusader vests, leggings, boots and face obscuring kevlar face masks.
--Lead by Jennifer Shatterly
--??/56 Loyal, Fanatic
--??/56 Uncertain
--4/56 Defiant
--McGee Foster (Loyal)
--James Foster (Loyal)
--Erica Hail (Loyal)
--Johnathan Shellton (Loyal)
--Eric Armstrong (Loyal)
--Quincy Black (Loyal)

Organization: Thornton Mercenaries
--A complement of hulking Thornton soldiers turned into cybernetically augmented heavy-duty infantry. Equipped with fusion reactor based las-gun assault rifles, Inferno Shotguns, super thick armor, and technicians standing by. They are also equipped with inter and intra-squad radio communicators.
--Lead by William Thornton
--56/56
*Ready for extended operations*


Servant, ? ? ?: Iyal
--A mysterious Outlander woman, branded by SEED as a debt-slave. She wishes to serve you, for a better life after an attempted mugging.
*Currently assassinating key political opponents.*

Ally, Subservient: The Pontifex
--Cowed
--Church leader for the Scholars of the Holy SEED city-state.
--High Influence within its borders
--Incredibly High Influence with Zealots
--Minor feud with Crusaders

Ally, Subservient: William Thornton
Leader of the Thornton Family of Businessmen.
--Contactable in person
--High influence within the Thornton Mercenaries
--High influence within The Thornton Family
--Feared within Steelworks 9 Region
*Coordinating Thornton Family Assets*

Personal Scientist, Ally: Silas Thornton
--Contactable in person
--High influence within The Thornton Family

Contact, Military Trainer Coordinator: Tyler Hop (Cordial)

Lover, Consort: Emma Thornton
--High influence within The Thornton Family
*Currently compiling a list of SEED resources*

Pet, Threat: Mitch, the Barker
A stubby furred, stubby faced hellion of a canine that will possibly mutate in the future.
-8/50 Obedience
-?/50 Affection
-1/50 Respect

Friends(?) (Lost Contact):
-Jesse Hardhouse
-Amanda Silversmith
-John Frost

[Naturegirl1999]

Approval granted
Go to the launchpad

[ZBridges]

[Lucile, what is the prognosis for this disease?]

Approval granted
Go to the launchpad

+1

[Naturegirl1999]

[Lucile, what is the prognosis for this disease?]

delusional Parasitosis is where you don’t actually have parasites, we don;t have parasites, it;s a hallucination, hence the antipsychotics

[19_EgarAlnis]

[Unkown. Recommended Treatment is: a daily dosage of anti-psychotics, time away from Plague-Infected creatures -- psychiatric leave. More than necessary sleep, meditation, and exercise.]

[ZBridges]

Edited out.

[19_EgarAlnis]

You rise with a slight yawn, stepping out of your room. Your guards, man and Warmachine alike make to follow you, but you dismiss them -- the pad is close.

Seven ships lay idling on the pad, and the pilots are running through their pre-flight checks or loading their vessels with ammunition or fuel. All of that stops when they see you approach. They lower their heads and submit themselves readily to your inspection. And you circle around, your face hidden, inscrutable behind your mask. You notice something, however -- each ship bears the name 'Talon of Alphira', followed by a number.

Each combat ship, however, is slapdash. The guns are mounted in protective casings, with freshly assembled windows the only view. No aiming system here, nothing besides a man in a gun in a dangerous position. The survey ship too is very makeshift. Cameras point out at many angles, operated by some of the crew. The cameras have internal film rolls -- no digital technology.

The crew numbers more than would be in normal operation. Normal Crusader crews have two pilots, these have two pilots, four gunners each and a radioman. They're all dressed in very thick woolen clothes, and you give an approving nod. Their faces are also hidden behind crude oxygen masks.

Luckily, William has provided them all with radios, so communications no doubt have been improved.

[ZBridges]

We have miniaturized sustainable fusion reactors, but we don't have computers.  More forbidden technology.

"Thank you for undertaking this difficult mission.  I will protect you from the plague, but in the event that a craft is headed for a crash landing, you must ensure that all technology is completely and utterly destroyed.  Do you have the requisite explosives to do that?"

[19_EgarAlnis]

An officer, judging by the false gold seven wings upon his collar, gestures, bringing you on into the cramped analog cockpit. There's only a single display, and it shows four engines in the green, and a fuel gauge at full. He gestures down -- a massive bomb of some sort sits in the middle of the cockpit, with gauges and mechanisms on it.

"We set timer as we leave. If we do not return in eight hours, it will explode. It also has a manual arming sequence, shared by the pilot and co-pilot. Flight time from here to the western shore and back again should be seven hours, if we don't make good progress."

[ZBridges]

That seems sufficient.  Is there anything else that we need to check?

[Superdorf]

Guh, we approved that street ambush? That's gonna be messy, conspicuous-- traceable. Was that really something to approve so lightly?

Also also, that psychosis dealt cohesion damage. I am concerned.

[ZBridges]

That was a high-value target, in my opinion.  If SEED wants to pursue our death after our little stunt inside its organs, it will probably choose to do so through its special services.

I trust Iyal to do a good job.

[19_EgarAlnis]

"Any other questions or requests, Mother Alphira?" The pilot commander questions, crossing his arms behind his back as you finish your inspection of the craft. The insides are small, the gunner seats cramped and uncomfortable, between the belt-fed automatic weapons that line the outside of the vessel.

[17][1] You shift unsteadily, feeling less and less connected to the world around you. Sensation fades away for a moment, as the world crystallizes and shifts. Lines radiate out from this point in time, stretching into the infinite future. Black ichor drops from the sky. The smell of burning flesh and cordite fills the air. You look up at the captain -- his face is a twisted skull, charred and burned. The hovercrafts all lay in ruin, blackened hulks of metal twisting and billowing with fire.

You shut your eyes tight, clenching your fists hard enough that your bones creak, and nerves send pain through your system.

"Mother Alphira?" The commander questions, concerned by your silence, unable to see your pained expression behind the mask. Everything is intact, everything is whole as the sun shines down on the Holy City of SEED.

[ZBridges]

Bad omens...

"Sorry, please excuse me.  Commander, do you have any reservations about this mission?"

[King Zultan]

Bad omens...

"Sorry, please excuse me.  Commander, do you have any reservations about this mission?"

+1