"Doctor Yaelin, under the employ of the Theta 3 unit, odd as that is. We're not exactly in an operating theater, Gwai lo, one way or another, getting that ear back on will leave you more than a little light-headed." The good doctor flips her cigarette case back out, and removes an old glass syringe from inside. She holds her lit cigarette in the same hand like she's done this every day for years. "In case you were wondering, the needle is clean. This stuff though," she squeezes the plunger and a stream of glowing blue liquid escapes, hissing and fuming in contact with the air, "you really don't want to know where we get this stuff. Better than feeling the probe though." You get the distinct feeling she's avoiding any premature description of the probe in question.
From the door Yaelin left, a small human male scuttles out, trailing a chain leash. It's pretty clear from his staggering gait that he's out of his gourd on something strong. There's a conspicuous brand on his shoulder that looks like a monogram MY.
Jamee positions his RAB next to Sona's external chassis protectively as she has shut down her outer systems. He scans the small, drugged up human male dragging a chain leash, determining his threat levels. Assessment: minimal. Back at the Sixes, Jamee shrugs in his command chair and powers down his RAB's arm cannon temporarily.
I have a sneaking suspicion I will regret this, but i'll take it. can you re-attach my ear while you're at it? Dexter says, praying that the probe isn't what he dreads it might be.
"Just hold still. It will only take longer if you don't hold still. And get on your knees, Gwai lo, ignoring my height is not going to get your ear on any faster." Yaelin flicks a lens down over her eye and jabs Hecktor with the needle. The fluid goes in like napalm and spreads like a winter chill, seeping deep into Hektor's skull. Yaellin scoffs, "You're a for-real-deal human, aren't you? Short of that scar, you could serve as a poster child for the Tenth Reich Aryans." Before the searing pain and incongruous numbness has passed, she takes a step back. She's holding something that looks like a small gun with a long swab on the end. She pulls the trigger a few times and curved pincers extend and retract around the swab.
She's looking at you like she's expecting something.
I'm not going to like where that goes, am I? Dexter asks,choosing to ignore the tenth-reich comment, assuming it was meant as a poorly-though-out compliment.
I'm not going to like where that goes, am I? Dexter asks,choosing to ignore the tenth-reich comment, assuming it was meant as a poorly-though-out compliment.
No more than usual. Yaelin's intent is *probably* to help you.
"No, dump-ass, it's done." She clicks the gun and the swab clicks to the floor. She stows the little gun and takes another drag on the cigarette. You do notice that the ear has been reattached. It's still a little numb, and you could swear it's slightly tilted wrong, but it seems she performed whatever she was going to do while she was distracting you with her racism.
"You gonna tip me, or what?" She puts out the butt of her cig in her palm, pops the filter in her mouth, and starts chewing. You catch a whiff of cinnamon that chases out the smell of smoke. "You know, I've got that room for another few minutes." You're discouragingly unsure if that was an offer or just meant to hurry you up.
Retzack smiles and claps Shotz on the arm, leaning in close. "It's okay, my friend. I know what happened here. These two," he indicates the bodies, "took from me that which is mine. My business here is just about done, but I need to confirm their identities. Do not worry, my friend. I will be quick, so that both of us can get back to the business of being...discreet. Kapiche?"
Retzack bends over both bags and opens them enough to look at the face, at which point he applies the Death Mask.
Shotz recoils as the Death Mask removes the dwarven faces, leaving bone behind. What are you?
What do you do?
Sona does the gynoid equivalent of removing her earrings and wig and handing them to a trusted friend before violently mauling an offending person: she sends Jamee a UI message that says "hold my s$%#" and she leans against the nearest wall and shuts down externals.
The avatar that knocks on the access port of Shotz's NIC is dressed in polished black leather and wields an ivory rod and weal. At the touch of the rod, sweet red light traces the subcutaneous circuits of the port. Aside from entry, Sona wants to prep the port for a mass datastream upload from Shotz's hardware.
[dice=Command Machines]2d6+3
Are any of you, by chance, A medic? Hyde asks before everyone rushes off. if the answer is yes, he sticks around long enough to receive treatment, if not, he goes immediately to part two, but asks if Lierin knows a good doctor around here.
part 2
Dexter goes down into the bar portion of the Bakers daughter, and immediately orders a double rootbeer.He waits for Lierin (His special favorite) before he asks Do you guys have a "Lost and Found" or whatever, some girls left some stuff in my room, and I wanted to return them He says It looks like im heading out tomorrow, so it seems rude not to put them aside.
He pauses a moment before his next line [b]I'll miss you quite a bit, would you care to get a drink tonight, someplace... different?{/b] he asks, capitolizing on a week or so of flirting to try to get one last enjoyable moment out of this station.
[dice=DD+CHA (or is seduction parley?)]2d6+2
Lierin's eyes narrow as you flaunt your recent conquests to her. However, she ultimately agrees to join you for drinks at the Rerun, a classier bar down station. If you choose to go, your meeting will be noticed by someone with a grudge against you.
What do you do?
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As he finishes closing the body bags on the grinning skull, a mirthless smirk lights on Retzack's face, the smile not touching his eyes. Big Shooter and Simmons share a look as both their throats emit a deep chuckle. Retzack rises. For all the countless times that he's been asked this, he never gets tired of it.
"I am the ship without a storm. The cold without the warm. I am a laugh without tear. The hope without the fear. I am the hand that strikes then quickly moves away."
Still grinning the knowing grin he approaches Shotz, clapping both shoulders, liking him. "And, I am, your friend. You have done me a service this day, and I am in your debt."
Simmons produces a business card and hands it to Shotz. "This is my comm link. If you ever have need of a thing, do not hesitate to call. I, like a certain historical document, always pay my debts. And you have helped me pay a debt of blood to those that have wronged me.
Live long, and be prosperous."
The three take their leave of him, responding to no further questions.
After he's rounded a corner, he puts on the face of one of the dwarves, then goes in search of Dexter. In theory, the dwarf should start talking to him, saying what they needed Dexter for, and, hopefully, where they would take him. Hopefully some part of the data will touch on the location of erstwhile female agent.
Sona storms the cramped system, searching for evidence of criminal activity and attempts to set up a datastream with the local authorities. While she is performing the wider blanket search, she'll look for data concerning the AoS. Any crossover will be especially prioritized, since evidence of criminal activities concerning the AoS will be another nail in the coffin for a major Theta competitor. She considers this Shots character to be sloppy, so she's not worried about any connections he might have with Grellick. If that goblin was so desperate as to hire this trash, he deserves a little heightened scrutiny.
Once she's done, she'll anchor into a few neural feedback systems, then try to jack out as violently as possible. It's not a part of general practice in the matrix, and several safety manuals provide warnings against attempting to do so, but it's become a bit of a habit when Sona is dealing with disruptive elements with hack-job implants. A calling card, perhaps. The particular configuration of her rod and weal should leave Shots with a smell of burnt flesh and polished bronze to go with his headache. Any damage to her own systems will be worth the reputation the practice brings.
As he finishes closing the body bags on the grinning skull, a mirthless smirk lights on Retzack's face, the smile not touching his eyes. Big Shooter and Simmons share a look as both their throats emit a deep chuckle. Retzack rises. For all the countless times that he's been asked this, he never gets tired of it.
"I am the ship without a storm. The cold without the warm. I am a laugh without tear. The hope without the fear. I am the hand that strikes then quickly moves away."Still grinning the knowing grin he approaches Shotz, clapping both shoulders, liking him. "And, I am, your friend. You have done me a service this day, and I am in your debt."
Simmons produces a business card and hands it to Shotz. "This is my comm link. If you ever have need of a thing, do not hesitate to call. I, like a certain historical document, always pay my debts. And you have helped me pay a debt of blood to those that have wronged me.
Live long, and be prosperous."
The three take their leave of him, responding to no further questions.
After he's rounded a corner, he puts on the face of one of the dwarves, then goes in search of Dexter. In theory, the dwarf should start talking to him, saying what they needed Dexter for, and, hopefully, where they would take him. Hopefully some part of the data will touch on the location of erstwhile female agent.
The death's mask remains waxy as it rests over your unchanged face. You get the sense that it is waiting for something.
What do you do?
Sona storms the cramped system, searching for evidence of criminal activity and attempts to set up a datastream with the local authorities. While she is performing the wider blanket search, she'll look for data concerning the AoS. Any crossover will be especially prioritized, since evidence of criminal activities concerning the AoS will be another nail in the coffin for a major Theta competitor. She considers this Shots character to be sloppy, so she's not worried about any connections he might have with Grellick. If that goblin was so desperate as to hire this trash, he deserves a little heightened scrutiny.
Once she's done, she'll anchor into a few neural feedback systems, then try to jack out as violently as possible. It's not a part of general practice in the matrix, and several safety manuals provide warnings against attempting to do so, but it's become a bit of a habit when Sona is dealing with disruptive elements with hack-job implants. A calling card, perhaps. The particular configuration of her rod and weal should leave Shots with a smell of burnt flesh and polished bronze to go with his headache. Any damage to her own systems will be worth the reputation the practice brings.
[dice=Jack Out?]2d6+1+1
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Retzack frowns. "Maybe it's broken?"
Simmons pipes in. "Um, I think you may need the name of the person, sir."
"Confound! That's the thing about dead secret agents, they so rarely wear name tags. Alright, let's try again."
Retzack fums, but there's nothing for it. Well aware of how anti-climactic it looks, he goes back around the corner to where Shotz and the body bags lay.
"Sorry, sorry. Sorry. I forgot something. Before you can do something, you gotta do something else, amirite?"
Retzack again unzips the body bags. He places the Lens of Epoch over his eyes and starts scanning the corpse's possessions, looking for something that might give them one of their names.
Big Shooter and Simmons engage Shotz in idle chit-chat, their demeanor firm but apologetic--they won't take long, but this has to be done and they're not going to leave. Best to stay calm until done.
The Rerun, I've heard that place is nice. when do you get off? Dexter asks, resisting the urge to make an innuendo. He waits for her answer, hoping he would have time to meet up with Grellick's team before the date.
While he's waiting for Sona to do her thing in cyberspace, Jamee busies himself with real-world scans of his environment.
What here is useful to me?
Retzack frowns. "Maybe it's broken?"
Simmons pipes in. "Um, I think you may need the name of the person, sir."
"Confound! That's the thing about dead secret agents, they so rarely wear name tags. Alright, let's try again."
Retzack fums, but there's nothing for it. Well aware of how anti-climactic it looks, he goes back around the corner to where Shotz and the body bags lay.
"Sorry, sorry. Sorry. I forgot something. Before you can do something, you gotta do something else, amirite?"Retzack again unzips the body bags. He places the Lens of Epoch over his eyes and starts scanning the corpse's possessions, looking for something that might give them one of their names.
Big Shooter and Simmons engage Shotz in idle chit-chat, their demeanor firm but apologetic--they won't take long, but this has to be done and they're not going to leave. Best to stay calm until done.
The dwarven corpses really only have two items of any note, aside from their mundane daggers. Each has a communication device. As you use the lens you see a vision of one of the dwarves working at a manufabbing plant. You suspect from the design of the room that it is within a large spaceship. The vision ends with another, younger dwarf entering the room, saying Elborn, are you sure that you connected the relay correctly?
The Rerun, I've heard that place is nice. when do you get off? Dexter asks, resisting the urge to make an innuendo. He waits for her answer, hoping he would have time to meet up with Grellick's team before the date.
Two hours. You had better show up this time.
While he's waiting for Sona to do her thing in cyberspace, Jamee busies himself with real-world scans of his environment.
[dice=Discern Realities]2d6+2
What here is useful to me?
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While he's waiting for Sona to do her thing in cyberspace, Jamee busies himself with real-world scans of his environment.
[dice=Discern Realities]2d6+2
What here is useful to me?
There really isn't much of note in this area. It is an unfortunate answer to a discern realities, but I'd have given it to you without a roll. The answer is, nothing really.
Sona storms the cramped system, searching for evidence of criminal activity and attempts to set up a datastream with the local authorities. While she is performing the wider blanket search, she'll look for data concerning the AoS. Any crossover will be especially prioritized, since evidence of criminal activities concerning the AoS will be another nail in the coffin for a major Theta competitor. She considers this Shots character to be sloppy, so she's not worried about any connections he might have with Grellick. If that goblin was so desperate as to hire this trash, he deserves a little heightened scrutiny.
Once she's done, she'll anchor into a few neural feedback systems, then try to jack out as violently as possible. It's not a part of general practice in the matrix, and several safety manuals provide warnings against attempting to do so, but it's become a bit of a habit when Sona is dealing with disruptive elements with hack-job implants. A calling card, perhaps. The particular configuration of her rod and weal should leave Shots with a smell of burnt flesh and polished bronze to go with his headache. Any damage to her own systems will be worth the reputation the practice brings.
[dice=Jack Out?]2d6+1+1
You uncover the following:
1. Shotz connections with AOS appear to consist entirely of likely AOS personnel frequenting his establishment. The visits are bunched, suggesting that the customers crewman on leave.
2. The Baker's Daughter itself comports with the relatively lax station laws on entertainment and gambling. Infrequently, patrons have been known to die, although there is nothing connecting Shotz with any of the deaths. He does move corpses out of the Daughter to avoid suspicion.
You upload poorly scrubbed surveillance videos of several of these incidents to local law enforcement and exit the system to find BoT standing protectively over you.
What do you do?
Sounds good, I'll meet you here Dexter says, before slipping back up to his room. When he gets there, he walks over to Sona SO, I have a few hours to kill, what have you guys got on the AOS? If we can find where they keep their prisoners, we can spring them in the morning he offers But I've only got a few hours until my date, so lets try to work fast he says, setting an alarm on hi watch, for 15 minute before the date
BoT waves when he determines that Sona's active sensors are back within her primary chassis matrix. "What did you find?" his modulated voice asks through the squawk box.
Sona sets her finger against her lips to shush BoT.
> An infrequent, normal distribution of possible AoS personel come in and out of here, but it's not significantly correlated to deaths. This 0ne can run the dates against local recorded abductions, but it would take a long time, hours even, and the likelyhood of a lead is low.
> With these bodies here, this place may come under some increased scrutiny, we should move out at our earliest convenience.
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Retzack sighs in relief. "Oh my fragging finally. Alright, let's try this again. Shotz, you're a gentleman, as always. Let's go."
Again Retzack has enough decorum to lead Simmons and Big Shooter around the corner until putting the mask on. He mutters "Elborn" and patiently waits.
Assuming it works this time, he goes looking for Dexter.
First he gets on the commlink. "Hey, guys, I'm in disguise. I look like one of the dwarfs that kidnapped Dexter.
Dexter, where are you? I need to look at you, then my 'MaGiC POWerZ' will maybe tell me more about what they planned to do with you. Which, should, hopefully, tell us more about where they are and where they take kidnapped people."
He had thought about not saying anything, but the potential for wacky hijinks was too much. This time.
Jamee pilots his RAB to the doorway and gestures an "after-you" to Sona. "Let's move out then," the elf-boy comments, "I've searched the local area, there's nothing useful in the immediate proximity. Lead on, I'll follow."
The entire station rocks violently as your comms blare to life.
Sona, me girl! Git t' team back to t' Sixes! Thar be trouble afoot . . .
The comm is replaced with a piercing whine that you've learned to associate with magical jamming.
The group rushes to the nearest set of elevators. Retzack, as you exit the Baker's Daughter a voice whispers in your ear. The Hierophant. I lived aboard the Hierophant. An image of a large cruiser enters your mind.
2BR, you were able to hear Bucanero, and for convenience I will assume that you all arrive at the Sixes at the same time.
As you enter the hangar bay you see that the Sixes has been fully powered up and the weapons are hot. Bucanero is letting down the rear gangplank as you arrive.
Through the force field separating the hangar from the vacuum of space you can see the telltale flashes of capital ship weapons fire.
What do you all do?
2BR is going to board and head straight to the torpedo bay. This sounds much more his style.
Sona settles into the core controls at the Generator. "Ensign Hephaestus, shields, if you would please. Corporal Thorne, help pops with that torpedo tube. You're on retrieval with the servo arm if this one is preoccupied."
>Petit Fils, do we need scans or do you have that under control? I can divert power from here if we need the range.
>Ensign theBlack, Comms?
Muffet.ms nestles in behind 2BR's shoulders, prepared to keep the clunker running. The flood of fresh Structure Gel to her spinneret is akin to anticipatory salivation.
Yaelin sits at an ancillary console, calibrating the tools in her work bag.
As soon as the station starts to rumble, I set Blast-O-Tron into auto-follower mode to keep pace with Sona and check my status within the ship. My fingertips fly over the command console in front of me as I bring up long-range scanners, trying to determine what the capital ship's lasers are firing at, exactly.
What is about to happen, DM? :)
As soon as the station starts to rumble, I set Blast-O-Tron into auto-follower mode to keep pace with Sona and check my status within the ship. My fingertips fly over the command console in front of me as I bring up long-range scanners, trying to determine what the capital ship's lasers are firing at, exactly.
[dice=I'll roll Discern Realities in case that's needed here.]2d6+2
What is about to happen, DM? :)
There are numerous cruisers and smaller ships attacking the station and the ships docked at the station. Retzack easily identifies one of the larger cruisers as the Hierophant. Unlike the others, the Hierophant appears to be attempting to break orbit and leave the scene.
Generally, the similarities among the attacking ships and the Hierophant suggest that they are at least allies, if not the same faction.
A burst of weapons fire strikes against the side of the hangar, disabling the force field just as the Sixes' gangplank closes.
Git t' open space Jamee. Quick!
What do you all do?
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"Roger that, I'm punching it!" the elf boy shouts into the shipwide comms. "Hold on to something!"
With that, the elf pilot jams his throttle levers forward with both hands, engaging maximum thrust. There's a grinding groan that echoes throughout the entire ship...
In his haste, Jamee didn't disengage the parking brake.
"Damnit damnit damnit..." he mutters under his breath as the engine floods itself and briefly shuts off. The Sixes lists slightly to the left, and Jamee has to jam hard on the attitude control to compensate. Re-cycling the engine's cylinders to full, Jamee blasts the ship into low atmo, laying in a course right for the Hierophant.
"Transmitting firing solution," he mutters directly to Toober. In moments, the HUD in front of the war machine's vision begins to flash with rocket science calculations, providing the most accurate trajectory possible to land on the Hierophant.
2BR, you are lined up for a shot on the Hierophant. What do you do?
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You guys sure are lucky that your ship has the best pilot in the galaxy aboard.