Well the party contemplates what to do, a drone flies down the street, past the alley. It begins to slow as it passes.
Zellgato attemtps to shoot it down. Still wielding his wrist attached weapon not his rifle.
vs EAC
"Time to move folks. Lets take a car. ushering the group forward out of the allyway hoping to hijack something they see.
”Go. I will catch up. If you don’t see me by end of day, I will head back to the farm.”
Henri heads into the pub, walking up to Ogilvy, ”Some days are more interesting than others, have you noticed?”
After Zellgato shoots, Nissa makes sure the drone crashes and burns.
☀️
Zellgato attemtps to shoot it down. Still wielding his wrist attached weapon not his rifle.
[dice=Shoot a drone. 101.]1d20+10vs EAC [dice=acid damage]1d4+6"Time to move folks. Lets take a car. ushering the group forward out of the allyway hoping to hijack something they see.
The drone whirls about a bit and then crashes into an alley wall before falling to the ground.
No vehicles are parked on the street. No one is on the street. Screens are lit in every doorway, bus stop, empty store. All of them show Moore’s eyes, watching. If you see anyone, they are inside, eyes glued to the screen. A black van rolls slowly down the street.
"Right," Unity agree. They move out into the street and take aim at the black van, though they don't fire just yet. "Move. We'll cover."
** spoiler omitted **
The speedster returns the gesture, extending his hand, "Patineur. Comrade Patineur, I suppose."
Nissa blazes a trail, surrounding the van in flames!
If the bad guys want to come out and look for the source of the fire, she’s under the van, kicking its tire!
☀️☀️
She waits underneath the van (not in the path of its tire), intent on exploding and setting off the fire-retardant foam!
** spoiler omitted **
He pauses as if considering the implications of not remembering the past, including his own. Ogilvy waves his empty glass and the barman tries to serve him some top shelf brandy. Ogilvy refuses the good stuff and talks him down to two glasses of gin, one for Henri.
The glow of fire can be seen through the smudged windows. Something is burning on the street.
No one exits the van.
Two more vans arrive from the other direction.
Once again the Thought Police are boxing you in and waiting for back-up before confronting you.
In other words, she causes as much destruction as possible in the hope to trap Thought Police in fire-resistant foam.
It's a bit unclear if they're yelling it at the former prisoners or the Thought Police, given they start charging in the opposite direction from where Nissa is going towards the other van. They continue pointing their cannon at it as they run, but if no one comes out by the time they arrive, they swap their weapon to their upper hands and slash one of the tires with the claws of their lower right hand.
Zellgato leads his conga line of escourts following up Unity's charge. "Theo watch the back of the line. Unity break the encircle, Nissa burn everything behind and on our sides. Run distraction but don't over extend. Take their comm if you get a chance." he entreats the godling, to guard the civies from behind while he leads them forward with the chimeric spear spear head to break the encirclement and the flame acting as chaos and distraction disabling the sides. and a general request to thief the enemy comms if anyone has a chance.
Theme Knowledge (1st Level)
You are knowledgeable about the military, from rival mercenary groups to standard military procedures to planetary armed forces, and you can draw upon this fount of information to aid your adventurous pursuits. Reduce the DC of Culture checks and Profession (mercenary) checks to recall knowledge about hierarchies, practices, personnel, and so on in the military by 5. Athletics is a class skill for you, though if it is a class skill from the class you take at 1st level, you instead gain a +1 bonus to Athletics checks. In addition, you gain an ability adjustment of +1 to Strength at character creation.
** spoiler omitted **
"That's the thing, I don't remember anything. I know things about myself, but I don't remember any of them. I know that I was district organizer for the Junior Anti-Sex League when I was only 17. I don't remember being a teenage boy. I know that, at 19, I designed a hand grenade that is used on the Eurasian front. I'm not sure how I would have done such a thing, but I know it as a fact and I can find the report on the telescreen."
He looks around. He sips. He surreptitiously pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to Henri. "I accessed my records yesterday. No one tried to stop me. They checked my papers and became very deferential.". The paper contains an obituary of "Heroic Comrade Ogilvy"
The paper reads:
Pursued by enemy jet planes while flying over the Indian Ocean with important despatches, the twenty-three year old soldier had weighted his body with his machine gun and leapt out of the helicopter into deep water, despatches and all. Big Brother himself said it was impossible to contemplate such a death without feelings of envy. Comrade Ogilvy’s life was marked by single-minded devotion to the Party. He was a total abstainer and a nonsmoker, had no recreations except a daily hour in
the gymnasium, and had taken a vow of celibacy, believing marriage and the care of a family to be incompatible with a twenty-four-hour-a-day devotion to duty. He had no subjects of conversation except the principles of Ingsoc, and no aim in life except the defeat of the Eurasian enemy and the hunting-down of spies, saboteurs, thoughtcriminals, and traitors generally
"I sound like a t%&*," says Comrade Ogilvy sipping his gin and looking out the window while Henri reads his paper. "So, are these friends of yours then?"
"Some of them. The ones that don't look like lambs going to slaughter. I was hoping the man I thought you were would be able to assist us." After looking at the obituary, "Well, I'm afraid you are right. But if you gave your life for these 'despatches' after a life of teetotaling, why are you in here. And drinking?"
"I'm not sure how I could help, but if there is anything I can do, this is the most interesting thing that has happened since I found out I was dead," he says. "I went in to report the error and everyone was very nice, but no one seemed willing to try to fix the mistake. ... If it was a mistake."
On the street ... You're definitely surrounded but not outmatched. If you want to kill Thought Police--more and more of who come each round--roll for initiative. This includes Henri. If you want to try another approach, you've got everyone's attention, except for four drunk proles in the bar.
The Olympian gives Nissa a questioning look, hand on The Angel Blade.
☀️ Nissa’s body flares as she begins to charge her next Supernova. But as far as she knows, she only knocked out the woman she had punched earlier. She didn’t kill anyone in the vans.
If she can avoid killing the Thought Police now, she’d like to.
Seeing her dad, she whispers, “Hold that pose, dad,” She believes that whatever words flow from her mouth will have a lot more weight with her demigod dad looking very hung-ho about making another head roll!
“We don’t want to harm anyone. We just saved five innocent people from being murdered for no reason, except to manipulate the public into believing they did something and got what they deserved.
“You can doubt me, but you know that if we fight, you will die. So for your own sakes, I strongly suggest you do no harm and we talk things over.”
”We live interesting lives, I must say. Do you know how we can find Comrade Moore? Has he contacted you yet?”
Suddenly, all the telescreens within sight, and there are a lot of them, freeze. Moore's eyes are frozen everywhere. The vehicles slowly retreat ... all but one. The retreating vehicles only move back 50 feet or so.
A single black suit clad agent of the Thought Police steps out of the remaining vehicle, holding in front of him, a telescreen. It faces Nissa and the party. A long cable connects the telescreen to the truck.
For the first time, you see more of Big Brother Moore than his face. He's on the screen standing and waving excitedly. He's saying something too.
To Ogilvy, Henri offers, "You are already dead, let's go do something interesting and see what Big Brother has to say."
Zellgato will let the others approach, as he's now tethered with the civilians fates and keeps them at a slight distance, near a wall to prevent areas of danger.
He also, doesn't want to retreat too far from Henri's allyway now that they're not breaking out of a situation.
Nissa smiles sweetly at the screen.
“I can’t believe you put us in an Orwellian double-feature, Doctor-Comrade-Brother Moore!” She giggles a little, but not wanting to risk killing anyone (even if they’ll all reset to fit the original story) she’s ready to get on with the intended meeting. “So are we to meet face-to-face?”
She points to the van. “Is that our ride? You must have anticipated we weren’t going to surrender to the Thought Police.”
Nissa is still kinda geeking out. Maybe she should be mad about this, as fictionauting is engaging in a series of unnecessary risks. But kicking Martian butts and stoping an execution feels great—and is good practice for training one’s super powers!
Plus, Mother said to be honest, so no sense wiping that grin off her face, Nissa figures.
Unity don't relax. For all that they're hoping to get some help from Moore... they also remember the head-on-a-stick. They keep a wary eye on their surroundings while one ear stays swiveled towards Nissa and Moore.
Nissa smiles sweetly at the screen.
“I can’t believe you put us in an Orwellian double-feature, Doctor-Comrade-Brother Moore!” She giggles a little, but not wanting to risk killing anyone (even if they’ll all reset to fit the original story) she’s ready to get on with the intended meeting. “So are we to meet face-to-face?”
She points to the van. “Is that our ride? You must have anticipated we weren’t going to surrender to the Thought Police.”
Nissa is still kinda geeking out. Maybe she should be mad about this, as fictionauting is engaging in a series of unnecessary risks. But kicking Martian butts and stoping an execution feels great—and is good practice for training one’s super powers!
Plus, Mother said to be honest, so no sense wiping that grin off her face, Nissa figures.
"Darling, you'd think with all these cameras it would have been easier to find you. Your ride should be arriving any moment. These are your escort. I appreciate your restraint; half of those Thought Police are my people. I'll explain it all when you get to London."
A limousine rolls up shortly after.
The proles in the Red Lion stare at the frozen screen and at the limo. For the most part they ignore Big Brother, but they seem to find it disconcerting that, for the first time in years, no one is actually watching.
Comrade Ogilvy smiles at Henri and says, "Sounds better than staying here and drinking bad gin."
The Thought Police, without a word to the party, organize the party limousine's 12 car escort, prepared to take you to the capital.
Unity scowl at Moore's image, but they do get in the car. They'd figured this was some sort of fortress for him, but they don't approve of the choice.
Zellgato sighs, "Folks, in the limo... best choice in this situation." shuffling civilians towards the vehicle.
Henri grins at Ogilvy, sets his untouched gin on a table, and heads outside.
The prisoners pile into the limo.
Ogilvy gets into the limo.
The barkeep runs out to the limo with a dusty bottle of brandy and hands it to Henri. ”Top-shelf, comrade. If I’d known he was Inner Party, I wouldn’t have served him all that horrible gin.
You’re in the limo with four traumatized victims, a telescreen (shuttered), a bottle of top-shelf brandy, and a stranger named Ogilvy for two hours. What do you do?
Henri hands it back, "He's better than Inner Party, friend. He wouldn't want to deprive you of such a fine product. Be well."
"I'm not", The Olympian smiled at the brandy bottle. "Glasses or just pass it around?"
Unity scowl. Not at anything or anyone in particular. Just at everything in general. They keep a wary eye out the windows of the limo, at the front of the limo, everything they can. Every now and again they flex one of their clawed hands.
The barkeep shoves the bottle into Theo's hands; he's not sure what is happening, but the few Inner Party members he has met have expected the best and took it when it was not given. He remembers a time the Party declared that all comrades were equal. He knew then that some were more equal than others. Little pretense of equality remains these days. The barkeep slips quietly back inside, avoiding looking into the cameras outside of his pub lest someone see the grimace on his face.
The limousine rolls away in silence, out of Sector 27 and towards the highway that leads North to London. Sector 27, once known as Willingdon and featuring in another Orwell tale, appears to be little more than five story tall apartment blocks with a few larger imposing factories and one gleaming white administrative building looming over the center of it all.
The highways are factory farms with high walls that prevent you from seeing the abused humans picking the food, prisons, factories, and bombed out areas here and there.
The freed prisoners sit in frightened silence. Finally one of them asks, "Are you taking us back?"
Nissa shakes her head. “We didn’t rescue you from the gallows just to get you arrested. It’s complicated, but you’re safe.”
At least she believes this is true if Moore is of sound mind. The steps he takes to avoid the Canonites are pretty crazy. And dangerous if it’s impossible to distinguish real people from fictional people.
Shrugs, as his mask doens't allow much expressive gestures. "I'm winging it. We'll do our best. But this is better than being shot in the back of the head." pulling a bag of off brand coated chocolates, gummies and other random junk food clearly bought from refill stations and corner stores "Have some candy."
"And if it's not safe, we'll make it even more not safe for whoever's threatening you," Unity add.
You pass through a stretch of wild country. At one point you catch a glimpse of what could only be a feral human scavenging for food by the roadside. The corpse it was picking at also looked human. The windows darkened at that point. You hear noises shortly later and a few rocks pound against the limousine. Apparently there are dark places outside the reach of Big Brother's loving arms--savage, in-between spaces where little humanity remains. And, apparently, you're not allowed to see it.
Soon the windows return to normal and the countryside is concrete and boring and dominated by the dull grey forces of control.
"Hi, I would be Ogilvy," says the person who looks just like the Agent Ogilvy you've met in War of the Worlds. "I get the feeling that none of us belong here."
"*No one* belongs in this kind of place," Unity state emphatically.
Henri meditates, focusing on his nanites. He is as much trying to sense other technology as they pass through the countryside as he is trying to improve his attunement with them.
Zellgato internally clocks the time from the city, to the windows shuttering, to the windows reopening. In case he has to guestimate locations in the future.
"No one belongs anywhere. You make due. ...Ideally not eating others of your species. Body does not proccess that properly. Seems odd they are self sustaining well enough to be an issue for this faction. Surprised they don't call it a mercy and econocmical to use a bullet."
Zellgato isn't fond of dystopias. "This world was certainly a choice. Not one I appreiate."
Henri meditates, focusing on his nanites. He is as much trying to sense other technology as they pass through the countryside as he is trying to improve his attunement with them.
Nissa only wants everyone in the limo to be calm. She has to remind herself she is in a book when the windows go dark. It’s really for the best she doesn’t see, because she *would* act.
“Nissa van Donk,” she says to the apparently-Alt-Ogilvy. “Pleasure to meet ya. Outta curiosity, where do you think you belong?”
Ogilvy shrugs. "I've got my obituary in my pocket. That would suggest I'm dead but, I don't really feel dead."
A barely recognizable London starts to be visible in the distance. It's bleak and dark except for the four gleaming white buildings that rise above it.
The freed prisoners whimper.