Thank the AM for her help. Buy a large red hexagon, horizontal line from Nyars. Open it up and see what's inside.
You only have 7 tokens? Unless I missed something. Entirely possible.
PW: Lars loaned him one.
Lars sighed. Well, trial and error.
Acquire more paper and try again.
[aux:4]
You get a pretty good painting. A few imperfections, but considering your complete lack of training and questionable amount of talent, it's not bad.
"Hmm. Armor that reacts to physical attacks... Great in melee, but will it stop gauss rounds?" Jim mused to himself. Well, there would be no further testing of that for now.
Jim looks for Feyri's diary again and this time reads it (providing Tiruin's around to PM me the contents or whatever, otherwise ignore the action.)
Did you ever find that Journal? I remember you looked for it before but I don't think you ever got it?
Anyways, if Ti wants to PM that stuff to you, just assume you found it or you asked her or magical fairies just brought it to you.
All right, ensure I've studied the design enough to activate the Tinker Dynamic Bonus, then pull out of VR and attempt to assemble the thing. (If bits don't break, but assembly fails, retry until it does work or bits break.) Then pop back into VR and pull up a synthflesh body, preferably one the same size as the standard robot body, and pull it apart as much as possible, looking for anything not in the armory description.
((Gotta love that even a civilian caliber gauss rifle can outperform a military spec - you just gotta boost it with bits from two others.
Also, just this bit of quick research to help me along deciding to buy or not to buy, then I'll be ready for a mission if I must be.))
[handi:2+1]
[handi:5]
Welp, thats done.
As per the synth-flesh, there's not a whole lot to see. You can't disassemble the body to any great degree more then just separating the flesh from the metal bone and poking around in the brain case. You don't see anything special, hardware wise at least.
okay what the hell... something is going seriously wrong here...
fire some overcharge pulses at crawler then jet away again.
((Piecewise i gotta ask... are you fudging the rolls just to screw with us?))
Honestly no, you guys are just getting really bad rolls. Did you forget to sacrifice a chicken to the RNG today?
[aux:6+1]
Yep, definitely forgot it. I'm not even sure what to do here; have you shoot the crawler by firing straight through your own liver? Because Anton basically shot himself already and there's nothing left for you to fuck up besides your NPC friend who already got rocket tackled.
Well, I'm just doing an arm for now, so I'll start with that.
Inquire into the following:
- How much extra would it cost to replace the normal synth muscle with Carbon Nanofibre?
- How much would it cost to toughen the 'skeleton' of the replacement in order to handle the hundreds of times more force this produces?
- What kind of neurointerface package would be needed to allow intuitive control of this enhanced strength so I don't break everything I touch?
- Could a Kinetic Amp be somehow modified to boost the effective strength of the limb as an implant without causing extra stress on the cybernetics?
- Are there small enough artificial gravity generators that they're implantable?
- How about magnetics?
- Would an internal nanorepair or nanomachine construction system be feasible?
1.I dunno. I don't know if Carbon Nanofiber would even work. I mean I know there's a lot of hype about it right now but as far as I know I've never seen it used in a macro application. I'm not entirely sure it's qualities would translate and what necessarily comes with it when it does. I would also assume it would be pretty damn expensive.
2.The skeletons are titanium. Just because it's supposedly 100's of times more powerful then human doesn't mean they'll bend. Also, I highly doubt you'll be able to use all that supposed force, considering it's only one arm and would inherently be reliant on other parts of the body for everything except bicep curls.
3.I dunno. A strength decompensator probably. There are reasons why normal replacement bodies aren't thousands of times stronger then a normal human; human's can't really cope with that diversity of strength. The system would have to be inherently limited otherwise you'd be constantly breaking things, or probably just tear your own arm off.
4.Nope.
5/6. yes, in the form of automated manipulators. But they're expensive and limited.
7. No. Because Nanomachines as people keep using them are bullshit. They're like "Quantum" and "Tachyon", a sci-fi buzzword to explain away space magic.
Thank you, do you have any milk?
Go make coffee, then watch TV
You make that coffee but the tv is still just as nonfunctional as the last time someone tried to watch it.
"Ooh, what's this?"
Move the canister around, see if the pyramid moves with it. Try poking the pyramid, pushing it, waving my hand underneath it, and so on, noting how it reacts.
When you poke the thing it sort of latches on to your hand, hovering 6 inches or so away from the fingers on your right hand and following it wherever you point. You shake your arm but it doesn't fall off. The pyramid I mean, not your arm.
OWOWOWOWOW
STEPHEN HAWKING wonders if maybe he shouldn't have done that.
He takes a walk down to the doctors office to get that hand stitched up if nothing else happens.
It doesn't hurt actually...you don't feel a thing.
[will:3-1]
This blade can let you cut flesh without drawing blood, without causing pain. You could perform any operation, any medical act you want without fail!
Or you could just cut for fun. See a man cut right down the center but still alive. Hmm. Hmm.
((Switching from third to first, if nobody minds))
You head to the rec room, causally enjoying the breeze.
Wait. Breeze? On a spaceship? This is not good.
"HULL BREACH! PREPARE TO REPEL BOARDING PARTIES! THE SHIP IS UNDER ATTACK, TO YOUR STATIONS!" I shout in a ringing basso... whilst wearing nothing but an impressive bandolier of large firecrackers.
Begin fervently searching for source of breeze
You find an air vent.
Oh.
Wait...is there someone staring back at you from inside the vent?
"Hmm, that does sound tempting. What can I get on the more technical and special side of protection for around 10 tokens that can protect my suit?"
Ask about more technical options in my current price range. Also, find out how much it costs for both the armour plating and a single amp plate on one hand that I can turn on and off.
Not entirely sure what you mean by technical and special side of protection. Armor plating was...I forget. Milno would know. It wasn't cheap.
By an amp plate, do you mean like a kinetic amp attached to a larger plate to give a greater striking surface?
((Uh Just checked PW I think I should have 5 tokens not 4 (10 for mission + 2 left after MMM + 1 for the rifle/battery)))
"Thankyou, is there any stealth equipment available on the cheap?"
Ask AM
[Level up that I completely forgot about]
Stats +5 Strength, +5 Willpower
Skills +1 Aux, +2 Uncon, +2 Con, +1 Medical
"Define cheap. We've got a few things for 2-3 tokens but they're basically just dynamic camouflage. It's no cloak of invisibility.
"Hmmmm."
Jobasio was a bit lost with whatever had been going on while he was... napping.
He took off his sunglasses, slung Whig (his gauss rifle) over one shoulder, and headed for the Armory.
>Ask the AM just what the deal is with this whole 'revolution' thing I've been hearing about.
Or was it announced publicly? I've no idea. I was... napping.
"Yes, it was announced publicly. You should probably go ask Miyamoto or Jim more about it; since they're gonna be leading you. "
Go check out APC.
The APC is a reasonably sized rectangular mass of heavy conventional armor atop tank treads. It's got small slit windows in the front and a hatch on top with a mounted, gunpowder machine gun near it. Inside are seats for 8 people. It's cramped and dimly lit but feels reasonably protective.
See if I have enough stuff to make the gun (Gauss rifle and laser rifle), or if I need to apply to the AM to prototype it.
Well, you have that laser rifle and gauss rifle. You may have to skimp on a few parts and functions but you can get them together and functional with what you've got.
"Ah... a pill, then? How very charming."
Stacy decides that, since the machine still appears functional, he will go around to find somebody to help him out. As he walks about the ship, he gets an idea. Why screw around with looking for people when he has a perfectly good system of communication that could work just as well? He then goes ahead and types out a few things on the wristpad. Messages, actually.
Dear Xan,
I have a black pill that is probably the product of some kind of inexplicably alien process - I suspect it may cause body changes, and am looking for someone to help me with testing it - I was thinking you could try the pill, being a rather unique individual and seemingly not very attached to the quite poorly-defined concept of one's own humanity, so if you feel like it, give me a holler. I'm in the halls, in case you're wondering. And if you, for some reason, do not want to change yourself, I would at least like for you to be present when I do, should I not garner any other volunteers.
Sincerely,
Stacy Buttle.
Dear Grate,
I'm sure you remember me - I'm Stacy Buttle, old codger and terrible at using microwave field manipulators, and we were on the last mission together, though you may be mildly pained by the memories, for which I preemptively apologize. I have a certain device I wish to give to you and explain the principles of, as you seemed like a genuinely curious sort lacking in conventional prejudices, the sort who'd put it to good use. If you are interested, seek me out in the hallways - I will be somewhere around, just keep on walking and you'll find me. If not, make this known to me through a message.
Sincerely,
Stacy Buttle.
Perfect! Hopefully this will work.
Send messages, dance around in the hallways being all conspicuous and visible.
You send your messages and then proceed to stand smack dab in the middle of the hall, dancing and singing about all the lovely pills you have.
"Well then, should I get it now, or ask you before each mission?"
Ask.
Str 3; Dex 3; End 3; Cha 5; Int 4; Wil 12//Spe 0; Int 1; Han 0 (-1); Con 1; Unc 0; Exo 8; Aux 1 (+1); Med 0
2 tokens; Mk II Suit; Microwave PK Amp; normal cigarettes; blue smokes; datapad (with platformer shooter); nanoghosts
Appearance: 5'11'', 170 pounds in a rather unmuscular frame, shoulder-long brown hair, short goatee, brown eyes, a rather long chin that earned him his nickname. Age 32
Half a robot foot. Robot right arm.
"I'll get one for you. It should be ready by the time we reach Hephaestus. "
Leo, realizing that he isn't on the mission, just lights a smoke and chills for a minute.
I'm still around, but not sure what equipment to use yet.
You lean on the wall and smoke a cigarette, waiting for something to do.
((My bad, 18 tokens. He did singlehandedly convince a potentially very nasty AI to give them incredible quantities of robotics research.))
((Makes sense I suppose. Also goddamn. One mission done and I'm already rolling 8s.
XAN - AMP CANNON))
Get up and repeat plan 'back away, incinerate Zeusidon's brain'.
Get up, kill him, wear the helmet. Use my newly discovered electric powers to shock him until he's extra crispy. Duck and weave to be harder to hit.
(( Once I'm dead I'm done with this game, ain't gonna do multiple chars. ))
[Pat dex:4]
[Xan dex:3-1]
[Pat will:3]
[Xan end:4+1]
Xan jerks and twitches a bit as Pat fires arcs of electrical discharge into his chest, but doesn't seem overly bothered.
[xan exo:3+1]
[pat end:5]
A ball of heat appears around Pat's head, scorching off his scaly skin and blinding him, leaving him alive and very angry.
((Warning: while you were typing, your post seems to have filled up with useless rp. You may wish to review your post.))
"When you're ready, give that to the people in the infirmary."
"Thanks ma'am, I will."
"You too, boss. You too." he said as he extended his arm for a half-handshake half-embrace, knowing it was probably his last chance to do so. "Don't worry. I'll keep him safe." Flint added as he walked away, patting the battlesuit as he went.
Miyamoto smiles a little as he returns the gesture. He was happy knowing that his old suit would be in good hands.
After this, he goes around the ship, shaking hands with the people he had come to know better over the course of several years by now. People who were more than just teammates or fellow convicts. They were friends, brothers even, partners in crime until the end. And that was why it was both necessary yet painful to commit to this final transformation.
He grabs the chance to eat something and take a good long shower, before slowly walking to the infirmary.
While making his way towards the infirmary, Miyamoto starts to reminiscence about his past and his time in the HMRC.
He starts to wonder where it all went wrong. What he did to deserve all this.
When did the life that was promised him, the sort of life his father, and his father before him had led, escape him?
Sure, it would have been an easy life, predictable, boring some would say. But at least he would've had a choice; to find some research that interested him, find a mate that suited him, and grow old somewhere in peace.
Instead, they threw him in here. The HMRC. He still didn't know why. The UWM never deigned it necessary to even tell him why he was forcefully ripped away from his comfortable world and thrown head-first into this hell.
He wondered what they told his parents. Did they say their son was a horrible murderer, a psychopath that they locked away for good? Did they claim I had gone mad, that I has joined a hidden death cult, that I was a terrorist?
Or did they just notice that I stopped returning their calls? That I had disappeared, leaving no trace or note whatsoever?
Maybe the UWM didn't bother to tell them. I can't even imagine the pain they must've gone through, the not-knowing, the faint hope that I would someday return, only to be disappointed day after day.
It must've been hard for them, especially his Mother. She used to be such a soft person, the kind that always sought for compromise, tranquility, stability. She always told him to "turn the other cheek, to look past petty conflicts and seek for the peaceful option, even if there seems to be none."
She would've been horrified with the idea of her child, giving up his old self to become a weapon of war, just another tool for destruction and pain.
And his Father, well he would've just been disappointed. He could be hard like that, so different from his wife.
Like the way he used to say: “Son, there are those who would sacrifice their freedom or humanity for power and control. Well, those people deserve neither! They're the kind of simple-minded idiots that prevent us from finally achieving our true potential, to finally join forces in earnest and bring our species to the next level!”
Heh, he always had that flair for the dramatic, though he would never admit it. It probably came from his grandmother's side of the family. In fact, all the De Bergeracs used to be that kind of people: scholars, artists, doctors, teachers... dreamers.
Well, up until now at least. All that would soon change.
He thought of his childhood, the lazy Sundays in the yard, the snowy white winters, the carefree years.
He tried to picture their old living room, the fireplace in the corner, the family photo in the desk in the corner.
Miyamoto stopped, startled. It just hit him, something he hadn't even realized up till now.
“I can't even remember their faces anymore.”
He couldn't. He still remembered some details, his mother's hair, his father's typical jacket, the way they talked, but the whole, coherent picture, escaped him.
“Is this what happens after some time? Will all my memories of them, my old life, be replaced by new ones, memories of pain and death and misery?”
No. He wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't. Even though they were long dead by now, he wouldn't forget about them.
And he'd make sure it would never happen again. That no-one would ever have to suffer through something like this again. The UWM had to go. It had grown too bloated, too corrupt, too inefficient to ensure 'justice for all'. And he would make it happen.
If he took part in this, his soul would be forfeit, nothing could prevent that.
But maybe, just maybe, he could help to ensure it would never happen again. Maybe his sacrifice could save a handful of others.
Yes. It had to be done. He would don the suit, become the embodiment of death and destruction, the Avatar of War.
Not because he wanted to.
Not because he liked to.
But because he had to.
Yes. It must be done.
Go to infirmary, give card. Suit up.
You walk to the armory and give them your card. It's handed from nurse to nurse with a great deal of reverence until finally being passed to Maurice, who promptly walks into the back. He returns with the doctor, this time in full surgical gear and coated in blood.
"It has been a while since I've been able to do this." he says looking at you. You can't see it because of his respirator, but you can tell he's smiling. "Maurice, get him ready to begin. I'll prep the machinery." He waves Maurice off and then returns into the back of the infirmary.
Maurice and a crowd of nurses and doctors guide you to a back room and get you ready; a process you soon discover involves being stripped, having all your hair removed, and being injected about 3 dozen times before being given a white hospital gown and placed on gurney. Maurice wheels you deep into the infirmary's hidden interior and deposits you in a large white room. Robotic limbs tipped with surgical devices extend from the walls and twitch expectantly. The Doctor is standing in the center of the room,holding a data pad and waiting in front of an operating table.
"Walk over here." The doctor says, pointing at the table. "And try to enjoy it. It's the last time you'll be walking without assistance."
You walk slowly over to the table, trying to enjoy it despite the fear gripping your chest. You lay down and the doctor begins typing away on his datapad.
"The first step is the implantation of interface systems." he says, not looking at you. "Just relax, try not to worry. You're gonna feel feel terrible until we get you into your new home, but then everything is gonna be great."
Thankfully, the first metal limb to come down is one tipped with a syringe full of some sort of pain killer. You marvel at how good it is and how completely and totally numb yet conscious you are you are right up until the time the cutting arms come down and take your legs off at the hip.
"First we remove the legs, and use all those nerves for part of the control system." The doctor explains, still not looking at you. "Be glad you weren't doing this back when these were first invented. We would have taken the arms too."
Metal cuffs covered in metal prongs, the male end of some socket, are affixed to where your legs used to be and then nerve nodes are drilled into your arms in dozen places, covering the limbs in black, quarter sized metal nodules. More are drilled into your chest and shoulders before they flip you on your stomach and begin working on your face.
"Time for the spine attachment." The doctor says, "Like the ones on your legs. But we keep the spine, we just jack into it."
More drilling of nerve nodes; the distinctive sound of the mechanical limbs cutting and mounting the little interface ports mixed with the smell of cauterizing flesh.
"Now for the brain interface."
You feel dizzy, a great sense of vertigo and nausea. The feeling persists.
"If you're feeling like crap, that means it's working. Last part is the life support."
The mechanical arms carefully roll you onto your side and begin drilling into your gut and chest, attaching ports into your lungs, heart, esophagus, intestine and bladder, as well as a dozen other places and several major arteries. Tubes are attached and hang lose and floppy for the moment.
"And we're done. Well, with this part at least."
As he says this, Maurice wheels in a new gurney, this one clearly specialized for this. It's a form fitting thing with a row of holes where you assume prongs now extend from your spine. The arms lower you down gently into bed and Maurice pushes you away with the doctor leading the way. Eventually they come to a huge freight elevator that leads further down into the bowels of the ship.
"We keep the Bodies down deep, to prevent damage to them, or them damaging the ship, if something goes wrong." The doctor explains on the long ride down, rocking back and forth on his heels as the silent, dimly lit box of an elevator descends. The red LCD display near the door reads -88 by the time the doors open. The room beyond those doors is freezing cold, your breath visible the moment they wheel you in. It smells strange as well, antiseptic and copper. It's a massive room, multi-leveled and line on either side with enormous green tanks. Inside these tanks are what look like synthflesh bodies, but far too large and only vaguely humanoid. In the center of the room is an hole, with a ring of mechanical limbs around it. These limbs are raw and uncovered; not like the clean, white plated ones in the infirmary whose mechanisms were hidden by the wall or their own coating.
They wheel you over to the hole and the limbs stretch and grab you, carefully lifting you from your bed with thin, nervous metal fingers and holding you over the hole. Below you is your new body, the enormous form of the Avatar, spread eagle with it's limbs and head hidden within massive metal restraints. Only its split open chest is visible; the black metal of your pod embedded within walls of muscle. Automated suction limbs dart across the opened cavity and suck up the oozing white synthblood before it can harden.
The limbs lower you down slowly, until you can feel the prongs on your spine slip into their sockets. The mechanical limbs help you do the same with your legs and then busy themselves attaching cables to every nerve node and tubes to the life support systems. When they're finally done they retreat from the pod and the doors of the metal, capsule shaped tomb slide shut with a resounding metal clink. You can hear extra layers of armor and systems closing around the inner capsule as CFC fluid floods the cockpit. For a while you sit in absolute darkness before one of the monitors in the cockpit turns on. The doctor's face fills the screen.
"We're closing the body up and installing the armor, weapons and restraint systems now." He says, "Then we're going to move you to the Isolation chamber and prepare for first contact. Give us a bit."
You wait. And wait. Eventually you feel yourself moving, first slowly forward, then down again, then being stood up.
"Alright, we're ready to connect you. Let us know when."
"Ugh, yeah, thanks anyway."
"Oh man, this is it, I'm a robot. Now I'm finally done with my useless fleshy husk. And the goddamn voices that went with it"
"Yeah, about that...."
"Oh no, you're still here?"
"Brace yourself, it gets worse"
"How could it ever get wo-"
"Beep Boop, the flesh is weak, you made the right choice transitioning over to glorious metal"
"Now there's this guy, that's how it got worse"
Pancaek sits up straight and covers his faceplate with his hands, making annoyed sounds for about a solid minute.
"I hate you, me, us, whatever"
He then goes to find a mirror to take good look at himself. Also try to grab something cold, like one of the cans in that cooler, to see how it feels
You find a mirror and take a look at yourself. You look like a standard robot; the same way Jim used to look with the emoticon face and everything.
"Hrmmmm. Big button. Time to push button!"
Push button. If nothing happens, take the crate to the infirmary, then don suit and press button.
((Wonder who has the most missions, and is staying to defend the ship.))
Nothing happens when you press the button. So you head to the infirmary and put the suit on. And then you press the button. And then nothing. Literally nothing. You are suddenly nowhere, in absolute darkness, with no oxygen, no anything. You're not even in space, where ever you are is too empty for space. You're suspended in the void.
(( Sorry for the late post I was busy.))
Try applying heat to the targets head in an attempt to melt their heads
[exo:5]
The target's head dissolves into charcoal. Yay for effectiveness!
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Topic: Einsteinian Roulette On ship Thread: Maurice's One Night Stand (Read 5726404 times)