Probability of Success: Negligible
Reverting Timeline 3488073C
Adjusting Parameters...
Reverting Timeline 3488073C
Adjusting Parameters...
Instantiate (A Worm CYOA... not SI)
- Thread starter We Just Write
- Start date
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
- 153
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 3
-
Statistics (3 threadmarks, 5.6k words)
User Total We Just Write 3
Prologue: Generating Existence
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
Game Mode: 2nd Gen (+8 points)
Powers
-Tinker: Bio, Automation, Spatiotemporal Dynamics (balance: 2)
-Thinker: True Multitasking (balance: 0)
Biodata
Designation: Rogue
Reality: Non-canon
Timeline: Pre-worm
Shard State: Shardless (balance: -2)
Extras
Pointless Extras
-Pacing
Pointy Extras
-Crisis on Finite Earths (balance: 2)
Perks
-Rogue Resources 1 (balance: 1)
-Brain Bunker (balance: 0)
Powers
-Tinker: Bio, Automation, Spatiotemporal Dynamics (balance: 2)
-Thinker: True Multitasking (balance: 0)
Biodata
Designation: Rogue
Reality: Non-canon
Timeline: Pre-worm
Shard State: Shardless (balance: -2)
Extras
Pointless Extras
-Pacing
Pointy Extras
-Crisis on Finite Earths (balance: 2)
Perks
-Rogue Resources 1 (balance: 1)
-Brain Bunker (balance: 0)
Game Mode: 2nd Gen (+8 points)
Powers
-Tinker: Bio, Automation, Spatiotemporal Dynamics, Dimensional Mechanics
-Thinker: True Multitasking, Doctorate, Meta Thinker, Super Sense
Biodata
Designation: Rogue
Reality: Non-canon
Timeline: Pre-worm
Shard State: Shardless
Extras
Pointless Extras
-Pacing
Pointy Extras
-Crisis on Finite Earths
Perks
-Rogue Resources 1
-Brain Bunker
-Recruiter
Missions Completed
-Cape Combat (+1)
-Super Fight 1 (+1)
-Super Fight 2 (+1)
-A Class Act (+1)
-S Class Act (+1)
-Rogue Route 1 (+1)
-Rogue Route 2 (+2)
Powers
-Tinker: Bio, Automation, Spatiotemporal Dynamics, Dimensional Mechanics
-Thinker: True Multitasking, Doctorate, Meta Thinker, Super Sense
Biodata
Designation: Rogue
Reality: Non-canon
Timeline: Pre-worm
Shard State: Shardless
Extras
Pointless Extras
-Pacing
Pointy Extras
-Crisis on Finite Earths
Perks
-Rogue Resources 1
-Brain Bunker
-Recruiter
Missions Completed
-Cape Combat (+1)
-Super Fight 1 (+1)
-Super Fight 2 (+1)
-A Class Act (+1)
-S Class Act (+1)
-Rogue Route 1 (+1)
-Rogue Route 2 (+2)
Reverting Timeline 3488073C
Adjusting Parameters
Parameters Set
Generating Existence
I
Synthesizing Memories
I was... sleeping? Then where?
Installing Technology Database
I can build all of that? Huh.
Implanting Emotional Matrix
What in the world!? Why am I in this black void!?
Initiating Communications
Hello? Is anyone there?
I am here, a task is required of you.
Where's here though?
This is a rudimentary simulation created specifically for briefing you on your task. To preempt your next questions, your task is to kill the Entities over this set of Earths and retrieve samples of their biology for my study. In addition, you were not kidnapped; I will not elaborate further.
But if I wasn't kidnapped, then why was I in this freaky simulation!?
Because I have a task for you. You will now be installed into a mostly organic frame that was prepared for your use.
Terminating Communications
Setting Existence to Sleep Mode
Installing Existence to Chassis
Generating Dimensional Rift
Salvation Attempt 3488073D Initiated
I shot up in my hammock, that dream echoing in my head as I nearly hit my head on the ceiling. No, it wasn't a dream was it? After all, my bedroom had a lot more than just the one alarm clock... Shit, if what that voice said was right, then I was in WORM of all places! My mind raced as I rolled out of my hammock, scanning my room. Directly below the hammock was a dresser with a digital alarm clock and a lava lamp, across the room was a currently empty bookcase and a small desk with a laptop on it. Between the bookcase and the dresser was a window overlooking some street or other on one side of the room, and a single door on the other.
My feet hit the ground just as the laptop's screen lit up with a red exclamation point on a white background, my long red hair falling wildly over my shoulders as I landed. I looked at the laptop, the implications that yes, that had really happened and I was only a few minutes old kicking in. I felt a strong urge to climb back up into my hammock and stay there forever, but I just knew that... He would be disappointed in me.
Resigned to my fate, I walked forwards to the laptop and wiggled the pink wireless mouse. The instant I did so, the screen opened to a text file in some variety of editor. It was quite obvious that I was supposed to read it, so I obliged. As I read, I became aware of my thoughts splitting into several streams, all of which focused on their own small part of the task at hand; despite this my overall sense of 'I' never faltered or fragmented into 'we' or 'they'.
In less than a second I had finished reading the message, considering it from every possible angle simultaneously. It had read
I shuddered. I guess there really wasn't any way I was going to be getting out of this. Still, I wonder what he meant by 'Internal technology database', I mean, yeah I knew how to twist spacetime into a pretzel with the proper equipment or build a superhuman robotic manservant, but that wasn't all that impressive, was it? Wait, yes it was, I distinctly remember neither of those even being possible (or at least practical) yet back home. I buried my face in my hands as I tried to consider just what in the world He had done to me.
Eventually the complaints of my stomach reminded me that even if I hadn't been transported into a parallel universe, some things had to take precedence over existential dread. Thus, reluctantly, I got up and walked over to the bedroom's door, still in my pajamas. I went through, and began searching for the kitchen. If there was absolutely ONE thing He couldn't take from me, it was my daily hard-boiled eggs!
Last edited:
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
Well, it's justified from a subjective point of view. After all, the MC thinks they've been press-ganged after getting kidnapped.
- Location
- va
It's justified he's been dumped on a death world and been set an impossible task
1.1: Getting Started
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
Probability of Success: Unknown; Presumed Negligible
Eating breakfast was refreshingly normal, as I steadfastly ignored the paperwork on the table until I was done. Still, eventually I ate the hard boiled eggs and the waffles mysteriously disappeared, leaving me with no option but to actually read the papers laying out my new identity. Once again I found myself reading and assimilating knowledge at a speed of 'yes', flipping through all ten pages in less than 5 seconds.
The identity I had been provided was absolutely rock solid. 'Reese Fletcher' had a backstory matching my old life almost perfectly... He did that on purpose, didn't He? Honestly, the only things that didn't match up perfectly were that I don't remember being a cape geek (though I should probably become one if I wanted to survive), and that Reese Fletcher wasn't my actual name. My actual name was... I CAN'T REMEMBER MY NAME!!!
Wondering just what else They had done to me, I made my way to the bathroom to look in the mirror. My sense of dread lessened slightly as I realized that I still had the same body as before. The same face, the same curves, and the same hair; though I had an atrocious case of bedhead. Sighing, I figured I might as well get myself cleaned up for the day.
I eventually got downstairs, leaving what seemed to be designated as the building's living area and arriving in a short hallway with three doors labeled 'laboratory', 'storage' and 'storefront'. I decided to look in the laboratory first and...
It was beautiful. That was the only way to describe the workspace I'd been provided with how well-equipped it was. I could tell at a glance that there was everything I could possibly need to build whatever I could dream of. There were small-scale blast furnaces and CNC machines, an electron beam lithography set, even an industrial-grade 3-d printer! Ideas whirling within my mind, I charged forwards to the workbench.
Ideas whirled through my mind in the hundreds as I considered what to build. I could make all sorts of things with this setup, the possibilities being limited almost entirely by the availability of raw materials. My hands danced over the keyboard to manipulate the CAD program, as I finally settled on my first two projects. I had been working away at the designs for the exotic matter production system and assistant drone for... about two hours when someone cleared their throat behind me.
I replied "Greetings. I'm Reese and you are..." while still working on the drone. A consciousness thread or 6 were tasked to analyzing the man's reflection on the computer's monitor, revealing a man with a scruffy red beard and an eyepatch.
As I mentally simulated the performance of the grav-node that would keep the drone aloft, the man replied "I'm Johan, the boss told me you would be arriving today and that I should come to meet you. I honestly wasn't quite sure if I was just being strung along all these months, but now I'm pretty sure he was legit." Hmm... I'll probably need some sort of self-defense weapon at some point; a stasis gun should do.
At this I nodded, before asking "Curiously, how much did He tell you?"
To this, Johan answered "Almost everything. Scion is an alien god, powers drive their hosts to conflict, and that you would be arriving today to try and save the world."
My response was "Yes, and a lot of how I'll be trying to do it depends on when exactly today is."
Johan answered "New Years day, 2005. Also, it is extremely creepy how you're conversing with such fluency while also engrossed in some variety of computer program."
In an automatic response what I knew of the timeline of Earth Bet whirled throughout my mind, and I realized something VERY important. It was currently January 1, 2005. The Slaughterhouse 9 would have recruited Riley (soon to be Bonesaw) on the 19th. I had just two weeks to prevent a little girl from being tortured and brainwashed (accounting for possible butterflies accelerating the timetable of course). The fact that it would keep the 9 from gaining one of their most important core members was just a particularly desirable side effect.
Immediately, I opened up another two CAD programs and began designing two pieces of equipment that would prove very useful. The first was a one-shot personal wormhole system that would instantly transport the wearer to a fixed receiver from anywhere. The second was a neural uplink that would allow me to directly interface with my technology, speeding up just about everything. While doing so, I put the finishing touches on my scout drone and informed Johan "You have just given me some very important information. We have roughly 2 weeks to prevent the slaughterhouse 9 from press-ganging a powerful bio-tinker."
Johan's eyes widened slightly as he realized the implications of this, and asked "What will you need to deal with this?"
To this I answered "Roughly 3 tons of steel, various other materials totaling about a ton, 6 days to build the required infrastructure, and a further 12 days to do a full sweep of the lower 48. Depending on luck, we might find them sooner than that"
To this Johan nodded before remarking "I can get you all the materials you could possibly need provided you've got the money, but more time I can not provide."
As a blueprint for a rudimentary time dilation unit zipped through my mind, I remarked "Don't worry; I've got that covered." Let's see... if I integrate the wormhole devices into the drones I could in all likelihood greatly increase efficiency in terms of resource expenditure. Also, I've decided on my game plan for dealing with the Entities and Endbringers; I'm going von-neumann on them.
It was roughly 10 days after my arrival that one of my drones managed to locate the Slaughterhouse 9. The drone sent me an alert through my neural interface that it had found the Slaughterhouse Nine in eastern Kansas. I directed some more of my infinite attention to the drone while I continued my endless designing and simulating of technology that could possibly work in my goal to save the world. At the moment, the Nine still lacked a 5 year old girl in their number so Riley had yet to be captured. I tasked the drone with following them as I came up with a way to dispose of the Nine.
At this very same time, I was also talking with Boston PRT Director Jefferson about the possibility of selling a full-fledged wormhole system to them for their use in the field. As I entered his office, he greeted me with "Hello Metricurve. Please sit down. Oh, may I get you anything?"
To this I answered "No thank you, I made sure to be well-fed before I made my way here. Anyway, the main order of business is that I wish to sell you a teleportation system of my own design." At the same time, another consciousness thread was considering the best way to dispose of the Slaughterhouse Nine. Currently, I was leaning towards teleporting them into interstellar space; it wouldn't even be that hard as long as I made the receiving probe fast enough.
In response to this, Jefferson leaned forwards and rested his clean-shaven chin on one hand. Eventually, he responded "Alright, you've piqued my interest. What exactly are the specifics of the teleportation system you're offering?" leaning back into his surprisingly boring-looking chair as he did so.
I responded "At present, my system needs a receiving unit large enough to hold whatever you're going to transport. That said, the beacons that go on whatever you'll be moving are one-size fits all. As for possible applications, anyone with a beacon can instantly return to base, allowing for easy prisoner transport, instantaneous medevac, and with enough receiving units casual redeployment of capes and personnel across the entire country or even the globe would be easily doable."
The director of Boston's PRT nodded, answering "Well, you do raise a tempting offer. That said, there is the matter of maintenance; how much of your time are you willing to give up to keep such a network running?"
My answer was "I build to last; assuming nobody does something really stupid like drop them off a cliff you can expect the receiving units to last for around 8 years before any sort of maintenance is required. As for the beacons, those are disposable and I've got a machine back at my lab that's churning them out by the dozen." In the background, I put the finishing touches on the design of my Interstellar Receiver Probe and sent the work order off to my fabrication suite. I'd have to find a launch window when nobody would notice it streaking off at Warp 6.
Jefferson was about to say something before I cut him off with "I'm willing to sell each receiving unit for 80,000 dollars assuming you only want ones about the size of a slightly cramped booth. In addition, each pack of 12 Beacons will run you around 200 dollars."
The PRT director chuckled before remarking "Alright, I'll bite. We'll have to have these teleporters of yours thoroughly tested before we'll start purchasing them in large numbers, but I think I'll give them a try."
I nodded, remarking "I can get you a single receiver and a few packs of beacons by this time tomorrow. Here's hoping that this business venture will work out." as I directed another 8 of my drones to tail the Nine at a distance of a few kilometers. It looked like Metricurve Technical Enterprises was finally getting off the ground.
Jefferson replied "I'm sure it will."
It was a couple days later when I found the time to launch the IRP. I'd hauled it up to my roof just after dinner with some assistance from Johan and a few bolt-on grav nodes, and now that just about everyone was inside, it was ready to launch. Still, as I stepped back from the machine to allow it to lift off, I heard a foul-mouthed query of "Now what's a broad like you doing outside at night like this rather than staying in your damn bed?"
I turned to see a man wearing a ski mask and standing in midair over the street. I greeted him with "Hello, I'm Metricurve, and I'm launching a space probe. I don't believe I caught your name mister..." At the same time I was using my neural link to call the PRT hotline. The first ring sounded within my head.
To this the man replied "I'm Slug and don't you ever forget it! As for your space probe, that means yer a Tinker don't it? Why don't you come join the Ups and we can get you all the scrap you'll ever need?" The second ring went off inside my head, and the PRT officer at the other end finally picked up with "PRT hotline, what is your emergency?"
Out loud I remarked "Well, you see I would, but I've kind of got a deal to sell teleportation equipment to the PRT, which should cover all my expenses." Meanwhile I practically screamed over the hotline "Slug's trying to press-gang me; I'm the new Tinker who had a meeting with your boss a couple days ago. I'm on Dorchester Avenue just north of the Andrew T stop."
Slug nodded before remarking "It wasn't a question." charging forwards. As I fumbled with my sidearm, the man on the PRT hotline asked "You know that calling this line without an actual emergency is a federal offense, correct?"
To this I replied "Yes I know, what's your ETA?" as Slug's feet met the roof. I had to frantically dodge to the side as he charged past me and face-planted into the wall of the roof access stairs. At the same time, I finally got my gun up and I saw him smile as I leveled it at him. Oh, he probably thought it would be shooting bullets.
I simultaneously fired my stasis gun as I sent the command for the probe to launch through my neurolink. My machine silently streaked into the sky on a gravitational waveform as a temporal distortion hit Slug full-on, freezing him in time for the next 15 minutes. His hands were reached out in front of him as if to wring my neck, and his legs behind him as he pushed off the wall. Through the hotline I informed whoever was on the other end "I've got Slug suspended but not subdued, it would be appreciated if you could get here before the stasis shot wears off."
The operator answered "Understood. Our current ETA is 8 minutes."
Pretty soon, a couple PRT vans pulled up and I waved to them from the roof. At the same time, my space probe left the atmosphere and engaged its warp drive, streaking away at several hundred c. Pretty soon the PRT troopers were on my roof, looking over Slug. One of them remarked "Well, that makes our job both easier and harder. How long is this going to last?" as he got out a pair of heavily reinforced handcuffs. Oh right, this is still a couple years before containment foam.
To this I answered "It should be wearing off in about 5 minutes. If anyone wants to make a bathroom stop, now would be the time." A couple of the troopers chuckled at my weak humor, but most of them just nodded and got on with their work. Soon enough, Slug had been hauled off in about a metric ton of restraints, and I had the rest of the evening all to myself. Johan nodded, before remarking "Well, you certainly seem to know what you're doing."
I just sighed before remarking "Sadly, what seems to be the case and what is actually the case are two completely different things. Especially in my case."
Expanding Database Access
...Super Sense module unlocked
...Dimensional Mechanics unlocked
Eating breakfast was refreshingly normal, as I steadfastly ignored the paperwork on the table until I was done. Still, eventually I ate the hard boiled eggs and the waffles mysteriously disappeared, leaving me with no option but to actually read the papers laying out my new identity. Once again I found myself reading and assimilating knowledge at a speed of 'yes', flipping through all ten pages in less than 5 seconds.
The identity I had been provided was absolutely rock solid. 'Reese Fletcher' had a backstory matching my old life almost perfectly... He did that on purpose, didn't He? Honestly, the only things that didn't match up perfectly were that I don't remember being a cape geek (though I should probably become one if I wanted to survive), and that Reese Fletcher wasn't my actual name. My actual name was... I CAN'T REMEMBER MY NAME!!!
Wondering just what else They had done to me, I made my way to the bathroom to look in the mirror. My sense of dread lessened slightly as I realized that I still had the same body as before. The same face, the same curves, and the same hair; though I had an atrocious case of bedhead. Sighing, I figured I might as well get myself cleaned up for the day.
I eventually got downstairs, leaving what seemed to be designated as the building's living area and arriving in a short hallway with three doors labeled 'laboratory', 'storage' and 'storefront'. I decided to look in the laboratory first and...
It was beautiful. That was the only way to describe the workspace I'd been provided with how well-equipped it was. I could tell at a glance that there was everything I could possibly need to build whatever I could dream of. There were small-scale blast furnaces and CNC machines, an electron beam lithography set, even an industrial-grade 3-d printer! Ideas whirling within my mind, I charged forwards to the workbench.
Ideas whirled through my mind in the hundreds as I considered what to build. I could make all sorts of things with this setup, the possibilities being limited almost entirely by the availability of raw materials. My hands danced over the keyboard to manipulate the CAD program, as I finally settled on my first two projects. I had been working away at the designs for the exotic matter production system and assistant drone for... about two hours when someone cleared their throat behind me.
I replied "Greetings. I'm Reese and you are..." while still working on the drone. A consciousness thread or 6 were tasked to analyzing the man's reflection on the computer's monitor, revealing a man with a scruffy red beard and an eyepatch.
As I mentally simulated the performance of the grav-node that would keep the drone aloft, the man replied "I'm Johan, the boss told me you would be arriving today and that I should come to meet you. I honestly wasn't quite sure if I was just being strung along all these months, but now I'm pretty sure he was legit." Hmm... I'll probably need some sort of self-defense weapon at some point; a stasis gun should do.
At this I nodded, before asking "Curiously, how much did He tell you?"
To this, Johan answered "Almost everything. Scion is an alien god, powers drive their hosts to conflict, and that you would be arriving today to try and save the world."
My response was "Yes, and a lot of how I'll be trying to do it depends on when exactly today is."
Johan answered "New Years day, 2005. Also, it is extremely creepy how you're conversing with such fluency while also engrossed in some variety of computer program."
In an automatic response what I knew of the timeline of Earth Bet whirled throughout my mind, and I realized something VERY important. It was currently January 1, 2005. The Slaughterhouse 9 would have recruited Riley (soon to be Bonesaw) on the 19th. I had just two weeks to prevent a little girl from being tortured and brainwashed (accounting for possible butterflies accelerating the timetable of course). The fact that it would keep the 9 from gaining one of their most important core members was just a particularly desirable side effect.
Immediately, I opened up another two CAD programs and began designing two pieces of equipment that would prove very useful. The first was a one-shot personal wormhole system that would instantly transport the wearer to a fixed receiver from anywhere. The second was a neural uplink that would allow me to directly interface with my technology, speeding up just about everything. While doing so, I put the finishing touches on my scout drone and informed Johan "You have just given me some very important information. We have roughly 2 weeks to prevent the slaughterhouse 9 from press-ganging a powerful bio-tinker."
Johan's eyes widened slightly as he realized the implications of this, and asked "What will you need to deal with this?"
To this I answered "Roughly 3 tons of steel, various other materials totaling about a ton, 6 days to build the required infrastructure, and a further 12 days to do a full sweep of the lower 48. Depending on luck, we might find them sooner than that"
To this Johan nodded before remarking "I can get you all the materials you could possibly need provided you've got the money, but more time I can not provide."
As a blueprint for a rudimentary time dilation unit zipped through my mind, I remarked "Don't worry; I've got that covered." Let's see... if I integrate the wormhole devices into the drones I could in all likelihood greatly increase efficiency in terms of resource expenditure. Also, I've decided on my game plan for dealing with the Entities and Endbringers; I'm going von-neumann on them.
It was roughly 10 days after my arrival that one of my drones managed to locate the Slaughterhouse 9. The drone sent me an alert through my neural interface that it had found the Slaughterhouse Nine in eastern Kansas. I directed some more of my infinite attention to the drone while I continued my endless designing and simulating of technology that could possibly work in my goal to save the world. At the moment, the Nine still lacked a 5 year old girl in their number so Riley had yet to be captured. I tasked the drone with following them as I came up with a way to dispose of the Nine.
At this very same time, I was also talking with Boston PRT Director Jefferson about the possibility of selling a full-fledged wormhole system to them for their use in the field. As I entered his office, he greeted me with "Hello Metricurve. Please sit down. Oh, may I get you anything?"
To this I answered "No thank you, I made sure to be well-fed before I made my way here. Anyway, the main order of business is that I wish to sell you a teleportation system of my own design." At the same time, another consciousness thread was considering the best way to dispose of the Slaughterhouse Nine. Currently, I was leaning towards teleporting them into interstellar space; it wouldn't even be that hard as long as I made the receiving probe fast enough.
In response to this, Jefferson leaned forwards and rested his clean-shaven chin on one hand. Eventually, he responded "Alright, you've piqued my interest. What exactly are the specifics of the teleportation system you're offering?" leaning back into his surprisingly boring-looking chair as he did so.
I responded "At present, my system needs a receiving unit large enough to hold whatever you're going to transport. That said, the beacons that go on whatever you'll be moving are one-size fits all. As for possible applications, anyone with a beacon can instantly return to base, allowing for easy prisoner transport, instantaneous medevac, and with enough receiving units casual redeployment of capes and personnel across the entire country or even the globe would be easily doable."
The director of Boston's PRT nodded, answering "Well, you do raise a tempting offer. That said, there is the matter of maintenance; how much of your time are you willing to give up to keep such a network running?"
My answer was "I build to last; assuming nobody does something really stupid like drop them off a cliff you can expect the receiving units to last for around 8 years before any sort of maintenance is required. As for the beacons, those are disposable and I've got a machine back at my lab that's churning them out by the dozen." In the background, I put the finishing touches on the design of my Interstellar Receiver Probe and sent the work order off to my fabrication suite. I'd have to find a launch window when nobody would notice it streaking off at Warp 6.
Jefferson was about to say something before I cut him off with "I'm willing to sell each receiving unit for 80,000 dollars assuming you only want ones about the size of a slightly cramped booth. In addition, each pack of 12 Beacons will run you around 200 dollars."
The PRT director chuckled before remarking "Alright, I'll bite. We'll have to have these teleporters of yours thoroughly tested before we'll start purchasing them in large numbers, but I think I'll give them a try."
I nodded, remarking "I can get you a single receiver and a few packs of beacons by this time tomorrow. Here's hoping that this business venture will work out." as I directed another 8 of my drones to tail the Nine at a distance of a few kilometers. It looked like Metricurve Technical Enterprises was finally getting off the ground.
Jefferson replied "I'm sure it will."
It was a couple days later when I found the time to launch the IRP. I'd hauled it up to my roof just after dinner with some assistance from Johan and a few bolt-on grav nodes, and now that just about everyone was inside, it was ready to launch. Still, as I stepped back from the machine to allow it to lift off, I heard a foul-mouthed query of "Now what's a broad like you doing outside at night like this rather than staying in your damn bed?"
I turned to see a man wearing a ski mask and standing in midair over the street. I greeted him with "Hello, I'm Metricurve, and I'm launching a space probe. I don't believe I caught your name mister..." At the same time I was using my neural link to call the PRT hotline. The first ring sounded within my head.
To this the man replied "I'm Slug and don't you ever forget it! As for your space probe, that means yer a Tinker don't it? Why don't you come join the Ups and we can get you all the scrap you'll ever need?" The second ring went off inside my head, and the PRT officer at the other end finally picked up with "PRT hotline, what is your emergency?"
Out loud I remarked "Well, you see I would, but I've kind of got a deal to sell teleportation equipment to the PRT, which should cover all my expenses." Meanwhile I practically screamed over the hotline "Slug's trying to press-gang me; I'm the new Tinker who had a meeting with your boss a couple days ago. I'm on Dorchester Avenue just north of the Andrew T stop."
Slug nodded before remarking "It wasn't a question." charging forwards. As I fumbled with my sidearm, the man on the PRT hotline asked "You know that calling this line without an actual emergency is a federal offense, correct?"
To this I replied "Yes I know, what's your ETA?" as Slug's feet met the roof. I had to frantically dodge to the side as he charged past me and face-planted into the wall of the roof access stairs. At the same time, I finally got my gun up and I saw him smile as I leveled it at him. Oh, he probably thought it would be shooting bullets.
I simultaneously fired my stasis gun as I sent the command for the probe to launch through my neurolink. My machine silently streaked into the sky on a gravitational waveform as a temporal distortion hit Slug full-on, freezing him in time for the next 15 minutes. His hands were reached out in front of him as if to wring my neck, and his legs behind him as he pushed off the wall. Through the hotline I informed whoever was on the other end "I've got Slug suspended but not subdued, it would be appreciated if you could get here before the stasis shot wears off."
The operator answered "Understood. Our current ETA is 8 minutes."
Pretty soon, a couple PRT vans pulled up and I waved to them from the roof. At the same time, my space probe left the atmosphere and engaged its warp drive, streaking away at several hundred c. Pretty soon the PRT troopers were on my roof, looking over Slug. One of them remarked "Well, that makes our job both easier and harder. How long is this going to last?" as he got out a pair of heavily reinforced handcuffs. Oh right, this is still a couple years before containment foam.
To this I answered "It should be wearing off in about 5 minutes. If anyone wants to make a bathroom stop, now would be the time." A couple of the troopers chuckled at my weak humor, but most of them just nodded and got on with their work. Soon enough, Slug had been hauled off in about a metric ton of restraints, and I had the rest of the evening all to myself. Johan nodded, before remarking "Well, you certainly seem to know what you're doing."
I just sighed before remarking "Sadly, what seems to be the case and what is actually the case are two completely different things. Especially in my case."
Cape Combat (+1)
Super Fight 1 (+1)
Rogue Route 1 (+1)
Super Fight 1 (+1)
Rogue Route 1 (+1)
...Super Sense module unlocked
...Dimensional Mechanics unlocked
Last edited:
JamesB
You needed worthy opponents.
- Location
- Kansas
Hitting canon 6 years before Taylor gets shoved into a locker gives you a LOT of time to set off butterflies. The "stasis gun" could be quite useful. It seems a rough analog of Clockblocker's power turned into Blaster form. If these are able to be mass produced, the PRT will love you. I think Masamume with the Guild is the mass production tinker. He may be around if you want to contact him.
There are two routes I can see you taking with Riley:
1. Kill the S9 before they get anywhere close to her. This prevents her from triggering with Bonesaw's bio-tinkering abilities, but leaves it open for her to trigger at a later time with a possibly different, possibly the same power set.
2. Wait for the S9 to cause Riley to trigger with Bonesaw's power, then swoop in and "save the day" by killing the S9, lying to Riley about finding the S9 too late to be able to save her from them.
The first is a much more humanitarian approach in that it saves her and her family, while the second has possibilities. With the second, there is always the chance that Riley discovers later that you could have saved her, but didn't. The pro for this approach is that you know what power she'll get so you can make use of it.
There are two routes I can see you taking with Riley:
1. Kill the S9 before they get anywhere close to her. This prevents her from triggering with Bonesaw's bio-tinkering abilities, but leaves it open for her to trigger at a later time with a possibly different, possibly the same power set.
2. Wait for the S9 to cause Riley to trigger with Bonesaw's power, then swoop in and "save the day" by killing the S9, lying to Riley about finding the S9 too late to be able to save her from them.
The first is a much more humanitarian approach in that it saves her and her family, while the second has possibilities. With the second, there is always the chance that Riley discovers later that you could have saved her, but didn't. The pro for this approach is that you know what power she'll get so you can make use of it.
Last edited:
Czlyydwr Llrngwl
"Sell ya a door Learn gull," Czly/Celly for short
- Location
- Where the Beef is
- Pronouns
- Any
It's decent as a whole, but the PRT guy should probably have tried to pitch joining the Protectorate; at least a soft-sell since she's obviously willing to work with them as it stands. Some description of the MC at the beginning would also be good, there's not even a hint that she's female until it mentions "curves" in the mirror, and it's not confirmed until the phone call. The encounter with Slug was also way too quick and easy, it's her first cape fight so she should be at least a little pressed from a narrative viewpoint, and unless you're a combat veteran getting attacked by some thug (who has seriously no description, either - how did you even know he was a cape, instead of a normal gangbanger?) should be shocking and at least a little bit frightening, even if powers bullshit lets SI keep thinking and acting rationally in the moment.
Edit: If you are a combat veteran, that should be mentioned on camera to explain why some punk isn't that menacing to MC.
Basically, I guess I'm saying that everything went too much according to plan. Sure, you're just setting the stage, but MC should still have obstacles large and small to overcome at every step, or else why has your ROB failed over three million attempts at salvaging this worldline?
Edit: If you are a combat veteran, that should be mentioned on camera to explain why some punk isn't that menacing to MC.
Basically, I guess I'm saying that everything went too much according to plan. Sure, you're just setting the stage, but MC should still have obstacles large and small to overcome at every step, or else why has your ROB failed over three million attempts at salvaging this worldline?
Last edited:
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
1: Being pressed in combat
A: This would be the case if the not-SI actually had human cognitive processes. They think they do, but they don't, being more akin to a Seed AI in a biological shell.
2: Not describing the SI
A: Yeah, still, it just didn't feel like something I could realistically fit in my narrative without breaking it for me. Sorry if that caused problems.
3: Not describing Slug
A: Yeah, my bad.
4: PRT recruitment
A: True, on the other hand Protectorate members are expected to go on patrols and Metricurve looks to be far more valuable if allowed to Tinker all day, everyday.
EDIT: One last thing: it would be wise to convert from hexadecimal when looking at the number of attempts.
Last edited:
Getting Started 1.2
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
I had another meeting with PRT Director Jefferson this afternon, and I was beautifying myself before I went. For most women, that would entail standing in front of the mirror and applying makeup. I was currently performing plastic surgery on myself in my basement, coupled with a bit of low-level gene therapy. Hmm... I think I'd like to go with slightly puffed out cheeks today; also let's go with green eyes. Robotic limbs dropped down from the top of the 'mod-pod' I was currently laying in and began making the changes I'd selected, starting by injecting minuscule amounts of dye into my irises.
Once that little tweak was made, I considered my hair color. It was already a light brown, but I figured I might as well bump it up to golden blonde. I was still debating the merits of just going with dye or also tampering with my hair follicles when I noted that the Interstellar Receiving Probe had reached my 'drop-off point' precisely halfway between Sol and Tau Ceti. In addition, there were 20 Drones in position to intercept the Slaughterhouse Nine... who were currently down a member for whatever reason.
Initializing Kill Mode
I diverted roughly 860 Attentions to the task of destroying the Slaughterhouse Eight, while I went back to contemplating how I wanted to look during my meeting. Yeah, let's contour that behind to stick out a bit less; also pump up the chest a bit, but only for a little while. Anyway, back to the Nine. The group of murderhobos was currently sitting around a fire, performing the surprisingly mundane action of roasting marshmallows. Ah well, I suppose this makes things slightly easier for me.
As this was going on, I'd also wormhole'd a few other things through my link into interstellar space. Namely, a set of small fabricator drones and everything they'd need to assemble another wormhole receiver probe on-site. My current probe then made a 'sidestep' of about a light minute before I sent a simple camera drone with a wormhole comlink. I was also busy releasing myself from the mod-pod, and contemplating the tricky question of what to wear. My drones closed in on the Slaughterhouse Nine in complete silence thanks to their gravitational drives, getting within 20 meters.
Kill Mode Fully Engaged
There were 20 drones present in total. Of them, I designated 16 as senders and 4 as camera-bots. I would prefer to just send the entire band of psychos to interstellar space simultaneously, but the fact of the matter is the wormhole receiver simply wouldn't support multiple links at once and would take roughly 200 milliseconds to eject each new arrival. Thus, I had to prioritize what members I would eliminate first. As I was formulating the list, I noted that some of the drones had spotted Manton.
It took a few seconds, but I managed to prioritize which of the eight murderhobos present I would eliminate first. In order, it would be
1: Manton/Siberian, his ability to grant invincibility would be a real pain if he got a chance to use it.
2: Gray Boy; time hax are very much bad juju.
3: Jack Slash, the fuck needs to die and he might be able to pull something out of his behind. Also, without him the whole group falls apart.
4: Mannequin; because reasons
5: Nice Guy; for no particular reason
6: Hatchet Face; because fuck you that's why
7: Skinslip, he was the least serious threat to my drones.
8: Crawler; in all likelihood his arrival would destroy the receiver. Therefore he went last.
The first hint that the Slaughterhouse had that anything was wrong was the Siberian suddenly disappearing. Now this would be cause enough for alarm, but before any of them even had time to properly process what happened, a little flying robot darted out of the shadows and impacted Gray Boy, the both of them disappearing in a flash of light. Jack was in the beginning stages of getting up and drawing his knife when he met the same fate as Gray boy.
Mannequin almost managed to evade the first drone thanks to his enhanced reflexes, but I managed to corner him with four drones at once long enough for one to make contact and send the mad Tinker to space.
Up next was Nice Guy, who had just managed to get up to a standing position before one of the drones that had helped herd in Mannequin hit him in the face, transporting the both of them to where very few now rapidly dying men had gone before. Immediately afterwards was Hatchet Face, whose power nullifying aura did precisely jack squat to my drones.
Skinslip was second to last, managing to duck under the first drone's pass as it came for him. A shame that said drones could stop on a dime and move vertically, as this one did before it made contact and the both of them were suddenly in hard vacuum. Last of course was Crawler, the monstrous psychopath in the beginning of bellowing a challenge. My response was to have one of the sending drones shove itself down his throat before activating its wormhole beacon. As expected, I lost contact with the receiving probe; the camera drone near the receiver showed it had actually burst as Crawler arrived. Still, he had arrived in interstellar space and was now highly unlikely to cause anyone any problems, except possibly winding up as warp drive roadkill at some distant point in the future.
Disengaging Kill Mode
I carefully checked over the footage I'd gathered during the two seconds I'd taken to wreck the Slaughterhouse. Taken at roughly 3200 frames per second, I patched it together in a few ways to create a nice compilation. It started at full speed with the campfire, before cutting to space. After the full-speed version I had a slow-motion version that showed each murderhobo being sent to space, briefly cutting away to show each arrival, again in slow motion.
Kill Mode Fully Disengaged
Anyway, I think I'll go to my meeting in a green sundress and a straw hat. I got dressed in my bathroom, before I grabbed my 'purse' (actually a miniature wormhole transceiver connected to a robotic storage facility in my basement) and headed out the door towards the PRT headquarters. The PRT HQ in Boston was a rather large complex, built on four whole city blocks that had been bought up; it was bordered by Cambridge Street and Revere Street to the north and south, with Irving Street and Anderson Street to the East and West.
This meant it was fairly easy for me to just ride a train on the MBTA's Red Line from near my lab, right up to the Charles/MGH stop of the red line where I could get off before walking for all of 5 minutes to reach my destination. I soon reached the edge of the wall around the PRT HQ, and approached the security checkpoint at the entry. Quite predictably, I was halted by the pair of guards on duty, and they asked "Who are you, and what's your business here today?"
To this I answered "I'm Reese Fletcher; Director Jefferson wanted to talk to me today for some reason."
The guard on the left picked up a bulky tablet computer from somewhere (right, this is 2005) and began tapping away at it. Eventually, he answered "Ma'am, we've got a picture of Reese Fletcher from five days ago, and you don't match." while holding up a picture of me a few days ago with my somewhat more gaunt cheeks, brown eyes, and light brown hair. I groaned both internally and externally, realizing that I'd just screwed myself with my casual altering of my form.
There was an awkward pause for several seconds, before I tried "Plastic Surgery?" The guard with the tablet just shook his head.
When I finally got to my scheduled meeting with Director Jefferson, he raised his left eyebrow at me, remarking "Well Reese, most ladies just settle for makeup." with a bit of mirth in his tone. He continued "More seriously, I've got some good news. But first, can I get you anything?"
My answer was again "No, I'm not hungry or thirsty at the moment. So, what's the news?"
Jefferson's answer was "The good news is that your teleportation system passed Tinker review; surprisingly fast too, all things considered. The bad news is that in order to be legally allowed to sell Tinker Tech you've got to fill out this." With that he hefted a mountain of paperwork that looked like it was at least 50 pages thick onto the table. The title on the top was 'Commercial Tinker Liability Act Form L-51'
I pointed one eye down at the paperwork and began filling it out while I kept my other firmly pointed at Jefferson. As I did so, I asked "So, what's the reason for all this legalese?"
Jefferson's answer was "Bureaucratic idiocy. I don't like it either, but this is the way I'm required to do my job if I want to keep said job. By the way, it is really creepy what you're doing with your eyes right now."
My response was "If I stop doing this, I won't have my fovea pointed at the paperwork and I won't be able to read it. I still haven't gotten around to replacing my eyes with a version that grants full definition across my entire field of vision, so I have to do this if I want to get the paperwork done in a reasonable timeframe."
Jefferson just sighed, before asking "And splitting your attention-"
I cut him off with "Will cause me no problems whatsoever. I've got some sort of multitasking Thinker power; the inside of my mind is more like a perpetual argument with millions of members than a single stream of consciousness. At this exact moment I'm talking to you, doing this paperwork, looking over its contents from several thousand angles simultaneously, designing blueprints for tens of thousands of possible inventions, checking over those planned devices for potential flaws from every possible angle, doing a mental triage on which items I'd be best off building first to maximize the good I can do in the least possible time, monitoring the functioning of a direct neural interface I implanted between the hemispheres of my brain, directing automated microfactories back at my lab, studying law on the internet to deal with this paperwork, and a hundred other things at the same time."
Director Jefferson gaped slightly, before he replied "That... that would explain quite a bit about you. Oh, before I forget; during the incident with Slug, you used some variety of time stopping device to... well, not really subdue but instead... suspend him. Would you be willing to sell us those?"
"Probably, a lot depends on how much money I have to get things set up. Curiously, who would I talk to about redeeming bounties for completing Kill Orders?""
Director Jefferson just groaned before he asked "What did you do?"
To this I answered "I've got video on my PDA I can show you, mind if I dig it out of my purse?" as I activated the wormhole system to bring my custom-built tablet to me. Jefferson silently nodded, and leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands.
Eventually, the PRT director replied "Reese, I have several questions."
"Yes?"
"First, where did you find the time to launch a space probe without anyone noticing?"
"I actually launched it during my brief engagement with Slug. It used a completely silent and invisible gravity engine, so I'm not completely surprised you didn't immediately notice its launch. Though I am a bit weirded out that nobody at Logan spotted it on radar."
"Ah, care to explain why you went after the Slaughterhouse Nine so... ruthlessly?"
"Multiple reasons. First, it was high time for that band of psychopathic murderhobos to get what was coming to them. Second, a prolonged engagement would play to their strengths, especially Jack. Lastly, they had the biggest bounties and I need the roughly 180,000,000 dollars on all their heads to get my enterprise to the scale where I can actually improve things worldwide."
Jefferson just rubbed his temples, before saying "Reese, what in the world am I going to do with you? You've been active for just over two weeks, and you've already gone ahead and removed one of the most infamous S-class threats from the board. Why in the world are you acting so- so frantically?"
My answer was "To be completely blunt, if I don't act quickly I might not get a chance to act at all. Endbringers are known to target those trying to make the world a better place and I have to progress with that in mind."at the same moment, I finished the Liability Form (which basically stated that I was responsible for any injuries or damages my tech may cause; I wasn't happy with it but neither was Jefferson) and remarked "Well, I finished the form, may I go?"
That evening, I was having dinner with Johan. I'd whipped up a batch of vaguely oriental noodles for the both of us, and I was currently sitting across from him. He eventually asked "So, how did your day go?"
My answer was "I successfully got rid of the Slaughterhouse Nine; I also managed to get approval to sell my teleportation system. They're checking over the stasis gun now, with the possibility of them purchasing it being on the table."
Johan nodded, his hand brushing over his eyepatch as he did so. A few more bites of noodles, and my supplier added in "Personally, I managed to find you another batch of Cobalt and Germanium, about 3 tons all told."
I smiled as I thanked him with "That's great, I need those to make wormhole stuff and they're always tricky to find! I'd be completely lost without you Johan."
My supplier smiled, before he remarked "Well that's certainly a roundabout way of saying 'thank you', but you're welcome. Anyway, any future plans I should be aware of?"
I nodded, answering "First, I've filed the paperwork to redeem the bounties on the Slaughterhouse Nine; the total of around $180,000,000 should be transferred into an account for us by Monday. In terms of actual objectives, there's a Tinker up in Newfoundland who'll probably be targeted by an Endbringer sometime soon. His name's Andrew Richter, and I'm currently debating whether I should go in person or just mail him some Wormhole Beacons and a recorded message warning him about the danger."
Johan thought for a few seconds, before he remarked "My advice is to go in person, he's more likely to take it seriously that way. Now, was there any other work-related talk, or can we move on to lighter subjects?"
My response was "Yes actually, could you see about buying some land in the Rocky Mountains? I'm looking to put a base there. Also somewhere in Alaska and Hawaii if you could please."
Johan chuckled before asking "Is that all? I thought you'd be asking for something hard."
I grinned before firing back "How about coming to the zoo with me Saturday evening? I'll even cover any and all expenses."
My supplier's face paled.
Expanding Database Access
...Doctorate Module Unlocked
...Meta Thinker Module Unlocked
...Recruiter Module Unlocked
Once that little tweak was made, I considered my hair color. It was already a light brown, but I figured I might as well bump it up to golden blonde. I was still debating the merits of just going with dye or also tampering with my hair follicles when I noted that the Interstellar Receiving Probe had reached my 'drop-off point' precisely halfway between Sol and Tau Ceti. In addition, there were 20 Drones in position to intercept the Slaughterhouse Nine... who were currently down a member for whatever reason.
Initializing Kill Mode
I diverted roughly 860 Attentions to the task of destroying the Slaughterhouse Eight, while I went back to contemplating how I wanted to look during my meeting. Yeah, let's contour that behind to stick out a bit less; also pump up the chest a bit, but only for a little while. Anyway, back to the Nine. The group of murderhobos was currently sitting around a fire, performing the surprisingly mundane action of roasting marshmallows. Ah well, I suppose this makes things slightly easier for me.
As this was going on, I'd also wormhole'd a few other things through my link into interstellar space. Namely, a set of small fabricator drones and everything they'd need to assemble another wormhole receiver probe on-site. My current probe then made a 'sidestep' of about a light minute before I sent a simple camera drone with a wormhole comlink. I was also busy releasing myself from the mod-pod, and contemplating the tricky question of what to wear. My drones closed in on the Slaughterhouse Nine in complete silence thanks to their gravitational drives, getting within 20 meters.
Kill Mode Fully Engaged
There were 20 drones present in total. Of them, I designated 16 as senders and 4 as camera-bots. I would prefer to just send the entire band of psychos to interstellar space simultaneously, but the fact of the matter is the wormhole receiver simply wouldn't support multiple links at once and would take roughly 200 milliseconds to eject each new arrival. Thus, I had to prioritize what members I would eliminate first. As I was formulating the list, I noted that some of the drones had spotted Manton.
It took a few seconds, but I managed to prioritize which of the eight murderhobos present I would eliminate first. In order, it would be
1: Manton/Siberian, his ability to grant invincibility would be a real pain if he got a chance to use it.
2: Gray Boy; time hax are very much bad juju.
3: Jack Slash, the fuck needs to die and he might be able to pull something out of his behind. Also, without him the whole group falls apart.
4: Mannequin; because reasons
5: Nice Guy; for no particular reason
6: Hatchet Face; because fuck you that's why
7: Skinslip, he was the least serious threat to my drones.
8: Crawler; in all likelihood his arrival would destroy the receiver. Therefore he went last.
The first hint that the Slaughterhouse had that anything was wrong was the Siberian suddenly disappearing. Now this would be cause enough for alarm, but before any of them even had time to properly process what happened, a little flying robot darted out of the shadows and impacted Gray Boy, the both of them disappearing in a flash of light. Jack was in the beginning stages of getting up and drawing his knife when he met the same fate as Gray boy.
Mannequin almost managed to evade the first drone thanks to his enhanced reflexes, but I managed to corner him with four drones at once long enough for one to make contact and send the mad Tinker to space.
Up next was Nice Guy, who had just managed to get up to a standing position before one of the drones that had helped herd in Mannequin hit him in the face, transporting the both of them to where very few now rapidly dying men had gone before. Immediately afterwards was Hatchet Face, whose power nullifying aura did precisely jack squat to my drones.
Skinslip was second to last, managing to duck under the first drone's pass as it came for him. A shame that said drones could stop on a dime and move vertically, as this one did before it made contact and the both of them were suddenly in hard vacuum. Last of course was Crawler, the monstrous psychopath in the beginning of bellowing a challenge. My response was to have one of the sending drones shove itself down his throat before activating its wormhole beacon. As expected, I lost contact with the receiving probe; the camera drone near the receiver showed it had actually burst as Crawler arrived. Still, he had arrived in interstellar space and was now highly unlikely to cause anyone any problems, except possibly winding up as warp drive roadkill at some distant point in the future.
Disengaging Kill Mode
I carefully checked over the footage I'd gathered during the two seconds I'd taken to wreck the Slaughterhouse. Taken at roughly 3200 frames per second, I patched it together in a few ways to create a nice compilation. It started at full speed with the campfire, before cutting to space. After the full-speed version I had a slow-motion version that showed each murderhobo being sent to space, briefly cutting away to show each arrival, again in slow motion.
Kill Mode Fully Disengaged
Anyway, I think I'll go to my meeting in a green sundress and a straw hat. I got dressed in my bathroom, before I grabbed my 'purse' (actually a miniature wormhole transceiver connected to a robotic storage facility in my basement) and headed out the door towards the PRT headquarters. The PRT HQ in Boston was a rather large complex, built on four whole city blocks that had been bought up; it was bordered by Cambridge Street and Revere Street to the north and south, with Irving Street and Anderson Street to the East and West.
This meant it was fairly easy for me to just ride a train on the MBTA's Red Line from near my lab, right up to the Charles/MGH stop of the red line where I could get off before walking for all of 5 minutes to reach my destination. I soon reached the edge of the wall around the PRT HQ, and approached the security checkpoint at the entry. Quite predictably, I was halted by the pair of guards on duty, and they asked "Who are you, and what's your business here today?"
To this I answered "I'm Reese Fletcher; Director Jefferson wanted to talk to me today for some reason."
The guard on the left picked up a bulky tablet computer from somewhere (right, this is 2005) and began tapping away at it. Eventually, he answered "Ma'am, we've got a picture of Reese Fletcher from five days ago, and you don't match." while holding up a picture of me a few days ago with my somewhat more gaunt cheeks, brown eyes, and light brown hair. I groaned both internally and externally, realizing that I'd just screwed myself with my casual altering of my form.
There was an awkward pause for several seconds, before I tried "Plastic Surgery?" The guard with the tablet just shook his head.
When I finally got to my scheduled meeting with Director Jefferson, he raised his left eyebrow at me, remarking "Well Reese, most ladies just settle for makeup." with a bit of mirth in his tone. He continued "More seriously, I've got some good news. But first, can I get you anything?"
My answer was again "No, I'm not hungry or thirsty at the moment. So, what's the news?"
Jefferson's answer was "The good news is that your teleportation system passed Tinker review; surprisingly fast too, all things considered. The bad news is that in order to be legally allowed to sell Tinker Tech you've got to fill out this." With that he hefted a mountain of paperwork that looked like it was at least 50 pages thick onto the table. The title on the top was 'Commercial Tinker Liability Act Form L-51'
I pointed one eye down at the paperwork and began filling it out while I kept my other firmly pointed at Jefferson. As I did so, I asked "So, what's the reason for all this legalese?"
Jefferson's answer was "Bureaucratic idiocy. I don't like it either, but this is the way I'm required to do my job if I want to keep said job. By the way, it is really creepy what you're doing with your eyes right now."
My response was "If I stop doing this, I won't have my fovea pointed at the paperwork and I won't be able to read it. I still haven't gotten around to replacing my eyes with a version that grants full definition across my entire field of vision, so I have to do this if I want to get the paperwork done in a reasonable timeframe."
Jefferson just sighed, before asking "And splitting your attention-"
I cut him off with "Will cause me no problems whatsoever. I've got some sort of multitasking Thinker power; the inside of my mind is more like a perpetual argument with millions of members than a single stream of consciousness. At this exact moment I'm talking to you, doing this paperwork, looking over its contents from several thousand angles simultaneously, designing blueprints for tens of thousands of possible inventions, checking over those planned devices for potential flaws from every possible angle, doing a mental triage on which items I'd be best off building first to maximize the good I can do in the least possible time, monitoring the functioning of a direct neural interface I implanted between the hemispheres of my brain, directing automated microfactories back at my lab, studying law on the internet to deal with this paperwork, and a hundred other things at the same time."
Director Jefferson gaped slightly, before he replied "That... that would explain quite a bit about you. Oh, before I forget; during the incident with Slug, you used some variety of time stopping device to... well, not really subdue but instead... suspend him. Would you be willing to sell us those?"
"Probably, a lot depends on how much money I have to get things set up. Curiously, who would I talk to about redeeming bounties for completing Kill Orders?""
Director Jefferson just groaned before he asked "What did you do?"
To this I answered "I've got video on my PDA I can show you, mind if I dig it out of my purse?" as I activated the wormhole system to bring my custom-built tablet to me. Jefferson silently nodded, and leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands.
Eventually, the PRT director replied "Reese, I have several questions."
"Yes?"
"First, where did you find the time to launch a space probe without anyone noticing?"
"I actually launched it during my brief engagement with Slug. It used a completely silent and invisible gravity engine, so I'm not completely surprised you didn't immediately notice its launch. Though I am a bit weirded out that nobody at Logan spotted it on radar."
"Ah, care to explain why you went after the Slaughterhouse Nine so... ruthlessly?"
"Multiple reasons. First, it was high time for that band of psychopathic murderhobos to get what was coming to them. Second, a prolonged engagement would play to their strengths, especially Jack. Lastly, they had the biggest bounties and I need the roughly 180,000,000 dollars on all their heads to get my enterprise to the scale where I can actually improve things worldwide."
Jefferson just rubbed his temples, before saying "Reese, what in the world am I going to do with you? You've been active for just over two weeks, and you've already gone ahead and removed one of the most infamous S-class threats from the board. Why in the world are you acting so- so frantically?"
My answer was "To be completely blunt, if I don't act quickly I might not get a chance to act at all. Endbringers are known to target those trying to make the world a better place and I have to progress with that in mind."at the same moment, I finished the Liability Form (which basically stated that I was responsible for any injuries or damages my tech may cause; I wasn't happy with it but neither was Jefferson) and remarked "Well, I finished the form, may I go?"
That evening, I was having dinner with Johan. I'd whipped up a batch of vaguely oriental noodles for the both of us, and I was currently sitting across from him. He eventually asked "So, how did your day go?"
My answer was "I successfully got rid of the Slaughterhouse Nine; I also managed to get approval to sell my teleportation system. They're checking over the stasis gun now, with the possibility of them purchasing it being on the table."
Johan nodded, his hand brushing over his eyepatch as he did so. A few more bites of noodles, and my supplier added in "Personally, I managed to find you another batch of Cobalt and Germanium, about 3 tons all told."
I smiled as I thanked him with "That's great, I need those to make wormhole stuff and they're always tricky to find! I'd be completely lost without you Johan."
My supplier smiled, before he remarked "Well that's certainly a roundabout way of saying 'thank you', but you're welcome. Anyway, any future plans I should be aware of?"
I nodded, answering "First, I've filed the paperwork to redeem the bounties on the Slaughterhouse Nine; the total of around $180,000,000 should be transferred into an account for us by Monday. In terms of actual objectives, there's a Tinker up in Newfoundland who'll probably be targeted by an Endbringer sometime soon. His name's Andrew Richter, and I'm currently debating whether I should go in person or just mail him some Wormhole Beacons and a recorded message warning him about the danger."
Johan thought for a few seconds, before he remarked "My advice is to go in person, he's more likely to take it seriously that way. Now, was there any other work-related talk, or can we move on to lighter subjects?"
My response was "Yes actually, could you see about buying some land in the Rocky Mountains? I'm looking to put a base there. Also somewhere in Alaska and Hawaii if you could please."
Johan chuckled before asking "Is that all? I thought you'd be asking for something hard."
I grinned before firing back "How about coming to the zoo with me Saturday evening? I'll even cover any and all expenses."
My supplier's face paled.
- A-Class Act (+1)
- S-Class Act (+1)
- Super Fight 2 (+1)
- Rogue Route 2 (+2)
...Doctorate Module Unlocked
...Meta Thinker Module Unlocked
...Recruiter Module Unlocked
Last edited:
JamesB
You needed worthy opponents.
- Location
- Kansas
The "teleport problems to deep space" tech is too OP. It lets you ignore any threat short of the Endbringers and Scion. Tau Ceti is 12 light years away, and you said the other end of the portal was halfway there (6 light years away), and you launched it yesterday. In terms of distance, having it halfway to Mars would be more believable, but still OP.
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
I explicitly mentioned that the probe was leaving at hundreds of times the speed of light, and you're surprised that it traveled multiple light years in two days? I don't get why your SOD is having problems in all honesty; I picked spatiotemporal dynamics as a specialty explicitly to be able to do this sort of thing. As for OP-ness, the wormhole drones are basically Strikers in how they operate, meaning that if you keep them out of melee range you should be fine.
JamesB
You needed worthy opponents.
- Location
- Kansas
I'm not having problems with my SOD. I'm just saying that you are starting off very OP. What's stopping you from upgrading the wormhole drones from also being FTL? At that point, while technically Strikers (with a high dose of Mover), they may as well be Blasters. Once you miniaturize the drones, you can fire them from a RPG.
If you don't care about collateral damage on a target, look up "rods from God". I suspect a c-fractional kinetic kill vehicle would eliminate anything short of Endbringers or Scion.
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
Primarily, that going to warp in atmosphere results in bad thingsTM happening. If you want an example, open up nukemap and plug in the biggest yield it'll let you enter. Collateral damage is also a good argument against using KKVs.
Belt-fed-FUBAR
The best way to predict the future is to create it
- Location
- The pale blue dot
I agree, but i would go further and say, if the whole goal is to drop them in space and let the vacuum kill them there is no need to go any further than orbit.
Last edited:
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
Yes, I'm going to nitpick your spelling
!
Belt-fed-FUBAR
The best way to predict the future is to create it
- Location
- The pale blue dot
Lol, no problem. I do my reading and posting from my phone and the spell checking can be a bit rudimentary. As for grammar, I have only the public education system to blame.Yes, I'm going to nitpick your spelling
Last edited:
- Location
- nullptr
Where is the V4 worm CYOA? The V3 is better than the original but still easy to break on skitter mode with negligible flaws. (Jailbreak Contessa+Jack Slash for 6 points, take 6 points of disadvantages, start, master Scion, ???, profit.)
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural