I'm pretty sure we potentially have a private conversation with each member of command coming up. @13th Fleet that's probably part of the conversation with the Void Engineer Leader.
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Panopticon: A Game of Posthumans, Perniciousness, Paranoia, Politics, and Plasmaguns
Sirrocco
Pedantic
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Maybe a gentle note that they seem to be slowly losing the Hearts and Minds war, and could probably use some help on *that*. That's a tricky one to sell without being offensive, though - and "We know, but we're trying to help. Please don't kill us." is a nontrivial sell to begin with, depressingly enough.
Or they read it as a threat to expose the whole business/blackmail them and try a shoot first approach.
It's going to be a very careful combination of dropping the right clues so that the VEs pick it up, approach US, and then steering through a maze of doubletalk.
I don't think that'll work. If they approach us, it'll be with intent to kill.
... I don't know that approaching them will work either, though. I think our best chance would be to press our advantage when we have a one-to-one chat with Ivanova, that's when we're strongest - but even if that worked, we wouldn't want Ivanova to have to burn internal VE favors on not killing us.
Honestly, I think we're going to have to just live with it awhile longer.
13th Bee
Worker
- Location
- Tennessee, USA.
Subtle threats tend to be worded differently than honest offers. We're not walking in going "Awfully nice conspiracy you got here. It would be a shame if something happened to it."
Considering that we've been fighting Threat Null and they know it, but don't know for sure that we know it, their bigger worry may be us being infiltrators. Hence the background checks out the wazoo.
They might approach us due to our record of having come into conflict with their opponent, but keeping things under wraps and generally making their job easier, earthside. At the same time we're starting to get too high profile to eliminate without difficult questions, so they're going to want to probe as to how much we know, and what we're going to do about it.
Ergh. We kind of are; we don't, after all, want to join the VE conspiracy on their terms, because they're making a muck of things. We want in on the conspiracy because we can run a conspiracy better than they can, and because we can actually create an exit strategy.
Try and figure out a way to say that that they won't take badly.
The other problem is that Belltower is exactly the right kind of agent to be assigned to a mission to infilitrate the Void Engineers and confirm what they're doing, even if it requires major memory alteration beforehand so that she can be completely honest in her "Yo, we figured out that Control went insane and you're fighting them. Can we help?" approach. And oh look, we just had a major psychosurgery performed for easily faked reasons.
Is now the time for a "So competent, it's a curse" joke? 
Yup. If you switched Belltower and the General's birthdays, she would probably be the leader of Panopticon in his place.Is now the time for a "So competent, it's a curse" joke?
The knock at her door is early. "Come in," Jamelia says, looking up from her paperwork. Much like any office she has been in for a few days, new filing cabinets have appeared seemingly from nowhere. The New World Order has been holding a valiant rearguard action against the attempts by the technological Conventions to enforce paperless offices, because it's much easier to secure paperwork than computers.
Jamelia knows she's pretty. Not too pretty, of course, but enough that people who don't know to be wary of her get put on ease. Ms Williams has the same kind of 'natural' attractiveness, and Jamelia can see the carefully applied discrete cosmetics which reinforce it without being too obvious. In some ways, it can be even more effective than the superhuman attractiveness beloved of Progenitors. Attractive enough to make your way through the world easier, not so attractive that you're the centre of attention.
A little shorter than average, naturally brunette but dyed blonde, in shape - reinforced recently with NWO basic - some traces of some Progenitor gene-tweaking of the 'cleaning up a possible condition' level, and someone entirely in home in her still-stiff black suit. Entirely used to business dress, unlike Bradowski, who still looks uncomfortable in a suit and tie.
Hmm. She'll need to make sure Williams gets the proper elocution training - the kind you'd give an Operative, not just a Watcher. And maybe some statistical modelling as well. An investigative journalist should have a solid base to build on, and once she has some NWO tricks for finding the most vulnerable person in an organisation up her sleeves, she'll be a useful asset for those disruptive little phone calls that Jamelia finds can so cripple things in her way. Like police responses.
"Director Belltower," Rachael Willians says in greeting. "Sorry I'm a bit early."
Jamelia smiles. "Turning up early rarely results in ill-opinions," she points out. She can see the faint smile which flashes onto the other woman's lips. Yes, that was entirely deliberate on her part. "I just felt we should talk. I have your three week appraisal from Dr Rosario... all perfectly fine." She carefully lowers her voice, pitching it to sound trustworthy. "I do understand that you might not have realised quite what you were getting into when you were assigned to this amalgam. Please, sit down."
Rachael looks momentarily awkward as she takes a seat, and tries to cover it up with a smile. "Ah... yes, I'm sorry Director, but it came as quite a surprise."
"Well, I didn't plan it this way myself," Jamelia says calmly. "I submitted the request for more Enlightened personnel and designation as a field-training amalgam even before Hong Kong happened." She smiles. "I think you just have to consider it your good luck that this didn't clear until after Moscow."
The other woman laughs. She seems to be relaxing somewhat. Good. She's seeing Jamelia as someone more human. Just as planned. It's so annoying, the myths which build up about senior New World Order operatives sometimes. She blames the ones who show off how they can control someone's thoughts with a few well-chosen subliminal words. It makes it so much harder for everyone else, and also means people are looking for subliminal messaging in your words which is a pain when you're actually trying to use it.
"Regardless," Jamelia continues, "you seem to be settling in well. I've noted a few areas for improvement which I will seek to remedy. Don't be concerned; I do that for everyone. Do you have anything you wish to raise at this point?"
Rachael Williams is an idealist. Very much a fresh-faced Utopian member of the New World Order. Jamelia wonders how well she'll preserve that facet of her, or whether the Watchers' duties will lead her to jaded voyeurism.
"I'm... still quite new to the Union," she says. "This entire place was hidden under London... well, it's amazing. The architecture is... wow. I've been to a few of the museums and..." she shakes her head. "Uh... points to raise. I'm not sure. I've been doing much the same things as before I was assigned here, but things are quite disrupted. I'm not sure. I think it's a bit early to say. I can't say anything seems very wrong, though."
Jamelia nods understandingly. "I understand if you feel a little neglected," she says. "The senior staff are a little distracted right now." She crosses her hands on her lap. "However, I do believe something has come up which your personal skills are well-suited for. Specifically, I need the skills of an investigative reporter."
Watcher Williams perks up, paying more attention. "What for, Director?" she asks.
"You've covered wars - and the political machinations which cause them. Well, now it's time to look into the internal politics of another Convention. You can consider this a bit of a test if you really want, but some of it is me wanting a fresh opinion on their current state - and some of it is mild concern about some of the internal tensions I'm hearing in their ranks."
You might prefer the wars, Jamelia doesn't say.
Jamelia knows she's pretty. Not too pretty, of course, but enough that people who don't know to be wary of her get put on ease. Ms Williams has the same kind of 'natural' attractiveness, and Jamelia can see the carefully applied discrete cosmetics which reinforce it without being too obvious. In some ways, it can be even more effective than the superhuman attractiveness beloved of Progenitors. Attractive enough to make your way through the world easier, not so attractive that you're the centre of attention.
A little shorter than average, naturally brunette but dyed blonde, in shape - reinforced recently with NWO basic - some traces of some Progenitor gene-tweaking of the 'cleaning up a possible condition' level, and someone entirely in home in her still-stiff black suit. Entirely used to business dress, unlike Bradowski, who still looks uncomfortable in a suit and tie.
Hmm. She'll need to make sure Williams gets the proper elocution training - the kind you'd give an Operative, not just a Watcher. And maybe some statistical modelling as well. An investigative journalist should have a solid base to build on, and once she has some NWO tricks for finding the most vulnerable person in an organisation up her sleeves, she'll be a useful asset for those disruptive little phone calls that Jamelia finds can so cripple things in her way. Like police responses.
"Director Belltower," Rachael Willians says in greeting. "Sorry I'm a bit early."
Jamelia smiles. "Turning up early rarely results in ill-opinions," she points out. She can see the faint smile which flashes onto the other woman's lips. Yes, that was entirely deliberate on her part. "I just felt we should talk. I have your three week appraisal from Dr Rosario... all perfectly fine." She carefully lowers her voice, pitching it to sound trustworthy. "I do understand that you might not have realised quite what you were getting into when you were assigned to this amalgam. Please, sit down."
Rachael looks momentarily awkward as she takes a seat, and tries to cover it up with a smile. "Ah... yes, I'm sorry Director, but it came as quite a surprise."
"Well, I didn't plan it this way myself," Jamelia says calmly. "I submitted the request for more Enlightened personnel and designation as a field-training amalgam even before Hong Kong happened." She smiles. "I think you just have to consider it your good luck that this didn't clear until after Moscow."
The other woman laughs. She seems to be relaxing somewhat. Good. She's seeing Jamelia as someone more human. Just as planned. It's so annoying, the myths which build up about senior New World Order operatives sometimes. She blames the ones who show off how they can control someone's thoughts with a few well-chosen subliminal words. It makes it so much harder for everyone else, and also means people are looking for subliminal messaging in your words which is a pain when you're actually trying to use it.
"Regardless," Jamelia continues, "you seem to be settling in well. I've noted a few areas for improvement which I will seek to remedy. Don't be concerned; I do that for everyone. Do you have anything you wish to raise at this point?"
Rachael Williams is an idealist. Very much a fresh-faced Utopian member of the New World Order. Jamelia wonders how well she'll preserve that facet of her, or whether the Watchers' duties will lead her to jaded voyeurism.
"I'm... still quite new to the Union," she says. "This entire place was hidden under London... well, it's amazing. The architecture is... wow. I've been to a few of the museums and..." she shakes her head. "Uh... points to raise. I'm not sure. I've been doing much the same things as before I was assigned here, but things are quite disrupted. I'm not sure. I think it's a bit early to say. I can't say anything seems very wrong, though."
Jamelia nods understandingly. "I understand if you feel a little neglected," she says. "The senior staff are a little distracted right now." She crosses her hands on her lap. "However, I do believe something has come up which your personal skills are well-suited for. Specifically, I need the skills of an investigative reporter."
Watcher Williams perks up, paying more attention. "What for, Director?" she asks.
"You've covered wars - and the political machinations which cause them. Well, now it's time to look into the internal politics of another Convention. You can consider this a bit of a test if you really want, but some of it is me wanting a fresh opinion on their current state - and some of it is mild concern about some of the internal tensions I'm hearing in their ranks."
You might prefer the wars, Jamelia doesn't say.
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Poor Williams. Welcome to the Technocracy, leave your dreams at the door.
On a side note, my Henriette Seeking has finally been updated with Nuts! recommendations. Sorry for taking so long >.<
On a side note, my Henriette Seeking has finally been updated with Nuts! recommendations. Sorry for taking so long >.<
Update LXXI: Future History
JB LXXI: Future History
In a semi-drunken state of mind, Kessler dreams. Kessler dreams of war. Sort of. He knows enough about his psychic powers and the Umbra to know that this isn't just his dream. The collective unconscious of mankind, according to those redacted NWO files on their 'failed psychic program'. What the Akashics call the Akashic Record. What the Dreamspeakers call the dreaming. His dream has popped him right into the part of the Dreaming that impinges on the concept of War.
In the Dreaming, reality doesn't matter. He sees warriors of every past conflict from prehistoric tribes to wars he wasn't around for-Kosovo, Iraq, Afghanistan, Chechnya-and warriors of conflicts that might happen, all in the same hazy non-existence. Technocratic weapons, mystic swords and enchanted armor, unicorn cavalry and Union cybertanks-all of them are here in the slaughter, a war that never ends.
"Nice symbolism here." John Kessler says. His voice is echoed from behind, and he turns. He sees someone familiar, yet different, a Chinese martial artist with a engraved straight-sword. A Order of Reason crusader in half-plate wielding a miniaturized gatling gun. A young American fighting in the Civil War, wearing Union (and not the Technocratic kind) blue. A Greek hoplite who stands with the gift of Genius. A British redcoat. A masked vigilante with a Thompson SMG. People he could have been. All soldiers. All people who have walked this same path, possessed this same shard of cosmic knowledge.
There is a mountain there, a literal mountain of skulls that the two sides seem to be fighting for. A valueless point that may have once been strategic but now is just a symbol of loss. There is a blinking query on his HUD, a text message.
John Kessler. Why do you fight?
"I fight because I want to do the right thing."
John Kessler. Why do you fight?
Insofar as there is any way to tell the emotion of plain green text, he senses disapproval.
Is this how heroes are made?
The Dreaming fades, and he is walking through a sand-swept desert. Around him are overturned vehicles and burning soldiers. His HUD notes a chemical warning, tells him that internal NBC filters have engaged because of the toxic fumes in the air. He sees them moan, beg, cry. Dead men in a dead realm. He steps through the carnage, aware that this is some kind of test. Around him, soldiers in US Army uniforms, soldiers that-soldiers that could be him, suffer. Nevertheless, he does not react. He's seen so much that something like this doesn't faze him. Not anymore. He's seen worse.
Why do you fight? This path you're walking isn't one you are ignorant of. You have always known of it. You know how easy it would be to make this mistake. How one simple accident can cause so much carnage.
Colombia. Belize. San Antonio. Los Angeles. Yes, he's seen what happens when agents go rogue, or when they don't but they just forget what they're fighting for. Berlin. Kandahar. New Delhi. Xian. He's seen what happens when mistakes get made in the use of heavy ordinance. He's made a few himself. "I fight because if I didn't, someone else would have to. I don't want to be responsible for some fresh-faced kid being shot because he thought war was a game."
Better. Still incomplete.
"And that someone else might be a lot worse at it." He is constantly walking uphill here, ignoring the screams. In the distance, there are only the sounds of more war, of more potential nightmare scenarios. Of more death and carnage and horror. He keeps walking.
So what is your purpose then? You see all these horrors of war, you recognize how easy it is to commit them even with the purest of heart and the noblest of deeds, for war is chaotic at its best and actively malicious at its worst. Yet you still refuse to lay down arms. You saw your colleagues last night. You know that it is possible. A crazy old relic of the Union like you would even be encouraged. You could request a discharge. You could be like so many soldiers and retire. Your service is done. Insofar as a soldier's service can be admirable, yours was. Minimal civilian casualties, relatively low collateral damage-well, for a heavy assault element. High success rate. Your job could long since be over. But yet you still fight. You are jealous of those colleagues who've transitioned to peaceful retirement. Yet you don't wish to join them. Why?
He mangles a quote from a movie. "Out here, I'm managing multi-million dollar equipment, I'm someone to be respected. Back there-I probably couldn't get a job parking cars."
So, then, John Rambo. Your path is fixed, unchanging. Your reasons for walking it are...
"I'm walking this path because I was born to it. Because I'm good at it, and I've always known that I would walk this path. I don't think I could do anything else. I'm fighting for the right thing in my mind, and maybe so's everyone else I'm fighting against, but someone's going to be doing that job anyways. Maybe I'm not fighting for peace, but that doesn't mean I can't be fighting to make the world a bit better than it is now. And just look at everyone I've seen. Mai, the others, I talk to them and they talk about what they've done, and it's just so profoundly empty. Me? I've fought an enemy that wants to kill us all, faced down an army, beaten a half-dozen vampires to a pulp, narrowly avoided being in the range of a nuclear strike. They have boring days of dealing with newfangled 21st century technology that doesn't have VR and talking about network implementations and going over intelligence reports. They have corporate meetings and 'exciting' mergers. That's not a life I want. Me? I'm happy with this life. I'm going to kill things that threaten humankind until I die of it or until there's nothing left to fight, and that I'm entirely fine with."
An acceptable answer.
The Dreaming fades, leaves him with nothing more than half-answers... and a slight giddy feeling of new revelations. Yes, he's going to be fighting this war until it kills him. He's not going to live forever, there's eventually going to be a dragon too big for even him to slay, and maybe he's going to fail and damn the entire human race-but it doesn't matter.
If John Kessler dies, it's not going to be in retirement. He's going to die with a gun in each hand and a cigar in his mouth, staring death in the face and daring it to come and take his life if it's got the balls to do so.
****************************************************************************************
The knock at her door is early. "Come in," Jamelia says, looking up from her paperwork. Much like any office she has been in for a few days, new filing cabinets have appeared seemingly from nowhere. The New World Order has been holding a valiant rearguard action against the attempts by the technological Conventions to enforce paperless offices, because it's much easier to secure paperwork than computers.
Jamelia knows she's pretty. Not too pretty, of course, but enough that people who don't know to be wary of her get put on ease. Ms Williams has the same kind of 'natural' attractiveness, and Jamelia can see the carefully applied discreet cosmetics which reinforce it without being too obvious. In some ways, it can be even more effective than the superhuman attractiveness beloved of Progenitors. Attractive enough to make your way through the world easier, not so attractive that you're the center of attention.
A little shorter than average, naturally brunette but dyed blonde, in shape - reinforced recently with NWO basic - some traces of some Progenitor gene-tweaking of the 'cleaning up a possible condition' level, and someone entirely in home in her still-stiff black suit. Entirely used to business dress, unlike Brakowski, who still looks uncomfortable in a suit and tie.
Hmm. She'll need to make sure Williams gets the proper elocution training - the kind you'd give an Operative, not just a Watcher. And maybe some statistical modelling as well. An investigative journalist should have a solid base to build on, and once she has some NWO tricks for finding the most vulnerable person in an organization up her sleeves, she'll be a useful asset for those disruptive little phone calls that Jamelia finds can so cripple things in her way. Like police responses.
"Director Belltower," Rachael Williams says in greeting. "Sorry, I'm a bit early."
Jamelia smiles. "Turning up early rarely results in ill-opinions," she points out. She can see the faint smile which flashes onto the other woman's lips. Yes, that was entirely deliberate on her part. "I just felt we should talk. I have your three week appraisal from Dr Rosario... all perfectly fine." She carefully lowers her voice, pitching it to sound trustworthy. "I do understand that you might not have realized quite what you were getting into when you were assigned to this amalgam. Please, sit down."
Rachael looks momentarily awkward as she takes a seat, and tries to cover it up with a smile. "Ah... yes, I'm sorry Director, but it came as quite a surprise."
"Well, I didn't plan it this way myself," Jamelia says calmly. "I submitted the request for more Enlightened personnel and designation as a field-training amalgam even before Hong Kong happened." She smiles. "I think you just have to consider it your good luck that this didn't clear until after Moscow."
The other woman laughs. She seems to be relaxing somewhat. Good. She's seeing Jamelia as someone more human. Just as planned. It's so annoying, the myths which build up about senior New World Order operatives sometimes. She blames the ones who show off how they can control someone's thoughts with a few well-chosen subliminal words. It makes it so much harder for everyone else, and also means people are looking for subliminal messaging in your words which is a pain when you're actually trying to use it.
"Regardless," Jamelia continues, "you seem to be settling in well. I've noted a few areas for improvement which I will seek to remedy. Don't be concerned; I do that for everyone. Do you have anything you wish to raise at this point?"
Rachael Williams is an idealist. Very much a fresh-faced Utopian member of the New World Order. Jamelia wonders how well she'll preserve that facet of her, or whether the Watchers' duties will lead her to jaded voyeurism.
"I'm... still quite new to the Union," she says. "This entire place was hidden under London... well, it's amazing. The architecture is... wow. I've been to a few of the museums and..." she shakes her head. "Uh... points to raise. I'm not sure. I've been doing much the same things as before I was assigned here, but things are quite disrupted. I'm not sure. I think it's a bit early to say. I can't say anything seems very wrong, though."
Jamelia nods understandingly. "I understand if you feel a little neglected," she says. "The senior staff are a little distracted right now." She crosses her hands on her lap. "However, I do believe something has come up which your personal skills are well-suited for. Specifically, I need the skills of an investigative reporter."
Watcher Williams perks up, paying more attention. "What for, Director?" she asks.
"You've covered wars - and the political machinations which cause them. Well, now it's time to look into the internal politics of another Convention. You can consider this a bit of a test if you really want, but some of it is me wanting a fresh opinion on their current state - and some of it is mild concern about some of the internal tensions I'm hearing in their ranks."
You might prefer the wars, Jamelia doesn't say.
The ex-reporter grins. "What's my assignment?"
"I need someone to help me look into Iteration X. I have my own methods, but multiple viewpoints aren't ever redundant."
"Iteration X? What kind of internal politics do they have? I thought they were just tech guys who made computers and robots and gadgets."
"Not quite." Jamelia says. It's a common misconception. "They've been intertwined with the Ascension War since their inception." Since they stopped being the International Brotherhood of Mechanicians. Since they started listening to the Computer, Jamelia thinks. "Nowadays, after more than a century of being on the front lines of the Ascension War in both ways-both technological and military-the soldiers have a surprising amount of pull. I'd like to know more about the hardliners and the political viewpoint of Iteration X in general. Is there anyone who might be second in line to the throne?"
"I can get you a report in two weeks." The other woman says enthusiastically. "If you need it any sooner, it'll probably be rushed."
"Excellent. Two weeks will be fine."
****************************************************************************************
Henriette knows that she should be putting more effort into understanding the political leanings of her fellow Iterators, but when they told her that since she was in the area, and since this was a tribunal for the purposes of procedure, rather than a tribunal which would be punishing, and that she was now the Hero of Moscow because she was the DSS-03's pilot when everything went down so maybe she should check out and receive a new vehicle to replace her old assault walker-
-well, that sounded far more interesting. And she was doing her job by socializing with the technicians! Although most of it involved going through the specifications of the Variform Ground Vehicle-3, the Interceptor with the design team.
"I thought I was getting an assault walker replacement." She looks at the Interceptor, and although it's certainly a beautiful vehicle that looks like it's breaking the sound barrier, let alone the speed limit, when standing still, there are some things vehicles need limbs for. No matter how sexy a car is-and this one looks like it's the child of a Syndicate-built sportscar and a Iteration X stealthed superfighter-it can't grab a shapeshifter and throw them over the horizon.
"Variform Ground Vehicle." the technician, whose AR nametag reads "R. Gibson" replies with some level of exasperation. "It's a multimodal combat chassis that can switch to a humanoid combat mode. It's just that we're putting it into more than a handful of relatively rare vehicles now. I'm loading a full summary of what it can do now to your ADEI."
The young pilot whistles as she reads the data for the Interceptor. Dual 30mm railguns with a variety of payloads that link up for sniper functions while transformed, smart grenade dispensers firing programmable microgrenades, a point-defense laser system, high-power compact fusion reactor, high-tensile shape-memory alloy internal components that double as musculature in humanoid form, heavy primium chassis, and a piezoelectric-reinforced vehicle skin that also provides thermal, radar, and even visual stealth. Henriette whistles. It's a hundred-million dollar supercomputer that happens to be able to go from 0-300 km/h in 2.5 seconds.
Henriette wonders what happened to the first two versions of the VGV series and why she hasn't heard of them, and she brings up the information on her ADEI. A surfeit of technical errors and bugs, some of them fatal in the colloquial, rather than the information technology, sense. She's a very good pilot who's used to vehicles dangerous to their users, but she's gotten to this level by being concerned about potentially deadly features. "I assume the VGV-3 doesn't have the same conversion issues as the previous two?"
"We fixed those, more or less. It's reliable if it's transforming at high speed, but not if you're moving slowly or in areas with a lot of EMI. There's a safety warning in the event malfunction is likely."
"Good to hear. So can I take this out for a test drive?"
The technician grins. "I thought you'd never ask."
****************************************************************************************
Jamelia is a little surprised when Henriette calls and says that she wants to leave the Geofront and visit someone. It seems like a distraction, but she still has time, so Jamelia reluctantly assents.
She raises an eyebrow as Henriette's car comes into view. It looks-well, it looks very Iteration X. Sculpted artificial beauty in the form of a high-tech vehicle that might be the offspring of a stealth fighter and a Lamborghini. She notices the subtle signs of militarization-'rear-view mirrors' with fairings designed to conceal machineguns, 'air intakes' that conceal weapons, tires made out of dense nanotube mesh-she has no doubt that it's a bit more powerful than a Paladin. Iteration X has always been good at building military technology, even with the cuts to military R&D priority.
Iteration X has, however, never been good at making subtle war machines, and this vehicle seems to be just another one of a line of unsubtle designs. It'd draw far too much attention for her normal work.
"Iterator Langley. I assume we're not taking this out of the Geofront?"
"If it's okay with you, we are. We're going to visit a Construct in Hereford. Talking to the techs and pilots, there's a General Michael Garrison the hardliners respect. I'd like to find out a bit more about him, and he basically runs that mixed Construct."
"Hereford, where the SAS are based? That's one of our processing centers for combat operatives." Jamelia knows a lot more about Union recruiting than Henriette does. There are plenty of people who don't quite make it in special forces training, but have the right attitude and just enough bitterness to sign their lives up with a shadowy global conspiracy, especially when that shadowy global conspiracy can cure your weaknesses, whatever they are. "I don't recall Jessica Belltower being removed from control-and no, she's not related to me."
"He's not actually officially running it, but the pilots and techs think he's basically the one guy who's making all the decisions at this point, since he's running the regional shapeshifter and hemophage culling programs. It's why I want to take this car here, just in case we might end up getting into a fight or three, because they say that shapeshifters often attack exiting convoys"
Makes sense. Iteration X can play politics just like any other Convention, and if you're the one primarily doing combat ops-the Union's still got a lot of people who think that the Ascension War is the kind of war that's fought by firing missiles into houses. Depressing that so many intelligent people find it so hard to think about their approach and whether it actually works, but if everyone thought like her-well, she'd be out of a job, wouldn't she, Jamelia thinks.
She settles into the memory-foam bucket seat that reminds her of a fighter jet's ejection seat, looks at the driver console, which is closer to a cockpit, including the MFDs, than any car she's ever seen, and digs into the glove compartment for the instructions. There's an interface port for any Technocratic PDA or smartphone, and she plugs hers in.
"Welcome to the Variform Ground Vehicle Model 3 (the Interceptor) User Manual".
Iteration X, Jamelia thinks. She suspected that a multi-million dollar sportscar was still too subtle for them.
________________________________________________________________________________________
Yeah, this is probably pretty crappy. I had a very busy week, sorry. If someone wants to make the Donald writein feel free.
Jamelia and Henriette's Adventures:
So what happens during the trip? (Note that very few of these are going to threaten the VGV-3)
[ ] Nothing
[ ] Talking more about Henriette's issues/backstory
[ ] I-50-B31 runs into you again. How inconvenient.
[ ] Rogue Council Terrorism
[ ] Werewolf Terrorism
[ ] A detour into something Cemal remembers.
Your approach with General Garrison:
[ ] Write-in some sort of plan.
In a semi-drunken state of mind, Kessler dreams. Kessler dreams of war. Sort of. He knows enough about his psychic powers and the Umbra to know that this isn't just his dream. The collective unconscious of mankind, according to those redacted NWO files on their 'failed psychic program'. What the Akashics call the Akashic Record. What the Dreamspeakers call the dreaming. His dream has popped him right into the part of the Dreaming that impinges on the concept of War.
In the Dreaming, reality doesn't matter. He sees warriors of every past conflict from prehistoric tribes to wars he wasn't around for-Kosovo, Iraq, Afghanistan, Chechnya-and warriors of conflicts that might happen, all in the same hazy non-existence. Technocratic weapons, mystic swords and enchanted armor, unicorn cavalry and Union cybertanks-all of them are here in the slaughter, a war that never ends.
"Nice symbolism here." John Kessler says. His voice is echoed from behind, and he turns. He sees someone familiar, yet different, a Chinese martial artist with a engraved straight-sword. A Order of Reason crusader in half-plate wielding a miniaturized gatling gun. A young American fighting in the Civil War, wearing Union (and not the Technocratic kind) blue. A Greek hoplite who stands with the gift of Genius. A British redcoat. A masked vigilante with a Thompson SMG. People he could have been. All soldiers. All people who have walked this same path, possessed this same shard of cosmic knowledge.
There is a mountain there, a literal mountain of skulls that the two sides seem to be fighting for. A valueless point that may have once been strategic but now is just a symbol of loss. There is a blinking query on his HUD, a text message.
John Kessler. Why do you fight?
"I fight because I want to do the right thing."
John Kessler. Why do you fight?
Insofar as there is any way to tell the emotion of plain green text, he senses disapproval.
Is this how heroes are made?
The Dreaming fades, and he is walking through a sand-swept desert. Around him are overturned vehicles and burning soldiers. His HUD notes a chemical warning, tells him that internal NBC filters have engaged because of the toxic fumes in the air. He sees them moan, beg, cry. Dead men in a dead realm. He steps through the carnage, aware that this is some kind of test. Around him, soldiers in US Army uniforms, soldiers that-soldiers that could be him, suffer. Nevertheless, he does not react. He's seen so much that something like this doesn't faze him. Not anymore. He's seen worse.
Why do you fight? This path you're walking isn't one you are ignorant of. You have always known of it. You know how easy it would be to make this mistake. How one simple accident can cause so much carnage.
Colombia. Belize. San Antonio. Los Angeles. Yes, he's seen what happens when agents go rogue, or when they don't but they just forget what they're fighting for. Berlin. Kandahar. New Delhi. Xian. He's seen what happens when mistakes get made in the use of heavy ordinance. He's made a few himself. "I fight because if I didn't, someone else would have to. I don't want to be responsible for some fresh-faced kid being shot because he thought war was a game."
Better. Still incomplete.
"And that someone else might be a lot worse at it." He is constantly walking uphill here, ignoring the screams. In the distance, there are only the sounds of more war, of more potential nightmare scenarios. Of more death and carnage and horror. He keeps walking.
So what is your purpose then? You see all these horrors of war, you recognize how easy it is to commit them even with the purest of heart and the noblest of deeds, for war is chaotic at its best and actively malicious at its worst. Yet you still refuse to lay down arms. You saw your colleagues last night. You know that it is possible. A crazy old relic of the Union like you would even be encouraged. You could request a discharge. You could be like so many soldiers and retire. Your service is done. Insofar as a soldier's service can be admirable, yours was. Minimal civilian casualties, relatively low collateral damage-well, for a heavy assault element. High success rate. Your job could long since be over. But yet you still fight. You are jealous of those colleagues who've transitioned to peaceful retirement. Yet you don't wish to join them. Why?
He mangles a quote from a movie. "Out here, I'm managing multi-million dollar equipment, I'm someone to be respected. Back there-I probably couldn't get a job parking cars."
So, then, John Rambo. Your path is fixed, unchanging. Your reasons for walking it are...
"I'm walking this path because I was born to it. Because I'm good at it, and I've always known that I would walk this path. I don't think I could do anything else. I'm fighting for the right thing in my mind, and maybe so's everyone else I'm fighting against, but someone's going to be doing that job anyways. Maybe I'm not fighting for peace, but that doesn't mean I can't be fighting to make the world a bit better than it is now. And just look at everyone I've seen. Mai, the others, I talk to them and they talk about what they've done, and it's just so profoundly empty. Me? I've fought an enemy that wants to kill us all, faced down an army, beaten a half-dozen vampires to a pulp, narrowly avoided being in the range of a nuclear strike. They have boring days of dealing with newfangled 21st century technology that doesn't have VR and talking about network implementations and going over intelligence reports. They have corporate meetings and 'exciting' mergers. That's not a life I want. Me? I'm happy with this life. I'm going to kill things that threaten humankind until I die of it or until there's nothing left to fight, and that I'm entirely fine with."
An acceptable answer.
The Dreaming fades, leaves him with nothing more than half-answers... and a slight giddy feeling of new revelations. Yes, he's going to be fighting this war until it kills him. He's not going to live forever, there's eventually going to be a dragon too big for even him to slay, and maybe he's going to fail and damn the entire human race-but it doesn't matter.
If John Kessler dies, it's not going to be in retirement. He's going to die with a gun in each hand and a cigar in his mouth, staring death in the face and daring it to come and take his life if it's got the balls to do so.
****************************************************************************************
The knock at her door is early. "Come in," Jamelia says, looking up from her paperwork. Much like any office she has been in for a few days, new filing cabinets have appeared seemingly from nowhere. The New World Order has been holding a valiant rearguard action against the attempts by the technological Conventions to enforce paperless offices, because it's much easier to secure paperwork than computers.
Jamelia knows she's pretty. Not too pretty, of course, but enough that people who don't know to be wary of her get put on ease. Ms Williams has the same kind of 'natural' attractiveness, and Jamelia can see the carefully applied discreet cosmetics which reinforce it without being too obvious. In some ways, it can be even more effective than the superhuman attractiveness beloved of Progenitors. Attractive enough to make your way through the world easier, not so attractive that you're the center of attention.
A little shorter than average, naturally brunette but dyed blonde, in shape - reinforced recently with NWO basic - some traces of some Progenitor gene-tweaking of the 'cleaning up a possible condition' level, and someone entirely in home in her still-stiff black suit. Entirely used to business dress, unlike Brakowski, who still looks uncomfortable in a suit and tie.
Hmm. She'll need to make sure Williams gets the proper elocution training - the kind you'd give an Operative, not just a Watcher. And maybe some statistical modelling as well. An investigative journalist should have a solid base to build on, and once she has some NWO tricks for finding the most vulnerable person in an organization up her sleeves, she'll be a useful asset for those disruptive little phone calls that Jamelia finds can so cripple things in her way. Like police responses.
"Director Belltower," Rachael Williams says in greeting. "Sorry, I'm a bit early."
Jamelia smiles. "Turning up early rarely results in ill-opinions," she points out. She can see the faint smile which flashes onto the other woman's lips. Yes, that was entirely deliberate on her part. "I just felt we should talk. I have your three week appraisal from Dr Rosario... all perfectly fine." She carefully lowers her voice, pitching it to sound trustworthy. "I do understand that you might not have realized quite what you were getting into when you were assigned to this amalgam. Please, sit down."
Rachael looks momentarily awkward as she takes a seat, and tries to cover it up with a smile. "Ah... yes, I'm sorry Director, but it came as quite a surprise."
"Well, I didn't plan it this way myself," Jamelia says calmly. "I submitted the request for more Enlightened personnel and designation as a field-training amalgam even before Hong Kong happened." She smiles. "I think you just have to consider it your good luck that this didn't clear until after Moscow."
The other woman laughs. She seems to be relaxing somewhat. Good. She's seeing Jamelia as someone more human. Just as planned. It's so annoying, the myths which build up about senior New World Order operatives sometimes. She blames the ones who show off how they can control someone's thoughts with a few well-chosen subliminal words. It makes it so much harder for everyone else, and also means people are looking for subliminal messaging in your words which is a pain when you're actually trying to use it.
"Regardless," Jamelia continues, "you seem to be settling in well. I've noted a few areas for improvement which I will seek to remedy. Don't be concerned; I do that for everyone. Do you have anything you wish to raise at this point?"
Rachael Williams is an idealist. Very much a fresh-faced Utopian member of the New World Order. Jamelia wonders how well she'll preserve that facet of her, or whether the Watchers' duties will lead her to jaded voyeurism.
"I'm... still quite new to the Union," she says. "This entire place was hidden under London... well, it's amazing. The architecture is... wow. I've been to a few of the museums and..." she shakes her head. "Uh... points to raise. I'm not sure. I've been doing much the same things as before I was assigned here, but things are quite disrupted. I'm not sure. I think it's a bit early to say. I can't say anything seems very wrong, though."
Jamelia nods understandingly. "I understand if you feel a little neglected," she says. "The senior staff are a little distracted right now." She crosses her hands on her lap. "However, I do believe something has come up which your personal skills are well-suited for. Specifically, I need the skills of an investigative reporter."
Watcher Williams perks up, paying more attention. "What for, Director?" she asks.
"You've covered wars - and the political machinations which cause them. Well, now it's time to look into the internal politics of another Convention. You can consider this a bit of a test if you really want, but some of it is me wanting a fresh opinion on their current state - and some of it is mild concern about some of the internal tensions I'm hearing in their ranks."
You might prefer the wars, Jamelia doesn't say.
The ex-reporter grins. "What's my assignment?"
"I need someone to help me look into Iteration X. I have my own methods, but multiple viewpoints aren't ever redundant."
"Iteration X? What kind of internal politics do they have? I thought they were just tech guys who made computers and robots and gadgets."
"Not quite." Jamelia says. It's a common misconception. "They've been intertwined with the Ascension War since their inception." Since they stopped being the International Brotherhood of Mechanicians. Since they started listening to the Computer, Jamelia thinks. "Nowadays, after more than a century of being on the front lines of the Ascension War in both ways-both technological and military-the soldiers have a surprising amount of pull. I'd like to know more about the hardliners and the political viewpoint of Iteration X in general. Is there anyone who might be second in line to the throne?"
"I can get you a report in two weeks." The other woman says enthusiastically. "If you need it any sooner, it'll probably be rushed."
"Excellent. Two weeks will be fine."
****************************************************************************************
Henriette knows that she should be putting more effort into understanding the political leanings of her fellow Iterators, but when they told her that since she was in the area, and since this was a tribunal for the purposes of procedure, rather than a tribunal which would be punishing, and that she was now the Hero of Moscow because she was the DSS-03's pilot when everything went down so maybe she should check out and receive a new vehicle to replace her old assault walker-
-well, that sounded far more interesting. And she was doing her job by socializing with the technicians! Although most of it involved going through the specifications of the Variform Ground Vehicle-3, the Interceptor with the design team.
"I thought I was getting an assault walker replacement." She looks at the Interceptor, and although it's certainly a beautiful vehicle that looks like it's breaking the sound barrier, let alone the speed limit, when standing still, there are some things vehicles need limbs for. No matter how sexy a car is-and this one looks like it's the child of a Syndicate-built sportscar and a Iteration X stealthed superfighter-it can't grab a shapeshifter and throw them over the horizon.
"Variform Ground Vehicle." the technician, whose AR nametag reads "R. Gibson" replies with some level of exasperation. "It's a multimodal combat chassis that can switch to a humanoid combat mode. It's just that we're putting it into more than a handful of relatively rare vehicles now. I'm loading a full summary of what it can do now to your ADEI."
The young pilot whistles as she reads the data for the Interceptor. Dual 30mm railguns with a variety of payloads that link up for sniper functions while transformed, smart grenade dispensers firing programmable microgrenades, a point-defense laser system, high-power compact fusion reactor, high-tensile shape-memory alloy internal components that double as musculature in humanoid form, heavy primium chassis, and a piezoelectric-reinforced vehicle skin that also provides thermal, radar, and even visual stealth. Henriette whistles. It's a hundred-million dollar supercomputer that happens to be able to go from 0-300 km/h in 2.5 seconds.
Henriette wonders what happened to the first two versions of the VGV series and why she hasn't heard of them, and she brings up the information on her ADEI. A surfeit of technical errors and bugs, some of them fatal in the colloquial, rather than the information technology, sense. She's a very good pilot who's used to vehicles dangerous to their users, but she's gotten to this level by being concerned about potentially deadly features. "I assume the VGV-3 doesn't have the same conversion issues as the previous two?"
"We fixed those, more or less. It's reliable if it's transforming at high speed, but not if you're moving slowly or in areas with a lot of EMI. There's a safety warning in the event malfunction is likely."
"Good to hear. So can I take this out for a test drive?"
The technician grins. "I thought you'd never ask."
****************************************************************************************
Jamelia is a little surprised when Henriette calls and says that she wants to leave the Geofront and visit someone. It seems like a distraction, but she still has time, so Jamelia reluctantly assents.
She raises an eyebrow as Henriette's car comes into view. It looks-well, it looks very Iteration X. Sculpted artificial beauty in the form of a high-tech vehicle that might be the offspring of a stealth fighter and a Lamborghini. She notices the subtle signs of militarization-'rear-view mirrors' with fairings designed to conceal machineguns, 'air intakes' that conceal weapons, tires made out of dense nanotube mesh-she has no doubt that it's a bit more powerful than a Paladin. Iteration X has always been good at building military technology, even with the cuts to military R&D priority.
Iteration X has, however, never been good at making subtle war machines, and this vehicle seems to be just another one of a line of unsubtle designs. It'd draw far too much attention for her normal work.
"Iterator Langley. I assume we're not taking this out of the Geofront?"
"If it's okay with you, we are. We're going to visit a Construct in Hereford. Talking to the techs and pilots, there's a General Michael Garrison the hardliners respect. I'd like to find out a bit more about him, and he basically runs that mixed Construct."
"Hereford, where the SAS are based? That's one of our processing centers for combat operatives." Jamelia knows a lot more about Union recruiting than Henriette does. There are plenty of people who don't quite make it in special forces training, but have the right attitude and just enough bitterness to sign their lives up with a shadowy global conspiracy, especially when that shadowy global conspiracy can cure your weaknesses, whatever they are. "I don't recall Jessica Belltower being removed from control-and no, she's not related to me."
"He's not actually officially running it, but the pilots and techs think he's basically the one guy who's making all the decisions at this point, since he's running the regional shapeshifter and hemophage culling programs. It's why I want to take this car here, just in case we might end up getting into a fight or three, because they say that shapeshifters often attack exiting convoys"
Makes sense. Iteration X can play politics just like any other Convention, and if you're the one primarily doing combat ops-the Union's still got a lot of people who think that the Ascension War is the kind of war that's fought by firing missiles into houses. Depressing that so many intelligent people find it so hard to think about their approach and whether it actually works, but if everyone thought like her-well, she'd be out of a job, wouldn't she, Jamelia thinks.
She settles into the memory-foam bucket seat that reminds her of a fighter jet's ejection seat, looks at the driver console, which is closer to a cockpit, including the MFDs, than any car she's ever seen, and digs into the glove compartment for the instructions. There's an interface port for any Technocratic PDA or smartphone, and she plugs hers in.
"Welcome to the Variform Ground Vehicle Model 3 (the Interceptor) User Manual".
Iteration X, Jamelia thinks. She suspected that a multi-million dollar sportscar was still too subtle for them.
________________________________________________________________________________________
Yeah, this is probably pretty crappy. I had a very busy week, sorry. If someone wants to make the Donald writein feel free.
Jamelia and Henriette's Adventures:
So what happens during the trip? (Note that very few of these are going to threaten the VGV-3)
[ ] Nothing
[ ] Talking more about Henriette's issues/backstory
[ ] I-50-B31 runs into you again. How inconvenient.
[ ] Rogue Council Terrorism
[ ] Werewolf Terrorism
[ ] A detour into something Cemal remembers.
Your approach with General Garrison:
[ ] Write-in some sort of plan.
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[x] Werewolf Terrorism
As for the other options, nothing is boring. We've discussed backstory before, so I'm not sure what's left to say that can't be said while killing reality deviants. It very clearly isn't time to meet Isobel again. The rogue council could be interesting, but I think that's too much plot right now. Lastly, Cemal doesn't seem like he'd have enough british connections for something to come up right now that's actually important.
(Also, I'm still for Donald's story being positive, because you guys keep treating him as a butt monkey.)
We haven't met a single one, so we're probably past due. I'd guess this is the best way to encounter them.
As for the other options, nothing is boring. We've discussed backstory before, so I'm not sure what's left to say that can't be said while killing reality deviants. It very clearly isn't time to meet Isobel again. The rogue council could be interesting, but I think that's too much plot right now. Lastly, Cemal doesn't seem like he'd have enough british connections for something to come up right now that's actually important.
(Also, I'm still for Donald's story being positive, because you guys keep treating him as a butt monkey.)
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prometheus110
Join Cayman-Global & be part of the 1E-9 percent!
- Location
- La Ballena City Raft
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Werewolf Terrorism
Werewolf Terrorism
Spooky scary
Men becoming Wolves
Wolves becoming Terrorists
Werewolf Terrorism
Spooky scary
Men becoming Wolves
Wolves becoming Terrorists
[X] A detour into something Cemal remembers.
-> [X] There's some old Roman ruins along the route. Well less Ruins and more an impossibly well hidden Roman base built inside a cave system. Cemal's mentor had re discovered it and used it as a secret cache. A cache Cemal never told anyone about to secure some very important files inside.
-> [X] There's some old Roman ruins along the route. Well less Ruins and more an impossibly well hidden Roman base built inside a cave system. Cemal's mentor had re discovered it and used it as a secret cache. A cache Cemal never told anyone about to secure some very important files inside.
- Location
- The end of all things
[X] Werewolf Terrorism
Because we haven't seen any werewolves yet.
Because we haven't seen any werewolves yet.
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
[X] Talking more about Henriette's issues/backstory
We've healed the worst of her fractures, but that just opens up all the other memories she should have. She's been in deep on ItX combat ops for practically her whole life. Let's explore that lane; its just what we need right now, and she probably knows some people Jamelia will want to talk to.
We've healed the worst of her fractures, but that just opens up all the other memories she should have. She's been in deep on ItX combat ops for practically her whole life. Let's explore that lane; its just what we need right now, and she probably knows some people Jamelia will want to talk to.
Going to be a tricky one to talk to unless we got our monster hunting credentials I think. And probably doesn't think much of working with the Traditions or even just blurring the line. Hmm.
What were we trying to get out of him again?
Acatalepsy
Firewall Proxy
- Location
- The Diamond Age
We don't really know at this point. We might want to get him to more explicitly support Ada. We might want to simply have warning and be on his good side if there's going to be an ItX shakeup. We might want shut down an impending shakeup. We're flying blind here - more blind than usual - when it comes to ItX politics.
You know, I initially misread "terrorism" as "tourism" and the resulting mental image of "werewolf tourism" was hilarious.