Ah, I was basing it off this description, particularly the "theories and practices" part at the bottom. And it's not like every faction doesn't have it's own horrible moral failings in the World of Darkness. But point taken.
Panopticon: A Game of Posthumans, Perniciousness, Paranoia, Politics, and Plasmaguns
Jamelia 03: Shadows of the Past
Continued from here
Yellowfields 03: Shadows of the Past
In the end, they don't go to the bar that is the place he does most of his work in. Instead, they head back to Harlan's home. And Jaron and Jamelia take a chance to talk.
Right after they turn on the ultrasonic squealers, the white-noise generators, the Van Eck Phreaking Phuckers and all the suite of gadgets in the Paladin designed to stop people listening in. They don't think they're secure, of course. But it's enough to allow moderately casual conversation.
One does not achieve a Belltower name without a certain level of fully justified paranoia, especially when one is around a known psychic.
"He's a mess," Jaron says clinically, drumming his fingers on the seat as the cornfields go by. "He's a high functioning alcoholic - and I use the term 'high functioning' loosely - who's the Director of an amalgam of one and a construct which was overrun by RNEs without him even noticing."
It's a valid criticism, Jamelia has to agree. "Too many agents put in 'retirement' positions wind up like this," she notes, trailing Harlan's car as it turns. "A shame."
"If I was feeling cruel, I would say that the only spirits he's seen in years have come in bottles," Jaron says drolly. He smirks. "That's one advantage the RDs have. It's harder to make puns about extradimensional entities."
"I'm sure they enjoy it a lot."
"Though we should beware the EDEs of March."
"Or any other month." Jamelia shifts gears. "And that was dreadful."
"Thank you." Jaron massages his knuckles. "How much effort is it going to take to bring him up to usability?" he asks.
Jamelia purses her lips. "Hmm," she says deliberately. "Physically he's somewhat out of shape - mix of age-related degradation, and the alcoholism. We'll want to have that fixed, so he doesn't drop dead on us from heart failure and waste the asset. He's kept up with his training - probably because going through the training regime gives him structure to his day. But that's a triviality. I'm more concerned about his mental state. The man I knew thirty years ago wouldn't have wound up like this."
They drive on in silence for a bit.
"So. I need more information on HELMETSHRIKE," Jaron says out of the blue. "I need to know more about the man and how you can say something like that with such certainty."
She instinctive bristles. "You know what HELMETSHRIKE was," she says flatly.
"I do. But I'd rather hear it from you," he says. "The official histories depict them more as recon teams. A lot is still classified."
She shifts gears, literally and metaphorically. She'll make a concession here, as it is necessary. "Oh, very well. The programme started in the late Sixties, as the Pogrom stepped up. As did the losses of Iterator and Progenitor assault teams in the Third World, because they were taking things meant for urban use into all kinds of backwaters. The Operatives and the Enforcers got tapped to set up a combat asset which could go into... well, pretty much anywhere baseline-ish humans could survive, even if tech couldn't. Black ops and wetworks teams. Mostly assassination and sabotage, some abduction, occasional extraction."
"Messy work," Jaron observes.
"Very much so," Jamelia says calmly. Another car passes in the other direction, and both agents stiffen slightly tracking it as it goes by. "I had... oh, around five to ten years of experience under my belt when I was headhunted for a HELMETSHRIKE team." She doesn't give precise values. "That's the general level of expertise they were looking for. Long enough to wash away the new agents smell, but not so experienced that you'd be a great loss."
Jaron looks out the window. "High attrition rate, yes. I'd read that."
"You don't know the half of it. I was lucky. I wound up in a good one. We only lost a few team members, but we'd regularly lose 75%+ on our support sections. We happened to have a very heavy stealth and infiltration focus, and enough pull to refuse to be used for frontal assaults by tin-headed Comptrollers.
She laughs, with a trace of old remembered bitterness. "When you've spent three weeks crawling through some forsaken jungle to get into position when the most high tech gear you have is a WW2 field radio and an AK47, all you could take out a cult leader in their sleep… well, you aren't left feeling too sympathetic to whining Iterators going on about how they got a little bit of mud on them and that's why they can't give backup. We just managed to dodge their attempts to get us to carry out the main attack for them." She shakes her head. "So annoying. Iteration X never liked HELMETSHRIKE."
She catches Jaron's sideways glance, and strongly suspects he's slotting this into his model of her. "Self reliant, used to operating when cut off," he says out loud.
Jamelia slows at some lights. "I can't help you with how he's changed in the mean time, of course," she says. "He very much self-defines as a psychic, so the phasing out of the programmes can't have been good for him. We were colleagues and… yes, I would say 'friends' at the time, but it's been thirty years."
"Romantic involvement?" The words are coldly professional.
"None. No feelings on my behalf, none known about from him. No leverage there, but also no resentment," Jamelia says just as coldly. "There may be some jealousy about the difference in our relative positions - I'll need to take care about that. I don't think he's a defection risk, because if he was, he would have taken the chance already."
"And not be stuck out here."
"Quite so."
The two black cars pull up at Harlan's house.
It has a large back garden and a soppy-looking dog wearing a straw hat snoozing on the porch. The front garden is almost inhumanly neat and puts the neighbours to shame. There's even a white picket fence.
No 2.5 kids, though. No kids have ever lived here.
Harlan carefully parks his old car in his garage, and closes the door. He notes that his two guests have parked just outside, and he can sense all the security features coming online.
"Leave your shoes on the mat," he tells them. "Don't walk dirt into the house."
Jamelia gives him a Look. It is a capital-L Look. "Regulation shoes don't pick up dirt," she says.
"Well, lucky you," Harlan grumbles. "Some of us have to buy our own shoes."
He feels oddly ashamed as he slips off his shoes, and not just because there are patches in his socks. The two other agents follow his lead, and he doesn't even crack a smile at how Jamelia gets even shorter. He leads them to the basement, and fumbles around until he finds the switch hidden under the breaker box. A pulse of psychic energy is all he needs to identify himself, and now the switch pops open the hatch hidden in the floor, leading down to the sub-basement.
"It's a bit of a tight squeeze," he apologises as he swings starts to clamber down the ladder. "Well, it's fine when it's just me, but it's not really meant to more than that."
It is just a single room down here. The walls are shiny with aluminium foil and electrical wiring, and while a few attempts have been made to add a human touch, they're lost under the off-the-shelf modern computers, the obsolete Technocratic hardware, the psi-commander chair, and the bed.
"Tin foil?" Jaron asks, raising his eyebrows.
"It covers up the Faraday cage," Harlan says. "I have this place set up for security. It should be invisible to anything but the most high-powered scanners, and it's also opaque to psychic influences." He gives a self-effacing shrug. "Just an old man's paranoia," he lies. Because it is a lie. The voices can't touch him down here, and his dreams are his own.
He settles down on the psi command chair, although he doesn't engage the locks. That leaves the desk chair and the bed for the other two. The desk is laden down with heavily bookmarked books, with titles like 'Epigenetic Development of Powers in Mothers of Psychics" and "Creatures of the Mind (Authorised Censored Edition, with Commentary)", and he watches Jamelia's eyes flick over them. She doesn't say anything about the fact that those texts should technically all be a in a secure facility.
All the drive back, the voices were whispering to him until he focussed on keeping up a mental shield. They hate her. They really hate her. They accuse her of being a traitor, a bane, a foe of the Technocratic Union. Evil, purest evil - the Prodigal Daughter who has refused to return to the flock and instead revels in her wicked ways. And so on. At least down here, he can think without having to concentrate on keeping them silent.
Compared to her, the other man is more of a mystery. He's seen some references to Jaron Belltower in various reports and some of his papers. He's quite the prodigy, a Senior Operative despite being relatively young, and he is very heavily enhanced. He has very heavy mental shielding built into his combat chassis, on top of the primium. Harlan has seen combat Iterators less augmented than him.
Very strange.
"So," he says, steepling his fingers. "I suppose I might as well ask why the Order remembered that an old alcoholic embarrassment like me still exists. And why two Belltowers have shown up, when I never got past Blithe before I gave up on the whole name thing."
Jamelia and Jaron exchange a glance. Jaron gestures at her to begin. "The New World Order is considering its future," Jamelia begins. "Certain events, such as the assault by an previously-unknown EDE enemy in Moscow have convinced senior figures of the necessity of reactivating old programmes which were mistakenly shut down due to political interference."
He stares at her flatly. "Cut the bullshit, Hyena," he says, butterflies squirming in his stomach. He thinks he knows what's going on here, and he doesn't know how to feel about it. He's dreamed of something like this happening, but never expected it. Not really.
She rolls her eyes. "Fine," she says. "After Moscow, we need more DSci, and we need it organic to the NWO. We need to be able to trust it. A lot - and I mean a lot - of the currently senior members of the NWO are Operatives who remember how useful people like you were, and the Operatives never wanted the psychic programmes to be shut down. We know how useful they are."
Jaron clears his throat. "Professor Bastion has decided that we should reactivate as many of the old trainers and facilities belonging to various mothballed programmes as part of a viability study. Yellowfields is - was, I should say - thought to be an intact location, and you're marked in your files as being one of the most powerful and well-trained psychics left to us."
Jamelia leans forwards. "Basically, Harlan," she says, "the NWO wants you back, because we're trying to start up another psychic programme. You got screwed over by political games. I know. You have the right to feel bitter about…"
"Bitter? Why would I be bitter?" Harlan says softly, arms tightening on his chair. "Because I've spent twenty years in a meaningless position, pickling my liver out of sheer boredom? Because I got fucked over and no one spoke up for me? Because out of the blue, you show back up into my life after not a single word for decades and go 'Oh yes, we're reactivating you'?"
The other two agents are looking at him with a look of sympathy. He just knows they'll sit back and take everything he says, and at the end of his venting, he'll feel better.
Of course he can recognise what they're doing. Harlan has done exactly the same to other people. He gets the catharsis of shouting at them as a symbolic substitute for the New World Order which has mistreated him. After doing that, he'll be able to move on having let go of his anger and resentment.
Bastards. And it'll work too. Even though he know that's what they're doing.
So he does exactly that, and feels better.
Jamelia has been shouted at by a bitter old friend for about a quarter of an hour, and he seems to be running out of steam. It's now one of the awkward pauses, and she feels her presence might be making things more complicated. There is, however, something else on her mind.
"Where's your toilet?" Jamelia asks.
Harlan blinks. "Uh… up the ladder, then up the stairs, second on the left," he says as she gets up. "Oh, and Hyena?" he adds. "Once you've finished your business, wash your hands and keep your poking around in my personal possessions to a tasteful level."
None of the agents in the room were under any misapprehensions that instructions not to look through his stuff would be heeded.
Away from him, Jamelia takes the time to think over what's happened today.
There's one specific thing that Harlan's basement psi-lab reminds her of, and it is… disconcerting. Jamelia has seen this kind of place before. It looks just like the kind of hidden, underfunded place which Shadow Ministry psychic operatives build. Jamelia has kicked down the door to several of those places in her career. The same pastiche of New World Order technology, the same shabbiness from trying to do too much with not enough, and of course, the same massive use of aluminium foil.
Not that it's necessarily that surprising. The Shadow Ministry exists in its modern form largely because of the New World Order defectors who flipped sides when the Virtual Adepts left the Union. They're a strange little group, the Shadow Ministry, formally part of the Sons of Ether but maintaining their own operational structure - but there's always the edge of doubt. How many of their number are deep cover infiltrators from the Order? How many of them started as deep cover infiltrators and flipped for real? How many are still loaded up with Conditioned access codes which will allow them to recall their original mission?
Yes, Jamelia thinks, washing her hands, they'll need to vet Harlan Aristide quite thoroughly for Shadow Ministry contact. All the gear she's seen down in his basement seems to be either Technocratic or home-made, but of course he wouldn't let them down there if he was really sourcing equipment from the Traditions.
And with that done, she decides to poke around his bedroom. She suspects he never sleeps there - the bed down in the tiny cramped improvised psi lab is too well-used for that. New World Order paranoia never leaves you. The double-bed is unaired and the entire room is too neat. It's like a prop, to show he's a well-balanced human being. The closet is full of black suits, and there's a selection of unread novels stacked on one bedside table.
The room looks like it was repainted about six years ago - that was when his wife died, Jamelia remembers - and it's just been left to moulder. The surfaces have been dusted, but with none-too-much diligence. It's heaped into mounds around the unread books.
Jamelia drifts through the room, making judgements on the man by what he leaves lying around to convey an impression about himself. The books are chosen to make him look vaguely academic. She suspects that his wife picked the curtains and the wall colour, because they don't fit with what she knows of him, although she considers that maybe that's what an onlooker like her is meant to pick. There's a picture on his bedside table, and she takes it in.
The younger Harlan, his hair still black, is standing with his arm around a woman - his wife, Jamelia vaguely remembers. She looks Mediterranean - maybe Greek, judging from the backdrop where the photo was taken. Though that could just be a holiday. Jamelia briefly considers whether she's really his wife or is just a cover identity, but no, she vaguely remembers the face from their days together. She might have been on one of the support teams, maybe? Or had she been one of their liaisons back in HQ? Her face was certainly familiar.
Plus, it's probably not a mission, because his daughter is there with him and almost no-one takes their children with them on missions. Apart from cases where the child is something like Rose. If your mission requires you to be accompanied by a child as part of the disguise, the NWO issues you with what the Operatives snidely refer to as a CIB. Jamelia's had a few. They're useful, because no one ever suspects the bright orange plastic toy gun the little kid is holding to actually be a real gun.
Internally, she sighs. Just a little bit. That's a bit of a normal life which passed her by. She doesn't treat her CIBs as some kind of child surrogate, because that would be ridiculous and foolish. She knows Serafina thinks she uses her various proteges and pet projects as a displacement, but she thinks Serafina is projecting there, because Serafina mothers people. But still. She does have a little pang of jealousy there, deep deep down, to see Harlan smiling with his daughter.
Of course, because she doesn't have children, she doesn't have her children run away from school aged fourteen and defect to the Traditions. So she's probably ahead of the game there.
She picks up the picture, cradling it in both hands, and sits down on his bed. The date down the bottom indicates that this is about eight months after the HELMETSHRIKE team fell apart. She would have been undergoing INVISIBLE BEAR at the same time. She was a wreck of a human being, being remade into what she is now, while he seems happy and smiling next to his daughter.
And to think that now he's the washed up wreck.
Why didn't she contact him before? Ever? She'd had quite a few interactions with Winston Kingsley over the years. And not all of them had been mission-related. If they happened to be in the same city at the same time, they'd at least chat. Had it been instinctive loyalty to the fact that psychics were becoming No Longer Acceptable? And of course, he'd taken up a training and research position, and her job had never really taken him near him.
She doesn't remember any reason why she'd avoid him, but - Jamelia shakes her head - she doesn't know. Maybe she's just feeling nostalgic, staring at this photo. Maybe she's wondering how things would have gone if she'd transferred out of the Operatives after Sil… after the team fell apart, had her burnout and taken up a position with the Watchers or the Ivory Tower. She'd probably have been just about senior enough to get into the Ivory Tower if she'd asked for it, and she'd have been a nice face to show how it wasn't just old white men.
But that's all water under the bridge.
She hears footsteps behind her. She recognises the step pattern and doesn't react. Trying to pretend she wasn't staring at the photo would be silly. "Hyena," Harlan says. "What are you doing?"
Jamelia looks up and smiles. "Just poking around your things," she says.
There's a strange look on his face for just a moment as he takes the picture from her hands, and puts it back down where it sat. "Trying to work out if I miss her? Or maybe if I could have done things a different way?" he asks.
"Your wife? Or your daughter?" Jamelia says.
The corner of his mouth twitches. "Both," he says sadly. He wipes the dust off the top of the frame. "How many regrets do you have, Hyena?" he says. "What was going on in your head when you stared at my old holiday photos?"
"We all have regrets," Jamelia says. "It's part of being human."
"Ah," he says, the same flicker passing over his face. "The stock answer. I'm not surprised. You've grown into that Senior Operative rank nicely. All-closed-in, like a metal sphere. Well, I have plenty," he says bitterly, "and you probably wouldn't even understand them. Except to use them." He shakes his head. "Jaron wants to talk. He wants to consider what to do next."
Yellowfields 03: Shadows of the Past
In the end, they don't go to the bar that is the place he does most of his work in. Instead, they head back to Harlan's home. And Jaron and Jamelia take a chance to talk.
Right after they turn on the ultrasonic squealers, the white-noise generators, the Van Eck Phreaking Phuckers and all the suite of gadgets in the Paladin designed to stop people listening in. They don't think they're secure, of course. But it's enough to allow moderately casual conversation.
One does not achieve a Belltower name without a certain level of fully justified paranoia, especially when one is around a known psychic.
"He's a mess," Jaron says clinically, drumming his fingers on the seat as the cornfields go by. "He's a high functioning alcoholic - and I use the term 'high functioning' loosely - who's the Director of an amalgam of one and a construct which was overrun by RNEs without him even noticing."
It's a valid criticism, Jamelia has to agree. "Too many agents put in 'retirement' positions wind up like this," she notes, trailing Harlan's car as it turns. "A shame."
"If I was feeling cruel, I would say that the only spirits he's seen in years have come in bottles," Jaron says drolly. He smirks. "That's one advantage the RDs have. It's harder to make puns about extradimensional entities."
"I'm sure they enjoy it a lot."
"Though we should beware the EDEs of March."
"Or any other month." Jamelia shifts gears. "And that was dreadful."
"Thank you." Jaron massages his knuckles. "How much effort is it going to take to bring him up to usability?" he asks.
Jamelia purses her lips. "Hmm," she says deliberately. "Physically he's somewhat out of shape - mix of age-related degradation, and the alcoholism. We'll want to have that fixed, so he doesn't drop dead on us from heart failure and waste the asset. He's kept up with his training - probably because going through the training regime gives him structure to his day. But that's a triviality. I'm more concerned about his mental state. The man I knew thirty years ago wouldn't have wound up like this."
They drive on in silence for a bit.
"So. I need more information on HELMETSHRIKE," Jaron says out of the blue. "I need to know more about the man and how you can say something like that with such certainty."
She instinctive bristles. "You know what HELMETSHRIKE was," she says flatly.
"I do. But I'd rather hear it from you," he says. "The official histories depict them more as recon teams. A lot is still classified."
She shifts gears, literally and metaphorically. She'll make a concession here, as it is necessary. "Oh, very well. The programme started in the late Sixties, as the Pogrom stepped up. As did the losses of Iterator and Progenitor assault teams in the Third World, because they were taking things meant for urban use into all kinds of backwaters. The Operatives and the Enforcers got tapped to set up a combat asset which could go into... well, pretty much anywhere baseline-ish humans could survive, even if tech couldn't. Black ops and wetworks teams. Mostly assassination and sabotage, some abduction, occasional extraction."
"Messy work," Jaron observes.
"Very much so," Jamelia says calmly. Another car passes in the other direction, and both agents stiffen slightly tracking it as it goes by. "I had... oh, around five to ten years of experience under my belt when I was headhunted for a HELMETSHRIKE team." She doesn't give precise values. "That's the general level of expertise they were looking for. Long enough to wash away the new agents smell, but not so experienced that you'd be a great loss."
Jaron looks out the window. "High attrition rate, yes. I'd read that."
"You don't know the half of it. I was lucky. I wound up in a good one. We only lost a few team members, but we'd regularly lose 75%+ on our support sections. We happened to have a very heavy stealth and infiltration focus, and enough pull to refuse to be used for frontal assaults by tin-headed Comptrollers.
She laughs, with a trace of old remembered bitterness. "When you've spent three weeks crawling through some forsaken jungle to get into position when the most high tech gear you have is a WW2 field radio and an AK47, all you could take out a cult leader in their sleep… well, you aren't left feeling too sympathetic to whining Iterators going on about how they got a little bit of mud on them and that's why they can't give backup. We just managed to dodge their attempts to get us to carry out the main attack for them." She shakes her head. "So annoying. Iteration X never liked HELMETSHRIKE."
She catches Jaron's sideways glance, and strongly suspects he's slotting this into his model of her. "Self reliant, used to operating when cut off," he says out loud.
Jamelia slows at some lights. "I can't help you with how he's changed in the mean time, of course," she says. "He very much self-defines as a psychic, so the phasing out of the programmes can't have been good for him. We were colleagues and… yes, I would say 'friends' at the time, but it's been thirty years."
"Romantic involvement?" The words are coldly professional.
"None. No feelings on my behalf, none known about from him. No leverage there, but also no resentment," Jamelia says just as coldly. "There may be some jealousy about the difference in our relative positions - I'll need to take care about that. I don't think he's a defection risk, because if he was, he would have taken the chance already."
"And not be stuck out here."
"Quite so."
...
The two black cars pull up at Harlan's house.
It has a large back garden and a soppy-looking dog wearing a straw hat snoozing on the porch. The front garden is almost inhumanly neat and puts the neighbours to shame. There's even a white picket fence.
No 2.5 kids, though. No kids have ever lived here.
Harlan carefully parks his old car in his garage, and closes the door. He notes that his two guests have parked just outside, and he can sense all the security features coming online.
"Leave your shoes on the mat," he tells them. "Don't walk dirt into the house."
Jamelia gives him a Look. It is a capital-L Look. "Regulation shoes don't pick up dirt," she says.
"Well, lucky you," Harlan grumbles. "Some of us have to buy our own shoes."
He feels oddly ashamed as he slips off his shoes, and not just because there are patches in his socks. The two other agents follow his lead, and he doesn't even crack a smile at how Jamelia gets even shorter. He leads them to the basement, and fumbles around until he finds the switch hidden under the breaker box. A pulse of psychic energy is all he needs to identify himself, and now the switch pops open the hatch hidden in the floor, leading down to the sub-basement.
"It's a bit of a tight squeeze," he apologises as he swings starts to clamber down the ladder. "Well, it's fine when it's just me, but it's not really meant to more than that."
It is just a single room down here. The walls are shiny with aluminium foil and electrical wiring, and while a few attempts have been made to add a human touch, they're lost under the off-the-shelf modern computers, the obsolete Technocratic hardware, the psi-commander chair, and the bed.
"Tin foil?" Jaron asks, raising his eyebrows.
"It covers up the Faraday cage," Harlan says. "I have this place set up for security. It should be invisible to anything but the most high-powered scanners, and it's also opaque to psychic influences." He gives a self-effacing shrug. "Just an old man's paranoia," he lies. Because it is a lie. The voices can't touch him down here, and his dreams are his own.
He settles down on the psi command chair, although he doesn't engage the locks. That leaves the desk chair and the bed for the other two. The desk is laden down with heavily bookmarked books, with titles like 'Epigenetic Development of Powers in Mothers of Psychics" and "Creatures of the Mind (Authorised Censored Edition, with Commentary)", and he watches Jamelia's eyes flick over them. She doesn't say anything about the fact that those texts should technically all be a in a secure facility.
All the drive back, the voices were whispering to him until he focussed on keeping up a mental shield. They hate her. They really hate her. They accuse her of being a traitor, a bane, a foe of the Technocratic Union. Evil, purest evil - the Prodigal Daughter who has refused to return to the flock and instead revels in her wicked ways. And so on. At least down here, he can think without having to concentrate on keeping them silent.
Compared to her, the other man is more of a mystery. He's seen some references to Jaron Belltower in various reports and some of his papers. He's quite the prodigy, a Senior Operative despite being relatively young, and he is very heavily enhanced. He has very heavy mental shielding built into his combat chassis, on top of the primium. Harlan has seen combat Iterators less augmented than him.
Very strange.
"So," he says, steepling his fingers. "I suppose I might as well ask why the Order remembered that an old alcoholic embarrassment like me still exists. And why two Belltowers have shown up, when I never got past Blithe before I gave up on the whole name thing."
Jamelia and Jaron exchange a glance. Jaron gestures at her to begin. "The New World Order is considering its future," Jamelia begins. "Certain events, such as the assault by an previously-unknown EDE enemy in Moscow have convinced senior figures of the necessity of reactivating old programmes which were mistakenly shut down due to political interference."
He stares at her flatly. "Cut the bullshit, Hyena," he says, butterflies squirming in his stomach. He thinks he knows what's going on here, and he doesn't know how to feel about it. He's dreamed of something like this happening, but never expected it. Not really.
She rolls her eyes. "Fine," she says. "After Moscow, we need more DSci, and we need it organic to the NWO. We need to be able to trust it. A lot - and I mean a lot - of the currently senior members of the NWO are Operatives who remember how useful people like you were, and the Operatives never wanted the psychic programmes to be shut down. We know how useful they are."
Jaron clears his throat. "Professor Bastion has decided that we should reactivate as many of the old trainers and facilities belonging to various mothballed programmes as part of a viability study. Yellowfields is - was, I should say - thought to be an intact location, and you're marked in your files as being one of the most powerful and well-trained psychics left to us."
Jamelia leans forwards. "Basically, Harlan," she says, "the NWO wants you back, because we're trying to start up another psychic programme. You got screwed over by political games. I know. You have the right to feel bitter about…"
"Bitter? Why would I be bitter?" Harlan says softly, arms tightening on his chair. "Because I've spent twenty years in a meaningless position, pickling my liver out of sheer boredom? Because I got fucked over and no one spoke up for me? Because out of the blue, you show back up into my life after not a single word for decades and go 'Oh yes, we're reactivating you'?"
The other two agents are looking at him with a look of sympathy. He just knows they'll sit back and take everything he says, and at the end of his venting, he'll feel better.
Of course he can recognise what they're doing. Harlan has done exactly the same to other people. He gets the catharsis of shouting at them as a symbolic substitute for the New World Order which has mistreated him. After doing that, he'll be able to move on having let go of his anger and resentment.
Bastards. And it'll work too. Even though he know that's what they're doing.
So he does exactly that, and feels better.
...
Jamelia has been shouted at by a bitter old friend for about a quarter of an hour, and he seems to be running out of steam. It's now one of the awkward pauses, and she feels her presence might be making things more complicated. There is, however, something else on her mind.
"Where's your toilet?" Jamelia asks.
Harlan blinks. "Uh… up the ladder, then up the stairs, second on the left," he says as she gets up. "Oh, and Hyena?" he adds. "Once you've finished your business, wash your hands and keep your poking around in my personal possessions to a tasteful level."
None of the agents in the room were under any misapprehensions that instructions not to look through his stuff would be heeded.
Away from him, Jamelia takes the time to think over what's happened today.
There's one specific thing that Harlan's basement psi-lab reminds her of, and it is… disconcerting. Jamelia has seen this kind of place before. It looks just like the kind of hidden, underfunded place which Shadow Ministry psychic operatives build. Jamelia has kicked down the door to several of those places in her career. The same pastiche of New World Order technology, the same shabbiness from trying to do too much with not enough, and of course, the same massive use of aluminium foil.
Not that it's necessarily that surprising. The Shadow Ministry exists in its modern form largely because of the New World Order defectors who flipped sides when the Virtual Adepts left the Union. They're a strange little group, the Shadow Ministry, formally part of the Sons of Ether but maintaining their own operational structure - but there's always the edge of doubt. How many of their number are deep cover infiltrators from the Order? How many of them started as deep cover infiltrators and flipped for real? How many are still loaded up with Conditioned access codes which will allow them to recall their original mission?
Yes, Jamelia thinks, washing her hands, they'll need to vet Harlan Aristide quite thoroughly for Shadow Ministry contact. All the gear she's seen down in his basement seems to be either Technocratic or home-made, but of course he wouldn't let them down there if he was really sourcing equipment from the Traditions.
And with that done, she decides to poke around his bedroom. She suspects he never sleeps there - the bed down in the tiny cramped improvised psi lab is too well-used for that. New World Order paranoia never leaves you. The double-bed is unaired and the entire room is too neat. It's like a prop, to show he's a well-balanced human being. The closet is full of black suits, and there's a selection of unread novels stacked on one bedside table.
The room looks like it was repainted about six years ago - that was when his wife died, Jamelia remembers - and it's just been left to moulder. The surfaces have been dusted, but with none-too-much diligence. It's heaped into mounds around the unread books.
Jamelia drifts through the room, making judgements on the man by what he leaves lying around to convey an impression about himself. The books are chosen to make him look vaguely academic. She suspects that his wife picked the curtains and the wall colour, because they don't fit with what she knows of him, although she considers that maybe that's what an onlooker like her is meant to pick. There's a picture on his bedside table, and she takes it in.
The younger Harlan, his hair still black, is standing with his arm around a woman - his wife, Jamelia vaguely remembers. She looks Mediterranean - maybe Greek, judging from the backdrop where the photo was taken. Though that could just be a holiday. Jamelia briefly considers whether she's really his wife or is just a cover identity, but no, she vaguely remembers the face from their days together. She might have been on one of the support teams, maybe? Or had she been one of their liaisons back in HQ? Her face was certainly familiar.
Plus, it's probably not a mission, because his daughter is there with him and almost no-one takes their children with them on missions. Apart from cases where the child is something like Rose. If your mission requires you to be accompanied by a child as part of the disguise, the NWO issues you with what the Operatives snidely refer to as a CIB. Jamelia's had a few. They're useful, because no one ever suspects the bright orange plastic toy gun the little kid is holding to actually be a real gun.
Internally, she sighs. Just a little bit. That's a bit of a normal life which passed her by. She doesn't treat her CIBs as some kind of child surrogate, because that would be ridiculous and foolish. She knows Serafina thinks she uses her various proteges and pet projects as a displacement, but she thinks Serafina is projecting there, because Serafina mothers people. But still. She does have a little pang of jealousy there, deep deep down, to see Harlan smiling with his daughter.
Of course, because she doesn't have children, she doesn't have her children run away from school aged fourteen and defect to the Traditions. So she's probably ahead of the game there.
She picks up the picture, cradling it in both hands, and sits down on his bed. The date down the bottom indicates that this is about eight months after the HELMETSHRIKE team fell apart. She would have been undergoing INVISIBLE BEAR at the same time. She was a wreck of a human being, being remade into what she is now, while he seems happy and smiling next to his daughter.
And to think that now he's the washed up wreck.
Why didn't she contact him before? Ever? She'd had quite a few interactions with Winston Kingsley over the years. And not all of them had been mission-related. If they happened to be in the same city at the same time, they'd at least chat. Had it been instinctive loyalty to the fact that psychics were becoming No Longer Acceptable? And of course, he'd taken up a training and research position, and her job had never really taken him near him.
She doesn't remember any reason why she'd avoid him, but - Jamelia shakes her head - she doesn't know. Maybe she's just feeling nostalgic, staring at this photo. Maybe she's wondering how things would have gone if she'd transferred out of the Operatives after Sil… after the team fell apart, had her burnout and taken up a position with the Watchers or the Ivory Tower. She'd probably have been just about senior enough to get into the Ivory Tower if she'd asked for it, and she'd have been a nice face to show how it wasn't just old white men.
But that's all water under the bridge.
She hears footsteps behind her. She recognises the step pattern and doesn't react. Trying to pretend she wasn't staring at the photo would be silly. "Hyena," Harlan says. "What are you doing?"
Jamelia looks up and smiles. "Just poking around your things," she says.
There's a strange look on his face for just a moment as he takes the picture from her hands, and puts it back down where it sat. "Trying to work out if I miss her? Or maybe if I could have done things a different way?" he asks.
"Your wife? Or your daughter?" Jamelia says.
The corner of his mouth twitches. "Both," he says sadly. He wipes the dust off the top of the frame. "How many regrets do you have, Hyena?" he says. "What was going on in your head when you stared at my old holiday photos?"
"We all have regrets," Jamelia says. "It's part of being human."
"Ah," he says, the same flicker passing over his face. "The stock answer. I'm not surprised. You've grown into that Senior Operative rank nicely. All-closed-in, like a metal sphere. Well, I have plenty," he says bitterly, "and you probably wouldn't even understand them. Except to use them." He shakes his head. "Jaron wants to talk. He wants to consider what to do next."
[ ] Just Like Old Times: You'd need some kind of… infiltration specialist to get down to the reactor. Someone who's used to going into unfriendly environments to accomplish missions. Someone with a proven track record. And then Jamelia told Jaron she got the point. Now she's headed down into an abandoned NWO facility filled with evil psychic ghosts along with her alcoholic washed-up out-of-shape former teammate, while the combat cyborgs sit back where it's safe providing commentary down the comms line. Sure, Harlan knows the place like the back of his hand and two people can move silently in a way a large squad can't, but… sigh. Cyborgs. So annoying. (x1.1)
[ ] First Encounter Assault Recon: The New World Order has picked up some small degree of skill in dealing with EDEs post-1999. However, this skill base is still underdeveloped, and so the NWO tends to mostly send in teams of special forces MiBs with phasic rounds with a few specialists in a support and advisory position. Call them in, systematically work your way through the facility wiping out every RNE you come across, and think up your explanations for Professor Bastion as to why you had to do this in the first place. On the plus side, you don't really have to explain the (probably quite heavy) casualties. They're just MiBs. (x1.0)
[ ] Thus Always To Tyrants: If the Tyrants are ever going to assault a Void Engineer construct, this might be vital training. Get them in, and Jamelia, Harlan, and a team of elite murdercyborgs will punch through to the objective in a hard assault. They'll be able to operate at full capacity as it's still a Union facility, and you'll have more than enough firepower that way. Assuming there isn't some ghostly surprise you're not prepared for. Because if there are any fatalities, Professor Bastion may be… terse. Yes, very terse. Perhaps even sarcastic. And you'll also have to explain to him why you had to do this in the first place. (x1.1)
[ ] Who Ya Gonna Call?: "It's the job of the Void Engineers to help with this sort of thing, right?" asks Harlan. So get the Void Engineers in, cleanse and purge, and bring things up and running by the standard procedures. Fast, easy, and efficient, with minimal risk for the NWO. (x0.0) (Veto'd by Jamelia and Jaron).
[ ] First Encounter Assault Recon: The New World Order has picked up some small degree of skill in dealing with EDEs post-1999. However, this skill base is still underdeveloped, and so the NWO tends to mostly send in teams of special forces MiBs with phasic rounds with a few specialists in a support and advisory position. Call them in, systematically work your way through the facility wiping out every RNE you come across, and think up your explanations for Professor Bastion as to why you had to do this in the first place. On the plus side, you don't really have to explain the (probably quite heavy) casualties. They're just MiBs. (x1.0)
[ ] Thus Always To Tyrants: If the Tyrants are ever going to assault a Void Engineer construct, this might be vital training. Get them in, and Jamelia, Harlan, and a team of elite murdercyborgs will punch through to the objective in a hard assault. They'll be able to operate at full capacity as it's still a Union facility, and you'll have more than enough firepower that way. Assuming there isn't some ghostly surprise you're not prepared for. Because if there are any fatalities, Professor Bastion may be… terse. Yes, very terse. Perhaps even sarcastic. And you'll also have to explain to him why you had to do this in the first place. (x1.1)
[ ] Who Ya Gonna Call?: "It's the job of the Void Engineers to help with this sort of thing, right?" asks Harlan. So get the Void Engineers in, cleanse and purge, and bring things up and running by the standard procedures. Fast, easy, and efficient, with minimal risk for the NWO. (x0.0) (Veto'd by Jamelia and Jaron).
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Cornuthaum
Be kind to each other.
- Location
- Austria
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[x] Who Ya Gonna Call?: "It's the job of the Void Engineers to help with this sort of thing, right?" asks Harlan. So get the Void Engineers in, cleanse and purge, and bring things up and running by the standard procedures. Fast, easy, and efficient, with minimal risk for the NWO. (x0.0) (Veto'd by Jamelia and Jaron).
"The corners of your mouths are twitching in ways indicative of full-blown laughter in the other Conventions. I was not aware that Void Engineer Cleanse-Purge-Kill orders were that funny?"
[x] Just Like Old Times: You'd need some kind of… infiltration specialist to get down to the reactor. Someone who's used to going into unfriendly environments to accomplish missions. Someone with a proven track record. And then Jamelia told Jaron she got the point. Now she's headed down into an abandoned NWO facility filled with evil psychic ghosts along with her alcoholic washed-up out-of-shape former teammate, while the combat cyborgs sit back where it's safe providing commentary down the comms line. Sure, Harlan knows the place like the back of his hand and two people can move silently in a way a large squad can't, but… sigh. Cyborgs. So annoying. (x1.1)
Just like old times. Complete with cyborgs over the comms snarking at you. At least this time, without weeks in the mud. Hopefully.
"The corners of your mouths are twitching in ways indicative of full-blown laughter in the other Conventions. I was not aware that Void Engineer Cleanse-Purge-Kill orders were that funny?"
[x] Just Like Old Times: You'd need some kind of… infiltration specialist to get down to the reactor. Someone who's used to going into unfriendly environments to accomplish missions. Someone with a proven track record. And then Jamelia told Jaron she got the point. Now she's headed down into an abandoned NWO facility filled with evil psychic ghosts along with her alcoholic washed-up out-of-shape former teammate, while the combat cyborgs sit back where it's safe providing commentary down the comms line. Sure, Harlan knows the place like the back of his hand and two people can move silently in a way a large squad can't, but… sigh. Cyborgs. So annoying. (x1.1)
Just like old times. Complete with cyborgs over the comms snarking at you. At least this time, without weeks in the mud. Hopefully.
Bursting Eagerness Soul
Threadwalking Rating Machine
- Location
- Wisconsin
EDIT: Vote change.
[X] Thus Always To Tyrants
This is (still) going to be fun.
I had some doubts about their effectiveness against the EDEs due to having minimal DSci, then MJ12 brought up the (forgotten to me) fact that there's an armory with anti-EDE equipment.
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[X] Thus Always To Tyrants: The only objectively correct answer is to send in cyborg killing machines to fight ghosts. More seriously, they have primium, there's the armory full of old VE gear that still works (which means you have more ghost-killing firepower than average) and they might as well get some practice dealing with, well, potentially non-kosher forms of Void Engineer defensive line.
[X] Spare (+Resources)
[X] And make some token protests
[X] Tip off a Syndicate economics-modelling programme which you happen to know is looking for assets to try to prevent future economic collapses through intensive future-forecasting and information gathering. The least you can do is try to get her used in a way which will actually help the Masses, rather than just as another programmed weapon.
[X] And have Rose assure you it was the right decision
[X] Don't take that reassurance very well. This, more than Rose flipping out and killing a Paradox Spirit with her bare hands, reminds you of how different the two of you are.
The Actual Vacation
[X] Serafina warming up to Donald
[X] At least giving him a chance with her daughter. As friends.
[X] Henriette confronting Rose about her nature as a horrible sadistic sexmurder monster
[X] And accepting her as she is
[X] Which makes Rose cry (happy tears!)
[X] Which Serafina mistakes for the unhappy kind.
[X] Awkwardness ensues.
[X] Henriette/Antoinette working up the courage to talk to Kessler about the Bad Old Days of Iteration X
[X] All the shiny toys in the Union aren't worth losing your soul.
These seem amusing selections that resolve several of the awkward tensions in the Amalgam.
The Next Step
[X] Progenitors: The Heist
[x] Panopticon: Parlay
[X] And make some token protests
[X] Tip off a Syndicate economics-modelling programme which you happen to know is looking for assets to try to prevent future economic collapses through intensive future-forecasting and information gathering. The least you can do is try to get her used in a way which will actually help the Masses, rather than just as another programmed weapon.
[X] And have Rose assure you it was the right decision
[X] Don't take that reassurance very well. This, more than Rose flipping out and killing a Paradox Spirit with her bare hands, reminds you of how different the two of you are.
The Actual Vacation
[X] Serafina warming up to Donald
[X] At least giving him a chance with her daughter. As friends.
[X] Henriette confronting Rose about her nature as a horrible sadistic sexmurder monster
[X] And accepting her as she is
[X] Which makes Rose cry (happy tears!)
[X] Which Serafina mistakes for the unhappy kind.
[X] Awkwardness ensues.
[X] Henriette/Antoinette working up the courage to talk to Kessler about the Bad Old Days of Iteration X
[X] All the shiny toys in the Union aren't worth losing your soul.
These seem amusing selections that resolve several of the awkward tensions in the Amalgam.
The Next Step
[x] Panopticon: Parlay
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Quest-ception
Bursting Eagerness Soul
Threadwalking Rating Machine
- Location
- Wisconsin
It makes me wonder if they planned this. MJ12 could concentrate on running the main story and hand off the secondary team to Earth Scorpion.
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[X] Thus Always To Tyrants: The only objectively correct answer is to send in cyborg killing machines to fight ghosts. More seriously, they have primium, there's the armory full of old VE gear that still works (which means you have more ghost-killing firepower than average) and they might as well get some practice dealing with, well, potentially non-kosher forms of Void Engineer defensive line.
- Location
- Southern Virginia
[X] Just Like Old Times
There is a chance here to explore Jamelia's character and her past in HELMETSHRIKE in far greater depth here. I think in this case narrative is more desirable than giving the Tyrants a field-test.
There is a chance here to explore Jamelia's character and her past in HELMETSHRIKE in far greater depth here. I think in this case narrative is more desirable than giving the Tyrants a field-test.
[X] Just Like Old Times
Because it's... well, doing a mission with an old (old) teammate.
Also, this way they can probably talk about things in private. After all, all they have to do is temporarily turn the commbeads off or make up an excuse for it or something.
So. It's the choice that'll probably have HELMETSHRIKE material! And we missed our chance on that stuff back in London By Night, so I definitely want to get a chance at it now!
Because it's... well, doing a mission with an old (old) teammate.
Also, this way they can probably talk about things in private. After all, all they have to do is temporarily turn the commbeads off or make up an excuse for it or something.
So. It's the choice that'll probably have HELMETSHRIKE material! And we missed our chance on that stuff back in London By Night, so I definitely want to get a chance at it now!
Winged One
Not the Simurgh
- Location
- definitely the ground
- Pronouns
- They/Them/It
[X] Spare (+Resources)
-[X] And make some token protests
--[X] Tip off a Syndicate economics-modelling programme which you happen to know is looking for assets to try to prevent future economic collapses through intensive future-forecasting and information gathering. The least you can do is try to get her used in a way which will actually help the Masses, rather than just as another programmed weapon.
-[X] And have Rose assure you it was the right decision
--[X] Don't take that reassurance very well. This, more than Rose flipping out and killing a Paradox Spirit with her bare hands, reminds you of how different the two of you are.
Okay, that's a lot more palatable than letting her get turned into a Series P, and ES has assured us that Donald won't OD over this.
[X] Serafina warming up to Donald
-[X] At least giving him a chance with her daughter. As friends.
[X] Henriette confronting Rose about her nature as a horrible sadistic sexmurder monster
-[X] And accepting her as she is
--[X] Which makes Rose cry (happy tears!)
[X] Henriette/Antoinette working up the courage to talk to Kessler about the Bad Old Days of Iteration X
-[X] All the shiny toys in the Union aren't worth losing your soul.
Recruitment would be working on vacation. You know what happens when we work on vacation. Miss Fanfic can just watch us act like human beings instead of participating, and Antoinette belongs in Iteration X trying to get the militarists and the techies to be nice to each other.
[X] Syndicate: Quid Pro Quo
The Syndicate storyline is the only one that doesn't have us exposed to memetic hazards from Threat Null (we need some serious Mind wards first), and as much as punishing the guy in charge would feel cathartic, keeping the Union together is more important. Jamelia can probably help him learn his lesson about Russia.
[X] Just Like Old Times
I want Jamelia to explore her past more, and her Vice makes opportunities to do that rare. Admittedly, I mostly want Enlightenment 6 so Jamelia can know things necessary to advance Control's legacy despite the threat of Evil Space Ghosts.
-[X] And make some token protests
--[X] Tip off a Syndicate economics-modelling programme which you happen to know is looking for assets to try to prevent future economic collapses through intensive future-forecasting and information gathering. The least you can do is try to get her used in a way which will actually help the Masses, rather than just as another programmed weapon.
-[X] And have Rose assure you it was the right decision
--[X] Don't take that reassurance very well. This, more than Rose flipping out and killing a Paradox Spirit with her bare hands, reminds you of how different the two of you are.
Okay, that's a lot more palatable than letting her get turned into a Series P, and ES has assured us that Donald won't OD over this.
[X] Serafina warming up to Donald
-[X] At least giving him a chance with her daughter. As friends.
[X] Henriette confronting Rose about her nature as a horrible sadistic sexmurder monster
-[X] And accepting her as she is
--[X] Which makes Rose cry (happy tears!)
[X] Henriette/Antoinette working up the courage to talk to Kessler about the Bad Old Days of Iteration X
-[X] All the shiny toys in the Union aren't worth losing your soul.
Recruitment would be working on vacation. You know what happens when we work on vacation. Miss Fanfic can just watch us act like human beings instead of participating, and Antoinette belongs in Iteration X trying to get the militarists and the techies to be nice to each other.
[X] Syndicate: Quid Pro Quo
The Syndicate storyline is the only one that doesn't have us exposed to memetic hazards from Threat Null (we need some serious Mind wards first), and as much as punishing the guy in charge would feel cathartic, keeping the Union together is more important. Jamelia can probably help him learn his lesson about Russia.
[X] Just Like Old Times
I want Jamelia to explore her past more, and her Vice makes opportunities to do that rare. Admittedly, I mostly want Enlightenment 6 so Jamelia can know things necessary to advance Control's legacy despite the threat of Evil Space Ghosts.
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[X] Just Like Old Times
Harlan will appreciate the gesture; it's important that we rebuild the shattered bonds of camaraderie if we want him to be an effective asset, and he needs to face the (sometimes literal) ghosts of his past in order to move forward. If Jamelia can get Harlan to cop to hearing voices, then I think she'd be interested in exploiting that. Not everybody has a backchannel to Control, after all.
Harlan will appreciate the gesture; it's important that we rebuild the shattered bonds of camaraderie if we want him to be an effective asset, and he needs to face the (sometimes literal) ghosts of his past in order to move forward. If Jamelia can get Harlan to cop to hearing voices, then I think she'd be interested in exploiting that. Not everybody has a backchannel to Control, after all.
Quantumboost
Now with 50% more dots in Dimensional Science
- Location
- Ensemble Space
The answer, whether or not it's true, is yes.
- Location
- The sixth circle of Hell (second on weekends)
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Just Like Old Times
It's been too long since we had some glorious Jamelia-ing.
It's been too long since we had some glorious Jamelia-ing.
[X] Thus Always To Tyrants
Make sure that Jason suggests it, so that if it backfires it's on him, but otherwise this seems like the best plan. Also, if they can't even handle something like this, they probably need to rethink there plan. It might make sense to just get one or two of the stealthier members (or maybe ones good at dim sci) to join the current party, since we probably want to bring harlan with us.
Do we still have a party limit of 4?
The Next Step
[X] Progenitors: The Heist
After thinking about this more, I'm confident enough that this is the least worst option.
EDIT: Nevermind
Make sure that Jason suggests it, so that if it backfires it's on him, but otherwise this seems like the best plan. Also, if they can't even handle something like this, they probably need to rethink there plan. It might make sense to just get one or two of the stealthier members (or maybe ones good at dim sci) to join the current party, since we probably want to bring harlan with us.
Do we still have a party limit of 4?
[X] Progenitors: The Heist
EDIT: Nevermind
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Kerrus
Fractal Insanity
[X] Execute (+Feeling Moderately Less Awful)
-[X] For old time's sake, Karen deserve's at least this much. Reconditioning, reprocessing is a hellish existence. Donald's seen what it does to a person, if they can even be called a person after that. It kills everything they are, everything they could be, but leaves the body, the eidolon active to be reshaped. It's efficient- he can't deny that.
But there's other things to consider here. Even if the reconditioning was successful, Karen was here under orders from the Rogue Council. The entire plan seems to have been set up to fail- and Donald can't shake the nagging feeling that someone's trying to play him. Playing on his old feelings, on what they might have shared. As the one nominally in command of the group, it comes down to his order on whether or not Karen dies. To the Rogue Council she's just a tool- but a useful tool perhaps.
So maybe Donald lets his emotions get the better of him, maybe he justifies that it's not the same as killing her. He lets her be reprocessed, lets her be added to the pool of resources- and maybe everything goes off without a hitch. But maybe there's some other reason.
Maybe Kessler's right- and this, all of this, is just a fakeout. Already his mind is modeling possible outcomes- and the fact of the matter is that there's too many variables, too many things that could go wrong.
And maybe there are just some things you don't do. It would be easy to compromise those principles- he's done it before. Just stand back, make a token protest, put in a good word. And maybe nothing goes wrong. But maybe everything goes wrong.
Donald glances at Serafina- and across the way at Rose. His eyes sweep over Antoinette and Henriette, and finally settle back on Karen's unconcious form.
You could use the resources... a trecherous part of him whispers.
"No..." he says under his breath. No. there are some things you don't do- and there are some risks you don't take. He meets Kessler's gaze. "Do it."
Kessler nods in reply, and Donald watches has the Cyborg's arm comes down. There's a twist- and a meaty crunch, and Karen's body goes limp. Donald burns the image in his mind, then turns away.
[X] Have Kessler assure you it was the right decision.
The Actual Vacation
[X] Henreitte/Antoinette working up the courage to talk to Kessler about the Bad Old Days of Iteration X
-[X]It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. But all the siny toys in the union aren't worth losing your soil.
[X]Actually formally recruiting another princess for the Belltower Home of Broken Girls
-[X] Antoinette decides that while the experience was great, she needs to use that experience to help Iteration X.
[X]Serafina warming up to Donald
-[X]Perhaps a little too much, given how she's in the prime time to make bad decisions again.
--[X]Okay, this is going to make things a little awkward.
I ship DonaldXSerafina OTP.
[X]Dealing with Little Miss Fanfic.
-[X]Poor Hannah, Dragged onto a vacation with a bunch of minders, even if they are very good-looking combat constructs.
-[X] What do you mean the Union isn't trying to murder all creativity and imagination forever?
But seriously, her paradigm as it is could probably be rewoked to a hypermath prediction style of thing. I mean she's already anticipating, and thus altering pobabilities based on a set amount of rules- in this case writing the 'characters' 'in character'. She's just stumbled onto a way of accurately modeling character and event outcomes- just like Jamelia does sometimes- she just couches it in different terminology. But if there's one thing this Amalgam is good at, it's turning bad paradigms into useful, Union compliant ones.
-[X] For old time's sake, Karen deserve's at least this much. Reconditioning, reprocessing is a hellish existence. Donald's seen what it does to a person, if they can even be called a person after that. It kills everything they are, everything they could be, but leaves the body, the eidolon active to be reshaped. It's efficient- he can't deny that.
But there's other things to consider here. Even if the reconditioning was successful, Karen was here under orders from the Rogue Council. The entire plan seems to have been set up to fail- and Donald can't shake the nagging feeling that someone's trying to play him. Playing on his old feelings, on what they might have shared. As the one nominally in command of the group, it comes down to his order on whether or not Karen dies. To the Rogue Council she's just a tool- but a useful tool perhaps.
So maybe Donald lets his emotions get the better of him, maybe he justifies that it's not the same as killing her. He lets her be reprocessed, lets her be added to the pool of resources- and maybe everything goes off without a hitch. But maybe there's some other reason.
Maybe Kessler's right- and this, all of this, is just a fakeout. Already his mind is modeling possible outcomes- and the fact of the matter is that there's too many variables, too many things that could go wrong.
And maybe there are just some things you don't do. It would be easy to compromise those principles- he's done it before. Just stand back, make a token protest, put in a good word. And maybe nothing goes wrong. But maybe everything goes wrong.
Donald glances at Serafina- and across the way at Rose. His eyes sweep over Antoinette and Henriette, and finally settle back on Karen's unconcious form.
You could use the resources... a trecherous part of him whispers.
"No..." he says under his breath. No. there are some things you don't do- and there are some risks you don't take. He meets Kessler's gaze. "Do it."
Kessler nods in reply, and Donald watches has the Cyborg's arm comes down. There's a twist- and a meaty crunch, and Karen's body goes limp. Donald burns the image in his mind, then turns away.
[X] Have Kessler assure you it was the right decision.
The Actual Vacation
[X] Henreitte/Antoinette working up the courage to talk to Kessler about the Bad Old Days of Iteration X
-[X]It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. But all the siny toys in the union aren't worth losing your soil.
-[X] Antoinette decides that while the experience was great, she needs to use that experience to help Iteration X.
[X]Serafina warming up to Donald
-[X]Perhaps a little too much, given how she's in the prime time to make bad decisions again.
--[X]Okay, this is going to make things a little awkward.
I ship DonaldXSerafina OTP.
[X]Dealing with Little Miss Fanfic.
-[X]Poor Hannah, Dragged onto a vacation with a bunch of minders, even if they are very good-looking combat constructs.
-[X] What do you mean the Union isn't trying to murder all creativity and imagination forever?
But seriously, her paradigm as it is could probably be rewoked to a hypermath prediction style of thing. I mean she's already anticipating, and thus altering pobabilities based on a set amount of rules- in this case writing the 'characters' 'in character'. She's just stumbled onto a way of accurately modeling character and event outcomes- just like Jamelia does sometimes- she just couches it in different terminology. But if there's one thing this Amalgam is good at, it's turning bad paradigms into useful, Union compliant ones.
[X] Just Like Old Times
And I'm still thinking about our next mission. Do we take out I-50-B3L, and risk letting a hardliner take over the Syndicate, or do we help with the Syndicate, and risk the Progenitors getting influenced by I-50-B3L (and, possibly, learning about our own involvement with her?)
And I'm still thinking about our next mission. Do we take out I-50-B3L, and risk letting a hardliner take over the Syndicate, or do we help with the Syndicate, and risk the Progenitors getting influenced by I-50-B3L (and, possibly, learning about our own involvement with her?)
I am seeing people assuming that by deciding to avoid Augustine you can keep yourselves safe from him. I don't know why people are doing this, because nothing I said implied that if you don't interact with him he can't harm you in any way.
I wasn't thinking we would succeed at avoiding him just by not talking to him, but I didn't think our chances were better if we didn't. You know a 0%<1% sort of thing.