Panopticon: A Game of Posthumans, Perniciousness, Paranoia, Politics, and Plasmaguns
Kerrus
Fractal Insanity
Clearly the superior answer is to turn the damons against eachother. Yeah, sure, they're all being controlled by the Residents, but not directly. They're still playing to their own role and their own tropes, and some of those tropes are that they don't play well with others.
Jazmin has Dsci 1 as Jamelia, even if she isn't Jamelia yet. As Illyeen, she was even using it. With the psychic power paradigm, that should be sufficient for her to do things like poke spirits with her words, and as a NWO agent, that's going to be what some of her training has covered.
So I'm thinking that the best solution here is to play into each of the Damons' movie mythos. Because I bet you anything that they're all operating on the movie logic slaved to the residents- Elysium Damon wants Jazmin for her codes to activate the medical scanners to save his daughter, Bourne Damon wants Jazmin to use as a hostage to ransom for his freedom, SPR Damon has orders to capture Jazmin for the intel she'll provide on the german war machine, O12 Damon is doing it for the big payoff, Adjustment Bureau Damon is in love with her and wants to save her from the suspiciously NWO department of that name.
There's a near endless horde of these guys, and they all have skills and talents that make them hard to combat. Elysium Damon is a HITMark Lite, Bourne Damon is a superspy, SPR Damon is a war hardened soldier, O12 Damon is a con artist, Adjustment Bureau Damon can use doors to teleport.
But they all have conflicting goals that are only unified by the residents control over them, who I'm assuming have done that via altering their stories in such a way that doesn't interfere with their mythos in hollywood.
We can use that. We can use their stories against them- but we need Jazmin to get them started. Talk to them, get them to question things, wake them out of their funk. I betcha they've got some sort of Matt-Damon selective blindness, so they don't really perceive the other Damons unless attention is called to them- and Jazmin is in the perfect position to do that.
Because really, the Damons are not the worlds greatest superteam. Their goals can be... adjusted... to be conflicting with the right stuff. Elysium Damon would probably bugger off if Jazmin 'gave him the codes', only to show up later and save her at the last moment because she was actually a decent human being. Bourne Damon is the sort to come into conflict with O13 damon and SPR Damon. Adjustment Bureau Damon would probably be the easiest to convince, and quite possibly might suffer a terminal existence failure if Jazmin convinces him he's already been adjsuted and she isn't his girlfriend.
The end goal of this is to have the Damons all start to become cognizant that their stories have gone off course, which naturally will translate through the other Damons by law of contagion so that they all wake up and throw off the network executive control of their stories by the residents.
Even Matt Damon from Team America can fight off his puppeteer with the right incentive!
Jazmin has Dsci 1 as Jamelia, even if she isn't Jamelia yet. As Illyeen, she was even using it. With the psychic power paradigm, that should be sufficient for her to do things like poke spirits with her words, and as a NWO agent, that's going to be what some of her training has covered.
So I'm thinking that the best solution here is to play into each of the Damons' movie mythos. Because I bet you anything that they're all operating on the movie logic slaved to the residents- Elysium Damon wants Jazmin for her codes to activate the medical scanners to save his daughter, Bourne Damon wants Jazmin to use as a hostage to ransom for his freedom, SPR Damon has orders to capture Jazmin for the intel she'll provide on the german war machine, O12 Damon is doing it for the big payoff, Adjustment Bureau Damon is in love with her and wants to save her from the suspiciously NWO department of that name.
There's a near endless horde of these guys, and they all have skills and talents that make them hard to combat. Elysium Damon is a HITMark Lite, Bourne Damon is a superspy, SPR Damon is a war hardened soldier, O12 Damon is a con artist, Adjustment Bureau Damon can use doors to teleport.
But they all have conflicting goals that are only unified by the residents control over them, who I'm assuming have done that via altering their stories in such a way that doesn't interfere with their mythos in hollywood.
We can use that. We can use their stories against them- but we need Jazmin to get them started. Talk to them, get them to question things, wake them out of their funk. I betcha they've got some sort of Matt-Damon selective blindness, so they don't really perceive the other Damons unless attention is called to them- and Jazmin is in the perfect position to do that.
Because really, the Damons are not the worlds greatest superteam. Their goals can be... adjusted... to be conflicting with the right stuff. Elysium Damon would probably bugger off if Jazmin 'gave him the codes', only to show up later and save her at the last moment because she was actually a decent human being. Bourne Damon is the sort to come into conflict with O13 damon and SPR Damon. Adjustment Bureau Damon would probably be the easiest to convince, and quite possibly might suffer a terminal existence failure if Jazmin convinces him he's already been adjsuted and she isn't his girlfriend.
The end goal of this is to have the Damons all start to become cognizant that their stories have gone off course, which naturally will translate through the other Damons by law of contagion so that they all wake up and throw off the network executive control of their stories by the residents.
Even Matt Damon from Team America can fight off his puppeteer with the right incentive!
The door swings open, and a small team of identical men and women in neat black and white enter the lair of the Residents. They're all wearing mirrored sunglasses, despite the gloom of their lavish environments, and from the way they tilt their heads, they're listening in to their earpieces.
The Residents are quite aware of what these things are. Unlike them, they're... pawns. Tools. Assets belonging to an erstwhile ally. But while the Residents truly understand their own value - and the value of everything around them - the Agency considers most of its assets to be mutually exchangeable. Its total value remains constant, but the allocation of such things is entirely mutable.
"What. Is it?" a Resident wearing a female form says, running its tongue over its lips. The gold of her rings catches the dim light. "We are occupied. What do your masters want?"
"Gentlemen. Ladies." One of the men steps forwards, adjusting his dark green tie. The executives are aware that the five of them are interchangable. It's just that the Agency likes fives. "Our agency has sent us here to inform you - as a pleasantry - that we have begun a systematic policy of censorship of mass media produced by the film industry. There are too many dangerous ideas existing within that field of human endeavour. We wish for there to be no conflict between us in this necessary containment of a field which has gone too long without proper government oversight. Ms Peach, if you will?"
"Certainly, Mr Telephone," says one of the identical women. She steps forwards, opening her briefcase, and deposits a pile of paperwork - one taller than her slimline briefcase - on the table. "Mr Telephone, this should be the transcript of the regulations which permit these actions."
"Thank you, Ms Peach," the man says, stepping back. "Gentlemen, ladies, please initial and date each clause and subclause of this documentation. Your compliance is appreciated. We shall pursue the Timetable on schedule if you cooperate. This is necessary."
"That's our territory," one of the executives snarls, chewing on his cigar. He exhales a cloud of smoke. "We have an arrangement!"
"Gentlemen. Ladies. We am sorry, but our agency wishes to inform you that we had an arrangement. We permitted you to self-regulate. You told us that you could keep things under control, that industry bodies could maintain order and proper proceedings and that we did not have to bring the force of the law to bear." He shakes his head sadly. "Ms Peach, would you say that they have successfully kept things under control."
"They have not done so, Mr Telephone," says Ms Peach. "Although I may be mistaken. What do you think, Mr Wheelbarrow?"
"I would have to agree that they have failed to keep things under control," another of the men says. "Do you have anything to contribute to this discussion, Mr Hat or Ms Piano."
"I do not," says the final man.
"I would raise the question of whether the Syndicate's attention was really in self-regulation," Ms Piano says. "We have long suspected that the Syndicate is more interested in maintaining profitability than furthering the Timetable. I look around, and what do I see?" The woman spreads her hands. "I see the same corporate executives who've let Hollywood become a place of... of moral degradation and filth. I see the same executives who've failed to stop the spread of subversive memes."
"Disgraceful," says Ms Peach. "The memes must be controlled. Self-regulation does not work. Regulation must be imposed from without to bring an end to the present disgraceful state of affairs. We have begun to enforce previously neglected regulations and have begun a widespread campaign utilising correct ideas to counter subversive memes."
"Counter the subversive memes," the other four agents echo in unison.
"You're overssssstepping your boundaries," snaps an executive, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
"No," Mr Hat - unless it was Mr Telephone - says. "Our agency has verified that our actions are within regulations. And part of the terms of the conditions which let you maintain your own self-regulation was that you would properly regulate. You have not done so." A sneer crosses the five faces together. "Moral filth. Implications of sexual impropriety. Disruptive memes passed to the populace. We will regulate this."
"Too much violence has been permitted in movies," Ms Peach says. "We will prevent it from being shown. It will obstruct the spread of subversive ideas."
"We understand subversive elements positively depict non-heteronormative sexualities," Mr Wheelbarrow says. "We can target these subversive elements through the proper tailoring of our targeted messages. This will be made easier if you comply."
"We will not comply!" hisses a Resident through sharp teeth, leaping to their feet and slamming their hands into the table, leaving dents. "Your regulations have no jurisdiction here! I own the Senator! Your laws have no power! They have not been passed! You arrogant pups will bow to us, or we will have your agency's funding cut."
One of the other Residents rests a hand on the first's shoulders. "We understand that this recent period has been... disruptive," its says in an oily tone. "Rasssssh government action will serve no one... and will be quite... expensive to enforce. You wouldn't want foriegn powers to get a competitive advantage here, would you? Otherwise we may have to move our labour overseas. Aid... other endeavours." It exhales, blowing smoke towards the agents. "Have a cigar," it says, proffering the box.
"We do not smoke," the five Agents say in unison.
The cigars vanish up the Resident's sleeves. "Well, no matter," the Resident says. "Wouldn't you prefer us to be... cooperative? We will of course comply fully with the letter of the regulations, but there is compliance and there is compliance. At the very least, I will not acknowledge such regulations until my legal team has vetted them fully. In extensive details."
"Deliberately obstructing the Timetable is a sin," Ms Piano says in a tone like ice.
The Resident smiles. "But I do not know if it is in the Timetable until my lawyers have inspected it, and it would be imprudent to accept these regulations until we have vetted them for impact against the Timetable. It is for the good of the Union." Its smile grows wider. "And when we mention the good of the Union, I am sure I would be better convinced of your good intentions and faith if you would look at the other problem which has got in the way of the self-regulation regime which has held up perfectly well until now. I speak, of course, of Iteration X," he says to Mr Telephone.
The pale man's knuckles whiten around his briefcase. "Gentlemen. Ladies. I reassure you, Iteration X will face due punishment for its quite shocking incompetence in this - and other recent - matters. Gentlemen, ladies, I reassure you of this. Iteration X appears to have forgotten the necessity of the Timetable. It has overtly displayed technology beyond the permitted level of development on Earth. It acts without the proper consultations with my parent agency. Corrective measures will be taken against it. Regulations state that my agency is entrusted with internal regulation of the Technocratic Union, and Iteration X is in dire need of extensive regulation. But, gentlemen and ladies, that is not the topic under discussion."
The Resident smiles a smile which reaches from ear to ear. "Oh, no doubt, no doubt," it says. It gestures to the long table, which is suddenly longer than it was and has five more seats. "Please, please, sit," it says. "Let us liaise. Scratch our back and we will scratch yours. I am sure that we will have a mutually profitable transaction."
The Residents are quite aware of what these things are. Unlike them, they're... pawns. Tools. Assets belonging to an erstwhile ally. But while the Residents truly understand their own value - and the value of everything around them - the Agency considers most of its assets to be mutually exchangeable. Its total value remains constant, but the allocation of such things is entirely mutable.
"What. Is it?" a Resident wearing a female form says, running its tongue over its lips. The gold of her rings catches the dim light. "We are occupied. What do your masters want?"
"Gentlemen. Ladies." One of the men steps forwards, adjusting his dark green tie. The executives are aware that the five of them are interchangable. It's just that the Agency likes fives. "Our agency has sent us here to inform you - as a pleasantry - that we have begun a systematic policy of censorship of mass media produced by the film industry. There are too many dangerous ideas existing within that field of human endeavour. We wish for there to be no conflict between us in this necessary containment of a field which has gone too long without proper government oversight. Ms Peach, if you will?"
"Certainly, Mr Telephone," says one of the identical women. She steps forwards, opening her briefcase, and deposits a pile of paperwork - one taller than her slimline briefcase - on the table. "Mr Telephone, this should be the transcript of the regulations which permit these actions."
"Thank you, Ms Peach," the man says, stepping back. "Gentlemen, ladies, please initial and date each clause and subclause of this documentation. Your compliance is appreciated. We shall pursue the Timetable on schedule if you cooperate. This is necessary."
"That's our territory," one of the executives snarls, chewing on his cigar. He exhales a cloud of smoke. "We have an arrangement!"
"Gentlemen. Ladies. We am sorry, but our agency wishes to inform you that we had an arrangement. We permitted you to self-regulate. You told us that you could keep things under control, that industry bodies could maintain order and proper proceedings and that we did not have to bring the force of the law to bear." He shakes his head sadly. "Ms Peach, would you say that they have successfully kept things under control."
"They have not done so, Mr Telephone," says Ms Peach. "Although I may be mistaken. What do you think, Mr Wheelbarrow?"
"I would have to agree that they have failed to keep things under control," another of the men says. "Do you have anything to contribute to this discussion, Mr Hat or Ms Piano."
"I do not," says the final man.
"I would raise the question of whether the Syndicate's attention was really in self-regulation," Ms Piano says. "We have long suspected that the Syndicate is more interested in maintaining profitability than furthering the Timetable. I look around, and what do I see?" The woman spreads her hands. "I see the same corporate executives who've let Hollywood become a place of... of moral degradation and filth. I see the same executives who've failed to stop the spread of subversive memes."
"Disgraceful," says Ms Peach. "The memes must be controlled. Self-regulation does not work. Regulation must be imposed from without to bring an end to the present disgraceful state of affairs. We have begun to enforce previously neglected regulations and have begun a widespread campaign utilising correct ideas to counter subversive memes."
"Counter the subversive memes," the other four agents echo in unison.
"You're overssssstepping your boundaries," snaps an executive, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
"No," Mr Hat - unless it was Mr Telephone - says. "Our agency has verified that our actions are within regulations. And part of the terms of the conditions which let you maintain your own self-regulation was that you would properly regulate. You have not done so." A sneer crosses the five faces together. "Moral filth. Implications of sexual impropriety. Disruptive memes passed to the populace. We will regulate this."
"Too much violence has been permitted in movies," Ms Peach says. "We will prevent it from being shown. It will obstruct the spread of subversive ideas."
"We understand subversive elements positively depict non-heteronormative sexualities," Mr Wheelbarrow says. "We can target these subversive elements through the proper tailoring of our targeted messages. This will be made easier if you comply."
"We will not comply!" hisses a Resident through sharp teeth, leaping to their feet and slamming their hands into the table, leaving dents. "Your regulations have no jurisdiction here! I own the Senator! Your laws have no power! They have not been passed! You arrogant pups will bow to us, or we will have your agency's funding cut."
One of the other Residents rests a hand on the first's shoulders. "We understand that this recent period has been... disruptive," its says in an oily tone. "Rasssssh government action will serve no one... and will be quite... expensive to enforce. You wouldn't want foriegn powers to get a competitive advantage here, would you? Otherwise we may have to move our labour overseas. Aid... other endeavours." It exhales, blowing smoke towards the agents. "Have a cigar," it says, proffering the box.
"We do not smoke," the five Agents say in unison.
The cigars vanish up the Resident's sleeves. "Well, no matter," the Resident says. "Wouldn't you prefer us to be... cooperative? We will of course comply fully with the letter of the regulations, but there is compliance and there is compliance. At the very least, I will not acknowledge such regulations until my legal team has vetted them fully. In extensive details."
"Deliberately obstructing the Timetable is a sin," Ms Piano says in a tone like ice.
The Resident smiles. "But I do not know if it is in the Timetable until my lawyers have inspected it, and it would be imprudent to accept these regulations until we have vetted them for impact against the Timetable. It is for the good of the Union." Its smile grows wider. "And when we mention the good of the Union, I am sure I would be better convinced of your good intentions and faith if you would look at the other problem which has got in the way of the self-regulation regime which has held up perfectly well until now. I speak, of course, of Iteration X," he says to Mr Telephone.
The pale man's knuckles whiten around his briefcase. "Gentlemen. Ladies. I reassure you, Iteration X will face due punishment for its quite shocking incompetence in this - and other recent - matters. Gentlemen, ladies, I reassure you of this. Iteration X appears to have forgotten the necessity of the Timetable. It has overtly displayed technology beyond the permitted level of development on Earth. It acts without the proper consultations with my parent agency. Corrective measures will be taken against it. Regulations state that my agency is entrusted with internal regulation of the Technocratic Union, and Iteration X is in dire need of extensive regulation. But, gentlemen and ladies, that is not the topic under discussion."
The Resident smiles a smile which reaches from ear to ear. "Oh, no doubt, no doubt," it says. It gestures to the long table, which is suddenly longer than it was and has five more seats. "Please, please, sit," it says. "Let us liaise. Scratch our back and we will scratch yours. I am sure that we will have a mutually profitable transaction."
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And so this is where the entire environment starts changing on our characters. D:
The Agency is clearly very mad.
Well, it always was mad, in the insane sense. But now it's regular mad as well.
The Agency is clearly very mad.
Well, it always was mad, in the insane sense. But now it's regular mad as well.
"A bunch of employees". You make membership in the Illuminati sound so... innocuous.MJ12's signature said:
Ivan the Not-so-Terrible
AH MEW CHEEKI BREEKI I V DAMKE
- Location
- Mikonyan’s USSR
Wouldn't SPR!Matt Damon fall under Kessler's control as part of the US military?
"A bunch of employees". You make membership in the Illuminati sound so... innocuous.
Being part of the Technocracy is like being part of any large business. Actually, better in a lot of ways. You get great health insurance, job security, helpful mentors who are very interested in your personal growth and development, a lot of flexibility in work hours and places, and some really cool toys. Also, your starting salary is in the low six digits, and that's for NWO and VE personnel, let alone Syndicate people. Of course, if you do get fired there's a solid chance it's literally being fired out of a cannon into the sun, you may get attacked by ninjas once in a while, and you can't tell anyone what you actually do.
You also might have to kill people.
Perhaps. Perhaps he's part of the Damonic Hivemind. I leave this up to write-ins.
Ivan the Not-so-Terrible
AH MEW CHEEKI BREEKI I V DAMKE
- Location
- Mikonyan’s USSR
So Kessler could influence the SPR one using Spirit, but because he doesn't have Correspondence he can't effect the rest of the Damons?
Something like that.
Quantumboost
Now with 50% more dots in Dimensional Science
- Location
- Ensemble Space
Of course Kessler can influence the rest of the Damons with Spirit. It's just... a more Kessler-like sort of 'influence'.
By which I mean shooting them.
Winged One
Not the Simurgh
- Location
- definitely the ground
- Pronouns
- They/Them/It
We really should get him Spirit 5 so "I'm a dimensional scientist" holds up to questions like "where are the fucking phasers there's immortal assholes eating my face AAAAAAHH!?" Maybe Catherine will have time to teach him a few things?
Also, Threat Null is infighting, but I'm not sure how it'll help us. And they remain profane mockeries of everything they once stood for. (I've been reading this quest long enough that my reaction to the Agents' ham-handed censorship is "you're doing it wrong!" not "censorship is bad".)
You can hurt and drive spirits away with Spirit 3. You just can't actually permanently destroy them without Spirit 5.
On a tactical battle the net result is mostly the same.
On a tactical battle the net result is mostly the same.
Winged One
Not the Simurgh
- Location
- definitely the ground
- Pronouns
- They/Them/It
Sure, but sometimes the strategic or political battle requires actually killing them. And if he also gets Prime 3, he might be able to make hyperdrives for Donald to sell to the VEs during downtime (unless that one's actually unique to DSci). At only a minor markup, of course - we want to stay in business and keep supplying them with important goods for a long time, but we understand that they need to be frugal with their resources.
Yeah, I'm fully aware of that. I was more aiming for the Technocratically kosher bit. A (possibly fake) foci he could use as a cover for his Dreamspeaker training.
Foci don't give you permanent paradox unless they actually have other benefits. If you want to give Kessler a personal teleporter, I'm up for it.
Deadly Snark
Tryhard As Fuck
Hmm, so is there any way for Kessler to start binding more powerful spirits into himself, giving him more abilities, while still being able to pass them off as Technocratic paradigm enhancements?
Yes, but the issue with this is that the spirits which create Technocratic investments are generally allied with the Autopolitans. This, as you might guess, is a very minor issue.
Damon Hunters:
So, Elsa and Jazmin are being chased by a pack of Damons. (This is clearly the proper term for multiple Matt Damons). At least there's no fallen angels involved that you know of. Their response is to:
[X] Try to hole up in a building that has enough bulk to stop those railgun shots.
-> [X] Fuckin' Agency disagrees, and in fact they've just walked into a plaza filled with guards
--> [X] "Oh, this makes perfect sense", the ex-Virtual Adept says. "None of this is real. It's a simulation. Let's find the place it's being simulated from, which hopefully isn't full of film characters trying to kill us."
Elsa pulses her mapping scanner, getting a readout of the area. "This way!" she says. "We head towards that building! It's got thick walls and I'm not getting any signs from it! We can cut through this alley and..."
"What alley?" Jazmin asks, covering the rear.
Elsa looks up. There's a thick brick wall blocking it. It looks old, but... she pulses the mapping tool again. Now there's no alleyway there. "This way instead!" she orders.
It's a nervous, tense attempt to cross the open ground, picking their way between parked cars. And little details aren't matching. Cars change brands. Cars change colour. By the time they reach the plaza - which hadn't been on her map - all the cars on the street are black, and half of them are Cadillacs.
Jazmin has noticed it too. "The world's changing," she says.
"Dimensional instability," Elsa says. That's what it should be. But maybe it isn't. Maybe someone's fucking with them. But no, Threat Null shouldn't have any Reality Hackers. And they're not in the Digital Web, so this shouldn't be happening. She looks up at the nice-and-secure entrance to the bank. It's tough. Armoured. And there's no one inside. She's scanned it for spirits. This time she's keeping her scanner active, though.
And because she's doing that, she sees them appear from nowhere all around them as the bank vanishes and the plaza doubles in size. There are even more fucking Damons. There are grey IFVs. There are black helicopters. There are lots and lots of police. There are federal agents with guns. No actual military, Elsa thinks, but lots of paramilitary sorts.
"We have you surrounded!" comes a booming voice from the loudspeakers. "Lay down your weapons! This is an order! If you do not lay down your weapons, we will fire!"
Elsa thinks fast. Very fast. And she's very glad for her cognitive augs.
"Hold me!" she shouts at Jazmin, her hair blowing in the downdraft from the helicopters.
"What?"
"You need to be in close! I'm going to try a VE thing! Trust me!"
"We will not give you a second chance, terrorists!" comes the booming voice.
Jazmin all but throws herself at Elsa, wrapping her arms around her. The cyborg can only regret that now is not the time to enjoy it. Jazmin really is adorably petite. Elsa can see the expressions of scorn and contempt and hate on all the surrounding soldiers. They're the same ones from various people in Moscow who didn't really approve of some of her life 'choices'.
Elsa slaps her chest. "Beam me up, Scotty!" she shouts, engaging her dimensional jump module. Normally it'd only work on Earth, but she got data on whatever Nichols had done. She thinks with the right signal, she can shift subdimensions here using the standard hardware.
[Elsa - Dimensional Science 3 - She saw how the area got rewritten by whoever's playing with them. And she's still got most of her VA hardware and she's dealt with reality hackers before - hell, she's worked with them (also, slept with them, but that talent isn't coming up right now). She can backtrace them and then jump sideways through subdimensions until she's in the subdimension where the change was made. Enhanced by Intelligence + Cosmology]
The world fades to white. It's so much more pleasant doing this without the Dimensional Anomaly in the way, Elsa decides. There's no stabbing pains at all. Then the world fades back in, and luckily they're not surrounded by an entire army.
"Who's Scotty?" Jazmin asks warily, looking around.
"Void Engineer joke," Elsa says, tension in her voice. They're in a dusty backroom. There's a few severs in here, between filing cabinets and racks of old-style film reels. They look like they've basically been crammed in wherever they'd fit. The floor is black and white tiling, and the walls are an institutional green. The air smells of paper and copper. "Wait... you haven't seen Star Trek? First season was from the Sixties."
"I'm... still working on the English," Jazmin admits. "Six months ago, I couldn't speak it at all. A lot of people in the Order make references to things I haven't seen. Where are we?"
"Are you familiar with the Digital Web?" Elsa asks her.
"I've... heard of it? Ish? It's an Iteration X thing, right?" Jazmin says.
"Kinda. The Void Engineers do things with it too. That psychic realm - when things started changing, I realised that it wasn't exactly real. Like, it was physical, but it was also simulated. I... I think this is the place the simulation is being run from. Which means I think they can't change the world on us when we're in here," Elsa says.
"It felt real," Jazmin points out, looking around with more interest and less wariness. "This looks sort of Union-like. I think that..." Then she gasps, making a gagging noise.
The coppery smell in the air is because there's a dead body here, just outside the door. Yes. Quite decidedly dead. In life, he was a man in a black suit and white shirt. That's in the past tense. Now, it's a newspaper.
That is to say, black and white and red all over.
Elsa's experience with the Russian underworld and the often violent disputes of vampi... uh, haemophages means she can recognise the symptoms of Axemurderous extremus violentus, a sudden-onset disease where you get suddenly murdered by a vampire who's carrying an axe, or occasionally a hatchet. And that's not the only reason she's thinking about vampires. The man's flesh is shrivelled and grey, parchment-like skin clinging to his bones. Someone - something - has drained all the fluid from his body.
She scans him. That wasn't a man. It was a spirit. And it's dead now. Something killed this man in this... this bureau.
"Okay, new plan," Elsa says intensely. "This place isn't safe." Jazmin nods at that. "We keep quiet. We don't engage anything if we can avoid it. I'll see if I can find a place where we get in contact with my ship. And we keep the fuck away from whatever killed that man." She pulls a scanner out of her pocket and makes a show of looking at it. "This isn't a real Union place," she says. "It's a mockery. Remember, don't trust the things here. They're pretending to be people, but they're not. And any of them could be what did this in disguise."
"D-do you know what?" Jazmin stammers.
"No," Elsa says. She doesn't know. She has a horrible sneaking suspicion that it's something to do with... with that thing which tore itself out of the Autopolitan vessel, but... that's a moon-sized alien thing. Not anything which could use a hatchet. And how would an Autopolitan get into this place, anyway? They almost never entered psychic or noetic dimensions.
On the other hand, even if it wasn't related to that thing, it was still an axe-murdering vampire thing. Best avoided.
So, Elsa and Jazmin are being chased by a pack of Damons. (This is clearly the proper term for multiple Matt Damons). At least there's no fallen angels involved that you know of. Their response is to:
[X] Try to hole up in a building that has enough bulk to stop those railgun shots.
-> [X] Fuckin' Agency disagrees, and in fact they've just walked into a plaza filled with guards
--> [X] "Oh, this makes perfect sense", the ex-Virtual Adept says. "None of this is real. It's a simulation. Let's find the place it's being simulated from, which hopefully isn't full of film characters trying to kill us."
Elsa pulses her mapping scanner, getting a readout of the area. "This way!" she says. "We head towards that building! It's got thick walls and I'm not getting any signs from it! We can cut through this alley and..."
"What alley?" Jazmin asks, covering the rear.
Elsa looks up. There's a thick brick wall blocking it. It looks old, but... she pulses the mapping tool again. Now there's no alleyway there. "This way instead!" she orders.
It's a nervous, tense attempt to cross the open ground, picking their way between parked cars. And little details aren't matching. Cars change brands. Cars change colour. By the time they reach the plaza - which hadn't been on her map - all the cars on the street are black, and half of them are Cadillacs.
Jazmin has noticed it too. "The world's changing," she says.
"Dimensional instability," Elsa says. That's what it should be. But maybe it isn't. Maybe someone's fucking with them. But no, Threat Null shouldn't have any Reality Hackers. And they're not in the Digital Web, so this shouldn't be happening. She looks up at the nice-and-secure entrance to the bank. It's tough. Armoured. And there's no one inside. She's scanned it for spirits. This time she's keeping her scanner active, though.
And because she's doing that, she sees them appear from nowhere all around them as the bank vanishes and the plaza doubles in size. There are even more fucking Damons. There are grey IFVs. There are black helicopters. There are lots and lots of police. There are federal agents with guns. No actual military, Elsa thinks, but lots of paramilitary sorts.
"We have you surrounded!" comes a booming voice from the loudspeakers. "Lay down your weapons! This is an order! If you do not lay down your weapons, we will fire!"
Elsa thinks fast. Very fast. And she's very glad for her cognitive augs.
"Hold me!" she shouts at Jazmin, her hair blowing in the downdraft from the helicopters.
"What?"
"You need to be in close! I'm going to try a VE thing! Trust me!"
"We will not give you a second chance, terrorists!" comes the booming voice.
Jazmin all but throws herself at Elsa, wrapping her arms around her. The cyborg can only regret that now is not the time to enjoy it. Jazmin really is adorably petite. Elsa can see the expressions of scorn and contempt and hate on all the surrounding soldiers. They're the same ones from various people in Moscow who didn't really approve of some of her life 'choices'.
Elsa slaps her chest. "Beam me up, Scotty!" she shouts, engaging her dimensional jump module. Normally it'd only work on Earth, but she got data on whatever Nichols had done. She thinks with the right signal, she can shift subdimensions here using the standard hardware.
[Elsa - Dimensional Science 3 - She saw how the area got rewritten by whoever's playing with them. And she's still got most of her VA hardware and she's dealt with reality hackers before - hell, she's worked with them (also, slept with them, but that talent isn't coming up right now). She can backtrace them and then jump sideways through subdimensions until she's in the subdimension where the change was made. Enhanced by Intelligence + Cosmology]
The world fades to white. It's so much more pleasant doing this without the Dimensional Anomaly in the way, Elsa decides. There's no stabbing pains at all. Then the world fades back in, and luckily they're not surrounded by an entire army.
"Who's Scotty?" Jazmin asks warily, looking around.
"Void Engineer joke," Elsa says, tension in her voice. They're in a dusty backroom. There's a few severs in here, between filing cabinets and racks of old-style film reels. They look like they've basically been crammed in wherever they'd fit. The floor is black and white tiling, and the walls are an institutional green. The air smells of paper and copper. "Wait... you haven't seen Star Trek? First season was from the Sixties."
"I'm... still working on the English," Jazmin admits. "Six months ago, I couldn't speak it at all. A lot of people in the Order make references to things I haven't seen. Where are we?"
"Are you familiar with the Digital Web?" Elsa asks her.
"I've... heard of it? Ish? It's an Iteration X thing, right?" Jazmin says.
"Kinda. The Void Engineers do things with it too. That psychic realm - when things started changing, I realised that it wasn't exactly real. Like, it was physical, but it was also simulated. I... I think this is the place the simulation is being run from. Which means I think they can't change the world on us when we're in here," Elsa says.
"It felt real," Jazmin points out, looking around with more interest and less wariness. "This looks sort of Union-like. I think that..." Then she gasps, making a gagging noise.
The coppery smell in the air is because there's a dead body here, just outside the door. Yes. Quite decidedly dead. In life, he was a man in a black suit and white shirt. That's in the past tense. Now, it's a newspaper.
That is to say, black and white and red all over.
Elsa's experience with the Russian underworld and the often violent disputes of vampi... uh, haemophages means she can recognise the symptoms of Axemurderous extremus violentus, a sudden-onset disease where you get suddenly murdered by a vampire who's carrying an axe, or occasionally a hatchet. And that's not the only reason she's thinking about vampires. The man's flesh is shrivelled and grey, parchment-like skin clinging to his bones. Someone - something - has drained all the fluid from his body.
She scans him. That wasn't a man. It was a spirit. And it's dead now. Something killed this man in this... this bureau.
"Okay, new plan," Elsa says intensely. "This place isn't safe." Jazmin nods at that. "We keep quiet. We don't engage anything if we can avoid it. I'll see if I can find a place where we get in contact with my ship. And we keep the fuck away from whatever killed that man." She pulls a scanner out of her pocket and makes a show of looking at it. "This isn't a real Union place," she says. "It's a mockery. Remember, don't trust the things here. They're pretending to be people, but they're not. And any of them could be what did this in disguise."
"D-do you know what?" Jazmin stammers.
"No," Elsa says. She doesn't know. She has a horrible sneaking suspicion that it's something to do with... with that thing which tore itself out of the Autopolitan vessel, but... that's a moon-sized alien thing. Not anything which could use a hatchet. And how would an Autopolitan get into this place, anyway? They almost never entered psychic or noetic dimensions.
On the other hand, even if it wasn't related to that thing, it was still an axe-murdering vampire thing. Best avoided.
True. And I wasn't talking about a teleporter, I was talking about a translator. Something that explains how he can talk to EDEs and convince them to do things.
Winged One
Not the Simurgh
- Location
- definitely the ground
- Pronouns
- They/Them/It
So, very lost vampire, some minion of Henrietta, or a murderer from a horror movie?
- Location
- The end of all things
The most Kosher way of binding spirits is by beating them in a wrestling match. Kessler's cyborg body and combat experience should make him really good at this. Too bad its probably not Technocratically kosher.
Oh, I don't know. "I beat the crap out of this alien and now it does what I say" is something you can probably justify to most of Iteration X at the very least.
- Location
- National Capital Region, USA
That's pretty much how half of the VE's work anyhow, isn't it?
Well, VEs don't have Spirit. They need to rely on totally mundane or Mind-based beatings to ensure obedience, and those are less effective because it's a lot easier to resist Mind than Spirit.