OK, for Kessler, I'm thinking spending 1WP, 2 Prime on the first roll might be good - it guarantees we succeed at least a bit. Might as well drop a WP on the second as well, since we've got so much of it.
I dunno about elsa, but going one and one on the Corr roll couldn't hurt, and I suspect we have enough.
For William, definitely burn a willpower on the first, and possibly on the second as well.
I'm not gonna roll myself, though, in case someone who knows what they're doing sees somewhere we should spend more/less on whatever.
So those rolls are adequate but Gabriel Cedano has INCREDIBLY SHOUNEN MACHO BULLSHIT on his side. And that counts for quite a bit.
So the question is: Do you want to risk harm or risk time?
Choose One Resolution:
[ ] Cedano gets fucked up, but manages to get some really good licks in on one of the party members. Choose one.
[ ] Cedano goes down, but he's tougher than he looks and that takes a while.
The second one gets you a chance to loot again, but is of course going to take significantly more time, even if you need to boot up a sweet new cyberbody because Kessler's missing both his legs from the plasma-thrower built into Cedano's suit.
"Remember," Christos says, a hint of tension in his voice, "Alice or me must strike the killing blow."
The spiral staircase hidden under the stone altar goes down in a tight coil. Father Orisino leads the way down into his home ground. Serafina can feel the change in the feel of the air. The X-410's systems start to flag up a change in the local r-state, that this is an RD-modified psuedo-subdimension which will aggravate its genetic instability. Despite that, she doesn't feel… bad. It feels peaceful down here, unlike the actively-under-attack-by-aliens city above.
As she crosses over the threshold at the bottom of the stairs, down into the catacombs under the church, she sees a glowing circle on the floor. It looks very… wizardy.
"Don't break the circle," the priest warns them. "Just step over it."
The chambers below the church have some electric lighting, unlike the rest of the darkened city. Viewscreens and ultra-sleek consumer goods have been installed recently, powered by a clearly overworked generator. The bookshelves have been emptied out. A scent of cigar smoke - and another, more acrid smoke - hangs in the air. The blast upstairs has dislodged plaster from the ceiling, but that's the only damage down here.
Sitting down on a comfortable chair, legs crossed and cigar in hand is a man. Or something that looks like a man. Even Serafina can notice all the little traits which show his inhumanity. He might look superficially like a man in his forties dressed in a snow-white thobe, wearing a red-and-white keffiyeh held by a black agal on his head. But the keffiyeh looks more like scales, more like it's part of his head, and behind his reading glasses his eyes are black and oily. He has a silver forked tongue which flickers out to taste the air.
The others who can feel the spiritual weight of his presence see much more. His shadow stretches long behind him, dark and oily. Black tendrils run out from it heading out of sight, tying him to other things like tendrils, leaving it look like an inkspill. It doesn't match the light - and it doesn't match his assumed form. It's not human. Not at all.
"Burn," whispers Father Orisino.
The other man catches ablaze in pure white fire. Just for a moment, his form flickers into another one, the face of another man.
He doesn't die. He doesn't burn. He just shakes his head sadly and puffs on his cigar at the middle of the white corona.
"Do you know the value of a human life?" the man-thing asks Father Orisino, calmly. He is apparently not at all bothered that he's wreathed in flames. He flickers into a woman's shape for a second. "I do. When dealing with an American, the cost of a life is approximately nine million dollars. Mexican lives are cheaper." He adjusts the set of his white robes. "Do you know how many people owe me nine million dollars worth of equivalent value utility? Or, to put it another way, seven units of prime energy."
He leans forwards and smiles openly and honestly. Another face flickers on. "Do you know who you're burning to death right now?"
"Die!" the priest growls. The fire intensifies, burning brighter.
"That's not constructive, defaulter," the pillar of flame says in a tone of withering contempt. "You owe me and I will have payment." He pulls a remote out of his pocket and presses it.
All around him, the screens light up. Men and women burn. They beg. They plead.
"You're the one killing them. Not me. Stop this-"
The angel-possessed priest draws a blade and throws it. It plunges into the man's chest. He doesn't even break the flow of his conversation, and merely touches it, dissolving it down and somehow absorbing the magical construct.
"-and you'll stop burning your Reality Deviant cultists alive. They know it's you doing it. I told them." The burning man with a blade embedded in his chest turns his head towards Christos. "Oh. It's you, Barberis. I thought I recognised your stench."
"Stop attacking him. He's feeding off it. A karma-leech," Christos tells Father Orsino softly, before turning his attention back to the man. "So you're the spirit. It all makes sense. You shucked your mortality. You were a quant, and traded everything. Even your soul, it seems."
"Mystical claptrap," the man says dismissively.
"I cut you off from the markets."
"Mere power cuts won't stop me. The hand of the market knows. It is me and I am it."
And what do you call yourself now?" Christos asks, voice tense. He stalks around the sitting man, knives in hands.
The man smiles a smile which doesn't reach his dark eyes. "The same I always have. Ibrahim al-Saud. And I'm no spirit. Just a man, just like you."
"Liar," Christos says. "You cast off your name. Once you had one name and many natures, for that is the way of men. Now you have but one nature and thus the name you were born with is no longer yours. I know it. How much power lies in that new name and that new nature, I wonder?"
"That's the question then, isn't it? You don't know, or else you'd have used it already." the man asks amiably. "And now you've come to murder me. More blood on your hands. Wasn't Reina Lior enough for you? How does it feel to know that the horrors of the twentieth century lie heavy on your shoulders? All that blood - caused because of you and your cabal." He tilts his head. "The retaliation will all be your fault."
"No. The deeds of a man are on his own head," Christos disagrees. "And you flee from the consequences of your choices. I face mine."
"The words of a coward who can't live with all the death he's caused. Your time is running out, old man," al-Saud says. "None of this would have happened if you'd just stopped."
Serafina's mind whirs inside. Christos Barberis had been the one who killed Reina Lior - or at least was involved in her death? Why didn't she know that? Was this all a lie? But then why didn't Christos call him out on his lies? Was it all part of the cover-up that a member of the Inner Circle could die? It had been so hard to find out facts about the life of Reina.
His eyes dart towards Serafina. "Incidentally, Platinum three-nine-slash-aye," he adds conversationally. "Kill them all."
Faster than the eye can follow, Alice whirls and has the barrel of her pistol flat against Serafina's head and the feeling of betrayal squirms in Serafina's gut.
… then her mind starts working properly. No, of course Alice wasn't working for them all along. Christos Barberis wouldn't have fallen for that. So those remarks were directed at her. But she doesn't feel any different.
"Vai a farti fottere," Serafina tells him, slipping back into her native Italian. "Go fuck yourself," she translates for the benefits of anyone else around who doesn't speak a proper language. And because she wants to make it entirely clear to him as well.
"Ah," al-Saud says, sounding somewhat disappointed. "So you're yet another traitor. How tragic. And with that bleeding heart… oh, so you are the esteemed Doctor Rosario. We have Rose, you know. She's not a traitor. Not like you. We had to clean house and she was quite helpful. She understands the obligations her creation laid on her. Not like you." He smiles at her. "It's not too late, though. I do understand. You've always had so many expectations on you. So many things meaning you can't help people. Poor little Serafina. All the blood on your hands from-"
"Shut up," Serafina says coldly. "I know who you are. Or perhaps who you used to be. Ibrahim al-Saud. Syndicate VPO of Energy. MIA in 1999, replaced by Turki al-Saud. Quite the little family cartel."
"Guilty as charged," he says with a smile. "And to think you're pointing a grenade launcher at the face of a member of the Syndicate board. You're making a mistake, doctor. I can save Rose for you. I can return her to you, whole in mind. I can spare you for the consequences of your treachery." He licks his lips. "You'd really be wasted on the Progenitors. They want you back, but I think-"
"I am a loyal Technocrat," Serafina says, keeping her grenade launcher trained on his face. "You're not. The Special Projects Division are a Nephandic cult. And you were always close to them. Looks like this just is further proof. The Nephandi always lie," she says, directing her words more at the others than him. Reinforcing their mental strength. Encouraging them to ignore him. "You're just a miserable little worm who went mad and betrayed everything he was meant to stand for. A leech. Though that's not really any real change for a Saudi prince," she adds cuttingly. "Or the man who planned out that monstrosity of over-compensation in Mecca."
Around her, she feels the others shift, feeling stronger and more certain. Just saying it herself makes her feel stronger. Father Orisino straightens up, his fires burning brighter, and even Christos seems to draw strength from it. Maybe he just is glad he can trust her to stand up to… to a monster like this. Alice lowers her gun, but-
The man chuckles. "Oh, that's adorable. The fact that for all your intelligence you failed to understand what the Abraj al Bait complex does to the primal energy flows in Mecca says it all. And as for the rest?" he flaps a hand in the air. "Classic distraction techniques. I see your corruption goes deeper than I thought. A Nephandus, alleging that I am one. How transparent."
Serafina shoots him in the face with the grenade launcher. It doesn't stop him talking, his voice even cutting through the explosion.
"Tell me, Serafina, whose fault was it that you fell? Your own? Or were you led into it by Jamelia Belltower, a woman who loved a Nephandus and…" he pauses maliciously, "... was never quite the same again, if you follow my implications. Did she invite you into a secret conspiracy of so-called 'reformists'? Tell you that you had to destroy Control to save the Union?"
Normally she'd be shocked by that, but the certainty fills her. He's a liar. Nothing he says reads as a lie, which means she should mistrust everything he says. She knows people can hide when they lie - and he's a Syndic. She's not that stupid. Of course he'll be able to do something like that. She can't trust anything he says. Maybe if she hadn't destroyed an alien spaceship today and… and shown that even senior Technocrats like her parents are just human, she'd be wavering. But she isn't.
She feels calm. Certain. And she wants this fucker dead.
***
The words hit Alice like a black, oily wave. The only reason her hands aren't shaking is her training in hiding anything she feels. But he knows. God, he knows.
It's true. Her father was a Nephandus. She's Jamelia Belltower's daughter - and her mother might be one of those damned souls too. Everywhere she goes, she makes things worse. She's tainted too. Wherever she goes, good people die. Better people than her. People who aren't fucking cowards who abandon their friends just so they can live.
Bastille is all her worst aspects. The fact that she'll do anything to survive. Anything at all. She spent so long sealing her away - and now she let her out again, just so she can survive. Which means she wasn't really sealed away. She's always looking for the way out. And as soon as she was in real danger, she let Bastille out again. She's a survivor, but it makes her a terrible human being.
She must get it from her parents.
And there's a voice in her head. One she can't not listen to.
"I've been looking for you for a while, young lady," the voice in her head says.
She tries to shut it out but it's not working. She can't focus. The lack of sleep and the hopped up adrenaline and her mixed feelings about Serafina and the fact that she might be the child of two Nephandi and and... the… the everything means she can't bring her powers to shut out the voice.
The world is fading to black, like the lights are dying.
"Shut up," she hisses.
"I think the New World Order treated you very badly indeed," he says. His voice is warm and comforting. Like no one ever talks to her. "And I think their attempts to get you back are delusional and obsessive. They do like throwing good money after bad. That's why I've been trying to find you. To talk to you. I want to buy something from you."
"I'm not selling my soul," she mentally snaps.
"I don't want your soul. The obsession of certain parties about you is… adversely harming our goals. I want all those traits which make you of interest to those parties. I want to buy all that trauma, all that self-hatred, all those things which get in the way of you living that normal life you so desperately want. I wish to purchase your unwanted heritage, your nightmares and those things you hide."
"How do you…"
"I own a lot of people. I know a lot about you," he says and he pauses. "In exchange, I will offer you comprehensive indemnity and protection from the legitimate Technocratic Union and its agents, assets, and representatives. And a wealthy, comfortable, safe life, with satisfactory replacements. There are people who will pay a lot for those things about you don't want. You want replacements. Everyone wins, yes? Isn't that the core of capitalism?"
Mentally she's reeling. She knows it's a bad idea. She knows it's a terrible idea. But she doesn't feel it's one. And she's so tired. So weary. So alone. She's never had the chance to choose much about her life. If she's free, freedom is what you do with what's been done to you - and she's had so many terrible things done to her.
Alice wavers.
Al-Saud can taste Vices. Makes him a pain in the arse to argue against as he knows how to hit you where you're weakest.
Once again, Serafina clearly demonstrates all her luck saves itself for non combat rolls when she throws up a group Mind shield.
Alice, however, is just a fuck-up.
Be Alice:
[ ] Take his offer (1.7x)
[ ] Don't take his offer (spend 1wp to suppress Survivor Vice)
Be a ragtag collection of mages
[ ] Throw even more firepower at him. It's got to work eventually, right? No matter how many people you might need to burn through.
[ ] Find a smarter way (Write-in mandatory, otherwise x0.0 modifier)
Be Alice:
[X] Don't take his offer (spend 1wp to suppress Survivor Vice)
Be a ragtag collection of mages
[ ] Find a smarter way (Write-in mandatory, otherwise x0.0 modifier)
Well now. Let's think of some choices.
Christos Barberis brought the Chorister here for a reason. He's a debtor and a defaulter to this karmic leech, and that makes him useful. Christos has Entropy 5. He can transfer the entire weight of accumulated karmic debt this creature is owed from his debtors over to Orsino. The priest will die - but then the spirit will be out of people who owe him, and vulnerable.
Father Orsino knows spirits. Christos is a master of them. Together, they can force this creature into its true form - not the smiling man, but the bloated leech underneath it, cutting it off from its debtors. Or possibly using them all up to fuel the transformation. Either way, it'll be tougher and more powerful like that, but it'll change this from a social fight into a physical one.
If we hadn't chosen to reduce the strength of the Dimensional Storm, Alice has DSci. She might have been able - might still be able - to shove the thing's smug face into the howling winds of the Avatar Storm and shred it that way. Unfortunately, with the reduced strength that's a lot more dangerous now - there's a high chance that it might be able to squirm through and escape, especially if we don't take out all its debtors first.
Choose One Resolution:
[X] Cedano gets fucked up, but manages to get some really good licks in on one of the party members. Choose one.
-> [X] Sorry John. Those Echoes (Terminator) mean you're just going to get your legs blown off a la T1
For the sake of narrative symmetry. Cedano is John's dark mirror, he's a foil. He's the young John, blind in his idealism and certainty, unquestioning in his killing machinery. He's Kessler before he was trapped in space. So if we're going to take down John's foil, that's where it's matched up.
Trying to choose Wufan is not only cheap, but it's less narratively certain. It's trying to fob off an injury we "earned" by taking down a foil on a charcter we don't care about. It'll produce a backlash. Moreover since he's squishy, it's much more likely it'll kill him outright.
By contrast, Kessler can remain useful when hurt. Remember, Kessler is actually a really good pilot and driver. Like, that's a thing he doesn't see screentime about because Henriette has The Pilot as her niche, but when it comes down to it, as long as he's concious, he can drive the Cashmobile or Henriette's car. He has more room to remain useful when injured.
And the thought occurs to me - there's nothing that says the entire body has to be used. Even if he blow off Kessler's legs... well, Kessler has Matter 3. I think it's so Kesslerian to patch himself up with yet another set of scraps. It's what he's done for years and years, and Iteration X components have universal field acceptors. He can trade off another set of scraps and keep on going in this patchwork world. So shiny new robot legs is an option but doesn't necessarily mandate a full body swamp.
Christos Barberis brought the Chorister here for a reason. He's a debtor and a defaulter to this karmic leech, and that makes him useful. Christos has Entropy 5. He can transfer the entire weight of accumulated karmic debt this creature is owed from his debtors over to Orsino. The priest will die - but then the spirit will be out of people who owe him, and vulnerable.
Father Orsino knows spirits. Christos is a master of them. Together, they can force this creature into its true form - not the smiling man, but the bloated leech underneath it, cutting it off from its debtors. Or possibly using them all up to fuel the transformation. Either way, it'll be tougher and more powerful like that, but it'll change this from a social fight into a physical one.
Father Orsino also has a huge martyr complex over how this is all his fault (which it kinda sorta is) so he'd probably willingly sign up for all that karmic debt.
"Liar," Christos says. "You cast off your name. Once you had one name and many natures, for that is the way of men. Now you have but one nature and thus the name you were born with is no longer yours. I know it. How much power lies in that new name and that new nature, I wonder?")
Choose One Resolution:
[X] Cedano gets fucked up, but manages to get some really good licks in on one of the party members. Choose one.
-> [X] Sorry John. Those Echoes (Terminator) mean you're just going to get your legs blown off a la T1
