Update XXVII: Divide and Conquer
JB XXVII: Divide and Conquer

Director Petrokov is having a very bad early morning. He had just gotten to work after getting another fix of his preferred product, and his lovely morning was interrupted by two SUVs, a gold-plated BTR, and a (probably stolen) Paladin Sedan ramming their way through a three-inch thick titanium wall, destroying two of his emplaced gun turrets, and disgorging a squad of very, very suspicious looking figures who proceeded to methodically disable his security cameras within a few seconds.

They didn't give him a very good look at who they are, but he suspects they're Tunguskans and Virtual Adepts. Choristers wouldn't have brought quite the same level of firepower. He looks at the pattern they took the cameras out-yes, it's clear now. They took out the ones near their entrance, and made sure to take out the cameras in the stairwells heading down first, before going back up and eliminating the ones in the stairwells heading upwards, and are slowly moving to take those out. Yes. They must be moving to attack him. "Irina. Deal with the intruders. I have work to do."

His assistant in the hardened command center nods. "Deploying emergency barriers." Armored blast doors seal shut, forcing the enemy to go through the heavy defenses, rather than merely bypassing them, while allowing his forces relatively free movement. The elevators, he knows, will be secure. You'd have to be suicidal to enter an elevator in the middle of a Construct. Mikhail is busy coordinating the automated defense deployment, moving turrets across hidden rails to focus on defending the control center, and making sure backup systems are viable.

Director Petrokov has one more task, though, one only he can do. He keys the intercom, sends a message to all his workers. Fortunately, most of them were here working late, pulling night-shifts. Otherwise he would have been drastically undermanned for this. "This is Director Petrokov. I believe we are behind schedule on a project called Flaming Mongoose?" Cameras across the roof cut off from missile strikes. He orders his soldiers to deploy to counteract this.

***​

Lizaveta Petrov is an accountant working for Molotek. She is a mother of two, and is looking forward to finishing this day so she can go back to her husband and children. She opens the locked cabinet in her desk and grabs the AK-101 and its 40mm grenade launcher from under the false floor, the armor vest from behind the coat rack. She knows her desk has been reinforced to survive small arms fire and will be an excellent ambush position.

Shura Romanov is a secretary for Molotek. When the call goes out, he knows what his job is. He looks at the lining of his suit-ah, yes, the explosive weave in it is still there, as is the directional micro-shrapnel. Pretend to surrender to the enemy, feign sympathy, and then self-detonate. As one of the youngest workers and one who lacks any close family who will be concerned with his disappearance, he has been volunteered for this task.

Filipp Ivanov is a data entry clerk. He has just proposed to his girlfriend. He opens his computer tower, revealing that most of it was just disguise for a tiny hypertech machine. Inside is a military-grade vest, a brace of grenades, and a machine pistol, loaded with high-velocity armor piercing rounds. He checks the pistol with the expertise of a trained commando and moves to intercept the hostiles.

Genya Fodorov is working as a janitor on the ground floor. He didn't want this job, but it paid better than the alternatives. He sidles over to the receptionist, looks at her meaningfully, and she nods, tossing him a heavy shotgun loaded with explosive ammunition. He mechanically racks the action, then scans the stairwell door like an special forces operative as floor tiles hinge upwards, becoming cover against incoming gunfire.

***​

Inga Popov is an associate with Director Petrokov's breakway faction of NWO and Syndicate operatives. She expected another quiet day. She didn't expect to have been told to secure the motor pool against any incoming hostiles, just in case they're sending a few stragglers to steal a getaway vehicle. She definitely didn't expect to be told to crash-start all their HITMarks, both the old HITMark IIIs and the newer HITMark Vs, because of an incoming attack. She most definitely didn't expect that the attack would come with near-zero warning while the HITMarks were in cold storage. So when she hears that Security Checkpoint Delta is under assault by Superstitionists, she starts panicking. Well, she would be panicking if her emotions hadn't been suppressed by NWO brainwashing. Under NWO brainwashing, she is merely mildly annoyed.

She watches the reports impassively as she starts booting up the combat machines. Unfortunately, it's a cold-start, not a warm-start, and the four machines respond slowly, oh-so slowly. The high-density superconducting toroids of the IIIs have to be stored in a discharged fashion, same with the miniature reactors of the Mark V, and it takes minutes for them to start up. She sees several employees get torn apart despite taking cover behind reinforced steel cover by what looks like a solid laser beam from a bandage-wrapped intruder carrying a stolen Technocratic HMG-probably a HITMark they repurposed, she thinks, and mentally adjusts her estimates on how long it'll take. A ricocheting gunshot kills another pair of repurposed Molotek employees, and she adjusts the time she has a few seconds downwards as she frantically overrides safeties to get the HITMarks to activate faster.

Two more follow them, and a horde of consors, apparently solely to clear the area, moving quickly, too quickly for human reactions. One of them is in black powered armor, a Technocratic variant. She finds that suspicious, but the Tunguskans have plenty of them from defections. Another is wearing a combat chassis she isn't quite sure of. She wonders if it's a Tunguskan design or if it's something else. Both have IX-15s, weapons significantly more advanced than the X-12 Close Combat Intervention System that she's carrying in case she needs to defend themselves. The one in the strange combat chassis is phenomenally lethal, parkouring over cover while firing the IX-15 one handed. It's a foolish firing stance for anyone else, but whoever he-or she-is manages it well, nailing perfect headshots every time whenever someone pokes their head so much as a centimeter above their cover, putting short bursts through anyone who manages to hide. The HITMark and other power armored RD seem to have given up on matching the man's killcount and have settled for making sure nobody can flank him and catch him in a crossfire as he runs through hails of gunfire and grenades without so much as being hit once.

Inga mentally reduces the time she has even further. She's going to be cutting it close.

A heavy behemoth of Tunguskan make charges through concentrated autocannon fire from several turrets on Checkpoint Alpha, staggers, forcefield flaring, from stepping over an anti-tank mine, and then manages to make it through the fire, putting its nuclear-powered flamethrowers to use and melting the gun turrets, and the employees manning them, into bubbling radioactive goo. But it isn't entirely one-sided. One of the hostiles is slightly too slow and takes a direct hit from a 40mm gyroc from a modified RG-6. She flies backwards, smoke pouring out of the fist-sized wound in her torso, and bursts into pink mist. A dying employee on Delta waits until one of the consors gets close and then self-detonates, mortally wounding the unfortunate subject.

At least some of them are going down, Inga thinks. But they're almost through. She's 90% complete on the HITMark deployment. She just needs a few more-

She hears the cacophonous roar of an Iteration X heavy machine gun as orange tracers literally saw their way through the heavily reinforced door and kick it down. Desperately, she reaches for the "HARD LAUNCH" button, overriding everything to activate the HITMarks, even partially charged. She takes several hits as one of them shoots her again and again, but she ignores the fatal wounds from NWO conditioning and- Jamelia's precision shot takes off her hand at the wrist.

She slumps, her eyes facing the motor pool and the ex-Union assets. There's a Spectre limo there, as well as a Syndicate luxury car, a superbike, and a pair of Paladins designed to resemble Chaikas. She cannot let the Reality Deviants get access to any of them. If they do, she will be summoned again after her death, tormented eternally by the Baali's masters for sadistic fun. But perhaps she can- perhaps she can actually scuttle the vehicles. She whispers into her microphone, trying to command the vehicles to self-destruct.

She manages to pronounce the first syllable. Another gunshot. The world goes black.



Well, that experiment failed miserably. We'll go back to letting people do suggestions for multiple people for now.

Now, as for Enlightened Science: Notice that it's actually fairly organic to the people's skills and the genres involved. Director Petrovich, being ex-NWO, is activating brainwashed soldiers. Irina, as a Syndicate member, made sure to have heavy blast doors installed, and Mikhail is doing the Iteration X thing of "GUNS POPPING OUT WHEREVER I FEEL LIKE GUNS SHOULD POP OUT".

Anyways, because of a very timely botch, you now have access to two inactive HITMark Vs (Security Variant) and two inactive HITMark IIIs. You also have the aformentioned motor pool. This is probably a good thing because you just lost a Bob and the VAs are down one man. Molotek is serious business.

So vote time.

[ ] (0.8x) Assault upwards to the command center.
[ ] (1.2x) Assault downwards to the reactor. FYI: They probably realize what you're actually doing and that I-Am-Ivan-Man (who is, in fact, playing loud Russian heavy metal while he flamethrowers innocent Molotek employees) is the distraction, combined with Henriette.
[ ] (1.6x) Yeah fuck it, let's get out of here. Take a quick detour, hit the heavy equipment storage to see what's viable there, and grab all the vehicles and run. Henriette can remote drive.

[ ] (+0.2x to any one choice) take it slow. You're getting fatigued and you're getting sloppy, you better actually take a short break before you get, like, unluckily blindsided by a RPG-29. That'll probably grievously wound anyone short of Kessler, and even he's going to feel it.

Be Serafina:
[ ] (2.0x) Serafina needs to get to work pronto on deactivating this brainwashing. Tell me how.
[ ] (0.8x) Serafina is the only one here who can reprogram biochips, like the ones HITMark Vs run on. Have her start up the HITMark V (Security Variants) for your side.
[ ] Write-In

Be Henriette:
[ ] Continue distracting them.
[ ] Remotely assist the assault team (how?)
[ ] (2.0x) Make sure they can't self-destruct the motor pool.
[ ] (1.5x) Reprogram the HITMark IIIs. Sure, they're out of date early-20th century designs, but they're pretty well armed, what with an automatic grenade launcher and a heavy machine-gun, and they're almost as tough as the Vs, even if they're slower and less accurate.



Willpower: 5/7
Prime Energy: 1/5
Health Levels: -0/-0/-1/-1/-1/-2/-2/-4/Incapacitated/Dying
Current Injuries: None
Current Effects:
None​
Paradox: 0
Soak: 8B/7L/0A (6B/6L from armor, 4 Armor HLs)
Dodge DV: 6/10 (+1 Dexterity from Alanson)
Shockwave Codes: 0/1

Willpower: 10/10
Prime Energy: 5/5
Health Levels: -0 x 12/-1 x 5/-2 x 5/-4 x 4/Incapacitated/Dying
Current Injuries: Severe Epidermal Damage (10 Aggravated Health Levels)
Current Effects:
Hot-shotted HVAP Ammunition (Matter/Forces 2, +[6] damage, ignores cover)​
Paradox: 5 (5 permanent)
Special Abilities:
Stabilizers: +2 Dexterity for the purposes of aiming or fine manipulation
Heavy Primium Endoskeleton: +3 Countermagic
Liefeld Coat: Arsenal 5, +4B/4L soak
Targeting Cybereyes: [1] automatic success to Firearms or Gunnery attacks​
Soak: 15B/15L/5A (9B/9L from armor)
Dodge DV: 1/6

Willpower: 7/8
Prime Energy: 5/5
Health Levels: -0/-0/-0/-0/-1/-1/-1/-2/-2/-2/-4/-4/Incapacitated/Dying.
Regenerates 1 Bashing/Lethal HL a round (Bionanotech integration)
Heals Aggravated damage at normal speed.​
Current Injuries: None
Current Effects:
Mindshield: +5 Mind Shield
Fast-Bayesian Pattern Matching: Time 2/DSci 1/Forces 1/Life 1/Mind 1 precognition​
Paradox: 4
Special Abilities:
Bionanotech Integration: Immune to all mundane diseases and poisons, does not age.
Hyperoxygenated Blood: 6/6 charges. Usable for any of the below effects.
Reroll a failed or botched Stamina roll
Add an automatic success to a single roll
Gain an extra action
Heal 2 health levels of damage​
Soak: 11B/11L/3A (8B/8L from armor)
Dodge DV: 6/14

Willpower: 7/7
Prime Energy: 5/5
Paradox: 2 (2 permanent)

Willpower: 5/6
Prime Energy: 2/4
Paradox: 1
 
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Update XXXIX: Reversals
JB XXXIX: Reversals

Serafina's eyes widen as she tracks the data from the field teams.

"BRIGHT NOVEMBER," she whispers. Well, maybe not. BRIGHT NOVEMBER, one of those little projects the Progenitors provide consultation advice to the New World Order on, is too recent for this. But the same principle, that it's a biofeedback linked network of indoctrinated agents linked together by subliminal microchips which use a cloud topography to parallel-process combat data from the central hub... yeah, it has all the hallmarks. "Are they crazy? A mass activation like this?"

Maybe they are crazy, she considers. After all, the people in charge are EDE-worshipping H^2 addicts. That's going to leave them with all kinds of little quirks and abnormalities, because it's really not good for the human mind. Also makes practice of Enlightened Science harder, which should be an advantage. But still, a pre-BRIGHT NOVEMBER mass activation like this? She's willing to bet that they're overloading their buffers to do this. The indoctrinated field assets are going to be suffering strokes, brain damage, increased risk of Alzheimer's... all kinds of things from this. She can push it further. Push the biofeedback to the hub. If they can't handle the increased noise she's throwing at them, they'll need to either disconnect the network, or she'll cook the brain of the boss up there. Either way, she wins.

Serafina grins to herself, a little bit madly. Look at her. She's acting like an Iterator with all this hacking. But it's Progenitor-style-hacking! Complete with brain-liquifying biofeedback! Nevermind that Iterators have Black ICE and do brain-liquifying biofeedback all the time. "Belltower," she says, urgently down the line. "I know how to deal with the sequestrated employees."

"Tell me." Just... cold. The other woman isn't quite unflappable, but she is very hard to flap.

"There should be a chip inside one of their ears. It's wetware hooked up to their auditory nerve," Serafina says. "See if you can find it. Check the left ear first."

There is a grisly noise, remarkably like a combat knife cutting through flesh, and then a second one. "There's no chip". Jamelia says.

"No chip?" Serafina goes. She almost panics, remembers yet again why she decided lab work was better than field work. At least in the lab, if you had an unexpected situation you had logs, you had previous research data to go on-right, she thinks. Previous research data. She looks through logs. She doesn't have many Russian ones, but she knows from her parents that was a lot of duplication going on in the Cold War. She just needs a potentially analogous project. "Director, remind me of the symptoms you're seeing, in exact detail. And have you seen this before?"

"Hostile Sleepers have perfect morale, excellent coordination despite no visible C3 network, seem to have no shock reflex and require mechanica-" her voice is drowned out from a burst from the IX-15 "-mechanical stops. Looks like... some mass-deployed variant of SILVER LAKE or SHADOW PANTHER."

"Right." Serafina says, quickly browsing TUSecureNet for the projects. Right. Subliminal psychological brainwashing and pharmaceutical conditioning for assassins, and-yes, there it is, a Russian equivalent. Potentially mass deployable with an enhanced operative using nootropics to coordinate-

-and there. The specific nootropics create a vulnerability to epilepsy-like seizures.

"Okay, Director. I can break the network but I'm going to need to have you work with me on this. Belltower, I need you to get me a fast-scan of their neurology so I can predict the kill pattern for this network. If I can find it, I can give this guy a fatal seizure." She switches lines to the Virtual Adepts. "The enemies have initialized combat brainwashing on their employees," she says quickly. "They're coordinated via a single operative."

"Oh, no shit!" one of them snaps back. "Is that why they're all armed with rocket launchers and very, very irate? I'd never have guessed! That was sarc..."

"Speaking as a cyborg ninja who's played with mass mind-links, how are they coordinating? Biochips?" a woman interupts, over the noise of automatic weapons fire. "Hub and spoke?"

"No, old fashioned drugs and brainwashing. Probably done early on when they got their employee training.," Serafina says efficiently. It's nice to see someone among the Virtual Adepts knows what they're doing. Well, not nice-nice, because they're a bunch of Reality Deviants, but useful. "Central operator is probably using sensory interceptors to actually coordinate them. That's the exploit."

"DDOS bioneural feedback?" the Adept says.

"No, not a direct neural link. Too much information for human mind to normally process-enhancile drugs create epilepsy vulnerability. Do you have visual display?"

"Yes." A male voice responds. "I have a holoprojector in this EW kit. Just need to code it."

Serafina smiles. "Thank you. You've just saved my day. I need you to broadcast this fractal pattern in a way so they can see it."

"Okay. You're the expert." Serafina is wondering if he's reacting to her expertise or her voice.

"Good. I'll coordinate my end. Max noise, max pain, fry his brain!" the female VA says in a feat of improvised poetry.

***​

Back in the nice and comfy seat of the Syndicate currently-a-solid-gold-BTR (seriously, what was up with that? Was an entire Convention made up of men who felt they couldn't compensate for their small dicks in the proper way, which was to give Iteration X more funding to build giant robots which they'd get to try out occasionally), Henriette sits perfectly still. She doesn't need anything as crude as a keyboard when she's simply having to think to type in commands.

She can hear Serafina swearing to herself, and ignores that. She's busy instilling havoc and a fear of the wrath of the Iterators upstairs, being the best distraction ever - which is to say a distraction that if you don't deal with her annoying little drones, she'll cut your power and then it will turn out she was the real plan all along. Henriette is starting to see what Director Belltower must feel like all the time, and it's... well, it has things going for it. It is more complicated and there's fewer giant robots with 20mm cannons, which is a distinct downside, but on the other hand her plans always seem to be shaped so her construct wins either way. And Henriette is distinctly in favor of that.

Henriette hates losing.

Well, her current orders are to distract the hostiles and aid in the recovery of tech from these renegades. Which is a very important job. And... Henriette winces as she follows the feed from Director Belltower. They almost self-destructed the cars! That would have gone not as planned at all! She needs to disable the self-destruct! And get these cars out of here until she can properly strip out whatever command overrides they have.

If she was using her body, her hands would have been flying over the keyboards as she sent some of her microdrones towards the cars. As it was, however, she merely twitched slightly. Strip the aerials, pull out the standard overrides, hope that they didn't have special features installed. She'd have her drones latch into the steering circuitry, extending electron probes, and she could directly interface with the hardware. Drive them as easily as she could move her arms.

But how does she stop them self-destructing if they have something hidden? Once she's in control she'll have more time to tear out even more contaminated hardware, but she needs time. And... oh no, she can't spend time both booting up the HITMarks and dealing with the cars. What will she do? She needs more time. Her orders are to... yes, Henriette realizes, staring at the data streams. She's been trusted to get the salvage out. The local Union needs it.

She'll show Director Belltower! She can be subtle! She can be incredibly subtle. She can be so subtle that they almost forgot to give her a commendation for subtlety because they didn't realise how subtle she was being, although she won't be that subtle because that would be bad. She'll get the cars to send out their self-destruct sequence without actually blowing up, so the hostiles won't look for them because they think they're gone. She's hyper-crammed some of the books Director Belltower gave her on the reading list, and she's learned things about deception!

"Kessler," she says shortly. "Put each of those HITMarks in the driver seat of each vehicle and buckle them up. Don't put any of them in the same vehicle. I'll be able to work on them and if I can get them booted up later, I'll send them to help, but this lets me remote-drive them out."

She can hear the grin of the mummy-like man, even if his face under the bandages looks like a permanently grinning metal skull. "A-okay," he says. "Can do! Man, I'd love some old Mark IIIs on side. They're just so trusty and reliable!"

And obsolete, Henriette doesn't say. It would be cruel. Anyway, her drones are busy cutting and splicing wires and assuming direct control of the vehicles, tearing out wires and reading memory banks. And... ah, yes. Her digital self-image reaches out for the data-sheets with the self-destruct confirmation sequences on them. Maybe she'll ask Kessler to throw some smoke grenades around. For that proper "the cars are on fire" feel.

***​

Up in the command center, the Director looks up from his command chair at the swearing from Irina. "What is it?" he asks.

"It's a good news bad news situation," she says, eye twitching slightly. He notices the signs of Vitae withdrawal in her. Well, they should all be getting more for this defense. "Bad news; the motor pool just self-destructed in sequence. And I'm getting no vitals from Associate Inga Popov, whose job was to ensure its safety. Good news; the motor pool just self-destructed, which means the hostiles won't have access to them. And even if the hostiles took out all the local cameras, the message sigs read as valid, so we won't need to worry about that."

Director Petrokov groans. The day has just got worse. Much worse. He doesn't think how much he'll have to pay for replacements. If he can even get his hands on them. Fucking Reality Deviants. And then his day gets very, very much worse, as he fails to close his eyes before he gets hit by the Basilisk. He shudders, bites his own tongue, flails around with crazed strength sufficient to snap bones, until Irina and Mikhail manage to stabilize him. It hurts. He hurts. At least his last combat plan is in operation. "Irina. Mikhail. I need firewalls and anti-transport buffers up around this room." he manages to say. "We absolutely need those employees contributing to our defense."

They nod. It'll reduce his ability to deploy weapons or other traps in front of the enemy, but keeping himself alive is important. "Also, get our guests into the body bags so we can get them out via helicopter. Now that we know that they're not attacking from the roof, we can risk a rooftop extraction."

***​

A Victor takes a RPG to the chest as Jamelia snap-shots its firer. Technocratic body armor and reinforcers hold up pretty well, which is to say the Victor is only mostly in pieces instead of actually vaporized. Jamelia's defended constructs before, although in her case they didn't have dozens of brainwashed employees to soak up gunfire. It taught her that she didn't particularly want to be on the other side. It annoys her, because she doesn't like the sound of bullets ricocheting off of her armor. Maybe Kessler is used to that kind of thing, but Jamelia Belltower is made of flesh, and although the ideals underneath might be bulletproof it is somewhat hard to advance them while decomposing. So when she gets a phone call, she is even more annoyed.

"This is Belltower. What is it? I'm busy."

"Jamelia! This is Ivan! I have excellent news for you, tovarisch!" He sounds legitimately happy. Probably because she's annoyed, the NWO operative thinks, as she fires a 40mm grenade into a HMG turret that has just popped out of the roof.

"Get on with it."

"Filipov is trying to surrender to me. He says western Technocrats have been killing his men, destroying his things, and he would like to give us his entire remaining stock in exchange for being able to live his natural life out quietly. I owe you an apology for the way I treated you. You give us this prize, exactly what we wanted solely to demonstrate your sincerity."

Jamelia raises an eyebrow. It's invisible in the armor, but anyone who knew her would have realized just what it meant. "Say that again?" She can understand Ivan perfectly well. But this-things never go that well in operations.

"Filipov is trying to surrender to us. He still has a significant amount of his war materiel. He merely wishes to take his money and retire to a dacha somewhere quiet." And Jamelia realizes what's happened. Filipov and Ivan don't know the difference between Panopticon and her. They think she's had enough pull to bring in a pan-Union assault force. She barely resists the urge to break out in laughter at how awry enemy plans have gone.

"I'm currently under heavy fire right now, talk to you later about it. Accept his equipment, but don't keep him in anything you might mind losing. There might be reprisal attacks." Make him think it's the hemophages who are going to be doing reprisals, or maybe the Choristers. Not Panopticon. Definitely not Technocrats who may actually be rogue agents, or worse-are not rogue agents.

"Looks like Sera's taken their automated defenses out of play for a while until they fix that little exploit in the cameras." Cross says calmly, as he shoots a worker through an inch-wide vision slit in the chaingun turret he's manning, milliseconds before the turret would have been aimed in his direction. Jamelia's not sure if that was fortunate or if he was just showing off for the ladies. She suspects a little of the latter. "I think we should take the reactor. That way we've got access to their Prime Energy stores, which means they won't be able to arbitrarily burn as much as they want overcharging their stuff, and we can see whatever they count as 'heavy equipment'."

"Remember." One of the VAs says, a woman with cybernetic augmentation Jamelia's sure came from a patchwork of HITMark Vs, wearing little more than a leotard and leather jacket, holding a smartgun. "We split it 50/50."

"We will hold to our end of the deal. Our remote backup has already sent one of the Paladins to your drop-off point." Jamelia responds. "Given the odd numbers of other equipment, we will have to negotiate for an acceptable distribution afterwards."

"Get down!" Kessler yells, and everyone hits the dirt as another RPG explodes in the narrow chokepoint. Everyone there, however, is armored enough that the shrapnel and blast isn't sufficient to hurt them. "Man, I thought Russkies would be more about the AK-47s."

"It's the 21st century, Sergeant." Cross says. "People have learned about the ineffectiveness of rifles and use RPGs as anti-infantry weapons."

"I don't see you using a rocket launcher." Kessler shoots back.

"Yeah, well, some of us don't need one." Cross says. He thinks for a moment, and then moves, diving through the door and making three precision shots. "Threats neutralized." Jamelia hears the bodies slump simultaneously. He's definitely showing off for the ladies at this point, she thinks. She's almost impressed despite herself.

"Lot of guys like him in the west?" another one of the VAs asks, eyebrow raised. She's wearing a heavy coat of some sort of nanomaterial over a pink tank top, and has a literal pink mohawk that is only slightly mussed by having been exposed to shrapnel and explosions multiple times during this night. She sounds slightly impressed, which, given that she's been murdering people with two SMGs using some sort of crazy curving-bullet explosive rounds, is impressive in and of itself.

"Yes." Jamelia carefully responds. It's technically true, after all. There are more EXEMPLAR models and other high-end combat constructs there. Even if most of them aren't quite as high-end as super-elite Ethical Compliance operatives.

Jamelia activates her armor's scanner systems, looking for a more detailed map of the underground complex. It attaches to underground Soviet-era railways where men and materiel could be moved, but that's not all she's looking for. She wants to see lifesigns, equipment, anything useful. And-there. That Primium-shelled bunker complex, heavily guarded enough that she can barely see through it. Heavy equipment storage. She can see shapes, long thick boxes that are clearly weapons, empty storage racks for exoskeletons which seem to be Stalin Mk.I heavy exosuits, machinery which was state of the art Iteration X equipment in the 1950s but today are close to Sleeper technology-some of them are moving around.

Stalins are solid kit, she knows. She's fought a few, used a few. Heavy armored bathtubs around the pilot, liquid-fueled rocket jumpjets, high-powered batteries giving them a few days of powered endurance. No manipulators, because the Russian Iterators considered exosuits to be heavy weapons platforms, armored vehicles you could deploy indoors rather than super-infantry, but plenty of armament. A twin-barrel 14.5mm HMG, laser-guided rockets, and a free-electron laser system slaved to the pilot's vision. Armor sufficient to resist HMG fire and maybe a rocket at a shallow angle.

She guesses a few of the Construct's inhabitants, probably legitimate security rather than indoctrinated employees, have activated one of the Stalins and are preparing to massacre anyone who sticks their head in through the sole entrance of the bunker. Another pair sit in their creches. There are also other guards, mostly around the reactor itself. One of them is probably heavily enhanced. She can guess, simply by the way the figure moves.

She forwards this information to everyone else. She realizes she basically has no conventional backup left. All the Bobs have expired, and she's got one Victor left. The Consors the Virtual Adepts have brought are also mostly dead or wounded enough that they've been dragged back to the SUVs. The woman who introduced herself on IRC as "LessBeanNJA" smiles. "Thanks, steelhead. You're not the only one who's got skills, though."

She fires her smartgun four times, and Jamelia's powered armor warns her of QT effects that the armor provides no protection against. Some sort of teleporting rifle rounds, Jamelia thinks. She's no physicist, but she knows Q Division absolutely hates anyone who asks for them without good reason because of their finickiness.

LessBeanNJA curses as her gun snow-crashes. "Stupid firearms drivers. Quantum computer got fried from the fuzz of QTRs. I think I got most of them. Also, Gargoyle and Ivan wanted me to tell you. They're been engaged by a guy with an armored exoskel and a fucking monoknife, removed one of the hardsuit's arms, killed some of his mercs. They've retreated out the front door with the stuff they can carry that looks important, the suit's crashed. They think he's going down to destroy your vics."

"So we get this done quickly. You're here for their assets as much as their deaths, correct?" Jamelia asks. The other woman nods. "We hit the heavy weapons-" she grabs an unfired RPG-29 from one of the corpses, makes a double-check. It's a no-backblast version for confined spaces. That's good. "I'm taking point to hit the Stalin, Cross, Kessler, secure the mat-trans. You two, one of you go with them and one of you come with me."

Jamelia slaps a charge across the reinforced door, blows it open, dives in low to fire the rocket, and staggers as she takes multiple hits from the HMG. She sees the Stalin through a haze, its machinegun arm blown off, the boxes around it shattered, spreading ammunition and grenades everywh- and she sees an Iteration X plasma grenade clink at the machine's feet. She fast-draws her pistol, shoots it. There is a blinding flash.

Jamelia regains consciousness seconds later. She feels not-quite-pain, and the HUD readouts are showing that the capacitor for the Alanson's piezoelectric armor is dead, that it can't maintain full rigidity. "Boss, you all right?" Kessler is asking. "We just secured ourselves a goddamn treasure trove of gear. And we've already eliminated the Mat-Trans guards. Good news, they didn't set it up as a portal to Hell or anything. We can use it as an escape route..."

Cross pauses. "...or you can use it in an entirely different fashion. I wasn't fully briefed on your Construct, Director. How many Sleeper assets do you have for defenses?"

Jamelia thinks. "I've got a dozen plainclothes guards with SMGs, a fireteam of ex-SF QRF who've got NWO heavy kit. Spidersilk body armor, strength enhancing exoskels, high-power rifles and MGs, and I have three HITMark Vs, two with ACs, one with a plasmacaster... Donald's got that Paladin Security insurance guarantee so we can probably pull them to cover if we don't deploy them for more than a few hours. You're suggesting..."

"You're right. I'm suggesting we rewire it to LA, bring in our own assets. We've already killed most of their Sleeper proxies. We advance up as quickly as possible, let our own personnel secure the lower floors as we go. We might have them stop past the security checkpoint, just blitz that."

"Kind of risky, isn't it?" Kessler says. "You've seen what these guys have done to our mooks. We'll take losses and I don't want anyone to have to write letters to little Johnny or Jill about how their dad or mom died in a strange foreign country for no good reason."

"It is." Cross concedes. "But they're Infernalists. I'd like to give them the justice they deserve. It's our duty."

"D-Director Belltower?" Henriette calls. "I've got recon footage from a drone overhead. Looks like some of their goons are loading sealed and armored coffins into a helicopter. Vehicle ID says it's a NWO black helo, stealth engine, active noise cancellation, active camo, light armor. Weapons are a fold-out 23mm autocannon and a pair of anti-tank missiles, normally concealed. I can take it out from here, maybe."

Jamelia is strangely satisfied. This is more like a normal operation, with things going wrong and multiple actions happening at once.



So. You guys wrecked a bunch of the Big Guns armory but got a lot more. You have two intact Stalins (more or less) and an arsenal of pretty heavy gear ("Heavy Equipment Storage" was also for their less man-portable equipment). On the other hand, you now have Totally Not A CoD 2014 Protagonist coming at you, probably running more or less a full-out Willpower x Arete (that is probably somewhere around 21-40 successes, BTW) suite of combat effects. And he may have the Commando Pro Knife (Entropy 4, all damage dice count as successes, Forces 2/Correspondence 2, stabs from really far away).

Survivors With Tragic Backstories Counter (I basically rolled 1d10 for each of the guys, they survived on a '10')
Grieg Krupin
Ryadovoy Radimir Maksimov

(Everyone else is now dead. You monsters.)

Notable Loot:
Militarization Kits for Paladin Sedans and Spectre Limousines (compatible with the LX-4)
Anti-Missile Defense System (Matter 2/Correspondence 3 'ban') [1]
Deployable Autocannon (Correspondence 2/Matter 2 to 'teleport' the autocannon in) [2]
Deployable ATGMs (Corr 2/Matter 2) [2]
Deployable Microwave Pulser (Forces 2, Mind 2 'oh god it's burning') [1]
Deployable HV-SAM System (Forces 3, Matter 4, Mind 2, Correspondence 2) [1]​
Stalin-MkI Power Armor [2]
11B/11L soak, 8 Armor HLs
14.5mm double-barrel HMG
Six-pack 57mm rocket pod
Optically-Slaved Free Electron Laser (Enlightenment 5, Forces 3, Time 3)
Extremely Paradox Resistant​
ARS-8 Multiple Missile Launch System [1]
Fires multiple 37mm smart missiles
Correspondence 2 multi-target system
Matter 4 nanofabricator for in-field reloading
Masses 40 kilograms​
7K114-D Augmented Infantry HV Railgun [1]
Mass: 80 kilograms, Length: 2.5m
Payload: 10mm tungsten penetrator
Sniper Rifle Rated For Anti-Tank Use
Recoil Lethal To Unaugmented Firers
Unbraced Firing May Cause Malfunctions​
8K99-X Hypervelocity Infantry Missile [8]
Four-Pack Multi Missile Launcher, Disposable
Fire-And-Forget Guidance System (Mind 3, Correspondence 3)
Capable of Exoatmospheric Interception (Correspondence 3, Dimensional Science 3)
Energized Explosive Warhead (Forces 3)
Optimized Shaped Charge Weakens Enemy Armor (Matter 3)​
Various heavy military ordinance including rocket launchers and ammunition for heavy vehicle weapons



So, vote time. The Baali motherlode is yours, although it's mostly impractical weapons, whereas the security armory would have had practical weapons systems.

[ ] (2.0x) Bug out. Use the Mat-Trans to get out of here.
(-0.3x) Take as much loot as you can grab and run. Don't use the mat-trans, you'll have to load it into the Syndicate limo.
(-0.3x) Switch Kessler out for Rose. She's undamaged and you're sure she'll enjoy the break from resisting Donald's sexual advances.​

[ ] (1.5x) Rewire the Mat-Trans to bring your security forces in. Time to open up a portal to Hell Moscow in your own Construct.
(-0.5x) Bring Rose in ASAP. Sure she's not going to approve of the mass murder you've gotten to, but she's useful and you'll be able to explain this.
(-0.3x) Call Donald and have him hire more Paladin Security guys to bring in even more firepower. Maybe even one of their 'special units'.​
[ ] Fuck that, assault your way up the place, kill everyone the hard way. Sure, you're down 2 VAs, but you have 3 left and your personnel are basically all good.

As usual, write in Procedures at your discretion to enhance people's actions.



Willpower: 6/7 (regained 1 due to her Virtue)
Prime Energy: 1/5
Health Levels: -0/-0/-1/-1/-1/-2/-2/-4/Incapacitated/Dying
Very High Pain Tolerance (reduces all wound penalties by 2).​
Current Injuries: Cracked Rib, Concussion (3 Lethal HLs). Wound Penalty: -0
Current Effects:
None​
Paradox: 1
Soak: 8B/7L/0A (6B/6L from armor, 0/4 Armor HLs)
Dodge DV: 8/10 (+1 Dexterity from Alanson)
Shockwave Codes: 0/1

Willpower: 10/10
Prime Energy: 5/5
Health Levels: -0 x 12/-1 x 5/-2 x 5/-4 x 4/Incapacitated/Dying
Current Injuries: Severe Epidermal Damage (10 Aggravated Health Levels)
Current Effects:
Hot-shotted HVAP Ammunition (Matter/Forces 2, +[6] damage, ignores cover)​
Paradox: 5 (5 permanent)
Special Abilities:
Stabilizers: +2 Dexterity for the purposes of aiming or fine manipulation
Heavy Primium Endoskeleton: +3 Countermagic
Liefeld Coat: Arsenal 5, +4B/4L soak
Targeting Cybereyes: [1] automatic success to Firearms or Gunnery attacks​
Soak: 15B/15L/5A (9B/9L from armor)
Dodge DV: 5/6

Willpower: 8/8 (spent 1, regained 2 due to his Vice, yes, he was showing off to impress the ladies)
Prime Energy: 5/5
Health Levels: -0/-0/-0/-0/-1/-1/-1/-2/-2/-2/-4/-4/Incapacitated/Dying.
Regenerates 1 Bashing/Lethal HL a round (Bionanotech integration)
Heals Aggravated damage at normal speed.​
Current Injuries: None
Current Effects: (+1 difficulty to subsequent Procedures)
Mindshield: +5 Mind Shield
Fast-Bayesian Pattern Matching: Time 2/DSci 1/Forces 1/Life 1/Mind 1 precognition​
Paradox: 4
Special Abilities:
Bionanotech Integration: Immune to all mundane diseases and poisons, does not age.
Hyperoxygenated Blood: 5/6 charges. Usable for any of the below effects.
Reroll a failed or botched Stamina roll
Add an automatic success to a single roll
Gain an extra action
Heal 2 health levels of damage​
Soak: 11B/11L/3A (8B/8L from armor)
Dodge DV: 11/14

Willpower: 7/7
Prime Energy: 5/5
Paradox: 2 (2 permanent)

Willpower: 5/6
Prime Energy: 2/4
Paradox: 1
 
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Molotek Scavenging
If you wanted a more detailed list of notable loot, have a more detailed list of more notable loot.

Notable Loot:

Vehicle Accessories:

Accessory Kits for Paladin Sedans and Spectre Limousines (LX-4 compatible)
Supercharger (Forces 2/Correspondence 2 speed boost) [2]
Energy Shielding System (Forces 3/Prime 3 forcefield + countermagic) [1]
Submersible Kit [2]
Hover System (Forces 3 flight) [1]
Polymimetic Alloy Casing (Matter 3, disguises vehicle) [2]​
Militarization Kits for Paladin Sedans and Spectre Limousines (compatible with the LX-4)
Anti-Missile Defense System (Matter 2/Correspondence 3 'ban') [1]
Deployable Autocannon (Correspondence 2/Matter 2 to 'teleport' the autocannon in) [2]
Deployable ATGMs (Corr 2/Matter 2) [2]
Deployable Microwave Pulser (Forces 2, Mind 2 'oh god it's burning') [1]
Deployable HV-SAM System (Forces 3, Matter 4, Mind 2, Correspondence 2) [1]​

Armor:
Stalin-MkI Power Armor [2]
11B/11L soak, 8 Armor HLs
14.5mm double-barrel HMG
Six-pack 57mm rocket pod
Optically-Slaved Free Electron Laser (Enlightenment 5, Forces 3, Time 3)
Extremely Paradox Resistant​
Industrial Exoskeleton[1]
8B/5L soak, 8 Armor HLs
Multitool Manipulators
Radiation and Hostile Environment Shielding
Electromagnetic Rams Provide Extreme Strength
Grip Claws Are Effective Improvised Weapons​

Weapons:
ARS-8 Multiple Missile Launch System [1]
Fires multiple 37mm smart missiles
Correspondence 2 multi-target system
Matter 4 nanofabricator for in-field reloading
Masses 40 kilograms​
7K80-F Thermobaric Weapon System [1]
80mm Semi-Automatic Shoulder-Fired Mortar
Uses Guided Thermobaric Shells w/Rocket Propelled Terminal Stage
Designed for Augmented Firers​
7K114-D Augmented Infantry HV Railgun [1]
Mass: 80 kilograms, Length: 2.5m
Payload: 10mm tungsten penetrator
Sniper Rifle Rated For Anti-Tank Use
Recoil Lethal To Unaugmented Firers
Unbraced Firing May Cause Malfunctions​
8K99-X Hypervelocity Infantry Missile [8]
Four-Pack Multi Missile Launcher, Disposable
Fire-And-Forget Guidance System (Mind 3, Correspondence 3)
Capable of Exoatmospheric Interception (Correspondence 3, Dimensional Science 3)
Energized Explosive Warhead (Forces 3)
Optimized Shaped Charge Weakens Enemy Armor (Matter 3)​

Non Combat Equipment:
Creation Engine
Matter 4 Nanofabricator
Mass: 300 kilograms
Maximum Creation Size: ~human size​
IXC-152 Hypercomputer
Early quantum computer (circa 1960)
Mass: 80 kilograms
Enlightenment 6
Requires dedicated programs to use​
IXC-152 programs
Chaos Theory (shows minimum adjustments to create potential negative consequences to victim, Entropy 4)
Counter-Statistical Modeling (wards against Time/Entropy predictions, Time 2, Entropy 2)
Database Trawl (localizes a target's location via database correlation, Correspondence 2)
Decrypt (breaks through mundane security, Forces 2/Entropy 2)
Overload (enables Halt/Spontaneously Combust code in target electronic device, Forces 3/Correspondence 3)​
IXC-8 Direct Interface System
Telepresence Interface System (Correspondence 4/Mind 4)
Enables HITMark Synthflesh Mimic System (Matter 4/Life 4)
Compatible with all modern HITMark Variants
Buffered Proxies Provide Protection From Lethal Biofeedback (Corr 2 Ward)
User May Use Abilities, Enlightened Science, and all other qualities while remote-piloting
User Is Insensate While Remote-Piloting​

Sleeper Technology:
1980s-era supercomputer spare parts (gallium arsenide chips)
Various heavy weapons
Diamond-tipped drill bits and other mining equipment components
 
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Update XL: Wishful Thinking
JB XL: Wishful Thinking

John Kessler is a man of action. His favorite route to a target is ideally striding through the burning wreckage of the target, everything around it, and - well, in general he's preferred missions where everything except him was either burning or exploded. Really, it's just a lot simpler to shoot someone when they're busy being on fire and complaining about the shrapnel in their gut, and all that.

Kessler prefers this, of course, because he has traditionally been the prey instead of the hunter. Scavenged hypertech and malfunctioning cyber-arms aren't much good against an Ecstatic-derived cyberdragon that flies a couple hundred feet above and tries to roast the poor stranded exojock below with metal-fire. Through a combination of trial and error, (mostly error) Kessler eventually learned how to deal with such thorny problems, using a variety of simple, common-sense solutions.

The fact that nearly anyone else would characterize his "solution" as "utterly bugfuck insane" does not, in fact, faze the massive cyborg. When your biceps are best measured in tonnage, "insanity" takes on a slightly different meaning for you than it does for others.

Striding over to the eponymous "heavy equipment," Kessler quickly sees something he likes: a few stacked 70s-era "Buzzkill" man-portable ASAT missiles, and a few smaller "Corkscrew" anti-tank missiles. Ignoring the warheads stacked neatly on one side, he grabs the ASAT launcher with one hand while perusing the mundane equipment stores with his other, pausing long enough to pick out two "Corkscrew" rocket motors. Picking up three braces of grenades and several rolls of duct tape, Kessler gets to work. The Virtual Adepts give the massive cyborg a wide berth, casting him strange looks, but Kessler is wearing a wide grin as his makeshift plan takes shape.

The first cyberdragon John had ever seen, R'zzz'thk, had pounced on him the moment he'd re-entered Xanadu for his long exile. The old wyrm had smashed his stores of Technocratic gear, hunted him for weeks, and turned John's life into a living hell. The old bastard had a particular hate for Technocrats due to old grudges, along with a memory as long as his teeth - and his fangs could have doubled as spears for giants. Killing him was still one of the single most satisfying moments in John's life.

Kessler smiles wickedly as he realizes he'll have a chance to repeat the experience.

***​

"Agent Kessler," Jamelia barks, already wishing she had more painkillers, "what the hell do you think you're doing?"

John looks down at his feet. Well, more accurately, he looks at the two anti-tank rocket motors strapped to his boots. "It's...a bit of a story, ma'am."

Jamelia crosses her arms. "Give me the abridged version, then."

John looks up the darkened elevator shaft. He's already thrown up a grenade or two, plus a head (don't ask) to trigger the more obvious explosives and other traps, but he knows just how dangerous a Construct's transportation corridors like these can be. Going up an elevator shaft in an enemy Construct was suicide. Everyone knew that.

What they didn't know was exactly how much mayhem a sufficiently motivated person could cause with a few tools.

Kessler glances at the rocket resting on its fins on top of the broken elevator car, a de-extremitied human torso implausibly stuck on top of it. "Doin' a little remodeling, ma'am. Might want to step back for this part, by the way," he says, and Jamelia wisely ducks away from the elevator shaft. Kessler steps back behind cover, slams the emergency doors closed, and triggers the rocket ignition.

The motor ignites with a thunderous roar, and Kessler's augmented vision tracks the infrared hotspot as it shoots up the floors, springing buried traps along the way. Monofilament wires spring out and buried Claymores detonate as the biological material of the torso and its still-beating heart triggers a reaction, but there's far too much momentum built up to stop the rocket's payload. The package is burned, sliced, and diced, but its remains continue to fly upwards...right until the missile warhead detonates.

The explosion is thunderous in the cramped space, and the shockwave triggers or destroys traps up and down the elevator shaft. Laser grids fire before sputtering out, gun turrets search blindly using scorched optics, and buried explosives are unearthed by the pressure wave. The force is constricted in the tiny space, with nowhere to go but...up. Masonry is torn and sundered under the force of the explosion, and the only thing standing between them and daylight is the reinforced steel of a blast shield capping the building.

Then again, Kessler has yet to find an immovable object that could stand up to an unstoppable force. And given that he's holding an augmented infantry railgun, recently looted from the underground stores, he figures that he just might have enough force to do the job.

He braces, aims, steadies the weapon...and for a moment, his world disappears in blinding white. It takes almost a full second for his augmented eyes to adjust, until his normal red-shaded world reappears again. Daylight gleams as the blast shield blows off in a blizzard of torn masonry and flame, and Kessler glances at the gigantic weapon which did the deed.

I could really get used to this thing, he thinks.

Sliding the gigantic railgun over to Jamelia, Kessler gives a wide grin to Agent Belltower, who's looking almost - but not quite - surprised at this turn of events. Stepping out into the bright elevator shaft, he taps his rocket-clad boots together, activating the holosuit and grabbing R'zzz'thk's massive fang from inside his trenchcoat. "Goin' up, ma'am," he announces, and the two rocket motors fire.

The large rockets are enough - barely - to lift his bulk off the ground, and Kessler holds his breath as the cramped compartment fills with toxic fumes. He races past broken, deactivated, or re-setting traps, passing unscathed by weapons that should have killed him a dozen times over. He rockets up to the sixth floor and then-

And then he realizes they've sealed the entire elevator shaft with Stickyfoam. Which is slightly inconvenient, since being stuck in the middle of the elevator shaft is just slightly contrary to his intent of getting to the roof very quickly. He slowly moves his limbs through the hyper-adhesive matrix, looking for a counter-spray applicator in his armored coat. He doesn't think he'll have a problem freeing himself, but-

"Hey, Director, this is Kessler. I'm in a bit of a sticky situation with the elevator shaft." He subvocalizes, so he doesn't have to open his mouth and swallow the probably-toxic glop. At least the substance is protecting him from enemy fire, he thinks.

"Can you get to the hostile evac chopper?" Belltower asks.

"No go. It'll take a while for me to get out of this." Kessler says.

***​

"Ivan", Jamelia says over the phone. "Petrokov. Everything you have on him. Hypercram me."

The noise of the phone is all too characteristic and sounds a bit like an old dialup modem cross-bred with a record played backwards. Jamelia knows she's going to have a migraine after this, but she needs it. The stream of information breaches her consciousness, already integrated and analyzed.

Jakob Petrokov, DoB 1962.12.21, recruited from associates of Euthanatos death-cult, successfully Reprocessed...

Prideful. Arrogant. Self-justifying. Blames the Union for abandoning him.

"Get me a link to the command center," she tells the Virtual Adepts. "Voice only. I'm going to talk to the bastard in charge."

Jamelia swallows. She takes and holds a breath, calming herself down. She needs to protect her mind against any tricks he'll use against her. She's ready for the use of any memetic catchphrases or white-noise words.

"Director Petrokov," she says, down the broadcast frequency. "It's too late for you."

"Too late?" The man's words come back after a pause, his voice pained. "I expected better from a 'hero of the Masses'. Something pithier. Some bragging about your wrong-headed selfishness."

"Says the vampire's tool who answers to ENEs," Jamelia says, her voice cold.

"I protect my interests," Director Petrokov says. "You? You're a Reality Deviant. A woman who works for the losing side. A bunch of pathetic rebels against a society which crushes you underfoot. You're me, back in the sixties."

"The sixties?" Jamelia permits herself to smile. "That's funny. I didn't think dogs like you lived that long."

"Even if you escape, you'll be hunted down. I'll see to it. All of society will hunt you down. You're an outcast. A loner. A loser," the Director says.

She can hear spittle against the microphone. "Keep talking," Jamelia says. "Each word lets me hear how weak you are. How you're a pathetic junkie strung out on vampire blood. How you've let the man you once were down. You're trying to kill me, and you're not doing a very good job of it. Your masters are going to be very disappointed in you, boy."

"You'll make a mistake, just like your friends did," he retorts.

"No, you're the one who's messed up. Maybe your masters should take away your dog biscuits for a while," Jamelia says. She's having a little bit too much fun with this, she has to confess. There's just something... thrilling about tearing apart a blood addict. "That'll help you learn, won't it? They're going to have to discipline you as a pet, because you're a failure as a man. Sit. Beg. But I suppose with this failure they might just have you put down, ol' yellow belly."

"You understand nothing, deviant," he says. There is a shake in his voice. Possibly from whatever Serafina did to him. Possibly vitae withdrawal. Possibly she's getting to him. "You'll understand when you grow up."
"Grow up to pick up a vampire's dry cleaning?" she says. "To clean up his bloody sheets and find him blood dolls. To beg and grovel so you can drink blood, knowing it hurts your Enlightenment. What would the you of 1989 have said if they'd seen you in your current state? And the funny thing is? Even if you survive this, you're screwed. Your masters won't be happy with you. Maybe they'll abandon you. Leave you in the streets. But no. I think they'll just tighten your collar. And you'll lose more and more of yourself to the addiction. Drifting away in a sea of blood. Just what they made you want.

She laughs, and she knows this laugh is a pure, innocent happy laugh. She practiced it. It's like a knife in her hands. "How fucked up and empty must your life be that you lower yourself to this level, crawling on your belly for vampire blood? You know, what, at the end of the day, Petrokov? You had so much with the Union. You let it all drift away. Now you're nothing but an empty hollow man. A junkie who has no right to call anyone a Reality Deviant. Enjoy the scraps the hemophages drop from their table to you. You don't even know what trust and loyalty are.

"Petrokov," she says, "the Union doesn't forget your treachery. The Ivory Tower does not forgive a traitor like you. I don't think you grasp the enormity of your mistake."

She puts the link on hold.

"Henriette," she says simply.

***​

The solid gold BTR comes roaring out of the hole in the building, heading directly away from the building. Within the back, strapped in tightly, Henriette Langley follows the direct lead from her sensory link to the autocannon on the top of the vehicle. She feels a spike from her suit, and tenses up.

"Relax," she hears Serafina's voice in her ear. "I'm just applying a nootropic. It'll help your muscle-synch."

And it does feel good. The movement of the heavy weapon is smoother, and her brain is working faster to calculate the trajectories required.

[Load HV-I rounds,] she sends the thought, as the weapon swivels up. And now the top of the building is visible and she can see the helicopter. Carefully, precisely, she aims for the fuel tank.
Henriette fires.

She sees the helicopter spark as its light armor is penetrated by hypervelocity incendiaries, its pilot quickly attempt a takeoff. It's no good. She keeps tracking it as it wobbles off the helipad, feels the 30mm autocannon put round after round into the smoking vehicle as it ascends and then comes apart. Henriette smiles to herself about the inferiority of NWO engineering. Had that been a proper Iteration X Advanced Rotorcraft, it'd have laughed off a pathetic Russian 30mm, even with those HV rounds, what with its heavy nanocomposite plating and primium chassis. Clearly, the reason the NWO spent so much of their time avoiding fair fights was because they couldn't design a weapon that could win them a fair fight.

She immediately sets on to figuring out custom firmware for the HITMarks Serafina's busy activating to enable their more dangerous capabilities when they're used to retake Molotek. Henriette is so happy about how useful she's been and so busy coding that she doesn't notice the shadowy active camouflaged figure chasing her out of the garage until he lands on the Syndicate limousine with a harsh thump.

***​

Los Angeles, California
Oppenheimer Building
Ten Minutes Ago


Donald is used to night shifts, but not so much when it isn't on his own terms. Belltower gave him a very quick call about getting Paladin Security to take over security for the next few days because she's deploying the Construct's security forces to Moscow, and told him to get everything done.

You'd think she'd have planned things better, being an expert NWO spook, but Donald supposes if the NWO was good at long-term planning, they wouldn't need guys like him to run their budgets. He's in his comfy corner office, at least, and the scenery isn't hurting. By which he means Rose in an evening gown looking at him in a concerned fashion.

"I hope Director Belltower is all right..." she says.

"She is, because she didn't sound particularly worried. I'm sure she just needs all the hands for temporary security and things are extremely boring in Russia or something." Of course, Donald considers, Director Belltower is the kind of woman who wouldn't sound particularly worried if she was calling to tell you that she needed assistance because a grizzly bear was gnawing on her severed arm and she was attempting to apply a tourniquet to the wound with her teeth. And Rose knows that.

"Are you sure, Donald?"

"I trust her judgment enough that I'm pretty sure she'll come back intact. Intact enough." Donald says. "I'm going to need your help for this."

"Oh?" Rose asks. "Anything!"

"I know you've been cramming economics texts and attempting to learn more about Primal Utility Theory. How's that been going?" Donald asks. He navigates to the Paladin Security website, logs in as a Hyperion VIP Member, gives them a message. He waits for the email that will inevitably come.

"Okay, I think." Rose answers meekly.

"I'm going to need your help recording a message for all our men and women in security. Just tell them that you want them to do their best, and you know that it's unusual for them to get deployed in-field as an offensive force and that they didn't sign up for this, but Ja- Director Belltower clearly has good reason for it and they'll all be coming home safe."

Rose nods. "I'll say it in front of a mirror and you can edit it? I've got optical feeds in my eyes."

"That'll work. Just make it heartfelt and you'll be fine."

***​

Moscow, Russia
Molotek Basement


"All right." Pink Mohawk says. "Your teleporter is rewired. I trust you aren't going to kill us in a double-cross."

"If we were, I wouldn't be allowing you to stand behind us." Jamelia says evenly. "All right. Activating."

A rippling, hazy portal to the sister unit in her own Construct appears. She can hear Rose's voice in snippets. "-you might not have signed up for this, but a lot of people are depending on you. Think of everyone in Russia, there are people just like your friends, just like your family, there. All of them are dependent on your success. Just do your best! Everyone believes in you-" Jamelia sighs. Probably more of Donald's work, but it certainly is effective propaganda.

The HITMarks go in first, wearing tactical gear even though it's strictly speaking unnecessary, their heavy epidermal armoring, primium endoskeletons, and thick artificial musculature providing more protection than any kevlar vests would. Behind them are soldiers in the wispy carbon-black of exoskeletons, each one of them armed with heavy high-tech weapons. Medium-caliber machine guns, multiple grenade launchers, payload rifles loading from extended magazines.

Fairly common NWO equipment for more overt operations. They look at Pink Mohawk and the Virtual Adept cyborg suspiciously. "Don't move!"

"They're with us." Jamelia says, and like that, they listen. Donald's clearly motivated them, cleared their heads somehow. She wonders exactly what kind of hyperpsychology he knows and exactly how he did it. She suspects Rose's little speech has something to do with the whole affair.



Good news: You've just killed a buttload of Infernalists.
Bad news: Henriette and Serafina are under threat of playing Breaching Charge And Knife Versus Limousine (spoilers: Limousine generally does not win) and Kessler is stuck in the middle of an elevator shaft with a lot of sticky glop.

Your NWO soldiers have been enhanced by Primal Utility/Time to have reduced multiple action penalties, extra dice on their combat rolls, and also deal/soak aggravated damage. How does a pretty face giving a speech make them SO HARDCORE they can soak aggravated damage? ECONOMICS.

Be Jamelia:


[ ] (1.2x) Move up, hit the guard armory, and rescue Kessler.

[ ] (1.5x) Jamelia can do remote driving too. Get (some people) into the Paladin and rescue Henriette and Serafina from the tale of a crazy guy who brings knives to gunfights.

[ ] Ignore both of them and push to central command. Kessler's got an internal oxygen supply and integrated rebreather, Henriette and Serafina can take care of themselves.

Be Henriette/Serafina:
Mr. Commando With An Exoskel is, in fact, literally blinding on the threat tracker, he's got that many procedures up. Serafina can guess that one of the procedures is a very high-power (and vulgar now that you're out of the garage) Life/Mind effect which includes self-healing and extremely boosted strength, and Henriette is guessing another one is a hugely potent Forces effect to dodge bullets and move super fast. He is running at least 4 separate effects. Good news-it means he's at +2 difficulty for any other Procedure rolls.

[ ] (3.0x) Oh god oh god commando on the roof killitkillitkillitkillit

[ ] (0.5x) Ignore the angry guy on the roof trying to carve his way in and probably take you hostage and send you off to be mind-raped by hemophages and help Jamelia and co. with enhancing those HITMarks.

[ ] Write-in



Willpower: 6/7 (regained 1 due to her Virtue)
Prime Energy: 1/5
Health Levels: -0/-0/-1/-1/-1/-2/-2/-4/Incapacitated/Dying
Very High Pain Tolerance (reduces all wound penalties by 2).​
Current Injuries: Cracked Rib, Concussion (3 Lethal HLs). Wound Penalty: -0
Current Effects:
Enhanced Combat Training: + [1] automatic success to attack rolls, +1 to DVs​
Paradox: 1
Soak: 8B/7L/0A (6B/6L from armor, 0/4 Armor HLs)
Dodge DV: 9/11 (+1 Dexterity from Alanson)
Shockwave Codes: 0/1

INCAPACITATED
Willpower: 10/10
Prime Energy: 5/5
Health Levels: -0 x 12/-1 x 5/-2 x 5/-4 x 4/Incapacitated/Dying
Current Injuries: Severe Epidermal Damage (10 Aggravated Health Levels)
Current Effects:
Hot-shotted HVAP Ammunition: Matter/Forces 2, +[6] damage, ignores cover​
Paradox: 5 (5 permanent)
Special Abilities:
Stabilizers: +2 Dexterity for the purposes of aiming or fine manipulation
Heavy Primium Endoskeleton: +3 Countermagic
Liefeld Coat: Arsenal 5, +4B/4L soak
Targeting Cybereyes: [1] automatic success to Firearms or Gunnery attacks​
Soak: 15B/15L/5A (9B/9L from armor)
Dodge DV: 5/6 (Immobilized)

Willpower: 8/8 (spent 1, regained 2 due to his Vice, yes, he was showing off to impress the ladies)
Prime Energy: 5/5
Health Levels: -0/-0/-0/-0/-1/-1/-1/-2/-2/-2/-4/-4/Incapacitated/Dying.
Regenerates 1 Bashing/Lethal HL a round (Bionanotech integration)
Heals Aggravated damage at normal speed.​
Current Injuries: None
Current Effects: (+1 difficulty to subsequent Procedures)
Mindshield: +5 Mind Shield
Fast-Bayesian Pattern Matching: Time 2/DSci 1/Forces 1/Life 1/Mind 1 precognition​
Paradox: 4
Special Abilities:
Bionanotech Integration: Immune to all mundane diseases and poisons, does not age.
Hyperoxygenated Blood: 5/6 charges. Usable for any of the below effects.
Reroll a failed or botched Stamina roll
Add an automatic success to a single roll
Gain an extra action
Heal 2 health levels of damage​
Soak: 11B/11L/3A (8B/8L from armor)
Dodge DV: 11/14

UNDER CRITICAL LETHAL THREAT
Willpower: 7/7
Prime Energy: 5/5
Current Effects:
HITMark V Targeting Software Rewrite: +[2] to HITMark V firearms rolls​
Paradox: 2 (2 permanent)

UNDER CRITICAL LETHAL THREAT
Willpower: 5/6
Prime Energy: 2/4
Current Effects:
None Running​
Paradox: 1
 
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Update XLI: From Hell's Heart
JB XLI: From Hell's Heart

Senior Constable Cross evaluates the situation. Most of the instincts in him are screaming to go to Se... to Dr Rosario's aid. But the higher rational mind which is the reason he broke the glass ceiling constructs such as him labor under overrules it.

"D-Shift decapitation strike," he says to Director Belltower as the two of them sprint up flights of stairs, followed by the female Adept cyborg. "He's being coordinated. I'll take them out. He should lose that psycho-programming, and all mission directives. You'll be dealing with a far dumber opponent. And weaker. That'll free the assets up to deal with this guy."

Belltower pauses. "Do it," she says. They clatter out into the parking garage where the bikes had already been moved onto, and she swings herself into the saddle with practiced ease.

"I'm with you," the cyborg ninja says, jumping on the back. "I owe that bastard with the knife bigtime. He's the reason I'm like this." She wraps her arms around Jamelia. "Let's go!"

"Hands at my waist," Belltower says.

"Prude," the cyborg ninja mutters, but complies. "You're in power armour, anyway, for all you're a domme 'Crat with a sexy voice." The engine revs and they roar away.

Cross shakes his head. Deep in his biology, the integrated artificial organs developed from reverse-engineered Leviathans kick into action, and he tears through into the rust-encrusted grey of the alt-dimension closest to reality.

It hurts like fuck, as always. The Dimensional Anomaly is like knives, cutting all over his skin. Cross grins and bears it. Well, he doesn't actually grin because he's spitting blood within his helmet, but he's had worse. Leaping up, he kicks off the wall and swings his way up through a hole in the roof, dancing through the brittle crystal spiderwebs which litter the place. A leering autocannon swings down, but he's in an alt-dimension now and can push his body fully. He damn well near blurs as he shifts up another metabolic level, heart keeping a steady 60bpm.

A blood-encrusted thing which looks like a crystal spider with mechanical implants crudely stuck into it lunges for him. Normal men would be scared, but him? This is what he does. He remembers his first Labyrinth strike, commanded by a crusty old Senior Constable who had the most fantastically manicured mustache, a man who could have been promoted to a leadership role in Ethical Compliance long ago but stayed in the field because he loved it. When the man died, Alexander- he had no surname then, inherited his last name in his will, as "the son the man always wanted but never had" (the old Senior Constable Cross had several daughters, who he watched live their happy mundane lives, age, and die while he stayed young). He remembers his first words. "Normal men are going to be afraid of demons. We're wired to be. Religion's in our brain. You? You aren't. Demons are afraid of you, because you've got all the compassion and heroism of a man, and the cold fearlessness of a machine. You don't have the instincts they play on, and that scares the shit out of them."

A good man. He slides under the EDE, firing on full auto up into its body, and a rain of crystal shards follows his passage. He breaks the slide into a roll, and is on his feet once more again, tossing a grenade after him.

There's a cluster of three EDEs at a checkpoint at the lifts. He steps into view and fires three times in a single motion which no normal human could pull off. Three EDEs fall to the ground with neat 10mm holes in their heads. They're not dead, of course, but they are jolly inconvenienced and then he's past them. Several demon EDEs were guarding the interior of the room the real world hostiles were in. It takes a little bit of doing, but as Cross reloads he reminds himself it's a good thing few enemies like multiple holes poked in vital organs.

Cocking his head, Cross lets his eyes adjust their focus, back to reality. It's so easy operating in places like this. All the reinforcement the locals did to ward off unwanted malevolent EDEs makes the local spacetime curvature so easy to handle. He can see the control room with the three Infernalists present. The boss. The primary target. From his control throne he's coordinating everything, and he'll have the command codes which'd let them bug out. The others are secondary.

He takes a breath. One, two high caliber rounds into the brain and limbic core of the hostile Director. The other two are lower priority. On his HUD, he pre-marks the shots he will take.

Three, two, one... execute.

Cross drops into realspace before Petrokov can turn around, puts two shots through the director. He realizes Kessler would have made a quip, but when Cross hunts, he kills silently and efficiently. Something that the Euthanatoi taught him on a joint operation-silence can often be intimidating. Humans are used to other humans cracking jokes or making threats. That's what mankind does under stress. But if you kill, without hesitation or remorse, it scares them. It puts you right into the uncanny valley. Good old Hoshi. If he wasn't a Reality Deviant Cross thinks the two could be friends. Although not having any hard feelings after shooting at (and occasionally hitting) each other multiple times almost counted.

"Hands in the air. Turn off all your equipment and step away from the desks." His biosuit's voice filters subtly shift his voice downwards, slow it down. He speaks with the authority of hell itself-all the better for Infernalists to understand. "Any resistance or delay will be met with lethal force. If you surrender you will be guaranteed a fair trial." Cross suspects many of them will be tried fairly-and put through HITMarkification, loaded with control circuitry and overlaid neural patterns to ensure they can be useful again. He doesn't know how he feels about that. On one hand, it offends his sense of ethics. On the other hand, it might be better for them than summary execution.

One of the administrative workers behind him, clearly a barely-enlightened newbie, doesn't realize just what she's facing and draws a gun from under the desk. He shoots it out of her hand. Alexander Cross can afford to be magnanimous in victory. "Next person to try that gets shot right between the eyes. Turn off all your equipment and step away from your desks. Remove everything you are wearing and put it in a pile in the corner. If you comply with these instructions you will not be harmed." He can't take risks that they have bullshit NWO hidden weapons. He's seen everything, been shot at by almost as many. Cross would prefer not to lose a hand again to a single-shot plasma cufflink.

He waits for them, wonders if he'll need to execute one of them as an example. Which one? The most senior, to break the potential core of resistance that he represents? The youngest and most physically attractive to make it look like he will not hesitate to terrorize them-which he won't, but he'd like to kill as few people as possible-to get them to surrender and that anyone can die?

He doesn't need to, though. They break. Cross feels thankful for small mercies.

***
Kessler

Kessler is interrupted in his efforts to get free of the sticky mess when the stuff instantly dissolves around him. He nearly falls down eight floors, scrabbling for purchase. He looks at the floor he's on. The fourth floor. The armory floor. He grins.

"I guess Santa's come to visit me today." He checks through the door itself with his prosthetic's X-ray function. Several hostiles, looking distinctly uncoordinated. As the defensive armory and the barracks for Construct security proper, it won't have many civilians on it. Free fire zone. Excellent. Kessler kicks the elevator door. Once. The heavy armored door buckles under his immense strength.

"Hostile in the elevator shaft!" The voice is Russian, but familiar enough. A Russian MiB variant. He's killed dozens of them in Afghanistan. He kicks it again.

"Focus on the elevator! Wait until it opens! Move heavy weapons up! Enemy may be augmented!" He gives it a third kick. He sees light coming through the doors. They start firing. The door glows uncomfortably red hot and his heavy, kevlar-weave, titanium-toed boot starts smoldering as he gives it a fourth kick. It's not relevant. He's become used to being tougher than his clothes.

He pushes his augmentations to maximum, gives it his all on the fifth kick. One of the elevator doors flies forward, arcing neatly at ridiculous speed to pancake a MiB against a wall. "SANTA GIVES YOU A FLAT TUMMY FOR CHRISTMAS, FATTY!" Kessler yells. He looks around. Nobody's managed to get heavy weapons into position yet, and the shots they're firing are literally bouncing off his remaining dermal plating or armored endoskeleton. He pauses for maximum intimidation value, laughing deeply. "HO HO HO! PRESENT FOR ALL NAUGHTY BOYS AND GIRLS AND CLONES!" Kessler says, and then opens fire. A solid line of tungsten slugs, so hot as to be glowing orange, illuminates the darkened armory.

There is a terrifying ghastly noise.

There is a terrifying ghastly thump.

There is a terrifying ghastly silence.

And in the end, only one man stands in the midst of a scene of carnage. If you can count someone so heavily augmented a 'man'. Kessler strides out of the chokepoint, grabbing one of the hypertech rifles the Russians had. Ah, "Valkyries". Useful. Super-high velocity tungsten bullets, plasma propulsion charges. Simple, accurate, reliable. 80s hypertech at its finest. And an underbarrel flamethrower, too!

Kessler grabs the rifle, takes a belt of swarm grenades, and goes to work, grinning ghoulishly. He knows he should feel a little bad about killing people, but MiB don't count as people, right? They're godless, soulless commies, strike one, they're godless, soulless commies who sold out to vampires, strike two, they're godless, soulless commie clone meat-robots who sold out to vampires, strike three.

Kessler looks at the floorplans he has in his DEI. He's 10 meters away from the actual armory room. It really is like Christmas coming early for him.

***​

Walter Brown went into private security from the Navy SEALs because he thought the pay was better and the benefits were better. When he found out that he was getting scouted by a secret shady organization, he thought it was some sort of NSA black ops unit and he'd get to do some crazy Sam Fisher shit. By the time he realized it wasn't actually a US government unit, he didn't care. After all, did JSOC get to play with these kinds of toys? Nope. He's got an exoskeleton that'll let him climb the side of an office building, jump 3 meters straight up, and combined with his armor will even protect him from being shot anywhere by an assault rifle and in the chest with a non-AP .50 cal once or twice. It's got a flexible LCD layer to let him turn invisible in broad daylight like some sort of ninja and he's got a smartgun that fires flechettes at velocities he associates with tank cannon.

He hopes that one day he'll get to play with the real toys he's heard rumors of, full up powered armor that laughs at .50 caliber all day and can fly like Iron Man, plasma cannons that can vaporize a M1 Abrams and still have enough power left over to light an entire row of townhouses on fire, transforming super-jets and space battleships. But right now he feels like he should be satisfied.

He's getting to liberate Moscow! From vampires! Alongside Terminators! How many people in the US military can say that? Just stepping onto the territory of the Old Enemy without repercussions. And how many people can say that they killed Edward Cullen? Unfortunately, he isn't satisfied. He was promised heavy resistance, and all that's left are a handful of pop-out gun turrets. One of his buddies has lost an arm from them, and he's almost jealous, because that means he'll probably get an awesome cyborg arm with a can opener attachment. Him? He's gotten to shoot some gun turrets and cuff some surrendering employees who drop their guns the moment he shows up and yells at them to surrender.

Walter consoles himself with the idea that he's just that badass, until he clears the fourth floor. It looks like someone's dropped a bomb on the place, but the walls are still standing. And then he meets a guy who looks like fucking Santa Claus, except Santa Claus doesn't have biceps the size of redwood tree trunks and generally isn't depicted carrying multiple bandoliers of high-tech explosives and a pair of heavy machine guns. He has barely enough presence to yell the challenge. "Star!"

"Texas." Kessler answers. "Man, what took you guys so long? I was about to start takin' a nap."

Walter considers for a moment talking back to the man. Even through arrogance born out of endless "you-are-the-elite-of-the-elite" speeches and a feeling of invulnerability brought on by his adrenaline high and a beautiful lady exhorting him to do well, his lizard brain manages to tell him that doing so is probably moderately more dangerous than committing suicide via atomic bomb.

"We were held up in the security checkpoints." He answers. Asshole.

"Wounded?"

"Rob's missing an arm and Wayne's been shot through the gut. Otherwise, just some fractures and bruises, nothing serious. Medics are handling it, they'll pull through."

***​

Streets of Moscow
Henriette loves driving, especially stunt driving. She likes it a little less, of course, when there is a psychopath in an NWO exoskeleton trying to kill her. Especially since there is a real and significant chance that she might end up dying here to a guy in NWO combat kit, rather than at least to some sort of Iteration X psychopathic combat 'borg loaded with enough plasma weaponry to count as an experimental nuclear fusion reactor. Also, it'd be almost as bad if Serafina died, because then Serafina's parents would probably blame Henriette for their daughters' mistake and she'd end up being stuck in a dead-end job checking part inventories or something. It's not that Henriette cares about the other woman, oh no.

"C'mon ladies, let's dance!" the man on the roof screams, as he slams his blade into the armor of the LX-4 again. Henriette looks at the integrity readout, and notices with a shock that the blade's managed to breach the armor. And he's slowly climbing forwards, inch by inch.

"Seriously! This is bullshit!" Henriette screams. "NWO commandos aren't supposed to be like this! They're not supposed to run as fast as a car and stab through armor plate thick enough to bounce rockets!"

"Language, young lady!" the Centurion chastises. In the adrenaline Henriette's almost managed to forget it exists.

"I will show you fucking language when I disassemble you, you completely useless piece of shit that can't even protect us from one fucking NWO commando because you are a completely useless relic from the nineteenth fucking century!" Henriette snaps. She swears she hears the sound of a monocle popping off.

"Oh my-"

"NWO commandos who are H2 addicts." Serafina says. "Please tell me you have something resembling a plan!"

"Are you trusting that shifty half-oriental woman for a plan? Well, obviously! An untrustworthy Italian harlot like you-"

"I am going to have you fired. Literally. Into orbit." Serafina responds.

"My plan is to drive really fast and hope we can shake him with some help!" Henriette says. She has no idea if she can, but she has to try. She toggles antipersonnel defenses on the vehicle, electrifying the outer plating. She hears the frying, but the man manages to keep a deathgrip on his knife, stabbed right into the hull, and starts working on carving a hole into the roof. "A little help?"

"I'm looking up his NBC seal design!" Serafina responds, hastily. "I can't get past his filters without knowing what gets past them." The commando has worked his way to the sunroof, cracked it with a single mighty blow. He's on his way down. He's unstoppable, he leaps down into the limo itself-and then he staggers, as if something's been stripped from him.

"Orders/Mission objectives/update?" he pauses.

"Horrid ruffian! Invading the privacy of these two ladies! Clearly to steal their virtue or something horrid!" the Centurion says, and opens fire, drawing blood once from his leg. An unfortunate decision, refocusing the NWO operative's addled mind.

"Close proximity threat. Potential hostages. Hostages may be RDs. Neutralizing with caution." The commando dodges past a gatling gun burst that manages to shoot holes through a bedroom, tackles Dr. Rosario, and holds his knife to her throat. "Stand down. Stop the vehicle and open the door or she dies." He pushes the blade just hard enough to draw her blood. Threat.

"Just shoot him already!" Serafina says. "I can heal!"

"Shut up."

"I... I cannot harm a lady. Even a harlot like you."

Henriette walks in, holding a pistol shakily. The commando draws one of his short-barreled shotguns and trains it at her.

"Well fucking thanks." Serafina says. "Useless piece of outdated crap. Henriette-" she sounds concerned, realizing the vehicle has stopped.

"I... I can't. I can't do this again." Again? Henriette thinks. Why again?

"If he gets away with me, it's going to be worse than death. I'm going to be addicted, and I'm going to be forced into an obsessive bond with a hemophage. I would rather risk dying here and now." Serafina says. She'd have tried to escape, but she suspects he'll sense the threat. Anything she does will have to be subtle and when he lets his guard down-but what? He'll be resistant enough to biohazards that he'll probably have enough time to kill her first, and even if he doesn't she bets there's a suicide charge somewhere in him like any good P-series agent. Mind control? No, their single-minded machinelike qualities make them incredibly resistant.

She needs to think laterally. Yes, he'll need time. And she has contact. His armor won't be fully sealed-she just needs to subvert his rapid regen biotech with a dedicated cancer. It's like a closed book final examination, except failure here is punishable by literal death. Just a problem she needs to solve. She can't simply brute-force whatever he's on, she needs to do something it can't deal with.

"Open the doors. We are leaving." Henriette meekly obeys. "You are coming with us."

Henriette steps outside with the Operative and Serafina, held at gunpoint, to the protests of the Centurion, screaming about 'unfair perfidy' and 'hostage taking' and how 'those damn Russians have no honor'. The Operative leads them away from the highway.

***
As Jamelia speeds off on the superbike, she reads. The data Cross has forwarded her on the last Enlightened member of the construct is chilling. A P-Series agent. There are very few things that scare her, but the P-Series she finds... interesting. Completely break and reprogram a Reality Deviant or someone who has done too much to suffer normal sanctions. Someone who by all accounts should have suffered mindwipe, but is too damn useful. Take their brain apart. Literally burn any way to revert it to what they were before. Instead, give them programming, rather than memories. Turn them into literal human weapons via repeated Conditioning, the kind Reality Deviant Propaganda talks about, rather than the actual kind that happens to agents, involving a lot of historical sources, some boring history lessons, some more mandatory reading, and some very, very slick "edutainment". The fact that it's only done to people who deserve death isn't much of a consolation.

It means that if he's been cut off from command, which just happened, he'll revert to attempting to accomplish his last mission. He cannot comprehend anything else. It explains why he's part of this Construct-if the boss went Infernalist, the agent would have been literally incapable of protesting. They were weapons-they were built to be commanded, to fail to question. Easier to ask a waterfall to reverse its direction-and Jamelia's being literal, she's seen a Reality Deviant do that before. She hasn't seen a single P-Series agent go against orders.

A little nagging voice in her ear that sounds like her asks her if she's been so willing to deal with the individual quirks of her team simply because the P-Series scare her on a fundamental level. It asks her whether reducing men and women into levers to push inevitably leads to this realization that free will is an illusion, that the mind is software and can be programmed.

Jamelia Belltower has relied on Reality Deviants before, but not quite like this. If there's a hostage situation, and she's betting there will be, she's not the most accurate shooter here. The Virtual Adept cyborg is, and it means that Jamelia is in the unenviable situation of having to rely on a Reality Deviant to do her work. So then, how to make the RD accept this, and moreover, underplay it?

Reality Deviants think they're fighting the good fight. Give them an unambiguous situation where they can be exactly that. "Everyone wants to be the hero of their own story," Blanc had said. "Give them that, but beware. Not everyone can be a hero."

She forwards the pictures she has of Serafina and Henriette to the VA. Play the narrative. Brave cyber-knight rescues two beautiful damsels in distress. "I need these two operatives rescued."

LessBeanNJA-Jamelia wishes she knew the woman's real name-smiles. "And now why would I do that? Just because there's two pretty faces?" But she's already Jamelia's to manipulate.

"No, because you secretly want the same thing I want. A world where you're the hero, where there's no damnable moral ambiguity because you're killing people who just made the mistake of signing up for the wrong employer and being at work on the wrong day. You're here because you want to kill that bastard who hurt you, and the best part is that you're going to be doing good when you do it. You're here because you want to demonstrate that you're better than us."

"I could say no."

"Could you do that and live without showing off how much better you are?"

"Wow. I wish I could meet you in the Spy's Demise for more of a... talk." the cyborg responds. "When you put it that way."

"Target." Jamelia says. She's spotted him. He's got Serafina at knifepoint and Henriette at gunpoint, which is worse. "He has hostages. You'll need to make a precision shot." Jamelia rattles off windspeed, velocity vectors, air pressure. She wills this to not fail. She looks in the mirror, watches out of the corner of her eye as the cyborg puts a single round into her smartgun, shoulders it.

The man-machine notices. He tenses.

"Take the shot now." Jamelia almost yells. She hears, feels the muzzle flash and sees the man fall to one side.

Not enough. she automatically thinks. Brainstem will have chip backup. The supersoldier gets up, and then seems to literally liquefy.

"Good work, Serafina." Jamelia says, as she stops the superbike next to them. Henriette seems to be shaking from an adrenaline high, and Jamelia gives the young woman a hug. Even the Centurion is silent for a moment, probably due to his failure at protecting Henriette and Serafina.

"You want me to hug the other one?" the Virtual Adept asks lasciviously. Jamelia doesn't give an answer.



That was an exciting set of rolls which led to you capturing a Construct nearly intact. Well, besides for all the bullet holes in it. Also, Progenitors have Combat Homonculi, Iteration X has HITMarks, the NWO has the Series P. Hey, the Enlightened Shock Corps had to have started from somewhere, right?

Loot Priorities:
So, vote on loot. Prioritize exactly who receives the loot from Filipov + Molotek, with 1 being highest priority and 4 being lowest priority. Also, if you want to write-in keeping specific pieces of loot, please do. Notice that setting the VAs/Tunguskans below priority 2 will mean that you're going to have to have a pretty good write-in as to how you're convincing them to give you the lion's share.

A list of your notable loot in specific will come up dependent on what priority you place upon yourselves. I'll keep things like Valkyrie ARs and other generic+ weapons off of that list, although the "silenced semi-automatic rocket launcher" and the "user-guided anti-tank rifle" and the "white phosphorous SMG" will be listed.

[ ] Your Construct
[ ] The Russian Loyalists
[ ] The Daedalians
[ ] The Virtual Adepts/Tunguskans

Your Next Step:
[ ] (1.5x) Now that you've got gear and allies (conventional and probably Reality Deviant, unless you set your loot priorities in an extremely awful way), might as well actually look into the Museum.

[ ] Take a look at EXORDIUM now. Especially with Panopticon around.

[ ] Phase 2 of Disregard Museum Destroy Camarilla: Now that the Prince's infernal advisors are gone, find someone tolerable (you can totally make one up) who is willing to play it quiet, and then kill the Prince to put him on the throne.

[ ] You want to know a little more about that strange EDE with Union access codes. Investigate a Baali summoning site.

[ ] (+0.3x to any other choice, choose any other one): Take a day off. You're running to the edge of exhaustion. (Refills WP/Prime Energy, healing for Kessler + Cross). This is totally valid stunt fodder for talking to Henriette about her PTSD or to... well, anyone. Conversation! Ask about Kessler's time in the MARINES, or Serafina's bad early life decisions, or just use the mat-trans to have Jamelia go to Hollywood and... adjust Donald's tie or something.​



Willpower: 6/7
Prime Energy: 1/5
Health Levels: -0/-0/-1/-1/-1/-2/-2/-4/Incapacitated/Dying
Very High Pain Tolerance (reduces all wound penalties by 2).​
Current Injuries: None
Current Effects:
None​
Paradox: 1
Soak: 8B/7L/0A (6B/6L from armor, 4/4 Armor HLs)
Dodge DV: 11/11 (+1 Dexterity from Alanson)
Shockwave Codes: 0/1

Willpower: 10/10
Prime Energy: 5/5
Health Levels: -0 x 12/-1 x 5/-2 x 5/-4 x 4/Incapacitated/Dying
Current Injuries: Severe Epidermal Damage (10 Aggravated Health Levels)
Current Effects:
None​
Paradox: 5 (5 permanent)
Special Abilities:
Stabilizers: +2 Dexterity for the purposes of aiming or fine manipulation
Heavy Primium Endoskeleton: +3 Countermagic
Liefeld Coat: Arsenal 5, +4B/4L soak
Targeting Cybereyes: [1] automatic success to Firearms or Gunnery attacks​
Soak: 15B/15L/5A (9B/9L from armor)
Dodge DV: 6/6

Willpower: 8/8
Prime Energy: 5/5
Health Levels: -0/-0/-0/-0/-1/-1/-1/-2/-2/-2/-4/-4/Incapacitated/Dying.
Regenerates 1 Bashing/Lethal HL a round (Bionanotech integration)
Heals Aggravated damage at normal speed.​
Current Injuries: Soul-Flayed (1 Aggravated HL)
Current Effects: (+1 difficulty to subsequent Procedures)

Paradox: 4
Special Abilities:
Bionanotech Integration: Immune to all mundane diseases and poisons, does not age.
Hyperoxygenated Blood: 5/6 charges. Usable for any of the below effects.
Reroll a failed or botched Stamina roll
Add an automatic success to a single roll
Gain an extra action
Heal 2 health levels of damage​
Soak: 11B/11L/3A (8B/8L from armor)
Dodge DV: 14/14

Willpower: 6/7
Prime Energy: 0/5
Current Effects:
None​
Paradox: 2 (2 permanent)

Willpower: 4/6
Prime Energy: 0/4
Current Effects:
None​
Paradox: 6
 
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Molotek Scavenging Vote
So, an actual substantive update will probably come tomorrow, to give people some more time for write-ins, votes, and catching up. Until then, enjoy a short mini-vote about the equipment you guys really want. And to clarify, if you take a day off, you're taking the day off before you do anything else. Otherwise you're going to be marathoning KeepAwakes and Erg Cola (Blueberry flavor? How about BLACK AND BLUEBERRY? MADE WITH BEATINGS. REAL BEATINGS. IT'S LIKE POURING A HITMARK ASSAULT INTO YOUR FACE!) to stay functional.

Having set yourselves as priority 3, you're getting Not Much Loot (although the Daedalians are getting even less from the affair). So choose a few pieces of notable loot to actually take with you. And by 'few' I mean 'two', just like in the first mission. Note that unlike Requisitions you get these permanently.

I'll have to remind myself to edit the Paladin Sedan into the OP as "loot you've received"

[ ] IXC-152 Hypercomputer:
IXC-152 Hypercomputer
Early quantum computer (circa 1960)
Mass: 80 kilograms
Enlightenment 6
Requires dedicated programs to use​
IXC-152 programs
Chaos Theory (shows minimum adjustments to create potential negative consequences to victim, Entropy 4)
Counter-Statistical Modeling (wards against Time/Entropy predictions, Time 2, Entropy 2)
Database Trawl (localizes a target's location via database correlation, Correspondence 2)
Decrypt (breaks through mundane security, Forces 2/Entropy 2)
Overload (enables Halt/Spontaneously Combust code in target electronic device, Forces 3/Correspondence 3)​

[ ] Spectre Limousine + Armament/Gear Kits
The Spectre Limousine is a NWO limousine designed for field command and control purposes. Heavily armored and reasonably armed, the Spectre is similar to the LX-4 Executive Limousine you've acquired, but it replaces most of the 'bigger on the inside' and 'sexy executive suite' parts with "high-tech command system to coordinate agents" and "hidden computer-controlled pop-out machineguns". It has a single fold-out mattress and a toilet for creature comforts. But it's also significantly cheaper and it's comfortable enough. Well, enough. Also, they still have a minibar (even if the selection is much worse).
Correspondence 3/Prime 3 Remote Procedure Support System
Correspondence 2/Forces 2/Mind 2 C3 Coordination System​

This choice includes the Matter 3 Polymimetic Alloy outer shell, the Energy Shield system, a Deployable Autocannon/ATGMs, and a Submersible Kit for your limo.​

[ ] Small Arms Package: Valkyries, Hailfires + LRL-I (Lorelei)
AK-X "Valkyrie" Assault rifle (12): Modified hypertech AK-74 using plasma propulsion for superheated tungsten penetrators. Improved accuracy, armor penetration, and stopping power. Various underbarrel attachments
Hailfire-I Suppressed SMGs (4): NWO anti-hemophagic suppressed SMG. Fires 10mm binary CI (Corrosive Incendiary) rounds (Forces 3/Matter 2). Rounds are unsafe for use in any other firearm.
LRL-I (the "Lorelei") (1): Light Rocket Launcher-Incendiary. Correspondence 2, Mind 2, Forces 2 fire-and-forget targeting system w/indirect fire capability. Forces 3/Matter 2/Life 3 corrosive incendiary payload. Correspondence 2 optimized payload distribution system. Effective against armored, unarmored, shapeshifter, and hemophagic targets alike.​

[ ] Powersuits: Stalin Mk Is (2)
As noted before. Stalin Mk Is are Stalin Mk Is. Bulky heavy fire support platforms with a pretty serious level of firepower. Their maneuverability is relatively poor, but they have high-power thrusters for limited jumps and fast dashes (Enlightenment 3, Forces 2) and htye are impressively resistant to Paradox.
[ ] H/Aug Exoskeleton (1)
Hey remember the P-Series's kit? This is it. It's light powered combat armor made out of carbon nanotubes and a clip-on exoskeleton built for a NWO operative. This one has seen some pretty heavy cutting down and some serious modifications. It has Enlightenment 4 and has a serial code that implies that it may have belonged to one of the guards of the Moscow museum before its being 'borrowed'.
Hypermedical Injection System (Life 2 healing)
Shape Memory Alloy Self-Repair (Matter 3 self-repair)
Wall-Climbing capability (Forces 2 adhesion)
Strength/Agility Augmentation (+2 [1] Strength, +2 Dexterity)
Advanced Sensor Suite: IR/NV/T-Wave/EMF (Forces 1, Life 1, Matter 1 sensors)
Mobility Augmentation (double jump heights, + [2] to Athletics rolls for chases)
7B/7L soak, 5 Armor HLs
[X] Barnes-Sykes Combat Knife
An exceptionally well-balanced combat knife, custom-tooled by a former Iteration X cyborg shock trooper, who built the first one after he got into a melee fight with a half-dozen shapeshifters and went "maybe if I had a better melee weapon I wouldn't have been nearly torn to shreds." He found a NWO Operative who thought similarly, and the rest is history. Only a relative handful of these weapons have been made.
Exceptionally Well Balanced (Entropy 4)
Enhancer Circuitry for Closing Distances (Forces 2/Correspondence 2)
Primium Blade​

[X] Imperator Tailoring Executive Reserve Power Suit
The Syndicate has power suits too. Well, like Rose said, they don't have the same strength enhancement, but this expertly tailored, shape-memory-alloy enhanced suit provides protection, style, and social influence.
Hidden Pockets for Everything (Matter 2/Correspondence 2)
Sharp Dressed (Wo)Man (+2 to all Social attributes, Mind 3/Life 3 effect)
Primium Mesh Weaving (+1 Countermagic, +4B/4L soak, 3 Armor HLs)
Free HyperExecutive Gold Card Included (infinite Resource 3 expenditures allowance)​
 
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Christos Barberis on Knives
There are some other good options, but the Stalins and exoskeleton attract too much attention, the executive power suit just isn't beefy enough to be useful, and the combat knife while an incredible weapon for Rose is inferior to a whole armory of superguns.

Decoded Intelligence Intercept
-Re: HVT Christos Barberis-

"...a lot of you come here with experience with mayhem and destruction. You may be asking me, why do we ask of you to understand this lowly knife? How does it represent our Tradition, how does it represent Arete? Why do you say that one man with a knife can be deadlier than an entire army with guns? You see, this knife is more than mere steel. This knife is a tool that can forge destiny."

"One man with a knife in the right place can change nations. Can slay ideas. Can turn entire battles. Some people say that you can't kill an idea. Those people are fools. Kill those who can convince others of them, and that idea dies out. Some people ask what a knife can do against an army? Those people are fools. An army revolves around its leaders. Kill one, and it slows. Kill enough, and there is no army, merely a scared, panicking mob, waiting for a quick end. Would the Great War have happened if it was not for a lone assassin? If there had been one of you, one Euthanatos, in 1918, with a knife, in the right place? There would never have been a Holocaust. One blade in the right place can prevent millions of deaths a generation onward. Had someone been in the right time to remove Queen Victoria, our enemies would likely be very different. This is what a blade can do."

"But the army can do it too, you say. The bazookas and the chattering machine-guns. Yes. They can. But never as well. They make noise. They take space. They raise suspicion. But a knife rarely raises suspicion. In a world of atom-bombs and machine-guns and bazookas and tanks, people look at a knife and they dismiss it. They believe that firepower is more relevant than it is in an age of heroes and great men."

"So keep this in mind, men and women of the Euthanatos. Keep in mind the mistake the steelheads, the Technocracy, always make. They think firepower decides a war of ideas. They are wrong. What decides a war is positioning, and as experts in Fate, you understand that better than anyone else."

Notes: Subject demonstrates here an understanding of focal points equivalent to standard NWO unconventional warfare tactics. Surveillance subject's lack of elaboration on NWO tactics is likely propaganda. Keep continued watch.
 
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Update XLII: Understand
JB XLII: Understand

Henriette keeps her hands firmly wrapped around the mug of coffee in her lap. They don't stop shaking. 'How fucking perfect. My nerves are so fucking burned over I have to 'pilot' my own body to even walk, but my goddamn hands keep shaking like scared kittens after I screw up in yet another fight. You're just all kinds of useful, aren't you, Langley? Stupid, useless, worthless.."

"I don't usually do field work, you know?"

Henriette jumps in her seat on the limo's couch, and tries to hide her embarrassment at doing so. She can't even manage to muster a glare as the obnoxiously beautiful Progenitor walks carefully into the slightly bullet-riddled lounge area with her own steaming mug. All Henriette can manage is a blank stare at the scientist. "What?" she asks dully.

"I haven't done field work in a long time. I'm a lot more at home in a lab. Rose and Alexander, they're built for this kind of work. I can improvise on the fly, but we both know its better to be prepared and trained for this, or you can get blindsided and suddenly all your skills aren't worth a single bullet that hits you," Serafina says calmly, looking up at the still slowly self-repairing limo sunroof.

"If you're here to rub my face in the fact I fucked up against that NWO combat drone that got in here, you can kindly fuck-off, Doctor," Henriette snarls, with about half her normal heat. Even that took effort. Hating Serafina took energy she didn't have to spare from hating herself.

Serafina shakes her head, meeting Henriette's eyes for the first time. "I'm not here to mock you, child. I'm a Doctor, as you pointed out. And, though not officially, a mother. I raised Rose after... she had siblings, of a sort. There were others in her batch. An ambitious project, the details of which aren't important, but all the rest of her 'brothers' and 'sisters' went mad or died at the hands of the ones that did. I took Rose in and raised her as much as I could, because...I can't even say why. I wanted to, had to. She's still my child."

"So why are you telling me this, then?"

"I told you to take the shot. I've been shot before, today, even. Hell, I've been technically dead before once or twice. I can take it. But when I told you to shoot, your hands were shaking like crazy and you said 'I can't do this again'. I'm a Doctor and a mother, Henriette. Every part of me wants to give you a hug and try to help you heal, but I can tell you're so wound up with tension I'm half afraid you'll try to shoot me now if I do," She took a sip of the hot chocolate in her mug. "What happened to you? Something has you torn to bits inside and today just ripped the bandage off and you're bleeding. What about today hit you so bad that someone I know is a trained, skilled, and deadly armor pilot with multiple combat missions under her belt is now just holding herself together?"

Henriette just glares in silence.

Serafina holds her stare. "I can help you. Off the record, no marks against you, nothing official. I want to help you, child."

Wrong word. Henriette slams her coffee mug down on the table in front of her and screams at the other woman. "You are not my...my...mother..." 'Mama, mama, mama! Don't want to shoot don't want to shoot must shoot must shootNONONONONO!' Henriette clamps her hands against her eyes in a futile attempt to stop the tears. She barely notices Dr. Rosario's arm gently curl around her shoulders as they start to shake violently. She only distantly feels herself being pulled into only the second hug she's had in months, since...then.

She's weeping too much to really pay attention as the older woman taps at the incredibly tiny smartphone/datalink with her free hand. "Rose? Can you come join us for a little while? And bring all the ice cream. Yes, all of it."

It takes a while for Henriette to recover, but when Serafina asks if the pilot wants help with her mind, Henriette manages a weak nod.

***​

"Director Belltower." Serafina says. "I need to talk to you about something of immediate and critical importance."

Jamelia turns from the Molotek records she's examining to make a very interesting observation. "Is this about the debt, or about our use of Progenitor assets? I'm doing an inventory on what we have so we can exchange what might be less harmful to the Reality Deviant forces and keep anything dangerous. This is somewhat time-critical."

"Neither. It's about Henriette. And about a mystery I think you've been curious about, because you can't help but poke your nose into things." Serafina says.

"Explain. You were told to help ready the team to check out the museum, not disappear into Los Angeles for several hours to buy icecream." Jamelia chastises mildly.

"Henriette's not psychologically stable."

"I know."

"I don't mean it in the way you do. She's been put together by mindtape, like a FACADE Clone or a MiB or a Series P but less... monomaniacally focused. And mindtape was never designed for this sort of functionality. You don't tape over an already working brain. Who did this?" Serafina sounds, no, she is angry. Jamelia senses that part of it is professional pride, and another part is actual moral outrage.

"The Void Engineers said that she had to be psychologically reconstructed." Jamelia says carefully. "Suicide attempts and delusions."

"Were they sure? Because I did my own deep-level trawl after she agreed. Nothing of that sort, besides for the instabilities created by badly-applied mindtape. She's not delusional and I don't think she ever was." Serafina says. "Which makes all of this more interesting." The Progenitor shows a few reconstructed images, brain-to-ADEI-to-computer. "Notice something interesting?"

Jamelia takes a few minutes to flip through the still images. "They're combat encounter records." Jamelia says, and Serafina nods. "What's special about them?"

"Except the enemy's equipment is all Union equipment. 1990s exosolar hypertech. And the serial numbers you can see on some of them-they match Union standard codes."

The conclusion is obvious. The Void Engineers are fighting against Technocratic assets. But why? "So what do you think?" Jamelia asks.

"I don't know. They've been good friends and partners, but they've always been quiet about exactly what they need a few thousand more Vanessas and a couple hundred combat homonculi for, and could you please give us that power armored war-squid chimera with Cthulhu DNA in it? No we won't tell you what we need him for, but it's a very good cause trust us. And sometimes they return with interesting combat salvage and they tell us to do research on it and keep very quiet about exactly what it is." Serafina says. "That might give you more context. But what I do know is that someone tried to, in the guise of 'therapy', misuse advanced biomedical equipment to erase Henriette's memories and unfortunately didn't know what he or she was doing."

"And Henriette?"

"I've done what I can. I don't think she's ever going to be fully stable, the trauma's been too internalized because of braintaping reinforcing already-extant structures even as it overwrites conscious recall." Serafina shrugs. "But she'll recover. She's a strong girl."

Jamelia thinks. If the Void Engineers were doing that to a gifted young woman, they wouldn't be afraid to erase them. She considers the handgun in her quickdraw holster for a moment.

For the greater good, sacrifices must sometimes be made.



We Interrupt This Normal Procession Of Voting To Bring You A Very Quick Emergency Vote on Threat Null.


[ ] (3.0x) Execute (note that this will definitely lose you Serafina and probably end with you having to kill Rose)
[ ] Do Not Execute, Convince Her To Keep Quiet? (You better have a write-in).
[ ] Leave Her Alone, What Could Go Wrong?
 
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Update XLIII: Cover-Up
JB XLIII: Cover-Up

"Not one more word, Doctor Rosario." The words come out ice cold, the dead automatic level of a New World Order operative who's over twice the age she looks. Jamelia breathes deeply. Why do things never work out how she expected? She had been planning to do this for a while, but now it's forced upon her and she isn't ready, damn it. She was going to ease Serafina into it, carefully feed her tidbits in a way that could allow an abort if she didn't seem to be receptive. She was going to start today, for fuck's sake.

Ah, well. Inshallah.

"Y-you knew?" Serafina blurts out. "B-but..."

Jamelia raises one finger to her lip. Quiet.

"Troubling," she says. "But I'm sure it's nothing." She rises, and stretches. "Now, I believe you," she scans through her emails, "ah, yes, you had your complaints about the casualty rate of loaned Progenitor assets. I suppose I might as well handle these right now, even though I have other things to do right now." She shakes her head, showing the weariness which she feels and will keep on feeling until she takes her next keeper-upper. "Come on. I need more KeepAwake, and there's some in the limo. It's more comfy in there anyway."

Together they walk down towards the garage. She can feel Serafina vibrating with nervous energy beside her. Nervous energy and rage. Jamelia keeps her hands free and her eyes sharp, looking for any sign of enlightened science use from the other woman. Her mind is churning. Any wrong move, and she will splatter Serafina's brain over the wall, and then have an 'accident' with her brain chip.

She wonders if Serafina realizes her life is in just as much danger right now as it was when the Series-P had a knife pressed to her throat. She really hopes she does. If she makes the wrong step, Jamelia will shoot her.

She may have to shoot her anyway, but she's trying to manoeuvre down a very narrow path. She doesn't want to kill her. Serafina means well. She's a good person, at least by the standards of Progenitor scientists and hot-housed Union brats. Possibly by most standards, too. Certainly she's a better woman than the person who calls themselves Jamelia Belltower. She cares for Rose; Henriette too. She has a life outside the lab. She's a fairly well-balanced human being. She spends time being silly. She has hobbies.

But Jamelia has given her life to the Union and she will not let good intentions tear it apart. Not now. Not ever. If the Union falls, at least let it be through enemy action, not the blundering of a well-intentioned oversized schoolgirl.

Idly she pulls out her phone, and gives the orders for some additional cargo to be shipped between here and LA. It's something she had been meaning to do anyway, even if she just increased the amount. But now? Now it's jamming. Teleporters play merry havoc with statistical projections which don't take them into account. She can only hope that what's about to happen is lost in the statistical noise of all those things which are now in the wrong bit of the world ruining forecasts.

She's going to have to answer to the Union about this teleporter use, too, she sighs.

Climbing into the by-now quite damaged limo, she grabs a KeepAwake from the minibar. Technically that's not the normal assortment, but any place she spends time around acquires a stash of them. She clambers through the oversized interior of the car, leading Serafina to one of the inner rooms. Windowless. Self-contained. Sound insulated. And thoroughly protected against any attempt to spy on it. For perfectly legitimate reasons and innocent reasons.

Well, it was the bedroom – sorry, 'Energetic Relaxation or Sleep' Suite – after all. So perhaps not for the most innocent reasons.

Of course, Jamelia sweeps the place for bugs and deploys a white noise generator anyway. She discovers no bugs, although she does confirm from the fact that the bedsheet is made of genuine cloned leopard fur that the tastes of senior Syndics doesn't appear to have made its way past the eighties. And then takes off her jacket, and undoes her headscarf, letting it hang loose around her neck.

"Really," Serafina says flatly. "Of all the things to try to get me to shut up… well, that's only been tried a few times before."

"Did it work?" Jamelia says dryly, raising an eyebrow. "Because if it did, I should have tried it earlier."

Serafina laughs nervously, a little too high and shrill as her brain puts together how quiet things are in here. "Um. Only in the nineties. Um… you look kind of weird without the jacket or the headscarf," Serafina says, eyes going to the pistol in its shoulder holster. "I think I'd prefer th-the seduction over the shooting, if it's all right with you."

"Serafina, Serafina, Serafina," Jamelia says softly. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Not shoot me? Please?"

"Considering that you seem quite insistent on getting yourself killed, some might consider it a kindness," Jamelia says, in that same soft, almost kind tone. "With me, at least you could guarantee that it'd be quick, clean, and I would make quite sure I destroyed your brain and backup so no one would grab you and force you to tell what you knew. I can't promise that from anyone else if you go down the same line of thought and let others know about it."

"… huh?"

Jamelia nudges Serafina down onto the bed. "You'll probably want to be sitting for this," she says, standing back. "The funny thing is that you chose the oddest time to do what you just did. I was going to talk to you about certain suspicions of mine today or tomorrow, depending on how the whole museum thing went. I was going to ease you into it gently, making sure that you were ready before I went to the next stage, and I was going to stop if I wasn't sure you could handle it. Now? Now we're going to just have to bring it all out into the open between us, and we'll see if this was what you really wanted."

Serafina raises a hand like a schoolgirl. "Um… have you gone back to the seduction thing?"

"No seduction is happening," Jamelia says calmly. "And if you are inclined that way, I'm sure that cyborg ninja Adept would be up for it, and the worst you could catch from her would be a computer virus." She pauses. "Although we may need to talk about the possible use of that excuse, vis a vis how we conceal what happened in here."

"Okay, I'm lost," Serafina says bluntly. "I was just going to shout at you because someone has fucked up Henriette's head and oh did I mention she was fighting Unionists."

"Was she?" Jamelia says calmly. "She was fighting 1990s Union gear." She pauses deliberately. "So were we, today."

"Ha ha ha oh no you're not pulling that bullshit on me," Serafina says coldly. "There is a difference between some post-Soviet stuff which has fallen into the hands of… of defectors and… and everything I saw in her memories! That was high end 90s gear! Some of it was better!"

"Really? Because there are whole worlds of 90s Union gear lying around. Literally worlds," Jamelia observes. She cocks her head."I'm not the only one looking into this," she says. It is technically correct, and that is the best kind of correct. Serafina doesn't need to know that only other person doing it is Donald. Well, that she knows about. She'd be willing to bet that there are other suspicious, institutionally paranoid senior Operatives at her who are putting little threads together and finding that things don't quite add up. It's just logical. People like her have spent decades trusting no one fully, dealing with Reality Deviant plans which span decades.

What's that complaint she's heard from both Henriette and Serafina? That the Void Engineers are doing their own in-house inferior copies of what other Conventions do? Well, the Void Engineers are trying to run a conspiracy without the aid of the New World Order.

"So. Shall I start with the conclusion or the premises?" Jamelia says out loud, wondering to herself. "I think I'll start with the evidence, and see if it guides you down the same path I've been thinking. It might not. In which case, I'll be interested to hear your opinion. I'm not going to lay any precondition on your actions."

No, she's not. She's not going to ask Serafina to keep quiet about it. Serafina will either realise how huge this is and choose to keep quiet by her own free will, or she will die. There are no two ways about it.

"Let's start where you began, then," Jamelia says, her voice level. "Henriette. Participates in a joined VE/Iterator attempted raid on Autocthonia, to reclaim it. Near total casualties taken. That's enemy action. We now know they were fighting 90s Union gear. Not surprising, really; Autocthonia would be a treasure trove of high end Iteration X gear all the way up to 1999. Anyone could have moved in there and taken possession of it, as it was cut off by the Anomaly. Henriette is left with major trauma, the insistence that she killed her parents - bearing in mind that she enlightened herself young, after their loss in 1999 - and a near crippling phobia of the Computer which led her to attack other Iterators which mentioned it in front of her."

"Autocthonia," she continues. "The centre of Iteration X. The location of their Computer. Also the center of all their AI R&D. Iteration X AI research and manufacturing has taken a large hit since then. The Progenitors have been using more cultured life to fill the gap, but it isn't the same. And then there's the Void Engineers. They've gone and started up a whole entirely in house program of 'AIs'."

"AIs," Serafina grumbles. "Don't make me laugh. I talked to that girl and she was no more an AI than an eighties-tech FAÇADE clone. Less, really. FAÇADE clones are programmed on top of that. She was one of the most… most fucking human FAÇADE clones I've ever seen. I worked out they were using past extrapolation – probably on a pre-existing enlightened scientist – because it's similar to some of what we used in EXEMPLAR. Clearly Do's handiwork and…" Serafina trails off. "That bitch," she hisses, with surprising venom. "She was the one who did that to Henriette. Or, at the very least, devised the process. Of course. No one would question them having access to FAÇADE mindtape. They can requisition it above board. After all, everyone needs to program Bobs, right? And she was always brilliant at… shoestring solutions. It sometimes got her in trouble."

"Ah. I may need to ask you some questions about that later. But Iteration X also concerns me. Look at how they've changed. You remember before 1999, don't you? All HITMarks and full body cyborgs and brain implants and 'emotion is a weakness' and 'the Computer will lead us to glory'. Look how they've changed. They're much more into their power armor and their mechs now. You might not have seen it from the Progenitors' point of view, but from the New World Order? Since 1999, the tech you and them use has got a lot more similar."

Serafina frowns. "That's… huh. That's a point."

"They've got a lot more inclusive of meat and the human element. And you've, maybe in response, got less… meat-obsessed. But it's even more than that. Since 1999, since they were cut off from the Computer and from their higher-ups, they've started using Dimensional Science. So have all of us, relatively speaking. And that's strange when you think about it, because the Traditionalists have had all kinds of problems with the ways they contact EDEs. But we use it more, because it's no longer got all of Iteration X suppressing it."

"We used to leave it all up to the Void Engineers," Serafina says, frowning. "But… people were encouraging us to build those DSci features into EXEMPLAR. Even them."

"Ah yes, the Void Engineers. Have you read the financial reports? Because I do. I've spent most of my career under-resourced and under-supplied – oh, don't look so surprised. No doubt you've seen my file, and I'm sure you pulled strings to see more than you were meant to."

Serafina has the grace to look vaguely embarrassed.

"Quite so. I've spent decades in places where I never had the latest gear or enough support. And you've talked to Rose and you've seen how I operate. Scavenge gear, find local forces which have common course, work with reasonable Reality Deviants for mutual benefit. When I look at the analysis of their finances, I recognize what they're doing. They're looting the Masses' weapons programs, they're taking everything they can get, even terrible Mark Is like the Centurion, they're pushing their resources hard, and… oh, let's talk about Lt. Siddharth Rajesh."

"Who… oh, the Void Engineer who left your team?"

"Yes," Jamelia says, eyes momentarily narrowing. "He found my practice of making… shall we say pragmatic alliances to eliminate a Nephandic hive in the middle of Hong Kong to be unacceptable. That and he really resented not getting to plasma-cannon Rose when Reina took over her body, because he viewed her as a Reality Deviant. He seemed to have issues with constructs."

"Thank you for not having her terminated," Serafina says quietly.

"I hate waste," Jamelia says. "And doing that would have been a waste at more levels than the purely material." She shakes her head. "But then I started wondering why he was so vehement about that. Why the Void Engineers handed him to us on the 'dirt-ball', when he was – for all his flaws – highly capable. And then I couldn't shake the feeling that the Void Engineers are engaging in… ah, pragmatic alliances. That would fit with the data from their financial reports which state that they apparently have access to more enlightened manpower than they should."

"They're consorting with Reality Deviants?" Serafina blurts out.

"Consorting? I don't think so. I said 'pragmatic alliance' and I meant it." Jamelia shakes her head. "And then there's EXORDIUM. I'm not sure how it goes together with everything, but this went wrong in Moscow. In 1989. Ten years before the Anomaly, pretty much to the day. And what do you know, it went wrong in pretty much the same way as your own EXEMPLAR III. And then there was the mysterious 'agent' encountered by Henriette and Kessler who I'm fairly sure tried to use Control's codes on her. Only they didn't work. Maybe they were out of date. Or maybe with what we know now about how the Void Engineers did something to her, they 'patched' those 'security holes'."

"They're defecting," Serafina says, going pale. She slumps back on the bed, running her hands through her dark hair. "God. God. They have the assets. All the machines. They… they could take on the rest of the Union and win."

"But if they were going rogue," Jamelia continues mercilessly, "why would they remove that Control override for Henriette? Why mind-blank her, in fact? There were massive casualties on that mission. We see it in her memories, nobody would miss one more. Why, in fact, would they want to defect? If they were going over to the Traditions, they could hold a gun to our throats. If they were going to the Nephandi, they control OMEN and could already lay waste to the world. I won't mock you by suggesting an entire convention is going Marauder."

"Autocthonia. The Computer. The Dimensional Anomaly. The Void Engineers and their mistrust of tech from other Conventions and their mysterious war and their unwillingness to use Iteration X AIs to the extent that they'll poach a Progenitor to make 'meat AIs' who they raise with full human personalities. I think it's all related."

Jamelia falls silent. The next few moments will determine if Serafina lives or dies. She just hopes that the woman is as smart as she claims.

Serafina covers her mouth with her hands. "Oh shit," she breathes, beginning to hyperventilate. "Those idiots. Those blind, arrogant idiots in Iteration X. They made themselves their mechanical god, didn't they? Their Singularity, willing to take them to robo-Heaven. They made it… and then it got cut off in the Dimensional Anomaly. And it decided it didn't need us anymore. The… the Computer went rogue."

"That's what I fear," Jamelia says, breathing a tiny sigh of relief. "I think that's the Threat Null those Void Engineer financial records talk about. And that's not the only thing. Do you know how many Union extradimensional holdings included Iteration X AIs? Had HITMarks stationed in them? All those Iterators with brain implants?" She breathes out. There's one last thing she fears. Something she barely dares to mention.

"And that's not the worst part," she says. "The Computer. The single most sophisticated, powerful AI ever made. They always used to boast that it could break any code, defeat any cipher." She feels her hands shake at the thought. The thing she hasn't dared mention out loud. "Control relied on codes too, didn't it? Unbreakable quantum codes designed to guarantee the message was genuine."

Serafina lets out a low moan. "But… but," she manages. "That would mean. I-it could seize control. From Control."

"All those Union assets out there," Jamelia says, trying to keep her voice level. "All those extradimensional holdings where people were Conditioned to do exactly what Control told them to. It could seize control of them, too. Long enough to move in the HITMarks, at the very least. Possibly indefinitely."

Serafina sits up, frowning. "The Void Engineers. There's always been rumors that they removed Conditioning, that they're… ah, less loyal."

Jamelia nods. "Maybe that accidentally saved them, if the Control codes are compromised," she says softly. "Assume you've been illicitly breaking Conditioning… we won't say why. Maybe you've been playing with forbidden tech. Maybe your senior leadership was planning to break away, but you lost yours in the Anomaly too and so that never happened. Maybe your leaders objected to it when it was being rolled out and never implemented it properly. Just assume there's enough unconditioned people among your ranks that you can retain control when something subverts Control. What do you do?"

Serafina rises, touching the ceiling with her hands as if she wants to make sure that they're solid. "I… I tell… no, I don't," she says quietly. "Because if anyone with Conditioning could be subverted, you can't trust them. I try to bring everything in-house, because I can't trust my own supply lines completely. I certainly make sure no one in my own organisation has Conditioning. I poach disillusioned or slightly maverick scientists from other branches, like Mai Do. I try to become self-sufficient. And then I make contact with middle-ranking members of other branches and bring them on side, so when they're in charge we can work together."

"Oh, Serafina," Jamelia says, a humorless smile creeping onto her lips. "You're showing you're not a field agent."

"Don't smile like that, you're creeping me out," Serafina mutters.

"You deal with cells and programmable blank minds, not with real people. You don't use guilt and lies and the betrayal of trust as one of your main tools of the trade. You haven't got a girl to change sides by entrapping her. If she'd come clean immediately, her friends would have felt betrayed, but would have forgiven her mistake. But as she delayed, as she lied to them about how we'd found the hideout of one of their allies among the Masses… well, she grew more and more scared. The longer she waited to own up, the worse it would be, but it would already be terrible to admit it. So maybe she'd just put it off and try to get out of trouble on her own."

"Of course, I wasn't going to let that happen. And in the end, she handed herself in because she was afraid that her friends and allies would kill her as a Technocratic spy." Jamelia smiles. "She's now a well-respected archivist in the Ivory Tower. We still have some contact. She's genuinely glad that I did it. She still sees me as the person who gave her shelter after she made a horrible mistake and then found out what kind of people her friends were and that her enemies weren't so bad." The smile melts away. "And the same applies to organizations, too."

"So… so the Void Engineers started lying to us because… because we probably wouldn't have believed them," Serafina says numbly. "And now they can't admit it. Because if they admitted it, we'd… explode. Like I almost did. And that'd tear the Union apart."

"And they're using all the forces they can get their hands on," Jamelia says. "I've read the reports. They're even raiding the Masses for gear. I think they're hard pressed out there. They need the rest of the Union. But they don't think they can trust us. I think they'd probably kill to maintain their secrets, because they think they're the only thing between the world and an evil God-Machine." She spreads her hands. "And so here we are."

There is an ominous silence.

"Fuck," says Serafina. Tears roll down her face. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Yeah," Jamelia says with feeling. "You said it." The words are hard to come by. "So, now you know what I'm afraid of. I'd like to be wrong. I wish I was. But there's too much which makes sense."

"What do we do?" Serafina whimpers. She sniffs, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

"We do nothing for now," Jamelia says, feeling old. "We do nothing which could break the Union in half. We do nothing that could draw Void Engineers scared that we're going to doom everyone down on us. We tell nobody. We don't trust any orders which come from Control, but we try not to give that away. And we keep our eyes open and hope that we're wrong. Because I really, really hope I'm just a paranoid old agent jumping at shadows."

Serafina nods. "I understand. I'll keep this secret."

"Good. Now, we have a museum to look at." Jamelia says, smiling. She sounds genuinely happy.

***​

Moscow Museum of History

The museum is still surrounded by police and do-not-cross lines. Expected, Jamelia thinks. They wouldn't have had been able to reopen it, not until they erased all the evidence of the raid and break-in, well enough that even Union investigators would have issues finding the truth.

Of course, she expects given the level of rot in the Russian Technocracy, that there was a Technocratic investigation. A perfunctory one, by subverted agents. Labeled as good enough. Probably because a level of rot this massive would be difficult to comprehend. After it was hidden for long enough, classified and those who questioned it quietly shuffled to jobs where they would be too busy to question the financial and materiel problems, or given a perfunctory statement about how society still worked and clearly the Technocracy was triumphant in Russia that they accepted, it would become nearly impossible to acknowledge the truth.

Jamelia wants to laugh. It seems to be a common trait. Getting too caught up in one's own web of lies such that acknowledging the truth would be impossible. The Void Engineers and their Threat Null. The Western Technocrats and the Russian Technocrats. The Syndicate's Special Projects Division. Even greater than that-the Technocracy's insistence that it ran the world, that it was an unstoppable monolith with infinite resources that could crush all opposition but did not out of its magnanimity. She remembers teaching that course on subterfuge at the Damien Academy for Gifted Youths, and her closing statement.

"Everyone has propaganda. Much of it will be true if you understand what you're doing, but some of it must be false. You have to always be able to state the falsehood, defend it as vehemently as you would defend the truth, but you can never actually believe the lies you're telling. Otherwise, you will make a mistake, and it will probably be fatal."

Or as Winston would have said, "Kid, you just made the biggest newbie mistake in your life. You believed The Bullshit." The Technocracy as a whole has suffered from believing The Bullshit.

"To think, we're in the position of the Reality Deviants here. Sneaking into a Technocracy facility to find things they want hidden." Cross says, slightly behind her. He's changed his hair, restructured his face, and is wearing the uniform of Moscow Police. The man's only armed with a handgun now, which means that he can only kill anything short of a light armored vehicle.

Jamelia isn't dressed like a cop. She's acquired Director Petrokov's suit, the smart-fabric retailoring itself automatically for her build. It took a few tries to wash out all the blood and seal the holes, but now even her trained eye can't see the damage to the suit.

With dark sunglasses on instead of her usual headscarf, she looks like some sort of FSB agent. It'll do. She waves a false badge around with the authority of a veteran agent as one of the members of the police perimeter demands she show ID. He gives it a perfunctory check, not wanting to get into an argument with the FSB. You never do that.

The man is also rather happy that he's checked his bank balance this morning to find a few thousand excess rubles. A simple matter of giving a lot of these cops mysterious windfalls from the lifetime executive credit line the suit came with and guessing that once one of them checked for mysterious extra money, all of them would. They're happy, distracted, grinning about what they'll be using that extra cash for-and less likely to waste time ruining their perfect day.

Inside, the museum looks essentially intact, but to Jamelia's trained eyes she sees all the signs of a warzone. There's Technocratic fabricator equipment there to reconstruct damaged artifacts, make it look like a mere 'theft' instead of a full-on assault. Camarilla work, she guesses. They don't want more media attention. If the loyalists were in control, they'd be screaming of this to the high heavens, hoping that western news comes and with it western agents, some of whom might be sufficiently disappointed in the sorry state of the Technocracy in Russia to decide to provide some unofficial assistance. Give them a few more days, and they'll have it intact enough, and probably seal off the basement to ensure nobody checks.

Jamelia heads towards the basement access, expertly dodging probable camera and spotter arcs, alongside Cross, despite walking like anyone who belongs there. A few stairs down, and she sees the false wall that would have disguised the access to the Construct proper. Would have, had it not been devastated by high explosives, and the door breached by Technocratic plasma weapons.

There are a few ghouls or rogue agents there, but they don't seem to notice two new ones or care. Sloppy, she thinks. But they haven't been under threat of serious assault for decades, and the destruction of Filipov and Molotek were both loud, blatant, and brazen assaults. Not a quiet infiltration. Again, Panopticon's actions work in her favor. Or do they?

Jamelia ponders her course of action. She can check if there's anything in the armory that might not have been stolen, or go directly to the control room to check backup data if it hasn't been wiped yet. She could probably even look into the actual archives of the base, either to examine what is missing or gather up some illicit material to trade to the Reality Deviants. Or maybe she should take a walk-through and attempt to reconstruct the breach. Finally, with Ivan having Filipov's gear, she could possibly try to infiltrate the Mat-Trans control and have them retake the museum.

She needs to examine that anyways, she wants to know exactly how it was disabled. Something as high-priority as a Reality Deviant Artifacts archive, and as high-level as Moscow's museum, would never have been left to rot if it managed to get a distress signal out. No, something had to have blocked it. She wants to know what.



So, another update, another vote, and if you've read EarthScorpion's stunt already you can totally just skim the first 3500 or so words. Anyways, you have Jamelia and Cross with you. Due to the signal jamming around the museum, Henriette and Serafina will have issues providing support. Well, Serafina needs to drag Henriette off for hugs and psychotherapy anyhow.

So, prioritize three of these below choices, with 1 being the first and 3 being the last thing you're doing. Note that you can't prioritize all of them, which is intentional. Also, don't forget to stunt exactly what you're doing and how you're infiltrating this conquered Construct.

[ ] Control Center: Take a look at backed up surveillance data and the full, most recent inventory (rather than the old copy you have).
[ ] Do a Walk-Around: Reconstruct the assault on the facility (Time 2).
[ ] Inventory the Artifacts: Try to take a look at exactly what's missing.
[ ] Raid the Armory: Pocket a few pieces of small gear.
[ ] Raid the Artifacts: Pocket a few pieces of small, illicit gear.
[ ] Hack the Mat-Trans: Have Ivan & co pay back the favor you've just done and burn all these traitors to ash.



Willpower: 6/7
Prime Energy: 1/5
Health Levels: -0/-0/-1/-1/-1/-2/-2/-4/Incapacitated/Dying
Very High Pain Tolerance (reduces all wound penalties by 2).​
Current Injuries: None
Current Effects: None
Paradox: 1
Soak: 6B/5L/0A (4B/4L from armor, 3/3 Armor HLs)
Dodge DV: 10/10
Shockwave Codes: 0/1

Willpower: 8/8
Prime Energy: 5/5
Health Levels: -0/-0/-0/-0/-1/-1/-1/-2/-2/-2/-4/-4/Incapacitated/Dying.
Regenerates 1 Bashing/Lethal HL a round (Bionanotech integration)
Heals Aggravated damage at normal speed.​
Current Injuries: Soul-Flayed (1 Aggravated HL)
Current Effects: None
Paradox: 4
Special Abilities:
Bionanotech Integration: Immune to all mundane diseases and poisons, does not age.
Soak: 6B/6L/3A (3B/3L from armor, 2/2 Armor HLs)
Dodge DV: 13/13
 
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Update XLIV: Forensics
JB XLIV: Forensics

Props. Attitude. An eye for what onlookers wanted.

That's what it came down to.

There was a very good reason that the New World Order was the Technocracy's center of stage acting. The 'science conventions' might be into their special effects and their CGI, and the Syndicate might be able to fund the blockbusters, but the Order had an appreciation for the techniques of rhetoric, low-budget props, and the capacity to, you know, actually act which meant that a NWO Shakespearean play - especially one of the Missing Plays which were lost to the Masses - could have swept any theater circuit you cared to mention. For her part, Jamelia had been an excellent Quinta in 'The Warlocks of Mistridge', at least in her opinion.

But now was not time to think of redacted Shakespearean plays. Because at the moment her acting skills are seeing use in fooling ghouls and traitors. The suit and the attitude are those of a Unionist who's 'gone private' and is earning quite a lot more than they used to. She's rather more... padded, too. Literally padded. She has nicely molded ballistic gel sitting around her waist, which combined with the dyed white hairs to make her greying and the make-up shifting her coloration makes her look like a gone-to-seed agent who's put no small amount of weight on. Add a Kazakh accent to all of this, and she's someone else without a single smidgen of hyperpsychology in use.

Of course, Cross just went and bloody reconfigured his own appearance on the sly, so he's now an icily handsome Russian. It's useful, even if it's annoying that he finds it so easy. Whoever put her on the terrorist watch-list might well have flagged her up to the local cops too. She's following counter-projection statistical paths, too, so hopefully she can get in and out of this place without someone flagging them to everyone inside. That would be nice.

But if it doesn't work, she has her and Cross' rifles hidden in some of the many, many pockets of her new suit. Along with a few other useful things.

"I'm sorry, what?" the ghoul at the door to the control room says. He's a sallow-looking man, a trifle unhealthy. "I'm sorry, I…"

"I am saying that the Lady Anastasia sent me," Jamelia says to the man in her Kazakh accent, pulling a Tsarist silver medal from one of her pockets. "Did I stutter, perhaps?"

Those bugged haemophage they'd caught and release were paying off now. Jamelia knew the names of a lot of the local power hierarchy, knew who to namedrop and who was famed for what. The haemophage who titled herself 'Lady' Anastasia, a member of the 'Nosferatu' sub-breed, claimed to be the famed Grand Duchess herself. Allegedly she had been turned into a haemophage rather than being murdered. Of course, since the Nosferatu subtype was infamously twisted from their human appearance that could not be verified by the vampires, but whether it was true or not the 'Lady' kept a large stable of ghouls who acted as her agents, appearing rarely herself. And she gave them elements of Tsarist regalia to prove their identity.

Jamelia had got a good look at the medal her agent had carried as a proof of identity when one of their bugged vampires had been shown it. So, naturally, she had got Henriette to knock up a fake.

The ghoul nods. "Ah. Yes. We were, uh, not expecting a visit from an agent of the Lady, but…"

"And I was not expecting for my lady to call me in the middle of the night and have me put on the next flight to Moscow," Jamelia says coldly. "I do as she wishes for she is the last of the Romanovs and I am sworn to serve her, but I am not so civil with those who choose to obstruct her grace. She tells me that I am needed to salvage information from these computers in case this place is to be attacked? I obey her." She picks each word with care, locks her hands behind her back to conceal the faint shake of an addict suffering mild withdrawal. "The Lady wishes this done before she wakes up this night, so I would be... ah, pleased if you do not obstruct me. I will then conduct an inventory of the remaining artefacts and objects, as per her orders. Accompany me if you wish, if your master wishes to make sure I do not steal anything. But I have to get this done before she wakes. She will be… unhappy if she does not have them. I don't want to make her unhappy."

She's admitted weakness, suggested desperation. She's opened herself up to this ghoul. He smells it, and pounces. "Well…" he says, idly rubbing his fingers together as a completely unsubtle part of his stroking his moustache. "You have to understand, it's not that simple…"

"You'll find me grateful," she says quickly, pocketing the Tsarist iconography again and producing a rolled up bundle of notes.

He nods. "I'm always pleased to aid a servant of the Lady Anastasia," he says, the notes vanishing into his jacket. This way, please. The control room's trashed, but you can get access to the files from the server. I'll show you the computers so you can get everything done with the minimum of fuss, yes?"

Jamelia follows quietly as he takes her to the server room, making sure to keep everything she sees in mind, reconstructing what must have happened in her brain. She suspects, no, she knows Cross is doing the same, with augmented pattern-reconstruction ability beyond human ken.

A shard of curved Primium armor plating shows where a HITMark V fell, and the faint traces of bloodstains mixed with HITMark plasma show that it was covering someone else, probably a wounded agent. An older one, then, one which has had time to learn, to become more than just a programmed weapon. Probably one which one of the Construct's personnel had a deep friendship with, or perhaps romantic intentions, and left active for prolonged periods. Or maybe just a veteran, one of those rare HITMarks who have become respected on their own accord, allowed to grow beyond their mission specifications. Jamelia's heard of an old HITMark V who decided to become an artist, so the idea doesn't surprise her.

There's a dark spot in the walls that's been painted over, the starburst of a plasma shot that's hit organic matter. There's a few spent stubs which show the use of a semi-caseless assault weapon, one of those 1960s-era special weapons systems. There's a misplaced panel, probably hiding the ruin of a concealed chaingun turret.

Jamelia insists on taking the stairs. "They might have the elevators boobytrapped for high value targets", she says. It lets her create a better picture of the assault itself.

The ghoul nods. "I suppose that makes sense." He takes her and Cross on a roundabout route to the emergency stairs. Jamelia notes more details. A RPG explosion, more HITMark plasma. Trails of ash that show where attackers were outright vaporized by high-power plasma weaponry. A few liquefied droplets of metal, probably ricocheted small-arms fire deflected from a high-frequency blade. An Iteration X-heavy construct, then. Makes sense, with Iteration X having the most sympathies with the ex-Soviets and being rumored to have been covertly backing Russian ultranationalists.

Attackers were probably... high dozens, if not low hundreds, of hemophages and Technocratic assets. No real subtlety was here or possible, the museum would have been too well defended and too paranoid. Implants set to autistic mode or wired to QE battlenets with invite-only access. They took heavy losses, and probably picked the Construct clean in response.

She finally makes it to the server center, which is largely ruined by heavy energy weapons usage and repeated rocket launcher fire. It's rare that Jamelia feels anything but annoyance about Iteration X's near-fetishistic love of heavy firepower, but she admires the Iterators here for making a good accounting of themselves against absolutely overwhelming force. She can piece together their last stand, the last few survivors holed up here, using every second the hemophages and their traitors took to bypass the heavy reinforced doors to prepare, almost turning the tide until they ran out of power and out of time from the reinforcements

"So what are you planning to do here?" She asks idly, as she plugs her (borrowed, 1980s-era) PDA into the computer system as Cross occasionally touches the computers. She suspects he's probably uploading it into his brain. Somehow. She takes a look at the inventory of dangerous mystical artifacts and their status, whether EXR (exempt from recycling), AFD (allowed for display), RP (reprocessed), or D (destroyed). It's a very long list, many of them dangerous.

"We'll strip it of everything we can make use of, and then condemn it. Just seal it away." the ghoul responds. "Shouldn't take more than a week or two to get the Mat-Trans and reactor systems disassembled and moved somewhere else."

"Understood. Now, about the archive room."

"That'll be on the bottom floor. We wrecked some of it, but we got most of it intact. Especially the stuff the Prince wanted. Although what he needs with an ancient portal generator to some weird non-space is none of my business."

Jamelia follows him down, down into the heavily armored, primium-reinforced vaults of the construct. Combined with its forcefield generators and matter reinforcement systems, the vault could take a direct hit from a 50-megaton nuclear weapon and survive unscathed. The rest of the Construct would likely be lost, but this vault was built to last. Despite having seen heavy fighting-in fact, some of the heaviest-the metal walls are unscathed.

Jamelia draws a few conclusions from that. First, the enemy invaded through the Mat-Trans alongside their initial assault. Given the security here, that means inside help-but none of the traitors would have known the codes, and this would be a place where everyone was screened for the utmost loyalty. Only... Jamelia pauses. Only Control would have known the dial-in mat-trans codes to some place this high priority. Second, the numbers are closer to 'hundreds' than 'dozens', as she reevaluates exactly how much effort was put in the defense. Third, the only reason the Union wouldn't have destroyed some of these artifacts is because they couldn't. Finally, they really wanted the contents of the vault. But what? She looks for missing items, asks the ghoul about the destroyed ones and if they have an inventory of those, cross-checks. She figures out what was important.

Some sort of jade key. A portal dating before prehistory to a nowhere-realm. Some sort of nearly-indestructible EDE-forged parasitical superweapons held in containment chambers, lest they exit and infest humans. A sword roughly the size and shape of a surfboard, forged out of a primium precursor. A Nephandic knife that was said to be able to cut space itself, destroy the very concept of distance. A suit of armor that looks disturbingly like some sort of Haldeman variant-except forged from some sort of impure primitive Primium-equivalent and covered with Aztec-like runes, and apparently powered by leeching the wearer's vitality via some Reality Deviant process. A Reality Deviant plasma weapon forged from the same primium precursor. Some sort of complex crystalline mechanism that reminded the archivist of the doped-semiconductor quantum computers Iteration X was using (the notes say the resemblance is "incredibly creepy").

Artifacts that had no reason to exist in the Union's official history. Weapons-no, Jamelia thinks. Even the weapons and the tools aren't being stolen as weapons or tools. Rather... yes, as forensic evidence, or the Traditionalist equivalent. The principle of sympathy. But now that she knows, she can track them.

She turns to investigate this place further, and then the alarms blare. Her ghoul sidekick touches the earpiece.

"Someone's hacked the Mat-Trans! We're under attack!" the ghoul yells.

Jamelia, for her part, thinks that it's a very good time to get out of here. Cross seems to think the same thing, as he looks at her. "We should probably report to the Lady now, with our findings. I am sure you can hold against a few deluded ruffians."

"You bastard." The ghoul hisses. "I'll have your head if you survive."

Jamelia tries to hack their frequencies, succeeds. It's chaos, heavily jammed. Standard procedure, but there's something rigid about it, something too by-the-book for the level of veterancy the actions here would imply. "Our job was to ensure that the information survive an attack. This is done. Now we must leave, lest this information be lost forever." Jamelia hisses.

He backs down. "I understand."

The comm frequencies of the traitors are chaotic, disorganized. She focuses on useful snippets.

"Attackers dialed in from... I don't actually recognize these coordinates."

"Looks like some serious cutting-edge tech-a pair of assault walkers, looks like, lots of infantry, several HITMarks-I don't recognize some of these mods."

"-automated defenses are partially online but they're not lasting very long-"

"Shit! Lost Utkin and Kozlov because of traitor codes. Damn those rent-a-cops, got the last fucking laugh"

"Okay, grab whatever we can from the vaults and armory and fall back. We'll escape from up top. Retreat in an organized fashion."

Jamelia and Cross join the crowd of fleeing ghouls and traitors as they leave, calmly, like nothing is wrong. There is no media to watch what is happening, to reveal the Technocracy's facade cracking-thank the Camarilla, she thinks. She guesses someone's been trying to track her, chase her down to a less secure location where they'd be easier to kill. Jamelia, however, knows she wasn't successfully tracked.

She gets into the driver's seat of the Paladin and zooms off. Mission accomplished. Mostly.



So, Jamelia's Day Off:
(due to previous votes). What does Jamelia/everyone else do? You should probably have a reasonable guess to how convoluted this clusterfuck of intersecting plans has gotten. I may give out no-prizes for the people who do manage that.

[ ] Write-In a suggestion (or two, or five)

Also, Dossier Updates. We haven't had one in a while. Choose one dossier from each category. Notice the lack of new categories-this is because there isn't anything super-important to add in for now.

Dossier Update V:

Personnel:
[ ] 1Lt. Siddharth Rajesh
[ ] SSgt. John Kessler
[ ] Dr. Serafina Rosario

Old Choices:
[ ] Alliances of Convenience: Superstitionist/Technocratic Joint Operations
[ ] Reality Terrorists: General Notes
[ ] Reality Terrorists: The Nephandi
[ ] Reality Terrorists: Crafts and Disparates
 
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