Waltzing in a Mechsuit: a Sci-fi Mercenary Quest

Ad Astra
Ad Astra was one of the first companies that designed, produced, and sold MBFs. Primarily holds contracts with the Solar Union. Their MBFs tend to be very versatile and built for general combat roles, though not all of their products are so.
BrickTech
BrickTech, a breakout minor MBF corporation, they do one thing and they do it well. They build reliable MBFs. Not fast MBFs. Not agile MBFs. Not efficient MBFs. They build tough and rugged MBFs, nothing else. BrickTech MBFs can perform at at least combat viable levels even in the most godforsaken of environments. BrickTech Systems aren't any better or worse than Basic Systems, they just don't need to be replaced as often.
Mechano-Industries
The major MBF corporation known as 'Mechano-Industries' has been around for a while now, having been founded in 2658. They have a reputation for mass producing very cheap MBFs and made their money by making affordable MBFs that've found their way to every corner of Civilized Space. Mechano-Industries Systems tend to be worse than their counterparts, except in price and availability.
Particle Eight
A relatively successful minor MBF corporation that made their money by less than scrupulous means, well, less than most corporations that is.
Pirates
The scum of space.
Junkyard Dogs
They typically manufacture salvage MBFs, which often find their way into pirate hands thanks to their cheapness, commonplaceness, and modularity.

Alrighty, voting is now closed, thank you for voting
Our winners:

[X] "I was in the shower, when the power suddenly cut out and I was left alone, clueless, and very naked." with 5 votes.

[X] Plan Fire and maneuver + Plan Sims with a combined 2 votes because they were the same plan, just different names

"I was in the shower when the power cut out and I was left alone, clueless, and very naked…"

You poke your head into your room and see nothing but darkness, just like with the shower. You float your way over to the door, if there's one good thing with the power being out, it's that your spine is loving this zero-gee. Unfortunately, you find that it's sealed shut. Since the power's out, the door can't open. And this is why you like manual doors.

And why the hell is the power out in the first place!?

So, you're sitting there, naked as the day you were born and floating in your room along with the rest of your stuff. You can't just sit here, you've gotta at least figure out why the power's out! But how to get out of your room…

There's vents in the ceiling, perhaps you could find something there, though you're not certain that you could fit through it, what with being as big a guy as you are.

You could try brute forcing the door open, just have to get some leverage and give it a good push. There's also the door panel, maybe you could use that in some way? You know that oftentimes, doors like this have a small internal generator for situations like this.

Is there something in your room you could use? There's the desk and console, which doesn't work. Inside the desk is your maintenance kit for your pilot's pistol, maybe you could use the tools in there to help you out?

There's the wardrobe in the wall, filled with your clothes and memento box. The memento box has fragments from your first MBF engagement, where you scored an assist on an MI/Footsoldier, an actual letter from the heiress you rescued from those marauders, and an heirloom lighter, the only thing that you still have that belonged to your grandfather, the rest had been sold off by your father and brother.

Actually, now that you think about it, you should probably get dressed. After throwing on some clothes and grabbing your pistol, you return to considering your options.

Your bed's got some stuff, blankets, pillows. Is there some way you can use that?

Regardless of your options, you've gotta do something.

~~~~~~~

"So, how'd you get out?" Charles asked, growing more engaged by the minute.

You grin, "Well, I…"

-[ ] "Climbed through the vents."
-[ ] "Brute forced my way through the door"
-[ ] Write in

~~~~~~~

Combat engages with the Footsoldier emerging from behind an asteroid, gun trained on you from across the way.

With a flick of the wrist, you send the Corsair hurtling to the left, dodging the hail of bullets while heading to flank the simulated pirate. The course you're on will take you through a cluster of asteroids, within which lies two of the three Klaws, a perfect opportunity to take them out.

Zipping through a pair of asteroids, you round the rock where the first Klaw lies in ambush, surprise attacking their ambush.

(Combat Roll DC 60: 58+40=98, success)

In the blink of an eye, a 20 cm wide beam of crimson fury lances into the chest of the Klaw, melting through the thin, bolted on armor plating with ease. The startled pilot jerks back, firing the assault rifle wildly, trying to create some distance as you burst forwards.

(Combat Roll DC 60: 63+40=103, success)

You vault up and over both the Klaw and its hail of bullets, twisting as you sail overhead and bringing the rifle to bear. The pilot gets maybe a quarter-second to realize what's going on before a laser carves through the now armorless torso and flash boils the cockpit and everything inside. Scratch one Klaw, now where's the other?

(Combat Roll DC 60: 20+40=60, bare success)

The other Klaw makes itself known as it leaps over the asteroid, gun firing and claw moving in for the grapple. It's too close for you to do much, as its arm clamps down on your right hand, arresting control of your laser rifle away from you.

It twists, the assault rifle swinging up as you counter with your free hand, using your superior strength to grab and tear the assault rifle from the pirate's grasp, along with some of its fingers. Your consoles scream at you as the Klaw's laser cutters ignite, tearing into your right arm's armor with a crimson glow.

With gritted teeth, your free hand darts down to your waist, to the heat sword resting there. The plugs in the palm of the hand slide into place as you begin drawing the sword. The blade rapidly heats up as soon as the power starts flowing, heating to thousands of degrees. With a brilliant yellow glow, you swing the blade up and through the pirate's arm as he tries to futilely protect himself.

Its power claw unclamps as it tries to escape, but it's too late for that, the heat sword's already on its way. It's like a hot knife through butter as you bisect it from hip to shoulder, leaving the power cell to suffer a meltdown.

Kicking off, you boost away as the power cell detonates, blowing the remains of the Klaw, and the asteroid behind it, to smithereens.

(Combat Roll DC 65: 17+40=57, failure…)

Unfortunately, you don't get any respite as the Footsoldier and remaining Klaw come into view from beyond the expanding cloud of dust and asteroid fragments, both of their rifles trained on you. And, with deadly accuracy, they open fire.

The vast majority of the bulletstorm bounces and pings off your armor, leaving nothing but scratches in their wake, but some manage to worm their way through the weak spots and blow a level of armor from your torso and left leg.

Escaping from the bullet hell by retreating behind an asteroid, you contemplate your next move as your foes reload. Coming to an idea, you return the heat sword to your waist and retrieve an EMP grenade.

(Combat Roll DC 60: 54+40=94, success)

Rushing from under the asteroid, you unleash a flurry of unaimed lasers at the duo above you. The rifle brushes up against critical heat levels and, if this were real life, burns out a few components, but you succeed in your goal and force them to break off. They dart away from each other, the Footsoldier going to the left as the Klaw struggles to the right.

One of the lasers catches the Klaw, melting through the unarmored right leg and removing it from play. Now, with the Klaw weak and limping along, is the time to strike.

(Combat Roll DC 50: 57+40=97, success!)

The throw is beautiful as you hurl the EMP grenade at the Klaw. The cylindrical mass, covered in blinking blue lights, bounces off the Klaw's head, detonating immediately after. A slight shockwave and all the lights on the Klaw flicker off as one, leaving the machine to drift lifelessly in space.

Now, where's that Footsold-

(Combat Contest: Sam: 46+40=86. ???: 78+45=123. ??? Wins)

The Footsoldier comes out of nowhere, grenade in hand. Its rifle fires, blinding your optics as it hurls the grenade towards your Corsair. You barely have any time to react, swinging your left arm and leg up to protect your cockpit and head in a purely reflexive motion.

The grenade explodes, stripping your left arm and left leg of their armor, but protecting your body from any further damage.

As you draw yourself from the protective stance, head ringing from the blast, you quickly glance around. Above you, you spot the Footsoldier circling, as if waiting for you to make your move. How long its patience will last, you're not entirely sure, but it's probably not a great idea to find out.

In this brief respite, your thoughts race as you try to figure out what just happened. Did the sim glitch? Stick a better pilot in the cockpit? That grenade move wasn't the usual sim affair, that's more like something you'd see in actual combat, so what happened?

That's a mystery for later. Right now, you've got a scenario to win.

So, what do you do?
-[ ]Plan
--[ ] Write in

Remaining Foe: 1 Undamaged Factory MI/Footsoldier
Footsoldier
Armor:
Head: 1
Right Arm: 1
Right Leg: 1
Torso: 1
Back: 1
Left Arm: 1
Left Leg: 1
Ammunition:
Rifle Magazines: 6
Grenade: 1

Your Corsair
Armor:
Head: 1
Right Arm: 1
Right Leg: 2
Torso: 2
Back: 2
Left Arm: 0
Left Leg: 0
Ammunition:
EMP Grenades: 2

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: An interesting development in the practice fight. What happened? Did something break, glitch? Or is it something else entirely? Voting will be called tomorrow at 4 PM CST.

Alrighty, voting is now over, thank you everyone for voting
Our winners:

[X] "Brute forced my way through the door" with 5 votes

[X]Plan Probably Another Player with 7 votes

"I brute forced my way through the door…"

Floating there, you consider the door, currently forced shut by a lack of power. The panel's an option… ah, what the hell.

Briefly, before going forth with your plan, you take one last look at your room and wonder if there's anything you might want to bring along with you, just in case. You make sure to grab the heirloom lighter, as it's rather important to you, being the last real connection you have with your grandfather and all, but is there anything else you might need?

-[ ] Yes
--[ ] Write in
-[ ] No

After finishing collecting your things, you kick yourself on over to your goal. There, you feel around for the grooves in the middle of the door, where you can plant your feet and gain some leverage. Ah, there they are.

Planting your back to the wall and shoving your feet in the grooves, you begin pushing with all your might. Your teeth grind together as what feels like all your muscles flex. It feels like your fingers will break off, from how hard you're driving them into the wall, to gain that extra bit of leverage. Your bones feel as if they're being ground together, as you force them to push harder.

But, to your relief and the relief of your body, the door slowly slides open, inch by inch. It's agonizing, watching it open as slow as molasses, but finally, the gap widens enough to slip through.

So you do so and you find yourself in a hallway as equally dark as your room. Flicking the battered brass lighter's cover off, you thumb the gear and a small, flickering flame ignites. The hallway, once dark, is now cast in a small circle of light, allowing you to see, even if only just.

Of course, that's when the shooting starts.

~~~~~~~

"And what did you do?" The quartermaster shoots you a squinted look as he sips the drink he had grabbed.

And what did you do?
-[ ] "I headed towards the shooting, in the direction of the General Quarters. After all, it's my duty as an officer to investigate things like this."
-[ ] "I headed in the opposite direction, towards the Captain's Quarters. After all, I had to confirm his safety."

~~~~~~~

With a twist, you boost downwards at near full tilt, leaving the Footsoldier chewing your engine trails, as it should be. A half-second later, the pirate's engines fully ignite, chasing after you in hot pursuit. With your more robust engines, however, you easily outpace your adversary as you hurtle past asteroids at a blistering pace.

Swerving as the pirate lags too far behind, you pivot, blasting your boosters to slow down. You're currently behind a metallic asteroid, one you had specifically picked out because it would disrupt the shitty Mechano-Industries' sensors that the MBF is loaded up with.

Planting your Corsair's shoulder on the rock, you wait as the Footsoldier comes to a stop next to an asteroid, scanners, after all, work better the longer they have to scan in one spot. And a shitty system like MI's? Well that's just asking for trouble.

And trouble is exactly what you give it as you turn your engines up to full burn. Your fingers dance across the control panels, button presses and switch flicks glowing as your machine hits its limits, then goes beyond. If this weren't a simulation, you'd likely be a bit more hesitant to redline your machine like this, as it has the nasty tendency to both quickly drain batteries and absolutely demolish internal systems from the amount of energy flowing through.

But that's what you need right now, with your engines at full tilt, the asteroid you've got your shoulder pressed into begins to move, move in the direction of the Footsoldier. It picks up speed, with nothing to slow it down in space, it's just gonna go faster and faster, until it hits something.

Which is what you wish to do with this big honking mass of metallic rock.

(Combat Contest: Sam: 76+40=116 vs ???: 65+45=110, Sam Wins)

The Footsoldier turns, just as the asteroid crashes into it, tearing off chunks of armor and parts. In the void of space, there is no sound, but you'd imagine that this would've caused some horrid screeching sound of tearing and crunching metal.

The pirate MBF bounces off the metal rock and hits the one behind it, losing further mass as the metallic asteroid crunches its legs.

You both move as one, you with the laser rifle and it with the assault rifle. Each of your barrels pointed at each other. Each of your fingers brushing against the trigger. It's only a matter of who pulls first.

(Combat Contest: Sam: 78+40=118 vs ???: 69+45=114, Sam Wins)

Your lasers punch through its head a fraction of a second before its fingers depress the trigger. The heat of the beams melts through the delicate internals located in the head, leaving a melted, glowing orange tunnel in their wake.

Your aim shifts down a degree as your second salvo takes it in the chest. It burns through the light armor as it melts around the sun-hot beams. The cockpit ignited, all the delicate and fragile parts catching fire, immolating what little remained of the pilot after the laser was done with them.

Your hands leave the controls as you release a breath stuck in your throat. Leaning back in your seat, you breathe deeply as you read off the results of the scenario. Wiping sweat off your brow, you grin as you read the glowing green text popping up across your screen: "Scenario Complete". Looks like you're not as rusty as you thought.

A ding in the corner of your vision draws your attention. It's a notification, from a Margarat Kellows, the same name of your fellow guard. With a tap, you open it.

<The boss says she's satisfied with your performance! We should do this again sometimes, I'd love to see how you do against my Magnolia Dreams!>

Magnolia Dreams, huh? You suppose that that's what she calls her BT/Thunder. Some pilots, especially those who've used the same MBF for a long time, give their machines little personalizations like a custom name or decal. You've never really had an opportunity to do something like that, given how your Corsair is the first MBF that you yourself have owned. All the ones you've piloted in the past have belonged to your employers.

Would you like to give your Corsair a name and/or decal?
-[ ] Yes
—[ ] Write in
-[ ] No

(Victory! Rewards: Margarat gains +2 Opinion and Captain Kamilla gains +1 Opinion)

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: It's a bit shorter of an update than I'd like, but it is what it is. Voting will be called tomorrow at 4 PM CST.

Q: Opinion, how does that work?
A: The first 5 points of Opinion are more just getting to know them. The next five are actually forming a friendship. The next after that is good/best friend. And the five after that… well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. The higher the Opinion someone has of you, the more they will be willing to do. From sending lucrative contracts your way and helping you get away with serious crimes to helping you water your plants.

"I headed to the Captain's Quarters, after all, I had to confirm his safety."

You snatch an 02 mask off the wall storage unit, after all, with the power and gravity out, it's possible that life support's next. You've seen people be asphyxiated before, it's not a pretty way to go. I slipped the mask over my head, letting it hang off my neck for easy access.

And, with little options at your disposal, you push off from the wall and away from the gunfire. The Captain's safety is a priority; he's the guy who signs your paychecks, after all, and money is rather important.

Catapulting yourself from wall to wall, hallway to hallway, you make your way towards Captain Conracer. The layout of the ship is in an almost "U" shape, with the launch bays and airlocks on the inside of the "U" and weapon systems on the outside of the "U". Your quarters are near the right-center of the ship while the Captain's are nearer the center, so not that far of a jaunt, all things considered. However, given the gunfire, you're thinking that things might not be going pretty with the crew.

As you near your objective, you hear a sharp explosion that leaves your ears ringing. Shaking off the disorientation, you determine that the explosion came from the Captain's Quarters. With a grimace and a sigh, you propel yourself at greater speeds and lower caution, rounding corners by swinging on railings and conserving momentum. You grew up on an asteroid, 16 Psyche to be exact, so you're more than used to traversing in zero-gee and low gravity environments. The Beltborn aren't exactly a rich peoples, so what gravity generators they had were stripped from MBFs or ships and then sold off.

Rounding the corners at a blistering pace, you finally arrive at the Captain's Quarters. The first thing you see, as there's light coming from inside the room, is the scorched door currently in pieces all across the floor. You can hear talking coming from in the room. Familiar voices echo in your ears as you consider your options.

~~~~~~~

"Coming across your boss' room blown open during what appears to be a mutiny?" Charles repeats, eyebrows raised. "I can't even imagine what that would be like here on this ship." He shakes his head. "The vast majority of us have worked together for years now, practically family."

You nod in agreement, having lived through one mutiny you're not too eager to experience another. You open your mouth to continue your story when the intercom kicks in and a younger man's voice comes on.

<Hello hello hello there everybody! This is your friendly neighborhood communications officer here with an announcement for you! We're nearing the jobsite, so you'd all get your shit together 'cause we're gonna be there in an hour!> He repeats the announcement a couple more times.

"We'll have to continue that story of yours later." Charles says, rising from his seat. "I've got things I need to get done, duties of the job, you see." He begs his leave as he exits the room, the rest of the mess a hustle and bustle as they finish up eating. You polish off your own tray, adding it to the rapidly growing mountain of blue plastic trays near the kitchens.

You yourself leave the mess in the direction of the launch bays, both to load up and do some last minute check-ups. And to get in your vacsuit, as those are really damn important if you're intending to survive your MBF dying on you.

~~~~~~~

The first thing you see as you step into your MBF's launch bay is your Corsair, towering over the entire room like some proud titan of war. It's of an average height for combat MBFs, about two stories at the shoulder. It's currently painted a dull grey, or rather, the metal's been stripped of its former owner's colors, revealing the metallic sheen below. It's covered in smooth planes and soft edges.

The Corsair has scaffolding hanging around its body, walkways giving access to the harder to reach places. A large catapult-like contraption is attached to the back of the machine, which will, upon activation, launch the MBF into space at high speeds.

The second thing you see is an irate short lady waving her arms at you, her hands grasping towards you, as if to choke you at a distance.

"This fuckin' thing's focusin' lenses were so misaligned!" Janna Peppers complains, having slumped over on a crate as you approach, her tools hanging limply from loose fingers. "If you'd 'ave shot the damn thing, you'd 'ave been liable to blow yourself up! What the 'ell were you thinking?!"

"Wasn't mine originally, haven't had a chance to bring it in for a proper servicing." You reply as you take a seat on the Corsair's foot. "Took it off some slaving assholes."

She spits to the side. "Fuckin' slavers. 'ope you made it hurt."

Changing the subject, you flick your thumb at the Corsair's torso, where the cockpit rests. "Have you messed with the settings?"

She waves it off, laughing. "Nah, I know 'ow you pilots get about your settings."

"Good, good. Any other things I should know about?" You ask.

"Yeah, just the one thing. Be conservative with your 'nades, we've only got the three you brought with you." Janna shrugs. "Guess they weren't prepared for EMP Grenades. Though they've got some normals, 6 of them to be exact."

"I'll try my best." You promise her.

She snorts as she climbs to her feet. "That's what they all say." The former technician pauses as she starts picking her tools up. "Just… try to bring it back in one piece, yeah? I'm not looking forwards to 'aving to put that thing back together with what spare parts they've got laying around."

You squint at her. "You say that like we're going to see combat here."

"It's an Itari cruiser in the middle of nowhere, an abandoned one at that. It's gonna 'ave pirates swarming all over the damn thing, you know, if they 'aven't killed each other over it yet." She exclaims after giving you a dry look.

You mentally slap yourself upside the head. "Yeah, yeah you're right." You sigh. "This is gonna get fucky, I just know it."

"Don't go giving up yet, yah 'ear! You're my paycheck and momma needs 'er cash!" She wags a finger at you while you climb up the scaffolding.

You wave her off as the cockpit closes around you and you're encased in metal and darkness, before the lights and screens flicker on, of course. The control arms descend from the ceiling, those're what allow pilots to actually fight each other and gain full use of their MBF's arms. You fiddle around with your settings, as they don't feel quite right, a consequence of the everchanging human body. Ah, there you go, just the right amount of resistance in your controls.

As you go about checking on everything, you come across something in a side panel storage unit. They typically contain things that a pilot would need, space duct tape, painkillers, a gun and bullets to either blow your enemies away or your own head off if things get too bleak. But yours contains none of those, instead, it contains a carton of cigarettes, Sparbols, to be exact. You'd kicked it long ago, the last of the addictions you'd picked up in your youth. But… you can't deny that the steadiness they bring wouldn't be amiss right now.

-[ ] Give in and light one up.
-[ ] Don't give in, you kicked it once already and you don't need to do it again.

~~~~~~~

<So, you're from the Belt?> Margarat asks you while you're standing guard in your Corsair. She's in her Thunder, on the other side of the asteroid cluster you'd found yourselves in. It's been about a day since you got there, in which time the salvagers have almost finished going about their jobs.

The Itari cruiser's to your back, and what a sight it is. You've got a subscreen open, showing the ship in its grandeur as it is extricated from the asteroid it was lodged in. It's a mess of a ship, like the builders, when building it, just kept sticking things on. And, given the Itari approach to ship design, which is to let the later generations keep adding on, it likely was just that.

It's in dire straits right now, it got fucked the hell up before crashing into a particularly large asteroid. Hell, the engines have been shot out! Scorch marks courtesy of ship-to-ship laser weaponry, plates warped from where missiles struck, cannon shell holes polka-dotting the entire superstructure. All in all, it doesn't look too good, however, it is a free ship that's still in working order, for a given definition of working anyways.

Klaws and Drillbits, the salvaging MBFs of choice for the crew of the David's Horn, swarm over it, drilling and cutting away at the asteroid in an effort to make some money. Salvagers get paid based on the condition and class of ships they bring in, so it's in their best interest to treat their targets like they were made of glass. They also get a small bonus for rare and valuable resources they may find while extricating ships, so those Drillbits are going for it.

You hit your comms. "Yeah, I'm from the Belt. What of it?"

<Oh nothing at all! I'm from Vesta myself, what about you?.>

"Huh, I thought I picked something up in your accent. I'm from Psyche, so by De's braided beard I greet you." Psycheans and Vestaeans have long been allied together, so such a relationship deserves a greeting as prestigious as that.

<And by De's bouncing belly I receive you.> You get a jovial response in return, an odd choice but the Vestaeans have always been a playful people so you pay it little mind.

You lapse into silence as you return to your job, guarding the salvagers as they finish their own jobs. It's taken a day and some change to get that thing from the asteroid, but soon they'll finish and start fixing the engines as best they can. Then, they'll latch it to the David's Horn. From there they'll haul it back to Discount Dan, where the ownership of the cruiser will be transferred to you.

(Sensors Roll DC 45: Autopass)

It's during this contemplation that your sensors go off. They ding a lot as blips, seven of them, come into range of your sensors.

You twist as you hit buttons across consoles and pull up screens showing what the analyzers came up with. Your eyes narrow at what you see, the damnable whoresons known as pirates thought they could take what's rightfully yours?! Well, you'll just have to show them why that line of thinking is dead wrong.

"Hey Maggsie, how do you feel about getting some bonus pay?" You open up comms with Margarat.

<I'm not a girl who'll say no to some easy money! What've you got for me to play with?> Her voice comes through, loud and clear and eager.

"Got some pirates poking around, looking to score an easy payday." You tell her, shooting her the readouts of your equipment. They're piloting three modified Klaws, a couple MI/Grunts, a Footsoldier, and a stripped down AA/Lancer. You reckon that they might've hit a Mechano-Industries shipment and used the parts to clobber together a couple MBFs.

<Oooo, looks like a fun party! So, have you got a plan?> You look around the cluster of asteroids, considering your options. Since you don't have any E-Defense systems, them being rather illegal for 'civilian' use, they'll know that you're here if they've got any half-way decent sensors. But what can you do?

-[ ] Plan name
--[ ] Write in

Foes: 3 Modified JD/Klaws, 2 Factory MI/Grunts, 1 Factory MI/Footsoldier, and 1 Stripped Down AA/Lancer
Friendlies: 1 Factory BT/Thunder (Margarat Kellows)

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: Alrighty, it's time for actual combat and actual consequences. Voting will be called tomorrow at 2 PM CST.

Q: By consequences what do you mean?
A: When your MBF gets damaged, you're going to have to repair it. Each armor level put back on will cost you 100 SUDs, replacing a limb will put you out 1,000 SUDs, and each system has its own price tag attached. And sometimes you might not even have the parts on hand to repair your MBFs, especially if they're rarer or have more exotic parts.

Alrighty, votes are in and thank you for voting!
Our winners:

[X] Don't give in, you kicked it once already and you don't need to do it again. with 5 votes

[X] Plan Opening Salvo
-[X] Use our Laser Rifle snipe down the Lancer, suggest Kellows open a barrage in the Footsoldier & Grunts. Once they are down, we pick off the Klaws from a distance via run-and-gun. with 3 votes

You stare down at the carton of cigarettes resting in your palm, at the red triangle and yellowed paper cover. With a grunt you clamp your hand shut, crushing the box and the addictive sticks within beneath your gloved fist.

You didn't really need it then, and you certainly don't need it now.

You feel… conflicted with your options. On one hand you've overcome temptation, but on the other you've tossed aside a relaxant, something you probably could've used.

Either way, you can't take it back now.

With a deep breath, you throttle up and shoot out of the launch bay, heading towards the jobsite.

~~~~~~~

"Kellows! Wanna chew those MIs up?" You shout over the comms as she laughs, her Autocannon opening up as the Pirates scatter.

(Kellows Combat Roll DC 65: 38+45=83, success)

An unlucky Grunt catches a trio of Autocannon rounds, the flimsy armor not nearly enough to stop the unrelenting advance of the shells, and freezes as the rounds overpenetrate. It sits there for a few heartbeats, before blue light bleeds through the cracks and the power cell erupts in an explosion.

The Thunder's cannon fires again and again, an unfortunate Klaw receives a shot to the head, blowing it clear off and disabling what little systems it had.

While Margarat has her fun, you turn your attention to dealing with a more lethal threat, the Lancer. Speed is king in battle, but it's not the be-all-end-all, and, since the Lancer's a stripped down model, it's not gonna have those boosters that the mil-grades have, nor is it gonna have e-defence suites. Of course, actually getting a targeting solution on it is easier said than done.

(Combat Roll DC 80: 32+40=72, failure)

No matter what you do, you just can't seem to get that Lancer! It's just… too fast to secure a solution on it, by the time your gun's pointing at it it's in an entirely different place! It's not like you can lead your shots either, and when you do set up a hit on it, it ducks behind cover! It's infuriating!

The thing's fast, far too fast to reliably track it. It blitzes through the cluster, dancing across laser beams and diving under stray bullets. It's sleek, with long and pointed armor panels. This one is painted black and silver, with a crudely made skull stenciled on the shoulders.

It grows closer and closer, dodging past asteroids before accelerating to full and you lose track of it.

(Combat Roll DC 65: 68+40=108, success)

Your targeting sensors click as you throw yourself back, the warning system serves you well as a thick laser carves a deep gouge in the asteroid you'd been next to. Of course, a laser lance firing means only one thing.

(Combat Roll DC 60: 18+40=58, close failure)

You slam your foot on the pedal, throwing your machine in a pivot as the Lancer lunges forward, but it's not quite enough. The point of the laser lance digs into your arm as you spin, redirecting the lance away from your cockpit but melting off some of your arm's armor.

You pull back, tearing away from the encounter and blasting away with your engines, giving yourself some distance. Of course, the Lancer doesn't let up, chasing you all the way.

It lunges again and again, and you dodge again and again. On a raw skill level, you beat out your opponent, but their machine is bridging the gap enough that it's closer than you'd like.

(Kellows Combat Roll DC 75: 31+45=76, bare success)

A hail of Autocannon fire rips through the Lancer's left leg, blowing it off with a storm of death. The Lancer, now slowed, boosts off and circles around in the distance.

<Holding in there, Sammy?> You hear Margarat's voice over the comms, trying to gauge your readiness as she returns to firing at the Klaws and Grunt.

"I'm doing fine, Maggsie, just… I dunno." You reply, taking aim at the remaining Grunt as it pops out of cover.

(Combat Roll DC 35: Autopass)

And blow it up with a pair of well-placed shots. "Just… I'm not feeling on top of it right now." You finally answer her properly.

(Kellows Combat Roll DC 40: Autopass)

<Don't you die out there!> She laughs back as another Klaw meets its fate, dying to her guns. <I want to see how far you go!>

"I'll be sure to try." You finish as your return to searching for that Lancer. Your friendly Klaws and Drillbits have retreated into the cruiser, waiting out the storm as it were. You didn't really expect anything more from them, they're not exactly trained for combat nor are they flying a combat grade MBF. But you can't help but feel slightly disappointed. Dashing that feeling with a shake of the head, you focus your attention on your current task.

The Lancer's wounded, if it's still around it's going to be cautious with you, emerging only once it knows it can kill you in one clean shot. And with you dead, the biggest threat on the battlefield is open for attack. The Thunder, while as powerful as De's musclebound arms, isn't the fastest of machines, leaving it wide open for a speed-blitzer like the Lancer to kill.

But where is it?

(Enemy Resolve Roll DC 65: 18, failure)

Ah, there it is. You spot the glow of its engines as it flies away. It seems that the Lancer's pilot made a smart decision. With only one leg, it's but a pale, crippled shadow of itself, leaving it wide open for a laser to take it out.

The only question is, do you take the shot?
-[ ] Yes, killing him now will save you having to fight him later.
-[ ] No, let him leave. Maybe he'll rethink his ways?

~~~~~~~

You turn back to the fight as your communications kick in.

<This is the David's Horn requesting immediate support! Where in the big black void of space are you guys!? They've got two fuckin' ships on our ass!> The communications officer of the Horn sounds rather rattled as he screams at you and Margarat. Judging from the data package attached to the broadcast, they're in deep. They've got a pair of ships shooting at them, both of them civilian models that've been modified with more guns and external launch bays.

<Aw shit, partner.> Margarat calls in as she smashes a foolhardy Klaw against an asteroid, crushing it between her shield and the rock. <Looks like we've got company back at base! Go help out, I can handle the clean up here!>

You nod, twisting and throttling up to fullburn, leaving a trail in your wake as you head towards the David's Horn. If you lose that… well, you'd best hope that the engines on the Itari cruiser can be made functional on a timely timetable.

However, just as she finishes speaking, you spot a glaring something emerging from the debris cloud. It's the Footsoldier, which had remained suspiciously absent for most of the fight. The Footsoldier's optics glint as it steadies its bazooka, pointing straight at Margarat's Thunder.

Time seems to slow to a halt as purple energy starts to charge up in the barrel of the plasma bazooka.

-[ ] Follow her heed and help out the David's Horn. She can take care of herself.
-[ ] Blast that, she needs help! Even the armor of the Thunder can't take an anti-fightercraft weapon, especially not at ranges as close as this!

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: And here we have a rather important vote to make. Save the ship or save the girl? Voting will be called tomorrow at 4 PM CST and thank you all for participating.

POV: Jasin Smitty

Jasin Smitty was a young man who had fallen in with the wrong crowd. He was also a young man who was regretting all the choices leading up to this point.

He was in that Corsair's sights, his sensors screaming him his funeral dirge. There was no way to escape what was coming, not with a crippled Lancer. And maybe not even with a fully capable Lancer.

There was nothing he could do, nothing but regret.

Maybe, maybe if he had a second chance he'd do it all differently.

But that's not to come, the universe had weighed him and found him wanting. The method of execution at the wrong end of a laser rifle's cruel beams.

He closed his eyes, waiting for death to take him.

One beat. Nothing happened.

Two beats. Still nothing happened.

Three beats. And still nothing happened.

He cracked his eyes open to see that everything was still there, as it should be. He glanced down to his sensors, which had stopped their sorrowful screeching. Nothing, nothing at all. That Corsair let him live. Why? He can't say, all he knows is that the pirate life doesn't seem to be for him.

And who knows, maybe that Corsair could use a teammate...

(Potential Recruit Gained: Jasin Smitty, an ex-pirate)

~~~~~~~

Margarat's Thunder is already turning to face the Footsoldier, Autocannon prefiring as she swung it up.

But she wasn't fast enough. She wasn't going to make it in time.

(Combat Roll DC 60/110: 75+40=115, Double Success!)

But you could. And you do.

Your laser rifle swings up, barrel glowing red hot as you pull the trigger a microsecond before the Footsoldier.

A crimson beam ignites into existence, falling directly into the purple energy expanding in the plasma bazooka.

A heartbeat, two of them pass as everybody stares at the plasma bazooka.

The Footsoldier reacts first, throwing the bazooka with all its might. But just as it left it's hands, the Autocannon's shells slammed into it.

Two explosions light up your vision, your optics automatically darkening to avoid eye damage. One the purple light of the plasma bazooka cooking off in a display of power. The other is a more traditional orangey-blue of a power cell undergoing meltdown.

The explosions eradicate the nearby asteroids as you're thrown back, your armor plating scorched heavily by the heat, dented in places by the force of the shrapnel.

Margarat didn't fare much better, coming out of it with a missing left arm, the shield nowhere to be seen. Her armor's in much the same condition as yours, looking like a well-used grill.

You key your comms, breathing heavily as you collect yourself. "You still kicking?"

<Y-yeah.> You hear coughing on the mic. <By De's gnarled fucking horns that was a close one.> She breathes in deep, collecting herself. <Thanks, you, uh, you saved my life there. I'll be sure to pay you back.>

"Don't mention it. If we get outta here you can buy me a drink." You reply as you refocus on your next objective: the David's Horn. "Ship needs our help. You still combat capable?"

<I am, though my machine's a different story…> She trails off. <I need to get something faster than the Thunder.>

<Hey, y'all still alive out there? We're not gonna be if you don't get your asses ove-> The communications officer suddenly cuts off, a burst of static in his place.

"Aw shit." You curse as you accelerate, picking up speed as you travel back towards the David's Horn.

<I'll hold down the fort here!> Margaret calls out after you.

(Margarat gained +3 Opinion, she now considers you a friend)

~~~~~~~

(Ship Combat Roll DC 65: 85, success)

You fly at high speeds, approaching the edge of the asteroid cluster, where the Horn had been left. Thrusters flaring, you slow down to a halt as the David's Horn, or the remnants at least, come into view.

It's been split in half through massed gunfire rather than a large laser beam. Fragments of metal float off, propelled by the momentum from the blast. Jagged, razor sharp edges, scorched and warped metal paneling, fire cheerily burning away on the exposed decks, all this and more greet you as you lay eyes on the ship.

The wreck of the David's Horn wasn't alone, of course, it had managed to shoot out the engines of the larger pirate vessel, which was now drifting lifelessly in space.

The ship was painted a bright, baby blue, now long since faded by cosmic radiation, with red racing stripes trailing along the side. It was a small, boxy thing, with two big engines on each side, jutting out like wings. Three external launch bays, bolted on the top, front, and bottom, cover the ship. It seems to have been abandoned, with the crew, presumably, leaving on the other pirate ship.

In the distance you can see the other, larger pirate vessel choosing to cut and run, pink engine fires burning away as it leaves the area. You reckon that they weren't expecting a pair of pilots of your and Margarat's caliber to be here, and losing their MBF forces means that taking the cruiser for themselves is just about impossible.

However, just because the Horn's gone doesn't mean that everyone on it is dead. Floating amongst the debris are a trio of lifeboats, which you hope are filled with life.

With trepidation, even if you haven't known Janna for long, you would rather she not be dead, you key your comms. What feels like an eternity passes before…

(Survival Roll DC 40, 60, 80: 100!, man the rolls as of late have been wild)

All three ping back, safe and sound. You breathe a sigh of relief, slumping back in your chair, and letting the cool caress of zero-gee soothe your body's tensed muscles.

That is, until an irate woman busts her way into your communications.

<Well well well, look who finally decided to show up!> Janna, reasonably upset with you, berates as her ruffled visage appears onscreen.

<Leave him be, I'm sure that he got here as fast as he could.> Charles keyed in, nursing a head wound. He turns to you, a weary expression etched deep into his mein. The wrinkles crisscrossing his face seem darker and deeper than ever. <Captain's out cold, bridge got hit by a missile, killed most of the bridge crew. I got her outta there but it was close.> He gestures to his own wound. <These pods' life support systems'll last for a few days, though it won't be pretty. We're gonna have to find somewhere else if we're gonna be stuck here longer.>

You think it over, considering your options. "What do you reckon?"

<That cruiser's life support works, right? As does that there pirate.> He inclines his head in the general direction of each ship.

<Though both of their engines are gone.> Janna adds before her brows furrow and her voice trails off. <Though…>

"Any idea's a good idea." You support her, prodding her to continue.

<The engines on the David's Horn still function, for the most part.> She nods to herself, continuing. <We might be able to rig something up using them.>

<We could also hail for help from passerby while we did that.> Charles adds. <What do you think, Sam?>

"I could chase after that pirate ship, though I'm not certain I could catch it." You say, thinking it through. "But I feel…"

-[ ] "That Janna's idea is the best we've got."
-[ ] "That I can catch it if I pushed it."
-[ ] Write in

<Alright, that sounds solid to me.> Charles agrees. <Though where should we transfer the crew?>

-[ ] Transfer surviving crew to the Itari cruiser
-[ ] Transfer surviving crew to the pirate ship

(Janna: -1 Opinion)

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: Wowzas, all in all, that was an eventful update. Votes will be called tomorrow at 4 PM CST.

Q: What's up with the multiple DC's?
A: Sometimes, though not always, a roll could have an outcome that results in a much better outcome than you would have gotten. That's what the multiple DC's represent, something unlikely or improbable occurring if you make them.

"I think… that Janna's idea's the best we've got." You finally say after a few moments contemplation. "We'll put the crew on the Itari cruiser for now. While there, can you assess the cruiser for spaceworthiness, Janna? I'll take the sec guys and check out that drifter, see if there's anything we can use on that. After we clear it out, can you assess it as well?"

Janna sets her jaw, nodding as she does. <I'll see what I can do. Though, just from looking at the outsides of 'em, I'm not certain that I can get that cruiser fully operational without a void dock.>

"Just, try your best. I trust you." You lean back with a sigh. Today started so well, now you're in this clusterfuck.

<Will do.> She nods and closes comms, the small engines on the lifeboats igniting.

<I'm not certain that drifter can carry everyone.> Charles adds his two cents. <Well, maybe it can but it would not be fun.>

"Fun's not exactly a luxury we can afford." You reply, feeling tired already.

<I know, I know… be careful out there.> He shakes his head, staring offscreen.

"Will do." And with that, you end the call, turning towards the boat containing the sec crew, who had started suiting up after you gave your instructions.

(Janna: +0.5 Opinion)

~~~~~~~

"Hey, Maggsie." You key your comms as you slowly approach the disabled pirate ship in your damaged machine, security holding onto the hastily bolted on grab bars.

<Yeah?> Her voice comes on, breaking through the static that preceded it. <Ship got fucked?>

"Ship got fucked."

<Dammit!>

"Ain't that the truth." You stare up at the ceiling of your cockpit, only a foot above your head while sitting.

<So what's the plan?> The static surrounding her voice really doesn't lend itself to her high-energy speech, dulling it down by a large degree.

"Gonna put the surviving crew on the cruiser while Janna, my engineer, looks it over." You start going over the plan with her. She's silent for the most part, only speaking up at the end.

<Did the Captain make it?> She asks, a concerned note to her voice.

You hesitate, not sure how she's going to take it, before steeling yourself and going for it. "Yeah, but she's not in a good way..."

There's no response. Her feed cuts out, terminated by her. You stare at it, finger hovering over the call button, before deciding not to. You don't know what to say.

Shaking your head, you return to the goal at hand: the drifting pirate ship.

The pirate ship itself isn't in amazing condition, it looks like a former freighter that the pirates captured. You're not entirely certain that it was even in that good of a condition to start with, what with the faded paint and other minute details, most of which having been washed away by the Horn's guns.

You drift towards the closest airlock, located on the starboard side of the hull, and orient yourself with your adjustment thrusters. The other airlock, located on the other side of the ship, had been blown away. Nothing remains of it but a twisted crater..

One of the sec crew, a Europan by the name of Anders, pushed off and drifted towards the airlock, which looked like it hadn't been well-looked after, a common sight so far on this ship. He examined it, feeling around for anything out of the ordinary. The security officer poked the access pad before turning back to you and shrugging.

<Powersh ot.> He clarifies, the Jovian accent coming through thick and mud-like.

<Damn.> Another security crewmember, a Solarling by the name of Konra, swore. <Any way we can get it on?>

"Could hook it up to the Corsair's power cell." You offer, thinking out loud. They all converse amongst themselves, deciding that that's the best course of action.

After hooking everything up, Anders gives you a grin and a thumbs up. With little hesitation, you throttle power up.

After a moment's pause, the door lights up, Ander's keys the pad, and you're in.

The cockpit door of the Corsair cracks open and you float out, covered in your pilot's suit and with your pilot's pistol drawn.

Together, with the four security guards, you enter the abandoned vessel.

After leaving the airlock, you find yourselves in a hallway leading to the left and right. There are signs painted on the walls, leading towards Bridge and Cargo.

The only question is, which way first?

-[ ] Go left, to the Bridge
-[ ] Go right, to Cargo

~~~~~~~

POV: Janna Peppers

The damage to Kellow's Thunder was… extensive to say the least. Not a single bit of armor on it was untouched. Blackened panels from scalding heat. Cracks and dents from shrapnel and force. What paint there was is gone now, leaving specks of color as the only identifier that it ever existed. This alone would cost a pretty penny to repair and replace, as the entire thing would need to be stripped.

Of course, that's not counting the obvious. Like, you know, the left arm that's missing from the upper bicep down! And the half-crushed head, the thing that contains most of the important internals. Those two things alone would cost around, what, 3,000 SUDs, at least. And that's not even counting sourcing costs or the pay of the engineers who actually fix the damn things. And who even knows what bullshit might happen while it's being fixed, like subpar parts or damages accrued by dropping them, or even injuries!

Flask, fucking injuries. They both force you to pay out the ass and lose you one of your workers!

Janna grunts to herself as she peels another slagged piece of armor off, tossing it onto the growing pile at the machine's feet.. Fortunately, the armor did its fucking job and took the hits, for the most part. She can only imagine what she'd have to do if the fucking cockpit got breached, those things are so annoying to re-seal.

The Chief Engineer squints at her handiwork, she can already feel the annoyances growing. Fucking pilots, no appreciation for their engineers' hard work, always getting them wrecked.

Ah, she can't stay mad, after all, if they weren't getting fucked up all the time she'd be out of a job! …not that she's had much chance to actually do said job, but that's beside the point.

Leaning back from an especially stubborn armor fragment, Janna wipes her forehead down, taking a drink from her canteen, which she wishes she had more of. That's the problem with rationing, there's never enough to go around.

But hey, if they do decide to use the cruiser, she reckons she can get the engines running in a couple days. Drain the surviving fuel from the scav ship and the drifter and they should have enough fuel to make it back. What a good day.

She laughs, throwing her head back and giving it a hearty chuckle, nearly falling off in the progress. Ah, well, back to work.

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: A little shorter than normal, I blame the burn on the end of my index finger. I had burnt it with hot glue by accident as I was constructing a model trebuchet, but it should be fine in a bit. Voting will be called tomorrow at 4 PM CST.