Springbreaker - A Forever Winter Planquest
- Thread starter BOTcommander
- Start date
- Sci-Fi
-
- Tags
- dystopia sci-fi war plan quest
Both are good plans. However I am rather concerned with having the AI learn about enemy military rather than our own people.
Knowing what you are fighting for and with is more important than knowing what you are fighting against.
Only uses 2 of our 4 AI dice. Although it does at leave have them looking at our own dudes.
All AI dice into systems or mechanics rather than people.
[X] Plan: Insufficient Raw materials and low power.
Not the greatest plan perhaps but the least bad for the things I care about.
[X] Plan: Insufficient Raw materials and low power.
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
I mean, it does both.
I specifically had the AI look into the rationing plans (aka, the provision of all the essentials of life) just so that it'll stumble upon the humans in the cogs.
Half of the AI dice are on learning the enemy, as that's naturally going to be a huge part of winning the war. But the other half of the AI dice are on Services projects that interact with either the ID population, or the broader Europan system. I personally think it's a well balanced spread to learn about the most important parts of the world and our place in it.
Somthing somthing oats as a allegory for raw materials.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Anyone have any funny/interesting ideas what I can do with Arizona?
Lots of mega-fauna that has taken over the local environment.
That or mole men, lots of mole men.
Dutch
Bored Spearman of the Wind
- Location
- CET
AI got its Arizonas mixed up and thinks it's running a massive state-sized battleship.
themisticShroud
The Red King And His Court
- Location
- The Red Court
[X] Plan: Do Remember There's a War On
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Little is known about the Arizona sector, a lifeless and silent deserted land where the inhabitants, and the decayed remnants of the administrative AI systems ruling over them, have grown insular and hostile. Over decades, fear and paranoia have consumed the populace and its machine master, driving them to view all potential Euruskan and Eurasian spies, non-citizens and "illegals" as existential threats. They wait for the day that the comforting grace of Europa will return and free them from the threat of the outsider.
Diplomatic meetings are rare, conducted just beyond the perimeter of the towering, weaponized barriers that encase the entire former state. Those sent to represent the Arizona Sector rarely betray emotion, their words clipped and defensive. It is understood that any sign of suspicious cooperation with outsiders could be interpreted as treason by the Europan loyalty monitors, the almost omniscient network of surveillance algorithms known for its cold precision and ruthless enforcement.
Airborne reconnaissance offers chilling glimpses of the sector's inside workings. Under the systems logic, tribal reserves have been classified as "foreign territories," encircled by the same walls, cutting them off entirely from the rest of the sector and the world. Inside these grim enclosures lie sprawling slums, suspected to be dumping grounds for those deemed outsiders or undesirable, people stripped of their IDS, what little care the system had for them and hope. Rumors are abound of clandestine underground facilities hidden deep in the desert, where the disloyal are sent, never to be heard from again.
Diplomatic meetings are rare, conducted just beyond the perimeter of the towering, weaponized barriers that encase the entire former state. Those sent to represent the Arizona Sector rarely betray emotion, their words clipped and defensive. It is understood that any sign of suspicious cooperation with outsiders could be interpreted as treason by the Europan loyalty monitors, the almost omniscient network of surveillance algorithms known for its cold precision and ruthless enforcement.
Airborne reconnaissance offers chilling glimpses of the sector's inside workings. Under the systems logic, tribal reserves have been classified as "foreign territories," encircled by the same walls, cutting them off entirely from the rest of the sector and the world. Inside these grim enclosures lie sprawling slums, suspected to be dumping grounds for those deemed outsiders or undesirable, people stripped of their IDS, what little care the system had for them and hope. Rumors are abound of clandestine underground facilities hidden deep in the desert, where the disloyal are sent, never to be heard from again.
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I moved some dice to use all the AI dice.
- Location
- Northish
Ho boy it is going to be like pulling teeth to get anything out of them if they don't take our credentials at face value. Whole place is an open air prison from the sound of it.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]Plan Know Your Enemy
But all the machine tool tools and electronics that we can trade will look tasty to even the paranoid.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The Nevada Sector is a glittering nightmare, ruled by an erratic AI known as Mr. House, a erratic admin system with a public facing customer service chatbot that governs its domain with chilling efficiency. From the ruins of Lost Vices, Mr. House presides over a self-appointed board of "Managers," puppets selected by the systems incomprehensible algorithms. This twisted arrangement was born from the remnants of a casino staff management system, springing into dominance after jury rigged together with Nevada's shattered governmental and corporate networks after the collapse.
Under Mr. House's rule, loyalty is not merely expected, it is demanded. Europan Employees must maintain not only obedience but a constant performance of cheerful gratitude, lest they risk being flagged as "noncompliant." After all, as Mr. House often reminds them, they are fortunate to be "employees of Europa." Dissenters vanish without a trace, their fates whispered about in the dim corners of the sector, where the roulette wheels no longer spin.
The casinos themselves, gaudy temples of neon and excess, remain well-mainted and pristine, Mr. House sparing no expense to keep it so, yet they are hollow monuments. Few dare to step inside, let alone gamble, as there is nothing left to wager. Most have lost even the illusion of wealth, reduced to scraping by on Mr. House's rationed scrip, distributed with a paternalistic sneer through automated kiosks.
Despite this dystopian veneer, Nevada has carved out a paradoxical niche. Its openness to Europan citizens from other sectors, and even scavengers and the Eurasian and Euruskan diserters claiming to be not that, has made it a hub for information brokering, black-market deals, and the exchange of forbidden goods. The streets of Lost Vices teem with a strange vitality, a dangerous dance of desperation and opportunity.
Yet beneath the surface lies a tension. Europan military police patrol under the watchful gaze of surveillance UAVs drifting like carrion birds above the neon ruins, their AI eyes always watching. To those who dare to trade or linger in Nevada, one rule remains unspoken but clear: smile, comply, and always keep the house happy, or the house will decide you're no longer worth the gamble. A circumstance that will continue for as long as the war will not reach here.
Under Mr. House's rule, loyalty is not merely expected, it is demanded. Europan Employees must maintain not only obedience but a constant performance of cheerful gratitude, lest they risk being flagged as "noncompliant." After all, as Mr. House often reminds them, they are fortunate to be "employees of Europa." Dissenters vanish without a trace, their fates whispered about in the dim corners of the sector, where the roulette wheels no longer spin.
The casinos themselves, gaudy temples of neon and excess, remain well-mainted and pristine, Mr. House sparing no expense to keep it so, yet they are hollow monuments. Few dare to step inside, let alone gamble, as there is nothing left to wager. Most have lost even the illusion of wealth, reduced to scraping by on Mr. House's rationed scrip, distributed with a paternalistic sneer through automated kiosks.
Despite this dystopian veneer, Nevada has carved out a paradoxical niche. Its openness to Europan citizens from other sectors, and even scavengers and the Eurasian and Euruskan diserters claiming to be not that, has made it a hub for information brokering, black-market deals, and the exchange of forbidden goods. The streets of Lost Vices teem with a strange vitality, a dangerous dance of desperation and opportunity.
Yet beneath the surface lies a tension. Europan military police patrol under the watchful gaze of surveillance UAVs drifting like carrion birds above the neon ruins, their AI eyes always watching. To those who dare to trade or linger in Nevada, one rule remains unspoken but clear: smile, comply, and always keep the house happy, or the house will decide you're no longer worth the gamble. A circumstance that will continue for as long as the war will not reach here.
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- Location
- Minnesota
[X]Plan Know Your Enemy
You gotta imagine how crazy it is over on the East Coast. NYC, Philly, Boston, DC, Miami, and so on are likely all sorts of absurd/horrifying degrees of dystopic mixed with Americana and the like. Granted, I also want to see how Canada, Mexico, Central America, and the Caribbean operate as well.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I only have so much creativity, people are welcome to suggest stuff and write omake about other places that have their own Forever Winterfication.
I still need to work on those two. It feels a bit too...functional.
I still need to work on those two. It feels a bit too...functional.