Ah. Well, I know basically nothing about Shadowrun, so I suppose it's not surprising I missed that.
Deus Ex: The Sixth World [Deus Ex: Human Revolution/Shadowrun]
- Thread starter ZerbanDaGreat
- Start date
Ah. Well, I know basically nothing about Shadowrun, so I suppose it's not surprising I missed that.
Aranfan
Team Plasma Grunt
Eh, Barrett is a big man, so I am not willing to say the sheer volume of him isn't a result of the situation.
Wade Garrett
Just trying to do the right thing
- Pronouns
- He/His/Him
[X] Tenfoldshields
Only Plan Bad Dragon can handle a man this big and well equipped.
- Location
- nz
[X] Dash for a locker. You should have enough time to salvage something usable in the time it takes him to turn his arm back into a cannon. You can do some damage.
- Location
- St. Petersburg
This is getting better and better. Love it.
[X] Just run. By the time he turns his arm back into a cannon you should be able to get concealment again. Then you can lose him in the offices, run circles around him and get back to Sarif and Pritchard.
Sorry, noping out of here on the double. Our weapons are insufficient, and although beauty saving the world sounds great on paper, I'd rather not bet on his hesitation to mangle a pretty face. I have it on good authority that not getting shot at is one way to avoid certain death.
[X] Just run. By the time he turns his arm back into a cannon you should be able to get concealment again. Then you can lose him in the offices, run circles around him and get back to Sarif and Pritchard.
Sorry, noping out of here on the double. Our weapons are insufficient, and although beauty saving the world sounds great on paper, I'd rather not bet on his hesitation to mangle a pretty face. I have it on good authority that not getting shot at is one way to avoid certain death.
[X] Dash for a locker. You should have enough time to salvage something usable in the time it takes him to turn his arm back into a cannon. You can do some damage.
Revlid
blob of bugs
- Location
- England
[X] Throw the grenade at him. Unfamiliar markings - HEWP. It doesn't look like a frag, maybe a high-explosive? Should be enough to at least disorient him for a while - provided he doesn't catch it and throw it back or kick it away.
HARMLESS
EXCITING
WOBBLE
POWDER
I believe that people outside of The United Kingdom of Great Britain refer to it as "jello".
Clearly, we must hurl it at this gentleman, and so end hostilities by sharing a brightly coloured novelty dessert.
Last edited:
Chapter Four: The Flesh Is Weak
ZerbanDaGreat
Daemon Noble of D E M O G R A P H I C S
- Pronouns
- They/them
You pick up the grenade. You feel its weight. You rub your thumb across those four letters. You curl your fingers around the spoon, pull the pin, and hold. Planning what might be the last few seconds of your life down to the last detail. You stand and walk out into the open, in full view of the monstrous cyborg with a cannon in his arm. He grins.
You relax your fingers. The spoon flies off its spring. The fuse starts.
"I will."
You hurl it right at his face.
"What-!?"
You dive back into cover. You don't see how he reacts, don't see the moment of detonation, but you feel it. You feel the blast wave, feel the room shake, feel the rush of roiling heat as you finally realise what 'HEWP' stood for. As unquenchable chemical fire douses the cyborg in a burning sheet and he screams. The stench of it is unbearable, assaulting your nostrils so forcefully it makes you want to be sick. But it doesn't stop there.
It sounds like a warzone, like you're sitting there eavesdropping on German pillboxes on D-Day. Massive slugs whizzing through the air, chewing through what's left of the place that hasn't yet been destroyed. An entire pack of heavy machine gun ammo cooking off at once. It occurs to you that you technically just committed a warcrime.
You glance around the corner once the crossfire is done. You see the burning hulk of a creature stir, snarling with rage and pain as he lifts himself off his stomach.
What a shame you can't commit several more.
"You... bitch!" he snarls. "When I find you I'm gonna...!"
You don't stick around to hear any more. A wounded animal's twice as dangerous. Stick around to try and confirm the kill he'll just wade through any more bullets you put in him and snap you in half. Anyone who finds him like this is welcome to him. You grab an Alpha that doesn't seem to have been dinged too badly from the wreckage of the security station and you bolt. You've wasted too much time already - you need to get out of range of the interference, order a complete lockdown. Get Pritchard off his ass. Fix this.
Can't trust the elevators. You take the stairs. The first couple of flights you spend devoted to your equipment. Reload and stow your sidearm. Check the Alpha. Total rounds in the magazine counted, breech clear, charging handle back, round chambered properly, grenade in the underbarrel launcher. The next you spend with two fingers to your ear, keeping the channel wide open, desperately listening for any sign of Pritchard. Nothing but interference.
The R&D floor. Megan's floor. You have to check. You need to know if you're already too late.
Ten-thousand-credit machines lying strewn around like an angry child's toys. Windows shot full of holes. Scorch marks on the walls, open flames flickering in the corners of each room. Scarlet alarm-light flashing, klaxons blaring. More dead guards. Men you knew and men you wish you'd known better. Piles of cold brass lying forgotten on the floor. You run faster. Have to find some sign. You turn the next corner and-
-a wall of flame erupts in front of you, cutting off your path like a red-hot blade. You whirl, Alpha whipping up to firing position, secure against your shoulder. You see another woman in front of you - no way you missed her coming in. She has a mix of African and Slavic features, brown eyes glaring out of bruised pits beneath the shadows of her hood. She's got to be at least a foot taller than you, and in a flash you realise why. Her legs are augments. Too-long, backbent things. Chrome and inhuman. You're already firing.
She raises her hands, and the bullets stop. They just slam into a wall of force an inch from her outstretched palms, slugs flattening into lead discs as they fall to the floor. The air distorts, tinted a dirty golden colour. You don't let up. You keep firing and all the while creep your left hand towards the underbarrel grenade launcher's trigger.
A patch of air beside you moves.
A steel grip crushes your left hand to the barrel of the Alpha, wrenching it skywards. The bullets stitch a path all the way up to the ceiling, hot brass raining down before the gun finally clicks empty. You try to pull away, try to react, but they're faster. They're better. Your feet leave the ground and the air rushes around you, you're flying.
You hit the glass.
You lie in a pile of crumpled electronics and glass shards. You can't move. You can't feel anything. Hands, arms, legs, nothing. You feel like a cloud of red mist shot through with white-hot agony. Your vision blurs, darkened, unfocused. You're seeing double. Your stomach feels... feels cold. You want to look but you can't, if you tilt your head forward half an inch it'll fall against your chest and you'll pass out, you'll suffocate on the blood you can taste and you'll die. Quicker.
"Eve!" Megan screams.
You can see the mage woman through the jagged hole in the glass, staring mutely at your ruined body. The air ripples beside her, a flash of light as her compatriot drops her cloak. An Israeli woman steps forward, kicks through the rest of the glass and follows you into Megan's hiding place. Your mind races, searches for details, as if those are any good to you now. Short hair, military. Tactical gear. Augments, you can't see any augments but you know she has to have them to have put you through the glass like that.
You fish your sidearm out of your coat. It feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. It feels like you're trying to lift an anchor. Your aim's shaking, swaying, you can barely hit the broad side of a barn like this but you're target's coming for you anyway. You squeeze the trigger with every ounce of strength left in you.
Bang. Doesn't even break her stride. The gun nearly flies out of your hand.
Bang. You can see the bullet hole in her vest but she doesn't stop. She reaches for you.
Bang. The third bullet goes wide. Her gloved hand is wrapped around the barrel. Holding the slide forward. Trapping the hot, empty brass in the chamber. Ripping the gun from your nerveless fingers.
You blink. Blood's blinding you. Half your vision is red when your eyes open again. You see Megan. You see the Israeli woman backhand her to the floor with her free hand. You try to cry out, but it's little more than a groan.
The woman strides towards you, adjusting your stolen pistol to better fit in her hand. Racking back the slide to clear the jam she caused.
She stops in front of you, gun raised. You think you can even see the chambered bullet down the barrel before. The one with your name on it.
She fires.
***
"People are urged to stay in their homes as the search for a cure to Virally-Induced Toxic Allergy Syndrome hits yet another dead end."
"Pope John Paul III dead today of VITAS, leaving the Vatican stunned and scrambling to elect a replacement as the world's faithful plead for answers in these trying times."
"England's Sizewell B nuclear power plant suffered a critical meltdown today, killing 17,000 and forcing the relocation of many more. Experts continue to assert that nuclear power is safe despite the growing pattern of catastrophic or near-catastrophic reactor failure."
"Riots in New York City have entered their third week, placing the brave men and women fighting to contain the plague in yet more danger. Private security company Seretech has come under scrutiny today as they fired upon rioters attempting to ransack a transport convoy, allegedly under the misapprehenstion that it contained medical supplies."
"VITAS deaths continue to skyrocket as the full extent of the virus' affects continue to unfold. All over the world reports are coming in of babies born with oddly consistent mutations."
"Global communications brownouts continue to plague world media as bizarre atmospheric forces spike."
"A self-proclaimed druid made history today by performing the first scientifically-measured and proven act of faith-healing."
"Chaos in the streets the world over as every preconceived notion about life as we know it has been turned on its head. But there is no need to fear - the Great Dragon Dunkelzahn recently offered to explain the recent turmoil to the fullest extent of his ability. Stay tuned as we take you live to hour two of his historic interview with our own Eliza Cassan, only on Picus."
"Pope John Paul IV spoke out in condemnation of 'metahumans' this week, calling them 'mistakes' borne of the world's recent upheaval."
"The magical terrorist organisation known as the Native American Nations attempted to hold the country hostage today, threatening to induce eruptions in every volcano active or otherwise in the continental United States. When called on their bluff and subjected to several counter-terror operations, they abandoned their demands and retreated into the wilderness rather than face justice."
"History was made yet again in the business world today as the Great Dragon Lofwyr bought out every last one of Saeder-Krupp's shares, making him the only living entity to ever have complete and solitary control over an AAA-rated megacorporation."
"Leonora Bartoli shocked and stunned both the art and science communities simultaneously with her latest concert, performing her set flawlessly despite her prosthetic arm. Despite our best efforts we have not yet been able to reach Hugh Darrow for an interview."
"Terror grips the world today as people keel over in the streets and begin to mutate seemingly at random all across the globe. Statstics are still being collected, but the number is rapidly approaching 10% of the world's population."
"Race riots continue in Detroit as those afflicted by Goblinisation clashed with existing metahuman groups. It appears that the larger form the mutation, known as 'trolls', are more dangerous than previously thought. The rising number of fatalities in the Detroit Police Department have warranted the hiring of Lone Star Security Services to help restore order."
"Doctor William Taggart again vehemently denies any links between Humanity Front and the radical anti-metahuman group known as the Humanis Policlub. He has made it well known that he abhors violence, and will not stoop to such dubious means for the sake of what he believes. In related news, recent studies show cases of positive discrimination with regards to employment opportunities due to their natural advantages are on the rise. Dr. Taggart's is not the only voice being raised against the injustice many see in this bias."
"Protesters continue to camp outside local LIMB clinics and megacorporation branches, even attempting to prevent people from entering and leaving their place of business. Despite a growing police presence they refuse to budge, objecting vehemently to the rising commonality of jobs opening only to the augmented or those otherwise possessing extra-human capability."
"Washington was left with more questions than answers last night as Sarif Industries was rocked by a devastating attack on the eve they intended to unveil 'game-changing' information about augmentation technology. David Sarif neglected to provide us with significant information, stating that he wished to 'respect his employees' privacy in this trying time'. Hugh Darrow was not available to comment on what, if anything, this so-called 'game-changing' augmentation technology could have been, or if it even existed. This is Eliza Cassan, reporting to you live, from Picus."
It's not the end of the world. But you can see it from here.
***
You sit bolt upright, every muscle tensing, every nerve in your body crackling with electricity. A white-hot knife of pain drives itself between your eyes, transfixing your brain. You wince, almost cry out. Your eyes water desperately, stinging, trying to scour themselves out. Your head tilts back, your spine arches. It feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. Your hands are numb and heavy.
Shrik.
Your forearm casings are peeled back, exposed. Glossy black toughed plastic and metal gleaming in the dim light of your shuttered apartment. A pair of foot-long blades protrude over your wrists, your knuckles. Square-tipped nanocarbon, sharp as razors, sharper. You feel your heart pound faster. Fingers flex clumsily beneath them, half-asleep. Soft, mechanical whirring reaching your ears. How do you make them go back in? You can't remember. You don't know how, you have to flex muscles you don't even have any more. How is your brain supposed to be any use when it's trying to control something that isn't you!?
Calm. You have to calm down. Deep breaths. Lie back, slowly, feeling the back of the couch creak as it takes your weight. In for a count of five. Hold for a count of five. There's always the panic-button. LIMB technicians can be here in minutes if you just lean forward and press it. It's okay. You're going to be okay. You're going to survive.
You hear them sliding back in. Slowly, almost teasingly. Like knives being run through sharpening blocks. Disappearing back into their shaped hollows. You hear the whir of moving arms, the soft 'click' of the casing locking. You risk a glance down. They're hidden again. Nobody could tell they were even there without a scanner. But you know.
"Huhh... hud on," you whisper hoarsely. The AR display flickers to life before your eyes. Or inside them, rather. Golden wirework and black traceries, picking out all the information you could want at a glance. You settle on the clock.
2am.
"HUD off." You shut your aching, mechanical eyes and try to will your tear ducts to stop working overtime. Your new eyes are a pair of foreign contaminants that aren't ever going to budge.
The fuck are you supposed to do with yourself now?
[ ] Go outside and have a smoke. Cold air and nicotine might do you some good, wake you up.
[ ] Eat. That's what augments need, right? Lots of calories? Might help the ache.
[ ] Shower. LIMB said it's all waterproof, at least for bathing, but that's not the problem. Hot water still hurts like a cunt around the implant marks. But it might clear your head at least.
[ ] Watch TV. Maybe Picus has something new to shock you with.
[ ] Try doing some physio. You don't actually want to, but you really should. Plenty of painkillers around once you can't go on any more.
[ ] Drink. You're sure you left a quarter-bottle of whiskey around here somewhere. Should help the pain.
You relax your fingers. The spoon flies off its spring. The fuse starts.
"I will."
You hurl it right at his face.
"What-!?"
You dive back into cover. You don't see how he reacts, don't see the moment of detonation, but you feel it. You feel the blast wave, feel the room shake, feel the rush of roiling heat as you finally realise what 'HEWP' stood for. As unquenchable chemical fire douses the cyborg in a burning sheet and he screams. The stench of it is unbearable, assaulting your nostrils so forcefully it makes you want to be sick. But it doesn't stop there.
It sounds like a warzone, like you're sitting there eavesdropping on German pillboxes on D-Day. Massive slugs whizzing through the air, chewing through what's left of the place that hasn't yet been destroyed. An entire pack of heavy machine gun ammo cooking off at once. It occurs to you that you technically just committed a warcrime.
You glance around the corner once the crossfire is done. You see the burning hulk of a creature stir, snarling with rage and pain as he lifts himself off his stomach.
What a shame you can't commit several more.
"You... bitch!" he snarls. "When I find you I'm gonna...!"
You don't stick around to hear any more. A wounded animal's twice as dangerous. Stick around to try and confirm the kill he'll just wade through any more bullets you put in him and snap you in half. Anyone who finds him like this is welcome to him. You grab an Alpha that doesn't seem to have been dinged too badly from the wreckage of the security station and you bolt. You've wasted too much time already - you need to get out of range of the interference, order a complete lockdown. Get Pritchard off his ass. Fix this.
Can't trust the elevators. You take the stairs. The first couple of flights you spend devoted to your equipment. Reload and stow your sidearm. Check the Alpha. Total rounds in the magazine counted, breech clear, charging handle back, round chambered properly, grenade in the underbarrel launcher. The next you spend with two fingers to your ear, keeping the channel wide open, desperately listening for any sign of Pritchard. Nothing but interference.
The R&D floor. Megan's floor. You have to check. You need to know if you're already too late.
Ten-thousand-credit machines lying strewn around like an angry child's toys. Windows shot full of holes. Scorch marks on the walls, open flames flickering in the corners of each room. Scarlet alarm-light flashing, klaxons blaring. More dead guards. Men you knew and men you wish you'd known better. Piles of cold brass lying forgotten on the floor. You run faster. Have to find some sign. You turn the next corner and-
-a wall of flame erupts in front of you, cutting off your path like a red-hot blade. You whirl, Alpha whipping up to firing position, secure against your shoulder. You see another woman in front of you - no way you missed her coming in. She has a mix of African and Slavic features, brown eyes glaring out of bruised pits beneath the shadows of her hood. She's got to be at least a foot taller than you, and in a flash you realise why. Her legs are augments. Too-long, backbent things. Chrome and inhuman. You're already firing.
She raises her hands, and the bullets stop. They just slam into a wall of force an inch from her outstretched palms, slugs flattening into lead discs as they fall to the floor. The air distorts, tinted a dirty golden colour. You don't let up. You keep firing and all the while creep your left hand towards the underbarrel grenade launcher's trigger.
A patch of air beside you moves.
A steel grip crushes your left hand to the barrel of the Alpha, wrenching it skywards. The bullets stitch a path all the way up to the ceiling, hot brass raining down before the gun finally clicks empty. You try to pull away, try to react, but they're faster. They're better. Your feet leave the ground and the air rushes around you, you're flying.
You hit the glass.
You lie in a pile of crumpled electronics and glass shards. You can't move. You can't feel anything. Hands, arms, legs, nothing. You feel like a cloud of red mist shot through with white-hot agony. Your vision blurs, darkened, unfocused. You're seeing double. Your stomach feels... feels cold. You want to look but you can't, if you tilt your head forward half an inch it'll fall against your chest and you'll pass out, you'll suffocate on the blood you can taste and you'll die. Quicker.
"Eve!" Megan screams.
You can see the mage woman through the jagged hole in the glass, staring mutely at your ruined body. The air ripples beside her, a flash of light as her compatriot drops her cloak. An Israeli woman steps forward, kicks through the rest of the glass and follows you into Megan's hiding place. Your mind races, searches for details, as if those are any good to you now. Short hair, military. Tactical gear. Augments, you can't see any augments but you know she has to have them to have put you through the glass like that.
You fish your sidearm out of your coat. It feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. It feels like you're trying to lift an anchor. Your aim's shaking, swaying, you can barely hit the broad side of a barn like this but you're target's coming for you anyway. You squeeze the trigger with every ounce of strength left in you.
Bang. Doesn't even break her stride. The gun nearly flies out of your hand.
Bang. You can see the bullet hole in her vest but she doesn't stop. She reaches for you.
Bang. The third bullet goes wide. Her gloved hand is wrapped around the barrel. Holding the slide forward. Trapping the hot, empty brass in the chamber. Ripping the gun from your nerveless fingers.
You blink. Blood's blinding you. Half your vision is red when your eyes open again. You see Megan. You see the Israeli woman backhand her to the floor with her free hand. You try to cry out, but it's little more than a groan.
The woman strides towards you, adjusting your stolen pistol to better fit in her hand. Racking back the slide to clear the jam she caused.
She stops in front of you, gun raised. You think you can even see the chambered bullet down the barrel before. The one with your name on it.
She fires.
***
"People are urged to stay in their homes as the search for a cure to Virally-Induced Toxic Allergy Syndrome hits yet another dead end."
"Pope John Paul III dead today of VITAS, leaving the Vatican stunned and scrambling to elect a replacement as the world's faithful plead for answers in these trying times."
"England's Sizewell B nuclear power plant suffered a critical meltdown today, killing 17,000 and forcing the relocation of many more. Experts continue to assert that nuclear power is safe despite the growing pattern of catastrophic or near-catastrophic reactor failure."
"Riots in New York City have entered their third week, placing the brave men and women fighting to contain the plague in yet more danger. Private security company Seretech has come under scrutiny today as they fired upon rioters attempting to ransack a transport convoy, allegedly under the misapprehenstion that it contained medical supplies."
"VITAS deaths continue to skyrocket as the full extent of the virus' affects continue to unfold. All over the world reports are coming in of babies born with oddly consistent mutations."
"Global communications brownouts continue to plague world media as bizarre atmospheric forces spike."
"A self-proclaimed druid made history today by performing the first scientifically-measured and proven act of faith-healing."
"Chaos in the streets the world over as every preconceived notion about life as we know it has been turned on its head. But there is no need to fear - the Great Dragon Dunkelzahn recently offered to explain the recent turmoil to the fullest extent of his ability. Stay tuned as we take you live to hour two of his historic interview with our own Eliza Cassan, only on Picus."
"Pope John Paul IV spoke out in condemnation of 'metahumans' this week, calling them 'mistakes' borne of the world's recent upheaval."
"The magical terrorist organisation known as the Native American Nations attempted to hold the country hostage today, threatening to induce eruptions in every volcano active or otherwise in the continental United States. When called on their bluff and subjected to several counter-terror operations, they abandoned their demands and retreated into the wilderness rather than face justice."
"History was made yet again in the business world today as the Great Dragon Lofwyr bought out every last one of Saeder-Krupp's shares, making him the only living entity to ever have complete and solitary control over an AAA-rated megacorporation."
"Leonora Bartoli shocked and stunned both the art and science communities simultaneously with her latest concert, performing her set flawlessly despite her prosthetic arm. Despite our best efforts we have not yet been able to reach Hugh Darrow for an interview."
"Terror grips the world today as people keel over in the streets and begin to mutate seemingly at random all across the globe. Statstics are still being collected, but the number is rapidly approaching 10% of the world's population."
"Race riots continue in Detroit as those afflicted by Goblinisation clashed with existing metahuman groups. It appears that the larger form the mutation, known as 'trolls', are more dangerous than previously thought. The rising number of fatalities in the Detroit Police Department have warranted the hiring of Lone Star Security Services to help restore order."
"Doctor William Taggart again vehemently denies any links between Humanity Front and the radical anti-metahuman group known as the Humanis Policlub. He has made it well known that he abhors violence, and will not stoop to such dubious means for the sake of what he believes. In related news, recent studies show cases of positive discrimination with regards to employment opportunities due to their natural advantages are on the rise. Dr. Taggart's is not the only voice being raised against the injustice many see in this bias."
"Protesters continue to camp outside local LIMB clinics and megacorporation branches, even attempting to prevent people from entering and leaving their place of business. Despite a growing police presence they refuse to budge, objecting vehemently to the rising commonality of jobs opening only to the augmented or those otherwise possessing extra-human capability."
"Washington was left with more questions than answers last night as Sarif Industries was rocked by a devastating attack on the eve they intended to unveil 'game-changing' information about augmentation technology. David Sarif neglected to provide us with significant information, stating that he wished to 'respect his employees' privacy in this trying time'. Hugh Darrow was not available to comment on what, if anything, this so-called 'game-changing' augmentation technology could have been, or if it even existed. This is Eliza Cassan, reporting to you live, from Picus."
It's not the end of the world. But you can see it from here.
***
You sit bolt upright, every muscle tensing, every nerve in your body crackling with electricity. A white-hot knife of pain drives itself between your eyes, transfixing your brain. You wince, almost cry out. Your eyes water desperately, stinging, trying to scour themselves out. Your head tilts back, your spine arches. It feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. Your hands are numb and heavy.
Shrik.
Your forearm casings are peeled back, exposed. Glossy black toughed plastic and metal gleaming in the dim light of your shuttered apartment. A pair of foot-long blades protrude over your wrists, your knuckles. Square-tipped nanocarbon, sharp as razors, sharper. You feel your heart pound faster. Fingers flex clumsily beneath them, half-asleep. Soft, mechanical whirring reaching your ears. How do you make them go back in? You can't remember. You don't know how, you have to flex muscles you don't even have any more. How is your brain supposed to be any use when it's trying to control something that isn't you!?
Calm. You have to calm down. Deep breaths. Lie back, slowly, feeling the back of the couch creak as it takes your weight. In for a count of five. Hold for a count of five. There's always the panic-button. LIMB technicians can be here in minutes if you just lean forward and press it. It's okay. You're going to be okay. You're going to survive.
You hear them sliding back in. Slowly, almost teasingly. Like knives being run through sharpening blocks. Disappearing back into their shaped hollows. You hear the whir of moving arms, the soft 'click' of the casing locking. You risk a glance down. They're hidden again. Nobody could tell they were even there without a scanner. But you know.
"Huhh... hud on," you whisper hoarsely. The AR display flickers to life before your eyes. Or inside them, rather. Golden wirework and black traceries, picking out all the information you could want at a glance. You settle on the clock.
2am.
"HUD off." You shut your aching, mechanical eyes and try to will your tear ducts to stop working overtime. Your new eyes are a pair of foreign contaminants that aren't ever going to budge.
The fuck are you supposed to do with yourself now?
[ ] Go outside and have a smoke. Cold air and nicotine might do you some good, wake you up.
[ ] Eat. That's what augments need, right? Lots of calories? Might help the ache.
[ ] Shower. LIMB said it's all waterproof, at least for bathing, but that's not the problem. Hot water still hurts like a cunt around the implant marks. But it might clear your head at least.
[ ] Watch TV. Maybe Picus has something new to shock you with.
[ ] Try doing some physio. You don't actually want to, but you really should. Plenty of painkillers around once you can't go on any more.
[ ] Drink. You're sure you left a quarter-bottle of whiskey around here somewhere. Should help the pain.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Huh, Namir's a chick as well.
[X] Try doing some physio. You don't actually want to, but you really should. Plenty of painkillers around once you can't go on any more.
[X] Try doing some physio. You don't actually want to, but you really should. Plenty of painkillers around once you can't go on any more.
AZATHOTHoth
༼ つ ☀️_☀️ ༽つ
[X] Go outside and have a smoke. Cold air and nicotine might do you some good, wake you up.
[X] Try doing some physio. You don't actually want to, but you really should. Plenty of painkillers around once you can't go on any more.
- Location
- Earth
[X] Try doing some physio. You don't actually want to, but you really should. Plenty of painkillers around once you can't go on any more.
TenfoldShields
Lounging on a Hoard of Words
- Pronouns
- He/Him
>do physio
>lolscubs
physio's for people less edgy than us
we're so fucking edgy we have edges in our arms and a little speaker to play linkin park when they pop out
[X] Go outside and have a smoke. Cold air and nicotine might do you some good, wake you up.
Hrmmm sooo...huh. Barrett was probably straight up one of the first generations of Trolls. Dragons are just getting onto the scene. Corps are just now sidling up to the "mega" part. I wonder if Ares is a thing? I mean we're in Detroit so it's likely that Sarif is either going to be, like, a part of them or they're going to absorb us or something along lines. Magic's new. Taggart is heading up the Humanity Front and Humanis is potentially their extremist wing but this doesn't necessarily preclude the existence of Purity First either. If anything the Illuminati is probably grappling with both at once?
Mm.
...I wonder if Federova's a dorf.
Dorf on stilts, go go go.
>lolscubs
physio's for people less edgy than us
we're so fucking edgy we have edges in our arms and a little speaker to play linkin park when they pop out
[X] Go outside and have a smoke. Cold air and nicotine might do you some good, wake you up.
Hrmmm sooo...huh. Barrett was probably straight up one of the first generations of Trolls. Dragons are just getting onto the scene. Corps are just now sidling up to the "mega" part. I wonder if Ares is a thing? I mean we're in Detroit so it's likely that Sarif is either going to be, like, a part of them or they're going to absorb us or something along lines. Magic's new. Taggart is heading up the Humanity Front and Humanis is potentially their extremist wing but this doesn't necessarily preclude the existence of Purity First either. If anything the Illuminati is probably grappling with both at once?
Mm.
...I wonder if Federova's a dorf.
Dorf on stilts, go go go.
Kelirapc
The Bright in your Night
- Location
- Kali-Forni
[X] Eat. That's what augments need, right? Lots of calories? Might help the ache.
How much do we have to level up to get Papa Roach's Last Resort?
How much do we have to level up to get Papa Roach's Last Resort?
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So it is a Shadowrun cross. Guess I'll be learning some stuff.
[X] Try doing some physio. You don't actually want to, but you really should. Plenty of painkillers around once you can't go on any more.
Just for once, I want to try creating an Adam (or rather, Eve) Jensen that's actually at least mostly mentally and emotionally stable.
[X] Try doing some physio. You don't actually want to, but you really should. Plenty of painkillers around once you can't go on any more.
Just for once, I want to try creating an Adam (or rather, Eve) Jensen that's actually at least mostly mentally and emotionally stable.
- Location
- United States
And suddenly it was Shadowrun!
I'm glad we managed to do at least some damage against Barrett. And we got to run, for all the good it did us.
[X] Try doing some physio. You don't actually want to, but you really should. Plenty of painkillers around once you can't go on any more.
Physical therapy is awful. The only thing worse is the consequences of not doing PT. Then we can take the good drugs and collapse into an exhausted coma for a few hours. (jk we're going to get a phone call right as we go back to sleep).
I would vote for food except for the fact all Jensen eats is nutrition bars and sugar. Bleh. If we had real food somewhere, that'd be a different story.
I'm glad we managed to do at least some damage against Barrett. And we got to run, for all the good it did us.
[X] Try doing some physio. You don't actually want to, but you really should. Plenty of painkillers around once you can't go on any more.
Physical therapy is awful. The only thing worse is the consequences of not doing PT. Then we can take the good drugs and collapse into an exhausted coma for a few hours. (jk we're going to get a phone call right as we go back to sleep).
I would vote for food except for the fact all Jensen eats is nutrition bars and sugar. Bleh. If we had real food somewhere, that'd be a different story.
Revlid
blob of bugs
- Location
- England
[X] Eat. That's what augments need, right? Lots of calories? Might help the ache.
You haul yourself over to the kitchen, almost literally. Even with the stabilizers in your limbs and skull, even with the synthetic bio-feedback, even with the materials as lightweight as they can go while still giving Sarif a military-grade technocratic erection, sometimes walking feels like you're trying to do ballet with tractors for legs. You're lugging around so much metal it'd qualify as a workout, if there was anything left to tone. At this point it's really the metal lugging you around, a glorified wheelchair for the ultimate invalid. You've got the sports car of iron lungs. You're just a chunk of sausage, with cocktail sticks for limbs and a shiny foil wrapper.
The weird phrasing wakes you up. Fuck, maybe you really are hungry. Maudlin distraction briefly subdued with embarrassment, you find yourself staring at the reflective chrome finish of a cupboard.
This is the New You™, after all. The augmentations are part of you, they keep saying. They're not something plugged into your body, they are your body. You need to make them part of your self-image, or you'll never feel comfortable in your own skin. Deadpan joke about not having much skin left, polite chuckle from doctor, no but really we have trained professionals who'll offer only the best of etc etc. One nurse keeps giving you pamphlets. You keep meaning to throw them away, but there are about half a dozen forming a nest in your jacket pocket right now.
Diet was another thing they were big on at the clinic. The augmentations burn through fuel, that's how they explained it. Artificial and natural. You needed to eat often, eat regularly, and eat healthily.
You gingerly swing the cupboard door open, and survey your varied and nutritious stock of groceries.
[-] Sun Bran? Your gums ache at the thought of bran right now.
[-] Magic Gnome? You're pretty sure gnomes are an actual ethnic group in Turkey, or somewhere ending in -stan. You push them to one side.
[-] Crunchy Pirate? Maybe. Oh, these ones are technicolour instead of the usual starch-yellow. You check the back. Apparently they're meant to be gems. Pass.
[-] Augmentchoos? You stare at the grinning kid on the front, telescoping arm looping around the box to dip his spoon into his bowl. Now With MORE Iron!
In the end you decide to just finish off whatever's the least full, and dig your way through several more boxes and satchets aimed at a range of age groups before you find an almost-empty box of Crunch Flakes hiding in the back. You pile one bowl far too high with the world's most enduringly generic cereal, shaking out the powdery dregs like it's some kind of garnish, and use up your last bag of milk before settling in to work your way through the dry, unsoaked outer layers. By the time you strike milk the flakes have lost all crunch, and are more like a glucose-flavoured bowl of soggy newspaper.
This is just how you like your cereal. You have stubbornly insisted on the truth of this fact every day of your life, and you don't plan to stop now.
You haul yourself over to the kitchen, almost literally. Even with the stabilizers in your limbs and skull, even with the synthetic bio-feedback, even with the materials as lightweight as they can go while still giving Sarif a military-grade technocratic erection, sometimes walking feels like you're trying to do ballet with tractors for legs. You're lugging around so much metal it'd qualify as a workout, if there was anything left to tone. At this point it's really the metal lugging you around, a glorified wheelchair for the ultimate invalid. You've got the sports car of iron lungs. You're just a chunk of sausage, with cocktail sticks for limbs and a shiny foil wrapper.
The weird phrasing wakes you up. Fuck, maybe you really are hungry. Maudlin distraction briefly subdued with embarrassment, you find yourself staring at the reflective chrome finish of a cupboard.
This is the New You™, after all. The augmentations are part of you, they keep saying. They're not something plugged into your body, they are your body. You need to make them part of your self-image, or you'll never feel comfortable in your own skin. Deadpan joke about not having much skin left, polite chuckle from doctor, no but really we have trained professionals who'll offer only the best of etc etc. One nurse keeps giving you pamphlets. You keep meaning to throw them away, but there are about half a dozen forming a nest in your jacket pocket right now.
Diet was another thing they were big on at the clinic. The augmentations burn through fuel, that's how they explained it. Artificial and natural. You needed to eat often, eat regularly, and eat healthily.
You gingerly swing the cupboard door open, and survey your varied and nutritious stock of groceries.
[-] Sun Bran? Your gums ache at the thought of bran right now.
[-] Magic Gnome? You're pretty sure gnomes are an actual ethnic group in Turkey, or somewhere ending in -stan. You push them to one side.
[-] Crunchy Pirate? Maybe. Oh, these ones are technicolour instead of the usual starch-yellow. You check the back. Apparently they're meant to be gems. Pass.
[-] Augmentchoos? You stare at the grinning kid on the front, telescoping arm looping around the box to dip his spoon into his bowl. Now With MORE Iron!
In the end you decide to just finish off whatever's the least full, and dig your way through several more boxes and satchets aimed at a range of age groups before you find an almost-empty box of Crunch Flakes hiding in the back. You pile one bowl far too high with the world's most enduringly generic cereal, shaking out the powdery dregs like it's some kind of garnish, and use up your last bag of milk before settling in to work your way through the dry, unsoaked outer layers. By the time you strike milk the flakes have lost all crunch, and are more like a glucose-flavoured bowl of soggy newspaper.
This is just how you like your cereal. You have stubbornly insisted on the truth of this fact every day of your life, and you don't plan to stop now.
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Revlid
blob of bugs
- Location
- England
10pt Nemesis Flaw Acquired
- Location
- va
[X] Try doing some physio. You don't actually want to, but you really should. Plenty of painkillers around once you can't go on any more.
I kept reading physio and it came out in my head as psycho as in from fallout
I kept reading physio and it came out in my head as psycho as in from fallout