Our Ruin, Our Truth - Prototype Human Weapon Quest
- Thread starter Gargulec
- Start date
- Original Sci-Fi
I will do a handcounted tally for which options are winning.
...molten silver: 8
...luminescent red: 8
...neon blue and pink: 7
Incapacitation for Duty From Drunkenness: 6
Unauthorized Use of Government Computer: 15
Reckless Endangerment of Government Property: 2
Stealth Pun
It looks like the winner for why she is in confinement is clear for now, but things can change, there is still time.
...molten silver: 8
...luminescent red: 8
...neon blue and pink: 7
Incapacitation for Duty From Drunkenness: 6
Unauthorized Use of Government Computer: 15
Reckless Endangerment of Government Property: 2
Stealth Pun
It looks like the winner for why she is in confinement is clear for now, but things can change, there is still time.
WanderingTwix
Posting something good once in a full moon
- Location
- United Kingdom
Guys, we need to perfectly tie the colour vote so that we unlock the secret rainbow/kaleidoscope eyes option! 
- Location
- Nova Scotia
- Pronouns
- She/Her
This forum has an auto tally feature, you can use it too, it's under "thread tools" at the top of the page.
I know, but if i do that i can't do the pun i did.
[X]...luminescent red.
[X] Unauthorized Use of Government Computer
We are playing as Rei Ayanami, who is on Space Tinder.
All is right with the world.
[X] Unauthorized Use of Government Computer
We are playing as Rei Ayanami, who is on Space Tinder.
All is right with the world.
[x]...luminescent red.
[x] Unauthorized Use of Government Computer
[x] Unauthorized Use of Government Computer
02. Prologue II
Gargulec
impact!
- Location
- a garden
[x]...luminescent red.
[x] Unauthorized Use of Government Computer
[x] Unauthorized Use of Government Computer
"You put her in solitary over what?"
The words come out of Olwen's crooked mouth like the crack of a whip, carrying enough force to make the ensign flinch. More yet builds up on the tip of the King's Counsel's tongue, but she bites down on them, and on the burning fury too. How young was that officer when the war began? Five? What does she know of a world that is not obedience and hierarchy? Olwen releases the air from her lungs in a quiet sigh.
"Open the cell."
"Yes, ma'am," pale, the ensign rushes to the door, punches in a code. The light on the lock turns green; the massive slab of steel swings open without a sound.
Old memories wriggle in the back of Olwen's mind as she steps inside; the staleness of the air, the blinding light. She pushes them aside. It's not about her this time. The girl inside does not immediately react to her approach; she sits statue-still, back ever so slightly hunched. Close to her, the King's Counsel curses her busted knee; she would prefer to kneel down, not tower over her. Still, she summons her softest voice.
"Hey," she whispers. "My name is Amanda Olwen. I'm here to help."
Finally, the prototype girl seems to notice; she raises her head and opens her eyes. Against herself, Olwen gasps. "Luminescent red" is what they have written in the reports, and the words seem small and flat compared to what she faces. Shades of red and pink swirl in the irises, from rose to crimson, from coral to cinnabar. Where they flow into each other, the currents of the gyre come alight with an inner glow, ever fading, ever returning. There is a part of Olwen that could admire this for hours; amidst all that atrocity, beauty, and a reminder of her work's real stake.
"You're being transferred," she continues. "I'm getting you off-station."
Briefly, a foolish hope grips her heart that she will see a gratitude well up in those eyes, and a depth of relief. All she finds is exhaustion; and why should there be anything else? Her datalink buzzes again, incessant, but she really can't be distracted right now. Carefully, she extends an open hand; the prototype girl stares at it, expression blank. It's difficult not to wonder whether they have tortured her like that, offering a false saviour to dash the hopes of escape. Maybe that was a part of that they have called conditioning? However far-fetched, she can't discount the possibility. Or maybe it is even worse. What if "the prototype" has never been approached like that, like a human being? Does she even know what this gesture is supposed to mean?
"Am I free?"
The question is a knife; it slices through Olwen's saviour fantasies. She came to this station for a reason; with a great effort of will, she does not look away. The guilt still follows.
"I'm going to take you somewhere safe," she says, perhaps overly sheepishly. "You are not going to be hurt again. And no one will hurt you for trying to find a date."
The familiar, ugly fear rears its head: how do her words come off, spoken through that rictus grin, spoken from the position of authority to someone who has nothing? But the red eyes reflect no disappointment, and no relief; the more Olwen looks into them, the less she sees.
"I see," the prototype girl says without moving her head; her tone is dull and distant. Yet, she closes her hand over Olwen's. The King's Counsel feels her heart skip a beat; she tightens her own hold, helps her up. The fingers are cold to touch; there is a hint of a static buzz building under the pale skin.
When they step out, the datalink rings again, and this time Olwen can no longer justify ignoring it. Without releasing the hold on the prototype girl's hand, she checks the communicator. Her heart skips a beat again; this time for a good reason. Boss, a secure channel communique announces, we may have trouble. There is also a video feed to go with it, displayed from a drone hidden in the ceiling of one of the hangar decks. One of Red's, no doubt, operated quietly from the Commission's shuttle visible below. But now a different craft sits next to it: a large, blocky military transport, the star-in-crown insignia of the famed 2nd Deep Space Fleet prominently displayed on its bulky armor. This alone is bad news. The person standing in front, surrounded by an honour guard of naval commandos, is far worse. The fact that she is currently deep in conversation with Colonel Raad is probably catastrophical.
It is not hard to recognize her, with her crisp blue uniform and short salt-and-pepper hair: it's Vice Admiral Askalon Yana, the Wolf of the Belt herself. Olwen doesn't have to see the woman's angular, androgynously handsome face to imagine it; untold propaganda works have intimately familiarized her, and most of the kingdom, with its image. From the cities of the Home Moon to the remotest observation posts and asteroid mining rigs, it would be a challenge to find someone unfamiliar with her, and her countless exploits. It was her daring command during the Main Belt Offensive three years ago that broke the thrust of the Republican attack and saved the Home Moon from coming in range of direct orbital bombardment. Of the few victories won by the Kingdom over the last three years, fewer still were won without her involvement. For the kingdom, she was not just a war hero; she was the face of victory's hope.
Victory. The word has a bitter ring for Olwen. What do people picture when they hear it? A military parade through the fortress-cities of the Second Moon, the arrogant Republicans finally brought to heel? A moment of pride, and triumph? For her, it is fifteen thousand dead in an instant when a railgun shell shatters through the habitat's dome. It is people who have never known peace watching helplessly their oxygen deplete, their corpses-soon-to-be thrown across the empty firmament. It is every small kindness of the world ploughed over with an iron plow, mercy weeded out to let the victory's bitter crop grow.
That victory is also something that Yana believes herself eminently capable of achieving. Against all odds, and in spite of enemies, within and without. The former, it seems, worry her more. She reacted to the news of the old king's abdication and his enthroned brother's suing for peace with a famous speech deriding the people of the kingdom for their "fear of triumph". Ever since, she's been toeing the line of direct insubordination, barely hiding her contempt for the armistice and its architects. When others called her a warmonger, she called herself a patriot. And so, the question increasingly became not whether she was going to rebel, but when, and how.
Considering the fact that Olwen has not been forewarned of this visit, and especially that Yana was supposed to currently be on a medical leave on the Home Moon, the King's Counsel takes a kind of bitter satisfaction in finally finding an answer: here and now. The likely scenarios quickly unfold in her head. If it is a trap, she and her team are already dead. Of all the people in the Kingdom's military, Yana is not one to ever forgive the King's Counsel for leaking the Atrocity Dossier. She will be lucky to only catch a bullet to the head. But if it is just an awful coincidence, and not a fully-blown conspiracy, she can see a way out that she can navigate. She looks at the prototype girl, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. She doesn't mouth the sorry. There will be time for that later, if there will be a later at all.
"Take us to the armory again," she says to the ensign, hoping against hope that the young woman is not involved in whatever plot is currently being drawn on the hangar deck. "We need to retrieve the other component of the prototype."
The stifled "yes, ma'am" that follows is some of the sweetest things that Olwen has heard in a while. As they make their way – quickly, but avoiding a suspicious rush – to that chamber, she keeps one hand on the prototype girl, the other quickly thumbing a series of commands. Prioritize your safety is the first one. Keep me updated is the second. If only she could call in reinforcements right now, maybe alert the High Command. But the station is remote, and there is no way to beam those warnings out without being noticed and likely shot to pieces. Yana, of course, must be aware of this; whatever she is here to accomplish, it will be done long before the actual patriots take notice. Especially with Colonel Raad turned to her side; considering the way he spoke to Olwen, he probably jumped at the opportunity.
They are leaving the hangar, Red reports, her tiny drone following after the armed column. Olwen keeps glancing at the ensign; for now, the youth appears as clueless as one can only be. The armory isn't far. What about the other guards? They pass by them with idle curiosity; the King's Counsel feels their eyes on her. But they are not being stopped just yet. So, in all likelihood, not a conspiracy. Makes sense: Yana's communications are closely monitored; she shouldn't have been able to reach Project Sophia remotely. The air around Olwen feels thick, heavy; it's not fear, she is just having trouble breathing. The vice admiral's sudden arrival, then, must be a gambit, a bold attempt to seize an opportunity.
"Gods of my ancestors," she mouths without a sound, trying to not crush the prototype girl's hand in a worried grip, "whose names I have forgotten, and whose prayers I have never learned, please, guard us. Please, grant us mercy."
The doors to the armory slide open, just as Olwen's datalink rings again. The security is going on alert. They are surrounding the shuttle, Red conveys. Survival first, she responds, stepping into the dimly-lit room, and giving one more empty prayer, begging whatever is out there from security personnel bored enough to amuse themselves with summary execution. Maybe the King's own insignia on the shuttle will give them some pause.
The ensign is close behind her, crossing the threshold; the doors close with a rustle. Olwen still holds onto the prototype girl; notices her head turn towards the cases, where the kingdom's most powerful, untested weapons hang loosely suspended in anti-grav.
"Ma'am?" the ensign asks, a hint of concern in her voice. "Is everything alright? You seem very tense."
"Oh, it shows?" she replies, shaking her head; she shifts her grip on the cane, hoping that the young officer doesn't notice the slight crackle of a building stun charge. The datalink is quiet. For a brief moment that feels like an eternity, nothing happens.
And then, finally, the station's PA systems crackle to life. The voice they carry is firm, well used to issuing both commands and challenges. And there is not a single soul here that does not immediately recognize it.
"Attention all personnel. This is Vice Admiral Askalon Yana. For reasons of national survival, I am temporarily assuming command over the station."
The ensign's mistake, if it can be called that, is that moment of star-struckness when the war-hero's voice rings in her ears and she lifts her attention from Olwen, listening raptly. The King's Counsel jabs the top of her cane hard into the woman's stomach, the shock panel explodes in a blinding blue flash, cutting a scream short. The awful stretch of burnt flesh fills the armory as the ensing crumples to the floor, a thin trail of acrid smoke rising from where the force of the shock fused the synthetic uniform to carbonized skin beneath. Olwen tries not to retch; the woman will live. She turns to face the prototype girl, her hand slipped from her grip in the commotion. Again, she only stares, wide-eyed, tired-faced, silent. Even now, the King's Counsel can't help but to wonder what really is going on behind those red swirls of her eyes. Sadly, time is too short to consider this at length.
"I come here not to disrupt your work," Yana continues over the loudspeakers, amazingly firm and confident, "but to preserve it. It pains me to say it, but we must not shy away from the truth, no matter how repulsive: our leaders have betrayed you. Have betrayed us!"
The override codes to the station's security system that Olwen has requested still work, thankfully. The lock on the door turns cherry-red. It will probably take a plasma cutter for the seditionists to get through; so they have a moment. Now comes the awful part. She turns to the prototype girl, and the suits behind her.
"We have shed rivers of blood and buried a thousand comrades. Through storms of steel, we have endured on our posts without a word of protest, and for what? So that they can trade it all away for comfort and complacency?"
It's such a well-delivered speech; the word's don't even matter much, it is all about the ringing indignation, honest anger, hard-won camaraderie. Yana speaks from her heart, horrid as it is. Olwen keys in the override codes; they work again. The cases open; the suits are within touch now. Their filament-thin surfaces waver across invisible currents of reprocessed air.
"There can be no peace without honour, and no honour without victory. And victory we shall have, with the weapons you forged. I come for them, and for you, so that you finish the work of your lives. For victory! For the true King!"
The prototype girl's glowing eyes move from Olwen to the suits. They all look so similar, drab shreds of synthetic fabric. But this appearance is deceitful; she knows how different they will look once activated. There is still nothing on her datalink, but she can't grieve right now. She can't allow herself to be afraid. She can't even accept the guilt for what she is about to do.
"And to the traitor come to poison our triumph," the PA booms again, and an awful chill runs down Olwen's back. "We see you, little rat. Remember: space is cold, and justice, patient."
So Yana wants to take her alive, and space her. She has always been a bit of a traditionalist. That is, in a way, good news. They won't just fill the armory with toxic gas. That would be too impersonal for the Vice Admiral. Her mistake. Olwen breathes out.
"Are you really a traitor?" the prototype girl asks suddenly, and it occurs to the King's Counsel, perhaps too late, that there is a good chance that Project Sophia managed to successfully indoctrinate the girl over the years. Even with all the torture; especially with it, maybe. But if that is the case, Olwen is dead anyway, so there is no point in worrying too much.
"Only in the eyes of those who would hurt you," she replies. It's true, though she doesn't add and all the people who think that revealing the crimes of the military was some grand act of sabotage. "Do you know what will happen if they get me?"
The prototype girl nods, almost imperceptibly.
"They will take you to their war," it's shocking how calm she manages to sound, especially considering what she is about to do, "and you will never know what it means to be loved."
Her face is blank, but she listens attentively. There is some kind of a commotion outside of the armory. Olwen ignores it.
"If you ever want to feel a friendly touch on your skin," she continues, unwavering, "and to have sweet names whispered into your ear, if you want to ever grow sick with desire, you must help me make it out."
Someone beyond the door is shouting something about blowing the doors up; someone else shouts too, reminding him that this is a space station. The prototype girl leans towards Olwen; hunger glints in her eyes.
"You want me to wear the Existential Weapon," the name is heavy on her voice, and when she speaks, finally there is some shadow of emotion to her. If only the King's Counsel could tell what emotion, precisely. Disappointment? A hint of an accusation? Resignation? Maybe reverence? The prototype girl is a clouded mirror. "You want me to kill for you."
"Not for me," she shakes her head, and it almost isn't a lie. "For yourself. For a chance to not be lonely."
Again, the prototype girl nods. She steps closer to the cases, one of the suits twitches as if shot through with an electric current. As she touches its surface with the tips of her fingers, the fabric coils around her wrist like a living thing.
"For a chance to not be lonely," she repeats, resolute.
Article: The Existential Weapon is a startling piece of technology that operates well beyond the established laws of war, and physics. Once integrated with its biological component, it becomes an environmentally-sealed engine of destruction capable of operating in most circumstances.
By default, it comes equipped with palm-mounted short-range pulse lasers, extendable mono-filament cutting surfaces, and a simple radio-optical camouflage package. It is also highly resistant to small-arms fire, fire, electricity and other common battlefield dangers.
Furthermore, it comes with several more exotic features:
[x] The Entropy Inverter: The power source of the Existential Weapon is nothing short of miraculous; as long as the biological component is present, the suit will never run out of power, and will actively repair minor damage suffered. Its endurance in the field is limited only by the state of the biological component. The exact principles behind the Entropy Inverter are not well understood even by the people who designed it; by all accounts the technology is a singular black box that will never be replicated at a larger scale.
Pick two. This is a block vote!
[ ] The Limbo Drive:The Existential Weapon is capable of briefly dematerializing by shifting into an alternate matter state which, for all intents and purposes, does not exist. While in this state, the suit is fully impregnable to harm and able to move through solid obstacles.
Side effect: Something lives in the space between seconds. It speaks to her, sometimes. It wants to help. It does not belong.
[ ] The Tempered Will: The Existential Weapon's cutting surfaces are capable of detaching and operating independently at range, held aloft and manipulated at range. The biological component finds that it can utilize several such surfaces at once without significant decrease in focus. If destroyed, the blades regenerate after a short while.
Side effect: What does it mean to put your consciousness into an animate blade, and feel it tear through flesh and reality? She cuts with her mind; it's the intimacy of violence.
[ ] The Ignition Equation:The Existential Weapon is able to generate and exert precise control over heat and flame, from creating spontaneous bursts of flame to projecting white-hot cutting jets. With sufficient focus, fires may be started anywhere in range, up and including inside other bodies. The suit is fully immune to heat.
Side effect: There is a spark inside everything; she can feel it. It is the fragility of the made world: what exists today, tomorrow will be fire.
[ ] The Fury Engine: Microscopic needles line the inside of the suit, integrating even more closely with the biological component. In combat situations, they flood it with a mix of potent, experimental performance-enhancing drugs that eliminate fear and provide incredible strength and endurance, far in excess of what a body should be able to do.
Side effect: It's not an artificial rage. It's clarity. It's lifting the haze of doubt from her thoughts, and laying the truth of the world bare before her. Of course she frenzies.
[ ] The Unbecoming Shroud: Integrated with the biological component, the Existential Weapon emits a disruptive field scrambling electronics around it. At range, it makes the suit invisible to sensors; up close, it makes technology malfunction and glitch out in spectacular ways. With direct touch, it can infect it and seize control of it before ultimately burning it out.
Side effect: Shielded from networks, from the digital eye, she is truly alone, and truly free. No algorithm can contain the full extent of her; models describing her fail.
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[x] The Limbo Drive:The Existential Weapon is capable of briefly dematerializing by shifting into an alternate matter state which, for all intents and purposes, does not exist. While in this state, the suit is fully impregnable to harm and able to move through solid obstacles.
Side effect: Something lives in the space between seconds. It speaks to her, sometimes. It wants to help. It does not belong.
ELDRITCH FRIEND!!
ELDRITCH FRIEND!!!
gonna start a love triangle with nyarlahotep
[x] The Unbecoming Shroud: Integrated with the biological component, the Existential Weapon emits a disruptive field scrambling electronics around it. At range, it makes the suit invisible to sensors; up close, it makes technology malfunction and glitch out in spectacular ways. With direct touch, it can infect it and seize control of it before ultimately burning it out.
Side effect: Shielded from networks, from the digital eye, she is truly alone, and truly free. No algorithm can contain the full extent of her; models describing her fail.
this is really neat and has good synergy with THE LIMBO DRIVE I think
we are unknowable, untrappable, a ghost
Also I think this is legitimately the most potent mix of abilities - for whatever that's worth - being able to cut some people up with anime bullshit is like, yeah, cool, but this means we can basically teleport into the computer core of a command carrier, and tell it to fire on its own escorts then trigger a reactor breach.
Side effect: Something lives in the space between seconds. It speaks to her, sometimes. It wants to help. It does not belong.
ELDRITCH FRIEND!!
ELDRITCH FRIEND!!!
gonna start a love triangle with nyarlahotep
[x] The Unbecoming Shroud: Integrated with the biological component, the Existential Weapon emits a disruptive field scrambling electronics around it. At range, it makes the suit invisible to sensors; up close, it makes technology malfunction and glitch out in spectacular ways. With direct touch, it can infect it and seize control of it before ultimately burning it out.
Side effect: Shielded from networks, from the digital eye, she is truly alone, and truly free. No algorithm can contain the full extent of her; models describing her fail.
this is really neat and has good synergy with THE LIMBO DRIVE I think
we are unknowable, untrappable, a ghost
Also I think this is legitimately the most potent mix of abilities - for whatever that's worth - being able to cut some people up with anime bullshit is like, yeah, cool, but this means we can basically teleport into the computer core of a command carrier, and tell it to fire on its own escorts then trigger a reactor breach.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[x] The Limbo Drive
[x] The Unbecoming Shroud
What is it that speaks to her? Whatever it is, it is the only thing. Electronics and technology do not constrain her, do not even function around her.
But something does.
A ghost is not to be feared, for it cannot touch. But a human akin to a ghost, with all its inability to be constrained, and with all of humanity's drives and needs to push it to... ah, such things are unthinkable, are they not? But it could win a war.
[x] The Unbecoming Shroud
What is it that speaks to her? Whatever it is, it is the only thing. Electronics and technology do not constrain her, do not even function around her.
But something does.
A ghost is not to be feared, for it cannot touch. But a human akin to a ghost, with all its inability to be constrained, and with all of humanity's drives and needs to push it to... ah, such things are unthinkable, are they not? But it could win a war.
- Location
- Somewhere!
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The warframe part of this!
[X] The Fury Engine
[x] The Unbecoming Shroud
I did always like Valkyr, and the total stealth is too tempting to pass up.
[X] The Fury Engine
[x] The Unbecoming Shroud
I did always like Valkyr, and the total stealth is too tempting to pass up.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] The Limbo Drive:
[X] The Ignition Equation:
Become the eldritch abomination touching on our fragile reality.
[X] The Ignition Equation:
Become the eldritch abomination touching on our fragile reality.
[X] The Limbo Drive
Potential Eldritch Friend! or maybe Girl/Boy/WhateverFriend?
[X] The Unbecoming Shroud
I was torn between this and Unlimited Blade Works with potential to become xianxia "I am the sword so i can cut whatever i want by thinking about it" bullshit, but then i read the ghost thingy and noticed the irony of being confined because she used a computer to do something she wasn't allowed to, and getting the power to control computers but for a limited time that once it ends renders the computer useless, and getting the ability to be truly alone after trying to find love.
Yes, i like Worm.
Potential Eldritch Friend! or maybe Girl/Boy/WhateverFriend?
[X] The Unbecoming Shroud
I was torn between this and Unlimited Blade Works with potential to become xianxia "I am the sword so i can cut whatever i want by thinking about it" bullshit, but then i read the ghost thingy and noticed the irony of being confined because she used a computer to do something she wasn't allowed to, and getting the power to control computers but for a limited time that once it ends renders the computer useless, and getting the ability to be truly alone after trying to find love.
Yes, i like Worm.