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Our Ruin, Our Truth - Prototype Human Weapon Quest

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[X] The Limbo Drive
[X] The Unbecoming Shroud

I'd rather focus on tactical abilities rather than even-more-killy abilities. Our protagonist isn't going to have any trouble with normal combat, and in abnormal combat this combination of evasion and disruption opens us tons of possibilities. Not to mention the thematics of being able to ghost through obstacles both physical and electronic.
 
Gargulec said:
It is people who have never known peace watching helplessly their oxygen deplete, their corpses-soon-to-be throw across the empty firmament.
Click to expand...
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"thrown"?

[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.
[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.
 
Wow, the vote has gotten pretty lopsided. I'll keep it open for a few more hours more at least, though. Who knows.
 
Tallies by block

Uhh... I don't think it worked.

[X] The Ignition Equation
[X] The Unbecoming Shroud
 
[X] The Fury Engine
[X] The Unbecoming Shroud

F@@@ i want eldritch buddy so hard! XD But clarity is good for character development and the Ultimate ECM platform is so gooood.
 
[X] The Ignition Equation:
[X] The Unbecoming Shroud

Why no Limbo buddy? Because there's gotta be cool plot items left for the villian.
 
[x] The Limbo Drive
[x] The Unbecoming Shroud

Reformatting my vote as a block vote since it is what @Gargulec expressly requested. :p

I had not even thought of the way that Unbecoming Shroud jives with the backstory of the prototype having gotten onto the commander's computer, but thinking about it, that makes things even better.
 
[X] The Limbo Drive
[X] The Unbecoming Shroud

Ghost squad
 
With 10 more votes than the next most popular option and no rally in sight, I think I am comfortable with calling the vote for The Limbo Engine/The Unbecoming Shroud now.
 
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03. Prologue III
  • Threadmarks
    • [X] The Limbo Drive
    [X] The Unbecoming Shroud

    With the way the prototype girl approaches the Existential Weapon, it is difficult to see it as anything short of its own living being. She removes it from the case gently, the gossamer fabric flexing towards her, its veins stretching and twisting towards the pale flesh. Its touch on her exposed skin is a kind of an embrace; the lights in her eyes dim, their vivid reds and pinks fading in thick, deep maroon. Olwen slumps back onto a pile of crates; she stares in reverent silence, body tense.

    Boss, her datalink buzzes. It's Red – at least she is alive, even if she's not bringing in the good news. We're running out of options. Please tell me you have a plan.

    She looks back at her plan. White sparks arc from the golden threads embedded into the prototype girl, reaching out to the fabric of the suit. It no longer behaves as anything remotely of this world. It sticks to her, oozing alongside her skin in thin, wring trails, leaving behind a matted, dark surface. The armory's faint light vanishes into this strange weave. The prototype girl ushers it forward, with gentle sweeps of her palms stretching the viscous matter all over her body. Her chest heaves and shivers; her eyes are shut, face hard with focus.

    Just last a little bit longer, Olwen types. The message goes through, and as it does, the datalink's little glass display starts to flicker. Black static falls like snow across the screen. The lamps above blink slowly, going in and out in an uneven rhythm. A pressure builds in the King's Counsel's ears; air flows sluggishly into her lungs. What she sees in front of her is transfixing, and terrifying. She wonders if Yana can see it on her cameras. She wonders if the vice-admiral is afraid, too.

    The prototype girl goes abruptly stiff, half-covered in the Existential Weapon, its tendrils slashed across her like spilled ink. The voices on the other side of the door change their tenor; they too must feel that something is coming. The Existential Weapon is here before anyone knows. With a wet snap, it envelops the prototype girl completely. Her back arcs as it bites into her implants; a distorted hiss leaves her mouth as an inhuman crackle. The lights go out. When they are on again, low and dim, she is on her knees, the Existential Weapon rippling across her skin.

    An awful, sharp guilt rakes through Olwen's fear. This must hurt, she thinks, biting down on the stupid are you okay. This must really hurt. And she is putting this girl through this; it's her fault. Even if it is necessary. She glances towards the door, expecting to see a cutter-jet blaze through the thick steel. But that too must be malfunctioning now.

    The rest is a blitz. One more quake goes through the surface of the prototype girl, and when that wave passes, the Existential Weapon is jet-black, streaked over with a web of crisp white veins, pulsing and undulating to the beat of an invisible heart. They are the only thing that remain fully tangible about her, trailing from a porcelain-like masking enclosing her face. A shimmering haze shrouds the rest, the body only barely there. Red eyes stare back at Olwen; their beauty inappropriate and wrong.

    "What do I do?" the prototype girl asks, her voice muffled, words broken by static hiss.

    "If you can disable the station's defense systems," the King's Counsel's face can't show fear, but her voice still wavers. "Then, maybe, we can get out."

    As far as plans go, this one is hardly the best, but what else is she going to say? Kill everything? Could she? Could the Existential Weapon really do it? It's becoming a challenge to breathe; sweat beads on her forehead. The prototype girl gives her a nod, just as slight as the ones before. It's comfortingly hers a reminder that she is still that strange victim of a horrible project. Remembering that, of course, has its own weight.

    The person the King's Counsel has come here to spare from violence turns towards the door, and towards the fearful voices on the other side. Then, she vanishes. For a split-second, there is nothing. Then, the pressure in Olwen's ears pops sharply, right in time for the sound of shots on the other side of the door: a brief cannonade of dry crackles as several shock pistols are discharged at once. And after that, there are screams.

    At first, they are mostly of terror. With her stomach bound into a tight knot and throat completely dry, Olwen picks out individual words from snapping cries. Words like get back or no. But they do not last. Soon, the screams are names, followed by the unmistakable, horrific wails of dying men. Gunfire intensifies, then ceases. Voices crack as vocal cords snap; all other sounds drown in the roar of the massacre. For how quick it is, it feels like it's going to last forever. Yet, the fragile quiet that follows is almost worse. There is no such thing as a good death, she knows that, but what she has unleashed is worse than most. The King's Counsel sits with her head hunched, turning the jammed datalink over in her hands idly. Years ago, she would have been stunned; now she has clarity. Times like these, it doesn't feel like a good replacement. Her eyes rise to the door, almost expecting to see blood pool underneath. None comes. Instead, she can only listen. First to the slaughter, and then to what comes after. Fighting is over quickly. The Existential Weapon has probably moved on. But death itself takes a more leisurely pace. Dull cries continue long after shouts have ended.

    Her datalink comes back to life again; a few messages come bombarding in. They're hesitating. They are pulling back security from the hangar. The station's going haywire. And then, the last one of them: Amanda, what the fuck?

    It's still a risk, but at this point Olwen feels too strung out to hold herself. She tries to call Red; the woman picks up almost immediately, the datalink displaying her cybered-up face against the backdrop of the shuttle's conflict.

    "Amanda," she demands at half-shout, "are you okay? What the fuck is going on?"

    "Red," Olwen stammers, worry suffusing her voice, "are you okay? What about Lynx?"

    "We're fine," Red barks back, still too loud, her biological eye rolling in its socket as if this was the least important thing to ask about. "Lynx threatened to detonate the ship if they tried to breach it. Gave them pause. And then something," she furrows her brow, "called them back before they called our bluff. Again, what the fuck is going on."

    "The Existential Weapon," the King's Counsel admits, ashamed. She still hears the agonal moans outside.

    "Good start on preventing its use, huh?" she shakes her head, but Olwen doesn't pick on any genuine accusation in her voice. "Well, that would explain the comm chatter I'm getting. It's not pretty. Is it on our side?"

    The creeping realization that Olwen gets, like an insect slithering up her spine, that maybe there is no exaggeration in the name of the Existential Weapon. That maybe it is not just military bluster meant to pad out the already bloated skunkworks budget. Of all the things she is worried about right now – and they are many – the prototype girl is not one. Memories of elaborate security measures she's read about come back to her. Equip the prototypes with exploding implants. Inject them with slow-acting poisons and store antidotes off-station; maybe it wasn't only idle cruelty, but the only way they could conceive of controlling those…

    She tries very hard not to finish the thought on things.

    "I've sent her to disable the defense systems. You should be able to take off soon. Alert the high command."

    "Lynx already did," Red shrugs, "after that bomb stunt. There really wasn't that much point in trying to pass as unthreatening afterwards."

    "So help is on the way."

    "Maybe," Red mumbles again, profoundly unconvinced. She opens her mouth to speak again, but stops, staring at something off-screen, her cyber-eye going into a steady blink. "Wait," she utters, voice raising a pitch. "Shit. I think that this weapon of yours has just done something, the defense grid is dying, and…"

    As if in response, the station's emergency sirens blare to life all at once, interrupting the conversation with a flood of a cold, robotic voice bringing bad news.

    "ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL," it announces with a dispassionate urgency. "PROJECT SOPHIA HAS BEEN COMPROMISED. IMMEDIATELY PROCEED TO DESIGNATED EVACUATION ZONES, AND PREPARE TO ABANDON STATION. DO NOT ENGAGE THE EXISTENTIAL WEAPON. THE ESCHATON PROTOCOL IS NOW IN EFFECT. REPEAT. THE ESCHATON PROTOCOL IS NOW IN EFFECT."

    There is only a limited amount of adrenaline and fear that Olwen's body can process at once; the information moves through her brain, and though it means they are all probably going to die in nuclear fire, she notices that this awareness does little to make her feel any more tense than she already is. She has found her limits. All the shame, the guilt, the frustration recedes, leaving behind only the bare clarity of fighting to come up with a way not to die. Everything else can wait until later, if there is ever going to be a later. Her fingers curl around her cane, knuckles going white.

    "Is this what I think it is?" Red dropping into this very deliberate kind of calmness that masks sheer panic.

    Olwen nods wordlessly. Of course Yana, that spiteful warmongering bitch, would rather go for the big red button than pull out gracefully. She inhales, staring at the door; if only she could contact that prototype girl, redirect her to the Station's central control. But no. The Existential Weapon is loose, and Project Sophia's ultimate safeguard is in effect: a thermonuclear device, to bury the failed experiment, and all the sins that went into making it errant. Fortunately, she has the override codes. Unfortunately, they are not good for anything from where she is.

    "I-" she stops, gathers strength before speaking again, "maybe I can shut it down," she mouths, struggling to her feet. "I think. Can you…" her voice hangs for a moment, "can you delay the evacuation?"

    Red's face goes still; she knows what that risk is.

    "Fuck you," she whispers, without heat. She allows herself a moment of silence. "How much time do you need?"

    King's Counsel brings up the station's map on her device, tries to plot out a route from the armory to the command center. It's not that far, if no one stops her. And if someone stops her, she is probably dead. Maybe the prototype has been thorough in its slaughter. Maybe there is a chance.

    "Great," Red purses her lips. "Fuck you," she repeats, not a swear, but a prayer. "Love it when that happens, Amanda. Red, out."

    The datalink goes dead. After a second, it buzzes again: see you on the other side. Olwen breathes out, feeling her bad leg shake. Another burst of hurry will hurt, bad, but that is the least of her worries. She trundles towards the door, and unlocks it, half-expecting to come face-to-face with a barrel of a gun on the other side. Instead, she only finds the aftermath.

    Mangled bodies of the station's security line the corridor outside; their blood joins scorch marks in painting the walls into abstract patterns. Not everything is in one piece, most of anything is not where it should be. The fetid stench of blood, urine, and shit chokes the air; the moans of the dying disappear under the wailing of the alarm sirens. It is another of the sights that Olwen will never allow herself to forget. Even as she hurries past it, her memory etches it into the collection of her stills from the war, from the crowds torn apart by fragmentation explosives, from blue bodies drifting bloated in space, from…

    "Help," someone begs; she stops by that young woman, leans in, picks up her slick shock pistol. It's still fully loaded; she hadn't managed to fire a shot before the Existential Weapon spread her guts across the width of the corridor. "Help," the girl cries. She is no older than the ensign Olwen left in the armory. "It hurts…"

    The sirens blare; Olwen moves on, and tries not to think. Her feet track blood. The command center is not far; the prototype girl somewhere out there. The time is short.

    Article:
    For all of its capacity to slaughter men like cattle, the Existential Weapon is not ready for deployment. Further into the station, its assault has run into the issues preventing it from being a fully viable weapon. The consequences of what those issues are may or may not affect Olwen immediately, but they will continue to haunt this story moving forward. Perhaps that is how it must be: what is out of this world does not belong in it.

    These are the potential flaws of the Existential Weapon. Pick two.     This is a block vote:

    [ ] Nemesis, Incarnate

    The voice that she hears, the one thing guiding her in the silence of her unbecoming? It is getting closer. Shifting in and out of the limbo, she opens a path for it to emerge bodily into the living world. It wants to find her.

    [ ] Malice of Made Things

    The Shroud does not take control of machines. It poisons them, injects them with malicious code, a digital poltergeist that holds the world in contempt. It wants chaos, and it wants destruction. Before it burns out, it will hurt whatever it can.

    [ ] Our Other Home

    The limbo into which the girl shifts is not an empty void. Her jaunts instead are a travel through a decaying ruin of the world, a reflection of its ultimate descent into ruin. Though it will never bar her way, it is far from safe, both physically and mentally.

    [ ] Doomed Sisters

    From the blood she spills, from the shadows she trails, from the limbo she trespasses, the Existential Weapon calls forth imperfect copies of itself, short-lived simulacra that wither within moments, but not before having a chance to hurt others, or the girl herself.

    [ ] The Consequence

    The Existential Weapon is a violation, and the consequences of its presence are not easily removed. The effects of the Unbecoming Shroud persist for a long time after the Weapon is deactivated; its continued presence in any given place brings it permanently closer to the limbo, haunting the living world.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • [X] Nemesis, Incarnate
    [X] Doomed Sisters

    She's so afraid of being alone. Why not help?
     
    [X] Our Other Home
    [X] The Consequence

    The combination of these two mean rather than creating areas of void, instead they will be areas of permanent... elsewhere-ness. Which I think sounds quite fascinating.
     
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