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I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
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- He/They
Waltzing in a Mechsuit: a Sci-fi Mercenary Quest
- Thread starter I.F. Ister
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Rethinking Life, Saving the Girl, and Consequences
I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
- Pronouns
- He/They
POV: Jasin Smitty
Jasin Smitty was a young man who had fallen in with the wrong crowd. He was also a young man who was regretting all the choices leading up to this point.
He was in that Corsair's sights, his sensors screaming him his funeral dirge. There was no way to escape what was coming, not with a crippled Lancer. And maybe not even with a fully capable Lancer.
There was nothing he could do, nothing but regret.
Maybe, maybe if he had a second chance he'd do it all differently.
But that's not to come, the universe had weighed him and found him wanting. The method of execution at the wrong end of a laser rifle's cruel beams.
He closed his eyes, waiting for death to take him.
One beat. Nothing happened.
Two beats. Still nothing happened.
Three beats. And still nothing happened.
He cracked his eyes open to see that everything was still there, as it should be. He glanced down to his sensors, which had stopped their sorrowful screeching. Nothing, nothing at all. That Corsair let him live. Why? He can't say, all he knows is that the pirate life doesn't seem to be for him.
And who knows, maybe that Corsair could use a teammate...
(Potential Recruit Gained: Jasin Smitty, an ex-pirate)
~~~~~~~
Margarat's Thunder is already turning to face the Footsoldier, Autocannon prefiring as she swung it up.
But she wasn't fast enough. She wasn't going to make it in time.
(Combat Roll DC 60/110: 75+40=115, Double Success!)
But you could. And you do.
Your laser rifle swings up, barrel glowing red hot as you pull the trigger a microsecond before the Footsoldier.
A crimson beam ignites into existence, falling directly into the purple energy expanding in the plasma bazooka.
A heartbeat, two of them pass as everybody stares at the plasma bazooka.
The Footsoldier reacts first, throwing the bazooka with all its might. But just as it left it's hands, the Autocannon's shells slammed into it.
Two explosions light up your vision, your optics automatically darkening to avoid eye damage. One the purple light of the plasma bazooka cooking off in a display of power. The other is a more traditional orangey-blue of a power cell undergoing meltdown.
The explosions eradicate the nearby asteroids as you're thrown back, your armor plating scorched heavily by the heat, dented in places by the force of the shrapnel.
Margarat didn't fare much better, coming out of it with a missing left arm, the shield nowhere to be seen. Her armor's in much the same condition as yours, looking like a well-used grill.
You key your comms, breathing heavily as you collect yourself. "You still kicking?"
<Y-yeah.> You hear coughing on the mic. <By De's gnarled fucking horns that was a close one.> She breathes in deep, collecting herself. <Thanks, you, uh, you saved my life there. I'll be sure to pay you back.>
"Don't mention it. If we get outta here you can buy me a drink." You reply as you refocus on your next objective: the David's Horn. "Ship needs our help. You still combat capable?"
<I am, though my machine's a different story…> She trails off. <I need to get something faster than the Thunder.>
<Hey, y'all still alive out there? We're not gonna be if you don't get your asses ove-> The communications officer suddenly cuts off, a burst of static in his place.
"Aw shit." You curse as you accelerate, picking up speed as you travel back towards the David's Horn.
<I'll hold down the fort here!> Margaret calls out after you.
(Margarat gained +3 Opinion, she now considers you a friend)
~~~~~~~
(Ship Combat Roll DC 65: 85, success)
You fly at high speeds, approaching the edge of the asteroid cluster, where the Horn had been left. Thrusters flaring, you slow down to a halt as the David's Horn, or the remnants at least, come into view.
It's been split in half through massed gunfire rather than a large laser beam. Fragments of metal float off, propelled by the momentum from the blast. Jagged, razor sharp edges, scorched and warped metal paneling, fire cheerily burning away on the exposed decks, all this and more greet you as you lay eyes on the ship.
The wreck of the David's Horn wasn't alone, of course, it had managed to shoot out the engines of the larger pirate vessel, which was now drifting lifelessly in space.
The ship was painted a bright, baby blue, now long since faded by cosmic radiation, with red racing stripes trailing along the side. It was a small, boxy thing, with two big engines on each side, jutting out like wings. Three external launch bays, bolted on the top, front, and bottom, cover the ship. It seems to have been abandoned, with the crew, presumably, leaving on the other pirate ship.
In the distance you can see the other, larger pirate vessel choosing to cut and run, pink engine fires burning away as it leaves the area. You reckon that they weren't expecting a pair of pilots of your and Margarat's caliber to be here, and losing their MBF forces means that taking the cruiser for themselves is just about impossible.
However, just because the Horn's gone doesn't mean that everyone on it is dead. Floating amongst the debris are a trio of lifeboats, which you hope are filled with life.
With trepidation, even if you haven't known Janna for long, you would rather she not be dead, you key your comms. What feels like an eternity passes before…
(Survival Roll DC 40, 60, 80: 100!, man the rolls as of late have been wild)
All three ping back, safe and sound. You breathe a sigh of relief, slumping back in your chair, and letting the cool caress of zero-gee soothe your body's tensed muscles.
That is, until an irate woman busts her way into your communications.
<Well well well, look who finally decided to show up!> Janna, reasonably upset with you, berates as her ruffled visage appears onscreen.
<Leave him be, I'm sure that he got here as fast as he could.> Charles keyed in, nursing a head wound. He turns to you, a weary expression etched deep into his mein. The wrinkles crisscrossing his face seem darker and deeper than ever. <Captain's out cold, bridge got hit by a missile, killed most of the bridge crew. I got her outta there but it was close.> He gestures to his own wound. <These pods' life support systems'll last for a few days, though it won't be pretty. We're gonna have to find somewhere else if we're gonna be stuck here longer.>
You think it over, considering your options. "What do you reckon?"
<That cruiser's life support works, right? As does that there pirate.> He inclines his head in the general direction of each ship.
<Though both of their engines are gone.> Janna adds before her brows furrow and her voice trails off. <Though…>
"Any idea's a good idea." You support her, prodding her to continue.
<The engines on the David's Horn still function, for the most part.> She nods to herself, continuing. <We might be able to rig something up using them.>
<We could also hail for help from passerby while we did that.> Charles adds. <What do you think, Sam?>
"I could chase after that pirate ship, though I'm not certain I could catch it." You say, thinking it through. "But I feel…"
-[ ] "That Janna's idea is the best we've got."
-[ ] "That I can catch it if I pushed it."
-[ ] Write in
<Alright, that sounds solid to me.> Charles agrees. <Though where should we transfer the crew?>
-[ ] Transfer surviving crew to the Itari cruiser
-[ ] Transfer surviving crew to the pirate ship
(Janna: -1 Opinion)
~~~~~~~
GM's Note: Wowzas, all in all, that was an eventful update. Votes will be called tomorrow at 4 PM CST.
Q: What's up with the multiple DC's?
A: Sometimes, though not always, a roll could have an outcome that results in a much better outcome than you would have gotten. That's what the multiple DC's represent, something unlikely or improbable occurring if you make them.
Jasin Smitty was a young man who had fallen in with the wrong crowd. He was also a young man who was regretting all the choices leading up to this point.
He was in that Corsair's sights, his sensors screaming him his funeral dirge. There was no way to escape what was coming, not with a crippled Lancer. And maybe not even with a fully capable Lancer.
There was nothing he could do, nothing but regret.
Maybe, maybe if he had a second chance he'd do it all differently.
But that's not to come, the universe had weighed him and found him wanting. The method of execution at the wrong end of a laser rifle's cruel beams.
He closed his eyes, waiting for death to take him.
One beat. Nothing happened.
Two beats. Still nothing happened.
Three beats. And still nothing happened.
He cracked his eyes open to see that everything was still there, as it should be. He glanced down to his sensors, which had stopped their sorrowful screeching. Nothing, nothing at all. That Corsair let him live. Why? He can't say, all he knows is that the pirate life doesn't seem to be for him.
And who knows, maybe that Corsair could use a teammate...
(Potential Recruit Gained: Jasin Smitty, an ex-pirate)
~~~~~~~
Margarat's Thunder is already turning to face the Footsoldier, Autocannon prefiring as she swung it up.
But she wasn't fast enough. She wasn't going to make it in time.
(Combat Roll DC 60/110: 75+40=115, Double Success!)
But you could. And you do.
Your laser rifle swings up, barrel glowing red hot as you pull the trigger a microsecond before the Footsoldier.
A crimson beam ignites into existence, falling directly into the purple energy expanding in the plasma bazooka.
A heartbeat, two of them pass as everybody stares at the plasma bazooka.
The Footsoldier reacts first, throwing the bazooka with all its might. But just as it left it's hands, the Autocannon's shells slammed into it.
Two explosions light up your vision, your optics automatically darkening to avoid eye damage. One the purple light of the plasma bazooka cooking off in a display of power. The other is a more traditional orangey-blue of a power cell undergoing meltdown.
The explosions eradicate the nearby asteroids as you're thrown back, your armor plating scorched heavily by the heat, dented in places by the force of the shrapnel.
Margarat didn't fare much better, coming out of it with a missing left arm, the shield nowhere to be seen. Her armor's in much the same condition as yours, looking like a well-used grill.
You key your comms, breathing heavily as you collect yourself. "You still kicking?"
<Y-yeah.> You hear coughing on the mic. <By De's gnarled fucking horns that was a close one.> She breathes in deep, collecting herself. <Thanks, you, uh, you saved my life there. I'll be sure to pay you back.>
"Don't mention it. If we get outta here you can buy me a drink." You reply as you refocus on your next objective: the David's Horn. "Ship needs our help. You still combat capable?"
<I am, though my machine's a different story…> She trails off. <I need to get something faster than the Thunder.>
<Hey, y'all still alive out there? We're not gonna be if you don't get your asses ove-> The communications officer suddenly cuts off, a burst of static in his place.
"Aw shit." You curse as you accelerate, picking up speed as you travel back towards the David's Horn.
<I'll hold down the fort here!> Margaret calls out after you.
(Margarat gained +3 Opinion, she now considers you a friend)
~~~~~~~
(Ship Combat Roll DC 65: 85, success)
You fly at high speeds, approaching the edge of the asteroid cluster, where the Horn had been left. Thrusters flaring, you slow down to a halt as the David's Horn, or the remnants at least, come into view.
It's been split in half through massed gunfire rather than a large laser beam. Fragments of metal float off, propelled by the momentum from the blast. Jagged, razor sharp edges, scorched and warped metal paneling, fire cheerily burning away on the exposed decks, all this and more greet you as you lay eyes on the ship.
The wreck of the David's Horn wasn't alone, of course, it had managed to shoot out the engines of the larger pirate vessel, which was now drifting lifelessly in space.
The ship was painted a bright, baby blue, now long since faded by cosmic radiation, with red racing stripes trailing along the side. It was a small, boxy thing, with two big engines on each side, jutting out like wings. Three external launch bays, bolted on the top, front, and bottom, cover the ship. It seems to have been abandoned, with the crew, presumably, leaving on the other pirate ship.
In the distance you can see the other, larger pirate vessel choosing to cut and run, pink engine fires burning away as it leaves the area. You reckon that they weren't expecting a pair of pilots of your and Margarat's caliber to be here, and losing their MBF forces means that taking the cruiser for themselves is just about impossible.
However, just because the Horn's gone doesn't mean that everyone on it is dead. Floating amongst the debris are a trio of lifeboats, which you hope are filled with life.
With trepidation, even if you haven't known Janna for long, you would rather she not be dead, you key your comms. What feels like an eternity passes before…
(Survival Roll DC 40, 60, 80: 100!, man the rolls as of late have been wild)
All three ping back, safe and sound. You breathe a sigh of relief, slumping back in your chair, and letting the cool caress of zero-gee soothe your body's tensed muscles.
That is, until an irate woman busts her way into your communications.
<Well well well, look who finally decided to show up!> Janna, reasonably upset with you, berates as her ruffled visage appears onscreen.
<Leave him be, I'm sure that he got here as fast as he could.> Charles keyed in, nursing a head wound. He turns to you, a weary expression etched deep into his mein. The wrinkles crisscrossing his face seem darker and deeper than ever. <Captain's out cold, bridge got hit by a missile, killed most of the bridge crew. I got her outta there but it was close.> He gestures to his own wound. <These pods' life support systems'll last for a few days, though it won't be pretty. We're gonna have to find somewhere else if we're gonna be stuck here longer.>
You think it over, considering your options. "What do you reckon?"
<That cruiser's life support works, right? As does that there pirate.> He inclines his head in the general direction of each ship.
<Though both of their engines are gone.> Janna adds before her brows furrow and her voice trails off. <Though…>
"Any idea's a good idea." You support her, prodding her to continue.
<The engines on the David's Horn still function, for the most part.> She nods to herself, continuing. <We might be able to rig something up using them.>
<We could also hail for help from passerby while we did that.> Charles adds. <What do you think, Sam?>
"I could chase after that pirate ship, though I'm not certain I could catch it." You say, thinking it through. "But I feel…"
-[ ] "That Janna's idea is the best we've got."
-[ ] "That I can catch it if I pushed it."
-[ ] Write in
<Alright, that sounds solid to me.> Charles agrees. <Though where should we transfer the crew?>
-[ ] Transfer surviving crew to the Itari cruiser
-[ ] Transfer surviving crew to the pirate ship
(Janna: -1 Opinion)
~~~~~~~
GM's Note: Wowzas, all in all, that was an eventful update. Votes will be called tomorrow at 4 PM CST.
Q: What's up with the multiple DC's?
A: Sometimes, though not always, a roll could have an outcome that results in a much better outcome than you would have gotten. That's what the multiple DC's represent, something unlikely or improbable occurring if you make them.
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I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
- Pronouns
- He/They
Looting is Serious Business
I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
- Pronouns
- He/They
"I think… that Janna's idea's the best we've got." You finally say after a few moments contemplation. "We'll put the crew on the Itari cruiser for now. While there, can you assess the cruiser for spaceworthiness, Janna? I'll take the sec guys and check out that drifter, see if there's anything we can use on that. After we clear it out, can you assess it as well?"
Janna sets her jaw, nodding as she does. <I'll see what I can do. Though, just from looking at the outsides of 'em, I'm not certain that I can get that cruiser fully operational without a void dock.>
"Just, try your best. I trust you." You lean back with a sigh. Today started so well, now you're in this clusterfuck.
<Will do.> She nods and closes comms, the small engines on the lifeboats igniting.
<I'm not certain that drifter can carry everyone.> Charles adds his two cents. <Well, maybe it can but it would not be fun.>
"Fun's not exactly a luxury we can afford." You reply, feeling tired already.
<I know, I know… be careful out there.> He shakes his head, staring offscreen.
"Will do." And with that, you end the call, turning towards the boat containing the sec crew, who had started suiting up after you gave your instructions.
(Janna: +0.5 Opinion)
~~~~~~~
"Hey, Maggsie." You key your comms as you slowly approach the disabled pirate ship in your damaged machine, security holding onto the hastily bolted on grab bars.
<Yeah?> Her voice comes on, breaking through the static that preceded it. <Ship got fucked?>
"Ship got fucked."
<Dammit!>
"Ain't that the truth." You stare up at the ceiling of your cockpit, only a foot above your head while sitting.
<So what's the plan?> The static surrounding her voice really doesn't lend itself to her high-energy speech, dulling it down by a large degree.
"Gonna put the surviving crew on the cruiser while Janna, my engineer, looks it over." You start going over the plan with her. She's silent for the most part, only speaking up at the end.
<Did the Captain make it?> She asks, a concerned note to her voice.
You hesitate, not sure how she's going to take it, before steeling yourself and going for it. "Yeah, but she's not in a good way..."
There's no response. Her feed cuts out, terminated by her. You stare at it, finger hovering over the call button, before deciding not to. You don't know what to say.
Shaking your head, you return to the goal at hand: the drifting pirate ship.
The pirate ship itself isn't in amazing condition, it looks like a former freighter that the pirates captured. You're not entirely certain that it was even in that good of a condition to start with, what with the faded paint and other minute details, most of which having been washed away by the Horn's guns.
You drift towards the closest airlock, located on the starboard side of the hull, and orient yourself with your adjustment thrusters. The other airlock, located on the other side of the ship, had been blown away. Nothing remains of it but a twisted crater..
One of the sec crew, a Europan by the name of Anders, pushed off and drifted towards the airlock, which looked like it hadn't been well-looked after, a common sight so far on this ship. He examined it, feeling around for anything out of the ordinary. The security officer poked the access pad before turning back to you and shrugging.
<Powersh ot.> He clarifies, the Jovian accent coming through thick and mud-like.
<Damn.> Another security crewmember, a Solarling by the name of Konra, swore. <Any way we can get it on?>
"Could hook it up to the Corsair's power cell." You offer, thinking out loud. They all converse amongst themselves, deciding that that's the best course of action.
After hooking everything up, Anders gives you a grin and a thumbs up. With little hesitation, you throttle power up.
After a moment's pause, the door lights up, Ander's keys the pad, and you're in.
The cockpit door of the Corsair cracks open and you float out, covered in your pilot's suit and with your pilot's pistol drawn.
Together, with the four security guards, you enter the abandoned vessel.
After leaving the airlock, you find yourselves in a hallway leading to the left and right. There are signs painted on the walls, leading towards Bridge and Cargo.
The only question is, which way first?
-[ ] Go left, to the Bridge
-[ ] Go right, to Cargo
~~~~~~~
POV: Janna Peppers
The damage to Kellow's Thunder was… extensive to say the least. Not a single bit of armor on it was untouched. Blackened panels from scalding heat. Cracks and dents from shrapnel and force. What paint there was is gone now, leaving specks of color as the only identifier that it ever existed. This alone would cost a pretty penny to repair and replace, as the entire thing would need to be stripped.
Of course, that's not counting the obvious. Like, you know, the left arm that's missing from the upper bicep down! And the half-crushed head, the thing that contains most of the important internals. Those two things alone would cost around, what, 3,000 SUDs, at least. And that's not even counting sourcing costs or the pay of the engineers who actually fix the damn things. And who even knows what bullshit might happen while it's being fixed, like subpar parts or damages accrued by dropping them, or even injuries!
Flask, fucking injuries. They both force you to pay out the ass and lose you one of your workers!
Janna grunts to herself as she peels another slagged piece of armor off, tossing it onto the growing pile at the machine's feet.. Fortunately, the armor did its fucking job and took the hits, for the most part. She can only imagine what she'd have to do if the fucking cockpit got breached, those things are so annoying to re-seal.
The Chief Engineer squints at her handiwork, she can already feel the annoyances growing. Fucking pilots, no appreciation for their engineers' hard work, always getting them wrecked.
Ah, she can't stay mad, after all, if they weren't getting fucked up all the time she'd be out of a job! …not that she's had much chance to actually do said job, but that's beside the point.
Leaning back from an especially stubborn armor fragment, Janna wipes her forehead down, taking a drink from her canteen, which she wishes she had more of. That's the problem with rationing, there's never enough to go around.
But hey, if they do decide to use the cruiser, she reckons she can get the engines running in a couple days. Drain the surviving fuel from the scav ship and the drifter and they should have enough fuel to make it back. What a good day.
She laughs, throwing her head back and giving it a hearty chuckle, nearly falling off in the progress. Ah, well, back to work.
~~~~~~~
GM's Note: A little shorter than normal, I blame the burn on the end of my index finger. I had burnt it with hot glue by accident as I was constructing a model trebuchet, but it should be fine in a bit. Voting will be called tomorrow at 4 PM CST.
Janna sets her jaw, nodding as she does. <I'll see what I can do. Though, just from looking at the outsides of 'em, I'm not certain that I can get that cruiser fully operational without a void dock.>
"Just, try your best. I trust you." You lean back with a sigh. Today started so well, now you're in this clusterfuck.
<Will do.> She nods and closes comms, the small engines on the lifeboats igniting.
<I'm not certain that drifter can carry everyone.> Charles adds his two cents. <Well, maybe it can but it would not be fun.>
"Fun's not exactly a luxury we can afford." You reply, feeling tired already.
<I know, I know… be careful out there.> He shakes his head, staring offscreen.
"Will do." And with that, you end the call, turning towards the boat containing the sec crew, who had started suiting up after you gave your instructions.
(Janna: +0.5 Opinion)
~~~~~~~
"Hey, Maggsie." You key your comms as you slowly approach the disabled pirate ship in your damaged machine, security holding onto the hastily bolted on grab bars.
<Yeah?> Her voice comes on, breaking through the static that preceded it. <Ship got fucked?>
"Ship got fucked."
<Dammit!>
"Ain't that the truth." You stare up at the ceiling of your cockpit, only a foot above your head while sitting.
<So what's the plan?> The static surrounding her voice really doesn't lend itself to her high-energy speech, dulling it down by a large degree.
"Gonna put the surviving crew on the cruiser while Janna, my engineer, looks it over." You start going over the plan with her. She's silent for the most part, only speaking up at the end.
<Did the Captain make it?> She asks, a concerned note to her voice.
You hesitate, not sure how she's going to take it, before steeling yourself and going for it. "Yeah, but she's not in a good way..."
There's no response. Her feed cuts out, terminated by her. You stare at it, finger hovering over the call button, before deciding not to. You don't know what to say.
Shaking your head, you return to the goal at hand: the drifting pirate ship.
The pirate ship itself isn't in amazing condition, it looks like a former freighter that the pirates captured. You're not entirely certain that it was even in that good of a condition to start with, what with the faded paint and other minute details, most of which having been washed away by the Horn's guns.
You drift towards the closest airlock, located on the starboard side of the hull, and orient yourself with your adjustment thrusters. The other airlock, located on the other side of the ship, had been blown away. Nothing remains of it but a twisted crater..
One of the sec crew, a Europan by the name of Anders, pushed off and drifted towards the airlock, which looked like it hadn't been well-looked after, a common sight so far on this ship. He examined it, feeling around for anything out of the ordinary. The security officer poked the access pad before turning back to you and shrugging.
<Powersh ot.> He clarifies, the Jovian accent coming through thick and mud-like.
<Damn.> Another security crewmember, a Solarling by the name of Konra, swore. <Any way we can get it on?>
"Could hook it up to the Corsair's power cell." You offer, thinking out loud. They all converse amongst themselves, deciding that that's the best course of action.
After hooking everything up, Anders gives you a grin and a thumbs up. With little hesitation, you throttle power up.
After a moment's pause, the door lights up, Ander's keys the pad, and you're in.
The cockpit door of the Corsair cracks open and you float out, covered in your pilot's suit and with your pilot's pistol drawn.
Together, with the four security guards, you enter the abandoned vessel.
After leaving the airlock, you find yourselves in a hallway leading to the left and right. There are signs painted on the walls, leading towards Bridge and Cargo.
The only question is, which way first?
-[ ] Go left, to the Bridge
-[ ] Go right, to Cargo
~~~~~~~
POV: Janna Peppers
The damage to Kellow's Thunder was… extensive to say the least. Not a single bit of armor on it was untouched. Blackened panels from scalding heat. Cracks and dents from shrapnel and force. What paint there was is gone now, leaving specks of color as the only identifier that it ever existed. This alone would cost a pretty penny to repair and replace, as the entire thing would need to be stripped.
Of course, that's not counting the obvious. Like, you know, the left arm that's missing from the upper bicep down! And the half-crushed head, the thing that contains most of the important internals. Those two things alone would cost around, what, 3,000 SUDs, at least. And that's not even counting sourcing costs or the pay of the engineers who actually fix the damn things. And who even knows what bullshit might happen while it's being fixed, like subpar parts or damages accrued by dropping them, or even injuries!
Flask, fucking injuries. They both force you to pay out the ass and lose you one of your workers!
Janna grunts to herself as she peels another slagged piece of armor off, tossing it onto the growing pile at the machine's feet.. Fortunately, the armor did its fucking job and took the hits, for the most part. She can only imagine what she'd have to do if the fucking cockpit got breached, those things are so annoying to re-seal.
The Chief Engineer squints at her handiwork, she can already feel the annoyances growing. Fucking pilots, no appreciation for their engineers' hard work, always getting them wrecked.
Ah, she can't stay mad, after all, if they weren't getting fucked up all the time she'd be out of a job! …not that she's had much chance to actually do said job, but that's beside the point.
Leaning back from an especially stubborn armor fragment, Janna wipes her forehead down, taking a drink from her canteen, which she wishes she had more of. That's the problem with rationing, there's never enough to go around.
But hey, if they do decide to use the cruiser, she reckons she can get the engines running in a couple days. Drain the surviving fuel from the scav ship and the drifter and they should have enough fuel to make it back. What a good day.
She laughs, throwing her head back and giving it a hearty chuckle, nearly falling off in the progress. Ah, well, back to work.
~~~~~~~
GM's Note: A little shorter than normal, I blame the burn on the end of my index finger. I had burnt it with hot glue by accident as I was constructing a model trebuchet, but it should be fine in a bit. Voting will be called tomorrow at 4 PM CST.
Vote closed
I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
- Pronouns
- He/They
Searching the Bridge
I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
- Pronouns
- He/They
"We're going left." You lead the team towards the Bridge.
You and the security guards float through the darkened halls, with the power out, gravity's gone with it. Flashlight beams cut through the darkness, illuminating the hallways in brief swathes of light. This isn't your first time in an abandoned ship, but the feeling never changes. There's something… almost disturbing about wandering through spaces where people once worked, finding nothing but discarded tools and unfinished ideas as the only evidence that they ever even existed.
Your flashlight, in the eerie darkness, drifts as you follow the hallway. The beam of light landing on a floating, asphyxiated corpse. You grimace as one of the guards behind you mutters a prayer, asphyxiation's a nasty way to go for anyone, no matter their affiliation. Behind the drifting body, your light lands an open door, the words 'Bridge' written over it in a blocky, militaristic typeface. Looks like you've found the Bridge.
Slowly drifting into the room, you keep your pistol at the ready, though you don't think that there's any other living thing, besides you and the guards, on the ship right now.
It's dark, just like the rest of the ship, it's also very dirty. You suspect that they didn't have much of a janitor or cleaning crew aboard. Dirty dishes that were once stacked high on consoles, garbage floating above formerly overflowing trash cans, crude graffiti written on whatever flat surfaces were available, and screens that look to not have been wiped down in years. You keep away from the odd, nondescript stains on the objects littering the room as you take it in.
"Carlo." You call up the more technologically aware member of the team. He pulls himself up, holding a rifle to his shoulder. "Can you take a look at these consoles, see if there's any way to remotely turn the power on?"
Carlo nods, staying silent as you've learned he prefers as he pulls himself to a console. He begins poking at it as you and the rest of the team explore the bridge.
(Search Roll DC 60,90: 82+10(Knowledge (Crime))=92, double success)
You grimace, elbows deep in a floating pile of trash, digging through it for anything that could be of use. Papers, notes, transcripts, all and any of those would be valuable right now. Unfortunately, you don't find anything of worth in the can, well, nothing of value unless you wanted the remnants of a dehydrated apple.
Drawing away from the detritus, you pause as something flashes on and off in the corner of your eye. Focusing on it, you draw yourself closer with furrowed brows, and discover that it's… something of value!
The object is a black, wafer-sized, and circular device, with a red, blinking light in the 'corner'. You flip it around in your hand, examining it from every angle. You rack your memories, trying to figure out what this could be.
(Knowledge (Technology) Roll DC 60: 49, failure)
…Yeah, you've got nothing. Maybe someone else will know about it?
-[ ] Ask Janna about it, when you next get the chance
-[ ] Ask someone else
--[ ] Write in
Well, in the meantime, you'd best check in with the rest, see how they're doing.
(Search Roll DC 60,90: 50+10=60, bare success)
<Fond shomething, bossh.> Anders checks in, accent as thick as ever. He's holding up a hastily scrawled note. You give him a nod as you accept the paper.
"Good job, Anders." You read the note. Your eyes scan through line after scrawled line, your eyebrows rising to the highest they can go. "Good fucking work indeed."
(+1 Intel (Pirates))
After finishing up with searching the room, you turn your attention to Carlo, who was staring at the console, searching through the menus as the screen gave off a soft green light. He had pried off the panel and flicked on the internal back-up battery.
"I'm assuming that since power's not back on, you can't turn it on from here." You state, arms crossed as you float over his shoulder.
He nods.
"Do you know where the generator is?" You ask in hope, it might be too much to ask of a bunch of pirates to keep a good map around, but who knows?
He nods again, pointing at the screen. A path blinks into existence, showing you the route.
"Alright. Good job, Carlo." He grins, a pair of thumbs pointing towards the ceiling.
Now, who to send to go turn on the generators? (Pick two)
-[ ] You, better see to this yourself
-[ ] Carlo, a technology guy is a good pick
-[ ] Anders, a scrounging guy tends to be good at finding things
-[ ] Konra, she's got a big gun and knows how to use it
-[ ] Gary, a sneaky guy who can slip through just about anything
~~~~~~~
GM's Note: Very sorry that this one was so late and so short. I woke up quite late in the day and got distracted when the muses hit me over the head with another idea I just had to start outlining. Voting will be called on monday at 4 PM CST, as you don't have a lot of time today to vote.
Q: What is Intel?
A: It's a currency you can use to give you a +10 bonus to a related roll, another option in a related situation, knowledge of related things, or you can sell it to an information broker. For example, for Intel (Pirates) you could spend a point to give you that edge in a duel as you recognize the markings on the enemy MBF from a document you read. You could spend it while planning an assault on a pirate base to learn of a secret entrance. You could use it while being held at gunpoint to ransom yourself. Intel can be used for all this and more.
You and the security guards float through the darkened halls, with the power out, gravity's gone with it. Flashlight beams cut through the darkness, illuminating the hallways in brief swathes of light. This isn't your first time in an abandoned ship, but the feeling never changes. There's something… almost disturbing about wandering through spaces where people once worked, finding nothing but discarded tools and unfinished ideas as the only evidence that they ever even existed.
Your flashlight, in the eerie darkness, drifts as you follow the hallway. The beam of light landing on a floating, asphyxiated corpse. You grimace as one of the guards behind you mutters a prayer, asphyxiation's a nasty way to go for anyone, no matter their affiliation. Behind the drifting body, your light lands an open door, the words 'Bridge' written over it in a blocky, militaristic typeface. Looks like you've found the Bridge.
Slowly drifting into the room, you keep your pistol at the ready, though you don't think that there's any other living thing, besides you and the guards, on the ship right now.
It's dark, just like the rest of the ship, it's also very dirty. You suspect that they didn't have much of a janitor or cleaning crew aboard. Dirty dishes that were once stacked high on consoles, garbage floating above formerly overflowing trash cans, crude graffiti written on whatever flat surfaces were available, and screens that look to not have been wiped down in years. You keep away from the odd, nondescript stains on the objects littering the room as you take it in.
"Carlo." You call up the more technologically aware member of the team. He pulls himself up, holding a rifle to his shoulder. "Can you take a look at these consoles, see if there's any way to remotely turn the power on?"
Carlo nods, staying silent as you've learned he prefers as he pulls himself to a console. He begins poking at it as you and the rest of the team explore the bridge.
(Search Roll DC 60,90: 82+10(Knowledge (Crime))=92, double success)
You grimace, elbows deep in a floating pile of trash, digging through it for anything that could be of use. Papers, notes, transcripts, all and any of those would be valuable right now. Unfortunately, you don't find anything of worth in the can, well, nothing of value unless you wanted the remnants of a dehydrated apple.
Drawing away from the detritus, you pause as something flashes on and off in the corner of your eye. Focusing on it, you draw yourself closer with furrowed brows, and discover that it's… something of value!
The object is a black, wafer-sized, and circular device, with a red, blinking light in the 'corner'. You flip it around in your hand, examining it from every angle. You rack your memories, trying to figure out what this could be.
(Knowledge (Technology) Roll DC 60: 49, failure)
…Yeah, you've got nothing. Maybe someone else will know about it?
-[ ] Ask Janna about it, when you next get the chance
-[ ] Ask someone else
--[ ] Write in
Well, in the meantime, you'd best check in with the rest, see how they're doing.
(Search Roll DC 60,90: 50+10=60, bare success)
<Fond shomething, bossh.> Anders checks in, accent as thick as ever. He's holding up a hastily scrawled note. You give him a nod as you accept the paper.
"Good job, Anders." You read the note. Your eyes scan through line after scrawled line, your eyebrows rising to the highest they can go. "Good fucking work indeed."
(+1 Intel (Pirates))
After finishing up with searching the room, you turn your attention to Carlo, who was staring at the console, searching through the menus as the screen gave off a soft green light. He had pried off the panel and flicked on the internal back-up battery.
"I'm assuming that since power's not back on, you can't turn it on from here." You state, arms crossed as you float over his shoulder.
He nods.
"Do you know where the generator is?" You ask in hope, it might be too much to ask of a bunch of pirates to keep a good map around, but who knows?
He nods again, pointing at the screen. A path blinks into existence, showing you the route.
"Alright. Good job, Carlo." He grins, a pair of thumbs pointing towards the ceiling.
Now, who to send to go turn on the generators? (Pick two)
-[ ] You, better see to this yourself
-[ ] Carlo, a technology guy is a good pick
-[ ] Anders, a scrounging guy tends to be good at finding things
-[ ] Konra, she's got a big gun and knows how to use it
-[ ] Gary, a sneaky guy who can slip through just about anything
~~~~~~~
GM's Note: Very sorry that this one was so late and so short. I woke up quite late in the day and got distracted when the muses hit me over the head with another idea I just had to start outlining. Voting will be called on monday at 4 PM CST, as you don't have a lot of time today to vote.
Q: What is Intel?
A: It's a currency you can use to give you a +10 bonus to a related roll, another option in a related situation, knowledge of related things, or you can sell it to an information broker. For example, for Intel (Pirates) you could spend a point to give you that edge in a duel as you recognize the markings on the enemy MBF from a document you read. You could spend it while planning an assault on a pirate base to learn of a secret entrance. You could use it while being held at gunpoint to ransom yourself. Intel can be used for all this and more.
Vote closed
I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
- Pronouns
- He/They
Turning on the Power
I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
- Pronouns
- He/They
Carlo is, like always, dead silent as you drift through the desolate halls, the emptiness leering out at you. You pass open door after open door, abandoned room after abandoned room, empty hallway after empty hallway as you follow the glowing line in your HUD.
(Knowledge (General Science) Roll DC 55: 61, success)
The engines and generators are oftentimes the same thing, with deployable solar panels making up the difference. The fuel source for nearly all space-faring vessels is Metallic Hydrogen, the only ones that don't use it are small craft, too small to fit a proper M-Hydrogen Storage Unit. Metallic Hydrogen is an incredibly valuable resource only naturally found in a few places with extremely high pressure. One of those places is Jupiter, deep in its atmosphere.
The reason M-Hydrogen is so valuable is that it is what facilitates space travel on a reasonable timescale. Instead of taking months upon months to reach Mars from Earth, like the distant past, a M-Hydrogen burning vessel can make the trip in two days with change. One day is spent accelerating and the other is spent decelerating.
Of course, this isn't without dangers as M-Hydrogen burns hotter than the surface of the sun, requiring highly robust heat dissipating systems to use in any real capacity. Nowadays the heat is collected and used to generate electricity, powering the ship along with whatever is hooked up to it, like an MBF.
Taking out the heat dissipating systems on a ship will result in one of two things occurring. One, the ship shuts down. Two, the ship melts itself into slag. Shooting out the engine torches will accomplish similar things as taking out the heat dissipators, if the crew doesn't want to turn the ship into a couple hundred meter long oven, they'll shut down their engines. Like the crew of the pirate ship.
Of course, back-up generators exist and come standard on most ships. These are often in the form of large power cells, so they're more back-up batteries than generators, but to most people there's not much difference unless you're running a high-performance power-suckler like an MBF or combat vessel. If you are then you know the difference between a battery and a generator.
(Knowledge (Ship) Roll DC 55: 20, failure)
You stare up at the ceiling, trying to figure out exactly what class of ship this is, but nothing comes to mind. That's unfortunate, you grimace as you drift into the engine room, it would have been very useful to know the capabilities of this ship, in the off-chance that you will have to use it. Though, it might not be the brightest of ideas to ride around in a pirate ship. Who knows what things this ship's been a part of and who logged its IFF signature. That would be pretty sucky, to fix it up and then get slagged 'cause some trigger-happy grunt recognized an IFF and nuked your ass.
Ah whatever, it's time to turn the back-ups on.
The power room is probably the most maintained part of the ship, save, potentially, the captain's cabin. Judging from what you've seen, you reckon that the crew weren't very experienced starsailors. Pirates, generally, are crews that used to be part of something else. Freighters, mercenaries, even the occasional soldier, all of them can source pirates. Disgruntled crew members decide that the only option is to take matters into their own hands and mutiny, taking over the ship and turning to piracy. To find a ship in this condition, even when crewed by pirates, is concerning.
Carlo drifts in first, followed by you. The power room is a modest thing, as far as these things go. A small control room, more a control booth, really, comes into view immediately as you enter. A small selection of panels is in there, an internal battery powering the softly glowing lights as they blink on and off in patterns.
The room extends quite a distance deep, with two rectangular shaped rows following the walls. These are the power banks of the ship, where excess power is stored and used.
Carlo pokes his head out from the booth, beckoning you inside. He points at the console, specifically at a button in the center, big, round, and red. With a 'hold on' gesture, he leaves you in the booth.
Carlo is a big guy with big muscles coiled tightly underneath bronzed skin, covered in small scars. The scars grow more bunched up around his hands and wrists, his fingers more scar-tissue than skin. His palms are heavily calloused, evidence of a life of hard work and heavy lifting.
He flips open the access panel, unsecured like the careless pirates that the previous crew were. He flips switches, presses buttons, hooks up wires, the works.
(Knowledge (Shipside Technology) Roll DC 40: 23+10=33, failure…)
Finally, after several minutes, he gives you a thumbs up.
With a grin, you smash your hand down on the big, red button.
With a shudder, the batteries start glowing, power coursing through the machine. Carlo gives it a concerned look, pushing away from the twinned machines as they start rattling. He shoots you a wide-eyed stare as he swings into the booth, tackling you as he does.
You glare at him, opening your mouth to demand what the hell's going on as you push him off, when the lights flicker. Once, twice, before they flicker one final time. Like the bells of hell they ring.
And explode, showering sparks and glass out in a weightless plume.
You look up and around, taking in the absolutely fucked batteries, scorched and smoking black clouds.
Well, shit.
Well, you've found yourselves in a bitch of a pickle. You think you might've busted the entire electrical system of the ship.
What's your next move? What can you even do?
-[ ] Just grab what you can from the cargo bay
-[ ] Write in
~~~~~~~
GM's Note: Damn, that was a fucking bad roll, ouch. Votes will be called tomorrow at 4 PM CST.
(Knowledge (General Science) Roll DC 55: 61, success)
The engines and generators are oftentimes the same thing, with deployable solar panels making up the difference. The fuel source for nearly all space-faring vessels is Metallic Hydrogen, the only ones that don't use it are small craft, too small to fit a proper M-Hydrogen Storage Unit. Metallic Hydrogen is an incredibly valuable resource only naturally found in a few places with extremely high pressure. One of those places is Jupiter, deep in its atmosphere.
The reason M-Hydrogen is so valuable is that it is what facilitates space travel on a reasonable timescale. Instead of taking months upon months to reach Mars from Earth, like the distant past, a M-Hydrogen burning vessel can make the trip in two days with change. One day is spent accelerating and the other is spent decelerating.
Of course, this isn't without dangers as M-Hydrogen burns hotter than the surface of the sun, requiring highly robust heat dissipating systems to use in any real capacity. Nowadays the heat is collected and used to generate electricity, powering the ship along with whatever is hooked up to it, like an MBF.
Taking out the heat dissipating systems on a ship will result in one of two things occurring. One, the ship shuts down. Two, the ship melts itself into slag. Shooting out the engine torches will accomplish similar things as taking out the heat dissipators, if the crew doesn't want to turn the ship into a couple hundred meter long oven, they'll shut down their engines. Like the crew of the pirate ship.
Of course, back-up generators exist and come standard on most ships. These are often in the form of large power cells, so they're more back-up batteries than generators, but to most people there's not much difference unless you're running a high-performance power-suckler like an MBF or combat vessel. If you are then you know the difference between a battery and a generator.
(Knowledge (Ship) Roll DC 55: 20, failure)
You stare up at the ceiling, trying to figure out exactly what class of ship this is, but nothing comes to mind. That's unfortunate, you grimace as you drift into the engine room, it would have been very useful to know the capabilities of this ship, in the off-chance that you will have to use it. Though, it might not be the brightest of ideas to ride around in a pirate ship. Who knows what things this ship's been a part of and who logged its IFF signature. That would be pretty sucky, to fix it up and then get slagged 'cause some trigger-happy grunt recognized an IFF and nuked your ass.
Ah whatever, it's time to turn the back-ups on.
The power room is probably the most maintained part of the ship, save, potentially, the captain's cabin. Judging from what you've seen, you reckon that the crew weren't very experienced starsailors. Pirates, generally, are crews that used to be part of something else. Freighters, mercenaries, even the occasional soldier, all of them can source pirates. Disgruntled crew members decide that the only option is to take matters into their own hands and mutiny, taking over the ship and turning to piracy. To find a ship in this condition, even when crewed by pirates, is concerning.
Carlo drifts in first, followed by you. The power room is a modest thing, as far as these things go. A small control room, more a control booth, really, comes into view immediately as you enter. A small selection of panels is in there, an internal battery powering the softly glowing lights as they blink on and off in patterns.
The room extends quite a distance deep, with two rectangular shaped rows following the walls. These are the power banks of the ship, where excess power is stored and used.
Carlo pokes his head out from the booth, beckoning you inside. He points at the console, specifically at a button in the center, big, round, and red. With a 'hold on' gesture, he leaves you in the booth.
Carlo is a big guy with big muscles coiled tightly underneath bronzed skin, covered in small scars. The scars grow more bunched up around his hands and wrists, his fingers more scar-tissue than skin. His palms are heavily calloused, evidence of a life of hard work and heavy lifting.
He flips open the access panel, unsecured like the careless pirates that the previous crew were. He flips switches, presses buttons, hooks up wires, the works.
(Knowledge (Shipside Technology) Roll DC 40: 23+10=33, failure…)
Finally, after several minutes, he gives you a thumbs up.
With a grin, you smash your hand down on the big, red button.
With a shudder, the batteries start glowing, power coursing through the machine. Carlo gives it a concerned look, pushing away from the twinned machines as they start rattling. He shoots you a wide-eyed stare as he swings into the booth, tackling you as he does.
You glare at him, opening your mouth to demand what the hell's going on as you push him off, when the lights flicker. Once, twice, before they flicker one final time. Like the bells of hell they ring.
And explode, showering sparks and glass out in a weightless plume.
You look up and around, taking in the absolutely fucked batteries, scorched and smoking black clouds.
Well, shit.
Well, you've found yourselves in a bitch of a pickle. You think you might've busted the entire electrical system of the ship.
What's your next move? What can you even do?
-[ ] Just grab what you can from the cargo bay
-[ ] Write in
~~~~~~~
GM's Note: Damn, that was a fucking bad roll, ouch. Votes will be called tomorrow at 4 PM CST.
Vote closed
I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
- Pronouns
- He/They
Looting Cargo and Leaving the Ship
I.F. Ister
Fortifying The Thread
- Pronouns
- He/They
"If somebody asks, it was like it when we got here, right?" You ask the combined security team as you float in the cargo bay. After the electrical system blitzed itself, you'd decided to just crack the cargo bay and grab what you can. Surely they had some good stuff in there, parts at the very least.
The cargo bay was a large room, likely the largest room on the ship, seeing as this was a former freighter and all. It had rows upon rows of vertically stacked shelves, crates and containers dotting the racks. Mechanical, robotic arms hang from the ceiling, roaming around on predetermined tracks. They descend from the heights to grab crates with their magclamps, bringing them to the proper destination. Of course, with the power out, they're nothing more than a vaguely robotic decorative piece.
Carlo shakes his head, his head held in his hands. "It was my fault." He whispers, a hoarse, hissing thing. It's nearly inaudible from how soft it is. "I screwed up."
Anders pats his suit-covered shoulder, giving him a supportive look. "Thish ishn't te end, we will recover from thish." Carlo doesn't say anything, just floating there with an empty, downtrodden stare.
You can respect the willingness to take responsibility for his actions, but right now you need to get to work. Any consequences or punishments can come later, there's work to be done now. "Start cracking open crates, everyone, we might as well get something from this venture." Besides that device, of course. You'll have to check with Janna about it, see if she can recognize it.
Carlo lifts his head, giving a shallow nod as they get to work. You return it, picking up a pry bar and setting to work.
(Your Loot Roll: 91)
One of the nearby crates catches your eye. It's a large cube, coming up to about your hips, it's made of blue-painted metal with "PROPERTY OF THE S.U.N." and "AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY" stamped on the sides. Obviously something of some use to you, especially given the crown of stars over a golden shield, insignias of the Solar Union Navy, covering it.
Planting the pry bar into the creases, you heave with all your might, the pneumatic head of the bar doing work as it wrenches the cover off with, if you were in atmosphere, a squeal of twisting metal.
Your eyebrows ascend to the top of your head as you look at the military grade system lying within. That's… a Mil-Grade Targeting Computer! A piece of hardware like that is a boon to any organization, let alone a fledgeling group like yours. It looks like this one was built by Ad Astra, the go-to corporation for the SU's MBF needs. It's also highly illegal in SU space, unless you have the necessary licenses, of course, which are a bitch and a half to get.
(Gary Loot Roll: 59)
(Konra Loot Roll: 42)
(Anders Loot Roll: 25)
(Carlo Loot Roll: 100, bro, Carlo, what are your rolls???)
The others find other things, like basic parts and supplies, both of the medical and ration variety. A couple containers carrying Martian Spices, valuable stuff. You could sell it off and earn quite the pretty penny.
However, Carlo makes a discovery that shocks you to your core.
A chill runs up and down your spine as he leads you to the thing he found. Your mouth feels dry as you round the corner and lay eyes on his find. Hanging from the wall, held up by makeshift scaffolding, is a half-built MBF, a MI/Sniper, with all the parts needed to finish it nearby.
The Sniper is Mechano-Industries' only high-tier MBF and it shows that, if they wanted to sacrifice their profits, they could easily build truly high quality machines. It is a machine that lives up to its name. It stays out of the traditional engagement range and uses its advanced systems to track and kill enemy MBFs with its Plasma Long-Cannon, which also serves as an anti-fightercraft weapon in the right situation. Up close it has a pair of SMGs, both ballistic, and a Heat Sword, which, paired with its speed, makes it a dangerous opponent to fight against. Of course, it is very expensive to purchase and maintain, but in the right circumstances…
Well, snipers, both the soldier and the MBF, are a rather dangerous foe to fight.
Getting the Sniper out of there will require MBF assistance, as will the rest of the cargo. The cargo doors are as scuffed as De's knees, thanks to a combination of the electrical system failing and the weapons of the late David's Horn. But that's not that much of a problem.
"Good fucking job there, Carlo." You clap a happy hand on his shoulder as he gives you a hopeful look. "Good fucking job indeed."
Is Carlo off the hook for the electrical failure?
-[ ] Yes
-[ ] No
(Gain AA Targeting Computer (+5 to Combat Rolls))
(Gain a Half-Built MI/Sniper and enough parts to finish it)
(Gain 6 more days of supplies)
~~~~~~~
(??? Resolve Roll DC 60: 67, success)
You're in the airlock, with the rest of the team as it's cycling. You're not entirely sure what it's cycling, not exactly any air in the pirate ship, but it is what it is.
The door unseals and gives you away to space.
And that's when your blood chills in your veins.
Outside, floating in the void of space, is the damaged Lancer from earlier today. Its lance is clamped to its back and its battered hands are spread out to its sides. It doesn't seem to want to fight, but it has you at an extreme disadvantage all the same.
It doesn't seem hostile, but who knows. You did just kick its ass and kill a bunch of its friends, if you were in that pilot's seat, you'd probably just kill them and be done with it.
It's just sitting there.
What do you do?
-[ ] Send out an open comms call, if it wants a chat, you'll give it one.
-[ ] Fuck it, it's an unknown and unknowns get people killed. Kill it before it kills you.
-[ ] Write in
~~~~~~~
GM's Note: I suppose that Carlo has redeemed himself now, lmao. Votes will be called tomorrow at 4 PM CST.
I'm getting a lot of wind where I live, like, +80 Mph winds, so that's nice.
The cargo bay was a large room, likely the largest room on the ship, seeing as this was a former freighter and all. It had rows upon rows of vertically stacked shelves, crates and containers dotting the racks. Mechanical, robotic arms hang from the ceiling, roaming around on predetermined tracks. They descend from the heights to grab crates with their magclamps, bringing them to the proper destination. Of course, with the power out, they're nothing more than a vaguely robotic decorative piece.
Carlo shakes his head, his head held in his hands. "It was my fault." He whispers, a hoarse, hissing thing. It's nearly inaudible from how soft it is. "I screwed up."
Anders pats his suit-covered shoulder, giving him a supportive look. "Thish ishn't te end, we will recover from thish." Carlo doesn't say anything, just floating there with an empty, downtrodden stare.
You can respect the willingness to take responsibility for his actions, but right now you need to get to work. Any consequences or punishments can come later, there's work to be done now. "Start cracking open crates, everyone, we might as well get something from this venture." Besides that device, of course. You'll have to check with Janna about it, see if she can recognize it.
Carlo lifts his head, giving a shallow nod as they get to work. You return it, picking up a pry bar and setting to work.
(Your Loot Roll: 91)
One of the nearby crates catches your eye. It's a large cube, coming up to about your hips, it's made of blue-painted metal with "PROPERTY OF THE S.U.N." and "AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY" stamped on the sides. Obviously something of some use to you, especially given the crown of stars over a golden shield, insignias of the Solar Union Navy, covering it.
Planting the pry bar into the creases, you heave with all your might, the pneumatic head of the bar doing work as it wrenches the cover off with, if you were in atmosphere, a squeal of twisting metal.
Your eyebrows ascend to the top of your head as you look at the military grade system lying within. That's… a Mil-Grade Targeting Computer! A piece of hardware like that is a boon to any organization, let alone a fledgeling group like yours. It looks like this one was built by Ad Astra, the go-to corporation for the SU's MBF needs. It's also highly illegal in SU space, unless you have the necessary licenses, of course, which are a bitch and a half to get.
(Gary Loot Roll: 59)
(Konra Loot Roll: 42)
(Anders Loot Roll: 25)
(Carlo Loot Roll: 100, bro, Carlo, what are your rolls???)
The others find other things, like basic parts and supplies, both of the medical and ration variety. A couple containers carrying Martian Spices, valuable stuff. You could sell it off and earn quite the pretty penny.
However, Carlo makes a discovery that shocks you to your core.
A chill runs up and down your spine as he leads you to the thing he found. Your mouth feels dry as you round the corner and lay eyes on his find. Hanging from the wall, held up by makeshift scaffolding, is a half-built MBF, a MI/Sniper, with all the parts needed to finish it nearby.
The Sniper is Mechano-Industries' only high-tier MBF and it shows that, if they wanted to sacrifice their profits, they could easily build truly high quality machines. It is a machine that lives up to its name. It stays out of the traditional engagement range and uses its advanced systems to track and kill enemy MBFs with its Plasma Long-Cannon, which also serves as an anti-fightercraft weapon in the right situation. Up close it has a pair of SMGs, both ballistic, and a Heat Sword, which, paired with its speed, makes it a dangerous opponent to fight against. Of course, it is very expensive to purchase and maintain, but in the right circumstances…
Well, snipers, both the soldier and the MBF, are a rather dangerous foe to fight.
Getting the Sniper out of there will require MBF assistance, as will the rest of the cargo. The cargo doors are as scuffed as De's knees, thanks to a combination of the electrical system failing and the weapons of the late David's Horn. But that's not that much of a problem.
"Good fucking job there, Carlo." You clap a happy hand on his shoulder as he gives you a hopeful look. "Good fucking job indeed."
Is Carlo off the hook for the electrical failure?
-[ ] Yes
-[ ] No
(Gain AA Targeting Computer (+5 to Combat Rolls))
(Gain a Half-Built MI/Sniper and enough parts to finish it)
(Gain 6 more days of supplies)
~~~~~~~
(??? Resolve Roll DC 60: 67, success)
You're in the airlock, with the rest of the team as it's cycling. You're not entirely sure what it's cycling, not exactly any air in the pirate ship, but it is what it is.
The door unseals and gives you away to space.
And that's when your blood chills in your veins.
Outside, floating in the void of space, is the damaged Lancer from earlier today. Its lance is clamped to its back and its battered hands are spread out to its sides. It doesn't seem to want to fight, but it has you at an extreme disadvantage all the same.
It doesn't seem hostile, but who knows. You did just kick its ass and kill a bunch of its friends, if you were in that pilot's seat, you'd probably just kill them and be done with it.
It's just sitting there.
What do you do?
-[ ] Send out an open comms call, if it wants a chat, you'll give it one.
-[ ] Fuck it, it's an unknown and unknowns get people killed. Kill it before it kills you.
-[ ] Write in
~~~~~~~
GM's Note: I suppose that Carlo has redeemed himself now, lmao. Votes will be called tomorrow at 4 PM CST.
I'm getting a lot of wind where I live, like, +80 Mph winds, so that's nice.