My grandfather passed away. I'm not sure if I'm going to go dark for a few days or not, but I just wanted to give you a heads up in case I disappear for a few days.
Take all the time you need, Noxious. Best wishes to your family during this time.
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Take all the time you need, Noxious. Best wishes to your family during this time.
My grandfather passed away. I'm not sure if I'm going to go dark for a few days or not, but I just wanted to give you a heads up in case I disappear for a few days.
My condolences, Noxious. That's terrible news.
<Snipped quote by AmongHeroes>
Meh, the nature of my job field is such that shitty moods are unfortunately common. It doesn't hinder me per se, but it makes it damned hard to write something I am content with--even when others try to tell me it's a fine post or some such.
I hear you. Well, I wish you luck with the whole thing, regardless.
Intriguing post @AmongHeroes. I'm still currently on my off day so I'll see about getting a post up tonight (Eastern US). I could wait, but I have to work the rest of the week and I have a feeling I'm gonna be in a shitty mood for next 5 days lol.
Well, being in a shitty mood is never good. Hopefully you'll prove yourself wrong.
Glad you liked the post. I'm excited to read what you come up with.
Before Anson’s eyes, his elaborate HUD blossomed with life as each of the 7-5 operators reported in. Wherever he faced, if one of his team members was in his field of vision, their location was pinpointed by an orange triangle. He felt like a proud, protective mother wolf, keeping tabs on his den of deadly pups. It was a feature uploaded to his processing unit that had proved invaluable when operational. Knowledge was power, and Anson always wanted to have more information about the disposition of his team. It was a tool he knew many of them hated, or at least found annoying. But, he was also sure they understood its necessity on missions. Anson respected their privacy when not deployed, and he had never once used his “big brother” system outside of a mission. Besides, Anson knew that Rose and P’siyah could jam his tech if they wanted to.
Hell, all of them probably know how to jam it, Anson thought to himself. It was a notion that actually pleased him.
When the “roll call” had been completed, Anson hid a smirk at Vulma’s comment about the abundance of black hoodies with a slurp of noodles.
<We can’t all dress like gang-wenches,> He replied in jest. <Just fashionable thugs.>
Finishing his noodles, Anson threw away the cup, and stood from where he had been leaning. Plunging his hands into the folds of his short robe, he merged into the stream of humanity. Off of his right shoulder, he knew that Bruce would see the move and keep station with him—albeit covertly.
Anson had no particular destination as he began to meander through the bazaar. He could see that Rose was online, prepared to wield her formidable digital skills, and P’siyah was operating the OSS. Most likely from her Seraphim interface. He had the handful of operators on the ground, Router up in the sky, and the ladies-with-the-long-guns providing sniper overwatch. There was nothing much else to do except to keep vigilant, stay prepared, and let the OSS work its magic.
Casting a glance up towards the sky, crisscrossed with ships and hovercraft, Anson wondered if the OSS was even now scanning his area. It was a needle-in-haystack search—it was just that both the needle and the searcher were advanced tech, and the haystack happened to be a throng of gang-riddled slummers. Switching over to the feed of the OSS, he glanced at the search-coverage percentage that was displayed in the upper-right of the satellite’s “gaze.”
It currently read 17.8%. As he continued to watch the search progress, the display seemed to glitch ever so slightly.
The flutter prompted a frown from Anson, but he quickly forced any concern from his mind. The bazaar was a large place, filled with a lot of possible interference. He should expect such things. With a silent sigh, Anson minimized the OSS display.
Still walking at a leisurely pace amidst the shops, Anson’s gaze caught briefly on the figure of an attractive woman with bright green hair peering into a display of meeror pipes, regaled in a form-fitting plug suit. The woman stood at an angle to his right, and did not meet his eyes. For his part, Anson didn’t linger, and had moved onto scanning over the rest of the crowd in the span of a heartbeat.
A short bleep sounded without warning within his mind, transmitting across the whole 7-5 channel.
Holy shit, Anson thought. The damn satellite found a security chip!?
As promised, the OSS quickly spat out the grid coordinates of the ping location. It also marked the location with a digital flare that every member of the 7-5 would see.
Focusing his attention on the satellite data, Anson immediately recognized that the flare was moving.
<7-5, be advised the security chip is mobile; we have an actor in immediate play.>
Though excitement jolted through his bones like electricity, Anson willed his actions to remain calm and collected. Turning down an aisle that would take him in the direction of the marked location, he continued to speak to his team.
<I’m almost 200 meters off the target, and have no visual. Does anyone have eyes on?>
Sliding his way past the libidinous living mannequins of a brother tent, Anson cursed under his breath. He was well out of position to make an immediate play on the new target. His team would have to step up. Anson had not a shred of doubt that they would.
<P’siyah, Rose,> he called over the thought-comm to the two hackers. <I want digital eyes on this bastard now. All the information you can get.>
<Router, give me a sitrep from your vantage point, and get in a support position if you can.>
At that, Anson fell silent, and focused on making his way as quickly as possible towards the target. He didn’t need to add anything further, because he knew that the rest of the 7-5 would automatically jump into appropriate action.
The wolves had their first whiff of their quarry, and it was time for the fangs to show.
Hell, all of them probably know how to jam it, Anson thought to himself. It was a notion that actually pleased him.
When the “roll call” had been completed, Anson hid a smirk at Vulma’s comment about the abundance of black hoodies with a slurp of noodles.
<We can’t all dress like gang-wenches,> He replied in jest. <Just fashionable thugs.>
Finishing his noodles, Anson threw away the cup, and stood from where he had been leaning. Plunging his hands into the folds of his short robe, he merged into the stream of humanity. Off of his right shoulder, he knew that Bruce would see the move and keep station with him—albeit covertly.
Anson had no particular destination as he began to meander through the bazaar. He could see that Rose was online, prepared to wield her formidable digital skills, and P’siyah was operating the OSS. Most likely from her Seraphim interface. He had the handful of operators on the ground, Router up in the sky, and the ladies-with-the-long-guns providing sniper overwatch. There was nothing much else to do except to keep vigilant, stay prepared, and let the OSS work its magic.
Casting a glance up towards the sky, crisscrossed with ships and hovercraft, Anson wondered if the OSS was even now scanning his area. It was a needle-in-haystack search—it was just that both the needle and the searcher were advanced tech, and the haystack happened to be a throng of gang-riddled slummers. Switching over to the feed of the OSS, he glanced at the search-coverage percentage that was displayed in the upper-right of the satellite’s “gaze.”
It currently read 17.8%. As he continued to watch the search progress, the display seemed to glitch ever so slightly.
The flutter prompted a frown from Anson, but he quickly forced any concern from his mind. The bazaar was a large place, filled with a lot of possible interference. He should expect such things. With a silent sigh, Anson minimized the OSS display.
Still walking at a leisurely pace amidst the shops, Anson’s gaze caught briefly on the figure of an attractive woman with bright green hair peering into a display of meeror pipes, regaled in a form-fitting plug suit. The woman stood at an angle to his right, and did not meet his eyes. For his part, Anson didn’t linger, and had moved onto scanning over the rest of the crowd in the span of a heartbeat.
A short bleep sounded without warning within his mind, transmitting across the whole 7-5 channel.
<<STATUS ALERT: GEOLOCATION PING CONFIRMED. GRID COORDINATES TO FOLLOW.>>
Holy shit, Anson thought. The damn satellite found a security chip!?
As promised, the OSS quickly spat out the grid coordinates of the ping location. It also marked the location with a digital flare that every member of the 7-5 would see.
Focusing his attention on the satellite data, Anson immediately recognized that the flare was moving.
<7-5, be advised the security chip is mobile; we have an actor in immediate play.>
Though excitement jolted through his bones like electricity, Anson willed his actions to remain calm and collected. Turning down an aisle that would take him in the direction of the marked location, he continued to speak to his team.
<I’m almost 200 meters off the target, and have no visual. Does anyone have eyes on?>
Sliding his way past the libidinous living mannequins of a brother tent, Anson cursed under his breath. He was well out of position to make an immediate play on the new target. His team would have to step up. Anson had not a shred of doubt that they would.
<P’siyah, Rose,> he called over the thought-comm to the two hackers. <I want digital eyes on this bastard now. All the information you can get.>
<Router, give me a sitrep from your vantage point, and get in a support position if you can.>
At that, Anson fell silent, and focused on making his way as quickly as possible towards the target. He didn’t need to add anything further, because he knew that the rest of the 7-5 would automatically jump into appropriate action.
The wolves had their first whiff of their quarry, and it was time for the fangs to show.
GM'S NOTE: Please feel free to take the opportunity here to add your own elements to the RP. I purposefully didn't describe what our target looks like--I want that to come from you all. Add your own wrinkle to this story, and I will make it work. Just keep in mind what I have worked to set up, and just don't derail that part of it. As always, if you have questions, don't hesitate to ask.
Was gonna say, I wasn't sure how to respond to that.
Yeah, I can imagine
I'll be posting a followup to the most recent post in a few hours, so please no one start writing up anything yet. Thanks!
<Demon 1-3, be advised, we have active pings. Repeat, active pings detected in our action area.>
Keen, cold, and mechanically enhanced eyes narrowed; a predatory expression, as a lion might focus upon the first glimpse of prey. The woman who owned these eyes replied with her own thought-comm.
<Copy that, Demon 1-4. All operators prepare to move and engage. Maintain cover until targets are confirmed.>
Immediately following this order, a string of affirmations from all the soldiers of Demon team came across the thought-comm channel. A dozen in all.
The woman, known as Demon 1-3, ran her hand nonchalantly through her electric-green hair. It was cut in a long Mohawk that draped attractively between her shoulder blades. Her predatory eyes scanned across the press of humanity that made up the Snoria Bazaar. Listening to her team report in within the confines of her mind, she appeared nothing more than another of a thousand other beautiful distractions within the market.
She was dressed in a grey skin-tight plug suit that accentuated the natural allure of both her soft and hard lines. It was common enough attire for both men and women in the Orion Arm, as it allowed a simple means to interface with a wide array of machinery and tech. That this particular suit also allowed Demon 1-3 to remotely control her YETI was assuredly not as common.
As she wove her way through the shops and stands, she knew that a CAG unit was dangerously close. In fact, one of the infamous operators could be walking right beside her, and she probably wouldn’t know it until the lead started to fly. But, the same held true for the Imperial soldiers; they could have no inkling that they weren’t the only wolf pack in this den of sheep. A smile tickled at the corners of Demon 1-3’s rouged lips.
Due to the impossibly heavy encryption on the security chips, the Nym Republic had no hope of pinging the chips as the CAG unit was now doing. Locating the devices was nigh impossible even with the proper software codex, and utterly hopeless without it. Yet, the members of Demon team had a tool that gave them something just as valuable—a means to track and recognize the pings of the OSS as it searched the bazaar.
It was a method called Ghost Locating, and the special forces of the Nym Republic had become exceedingly skilled at employing it. Thus far, no Imperial force had managed to recognize the faint signature that parallaxes off the Ghosted ping. Demon 1-3 was an expert in the field, and she knew beyond a shadow of doubt that it would take a system-operator of unrivaled skill to detect the parallax. CAG units were good, but she doubted they could be that good.
<Demon 1-3, we have location signatures. It appears the OSS is narrowing its search vector.>
A slight tremor of surprise echoed down Demon 1-3’s spine. She had not expected for the Imperial OSS to find any return pings, much less so quickly. Her surprise quickly faded into adrenaline fueled excitement that was held far from manifesting itself upon her features. This mission would bear unexpected fruit after all.
<Very good, Demon 1-4.> She said over the thought-comm. <Stay frosty, team. It’s almost show time.>
Keen, cold, and mechanically enhanced eyes narrowed; a predatory expression, as a lion might focus upon the first glimpse of prey. The woman who owned these eyes replied with her own thought-comm.
<Copy that, Demon 1-4. All operators prepare to move and engage. Maintain cover until targets are confirmed.>
Immediately following this order, a string of affirmations from all the soldiers of Demon team came across the thought-comm channel. A dozen in all.
The woman, known as Demon 1-3, ran her hand nonchalantly through her electric-green hair. It was cut in a long Mohawk that draped attractively between her shoulder blades. Her predatory eyes scanned across the press of humanity that made up the Snoria Bazaar. Listening to her team report in within the confines of her mind, she appeared nothing more than another of a thousand other beautiful distractions within the market.
She was dressed in a grey skin-tight plug suit that accentuated the natural allure of both her soft and hard lines. It was common enough attire for both men and women in the Orion Arm, as it allowed a simple means to interface with a wide array of machinery and tech. That this particular suit also allowed Demon 1-3 to remotely control her YETI was assuredly not as common.
As she wove her way through the shops and stands, she knew that a CAG unit was dangerously close. In fact, one of the infamous operators could be walking right beside her, and she probably wouldn’t know it until the lead started to fly. But, the same held true for the Imperial soldiers; they could have no inkling that they weren’t the only wolf pack in this den of sheep. A smile tickled at the corners of Demon 1-3’s rouged lips.
Due to the impossibly heavy encryption on the security chips, the Nym Republic had no hope of pinging the chips as the CAG unit was now doing. Locating the devices was nigh impossible even with the proper software codex, and utterly hopeless without it. Yet, the members of Demon team had a tool that gave them something just as valuable—a means to track and recognize the pings of the OSS as it searched the bazaar.
It was a method called Ghost Locating, and the special forces of the Nym Republic had become exceedingly skilled at employing it. Thus far, no Imperial force had managed to recognize the faint signature that parallaxes off the Ghosted ping. Demon 1-3 was an expert in the field, and she knew beyond a shadow of doubt that it would take a system-operator of unrivaled skill to detect the parallax. CAG units were good, but she doubted they could be that good.
<Demon 1-3, we have location signatures. It appears the OSS is narrowing its search vector.>
A slight tremor of surprise echoed down Demon 1-3’s spine. She had not expected for the Imperial OSS to find any return pings, much less so quickly. Her surprise quickly faded into adrenaline fueled excitement that was held far from manifesting itself upon her features. This mission would bear unexpected fruit after all.
<Very good, Demon 1-4.> She said over the thought-comm. <Stay frosty, team. It’s almost show time.>
I'm doing very well. Got a lot of shit done this morning, and I'm well into writing the next post. Thank the cosmos for dark roast coffee.
Good morning fellow Heretics! How are we doing today?
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