AndyC

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

4 Km away from Nui Awa Hydroelectric Dam
24km East of North and South Nui Awa
March 26th, 3030

"What do you mean Gonggong has been boarded?!" The Sword-Bearer shouted into his comms. "That train was reinforced with tank armor and its hatches were welded shut!"

One of the few remaining attendants in the Sword-Bearer's camp heard their leader's composure begin to falter for the first time he could remember. It was disturbing to see such frustration and anger on his face, given his unwavering conviction and unflagging confidence at all other times.

"Sword-Bearer," the attendant hazarded getting his leader's attention, "If the wisdom of Heaven has decreed we should not see victory this day, perhaps it is time we regroup to--"

"They're shooting its wheels off?!" he ignored his attendant. "But their own men are on board! Are they insane?!"

"Perhaps we have underestimated the convictions of--"

The attendant's vision went white for a moment as pain exploded across his face, the back of the Sword-Bearer's hand connecting with his cheekbone at blinding speed.

"They are mercenaries!" he hissed. "Capitalist prostitute scum! They know nothing of conviction! And yet they have slowed Gonggong to a crawl!"

"A thousand apologies, Sword-Bearer," the attendant cowered. Part of him was regretting having ever gotten roped into this group of political radicals at university. If he had only majored in electronics like his father wanted instead of political science...

"Well, line up some of the rocket buggies and focus fire on--....all dead?" The Sword-Bearer swore under his breath. "What about the bikes? Some of them were carrying Inferno launchers, and-- no, of course, all dead too. What do we have left in the vehicle bays?"

".....ahh, nothing, Sword-Bearer?"

He looked at the attendant with accusatory disbelief. "Nothing?!"

"Well...err....there is a small two-stroke dirtbike, but it is hardly--"

"It will have to do," the Sword-Bearer said with renewed purpose. "You. Command of this station is yours for the time being. I will see to these matters myself."

"....sir?"

"You heard me!" he barked with contemptuous impatience. The attendant watched with awe as the Sword-Bearer, brimming with confidence, strode away from the comms station towards the vehicle bay.

A minute later, the attendant heard the sound of a small two-stroke engine sputtering to life...

...and quickly after that, he saw the dirtbike and its rider speeding off, away from the battle, as fast as it could go...

---

Nui Awa Hydroelectric Dam
20km East of North and South Nui Awa
March 26th, 3030

"Jesus shit!" Corporal Jean Francis cursed as the entire land-train rattled and shuddered. Defusing a bomb was delicate work even under the best conditions, much less when she was getting shot at by a lance of her own side's 'Mechs.

"There goes another wheel," Corporal Ortega called out over comms. "ride's about to get a lot bumpier!"

"Oh good," Francis sighed to herself, before turning her attention back to the tangle of wires, power packs, and circuit boards, an unholy jumble that looked like it was cobbled together out of everything from military noteputers to civilian video game consoles. At the center of it all was a large metal case, about the size of a 'Mech ammunition crate, inside of which was a warhead that would vaporize them, wipe out most of the Green Knights, and flood two cities if she screwed this up.

"Right...right," Francis said as she worked, a screwdriver in one hand, a pair of clippers in the other, and the name of every god she'd ever heard of running through the back of her head. "This has to be the proximity sensor, which means that these wires should connect to....yeah, that one's the power source, and that one's the warhead, but what the hell are the other three--FUCK!

Another impact threw Francis and the jumble of electronics hard to one side. Panic began to set in on the Corporal as she desperately tried to untangle herself from the mess of wires. "I don't wanna die, Christ, I don't wanna die."

"'Want,' hell, Corporal!" Sergeant Dalton bellowed. "You don't have permission to die til I say so!"

Once again, the fear of being converted to radioactive vapor was somehow less than the fear of the Sarge's wrath.

"Yes, sir!" Corporal Francis responded, a fresh new motivation running through her. "Right. Undo this coupling here....right, now this keypad has a passcode to access the warhead's triggering mechanism. If I crack it open, though...yes, I can cross these wires and bypass it altogether..."

Francis walked herself through the process, panic giving way to purpose, following the electronic clutter and making her way towards the heart. Conventional wisdom said to double- and triple-check every step in the case of something this important. This wasn't the time for conventional wisdom; the only thing for it was to just get everything right in one go.

Everything lurched hard to the other side.

"Everyone grab onto something!" Ortega shouted over the comms. "We're augering in hard!"

As the Green Knights outside pounded the lead car into scrap, the land-train veered off-course and plowed into a ditch.

For several seconds, everything was noise and confusion.

Focus, Francis! the Corporal ordered herself, bracing against the wall of the car and holding on for dear life to a circuit board connected to five wires.

Hang on, she realized. This is the master board! One of these wires will disarm the warhead...but the rest will blow us all to hell! Okay, think, Francis, think...

The side of the train car impressed in with a horrible screeching noise as the car ground against a large boulder.

Five wires....the black one goes to the initiator...and that's the thermal switchgear...but those two aren't supposed to lead over---.....okay. Blue or green. One of these works, the other we're all dead.

Francis placed the blades of her wire cutters on the green wire, closed her eyes, gritted her teeth....

Here goes...

...then quickly moved to the blue wire and cut.

Then everything was dark.

Everything was silent.

Everything was still.

"Whooooo!!!!! Holy fuck, we're alive!"

Corporal Francis realized she still had her eyes closed, and that the land-train had finally ground to a halt.

"Wait....I was right?!"

Francis looked up at the bomb, and saw all the electronics around it had gone dead.

"Hell of a call, Corporal," Sergeant Dalton said, with a smirk that was the closest thing she'd ever seen to him smiling. "You just got us our very own nuke."

The Corporal finally allowed herself to breathe, and shook her head. "I, ah...thank you, sir."

---

New People's Democratic Republic of Espia Spaceport
12km West of Balya Gora
March 26th, 3030

"Unbelievable," the Fire Witch snarled as the deck chief sputtered and cowered before her. "These assets are going to help us flush out and annihilate the Green Knights, and you cannot even be bothered with basic security detail! Who knows what those intruders managed to do while they were sneaking about unnoticed!"

"W-w-we have guards stationed all through the spaceport, M-Ma'am!" the chief pleaded. "I d-d-don't know how two p-people who aren't on the p-p-personnel roll were able to g-g-get into--AAAAAIIIIEEEE!"

The deck chief screamed in agony as the Witch's neural lash came down across his back.

"I want the names of every security guard on duty tonight," she demanded. "And I will see to it myself that they are punished for this--"

"Fire Witch Actual," a voice came over her personal comm. This is Witch Lance Three. We just picked up some unusual seismic activity heading away from your area. The signal was spotty, but there were a few tremors that match the signature of Battlemech footsteps."

The Fire Witch gripped her neural lash so tightly the leather of the handle began to creak.

"The Green Knights..." she growled.

"B-b-but that's i-impossible!" The deck chief sputtered. "The s-spaceport has a p-p-powerful sensor dome! We would've d-d-detected 'Mechs in the area if they--AAAAAAAH!!!!"

"They have a Raven in their ranks," the Crimson Fist Mechwarrior told him. "That 'Mech has a state-of-the-art electronic warfare suite that can override even the most powerful sensors, let alone the pathetic civilian models at this port."

The Fire Witch's blood boiled. She had nearly destroyed that damned Raven during their battle earlier. If she had finished the job then, they would have never been able to sneak into this spaceport and cause trouble.

The Crimson King would have her head for this.

"Witch Lance, prepare to move out," she called to her fellow Mechwarriors. "We won't likely catch up with them, but we're going to find their trail and start tracking where they went. I'll take that Raven and its pilot if I have to burn every inch of ground on this miserable planet!"

---

Rooftop of the 'Diamond in the Rough' Bar
NPDRE-Occupied District
North Nui Awa
March 26th, 3030

"No, I'm not being followed," Stiletto said into her personal communicator, checking the one door to the roof for the twelfth time to make sure no one was up here with her. "All due respect, this is not my first outing."

Her rendezvous with the two visitors in the bar earlier had proven far more fruitful than she could have hoped for. Still, her superiors would want a full debriefing and assess the situation before deciding on the next course of action.

"I can confirm much of what we've already suspected," she said. "The propaganda reports from Malenkov are completely false. Gawain's Green Knights are still alive, and are still a combat capable unit. They still have access to their Battlemechs, and they are actively working against the NPDRE."

Stiletto's superiors had been working with Governor Xiu on long-term plans that had far-reaching implications for Espia, and the coup that had deposed him couldn't have come at a worse time. Not only was Premier Federov unfamiliar with any long-term plans for Espia beyond his own, but he had no interest in sharing the planet's future with anyone but himself and his inner circle.

"I believe they will prove a most valuable asset," Stiletto continued. "By introducing them to elements of the Free People's Army, the combined force can prove to be a powerful destabilizing factor. They must be made to see that they need to cooperate in order to survive. Without the firepower of the Green Knights, the FPA will be ground to dust. And without the FPA's connections and logistics, the Knights' power will wither and dry up long before their fight is over."

Stiletto had to admit, she had taken a liking to the two that had come to the Diamond in the Rough. The one who had wandered in a few days before, she could talk the talk, but had no ability to keep it cool. She had no future playing the great game. But those two, if they ever tired of the mercenary life, had potential...

"Yes, sir, I will see to it," she responded to her orders. "No sir, they don't suspect a thing. My cover remains intact. The plan remains intact as well."

Regardless of who won the overall battle between the FPA and the Espian Guard, and the titanic 'Mech struggles between the Green Knights and the Crimson Fists, the survivor would be too severely weakened to maintain any effective grip on Espia. Bloodied and spent, the supposed winner would have to either play by their rules, or be easily replaced.

"I will continue to work with the Green Knights and the FPA," she said, "and I will lead them to their inevitable fate."

This was a game that Stiletto had only recently learned to play, but she had taken to playing it well. Perhaps, though, that was just because it was a game her superiors had rigged to always win.

"Expect my next communication after they have made contact," she concluded.

Looking around once more to see the coast was clear, she ended her call,

"And may the Peace of Blake be with you."

Rise of Rasalhague - A "mostly" canon BattleTech mercenary roleplay for mech enjoyers

Interesting. I'm running another Battletech RP on the other end of the Inner Sphere around the same time period, so it might be fun to get a big inter-game collab going at some point.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

The Buckshot Boys

"You've gotta be joking," Private Liebowitz muttered under his breath, gripping the steering wheel of the Armored Personnel Carrier as it rumbled toward the target. Given the roar of the engine and the chaos of the battle around them, he was sure no one could hear his grumbling.

"Yeah, Liebowitz," snarled Sergeant Dalton, causing the private to go white with surprise, "I'm a real comedian. Stop me if you've heard this one: double-PT once we get back."

Liebowitz nodded, then gulped. The Sarge's wrath put more fear into the hearts of the Green Knights' infantry platoons than any amount of enemy fire.

"Now then," Dalton said, his voice booming even over the din of battle, "once we get alongside the train, we disembark two by two. Ortega and I take the lead car, Bronson and Jaffee take the next, then Okamura and Dautrieve, Morris and Azizi, Vasquez and Drake, with Borden and Shida taking the rear. Breach the entrances all at once, then sweep and clear. Needler pistols only, understood?"

"Understood, sir!" the Buckshot Boys responded in unison. Needler pistols were short-range but extremely vicious anti-personnel weapons designed for boarding actions on spaceships. Using compressed gas to force polymer-composite blocks through a fine screen at immense speed, they fired a spray of tiny flechettes that could not penetrate hard surfaces, but would utterly shred flesh. While this made needlers inefficient against enemies behind hard cover, they produced almost no sound or recoil, and the gunman could use them without worrying about creating an accidental hull breach-- or, in this case, accidentally setting off a nuclear warhead.

"Once we find the target, the APC will line up to the right car, allowing Francis to board and begin disarming, while the boarding party provides cover."

Corporal Francis nodded, her confidence very clearly just an appearance. While she had the most training and certs in demolitions, there weren't any courses for something like this. It was an a complete shot in the dark that she would be able to disarm the bomb at all.

"Now, if there's any--"

"Contact, five o'clock!" shouted Private Duffey from the seat of the .50 cal turret. Letting 'em have it!"

The cabin of the APC was hammered with the roar of the twin machine guns. Against Battlemechs, these weapons wouldn't do much more than scratch the paint. Against soft targets like the Heavenly Sword's technicals, however, the .50 caliber bullets ripped through them like a vibro-knife through butter.

"Get some, you cultist fucks!" Duffey shouted, an almost insane glee in his voice. "Get some, get some, fuckin' GET S--"

The APC shook from the impact of a stray rocket blast, and the cabin filled with smoke pouring in from the gunner's hatch. As the scrubbers cleared the air, the Buckshot Boys could see Duffey's legs slumping back down from the turret, everything above the waist a charred and gory ruin.

"Fuck me," Dalton grumbled, then shouted "Plan remains the same! Time to mount up!"

The life of an infantryman in a battlefield dominated by 'Mechs was usually measured in seconds. Their presence would always be necessary for actions just like this-- boarding craft, clearing structures, securing targets-- but nearly everyone who signed up to serve as a mud-marcher for a mercenary outfit knew that the odds were their paycheck would be going to their next of kin. It fostered a strange sort of esprit de corps among the infantry, but also meant one had to be at least a little heartless in action. Mourn later, act now.

"Coming up on the target, sir!" Private Liebowitz called out. "Everyone hold on!"

"Time to earn your pay, Boys!" the Sarge said, a hungry smile on his face as the left side door slid open.

The Heavenly Sword land train was a beast of a sight, a chain of six cars covered in extra layers of bolted-on armor. The front of it was fitted with a massive plow, and each car was fitted with a machine gun turret, which pinged bullets off of the side of the APC as it approached. Neither the train or the APC was particularly fast, but heading at each other head-on was going to make this maneuver tricky.

"Here goes!" Liebowitz shouted, turning the steering wheel to the left, allowing the land train to pass along the right side. As soon as they were past the plow, he slammed the brakes and threw the steering wheel as hard as he could to the right, causing the rear of the vehicle to fishtail out. Inside, the infantrymen lurched, holding on for dear life to not get flung out of the open door.

Liebowitz prayed to whatever gods might be listening as he fought for control of the APC. This sort of move would be considered risky for a high-performance sports car; for a 10-ton armored combat vehicle, it was goddamn ludicrous.

But when Sergeant Dalton wanted something done, you didn't waste time wondering about trivial things like whether it was possible.

As the APC's brakes screamed and the frame itself groaned in protest, eventually, the vehicle righted itself, then Liebowitz slammed the accelerator. Now with the open door facing the side of the land train, Dalton and the Boys readied to board the armored beast, a climbing axe in one hand and a satchel charge in the other.

"Ortega, we're up!" Dalton shouted to his second as the APC gained on the lead car. Before Corporal Ortega could respond, Dalton hurled his massive frame out the side of the APC, digging his climbing axe into the side of the land train.

By the end of the Fourth Succession War, the playbook of anti-'Mech infantry tactics first pioneered by the Gray Death Legion had made it into circulation among mercenary commands. While the concept of ambushing a 'Mech, climbing its frame, and planting explosive charges along its weak points was feasible in theory, in practice it had a survivability rate so low that no one would dare try it apart from the desperate, the insane, or the very, very good.

In this situation, the Buckshot Boys were a mix of all three.

Of the twelve infantrymen who leapt from the APC, ten of them made it onto the train. Dautrieve fell short and was dashed along the rocky ground, while Borden's axe slipped and he went under the train's massive wheels. The rest managed to gain holds along the sides of the cars, working their way around to the front and back of each one, and set their charges.

The entire train shuddered as the satchel charges, designed to penetrate 'Mech armor, obliterated the armored doors of the train cars, the shock and shrapnel ripping through several of the Heavenly Sword's fanatics outright. The smoke and the confusion turned each car into utter bedlam as a half-dozen firefights broke out.

"You wanna make yourselves martyrs?" Dalton roared as a dozen half-trained fanatics pointed their guns in his direction. "Lemme help you with that."

As pistol and rifle rounds pinged and whanged at random through the cabin of the lead car, Sergeant Dalton and Corporal Ortega put their Needler pistols to work. Every time they pulled the trigger, one of the Swordsmen went down in a bloody heap, their chests, limbs, and heads ripped to bloody shreds by the high-velocity flechettes. With the gas-powered guns making so little noise and no muzzle flash, the Swordsmen had trouble seeing where Dalton's fire was coming from, and he cut them down with no trouble.

Up and down the train, it was the same story. The Heavenly Sword were fanatics, but they were mostly untrained partisans, poor souls who had been indoctrinated by political radicals that put guns into their hands without bothering to show how to use them. The Green Knights First Infantry Platoon, however, were professional soldiers, with body armor and extensive training. Even outnumbered a half-dozen to one, the Buckshot Boys cleared the train cars with an efficiency they'd be proud of, if it weren't for the fact that each second they spent fighting was another second closer to being reduced to atomic vapor.

"Found the bomb, Sarge!" came Private Okamura's voice over comms. "Third car!"

"Acknowledged," he responded, before hailing the APC, "Third car, Liebowitz. Francis, you're up!"

As the rest of the Boys advanced on the third car to cover for Corporal Francis, Corporal Ortega moved to the driver's cabin of the lead car.

"Hey Sarge?" Ortega called. "Got a problem here. The brakes are cut, and the steering's jammed. We can't slow this thing down or change course."

Dalton grunted. "Francis, how much time do you need?"

"Ahhh....two minutes, maybe three?" came the Corporal's response as she broke out her demo tools.

As the dam loomed large ahead of them, Sergeant Dalton knew they didn't have nearly that much time. At best, they had a minute before impact, maybe thirty seconds before they'd be too close to slow down in time.

He hated it, but he knew it'd have to be done. He'd have to call in for help from the Mechwarriors.

Opening a channel on his comms, Dalton called out to the 'Mech lance.

"Green Knights, this is Buckshot leader!" he said. "The boys need some time to work. Thirty seconds to put the brakes on this train, three-zero and counting!"

Fear and Loathing in Gotham City: a One-Shot Crime Adventure

Well, I said 'Monday,' but I didn't specify which Monday.

Nevertheless, OOC is up now.

Fear and Loathing in Gotham City: a One-Shot Crime Adventure

"In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity."

-Hunter S. Thompson

The job is simple.

• Point A is a warehouse on the northern end of Bleake Island.
• Point C is a dock in the Gotham Harbor, just past the Amusement Mile.
• Object O is a small locked briefcase. What is in the briefcase is none of your business.
• Time D is dawn tomorrow morning.
• Mr. X is a very rich person who would very much like Object C. Mr. X's real identity is none of your business.
• Amount Y is more money than you can spend in one lifetime.
• Consequence Z is the worst thing you can imagine, only much worse.

The job, as mentioned, is simple:
Go from Point A to Point C, with Object O, before Time D, and deliver it to Mr. X, who will give you Amount Y, or expect Consequence Z.

How you get from Point A to Point C is up to you, as well as how you deal with Complication B.

Why isn't it 'Complication C', you ask? Because this is Gotham City. And everyone in Gotham knows, 'Complication' starts with a B...

---

I N T R O D U C T I O N:

Fear and Loathing in Gotham City is a small-scale, one-shot adventure based around a group of small-time crooks in Gotham City. Players will be members of a low-level organized crime outfit, each with their own specialization (tech guy, wheelman, safe-cracker, etc: look at the Caper Crew page of TVTropes for inspiration). Working together, they must carry out a task for a mysterious benefactor, all while trying to avoid catching too much attention from Gotham's boys in blue...or worse, the various boys and girls in other bright colored outfits.

The general flow of the game will be sort of a "funhouse ride" in nature, not exactly on rails, but nudged from one location to another to keep the plot moving. Each district of Gotham will be populated with notable locations and NPCs, some of whom will be hunting the party, while others may be convinced to help them out in exchange for one thing or another. Like a traditional pen-and-paper RPG, the GM and AGM will be playing the parts of these NPCs, and each encounter will have various outcomes depending on how the players interact with them and each other. If you're able to find your way to the end, you win.

Unlike most Guild RPs, characters can be eliminated from play if an encounter goes particularly badly-- if, say, Deathstroke shows up, you may be able to cut some kind of deal or even come up with a clever distraction and give him the slip, but if you try to pick a fight with him, the most likely outcome is that he'll just shoot you dead. While I don't intend for the game to be a meat-grinder, I am going to treat it as a game, and part of it being a game is the possibility that you can lose.

Content: I'm looking for a sort of dark-crime-comedy vibe, something like In Bruges or Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, with elements of the eponymous Fear and Loathing and of course the DC Comics themselves (with maybe a dash of the Venture Bros sprinkled on top). I'm imagining it with a soft-R-rating, with violence and drugs and all the scuzzy things in the super-criminal underworld, but not veering into full-on 18+ rating.

---

T H E C I T Y:

Gotham City is a sprawling metropolitan area along the American eastern seaboard. Home to over 8 million citizens, Gotham has become one of the most notoriously dangerous cities in the world. Crime has always been a major issue in the city, as organized syndicates like the Falcone crime family have been operating unchallenged for generations, and the staggering economic inequality in neighborhoods like Park Row and the Bowery result in countless street gangs rising and falling. As corruption in all levels of government have stagnated any and all attempts to alleviate the dangerous conditions, Gotham has also become the home to a small but extremely effective band of vigilantes. As high-rise businesses and impoverished neighborhoods alike are at risk in the never-ending battles between the police, the various criminal outfits, the infamous Bat-Man, and the influx of garish 'super-villains' that have risen up in his wake, much of Gotham's population has begun to either wallow in hopelessness, or take it as a sign of their own toughness that they continue to live in such a dangerous place.

The Powers That Be

Mayor Hamilton Hill is widely considered to be, at best, an ineffectual fool, if not a corrupt puppet. The subject of several scandals in recent years, the mayor's administration has frequently bungled emergency responses, begun city-wide initiatives that ended in disaster, or had high-ranking members close to the mayor exposed as operatives of criminal organizations. Because of this, many tend to ignore the city government altogether, and see the city as an almost feudal state, with several local rulers vying for supremacy.

Carmine Falcone: The largest and most powerful of the current syndicates, the Falcone Family has ruled over Gotham for over 100 years. While Carmine's territory has shrunk in recent years, he still maintains a stronghold over Bleake Island, as well as portions of the Diamond District and the Bowery.

Rupert Thorne: The CEO and sole proprietor of GothCorp, Thorne is the second-richest man in Gotham, second only to Bruce Wayne himself. While Thorne plays the role of the well-meaning industrialist, it is no secret that he will do absolutely anything to increase his wealth and power in the city. Thorne holds a significant portion of Founders Island, particularly the financial district.

The Penguin: Oswald Cobblepot comes from old money, one of the founding families of Gotham. Unlike the Waynes or the Arkhams, however, the Cobblepots squandered their family fortune, and only recently has Oswald restored their name to prominence. It is a poorly-kept secret that Oswald, known in the criminal underworld as 'the Penguin,' frequently associates with and hires many of the city's outlandish super-criminals, and many see him as the halfway point between the older 'legitimate' criminals and the new breed of insane super-villains. The Penguin holds territory over most of Miagami Island, and portions of Founders Island.

Black Mask: The newest of the criminal syndicates in Gotham, Roman Sionis entered the scene in dramatic fashion the sadistic and feared Black Mask, taking sizable chunks of Falcone's territory in swift and brutal fashion. While his organization doesn't have the numbers of Falcone, the deep pockets of Thorne, or the garish super-criminals of the Penguin, Black Mask makes up for it with ruthless efficiency, hiring paramilitary mercenaries to seize what he wants with overwhelming firepower. He holds territory in the Industrial District and portions of Bleake Island.

Two-Face: Once a respected hero of the Gotham City justice system, Harvey Dent was physically and mentally scarred during his crusade for justice, and became the unpredictable Two-Face. Caught between his longing for higher justice and his acceptance of the brutal and unforgiving nature of power in Gotham, Two-Face can change from hardline vigilante to vicious gangster on the literal flip of a coin. Most of his gang consists of off-duty GCPD officers, still loyal to Dent's cause. His territory is the Burnley and Coventry districts.

The Joker: The most notorious super-criminal in the world, the Joker's crimes are the stuff of nightmares. Together with his deranged second-in-command Harley Quinn, the Clown Prince of Crime has wreaked more havoc on Gotham City than most natural disasters. The Joker's gang consists mostly of escaped mental patients from Arkham Asylum, as well as the super-criminals that are too dangerous or unpredictable for work for more "respectable" crime lords. His domain is the Amusement Mile and Park Row.

The Bat Man: While Gotham City is full of terrors, there is perhaps no name more feared in the criminal underworld than the Bat Man. While he was initially dismissed as a crazy man in tights, the brutal vigilante has waged war on the crime syndicates of Gotham for years, leaving everyone from lowly street gangs to former giants like Sal Maroni and Tony Zucco in ruins. A seemingly unbeatable fighter armed with gadgets and weapons that might as well be from the future, the Bat Man could be anywhere and strike at any time. When his symbol shines against the night sky, most criminals in Gotham have one course of action: pray he's somewhere else.

R U L E S:

• Players are allowed 1 character, who should fit within the bounds of the initial concept: a low-level criminal native to Gotham City. For example, a hard-nosed hitman working for Carmine Falcone would likely be accepted, but the top elite assassin of Ra's al Ghul would not.
• Applications will be reviewed 48 hours after submission. If the GM decides that an element of the application needs to be rewritten, a new 24-hour review period will begin after rewrites have been made. An OOC statement of intent to compete is allowed, but incomplete sheets will not be considered.
• Applications must be posted in the OOC while awaiting GM approval. Once approved, you will need to post this in the Characters tab so they are easier accessed by other players.
• While this is the Advanced roleplay section, I am not going to be particularly strict on things like paragraph count. As long as a post is in-character, well-constructed, and relevant to the plot, it will fly.
• Players must post at least once every two weeks. Extensions may be made if real-life complications arise, but otherwise, if a player misses the two-week deadline, their character will be removed from play. This could mean they are killed off, scooped up by the cops, or even snatched by the Batman, but at any rate they will be out of the game.
• While it is possible for characters to be removed from the game by way of the plot, intentionally killing or otherwise ruining another player's character is strictly forbidden without their permission. If you're going to engage in PvP, keep it friendly.
• Explicit content (particularly graphic depictions of sex or gore) is forbidden.
• Standard Guild rules apply.

---

C H A R A C T E R A P P L I C A T I O N:

Player Name:

Character Name:

Specialization: (driver, gunman, tech guy, face, etc)

Background:

Notable Features:

Personality:

Fatal Flaw:

Fear and Loathing in Gotham City: a One-Shot Crime Adventure

Got caught up in real-life stuff for a bit, but I'm back on it now. OOC goes up Monday.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

are y'all still accepting peeps or am I too late?

@SnakieDarker

At this point in the campaign, it'd be pretty difficult to work in another Mechwarrior. There are ways we can introduce other types of characters (tankers, aero-jocks, infantry, etc), but if you specifically want to pilot a 'Mech, it'd probably be better to hold off until Season 2.

Fear and Loathing in Gotham City: a One-Shot Crime Adventure

"In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity."

-Hunter S. Thompson

The job is simple.

Point A is a warehouse on the northern end of Bleake Island.

Point C is a dock in the Gotham Harbor, just past the Amusement Mile.

Object O is a small locked briefcase. What is in the briefcase is none of your business.

Time D is dawn tomorrow morning.

Mr. X is a very rich person who would very much like Object C. Mr. X's real identity is none of your business.

Amount Y is more money than you can spend in one lifetime.

Consequence Z is the worst thing you can imagine, only much worse.

The job, as mentioned, is simple:

Go from Point A to Point C, with Object O, before Time D, and deliver it to Mr. X, who will give you Amount Y, or expect Consequence Z.

How you get from Point A to Point C is up to you, as well as how you deal with Complication B.

Why isn't it 'Complication C', you ask? Because this is Gotham City. And everyone in Gotham knows, 'Complication' starts with a B...

---

This is a small-scale, one-shot adventure based around a group of small-time crooks in Gotham City. Players will be members of a low-level organized crime outfit, each with their own specialization (tech guy, wheelman, safe-cracker, etc: look at the Caper Crew page of TVTropes for inspiration). Working together, they must carry out a task for a mysterious benefactor, all while trying to avoid catching too much attention from Gotham's boys in blue...or worse, the various boys and girls in other bright colored outfits.

The general flow of the game will be sort of a "funhouse ride" in nature, not exactly on rails, but nudged from one location to another to keep the plot moving. Each district of Gotham will be populated with notable locations and NPCs, some of whom will be hunting the party, while others may be convinced to help them out in exchange for one thing or another. Like a traditional pen-and-paper RPG, the GM and AGM will be playing the parts of these NPCs, and each encounter will have various outcomes depending on how the players interact with them and each other. If you're able to find your way to the end, you win.

Unlike most Guild RPs, characters can be eliminated from play if an encounter goes particularly badly-- if, say, Deathstroke shows up, you may be able to cut some kind of deal or even come up with a clever distraction and give him the slip, but if you try to pick a fight with him, the most likely outcome is that he'll just shoot you dead. While I don't intend for the game to be a meat-grinder, I am going to treat it as a game, and part of it being a game is the possibility that you can lose.

Content wise, I'm looking for a sort of dark-crime-comedy vibe, something like In Bruges or Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, with elements of the eponymous Fear and Loathing and of course the DC Comics themselves (with maybe a dash of the Venture Bros sprinkled on top). I'm imagining it with a soft-R-rating, with violence and drugs and all the scuzzy things in the super-criminal underworld, but not veering into full-on 18+ rating.

Looking for a group of about 5 or 6 in total. Lemme know if this sounds like the kind of thing you'd want to try out.

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

"Sword Bearer, the second wave," an attendant said as he approached, "they're getting--"

The Sword Bearer held up his hand to silence the attendant.

"They are performing their sacred duty to the Celestial Throne," he said, his voice calm and even, "one that we will all perform in our own time, with gladness in our hearts for furthering the purpose of Heaven."

"Y-yes, Sword Bearer," the attendant acknowledged.

For a moment, the Sword Bearer studied his young servant, a teenager barely out of school. When he had pledged himself to the cause, the attendant had been full of fire and righteous certainty. Now, he saw doubt in the boy's eyes.

Could he be the mole? he found himself wondering. Has his faith in the glorious crusade faltered? Even if it has, does the boy have the spine to act on it?

"You are afraid?" he asked the attendant as the radio behind him buzzed with the screams of dying men.

"I.....I am nervous, Sword Bearer," the boy answered.

"Of dying?"

The attendant shook his head.

"Of failing," he answered. "Of dying without performing my service to the Throne."

Slowly, the Sword Bearer nodded.

"The mercenaries and their Battlemechs may be formidable," he began, "but ultimately they are useless things. They have no purpose, no duty in their existence, no loyalty to anything but coin. You, my boy, were given a mandate from Heaven. They cannot possibly stop you."

"Yes sir," the boy said, still shaky, but a bit more confident. The Sword Bearer smiled.

"You will not die uselessly today," he said. "Take up a weapon; you will be one of the fortunate aboard Gonggong."

"....G-....Gonggong?" the attendant gulped.

"Go now," he ordered, "it is nearly time to depart!"

As the boy ran towards the enormous armored mass some fifty meters away, the air itself trembled from the roar of massive fusion engines.

---

"Looks like the second wave is starting to break," Lieutenant Lyons reported as they looked at the tactical readout on the screen.

"What were they thinking?" Cadet Windham asked, the question more rhetorical. "I mean, a couple of up-gunned civlian trucks and dune buggies, against a heavy 'Mech lance? Why didn't they just turn around when they saw they couldn't win?"

"Who knows," Cadet Higgins shrugged. "Fanaticism can make people do crazy things."

"They're trying to clear the way," Colonel Wayne stated, his eyes firmly on the monitor. "The first wave was to make us scatter, to throw us off our game. Now they're trying to clear a path, make us spread out to protect civilians or take cover from the rocket fire."

"Make way for what, sir?" Lyons asked.

"For the main event," the Colonel answered.

"Incoming transmission on open comms," Higgins reported. "Sounds like it's coming from the OpFor command."

"Put it through," Gaius ordered.

Higgins nodded, then switched on the speakers.

"....said that in ancient times on blessed Terra," came a voice over the open channel, "that the great serpent Gonggong caused disasters on a cosmic scale. In a display of his omnipotent rage, the serpent smashed his head into the side of the Buzhou Mountain, one of the eight Pillars of Heaven, a blow so mighty it shifted the axis of Terra herself. This blow caused rivers to change course and flood the land, filling the world with death and suffering.

"Today, mercenary scum, you have invoked the wrath of the serpent. The god of disasters moves in the world of mortal men once more, and will bring about a mighty flood to cleanse this world of its sinners. Today, we rattle the pillars of Heaven! Today, the hierarchy of the multiverse changes! Say hello, mercenaries, to Gonggong! And say goodbye to existence!!!!"

As the transmission cut off, a new blip appeared on the Mobile HQ's sensors.

"New contact, Colonel!" Lieutenant Lyons said, "Looks like a big one!"

"Seismic sensors are picking it up," Windham chimed in. "Looks like it's something in the range of....frackencrack, 500 tons?!"

"A land train," Colonel Wayne surmised. "Probably packed with explosives. If that thing gets within half a kilometer of the dam, even if we disable it, it'll have too much momentum to slow it down."

"So we just focus-fire on it until it--"

"Shit, radiological alert!" Windham interrupted. "There's a big spike in the center of the mass!"

Colonel Wayne's eyes went wide, then he immediately opened up a channel to the Green Knights.

"Green Knights, Gawain Actual!" he shouted, his composure slipping just a bit. "Large enemy unit inbound, there is a nuke on-board! Repeat, active nuke on the field! Intercept and immobilize before it reaches 0.5 kilometers. Sergeant Dalton, prepare your team for a boarding action!"

"A boarding action?! Are you f--"

Before Higgins could finish his sentence, Lyons clamped her hand over his mouth.

"Sir, shouldn't be ordering a withdrawal?"

"I'm not letting them kill an entire city," the Colonel said. "If they're throwing everything they've got into this, then so are we. Now it's all or nothing."

Mechwarrior: Disposable Heroes

'Diamond in the Rough' Bar
NPDRE-Occupied District
North Nui Awa
March 26th, 3030

"...and that's when I say to him, I say, 'look, motherfucker, you quit reaching into your pocket or I'm gonna blow your fuckin' head off!' Got my TK right in this asshole's face, and he just keeps nodding, going 'yeah, uh-huh, uh-huh,'" the half-drunk Espian Guardsman, a captain by the rank on his fatigues, continued, "half the platoon is shouting at me to just drop this guy before he pulls a gun on us. His wife is screamin', his kids are crying, but I stay cool as a fuckin' cucumber, just keep my rifle trained right on him. Finally, his wife pulls the guy's hand out of his pocket for him, and you know what he had?"

"I can't imagine," the dark-skinned, green-haired young woman at the bar humored him, not even making an effort to maintain interest.

"His fuckin' papers," the captain chuckled. "Stupid fuckin' refugee had no idea how close he was to gettin' blown away..."

While the young man laughed at the expense of some poor family he and his platoon had terrorized that day, the woman had to make a concerted effort not to roll her eyes.

More than once, the girl who operated under the codename 'Stiletto' had compared her line of work to fishing, or perhaps like an ancient Terran prospector panning for gold. It took a tremendous deal of patience, casting out her line and waiting for hours for any kind of bite, sifting through the worthless flotsam and jetsam in the hope of seeing that sparkle of gold flake among the grit and the mud. She had trained for years to pick up on subtle cues, so parse out useful information in even the most inane of conversation. One never knew when some bit of idle gossip could lead to invaluable intel.

Tonight, however, had been painfully dull.

Ever since the stranger had come in a few nights ago, who had caught onto her use of Spacers' Cant, Stiletto knew she was onto something. The girl was clearly by herself, looking for someone. She'd left graffiti on the side of the wall when she left, and while Stiletto couldn't decipher it to save her life-- a fact that annoyed both herself and her superiors to no end-- she could tell it was a code of some sort. The only reason someone would leave coded messages was in the hopes someone else would see it.

Couple that with how she'd reacted when Stiletto brought up Battlemechs, and the conclusion was an interesting, not to mention potentially extremely valuable. Despite what the propaganda reels from Malenkov and his stooges told the public, Gawain's Green Knights were still very much alive, and likely operating in the area.

"So whaddya say we get out of here and I'll show you the officers' quarters?" the soldier said as he blatantly copped a feel, his uniform and gun giving him a sense of invulnerability to get away with whatever he wanted.

"Mmmm, can't wait," Stiletto purred outwardly, while internally squirming from this little creep. "Just one more drink before we go."

"You got it, babe," the captain nodded with a triumphant smile, then shouted at the barman. "Two drinks over here! A Timbiqui Dark for me, and-- hey, babe, whaddya want?"

Stiletto ignored the captain pawing at him, and said directly to the bartender "A Naranji Fizz, Canopian-style."

With a knowing grin, the bartender the bartender nodded, and poured the two their drinks. Stiletto humored the captain a while longer, reciprocating his advances as if she too couldn't wait to get somewhere private.

The captain was so engrossed with this that he never noticed her hands rifling through his pockets.

Nor did he notice the sleight of hand as the barman slipped a small white capsule into his drink.

When the bartender slid him their drinks, Stiletto raised her cocktail, a fluorescent purple concoction that crackled like someone had put a million volts through it, in a toast.

"Here's to an interesting evening," she said, downing a mouthful. Naranji were sharply tart, acidic fruit that most people couldn't handle without making a face, and when paired with peach schnapps and Canopian citrus liqueur, made for a drink that kicked hard before even getting to the alcohol. Stiletto downed it as if it were tap water.

"Fuck yeah," the captain said before pounding down his bottle, not even bothering to savor the complexity of the expensive Timbiqui beer. He had no time to sip and sample hints of oranges or notes of chocolate or any of that shit; he was about to score with the hottest girl he had ever--

THUD!

Laughter rose from the other soldiers in the bar as the captain's head hit the bar. As far as any of them knew, he was another puffed-up officer who couldn't handle his beer. The barracks would be alive with stories the next day about how the captain got trashed and blacked out right in front of everyone.

"We got another lightweight!" the bartender shouted to the bouncer. "Let him sleep it off in the back room!"

Stiletto grinned with grim satisfaction as a barrel-chested bouncer lumbered from the front door, scooped up the unconscious captain, and carried him out towards the back of the bar. She knew there was no 'back room;' what the bartender had meant was 'take this asshole to the truck out back, drop him off in an alley a couple of blocks up the road, and let the scavengers deal with him.'

"Cash or card for the drinks, Miss?" the bartender asked Stiletto, who was perusing the contents of the captain's wallet.

"Looks like card," she said. "Put everyone's tab tonight on Captain....Brendan Yang."

As the bartender took the unfortunate captain's card and began ringing up every drink for the rest of the night on his name, Stiletto turned to the front door and saw two figures enter.

Two women, out-of-towners by the look of them. Judging by their clothes they were trying to pass themselves off as refugees; one of them might have escaped her notice if she hadn't been on the lookout since the first stranger had come through, but the other held herself like she was an alien who had only now just heard of the concept of 'acting casual.'

Stiletto made an effort to conceal her excitement. Maybe they'd read the graffiti outside, maybe they were friends of the stranger from the other night. If so, they might be able to lead her to the Green Knights, and from there her superiors could--

....calm down, she caught herself. You came on too strong with the last one, and you ended up scaring her off before you could learn anything useful. Play it cool. Let them find you first.

With a deep breath to collect herself, she sat back down at the bar, turning slightly towards them, and angling her body against the lights of the bar just enough that the light glinted off the stiletto she wore on her necklace.

Cast your line out enough, she thought, and eventually something will take the bait.