Bork Lazer

Quantumverse [A Universe Combination Roleplay]

It's started when an alien device did what it did

And stuck itself upon its wrist with secrets that it hid

Now he's got superpowers, he's no ordinary kid

He's........

BEN 10

---

^{_{BENJAMIN KIRBY TENNYSON ♦ MIDDLE SCHOOL STUDENT ♦ BELLWOOD, CALIFORNIA}}

POWERS

---

With the mysterious watch-like device named the Omnitrix, Ben can transform for a limited time into a variety of aliens, each possessing their own unique abilities and powers for any emergency or situation he can think of.

POWERS

---

With the mysterious watch-like device named the Omnitrix, Ben can transform for a limited time into a variety of aliens, each possessing their own unique abilities and powers for any emergency or situation he can think of.

Character Concept

---

The main thorough line that I want to center Ben's development around is the concept of innocence and how to maintain its value in a world where so many people are quick to toss it away. This is ultimately a bildungsroman where Ben will encounter multiple obstacles in many circumstances that will force him to mature quickly. Do we take things in our youth foregranted? What does it mean to grow up? How do you deal with the past? Those are the questions I want to explore. The Omnitrix, as well,plays an intrinsic role as a supporting 'character' for Ben. I think it's important to elevate it beyond the role of being a simple Macguffin for Ben to use at a moment's notice.

Needless to say, there will be massive divergences from canon which I'll be taking liberties with in order to take a more interesting route. I'll be taking inspiration from every series of Ben 10 produced, picking and choosing which elements I like best. The world of Ben 10 is massive and full of self-contradictory nonsense that needs to be excised one piece at a time.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

Remember that cartoon that you obsess about every time you woke up on the weekend, buy every toy, every single piece of merchandise imaginable? That was Ben 10 for me. I don't know what was the exact formula that made Ben 10 the hit it was and still is today. Well, the original series anyway. I have mixed opinions about the follow ups but I consider the original to be a classic that everyone should watch.

The story that I want to tell is a retelling of Ben's origin story, shifting the scene from a country spanning road trip to a middle school mystery thriller. The central narrative focuses on Ben navigating the troubles of being a public school student whilst also simultaneously working to investigate the mysteries of Grandpa Max's past and how it relates to the posthumous gift that he gave him for his 10th birthday: the Omnitrix. The more he investigates, the more he finds out and peels away the layers of Bellwood's hidden conspiracies.....

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

San Alonso is quieter than normal, Ben thinks. Here, school, homework, chores and traffic jams are far away. He watches the fishing tackle bob up and down in the forlorn creek of the river, enticing the underwater critters that dwell in its waters. A barely visible fishing line connects it with a pole choppily crafted from fallen sticks and duct tape. Continuing on from the creek, the current cuts through the split halves of a beaver dam and meanders down the curved valleys of Bellwood.

The line suddenly pulls taut. Ben scrambles up, tossing up dead leaves, as he grabs the fishing rod and begins yanking it. It’s a tug of war as the grey shadow underwater pulls back at the same time. Finally, he wrenches it and tosses it upwards. The fish lands with a wet thud on the black dirt, flopping its body uselessly. . It’s a monster alright. He can barely hold it in his hands. It batters and beats at his face with its tail. Hoisting it up by the tail,

“ Grandpa! Come and see this! “ He shouts out. No one replies. “Grandpa? Grandpa? You - “ Wait. His eyes furrow. Why was he calling for Grandpa?

In the middle of his excitement, he’s forgotten that Grandpa Max is gone. Not for a holiday, not for a business trip but gone forever. Dead. He looks back at the wriggling fish in his hand. It’s smaller now. Upside down. Powerless. Just like him. Anger bubbles up within him and for a moment, he wants to wring its gills. Stomp it with a rock. Scream how unfair it is that Grandpa Max dies but Morningstar can’t. Stupid Gwen. Stupid Morningstar. Stupid mom. Stupid dad. Stupid school. Stupid councillor. He kicks a tuft of grass in frustration, still holding the fish in the air. Grandpa Max’s words come back to him.

Catch and release, Ben. That way, you catch bigger next time.

His expression softens. Holding the fish with two hands, he lets it gently sink back into the water. The fish squirms and writhes away, jetting off into the inky depths. Ben sighs. The watch on his left hand now feels like a lead weight that’ll make him sink into the ground if he isn’t careful. He looks at it. The black wristband is rubber thick, clamping so hard on Ben’s wrist that his hands feel slightly numb. The hourglass shaped dial is cracked, blinking a neon green. It almost seems alive at times. Why would Grandpa Max give him a watch that can’t even tell him the time?

He blinks and notices that the shadows of the tree have shifted. The sun glows a dying orange, beginning to set into late noon.

Time to go back before he gets yelled at.

---

Six Six is reliable. Over a hundred warlords and tinpot system dictators have him as their number one contact. He has never killed a single one of his own clients. No amount of bribes, false promises or blackmail can turn him away from his quarry. That is the foundation of a reputation.

Six Six is deadly. He has killed the unkillable, the undefeated and unstoppable. He has hunted down men hiding behind armies, dreadnoughts and in other galaxies. His reputation is mere bark unless you can back it up with a bite.

Six Six is prepared. He reviews each of his targets movements, behavioural patterns and habitation thoroughly before beginning his execution. His armor has been constantly changed and modified over centuries to near perfection. Dying is for those who lack preparation and foresight. Preparation is how you make a reputation into a legacy.

He was not prepared, however, for the most powerful device in the universe. The shoulder mounted camera protruding from his pauldron zooms in on what is attached on the young homo sapien’s wrist. The frequency of the radiation signature makes any denial foolish. Galvan technology cannot be replicated or faked, even by Cerebrocrustaceans. No one can mistake the device for anything else but the Omnitrix. He briefly takes out a low-band particle pistol from his side holster, aiming it at the human child’s head. One killshot. He hesitates, though. The bounty hunter is not one to believe in fables or myths but if Vilgax the Conqueror was felled by a user of the Omnitrix, it would be foolish of him to engage. He activates his photo-chromatic array, dousing himself in a shimmering field, before he flies off on his twin-jet boosterpack soundlessly. He relays one single short message to his client.

CONFIRMATION: OMNITRIX SIGHTED

Forsaken

It was a complete smorgasbord of individuals from all over the continent, tall figures overshadowing Lak Lok’s diminutive kobold size with the exception of the otter. Lak Lok inwardly cursed whatever gods were responsible for making a small percentage of races on the continent vertically challenged. He nearly scraped his head against the bony pelvis of the goliath, moving through the crowded room and making sure that he didn’t get stamped on in the process.

His scaled skin began to feel stiff as he approached the genasi, the air around her warm and dry as bone. The large cauldron roped on his back jangled back and forth as he maneuvered and slipped in between the legs of people, trying to find a space where he could rest and sit down. All of these different ingredients together would make a unique recipe indeed….or a complete disaster. Who was he to question Garakkg’s methods?
He couldn’t help but notice that the moon elf and the fire demon were cuddling together like long lost lovers. It was hard to see the genasi’s expression from his height but it looked as if she was glowing red by the cheeks in embarrassment. Ah, the wonders of inter species relationships. He held his tongue at asking whether or not he could have officiate their wedding under Garrakg’s domain.

Temple first, Lak Lok. Temple first.

An odd aroma of burning pipeweed was coursing through the air, though. Lak Lok’s tongue flickered out, tasting the smoky fumes of burnt fruit and smooth notes. He slowly turned around to see an old man walk into the room, pipe in hand. This must be the so called A.G. Vein pulsing in his head, Lak Lok’s hand wavered towards his paring knife, pausing as the old man began to recount his story. Lak Lok's raging temper at the geezer's chosen venue simmered down to a partial boil when he heard about his dead wife.

So, it did have something to do with all the missing people in Forsaken. Even though Nowyre Crossroads was miles away from Forsaken, it had still affected the operations of the Burgundy. Lak Lok's vein pulsed as he remembered the frustration he had when he received news of his new centaur sous chef having been found missing in his homestead. Whoever was responsible would pay for that.

Finally fed up with being one of the shortest of the group, he crawled on top of a chair to make himself more visible to his client. Standing on top of the seat, wavering slightly as the chair struggled to hold his weight, he spoke.

“ In spite of your startling lack of culinary expertise and the horrendous quality of this establishment menu…” Lak Lok took a deep breath, controlling himself from pulling his steak knife out and gutting Abraham Garrick to death. “....Garrakg has pointed me to you, Mr Garrick. I shall see to it that I shall exact Garrakg’s vengeance on the scum who did this to your betrothed and sentence them to the bowels of the deep fryer. You have my word. ”

Bork Lazer's Storage Bunker

It's started when an alien device did what it did

And stuck itself upon its wrist with secrets that it hid

Now he's got superpowers, he's no ordinary kid

He's........

BEN 10

---

^{_{BENJAMIN KIRBY TENNYSON ♦ MIDDLE SCHOOL STUDENT ♦ BELLWOOD, CALIFORNIA}}

POWERS

---

With the mysterious watch-like device named the Omnitrix, Ben can transform for a limited time into a variety of aliens, each possessing their own unique abilities and powers for any emergency or situation he can think of.

POWERS

---

With the mysterious watch-like device named the Omnitrix, Ben can transform for a limited time into a variety of aliens, each possessing their own unique abilities and powers for any emergency or situation he can think of.

Character Concept

---

The main thorough line that I want to center Ben's development around is the concept of innocence and how to maintain its value in a world where so many people are quick to toss it away. This is ultimately a bildungsroman where Ben will encounter multiple obstacles in many circumstances that will force him to mature quickly. Do we take things in our youth foregranted? What does it mean to grow up? How do you deal with the past? Those are the questions I want to explore. The Omnitrix, as well,plays an intrinsic role as a supporting 'character' for Ben. I think it's important to elevate it beyond the role of being a simple Macguffin for Ben to use at a moment's notice.

Needless to say, there will be massive divergences from canon which I'll be taking liberties with in order to take a more interesting route. I'll be taking inspiration from every series of Ben 10 produced, picking and choosing which elements I like best. The world of Ben 10 is massive and full of self-contradictory nonsense that needs to be excised one piece at a time.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

---

Remember that cartoon that you obsess about every time you woke up on the weekend, buy every toy, every single piece of merchandise imaginable? That was Ben 10 for me. I don't know what was the exact formula that made Ben 10 the hit it was and still is today. Well, the original series anyway. I have mixed opinions about the follow ups but I consider the original to be a classic that everyone should watch.

The story that I want to tell is a retelling of Ben's origin story, shifting the scene from a country spanning road trip to a middle school mystery thriller. The central narrative focuses on Ben navigating the troubles of being a public school student whilst also simultaneously working to investigate the mysteries of Grandpa Max's past and how it relates to the posthumous gift that he gave him for his 10th birthday: the Omnitrix. The more he investigates, the more he finds out and peels away the layers of Bellwood's hidden conspiracies.....

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

San Alonso is quieter than normal, Ben thinks. Here, school, homework, chores and traffic jams are far away. He watches the fishing tackle bob up and down in the forlorn creek of the river, enticing the underwater critters that dwell in its waters. A barely visible fishing line connects it with a pole choppily crafted from fallen sticks and duct tape. Continuing on from the creek, the current cuts through the split halves of a beaver dam and meanders down the curved valleys of Bellwood.

The line suddenly pulls taut. Ben scrambles up, tossing up dead leaves, as he grabs the fishing rod and begins yanking it. It’s a tug of war as the grey shadow underwater pulls back at the same time. Finally, he wrenches it and tosses it upwards. The fish lands with a wet thud on the black dirt, flopping its body uselessly. . It’s a monster alright. He can barely hold it in his hands. It batters and beats at his face with its tail. Hoisting it up by the tail,

“ Grandpa! Come and see this! “ He shouts out. No one replies. “Grandpa? Grandpa? You - “ Wait. His eyes furrow. Why was he calling for Grandpa?

In the middle of his excitement, he’s forgotten that Grandpa Max is gone. Not for a holiday, not for a business trip but gone forever. Dead. He looks back at the wriggling fish in his hand. It’s smaller now. Upside down. Powerless. Just like him. Anger bubbles up within him and for a moment, he wants to wring its gills. Stomp it with a rock. Scream how unfair it is that Grandpa Max dies but Morningstar can’t. Stupid Gwen. Stupid Morningstar. Stupid mom. Stupid dad. Stupid school. Stupid councillor. He kicks a tuft of grass in frustration, still holding the fish in the air. Grandpa Max’s words come back to him.

Catch and release, Ben. That way, you catch bigger next time.

His expression softens. Holding the fish with two hands, he lets it gently sink back into the water. The fish squirms and writhes away, jetting off into the inky depths. Ben sighs. The watch on his left hand now feels like a lead weight that’ll make him sink into the ground if he isn’t careful. He looks at it. The black wristband is rubber thick, clamping so hard on Ben’s wrist that his hands feel slightly numb. The hourglass shaped dial is cracked, blinking a neon green. It almost seems alive at times. Why would Grandpa Max give him a watch that can’t even tell him the time?

He blinks and notices that the shadows of the tree have shifted. The sun glows a dying orange, beginning to set into late noon.

Time to go back before he gets yelled at.

---

Six Six is reliable. Over a hundred warlords and tinpot system dictators have him as their number one contact. He has never killed a single one of his own clients. No amount of bribes, false promises or blackmail can turn him away from his quarry. That is the foundation of a reputation.

Six Six is deadly. He has killed the unkillable, the undefeated and unstoppable. He has hunted down men hiding behind armies, dreadnoughts and in other galaxies. His reputation is mere bark unless you can back it up with a bite.

Six Six is prepared. He reviews each of his targets movements, behavioural patterns and habitation thoroughly before beginning his execution. His armor has been constantly changed and modified over centuries to near perfection. Dying is for those who lack preparation and foresight. Preparation is how you make a reputation into a legacy.

He was not prepared, however, for the most powerful device in the universe. The shoulder mounted camera protruding from his pauldron zooms in on what is attached on the young homo sapien’s wrist. The frequency of the radiation signature makes any denial foolish. Galvan technology cannot be replicated or faked, even by Cerebrocrustaceans. No one can mistake the device for anything else but the Omnitrix. He briefly takes out a low-band particle pistol from his side holster, aiming it at the human child’s head. One killshot. He hesitates, though. The bounty hunter is not one to believe in fables or myths but if Vilgax the Conqueror was felled by a user of the Omnitrix, it would be foolish of him to engage. He activates his photo-chromatic array, dousing himself in a shimmering field, before he flies off on his twin-jet boosterpack soundlessly. He relays one single short message to his client.

CONFIRMATION: OMNITRIX SIGHTED

Video Games: The General Discussion & Community Thread

Commander Lazer's Guide On How to LARP as Kenshiro In Underrail

1) Pick your stats. Pump up your Dex until it's 10 and then, main Agility.
2) Focus on Melee and Psychokinesis as well as Dodge and Evasion for your skills.
3) For your first feats, pick Sprint (Ability that gives you 30 movement points for 2 turns) and Recklessness (7% extra critical chance for your fists of fury.)
4) You must focus on getting the two most important psionic spells in your build: Force Emission and TK Proxy. This essentially doubles the damage of your fists and with TK Proxy, triples it, as long as you level up Psychokinesis.
5) Get these following feats as you level up.
- Nimble (Lowers Armor Penalty by 15% and provides bonuses to dodge and evasion if your Armor Penalty is at 0)
- Opportunist (25% more damage when stunned or 15% more damage when slowed, incapacitated or dazed)
- Cheap Shots (50% more critical damage for your fists and 15% chance to incapacitate a target.)
- Combo (If you successfully land a third punch, that punch will deal 100% more damage (essentially 2x) and have 20% chance to stun the target.)
- Improved Unarmed Combat (Your fists deal 20% more damage and have a 5% chance to daze target)
- Lightning Punches (The action point cost of your fist is reduced by 2 if your armor penalty is below 20%)
- Fancy Footwork (You gain 8 movements points whenever you hit someone successfully with a melee attack. The maximum amount cannot be higher than double of your total.)
- Critical Power (Increases the damage of your weapon and unarmed critical hits by a further 50%)
- Expose Weakness (Special attack that reduces mechanical resistance and damage threshold by 50%. Devastating on armored enemies)
- Expertise (Increases the damage of your punches by 1 every time you level up. This maxes out to 20 extra damage)
- Force User (The psi cost of Force Emission is reduced down to 4 psi points per use and Force Field and TK Punch become amazing side options.)
- Blitz (Convert all your movement points into action points for a maximum of 20 extra AP)

Essentially, at endgame, your unarmed fists are the most powerful weapon.

- You can attack at least 12 times in a single turn, more, if you have adrenaline.
- At least, 250% critical bonus or more for your fists of power.
- TK Proxy + Force Emission + Damage + High Crit Chance from High Dexterity + Absurd Critical Damage = 100 damage in a single punch.
- Expose Weakness chops down robots or enemies that have absurd armor levels.
- With Fancy Footwork, Sprint and Nimble, you can basically fucking juke around your enemies all day every day.
- Pair this with grenades for AOE damage and you can kill 6 enemies in a single round using only your fists of fury.

If you want to get even more absurd, add in 75 Temporal Manipulation points and suddenly, you gain two important spells: limited temporal increment and psycho-temporal contraction. The former lowers the cooldown of grenades and throwables and your abilities whilst the latter gives you 30 extra points of AP and 20 points of MP.

This means that with Adrenaline, good Tabi boots and luck; you can potentially get up to more than 30 punches a round.

Your worst enemies are: enemies with hit-scan psi spells, super tanky enemies, large amounts of tanky enemies and enemies with high dodge or evasion.

TL;DR: Psi-monks are fucking overpowered as shit.

Marvels of Mountain City

THE CHRONICLES OF PINEAPPLE PIZZA - YEAST RISING

Present Day - Mountain City

Pineapple Pizza found that human biology was so.....simple compared to the symmetrical and geometrical perfection of pizza physiology. There were only three things that a pizza had to be worried about: the dough, sauce and toppings. Humans, on the other hand, had a whole host of toppings. Nervous systems, hormone glands, sweat glands and skeletons. A casserole of illogical design.

" Sir." His assistant, Kiwi Pizza, arrived in his dressing room, carrying a pizza box with several scribbled notepads on it. " They're ready."

Adjusting his suit and tie, Pineapple Pizza urged his human skin suit to move forth, using his superior pizza mental control to stimulate the remnants of a rudimentary nervous system within John Schnatter’s body. He ignored the strange babblings of the humans around him, moving through a series of tunnels before finding himself standing in full view on top of a proscenium stage.

Before him laid an army. Rows upon rows of humans dressed in aprons and caps emblazoned with the symbol of PAPA JOHNS(™), with pizza cutters hanging from their belts and rifles in their hands. A military force that could disassemble entire nations and leave the world trembling at the power of pizza. A rogue mercenary operation that controlled the flow and production of the pizza economy.

" Gentlemen, Operation Pizza Delivery has been a success. All of the major commercial pizza corporations are now under our control. We have a global monopoly on pizza. Before we begin our operations in Mountain City, I wish to dash some rumours that I like pizza."

He paused for a full five minutes before continuing.

" I do not like pizza.” His voice lowered an octave lower, whispering into the microphone. “ I love pizza."

" Throughout my life, I have found and witnessed many types of pizzas. I have found that pizzas are the solution to our enigmas. For example, you go to Papa John's, order an 18 inch and discover that you can't eat your pizza backwards. An enigma. The solution?"

He looked towards the crowd expectedly before sighing in mock dissapointment.

" Stuffed crust pizza. You are a pescatarian and you go out to a nearby pizza parlor, only to realize that every dish on the menu will ruin your carefully planned diet regime. The solution?"

Someone piped out from the back of the crowd.

" Sushi pizza."

" You are a soldier doing your tour in a war-torn African region. You've run out of bullets and all you desire is the taste of a margherita pizza, just like your grandmother baked for you. Unfortunately, no delivery van can reach you."

Another voice, this time from the right side of the atrium.

" Pizza by drone."

" Gluten allergies. Gluten free pizza. Peace treaties. Peace by pizza party. Michelin restaurants. Michelin pizzas. Halloween. Chocolate pizzas."

"What I am trying to say is that I am a simple explorer of pizza. And with your help, we are now at the precipice of our true goal."

" You see, I want a simple pizza. No gluten free pizzas. No pizza parties. No Michelin pizzas. No sushi pizzas and certainly, no FROZEN PIZZAS!"

" I want only a pizza we can bake. A true pizza. A pizza to end all wars. The sequel to every pizza that has been ever made in history."

He grabbed the microphone and shouted the last sentence in a mad fit, eyes twitching, saliva glands excreting pools of saliva that hung from his jowls, howling upwards to the sky, turning his throat raw.

" A PIZZA FRANCHISE OF MY OWN!"

He then pointed one stubby finger towards the crowd.

" SHALL YOU HAVE PIZZA!?"

As he raised his own pizza cutter in the air, a thousand pizza cutters, shaped by his will and his vision, joined him in unison, shouting the holy word that would flip the world upside down.

" PIZZA!"

" PIZZA!"

" PIZZA!"

" THEN, YOU WILL HAVE PIZZA!”

Video Games: The General Discussion & Community Thread

I did 200 hours of Underrail and finished the DLC and it's fucking amazing. 10/10 best slavic post apocalyptic game ever would trade 10 barrel soups for it.

SPOILER!MY BUILD

Do you want to become the most overpowered crit-spec mushroom wizard this world has ever seen, well, look no further and see how to do it. Psionic builds allow you to see most of what the game has to offer.

Strength: 3
Dexterity:3
Agility: 3
Consitution:9
Perception:3
Will:10
Intelligence:9

Starting Skills: All Four Psionic Schools to the Maximum, Anything else you want.

Starting Feats: Fast Metabolism (For Extra Psi Points When You Use a Psi Booster) and Survival Instincts (30% extra critical chance at 30% of your health. This will become more important later.

Tips to SGS: There are basically four Psionic trainers in the station. Psionic schools basically come in four batches: Psychokinesis, Metathermics, Temporal Manipulation and Thought Control.

With investments into proper skills, you can walk out of SGS after you complete your first quest with at least 4 spells or more depending on the difficulty and your skill investment. With a merchantile check, you can get a discount from your Metathermics trainer for two Metathermic spells. I recommend getting it for Pyrokinesis and Pyrokinetic Stream.

Later in the game, when you are tasked to go to GMS, pick up Electrokinesis from your Psychokinesis trainer to make the robots in GMS your bitch.

IMPORTANT FEATS TO NOTE
- Force User: Extremely good. Makes your Force Field and Telekinetic Punch spells into god-tier spells.
- Premeditation: Feat that allows you to cast one psi spell with no AP cost and half the Psi cost. Virtually the best spell. You can chain up to two AOE psi spells in a row which can eliminate whole squads of opponents.
- Psychosis: 20% extra critical chance at an extra 20% use of psi per spell. This, combined with Survival Instincts, raises your crit chance to be around 50% when you are below 30% health. This is amazing and you will crit like no tomorrow as long as you manage your health.
- Neural Overclocking - Your psi crits now do 30% more damage. No need for more explanation.
- Psionic Mania: Guaranteed crit for one psi spell but at the cost of shaving 15% of your health.

You can then mix and match your feats depending on what you want to achieve.

Important Gear

- Doctor's Pouch: Reduces consumption of your drugs from 10 AP to 3 AP. This is extremely good, especially when combined with temporal manipulation spells that boost the amount of AP you have.
- Psionic Beetle Tac Vest - Reduces your psi consumption by 10% as well as raising the skill levels of all your psi schools.
- Stable Muffled Uni-Psi Headband - Boosts all the level of your psi schools as well as raising critical damage and reducing psi cost. Getting high quality crafting materials will make your damage insane.
- Tabi Boots - Any kind of tabi boots will do just fine.
- Spirit Staff - In the Expedition DLC, you will kill one type of enemy that holds this staff. Holding this staff will raise your spell crit damage by another whopping 40%.


At the end of my build, I was doing about 240% crit damage on every one of my spells. Have fun and enjoy killing everything in sight with your magic powers, discount Doctor Strange.

R E D U X .// 2047 //.

“Oh, I dunno, Miss Stardust.” Lazlo shot back with a snarky reply. “ You ever saw a security camera that has a question mark on it?”

Why were the oldest vigilantes always the most grumpiest? Hex at least wasn’t this much of an asshole to him, even though he threw him off a cliff. Don’t push your luck, Lazlo. She might throw you off a cliff. He then looked back at the screen and signed. What game was Hex trying to play with them? If only he had the resources of the Third Rail with them…….

No time for reminiscing. Lazlo looked towards the keyboard and pressed the # button. As soon as his finger touched it, the floor beneath begin to rumble. Lazlo swore. Of all the buttons he had to chose, of course bad luck guided him to pick the fucking self destruct sequence.

“ Don’t look at me. I didn’t know that was going to -”

The crack of concrete was the only warning he had before the ceiling caved in and began to fall onto him. He reached out towards Stardust, only to realise that his two legs were waving in the air. The floor had crumbled apart as well. Shrapnel flung through the air at break-neck speeds, slicing and biting into Lazlo’s skin and flesh. Gritting his teeth, he reached out into his right elbow, touching a tattoo, concentrating, visualizing, imagining -

Then, in a burst of light, Crane of Mache unfurled out, jabbing its beak and wings into the structure and holding it still. Lazlo straddled its neck, looking upwards to see the damage. Around him was a tangle of rebar, pipes and wires intertwined with concrete rubble, only held together by his trinket. It’d only hold for a while but a while was all he needed to get him and Stardust out of the base -

There was a ripping of paper, a rumble that smashed apart his world, searing pain all in one instant before he welcomed the darkness.

---

When Lazlo woke up, he wasn’t sure whether or not he was still sleeping. A void surrounded him. Everywhere he looked, there was only black. A short strangled laugh escaped his breath, a mixture of relief and fear at his survival. His laughter soon became winded coughing.

" Stardust?" He whimpers out. " Miss....Stardust?"

No one. Only the stink of his sweat, the taste of iron on his lips and the stabbing pain in his chest -

Wait, why was his chest hurting? He feels around before he finally grabs ahold of it. A five foot long rod of rebar protruding through the center of his torso, smeared with stink and gut. He grunts, trying to pull himself up, but every movement only makes the hurt worse. He falls back down, both of his hands moving to clasp his aching forehead.

But only one hand responds. It takes him a moment to realise that he has no left arm anymore. Or eyes for that matter. His left fingers pinch the pulp in his empty sockets. Well, he doesn’t need eyes. Or two arms. He’d gotten out of worse before. He’d manage with this.

The aching in his head becomes a persistent ringing. Bloodloss. Right. Happens when you’re impaled by a metal spike and after you lose your arm.

Moving. Right. He was still moving. Focus on that. If he was still moving, then, he was still alive.

Think, Lazlo, think. You’ve got to have a trinket somewhere.

But what use was manifesting a trinket if he couldn’t visualise it? There’s nothing he can do but wait until he bleeds out, or wait for someone to dig him up and then bleed out. He blinks uselessly, droplets of blood sliding down his cheeks.

What can he create if he sees nothing?

Then, it comes to him.

If I can make something immaterial into material, then, can I make something material into immaterial?

The pounding in his head becomes like a drum. He’s losing time. There’s no time for caution. His right arm levers across his chest and grabs onto the rod, slick with his blood.

Your blood is the pigment. Your body the canvas.

He focuses on the gaping wound in his chest. Reshaping it. Moulding away the rebar. Sanding it down to its base concepts of reinforcement and structure. He feels it begin to flake away in his hand like an old oil painting. It doesn’t stop there. A rush of fear sprouts to him as he feels a sinking sensation, as if he’s stepped into a pool. Drowning again like when Hex threw him off the cliffside. The pounding in his head becomes a relentless screech. No. His hand is gone. He can still make it. Legs. Where are his legs. No, god, please -

In the end, when the rubble is lifted up, all there is left of the Artistonancer is a circled-A scratched into the stone and the rent remains of his left arm.

---

Wherever he is right now, he feels cold. Then, hot. Then, not. He stands up, palming his still-bleeding left stump. The hole in his chest is gone. That's good. The landscape around him is turbulent, a mosaic of colors endlessly blending and shifting from Baroque to Classical to Cubic landscapes, bending space and time and all notions of physical laws.

Where am I?

Fallout: Cascadia

Here's my CS so far. I'd call this a Draft 1.0 given that I want to tweak the backstory and especially the psyche and drive some more. It's complete but not complete if you get my drift.

Anyway, Gong Xi Fa Cai and have a happy Chinese New Year everyone! I'll be off RPG in the meantime.

Ghoul Boi

_{◄The old world is the new gold in this new world. ►}

ALAN GORSKY

^{120| Big Sky, Northern Commonwealth | 169.5 cm / 155 pounds | Ghoul}

_{A P P E A R A N C E.}

" Yeah, yeah, I see the way you're eyeing at me, smooth-skin. You're probably thinking a few things about me right now. A talking Brahmin testicle. A piece of mutfruit that was left out in the sun. A shriveled cave fungus that grew legs. Trust me. I heard it all. So try to be more creative the next time you try to insult a ghoul."

A common adage in the ghoul town of Gecko is that every ghoul looks alike and Gorsky believes it. No nose. Mummified skin. Radiation burns. Simply put, Gorsky is about as off-putting as any ghoul could be. His balding head contains wisps of sandy hair growing at the fringes. If one were to use their imagination, perhaps, they could craft a human simulacrum of what Gorsky once looked like in their minds. The only feature that distinguishes Gorsky from other ghouls is his glowing eyes. No, not metaphorically, literal glowing in the dark pupils. This freaky mutation is a reminder of the circumstances that resulted in his ghoulification.

Due to living as a Old World prospector and scavenger, Gorsky has developed a weathered yet still-emaciated physique with a stout stature that belies hidden cunning and tenacity. With time, he has gained numerous scars from his misadventures that are in a constant state of flux, closing and reopening at ill-opportune times. Though his choice of apparel varies depending on the climate, he is never seen without an white-star ushanka on his head.

_{E Q U I P M E N T.}

Orion - A hand crafted scoped crossbow cobbled together from a makeshift selection of gun parts, energy weapon parts and scrap waste found littered in the Wasteland. Silent and deadly at a range of 50 yards.

Quiver Belt - A belt that allows Gorsky to access and load his bolts easier.

Homemade Arrows

Scrap Bolts - An eclectic collection of crossbow bolts composed of bone, steel, rebar, wood, glass and whatever detritus of the wastes Gorsky happens upon. Gorsky has approximately 20 scrap arrows with him and has the capacity to craft more easily.

Microfusion Bolts - A microfusion cell capped with a electrical fuse replaces the arrowhead of the crossbow bolt. Contact with the head of the bolt will release the full charge of the microfusion cell in one thermal blast. Depending on the internal charge of the cell, this can range from the power of a fiddly firework to a bastardised plasma grenade. At the start of the journey, Gorsky has brought only 5 with him due to how time consuming it is to craft these arrows.

Trenchcoat - A furred long-coat tailored from rad-elk leather and partially fortified with laminated polymer weave plating. Comes with extra pockets for storing small objects.

Portable Repair Kit - An old Vault-Tec Lunchbox that contains all the necessities of post-apocalyptic DIY repair such as WonderGlue, Duct-Tape, wrenches, a soldering iron, screwdrivers and all the tools needed to fix up anything you need.

Lockpicking Kit - A leather wallet containing bobby pins, staplers, tension wrenches, screwdrivers and enough picks to crack open any safe with the exception of Fort Knox. If it's still standing.

Collection of Poisons - A satchel containing three 500 ml ampules, each containing man-made poisons known as Bleak Venom, Mother Darkness and Sliver Sting. Bleak Venom acts as a lethal cardiotoxin, Mother Darkness is a potent neurotoxin and Sliver Sting is known to be an easily acquired cytotoxin. Gorsky most often dips his arrows in poison whilst hunting for food.

Talon Knife - A one-edged five inch curved ivory knife carved from the bone of a deathclaw talon. It's sharper than it looks.

Dog Whistle - A high pitched dog whistle that transmits a specific frequency only a mutated giant cockroach would hear.

_{M I S C E L L A N E O U S G E A R}

- Rolled Up Sleeping Bag
- Electric Lighter
- Box of Spare Electronic and Mechanical Parts
- Satchel of 100 Caps
- Brahmin Leather Waterskin
- Container of Coyote Tobacco Cigars
- Frying Pan
- Compass
- Packet of Kindling
- Army Brand Ushanka
- Tribal Dreamcatcher Necklace
- Pet Brush for Chaff
- Journal and Charcoal Pen
- Fishing Rod, Line, Hook and Sinker

_{S K I L L S.}

// SURVIVAL (CORE) - Having been raised in the harsh wildernesses of Montana and ran solo scavenging operations for nearly most of his life, Gorsky knows virtually every survival trick in and out of the book to prevent your ass from being gnawed off by a mole rat. Crafting poison, making poisons, identifying plants that don't poison you; Gorsky is a natural outdoorsghoul. Also, it doesn't hurt to know how to make a good bloatmfly brisket every once in a while.

// REPAIR (GOOD) - " Duct Tape and Wonder Glue. Two things everyone needs in life."

// SCIENCE (GOOD) - " My scientific methodology? Throw it at the wall and see if it sticks. Try to relate it to physics, biology, chemistry, astrology.....wait, scratch that last one. "

// BARTER (AVERAGE) - " 1500 caps? How about we lower it down to 500 caps if I buy a bottle of Sarsparilla for you?"

// GUNS (AVERAGE) - " N99. 10mm semi-automatic. 12 round magazine. You can do a nice little magic trick with it. Point the barrel at someone and you can make a dead person."

// LOCKPICKING (AVERAGE) - " A safe is just a birthday gift wrapped in deadbolts, cams and mortises."

_{H I S T O R Y}

2385, August 5th

Thought I might start writing down stuff, in case I forget. Doc I met in Vault City said that ghouls don't have eidetic memory. That common symptoms were dementia, amnesia, a Sugar Bombs box of mental illnesses. Might be good to have things written down in case somebody finds my grave. Can't rely on Chaff to tell my story anyway. Doubt anyone can speak Radroach.

I was born in the Rockies 120 years ago, somewhere north of the Great Salt Lake and westwards of NCR territory. Everyone called it the Big Sky. It used to be part of the pre-war Northern Commonwealth before the last war happened. Luckily, the surrounding mountain ranges allowed us to escape the worst of the bombs. Some of the elders had stories around what happened that time, when the Black Rain poured down from the clouds and flooded the valleys, when the Wendigos came from the forests to feast on us, when the six moon snow silenced the sunlight. It's been....40 years since I last visited there. All I know about them is through word of the monthly supply caravans that go there. They're still doing good. Best as you can out here in the wastes.

I grew up in a tribal village where blood didn't matter and everyone shared everything. The origins of our founding are spotty but our archive keepers agreed that some group of outcasts from the eastern continents moved into the USA and hid in the mountains during the Pre-War. My father worked in the coal mines while my mother worked as a hunter. Me and the rest of my five siblings simply survived. I learned what plants I could eat, how to skin a giant rat, how to fish for mirelurk pups and making fire from sticks and stones. Anyway, Big Sky was boring. In the sense that our neighbors were unfriendly, the air was cold enough to freeze your balls off and there were bobcats in every bush you wanted to take a dump in.

That was until the first caravan came. I was at the ripe old age of 18. Old enough to be independent yet young enough to be stupid and dumb. I made a promise to myself then that I wouldn't die languishing in Big Sky. I wanted to explore. I wanted to live. In the morning, I left a note on the table for my parents and sneaked onto a supply caravan that was headed California by bribing one of the guards, with nothing more than a bindle and a crossbow on my back. One of the head merchants found me in the back gnawing on their tato crops but I soon silenced their complaints about extra weight by rustling up a few gecko steaks for them when we hit the border of Klamath.

I was dropped off at the Hub. The Hub. One of the Five Great Territories of the NCR. I got my first job in a 'prospector crew' there. Some people saw it as dirty but it was the dream for some tribal out lander like me. Exploring pre-war ruins. Cracking open safes. Unearthing treasures? It was more than I could ask for. Life was good. Caps were flowing in. I grew older. Fell in love. Bought a house. Got married. Thought of retiring. Same story you hear nowadays from every citizen of the New California Republic. Back in Big Sky, retirement wasn't an option but here in California, it was a land of opportunity.

Then, it happened.

December 24th, 2299. Christmas. The dawn of the next Millennium. The day that I became a ghoul.

The old ruins were becoming sparse now. The NCR was grabbing onto every territory it could and promising spots became blocked off by garrisons. The only choice was to go to more further and dangerous places.

I chose to do a job in New Mexico. Five man crew. Pre-war military site. Unlooted. Unscathed. Only problem was that there were enough rads to make a man grow extra arms. A nuclear warhead struck the coastline of the base and turned it into freak central. The facility we entered into was some kind of some old vehicle manufacturing factory. Tanks the size of freaking cottages. Wandered around for a little bit until we hit a vaulted door. Nothing I couldn't handle. A little bit of thermite and picking later, fell apart like cotton candy.

We went inside and hit the jackpot. Blueprints. Safes. Enough loot to make a man rich for lifetimes.

I only had five seconds to react before the bullet tore through my chest.

In hindsight, it made sense. Get rid of the extra weight and split the loot between themselves. My death could be written off as an accident since I was travelling into a high risk area. No one would try and bother to find my body too. The perfect plan.

Instead of putting me out of my misery, they stripped me of all my gear and left me to rot. While they looted the room. Last thing I remember before blacking out was the sound of my Geiger counter screeching, the burning pain in my chest and how my head pounded like a drum.

I woke up. Afraid, hungry, thirsty and alive. I was still inside the loot room. It’d been stripped bare to the walls. My voice sounded like I’d been gurgling stones for a lifetime, I had no nose and the hole in my chest was missing. I didn’t have time to come to terms that I’d become a ghoul. I was only concerned about finding a way out of this place.

That was when I was attacked by the biggest radroach the wastes had ever conceived. My Chaff. We got off to a rocky start but eventually, things settled between the both of us after I gave her a little bit of food from some expired MRE I found in a storage locker.

I crawled my way out of New Mexico and walked back to the Hub on foot. Me and Chaff fell a little bit off course every once in a while but we pulled ourselves back towards our goal. When I finally reached there, I was prepared for the worst. What would you do if your husband or wife suddenly became a ghoul? I opened the door, Chaff behind me, expecting to be screamed at and tossed out from the house.

Nothing, in fact. My wife told me to stop with the self-pity, move on with my life and that I was still the same old dumb tribal underneath that skin. To this day, I never did manage to find those guys who shot me and I never will. Revenge is fool’s gold. By now, they’re either old men waiting to die or two feet under already. Seems petty to hunt them down.

In spite of common sense, I returned to work as a prospector, albeit with caveats. I never took group contracts again and went solo. Well, semi-solo. Chaff doesn’t get a part of the profits. I continued to live and continued to work, looking for pieces of the old world to collect.

Time moves differently when you’re a ghoul. Wife died from a nasty bout of pancreatic cancer when I was 60. My two sons became water merchants when I was 85. I became a grandfather at the age of 100. My trips became further. I returned back to Montana for a bit and then, went back to the Hub. I……I can’t remember. It’s like an old reel movie in my head. A collection of moments. I can barely even remember her voice anymore.

There’s word spreading around the Hub right now. Rumours of a Vault in Cascadia. Untouched. Lack of NCR presence.

Perfect for prospecting.

_{P S Y C H E.}

Gorsky’s takes a sardonic yet professional approach to his work as a prospector, viewing the wastes as a land of opportunity rather than a land of desolation. His only concerns are the wellbeing of his own relatives, Chaff and his own collection of items. He distances himself from other people out of reflex and often uses acerbic jabs as his weapons to keep people away. However, those who earn Gorsky’s trust and loyalty earn themselves a friend. Gorsky also holds a relative dislike of government authorities and inefficencies, particularly the NCR, holding nothing but contempt towards their imperialistic policies which he sees as strangling the freedoms of the Wasteland.

That is not to say Gorsky is without his imperfections. Gorsky is a prospector and a scavenger at heart, willing to haggle and bargain for anything. He hold a streak of being greedy and the promise of treasure and old world tech will dissuade any moral qualms he may have about committing any act, albeit to a point. Good luck on trying to get him to commit murder. Gorsky believes in defending himself from danger and never attacking in response to danger.

_{D R I V E.}

Other than surviving, Gorsky’s main incentive for living the way he does is for the pathological thrill of adventure he gets whenever he happens upon an artifact of the Old World. He believes that the Óld World’ is the new gold and that it holds power and value over caps, money, armies and wealth.

However, the truth is more complicated than it seems. Gorsky also collects artifacts of the Old World, not out of the thrill, but out of fear for his deteriorating memory. He’s not sure how ghouls can stay sane for but he’s not willing to rot in safety and wait for his mind to disintegrate. Taking advantage of the long life span of ghouls, Gorsky continues to explore and search for nuggets of the Old World, hoping that he can stay ahead of memory loss one treasure at a time.

---

_{◄hissssssssss ►}

CHAFF

^{N/A | New Mexico | 60 cm / 30 pounds | Radroach}

Bork Lazer's Storage Bunker

_{◄[color=lightgray][/color] ►}

NAME

^{N/A | Place of Birth | 35 cm/19 kilograms | Periplanta Giganticus}

_{A P P E A R A N C E.}

What do you look like? A detailed description of your charachter's physical characteristics

_{E Q U I P M E N T.}

A

_{M I S C E L L A N E O U S G E A R}

A

_{S K I L L S.}

A

_{H I S T O R Y}

A

_{P S Y C H E.}

A

_{D R I V E.}

A

𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖 - Cyberpunk Political Intrigue Roleplay

division.

that’s all us drivers see nowadays. the sky and the earth apart sandwiching the sprawl. a concrete tide that buries the promise of the horizon, of endless roads. An unseen finish line.

that is why we race. why I race.

well, once raced.

to escape the division.

---

C:>/ver

FUTILITY V 2.01

C:>>> FUTILITY [DRIFT_DEMON.exe]

C:>>> UPLOADING……..

C:>>> LAUNCH FILE Y/N?

C:>>> Y

C:>>> LAUNCHING DRIFT_DEMON.exe………

---

A single stroke splits the mackerel's head from its oblong body. Only a droplet of blood spills out on the extinct hinoki cutting board. The precision of 2060 augs is something to marvel at as green titanium digits begin making thin incisions along the body with a paring knife. Keah does not show it but he holds a quiet respect for the Iron Itamae’s work.

Suraiboshen is an ocean frozen in time. Beneath the bar lies a reef trapped in glass, shoals of silver scales and rainbows moving about, a museum of extinct species. Tuna, yellowtail, squid, even sea turtles. The Iron Itamae once said that his aquarium was the size of a swimming pool. Keah doesn’t doubt it for a second.

Deft hands begin pulling out pin bones one by one. The fish still writhes in his hand, phantom struggles of a nervous system. The Iron Itamae looks up at him with mismatched eyes. “ Tell me, driver. Is this fish real?”

“ Yes.”

“ How would you know it was real?”

“ I can eat it. That’s all there is to it.”

“ This mackerel is genetically modified from four close sub-species to look like a mackerel. Its protein matrix has been modified in order to make it taste like a mackerel. It’s life-span, reproductive cycles, behaviour and physiology have been altered so radically from the natural analogue by me.” He dabs the flesh in a thick coat of soju. “ So, is it real?”

“ If I ran you over, would that be real?”

“ So impatient, are we?” He chuckles. “ I’m rather surprised you’re still offering to work for me, given the nature of your new…..client.” The Iron Itamae’s mouth scoffs when he tilts his head. “ Don’t be surprised. I spent my Gaea Naturae connecting as well as experimenting. So, tell me. Why?”

“ Contract with you is until September.” He nods slightly to the left, looking at the digital holo-calendar which reads APRIL 1st, 2065 in bracketed lettering. “ Satisfy you enough?”

“ Believe that you have a sense of honour? Pah. Honour is a dull ingredient, predictable, boring and too complex.” The Iron Itamae puts the last of the nigiri in a cube and presses a hidden switch on the side. There’s a hiss of nitrogen and helium before the freeze-vac locks. He reaches forth with his right hand, articulated alloyed digits tapping on the smooth metal surface of the storage box.

“ Where?”

“ Where you belongs, turboblazer” His grin is as sharp as his knife. “ The land of the dead.”

---

The Reclaim Zone was a neon inferno and he was just one of the unfortunate many to have been caught in its flames. Only the Rigg kept him afloat in the sea of kaleidoscopic fire, a flotsal of glass and syncrete spires bobbing around him. His left hand held the gearstick loosely while his other hand pincered the wheel in an eight fingered grip. He was approaching a junction now, two auto-trucks bordering him on both sides of the lane. He looked left and right, and then at the narrowing road. Too slow. Slamming the accelerator down, he bucked the Jury Rigg forward and pulled the steering wheel all the way to the left. The Jury Rigg curled to the right, Keah feeling the inexorable pull of momentum that made his guts roil, as he pulled into a hairpin turn.

Keah frowned. There should be something. The dizzying high of excitement. The death defying thrill. The blood pumping adrenaline that surged through your veins. The BPM meter on his helmet didn’t even notch up a beat. He sidled into another sliding drift, went through the same motions again.

Nothing. He zoomed past a red light, gazing upwards at the polluted skies of the Reclaim Zone. Why did he take these delivery jobs again? He could have quit after all. The pay that the Iron Itamae offered him was a fraction of what Petrukov offered him. He shook his head. No, it wasn’t the pay. It was the offer of a challenge. No, you’re past that. Remember what happened to the OverDriver? Nevermind that. He was coming near the Duat now. The iconic hieroglyphic sign glowed like a lighthouse, a beacon attracting the underbelly of the Zone. The sun had only just begun to set and already, the lots were glutted with an ensemble of glitzy EngiTech cyclics and FuryTech sports cars that looked like they were compensating for something with their oversized aerofoils. He crunched to a slow grinding halt, parking underneath the shadow of an old flickering street lamp.

Someone then knocked on his side-window. His helmet filtered in footage from his car's external cameras. A motorcycle gang. They were all pimped out in extensive holo-tattoos that covered their bodies like some obscure skin disease. There was the usual chrome, of course, but to Keah, it was looking as if they had more bark than bite.

“ You fuckin- Hey, open the window right now. That’s our spot, you fuckin- ”

He rolled down the window and one look at his helmet was all they needed to back off. Keah inwardly signed. There were days where he hoped he could drive around the streets. Reputation was a double edged sword indeed. He stepped out, not even bothering to look at the motley crew of bosozoku gangers that were mingling about his car.

“ Watch over the car, will you?," he muttered, leaving them to talk among themselves excitedly as he entered the Duat.

He’d only been to Duat a few times. Most places in the Reclaim Zone were seedy but this place was the wrong type of seedy. The Duat was a different animal from the underground scene of street racing. There were codes of conduct, honor, lines that couldn’t be crossed, closed secrets. The Duat was where everyone could listen in on everyone’s secret all the time, where shady deals were conducted openly to the tune of ethyl and cheap synthpop music.

He shouldered on past a couple lost in the rhythm of the dance floor and kept on looking for his client. His HUD locator marked a silhouette sitting nearby the UltraBartender's palace. He continued walking until his client was in full view. The first impression about him was that everyone was giving him a wide berth. No one was sitting next to him and he was the only one at the left end of the countertop. A hood shrouded his features and he was nursing a shot glass. As he walked nearer, his noses retched at the stink of ethyl and tonic that reeked from the glass.

He placed the vac-freeze cube on top of the countertop, jingling the shot glass the hooded man was holding. Keah’s eyebrows were furrowed in suspicion right now. A most particular feeling of deja vu was buzzing in the back of his brain. There was just something off about how this person wore their thermo-jacket, high-brimmed collar around his neck and all.

“Cred-chip. Now.”

The hooded man turned around on his bar stool and took off his guise. He froze. Another helmet. A FuryTech Prism. Racing model. He only knew one man who wore such a helmet. His own face stared back at him through the mysterious man's polarized visor.

“ Nice to meet you again, Drift Demon.”

Shit.

What was the OverDriver doing in the Reclaim Zone?