ctrlsaltdel

2100 ☢️ BADLAND REPUBLIC

Rory Arcadia

Rory Arcadia

I'm searching the clouds for the score

---

___________________________________ P R O F I L E Age Late 20s Sex M Height 6'1" Weight 170lb Race Human Origin Con man Transportation None Starting Location Sully's Rest Color Code 0a9b00 ___________________________________ I N V E N T O R Y + Camping mess kit--includes new EverFlame Portable Neutrino Burner! + Medical kit + Multi-tool/firearm repair & maintenance kit ____________________________________ E Q U I P M E N T + Pre-war Semiauto Pistol - Late pre-war pistol that Rory... acquired from its previous owner. .357 caliber, 9-round magazine. + Bolt-action rifle - Old pre-war rifle; careworn but well maintained. Five-round internal magazine, small scope for distance shooting. + Flak vest - Pre-war police issue; mostly effective against small pistol rounds and blades + Cybernetic Eye - Left eye has been replaced by a cybernetic prosthesis; it mostly functions as a normal eye, but houses a pre-war AI advisor which analyzes data taken from the visual feed and from Rory's brain to make recommendations. Sometimes, they're even useful. ____________________________________ A T T R I B U T E S Strength: 0 Fitness: 2 Dexterity: 0 Perception: 8 (4 at creation, 4 from [Old World Ghost]) Intellect: 4 (4 at creation) Endurance: 0

____________________________________________________________________________ APPEARANCE DESCRIPTION Rory is made of long lines and sharp angles. He's tall and broad-shouldered, with coltishly long arms and legs that make him look too skinny. His skin is fairly tan for his natural shade, though no more than usual for his circumstance. He wears his hair short and messy, and the same exposure that tanned his skin has turned his hair honey brown. His right eye is that same color; his left is emerald green, and the sclera unnaturally white. An old, thin scar outlines his jaw; his nose also looks to have been broken at some point. In motion, Rory has the puppy-like awkwardness that his long limbs would suggest. When he stands up, he has to unknot and unfold himself; when he walks, it's with a too-big stride that can leave even people taller than him marching double-time to keep up. When he talks, he gestures, and the gestures are wide and energetic. His facial expressions are similarly guile-less and exaggerated, and can make him seem younger than he is. Only his eyes--focused eyes, constantly and silently prodding--put the lie to that impression. His clothing is whatever he can get his hands on, so it tends to be worn, practical, and comfortable, in that order. His jacket is pre-war military surplus, and he wears oversized hiking pants, which he has cinced tightly with a belt and stuffed into his reinforced boots. His bag is a post-war creation based on pre-war hiking packs--canvas sewn on a metal frame. His head is covered by a wide-brimmed felt hat, and a tattered shawl covers his neck. His pistol rides in a plain leather belt holster; his rifle hangs from his backpack when not in use. ____________________________________________________________________________ BACKSTORY Of his early life, Rory has no memories, only impressions. He remembers being hungry--hunger has been his one constant companion through his life--but he also remembers being warm, and having someone who cared for him. Flashes of brown eyes, smiles, delighted laughing and happy cheers, all of which fade into a pink haze without attaching themselves to anything concrete. If he focuses, he can conjure up his first clear memory, of his mother's face. She looks up at him--eyes bloodshot, skin ashen, and smile wide--as he stands next to her bed. She places one hand on his arm--a cold hand, with more love than strength left in it--and says something to him, though twenty-odd years later he can no longer remember what. After that, he remembers nights lying alone in their small shelter--and then, after the shelter was taken over by another family, nights lying on the cold street. To a child not yet ten years old, that time seemed to last for an eternity, but the man recounting the memory has seen the fate of children living on the street with no support, and knows that it couldn't have been more than a few weeks. He remembers a large-ish man bending down over him where he huddled in a worn blanket. He doesn't remember most of the conversation, but he does remember these words: "I'll take care of you." And to the man's credit, he did. Rory remembers several other children more or less his age--they were the scraps, the leftovers, and none of them knew exactly how old they were--running in a pack through the settlement, harassing passers-by for whatever they had and stealing from the local merchants. They gave a cut of whatever they found to the man who--so graciously, he always reminded them, so generously--let them sleep in a pile on the floor under his roof, chased away angry adults who sought the return of their stolen goods, and only hit them when they had failed to bring in their quota more than one day in a row. Rory remembers not being the strongest or the fastest, but he does remember being the quickest thinker out of the group, the one who was always first to spot new opportunities and dangers. He remembers learning how to find people's blind spots. Adults were first--he was the one who figured out how to tell the people who would be taken in by a cute face and a sob story, and who would be lured away by a bait thief and their own anger--but he soon turned those skills on his fellow criminals. He remembers that, by the time he was in his mid-teens, the other kids in his cohort looked to him to resolve their disputes and to come up with their schemes. He remembers the look on the boss's face when that man finally realized how popular Rory was among the orphans he had taken in. It wasn't the look he had expected--the kind of look he usually got when bringing in an unusually large haul. It was searching, though at the time he wasn't yet wise enough to know what for. Rory remembers the gradual shift from petty theft to protection rackets, then to occasional caravan ambushes. He remembers the numbers of his initial group of children dwindling, both from desertion and from more violent fates--but that the number of people in the gang that looked to him for guidance never decreased. He very vividly remembers realizing that the look on the boss's face when he would return unharmed from a dangerous assignment was in fact disappointment. Rory doesn't remember the boss's son--Rory was never clear on if they were actually related by blood, or if he was just another orphan that the boss had taken a particular shine to--accompanying them on any of those dangerous tasks, at least not until the very end. He does remember the little shit throwing a tantrum when the boss approved his expedition to find a nearby military bunker whose location the kid had beaten out of a traveling merchant, only to tell him he had to bring Rory along with him. Rory remembers not wanting to go, either, but neither of them were willing to openly defy the boss. The thing Rory remembers most about the bunker is the smell--settled dust, rusting metal, harsh chemicals whose identity he could only guess at. He remembers the machine they found--like a steel coffin, tubes snaking out in every direction--and the sound of the boss's son cocking his pistol. Remembers the pounding of his heart as they sealed him in, eager to discover what the device's purpose was and not at all concerned with his well-being. He remembers the grinning face looking in at him from the small viewport as the chamber filled with gas. Rory remembers waking up, his head throbbing, his guts roiling. Remembers looking up to see the people who had come with him--the boss's son included--lying butchered on the floor nearby, the machine that did it laying in a pile with bullet holes through it. Remembers losing his lunch. Remembers a voice, coming from nowhere, say, //Good afternoon, Lieutenant. I detect that you are in distress.// Rory straightens up on the barstool he's warming at Sully's Rest and runs a finger along the butt of the pistol he remembers looting from the boss's son. He doesn't remember making the decision to run, but he must have done it, and he knows why--returning from that mission as the only survivor might as well have been suicide. He has faint memories of days spent lying still, waiting for a group of mutants to move on so he could continue on his way through the wastes. Most of all, he remembers the tales he heard from travelers of a great, shining city, a fragment of the old world, and the safety it promised, and his determination to get there and... Well. He'll figure that out later. ____________________________________________________________________________ PERSONALITY Outwardly, Rory is a friendly and generous person; he makes an effort to remember people's names, their likes and dislikes, and he's often willing to lend a hand even without being asked. He's not infrequently found buying drinks for other people, or in the middle of a crowd, and he's usually quick to forgive offense given. He's a social drinker, as well as a chronic gambler. Inwardly, Rory sees this friendliness as an act. He expects the worst from others--not unreasonable, given his upbringing--and so he is constantly looking for any bit of information or leverage he can use to gain an advantage over the people around him. When it's necessary--to secure further advantage or to save his own skin--he will exploit the weaknesses he's found. He much prefers that to come in the form of calling out favors and trading on people's goodwill than he does blackmail or threats, but the latter are by no means off the table. Rory tells himself that the reason he defaults to manipulating people the friendly way is because it's easier and lower risk. By this point, he pretty much believes it, too. ____________________________________________________________________________ MOTIVATION AND OUTLOOK + He sees life as a constant fight for survival. Even when his meals have come regularly, they haven't come easily, and he's been aware since a very young age that tomorrow isn't guaranteed. + He does not trust other people to have his interests in mind. His value to other people has been dictated by his usefulness; he at least claims to have the same outlook. + He is looking for a place where he can be safe. At least right now, that's Ardhelm, the rumored city of wonders. ____________________________________________________________________________ MODIFIERS [Old World Ghost] - A pre-war AI construct inhabits Rory's cybernetic eye, helping him spot threats and make more accurate visual calculations. However, the implant wasn't designed for him and the calibration mismatch has made him less coordinated than he used to be. [+4 Perception, -1 Fitness, -1 Dexterity]

Nerves In Carbonox: A Roll-Your-Own Giant Mecha Roleplay

<Snipped quote by Ariamis>

Now that is good news to me but what does @ctrlsaltdel think?

@Duthguy

I hadn't planned on it but I'm not one to pass on some combining mecha action. Remus seems to lend itself pretty easily to being an expansion pack for other Framewerks; I'd have to think on what Romulus's Kattai form looks like, but I can probably come up with something fun.

Noble Arms: The ASEAN War - Thread Three, the Darkest Hour

WO "Mikey" Rangel

---

Mikey's gaze finished tracking over the faces of her new comrades. For the most part, they looked... pretty well stunned, if maybe not as shocked as she felt. There were a handful of exceptions, which she took note of. The condescending Frenchman--whose suggestion that the director eat his own Noble Arm made Mikey's face wrinkle even before the man in question compared it to eating his own dead skin--was one. Another was the young woman (Mikey repressed the urge to think of her as a kid; Cristina--Crystal? No, definitely Cristina--was maybe a couple or three years younger than her) who the Director addressed directly.

Superior officer or not, Mikey had some ideas on where exactly this "Director" guy could stick his offer to tinker with her Noble Arm. The fact that this younger woman was not only entertaining the offer, but didn't seem particularly disturbed by the prospect...

Mikey shivered and turned her gaze away from Cristina. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what would drive a person to accept that sort of deal.

(Something in the back of her mind understoood that was because she had already been coerced to accept one deal she didn't like; what was to say there was much difference, in that regard, between her and Cristina?)

Her eyes landed on the young soldier standing next to her. In a way, his nervousness was a comfort. At least someone looked as tense as she felt. She glanced around the room one more time and, satisfied that none of the people she thought might fuss at her were looking in her direction, bumped Archer lightly with her shoulder.

"So," she whispered at a volume she hoped wouldn't get her in trouble, "what duty do y'think you're gonna pull? Hostage rescue in a perv dungeon, or Normandy 2: Norm Harder?" Her words were flippant, but the way her voice cracked and wavered betrayed her own nervousness as if she had announced it.

Nerves In Carbonox: A Roll-Your-Own Giant Mecha Roleplay

Decided to go the duo pilot route; let me know if that's not ok.

Sanro & Nero Marques

Names: Sanro & Nero Marques

Gender: M (for both)

Age: 24 (for both)

Apperance:



Fundamentally, the Marqueses look the same. They are both the same height--just under six feet tall. They have roughly the same broad shouldered and athletic build--not bruisers, by any means, but perhaps sprinters or soccer players. Both have thick, blue-black hair that falls across their similarly colored eyes. Their defined jawlines, large hands, and short, upturned noses--all identical.

...Which is not to say that it's hard to tell the brothers apart. To begin with, they dress differently; where Nero tends to be meticulous about his uniform and his overall appearance, Sanro often neglects to brush his hair or make sure that his clothes are in presentable condition. Additionally, Nero's nearsightedness means that, while out of the cockpit, he chooses to wear reading glasses that double as an AR computer interface. Those details aside, the biggest differences between the two are in their bearings. Out of the cockpit, at least, Sanro bristles with nervous energy; he has a hard time sitting still, and is constantly tapping his foot, wriggling in his seat, or just moving around. Nero, by contrast, affects a calm and nonplussed demeanor; he's often standing at ease, hands clasped behind his back, looking straight ahead and seeming focused on the task at hand.

Type:
+ Sanro: Skilled
+ Nero: Gifted

Background Potential:
+ Twin Soul
Sanro
+ Synchronized Agility
Nero
+ Supporter
+ Awareness

Perks:
+ Memento (Necklaces; simple leather thongs, each with a third of a circle on them)
Sanro
+ Athletic
+ Networking
Nero
+ Book Smart (Framewerk Tactics)

Personality: At first brush, the brothers are a study in contrasts. Where Sanro is anxious and impatient, Nero is calm and collected. Sanro tends to be dismissive of higher-ranked officers, to the degree he can get away with it; Nero always makes sure to show respect and use the proper address. Sanro is always moving, doing one thing or another; Nero is often content to sit and read or study for long periods of time.

However, the similarities run deeper than one might expect. For starters, once in the cockpit their demeanors seem to switch; Sanro becomes the collected, confident one, while Nero's mind goes off in a hundred directions at once. They both share a fundamental sense of responsibility, as well, that extends from the large--voluntarily enlisting to help defend mankind from the existential threat it faces--to the small--assisting their teammates in whatever way they can. While they both enjoy a good joke, they're also a bit on the serious side, and they can both get too wrapped up in their emotions when they feel like they--or worse, the other one--has been wronged.

Background: From the day they were born, everyone had high expectations for the Marques triplets. Their father was an accomplished government secretary; their mother had left her successful career as a soccer player to become a decorated military officer. The three young boys received the best education their parents could offer them, and were pushed into whatever extracurriculars they showed the least interest in, and to almost no one's surprise, they excelled in all endeavors.

Though all three showed an aptitude for whatever they tried their hand at, they distinguished themselves from each other at an early age. Nero was the academically-focused one. Sanro was drawn to sports and martial arts. Icaro excelled at both, and further surpassed his brothers by having an effortless sociability that endeared him to classmates and teachers alike. It didn't take long for him to become the "leader" of the three, and if Sanro or Nero resented him for that, you wouldn't be able to tell by the way the three stuck by each other.

They were just finished college when the true nature of the threat facing humanity was revealed, but all three brothers immediately followed in their mother's footsteps and enlisted in the armed forces. Icaro and Sanro were immediately tapped for the Framewerk corps, while Nero was pulled into R&D. Though separated for the first time in their lives, they sought to make the best of it.

Icaro and Sanro worked well together, but casualties against the Cruxi were always high, and fate plays no favorites. A sortie gone wrong left the two of them as the only remaining forces standing against a Cruxi incursion. Sanro's machine was too damaged to stop his brother from launching him back towards their retreating forces, and Icaro made the fatal last stand that allowed his brother to fight another day.

Just before his death, Icaro and Sanro had been chosen to pilot an experimental new Framewerk. Unwilling to reassign the duty, the brass instead pulled Nero out of the lab he was stationed in and reassigned him as his brother's co-pilot.

Notable Deaths: Their other brother, Icaro; died a few months ago in battle.

Framewerk Legionnaire

Framewerk Name: Legionnaire
Appearance:


Remus forms an armor around Romulus; when combined, its cockpit sits behind and above the main cockpit of Romulus.

The wing is formed of Legionnaire's attack drones, which are usually deployed; each attack drone looks like a needle shape that flies via passive antigravity and adjustment thrusters.

Weight Class: Medium
Framewerk Type: Specialist (+1 Size Weapon Damage)

Primary Weapons Systems:
+ Shining Fingers
+ Arklight Thunder
+ Heavy Assault Gun

Secondary Systems:
+ Air Recon Drones
+ Attack Drones (x2)

Romulus

Framewerk Name: Romulus

Appearance:


Weight Class: Light
Framewerk Type: Frontliner (-2 Size Speed)
Primary Weapon Systems:
+ Shining Fingers
+ Arklight Thunder
Secondary Systems:
+ Kattai
+ Attack Drones

Remus

Framewerk Name: Remus

Appearance:
Framewerk Mode

Mobility Mode:


In Mobility mode, the integrated attack drones function as mounted, and the Heavy Assault Gun is mounted dorsally.

Weight Class: Light (-1 Size Speed)
Framewerk Type: Specialist
Primary Weapon Systems:
+ Heavy Assault Gun
Secondary Systems:
+ Kattai
+ Attack Drones
+ Air Recon Drones
+ Henshin (Can change to jet/mobility mode)

2100 ☢️ BADLAND REPUBLIC

Gonna post this here for review, though I may make some changes depending on what we find out about the lore.

Rory Arcadia

Rory Arcadia

I'm searching the clouds for the score

---

___________________________________ P R O F I L E Age Late 20s Sex M Height 6'1" Weight 170lb Race Human Origin Con man Transportation None Starting Location Sully's Rest Color Code 0a9b00 ___________________________________ I N V E N T O R Y + Camping mess kit--includes new EverFlame Portable Neutrino Burner! + Medical kit + Multi-tool/firearm repair & maintenance kit ____________________________________ E Q U I P M E N T + Pre-war Semiauto Pistol - Late pre-war pistol that Rory looted off his old boss's son. .357 caliber, 9-round magazine. + Bolt-action rifle - Old pre-war rifle; careworn but well maintained. Five-round internal magazine, small scope for distance shooting. + Flak vest - Pre-war police issue; mostly effective against small pistol rounds and blades + Cybernetic Eye - Left eye has been replaced by a cybernetic prosthesis; it mostly functions as a normal eye, but houses a pre-war AI advisor which analyzes data taken from the visual feed and from Rory's brain to make recommendations. Sometimes, they're even useful. ____________________________________ A T T R I B U T E S Strength: 0 Fitness: 2 (3 from creation, -1 from [Old World Ghost]) Dexterity: 0 (1 from creation, -1 from [Old World Ghost]) Perception: 8 (4 at creation, 4 from [Old World Ghost]) Intellect: 4 (4 at creation) Endurance: 0

____________________________________________________________________________ APPEARANCE DESCRIPTION Rory is made of long lines and sharp angles. He's tall and broad-shouldered, with coltishly long arms and legs that make him look too skinny. His skin is fairly tan for his natural shade, though no more than usual for his circumstance. He wears his hair short and messy, and the same exposure that tanned his skin has turned his hair honey brown. His right eye is that same color; his left is emerald green, and the sclera unnaturally white. An old, thin scar outlines his jaw; his nose also looks to have been broken at some point. In motion, Rory has the puppy-like awkwardness that his long limbs would suggest. When he stands up, he has to unknot and unfold himself; when he walks, it's with a too-big stride that can leave even people taller than him marching double-time to keep up. When he talks, he gestures, and the gestures are wide and energetic. His facial expressions are similarly guile-less and exaggerated, and can make him seem younger than he is. Only his eyes--focused eyes, constantly and silently prodding--put the lie to that impression. His clothing is whatever he can get his hands on, so it tends to be worn, practical, and comfortable, in that order. His jacket is pre-war military surplus, and he wears oversized hiking pants, which he has cinced tightly with a belt and stuffed into his reinforced boots. His bag is a post-war creation based on pre-war hiking packs--canvas sewn on a metal frame. His head is covered by a wide-brimmed felt hat, and a tattered shawl covers his neck. His pistol rides in a plain leather belt holster; his rifle hangs from his backpack when not in use. ____________________________________________________________________________ BACKSTORY Rory has some vague impressions of what his early life was like, but his first and last clear memory of his mother is her smiling face--eyes bloodshot, skin ashen--looking up at him from her bed. He's not sure how young he was, then, mostly because he's not sure what his actual age is. His mother was, apparently, the last member of his family; after she died, he spent a month or two begging for food on the street before being taken in by a local criminal gang. They provided him with a living, though it was by no means easy or comfortable. Despite his height, Rory was neither the strongest or the fastest, but he was smart and he had a way of reading people. He put that to work as the face of whatever operations he and the other children came up with to meet their quotas, and his efforts were rewarded with equal parts sustenance and abuse. As he grew older, he learned to manipulate his fellow criminals the same way he manipulated marks on their behalf, and his rise through the ranks started. By the time he was in his early twenties, he had risen to become the chief subordinate of the gang's leader, and it was in that capacity he was sent along with the leader's son to explore a nearby military bunker they had been told about. The leader's son was both arrogant and cowardly; when the group discovered a device in the depths of the bunker he ordered Rory into it, eager to find out what it did (he didn't worry about whether it was dangerous--he was jealous of Rory's relationship with his father to begin with, and wouldn't have shed any tears if something had happened to him). Rory complied at gunpoint; it wasn't until the chamber sealed that they discovered it was a pre-war auto-surgery attendant, prepped for a procedure that didn't get to happen before the bombs fell. It scooped out his left eye, replaced it with a cybernetic version, and integrated the device into his brain, leaving him sharing a mind with a pre-war military AI. When the chamber opened again, several hours later, Rory found the rest of the crew laying dead on the floor. Perhaps something they had done in the meantime had reactivated the security systems--Rory didn't stay to investigate. Though he had escaped with his life, Rory knew there was no way he could go back to his old gang, not with the boss's son dead. He spent some time waffling over what to do, but not much. Some time back, word had reached their settlement--rumors, really--that there was a bright city to the east, where some people had gotten together and rekindled the light of the old world. He didn't like his chances of getting there, past the mutant-filled wasteland, but he liked his chances if he went back even less. With no other prospects, he set out east, carrying his dead companions' weapons and the voice of a pre-war ghost in his head. ____________________________________________________________________________ PERSONALITY Outwardly, Rory is a friendly and generous person; he makes an effort to remember people's names, their likes and dislikes, and he's often willing to lend a hand even without being asked. He's not infrequently found buying drinks for other people, or in the middle of a crowd, and he's usually quick to forgive offense given. He's a social drinker, as well as a chronic gambler. Inwardly, Rory sees this friendliness as an act. He expects the worst from others--not unreasonable, given his upbringing--and so he is constantly looking for any bit of information or leverage he can use to gain an advantage over the people around him. When it's necessary--to secure further advantage or to save his own skin--he will exploit the weaknesses he's found. He much prefers that to come in the form of calling out favors and trading on people's goodwill than he does blackmail or threats, but the latter are by no means off the table. Rory tells himself that the reason he defaults to manipulating people the friendly way is because it's easier and lower risk. By this point, he pretty much believes it, too. ____________________________________________________________________________ MOTIVATION AND OUTLOOK + He sees life as a constant fight for survival. Even when his meals have come regularly, they haven't come easily, and he's been aware since a very young age that tomorrow isn't guaranteed. + He does not trust other people to have his interests in mind. His value to other people has been dictated by his usefulness; he at least claims to have the same outlook. + He is looking for a place where he can be safe. At least right now, that's Ardhelm, the rumored city of wonders. ____________________________________________________________________________ MODIFIERS [Old World Ghost] - A pre-war AI construct inhabits Rory's cybernetic eye, helping him spot threats and make more accurate visual calculations. However, the implant wasn't designed for him and the calibration mismatch has made him less coordinated than he used to be. [+4 Perception, -1 Fitness, -1 Dexterity]

Nerves In Carbonox: A Roll-Your-Own Giant Mecha Roleplay

giant robot go brrrrrrrr

i'm interested and working on a char sheet, but I'm curious--the backstory mentions 2590 as the date that the nature of the enemy was finally discovered, is the "present day" still pretty much there or has some time passed?

ETA: I'm not sure if I just missed it--do mechs get only 1 each from the Primary and Secondary systems by default?

Noble Arms: The ASEAN War - Thread Three, the Darkest Hour

WO "Mikey" Rangel

---

“We are at war. I assume we are getting a new mission.”

Mikey rolled her eyes at the Frenchman's back--Charlie? no, Charles--but stayed silent. Half of her knew that already. They wouldn't have woken the whole unit up for anything less important. What she wanted was details. The other half of her... wasn't necessarily convinced that was the wrong conclusion, but it emphatically did not want to know. An actual mission? Where people were going to shoot at her? And she was going to have to shoot them?

Suffice it to say her blood was already running cold by the time their group walked down the corridor to Director Bathala's office; even so, she was not oblivious to the feeling of dread that grew stronger the closer they got.

(Before manifesting her Noble Arm, Mikey would never have described herself as the kind of person who reached for a weapon when she felt afraid. Now, as she entered the office, she had to make a noticeable mental effort not to arm herself. The realization was not a welcome one.)

Mikey wasn't sure whether the school's director was military or civilian, and after the last two and a half years of military discipline that left her a little uneasy, but she decided she could probably get away with just loitering in the background. Even having been in-country for less than a week, she was already getting the impression that Task Force Obsidian didn't exactly stand on military formality. She was still getting to know everyone, but by her count, somewhere between a quarter and a third of their Arms Masters were mercenaries, or at least here in a volunteer capacity, and half of the "regulars" were drawn piecemeal from foreign units. That sort of mix apparently didn't lend itself to strict discipline.

One of their number was already waiting--one of the volunteers, if she remembered right. From the U.S., even, though Mikey would be damned if she had caught which branch. And she was... waving at Mikey? Oh man, what was her name? Carol? No, Caroline, I think... Mikey started to say something to her, glanced back at the group filing into the office, decided against it. Instead she returned the smile and gave Caroline a thumbs-up that even she had to admit looked awkward. Smooth.

She took a spot standing next to the wall as the group gathered, resisting the urge to fidget and squirm despite the nervous energy working its way through her veins and the tingle of fear at the base of her brainstem. She could at least try to look like a proper soldier, as much as she disliked the idea.

A few minutes later, her "proper soldier" pose was being hindered by her slack jaw. Was she cleared to know any of this? Did her superiors even know this? What the hell even was Occult Programming Language? Whatever it was, it was apparently able to erase the world she knew and replace it with... no, she couldn't. She wouldn't. If she tried to wrap her brain around the whole thing she thought she would vomit and pass out, and not necessarily in that order.

Her eyes wide, she looked around the room, taking in everyone else's reactions.

Eidolon: Conspiracy Theory

@rush99999, I'm going to give Haruki a chance to post before I throw anything up, but in the meantime, trying to charm the creature out of the kitchen sounds like a Dazzle to me. Your cards are:

The Magician - Positive - You achieve the impossible
Temperance - Neutral - You are met with an equal and opposite reaction
The Hanged Man - Negative - You must make an impossible choice

Temperance is The Crow's dissonant card. Pick what you want, of course, but I want to remind everyone that you get experience not just for picking negative cards, but for picking neutral cards when a positive card is in your spread.

2100 ☢️ BADLAND REPUBLIC (Interest Gathering) (High Casual) (FULL)

This looks cool--consider me interested!

Eidolon: Conspiracy Theory

"You do know that there's a gas leak here right?" Ashley tried to misdirect using previous events as the basis of her story as she concentrated on the 'script' she once saw.

A different word, a different act can change the future. For a want of a nail, a battle is lost and all of that.

So she is observing not just the present but also the future in whether this man is worthy of any trust.

@Digmata

The Wheel of Fortune - Neutral - You are at the mercy of the fates

Ashley, you reach out to your Eidolon and bid it show you the future, and something different happens. The first time you tried this, [Bootstrap Paradox] showed you a single, coherent vision of the events to come--a vision which was immediately preventing from coming to pass, thanks to your actions and the interference of The Crow. Having absorbed that, you've come to a deeper understanding of your power, and opened yourself up to the inherent multiplicity and uncertainty of the future.

Of course, knowing that the future can follow many paths is not the same thing as being able to absorb all of the information contained within them. You vaguely hear Emily next to you, trying to convince Agent Simonsen to stand down, but most of your attention is locked on the man himself. To your sight, he seems to have split into multiple copies, all superimposed on each other. One stands, hand on his gun, listening intently to your friend but not relaxing. Another has drawn his gun and begun blasting away at the three of you. The last one watches someone--or someones--exit the front door of the diner, then draws his gun and moves out of the "frame", vanishing. As he does, the three copies collapse in on each other, resolving into the first image.

You're not foolish enough to think that you've seen every possible future, but the impression you get is that, unless something dramatic changes about the situation, there's currently no future in which Simonsen retreats without at least attempting to fulfill his mission, whatever that happens to be. Moreover, he's definitely willing to escalate this into violence if he needs to.

Emily answers the man, "You may call me the Writer for now. Agent Simonsen, are you truly an agent, or are you a mindless zealot, bending to the will of a cult without question?"

She then explains with a chuckle, "As Ashley mentioned, there's a gas leak. Or at least, that's what the Head Waitress told everyone in order to get both customers and employees to evacuate this diner before both of your arrivals,"

She then gave the Agent a hard stare through the ceremonial mask, "Do you realize that if we had not interfered and warned the Head Waitress, you would have incinerated every living soul in this diner just to accomplish your mission? What kind of justice permits sacrificing innocent lives in order to see a mission done?"

Alas, her skill doesn't completely translate in this situation: There is still the element of unpredictability. One may think that upon hearing this revelation, they may think of their actions carefully and change their ways. But...there are people who double down on their beliefs upon realizing that they are in a cult, and refuse to listen to reason.

There is a chance that Agent Simonsen may be such a person and not listen to her...Emily could feel that worry chew away at her.

@Guardian Angel Haruki

Death - Neutral - A complication prevents your skill from fully translating to this situation

Emily, Agent Simonsen is listening intently, and as you speak, he looks back and forth between you and the kitchen entrance. His face is hard, devoid of emotion, but something tells you that's a mask.

"I wasn't going to--look." He takes a deep breath in through his nose, then lets it out slowly. "I don't even know who you people are. You just showed up while I was in pursuit of a target, dressed like a bunch of weirdos, and starting giving me grief. Besides," he sniffs the air, "I don't smell any gas, so I don't know what you're on about. I won't deny that sometimes our missions involve... collateral damage, but I don't make it a point to hurt civilians, and the work we do is extremely important."

His face suddenly changes; you can almost see the lightbulb turn on above his head. "Hey, I don't know who you people are. And I don't know how you could possibly know what I would have done if you hadn't been here." He doesn't move, but the tension in the room grows ever so slightly. "I think you need to explain some things to me, 'Writer'."

It doesn't look like your attempt to dissuade Ray from his mission entirely has been successful, but you've got him on the back foot now, and if no one on your side escalates--and there are no drastic changes to the situation--you can keep him talking. You might be able to find out something important if you ask the right questions--or at least give someone else the chance to get the drop on him.

@rush99999 - Luka, you're barely taking in the events in front of you, reeling as you are from the... well, it would be insufficient to call it a "vision", though you're pretty sure you didn't go anywhere physically. There's a warmth coming from your pocket; if you are so inclined as to check on it, you will find the card Santana gave you, with the artwork for The Wheel of Fortune still engraved on it. You understand instinctively that the card is tied to you, and can be summoned and dismissed at will. The other side, previously that indeterminate fractal pattern, has changed to the card you just saw in the courtroom: Justice.

You hear another loud crash from the kitchen; apparently the creature that Simonsen was chasing hasn't yet found the back door.

@XxFellsingxX - The Crow, wherever you currently are, the phone attached to the wallet you just pilfered buzzes. If you choose to look at the screen, you can see several notifications (though whether you can read them, much less determine what they are, is an open question). Two are missed calls, from a contact titled "Agent Bullshit". The last is a text from the same person: "pick up ur dam phone ray"

---

Game Stats

Phantom Clock: 2 PM
Party Experience: 1
Fate Deck: 12/22

Luka Durand

Damage Track: Fresh

Emily Sanderson

Damage Track: Fresh
Other:

• -1 Forward

Ashley Whitlock

Damage Track: Fresh
Ready For Anything:

• The Fool - Neutral - You become who you are needed to be in this moment
• The Hermit - Neutral - Your actions isolate you
• The World - Positive - For a single moment, the world bends to your will

The Crow

Damage Track: Fresh