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4 mos ago
Current I have 99 problems and they're all trying to fight me please send help.
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1 yr ago
Don't be a part of the problem, be the whole problem.
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Call me interested.
Do you plan on having a game Discord for easy communication (especially for when the fights start) or just here?
Isla Gill

Location: Route 1
Mentions: N/A


Isla watched as the Nickit struggled with the thick material, chewing away and adjusting its angle before the first joined-in with Dancing in growling away in annoyance at the unwelcome one. The second soon set off and away, the first yawning as it pawed away at her leg. Well, that was quite unexpected…it was soon enough becoming rather comfortable, comfortable enough that it was wanting something or another more. She giggled at the motion, one hand reaching out to tentatively scratch behind the fox's ears.

The question, she supposed, was whether or not he was…would trust really apply to a Pokémon? Probably. Isla trusted Dancing and he, she guessed, trusted her. The little guy hadn't warned her of the second, sneaking up behind, and even probably helped him out in one way or another. But he had growled away, and he had drove off the second…it was entirely possible that such had been out of self interest, true, but surely he'd be more needy about begging for food. It was all hypothetical, anyways, all suspicion. She supposed trust had to be met with trust. After all…what Pokémon ran while being pet?

Her free hand reached into one of the cargo pockets, withdrawing a little bar - the ship restaurant had said it was part snack, part candy, and entirely loved by the little friends as well as by people. Opening the wrapper with one hand was by no means an easy feat until her hand found the little plastic tab. A flick and she felt the wrapper deflate a little in her hand, the pressure seal broken. Pinching it with thumb and forefinger, while also adjusting it against one leg, slowly the snack was revealed - bright blue, smelling vaguely of berries and probably half a dozen other things beyond Isla's senses.

Dancing had been careful to watch the second Nickit run off, stare off into the forest to make sure more didn't sneak up, yet the smell of food and the attention to another had certainly driven him back to the most important matters. A paw on the top of Isla's head was his way to get attention, a stare at the bright bar his way to communicate exactly what he wanted. Isla started slightly at the unexpected touch, head moving just a tad to see what he was looking at. Another fit of giggles at the strange circumstance. It was all patently absurd.

"You're all just needy, needy, needy," she half-heartedly exclaimed in a soft tone, prodding fun at both of them. Holding the bar low to the Nickit, with her thumb as a fork she pinched off a block perhaps two inches long in front of the fox before shifting out more by pushing the wrapper against her leg. The same was given to Dancing, though he caught the piece in his mouth as it fell off. Gnawing away at the treat was surprisingly easy, almost like taffy.

Smiling while slowly, almost, shaking her head Isla looked down at the Nickit. She'd been petting at it the whole time, becoming bolder as the moments slipped by. Almost unthinkingly, she began talking with the Pokémon, her voice probably better used for the smallest of children in its positivity and bubbliness. "Aren't you just a happy little guy, huh? A hungry little guy? The other guy was a grump, but you aren't. You're just a lil guy with a big floofing tail." Pausing, she added, "You don't seem so scared. Do you maybe want to see more? Go out a bit?"



Well in that case, @DisturbedSpec Jennifer Hudson is accepted.
<Snipped quote by Thayr>

As far as modular upgrades go, she's going to be baseline for a while before she attempts acquiring one of the specialized packages- that will most likely be the 'Reinforced Tendons' modification to the limbs, which would function like a pneumatic piston inside the base of her heel that propels her up in the air by shooting into the ground. Given Zetatech seems to have only one HQ office in Night City's Berkley Avenue (being where Vik works if I'm not mistaken from what we see) it'll be that.

She'll be flying in at the first post, checking in at the hotel in Corpo Plaza. Cover would be indeed difficult to achieve and maintain, especially with such an enigmatic entity as NightCorp. To be truthful, I have not exactly figured out a way to achieve said cover. If anything, it'll be first getting acquainted with the terrain and lay of the land with Night City. if this poses a conflict with her implementation into the setting, I can more than make needed adjustments.

The relationships tab was, funnily enough, pasted over from another format. These relationships are individually-specific and (later) faction-specific. When Jennifer interacts with someone in-game, or hears about news/directly has information, it's merely a dynamic way to add more flavor to her inner thoughts regarding what happens to her character development.


I see. Not entirely certain why FIA would send such an agent in, although it is entirely possible that they are banking on Night Corp hitting Jennifer, revealing their assets for more obscure FIA agents, while hoping Jennifer's skills would keep her alive. As such, I imagine she would lose connection to her FIA handler rather early-on as to isolate any potential losses.

Would this be acceptable as a why for having such an overt agent go against such a covert agency?
Sweet fuck it's a FIA operative. That's not what I expected. Questions I have from reading over the application...
- What modular upgrades do her Zetatech 'Gen VI' Cyberlegs/Cyberarms have at the start of the game? Bearing in mind that getting them altered will be relatively difficult in Night City - Such access for tech would need to fit with her cover, after all.
- How has she avoided detected by Night Corp, seeing as she is very conspicuous physically speaking. What cover does she have? Or will she be entering Night City at first post for you to figure out then-on?
- What sort of relationships do you have in-mind? Not really something I expected considering it's not in the actual application format.
@webboysurf, Walker is accepted.
Hey hey hey! Y'all still accepting? ^_^


Most definitely are still accepted. Game has only just started with the IC and because I am a fool, I started it in the holiday period so really don't expect things to rocket off.

Intending for this to have very open playing field, so yeah by all means draw up the app and if able, jump in the Discord (honestly one of the reasons why this OOC is dead, whoops)
Isla Gill

Location: Route 1
Mentions: N/A


Just a heartbeat from starting to pet the first little guy and the next thing Isla knew she felt a sharp tug on her bag. It was rough enough that she stumbled to the side, almost falling over with one leg shooting out to stop herself. She shot over her gaze, seeing the second having jumped up onto the bag a little ways. His mouth was sunk into the thicker fabric, almost trying to gnaw into it, with paws outstretched just a tad to get a good grip. A flash of anger through it all as Isla stared at the Pokémon, at this guy who she'd only just been feeding freely and still wanted to claw in, tear through something.

A pause. She took a deep breath, exhaling sharply through the nose. It wasn't good to be angry at Pokémon for following their nature, to judge them fully like people with all the expectations for understanding that people had. It wasn't good to feel betrayal when nothing at all had really been said. It wasn't really anything at all, even as Dancing had begun a deep-throated growl as he perched on his shoulder. His ears were flat back against his head, eyes staring down at the intruder on the bag.

"Hey - no. Get off," she said, as assertive as could be. Well, on the plus side he wasn’t making great progress getting through the bag, which was to be expected given what it was made from. Thick, plastic-like fibers were generally hard to chew through, even with teeth like that. On the minus side, she had a Pokémon on her bag and Dancing clearly wasn't happy with it. A quick thought process about it all and she'd made something approximating a decision. She'd let him deal with it.

He barked a few times, crouched down as though ready to pounce. The statement was pretty clear: get off now and stop.



Morris Ryan Malone

Location: Abandoned Warehouse, Northside, Offshore St, Watson
Mentions: @The Incredible John


A flick of a thought. Ten minutes til. Fine-chrome fingers beat a tempo against his thigh as he leaned against one of the walls, unconsciously meeting the tempo of the music blasting against the walls of the warehouse, and the guy leaned his head back against the cool metal. Seconds trickled through his fingers as Morris went over the plans, again and again, one corner of his mind paying attention to what was in front of him, the rest going over schematics and timetables and reports. Militech controlled a lot, sure, and Night Corp controlled a lot more, but no-one had complete control of the city, the cameras here and there, the lights. A twitchy landlord here or there, a few eddies into the right palms, and suddenly he had cameras for his tenants…one of which always looked out at a street. A down-on-his-luck city engineer here or there, and suddenly a traffic camera has a tiny bit more wiring than it should. Data to data to data, trickling about. It was amazing what you could do with a little misplaced compassion.

Three trucks, armored Milipigs with new chrome and suits inside, with a few armored truck escorts. They’d gotten nervous, hauling ass through the city as lights gave green to em, red to everyone else. Someone had picked up on the game, somewhere, though the Maelstromer knew that it just gave him a little advantage. They were predictable, bold as they were, and he just had to up the volatility to crack through. People don’t expect things to go south immediately. A glance at the positioning…everything was set and ready to go. Things were going just as planned, all things considered. There was a speck on the outside of his vision, red lights and black metal.

“Boss?” The voice was tinny, distorted just a little in the box with no jaw to go along with it. Alphonse, that’s who that was, bald-chrome man whose limbs were like spiders. Morris grunted his response, angling his head just a little in recognition as his optics brought the guy into focus in the bottom corner of his vision.

“James says they’re good to go. Waiting on you downstairs.”

“Good shit.”

He got up from the wall, rubbing the back of his neck as he made the short way down to the basement. There was still movement in the warehouse, cargo-movers shifting crates here and there, organizing some that were inbound, others that were going to the loaders to be shipped off to rippers throughout Watson and Japantown. Little lights were here and there, though, on the walls; laser-detectors, tracking all through little lasers outside the normal visual spectrum. Normal. That was a good enough joke if ever he’d thought of one.

A little metal key into a door and down stairs…there he was. The airlock hissed as it sucked-out the oxygen, a little notification at the top corner of Morris’s vision that an implant had started up. He hated outside visitors, especially ones who liked stealing bits of this, parts of that, wholes of data. The inner door opened to the hum of servers, a dead quiet compared to the thump-thump-thump of the bass you could still hear through the walls and floors, the room lit by nothing but green and red pinpricks of light, server status markers. More green than red, it was a good day. Netrunner chairs here, there in three of the four corners of the room, a plethora of screens hung from the ceiling that showed what he’d been looking at before.

James stared at the boss through spider-eye optics, blues and reds and greens, and the codefreak smiled his gold teeth smile, a spasm running through his arms. James was always a happy guy, it seemed. Not a thing brought him down. He spoke with a woman’s inflection, Haitian unless Morris was off it. “If it ain’t the majesty himself. Wanted to watch the party after all, yeah?”

“Fucking boring up there. Should’ve seen the guy upstairs. Keeps passing out. Sleepy, y’know.” They’d been getting information from him for days it seemed, where all his assets were. Another gonk who’d decided to get chrome too rich for his blood and needed to pay back. Morris wished they’d be smarter about it all but they never did learn. He shook his head dismissively at it all.

“Yeah, rich kids never do change. Well. He can’t be that rich.”

“Allowances and inflation. Killer these days.” They both laughed at the joke. In truth, the guy’d just been laid off from whatever-which corp he’d been a part of, something about a downsizing effort. Apparently the implants hadn’t gotten him on the stay side of the list. He was mentally a kid, though, got up to the position through pure favors and not much else. Who’d have thought that wasn’t keeper material. He turned to one of the already jacked-in runners as James got himself set-up in his chair.

“Truck’s all ready?”

“You’re goddamn right.”

“You can start that up…five, four, three, two, one, now. Hit it.”

“Gas, gas, gas.”

He watched the screens as, a few blocks away, one of the big industrial trucks started accelerating up. They’d gotten a hold of it a few days before, decoupled a bunch of the engine safety systems, speed limiters, things like that. It was already flying through traffic, shifting itself up and away like a rocket. Driver was already trying to regain control, sure, but that wasn’t going to happen. A smile crept up along the corners of Morris’s mouth.

“One-fifty.”

“Keep it there. Intercept…yeah looks good. Looks good.”

A few seconds passed, the netrunners busy away and away, busy with their daemons and subsystems and monitoring. Words were barely exchanged as numbers served the purpose well enough. Then it all happened at once.

Front of the Militech convoy, poor little armored car, got plowed right though by the truck at the intersection. Car crumpled like a tin can as the brakes on the truck slammed shut, her cargo suddenly turning volatile at the sudden motion. Grain feed and ignition, never a good combination as that blew out too, a fireball at the intersection. Trucks couldn’t even stop, the first of them slamming right into the burning remains and moving it forward a few yards. Next one slammed on the brakes hard, too, smoke pouring out from the wheels as it narrowly missed its friend on the turn. The third kept on going, swerving violently to one side and violently to the other as it tried to get past…before overturning by it all, skidding along its side onto the sidewalk. The escorting trucks in the back came to a stop a lot quicker, fanning out; less weight, Morris supposed.

Car doors swung open on the escorts, lead going in before the corpos even took a step out from them. Shmucks used rifles, Umbras and the like. Morris had Grads for his needs. Trucks drove up as dazed Militech drivers got out from their trucks, trying to move out to cover. Some of his drivers just let-loose with autogun fire, while another opted to drive through the corpo as it skidded to a halt. A big-muscle figure popped out from one of the vans, an enormous hydraulic ram in his arms as he went from one back of a truck to another, slamming the gear into the armor before widening the hole out. Their own mover truck came-up and, soon enough, Militech gear started getting shifted over.

James smiled through his connection, chuckling aloud. “And they said office life was boring. Idiots.”

Morris let the smile reach him, too, as his eyes were glued to the screens, his ear glued to the Militech report channel. They’d blasted away on jamming for a lot of the usual frequencies, burnt out a lot of the cameras that weren’t solely theirs, but there was always a chance.. Yeah, James was right. Idiots.
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