[ Bravo Team ]
The first attack is more of a disruption in the air itself. Sinjin twists his upper body, moving away from the sensation of an incoming object. The concrete seems to pulverize mere centimeters from his rib-cage, as if he was watching a time-lapse of a horizontal sink hole. The adept's eyes sweep to locate the source of the strike, settling on something dredged from a primal nightmare. The cyber-zombie resembles Six, with the exception of a series of dermal plates that jut out of it's shoulders. In place of a right hand is a bludgeoning tool; a grim apparatus resembling a bloodied steel bowling ball. The number 4 has been scrawled into the meager patch of flesh on the thing's forehead.
"D i e . . ."
[ Doc = 47 ]
[ Four = 44 ]
[ Sinjin = 40 ]
[ Arachnae A = 30 ]
[ Arachnae B = 25 ]
[ Haywire = 23 ]
Contract #6: For Whom The Bell Tolls: Part I
-
Drew Buddy
- Posts: 1488
- Joined: Sun Oct 30, 2011 7:06 pm
Re: Contract #6: For Whom The Bell Tolls: Part I
[ Bravo Team ]
Doc winces and turns his head away from the shower of concrete, the bits plinking off his helmet and suit like so much industrial hail.
"Aw, hell," he grunts, swinging his rifle around so that the smartlink reticle is positioned on the blurry Four. He presses on the trigger, pulling back until a quiet click signals the release of the firing pin. The rifle blats out a trio of booms
(( Don't forget the arachnae )).
Doc winces and turns his head away from the shower of concrete, the bits plinking off his helmet and suit like so much industrial hail.
"Aw, hell," he grunts, swinging his rifle around so that the smartlink reticle is positioned on the blurry Four. He presses on the trigger, pulling back until a quiet click signals the release of the firing pin. The rifle blats out a trio of booms
(( Don't forget the arachnae )).
Re: Contract #6: For Whom The Bell Tolls: Part I
[ Alpha Team ]
Max remains in lockstep with the Prince, rushing into the room and standing just beside him with Marlowe Mk. II aimed squarely at the entryway. The elf's senses are sharp, though, and his experience with the team's first numeric monstrosity taught him not to default to the expected. His elfin eyes scan the room as he looks for any other means of ingress into the chamber-- ventilation ducting, windows, and structurally unsound walls. As his gaze slides over his surroundings, he racks his brain for any kind of environmental advantage that they might have in defending against and dispatching the cybernetic demon that will imminently beat against their door.
Max remains in lockstep with the Prince, rushing into the room and standing just beside him with Marlowe Mk. II aimed squarely at the entryway. The elf's senses are sharp, though, and his experience with the team's first numeric monstrosity taught him not to default to the expected. His elfin eyes scan the room as he looks for any other means of ingress into the chamber-- ventilation ducting, windows, and structurally unsound walls. As his gaze slides over his surroundings, he racks his brain for any kind of environmental advantage that they might have in defending against and dispatching the cybernetic demon that will imminently beat against their door.
Re: Contract #6: For Whom The Bell Tolls: Part I
[ Alpha Team ]
Val skids into position and drops to a knee among the loosely arrayed Tir fire team. Slapping a fresh clip of AV rounds into his FN HAR's lower receiver, his eyes skim briefly over the rifle's status feed hovering in the constellation of AR widgets which have become the decker's rose-colored glasses. The splashes of artificial color fail to make anything look rosy at the moment.
Reloaded, Val's rifle snaps up into firing position, trained on the stairwell door, the barrel rising and falling in time with his accelerated breathing. His free hand absently rubs his neck where seconds ago Five's blade should have ended his young life. His gaze flicks over his shoulder to Kelseth for a brief second before discipline reasserts itself, and his eyes continue their search for threats in what seems a sudden, absolute silence.
Val skids into position and drops to a knee among the loosely arrayed Tir fire team. Slapping a fresh clip of AV rounds into his FN HAR's lower receiver, his eyes skim briefly over the rifle's status feed hovering in the constellation of AR widgets which have become the decker's rose-colored glasses. The splashes of artificial color fail to make anything look rosy at the moment.
Reloaded, Val's rifle snaps up into firing position, trained on the stairwell door, the barrel rising and falling in time with his accelerated breathing. His free hand absently rubs his neck where seconds ago Five's blade should have ended his young life. His gaze flicks over his shoulder to Kelseth for a brief second before discipline reasserts itself, and his eyes continue their search for threats in what seems a sudden, absolute silence.
Re: Contract #6: For Whom The Bell Tolls: Part I
[Alpha Team]
Standing at the back of the room, close by a Tir squaddie the Mage places between himself and the door, Tyros surveys the room. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all - running away still seems the prudent thing to do.
((Can you describe the room a bit to us, particularly potential exits like windows/doors, etc?))
Standing at the back of the room, close by a Tir squaddie the Mage places between himself and the door, Tyros surveys the room. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all - running away still seems the prudent thing to do.
((Can you describe the room a bit to us, particularly potential exits like windows/doors, etc?))
Re: Contract #6: For Whom The Bell Tolls: Part I
[ Alpha Team ]
The stairwell door is on the far side of the foyer, a few dozen meters from the elevator pod where a foursome of gold-leaf elevator doors face one another. The Tir guards have assembled at the threshold of the elevator pod as it forms a choke point. Behind the guards, past the foyer, lies a long hallway that leads to various conference rooms and banquet halls.
The stairwell door is on the far side of the foyer, a few dozen meters from the elevator pod where a foursome of gold-leaf elevator doors face one another. The Tir guards have assembled at the threshold of the elevator pod as it forms a choke point. Behind the guards, past the foyer, lies a long hallway that leads to various conference rooms and banquet halls.
Re: Contract #6: For Whom The Bell Tolls: Part I
[ Bravo Team ]
Doc's bursts illuminate the tunnel, tracing a path across the wall as Four bobs and weaves, maneuvering into position to launch his first attack.
Ranged Combat (Doc)
Ranged Combat (Doc)
Re: Contract #6: For Whom The Bell Tolls: Part I
[ Bravo Team ]
Doc ducks at the sensation of an incoming object. Four's pulverizing arm attachment sails overhead and makes a crater in the concrete wall.
Melee Combat (Four)
Re: Contract #6: For Whom The Bell Tolls: Part I
[ Bravo Team ]
Whirling away from the shattering concrete, Sinjin barely catches sight of Four as the cyber-horror's follow up attack sends another maelstrom of debris flying from the tunnel wall. A part of his brain recognizes, even admires, the stunning quickness of the man-made-machine's movement, the mechanical augmentations granting Four a lethal edge in close combat. The greater part of his brain is more interested in staying alive. Pushing aside the awe and horror that swells inside him, Sinjin's body replaces it with something approaching immortal strength and determination. His powerful hands tighten their grip on hardened steel throwing knives, reminding him of their existence. Charging forward to destroy Four with renewed vigor, he releases the blades almost as an afterthought.
((Attr Boost: STR, Thrown Weapons x2 knives))
Whirling away from the shattering concrete, Sinjin barely catches sight of Four as the cyber-horror's follow up attack sends another maelstrom of debris flying from the tunnel wall. A part of his brain recognizes, even admires, the stunning quickness of the man-made-machine's movement, the mechanical augmentations granting Four a lethal edge in close combat. The greater part of his brain is more interested in staying alive. Pushing aside the awe and horror that swells inside him, Sinjin's body replaces it with something approaching immortal strength and determination. His powerful hands tighten their grip on hardened steel throwing knives, reminding him of their existence. Charging forward to destroy Four with renewed vigor, he releases the blades almost as an afterthought.
((Attr Boost: STR, Thrown Weapons x2 knives))
Re: Contract #6: For Whom The Bell Tolls: Part I
[ Bravo Team ]
{{ 4P DAMAGE! }}
Sinjin's knife whirls through the air with uncanny speed, burying itself to the hilt in Four's bony back, in between dermal plates. The fiendish foe whips his head around and growls in surprise.
Ranged Combat (Sinjin)
Damage Resistance (Four)
Sinjin's knife whirls through the air with uncanny speed, burying itself to the hilt in Four's bony back, in between dermal plates. The fiendish foe whips his head around and growls in surprise.
Re: Contract #6: For Whom The Bell Tolls: Part I
[ Alpha Team ]
Kelseth tenses, glowering at the door with an uneasy expression. A minute passes. The doorway remains empty.
All the inhabitants of the foyer slowly became aware of a strange buzzing sound. The Tir Guardsmen scan the walls of the room, exchanging quizzical glances with one another.
Kelseth tenses, glowering at the door with an uneasy expression. A minute passes. The doorway remains empty.
All the inhabitants of the foyer slowly became aware of a strange buzzing sound. The Tir Guardsmen scan the walls of the room, exchanging quizzical glances with one another.
Re: Contract #6: For Whom The Bell Tolls: Part I
[ Alpha Team ]
Otherwise still as a stone, Val swivels his head slowly as he cranks up his combat helmet's external audio feed. Narrowed eyes set under a furrowed brow scan the walls for signs of vibration or movement. Without moving from his position, he attempts to identify and home in on the source of the strange buzzing. Val speaks quietly, more to himself than to the Tir fire team arrayed around him.
"Steady..."
Otherwise still as a stone, Val swivels his head slowly as he cranks up his combat helmet's external audio feed. Narrowed eyes set under a furrowed brow scan the walls for signs of vibration or movement. Without moving from his position, he attempts to identify and home in on the source of the strange buzzing. Val speaks quietly, more to himself than to the Tir fire team arrayed around him.
"Steady..."
Re: Contract #6: For Whom The Bell Tolls: Part I
[ Alpha Team ]
A bead of sweat drips down Max's brow as the elf searches his surroundings with his eyes, ears, and nose. Glancing about the assembled, inscreasingly nervous party, he breaks ranks. Easing out of formation, Max's looks left to right, and creeps forward. His boots squeal lightly as he makes his way across the polished floor, Marlowe Mk. II leading all the while. The elf moves toward the nearest doorway and peeks in, not daring to breathe for what he might find.
A bead of sweat drips down Max's brow as the elf searches his surroundings with his eyes, ears, and nose. Glancing about the assembled, inscreasingly nervous party, he breaks ranks. Easing out of formation, Max's looks left to right, and creeps forward. His boots squeal lightly as he makes his way across the polished floor, Marlowe Mk. II leading all the while. The elf moves toward the nearest doorway and peeks in, not daring to breathe for what he might find.
Re: Contract #6: For Whom The Bell Tolls: Part I
[ Alpha Team ]
A considerable amount of time later...
With creaking joints, Val wearily slumps down on the cold floor with his back to the wall and runs his fingers through his graying beard in a futile effort to tame its ridiculous length. He's long since abandoned the effort of hacking it short with his combat knife; his hands are no longer as steady as they were in his younger days. He pulls up his AR feed, suppressing his revulsion at running his PAN on hardware now considered obsolete. With a resigned sigh, he opens the journal log he's been keeping for the past twenty-three-odd years, and begins to write.
- Day 8436 -
Today is much the same as yesterday. I don't know how much more of this monotony I can take. I'm too old for the VR clubs, and I'm sick to death of playing virtual Bingo with the other retired wireheads in the old, run-down VR community centers which still support VR access with this dusty old hardware. Advancing in age is easy. Coping with it is hard. I don't know how the men without the luxury of VR feeds maintain their sanity. Well, I suppose not everyone has. Williams finally cracked today. Dropped a load of drek right in his hand and started flinging it at Kelseth, who promptly reduced him to a pile of smoldering ashes. Not that I'm complaining. We were all sick of that fragbag anyway.
We've taken to emptying the makeshift colostomy bags used by a few of the Tir who've developed incontinence issues down the stairwell. It's better than when we were just relieving ourselves in the corner, back when everyone was too afraid to go near the door, but every now and then the stink wafts up again. Elves apparently don't age as slowly as is commonly believed, but maybe it's just that our confinement is speeding up the process. Perhaps someday soon I'll need a bag myself, but with resources dwindling, I'll likely have to settle for one that's second-hand. I do not relish the thought, though it has been a while since I had something new to call my own.
We still haven't seen hide nor hair of Five throughout any of this, but that FRAGGING GOD-FORSAKEN BUZZING hasn't stopped!!! Before my Phalanx helmet stopped functioning, I could just pipe in some white noise for a few minutes of silence. It was bliss. A few of the men have resorted to saving their boogers to use as earplugs. I would too, but because of this chronic sinus infection I can't produce anything with enough structure to hold together. If the buzzing doesn't stop and we don't get out of here within the next six months, I have resolved to kill myself and finally end this tragic and interminable foray into the worst professional decision of my career. I think that if --
Ahh shit. I've wet myself again. I'd go hang my pants on the railing to dry, but I know I'll likely do it again tomorrow. And besides, these old bones ache too much to move from this spot for the rest of the night. I'm just so tired... We all are.
Val Merrin, for now, signing off.
>> End Log Entry
A considerable amount of time later...
With creaking joints, Val wearily slumps down on the cold floor with his back to the wall and runs his fingers through his graying beard in a futile effort to tame its ridiculous length. He's long since abandoned the effort of hacking it short with his combat knife; his hands are no longer as steady as they were in his younger days. He pulls up his AR feed, suppressing his revulsion at running his PAN on hardware now considered obsolete. With a resigned sigh, he opens the journal log he's been keeping for the past twenty-three-odd years, and begins to write.
- Day 8436 -
Today is much the same as yesterday. I don't know how much more of this monotony I can take. I'm too old for the VR clubs, and I'm sick to death of playing virtual Bingo with the other retired wireheads in the old, run-down VR community centers which still support VR access with this dusty old hardware. Advancing in age is easy. Coping with it is hard. I don't know how the men without the luxury of VR feeds maintain their sanity. Well, I suppose not everyone has. Williams finally cracked today. Dropped a load of drek right in his hand and started flinging it at Kelseth, who promptly reduced him to a pile of smoldering ashes. Not that I'm complaining. We were all sick of that fragbag anyway.
We've taken to emptying the makeshift colostomy bags used by a few of the Tir who've developed incontinence issues down the stairwell. It's better than when we were just relieving ourselves in the corner, back when everyone was too afraid to go near the door, but every now and then the stink wafts up again. Elves apparently don't age as slowly as is commonly believed, but maybe it's just that our confinement is speeding up the process. Perhaps someday soon I'll need a bag myself, but with resources dwindling, I'll likely have to settle for one that's second-hand. I do not relish the thought, though it has been a while since I had something new to call my own.
We still haven't seen hide nor hair of Five throughout any of this, but that FRAGGING GOD-FORSAKEN BUZZING hasn't stopped!!! Before my Phalanx helmet stopped functioning, I could just pipe in some white noise for a few minutes of silence. It was bliss. A few of the men have resorted to saving their boogers to use as earplugs. I would too, but because of this chronic sinus infection I can't produce anything with enough structure to hold together. If the buzzing doesn't stop and we don't get out of here within the next six months, I have resolved to kill myself and finally end this tragic and interminable foray into the worst professional decision of my career. I think that if --
Ahh shit. I've wet myself again. I'd go hang my pants on the railing to dry, but I know I'll likely do it again tomorrow. And besides, these old bones ache too much to move from this spot for the rest of the night. I'm just so tired... We all are.
Val Merrin, for now, signing off.
>> End Log Entry